One of those strong currents, always mysterious, and sometimes
impossible to foresee, had set us into shore out of our course,
and the ship was blindly beating on a dreary coast of sharp and
craggy rocks.
Suddenly we heard a voice up in the fog in the direction of
the wheel-house, ringing like a clarion above the roar of the
waves, and the clashing sounds on shipboard, and it had in it
an assuring, not a fearful tone. As the orders came distinctly
and deliberately through the captain’s trumpet, to “shift the
cargo,” to “back her,” to “keep her steady,” we felt somehow
that the commander up there in the thick mist on the wheel-house
knew what he was about, and that through his skill and courage,
by the blessing of heaven, we should all be rescued. The man who
saved us so far as human aid ever saves drowning mortals, was
one fully competent to command a ship; and when, after weary
days of anxious suspense, the vessel leaking badly, and the
fires in danger of being put out, we arrived safely in Halifax,
old Mr. Cunard, agent of the line, on hearing from the mail
officer that the steamer had struck on the rocks and had been
saved only by the captain’s presence of mind and courage, simply
replied: “Just what might have been expected in such a disaster;
Captain Harrison is always master of the situation.”--JAMES
T. FIELDS.
(1984)