II.3. Devoted Servants--And The Light Of A Flare
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
