|
FOR TWO DAYS MAUD AND I ranged the sea and explored the beaches
in search of the missing masts. But it was not till the third
day that we found them, all of them, the shears included, and,
of all perilous places, in the pounding surf of the grim southwestern
promontory. And how we worked! At the dark end of the first day
we returned, exhausted, to our little cove, towing the mainmast
behind us. And we had been compelled to row, in a dead calm, virtually
every inch of the way.
Another day of heartbreaking and dangerous toil saw us in camp
with the two topmasts to the good. The day following I was desperate,
and I rafted together the foremast, the fore- and main-booms,
and the fore- and main-gaffs. The wind was favorable, and I had
thought to tow them back under sail; but the wind baffled, then
died away, and our progress with the oars was a snail's pace.
And it was such dispiriting effort! To throw one's whole strength
and weight on the oars, and to feel the boat checked in its forward
lunge by the heavy drag behind, was not exactly exhilarating.
Night began to fall, and, to make matters worse, the wind sprang
up ahead. Not only did all forward motion cease, but we began
to drift back and out to sea. I struggled at the oars till I was
played out. Poor Maud, whom I could never prevent from working
to the limit of her strength, lay weakly back in the sternsheets.
I could row no more. My bruised and swollen hands could no longer
close on the oar-handles. My wrists and arms ached intolerably,
and, though I had eaten heartily of a twelve-o'clock lunch, I
had worked so hard that I was faint from hunger.
I pulled in the oars and bent forward to the line which held
the tow. But Maud's hand leapt out restrainingly to mine.
'What are you going to do?' she asked in a strained, tense
voice.
'Cast it off,' I answered, slipping a turn of the rope.
But her fingers closed on mine.
'Please don't!' she begged.
'It is useless,' I answered. 'Here is night and the wind blowing
us off the land.'
'But think, Humphrey. If we cannot sail away on the Ghost we
may remain for years on the island- for life, even. If it has
never been discovered all these years, it may never be discovered.'
'You forget the boat we found on the beach,' I reminded her.
'It was a seal-hunting boat,' she replied. 'And you know perfectly
well that if the men had escaped they would have been back to
make their fortunes from the rookery. You know they never escaped.'
I remained silent, undecided.
'Besides,' she added haltingly, 'it's your idea, and I want
to you succeed.'
Now I could harden my heart. As soon as she put it on a flattering
personal basis, generosity compelled me to deny her.
'Better years on the island than to die tonight or tomorrow
or the next day in the open boat. We are not prepared to brave
the sea. We have no food, no water, no blankets, nothing. Why,
you'd not survive the night without blankets. I know how strong
you are. You are shivering now.'
'It is only nervousness,' she answered. 'I am afraid you will
cast off the masts in spite of me. Oh, please, please, Humphrey,
don't!' she burst out.
And so it ended, with the phrase she knew had all power over
me. We shivered miserably throughout the night. Now and I again
I slept fitfully, but the pain of the cold always aroused me.
How Maud could stand it was beyond me. I was too tired to thrash
my arms about and warm myself, but I found strength time and again
to chafe her hands and feet to restore the circulation. And still
she pleaded with me not to cast off the masts. About three in
the morning she was caught by a cold cramp, and after I had rubbed
her out of that she became quite numb. I was frightened. I got
out the oars and made her row, though she was so weak I thought
she would faint at every stroke.
Morning broke, and we looked long in the growing light for
our island. At last it showed, small and black, on the horizon,
fully fifteen miles away. I scanned the sea with my glasses. Far
away in the southwest I could see a dark line on the water, which
grew even as I looked at it.
'Fair wind!' I cried in a husky voice I did not recognize as
my own.
Maud tried to reply, but could not speak. Her lips were blue
with cold, and she was hollow-eyed; but oh, how bravely her brown
eyes looked at me- how piteously brave!
Again I fell to chafing her hands, and to moving her arms up
and down and about until she could thrash them herself. Then I
compelled her to stand up; and though she would have fallen had
I not supported her, I forced her to walk back and forth the several
steps between the thwart and the stern-sheets, and finally to
spring up and down.
'Oh, you brave, brave woman!' I said, when I saw the life coming
back into her face. 'Did you know that you were brave?'
'I never used to be,' she answered. 'I was never brave till
I knew you. It is you who have made me brave.'
'Nor I until I knew you,' I answered.
She gave me a quick look, and again I caught that dancing,
tremulous light and something more in her eyes. But it was only
for the moment. Then she smiled.
'It must have been the conditions,' she said; but I knew she
was wrong, and I wondered if she likewise knew.
Then the wind came, fair and fresh, and the boat was soon laboring
through a heavy sea toward the island. At half-past three in the
afternoon we passed the southwestern promontory. Not only were
we hungry, but we were now suffering from thirst. Our lips were
dry and cracked, nor could we longer moisten them with our tongues.
Then the wind slowly died down. By night it was dead calm, and
I was toiling once more at the oars, but weakly, most weakly.
At two in the morning the boat's bow touched the beach of our
own inner cove, and I staggered out to make the painter fast.
Maud could not stand, nor had I strength to carry her. I fell
in the sand with her, and, when I had recovered, contented myself
with putting my hands under her shoulders and dragging her up
the beach to the but.
The next day we did no work. In fact, we slept till three in
the afternoon- or at least I did, for I awoke to find Maud cooking
dinner. Her power of recuperation was wonderful. There was something
tenacious about that lily-frail body of hers, a clutch on existence
which one could not reconcile with its patent weakness.
'You know I was traveling to Japan for my health,' she said,
as we lingered at the fire after dinner and delighted in the movelessness
of loafing. 'I was not very strong. I never was. The doctors recommended
a sea voyage, and I chose the longest.'
'You little knew what you were choosing,' I laughed.
'But I shall be a different woman for the experience, as well
as a stronger woman,' she answered, 'and, I hope, a better woman.
At least I shall understand a great deal more of life.'
Then, as the short day waned, we fell to discussing Wolf Larsen's
blindness. It was inexplicable, and I instanced his statement
that he intended to stay and die on Endeavor Island. There had
been his terrific headaches, and we were agreed that it was some
sort of brain breakdown, and that in his attacks he endured path
beyond our comprehension.
I noticed, as we talked over his condition, that Maud's sympathy
went out to him more and more; yet I could not but love her for
it, so sweetly womanly was it. Besides, there was no false sentiment
about her feeling. She was agreed that the most rigorous treatment
was necessary if we were to escape, though she recoiled at the
suggestion that I might sometime be compelled to take his life
to save my own- 'our own,' she put it.
In the morning we had breakfast and were at work by daylight.
I found a light kedge-anchor in the forehold, where such things
were kept, and with a deal of exertion got it on deck and into
the boat. With a long running-line coiled down in the stern, I
rowed well out into our little cove and dropped the anchor into
the water. There was no wind, the tide was high, and the schooner
floated. Casting off the shorelines, I kedged her out by main
strength (the windlass being broken), till she rode nearly up
and down to the small anchor- too small to hold her in any breeze.
So I lowered the big starboard anchor, giving plenty of slack;
and by afternoon I was at work on the windlass.
Three days I worked on that windlass. Least of all things was
I a mechanic, and in that time I accomplished what an ordinary
machinist would have done in as many hours. I had to learn my
tools, to begin with, and every simple mechanical principle which
such a man would have at his finger-ends I had likewise to learn.
And at the end of three days I had a windlass which worked clumsily.
It never gave the satisfaction the old windlass had given, but
it worked and made my work possible.
In half a day I got the two topmasts aboard and the shears
rigged and guyed as before. And that night I slept on board, and
on deck beside my work. Maud, who refused to stay alone ashore,
slept in the forecastle. Wolf Larsen had sat about, listening
to my repairing the windlass, and talking with Maud and me upon
indifferent subjects. No reference was made on either side to
the destruction of the shears, nor did he say anything further
about my leaving his ship alone. But still I feared him, blind
and helpless and listening, always listening, and I never let
his strong arms get within reach of me while I worked.
On this night, sleeping under my beloved shears, I was aroused
by his footsteps on the deck. It was a starlight night, and I
could see the bulk of him dimly as he moved about. I rolled out
of my blankets and crept noiselessly after him in my stocking-feet.
He had armed himself with a draw-knife from the tool-locker, and
with this he prepared to cut across the throat-halyards I had
again rigged to the shears. He felt the halyards with his hands,
and discovered that I had not made them fast. This would not do
for a draw-knife, so he laid hold of the running part, hove taut,
and made fast. Then he prepared to saw across with the draw-knife.
'I wouldn't if I were you,' I said quietly.
He heard the click of my pistol and laughed.
'Hello, Hump,' he said. 'I knew you were here all the time.
You can't fool my ears.'
'That's a lie, Wolf Larsen,' I said, just as quietly as before.
'However, I am aching for a chance to kill you, so go ahead and
cut.'
'You have the chance always,' he sneered.
'Go ahead and cut,' I threatened ominously.
'I'd rather disappoint you,' he laughed, and turned on his
heel and went aft.
'Something must be done, Humphrey,' Maud said next morning,
when I had told her of the night's occurrence. 'If he has liberty,
he may do anything. He may sink the vessel, or set fire to it.
There is no telling what he may do. We must make him a prisoner.'
'But how?' I asked, with a helpless shrug. 'I dare not come
within reach of his arms, and he knows that so long as his resistance
is passive I cannot shoot him.'
'There must be some way,' she contended. 'Let me think.'
'There is one way,' I said grimly.
She waited.
I picked up a seal-club.
'It won't kill him,' I said. 'And before he could recover I'd
have him bound hard and fast.
She shook her head with a shudder. 'No, not that. There must
be some less brutal way. Let us wait.'
But we did not have to wait long, and the problem solved itself.
In the morning, after several trials, I found the point of balance
in the foremast and attached my hoisting tackle a few feet above
it. Maud held the turn on the windlass and coiled down while I
heaved. Had the windlass been in order it would not have been
so difficult; as it was, I was compelled to apply all my weight
and strength to every inch of the heaving. I had to rest frequently.
Maud even contrived, at times when all my effort could not budge
the windlass, to hold the turn with one hand and with the other
to throw the weight of her slim body to my assistance.
At the end of an hour the single and double blocks came together
at the top of the shears. I could hoist no more. And yet the mast
was not swung entirely inboard. The butt rested against the outside
of the port rail, while the top of the mast overhung the water
far beyond the starboard rail. My shears were too short. All my
work had been for nothing. But I no longer despaired in the old
way. I was acquiring more confidence in myself and more confidence
in the possibilities of windlasses, shears, and hoisting-tackles.
There was a way in which it could be done, and it remained for
me to find that way.
While I was considering the problem Wolf Larsen came on deck.
We noticed something strange about him at once. The indecisiveness
or feebleness of his movements was more pronounced. His walk was
actually tottery as he came down the port side of the cabin. At
the break of the poop he reeled, raised one hand to his eyes with
the familiar brushing gesture, and fell down the steps, still
on his feet, to the main-deck, across which he staggered, falling
and flinging his arms out for support. He regained his balance
by the steerage companionway, and stood there dizzily for a space,
when he suddenly crumpled up and collapsed, his legs bending under
him as he sank to the deck.
'One of his attacks,' I whispered to Maud.
She nodded her head, and I could see sympathy warm in her eyes.
We went up to him, but he seemed unconscious, breathing heavily
and spasmodically. Maud took charge of him, lifting his head to
keep the blood out of it, and dispatching me to the cabin for
a pillow. I also brought blankets, and we made him comfortable.
I took his pulse. It beat steadily and strong, was quite normal.
This puzzled me; I became suspicious.
'What if he should be feigning this?' I asked, still holding
his wrist.
Maud shook her head, and there was reproof in her eyes. But
just then the wrist I held leapt from my hand, and the hand clasped
like a steel trap about my own wrist. I cried aloud in awful fear,
a wild, inarticulate cry; and I caught one glimpse of his face,
malignant and triumphant, as his other hand compassed my body
and I was drawn down to him in a terrible grip.
My wrist was released, but his other arm, passed around my
back, held both my arms so that I could not move. His free hand
went to my throat, and in that moment I knew the bitter foretaste
of death earned by one's own idiocy. Why had I trusted myself
within reach of those terrible arms? I could feel other hands
at my throat. They were Maud's hands, striving vainly to tear
loose the hand that was throttling me. She gave it up, and I heard
her scream in a way that cut me to the soul; for it was the woman's
scream of fear and heartbreaking despair. I had heard it before,
during the sinking of the Martinez.
My face was against his chest, and I could not see, but I heard
Maud turn and run swiftly along the deck. Everything was happening
quickly. I had not yet had a glimmering of unconsciousness, and
it seemed that an interminable period of time was lapsing before
I heard her feet flying back. And just then I felt the whole man
sink under me. The breath was leaving his lungs, and his chest
was collapsing under my weight. Whether it was merely the expelled
breath, or consciousness of his growing impotence, I know not,
but his throat vibrated with a deep groan. The hand at my throat
relaxed. I breathed. His hand fluttered and tightened again. But
even his tremendous will could not overcome the dissolution that
assailed it. That will of his was breaking down. He was fainting.
Maud's footsteps were very near as his hand fluttered for the
last time and my throat was released. I rolled off and over to
the deck on my back, gasping and blinking in the sunshine. Maud
was pale but composed,- my eyes had gone instantly to her face,-
and she was looking at me with mingled alarm and relief. A heavy
seal-club in her hand caught my eyes, and at that moment she followed
my gaze down to it. The club dropped from her hand as if it had
suddenly stung her, and at the same moment my heart surged with
a great joy. Truly she was my woman- my mate- woman, fighting
for me as the mate of a caveman would have fought, all the primitive
in her aroused, forgetful of her culture, hard under the softening
civilization of the only life she had ever known.
'Dear woman!' I cried, scrambling to my feet.
The next moment she was in my arms, weeping convulsively on
my shoulder while I clasped her close. I looked down at the brown
glory of her hair, glinting gems in the sunshine far more precious
to me than those in the treasure-chests of kings. And I bent my
head and kissed her hair softly, so softly that she did not know.
Then sober thought came to me. After all, she was only a woman,
crying her relief, now that the danger was past, in the arms of
her protector or of the one who had been endangered. Had I been
father or brother, the situation would have been nowise different.
Besides, time and place were not meet, and I wished to earn a
better right to declare my love. So once again I softly kissed
her hair as I felt her receding from my clasp.
'It is a real attack this time,' I said; 'another shock like
the one that made him blind. He feigned at first, and in doing
so brought it on.' Maud was already rearranging his pillow.
'No,' I said; 'not yet. Now that I have him helpless, helpless
he shall remain. From this day we live in the cabin. Wolf Larsen
shall live in the steerage.'
I caught him under the shoulders and dragged him to the companionway.
At my direction Maud fetched a rope. Placing this under his shoulders,
I balanced him across the threshold and lowered him down the steps
to the floor. I could not lift him directly into a bunk, but with
Maud's help I lifted first his shoulders and head, then his body,
balanced him across the edge, and rolled him into a lower bunk.
But this was not to be all. I recollected the handcuffs in
his stateroom, which he preferred to use on sailors instead of
the ancient and clumsy ship-irons. So, when we left him, he lay
handcuffed hand and foot. For the first time in many days I breathed
freely. I felt strangely light as I came on deck, as though a
weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt, also, that Maud
and I had drawn more closely together; and I wondered if she,
too, felt it as we walked along the deck side by side to where
the stalled foremast hung in the shears.
|
