“No, I don’t want the lead,” said the pilot, “I want you. Roust out the old man—tell him the Amaranth’s coming. And go and call Jim—tell him.”
“Aye-aye, sir!”
The “old man” was the captain—he is always called so, on steamboats and ships; “Jim” was the other pilot. Within two minutes both of these men were flying up the pilothouse stairway, three steps at a jump. Jim was in his shirt sleeves,—with his coat and vest on his arm. He said:
“I was just turning in. Where’s the glass”
He took it and looked:
“Don’t appear to be any night-hawk on the jack-staff—it’s the Amaranth, dead sure!”
The captain took a good long look, and only said:
“Damnation!”
George Davis, the pilot on watch, shouted to the night-watchman on deck:
“How’s she loaded?”