“All you niggers, come here!” Pipe Smash exclaimed. “I wants to press somepin’ powerful heavy on yo’ minds, an’ ef you fergits it offen yo’ minds, I tells you right now dat Revun Atts won’t wait long to git a fust-rate corp’.” “Whut’s dat?” Skeeter chattered. “You see dat contraption up on dat engine whut looks like a clock?” Pipe Smash asked. “Yes, suh!” “Dat is called de steam-gage. Dat shows how much steam is in de b’ilers. Now dis engine won’t tote but sixty pounds of steam an’ be plum’ safe--you see dat indicator p’ints to sixty now.” “Dat’s right!” Hitch Diamond corroborated. “Whut do us do ef we git over sixty?” Skeeter asked tremblingly. “Ef you is puffin’ up-stream, you kin risk sixty-five,” Pipe Smash told him. “But atter you pass dat number--good-night!” “Dat ain’t tellin’ me whut to do!” Skeeter snapped. Smash scratched his woolly head, loosened his soiled shirt-collar by running his fingers around his fat neck, and sighed. “I don’t know whut is did wid dem succumstances,” Smash declared. “I ain’t never loss my good sense an’ got up dat high yit. But I got it figgered out dat a real quick nigger could do two things: he kin open de furnace, rake out de hot coals, set de boat on fire an’ burn her up; or, he kin jump in de river an’ let de boat float ontil she busts!” “Hear dem words!” Vinegar Atts bawled. “I knowed I had a good chance to orate over a corp’!” Skeeter Butts looked greatly scared for a minute, then he took a big breath and rallied. “Dat ain’t so awful dangersome,” he said. “I bet you niggers seben dollars per each dat dat indicator don’t never reach sixty no more--open dat furnace door, Hitch, an’ cool de b’iler!” The commodore lost no time in obeying the captain. “Dat ain’t de right way to do!” Pipe Smash told them. “Ef you open de furnace door, de b’iler gits hotter--dat makes de fire draw better!” “Shet dat furnace door, Hitch, you fool!” Skeeter barked. “My Lawd, you’s gittin’ us ready to bust!” The commodore shut the door. Then Pipe Smash gave them another jolt: “You all is got one mo’ little jigger to watch, niggers!” he said, pointing to a glass tube. “Dat little, round, glass bottle is de water-gage. You wanter put water in de b’iler till dat water-gage stands half-full all de time. Ef dat little bottle ever goes plum’ dry, de buzzards will be pickin’ yo’ bones outen de top of de cypress trees along dis river!” “Hear dat, now!” Vinegar Atts whooped. “Dis here chaplain shore has cut out a hard-wuckin’ job fer hisse’f!” “Shut up, Revun!” Skeeter snapped. “You ack like you wus proud dis boat wus gwine bust.” “’Tain’t so!” Vinegar protested. “I done invested my whole June sal’ry from de Shoo-fly chu’ch in dis boat!” Skeeter’s eyes lit on Figger Bush. “Figger,” he said, “you done nominate yo’se’f de skipper--you skip aroun’ here an’ sot yo’ eye on dis glass bottle!”