Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 93, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 April 1916 — The SEA WOLF [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The SEA WOLF

by JACK LONDON

f\ N THIS TALEN I JACK LON-A 1 DON’S SEA EX-/ PERIENCE IS SjgED WITH ALL 1 -feHS-VIRILE^EEN-

BYNOP3IB. — lo— - Humphrey Van Weyden, critic and dilettante, la thrown Into the water by the finking of a ferryboat In a tog In San Francisco bay, and becomes unconscious before help reaches him. On coming to his senses he finds hlmßelf aboard the sealing schooner Ghost, Captain Wolf Larsen, bound to Japan waters, witnesses the death of the first mate and hears the captain curse the dead man for presuming to die. The captain' refuses to put Humphrey ashore and makes him cabin boy “’for the good of his soul.” He begins to learn potato peeling and dish washing under the cockney cook, Mugrldge, Is caught by a heavy sea shipped over the quarter as he Is carrying tea aft and his knee is seriously Ifurt. but no one pays any attention to his injury. Hump’s quarters are changed aft. Mugrldge steals his money and chases him when accused of It. Later he listens to Wolf give his Idea of life—"like yeast, a ferment . . . the big eat the little . . Cooky is jealous of Hump and hazes him. Wolf hazes a seaman and makes it the basis for another philosophic discussion with Hump. Wolf entertains Mugrldge In his cabin, wins from him at cards the money he stole from Hump, and then tells Hump It is his, Wolf's, by right of might. Cooky and Hump whet knives at each other. Hump's Intimacy with Wolf Increases, and Wolf sketches the story of his life to Hump. Wolf discusses the Bible, and Omar with Hump and illustrates the Instinctive love of life by choking Hump nearly to death. A carnival of brutality breaks loose In the ship and Wolf proves himself the master brute. Wolf Is knocked overboard at night, comes -back aboard by the logtine and wins clear In a fight in the forecastle.

CHAPTER XIII. There was a deal of cursing and groaning as the men at the bottom of the ladder crawled to their feet. “Somebody strike a light, my thumb’s out of Joint," said one of the men, Parsons, a swarthy, saturnine man, boat steerer In Standish’s boat, In which Harrison was puller. "You’ll find It knockin’ about by the bitts,’’ Leach said, sitting down on the edge of-the bunk in which I was concealed. There was a fumbling and a scratching of matches, and the sea-lamp flared up, dim and smoky, and In its weird light bare-legged men moved about, nursing their bruises and caring for their hurts. "How did he get away?” Johnson asked. He was sitting on the side of his bunk, the whole pose of his figure indicating utter dejection and hopelessness. He was still breathing heavily from the exertion he had made. His shirt had been ripped entirely from him in the struggle, an<j blood from a gash in the cheek was flowing down his naked chest, marking a red path across his white thigh and dripping to the floor. "Because he is a devil, as I told you before,” was Leach*B answer; and thereat he was on his feet and raging his disappointment with tears in his eyes. All the while I had been apprehensive concerning my own predicament. What would happen to me when these men discovered my presence? I could never fight my way out as Wolf Larsen had done. And at this moment Latimer called down the scuttles:

“Hump! The old man wants you!” called back. “Yes he is,” I said, sliding out of the bunk and striving my hardest to keep my voice steady and bold. The sailors looked at me in conster“He ain’t down here!” Parsons nation. Fear was strong in their faces, and the devllishness which comes of fear. “I’m coming!” I shouted up to Latimer. “No you don’t!” Kelly cried, stepping between me and the ladder, his right hand shapeu into a veritable strangler’s clutch. “You damn little sneak! I’ll shut yer mouth!” “Let him go,” Leach commanded. “Not on yer life,” was the angry retort. Leach never changed his position on the edge of the bunk. “Let him go, I say,” he repeated; but this time his voice was gritty and metallic. The Irishman wavered. I made to step by him, and he stood aside. When I had gained the ladder, I'turned to the circle of brutal and malignantfaces peering at me through the semidarkness. A sudden and deep sympathy welled up in me. “I have seen and heard nothing, believe me,” I said quietly. “I tell yer, he’s all right,” I could hear Leach saying as I went up the ladder. “He don’t like the old man no more nor you or me.”

I found Wolf Larsen In the cabin, stripped and bloody, waiting for me. He greeted me with one of his whimsical smiles. “Come, get to work, doctor. The signs are favorable for an extensive practice this voyage. I don’t know what the Ghost would have been without you, and if I could only cherish such noble sentiments I would tell you her master is deeply grateful.” I knew the run of the simple medicine chest the Ghost carried, and while 1 was heating water on the cabin stove and getting the things ready for dressing his wounds, he moved about, laughing and chatting, and examining his hurts with a calculating eye. I had never before seen him stripped, and the sight of his body quite took my breath away. It has never been my weaknessto exalt the flesh-—far from It; but there is enough of the artist in aM to appreciate Its wander.

Wolf Larsen was the man-type, the masculine, and almost a god In his perfectness. As he moved about or raised his arms the great muscles leapt and moved under the satiny skin. I have forgotten to say that the bronze ended with his face. His body, thanks to his Scandinavian stock, was fair as the fairest woman’s. 1 remember bis putting his hand up to feel of the wound on his head, and my watching the biceps move ljke a living thing under its white sheath. It was the biceps that had nearly crushed out my life once, that I had seen strike so many killing blows. 1 could not take my eyes from him. I stood motionless, a roll of antiseptic cotton in my hand unwinding and spilling itself down to the floor. He noticed me, and I became conscious that I was staring at him. “God made you well,” I 3aid. He braced his legs and feet, pressing the cabin floor with his toes in a clutching sort of way. Knots and ridges and mounds of muscles writhed and bunched under the skin. ‘‘Feel them,” he commanded. They were hard as iron. And I observed, also, that his whole body had unconsciously drawn itself together, tense and alert; that muscles were softly crawling and shaping about the hips, along the back, and across the shoulders; that the arms were slightly lifted, their muscles contracting, the fingers crooking till the hands were like talons; and that even the eyes had changed expression and into them were coming watchfulness and measurement and a light none other than of battle.

“Stability, equilibrium," he said, relaxing on the instant and sinking his body into repose. “Feet with which to clutch the ground, legs to stand on and to help withstand, while with arms and hands, teeth and nails, I struggle to kill and to be not killed. Purpose? Utility is the better word." I did not argue. I had seen the mechanism of the primitive fighting beast, and I was as strongly impressed as if I had seen the engines of a great battleship or Atlantic liner. I was surprised, considering the fierce struggle in the forecastle, at the superficiality of his hurts, and I pride myself that I dressed them ously“By the way. Hump, as I have remarked, you are a handy man,” Wolf Larsen began, when my work was done. “As you know, we’re short a mate. Hereafter you shall stand watches, receive seventy-five dollars per month, and be addressed fore and aft as Mr. Van Weyden." “I—l don’t understand navigation, you know,” I gasped. “Not necessary at all.” “I really do not care to sit in the high places," I objected. "I find life

precarious enough In my present humble situation. I have no experience. Mediocrity, you see, has its compensations.” He smiled as though it were all settled. “I won’t be mate on this hell-ship!" I cried defiantly. I saw his face grow hard and the merciless glitter come Into his eyes. He walked to the door of his room, saying: “And now, Mr. Van Weyden, good night.” “Good night, Mr. Larsen,” I answered weakly. CHAPTER XIV. . I cannot say that the position of mate carried with it anything more Joyful than that there were no more dishes to wash. 1 was Ignorant of the simplest duties of mate, and would have fared badly indeed had the sailors not sympathized with me. I knew nothing of the minutiae of ropes and rigging, of the trimming attd setting of sails; but the sailors took pains to put me to rights. Louis proving an espe-

dally good teacher, and I had little trouble with those under me. With the hunters it was otherwise. Familiar in varying degree with the sea, they took me as a sort of Joke. In truth, It was a joke to me that I, the veriest landsman, should be filling the office of mate; but to be taken as a joke by others was a different matter. 1 made no complaint, but Wolf Larsen demanded the most punctilious sea etiquette in my case—far more than poor Johansen had ever received; and at the expense of several rows, threats and much grumbling, he brought the hunters to time. I was “Mr. Van Weyden” fore and aft, and it was only unofficially that Wolf Larsen himself ever addressed me as “Hump." It was amusing. Perhaps the wind would haul a few points while we were at dinner, and as I left the table he would say, “Mr. Van Weyden, will you kindly put about on the port tack?" And I would go on deck, beckon Louis to mo, and learn from him what was to be done. Then, a few minutes later, having digested his instructions and thoroughly mastered the maneuver, I would procoed to issue my orders. I remember an early instance of this kind, when Wolf Larsen appeared on the scene just as I had begun to give orders. He smoked his cigar and looked on quietly till the thing was accomplished, and then paced aft by my Bide along the weather poop.

“Hump,” he said—“l beg pardon, Mr. Van Weyden—l congratulate you. I think ypu can now fire your father’s legs back into the grave to him. You’ve discovered your own and learned to stand on them. A little ropework, sailmaking and experience with storms and such things, and by the end of the voyage you could ship on any coasting schooner.” It was during this period, between the death of Johansen and the arrival on the sealing grounds, that I passed my pleasantest hours on the Ghost. Wolf Larsen was quite considerate, the sailors helped me, and I was no longer in irritating contact with Thomas Mugridge. And I make free to say, as the days went by, that I found I was taking a certain secret pride in myself. Fantastic as the situation was—a landlubber second In command —I was, nevertheless, carrying it off well; and during that brief time I was proud of myself, and I grew to love the heave and roll of the Ghost under my feet as she wallowed north and west through the tropic sea to the islet where we filled our water casks.

But my happiness was unalloyed. It was comparative, a period of less misery slipped in between a past of great miseries and a future of great miseries. For the Ghost, so far as the seamen were concerned, was a hell-ship of the worst description. They never had a moment’s rest or peace. Wolf Larsen treasured against them the attempt on bis life and the drubbing he had received in the forecastle; and morning, noon and night, and all night as well, he devoted himself to making life unlivable for them. Leach and Johnson were the two particular victims of Wolf Larsen’s diabolic temper, and the look of profound melancholy which had settled on Johnson’s face and in his eyes made my heart bleed. With Leach it was different. There was too much of the fighting beast In him. He seemed possessed by an insatiable fury which gave no time for grief. His lips had become distorted into a permanent snarl, which, at mere sight of Wolf Larsen, broke out in sound, horrible and menacing, and, I do believe, unconsciously. I have seen hipi follow Wolf Larsen about with his eyes, like an animal its keeper, the while the animal-like snarl sounded deep in his throat and vibrated forth between his teeth. Both he and Johnson would -have killed Wolf Larsen at the slightest opportunity, ' but the opportunity never came. Wolf Larsen was too wise for that, and, besides, they had no adequate Tveapons. With the'r fists alone they had no chance whatever. Time and •again he fought it out with Leach, who fought back, always, llko a wildcat, tooth and nail and fist, until stretched, exhausted or unconscious, on the deck. And he was never averse to another encounter.

I often wondered why Wolf Larsen did not kill him and make an end of it But he only laughed and seemed to enjoy it. There seemed a certain spice about it, such as men must feel who take delight in making pets of ferocious animals. "It gives a thrill to life,” he explained to me, “when life is carried in one’s hand. Man is a natural gambler, and life is the biggest stake he can lay. The greater the odds the greater the thrill.” “Ah, but it is cowardly, cowardly!” I criiid. "You. hava all -the advantage.” “Of the two of us, you and I, who is the greater coward ?’’ he asked seing, you compromise with your conscience when you make yourself a

party to it. If >ou war* really great, really true to yourself, you would join forces with Leach and Johnson. But you are afraid. You want to live. The life that is in You cries out that It must live, no matter what the cost; so you live lgnominiously, untrue to the best you dream of. sinning against your whole pitiful little code, and. If there were a hell, heading your soul straight for it. Bah! I play the braver part. I do not sin, for I aHh tape to the promptlnga of the life that is in me. I am sincere with my soul at least, and that is what you are not” There was a sting in what he said. Perhaps, afte* all, I was pl«ylng a cowardly part. I pondered it long, lying sleepless in my bunk and reviewing in endless procession the facts of the situation. I talked with Johnson and Leach, during the night watches when Wolf Larsen was below. Both men had lost hope—Johnson, because of temperamental despondency; Leach, because he had beaten himself out in the vain struggle and was exhausted. But he caught my hand In a passionate grip one night, saying: "I think yer square, Mr. Van Weyden. But stay where you are and keep your mouth shut. Say nothin’ but saw wood. We’re dead men, I know it;

but all the same you might be able to do us a favor some time when we need it damn bad.” It was only next day, when Watnwright island loomed to windward, close abeam, that Wolf Larsen opened his mouth In prophecy. He had attacked Johnson, been attacked by Leach, and had Just finished whipping the pair of them. “Leach,” he said, "you know I’m going to kill you some time or other, don’t you?” A snarl was the answer. “And as for you, Johnson, you’ll get so tired of life before I’m through with you that you’ll fling yourself over the side. See if you don’t.” “That’s a suggestion," he added, In an aside to me. “I’ll bet you a month’s pay he acts upon it.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“No You Don’t" Kelly Cried, Stepping Between Me and the Ladder.

I Have Seen Him Follow Wolf Larsen About With His Eyes.