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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
strength we are wont to associate with things primitive,
with wild animals, and the creatures we imagine our tree-dwelling
prototypes to have been--a strength savage, ferocious, alive in
itself, the essence of life in that it is the potency of motion,
the elemental stuff itself out of which the many forms of life have
been moulded; in short, that which writhes in the body of a snake
when the head is cut off, and the snake, as a snake, is dead, or
which lingers in the shapeless lump of turtle-meat and recoils and
quivers from the prod of a finger.
Such was the impression of strength I gathered from this man who
paced up and down. He was firmly planted on his legs; his feet
struck the deck squarely and with surety; every movement of a
muscle, from the heave of the shoulders to the tightening of the
lips about the cigar, was decisive, and seemed to come out of a
strength that was excessive and overwhelming. In fact, though this
strength pervaded every action of his, it seemed but the
advertisement of a greater strength that lurked within, that lay
dormant and no more than stirred from time to time, but which might
arouse, at any moment, terrible and compelling, like the rage of a
lion or the wrath of a storm.
The cook stuck his head out of the galley door and grinned
encouragingly at me, at the same time jerking his thumb in the
direction of the man who paced up and down by the hatchway. Thus I
was given to understand that he was the captain, the "Old Man," in
the cooks vernacular, the individual whom I must interview and put
to the trouble of somehow getting me ashore. I had half started
forward, to get over with what I was certain would be a stormy five
minutes, when a more violent suffocating paroxysm seized the
unfortunate person who was lying on his back. He wrenched and
writhed about convulsively. The chin, with the damp black beard,
pointed higher in the air as the back muscles stiffened and the
chest swelled in an unconscious and instinctive effort to get more
air. Under the whiskers, and all unseen, I knew that the skin was
taking on a purplish hue.
The captain, or Wolf Larsen, as men called him, ceased pacing and
gazed down at the dying man. So fierce had this final struggle
become that the sailor paused in the act of flinging more water
over him and stared curiously, the canvas bucket partly tilted and
dripping its contents to the deck. The dying man beat a tattoo on
the hatch with his heels, straightened out his legs, and stiffened
in one great tense effort, and rolled his head from side to side.
Then the muscles relaxed, the head stopped rolling, and a sigh, as
of profound relief, floated upward from his lips. The jaw dropped,
the upper lip lifted, and two rows of tobacco-discoloured teeth
appeared. It seemed as though his features had frozen into a
diabolical grin at the world he had left and outwitted.
Then a most surprising thing occurred. The captain broke loose
upon the dead man like a thunderclap. Oaths rolled from his lips
in a continuous stream. And they were not namby-pamby oaths, or
mere expressions of indecency. Each word was a blasphemy, and
there were many words. They crisped and crackled like electric
sparks. I had never heard anything like it in my life, nor could I
have conceived it possible. With a turn for literary expression
myself, and a penchant for forcible figures and phrases, I
appreciated, as no other listener, I dare say, the peculiar
vividness and strength and absolute blasphemy of his metaphors.
The cause of it all, as near as I could make out, was that the man,
who was mate, had gone on a debauch before leaving San Francisco,
and then had the poor taste to die at the beginning of the voyage
and leave Wolf Larsen short-handed.
It should be unnecessary to state, at least to my friends, that I
was shocked. Oaths and vile language of any sort had always been
repellent to me. I felt a wilting sensation, a sinking at the
heart, and, I might just as well say, a giddiness. To me, death
had always been invested with solemnity and dignity. It had been
peaceful in its occurrence, sacred in its ceremonial. The Sea Wolf page 7 The Sea Wolf page 9 |