WATCH Hot Elisha Cuthbert Showing All  CLICK HERE for Instant Access Elisha Cuthbert Photos |
Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
to the south-west into that portion of
the sea where he expected to pick up with the north-east trades.
It was before this steady wind that he hoped to make the major
portion of the run to Japan, curving south into the tropics and
north again as he approached the coast of Asia.
After breakfast I had another unenviable experience. When I had
finished washing the dishes, I cleaned the cabin stove and carried
the ashes up on deck to empty them. Wolf Larsen and Henderson were
standing near the wheel, deep in conversation. The sailor,
Johnson, was steering. As I started toward the weather side I saw
him make a sudden motion with his head, which I mistook for a token
of recognition and good-morning. In reality, he was attempting to
warn me to throw my ashes over the lee side. Unconscious of my
blunder, I passed by Wolf Larsen and the hunter and flung the ashes
over the side to windward. The wind drove them back, and not only
over me, but over Henderson and Wolf Larsen. The next instant the
latter kicked me, violently, as a cur is kicked. I had not
realized there could be so much pain in a kick. I reeled away from
him and leaned against the cabin in a half-fainting condition.
Everything was swimming before my eyes, and I turned sick. The
nausea overpowered me, and I managed to crawl to the side of the
vessel. But Wolf Larsen did not follow me up. Brushing the ashes
from his clothes, he had resumed his conversation with Henderson.
Johansen, who had seen the affair from the break of the poop, sent
a couple of sailors aft to clean up the mess.
Later in the morning I received a surprise of a totally different
sort. Following the cooks instructions, I had gone into Wolf
Larsens state-room to put it to rights and make the bed. Against
the wall, near the head of the bunk, was a rack filled with books.
I glanced over them, noting with astonishment such names as
Shakespeare, Tennyson, Poe, and De Quincey. There were scientific
works, too, among which were represented men such as Tyndall,
Proctor, and Darwin. Astronomy and physics were represented, and I
remarked Bulfinchs Age of Fable, Shaws History of English and
American Literature, and Johnsons Natural History in two large
volumes. Then there were a number of grammars, such as Metcalfs,
and Reed and Kelloggs; and I smiled as I saw a copy of The Deans
English.
I could not reconcile these books with the man from what I had seen
of him, and I wondered if he could possibly read them. But when I
came to make the bed I found, between the blankets, dropped
apparently as he had sunk off to sleep, a complete Browning, the
Cambridge Edition. It was open at "In a Balcony," and I noticed,
here and there, passages underlined in pencil. Further, letting
drop the volume during a lurch of the ship, a sheet of paper fell
out. It was scrawled over with geometrical diagrams and
calculations of some sort.
It was patent that this terrible man was no ignorant clod, such as
one would inevitably suppose him to be from his exhibitions of
brutality. At once he became an enigma. One side or the other of
his nature was perfectly comprehensible; but both sides together
were bewildering. I had already remarked that his language was
excellent, marred with an occasional slight inaccuracy. Of course,
in common speech with the sailors and hunters, it sometimes fairly
bristled with errors, which was due to the vernacular itself; but
in the few words he had held with me it had been clear and correct.
This glimpse I had caught of his other side must have emboldened
me, for I resolved to speak to him about the money I had lost.
"I have been robbed," I said to him, a little later, when I found
him pacing up and down the poop alone.
"Sir," he corrected, not harshly, but sternly.
"I have been robbed, sir," I amended.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
Then I told him the whole circumstance, how my clothes had been
left to dry in the galley, and how, later, I was nearly beaten by
the cook when I mentioned the matter.
He smiled at my recital. "Pickings," he concluded; "Cookys
pickings. And dont you think your miserable The Sea Wolf page 18 The Sea Wolf page 20 |