Young Powell thought to himself: "The men, too, are noticing it." Indeed,
the captain's behaviour to his wife and to his wife's father was
noticeable enough. It was as if they had been a pair of not very
congenial passengers. But perhaps it was not always like that. The
captain might have been put out by something.
When the aggrieved Franklin came on deck Mr. Powell made a remark to that
effect. For his curiosity was aroused.
The mate grumbled "Seems to you? . . . Putout? . . . eh?" He buttoned
his thick jacket up to the throat, and only then added a gloomy "Aye,
likely enough," which discouraged further conversation. But no
encouragement would have induced the newly-joined second mate to enter
the way of confidences. His was an instinctive prudence. Powell did not
know why it was he had resolved to keep his own counsel as to his
colloquy with Mr. Smith. But his curiosity did not slumber. Some time
afterwards, again at the relief of watches, in the course of a little
talk, he mentioned Mrs. Anthony's father quite casually, and tried to
find out from the mate who he was.
"It would take a clever man to find that out, as things are on board
now," Mr. Franklin said, unexpectedly communicative. "The first I saw of
him was when she brought him alongside in a four-wheeler one morning
about half-past eleven. The captain had come on board early, and was
down in the cabin that had been fitted out for him. Did I tell you that
if you want the captain for anything you must stamp on the port side of
the deck? That's so. This ship is not only unlike what she used to be,
but she is like no other ship, anyhow. Did you ever hear of the
captain's room being on the port side? Both of them stern cabins have
been fitted up afresh like a blessed palace. A gang of people from some
tip-top West-End house were fussing here on board with hangings and
furniture for a fortnight, as if the Queen were coming with us. Of
course the starboard cabin is the bedroom one, but the poor captain hangs
out to port on a couch, so that in case we want him on deck at night,
Mrs. Anthony should not be startled. Nervous! Phoo! A woman who
marries a sailor and makes up her mind to come to sea should have no
blamed jumpiness about her, I say. But never mind. Directly the old cab
pointed round the corner of the warehouse I called out to the captain
that his lady was coming aboard. He answered me, but as I didn't see him
coming, I went down the gangway myself to help her alight. She jumps out
excitedly without touching my arm, or as much as saying "thank you" or
"good morning" or anything, turns back to the cab, and then that old
joker comes out slowly. I hadn't noticed him inside. I hadn't expected
to see anybody. It gave me a start. She says: "My father--Mr.
Franklin." He was staring at me like an owl. "How do you do, sir?" says
I. Both of them looked funny. It was as if something had happened to
them on the way. Neither of them moved, and I stood by waiting. The
captain showed himself on the poop; and I saw him at the side looking
over, and then he disappeared; on the way to meet them on shore, I
expected. But he just went down below again. So, not seeing him, I
said: "Let me help you on board, sir." "On board!" says he in a silly
fashion. "On board!" "It's not a very good ladder, but it's quite
firm," says I, as he seemed to be afraid of it. And he didn't look a
broken-down old man, either. You can see yourself what he is. Straight
as a poker, and life enough in him yet. But he made no move, and I began
to feel foolish. Then she comes forward. "Oh! Thank you, Mr. Franklin.
I'll help my father up." Flabbergasted me--to be choked off like this.
Pushed in between him and me without as much as a look my way. So of
course I dropped it. What do you think? I fell back. I would have gone
up on board at once and left them on the quay to come up or stay there
till next week, only they were blocking the way. I couldn't very well
shove them on one side. Devil only knows what was up between them. There
she was, pale as death, talking to him very fast. He got as red as a
turkey-cock--dash me if he didn't. A bad-tempered old bloke, I can tell
you. And a bad lot, too. Never mind. I couldn't hear what she was
saying to him, but she put force enough into it to shake her. It
seemed--it seemed, mind!--that he didn't want to go on board. Of course
it couldn't have been that. I know better. Well, she took him by the
arm, above the elbow, as if to lead him, or push him rather. I was
standing not quite ten feet off. Why should I have gone away? I was
anxious to get back on board as soon as they would let me. I didn't want
to overhear her blamed whispering either. But I couldn't stay there for
ever, so I made a move to get past them if I could. And that's how I
heard a few words. It was the old chap--something nasty about being
"under the heel" of somebody or other. Then he says, "I don't want this
sacrifice." What it meant I can't tell. It was a quarrel--of that I am
certain. She looks over her shoulder, and sees me pretty close to them.
I don't know what she found to say into his ear, but he gave way
suddenly. He looked round at me too, and they went up together so
quickly then that when I got on the quarter-deck I was only in time to
see the inner door of the passage close after them. Queer--eh? But if
it were only queerness one wouldn't mind. Some luggage in new trunks
came on board in the afternoon. We undocked at midnight. And may I be
hanged if I know who or what he was or is. I haven't been able to find
out. No, I don't know. He may have been anything. All I know is that
once, years ago when I went to see the Derby with a friend, I saw a pea-
and-thimble chap who looked just like that old mystery father out of a
cab."