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.
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.
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