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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:29 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:29 -0700 |
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diff --git a/1074-h/1074-h.htm b/1074-h/1074-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d082e25 --- /dev/null +++ b/1074-h/1074-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15769 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sea-Wolf, by Jack London</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1074 ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Sea-Wolf</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Jack London</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">author of</span><br/> +“<span class="smcap">the call of the wild</span>,” “<span +class="smcap">the faith of men</span>,”<br/> +<span class="smcap">etc.</span> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>POPULAR EDITION</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON<br/> +WILLIAM HEINEMANN<br/> +1917 +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>First published</i>, <i>November</i> 1904. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>New Impression</i>, <i>December</i> 1904, <i>April</i> 1908. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Popular Edition</i>, <i>July</i> 1910; <i>New Impressions</i>, <i>March</i> +1912, <i>September</i> 1912, <i>November</i> 1913, <i>May</i> 1915, <i>May</i> +1916, <i>July</i> 1917. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Copyright</i>, <i>London</i>, <i>William Heinemann</i>, 1904 +</p> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p> +I scarcely know where to begin, though I sometimes facetiously place the cause +of it all to Charley Furuseth’s credit. He kept a summer cottage in Mill +Valley, under the shadow of Mount Tamalpais, and never occupied it except when +he loafed through the winter months and read Nietzsche and Schopenhauer to rest +his brain. When summer came on, he elected to sweat out a hot and dusty +existence in the city and to toil incessantly. Had it not been my custom to run +up to see him every Saturday afternoon and to stop over till Monday morning, +this particular January Monday morning would not have found me afloat on San +Francisco Bay. +</p> + +<p> +Not but that I was afloat in a safe craft, for the <i>Martinez</i> was a new +ferry-steamer, making her fourth or fifth trip on the run between Sausalito and +San Francisco. The danger lay in the heavy fog which blanketed the bay, and of +which, as a landsman, I had little apprehension. In fact, I remember the placid +exaltation with which I took up my position on the forward upper deck, directly +beneath the pilot-house, and allowed the mystery of the fog to lay hold of my +imagination. A fresh breeze was blowing, and for a time I was alone in the +moist obscurity—yet not alone, for I was dimly conscious of the presence +of the pilot, and of what I took to be the captain, in the glass house above my +head. +</p> + +<p> +I remember thinking how comfortable it was, this division of labour which made +it unnecessary for me to study fogs, winds, tides, and navigation, in order to +visit my friend who lived across an arm of the sea. It was good that men should +be specialists, I mused. The peculiar knowledge of the pilot and captain +sufficed for many thousands of people who knew no more of the sea and +navigation than I knew. On the other hand, instead of having to devote my +energy to the learning of a multitude of things, I concentrated it upon a few +particular things, such as, for instance, the analysis of Poe’s place in +American literature—an essay of mine, by the way, in the current +<i>Atlantic</i>. Coming aboard, as I passed through the cabin, I had noticed +with greedy eyes a stout gentleman reading the <i>Atlantic</i>, which was open +at my very essay. And there it was again, the division of labour, the special +knowledge of the pilot and captain which permitted the stout gentleman to read +my special knowledge on Poe while they carried him safely from Sausalito to San +Francisco. +</p> + +<p> +A red-faced man, slamming the cabin door behind him and stumping out on the +deck, interrupted my reflections, though I made a mental note of the topic for +use in a projected essay which I had thought of calling “The Necessity +for Freedom: A Plea for the Artist.” The red-faced man shot a glance up +at the pilot-house, gazed around at the fog, stumped across the deck and back +(he evidently had artificial legs), and stood still by my side, legs wide +apart, and with an expression of keen enjoyment on his face. I was not wrong +when I decided that his days had been spent on the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nasty weather like this here that turns heads grey before +their time,” he said, with a nod toward the pilot-house. +</p> + +<p> +“I had not thought there was any particular strain,” I answered. +“It seems as simple as A, B, C. They know the direction by compass, the +distance, and the speed. I should not call it anything more than mathematical +certainty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Strain!” he snorted. “Simple as A, B, C! Mathematical +certainty!” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to brace himself up and lean backward against the air as he stared at +me. “How about this here tide that’s rushin’ out through the +Golden Gate?” he demanded, or bellowed, rather. “How fast is she +ebbin’? What’s the drift, eh? Listen to that, will you? A +bell-buoy, and we’re a-top of it! See ’em alterin’ the +course!” +</p> + +<p> +From out of the fog came the mournful tolling of a bell, and I could see the +pilot turning the wheel with great rapidity. The bell, which had seemed +straight ahead, was now sounding from the side. Our own whistle was blowing +hoarsely, and from time to time the sound of other whistles came to us from out +of the fog. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a ferry-boat of some sort,” the new-comer said, +indicating a whistle off to the right. “And there! D’ye hear that? +Blown by mouth. Some scow schooner, most likely. Better watch out, Mr. +Schooner-man. Ah, I thought so. Now hell’s a poppin’ for +somebody!” +</p> + +<p> +The unseen ferry-boat was blowing blast after blast, and the mouth-blown horn +was tooting in terror-stricken fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“And now they’re payin’ their respects to each other and +tryin’ to get clear,” the red-faced man went on, as the hurried +whistling ceased. +</p> + +<p> +His face was shining, his eyes flashing with excitement as he translated into +articulate language the speech of the horns and sirens. “That’s a +steam-siren a-goin’ it over there to the left. And you hear that fellow +with a frog in his throat—a steam schooner as near as I can judge, +crawlin’ in from the Heads against the tide.” +</p> + +<p> +A shrill little whistle, piping as if gone mad, came from directly ahead and +from very near at hand. Gongs sounded on the <i>Martinez</i>. Our paddle-wheels +stopped, their pulsing beat died away, and then they started again. The shrill +little whistle, like the chirping of a cricket amid the cries of great beasts, +shot through the fog from more to the side and swiftly grew faint and fainter. +I looked to my companion for enlightenment. +</p> + +<p> +“One of them dare-devil launches,” he said. “I almost wish +we’d sunk him, the little rip! They’re the cause of more trouble. +And what good are they? Any jackass gets aboard one and runs it from hell to +breakfast, blowin’ his whistle to beat the band and tellin’ the +rest of the world to look out for him, because he’s comin’ and +can’t look out for himself! Because he’s comin’! And +you’ve got to look out, too! Right of way! Common decency! They +don’t know the meanin’ of it!” +</p> + +<p> +I felt quite amused at his unwarranted choler, and while he stumped indignantly +up and down I fell to dwelling upon the romance of the fog. And romantic it +certainly was—the fog, like the grey shadow of infinite mystery, brooding +over the whirling speck of earth; and men, mere motes of light and sparkle, +cursed with an insane relish for work, riding their steeds of wood and steel +through the heart of the mystery, groping their way blindly through the Unseen, +and clamouring and clanging in confident speech the while their hearts are +heavy with incertitude and fear. +</p> + +<p> +The voice of my companion brought me back to myself with a laugh. I too had +been groping and floundering, the while I thought I rode clear-eyed through the +mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! somebody comin’ our way,” he was saying. “And +d’ye hear that? He’s comin’ fast. Walking right along. Guess +he don’t hear us yet. Wind’s in wrong direction.” +</p> + +<p> +The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear the whistle +plainly, off to one side and a little ahead. +</p> + +<p> +“Ferry-boat?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, then added, “Or he wouldn’t be keepin’ up such a +clip.” He gave a short chuckle. “They’re gettin’ +anxious up there.” +</p> + +<p> +I glanced up. The captain had thrust his head and shoulders out of the +pilot-house, and was staring intently into the fog as though by sheer force of +will he could penetrate it. His face was anxious, as was the face of my +companion, who had stumped over to the rail and was gazing with a like +intentness in the direction of the invisible danger. +</p> + +<p> +Then everything happened, and with inconceivable rapidity. The fog seemed to +break away as though split by a wedge, and the bow of a steamboat emerged, +trailing fog-wreaths on either side like seaweed on the snout of Leviathan. I +could see the pilot-house and a white-bearded man leaning partly out of it, on +his elbows. He was clad in a blue uniform, and I remember noting how trim and +quiet he was. His quietness, under the circumstances, was terrible. He accepted +Destiny, marched hand in hand with it, and coolly measured the stroke. As he +leaned there, he ran a calm and speculative eye over us, as though to determine +the precise point of the collision, and took no notice whatever when our pilot, +white with rage, shouted, “Now you’ve done it!” +</p> + +<p> +On looking back, I realize that the remark was too obvious to make rejoinder +necessary. +</p> + +<p> +“Grab hold of something and hang on,” the red-faced man said to me. +All his bluster had gone, and he seemed to have caught the contagion of +preternatural calm. “And listen to the women scream,” he said +grimly—almost bitterly, I thought, as though he had been through the +experience before. +</p> + +<p> +The vessels came together before I could follow his advice. We must have been +struck squarely amidships, for I saw nothing, the strange steamboat having +passed beyond my line of vision. The <i>Martinez</i> heeled over, sharply, and +there was a crashing and rending of timber. I was thrown flat on the wet deck, +and before I could scramble to my feet I heard the scream of the women. This it +was, I am certain,—the most indescribable of blood-curdling +sounds,—that threw me into a panic. I remembered the life-preservers +stored in the cabin, but was met at the door and swept backward by a wild rush +of men and women. What happened in the next few minutes I do not recollect, +though I have a clear remembrance of pulling down life-preservers from the +overhead racks, while the red-faced man fastened them about the bodies of an +hysterical group of women. This memory is as distinct and sharp as that of any +picture I have seen. It is a picture, and I can see it now,—the jagged +edges of the hole in the side of the cabin, through which the grey fog swirled +and eddied; the empty upholstered seats, littered with all the evidences of +sudden flight, such as packages, hand satchels, umbrellas, and wraps; the stout +gentleman who had been reading my essay, encased in cork and canvas, the +magazine still in his hand, and asking me with monotonous insistence if I +thought there was any danger; the red-faced man, stumping gallantly around on +his artificial legs and buckling life-preservers on all comers; and finally, +the screaming bedlam of women. +</p> + +<p> +This it was, the screaming of the women, that most tried my nerves. It must +have tried, too, the nerves of the red-faced man, for I have another picture +which will never fade from my mind. The stout gentleman is stuffing the +magazine into his overcoat pocket and looking on curiously. A tangled mass of +women, with drawn, white faces and open mouths, is shrieking like a chorus of +lost souls; and the red-faced man, his face now purplish with wrath, and with +arms extended overhead as in the act of hurling thunderbolts, is shouting, +“Shut up! Oh, shut up!” +</p> + +<p> +I remember the scene impelled me to sudden laughter, and in the next instant I +realized I was becoming hysterical myself; for these were women of my own kind, +like my mother and sisters, with the fear of death upon them and unwilling to +die. And I remember that the sounds they made reminded me of the squealing of +pigs under the knife of the butcher, and I was struck with horror at the +vividness of the analogy. These women, capable of the most sublime emotions, of +the tenderest sympathies, were open-mouthed and screaming. They wanted to live, +they were helpless, like rats in a trap, and they screamed. +</p> + +<p> +The horror of it drove me out on deck. I was feeling sick and squeamish, and +sat down on a bench. In a hazy way I saw and heard men rushing and shouting as +they strove to lower the boats. It was just as I had read descriptions of such +scenes in books. The tackles jammed. Nothing worked. One boat lowered away with +the plugs out, filled with women and children and then with water, and +capsized. Another boat had been lowered by one end, and still hung in the +tackle by the other end, where it had been abandoned. Nothing was to be seen of +the strange steamboat which had caused the disaster, though I heard men saying +that she would undoubtedly send boats to our assistance. +</p> + +<p> +I descended to the lower deck. The <i>Martinez</i> was sinking fast, for the +water was very near. Numbers of the passengers were leaping overboard. Others, +in the water, were clamouring to be taken aboard again. No one heeded them. A +cry arose that we were sinking. I was seized by the consequent panic, and went +over the side in a surge of bodies. How I went over I do not know, though I did +know, and instantly, why those in the water were so desirous of getting back on +the steamer. The water was cold—so cold that it was painful. The pang, as +I plunged into it, was as quick and sharp as that of fire. It bit to the +marrow. It was like the grip of death. I gasped with the anguish and shock of +it, filling my lungs before the life-preserver popped me to the surface. The +taste of the salt was strong in my mouth, and I was strangling with the acrid +stuff in my throat and lungs. +</p> + +<p> +But it was the cold that was most distressing. I felt that I could survive but +a few minutes. People were struggling and floundering in the water about me. I +could hear them crying out to one another. And I heard, also, the sound of +oars. Evidently the strange steamboat had lowered its boats. As the time went +by I marvelled that I was still alive. I had no sensation whatever in my lower +limbs, while a chilling numbness was wrapping about my heart and creeping into +it. Small waves, with spiteful foaming crests, continually broke over me and +into my mouth, sending me off into more strangling paroxysms. +</p> + +<p> +The noises grew indistinct, though I heard a final and despairing chorus of +screams in the distance, and knew that the <i>Martinez</i> had gone down. +Later,—how much later I have no knowledge,—I came to myself with a +start of fear. I was alone. I could hear no calls or cries—only the sound +of the waves, made weirdly hollow and reverberant by the fog. A panic in a +crowd, which partakes of a sort of community of interest, is not so terrible as +a panic when one is by oneself; and such a panic I now suffered. Whither was I +drifting? The red-faced man had said that the tide was ebbing through the +Golden Gate. Was I, then, being carried out to sea? And the life-preserver in +which I floated? Was it not liable to go to pieces at any moment? I had heard +of such things being made of paper and hollow rushes which quickly became +saturated and lost all buoyancy. And I could not swim a stroke. And I was +alone, floating, apparently, in the midst of a grey primordial vastness. I +confess that a madness seized me, that I shrieked aloud as the women had +shrieked, and beat the water with my numb hands. +</p> + +<p> +How long this lasted I have no conception, for a blankness intervened, of which +I remember no more than one remembers of troubled and painful sleep. When I +aroused, it was as after centuries of time; and I saw, almost above me and +emerging from the fog, the bow of a vessel, and three triangular sails, each +shrewdly lapping the other and filled with wind. Where the bow cut the water +there was a great foaming and gurgling, and I seemed directly in its path. I +tried to cry out, but was too exhausted. The bow plunged down, just missing me +and sending a swash of water clear over my head. Then the long, black side of +the vessel began slipping past, so near that I could have touched it with my +hands. I tried to reach it, in a mad resolve to claw into the wood with my +nails, but my arms were heavy and lifeless. Again I strove to call out, but +made no sound. +</p> + +<p> +The stern of the vessel shot by, dropping, as it did so, into a hollow between +the waves; and I caught a glimpse of a man standing at the wheel, and of +another man who seemed to be doing little else than smoke a cigar. I saw the +smoke issuing from his lips as he slowly turned his head and glanced out over +the water in my direction. It was a careless, unpremeditated glance, one of +those haphazard things men do when they have no immediate call to do anything +in particular, but act because they are alive and must do something. +</p> + +<p> +But life and death were in that glance. I could see the vessel being swallowed +up in the fog; I saw the back of the man at the wheel, and the head of the +other man turning, slowly turning, as his gaze struck the water and casually +lifted along it toward me. His face wore an absent expression, as of deep +thought, and I became afraid that if his eyes did light upon me he would +nevertheless not see me. But his eyes did light upon me, and looked squarely +into mine; and he did see me, for he sprang to the wheel, thrusting the other +man aside, and whirled it round and round, hand over hand, at the same time +shouting orders of some sort. The vessel seemed to go off at a tangent to its +former course and leapt almost instantly from view into the fog. +</p> + +<p> +I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, and tried with all the power of my +will to fight above the suffocating blankness and darkness that was rising +around me. A little later I heard the stroke of oars, growing nearer and +nearer, and the calls of a man. When he was very near I heard him crying, in +vexed fashion, “Why in hell don’t you sing out?” This meant +me, I thought, and then the blankness and darkness rose over me. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +I seemed swinging in a mighty rhythm through orbit vastness. Sparkling points +of light spluttered and shot past me. They were stars, I knew, and flaring +comets, that peopled my flight among the suns. As I reached the limit of my +swing and prepared to rush back on the counter swing, a great gong struck and +thundered. For an immeasurable period, lapped in the rippling of placid +centuries, I enjoyed and pondered my tremendous flight. +</p> + +<p> +But a change came over the face of the dream, for a dream I told myself it must +be. My rhythm grew shorter and shorter. I was jerked from swing to counter +swing with irritating haste. I could scarcely catch my breath, so fiercely was +I impelled through the heavens. The gong thundered more frequently and more +furiously. I grew to await it with a nameless dread. Then it seemed as though I +were being dragged over rasping sands, white and hot in the sun. This gave +place to a sense of intolerable anguish. My skin was scorching in the torment +of fire. The gong clanged and knelled. The sparkling points of light flashed +past me in an interminable stream, as though the whole sidereal system were +dropping into the void. I gasped, caught my breath painfully, and opened my +eyes. Two men were kneeling beside me, working over me. My mighty rhythm was +the lift and forward plunge of a ship on the sea. The terrific gong was a +frying-pan, hanging on the wall, that rattled and clattered with each leap of +the ship. The rasping, scorching sands were a man’s hard hands chafing my +naked chest. I squirmed under the pain of it, and half lifted my head. My chest +was raw and red, and I could see tiny blood globules starting through the torn +and inflamed cuticle. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do, Yonson,” one of the men said. +“Carn’t yer see you’ve bloomin’ well rubbed all the +gent’s skin orf?” +</p> + +<p> +The man addressed as Yonson, a man of the heavy Scandinavian type, ceased +chafing me, and arose awkwardly to his feet. The man who had spoken to him was +clearly a Cockney, with the clean lines and weakly pretty, almost effeminate, +face of the man who has absorbed the sound of Bow Bells with his mother’s +milk. A draggled muslin cap on his head and a dirty gunny-sack about his slim +hips proclaimed him cook of the decidedly dirty ship’s galley in which I +found myself. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ ’ow yer feelin’ now, sir?” he asked, with +the subservient smirk which comes only of generations of tip-seeking ancestors. +</p> + +<p> +For reply, I twisted weakly into a sitting posture, and was helped by Yonson to +my feet. The rattle and bang of the frying-pan was grating horribly on my +nerves. I could not collect my thoughts. Clutching the woodwork of the galley +for support,—and I confess the grease with which it was scummed put my +teeth on edge,—I reached across a hot cooking-range to the offending +utensil, unhooked it, and wedged it securely into the coal-box. +</p> + +<p> +The cook grinned at my exhibition of nerves, and thrust into my hand a steaming +mug with an “’Ere, this’ll do yer good.” It was a +nauseous mess,—ship’s coffee,—but the heat of it was +revivifying. Between gulps of the molten stuff I glanced down at my raw and +bleeding chest and turned to the Scandinavian. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Mr. Yonson,” I said; “but don’t you think +your measures were rather heroic?” +</p> + +<p> +It was because he understood the reproof of my action, rather than of my words, +that he held up his palm for inspection. It was remarkably calloused. I passed +my hand over the horny projections, and my teeth went on edge once more from +the horrible rasping sensation produced. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Johnson, not Yonson,” he said, in very good, though +slow, English, with no more than a shade of accent to it. +</p> + +<p> +There was mild protest in his pale blue eyes, and withal a timid frankness and +manliness that quite won me to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” I corrected, and reached out my hand for +his. +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated, awkward and bashful, shifted his weight from one leg to the +other, then blunderingly gripped my hand in a hearty shake. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any dry clothes I may put on?” I asked the cook. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” he answered, with cheerful alacrity. “I’ll +run down an’ tyke a look over my kit, if you’ve no objections, sir, +to wearin’ my things.” +</p> + +<p> +He dived out of the galley door, or glided rather, with a swiftness and +smoothness of gait that struck me as being not so much cat-like as oily. In +fact, this oiliness, or greasiness, as I was later to learn, was probably the +most salient expression of his personality. +</p> + +<p> +“And where am I?” I asked Johnson, whom I took, and rightly, to be +one of the sailors. “What vessel is this, and where is she bound?” +</p> + +<p> +“Off the Farallones, heading about sou-west,” he answered, slowly +and methodically, as though groping for his best English, and rigidly observing +the order of my queries. “The schooner <i>Ghost</i>, bound seal-hunting +to Japan.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who is the captain? I must see him as soon as I am dressed.” +</p> + +<p> +Johnson looked puzzled and embarrassed. He hesitated while he groped in his +vocabulary and framed a complete answer. “The cap’n is Wolf Larsen, +or so men call him. I never heard his other name. But you better speak soft +with him. He is mad this morning. The mate—” +</p> + +<p> +But he did not finish. The cook had glided in. +</p> + +<p> +“Better sling yer ’ook out of ’ere, Yonson,” he said. +“The old man’ll be wantin’ yer on deck, an’ this +ayn’t no d’y to fall foul of ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +Johnson turned obediently to the door, at the same time, over the cook’s +shoulder, favouring me with an amazingly solemn and portentous wink as though +to emphasize his interrupted remark and the need for me to be soft-spoken with +the captain. +</p> + +<p> +Hanging over the cook’s arm was a loose and crumpled array of +evil-looking and sour-smelling garments. +</p> + +<p> +“They was put aw’y wet, sir,” he vouchsafed explanation. +“But you’ll ’ave to make them do till I dry yours out by the +fire.” +</p> + +<p> +Clinging to the woodwork, staggering with the roll of the ship, and aided by +the cook, I managed to slip into a rough woollen undershirt. On the instant my +flesh was creeping and crawling from the harsh contact. He noticed my +involuntary twitching and grimacing, and smirked: +</p> + +<p> +“I only ’ope yer don’t ever ’ave to get used to such as +that in this life, ’cos you’ve got a bloomin’ soft skin, that +you ’ave, more like a lydy’s than any I know of. I was +bloomin’ well sure you was a gentleman as soon as I set eyes on +yer.” +</p> + +<p> +I had taken a dislike to him at first, and as he helped to dress me this +dislike increased. There was something repulsive about his touch. I shrank from +his hand; my flesh revolted. And between this and the smells arising from +various pots boiling and bubbling on the galley fire, I was in haste to get out +into the fresh air. Further, there was the need of seeing the captain about +what arrangements could be made for getting me ashore. +</p> + +<p> +A cheap cotton shirt, with frayed collar and a bosom discoloured with what I +took to be ancient blood-stains, was put on me amid a running and apologetic +fire of comment. A pair of workman’s brogans encased my feet, and for +trousers I was furnished with a pair of pale blue, washed-out overalls, one leg +of which was fully ten inches shorter than the other. The abbreviated leg +looked as though the devil had there clutched for the Cockney’s soul and +missed the shadow for the substance. +</p> + +<p> +“And whom have I to thank for this kindness?” I asked, when I stood +completely arrayed, a tiny boy’s cap on my head, and for coat a dirty, +striped cotton jacket which ended at the small of my back and the sleeves of +which reached just below my elbows. +</p> + +<p> +The cook drew himself up in a smugly humble fashion, a deprecating smirk on his +face. Out of my experience with stewards on the Atlantic liners at the end of +the voyage, I could have sworn he was waiting for his tip. From my fuller +knowledge of the creature I now know that the posture was unconscious. An +hereditary servility, no doubt, was responsible. +</p> + +<p> +“Mugridge, sir,” he fawned, his effeminate features running into a +greasy smile. “Thomas Mugridge, sir, an’ at yer service.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Thomas,” I said. “I shall not forget +you—when my clothes are dry.” +</p> + +<p> +A soft light suffused his face and his eyes glistened, as though somewhere in +the deeps of his being his ancestors had quickened and stirred with dim +memories of tips received in former lives. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” he said, very gratefully and very humbly indeed. +</p> + +<p> +Precisely in the way that the door slid back, he slid aside, and I stepped out +on deck. I was still weak from my prolonged immersion. A puff of wind caught +me,—and I staggered across the moving deck to a corner of the cabin, to +which I clung for support. The schooner, heeled over far out from the +perpendicular, was bowing and plunging into the long Pacific roll. If she were +heading south-west as Johnson had said, the wind, then, I calculated, was +blowing nearly from the south. The fog was gone, and in its place the sun +sparkled crisply on the surface of the water. I turned to the east, where I +knew California must lie, but could see nothing save low-lying +fog-banks—the same fog, doubtless, that had brought about the disaster to +the <i>Martinez</i> and placed me in my present situation. To the north, and +not far away, a group of naked rocks thrust above the sea, on one of which I +could distinguish a lighthouse. In the south-west, and almost in our course, I +saw the pyramidal loom of some vessel’s sails. +</p> + +<p> +Having completed my survey of the horizon, I turned to my more immediate +surroundings. My first thought was that a man who had come through a collision +and rubbed shoulders with death merited more attention than I received. Beyond +a sailor at the wheel who stared curiously across the top of the cabin, I +attracted no notice whatever. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody seemed interested in what was going on amid ships. There, on a hatch, +a large man was lying on his back. He was fully clothed, though his shirt was +ripped open in front. Nothing was to be seen of his chest, however, for it was +covered with a mass of black hair, in appearance like the furry coat of a dog. +His face and neck were hidden beneath a black beard, intershot with grey, which +would have been stiff and bushy had it not been limp and draggled and dripping +with water. His eyes were closed, and he was apparently unconscious; but his +mouth was wide open, his breast, heaving as though from suffocation as he +laboured noisily for breath. A sailor, from time to time and quite +methodically, as a matter of routine, dropped a canvas bucket into the ocean at +the end of a rope, hauled it in hand under hand, and sluiced its contents over +the prostrate man. +</p> + +<p> +Pacing back and forth the length of the hatchways and savagely chewing the end +of a cigar, was the man whose casual glance had rescued me from the sea. His +height was probably five feet ten inches, or ten and a half; but my first +impression, or feel of the man, was not of this, but of his strength. And yet, +while he was of massive build, with broad shoulders and deep chest, I could not +characterize his strength as massive. It was what might be termed a sinewy, +knotty strength, of the kind we ascribe to lean and wiry men, but which, in +him, because of his heavy build, partook more of the enlarged gorilla order. +Not that in appearance he seemed in the least gorilla-like. What I am striving +to express is this strength itself, more as a thing apart from his physical +semblance. It was a strength we are wont to associate with things primitive, +with wild animals, and the creatures we imagine our tree-dwelling prototypes to +have been—a strength savage, ferocious, alive in itself, the essence of +life in that it is the potency of motion, the elemental stuff itself out of +which the many forms of life have been moulded; in short, that which writhes in +the body of a snake when the head is cut off, and the snake, as a snake, is +dead, or which lingers in the shapeless lump of turtle-meat and recoils and +quivers from the prod of a finger. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the impression of strength I gathered from this man who paced up and +down. He was firmly planted on his legs; his feet struck the deck squarely and +with surety; every movement of a muscle, from the heave of the shoulders to the +tightening of the lips about the cigar, was decisive, and seemed to come out of +a strength that was excessive and overwhelming. In fact, though this strength +pervaded every action of his, it seemed but the advertisement of a greater +strength that lurked within, that lay dormant and no more than stirred from +time to time, but which might arouse, at any moment, terrible and compelling, +like the rage of a lion or the wrath of a storm. +</p> + +<p> +The cook stuck his head out of the galley door and grinned encouragingly at me, +at the same time jerking his thumb in the direction of the man who paced up and +down by the hatchway. Thus I was given to understand that he was the captain, +the “Old Man,” in the cook’s vernacular, the individual whom +I must interview and put to the trouble of somehow getting me ashore. I had +half started forward, to get over with what I was certain would be a stormy +five minutes, when a more violent suffocating paroxysm seized the unfortunate +person who was lying on his back. He wrenched and writhed about convulsively. +The chin, with the damp black beard, pointed higher in the air as the back +muscles stiffened and the chest swelled in an unconscious and instinctive +effort to get more air. Under the whiskers, and all unseen, I knew that the +skin was taking on a purplish hue. +</p> + +<p> +The captain, or Wolf Larsen, as men called him, ceased pacing and gazed down at +the dying man. So fierce had this final struggle become that the sailor paused +in the act of flinging more water over him and stared curiously, the canvas +bucket partly tilted and dripping its contents to the deck. The dying man beat +a tattoo on the hatch with his heels, straightened out his legs, and stiffened +in one great tense effort, and rolled his head from side to side. Then the +muscles relaxed, the head stopped rolling, and a sigh, as of profound relief, +floated upward from his lips. The jaw dropped, the upper lip lifted, and two +rows of tobacco-discoloured teeth appeared. It seemed as though his features +had frozen into a diabolical grin at the world he had left and outwitted. +</p> + +<p> +Then a most surprising thing occurred. The captain broke loose upon the dead +man like a thunderclap. Oaths rolled from his lips in a continuous stream. And +they were not namby-pamby oaths, or mere expressions of indecency. Each word +was a blasphemy, and there were many words. They crisped and crackled like +electric sparks. I had never heard anything like it in my life, nor could I +have conceived it possible. With a turn for literary expression myself, and a +penchant for forcible figures and phrases, I appreciated, as no other listener, +I dare say, the peculiar vividness and strength and absolute blasphemy of his +metaphors. The cause of it all, as near as I could make out, was that the man, +who was mate, had gone on a debauch before leaving San Francisco, and then had +the poor taste to die at the beginning of the voyage and leave Wolf Larsen +short-handed. +</p> + +<p> +It should be unnecessary to state, at least to my friends, that I was shocked. +Oaths and vile language of any sort had always been repellent to me. I felt a +wilting sensation, a sinking at the heart, and, I might just as well say, a +giddiness. To me, death had always been invested with solemnity and dignity. It +had been peaceful in its occurrence, sacred in its ceremonial. But death in its +more sordid and terrible aspects was a thing with which I had been unacquainted +till now. As I say, while I appreciated the power of the terrific denunciation +that swept out of Wolf Larsen’s mouth, I was inexpressibly shocked. The +scorching torrent was enough to wither the face of the corpse. I should not +have been surprised if the wet black beard had frizzled and curled and flared +up in smoke and flame. But the dead man was unconcerned. He continued to grin +with a sardonic humour, with a cynical mockery and defiance. He was master of +the situation. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen ceased swearing as suddenly as he had begun. He relighted his cigar +and glanced around. His eyes chanced upon the cook. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Cooky?” he began, with a suaveness that was cold and of the +temper of steel. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” the cook eagerly interpolated, with appeasing and +apologetic servility. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think you’ve stretched that neck of yours just +about enough? It’s unhealthy, you know. The mate’s gone, so I +can’t afford to lose you too. You must be very, very careful of your +health, Cooky. Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +His last word, in striking contrast with the smoothness of his previous +utterance, snapped like the lash of a whip. The cook quailed under it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” was the meek reply, as the offending head disappeared +into the galley. +</p> + +<p> +At this sweeping rebuke, which the cook had only pointed, the rest of the crew +became uninterested and fell to work at one task or another. A number of men, +however, who were lounging about a companion-way between the galley and hatch, +and who did not seem to be sailors, continued talking in low tones with one +another. These, I afterward learned, were the hunters, the men who shot the +seals, and a very superior breed to common sailor-folk. +</p> + +<p> +“Johansen!” Wolf Larsen called out. A sailor stepped forward +obediently. “Get your palm and needle and sew the beggar up. You’ll +find some old canvas in the sail-locker. Make it do.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll I put on his feet, sir?” the man asked, after the +customary “Ay, ay, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see to that,” Wolf Larsen answered, and elevated his +voice in a call of “Cooky!” +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge popped out of his galley like a jack-in-the-box. +</p> + +<p> +“Go below and fill a sack with coal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any of you fellows got a Bible or Prayer-book?” was the +captain’s next demand, this time of the hunters lounging about the +companion-way. +</p> + +<p> +They shook their heads, and some one made a jocular remark which I did not +catch, but which raised a general laugh. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen made the same demand of the sailors. Bibles and Prayer-books seemed +scarce articles, but one of the men volunteered to pursue the quest amongst the +watch below, returning in a minute with the information that there was none. +</p> + +<p> +The captain shrugged his shoulders. “Then we’ll drop him over +without any palavering, unless our clerical-looking castaway has the burial +service at sea by heart.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time he had swung fully around and was facing me. “You’re a +preacher, aren’t you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The hunters,—there were six of them,—to a man, turned and regarded +me. I was painfully aware of my likeness to a scarecrow. A laugh went up at my +appearance,—a laugh that was not lessened or softened by the dead man +stretched and grinning on the deck before us; a laugh that was as rough and +harsh and frank as the sea itself; that arose out of coarse feelings and +blunted sensibilities, from natures that knew neither courtesy nor gentleness. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen did not laugh, though his grey eyes lighted with a slight glint of +amusement; and in that moment, having stepped forward quite close to him, I +received my first impression of the man himself, of the man as apart from his +body, and from the torrent of blasphemy I had heard him spew forth. The face, +with large features and strong lines, of the square order, yet well filled out, +was apparently massive at first sight; but again, as with the body, the +massiveness seemed to vanish, and a conviction to grow of a tremendous and +excessive mental or spiritual strength that lay behind, sleeping in the deeps +of his being. The jaw, the chin, the brow rising to a goodly height and +swelling heavily above the eyes,—these, while strong in themselves, +unusually strong, seemed to speak an immense vigour or virility of spirit that +lay behind and beyond and out of sight. There was no sounding such a spirit, no +measuring, no determining of metes and bounds, nor neatly classifying in some +pigeon-hole with others of similar type. +</p> + +<p> +The eyes—and it was my destiny to know them well—were large and +handsome, wide apart as the true artist’s are wide, sheltering under a +heavy brow and arched over by thick black eyebrows. The eyes themselves were of +that baffling protean grey which is never twice the same; which runs through +many shades and colourings like intershot silk in sunshine; which is grey, dark +and light, and greenish-grey, and sometimes of the clear azure of the deep sea. +They were eyes that masked the soul with a thousand guises, and that sometimes +opened, at rare moments, and allowed it to rush up as though it were about to +fare forth nakedly into the world on some wonderful adventure,—eyes that +could brood with the hopeless sombreness of leaden skies; that could snap and +crackle points of fire like those which sparkle from a whirling sword; that +could grow chill as an arctic landscape, and yet again, that could warm and +soften and be all a-dance with love-lights, intense and masculine, luring and +compelling, which at the same time fascinate and dominate women till they +surrender in a gladness of joy and of relief and sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +But to return. I told him that, unhappily for the burial service, I was not a +preacher, when he sharply demanded: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do for a living?” +</p> + +<p> +I confess I had never had such a question asked me before, nor had I ever +canvassed it. I was quite taken aback, and before I could find myself had +sillily stammered, “I—I am a gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +His lip curled in a swift sneer. +</p> + +<p> +“I have worked, I do work,” I cried impetuously, as though he were +my judge and I required vindication, and at the same time very much aware of my +arrant idiocy in discussing the subject at all. +</p> + +<p> +“For your living?” +</p> + +<p> +There was something so imperative and masterful about him that I was quite +beside myself—“rattled,” as Furuseth would have termed it, +like a quaking child before a stern school-master. +</p> + +<p> +“Who feeds you?” was his next question. +</p> + +<p> +“I have an income,” I answered stoutly, and could have bitten my +tongue the next instant. “All of which, you will pardon my observing, has +nothing whatsoever to do with what I wish to see you about.” +</p> + +<p> +But he disregarded my protest. +</p> + +<p> +“Who earned it? Eh? I thought so. Your father. You stand on dead +men’s legs. You’ve never had any of your own. You couldn’t +walk alone between two sunrises and hustle the meat for your belly for three +meals. Let me see your hand.” +</p> + +<p> +His tremendous, dormant strength must have stirred, swiftly and accurately, or +I must have slept a moment, for before I knew it he had stepped two paces +forward, gripped my right hand in his, and held it up for inspection. I tried +to withdraw it, but his fingers tightened, without visible effort, till I +thought mine would be crushed. It is hard to maintain one’s dignity under +such circumstances. I could not squirm or struggle like a schoolboy. Nor could +I attack such a creature who had but to twist my arm to break it. Nothing +remained but to stand still and accept the indignity. I had time to notice that +the pockets of the dead man had been emptied on the deck, and that his body and +his grin had been wrapped from view in canvas, the folds of which the sailor, +Johansen, was sewing together with coarse white twine, shoving the needle +through with a leather contrivance fitted on the palm of his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen dropped my hand with a flirt of disdain. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead men’s hands have kept it soft. Good for little else than +dish-washing and scullion work.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to be put ashore,” I said firmly, for I now had myself in +control. “I shall pay you whatever you judge your delay and trouble to be +worth.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me curiously. Mockery shone in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a counter proposition to make, and for the good of your soul. My +mate’s gone, and there’ll be a lot of promotion. A sailor comes aft +to take mate’s place, cabin-boy goes for’ard to take sailor’s +place, and you take the cabin-boy’s place, sign the articles for the +cruise, twenty dollars per month and found. Now what do you say? And mind you, +it’s for your own soul’s sake. It will be the making of you. You +might learn in time to stand on your own legs, and perhaps to toddle along a +bit.” +</p> + +<p> +But I took no notice. The sails of the vessel I had seen off to the south-west +had grown larger and plainer. They were of the same schooner-rig as the +<i>Ghost</i>, though the hull itself, I could see, was smaller. She was a +pretty sight, leaping and flying toward us, and evidently bound to pass at +close range. The wind had been momentarily increasing, and the sun, after a few +angry gleams, had disappeared. The sea had turned a dull leaden grey and grown +rougher, and was now tossing foaming whitecaps to the sky. We were travelling +faster, and heeled farther over. Once, in a gust, the rail dipped under the +sea, and the decks on that side were for the moment awash with water that made +a couple of the hunters hastily lift their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“That vessel will soon be passing us,” I said, after a +moment’s pause. “As she is going in the opposite direction, she is +very probably bound for San Francisco.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very probably,” was Wolf Larsen’s answer, as he turned +partly away from me and cried out, “Cooky! Oh, Cooky!” +</p> + +<p> +The Cockney popped out of the galley. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that boy? Tell him I want him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir;” and Thomas Mugridge fled swiftly aft and disappeared +down another companion-way near the wheel. A moment later he emerged, a +heavy-set young fellow of eighteen or nineteen, with a glowering, villainous +countenance, trailing at his heels. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ere ’e is, sir,” the cook said. +</p> + +<p> +But Wolf Larsen ignored that worthy, turning at once to the cabin-boy. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name, boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“George Leach, sir,” came the sullen answer, and the boy’s +bearing showed clearly that he divined the reason for which he had been +summoned. +</p> + +<p> +“Not an Irish name,” the captain snapped sharply. +“O’Toole or McCarthy would suit your mug a damn sight better. +Unless, very likely, there’s an Irishman in your mother’s +woodpile.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw the young fellow’s hands clench at the insult, and the blood crawl +scarlet up his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“But let that go,” Wolf Larsen continued. “You may have very +good reasons for forgetting your name, and I’ll like you none the worse +for it as long as you toe the mark. Telegraph Hill, of course, is your port of +entry. It sticks out all over your mug. Tough as they make them and twice as +nasty. I know the kind. Well, you can make up your mind to have it taken out of +you on this craft. Understand? Who shipped you, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +“McCready and Swanson.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir!” Wolf Larsen thundered. +</p> + +<p> +“McCready and Swanson, sir,” the boy corrected, his eyes burning +with a bitter light. +</p> + +<p> +“Who got the advance money?” +</p> + +<p> +“They did, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought as much. And damned glad you were to let them have it. +Couldn’t make yourself scarce too quick, with several gentlemen you may +have heard of looking for you.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy metamorphosed into a savage on the instant. His body bunched together +as though for a spring, and his face became as an infuriated beast’s as +he snarled, “It’s a—” +</p> + +<p> +“A what?” Wolf Larsen asked, a peculiar softness in his voice, as +though he were overwhelmingly curious to hear the unspoken word. +</p> + +<p> +The boy hesitated, then mastered his temper. “Nothin’, sir. I take +it back.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have shown me I was right.” This with a gratified smile. +“How old are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just turned sixteen, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“A lie. You’ll never see eighteen again. Big for your age at that, +with muscles like a horse. Pack up your kit and go for’ard into the +fo’c’sle. You’re a boat-puller now. You’re promoted; +see?” +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for the boy’s acceptance, the captain turned to the +sailor who had just finished the gruesome task of sewing up the corpse. +“Johansen, do you know anything about navigation?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, never mind; you’re mate just the same. Get your traps aft +into the mate’s berth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, sir,” was the cheery response, as Johansen started +forward. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime the erstwhile cabin-boy had not moved. “What are you +waiting for?” Wolf Larsen demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t sign for boat-puller, sir,” was the reply. “I +signed for cabin-boy. An’ I don’t want no boat-pullin’ in +mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pack up and go for’ard.” +</p> + +<p> +This time Wolf Larsen’s command was thrillingly imperative. The boy +glowered sullenly, but refused to move. +</p> + +<p> +Then came another stirring of Wolf Larsen’s tremendous strength. It was +utterly unexpected, and it was over and done with between the ticks of two +seconds. He had sprung fully six feet across the deck and driven his fist into +the other’s stomach. At the same moment, as though I had been struck +myself, I felt a sickening shock in the pit of my stomach. I instance this to +show the sensitiveness of my nervous organization at the time, and how unused I +was to spectacles of brutality. The cabin-boy—and he weighed one hundred +and sixty-five at the very least—crumpled up. His body wrapped limply +about the fist like a wet rag about a stick. He lifted into the air, described +a short curve, and struck the deck alongside the corpse on his head and +shoulders, where he lay and writhed about in agony. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” Larsen asked of me. “Have you made up your +mind?” +</p> + +<p> +I had glanced occasionally at the approaching schooner, and it was now almost +abreast of us and not more than a couple of hundred yards away. It was a very +trim and neat little craft. I could see a large, black number on one of its +sails, and I had seen pictures of pilot-boats. +</p> + +<p> +“What vessel is that?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The pilot-boat <i>Lady Mine</i>,” Wolf Larsen answered grimly. +“Got rid of her pilots and running into San Francisco. She’ll be +there in five or six hours with this wind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please signal it, then, so that I may be put ashore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, but I’ve lost the signal book overboard,” he +remarked, and the group of hunters grinned. +</p> + +<p> +I debated a moment, looking him squarely in the eyes. I had seen the frightful +treatment of the cabin-boy, and knew that I should very probably receive the +same, if not worse. As I say, I debated with myself, and then I did what I +consider the bravest act of my life. I ran to the side, waving my arms and +shouting: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Lady Mine</i> ahoy! Take me ashore! A thousand dollars if you take me +ashore!” +</p> + +<p> +I waited, watching two men who stood by the wheel, one of them steering. The +other was lifting a megaphone to his lips. I did not turn my head, though I +expected every moment a killing blow from the human brute behind me. At last, +after what seemed centuries, unable longer to stand the strain, I looked +around. He had not moved. He was standing in the same position, swaying easily +to the roll of the ship and lighting a fresh cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter? Anything wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +This was the cry from the <i>Lady Mine</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” I shouted, at the top of my lungs. “Life or death! One +thousand dollars if you take me ashore!” +</p> + +<p> +“Too much ’Frisco tanglefoot for the health of my crew!” Wolf +Larsen shouted after. “This one”—indicating me with his +thumb—“fancies sea-serpents and monkeys just now!” +</p> + +<p> +The man on the <i>Lady Mine</i> laughed back through the megaphone. The +pilot-boat plunged past. +</p> + +<p> +“Give him hell for me!” came a final cry, and the two men waved +their arms in farewell. +</p> + +<p> +I leaned despairingly over the rail, watching the trim little schooner swiftly +increasing the bleak sweep of ocean between us. And she would probably be in +San Francisco in five or six hours! My head seemed bursting. There was an ache +in my throat as though my heart were up in it. A curling wave struck the side +and splashed salt spray on my lips. The wind puffed strongly, and the +<i>Ghost</i> heeled far over, burying her lee rail. I could hear the water +rushing down upon the deck. +</p> + +<p> +When I turned around, a moment later, I saw the cabin-boy staggering to his +feet. His face was ghastly white, twitching with suppressed pain. He looked +very sick. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Leach, are you going for’ard?” Wolf Larsen asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” came the answer of a spirit cowed. +</p> + +<p> +“And you?” I was asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give you a thousand—” I began, but was +interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Stow that! Are you going to take up your duties as cabin-boy? Or do I +have to take you in hand?” +</p> + +<p> +What was I to do? To be brutally beaten, to be killed perhaps, would not help +my case. I looked steadily into the cruel grey eyes. They might have been +granite for all the light and warmth of a human soul they contained. One may +see the soul stir in some men’s eyes, but his were bleak, and cold, and +grey as the sea itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Say ‘yes, sir.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” I corrected. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Van Weyden, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“First name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Humphrey, sir; Humphrey Van Weyden.” +</p> + +<p> +“Age?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty-five, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do. Go to the cook and learn your duties.” +</p> + +<p> +And thus it was that I passed into a state of involuntary servitude to Wolf +Larsen. He was stronger than I, that was all. But it was very unreal at the +time. It is no less unreal now that I look back upon it. It will always be to +me a monstrous, inconceivable thing, a horrible nightmare. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on, don’t go yet.” +</p> + +<p> +I stopped obediently in my walk toward the galley. +</p> + +<p> +“Johansen, call all hands. Now that we’ve everything cleaned up, +we’ll have the funeral and get the decks cleared of useless +lumber.” +</p> + +<p> +While Johansen was summoning the watch below, a couple of sailors, under the +captain’s direction, laid the canvas-swathed corpse upon a hatch-cover. +On either side the deck, against the rail and bottoms up, were lashed a number +of small boats. Several men picked up the hatch-cover with its ghastly freight, +carried it to the lee side, and rested it on the boats, the feet pointing +overboard. To the feet was attached the sack of coal which the cook had +fetched. +</p> + +<p> +I had always conceived a burial at sea to be a very solemn and awe-inspiring +event, but I was quickly disillusioned, by this burial at any rate. One of the +hunters, a little dark-eyed man whom his mates called “Smoke,” was +telling stories, liberally intersprinkled with oaths and obscenities; and every +minute or so the group of hunters gave mouth to a laughter that sounded to me +like a wolf-chorus or the barking of hell-hounds. The sailors trooped noisily +aft, some of the watch below rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and talked in +low tones together. There was an ominous and worried expression on their faces. +It was evident that they did not like the outlook of a voyage under such a +captain and begun so inauspiciously. From time to time they stole glances at +Wolf Larsen, and I could see that they were apprehensive of the man. +</p> + +<p> +He stepped up to the hatch-cover, and all caps came off. I ran my eyes over +them—twenty men all told; twenty-two including the man at the wheel and +myself. I was pardonably curious in my survey, for it appeared my fate to be +pent up with them on this miniature floating world for I knew not how many +weeks or months. The sailors, in the main, were English and Scandinavian, and +their faces seemed of the heavy, stolid order. The hunters, on the other hand, +had stronger and more diversified faces, with hard lines and the marks of the +free play of passions. Strange to say, and I noted it at once, Wolf +Larsen’s features showed no such evil stamp. There seemed nothing vicious +in them. True, there were lines, but they were the lines of decision and +firmness. It seemed, rather, a frank and open countenance, which frankness or +openness was enhanced by the fact that he was smooth-shaven. I could hardly +believe—until the next incident occurred—that it was the face of a +man who could behave as he had behaved to the cabin-boy. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, as he opened his mouth to speak, puff after puff struck the +schooner and pressed her side under. The wind shrieked a wild song through the +rigging. Some of the hunters glanced anxiously aloft. The lee rail, where the +dead man lay, was buried in the sea, and as the schooner lifted and righted the +water swept across the deck wetting us above our shoe-tops. A shower of rain +drove down upon us, each drop stinging like a hailstone. As it passed, Wolf +Larsen began to speak, the bare-headed men swaying in unison, to the heave and +lunge of the deck. +</p> + +<p> +“I only remember one part of the service,” he said, “and that +is, ‘And the body shall be cast into the sea.’ So cast it +in.” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased speaking. The men holding the hatch-cover seemed perplexed, puzzled +no doubt by the briefness of the ceremony. He burst upon them in a fury. +</p> + +<p> +“Lift up that end there, damn you! What the hell’s the matter with +you?” +</p> + +<p> +They elevated the end of the hatch-cover with pitiful haste, and, like a dog +flung overside, the dead man slid feet first into the sea. The coal at his feet +dragged him down. He was gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Johansen,” Wolf Larsen said briskly to the new mate, “keep +all hands on deck now they’re here. Get in the topsails and jibs and make +a good job of it. We’re in for a sou’-easter. Better reef the jib +and mainsail too, while you’re about it.” +</p> + +<p> +In a moment the decks were in commotion, Johansen bellowing orders and the men +pulling or letting go ropes of various sorts—all naturally confusing to a +landsman such as myself. But it was the heartlessness of it that especially +struck me. The dead man was an episode that was past, an incident that was +dropped, in a canvas covering with a sack of coal, while the ship sped along +and her work went on. Nobody had been affected. The hunters were laughing at a +fresh story of Smoke’s; the men pulling and hauling, and two of them +climbing aloft; Wolf Larsen was studying the clouding sky to windward; and the +dead man, dying obscenely, buried sordidly, and sinking down, down— +</p> + +<p> +Then it was that the cruelty of the sea, its relentlessness and awfulness, +rushed upon me. Life had become cheap and tawdry, a beastly and inarticulate +thing, a soulless stirring of the ooze and slime. I held on to the weather +rail, close by the shrouds, and gazed out across the desolate foaming waves to +the low-lying fog-banks that hid San Francisco and the California coast. +Rain-squalls were driving in between, and I could scarcely see the fog. And +this strange vessel, with its terrible men, pressed under by wind and sea and +ever leaping up and out, was heading away into the south-west, into the great +and lonely Pacific expanse. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +What happened to me next on the sealing-schooner <i>Ghost</i>, as I strove to +fit into my new environment, are matters of humiliation and pain. The cook, who +was called “the doctor” by the crew, “Tommy” by the +hunters, and “Cooky” by Wolf Larsen, was a changed person. The +difference worked in my status brought about a corresponding difference in +treatment from him. Servile and fawning as he had been before, he was now as +domineering and bellicose. In truth, I was no longer the fine gentleman with a +skin soft as a “lydy’s,” but only an ordinary and very +worthless cabin-boy. +</p> + +<p> +He absurdly insisted upon my addressing him as Mr. Mugridge, and his behaviour +and carriage were insufferable as he showed me my duties. Besides my work in +the cabin, with its four small state-rooms, I was supposed to be his assistant +in the galley, and my colossal ignorance concerning such things as peeling +potatoes or washing greasy pots was a source of unending and sarcastic wonder +to him. He refused to take into consideration what I was, or, rather, what my +life and the things I was accustomed to had been. This was part of the attitude +he chose to adopt toward me; and I confess, ere the day was done, that I hated +him with more lively feelings than I had ever hated any one in my life before. +</p> + +<p> +This first day was made more difficult for me from the fact that the +<i>Ghost</i>, under close reefs (terms such as these I did not learn till +later), was plunging through what Mr. Mugridge called an +“’owlin’ sou’-easter.” At half-past five, under +his directions, I set the table in the cabin, with rough-weather trays in +place, and then carried the tea and cooked food down from the galley. In this +connection I cannot forbear relating my first experience with a boarding sea. +</p> + +<p> +“Look sharp or you’ll get doused,” was Mr. Mugridge’s +parting injunction, as I left the galley with a big tea-pot in one hand, and in +the hollow of the other arm several loaves of fresh-baked bread. One of the +hunters, a tall, loose-jointed chap named Henderson, was going aft at the time +from the steerage (the name the hunters facetiously gave their midships +sleeping quarters) to the cabin. Wolf Larsen was on the poop, smoking his +everlasting cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ere she comes. Sling yer ’ook!” the cook cried. +</p> + +<p> +I stopped, for I did not know what was coming, and saw the galley door slide +shut with a bang. Then I saw Henderson leaping like a madman for the main +rigging, up which he shot, on the inside, till he was many feet higher than my +head. Also I saw a great wave, curling and foaming, poised far above the rail. +I was directly under it. My mind did not work quickly, everything was so new +and strange. I grasped that I was in danger, but that was all. I stood still, +in trepidation. Then Wolf Larsen shouted from the poop: +</p> + +<p> +“Grab hold something, you—you Hump!” +</p> + +<p> +But it was too late. I sprang toward the rigging, to which I might have clung, +and was met by the descending wall of water. What happened after that was very +confusing. I was beneath the water, suffocating and drowning. My feet were out +from under me, and I was turning over and over and being swept along I knew not +where. Several times I collided against hard objects, once striking my right +knee a terrible blow. Then the flood seemed suddenly to subside and I was +breathing the good air again. I had been swept against the galley and around +the steerage companion-way from the weather side into the lee scuppers. The +pain from my hurt knee was agonizing. I could not put my weight on it, or, at +least, I thought I could not put my weight on it; and I felt sure the leg was +broken. But the cook was after me, shouting through the lee galley door: +</p> + +<p> +“’Ere, you! Don’t tyke all night about it! Where’s the +pot? Lost overboard? Serve you bloody well right if yer neck was broke!” +</p> + +<p> +I managed to struggle to my feet. The great tea-pot was still in my hand. I +limped to the galley and handed it to him. But he was consumed with +indignation, real or feigned. +</p> + +<p> +“Gawd blime me if you ayn’t a slob. Wot ’re you good for +anyw’y, I’d like to know? Eh? Wot ’re you good for +any’wy? Cawn’t even carry a bit of tea aft without losin’ it. +Now I’ll ’ave to boil some more. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ wot ’re you snifflin’ about?” he burst out +at me, with renewed rage. “’Cos you’ve ’urt yer pore +little leg, pore little mamma’s darlin’.” +</p> + +<p> +I was not sniffling, though my face might well have been drawn and twitching +from the pain. But I called up all my resolution, set my teeth, and hobbled +back and forth from galley to cabin and cabin to galley without further mishap. +Two things I had acquired by my accident: an injured knee-cap that went +undressed and from which I suffered for weary months, and the name of +“Hump,” which Wolf Larsen had called me from the poop. Thereafter, +fore and aft, I was known by no other name, until the term became a part of my +thought-processes and I identified it with myself, thought of myself as Hump, +as though Hump were I and had always been I. +</p> + +<p> +It was no easy task, waiting on the cabin table, where sat Wolf Larsen, +Johansen, and the six hunters. The cabin was small, to begin with, and to move +around, as I was compelled to, was not made easier by the schooner’s +violent pitching and wallowing. But what struck me most forcibly was the total +lack of sympathy on the part of the men whom I served. I could feel my knee +through my clothes, swelling, and swelling, and I was sick and faint from the +pain of it. I could catch glimpses of my face, white and ghastly, distorted +with pain, in the cabin mirror. All the men must have seen my condition, but +not one spoke or took notice of me, till I was almost grateful to Wolf Larsen, +later on (I was washing the dishes), when he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let a little thing like that bother you. You’ll get +used to such things in time. It may cripple you some, but all the same +you’ll be learning to walk. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what you call a paradox, isn’t it?” he added. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed pleased when I nodded my head with the customary “Yes, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you know a bit about literary things? Eh? Good. I’ll +have some talks with you some time.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, taking no further account of me, he turned his back and went up on +deck. +</p> + +<p> +That night, when I had finished an endless amount of work, I was sent to sleep +in the steerage, where I made up a spare bunk. I was glad to get out of the +detestable presence of the cook and to be off my feet. To my surprise, my +clothes had dried on me and there seemed no indications of catching cold, +either from the last soaking or from the prolonged soaking from the foundering +of the <i>Martinez</i>. Under ordinary circumstances, after all that I had +undergone, I should have been fit for bed and a trained nurse. +</p> + +<p> +But my knee was bothering me terribly. As well as I could make out, the kneecap +seemed turned up on edge in the midst of the swelling. As I sat in my bunk +examining it (the six hunters were all in the steerage, smoking and talking in +loud voices), Henderson took a passing glance at it. +</p> + +<p> +“Looks nasty,” he commented. “Tie a rag around it, and +it’ll be all right.” +</p> + +<p> +That was all; and on the land I would have been lying on the broad of my back, +with a surgeon attending on me, and with strict injunctions to do nothing but +rest. But I must do these men justice. Callous as they were to my suffering, +they were equally callous to their own when anything befell them. And this was +due, I believe, first, to habit; and second, to the fact that they were less +sensitively organized. I really believe that a finely-organized, high-strung +man would suffer twice and thrice as much as they from a like injury. +</p> + +<p> +Tired as I was,—exhausted, in fact,—I was prevented from sleeping +by the pain in my knee. It was all I could do to keep from groaning aloud. At +home I should undoubtedly have given vent to my anguish; but this new and +elemental environment seemed to call for a savage repression. Like the savage, +the attitude of these men was stoical in great things, childish in little +things. I remember, later in the voyage, seeing Kerfoot, another of the +hunters, lose a finger by having it smashed to a jelly; and he did not even +murmur or change the expression on his face. Yet I have seen the same man, time +and again, fly into the most outrageous passion over a trifle. +</p> + +<p> +He was doing it now, vociferating, bellowing, waving his arms, and cursing like +a fiend, and all because of a disagreement with another hunter as to whether a +seal pup knew instinctively how to swim. He held that it did, that it could +swim the moment it was born. The other hunter, Latimer, a lean, Yankee-looking +fellow with shrewd, narrow-slitted eyes, held otherwise, held that the seal pup +was born on the land for no other reason than that it could not swim, that its +mother was compelled to teach it to swim as birds were compelled to teach their +nestlings how to fly. +</p> + +<p> +For the most part, the remaining four hunters leaned on the table or lay in +their bunks and left the discussion to the two antagonists. But they were +supremely interested, for every little while they ardently took sides, and +sometimes all were talking at once, till their voices surged back and forth in +waves of sound like mimic thunder-rolls in the confined space. Childish and +immaterial as the topic was, the quality of their reasoning was still more +childish and immaterial. In truth, there was very little reasoning or none at +all. Their method was one of assertion, assumption, and denunciation. They +proved that a seal pup could swim or not swim at birth by stating the +proposition very bellicosely and then following it up with an attack on the +opposing man’s judgment, common sense, nationality, or past history. +Rebuttal was precisely similar. I have related this in order to show the mental +calibre of the men with whom I was thrown in contact. Intellectually they were +children, inhabiting the physical forms of men. +</p> + +<p> +And they smoked, incessantly smoked, using a coarse, cheap, and +offensive-smelling tobacco. The air was thick and murky with the smoke of it; +and this, combined with the violent movement of the ship as she struggled +through the storm, would surely have made me sea-sick had I been a victim to +that malady. As it was, it made me quite squeamish, though this nausea might +have been due to the pain of my leg and exhaustion. +</p> + +<p> +As I lay there thinking, I naturally dwelt upon myself and my situation. It was +unparalleled, undreamed-of, that I, Humphrey Van Weyden, a scholar and a +dilettante, if you please, in things artistic and literary, should be lying +here on a Bering Sea seal-hunting schooner. Cabin-boy! I had never done any +hard manual labour, or scullion labour, in my life. I had lived a placid, +uneventful, sedentary existence all my days—the life of a scholar and a +recluse on an assured and comfortable income. Violent life and athletic sports +had never appealed to me. I had always been a book-worm; so my sisters and +father had called me during my childhood. I had gone camping but once in my +life, and then I left the party almost at its start and returned to the +comforts and conveniences of a roof. And here I was, with dreary and endless +vistas before me of table-setting, potato-peeling, and dish-washing. And I was +not strong. The doctors had always said that I had a remarkable constitution, +but I had never developed it or my body through exercise. My muscles were small +and soft, like a woman’s, or so the doctors had said time and again in +the course of their attempts to persuade me to go in for physical-culture fads. +But I had preferred to use my head rather than my body; and here I was, in no +fit condition for the rough life in prospect. +</p> + +<p> +These are merely a few of the things that went through my mind, and are related +for the sake of vindicating myself in advance in the weak and helpless +<i>rôle</i> I was destined to play. But I thought, also, of my mother and +sisters, and pictured their grief. I was among the missing dead of the +<i>Martinez</i> disaster, an unrecovered body. I could see the head-lines in +the papers; the fellows at the University Club and the Bibelot shaking their +heads and saying, “Poor chap!” And I could see Charley Furuseth, as +I had said good-bye to him that morning, lounging in a dressing-gown on the +be-pillowed window couch and delivering himself of oracular and pessimistic +epigrams. +</p> + +<p> +And all the while, rolling, plunging, climbing the moving mountains and falling +and wallowing in the foaming valleys, the schooner <i>Ghost</i> was fighting +her way farther and farther into the heart of the Pacific—and I was on +her. I could hear the wind above. It came to my ears as a muffled roar. Now and +again feet stamped overhead. An endless creaking was going on all about me, the +woodwork and the fittings groaning and squeaking and complaining in a thousand +keys. The hunters were still arguing and roaring like some semi-human +amphibious breed. The air was filled with oaths and indecent expressions. I +could see their faces, flushed and angry, the brutality distorted and +emphasized by the sickly yellow of the sea-lamps which rocked back and forth +with the ship. Through the dim smoke-haze the bunks looked like the sleeping +dens of animals in a menagerie. Oilskins and sea-boots were hanging from the +walls, and here and there rifles and shotguns rested securely in the racks. It +was a sea-fitting for the buccaneers and pirates of by-gone years. My +imagination ran riot, and still I could not sleep. And it was a long, long +night, weary and dreary and long. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +But my first night in the hunters’ steerage was also my last. Next day +Johansen, the new mate, was routed from the cabin by Wolf Larsen, and sent into +the steerage to sleep thereafter, while I took possession of the tiny cabin +state-room, which, on the first day of the voyage, had already had two +occupants. The reason for this change was quickly learned by the hunters, and +became the cause of a deal of grumbling on their part. It seemed that Johansen, +in his sleep, lived over each night the events of the day. His incessant +talking and shouting and bellowing of orders had been too much for Wolf Larsen, +who had accordingly foisted the nuisance upon his hunters. +</p> + +<p> +After a sleepless night, I arose weak and in agony, to hobble through my second +day on the <i>Ghost</i>. Thomas Mugridge routed me out at half-past five, much +in the fashion that Bill Sykes must have routed out his dog; but Mr. +Mugridge’s brutality to me was paid back in kind and with interest. The +unnecessary noise he made (I had lain wide-eyed the whole night) must have +awakened one of the hunters; for a heavy shoe whizzed through the +semi-darkness, and Mr. Mugridge, with a sharp howl of pain, humbly begged +everybody’s pardon. Later on, in the galley, I noticed that his ear was +bruised and swollen. It never went entirely back to its normal shape, and was +called a “cauliflower ear” by the sailors. +</p> + +<p> +The day was filled with miserable variety. I had taken my dried clothes down +from the galley the night before, and the first thing I did was to exchange the +cook’s garments for them. I looked for my purse. In addition to some +small change (and I have a good memory for such things), it had contained one +hundred and eighty-five dollars in gold and paper. The purse I found, but its +contents, with the exception of the small silver, had been abstracted. I spoke +to the cook about it, when I went on deck to take up my duties in the galley, +and though I had looked forward to a surly answer, I had not expected the +belligerent harangue that I received. +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere, ’Ump,” he began, a malicious light in his +eyes and a snarl in his throat; “d’ye want yer nose punched? If you +think I’m a thief, just keep it to yerself, or you’ll find +’ow bloody well mistyken you are. Strike me blind if this ayn’t +gratitude for yer! ’Ere you come, a pore mis’rable specimen of +’uman scum, an’ I tykes yer into my galley an’ treats yer +’ansom, an’ this is wot I get for it. Nex’ time you can go to +’ell, say I, an’ I’ve a good mind to give you what-for +anyw’y.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he put up his fists and started for me. To my shame be it, I cowered +away from the blow and ran out the galley door. What else was I to do? Force, +nothing but force, obtained on this brute-ship. Moral suasion was a thing +unknown. Picture it to yourself: a man of ordinary stature, slender of build, +and with weak, undeveloped muscles, who has lived a peaceful, placid life, and +is unused to violence of any sort—what could such a man possibly do? +There was no more reason that I should stand and face these human beasts than +that I should stand and face an infuriated bull. +</p> + +<p> +So I thought it out at the time, feeling the need for vindication and desiring +to be at peace with my conscience. But this vindication did not satisfy. Nor, +to this day can I permit my manhood to look back upon those events and feel +entirely exonerated. The situation was something that really exceeded rational +formulas for conduct and demanded more than the cold conclusions of reason. +When viewed in the light of formal logic, there is not one thing of which to be +ashamed; but nevertheless a shame rises within me at the recollection, and in +the pride of my manhood I feel that my manhood has in unaccountable ways been +smirched and sullied. +</p> + +<p> +All of which is neither here nor there. The speed with which I ran from the +galley caused excruciating pain in my knee, and I sank down helplessly at the +break of the poop. But the Cockney had not pursued me. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at ’im run! Look at ’im run!” I could hear him +crying. “An’ with a gyme leg at that! Come on back, you pore little +mamma’s darling. I won’t ’it yer; no, I won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +I came back and went on with my work; and here the episode ended for the time, +though further developments were yet to take place. I set the breakfast-table +in the cabin, and at seven o’clock waited on the hunters and officers. +The storm had evidently broken during the night, though a huge sea was still +running and a stiff wind blowing. Sail had been made in the early watches, so +that the <i>Ghost</i> was racing along under everything except the two topsails +and the flying jib. These three sails, I gathered from the conversation, were +to be set immediately after breakfast. I learned, also, that Wolf Larsen was +anxious to make the most of the storm, which was driving him to the south-west +into that portion of the sea where he expected to pick up with the north-east +trades. It was before this steady wind that he hoped to make the major portion +of the run to Japan, curving south into the tropics and north again as he +approached the coast of Asia. +</p> + +<p> +After breakfast I had another unenviable experience. When I had finished +washing the dishes, I cleaned the cabin stove and carried the ashes up on deck +to empty them. Wolf Larsen and Henderson were standing near the wheel, deep in +conversation. The sailor, Johnson, was steering. As I started toward the +weather side I saw him make a sudden motion with his head, which I mistook for +a token of recognition and good-morning. In reality, he was attempting to warn +me to throw my ashes over the lee side. Unconscious of my blunder, I passed by +Wolf Larsen and the hunter and flung the ashes over the side to windward. The +wind drove them back, and not only over me, but over Henderson and Wolf Larsen. +The next instant the latter kicked me, violently, as a cur is kicked. I had not +realized there could be so much pain in a kick. I reeled away from him and +leaned against the cabin in a half-fainting condition. Everything was swimming +before my eyes, and I turned sick. The nausea overpowered me, and I managed to +crawl to the side of the vessel. But Wolf Larsen did not follow me up. Brushing +the ashes from his clothes, he had resumed his conversation with Henderson. +Johansen, who had seen the affair from the break of the poop, sent a couple of +sailors aft to clean up the mess. +</p> + +<p> +Later in the morning I received a surprise of a totally different sort. +Following the cook’s instructions, I had gone into Wolf Larsen’s +state-room to put it to rights and make the bed. Against the wall, near the +head of the bunk, was a rack filled with books. I glanced over them, noting +with astonishment such names as Shakespeare, Tennyson, Poe, and De Quincey. +There were scientific works, too, among which were represented men such as +Tyndall, Proctor, and Darwin. Astronomy and physics were represented, and I +remarked Bulfinch’s <i>Age of Fable</i>, Shaw’s <i>History of +English and American Literature</i>, and Johnson’s <i>Natural History</i> +in two large volumes. Then there were a number of grammars, such as +Metcalf’s, and Reed and Kellogg’s; and I smiled as I saw a copy of +<i>The Dean’s English</i>. +</p> + +<p> +I could not reconcile these books with the man from what I had seen of him, and +I wondered if he could possibly read them. But when I came to make the bed I +found, between the blankets, dropped apparently as he had sunk off to sleep, a +complete Browning, the Cambridge Edition. It was open at “In a +Balcony,” and I noticed, here and there, passages underlined in pencil. +Further, letting drop the volume during a lurch of the ship, a sheet of paper +fell out. It was scrawled over with geometrical diagrams and calculations of +some sort. +</p> + +<p> +It was patent that this terrible man was no ignorant clod, such as one would +inevitably suppose him to be from his exhibitions of brutality. At once he +became an enigma. One side or the other of his nature was perfectly +comprehensible; but both sides together were bewildering. I had already +remarked that his language was excellent, marred with an occasional slight +inaccuracy. Of course, in common speech with the sailors and hunters, it +sometimes fairly bristled with errors, which was due to the vernacular itself; +but in the few words he had held with me it had been clear and correct. +</p> + +<p> +This glimpse I had caught of his other side must have emboldened me, for I +resolved to speak to him about the money I had lost. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been robbed,” I said to him, a little later, when I found +him pacing up and down the poop alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he corrected, not harshly, but sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been robbed, sir,” I amended. +</p> + +<p> +“How did it happen?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Then I told him the whole circumstance, how my clothes had been left to dry in +the galley, and how, later, I was nearly beaten by the cook when I mentioned +the matter. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled at my recital. “Pickings,” he concluded; +“Cooky’s pickings. And don’t you think your miserable life +worth the price? Besides, consider it a lesson. You’ll learn in time how +to take care of your money for yourself. I suppose, up to now, your lawyer has +done it for you, or your business agent.” +</p> + +<p> +I could feel the quiet sneer through his words, but demanded, “How can I +get it back again?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s your look-out. You haven’t any lawyer or business +agent now, so you’ll have to depend on yourself. When you get a dollar, +hang on to it. A man who leaves his money lying around, the way you did, +deserves to lose it. Besides, you have sinned. You have no right to put +temptation in the way of your fellow-creatures. You tempted Cooky, and he fell. +You have placed his immortal soul in jeopardy. By the way, do you believe in +the immortal soul?” +</p> + +<p> +His lids lifted lazily as he asked the question, and it seemed that the deeps +were opening to me and that I was gazing into his soul. But it was an illusion. +Far as it might have seemed, no man has ever seen very far into Wolf +Larsen’s soul, or seen it at all,—of this I am convinced. It was a +very lonely soul, I was to learn, that never unmasked, though at rare moments +it played at doing so. +</p> + +<p> +“I read immortality in your eyes,” I answered, dropping the +“sir,”—an experiment, for I thought the intimacy of the +conversation warranted it. +</p> + +<p> +He took no notice. “By that, I take it, you see something that is alive, +but that necessarily does not have to live for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“I read more than that,” I continued boldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you read consciousness. You read the consciousness of life that it +is alive; but still no further away, no endlessness of life.” +</p> + +<p> +How clearly he thought, and how well he expressed what he thought! From +regarding me curiously, he turned his head and glanced out over the leaden sea +to windward. A bleakness came into his eyes, and the lines of his mouth grew +severe and harsh. He was evidently in a pessimistic mood. +</p> + +<p> +“Then to what end?” he demanded abruptly, turning back to me. +“If I am immortal—why?” +</p> + +<p> +I halted. How could I explain my idealism to this man? How could I put into +speech a something felt, a something like the strains of music heard in sleep, +a something that convinced yet transcended utterance? +</p> + +<p> +“What do you believe, then?” I countered. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe that life is a mess,” he answered promptly. “It is +like yeast, a ferment, a thing that moves and may move for a minute, an hour, a +year, or a hundred years, but that in the end will cease to move. The big eat +the little that they may continue to move, the strong eat the weak that they +may retain their strength. The lucky eat the most and move the longest, that is +all. What do you make of those things?” +</p> + +<p> +He swept his arm in an impatient gesture toward a number of the sailors who +were working on some kind of rope stuff amidships. +</p> + +<p> +“They move, so does the jelly-fish move. They move in order to eat in +order that they may keep moving. There you have it. They live for their +belly’s sake, and the belly is for their sake. It’s a circle; you +get nowhere. Neither do they. In the end they come to a standstill. They move +no more. They are dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“They have dreams,” I interrupted, “radiant, flashing +dreams—” +</p> + +<p> +“Of grub,” he concluded sententiously. +</p> + +<p> +“And of more—” +</p> + +<p> +“Grub. Of a larger appetite and more luck in satisfying it.” His +voice sounded harsh. There was no levity in it. “For, look you, they +dream of making lucky voyages which will bring them more money, of becoming the +mates of ships, of finding fortunes—in short, of being in a better +position for preying on their fellows, of having all night in, good grub and +somebody else to do the dirty work. You and I are just like them. There is no +difference, except that we have eaten more and better. I am eating them now, +and you too. But in the past you have eaten more than I have. You have slept in +soft beds, and worn fine clothes, and eaten good meals. Who made those beds? +and those clothes? and those meals? Not you. You never made anything in your +own sweat. You live on an income which your father earned. You are like a +frigate bird swooping down upon the boobies and robbing them of the fish they +have caught. You are one with a crowd of men who have made what they call a +government, who are masters of all the other men, and who eat the food the +other men get and would like to eat themselves. You wear the warm clothes. They +made the clothes, but they shiver in rags and ask you, the lawyer, or business +agent who handles your money, for a job.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that is beside the matter,” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all.” He was speaking rapidly now, and his eyes were +flashing. “It is piggishness, and it is life. Of what use or sense is an +immortality of piggishness? What is the end? What is it all about? You have +made no food. Yet the food you have eaten or wasted might have saved the lives +of a score of wretches who made the food but did not eat it. What immortal end +did you serve? or did they? Consider yourself and me. What does your boasted +immortality amount to when your life runs foul of mine? You would like to go +back to the land, which is a favourable place for your kind of piggishness. It +is a whim of mine to keep you aboard this ship, where my piggishness +flourishes. And keep you I will. I may make or break you. You may die to-day, +this week, or next month. I could kill you now, with a blow of my fist, for you +are a miserable weakling. But if we are immortal, what is the reason for this? +To be piggish as you and I have been all our lives does not seem to be just the +thing for immortals to be doing. Again, what’s it all about? Why have I +kept you here?—” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you are stronger,” I managed to blurt out. +</p> + +<p> +“But why stronger?” he went on at once with his perpetual queries. +“Because I am a bigger bit of the ferment than you? Don’t you see? +Don’t you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“But the hopelessness of it,” I protested. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you,” he answered. “Then why move at all, since +moving is living? Without moving and being part of the yeast there would be no +hopelessness. But,—and there it is,—we want to live and move, +though we have no reason to, because it happens that it is the nature of life +to live and move, to want to live and move. If it were not for this, life would +be dead. It is because of this life that is in you that you dream of your +immortality. The life that is in you is alive and wants to go on being alive +for ever. Bah! An eternity of piggishness!” +</p> + +<p> +He abruptly turned on his heel and started forward. He stopped at the break of +the poop and called me to him. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, how much was it that Cooky got away with?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“One hundred and eighty-five dollars, sir,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head. A moment later, as I started down the companion stairs to +lay the table for dinner, I heard him loudly cursing some men amidships. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p> +By the following morning the storm had blown itself quite out and the +<i>Ghost</i> was rolling slightly on a calm sea without a breath of wind. +Occasional light airs were felt, however, and Wolf Larsen patrolled the poop +constantly, his eyes ever searching the sea to the north-eastward, from which +direction the great trade-wind must blow. +</p> + +<p> +The men were all on deck and busy preparing their various boats for the +season’s hunting. There are seven boats aboard, the captain’s +dingey, and the six which the hunters will use. Three, a hunter, a boat-puller, +and a boat-steerer, compose a boat’s crew. On board the schooner the +boat-pullers and steerers are the crew. The hunters, too, are supposed to be in +command of the watches, subject, always, to the orders of Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +All this, and more, I have learned. The <i>Ghost</i> is considered the fastest +schooner in both the San Francisco and Victoria fleets. In fact, she was once a +private yacht, and was built for speed. Her lines and fittings—though I +know nothing about such things—speak for themselves. Johnson was telling +me about her in a short chat I had with him during yesterday’s second +dog-watch. He spoke enthusiastically, with the love for a fine craft such as +some men feel for horses. He is greatly disgusted with the outlook, and I am +given to understand that Wolf Larsen bears a very unsavoury reputation among +the sealing captains. It was the <i>Ghost</i> herself that lured Johnson into +signing for the voyage, but he is already beginning to repent. +</p> + +<p> +As he told me, the <i>Ghost</i> is an eighty-ton schooner of a remarkably fine +model. Her beam, or width, is twenty-three feet, and her length a little over +ninety feet. A lead keel of fabulous but unknown weight makes her very stable, +while she carries an immense spread of canvas. From the deck to the truck of +the maintopmast is something over a hundred feet, while the foremast with its +topmast is eight or ten feet shorter. I am giving these details so that the +size of this little floating world which holds twenty-two men may be +appreciated. It is a very little world, a mote, a speck, and I marvel that men +should dare to venture the sea on a contrivance so small and fragile. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen has, also, a reputation for reckless carrying on of sail. I +overheard Henderson and another of the hunters, Standish, a Californian, +talking about it. Two years ago he dismasted the <i>Ghost</i> in a gale on +Bering Sea, whereupon the present masts were put in, which are stronger and +heavier in every way. He is said to have remarked, when he put them in, that he +preferred turning her over to losing the sticks. +</p> + +<p> +Every man aboard, with the exception of Johansen, who is rather overcome by his +promotion, seems to have an excuse for having sailed on the <i>Ghost</i>. Half +the men forward are deep-water sailors, and their excuse is that they did not +know anything about her or her captain. And those who do know, whisper that the +hunters, while excellent shots, were so notorious for their quarrelsome and +rascally proclivities that they could not sign on any decent schooner. +</p> + +<p> +I have made the acquaintance of another one of the crew,—Louis he is +called, a rotund and jovial-faced Nova Scotia Irishman, and a very sociable +fellow, prone to talk as long as he can find a listener. In the afternoon, +while the cook was below asleep and I was peeling the everlasting potatoes, +Louis dropped into the galley for a “yarn.” His excuse for being +aboard was that he was drunk when he signed. He assured me again and again that +it was the last thing in the world he would dream of doing in a sober moment. +It seems that he has been seal-hunting regularly each season for a dozen years, +and is accounted one of the two or three very best boat-steerers in both +fleets. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my boy,” he shook his head ominously at me, “’tis +the worst schooner ye could iv selected, nor were ye drunk at the time as was +I. ’Tis sealin’ is the sailor’s paradise—on other ships +than this. The mate was the first, but mark me words, there’ll be more +dead men before the trip is done with. Hist, now, between you an’ meself +and the stanchion there, this Wolf Larsen is a regular devil, an’ the +<i>Ghost’ll</i> be a hell-ship like she’s always ben since he had +hold iv her. Don’t I know? Don’t I know? Don’t I remember him +in Hakodate two years gone, when he had a row an’ shot four iv his men? +Wasn’t I a-layin’ on the <i>Emma L.</i>, not three hundred yards +away? An’ there was a man the same year he killed with a blow iv his +fist. Yes, sir, killed ’im dead-oh. His head must iv smashed like an +eggshell. An’ wasn’t there the Governor of Kura Island, an’ +the Chief iv Police, Japanese gentlemen, sir, an’ didn’t they come +aboard the <i>Ghost</i> as his guests, a-bringin’ their wives +along—wee an’ pretty little bits of things like you see ’em +painted on fans. An’ as he was a-gettin’ under way, didn’t +the fond husbands get left astern-like in their sampan, as it might be by +accident? An’ wasn’t it a week later that the poor little ladies +was put ashore on the other side of the island, with nothin’ before +’em but to walk home acrost the mountains on their weeny-teeny little +straw sandals which wouldn’t hang together a mile? Don’t I know? +’Tis the beast he is, this Wolf Larsen—the great big beast +mentioned iv in Revelation; an’ no good end will he ever come to. But +I’ve said nothin’ to ye, mind ye. I’ve whispered never a +word; for old fat Louis’ll live the voyage out if the last mother’s +son of yez go to the fishes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wolf Larsen!” he snorted a moment later. “Listen to the +word, will ye! Wolf—’tis what he is. He’s not black-hearted +like some men. ’Tis no heart he has at all. Wolf, just wolf, ’tis +what he is. D’ye wonder he’s well named?” +</p> + +<p> +“But if he is so well-known for what he is,” I queried, “how +is it that he can get men to ship with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ how is it ye can get men to do anything on God’s earth +an’ sea?” Louis demanded with Celtic fire. “How d’ye +find me aboard if ’twasn’t that I was drunk as a pig when I put me +name down? There’s them that can’t sail with better men, like the +hunters, and them that don’t know, like the poor devils of wind-jammers +for’ard there. But they’ll come to it, they’ll come to it, +an’ be sorry the day they was born. I could weep for the poor creatures, +did I but forget poor old fat Louis and the troubles before him. But ’tis +not a whisper I’ve dropped, mind ye, not a whisper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Them hunters is the wicked boys,” he broke forth again, for he +suffered from a constitutional plethora of speech. “But wait till they +get to cutting up iv jinks and rowin’ ’round. He’s the +boy’ll fix ’em. ’Tis him that’ll put the fear of God in +their rotten black hearts. Look at that hunter iv mine, Horner. +‘Jock’ Horner they call him, so quiet-like an’ +easy-goin’, soft-spoken as a girl, till ye’d think butter +wouldn’t melt in the mouth iv him. Didn’t he kill his boat-steerer +last year? ’Twas called a sad accident, but I met the boat-puller in +Yokohama an’ the straight iv it was given me. An’ there’s +Smoke, the black little devil—didn’t the Roosians have him for +three years in the salt mines of Siberia, for poachin’ on Copper Island, +which is a Roosian preserve? Shackled he was, hand an’ foot, with his +mate. An’ didn’t they have words or a ruction of some +kind?—for ’twas the other fellow Smoke sent up in the buckets to +the top of the mine; an’ a piece at a time he went up, a leg to-day, +an’ to-morrow an arm, the next day the head, an’ so on.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t mean it!” I cried out, overcome with the +horror of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Mean what!” he demanded, quick as a flash. “’Tis +nothin’ I’ve said. Deef I am, and dumb, as ye should be for the +sake iv your mother; an’ never once have I opened me lips but to say fine +things iv them an’ him, God curse his soul, an’ may he rot in +purgatory ten thousand years, and then go down to the last an’ deepest +hell iv all!” +</p> + +<p> +Johnson, the man who had chafed me raw when I first came aboard, seemed the +least equivocal of the men forward or aft. In fact, there was nothing equivocal +about him. One was struck at once by his straightforwardness and manliness, +which, in turn, were tempered by a modesty which might be mistaken for +timidity. But timid he was not. He seemed, rather, to have the courage of his +convictions, the certainty of his manhood. It was this that made him protest, +at the commencement of our acquaintance, against being called Yonson. And upon +this, and him, Louis passed judgment and prophecy. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis a fine chap, that squarehead Johnson we’ve +for’ard with us,” he said. “The best sailorman in the +fo’c’sle. He’s my boat-puller. But it’s to trouble +he’ll come with Wolf Larsen, as the sparks fly upward. It’s meself +that knows. I can see it brewin’ an’ comin’ up like a storm +in the sky. I’ve talked to him like a brother, but it’s little he +sees in takin’ in his lights or flyin’ false signals. He grumbles +out when things don’t go to suit him, and there’ll be always some +tell-tale carryin’ word iv it aft to the Wolf. The Wolf is strong, and +it’s the way of a wolf to hate strength, an’ strength it is +he’ll see in Johnson—no knucklin’ under, and a ‘Yes, +sir, thank ye kindly, sir,’ for a curse or a blow. Oh, she’s +a-comin’! She’s a-comin’! An’ God knows where +I’ll get another boat-puller! What does the fool up an’ say, when +the old man calls him Yonson, but ‘Me name is Johnson, sir,’ +an’ then spells it out, letter for letter. Ye should iv seen the old +man’s face! I thought he’d let drive at him on the spot. He +didn’t, but he will, an’ he’ll break that squarehead’s +heart, or it’s little I know iv the ways iv men on the ships iv the +sea.” +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge is becoming unendurable. I am compelled to Mister him and to +Sir him with every speech. One reason for this is that Wolf Larsen seems to +have taken a fancy to him. It is an unprecedented thing, I take it, for a +captain to be chummy with the cook; but this is certainly what Wolf Larsen is +doing. Two or three times he put his head into the galley and chaffed Mugridge +good-naturedly, and once, this afternoon, he stood by the break of the poop and +chatted with him for fully fifteen minutes. When it was over, and Mugridge was +back in the galley, he became greasily radiant, and went about his work, +humming coster songs in a nerve-racking and discordant falsetto. +</p> + +<p> +“I always get along with the officers,” he remarked to me in a +confidential tone. “I know the w’y, I do, to myke myself +uppreci-yted. There was my last skipper—w’y I thought nothin’ +of droppin’ down in the cabin for a little chat and a friendly glass. +‘Mugridge,’ sez ’e to me, ‘Mugridge,’ sez +’e, ‘you’ve missed yer vokytion.’ ‘An’ +’ow’s that?’ sez I. ‘Yer should ’a been born a +gentleman, an’ never ’ad to work for yer livin’.’ God +strike me dead, ’Ump, if that ayn’t wot ’e sez, an’ me +a-sittin’ there in ’is own cabin, jolly-like an’ comfortable, +a-smokin’ ’is cigars an’ drinkin’ ’is rum.” +</p> + +<p> +This chitter-chatter drove me to distraction. I never heard a voice I hated so. +His oily, insinuating tones, his greasy smile and his monstrous self-conceit +grated on my nerves till sometimes I was all in a tremble. Positively, he was +the most disgusting and loathsome person I have ever met. The filth of his +cooking was indescribable; and, as he cooked everything that was eaten aboard, +I was compelled to select what I ate with great circumspection, choosing from +the least dirty of his concoctions. +</p> + +<p> +My hands bothered me a great deal, unused as they were to work. The nails were +discoloured and black, while the skin was already grained with dirt which even +a scrubbing-brush could not remove. Then blisters came, in a painful and +never-ending procession, and I had a great burn on my forearm, acquired by +losing my balance in a roll of the ship and pitching against the galley stove. +Nor was my knee any better. The swelling had not gone down, and the cap was +still up on edge. Hobbling about on it from morning till night was not helping +it any. What I needed was rest, if it were ever to get well. +</p> + +<p> +Rest! I never before knew the meaning of the word. I had been resting all my +life and did not know it. But now, could I sit still for one half-hour and do +nothing, not even think, it would be the most pleasurable thing in the world. +But it is a revelation, on the other hand. I shall be able to appreciate the +lives of the working people hereafter. I did not dream that work was so +terrible a thing. From half-past five in the morning till ten o’clock at +night I am everybody’s slave, with not one moment to myself, except such +as I can steal near the end of the second dog-watch. Let me pause for a minute +to look out over the sea sparkling in the sun, or to gaze at a sailor going +aloft to the gaff-topsails, or running out the bowsprit, and I am sure to hear +the hateful voice, “’Ere, you, ’Ump, no sodgerin’. +I’ve got my peepers on yer.” +</p> + +<p> +There are signs of rampant bad temper in the steerage, and the gossip is going +around that Smoke and Henderson have had a fight. Henderson seems the best of +the hunters, a slow-going fellow, and hard to rouse; but roused he must have +been, for Smoke had a bruised and discoloured eye, and looked particularly +vicious when he came into the cabin for supper. +</p> + +<p> +A cruel thing happened just before supper, indicative of the callousness and +brutishness of these men. There is one green hand in the crew, Harrison by +name, a clumsy-looking country boy, mastered, I imagine, by the spirit of +adventure, and making his first voyage. In the light baffling airs the schooner +had been tacking about a great deal, at which times the sails pass from one +side to the other and a man is sent aloft to shift over the fore-gaff-topsail. +In some way, when Harrison was aloft, the sheet jammed in the block through +which it runs at the end of the gaff. As I understood it, there were two ways +of getting it cleared,—first, by lowering the foresail, which was +comparatively easy and without danger; and second, by climbing out the +peak-halyards to the end of the gaff itself, an exceedingly hazardous +performance. +</p> + +<p> +Johansen called out to Harrison to go out the halyards. It was patent to +everybody that the boy was afraid. And well he might be, eighty feet above the +deck, to trust himself on those thin and jerking ropes. Had there been a steady +breeze it would not have been so bad, but the <i>Ghost</i> was rolling emptily +in a long sea, and with each roll the canvas flapped and boomed and the +halyards slacked and jerked taut. They were capable of snapping a man off like +a fly from a whip-lash. +</p> + +<p> +Harrison heard the order and understood what was demanded of him, but +hesitated. It was probably the first time he had been aloft in his life. +Johansen, who had caught the contagion of Wolf Larsen’s masterfulness, +burst out with a volley of abuse and curses. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do, Johansen,” Wolf Larsen said brusquely. +“I’ll have you know that I do the swearing on this ship. If I need +your assistance, I’ll call you in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” the mate acknowledged submissively. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Harrison had started out on the halyards. I was looking up from +the galley door, and I could see him trembling, as if with ague, in every limb. +He proceeded very slowly and cautiously, an inch at a time. Outlined against +the clear blue of the sky, he had the appearance of an enormous spider crawling +along the tracery of its web. +</p> + +<p> +It was a slight uphill climb, for the foresail peaked high; and the halyards, +running through various blocks on the gaff and mast, gave him separate holds +for hands and feet. But the trouble lay in that the wind was not strong enough +nor steady enough to keep the sail full. When he was half-way out, the +<i>Ghost</i> took a long roll to windward and back again into the hollow +between two seas. Harrison ceased his progress and held on tightly. Eighty feet +beneath, I could see the agonized strain of his muscles as he gripped for very +life. The sail emptied and the gaff swung amid-ships. The halyards slackened, +and, though it all happened very quickly, I could see them sag beneath the +weight of his body. Then the gaff swung to the side with an abrupt swiftness, +the great sail boomed like a cannon, and the three rows of reef-points slatted +against the canvas like a volley of rifles. Harrison, clinging on, made the +giddy rush through the air. This rush ceased abruptly. The halyards became +instantly taut. It was the snap of the whip. His clutch was broken. One hand +was torn loose from its hold. The other lingered desperately for a moment, and +followed. His body pitched out and down, but in some way he managed to save +himself with his legs. He was hanging by them, head downward. A quick effort +brought his hands up to the halyards again; but he was a long time regaining +his former position, where he hung, a pitiable object. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bet he has no appetite for supper,” I heard Wolf +Larsen’s voice, which came to me from around the corner of the galley. +“Stand from under, you, Johansen! Watch out! Here she comes!” +</p> + +<p> +In truth, Harrison was very sick, as a person is sea-sick; and for a long time +he clung to his precarious perch without attempting to move. Johansen, however, +continued violently to urge him on to the completion of his task. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a shame,” I heard Johnson growling in painfully slow and +correct English. He was standing by the main rigging, a few feet away from me. +“The boy is willing enough. He will learn if he has a chance. But this +is—” He paused awhile, for the word “murder” was his +final judgment. +</p> + +<p> +“Hist, will ye!” Louis whispered to him, “For the love iv +your mother hold your mouth!” +</p> + +<p> +But Johnson, looking on, still continued his grumbling. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” the hunter Standish spoke to Wolf Larsen, +“that’s my boat-puller, and I don’t want to lose him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right, Standish,” was the reply. +“He’s your boat-puller when you’ve got him in the boat; but +he’s my sailor when I have him aboard, and I’ll do what I damn well +please with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that’s no reason—” Standish began in a torrent of +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do, easy as she goes,” Wolf Larsen counselled back. +“I’ve told you what’s what, and let it stop at that. The +man’s mine, and I’ll make soup of him and eat it if I want +to.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an angry gleam in the hunter’s eye, but he turned on his heel +and entered the steerage companion-way, where he remained, looking upward. All +hands were on deck now, and all eyes were aloft, where a human life was at +grapples with death. The callousness of these men, to whom industrial +organization gave control of the lives of other men, was appalling. I, who had +lived out of the whirl of the world, had never dreamed that its work was +carried on in such fashion. Life had always seemed a peculiarly sacred thing, +but here it counted for nothing, was a cipher in the arithmetic of commerce. I +must say, however, that the sailors themselves were sympathetic, as instance +the case of Johnson; but the masters (the hunters and the captain) were +heartlessly indifferent. Even the protest of Standish arose out of the fact +that he did not wish to lose his boat-puller. Had it been some other +hunter’s boat-puller, he, like them, would have been no more than amused. +</p> + +<p> +But to return to Harrison. It took Johansen, insulting and reviling the poor +wretch, fully ten minutes to get him started again. A little later he made the +end of the gaff, where, astride the spar itself, he had a better chance for +holding on. He cleared the sheet, and was free to return, slightly downhill +now, along the halyards to the mast. But he had lost his nerve. Unsafe as was +his present position, he was loath to forsake it for the more unsafe position +on the halyards. +</p> + +<p> +He looked along the airy path he must traverse, and then down to the deck. His +eyes were wide and staring, and he was trembling violently. I had never seen +fear so strongly stamped upon a human face. Johansen called vainly for him to +come down. At any moment he was liable to be snapped off the gaff, but he was +helpless with fright. Wolf Larsen, walking up and down with Smoke and in +conversation, took no more notice of him, though he cried sharply, once, to the +man at the wheel: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re off your course, my man! Be careful, unless you’re +looking for trouble!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, sir,” the helmsman responded, putting a couple of spokes +down. +</p> + +<p> +He had been guilty of running the <i>Ghost</i> several points off her course in +order that what little wind there was should fill the foresail and hold it +steady. He had striven to help the unfortunate Harrison at the risk of +incurring Wolf Larsen’s anger. +</p> + +<p> +The time went by, and the suspense, to me, was terrible. Thomas Mugridge, on +the other hand, considered it a laughable affair, and was continually bobbing +his head out the galley door to make jocose remarks. How I hated him! And how +my hatred for him grew and grew, during that fearful time, to cyclopean +dimensions. For the first time in my life I experienced the desire to +murder—“saw red,” as some of our picturesque writers phrase +it. Life in general might still be sacred, but life in the particular case of +Thomas Mugridge had become very profane indeed. I was frightened when I became +conscious that I was seeing red, and the thought flashed through my mind: was +I, too, becoming tainted by the brutality of my environment?—I, who even +in the most flagrant crimes had denied the justice and righteousness of capital +punishment? +</p> + +<p> +Fully half-an-hour went by, and then I saw Johnson and Louis in some sort of +altercation. It ended with Johnson flinging off Louis’s detaining arm and +starting forward. He crossed the deck, sprang into the fore rigging, and began +to climb. But the quick eye of Wolf Larsen caught him. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, you, what are you up to?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +Johnson’s ascent was arrested. He looked his captain in the eyes and +replied slowly: +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to get that boy down.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get down out of that rigging, and damn lively about it! +D’ye hear? Get down!” +</p> + +<p> +Johnson hesitated, but the long years of obedience to the masters of ships +overpowered him, and he dropped sullenly to the deck and went on forward. +</p> + +<p> +At half after five I went below to set the cabin table, but I hardly knew what +I did, for my eyes and my brain were filled with the vision of a man, +white-faced and trembling, comically like a bug, clinging to the thrashing +gaff. At six o’clock, when I served supper, going on deck to get the food +from the galley, I saw Harrison, still in the same position. The conversation +at the table was of other things. Nobody seemed interested in the wantonly +imperilled life. But making an extra trip to the galley a little later, I was +gladdened by the sight of Harrison staggering weakly from the rigging to the +forecastle scuttle. He had finally summoned the courage to descend. +</p> + +<p> +Before closing this incident, I must give a scrap of conversation I had with +Wolf Larsen in the cabin, while I was washing the dishes. +</p> + +<p> +“You were looking squeamish this afternoon,” he began. “What +was the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +I could see that he knew what had made me possibly as sick as Harrison, that he +was trying to draw me, and I answered, “It was because of the brutal +treatment of that boy.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a short laugh. “Like sea-sickness, I suppose. Some men are +subject to it, and others are not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so,” I objected. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” he went on. “The earth is as full of brutality as +the sea is full of motion. And some men are made sick by the one, and some by +the other. That’s the only reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you, who make a mock of human life, don’t you place any value +upon it whatever?” I demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Value? What value?” He looked at me, and though his eyes were +steady and motionless, there seemed a cynical smile in them. “What kind +of value? How do you measure it? Who values it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” I made answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Then what is it worth to you? Another man’s life, I mean. Come +now, what is it worth?” +</p> + +<p> +The value of life? How could I put a tangible value upon it? Somehow, I, who +have always had expression, lacked expression when with Wolf Larsen. I have +since determined that a part of it was due to the man’s personality, but +that the greater part was due to his totally different outlook. Unlike other +materialists I had met and with whom I had something in common to start on, I +had nothing in common with him. Perhaps, also, it was the elemental simplicity +of his mind that baffled me. He drove so directly to the core of the matter, +divesting a question always of all superfluous details, and with such an air of +finality, that I seemed to find myself struggling in deep water, with no +footing under me. Value of life? How could I answer the question on the spur of +the moment? The sacredness of life I had accepted as axiomatic. That it was +intrinsically valuable was a truism I had never questioned. But when he +challenged the truism I was speechless. +</p> + +<p> +“We were talking about this yesterday,” he said. “I held that +life was a ferment, a yeasty something which devoured life that it might live, +and that living was merely successful piggishness. Why, if there is anything in +supply and demand, life is the cheapest thing in the world. There is only so +much water, so much earth, so much air; but the life that is demanding to be +born is limitless. Nature is a spendthrift. Look at the fish and their millions +of eggs. For that matter, look at you and me. In our loins are the +possibilities of millions of lives. Could we but find time and opportunity and +utilize the last bit and every bit of the unborn life that is in us, we could +become the fathers of nations and populate continents. Life? Bah! It has no +value. Of cheap things it is the cheapest. Everywhere it goes begging. Nature +spills it out with a lavish hand. Where there is room for one life, she sows a +thousand lives, and it’s life eats life till the strongest and most +piggish life is left.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have read Darwin,” I said. “But you read him +misunderstandingly when you conclude that the struggle for existence sanctions +your wanton destruction of life.” +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged his shoulders. “You know you only mean that in relation to +human life, for of the flesh and the fowl and the fish you destroy as much as I +or any other man. And human life is in no wise different, though you feel it is +and think that you reason why it is. Why should I be parsimonious with this +life which is cheap and without value? There are more sailors than there are +ships on the sea for them, more workers than there are factories or machines +for them. Why, you who live on the land know that you house your poor people in +the slums of cities and loose famine and pestilence upon them, and that there +still remain more poor people, dying for want of a crust of bread and a bit of +meat (which is life destroyed), than you know what to do with. Have you ever +seen the London dockers fighting like wild beasts for a chance to work?” +</p> + +<p> +He started for the companion stairs, but turned his head for a final word. +“Do you know the only value life has is what life puts upon itself? And +it is of course over-estimated since it is of necessity prejudiced in its own +favour. Take that man I had aloft. He held on as if he were a precious thing, a +treasure beyond diamonds or rubies. To you? No. To me? Not at all. To himself? +Yes. But I do not accept his estimate. He sadly overrates himself. There is +plenty more life demanding to be born. Had he fallen and dripped his brains +upon the deck like honey from the comb, there would have been no loss to the +world. He was worth nothing to the world. The supply is too large. To himself +only was he of value, and to show how fictitious even this value was, being +dead he is unconscious that he has lost himself. He alone rated himself beyond +diamonds and rubies. Diamonds and rubies are gone, spread out on the deck to be +washed away by a bucket of sea-water, and he does not even know that the +diamonds and rubies are gone. He does not lose anything, for with the loss of +himself he loses the knowledge of loss. Don’t you see? And what have you +to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you are at least consistent,” was all I could say, and I went +on washing the dishes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p> +At last, after three days of variable winds, we have caught the north-east +trades. I came on deck, after a good night’s rest in spite of my poor +knee, to find the <i>Ghost</i> foaming along, wing-and-wing, and every sail +drawing except the jibs, with a fresh breeze astern. Oh, the wonder of the +great trade-wind! All day we sailed, and all night, and the next day, and the +next, day after day, the wind always astern and blowing steadily and strong. +The schooner sailed herself. There was no pulling and hauling on sheets and +tackles, no shifting of topsails, no work at all for the sailors to do except +to steer. At night when the sun went down, the sheets were slackened; in the +morning, when they yielded up the damp of the dew and relaxed, they were pulled +tight again—and that was all. +</p> + +<p> +Ten knots, twelve knots, eleven knots, varying from time to time, is the speed +we are making. And ever out of the north-east the brave wind blows, driving us +on our course two hundred and fifty miles between the dawns. It saddens me and +gladdens me, the gait with which we are leaving San Francisco behind and with +which we are foaming down upon the tropics. Each day grows perceptibly warmer. +In the second dog-watch the sailors come on deck, stripped, and heave buckets +of water upon one another from overside. Flying-fish are beginning to be seen, +and during the night the watch above scrambles over the deck in pursuit of +those that fall aboard. In the morning, Thomas Mugridge being duly bribed, the +galley is pleasantly areek with the odour of their frying; while dolphin meat +is served fore and aft on such occasions as Johnson catches the blazing +beauties from the bowsprit end. +</p> + +<p> +Johnson seems to spend all his spare time there or aloft at the crosstrees, +watching the <i>Ghost</i> cleaving the water under press of sail. There is +passion, adoration, in his eyes, and he goes about in a sort of trance, gazing +in ecstasy at the swelling sails, the foaming wake, and the heave and the run +of her over the liquid mountains that are moving with us in stately procession. +</p> + +<p> +The days and nights are “all a wonder and a wild delight,” and +though I have little time from my dreary work, I steal odd moments to gaze and +gaze at the unending glory of what I never dreamed the world possessed. Above, +the sky is stainless blue—blue as the sea itself, which under the +forefoot is of the colour and sheen of azure satin. All around the horizon are +pale, fleecy clouds, never changing, never moving, like a silver setting for +the flawless turquoise sky. +</p> + +<p> +I do not forget one night, when I should have been asleep, of lying on the +forecastle-head and gazing down at the spectral ripple of foam thrust aside by +the <i>Ghost’s</i> forefoot. It sounded like the gurgling of a brook over +mossy stones in some quiet dell, and the crooning song of it lured me away and +out of myself till I was no longer Hump the cabin-boy, nor Van Weyden, the man +who had dreamed away thirty-five years among books. But a voice behind me, the +unmistakable voice of Wolf Larsen, strong with the invincible certitude of the +man and mellow with appreciation of the words he was quoting, aroused me. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘O the blazing tropic night, when the wake’s a welt of +light<br/> +That holds the hot sky tame,<br/> +And the steady forefoot snores through the planet-powdered floors<br/> +Where the scared whale flukes in flame.<br/> +Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,<br/> +And her ropes are taut with the dew,<br/> +For we’re booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out +trail,<br/> +We’re sagging south on the Long Trail—the trail that is always +new.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, Hump? How’s it strike you?” he asked, after the due +pause which words and setting demanded. +</p> + +<p> +I looked into his face. It was aglow with light, as the sea itself, and the +eyes were flashing in the starshine. +</p> + +<p> +“It strikes me as remarkable, to say the least, that you should show +enthusiasm,” I answered coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, man, it’s living! it’s life!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Which is a cheap thing and without value.” I flung his words at +him. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, and it was the first time I had heard honest mirth in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I cannot get you to understand, cannot drive it into your head, what +a thing this life is. Of course life is valueless, except to itself. And I can +tell you that my life is pretty valuable just now—to myself. It is beyond +price, which you will acknowledge is a terrific overrating, but which I cannot +help, for it is the life that is in me that makes the rating.” +</p> + +<p> +He appeared waiting for the words with which to express the thought that was in +him, and finally went on. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, I am filled with a strange uplift; I feel as if all time +were echoing through me, as though all powers were mine. I know truth, divine +good from evil, right from wrong. My vision is clear and far. I could almost +believe in God. But,” and his voice changed and the light went out of his +face,—“what is this condition in which I find myself? this joy of +living? this exultation of life? this inspiration, I may well call it? It is +what comes when there is nothing wrong with one’s digestion, when his +stomach is in trim and his appetite has an edge, and all goes well. It is the +bribe for living, the champagne of the blood, the effervescence of the +ferment—that makes some men think holy thoughts, and other men to see God +or to create him when they cannot see him. That is all, the drunkenness of +life, the stirring and crawling of the yeast, the babbling of the life that is +insane with consciousness that it is alive. And—bah! To-morrow I shall +pay for it as the drunkard pays. And I shall know that I must die, at sea most +likely, cease crawling of myself to be all a-crawl with the corruption of the +sea; to be fed upon, to be carrion, to yield up all the strength and movement +of my muscles that it may become strength and movement in fin and scale and the +guts of fishes. Bah! And bah! again. The champagne is already flat. The sparkle +and bubble has gone out and it is a tasteless drink.” +</p> + +<p> +He left me as suddenly as he had come, springing to the deck with the weight +and softness of a tiger. The <i>Ghost</i> ploughed on her way. I noted the +gurgling forefoot was very like a snore, and as I listened to it the effect of +Wolf Larsen’s swift rush from sublime exultation to despair slowly left +me. Then some deep-water sailor, from the waist of the ship, lifted a rich +tenor voice in the “Song of the Trade Wind”: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Oh, I am the wind the seamen love—<br/> +I am steady, and strong, and true;<br/> +They follow my track by the clouds above,<br/> +O’er the fathomless tropic blue. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +* * * * * +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Through daylight and dark I follow the bark<br/> +I keep like a hound on her trail;<br/> +I’m strongest at noon, yet under the moon,<br/> +I stiffen the bunt of her sail.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p> +Sometimes I think Wolf Larsen mad, or half-mad at least, what of his strange +moods and vagaries. At other times I take him for a great man, a genius who has +never arrived. And, finally, I am convinced that he is the perfect type of the +primitive man, born a thousand years or generations too late and an anachronism +in this culminating century of civilization. He is certainly an individualist +of the most pronounced type. Not only that, but he is very lonely. There is no +congeniality between him and the rest of the men aboard ship. His tremendous +virility and mental strength wall him apart. They are more like children to +him, even the hunters, and as children he treats them, descending perforce to +their level and playing with them as a man plays with puppies. Or else he +probes them with the cruel hand of a vivisectionist, groping about in their +mental processes and examining their souls as though to see of what soul-stuff +is made. +</p> + +<p> +I have seen him a score of times, at table, insulting this hunter or that, with +cool and level eyes and, withal, a certain air of interest, pondering their +actions or replies or petty rages with a curiosity almost laughable to me who +stood onlooker and who understood. Concerning his own rages, I am convinced +that they are not real, that they are sometimes experiments, but that in the +main they are the habits of a pose or attitude he has seen fit to take toward +his fellow-men. I know, with the possible exception of the incident of the dead +mate, that I have not seen him really angry; nor do I wish ever to see him in a +genuine rage, when all the force of him is called into play. +</p> + +<p> +While on the question of vagaries, I shall tell what befell Thomas Mugridge in +the cabin, and at the same time complete an incident upon which I have already +touched once or twice. The twelve o’clock dinner was over, one day, and I +had just finished putting the cabin in order, when Wolf Larsen and Thomas +Mugridge descended the companion stairs. Though the cook had a cubby-hole of a +state-room opening off from the cabin, in the cabin itself he had never dared +to linger or to be seen, and he flitted to and fro, once or twice a day, a +timid spectre. +</p> + +<p> +“So you know how to play ‘Nap,’” Wolf Larsen was saying +in a pleased sort of voice. “I might have guessed an Englishman would +know. I learned it myself in English ships.” +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge was beside himself, a blithering imbecile, so pleased was he at +chumming thus with the captain. The little airs he put on and the painful +striving to assume the easy carriage of a man born to a dignified place in life +would have been sickening had they not been ludicrous. He quite ignored my +presence, though I credited him with being simply unable to see me. His pale, +wishy-washy eyes were swimming like lazy summer seas, though what blissful +visions they beheld were beyond my imagination. +</p> + +<p> +“Get the cards, Hump,” Wolf Larsen ordered, as they took seats at +the table. “And bring out the cigars and the whisky you’ll find in +my berth.” +</p> + +<p> +I returned with the articles in time to hear the Cockney hinting broadly that +there was a mystery about him, that he might be a gentleman’s son gone +wrong or something or other; also, that he was a remittance man and was paid to +keep away from England—“p’yed ’ansomely, sir,” +was the way he put it; “p’yed ’ansomely to sling my +’ook an’ keep slingin’ it.” +</p> + +<p> +I had brought the customary liquor glasses, but Wolf Larsen frowned, shook his +head, and signalled with his hands for me to bring the tumblers. These he +filled two-thirds full with undiluted whisky—“a gentleman’s +drink?” quoth Thomas Mugridge,—and they clinked their glasses to +the glorious game of “Nap,” lighted cigars, and fell to shuffling +and dealing the cards. +</p> + +<p> +They played for money. They increased the amounts of the bets. They drank +whisky, they drank it neat, and I fetched more. I do not know whether Wolf +Larsen cheated or not,—a thing he was thoroughly capable of +doing,—but he won steadily. The cook made repeated journeys to his bunk +for money. Each time he performed the journey with greater swagger, but he +never brought more than a few dollars at a time. He grew maudlin, familiar, +could hardly see the cards or sit upright. As a preliminary to another journey +to his bunk, he hooked Wolf Larsen’s buttonhole with a greasy forefinger +and vacuously proclaimed and reiterated, “I got money, I got money, I +tell yer, an’ I’m a gentleman’s son.” +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen was unaffected by the drink, yet he drank glass for glass, and if +anything his glasses were fuller. There was no change in him. He did not appear +even amused at the other’s antics. +</p> + +<p> +In the end, with loud protestations that he could lose like a gentleman, the +cook’s last money was staked on the game—and lost. Whereupon he +leaned his head on his hands and wept. Wolf Larsen looked curiously at him, as +though about to probe and vivisect him, then changed his mind, as from the +foregone conclusion that there was nothing there to probe. +</p> + +<p> +“Hump,” he said to me, elaborately polite, “kindly take Mr. +Mugridge’s arm and help him up on deck. He is not feeling very +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“And tell Johnson to douse him with a few buckets of salt water,” +he added, in a lower tone for my ear alone. +</p> + +<p> +I left Mr. Mugridge on deck, in the hands of a couple of grinning sailors who +had been told off for the purpose. Mr. Mugridge was sleepily spluttering that +he was a gentleman’s son. But as I descended the companion stairs to +clear the table I heard him shriek as the first bucket of water struck him. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen was counting his winnings. +</p> + +<p> +“One hundred and eighty-five dollars even,” he said aloud. +“Just as I thought. The beggar came aboard without a cent.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what you have won is mine, sir,” I said boldly. +</p> + +<p> +He favoured me with a quizzical smile. “Hump, I have studied some grammar +in my time, and I think your tenses are tangled. ‘Was mine,’ you +should have said, not ’is mine.’” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a question, not of grammar, but of ethics,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +It was possibly a minute before he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“D’ye know, Hump,” he said, with a slow seriousness which had +in it an indefinable strain of sadness, “that this is the first time I +have heard the word ‘ethics’ in the mouth of a man. You and I are +the only men on this ship who know its meaning.” +</p> + +<p> +“At one time in my life,” he continued, after another pause, +“I dreamed that I might some day talk with men who used such language, +that I might lift myself out of the place in life in which I had been born, and +hold conversation and mingle with men who talked about just such things as +ethics. And this is the first time I have ever heard the word pronounced. Which +is all by the way, for you are wrong. It is a question neither of grammar nor +ethics, but of fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” I said. “The fact is that you have the +money.” +</p> + +<p> +His face brightened. He seemed pleased at my perspicacity. “But it is +avoiding the real question,” I continued, “which is one of +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” he remarked, with a wry pucker of his mouth, “I see you +still believe in such things as right and wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you?—at all?” I demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Not the least bit. Might is right, and that is all there is to it. +Weakness is wrong. Which is a very poor way of saying that it is good for +oneself to be strong, and evil for oneself to be weak—or better yet, it +is pleasurable to be strong, because of the profits; painful to be weak, +because of the penalties. Just now the possession of this money is a +pleasurable thing. It is good for one to possess it. Being able to possess it, +I wrong myself and the life that is in me if I give it to you and forego the +pleasure of possessing it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you wrong me by withholding it,” I objected. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. One man cannot wrong another man. He can only wrong himself. +As I see it, I do wrong always when I consider the interests of others. +Don’t you see? How can two particles of the yeast wrong each other by +striving to devour each other? It is their inborn heritage to strive to devour, +and to strive not to be devoured. When they depart from this they sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you don’t believe in altruism?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +He received the word as if it had a familiar ring, though he pondered it +thoughtfully. “Let me see, it means something about coöperation, +doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in a way there has come to be a sort of connection,” I +answered unsurprised by this time at such gaps in his vocabulary, which, like +his knowledge, was the acquirement of a self-read, self-educated man, whom no +one had directed in his studies, and who had thought much and talked little or +not at all. “An altruistic act is an act performed for the welfare of +others. It is unselfish, as opposed to an act performed for self, which is +selfish.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head. “Oh, yes, I remember it now. I ran across it in +Spencer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spencer!” I cried. “Have you read him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very much,” was his confession. “I understood quite a +good deal of <i>First Principles</i>, but his <i>Biology</i> took the wind out +of my sails, and his <i>Psychology</i> left me butting around in the doldrums +for many a day. I honestly could not understand what he was driving at. I put +it down to mental deficiency on my part, but since then I have decided that it +was for want of preparation. I had no proper basis. Only Spencer and myself +know how hard I hammered. But I did get something out of his <i>Data of +Ethics</i>. There’s where I ran across ‘altruism,’ and I +remember now how it was used.” +</p> + +<p> +I wondered what this man could have got from such a work. Spencer I remembered +enough to know that altruism was imperative to his ideal of highest conduct. +Wolf Larsen, evidently, had sifted the great philosopher’s teachings, +rejecting and selecting according to his needs and desires. +</p> + +<p> +“What else did you run across?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +His brows drew in slightly with the mental effort of suitably phrasing thoughts +which he had never before put into speech. I felt an elation of spirit. I was +groping into his soul-stuff as he made a practice of groping in the soul-stuff +of others. I was exploring virgin territory. A strange, a terribly strange, +region was unrolling itself before my eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“In as few words as possible,” he began, “Spencer puts it +something like this: First, a man must act for his own benefit—to do this +is to be moral and good. Next, he must act for the benefit of his children. And +third, he must act for the benefit of his race.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the highest, finest, right conduct,” I interjected, “is +that act which benefits at the same time the man, his children, and his +race.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t stand for that,” he replied. +“Couldn’t see the necessity for it, nor the common sense. I cut out +the race and the children. I would sacrifice nothing for them. It’s just +so much slush and sentiment, and you must see it yourself, at least for one who +does not believe in eternal life. With immortality before me, altruism would be +a paying business proposition. I might elevate my soul to all kinds of +altitudes. But with nothing eternal before me but death, given for a brief +spell this yeasty crawling and squirming which is called life, why, it would be +immoral for me to perform any act that was a sacrifice. Any sacrifice that +makes me lose one crawl or squirm is foolish,—and not only foolish, for +it is a wrong against myself and a wicked thing. I must not lose one crawl or +squirm if I am to get the most out of the ferment. Nor will the eternal +movelessness that is coming to me be made easier or harder by the sacrifices or +selfishnesses of the time when I was yeasty and acrawl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are an individualist, a materialist, and, logically, a +hedonist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Big words,” he smiled. “But what is a hedonist?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded agreement when I had given the definition. “And you are +also,” I continued, “a man one could not trust in the least thing +where it was possible for a selfish interest to intervene?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you’re beginning to understand,” he said, brightening. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a man utterly without what the world calls morals?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +“A man of whom to be always afraid—” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way to put it.” +</p> + +<p> +“As one is afraid of a snake, or a tiger, or a shark?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you know me,” he said. “And you know me as I am +generally known. Other men call me ‘Wolf.’” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a sort of monster,” I added audaciously, “a Caliban +who has pondered Setebos, and who acts as you act, in idle moments, by whim and +fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +His brow clouded at the allusion. He did not understand, and I quickly learned +that he did not know the poem. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m just reading Browning,” he confessed, “and +it’s pretty tough. I haven’t got very far along, and as it is +I’ve about lost my bearings.” +</p> + +<p> +Not to be tiresome, I shall say that I fetched the book from his state-room and +read “Caliban” aloud. He was delighted. It was a primitive mode of +reasoning and of looking at things that he understood thoroughly. He +interrupted again and again with comment and criticism. When I finished, he had +me read it over a second time, and a third. We fell into +discussion—philosophy, science, evolution, religion. He betrayed the +inaccuracies of the self-read man, and, it must be granted, the sureness and +directness of the primitive mind. The very simplicity of his reasoning was its +strength, and his materialism was far more compelling than the subtly complex +materialism of Charley Furuseth. Not that I—a confirmed and, as Furuseth +phrased it, a temperamental idealist—was to be compelled; but that Wolf +Larsen stormed the last strongholds of my faith with a vigour that received +respect, while not accorded conviction. +</p> + +<p> +Time passed. Supper was at hand and the table not laid. I became restless and +anxious, and when Thomas Mugridge glared down the companion-way, sick and angry +of countenance, I prepared to go about my duties. But Wolf Larsen cried out to +him: +</p> + +<p> +“Cooky, you’ve got to hustle to-night. I’m busy with Hump, +and you’ll do the best you can without him.” +</p> + +<p> +And again the unprecedented was established. That night I sat at table with the +captain and the hunters, while Thomas Mugridge waited on us and washed the +dishes afterward—a whim, a Caliban-mood of Wolf Larsen’s, and one I +foresaw would bring me trouble. In the meantime we talked and talked, much to +the disgust of the hunters, who could not understand a word. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p> +Three days of rest, three blessed days of rest, are what I had with Wolf +Larsen, eating at the cabin table and doing nothing but discuss life, +literature, and the universe, the while Thomas Mugridge fumed and raged and did +my work as well as his own. +</p> + +<p> +“Watch out for squalls, is all I can say to you,” was Louis’s +warning, given during a spare half-hour on deck while Wolf Larsen was engaged +in straightening out a row among the hunters. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye can’t tell what’ll be happenin’,” Louis went +on, in response to my query for more definite information. “The +man’s as contrary as air currents or water currents. You can never guess +the ways iv him. ’Tis just as you’re thinkin’ you know him +and are makin’ a favourable slant along him, that he whirls around, dead +ahead and comes howlin’ down upon you and a-rippin’ all iv your +fine-weather sails to rags.” +</p> + +<p> +So I was not altogether surprised when the squall foretold by Louis smote me. +We had been having a heated discussion,—upon life, of course,—and, +grown over-bold, I was passing stiff strictures upon Wolf Larsen and the life +of Wolf Larsen. In fact, I was vivisecting him and turning over his soul-stuff +as keenly and thoroughly as it was his custom to do it to others. It may be a +weakness of mine that I have an incisive way of speech; but I threw all +restraint to the winds and cut and slashed until the whole man of him was +snarling. The dark sun-bronze of his face went black with wrath, his eyes were +ablaze. There was no clearness or sanity in them—nothing but the terrific +rage of a madman. It was the wolf in him that I saw, and a mad wolf at that. +</p> + +<p> +He sprang for me with a half-roar, gripping my arm. I had steeled myself to +brazen it out, though I was trembling inwardly; but the enormous strength of +the man was too much for my fortitude. He had gripped me by the biceps with his +single hand, and when that grip tightened I wilted and shrieked aloud. My feet +went out from under me. I simply could not stand upright and endure the agony. +The muscles refused their duty. The pain was too great. My biceps was being +crushed to a pulp. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to recover himself, for a lucid gleam came into his eyes, and he +relaxed his hold with a short laugh that was more like a growl. I fell to the +floor, feeling very faint, while he sat down, lighted a cigar, and watched me +as a cat watches a mouse. As I writhed about I could see in his eyes that +curiosity I had so often noted, that wonder and perplexity, that questing, that +everlasting query of his as to what it was all about. +</p> + +<p> +I finally crawled to my feet and ascended the companion stairs. Fair weather +was over, and there was nothing left but to return to the galley. My left arm +was numb, as though paralysed, and days passed before I could use it, while +weeks went by before the last stiffness and pain went out of it. And he had +done nothing but put his hand upon my arm and squeeze. There had been no +wrenching or jerking. He had just closed his hand with a steady pressure. What +he might have done I did not fully realize till next day, when he put his head +into the galley, and, as a sign of renewed friendliness, asked me how my arm +was getting on. +</p> + +<p> +“It might have been worse,” he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +I was peeling potatoes. He picked one up from the pan. It was fair-sized, firm, +and unpeeled. He closed his hand upon it, squeezed, and the potato squirted out +between his fingers in mushy streams. The pulpy remnant he dropped back into +the pan and turned away, and I had a sharp vision of how it might have fared +with me had the monster put his real strength upon me. +</p> + +<p> +But the three days’ rest was good in spite of it all, for it had given my +knee the very chance it needed. It felt much better, the swelling had +materially decreased, and the cap seemed descending into its proper place. +Also, the three days’ rest brought the trouble I had foreseen. It was +plainly Thomas Mugridge’s intention to make me pay for those three days. +He treated me vilely, cursed me continually, and heaped his own work upon me. +He even ventured to raise his fist to me, but I was becoming animal-like +myself, and I snarled in his face so terribly that it must have frightened him +back. It is no pleasant picture I can conjure up of myself, Humphrey Van +Weyden, in that noisome ship’s galley, crouched in a corner over my task, +my face raised to the face of the creature about to strike me, my lips lifted +and snarling like a dog’s, my eyes gleaming with fear and helplessness +and the courage that comes of fear and helplessness. I do not like the picture. +It reminds me too strongly of a rat in a trap. I do not care to think of it; +but it was effective, for the threatened blow did not descend. +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge backed away, glaring as hatefully and viciously as I glared. A +pair of beasts is what we were, penned together and showing our teeth. He was a +coward, afraid to strike me because I had not quailed sufficiently in advance; +so he chose a new way to intimidate me. There was only one galley knife that, +as a knife, amounted to anything. This, through many years of service and wear, +had acquired a long, lean blade. It was unusually cruel-looking, and at first I +had shuddered every time I used it. The cook borrowed a stone from Johansen and +proceeded to sharpen the knife. He did it with great ostentation, glancing +significantly at me the while. He whetted it up and down all day long. Every +odd moment he could find he had the knife and stone out and was whetting away. +The steel acquired a razor edge. He tried it with the ball of his thumb or +across the nail. He shaved hairs from the back of his hand, glanced along the +edge with microscopic acuteness, and found, or feigned that he found, always, a +slight inequality in its edge somewhere. Then he would put it on the stone +again and whet, whet, whet, till I could have laughed aloud, it was so very +ludicrous. +</p> + +<p> +It was also serious, for I learned that he was capable of using it, that under +all his cowardice there was a courage of cowardice, like mine, that would impel +him to do the very thing his whole nature protested against doing and was +afraid of doing. “Cooky’s sharpening his knife for Hump,” was +being whispered about among the sailors, and some of them twitted him about it. +This he took in good part, and was really pleased, nodding his head with +direful foreknowledge and mystery, until George Leach, the erstwhile cabin-boy, +ventured some rough pleasantry on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +Now it happened that Leach was one of the sailors told off to douse Mugridge +after his game of cards with the captain. Leach had evidently done his task +with a thoroughness that Mugridge had not forgiven, for words followed and evil +names involving smirched ancestries. Mugridge menaced with the knife he was +sharpening for me. Leach laughed and hurled more of his Telegraph Hill +Billingsgate, and before either he or I knew what had happened, his right arm +had been ripped open from elbow to wrist by a quick slash of the knife. The +cook backed away, a fiendish expression on his face, the knife held before him +in a position of defence. But Leach took it quite calmly, though blood was +spouting upon the deck as generously as water from a fountain. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m goin’ to get you, Cooky,” he said, “and +I’ll get you hard. And I won’t be in no hurry about it. +You’ll be without that knife when I come for you.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he turned and walked quietly forward. Mugridge’s face was +livid with fear at what he had done and at what he might expect sooner or later +from the man he had stabbed. But his demeanour toward me was more ferocious +than ever. In spite of his fear at the reckoning he must expect to pay for what +he had done, he could see that it had been an object-lesson to me, and he +became more domineering and exultant. Also there was a lust in him, akin to +madness, which had come with sight of the blood he had drawn. He was beginning +to see red in whatever direction he looked. The psychology of it is sadly +tangled, and yet I could read the workings of his mind as clearly as though it +were a printed book. +</p> + +<p> +Several days went by, the <i>Ghost</i> still foaming down the trades, and I +could swear I saw madness growing in Thomas Mugridge’s eyes. And I +confess that I became afraid, very much afraid. Whet, whet, whet, it went all +day long. The look in his eyes as he felt the keen edge and glared at me was +positively carnivorous. I was afraid to turn my shoulder to him, and when I +left the galley I went out backwards—to the amusement of the sailors and +hunters, who made a point of gathering in groups to witness my exit. The strain +was too great. I sometimes thought my mind would give way under it—a meet +thing on this ship of madmen and brutes. Every hour, every minute of my +existence was in jeopardy. I was a human soul in distress, and yet no soul, +fore or aft, betrayed sufficient sympathy to come to my aid. At times I thought +of throwing myself on the mercy of Wolf Larsen, but the vision of the mocking +devil in his eyes that questioned life and sneered at it would come strong upon +me and compel me to refrain. At other times I seriously contemplated suicide, +and the whole force of my hopeful philosophy was required to keep me from going +over the side in the darkness of night. +</p> + +<p> +Several times Wolf Larsen tried to inveigle me into discussion, but I gave him +short answers and eluded him. Finally, he commanded me to resume my seat at the +cabin table for a time and let the cook do my work. Then I spoke frankly, +telling him what I was enduring from Thomas Mugridge because of the three days +of favouritism which had been shown me. Wolf Larsen regarded me with smiling +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re afraid, eh?” he sneered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said defiantly and honestly, “I am afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way with you fellows,” he cried, half angrily, +“sentimentalizing about your immortal souls and afraid to die. At sight +of a sharp knife and a cowardly Cockney the clinging of life to life overcomes +all your fond foolishness. Why, my dear fellow, you will live for ever. You are +a god, and God cannot be killed. Cooky cannot hurt you. You are sure of your +resurrection. What’s there to be afraid of? +</p> + +<p> +“You have eternal life before you. You are a millionaire in immortality, +and a millionaire whose fortune cannot be lost, whose fortune is less +perishable than the stars and as lasting as space or time. It is impossible for +you to diminish your principal. Immortality is a thing without beginning or +end. Eternity is eternity, and though you die here and now you will go on +living somewhere else and hereafter. And it is all very beautiful, this shaking +off of the flesh and soaring of the imprisoned spirit. Cooky cannot hurt you. +He can only give you a boost on the path you eternally must tread. +</p> + +<p> +“Or, if you do not wish to be boosted just yet, why not boost Cooky? +According to your ideas, he, too, must be an immortal millionaire. You cannot +bankrupt him. His paper will always circulate at par. You cannot diminish the +length of his living by killing him, for he is without beginning or end. +He’s bound to go on living, somewhere, somehow. Then boost him. Stick a +knife in him and let his spirit free. As it is, it’s in a nasty prison, +and you’ll do him only a kindness by breaking down the door. And who +knows?—it may be a very beautiful spirit that will go soaring up into the +blue from that ugly carcass. Boost him along, and I’ll promote you to his +place, and he’s getting forty-five dollars a month.” +</p> + +<p> +It was plain that I could look for no help or mercy from Wolf Larsen. Whatever +was to be done I must do for myself; and out of the courage of fear I evolved +the plan of fighting Thomas Mugridge with his own weapons. I borrowed a +whetstone from Johansen. Louis, the boat-steerer, had already begged me for +condensed milk and sugar. The lazarette, where such delicacies were stored, was +situated beneath the cabin floor. Watching my chance, I stole five cans of the +milk, and that night, when it was Louis’s watch on deck, I traded them +with him for a dirk as lean and cruel-looking as Thomas Mugridge’s +vegetable knife. It was rusty and dull, but I turned the grindstone while Louis +gave it an edge. I slept more soundly than usual that night. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning, after breakfast, Thomas Mugridge began his whet, whet, whet. I +glanced warily at him, for I was on my knees taking the ashes from the stove. +When I returned from throwing them overside, he was talking to Harrison, whose +honest yokel’s face was filled with fascination and wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Mugridge was saying, “an’ wot does ’is +worship do but give me two years in Reading. But blimey if I cared. The other +mug was fixed plenty. Should ’a seen ’im. Knife just like this. I +stuck it in, like into soft butter, an’ the w’y ’e squealed +was better’n a tu-penny gaff.” He shot a glance in my direction to +see if I was taking it in, and went on. “‘I didn’t mean it +Tommy,’ ’e was snifflin’; ‘so ’elp me Gawd, I +didn’t mean it!’ ‘I’ll fix yer bloody well +right,’ I sez, an’ kept right after ’im. I cut ’im in +ribbons, that’s wot I did, an’ ’e a-squealin’ all the +time. Once ’e got ’is ’and on the knife an’ tried to +’old it. ‘Ad ’is fingers around it, but I pulled it through, +cuttin’ to the bone. O, ’e was a sight, I can tell yer.” +</p> + +<p> +A call from the mate interrupted the gory narrative, and Harrison went aft. +Mugridge sat down on the raised threshold to the galley and went on with his +knife-sharpening. I put the shovel away and calmly sat down on the coal-box +facing him. He favoured me with a vicious stare. Still calmly, though my heart +was going pitapat, I pulled out Louis’s dirk and began to whet it on the +stone. I had looked for almost any sort of explosion on the Cockney’s +part, but to my surprise he did not appear aware of what I was doing. He went +on whetting his knife. So did I. And for two hours we sat there, face to face, +whet, whet, whet, till the news of it spread abroad and half the ship’s +company was crowding the galley doors to see the sight. +</p> + +<p> +Encouragement and advice were freely tendered, and Jock Horner, the quiet, +self-spoken hunter who looked as though he would not harm a mouse, advised me +to leave the ribs alone and to thrust upward for the abdomen, at the same time +giving what he called the “Spanish twist” to the blade. Leach, his +bandaged arm prominently to the fore, begged me to leave a few remnants of the +cook for him; and Wolf Larsen paused once or twice at the break of the poop to +glance curiously at what must have been to him a stirring and crawling of the +yeasty thing he knew as life. +</p> + +<p> +And I make free to say that for the time being life assumed the same sordid +values to me. There was nothing pretty about it, nothing divine—only two +cowardly moving things that sat whetting steel upon stone, and a group of other +moving things, cowardly and otherwise, that looked on. Half of them, I am sure, +were anxious to see us shedding each other’s blood. It would have been +entertainment. And I do not think there was one who would have interfered had +we closed in a death-struggle. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, the whole thing was laughable and childish. Whet, whet, +whet,—Humphrey Van Weyden sharpening his knife in a ship’s galley +and trying its edge with his thumb! Of all situations this was the most +inconceivable. I know that my own kind could not have believed it possible. I +had not been called “Sissy” Van Weyden all my days without reason, +and that “Sissy” Van Weyden should be capable of doing this thing +was a revelation to Humphrey Van Weyden, who knew not whether to be exultant or +ashamed. +</p> + +<p> +But nothing happened. At the end of two hours Thomas Mugridge put away knife +and stone and held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s the good of mykin’ a ’oly show of ourselves for +them mugs?” he demanded. “They don’t love us, an’ +bloody well glad they’d be a-seein’ us cuttin’ our throats. +Yer not ’arf bad, ’Ump! You’ve got spunk, as you Yanks +s’y, an’ I like yer in a w’y. So come on an’ +shyke.” +</p> + +<p> +Coward that I might be, I was less a coward than he. It was a distinct victory +I had gained, and I refused to forego any of it by shaking his detestable hand. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” he said pridelessly, “tyke it or leave it, +I’ll like yer none the less for it.” And to save his face he turned +fiercely upon the onlookers. “Get outa my galley-doors, you +bloomin’ swabs!” +</p> + +<p> +This command was reinforced by a steaming kettle of water, and at sight of it +the sailors scrambled out of the way. This was a sort of victory for Thomas +Mugridge, and enabled him to accept more gracefully the defeat I had given him, +though, of course, he was too discreet to attempt to drive the hunters away. +</p> + +<p> +“I see Cooky’s finish,” I heard Smoke say to Horner. +</p> + +<p> +“You bet,” was the reply. “Hump runs the galley from now on, +and Cooky pulls in his horns.” +</p> + +<p> +Mugridge heard and shot a swift glance at me, but I gave no sign that the +conversation had reached me. I had not thought my victory was so far-reaching +and complete, but I resolved to let go nothing I had gained. As the days went +by, Smoke’s prophecy was verified. The Cockney became more humble and +slavish to me than even to Wolf Larsen. I mistered him and sirred him no +longer, washed no more greasy pots, and peeled no more potatoes. I did my own +work, and my own work only, and when and in what fashion I saw fit. Also I +carried the dirk in a sheath at my hip, sailor-fashion, and maintained toward +Thomas Mugridge a constant attitude which was composed of equal parts of +domineering, insult, and contempt. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p> +My intimacy with Wolf Larsen increases—if by intimacy may be denoted +those relations which exist between master and man, or, better yet, between +king and jester. I am to him no more than a toy, and he values me no more than +a child values a toy. My function is to amuse, and so long as I amuse all goes +well; but let him become bored, or let him have one of his black moods come +upon him, and at once I am relegated from cabin table to galley, while, at the +same time, I am fortunate to escape with my life and a whole body. +</p> + +<p> +The loneliness of the man is slowly being borne in upon me. There is not a man +aboard but hates or fears him, nor is there a man whom he does not despise. He +seems consuming with the tremendous power that is in him and that seems never +to have found adequate expression in works. He is as Lucifer would be, were +that proud spirit banished to a society of soulless, Tomlinsonian ghosts. +</p> + +<p> +This loneliness is bad enough in itself, but, to make it worse, he is oppressed +by the primal melancholy of the race. Knowing him, I review the old +Scandinavian myths with clearer understanding. The white-skinned, fair-haired +savages who created that terrible pantheon were of the same fibre as he. The +frivolity of the laughter-loving Latins is no part of him. When he laughs it is +from a humour that is nothing else than ferocious. But he laughs rarely; he is +too often sad. And it is a sadness as deep-reaching as the roots of the race. +It is the race heritage, the sadness which has made the race sober-minded, +clean-lived and fanatically moral, and which, in this latter connection, has +culminated among the English in the Reformed Church and Mrs. Grundy. +</p> + +<p> +In point of fact, the chief vent to this primal melancholy has been religion in +its more agonizing forms. But the compensations of such religion are denied +Wolf Larsen. His brutal materialism will not permit it. So, when his blue moods +come on, nothing remains for him, but to be devilish. Were he not so terrible a +man, I could sometimes feel sorry for him, as instance three mornings ago, when +I went into his stateroom to fill his water-bottle and came unexpectedly upon +him. He did not see me. His head was buried in his hands, and his shoulders +were heaving convulsively as with sobs. He seemed torn by some mighty grief. As +I softly withdrew I could hear him groaning, “God! God! God!” Not +that he was calling upon God; it was a mere expletive, but it came from his +soul. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner he asked the hunters for a remedy for headache, and by evening, +strong man that he was, he was half-blind and reeling about the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never been sick in my life, Hump,” he said, as I guided +him to his room. “Nor did I ever have a headache except the time my head +was healing after having been laid open for six inches by a capstan-bar.” +</p> + +<p> +For three days this blinding headache lasted, and he suffered as wild animals +suffer, as it seemed the way on ship to suffer, without plaint, without +sympathy, utterly alone. +</p> + +<p> +This morning, however, on entering his state-room to make the bed and put +things in order, I found him well and hard at work. Table and bunk were +littered with designs and calculations. On a large transparent sheet, compass +and square in hand, he was copying what appeared to be a scale of some sort or +other. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Hump,” he greeted me genially. “I’m just +finishing the finishing touches. Want to see it work?” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is it?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A labour-saving device for mariners, navigation reduced to kindergarten +simplicity,” he answered gaily. “From to-day a child will be able +to navigate a ship. No more long-winded calculations. All you need is one star +in the sky on a dirty night to know instantly where you are. Look. I place the +transparent scale on this star-map, revolving the scale on the North Pole. On +the scale I’ve worked out the circles of altitude and the lines of +bearing. All I do is to put it on a star, revolve the scale till it is opposite +those figures on the map underneath, and presto! there you are, the +ship’s precise location!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a ring of triumph in his voice, and his eyes, clear blue this morning +as the sea, were sparkling with light. +</p> + +<p> +“You must be well up in mathematics,” I said. “Where did you +go to school?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never saw the inside of one, worse luck,” was the answer. “I +had to dig it out for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why do you think I have made this thing?” he demanded, +abruptly. “Dreaming to leave footprints on the sands of time?” He +laughed one of his horrible mocking laughs. “Not at all. To get it +patented, to make money from it, to revel in piggishness with all night in +while other men do the work. That’s my purpose. Also, I have enjoyed +working it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“The creative joy,” I murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess that’s what it ought to be called. Which is another way of +expressing the joy of life in that it is alive, the triumph of movement over +matter, of the quick over the dead, the pride of the yeast because it is yeast +and crawls.” +</p> + +<p> +I threw up my hands with helpless disapproval of his inveterate materialism and +went about making the bed. He continued copying lines and figures upon the +transparent scale. It was a task requiring the utmost nicety and precision, and +I could not but admire the way he tempered his strength to the fineness and +delicacy of the need. +</p> + +<p> +When I had finished the bed, I caught myself looking at him in a fascinated +sort of way. He was certainly a handsome man—beautiful in the masculine +sense. And again, with never-failing wonder, I remarked the total lack of +viciousness, or wickedness, or sinfulness in his face. It was the face, I am +convinced, of a man who did no wrong. And by this I do not wish to be +misunderstood. What I mean is that it was the face of a man who either did +nothing contrary to the dictates of his conscience, or who had no conscience. I +am inclined to the latter way of accounting for it. He was a magnificent +atavism, a man so purely primitive that he was of the type that came into the +world before the development of the moral nature. He was not immoral, but +merely unmoral. +</p> + +<p> +As I have said, in the masculine sense his was a beautiful face. Smooth-shaven, +every line was distinct, and it was cut as clear and sharp as a cameo; while +sea and sun had tanned the naturally fair skin to a dark bronze which bespoke +struggle and battle and added both to his savagery and his beauty. The lips +were full, yet possessed of the firmness, almost harshness, which is +characteristic of thin lips. The set of his mouth, his chin, his jaw, was +likewise firm or harsh, with all the fierceness and indomitableness of the +male—the nose also. It was the nose of a being born to conquer and +command. It just hinted of the eagle beak. It might have been Grecian, it might +have been Roman, only it was a shade too massive for the one, a shade too +delicate for the other. And while the whole face was the incarnation of +fierceness and strength, the primal melancholy from which he suffered seemed to +greaten the lines of mouth and eye and brow, seemed to give a largeness and +completeness which otherwise the face would have lacked. +</p> + +<p> +And so I caught myself standing idly and studying him. I cannot say how greatly +the man had come to interest me. Who was he? What was he? How had he happened +to be? All powers seemed his, all potentialities—why, then, was he no +more than the obscure master of a seal-hunting schooner with a reputation for +frightful brutality amongst the men who hunted seals? +</p> + +<p> +My curiosity burst from me in a flood of speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is it that you have not done great things in this world? With the +power that is yours you might have risen to any height. Unpossessed of +conscience or moral instinct, you might have mastered the world, broken it to +your hand. And yet here you are, at the top of your life, where diminishing and +dying begin, living an obscure and sordid existence, hunting sea animals for +the satisfaction of woman’s vanity and love of decoration, revelling in a +piggishness, to use your own words, which is anything and everything except +splendid. Why, with all that wonderful strength, have you not done something? +There was nothing to stop you, nothing that could stop you. What was wrong? Did +you lack ambition? Did you fall under temptation? What was the matter? What was +the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +He had lifted his eyes to me at the commencement of my outburst, and followed +me complacently until I had done and stood before him breathless and dismayed. +He waited a moment, as though seeking where to begin, and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“Hump, do you know the parable of the sower who went forth to sow? If you +will remember, some of the seed fell upon stony places, where there was not +much earth, and forthwith they sprung up because they had no deepness of earth. +And when the sun was up they were scorched, and because they had no root they +withered away. And some fell among thorns, and the thorns sprung up and choked +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he queried, half petulantly. “It was not well. I was +one of those seeds.” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped his head to the scale and resumed the copying. I finished my work +and had opened the door to leave, when he spoke to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Hump, if you will look on the west coast of the map of Norway you will +see an indentation called Romsdal Fiord. I was born within a hundred miles of +that stretch of water. But I was not born Norwegian. I am a Dane. My father and +mother were Danes, and how they ever came to that bleak bight of land on the +west coast I do not know. I never heard. Outside of that there is nothing +mysterious. They were poor people and unlettered. They came of generations of +poor unlettered people—peasants of the sea who sowed their sons on the +waves as has been their custom since time began. There is no more to +tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there is,” I objected. “It is still obscure to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can I tell you?” he demanded, with a recrudescence of +fierceness. “Of the meagreness of a child’s life? of fish diet and +coarse living? of going out with the boats from the time I could crawl? of my +brothers, who went away one by one to the deep-sea farming and never came back? +of myself, unable to read or write, cabin-boy at the mature age of ten on the +coastwise, old-country ships? of the rough fare and rougher usage, where kicks +and blows were bed and breakfast and took the place of speech, and fear and +hatred and pain were my only soul-experiences? I do not care to remember. A +madness comes up in my brain even now as I think of it. But there were +coastwise skippers I would have returned and killed when a man’s strength +came to me, only the lines of my life were cast at the time in other places. I +did return, not long ago, but unfortunately the skippers were dead, all but +one, a mate in the old days, a skipper when I met him, and when I left him a +cripple who would never walk again.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you who read Spencer and Darwin and have never seen the inside of a +school, how did you learn to read and write?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“In the English merchant service. Cabin-boy at twelve, ship’s boy +at fourteen, ordinary seaman at sixteen, able seaman at seventeen, and cock of +the fo’c’sle, infinite ambition and infinite loneliness, receiving +neither help nor sympathy, I did it all for myself—navigation, +mathematics, science, literature, and what not. And of what use has it been? +Master and owner of a ship at the top of my life, as you say, when I am +beginning to diminish and die. Paltry, isn’t it? And when the sun was up +I was scorched, and because I had no root I withered away.” +</p> + +<p> +“But history tells of slaves who rose to the purple,” I chided. +</p> + +<p> +“And history tells of opportunities that came to the slaves who rose to +the purple,” he answered grimly. “No man makes opportunity. All the +great men ever did was to know it when it came to them. The Corsican knew. I +have dreamed as greatly as the Corsican. I should have known the opportunity, +but it never came. The thorns sprung up and choked me. And, Hump, I can tell +you that you know more about me than any living man, except my own +brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is he? And where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Master of the steamship <i>Macedonia</i>, seal-hunter,” was the +answer. “We will meet him most probably on the Japan coast. Men call him +‘Death’ Larsen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Death Larsen!” I involuntarily cried. “Is he like +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hardly. He is a lump of an animal without any head. He has all +my—my—” +</p> + +<p> +“Brutishness,” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,—thank you for the word,—all my brutishness, but he can +scarcely read or write.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he has never philosophized on life,” I added. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Wolf Larsen answered, with an indescribable air of sadness. +“And he is all the happier for leaving life alone. He is too busy living +it to think about it. My mistake was in ever opening the books.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p> +The <i>Ghost</i> has attained the southernmost point of the arc she is +describing across the Pacific, and is already beginning to edge away to the +west and north toward some lone island, it is rumoured, where she will fill her +water-casks before proceeding to the season’s hunt along the coast of +Japan. The hunters have experimented and practised with their rifles and +shotguns till they are satisfied, and the boat-pullers and steerers have made +their spritsails, bound the oars and rowlocks in leather and sennit so that +they will make no noise when creeping on the seals, and put their boats in +apple-pie order—to use Leach’s homely phrase. +</p> + +<p> +His arm, by the way, has healed nicely, though the scar will remain all his +life. Thomas Mugridge lives in mortal fear of him, and is afraid to venture on +deck after dark. There are two or three standing quarrels in the forecastle. +Louis tells me that the gossip of the sailors finds its way aft, and that two +of the telltales have been badly beaten by their mates. He shakes his head +dubiously over the outlook for the man Johnson, who is boat-puller in the same +boat with him. Johnson has been guilty of speaking his mind too freely, and has +collided two or three times with Wolf Larsen over the pronunciation of his +name. Johansen he thrashed on the amidships deck the other night, since which +time the mate has called him by his proper name. But of course it is out of the +question that Johnson should thrash Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +Louis has also given me additional information about Death Larsen, which +tallies with the captain’s brief description. We may expect to meet Death +Larsen on the Japan coast. “And look out for squalls,” is +Louis’s prophecy, “for they hate one another like the wolf whelps +they are.” Death Larsen is in command of the only sealing steamer in the +fleet, the <i>Macedonia</i>, which carries fourteen boats, whereas the rest of +the schooners carry only six. There is wild talk of cannon aboard, and of +strange raids and expeditions she may make, ranging from opium smuggling into +the States and arms smuggling into China, to blackbirding and open piracy. Yet +I cannot but believe for I have never yet caught him in a lie, while he has a +cyclopædic knowledge of sealing and the men of the sealing fleets. +</p> + +<p> +As it is forward and in the galley, so it is in the steerage and aft, on this +veritable hell-ship. Men fight and struggle ferociously for one another’s +lives. The hunters are looking for a shooting scrape at any moment between +Smoke and Henderson, whose old quarrel has not healed, while Wolf Larsen says +positively that he will kill the survivor of the affair, if such affair comes +off. He frankly states that the position he takes is based on no moral grounds, +that all the hunters could kill and eat one another so far as he is concerned, +were it not that he needs them alive for the hunting. If they will only hold +their hands until the season is over, he promises them a royal carnival, when +all grudges can be settled and the survivors may toss the non-survivors +overboard and arrange a story as to how the missing men were lost at sea. I +think even the hunters are appalled at his cold-bloodedness. Wicked men though +they be, they are certainly very much afraid of him. +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge is cur-like in his subjection to me, while I go about in secret +dread of him. His is the courage of fear,—a strange thing I know well of +myself,—and at any moment it may master the fear and impel him to the +taking of my life. My knee is much better, though it often aches for long +periods, and the stiffness is gradually leaving the arm which Wolf Larsen +squeezed. Otherwise I am in splendid condition, feel that I am in splendid +condition. My muscles are growing harder and increasing in size. My hands, +however, are a spectacle for grief. They have a parboiled appearance, are +afflicted with hang-nails, while the nails are broken and discoloured, and the +edges of the quick seem to be assuming a fungoid sort of growth. Also, I am +suffering from boils, due to the diet, most likely, for I was never afflicted +in this manner before. +</p> + +<p> +I was amused, a couple of evenings back, by seeing Wolf Larsen reading the +Bible, a copy of which, after the futile search for one at the beginning of the +voyage, had been found in the dead mate’s sea-chest. I wondered what Wolf +Larsen could get from it, and he read aloud to me from Ecclesiastes. I could +imagine he was speaking the thoughts of his own mind as he read to me, and his +voice, reverberating deeply and mournfully in the confined cabin, charmed and +held me. He may be uneducated, but he certainly knows how to express the +significance of the written word. I can hear him now, as I shall always hear +him, the primal melancholy vibrant in his voice as he read: +</p> + +<blockquote><p> +“I gathered me also silver and gold, and the peculiar treasure of kings +and of the provinces; I gat me men singers and women singers, and the delights +of the sons of men, as musical instruments, and that of all sorts. +</p> + +<p> +“So I was great, and increased more than all that were before me in +Jerusalem; also my wisdom returned with me. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought and on the +labour that I had laboured to do; and behold, all was vanity and vexation of +spirit, and there was no profit under the sun. +</p> + +<p> +“All things come alike to all; there is one event to the righteous and to +the wicked; to the good and to the clean, and to the unclean; to him that +sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not; as is the good, so is the sinner; +and he that sweareth, as he that feareth an oath. +</p> + +<p> +“This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that there +is one event unto all; yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, +and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the +dead. +</p> + +<p> +“For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope; for a living +dog is better than a dead lion. +</p> + +<p> +“For the living know that they shall die; but the dead know not anything, +neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +“Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished; +neither have they any more a portion for ever in anything that is done under +the sun.” + +</p> </blockquote> + +<p> +“There you have it, Hump,” he said, closing the book upon his +finger and looking up at me. “The Preacher who was king over Israel in +Jerusalem thought as I think. You call me a pessimist. Is not this pessimism of +the blackest?—‘All is vanity and vexation of spirit,’ +‘There is no profit under the sun,’ ‘There is one event unto +all,’ to the fool and the wise, the clean and the unclean, the sinner and +the saint, and that event is death, and an evil thing, he says. For the +Preacher loved life, and did not want to die, saying, ‘For a living dog +is better than a dead lion.’ He preferred the vanity and vexation to the +silence and unmovableness of the grave. And so I. To crawl is piggish; but to +not crawl, to be as the clod and rock, is loathsome to contemplate. It is +loathsome to the life that is in me, the very essence of which is movement, the +power of movement, and the consciousness of the power of movement. Life itself +is unsatisfaction, but to look ahead to death is greater unsatisfaction.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are worse off than Omar,” I said. “He, at least, after +the customary agonizing of youth, found content and made of his materialism a +joyous thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was Omar?” Wolf Larsen asked, and I did no more work that day, +nor the next, nor the next. +</p> + +<p> +In his random reading he had never chanced upon the Rubáiyát, and it was to him +like a great find of treasure. Much I remembered, possibly two-thirds of the +quatrains, and I managed to piece out the remainder without difficulty. We +talked for hours over single stanzas, and I found him reading into them a wail +of regret and a rebellion which, for the life of me, I could not discover +myself. Possibly I recited with a certain joyous lilt which was my own, +for—his memory was good, and at a second rendering, very often the first, +he made a quatrain his own—he recited the same lines and invested them +with an unrest and passionate revolt that was well-nigh convincing. +</p> + +<p> +I was interested as to which quatrain he would like best, and was not surprised +when he hit upon the one born of an instant’s irritability, and quite at +variance with the Persian’s complacent philosophy and genial code of +life: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“What, without asking, hither hurried <i>Whence</i>?<br/> +And, without asking, <i>Whither</i> hurried hence!<br/> +Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine<br/> +Must drown the memory of that insolence!” +</p> + +<p> +“Great!” Wolf Larsen cried. “Great! That’s the keynote. +Insolence! He could not have used a better word.” +</p> + +<p> +In vain I objected and denied. He deluged me, overwhelmed me with argument. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not the nature of life to be otherwise. Life, when it knows +that it must cease living, will always rebel. It cannot help itself. The +Preacher found life and the works of life all a vanity and vexation, an evil +thing; but death, the ceasing to be able to be vain and vexed, he found an +eviler thing. Through chapter after chapter he is worried by the one event that +cometh to all alike. So Omar, so I, so you, even you, for you rebelled against +dying when Cooky sharpened a knife for you. You were afraid to die; the life +that was in you, that composes you, that is greater than you, did not want to +die. You have talked of the instinct of immortality. I talk of the instinct of +life, which is to live, and which, when death looms near and large, masters the +instinct, so called, of immortality. It mastered it in you (you cannot deny +it), because a crazy Cockney cook sharpened a knife. +</p> + +<p> +“You are afraid of him now. You are afraid of me. You cannot deny it. If +I should catch you by the throat, thus,”—his hand was about my +throat and my breath was shut off,—“and began to press the life out +of you thus, and thus, your instinct of immortality will go glimmering, and +your instinct of life, which is longing for life, will flutter up, and you will +struggle to save yourself. Eh? I see the fear of death in your eyes. You beat +the air with your arms. You exert all your puny strength to struggle to live. +Your hand is clutching my arm, lightly it feels as a butterfly resting there. +Your chest is heaving, your tongue protruding, your skin turning dark, your +eyes swimming. ‘To live! To live! To live!’ you are crying; and you +are crying to live here and now, not hereafter. You doubt your immortality, eh? +Ha! ha! You are not sure of it. You won’t chance it. This life only you +are certain is real. Ah, it is growing dark and darker. It is the darkness of +death, the ceasing to be, the ceasing to feel, the ceasing to move, that is +gathering about you, descending upon you, rising around you. Your eyes are +becoming set. They are glazing. My voice sounds faint and far. You cannot see +my face. And still you struggle in my grip. You kick with your legs. Your body +draws itself up in knots like a snake’s. Your chest heaves and strains. +To live! To live! To live—” +</p> + +<p> +I heard no more. Consciousness was blotted out by the darkness he had so +graphically described, and when I came to myself I was lying on the floor and +he was smoking a cigar and regarding me thoughtfully with that old familiar +light of curiosity in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, have I convinced you?” he demanded. “Here take a drink +of this. I want to ask you some questions.” +</p> + +<p> +I rolled my head negatively on the floor. “Your arguments are +too—er—forcible,” I managed to articulate, at cost of great +pain to my aching throat. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be all right in half-an-hour,” he assured me. +“And I promise I won’t use any more physical demonstrations. Get up +now. You can sit on a chair.” +</p> + +<p> +And, toy that I was of this monster, the discussion of Omar and the Preacher +was resumed. And half the night we sat up over it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p> +The last twenty-four hours have witnessed a carnival of brutality. From cabin +to forecastle it seems to have broken out like a contagion. I scarcely know +where to begin. Wolf Larsen was really the cause of it. The relations among the +men, strained and made tense by feuds, quarrels and grudges, were in a state of +unstable equilibrium, and evil passions flared up in flame like prairie-grass. +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge is a sneak, a spy, an informer. He has been attempting to curry +favour and reinstate himself in the good graces of the captain by carrying +tales of the men forward. He it was, I know, that carried some of +Johnson’s hasty talk to Wolf Larsen. Johnson, it seems, bought a suit of +oilskins from the slop-chest and found them to be of greatly inferior quality. +Nor was he slow in advertising the fact. The slop-chest is a sort of miniature +dry-goods store which is carried by all sealing schooners and which is stocked +with articles peculiar to the needs of the sailors. Whatever a sailor purchases +is taken from his subsequent earnings on the sealing grounds; for, as it is +with the hunters so it is with the boat-pullers and steerers—in the place +of wages they receive a “lay,” a rate of so much per skin for every +skin captured in their particular boat. +</p> + +<p> +But of Johnson’s grumbling at the slop-chest I knew nothing, so that what +I witnessed came with a shock of sudden surprise. I had just finished sweeping +the cabin, and had been inveigled by Wolf Larsen into a discussion of Hamlet, +his favourite Shakespearian character, when Johansen descended the companion +stairs followed by Johnson. The latter’s cap came off after the custom of +the sea, and he stood respectfully in the centre of the cabin, swaying heavily +and uneasily to the roll of the schooner and facing the captain. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut the doors and draw the slide,” Wolf Larsen said to me. +</p> + +<p> +As I obeyed I noticed an anxious light come into Johnson’s eyes, but I +did not dream of its cause. I did not dream of what was to occur until it did +occur, but he knew from the very first what was coming and awaited it bravely. +And in his action I found complete refutation of all Wolf Larsen’s +materialism. The sailor Johnson was swayed by idea, by principle, and truth, +and sincerity. He was right, he knew he was right, and he was unafraid. He +would die for the right if needs be, he would be true to himself, sincere with +his soul. And in this was portrayed the victory of the spirit over the flesh, +the indomitability and moral grandeur of the soul that knows no restriction and +rises above time and space and matter with a surety and invincibleness born of +nothing else than eternity and immortality. +</p> + +<p> +But to return. I noticed the anxious light in Johnson’s eyes, but mistook +it for the native shyness and embarrassment of the man. The mate, Johansen, +stood away several feet to the side of him, and fully three yards in front of +him sat Wolf Larsen on one of the pivotal cabin chairs. An appreciable pause +fell after I had closed the doors and drawn the slide, a pause that must have +lasted fully a minute. It was broken by Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +“Yonson,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Johnson, sir,” the sailor boldly corrected. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Johnson, then, damn you! Can you guess why I have sent for +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and no, sir,” was the slow reply. “My work is done +well. The mate knows that, and you know it, sir. So there cannot be any +complaint.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is that all?” Wolf Larsen queried, his voice soft, and low, +and purring. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you have it in for me,” Johnson continued with his +unalterable and ponderous slowness. “You do not like me. +You—you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” Wolf Larsen prompted. “Don’t be afraid of my +feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not afraid,” the sailor retorted, a slight angry flush rising +through his sunburn. “If I speak not fast, it is because I have not been +from the old country as long as you. You do not like me because I am too much +of a man; that is why, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are too much of a man for ship discipline, if that is what you mean, +and if you know what I mean,” was Wolf Larsen’s retort. +</p> + +<p> +“I know English, and I know what you mean, sir,” Johnson answered, +his flush deepening at the slur on his knowledge of the English language. +</p> + +<p> +“Johnson,” Wolf Larsen said, with an air of dismissing all that had +gone before as introductory to the main business in hand, “I understand +you’re not quite satisfied with those oilskins?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not. They are no good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ve been shooting off your mouth about them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say what I think, sir,” the sailor answered courageously, not +failing at the same time in ship courtesy, which demanded that +“sir” be appended to each speech he made. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Johansen. His big fists were +clenching and unclenching, and his face was positively fiendish, so malignantly +did he look at Johnson. I noticed a black discoloration, still faintly visible, +under Johansen’s eye, a mark of the thrashing he had received a few +nights before from the sailor. For the first time I began to divine that +something terrible was about to be enacted,—what, I could not imagine. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what happens to men who say what you’ve said about my +slop-chest and me?” Wolf Larsen was demanding. +</p> + +<p> +“I know, sir,” was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” Wolf Larsen demanded, sharply and imperatively. +</p> + +<p> +“What you and the mate there are going to do to me, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look at him, Hump,” Wolf Larsen said to me, “look at this +bit of animated dust, this aggregation of matter that moves and breathes and +defies me and thoroughly believes itself to be compounded of something good; +that is impressed with certain human fictions such as righteousness and +honesty, and that will live up to them in spite of all personal discomforts and +menaces. What do you think of him, Hump? What do you think of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that he is a better man than you are,” I answered, +impelled, somehow, with a desire to draw upon myself a portion of the wrath I +felt was about to break upon his head. “His human fictions, as you choose +to call them, make for nobility and manhood. You have no fictions, no dreams, +no ideals. You are a pauper.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head with a savage pleasantness. “Quite true, Hump, quite +true. I have no fictions that make for nobility and manhood. A living dog is +better than a dead lion, say I with the Preacher. My only doctrine is the +doctrine of expediency, and it makes for surviving. This bit of the ferment we +call ‘Johnson,’ when he is no longer a bit of the ferment, only +dust and ashes, will have no more nobility than any dust and ashes, while I +shall still be alive and roaring.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what I am going to do?” he questioned. +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I am going to exercise my prerogative of roaring and show you how +fares nobility. Watch me.” +</p> + +<p> +Three yards away from Johnson he was, and sitting down. Nine feet! And yet he +left the chair in full leap, without first gaining a standing position. He left +the chair, just as he sat in it, squarely, springing from the sitting posture +like a wild animal, a tiger, and like a tiger covered the intervening space. It +was an avalanche of fury that Johnson strove vainly to fend off. He threw one +arm down to protect the stomach, the other arm up to protect the head; but Wolf +Larsen’s fist drove midway between, on the chest, with a crushing, +resounding impact. Johnson’s breath, suddenly expelled, shot from his +mouth and as suddenly checked, with the forced, audible expiration of a man +wielding an axe. He almost fell backward, and swayed from side to side in an +effort to recover his balance. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot give the further particulars of the horrible scene that followed. It +was too revolting. It turns me sick even now when I think of it. Johnson fought +bravely enough, but he was no match for Wolf Larsen, much less for Wolf Larsen +and the mate. It was frightful. I had not imagined a human being could endure +so much and still live and struggle on. And struggle on Johnson did. Of course +there was no hope for him, not the slightest, and he knew it as well as I, but +by the manhood that was in him he could not cease from fighting for that +manhood. +</p> + +<p> +It was too much for me to witness. I felt that I should lose my mind, and I ran +up the companion stairs to open the doors and escape on deck. But Wolf Larsen, +leaving his victim for the moment, and with one of his tremendous springs, +gained my side and flung me into the far corner of the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“The phenomena of life, Hump,” he girded at me. “Stay and +watch it. You may gather data on the immortality of the soul. Besides, you +know, we can’t hurt Johnson’s soul. It’s only the fleeting +form we may demolish.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed centuries—possibly it was no more than ten minutes that the +beating continued. Wolf Larsen and Johansen were all about the poor fellow. +They struck him with their fists, kicked him with their heavy shoes, knocked +him down, and dragged him to his feet to knock him down again. His eyes were +blinded so that he could not see, and the blood running from ears and nose and +mouth turned the cabin into a shambles. And when he could no longer rise they +still continued to beat and kick him where he lay. +</p> + +<p> +“Easy, Johansen; easy as she goes,” Wolf Larsen finally said. +</p> + +<p> +But the beast in the mate was up and rampant, and Wolf Larsen was compelled to +brush him away with a back-handed sweep of the arm, gentle enough, apparently, +but which hurled Johansen back like a cork, driving his head against the wall +with a crash. He fell to the floor, half stunned for the moment, breathing +heavily and blinking his eyes in a stupid sort of way. +</p> + +<p> +“Jerk open the doors, Hump,” I was commanded. +</p> + +<p> +I obeyed, and the two brutes picked up the senseless man like a sack of rubbish +and hove him clear up the companion stairs, through the narrow doorway, and out +on deck. The blood from his nose gushed in a scarlet stream over the feet of +the helmsman, who was none other than Louis, his boat-mate. But Louis took and +gave a spoke and gazed imperturbably into the binnacle. +</p> + +<p> +Not so was the conduct of George Leach, the erstwhile cabin-boy. Fore and aft +there was nothing that could have surprised us more than his consequent +behaviour. He it was that came up on the poop without orders and dragged +Johnson forward, where he set about dressing his wounds as well as he could and +making him comfortable. Johnson, as Johnson, was unrecognizable; and not only +that, for his features, as human features at all, were unrecognizable, so +discoloured and swollen had they become in the few minutes which had elapsed +between the beginning of the beating and the dragging forward of the body. +</p> + +<p> +But of Leach’s behaviour—By the time I had finished cleansing the +cabin he had taken care of Johnson. I had come up on deck for a breath of fresh +air and to try to get some repose for my overwrought nerves. Wolf Larsen was +smoking a cigar and examining the patent log which the <i>Ghost</i> usually +towed astern, but which had been hauled in for some purpose. Suddenly +Leach’s voice came to my ears. It was tense and hoarse with an +overmastering rage. I turned and saw him standing just beneath the break of the +poop on the port side of the galley. His face was convulsed and white, his eyes +were flashing, his clenched fists raised overhead. +</p> + +<p> +“May God damn your soul to hell, Wolf Larsen, only hell’s too good +for you, you coward, you murderer, you pig!” was his opening salutation. +</p> + +<p> +I was thunderstruck. I looked for his instant annihilation. But it was not Wolf +Larsen’s whim to annihilate him. He sauntered slowly forward to the break +of the poop, and, leaning his elbow on the corner of the cabin, gazed down +thoughtfully and curiously at the excited boy. +</p> + +<p> +And the boy indicted Wolf Larsen as he had never been indicted before. The +sailors assembled in a fearful group just outside the forecastle scuttle and +watched and listened. The hunters piled pell-mell out of the steerage, but as +Leach’s tirade continued I saw that there was no levity in their faces. +Even they were frightened, not at the boy’s terrible words, but at his +terrible audacity. It did not seem possible that any living creature could thus +beard Wolf Larsen in his teeth. I know for myself that I was shocked into +admiration of the boy, and I saw in him the splendid invincibleness of +immortality rising above the flesh and the fears of the flesh, as in the +prophets of old, to condemn unrighteousness. +</p> + +<p> +And such condemnation! He haled forth Wolf Larsen’s soul naked to the +scorn of men. He rained upon it curses from God and High Heaven, and withered +it with a heat of invective that savoured of a mediæval excommunication of the +Catholic Church. He ran the gamut of denunciation, rising to heights of wrath +that were sublime and almost Godlike, and from sheer exhaustion sinking to the +vilest and most indecent abuse. +</p> + +<p> +His rage was a madness. His lips were flecked with a soapy froth, and sometimes +he choked and gurgled and became inarticulate. And through it all, calm and +impassive, leaning on his elbow and gazing down, Wolf Larsen seemed lost in a +great curiosity. This wild stirring of yeasty life, this terrific revolt and +defiance of matter that moved, perplexed and interested him. +</p> + +<p> +Each moment I looked, and everybody looked, for him to leap upon the boy and +destroy him. But it was not his whim. His cigar went out, and he continued to +gaze silently and curiously. +</p> + +<p> +Leach had worked himself into an ecstasy of impotent rage. +</p> + +<p> +“Pig! Pig! Pig!” he was reiterating at the top of his lungs. +“Why don’t you come down and kill me, you murderer? You can do it! +I ain’t afraid! There’s no one to stop you! Damn sight better dead +and outa your reach than alive and in your clutches! Come on, you coward! Kill +me! Kill me! Kill me!” +</p> + +<p> +It was at this stage that Thomas Mugridge’s erratic soul brought him into +the scene. He had been listening at the galley door, but he now came out, +ostensibly to fling some scraps over the side, but obviously to see the killing +he was certain would take place. He smirked greasily up into the face of Wolf +Larsen, who seemed not to see him. But the Cockney was unabashed, though mad, +stark mad. He turned to Leach, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Such langwidge! Shockin’!” +</p> + +<p> +Leach’s rage was no longer impotent. Here at last was something ready to +hand. And for the first time since the stabbing the Cockney had appeared +outside the galley without his knife. The words had barely left his mouth when +he was knocked down by Leach. Three times he struggled to his feet, striving to +gain the galley, and each time was knocked down. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord!” he cried. “’Elp! ’Elp! Tyke ’im +aw’y, carn’t yer? Tyke ’im aw’y!” +</p> + +<p> +The hunters laughed from sheer relief. Tragedy had dwindled, the farce had +begun. The sailors now crowded boldly aft, grinning and shuffling, to watch the +pummelling of the hated Cockney. And even I felt a great joy surge up within +me. I confess that I delighted in this beating Leach was giving to Thomas +Mugridge, though it was as terrible, almost, as the one Mugridge had caused to +be given to Johnson. But the expression of Wolf Larsen’s face never +changed. He did not change his position either, but continued to gaze down with +a great curiosity. For all his pragmatic certitude, it seemed as if he watched +the play and movement of life in the hope of discovering something more about +it, of discerning in its maddest writhings a something which had hitherto +escaped him,—the key to its mystery, as it were, which would make all +clear and plain. +</p> + +<p> +But the beating! It was quite similar to the one I had witnessed in the cabin. +The Cockney strove in vain to protect himself from the infuriated boy. And in +vain he strove to gain the shelter of the cabin. He rolled toward it, grovelled +toward it, fell toward it when he was knocked down. But blow followed blow with +bewildering rapidity. He was knocked about like a shuttlecock, until, finally, +like Johnson, he was beaten and kicked as he lay helpless on the deck. And no +one interfered. Leach could have killed him, but, having evidently filled the +measure of his vengeance, he drew away from his prostrate foe, who was +whimpering and wailing in a puppyish sort of way, and walked forward. +</p> + +<p> +But these two affairs were only the opening events of the day’s +programme. In the afternoon Smoke and Henderson fell foul of each other, and a +fusillade of shots came up from the steerage, followed by a stampede of the +other four hunters for the deck. A column of thick, acrid smoke—the kind +always made by black powder—was arising through the open companion-way, +and down through it leaped Wolf Larsen. The sound of blows and scuffling came +to our ears. Both men were wounded, and he was thrashing them both for having +disobeyed his orders and crippled themselves in advance of the hunting season. +In fact, they were badly wounded, and, having thrashed them, he proceeded to +operate upon them in a rough surgical fashion and to dress their wounds. I +served as assistant while he probed and cleansed the passages made by the +bullets, and I saw the two men endure his crude surgery without anæsthetics and +with no more to uphold them than a stiff tumbler of whisky. +</p> + +<p> +Then, in the first dog-watch, trouble came to a head in the forecastle. It took +its rise out of the tittle-tattle and tale-bearing which had been the cause of +Johnson’s beating, and from the noise we heard, and from the sight of the +bruised men next day, it was patent that half the forecastle had soundly +drubbed the other half. +</p> + +<p> +The second dog-watch and the day were wound up by a fight between Johansen and +the lean, Yankee-looking hunter, Latimer. It was caused by remarks of +Latimer’s concerning the noises made by the mate in his sleep, and though +Johansen was whipped, he kept the steerage awake for the rest of the night +while he blissfully slumbered and fought the fight over and over again. +</p> + +<p> +As for myself, I was oppressed with nightmare. The day had been like some +horrible dream. Brutality had followed brutality, and flaming passions and +cold-blooded cruelty had driven men to seek one another’s lives, and to +strive to hurt, and maim, and destroy. My nerves were shocked. My mind itself +was shocked. All my days had been passed in comparative ignorance of the +animality of man. In fact, I had known life only in its intellectual phases. +Brutality I had experienced, but it was the brutality of the +intellect—the cutting sarcasm of Charley Furuseth, the cruel epigrams and +occasional harsh witticisms of the fellows at the Bibelot, and the nasty +remarks of some of the professors during my undergraduate days. +</p> + +<p> +That was all. But that men should wreak their anger on others by the bruising +of the flesh and the letting of blood was something strangely and fearfully new +to me. Not for nothing had I been called “Sissy” Van Weyden, I +thought, as I tossed restlessly on my bunk between one nightmare and another. +And it seemed to me that my innocence of the realities of life had been +complete indeed. I laughed bitterly to myself, and seemed to find in Wolf +Larsen’s forbidding philosophy a more adequate explanation of life than I +found in my own. +</p> + +<p> +And I was frightened when I became conscious of the trend of my thought. The +continual brutality around me was degenerative in its effect. It bid fair to +destroy for me all that was best and brightest in life. My reason dictated that +the beating Thomas Mugridge had received was an ill thing, and yet for the life +of me I could not prevent my soul joying in it. And even while I was oppressed +by the enormity of my sin,—for sin it was,—I chuckled with an +insane delight. I was no longer Humphrey Van Weyden. I was Hump, cabin-boy on +the schooner <i>Ghost</i>. Wolf Larsen was my captain, Thomas Mugridge and the +rest were my companions, and I was receiving repeated impresses from the die +which had stamped them all. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p> +For three days I did my own work and Thomas Mugridge’s too; and I flatter +myself that I did his work well. I know that it won Wolf Larsen’s +approval, while the sailors beamed with satisfaction during the brief time my +<i>régime</i> lasted. +</p> + +<p> +“The first clean bite since I come aboard,” Harrison said to me at +the galley door, as he returned the dinner pots and pans from the forecastle. +“Somehow Tommy’s grub always tastes of grease, stale grease, and I +reckon he ain’t changed his shirt since he left ’Frisco.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know he hasn’t,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ll bet he sleeps in it,” Harrison added. +</p> + +<p> +“And you won’t lose,” I agreed. “The same shirt, and he +hasn’t had it off once in all this time.” +</p> + +<p> +But three days was all Wolf Larsen allowed him in which to recover from the +effects of the beating. On the fourth day, lame and sore, scarcely able to see, +so closed were his eyes, he was haled from his bunk by the nape of the neck and +set to his duty. He sniffled and wept, but Wolf Larsen was pitiless. +</p> + +<p> +“And see that you serve no more slops,” was his parting injunction. +“No more grease and dirt, mind, and a clean shirt occasionally, or +you’ll get a tow over the side. Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge crawled weakly across the galley floor, and a short lurch of +the <i>Ghost</i> sent him staggering. In attempting to recover himself, he +reached for the iron railing which surrounded the stove and kept the pots from +sliding off; but he missed the railing, and his hand, with his weight behind +it, landed squarely on the hot surface. There was a sizzle and odour of burning +flesh, and a sharp cry of pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Gawd, Gawd, wot ’ave I done?” he wailed; sitting down in +the coal-box and nursing his new hurt by rocking back and forth. +“W’y ’as all this come on me? It mykes me fair sick, it does, +an’ I try so ’ard to go through life ’armless an’ +’urtin’ nobody.” +</p> + +<p> +The tears were running down his puffed and discoloured cheeks, and his face was +drawn with pain. A savage expression flitted across it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ’ow I ’ate ’im! ’Ow I ’ate +’im!” he gritted out. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom?” I asked; but the poor wretch was weeping again over his +misfortunes. Less difficult it was to guess whom he hated than whom he did not +hate. For I had come to see a malignant devil in him which impelled him to hate +all the world. I sometimes thought that he hated even himself, so grotesquely +had life dealt with him, and so monstrously. At such moments a great sympathy +welled up within me, and I felt shame that I had ever joyed in his discomfiture +or pain. Life had been unfair to him. It had played him a scurvy trick when it +fashioned him into the thing he was, and it had played him scurvy tricks ever +since. What chance had he to be anything else than he was? And as though +answering my unspoken thought, he wailed: +</p> + +<p> +“I never ’ad no chance, not ’arf a chance! ’Oo was +there to send me to school, or put tommy in my ’ungry belly, or wipe my +bloody nose for me, w’en I was a kiddy? ’Oo ever did anything for +me, heh? ’Oo, I s’y?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, Tommy,” I said, placing a soothing hand on his +shoulder. “Cheer up. It’ll all come right in the end. You’ve +long years before you, and you can make anything you please of yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a lie! a bloody lie!” he shouted in my face, flinging +off the hand. “It’s a lie, and you know it. I’m already myde, +an’ myde out of leavin’s an’ scraps. It’s all right for +you, ’Ump. You was born a gentleman. You never knew wot it was to go +’ungry, to cry yerself asleep with yer little belly gnawin’ +an’ gnawin’, like a rat inside yer. It carn’t come right. If +I was President of the United Stytes to-morrer, ’ow would it fill my +belly for one time w’en I was a kiddy and it went empty? +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow could it, I s’y? I was born to sufferin’ and +sorrer. I’ve had more cruel sufferin’ than any ten men, I +’ave. I’ve been in orspital arf my bleedin’ life. I’ve +’ad the fever in Aspinwall, in ’Avana, in New Orleans. I near died +of the scurvy and was rotten with it six months in Barbadoes. Smallpox in +’Onolulu, two broken legs in Shanghai, pnuemonia in Unalaska, three +busted ribs an’ my insides all twisted in ’Frisco. An’ +’ere I am now. Look at me! Look at me! My ribs kicked loose from my back +again. I’ll be coughin’ blood before eyght bells. ’Ow can it +be myde up to me, I arsk? ’Oo’s goin’ to do it? Gawd? +’Ow Gawd must ’ave ’ated me w’en ’e signed me on +for a voyage in this bloomin’ world of ’is!” +</p> + +<p> +This tirade against destiny went on for an hour or more, and then he buckled to +his work, limping and groaning, and in his eyes a great hatred for all created +things. His diagnosis was correct, however, for he was seized with occasional +sicknesses, during which he vomited blood and suffered great pain. And as he +said, it seemed God hated him too much to let him die, for he ultimately grew +better and waxed more malignant than ever. +</p> + +<p> +Several days more passed before Johnson crawled on deck and went about his work +in a half-hearted way. He was still a sick man, and I more than once observed +him creeping painfully aloft to a topsail, or drooping wearily as he stood at +the wheel. But, still worse, it seemed that his spirit was broken. He was +abject before Wolf Larsen and almost grovelled to Johansen. Not so was the +conduct of Leach. He went about the deck like a tiger cub, glaring his hatred +openly at Wolf Larsen and Johansen. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do for you yet, you slab-footed Swede,” I heard him say +to Johansen one night on deck. +</p> + +<p> +The mate cursed him in the darkness, and the next moment some missile struck +the galley a sharp rap. There was more cursing, and a mocking laugh, and when +all was quiet I stole outside and found a heavy knife imbedded over an inch in +the solid wood. A few minutes later the mate came fumbling about in search of +it, but I returned it privily to Leach next day. He grinned when I handed it +over, yet it was a grin that contained more sincere thanks than a multitude of +the verbosities of speech common to the members of my own class. +</p> + +<p> +Unlike any one else in the ship’s company, I now found myself with no +quarrels on my hands and in the good graces of all. The hunters possibly no +more than tolerated me, though none of them disliked me; while Smoke and +Henderson, convalescent under a deck awning and swinging day and night in their +hammocks, assured me that I was better than any hospital nurse, and that they +would not forget me at the end of the voyage when they were paid off. (As +though I stood in need of their money! I, who could have bought them out, bag +and baggage, and the schooner and its equipment, a score of times over!) But +upon me had devolved the task of tending their wounds, and pulling them +through, and I did my best by them. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen underwent another bad attack of headache which lasted two days. He +must have suffered severely, for he called me in and obeyed my commands like a +sick child. But nothing I could do seemed to relieve him. At my suggestion, +however, he gave up smoking and drinking; though why such a magnificent animal +as he should have headaches at all puzzles me. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis the hand of God, I’m tellin’ you,” is the +way Louis sees it. “’Tis a visitation for his black-hearted deeds, +and there’s more behind and comin’, or else—” +</p> + +<p> +“Or else,” I prompted. +</p> + +<p> +“God is noddin’ and not doin’ his duty, though it’s me +as shouldn’t say it.” +</p> + +<p> +I was mistaken when I said that I was in the good graces of all. Not only does +Thomas Mugridge continue to hate me, but he has discovered a new reason for +hating me. It took me no little while to puzzle it out, but I finally +discovered that it was because I was more luckily born than +he—“gentleman born,” he put it. +</p> + +<p> +“And still no more dead men,” I twitted Louis, when Smoke and +Henderson, side by side, in friendly conversation, took their first exercise on +deck. +</p> + +<p> +Louis surveyed me with his shrewd grey eyes, and shook his head portentously. +“She’s a-comin’, I tell you, and it’ll be sheets and +halyards, stand by all hands, when she begins to howl. I’ve had the feel +iv it this long time, and I can feel it now as plainly as I feel the rigging iv +a dark night. She’s close, she’s close.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who goes first?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Not fat old Louis, I promise you,” he laughed. “For +’tis in the bones iv me I know that come this time next year I’ll +be gazin’ in the old mother’s eyes, weary with watchin’ iv +the sea for the five sons she gave to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s ’e been s’yin’ to yer?” Thomas +Mugridge demanded a moment later. +</p> + +<p> +“That he’s going home some day to see his mother,” I answered +diplomatically. +</p> + +<p> +“I never ’ad none,” was the Cockney’s comment, as he +gazed with lustreless, hopeless eyes into mine. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p> +It has dawned upon me that I have never placed a proper valuation upon +womankind. For that matter, though not amative to any considerable degree so +far as I have discovered, I was never outside the atmosphere of women until +now. My mother and sisters were always about me, and I was always trying to +escape them; for they worried me to distraction with their solicitude for my +health and with their periodic inroads on my den, when my orderly confusion, +upon which I prided myself, was turned into worse confusion and less order, +though it looked neat enough to the eye. I never could find anything when they +had departed. But now, alas, how welcome would have been the feel of their +presence, the frou-frou and swish-swish of their skirts which I had so +cordially detested! I am sure, if I ever get home, that I shall never be +irritable with them again. They may dose me and doctor me morning, noon, and +night, and dust and sweep and put my den to rights every minute of the day, and +I shall only lean back and survey it all and be thankful in that I am possessed +of a mother and some several sisters. +</p> + +<p> +All of which has set me wondering. Where are the mothers of these twenty and +odd men on the <i>Ghost</i>? It strikes me as unnatural and unhealthful that +men should be totally separated from women and herd through the world by +themselves. Coarseness and savagery are the inevitable results. These men about +me should have wives, and sisters, and daughters; then would they be capable of +softness, and tenderness, and sympathy. As it is, not one of them is married. +In years and years not one of them has been in contact with a good woman, or +within the influence, or redemption, which irresistibly radiates from such a +creature. There is no balance in their lives. Their masculinity, which in +itself is of the brute, has been over-developed. The other and spiritual side +of their natures has been dwarfed—atrophied, in fact. +</p> + +<p> +They are a company of celibates, grinding harshly against one another and +growing daily more calloused from the grinding. It seems to me impossible +sometimes that they ever had mothers. It would appear that they are a +half-brute, half-human species, a race apart, wherein there is no such thing as +sex; that they are hatched out by the sun like turtle eggs, or receive life in +some similar and sordid fashion; and that all their days they fester in +brutality and viciousness, and in the end die as unlovely as they have lived. +</p> + +<p> +Rendered curious by this new direction of ideas, I talked with Johansen last +night—the first superfluous words with which he has favoured me since the +voyage began. He left Sweden when he was eighteen, is now thirty-eight, and in +all the intervening time has not been home once. He had met a townsman, a +couple of years before, in some sailor boarding-house in Chile, so that he knew +his mother to be still alive. +</p> + +<p> +“She must be a pretty old woman now,” he said, staring meditatively +into the binnacle and then jerking a sharp glance at Harrison, who was steering +a point off the course. +</p> + +<p> +“When did you last write to her?” +</p> + +<p> +He performed his mental arithmetic aloud. “Eighty-one; +no—eighty-two, eh? no—eighty-three? Yes, eighty-three. Ten years +ago. From some little port in Madagascar. I was trading. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” he went on, as though addressing his neglected mother +across half the girth of the earth, “each year I was going home. So what +was the good to write? It was only a year. And each year something happened, +and I did not go. But I am mate, now, and when I pay off at ’Frisco, +maybe with five hundred dollars, I will ship myself on a windjammer round the +Horn to Liverpool, which will give me more money; and then I will pay my +passage from there home. Then she will not do any more work.” +</p> + +<p> +“But does she work? now? How old is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“About seventy,” he answered. And then, boastingly, “We work +from the time we are born until we die, in my country. That’s why we live +so long. I will live to a hundred.” +</p> + +<p> +I shall never forget this conversation. The words were the last I ever heard +him utter. Perhaps they were the last he did utter, too. For, going down into +the cabin to turn in, I decided that it was too stuffy to sleep below. It was a +calm night. We were out of the Trades, and the <i>Ghost</i> was forging ahead +barely a knot an hour. So I tucked a blanket and pillow under my arm and went +up on deck. +</p> + +<p> +As I passed between Harrison and the binnacle, which was built into the top of +the cabin, I noticed that he was this time fully three points off. Thinking +that he was asleep, and wishing him to escape reprimand or worse, I spoke to +him. But he was not asleep. His eyes were wide and staring. He seemed greatly +perturbed, unable to reply to me. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Are you sick?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head, and with a deep sign as of awakening, caught his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better get on your course, then,” I chided. +</p> + +<p> +He put a few spokes over, and I watched the compass-card swing slowly to N.N.W. +and steady itself with slight oscillations. +</p> + +<p> +I took a fresh hold on my bedclothes and was preparing to start on, when some +movement caught my eye and I looked astern to the rail. A sinewy hand, dripping +with water, was clutching the rail. A second hand took form in the darkness +beside it. I watched, fascinated. What visitant from the gloom of the deep was +I to behold? Whatever it was, I knew that it was climbing aboard by the +log-line. I saw a head, the hair wet and straight, shape itself, and then the +unmistakable eyes and face of Wolf Larsen. His right cheek was red with blood, +which flowed from some wound in the head. +</p> + +<p> +He drew himself inboard with a quick effort, and arose to his feet, glancing +swiftly, as he did so, at the man at the wheel, as though to assure himself of +his identity and that there was nothing to fear from him. The sea-water was +streaming from him. It made little audible gurgles which distracted me. As he +stepped toward me I shrank back instinctively, for I saw that in his eyes which +spelled death. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Hump,” he said in a low voice. “Where’s the +mate?” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. +</p> + +<p> +“Johansen!” he called softly. “Johansen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” he demanded of Harrison. +</p> + +<p> +The young fellow seemed to have recovered his composure, for he answered +steadily enough, “I don’t know, sir. I saw him go for’ard a +little while ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“So did I go for’ard. But you will observe that I didn’t come +back the way I went. Can you explain it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have been overboard, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I look for him in the steerage, sir?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen shook his head. “You wouldn’t find him, Hump. But +you’ll do. Come on. Never mind your bedding. Leave it where it is.” +</p> + +<p> +I followed at his heels. There was nothing stirring amidships. +</p> + +<p> +“Those cursed hunters,” was his comment. “Too damned fat and +lazy to stand a four-hour watch.” +</p> + +<p> +But on the forecastle-head we found three sailors asleep. He turned them over +and looked at their faces. They composed the watch on deck, and it was the +ship’s custom, in good weather, to let the watch sleep with the exception +of the officer, the helmsman, and the look-out. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s look-out?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Me, sir,” answered Holyoak, one of the deep-water sailors, a +slight tremor in his voice. “I winked off just this very minute, sir. +I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear or see anything on deck?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, I—” +</p> + +<p> +But Wolf Larsen had turned away with a snort of disgust, leaving the sailor +rubbing his eyes with surprise at having been let off so easily. +</p> + +<p> +“Softly, now,” Wolf Larsen warned me in a whisper, as he doubled +his body into the forecastle scuttle and prepared to descend. +</p> + +<p> +I followed with a quaking heart. What was to happen I knew no more than did I +know what had happened. But blood had been shed, and it was through no whim of +Wolf Larsen that he had gone over the side with his scalp laid open. Besides, +Johansen was missing. +</p> + +<p> +It was my first descent into the forecastle, and I shall not soon forget my +impression of it, caught as I stood on my feet at the bottom of the ladder. +Built directly in the eyes of the schooner, it was of the shape of a triangle, +along the three sides of which stood the bunks, in double-tier, twelve of them. +It was no larger than a hall bedroom in Grub Street, and yet twelve men were +herded into it to eat and sleep and carry on all the functions of living. My +bedroom at home was not large, yet it could have contained a dozen similar +forecastles, and taking into consideration the height of the ceiling, a score +at least. +</p> + +<p> +It smelled sour and musty, and by the dim light of the swinging sea-lamp I saw +every bit of available wall-space hung deep with sea-boots, oilskins, and +garments, clean and dirty, of various sorts. These swung back and forth with +every roll of the vessel, giving rise to a brushing sound, as of trees against +a roof or wall. Somewhere a boot thumped loudly and at irregular intervals +against the wall; and, though it was a mild night on the sea, there was a +continual chorus of the creaking timbers and bulkheads and of abysmal noises +beneath the flooring. +</p> + +<p> +The sleepers did not mind. There were eight of them,—the two watches +below,—and the air was thick with the warmth and odour of their +breathing, and the ear was filled with the noise of their snoring and of their +sighs and half-groans, tokens plain of the rest of the animal-man. But were +they sleeping? all of them? Or had they been sleeping? This was evidently Wolf +Larsen’s quest—to find the men who appeared to be asleep and who +were not asleep or who had not been asleep very recently. And he went about it +in a way that reminded me of a story out of Boccaccio. +</p> + +<p> +He took the sea-lamp from its swinging frame and handed it to me. He began at +the first bunks forward on the star-board side. In the top one lay Oofty-Oofty, +a Kanaka and splendid seaman, so named by his mates. He was asleep on his back +and breathing as placidly as a woman. One arm was under his head, the other lay +on top of the blankets. Wolf Larsen put thumb and forefinger to the wrist and +counted the pulse. In the midst of it the Kanaka roused. He awoke as gently as +he slept. There was no movement of the body whatever. The eyes, only, moved. +They flashed wide open, big and black, and stared, unblinking, into our faces. +Wolf Larsen put his finger to his lips as a sign for silence, and the eyes +closed again. +</p> + +<p> +In the lower bunk lay Louis, grossly fat and warm and sweaty, asleep +unfeignedly and sleeping laboriously. While Wolf Larsen held his wrist he +stirred uneasily, bowing his body so that for a moment it rested on shoulders +and heels. His lips moved, and he gave voice to this enigmatic utterance: +</p> + +<p> +“A shilling’s worth a quarter; but keep your lamps out for +thruppenny-bits, or the publicans ’ll shove ’em on you for +sixpence.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he rolled over on his side with a heavy, sobbing sigh, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“A sixpence is a tanner, and a shilling a bob; but what a pony is I +don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +Satisfied with the honesty of his and the Kanaka’s sleep, Wolf Larsen +passed on to the next two bunks on the starboard side, occupied top and bottom, +as we saw in the light of the sea-lamp, by Leach and Johnson. +</p> + +<p> +As Wolf Larsen bent down to the lower bunk to take Johnson’s pulse, I, +standing erect and holding the lamp, saw Leach’s head rise stealthily as +he peered over the side of his bunk to see what was going on. He must have +divined Wolf Larsen’s trick and the sureness of detection, for the light +was at once dashed from my hand and the forecastle was left in darkness. He +must have leaped, also, at the same instant, straight down on Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +The first sounds were those of a conflict between a bull and a wolf. I heard a +great infuriated bellow go up from Wolf Larsen, and from Leach a snarling that +was desperate and blood-curdling. Johnson must have joined him immediately, so +that his abject and grovelling conduct on deck for the past few days had been +no more than planned deception. +</p> + +<p> +I was so terror-stricken by this fight in the dark that I leaned against the +ladder, trembling and unable to ascend. And upon me was that old sickness at +the pit of the stomach, caused always by the spectacle of physical violence. In +this instance I could not see, but I could hear the impact of the +blows—the soft crushing sound made by flesh striking forcibly against +flesh. Then there was the crashing about of the entwined bodies, the laboured +breathing, the short quick gasps of sudden pain. +</p> + +<p> +There must have been more men in the conspiracy to murder the captain and mate, +for by the sounds I knew that Leach and Johnson had been quickly reinforced by +some of their mates. +</p> + +<p> +“Get a knife somebody!” Leach was shouting. +</p> + +<p> +“Pound him on the head! Mash his brains out!” was Johnson’s +cry. +</p> + +<p> +But after his first bellow, Wolf Larsen made no noise. He was fighting grimly +and silently for life. He was sore beset. Down at the very first, he had been +unable to gain his feet, and for all of his tremendous strength I felt that +there was no hope for him. +</p> + +<p> +The force with which they struggled was vividly impressed on me; for I was +knocked down by their surging bodies and badly bruised. But in the confusion I +managed to crawl into an empty lower bunk out of the way. +</p> + +<p> +“All hands! We’ve got him! We’ve got him!” I could hear +Leach crying. +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” demanded those who had been really asleep, and who had +wakened to they knew not what. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the bloody mate!” was Leach’s crafty answer, +strained from him in a smothered sort of way. +</p> + +<p> +This was greeted with whoops of joy, and from then on Wolf Larsen had seven +strong men on top of him, Louis, I believe, taking no part in it. The +forecastle was like an angry hive of bees aroused by some marauder. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho! below there!” I heard Latimer shout down the scuttle, too +cautious to descend into the inferno of passion he could hear raging beneath +him in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t somebody get a knife? Oh, won’t somebody get a +knife?” Leach pleaded in the first interval of comparative silence. +</p> + +<p> +The number of the assailants was a cause of confusion. They blocked their own +efforts, while Wolf Larsen, with but a single purpose, achieved his. This was +to fight his way across the floor to the ladder. Though in total darkness, I +followed his progress by its sound. No man less than a giant could have done +what he did, once he had gained the foot of the ladder. Step by step, by the +might of his arms, the whole pack of men striving to drag him back and down, he +drew his body up from the floor till he stood erect. And then, step by step, +hand and foot, he slowly struggled up the ladder. +</p> + +<p> +The very last of all, I saw. For Latimer, having finally gone for a lantern, +held it so that its light shone down the scuttle. Wolf Larsen was nearly to the +top, though I could not see him. All that was visible was the mass of men +fastened upon him. It squirmed about, like some huge many-legged spider, and +swayed back and forth to the regular roll of the vessel. And still, step by +step with long intervals between, the mass ascended. Once it tottered, about to +fall back, but the broken hold was regained and it still went up. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” Latimer cried. +</p> + +<p> +In the rays of the lantern I could see his perplexed face peering down. +</p> + +<p> +“Larsen,” I heard a muffled voice from within the mass. +</p> + +<p> +Latimer reached down with his free hand. I saw a hand shoot up to clasp his. +Latimer pulled, and the next couple of steps were made with a rush. Then Wolf +Larsen’s other hand reached up and clutched the edge of the scuttle. The +mass swung clear of the ladder, the men still clinging to their escaping foe. +They began to drop off, to be brushed off against the sharp edge of the +scuttle, to be knocked off by the legs which were now kicking powerfully. Leach +was the last to go, falling sheer back from the top of the scuttle and striking +on head and shoulders upon his sprawling mates beneath. Wolf Larsen and the +lantern disappeared, and we were left in darkness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p> +There was a deal of cursing and groaning as the men at the bottom of the ladder +crawled to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody strike a light, my thumb’s out of joint,” said one +of the men, Parsons, a swarthy, saturnine man, boat-steerer in Standish’s +boat, in which Harrison was puller. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find it knockin’ about by the bitts,” Leach +said, sitting down on the edge of the bunk in which I was concealed. +</p> + +<p> +There was a fumbling and a scratching of matches, and the sea-lamp flared up, +dim and smoky, and in its weird light bare-legged men moved about nursing their +bruises and caring for their hurts. Oofty-Oofty laid hold of Parsons’s +thumb, pulling it out stoutly and snapping it back into place. I noticed at the +same time that the Kanaka’s knuckles were laid open clear across and to +the bone. He exhibited them, exposing beautiful white teeth in a grin as he did +so, and explaining that the wounds had come from striking Wolf Larsen in the +mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“So it was you, was it, you black beggar?” belligerently demanded +one Kelly, an Irish-American and a longshoreman, making his first trip to sea, +and boat-puller for Kerfoot. +</p> + +<p> +As he made the demand he spat out a mouthful of blood and teeth and shoved his +pugnacious face close to Oofty-Oofty. The Kanaka leaped backward to his bunk, +to return with a second leap, flourishing a long knife. +</p> + +<p> +“Aw, go lay down, you make me tired,” Leach interfered. He was +evidently, for all of his youth and inexperience, cock of the forecastle. +“G’wan, you Kelly. You leave Oofty alone. How in hell did he know +it was you in the dark?” +</p> + +<p> +Kelly subsided with some muttering, and the Kanaka flashed his white teeth in a +grateful smile. He was a beautiful creature, almost feminine in the pleasing +lines of his figure, and there was a softness and dreaminess in his large eyes +which seemed to contradict his well-earned reputation for strife and action. +</p> + +<p> +“How did he get away?” Johnson asked. +</p> + +<p> +He was sitting on the side of his bunk, the whole pose of his figure indicating +utter dejection and hopelessness. He was still breathing heavily from the +exertion he had made. His shirt had been ripped entirely from him in the +struggle, and blood from a gash in the cheek was flowing down his naked chest, +marking a red path across his white thigh and dripping to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Because he is the devil, as I told you before,” was Leach’s +answer; and thereat he was on his feet and raging his disappointment with tears +in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“And not one of you to get a knife!” was his unceasing lament. +</p> + +<p> +But the rest of the hands had a lively fear of consequences to come and gave no +heed to him. +</p> + +<p> +“How’ll he know which was which?” Kelly asked, and as he went +on he looked murderously about him—“unless one of us +peaches.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll know as soon as ever he claps eyes on us,” Parsons +replied. “One look at you’d be enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him the deck flopped up and gouged yer teeth out iv yer jaw,” +Louis grinned. He was the only man who was not out of his bunk, and he was +jubilant in that he possessed no bruises to advertise that he had had a hand in +the night’s work. “Just wait till he gets a glimpse iv yer mugs +to-morrow, the gang iv ye,” he chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll say we thought it was the mate,” said one. And +another, “I know what I’ll say—that I heered a row, jumped +out of my bunk, got a jolly good crack on the jaw for my pains, and sailed in +myself. Couldn’t tell who or what it was in the dark and just hit +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ ’twas me you hit, of course,” Kelly seconded, his +face brightening for the moment. +</p> + +<p> +Leach and Johnson took no part in the discussion, and it was plain to see that +their mates looked upon them as men for whom the worst was inevitable, who were +beyond hope and already dead. Leach stood their fears and reproaches for some +time. Then he broke out: +</p> + +<p> +“You make me tired! A nice lot of gazabas you are! If you talked less +with yer mouth and did something with yer hands, he’d a-ben done with by +now. Why couldn’t one of you, just one of you, get me a knife when I sung +out? You make me sick! A-beefin’ and bellerin’ ’round, as +though he’d kill you when he gets you! You know damn well he wont. +Can’t afford to. No shipping masters or beach-combers over here, and he +wants yer in his business, and he wants yer bad. Who’s to pull or steer +or sail ship if he loses yer? It’s me and Johnson have to face the music. +Get into yer bunks, now, and shut yer faces; I want to get some sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right all right,” Parsons spoke up. “Mebbe +he won’t do for us, but mark my words, hell ’ll be an ice-box to +this ship from now on.” +</p> + +<p> +All the while I had been apprehensive concerning my own predicament. What would +happen to me when these men discovered my presence? I could never fight my way +out as Wolf Larsen had done. And at this moment Latimer called down the +scuttles: +</p> + +<p> +“Hump! The old man wants you!” +</p> + +<p> +“He ain’t down here!” Parsons called back. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he is,” I said, sliding out of the bunk and striving my +hardest to keep my voice steady and bold. +</p> + +<p> +The sailors looked at me in consternation. Fear was strong in their faces, and +the devilishness which comes of fear. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m coming!” I shouted up to Latimer. +</p> + +<p> +“No you don’t!” Kelly cried, stepping between me and the +ladder, his right hand shaped into a veritable strangler’s clutch. +“You damn little sneak! I’ll shut yer mouth!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let him go,” Leach commanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Not on yer life,” was the angry retort. +</p> + +<p> +Leach never changed his position on the edge of the bunk. “Let him go, I +say,” he repeated; but this time his voice was gritty and metallic. +</p> + +<p> +The Irishman wavered. I made to step by him, and he stood aside. When I had +gained the ladder, I turned to the circle of brutal and malignant faces peering +at me through the semi-darkness. A sudden and deep sympathy welled up in me. I +remembered the Cockney’s way of putting it. How God must have hated them +that they should be tortured so! +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen and heard nothing, believe me,” I said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell yer, he’s all right,” I could hear Leach saying as I +went up the ladder. “He don’t like the old man no more nor you or +me.” +</p> + +<p> +I found Wolf Larsen in the cabin, stripped and bloody, waiting for me. He +greeted me with one of his whimsical smiles. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, get to work, Doctor. The signs are favourable for an extensive +practice this voyage. I don’t know what the <i>Ghost</i> would have been +without you, and if I could only cherish such noble sentiments I would tell you +her master is deeply grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +I knew the run of the simple medicine-chest the <i>Ghost</i> carried, and while +I was heating water on the cabin stove and getting the things ready for +dressing his wounds, he moved about, laughing and chatting, and examining his +hurts with a calculating eye. I had never before seen him stripped, and the +sight of his body quite took my breath away. It has never been my weakness to +exalt the flesh—far from it; but there is enough of the artist in me to +appreciate its wonder. +</p> + +<p> +I must say that I was fascinated by the perfect lines of Wolf Larsen’s +figure, and by what I may term the terrible beauty of it. I had noted the men +in the forecastle. Powerfully muscled though some of them were, there had been +something wrong with all of them, an insufficient development here, an undue +development there, a twist or a crook that destroyed symmetry, legs too short +or too long, or too much sinew or bone exposed, or too little. Oofty-Oofty had +been the only one whose lines were at all pleasing, while, in so far as they +pleased, that far had they been what I should call feminine. +</p> + +<p> +But Wolf Larsen was the man-type, the masculine, and almost a god in his +perfectness. As he moved about or raised his arms the great muscles leapt and +moved under the satiny skin. I have forgotten to say that the bronze ended with +his face. His body, thanks to his Scandinavian stock, was fair as the fairest +woman’s. I remember his putting his hand up to feel of the wound on his +head, and my watching the biceps move like a living thing under its white +sheath. It was the biceps that had nearly crushed out my life once, that I had +seen strike so many killing blows. I could not take my eyes from him. I stood +motionless, a roll of antiseptic cotton in my hand unwinding and spilling +itself down to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +He noticed me, and I became conscious that I was staring at him. +</p> + +<p> +“God made you well,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he?” he answered. “I have often thought so myself, and +wondered why.” +</p> + +<p> +“Purpose—” I began. +</p> + +<p> +“Utility,” he interrupted. “This body was made for use. These +muscles were made to grip, and tear, and destroy living things that get between +me and life. But have you thought of the other living things? They, too, have +muscles, of one kind and another, made to grip, and tear, and destroy; and when +they come between me and life, I out-grip them, out-tear them, out-destroy +them. Purpose does not explain that. Utility does.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not beautiful,” I protested. +</p> + +<p> +“Life isn’t, you mean,” he smiled. “Yet you say I was +made well. Do you see this?” +</p> + +<p> +He braced his legs and feet, pressing the cabin floor with his toes in a +clutching sort of way. Knots and ridges and mounds of muscles writhed and +bunched under the skin. +</p> + +<p> +“Feel them,” he commanded. +</p> + +<p> +They were hard as iron. And I observed, also, that his whole body had +unconsciously drawn itself together, tense and alert; that muscles were softly +crawling and shaping about the hips, along the back, and across the shoulders; +that the arms were slightly lifted, their muscles contracting, the fingers +crooking till the hands were like talons; and that even the eyes had changed +expression and into them were coming watchfulness and measurement and a light +none other than of battle. +</p> + +<p> +“Stability, equilibrium,” he said, relaxing on the instant and +sinking his body back into repose. “Feet with which to clutch the ground, +legs to stand on and to help withstand, while with arms and hands, teeth and +nails, I struggle to kill and to be not killed. Purpose? Utility is the better +word.” +</p> + +<p> +I did not argue. I had seen the mechanism of the primitive fighting beast, and +I was as strongly impressed as if I had seen the engines of a great battleship +or Atlantic liner. +</p> + +<p> +I was surprised, considering the fierce struggle in the forecastle, at the +superficiality of his hurts, and I pride myself that I dressed them +dexterously. With the exception of several bad wounds, the rest were merely +severe bruises and lacerations. The blow which he had received before going +overboard had laid his scalp open several inches. This, under his direction, I +cleansed and sewed together, having first shaved the edges of the wound. Then +the calf of his leg was badly lacerated and looked as though it had been +mangled by a bulldog. Some sailor, he told me, had laid hold of it by his +teeth, at the beginning of the fight, and hung on and been dragged to the top +of the forecastle ladder, when he was kicked loose. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, Hump, as I have remarked, you are a handy man,” Wolf +Larsen began, when my work was done. “As you know, we’re short a +mate. Hereafter you shall stand watches, receive seventy-five dollars per +month, and be addressed fore and aft as Mr. Van Weyden.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I don’t understand navigation, you know,” I gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Not necessary at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I really do not care to sit in the high places,” I objected. +“I find life precarious enough in my present humble situation. I have no +experience. Mediocrity, you see, has its compensations.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled as though it were all settled. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t be mate on this hell-ship!” I cried defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +I saw his face grow hard and the merciless glitter come into his eyes. He +walked to the door of his room, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“And now, Mr. Van Weyden, good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Mr. Larsen,” I answered weakly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p> +I cannot say that the position of mate carried with it anything more joyful +than that there were no more dishes to wash. I was ignorant of the simplest +duties of mate, and would have fared badly indeed, had the sailors not +sympathized with me. I knew nothing of the minutiæ of ropes and rigging, of the +trimming and setting of sails; but the sailors took pains to put me to +rights,—Louis proving an especially good teacher,—and I had little +trouble with those under me. +</p> + +<p> +With the hunters it was otherwise. Familiar in varying degree with the sea, +they took me as a sort of joke. In truth, it was a joke to me, that I, the +veriest landsman, should be filling the office of mate; but to be taken as a +joke by others was a different matter. I made no complaint, but Wolf Larsen +demanded the most punctilious sea etiquette in my case,—far more than +poor Johansen had ever received; and at the expense of several rows, threats, +and much grumbling, he brought the hunters to time. I was “Mr. Van +Weyden” fore and aft, and it was only unofficially that Wolf Larsen +himself ever addressed me as “Hump.” +</p> + +<p> +It was amusing. Perhaps the wind would haul a few points while we were at +dinner, and as I left the table he would say, “Mr. Van Weyden, will you +kindly put about on the port tack.” And I would go on deck, beckon Louis +to me, and learn from him what was to be done. Then, a few minutes later, +having digested his instructions and thoroughly mastered the manœuvre, I would +proceed to issue my orders. I remember an early instance of this kind, when +Wolf Larsen appeared on the scene just as I had begun to give orders. He smoked +his cigar and looked on quietly till the thing was accomplished, and then paced +aft by my side along the weather poop. +</p> + +<p> +“Hump,” he said, “I beg pardon, Mr. Van Weyden, I +congratulate you. I think you can now fire your father’s legs back into +the grave to him. You’ve discovered your own and learned to stand on +them. A little rope-work, sail-making, and experience with storms and such +things, and by the end of the voyage you could ship on any coasting +schooner.” +</p> + +<p> +It was during this period, between the death of Johansen and the arrival on the +sealing grounds, that I passed my pleasantest hours on the <i>Ghost</i>. Wolf +Larsen was quite considerate, the sailors helped me, and I was no longer in +irritating contact with Thomas Mugridge. And I make free to say, as the days +went by, that I found I was taking a certain secret pride in myself. Fantastic +as the situation was,—a land-lubber second in command,—I was, +nevertheless, carrying it off well; and during that brief time I was proud of +myself, and I grew to love the heave and roll of the <i>Ghost</i> under my feet +as she wallowed north and west through the tropic sea to the islet where we +filled our water-casks. +</p> + +<p> +But my happiness was not unalloyed. It was comparative, a period of less misery +slipped in between a past of great miseries and a future of great miseries. For +the <i>Ghost</i>, so far as the seamen were concerned, was a hell-ship of the +worst description. They never had a moment’s rest or peace. Wolf Larsen +treasured against them the attempt on his life and the drubbing he had received +in the forecastle; and morning, noon, and night, and all night as well, he +devoted himself to making life unlivable for them. +</p> + +<p> +He knew well the psychology of the little thing, and it was the little things +by which he kept the crew worked up to the verge of madness. I have seen +Harrison called from his bunk to put properly away a misplaced paintbrush, and +the two watches below haled from their tired sleep to accompany him and see him +do it. A little thing, truly, but when multiplied by the thousand ingenious +devices of such a mind, the mental state of the men in the forecastle may be +slightly comprehended. +</p> + +<p> +Of course much grumbling went on, and little outbursts were continually +occurring. Blows were struck, and there were always two or three men nursing +injuries at the hands of the human beast who was their master. Concerted action +was impossible in face of the heavy arsenal of weapons carried in the steerage +and cabin. Leach and Johnson were the two particular victims of Wolf +Larsen’s diabolic temper, and the look of profound melancholy which had +settled on Johnson’s face and in his eyes made my heart bleed. +</p> + +<p> +With Leach it was different. There was too much of the fighting beast in him. +He seemed possessed by an insatiable fury which gave no time for grief. His +lips had become distorted into a permanent snarl, which at mere sight of Wolf +Larsen broke out in sound, horrible and menacing and, I do believe, +unconsciously. I have seen him follow Wolf Larsen about with his eyes, like an +animal its keeper, the while the animal-like snarl sounded deep in his throat +and vibrated forth between his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +I remember once, on deck, in bright day, touching him on the shoulder as +preliminary to giving an order. His back was toward me, and at the first feel +of my hand he leaped upright in the air and away from me, snarling and turning +his head as he leaped. He had for the moment mistaken me for the man he hated. +</p> + +<p> +Both he and Johnson would have killed Wolf Larsen at the slightest opportunity, +but the opportunity never came. Wolf Larsen was too wise for that, and, +besides, they had no adequate weapons. With their fists alone they had no +chance whatever. Time and again he fought it out with Leach who fought back +always, like a wildcat, tooth and nail and fist, until stretched, exhausted or +unconscious, on the deck. And he was never averse to another encounter. All the +devil that was in him challenged the devil in Wolf Larsen. They had but to +appear on deck at the same time, when they would be at it, cursing, snarling, +striking; and I have seen Leach fling himself upon Wolf Larsen without warning +or provocation. Once he threw his heavy sheath-knife, missing Wolf +Larsen’s throat by an inch. Another time he dropped a steel marlinspike +from the mizzen crosstree. It was a difficult cast to make on a rolling ship, +but the sharp point of the spike, whistling seventy-five feet through the air, +barely missed Wolf Larsen’s head as he emerged from the cabin +companion-way and drove its length two inches and over into the solid +deck-planking. Still another time, he stole into the steerage, possessed +himself of a loaded shot-gun, and was making a rush for the deck with it when +caught by Kerfoot and disarmed. +</p> + +<p> +I often wondered why Wolf Larsen did not kill him and make an end of it. But he +only laughed and seemed to enjoy it. There seemed a certain spice about it, +such as men must feel who take delight in making pets of ferocious animals. +</p> + +<p> +“It gives a thrill to life,” he explained to me, “when life +is carried in one’s hand. Man is a natural gambler, and life is the +biggest stake he can lay. The greater the odds, the greater the thrill. Why +should I deny myself the joy of exciting Leach’s soul to fever-pitch? For +that matter, I do him a kindness. The greatness of sensation is mutual. He is +living more royally than any man for’ard, though he does not know it. For +he has what they have not—purpose, something to do and be done, an +all-absorbing end to strive to attain, the desire to kill me, the hope that he +may kill me. Really, Hump, he is living deep and high. I doubt that he has ever +lived so swiftly and keenly before, and I honestly envy him, sometimes, when I +see him raging at the summit of passion and sensibility.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but it is cowardly, cowardly!” I cried. “You have all +the advantage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of the two of us, you and I, who is the greater coward?” he asked +seriously. “If the situation is unpleasing, you compromise with your +conscience when you make yourself a party to it. If you were really great, +really true to yourself, you would join forces with Leach and Johnson. But you +are afraid, you are afraid. You want to live. The life that is in you cries out +that it must live, no matter what the cost; so you live ignominiously, untrue +to the best you dream of, sinning against your whole pitiful little code, and, +if there were a hell, heading your soul straight for it. Bah! I play the braver +part. I do no sin, for I am true to the promptings of the life that is in me. I +am sincere with my soul at least, and that is what you are not.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a sting in what he said. Perhaps, after all, I was playing a cowardly +part. And the more I thought about it the more it appeared that my duty to +myself lay in doing what he had advised, lay in joining forces with Johnson and +Leach and working for his death. Right here, I think, entered the austere +conscience of my Puritan ancestry, impelling me toward lurid deeds and +sanctioning even murder as right conduct. I dwelt upon the idea. It would be a +most moral act to rid the world of such a monster. Humanity would be better and +happier for it, life fairer and sweeter. +</p> + +<p> +I pondered it long, lying sleepless in my bunk and reviewing in endless +procession the facts of the situation. I talked with Johnson and Leach, during +the night watches when Wolf Larsen was below. Both men had lost +hope—Johnson, because of temperamental despondency; Leach, because he had +beaten himself out in the vain struggle and was exhausted. But he caught my +hand in a passionate grip one night, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I think yer square, Mr. Van Weyden. But stay where you are and keep yer +mouth shut. Say nothin’ but saw wood. We’re dead men, I know it; +but all the same you might be able to do us a favour some time when we need it +damn bad.” +</p> + +<p> +It was only next day, when Wainwright Island loomed to windward, close abeam, +that Wolf Larsen opened his mouth in prophecy. He had attacked Johnson, been +attacked by Leach, and had just finished whipping the pair of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Leach,” he said, “you know I’m going to kill you some +time or other, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +A snarl was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“And as for you, Johnson, you’ll get so tired of life before +I’m through with you that you’ll fling yourself over the side. See +if you don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a suggestion,” he added, in an aside to me. +“I’ll bet you a month’s pay he acts upon it.” +</p> + +<p> +I had cherished a hope that his victims would find an opportunity to escape +while filling our water-barrels, but Wolf Larsen had selected his spot well. +The <i>Ghost</i> lay half-a-mile beyond the surf-line of a lonely beach. Here +debouched a deep gorge, with precipitous, volcanic walls which no man could +scale. And here, under his direct supervision—for he went ashore +himself—Leach and Johnson filled the small casks and rolled them down to +the beach. They had no chance to make a break for liberty in one of the boats. +</p> + +<p> +Harrison and Kelly, however, made such an attempt. They composed one of the +boats’ crews, and their task was to ply between the schooner and the +shore, carrying a single cask each trip. Just before dinner, starting for the +beach with an empty barrel, they altered their course and bore away to the left +to round the promontory which jutted into the sea between them and liberty. +Beyond its foaming base lay the pretty villages of the Japanese colonists and +smiling valleys which penetrated deep into the interior. Once in the fastnesses +they promised, and the two men could defy Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +I had observed Henderson and Smoke loitering about the deck all morning, and I +now learned why they were there. Procuring their rifles, they opened fire in a +leisurely manner, upon the deserters. It was a cold-blooded exhibition of +marksmanship. At first their bullets zipped harmlessly along the surface of the +water on either side the boat; but, as the men continued to pull lustily, they +struck closer and closer. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, watch me take Kelly’s right oar,” Smoke said, drawing a +more careful aim. +</p> + +<p> +I was looking through the glasses, and I saw the oar-blade shatter as he shot. +Henderson duplicated it, selecting Harrison’s right oar. The boat slewed +around. The two remaining oars were quickly broken. The men tried to row with +the splinters, and had them shot out of their hands. Kelly ripped up a bottom +board and began paddling, but dropped it with a cry of pain as its splinters +drove into his hands. Then they gave up, letting the boat drift till a second +boat, sent from the shore by Wolf Larsen, took them in tow and brought them +aboard. +</p> + +<p> +Late that afternoon we hove up anchor and got away. Nothing was before us but +the three or four months’ hunting on the sealing grounds. The outlook was +black indeed, and I went about my work with a heavy heart. An almost funereal +gloom seemed to have descended upon the <i>Ghost</i>. Wolf Larsen had taken to +his bunk with one of his strange, splitting headaches. Harrison stood +listlessly at the wheel, half supporting himself by it, as though wearied by +the weight of his flesh. The rest of the men were morose and silent. I came +upon Kelly crouching to the lee of the forecastle scuttle, his head on his +knees, his arms about his head, in an attitude of unutterable despondency. +</p> + +<p> +Johnson I found lying full length on the forecastle head, staring at the +troubled churn of the forefoot, and I remembered with horror the suggestion +Wolf Larsen had made. It seemed likely to bear fruit. I tried to break in on +the man’s morbid thoughts by calling him away, but he smiled sadly at me +and refused to obey. +</p> + +<p> +Leach approached me as I returned aft. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to ask a favour, Mr. Van Weyden,” he said. “If +it’s yer luck to ever make ’Frisco once more, will you hunt up Matt +McCarthy? He’s my old man. He lives on the Hill, back of the Mayfair +bakery, runnin’ a cobbler’s shop that everybody knows, and +you’ll have no trouble. Tell him I lived to be sorry for the trouble I +brought him and the things I done, and—and just tell him ‘God bless +him,’ for me.” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my head, but said, “We’ll all win back to San Francisco, +Leach, and you’ll be with me when I go to see Matt McCarthy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to believe you,” he answered, shaking my hand, +“but I can’t. Wolf Larsen ’ll do for me, I know it; and all I +can hope is, he’ll do it quick.” +</p> + +<p> +And as he left me I was aware of the same desire at my heart. Since it was to +be done, let it be done with despatch. The general gloom had gathered me into +its folds. The worst appeared inevitable; and as I paced the deck, hour after +hour, I found myself afflicted with Wolf Larsen’s repulsive ideas. What +was it all about? Where was the grandeur of life that it should permit such +wanton destruction of human souls? It was a cheap and sordid thing after all, +this life, and the sooner over the better. Over and done with! I, too, leaned +upon the rail and gazed longingly into the sea, with the certainty that sooner +or later I should be sinking down, down, through the cool green depths of its +oblivion. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p> +Strange to say, in spite of the general foreboding, nothing of especial moment +happened on the <i>Ghost</i>. We ran on to the north and west till we raised +the coast of Japan and picked up with the great seal herd. Coming from no man +knew where in the illimitable Pacific, it was travelling north on its annual +migration to the rookeries of Bering Sea. And north we travelled with it, +ravaging and destroying, flinging the naked carcasses to the shark and salting +down the skins so that they might later adorn the fair shoulders of the women +of the cities. +</p> + +<p> +It was wanton slaughter, and all for woman’s sake. No man ate of the seal +meat or the oil. After a good day’s killing I have seen our decks covered +with hides and bodies, slippery with fat and blood, the scuppers running red; +masts, ropes, and rails spattered with the sanguinary colour; and the men, like +butchers plying their trade, naked and red of arm and hand, hard at work with +ripping and flensing-knives, removing the skins from the pretty sea-creatures +they had killed. +</p> + +<p> +It was my task to tally the pelts as they came aboard from the boats, to +oversee the skinning and afterward the cleansing of the decks and bringing +things ship-shape again. It was not pleasant work. My soul and my stomach +revolted at it; and yet, in a way, this handling and directing of many men was +good for me. It developed what little executive ability I possessed, and I was +aware of a toughening or hardening which I was undergoing and which could not +be anything but wholesome for “Sissy” Van Weyden. +</p> + +<p> +One thing I was beginning to feel, and that was that I could never again be +quite the same man I had been. While my hope and faith in human life still +survived Wolf Larsen’s destructive criticism, he had nevertheless been a +cause of change in minor matters. He had opened up for me the world of the +real, of which I had known practically nothing and from which I had always +shrunk. I had learned to look more closely at life as it was lived, to +recognize that there were such things as facts in the world, to emerge from the +realm of mind and idea and to place certain values on the concrete and +objective phases of existence. +</p> + +<p> +I saw more of Wolf Larsen than ever when we had gained the grounds. For when +the weather was fair and we were in the midst of the herd, all hands were away +in the boats, and left on board were only he and I, and Thomas Mugridge, who +did not count. But there was no play about it. The six boats, spreading out +fan-wise from the schooner until the first weather boat and the last lee boat +were anywhere from ten to twenty miles apart, cruised along a straight course +over the sea till nightfall or bad weather drove them in. It was our duty to +sail the <i>Ghost</i> well to leeward of the last lee boat, so that all the +boats should have fair wind to run for us in case of squalls or threatening +weather. +</p> + +<p> +It is no slight matter for two men, particularly when a stiff wind has sprung +up, to handle a vessel like the <i>Ghost</i>, steering, keeping look-out for +the boats, and setting or taking in sail; so it devolved upon me to learn, and +learn quickly. Steering I picked up easily, but running aloft to the crosstrees +and swinging my whole weight by my arms when I left the ratlines and climbed +still higher, was more difficult. This, too, I learned, and quickly, for I felt +somehow a wild desire to vindicate myself in Wolf Larsen’s eyes, to prove +my right to live in ways other than of the mind. Nay, the time came when I took +joy in the run of the masthead and in the clinging on by my legs at that +precarious height while I swept the sea with glasses in search of the boats. +</p> + +<p> +I remember one beautiful day, when the boats left early and the reports of the +hunters’ guns grew dim and distant and died away as they scattered far +and wide over the sea. There was just the faintest wind from the westward; but +it breathed its last by the time we managed to get to leeward of the last lee +boat. One by one—I was at the masthead and saw—the six boats +disappeared over the bulge of the earth as they followed the seal into the +west. We lay, scarcely rolling on the placid sea, unable to follow. Wolf Larsen +was apprehensive. The barometer was down, and the sky to the east did not +please him. He studied it with unceasing vigilance. +</p> + +<p> +“If she comes out of there,” he said, “hard and snappy, +putting us to windward of the boats, it’s likely there’ll be empty +bunks in steerage and fo’c’sle.” +</p> + +<p> +By eleven o’clock the sea had become glass. By midday, though we were +well up in the northerly latitudes, the heat was sickening. There was no +freshness in the air. It was sultry and oppressive, reminding me of what the +old Californians term “earthquake weather.” There was something +ominous about it, and in intangible ways one was made to feel that the worst +was about to come. Slowly the whole eastern sky filled with clouds that +over-towered us like some black sierra of the infernal regions. So clearly +could one see cañon, gorge, and precipice, and the shadows that lie +therein, that one looked unconsciously for the white surf-line and bellowing +caverns where the sea charges on the land. And still we rocked gently, and +there was no wind. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no squall,” Wolf Larsen said. “Old Mother +Nature’s going to get up on her hind legs and howl for all that’s +in her, and it’ll keep us jumping, Hump, to pull through with half our +boats. You’d better run up and loosen the topsails.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if it is going to howl, and there are only two of us?” I +asked, a note of protest in my voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Why we’ve got to make the best of the first of it and run down to +our boats before our canvas is ripped out of us. After that I don’t give +a rap what happens. The sticks ’ll stand it, and you and I will have to, +though we’ve plenty cut out for us.” +</p> + +<p> +Still the calm continued. We ate dinner, a hurried and anxious meal for me with +eighteen men abroad on the sea and beyond the bulge of the earth, and with that +heaven-rolling mountain range of clouds moving slowly down upon us. Wolf Larsen +did not seem affected, however; though I noticed, when we returned to the deck, +a slight twitching of the nostrils, a perceptible quickness of movement. His +face was stern, the lines of it had grown hard, and yet in his eyes—blue, +clear blue this day—there was a strange brilliancy, a bright +scintillating light. It struck me that he was joyous, in a ferocious sort of +way; that he was glad there was an impending struggle; that he was thrilled and +upborne with knowledge that one of the great moments of living, when the tide +of life surges up in flood, was upon him. +</p> + +<p> +Once, and unwitting that he did so or that I saw, he laughed aloud, mockingly +and defiantly, at the advancing storm. I see him yet standing there like a +pigmy out of the <i>Arabian Nights</i> before the huge front of some malignant +genie. He was daring destiny, and he was unafraid. +</p> + +<p> +He walked to the galley. “Cooky, by the time you’ve finished pots +and pans you’ll be wanted on deck. Stand ready for a call.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hump,” he said, becoming cognizant of the fascinated gaze I bent +upon him, “this beats whisky and is where your Omar misses. I think he +only half lived after all.” +</p> + +<p> +The western half of the sky had by now grown murky. The sun had dimmed and +faded out of sight. It was two in the afternoon, and a ghostly twilight, shot +through by wandering purplish lights, had descended upon us. In this purplish +light Wolf Larsen’s face glowed and glowed, and to my excited fancy he +appeared encircled by a halo. We lay in the midst of an unearthly quiet, while +all about us were signs and omens of oncoming sound and movement. The sultry +heat had become unendurable. The sweat was standing on my forehead, and I could +feel it trickling down my nose. I felt as though I should faint, and reached +out to the rail for support. +</p> + +<p> +And then, just then, the faintest possible whisper of air passed by. It was +from the east, and like a whisper it came and went. The drooping canvas was not +stirred, and yet my face had felt the air and been cooled. +</p> + +<p> +“Cooky,” Wolf Larsen called in a low voice. Thomas Mugridge turned +a pitiable scared face. “Let go that foreboom tackle and pass it across, +and when she’s willing let go the sheet and come in snug with the tackle. +And if you make a mess of it, it will be the last you ever make. +Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Van Weyden, stand by to pass the head-sails over. Then jump for the +topsails and spread them quick as God’ll let you—the quicker you do +it the easier you’ll find it. As for Cooky, if he isn’t lively bat +him between the eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +I was aware of the compliment and pleased, in that no threat had accompanied my +instructions. We were lying head to north-west, and it was his intention to +jibe over all with the first puff. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have the breeze on our quarter,” he explained to me. +“By the last guns the boats were bearing away slightly to the +south’ard.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and walked aft to the wheel. I went forward and took my station at +the jibs. Another whisper of wind, and another, passed by. The canvas flapped +lazily. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Gawd she’s not comin’ all of a bunch, Mr. Van +Weyden,” was the Cockney’s fervent ejaculation. +</p> + +<p> +And I was indeed thankful, for I had by this time learned enough to know, with +all our canvas spread, what disaster in such event awaited us. The whispers of +wind became puffs, the sails filled, the <i>Ghost</i> moved. Wolf Larsen put +the wheel hard up, to port, and we began to pay off. The wind was now dead +astern, muttering and puffing stronger and stronger, and my head-sails were +pounding lustily. I did not see what went on elsewhere, though I felt the +sudden surge and heel of the schooner as the wind-pressures changed to the +jibing of the fore- and main-sails. My hands were full with the flying-jib, +jib, and staysail; and by the time this part of my task was accomplished the +<i>Ghost</i> was leaping into the south-west, the wind on her quarter and all +her sheets to starboard. Without pausing for breath, though my heart was +beating like a trip-hammer from my exertions, I sprang to the topsails, and +before the wind had become too strong we had them fairly set and were coiling +down. Then I went aft for orders. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen nodded approval and relinquished the wheel to me. The wind was +strengthening steadily and the sea rising. For an hour I steered, each moment +becoming more difficult. I had not the experience to steer at the gait we were +going on a quartering course. +</p> + +<p> +“Now take a run up with the glasses and raise some of the boats. +We’ve made at least ten knots, and we’re going twelve or thirteen +now. The old girl knows how to walk.” +</p> + +<p> +I contested myself with the fore crosstrees, some seventy feet above the deck. +As I searched the vacant stretch of water before me, I comprehended thoroughly +the need for haste if we were to recover any of our men. Indeed, as I gazed at +the heavy sea through which we were running, I doubted that there was a boat +afloat. It did not seem possible that such frail craft could survive such +stress of wind and water. +</p> + +<p> +I could not feel the full force of the wind, for we were running with it; but +from my lofty perch I looked down as though outside the <i>Ghost</i> and apart +from her, and saw the shape of her outlined sharply against the foaming sea as +she tore along instinct with life. Sometimes she would lift and send across +some great wave, burying her starboard-rail from view, and covering her deck to +the hatches with the boiling ocean. At such moments, starting from a windward +roll, I would go flying through the air with dizzying swiftness, as though I +clung to the end of a huge, inverted pendulum, the arc of which, between the +greater rolls, must have been seventy feet or more. Once, the terror of this +giddy sweep overpowered me, and for a while I clung on, hand and foot, weak and +trembling, unable to search the sea for the missing boats or to behold aught of +the sea but that which roared beneath and strove to overwhelm the <i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +But the thought of the men in the midst of it steadied me, and in my quest for +them I forgot myself. For an hour I saw nothing but the naked, desolate sea. +And then, where a vagrant shaft of sunlight struck the ocean and turned its +surface to wrathful silver, I caught a small black speck thrust skyward for an +instant and swallowed up. I waited patiently. Again the tiny point of black +projected itself through the wrathful blaze a couple of points off our +port-bow. I did not attempt to shout, but communicated the news to Wolf Larsen +by waving my arm. He changed the course, and I signalled affirmation when the +speck showed dead ahead. +</p> + +<p> +It grew larger, and so swiftly that for the first time I fully appreciated the +speed of our flight. Wolf Larsen motioned for me to come down, and when I stood +beside him at the wheel gave me instructions for heaving to. +</p> + +<p> +“Expect all hell to break loose,” he cautioned me, “but +don’t mind it. Yours is to do your own work and to have Cooky stand by +the fore-sheet.” +</p> + +<p> +I managed to make my way forward, but there was little choice of sides, for the +weather-rail seemed buried as often as the lee. Having instructed Thomas +Mugridge as to what he was to do, I clambered into the fore-rigging a few feet. +The boat was now very close, and I could make out plainly that it was lying +head to wind and sea and dragging on its mast and sail, which had been thrown +overboard and made to serve as a sea-anchor. The three men were bailing. Each +rolling mountain whelmed them from view, and I would wait with sickening +anxiety, fearing that they would never appear again. Then, and with black +suddenness, the boat would shoot clear through the foaming crest, bow pointed +to the sky, and the whole length of her bottom showing, wet and dark, till she +seemed on end. There would be a fleeting glimpse of the three men flinging +water in frantic haste, when she would topple over and fall into the yawning +valley, bow down and showing her full inside length to the stern upreared +almost directly above the bow. Each time that she reappeared was a miracle. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Ghost</i> suddenly changed her course, keeping away, and it came to me +with a shock that Wolf Larsen was giving up the rescue as impossible. Then I +realized that he was preparing to heave to, and dropped to the deck to be in +readiness. We were now dead before the wind, the boat far away and abreast of +us. I felt an abrupt easing of the schooner, a loss for the moment of all +strain and pressure, coupled with a swift acceleration of speed. She was +rushing around on her heel into the wind. +</p> + +<p> +As she arrived at right angles to the sea, the full force of the wind (from +which we had hitherto run away) caught us. I was unfortunately and ignorantly +facing it. It stood up against me like a wall, filling my lungs with air which +I could not expel. And as I choked and strangled, and as the <i>Ghost</i> +wallowed for an instant, broadside on and rolling straight over and far into +the wind, I beheld a huge sea rise far above my head. I turned aside, caught my +breath, and looked again. The wave over-topped the <i>Ghost</i>, and I gazed +sheer up and into it. A shaft of sunlight smote the over-curl, and I caught a +glimpse of translucent, rushing green, backed by a milky smother of foam. +</p> + +<p> +Then it descended, pandemonium broke loose, everything happened at once. I was +struck a crushing, stunning blow, nowhere in particular and yet everywhere. My +hold had been broken loose, I was under water, and the thought passed through +my mind that this was the terrible thing of which I had heard, the being swept +in the trough of the sea. My body struck and pounded as it was dashed +helplessly along and turned over and over, and when I could hold my breath no +longer, I breathed the stinging salt water into my lungs. But through it all I +clung to the one idea—<i>I must get the jib backed over to windward</i>. +I had no fear of death. I had no doubt but that I should come through somehow. +And as this idea of fulfilling Wolf Larsen’s order persisted in my dazed +consciousness, I seemed to see him standing at the wheel in the midst of the +wild welter, pitting his will against the will of the storm and defying it. +</p> + +<p> +I brought up violently against what I took to be the rail, breathed, and +breathed the sweet air again. I tried to rise, but struck my head and was +knocked back on hands and knees. By some freak of the waters I had been swept +clear under the forecastle-head and into the eyes. As I scrambled out on all +fours, I passed over the body of Thomas Mugridge, who lay in a groaning heap. +There was no time to investigate. I must get the jib backed over. +</p> + +<p> +When I emerged on deck it seemed that the end of everything had come. On all +sides there was a rending and crashing of wood and steel and canvas. The +<i>Ghost</i> was being wrenched and torn to fragments. The foresail and +fore-topsail, emptied of the wind by the manœuvre, and with no one to bring in +the sheet in time, were thundering into ribbons, the heavy boom threshing and +splintering from rail to rail. The air was thick with flying wreckage, detached +ropes and stays were hissing and coiling like snakes, and down through it all +crashed the gaff of the foresail. +</p> + +<p> +The spar could not have missed me by many inches, while it spurred me to +action. Perhaps the situation was not hopeless. I remembered Wolf +Larsen’s caution. He had expected all hell to break loose, and here it +was. And where was he? I caught sight of him toiling at the main-sheet, heaving +it in and flat with his tremendous muscles, the stern of the schooner lifted +high in the air and his body outlined against a white surge of sea sweeping +past. All this, and more,—a whole world of chaos and wreck,—in +possibly fifteen seconds I had seen and heard and grasped. +</p> + +<p> +I did not stop to see what had become of the small boat, but sprang to the +jib-sheet. The jib itself was beginning to slap, partially filling and emptying +with sharp reports; but with a turn of the sheet and the application of my +whole strength each time it slapped, I slowly backed it. This I know: I did my +best. I pulled till I burst open the ends of all my fingers; and while I +pulled, the flying-jib and staysail split their cloths apart and thundered into +nothingness. +</p> + +<p> +Still I pulled, holding what I gained each time with a double turn until the +next slap gave me more. Then the sheet gave with greater ease, and Wolf Larsen +was beside me, heaving in alone while I was busied taking up the slack. +</p> + +<p> +“Make fast!” he shouted. “And come on!” +</p> + +<p> +As I followed him, I noted that in spite of rack and ruin a rough order +obtained. The <i>Ghost</i> was hove to. She was still in working order, and she +was still working. Though the rest of her sails were gone, the jib, backed to +windward, and the mainsail hauled down flat, were themselves holding, and +holding her bow to the furious sea as well. +</p> + +<p> +I looked for the boat, and, while Wolf Larsen cleared the boat-tackles, saw it +lift to leeward on a big sea and not a score of feet away. And, so nicely had he +made his calculation, we drifted fairly down upon it, so that nothing remained +to do but hook the tackles to either end and hoist it aboard. But this was not +done so easily as it is written. +</p> + +<p> +In the bow was Kerfoot, Oofty-Oofty in the stern, and Kelly amidships. As we +drifted closer the boat would rise on a wave while we sank in the trough, till +almost straight above me I could see the heads of the three men craned overside +and looking down. Then, the next moment, we would lift and soar upward while +they sank far down beneath us. It seemed incredible that the next surge should +not crush the <i>Ghost</i> down upon the tiny eggshell. +</p> + +<p> +But, at the right moment, I passed the tackle to the Kanaka, while Wolf Larsen +did the same thing forward to Kerfoot. Both tackles were hooked in a trice, and +the three men, deftly timing the roll, made a simultaneous leap aboard the +schooner. As the <i>Ghost</i> rolled her side out of water, the boat was lifted +snugly against her, and before the return roll came, we had heaved it in over +the side and turned it bottom up on the deck. I noticed blood spouting from +Kerfoot’s left hand. In some way the third finger had been crushed to a +pulp. But he gave no sign of pain, and with his single right hand helped us +lash the boat in its place. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand by to let that jib over, you Oofty!” Wolf Larsen commanded, +the very second we had finished with the boat. “Kelly, come aft and slack +off the main-sheet! You, Kerfoot, go for’ard and see what’s become +of Cooky! Mr. Van Weyden, run aloft again, and cut away any stray stuff on your +way!” +</p> + +<p> +And having commanded, he went aft with his peculiar tigerish leaps to the +wheel. While I toiled up the fore-shrouds the <i>Ghost</i> slowly paid off. +This time, as we went into the trough of the sea and were swept, there were no +sails to carry away. And, halfway to the crosstrees and flattened against the +rigging by the full force of the wind so that it would have been impossible for +me to have fallen, the <i>Ghost</i> almost on her beam-ends and the masts +parallel with the water, I looked, not down, but at almost right angles from +the perpendicular, to the deck of the <i>Ghost</i>. But I saw, not the deck, +but where the deck should have been, for it was buried beneath a wild tumbling +of water. Out of this water I could see the two masts rising, and that was all. +The <i>Ghost</i>, for the moment, was buried beneath the sea. As she squared +off more and more, escaping from the side pressure, she righted herself and +broke her deck, like a whale’s back, through the ocean surface. +</p> + +<p> +Then we raced, and wildly, across the wild sea, the while I hung like a fly in +the crosstrees and searched for the other boats. In half-an-hour I sighted the +second one, swamped and bottom up, to which were desperately clinging Jock +Horner, fat Louis, and Johnson. This time I remained aloft, and Wolf Larsen +succeeded in heaving to without being swept. As before, we drifted down upon +it. Tackles were made fast and lines flung to the men, who scrambled aboard +like monkeys. The boat itself was crushed and splintered against the +schooner’s side as it came inboard; but the wreck was securely lashed, +for it could be patched and made whole again. +</p> + +<p> +Once more the <i>Ghost</i> bore away before the storm, this time so submerging +herself that for some seconds I thought she would never reappear. Even the +wheel, quite a deal higher than the waist, was covered and swept again and +again. At such moments I felt strangely alone with God, alone with him and +watching the chaos of his wrath. And then the wheel would reappear, and Wolf +Larsen’s broad shoulders, his hands gripping the spokes and holding the +schooner to the course of his will, himself an earth-god, dominating the storm, +flinging its descending waters from him and riding it to his own ends. And oh, +the marvel of it! the marvel of it! That tiny men should live and breathe and +work, and drive so frail a contrivance of wood and cloth through so tremendous +an elemental strife. +</p> + +<p> +As before, the <i>Ghost</i> swung out of the trough, lifting her deck again out +of the sea, and dashed before the howling blast. It was now half-past five, and +half-an-hour later, when the last of the day lost itself in a dim and furious +twilight, I sighted a third boat. It was bottom up, and there was no sign of +its crew. Wolf Larsen repeated his manœuvre, holding off and then rounding up +to windward and drifting down upon it. But this time he missed by forty feet, +the boat passing astern. +</p> + +<p> +“Number four boat!” Oofty-Oofty cried, his keen eyes reading its +number in the one second when it lifted clear of the foam, and upside down. +</p> + +<p> +It was Henderson’s boat and with him had been lost Holyoak and Williams, +another of the deep-water crowd. Lost they indubitably were; but the boat +remained, and Wolf Larsen made one more reckless effort to recover it. I had +come down to the deck, and I saw Horner and Kerfoot vainly protest against the +attempt. +</p> + +<p> +“By God, I’ll not be robbed of my boat by any storm that ever blew +out of hell!” he shouted, and though we four stood with our heads +together that we might hear, his voice seemed faint and far, as though removed +from us an immense distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Van Weyden!” he cried, and I heard through the tumult as one +might hear a whisper. “Stand by that jib with Johnson and Oofty! The rest +of you tail aft to the mainsheet! Lively now! or I’ll sail you all into +Kingdom Come! Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +And when he put the wheel hard over and the <i>Ghost’s</i> bow swung off, +there was nothing for the hunters to do but obey and make the best of a risky +chance. How great the risk I realized when I was once more buried beneath the +pounding seas and clinging for life to the pinrail at the foot of the foremast. +My fingers were torn loose, and I swept across to the side and over the side +into the sea. I could not swim, but before I could sink I was swept back again. +A strong hand gripped me, and when the <i>Ghost</i> finally emerged, I found +that I owed my life to Johnson. I saw him looking anxiously about him, and +noted that Kelly, who had come forward at the last moment, was missing. +</p> + +<p> +This time, having missed the boat, and not being in the same position as in the +previous instances, Wolf Larsen was compelled to resort to a different +manœuvre. Running off before the wind with everything to starboard, he came +about, and returned close-hauled on the port tack. +</p> + +<p> +“Grand!” Johnson shouted in my ear, as we successfully came through +the attendant deluge, and I knew he referred, not to Wolf Larsen’s +seamanship, but to the performance of the <i>Ghost</i> herself. +</p> + +<p> +It was now so dark that there was no sign of the boat; but Wolf Larsen held +back through the frightful turmoil as if guided by unerring instinct. This +time, though we were continually half-buried, there was no trough in which to +be swept, and we drifted squarely down upon the upturned boat, badly smashing +it as it was heaved inboard. +</p> + +<p> +Two hours of terrible work followed, in which all hands of us—two +hunters, three sailors, Wolf Larsen and I—reefed, first one and then the +other, the jib and mainsail. Hove to under this short canvas, our decks were +comparatively free of water, while the <i>Ghost</i> bobbed and ducked amongst +the combers like a cork. +</p> + +<p> +I had burst open the ends of my fingers at the very first, and during the +reefing I had worked with tears of pain running down my cheeks. And when all +was done, I gave up like a woman and rolled upon the deck in the agony of +exhaustion. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Thomas Mugridge, like a drowned rat, was being dragged out from +under the forecastle head where he had cravenly ensconced himself. I saw him +pulled aft to the cabin, and noted with a shock of surprise that the galley had +disappeared. A clean space of deck showed where it had stood. +</p> + +<p> +In the cabin I found all hands assembled, sailors as well, and while coffee was +being cooked over the small stove we drank whisky and crunched hard-tack. Never +in my life had food been so welcome. And never had hot coffee tasted so good. +So violently did the <i>Ghost</i> pitch and toss and tumble that it was +impossible for even the sailors to move about without holding on, and several +times, after a cry of “Now she takes it!” we were heaped upon the +wall of the port cabins as though it had been the deck. +</p> + +<p> +“To hell with a look-out,” I heard Wolf Larsen say when we had +eaten and drunk our fill. “There’s nothing can be done on deck. If +anything’s going to run us down we couldn’t get out of its way. +Turn in, all hands, and get some sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +The sailors slipped forward, setting the side-lights as they went, while the +two hunters remained to sleep in the cabin, it not being deemed advisable to +open the slide to the steerage companion-way. Wolf Larsen and I, between us, +cut off Kerfoot’s crushed finger and sewed up the stump. Mugridge, who, +during all the time he had been compelled to cook and serve coffee and keep the +fire going, had complained of internal pains, now swore that he had a broken +rib or two. On examination we found that he had three. But his case was +deferred to next day, principally for the reason that I did not know anything +about broken ribs and would first have to read it up. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it was worth it,” I said to Wolf Larsen, +“a broken boat for Kelly’s life.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Kelly didn’t amount to much,” was the reply. +“Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +After all that had passed, suffering intolerable anguish in my finger-ends, and +with three boats missing, to say nothing of the wild capers the <i>Ghost</i> +was cutting, I should have thought it impossible to sleep. But my eyes must +have closed the instant my head touched the pillow, and in utter exhaustion I +slept throughout the night, the while the <i>Ghost</i>, lonely and undirected, +fought her way through the storm. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<p> +The next day, while the storm was blowing itself out, Wolf Larsen and I crammed +anatomy and surgery and set Mugridge’s ribs. Then, when the storm broke, +Wolf Larsen cruised back and forth over that portion of the ocean where we had +encountered it, and somewhat more to the westward, while the boats were being +repaired and new sails made and bent. Sealing schooner after sealing schooner +we sighted and boarded, most of which were in search of lost boats, and most of +which were carrying boats and crews they had picked up and which did not belong +to them. For the thick of the fleet had been to the westward of us, and the +boats, scattered far and wide, had headed in mad flight for the nearest refuge. +</p> + +<p> +Two of our boats, with men all safe, we took off the <i>Cisco</i>, and, to Wolf +Larsen’s huge delight and my own grief, he culled Smoke, with Nilson and +Leach, from the <i>San Diego</i>. So that, at the end of five days, we found +ourselves short but four men—Henderson, Holyoak, Williams, and +Kelly,—and were once more hunting on the flanks of the herd. +</p> + +<p> +As we followed it north we began to encounter the dreaded sea-fogs. Day after +day the boats lowered and were swallowed up almost ere they touched the water, +while we on board pumped the horn at regular intervals and every fifteen +minutes fired the bomb gun. Boats were continually being lost and found, it +being the custom for a boat to hunt, on lay, with whatever schooner picked it +up, until such time it was recovered by its own schooner. But Wolf Larsen, as +was to be expected, being a boat short, took possession of the first stray one +and compelled its men to hunt with the <i>Ghost</i>, not permitting them to +return to their own schooner when we sighted it. I remember how he forced the +hunter and his two men below, a rifle at their breasts, when their captain +passed by at biscuit-toss and hailed us for information. +</p> + +<p> +Thomas Mugridge, so strangely and pertinaciously clinging to life, was soon +limping about again and performing his double duties of cook and cabin-boy. +Johnson and Leach were bullied and beaten as much as ever, and they looked for +their lives to end with the end of the hunting season; while the rest of the +crew lived the lives of dogs and were worked like dogs by their pitiless +master. As for Wolf Larsen and myself, we got along fairly well; though I could +not quite rid myself of the idea that right conduct, for me, lay in killing +him. He fascinated me immeasurably, and I feared him immeasurably. And yet, I +could not imagine him lying prone in death. There was an endurance, as of +perpetual youth, about him, which rose up and forbade the picture. I could see +him only as living always, and dominating always, fighting and destroying, +himself surviving. +</p> + +<p> +One diversion of his, when we were in the midst of the herd and the sea was too +rough to lower the boats, was to lower with two boat-pullers and a steerer and +go out himself. He was a good shot, too, and brought many a skin aboard under +what the hunters termed impossible hunting conditions. It seemed the breath of +his nostrils, this carrying his life in his hands and struggling for it against +tremendous odds. +</p> + +<p> +I was learning more and more seamanship; and one clear day—a thing we +rarely encountered now—I had the satisfaction of running and handling the +<i>Ghost</i> and picking up the boats myself. Wolf Larsen had been smitten with +one of his headaches, and I stood at the wheel from morning until evening, +sailing across the ocean after the last lee boat, and heaving to and picking it +and the other five up without command or suggestion from him. +</p> + +<p> +Gales we encountered now and again, for it was a raw and stormy region, and, in +the middle of June, a typhoon most memorable to me and most important because +of the changes wrought through it upon my future. We must have been caught +nearly at the centre of this circular storm, and Wolf Larsen ran out of it and +to the southward, first under a double-reefed jib, and finally under bare +poles. Never had I imagined so great a sea. The seas previously encountered +were as ripples compared with these, which ran a half-mile from crest to crest +and which upreared, I am confident, above our masthead. So great was it that +Wolf Larsen himself did not dare heave to, though he was being driven far to +the southward and out of the seal herd. +</p> + +<p> +We must have been well in the path of the trans-Pacific steamships when the +typhoon moderated, and here, to the surprise of the hunters, we found ourselves +in the midst of seals—a second herd, or sort of rear-guard, they +declared, and a most unusual thing. But it was “Boats over!” the +boom-boom of guns, and the pitiful slaughter through the long day. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this time that I was approached by Leach. I had just finished +tallying the skins of the last boat aboard, when he came to my side, in the +darkness, and said in a low tone: +</p> + +<p> +“Can you tell me, Mr. Van Weyden, how far we are off the coast, and what +the bearings of Yokohama are?” +</p> + +<p> +My heart leaped with gladness, for I knew what he had in mind, and I gave him +the bearings—west-north-west, and five hundred miles away. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” was all he said as he slipped back into the +darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning No. 3 boat and Johnson and Leach were missing. The water-breakers +and grub-boxes from all the other boats were likewise missing, as were the beds +and sea bags of the two men. Wolf Larsen was furious. He set sail and bore away +into the west-north-west, two hunters constantly at the mastheads and sweeping +the sea with glasses, himself pacing the deck like an angry lion. He knew too +well my sympathy for the runaways to send me aloft as look-out. +</p> + +<p> +The wind was fair but fitful, and it was like looking for a needle in a +haystack to raise that tiny boat out of the blue immensity. But he put the +<i>Ghost</i> through her best paces so as to get between the deserters and the +land. This accomplished, he cruised back and forth across what he knew must be +their course. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of the third day, shortly after eight bells, a cry that the boat +was sighted came down from Smoke at the masthead. All hands lined the rail. A +snappy breeze was blowing from the west with the promise of more wind behind +it; and there, to leeward, in the troubled silver of the rising sun, appeared +and disappeared a black speck. +</p> + +<p> +We squared away and ran for it. My heart was as lead. I felt myself turning +sick in anticipation; and as I looked at the gleam of triumph in Wolf +Larsen’s eyes, his form swam before me, and I felt almost irresistibly +impelled to fling myself upon him. So unnerved was I by the thought of +impending violence to Leach and Johnson that my reason must have left me. I +know that I slipped down into the steerage in a daze, and that I was just +beginning the ascent to the deck, a loaded shot-gun in my hands, when I heard +the startled cry: +</p> + +<p> +“There’s five men in that boat!” +</p> + +<p> +I supported myself in the companion-way, weak and trembling, while the +observation was being verified by the remarks of the rest of the men. Then my +knees gave from under me and I sank down, myself again, but overcome by shock +at knowledge of what I had so nearly done. Also, I was very thankful as I put +the gun away and slipped back on deck. +</p> + +<p> +No one had remarked my absence. The boat was near enough for us to make out +that it was larger than any sealing boat and built on different lines. As we +drew closer, the sail was taken in and the mast unstepped. Oars were shipped, +and its occupants waited for us to heave to and take them aboard. +</p> + +<p> +Smoke, who had descended to the deck and was now standing by my side, began to +chuckle in a significant way. I looked at him inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk of a mess!” he giggled. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s wrong?” I demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Again he chuckled. “Don’t you see there, in the stern-sheets, on +the bottom? May I never shoot a seal again if that ain’t a woman!” +</p> + +<p> +I looked closely, but was not sure until exclamations broke out on all sides. +The boat contained four men, and its fifth occupant was certainly a woman. We +were agog with excitement, all except Wolf Larsen, who was too evidently +disappointed in that it was not his own boat with the two victims of his +malice. +</p> + +<p> +We ran down the flying jib, hauled the jib-sheets to wind-ward and the +main-sheet flat, and came up into the wind. The oars struck the water, and with +a few strokes the boat was alongside. I now caught my first fair glimpse of the +woman. She was wrapped in a long ulster, for the morning was raw; and I could +see nothing but her face and a mass of light brown hair escaping from under the +seaman’s cap on her head. The eyes were large and brown and lustrous, the +mouth sweet and sensitive, and the face itself a delicate oval, though sun and +exposure to briny wind had burnt the face scarlet. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed to me like a being from another world. I was aware of a hungry +out-reaching for her, as of a starving man for bread. But then, I had not seen +a woman for a very long time. I know that I was lost in a great wonder, almost +a stupor,—this, then, was a woman?—so that I forgot myself and my +mate’s duties, and took no part in helping the new-comers aboard. For +when one of the sailors lifted her into Wolf Larsen’s downstretched arms, +she looked up into our curious faces and smiled amusedly and sweetly, as only a +woman can smile, and as I had seen no one smile for so long that I had +forgotten such smiles existed. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Van Weyden!” +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen’s voice brought me sharply back to myself. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take the lady below and see to her comfort? Make up that spare +port cabin. Put Cooky to work on it. And see what you can do for that face. +It’s burned badly.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned brusquely away from us and began to question the new men. The boat +was cast adrift, though one of them called it a “bloody shame” with +Yokohama so near. +</p> + +<p> +I found myself strangely afraid of this woman I was escorting aft. Also I was +awkward. It seemed to me that I was realizing for the first time what a +delicate, fragile creature a woman is; and as I caught her arm to help her down +the companion stairs, I was startled by its smallness and softness. Indeed, she +was a slender, delicate woman as women go, but to me she was so ethereally +slender and delicate that I was quite prepared for her arm to crumble in my +grasp. All this, in frankness, to show my first impression, after long denial +of women in general and of Maud Brewster in particular. +</p> + +<p> +“No need to go to any great trouble for me,” she protested, when I +had seated her in Wolf Larsen’s arm-chair, which I had dragged hastily +from his cabin. “The men were looking for land at any moment this +morning, and the vessel should be in by night; don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +Her simple faith in the immediate future took me aback. How could I explain to +her the situation, the strange man who stalked the sea like Destiny, all that +it had taken me months to learn? But I answered honestly: +</p> + +<p> +“If it were any other captain except ours, I should say you would be +ashore in Yokohama to-morrow. But our captain is a strange man, and I beg of +you to be prepared for anything—understand?—for anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I confess I hardly do understand,” she hesitated, a +perturbed but not frightened expression in her eyes. “Or is it a +misconception of mine that shipwrecked people are always shown every +consideration? This is such a little thing, you know. We are so close to +land.” +</p> + +<p> +“Candidly, I do not know,” I strove to reassure her. “I +wished merely to prepare you for the worst, if the worst is to come. This man, +this captain, is a brute, a demon, and one can never tell what will be his next +fantastic act.” +</p> + +<p> +I was growing excited, but she interrupted me with an “Oh, I see,” +and her voice sounded weary. To think was patently an effort. She was clearly +on the verge of physical collapse. +</p> + +<p> +She asked no further questions, and I vouchsafed no remark, devoting myself to +Wolf Larsen’s command, which was to make her comfortable. I bustled about +in quite housewifely fashion, procuring soothing lotions for her sunburn, +raiding Wolf Larsen’s private stores for a bottle of port I knew to be +there, and directing Thomas Mugridge in the preparation of the spare +state-room. +</p> + +<p> +The wind was freshening rapidly, the <i>Ghost</i> heeling over more and more, +and by the time the state-room was ready she was dashing through the water at a +lively clip. I had quite forgotten the existence of Leach and Johnson, when +suddenly, like a thunderclap, “Boat ho!” came down the open +companion-way. It was Smoke’s unmistakable voice, crying from the +masthead. I shot a glance at the woman, but she was leaning back in the +arm-chair, her eyes closed, unutterably tired. I doubted that she had heard, +and I resolved to prevent her seeing the brutality I knew would follow the +capture of the deserters. She was tired. Very good. She should sleep. +</p> + +<p> +There were swift commands on deck, a stamping of feet and a slapping of +reef-points as the <i>Ghost</i> shot into the wind and about on the other tack. +As she filled away and heeled, the arm-chair began to slide across the cabin +floor, and I sprang for it just in time to prevent the rescued woman from being +spilled out. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were too heavy to suggest more than a hint of the sleepy surprise that +perplexed her as she looked up at me, and she half stumbled, half tottered, as +I led her to her cabin. Mugridge grinned insinuatingly in my face as I shoved +him out and ordered him back to his galley work; and he won his revenge by +spreading glowing reports among the hunters as to what an excellent +“lydy’s-myde” I was proving myself to be. +</p> + +<p> +She leaned heavily against me, and I do believe that she had fallen asleep +again between the arm-chair and the state-room. This I discovered when she +nearly fell into the bunk during a sudden lurch of the schooner. She aroused, +smiled drowsily, and was off to sleep again; and asleep I left her, under a +heavy pair of sailor’s blankets, her head resting on a pillow I had +appropriated from Wolf Larsen’s bunk. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<p> +I came on deck to find the <i>Ghost</i> heading up close on the port tack and +cutting in to windward of a familiar spritsail close-hauled on the same tack +ahead of us. All hands were on deck, for they knew that something was to happen +when Leach and Johnson were dragged aboard. +</p> + +<p> +It was four bells. Louis came aft to relieve the wheel. There was a dampness in +the air, and I noticed he had on his oilskins. +</p> + +<p> +“What are we going to have?” I asked him. +</p> + +<p> +“A healthy young slip of a gale from the breath iv it, sir,” he +answered, “with a splatter iv rain just to wet our gills an’ no +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too bad we sighted them,” I said, as the <i>Ghost’s</i> bow +was flung off a point by a large sea and the boat leaped for a moment past the +jibs and into our line of vision. +</p> + +<p> +Louis gave a spoke and temporized. “They’d never iv made the land, +sir, I’m thinkin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think not?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. Did you feel that?” (A puff had caught the schooner, and +he was forced to put the wheel up rapidly to keep her out of the wind.) +“’Tis no egg-shell’ll float on this sea an hour come, +an’ it’s a stroke iv luck for them we’re here to pick +’em up.” +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen strode aft from amidships, where he had been talking with the +rescued men. The cat-like springiness in his tread was a little more pronounced +than usual, and his eyes were bright and snappy. +</p> + +<p> +“Three oilers and a fourth engineer,” was his greeting. “But +we’ll make sailors out of them, or boat-pullers at any rate. Now, what of +the lady?” +</p> + +<p> +I know not why, but I was aware of a twinge or pang like the cut of a knife +when he mentioned her. I thought it a certain silly fastidiousness on my part, +but it persisted in spite of me, and I merely shrugged my shoulders in answer. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen pursed his lips in a long, quizzical whistle. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s her name, then?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” I replied. “She is asleep. She was very +tired. In fact, I am waiting to hear the news from you. What vessel was +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mail steamer,” he answered shortly. “<i>The City of +Tokio</i>, from ’Frisco, bound for Yokohama. Disabled in that typhoon. +Old tub. Opened up top and bottom like a sieve. They were adrift four days. And +you don’t know who or what she is, eh?—maid, wife, or widow? Well, +well.” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head in a bantering way, and regarded me with laughing eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you—” I began. It was on the verge of my tongue to ask +if he were going to take the castaways into Yokohama. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I what?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you intend doing with Leach and Johnson?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. “Really, Hump, I don’t know. You see, with these +additions I’ve about all the crew I want.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they’ve about all the escaping they want,” I said. +“Why not give them a change of treatment? Take them aboard, and deal +gently with them. Whatever they have done they have been hounded into +doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“By me?” +</p> + +<p> +“By you,” I answered steadily. “And I give you warning, Wolf +Larsen, that I may forget love of my own life in the desire to kill you if you +go too far in maltreating those poor wretches.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo!” he cried. “You do me proud, Hump! You’ve found +your legs with a vengeance. You’re quite an individual. You were +unfortunate in having your life cast in easy places, but you’re +developing, and I like you the better for it.” +</p> + +<p> +His voice and expression changed. His face was serious. “Do you believe +in promises?” he asked. “Are they sacred things?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Then here’s a compact,” he went on, consummate actor. +“If I promise not to lay my hands upon Leach will you promise, in turn, +not to attempt to kill me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not that I’m afraid of you, not that I’m afraid of +you,” he hastened to add. +</p> + +<p> +I could hardly believe my ears. What was coming over the man? +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a go?” he asked impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“A go,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +His hand went out to mine, and as I shook it heartily I could have sworn I saw +the mocking devil shine up for a moment in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +We strolled across the poop to the lee side. The boat was close at hand now, +and in desperate plight. Johnson was steering, Leach bailing. We overhauled +them about two feet to their one. Wolf Larsen motioned Louis to keep off +slightly, and we dashed abreast of the boat, not a score of feet to windward. +The <i>Ghost</i> blanketed it. The spritsail flapped emptily and the boat +righted to an even keel, causing the two men swiftly to change position. The +boat lost headway, and, as we lifted on a huge surge, toppled and fell into the +trough. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this moment that Leach and Johnson looked up into the faces of their +shipmates, who lined the rail amidships. There was no greeting. They were as +dead men in their comrades’ eyes, and between them was the gulf that +parts the living and the dead. +</p> + +<p> +The next instant they were opposite the poop, where stood Wolf Larsen and I. We +were falling in the trough, they were rising on the surge. Johnson looked at +me, and I could see that his face was worn and haggard. I waved my hand to him, +and he answered the greeting, but with a wave that was hopeless and despairing. +It was as if he were saying farewell. I did not see into the eyes of Leach, for +he was looking at Wolf Larsen, the old and implacable snarl of hatred strong as +ever on his face. +</p> + +<p> +Then they were gone astern. The spritsail filled with the wind, suddenly, +careening the frail open craft till it seemed it would surely capsize. A +whitecap foamed above it and broke across in a snow-white smother. Then the +boat emerged, half swamped, Leach flinging the water out and Johnson clinging +to the steering-oar, his face white and anxious. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen barked a short laugh in my ear and strode away to the weather side +of the poop. I expected him to give orders for the <i>Ghost</i> to heave to, +but she kept on her course and he made no sign. Louis stood imperturbably at +the wheel, but I noticed the grouped sailors forward turning troubled faces in +our direction. Still the <i>Ghost</i> tore along, till the boat dwindled to a +speck, when Wolf Larsen’s voice rang out in command and he went about on +the starboard tack. +</p> + +<p> +Back we held, two miles and more to windward of the struggling cockle-shell, +when the flying jib was run down and the schooner hove to. The sealing boats +are not made for windward work. Their hope lies in keeping a weather position +so that they may run before the wind for the schooner when it breezes up. But +in all that wild waste there was no refuge for Leach and Johnson save on the +<i>Ghost</i>, and they resolutely began the windward beat. It was slow work in +the heavy sea that was running. At any moment they were liable to be +overwhelmed by the hissing combers. Time and again and countless times we +watched the boat luff into the big whitecaps, lose headway, and be flung back +like a cork. +</p> + +<p> +Johnson was a splendid seaman, and he knew as much about small boats as he did +about ships. At the end of an hour and a half he was nearly alongside, standing +past our stern on the last leg out, aiming to fetch us on the next leg back. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ve changed your mind?” I heard Wolf Larsen mutter, +half to himself, half to them as though they could hear. “You want to +come aboard, eh? Well, then, just keep a-coming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard up with that helm!” he commanded Oofty-Oofty, the Kanaka, who +had in the meantime relieved Louis at the wheel. +</p> + +<p> +Command followed command. As the schooner paid off, the fore- and main-sheets +were slacked away for fair wind. And before the wind we were, and leaping, when +Johnson, easing his sheet at imminent peril, cut across our wake a hundred feet +away. Again Wolf Larsen laughed, at the same time beckoning them with his arm +to follow. It was evidently his intention to play with them,—a lesson, I +took it, in lieu of a beating, though a dangerous lesson, for the frail craft +stood in momentary danger of being overwhelmed. +</p> + +<p> +Johnson squared away promptly and ran after us. There was nothing else for him +to do. Death stalked everywhere, and it was only a matter of time when some one +of those many huge seas would fall upon the boat, roll over it, and pass on. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis the fear iv death at the hearts iv them,” Louis +muttered in my ear, as I passed forward to see to taking in the flying jib and +staysail. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’ll heave to in a little while and pick them up,” I +answered cheerfully. “He’s bent upon giving them a lesson, +that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +Louis looked at me shrewdly. “Think so?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely,” I answered. “Don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think nothing but iv my own skin, these days,” was his answer. +“An’ ’tis with wonder I’m filled as to the +workin’ out iv things. A pretty mess that ’Frisco whisky got me +into, an’ a prettier mess that woman’s got you into aft there. Ah, +it’s myself that knows ye for a blitherin’ fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” I demanded; for, having sped his shaft, he was +turning away. +</p> + +<p> +“What do I mean?” he cried. “And it’s you that asks me! +’Tis not what I mean, but what the Wolf ’ll mean. The Wolf, I said, +the Wolf!” +</p> + +<p> +“If trouble comes, will you stand by?” I asked impulsively, for he +had voiced my own fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand by? ’Tis old fat Louis I stand by, an’ trouble enough +it’ll be. We’re at the beginnin’ iv things, I’m +tellin’ ye, the bare beginnin’ iv things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had not thought you so great a coward,” I sneered. +</p> + +<p> +He favoured me with a contemptuous stare. “If I raised never a hand for +that poor fool,”—pointing astern to the tiny +sail,—“d’ye think I’m hungerin’ for a broken head +for a woman I never laid me eyes upon before this day?” +</p> + +<p> +I turned scornfully away and went aft. +</p> + +<p> +“Better get in those topsails, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen said, +as I came on the poop. +</p> + +<p> +I felt relief, at least as far as the two men were concerned. It was clear he +did not wish to run too far away from them. I picked up hope at the thought and +put the order swiftly into execution. I had scarcely opened my mouth to issue +the necessary commands, when eager men were springing to halyards and +downhauls, and others were racing aloft. This eagerness on their part was noted +by Wolf Larsen with a grim smile. +</p> + +<p> +Still we increased our lead, and when the boat had dropped astern several miles +we hove to and waited. All eyes watched it coming, even Wolf Larsen’s; +but he was the only unperturbed man aboard. Louis, gazing fixedly, betrayed a +trouble in his face he was not quite able to hide. +</p> + +<p> +The boat drew closer and closer, hurling along through the seething green like +a thing alive, lifting and sending and uptossing across the huge-backed +breakers, or disappearing behind them only to rush into sight again and shoot +skyward. It seemed impossible that it could continue to live, yet with each +dizzying sweep it did achieve the impossible. A rain-squall drove past, and out +of the flying wet the boat emerged, almost upon us. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard up, there!” Wolf Larsen shouted, himself springing to the +wheel and whirling it over. +</p> + +<p> +Again the <i>Ghost</i> sprang away and raced before the wind, and for two hours +Johnson and Leach pursued us. We hove to and ran away, hove to and ran away, +and ever astern the struggling patch of sail tossed skyward and fell into the +rushing valleys. It was a quarter of a mile away when a thick squall of rain +veiled it from view. It never emerged. The wind blew the air clear again, but +no patch of sail broke the troubled surface. I thought I saw, for an instant, +the boat’s bottom show black in a breaking crest. At the best, that was +all. For Johnson and Leach the travail of existence had ceased. +</p> + +<p> +The men remained grouped amidships. No one had gone below, and no one was +speaking. Nor were any looks being exchanged. Each man seemed +stunned—deeply contemplative, as it were, and, not quite sure, trying to +realize just what had taken place. Wolf Larsen gave them little time for +thought. He at once put the <i>Ghost</i> upon her course—a course which +meant the seal herd and not Yokohama harbour. But the men were no longer eager +as they pulled and hauled, and I heard curses amongst them, which left their +lips smothered and as heavy and lifeless as were they. Not so was it with the +hunters. Smoke the irrepressible related a story, and they descended into the +steerage, bellowing with laughter. +</p> + +<p> +As I passed to leeward of the galley on my way aft I was approached by the +engineer we had rescued. His face was white, his lips were trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! sir, what kind of a craft is this?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“You have eyes, you have seen,” I answered, almost brutally, what +of the pain and fear at my own heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Your promise?” I said to Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +“I was not thinking of taking them aboard when I made that +promise,” he answered. “And anyway, you’ll agree I’ve +not laid my hands upon them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Far from it, far from it,” he laughed a moment later. +</p> + +<p> +I made no reply. I was incapable of speaking, my mind was too confused. I must +have time to think, I knew. This woman, sleeping even now in the spare cabin, +was a responsibility, which I must consider, and the only rational thought that +flickered through my mind was that I must do nothing hastily if I were to be +any help to her at all. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<p> +The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. The young slip of a gale, having +wetted our gills, proceeded to moderate. The fourth engineer and the three +oilers, after a warm interview with Wolf Larsen, were furnished with outfits +from the slop-chests, assigned places under the hunters in the various boats +and watches on the vessel, and bundled forward into the forecastle. They went +protestingly, but their voices were not loud. They were awed by what they had +already seen of Wolf Larsen’s character, while the tale of woe they +speedily heard in the forecastle took the last bit of rebellion out of them. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Brewster—we had learned her name from the engineer—slept on +and on. At supper I requested the hunters to lower their voices, so she was not +disturbed; and it was not till next morning that she made her appearance. It +had been my intention to have her meals served apart, but Wolf Larsen put down +his foot. Who was she that she should be too good for cabin table and cabin +society? had been his demand. +</p> + +<p> +But her coming to the table had something amusing in it. The hunters fell +silent as clams. Jock Horner and Smoke alone were unabashed, stealing stealthy +glances at her now and again, and even taking part in the conversation. The +other four men glued their eyes on their plates and chewed steadily and with +thoughtful precision, their ears moving and wobbling, in time with their jaws, +like the ears of so many animals. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen had little to say at first, doing no more than reply when he was +addressed. Not that he was abashed. Far from it. This woman was a new type to +him, a different breed from any he had ever known, and he was curious. He +studied her, his eyes rarely leaving her face unless to follow the movements of +her hands or shoulders. I studied her myself, and though it was I who +maintained the conversation, I know that I was a bit shy, not quite +self-possessed. His was the perfect poise, the supreme confidence in self, +which nothing could shake; and he was no more timid of a woman than he was of +storm and battle. +</p> + +<p> +“And when shall we arrive at Yokohama?” she asked, turning to him +and looking him squarely in the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +There it was, the question flat. The jaws stopped working, the ears ceased +wobbling, and though eyes remained glued on plates, each man listened greedily +for the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“In four months, possibly three if the season closes early,” Wolf +Larsen said. +</p> + +<p> +She caught her breath and stammered, “I—I thought—I was given +to understand that Yokohama was only a day’s sail away. It—” +Here she paused and looked about the table at the circle of unsympathetic faces +staring hard at the plates. “It is not right,” she concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a question you must settle with Mr. Van Weyden there,” he +replied, nodding to me with a mischievous twinkle. “Mr. Van Weyden is +what you may call an authority on such things as rights. Now I, who am only a +sailor, would look upon the situation somewhat differently. It may possibly be +your misfortune that you have to remain with us, but it is certainly our good +fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +He regarded her smilingly. Her eyes fell before his gaze, but she lifted them +again, and defiantly, to mine. I read the unspoken question there: was it +right? But I had decided that the part I was to play must be a neutral one, so +I did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think?” she demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“That it is unfortunate, especially if you have any engagements falling +due in the course of the next several months. But, since you say that you were +voyaging to Japan for your health, I can assure you that it will improve no +better anywhere than aboard the <i>Ghost</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw her eyes flash with indignation, and this time it was I who dropped mine, +while I felt my face flushing under her gaze. It was cowardly, but what else +could I do? +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Van Weyden speaks with the voice of authority,” Wolf Larsen +laughed. +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my head, and she, having recovered herself, waited expectantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not that he is much to speak of now,” Wolf Larsen went on, +“but he has improved wonderfully. You should have seen him when he came +on board. A more scrawny, pitiful specimen of humanity one could hardly +conceive. Isn’t that so, Kerfoot?” +</p> + +<p> +Kerfoot, thus directly addressed, was startled into dropping his knife on the +floor, though he managed to grunt affirmation. +</p> + +<p> +“Developed himself by peeling potatoes and washing dishes. Eh, +Kerfoot?” +</p> + +<p> +Again that worthy grunted. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at him now. True, he is not what you would term muscular, but still +he has muscles, which is more than he had when he came aboard. Also, he has +legs to stand on. You would not think so to look at him, but he was quite +unable to stand alone at first.” +</p> + +<p> +The hunters were snickering, but she looked at me with a sympathy in her eyes +which more than compensated for Wolf Larsen’s nastiness. In truth, it had +been so long since I had received sympathy that I was softened, and I became +then, and gladly, her willing slave. But I was angry with Wolf Larsen. He was +challenging my manhood with his slurs, challenging the very legs he claimed to +be instrumental in getting for me. +</p> + +<p> +“I may have learned to stand on my own legs,” I retorted. +“But I have yet to stamp upon others with them.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me insolently. “Your education is only half completed, +then,” he said dryly, and turned to her. +</p> + +<p> +“We are very hospitable upon the <i>Ghost</i>. Mr. Van Weyden has +discovered that. We do everything to make our guests feel at home, eh, Mr. Van +Weyden?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even to the peeling of potatoes and the washing of dishes,” I +answered, “to say nothing to wringing their necks out of very +fellowship.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg of you not to receive false impressions of us from Mr. Van +Weyden,” he interposed with mock anxiety. “You will observe, Miss +Brewster, that he carries a dirk in his belt, a—ahem—a most unusual +thing for a ship’s officer to do. While really very estimable, Mr. Van +Weyden is sometimes—how shall I say?—er—quarrelsome, and +harsh measures are necessary. He is quite reasonable and fair in his calm +moments, and as he is calm now he will not deny that only yesterday he +threatened my life.” +</p> + +<p> +I was well-nigh choking, and my eyes were certainly fiery. He drew attention to +me. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at him now. He can scarcely control himself in your presence. He is +not accustomed to the presence of ladies anyway. I shall have to arm myself +before I dare go on deck with him.” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head sadly, murmuring, “Too bad, too bad,” while the +hunters burst into guffaws of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +The deep-sea voices of these men, rumbling and bellowing in the confined space, +produced a wild effect. The whole setting was wild, and for the first time, +regarding this strange woman and realizing how incongruous she was in it, I was +aware of how much a part of it I was myself. I knew these men and their mental +processes, was one of them myself, living the seal-hunting life, eating the +seal-hunting fare, thinking, largely, the seal-hunting thoughts. There was for +me no strangeness to it, to the rough clothes, the coarse faces, the wild +laughter, and the lurching cabin walls and swaying sea-lamps. +</p> + +<p> +As I buttered a piece of bread my eyes chanced to rest upon my hand. The +knuckles were skinned and inflamed clear across, the fingers swollen, the nails +rimmed with black. I felt the mattress-like growth of beard on my neck, knew +that the sleeve of my coat was ripped, that a button was missing from the +throat of the blue shirt I wore. The dirk mentioned by Wolf Larsen rested in +its sheath on my hip. It was very natural that it should be there,—how +natural I had not imagined until now, when I looked upon it with her eyes and +knew how strange it and all that went with it must appear to her. +</p> + +<p> +But she divined the mockery in Wolf Larsen’s words, and again favoured me +with a sympathetic glance. But there was a look of bewilderment also in her +eyes. That it was mockery made the situation more puzzling to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I may be taken off by some passing vessel, perhaps,” she +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“There will be no passing vessels, except other sealing-schooners,” +Wolf Larsen made answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no clothes, nothing,” she objected. “You hardly +realize, sir, that I am not a man, or that I am unaccustomed to the vagrant, +careless life which you and your men seem to lead.” +</p> + +<p> +“The sooner you get accustomed to it, the better,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll furnish you with cloth, needles, and thread,” he added. +“I hope it will not be too dreadful a hardship for you to make yourself a +dress or two.” +</p> + +<p> +She made a wry pucker with her mouth, as though to advertise her ignorance of +dressmaking. That she was frightened and bewildered, and that she was bravely +striving to hide it, was quite plain to me. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you’re like Mr. Van Weyden there, accustomed to having +things done for you. Well, I think doing a few things for yourself will hardly +dislocate any joints. By the way, what do you do for a living?” +</p> + +<p> +She regarded him with amazement unconcealed. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean no offence, believe me. People eat, therefore they must procure +the wherewithal. These men here shoot seals in order to live; for the same +reason I sail this schooner; and Mr. Van Weyden, for the present at any rate, +earns his salty grub by assisting me. Now what do you do?” +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you feed yourself? Or does some one else feed you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid some one else has fed me most of my life,” she +laughed, trying bravely to enter into the spirit of his quizzing, though I +could see a terror dawning and growing in her eyes as she watched Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +“And I suppose some one else makes your bed for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>have</i> made beds,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Very often?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head with mock ruefulness. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what they do to poor men in the States, who, like you, do +not work for their living?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very ignorant,” she pleaded. “What do they do to the +poor men who are like me?” +</p> + +<p> +“They send them to jail. The crime of not earning a living, in their +case, is called vagrancy. If I were Mr. Van Weyden, who harps eternally on +questions of right and wrong, I’d ask, by what right do you live when you +do nothing to deserve living?” +</p> + +<p> +“But as you are not Mr. Van Weyden, I don’t have to answer, do +I?” +</p> + +<p> +She beamed upon him through her terror-filled eyes, and the pathos of it cut me +to the heart. I must in some way break in and lead the conversation into other +channels. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever earned a dollar by your own labour?” he demanded, +certain of her answer, a triumphant vindictiveness in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have,” she answered slowly, and I could have laughed aloud +at his crestfallen visage. “I remember my father giving me a dollar once, +when I was a little girl, for remaining absolutely quiet for five +minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled indulgently. +</p> + +<p> +“But that was long ago,” she continued. “And you would +scarcely demand a little girl of nine to earn her own living.” +</p> + +<p> +“At present, however,” she said, after another slight pause, +“I earn about eighteen hundred dollars a year.” +</p> + +<p> +With one accord, all eyes left the plates and settled on her. A woman who +earned eighteen hundred dollars a year was worth looking at. Wolf Larsen was +undisguised in his admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Salary, or piece-work?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Piece-work,” she answered promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteen hundred,” he calculated. “That’s a hundred +and fifty dollars a month. Well, Miss Brewster, there is nothing small about +the <i>Ghost</i>. Consider yourself on salary during the time you remain with +us.” +</p> + +<p> +She made no acknowledgment. She was too unused as yet to the whims of the man +to accept them with equanimity. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot to inquire,” he went on suavely, “as to the nature +of your occupation. What commodities do you turn out? What tools and materials +do you require?” +</p> + +<p> +“Paper and ink,” she laughed. “And, oh! also a +typewriter.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are Maud Brewster,” I said slowly and with certainty, almost +as though I were charging her with a crime. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes lifted curiously to mine. “How do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you?” I demanded. +</p> + +<p> +She acknowledged her identity with a nod. It was Wolf Larsen’s turn to be +puzzled. The name and its magic signified nothing to him. I was proud that it +did mean something to me, and for the first time in a weary while I was +convincingly conscious of a superiority over him. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember writing a review of a thin little volume—” I had +begun carelessly, when she interrupted me. +</p> + +<p> +“You!” she cried. “You are—” +</p> + +<p> +She was now staring at me in wide-eyed wonder. +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my identity, in turn. +</p> + +<p> +“Humphrey Van Weyden,” she concluded; then added with a sigh of +relief, and unaware that she had glanced that relief at Wolf Larsen, “I +am so glad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember the review,” she went on hastily, becoming aware of the +awkwardness of her remark; “that too, too flattering review.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” I denied valiantly. “You impeach my sober +judgment and make my canons of little worth. Besides, all my brother critics +were with me. Didn’t Lang include your ‘Kiss Endured’ among +the four supreme sonnets by women in the English language?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you called me the American Mrs. Meynell!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it not true?” I demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not that,” she answered. “I was hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can measure the unknown only by the known,” I replied, in my +finest academic manner. “As a critic I was compelled to place you. You +have now become a yardstick yourself. Seven of your thin little volumes are on +my shelves; and there are two thicker volumes, the essays, which, you will +pardon my saying, and I know not which is flattered more, fully equal your +verse. The time is not far distant when some unknown will arise in England and +the critics will name her the English Maud Brewster.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very kind, I am sure,” she murmured; and the very +conventionality of her tones and words, with the host of associations it +aroused of the old life on the other side of the world, gave me a quick +thrill—rich with remembrance but stinging sharp with home-sickness. +</p> + +<p> +“And you are Maud Brewster,” I said solemnly, gazing across at her. +</p> + +<p> +“And you are Humphrey Van Weyden,” she said, gazing back at me with +equal solemnity and awe. “How unusual! I don’t understand. We +surely are not to expect some wildly romantic sea-story from your sober +pen.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not gathering material, I assure you,” was my answer. +“I have neither aptitude nor inclination for fiction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, why have you always buried yourself in California?” she +next asked. “It has not been kind of you. We of the East have seen so +very little of you—too little, indeed, of the Dean of American Letters, +the Second.” +</p> + +<p> +I bowed to, and disclaimed, the compliment. “I nearly met you, once, in +Philadelphia, some Browning affair or other—you were to lecture, you +know. My train was four hours late.” +</p> + +<p> +And then we quite forgot where we were, leaving Wolf Larsen stranded and silent +in the midst of our flood of gossip. The hunters left the table and went on +deck, and still we talked. Wolf Larsen alone remained. Suddenly I became aware +of him, leaning back from the table and listening curiously to our alien speech +of a world he did not know. +</p> + +<p> +I broke short off in the middle of a sentence. The present, with all its perils +and anxieties, rushed upon me with stunning force. It smote Miss Brewster +likewise, a vague and nameless terror rushing into her eyes as she regarded +Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +He rose to his feet and laughed awkwardly. The sound of it was metallic. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t mind me,” he said, with a self-depreciatory wave +of his hand. “I don’t count. Go on, go on, I pray you.” +</p> + +<p> +But the gates of speech were closed, and we, too, rose from the table and +laughed awkwardly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<p> +The chagrin Wolf Larsen felt from being ignored by Maud Brewster and me in the +conversation at table had to express itself in some fashion, and it fell to +Thomas Mugridge to be the victim. He had not mended his ways nor his shirt, +though the latter he contended he had changed. The garment itself did not bear +out the assertion, nor did the accumulations of grease on stove and pot and pan +attest a general cleanliness. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve given you warning, Cooky,” Wolf Larsen said, “and +now you’ve got to take your medicine.” +</p> + +<p> +Mugridge’s face turned white under its sooty veneer, and when Wolf Larsen +called for a rope and a couple of men, the miserable Cockney fled wildly out of +the galley and dodged and ducked about the deck with the grinning crew in +pursuit. Few things could have been more to their liking than to give him a tow +over the side, for to the forecastle he had sent messes and concoctions of the +vilest order. Conditions favoured the undertaking. The <i>Ghost</i> was +slipping through the water at no more than three miles an hour, and the sea was +fairly calm. But Mugridge had little stomach for a dip in it. Possibly he had +seen men towed before. Besides, the water was frightfully cold, and his was +anything but a rugged constitution. +</p> + +<p> +As usual, the watches below and the hunters turned out for what promised sport. +Mugridge seemed to be in rabid fear of the water, and he exhibited a nimbleness +and speed we did not dream he possessed. Cornered in the right-angle of the +poop and galley, he sprang like a cat to the top of the cabin and ran aft. But +his pursuers forestalling him, he doubled back across the cabin, passed over +the galley, and gained the deck by means of the steerage-scuttle. Straight +forward he raced, the boat-puller Harrison at his heels and gaining on him. But +Mugridge, leaping suddenly, caught the jib-boom-lift. It happened in an +instant. Holding his weight by his arms, and in mid-air doubling his body at +the hips, he let fly with both feet. The oncoming Harrison caught the kick +squarely in the pit of the stomach, groaned involuntarily, and doubled up and +sank backward to the deck. +</p> + +<p> +Hand-clapping and roars of laughter from the hunters greeted the exploit, while +Mugridge, eluding half of his pursuers at the foremast, ran aft and through the +remainder like a runner on the football field. Straight aft he held, to the +poop and along the poop to the stern. So great was his speed that as he curved +past the corner of the cabin he slipped and fell. Nilson was standing at the +wheel, and the Cockney’s hurtling body struck his legs. Both went down +together, but Mugridge alone arose. By some freak of pressures, his frail body +had snapped the strong man’s leg like a pipe-stem. +</p> + +<p> +Parsons took the wheel, and the pursuit continued. Round and round the decks +they went, Mugridge sick with fear, the sailors hallooing and shouting +directions to one another, and the hunters bellowing encouragement and +laughter. Mugridge went down on the fore-hatch under three men; but he emerged +from the mass like an eel, bleeding at the mouth, the offending shirt ripped +into tatters, and sprang for the main-rigging. Up he went, clear up, beyond the +ratlines, to the very masthead. +</p> + +<p> +Half-a-dozen sailors swarmed to the crosstrees after him, where they clustered +and waited while two of their number, Oofty-Oofty and Black (who was +Latimer’s boat-steerer), continued up the thin steel stays, lifting their +bodies higher and higher by means of their arms. +</p> + +<p> +It was a perilous undertaking, for, at a height of over a hundred feet from the +deck, holding on by their hands, they were not in the best of positions to +protect themselves from Mugridge’s feet. And Mugridge kicked savagely, +till the Kanaka, hanging on with one hand, seized the Cockney’s foot with +the other. Black duplicated the performance a moment later with the other foot. +Then the three writhed together in a swaying tangle, struggling, sliding, and +falling into the arms of their mates on the crosstrees. +</p> + +<p> +The aërial battle was over, and Thomas Mugridge, whining and gibbering, his +mouth flecked with bloody foam, was brought down to deck. Wolf Larsen rove a +bowline in a piece of rope and slipped it under his shoulders. Then he was +carried aft and flung into the sea. Forty,—fifty,—sixty feet of +line ran out, when Wolf Larsen cried “Belay!” Oofty-Oofty took a +turn on a bitt, the rope tautened, and the <i>Ghost</i>, lunging onward, jerked +the cook to the surface. +</p> + +<p> +It was a pitiful spectacle. Though he could not drown, and was nine-lived in +addition, he was suffering all the agonies of half-drowning. The <i>Ghost</i> +was going very slowly, and when her stern lifted on a wave and she slipped +forward she pulled the wretch to the surface and gave him a moment in which to +breathe; but between each lift the stern fell, and while the bow lazily climbed +the next wave the line slacked and he sank beneath. +</p> + +<p> +I had forgotten the existence of Maud Brewster, and I remembered her with a +start as she stepped lightly beside me. It was her first time on deck since she +had come aboard. A dead silence greeted her appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the cause of the merriment?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask Captain Larsen,” I answered composedly and coldly, though +inwardly my blood was boiling at the thought that she should be witness to such +brutality. +</p> + +<p> +She took my advice and was turning to put it into execution, when her eyes +lighted on Oofty-Oofty, immediately before her, his body instinct with +alertness and grace as he held the turn of the rope. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you fishing?” she asked him. +</p> + +<p> +He made no reply. His eyes, fixed intently on the sea astern, suddenly flashed. +</p> + +<p> +“Shark ho, sir!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Heave in! Lively! All hands tail on!” Wolf Larsen shouted, +springing himself to the rope in advance of the quickest. +</p> + +<p> +Mugridge had heard the Kanaka’s warning cry and was screaming madly. I +could see a black fin cutting the water and making for him with greater +swiftness than he was being pulled aboard. It was an even toss whether the +shark or we would get him, and it was a matter of moments. When Mugridge was +directly beneath us, the stern descended the slope of a passing wave, thus +giving the advantage to the shark. The fin disappeared. The belly flashed white +in swift upward rush. Almost equally swift, but not quite, was Wolf Larsen. He +threw his strength into one tremendous jerk. The Cockney’s body left the +water; so did part of the shark’s. He drew up his legs, and the man-eater +seemed no more than barely to touch one foot, sinking back into the water with +a splash. But at the moment of contact Thomas Mugridge cried out. Then he came +in like a fresh-caught fish on a line, clearing the rail generously and +striking the deck in a heap, on hands and knees, and rolling over. +</p> + +<p> +But a fountain of blood was gushing forth. The right foot was missing, +amputated neatly at the ankle. I looked instantly to Maud Brewster. Her face +was white, her eyes dilated with horror. She was gazing, not at Thomas +Mugridge, but at Wolf Larsen. And he was aware of it, for he said, with one of +his short laughs: +</p> + +<p> +“Man-play, Miss Brewster. Somewhat rougher, I warrant, than what you have +been used to, but still-man-play. The shark was not in the reckoning. +It—” +</p> + +<p> +But at this juncture, Mugridge, who had lifted his head and ascertained the +extent of his loss, floundered over on the deck and buried his teeth in Wolf +Larsen’s leg. Wolf Larsen stooped, coolly, to the Cockney, and pressed +with thumb and finger at the rear of the jaws and below the ears. The jaws +opened with reluctance, and Wolf Larsen stepped free. +</p> + +<p> +“As I was saying,” he went on, as though nothing unwonted had +happened, “the shark was not in the reckoning. It +was—ahem—shall we say Providence?” +</p> + +<p> +She gave no sign that she had heard, though the expression of her eyes changed +to one of inexpressible loathing as she started to turn away. She no more than +started, for she swayed and tottered, and reached her hand weakly out to mine. +I caught her in time to save her from falling, and helped her to a seat on the +cabin. I thought she might faint outright, but she controlled herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you get a tourniquet, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen called to +me. +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated. Her lips moved, and though they formed no words, she commanded me +with her eyes, plainly as speech, to go to the help of the unfortunate man. +“Please,” she managed to whisper, and I could but obey. +</p> + +<p> +By now I had developed such skill at surgery that Wolf Larsen, with a few words +of advice, left me to my task with a couple of sailors for assistants. For his +task he elected a vengeance on the shark. A heavy swivel-hook, baited with fat +salt-pork, was dropped overside; and by the time I had compressed the severed +veins and arteries, the sailors were singing and heaving in the offending +monster. I did not see it myself, but my assistants, first one and then the +other, deserted me for a few moments to run amidships and look at what was +going on. The shark, a sixteen-footer, was hoisted up against the main-rigging. +Its jaws were pried apart to their greatest extension, and a stout stake, +sharpened at both ends, was so inserted that when the pries were removed the +spread jaws were fixed upon it. This accomplished, the hook was cut out. The +shark dropped back into the sea, helpless, yet with its full strength, +doomed—to lingering starvation—a living death less meet for it than +for the man who devised the punishment. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<p> +I knew what it was as she came toward me. For ten minutes I had watched her +talking earnestly with the engineer, and now, with a sign for silence, I drew +her out of earshot of the helmsman. Her face was white and set; her large eyes, +larger than usual what of the purpose in them, looked penetratingly into mine. +I felt rather timid and apprehensive, for she had come to search Humphrey Van +Weyden’s soul, and Humphrey Van Weyden had nothing of which to be +particularly proud since his advent on the <i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +We walked to the break of the poop, where she turned and faced me. I glanced +around to see that no one was within hearing distance. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” I asked gently; but the expression of determination +on her face did not relax. +</p> + +<p> +“I can readily understand,” she began, “that this +morning’s affair was largely an accident; but I have been talking with +Mr. Haskins. He tells me that the day we were rescued, even while I was in the +cabin, two men were drowned, deliberately drowned—murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a query in her voice, and she faced me accusingly, as though I were +guilty of the deed, or at least a party to it. +</p> + +<p> +“The information is quite correct,” I answered. “The two men +were murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you permitted it!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“I was unable to prevent it, is a better way of phrasing it,” I +replied, still gently. +</p> + +<p> +“But you tried to prevent it?” There was an emphasis on the +“tried,” and a pleading little note in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but you didn’t,” she hurried on, divining my answer. +“But why didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +I shrugged my shoulders. “You must remember, Miss Brewster, that you are +a new inhabitant of this little world, and that you do not yet understand the +laws which operate within it. You bring with you certain fine conceptions of +humanity, manhood, conduct, and such things; but here you will find them +misconceptions. I have found it so,” I added, with an involuntary sigh. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“What would you advise, then?” I asked. “That I should take a +knife, or a gun, or an axe, and kill this man?” +</p> + +<p> +She half started back. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what should I do? Kill myself?” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak in purely materialistic terms,” she objected. +“There is such a thing as moral courage, and moral courage is never +without effect.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” I smiled, “you advise me to kill neither him nor +myself, but to let him kill me.” I held up my hand as she was about to +speak. “For moral courage is a worthless asset on this little floating +world. Leach, one of the men who were murdered, had moral courage to an unusual +degree. So had the other man, Johnson. Not only did it not stand them in good +stead, but it destroyed them. And so with me if I should exercise what little +moral courage I may possess. +</p> + +<p> +“You must understand, Miss Brewster, and understand clearly, that this +man is a monster. He is without conscience. Nothing is sacred to him, nothing +is too terrible for him to do. It was due to his whim that I was detained +aboard in the first place. It is due to his whim that I am still alive. I do +nothing, can do nothing, because I am a slave to this monster, as you are now a +slave to him; because I desire to live, as you will desire to live; because I +cannot fight and overcome him, just as you will not be able to fight and +overcome him.” +</p> + +<p> +She waited for me to go on. +</p> + +<p> +“What remains? Mine is the role of the weak. I remain silent and suffer +ignominy, as you will remain silent and suffer ignominy. And it is well. It is +the best we can do if we wish to live. The battle is not always to the strong. +We have not the strength with which to fight this man; we must dissimulate, and +win, if win we can, by craft. If you will be advised by me, this is what you +will do. I know my position is perilous, and I may say frankly that yours is +even more perilous. We must stand together, without appearing to do so, in +secret alliance. I shall not be able to side with you openly, and, no matter +what indignities may be put upon me, you are to remain likewise silent. We must +provoke no scenes with this man, nor cross his will. And we must keep smiling +faces and be friendly with him no matter how repulsive it may be.” +</p> + +<p> +She brushed her hand across her forehead in a puzzled way, saying, “Still +I do not understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must do as I say,” I interrupted authoritatively, for I saw +Wolf Larsen’s gaze wandering toward us from where he paced up and down +with Latimer amidships. “Do as I say, and ere long you will find I am +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I do, then?” she asked, detecting the anxious glance I +had shot at the object of our conversation, and impressed, I flatter myself, +with the earnestness of my manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Dispense with all the moral courage you can,” I said briskly. +“Don’t arouse this man’s animosity. Be quite friendly with +him, talk with him, discuss literature and art with him—he is fond of +such things. You will find him an interested listener and no fool. And for your +own sake try to avoid witnessing, as much as you can, the brutalities of the +ship. It will make it easier for you to act your part.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am to lie,” she said in steady, rebellious tones, “by +speech and action to lie.” +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen had separated from Latimer and was coming toward us. I was +desperate. +</p> + +<p> +“Please, please understand me,” I said hurriedly, lowering my +voice. “All your experience of men and things is worthless here. You must +begin over again. I know,—I can see it—you have, among other ways, +been used to managing people with your eyes, letting your moral courage speak +out through them, as it were. You have already managed me with your eyes, +commanded me with them. But don’t try it on Wolf Larsen. You could as +easily control a lion, while he would make a mock of you. He would—I have +always been proud of the fact that I discovered him,” I said, turning the +conversation as Wolf Larsen stepped on the poop and joined us. “The +editors were afraid of him and the publishers would have none of him. But I +knew, and his genius and my judgment were vindicated when he made that +magnificent hit with his ‘Forge.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And it was a newspaper poem,” she said glibly. +</p> + +<p> +“It did happen to see the light in a newspaper,” I replied, +“but not because the magazine editors had been denied a glimpse at +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We were talking of Harris,” I said to Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” he acknowledged. “I remember the +‘Forge.’ Filled with pretty sentiments and an almighty faith in +human illusions. By the way, Mr. Van Weyden, you’d better look in on +Cooky. He’s complaining and restless.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus was I bluntly dismissed from the poop, only to find Mugridge sleeping +soundly from the morphine I had given him. I made no haste to return on deck, +and when I did I was gratified to see Miss Brewster in animated conversation +with Wolf Larsen. As I say, the sight gratified me. She was following my +advice. And yet I was conscious of a slight shock or hurt in that she was able +to do the thing I had begged her to do and which she had notably disliked. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<p> +Brave winds, blowing fair, swiftly drove the <i>Ghost</i> northward into the +seal herd. We encountered it well up to the forty-fourth parallel, in a raw and +stormy sea across which the wind harried the fog-banks in eternal flight. For +days at a time we could never see the sun nor take an observation; then the +wind would sweep the face of the ocean clean, the waves would ripple and flash, +and we would learn where we were. A day of clear weather might follow, or three +days or four, and then the fog would settle down upon us, seemingly thicker +than ever. +</p> + +<p> +The hunting was perilous; yet the boats, lowered day after day, were swallowed +up in the grey obscurity, and were seen no more till nightfall, and often not +till long after, when they would creep in like sea-wraiths, one by one, out of +the grey. Wainwright—the hunter whom Wolf Larsen had stolen with boat and +men—took advantage of the veiled sea and escaped. He disappeared one +morning in the encircling fog with his two men, and we never saw them again, +though it was not many days when we learned that they had passed from schooner +to schooner until they finally regained their own. +</p> + +<p> +This was the thing I had set my mind upon doing, but the opportunity never +offered. It was not in the mate’s province to go out in the boats, and +though I manœuvred cunningly for it, Wolf Larsen never granted me the +privilege. Had he done so, I should have managed somehow to carry Miss Brewster +away with me. As it was, the situation was approaching a stage which I was +afraid to consider. I involuntarily shunned the thought of it, and yet the +thought continually arose in my mind like a haunting spectre. +</p> + +<p> +I had read sea-romances in my time, wherein figured, as a matter of course, the +lone woman in the midst of a shipload of men; but I learned, now, that I had +never comprehended the deeper significance of such a situation—the thing +the writers harped upon and exploited so thoroughly. And here it was, now, and +I was face to face with it. That it should be as vital as possible, it required +no more than that the woman should be Maud Brewster, who now charmed me in +person as she had long charmed me through her work. +</p> + +<p> +No one more out of environment could be imagined. She was a delicate, ethereal +creature, swaying and willowy, light and graceful of movement. It never seemed +to me that she walked, or, at least, walked after the ordinary manner of +mortals. Hers was an extreme lithesomeness, and she moved with a certain +indefinable airiness, approaching one as down might float or as a bird on +noiseless wings. +</p> + +<p> +She was like a bit of Dresden china, and I was continually impressed with what +I may call her fragility. As at the time I caught her arm when helping her +below, so at any time I was quite prepared, should stress or rough handling +befall her, to see her crumble away. I have never seen body and spirit in such +perfect accord. Describe her verse, as the critics have described it, as +sublimated and spiritual, and you have described her body. It seemed to partake +of her soul, to have analogous attributes, and to link it to life with the +slenderest of chains. Indeed, she trod the earth lightly, and in her +constitution there was little of the robust clay. +</p> + +<p> +She was in striking contrast to Wolf Larsen. Each was nothing that the other +was, everything that the other was not. I noted them walking the deck together +one morning, and I likened them to the extreme ends of the human ladder of +evolution—the one the culmination of all savagery, the other the finished +product of the finest civilization. True, Wolf Larsen possessed intellect to an +unusual degree, but it was directed solely to the exercise of his savage +instincts and made him but the more formidable a savage. He was splendidly +muscled, a heavy man, and though he strode with the certitude and directness of +the physical man, there was nothing heavy about his stride. The jungle and the +wilderness lurked in the uplift and downput of his feet. He was cat-footed, and +lithe, and strong, always strong. I likened him to some great tiger, a beast of +prowess and prey. He looked it, and the piercing glitter that arose at times in +his eyes was the same piercing glitter I had observed in the eyes of caged +leopards and other preying creatures of the wild. +</p> + +<p> +But this day, as I noted them pacing up and down, I saw that it was she who +terminated the walk. They came up to where I was standing by the entrance to +the companion-way. Though she betrayed it by no outward sign, I felt, somehow, +that she was greatly perturbed. She made some idle remark, looking at me, and +laughed lightly enough; but I saw her eyes return to his, involuntarily, as +though fascinated; then they fell, but not swiftly enough to veil the rush of +terror that filled them. +</p> + +<p> +It was in his eyes that I saw the cause of her perturbation. Ordinarily grey +and cold and harsh, they were now warm and soft and golden, and all a-dance +with tiny lights that dimmed and faded, or welled up till the full orbs were +flooded with a glowing radiance. Perhaps it was to this that the golden colour +was due; but golden his eyes were, enticing and masterful, at the same time +luring and compelling, and speaking a demand and clamour of the blood which no +woman, much less Maud Brewster, could misunderstand. +</p> + +<p> +Her own terror rushed upon me, and in that moment of fear—the most +terrible fear a man can experience—I knew that in inexpressible ways she +was dear to me. The knowledge that I loved her rushed upon me with the terror, +and with both emotions gripping at my heart and causing my blood at the same +time to chill and to leap riotously, I felt myself drawn by a power without me +and beyond me, and found my eyes returning against my will to gaze into the +eyes of Wolf Larsen. But he had recovered himself. The golden colour and the +dancing lights were gone. Cold and grey and glittering they were as he bowed +brusquely and turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid,” she whispered, with a shiver. “I am so +afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +I, too, was afraid, and what of my discovery of how much she meant to me my +mind was in a turmoil; but, I succeeded in answering quite calmly: +</p> + +<p> +“All will come right, Miss Brewster. Trust me, it will come right.” +</p> + +<p> +She answered with a grateful little smile that sent my heart pounding, and +started to descend the companion-stairs. +</p> + +<p> +For a long while I remained standing where she had left me. There was +imperative need to adjust myself, to consider the significance of the changed +aspect of things. It had come, at last, love had come, when I least expected it +and under the most forbidding conditions. Of course, my philosophy had always +recognized the inevitableness of the love-call sooner or later; but long years +of bookish silence had made me inattentive and unprepared. +</p> + +<p> +And now it had come! Maud Brewster! My memory flashed back to that first thin +little volume on my desk, and I saw before me, as though in the concrete, the +row of thin little volumes on my library shelf. How I had welcomed each of +them! Each year one had come from the press, and to me each was the advent of +the year. They had voiced a kindred intellect and spirit, and as such I had +received them into a camaraderie of the mind; but now their place was in my +heart. +</p> + +<p> +My heart? A revulsion of feeling came over me. I seemed to stand outside myself +and to look at myself incredulously. Maud Brewster! Humphrey Van Weyden, +“the cold-blooded fish,” the “emotionless monster,” the +“analytical demon,” of Charley Furuseth’s christening, in +love! And then, without rhyme or reason, all sceptical, my mind flew back to a +small biographical note in the red-bound <i>Who’s Who</i>, and I said to +myself, “She was born in Cambridge, and she is twenty-seven years +old.” And then I said, “Twenty-seven years old and still free and +fancy free?” But how did I know she was fancy free? And the pang of +new-born jealousy put all incredulity to flight. There was no doubt about it. I +was jealous; therefore I loved. And the woman I loved was Maud Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +I, Humphrey Van Weyden, was in love! And again the doubt assailed me. Not that +I was afraid of it, however, or reluctant to meet it. On the contrary, idealist +that I was to the most pronounced degree, my philosophy had always recognized +and guerdoned love as the greatest thing in the world, the aim and the summit +of being, the most exquisite pitch of joy and happiness to which life could +thrill, the thing of all things to be hailed and welcomed and taken into the +heart. But now that it had come I could not believe. I could not be so +fortunate. It was too good, too good to be true. Symons’s lines came into +my head: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I wandered all these years among<br/> +A world of women, seeking you.” +</p> + +<p> +And then I had ceased seeking. It was not for me, this greatest thing in the +world, I had decided. Furuseth was right; I was abnormal, an “emotionless +monster,” a strange bookish creature, capable of pleasuring in sensations +only of the mind. And though I had been surrounded by women all my days, my +appreciation of them had been æsthetic and nothing more. I had actually, at +times, considered myself outside the pale, a monkish fellow denied the eternal +or the passing passions I saw and understood so well in others. And now it had +come! Undreamed of and unheralded, it had come. In what could have been no less +than an ecstasy, I left my post at the head of the companion-way and started +along the deck, murmuring to myself those beautiful lines of Mrs. Browning: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I lived with visions for my company<br/> +Instead of men and women years ago,<br/> +And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know<br/> +A sweeter music than they played to me.” +</p> + +<p> +But the sweeter music was playing in my ears, and I was blind and oblivious to +all about me. The sharp voice of Wolf Larsen aroused me. +</p> + +<p> +“What the hell are you up to?” he was demanding. +</p> + +<p> +I had strayed forward where the sailors were painting, and I came to myself to +find my advancing foot on the verge of overturning a paint-pot. +</p> + +<p> +“Sleep-walking, sunstroke,—what?” he barked. +</p> + +<p> +“No; indigestion,” I retorted, and continued my walk as if nothing +untoward had occurred. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<p> +Among the most vivid memories of my life are those of the events on the +<i>Ghost</i> which occurred during the forty hours succeeding the discovery of +my love for Maud Brewster. I, who had lived my life in quiet places, only to +enter at the age of thirty-five upon a course of the most irrational adventure +I could have imagined, never had more incident and excitement crammed into any +forty hours of my experience. Nor can I quite close my ears to a small voice of +pride which tells me I did not do so badly, all things considered. +</p> + +<p> +To begin with, at the midday dinner, Wolf Larsen informed the hunters that they +were to eat thenceforth in the steerage. It was an unprecedented thing on +sealing-schooners, where it is the custom for the hunters to rank, unofficially +as officers. He gave no reason, but his motive was obvious enough. Horner and +Smoke had been displaying a gallantry toward Maud Brewster, ludicrous in itself +and inoffensive to her, but to him evidently distasteful. +</p> + +<p> +The announcement was received with black silence, though the other four hunters +glanced significantly at the two who had been the cause of their banishment. +Jock Horner, quiet as was his way, gave no sign; but the blood surged darkly +across Smoke’s forehead, and he half opened his mouth to speak. Wolf +Larsen was watching him, waiting for him, the steely glitter in his eyes; but +Smoke closed his mouth again without having said anything. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything to say?” the other demanded aggressively. +</p> + +<p> +It was a challenge, but Smoke refused to accept it. +</p> + +<p> +“About what?” he asked, so innocently that Wolf Larsen was +disconcerted, while the others smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing,” Wolf Larsen said lamely. “I just thought you +might want to register a kick.” +</p> + +<p> +“About what?” asked the imperturbable Smoke. +</p> + +<p> +Smoke’s mates were now smiling broadly. His captain could have killed +him, and I doubt not that blood would have flowed had not Maud Brewster been +present. For that matter, it was her presence which enabled Smoke to act as he +did. He was too discreet and cautious a man to incur Wolf Larsen’s anger +at a time when that anger could be expressed in terms stronger than words. I +was in fear that a struggle might take place, but a cry from the helmsman made +it easy for the situation to save itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Smoke ho!” the cry came down the open companion-way. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s it bear?” Wolf Larsen called up. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead astern, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe it’s a Russian,” suggested Latimer. +</p> + +<p> +His words brought anxiety into the faces of the other hunters. A Russian could +mean but one thing—a cruiser. The hunters, never more than roughly aware +of the position of the ship, nevertheless knew that we were close to the +boundaries of the forbidden sea, while Wolf Larsen’s record as a poacher +was notorious. All eyes centred upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re dead safe,” he assured them with a laugh. “No +salt mines this time, Smoke. But I’ll tell you what—I’ll lay +odds of five to one it’s the <i>Macedonia</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +No one accepted his offer, and he went on: “In which event, I’ll +lay ten to one there’s trouble breezing up.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you,” Latimer spoke up. “I don’t object to +losing my money, but I like to get a run for it anyway. There never was a time +when there wasn’t trouble when you and that brother of yours got +together, and I’ll lay twenty to one on that.” +</p> + +<p> +A general smile followed, in which Wolf Larsen joined, and the dinner went on +smoothly, thanks to me, for he treated me abominably the rest of the meal, +sneering at me and patronizing me till I was all a-tremble with suppressed +rage. Yet I knew I must control myself for Maud Brewster’s sake, and I +received my reward when her eyes caught mine for a fleeting second, and they +said, as distinctly as if she spoke, “Be brave, be brave.” +</p> + +<p> +We left the table to go on deck, for a steamer was a welcome break in the +monotony of the sea on which we floated, while the conviction that it was Death +Larsen and the <i>Macedonia</i> added to the excitement. The stiff breeze and +heavy sea which had sprung up the previous afternoon had been moderating all +morning, so that it was now possible to lower the boats for an +afternoon’s hunt. The hunting promised to be profitable. We had sailed +since daylight across a sea barren of seals, and were now running into the +herd. +</p> + +<p> +The smoke was still miles astern, but overhauling us rapidly, when we lowered +our boats. They spread out and struck a northerly course across the ocean. Now +and again we saw a sail lower, heard the reports of the shot-guns, and saw the +sail go up again. The seals were thick, the wind was dying away; everything +favoured a big catch. As we ran off to get our leeward position of the last lee +boat, we found the ocean fairly carpeted with sleeping seals. They were all +about us, thicker than I had ever seen them before, in twos and threes and +bunches, stretched full length on the surface and sleeping for all the world +like so many lazy young dogs. +</p> + +<p> +Under the approaching smoke the hull and upper-works of a steamer were growing +larger. It was the <i>Macedonia</i>. I read her name through the glasses as she +passed by scarcely a mile to starboard. Wolf Larsen looked savagely at the +vessel, while Maud Brewster was curious. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the trouble you were so sure was breezing up, Captain +Larsen?” she asked gaily. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at her, a moment’s amusement softening his features. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you expect? That they’d come aboard and cut our +throats?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something like that,” she confessed. “You understand, +seal-hunters are so new and strange to me that I am quite ready to expect +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head. “Quite right, quite right. Your error is that you +failed to expect the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what can be worse than cutting our throats?” she asked, with +pretty naïve surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Cutting our purses,” he answered. “Man is so made these days +that his capacity for living is determined by the money he possesses.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Who steals my purse steals trash,’” she quoted. +</p> + +<p> +“Who steals my purse steals my right to live,” was the reply, +“old saws to the contrary. For he steals my bread and meat and bed, and +in so doing imperils my life. There are not enough soup-kitchens and +bread-lines to go around, you know, and when men have nothing in their purses +they usually die, and die miserably—unless they are able to fill their +purses pretty speedily.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I fail to see that this steamer has any designs on your +purse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait and you will see,” he answered grimly. +</p> + +<p> +We did not have long to wait. Having passed several miles beyond our line of +boats, the <i>Macedonia</i> proceeded to lower her own. We knew she carried +fourteen boats to our five (we were one short through the desertion of +Wainwright), and she began dropping them far to leeward of our last boat, +continued dropping them athwart our course, and finished dropping them far to +windward of our first weather boat. The hunting, for us, was spoiled. There +were no seals behind us, and ahead of us the line of fourteen boats, like a +huge broom, swept the herd before it. +</p> + +<p> +Our boats hunted across the two or three miles of water between them and the +point where the <i>Macedonia’s</i> had been dropped, and then headed for +home. The wind had fallen to a whisper, the ocean was growing calmer and +calmer, and this, coupled with the presence of the great herd, made a perfect +hunting day—one of the two or three days to be encountered in the whole +of a lucky season. An angry lot of men, boat-pullers and steerers as well as +hunters, swarmed over our side. Each man felt that he had been robbed; and the +boats were hoisted in amid curses, which, if curses had power, would have +settled Death Larsen for all eternity—“Dead and damned for a dozen +iv eternities,” commented Louis, his eyes twinkling up at me as he rested +from hauling taut the lashings of his boat. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to them, and find if it is hard to discover the most vital thing +in their souls,” said Wolf Larsen. “Faith? and love? and high +ideals? The good? the beautiful? the true?” +</p> + +<p> +“Their innate sense of right has been violated,” Maud Brewster +said, joining the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +She was standing a dozen feet away, one hand resting on the main-shrouds and +her body swaying gently to the slight roll of the ship. She had not raised her +voice, and yet I was struck by its clear and bell-like tone. Ah, it was sweet +in my ears! I scarcely dared look at her just then, for the fear of betraying +myself. A boy’s cap was perched on her head, and her hair, light brown +and arranged in a loose and fluffy order that caught the sun, seemed an aureole +about the delicate oval of her face. She was positively bewitching, and, +withal, sweetly spirituelle, if not saintly. All my old-time marvel at life +returned to me at sight of this splendid incarnation of it, and Wolf +Larsen’s cold explanation of life and its meaning was truly ridiculous +and laughable. +</p> + +<p> +“A sentimentalist,” he sneered, “like Mr. Van Weyden. Those +men are cursing because their desires have been outraged. That is all. What +desires? The desires for the good grub and soft beds ashore which a handsome +pay-day brings them—the women and the drink, the gorging and the +beastliness which so truly expresses them, the best that is in them, their +highest aspirations, their ideals, if you please. The exhibition they make of +their feelings is not a touching sight, yet it shows how deeply they have been +touched, how deeply their purses have been touched, for to lay hands on their +purses is to lay hands on their souls.” +</p> + +<p> +“’You hardly behave as if your purse had been touched,” she +said, smilingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it so happens that I am behaving differently, for my purse and my +soul have both been touched. At the current price of skins in the London +market, and based on a fair estimate of what the afternoon’s catch would +have been had not the <i>Macedonia</i> hogged it, the <i>Ghost</i> has lost +about fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of skins.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak so calmly—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“But I do not feel calm; I could kill the man who robbed me,” he +interrupted. “Yes, yes, I know, and that man my brother—more +sentiment! Bah!” +</p> + +<p> +His face underwent a sudden change. His voice was less harsh and wholly sincere +as he said: +</p> + +<p> +“You must be happy, you sentimentalists, really and truly happy at +dreaming and finding things good, and, because you find some of them good, +feeling good yourself. Now, tell me, you two, do you find me good?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are good to look upon—in a way,” I qualified. +</p> + +<p> +“There are in you all powers for good,” was Maud Brewster’s +answer. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are!” he cried at her, half angrily. “Your words +are empty to me. There is nothing clear and sharp and definite about the +thought you have expressed. You cannot pick it up in your two hands and look at +it. In point of fact, it is not a thought. It is a feeling, a sentiment, a +something based upon illusion and not a product of the intellect at all.” +</p> + +<p> +As he went on his voice again grew soft, and a confiding note came into it. +“Do you know, I sometimes catch myself wishing that I, too, were blind to +the facts of life and only knew its fancies and illusions. They’re wrong, +all wrong, of course, and contrary to reason; but in the face of them my reason +tells me, wrong and most wrong, that to dream and live illusions gives greater +delight. And after all, delight is the wage for living. Without delight, living +is a worthless act. To labour at living and be unpaid is worse than to be dead. +He who delights the most lives the most, and your dreams and unrealities are +less disturbing to you and more gratifying than are my facts to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head slowly, pondering. +</p> + +<p> +“I often doubt, I often doubt, the worthwhileness of reason. Dreams must +be more substantial and satisfying. Emotional delight is more filling and +lasting than intellectual delight; and, besides, you pay for your moments of +intellectual delight by having the blues. Emotional delight is followed by no +more than jaded senses which speedily recuperate. I envy you, I envy +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped abruptly, and then on his lips formed one of his strange quizzical +smiles, as he added: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s from my brain I envy you, take notice, and not from my heart. +My reason dictates it. The envy is an intellectual product. I am like a sober +man looking upon drunken men, and, greatly weary, wishing he, too, were +drunk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or like a wise man looking upon fools and wishing he, too, were a +fool,” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” he said. “You are a blessed, bankrupt pair of +fools. You have no facts in your pocketbook.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet we spend as freely as you,” was Maud Brewster’s +contribution. +</p> + +<p> +“More freely, because it costs you nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“And because we draw upon eternity,” she retorted. +</p> + +<p> +“Whether you do or think you do, it’s the same thing. You spend +what you haven’t got, and in return you get greater value from spending +what you haven’t got than I get from spending what I have got, and what I +have sweated to get.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you change the basis of your coinage, then?” she +queried teasingly. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her quickly, half-hopefully, and then said, all regretfully: +“Too late. I’d like to, perhaps, but I can’t. My pocketbook +is stuffed with the old coinage, and it’s a stubborn thing. I can never +bring myself to recognize anything else as valid.” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased speaking, and his gaze wandered absently past her and became lost in +the placid sea. The old primal melancholy was strong upon him. He was quivering +to it. He had reasoned himself into a spell of the blues, and within few hours +one could look for the devil within him to be up and stirring. I remembered +Charley Furuseth, and knew this man’s sadness as the penalty which the +materialist ever pays for his materialism. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<p> +“You’ve been on deck, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen said, the +following morning at the breakfast-table, “How do things look?” +</p> + +<p> +“Clear enough,” I answered, glancing at the sunshine which streamed +down the open companion-way. “Fair westerly breeze, with a promise of +stiffening, if Louis predicts correctly.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head in a pleased way. “Any signs of fog?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thick banks in the north and north-west.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head again, evincing even greater satisfaction than before. +</p> + +<p> +“What of the <i>Macedonia</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not sighted,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +I could have sworn his face fell at the intelligence, but why he should be +disappointed I could not conceive. +</p> + +<p> +I was soon to learn. “Smoke ho!” came the hail from on deck, and +his face brightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” he exclaimed, and left the table at once to go on deck and +into the steerage, where the hunters were taking the first breakfast of their +exile. +</p> + +<p> +Maud Brewster and I scarcely touched the food before us, gazing, instead, in +silent anxiety at each other, and listening to Wolf Larsen’s voice, which +easily penetrated the cabin through the intervening bulkhead. He spoke at +length, and his conclusion was greeted with a wild roar of cheers. The bulkhead +was too thick for us to hear what he said; but whatever it was it affected the +hunters strongly, for the cheering was followed by loud exclamations and shouts +of joy. +</p> + +<p> +From the sounds on deck I knew that the sailors had been routed out and were +preparing to lower the boats. Maud Brewster accompanied me on deck, but I left +her at the break of the poop, where she might watch the scene and not be in it. +The sailors must have learned whatever project was on hand, and the vim and +snap they put into their work attested their enthusiasm. The hunters came +trooping on deck with shot-guns and ammunition-boxes, and, most unusual, their +rifles. The latter were rarely taken in the boats, for a seal shot at long +range with a rifle invariably sank before a boat could reach it. But each +hunter this day had his rifle and a large supply of cartridges. I noticed they +grinned with satisfaction whenever they looked at the <i>Macedonia’s</i> +smoke, which was rising higher and higher as she approached from the west. +</p> + +<p> +The five boats went over the side with a rush, spread out like the ribs of a +fan, and set a northerly course, as on the preceding afternoon, for us to +follow. I watched for some time, curiously, but there seemed nothing +extraordinary about their behaviour. They lowered sails, shot seals, and +hoisted sails again, and continued on their way as I had always seen them do. +The <i>Macedonia</i> repeated her performance of yesterday, +“hogging” the sea by dropping her line of boats in advance of ours +and across our course. Fourteen boats require a considerable spread of ocean +for comfortable hunting, and when she had completely lapped our line she +continued steaming into the north-east, dropping more boats as she went. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s up?” I asked Wolf Larsen, unable longer to keep my +curiosity in check. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind what’s up,” he answered gruffly. “You +won’t be a thousand years in finding out, and in the meantime just pray +for plenty of wind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, I don’t mind telling you,” he said the next +moment. “I’m going to give that brother of mine a taste of his own +medicine. In short, I’m going to play the hog myself, and not for one +day, but for the rest of the season,—if we’re in luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if we’re not?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to be considered,” he laughed. “We simply must be in +luck, or it’s all up with us.” +</p> + +<p> +He had the wheel at the time, and I went forward to my hospital in the +forecastle, where lay the two crippled men, Nilson and Thomas Mugridge. Nilson +was as cheerful as could be expected, for his broken leg was knitting nicely; +but the Cockney was desperately melancholy, and I was aware of a great sympathy +for the unfortunate creature. And the marvel of it was that still he lived and +clung to life. The brutal years had reduced his meagre body to splintered +wreckage, and yet the spark of life within burned brightly as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“With an artificial foot—and they make excellent ones—you +will be stumping ships’ galleys to the end of time,” I assured him +jovially. +</p> + +<p> +But his answer was serious, nay, solemn. “I don’t know about wot +you s’y, Mr. Van W’yden, but I do know I’ll never rest +’appy till I see that ’ell-’ound bloody well dead. ’E +cawn’t live as long as me. ’E’s got no right to live, +an’ as the Good Word puts it, ‘’E shall shorely die,’ +an’ I s’y, ‘Amen, an’ damn soon at that.’” +</p> + +<p> +When I returned on deck I found Wolf Larsen steering mainly with one hand, +while with the other hand he held the marine glasses and studied the situation +of the boats, paying particular attention to the position of the +<i>Macedonia</i>. The only change noticeable in our boats was that they had +hauled close on the wind and were heading several points west of north. Still, +I could not see the expediency of the manœuvre, for the free sea was still +intercepted by the <i>Macedonia’s</i> five weather boats, which, in turn, +had hauled close on the wind. Thus they slowly diverged toward the west, +drawing farther away from the remainder of the boats in their line. Our boats +were rowing as well as sailing. Even the hunters were pulling, and with three +pairs of oars in the water they rapidly overhauled what I may appropriately +term the enemy. +</p> + +<p> +The smoke of the <i>Macedonia</i> had dwindled to a dim blot on the +north-eastern horizon. Of the steamer herself nothing was to be seen. We had +been loafing along, till now, our sails shaking half the time and spilling the +wind; and twice, for short periods, we had been hove to. But there was no more +loafing. Sheets were trimmed, and Wolf Larsen proceeded to put the <i>Ghost</i> +through her paces. We ran past our line of boats and bore down upon the first +weather boat of the other line. +</p> + +<p> +“Down that flying jib, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen commanded. +“And stand by to back over the jibs.” +</p> + +<p> +I ran forward and had the downhaul of the flying jib all in and fast as we +slipped by the boat a hundred feet to leeward. The three men in it gazed at us +suspiciously. They had been hogging the sea, and they knew Wolf Larsen, by +reputation at any rate. I noted that the hunter, a huge Scandinavian sitting in +the bow, held his rifle, ready to hand, across his knees. It should have been +in its proper place in the rack. When they came opposite our stern, Wolf Larsen +greeted them with a wave of the hand, and cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Come on board and have a ’gam’!” +</p> + +<p> +“To gam,” among the sealing-schooners, is a substitute for the +verbs “to visit,” “to gossip.” It expresses the +garrulity of the sea, and is a pleasant break in the monotony of the life. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Ghost</i> swung around into the wind, and I finished my work forward in +time to run aft and lend a hand with the mainsheet. +</p> + +<p> +“You will please stay on deck, Miss Brewster,” Wolf Larsen said, as +he started forward to meet his guest. “And you too, Mr. Van +Weyden.” +</p> + +<p> +The boat had lowered its sail and run alongside. The hunter, golden bearded +like a sea-king, came over the rail and dropped on deck. But his hugeness could +not quite overcome his apprehensiveness. Doubt and distrust showed strongly in +his face. It was a transparent face, for all of its hairy shield, and +advertised instant relief when he glanced from Wolf Larsen to me, noted that +there was only the pair of us, and then glanced over his own two men who had +joined him. Surely he had little reason to be afraid. He towered like a Goliath +above Wolf Larsen. He must have measured six feet eight or nine inches in +stature, and I subsequently learned his weight—240 pounds. And there was +no fat about him. It was all bone and muscle. +</p> + +<p> +A return of apprehension was apparent when, at the top of the companion-way, +Wolf Larsen invited him below. But he reassured himself with a glance down at +his host—a big man himself but dwarfed by the propinquity of the giant. +So all hesitancy vanished, and the pair descended into the cabin. In the +meantime, his two men, as was the wont of visiting sailors, had gone forward +into the forecastle to do some visiting themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, from the cabin came a great, choking bellow, followed by all the +sounds of a furious struggle. It was the leopard and the lion, and the lion +made all the noise. Wolf Larsen was the leopard. +</p> + +<p> +“You see the sacredness of our hospitality,” I said bitterly to +Maud Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded her head that she heard, and I noted in her face the signs of the +same sickness at sight or sound of violent struggle from which I had suffered +so severely during my first weeks on the <i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t it be better if you went forward, say by the steerage +companion-way, until it is over?” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head and gazed at me pitifully. She was not frightened, but +appalled, rather, at the human animality of it. +</p> + +<p> +“You will understand,” I took advantage of the opportunity to say, +“whatever part I take in what is going on and what is to come, that I am +compelled to take it—if you and I are ever to get out of this scrape with +our lives.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not nice—for me,” I added. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” she said, in a weak, far-away voice, and her eyes +showed me that she did understand. +</p> + +<p> +The sounds from below soon died away. Then Wolf Larsen came alone on deck. +There was a slight flush under his bronze, but otherwise he bore no signs of +the battle. +</p> + +<p> +“Send those two men aft, Mr. Van Weyden,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I obeyed, and a minute or two later they stood before him. “Hoist in your +boat,” he said to them. “Your hunter’s decided to stay aboard +awhile and doesn’t want it pounding alongside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hoist in your boat, I said,” he repeated, this time in sharper +tones as they hesitated to do his bidding. +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows? you may have to sail with me for a time,” he said, +quite softly, with a silken threat that belied the softness, as they moved +slowly to comply, “and we might as well start with a friendly +understanding. Lively now! Death Larsen makes you jump better than that, and +you know it!” +</p> + +<p> +Their movements perceptibly quickened under his coaching, and as the boat swung +inboard I was sent forward to let go the jibs. Wolf Larsen, at the wheel, +directed the <i>Ghost</i> after the <i>Macedonia’s</i> second weather +boat. +</p> + +<p> +Under way, and with nothing for the time being to do, I turned my attention to +the situation of the boats. The <i>Macedonia’s</i> third weather boat was +being attacked by two of ours, the fourth by our remaining three; and the +fifth, turn about, was taking a hand in the defence of its nearest mate. The +fight had opened at long distance, and the rifles were cracking steadily. A +quick, snappy sea was being kicked up by the wind, a condition which prevented +fine shooting; and now and again, as we drew closer, we could see the bullets +zip-zipping from wave to wave. +</p> + +<p> +The boat we were pursuing had squared away and was running before the wind to +escape us, and, in the course of its flight, to take part in repulsing our +general boat attack. +</p> + +<p> +Attending to sheets and tacks now left me little time to see what was taking +place, but I happened to be on the poop when Wolf Larsen ordered the two +strange sailors forward and into the forecastle. They went sullenly, but they +went. He next ordered Miss Brewster below, and smiled at the instant horror +that leapt into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find nothing gruesome down there,” he said, +“only an unhurt man securely made fast to the ring-bolts. Bullets are +liable to come aboard, and I don’t want you killed, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Even as he spoke, a bullet was deflected by a brass-capped spoke of the wheel +between his hands and screeched off through the air to windward. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” he said to her; and then to me, “Mr. Van Weyden, +will you take the wheel?” +</p> + +<p> +Maud Brewster had stepped inside the companion-way so that only her head was +exposed. Wolf Larsen had procured a rifle and was throwing a cartridge into the +barrel. I begged her with my eyes to go below, but she smiled and said: +</p> + +<p> +“We may be feeble land-creatures without legs, but we can show Captain +Larsen that we are at least as brave as he.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave her a quick look of admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“I like you a hundred per cent. better for that,” he said. +“Books, and brains, and bravery. You are well-rounded, a blue-stocking +fit to be the wife of a pirate chief. Ahem, we’ll discuss that +later,” he smiled, as a bullet struck solidly into the cabin wall. +</p> + +<p> +I saw his eyes flash golden as he spoke, and I saw the terror mount in her own. +</p> + +<p> +“We are braver,” I hastened to say. “At least, speaking for +myself, I know I am braver than Captain Larsen.” +</p> + +<p> +It was I who was now favoured by a quick look. He was wondering if I were +making fun of him. I put three or four spokes over to counteract a sheer toward +the wind on the part of the <i>Ghost</i>, and then steadied her. Wolf Larsen +was still waiting an explanation, and I pointed down to my knees. +</p> + +<p> +“You will observe there,” I said, “a slight trembling. It is +because I am afraid, the flesh is afraid; and I am afraid in my mind because I +do not wish to die. But my spirit masters the trembling flesh and the qualms of +the mind. I am more than brave. I am courageous. Your flesh is not afraid. You +are not afraid. On the one hand, it costs you nothing to encounter danger; on +the other hand, it even gives you delight. You enjoy it. You may be unafraid, +Mr. Larsen, but you must grant that the bravery is mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right,” he acknowledged at once. “I never +thought of it in that way before. But is the opposite true? If you are braver +than I, am I more cowardly than you?” +</p> + +<p> +We both laughed at the absurdity, and he dropped down to the deck and rested +his rifle across the rail. The bullets we had received had travelled nearly a +mile, but by now we had cut that distance in half. He fired three careful +shots. The first struck fifty feet to windward of the boat, the second +alongside; and at the third the boat-steerer let loose his steering-oar and +crumpled up in the bottom of the boat. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess that’ll fix them,” Wolf Larsen said, rising to his +feet. “I couldn’t afford to let the hunter have it, and there is a +chance the boat-puller doesn’t know how to steer. In which case, the +hunter cannot steer and shoot at the same time.” +</p> + +<p> +His reasoning was justified, for the boat rushed at once into the wind and the +hunter sprang aft to take the boat-steerer’s place. There was no more +shooting, though the rifles were still cracking merrily from the other boats. +</p> + +<p> +The hunter had managed to get the boat before the wind again, but we ran down +upon it, going at least two feet to its one. A hundred yards away, I saw the +boat-puller pass a rifle to the hunter. Wolf Larsen went amidships and took the +coil of the throat-halyards from its pin. Then he peered over the rail with +levelled rifle. Twice I saw the hunter let go the steering-oar with one hand, +reach for his rifle, and hesitate. We were now alongside and foaming past. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, you!” Wolf Larsen cried suddenly to the boat-puller. +“Take a turn!” +</p> + +<p> +At the same time he flung the coil of rope. It struck fairly, nearly knocking +the man over, but he did not obey. Instead, he looked to his hunter for orders. +The hunter, in turn, was in a quandary. His rifle was between his knees, but if +he let go the steering-oar in order to shoot, the boat would sweep around and +collide with the schooner. Also he saw Wolf Larsen’s rifle bearing upon +him and knew he would be shot ere he could get his rifle into play. +</p> + +<p> +“Take a turn,” he said quietly to the man. +</p> + +<p> +The boat-puller obeyed, taking a turn around the little forward thwart and +paying the line as it jerked taut. The boat sheered out with a rush, and the +hunter steadied it to a parallel course some twenty feet from the side of the +<i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, get that sail down and come alongside!” Wolf Larsen ordered. +</p> + +<p> +He never let go his rifle, even passing down the tackles with one hand. When +they were fast, bow and stern, and the two uninjured men prepared to come +aboard, the hunter picked up his rifle as if to place it in a secure position. +</p> + +<p> +“Drop it!” Wolf Larsen cried, and the hunter dropped it as though +it were hot and had burned him. +</p> + +<p> +Once aboard, the two prisoners hoisted in the boat and under Wolf +Larsen’s direction carried the wounded boat-steerer down into the +forecastle. +</p> + +<p> +“If our five boats do as well as you and I have done, we’ll have a +pretty full crew,” Wolf Larsen said to me. +</p> + +<p> +“The man you shot—he is—I hope?” Maud Brewster +quavered. +</p> + +<p> +“In the shoulder,” he answered. “Nothing serious, Mr. Van +Weyden will pull him around as good as ever in three or four weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he won’t pull those chaps around, from the look of it,” +he added, pointing at the <i>Macedonia’s</i> third boat, for which I had +been steering and which was now nearly abreast of us. “That’s +Horner’s and Smoke’s work. I told them we wanted live men, not +carcasses. But the joy of shooting to hit is a most compelling thing, when once +you’ve learned how to shoot. Ever experienced it, Mr. Van Weyden?” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head and regarded their work. It had indeed been bloody, for they +had drawn off and joined our other three boats in the attack on the remaining +two of the enemy. The deserted boat was in the trough of the sea, rolling +drunkenly across each comber, its loose spritsail out at right angles to it and +fluttering and flapping in the wind. The hunter and boat-puller were both lying +awkwardly in the bottom, but the boat-steerer lay across the gunwale, half in +and half out, his arms trailing in the water and his head rolling from side to +side. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t look, Miss Brewster, please don’t look,” I had +begged of her, and I was glad that she had minded me and been spared the sight. +</p> + +<p> +“Head right into the bunch, Mr. Van Weyden,” was Wolf +Larsen’s command. +</p> + +<p> +As we drew nearer, the firing ceased, and we saw that the fight was over. The +remaining two boats had been captured by our five, and the seven were grouped +together, waiting to be picked up. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that!” I cried involuntarily, pointing to the north-east. +</p> + +<p> +The blot of smoke which indicated the <i>Macedonia’s</i> position had +reappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve been watching it,” was Wolf Larsen’s calm +reply. He measured the distance away to the fog-bank, and for an instant paused +to feel the weight of the wind on his cheek. “We’ll make it, I +think; but you can depend upon it that blessed brother of mine has twigged our +little game and is just a-humping for us. Ah, look at that!” +</p> + +<p> +The blot of smoke had suddenly grown larger, and it was very black. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll beat you out, though, brother mine,” he chuckled. +“I’ll beat you out, and I hope you no worse than that you rack your +old engines into scrap.” +</p> + +<p> +When we hove to, a hasty though orderly confusion reigned. The boats came +aboard from every side at once. As fast as the prisoners came over the rail +they were marshalled forward to the forecastle by our hunters, while our +sailors hoisted in the boats, pell-mell, dropping them anywhere upon the deck +and not stopping to lash them. We were already under way, all sails set and +drawing, and the sheets being slacked off for a wind abeam, as the last boat +lifted clear of the water and swung in the tackles. +</p> + +<p> +There was need for haste. The <i>Macedonia</i>, belching the blackest of smoke +from her funnel, was charging down upon us from out of the north-east. +Neglecting the boats that remained to her, she had altered her course so as to +anticipate ours. She was not running straight for us, but ahead of us. Our +courses were converging like the sides of an angle, the vertex of which was at +the edge of the fog-bank. It was there, or not at all, that the +<i>Macedonia</i> could hope to catch us. The hope for the <i>Ghost</i> lay in +that she should pass that point before the <i>Macedonia</i> arrived at it. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen was steering, his eyes glistening and snapping as they dwelt upon +and leaped from detail to detail of the chase. Now he studied the sea to +windward for signs of the wind slackening or freshening, now the +<i>Macedonia</i>; and again, his eyes roved over every sail, and he gave +commands to slack a sheet here a trifle, to come in on one there a trifle, till +he was drawing out of the <i>Ghost</i> the last bit of speed she possessed. All +feuds and grudges were forgotten, and I was surprised at the alacrity with +which the men who had so long endured his brutality sprang to execute his +orders. Strange to say, the unfortunate Johnson came into my mind as we lifted +and surged and heeled along, and I was aware of a regret that he was not alive +and present; he had so loved the <i>Ghost</i> and delighted in her sailing +powers. +</p> + +<p> +“Better get your rifles, you fellows,” Wolf Larsen called to our +hunters; and the five men lined the lee rail, guns in hand, and waited. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Macedonia</i> was now but a mile away, the black smoke pouring from her +funnel at a right angle, so madly she raced, pounding through the sea at a +seventeen-knot gait—“’Sky-hooting through the brine,” +as Wolf Larsen quoted while gazing at her. We were not making more than nine +knots, but the fog-bank was very near. +</p> + +<p> +A puff of smoke broke from the <i>Macedonia’s</i> deck, we heard a heavy +report, and a round hole took form in the stretched canvas of our mainsail. +They were shooting at us with one of the small cannon which rumour had said +they carried on board. Our men, clustering amidships, waved their hats and +raised a derisive cheer. Again there was a puff of smoke and a loud report, +this time the cannon-ball striking not more than twenty feet astern and +glancing twice from sea to sea to windward ere it sank. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no rifle-firing for the reason that all their hunters were out in +the boats or our prisoners. When the two vessels were half-a-mile apart, a +third shot made another hole in our mainsail. Then we entered the fog. It was +about us, veiling and hiding us in its dense wet gauze. +</p> + +<p> +The sudden transition was startling. The moment before we had been leaping +through the sunshine, the clear sky above us, the sea breaking and rolling wide +to the horizon, and a ship, vomiting smoke and fire and iron missiles, rushing +madly upon us. And at once, as in an instant’s leap, the sun was blotted +out, there was no sky, even our mastheads were lost to view, and our horizon +was such as tear-blinded eyes may see. The grey mist drove by us like a rain. +Every woollen filament of our garments, every hair of our heads and faces, was +jewelled with a crystal globule. The shrouds were wet with moisture; it dripped +from our rigging overhead; and on the underside of our booms drops of water +took shape in long swaying lines, which were detached and flung to the deck in +mimic showers at each surge of the schooner. I was aware of a pent, stifled +feeling. As the sounds of the ship thrusting herself through the waves were +hurled back upon us by the fog, so were one’s thoughts. The mind recoiled +from contemplation of a world beyond this wet veil which wrapped us around. +This was the world, the universe itself, its bounds so near one felt impelled +to reach out both arms and push them back. It was impossible, that the rest +could be beyond these walls of grey. The rest was a dream, no more than the +memory of a dream. +</p> + +<p> +It was weird, strangely weird. I looked at Maud Brewster and knew that she was +similarly affected. Then I looked at Wolf Larsen, but there was nothing +subjective about his state of consciousness. His whole concern was with the +immediate, objective present. He still held the wheel, and I felt that he was +timing Time, reckoning the passage of the minutes with each forward lunge and +leeward roll of the <i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Go for’ard and hard alee without any noise,” he said to me +in a low voice. “Clew up the topsails first. Set men at all the sheets. +Let there be no rattling of blocks, no sound of voices. No noise, understand, +no noise.” +</p> + +<p> +When all was ready, the word “hard-a-lee” was passed forward to me +from man to man; and the <i>Ghost</i> heeled about on the port tack with +practically no noise at all. And what little there was,—the slapping of a +few reef-points and the creaking of a sheave in a block or two,—was +ghostly under the hollow echoing pall in which we were swathed. +</p> + +<p> +We had scarcely filled away, it seemed, when the fog thinned abruptly and we +were again in the sunshine, the wide-stretching sea breaking before us to the +sky-line. But the ocean was bare. No wrathful <i>Macedonia</i> broke its +surface nor blackened the sky with her smoke. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen at once squared away and ran down along the rim of the fog-bank. +His trick was obvious. He had entered the fog to windward of the steamer, and +while the steamer had blindly driven on into the fog in the chance of catching +him, he had come about and out of his shelter and was now running down to +re-enter to leeward. Successful in this, the old simile of the needle in the +haystack would be mild indeed compared with his brother’s chance of +finding him. He did not run long. Jibing the fore- and main-sails and setting +the topsails again, we headed back into the bank. As we entered I could have +sworn I saw a vague bulk emerging to windward. I looked quickly at Wolf Larsen. +Already we were ourselves buried in the fog, but he nodded his head. He, too, +had seen it—the <i>Macedonia</i>, guessing his manœuvre and failing by a +moment in anticipating it. There was no doubt that we had escaped unseen. +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t keep this up,” Wolf Larsen said. “He’ll +have to go back for the rest of his boats. Send a man to the wheel, Mr. Van +Weyden, keep this course for the present, and you might as well set the +watches, for we won’t do any lingering to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d give five hundred dollars, though,” he added, +“just to be aboard the <i>Macedonia</i> for five minutes, listening to my +brother curse.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now, Mr. Van Weyden,” he said to me when he had been relieved +from the wheel, “we must make these new-comers welcome. Serve out plenty +of whisky to the hunters and see that a few bottles slip for’ard. +I’ll wager every man Jack of them is over the side to-morrow, hunting for +Wolf Larsen as contentedly as ever they hunted for Death Larsen.” +</p> + +<p> +“But won’t they escape as Wainwright did?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed shrewdly. “Not as long as our old hunters have anything to say +about it. I’m dividing amongst them a dollar a skin for all the skins +shot by our new hunters. At least half of their enthusiasm to-day was due to +that. Oh, no, there won’t be any escaping if they have anything to say +about it. And now you’d better get for’ard to your hospital duties. +There must be a full ward waiting for you.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen took the distribution of the whisky off my hands, and the bottles +began to make their appearance while I worked over the fresh batch of wounded +men in the forecastle. I had seen whisky drunk, such as whisky-and-soda by the +men of the clubs, but never as these men drank it, from pannikins and mugs, and +from the bottles—great brimming drinks, each one of which was in itself a +debauch. But they did not stop at one or two. They drank and drank, and ever +the bottles slipped forward and they drank more. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody drank; the wounded drank; Oofty-Oofty, who helped me, drank. Only +Louis refrained, no more than cautiously wetting his lips with the liquor, +though he joined in the revels with an abandon equal to that of most of them. +It was a saturnalia. In loud voices they shouted over the day’s fighting, +wrangled about details, or waxed affectionate and made friends with the men +whom they had fought. Prisoners and captors hiccoughed on one another’s +shoulders, and swore mighty oaths of respect and esteem. They wept over the +miseries of the past and over the miseries yet to come under the iron rule of +Wolf Larsen. And all cursed him and told terrible tales of his brutality. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange and frightful spectacle—the small, bunk-lined space, the +floor and walls leaping and lurching, the dim light, the swaying shadows +lengthening and fore-shortening monstrously, the thick air heavy with smoke and +the smell of bodies and iodoform, and the inflamed faces of the +men—half-men, I should call them. I noted Oofty-Oofty, holding the end of +a bandage and looking upon the scene, his velvety and luminous eyes glistening +in the light like a deer’s eyes, and yet I knew the barbaric devil that +lurked in his breast and belied all the softness and tenderness, almost +womanly, of his face and form. And I noticed the boyish face of +Harrison,—a good face once, but now a demon’s,—convulsed with +passion as he told the new-comers of the hell-ship they were in and shrieked +curses upon the head of Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen it was, always Wolf Larsen, enslaver and tormentor of men, a male +Circe and these his swine, suffering brutes that grovelled before him and +revolted only in drunkenness and in secrecy. And was I, too, one of his swine? +I thought. And Maud Brewster? No! I ground my teeth in my anger and +determination till the man I was attending winced under my hand and Oofty-Oofty +looked at me with curiosity. I felt endowed with a sudden strength. What of my +new-found love, I was a giant. I feared nothing. I would work my will through +it all, in spite of Wolf Larsen and of my own thirty-five bookish years. All +would be well. I would make it well. And so, exalted, upborne by a sense of +power, I turned my back on the howling inferno and climbed to the deck, where +the fog drifted ghostly through the night and the air was sweet and pure and +quiet. +</p> + +<p> +The steerage, where were two wounded hunters, was a repetition of the +forecastle, except that Wolf Larsen was not being cursed; and it was with a +great relief that I again emerged on deck and went aft to the cabin. Supper was +ready, and Wolf Larsen and Maud were waiting for me. +</p> + +<p> +While all his ship was getting drunk as fast as it could, he remained sober. +Not a drop of liquor passed his lips. He did not dare it under the +circumstances, for he had only Louis and me to depend upon, and Louis was even +now at the wheel. We were sailing on through the fog without a look-out and +without lights. That Wolf Larsen had turned the liquor loose among his men +surprised me, but he evidently knew their psychology and the best method of +cementing in cordiality, what had begun in bloodshed. +</p> + +<p> +His victory over Death Larsen seemed to have had a remarkable effect upon him. +The previous evening he had reasoned himself into the blues, and I had been +waiting momentarily for one of his characteristic outbursts. Yet nothing had +occurred, and he was now in splendid trim. Possibly his success in capturing so +many hunters and boats had counteracted the customary reaction. At any rate, +the blues were gone, and the blue devils had not put in an appearance. So I +thought at the time; but, ah me, little I knew him or knew that even then, +perhaps, he was meditating an outbreak more terrible than any I had seen. +</p> + +<p> +As I say, he discovered himself in splendid trim when I entered the cabin. He +had had no headaches for weeks, his eyes were clear blue as the sky, his bronze +was beautiful with perfect health; life swelled through his veins in full and +magnificent flood. While waiting for me he had engaged Maud in animated +discussion. Temptation was the topic they had hit upon, and from the few words +I heard I made out that he was contending that temptation was temptation only +when a man was seduced by it and fell. +</p> + +<p> +“For look you,” he was saying, “as I see it, a man does +things because of desire. He has many desires. He may desire to escape pain, or +to enjoy pleasure. But whatever he does, he does because he desires to do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But suppose he desires to do two opposite things, neither of which will +permit him to do the other?” Maud interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“The very thing I was coming to,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And between these two desires is just where the soul of the man is +manifest,” she went on. “If it is a good soul, it will desire and +do the good action, and the contrary if it is a bad soul. It is the soul that +decides.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bosh and nonsense!” he exclaimed impatiently. “It is the +desire that decides. Here is a man who wants to, say, get drunk. Also, he +doesn’t want to get drunk. What does he do? How does he do it? He is a +puppet. He is the creature of his desires, and of the two desires he obeys the +strongest one, that is all. His soul hasn’t anything to do with it. How +can he be tempted to get drunk and refuse to get drunk? If the desire to remain +sober prevails, it is because it is the strongest desire. Temptation plays no +part, unless—” he paused while grasping the new thought which had +come into his mind—“unless he is tempted to remain sober. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” he laughed. “What do you think of that, Mr. Van +Weyden?” +</p> + +<p> +“That both of you are hair-splitting,” I said. “The +man’s soul is his desires. Or, if you will, the sum of his desires is his +soul. Therein you are both wrong. You lay the stress upon the desire apart from +the soul, Miss Brewster lays the stress on the soul apart from the desire, and +in point of fact soul and desire are the same thing. +</p> + +<p> +“However,” I continued, “Miss Brewster is right in contending +that temptation is temptation whether the man yield or overcome. Fire is fanned +by the wind until it leaps up fiercely. So is desire like fire. It is fanned, +as by a wind, by sight of the thing desired, or by a new and luring description +or comprehension of the thing desired. There lies the temptation. It is the +wind that fans the desire until it leaps up to mastery. That’s +temptation. It may not fan sufficiently to make the desire overmastering, but +in so far as it fans at all, that far is it temptation. And, as you say, it may +tempt for good as well as for evil.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt proud of myself as we sat down to the table. My words had been decisive. +At least they had put an end to the discussion. +</p> + +<p> +But Wolf Larsen seemed voluble, prone to speech as I had never seen him before. +It was as though he were bursting with pent energy which must find an outlet +somehow. Almost immediately he launched into a discussion on love. As usual, +his was the sheer materialistic side, and Maud’s was the idealistic. For +myself, beyond a word or so of suggestion or correction now and again, I took +no part. +</p> + +<p> +He was brilliant, but so was Maud, and for some time I lost the thread of the +conversation through studying her face as she talked. It was a face that rarely +displayed colour, but to-night it was flushed and vivacious. Her wit was +playing keenly, and she was enjoying the tilt as much as Wolf Larsen, and he +was enjoying it hugely. For some reason, though I know not why in the argument, +so utterly had I lost it in the contemplation of one stray brown lock of +Maud’s hair, he quoted from Iseult at Tintagel, where she says: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Blessed am I beyond women even herein,<br/> +That beyond all born women is my sin,<br/> +And perfect my transgression.” +</p> + +<p> +As he had read pessimism into Omar, so now he read triumph, stinging triumph +and exultation, into Swinburne’s lines. And he read rightly, and he read +well. He had hardly ceased reading when Louis put his head into the +companion-way and whispered down: +</p> + +<p> +“Be easy, will ye? The fog’s lifted, an’ ’tis the port +light iv a steamer that’s crossin’ our bow this blessed +minute.” +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen sprang on deck, and so swiftly that by the time we followed him he +had pulled the steerage-slide over the drunken clamour and was on his way +forward to close the forecastle-scuttle. The fog, though it remained, had +lifted high, where it obscured the stars and made the night quite black. +Directly ahead of us I could see a bright red light and a white light, and I +could hear the pulsing of a steamer’s engines. Beyond a doubt it was the +<i>Macedonia</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf Larsen had returned to the poop, and we stood in a silent group, watching +the lights rapidly cross our bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Lucky for me he doesn’t carry a searchlight,” Wolf Larsen +said. +</p> + +<p> +“What if I should cry out loudly?” I queried in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be all up,” he answered. “But have you thought upon +what would immediately happen?” +</p> + +<p> +Before I had time to express any desire to know, he had me by the throat with +his gorilla grip, and by a faint quiver of the muscles—a hint, as it +were—he suggested to me the twist that would surely have broken my neck. +The next moment he had released me and we were gazing at the +<i>Macedonia’s</i> lights. +</p> + +<p> +“What if I should cry out?” Maud asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I like you too well to hurt you,” he said softly—nay, there +was a tenderness and a caress in his voice that made me wince. +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t do it, just the same, for I’d promptly break Mr. +Van Weyden’s neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she has my permission to cry out,” I said defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think you’ll care to sacrifice the Dean of American +Letters the Second,” he sneered. +</p> + +<p> +We spoke no more, though we had become too used to one another for the silence +to be awkward; and when the red light and the white had disappeared we returned +to the cabin to finish the interrupted supper. +</p> + +<p> +Again they fell to quoting, and Maud gave Dowson’s “Impenitentia +Ultima.” She rendered it beautifully, but I watched not her, but Wolf +Larsen. I was fascinated by the fascinated look he bent upon Maud. He was quite +out of himself, and I noticed the unconscious movement of his lips as he shaped +word for word as fast as she uttered them. He interrupted her when she gave the +lines: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“And her eyes should be my light while the sun went out behind me,<br/> +And the viols in her voice be the last sound in my ear.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are viols in your voice,” he said bluntly, and his eyes +flashed their golden light. +</p> + +<p> +I could have shouted with joy at her control. She finished the concluding +stanza without faltering and then slowly guided the conversation into less +perilous channels. And all the while I sat in a half-daze, the drunken riot of +the steerage breaking through the bulkhead, the man I feared and the woman I +loved talking on and on. The table was not cleared. The man who had taken +Mugridge’s place had evidently joined his comrades in the forecastle. +</p> + +<p> +If ever Wolf Larsen attained the summit of living, he attained it then. From +time to time I forsook my own thoughts to follow him, and I followed in amaze, +mastered for the moment by his remarkable intellect, under the spell of his +passion, for he was preaching the passion of revolt. It was inevitable that +Milton’s Lucifer should be instanced, and the keenness with which Wolf +Larsen analysed and depicted the character was a revelation of his stifled +genius. It reminded me of Taine, yet I knew the man had never heard of that +brilliant though dangerous thinker. +</p> + +<p> +“He led a lost cause, and he was not afraid of God’s +thunderbolts,” Wolf Larsen was saying. “Hurled into hell, he was +unbeaten. A third of God’s angels he had led with him, and straightway he +incited man to rebel against God, and gained for himself and hell the major +portion of all the generations of man. Why was he beaten out of heaven? Because +he was less brave than God? less proud? less aspiring? No! A thousand times no! +God was more powerful, as he said, Whom thunder hath made greater. But Lucifer +was a free spirit. To serve was to suffocate. He preferred suffering in freedom +to all the happiness of a comfortable servility. He did not care to serve God. +He cared to serve nothing. He was no figure-head. He stood on his own legs. He +was an individual.” +</p> + +<p> +“The first Anarchist,” Maud laughed, rising and preparing to +withdraw to her state-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is good to be an anarchist!” he cried. He, too, had risen, +and he stood facing her, where she had paused at the door of her room, as he +went on: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Here at least<br/> +We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built<br/> +Here for his envy; will not drive us hence;<br/> +Here we may reign secure; and in my choice<br/> +To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:<br/> +Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the defiant cry of a mighty spirit. The cabin still rang with his voice, +as he stood there, swaying, his bronzed face shining, his head up and dominant, +and his eyes, golden and masculine, intensely masculine and insistently soft, +flashing upon Maud at the door. +</p> + +<p> +Again that unnamable and unmistakable terror was in her eyes, and she said, +almost in a whisper, “You are Lucifer.” +</p> + +<p> +The door closed and she was gone. He stood staring after her for a minute, then +returned to himself and to me. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll relieve Louis at the wheel,” he said shortly, +“and call upon you to relieve at midnight. Better turn in now and get +some sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +He pulled on a pair of mittens, put on his cap, and ascended the +companion-stairs, while I followed his suggestion by going to bed. For some +unknown reason, prompted mysteriously, I did not undress, but lay down fully +clothed. For a time I listened to the clamour in the steerage and marvelled +upon the love which had come to me; but my sleep on the <i>Ghost</i> had become +most healthful and natural, and soon the songs and cries died away, my eyes +closed, and my consciousness sank down into the half-death of slumber. +</p> + +<p> +I knew not what had aroused me, but I found myself out of my bunk, on my feet, +wide awake, my soul vibrating to the warning of danger as it might have +thrilled to a trumpet call. I threw open the door. The cabin light was burning +low. I saw Maud, my Maud, straining and struggling and crushed in the embrace +of Wolf Larsen’s arms. I could see the vain beat and flutter of her as +she strove, pressing her face against his breast, to escape from him. All this +I saw on the very instant of seeing and as I sprang forward. +</p> + +<p> +I struck him with my fist, on the face, as he raised his head, but it was a +puny blow. He roared in a ferocious, animal-like way, and gave me a shove with +his hand. It was only a shove, a flirt of the wrist, yet so tremendous was his +strength that I was hurled backward as from a catapult. I struck the door of +the state-room which had formerly been Mugridge’s, splintering and +smashing the panels with the impact of my body. I struggled to my feet, with +difficulty dragging myself clear of the wrecked door, unaware of any hurt +whatever. I was conscious only of an overmastering rage. I think I, too, cried +aloud, as I drew the knife at my hip and sprang forward a second time. +</p> + +<p> +But something had happened. They were reeling apart. I was close upon him, my +knife uplifted, but I withheld the blow. I was puzzled by the strangeness of +it. Maud was leaning against the wall, one hand out for support; but he was +staggering, his left hand pressed against his forehead and covering his eyes, +and with the right he was groping about him in a dazed sort of way. It struck +against the wall, and his body seemed to express a muscular and physical relief +at the contact, as though he had found his bearings, his location in space as +well as something against which to lean. +</p> + +<p> +Then I saw red again. All my wrongs and humiliations flashed upon me with a +dazzling brightness, all that I had suffered and others had suffered at his +hands, all the enormity of the man’s very existence. I sprang upon him, +blindly, insanely, and drove the knife into his shoulder. I knew, then, that it +was no more than a flesh wound,—I had felt the steel grate on his +shoulder-blade,—and I raised the knife to strike at a more vital part. +</p> + +<p> +But Maud had seen my first blow, and she cried, “Don’t! Please +don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +I dropped my arm for a moment, and a moment only. Again the knife was raised, +and Wolf Larsen would have surely died had she not stepped between. Her arms +were around me, her hair was brushing my face. My pulse rushed up in an +unwonted manner, yet my rage mounted with it. She looked me bravely in the +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“For my sake,” she begged. +</p> + +<p> +“I would kill him for your sake!” I cried, trying to free my arm +without hurting her. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” she said, and laid her fingers lightly on my lips. I could +have kissed them, had I dared, even then, in my rage, the touch of them was so +sweet, so very sweet. “Please, please,” she pleaded, and she +disarmed me by the words, as I was to discover they would ever disarm me. +</p> + +<p> +I stepped back, separating from her, and replaced the knife in its sheath. I +looked at Wolf Larsen. He still pressed his left hand against his forehead. It +covered his eyes. His head was bowed. He seemed to have grown limp. His body +was sagging at the hips, his great shoulders were drooping and shrinking +forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Van Weyden!” he called hoarsely, and with a note of fright in his +voice. “Oh, Van Weyden! where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at Maud. She did not speak, but nodded her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am,” I answered, stepping to his side. “What is the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Help me to a seat,” he said, in the same hoarse, frightened voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a sick man; a very sick man, Hump,” he said, as he left my +sustaining grip and sank into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +His head dropped forward on the table and was buried in his hands. From time to +time it rocked back and forward as with pain. Once, when he half raised it, I +saw the sweat standing in heavy drops on his forehead about the roots of his +hair. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a sick man, a very sick man,” he repeated again, and yet once +again. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” I asked, resting my hand on his shoulder. +“What can I do for you?” +</p> + +<p> +But he shook my hand off with an irritated movement, and for a long time I +stood by his side in silence. Maud was looking on, her face awed and +frightened. What had happened to him we could not imagine. +</p> + +<p> +“Hump,” he said at last, “I must get into my bunk. Lend me a +hand. I’ll be all right in a little while. It’s those damn +headaches, I believe. I was afraid of them. I had a feeling—no, I +don’t know what I’m talking about. Help me into my bunk.” +</p> + +<p> +But when I got him into his bunk he again buried his face in his hands, +covering his eyes, and as I turned to go I could hear him murmuring, “I +am a sick man, a very sick man.” +</p> + +<p> +Maud looked at me inquiringly as I emerged. I shook my head, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Something has happened to him. What, I don’t know. He is helpless, +and frightened, I imagine, for the first time in his life. It must have +occurred before he received the knife-thrust, which made only a superficial +wound. You must have seen what happened.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. “I saw nothing. It is just as mysterious to me. He +suddenly released me and staggered away. But what shall we do? What shall I +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will wait, please, until I come back,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +I went on deck. Louis was at the wheel. +</p> + +<p> +“You may go for’ard and turn in,” I said, taking it from him. +</p> + +<p> +He was quick to obey, and I found myself alone on the deck of the <i>Ghost</i>. +As quietly as was possible, I clewed up the topsails, lowered the flying jib +and staysail, backed the jib over, and flattened the mainsail. Then I went +below to Maud. I placed my finger on my lips for silence, and entered Wolf +Larsen’s room. He was in the same position in which I had left him, and +his head was rocking—almost writhing—from side to side. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything I can do for you?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +He made no reply at first, but on my repeating the question he answered, +“No, no; I’m all right. Leave me alone till morning.” +</p> + +<p> +But as I turned to go I noted that his head had resumed its rocking motion. +Maud was waiting patiently for me, and I took notice, with a thrill of joy, of +the queenly poise of her head and her glorious, calm eyes. Calm and sure they +were as her spirit itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you trust yourself to me for a journey of six hundred miles or +so?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—?” she asked, and I knew she had guessed aright. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I mean just that,” I replied. “There is nothing left +for us but the open boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“For me, you mean,” she said. “You are certainly as safe here +as you have been.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, there is nothing left for us but the open boat,” I iterated +stoutly. “Will you please dress as warmly as you can, at once, and make +into a bundle whatever you wish to bring with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And make all haste,” I added, as she turned toward her state-room. +</p> + +<p> +The lazarette was directly beneath the cabin, and, opening the trap-door in the +floor and carrying a candle with me, I dropped down and began overhauling the +ship’s stores. I selected mainly from the canned goods, and by the time I +was ready, willing hands were extended from above to receive what I passed up. +</p> + +<p> +We worked in silence. I helped myself also to blankets, mittens, oilskins, +caps, and such things, from the slop-chest. It was no light adventure, this +trusting ourselves in a small boat to so raw and stormy a sea, and it was +imperative that we should guard ourselves against the cold and wet. +</p> + +<p> +We worked feverishly at carrying our plunder on deck and depositing it +amidships, so feverishly that Maud, whose strength was hardly a positive +quantity, had to give over, exhausted, and sit on the steps at the break of the +poop. This did not serve to recover her, and she lay on her back, on the hard +deck, arms stretched out, and whole body relaxed. It was a trick I remembered +of my sister, and I knew she would soon be herself again. I knew, also, that +weapons would not come in amiss, and I re-entered Wolf Larsen’s +state-room to get his rifle and shot-gun. I spoke to him, but he made no +answer, though his head was still rocking from side to side and he was not +asleep. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Lucifer,” I whispered to myself as I softly closed the +door. +</p> + +<p> +Next to obtain was a stock of ammunition,—an easy matter, though I had to +enter the steerage companion-way to do it. Here the hunters stored the +ammunition-boxes they carried in the boats, and here, but a few feet from their +noisy revels, I took possession of two boxes. +</p> + +<p> +Next, to lower a boat. Not so simple a task for one man. Having cast off the +lashings, I hoisted first on the forward tackle, then on the aft, till the boat +cleared the rail, when I lowered away, one tackle and then the other, for a +couple of feet, till it hung snugly, above the water, against the +schooner’s side. I made certain that it contained the proper equipment of +oars, rowlocks, and sail. Water was a consideration, and I robbed every boat +aboard of its breaker. As there were nine boats all told, it meant that we +should have plenty of water, and ballast as well, though there was the chance +that the boat would be overloaded, what of the generous supply of other things +I was taking. +</p> + +<p> +While Maud was passing me the provisions and I was storing them in the boat, a +sailor came on deck from the forecastle. He stood by the weather rail for a +time (we were lowering over the lee rail), and then sauntered slowly amidships, +where he again paused and stood facing the wind, with his back toward us. I +could hear my heart beating as I crouched low in the boat. Maud had sunk down +upon the deck and was, I knew, lying motionless, her body in the shadow of the +bulwark. But the man never turned, and, after stretching his arms above his +head and yawning audibly, he retraced his steps to the forecastle scuttle and +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes sufficed to finish the loading, and I lowered the boat into the +water. As I helped Maud over the rail and felt her form close to mine, it was +all I could do to keep from crying out, “I love you! I love you!” +Truly Humphrey Van Weyden was at last in love, I thought, as her fingers clung +to mine while I lowered her down to the boat. I held on to the rail with one +hand and supported her weight with the other, and I was proud at the moment of +the feat. It was a strength I had not possessed a few months before, on the day +I said good-bye to Charley Furuseth and started for San Francisco on the +ill-fated <i>Martinez</i>. +</p> + +<p> +As the boat ascended on a sea, her feet touched and I released her hands. I +cast off the tackles and leaped after her. I had never rowed in my life, but I +put out the oars and at the expense of much effort got the boat clear of the +<i>Ghost</i>. Then I experimented with the sail. I had seen the boat-steerers +and hunters set their spritsails many times, yet this was my first attempt. +What took them possibly two minutes took me twenty, but in the end I succeeded +in setting and trimming it, and with the steering-oar in my hands hauled on the +wind. +</p> + +<p> +“There lies Japan,” I remarked, “straight before us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humphrey Van Weyden,” she said, “you are a brave man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” I answered, “it is you who are a brave woman.” +</p> + +<p> +We turned our heads, swayed by a common impulse to see the last of the +<i>Ghost</i>. Her low hull lifted and rolled to windward on a sea; her canvas +loomed darkly in the night; her lashed wheel creaked as the rudder kicked; then +sight and sound of her faded away, and we were alone on the dark sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<p> +Day broke, grey and chill. The boat was close-hauled on a fresh breeze and the +compass indicated that we were just making the course which would bring us to +Japan. Though stoutly mittened, my fingers were cold, and they pained from the +grip on the steering-oar. My feet were stinging from the bite of the frost, and +I hoped fervently that the sun would shine. +</p> + +<p> +Before me, in the bottom of the boat, lay Maud. She, at least, was warm, for +under her and over her were thick blankets. The top one I had drawn over her +face to shelter it from the night, so I could see nothing but the vague shape +of her, and her light-brown hair, escaped from the covering and jewelled with +moisture from the air. +</p> + +<p> +Long I looked at her, dwelling upon that one visible bit of her as only a man +would who deemed it the most precious thing in the world. So insistent was my +gaze that at last she stirred under the blankets, the top fold was thrown back +and she smiled out on me, her eyes yet heavy with sleep. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Mr. Van Weyden,” she said. “Have you sighted +land yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I answered, “but we are approaching it at a rate of six +miles an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +She made a <i>moue</i> of disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +“But that is equivalent to one hundred and forty-four miles in +twenty-four hours,” I added reassuringly. +</p> + +<p> +Her face brightened. “And how far have we to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Siberia lies off there,” I said, pointing to the west. “But +to the south-west, some six hundred miles, is Japan. If this wind should hold, +we’ll make it in five days.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if it storms? The boat could not live?” +</p> + +<p> +She had a way of looking one in the eyes and demanding the truth, and thus she +looked at me as she asked the question. +</p> + +<p> +“It would have to storm very hard,” I temporized. +</p> + +<p> +“And if it storms very hard?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my head. “But we may be picked up any moment by a +sealing-schooner. They are plentifully distributed over this part of the +ocean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you are chilled through!” she cried. “Look! You are +shivering. Don’t deny it; you are. And here I have been lying warm as +toast.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see that it would help matters if you, too, sat up and +were chilled,” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“It will, though, when I learn to steer, which I certainly shall.” +</p> + +<p> +She sat up and began making her simple toilet. She shook down her hair, and it +fell about her in a brown cloud, hiding her face and shoulders. Dear, damp +brown hair! I wanted to kiss it, to ripple it through my fingers, to bury my +face in it. I gazed entranced, till the boat ran into the wind and the flapping +sail warned me I was not attending to my duties. Idealist and romanticist that +I was and always had been in spite of my analytical nature, yet I had failed +till now in grasping much of the physical characteristics of love. The love of +man and woman, I had always held, was a sublimated something related to spirit, +a spiritual bond that linked and drew their souls together. The bonds of the +flesh had little part in my cosmos of love. But I was learning the sweet lesson +for myself that the soul transmuted itself, expressed itself, through the +flesh; that the sight and sense and touch of the loved one’s hair was as +much breath and voice and essence of the spirit as the light that shone from +the eyes and the thoughts that fell from the lips. After all, pure spirit was +unknowable, a thing to be sensed and divined only; nor could it express itself +in terms of itself. Jehovah was anthropomorphic because he could address +himself to the Jews only in terms of their understanding; so he was conceived +as in their own image, as a cloud, a pillar of fire, a tangible, physical +something which the mind of the Israelites could grasp. +</p> + +<p> +And so I gazed upon Maud’s light-brown hair, and loved it, and learned +more of love than all the poets and singers had taught me with all their songs +and sonnets. She flung it back with a sudden adroit movement, and her face +emerged, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t women wear their hair down always?” I asked. +“It is so much more beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it didn’t tangle so dreadfully,” she laughed. +“There! I’ve lost one of my precious hair-pins!” +</p> + +<p> +I neglected the boat and had the sail spilling the wind again and again, such +was my delight in following her every movement as she searched through the +blankets for the pin. I was surprised, and joyfully, that she was so much the +woman, and the display of each trait and mannerism that was characteristically +feminine gave me keener joy. For I had been elevating her too highly in my +concepts of her, removing her too far from the plane of the human, and too far +from me. I had been making of her a creature goddess-like and unapproachable. +So I hailed with delight the little traits that proclaimed her only woman after +all, such as the toss of the head which flung back the cloud of hair, and the +search for the pin. She was woman, my kind, on my plane, and the delightful +intimacy of kind, of man and woman, was possible, as well as the reverence and +awe in which I knew I should always hold her. +</p> + +<p> +She found the pin with an adorable little cry, and I turned my attention more +fully to my steering. I proceeded to experiment, lashing and wedging the +steering-oar until the boat held on fairly well by the wind without my +assistance. Occasionally it came up too close, or fell off too freely; but it +always recovered itself and in the main behaved satisfactorily. +</p> + +<p> +“And now we shall have breakfast,” I said. “But first you +must be more warmly clad.” +</p> + +<p> +I got out a heavy shirt, new from the slop-chest and made from blanket goods. I +knew the kind, so thick and so close of texture that it could resist the rain +and not be soaked through after hours of wetting. When she had slipped this on +over her head, I exchanged the boy’s cap she wore for a man’s cap, +large enough to cover her hair, and, when the flap was turned down, to +completely cover her neck and ears. The effect was charming. Her face was of +the sort that cannot but look well under all circumstances. Nothing could +destroy its exquisite oval, its well-nigh classic lines, its delicately +stencilled brows, its large brown eyes, clear-seeing and calm, gloriously calm. +</p> + +<p> +A puff, slightly stronger than usual, struck us just then. The boat was caught +as it obliquely crossed the crest of a wave. It went over suddenly, burying its +gunwale level with the sea and shipping a bucketful or so of water. I was +opening a can of tongue at the moment, and I sprang to the sheet and cast it +off just in time. The sail flapped and fluttered, and the boat paid off. A few +minutes of regulating sufficed to put it on its course again, when I returned +to the preparation of breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +“It does very well, it seems, though I am not versed in things +nautical,” she said, nodding her head with grave approval at my steering +contrivance. +</p> + +<p> +“But it will serve only when we are sailing by the wind,” I +explained. “When running more freely, with the wind astern abeam, or on +the quarter, it will be necessary for me to steer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must say I don’t understand your technicalities,” she +said, “but I do your conclusion, and I don’t like it. You cannot +steer night and day and for ever. So I shall expect, after breakfast, to +receive my first lesson. And then you shall lie down and sleep. We’ll +stand watches just as they do on ships.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how I am to teach you,” I made protest. “I +am just learning for myself. You little thought when you trusted yourself to me +that I had had no experience whatever with small boats. This is the first time +I have ever been in one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ll learn together, sir. And since you’ve had a +night’s start you shall teach me what you have learned. And now, +breakfast. My! this air does give one an appetite!” +</p> + +<p> +“No coffee,” I said regretfully, passing her buttered sea-biscuits +and a slice of canned tongue. “And there will be no tea, no soups, +nothing hot, till we have made land somewhere, somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +After the simple breakfast, capped with a cup of cold water, Maud took her +lesson in steering. In teaching her I learned quite a deal myself, though I was +applying the knowledge already acquired by sailing the <i>Ghost</i> and by +watching the boat-steerers sail the small boats. She was an apt pupil, and soon +learned to keep the course, to luff in the puffs and to cast off the sheet in +an emergency. +</p> + +<p> +Having grown tired, apparently, of the task, she relinquished the oar to me. I +had folded up the blankets, but she now proceeded to spread them out on the +bottom. When all was arranged snugly, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sir, to bed. And you shall sleep until luncheon. Till +dinner-time,” she corrected, remembering the arrangement on the +<i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +What could I do? She insisted, and said, “Please, please,” +whereupon I turned the oar over to her and obeyed. I experienced a positive +sensuous delight as I crawled into the bed she had made with her hands. The +calm and control which were so much a part of her seemed to have been +communicated to the blankets, so that I was aware of a soft dreaminess and +content, and of an oval face and brown eyes framed in a fisherman’s cap +and tossing against a background now of grey cloud, now of grey sea, and then I +was aware that I had been asleep. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at my watch. It was one o’clock. I had slept seven hours! And +she had been steering seven hours! When I took the steering-oar I had first to +unbend her cramped fingers. Her modicum of strength had been exhausted, and she +was unable even to move from her position. I was compelled to let go the sheet +while I helped her to the nest of blankets and chafed her hands and arms. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so tired,” she said, with a quick intake of the breath and a +sigh, drooping her head wearily. +</p> + +<p> +But she straightened it the next moment. “Now don’t scold, +don’t you dare scold,” she cried with mock defiance. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope my face does not appear angry,” I answered seriously; +“for I assure you I am not in the least angry.” +</p> + +<p> +“N-no,” she considered. “It looks only reproachful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is an honest face, for it looks what I feel. You were not fair +to yourself, nor to me. How can I ever trust you again?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked penitent. “I’ll be good,” she said, as a naughty +child might say it. “I promise—” +</p> + +<p> +“To obey as a sailor would obey his captain?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered. “It was stupid of me, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must promise something else,” I ventured. +</p> + +<p> +“Readily.” +</p> + +<p> +“That you will not say, ‘Please, please,’ too often; for when +you do you are sure to override my authority.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed with amused appreciation. She, too, had noticed the power of the +repeated “please.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a good word—” I began. +</p> + +<p> +“But I must not overwork it,” she broke in. +</p> + +<p> +But she laughed weakly, and her head drooped again. I left the oar long enough +to tuck the blankets about her feet and to pull a single fold across her face. +Alas! she was not strong. I looked with misgiving toward the south-west and +thought of the six hundred miles of hardship before us—ay, if it were no +worse than hardship. On this sea a storm might blow up at any moment and +destroy us. And yet I was unafraid. I was without confidence in the future, +extremely doubtful, and yet I felt no underlying fear. It must come right, it +must come right, I repeated to myself, over and over again. +</p> + +<p> +The wind freshened in the afternoon, raising a stiffer sea and trying the boat +and me severely. But the supply of food and the nine breakers of water enabled +the boat to stand up to the sea and wind, and I held on as long as I dared. +Then I removed the sprit, tightly hauling down the peak of the sail, and we +raced along under what sailors call a leg-of-mutton. +</p> + +<p> +Late in the afternoon I sighted a steamer’s smoke on the horizon to +leeward, and I knew it either for a Russian cruiser, or, more likely, the +<i>Macedonia</i> still seeking the <i>Ghost</i>. The sun had not shone all day, +and it had been bitter cold. As night drew on, the clouds darkened and the wind +freshened, so that when Maud and I ate supper it was with our mittens on and +with me still steering and eating morsels between puffs. +</p> + +<p> +By the time it was dark, wind and sea had become too strong for the boat, and I +reluctantly took in the sail and set about making a drag or sea-anchor. I had +learned of the device from the talk of the hunters, and it was a simple thing +to manufacture. Furling the sail and lashing it securely about the mast, boom, +sprit, and two pairs of spare oars, I threw it overboard. A line connected it +with the bow, and as it floated low in the water, practically unexposed to the +wind, it drifted less rapidly than the boat. In consequence it held the boat +bow on to the sea and wind—the safest position in which to escape being +swamped when the sea is breaking into whitecaps. +</p> + +<p> +“And now?” Maud asked cheerfully, when the task was accomplished +and I pulled on my mittens. +</p> + +<p> +“And now we are no longer travelling toward Japan,” I answered. +“Our drift is to the south-east, or south-south-east, at the rate of at +least two miles an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be only twenty-four miles,” she urged, “if the +wind remains high all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and only one hundred and forty miles if it continues for three days +and nights.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it won’t continue,” she said with easy confidence. +“It will turn around and blow fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“The sea is the great faithless one.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the wind!” she retorted. “I have heard you grow eloquent +over the brave trade-wind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had thought to bring Wolf Larsen’s chronometer and +sextant,” I said, still gloomily. “Sailing one direction, drifting +another direction, to say nothing of the set of the current in some third +direction, makes a resultant which dead reckoning can never calculate. Before +long we won’t know where we are by five hundred miles.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I begged her pardon and promised I should not be disheartened any more. At +her solicitation I let her take the watch till midnight,—it was then nine +o’clock, but I wrapped her in blankets and put an oilskin about her +before I lay down. I slept only cat-naps. The boat was leaping and pounding as +it fell over the crests, I could hear the seas rushing past, and spray was +continually being thrown aboard. And still, it was not a bad night, I +mused—nothing to the nights I had been through on the <i>Ghost</i>; +nothing, perhaps, to the nights we should go through in this cockle-shell. Its +planking was three-quarters of an inch thick. Between us and the bottom of the +sea was less than an inch of wood. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, I aver it, and I aver it again, I was unafraid. The death which Wolf +Larsen and even Thomas Mugridge had made me fear, I no longer feared. The +coming of Maud Brewster into my life seemed to have transformed me. After all, +I thought, it is better and finer to love than to be loved, if it makes +something in life so worth while that one is not loath to die for it. I forget +my own life in the love of another life; and yet, such is the paradox, I never +wanted so much to live as right now when I place the least value upon my own +life. I never had so much reason for living, was my concluding thought; and +after that, until I dozed, I contented myself with trying to pierce the +darkness to where I knew Maud crouched low in the stern-sheets, watchful of the +foaming sea and ready to call me on an instant’s notice. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<p> +There is no need of going into an extended recital of our suffering in the +small boat during the many days we were driven and drifted, here and there, +willy-nilly, across the ocean. The high wind blew from the north-west for +twenty-four hours, when it fell calm, and in the night sprang up from the +south-west. This was dead in our teeth, but I took in the sea-anchor and set +sail, hauling a course on the wind which took us in a south-south-easterly +direction. It was an even choice between this and the west-north-westerly +course which the wind permitted; but the warm airs of the south fanned my +desire for a warmer sea and swayed my decision. +</p> + +<p> +In three hours—it was midnight, I well remember, and as dark as I had +ever seen it on the sea—the wind, still blowing out of the south-west, +rose furiously, and once again I was compelled to set the sea-anchor. +</p> + +<p> +Day broke and found me wan-eyed and the ocean lashed white, the boat pitching, +almost on end, to its drag. We were in imminent danger of being swamped by the +whitecaps. As it was, spray and spume came aboard in such quantities that I +bailed without cessation. The blankets were soaking. Everything was wet except +Maud, and she, in oilskins, rubber boots, and sou’wester, was dry, all +but her face and hands and a stray wisp of hair. She relieved me at the +bailing-hole from time to time, and bravely she threw out the water and faced +the storm. All things are relative. It was no more than a stiff blow, but to +us, fighting for life in our frail craft, it was indeed a storm. +</p> + +<p> +Cold and cheerless, the wind beating on our faces, the white seas roaring by, +we struggled through the day. Night came, but neither of us slept. Day came, +and still the wind beat on our faces and the white seas roared past. By the +second night Maud was falling asleep from exhaustion. I covered her with +oilskins and a tarpaulin. She was comparatively dry, but she was numb with the +cold. I feared greatly that she might die in the night; but day broke, cold and +cheerless, with the same clouded sky and beating wind and roaring seas. +</p> + +<p> +I had had no sleep for forty-eight hours. I was wet and chilled to the marrow, +till I felt more dead than alive. My body was stiff from exertion as well as +from cold, and my aching muscles gave me the severest torture whenever I used +them, and I used them continually. And all the time we were being driven off +into the north-east, directly away from Japan and toward bleak Bering Sea. +</p> + +<p> +And still we lived, and the boat lived, and the wind blew unabated. In fact, +toward nightfall of the third day it increased a trifle and something more. The +boat’s bow plunged under a crest, and we came through quarter-full of +water. I bailed like a madman. The liability of shipping another such sea was +enormously increased by the water that weighed the boat down and robbed it of +its buoyancy. And another such sea meant the end. When I had the boat empty +again I was forced to take away the tarpaulin which covered Maud, in order that +I might lash it down across the bow. It was well I did, for it covered the boat +fully a third of the way aft, and three times, in the next several hours, it +flung off the bulk of the down-rushing water when the bow shoved under the +seas. +</p> + +<p> +Maud’s condition was pitiable. She sat crouched in the bottom of the +boat, her lips blue, her face grey and plainly showing the pain she suffered. +But ever her eyes looked bravely at me, and ever her lips uttered brave words. +</p> + +<p> +The worst of the storm must have blown that night, though little I noticed it. +I had succumbed and slept where I sat in the stern-sheets. The morning of the +fourth day found the wind diminished to a gentle whisper, the sea dying down +and the sun shining upon us. Oh, the blessed sun! How we bathed our poor bodies +in its delicious warmth, reviving like bugs and crawling things after a storm. +We smiled again, said amusing things, and waxed optimistic over our situation. +Yet it was, if anything, worse than ever. We were farther from Japan than the +night we left the <i>Ghost</i>. Nor could I more than roughly guess our +latitude and longitude. At a calculation of a two-mile drift per hour, during +the seventy and odd hours of the storm, we had been driven at least one hundred +and fifty miles to the north-east. But was such calculated drift correct? For +all I knew, it might have been four miles per hour instead of two. In which +case we were another hundred and fifty miles to the bad. +</p> + +<p> +Where we were I did not know, though there was quite a likelihood that we were +in the vicinity of the <i>Ghost</i>. There were seals about us, and I was +prepared to sight a sealing-schooner at any time. We did sight one, in the +afternoon, when the north-west breeze had sprung up freshly once more. But the +strange schooner lost itself on the sky-line and we alone occupied the circle +of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +Came days of fog, when even Maud’s spirit drooped and there were no merry +words upon her lips; days of calm, when we floated on the lonely immensity of +sea, oppressed by its greatness and yet marvelling at the miracle of tiny life, +for we still lived and struggled to live; days of sleet and wind and +snow-squalls, when nothing could keep us warm; or days of drizzling rain, when +we filled our water-breakers from the drip of the wet sail. +</p> + +<p> +And ever I loved Maud with an increasing love. She was so many-sided, so +many-mooded—“protean-mooded” I called her. But I called her +this, and other and dearer things, in my thoughts only. Though the declaration +of my love urged and trembled on my tongue a thousand times, I knew that it was +no time for such a declaration. If for no other reason, it was no time, when +one was protecting and trying to save a woman, to ask that woman for her love. +Delicate as was the situation, not alone in this but in other ways, I flattered +myself that I was able to deal delicately with it; and also I flattered myself +that by look or sign I gave no advertisement of the love I felt for her. We +were like good comrades, and we grew better comrades as the days went by. +</p> + +<p> +One thing about her which surprised me was her lack of timidity and fear. The +terrible sea, the frail boat, the storms, the suffering, the strangeness and +isolation of the situation,—all that should have frightened a robust +woman,—seemed to make no impression upon her who had known life only in +its most sheltered and consummately artificial aspects, and who was herself all +fire and dew and mist, sublimated spirit, all that was soft and tender and +clinging in woman. And yet I am wrong. She <i>was</i> timid and afraid, but she +possessed courage. The flesh and the qualms of the flesh she was heir to, but +the flesh bore heavily only on the flesh. And she was spirit, first and always +spirit, etherealized essence of life, calm as her calm eyes, and sure of +permanence in the changing order of the universe. +</p> + +<p> +Came days of storm, days and nights of storm, when the ocean menaced us with +its roaring whiteness, and the wind smote our struggling boat with a +Titan’s buffets. And ever we were flung off, farther and farther, to the +north-east. It was in such a storm, and the worst that we had experienced, that +I cast a weary glance to leeward, not in quest of anything, but more from the +weariness of facing the elemental strife, and in mute appeal, almost, to the +wrathful powers to cease and let us be. What I saw I could not at first +believe. Days and nights of sleeplessness and anxiety had doubtless turned my +head. I looked back at Maud, to identify myself, as it were, in time and space. +The sight of her dear wet cheeks, her flying hair, and her brave brown eyes +convinced me that my vision was still healthy. Again I turned my face to +leeward, and again I saw the jutting promontory, black and high and naked, the +raging surf that broke about its base and beat its front high up with spouting +fountains, the black and forbidding coast-line running toward the south-east and +fringed with a tremendous scarf of white. +</p> + +<p> +“Maud,” I said. “Maud.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her head and beheld the sight. +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot be Alaska!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, no,” I answered, and asked, “Can you swim?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither can I,” I said. “So we must get ashore without +swimming, in some opening between the rocks through which we can drive the boat +and clamber out. But we must be quick, most quick—and sure.” +</p> + +<p> +I spoke with a confidence she knew I did not feel, for she looked at me with +that unfaltering gaze of hers and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I have not thanked you yet for all you have done for me +but—” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated, as if in doubt how best to word her gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” I said, brutally, for I was not quite pleased with her +thanking me. +</p> + +<p> +“You might help me,” she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“To acknowledge your obligations before you die? Not at all. We are not +going to die. We shall land on that island, and we shall be snug and sheltered +before the day is done.” +</p> + +<p> +I spoke stoutly, but I did not believe a word. Nor was I prompted to lie +through fear. I felt no fear, though I was sure of death in that boiling surge +amongst the rocks which was rapidly growing nearer. It was impossible to hoist +sail and claw off that shore. The wind would instantly capsize the boat; the +seas would swamp it the moment it fell into the trough; and, besides, the sail, +lashed to the spare oars, dragged in the sea ahead of us. +</p> + +<p> +As I say, I was not afraid to meet my own death, there, a few hundred yards to +leeward; but I was appalled at the thought that Maud must die. My cursed +imagination saw her beaten and mangled against the rocks, and it was too +terrible. I strove to compel myself to think we would make the landing safely, +and so I spoke, not what I believed, but what I preferred to believe. +</p> + +<p> +I recoiled before contemplation of that frightful death, and for a moment I +entertained the wild idea of seizing Maud in my arms and leaping overboard. +Then I resolved to wait, and at the last moment, when we entered on the final +stretch, to take her in my arms and proclaim my love, and, with her in my +embrace, to make the desperate struggle and die. +</p> + +<p> +Instinctively we drew closer together in the bottom of the boat. I felt her +mittened hand come out to mine. And thus, without speech, we waited the end. We +were not far off the line the wind made with the western edge of the +promontory, and I watched in the hope that some set of the current or send of +the sea would drift us past before we reached the surf. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall go clear,” I said, with a confidence which I knew +deceived neither of us. +</p> + +<p> +“By God, we <i>will</i> go clear!” I cried, five minutes later. +</p> + +<p> +The oath left my lips in my excitement—the first, I do believe, in my +life, unless “trouble it,” an expletive of my youth, be accounted +an oath. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“You have convinced me of your sincerity,” she said, with a faint +smile. “I do know, now, that we shall go clear.” +</p> + +<p> +I had seen a distant headland past the extreme edge of the promontory, and as +we looked we could see grow the intervening coastline of what was evidently a +deep cove. At the same time there broke upon our ears a continuous and mighty +bellowing. It partook of the magnitude and volume of distant thunder, and it +came to us directly from leeward, rising above the crash of the surf and +travelling directly in the teeth of the storm. As we passed the point the whole +cove burst upon our view, a half-moon of white sandy beach upon which broke a +huge surf, and which was covered with myriads of seals. It was from them that +the great bellowing went up. +</p> + +<p> +“A rookery!” I cried. “Now are we indeed saved. There must be +men and cruisers to protect them from the seal-hunters. Possibly there is a +station ashore.” +</p> + +<p> +But as I studied the surf which beat upon the beach, I said, “Still bad, +but not so bad. And now, if the gods be truly kind, we shall drift by that next +headland and come upon a perfectly sheltered beach, where we may land without +wetting our feet.” +</p> + +<p> +And the gods were kind. The first and second headlands were directly in line +with the south-west wind; but once around the second,—and we went +perilously near,—we picked up the third headland, still in line with the +wind and with the other two. But the cove that intervened! It penetrated deep +into the land, and the tide, setting in, drifted us under the shelter of the +point. Here the sea was calm, save for a heavy but smooth ground-swell, and I +took in the sea-anchor and began to row. From the point the shore curved away, +more and more to the south and west, until at last it disclosed a cove within +the cove, a little land-locked harbour, the water level as a pond, broken only +by tiny ripples where vagrant breaths and wisps of the storm hurtled down from +over the frowning wall of rock that backed the beach a hundred feet inshore. +</p> + +<p> +Here were no seals whatever. The boat’s stern touched the hard shingle. I +sprang out, extending my hand to Maud. The next moment she was beside me. As my +fingers released hers, she clutched for my arm hastily. At the same moment I +swayed, as about to fall to the sand. This was the startling effect of the +cessation of motion. We had been so long upon the moving, rocking sea that the +stable land was a shock to us. We expected the beach to lift up this way and +that, and the rocky walls to swing back and forth like the sides of a ship; and +when we braced ourselves, automatically, for these various expected movements, +their non-occurrence quite overcame our equilibrium. +</p> + +<p> +“I really must sit down,” Maud said, with a nervous laugh and a +dizzy gesture, and forthwith she sat down on the sand. +</p> + +<p> +I attended to making the boat secure and joined her. Thus we landed on +Endeavour Island, as we came to it, land-sick from long custom of the sea. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<p> +“Fool!” I cried aloud in my vexation. +</p> + +<p> +I had unloaded the boat and carried its contents high up on the beach, where I +had set about making a camp. There was driftwood, though not much, on the +beach, and the sight of a coffee tin I had taken from the <i>Ghost’s</i> +larder had given me the idea of a fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Blithering idiot!” I was continuing. +</p> + +<p> +But Maud said, “Tut, tut,” in gentle reproval, and then asked why I +was a blithering idiot. +</p> + +<p> +“No matches,” I groaned. “Not a match did I bring. And now we +shall have no hot coffee, soup, tea, or anything!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t it—er—Crusoe who rubbed sticks together?” +she drawled. +</p> + +<p> +“But I have read the personal narratives of a score of shipwrecked men +who tried, and tried in vain,” I answered. “I remember Winters, a +newspaper fellow with an Alaskan and Siberian reputation. Met him at the +Bibelot once, and he was telling us how he attempted to make a fire with a +couple of sticks. It was most amusing. He told it inimitably, but it was the +story of a failure. I remember his conclusion, his black eyes flashing as he +said, ‘Gentlemen, the South Sea Islander may do it, the Malay may do it, +but take my word it’s beyond the white man.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, we’ve managed so far without it,” she said +cheerfully. “And there’s no reason why we cannot still manage +without it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But think of the coffee!” I cried. “It’s good coffee, +too, I know. I took it from Larsen’s private stores. And look at that +good wood.” +</p> + +<p> +I confess, I wanted the coffee badly; and I learned, not long afterward, that +the berry was likewise a little weakness of Maud’s. Besides, we had been +so long on a cold diet that we were numb inside as well as out. Anything warm +would have been most gratifying. But I complained no more and set about making +a tent of the sail for Maud. +</p> + +<p> +I had looked upon it as a simple task, what of the oars, mast, boom, and sprit, +to say nothing of plenty of lines. But as I was without experience, and as +every detail was an experiment and every successful detail an invention, the +day was well gone before her shelter was an accomplished fact. And then, that +night, it rained, and she was flooded out and driven back into the boat. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning I dug a shallow ditch around the tent, and, an hour later, a +sudden gust of wind, whipping over the rocky wall behind us, picked up the tent +and smashed it down on the sand thirty yards away. +</p> + +<p> +Maud laughed at my crestfallen expression, and I said, “As soon as the +wind abates I intend going in the boat to explore the island. There must be a +station somewhere, and men. And ships must visit the station. Some Government +must protect all these seals. But I wish to have you comfortable before I +start.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to go with you,” was all she said. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be better if you remained. You have had enough of hardship. It +is a miracle that you have survived. And it won’t be comfortable in the +boat rowing and sailing in this rainy weather. What you need is rest, and I +should like you to remain and get it.” +</p> + +<p> +Something suspiciously akin to moistness dimmed her beautiful eyes before she +dropped them and partly turned away her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I should prefer going with you,” she said in a low voice, in which +there was just a hint of appeal. +</p> + +<p> +“I might be able to help you a—” her voice +broke,—“a little. And if anything should happen to you, think of me +left here alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I intend being very careful,” I answered. “And I shall +not go so far but what I can get back before night. Yes, all said and done, I +think it vastly better for you to remain, and sleep, and rest and do +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned and looked me in the eyes. Her gaze was unfaltering, but soft. +</p> + +<p> +“Please, please,” she said, oh, so softly. +</p> + +<p> +I stiffened myself to refuse, and shook my head. Still she waited and looked at +me. I tried to word my refusal, but wavered. I saw the glad light spring into +her eyes and knew that I had lost. It was impossible to say no after that. +</p> + +<p> +The wind died down in the afternoon, and we were prepared to start the +following morning. There was no way of penetrating the island from our cove, +for the walls rose perpendicularly from the beach, and, on either side of the +cove, rose from the deep water. +</p> + +<p> +Morning broke dull and grey, but calm, and I was awake early and had the boat +in readiness. +</p> + +<p> +“Fool! Imbecile! Yahoo!” I shouted, when I thought it was meet to +arouse Maud; but this time I shouted in merriment as I danced about the beach, +bareheaded, in mock despair. +</p> + +<p> +Her head appeared under the flap of the sail. +</p> + +<p> +“What now?” she asked sleepily, and, withal, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Coffee!” I cried. “What do you say to a cup of coffee? hot +coffee? piping hot?” +</p> + +<p> +“My!” she murmured, “you startled me, and you are cruel. Here +I have been composing my soul to do without it, and here you are vexing me with +your vain suggestions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watch me,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +From under clefts among the rocks I gathered a few dry sticks and chips. These +I whittled into shavings or split into kindling. From my note-book I tore out a +page, and from the ammunition box took a shot-gun shell. Removing the wads from +the latter with my knife, I emptied the powder on a flat rock. Next I pried the +primer, or cap, from the shell, and laid it on the rock, in the midst of the +scattered powder. All was ready. Maud still watched from the tent. Holding the +paper in my left hand, I smashed down upon the cap with a rock held in my +right. There was a puff of white smoke, a burst of flame, and the rough edge of +the paper was alight. +</p> + +<p> +Maud clapped her hands gleefully. “Prometheus!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +But I was too occupied to acknowledge her delight. The feeble flame must be +cherished tenderly if it were to gather strength and live. I fed it, shaving by +shaving, and sliver by sliver, till at last it was snapping and crackling as it +laid hold of the smaller chips and sticks. To be cast away on an island had not +entered into my calculations, so we were without a kettle or cooking utensils +of any sort; but I made shift with the tin used for bailing the boat, and +later, as we consumed our supply of canned goods, we accumulated quite an +imposing array of cooking vessels. +</p> + +<p> +I boiled the water, but it was Maud who made the coffee. And how good it was! +My contribution was canned beef fried with crumbled sea-biscuit and water. The +breakfast was a success, and we sat about the fire much longer than +enterprising explorers should have done, sipping the hot black coffee and +talking over our situation. +</p> + +<p> +I was confident that we should find a station in some one of the coves, for I +knew that the rookeries of Bering Sea were thus guarded; but Maud advanced the +theory—to prepare me for disappointment, I do believe, if disappointment +were to come—that we had discovered an unknown rookery. She was in very +good spirits, however, and made quite merry in accepting our plight as a grave +one. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are right,” I said, “then we must prepare to winter +here. Our food will not last, but there are the seals. They go away in the +fall, so I must soon begin to lay in a supply of meat. Then there will be huts +to build and driftwood to gather. Also we shall try out seal fat for lighting +purposes. Altogether, we’ll have our hands full if we find the island +uninhabited. Which we shall not, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +But she was right. We sailed with a beam wind along the shore, searching the +coves with our glasses and landing occasionally, without finding a sign of +human life. Yet we learned that we were not the first who had landed on +Endeavour Island. High up on the beach of the second cove from ours, we +discovered the splintered wreck of a boat—a sealer’s boat, for the +rowlocks were bound in sennit, a gun-rack was on the starboard side of the bow, +and in white letters was faintly visible <i>Gazelle</i> No. 2. The boat had +lain there for a long time, for it was half filled with sand, and the +splintered wood had that weather-worn appearance due to long exposure to the +elements. In the stern-sheets I found a rusty ten-gauge shot-gun and a +sailor’s sheath-knife broken short across and so rusted as to be almost +unrecognizable. +</p> + +<p> +“They got away,” I said cheerfully; but I felt a sinking at the +heart and seemed to divine the presence of bleached bones somewhere on that +beach. +</p> + +<p> +I did not wish Maud’s spirits to be dampened by such a find, so I turned +seaward again with our boat and skirted the north-eastern point of the island. +There were no beaches on the southern shore, and by early afternoon we rounded +the black promontory and completed the circumnavigation of the island. I +estimated its circumference at twenty-five miles, its width as varying from two +to five miles; while my most conservative calculation placed on its beaches two +hundred thousand seals. The island was highest at its extreme south-western +point, the headlands and backbone diminishing regularly until the north-eastern +portion was only a few feet above the sea. With the exception of our little +cove, the other beaches sloped gently back for a distance of half-a-mile or so, +into what I might call rocky meadows, with here and there patches of moss and +tundra grass. Here the seals hauled out, and the old bulls guarded their +harems, while the young bulls hauled out by themselves. +</p> + +<p> +This brief description is all that Endeavour Island merits. Damp and soggy +where it was not sharp and rocky, buffeted by storm winds and lashed by the +sea, with the air continually a-tremble with the bellowing of two hundred +thousand amphibians, it was a melancholy and miserable sojourning-place. Maud, +who had prepared me for disappointment, and who had been sprightly and +vivacious all day, broke down as we landed in our own little cove. She strove +bravely to hide it from me, but while I was kindling another fire I knew she +was stifling her sobs in the blankets under the sail-tent. +</p> + +<p> +It was my turn to be cheerful, and I played the part to the best of my ability, +and with such success that I brought the laughter back into her dear eyes and +song on her lips; for she sang to me before she went to an early bed. It was +the first time I had heard her sing, and I lay by the fire, listening and +transported, for she was nothing if not an artist in everything she did, and +her voice, though not strong, was wonderfully sweet and expressive. +</p> + +<p> +I still slept in the boat, and I lay awake long that night, gazing up at the +first stars I had seen in many nights and pondering the situation. +Responsibility of this sort was a new thing to me. Wolf Larsen had been quite +right. I had stood on my father’s legs. My lawyers and agents had taken +care of my money for me. I had had no responsibilities at all. Then, on the +<i>Ghost</i> I had learned to be responsible for myself. And now, for the first +time in my life, I found myself responsible for some one else. And it was +required of me that this should be the gravest of responsibilities, for she was +the one woman in the world—the one small woman, as I loved to think of +her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<p> +No wonder we called it Endeavour Island. For two weeks we toiled at building a +hut. Maud insisted on helping, and I could have wept over her bruised and +bleeding hands. And still, I was proud of her because of it. There was +something heroic about this gently-bred woman enduring our terrible hardship +and with her pittance of strength bending to the tasks of a peasant woman. She +gathered many of the stones which I built into the walls of the hut; also, she +turned a deaf ear to my entreaties when I begged her to desist. She +compromised, however, by taking upon herself the lighter labours of cooking and +gathering driftwood and moss for our winter’s supply. +</p> + +<p> +The hut’s walls rose without difficulty, and everything went smoothly +until the problem of the roof confronted me. Of what use the four walls without +a roof? And of what could a roof be made? There were the spare oars, very true. +They would serve as roof-beams; but with what was I to cover them? Moss would +never do. Tundra grass was impracticable. We needed the sail for the boat, and +the tarpaulin had begun to leak. +</p> + +<p> +“Winters used walrus skins on his hut,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“There are the seals,” she suggested. +</p> + +<p> +So next day the hunting began. I did not know how to shoot, but I proceeded to +learn. And when I had expended some thirty shells for three seals, I decided +that the ammunition would be exhausted before I acquired the necessary +knowledge. I had used eight shells for lighting fires before I hit upon the +device of banking the embers with wet moss, and there remained not over a +hundred shells in the box. +</p> + +<p> +“We must club the seals,” I announced, when convinced of my poor +marksmanship. “I have heard the sealers talk about clubbing them.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are so pretty,” she objected. “I cannot bear to think +of it being done. It is so directly brutal, you know; so different from +shooting them.” +</p> + +<p> +“That roof must go on,” I answered grimly. “Winter is almost +here. It is our lives against theirs. It is unfortunate we haven’t plenty +of ammunition, but I think, anyway, that they suffer less from being clubbed +than from being all shot up. Besides, I shall do the clubbing.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just it,” she began eagerly, and broke off in sudden +confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” I began, “if you prefer—” +</p> + +<p> +“But what shall I be doing?” she interrupted, with that softness I +knew full well to be insistence. +</p> + +<p> +“Gathering firewood and cooking dinner,” I answered lightly. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. “It is too dangerous for you to attempt alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, I know,” she waived my protest. “I am only a weak +woman, but just my small assistance may enable you to escape disaster.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the clubbing?” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, you will do that. I shall probably scream. I’ll look +away when—” +</p> + +<p> +“The danger is most serious,” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall use my judgment when to look and when not to look,” she +replied with a grand air. +</p> + +<p> +The upshot of the affair was that she accompanied me next morning. I rowed into +the adjoining cove and up to the edge of the beach. There were seals all about +us in the water, and the bellowing thousands on the beach compelled us to shout +at each other to make ourselves heard. +</p> + +<p> +“I know men club them,” I said, trying to reassure myself, and +gazing doubtfully at a large bull, not thirty feet away, upreared on his +fore-flippers and regarding me intently. “But the question is, How do +they club them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us gather tundra grass and thatch the roof,” Maud said. +</p> + +<p> +She was as frightened as I at the prospect, and we had reason to be gazing at +close range at the gleaming teeth and dog-like mouths. +</p> + +<p> +“I always thought they were afraid of men,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know they are not afraid?” I queried a moment later, +after having rowed a few more strokes along the beach. “Perhaps, if I +were to step boldly ashore, they would cut for it, and I could not catch up +with one.” And still I hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard of a man, once, who invaded the nesting grounds of wild +geese,” Maud said. “They killed him.” +</p> + +<p> +“The geese?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the geese. My brother told me about it when I was a little +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I know men club them,” I persisted. +</p> + +<p> +“I think the tundra grass will make just as good a roof,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Far from her intention, her words were maddening me, driving me on. I could not +play the coward before her eyes. “Here goes,” I said, backing water +with one oar and running the bow ashore. +</p> + +<p> +I stepped out and advanced valiantly upon a long-maned bull in the midst of his +wives. I was armed with the regular club with which the boat-pullers killed the +wounded seals gaffed aboard by the hunters. It was only a foot and a half long, +and in my superb ignorance I never dreamed that the club used ashore when +raiding the rookeries measured four to five feet. The cows lumbered out of my +way, and the distance between me and the bull decreased. He raised himself on +his flippers with an angry movement. We were a dozen feet apart. Still I +advanced steadily, looking for him to turn tail at any moment and run. +</p> + +<p> +At six feet the panicky thought rushed into my mind, What if he will not run? +Why, then I shall club him, came the answer. In my fear I had forgotten that I +was there to get the bull instead of to make him run. And just then he gave a +snort and a snarl and rushed at me. His eyes were blazing, his mouth was wide +open; the teeth gleamed cruelly white. Without shame, I confess that it was I +who turned and footed it. He ran awkwardly, but he ran well. He was but two +paces behind when I tumbled into the boat, and as I shoved off with an oar his +teeth crunched down upon the blade. The stout wood was crushed like an +egg-shell. Maud and I were astounded. A moment later he had dived under the +boat, seized the keel in his mouth, and was shaking the boat violently. +</p> + +<p> +“My!” said Maud. “Let’s go back.” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. “I can do what other men have done, and I know that +other men have clubbed seals. But I think I’ll leave the bulls alone next +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t say, ‘Please, please,’” I cried, half +angrily, I do believe. +</p> + +<p> +She made no reply, and I knew my tone must have hurt her. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” I said, or shouted, rather, in order to make +myself heard above the roar of the rookery. “If you say so, I’ll +turn and go back; but honestly, I’d rather stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t say that this is what you get for bringing a woman +along,” she said. She smiled at me whimsically, gloriously, and I knew +there was no need for forgiveness. +</p> + +<p> +I rowed a couple of hundred feet along the beach so as to recover my nerves, +and then stepped ashore again. +</p> + +<p> +“Do be cautious,” she called after me. +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my head and proceeded to make a flank attack on the nearest harem. All +went well until I aimed a blow at an outlying cow's head and fell short. She +snorted and tried to scramble away. I ran in close and struck another blow, +hitting the shoulder instead of the head. +</p> + +<p> +“Watch out!” I heard Maud scream. +</p> + +<p> +In my excitement I had not been taking notice of other things, and I looked up +to see the lord of the harem charging down upon me. Again I fled to the boat, +hotly pursued; but this time Maud made no suggestion of turning back. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be better, I imagine, if you let harems alone and devoted your +attention to lonely and inoffensive-looking seals,” was what she said. +“I think I have read something about them. Dr. Jordan’s book, I +believe. They are the young bulls, not old enough to have harems of their own. +He called them the holluschickie, or something like that. It seems to me if we +find where they haul out—” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me that your fighting instinct is aroused,” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +She flushed quickly and prettily. “I’ll admit I don’t like +defeat any more than you do, or any more than I like the idea of killing such +pretty, inoffensive creatures.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty!” I sniffed. “I failed to mark anything pre-eminently +pretty about those foamy-mouthed beasts that raced me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your point of view,” she laughed. “You lacked perspective. +Now if you did not have to get so close to the subject—” +</p> + +<p> +“The very thing!” I cried. “What I need is a longer club. And +there’s that broken oar ready to hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“It just comes to me,” she said, “that Captain Larsen was +telling me how the men raided the rookeries. They drive the seals, in small +herds, a short distance inland before they kill them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care to undertake the herding of one of those +harems,” I objected. +</p> + +<p> +“But there are the holluschickie,” she said. “The +holluschickie haul out by themselves, and Dr. Jordan says that paths are left +between the harems, and that as long as the holluschickie keep strictly to the +path they are unmolested by the masters of the harem.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one now,” I said, pointing to a young bull in the +water. “Let’s watch him, and follow him if he hauls out.” +</p> + +<p> +He swam directly to the beach and clambered out into a small opening between +two harems, the masters of which made warning noises but did not attack him. We +watched him travel slowly inward, threading about among the harems along what +must have been the path. +</p> + +<p> +“Here goes,” I said, stepping out; but I confess my heart was in my +mouth as I thought of going through the heart of that monstrous herd. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be wise to make the boat fast,” Maud said. +</p> + +<p> +She had stepped out beside me, and I regarded her with wonderment. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded her head determinedly. “Yes, I’m going with you, so you +may as well secure the boat and arm me with a club.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go back,” I said dejectedly. “I think tundra +grass, will do, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know it won’t,” was her reply. “Shall I +lead?” +</p> + +<p> +With a shrug of the shoulders, but with the warmest admiration and pride at +heart for this woman, I equipped her with the broken oar and took another for +myself. It was with nervous trepidation that we made the first few rods of the +journey. Once Maud screamed in terror as a cow thrust an inquisitive nose +toward her foot, and several times I quickened my pace for the same reason. +But, beyond warning coughs from either side, there were no signs of hostility. +It was a rookery which had never been raided by the hunters, and in consequence +the seals were mild-tempered and at the same time unafraid. +</p> + +<p> +In the very heart of the herd the din was terrific. It was almost dizzying in +its effect. I paused and smiled reassuringly at Maud, for I had recovered my +equanimity sooner than she. I could see that she was still badly frightened. +She came close to me and shouted: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m dreadfully afraid!” +</p> + +<p> +And I was not. Though the novelty had not yet worn off, the peaceful +comportment of the seals had quieted my alarm. Maud was trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid, and I’m not afraid,” she chattered with +shaking jaws. “It’s my miserable body, not I.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right, it’s all right,” I reassured her, my +arm passing instinctively and protectingly around her. +</p> + +<p> +I shall never forget, in that moment, how instantly conscious I became of my +manhood. The primitive deeps of my nature stirred. I felt myself masculine, the +protector of the weak, the fighting male. And, best of all, I felt myself the +protector of my loved one. She leaned against me, so light and lily-frail, and +as her trembling eased away it seemed as though I became aware of prodigious +strength. I felt myself a match for the most ferocious bull in the herd, and I +know, had such a bull charged upon me, that I should have met it unflinchingly +and quite coolly, and I know that I should have killed it. +</p> + +<p> +“I am all right now,” she said, looking up at me gratefully. +“Let us go on.” +</p> + +<p> +And that the strength in me had quieted her and given her confidence, filled me +with an exultant joy. The youth of the race seemed burgeoning in me, +over-civilized man that I was, and I lived for myself the old hunting days and +forest nights of my remote and forgotten ancestry. I had much for which to +thank Wolf Larsen, was my thought as we went along the path between the +jostling harems. +</p> + +<p> +A quarter of a mile inland we came upon the holluschickie—sleek young +bulls, living out the loneliness of their bachelorhood and gathering strength +against the day when they would fight their way into the ranks of the +Benedicts. +</p> + +<p> +Everything now went smoothly. I seemed to know just what to do and how to do +it. Shouting, making threatening gestures with my club, and even prodding the +lazy ones, I quickly cut out a score of the young bachelors from their +companions. Whenever one made an attempt to break back toward the water, I +headed it off. Maud took an active part in the drive, and with her cries and +flourishings of the broken oar was of considerable assistance. I noticed, +though, that whenever one looked tired and lagged, she let it slip past. But I +noticed, also, whenever one, with a show of fight, tried to break past, that +her eyes glinted and showed bright, and she rapped it smartly with her club. +</p> + +<p> +“My, it’s exciting!” she cried, pausing from sheer weakness. +“I think I’ll sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +I drove the little herd (a dozen strong, now, what of the escapes she had +permitted) a hundred yards farther on; and by the time she joined me I had +finished the slaughter and was beginning to skin. An hour later we went proudly +back along the path between the harems. And twice again we came down the path +burdened with skins, till I thought we had enough to roof the hut. I set the +sail, laid one tack out of the cove, and on the other tack made our own little +inner cove. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just like home-coming,” Maud said, as I ran the boat +ashore. +</p> + +<p> +I heard her words with a responsive thrill, it was all so dearly intimate and +natural, and I said: +</p> + +<p> +“It seems as though I have lived this life always. The world of books and +bookish folk is very vague, more like a dream memory than an actuality. I +surely have hunted and forayed and fought all the days of my life. And you, +too, seem a part of it. You are—” I was on the verge of saying, +“my woman, my mate,” but glibly changed it to—“standing +the hardship well.” +</p> + +<p> +But her ear had caught the flaw. She recognized a flight that midmost broke. +She gave me a quick look. +</p> + +<p> +“Not that. You were saying—?” +</p> + +<p> +“That the American Mrs. Meynell was living the life of a savage and +living it quite successfully,” I said easily. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” was all she replied; but I could have sworn there was a note +of disappointment in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +But “my woman, my mate” kept ringing in my head for the rest of the +day and for many days. Yet never did it ring more loudly than that night, as I +watched her draw back the blanket of moss from the coals, blow up the fire, and +cook the evening meal. It must have been latent savagery stirring in me, for +the old words, so bound up with the roots of the race, to grip me and thrill +me. And grip and thrill they did, till I fell asleep, murmuring them to myself +over and over again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<p> +“It will smell,” I said, “but it will keep in the heat and +keep out the rain and snow.” +</p> + +<p> +We were surveying the completed seal-skin roof. +</p> + +<p> +“It is clumsy, but it will serve the purpose, and that is the main +thing,” I went on, yearning for her praise. +</p> + +<p> +And she clapped her hands and declared that she was hugely pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“But it is dark in here,” she said the next moment, her shoulders +shrinking with a little involuntary shiver. +</p> + +<p> +“You might have suggested a window when the walls were going up,” I +said. “It was for you, and you should have seen the need of a +window.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I never do see the obvious, you know,” she laughed back. +“And besides, you can knock a hole in the wall at any time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite true; I had not thought of it,” I replied, wagging my head +sagely. “But have you thought of ordering the window-glass? Just call up +the firm,—Red, 4451, I think it is,—and tell them what size and +kind of glass you wish.” +</p> + +<p> +“That means—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“No window.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a dark and evil-appearing thing, that hut, not fit for aught better than +swine in a civilized land; but for us, who had known the misery of the open +boat, it was a snug little habitation. Following the housewarming, which was +accomplished by means of seal-oil and a wick made from cotton calking, came the +hunting for our winter’s meat and the building of the second hut. It was +a simple affair, now, to go forth in the morning and return by noon with a +boatload of seals. And then, while I worked at building the hut, Maud tried out +the oil from the blubber and kept a slow fire under the frames of meat. I had +heard of jerking beef on the plains, and our seal-meat, cut in thin strips and +hung in the smoke, cured excellently. +</p> + +<p> +The second hut was easier to erect, for I built it against the first, and only +three walls were required. But it was work, hard work, all of it. Maud and I +worked from dawn till dark, to the limit of our strength, so that when night +came we crawled stiffly to bed and slept the animal-like sleep of exhaustion. +And yet Maud declared that she had never felt better or stronger in her life. I +knew this was true of myself, but hers was such a lily strength that I feared +she would break down. Often and often, her last-reserve force gone, I have seen +her stretched flat on her back on the sand in the way she had of resting and +recuperating. And then she would be up on her feet and toiling hard as ever. +Where she obtained this strength was the marvel to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Think of the long rest this winter,” was her reply to my +remonstrances. “Why, we’ll be clamorous for something to do.” +</p> + +<p> +We held a housewarming in my hut the night it was roofed. It was the end of the +third day of a fierce storm which had swung around the compass from the +south-east to the north-west, and which was then blowing directly in upon us. +The beaches of the outer cove were thundering with the surf, and even in our +land-locked inner cove a respectable sea was breaking. No high backbone of +island sheltered us from the wind, and it whistled and bellowed about the hut +till at times I feared for the strength of the walls. The skin roof, stretched +tightly as a drumhead, I had thought, sagged and bellied with every gust; and +innumerable interstices in the walls, not so tightly stuffed with moss as Maud +had supposed, disclosed themselves. Yet the seal-oil burned brightly and we +were warm and comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +It was a pleasant evening indeed, and we voted that as a social function on +Endeavour Island it had not yet been eclipsed. Our minds were at ease. Not only +had we resigned ourselves to the bitter winter, but we were prepared for it. +The seals could depart on their mysterious journey into the south at any time, +now, for all we cared; and the storms held no terror for us. Not only were we +sure of being dry and warm and sheltered from the wind, but we had the softest +and most luxurious mattresses that could be made from moss. This had been +Maud’s idea, and she had herself jealously gathered all the moss. This +was to be my first night on the mattress, and I knew I should sleep the sweeter +because she had made it. +</p> + +<p> +As she rose to go she turned to me with the whimsical way she had, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Something is going to happen—is happening, for that matter. I feel +it. Something is coming here, to us. It is coming now. I don’t know what, +but it is coming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good or bad?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. “I don’t know, but it is there, +somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +She pointed in the direction of the sea and wind. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a lee shore,” I laughed, “and I am sure I’d +rather be here than arriving, a night like this.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not frightened?” I asked, as I stepped to open the door +for her. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes looked bravely into mine. +</p> + +<p> +“And you feel well? perfectly well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never better,” was her answer. +</p> + +<p> +We talked a little longer before she went. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Maud,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Humphrey,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +This use of our given names had come about quite as a matter of course, and was +as unpremeditated as it was natural. In that moment I could have put my arms +around her and drawn her to me. I should certainly have done so out in that +world to which we belonged. As it was, the situation stopped there in the only +way it could; but I was left alone in my little hut, glowing warmly through and +through with a pleasant satisfaction; and I knew that a tie, or a tacit +something, existed between us which had not existed before. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<p> +I awoke, oppressed by a mysterious sensation. There seemed something missing in +my environment. But the mystery and oppressiveness vanished after the first few +seconds of waking, when I identified the missing something as the wind. I had +fallen asleep in that state of nerve tension with which one meets the +continuous shock of sound or movement, and I had awakened, still tense, bracing +myself to meet the pressure of something which no longer bore upon me. +</p> + +<p> +It was the first night I had spent under cover in several months, and I lay +luxuriously for some minutes under my blankets (for once not wet with fog or +spray), analysing, first, the effect produced upon me by the cessation of the +wind, and next, the joy which was mine from resting on the mattress made by +Maud’s hands. When I had dressed and opened the door, I heard the waves +still lapping on the beach, garrulously attesting the fury of the night. It was +a clear day, and the sun was shining. I had slept late, and I stepped outside +with sudden energy, bent upon making up lost time as befitted a dweller on +Endeavour Island. +</p> + +<p> +And when outside, I stopped short. I believed my eyes without question, and yet +I was for the moment stunned by what they disclosed to me. There, on the beach, +not fifty feet away, bow on, dismasted, was a black-hulled vessel. Masts and +booms, tangled with shrouds, sheets, and rent canvas, were rubbing gently +alongside. I could have rubbed my eyes as I looked. There was the home-made +galley we had built, the familiar break of the poop, the low yacht-cabin +scarcely rising above the rail. It was the <i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +What freak of fortune had brought it here—here of all spots? what chance +of chances? I looked at the bleak, inaccessible wall at my back and knew the +profundity of despair. Escape was hopeless, out of the question. I thought of +Maud, asleep there in the hut we had reared; I remembered her +“Good-night, Humphrey”; “my woman, my mate,” went +ringing through my brain, but now, alas, it was a knell that sounded. Then +everything went black before my eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Possibly it was the fraction of a second, but I had no knowledge of how long an +interval had lapsed before I was myself again. There lay the <i>Ghost</i>, bow +on to the beach, her splintered bowsprit projecting over the sand, her tangled +spars rubbing against her side to the lift of the crooning waves. Something +must be done, must be done. +</p> + +<p> +It came upon me suddenly, as strange, that nothing moved aboard. Wearied from +the night of struggle and wreck, all hands were yet asleep, I thought. My next +thought was that Maud and I might yet escape. If we could take to the boat and +make round the point before any one awoke? I would call her and start. My hand +was lifted at her door to knock, when I recollected the smallness of the +island. We could never hide ourselves upon it. There was nothing for us but the +wide raw ocean. I thought of our snug little huts, our supplies of meat and oil +and moss and firewood, and I knew that we could never survive the wintry sea +and the great storms which were to come. +</p> + +<p> +So I stood, with hesitant knuckle, without her door. It was impossible, +impossible. A wild thought of rushing in and killing her as she slept rose in +my mind. And then, in a flash, the better solution came to me. All hands were +asleep. Why not creep aboard the <i>Ghost</i>,—well I knew the way to +Wolf Larsen’s bunk,—and kill him in his sleep? After +that—well, we would see. But with him dead there was time and space in +which to prepare to do other things; and besides, whatever new situation arose, +it could not possibly be worse than the present one. +</p> + +<p> +My knife was at my hip. I returned to my hut for the shot-gun, made sure it was +loaded, and went down to the <i>Ghost</i>. With some difficulty, and at the +expense of a wetting to the waist, I climbed aboard. The forecastle scuttle was +open. I paused to listen for the breathing of the men, but there was no +breathing. I almost gasped as the thought came to me: What if the <i>Ghost</i> +is deserted? I listened more closely. There was no sound. I cautiously +descended the ladder. The place had the empty and musty feel and smell usual to +a dwelling no longer inhabited. Everywhere was a thick litter of discarded and +ragged garments, old sea-boots, leaky oilskins—all the worthless +forecastle dunnage of a long voyage. +</p> + +<p> +Abandoned hastily, was my conclusion, as I ascended to the deck. Hope was alive +again in my breast, and I looked about me with greater coolness. I noted that +the boats were missing. The steerage told the same tale as the forecastle. The +hunters had packed their belongings with similar haste. The <i>Ghost</i> was +deserted. It was Maud’s and mine. I thought of the ship’s stores +and the lazarette beneath the cabin, and the idea came to me of surprising Maud +with something nice for breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +The reaction from my fear, and the knowledge that the terrible deed I had come +to do was no longer necessary, made me boyish and eager. I went up the steerage +companion-way two steps at a time, with nothing distinct in my mind except joy +and the hope that Maud would sleep on until the surprise breakfast was quite +ready for her. As I rounded the galley, a new satisfaction was mine at thought +of all the splendid cooking utensils inside. I sprang up the break of the poop, +and saw—Wolf Larsen. What of my impetus and the stunning surprise, I +clattered three or four steps along the deck before I could stop myself. He was +standing in the companion-way, only his head and shoulders visible, staring +straight at me. His arms were resting on the half-open slide. He made no +movement whatever—simply stood there, staring at me. +</p> + +<p> +I began to tremble. The old stomach sickness clutched me. I put one hand on the +edge of the house to steady myself. My lips seemed suddenly dry and I moistened +them against the need of speech. Nor did I for an instant take my eyes off him. +Neither of us spoke. There was something ominous in his silence, his +immobility. All my old fear of him returned and my new fear was increased an +hundred-fold. And still we stood, the pair of us, staring at each other. +</p> + +<p> +I was aware of the demand for action, and, my old helplessness strong upon me, +I was waiting for him to take the initiative. Then, as the moments went by, it +came to me that the situation was analogous to the one in which I had +approached the long-maned bull, my intention of clubbing obscured by fear until +it became a desire to make him run. So it was at last impressed upon me that I +was there, not to have Wolf Larsen take the initiative, but to take it myself. +</p> + +<p> +I cocked both barrels and levelled the shot-gun at him. Had he moved, attempted +to drop down the companion-way, I know I would have shot him. But he stood +motionless and staring as before. And as I faced him, with levelled gun shaking +in my hands, I had time to note the worn and haggard appearance of his face. It +was as if some strong anxiety had wasted it. The cheeks were sunken, and there +was a wearied, puckered expression on the brow. And it seemed to me that his +eyes were strange, not only the expression, but the physical seeming, as though +the optic nerves and supporting muscles had suffered strain and slightly +twisted the eyeballs. +</p> + +<p> +All this I saw, and my brain now working rapidly, I thought a thousand +thoughts; and yet I could not pull the triggers. I lowered the gun and stepped +to the corner of the cabin, primarily to relieve the tension on my nerves and +to make a new start, and incidentally to be closer. Again I raised the gun. He +was almost at arm’s length. There was no hope for him. I was resolved. +There was no possible chance of missing him, no matter how poor my +marksmanship. And yet I wrestled with myself and could not pull the triggers. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” he demanded impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +I strove vainly to force my fingers down on the triggers, and vainly I strove +to say something. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you shoot?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +I cleared my throat of a huskiness which prevented speech. “Hump,” +he said slowly, “you can’t do it. You are not exactly afraid. You +are impotent. Your conventional morality is stronger than you. You are the +slave to the opinions which have credence among the people you have known and +have read about. Their code has been drummed into your head from the time you +lisped, and in spite of your philosophy, and of what I have taught you, it +won’t let you kill an unarmed, unresisting man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” I said hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“And you know that I would kill an unarmed man as readily as I would +smoke a cigar,” he went on. “You know me for what I am,—my +worth in the world by your standard. You have called me snake, tiger, shark, +monster, and Caliban. And yet, you little rag puppet, you little echoing +mechanism, you are unable to kill me as you would a snake or a shark, because I +have hands, feet, and a body shaped somewhat like yours. Bah! I had hoped +better things of you, Hump.” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped out of the companion-way and came up to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Put down that gun. I want to ask you some questions. I haven’t had +a chance to look around yet. What place is this? How is the <i>Ghost</i> lying? +How did you get wet? Where’s Maud?—I beg your pardon, Miss +Brewster—or should I say, ‘Mrs. Van Weyden’?” +</p> + +<p> +I had backed away from him, almost weeping at my inability to shoot him, but +not fool enough to put down the gun. I hoped, desperately, that he might commit +some hostile act, attempt to strike me or choke me; for in such way only I knew +I could be stirred to shoot. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Endeavour Island,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Never heard of it,” he broke in. +</p> + +<p> +“At least, that’s our name for it,” I amended. +</p> + +<p> +“Our?” he queried. “Who’s our?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Brewster and myself. And the <i>Ghost</i> is lying, as you can see +for yourself, bow on to the beach.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are seals here,” he said. “They woke me up with their +barking, or I’d be sleeping yet. I heard them when I drove in last night. +They were the first warning that I was on a lee shore. It’s a rookery, +the kind of a thing I’ve hunted for years. Thanks to my brother Death, +I’ve lighted on a fortune. It’s a mint. What’s its +bearings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t the least idea,” I said. “But you ought to +know quite closely. What were your last observations?” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled inscrutably, but did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, where’s all hands?” I asked. “How does it come +that you are alone?” +</p> + +<p> +I was prepared for him again to set aside my question, and was surprised at the +readiness of his reply. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother got me inside forty-eight hours, and through no fault of +mine. Boarded me in the night with only the watch on deck. Hunters went back on +me. He gave them a bigger lay. Heard him offering it. Did it right before me. +Of course the crew gave me the go-by. That was to be expected. All hands went +over the side, and there I was, marooned on my own vessel. It was Death’s +turn, and it’s all in the family anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how did you lose the masts?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Walk over and examine those lanyards,” he said, pointing to where +the mizzen-rigging should have been. +</p> + +<p> +“They have been cut with a knife!” I exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite,” he laughed. “It was a neater job. Look +again.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked. The lanyards had been almost severed, with just enough left to hold +the shrouds till some severe strain should be put upon them. +</p> + +<p> +“Cooky did that,” he laughed again. “I know, though I +didn’t spot him at it. Kind of evened up the score a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good for Mugridge!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s what I thought when everything went over the side. +Only I said it on the other side of my mouth.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what were you doing while all this was going on?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“My best, you may be sure, which wasn’t much under the +circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +I turned to re-examine Thomas Mugridge’s work. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I’ll sit down and take the sunshine,” I heard Wolf +Larsen saying. +</p> + +<p> +There was a hint, just a slight hint, of physical feebleness in his voice, and +it was so strange that I looked quickly at him. His hand was sweeping nervously +across his face, as though he were brushing away cobwebs. I was puzzled. The +whole thing was so unlike the Wolf Larsen I had known. +</p> + +<p> +“How are your headaches?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“They still trouble me,” was his answer. “I think I have one +coming on now.” +</p> + +<p> +He slipped down from his sitting posture till he lay on the deck. Then he +rolled over on his side, his head resting on the biceps of the under arm, the +forearm shielding his eyes from the sun. I stood regarding him wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now’s your chance, Hump,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” I lied, for I thoroughly understood. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing,” he added softly, as if he were drowsing; “only +you’ve got me where you want me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I haven’t,” I retorted; “for I want you a few +thousand miles away from here.” +</p> + +<p> +He chuckled, and thereafter spoke no more. He did not stir as I passed by him +and went down into the cabin. I lifted the trap in the floor, but for some +moments gazed dubiously into the darkness of the lazarette beneath. I hesitated +to descend. What if his lying down were a ruse? Pretty, indeed, to be caught +there like a rat. I crept softly up the companion-way and peeped at him. He was +lying as I had left him. Again I went below; but before I dropped into the +lazarette I took the precaution of casting down the door in advance. At least +there would be no lid to the trap. But it was all needless. I regained the +cabin with a store of jams, sea-biscuits, canned meats, and such +things,—all I could carry,—and replaced the trap-door. +</p> + +<p> +A peep at Wolf Larsen showed me that he had not moved. A bright thought struck +me. I stole into his state-room and possessed myself of his revolvers. There +were no other weapons, though I thoroughly ransacked the three remaining +state-rooms. To make sure, I returned and went through the steerage and +forecastle, and in the galley gathered up all the sharp meat and vegetable +knives. Then I bethought me of the great yachtsman’s knife he always +carried, and I came to him and spoke to him, first softly, then loudly. He did +not move. I bent over and took it from his pocket. I breathed more freely. He +had no arms with which to attack me from a distance; while I, armed, could +always forestall him should he attempt to grapple me with his terrible gorilla +arms. +</p> + +<p> +Filling a coffee-pot and frying-pan with part of my plunder, and taking some +chinaware from the cabin pantry, I left Wolf Larsen lying in the sun and went +ashore. +</p> + +<p> +Maud was still asleep. I blew up the embers (we had not yet arranged a winter +kitchen), and quite feverishly cooked the breakfast. Toward the end, I heard +her moving about within the hut, making her toilet. Just as all was ready and +the coffee poured, the door opened and she came forth. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not fair of you,” was her greeting. “You are +usurping one of my prerogatives. You know you agreed that the cooking should +be mine, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“But just this once,” I pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +“If you promise not to do it again,” she smiled. “Unless, of +course, you have grown tired of my poor efforts.” +</p> + +<p> +To my delight she never once looked toward the beach, and I maintained the +banter with such success all unconsciously she sipped coffee from the china +cup, ate fried evaporated potatoes, and spread marmalade on her biscuit. But it +could not last. I saw the surprise that came over her. She had discovered the +china plate from which she was eating. She looked over the breakfast, noting +detail after detail. Then she looked at me, and her face turned slowly toward +the beach. +</p> + +<p> +“Humphrey!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The old unnamable terror mounted into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Is—he?” she quavered. +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my head. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<p> +We waited all day for Wolf Larsen to come ashore. It was an intolerable period +of anxiety. Each moment one or the other of us cast expectant glances toward +the <i>Ghost</i>. But he did not come. He did not even appear on deck. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is his headache,” I said. “I left him lying on +the poop. He may lie there all night. I think I’ll go and see.” +</p> + +<p> +Maud looked entreaty at me. +</p> + +<p> +“It is all right,” I assured her. “I shall take the +revolvers. You know I collected every weapon on board.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there are his arms, his hands, his terrible, terrible hands!” +she objected. And then she cried, “Oh, Humphrey, I am afraid of him! +Don’t go—please don’t go!” +</p> + +<p> +She rested her hand appealingly on mine, and sent my pulse fluttering. My heart +was surely in my eyes for a moment. The dear and lovely woman! And she was so +much the woman, clinging and appealing, sunshine and dew to my manhood, rooting +it deeper and sending through it the sap of a new strength. I was for putting +my arm around her, as when in the midst of the seal herd; but I considered, and +refrained. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not take any risks,” I said. “I’ll merely peep +over the bow and see.” +</p> + +<p> +She pressed my hand earnestly and let me go. But the space on deck where I had +left him lying was vacant. He had evidently gone below. That night we stood +alternate watches, one of us sleeping at a time; for there was no telling what +Wolf Larsen might do. He was certainly capable of anything. +</p> + +<p> +The next day we waited, and the next, and still he made no sign. +</p> + +<p> +“These headaches of his, these attacks,” Maud said, on the +afternoon of the fourth day; “Perhaps he is ill, very ill. He may be +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or dying,” was her afterthought when she had waited some time for +me to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Better so,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“But think, Humphrey, a fellow-creature in his last lonely hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, even perhaps,” she acknowledged. “But we do not know. +It would be terrible if he were. I could never forgive myself. We must do +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” I suggested again. +</p> + +<p> +I waited, smiling inwardly at the woman of her which compelled a solicitude for +Wolf Larsen, of all creatures. Where was her solicitude for me, I +thought,—for me whom she had been afraid to have merely peep aboard? +</p> + +<p> +She was too subtle not to follow the trend of my silence. And she was as direct +as she was subtle. +</p> + +<p> +“You must go aboard, Humphrey, and find out,” she said. “And +if you want to laugh at me, you have my consent and forgiveness.” +</p> + +<p> +I arose obediently and went down the beach. +</p> + +<p> +“Do be careful,” she called after me. +</p> + +<p> +I waved my arm from the forecastle head and dropped down to the deck. Aft I +walked to the cabin companion, where I contented myself with hailing below. +Wolf Larsen answered, and as he started to ascend the stairs I cocked my +revolver. I displayed it openly during our conversation, but he took no notice +of it. He appeared the same, physically, as when last I saw him, but he was +gloomy and silent. In fact, the few words we spoke could hardly be called a +conversation. I did not inquire why he had not been ashore, nor did he ask why +I had not come aboard. His head was all right again, he said, and so, without +further parley, I left him. +</p> + +<p> +Maud received my report with obvious relief, and the sight of smoke which later +rose in the galley put her in a more cheerful mood. The next day, and the next, +we saw the galley smoke rising, and sometimes we caught glimpses of him on the +poop. But that was all. He made no attempt to come ashore. This we knew, for we +still maintained our night-watches. We were waiting for him to do something, to +show his hand, so to say, and his inaction puzzled and worried us. +</p> + +<p> +A week of this passed by. We had no other interest than Wolf Larsen, and his +presence weighed us down with an apprehension which prevented us from doing any +of the little things we had planned. +</p> + +<p> +But at the end of the week the smoke ceased rising from the galley, and he no +longer showed himself on the poop. I could see Maud’s solicitude again +growing, though she timidly—and even proudly, I think—forbore a +repetition of her request. After all, what censure could be put upon her? She +was divinely altruistic, and she was a woman. Besides, I was myself aware of +hurt at thought of this man whom I had tried to kill, dying alone with his +fellow-creatures so near. He was right. The code of my group was stronger than +I. The fact that he had hands, feet, and a body shaped somewhat like mine, +constituted a claim which I could not ignore. +</p> + +<p> +So I did not wait a second time for Maud to send me. I discovered that we stood +in need of condensed milk and marmalade, and announced that I was going aboard. +I could see that she wavered. She even went so far as to murmur that they were +non-essentials and that my trip after them might be inexpedient. And as she had +followed the trend of my silence, she now followed the trend of my speech, and +she knew that I was going aboard, not because of condensed milk and marmalade, +but because of her and of her anxiety, which she knew she had failed to hide. +</p> + +<p> +I took off my shoes when I gained the forecastle head, and went noiselessly aft +in my stocking feet. Nor did I call this time from the top of the +companion-way. Cautiously descending, I found the cabin deserted. The door to +his state-room was closed. At first I thought of knocking, then I remembered my +ostensible errand and resolved to carry it out. Carefully avoiding noise, I +lifted the trap-door in the floor and set it to one side. The slop-chest, as +well as the provisions, was stored in the lazarette, and I took advantage of +the opportunity to lay in a stock of underclothing. +</p> + +<p> +As I emerged from the lazarette I heard sounds in Wolf Larsen’s +state-room. I crouched and listened. The door-knob rattled. Furtively, +instinctively, I slunk back behind the table and drew and cocked my revolver. +The door swung open and he came forth. Never had I seen so profound a despair +as that which I saw on his face,—the face of Wolf Larsen the fighter, the +strong man, the indomitable one. For all the world like a woman wringing her +hands, he raised his clenched fists and groaned. One fist unclosed, and the +open palm swept across his eyes as though brushing away cobwebs. +</p> + +<p> +“God! God!” he groaned, and the clenched fists were raised again to +the infinite despair with which his throat vibrated. +</p> + +<p> +It was horrible. I was trembling all over, and I could feel the shivers running +up and down my spine and the sweat standing out on my forehead. Surely there +can be little in this world more awful than the spectacle of a strong man in +the moment when he is utterly weak and broken. +</p> + +<p> +But Wolf Larsen regained control of himself by an exertion of his remarkable +will. And it was exertion. His whole frame shook with the struggle. He +resembled a man on the verge of a fit. His face strove to compose itself, +writhing and twisting in the effort till he broke down again. Once more the +clenched fists went upward and he groaned. He caught his breath once or twice +and sobbed. Then he was successful. I could have thought him the old Wolf +Larsen, and yet there was in his movements a vague suggestion of weakness and +indecision. He started for the companion-way, and stepped forward quite as I +had been accustomed to see him do; and yet again, in his very walk, there +seemed that suggestion of weakness and indecision. +</p> + +<p> +I was now concerned with fear for myself. The open trap lay directly in his +path, and his discovery of it would lead instantly to his discovery of me. I +was angry with myself for being caught in so cowardly a position, crouching on +the floor. There was yet time. I rose swiftly to my feet, and, I know, quite +unconsciously assumed a defiant attitude. He took no notice of me. Nor did he +notice the open trap. Before I could grasp the situation, or act, he had walked +right into the trap. One foot was descending into the opening, while the other +foot was just on the verge of beginning the uplift. But when the descending +foot missed the solid flooring and felt vacancy beneath, it was the old Wolf +Larsen and the tiger muscles that made the falling body spring across the +opening, even as it fell, so that he struck on his chest and stomach, with arms +outstretched, on the floor of the opposite side. The next instant he had drawn +up his legs and rolled clear. But he rolled into my marmalade and underclothes +and against the trap-door. +</p> + +<p> +The expression on his face was one of complete comprehension. But before I +could guess what he had comprehended, he had dropped the trap-door into place, +closing the lazarette. Then I understood. He thought he had me inside. Also, he +was blind, blind as a bat. I watched him, breathing carefully so that he should +not hear me. He stepped quickly to his state-room. I saw his hand miss the +door-knob by an inch, quickly fumble for it, and find it. This was my chance. I +tiptoed across the cabin and to the top of the stairs. He came back, dragging a +heavy sea-chest, which he deposited on top of the trap. Not content with this +he fetched a second chest and placed it on top of the first. Then he gathered +up the marmalade and underclothes and put them on the table. When he started up +the companion-way, I retreated, silently rolling over on top of the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +He shoved the slide part way back and rested his arms on it, his body still in +the companion-way. His attitude was of one looking forward the length of the +schooner, or staring, rather, for his eyes were fixed and unblinking. I was +only five feet away and directly in what should have been his line of vision. +It was uncanny. I felt myself a ghost, what of my invisibility. I waved my hand +back and forth, of course without effect; but when the moving shadow fell +across his face I saw at once that he was susceptible to the impression. His +face became more expectant and tense as he tried to analyze and identify the +impression. He knew that he had responded to something from without, that his +sensibility had been touched by a changing something in his environment; but +what it was he could not discover. I ceased waving my hand, so that the shadow +remained stationary. He slowly moved his head back and forth under it and +turned from side to side, now in the sunshine, now in the shade, feeling the +shadow, as it were, testing it by sensation. +</p> + +<p> +I, too, was busy, trying to reason out how he was aware of the existence of so +intangible a thing as a shadow. If it were his eyeballs only that were +affected, or if his optic nerve were not wholly destroyed, the explanation was +simple. If otherwise, then the only conclusion I could reach was that the +sensitive skin recognized the difference of temperature between shade and +sunshine. Or, perhaps,—who can tell?—it was that fabled sixth sense +which conveyed to him the loom and feel of an object close at hand. +</p> + +<p> +Giving over his attempt to determine the shadow, he stepped on deck and started +forward, walking with a swiftness and confidence which surprised me. And still +there was that hint of the feebleness of the blind in his walk. I knew it now +for what it was. +</p> + +<p> +To my amused chagrin, he discovered my shoes on the forecastle head and brought +them back with him into the galley. I watched him build the fire and set about +cooking food for himself; then I stole into the cabin for my marmalade and +underclothes, slipped back past the galley, and climbed down to the beach to +deliver my barefoot report. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<p> +“It’s too bad the <i>Ghost</i> has lost her masts. Why we could +sail away in her. Don’t you think we could, Humphrey?” +</p> + +<p> +I sprang excitedly to my feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder, I wonder,” I repeated, pacing up and down. +</p> + +<p> +Maud’s eyes were shining with anticipation as they followed me. She had +such faith in me! And the thought of it was so much added power. I remembered +Michelet’s “To man, woman is as the earth was to her legendary son; +he has but to fall down and kiss her breast and he is strong again.” For +the first time I knew the wonderful truth of his words. Why, I was living them. +Maud was all this to me, an unfailing source of strength and courage. I had +but to look at her, or think of her, and be strong again. +</p> + +<p> +“It can be done, it can be done,” I was thinking and asserting +aloud. “What men have done, I can do; and if they have never done this +before, still I can do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What? for goodness’ sake,” Maud demanded. “Do be +merciful. What is it you can do?” +</p> + +<p> +“We can do it,” I amended. “Why, nothing else than put the +masts back into the <i>Ghost</i> and sail away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humphrey!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +And I felt as proud of my conception as if it were already a fact accomplished. +</p> + +<p> +“But how is it possible to be done?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” was my answer. “I know only that I am +capable of doing anything these days.” +</p> + +<p> +I smiled proudly at her—too proudly, for she dropped her eyes and was for +the moment silent. +</p> + +<p> +“But there is Captain Larsen,” she objected. +</p> + +<p> +“Blind and helpless,” I answered promptly, waving him aside as a +straw. +</p> + +<p> +“But those terrible hands of his! You know how he leaped across the +opening of the lazarette.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you know also how I crept about and avoided him,” I contended +gaily. +</p> + +<p> +“And lost your shoes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d hardly expect them to avoid Wolf Larsen without my feet +inside of them.” +</p> + +<p> +We both laughed, and then went seriously to work constructing the plan whereby +we were to step the masts of the <i>Ghost</i> and return to the world. I +remembered hazily the physics of my school days, while the last few months had +given me practical experience with mechanical purchases. I must say, though, +when we walked down to the <i>Ghost</i> to inspect more closely the task before +us, that the sight of the great masts lying in the water almost disheartened +me. Where were we to begin? If there had been one mast standing, something high +up to which to fasten blocks and tackles! But there was nothing. It reminded me +of the problem of lifting oneself by one’s boot-straps. I understood the +mechanics of levers; but where was I to get a fulcrum? +</p> + +<p> +There was the mainmast, fifteen inches in diameter at what was now the butt, +still sixty-five feet in length, and weighing, I roughly calculated, at least +three thousand pounds. And then came the foremast, larger in diameter, and +weighing surely thirty-five hundred pounds. Where was I to begin? Maud stood +silently by my side, while I evolved in my mind the contrivance known among +sailors as “shears.” But, though known to sailors, I invented it +there on Endeavour Island. By crossing and lashing the ends of two spars, and +then elevating them in the air like an inverted “V,” I could get a +point above the deck to which to make fast my hoisting tackle. To this hoisting +tackle I could, if necessary, attach a second hoisting tackle. And then there +was the windlass! +</p> + +<p> +Maud saw that I had achieved a solution, and her eyes warmed sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Clear that raffle,” I answered, pointing to the tangled wreckage +overside. +</p> + +<p> +Ah, the decisiveness, the very sound of the words, was good in my ears. +“Clear that raffle!” Imagine so salty a phrase on the lips of the +Humphrey Van Weyden of a few months gone! +</p> + +<p> +There must have been a touch of the melodramatic in my pose and voice, for Maud +smiled. Her appreciation of the ridiculous was keen, and in all things she +unerringly saw and felt, where it existed, the touch of sham, the overshading, +the overtone. It was this which had given poise and penetration to her own work +and made her of worth to the world. The serious critic, with the sense of +humour and the power of expression, must inevitably command the world’s +ear. And so it was that she had commanded. Her sense of humour was really the +artist’s instinct for proportion. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I’ve heard it before, somewhere, in books,” +she murmured gleefully. +</p> + +<p> +I had an instinct for proportion myself, and I collapsed forthwith, descending +from the dominant pose of a master of matter to a state of humble confusion +which was, to say the least, very miserable. +</p> + +<p> +Her hand leapt out at once to mine. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so sorry,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“No need to be,” I gulped. “It does me good. There’s +too much of the schoolboy in me. All of which is neither here nor there. What +we’ve got to do is actually and literally to clear that raffle. If +you’ll come with me in the boat, we’ll get to work and straighten +things out.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘When the topmen clear the raffle with their clasp-knives in their +teeth,’” she quoted at me; and for the rest of the afternoon we +made merry over our labour. +</p> + +<p> +Her task was to hold the boat in position while I worked at the tangle. And +such a tangle—halyards, sheets, guys, down-hauls, shrouds, stays, all +washed about and back and forth and through, and twined and knotted by the sea. +I cut no more than was necessary, and what with passing the long ropes under +and around the booms and masts, of unreeving the halyards and sheets, of +coiling down in the boat and uncoiling in order to pass through another knot in +the bight, I was soon wet to the skin. +</p> + +<p> +The sails did require some cutting, and the canvas, heavy with water, tried my +strength severely; but I succeeded before nightfall in getting it all spread +out on the beach to dry. We were both very tired when we knocked off for +supper, and we had done good work, too, though to the eye it appeared +insignificant. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning, with Maud as able assistant, I went into the hold of the +<i>Ghost</i> to clear the steps of the mast-butts. We had no more than begun +work when the sound of my knocking and hammering brought Wolf Larsen. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello below!” he cried down the open hatch. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of his voice made Maud quickly draw close to me, as for protection, +and she rested one hand on my arm while we parleyed. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello on deck,” I replied. “Good-morning to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing down there?” he demanded. “Trying to +scuttle my ship for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite the opposite; I’m repairing her,” was my answer. +</p> + +<p> +“But what in thunder are you repairing?” There was puzzlement in +his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I’m getting everything ready for re-stepping the +masts,” I replied easily, as though it were the simplest project +imaginable. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems as though you’re standing on your own legs at last, +Hump,” we heard him say; and then for some time he was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“But I say, Hump,” he called down. “You can’t do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I can,” I retorted. “I’m doing it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“But this is my vessel, my particular property. What if I forbid +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget,” I replied. “You are no longer the biggest bit +of the ferment. You were, once, and able to eat me, as you were pleased to +phrase it; but there has been a diminishing, and I am now able to eat you. The +yeast has grown stale.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. “I see you’re working my +philosophy back on me for all it is worth. But don’t make the mistake of +under-estimating me. For your own good I warn you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since when have you become a philanthropist?” I queried. +“Confess, now, in warning me for my own good, that you are very +consistent.” +</p> + +<p> +He ignored my sarcasm, saying, “Suppose I clap the hatch on, now? You +won’t fool me as you did in the lazarette.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wolf Larsen,” I said sternly, for the first time addressing him by +this his most familiar name, “I am unable to shoot a helpless, +unresisting man. You have proved that to my satisfaction as well as yours. But +I warn you now, and not so much for your own good as for mine, that I shall +shoot you the moment you attempt a hostile act. I can shoot you now, as I stand +here; and if you are so minded, just go ahead and try to clap on the +hatch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless, I forbid you, I distinctly forbid your tampering with my +ship.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, man!” I expostulated, “you advance the fact that it is +your ship as though it were a moral right. You have never considered moral +rights in your dealings with others. You surely do not dream that I’ll +consider them in dealing with you?” +</p> + +<p> +I had stepped underneath the open hatchway so that I could see him. The lack of +expression on his face, so different from when I had watched him unseen, was +enhanced by the unblinking, staring eyes. It was not a pleasant face to look +upon. +</p> + +<p> +“And none so poor, not even Hump, to do him reverence,” he sneered. +</p> + +<p> +The sneer was wholly in his voice. His face remained expressionless as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Miss Brewster,” he said suddenly, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +I started. She had made no noise whatever, had not even moved. Could it be that +some glimmer of vision remained to him? or that his vision was coming back? +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Captain Larsen,” she answered. “Pray, how did +you know I was here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heard you breathing, of course. I say, Hump’s improving, +don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she answered, smiling at me. “I have +never seen him otherwise.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should have seen him before, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wolf Larsen, in large doses,” I murmured, “before and after +taking.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to tell you again, Hump,” he said threateningly, +“that you’d better leave things alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you care to escape as well as we?” I asked +incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” was his answer. “I intend dying here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we don’t,” I concluded defiantly, beginning again my +knocking and hammering. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<p> +Next day, the mast-steps clear and everything in readiness, we started to get +the two topmasts aboard. The maintopmast was over thirty feet in length, the +foretopmast nearly thirty, and it was of these that I intended making the +shears. It was puzzling work. Fastening one end of a heavy tackle to the +windlass, and with the other end fast to the butt of the foretopmast, I began +to heave. Maud held the turn on the windlass and coiled down the slack. +</p> + +<p> +We were astonished at the ease with which the spar was lifted. It was an +improved crank windlass, and the purchase it gave was enormous. Of course, what +it gave us in power we paid for in distance; as many times as it doubled my +strength, that many times was doubled the length of rope I heaved in. The +tackle dragged heavily across the rail, increasing its drag as the spar arose +more and more out of the water, and the exertion on the windlass grew severe. +</p> + +<p> +But when the butt of the topmast was level with the rail, everything came to a +standstill. +</p> + +<p> +“I might have known it,” I said impatiently. “Now we have to +do it all over again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not fasten the tackle part way down the mast?” Maud suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s what I should have done at first,” I answered, hugely +disgusted with myself. +</p> + +<p> +Slipping off a turn, I lowered the mast back into the water and fastened the +tackle a third of the way down from the butt. In an hour, what of this and of +rests between the heaving, I had hoisted it to the point where I could hoist no +more. Eight feet of the butt was above the rail, and I was as far away as ever +from getting the spar on board. I sat down and pondered the problem. It did not +take long. I sprang jubilantly to my feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I have it!” I cried. “I ought to make the tackle fast at +the point of balance. And what we learn of this will serve us with everything +else we have to hoist aboard.” +</p> + +<p> +Once again I undid all my work by lowering the mast into the water. But I +miscalculated the point of balance, so that when I heaved the top of the mast +came up instead of the butt. Maud looked despair, but I laughed and said it +would do just as well. +</p> + +<p> +Instructing her how to hold the turn and be ready to slack away at command, I +laid hold of the mast with my hands and tried to balance it inboard across the +rail. When I thought I had it I cried to her to slack away; but the spar +righted, despite my efforts, and dropped back toward the water. Again I heaved +it up to its old position, for I had now another idea. I remembered the +watch-tackle—a small double and single block affair—and fetched it. +</p> + +<p> +While I was rigging it between the top of the spar and the opposite rail, Wolf +Larsen came on the scene. We exchanged nothing more than good-mornings, and, +though he could not see, he sat on the rail out of the way and followed by the +sound all that I did. +</p> + +<p> +Again instructing Maud to slack away at the windlass when I gave the word, I +proceeded to heave on the watch-tackle. Slowly the mast swung in until it +balanced at right angles across the rail; and then I discovered to my amazement +that there was no need for Maud to slack away. In fact, the very opposite was +necessary. Making the watch-tackle fast, I hove on the windlass and brought in +the mast, inch by inch, till its top tilted down to the deck and finally its +whole length lay on the deck. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at my watch. It was twelve o’clock. My back was aching sorely, +and I felt extremely tired and hungry. And there on the deck was a single stick +of timber to show for a whole morning’s work. For the first time I +thoroughly realized the extent of the task before us. But I was learning, I was +learning. The afternoon would show far more accomplished. And it did; for we +returned at one o’clock, rested and strengthened by a hearty dinner. +</p> + +<p> +In less than an hour I had the maintopmast on deck and was constructing the +shears. Lashing the two topmasts together, and making allowance for their +unequal length, at the point of intersection I attached the double block of the +main throat-halyards. This, with the single block and the throat-halyards +themselves, gave me a hoisting tackle. To prevent the butts of the masts from +slipping on the deck, I nailed down thick cleats. Everything in readiness, I +made a line fast to the apex of the shears and carried it directly to the +windlass. I was growing to have faith in that windlass, for it gave me power +beyond all expectation. As usual, Maud held the turn while I heaved. The shears +rose in the air. +</p> + +<p> +Then I discovered I had forgotten guy-ropes. This necessitated my climbing the +shears, which I did twice, before I finished guying it fore and aft and to +either side. Twilight had set in by the time this was accomplished. Wolf +Larsen, who had sat about and listened all afternoon and never opened his +mouth, had taken himself off to the galley and started his supper. I felt quite +stiff across the small of the back, so much so that I straightened up with an +effort and with pain. I looked proudly at my work. It was beginning to show. I +was wild with desire, like a child with a new toy, to hoist something with my +shears. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish it weren’t so late,” I said. “I’d like to +see how it works.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a glutton, Humphrey,” Maud chided me. +“Remember, to-morrow is coming, and you’re so tired now that you +can hardly stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you?” I said, with sudden solicitude. “You must be very +tired. You have worked hard and nobly. I am proud of you, Maud.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not half so proud as I am of you, nor with half the reason,” she +answered, looking me straight in the eyes for a moment with an expression in +her own and a dancing, tremulous light which I had not seen before and which +gave me a pang of quick delight, I know not why, for I did not understand it. +Then she dropped her eyes, to lift them again, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“If our friends could see us now,” she said. “Look at us. +Have you ever paused for a moment to consider our appearance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have considered yours, frequently,” I answered, puzzling +over what I had seen in her eyes and puzzled by her sudden change of subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy!” she cried. “And what do I look like, pray?” +</p> + +<p> +“A scarecrow, I’m afraid,” I replied. “Just glance at +your draggled skirts, for instance. Look at those three-cornered tears. And +such a waist! It would not require a Sherlock Holmes to deduce that you have +been cooking over a camp-fire, to say nothing of trying out seal-blubber. And +to cap it all, that cap! And all that is the woman who wrote ‘A Kiss +Endured.’” +</p> + +<p> +She made me an elaborate and stately courtesy, and said, “As for you, +sir—” +</p> + +<p> +And yet, through the five minutes of banter which followed, there was a serious +something underneath the fun which I could not but relate to the strange and +fleeting expression I had caught in her eyes. What was it? Could it be that our +eyes were speaking beyond the will of our speech? My eyes had spoken, I knew, +until I had found the culprits out and silenced them. This had occurred several +times. But had she seen the clamour in them and understood? And had her eyes so +spoken to me? What else could that expression have meant—that dancing, +tremulous light, and a something more which words could not describe. And yet +it could not be. It was impossible. Besides, I was not skilled in the speech of +eyes. I was only Humphrey Van Weyden, a bookish fellow who loved. And to love, +and to wait and win love, that surely was glorious enough for me. And thus I +thought, even as we chaffed each other’s appearance, until we arrived +ashore and there were other things to think about. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a shame, after working hard all day, that we cannot have an +uninterrupted night’s sleep,” I complained, after supper. +</p> + +<p> +“But there can be no danger now? from a blind man?” she queried. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never be able to trust him,” I averred, “and far +less now that he is blind. The liability is that his part helplessness will +make him more malignant than ever. I know what I shall do to-morrow, the first +thing—run out a light anchor and kedge the schooner off the beach. And +each night when we come ashore in the boat, Mr. Wolf Larsen will be left a +prisoner on board. So this will be the last night we have to stand watch, and +because of that it will go the easier.” +</p> + +<p> +We were awake early and just finishing breakfast as daylight came. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Humphrey!” I heard Maud cry in dismay and suddenly stop. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at her. She was gazing at the <i>Ghost</i>. I followed her gaze, but +could see nothing unusual. She looked at me, and I looked inquiry back. +</p> + +<p> +“The shears,” she said, and her voice trembled. +</p> + +<p> +I had forgotten their existence. I looked again, but could not see them. +</p> + +<p> +“If he has—” I muttered savagely. +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand sympathetically on mine, and said, “You will have to +begin over again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, believe me, my anger means nothing; I could not hurt a fly,” I +smiled back bitterly. “And the worst of it is, he knows it. You are +right. If he has destroyed the shears, I shall do nothing except begin over +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’ll stand my watch on board hereafter,” I blurted out a +moment later. “And if he interferes—” +</p> + +<p> +“But I dare not stay ashore all night alone,” Maud was saying when +I came back to myself. “It would be so much nicer if he would be friendly +with us and help us. We could all live comfortably aboard.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will,” I asserted, still savagely, for the destruction of my +beloved shears had hit me hard. “That is, you and I will live aboard, +friendly or not with Wolf Larsen.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s childish,” I laughed later, “for him to do such +things, and for me to grow angry over them, for that matter.” +</p> + +<p> +But my heart smote me when we climbed aboard and looked at the havoc he had +done. The shears were gone altogether. The guys had been slashed right and +left. The throat-halyards which I had rigged were cut across through every +part. And he knew I could not splice. A thought struck me. I ran to the +windlass. It would not work. He had broken it. We looked at each other in +consternation. Then I ran to the side. The masts, booms, and gaffs I had +cleared were gone. He had found the lines which held them, and cast them +adrift. +</p> + +<p> +Tears were in Maud’s eyes, and I do believe they were for me. I could +have wept myself. Where now was our project of remasting the <i>Ghost</i>? He +had done his work well. I sat down on the hatch-combing and rested my chin on +my hands in black despair. +</p> + +<p> +“He deserves to die,” I cried out; “and God forgive me, I am +not man enough to be his executioner.” +</p> + +<p> +But Maud was by my side, passing her hand soothingly through my hair as though +I were a child, and saying, “There, there; it will all come right. We are +in the right, and it must come right.” +</p> + +<p> +I remembered Michelet and leaned my head against her; and truly I became strong +again. The blessed woman was an unfailing fount of power to me. What did it +matter? Only a set-back, a delay. The tide could not have carried the masts far +to seaward, and there had been no wind. It meant merely more work to find them +and tow them back. And besides, it was a lesson. I knew what to expect. He +might have waited and destroyed our work more effectually when we had more +accomplished. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he comes now,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +I glanced up. He was strolling leisurely along the poop on the port side. +</p> + +<p> +“Take no notice of him,” I whispered. “He’s coming to +see how we take it. Don’t let him know that we know. We can deny him that +satisfaction. Take off your shoes—that’s right—and carry them +in your hand.” +</p> + +<p> +And then we played hide-and-seek with the blind man. As he came up the port +side we slipped past on the starboard; and from the poop we watched him turn +and start aft on our track. +</p> + +<p> +He must have known, somehow, that we were on board, for he said +“Good-morning” very confidently, and waited for the greeting to be +returned. Then he strolled aft, and we slipped forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know you’re aboard,” he called out, and I could see +him listen intently after he had spoken. +</p> + +<p> +It reminded me of the great hoot-owl, listening, after its booming cry, for the +stir of its frightened prey. But we did not stir, and we moved only when he +moved. And so we dodged about the deck, hand in hand, like a couple of children +chased by a wicked ogre, till Wolf Larsen, evidently in disgust, left the deck +for the cabin. There was glee in our eyes, and suppressed titters in our +mouths, as we put on our shoes and clambered over the side into the boat. And +as I looked into Maud’s clear brown eyes I forgot the evil he had done, +and I knew only that I loved her, and that because of her the strength was mine +to win our way back to the world. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<p> +For two days Maud and I ranged the sea and explored the beaches in search of +the missing masts. But it was not till the third day that we found them, all of +them, the shears included, and, of all perilous places, in the pounding surf of +the grim south-western promontory. And how we worked! At the dark end of the +first day we returned, exhausted, to our little cove, towing the mainmast +behind us. And we had been compelled to row, in a dead calm, practically every +inch of the way. +</p> + +<p> +Another day of heart-breaking and dangerous toil saw us in camp with the two +topmasts to the good. The day following I was desperate, and I rafted together +the foremast, the fore and main booms, and the fore and main gaffs. The wind +was favourable, and I had thought to tow them back under sail, but the wind +baffled, then died away, and our progress with the oars was a snail’s +pace. And it was such dispiriting effort. To throw one’s whole strength +and weight on the oars and to feel the boat checked in its forward lunge by the +heavy drag behind, was not exactly exhilarating. +</p> + +<p> +Night began to fall, and to make matters worse, the wind sprang up ahead. Not +only did all forward motion cease, but we began to drift back and out to sea. I +struggled at the oars till I was played out. Poor Maud, whom I could never +prevent from working to the limit of her strength, lay weakly back in the +stern-sheets. I could row no more. My bruised and swollen hands could no longer +close on the oar handles. My wrists and arms ached intolerably, and though I +had eaten heartily of a twelve-o’clock lunch, I had worked so hard that I +was faint from hunger. +</p> + +<p> +I pulled in the oars and bent forward to the line which held the tow. But +Maud’s hand leaped out restrainingly to mine. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” she asked in a strained, tense voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Cast it off,” I answered, slipping a turn of the rope. +</p> + +<p> +But her fingers closed on mine. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t,” she begged. +</p> + +<p> +“It is useless,” I answered. “Here is night and the wind +blowing us off the land.” +</p> + +<p> +“But think, Humphrey. If we cannot sail away on the <i>Ghost</i>, we may +remain for years on the island—for life even. If it has never been +discovered all these years, it may never be discovered.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget the boat we found on the beach,” I reminded her. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a seal-hunting boat,” she replied, “and you know +perfectly well that if the men had escaped they would have been back to make +their fortunes from the rookery. You know they never escaped.” +</p> + +<p> +I remained silent, undecided. +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” she added haltingly, “it’s your idea, and I +want to see you succeed.” +</p> + +<p> +Now I could harden my heart. As soon as she put it on a flattering personal +basis, generosity compelled me to deny her. +</p> + +<p> +“Better years on the island than to die to-night, or to-morrow, or the +next day, in the open boat. We are not prepared to brave the sea. We have no +food, no water, no blankets, nothing. Why, you’d not survive the night +without blankets: I know how strong you are. You are shivering now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is only nervousness,” she answered. “I am afraid you will +cast off the masts in spite of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please, please, Humphrey, don’t!” she burst out, a +moment later. +</p> + +<p> +And so it ended, with the phrase she knew had all power over me. We shivered +miserably throughout the night. Now and again I fitfully slept, but the pain of +the cold always aroused me. How Maud could stand it was beyond me. I was too +tired to thrash my arms about and warm myself, but I found strength time and +again to chafe her hands and feet to restore the circulation. And still she +pleaded with me not to cast off the masts. About three in the morning she was +caught by a cold cramp, and after I had rubbed her out of that she became quite +numb. I was frightened. I got out the oars and made her row, though she was so +weak I thought she would faint at every stroke. +</p> + +<p> +Morning broke, and we looked long in the growing light for our island. At last +it showed, small and black, on the horizon, fully fifteen miles away. I scanned +the sea with my glasses. Far away in the south-west I could see a dark line on +the water, which grew even as I looked at it. +</p> + +<p> +“Fair wind!” I cried in a husky voice I did not recognize as my +own. +</p> + +<p> +Maud tried to reply, but could not speak. Her lips were blue with cold, and she +was hollow-eyed—but oh, how bravely her brown eyes looked at me! How +piteously brave! +</p> + +<p> +Again I fell to chafing her hands and to moving her arms up and down and about +until she could thrash them herself. Then I compelled her to stand up, and +though she would have fallen had I not supported her, I forced her to walk back +and forth the several steps between the thwart and the stern-sheets, and +finally to spring up and down. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you brave, brave woman,” I said, when I saw the life coming +back into her face. “Did you know that you were brave?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never used to be,” she answered. “I was never brave till I +knew you. It is you who have made me brave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I, until I knew you,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +She gave me a quick look, and again I caught that dancing, tremulous light and +something more in her eyes. But it was only for the moment. Then she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been the conditions,” she said; but I knew she was +wrong, and I wondered if she likewise knew. Then the wind came, fair and fresh, +and the boat was soon labouring through a heavy sea toward the island. At +half-past three in the afternoon we passed the south-western promontory. Not +only were we hungry, but we were now suffering from thirst. Our lips were dry +and cracked, nor could we longer moisten them with our tongues. Then the wind +slowly died down. By night it was dead calm and I was toiling once more at the +oars—but weakly, most weakly. At two in the morning the boat’s bow +touched the beach of our own inner cove and I staggered out to make the painter +fast. Maud could not stand, nor had I strength to carry her. I fell in the sand +with her, and, when I had recovered, contented myself with putting my hands +under her shoulders and dragging her up the beach to the hut. +</p> + +<p> +The next day we did no work. In fact, we slept till three in the afternoon, or +at least I did, for I awoke to find Maud cooking dinner. Her power of +recuperation was wonderful. There was something tenacious about that lily-frail +body of hers, a clutch on existence which one could not reconcile with its +patent weakness. +</p> + +<p> +“You know I was travelling to Japan for my health,” she said, as we +lingered at the fire after dinner and delighted in the movelessness of loafing. +“I was not very strong. I never was. The doctors recommended a sea +voyage, and I chose the longest.” +</p> + +<p> +“You little knew what you were choosing,” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“But I shall be a different women for the experience, as well as a +stronger woman,” she answered; “and, I hope a better woman. At +least I shall understand a great deal more of life.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as the short day waned, we fell to discussing Wolf Larsen’s +blindness. It was inexplicable. And that it was grave, I instanced his +statement that he intended to stay and die on Endeavour Island. When he, strong +man that he was, loving life as he did, accepted his death, it was plain that +he was troubled by something more than mere blindness. There had been his +terrific headaches, and we were agreed that it was some sort of brain +break-down, and that in his attacks he endured pain beyond our comprehension. +</p> + +<p> +I noticed as we talked over his condition, that Maud’s sympathy went out +to him more and more; yet I could not but love her for it, so sweetly womanly +was it. Besides, there was no false sentiment about her feeling. She was agreed +that the most rigorous treatment was necessary if we were to escape, though she +recoiled at the suggestion that I might some time be compelled to take his life +to save my own—“our own,” she put it. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning we had breakfast and were at work by daylight. I found a light +kedge anchor in the fore-hold, where such things were kept; and with a deal of +exertion got it on deck and into the boat. With a long running-line coiled down +in the stem, I rowed well out into our little cove and dropped the anchor into +the water. There was no wind, the tide was high, and the schooner floated. +Casting off the shore-lines, I kedged her out by main strength (the windlass +being broken), till she rode nearly up and down to the small anchor—too +small to hold her in any breeze. So I lowered the big starboard anchor, giving +plenty of slack; and by afternoon I was at work on the windlass. +</p> + +<p> +Three days I worked on that windlass. Least of all things was I a mechanic, and +in that time I accomplished what an ordinary machinist would have done in as +many hours. I had to learn my tools to begin with, and every simple mechanical +principle which such a man would have at his finger ends I had likewise to +learn. And at the end of three days I had a windlass which worked clumsily. It +never gave the satisfaction the old windlass had given, but it worked and made +my work possible. +</p> + +<p> +In half a day I got the two topmasts aboard and the shears rigged and guyed as +before. And that night I slept on board and on deck beside my work. Maud, who +refused to stay alone ashore, slept in the forecastle. Wolf Larsen had sat +about, listening to my repairing the windlass and talking with Maud and me upon +indifferent subjects. No reference was made on either side to the destruction +of the shears; nor did he say anything further about my leaving his ship alone. +But still I had feared him, blind and helpless and listening, always listening, +and I never let his strong arms get within reach of me while I worked. +</p> + +<p> +On this night, sleeping under my beloved shears, I was aroused by his footsteps +on the deck. It was a starlight night, and I could see the bulk of him dimly as +he moved about. I rolled out of my blankets and crept noiselessly after him in +my stocking feet. He had armed himself with a draw-knife from the tool-locker, +and with this he prepared to cut across the throat-halyards I had again rigged +to the shears. He felt the halyards with his hands and discovered that I had +not made them fast. This would not do for a draw-knife, so he laid hold of the +running part, hove taut, and made fast. Then he prepared to saw across with the +draw-knife. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” I said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +He heard the click of my pistol and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Hump,” he said. “I knew you were here all the time. +You can’t fool my ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a lie, Wolf Larsen,” I said, just as quietly as +before. “However, I am aching for a chance to kill you, so go ahead and +cut.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have the chance always,” he sneered. +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead and cut,” I threatened ominously. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather disappoint you,” he laughed, and turned on his +heel and went aft. +</p> + +<p> +“Something must be done, Humphrey,” Maud said, next morning, when I +had told her of the night’s occurrence. “If he has liberty, he may +do anything. He may sink the vessel, or set fire to it. There is no telling +what he may do. We must make him a prisoner.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how?” I asked, with a helpless shrug. “I dare not come +within reach of his arms, and he knows that so long as his resistance is +passive I cannot shoot him.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must be some way,” she contended. “Let me +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is one way,” I said grimly. +</p> + +<p> +She waited. +</p> + +<p> +I picked up a seal-club. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t kill him,” I said. “And before he could +recover I’d have him bound hard and fast.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head with a shudder. “No, not that. There must be some less +brutal way. Let us wait.” +</p> + +<p> +But we did not have to wait long, and the problem solved itself. In the +morning, after several trials, I found the point of balance in the foremast and +attached my hoisting tackle a few feet above it. Maud held the turn on the +windlass and coiled down while I heaved. Had the windlass been in order it +would not have been so difficult; as it was, I was compelled to apply all my +weight and strength to every inch of the heaving. I had to rest frequently. In +truth, my spells of resting were longer than those of working. Maud even +contrived, at times when all my efforts could not budge the windlass, to hold +the turn with one hand and with the other to throw the weight of her slim body +to my assistance. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of an hour the single and double blocks came together at the top of +the shears. I could hoist no more. And yet the mast was not swung entirely +inboard. The butt rested against the outside of the port rail, while the top of +the mast overhung the water far beyond the starboard rail. My shears were too +short. All my work had been for nothing. But I no longer despaired in the old +way. I was acquiring more confidence in myself and more confidence in the +possibilities of windlasses, shears, and hoisting tackles. There was a way in +which it could be done, and it remained for me to find that way. +</p> + +<p> +While I was considering the problem, Wolf Larsen came on deck. We noticed +something strange about him at once. The indecisiveness, or feebleness, of his +movements was more pronounced. His walk was actually tottery as he came down +the port side of the cabin. At the break of the poop he reeled, raised one hand +to his eyes with the familiar brushing gesture, and fell down the +steps—still on his feet—to the main deck, across which he +staggered, falling and flinging out his arms for support. He regained his +balance by the steerage companion-way and stood there dizzily for a space, when +he suddenly crumpled up and collapsed, his legs bending under him as he sank to +the deck. +</p> + +<p> +“One of his attacks,” I whispered to Maud. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded her head; and I could see sympathy warm in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +We went up to him, but he seemed unconscious, breathing spasmodically. She took +charge of him, lifting his head to keep the blood out of it and despatching me +to the cabin for a pillow. I also brought blankets, and we made him +comfortable. I took his pulse. It beat steadily and strong, and was quite +normal. This puzzled me. I became suspicious. +</p> + +<p> +“What if he should be feigning this?” I asked, still holding his +wrist. +</p> + +<p> +Maud shook her head, and there was reproof in her eyes. But just then the wrist +I held leaped from my hand, and the hand clasped like a steel trap about my +wrist. I cried aloud in awful fear, a wild inarticulate cry; and I caught one +glimpse of his face, malignant and triumphant, as his other hand compassed my +body and I was drawn down to him in a terrible grip. +</p> + +<p> +My wrist was released, but his other arm, passed around my back, held both my +arms so that I could not move. His free hand went to my throat, and in that +moment I knew the bitterest foretaste of death earned by one’s own +idiocy. Why had I trusted myself within reach of those terrible arms? I could +feel other hands at my throat. They were Maud’s hands, striving vainly to +tear loose the hand that was throttling me. She gave it up, and I heard her +scream in a way that cut me to the soul, for it was a woman’s scream of +fear and heart-breaking despair. I had heard it before, during the sinking of +the <i>Martinez</i>. +</p> + +<p> +My face was against his chest and I could not see, but I heard Maud turn and +run swiftly away along the deck. Everything was happening quickly. I had not +yet had a glimmering of unconsciousness, and it seemed that an interminable +period of time was lapsing before I heard her feet flying back. And just then I +felt the whole man sink under me. The breath was leaving his lungs and his +chest was collapsing under my weight. Whether it was merely the expelled +breath, or his consciousness of his growing impotence, I know not, but his +throat vibrated with a deep groan. The hand at my throat relaxed. I breathed. +It fluttered and tightened again. But even his tremendous will could not +overcome the dissolution that assailed it. That will of his was breaking down. +He was fainting. +</p> + +<p> +Maud’s footsteps were very near as his hand fluttered for the last time +and my throat was released. I rolled off and over to the deck on my back, +gasping and blinking in the sunshine. Maud was pale but composed,—my eyes +had gone instantly to her face,—and she was looking at me with mingled +alarm and relief. A heavy seal-club in her hand caught my eyes, and at that +moment she followed my gaze down to it. The club dropped from her hand as +though it had suddenly stung her, and at the same moment my heart surged with a +great joy. Truly she was my woman, my mate-woman, fighting with me and for me +as the mate of a caveman would have fought, all the primitive in her aroused, +forgetful of her culture, hard under the softening civilization of the only +life she had ever known. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear woman!” I cried, scrambling to my feet. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment she was in my arms, weeping convulsively on my shoulder while I +clasped her close. I looked down at the brown glory of her hair, glinting gems +in the sunshine far more precious to me than those in the treasure-chests of +kings. And I bent my head and kissed her hair softly, so softly that she did +not know. +</p> + +<p> +Then sober thought came to me. After all, she was only a woman, crying her +relief, now that the danger was past, in the arms of her protector or of the +one who had been endangered. Had I been father or brother, the situation would +have been in nowise different. Besides, time and place were not meet, and I +wished to earn a better right to declare my love. So once again I softly kissed +her hair as I felt her receding from my clasp. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a real attack this time,” I said: “another shock like +the one that made him blind. He feigned at first, and in doing so brought it +on.” +</p> + +<p> +Maud was already rearranging his pillow. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I said, “not yet. Now that I have him helpless, +helpless he shall remain. From this day we live in the cabin. Wolf Larsen shall +live in the steerage.” +</p> + +<p> +I caught him under the shoulders and dragged him to the companion-way. At my +direction Maud fetched a rope. Placing this under his shoulders, I balanced him +across the threshold and lowered him down the steps to the floor. I could not +lift him directly into a bunk, but with Maud’s help I lifted first his +shoulders and head, then his body, balanced him across the edge, and rolled him +into a lower bunk. +</p> + +<p> +But this was not to be all. I recollected the handcuffs in his state-room, +which he preferred to use on sailors instead of the ancient and clumsy ship +irons. So, when we left him, he lay handcuffed hand and foot. For the first +time in many days I breathed freely. I felt strangely light as I came on deck, +as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt, also, that Maud +and I had drawn more closely together. And I wondered if she, too, felt it, as +we walked along the deck side by side to where the stalled foremast hung in the +shears. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<p> +At once we moved aboard the <i>Ghost</i>, occupying our old state-rooms and +cooking in the galley. The imprisonment of Wolf Larsen had happened most +opportunely, for what must have been the Indian summer of this high latitude +was gone and drizzling stormy weather had set in. We were very comfortable, and +the inadequate shears, with the foremast suspended from them, gave a +business-like air to the schooner and a promise of departure. +</p> + +<p> +And now that we had Wolf Larsen in irons, how little did we need it! Like his +first attack, his second had been accompanied by serious disablement. Maud made +the discovery in the afternoon while trying to give him nourishment. He had +shown signs of consciousness, and she had spoken to him, eliciting no response. +He was lying on his left side at the time, and in evident pain. With a restless +movement he rolled his head around, clearing his left ear from the pillow +against which it had been pressed. At once he heard and answered her, and at +once she came to me. +</p> + +<p> +Pressing the pillow against his left ear, I asked him if he heard me, but he +gave no sign. Removing the pillow and, repeating the question he answered +promptly that he did. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know you are deaf in the right ear?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he answered in a low, strong voice, “and worse than +that. My whole right side is affected. It seems asleep. I cannot move arm or +leg.” +</p> + +<p> +“Feigning again?” I demanded angrily. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head, his stern mouth shaping the strangest, twisted smile. It was +indeed a twisted smile, for it was on the left side only, the facial muscles of +the right side moving not at all. +</p> + +<p> +“That was the last play of the Wolf,” he said. “I am +paralysed. I shall never walk again. Oh, only on the other side,” he +added, as though divining the suspicious glance I flung at his left leg, the +knee of which had just then drawn up, and elevated the blankets. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s unfortunate,” he continued. “I’d liked to +have done for you first, Hump. And I thought I had that much left in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” I asked; partly in horror, partly out of curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +Again his stern mouth framed the twisted smile, as he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, just to be alive, to be living and doing, to be the biggest bit of +the ferment to the end, to eat you. But to die this way.” +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged his shoulders, or attempted to shrug them, rather, for the left +shoulder alone moved. Like the smile, the shrug was twisted. +</p> + +<p> +“But how can you account for it?” I asked. “Where is the seat +of your trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“The brain,” he said at once. “It was those cursed headaches +brought it on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Symptoms,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head. “There is no accounting for it. I was never sick in +my life. Something’s gone wrong with my brain. A cancer, a tumour, or +something of that nature,—a thing that devours and destroys. It’s +attacking my nerve-centres, eating them up, bit by bit, cell by cell—from +the pain.” +</p> + +<p> +“The motor-centres, too,” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“So it would seem; and the curse of it is that I must lie here, +conscious, mentally unimpaired, knowing that the lines are going down, breaking +bit by bit communication with the world. I cannot see, hearing and feeling are +leaving me, at this rate I shall soon cease to speak; yet all the time I shall +be here, alive, active, and powerless.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you say <i>you</i> are here, I’d suggest the likelihood of +the soul,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Bosh!” was his retort. “It simply means that in the attack +on my brain the higher psychical centres are untouched. I can remember, I can +think and reason. When that goes, I go. I am not. The soul?” +</p> + +<p> +He broke out in mocking laughter, then turned his left ear to the pillow as a +sign that he wished no further conversation. +</p> + +<p> +Maud and I went about our work oppressed by the fearful fate which had +overtaken him,—how fearful we were yet fully to realize. There was the +awfulness of retribution about it. Our thoughts were deep and solemn, and we +spoke to each other scarcely above whispers. +</p> + +<p> +“You might remove the handcuffs,” he said that night, as we stood +in consultation over him. “It’s dead safe. I’m a paralytic +now. The next thing to watch out for is bed sores.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled his twisted smile, and Maud, her eyes wide with horror, was compelled +to turn away her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know that your smile is crooked?” I asked him; for I knew +that she must attend him, and I wished to save her as much as possible. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall smile no more,” he said calmly. “I thought +something was wrong. My right cheek has been numb all day. Yes, and I’ve +had warnings of this for the last three days; by spells, my right side seemed +going to sleep, sometimes arm or hand, sometimes leg or foot.” +</p> + +<p> +“So my smile is crooked?” he queried a short while after. +“Well, consider henceforth that I smile internally, with my soul, if you +please, my soul. Consider that I am smiling now.” +</p> + +<p> +And for the space of several minutes he lay there, quiet, indulging his +grotesque fancy. +</p> + +<p> +The man of him was not changed. It was the old, indomitable, terrible Wolf +Larsen, imprisoned somewhere within that flesh which had once been so +invincible and splendid. Now it bound him with insentient fetters, walling his +soul in darkness and silence, blocking it from the world which to him had been +a riot of action. No more would he conjugate the verb “to do in every +mood and tense.” “To be” was all that remained to +him—to be, as he had defined death, without movement; to will, but not to +execute; to think and reason and in the spirit of him to be as alive as ever, +but in the flesh to be dead, quite dead. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, though I even removed the handcuffs, we could not adjust ourselves to +his condition. Our minds revolted. To us he was full of potentiality. We knew +not what to expect of him next, what fearful thing, rising above the flesh, he +might break out and do. Our experience warranted this state of mind, and we +went about our work with anxiety always upon us. +</p> + +<p> +I had solved the problem which had arisen through the shortness of the shears. +By means of the watch-tackle (I had made a new one), I heaved the butt of the +foremast across the rail and then lowered it to the deck. Next, by means of the +shears, I hoisted the main boom on board. Its forty feet of length would supply +the height necessary properly to swing the mast. By means of a secondary tackle +I had attached to the shears, I swung the boom to a nearly perpendicular +position, then lowered the butt to the deck, where, to prevent slipping, I +spiked great cleats around it. The single block of my original shears-tackle I +had attached to the end of the boom. Thus, by carrying this tackle to the +windlass, I could raise and lower the end of the boom at will, the butt always +remaining stationary, and, by means of guys, I could swing the boom from side +to side. To the end of the boom I had likewise rigged a hoisting tackle; and +when the whole arrangement was completed I could not but be startled by the +power and latitude it gave me. +</p> + +<p> +Of course, two days’ work was required for the accomplishment of this +part of my task, and it was not till the morning of the third day that I swung +the foremast from the deck and proceeded to square its butt to fit the step. +Here I was especially awkward. I sawed and chopped and chiselled the weathered +wood till it had the appearance of having been gnawed by some gigantic mouse. +But it fitted. +</p> + +<p> +“It will work, I know it will work,” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Dr. Jordan’s final test of truth?” Maud asked. +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head and paused in the act of dislodging the shavings which had +drifted down my neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Can we make it work? Can we trust our lives to it? is the test.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a favourite of yours,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“When I dismantled my old Pantheon and cast out Napoleon and Cæsar and +their fellows, I straightway erected a new Pantheon,” she answered +gravely, “and the first I installed was Dr. Jordan.” +</p> + +<p> +“A modern hero.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a greater because modern,” she added. “How can the Old +World heroes compare with ours?” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. We were too much alike in many things for argument. Our points +of view and outlook on life at least were very alike. +</p> + +<p> +“For a pair of critics we agree famously,” I laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“And as shipwright and able assistant,” she laughed back. +</p> + +<p> +But there was little time for laughter in those days, what of our heavy work +and of the awfulness of Wolf Larsen’s living death. +</p> + +<p> +He had received another stroke. He had lost his voice, or he was losing it. He +had only intermittent use of it. As he phrased it, the wires were like the +stock market, now up, now down. Occasionally the wires were up and he spoke as +well as ever, though slowly and heavily. Then speech would suddenly desert him, +in the middle of a sentence perhaps, and for hours, sometimes, we would wait +for the connection to be re-established. He complained of great pain in his +head, and it was during this period that he arranged a system of communication +against the time when speech should leave him altogether—one pressure of +the hand for “yes,” two for “no.” It was well that it +was arranged, for by evening his voice had gone from him. By hand pressures, +after that, he answered our questions, and when he wished to speak he scrawled +his thoughts with his left hand, quite legibly, on a sheet of paper. +</p> + +<p> +The fierce winter had now descended upon us. Gale followed gale, with snow and +sleet and rain. The seals had started on their great southern migration, and +the rookery was practically deserted. I worked feverishly. In spite of the bad +weather, and of the wind which especially hindered me, I was on deck from +daylight till dark and making substantial progress. +</p> + +<p> +I profited by my lesson learned through raising the shears and then climbing +them to attach the guys. To the top of the foremast, which was just lifted +conveniently from the deck, I attached the rigging, stays and throat and peak +halyards. As usual, I had underrated the amount of work involved in this +portion of the task, and two long days were necessary to complete it. And there +was so much yet to be done—the sails, for instance, which practically had +to be made over. +</p> + +<p> +While I toiled at rigging the foremast, Maud sewed on canvas, ready always to +drop everything and come to my assistance when more hands than two were +required. The canvas was heavy and hard, and she sewed with the regular +sailor’s palm and three-cornered sail-needle. Her hands were soon sadly +blistered, but she struggled bravely on, and in addition doing the cooking and +taking care of the sick man. +</p> + +<p> +“A fig for superstition,” I said on Friday morning. “That +mast goes in to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +Everything was ready for the attempt. Carrying the boom-tackle to the windlass, +I hoisted the mast nearly clear of the deck. Making this tackle fast, I took to +the windlass the shears-tackle (which was connected with the end of the boom), +and with a few turns had the mast perpendicular and clear. +</p> + +<p> +Maud clapped her hands the instant she was relieved from holding the turn, +crying: +</p> + +<p> +“It works! It works! We’ll trust our lives to it!” +</p> + +<p> +Then she assumed a rueful expression. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not over the hole,” she add. “Will you have to +begin all over?” +</p> + +<p> +I smiled in superior fashion, and, slacking off on one of the boom-guys and +taking in on the other, swung the mast perfectly in the centre of the deck. +Still it was not over the hole. Again the rueful expression came on her face, +and again I smiled in a superior way. Slacking away on the boom-tackle and +hoisting an equivalent amount on the shears-tackle, I brought the butt of the +mast into position directly over the hole in the deck. Then I gave Maud careful +instructions for lowering away and went into the hold to the step on the +schooner’s bottom. +</p> + +<p> +I called to her, and the mast moved easily and accurately. Straight toward the +square hole of the step the square butt descended; but as it descended it +slowly twisted so that square would not fit into square. But I had not even a +moment’s indecision. Calling to Maud to cease lowering, I went on deck +and made the watch-tackle fast to the mast with a rolling hitch. I left Maud to +pull on it while I went below. By the light of the lantern I saw the butt twist +slowly around till its sides coincided with the sides of the step. Maud made +fast and returned to the windlass. Slowly the butt descended the several +intervening inches, at the same time slightly twisting again. Again Maud +rectified the twist with the watch-tackle, and again she lowered away from the +windlass. Square fitted into square. The mast was stepped. +</p> + +<p> +I raised a shout, and she ran down to see. In the yellow lantern light we +peered at what we had accomplished. We looked at each other, and our hands felt +their way and clasped. The eyes of both of us, I think, were moist with the joy +of success. +</p> + +<p> +“It was done so easily after all,” I remarked. “All the work +was in the preparation.” +</p> + +<p> +“And all the wonder in the completion,” Maud added. “I can +scarcely bring myself to realize that that great mast is really up and in; that +you have lifted it from the water, swung it through the air, and deposited it +here where it belongs. It is a Titan’s task.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they made themselves many inventions,” I began merrily, then +paused to sniff the air. +</p> + +<p> +I looked hastily at the lantern. It was not smoking. Again I sniffed. +</p> + +<p> +“Something is burning,” Maud said, with sudden conviction. +</p> + +<p> +We sprang together for the ladder, but I raced past her to the deck. A dense +volume of smoke was pouring out of the steerage companion-way. +</p> + +<p> +“The Wolf is not yet dead,” I muttered to myself as I sprang down +through the smoke. +</p> + +<p> +It was so thick in the confined space that I was compelled to feel my way; and +so potent was the spell of Wolf Larsen on my imagination, I was quite prepared +for the helpless giant to grip my neck in a strangle hold. I hesitated, the +desire to race back and up the steps to the deck almost overpowering me. Then I +recollected Maud. The vision of her, as I had last seen her, in the lantern +light of the schooner’s hold, her brown eyes warm and moist with joy, +flashed before me, and I knew that I could not go back. +</p> + +<p> +I was choking and suffocating by the time I reached Wolf Larsen’s bunk. I +reached my hand and felt for his. He was lying motionless, but moved slightly +at the touch of my hand. I felt over and under his blankets. There was no +warmth, no sign of fire. Yet that smoke which blinded me and made me cough and +gasp must have a source. I lost my head temporarily and dashed frantically +about the steerage. A collision with the table partially knocked the wind from +my body and brought me to myself. I reasoned that a helpless man could start a +fire only near to where he lay. +</p> + +<p> +I returned to Wolf Larsen’s bunk. There I encountered Maud. How long she +had been there in that suffocating atmosphere I could not guess. +</p> + +<p> +“Go up on deck!” I commanded peremptorily. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Humphrey—” she began to protest in a queer, husky +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Please! please!” I shouted at her harshly. +</p> + +<p> +She drew away obediently, and then I thought, What if she cannot find the +steps? I started after her, to stop at the foot of the companion-way. Perhaps +she had gone up. As I stood there, hesitant, I heard her cry softly: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Humphrey, I am lost.” +</p> + +<p> +I found her fumbling at the wall of the after bulkhead, and, half leading her, +half carrying her, I took her up the companion-way. The pure air was like +nectar. Maud was only faint and dizzy, and I left her lying on the deck when I +took my second plunge below. +</p> + +<p> +The source of the smoke must be very close to Wolf Larsen—my mind was +made up to this, and I went straight to his bunk. As I felt about among his +blankets, something hot fell on the back of my hand. It burned me, and I jerked +my hand away. Then I understood. Through the cracks in the bottom of the upper +bunk he had set fire to the mattress. He still retained sufficient use of his +left arm to do this. The damp straw of the mattress, fired from beneath and +denied air, had been smouldering all the while. +</p> + +<p> +As I dragged the mattress out of the bunk it seemed to disintegrate in mid-air, +at the same time bursting into flames. I beat out the burning remnants of straw +in the bunk, then made a dash for the deck for fresh air. +</p> + +<p> +Several buckets of water sufficed to put out the burning mattress in the middle +of the steerage floor; and ten minutes later, when the smoke had fairly +cleared, I allowed Maud to come below. Wolf Larsen was unconscious, but it was +a matter of minutes for the fresh air to restore him. We were working over him, +however, when he signed for paper and pencil. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray do not interrupt me,” he wrote. “I am smiling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am still a bit of the ferment, you see,” he wrote a little +later. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you are as small a bit as you are,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” he wrote. “But just think of how much smaller I +shall be before I die.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet I am all here, Hump,” he wrote with a final flourish. +“I can think more clearly than ever in my life before. Nothing to disturb +me. Concentration is perfect. I am all here and more than here.” +</p> + +<p> +It was like a message from the night of the grave; for this man’s body +had become his mausoleum. And there, in so strange sepulchre, his spirit +fluttered and lived. It would flutter and live till the last line of +communication was broken, and after that who was to say how much longer it +might continue to flutter and live? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<p> +“I think my left side is going,” Wolf Larsen wrote, the morning +after his attempt to fire the ship. “The numbness is growing. I can +hardly move my hand. You will have to speak louder. The last lines are going +down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in pain?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +I was compelled to repeat my question loudly before he answered: +</p> + +<p> +“Not all the time.” +</p> + +<p> +The left hand stumbled slowly and painfully across the paper, and it was with +extreme difficulty that we deciphered the scrawl. It was like a “spirit +message,” such as are delivered at séances of spiritualists for a +dollar admission. +</p> + +<p> +“But I am still here, all here,” the hand scrawled more slowly and +painfully than ever. +</p> + +<p> +The pencil dropped, and we had to replace it in the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“When there is no pain I have perfect peace and quiet. I have never +thought so clearly. I can ponder life and death like a Hindoo sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“And immortality?” Maud queried loudly in the ear. +</p> + +<p> +Three times the hand essayed to write but fumbled hopelessly. The pencil fell. +In vain we tried to replace it. The fingers could not close on it. Then Maud +pressed and held the fingers about the pencil with her own hand and the hand +wrote, in large letters, and so slowly that the minutes ticked off to each +letter: +</p> + +<p> +“B-O-S-H.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Wolf Larsen’s last word, “bosh,” sceptical and +invincible to the end. The arm and hand relaxed. The trunk of the body moved +slightly. Then there was no movement. Maud released the hand. The fingers +spread slightly, falling apart of their own weight, and the pencil rolled away. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you still hear?” I shouted, holding the fingers and waiting for +the single pressure which would signify “Yes.” There was no +response. The hand was dead. +</p> + +<p> +“I noticed the lips slightly move,” Maud said. +</p> + +<p> +I repeated the question. The lips moved. She placed the tips of her fingers on +them. Again I repeated the question. “Yes,” Maud announced. We +looked at each other expectantly. +</p> + +<p> +“What good is it?” I asked. “What can we say now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ask him—” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask him something that requires no for an answer,” I suggested. +“Then we will know for certainty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you hungry?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +The lips moved under her fingers, and she answered, “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you have some beef?” was her next query. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she announced. +</p> + +<p> +“Beef-tea?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he will have some beef-tea,” she said, quietly, looking up at +me. “Until his hearing goes we shall be able to communicate with him. And +after that—” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me queerly. I saw her lips trembling and the tears swimming up in +her eyes. She swayed toward me and I caught her in my arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Humphrey,” she sobbed, “when will it all end? I am so +tired, so tired.” +</p> + +<p> +She buried her head on my shoulder, her frail form shaken with a storm of +weeping. She was like a feather in my arms, so slender, so ethereal. “She +has broken down at last,” I thought. “What can I do without her +help?” +</p> + +<p> +But I soothed and comforted her, till she pulled herself bravely together and +recuperated mentally as quickly as she was wont to do physically. +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to be ashamed of myself,” she said. Then added, with the +whimsical smile I adored, “but I am only one, small woman.” +</p> + +<p> +That phrase, the “one small woman,” startled me like an electric +shock. It was my own phrase, my pet, secret phrase, my love phrase for her. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get that phrase?” I demanded, with an abruptness +that in turn startled her. +</p> + +<p> +“What phrase?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“One small woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it yours?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I answered. “Mine. I made it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must have talked in your sleep,” she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +The dancing, tremulous light was in her eyes. Mine, I knew, were speaking +beyond the will of my speech. I leaned toward her. Without volition I leaned +toward her, as a tree is swayed by the wind. Ah, we were very close together in +that moment. But she shook her head, as one might shake off sleep or a dream, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I have known it all my life. It was my father’s name for my +mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my phrase too,” I said stubbornly. +</p> + +<p> +“For your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I answered, and she questioned no further, though I could +have sworn her eyes retained for some time a mocking, teasing expression. +</p> + +<p> +With the foremast in, the work now went on apace. Almost before I knew it, and +without one serious hitch, I had the mainmast stepped. A derrick-boom, rigged +to the foremast, had accomplished this; and several days more found all stays +and shrouds in place, and everything set up taut. Topsails would be a nuisance +and a danger for a crew of two, so I heaved the topmasts on deck and lashed +them fast. +</p> + +<p> +Several more days were consumed in finishing the sails and putting them on. +There were only three—the jib, foresail, and mainsail; and, patched, +shortened, and distorted, they were a ridiculously ill-fitting suit for so trim +a craft as the <i>Ghost</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“But they’ll work!” Maud cried jubilantly. “We’ll +make them work, and trust our lives to them!” +</p> + +<p> +Certainly, among my many new trades, I shone least as a sail-maker. I could +sail them better than make them, and I had no doubt of my power to bring the +schooner to some northern port of Japan. In fact, I had crammed navigation from +text-books aboard; and besides, there was Wolf Larsen’s star-scale, so +simple a device that a child could work it. +</p> + +<p> +As for its inventor, beyond an increasing deafness and the movement of the lips +growing fainter and fainter, there had been little change in his condition for +a week. But on the day we finished bending the schooner’s sails, he heard +his last, and the last movement of his lips died away—but not before I +had asked him, “Are you all there?” and the lips had answered, +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The last line was down. Somewhere within that tomb of the flesh still dwelt the +soul of the man. Walled by the living clay, that fierce intelligence we had +known burned on; but it burned on in silence and darkness. And it was +disembodied. To that intelligence there could be no objective knowledge of a +body. It knew no body. The very world was not. It knew only itself and the +vastness and profundity of the quiet and the dark. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<p> +The day came for our departure. There was no longer anything to detain us on +Endeavour Island. The <i>Ghost’s</i> stumpy masts were in place, her +crazy sails bent. All my handiwork was strong, none of it beautiful; but I knew +that it would work, and I felt myself a man of power as I looked at it. +</p> + +<p> +“I did it! I did it! With my own hands I did it!” I wanted to cry +aloud. +</p> + +<p> +But Maud and I had a way of voicing each other’s thoughts, and she said, +as we prepared to hoist the mainsail: +</p> + +<p> +“To think, Humphrey, you did it all with your own hands?” +</p> + +<p> +“But there were two other hands,” I answered. “Two small +hands, and don’t say that was a phrase, also, of your father.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed and shook her head, and held her hands up for inspection. +</p> + +<p> +“I can never get them clean again,” she wailed, “nor soften +the weather-beat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then dirt and weather-beat shall be your guerdon of honour,” I +said, holding them in mine; and, spite of my resolutions, I would have kissed +the two dear hands had she not swiftly withdrawn them. +</p> + +<p> +Our comradeship was becoming tremulous, I had mastered my love long and well, +but now it was mastering me. Wilfully had it disobeyed and won my eyes to +speech, and now it was winning my tongue—ay, and my lips, for they were +mad this moment to kiss the two small hands which had toiled so faithfully and +hard. And I, too, was mad. There was a cry in my being like bugles calling me +to her. And there was a wind blowing upon me which I could not resist, swaying +the very body of me till I leaned toward her, all unconscious that I leaned. +And she knew it. She could not but know it as she swiftly drew away her hands, +and yet, could not forbear one quick searching look before she turned away her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +By means of deck-tackles I had arranged to carry the halyards forward to the +windlass; and now I hoisted the mainsail, peak and throat, at the same time. It +was a clumsy way, but it did not take long, and soon the foresail as well was +up and fluttering. +</p> + +<p> +“We can never get that anchor up in this narrow place, once it has left +the bottom,” I said. “We should be on the rocks first.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can you do?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Slip it,” was my answer. “And when I do, you must do your +first work on the windlass. I shall have to run at once to the wheel, and at +the same time you must be hoisting the jib.” +</p> + +<p> +This manœuvre of getting under way I had studied and worked out a score of +times; and, with the jib-halyard to the windlass, I knew Maud was capable of +hoisting that most necessary sail. A brisk wind was blowing into the cove, and +though the water was calm, rapid work was required to get us safely out. +</p> + +<p> +When I knocked the shackle-bolt loose, the chain roared out through the +hawse-hole and into the sea. I raced aft, putting the wheel up. The +<i>Ghost</i> seemed to start into life as she heeled to the first fill of her +sails. The jib was rising. As it filled, the <i>Ghost’s</i> bow swung off +and I had to put the wheel down a few spokes and steady her. +</p> + +<p> +I had devised an automatic jib-sheet which passed the jib across of itself, so +there was no need for Maud to attend to that; but she was still hoisting the +jib when I put the wheel hard down. It was a moment of anxiety, for the +<i>Ghost</i> was rushing directly upon the beach, a stone’s throw +distant. But she swung obediently on her heel into the wind. There was a great +fluttering and flapping of canvas and reef-points, most welcome to my ears, +then she filled away on the other tack. +</p> + +<p> +Maud had finished her task and come aft, where she stood beside me, a small cap +perched on her wind-blown hair, her cheeks flushed from exertion, her eyes wide +and bright with the excitement, her nostrils quivering to the rush and bite of +the fresh salt air. Her brown eyes were like a startled deer’s. There was +a wild, keen look in them I had never seen before, and her lips parted and her +breath suspended as the <i>Ghost</i>, charging upon the wall of rock at the +entrance to the inner cove, swept into the wind and filled away into safe +water. +</p> + +<p> +My first mate’s berth on the sealing grounds stood me in good stead, and +I cleared the inner cove and laid a long tack along the shore of the outer +cove. Once again about, and the <i>Ghost</i> headed out to open sea. She had +now caught the bosom-breathing of the ocean, and was herself a-breath with the +rhythm of it as she smoothly mounted and slipped down each broad-backed wave. +The day had been dull and overcast, but the sun now burst through the clouds, a +welcome omen, and shone upon the curving beach where together we had dared the +lords of the harem and slain the holluschickie. All Endeavour Island brightened +under the sun. Even the grim south-western promontory showed less grim, and +here and there, where the sea-spray wet its surface, high lights flashed and +dazzled in the sun. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall always think of it with pride,” I said to Maud. +</p> + +<p> +She threw her head back in a queenly way but said, “Dear, dear Endeavour +Island! I shall always love it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I,” I said quickly. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed our eyes must meet in a great understanding, and yet, loath, they +struggled away and did not meet. +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence I might almost call awkward, till I broke it, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“See those black clouds to windward. You remember, I told you last night +the barometer was falling.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the sun is gone,” she said, her eyes still fixed upon our +island, where we had proved our mastery over matter and attained to the truest +comradeship that may fall to man and woman. +</p> + +<p> +“And it’s slack off the sheets for Japan!” I cried gaily. +“A fair wind and a flowing sheet, you know, or however it goes.” +</p> + +<p> +Lashing the wheel I ran forward, eased the fore and mainsheets, took in on the +boom-tackles and trimmed everything for the quartering breeze which was ours. +It was a fresh breeze, very fresh, but I resolved to run as long as I dared. +Unfortunately, when running free, it is impossible to lash the wheel, so I +faced an all-night watch. Maud insisted on relieving me, but proved that she +had not the strength to steer in a heavy sea, even if she could have gained the +wisdom on such short notice. She appeared quite heart-broken over the +discovery, but recovered her spirits by coiling down tackles and halyards and +all stray ropes. Then there were meals to be cooked in the galley, beds to +make, Wolf Larsen to be attended upon, and she finished the day with a grand +house-cleaning attack upon the cabin and steerage. +</p> + +<p> +All night I steered, without relief, the wind slowly and steadily increasing +and the sea rising. At five in the morning Maud brought me hot coffee and +biscuits she had baked, and at seven a substantial and piping hot breakfast put +new life into me. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the day, and as slowly and steadily as ever, the wind increased. It +impressed one with its sullen determination to blow, and blow harder, and keep +on blowing. And still the <i>Ghost</i> foamed along, racing off the miles till +I was certain she was making at least eleven knots. It was too good to lose, +but by nightfall I was exhausted. Though in splendid physical trim, a +thirty-six-hour trick at the wheel was the limit of my endurance. Besides, Maud +begged me to heave to, and I knew, if the wind and sea increased at the same +rate during the night, that it would soon be impossible to heave to. So, as +twilight deepened, gladly and at the same time reluctantly, I brought the +<i>Ghost</i> up on the wind. +</p> + +<p> +But I had not reckoned upon the colossal task the reefing of three sails meant +for one man. While running away from the wind I had not appreciated its force, +but when we ceased to run I learned to my sorrow, and well-nigh to my despair, +how fiercely it was really blowing. The wind balked my every effort, ripping +the canvas out of my hands and in an instant undoing what I had gained by ten +minutes of severest struggle. At eight o’clock I had succeeded only in +putting the second reef into the foresail. At eleven o’clock I was no +farther along. Blood dripped from every finger-end, while the nails were broken +to the quick. From pain and sheer exhaustion I wept in the darkness, secretly, +so that Maud should not know. +</p> + +<p> +Then, in desperation, I abandoned the attempt to reef the mainsail and resolved +to try the experiment of heaving to under the close-reefed foresail. Three +hours more were required to gasket the mainsail and jib, and at two in the +morning, nearly dead, the life almost buffeted and worked out of me, I had +barely sufficient consciousness to know the experiment was a success. The +close-reefed foresail worked. The <i>Ghost</i> clung on close to the wind and +betrayed no inclination to fall off broadside to the trough. +</p> + +<p> +I was famished, but Maud tried vainly to get me to eat. I dozed with my mouth +full of food. I would fall asleep in the act of carrying food to my mouth and +waken in torment to find the act yet uncompleted. So sleepily helpless was I +that she was compelled to hold me in my chair to prevent my being flung to the +floor by the violent pitching of the schooner. +</p> + +<p> +Of the passage from the galley to the cabin I knew nothing. It was a +sleep-walker Maud guided and supported. In fact, I was aware of nothing till I +awoke, how long after I could not imagine, in my bunk with my boots off. It was +dark. I was stiff and lame, and cried out with pain when the bed-clothes +touched my poor finger-ends. +</p> + +<p> +Morning had evidently not come, so I closed my eyes and went to sleep again. I +did not know it, but I had slept the clock around and it was night again. +</p> + +<p> +Once more I woke, troubled because I could sleep no better. I struck a match +and looked at my watch. It marked midnight. And I had not left the deck until +three! I should have been puzzled had I not guessed the solution. No wonder I +was sleeping brokenly. I had slept twenty-one hours. I listened for a while to +the behaviour of the <i>Ghost</i>, to the pounding of the seas and the muffled +roar of the wind on deck, and then turned over on my side and slept peacefully +until morning. +</p> + +<p> +When I arose at seven I saw no sign of Maud and concluded she was in the galley +preparing breakfast. On deck I found the <i>Ghost</i> doing splendidly under +her patch of canvas. But in the galley, though a fire was burning and water +boiling, I found no Maud. +</p> + +<p> +I discovered her in the steerage, by Wolf Larsen’s bunk. I looked at him, +the man who had been hurled down from the topmost pitch of life to be buried +alive and be worse than dead. There seemed a relaxation of his expressionless +face which was new. Maud looked at me and I understood. +</p> + +<p> +“His life flickered out in the storm,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“But he still lives,” she answered, infinite faith in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“He had too great strength.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, “but now it no longer shackles him. He is a +free spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a free spirit surely,” I answered; and, taking her hand, I +led her on deck. +</p> + +<p> +The storm broke that night, which is to say that it diminished as slowly as it +had arisen. After breakfast next morning, when I had hoisted Wolf +Larsen’s body on deck ready for burial, it was still blowing heavily and +a large sea was running. The deck was continually awash with the sea which came +inboard over the rail and through the scuppers. The wind smote the schooner +with a sudden gust, and she heeled over till her lee rail was buried, the roar +in her rigging rising in pitch to a shriek. We stood in the water to our knees +as I bared my head. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember only one part of the service,” I said, “and that +is, ‘And the body shall be cast into the sea.’” +</p> + +<p> +Maud looked at me, surprised and shocked; but the spirit of something I had +seen before was strong upon me, impelling me to give service to Wolf Larsen as +Wolf Larsen had once given service to another man. I lifted the end of the +hatch cover and the canvas-shrouded body slipped feet first into the sea. The +weight of iron dragged it down. It was gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Lucifer, proud spirit,” Maud whispered, so low that it +was drowned by the shouting of the wind; but I saw the movement of her lips and +knew. +</p> + +<p> +As we clung to the lee rail and worked our way aft, I happened to glance to +leeward. The <i>Ghost</i>, at the moment, was uptossed on a sea, and I caught a +clear view of a small steamship two or three miles away, rolling and pitching, +head on to the sea, as it steamed toward us. It was painted black, and from the +talk of the hunters of their poaching exploits I recognized it as a United +States revenue cutter. I pointed it out to Maud and hurriedly led her aft to +the safety of the poop. +</p> + +<p> +I started to rush below to the flag-locker, then remembered that in rigging the +<i>Ghost</i> I had forgotten to make provision for a flag-halyard. +</p> + +<p> +“We need no distress signal,” Maud said. “They have only to +see us.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are saved,” I said, soberly and solemnly. And then, in an +exuberance of joy, “I hardly know whether to be glad or not.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at her. Our eyes were not loath to meet. We leaned toward each other, +and before I knew it my arms were about her. +</p> + +<p> +“Need I?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +And she answered, “There is no need, though the telling of it would be +sweet, so sweet.” +</p> + +<p> +Her lips met the press of mine, and, by what strange trick of the imagination I +know not, the scene in the cabin of the <i>Ghost</i> flashed upon me, when she +had pressed her fingers lightly on my lips and said, “Hush, hush.” +</p> + +<p> +“My woman, my one small woman,” I said, my free hand petting her +shoulder in the way all lovers know though never learn in school. +</p> + +<p> +“My man,” she said, looking at me for an instant with tremulous +lids which fluttered down and veiled her eyes as she snuggled her head against +my breast with a happy little sigh. +</p> + +<p> +I looked toward the cutter. It was very close. A boat was being lowered. +</p> + +<p> +“One kiss, dear love,” I whispered. “One kiss more before +they come.” +</p> + +<p> +“And rescue us from ourselves,” she completed, with a most adorable +smile, whimsical as I had never seen it, for it was whimsical with love. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">the end</span> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay & Sons</span>, +<span class="smcap">Limited</span>,<br/> +<span class="smcap">Brunswick St.</span>, <span class="smcap">Stamford +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">s.e.</span> 1, <span class="smcap">and +Bungay</span>, <span class="smcap">Suffolk</span> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1074 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/1074-h/images/cover.jpg b/1074-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f9ec36 --- /dev/null +++ b/1074-h/images/cover.jpg |
