Captain Anthony had not moved away from the taffrail. He remained in the
very position he took up to watch the other ship go by rolling and
swinging all shadowy in the uproar of the following seas. He stirred
not; and Powell keeping near by did not dare speak to him, so enigmatical
in its contemplation of the night did his figure appear to his young
eyes: indistinct--and in its immobility staring into gloom, the prey of
some incomprehensible grief, longing or regret.
Why is it that the stillness of a human being is often so impressive, so
suggestive of evil--as if our proper fate were a ceaseless agitation? The
stillness of Captain Anthony became almost intolerable to his second
officer. Mr. Powell loitering about the skylight wanted his captain off
the deck now. "Why doesn't he go below?" he asked himself impatiently.
He ventured a cough.
Whether the effect of the cough or not Captain Anthony spoke. He did not
move the least bit. With his back remaining turned to the whole length
of the ship he asked Mr. Powell with some brusqueness if the chief mate
had neglected to instruct him that the captain was to be found on the
port side.
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Powell approaching his back. "The mate told me to
stamp on the port side when I wanted you; but I didn't remember at the
moment."
"You should remember," the captain uttered with an effort. Then added
mumbling "I don't want Mrs. Anthony frightened. Don't you see? . . ."
"She wasn't this time," Powell said innocently: "She lighted the flare-up
for me, sir."
"This time," Captain Anthony exclaimed and turned round. "Mrs. Anthony
lighted the flare? Mrs. Anthony! . . . " Powell explained that she was
in the companion all the time.
"All the time," repeated the captain. It seemed queer to Powell that
instead of going himself to see the captain should ask him: "Is she there now?"
Powell said that she had gone below after the ship had passed clear of
the Ferndale. Captain Anthony made a movement towards the companion
himself, when Powell added the information. "Mr. Smith called to Mrs.
Anthony from the saloon, sir. I believe they are talking there now."
He was surprised to see the captain give up the idea of going below after
all.
He began to walk the poop instead regardless of the cold, of the damp
wind and of the sprays. And yet he had nothing on but his sleeping suit
and slippers. Powell placing himself on the break of the poop kept a
look-out. When after some time he turned his head to steal a glance at
his eccentric captain he could not see his active and shadowy figure
swinging to and fro. The second mate of the Ferndale walked aft
peering about and addressed the seaman who steered.