Chapter 37

by Jack London

　　Chapter XXXVII

　　At once we moved aboard the Ghost, occupying our old state-roomsand cooking in the galley. The imprisonment of Wolf Larsen hadhappened most opportunely, for what must have been the Indiansummer of this high latitude was gone and drizzling stormy weatherhad set in. We were very comfortable, and the inadequate shears,with the foremast suspended from them, gave a business-like air tothe schooner and a promise of departure.

　　And now that we had Wolf Larsen in irons, how little did we needit! Like his first attack, his second had been accompanied byserious disablement. Maud made the discovery in the afternoonwhile trying to give him nourishment. He had shown signs ofconsciousness, and she had spoken to him, eliciting no response.He was lying on his left side at the time, and in evident pain.With a restless movement he rolled his head around, clearing hisleft ear from the pillow against which it had been pressed. Atonce he heard and answered her, and at once she came to me.

　　Pressing the pillow against his left ear, I asked him if he heardme, but he gave no sign. Removing the pillow and, repeating thequestion he answered promptly that he did.

　　"Do you know you are deaf in the right ear?" I asked.

　　"Yes," he answered in a low, strong voice, "and worse than that.My whole right side is affected. It seems asleep. I cannot movearm or leg."

　　"Feigning again?" I demanded angrily.

　　He shook his head, his stern mouth shaping the strangest, twistedsmile. It was indeed a twisted smile, for it was on the left sideonly, the facial muscles of the right side moving not at all.

　　"That was the last play of the Wolf," he said. "I am paralysed. Ishall never walk again. Oh, only on the other side," he added, asthough divining the suspicious glance I flung at his left leg, theknee of which had just then drawn up, and elevated the blankets.

　　"It's unfortunate," he continued. "I'd liked to have done for youfirst, Hump. And I thought I had that much left in me."

　　"But why?" I asked; partly in horror, partly out of curiosity.

　　Again his stern mouth framed the twisted smile, as he said:

　　"Oh, just to be alive, to be living and doing, to be the biggestbit of the ferment to the end, to eat you. But to die this way."

　　He shrugged his shoulders, or attempted to shrug them, rather, forthe left shoulder alone moved. Like the smile, the shrug wastwisted.

　　"But how can you account for it?" I asked. "Where is the seat ofyour trouble?"

　　"The brain," he said at once. "It was those cursed headachesbrought it on."

　　"Symptoms," I said.

　　He nodded his head. "There is no accounting for it. I was neversick in my life. Something's gone wrong with my brain. A cancer,a tumour, or something of that nature, - a thing that devours anddestroys. It's attacking my nerve-centres, eating them up, bit bybit, cell by cell - from the pain."

　　"The motor-centres, too," I suggested.

　　"So it would seem; and the curse of it is that I must lie here,conscious, mentally unimpaired, knowing that the lines are goingdown, breaking bit by bit communication with the world. I cannotsee, hearing and feeling are leaving me, at this rate I shall sooncease to speak; yet all the time I shall be here, alive, active,and powerless."

　　"When you say you are here, I'd suggest the likelihood of thesoul," I said.

　　"Bosh!" was his retort. "It simply means that in the attack on mybrain the higher psychical centres are untouched. I can remember,I can think and reason. When that goes, I go. I am not. Thesoul?"

　　He broke out in mocking laughter, then turned his left ear to thepillow as a sign that he wished no further conversation.

　　Maud and I went about our work oppressed by the fearful fate whichhad overtaken him, - how fearful we were yet fully to realize.There was the awfulness of retribution about it. Our thoughts weredeep and solemn, and we spoke to each other scarcely abovewhispers.

　　"You might remove the handcuffs," he said that night, as we stoodin consultation over him. "It's dead safe. I'm a paralytic now.The next thing to watch out for is bed sores."

　　He smiled his twisted smile, and Maud, her eyes wide with horror,was compelled to turn away her head.

　　"Do you know that your smile is crooked?" I asked him; for I knewthat she must attend him, and I wished to save her as much aspossible.

　　"Then I shall smile no more," he said calmly. "I thought somethingwas wrong. My right cheek has been numb all day. Yes, and I'vehad warnings of this for the last three days; by spells, my rightside seemed going to sleep, sometimes arm or hand, sometimes leg orfoot."

　　"So my smile is crooked?" he queried a short while after. "Well,consider henceforth that I smile internally, with my soul, if youplease, my soul. Consider that I am smiling now."

　　And for the space of several minutes he lay there, quiet, indulginghis grotesque fancy.

　　The man of him was not changed. It was the old, indomitable,terrible Wolf Larsen, imprisoned somewhere within that flesh whichhad once been so invincible and splendid. Now it bound him withinsentient fetters, walling his soul in darkness and silence,blocking it from the world which to him had been a riot of action.No more would he conjugate the verb "to do in every mood andtense." "To be" was all that remained to him - to be, as he haddefined death, without movement; to will, but not to execute; tothink and reason and in the spirit of him to be as alive as ever,but in the flesh to be dead, quite dead.

　　And yet, though I even removed the handcuffs, we could not adjustourselves to his condition. Our minds revolted. To us he was fullof potentiality. We knew not what to expect of him next, whatfearful thing, rising above the flesh, he might break out and do.Our experience warranted this state of mind, and we went about ourwork with anxiety always upon us.

　　I had solved the problem which had arisen through the shortness ofthe shears. By means of the watch-tackle (I had made a new one), Iheaved the butt of the foremast across the rail and then lowered itto the deck. Next, by means of the shears, I hoisted the main boomon board. Its forty feet of length would supply the heightnecessary properly to swing the mast. By means of a secondarytackle I had attached to the shears, I swung the boom to a nearlyperpendicular position, then lowered the butt to the deck, where,to prevent slipping, I spiked great cleats around it. The singleblock of my original shears-tackle I had attached to the end of theboom. Thus, by carrying this tackle to the windlass, I could raiseand lower the end of the boom at will, the butt always remainingstationary, and, by means of guys, I could swing the boom from sideto side. To the end of the boom I had likewise rigged a hoistingtackle; and when the whole arrangement was completed I could notbut be startled by the power and latitude it gave me.

　　Of course, two days' work was required for the accomplishment ofthis part of my task, and it was not till the morning of the thirdday that I swung the foremast from the deck and proceeded to squareits butt to fit the step. Here I was especially awkward. I sawedand chopped and chiselled the weathered wood till it had theappearance of having been gnawed by some gigantic mouse. But itfitted.

　　"It will work, I know it will work," I cried.

　　"Do you know Dr. Jordan's final test of truth?" Maud asked.

　　I shook my head and paused in the act of dislodging the shavingswhich had drifted down my neck.

　　"Can we make it work? Can we trust our lives to it? is the test."

　　"He is a favourite of yours," I said.

　　"When I dismantled my old Pantheon and cast out Napoleon and Caesarand their fellows, I straightway erected a new Pantheon," sheanswered gravely, "and the first I installed as Dr. Jordan."

　　"A modern hero."

　　"And a greater because modern," she added. "How can the Old Worldheroes compare with ours?"

　　I shook my head. We were too much alike in many things forargument. Our points of view and outlook on life at least werevery alike.

　　"For a pair of critics we agree famously," I laughed.

　　"And as shipwright and able assistant," she laughed back.

　　But there was little time for laughter in those days, what of ourheavy work and of the awfulness of Wolf Larsen's living death.

　　He had received another stroke. He had lost his voice, or he waslosing it. He had only intermittent use of it. As he phrased it,the wires were like the stock market, now up, now down.Occasionally the wires were up and he spoke as well as ever, thoughslowly and heavily. Then speech would suddenly desert him, in themiddle of a sentence perhaps, and for hours, sometimes, we wouldwait for the connection to be re-established. He complained ofgreat pain in his head, and it was during this period that hearranged a system of communication against the time when speechshould leave him altogether - one pressure of the hand for "yes,"two for "no." It was well that it was arranged, for by evening hisvoice had gone from him. By hand pressures, after that, heanswered our questions, and when he wished to speak he scrawled histhoughts with his left hand, quite legibly, on a sheet of paper.

　　The fierce winter had now descended upon us. Gale followed gale,with snow and sleet and rain. The seals had started on their greatsouthern migration, and the rookery was practically deserted. Iworked feverishly. In spite of the bad weather, and of the windwhich especially hindered me, I was on deck from daylight till darkand making substantial progress.

　　I profited by my lesson learned through raising the shears and thenclimbing them to attach the guys. To the top of the foremast,which was just lifted conveniently from the deck, I attached therigging, stays and throat and peak halyards. As usual, I hadunderrated the amount of work involved in this portion of the task,and two long days were necessary to complete it. And there was somuch yet to be done - the sails, for instance, which practicallyhad to be made over.

　　While I toiled at rigging the foremast, Maud sewed on canvas, readyalways to drop everything and come to my assistance when more handsthan two were required. The canvas was heavy and hard, and shesewed with the regular sailor's palm and three-cornered sail-needle. Her hands were soon sadly blistered, but she struggledbravely on, and in addition doing the cooking and taking care ofthe sick man.

　　"A fig for superstition," I said on Friday morning. "That mastgoes in to-day.'

　　Everything was ready for the attempt. Carrying the boom-tackle tothe windlass, I hoisted the mast nearly clear of the deck. Makingthis tackle fast, I took to the windlass the shears-tackle (whichwas connected with the end of the boom), and with a few turns hadthe mast perpendicular and clear.

　　Maud clapped her hands the instant she was relieved from holdingthe turn, crying:

　　"It works! It works! We'll trust our lives to it!"

　　Then she assumed a rueful expression.

　　"It's not over the hole," she add. "Will you have to begin allover?"

　　I smiled in superior fashion, and, slacking off on one of the boom-guys and taking in on the other, swung the mast perfectly in thecentre of the deck. Still it was not over the hole. Again therueful expression came on her face, and again I smiled in asuperior way. Slacking away on the boom-tackle and hoisting anequivalent amount on the shears-tackle, I brought the butt of themast into position directly over the hole in the deck. Then I gaveMaud careful instructions for lowering away and went into the holdto the step on the schooner's bottom.

　　I called to her, and the mast moved easily and accurately.Straight toward the square hole of the step the square buttdescended; but as it descended it slowly twisted so that squarewould not fit into square. But I had not even a moment'sindecision. Calling to Maud to cease lowering, I went on deck andmade the watch-tackle fast to the mast with a rolling hitch. Ileft Maud to pull on it while I went below. By the light of thelantern I saw the butt twist slowly around till its sides coincidedwith the sides of the step. Maud made fast and returned to thewindlass. Slowly the butt descended the several interveninginches, at the same time slightly twisting again. Again Maudrectified the twist with the watch-tackle, and again she loweredaway from the windlass. Square fitted into square. The mast wasstepped.

　　I raised a shout, and she ran down to see. In the yellow lanternlight we peered at what we had accomplished. We looked at eachother, and our hands felt their way and clasped. The eyes of bothof us, I think, were moist with the joy of success.

　　"It was done so easily after all," I remarked. "All the work wasin the preparation."

　　"And all the wonder in the completion," Maud added. "I canscarcely bring myself to realize that that great mast is really upand in; that you have lifted it from the water, swung it throughthe air, and deposited it here where it belongs. It is a Titan'stask."

　　"And they made themselves many inventions," I began merrily, thenpaused to sniff the air.

　　I looked hastily at the lantern. It was not smoking. Again Isniffed.

　　"Something is burning," Maud said, with sudden conviction.

　　We sprang together for the ladder, but I raced past her to thedeck. A dense volume of smoke was pouring out of the steeragecompanion-way.

　　"The Wolf is not yet dead," I muttered to myself as I sprang downthrough the smoke.

　　It was so thick in the confined space that I was compelled to feelmy way; and so potent was the spell of Wolf Larsen on myimagination, I was quite prepared for the helpless giant to grip myneck in a strangle hold. I hesitated, the desire to race back andup the steps to the deck almost overpowering me. Then Irecollected Maud. The vision of her, as I had last seen her, inthe lantern light of the schooner's hold, her brown eyes warm andmoist with joy, flashed before me, and I knew that I could not goback.

　　I was choking and suffocating by the time I reached Wolf Larsen'sbunk. I reached my hand and felt for his. He was lyingmotionless, but moved slightly at the touch of my hand. I feltover and under his blankets. There was no warmth, no sign of fire.Yet that smoke which blinded me and made me cough and gasp musthave a source. I lost my head temporarily and dashed franticallyabout the steerage. A collision with the table partially knockedthe wind from my body and brought me to myself. I reasoned that ahelpless man could start a fire only near to where he lay.

　　I returned to Wolf Larsen's bunk. There I encountered Maud. Howlong she had been there in that suffocating atmosphere I could notguess.

　　"Go up on deck!" I commanded peremptorily.

　　"But, Humphrey - " she began to protest in a queer, husky voice.

　　"Please! please!" I shouted at her harshly.

　　She drew away obediently, and then I thought, What if she cannotfind the steps? I started after her, to stop at the foot of thecompanion-way. Perhaps she had gone up. As I stood there,hesitant, I heard her cry softly:

　　"Oh, Humphrey, I am lost."

　　I found her fumbling at the wall of the after bulkhead, and, halfleading her, half carrying her, I took her up the companion-way.The pure air was like nectar. Maud was only faint and dizzy, and Ileft her lying on the deck when I took my second plunge below.

　　The source of the smoke must be very close to Wolf Larsen - my mindwas made up to this, and I went straight to his bunk. As I feltabout among his blankets, something hot fell on the back of myhand. It burned me, and I jerked my hand away. Then I understood.Through the cracks in the bottom of the upper bunk he had set fireto the mattress. He still retained sufficient use of his left armto do this. The damp straw of the mattress, fired from beneath anddenied air, had been smouldering all the while.

　　As I dragged the mattress out of the bunk it seemed to disintegratein mid-air, at the same time bursting into flames. I beat out theburning remnants of straw in the bunk, then made a dash for thedeck for fresh air.

　　Several buckets of water sufficed to put out the burning mattressin the middle of the steerage floor; and ten minutes later, whenthe smoke had fairly cleared, I allowed Maud to come below. WolfLarsen was unconscious, but it was a matter of minutes for thefresh air to restore him. We were working over him, however, whenhe signed for paper and pencil.

　　"Pray do not interrupt me," he wrote. "I am smiling."

　　"I am still a bit of the ferment, you see," he wrote a littlelater.

　　"I am glad you are as small a bit as you are," I said.

　　"Thank you," he wrote. "But just think of how much smaller I shallbe before I die."

　　"And yet I am all here, Hump," he wrote with a final flourish. "Ican think more clearly than ever in my life before. Nothing todisturb me. Concentration is perfect. I am all here and more thanhere."

　　It was like a message from the night of the grave; for this man'sbody had become his mausoleum. And there, in so strange sepulchre,his spirit fluttered and lived. It would flutter and live till thelast line of communication was broken, and after that who was tosay how much longer it might continue to flutter and live?