CHAPTER XXXIX
The day came
for our departure. There was no longer anything to detain us on Endeavour
Island. The Ghost’s stumpy
masts were in place, her crazy sails bent. All my handiwork was strong,
none of it beautiful; but I knew that it would work, and I felt myself a man of
power as I looked at it. “I did
it! I did it! With my own hands I did it!” I wanted to cry aloud. But Maud and
I had a way of voicing each other’s thoughts, and she said, as we prepared to
hoist the mainsail: “To think,
Humphrey, you did it all with your own hands?” “But there
were two other hands,” I answered. “Two small hands, and don’t say that
was a phrase, also, of your father.” She laughed
and shook her head, and held her hands up for inspection. “I can never
get them clean again,” she wailed, “nor soften the weather-beat.” “Then dirt
and weather-beat shall be your guerdon of honour,” I said, holding them in
mine; and, spite of my resolutions, I would have kissed the two dear hands had
she not swiftly withdrawn them. Our
comradeship was becoming tremulous, I had mastered my love long and well, but
now it was mastering me. Wilfully had it disobeyed and won my eyes to
speech, and now it was winning my tongue — ay, and my lips, for they were mad
this moment to kiss the two small hands which had toiled so faithfully and
hard. And I, too, was mad. There was a cry in my being like bugles
calling me to her. And there was a wind blowing upon me which I could not
resist, swaying the very body of me till I leaned toward her, all unconscious
that I leaned. And she knew it. She could not but know it as she
swiftly drew away her hands, and yet, could not forbear one quick searching
look before she turned away her eyes. By means of
deck-tackles I had arranged to carry the halyards forward to the windlass; and
now I hoisted the mainsail, peak and throat, at the same time. It was a
clumsy way, but it did not take long, and soon the foresail as well was up and
fluttering. “We can
never get that anchor up in this narrow place, once it has left the bottom,” I
said. “We should be on the rocks first.” “What can
you do?” she asked. “Slip it,”
was my answer. “And when I do, you must do your first work on the
windlass. I shall have to run at once to the wheel, and at the same time
you must be hoisting the jib.” This
manoeuvre of getting under way I had studied and worked out a score of times;
and, with the jib-halyard to the windlass, I knew Maud was capable of hoisting
that most necessary sail. A brisk wind was blowing into the cove, and
though the water was calm, rapid work was required to get us safely out. When I
knocked the shackle-bolt loose, the chain roared out through the hawse-hole and
into the sea. I raced aft, putting the wheel up. The Ghost seemed to start into life as she
heeled to the first fill of her sails. The jib was rising. As it
filled, the Ghost’s bow swung off
and I had to put the wheel down a few spokes and steady her. I had
devised an automatic jib-sheet which passed the jib across of itself, so there
was no need for Maud to attend to that; but she was still hoisting the jib when
I put the wheel hard down. It was a moment of anxiety, for the Ghost was rushing directly upon the beach,
a stone’s throw distant. But she swung obediently on her heel into the
wind. There was a great fluttering and flapping of canvas and
reef-points, most welcome to my ears, then she filled away on the other tack. Maud had
finished her task and come aft, where she stood beside me, a small cap perched
on her wind-blown hair, her cheeks flushed from exertion, her eyes wide and
bright with the excitement, her nostrils quivering to the rush and bite of the
fresh salt air. Her brown eyes were like a startled deer’s. There
was a wild, keen look in them I had never seen before, and her lips parted and
her breath suspended as the Ghost,
charging upon the wall of rock at the entrance to the inner cove, swept into
the wind and filled away into safe water. My first
mate’s berth on the sealing grounds stood me in good stead, and I cleared the
inner cove and laid a long tack along the shore of the outer cove. Once
again about, and the Ghost headed
out to open sea. She had now caught the bosom-breathing of the ocean, and
was herself a-breath with the rhythm of it as she smoothly mounted and slipped
down each broad-backed wave. The day had been dull and overcast, but the
sun now burst through the clouds, a welcome omen, and shone upon the curving
beach where together we had dared the lords of the harem and slain the
holluschickie. All Endeavour Island brightened under the sun. Even
the grim south-western promontory showed less grim, and here and there, where
the sea-spray wet its surface, high lights flashed and dazzled in the sun. “I shall
always think of it with pride,” I said to Maud. She threw
her head back in a queenly way but said, “Dear, dear Endeavour Island! I
shall always love it.” “And I,” I
said quickly. It seemed
our eyes must meet in a great understanding, and yet, loath, they struggled
away and did not meet. There was a
silence I might almost call awkward, till I broke it, saying: “See those
black clouds to windward. You remember, I told you last night the
barometer was falling.” “And the sun
is gone,” she said, her eyes still fixed upon our island, where we had proved
our mastery over matter and attained to the truest comradeship that may fall to
man and woman. “And it’s
slack off the sheets for Japan!” I cried gaily. “A fair wind and a
flowing sheet, you know, or however it goes.” Lashing the
wheel I ran forward, eased the fore and mainsheets, took in on the boom-tackles
and trimmed everything for the quartering breeze which was ours. It was a
fresh breeze, very fresh, but I resolved to run as long as I dared.
Unfortunately, when running free, it is impossible to lash the wheel, so I
faced an all-night watch. Maud insisted on relieving me, but proved that
she had not the strength to steer in a heavy sea, even if she could have gained
the wisdom on such short notice. She appeared quite heart-broken over the
discovery, but recovered her spirits by coiling down tackles and halyards and
all stray ropes. Then there were meals to be cooked in the galley, beds
to make, Wolf Larsen to be attended upon, and she finished the day with a grand
house-cleaning attack upon the cabin and steerage. All night I
steered, without relief, the wind slowly and steadily increasing and the sea
rising. At five in the morning Maud brought me hot coffee and biscuits
she had baked, and at seven a substantial and piping hot breakfast put new lift
into me. Throughout
the day, and as slowly and steadily as ever, the wind increased. It
impressed one with its sullen determination to blow, and blow harder, and keep
on blowing. And still the Ghost
foamed along, racing off the miles till I was certain she was making at least
eleven knots. It was too good to lose, but by nightfall I was
exhausted. Though in splendid physical trim, a thirty-six-hour trick at
the wheel was the limit of my endurance. Besides, Maud begged me to heave
to, and I knew, if the wind and sea increased at the same rate during the
night, that it would soon be impossible to heave to. So, as twilight
deepened, gladly and at the same time reluctantly, I brought the Ghost up on the wind. But I had
not reckoned upon the colossal task the reefing of three sails meant for one
man. While running away from the wind I had not appreciated its force,
but when we ceased to run I learned to my sorrow, and well-nigh to my despair,
how fiercely it was really blowing. The wind balked my every effort,
ripping the canvas out of my hands and in an instant undoing what I had gained
by ten minutes of severest struggle. At eight o’clock I had succeeded
only in putting the second reef into the foresail. At eleven o’clock I
was no farther along. Blood dripped from every finger-end, while the
nails were broken to the quick. From pain and sheer exhaustion I wept in
the darkness, secretly, so that Maud should not know. Then, in
desperation, I abandoned the attempt to reef the mainsail and resolved to try
the experiment of heaving to under the close-reefed foresail. Three hours
more were required to gasket the mainsail and jib, and at two in the morning,
nearly dead, the life almost buffeted and worked out of me, I had barely
sufficient consciousness to know the experiment was a success. The
close-reefed foresail worked. The Ghost
clung on close to the wind and betrayed no inclination to fall off broadside to
the trough. I was
famished, but Maud tried vainly to get me to eat. I dozed with my mouth
full of food. I would fall asleep in the act of carrying food to my mouth
and waken in torment to find the act yet uncompleted. So sleepily
helpless was I that she was compelled to hold me in my chair to prevent my
being flung to the floor by the violent pitching of the schooner. Of the
passage from the galley to the cabin I knew nothing. It was a
sleep-walker Maud guided and supported. In fact, I was aware of nothing
till I awoke, how long after I could not imagine, in my bunk with my boots
off. It was dark. I was stiff and lame, and cried out with pain
when the bed-clothes touched my poor finger-ends. Morning had
evidently not come, so I closed my eyes and went to sleep again. I did
not know it, but I had slept the clock around and it was night again. Once more I
woke, troubled because I could sleep no better. I struck a match and
looked at my watch. It marked midnight. And I had not left the deck
until three! I should have been puzzled had I not guessed the
solution. No wonder I was sleeping brokenly. I had slept twenty-one
hours. I listened for a while to the behaviour of the Ghost, to the pounding of the seas and the
muffled roar of the wind on deck, and then turned over on my ride and slept
peacefully until morning. When I arose
at seven I saw no sign of Maud and concluded she was in the galley preparing
breakfast. On deck I found the Ghost
doing splendidly under her patch of canvas. But in the galley, though a
fire was burning and water boiling, I found no Maud. I discovered
her in the steerage, by Wolf Larsen’s bunk. I looked at him, the man who
had been hurled down from the topmost pitch of life to be buried alive and be
worse than dead. There seemed a relaxation of his expressionless face
which was new. Maud looked at me and I understood. “His life
flickered out in the storm,” I said. “But he
still lives,” she answered, infinite faith in her voice. “He had too
great strength.” “Yes,” she
said, “but now it no longer shackles him. He is a free spirit.” “He is a
free spirit surely,” I answered; and, taking her hand, I led her on deck. The storm
broke that night, which is to say that it diminished as slowly as it had
arisen. After breakfast next morning, when I had hoisted Wolf Larsen’s
body on deck ready for burial, it was still blowing heavily and a large sea was
running. The deck was continually awash with the sea which came inboard
over the rail and through the scuppers. The wind smote the schooner with
a sudden gust, and she heeled over till her lee rail was buried, the roar in
her rigging rising in pitch to a shriek. We stood in the water to our
knees as I bared my head. “I remember
only one part of the service,” I said, “and that is, ‘And the body shall be
cast into the sea.’” Maud looked
at me, surprised and shocked; but the spirit of something I had seen before was
strong upon me, impelling me to give service to Wolf Larsen as Wolf Larsen had
once given service to another man. I lifted the end of the hatch cover
and the canvas-shrouded body slipped feet first into the sea. The weight
of iron dragged it down. It was gone. “Good-bye,
Lucifer, proud spirit,” Maud whispered, so low that it was drowned by the
shouting of the wind; but I saw the movement of her lips and knew. As we clung
to the lee rail and worked our way aft, I happened to glance to leeward.
The Ghost, at the moment, was
uptossed on a sea, and I caught a clear view of a small steamship two or three
miles away, rolling and pitching, head on to the sea, as it steamed toward
us. It was painted black, and from the talk of the hunters of their
poaching exploits I recognized it as a United States revenue cutter. I
pointed it out to Maud and hurriedly led her aft to the safety of the poop. I started to
rush below to the flag-locker, then remembered that in rigging the Ghost. I had forgotten to make
provision for a flag-halyard. “We need no
distress signal,” Maud said. “They have only to see us.” “We are
saved,” I said, soberly and solemnly. And then, in an exuberance of joy,
“I hardly know whether to be glad or not.” I looked at
her. Our eyes were not loath to meet. We leaned toward each other,
and before I knew it my arms were about her. “Need I?” I
asked. And she
answered, “There is no need, though the telling of it would be sweet, so sweet.” Her lips met
the press of mine, and, by what strange trick of the imagination I know not,
the scene in the cabin of the Ghost
flashed upon me, when she had pressed her fingers lightly on my lips and said,
“Hush, hush.” “My woman,
my one small woman,” I said, my free hand petting her shoulder in the way all
lovers know though never learn in school. “My man,”
she said, looking at me for an instant with tremulous lids which fluttered down
and veiled her eyes as she snuggled her head against my breast with a happy
little sigh. I looked
toward the cutter. It was very close. A boat was being lowered. “One kiss,
dear love,” I whispered. “One kiss more before they come.” “And rescue
us from ourselves,” she completed, with a most adorable smile, whimsical as I had
never seen it, for it was whimsical with love. |