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WE WAITED ALL DAY FOR WOLF Larsen to come ashore. It was an
intolerable period of anxiety. Each moment one or the other of
us cast expectant glances toward the Ghost. But he did not come.
He did not even appear on deck.
'Perhaps it is his headache,' I said. 'I left him lying on
the poop. He may lie there all night. I think I'll go and see.'
Maud looked entreaty at me.
'It is all right,' I assured her. 'I shall take the revolvers.
You know, I collected every weapon on board.'
'But there are his arms, his hands, his terrible, terrible
hands,' she objected. And then she cried, 'Oh, Humphrey, I am
afraid of him. Don't go! Please don't go!'
She rested her hand appealingly on mine and sent my pulse fluttering.
My heart was surely in my eyes for a moment. The dear and lovely
woman! And she was so much the woman, clinging and appealing,
sunshine and dew to my manhood, rooting it deeper and sending
through it the sap of a new strength. I was for putting my arm
around her, as when in the midst of the seal-herd, but I considered
and refrained.
'I shall not take any risks,' I said. 'I'll merely peep over
the bow and see.' She pressed my hand earnestly and let me go.
But the space on deck where I had left him lying was vacant. He
had evidently gone below. That night we stood alternate watches,
one of us sleeping at a time; for there was no telling what Wolf
Larsen might do.
The next day we waited, and the next, and still he made no
sign.
'These headaches of his, these attacks-' Maude said, on the
afternoon of the fourth day. 'Perhaps he is ill, very ill. He
may be dead.'
'Or dying,' was her afterthought, when she had waited some
time for me to speak.
'Better so,' I answered.
'But think, Humphrey- a fellow creature in his last lonely
hour!'
'Perhaps,' I suggested.
'Yes, even perhaps,' she acknowledged. 'But we do not know.
It would be terrible if he were. I could never forgive myself.
We must do something.'
'Perhaps,' I suggested again.
I waited, smiling inwardly at the woman of her which compelled
a solicitude for Wolf Larsen, of all creatures. Where was her
solicitude for me? I thought- for me whom she had been afraid
to have merely peep aboard?
She was too subtle not to follow the trend of my silence. And
she was as direct as she was subtle.
'You must go aboard, Humphrey, and find out,' she said. 'And
if you want to laugh at me you have my consent and forgiveness.'
I arose obediently and went down the beach.
'Do be careful,' she called after me.
I waved by arm from the forecastle-head and dropped down to
the deck. Aft I walked to the cabin companion, where I contented
myself with hailing below. Wolf Larsen answered, and as he started
to ascend the stairs I cocked my revolver. I displayed it openly
during our conversation, but he took no notice of it. He appeared
the same, physically, as when last I saw him, but he was gloomy
and silent. In fact, the few words we spoke could hardly be called
a conversation. I did not inquire why he had not been ashore,
nor did he ask why I had not come aboard. His head was all right
again, he said; and so, without further parley, I left him.
Maud received my report with obvious relief, and the sight
of smoke which later rose in the galley put her in a more cheerful
mood. The next day, and the next, we saw the galley smoke rising,
and sometimes we caught glimpses of him on the poop. But that
was all. He made no attempt to come ashore. This we knew, for
we still maintained our night watches. We were waiting for him
to do something,- to show his hand, so to say,- and his inaction
puzzled and worried us.
A week of this passed by. We had no other interest than Wolf
Larsen, and his presence weighed us down with an apprehension
which prevented us from doing any of the little things we had
planned.
But at the end of the week the smoke ceased rising from the
galley, and he no longer showed himself on the poop. I could see
Maud's solicitude again growing, though she timidly- and even
proudly, I think- forbore a repetition of her request. After all,
what censure could be put upon her? Besides, I myself was aware
of hurt at thought of this man whom I had tried to kill dying
alone with his fellow creatures so near. He was right. The code
of my group was stronger than I. The fact that he had hands, feet,
and a body shaped somewhat like mine constituted a claim that
I could not ignore.
So I did not wait a second time for Maud to send me. I discovered
that we stood in need of condensed milk and marmalade, and announced
that I was going aboard. I could see that she wavered. She even
went so far as to murmur that they were non-essentials and that
my trip after them might be inexpedient. And, as she had followed
the trend of my silence, she now followed the trend of my speech;
and she knew that I was going aboard, not because of condensed
milk and marmalade, but because of her and of her anxiety, which
she knew she had failed to hide.
I took off my shoes when I gained the forecastle-head, and
went noiselessly aft in my stocking feet. Nor did I call this
time from the top of the companionway. Cautiously descending,
I found the cabin deserted. The door to his stateroom was closed.
At first I thought of knocking; then I remembered my ostensible
errand and resolved to carry it out. Carefully avoiding noise,
I lifted the trapdoor in the floor and set it to one side. The
slopchest, as well as the provisions, was stored in the lazaret,
and I took advantage of the opportunity to lay in a stock of underclothing.
As I emerged from the lazaret I heard sounds in Wolf Larsen's
stateroom. I crouched and listened. The doorknob rattled. Furtively,
instinctively, I slunk back behind the table, and drew and cocked
my revolver. The door swung open and he came forth. Never had
I seen so profound a despair as that which I saw on his face-
the face of Wolf Larsen the fighter, the strong man, the indomitable
one. For all the world like a woman wringing her hands, he raised
his clenched fists and groaned. One fist unclosed, and the open
palm swept across his eyes as though brushing away cobwebs.
'God! God!' he groaned; and the clenched fists were raised
again to the infinite despair with which his throat vibrated.
It was horrible. I was trembling all over, and I could feel
the shivers running up and down my spine and the sweat standing
out on my forehead. Surely there can be little in this world more
awful than the spectacle of a strong man in the moment when he
is utterly weak and broken.
But Wolf Larsen regained control of himself by an exertion
of his remarkable will. And it was exertion. His whole frame shook
with the struggle. He resembled a man on the verge of a fit. His
face strove to compose itself, writhing and twisting in the effort
till he broke down again. Once more the clenched fists went upward
and he groaned. He caught his breath once or twice and sobbed.
Then he was successful. I could have thought him the old Wolf
Larsen, and yet there was in his movements a vague suggestion
of weakness and indecision. He started for the companionway, and
stepped forward quite as I had been accustomed to see him do;
and yet again, in his very walk, there seemed that suggestion
of weakness and indecision.
I was now concerned with fear for myself. The open trap lay
directly in his path, and his discovery of it would lead instantly
to his discovery of me. I was angry with myself for being caught
in so cowardly a position, crouching on the floor. There was yet
time. I rose swiftly to my feet, and, I know, quite unconsciously
assumed a defiant attitude. He took no notice of me. Nor did he
notice the open trap. Before I could grasp the situation, or act,
he had walked right into the trap. One foot was descending into
the opening, while the other foot was just on the verge of beginning
the uplift. But when the descending foot missed the solid flooring
and felt vacancy beneath, it was the old Wolf Larsen and the tiger
muscles that made the falling body spring across the opening,
even as it fell, so that he struck on his chest and stomach, with
arms outstretched, on the floor of the opposite side. The next
instant he had drawn up his legs and rolled clear. But he rolled
into my marmalade and underclothes and against the trap-door.
The expression on his face was one of complete comprehension.
But before I could guess what he had comprehended, he had dropped
the trap-door into place, closing the lazaret. Then I understood.
He thought he had me inside. Also, he was blind- blind as a bat.
I watched him, breathing carefully so that he should not hear
me. He stepped quickly to his stateroom. I saw his hand miss the
doorknob by an inch, quickly fumble for it, and find it. This
was my chance. I tiptoed across the cabin and to the top of the
stairs. He came back, dragging a heavy sea-chest, which he deposited
on top of the trap. Not content with this, he fetched a second
chest and placed it on top of the first. Then he gathered up the
marmalade and underclothes and put them on the table. When he
started up the companionway, I retreated, silently rolling over
on top of the cabin.
He shoved the slide part away back and rested his arms on it,
his body still in the companionway. His attitude was of one looking
forward the length of the schooner, or staring, rather, for his
eyes were fixed and unblinking. I was only five feet away and
directly in what should have been his line of vision. It was uncanny.
I felt myself a ghost, in my invisibility. I waved my hand back
and forth, of course without effect; but when the moving shadow
fell across his face I saw at once that he was susceptible to
the impression. His face became more expectant and tense as he
tried to analyze and identify the impression. He knew that he
had responded to something from without, that his sensibility
had been touched by a changing something in his environment; but
what it was he could not discover. I ceased waving my hand, so
that the shadow remained stationary. He slowly moved his head
back and forth under it and turned from side to side, now in the
sunshine, now in the shade, feeling the shadow, as it were, testing
it by sensation.
I, too, was busy, trying to reason out how he was aware of
the existence of so intangible a thing as a shadow. If it were
his eyeballs only that were affected, or if his optic nerve were
not wholly destroyed, the explanation was simple. If otherwise,
then the only conclusion I could reach was that the sensitive
skin recognized the difference of temperature between shade and
sunshine. Or perhaps- and who could tell?- it was that fabled
sixth sense which conveyed to him the loom and feel of an object
close at hand.
Giving over his attempt to determine the shadow, he stepped
out on deck and started forward, walking with a swiftness and
confidence which surprised me. And still there was that hint of
the feebleness of the blind in his walk. I knew it now for what
it was.
To my amused chagrin, he discovered my shoes on the forecastle-head
and brought them back with him into the galley. I watched him
build the fire and set about cooking food for himself; then I
stole into the cabin for my marmalade and underclothes, slipped
back past the galley, and climbed down to the beach to deliver
my barefoot report.
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