ck-gates struck two. And then he heard
nothing more, because he went off into a light sleep from which he woke
up with a start. He had not taken his clothes off, it was hardly worth
while. He jumped up and went on deck.

The morning was clear, colourless, grey overhead; the dock like a sheet
of darkling glass crowded with upside-down reflections of warehouses, of
hulls and masts of silent ships. Rare figures moved here and there on
the distant quays. A knot of men stood alongside with clothes-bags and
wooden chests at their feet. Others were coming down the lane between
tall, blind walls, surrounding a hand-cart loaded with more bags and
boxes. It was the crew of the _Ferndale_. They began to come on board.
He scanned their faces as they passed forward filling the roomy deck with
the shuffle of their footsteps and the murmur of voices, like the
awakening to life of a world about to be launched into space.

Far away down the clear glassy stretch in the middle of the long dock Mr.
Powell watched the tugs coming in quietly through the open gates. A
subdued firm voice behind him interrupted this contemplation. It was
Franklin, the thick chief mate, who was addressing him with a watchful
appraising stare of his prominent black eyes: "You'd better take a couple
of these chaps with you and look out for her aft. We are going to cast
off."

"Yes, sir," Powell said with proper alacrity; but for a moment they
remained looking at each other fixedly. Something like a faint smile
altered the set of the chief mate's lips just before he moved off forward
with his brisk step.

Mr. Powell, getting up on the poop, touched his cap to Captain Anthony,
who was there alone. He tells me that it was only then that he saw his
captain for the first time. The day before, in the shipping office, what
with the bad light and his excitement at this berth obtained as if by a
brusque and unscrupulous miracle, did not count. He had then seemed to
him much older and heavier. He was surprised at the lithe figure, broad
of shoulder, narrow at the hips, the fire of the deep-set eyes, the
springiness of the walk. The captain gave him a steady stare, nodded
slightly, and went on pacing the poop with an air of not being aware of
what was going on, his head rigid, his movements rapid.

Powell stole several glances at him with a curiosity very natural under
the circumstances. He wore a short grey jacket and a grey cap. In the
light of the