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SEP/OGI=, 1973 Page 128 the thin fringe of trees, can be made out the gleam, in the sunlight, of the brightwork, forward of anoth- er lone steamer, one rapidly follow- ing the first. Turning about, and with a hurried glance at a patch of smoke still further down the river, the observer places the glasses in their rack, and quickly sounds a short, sharp whistle, the sound of which brings the carrier to the balcony door. "Hurry up, Yates!" says the cap- tain. "Here is the Tuscarora coming down with another big fellow right behind her, and a tow besides. Get the last delivery, and hustie a- board, for there's another tow coming up, and, I think, a single steamer behind them. " Before the captain can say all this, however, the carrier rushes hurriedly down the stairs, carrying a leather pouch from which long envelopes and rolls of tightly wound papers protrude. Leaping aboard, he soon after steps into the rowboat towing behind and proceeds to place the envelopes and rolls of paper he has brought with him into a canvas-covered box, divided into pigeonholes, that fits nicely into the forward part of his boat. Another such box placed in the after end, just leaves room enough in the center for a seat where he can handle the oars that now hang idly in their rowlocks. In the steamer there must be some feeling of great dignity and import- ance born of long and constant government service and attention to the wants of this grand parade of ships. Apparently she knows every one by sight, and can call their names as soon as they come into view. in the distance. Certainly there is a tremble of excitement all through her fifty feet of length as the first few turns of her propeller send her circling away from the dock again. Giving herself a good shake and toss of her bow while crossing the lumpy wake of a ponderous car- ferry, she runs straight for the middle of the river, knowing well that she will soon be laying her clean white sides close to the black and dirty sides of one of the big ships. A spoke or two of her steering wheel to port heads the mail boat downstream and just a comfortable distance to one side, and parallel with the path of the oncoming ship. now close-by and foaming grandly toward her. In response to three strokes on the engine room gong, the engine of the small boat is turning over very slowly now: but the hand of the engineer is on the throttle, ready for the jingling signal that will come within half a minute to "let her out" for a race with the rushing steamer for the short time that the carrier is alongside, Lett- ing go the short line binding him to the mail boat, the carrier gives a few quick pulls on his oars, placing his boat square under the bows of the approaching ship coming at full speed, whose high black sides loom over him with awful meaning for an instant. With beautiful precision a dexterous twist of his gars places his boat just right as the huge steel hull and great roaring billows of water in front of it crash down on him. The water splashes into his boat and lifts it high on the foam- ing crest, and then the boat sinks down and out of sight behind the wave, only to appear again in a moment close to the flying side of the steamer. The carrier is standing erect in his boat, with about twenty feet of his bow line grasped in his right hand. A strong upward swing lands the rope on the steamer's deck. Plenty of willing hands are waiting to make it fast. A quick turn around a pin, and as the re- mainder of the coil in the bow goes rasping, leaping, and curling out, the carrier sits down and hangs on, for the jerk that comes almost at the same moment sometimes lifts his boat clear out of the water. While his boat is dragging and slapping over and through the river swells with the momentum of a ship, a pail is lowered over the side, in