“Pilot enough for this business.”
“I understand it all. Andy was afraid to do this job, and has backed out.”
“I only know what he said to me,” replied Somers innocently.
“Well, pull up the creek, and don’t waste any more time in talking about it.”
“I haven’t wasted any time. You have done all the talking yourself,” replied Somers, who thought he should not be a consistent Southerner if he did not growl.
Somers directed the men to pull again, and the boat advanced up the creek till the steamer appeared. She was a small, worn-out old craft, which had probably dodged into the creek when the Union fleet came up the river. The man who had spoken from the shore reached the place almost as soon as the boat. He was dressed in the gray of the Confederate army, and was evidently an officer detailed to perform the duty of fitting out the fire-ship.
“This is a most remarkable proceeding on the part of the pilot,” said the officer.
“I can’t help it. You needn’t growl at me about it. If you don’t want me, I don’t want the job,” replied Somers sourly.
“Don’t be impudent to me,” added the officer.
“And don’t you be impudent to me,” said Somers. “I’m not one of your men.”