CHAPTER III 

 HUMAN NATURE ON THE RIVER 



SUNDAY morning, 26th of May, there was something 

 like a strike among the sixty half-breeds and Indians 

 that composed the crews. They were strict Sabba- 

 tarians (when it suited them); they believed that they 

 should do no work, but give up the day to gambling 

 and drinking. Old John, the chief pilot, wished to 

 take advantage of the fine flood on the changing river, 

 and drift down at least to the head of the Boiler Rap- 

 ids, twenty miles away. The breeds maintained, with 

 many white swear words, for lack of strong talk in 

 Indian, that they never yet knew Sunday work to end 

 in anything but disaster, and they sullenly scattered 

 among the trees, produced their cards, and proceeded 

 to gamble away their property, next year's pay, clothes, 

 families, anything, and otherwise show their respect 

 for the Lord's Day and defiance of old John MacDonald. 

 John made no reply to their arguments; he merely 

 boarded the cook's boat, and pushed off into the swift 

 stream with the cooks and all the grub. In five min- 

 utes the strikers were on the twelve big boats doing 

 their best to live up to orders. John said nothing, and 

 grinned at me only with his eyes. 



The breeds took their defeat in good part after the 

 first minute, and their commander rose higher in their 

 respect. 



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