How the Captain Got His Steamer Out Page #2

"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.

• Travel

								

gloomy all morning, and by the time we reached the Statue of Liberty it
was so foggy that one could hardly see three boats’ length ahead or
behind. All eyes were strained to catch a glimpse of the Dartonia,
but nothing of her was visible. Shortly after, the fog came down in
earnest and blotted out everything. There was a strong wind blowing,
and the vapour, which was cold and piercing, swept the deck with
dripping moisture. Then we came to a standstill. The ship’s bell was
rung continually forward and somebody was whanging on the gong towards
the stern. Everybody knew that, if this sort of thing lasted long, we
would not get over the bar that tide, and consequently everybody felt
annoyed, for this delay would lengthen the trip, and people, as a
general thing, do not take passage on an ocean racer with the idea of
getting in a day late. Suddenly the fog lifted clear from shore to
shore. Then we saw something that was not calculated to put our minds
at ease. A big three-masted vessel, with full sail, dashed past us only
a very few yards behind the stern of the mammoth steamer.

“Look at that blundering idiot,” said the purser to me, “rushing full
speed over crowded New York Bay in a fog as thick as pea-soup. A
captain who would do a thing like that ought to be hanged.”

Before the fog settled down again we saw the Dartonia with her anchor
chain out a few hundred yards to our left, and, farther on, one of the
big German steamers, also at anchor.

In the short time that the fog was lifted our own vessel made some
progress towards the bar. Then the thickness came down again. A
nautical passenger, who had crossed many times, came aft to where I was
standing, and said—

“Do you notice what the captain is trying to do?”

“Well,” I answered, “I don’t see how anybody can do anything in weather
like this.”

“There is a strong wind blowing,” continued the nautical passenger,
“and the fog is liable to lift for a few minutes at a time. If it lifts
often enough our captain is going to get us over the bar. It will be
rather a sharp bit of work if he succeeds. You notice that the
Dartonia has thrown out her anchor. She is evidently going to wait
where she is until the fog clears away entirely.”

So with that we two went forward to see what was being done. The
captain stood on the bridge and beside him the pilot, but the fog was
now so thick we could hardly see them, although we stood close by, on
the piece of deck in front of the wheelhouse. The almost incessant
clanging of the bell was kept up, and in the pauses we heard answering
bells from different points in the thick fog. Then, for a second time,
and with equal suddenness, the fog lifted ahead of us. Behind we could
not see either the Dartonia or the German steamer. Our own boat,
however, went full speed ahead and kept up the pace till the fog shut
down again. The captain now, in pacing the bridge, had his chronometer
in his hand, and those of us who were at the front frequently looked at
our watches, for of course the nautical passenger knew just how late it
was possible for us to cross the bar.

“I am afraid,” said the passenger, “he is not going to succeed.” But,
as he said this, the fog lifted for the third time, and again the
mammoth steamer forged ahead.

“If this clearance will only last for ten minutes,” said the nautical
passenger, “we are all right.” But the fog, as if it had heard him,
closed down on us again damper and thicker than ever.

“We are just at the bar,” said the nautical passenger, “and if this
doesn’t clear up pretty soon the vessel will have to go back.”

The captain kept his eyes fixed on the chronometer in his hand. The
pilot tried to peer ahead, but everything was a thick white blank.

“Ten minutes more and it is too late,” said the nautical passenger.

There was a sudden rift in the fog that gave a moment’s hope, but it
closed down again. A minute afterwards, with a suddenness that was
strange, the whole blue ocean lay before us. Then full steam ahead. The
fog still was thick behind us in New York Bay. We saw it far ahead
coming in from the ocean. All at once the captain closed his
chronometer with a snap. We were over the bar and into the Atlantic,
and that is how the captain got the Arrowic out of New York Bay.
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