I began to fear that piloting was not quite so romantic as I had imagined it was; there was something very real and work-like about this new phase of it.
It was a rather dingy night, although a fair number of stars were out.
The big mate was at the wheel, and he had the old tub pointed at a star and was holding her straight up the middle of the river.

The shores on either hand were not much more than half a mile apart, but they seemed wonderfully far away and ever so vague and indistinct.

The mate said:-- 'We've got to land at Jones's plantation, sir.' The vengeful spirit in me exulted.

I said to myself, I wish you joy of your job, Mr.Bixby; you'll have a good time finding Mr.Jones's plantation such a night as this; and I hope you never WILL find it as long as you live.
Mr.Bixby said to the mate:-- 'Upper end of the plantation, or the lower ?' 'Upper.' 'I can't do it.

The stumps there are out of water at this stage: It's no great distance to the lower, and you'll have to get along with that.' 'All right, sir.