The Sea-Wolf

THE SEA-WOLF

BY

JACK LONDON

NEW YORK

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.

1904

All rights reserved

2012

Copyright, 1904
By JACK LONDON.

COPYRIGHT, 1903, 1904,
BY THE CENTURY COMPANY.

COPYRIGHT, 1904,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1904.

J.R. Gushing & Co.— Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

THE SEA-WOLF
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 die Martinez was a
new ferry-steamer, making her fourdi or fifth trip on die run
between Sausalito and San Francisco. The danger lay in die heavy
fog which blanketed the bay, and of which, as a landsman, I had
little apprehension. In fact, I remember die placid exaltation with
which I took up my position on the forward upper deck, directly
beneath the pilot-house, and allowed die 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 die presence of die pilot, and of what I took to
be the captain, in the glass house above my head.

I remember thinking how comfortable it was, diis division of
labor 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 die other hand, instead of having to devote my
energy to die learning of a multitude of things, I concentrated it
upon a few particular tilings, 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 die
Atlantic, which was open at my very essay. And there it was again,
the division of labor, 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 die deck, interrupted my reflections, though I
made a mental note of die 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 die fog, stumped across the deck and back (he
evidendy 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 die sea.

"It's nasty weadier like diis here tiiat turns heads gray before
their time," he said, with a nod toward the pilothouse.

"I had not thought diere was any particular strain," I answered.
"It seems as simple as A,B,C. They know die direction by
compass, die distance, and die speed. I should not call it anything
more than madiematical 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 die 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 die wheel with great rapidity. The bell,
which had seemed straight ahead, was now sounding from die side.
Our own whistie was blowing hoarsely, and from time to time die
sound of other whisdes came to us from out of die fog.

"That's a ferry-boat of some sort," die newcomer said,
indicating a whistle off to the right. "And diere! D'ye hear that?
Blown by mouth. Some scow schooner, most likely. Better watch
out, Mr. Schooner-man. All, I thought so. Now hell's a-poppin' for
somebody!"

The unseen ferry-boat was blowing blast after blast, and die
mouth-blown horn was tooting in terror-stricken fashion.

"And now they're payin' their respects to each odier and tryin'
to get clear," die red-faced man went on, as die hurried whistling
ceased.

His face was shining, his eyes flashing with excitement, as he
translated into articulate language die speech of die horns and
sirens. "That's a steam siren a-goin' it over diere to die left. And
you hear that fellow widi a frog in his diroat— 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, dieir 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 die 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 die cause of more trouble.
And what good are diey? Any jackass gets aboard one and runs it
from hell to breakfast, blowin' his whisde to beat the band and
tellin' die 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 die fog. And romantic it certainly was— die fog, like the
gray 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 dieir steeds of wood and steel through
the heart of the mystery, groping their way blindly dirough the
Unseen, and clamoring and clanging in confident speech the while
dieir hearts arc 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 die 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 staling intently into die 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 die 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 diough 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 die wet deck, and before I
could scramble to my feet I heard the scream of the women. This
it was, I am certain,— die most indescribable of blood-curdling
sounds,— that direw me into a panic, I remembered die life-
preservers stored in die cabin, but was met at die door and swept
backward by a wild rush of men and women. What happened in
the next few minutes I do not recollect, diough I have a clear
remembrance of pulling down life-preservers from die overhead
racks, while die red-faced man fastened them about die bodies of
an hysterical group of women. This memory is as distinct and
sharp as diat 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,
dirough which die gray fog swirled and eddied; the empty
upholstered seats, littered widi all the evidences of sudden flight,
such as packages, hand satchels, umbrellas, and wraps; die stout
gentleman who had been reading my essay, encased in cork and
canvas die magazine still in his hand, and asking me with
monotonous insistence if I diought there was any danger; the red-
faced man, stumping gallantly around on his artificial legs and
buckling life-preservers on all comers; and finally, die screaming
bedlam of women.

This it was, die screaming of the women, that most tried my
nerves. It must have tried, too, the nerves of the red-faced man, for
I have anodier 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, widi 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
diunderbolts, 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 deadi upon them and unwilling to die. And I
remember that die sounds diey made reminded me of the
squealing of pigs under die knife of the butcher, and I was struck
with horror at the vividness of die analog}?. These women, capable

of die 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 diey 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 die 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 die water was very near. Nuiubers of the passengers were
leaping overboard. Odiers, in the water, were clamoring to be
taken aboard again. No one heeded them. A cry arose diat we
were sinking. I was seized by die 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 die steamer. The water was cold— so
cold diat 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
deadi. I gasped with the anguish and shock of it, filling my lungs
before die life-preserver popped me to die surface. The taste of
the salt was strong in my mouth, and I was strangling with the acrid
stuff in my diroat and lungs.

But it was the cold diat was most distressing. I felt diat I could
survive but a few minutes. People were struggling and floundering
in the water about me. I could hear diem crying out to one
another. And I heard, also, the sound of oars. Evidently die
strange steamboat had lowered its boats. As the time went by I
marveled diat I was still alive. I had no sensation whatever in my
lower limbs, while a chilling nuiubness 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 die
Martinez had gone down. Later,— how much later I have no
knowiedge,— 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 r and reverberant by die 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 gray
primordial vastness. I confess tiiat a madness seized me, that I
shrieked aloud as the women had shrieked, and beat die 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, die bow of a vessel, and three triangular sails, each
shrewdly lapping the other and filled with wind. Where die bow
cut die water there was a great foaming and gurgling, and I seemed
directly in its padi. 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 die 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 die waves; and I caught a glimpse of a man
standing at the wheel, and of anodier man who seemed to be
doing little else than smoke a cigar. I saw die smoke issuing from
his lips as he slowly turned his head and glanced out over die water
in my direction. It was a careless, unpremeditated glance, one of
those haphazard things men do wiien diey 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 die vessel
being swallowed up in die fog; I saw die back of the man at die
wheel, and the head of the other man turning, slowly turning, as
his gaze struck die water and casually lifted along it toward me. His
face wore an absent expression, as of deep diought, and I became
afraid tiiat if his eyes did light upon me he would nevertiieless not
see me. But his eyes did light upon me, and looked squarely into
mine; and he did see me, for he sprang to die wheel, dirusting the
odier man aside, and whirled it round and round, hand over hand,
at die 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 die suffocating blankness and
darkness tiiat was rising around me. A little later I heard the stroke

of oars, growing nearer and nearer, and die calls of a man. When
he was very near I heard him crying, in vexed fashion, "Why in
hell don't yon 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 dirough 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 diundered. For an
immeasurable period, lapped in die rippling of placid centuries, I
enjoyed and pondered my tremendous flight But a change came
over the face of the dream, for 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
breadi, 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 die 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 die void. I gasped,
caught my breadi painfully, and opened my eyes. Two men were
kneeling beside me, working over me. My mighty rhythm was die
lift and forward plunge of a ship on die sea. The terrific gong was a
frying-pan, hang on the wall, diat rattled and clattered with each
leap of die ship. The rasping, scorching sands were a man's hard
hands chafing my naked chest. I squirmed under die 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 ratiier 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 or 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 tilings."

He dived out of the galley door, or glided ratiier, 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 Furallones, 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
rm.

Johnson turned obediently to the door, at the same time, over
the cook's shoulder, favoring 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 woolen
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
discolored 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 senility 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
southwest as Johnson had said, die wind, dien, I calculated, was
blowing nearly from die soudi. The fog was gone, and in its place
the sun sparkled crisply on the surface of die water. I turned to the
east, where I knew California must lie, but could see nodiing save
low-lying fog-banks— the same fog, doubtless, that had brought
about the disaster to die Martinez and placed me in my present
situation. To die north, and not far away, a group of naked rocks
tiirust above die sea, on one of which I could distinguish a
lighthouse. In the southwest, and almost in our course, I saw die
pyramidal loom of some vessel's sails.

Having completed my survey of die horizon, I turned to my
more immediate surroundings. My first thought was diat a man
who had come through a collision and rubbed shoulders with
deadi 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 amidships.
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 die furry coat of a dog. His face and
neck were hidden beneath a black beard, intershot with gray,
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 labored noisily for
breath. A sailor, from time to time and quite methodically, as a
matter of routine, dropped a canvas bucket into die ocean at the
end of a rope, hauled it in hand under hand, and sluiced its
contents over die prostrate man.

Pacing back and forth the length of the hatchway, and savagely
chewing the end of a cigar, was die 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 die
man, was not of diis, but of his strength. And yet, while he was of
massive build, with broad shoulders and deep chest, I could not
characterize his strengdi 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
die least gorilla-like. What I am striving to express is this strength
itself, more as a diing 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 die potency of motion, the elemental
stuff itself out of which the many forms of life have been molded;
in short, diat which writhes in die body of a snake when the head is
cut off, and die snake, as a snake, is dead, or which lingers in a
shapeless lump of turtle-meat and recoils and quivers from die
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 die heave of the shoulders to the tightening of the
lips about die cigar, was decisive, and seemed to come out of a
strengdi that was excessive and overwhelming. In fact, diough this
strengdi pervaded every action of his, it seemed but the
advertisement of a greater strength that lurked within, that lay
dormant and no more dian stirred from time to time, but which
might arouse, at any moment, terrible and compelling, like the
rage of a lion or the wradi of a storm.

The cook stuck his head out of the galley door and grinned
encouragingly at me, at die same time jerking his diumb in the
direction of the man who paced up and down by die hatchway.
Thus I was given to understand that he was the captain, die "Old
Man" in die cook's vernacular die individual whom I must
interview and put to die 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 die unfortunate person who was lying on his
back. He wrenched and wridied about convulsively. The chin, with
the damp black beard, pointed higher in the air as die 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 diat die 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-discolored 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 tiling occurred. The captain broke
loose upon die dead man like a thunderclap. Oaths rolled from
his lips in a continuous stream. And they were not namby-pamby
oadis, 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, die peculiar
vividness and strength and absolute blasphemy of his metaphors.
The cause of it all, as near as I could make out, was diat the man,
who was mate, had gone on a debauch before leaving San
Francisco, and dien 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, diat I
was shocked. Oadis and vile language of any sort had always been
repellent to me. I felt a wilting sensation, a sinking at die 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 diing 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 humor, 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" die cook eagerly interpolated, with appeasing and
apologetic senility.

"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 widi the smoothness of his
previous utterance, snapped like die lash of a whip. The cook
quailed under it.

"Yes, sir" was die meek reply, as die offending head
disappeared into the galley.

At this sweeping rebuke, which die cook had only pointed, die
rest of die crew became uninterested and fell to work at one task
or anodier. A number of men, however, who were lounging about
a companion-way between die galley and the hatch, and who did
not seem to be sailors, continued talking in low tones with one
another. These, I afterward learned, were die hunters, die 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 die 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 widi coal"

"Any of you fellows got a Bible or prayer-book?" was the
captain's next demand, this time of the hunters lounging about die
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 die same demand of the sailors. Bibles and
prayer-books seemed scarce articles, but one of the men
volunteered to pursue die 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 widiout any palavering, unless our clerical-looking castaway
has die burial sendee 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 gray eyes lighted with a
slight glint of amusement; and in tiiat 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, die 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 vigor or virility of spirit tiiat 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 pigeonhole 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 gray which is never
twice the same, which runs through many shades and colorings
like intershot silk in sunshine; which is gray, dark and light, and
greenish gray, 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; tiiat
could grow chill as an arctic landscape, and yet again, tiiat 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 sendee,
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 schoolmaster.

"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 win 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 w r ork."

"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. Mocker} 7 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 r 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 southwest 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 die sun, after a few angry gleams, had
disappeared. The sea had turned a dull leaden gray and grown
rougher, and was now tossing foaming whitecaps to the sky. We
were travelling faster and heeled fardier over. Once, in a gust, die
rail dipped under die sea, and die decks on diat side were for die
moment awash with water diat made a couple of die 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 pardy
away from me and cried out, "Cooky! Oh, Cooky!"

The Cockney popped out of die 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 r of eighteen or
nineteen, with a glowering, villainous countenance trailing at his
heels.

'"Ere 'e is, sir" die cook said.

Bat Wolf Larsen ignored diat wordiy, turning at once to die
cabin-boy.

"What's your name, boy?"

"George Leach, sir" came the sullen answ r er, 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 w r ould suit your mug a damn sight better. Unless, very
likely, diere's an Irishman in your mother's w r oodpile."

I saw die young fellow's hands clench at the insult, and die
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 die mark. Telegraph Hill, of course,
is your port of entry. It sticks out all over your mug. Tough as they
make them at twice as nasty. I know r die 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 let diem have

it. Couldn't make yourself scarce quick, with several gentlemen
you may have heard looking for you."

The boy metamorphosed into a savage on the instant. His
body bunched together as though for a spring, his face became as
an infuriated beast's as he snarled "It's a—"

"A what?" Wolf Larsen asked, a peculiar softness his voice, as
though he were overwhelmingly curious to hear die unspoken
word.

The boy hesitated, then mastered his temper. "Nodiin', sir. I
take it back."

"And you have shown me I was right." This witii 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 u your mind?"

I had glanced occasionally at the approaching schooner and it
was now almost abreast of us and not more than couple of

hundred yards away. It was a very trim an 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 answer 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 marked,
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 worse. As I say, I
debated with myself, and then I did what I consider the bravest act
of my life. I ran to 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 die answer of a spirit cowed.

"And you?" I was asked.

"I'll give you a diousand— " I began, but was interrupted.

"Stow diat! 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 die cruel grey eyes.
They might have been granite for all die light and warmdi of a
human soul diey 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 dian 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 die 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 die canvas-swathed
corpse upon a hatch-cover. On eidier side die deck, against the rail
and bottoms up, were lashed a number of small boats. Several
men picked up the hatch-cover widi its ghastly freight, carried it to
the lee side, and rested it on die boats, the feet pointing overboard.
To die feet was attached die sack of coal which die 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 inter sprinkled
with oadis and obscenities; and every minute or so die group of
hunters gave mouth to a laughter that sounded to me like a wolf-
chorus or die 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 die oudook 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 die 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 die 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 die marks of die 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 die lines of decision and firmness. It seemed,
rather, a frank and open countenance, which frankness or
openness was enhanced by die 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 die rigging. Some of die hunters
glanced anxiously aloft. The lee rail, where the dead man lay, was
buried in die sea, and as die 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, die bare-headed men swaying
in unison, to the heave and lunge of the deck.

"I only remember one part of the sendee," he said, "and that
is, 'and the body shall be cast into die 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 die matter
with you?"

They elevated the end of the hatch-cover with pitiful haste,
and, like a dog flung overside, die 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 die new mate, "keep
all hands on deck now they're here. Get in die 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 die 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 die dead man, dying obscenely,
buried sordidly, and sinking down, down-
Then it was that die 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 die ooze and
slime. I held on to the weather rail, close by die shrouds, and
gazed out across die desolate foaming waves to die low-lying fog-
banks that hid San Francisco and die 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 die southwest,
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 die 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 w r ere insufferable as he
showed me my duties. Besides my work in die cabin, with its four
small state-rooms, I was supposed to be his assistant in die galley,
and my colossal ignorance concerning such things as peeling
potatoes or washing greasy pots w r as 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 tilings 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 die table in
the cabin, with rough-weadier trays in place, and dien carried die
tea and cooked food down from die 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 widi a big tea-pot in one hand, and in
the hollow of the other arm several loaves of fresh-baked bread.
One of die hunters, a tall, loose -jointed chap named Henderson,
was going aft at die time from the steerage (the name the hunters
facetiously gave their midships sleeping quarters) to die cabin.
Wolf Larsen was on the poop, smoking his everlasting cigar.

"'Ere she comes. Sling yer 'ook!" die cook cried.
I stopped, for I did not know what was coming, and saw die galley
door slide shut widi a bang. Then I saw Henderson leaping like a
madman for the main rigging, up which he shot, on die inside, till
he was many feet higher dian 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 diat was very confusing. I was beneadi die 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 die flood seemed suddenly to
subside and I was breadiing die good air again. I had been swept
against the galley and around die 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 die leg was
broken. But die 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 widiout 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 die men whom I served. I could feel my knee through my
clothes, swelling, and swelling, and I was sick and faint from die
pain of it. I could catch glimpses of my face, white and ghastly,
distorted with pain, in die cabin mirror. All die 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 die last
soaking or from die 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, die kneecap seemed turned up on edge in die 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, incessandy smoked, using a coarse, cheap,
and offensive-smelling tobacco. The air was diick and murky with
the smoke of it; and this, combined with the violent movement of
the ship as she struggled dirough the storm, would surely have
made me sea-sick had I been a victim to diat 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 die 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 die 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 die rough life in prospect.

These are merely a few of the things that went through my
mind, and are related for die sake of vindicating myself in advance
in the weak and helpless role 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 die head-lines in the papers; die fellows at die
University Club and die 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-pillow r ed window couch and delivering himself of oracular and
pessimistic epigrams.

And all die while, rolling, plunging, climbing the moving
mountains and falling and wallowing in the foaming valleys, die
schooner Ghost was fighting her way farther and fardier into the
heart of the Pacific— and I was on her. I could hear die 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 tiling I
did w r as 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 tilings), 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 tiling 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, tiiat Wolf Larsen was anxious to make the most of die storm,
which was driving him to the south-west into diat portion of the sea
where he expected to pick up with die north-east trades. It was
before diis steady wind that he hoped to make the major portion
of die run to Japan, curving south into the tropics and north again
as he approached die 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 dirow my ashes over die lee side.
Unconscious of my blunder, I passed by Wolf Larsen and die
hunter and flung die 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 die side of the vessel. But Wolf Larsen did not follow me up.
Brushing the ashes from his clodies, he had resumed his
conversation with Henderson. Johansen, who had seen the affair
from die break of the poop, sent a couple of sailors aft to clean up
the mess.

Later in die 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 die bed. Against
the wall, near the head of die bunk, was a rack filled with books. I
glanced over diem, 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 diere 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 diese books with the man from what I
had seen of him, and I wondered if he could possibly read diem.
But when I came to make die bed I found, between the blankets,
dropped apparendy as he had sunk off to sleep, a complete
Browning, die Cambridge Edition. It was open at "In a Balcony,"
and I noticed, here and diere, 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 perfecdy comprehensible; but botii sides togedier
were bewildering. I had already remarked that his language was
excellent, marred widi an occasional slight inaccuracy. Of course,
in common speech with the sailors and hunters, it sometimes fairly
bristled with errors, which was due to die 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 odier side must have
emboldened me, for I resolved to speak to him about die money I
had lost.

"I have been robbed," I said to him, a little later, when I found
him pacing up and down die 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 die whole circumstance, how my clodies had
been left to dry in the galley, and how, later, I was nearly beaten by
the cook when I mentioned die matter.

He smiled at my recital. "Pickings," he concluded; "Cooky's
pickings. And don't you diink your miserable life wordi die 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 die quiet sneer dirough 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 die way of your fellow-creatures.
You tempted Cooky, and he fell. You have placed his immortal
soul in jeopardy. By die way, do you believe in the immortal
soul?"

His lids lifted lazily as he asked die question, and it seemed
diat 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, diat
never unmasked, though at rare moments it played at doing so.

"I read immortality in your eyes," I answered, dropping die
"sir,"— an experiment, for I diought die 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 tiling 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 am 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 widi a crowd of men who have
made what they call a government, who are masters of all the other
men, and who eat die food the other men get and would like to eat
themselves. You wear die warm clothes. They made the clothes,
but they shiver in rags and ask you, die lawyer, or business agent
who handles your money, for a job."

"But diat is beside die 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 die
food but did not eat it. What immortal end did you serve? or did
diey? 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
diis 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, widi a blow of my fist, for you are a
miserable weakling. But if we are immortal, what is die 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 widi his perpetual
queries. "Because I am a bigger bit of the ferment dian 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? Widiout moving and being part of die yeast diere
would be no hopelessness. But,— and there it is,— we want to live
and move, diough 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 diat 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 die way, how much was it diat 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 dinghy, 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 tilings— 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 main
topmast 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 die 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 die 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 diat 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.

"All, my boy," he shook his head ominously at me, "'tis die
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 dian
diis. The mate was die 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 GhostW 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 diree hundred
yards away? An' diere 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 die Governor of Kura
Island, an' die 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 tilings like you see 'em painted
on fans. An' as he was a-gettin' under way, didn't die 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 die island, with notiiin' 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 die 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 notiiin' to ye, mind ye. I've whispered never a word;

for old fat Louis'll live die 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 die day diey was born. I could weep for the poor
creatures, did I but forget poor old fat Louis and die troubles
before him. But 'tis not a whisper I've dropped, mind ye, not a
whisper."

"Them hunters is die 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 die 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 diey
call him, so quiet-like an' easy-goin', soft-spoken as a girl, till ye'd
think butter wouldn't melt in the moudi iv him. Didn't he kill his
boat-steerer last year? 'Twas called a sad accident, but I met die
boat-puller in Yokohama an' die straight iv it was given me. An'
diere's Smoke, the black little devil— didn't the Roosians have him
for three years in die 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 die mine; an' a piece at a time he went up, a
leg to-day, an' to-morrow an arm, die next day the head, an' so
on.

"But you can't mean it!" I cried out, overcome widi die horror
of it.

"Mean what!" he demanded, quick as a flash. "Tis nodiin' I've
said. Deef I am, and dumb, as ye should be for the sake iv your
modier; 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 dien go down to the last an'
deepest hell iv all! "

Johnson, die man who had chafed me raw when I first came
aboard, seemed the least equivocal of the men forward or aft. In
fact, diere 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 die 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 die 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 die peak-halyards to the end of the gaff
itself, an exceedingly hazardous performance.

Johansen called out to Harrison to go out tire halyards. It was
patent to everybody diat 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 die 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 diat 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 die 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 die appearance of an enormous spider crawling
along the tracery of its web.

It was a slight uphill climb, for die foresail peaked high; and
the halyards, running through various blocks on die 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 die 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 die gaff swung amid-
ships. The halyards slackened, and, though it all happened very
quickly, I could see them sag beneath die weight of his body. Then
the gag swung to die side with an abrupt swiftness, the great sail
boomed like a cannon, and die three rows of reef-points slatted
against the canvas like a volley of rifles. Harrison, clinging on,
made die giddy rush through die air. This rush ceased abruptly.
The halyards became instantly taut. It was die 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 trudi, 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 violendy 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 die 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 die word "murder"
was his final judgment.

"Hist, will ye!" Louis whispered to him, "For die love iv your
modier 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 die 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 counseled back.
"I've told you what's what, and let it stop at diat. 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 die 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 widi deadi.
The callousness of these men, to whom industrial organization
gave control of die lives of other men, was appalling. I, who had
lived out of the whirl of die world, had never dreamed that its
work was carried on in such fashion. Life had always seemed a
peculiarly sacred diing, but here it counted for nodiing, was a
cipher in die aridimetic of commerce. I must say, however, diat
the sailors diemselves 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 dian amused.

But to return to Harrison. It took Johansen, insulting and
reviling die poor wretch, fully ten minutes to get him started again.
A litde later he made the end of the gaff, where, astride die spar
itself, he had a better chance for holding on. He cleared the sheet,
and was free to return, slightly downhill now, along die 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 he 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 aiu 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
imperiled 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 tiling
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? Bali! 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 tiling, 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, die 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 die sun went down, die sheets were slackened;
in die 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 die 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,
die galley is pleasantly areek with the odour of dieir frying; while
dolphin meat is served fore and aft on such occasions as Johnson
catches the blazing beauties from die bowsprit end.

Johnson seems to spend all his spare time there or aloft at die
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 die swelling sails, the foaming
wake, and the heave and the run of her over die liquid mountains
diat are moving with us in stately procession.

The days and nights are "all a wonder and a wild delight," and
diough 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 die sea itself, which under the forefoot is of die colour and
sheen of azure satin. All around the horizon are pale, fleecy
clouds, never changing, never moving, like a silver setting for die
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 die
gurgling of a brook over mossy stones in some quiet dell, and die
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 die man and mellow with appreciation of
the words he was quoting, aroused me.

"'O tiie 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 die 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 die starshine.

"It strikes me as remarkable, to say die 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 die first time I had heard honest mirth
in his voice.

"All, 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 die life that is in me
that makes die rating."

He appeared waiting for the words with which to express die
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— ball! 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 acrawl 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 die most pronounced type. Not only diat, but he is very lonely.
There is no congeniality between him and die rest of the men
aboard ship. His tremendous virility and mental strength wall him
apart. They are more like children to him, even die hunters, and
as children he treats diem, 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 diat, widi 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 diat diey are not real,
that diey are sometimes experiments, but that in the main they are
die habits of a pose or attitude he has seen fit to take toward his
fellow-men. I know, with the possible exception of die 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 die question of vagaries, I shall tell what befell
Thomas Mugridge in the cabin, and at die 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 die
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 dius with the captain. The little airs
he put on and the painful striving to assume die easy carriage of a
man born to a dignified place in life would have been sickening
had diey 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 die cards, Hump," Wolf Larsen ordered, as they took
seats at the table. "And bring out die cigars and the whisky you'll
find in my berdi."

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 signaled 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' Em 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 die moutii of a man. You and I
are die only men on this ship who know its meaning."

"At one time in my life," he continued, after anodier pause, "I
dreamed diat I might some day talk with men who used such
language, diat 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 die word pronounced. Which is all by the way, for
you are wrong. It is a question neidier of grammar nor ediics, 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."

"All," he remarked, with a wry pucker of his mouth, "I see you
still believe in such tilings as right and wrong."

"But don't you?— at all?" I demanded.

"Not die 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
cooperation, 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 die 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 tiling. I must not lose one crawl
or squirm if I am to get die most out of die ferment. Nor will the
eternal movelessness that is coming to me he made easier or
harder by the sacrifices or selfishnesses of die 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 die least
thing where it was possible for a selfish interest to intervene?"

"Now you're beginning to understand," he said, brightening.

"You are a luan utterly widiout what the world calls morals?"

"That's it."

"A man of whom to be always afraid—"

"That's die 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 diat 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 diat 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 diat he
understood dioroughly. He interrupted again and again with
comment and criticism. When I finished, he had me read it over a
second time, and a diird. We fell into discussion— philosophy,
science, evolution, religion. He betrayed the inaccuracies of die
self-read man, and, it must be granted, the sureness and direcUiess
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 Furusedi. Not that I— a
confirmed and, as Furuseth phrased it, a temperamental idealist
-was to be compelled; but that Wolf Larsen stormed die last
strongholds of my faith with a \igour that received respect, while
not accorded conviction.

Time passed. Supper was at hand and die table not laid. I
became restless and anxious, and when Thomas Mugridge glared
down die 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 die 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 tiiat 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 weadier was over, and diere was notiiing left but to return to
die galley. My left arm was numb, as though paralysed, and days
passed before I could use it, while weeks went by before die 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 die 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 die 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, die
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 die courage that comes of
fear and helplessness. I do not like die picture. It reminds me too
strongly of a rat in a trap. I do not care to think of it; but it was
elective, for die 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 sendee

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
die 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 fried it with the
ball of his diumb or across die 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 die stone again and
whet, whet, whet, till I could have laughed aloud, it was so very
ludicrous.

It was also serious, for I learned diat he was capable of using it,
diat under all his cowardice there was a courage of cowardice, like
mine, diat would impel him to do the very diing 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, die
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 dioroughness that Mugridge had
not forgiven, for words followed and evil names involving
smirched ancestries. Mugridge menaced widi die 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 die knife. The cook backed away, a
fiendish expression on his face, die knife held before him in a
position of defence. But Leach took it quite calmly, diough 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 widiout diat knife
when I come for you."

So saying, he turned and walked quiedy forward. Mugridge 's
face was livid with fear at what he had done and at what he might
expect sooner or later from die man he had stabbed. But his
demeanour toward me was more ferocious dian ever. In spite of
his fear at die 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
die blue from diat ugly carcass. Boost him along, and I'll promote
you to his place, and he's getting forty-five dollars a mondi."

It was plain diat 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 diat 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 die grindstone while Louis gave it an
edge. I slept more soundly dian usual diat night.

Next morning, after breakfast, Thomas Mugridge began his
whet, whet, whet. I glanced warily at him, for I was on my knees
taking die ashes from the stove. When I returned from dirowing
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!' Til 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 die bone. O, 'e was a sight, I can tell yer."

A call from die mate interrupted die 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 die 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 die 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 tiling 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 pride lessly, "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 victor}' 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 die race. Knowing
him, I review the old Scandinavian myths with clearer
understanding. The white-skinned, fair-haired savages who created
tiiat 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 tiiat 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 die 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 tilings 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 diink I have made this tiling?" 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 die 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 die development of die
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 die naturally fair
skin to a dark bronze which bespoke struggle and battie and added
both to his savagery and his beauty. The lips were full, yet
possessed of die firmness, almost harshness, which is characteristic
of thin lips. The set of his moudi, his chin, his jaw, was likewise
firm or harsh, with all the fierceness and indomitableness of die
male— die nose also. It was die 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 die one, a shade too delicate for the other. And while
the whole face was die 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 gready die 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 dian 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 tilings 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, reveling 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 luy 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 diink
of it. But there were coastwise skippers I would have returned and
killed when a man's strength came to me, only die lines of my life
were cast at die time in odier places. I did return, not long ago, but
unfortunately die 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 sendee. Cabin-boy at twelve, ship's
boy at fourteen, ordinary seamen at sixteen, able seaman at
seventeen, and cock of the fo'c'sle, infinite ambition and infinite
loneliness, receiving neither help nor sympadiy, 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 widiered 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 die 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 diorns sprung up and choked me. And, Hump, I can
tell you that you know more about me dian any living man, except
my own brother."

"And what is he? And where is he?"

"Master of die 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 widiout 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 black-birding and open piracy. Yet I
cannot but believe for I have never yet caught him in a lie, while he

has a cyclopaedic 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 die position he takes is based on no moral
grounds, that all die hunters could kill and eat one another so far
as he is concerned, were it not that he needs them alive for die
hunting. If they will only hold dieir hands until die season is over,
he promises them a royal carnival, when all grudges can he settled
and die survivors may toss the non-survivors overboard and
arrange a story as to how die missing men were lost at sea. I diink
even die hunters are appalled at his cold-bloodedness. Wicked
men diough 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 die courage of fear,— a
strange thing I know well of myself,— and at any moment it may
master die fear and impel him to die taking of my life. My knee is
much better, though it often aches for long periods, and die
stiffness is gradually leaving die 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 die edges of the quick seem to be
assuming a fungoid sort of growth. Also, I am suffering from boils,
due to die 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 die Bible, a copy of which, after the futile search
for one at the beginning of the voyage, had been found in die dead
mate's sea-chest. I wondered what Wolf Larsen could get from it,
and he read aloud to me from Lcclesiastes. 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 die significance of die written word. I can
hear him now, as I shall always hear him, die 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 die saint, and that event is death, and an evil tiling, 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
Ruhayat, 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 die keynote.
Insolence! He could not have used a better word."

In vain I objected and denied. He deluged me, overwhelmed
me widi argument.

"It's not die nature of life to be otherwise. Life, when it knows
diat 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 deadi, the ceasing to be able to be vain and
vexed, he found an eviler diing. Through chapter after chapter he
is worried by the one event diat 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, diat is greater dian 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 deadi looms near
and large, masters die 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 die diroat, thus,"— his hand was
about my diroat 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 die
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, die 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 die floor and he was smoking a cigar and
regarding me thoughtfully widi diat old familiar light of curiosity in
his eyes.

"Well, have I convinced you?" he demanded. "Here take a
drink of diis. 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 diroat.

"You'll be all right in half-an-hour," he assured me. And I
promise I won't use any more physical demonstrations. You can
sit on a chair."

And, toy diat I was of diis 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 die cause of it. The relations among die 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 die good graces
of the captain by carrying tales of the men forward. He it was, I
know, diat carried some of Johnson's hasty talk to Wolf Larsen.
Johnson, it seems, bought a suit of oilskins from die slop-chest and
found them to be of gready 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 die sealing
grounds; for, as it is widi die hunters so it is widi 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 die 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 die 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, widi an air of dismissing all diat
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 moudi about them."

"I say what I diink, sir," die sailor answered courageously, not
failing at die same time in ship courtesy, which demanded diat
"sir" be appended to each speech he made.

It was at diis moment that I chanced to glance at Johansen. His
big fists were clenching and unclenching, and his face was
positively fiendish, so malignandy did he look at Johnson. I
noticed a black discoloration, still faintly visible, under Johansen's
eye, a mark of die thrashing he had received a few nights before
from the sailor. For die 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 diis
bit of animated dust, diis aggregation of matter that moves and
breadies and defies me and dioroughly believes itself to be
compounded of something good; diat 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 diink of him, Hump? What do you diink of him?"

"I diink diat he is a better man dian you are," I answered,
impelled, somehow, with a desire to draw upon myself a portion of
the wradi 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 diat make for nobility and
manhood. A living dog is better dian a dead lion, say I with the
Preacher. My only doctrine is die doctrine of expediency, and it
makes for surviving. This bit of die 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, widiout 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 w r ell 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
w r atch it. You may gather data on the immortality of the soul.
Besides, you know r , w r e can't hurt Johnson's soul. It's only the
fleeting form we may demolish."

It seemed centuries— possibly it w r as 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 w r ay.

"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 die narrow doorway, and out on deck. The blood from
his nose gushed in a scarlet stream over die feet of die helmsman,
who was none other dian Louis, his boat-mate. But Louis took and
gave a spoke and gazed imperturbably into the binnacle.

Not so was die conduct of George Leach, die erstwhile cabin-
boy. Fore and aft there was nothing that could have surprised us
more dian his consequent behaviour. He it was diat came up on
the poop widiout 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 diat, for his features, as human features at all, were
unrecognizable, so discoloured and swollen had they become in
die few minutes which had elapsed between the beginning of the
beating and die 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 breadi 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 die poop on die 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 die steerage, but as Leach's tirade
continued I saw diat there was no levity in dieir faces. Even they
were frightened, not at die 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 teedi. I know for myself diat I was
shocked into admiration of die boy, and I saw in him the splendid
invincibleness of immortality rising above the flesh and die fears of
the flesh, as in die prophets of old, to condemn unrighteousness.

And such condemnation! He haled fordi Wolf Larsen's soul
naked to die scorn of men. He rained upon it curses from God
and High Heaven, and withered it with a heat of invective diat

savoured of a mediaeval excommunication of die Cadiolic
Church. He ran die gamut of denunciation, rising to heights of
wradi diat were sublime and almost Godlike, and from sheer
exhaustion sinking to die vilest and most indecent abuse.

His rage was a madness. His lips were flecked widi 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 silendy and curiously.

Leach had worked himself into an ecstasy of impotent rage.

"Pig! Pig! Pig!" he was reiterating at die 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 die scene. He had been listening at die galley door, but
he now came out, ostensibly to fling some scraps over the side, but
obviously to see die killing he was certain would take place. He
smirked greasily up into the face of Wolf Larsen, who seemed not
to see him. But die Cockney was unabashed, diough 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 die first time since the stabbing
die Cockney had appeared outside the galley without his knife.
The words had barely left his moudi when he was knocked down
by Leach. Three times he struggled to his feet, striving to gain die
galley, and each time was knocked down.

"Oh, Lord!" he cried. '"Lip! Lip! Tyke 'im awty, 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 w r atch 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 die hope
of discovering something more about it, of discerning in its
maddest writhings a somediing 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
die infuriated boy. And in vain he strove to gain the shelter of die
cabin. He rolled toward it, groveled toward it, fell toward it when
he was knocked down. But blow followed blow with bewildering
rapidity. He was knocked about like a shutdecock, until, finally,
like Johnson, he was beaten and kicked as he lay helpless on die
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 die afternoon Smoke and Henderson fell foul of
each odier, and a fusillade of shots came up from the steerage,
followed by a stampede of die odier four hunters for die deck. A
column of thick, acrid smoke— die kind always made by black
powder— was arising dirough die 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 dirashing
them bodi for having disobeyed his orders and crippled
themselves in advance of the hunting season. In fact, diey were
badly wounded, and, having dirashed them, he proceeded to
operate upon them in a rough surgical fashion and to dress dieir
wounds. I served as assistant while he probed and cleansed the
passages made by the bullets, and I saw die two men endure his
crude surgery without anaesdietics and with no more to uphold
them than a stiff tumbler of whisky.

Then, in die 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 die noise
we heard, and from die sight of the bruised men next day, it was
patent diat half die forecastie had soundly drubbed die odier 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 die mate in his sleep, and diough Johansen was whipped, he
kept die steerage awake for the rest of die 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 anodier'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 die
animality of man. In fact, I had known life only in its intellectual

phases. Brutality I had experienced, but it was the brutality of die
intellect— the cutting sarcasm of Charley Furuseth, die cruel
epigrams and occasional harsh witticisms of die fellows at die
Bibelot, and die 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 die flesh and die 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
diat my innocence of die 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 diat 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 diree 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 regime lasted.

"The first clean bite since I come aboard," Harrison said to me
at die 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 Fll 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 die 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 'ungiy 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 Styles 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 'ad
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 tilings. 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 groveled 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
die 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 die 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, die 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 die 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 die 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 die sun like turde eggs, or receive life in some similar and
sordid fashion; and that all dieir days diey fester in brutality and
viciousness, and in the end die as unlovely as diey have lived.

Rendered curious by tiiis new direction of ideas, I talked widi
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 diirty-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
modier 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 wind-jammer 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, w r as 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
die log-line. I saw r 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 flow r ed from some w r ound in the
head.

He drew himself inboard widi a quick effort, and arose to his
feet, glancing swiftly, as he did so, at die man at the wheel, as
though to assure himself of his identity and diat diere was nodiing
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 die 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 nodiing stirring amidships.

"Those cursed hunters," was his comment. "Too damned fat
and lazy to stand a four-hour watch."

But on die forecastle -head we found three sailors asleep. He
turned them over and looked at dieir faces. They composed die
watch on deck, and it was the ship's custom, in good weather, to let
the watch sleep with the exception of the officer, die 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 anydiing on deck?"

"No, sir, I-"

But Wolf Larsen had turned away widi 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 forecasde scutde and prepared to
descend.

I followed widi a quaking heart. What was to happen I knew
no more dian 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 die functions of living. My
bedroom at home was not large, yet it could have contained a
dozen similar forecasdes, and taking into consideration the height
of die 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 widi 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 diumped 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,— die two
watches below,— and die air was thick widi die warmtii and odour
of their breathing, and die ear was filled with die noise of their
snoring and of dieir sighs and half-groans, tokens plain of die rest
of the animal-man. But were diey sleeping? all of them? Or had
they been sleeping? This was evidently Wolf Larsen's quest— to
find die men who appeared to be asleep and who were not asleep
or who had not been asleep very recentiy. And he went about it in
a way diat 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 die first bunks forward on die 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, die other lay
on top of die blankets. Wolf Larsen put thumb and forefinger to
the wrist and counted die pulse. In die midst of it die 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 die 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 diat 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
groveling 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 die 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 dien on Wolf
Larsen had seven strong men on top of him, Louis, I believe,
taking no part in it. The forecasde was like an angry hive of bees
aroused by some marauder.

"What ho! below diere!" I heard Latimer shout down the
scuttle, too cautious to descend into die 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
die 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, die 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 die
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 die mass of men fastened upon him. It squirmed
about, like some huge many-legged spider, and swayed back and
fordi to the regular roll of die vessel. And still, step by step with
long intervals between, die mass ascended. Once it tottered, about
to fall back, but die broken hold was regained and it still went up.

"Who is it?" Latimer cried.

In the rays of die lantern I could see his perplexed face peering
down.

"Larsen," I heard a muffled voice from widiin 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 odier hand reached up and
clutched die edge of the scuttle. The mass swung clear of die
ladder, the men still clinging to their escaping foe. They began to
drop off, to be brushed off against the sharp edge of die scuttle, to
be knocked off by die legs which were now kicking powerfully.
Leach was die last to go, falling sheer back from the top of the
scuttie 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 die 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 die 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 diumb, pulling it out stoudy
and snapping it back into place. I noticed at die same time that die
Kanaka's knuckles were laid open clear across and to the bone.
He exhibited diem, exposing beautiful white teeth in a grin as he
did so, and explaining that die 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 die
forecastle. "G'wan, you Kelly. You leave Oofty alone. How in hell
did he know it was you in die dark?"

Kelly subsided widi some muttering, and die Kanaka flashed
his white teedi 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, die whole pose of his
figure indicating utter dejection and hopelessness. He was still
breadiing heavily from the exertion he had made. His shirt had
been ripped entirely from him in die struggle, and blood from a
gash in die cheek was flowing down his naked chest, marking a red
padi across his white diigh and dripping to die 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 die only man who was not out of his
bunk, and he was jubilant in diat he possessed no bruises to
advertise that he had had a hand in die night's work. "Just wait till
he gets a glimpse iv yer mugs to-morrow, die gang iv ye," he
chuckled.

"We'll say we thought it was die 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 die 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 die discussion, and it was
plain to see that their mates looked upon them as men for whom
die 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 moudi 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 diough 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 die 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 die
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 die
engines of a great battleship or Atlantic liner.

I was surprised, considering the fierce struggle in the forecasde,
at the superficiality of his hurts, and I pride myself diat I dressed
them dexterously. Widi die 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 die 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 die beginning of the fight, and hung on and been
dragged to the top of die 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 diough 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 die 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 die sailors not sympathized with me. I knew
nothing of die minutiae of ropes and rigging, of the trimming and
setting of sails; but die sailors took pains to put me to rights,— Louis
proving an especially good teacher,— and I had little trouble with
those under me.

Widi die hunters it was otherwise. Familiar in varying degree
with die 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 odiers 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 die expense of several rows, direats, and
much grumbling, he brought die hunters to time. I was "Mr. Van
Weyden" fore and aft, and it was only unofficially diat Wolf
Larsen himself ever addressed me as "Hump."

It was amusing. Perhaps die wind would haul a few points
while we were at dinner, and as I left die table he would say, "Mr.
Van Weyden, will you kindly put about on die 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 manoeuvre, 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 dien paced aft by my side
along the weadier poop.

"Hump," he said, "I beg pardon, Mr. Van Weyden, I
congratulate you. I diink you can now fire your father's legs back
into die 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 die 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 die sealing grounds, diat I passed my pleasantest
hours on die 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 die 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,
neverdieless, carrying it off well; and during diat 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 nordi and west dirough die 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 die worst description. They
never had a moment's rest or peace. Wolf Larsen treasured
against them die attempt on his life and die drubbing he had
received in die forecastie; 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 die crew worked up to die verge of
madness. I have seen Harrison called from his bunk to put
properly away a misplaced paintbrush, and die two watches below
haled from their tired sleep to accompany him and see him do it.

A little tiling, 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."

"All, but it is cowardly, cowardly!" I cried. "You have all the
advantage."

"Of the two of us, you and I, who is die greater coward?" he
asked seriously. "If die 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 die cost; so you live ignominiously, untrue to die best you
dream of, sinning against your whole pitiful little code, and, if diere
were a hell, heading your soul straight for it. Bah! I play die braver
part. I do no sin, for I am true to die promptings of the life that is
in me. I am sincere with my soul at least, and diat is what you are
not."

There was a sting in what he said. Perhaps, after all, I was
playing a cowardly part. And die more I diought about it the more
it appeared diat 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 die 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 die 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 die

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 die 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 die 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 dieir task was to ply
between die 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 die Japanese
colonists and smiling valleys which penetrated deep into the
interior. Once in die fastnesses diey promised, and die two men
could defy Wolf Larsen.

I had observed Henderson and Smoke loitering about die
deck all morning, and I now learned why they w r ere 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 die surface of die
water on either side the boat; but, as die 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 tiling 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 die general foreboding, nothing of
especial moment happened on the Ghost. We ran on to the nordi
and west till we raised the coast of Japan and picked up with die
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 die shark
and salting down the skins so that they might later adorn die fair
shoulders of the women of the cities.

It was wanton slaughter, and all for woman's sake. No man ate
of die 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, die scuppers running red; masts, ropes, and rails spattered
with the sanguinary colour; and die 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 diey had killed.

It was my task to tally die pelts as they came aboard from the
boats, to oversee die skinning and afterward the cleansing of die
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 tiiat 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 die 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 die 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 die weather was fair and we were in die midst
of the herd, all hands were away in die 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 canon, 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 die calm continued. We ate dinner, a hurried and anxious
meal for me with eighteen men abroad on the sea and beyond die
bulge of the eardi, 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, die 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 diat he was
joyous, in a ferocious sort of way; diat he was glad there was an
impending struggle; that he was thrilled and upborne with
knowledge diat one of die great moments of living, when the tide
of life surges up in flood, was upon him.

Once, and unwitting that he did so or diat I saw, he laughed
aloud, mockingly and defiantly, at the advancing storm. I see him
yet standing there like a pigmy out of die 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 die 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 dirough 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 die 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 die topsails and spread them quick as God'll let you— the
quicker you do it die easier you'll find it. As for Cooky, if he isn't
lively bat him between die eyes."

I was aware of die compliment and pleased, in diat no direat
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 die 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 die 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 die 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 die sudden surge and heel of die schooner as die
wind-pressures changed to the jibing of die fore-and main-sails. My
hands were full with die flying-jib, jib, and staysail; and by the time
this part of my task was accomplished the Ghost was leaping into
the south-west, die wind on her quarter and all her sheets to
starboard. Widiout pausing for breadi, 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 die gait we were going on a quartering
course.

"Now take a run up widi die glasses and raise some of die
boats. We've made at least ten knots, and we're going twelve or
thirteen now. The old girl knows how to walk."

I contented myself with the fore crosstrees, some seventy feet
above die 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 die heavy sea
dirough which we were running, I doubted diat diere 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 tire yawning valley, bow down and showing her full
inside length to the stern upreared almost directly above tire 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 tire 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 tire schooner, a loss for tire 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 tire 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 tire storm
and defying it.

I brought up violently against what I took to be the rail,
breathed, and breathed tire 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 tire eyes. As I scrambled out on all fours,
I passed over tire 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 diat die 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 die wind by
die manoeuvre, 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 diick with flying wreckage, detached
ropes and stays were hissing and coiling like snakes, and down
through it all crashed die gaff of die foresail.

The spar could not have missed me by many inches, while it
spurred me to action. Perhaps die 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 die schooner lifted high in die
air and his body outlined against a white surge of sea sweeping
past. All diis, 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, die flying-jib
and staysail split dieir cloths apart and diundered into nothingness.
Still I pulled, holding what I gained each time with a double turn
until the next slap gave me more. Then die sheet gave widi 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 diat 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, die 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 die boat, and, while Wolf Larsen cleared die
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 die boat would rise on a wave
while we sank in die trough, till almost straight above me I could
see the heads of die 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 die next surge
should not crush the Ghost down upon the tiny eggshell.

But, at die right moment, I passed the tackle to die Kanaka,
while Wolf Larsen did die 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 die schooner. As the Ghost
rolled her side out of water, die 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 die deck. I noticed blood spouting
from Kerfoot' s left hand. In some way die diird 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 diat 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 die fore-shrouds die Ghost
slowly paid off. This time, as we went into the trough of die sea
and were swept, there were no sails to carry away. And, halfway to
the crosstrees and flattened against the rigging by die full force of
the wind so diat 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 die
two masts rising, and diat was all. The Ghost, for die moment, was
buried beneadi die sea. As she squared off more and more,
escaping from die side pressure, she righted herself and broke her
deck, like a whale's back, through the ocean surface.

Then we raced, and wildly, across die wild sea, the while I
hung like a fly in the crosstrees and searched for die odier 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 die men, who
scrambled aboard like monkeys. The boat itself was crushed and
splintered against die 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 die storm, this time so
submerging herself that for some seconds I diought she would
never reappear. Lven 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 manoeuvre, 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 manoeuvre. 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.

Tw r o 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 w r as 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 riffle 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 die 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 die 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!" die boom-boom of guns, and die
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 die 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 die
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 die beds and sea bags of die
two men. Wolf Larsen was furious. He set sail and bore away into
the west-north-west, two hunters constandy at die masdieads and
sweeping the sea with glasses, himself pacing the deck like an angry
lion. He knew too well my sympadiy for die runaways to send me
aloft as lookout.

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 die Ghost through her best paces so as to get between the
deserters and die land. This accomplished, he cruised back and
fordi across what he knew must be their course.

On the morning of the third day, shordy after eight bells, a cry
that the boat was sighted came down from Smoke at the masdiead.
All hands lined die rail. A snappy breeze was blowing from the
west with the promise of more wind behind it; and diere, to
leeward, in die troubled silver of die 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 diat my reason must have left me. I know diat I slipped
down into die steerage in a daze, and diat I was just beginning the
ascent to die deck, a loaded shot-gun in my hands, when I heard
die startied cry:

"There's five men in that boat!"

I supported myself in die companion-way, weak and trembling,
while die observation w r as being verified by the remarks of die 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 diankful as I put die 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 die 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 die two victims of his malice.

We ran down the flying jib, hauled the jib-sheets to wind-ward
and die main-sheet flat, and came up into die wind. The oars
struck the water, and with a few strokes die boat was alongside. I
now caught my first fair glimpse of the woman. She was wrapped
in a long ulster, for die 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, die moudi sweet and sensitive, and die 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 dien, 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 diat 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 diat 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
starded by its smallness and softness. Indeed, she was a slender,
delicate woman as women go, but to me she was so ediereally
slender and delicate diat 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 die vessel should be in by night;
don't you diink so?"

Her simple faidi in the immediate future took me aback. How
could I explain to her die 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 die 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 wear} 7 . To think was patendy an
effort. She was clearly on die verge of physical collapse.

She asked no furdier questions, and I vouchsafed no remark,
devoting myself to Wolf Larsen's command, which was to make
her comfortable. I busded about in quite housewifely fashion,
procuring soothing lotions for her sunburn, raiding Wolf Larsen's
private stores for a bottie of port I knew to be diere, and directing
Thomas Mugridge in the preparation of die spare state-room.

The wind was freshening rapidly, die Ghost heeling over more
and more, and by die time die 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 die open companion-way. It
was Smoke's unmistakable voice, crying from die 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 die news from you. What vessel was it?"

"Mail steamer," he answered shortly. "The CityofTokio, 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 diese additions I've about all die crew I want."

"And they've about all the escaping they want," I said. "Why
not give them a change of treatment? Take diem 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, diat I may forget love of my own life in die 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 die 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 die
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 die eyes of
Leach, for he was looking at Wolf Larsen, die 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 smodier. Then die boat emerged, half swamped,
Leach flinging the water out and Johnson clinging to die 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 die
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 die
struggling cockle-shell, when die flying jib was run down and die
schooner hove to. The sealing boats are not made for windward
work. Their hope lies in keeping a weather position so that diey
may run before die wind for the schooner when it breezes up. But
in all diat wild waste there was no refuge for Leach and Johnson
save on die Ghost, and they resolutely began die windward beat. It
was slow work in the heavy sea diat was running. At any moment
they were liable to be overwhelmed by the hissing combers. Time
and again and coundess 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 die 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 die meantime relieved Louis at the wheel.

Command followed command. As the schooner paid off, die
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 diem widi his
arm to follow. It was evidendy his intention to play with them,— a
lesson, I took it, in lieu of a beating, though a dangerous lesson, for
die 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 die fear iv deadi at die 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 diem 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 die w r orkin' 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 blidierin' 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 11 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 diose topsails, Mr. Van Weyden," Wolf Larsen
said, as I came on the poop.

I felt relief, at least as far as die two men were concerned. It
was clear he did not wish to run too far away from them. I picked
up hope at die diought and put the order swiftly into execution. I
had scarcely opened my moudi to issue die necessary commands,
when eager men were springing to halyards and downhauls, and
odiers were racing aloft. This eagerness on dieir 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 die 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 die huge -backed breakers, or disappearing behind diem
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 die impossible. A rain-squall drove past, and
out of die flying wet the boat emerged, almost upon us.

"Hard up, diere!" Wolf Larsen shouted, himself springing to
the wheel and whirling it over.

Again die Ghost sprang away and raced before die 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 die 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 die best, that was
all. For Johnson and Leach the travail of existence had ceased.

The men remained grouped amidships. No one had gone
helow, 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 th ought. He at once
put die Ghost upon her course— a course which meant the seal
herd and not Yokohama harbour. But die men were no longer
eager as diey pulled and hauled, and I heard curses amongst them,
which left dieir 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 die 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 diem aboard when I made diat
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 die spare cabin, was a responsibility, which I must
consider, and the only rational diought 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 die three oilers, after a warm interview with
Wolf Larsen, were furnished widi outfits from die slop-chests,
assigned places under the hunters in die various boats and watches
on the vessel, and bundled forward into die forecasde. They went
protestingly, but their voices were not loud. They were awed by
what diey had already seen of Wolf Larsen's character, while the
tale of woe diey speedily heard in the forecasde took die last bit of
rebellion out of them.

Miss Brewster— we had learned her name from die engineer —
slept on and on. At supper I requested die 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 die voice of authority," Wolf
Larsen laughed.

I nodded my head, and she, having recovered herself, waited
expectandy.

"Not diat 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 diat so, Kerfoot?"

Kerfoot, dius directly addressed, was startled into dropping his
knife on the floor, diough he managed to grunt affirmation.

"Developed himself by peeling potatoes and washing dishes.
Eh, Kerfoot?"

Again that wordiy 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 dian 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 die 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, dien," 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 die peeling of potatoes and die washing of dishes," I
answered, "to say nodiing 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, diat he carries a dirk in his belt, a— ahem—
a most unusual tiling 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 die 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 AaFemade beds," she replied.

"Very often?"

She shook her head with mock ruefulness.

"Do you know r 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 diey do to die
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 die
pathos of it cut me to die heart. I must in some way break in and
lead the conversation into odier 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 w r as long ago," she continued. "And you w r ould
scarcely demand a little girl of nine to earn her own living."

"At present, however," she said, after anodier 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 nodiing 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 die 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 witii me. Didn't Lang include your 'Kiss
Endured' among die 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 diat," she answered. "I was hurt."

"We can measure die unknown only by die 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 diere 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 to 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 die 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 die 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 tilings 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 aerial 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 w r ave 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 widi 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, die stern descended the slope of a passing wave, dius
giving the advantage to die shark. The fin disappeared. The belly
flashed white in swift upward rush. Almost equally swift, but not
quite, was Wolf Larsen. He threw his strengdi 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 dian 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 die 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 neady 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, dian
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 diumb and finger at the
rear of die jaws and below die ears. The jaws opened with
reluctance, and Wolf Larsen stepped free.

"As I was saying," he went on, as though nothing unwonted
had happened, "die shark was not in die 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 dian 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 die 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 diough they formed no
words, she commanded me with her eyes, plainly as speech, to go
to the help of die unfortunate man. "Please," she managed to
whisper, and I could but obey.

By now I had developed such skill at surgery diat 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 die odier, 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
dieir 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 die sea, helpless, yet with its full strength,
doomed to lingering starvation— a living deadi less meet for it dian
for die 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 die engineer, and now, with
a sign for silence, I drew her out of earshot of die helmsman. Her
face was white and set; her large eyes, larger dian usual what of die
purpose in diem, 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 die poop, where she turned and
faced me. I glanced around to see that no one was widiin 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 die day we were rescued, even while I
was in die cabin, two men w r ere drowned, deliberately drowned—
murdered."

There was a query in her voice, and she faced me accusingly,
as diough 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 w r as 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 widiout effect."

"All," I smiled, "you advise me to kill neidier him nor myself,
but to let him kill me." I held up my hand as she was about to
speak. 'Tor 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 die odier man, Johnson.
Not only did it not stand diem 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 diis man is a monster. He is widiout 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 die first place. It is due to
his whim diat 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 die role of the weak. I remain silent
and suffer ignominy, as you will remain silent and suffer ignominy.
And it is well. It is die best we can do if we wish to live. The battle
is not always to the strong. We have not die 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 r
my position is perilous, and I may say frankly diat yours is even
more perilous. We must stand togedier, 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,
die 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 w r as coming
toward us. I was desperate.

"Please, please understand me," I said hurriedly, lowering my
voice. "All your experience of men and tilings 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 ahvays
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 w r ay, 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 w r as 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 die forty-fourth
parallel, in a raw and stormy sea across which die 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, die waves would ripple and flash, and we
would learn where we were. A day of clear weather might follow,
or diree days or four, and then die fog would settle down upon us,
seemingly thicker dian ever.

The hunting was perilous; yet die 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-wraidis, one by one, out of the grey. Wainwright— the
hunter whom Wolf Larsen had stolen widi 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 diey
had passed from schooner to schooner until they finally regained
their own.

This was the tiling I had set my mind upon doing, but the
opportunity never offered. It was not in die mate's province to go
out in the boats, and though I manoeuvred cunningly for it, Wolf
Larsen never granted me die 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 die
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, die lone woman in the midst of a shipload of
men; but I learned, now, that I had never comprehended die
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 willow} 7 , 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 w r ere 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 diat in
inexpressible ways she was dear to me. The knowledge that I loved
her rushed upon me widi die terror, and with bodi 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 die dancing lights were gone. Cold
and grey and glittering they were as he bowed brusquely and
turned away.

"I am afraid," she whispered, widi 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 die
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 die 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 die 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 dien I
said, "Twenty-seven years old and still free and fancy free?" But
how r did I know she was fancy free? And die pang of new-born

jealous)' 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 tiiat 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, he most exquisite pitch of joy and happiness to
which life could thrill, the thing of all diings 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 dien 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 die mind. And though I
had been surrounded by women all my days, my appreciation of
them had been aesthetic and nodiing more. I had actually, at
times, considered myself outside the pale, a monkish fellow
denied the eternal or die 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 dian an
ecstasy, I left my post at die head of the companion-way and
started along die 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 die 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 discover} 7 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 evidendy distasteful.

The announcement was received with black silence, though
the other four hunters glanced significantly at the two who had
been die 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, die 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 die others smiled.

"Oh, nodiing," Wolf Larsen said lamely. "I just diought 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 die faces of the other hunters.
A Russian could mean but one tiling— 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 die
conviction that it was Death Larsen and die 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 die 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, die 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 die ocean fairly carpeted with sleeping
seals. They were all about us, thicker dian I had ever seen them
before, in twos and threes and bunches, stretched full length on
the surface and sleeping for all die world like so many lazy young
dogs.

Under the approaching smoke die 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 die 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 naive surprise.

"Cutting our purses," he answered. "Man is so made these
days diat his capacity for living is determined by die money he
possesses."

"'Who steals my purse steals trash,'" she quoted.

"Who steals my purse steals my right to live," was die 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 diat 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, die 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 die herd before it.

Our boats hunted across the two or diree miles of water
between them and the point where die Macedonia's had been
dropped, and then headed for home. The wind had fallen to a
whisper, die ocean was growing calmer and calmer, and this,
coupled widi die presence of die great herd, made a perfect
hunting day— one of the two or diree days to be encountered in die
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
diat 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 die 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. All, 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 tiling. 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 die 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, dieir 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
die 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 die rest of die 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 die wheel at die time, and I went forward to my
hospital in die forecastie, where lay die 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 sympadiy
for die unfortunate creature. And the marvel of it was diat 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 Wyden, 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 manoeuvre, 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 Brew r ster," 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 tiiat, and you know it!"

Their movements perceptibly quickened under his coaching,
and as die boat swung inboard I was sent forward to let go the jibs.
Wolf Larsen, at the wheel, directed die Ghost after the
Macedonia 's second weadier boat.

Under way, and widi nothing for the time being to do, I turned
my attention to die situation of the boats. The Macedonia 's third
weather boat was being attacked by two of ours, the fourdi by our
remaining diree; 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 die wind, a condition which prevented fine shooting;
and now and again, as we drew closer, we could see die bullets zip-
zipping from wave to wave.

The boat we were pursuing had squared away and was running
before die 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 die poop when
Wolf Larsen ordered the two strange sailors forward and into die
forecastle. They went sullenly, but they went. He next ordered
Miss Brewster below, and smiled at die instant horror tiiat leapt
into her eyes.

"You'll find nothing gruesome down there," he said, "only an
unhurt man securely made fast to die 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 die 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 dirowing a cartridge into die 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 tiiat," 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 tiiat
later," he smiled, as a bullet struck solidly into die 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 iuy 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 iuy 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 braver} 7 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 leveled
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 die 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 die 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 die Macedonia's diird boat, for which I had
been steering and which was now nearly abreast of us. "That's
Horner's and Smoke's w r ork. 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. Lver experienced it, Mr.
Van Weyden?"

I shook my head and regarded their work. It had indeed been
bloody, for diey had drawn off and joined our other diree boats in
die attack on die remaining two of die enemy. The deserted boat
was in die 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 die 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 w r as glad that she had minded me and been spared
die sight.

"Head right into the bunch, Mr. Van Weyden," was Wolf
Larsen's command.

As we drew nearer, die 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 die Macedonia 's position
had reappeared.

"Yes, I've been watching it," was Wolf Larsen's calm reply. He
measured die distance away to die fog-bank, and for an instant
paused to feel the weight of die 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 diat!"

The blot of smoke had suddenly grown larger, and it was very
black.

"I'll beat you out, though, brodier mine," he chuckled. "I'll
beat you out, and I hope you no worse than diat 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 die
prisoners came over die rail diey were marshaled forward to the
forecastle by our hunters, while our sailors hoisted in the boats,
pell-mell, dropping them anywhere upon die 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 die
last boat lifted clear of die 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 die north-east. Neglecting die 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 die
edge of the fog-bank. It was diere, or not at all, diat die Macedonia
could hope to catch us. The hope for die Ghost lay in that she
should pass diat 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 die 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 die Ghost
the last bit of speed she possessed. All feuds and grudges were
forgotten, and I was surprised at the alacrity with which die men
who had so long endured his brutality sprang to execute his orders.
Strange to say, die unfortunate Johnson came into my mind as we
lifted and surged and heeled along, and I was aware of a regret diat

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 dian 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 die stretched canvas
of our mainsail. They were shooting at us widi one of die small
cannon which rumour had said they carried on board. Our men,
clustering amidships, waved dieir 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 die reason that all their hunters
were out in die boats or our prisoners. When the two vessels were
half-a-mile apart, a third shot made anodier 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 starding. The moment before we
had been leaping through the sunshine, the clear sky above us, die
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, die sun was blotted out, diere 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 woolen filament of our garments, every hair of our
heads and faces, was jeweled 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 die deck in mimic
showers at each surge of the schooner. I was aware of a pent,
stifled feeling. As the sounds of the ship dirusting herself dirough
the waves were hurled back upon us by the fog, so were one's
thoughts. The mind recoiled from contemplation of a world
beyond diis wet veil which wrapped us around. This was die world,
die universe itself, its bounds so near one felt impelled to reach
out bodi arms and push them back. It was impossible, that die 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 diat 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 manoeuvre 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 die 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 foreshortening 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 newcomers 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 groveled 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 die 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 notiiing. I would work my will through it all, in spite of
Wolf Larsen and of my own diirty-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 die howling inferno and climbed to
the deck, where die fog drifted ghostly through die 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 widi 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 dirough the fog widiout a look-out and without lights.
That Wolf Larsen had turned die liquor loose among his men
surprised me, but he evidendy knew their psychology and the best
method of cementing in cordiality, what had begun in bloodshed.

His victory over Deadi Larsen seemed to have had a
remarkable effect upon him. The previous evening he had
reasoned himself into die blues, and I had been waiting
momentarily for one of his characteristic outbursts. Yet notiiing
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 die
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 die sky, his bronze was beautiful with perfect
health; life swelled dirough his veins in full and magnificent flood.
While waiting for me he had engaged Maud in animated
discussion. Temptation was die topic they had hit upon, and from
the few words I heard I made out that he was contending diat
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 tilings
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 die soul of die
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 die stress upon die desire
apart from the soul, Miss Brewster lays the stress on die 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 die 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 die 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 die sheer
materialistic side, and Maud's was die 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 die 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 diem. 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 blundy, and his eyes
flashed their golden light.

I could have shouted widi joy at her control. She finished the
concluding stanza without faltering and dien slowly guided the
conversation into less perilous channels. And all the while I sat in a
half-daze, die 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 die
forecastle.

If ever Wolf Larsen attained die 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 die spell of his passion, for he was
preaching the passion of revolt. It was inevitable diat Milton's
Lucifer should be instanced, and die 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 die 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 widi him, and
straightway he incited man to rebel against God, and gained for
himself and hell die major portion of all die generations of man.
Why was he beaten out of heaven? Because he was less brave dian
God? less proud? less aspiring? No! A thousand times no! God
was more powerful, as he said, Whom thunder hadi 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 senility. 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 henee;
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 die steerage and marveled 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 die half-deadi
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 die 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
diis 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 tire 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 die 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 die 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 die 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 die
matter?"

"Help me to a seat," he said, in die 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 die 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 die 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 nodiing. 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 die topsails,
lowered the flying jib and staysail, backed die jib over, and
flattened die 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 wridiing-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 tilings, 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 w r et.

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 wiiole 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 w r as 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 tiien the other, for a couple of feet, till it hung
snugly, above die water, against the schooner's side. I made certain
diat it contained die 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 die 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 die boat, a sailor came on deck from the forecastle. He
stood by the weather rail for a time (we were lowering over die lee
rail), and tiien 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 die 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 die
boat into die 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 die odier, and I was proud at die
moment of die feat. It was a strengdi I had not possessed a few
months before, on the day I said good-bye to Charley Furusedi
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 die expense of much
effort got die boat clear of the Ghost. Then I experimented with
the sail. I had seen the boat-steerers and hunters set dieir spritsails
many times, yet diis was my first attempt. What took diem possibly
two minutes took me twenty, but in die end I succeeded in setting
and trimming it, and with the steering-oar in my hands hauled on
die 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 die rudder kicked; then sight and sound of her faded
away, and we were alone on die 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 stoutiy
mittened, my fingers were cold, and diey pained from the grip on
the steering-oar. My feet were stinging from die bite of the frost,
and I hoped fervently that die sun would shine.

Before me, in the bottom of die boat, lay Maud. She, at least,
was warm, for under her and over her were diick 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 die covering and jeweled with moisture from
die air.

Long I looked at her, dwelling upon that one visible bit of her
as only a man would who deemed it die most precious thing in the
world. So insistent was my gaze diat at last she stirred under the
blankets, die 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 nioue of disappointment.

"But diat 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 die west. "But to die
soudi-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
trudi, and dius 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 tire 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 tire slop-chest and made from
blanket goods. I knew die kind, so thick and so close of texture
that it could resist die rain and not be soaked dirough 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 diat cannot but look well under all circumstances. Nodiing
could destroy its exquisite oval, its well-nigh classic lines, its
delicately stenciled brows, its large brown eyes, clear-seeing and
calm, gloriously calm.

A puff, slighdy stronger dian 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 widi die sea and shipping
a bucketful or so of water. I was opening a can of tongue at the
moment, and I sprang to die 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
die 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 die 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, apparendy, of die task, she relinquished
the oar to me. I had folded up die blankets, but she now
proceeded to spread diem 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 die
Ghost

What could I do? She insisted, and said, "Please, please,"
whereupon I turned die 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 die 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 die 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 southwest 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 suffer 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 tiling 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
white caps.

"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 die brave trade-wind."

"I wish I had diought 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 die love of another life; and yet, such is the paradox, I never
wanted so much to live as right now when I place die least value
upon my own life. I never had so much reason for living, was my
concluding thought; and after diat, until I dozed, I contented
myself with trying to pierce die darkness to where I knew Maud
crouched low in the stern-sheets, watchful of die 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 diere, willy-nilly, across the ocean. The high
wind blew from die north-west for twenty-four hours, when it fell
calm, and in die night sprang up from die soudi-west. This was
dead in our teedi, but I took in die sea-anchor and set sail, hauling
a course on die 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 die 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
litde I noticed it. I had succumbed and slept where I sat in the
stern-sheets. The morning of the fourth day found die wind
diminished to a gentle whisper, die 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 dian die 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 tiiat 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 die afternoon, when die north-west
breeze had sprung up freshly once more. But die strange schooner
lost itself on die sky-line and we alone occupied die circle of die
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
marveling 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 die drip of die 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 odier and dearer things, in my thoughts
only. Though the declaration of my love urged and trembled on
my tongue a diousand times, I knew tiiat 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 tiiat woman for her
love. Delicate as was die 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 tiiat 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 die days went by.

One thing about her which surprised me was her lack of
timidity and fear. The terrible sea, die frail boat, die storms, the
suffering, the strangeness and isolation of the situation,— all tiiat

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 forbidden 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 diat
shore. The wind would instantly capsize die boat; the seas would
swamp it die moment it fell into the trough; and, besides, the sail,
lashed to die 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 diat
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 diat 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 die boat.
I felt her mittened hand come out to mine. And thus, widiout
speech, we waited die end. We were not far off die line die wind
made widi die western edge of the promontory, and I watched in
die hope that some set of die 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 youdi, be
accounted an oadi.

"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 die extreme edge of die
promontory, and as we looked we could see grow die intervening
coasdine of what was evidently a deep cove. At the same time die re
broke upon our ears a continuous and mighty bellowing. It
partook of die magnitude and volume of distant thunder, and it
came to us directly from leeward, rising above die crash of die surf
and travelling directly in the teeth of the storm. As we passed the
point die 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 die 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 w r as 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 dow r n on the sand.

I attended to making the boat secure and joined her. Thus we
landed on Endeavour Island, as w r e 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 afire.

"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 die 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 die 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 die coffee badly; and I learned, not long
afterward, diat die 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 die 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, die 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 die tent, and,
an hour later, a sudden gust of wind, whipping over die rocky wall
behind us, picked up the tent and smashed it down on the sand
diirty 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 die
island. There must be a station somewhere, and men. And ships
must visit die 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 w r ould 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 die 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 diere 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 die glad light spring into her eyes and knew that I had lost. It
was impossible to say no after tiiat.

The wind died down in the afternoon, and we were prepared
to start die following morning. There was no way of penetrating the
island from our cove, for die walls rose perpendicularly from the
beach, and, on either side of the cove, rose from die 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 die flap of die 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 widiout 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 die ammunition
box took a shot-gun shell. Removing the wads from die latter with
my knife, I emptied the powder on a flat rock. Next I pried die
primer, or cap, from die shell, and laid it on die 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 die rough edge of die 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 die 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 tiling 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 lue. 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 luy 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 widiout 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 die spare oars, very true. They would serve as
roof-beams; but widi what was I to cover diem? Moss would never
do. Tundra grass was impracticable. We needed the sail for die
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 die hunting began. I did not know how to shoot,
but I proceeded to learn. And when I had expended some thirty
shells for diree seals, I decided that die ammunition would be
exhausted before I acquired the necessary knowledge. I had used
eight shells for lighting fires before I hit upon die device of
banking the embers with wet moss, and diere remained not over a
hundred shells in the box.

"We must club die seals," I announced, when convinced of my
poor marksmanship. "I have heard die 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 dieirs. 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
die 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, widi diat 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 die
beach. There were seals all about us in the water, and die
bellowing thousands on die beach compelled us to shout at each
odier to make ourselves heard.

"I know men club them," I said, trying to reassure myself, and
gazing doubtfully at a large bull, not diirty feet away, upreared on
his fore-flippers and regarding me intently. "But die question is,
How do they club them?"

"Let us gather tundra grass and thatch die roof," Maud said.

She was as frightened as I at the prospect, and we had reason
to be gazing at close range at die gleaming teeth and dog-like
mouths.

"I always diought 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 die nesting grounds of
wild geese," Maud said. "They killed him."

"The geese?"

"Yes, die geese. My brother told me about it when I was a little
girl."

"But I know men club them," I persisted.

"I diink die 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 die bow ashore.

I stepped out and advanced valiantly upon a long-maned bull
in die midst of his wives. I was armed with die regular club with
which die boat-pullers killed the wounded seals gaffed aboard by
die hunters. It was only a foot and a half long, and in my superb
ignorance I never dreamed diat die club used ashore when raiding
die rookeries measured four to five feet. The cow r s lumbered out
of my way, and die distance between me and die 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 die answer. In
my fear I had forgotten that I was tiiere to get the bull instead of to
make him run. And just dien he gave a snort and a snarl and
rushed at me. His eyes were blazing, his moudi 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 teedi 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 moudi, and was shaking the boat violently.

"My!" said Maud. "Let's go back."

I shook my head. "I can do what odier men have done, and I
know diat odier men have clubbed seals. But I diink 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, radier, in order to
make myself heard above the roar of die rookery. "If you say so,
I'll turn and go back; but honesdy, I'd radier stay."

"Now don't say that diis 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 dien 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 oudying
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 die lord of die harem charging down upon
me. Again I fled to the boat, hody pursued; but diis 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 inoffensivedooking seals," was
what she said. "I diink I have read something about them. Dr.
Jordan's book, I believe. They are die young bulls, not old enough

to have harems of their own. He called them tire 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 tire 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 tire men raided the rookeries. They drive tire 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 tire 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, tire 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 tire 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 tire 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 tire 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 tire shoulders, but with tire 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 tire 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, wifile 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 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
w r ould 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 housew r arming in my hut the night it w r as roofed. It
was the end of the third day of a fierce storm which had swung
around the compass from the southeast to the northwest, and
which was then blowing directly in upon us. The beaches of the
outer cove w r ere 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 but, 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 die 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 die lazarette beneath die cabin, and die idea came to me of
surprising Maud with something nice for breakfast.

The reaction from my fear, and die 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 die 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 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 leveled 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 leveled 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
die 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 litde 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, diat 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 die 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 diing I've hunted for years. Thanks to my
brodier Deadi, I've lighted on a fortune. It's a mint. What's its
bearings?"

"Haven't die 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 diat
you are alone?"

I was prepared for him again to set aside my question, and was
surprised at die readiness of his reply.

"My brodier got me inside forty-eight hours, and dirough 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 die 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 die masts?" I asked.

"Walk over and examine diose lanyards," he said, pointing to
where the mizzen-rigging should have heen.

"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 die cabin. I lifted the trap in
die 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

die 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 die 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, diough I
dioroughly 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 die 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 breadied 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 die 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 die end, I heard her moving about within die
hut, making her toilet. Just as all was ready and the coffee poured,
die 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 I agreed that die cooking
should be mine, and—"

"But just diis 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 die beach, and I
maintained the banter with such success diat 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 die 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 die beach.

"Humphrey!" she said.

The old unnamable terror mounted into her eyes.

"Is— he— ?" she quavered.

I nodded my head.

CHAPTER XXXIIII

We waited all day for Wolf Larsen to come ashore. It was an
intolerable period of anxiety. Each moment one or the otiier 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 die revolvers. You
know I collected every weapon on board."

"But there are his arms, his hands, his terrible, terrible hands!"
she objected. And tiien 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 die 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 die seal herd; but I
considered, and refrained.

"I shall not take any risks," I said. "I'll merely peep over die
bow and see."

She pressed my hand earnestly and let me go. But die 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 die 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 die woman of her which
compelled a solicitude for Wolf Larsen, of all creatures. Where
was her solicitude for me, I diought,— 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 die deck. Aft I walked to die cabin companion, where I
contented myself widi hailing below. Wolf Larsen answered, and
as he started to ascend die stairs I cocked my revolver. I displayed
it openly during our conversation, but he took no notice of it. He
appeared die 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, widiout further parley, I left him.

Maud received my report with obvious relief, and die sight of
smoke which later rose in the galley put her in a more cheerful
mood. The next day, and the next, we saw die 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 die little things we had
planned.

But at the end of the week die 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 diought 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 dian 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 diem might be inexpedient. And as
she had followed the trend of my silence, she now followed die

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 forecasde head, and
went noiselessly aft in my stocking feet. Nor did I call this time
from the top of die companion-way. Cautiously descending, I
found the cabin deserted. The door to his state-room was closed.
At first I diought 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 die provisions, was stored in the lazarette, and I
took advantage of die opportunity to lay in a stock of
underclothing.

As I emerged from die lazarette I heard sounds in Wolf
Larsen's state-room. I crouched and listened. The door-knob
ratded. 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, die strong man,
die indomitable one. For all die 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 diere can be little in this world more awful
than die 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 die verge of a fit. His
face strove to compose itself, writhing and twisting in the effort till
he broke down again. Once more die clenched fists went upward
and he groaned. He caught his breadi once or twice and sobbed.
Then he was successful. I could have diought him the old Wolf
Larsen, and yet there was in his movements a vague suggestion of
weakness and indecision. He started for die companion-way, and
stepped forward quite as I had been accustomed to see him do;
and yet again, in his very walk, diere 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 die opening,
while the other foot was just on the verge of beginning die uplift.
But when die descending foot missed the solid flooring and felt
vacancy beneath, it was the old Wolf Larsen and the tiger muscles
diat made die 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
underclodies 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 die trap-door into place, closing
the lazarette. Then I understood. He diought he had me inside.
Also, he was blind, blind as a bat. I watched him, breathing
carefully so diat he should not hear me. He stepped quickly to his
state-room. I saw his hand miss die door-knob by an inch, quickly
fumble for it, and find it. This was my chance. I tiptoed across the
cabin and to die 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 die first.
Then he gadiered up the marmalade and underclodies and put
them on die 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 lengdi of die schooner, or staring, radier, 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 fordi, of course without effect; but when the
moving shadow fell across his face I saw at once diat he was
susceptible to die 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, diat 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 die shadow remained stationary. He
slowly moved his head back and forth under it and turned from
side to side, now in die sunshine, now in the shade, feeling die
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 die only
conclusion I could reach was that the sensitive skin recognized die

difference of temperature between shade and sunshine. Or,
perhaps,— who can tell?— it was diat 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 widi 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
forecasde 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 die cabin for my marmalade and underclothes,
slipped back past the galley, and climbed down to die 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 diink 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
eardi 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 die
wonderful trudi of his words. Why, I was living them. Maud was
all this to me, an unfailing, source of strengdi 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, nodiing else than put die
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 die
Ghost and return to the world. I remembered hazily the physics of
my school days, while die last few months had given me practical
experience with mechanical purchases. I must say, diough, 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 die mechanics of
levers; but where was I to get a fulcrum?

There was die mainmast, fifteen inches in diameter at what was
now the butt, still sixty-five feet in lengdi, and weighing, I roughly
calculated, at least diree diousand pounds. And then came the
foremast, larger in diameter, and weighing surely diirty-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 diere on Endeavour Island. By crossing and lashing die ends of
two spars, and then elevating them in the air like an inverted "V," I
could get a point above die deck to which to make fast my hoisting
tackle. To this hoisting tackle I could, if necessary, attach a second
hoisting tackle. And then diere was the windlass!

Maud saw diat I had achieved a solution, and her eyes warmed
sympathetically.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Clear diat raffle," I answered, pointing to the tangled
wreckage overside.

All, the decisiveness, the very sound of the words, was good in
my ears. "Clear diat raffle!" Imagine so salty a phrase on die 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 die ridiculous
was keen, and in all tilings 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
tiiere. 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 die 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 die 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 die 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
your

"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 underestimating 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, tire foretopmast nearly tirirty, 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
odier end fast to the butt of the foretopmast, I began to heave.
Maud held tire turn on tire windlass and coiled down the slack.

We were astonished at the ease with which die 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 lengdi of rope I heaved in. The tackle dragged
heavily across die rail, increasing its drag as the spar arose more
and more out of die water, and the exertion on die windlass grew
severe.

But when die butt of the topmast was level with the rail,
everything came to a standstill.

"I might have known it," I said impatiendy. "Now we have to
do it all over again."

"Why not fasten the tackle part way down die 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 die water and
fastened die tackle a third of the way down from die 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 tire
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 tire mast into the
water. But I miscalculated the point of balance, so that when I
heaved tire 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 die 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 die 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 die 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 die spar and die
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 die windlass when I
gave die word, I proceeded to heave on die 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, die 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
die 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 die maintopmast on deck and was
constructing the shears. Lashing the two topmasts togedier, and
making allowance for their unequal length, at the point of
intersection I attached the double block of die main throat-
halyards. This, with the single block and the diroat-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 die shears
and carried it directly to the windlass. I was growing to have faith in
diat 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 die 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 Lndured.'"

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
odier tilings 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
tiiat 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 tiling— 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 die 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 diem, for diat matter."

But my heart smote me when we climbed aboard and looked
at the havoc he had done. The shears were gone altogedier. 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 die windlass. It
would not work. He had broken it. We looked at each other in
consternation. Then I ran to die 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 diey 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
dirough 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 setback, a delay.
The tide could not have carried the masts far to seaward, and diere
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 die 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 diat 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 die 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 die 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 die stir of its frightened prey. But we did not stir,
and we moved only when he moved. And so we dodged about die

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 diat we found them, all of them, the shears included, and, of
all perilous places, in the pounding surf of the grim soutii-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 togedier die foremast, die fore and main
booms, and the fore and main gaffs. The wind was favourable, and
I had diought to tow diem back under sail, but die 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 die oars and to feel the boat checked in its forward
lunge by the heavy drag behind, was not exacdy 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 die 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 diough I had eaten heartily of a twelve-o'clock
lunch, I had worked so hard diat 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 die 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 die 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 die 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 ever} 7 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
coining 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 die wind slowly died down. By night it was dead calm and I
was toiling once more at die 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 die
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 healdi," she said, as
we lingered at die 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 die longest."

"You litde 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 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 deadi, 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 tiiat 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, diere 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 die 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 die forecasde. Wolf Larsen had sat about, listening to my
repairing die 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 diis he prepared to cut across die diroat-halyards I had again
rigged to die shears. He felt the halyards with his hands and
discovered that I had not made diem fast. This would not do for a
draw-knife, so he laid hold of die running part, hove taut, and
made fast. Then he prepared to saw across widi die draw-knife.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," I said quiedy.

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 quiedy as before.
"However, I am aching for a chance to kill you, so go ahead and
cut."

"You have die 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 drat. There must
be some less brutal way. Let us wait."

But we did not have to wait long, and die problem solved itself.

In the morning, after several trials, I found die point of balance
in the foremast and attached my hoisting tackle a few feet above it.
Maud held die turn on die 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 die heaving. I had to rest frequently. In
trudi, my spells of resting w r ere longer dian 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
odier to throw the weight of her slim body to my assistance.

At die end of an hour die single and double blocks came
together at the top of die shears. I could hoist no more. And yet
the mast was not swung entirely inboard. The butt rested against
the outside of die port rail, while the top of die mast overhung the
water far beyond die starboard rail. My shears were too short. All
my work had been for nothing. But I no longer despaired in die
old w r ay. I w r as 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 widi 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 die deck.

"One of his attacks," I whispered to Maud.

She nodded her head; and I could see sympadiy warm in 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 dien die wrist I held leaped from my hand, and die 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 diroat, 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 die hand tiiat was dirottling 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 die 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 die 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 die whole man sink under me. The breadi was leaving his
lungs and his chest was collapsing under my weight. Whether it
was merely die expelled breadi, or his consciousness of his
growing impotence, I know not, but his diroat 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 die
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 widi mingled alarm and relief. A heavy seal-
club in her hand caught my eyes, and at tiiat moment she followed
my gaze down to it. The club dropped from her hand as though it
had suddenly stung her, and at die 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 die softening civilization of die 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 die
brown glory of her hair, glinting gems in the sunshine far more
precious to me dian diose in die 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 diat the danger was past, in die arms
of her protector or of the one who had been endangered. Had I
been father or brodier, 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 diis time," I said: "another shock like die
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 diat I have him helpless, helpless
he shall remain. From diis day we live in the cabin. Wolf Larsen
shall live in the steerage."

I caught him under die shoulders and dragged him to the
companion-way. At my direction Maud fetched a rope. Placing this
under his shoulders, I balanced him across die threshold and
lowered him down the steps to die 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 diis 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 die 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 die stalled
foremast hung in the shears.

CHAPTER XXXVII

At once we moved aboard the Ghost, occupying our old state-
rooms and cooking in die 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 die
inadequate shears, widi the foremast suspended from them, gave a
business-like air to die 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 die 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. Widi
a restiess 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 moudi shaping the strangest,
twisted smile. It was indeed a twisted smile, for it was on the left
side only, die facial muscles of die right side moving not at all.

"That was die last play of the Wolf," he said. "I am paralysed.
I shall never walk again. Oh, only on die odier 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 die blankets.

"It's unfortunate," he continued. "I'd liked to have done for
you first, Hump. And I diought I had that much left in me."

"But why?" I asked; partly in horror, partly out of curiosity.

Again his stern moudi framed the twisted smile, as he said:

"Oh, just to be alive, to be living and doing, to be die biggest
bit of die ferment to the end, to eat you. But to die this way."

He shrugged his shoulders, or attempted to shrug them, rather,
for die left shoulder alone moved. Like the smile, die 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 widi my brain. A
cancer, a tumour, or something of diat nature,— a thing diat
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 die curse of it is diat I must lie here,
conscious, mentally unimpaired, knowing diat die 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 die higher psychical centres are untouched. I can
remember, I can think and reason. When diat 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 diat he wished no furdier 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 dioughts were
deep and solemn, and we spoke to each other scarcely above
whispers.

"You might remove the handcuffs," he said diat 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 diat she must attend him, and I wished to save her as much
as possible.

"Then I shall smile no more," he said calmly. "I diought
something was wrong. My right cheek has been numb all day. Yes,
and I've had warnings of this for the last diree 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 hencefordi that I smile internally, widi 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 die 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 die 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 die flesh to be dead, quite dead.

And yet, though I even removed die 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 diing, rising above the flesh, he might break out and
do. Our experience warranted diis 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 die shears. By means of die watch-tackle (I had made
a new one), I heaved the butt of the foremast across die 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 die
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 die 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 die end
of the boom. Thus, by carrying this tackle to die windlass, I could
raise and lower the end of die boom at will, the butt always
remaining stationary, and, by means of guys, I could swing the
boom from side to side. To die 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 die step. Here I was
especially awkward. I sawed and chopped and chiselled the
weathered wood till it had die 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 die
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 Caesar 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 witii 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 tiiere was little time for laughter in those days, what of our
heavy work and of the awfulness of Wolf Larsen's living deadi.

He had received anodier 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 die middle of a sentence perhaps, and for hours,
sometimes, we would wait for the connection to be reestablished.
He complained of great pain in his head, and it was during this
period that he arranged a system of communication against die
time when speech should leave him altogether— one pressure of
die hand for "yes," two for "no." It was well diat it was arranged,
for by evening his voice had gone from him. By hand pressures,
after diat, 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 die bad weadier, and of die 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 conveniendy from die deck, I attached die
rigging, stays and diroat and peak halyards. As usual, I had
underrated the amount of work involved in this portion of die 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 die instant she was relieved from
holding die turn, crying:

"It works! It works! We'll trust our lives to it!"

Then she assumed a rueful expression.

"It's not over die hole," she said. "Will you have to begin all
overr

I smiled in superior fashion, and, slacking off on one of the
boom-guys and taking in on the other, swung die mast perfectly in
the centre of die deck. Still it was not over die hole. Again the
rueful expression came on her face, and again I smiled in a
superior way. Slacking away on die boom-tackle and hoisting an
equivalent amount on the shears-tackle, I brought the butt of die
mast into position directly over die hole in die deck. Then I gave
Maud careful instructions for lowering away and went into the hold
to die step on die schooner's bottom.

I called to her, and the mast moved easily and accurately.
Straight toward die square hole of the step die square butt
descended; but as it descended it slowly twisted so diat 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 die 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 die windlass.
Slowly die butt descended the several intervening inches, at die
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
odier, and our hands felt their way and clasped. The eyes of both
of us, I diink, were moist with die 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 die helpless giant to grip my
neck in a strangle hold. I hesitated, die 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 die lantern light
of die 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 die 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 die table partially knocked die
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 die 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 die wall of die 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 die mattress out of die bunk it seemed to
disintegrate in mid-air, at the same time bursting into flames. I beat
out the burning remnants of straw in die bunk, then made a dash
for the deck for fresh air.

Several buckets of water sufficed to put out die 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 die 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 die 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 widi a final flourish.
"I can think more clearly dian 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
die 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, die 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 die time."

The left hand stumbled slowly and painfully across die paper,
and it was widi extreme difficulty that we deciphered the scrawl. It
was like a "spirit message," such as are delivered at seances of
spiritualists for a dollar admission.

"But I am still here, all here," die 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 die ear.

Three times die 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 die
pencil with her own hand and die hand wrote, in large letters, and
so slowly that die 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 die body
moved slightly. Then diere was no movement. Maud released the
hand. The fingers spread slightly, falling apart of dieir own weight,
and the pencil rolled away.

"Do you still hear?" I shouted, holding the fingers and waiting
for die single pressure which would signify "Yes." There was no
response. The hand was dead.

"I noticed the lips slightly move," Maud said.

I repeated die 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 odier expectantly.

"What good is it?" I asked. "What can we say now?"

"Oh, ask him—"

She hesitated.

"Ask him something diat 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, quiedy, looking up
at me. "Until his hearing goes we shall be able to communicate
with him. And after diat— "

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 sobhed, "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 r ,
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 w r ere 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, tiiere 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, tiiere 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 tiiere?" 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 knowiedge 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 w r ork, 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. Willfully 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

die 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 die 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 diat anchor up in this narrow place, once it
has left die 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 die wheel,
and at die same time you must be hoisting the jib."

This manoeuvre of getting under way I had studied and
worked out a score of times; and, with die jib-halyard to die
windlass, I knew Maud w r as capable of hoisting that most necessary
sail. A brisk wind w r as blowing into the cove, and diough the water
was calm, rapid w r ork was required to get us safely out.

When I knocked the shackle-bolt loose, the chain roared out
through die hawse-hole and into the sea. I raced aft, putting the
wheel up. The Ghost seemed to start into life as she heeled to die
first fill of her sails. The jib was rising. As it filled, the Ghost's bow
swung off and I had to put die wheel down a few spokes and
steady her.

I had devised an automatic jib-sheet which passed the jib
across of itself, so diere was no need for Maud to attend to diat;
but she was still hoisting the jib when I put the wheel hard down. It
was a moment of anxiety, for die Ghost was rushing directly upon
the beach, a stone's throw distant. But she swung obediendy on
her heel into die wind. There was a great fluttering and flapping of
canvas and reef-points, most welcome to my ears, dien she filled
away on die 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 die 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 breadi suspended as die Ghost, charging upon the
wall of rock at the entrance to the inner cove, sw r ept 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 die
ocean, and was herself a-breadi widi die rhythm of it as she
smoothly mounted and slipped down each broad-backed wave.
The day had been dull and overcast, but die sun now burst
dirough die clouds, a welcome omen, and shone upon die curving
beach where together we had dared die lords of die harem and
slain the holluschickie. All Endeavour Island brightened under die
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 direw 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 diose black clouds to windward. You remember, I told
you last night the barometer was falling."

"And die sun is gone," she said, her eyes still fixed upon our
island, wiiere we had proved our mastery over matter and attained
to the truest comradeship diat may fall to man and woman.

"And it's slack off die sheets for Japan!" I cried gaily. "A fair
wind and a flowing sheet, you know r , or however it goes."

Lashing die wiieel I ran forward, eased die fore and
mainsheets, took in on die boom-tackles and trimmed everything
for die 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 w r atch. Maud insisted on relieving me, but proved diat she
had not die 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 die 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 die morning Maud brought
me hot coffee and biscuits she had baked, and at seven a
substantial and piping hot breakfast put new lift into me.

Throughout the day, and as slowly and steadily as ever, die
wind increased. It impressed one with its sullen determination to
blow r , and blow r harder, and keep on blowing. And still die Ghost
foamed along, racing off die 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 die wheel was die limit of my endurance. Besides, Maud begged
me to heave to, and I knew, if the wind and sea increased at die
same rate during the night, diat 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 die 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 die
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 die 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, secredy, so that Maud
should not know.

Then, in desperation, I abandoned the attempt to reef die
mainsail and resolved to try die experiment of heaving to under
the close-reefed foresail. Three hours more were required to
gasket the mainsail and jib, and at two in die morning, nearly dead,
die 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
widi my moudi 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 diat 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 die cabin I knew nothing. It
was a sleep-w r alker Maud guided and supported. In fact, I was
aware of nothing till I awoke, how long after I could not imagine,
in my bunk widi my boots off. It was dark. I was stiff and lame,
and cried out widi pain when die bed-clothes touched my poor
finger-ends.

Morning had evidendy 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 w r oke, 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 diree! I should have been puzzled had I
not guessed die 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 ride 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 w r as 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 r .

As we clung to the lee rail and w r orked 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, dien 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 die telling of it
would be sweet, so sweet."

Her lips met die press of mine, and, by what strange trick of
the imagination I know not, die scene in die cabin of the Ghost
flashed upon me, when she had pressed her fingers lighdy on my
lips and said, "Hush, hush."

"My woman, my one small woman," I said, my free hand
petting her shoulder in die 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 widi a happy little sigh.

I looked toward die 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, widi a most
adorable smile, whimsical as I had never seen it, for it was
whimsical with love.

1 ["The Long Trail," Rudyard Kipling.]