“I’m going to trust you, Clem,” said the captain, as he conducted him to the wheel-house; “but woe betide you if you get us into trouble!” “Golly, massa! What’s dis nigger gwine to git you into trouble fur? I kin take de steamboat up to Clay Landin’; and dat’s fur as five foot kin go. Git you into trouble, massa cap’n! Golly! I guess dis chile git hisself into trouble fus. Yah, yah! What you s’pose ole massa say if he cotch Clem takin’ Yankee gunboat up de riber? I s’peck he broke his back if he cotch him, jes as shore as you was a white man!” “Well, never mind that now,” added Captain McBride, who could not help seeing the force of the black pilot’s argument. “Go into the wheel-house, now, and tell the quartermaster how to steer.” “Sar!” exclaimed Clem, opening his mouth from ear to ear. “Give these men your orders, and they will observe them.” “Clem gib dese gemmen de orders?” “Certainly.” “Cotch Clem doin’ such a t’ing as dat, massa cap’n! Niger gib orders to de white man! Yah, yah, yah!” and the pilot doubled up and laughed till the waistbands of his new trousers were in danger of being ruptured. “Come, Clem, we are losing the tide,” said the captain. “Yes, sar!” exclaimed he, springing to the wheel. “Whar does you stroke dem bells?” “Here,” said Jack, pointing out the bell-pulls. “If de gemman gib dis chile de wheel, he can steer hisself all alone.” “Give him the wheel, quartermaster,” added the captain. The black pilot stuck his head out of the window, as though he was trying to peer through the fog and gloom of the night. It certainly looked very hopeless; but the negro snuffed the air half a dozen times, and then confidently struck the bell to go ahead. “Have you got your bearings?” demanded the captain nervously; for it looked like dubious business to go over a bar, with not more than six feet of water on it, in such a night as that. “Yes, massa cap’n: I smell um,” replied Clem, gravely. “You smell them, you black rascal! What do you mean by that?” roared the captain angrily; for he was disturbed by a strong suspicion that Clem was making game of him. “Golly, massa cap’n, you frighten dis nigger out of his wits; and he won’t know de channel from de reef!” “What do you mean by saying that you _smell_ your bearings?” “Yes, massa, dat’s so: I smell de rotten isters ober on de point dar.” The Middy now went ahead slowly. Clem was as confident as though it had been broad daylight, with a clear sky above him. Tom Longstone heaved a lead constantly. “Quarter, less two!” said he as the steamer began to move. “Dat’s all right dar,” said the black pilot. “Dis chile kin tell you de depf hisself, widout no soundin’.” “And a half, one!” added Tom with emphasis. “Yes, sar; and, de nex’ time you frow, find jes one fadom.” “By the mark, one!” roared Tom, who thought it was about time to strike two bells.