"In 1852," says Bixby, "I was chief pilot on the 'Paul Jones', a boat
that made occasional trips from Pittsburg to New Orleans. One day a
tall, angular, hoosier-like young fellow, whose limbs appeared to be
fastened with leather hinges, entered the pilot-house, and in a
peculiar, drawling voice, said--
"'Good mawnin, sir. Don't you want to take er piert young fellow and
teach 'im how to be er pilot?'
"'No sir; there is more bother about it than it's worth.'
"'I wish you would, mister. I'm er printer by trade, but it don't 'pear
to 'gree with me, and I'm on my way to Central America for my health. I
believe I'll make a tolerable good pilot, 'cause I like the river.'
"'What makes you pull your words that way?'
"'I don't know, mister; you'll have to ask my Ma. She pulls hern too.
Ain't there some way that we can fix it, so that you'll teach me how to
be er pilot?'
"'The only way is for money.'
"'How much are you going to charge?
"'Well, I'll teach you the river for $500.
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