Before the eyes of the marveling mothers, Mr. Quince assumed a position at the extreme front of the boat, on a small deck beyond the railing. He held the pole across his body, as the balancing stick of a tightrope walker, and watched the current swing the Nancy Jane away from the bank.
Sim waited, motionless as a statue, with a grimy paw on the throttle.
“Let ’er go,” sang Mr. Quince, as from the bridge of the Leviathan, his powerful voice echoing against the bluffs far up the river.
With much groaning and creaking the engine took up the play of its gearing, and choked down with a grunt as the paddles of the water wheel stuck in the clay bank.
Seizing their babies, the mothers arose and screamed. The infants also gave tongue.
As one man, Dr. Jackson and Kelly sprang to their feet. “Sit down,” they shouted.
“Is de biler gwine blow up?” Serena asked Ike, nervously.
“Dat ole enjine jes balky. Dat’s all,” he reassured her.
In this moment of marine disaster, Mr. Quince displayed great coolness and judgment. “Look out,” he shouted to Sim, and leaped ashore with great agility. From this position of vantage he commanded, “Stop ’er!” He then displayed wonderful presence of mind by casting off the stern line. Returning on board, he seized his pole and pushed the Nancy Jane out into the river.
Once more, upon signal, the engine strained and a large chunk of South Ridgefield soil splashed into the river. The relieved paddle wheel caught the water and the Nancy Jane headed up the Lame Moose for Elgin’s Grove. Mr. Quince plied his pole diligently, and, exerting his good muscles, shoved his craft into the channel it should follow.