But Fred's merry laughter diverted the tragic end. It was agreed that there had been too much tall talk. Britishers and Americans were not such fools as to quarrel. Let everybody drink everybody else's health. A gentleman in the corner (he needed the support of both walls) thought it wasn't good to 'liquor up' too much on an empty stomach; he put it to the house that we should have supper. The motion was carried NEM. CON., and a Dutch cheese was produced with much ECLAT. Samson coupled the ideas of Dutch cheeses and Yankee hospitality. This revived the flagging spirit of emulation. On one side, it was thought that British manners were susceptible of amendment. Confusion was then respectively drunk to Yankee hospitality, English manners, and - this was an addition of Fred's - to Dutch cheeses.
After which, to change the subject, a song was called for, and a gentleman who shall be nameless, for there was a little mischief in the choice, sang 'Rule Britannia.' Not being encored, the singer drank to the flag that had braved the battle and the breeze for nearly ninety years. 'Here's to Uncle Sam, and his stars and stripes.' The mounted officer rose to his legs (with difficulty) and declared 'that he could not, and would not, hear his country insulted any longer. He begged to challenge the "crowd." He regretted the necessity, but his feelings had been wounded, and he could not - no, he positively could not stand it.' A slight push from Samson proved the fact - the speaker fell, to rise no more. The rest of the company soon followed his example, and shortly afterwards there was no sound but that of the adjacent rapids.
Early next morning the settler's boat came up, and took us a mile down the river, where we found a larger one to convey us to Fort Vancouver. The crew were a Maltese sailor and a man who had been in the United States army. Each had his private opinions as to her management. Naturally, the Maltese should have been captain, but the soldier was both supercargo and part owner, and though it was blowing hard and the sails were fully large, the foreigner, who was but a poor little creature, had to obey orders.
As the river widened and grew rougher, we were wetted from stem to stern at every plunge; and when it became evident that the soldier could not handle the sails if the Maltese was kept at the helm, the heavy rifleman who was on board, declaring that he knew the river, took upon himself to steer us. In a few minutes the boat was nearly swamped. The Maltese prayed and blasphemed in language which no one understood. The oaths of the soldier were intelligible enough. The 'heavy,' now alarmed, nervously asked what had better be done. My advice was to grease the bowsprit, let go the mast, and splice the main brace. 'In another minute or two,' I added, 'you'll steer us all to the bottom.'
Fred, who thought it no time for joking, called the rifleman a 'damned fool,' and authoritatively bade him give up the tiller; saying that I had been in Her Majesty's Navy, and perhaps knew a little more about boats than he did. To this the other replied that 'he didn't want anyone to learn him; he reckon'd he'd been raised to boating as well as the next man, and he'd be derned if he was going to trust his life to anybody!' Samson, thinking no doubt of his own, took his pipe out of his mouth, and towering over the steersman, flung him like a child on one side. In an instant I was in his place.
It was a minute or two before the boat had way enough to answer the helm. By that time we were within a dozen yards of a reef. Having noticed, however, that the little craft was quick in her stays, I kept her full till the last, put the helm down, and round she spun in a moment. Before I could thank my stars, the pintle, or hook on which the rudder hangs, broke off. The tiller was knocked out of my hand, and the boat's head flew into the wind. 'Out with the sweeps,' I shouted. But the sweeps were under the gear. All was confusion and panic. The two men cursed in the names of their respective saints. The 'heavy' whined, 'I told you how it w'd be.' Samson struggled valiantly to get at an oar, while Fred, setting the example, begged all hands to be calm, and be ready to fend the stern off the rocks with a boathook.
As we drifted into the surf I was wondering how many bumps she would stand before she went to pieces. Happily the water shallowed, and the men, by jumping overboard, managed to drag the boat through the breakers under the lee of the point. We afterwards drew her up on to the beach, kindled a fire, got out some provisions, and stayed till the storm was over.
