Chapter 17

by Jack London

　　Chapter XVII

　　Strange to say, in spite of the general foreboding, nothing ofespecial moment happened on the Ghost. We ran on to the north andwest till we raised the coast of Japan and picked up with the greatseal herd. Coming from no man knew where in the illimitablePacific, it was travelling north on its annual migration to therookeries of Bering Sea. And north we travelled with it, ravagingand destroying, flinging the naked carcasses to the shark andsalting down the skins so that they might later adorn the fairshoulders of the women of the cities.

　　It was wanton slaughter, and all for woman's sake. No man ate ofthe seal meat or the oil. After a good day's killing I have seenour decks covered with hides and bodies, slippery with fat andblood, the scuppers running red; masts, ropes, and rails spatteredwith the sanguinary colour; and the men, like butchers plying theirtrade, naked and red of arm and hand, hard at work with ripping andflensing-knives, removing the skins from the pretty sea-creaturesthey had killed.

　　It was my task to tally the pelts as they came aboard from theboats, to oversee the skinning and afterward the cleansing of thedecks and bringing things ship-shape again. It was not pleasantwork. My soul and my stomach revolted at it; and yet, in a way,this handling and directing of many men was good for me. Itdeveloped what little executive ability I possessed, and I wasaware of a toughening or hardening which I was undergoing and whichcould not be anything but wholesome for "Sissy" Van Weyden.

　　One thing I was beginning to feel, and that was that I could neveragain be quite the same man I had been. While my hope and faith inhuman life still survived Wolf Larsen's destructive criticism, hehad nevertheless been a cause of change in minor matters. He hadopened up for me the world of the real, of which I had knownpractically nothing and from which I had always shrunk. I hadlearned to look more closely at life as it was lived, to recognizethat there were such things as facts in the world, to emerge fromthe realm of mind and idea and to place certain values on theconcrete and objective phases of existence.

　　I saw more of Wolf Larsen than ever when we had gained the grounds.For when the weather was fair and we were in the midst of the herd,all hands were away in the boats, and left on board were only heand I, and Thomas Mugridge, who did not count. But there was noplay about it. The six boats, spreading out fan-wise from theschooner until the first weather boat and the last lee boat wereanywhere from ten to twenty miles apart, cruised along a straightcourse over the sea till nightfall or bad weather drove them in.It was our duty to sail the Ghost well to leeward of the last leeboat, so that all the boats should have fair wind to run for us incase of squalls or threatening weather.

　　It is no slight matter for two men, particularly when a stiff windhas sprung up, to handle a vessel like the Ghost, steering, keepinglook-out for the boats, and setting or taking in sail; so itdevolved upon me to learn, and learn quickly. Steering I picked upeasily, but running aloft to the crosstrees and swinging my wholeweight by my arms when I left the ratlines and climbed stillhigher, was more difficult. This, too, I learned, and quickly, forI felt somehow a wild desire to vindicate myself in Wolf Larsen'seyes, to prove my right to live in ways other than of the mind.Nay, the time came when I took joy in the run of the masthead andin the clinging on by my legs at that precarious height while Iswept the sea with glasses in search of the boats.

　　I remember one beautiful day, when the boats left early and thereports of the hunters' guns grew dim and distant and died away asthey scattered far and wide over the sea. There was just thefaintest wind from the westward; but it breathed its last by thetime we managed to get to leeward of the last lee boat. One by one- I was at the masthead and saw - the six boats disappeared overthe bulge of the earth as they followed the seal into the west. Welay, scarcely rolling on the placid sea, unable to follow. WolfLarsen was apprehensive. The barometer was down, and the sky tothe east did not please him. He studied it with unceasingvigilance.

　　"If she comes out of there," he said, "hard and snappy, putting usto windward of the boats, it's likely there'll be empty bunks insteerage and fo'c'sle."

　　By eleven o'clock the sea had become glass. By midday, though wewere well up in the northerly latitudes, the heat was sickening.There was no freshness in the air. It was sultry and oppressive,reminding me of what the old Californians term "earthquakeweather." There was something ominous about it, and in intangibleways one was made to feel that the worst was about to come. Slowlythe whole eastern sky filled with clouds that over-towered us likesome black sierra of the infernal regions. So clearly could onesee canon, gorge, and precipice, and the shadows that lie therein,that one looked unconsciously for the white surf-line and bellowingcaverns where the sea charges on the land. And still we rockedgently, and there was no wind.

　　"It's no square" Wolf Larsen said. "Old Mother Nature's going toget up on her hind legs and howl for all that's in her, and it'llkeep us jumping, Hump, to pull through with half our boats. You'dbetter run up and loosen the topsails."

　　"But if it is going to howl, and there are only two of us?" Iasked, a note of protest in my voice.

　　"Why we've got to make the best of the first of it and run down toour boats before our canvas is ripped out of us. After that Idon't give a rap what happens. The sticks 'll stand it, and youand I will have to, though we've plenty cut out for us."

　　Still the calm continued. We ate dinner, a hurried and anxiousmeal for me with eighteen men abroad on the sea and beyond thebulge of the earth, and with that heaven-rolling mountain range ofclouds moving slowly down upon us. Wolf Larsen did not seemaffected, however; though I noticed, when we returned to the deck,a slight twitching of the nostrils, a perceptible quickness ofmovement. His face was stern, the lines of it had grown hard, andyet in his eyes - blue, clear blue this day - there was a strangebrilliancy, a bright scintillating light. It struck me that he wasjoyous, in a ferocious sort of way; that he was glad there was animpending struggle; that he was thrilled and upborne with knowledgethat one of the great moments of living, when the tide of lifesurges up in flood, was upon him.

　　Once, and unwitting that he did so or that I saw, he laughed aloud,mockingly and defiantly, at the advancing storm. I see him yetstanding there like a pigmy out of the Arabian Nights before thehuge front of some malignant genie. He was daring destiny, and hewas unafraid.

　　He walked to the galley. "Cooky, by the time you've finished potsand pans you'll be wanted on deck. Stand ready for a call."

　　"Hump," he said, becoming cognizant of the fascinated gaze I bentupon him, "this beats whisky and is where your Omar misses. Ithink he only half lived after all."

　　The western half of the sky had by now grown murky. The sun haddimmed and faded out of sight. It was two in the afternoon, and aghostly twilight, shot through by wandering purplish lights, haddescended upon us. In this purplish light Wolf Larsen's faceglowed and glowed, and to my excited fancy he appeared encircled bya halo. We lay in the midst of an unearthly quiet, while all aboutus were signs and omens of oncoming sound and movement. The sultryheat had become unendurable. The sweat was standing on myforehead, and I could feel it trickling down my nose. I felt asthough I should faint, and reached out to the rail for support.

　　And then, just then, the faintest possible whisper of air passedby. It was from the east, and like a whisper it came and went.The drooping canvas was not stirred, and yet my face had felt theair and been cooled.

　　"Cooky," Wolf Larsen called in a low voice. Thomas Mugridge turneda pitiable scared face. "Let go that foreboom tackle and pass itacross, and when she's willing let go the sheet and come in snugwith the tackle. And if you make a mess of it, it will be the lastyou ever make. Understand?"

　　"Mr. Van Weyden, stand by to pass the head-sails over. Then jumpfor the topsails and spread them quick as God'll let you - thequicker you do it the easier you'll find it. As for Cooky, if heisn't lively bat him between the eyes."

　　I was aware of the compliment and pleased, in that no threat hadaccompanied my instructions. We were lying head to north-west, andit was his intention to jibe over all with the first puff.

　　"We'll have the breeze on our quarter," he explained to me. "Bythe last guns the boats were bearing away slightly to thesouth'ard."

　　He turned and walked aft to the wheel. I went forward and took mystation at the jibs. Another whisper of wind, and another, passedby. The canvas flapped lazily.

　　"Thank Gawd she's not comin' all of a bunch, Mr. Van Weyden," wasthe Cockney's fervent ejaculation.

　　And I was indeed thankful, for I had by this time learned enough toknow, with all our canvas spread, what disaster in such eventawaited us. The whispers of wind became puffs, the sails filled,the Ghost moved. Wolf Larsen put the wheel hard up, to port, andwe began to pay off. The wind was now dead astern, muttering andpuffing stronger and stronger, and my head-sails were poundinglustily. I did not see what went on elsewhere, though I felt thesudden surge and heel of the schooner as the wind-pressures changedto the jibing of the fore- and main-sails. My hands were full withthe flying-jib, jib, and staysail; and by the time this part of mytask was accomplished the Ghost was leaping into the south-west,the wind on her quarter and all her sheets to starboard. Withoutpausing for breath, though my heart was beating like a trip-hammerfrom my exertions, I sprang to the topsails, and before the windhad become too strong we had them fairly set and were coiling down.Then I went aft for orders.

　　Wolf Larsen nodded approval and relinquished the wheel to me. Thewind was strengthening steadily and the sea rising. For an hour Isteered, each moment becoming more difficult. I had not theexperience to steer at the gait we were going on a quarteringcourse.

　　"Now take a run up with the glasses and raise some of the boats.We've made at least ten knots, and we're going twelve or thirteennow. The old girl knows how to walk."

　　I contested myself with the fore crosstrees, some seventy feetabove the deck. As I searched the vacant stretch of water beforeme, I comprehended thoroughly the need for haste if we were torecover any of our men. Indeed, as I gazed at the heavy seathrough which we were running, I doubted that there was a boatafloat. It did not seem possible that such frail craft couldsurvive such stress of wind and water.

　　I could not feel the full force of the wind, for we were runningwith it; but from my lofty perch I looked down as though outsidethe Ghost and apart from her, and saw the shape of her outlinedsharply against the foaming sea as she tore along instinct withlife. Sometimes she would lift and send across some great wave,burying her starboard-rail from view, and covering her deck to thehatches with the boiling ocean. At such moments, starting from awindward roll, I would go flying through the air with dizzyingswiftness, as though I clung to the end of a huge, invertedpendulum, the arc of which, between the greater rolls, must havebeen seventy feet or more. Once, the terror of this giddy sweepoverpowered me, and for a while I clung on, hand and foot, weak andtrembling, unable to search the sea for the missing boats or tobehold aught of the sea but that which roared beneath and strove tooverwhelm the Ghost.

　　But the thought of the men in the midst of it steadied me, and inmy quest for them I forgot myself. For an hour I saw nothing butthe naked, desolate sea. And then, where a vagrant shaft ofsunlight struck the ocean and turned its surface to wrathfulsilver, I caught a small black speck thrust skyward for an instantand swallowed up. I waited patiently. Again the tiny point ofblack projected itself through the wrathful blaze a couple ofpoints off our port-bow. I did not attempt to shout, butcommunicated the news to Wolf Larsen by waving my arm. He changedthe course, and I signalled affirmation when the speck showed deadahead.

　　It grew larger, and so swiftly that for the first time I fullyappreciated the speed of our flight. Wolf Larsen motioned for meto come down, and when I stood beside him at the wheel gave meinstructions for heaving to.

　　"Expect all hell to break loose," he cautioned me, "but don't mindit. Yours is to do your own work and to have Cooky stand by thefore-sheet."

　　I managed to make my way forward, but there was little choice ofsides, for the weather-rail seemed buried as often as the lee.Having instructed Thomas Mugridge as to what he was to do, Iclambered into the fore-rigging a few feet. The boat was now veryclose, and I could make out plainly that it was lying head to windand sea and dragging on its mast and sail, which had been thrownoverboard and made to serve as a sea-anchor. The three men werebailing. Each rolling mountain whelmed them from view, and I wouldwait with sickening anxiety, fearing that they would never appearagain. Then, and with black suddenness, the boat would shoot clearthrough the foaming crest, bow pointed to the sky, and the wholelength of her bottom showing, wet and dark, till she seemed on end.There would be a fleeting glimpse of the three men flinging waterin frantic haste, when she would topple over and fall into theyawning valley, bow down and showing her full inside length to thestern upreared almost directly above the bow. Each time that shereappeared was a miracle.

　　The Ghost suddenly changed her course, keeping away, and it came tome with a shock that Wolf Larsen was giving up the rescue asimpossible. Then I realized that he was preparing to heave to, anddropped to the deck to be in readiness. We were now dead beforethe wind, the boat far away and abreast of us. I felt an abrupteasing of the schooner, a loss for the moment of all strain andpressure, coupled with a swift acceleration of speed. She wasrushing around on her heel into the wind.

　　As she arrived at right angles to the sea, the full force of thewind (from which we had hitherto run away) caught us. I wasunfortunately and ignorantly facing it. It stood up against melike a wall, filling my lungs with air which I could not expel.And as I choked and strangled, and as the Ghost wallowed for aninstant, broadside on and rolling straight over and far into thewind, I beheld a huge sea rise far above my head. I turned aside,caught my breath, and looked again. The wave over-topped theGhost, and I gazed sheer up and into it. A shaft of sunlight smotethe over-curl, and I caught a glimpse of translucent, rushinggreen, backed by a milky smother of foam.

　　Then it descended, pandemonium broke loose, everything happened atonce. I was struck a crushing, stunning blow, nowhere inparticular and yet everywhere. My hold had been broken loose, Iwas under water, and the thought passed through my mind that thiswas the terrible thing of which I had heard, the being swept in thetrough of the sea. My body struck and pounded as it was dashedhelplessly along and turned over and over, and when I could hold mybreath no longer, I breathed the stinging salt water into my lungs.But through it all I clung to the one idea - I must get the jibbacked over to windward. I had no fear of death. I had no doubtbut that I should come through somehow. And as this idea offulfilling Wolf Larsen's order persisted in my dazed consciousness,I seemed to see him standing at the wheel in the midst of the wildwelter, pitting his will against the will of the storm and defyingit.

　　I brought up violently against what I took to be the rail,breathed, and breathed the sweet air again. I tried to rise, butstruck my head and was knocked back on hands and knees. By somefreak of the waters I had been swept clear under the forecastle-head and into the eyes. As I scrambled out on all fours, I passedover the body of Thomas Mugridge, who lay in a groaning heap.There was no time to investigate. I must get the jib backed over.

　　When I emerged on deck it seemed that the end of everything hadcome. On all sides there was a rending and crashing of wood andsteel and canvas. The Ghost was being wrenched and torn tofragments. The foresail and fore-topsail, emptied of the wind bythe manoeuvre, and with no one to bring in the sheet in time, werethundering into ribbons, the heavy boom threshing and splinteringfrom rail to rail. The air was thick with flying wreckage,detached ropes and stays were hissing and coiling like snakes, anddown through it all crashed the gaff of the foresail.

　　The spar could not have missed me by many inches, while it spurredme to action. Perhaps the situation was not hopeless. Iremembered Wolf Larsen's caution. He had expected all hell tobreak loose, and here it was. And where was he? I caught sight ofhim toiling at the main-sheet, heaving it in and flat with histremendous muscles, the stern of the schooner lifted high in theair and his body outlined against a white surge of sea sweepingpast. All this, and more, - a whole world of chaos and wreck, - inpossibly fifteen seconds I had seen and heard and grasped.

　　I did not stop to see what had become of the small boat, but sprangto the jib-sheet. The jib itself was beginning to slap, partiallyfilling and emptying with sharp reports; but with a turn of thesheet and the application of my whole strength each time itslapped, I slowly backed it. This I know: I did my best. Ipulled till I burst open the ends of all my fingers; and while Ipulled, the flying-jib and staysail split their cloths apart andthundered into nothingness.

　　Still I pulled, holding what I gained each time with a double turnuntil the next slap gave me more. Then the sheet gave with greaterease, and Wolf Larsen was beside me, heaving in alone while I wasbusied taking up the slack.

　　"Make fast!" he shouted. "And come on!"

　　As I followed him, I noted that in spite of rack and ruin a roughorder obtained. The Ghost was hove to. She was still in workingorder, and she was still working. Though the rest of her sailswere gone, the jib, backed to windward, and the mainsail hauleddown flat, were themselves holding, and holding her bow to thefurious sea as well.

　　I looked for the boat, and, while Wolf Larsen cleared the boat-tackles, saw it lift to leeward on a big sea an not a score of feetaway. And, so nicely had he made his calculation, we driftedfairly down upon it, so that nothing remained to do but hook thetackles to either end and hoist it aboard. But this was not doneso easily as it is written.

　　In the bow was Kerfoot, Oofty-Oofty in the stern, and Kellyamidships. As we drifted closer the boat would rise on a wavewhile we sank in the trough, till almost straight above me I couldsee the heads of the three men craned overside and looking down.Then, the next moment, we would lift and soar upward while theysank far down beneath us. It seemed incredible that the next surgeshould not crush the Ghost down upon the tiny eggshell.

　　But, at the right moment, I passed the tackle to the Kanaka, whileWolf Larsen did the same thing forward to Kerfoot. Both tackleswere hooked in a trice, and the three men, deftly timing the roll,made a simultaneous leap aboard the schooner. As the Ghost rolledher side out of water, the boat was lifted snugly against her, andbefore the return roll came, we had heaved it in over the side andturned it bottom up on the deck. I noticed blood spouting fromKerfoot's left hand. In some way the third finger had been crushedto a pulp. But he gave no sign of pain, and with his single righthand helped us lash the boat in its place.

　　"Stand by to let that jib over, you Oofty!" Wolf Larsen commanded,the very second we had finished with the boat. "Kelly, come aftand slack off the main-sheet! You, Kerfoot, go for'ard and seewhat's become of Cooky! Mr. Van Weyden, run aloft again, and cutaway any stray stuff on your way!"

　　And having commanded, he went aft with his peculiar tigerish leapsto the wheel. While I toiled up the fore-shrouds the Ghost slowlypaid off. This time, as we went into the trough of the sea andwere swept, there were no sails to carry away. And, halfway to thecrosstrees and flattened against the rigging by the full force ofthe wind so that it would have been impossible for me to havefallen, the Ghost almost on her beam-ends and the masts parallelwith the water, I looked, not down, but at almost right angles fromthe perpendicular, to the deck of the Ghost. But I saw, not thedeck, but where the deck should have been, for it was buriedbeneath a wild tumbling of water. Out of this water I could seethe two masts rising, and that was all. The Ghost, for the moment,was buried beneath the sea. As she squared off more and more,escaping from the side pressure, she righted herself and broke herdeck, like a whale's back, through the ocean surface.

　　Then we raced, and wildly, across the wild sea, the while I hunglike a fly in the crosstrees and searched for the other boats. Inhalf-an-hour I sighted the second one, swamped and bottom up, towhich were desperately clinging Jock Horner, fat Louis, andJohnson. This time I remained aloft, and Wolf Larsen succeeded inheaving to without being swept. As before, we drifted down uponit. Tackles were made fast and lines flung to the men, whoscrambled aboard like monkeys. The boat itself was crushed andsplintered against the schooner's side as it came inboard; but thewreck was securely lashed, for it could be patched and made wholeagain.

　　Once more the Ghost bore away before the storm, this time sosubmerging herself that for some seconds I thought she would neverreappear. Even the wheel, quite a deal higher than the waist, wascovered and swept again and again. At such moments I feltstrangely alone with God, alone with him and watching the chaos ofhis wrath. And then the wheel would reappear, and Wolf Larsen'sbroad shoulders, his hands gripping the spokes and holding theschooner to the course of his will, himself an earth-god,dominating the storm, flinging its descending waters from him andriding it to his own ends. And oh, the marvel of it! the marvel ofit! That tiny men should live and breathe and work, and drive sofrail a contrivance of wood and cloth through so tremendous anelemental strife.

　　As before, the Ghost swung out of the trough, lifting her deckagain out of the sea, and dashed before the howling blast. It wasnow half-past five, and half-an-hour later, when the last of theday lost itself in a dim and furious twilight, I sighted a thirdboat. It was bottom up, and there was no sign of its crew. WolfLarsen repeated his manoeuvre, holding off and then rounding up towindward and drifting down upon it. But this time he missed byforty feet, the boat passing astern.

　　"Number four boat!" Oofty-Oofty cried, his keen eyes reading itsnumber in the one second when it lifted clear of the foam, andupside down.

　　It was Henderson's boat and with him had been lost Holyoak andWilliams, another of the deep-water crowd. Lost they indubitablywere; but the boat remained, and Wolf Larsen made one more recklesseffort to recover it. I had come down to the deck, and I sawHorner and Kerfoot vainly protest against the attempt.

　　"By God, I'll not be robbed of my boat by any storm that ever blewout of hell!" he shouted, and though we four stood with our headstogether that we might hear, his voice seemed faint and far, asthough removed from us an immense distance.

　　"Mr. Van Weyden!" he cried, and I heard through the tumult as onemight hear a whisper. "Stand by that jib with Johnson and Oofty!The rest of you tail aft to the mainsheet! Lively now! or I'llsail you all into Kingdom Come! Understand?"

　　And when he put the wheel hard over and the Ghost's bow swung off,there was nothing for the hunters to do but obey and make the bestof a risky chance. How great the risk I realized when I was oncemore buried beneath the pounding seas and clinging for life to thepinrail at the foot of the foremast. My fingers were torn loose,and I swept across to the side and over the side into the sea. Icould not swim, but before I could sink I was swept back again. Astrong hand gripped me, and when the Ghost finally emerged, I foundthat I owed my life to Johnson. I saw him looking anxiously abouthim, and noted that Kelly, who had come forward at the last moment,was missing.

　　This time, having missed the boat, and not being in the sameposition as in the previous instances, Wolf Larsen was compelled toresort to a different manoeuvre. Running off before the wind witheverything to starboard, he came about, and returned close-hauledon the port tack.

　　"Grand!" Johnson shouted in my ear, as we successfully came throughthe attendant deluge, and I knew he referred, not to Wolf Larsen'sseamanship, but to the performance of the Ghost herself.

　　It was now so dark that there was no sign of the boat; but WolfLarsen held back through the frightful turmoil as if guided byunerring instinct. This time, though we were continually half-buried, there was no trough in which to be swept, and we driftedsquarely down upon the upturned boat, badly smashing it as it washeaved inboard.

　　Two hours of terrible work followed, in which all hands of us - twohunters, three sailors, Wolf Larsen and I - reefed, first one andthen the other, the jib and mainsail. Hove to under this shortcanvas, our decks were comparatively free of water, while the Ghostbobbed and ducked amongst the combers like a cork.

　　I had burst open the ends of my fingers at the very first, andduring the reefing I had worked with tears of pain running down mycheeks. And when all was done, I gave up like a woman and rolledupon the deck in the agony of exhaustion.

　　In the meantime Thomas Mugridge, like a drowned rat, was beingdragged out from under the forecastle head where he had cravenlyensconced himself. I saw him pulled aft to the cabin, and notedwith a shock of surprise that the galley had disappeared. A cleanspace of deck showed where it had stood.

　　In the cabin I found all hands assembled, sailors as well, andwhile coffee was being cooked over the small stove we drank whiskyand crunched hard-tack. Never in my life had food been so welcome.And never had hot coffee tasted so good. So violently did theGhost, pitch and toss and tumble that it was impossible for eventhe sailors to move about without holding on, and several times,after a cry of "Now she takes it!" we were heaped upon the wall ofthe port cabins as though it had been the deck.

　　"To hell with a look-out," I heard Wolf Larsen say when we hadeaten and drunk our fill. "There's nothing can be done on deck.If anything's going to run us down we couldn't get out of its way.Turn in, all hands, and get some sleep."

　　The sailors slipped forward, setting the side-lights as they went,while the two hunters remained to sleep in the cabin, it not beingdeemed advisable to open the slide to the steerage companion-way.Wolf Larsen and I, between us, cut off Kerfoot's crushed finger andsewed up the stump. Mugridge, who, during all the time he had beencompelled to cook and serve coffee and keep the fire going, hadcomplained of internal pains, now swore that he had a broken rib ortwo. On examination we found that he had three. But his case wasdeferred to next day, principally for the reason that I did notknow anything about broken ribs and would first have to read it up.

　　"I don't think it was worth it," I said to Wolf Larsen, "a brokenboat for Kelly's life."

　　"But Kelly didn't amount to much," was the reply. "Good-night."

　　After all that had passed, suffering intolerable anguish in myfinger-ends, and with three boats missing, to say nothing of thewild capers the Ghost was cutting, I should have thought itimpossible to sleep. But my eyes must have closed the instant myhead touched the pillow, and in utter exhaustion I slept throughoutthe night, the while the Ghost, lonely and undirected, fought herway through the storm.