Do you see those fine lines on the face of the water that branch out like the ribs of a fan.

Well, those are little reefs; you want to just miss the ends of them, but run them pretty close.

Now look out--look out! Don't you crowd that slick, greasy-looking place; there ain't nine feet there; she won't stand it.
She begins to smell it; look sharp, I tell you! Oh blazes, there you go! Stop the starboard wheel! Quick! Ship up to back! Set her back! The engine bells jingled and the engines answered promptly, shooting white columns of steam far aloft out of the 'scape pipes, but it was too late.

The boat had 'smelt' the bar in good earnest; the foamy ridges that radiated from her bows suddenly disappeared, a great dead swell came rolling forward and swept ahead of her, she careened far over to larboard, and went tearing away toward the other shore as if she were about scared to death.

We were a good mile from where we ought to have been, when we finally got the upper hand of her again.
During the afternoon watch the next day, Mr.Bixby asked me if I knew how to run the next few miles.