On the way he glanced at the helmsman whose face lighted up by the
binnacle lamps was calm. He said rapidly to him: "Stand by to spin that
helm up at the first word." The answer "Aye, aye, sir," was delivered in
a steady voice. Then Mr. Powell after a shout for the watch on deck to
"lay aft," ran to the ship's side and struck the blue light on the rail.
A sort of nasty little spitting of sparks was all that came. The light
(perhaps affected by damp) had failed to ignite. The time of all these
various acts must be counted in seconds. Powell confessed to me that at
this failure he experienced a paralysis of thought, of voice, of limbs.
The unexpectedness of this misfire positively overcame his faculties. It
was the only thing for which his imagination was not prepared. It was
knocked clean over. When it got up it was with the suggestion that he
must do something at once or there would be a broadside smash accompanied
by the explosion of dynamite, in which both ships would be blown up and
every soul on board of them would vanish off the earth in an enormous
flame and uproar.
He saw the catastrophe happening and at the same moment, before he could
open his mouth or stir a limb to ward off the vision, a voice very near
his ear, the measured voice of Captain Anthony said: "Wouldn't light--eh?
Throw it down! Jump for the flare-up."
The spring of activity in Mr. Powell was released with great force. He
jumped. The flare-up was kept inside the companion with a box of matches
ready to hand. Almost before he knew he had moved he was diving under
the companion slide. He got hold of the can in the dark and tried to
strike a light. But he had to press the flare-holder to his breast with
one arm, his fingers were damp and stiff, his hands trembled a little.
One match broke. Another went out. In its flame he saw the colourless
face of Mrs. Anthony a little below him, standing on the cabin stairs.
Her eyes which were very close to his (he was in a crouching posture on
the top step) seemed to burn darkly in the vanishing light. On deck the
captain's voice was heard sudden and unexpectedly sardonic: "You had
better look sharp, if you want to be in time."
"Let me have the box," said Mrs. Anthony in a hurried and familiar
whisper which sounded amused as if they had been a couple of children up
to some lark behind a wall. He was glad of the offer which seemed to him
very natural, and without ceremony-"Here you are. Catch hold."