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Elisha Cuthbert Gallery Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
along the weather poop.
"Hump," he said, "I beg pardon, Mr. Van Weyden, I congratulate you.
I think you can now fire your fathers legs back into the grave to
him. Youve discovered your own and learned to stand on them. A
little rope-work, sail-making, and experience with storms and such
things, and by the end of the voyage you could ship on any coasting
schooner."
It was during this period, between the death of Johansen and the
arrival on the sealing grounds, that I passed my pleasantest hours
on the Ghost. Wolf Larsen was quite considerate, the sailors
helped me, and I was no longer in irritating contact with Thomas
Mugridge. And I make free to say, as the days went by, that I
found I was taking a certain secret pride in myself. Fantastic as
the situation was,--a land-lubber second in command,--I was,
nevertheless, carrying it off well; and during that brief time I
was proud of myself, and I grew to love the heave and roll of the
Ghost under my feet as she wallowed north and west through the
tropic sea to the islet where we filled our water-casks.
But my happiness was not unalloyed. It was comparative, a period
of less misery slipped in between a past of great miseries and a
future of great miseries. For the Ghost, so far as the seamen were
concerned, was a hell-ship of the worst description. They never
had a moments rest or peace. Wolf Larsen treasured against them
the attempt on his life and the drubbing he had received in the
forecastle; and morning, noon, and night, and all night as well, he
devoted himself to making life unlivable for them.
He knew well the psychology of the little thing, and it was the
little things by which he kept the crew worked up to the verge of
madness. I have seen Harrison called from his bunk to put properly
away a misplaced paintbrush, and the two watches below haled from
their tired sleep to accompany him and see him do it. A little
thing, truly, but when multiplied by the thousand ingenious devices
of such a mind, the mental state of the men in the forecastle may
be slightly comprehended.
Of course much grumbling went on, and little outbursts were
continually occurring. Blows were struck, and there were always
two or three men nursing injuries at the hands of the human beast
who was their master. Concerted action was impossible in face of
the heavy arsenal of weapons carried in the steerage and cabin.
Leach and Johnson were the two particular victims of Wolf Larsens
diabolic temper, and the look of profound melancholy which had
settled on Johnsons 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 The Sea Wolf page 58 The Sea Wolf page 60 |