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I
could
see
the
head-lines
in
the
papers
;
the
fellows
at
the
University
Club
and
the
Bibelot
shaking
their
heads
and
saying
,
"
Poor
chap
!
"
And
I
could
see
Charley
Furuseth
,
as
I
had
said
good-bye
to
him
that
morning
,
lounging
in
a
dressing-gown
on
the
be-pillowed
window
couch
and
delivering
himself
of
oracular
and
pessimistic
epigrams
.
And
all
the
while
,
rolling
,
plunging
,
climbing
the
moving
mountains
and
falling
and
wallowing
in
the
foaming
valleys
,
the
schooner
Ghost
was
fighting
her
way
farther
and
farther
into
the
heart
of
the
Pacific
--
and
I
was
on
her
.
I
could
hear
the
wind
above
.
It
came
to
my
ears
as
a
muffled
roar
.
Now
and
again
feet
stamped
overhead
.
An
endless
creaking
was
going
on
all
about
me
,
the
woodwork
and
the
fittings
groaning
and
squeaking
and
complaining
in
a
thousand
keys
.
The
hunters
were
still
arguing
and
roaring
like
some
semi-human
amphibious
breed
.
The
air
was
filled
with
oaths
and
indecent
expressions
.
I
could
see
their
faces
,
flushed
and
angry
,
the
brutality
distorted
and
emphasized
by
the
sickly
yellow
of
the
sea-lamps
which
rocked
back
and
forth
with
the
ship
.
Through
the
dim
smoke-haze
the
bunks
looked
like
the
sleeping
dens
of
animals
in
a
menagerie
.
Oilskins
and
sea-boots
were
hanging
from
the
walls
,
and
here
and
there
rifles
and
shotguns
rested
securely
in
the
racks
.
It
was
a
sea-fitting
for
the
buccaneers
and
pirates
of
by-gone
years
.
My
imagination
ran
riot
,
and
still
I
could
not
sleep
.
And
it
was
a
long
,
long
night
,
weary
and
dreary
and
long
.
But
my
first
night
in
the
hunters
'
steerage
was
also
my
last
.
Next
day
Johansen
,
the
new
mate
,
was
routed
from
the
cabin
by
Wolf
Larsen
,
and
sent
into
the
steerage
to
sleep
thereafter
,
while
I
took
possession
of
the
tiny
cabin
state-room
,
which
,
on
the
first
day
of
the
voyage
,
had
already
had
two
occupants
.
The
reason
for
this
change
was
quickly
learned
by
the
hunters
,
and
became
the
cause
of
a
deal
of
grumbling
on
their
part
.
It
seemed
that
Johansen
,
in
his
sleep
,
lived
over
each
night
the
events
of
the
day
.
His
incessant
talking
and
shouting
and
bellowing
of
orders
had
been
too
much
for
Wolf
Larsen
,
who
had
accordingly
foisted
the
nuisance
upon
his
hunters
.
After
a
sleepless
night
,
I
arose
weak
and
in
agony
,
to
hobble
through
my
second
day
on
the
Ghost
.
Thomas
Mugridge
routed
me
out
at
half-past
five
,
much
in
the
fashion
that
Bill
Sykes
must
have
routed
out
his
dog
;
but
Mr.
Mugridge
's
brutality
to
me
was
paid
back
in
kind
and
with
interest
.
The
unnecessary
noise
he
made
(
I
had
lain
wide-eyed
the
whole
night
)
must
have
awakened
one
of
the
hunters
;
for
a
heavy
shoe
whizzed
through
the
semi-darkness
,
and
Mr.
Mugridge
,
with
a
sharp
howl
of
pain
,
humbly
begged
everybody
's
pardon
.
Later
on
,
in
the
galley
,
I
noticed
that
his
ear
was
bruised
and
swollen
.
It
never
went
entirely
back
to
its
normal
shape
,
and
was
called
a
"
cauliflower
ear
"
by
the
sailors
.
The
day
was
filled
with
miserable
variety
.
I
had
taken
my
dried
clothes
down
from
the
galley
the
night
before
,
and
the
first
thing
I
did
was
to
exchange
the
cook
's
garments
for
them
.
I
looked
for
my
purse
.
In
addition
to
some
small
change
(
and
I
have
a
good
memory
for
such
things
)
,
it
had
contained
one
hundred
and
eighty-five
dollars
in
gold
and
paper
.
The
purse
I
found
,
but
its
contents
,
with
the
exception
of
the
small
silver
,
had
been
abstracted
.
I
spoke
to
the
cook
about
it
,
when
I
went
on
deck
to
take
up
my
duties
in
the
galley
,
and
though
I
had
looked
forward
to
a
surly
answer
,
I
had
not
expected
the
belligerent
harangue
that
I
received
.
"
Look
'
ere
,
'
Ump
,
"
he
began
,
a
malicious
light
in
his
eyes
and
a
snarl
in
his
throat
;
"
d'ye
want
yer
nose
punched
?
If
you
think
I
'm
a
thief
,
just
keep
it
to
yerself
,
or
you
'll
find
'
ow
bloody
well
mistyken
you
are
.
Strike
me
blind
if
this
ay
n't
gratitude
for
yer
!
'
Ere
you
come
,
a
pore
mis
'
rable
specimen
of
'
uman
scum
,
an
'
I
tykes
yer
into
my
galley
an
'
treats
yer
'
ansom
,
an
'
this
is
wot
I
get
for
it
.
Nex
'
time
you
can
go
to
'
ell
,
say
I
,
an
'
I
've
a
good
mind
to
give
you
what-for
anyw
'
y.
"
So
saying
,
he
put
up
his
fists
and
started
for
me
.
To
my
shame
be
it
,
I
cowered
away
from
the
blow
and
ran
out
the
galley
door
.
What
else
was
I
to
do
?
Force
,
nothing
but
force
,
obtained
on
this
brute-ship
.
Moral
suasion
was
a
thing
unknown
.
Picture
it
to
yourself
:
a
man
of
ordinary
stature
,
slender
of
build
,
and
with
weak
,
undeveloped
muscles
,
who
has
lived
a
peaceful
,
placid
life
,
and
is
unused
to
violence
of
any
sort
--
what
could
such
a
man
possibly
do
?
There
was
no
more
reason
that
I
should
stand
and
face
these
human
beasts
than
that
I
should
stand
and
face
an
infuriated
bull
.
So
I
thought
it
out
at
the
time
,
feeling
the
need
for
vindication
and
desiring
to
be
at
peace
with
my
conscience
.
But
this
vindication
did
not
satisfy
.
Nor
,
to
this
day
can
I
permit
my
manhood
to
look
back
upon
those
events
and
feel
entirely
exonerated
.
The
situation
was
something
that
really
exceeded
rational
formulas
for
conduct
and
demanded
more
than
the
cold
conclusions
of
reason
.
When
viewed
in
the
light
of
formal
logic
,
there
is
not
one
thing
of
which
to
be
ashamed
;
but
nevertheless
a
shame
rises
within
me
at
the
recollection
,
and
in
the
pride
of
my
manhood
I
feel
that
my
manhood
has
in
unaccountable
ways
been
smirched
and
sullied
.
All
of
which
is
neither
here
nor
there
.
The
speed
with
which
I
ran
from
the
galley
caused
excruciating
pain
in
my
knee
,
and
I
sank
down
helplessly
at
the
break
of
the
poop
.
But
the
Cockney
had
not
pursued
me
.
