diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/1074-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1074-0.txt | 11877 |
1 files changed, 11877 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/1074-0.txt b/old/1074-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ddf3778 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1074-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11877 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sea-Wolf, by Jack London + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Sea-Wolf + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: October 15, 1997 [eBook #1074] +[Most recently updated: November 24, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA-WOLF *** + + + + + THE SEA-WOLF + + + BY + JACK LONDON + + AUTHOR OF + “THE CALL OF THE WILD,” “THE FAITH OF MEN,” + ETC. + + * * * * * + + _POPULAR EDITION_. + + * * * * * + + LONDON + WILLIAM HEINEMANN + 1917 + + * * * * * + +_First published_, _November_ 1904. + +_New Impression_, _December_ 1904, _April_ 1908. + +_Popular Edition_, _July_ 1910; _New Impressions_, _March_ 1912, +_September_ 1912, _November_ 1913, _May_ 1915, _May_ 1916, _July_ 1917. + + * * * * * + + _Copyright_, _London_, _William Heinemann_, 1904 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +Not but that I was afloat in a safe craft, for the _Martinez_ 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. + +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 _Atlantic_. Coming aboard, as I passed through the +cabin, I had noticed with greedy eyes a stout gentleman reading the +_Atlantic_, 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. + +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. + +“It’s nasty weather like this here that turns heads grey before their +time,” he said, with a nod toward the pilot-house. + +“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.” + +“Strain!” he snorted. “Simple as A, B, C! Mathematical certainty!” + +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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +The unseen ferry-boat was blowing blast after blast, and the mouth-blown +horn was tooting in terror-stricken fashion. + +“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. + +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.” + +A shrill little whistle, piping as if gone mad, came from directly ahead +and from very near at hand. Gongs sounded on the _Martinez_. 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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear the +whistle plainly, off to one side and a little ahead. + +“Ferry-boat?” I asked. + +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.” + +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. + +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!” + +On looking back, I realize that the remark was too obvious to make +rejoinder necessary. + +“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. + +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 _Martinez_ 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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +I descended to the lower deck. The _Martinez_ 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. + +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. + +The noises grew indistinct, though I heard a final and despairing chorus +of screams in the distance, and knew that the _Martinez_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +“That’ll do, Yonson,” one of the men said. “Carn’t yer see you’ve +bloomin’ well rubbed all the gent’s skin orf?” + +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. + +“An’ ’ow yer feelin’ now, sir?” he asked, with the subservient smirk +which comes only of generations of tip-seeking ancestors. + +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. + +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. + +“Thank you, Mr. Yonson,” I said; “but don’t you think your measures were +rather heroic?” + +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. + +“My name is Johnson, not Yonson,” he said, in very good, though slow, +English, with no more than a shade of accent to it. + +There was mild protest in his pale blue eyes, and withal a timid +frankness and manliness that quite won me to him. + +“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” I corrected, and reached out my hand for his. + +He hesitated, awkward and bashful, shifted his weight from one leg to the +other, then blunderingly gripped my hand in a hearty shake. + +“Have you any dry clothes I may put on?” I asked the cook. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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 _Ghost_, bound +seal-hunting to Japan.” + +“And who is the captain? I must see him as soon as I am dressed.” + +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—” + +But he did not finish. The cook had glided in. + +“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.” + +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. + +Hanging over the cook’s arm was a loose and crumpled array of +evil-looking and sour-smelling garments. + +“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.” + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“Mugridge, sir,” he fawned, his effeminate features running into a greasy +smile. “Thomas Mugridge, sir, an’ at yer service.” + +“All right, Thomas,” I said. “I shall not forget you—when my clothes are +dry.” + +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. + +“Thank you, sir,” he said, very gratefully and very humbly indeed. + +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 _Martinez_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Wolf Larsen ceased swearing as suddenly as he had begun. He relighted +his cigar and glanced around. His eyes chanced upon the cook. + +“Well, Cooky?” he began, with a suaveness that was cold and of the temper +of steel. + +“Yes, sir,” the cook eagerly interpolated, with appeasing and apologetic +servility. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Yes, sir,” was the meek reply, as the offending head disappeared into +the galley. + +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. + +“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.” + +“What’ll I put on his feet, sir?” the man asked, after the customary “Ay, +ay, sir.” + +“We’ll see to that,” Wolf Larsen answered, and elevated his voice in a +call of “Cooky!” + +Thomas Mugridge popped out of his galley like a jack-in-the-box. + +“Go below and fill a sack with coal.” + +“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. + +They shook their heads, and some one made a jocular remark which I did +not catch, but which raised a general laugh. + +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. + +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.” + +By this time he had swung fully around and was facing me. “You’re a +preacher, aren’t you?” he asked. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But to return. I told him that, unhappily for the burial service, I was +not a preacher, when he sharply demanded: + +“What do you do for a living?” + +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.” + +His lip curled in a swift sneer. + +“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. + +“For your living?” + +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. + +“Who feeds you?” was his next question. + +“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.” + +But he disregarded my protest. + +“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.” + +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. + +Wolf Larsen dropped my hand with a flirt of disdain. + +“Dead men’s hands have kept it soft. Good for little else than +dish-washing and scullion work.” + +“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.” + +He looked at me curiously. Mockery shone in his eyes. + +“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.” + +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 _Ghost_, 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. + +“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.” + +“Very probably,” was Wolf Larsen’s answer, as he turned partly away from +me and cried out, “Cooky! Oh, Cooky!” + +The Cockney popped out of the galley. + +“Where’s that boy? Tell him I want him.” + +“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. + +“’Ere ’e is, sir,” the cook said. + +But Wolf Larsen ignored that worthy, turning at once to the cabin-boy. + +“What’s your name, boy?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +I saw the young fellow’s hands clench at the insult, and the blood crawl +scarlet up his neck. + +“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?” + +“McCready and Swanson.” + +“Sir!” Wolf Larsen thundered. + +“McCready and Swanson, sir,” the boy corrected, his eyes burning with a +bitter light. + +“Who got the advance money?” + +“They did, sir.” + +“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.” + +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—” + +“A what?” Wolf Larsen asked, a peculiar softness in his voice, as though +he were overwhelmingly curious to hear the unspoken word. + +The boy hesitated, then mastered his temper. “Nothin’, sir. I take it +back.” + +“And you have shown me I was right.” This with a gratified smile. “How +old are you?” + +“Just turned sixteen, sir.” + +“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?” + +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?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Well, never mind; you’re mate just the same. Get your traps aft into +the mate’s berth.” + +“Ay, ay, sir,” was the cheery response, as Johansen started forward. + +In the meantime the erstwhile cabin-boy had not moved. “What are you +waiting for?” Wolf Larsen demanded. + +“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.” + +“Pack up and go for’ard.” + +This time Wolf Larsen’s command was thrillingly imperative. The boy +glowered sullenly, but refused to move. + +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. + +“Well?” Larsen asked of me. “Have you made up your mind?” + +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. + +“What vessel is that?” I asked. + +“The pilot-boat _Lady Mine_,” 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.” + +“Will you please signal it, then, so that I may be put ashore.” + +“Sorry, but I’ve lost the signal book overboard,” he remarked, and the +group of hunters grinned. + +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: + +“_Lady Mine_ ahoy! Take me ashore! A thousand dollars if you take me +ashore!” + +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. + +“What is the matter? Anything wrong?” + +This was the cry from the _Lady Mine_. + +“Yes!” I shouted, at the top of my lungs. “Life or death! One thousand +dollars if you take me ashore!” + +“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!” + +The man on the _Lady Mine_ laughed back through the megaphone. The +pilot-boat plunged past. + +“Give him hell for me!” came a final cry, and the two men waved their +arms in farewell. + +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 _Ghost_ heeled far over, burying her +lee rail. I could hear the water rushing down upon the deck. + +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. + +“Well, Leach, are you going for’ard?” Wolf Larsen asked. + +“Yes, sir,” came the answer of a spirit cowed. + +“And you?” I was asked. + +“I’ll give you a thousand—” I began, but was interrupted. + +“Stow that! Are you going to take up your duties as cabin-boy? Or do I +have to take you in hand?” + +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. + +“Well?” + +“Yes,” I said. + +“Say ‘yes, sir.’” + +“Yes, sir,” I corrected. + +“What is your name?” + +“Van Weyden, sir.” + +“First name?” + +“Humphrey, sir; Humphrey Van Weyden.” + +“Age?” + +“Thirty-five, sir.” + +“That’ll do. Go to the cook and learn your duties.” + +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. + +“Hold on, don’t go yet.” + +I stopped obediently in my walk toward the galley. + +“Johansen, call all hands. Now that we’ve everything cleaned up, we’ll +have the funeral and get the decks cleared of useless lumber.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Lift up that end there, damn you! What the hell’s the matter with you?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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— + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +What happened to me next on the sealing-schooner _Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +This first day was made more difficult for me from the fact that the +_Ghost_, 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. + +“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. + +“’Ere she comes. Sling yer ’ook!” the cook cried. + +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: + +“Grab hold something, you—you Hump!” + +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: + +“’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!” + +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. + +“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. + +“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’.” + +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. + +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: + +“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. + +“That’s what you call a paradox, isn’t it?” he added. + +He seemed pleased when I nodded my head with the customary “Yes, sir.” + +“I suppose you know a bit about literary things? Eh? Good. I’ll have +some talks with you some time.” + +And then, taking no further account of me, he turned his back and went up +on deck. + +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 _Martinez_. Under ordinary circumstances, +after all that I had undergone, I should have been fit for bed and a +trained nurse. + +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. + +“Looks nasty,” he commented. “Tie a rag around it, and it’ll be all +right.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _rôle_ 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 _Martinez_ 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. + +And all the while, rolling, plunging, climbing the moving mountains and +falling and wallowing in the foaming valleys, the schooner _Ghost_ 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. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +After a sleepless night, I arose weak and in agony, to hobble through my +second day on the _Ghost_. 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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 _Age of Fable_, Shaw’s _History of +English and American Literature_, and Johnson’s _Natural History_ 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 _The Dean’s +English_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I have been robbed,” I said to him, a little later, when I found him +pacing up and down the poop alone. + +“Sir,” he corrected, not harshly, but sternly. + +“I have been robbed, sir,” I amended. + +“How did it happen?” he asked. + +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. + +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.” + +I could feel the quiet sneer through his words, but demanded, “How can I +get it back again?” + +“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?” + +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. + +“I read immortality in your eyes,” I answered, dropping the “sir,”—an +experiment, for I thought the intimacy of the conversation warranted it. + +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.” + +“I read more than that,” I continued boldly. + +“Then you read consciousness. You read the consciousness of life that it +is alive; but still no further away, no endlessness of life.” + +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. + +“Then to what end?” he demanded abruptly, turning back to me. “If I am +immortal—why?” + +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? + +“What do you believe, then?” I countered. + +“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?” + +He swept his arm in an impatient gesture toward a number of the sailors +who were working on some kind of rope stuff amidships. + +“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.” + +“They have dreams,” I interrupted, “radiant, flashing dreams—” + +“Of grub,” he concluded sententiously. + +“And of more—” + +“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.” + +“But that is beside the matter,” I cried. + +“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?—” + +“Because you are stronger,” I managed to blurt out. + +“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?” + +“But the hopelessness of it,” I protested. + +“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!” + +He abruptly turned on his heel and started forward. He stopped at the +break of the poop and called me to him. + +“By the way, how much was it that Cooky got away with?” he asked. + +“One hundred and eighty-five dollars, sir,” I answered. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +By the following morning the storm had blown itself quite out and the +_Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +All this, and more, I have learned. The _Ghost_ 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 +_Ghost_ herself that lured Johnson into signing for the voyage, but he is +already beginning to repent. + +As he told me, the _Ghost_ 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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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 +_Ghost_. 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. + +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. + +“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 _Ghost’ll_ 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 _Emma L._, 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 _Ghost_ 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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But you can’t mean it!” I cried out, overcome with the horror of it. + +“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!” + +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. + +“’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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes, sir,” the mate acknowledged submissively. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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. + +“Hist, will ye!” Louis whispered to him, “For the love iv your mother +hold your mouth!” + +But Johnson, looking on, still continued his grumbling. + +“Look here,” the hunter Standish spoke to Wolf Larsen, “that’s my +boat-puller, and I don’t want to lose him.” + +“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.” + +“But that’s no reason—” Standish began in a torrent of speech. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“You’re off your course, my man! Be careful, unless you’re looking for +trouble!” + +“Ay, ay, sir,” the helmsman responded, putting a couple of spokes down. + +He had been guilty of running the _Ghost_ 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. + +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? + +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. + +“Here, you, what are you up to?” he cried. + +Johnson’s ascent was arrested. He looked his captain in the eyes and +replied slowly: + +“I am going to get that boy down.” + +“You’ll get down out of that rigging, and damn lively about it! D’ye +hear? Get down!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“You were looking squeamish this afternoon,” he began. “What was the +matter?” + +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.” + +He gave a short laugh. “Like sea-sickness, I suppose. Some men are +subject to it, and others are not.” + +“Not so,” I objected. + +“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.” + +“But you, who make a mock of human life, don’t you place any value upon +it whatever?” I demanded. + +“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?” + +“I do,” I made answer. + +“Then what is it worth to you? Another man’s life, I mean. Come now, +what is it worth?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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?” + +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?” + +“That you are at least consistent,” was all I could say, and I went on +washing the dishes. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +Johnson seems to spend all his spare time there or aloft at the +crosstrees, watching the _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost’s_ 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. + + “‘O the blazing tropic night, when the wake’s a welt of light + That holds the hot sky tame, + And the steady forefoot snores through the planet-powdered floors + Where the scared whale flukes in flame. + Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass, + And her ropes are taut with the dew, + For we’re booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail, + We’re sagging south on the Long Trail—the trail that is always + new.’” + +“Eh, Hump? How’s it strike you?” he asked, after the due pause which +words and setting demanded. + +I looked into his face. It was aglow with light, as the sea itself, and +the eyes were flashing in the starshine. + +“It strikes me as remarkable, to say the least, that you should show +enthusiasm,” I answered coldly. + +“Why, man, it’s living! it’s life!” he cried. + +“Which is a cheap thing and without value.” I flung his words at him. + +He laughed, and it was the first time I had heard honest mirth in his +voice. + +“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.” + +He appeared waiting for the words with which to express the thought that +was in him, and finally went on. + +“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.” + +He left me as suddenly as he had come, springing to the deck with the +weight and softness of a tiger. The _Ghost_ 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”: + + “Oh, I am the wind the seamen love— + I am steady, and strong, and true; + They follow my track by the clouds above, + O’er the fathomless tropic blue. + + * * * * * + + Through daylight and dark I follow the bark + I keep like a hound on her trail; + I’m strongest at noon, yet under the moon, + I stiffen the bunt of her sail.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“And tell Johnson to douse him with a few buckets of salt water,” he +added, in a lower tone for my ear alone. + +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. + +Wolf Larsen was counting his winnings. + +“One hundred and eighty-five dollars even,” he said aloud. “Just as I +thought. The beggar came aboard without a cent.” + +“And what you have won is mine, sir,” I said boldly. + +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.’” + +“It is a question, not of grammar, but of ethics,” I answered. + +It was possibly a minute before he spoke. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I understand,” I said. “The fact is that you have the money.” + +His face brightened. He seemed pleased at my perspicacity. “But it is +avoiding the real question,” I continued, “which is one of right.” + +“Ah,” he remarked, with a wry pucker of his mouth, “I see you still +believe in such things as right and wrong.” + +“But don’t you?—at all?” I demanded. + +“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.” + +“But you wrong me by withholding it,” I objected. + +“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.” + +“Then you don’t believe in altruism?” I asked. + +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?” + +“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.” + +He nodded his head. “Oh, yes, I remember it now. I ran across it in +Spencer.” + +“Spencer!” I cried. “Have you read him?” + +“Not very much,” was his confession. “I understood quite a good deal of +_First Principles_, but his _Biology_ took the wind out of my sails, and +his _Psychology_ 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 _Data of +Ethics_. There’s where I ran across ‘altruism,’ and I remember now how +it was used.” + +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. + +“What else did you run across?” I asked. + +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. + +“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.” + +“And the highest, finest, right conduct,” I interjected, “is that act +which benefits at the same time the man, his children, and his race.” + +“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.” + +“Then you are an individualist, a materialist, and, logically, a +hedonist.” + +“Big words,” he smiled. “But what is a hedonist?” + +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?” + +“Now you’re beginning to understand,” he said, brightening. + +“You are a man utterly without what the world calls morals?” + +“That’s it.” + +“A man of whom to be always afraid—” + +“That’s the way to put it.” + +“As one is afraid of a snake, or a tiger, or a shark?” + +“Now you know me,” he said. “And you know me as I am generally known. +Other men call me ‘Wolf.’” + +“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.” + +His brow clouded at the allusion. He did not understand, and I quickly +learned that he did not know the poem. + +“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.” + +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. + +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: + +“Cooky, you’ve got to hustle to-night. I’m busy with Hump, and you’ll do +the best you can without him.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“It might have been worse,” he smiled. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +Several days went by, the _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +“So you’re afraid, eh?” he sneered. + +“Yes,” I said defiantly and honestly, “I am afraid.” + +“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? + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But nothing happened. At the end of two hours Thomas Mugridge put away +knife and stone and held out his hand. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“I see Cooky’s finish,” I heard Smoke say to Horner. + +“You bet,” was the reply. “Hump runs the galley from now on, and Cooky +pulls in his horns.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Hello, Hump,” he greeted me genially. “I’m just finishing the finishing +touches. Want to see it work?” + +“But what is it?” I asked. + +“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!” + +There was a ring of triumph in his voice, and his eyes, clear blue this +morning as the sea, were sparkling with light. + +“You must be well up in mathematics,” I said. “Where did you go to +school?” + +“Never saw the inside of one, worse luck,” was the answer. “I had to dig +it out for myself.” + +“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.” + +“The creative joy,” I murmured. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +My curiosity burst from me in a flood of speech. + +“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?” + +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: + +“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.” + +“Well?” I said. + +“Well?” he queried, half petulantly. “It was not well. I was one of +those seeds.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“But there is,” I objected. “It is still obscure to me.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“But history tells of slaves who rose to the purple,” I chided. + +“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.” + +“And what is he? And where is he?” + +“Master of the steamship _Macedonia_, seal-hunter,” was the answer. “We +will meet him most probably on the Japan coast. Men call him ‘Death’ +Larsen.” + +“Death Larsen!” I involuntarily cried. “Is he like you?” + +“Hardly. He is a lump of an animal without any head. He has all my—my—” + +“Brutishness,” I suggested. + +“Yes,—thank you for the word,—all my brutishness, but he can scarcely +read or write.” + +“And he has never philosophized on life,” I added. + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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 +_Macedonia_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + “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. + + “So I was great, and increased more than all that were before me in + Jerusalem; also my wisdom returned with me. + + “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. + + “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. + + “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. + + “For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope; for a + living dog is better than a dead lion. + + “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. + + “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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Who was Omar?” Wolf Larsen asked, and I did no more work that day, nor +the next, nor the next. + +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. + +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: + + “What, without asking, hither hurried _Whence_? + And, without asking, _Whither_ hurried hence! + Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine + Must drown the memory of that insolence!” + +“Great!” Wolf Larsen cried. “Great! That’s the keynote. Insolence! He +could not have used a better word.” + +In vain I objected and denied. He deluged me, overwhelmed me with +argument. + +“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. + +“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—” + +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. + +“Well, have I convinced you?” he demanded. “Here take a drink of this. +I want to ask you some questions.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Shut the doors and draw the slide,” Wolf Larsen said to me. + +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. + +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. + +“Yonson,” he began. + +“My name is Johnson, sir,” the sailor boldly corrected. + +“Well, Johnson, then, damn you! Can you guess why I have sent for you?” + +“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.” + +“And is that all?” Wolf Larsen queried, his voice soft, and low, and +purring. + +“I know you have it in for me,” Johnson continued with his unalterable +and ponderous slowness. “You do not like me. You—you—” + +“Go on,” Wolf Larsen prompted. “Don’t be afraid of my feelings.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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. + +“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?” + +“No, I am not. They are no good, sir.” + +“And you’ve been shooting off your mouth about them.” + +“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. + +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. + +“Do you know what happens to men who say what you’ve said about my +slop-chest and me?” Wolf Larsen was demanding. + +“I know, sir,” was the answer. + +“What?” Wolf Larsen demanded, sharply and imperatively. + +“What you and the mate there are going to do to me, sir.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Do you know what I am going to do?” he questioned. + +I shook my head. + +“Well, I am going to exercise my prerogative of roaring and show you how +fares nobility. Watch me.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Easy, Johansen; easy as she goes,” Wolf Larsen finally said. + +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. + +“Jerk open the doors, Hump,” I was commanded. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Leach had worked himself into an ecstasy of impotent rage. + +“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!” + +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: + +“Such langwidge! Shockin’!” + +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. + +“Oh, Lord!” he cried. “’Elp! ’Elp! Tyke ’im aw’y, carn’t yer? Tyke +’im aw’y!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_. 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +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 _régime_ lasted. + +“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.” + +“I know he hasn’t,” I answered. + +“And I’ll bet he sleeps in it,” Harrison added. + +“And you won’t lose,” I agreed. “The same shirt, and he hasn’t had it +off once in all this time.” + +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. + +“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?” + +Thomas Mugridge crawled weakly across the galley floor, and a short lurch +of the _Ghost_ 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. + +“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.” + +The tears were running down his puffed and discoloured cheeks, and his +face was drawn with pain. A savage expression flitted across it. + +“Oh, ’ow I ’ate ’im! ’Ow I ’ate ’im!” he gritted out. + +“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: + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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? + +“’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!” + +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. + +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. + +“I’ll do for you yet, you slab-footed Swede,” I heard him say to Johansen +one night on deck. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“’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—” + +“Or else,” I prompted. + +“God is noddin’ and not doin’ his duty, though it’s me as shouldn’t say +it.” + +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. + +“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. + +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.” + +“Who goes first?” I queried. + +“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.” + +“Wot’s ’e been s’yin’ to yer?” Thomas Mugridge demanded a moment later. + +“That he’s going home some day to see his mother,” I answered +diplomatically. + +“I never ’ad none,” was the Cockney’s comment, as he gazed with +lustreless, hopeless eyes into mine. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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. + +All of which has set me wondering. Where are the mothers of these twenty +and odd men on the _Ghost_? 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“When did you last write to her?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“But does she work? now? How old is she?” + +“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.” + +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 +_Ghost_ was forging ahead barely a knot an hour. So I tucked a blanket +and pillow under my arm and went up on deck. + +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. + +“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Are you sick?” + +He shook his head, and with a deep sign as of awakening, caught his +breath. + +“You’d better get on your course, then,” I chided. + +He put a few spokes over, and I watched the compass-card swing slowly to +N.N.W. and steady itself with slight oscillations. + +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. + +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. + +“All right, Hump,” he said in a low voice. “Where’s the mate?” + +I shook my head. + +“Johansen!” he called softly. “Johansen!” + +“Where is he?” he demanded of Harrison. + +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.” + +“So did I go for’ard. But you will observe that I didn’t come back the +way I went. Can you explain it?” + +“You must have been overboard, sir.” + +“Shall I look for him in the steerage, sir?” I asked. + +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.” + +I followed at his heels. There was nothing stirring amidships. + +“Those cursed hunters,” was his comment. “Too damned fat and lazy to +stand a four-hour watch.” + +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. + +“Who’s look-out?” he demanded. + +“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.” + +“Did you hear or see anything on deck?” + +“No, sir, I—” + +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. + +“Softly, now,” Wolf Larsen warned me in a whisper, as he doubled his body +into the forecastle scuttle and prepared to descend. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“A shilling’s worth a quarter; but keep your lamps out for +thruppenny-bits, or the publicans ’ll shove ’em on you for sixpence.” + +Then he rolled over on his side with a heavy, sobbing sigh, saying: + +“A sixpence is a tanner, and a shilling a bob; but what a pony is I don’t +know.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Get a knife somebody!” Leach was shouting. + +“Pound him on the head! Mash his brains out!” was Johnson’s cry. + +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. + +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. + +“All hands! We’ve got him! We’ve got him!” I could hear Leach crying. + +“Who?” demanded those who had been really asleep, and who had wakened to +they knew not what. + +“It’s the bloody mate!” was Leach’s crafty answer, strained from him in a +smothered sort of way. + +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. + +“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. + +“Won’t somebody get a knife? Oh, won’t somebody get a knife?” Leach +pleaded in the first interval of comparative silence. + +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. + +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. + +“Who is it?” Latimer cried. + +In the rays of the lantern I could see his perplexed face peering down. + +“Larsen,” I heard a muffled voice from within the mass. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +There was a deal of cursing and groaning as the men at the bottom of the +ladder crawled to their feet. + +“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. + +“You’ll find it knockin’ about by the bitts,” Leach said, sitting down on +the edge of the bunk in which I was concealed. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“How did he get away?” Johnson asked. + +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. + +“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. + +“And not one of you to get a knife!” was his unceasing lament. + +But the rest of the hands had a lively fear of consequences to come and +gave no heed to him. + +“How’ll he know which was which?” Kelly asked, and as he went on he +looked murderously about him—“unless one of us peaches.” + +“He’ll know as soon as ever he claps eyes on us,” Parsons replied. “One +look at you’d be enough.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“An’ ’twas me you hit, of course,” Kelly seconded, his face brightening +for the moment. + +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: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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: + +“Hump! The old man wants you!” + +“He ain’t down here!” Parsons called back. + +“Yes, he is,” I said, sliding out of the bunk and striving my hardest to +keep my voice steady and bold. + +The sailors looked at me in consternation. Fear was strong in their +faces, and the devilishness which comes of fear. + +“I’m coming!” I shouted up to Latimer. + +“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!” + +“Let him go,” Leach commanded. + +“Not on yer life,” was the angry retort. + +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. + +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! + +“I have seen and heard nothing, believe me,” I said quietly. + +“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.” + +I found Wolf Larsen in the cabin, stripped and bloody, waiting for me. +He greeted me with one of his whimsical smiles. + +“Come, get to work, Doctor. The signs are favourable for an extensive +practice this voyage. I don’t know what the _Ghost_ would have been +without you, and if I could only cherish such noble sentiments I would +tell you her master is deeply grateful.” + +I knew the run of the simple medicine-chest the _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +He noticed me, and I became conscious that I was staring at him. + +“God made you well,” I said. + +“Did he?” he answered. “I have often thought so myself, and wondered +why.” + +“Purpose—” I began. + +“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.” + +“It is not beautiful,” I protested. + +“Life isn’t, you mean,” he smiled. “Yet you say I was made well. Do you +see this?” + +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. + +“Feel them,” he commanded. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“I—I don’t understand navigation, you know,” I gasped. + +“Not necessary at all.” + +“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.” + +He smiled as though it were all settled. + +“I won’t be mate on this hell-ship!” I cried defiantly. + +I saw his face grow hard and the merciless glitter come into his eyes. +He walked to the door of his room, saying: + +“And now, Mr. Van Weyden, good-night.” + +“Good-night, Mr. Larsen,” I answered weakly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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 +_Ghost_. 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 _Ghost_ under my feet as she wallowed north and west through +the tropic sea to the islet where we filled our water-casks. + +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 _Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Ah, but it is cowardly, cowardly!” I cried. “You have all the +advantage.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“Leach,” he said, “you know I’m going to kill you some time or other, +don’t you?” + +A snarl was the answer. + +“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.” + +“That’s a suggestion,” he added, in an aside to me. “I’ll bet you a +month’s pay he acts upon it.” + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Now, watch me take Kelly’s right oar,” Smoke said, drawing a more +careful aim. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_. 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. + +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. + +Leach approached me as I returned aft. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Strange to say, in spite of the general foreboding, nothing of especial +moment happened on the _Ghost_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +It is no slight matter for two men, particularly when a stiff wind has +sprung up, to handle a vessel like the _Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“But if it is going to howl, and there are only two of us?” I asked, a +note of protest in my voice. + +“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.” + +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. + +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 _Arabian Nights_ before the huge front of +some malignant genie. He was daring destiny, and he was unafraid. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Thank Gawd she’s not comin’ all of a bunch, Mr. Van Weyden,” was the +Cockney’s fervent ejaculation. + +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 _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +The _Ghost_ 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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_, 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. + +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 must +get the jib backed over to windward_. 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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Make fast!” he shouted. “And come on!” + +As I followed him, I noted that in spite of rack and ruin a rough order +obtained. The _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ down upon the +tiny eggshell. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +“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!” + +And having commanded, he went aft with his peculiar tigerish leaps to the +wheel. While I toiled up the fore-shrouds the _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_ 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 +_Ghost_. 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 _Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +Once more the _Ghost_ 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. + +As before, the _Ghost_ 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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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?” + +And when he put the wheel hard over and the _Ghost’s_ 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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +“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 _Ghost_ herself. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ bobbed and ducked +amongst the combers like a cork. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I don’t think it was worth it,” I said to Wolf Larsen, “a broken boat +for Kelly’s life.” + +“But Kelly didn’t amount to much,” was the reply. “Good-night.” + +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 _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_, lonely and undirected, fought her way through the storm. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +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. + +Two of our boats, with men all safe, we took off the _Cisco_, and, to +Wolf Larsen’s huge delight and my own grief, he culled Smoke, with Nilson +and Leach, from the _San Diego_. 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. + +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 _Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Can you tell me, Mr. Van Weyden, how far we are off the coast, and what +the bearings of Yokohama are?” + +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. + +“Thank you, sir,” was all he said as he slipped back into the darkness. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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: + +“There’s five men in that boat!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Talk of a mess!” he giggled. + +“What’s wrong?” I demanded. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Mr. Van Weyden!” + +Wolf Larsen’s voice brought me sharply back to myself. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +The wind was freshening rapidly, the _Ghost_ 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. + +There were swift commands on deck, a stamping of feet and a slapping of +reef-points as the _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +I came on deck to find the _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +“What are we going to have?” I asked him. + +“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.” + +“Too bad we sighted them,” I said, as the _Ghost’s_ 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. + +Louis gave a spoke and temporized. “They’d never iv made the land, sir, +I’m thinkin’.” + +“Think not?” I queried. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +Wolf Larsen pursed his lips in a long, quizzical whistle. + +“What’s her name, then?” he demanded. + +“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?” + +“Mail steamer,” he answered shortly. “_The City of Tokio_, 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.” + +He shook his head in a bantering way, and regarded me with laughing eyes. + +“Are you—” I began. It was on the verge of my tongue to ask if he were +going to take the castaways into Yokohama. + +“Am I what?” he asked. + +“What do you intend doing with Leach and Johnson?” + +He shook his head. “Really, Hump, I don’t know. You see, with these +additions I’ve about all the crew I want.” + +“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.” + +“By me?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +His voice and expression changed. His face was serious. “Do you believe +in promises?” he asked. “Are they sacred things?” + +“Of course,” I answered. + +“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?” + +“Oh, not that I’m afraid of you, not that I’m afraid of you,” he hastened +to add. + +I could hardly believe my ears. What was coming over the man? + +“Is it a go?” he asked impatiently. + +“A go,” I answered. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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 _Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Hard up with that helm!” he commanded Oofty-Oofty, the Kanaka, who had +in the meantime relieved Louis at the wheel. + +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. + +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. + +“’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. + +“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.” + +Louis looked at me shrewdly. “Think so?” he asked. + +“Surely,” I answered. “Don’t you?” + +“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.” + +“What do you mean?” I demanded; for, having sped his shaft, he was +turning away. + +“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!” + +“If trouble comes, will you stand by?” I asked impulsively, for he had +voiced my own fear. + +“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.” + +“I had not thought you so great a coward,” I sneered. + +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?” + +I turned scornfully away and went aft. + +“Better get in those topsails, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen said, as I +came on the poop. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Hard up, there!” Wolf Larsen shouted, himself springing to the wheel and +whirling it over. + +Again the _Ghost_ 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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +“Good God! sir, what kind of a craft is this?” he cried. + +“You have eyes, you have seen,” I answered, almost brutally, what of the +pain and fear at my own heart. + +“Your promise?” I said to Wolf Larsen. + +“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.” + +“Far from it, far from it,” he laughed a moment later. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“And when shall we arrive at Yokohama?” she asked, turning to him and +looking him squarely in the eyes. + +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. + +“In four months, possibly three if the season closes early,” Wolf Larsen +said. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“What do you think?” she demanded. + +“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 _Ghost_.” + +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? + +“Mr. Van Weyden speaks with the voice of authority,” Wolf Larsen laughed. + +I nodded my head, and she, having recovered herself, waited expectantly. + +“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?” + +Kerfoot, thus directly addressed, was startled into dropping his knife on +the floor, though he managed to grunt affirmation. + +“Developed himself by peeling potatoes and washing dishes. Eh, Kerfoot?” + +Again that worthy grunted. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I may have learned to stand on my own legs,” I retorted. “But I have +yet to stamp upon others with them.” + +He looked at me insolently. “Your education is only half completed, +then,” he said dryly, and turned to her. + +“We are very hospitable upon the _Ghost_. Mr. Van Weyden has discovered +that. We do everything to make our guests feel at home, eh, Mr. Van +Weyden?” + +“Even to the peeling of potatoes and the washing of dishes,” I answered, +“to say nothing to wringing their necks out of very fellowship.” + +“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.” + +I was well-nigh choking, and my eyes were certainly fiery. He drew +attention to me. + +“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.” + +He shook his head sadly, murmuring, “Too bad, too bad,” while the hunters +burst into guffaws of laughter. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I may be taken off by some passing vessel, perhaps,” she suggested. + +“There will be no passing vessels, except other sealing-schooners,” Wolf +Larsen made answer. + +“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.” + +“The sooner you get accustomed to it, the better,” he said. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +She regarded him with amazement unconcealed. + +“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?” + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +“Do you feed yourself? Or does some one else feed you?” + +“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. + +“And I suppose some one else makes your bed for you?” + +“I _have_ made beds,” she replied. + +“Very often?” + +She shook her head with mock ruefulness. + +“Do you know what they do to poor men in the States, who, like you, do +not work for their living?” + +“I am very ignorant,” she pleaded. “What do they do to the poor men who +are like me?” + +“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?” + +“But as you are not Mr. Van Weyden, I don’t have to answer, do I?” + +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. + +“Have you ever earned a dollar by your own labour?” he demanded, certain +of her answer, a triumphant vindictiveness in his voice. + +“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.” + +He smiled indulgently. + +“But that was long ago,” she continued. “And you would scarcely demand a +little girl of nine to earn her own living.” + +“At present, however,” she said, after another slight pause, “I earn +about eighteen hundred dollars a year.” + +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. + +“Salary, or piece-work?” he asked. + +“Piece-work,” she answered promptly. + +“Eighteen hundred,” he calculated. “That’s a hundred and fifty dollars a +month. Well, Miss Brewster, there is nothing small about the _Ghost_. +Consider yourself on salary during the time you remain with us.” + +She made no acknowledgment. She was too unused as yet to the whims of +the man to accept them with equanimity. + +“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?” + +“Paper and ink,” she laughed. “And, oh! also a typewriter.” + +“You are Maud Brewster,” I said slowly and with certainty, almost as +though I were charging her with a crime. + +Her eyes lifted curiously to mine. “How do you know?” + +“Aren’t you?” I demanded. + +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. + +“I remember writing a review of a thin little volume—” I had begun +carelessly, when she interrupted me. + +“You!” she cried. “You are—” + +She was now staring at me in wide-eyed wonder. + +I nodded my identity, in turn. + +“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.” + +“I remember the review,” she went on hastily, becoming aware of the +awkwardness of her remark; “that too, too flattering review.” + +“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?” + +“But you called me the American Mrs. Meynell!” + +“Was it not true?” I demanded. + +“No, not that,” she answered. “I was hurt.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“And you are Maud Brewster,” I said solemnly, gazing across at her. + +“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.” + +“No, I am not gathering material, I assure you,” was my answer. “I have +neither aptitude nor inclination for fiction.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +He rose to his feet and laughed awkwardly. The sound of it was metallic. + +“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.” + +But the gates of speech were closed, and we, too, rose from the table and +laughed awkwardly. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +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. + +“I’ve given you warning, Cooky,” Wolf Larsen said, “and now you’ve got to +take your medicine.” + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_, +lunging onward, jerked the cook to the surface. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +“What is the cause of the merriment?” she asked. + +“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. + +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. + +“Are you fishing?” she asked him. + +He made no reply. His eyes, fixed intently on the sea astern, suddenly +flashed. + +“Shark ho, sir!” he cried. + +“Heave in! Lively! All hands tail on!” Wolf Larsen shouted, springing +himself to the rope in advance of the quickest. + +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. + +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: + +“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—” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Will you get a tourniquet, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen called to me. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +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 _Ghost_. + +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. + +“What is it?” I asked gently; but the expression of determination on her +face did not relax. + +“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.” + +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. + +“The information is quite correct,” I answered. “The two men were +murdered.” + +“And you permitted it!” she cried. + +“I was unable to prevent it, is a better way of phrasing it,” I replied, +still gently. + +“But you tried to prevent it?” There was an emphasis on the “tried,” and +a pleading little note in her voice. + +“Oh, but you didn’t,” she hurried on, divining my answer. “But why +didn’t you?” + +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. + +She shook her head incredulously. + +“What would you advise, then?” I asked. “That I should take a knife, or +a gun, or an axe, and kill this man?” + +She half started back. + +“No, not that!” + +“Then what should I do? Kill myself?” + +“You speak in purely materialistic terms,” she objected. “There is such +a thing as moral courage, and moral courage is never without effect.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +She waited for me to go on. + +“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.” + +She brushed her hand across her forehead in a puzzled way, saying, “Still +I do not understand.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“I am to lie,” she said in steady, rebellious tones, “by speech and +action to lie.” + +Wolf Larsen had separated from Latimer and was coming toward us. I was +desperate. + +“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.’” + +“And it was a newspaper poem,” she said glibly. + +“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.” + +“We were talking of Harris,” I said to Wolf Larsen. + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Brave winds, blowing fair, swiftly drove the _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I am afraid,” she whispered, with a shiver. “I am so afraid.” + +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: + +“All will come right, Miss Brewster. Trust me, it will come right.” + +She answered with a grateful little smile that sent my heart pounding, +and started to descend the companion-stairs. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Who’s Who_, 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. + +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: + + “I wandered all these years among + A world of women, seeking you.” + +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: + + “I lived with visions for my company + Instead of men and women years ago, + And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know + A sweeter music than they played to me.” + +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. + +“What the hell are you up to?” he was demanding. + +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. + +“Sleep-walking, sunstroke,—what?” he barked. + +“No; indigestion,” I retorted, and continued my walk as if nothing +untoward had occurred. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Among the most vivid memories of my life are those of the events on the +_Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Anything to say?” the other demanded aggressively. + +It was a challenge, but Smoke refused to accept it. + +“About what?” he asked, so innocently that Wolf Larsen was disconcerted, +while the others smiled. + +“Oh, nothing,” Wolf Larsen said lamely. “I just thought you might want +to register a kick.” + +“About what?” asked the imperturbable Smoke. + +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. + +“Smoke ho!” the cry came down the open companion-way. + +“How’s it bear?” Wolf Larsen called up. + +“Dead astern, sir.” + +“Maybe it’s a Russian,” suggested Latimer. + +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. + +“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 _Macedonia_.” + +No one accepted his offer, and he went on: “In which event, I’ll lay ten +to one there’s trouble breezing up.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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 _Macedonia_ 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. + +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. + +Under the approaching smoke the hull and upper-works of a steamer were +growing larger. It was the _Macedonia_. 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. + +“Where is the trouble you were so sure was breezing up, Captain Larsen?” +she asked gaily. + +He glanced at her, a moment’s amusement softening his features. + +“What did you expect? That they’d come aboard and cut our throats?” + +“Something like that,” she confessed. “You understand, seal-hunters are +so new and strange to me that I am quite ready to expect anything.” + +He nodded his head. “Quite right, quite right. Your error is that you +failed to expect the worst.” + +“Why, what can be worse than cutting our throats?” she asked, with pretty +naïve surprise. + +“Cutting our purses,” he answered. “Man is so made these days that his +capacity for living is determined by the money he possesses.” + +“’Who steals my purse steals trash,’” she quoted. + +“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.” + +“But I fail to see that this steamer has any designs on your purse.” + +“Wait and you will see,” he answered grimly. + +We did not have long to wait. Having passed several miles beyond our +line of boats, the _Macedonia_ 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. + +Our boats hunted across the two or three miles of water between them and +the point where the _Macedonia’s_ 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. + +“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?” + +“Their innate sense of right has been violated,” Maud Brewster said, +joining the conversation. + +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. + +“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.” + +“’You hardly behave as if your purse had been touched,” she said, +smilingly. + +“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 _Macedonia_ hogged it, the _Ghost_ has lost about +fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of skins.” + +“You speak so calmly—” she began. + +“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!” + +His face underwent a sudden change. His voice was less harsh and wholly +sincere as he said: + +“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?” + +“You are good to look upon—in a way,” I qualified. + +“There are in you all powers for good,” was Maud Brewster’s answer. + +“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.” + +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.” + +He shook his head slowly, pondering. + +“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.” + +He stopped abruptly, and then on his lips formed one of his strange +quizzical smiles, as he added: + +“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.” + +“Or like a wise man looking upon fools and wishing he, too, were a fool,” +I laughed. + +“Quite so,” he said. “You are a blessed, bankrupt pair of fools. You +have no facts in your pocketbook.” + +“Yet we spend as freely as you,” was Maud Brewster’s contribution. + +“More freely, because it costs you nothing.” + +“And because we draw upon eternity,” she retorted. + +“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.” + +“Why don’t you change the basis of your coinage, then?” she queried +teasingly. + +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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +“You’ve been on deck, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen said, the following +morning at the breakfast-table, “How do things look?” + +“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.” + +He nodded his head in a pleased way. “Any signs of fog?” + +“Thick banks in the north and north-west.” + +He nodded his head again, evincing even greater satisfaction than before. + +“What of the _Macedonia_?” + +“Not sighted,” I answered. + +I could have sworn his face fell at the intelligence, but why he should +be disappointed I could not conceive. + +I was soon to learn. “Smoke ho!” came the hail from on deck, and his +face brightened. + +“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. + +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. + +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 _Macedonia’s_ smoke, which +was rising higher and higher as she approached from the west. + +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 _Macedonia_ 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. + +“What’s up?” I asked Wolf Larsen, unable longer to keep my curiosity in +check. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“And if we’re not?” I queried. + +“Not to be considered,” he laughed. “We simply must be in luck, or it’s +all up with us.” + +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. + +“With an artificial foot—and they make excellent ones—you will be +stumping ships’ galleys to the end of time,” I assured him jovially. + +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.’” + +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 _Macedonia_. 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 _Macedonia’s_ 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. + +The smoke of the _Macedonia_ 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 _Ghost_ through her paces. We ran past our line of +boats and bore down upon the first weather boat of the other line. + +“Down that flying jib, Mr. Van Weyden,” Wolf Larsen commanded. “And +stand by to back over the jibs.” + +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: + +“Come on board and have a ’gam’!” + +“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. + +The _Ghost_ swung around into the wind, and I finished my work forward in +time to run aft and lend a hand with the mainsheet. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“You see the sacredness of our hospitality,” I said bitterly to Maud +Brewster. + +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 _Ghost_. + +“Wouldn’t it be better if you went forward, say by the steerage +companion-way, until it is over?” I suggested. + +She shook her head and gazed at me pitifully. She was not frightened, +but appalled, rather, at the human animality of it. + +“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.” + +“It is not nice—for me,” I added. + +“I understand,” she said, in a weak, far-away voice, and her eyes showed +me that she did understand. + +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. + +“Send those two men aft, Mr. Van Weyden,” he said. + +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.” + +“Hoist in your boat, I said,” he repeated, this time in sharper tones as +they hesitated to do his bidding. + +“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!” + +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 _Ghost_ after the _Macedonia’s_ second weather boat. + +Under way, and with nothing for the time being to do, I turned my +attention to the situation of the boats. The _Macedonia’s_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You see,” he said to her; and then to me, “Mr. Van Weyden, will you take +the wheel?” + +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: + +“We may be feeble land-creatures without legs, but we can show Captain +Larsen that we are at least as brave as he.” + +He gave her a quick look of admiration. + +“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. + +I saw his eyes flash golden as he spoke, and I saw the terror mount in +her own. + +“We are braver,” I hastened to say. “At least, speaking for myself, I +know I am braver than Captain Larsen.” + +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 _Ghost_, and then steadied her. +Wolf Larsen was still waiting an explanation, and I pointed down to my +knees. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Here, you!” Wolf Larsen cried suddenly to the boat-puller. “Take a +turn!” + +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. + +“Take a turn,” he said quietly to the man. + +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 _Ghost_. + +“Now, get that sail down and come alongside!” Wolf Larsen ordered. + +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. + +“Drop it!” Wolf Larsen cried, and the hunter dropped it as though it were +hot and had burned him. + +Once aboard, the two prisoners hoisted in the boat and under Wolf +Larsen’s direction carried the wounded boat-steerer down into the +forecastle. + +“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. + +“The man you shot—he is—I hope?” Maud Brewster quavered. + +“In the shoulder,” he answered. “Nothing serious, Mr. Van Weyden will +pull him around as good as ever in three or four weeks.” + +“But he won’t pull those chaps around, from the look of it,” he added, +pointing at the _Macedonia’s_ 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?” + +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. + +“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. + +“Head right into the bunch, Mr. Van Weyden,” was Wolf Larsen’s command. + +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. + +“Look at that!” I cried involuntarily, pointing to the north-east. + +The blot of smoke which indicated the _Macedonia’s_ position had +reappeared. + +“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!” + +The blot of smoke had suddenly grown larger, and it was very black. + +“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.” + +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. + +There was need for haste. The _Macedonia_, 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 _Macedonia_ could hope to catch us. The +hope for the _Ghost_ lay in that she should pass that point before the +_Macedonia_ arrived at it. + +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 +_Macedonia_; 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 _Ghost_ 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 +_Ghost_ and delighted in her sailing powers. + +“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. + +The _Macedonia_ 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. + +A puff of smoke broke from the _Macedonia’s_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_. + +“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.” + +When all was ready, the word “hard-a-lee” was passed forward to me from +man to man; and the _Ghost_ 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. + +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 _Macedonia_ broke +its surface nor blackened the sky with her smoke. + +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 +_Macedonia_, guessing his manœuvre and failing by a moment in +anticipating it. There was no doubt that we had escaped unseen. + +“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.” + +“I’d give five hundred dollars, though,” he added, “just to be aboard the +_Macedonia_ for five minutes, listening to my brother curse.” + +“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.” + +“But won’t they escape as Wainwright did?” I asked. + +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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“But suppose he desires to do two opposite things, neither of which will +permit him to do the other?” Maud interrupted. + +“The very thing I was coming to,” he said. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Ha! ha!” he laughed. “What do you think of that, Mr. Van Weyden?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + + “Blessed am I beyond women even herein, + That beyond all born women is my sin, + And perfect my transgression.” + +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: + +“Be easy, will ye? The fog’s lifted, an’ ’tis the port light iv a +steamer that’s crossin’ our bow this blessed minute.” + +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 _Macedonia_. + +Wolf Larsen had returned to the poop, and we stood in a silent group, +watching the lights rapidly cross our bow. + +“Lucky for me he doesn’t carry a searchlight,” Wolf Larsen said. + +“What if I should cry out loudly?” I queried in a whisper. + +“It would be all up,” he answered. “But have you thought upon what would +immediately happen?” + +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 +_Macedonia’s_ lights. + +“What if I should cry out?” Maud asked. + +“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. + +“But don’t do it, just the same, for I’d promptly break Mr. Van Weyden’s +neck.” + +“Then she has my permission to cry out,” I said defiantly. + +“I hardly think you’ll care to sacrifice the Dean of American Letters the +Second,” he sneered. + +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. + +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: + + “And her eyes should be my light while the sun went out behind me, + And the viols in her voice be the last sound in my ear.” + +“There are viols in your voice,” he said bluntly, and his eyes flashed +their golden light. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“The first Anarchist,” Maud laughed, rising and preparing to withdraw to +her state-room. + +“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: + + “‘Here at least + We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built + Here for his envy; will not drive us hence; + Here we may reign secure; and in my choice + To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: + Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.” + +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. + +Again that unnamable and unmistakable terror was in her eyes, and she +said, almost in a whisper, “You are Lucifer.” + +The door closed and she was gone. He stood staring after her for a +minute, then returned to himself and to me. + +“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.” + +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 +_Ghost_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But Maud had seen my first blow, and she cried, “Don’t! Please don’t!” + +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. + +“For my sake,” she begged. + +“I would kill him for your sake!” I cried, trying to free my arm without +hurting her. + +“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. + +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. + +“Van Weyden!” he called hoarsely, and with a note of fright in his +voice. “Oh, Van Weyden! where are you?” + +I looked at Maud. She did not speak, but nodded her head. + +“Here I am,” I answered, stepping to his side. “What is the matter?” + +“Help me to a seat,” he said, in the same hoarse, frightened voice. + +“I am a sick man; a very sick man, Hump,” he said, as he left my +sustaining grip and sank into a chair. + +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. + +“I am a sick man, a very sick man,” he repeated again, and yet once +again. + +“What is the matter?” I asked, resting my hand on his shoulder. “What +can I do for you?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +Maud looked at me inquiringly as I emerged. I shook my head, saying: + +“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.” + +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?” + +“If you will wait, please, until I come back,” I answered. + +I went on deck. Louis was at the wheel. + +“You may go for’ard and turn in,” I said, taking it from him. + +He was quick to obey, and I found myself alone on the deck of the +_Ghost_. 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. + +“Anything I can do for you?” I asked. + +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.” + +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. + +“Will you trust yourself to me for a journey of six hundred miles or so?” +I asked. + +“You mean—?” she asked, and I knew she had guessed aright. + +“Yes, I mean just that,” I replied. “There is nothing left for us but +the open boat.” + +“For me, you mean,” she said. “You are certainly as safe here as you +have been.” + +“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.” + +“And make all haste,” I added, as she turned toward her state-room. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Good-bye, Lucifer,” I whispered to myself as I softly closed the door. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Martinez_. + +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 _Ghost_. 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. + +“There lies Japan,” I remarked, “straight before us.” + +“Humphrey Van Weyden,” she said, “you are a brave man.” + +“Nay,” I answered, “it is you who are a brave woman.” + +We turned our heads, swayed by a common impulse to see the last of the +_Ghost_. 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Good-morning, Mr. Van Weyden,” she said. “Have you sighted land yet?” + +“No,” I answered, “but we are approaching it at a rate of six miles an +hour.” + +She made a _moue_ of disappointment. + +“But that is equivalent to one hundred and forty-four miles in +twenty-four hours,” I added reassuringly. + +Her face brightened. “And how far have we to go?” + +“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.” + +“And if it storms? The boat could not live?” + +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. + +“It would have to storm very hard,” I temporized. + +“And if it storms very hard?” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“I don’t see that it would help matters if you, too, sat up and were +chilled,” I laughed. + +“It will, though, when I learn to steer, which I certainly shall.” + +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. + +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. + +“Why don’t women wear their hair down always?” I asked. “It is so much +more beautiful.” + +“If it didn’t tangle so dreadfully,” she laughed. “There! I’ve lost one +of my precious hair-pins!” + +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. + +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. + +“And now we shall have breakfast,” I said. “But first you must be more +warmly clad.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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 +_Ghost_ 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. + +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: + +“Now, sir, to bed. And you shall sleep until luncheon. Till +dinner-time,” she corrected, remembering the arrangement on the _Ghost_. + +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. + +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. + +“I am so tired,” she said, with a quick intake of the breath and a sigh, +drooping her head wearily. + +But she straightened it the next moment. “Now don’t scold, don’t you +dare scold,” she cried with mock defiance. + +“I hope my face does not appear angry,” I answered seriously; “for I +assure you I am not in the least angry.” + +“N-no,” she considered. “It looks only reproachful.” + +“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?” + +She looked penitent. “I’ll be good,” she said, as a naughty child might +say it. “I promise—” + +“To obey as a sailor would obey his captain?” + +“Yes,” she answered. “It was stupid of me, I know.” + +“Then you must promise something else,” I ventured. + +“Readily.” + +“That you will not say, ‘Please, please,’ too often; for when you do you +are sure to override my authority.” + +She laughed with amused appreciation. She, too, had noticed the power of +the repeated “please.” + +“It is a good word—” I began. + +“But I must not overwork it,” she broke in. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_Macedonia_ still seeking the _Ghost_. 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. + +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. + +“And now?” Maud asked cheerfully, when the task was accomplished and I +pulled on my mittens. + +“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.” + +“That will be only twenty-four miles,” she urged, “if the wind remains +high all night.” + +“Yes, and only one hundred and forty miles if it continues for three days +and nights.” + +“But it won’t continue,” she said with easy confidence. “It will turn +around and blow fair.” + +“The sea is the great faithless one.” + +“But the wind!” she retorted. “I have heard you grow eloquent over the +brave trade-wind.” + +“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.” + +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 +_Ghost_; 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_. 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. + +Where we were I did not know, though there was quite a likelihood that we +were in the vicinity of the _Ghost_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +“Maud,” I said. “Maud.” + +She turned her head and beheld the sight. + +“It cannot be Alaska!” she cried. + +“Alas, no,” I answered, and asked, “Can you swim?” + +She shook her head. + +“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.” + +I spoke with a confidence she knew I did not feel, for she looked at me +with that unfaltering gaze of hers and said: + +“I have not thanked you yet for all you have done for me but—” + +She hesitated, as if in doubt how best to word her gratitude. + +“Well?” I said, brutally, for I was not quite pleased with her thanking +me. + +“You might help me,” she smiled. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“We shall go clear,” I said, with a confidence which I knew deceived +neither of us. + +“By God, we _will_ go clear!” I cried, five minutes later. + +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. + +“I beg your pardon,” I said. + +“You have convinced me of your sincerity,” she said, with a faint smile. +“I do know, now, that we shall go clear.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“I really must sit down,” Maud said, with a nervous laugh and a dizzy +gesture, and forthwith she sat down on the sand. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +“Fool!” I cried aloud in my vexation. + +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 +_Ghost’s_ larder had given me the idea of a fire. + +“Blithering idiot!” I was continuing. + +But Maud said, “Tut, tut,” in gentle reproval, and then asked why I was a +blithering idiot. + +“No matches,” I groaned. “Not a match did I bring. And now we shall +have no hot coffee, soup, tea, or anything!” + +“Wasn’t it—er—Crusoe who rubbed sticks together?” she drawled. + +“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.’” + +“Oh, well, we’ve managed so far without it,” she said cheerfully. “And +there’s no reason why we cannot still manage without it.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“I should like to go with you,” was all she said. + +“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.” + +Something suspiciously akin to moistness dimmed her beautiful eyes before +she dropped them and partly turned away her head. + +“I should prefer going with you,” she said in a low voice, in which there +was just a hint of appeal. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +She turned and looked me in the eyes. Her gaze was unfaltering, but +soft. + +“Please, please,” she said, oh, so softly. + +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. + +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. + +Morning broke dull and grey, but calm, and I was awake early and had the +boat in readiness. + +“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. + +Her head appeared under the flap of the sail. + +“What now?” she asked sleepily, and, withal, curiously. + +“Coffee!” I cried. “What do you say to a cup of coffee? hot coffee? +piping hot?” + +“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.” + +“Watch me,” I said. + +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. + +Maud clapped her hands gleefully. “Prometheus!” she cried. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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 _Gazelle_ 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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +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. + +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. + +“Winters used walrus skins on his hut,” I said. + +“There are the seals,” she suggested. + +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. + +“We must club the seals,” I announced, when convinced of my poor +marksmanship. “I have heard the sealers talk about clubbing them.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“That’s just it,” she began eagerly, and broke off in sudden confusion. + +“Of course,” I began, “if you prefer—” + +“But what shall I be doing?” she interrupted, with that softness I knew +full well to be insistence. + +“Gathering firewood and cooking dinner,” I answered lightly. + +She shook her head. “It is too dangerous for you to attempt alone.” + +“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.” + +“But the clubbing?” I suggested. + +“Of course, you will do that. I shall probably scream. I’ll look away +when—” + +“The danger is most serious,” I laughed. + +“I shall use my judgment when to look and when not to look,” she replied +with a grand air. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Let us gather tundra grass and thatch the roof,” Maud said. + +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. + +“I always thought they were afraid of men,” I said. + +“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. + +“I heard of a man, once, who invaded the nesting grounds of wild geese,” +Maud said. “They killed him.” + +“The geese?” + +“Yes, the geese. My brother told me about it when I was a little girl.” + +“But I know men club them,” I persisted. + +“I think the tundra grass will make just as good a roof,” she said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“My!” said Maud. “Let’s go back.” + +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.” + +“I wish you wouldn’t,” she said. + +“Now don’t say, ‘Please, please,’” I cried, half angrily, I do believe. + +She made no reply, and I knew my tone must have hurt her. + +“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.” + +“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. + +I rowed a couple of hundred feet along the beach so as to recover my +nerves, and then stepped ashore again. + +“Do be cautious,” she called after me. + +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. + +“Watch out!” I heard Maud scream. + +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. + +“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—” + +“It seems to me that your fighting instinct is aroused,” I laughed. + +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.” + +“Pretty!” I sniffed. “I failed to mark anything pre-eminently pretty +about those foamy-mouthed beasts that raced me.” + +“Your point of view,” she laughed. “You lacked perspective. Now if you +did not have to get so close to the subject—” + +“The very thing!” I cried. “What I need is a longer club. And there’s +that broken oar ready to hand.” + +“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.” + +“I don’t care to undertake the herding of one of those harems,” I +objected. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“It would be wise to make the boat fast,” Maud said. + +She had stepped out beside me, and I regarded her with wonderment. + +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.” + +“Let’s go back,” I said dejectedly. “I think tundra grass, will do, +after all.” + +“You know it won’t,” was her reply. “Shall I lead?” + +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. + +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: + +“I’m dreadfully afraid!” + +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. + +“I’m afraid, and I’m not afraid,” she chattered with shaking jaws. “It’s +my miserable body, not I.” + +“It’s all right, it’s all right,” I reassured her, my arm passing +instinctively and protectingly around her. + +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. + +“I am all right now,” she said, looking up at me gratefully. “Let us go +on.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“My, it’s exciting!” she cried, pausing from sheer weakness. “I think +I’ll sit down.” + +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. + +“It’s just like home-coming,” Maud said, as I ran the boat ashore. + +I heard her words with a responsive thrill, it was all so dearly intimate +and natural, and I said: + +“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.” + +But her ear had caught the flaw. She recognized a flight that midmost +broke. She gave me a quick look. + +“Not that. You were saying—?” + +“That the American Mrs. Meynell was living the life of a savage and +living it quite successfully,” I said easily. + +“Oh,” was all she replied; but I could have sworn there was a note of +disappointment in her voice. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +“It will smell,” I said, “but it will keep in the heat and keep out the +rain and snow.” + +We were surveying the completed seal-skin roof. + +“It is clumsy, but it will serve the purpose, and that is the main +thing,” I went on, yearning for her praise. + +And she clapped her hands and declared that she was hugely pleased. + +“But it is dark in here,” she said the next moment, her shoulders +shrinking with a little involuntary shiver. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“That means—” she began. + +“No window.” + +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. + +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. + +“Think of the long rest this winter,” was her reply to my remonstrances. +“Why, we’ll be clamorous for something to do.” + +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. + +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. + +As she rose to go she turned to me with the whimsical way she had, and +said: + +“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.” + +“Good or bad?” I asked. + +She shook her head. “I don’t know, but it is there, somewhere.” + +She pointed in the direction of the sea and wind. + +“It’s a lee shore,” I laughed, “and I am sure I’d rather be here than +arriving, a night like this.” + +“You are not frightened?” I asked, as I stepped to open the door for her. + +Her eyes looked bravely into mine. + +“And you feel well? perfectly well?” + +“Never better,” was her answer. + +We talked a little longer before she went. + +“Good-night, Maud,” I said. + +“Good-night, Humphrey,” she said. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_. + +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. + +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 +_Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_,—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. + +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 _Ghost_. 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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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. + +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 by my new fear was increased an hundred-fold. And still we stood, the +pair of us, staring at each other. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Well?” he demanded impatiently. + +I strove vainly to force my fingers down on the triggers, and vainly I +strove to say something. + +“Why don’t you shoot?” he asked. + +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.” + +“I know it,” I said hoarsely. + +“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.” + +He stepped out of the companion-way and came up to me. + +“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 _Ghost_ +lying? How did you get wet? Where’s Maud?—I beg your pardon, Miss +Brewster—or should I say, ‘Mrs. Van Weyden’?” + +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. + +“This is Endeavour Island,” I said. + +“Never heard of it,” he broke in. + +“At least, that’s our name for it,” I amended. + +“Our?” he queried. “Who’s our?” + +“Miss Brewster and myself. And the _Ghost_ is lying, as you can see for +yourself, bow on to the beach.” + +“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?” + +“Haven’t the least idea,” I said. “But you ought to know quite closely. +What were your last observations?” + +He smiled inscrutably, but did not answer. + +“Well, where’s all hands?” I asked. “How does it come that you are +alone?” + +I was prepared for him again to set aside my question, and was surprised +at the readiness of his reply. + +“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.” + +“But how did you lose the masts?” I asked. + +“Walk over and examine those lanyards,” he said, pointing to where the +mizzen-rigging should have been. + +“They have been cut with a knife!” I exclaimed. + +“Not quite,” he laughed. “It was a neater job. Look again.” + +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. + +“Cooky did that,” he laughed again. “I know, though I didn’t spot him at +it. Kind of evened up the score a bit.” + +“Good for Mugridge!” I cried. + +“Yes, that’s what I thought when everything went over the side. Only I +said it on the other side of my mouth.” + +“But what were you doing while all this was going on?” I asked. + +“My best, you may be sure, which wasn’t much under the circumstances.” + +I turned to re-examine Thomas Mugridge’s work. + +“I guess I’ll sit down and take the sunshine,” I heard Wolf Larsen +saying. + +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. + +“How are your headaches?” I asked. + +“They still trouble me,” was his answer. “I think I have one coming on +now.” + +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. + +“Now’s your chance, Hump,” he said. + +“I don’t understand,” I lied, for I thoroughly understood. + +“Oh, nothing,” he added softly, as if he were drowsing; “only you’ve got +me where you want me.” + +“No, I haven’t,” I retorted; “for I want you a few thousand miles away +from here.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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—” + +“But just this once,” I pleaded. + +“If you promise not to do it again,” she smiled. “Unless, of course, you +have grown tired of my poor efforts.” + +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. + +“Humphrey!” she said. + +The old unnamable terror mounted into her eyes. + +“Is—he?” she quavered. + +I nodded my head. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +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 _Ghost_. But he did not come. He did not even appear +on deck. + +“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.” + +Maud looked entreaty at me. + +“It is all right,” I assured her. “I shall take the revolvers. You know +I collected every weapon on board.” + +“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!” + +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. + +“I shall not take any risks,” I said. “I’ll merely peep over the bow and +see.” + +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. + +The next day we waited, and the next, and still he made no sign. + +“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.” + +“Or dying,” was her afterthought when she had waited some time for me to +speak. + +“Better so,” I answered. + +“But think, Humphrey, a fellow-creature in his last lonely hour.” + +“Perhaps,” I suggested. + +“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.” + +“Perhaps,” I suggested again. + +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? + +She was too subtle not to follow the trend of my silence. And she was as +direct as she was subtle. + +“You must go aboard, Humphrey, and find out,” she said. “And if you want +to laugh at me, you have my consent and forgiveness.” + +I arose obediently and went down the beach. + +“Do be careful,” she called after me. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“God! God!” he groaned, and the clenched fists were raised again to the +infinite despair with which his throat vibrated. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +“It’s too bad the _Ghost_ has lost her masts. Why we could sail away in +her. Don’t you think we could, Humphrey?” + +I sprang excitedly to my feet. + +“I wonder, I wonder,” I repeated, pacing up and down. + +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. + +“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.” + +“What? for goodness’ sake,” Maud demanded. “Do be merciful. What is it +you can do?” + +“We can do it,” I amended. “Why, nothing else than put the masts back +into the _Ghost_ and sail away.” + +“Humphrey!” she exclaimed. + +And I felt as proud of my conception as if it were already a fact +accomplished. + +“But how is it possible to be done?” she asked. + +“I don’t know,” was my answer. “I know only that I am capable of doing +anything these days.” + +I smiled proudly at her—too proudly, for she dropped her eyes and was for +the moment silent. + +“But there is Captain Larsen,” she objected. + +“Blind and helpless,” I answered promptly, waving him aside as a straw. + +“But those terrible hands of his! You know how he leaped across the +opening of the lazarette.” + +“And you know also how I crept about and avoided him,” I contended gaily. + +“And lost your shoes.” + +“You’d hardly expect them to avoid Wolf Larsen without my feet inside of +them.” + +We both laughed, and then went seriously to work constructing the plan +whereby we were to step the masts of the _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_ 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? + +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! + +Maud saw that I had achieved a solution, and her eyes warmed +sympathetically. + +“What are you going to do?” she asked. + +“Clear that raffle,” I answered, pointing to the tangled wreckage +overside. + +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! + +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. + +“I’m sure I’ve heard it before, somewhere, in books,” she murmured +gleefully. + +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. + +Her hand leapt out at once to mine. + +“I’m so sorry,” she said. + +“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.” + +“‘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. + +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. + +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. + +Next morning, with Maud as able assistant, I went into the hold of the +_Ghost_ 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. + +“Hello below!” he cried down the open hatch. + +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. + +“Hello on deck,” I replied. “Good-morning to you.” + +“What are you doing down there?” he demanded. “Trying to scuttle my ship +for me?” + +“Quite the opposite; I’m repairing her,” was my answer. + +“But what in thunder are you repairing?” There was puzzlement in his +voice. + +“Why, I’m getting everything ready for re-stepping the masts,” I replied +easily, as though it were the simplest project imaginable. + +“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. + +“But I say, Hump,” he called down. “You can’t do it.” + +“Oh, yes, I can,” I retorted. “I’m doing it now.” + +“But this is my vessel, my particular property. What if I forbid you?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Since when have you become a philanthropist?” I queried. “Confess, now, +in warning me for my own good, that you are very consistent.” + +He ignored my sarcasm, saying, “Suppose I clap the hatch on, now? You +won’t fool me as you did in the lazarette.” + +“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.” + +“Nevertheless, I forbid you, I distinctly forbid your tampering with my +ship.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“And none so poor, not even Hump, to do him reverence,” he sneered. + +The sneer was wholly in his voice. His face remained expressionless as +ever. + +“How do you do, Miss Brewster,” he said suddenly, after a pause. + +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? + +“How do you do, Captain Larsen,” she answered. “Pray, how did you know I +was here?” + +“Heard you breathing, of course. I say, Hump’s improving, don’t you +think so?” + +“I don’t know,” she answered, smiling at me. “I have never seen him +otherwise.” + +“You should have seen him before, then.” + +“Wolf Larsen, in large doses,” I murmured, “before and after taking.” + +“I want to tell you again, Hump,” he said threateningly, “that you’d +better leave things alone.” + +“But don’t you care to escape as well as we?” I asked incredulously. + +“No,” was his answer. “I intend dying here.” + +“Well, we don’t,” I concluded defiantly, beginning again my knocking and +hammering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +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. + +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. + +But when the butt of the topmast was level with the rail, everything came +to a standstill. + +“I might have known it,” I said impatiently. “Now we have to do it all +over again.” + +“Why not fasten the tackle part way down the mast?” Maud suggested. + +“It’s what I should have done at first,” I answered, hugely disgusted +with myself. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I wish it weren’t so late,” I said. “I’d like to see how it works.” + +“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.” + +“And you?” I said, with sudden solicitude. “You must be very tired. You +have worked hard and nobly. I am proud of you, Maud.” + +“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. + +“If our friends could see us now,” she said. “Look at us. Have you ever +paused for a moment to consider our appearance?” + +“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. + +“Mercy!” she cried. “And what do I look like, pray?” + +“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.’” + +She made me an elaborate and stately courtesy, and said, “As for you, +sir—” + +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. + +“It’s a shame, after working hard all day, that we cannot have an +uninterrupted night’s sleep,” I complained, after supper. + +“But there can be no danger now? from a blind man?” she queried. + +“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.” + +We were awake early and just finishing breakfast as daylight came. + +“Oh, Humphrey!” I heard Maud cry in dismay and suddenly stop. + +I looked at her. She was gazing at the _Ghost_. I followed her gaze, +but could see nothing unusual. She looked at me, and I looked inquiry +back. + +“The shears,” she said, and her voice trembled. + +I had forgotten their existence. I looked again, but could not see them. + +“If he has—” I muttered savagely. + +She put her hand sympathetically on mine, and said, “You will have to +begin over again.” + +“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.” + +“But I’ll stand my watch on board hereafter,” I blurted out a moment +later. “And if he interferes—” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“It’s childish,” I laughed later, “for him to do such things, and for me +to grow angry over them, for that matter.” + +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. + +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 _Ghost_? +He had done his work well. I sat down on the hatch-combing and rested my +chin on my hands in black despair. + +“He deserves to die,” I cried out; “and God forgive me, I am not man +enough to be his executioner.” + +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.” + +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. + +“Here he comes now,” she whispered. + +I glanced up. He was strolling leisurely along the poop on the port +side. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, I know you’re aboard,” he called out, and I could see him listen +intently after he had spoken. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I pulled in the oars and bent forward to the line which held the tow. +But Maud’s hand leaped out restrainingly to mine. + +“What are you going to do?” she asked in a strained, tense voice. + +“Cast it off,” I answered, slipping a turn of the rope. + +But her fingers closed on mine. + +“Please don’t,” she begged. + +“It is useless,” I answered. “Here is night and the wind blowing us off +the land.” + +“But think, Humphrey. If we cannot sail away on the _Ghost_, 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.” + +“You forget the boat we found on the beach,” I reminded her. + +“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.” + +I remained silent, undecided. + +“Besides,” she added haltingly, “it’s your idea, and I want to see you +succeed.” + +Now I could harden my heart. As soon as she put it on a flattering +personal basis, generosity compelled me to deny her. + +“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.” + +“It is only nervousness,” she answered. “I am afraid you will cast off +the masts in spite of me.” + +“Oh, please, please, Humphrey, don’t!” she burst out, a moment later. + +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. + +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. + +“Fair wind!” I cried in a husky voice I did not recognize as my own. + +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! + +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. + +“Oh, you brave, brave woman,” I said, when I saw the life coming back +into her face. “Did you know that you were brave?” + +“I never used to be,” she answered. “I was never brave till I knew you. +It is you who have made me brave.” + +“Nor I, until I knew you,” I answered. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“You little knew what you were choosing,” I laughed. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” I said quietly. + +He heard the click of my pistol and laughed. + +“Hello, Hump,” he said. “I knew you were here all the time. You can’t +fool my ears.” + +“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.” + +“You have the chance always,” he sneered. + +“Go ahead and cut,” I threatened ominously. + +“I’d rather disappoint you,” he laughed, and turned on his heel and went +aft. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“There must be some way,” she contended. “Let me think.” + +“There is one way,” I said grimly. + +She waited. + +I picked up a seal-club. + +“It won’t kill him,” I said. “And before he could recover I’d have him +bound hard and fast.” + +She shook her head with a shudder. “No, not that. There must be some +less brutal way. Let us wait.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“One of his attacks,” I whispered to Maud. + +She nodded her head; and I could see sympathy warm in her eyes. + +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. + +“What if he should be feigning this?” I asked, still holding his wrist. + +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. + +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 _Martinez_. + +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. + +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. + +“Dear woman!” I cried, scrambling to my feet. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Maud was already rearranging his pillow. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +At once we moved aboard the _Ghost_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Do you know you are deaf in the right ear?” I asked. + +“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.” + +“Feigning again?” I demanded angrily. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“But why?” I asked; partly in horror, partly out of curiosity. + +Again his stern mouth framed the twisted smile, as he said: + +“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.” + +He shrugged his shoulders, or attempted to shrug them, rather, for the +left shoulder alone moved. Like the smile, the shrug was twisted. + +“But how can you account for it?” I asked. “Where is the seat of your +trouble?” + +“The brain,” he said at once. “It was those cursed headaches brought it +on.” + +“Symptoms,” I said. + +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.” + +“The motor-centres, too,” I suggested. + +“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.” + +“When you say _you_ are here, I’d suggest the likelihood of the soul,” I +said. + +“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?” + +He broke out in mocking laughter, then turned his left ear to the pillow +as a sign that he wished no further conversation. + +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. + +“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.” + +He smiled his twisted smile, and Maud, her eyes wide with horror, was +compelled to turn away her head. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +And for the space of several minutes he lay there, quiet, indulging his +grotesque fancy. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“It will work, I know it will work,” I cried. + +“Do you know Dr. Jordan’s final test of truth?” Maud asked. + +I shook my head and paused in the act of dislodging the shavings which +had drifted down my neck. + +“Can we make it work? Can we trust our lives to it? is the test.” + +“He is a favourite of yours,” I said. + +“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.” + +“A modern hero.” + +“And a greater because modern,” she added. “How can the Old World heroes +compare with ours?” + +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. + +“For a pair of critics we agree famously,” I laughed. + +“And as shipwright and able assistant,” she laughed back. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“A fig for superstition,” I said on Friday morning. “That mast goes in +to-day.” + +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. + +Maud clapped her hands the instant she was relieved from holding the +turn, crying: + +“It works! It works! We’ll trust our lives to it!” + +Then she assumed a rueful expression. + +“It’s not over the hole,” she add. “Will you have to begin all over?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“It was done so easily after all,” I remarked. “All the work was in the +preparation.” + +“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.” + +“And they made themselves many inventions,” I began merrily, then paused +to sniff the air. + +I looked hastily at the lantern. It was not smoking. Again I sniffed. + +“Something is burning,” Maud said, with sudden conviction. + +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. + +“The Wolf is not yet dead,” I muttered to myself as I sprang down through +the smoke. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Go up on deck!” I commanded peremptorily. + +“But, Humphrey—” she began to protest in a queer, husky voice. + +“Please! please!” I shouted at her harshly. + +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: + +“Oh, Humphrey, I am lost.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Pray do not interrupt me,” he wrote. “I am smiling.” + +“I am still a bit of the ferment, you see,” he wrote a little later. + +“I am glad you are as small a bit as you are,” I said. + +“Thank you,” he wrote. “But just think of how much smaller I shall be +before I die.” + +“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.” + +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? + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +“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.” + +“Are you in pain?” I asked. + +I was compelled to repeat my question loudly before he answered: + +“Not all the time.” + +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. + +“But I am still here, all here,” the hand scrawled more slowly and +painfully than ever. + +The pencil dropped, and we had to replace it in the hand. + +“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.” + +“And immortality?” Maud queried loudly in the ear. + +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: + +“B-O-S-H.” + +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. + +“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. + +“I noticed the lips slightly move,” Maud said. + +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. + +“What good is it?” I asked. “What can we say now?” + +“Oh, ask him—” + +She hesitated. + +“Ask him something that requires no for an answer,” I suggested. “Then +we will know for certainty.” + +“Are you hungry?” she cried. + +The lips moved under her fingers, and she answered, “Yes.” + +“Will you have some beef?” was her next query. + +“No,” she announced. + +“Beef-tea?” + +“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—” + +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. + +“Oh, Humphrey,” she sobbed, “when will it all end? I am so tired, so +tired.” + +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?” + +But I soothed and comforted her, till she pulled herself bravely together +and recuperated mentally as quickly as she was wont to do physically. + +“I ought to be ashamed of myself,” she said. Then added, with the +whimsical smile I adored, “but I am only one, small woman.” + +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. + +“Where did you get that phrase?” I demanded, with an abruptness that in +turn startled her. + +“What phrase?” she asked. + +“One small woman.” + +“Is it yours?” she asked. + +“Yes,” I answered. “Mine. I made it.” + +“Then you must have talked in your sleep,” she smiled. + +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: + +“I have known it all my life. It was my father’s name for my mother.” + +“It is my phrase too,” I said stubbornly. + +“For your mother?” + +“No,” I answered, and she questioned no further, though I could have +sworn her eyes retained for some time a mocking, teasing expression. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_. + +“But they’ll work!” Maud cried jubilantly. “We’ll make them work, and +trust our lives to them!” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +The day came for our departure. There was no longer anything to detain +us on Endeavour Island. The _Ghost’s_ 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. + +“I did it! I did it! With my own hands I did it!” I wanted to cry +aloud. + +But Maud and I had a way of voicing each other’s thoughts, and she said, +as we prepared to hoist the mainsail: + +“To think, Humphrey, you did it all with your own hands?” + +“But there were two other hands,” I answered. “Two small hands, and +don’t say that was a phrase, also, of your father.” + +She laughed and shook her head, and held her hands up for inspection. + +“I can never get them clean again,” she wailed, “nor soften the +weather-beat.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“What can you do?” she asked. + +“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.” + +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. + +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 +_Ghost_ seemed to start into life as she heeled to the first fill of her +sails. The jib was rising. As it filled, the _Ghost’s_ bow swung off +and I had to put the wheel down a few spokes and steady her. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +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 +_Ghost_, charging upon the wall of rock at the entrance to the inner +cove, swept into the wind and filled away into safe water. + +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 _Ghost_ 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. + +“I shall always think of it with pride,” I said to Maud. + +She threw her head back in a queenly way but said, “Dear, dear Endeavour +Island! I shall always love it.” + +“And I,” I said quickly. + +It seemed our eyes must meet in a great understanding, and yet, loath, +they struggled away and did not meet. + +There was a silence I might almost call awkward, till I broke it, saying: + +“See those black clouds to windward. You remember, I told you last night +the barometer was falling.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ 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 _Ghost_ up on the +wind. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_ +clung on close to the wind and betrayed no inclination to fall off +broadside to the trough. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Ghost_, 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. + +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 _Ghost_ doing splendidly +under her patch of canvas. But in the galley, though a fire was burning +and water boiling, I found no Maud. + +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. + +“His life flickered out in the storm,” I said. + +“But he still lives,” she answered, infinite faith in her voice. + +“He had too great strength.” + +“Yes,” she said, “but now it no longer shackles him. He is a free +spirit.” + +“He is a free spirit surely,” I answered; and, taking her hand, I led her +on deck. + +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. + +“I remember only one part of the service,” I said, “and that is, ‘And the +body shall be cast into the sea.’” + +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. + +“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. + +As we clung to the lee rail and worked our way aft, I happened to glance +to leeward. The _Ghost_, 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. + +I started to rush below to the flag-locker, then remembered that in +rigging the _Ghost_ I had forgotten to make provision for a +flag-halyard. + +“We need no distress signal,” Maud said. “They have only to see us.” + +“We are saved,” I said, soberly and solemnly. And then, in an exuberance +of joy, “I hardly know whether to be glad or not.” + +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. + +“Need I?” I asked. + +And she answered, “There is no need, though the telling of it would be +sweet, so sweet.” + +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 _Ghost_ flashed +upon me, when she had pressed her fingers lightly on my lips and said, +“Hush, hush.” + +“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. + +“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. + +I looked toward the cutter. It was very close. A boat was being +lowered. + +“One kiss, dear love,” I whispered. “One kiss more before they come.” + +“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. + + * * * * * + + THE END + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, + BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA-WOLF *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where + you are located before using this eBook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that: + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without +widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + |