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"
Lift
up
that
end
there
,
damn
you
!
What
the
hell
's
the
matter
with
you
?
"
They
elevated
the
end
of
the
hatch-cover
with
pitiful
haste
,
and
,
like
a
dog
flung
overside
,
the
dead
man
slid
feet
first
into
the
sea
.
The
coal
at
his
feet
dragged
him
down
.
He
was
gone
.
"
Johansen
,
"
Wolf
Larsen
said
briskly
to
the
new
mate
,
"
keep
all
hands
on
deck
now
they
're
here
.
Get
in
the
topsails
and
jibs
and
make
a
good
job
of
it
.
We
're
in
for
a
sou
'
-
easter
.
Better
reef
the
jib
and
mainsail
too
,
while
you
're
about
it
.
"
In
a
moment
the
decks
were
in
commotion
,
Johansen
bellowing
orders
and
the
men
pulling
or
letting
go
ropes
of
various
sorts
--
all
naturally
confusing
to
a
landsman
such
as
myself
.
But
it
was
the
heartlessness
of
it
that
especially
struck
me
.
The
dead
man
was
an
episode
that
was
past
,
an
incident
that
was
dropped
,
in
a
canvas
covering
with
a
sack
of
coal
,
while
the
ship
sped
along
and
her
work
went
on
Nobody
had
been
affected
.
The
hunters
were
laughing
at
a
fresh
story
of
Smoke
's
;
the
men
pulling
and
hauling
,
and
two
of
them
climbing
aloft
;
Wolf
Larsen
was
studying
the
clouding
sky
to
windward
;
and
the
dead
man
,
dying
obscenely
,
buried
sordidly
,
and
sinking
down
,
down
--
Then
it
was
that
the
cruelty
of
the
sea
,
its
relentlessness
and
awfulness
,
rushed
upon
me
.
Life
had
become
cheap
and
tawdry
,
a
beastly
and
inarticulate
thing
,
a
soulless
stirring
of
the
ooze
and
slime
.
I
held
on
to
the
weather
rail
,
close
by
the
shrouds
,
and
gazed
out
across
the
desolate
foaming
waves
to
the
low-lying
fog-banks
that
hid
San
Francisco
and
the
California
coast
.
Rain-squalls
were
driving
in
between
,
and
I
could
scarcely
see
the
fog
.
And
this
strange
vessel
,
with
its
terrible
men
,
pressed
under
by
wind
and
sea
and
ever
leaping
up
and
out
,
was
heading
away
into
the
south-west
,
into
the
great
and
lonely
Pacific
expanse
.
What
happened
to
me
next
on
the
sealing-schooner
Ghost
,
as
I
strove
to
fit
into
my
new
environment
,
are
matters
of
humiliation
and
pain
.
The
cook
,
who
was
called
"
the
doctor
"
by
the
crew
,
"
Tommy
"
by
the
hunters
,
and
"
Cooky
"
by
Wolf
Larsen
,
was
a
changed
person
.
The
difference
worked
in
my
status
brought
about
a
corresponding
difference
in
treatment
from
him
.
Servile
and
fawning
as
he
had
been
before
,
he
was
now
as
domineering
and
bellicose
.
In
truth
,
I
was
no
longer
the
fine
gentleman
with
a
skin
soft
as
a
"
lydy
's
,
"
but
only
an
ordinary
and
very
worthless
cabin-boy
.
He
absurdly
insisted
upon
my
addressing
him
as
Mr.
Mugridge
,
and
his
behaviour
and
carriage
were
insufferable
as
he
showed
me
my
duties
.
Besides
my
work
in
the
cabin
,
with
its
four
small
state-rooms
,
I
was
supposed
to
be
his
assistant
in
the
galley
,
and
my
colossal
ignorance
concerning
such
things
as
peeling
potatoes
or
washing
greasy
pots
was
a
source
of
unending
and
sarcastic
wonder
to
him
.
He
refused
to
take
into
consideration
what
I
was
,
or
,
rather
,
what
my
life
and
the
things
I
was
accustomed
to
had
been
.
This
was
part
of
the
attitude
he
chose
to
adopt
toward
me
;
and
I
confess
,
ere
the
day
was
done
,
that
I
hated
him
with
more
lively
feelings
than
I
had
ever
hated
any
one
in
my
life
before
.
This
first
day
was
made
more
difficult
for
me
from
the
fact
that
the
Ghost
,
under
close
reefs
(
terms
such
as
these
I
did
not
learn
till
later
)
,
was
plunging
through
what
Mr.
Mugridge
called
an
"
'
owlin
'
sou
'
-
easter
.
"
At
half-past
five
,
under
his
directions
,
I
set
the
table
in
the
cabin
,
with
rough-weather
trays
in
place
,
and
then
carried
the
tea
and
cooked
food
down
from
the
galley
.
In
this
connection
I
can
not
forbear
relating
my
first
experience
with
a
boarding
sea
.
