"I want toh hug the pint, near as I kin," explained Cap'n Smiff. "Ef we stan' toh fur out the kerrent will take us over to the bend, an' we'll never make the chute."
But the "oars" were well manned and whatever else his ignorance, Captain Smith was a thorough flat boat's man, and understood the river. He certainly ought to have been for from boy to man he had devoted forty years of his life to the study of the science, and all in the world he had to show for it was the greasy clothes on his back. The "Roarer" and cargo belonged to a Memphis firm that employed Cap'n Smiff when he was sober. Still Cap'n Smiff was a happier man, in his way, than many whose possessions are much more extensive. His wants were small, and his vices cheap.
As they hugged the point, he called out to Jarphly:
"Give her the gouger, Jerry!" and two of the crew leaving the sweeps, went to Jerry's assistance, for the gouger was too much for one man.
"Ram hit toh her! Cram hit toh her! Slam hit toh her! Jam hit toh her!" yelled Cap'n Smiff, who was executing a nervous hornpipe with the "steer'n o'r" between his legs.
"She takes hit! Now she takes hit! Thar! That'll do," and the great box swung around the point, and headed for the chute—the first vessel to cruise the old roadway for ten years! That was the feather Cap'n Willum Smiff wanted to stick in his nautical cap.
And now that the "Roarer" was headed right, the men bridled their oars and lounged lazily on the staves.
Suddenly one arose with a shout and cried to his companions:
"What's that? Look there! For God's sake, look! Look!"
"Whar?" asked Cap'n Smiff.