He would scold you for shaving a shore, and for not shaving it;
for hugging a bar, and for not hugging it; for ‘pulling down’
when not invited, and for not pulling down when not invited;
for firing up without orders, and for waiting FOR orders. In a word,
it was his invariable rule to find fault with EVERYTHING you did;
and another invariable rule of his was to throw all his remarks
(to you) into the form of an insult.
One day we were approaching New Madrid, bound down and heavily laden.
Brown was at one side of the wheel, steering; I was at the other,
standing by to ‘pull down’ or ‘shove up.’ He cast a furtive glance at me
every now and then. I had long ago learned what that meant; viz., he was
trying to invent a trap for me. I wondered what shape it was going to take.
By and by he stepped back from the wheel and said in his usual snarly way–
‘Here!–See if you’ve got gumption enough to round her to.’
This was simply BOUND to be a success; nothing could prevent it;
for he had never allowed me to round the boat to before;
consequently, no matter how I might do the thing, he could
find free fault with it. He stood back there with his greedy
eye on me, and the result was what might have been foreseen:
I lost my head in a quarter of a minute, and didn’t know what I
was about; I started too early to bring the boat around,
but detected a green gleam of joy in Brown’s eye, and corrected
my mistake; I started around once more while too high up,
but corrected myself again in time; I made other false moves,
and still managed to save myself; but at last I grew so confused
and anxious that I tumbled into the very worst blunder of all–
I got too far down before beginning to fetch the boat around.
Brown’s chance was come.
His face turned red with passion; he made one bound,
hurled me across the house with a sweep of his arm,
spun the wheel down, and began to pour out a stream of
vituperation upon me which lasted till he was out of breath.
In the course of this speech he called me all the different
kinds of hard names he could think of, and once or twice I
thought he was even going to swear–but he didn’t this time.
‘Dod dern’ was the nearest he ventured to the luxury of swearing,
for he had been brought up with a wholesome respect for future
fire and brimstone.
That was an uncomfortable hour; for there was a big audience
on the hurricane deck. When I went to bed that night,
I killed Brown in seventeen different ways–all of them new.
Chapter 19
Brown and I Exchange Compliments
Two trips later, I got into serious trouble. Brown was steering;
I was ‘pulling down.’ My younger brother appeared on the hurricane deck,
and shouted to Brown to stop at some landing or other a mile or so below.
Brown gave no intimation that he had heard anything. But that was
his way: he never condescended to take notice of an under clerk.
The wind was blowing; Brown was deaf (although he always pretended
he wasn’t), and I very much doubted if he had heard the order.
If I had two heads, I would have spoken; but as I had only one, it seemed
judicious to take care of it; so I kept still.
Presently, sure enough, we went sailing by that plantation.
Captain Klinefelter appeared on the deck, and said–
‘Let her come around, sir, let her come around.
Didn’t Henry tell you to land here?’
‘NO, sir!’
‘I sent him up to do, it.’
‘He did come up; and that’s all the good it done, the dod-derned fool.
He never said anything.’
‘Didn’t YOU hear him?’ asked the captain of me.
Of course I didn’t want to be mixed up in this business,
but there was no way to avoid it; so I said–
‘Yes, sir.’
I knew what Brown’s next remark would be, before he uttered it; it was–