The deck-hands, men of a mixed Indian and Mexican race, stood ready with long poles, in the bow, to jump overboard, when we struck a bar, and by dint of pushing, and reversing the engine, the boat would swing off.
On approaching a shallow place, they would sound with their poles, and in a sing-song high-pitched tone drawl out the number of feet.

Sometimes their sleepy drawling tones would suddenly cease, and crying loudly, "No alli agua!" they would swing themselves over the side of the boat into the river, and begin their strange and intricate manipulations with the poles.

Then, again, they would carry the anchor away off and by means of great spars, and some method too complicated for me to describe, Captain Mellon would fairly lift the boat over the bar.
But our progress was naturally much retarded, and sometimes we were aground an hour, sometimes a half day or more.

Captain Mellon was always cheerful.

River steamboating was his life, and sand-bars were his excitement.