Even Pochette wasn't doing anything but chew his whiskers and watch the cable.
Then she broke, with a snap like a rifle, and a jolt that came near throwing us off our feet.

Pochette gave a yell and relapsed into French that I'd hate to translate; it would shock even his own countrymen.

The ferry ducked and bobbed, now there was nothing to hold its nose steady to the current, and went careering down river with all hands aboard and looking for trouble.
We didn't do anything, though; there wasn't anything to do but stay right where we were and take chances.

If she stayed right side up we would probably land eventually.

If she flopped over--which she seemed trying to do, we'd get a cold bath and lose our teams, if no worse.
Soon as I thought of that, I began unhooking the traces of the horse nearest.