"Look out sharp for the helm, Mr. Bell," I shouted, so as to be heard above the roar of the rushing waters and the clang of the engine.
I thought he did not respond to my movements with the wheel as promptly as was necessary. I felt that the least turn to the right or the left would be fatal to us, for by this time I realized that the situation was vastly more perilous than when we went into the current before. The least "wabble" might cause the current to strike her on the side, and send her over on her beam ends in the vortex below us.
"Can't you crowd her a little more, Moses," I called through the speaking-tube.
"Not much more," he promptly replied.
"We are not losing anything," said the pilot, holding his breath.
"Mind the helm," I replied, for I felt that I could not hold her alone. "If we get the bow half a degree across the current, it is all up with us."
"I can hold her alone, but you take the feeling off my hands," he answered, warmly.
He meant that I began to move the wheel before he felt the pressure on his hands, for one steers a vessel very much as he drives a horse, and depends quite as much upon feeling as upon sight. My feeling was much quicker than his, and I would not give up the helm to him, but told him he must watch my movements.
"We have gained an inch!" exclaimed the pilot.
"What is an inch going through such a torrent as this?" I replied, though I felt encouraged by the fact, if it was a fact, for I dared not look to the right or the left, as he did.