ff 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."

Their hands touched in the dark and she took the box while he held the
paraffin soaked torch in its iron holder. He thought of warning her:
"Look out for yourself." But before he had the time to finish the
sentence the flare blazed up violently between them and he saw her throw
herself back with an arm across her face. "Hallo," he exclaimed; only
he could not stop a moment to ask if she was hurt. He bolted out of the
companion straight into his captain who took the flare from him and held
it high above his head.

The fierce flame fluttered like a silk flag, throwing an angry swaying
glare mingled with moving shadows over the poop, lighting up the concave
surfaces of the sails, gleaming on the wet paint of the white rails.
And young Powell turned his eyes to windward with a catch in his breath.

The strange ship, a darker shape in the night, did not seem to be moving
onwards but only to grow more distinct right abeam, staring at the
_Ferndale_ with one green and one red eye which swayed and tossed as if
they belonged to the restless head of some invisible monster ambushed in
the night amongst the waves. A moment, long like eternity, elapsed,
and, suddenly, the monste