“When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrers like sea-billers roll-- Whutever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well, wid my soul.” “Whut is de name of dis boat called, Pipe?” Skeeter asked at the end of their song. “’Tain’t got no name,” Pipe answered. “Dat won’t do,” Vinegar Atts bellowed, as he looked with proprietary eye upon the vessel. “Less call her by some high-soundin’ name.” “Less call her de _Skeeter Butts_?” the little barkeeper promptly suggested. “Naw!” the three other men whooped. Skeeter giggled. “I figger dar will be three votes agin any yuther nigger’s name in dis bunch,” he said. “Less call her de _Hen-Scratch_.” “Naw!” the trio bellowed. “A saloom ain’t no fitten name fer a boat.” “Less call her de _Shoo-fly_.” “Naw!” the bunch howled. “We don’t name no boat after a Mefdis meetin’-house.” Finally Skeeter said: “I motions dat we leave it to Pipe Smash to name de boat fer us!” “Dat’s right! Gib us a good name, Pipe!” Pipe scratched his woolly head and thought. Then he said: “Is you niggers made acquaintance wid a coot?” “Suttinly.” “Is you ever seed how a coot starts to fly? He leans fur back like he was restin’ on his tail den he takes a runnin’ shoot----” “Shore! We knows!” the men interrupted. “Dis boat gits its start by shovin’ wid its tail,” Pipe resumed. “Furthermo’, dis boat, like a coot, is a lan’ an’ water bird. Accawdin’ to dat notion, I votes dat we call dis boat after de nigger word fer a coot----” “De _Mud Hen_!” the quartet whooped triumphantly. “De _Mud Hen_!” From that moment our four friends were consumed with desire to own the boat which had received such a high-sounding and appropriate name. Skeeter presided at a lengthy consultation, then came forward to the pilot-wheel and counted one hundred dollars into Pipe Smash’s greedy palm. “Each of us chips in twenty-five dollars, Pipe,” Skeeter explained. “Dat’s a fine way to do,” Pipe grinned. “Is you elected who is de head boss leader yit?” “Naw,” Skeeter said. “We ain’t got dat fur.” “Ef you ’vide up yo’ jobs an’ decide who is gwine be who, I’ll learn you how to run de boat an’ esplain each man’s job to him,” Pipe proposed. “Atter dat, I’ll step off.” “I announces myse’f de captain of dis boat!” Skeeter Butts yelled. “Any objections?” “I’s de commondore,” Hitch Diamond bellowed. “I’s de skipper,” Figger Bush quacked. “My job is cut out for me,” Vinegar Atts grinned. “I’s de fust high exalted chaplain.” “Whut do de chaplain do?” Skeeter Butts wanted to know. “He sets down an’ sings religium toons ontil somebody dies,” Vinegar informed him. “Den he gibs de dead man religium advices, ties a lump of coal to his foots, an’ draps him in de ribber.” “Dat’s a easy job!” Figger cackled.