The Unknown Pilot

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Oct 7, 1862

The Unknown Pilot.

“Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” I recollect that, when a lad, I was crossing the East River, from New York to Brooklyn on a very foggy day, in a ferry boat. My father, and several other individuals belonging to the same company with myself, were desirous of going to Flushing, on Long Island, to attend a meeting. It was necessary, therefore, to cross the river early, and when we arrived at the foot of Fulton street, we found that the steamboat had just left the wharf. Being unwilling to wait for its return, we made a party, with the passengers on the wharf, sufficient to tempt the ferrymen to put off in a small boat, and convey us across the river. The ferrymen hesitated for some time, but at length the offer of a sufficient reward induced them to set out. The reason of their objecting to starting was, that the thick fog rendered the passage uncertain. They could scarcely see from one end of the boat to the other; and much they feared that they would lose their way, and row about the river for several hours to no purpose.

At length we set out, the ferrymen magnifying the difficulties of the passage as much as possible, in order to enhance the value of their services. When we first left the wharf, a stranger stepped toward the stern of the boat and took the helm. Every eye was fixed on him who had assumed this responsible station, from which every passenger had shrunk. But now that one of their number had seen fit to take the command of the boat, on whose skill and knowledge solely depended the success of our little voyage, every one was disposed to criticise him. There could be no doubt that if he failed to bring us safely to the landing place on the opposite side of the river, he would be obliged to endure the reproaches of every one who had embarked. Indeed, it was soon perceived that some were unwilling to wait for his failure, before they gave vent to their feelings. Thinking it a matter of certainty that he could not find his way to the ferry stairs during a fog as impenetrable as midnight darkness, they began to murmur in anticipation. The ferrymen were first to evince their uneasiness, by casting glances at each other, which were noticed by the passengers, and regarded as prognostic of ill success. One of the passengers then asked the stranger at the helm if he did not think he was going too far up the river. The stranger at the helm bowed, and made answer that if any other gentleman present wished to take the helm, he would resign it to his charge; from which it was readily inferred that so long as he held his place, he intended to be guided solely by his own judgment. This answer silenced complaint for a time, as no other individual felt disposed to relieve him of his responsibility. But the uneasiness of the passengers increased as we proceeded; and when we became entirely surrounded by a fog, and no object in sight by which our course could be directed, the murmurs and conjectures of the little company were audibly expressed.

“Why don't he put the helm up?” said one, nestling in his seat.

“We shall come out somewhere near the navy yard,” said another.

“He had better let go and trust to the ferrymen,” said a lady present.

“Why don't he keep the tiller to him?” said an elderly black woman, anxiously.

As the stranger paid no attention to these remarks, his silence was set down for obstinacy; and I am afraid that a few observations were added which somewhat exceeded the bounds of civility. The stranger evidently heard these injurious observations, for he made answer again, that if any gentleman wished to take the helm, he would resign it to his hand. Just about this time, a dark object appeared on the water, and as it became more visible through the fog, it was recognized as a vessel which lay at anchor between the landing places on each side of the river. This convinced every one that, so far, the pilot had gone as correctly as if the bright sun had shone unclouded upon the river; and silence was at once restored. All murmurs were hushed; satisfaction appeared upon every countenance. But the vessel soon faded again in the mist, and again nothing but fog and water surrounded us. Dissatisfaction once more prevailed, and the steersman received a great many instructions in his duty, to which he paid no heed, and only returned the answer as before, that he was willing to resign his station to any one who would accept it.

After a great deal of fretting and needless discomposure, the travelers perceived land dimly emerging through the dense fog of the morning. Shapeless and unusual as everything appeared, it is no wonder that some imagined they had reached the navy yard, about a mile above the landing place. But all our doubts were at end when the prow of the boat struck the ferry stairs, and we discovered that the stranger had conveyed us straight as an arrow to our point of destination!

Many years have passed away since the occurrence of this event, yet occasions which have taken place have frequently brought it to my recollection. When I find fault with the ordering of Providence; when I hear men undertake to account for his decrees who maketh darkness his pavilion, and whose ways are past finding out; when I see the good distressed, and apparently ready to murmur at the decrees of heaven, I remember the man at the helm, and say to myself that, however inscrutable may be the great Father of life, and however he may suffer darkness and doubt to overshadow our souls, he knows what is better for us, and in the end makes all things work together for good to those who love and trust him. We have a Pilot at the helm of the universe who can see through the mists that will envelop us, and will bring his ransomed people safe to the haven of eternal rest.—The British Workman.