ooming
up alongside and Captain Anthony (we were both on deck) calling out,
"Good God! What's this! Shout for all hands, Powell, to save
themselves. There's no dynamite on board now. I am going to get the
wife! . . " I yelled, all the watch on deck yelled. Crash!"

Mr. Powell gasped at the recollection. "It was a Belgian Green Star
liner, the _Westland_," he went on, "commanded by one of those stop-for-
nothing skippers. Flaherty was his name and I hope he will die without
absolution. She cut half through the old _Ferndale_ and after the blow
there was a silence like death. Next I heard the captain back on deck
shouting, "Set your engines slow ahead," and a howl of "Yes, yes,"
answering him from her forecastle; and then a whole crowd of people up
there began making a row in the fog. They were throwing ropes down to us
in dozens, I must say. I and the captain fastened one of them under Mrs.
Anthony's arms: I remember she had a sort of dim smile on her face."

"Haul up carefully," I shouted to the people on the steamer's deck.
"You've got a woman on that line."

The captain saw her landed up there safe. And then we made a rush round
our decks to see no one was left behind. As we got back the captain
says: "Here she's gone at last, Powell; the dear old thing! Run down at
sea."

"Indeed she is gone," I said. "But it might have been worse. Shin up
this rope, sir, for God's sake. I will steady it for you."

"What are you thinking about," he says angrily. "It isn't my turn. Up
with you."

These were the last words he ever spoke on earth I suppose. I knew he
meant to be the last to leave his ship, so I swarmed up as quick as I
could, and those damned lunatics up there grab at me from above, lug me
in, drag me along aft through the row and the riot of the silliest
excitement I ever did see. Somebody hails from the bridge, "Have you got
them all on board?" and a dozen silly asses start yelling all together,
"All saved! All saved," and then that accursed Irishman on the bridge,
with me roaring No! No! till I thought my head would burst, rings his
engines astern. He rings the engines astern--I fighting like mad to make
myself heard! And of course . . . "

I saw tears, a shower of them fall down Mr. Powell's face. His voice
broke.

"The _Ferndale_ went down like a stone and Captain Anthony went down with
her, the finest man's soul that ever left a sailor's body. I raved like
a maniac, like a dev