Chapter 16

by Jack London

　　Chapter XVI

　　I cannot say that the position of mate carried with it anythingmore joyful than that there were no more dishes to wash. I wasignorant of the simplest duties of mate, and would have fared badlyindeed, had the sailors not sympathized with me. I knew nothing ofthe minutiae of ropes and rigging, of the trimming and setting ofsails; but the sailors took pains to put me to rights, - Louisproving an especially good teacher, - and I had little trouble withthose under me.

　　With the hunters it was otherwise. Familiar in varying degree withthe sea, they took me as a sort of joke. In truth, it was a joketo me, that I, the veriest landsman, should be filling the officeof mate; but to be taken as a joke by others was a differentmatter. I made no complaint, but Wolf Larsen demanded the mostpunctilious sea etiquette in my case, - far more than poor Johansenhad ever received; and at the expense of several rows, threats, andmuch grumbling, he brought the hunters to time. I was "Mr. VanWeyden" fore and aft, and it was only unofficially that Wolf Larsenhimself ever addressed me as "Hump."

　　It was amusing. Perhaps the wind would haul a few points while wewere at dinner, and as I left the table he would say, "Mr. VanWeyden, will you kindly put about on the port tack." And I wouldgo on deck, beckon Louis to me, and learn from him what was to bedone. Then, a few minutes later, having digested his instructionsand thoroughly mastered the manoeuvre, I would proceed to issue myorders. I remember an early instance of this kind, when WolfLarsen appeared on the scene just as I had begun to give orders.He smoked his cigar and looked on quietly till the thing wasaccomplished, and then paced aft by my side along the weather poop.

　　"Hump," he said, "I beg pardon, Mr. Van Weyden, I congratulate you.I think you can now fire your father's legs back into the grave tohim. You've discovered your own and learned to stand on them. Alittle rope-work, sail-making, and experience with storms and suchthings, and by the end of the voyage you could ship on any coastingschooner."

　　It was during this period, between the death of Johansen and thearrival on the sealing grounds, that I passed my pleasantest hourson the Ghost. Wolf Larsen was quite considerate, the sailorshelped me, and I was no longer in irritating contact with ThomasMugridge. And I make free to say, as the days went by, that Ifound I was taking a certain secret pride in myself. Fantastic asthe situation was, - a land-lubber second in command, - I was,nevertheless, carrying it off well; and during that brief time Iwas proud of myself, and I grew to love the heave and roll of theGhost under my feet as she wallowed north and west through thetropic sea to the islet where we filled our water-casks.

　　But my happiness was not unalloyed. It was comparative, a periodof less misery slipped in between a past of great miseries and afuture of great miseries. For the Ghost, so far as the seamen wereconcerned, was a hell-ship of the worst description. They neverhad a moment's rest or peace. Wolf Larsen treasured against themthe attempt on his life and the drubbing he had received in theforecastle; and morning, noon, and night, and all night as well, hedevoted himself to making life unlivable for them.

　　He knew well the psychology of the little thing, and it was thelittle things by which he kept the crew worked up to the verge ofmadness. I have seen Harrison called from his bunk to put properlyaway a misplaced paintbrush, and the two watches below haled fromtheir tired sleep to accompany him and see him do it. A littlething, truly, but when multiplied by the thousand ingenious devicesof such a mind, the mental state of the men in the forecastle maybe slightly comprehended.

　　Of course much grumbling went on, and little outbursts werecontinually occurring. Blows were struck, and there were alwaystwo or three men nursing injuries at the hands of the human beastwho was their master. Concerted action was impossible in face ofthe heavy arsenal of weapons carried in the steerage and cabin.Leach and Johnson were the two particular victims of Wolf Larsen'sdiabolic temper, and the look of profound melancholy which hadsettled on Johnson's face and in his eyes made my heart bleed.

　　With Leach it was different. There was too much of the fightingbeast in him. He seemed possessed by an insatiable fury which gaveno time for grief. His lips had become distorted into a permanentsnarl, which at mere sight of Wolf Larsen broke out in sound,horrible and menacing and, I do believe, unconsciously. I haveseen him follow Wolf Larsen about with his eyes, like an animal itskeeper, the while the animal-like snarl sounded deep in his throatand vibrated forth between his teeth.

　　I remember once, on deck, in bright day, touching him on theshoulder as preliminary to giving an order. His back was towardme, and at the first feel of my hand he leaped upright in the airand away from me, snarling and turning his head as he leaped. Hehad for the moment mistaken me for the man he hated.

　　Both he and Johnson would have killed Wolf Larsen at the slightestopportunity, but the opportunity never came. Wolf Larsen was toowise for that, and, besides, they had no adequate weapons. Withtheir fists alone they had no chance whatever. Time and again hefought it out with Leach who fought back always, like a wildcat,tooth and nail and fist, until stretched, exhausted or unconscious,on the deck. And he was never averse to another encounter. Allthe devil that was in him challenged the devil in Wolf Larsen.They had but to appear on deck at the same time, when they would beat it, cursing, snarling, striking; and I have seen Leach flinghimself upon Wolf Larsen without warning or provocation. Once hethrew his heavy sheath-knife, missing Wolf Larsen's throat by aninch. Another time he dropped a steel marlinspike from the mizzencrosstree. It was a difficult cast to make on a rolling ship, butthe sharp point of the spike, whistling seventy-five feet throughthe air, barely missed Wolf Larsen's head as he emerged from thecabin companion-way and drove its length two inches and over intothe solid deck-planking. Still another time, he stole into thesteerage, possessed himself of a loaded shot-gun, and was making arush for the deck with it when caught by Kerfoot and disarmed.

　　I often wondered why Wolf Larsen did not kill him and make an endof it. But he only laughed and seemed to enjoy it. There seemed acertain spice about it, such as men must feel who take delight inmaking pets of ferocious animals.

　　"It gives a thrill to life," he explained to me, "when life iscarried in one's hand. Man is a natural gambler, and life is thebiggest stake he can lay. The greater the odds, the greater thethrill. Why should I deny myself the joy of exciting Leach's soulto fever-pitch? For that matter, I do him a kindness. Thegreatness of sensation is mutual. He is living more royally thanany man for'ard, though he does not know it. For he has what theyhave not - purpose, something to do and be done, an all-absorbingend to strive to attain, the desire to kill me, the hope that hemay kill me. Really, Hump, he is living deep and high. I doubtthat he has ever lived so swiftly and keenly before, and I honestlyenvy him, sometimes, when I see him raging at the summit of passionand sensibility."

　　"Ah, but it is cowardly, cowardly!" I cried. "You have all theadvantage."

　　"Of the two of us, you and I, who is the greater coward?" he askedseriously. "If the situation is unpleasing, you compromise withyour conscience when you make yourself a party to it. If you werereally great, really true to yourself, you would join forces withLeach and Johnson. But you are afraid, you are afraid. You wantto live. The life that is in you cries out that it must live, nomatter what the cost; so you live ignominiously, untrue to the bestyou dream of, sinning against your whole pitiful little code, and,if there were a hell, heading your soul straight for it. Bah! Iplay the braver part. I do no sin, for I am true to the promptingsof the life that is in me. I am sincere with my soul at least, andthat is what you are not."

　　There was a sting in what he said. Perhaps, after all, I wasplaying a cowardly part. And the more I thought about it the moreit appeared that my duty to myself lay in doing what he hadadvised, lay in joining forces with Johnson and Leach and workingfor his death. Right here, I think, entered the austere conscienceof my Puritan ancestry, impelling me toward lurid deeds andsanctioning even murder as right conduct. I dwelt upon the idea.It would be a most moral act to rid the world of such a monster.Humanity would be better and happier for it, life fairer andsweeter.

　　I pondered it long, lying sleepless in my bunk and reviewing inendless procession the facts of the situation. I talked withJohnson and Leach, during the night watches when Wolf Larsen wasbelow. Both men had lost hope - Johnson, because of temperamentaldespondency; Leach, because he had beaten himself out in the vainstruggle and was exhausted. But he caught my hand in a passionategrip one night, saying:

　　"I think yer square, Mr. Van Weyden. But stay where you are andkeep yer mouth shut. Say nothin' but saw wood. We're dead men, Iknow it; but all the same you might be able to do us a favour sometime when we need it damn bad."

　　It was only next day, when Wainwright Island loomed to windward,close abeam, that Wolf Larsen opened his mouth in prophecy. He hadattacked Johnson, been attacked by Leach, and had just finishedwhipping the pair of them.

　　"Leach," he said, "you know I'm going to kill you some time orother, don't you?"

　　A snarl was the answer.

　　"And as for you, Johnson, you'll get so tired of life before I'mthrough with you that you'll fling yourself over the side. See ifyou don't."

　　"That's a suggestion," he added, in an aside to me. "I'll bet youa month's pay he acts upon it."

　　I had cherished a hope that his victims would find an opportunityto escape while filling our water-barrels, but Wolf Larsen hadselected his spot well. The Ghost lay half-a-mile beyond the surf-line of a lonely beach. Here debauched a deep gorge, withprecipitous, volcanic walls which no man could scale. And here,under his direct supervision - for he went ashore himself - Leachand Johnson filled the small casks and rolled them down to thebeach. They had no chance to make a break for liberty in one ofthe boats.

　　Harrison and Kelly, however, made such an attempt. They composedone of the boats' crews, and their task was to ply between theschooner and the shore, carrying a single cask each trip. Justbefore dinner, starting for the beach with an empty barrel, theyaltered their course and bore away to the left to round thepromontory which jutted into the sea between them and liberty.Beyond its foaming base lay the pretty villages of the Japanesecolonists and smiling valleys which penetrated deep into theinterior. Once in the fastnesses they promised, and the two mencould defy Wolf Larsen.

　　I had observed Henderson and Smoke loitering about the deck allmorning, and I now learned why they were there. Procuring theirrifles, they opened fire in a leisurely manner, upon the deserters.It was a cold-blooded exhibition of marksmanship. At first theirbullets zipped harmlessly along the surface of the water on eitherside the boat; but, as the men continued to pull lustily, theystruck closer and closer.

　　"Now, watch me take Kelly's right oar," Smoke said, drawing a morecareful aim.

　　I was looking through the glasses, and I saw the oar-blade shatteras he shot. Henderson duplicated it, selecting Harrison's rightoar. The boat slewed around. The two remaining oars were quicklybroken. The men tried to row with the splinters, and had them shotout of their hands. Kelly ripped up a bottom board and beganpaddling, but dropped it with a cry of pain as its splinters droveinto his hands. Then they gave up, letting the boat drift till asecond boat, sent from the shore by Wolf Larsen, took them in towand brought them aboard.

　　Late that afternoon we hove up anchor and got away. Nothing wasbefore us but the three or four months' hunting on the sealinggrounds. The outlook was black indeed, and I went about my workwith a heavy heart. An almost funereal gloom seemed to havedescended upon the Ghost. Wolf Larsen had taken to his bunk withone of his strange, splitting headaches. Harrison stood listlesslyat the wheel, half supporting himself by it, as though wearied bythe weight of his flesh. The rest of the men were morose andsilent. I came upon Kelly crouching to the lee of the forecastlescuttle, his head on his knees, his arms about his head, in anattitude of unutterable despondency.

　　Johnson I found lying full length on the forecastle head, staringat the troubled churn of the forefoot, and I remembered with horrorthe suggestion Wolf Larsen had made. It seemed likely to bearfruit. I tried to break in on the man's morbid thoughts by callinghim away, but he smiled sadly at me and refused to obey.

　　Leach approached me as I returned aft.

　　"I want to ask a favour, Mr. Van Weyden," he said. "If it's yerluck to ever make 'Frisco once more, will you hunt up MattMcCarthy? He's my old man. He lives on the Hill, back of theMayfair bakery, runnin' a cobbler's shop that everybody knows, andyou'll have no trouble. Tell him I lived to be sorry for thetrouble I brought him and the things I done, and - and just tellhim 'God bless him,' for me."

　　I nodded my head, but said, "We'll all win back to San Francisco,Leach, and you'll be with me when I go to see Matt McCarthy."

　　"I'd like to believe you," he answered, shaking my hand, "but Ican't. Wolf Larsen 'll do for me, I know it; and all I can hopeis, he'll do it quick."

　　And as he left me I was aware of the same desire at my heart.Since it was to be done, let it be done with despatch. The generalgloom had gathered me into its folds. The worst appearedinevitable; and as I paced the deck, hour after hour, I foundmyself afflicted with Wolf Larsen's repulsive ideas. What was itall about? Where was the grandeur of life that it should permitsuch wanton destruction of human souls? It was a cheap and sordidthing after all, this life, and the sooner over the better. Overand done with! I, too, leaned upon the rail and gazed longinglyinto the sea, with the certainty that sooner or later I should besinking down, down, through the cool green depths of its oblivion.