How he first got in touch with his captain's wife Powell relates in this
way. It was long before his memorable conversation with the mate and
shortly after getting clear of the channel. It was gloomy weather; dead
head wind, blowing quite half a gale; the Ferndale under reduced sail
was stretching close-hauled across the track of the homeward bound ships,
just moving through the water and no more, since there was no object in
pressing her and the weather looked threatening. About ten o'clock at
night he was alone on the poop, in charge, keeping well aft by the
weather rail and staring to windward, when amongst the white, breaking
seas, under the black sky, he made out the lights of a ship. He watched
them for some time. She was running dead before the wind of course. She
will pass jolly close--he said to himself; and then suddenly he felt a
great mistrust of that approaching ship. She's heading straight for
us--he thought. It was not his business to get out of the way. On the
contrary. And his uneasiness grew by the recollection of the forty tons
of dynamite in the body of the Ferndale; not the sort of cargo one
thinks of with equanimity in connection with a threatened collision. He
gazed at the two small lights in the dark immensity filled with the angry
noise of the seas. They fascinated him till their plainness to his sight
gave him a conviction that there was danger there. He knew in his mind
what to do in the emergency, but very properly he felt that he must call
the captain out at once.
He crossed the deck in one bound. By the immemorial custom and usage of
the sea the captain's room is on the starboard side. You would just as
soon expect your captain to have his nose at the back of his head as to
have his state-room on the port side of the ship. Powell forgot all
about the direction on that point given him by the chief. He flew over
as I said, stamped with his foot and then putting his face to the cowl of
the big ventilator shouted down there: "Please come on deck, sir," in a
voice which was not trembling or scared but which we may call fairly
expressive. There could not be a mistake as to the urgence of the call.
But instead of the expected alert "All right!" and the sound of a rush
down there, he heard only a faint exclamation--then silence.
Think of his astonishment! He remained there, his ear in the cowl of the
ventilator, his eyes fastened on those menacing sidelights dancing on the
gusts of wind which swept the angry darkness of the sea. It was as
though he had waited an hour but it was something much less than a minute
before he fairly bellowed into the wide tube "Captain Anthony!" An
agitated "What is it?" was what he heard down there in Mrs. Anthony's
voice, light rapid footsteps . . . Why didn't she try to wake him up! "I
want the captain," he shouted, then gave it up, making a dash at the
companion where a blue light was kept, resolved to act for himself.