Читать книгу The Color of a Great City онлайн

25 страница из 66

“The pilots themselves.”

“Not all of them?”

“No, not all at one time. The pilot who has the watch has full control for his hours, then the next pilot after him, and so on. No pilot is interfered with during his service.”

“And where do we head now?”

“For Sandy Hook and the sea east of that. We are going to meet inbound European steamers.”

The man at the wheel, McLaughlin, was a clean athletic young chap, with a straight, full nose and a clear, steady eye. In his yellow raincoat, rubber boots and “sou’wester” he looked to be your true sea-faring man. With the little craft plunging ahead in a storm of wind and rain and over ever-increasing billows, he gazed out steadily and whistled an airy tune.

“You seem to like it,” I remarked.

“Yes,” he answered. “It’s not a bad life. Rather cold in winter, but summer makes up for it. Then we’re in port every fifth or sixth day on an average. Sometimes we get a night off.”

“The pilots have it better than that?”

“Oh, yes; they get back quicker. The man who has the first watch may get back to-day, if we meet a steamer. They might all get back if we meet enough steamers.”