“Shut off steam!” yelled the engineer, as the Bulldog went by again. “Draw the fires, then.”
“Who’s going to steer while I do it?” bellowed the skipper, as he left the wheel for a few seconds to try and get a line to throw them.
By this time the commotion in the river was frightful, and the captain’s steering, as he went on his round again, something marvellous to behold. A strange lack of sympathy on the part of brother captains added to his troubles. Every craft he passed had something to say to him, busy as they were, and the remarks were as monotonous as they were insulting. At last, just as he was resolving to run his boat straight down the river until he came to a halt for want of steam, the mate caught the rope he flung, and the Bulldog went down the river with her boat made fast to her stern.
“Come aboard, you—you lunatic!” he shouted.
“Not afore I knows ’ow I stand,” said the engineer, who was now beautifully sober, and in full possession of a somewhat acute intellect.
“What do you mean?” demanded the skipper.
“I don’t come aboard,” shouted the engineer, “until you and the mate and the bye all swear as you won’t say nothing about this little game.”
“I’ll report you the moment I get ashore,” roared the skipper. “I’ll give you in charge for desertion. I’ll”—
With a supreme gesture the engineer prepared to dive, but the watchful mate fell on his neck and tripped him over a seat.
“Come aboard!” cried the skipper, aghast at such determination. “Come aboard, and I’ll give you a licking when we get ashore instead.”