 CHAPTER 30 No wonder we called it Endeavour Island. For two weeks we toiled the building a hut. Maude 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 supply. The huts' walls rose without difficulty, and everything went smoothly until the problem of the roof confronted me. Of what use was four walls without a roof, and of what could a roof be made? There were the spare oars very true. They would serve as roof beams, but with what was I to cover them? Moss would never do. Tundra grass was impracticable. We needed the sail for the 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 the hunting began. I did not know how to shoot, but I proceeded to learn. And when I had expended some thirty shells for three seals, I decided that the ammunition would be exhausted before I acquired the necessary knowledge. I had used eight shells for lighting fires before I hit upon the device of banking the embers with wet moss, and there remained not over a hundred shells in the box. We must club the seals, I announced when convinced of my poor marksmanship. I have heard the 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. The roof must go on, I answered grimly. Winner is almost here. It is our lives against theirs. It is unfortunate we have plenty of ammunition, but I think, anyway, that they suffer less from being clubbed than from being all shot up. Besides, I shall do the 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, with a softness that 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 rode into the adjoining cove and up to the edge of the beach. There were seals all about us in the water, and the bellowing thousands on this beach compelled us to shout at each other to make ourselves heard. I know men club them, I said, trying to reassure myself, and gazing doubtfully at a large bowl, not thirty feet away, upreared on his foreflippers and regarding me intently. But the question is, how do they club them? Let us gather tender grass and touch the roof, Maude said. She was as frightened as I at the prospect, and we had reason to be gazing at close range at the gleaming teeth and dog-like mouths. I had always thought they were afraid of men, I said. How do I know they are not afraid? I queried a moment later, after having rode 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 the nesting grounds of wild geese, Maude said. They killed him. The geese? Yes, the geese. My brother told me about it when I was a little girl. But I know men club them, I persisted. I think the tender grass would 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, packing water with one oar and running the bow ashore. I stepped out and advanced valiantly upon a long main bowl in the midst of his wives. I was armed with the regular club with which the boat-flowers killed the wounded seals gaffed aboard by the hunters. It was only a foot-and-a-half long, and in my supreme ignorance I never dreamed that the club used ashore when raiding the rookery as measured four to five feet. The cows lumbered out of my way, and the distance between me and the 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 the answer. In my fear I had forgotten that I was there to get the bowl, instead of to make him run. And just then he gave a snort and a snarl and rushed at me. His eyes were blazing, his mouth was wide open, the teeth gleamed cruely white. Without shame I confessed 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 teeth crunched down upon the blade. The stout wood was crushed like an eggshell. Maude and I were astounded. A moment later he had dived under the boat, seized the keel in his mouth, and was shaking the boat violently. My! said Maude. Let's go back. I shook my head. I can do what other men have done, and I know that other men have club seals. But I think I'll leave the bowls 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, rather, in order to make myself hurt above the roar of the rookery. If you say so I'll turn and go back, but honestly I'd rather stay. Now don't say this 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 rode a couple of hundred feet along the shore so as to recover my nerves, and then step to shore 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 to blow at an outlying 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 mods scream. In my excitement I had not been taking notice of other things, and I looked up to see the lord of the harem charging down upon me. Again I fled to the boat hotly forsooth, but this time mod made no suggestion of turning back. It would be better, I imagine, if you let the harems alone and devoted your attention to lonely and inoffensive-looking seals, was what she said. I think I have read something about them. Dr. Jordan's book, I believe. They are the young bowls not old enough to have harems of their own. He called them haul-less-jickey, or something like that. It seems to me, if we find where they haul out, it seems to me your fighting instinct is aroused, I laughed. She flushed quickly and prettily. I'll admit I don't like to feed 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 preeminently pretty about those foamy-mouth beasts that raced me. Your point of view, she laughed. You lacked perspective. Now, if you did not have to get so close to the subject, the very thing I cried. What I need is a longer club, and there's that broken ore ready to hand. It just comes to me, she said, that Captain Larson was telling me how the men raided the rookeries. They drive the 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 the haul-less-jickey, she said. The haul-less-jickey haul out by themselves, and Dr. Jordan says the paths are left between the harems, and that as long as the haul-less-jickey keeps 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, the 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 the path. Here goes, I said, stepping out, but I confessed my heart was in my mouth as I thought of going through the heart of that monstrous herd. It would be wise to make the boat fast, Maud said. She had stepped out beside me, and I regarded her with wonderment. She nodded her head determinately. Yes, I'm going with you, so you may as well secure the 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 the shrug of the shoulders, but with the warmest admiration and pride at heart for this woman, I equipped her with a broken oar and took another for myself. It was with nervous trepidation that we made the first few rods of the journey. Once Maud screamed in terror as a cow thrusted 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 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 protectively 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 that had such a bold charge 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 Larson was my thought as we went along the path between the jostling harems. A quarter of a mile inland we came upon the haulest chicky, 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 wrapped it smartly with her club. Myest 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 further 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 homecoming, Maud said as I ran the boat ashore. I heard her words with a responsive thrill. It was also dearly intimate and natural, and I said, It seems as though I have lived this life always. The world of books and bookish folks 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 mid-boast broke. She gave me a quick look. Not that. You were saying that the American Mrs. Minnell 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 late in 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. End of Chapter 30 Chapter 31 of The Seawolf This library box recording is in the public domain. The Seawolf by Jack London. Chapter 31 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 shoulder 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 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 had 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 caulking, came the hunting for our winter's meat in 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, while I worked at building the hut, Maude 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 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. Maude 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 Maude declared that she had never felt better or stronger in her life. I knew this was true of myself, but hers was such a lilly strength that I feared she would break down. Often and often her last reserve forced gone. I have seen her stretch flat on her back on the sand, and 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 clamors for something to do. We held a housewarming in my hut the night it was roofed. It was the end of the third day of a fierce storm which had swung around the compass from southeast to northwest, and which was then blowing directly in upon us. The beaches of the outer cove were thundering with the surf, and even in our landlocked inner cove a respectable sea was breaking. No high backbone of island sheltered us from the wind, and it whistled and bellowed about the thought till at times I feared for the strength of the walls. The skin roof stretched tightly as a drum had, 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 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 belong. As it was, the situation stopped there in the only way it could. But I was left alone in my little hut, glowing warmly through and through with a pleasant satisfaction. And I knew that a tie or a tass had something existed between us which had not existed before. End of Chapter 31 Chapter 32 of The Seawolf This library of ox recording is in the public domain. The Seawolf by Jack London, Chapter 32 I awoke, oppressed by a mysterious sensation. There seemed to be 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 undercover in several months, and I lay luxuriously for some minutes under my blankets, for once not wet with fog or spray. Analyzing 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. And I had dressed and opened the door. I heard the waves still lapping on the beach, garulously 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 the 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 homemade 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 Mudd, asleep there in the hut we had reared. I remembered her, good night, Helmfrey. 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 bow spread 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. Waryed from the night of struggle and wrack, all hands were yet asleep, I thought. My next thought was that Mudd and I might yet escape. If we could take to the boat and make round the point before anyone 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 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 while I knew the way to Wolf Larson'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 shotgun, made sure it was loaded, and went down to the ghost. With some difficulty, and at the expense of a wedding to the waste, I climbed aboard. The forecastal scuttle was open. I paused to listen for the breathing of the men, but there was no breathing. I almost gasped, as the 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 an 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 oil skins, all the worthless forecastal 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 forecastal. The hunters had packed their belongings with similar haste. The ghost was deserted. It was mods and mine. I thought of the ship's doors and the Lazarus beneath the cabin, and the idea came to me of surprising mod with something nice for breakfast. The reaction from my fear and the 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 mod would sweep on until the surprise breakfast was quite ready for her. As I rounded the galley, a new satisfaction was mine at thought of all the splendid cooking utensils inside. I sprang up to the break of the poop and saw Wolf Larson. One 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 a hundredfold. And still we stood, the pair of us staring at each other. I was aware of the demand for action, and my old hopelessness strung 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 a knowledges to the one in which I had approached the long main bowl. My intention of clubbing obscured by fear until it became a desire to make him run. So it was last impressed on me that I was there not to have Wolf Larson take the initiative, but to take it myself. I cocked both barrels and leveled the shotgun 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 guns 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 in my brain now working rapidly. I thought a thousand thoughts, and yet I could not pull the triggers. I lowered the 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 read about. Their coat 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 harshly. 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 little echoing mechanism. You are unable to kill me as you would a snake or a shark, because I have hands, feet, and a body shape somewhat like yours. Bah! I had to hope better things if 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 Wyden? I backed away from him, almost weeping at my inability to shoot him, but not fool enough to put down the gun. I hoped, desperately, that he might commit some hostile act, attempt to strike me or choke me, for in such a 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. Hour. He queried. Who's hour? Miss Brewster and myself. In the ghost's line, as you can see for yourself, bow on to the 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 sort of thing I've hunted for years. Thanks to my brother's death, I've lied it on a fortune. It's a mint, but what's its bearings? Haven't the slightest 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 that you are alone? I was prepared for him again to set aside my question, and was surprised at the readiness of his reply. My brother got me inside forty-eight hours and threw 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, the 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 the masks, I asked. Walk over and examine those lanyards, he said, pointing to where the mizzen-rigging should have been. They had 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. Cookie 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 Larson 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 Larson 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 the side, his head resting on the biceps of the underarm, 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. Oh, no, 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 the cabin. I lifted the trap in the floor, but for some moments gazed dubiously into the darkness of the Lazarus beneath. I hesitated to descend. What if his lying down was a roost? Friddy, indeed, 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 Lazarus I took precaution of casting down the 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 meat, and such things. All I could carry and replace the trap door. A peep at Wolf Larson showed me that he had not moved. A bright thought struck me. I stole into a stateroom and possessed myself of his revolvers. There were no other weapons, though I thoroughly ram-sacked the three remaining staterooms. To make sure I returned and went through the steerage and forecastle, and in the galley gathered up all the sharp meat and vegetable knives. Then I bethought myself of the great Yotsman'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 breathed 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 Larson lying in the sun and went ashore. Maude was still asleep. I blew up the embers. We had not yet arranged a winter kitchen, and quite feverishly cooked the breakfast. Toward the end I heard her moving about within the hut, making her toilet. Just as all was ready and the coffee poured, the door opened and she came forth. It's not fair of you, was her greeting. You are usurping one of my prerogatives. You know I agreed that the cooking should be mine, but just this 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 the beach, and I maintained the banner with such success, all unconsciously she sipped the 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 the 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 the beach. Home free, she said. The old unnameable terror mounted into her eyes. Is he? she quavered. I nodded my head. End of Chapter 32 CHAPTER 33 We waited all day for Wolf Larson to come ashore. It was an intolerable period of anxiety. Each moment one or the other of his 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. Mod looked in treaty at me. It is all right, I assured her. I shall take the revolvers. You know I collected every weapon on board. But there are his arms, his hands, his terrible, terrible hands. She objected. And then she cried. O home free, 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 the woman, clinging and appealing, sunshine and dew to my manhood, rooting a deeper and sending it through the sap of a new strength. I was for putting my arm around her, as went in the midst of the seal herd. But I considered and refrained. I shall not take any risks, I said. I'll merely peep over the bow and sea. She pressed my hand earnestly and let me go. But the 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 Larson 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 the 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 the woman of her which compelled a solicitude for Wolf Larson of all creatures. What was her solicitude for me, I thought? For me whom she had been so 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 the deck. After I walked to the cabin companion where I contended myself with hailing below. Wolf Larson answered, and as he started to ascend the stairs I cocked my revolver. I displayed it openly during our conversation, but he took no notice of it. He appeared the 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, without further parlay, I left him. Maud received my report with obvious relief, and the sight of smoke which later rose in the galley put her in a more cheerful mood. The next day and the next we saw the 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, but we had no other interest than Wolf Larson, and his presence weighed us down with an apprehension which prevented us from doing any of the little things we had planned. But at the end of the week the 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, forbearer a repetition of her request. After all, one censure could be put upon her. She was divinely altruistic, and she was a woman. Besides, I was myself aware of hurt at thought 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 than I. The fact that he had hands, feet, and a body shape 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 them might be inexpedient. And as she had followed the trend of my silence, she now followed the 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 forecastle head, and went noiselessly aft in my stocking-feet. Nor did I call this time from the top of the companion-way. Cautiously descending I found the cabin deserted. The door to his state-room was closed. At first I thought 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 the provisions, was stored in the lazarette, and I took advantage of the opportunity to lay in the stock of under-clothing. As I emerged from the lazarette I heard sounds in Wolf-Larsen's state-room. I crouched and listened. The door knob rattled. Fertively, 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, the strong man, the indomitable one. For all the world, like a woman ringing her hands, he raised his clenched fists and groaned. One fist, enclosed in 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 there can be little in this world more awful than the spectacle of his 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 his struggle. He resembled a man on the verge of a fit. His face strove to compose itself, writhing and twisting in the effort till he broke down again. Once more the clenched fists went upward and he groaned. He caught his breath once or twice and sobbed. Then he was successful. I could have thought him the old Wolf-Larsen, and yet there was in his movements a vague suggestion of weakness and indecision. He started for the companion-way and stepped forward quite as I had been accustomed to see him do. And yet again, in his very walk, there 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 the opening while the other foot was just on the verge of beginning the uplift. But when the descending foot missed the solid flooring and felt vacancy beneath, it was the old wolf-worsened and the tiger muscles that made the 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 underclothes and against the trapdoor. The expression on his face was one of complete comprehension. But before I could guess what he had comprehended, he had dropped the trapdoor into place, closing the lazarette. Then I understood. He thought he had me inside. Also, he was blind, blind as a bat. I watched him, breathing carefully, so that he should not hear me. He stepped quickly to a stateroom. I saw his hand miss the doorknob by an inch, quickly fumble for it and find it. This was my chance. I tiptoed across the cabin into the 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 the first. Then he gathered up the marmalade and underclothes, and put them on the table. When he started up the companionway, I retreated, silently rolling over on top of the cabin. He shoved the slide partway back and rested his arms on it, his body still in the companionway. His attitude was of one looking forward the length of the schooner, or staring, rather, for his eyes were fixed and unblanking. 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 forth, of course without effect, but when the moving shadow fell across his face, I saw at once that he was susceptible to the 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, that 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 the shadow remained stationary. He slowly moved his head back and forth under it, and turned from side to side, now in the sunshine, now in the shade, feeling the 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 as eyeballs only that were affected, or if his optic nerve were not wholly destroyed, the explanation was simple. If otherwise, then the only conclusion I could reach was that the sensitive skin recognized the difference of temperature between shade and sunshine, or, perhaps, who can tell, it was that 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 with his swiftness and confidence which surprised me. And still there was that hint of the feebleness of the blind and his walk. I knew it now for what it was. To my amused chagrin, he discovered my shoes on the forecastle 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 the cabbettor from my marmalade and underclosed, slipped back past the galley, and climbed down to the beach to deliver my barefoot report. End of chapter 33 Chapter 34 of The Seawolf This library of ox recording is in the public domain. The Seawolf by Jack London Chapter 34 It's too bad the ghost has lost her masts. Why, we could sail away in her. Don't you think we could, Humphrey? I spank excitedly to my feet. I wonder, I wonder, I repeated, pacing up and down. Mods eyes were shining, Mods 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 Mitchellettes to man, woman is as the earth 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 the wonderful truth of his words, why I was living them. Mod was all this to me, an unfailing source of strength 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 sakes, Mod demanded. Do be merciful. What is it you can do? We can do it, I amended. Why, nothing else than put the masts back into the ghost and sail away. I'm free, she exclaimed, and I felt as proud of my conception as if it were already a fact accomplished. But how is it 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 Larson, she objected. Blind and helpless, I answered promptly, waving him aside as his 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 it and avoided him, I contended gaily. And, lost your shoes, you'd hardly expect them to avoid Wolf Larson 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 the ghost and return to the world. I remembered hazily the physics of my school days, while the last few months had given me practical experience with mechanical purchases. I must say, though, 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 mass standing, something high up with which to fasten blocks and tackles, but there was nothing, it reminded me of the problem of lifting oneself by one's bootstraps. I understood the mechanics of levers, but where was I to get a fulcrum? There was the main mast 15 inches in diameter at what was now the butt, still 65 feet in length, and weighing, I roughly calculated, at least 3,000 pounds. And then came the foremast, larger in diameter, and weighing surely 3,500 pounds. Where was I to begin? Mod stood silently by my side while I involved in my mind the contrivance known among sailors as shears. But though known to sailors, I invented it there on Endeavour Island. By crossing and lashing the ends of two spars, and then elevating them in the air like an inverted V, I could get a point above the deck of which to make fast my hoisting tackle. To this hoisting tackle I could, if necessary, attach a second hoisting tackle, and then there was the windlass. Mod saw that I had achieved a solution, and her eyes warmed sympathetically. What are you going to do? she asked. Clear that raffle, I answered, pointing to the tangled wreckage over side. Ah, the decisiveness, the very sounds of the words, was good in my ears. Clear that raffle. Imagine, so salty a phrase on the lips of the Humphrey van Wyden of a few months gone. There must have been a touch of the melodramatic in my pose and voice for Mod smiled. Her appreciation of the ridiculous was keen, and in all things she unerrantly saw and felt where it existed the touch of sham, the overshading, the overtone. It was this which had given poison penetration to her own work, and made her a worth to the world. The serious critic, with a sense of humor and the power of expression, must inevitably command the world's ear, and so it was that she had commanded. Her sense of humor 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 there. What we've got to do is actually and literally clear that raffle. If you'll come with me in the boat, we'll get to work and straighten things out. When the top men 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 labor. Her task was to hold the boat in position while I worked at the tangle. In such a tangle, halyards, sheets, guise, down-halls, shroud stays all washed about and back and forth and through, entwined and knotted by the sea. I cut no more than was necessary in what with passing the long ropes under and around the booms and masts of unraving the halyards and sheets of coiling down in the boat and uncoiling in order to pass through another knot in the bite, 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 Maude 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 Brett Wolf was in. Hello below, he called down the open hatch. The sound of his voice made Maude quickly draw close to me, as for protection, and she rested one hand on my arm while we parlayed. 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 the 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 the simplest project imaginable. 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 you? You forget, I replied, you are no longer the biggest piece of the firmament. You were once unable 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 one of you become a philanthropist, I queried, confess now, and 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 Larson, I said sternly, for the first time addressing him by this, is most familiar name. I am unable to shoot a helpless, unresisting man. You have proven 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. Never the less I forbid you. I distinctly forbid your tampering with my ship. But, man, I expostulated. You advanced 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 humped, 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 Larson? She answered. Pray, how did you know I was here? Heard you breathing, of course. I say, hums 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 Larson and 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 you don't 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 by knocking and hammering. End of Chapter 34 Chapter 35 of The Seawolf This Vibre Vox recording is in the public domain. The Seawolf by Jack London Chapter 35 Next day, the mass steps clear, and everything in readiness, we started to get the two top masks aboard. The main top mask was over 30 feet in length, the four top mask, nearly 30, 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 other end fast to the butt of the four top mask, I began to heave. Mod held the turn on the windlass and coiled down the slack. We were astonished at the ease with which this bar 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 length of the rope, I heaved in. The tackle dragged heavily across the rail. Increasing its drag as the spar arose more and more out of the water, and the exertion on the windlass grew severe. But when the butt of the top mask was level with the rail, everything came to a standstill. I might have known it, I said impatiently. Now we have to do it all over again. Why not fasten the top mask? I thought it was a good idea. I thought it was a good idea. I thought it was a good idea. I thought it was a good idea. Why not fasten the tackle part way down the mast? Mod suggested. It's what I should have done at first, I answered, hugely disgusted with myself. Slipping off a turn, I lowered the mask back into the water and fastened the tackle a third of the way down from the butt. Slipping off a turn, I lowered the mask back into the water and fastened the tackle a third of the way down from the 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. The weight 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 the point of balance. And what we will learn of this will serve us with everything else we have to hoist aboard. Once again I undid all my work by lowering the mask into the water. But I miscalculated the point of balance so that when I heaved the top of the mask came up instead of the butt. Mod looked to spare, but I laughed and said it would do just as well. Instructing her how to hold the turn and be ready to slack away at command, I laid hold of the mask with my hands and tried to balance it inboard across the rail. When I thought I had it, I cried to her to slack away, but the spar rided despite my efforts and dropped back toward the water. Again I heaved it up to its old position, for I had now another idea. I remembered the watch tackle, a small double in single block of air and fetched it. While I was rigging it between the top of the spar and the opposite rail, Wolf Larson 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 sound all that I did. Again instructing Mod to slack away at the windlass when I gave the word, I proceeded to heave on the watch tackle. Slowly the mask swung in until it balanced at right angles across the rail, and then I discovered to my amazement that there was no need for Mod to slack away. In fact the very opposite was necessary. Making the watch tackle fast I hove on the windlass and brought in the mask inch by inch until it stopped tilted down to the deck and finally its whole length clay 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 the 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 the main top mask on deck and was constructing the shears. Lishing the two top masks together and making allowance for their unequal length. At the point of intersection I attached the double block of the main throat halyards. This with the single block and the throat halyards themselves gave me a hoisting tackle. To prevent the butts of the masks from slipping on the deck I nailed down thick pleats. Everything in readiness I made a line fast to the apex of the shears and carried it directly to the windlass. I was growing to have faith in that windlass for it gave me power beyond all expectations. As usual mod 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 gying at four and a half and to either side. Twilight had set in by the time this was accomplished. Wolf Larson, who had sat about and listened all afternoon and never opened his mouth had taken himself off to the galley and started his supper. I felt quite stiff across the small of my 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. Mod shied at me. Remember, tomorrow 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, Mod. Not half so proud as I am of you, nor half the reason, she answered, looking me straight in the eyes for a moment with an expression in her own in the dancing tremulous light which I had not seen before and which gave me a pang of quick delight. I knew 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 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 your 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 example. Look at those three cornered tears and such a waste. It would not require a Sherlock Holmes to deduce that you have been cooking over a campfire 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 endured. She made me an elaborate and stately cursey 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 know, until I had found the culprits out and silenced them. This had occurred several times. But had she seen the clamor in them and understood, and had her eyes so spoken to me? What else could that expression have meant, that dancing tremulous and to something more of 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 Wyden, the 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 shaft each other's appearance until we arrived ashore with other things 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 have eared, and far less now that he is blind. The liability is that his part helplessness will make him more malignant than ever. I know what I shall do tomorrow. The first thing. Run out a light anchor, and catch the schooner off the beach. And each night, when we come ashore in the boat, Mr. Wolf Larson 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. 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. He looked at me, 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, mod 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 the destruction of my beloved shears had hit me hard. That is, you and I will live aboard, friendly or not with Wolf Larson. It's childish, I laughed later, for him to do such things and for me to grow angry over them, for that matter. But my heart smote me when we climbed aboard and looked at the havoc he had done. The shears were gone altogether. The guys had been sliced 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 the windlass. I would not work. He had broken it. We looked at each other in consternation. Then I ran to the side. The masks, 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 they were for me. I could have wept myself. Where now was our project of remasting the ghost? He had done his work well. He had done the hatch-coming and rested my chin and my hands in black despair. He deserves to die, I cried out, and God forgive me I am not man enough to be as executioner. But Maud was by my side passing her hand soothingly through my hair as though I were a child insane. There, there, it will come all right. We are in the right, and it must come right. I ran 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 masks far to seaward than there 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 me to leave when we had more accomplished. Here he comes now, she whispered. I glanced up, he was strolling leisurely along the 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 that 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 old man. As he came up the 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 the greeting to be returned. Then he strolled aft and we slipped forward. Oh, I know you're a board, he called out, after he had spoken. It reminded me of the great Houdal listening after its booming cry for the stir of its frightened prey. But we did not stir and we moved only when he moved. And so we dodged about the deck hand in hand like a couple of children chased by a wicked ogre till Wolf Larson, evidently in disgust, left the deck for the cabin. There was glee in our eyes and just titters in our mouths as we put on our shoes and clambered over the side into the boat. And as I looked in the mods 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. End of chapter 35 Chapter 36 of The Seawolf This library of ox recording is in the public domain. The Seawolf by Jack London Chapter 36 For two days Maude and I arranged to the sea and explored the beaches in search of the missing masts but it was not until the third day that we found them, all of them the shears included and of all perilous places in the pounding surf of the grim southwestern promontory and how we worked. At the dark end of the first day we turned, exhausted to our little cove towing the main mast behind us and we had been compelled to row in a dead calm practically every inch of the way. Another day of heartbreaking and dangerous toll saw us in camp with the two top masks to the good. The day following I was desperate and I rafted together the four mast, the four and main booms and the four and main gaffes. The wind was favourable and I had thought to tow them back under sail, but the wind baffled then died away and our progress with yours was a snail's pace and it was such dispiriting effort to throw one's whole strength and weight on the oars and to feel the boat checked in its forward lunge by the heavy drag behind was not exactly 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 the oars till I was played out. Poor mod 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 though I had eaten hardly of a twelve o'clock lunge I had worked so hard that I was faint from hunger. I pulled in the oars and bent forward to the line which held the toe. But mod'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 the 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 night to night or tomorrow 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 the 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 out your pride 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 mod could stand it was beyond me. I was too tired to thrash my arms about and warm myself, and again to shave 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 to yours and made her row though she was so weak I thought she would faint at every stroke. Morning broke and we looked along 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 southwest 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 which I did not recognize as my own. Mod 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 shaving 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 in 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 coming 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 laboring through a heavy sea toward the island. At half past three in the afternoon we passed the southwestern 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 the wind slowly died down. By night it was dead calm and I was toiling once more at the oars, but weekly, most weekly. At two in the morning the boats about touched the beach over our own inner cove and I staggered out to make the painter fast. Mod could not stand nor had I the strength to carry her. I fell in the sand with her and when I had recovered contended myself with putting my arms under her shoulders and dragging her up the beach to the hut. The next day we did no work. In fact we slept till three in the afternoon, or at least I did, before I awoke to find Mod 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 traveling to Japan for my health, she said, as we lingered at the 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 the longest. You little knew what you were choosing, I laughed. But I shall be a different woman 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 Larson's blindness. It was inexplicable and that it was grave I instanced his statement that he intended to stay and die on Endeavour Island. But he, strong man that he was, loving life as he did, accepted his death. 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 breakdown and that 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 love her for it, so sweetly womanly was it. Besides, there was no fault 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 sometime 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 the light-ketch anchor which we kept and, with a deal of exertion, got it on deck and into the boat. With a long running line coiled down in the stern, I rode 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 shorelines, I catched her out by main strength, the wind was being broken, till she rode nearly up and down in a 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 it as fingertips 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 the two top mass aboard, and the shears rigged and guide as before. And that night I slept on board and on deck beside my work. Mod who refused to stay alone ashore slept in the forecastle. Wolf Larson had said about listening to my repairing the windlass and talking with Mod 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 in listening, and I never let his strong arms get within reach of me while I worked. On this night, sleeping under my beloved's 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 blanket and crept noiselessly after him in my stalking feet. He had armed himself with a drawn knife from the tool-locker, and with this he prepared to cut across the throat-halyards I had again rigged to the shears. He felt the halyards with his hands and discovered that I had not made them fast. This would not do for a draw knife, so he lay hold of the running part, hoof-taught, and made fast. Then he prepared to saw across with a draw knife. I wouldn't, if I were you, I said quietly. He heard the click of my pistol, and laughed. Hello, Hum. He said, I knew you were here all the time. You can't fool my ears. That's a lie, Wolf Larson. I said just as quietly as before. However, I am aching for a chance to kill you, so go ahead and cut. You have the chance always, he sneered. Go ahead and cut, I threatened ominously. I'd rather disappoint you, he laughed, 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 he cheered him. There must be a 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 that. There must be some less brutal way. Let us wait. But we did not have to wait until the problem solved itself. In the morning, after several trials, I found the point of balance on the four mast and attached my hoisting tackle a few feet above it. Mod held the turn on the windlass 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 the heaving. I had to rest frequently. In truth, my spells of resting were longer than those of working. Mod even contrived at times when all my efforts could not budge the windlass to hold the turn with one hand and with the other to throw the weight of her slim body to my assistance. At the end of an hour the single and double blocks came together at the top of the shears. I could hoist no more. And yet the mast was not swung entirely inboard. The butt rested against the outside of the port rail while the top of the mast overhung the water far beyond the starboard rail. My shears were too short. All my work had been for nothing. But I no longer despaired in the old way. I was acquiring more confidence in myself and more confidence in the possibility of windlass's 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 Larson 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 with a 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 crumbled up and collapsed, his legs bending under him as he sank to the deck. One of his attacks I whispered to Maud. She nodded her head and I could see sympathy warm in her 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 dispatching 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 it was quite normal. This puzzled me. I became suspicious. What if he should be feigning this? Maud shook her head and there was refroof in her eyes. But just then the risk I held leaped from my hand and the 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 throat 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 throttling 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 heartbreaking despair. I had heard it before during the sinking of the Martinez. My face was against his chest and I could not see but I heard Maud turn and run swiftly along the 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 the whole man sink under me. The breath was leaving his lungs and his chest was collapsing under my weight. Whether it was merely the expelled breath or his consciousness of growing impudence, I know not, but his throat vibrated with a deep ground. 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 the 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 with mangled alarm and relief. A heavy seal club in her hand caught my eyes and at that moment she followed my gaze down to it. The club dropped from her hand as though it had suddenly stung her and at the 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 the softening civilization of the 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 clothes. I looked down at the brown glory of her hair, glinting gems in the sunshine far more precious to me than those in the 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 that the danger was passed and the arms of her protector or of the one who had been endangered. Had I been father or brother, the situation would have been no wise 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 this time, I said. Another shock like the 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 that I have him helpless, helpless he shall remain. From this day we live in the cabin. Wolf Larson shall live in the steerage. I caught him under the shoulders and dragged him to the companion way. At my direction Maud fetched a rope. Placing this under his shoulders I balanced him across the threshold and lowered him down the steps to the 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 this was not to be all. I recollected the handcuffs in the 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 at foot. For the 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 the stalled foremasked hung in the shears. End of Chapter 36