“The vivid account which one of our reporters gives in another column of how the captain of the _Arrowic_ went blundering across the bar yesterday in one of the densest fogs of the season is very interesting reading. Of course the account does not pretend to be anything more than imaginary, for, until the _Arrowic_ reaches Queenstown, if she ever does under her present captain, no one can tell how much of luck was mixed with the recklessness which took this steamer out into the Atlantic in the midst of the thickest fog we have had this year. All that can be known at present is, that, when the fog lifted, the splendid steamer _Dartonia_ was lying at anchor in the bay, having missed the tide, while the _Arrowic_ was nowhere to be seen. If the fog was too thick for the _Dartonia_ to cross the bar, how, then, did the captain of the _Arrowic_ get his boat out? The captain of the _Arrowic_ should be taught to remember that there are other things to be thought of beside the defeating of a rival steamer. He should be made to understand that he has under his charge a steamer worth a million and a half of dollars, and a cargo probably nearly as valuable. Still, he might have lost his ship and cargo, and we would have had no word to say. That concerns the steamship company and the owners of the cargo; but he had also in his care nearly a thousand human lives, and these he should not be allowed to juggle with in order to beat all the rival steamers in the world.” The above editorial is taken from the columns of the New York _Daily Mentor_. The substance of it had been cabled across to London and it made pleasant reading for the captain of the _Arrowic_ at Queenstown. The captain didn’t say anything about it; he was not a talkative man. Probably he explained to his chief, if the captain of an ocean liner can possibly have a chief, how he got his vessel out of New York harbour in a fog; but, if he did, the explanation was never made public, and so here’s an account of it published for the first time, and it may give a pointer to the captain of the rival liner _Dartonia_. I may say, however, that the purser was not as silent as the captain. He was very indignant at what he called the outrage of the New York paper, and said a great many unjustifiable things about newspaper men. He knew I was a newspaper man myself, and probably that is the reason he launched his maledictions against the fraternity at my head. “Just listen to that wretched penny-a-liner,” he said, rapping savagely on the paper with the back of his hand. I intimated mildly that they paid more than a penny a line for newspaper work in New York, but he said that wasn’t the point. In fact the purser was too angry to argue calmly. He was angry the whole way from Queenstown to Liverpool.