How the Captain Got His Steamer Out

"How the Captain Got His Steamer Out" is a humorous short story by Robert Barr that revolves around the comical misadventures of a ship's captain facing an unexpected challenge. Set in a maritime context, the narrative showcases the captain's resourcefulness and ingenuity as he navigates a series of amusing obstacles to get his steamer ready for departure. Barr's storytelling blends wit and charm, offering readers a lighthearted glimpse into the life of a seafaring captain and the unpredictable nature of life at sea.

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“On his own perticular well-wrought row,
    That he’s straddled for ages—
    Learnt its lay and its gages—
His style may seem queer, but permit him to know,
The likeliest, sprightliest, manner to hoe.”

“There is nothing more certain than that some day we may have to record
a terrible disaster directly traceable to ocean racing.

“The vivid account which one of our reporters gives in another column
of how the captain of the Arrowic went blundering across the bar
yesterday in one of the densest fogs of the season is very interesting
reading. Of course the account does not pretend to be anything more
than imaginary, for, until the Arrowic reaches Queenstown, if she
ever does under her present captain, no one can tell how much of luck
was mixed with the recklessness which took this steamer out into the
Atlantic in the midst of the thickest fog we have had this year. All
that can be known at present is, that, when the fog lifted, the
splendid steamer Dartonia was lying at anchor in the bay, having
missed the tide, while the Arrowic was nowhere to be seen. If the fog
was too thick for the Dartonia to cross the bar, how, then, did the
captain of the Arrowic get his boat out? The captain of the Arrowic
should be taught to remember that there are other things to be thought
of beside the defeating of a rival steamer. He should be made to
understand that he has under his charge a steamer worth a million and a
half of dollars, and a cargo probably nearly as valuable. Still, he
might have lost his ship and cargo, and we would have had no word to
say. That concerns the steamship company and the owners of the cargo;
but he had also in his care nearly a thousand human lives, and these he
should not be allowed to juggle with in order to beat all the rival
steamers in the world.”

The above editorial is taken from the columns of the New York Daily
Mentor. The substance of it had been cabled across to London and it
made pleasant reading for the captain of the Arrowic at Queenstown.
The captain didn’t say anything about it; he was not a talkative man.
Probably he explained to his chief, if the captain of an ocean liner
can possibly have a chief, how he got his vessel out of New York
harbour in a fog; but, if he did, the explanation was never made
public, and so here’s an account of it published for the first time,
and it may give a pointer to the captain of the rival liner Dartonia.
I may say, however, that the purser was not as silent as the captain.
He was very indignant at what he called the outrage of the New York
paper, and said a great many unjustifiable things about newspaper men.
He knew I was a newspaper man myself, and probably that is the reason
he launched his maledictions against the fraternity at my head.

“Just listen to that wretched penny-a-liner,” he said, rapping savagely
on the paper with the back of his hand.

I intimated mildly that they paid more than a penny a line for
newspaper work in New York, but he said that wasn’t the point. In fact
the purser was too angry to argue calmly. He was angry the whole way
from Queenstown to Liverpool.

“Here,” he said, “is some young fellow, who probably never saw the
inside of a ship in his life, and yet he thinks he can tell the captain
of a great ocean liner what should be done and what shouldn’t. Just
think of the cheek of it.”

“I don’t see any cheek in it,” I said, as soothingly as possible. “You
don’t mean to pretend to argue, at this time of day that a newspaper
man does not know how to conduct every other business as well as his
own.”

But the purser did make that very contention, although of course he
must be excused, for, as I said, he was not in a good temper.

“Newspaper men,” he continued, “act as if they did know everything.
They pretend in their papers that every man thinks he knows how to run
a newspaper or a hotel. But look at their own case. See the advice they
give to statesmen. See how they would govern Germany, or England, or
any other country under the sun. Does a big bank get into trouble, the
newspaper man at once informs the financiers how they should have
conducted their business. Is there a great railway smash-up, the
newspaper man shows exactly how it could have been avoided if he had
had the management of the railway. Is there a big strike, the newspaper
man steps in. He tells both sides what they should do. If every man
thinks he can run a hotel, or a newspaper—and I am sure most men could
run a newspaper as well as the newspapers are conducted now—the conceit
of the ordinary man is nothing to the conceit of the newspaper man. He
not only thinks he can run a newspaper and a hotel, but every other
business under the sun.”

“And how do you know he can’t,” I asked.

But the purser would not listen to reason. He contended that a captain
who had crossed the ocean hundreds of times and for years and years had
worked his way up, had just as big a sense of responsibility for his
passengers and his ship and his cargo as any newspaper man in New York
could have, and this palpably absurd contention he maintained all the
way to Liverpool.

When a great ocean racer is making ready to put out to sea, there can
hardly be imagined a more bustling scene than that which presents
itself on the deck and on the wharf. There is the rush of passengers,
the banging about of luggage, the hurrying to and fro on the decks, the
roar of escaping steam, the working of immense steam cranes hoisting
and lowering great bales of merchandise and luggage from the wharf to
the hold, and here and there in quiet corners, away from the rush, are
tearful people bidding good-bye to one another.

The Arrowic and the Dartonia left on the same day and within the
same hour, from wharfs that were almost adjoining each other. We on
board the Arrowic could see the same bustle and stir on board the
Dartonia that we ourselves were in the midst of.

The Dartonia was timed to leave about half an hour ahead of us, and
we heard the frantic ringing of her last bell warning everybody to get
on shore who were not going to cross the ocean. Then the great steamer
backed slowly out from her wharf.

Of course all of us who were going on the Arrowic were warm champions
of that ship as the crack ocean racer; but, as the Dartonia moved
backwards with slow stately majesty, all her colours flying, and her
decks black with passengers crowding to the rail and gazing towards us,
we could not deny that she was a splendid vessel, and “even the ranks
of Tuscany could scarce forbear a cheer.” Once out in the stream her
twin screws enabled her to turn around almost without the help of tugs,
and just as our last bell was ringing she moved off down the bay. Then
we backed slowly out in the same fashion, and, although we had not the
advantage of seeing ourselves, we saw a great sight on the wharf, which
was covered with people, ringing with cheers, and white with the
flutter of handkerchiefs.

As we headed down stream the day began to get rather thick. It had been

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