The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1914-07-31
FTEEN or twenty minutes prior
\ to the sailing hour of a huge
y transatlantic liner an unassum-


to the sailing hour of huge
transatlantic liner an unassum-
ing man carrying a travelling
bag joins the stream Of passen-
gers going up the gangplank. There
Is nothing to distinguish him from the
hundreds of other male travellers, and
you suspect he ia an American bust
ness man going abroad for recreation.
And yet for the space of two hours
sometimes 20) this individual guides
the destiny of the ship and it's human
cargo through the tortuous waters OF
the bay until it reaches the open sea.
He is pilot for the port Of New York
and there are 119 of him in active
service at the present time, writes
Thornton Fisher in the New York
Tribune.
/ was privileged recently to spend
a work day with the pilots. 1t began
ut pier 81, North river, where the
steamship New York was waiting for
the signal that sends her on the voy-
age across the sea. The final blare of
the bugle warning visitors ashore was
sounded promptly at the hour of 10
and gangplanks were released and,
with an almost imperceptible move
ment. accompanied by prolonged
blast of the siren, the big liner left the
dock and pointed her prov to the east
ward
All Very Simple.
On the bridge before the wheelhouse
stoop Captain Roberts, a navigator,
and Pilot Sayles, who had apparently
been one of the throng of passengers
a few brief moments before. One of
the decisions of humankind Is the men,
tai association of authority at sea
with glitteringly uniformed men who
with ceaseless vigil pace the ships
deck. However, this keen-eyed, ruddy-
complexioned man standing at the
captains side. attired in civilian ap-
parel, does not bear a visible mark in
dicative of his calling, unless it be
the alert manner with which he scans
the water or searches intently for land
marks on the shore.
Out past Governors island, the
statue of Liberty, slowly by Staten
island and you are in the open. On
one side of the Jersey Highlands lofty
shores rise, only to recede and disap-
pear from view. In the distance Long
Island is lost where the ocean meets
the sky. The ship plows cautiously
through the waters, obeying the slight
est command OF the pilot on the bridge,
since 1t would be a comparatively easy
matter to run her nose into the mud.
The navigator, however, knows his
course as an officer knows his beat.
1t may be explained that the pilot
does not operate the steering appa-
ratus of the vessel under his charge.
He communicates by a word or ges-
ture of the hand to the man at the
helm all directions for the course,
which are repeated by the helmsman
in acknowledgment of the order.
Steady! Steady!" says the pilot.
STEADY, sir" responds the man at the
wheel. Port" directs the pilot. and
again comes the echo, Port"
In the meantime. while the navigator
10 engaged on the bridge, the passen-
gers are busy writing farewell letters
or kilograms to be dispatched with
the pilot. Sandy Hook has now been
left behind and the open sea is ahead.
The pilots work is finished, at least
temporarily, and the captain grips
him by the hand. wishes him good
luck and orders the speed of the ship
reduced as the navigator prepares to
depart.
A yawl manned by two sturdy lads
draws alongside the huge vessel. Can
you swim?" inquiries the kindly pilot.
Being assured by me in the affirma-
tive, he swings over the side and
descends Jacobs ladder" as the rope
ladder has come to be known among
the seamen.