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We
had
scarcely
filled
away
,
it
seemed
,
when
the
fog
thinned
abruptly
and
we
were
again
in
the
sunshine
,
the
wide-stretching
sea
breaking
before
us
to
the
sky-line
.
But
the
ocean
was
bare
.
No
wrathful
Macedonia
broke
its
surface
nor
blackened
the
sky
with
her
smoke
.
Wolf
Larsen
at
once
squared
away
and
ran
down
along
the
rim
of
the
fog-bank
.
His
trick
was
obvious
.
He
had
entered
the
fog
to
windward
of
the
steamer
,
and
while
the
steamer
had
blindly
driven
on
into
the
fog
in
the
chance
of
catching
him
,
he
had
come
about
and
out
of
his
shelter
and
was
now
running
down
to
re-enter
to
leeward
.
Successful
in
this
,
the
old
simile
of
the
needle
in
the
haystack
would
be
mild
indeed
compared
with
his
brother
's
chance
of
finding
him
.
He
did
not
run
long
.
Jibing
the
fore
--
and
main-sails
and
setting
the
topsails
again
,
we
headed
back
into
the
bank
.
As
we
entered
I
could
have
sworn
I
saw
a
vague
bulk
emerging
to
windward
.
I
looked
quickly
at
Wolf
Larsen
.
Already
we
were
ourselves
buried
in
the
fog
,
but
he
nodded
his
head
.
He
,
too
,
had
seen
it
--
the
Macedonia
,
guessing
his
manoeuvre
and
failing
by
a
moment
in
anticipating
it
.
There
was
no
doubt
that
we
had
escaped
unseen
.
"
He
ca
n't
keep
this
up
,
"
Wolf
Larsen
said
.
"
He
'll
have
to
go
back
for
the
rest
of
his
boats
.
Send
a
man
to
the
wheel
,
Mr.
Van
Weyden
,
keep
this
course
for
the
present
,
and
you
might
as
well
set
the
watches
,
for
we
wo
n't
do
any
lingering
to-night
.
"
"
I
'd
give
five
hundred
dollars
,
though
,
"
he
added
,
"
just
to
be
aboard
the
Macedonia
for
five
minutes
,
listening
to
my
brother
curse
.
"
"
And
now
,
Mr.
Van
Weyden
,
"
he
said
to
me
when
he
had
been
relieved
from
the
wheel
,
"
we
must
make
these
new-comers
welcome
.
Serve
out
plenty
of
whisky
to
the
hunters
and
see
that
a
few
bottles
slip
for
'
ard
.
I
'll
wager
every
man
Jack
of
them
is
over
the
side
to-morrow
,
hunting
for
Wolf
Larsen
as
contentedly
as
ever
they
hunted
for
Death
Larsen
.
"
"
But
wo
n't
they
escape
as
Wainwright
did
?
"
I
asked
.
He
laughed
shrewdly
.
"
Not
as
long
as
our
old
hunters
have
anything
to
say
about
it
.
I
'm
dividing
amongst
them
a
dollar
a
skin
for
all
the
skins
shot
by
our
new
hunters
.
At
least
half
of
their
enthusiasm
to-day
was
due
to
that
.
Oh
,
no
,
there
wo
n't
be
any
escaping
if
they
have
anything
to
say
about
it
.
And
now
you
'd
better
get
for
'
ard
to
your
hospital
duties
.
There
must
be
a
full
ward
waiting
for
you
.
"
Wolf
Larsen
took
the
distribution
of
the
whisky
off
my
hands
,
and
the
bottles
began
to
make
their
appearance
while
I
worked
over
the
fresh
batch
of
wounded
men
in
the
forecastle
.
I
had
seen
whisky
drunk
,
such
as
whisky-and-soda
by
the
men
of
the
clubs
,
but
never
as
these
men
drank
it
,
from
pannikins
and
mugs
,
and
from
the
bottles
--
great
brimming
drinks
,
each
one
of
which
was
in
itself
a
debauch
.
But
they
did
not
stop
at
one
or
two
.
They
drank
and
drank
,
and
ever
the
bottles
slipped
forward
and
they
drank
more
.
Everybody
drank
;
the
wounded
drank
;
Oofty
--
Oofty
,
who
helped
me
,
drank
.
Only
Louis
refrained
,
no
more
than
cautiously
wetting
his
lips
with
the
liquor
,
though
he
joined
in
the
revels
with
an
abandon
equal
to
that
of
most
of
them
.
It
was
a
saturnalia
.
In
loud
voices
they
shouted
over
the
day
's
fighting
,
wrangled
about
details
,
or
waxed
affectionate
and
made
friends
with
the
men
whom
they
had
fought
.
Prisoners
and
captors
hiccoughed
on
one
another
's
shoulders
,
and
swore
mighty
oaths
of
respect
and
esteem
.
They
wept
over
the
miseries
of
the
past
and
over
the
miseries
yet
to
come
under
the
iron
rule
of
Wolf
Larsen
.
And
all
cursed
him
and
told
terrible
tales
of
his
brutality
.
