Chapter Chapter 39 · 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the two dear hands had she not swiftly withdrawn them.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 manœuvre 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 life 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 side 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.

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THE END

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