“Steamer!” called the pilot, and all the other pilots turned out and came on deck. The sea to the eastward, whither they were looking, was utterly bare of craft. Not a sail, not a wisp of smoke! Yet they saw something and tacked ship so as to swing round and sail toward it. Not even the telescope revealed it to my untrained eyes until five minutes had gone by, when afar off a speck appeared above the waters. It came on larger and larger, until it assumed the proportions of a toy. With the first announcement of a steamer the pilot who was to take this one in gave the wheel to the pilot who was to have the next one. He seemed pleased at getting back to New York so soon. While the ship was coming forward he went below and changed his clothes. In a few minutes he was on deck, dressed in a neat business suit and white linen. His old clothes had all been packed in a grain sack. He had a bundle of New York papers and a light overcoat over his arm. “How did you know that steamer wanted a pilot?” I asked him. “I could tell by the way she was heading.” “Do you think she saw you?” “Yes.” “Can you always tell when a steamer so far off wants a pilot?” “Nearly always. If we can’t judge by her course we can see through the telescope whether she has a signal for a pilot flying.” “And when you go aboard her what will you do?” “Go to the bridge and direct her course.” “Do you take the wheel or do any work?” “Not at all.” “What about your breakfast?” “I’ll take that with the officers of the deck.” “Do you always carry a bundle of papers?” “Sure. The officers and passengers like to get early news of New York. Sometimes the papers are pretty old before we hand them out, but they’re better than nothing.” He studied the approaching steamer closely through the glass. “The _Ems_,” he said laconically. “Get the yawl ready, boys.” Four sailors went to the lee side and righted the boat there. The great vessel was plowing toward us at a fine rate. Every minute she grew larger, until at half a mile she seemed quite natural. “Heave the yawl,” called the man at the wheel. Over went the boat with a splash, and two men after and into it. They held it close to the side of the schooner until the departing pilot could jump in. “Cast loose!” said the man at the wheel to the men holding the rope. “Ay! Ay! sir!” they replied. “Good-by, Billie,” called the pilots. “So long, boys,” he cried back. Our schooner was moving swiftly away before the wind. The man in the yawl pulled out toward where the steamer must pass. Already her engines had stopped, and the foam at her prow was dying away. One could see that a pilot was expected. Quite a crowd of people, even at that early hour, was gathered at the rail. A ladder of rope was hanging over the side, almost at the water’s edge.