Jasper Republican, Volume 1, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 January 1875 — A Lightning Pilot. [ARTICLE]

A Lightning Pilot.

Ik the Atlantic Magazine for February is the following sketch by Mark Twain: Aa hour before sunset Mr. B took the -wheel and Mr. W—— stepped aside. For the next thirty minutes every man held his watch in his hand and was restless, silent and uneasy. At last somebody said with a doomful sigh-. “ Well, yonder’s Hat Island —and we can’t make H.” . ' " i , AH the watches closed with a snap, everybody sighed and muttered something about it being “ too bad, too bad —ah, if we could only have got here half an hour sooner!” and the place was thick with the atmosphere of disappointment. Some started to go out, but loitered, hearing no ben-tap to land. The sun dipped behind the horizon, the boat went on. Inquiring looks passed from one guest to another, and one who had his hand on the door-knob and had turned it waited, then presently took away his hand and let the knob turn back again. We bore steadily down the bend. More looks were exchanged and nods of surprised admiration—but no words. Insensibly the men drew together behind Mr. B es the sky darkened and one or two dim stars came out. The dead silence and sense of waiting became oppressive. Mr. B— r — pulled the cord and two deep, mellow notes from the big bell floated off on the night. Then a pause and one more note was struck. The watchman’s voice followed, from the hurricane deck: “ Lab board lead, there! Stabboard lead 1” The cries of the leadsmen began to rise out of the distance, and were gruffly repeated by the word-passers on the hurricane deck* “M-a-r-k three! M-a-r-k three! Quar-teT-less-three! Half twain I Quarter twain.! M-a-r-k twain! Quarter-leas” Mr. B pulled two bell-ropes and was answered by faint jinglings far below in the engine-room, and our speed slackened. The steam began to whistle through the gauge-cocks. The cries of the leadsmen went on—and it is a weird sound always in the night. Every pilot in the lot was watching, now, with fixed eyes, and talking under his breath. Nobody was calm and easy but Mr. B . He would put his wheel down and stand on a spoke, and as the steamer swung into her (to me) utterly invisible marks —for we seemed to be in the midst of a wide and gloomy sea—he would meet and fasten her there. Talk was going on now, in low voices: “There; she’s over the first reef all right!” _ After a pause, another subdued voice: “ Her stern’s coming down jnst exactly right, by George! Now she’s In the marks; over she goes!’’ Somebody else muttered: -Oh, it was done beautiful—beauti ful!” Now the engines were stopped altogether, and we drifted with the current Not that I could see the boat drift, for I could not, the stars being all gone by this time. This drifting was the dismalest work; it held one’s heart still. Presently I discovered a blacker gloom than that which surrounded us. It was the head of the island. We were closing right down upon it. We entered its deeper shadow, and so imminent seemed the peril that I was likely to suffocate ; and I had the strongest impulse to do something, anything to save the vessel. But still Mr. B stood by his wheel, silent, intent as a cat, and ail the pilots stood shoulder to shoulder at his back.

“ She’ll not make it!” somebody whispered. The water grew shoaler and shoaler by the leadsmen’s cries, till it was down to—- “ Eight-and-a-half! E-i-g-h-t feet! E-i-g-h-t feet! Seven-and” Mr. B said wamingly through his speaking tube to the engineer: “ Stand by, now!” “ Aye, aye, sir.” “ Seven and a half! Seven feet! Six and” We touched bottom! Instantly Mr. B set a lot of bells ringing, shouted through the tuber “ Now let her have it —every ounce you’ve got!” Then to his eartner: “Put her hard down! snatch er! snatch her!” The boat rasped and ground her way through the sand, hung upon the apex of disaster a single tremendous instant, and then over she went! And such a shout as went up at Mr. B ’s back never loosened the roof of pilot-house before! There was no more trouble after that Mr. B was a hero that night; and it was some little time, too, before his exploit ceased to be talked about by river men. The last remark I heard that night was a compliment to Mr. B uttered in soliloquy and with unction by one of our guests. lie said: “By the shadow of death, but he’s a lightning pilot!”