“There was one little moment of time in which
that raft could be visible from that ship, and only
one. If that one little fleeting moment had
passed unfruitful, those men’s doom was sealed.
As close as that does God shave events foreordained
from the beginning of the world. When the sun
reached the water’s edge that day, the captain
of that ship was sitting on deck reading his prayer-book.
The book fell; he stooped to pick it up, and happened
to glance at the sun. In that instant that far-off
raft appeared for a second against the red disk, its
needlelike oar and diminutive signal cut sharp and
black against the bright surface, and in the next
instant was thrust away into the dusk again.
But that ship, that captain, and that pregnant instant
had had their work appointed for them in the dawn
of time and could not fail of the performance.
The chronometer of God never errs!”
There was deep, thoughtful silence for some moments.
Then the grave, pale young man said:
“What is the chronometer of God?”
At dinner, six o’clock, the same people assembled
whom we had talked with on deck and seen at luncheon
and breakfast this second day out, and at dinner the
evening before. That is to say, three journeying
ship-masters, a Boston merchant, and a returning Bermudian
who had been absent from his Bermuda thirteen years;
these sat on the starboard side. On the port
side sat the Reverend in the seat of honor; the pale
young man next to him; I next; next to me an aged
Bermudian, returning to his sunny islands after an
absence of twenty-seven years. Of course, our
captain was at the head of the table, the purser at
the foot of it. A small company, but small companies
are pleasantest.
No racks upon the table; the sky cloudless, the sun
brilliant, the blue sea scarcely ruffled; then what
had become of the four married couples, the three
bachelors, and the active and obliging doctor from
the rural districts of Pennsylvania?—for
all these were on deck when we sailed down New York
harbor. This is the explanation. I quote
from my note-book:
Thursday, 3.30 P.M. Under way,
passing the Battery. The large party, of
four married couples, three bachelors, and a cheery,
exhilarating doctor from the wilds of Pennsylvania,
are evidently traveling together. All but
the doctor grouped in camp-chairs on deck.
Passing principal fort. The doctor
is one of those people who has an infallible
preventive of seasickness; is flitting from friend
to friend administering it and saying, “Don’t
you be afraid; I know this medicine; absolutely
infallible; prepared under my own supervision.”
Takes a dose himself, intrepidly.
4.15 P.M. Two
of those ladies have struck their colors,
notwithstanding the
“infallible.” They have gone below.
The other
two begin to show distress.
