Chapter 26

by Jack London

　　Chapter XXVI

　　Wolf Larsen took the distribution of the whisky off my hands, andthe bottles began to make their appearance while I worked over thefresh batch of wounded men in the forecastle. I had seen whiskydrunk, such as whisky-and-soda by the men of the clubs, but neveras these men drank it, from pannikins and mugs, and from thebottles - great brimming drinks, each one of which was in itself adebauch. But they did not stop at one or two. They drank anddrank, and ever the bottles slipped forward and they drank more.

　　Everybody drank; the wounded drank; Oofty-Oofty, who helped me,drank. Only Louis refrained, no more than cautiously wetting hislips with the liquor, though he joined in the revels with anabandon equal to that of most of them. It was a saturnalia. Inloud voices they shouted over the day's fighting, wrangled aboutdetails, or waxed affectionate and made friends with the men whomthey had fought. Prisoners and captors hiccoughed on one another'sshoulders, and swore mighty oaths of respect and esteem. They weptover the miseries of the past and over the miseries yet to comeunder the iron rule of Wolf Larsen. And all cursed him and toldterrible tales of his brutality.

　　It was a strange and frightful spectacle - the small, bunk-linedspace, the floor and walls leaping and lurching, the dim light, theswaying shadows lengthening and fore-shortening monstrously, thethick air heavy with smoke and the smell of bodies and iodoform,and the inflamed faces of the men - half-men, I should call them.I noted Oofty-Oofty, holding the end of a bandage and looking uponthe scene, his velvety and luminous eyes glistening in the lightlike a deer's eyes, and yet I knew the barbaric devil that lurkedin his breast and belied all the softness and tenderness, almostwomanly, of his face and form. And I noticed the boyish face ofHarrison, - a good face once, but now a demon's, - convulsed withpassion as he told the newcomers of the hell-ship they were in andshrieked curses upon the head of Wolf Larsen.

　　Wolf Larsen it was, always Wolf Larsen, enslaver and tormentor ofmen, a male Circe and these his swine, suffering brutes thatgrovelled before him and revolted only in drunkenness and insecrecy. And was I, too, one of his swine? I thought. And MaudBrewster? No! I ground my teeth in my anger and determinationtill the man I was attending winced under my hand and Oofty-Ooftylooked at me with curiosity. I felt endowed with a suddenstrength. What of my new-found love, I was a giant. I fearednothing. I would work my will through it all, in spite of WolfLarsen and of my own thirty-five bookish years. All would be well.I would make it well. And so, exalted, upborne by a sense ofpower, I turned my back on the howling inferno and climbed to thedeck, where the fog drifted ghostly through the night and the airwas sweet and pure and quiet.

　　The steerage, where were two wounded hunters, was a repetition ofthe forecastle, except that Wolf Larsen was not being cursed; andit was with a great relief that I again emerged on deck and wentaft to the cabin. Supper was ready, and Wolf Larsen and Maud werewaiting for me.

　　While all his ship was getting drunk as fast as it could, heremained sober. Not a drop of liquor passed his lips. He did notdare it under the circumstances, for he had only Louis and me todepend upon, and Louis was even now at the wheel. We were sailingon through the fog without a look-out and without lights. ThatWolf Larsen had turned the liquor loose among his men surprised me,but he evidently knew their psychology and the best method ofcementing in cordiality, what had begun in bloodshed.

　　His victory over Death Larsen seemed to have had a remarkableeffect upon him. The previous evening he had reasoned himself intothe blues, and I had been waiting momentarily for one of hischaracteristic outbursts. Yet nothing had occurred, and he was nowin splendid trim. Possibly his success in capturing so manyhunters and boats had counteracted the customary reaction. At anyrate, the blues were gone, and the blue devils had not put in anappearance. So I thought at the time; but, ah me, little I knewhim or knew that even then, perhaps, he was meditating an outbreakmore terrible than any I had seen.

　　As I say, he discovered himself in splendid trim when I entered thecabin. He had had no headaches for weeks, his eyes were clear blueas the sky, his bronze was beautiful with perfect health; lifeswelled through his veins in full and magnificent flood. Whilewaiting for me he had engaged Maud in animated discussion.Temptation was the topic they had hit upon, and from the few wordsI heard I made out that he was contending that temptation wastemptation only when a man was seduced by it and fell.

　　"For look you," he was saying, "as I see it, a man does thingsbecause of desire. He has many desires. He may desire to escapepain, or to enjoy pleasure. But whatever he does, he does becausehe desires to do it."

　　"But suppose he desires to do two opposite things, neither of whichwill permit him to do the other?" Maud interrupted.

　　"The very thing I was coming to," he said.

　　"And between these two desires is just where the soul of the man ismanifest," she went on. "If it is a good soul, it will desire anddo the good action, and the contrary if it is a bad soul. It isthe soul that decides."

　　"Bosh and nonsense!" he exclaimed impatiently. "It is the desirethat decides. Here is a man who wants to, say, get drunk. Also,he doesn't want to get drunk. What does he do? How does he do it?He is a puppet. He is the creature of his desires, and of the twodesires he obeys the strongest one, that is all. His soul hasn'tanything to do with it. How can he be tempted to get drunk andrefuse to get drunk? If the desire to remain sober prevails, it isbecause it is the strongest desire. Temptation plays no part,unless - " he paused while grasping the new thought which had comeinto his mind - "unless he is tempted to remain sober.

　　"Ha! ha!" he laughed. "What do you think of that, Mr. Van Weyden?"

　　"That both of you are hair-splitting," I said. "The man's soul ishis desires. Or, if you will, the sum of his desires is his soul.Therein you are both wrong. You lay the stress upon the desireapart from the soul, Miss Brewster lays the stress on the soulapart from the desire, and in point of fact soul and desire are thesame thing.

　　"However," I continued, "Miss Brewster is right in contending thattemptation is temptation whether the man yield or overcome. Fireis fanned by the wind until it leaps up fiercely. So is desirelike fire. It is fanned, as by a wind, by sight of the thingdesired, or by a new and luring description or comprehension of thething desired. There lies the temptation. It is the wind thatfans the desire until it leaps up to mastery. That's temptation.It may not fan sufficiently to make the desire overmastering, butin so far as it fans at all, that far is it temptation. And, asyou say, it may tempt for good as well as for evil."

　　I felt proud of myself as we sat down to the table. My words hadbeen decisive. At least they had put an end to the discussion.

　　But Wolf Larsen seemed voluble, prone to speech as I had never seenhim before. It was as though he were bursting with pent energywhich must find an outlet somehow. Almost immediately he launchedinto a discussion on love. As usual, his was the sheermaterialistic side, and Maud's was the idealistic. For myself,beyond a word or so of suggestion or correction now and again, Itook no part.

　　He was brilliant, but so was Maud, and for some time I lost thethread of the conversation through studying her face as she talked.It was a face that rarely displayed colour, but to-night it wasflushed and vivacious. Her wit was playing keenly, and she wasenjoying the tilt as much as Wolf Larsen, and he was enjoying ithugely. For some reason, though I know not why in the argument, soutterly had I lost it in the contemplation of one stray brown lockof Maud's hair, he quoted from Iseult at Tintagel, where she says:

　　"Blessed am I beyond women even herein,

　　That beyond all born women is my sin,

　　And perfect my transgression."

　　As he had read pessimism into Omar, so now he read triumph,stinging triumph and exultation, into Swinburne's lines. And heread rightly, and he read well. He had hardly ceased reading whenLouis put his head into the companion-way and whispered down:

　　"Be easy, will ye? The fog's lifted, an' 'tis the port light iv asteamer that's crossin' our bow this blessed minute."

　　Wolf Larsen sprang on deck, and so swiftly that by the time wefollowed him he had pulled the steerage-slide over the drunkenclamour and was on his way forward to close the forecastle-scuttle.The fog, though it remained, had lifted high, where it obscured thestars and made the night quite black. Directly ahead of us I couldsee a bright red light and a white light, and I could hear thepulsing of a steamer's engines. Beyond a doubt it was theMacedonia.

　　Wolf Larsen had returned to the poop, and we stood in a silentgroup, watching the lights rapidly cross our bow.

　　"Lucky for me he doesn't carry a searchlight," Wolf Larsen said.

　　"What if I should cry out loudly?" I queried in a whisper.

　　"It would be all up," he answered. "But have you thought upon whatwould immediately happen?"

　　Before I had time to express any desire to know, he had me by thethroat with his gorilla grip, and by a faint quiver of the muscles- a hint, as it were - he suggested to me the twist that wouldsurely have broken my neck. The next moment he had released me andwe were gazing at the Macedonia's lights.

　　"What if I should cry out?" Maud asked.

　　"I like you too well to hurt you," he said softly - nay, there wasa tenderness and a caress in his voice that made me wince.

　　"But don't do it, just the same, for I'd promptly break Mr. VanWeyden's neck."

　　"Then she has my permission to cry out," I said defiantly.

　　"I hardly think you'll care to sacrifice the Dean of AmericanLetters the Second," he sneered.

　　We spoke no more, though we had become too used to one another forthe silence to be awkward; and when the red light and the white haddisappeared we returned to the cabin to finish the interruptedsupper.

　　Again they fell to quoting, and Maud gave Dowson's "ImpenitentiaUltima." She rendered it beautifully, but I watched not her, butWolf Larsen. I was fascinated by the fascinated look he bent uponMaud. He was quite out of himself, and I noticed the unconsciousmovement of his lips as he shaped word for word as fast as sheuttered them. He interrupted her when she gave the lines:

　　"And her eyes should be my light while the sun went out behind me,

　　And the viols in her voice be the last sound in my ear."

　　"There are viols in your voice," he said bluntly, and his eyesflashed their golden light.

　　I could have shouted with joy at her control. She finished theconcluding stanza without faltering and then slowly guided theconversation into less perilous channels. And all the while I satin a half-daze, the drunken riot of the steerage breaking throughthe bulkhead, the man I feared and the woman I loved talking on andon. The table was not cleared. The man who had taken Mugridge'splace had evidently joined his comrades in the forecastle.

　　If ever Wolf Larsen attained the summit of living, he attained itthen. From time to time I forsook my own thoughts to follow him,and I followed in amaze, mastered for the moment by his remarkableintellect, under the spell of his passion, for he was preaching thepassion of revolt. It was inevitable that Milton's Lucifer shouldbe instanced, and the keenness with which Wolf Larsen analysed anddepicted the character was a revelation of his stifled genius. Itreminded me of Taine, yet I knew the man had never heard of thatbrilliant though dangerous thinker.

　　"He led a lost cause, and he was not afraid of God's thunderbolts,"Wolf Larsen was saying. "Hurled into hell, he was unbeaten. Athird of God's angels he had led with him, and straightway heincited man to rebel against God, and gained for himself and hellthe major portion of all the generations of man. Why was he beatenout of heaven? Because he was less brave than God? less proud?less aspiring? No! A thousand times no! God was more powerful,as he said, Whom thunder hath made greater. But Lucifer was a freespirit. To serve was to suffocate. He preferred suffering infreedom to all the happiness of a comfortable servility. He didnot care to serve God. He cared to serve nothing. He was nofigure-head. He stood on his own legs. He was an individual."

　　"The first Anarchist," Maud laughed, rising and preparing towithdraw to her state-room.

　　"Then it is good to be an anarchist!" he cried. He, too, hadrisen, and he stood facing her, where she had paused at the door ofher room, as he went on:

　　"'Here at least

　　We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built

　　Here for his envy; will not drive us hence;

　　Here we may reign secure; and in my choice

　　To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:

　　Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven."

　　It was the defiant cry of a mighty spirit. The cabin still rangwith his voice, as he stood there, swaying, his bronzed faceshining, his head up and dominant, and his eyes, golden andmasculine, intensely masculine and insistently soft, flashing uponMaud at the door.

　　Again that unnamable and unmistakable terror was in her eyes, andshe said, almost in a whisper, "You are Lucifer."

　　The door closed and she was gone. He stood staring after her for aminute, then returned to himself and to me.

　　"I'll relieve Louis at the wheel," he said shortly, "and call uponyou to relieve at midnight. Better turn in now and get somesleep."

　　He pulled on a pair of mittens, put on his cap, and ascended thecompanion-stairs, while I followed his suggestion by going to bed.For some unknown reason, prompted mysteriously, I did not undress,but lay down fully clothed. For a time I listened to the clamourin the steerage and marvelled upon the love which had come to me;but my sleep on the Ghost had become most healthful and natural,and soon the songs and cries died away, my eyes closed, and myconsciousness sank down into the half-death of slumber.

　　I knew not what had aroused me, but I found myself out of my bunk,on my feet, wide awake, my soul vibrating to the warning of dangeras it might have thrilled to a trumpet call. I threw open thedoor. The cabin light was burning low. I saw Maud, my Maud,straining and struggling and crushed in the embrace of WolfLarsen's arms. I could see the vain beat and flutter of her as shestrove, pressing her face against his breast, to escape from him.All this I saw on the very instant of seeing and as I sprangforward.

　　I struck him with my fist, on the face, as he raised his head, butit was a puny blow. He roared in a ferocious, animal-like way, andgave me a shove with his hand. It was only a shove, a flirt of thewrist, yet so tremendous was his strength that I was hurledbackward as from a catapult. I struck the door of the state-roomwhich had formerly been Mugridge's, splintering and smashing thepanels with the impact of my body. I struggled to my feet, withdifficulty dragging myself clear of the wrecked door, unaware ofany hurt whatever. I was conscious only of an overmastering rage.I think I, too, cried aloud, as I drew the knife at my hip andsprang forward a second time.

　　But something had happened. They were reeling apart. I was closeupon him, my knife uplifted, but I withheld the blow. I waspuzzled by the strangeness of it. Maud was leaning against thewall, one hand out for support; but he was staggering, his lefthand pressed against his forehead and covering his eyes, and withthe right he was groping about him in a dazed sort of way. Itstruck against the wall, and his body seemed to express a muscularand physical relief at the contact, as though he had found hisbearings, his location in space as well as something against whichto lean.

　　Then I saw red again. All my wrongs and humiliations flashed uponme with a dazzling brightness, all that I had suffered and othershad suffered at his hands, all the enormity of the man's veryexistence. I sprang upon him, blindly, insanely, and drove theknife into his shoulder. I knew, then, that it was no more than aflesh wound, - I had felt the steel grate on his shoulder-blade, -and I raised the knife to strike at a more vital part.

　　But Maud had seen my first blow, and she cried, "Don't! Pleasedon't!"

　　I dropped my arm for a moment, and a moment only. Again the knifewas raised, and Wolf Larsen would have surely died had she notstepped between. Her arms were around me, her hair was brushing myface. My pulse rushed up in an unwonted manner, yet my ragemounted with it. She looked me bravely in the eyes.

　　"For my sake," she begged.

　　"I would kill him for your sake!" I cried, trying to free my armwithout hurting her.

　　"Hush!" she said, and laid her fingers lightly on my lips. I couldhave kissed them, had I dared, even then, in my rage, the touch ofthem was so sweet, so very sweet. "Please, please," she pleaded,and she disarmed me by the words, as I was to discover they wouldever disarm me.

　　I stepped back, separating from her, and replaced the knife in itssheath. I looked at Wolf Larsen. He still pressed his left handagainst his forehead. It covered his eyes. His head was bowed.He seemed to have grown limp. His body was sagging at the hips,his great shoulders were drooping and shrinking forward.

　　"Van, Weyden!" he called hoarsely, and with a note of fright in hisvoice. "Oh, Van Weyden! where are you?"

　　I looked at Maud. She did not speak, but nodded her head.

　　"Here I am," I answered, stepping to his side. "What is thematter?"

　　"Help me to a seat," he said, in the same hoarse, frightened voice.

　　"I am a sick man; a very sick man, Hump," he said, as he left mysustaining grip and sank into a chair.

　　His head dropped forward on the table and was buried in his hands.From time to time it rocked back and forward as with pain. Once,when he half raised it, I saw the sweat standing in heavy drops onhis forehead about the roots of his hair.

　　"I am a sick man, a very sick man," he repeated again, and yet onceagain.

　　"What is the matter?" I asked, resting my hand on his shoulder."What can I do for you?"

　　But he shook my hand off with an irritated movement, and for a longtime I stood by his side in silence. Maud was looking on, her faceawed and frightened. What had happened to him we could notimagine.

　　"Hump," he said at last, "I must get into my bunk. Lend me a hand.I'll be all right in a little while. It's those damn headaches, Ibelieve. I was afraid of them. I had a feeling - no, I don't knowwhat I'm talking about. Help me into my bunk."

　　But when I got him into his bunk he again buried his face in hishands, covering his eyes, and as I turned to go I could hear himmurmuring, "I am a sick man, a very sick man."

　　Maud looked at me inquiringly as I emerged. I shook my head,saying:

　　"Something has happened to him. What, I don't know. He ishelpless, and frightened, I imagine, for the first time in hislife. It must have occurred before he received the knife-thrust,which made only a superficial wound. You must have seen whathappened."

　　She shook her head. "I saw nothing. It is just as mysterious tome. He suddenly released me and staggered away. But what shall wedo? What shall I do?"

　　"If you will wait, please, until I come back," I answered.

　　I went on deck. Louis was at the wheel.

　　"You may go for'ard and turn in," I said, taking it from him.

　　He was quick to obey, and I found myself alone on the deck of theGhost. As quietly as was possible, I clewed up the topsails,lowered the flying jib and staysail, backed the jib over, andflattened the mainsail. Then I went below to Maud. I placed myfinger on my lips for silence, and entered Wolf Larsen's room. Hewas in the same position in which I had left him, and his head wasrocking - almost writhing - from side to side.

　　"Anything I can do for you?" I asked.

　　He made no reply at first, but on my repeating the question heanswered, "No, no; I'm all right. Leave me alone till morning."

　　But as I turned to go I noted that his head had resumed its rockingmotion. Maud was waiting patiently for me, and I took notice, witha thrill of joy, of the queenly poise of her head and her glorious,calm eyes. Calm and sure they were as her spirit itself.

　　"Will you trust yourself to me for a journey of six hundred milesor so?" I asked.

　　"You mean - ?" she asked, and I knew she had guessed aright.

　　"Yes, I mean just that," I replied. "There is nothing left for usbut the open boat."

　　"For me, you mean," she said. "You are certainly as safe here asyou have been."

　　"No, there is nothing left for us but the open boat," I iteratedstoutly. "Will you please dress as warmly as you can, at once, andmake into a bundle whatever you wish to bring with you."

　　"And make all haste," I added, as she turned toward her state-room.

　　The lazarette was directly beneath the cabin, and, opening thetrap-door in the floor and carrying a candle with me, I droppeddown and began overhauling the ship's stores. I selected mainlyfrom the canned goods, and by the time I was ready, willing handswere extended from above to receive what I passed up.

　　We worked in silence. I helped myself also to blankets, mittens,oilskins, caps, and such things, from the slop-chest. It was nolight adventure, this trusting ourselves in a small boat to so rawand stormy a sea, and it was imperative that we should guardourselves against the cold and wet.

　　We worked feverishly at carrying our plunder on deck and depositingit amidships, so feverishly that Maud, whose strength was hardly apositive quantity, had to give over, exhausted, and sit on thesteps at the break of the poop. This did not serve to recover her,and she lay on her back, on the hard deck, arms stretched out, andwhole body relaxed. It was a trick I remembered of my sister, andI knew she would soon be herself again. I knew, also, that weaponswould not come in amiss, and I re-entered Wolf Larsen's state-roomto get his rifle and shot-gun. I spoke to him, but he made noanswer, though his head was still rocking from side to side and hewas not asleep.

　　"Good-bye, Lucifer," I whispered to myself as I softly closed thedoor.

　　Next to obtain was a stock of ammunition, - an easy matter, thoughI had to enter the steerage companion-way to do it. Here thehunters stored the ammunition-boxes they carried in the boats, andhere, but a few feet from their noisy revels, I took possession oftwo boxes.

　　Next, to lower a boat. Not so simple a task for one man. Havingcast off the lashings, I hoisted first on the forward tackle, thenon the aft, till the boat cleared the rail, when I lowered away,one tackle and then the other, for a couple of feet, till it hungsnugly, above the water, against the schooner's side. I madecertain that it contained the proper equipment of oars, rowlocks,and sail. Water was a consideration, and I robbed every boataboard of its breaker. As there were nine boats all told, it meantthat we should have plenty of water, and ballast as well, thoughthere was the chance that the boat would be overloaded, what of thegenerous supply of other things I was taking.

　　While Maud was passing me the provisions and I was storing them inthe boat, a sailor came on deck from the forecastle. He stood bythe weather rail for a time (we were lowering over the lee rail),and then sauntered slowly amidships, where he again paused andstood facing the wind, with his back toward us. I could hear myheart beating as I crouched low in the boat. Maud had sunk downupon the deck and was, I knew, lying motionless, her body in theshadow of the bulwark. But the man never turned, and, afterstretching his arms above his head and yawning audibly, he retracedhis steps to the forecastle scuttle and disappeared.

　　A few minutes sufficed to finish the loading, and I lowered theboat into the water. As I helped Maud over the rail and felt herform close to mine, it was all I could do to keep from crying out,"I love you! I love you!" Truly Humphrey Van Weyden was at lastin love, I thought, as her fingers clung to mine while I loweredher down to the boat. I held on to the rail with one hand andsupported her weight with the other, and I was proud at the momentof the feat. It was a strength I had not possessed a few monthsbefore, on the day I said good-bye to Charley Furuseth and startedfor San Francisco on the ill-fated Martinez.

　　As the boat ascended on a sea, her feet touched and I released herhands. I cast off the tackles and leaped after her. I had neverrowed in my life, but I put out the oars and at the expense of mucheffort got the boat clear of the Ghost. Then I experimented withthe sail. I had seen the boat-steerers and hunters set theirspritsails many times, yet this was my first attempt. What tookthem possibly two minutes took me twenty, but in the end Isucceeded in setting and trimming it, and with the steering-oar inmy hands hauled on the wind.

　　"There lies Japan," I remarked, "straight before us."

　　"Humphrey Van Weyden," she said, "you are a brave man."

　　"Nay," I answered, "it is you who are a brave woman."

　　We turned our heads, swayed by a common impulse to see the last ofthe Ghost. Her low hull lifted and rolled to windward on a sea;her canvas loomed darkly in the night; her lashed wheel creaked asthe rudder kicked; then sight and sound of her faded away, and wewere alone on the dark sea.