 37 At once we moved aboard the ghost occupying our old state rooms and cooking in the galley. The imprisonment of Wolf Lois and it happened most opportunely. For what must have been the Indian summer of this high latitude was gone and drizzling stormy weather had set in. We were very comfortable and the inadequate shears with the four masks suspended from them gave a business-like error to the schooner and a promise of departure. And now that we had Wolf Lois and then Irons, how little did we need it. Like his first attack, his second had been accompanied by serious disablement. Maud made the discovery in the afternoon while trying to give him nourishment. He had shown signs of consciousness and she had spoken to him, eliciting no response. He was lying on his left side at the time and in evident pain. With the restless movement he rolled his head around, blurring 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 if he heard me, but he gave no sign. Between the pillow and repeating the question, he answered promptly that he did. Do you know you were deaf in the right ear? I asked. Yes, he answered in a low, strong voice. And worse than that, my whole right side is affected. It seems asleep. I cannot move arm or leg. Feigning again, I demanded angrily. He shook his head, his stern mouth shaping the strangest twisted smile. It was indeed a twisted smile, for it was on the left side only, the facial muscles of the right side moving not at all. That was the last play of the wolf, he said. I am paralyzed. I shall never walk again. Oh, only on the other side, he added, as though divining the suspicious glance, I flung at his left leg, the knee of which had just then drawn up and elevated the blankets. It's unfortunate, he continued. I'd like to have done for you first, hump, and I thought I had that much left in me. But why, I asked partly in horror, partly out of curiosity. Again his stern mouth framed the twisted smile, as he said. Oh, just to be alive, to be living and doing, to be the biggest bit of the ferment to the end, to eat you. But to die this way. He shrugged his shoulders, or attempted to shrug them, rather, for the left shoulder alone moved. Like the smile the shrug was twisted. But how can you account for it? I asked. Where is the seat of you 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. Things gone wrong with my brain. A cancer, a tumor, or something of that nature, a thing that devours and destroys. It's attacking my nerve centers, aiding them up bit by bit, cell by cell, from the pain. The motor centers too, I suggested. So it would seem, and the curse of it is that I must lie here, conscious, mentally unimpaired, knowing that the lines are going down, breaking bit by bit communication with the world. I cannot see, hearing, and feeling are leaving me. At this rate I shall soon cease to speak. Yet all the time I shall be here, alive, active, and powerless. When you say you are here, I'd suggest the likelihood of the soul, I said. Bosh! was his reply. It simply means that in the attack on my brain the higher psychical centers are untouched. I can remember, I can think and reason. When that goes, I go. I am not. The soul? He broke out and mocking laughter, then turned his left ear to the pillow as a sign that he wished no further conversation. Maude 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 the retribution about it. Our thoughts were deep and solemn, and we spoke to each other scarcely above whispers. You might remove the handcuffs, he said that night, as we stood in consultation over him. It's dead safe. I'm a paralytic now. The next thing to watch out for is bed sores. He smiled as twisted smile, and Maude, her eyes wide with horror, was compelled to turn away her head. Do you know that your smile is crooked? I asked him, for I knew that she must attend him, and I wished to save her as much as possible. Then I shall smile no more, he said calmly. I thought something was wrong. My right cheek has been numb all day. Yes, and I've had warnings of this for the last three days. My spells, my right side seemed going to sleep, sometimes arm or hand, sometimes leg or foot. But my smile is crooked, he queried, a short while after. Well consider henceforth that I smile internally, with my soul, if you please, my soul. Consider that I am smiling now. And for the space of several minutes he lay there, quiet, indulging his grotesque fancy. The man of him was not changed. It was the old, indomitable, terrible Wolf Larson, imprisoned somewhere within that flesh which had once been so invincible and splendid. Now it bound him with insentient fetters, walling his soul in darkness and silence, blocking it from the world which to him had been a riot of action. No more would he conjugate the verb to do in every mood intense. To be was all that remained of him. To be as he had defined death without movement, to will, but not to execute, to think, and reason, and in the spirit of him to be as alive as ever, but in the flesh to be dead, quite dead. And yet, although I even removed the handcuffs, we could not adjust ourselves to his condition. Our minds revolted. To him he was full of potentiality. We knew not what to expect of him next, but fearful thing rising above the flesh that he might break out and do. Our experience warranted this state of mind, and we went about our work with anxiety always upon us. I had solved the problem which had arisen through the shortness of the shears. By means of the watchtackle I had made a new one. I heaved the butt of the foremast across the rail and then lowered it to the deck. Next, by means of the shears, I hoisted the main boom on board. Its 40 feet of length would supply the height necessary properly to swing the mast. By means of a secondary tackle I had attached to the shears. I swung the boom to an early perpendicular position, then lowered the butt to the deck where, to prevent slipping, I spiked great cleats around it. The single block of my original shears tackle I had attached to the end of the boom. Thus, by carrying this tackle to the windlass, I could raise and lower the end of the boom at will. The butt always remained in stationary, and by means of guise I could swing the boom from side to side. To the end of the boom I had likewise rigged a hoisting tackle, and when the whole arrangement was completed I could not but be startled by the power and latitude it gave me. Of course, two days' work was required for the accomplishment of this part of my task, and it was not till the morning of the third day that I swung the formast from the deck and proceeded to square its butt to fit the step. Here I was especially awkward. I sawed, and chopped, and chiseled the weathered wood, till it had the appearance of having been gnawed by some gigantic mass, but it fitted. It will work, I know it will work, I cried. Do you know Dr. Jordan's final test of truth? Maude asked. I shook my head and paused in the act of dislodging the shavings which had drifted down my neck. Can we make it work? Can we trust our lives to it? Is the test. He is a favorite of yours, I said. When I dismantled my own pantheon and cast out Napoleon and Caesar and their fellows, I strayed away erected a new pantheon, she answered gravely, and the first I installed is Dr. Jordan, a modern hero, and a greater because modern, she added. How can the old world heroes compare with ours? I shook my head. We were too much alike in many things for argument. Our points of view and outlook on life, at least, were very alike. For a pair of critics we agree famously, I laughed. And as shipwright and able assistant, she laughed back. But there was little time for laughter in those days, out of our heavy work and of the awfulness of Wolf Larson's living death. He had received another stroke. He had lost his voice, or he was losing it. He had only intermittent use of it. As he phrased it, the wires were like the stock market, now up, now down. Occasionally the wires were up and he spoke as well as ever, though slowly and heavily. One speech would suddenly desert him, in the middle of a sentence, perhaps, and for hours sometimes we would wait for the connection to be re-established. He complained of great pain in his head, and it was during this period that he arranged a system of communication against the time when speech should leave him altogether. One pressure of the hand for yes, two for no. It was well that it was arranged, for by evening his voice had gone from him. By hand pressures after that he answered our questions, and when he wished to speak he scrawled his thoughts with his left hand, quite legibly, on a sheet of paper. The first winter had now descended upon his. Gale followed Gale with snow and sleet and rain. The seals had started on their great southern migration, and the rickery was practically deserted. I worked feverishly. In spite of the bad weather and of the wind which especially hindered me, I was on deck from daylight till dark and making substantial progress. I profited by my lesson learned through raising the shears and then climbing them to attach the guys. To the top of the fore-mast, which was just lifted conveniently from the deck, I attached the rigging, stays and throat and peak halyards. As usual I had underrated the amount of work involved in this portion of the task, and two long days were necessary to complete it. And there was so much yet to be done, the sails, for instance, which practically had to be made over. While I toiled at rigging the fore-mask, Maud sewed on canvas, always ready 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 a regular sailor's palm and three-cornered sail-needle. Her hands were soon sadly blistered, but she struggled bravely on, and in addition during the cooking and taking care of the sick man. A fig for Zufristition, I said on Friday morning. That mask goes in today. Crine was ready for the attempt. Carrying the boom-tackle to the wind-list, I hoisted the mask nearly clear of the deck. Making this tackle fast, I took to the wind-list the shear's tackle, which was connected with the end of the boom. And with a few turns had the mask perpendicular and clear. Maud clapped her hands, the instant she was relieved from holding the turn, crying. It works. It works. We'll trust our lives to it. Then she assumed a rueful expression. It's not over the hole, she had. Will you have to begin all over? I smiled in superior fashion, and slacking off on one of the boom-guys and taking in on the other, swung the mask perfectly in the center of the deck. Still, it was not over the hole. Again the rueful expression came on her face, and again I smiled in a superior way. Moving away on the boom-tackle, and hoisting in an equivalent amount on the shear's tackle, I brought the butt of the mask into position directly over the hole in the deck. Then I gave Maud careful instructions for lowering away, and went into the hole to the step on the schooner's bottom. I called to her, and the mask moved easily and accurately, straight toward the square hole of the step the square butt descended. But as it descended, it slowly twisted so that square would not fit into square. But I had not even a moment's in decision. Calling to Maud to cease lowering, I went on deck and made the watch tackle fast to the mask with a rolling hitch. I left Maud to pull on it while I went below. By the light of the lantern I saw the butt twist slowly around till its sides coincided with the sides of the step. Maud made fast and returned to the windlass. Slowly the butt descended the several intervening inches at the same time slightly twisting again. Again Maud rectified the twist with the watch tackle, and again she lowered away from the windlass. Square fitted into square. The mask was tapped. I raised a shout, and she ran down to sea. In the yellow lantern light, we peered at what we had accomplished. We looked at each other, and our hands felt their way enclasped. The eyes of both of us, I think, were moist with the joy of success. It was done so easily after all, I remarked. All the work was in the preparation. And all the wonder in the completion, Maud added. I can scarcely bring myself to realize that that great mast is really up and in, that you have lifted it from the water, swung it through the air, and deposited it here where it belongs. It is a titan's task, and they made themselves many inventions. I began merrily, then paused to sniff the air. I looked hastily at the lantern. It was not smoking. Again I sniffed. Something was burning, Maud said, with sudden conviction. We sprang together for the latter, 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-warsen on my imagination. I was quite prepared for the helpless giant to grip my neck in the stranglehold. I hesitated, the desire to race back and up the steps to the deck almost overpowering me. Then I recollected Maud. The vision of her, as I had last seen her, in the lantern-light of the schooner's hold, her brown eyes warm and moist with joy, flashed before me, and I knew that I could not go back. I was choking and suffocating by the time I reached wolf-warsen's bunk. I reached my hand and felt for his. He was lying motionless, but moved slightly at the touch of my hand. I felt over and under his blankets. There was no warmth, no sign of fire. Yet that smoke, which blinded me and made me cough and gassed, must have a source. I lost my head temporarily and dashed frantically about the steerage. A collision with the table partially knocked the wind from my body and brought me to myself. I reasoned that a helpless man could start a fire only nearer to where he lay. I returned to wolf-warsen'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 preemptually. But home-free, she began to protest in a queer, husky voice. Please, please, I shouted at her harshly. She drew away obediently, and then I thought, what if she cannot find the steps? I started after her to stop at the foot of the companion-way. Perhaps she had gone up. As I stood there hesitant, I heard her cry softly. Oh, home-free, I am lost. I found her fumbling at the wall of the after-bulkhead, and half-leading her, half-carrying her, I took her up the companion-way. The pure air was like nectar. Maud was only faint and dizzy, and I left her lying on the deck when I took my second plunge below. The source of the smoke must be very close to wolf-warsen. My mind was made up on this, and I went straight to his bunk. As I fell among his blank, had 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 hand to do this. The damp straw of the mattress, fired from beneath and denied air, had been smoldering all the while. As I dragged the mattress out of the bunk, it seemed to disintegrate in mid-air, at the same time bursting in the flames. I beat out the burning remnants of straw in the bunk, then made a dash for the deck for fresh air. Several buckets of water sufficed to put out the burning mattress in the middle of the storage floor, and ten minutes later, when the smoke had fairly cleared, I allowed Maud to come below. Wolf-warsen was unconscious, but it was a matter of minutes for the fresh air to restore him. We were working over him, however, when he signed for paper and pencil. "'Pray do not interrupt me,' he wrote. I am smiling. I am still a bit of the ferment, you see,' he wrote a little later. "'I am glad you are as small a bed as you are,' I said. "'Thank you,' he wrote. "'But just think how much smaller I shall be before I die. And yet I am all here,' humped he wrote with a final flourish. I can think more clearly than ever in my life before. Nothing did 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 as mausoleum. And there, in so strange sepulcher, his spirit fluttered and lived. They would flutter and live till the last line of communication was broken. And after that, who was to say how much longer it might continue to flutter and live? CHAPTER 38 I think my left side is going, Wolf Larson wrote, the morning after his attempt to fire the ship. The numbness is growing. I can hardly move my hand. You will have to speak louder. The last lines are going down. "'Are you in pain?' I asked. I was compelled to repeat my question loudly before he answered. Not all the time. The left hand stumbled slowly and painfully across the paper, and it was with extreme difficulty that we deciphered the scroll. It was like a spirit message, such are delivered at seances of spiritualists for a dollar admission. But I am still here, all here. The hand scrawled more slowly and painfully than ever. The pencil dropped, and we had to replace it in the hand. When there is no pain, I have perfect peace and quiet. I have never thought so clearly. I can ponder life and death like a Hindu sage. In immortality, Maud queried gladly in near. Three times the hand desayed to write, but fumbled hopelessly. The pencil fell. In vain we tried to replace it. The fingers could not close on it. Then Maud pressed and held the fingers about the pencil with her own hand, and the hand wrote in large letters, and so slowly that the minutes ticked off to each letter. B-O-S-H It was Wolf Larson's last word. Bush, skeptical and invincible to the end. The arm and hand relaxed. The trunk of the body moved slightly. Then there was no movement. Maud released the hand. The fingers spread slightly, falling apart of their own weight, and the pencil rolled away. Do you still hear? I shouted, holding the fingers and waiting for the single pressure which would signify yes. There was no response. The hand was dead. I noticed the lips moved slightly, Maud said. I repeated the question. The lips moved. She placed her fingers on them. Again I repeated the question. Yes, Maud announced. We looked at each other expectantly. What good is it? I asked. What can we say now? Oh, ask him. She hesitated. Ask him something that requires no for an answer, I suggested. Then we will know for certainty. Are you hungry? She cried. The lips moved under her fingers, and she answered, yes. Will you have some beef? Was her next query. No, she announced. Beef tea? Yes. You will have some beef tea, she said quietly, looking up at me. Until his hearing goes, we shall be able to communicate with him. And after that she looked at me querily. I saw her lips trembling, and the tears swimming up in her eyes. She swayed toward me, and I caught her in my arms. Oh, Humphrey, she sobbed. When will it all end? I am so tired, so tired. She buried her head on my shoulder. Her frail form shaken with the 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 a 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. Or did you get that phrase, I demanded, within an abruptness that in turn startled her? What phrase, she asked, one small woman? Is it yours? She asked. Yes, I answered mine. I made it. Then you must have talked in your sleep, she smiled. The dancing tremulous light was in her eyes. Mine I knew were speaking beyond the will of my speech. I leaned toward her. Without volition I leaned toward her, as a tree is swayed by the wind. Ah, we were very close together in that moment. But she shook her head as one might shake off sleep or a dream sane. 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 a pace. Almost before I knew it, and without one serious hitch I had the main-mass stepped. A derrick boom rigged to the foremast that accomplished this, and several days more found all stays and shrouds in place and everything set up taut. Top sales would be a nuisance and a danger for a crew of two, so I heaved the top mass on deck and lashed them fast. Several more days were consumed in finishing the sales and putting them on. There were only three—the jib, foresail, and mainsail—and patched, shortened, and distorted. They were a ridiculously ill-fitting suit for so-tremant craft as the ghost. But they'll work, Maude cried jubilantly. We'll make them work and trust our lives to them—certainly among my many new trades I shone least as a sailmaker. 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 textbooks aboard, and besides, there was Wolf Larson's starscale—so simple a device that a child could work it. As for its inventor, beyond an increasing deafness and the movement of the lips growing fainter and fainter, there had been little change in his condition for a week. But on the day we finished bending the schooner's sail, he heard his last, and the last movement of his lips died away. But not before I asked him, Are you all there? And the lips had answered, Yes. The last line was down, somewhere within that tomb of flesh still dwelt the soul of the man, walled by the living clay, that fierce intelligence we had known burned on, but had burned on in silence and darkness. And it was disembodied. To that intelligence there could be no objective knowledge of a body that knew no body. The very world was not. It knew only itself and the vastness and profanity of the quiet and the dark. CHAPTER 39 The day came for our departure. There was no longer anything to detain us on Endeavour Island. The ghost-stumpy masks were in place, her crazy sails bent. All my handy work was strong, none of it beautiful, but I knew that it would work and I felt myself a man of power as I looked at it. I did it. I did it. With my own hands I did it. I wanted to cry aloud. But Maude and I had a way of voicing each other's thought, 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 softened the weather beat. Then dirt and weather-beach shall be your Gurdian of honor, 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. Her comrade ship 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. A. in my lips, for they were mad this moment to kiss the two small hands, Which had toiled so faithfully and hard. And I too was mad. There was a cry in my being like bugles calling me to her. And there was a wind blowing upon me which I could not resist, So I in the very body of mine 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 lindless, And now I hoisted the mainsail, Week in 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 could never get that anchor up in this narrow place, Once it is left the bottom, I said. We should be on the rocks first. What can you do? She asked. Slip it, was my answer. And when I do, you must do your first work on the lindless. I shall have to run it once to the wheel, And at the same time you must be hoisting the jib. This maneuver of getting under way I had studied and worked out a score of times, And with the jib halyard to the lindless, I knew that Maud was capable of hoisting that most necessary sail. A brisk wind was blowing into the cove, And though the water was calm, rapid work was required to get us safely out. When I knocked the shackle bolt loose, The chain roared out through the haze-hole and into the sea. I raced aft, putting the wheel up. The ghost seemed to start into life as she healed to the first fill of her sails. The jib was rising. As it filled, the ghost's bow swung off and I had to put the wheel down a few spokes and steady her. I had devised an automatic jib sheet which passed the jib across of itself, so there was no need for Maud to attend to that, but she was still hoisting the jib when I put the wheel hard down. It was a moment of anxiety for the ghost was rushing directly upon the beach and stones throw distant, but she swung obediently on her heel into the wind. There was a great fluttering and flapping of canvas and reef points, most welcome to my ears, then she filled away on the other tack. Maud had finished her task and come aft, for she stood beside me. A small cap perched on her wind-blown hair, her cheeks flushed from exertion, her eyes wide and bright with the excitement, her nostrils quivering to the rush and bite of the fresh salt air. Her brown eyes were like a startled dears. There was a wild keen look in them I had never seen before, and her lips parted and her breath suspended as a ghost charging upon the wall of rocks at the entrance of the inner cove, swept into the wind and filled away into safe water. My first mate's birth on the ceiling ground stood me in good stead, and I cleared the inner cove and laid a long tack along the shore of the outer cove. Once again about, and the ghost headed out to open sea. She had now caught the bosom breathing of the ocean and was herself a breath with the rhythm of it as she smoothly mounted and slipped down each broad-backed wave. The day had been dull and overcast, but the sun now burst through the clouds, a welcome omen, and shone upon the curving beach where together we had dared the lords of the harem and swine the whole as chicky. All Endeavour Island brightened under the sun. Even the grim southwestern frommatory showed less grim, and here and there where the sea-spray wet at surface highlights flashed and dazzled in the sun. I shall always think of it with pride, I said to Mad. She threw her head back in a queenly way but said, Dear, dear Endeavour Island, I shall always love it. And I, I said quickly, it seemed our eyes must meet in a great understanding, and yet, lo, they struggled away and did not meet. There was a silence which I might almost call awkward till I broke it, saying, See those black clouds to windward. You remember, I told you last night, the barometer was falling. And the sun is gone. She said, her eyes still fixed upon our island, where we had proved our mastery over matter and attained to the truest comradeship that may fall to man and woman. And it slack off the sheets for Japan, I cried gaily. A fair wind and a flowing sheet, you know, or however it goes. Lashing the wheel I ran forward, eased the fore and mainsheets, took in on the boom tackles, and trimmed everything for the quartering breeze which was ours. It was a fresh breeze, very fresh, but I resolved to run as long as I dared. Unfortunately, when running free, it is impossible to lash the wheel, so I faced an all-night watch. Mad insisted on relieving me, but proved that she had not the strength to steer in a heavy sea, even if she could have gained the wisdom on such short notice. She appeared quite heartbroken over the discovery, but recovered her spirits by coiling down tackles and halayards and all-stray ropes. Then there were meals to be cooked in the gaily, beds to make, wolf-larsen to be attended upon. And she finished the day with a grand housecleaning to tack upon the cabin and steerage. All night I steered without relief the wind slowly and steadily increasing and the sea rising. At five in the morning, Mad 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, the wind increased. It impressed one with its solemn determination to blow and blow harder and keep on blowing. And still the ghost foamed along, racing off the miles till I was certain she was making at least 11 knots. It was too good to lose, but by nightfall I was exhausted. Though in splendid physical trim, a 36-hour trick at the wheel was the limit of my endurance. Besides, Mad begged me to heave, too, and I knew if the wind and sea increased at the same rate during the night that it would soon be impossible to heave, too. So as twilight deepened gladly and at the same time reluctantly, I brought the ghost up on the wind. But I had not reckoned upon the colossal task the reefing of three sails meant for one man. While running away from the wind, I had not appreciated its force, but when we ceased to run, I learned to my sorrow and well-nigh to my despair how fiercely it was really blowing. The wind blocked my every effort, ripping the canvas out of my hands, and in an instant undoing what I had gained by ten minutes of severe struggle. At eight o'clock I had succeeded only in putting the second reef into the foresail. At eleven o'clock I was no further along. Blood dripped from every finger end while the nails were broken to the quick. From pain and sheer exhaustion I wept in the darkness secretly, so that Mad should not know. Then, in desperation, I abandoned the attempt to reef the mainsail and resolved to try the experiment of heaving two under the close reefed foresail. Three hours more were required to gasket the mainsail and jib, and at two in the morning, nearly dead, the life almost buffeted and worked out of me. I had barely sufficient consciousness to know the experiment was a success. The close reefed foresail worked. The ghost clung on close to the wind and betrayed no inclination to fall off broadside to the trough. I was famished, but Mad tried vainly to get me to eat. I dozed with my mouth full of food. I would fall asleep in the act of carrying food to my mouth and waken in torment to find the act yet uncompleted. So sleepily helpless was I that she was compelled to hold me in my chair to prevent my being flung to the floor by the violent pitching of the schooner. Of the passage from the galley to the cab, and I knew nothing, it was a sleepwalker, Mad guided and supported. In fact, I was aware of nothing till I awoke, how long after I could not imagine, in my bunk with my boots off. It was dark. I was stiff and lame and cried out with pain when the bedclothes touched my poor finger-attens. Morning had evidently not come, so I closed my eyes and went to sleep again. I did not know it, but I had slept the clock around, and it was night again. Once more I awoke, troubled because I could sleep no better. I struck a match and looked at my watch. It marked midnight. And I had not left the deck until three. I should have been puzzled had I not guessed the solution. No wonder I was sleeping brokenly. I had slept twenty-one hours. I listened for a while to the behavior 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 Mad, 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 Mad. 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. Mad 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. In taking her hand I let 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 healed 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 buried my head. I can remember only one part of the service, I said, and that is, and the body shall be cast into the sea. Maude looked at me, surprised and shocked, but the spirit of something I had seen before was strong upon me, impaling 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 swept feet first into the sea. The weight of iron dragged it down. It was gone. Goodbye, Lucifer, proud spirit. Maude whispered so low that it was drowned by the shouting of the wind, but I saw the movement of her lips and knew. As we clung to the lee rail and worked our way aft, I happened a glance to leeward. 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 the United States Revenue Cutter. I pointed it out to Maude and hurriedly led her aft to the safety of the poop. I started to rush below to the flag locker, then remembered that in rigging the ghost I had forgotten to make provisions for a flag halyard. We need no distress signal, Maude said. They have only to see us. We are saved, I said, soberly and solemnly. And then, in an exuberance of joy, I hardly know whether to be glad or not. I looked at her. Our eyes were not loath to meet. We leaned toward each other, and before I knew it, my arms were about her. Need I? I asked. And she answered. There is no need, though the telling of it would be sweet, so sweet. Her lips met the press of mine, and by what strange trick of the imagination I know not. The scene in the cabin of the ghost flashed upon me when she had pressed her fingers lightly on my lips and said, Hush, hush. My woman, my one small woman, I said, my free hand petting her shoulder in the way all lovers know they'll never learn in school. My man, she said, looking at me for an instant with tremulous lids which fluttered down and veiled her eyes as she snuggled her head against my breast with a happy little sigh. I looked toward the cutter. It was very close. A boat was being lowered. One kiss, dear love, I whispered. One kiss more before they come. And rescue us from ourselves, she completed, with a most adorable smile, whimsical as I had never seen it, for it was whimsical with love. End of chapter 39. End of The Seawolf by Jack London. The Seawolf was read by Tom Crawford in Cool, California, USA, and proof listened by Sheila in Nottinghamshire, England in spring and summer of 2009.