Chapter 21

by Jack London

　　Chapter XXI

　　The chagrin Wolf Larsen felt from being ignored by Maud Brewsterand me in the conversation at table had to express itself in somefashion, and it fell to Thomas Mugridge to be the victim. He hadnot mended his ways nor his shirt, though the latter he contendedhe had changed. The garment itself did not bear out the assertion,nor did the accumulations of grease on stove and pot and pan attesta general cleanliness.

　　"I've given you warning, Cooky," Wolf Larsen said, "and now you'vegot to take your medicine."

　　Mugridge's face turned white under its sooty veneer, and when WolfLarsen called for a rope and a couple of men, the miserable Cockneyfled wildly out of the galley and dodged and ducked about the deckwith the grinning crew in pursuit. Few things could have been moreto their liking than to give him a tow over the side, for to theforecastle he had sent messes and concoctions of the vilest order.Conditions favoured the undertaking. The Ghost was slippingthrough the water at no more than three miles an hour, and the seawas fairly calm. But Mugridge had little stomach for a dip in it.Possibly he had seen men towed before. Besides, the water wasfrightfully cold, and his was anything but a rugged constitution.

　　As usual, the watches below and the hunters turned out for whatpromised sport. Mugridge seemed to be in rabid fear of the water,and he exhibited a nimbleness and speed we did not dream hepossessed. Cornered in the right-angle of the poop and galley, hesprang like a cat to the top of the cabin and ran aft. But hispursuers forestalling him, he doubled back across the cabin, passedover the galley, and gained the deck by means of the steerage-scuttle. Straight forward he raced, the boat-puller Harrison athis heels and gaining on him. But Mugridge, leaping suddenly,caught the jib-boom-lift. It happened in an instant. Holding hisweight by his arms, and in mid-air doubling his body at the hips,he let fly with both feet. The oncoming Harrison caught the kicksquarely in the pit of the stomach, groaned involuntarily, anddoubled up and sank backward to the deck.

　　Hand-clapping and roars of laughter from the hunters greeted theexploit, while Mugridge, eluding half of his pursuers at theforemast, ran aft and through the remainder like a runner on thefootball field. Straight aft he held, to the poop and along thepoop to the stern. So great was his speed that as he curved pastthe corner of the cabin he slipped and fell. Nilson was standingat the wheel, and the Cockney's hurtling body struck his legs.Both went down together, but Mugridge alone arose. By some freakof pressures, his frail body had snapped the strong man's leg likea pipe-stem.

　　Parsons took the wheel, and the pursuit continued. Round and roundthe decks they went, Mugridge sick with fear, the sailors hallooingand shouting directions to one another, and the hunters bellowingencouragement and laughter. Mugridge went down on the fore-hatchunder three men; but he emerged from the mass like an eel, bleedingat the mouth, the offending shirt ripped into tatters, and sprangfor the main-rigging. Up he went, clear up, beyond the ratlines,to the very masthead.

　　Half-a-dozen sailors swarmed to the crosstrees after him, wherethey clustered and waited while two of their number, Oofty-Ooftyand Black (who was Latimer's boat-steerer), continued up the thinsteel stays, lifting their bodies higher and higher by means oftheir arms.

　　It was a perilous undertaking, for, at a height of over a hundredfeet from the deck, holding on by their hands, they were not in thebest of positions to protect themselves from Mugridge's feet. AndMugridge kicked savagely, till the Kanaka, hanging on with onehand, seized the Cockney's foot with the other. Black duplicatedthe performance a moment later with the other foot. Then the threewrithed together in a swaying tangle, struggling, sliding, andfalling into the arms of their mates on the crosstrees.

　　The aerial battle was over, and Thomas Mugridge, whining andgibbering, his mouth flecked with bloody foam, was brought down todeck. Wolf Larsen rove a bowline in a piece of rope and slipped itunder his shoulders. Then he was carried aft and flung into thesea. Forty, - fifty, - sixty feet of line ran out, when WolfLarsen cried "Belay!" Oofty-Oofty took a turn on a bitt, the ropetautened, and the Ghost, lunging onward, jerked the cook to thesurface.

　　It was a pitiful spectacle. Though he could not drown, and wasnine-lived in addition, he was suffering all the agonies of half-drowning. The Ghost was going very slowly, and when her sternlifted on a wave and she slipped forward she pulled the wretch tothe surface and gave him a moment in which to breathe; but betweeneach lift the stern fell, and while the bow lazily climbed the nextwave the line slacked and he sank beneath.

　　I had forgotten the existence of Maud Brewster, and I rememberedher with a start as she stepped lightly beside me. It was herfirst time on deck since she had come aboard. A dead silencegreeted her appearance.

　　"What is the cause of the merriment?" she asked.

　　"Ask Captain Larsen," I answered composedly and coldly, thoughinwardly my blood was boiling at the thought that she should bewitness to such brutality.

　　She took my advice and was turning to put it into execution, whenher eyes lighted on Oofty-Oofty, immediately before her, his bodyinstinct with alertness and grace as he held the turn of the rope.

　　"Are you fishing?" she asked him.

　　He made no reply. His eyes, fixed intently on the sea astern,suddenly flashed.

　　"Shark ho, sir!" he cried.

　　"Heave in! Lively! All hands tail on!" Wolf Larsen shouted,springing himself to the rope in advance of the quickest.

　　Mugridge had heard the Kanaka's warning cry and was screamingmadly. I could see a black fin cutting the water and making forhim with greater swiftness than he was being pulled aboard. It wasan even toss whether the shark or we would get him, and it was amatter of moments. When Mugridge was directly beneath us, thestern descended the slope of a passing wave, thus giving theadvantage to the shark. The fin disappeared. The belly flashedwhite in swift upward rush. Almost equally swift, but not quite,was Wolf Larsen. He threw his strength into one tremendous jerk.The Cockney's body left the water; so did part of the shark's. Hedrew up his legs, and the man-eater seemed no more than barely totouch one foot, sinking back into the water with a splash. But atthe moment of contact Thomas Mugridge cried out. Then he came inlike a fresh-caught fish on a line, clearing the rail generouslyand striking the deck in a heap, on hands and knees, and rollingover.

　　But a fountain of blood was gushing forth. The right foot wasmissing, amputated neatly at the ankle. I looked instantly to MaudBrewster. Her face was white, her eyes dilated with horror. Shewas gazing, not at Thomas Mugridge, but at Wolf Larsen. And he wasaware of it, for he said, with one of his short laughs:

　　"Man-play, Miss Brewster. Somewhat rougher, I warrant, than whatyou have been used to, but still-man-play. The shark was not inthe reckoning. It - "

　　But at this juncture, Mugridge, who had lifted his head andascertained the extent of his loss, floundered over on the deck andburied his teeth in Wolf Larsen's leg. Wolf Larsen stooped,coolly, to the Cockney, and pressed with thumb and finger at therear of the jaws and below the ears. The jaws opened withreluctance, and Wolf Larsen stepped free.

　　"As I was saying," he went on, as though nothing unwonted hadhappened, "the shark was not in the reckoning. It was - ahem -shall we say Providence?"

　　She gave no sign that she had heard, though the expression of hereyes changed to one of inexpressible loathing as she started toturn away. She no more than started, for she swayed and tottered,and reached her hand weakly out to mine. I caught her in time tosave her from falling, and helped her to a seat on the cabin. Ithought she might faint outright, but she controlled herself.

　　"Will you get a tourniquet, Mr. Van Weyden," Wolf Larsen called tome.

　　I hesitated. Her lips moved, and though they formed no words, shecommanded me with her eyes, plainly as speech, to go to the help ofthe unfortunate man. "Please," she managed to whisper, and I couldbut obey.

　　By now I had developed such skill at surgery that Wolf Larsen, witha few words of advice, left me to my task with a couple of sailorsfor assistants. For his task he elected a vengeance on the shark.A heavy swivel-hook, baited with fat salt-pork, was droppedoverside; and by the time I had compressed the severed veins andarteries, the sailors were singing and heaving in the offendingmonster. I did not see it myself, but my assistants, first one andthen the other, deserted me for a few moments to run amidships andlook at what was going on. The shark, a sixteen-footer, washoisted up against the main-rigging. Its jaws were pried apart totheir greatest extension, and a stout stake, sharpened at bothends, was so inserted that when the pries were removed the spreadjaws were fixed upon it. This accomplished, the hook was cut out.The shark dropped back into the sea, helpless, yet with its fullstrength, doomed - to lingering starvation - a living death lessmeet for it than for the man who devised the punishment.