"Is you de cap'm?"
"Yes, me da capitan," Marianna replied, assuming strong Italian accent without effort.
"Yas'sa—yas'sa," the darky echoed, looking about the boat, wet, dirty and littered with bark, slabs, and sawdust. "My boss, Mista Becka, wants to know—would like to know," he corrected, "if you kain't cum ashore to see him."
"Whata yo' boss want?—we start upa quick, gotta not much time."
"Wal, he did'n zactly say, but I done reckon as how he wants to see you 'bout somp'n pa'tic'lar."
"Go back, tella da boss we starta to work soon—I talka with him here after we getta da start," the captain said, pointing toward the deck.
"Yas, I'll tell him dat," replied the negro, fidgeting as though his mission had been a failure, but immediately started for his boat.
"You tella heem we be here alla day; he come any time," Marianna called to him as he rowed away.
In about an hour the negro made out again, but this time he had the bulky figure of the man we wanted to see above all others. Of course, while we were running I had to stand by the engine below constantly, while Hiram, anticipating Becker's visit, had taken to a boat ostensibly to look over the logs carefully before fastening the grapples that brought them aboard.