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But
the
expression
of
Wolf
Larsen
's
face
never
changed
.
He
did
not
change
his
position
either
,
but
continued
to
gaze
down
with
a
great
curiosity
.
For
all
his
pragmatic
certitude
,
it
seemed
as
if
he
watched
the
play
and
movement
of
life
in
the
hope
of
discovering
something
more
about
it
,
of
discerning
in
its
maddest
writhings
a
something
which
had
hitherto
escaped
him
--
the
key
to
its
mystery
,
as
it
were
,
which
would
make
all
clear
and
plain
.
But
the
beating
!
It
was
quite
similar
to
the
one
I
had
witnessed
in
the
cabin
.
The
Cockney
strove
in
vain
to
protect
himself
from
the
infuriated
boy
.
And
in
vain
he
strove
to
gain
the
shelter
of
the
cabin
.
He
rolled
toward
it
,
grovelled
toward
it
,
fell
toward
it
when
he
was
knocked
down
.
But
blow
followed
blow
with
bewildering
rapidity
.
He
was
knocked
about
like
a
shuttlecock
,
until
,
finally
,
like
Johnson
,
he
was
beaten
and
kicked
as
he
lay
helpless
on
the
deck
.
And
no
one
interfered
.
Leach
could
have
killed
him
,
but
,
having
evidently
filled
the
measure
of
his
vengeance
,
he
drew
away
from
his
prostrate
foe
,
who
was
whimpering
and
wailing
in
a
puppyish
sort
of
way
,
and
walked
forward
.
But
these
two
affairs
were
only
the
opening
events
of
the
day
's
programme
.
In
the
afternoon
Smoke
and
Henderson
fell
foul
of
each
other
,
and
a
fusillade
of
shots
came
up
from
the
steerage
,
followed
by
a
stampede
of
the
other
four
hunters
for
the
deck
.
A
column
of
thick
,
acrid
smoke
--
the
kind
always
made
by
black
powder
--
was
arising
through
the
open
companion-way
,
and
down
through
it
leaped
Wolf
Larsen
.
The
sound
of
blows
and
scuffling
came
to
our
ears
.
Both
men
were
wounded
,
and
he
was
thrashing
them
both
for
having
disobeyed
his
orders
and
crippled
themselves
in
advance
of
the
hunting
season
.
In
fact
,
they
were
badly
wounded
,
and
,
having
thrashed
them
,
he
proceeded
to
operate
upon
them
in
a
rough
surgical
fashion
and
to
dress
their
wounds
.
I
served
as
assistant
while
he
probed
and
cleansed
the
passages
made
by
the
bullets
,
and
I
saw
the
two
men
endure
his
crude
surgery
without
anaesthetics
and
with
no
more
to
uphold
them
than
a
stiff
tumbler
of
whisky
.
Then
,
in
the
first
dog-watch
,
trouble
came
to
a
head
in
the
forecastle
.
It
took
its
rise
out
of
the
tittle-tattle
and
tale-bearing
which
had
been
the
cause
of
Johnson
's
beating
,
and
from
the
noise
we
heard
,
and
from
the
sight
of
the
bruised
men
next
day
,
it
was
patent
that
half
the
forecastle
had
soundly
drubbed
the
other
half
.
The
second
dog-watch
and
the
day
were
wound
up
by
a
fight
between
Johansen
and
the
lean
,
Yankee-looking
hunter
,
Latimer
.
It
was
caused
by
remarks
of
Latimer
's
concerning
the
noises
made
by
the
mate
in
his
sleep
,
and
though
Johansen
was
whipped
,
he
kept
the
steerage
awake
for
the
rest
of
the
night
while
he
blissfully
slumbered
and
fought
the
fight
over
and
over
again
.
As
for
myself
,
I
was
oppressed
with
nightmare
.
The
day
had
been
like
some
horrible
dream
.
Brutality
had
followed
brutality
,
and
flaming
passions
and
cold-blooded
cruelty
had
driven
men
to
seek
one
another
's
lives
,
and
to
strive
to
hurt
,
and
maim
,
and
destroy
.
My
nerves
were
shocked
.
My
mind
itself
was
shocked
.
All
my
days
had
been
passed
in
comparative
ignorance
of
the
animality
of
man
.
In
fact
,
I
had
known
life
only
in
its
intellectual
phases
.
Brutality
I
had
experienced
,
but
it
was
the
brutality
of
the
intellect
--
the
cutting
sarcasm
of
Charley
Furuseth
,
the
cruel
epigrams
and
occasional
harsh
witticisms
of
the
fellows
at
the
Bibelot
,
and
the
nasty
remarks
of
some
of
the
professors
during
my
undergraduate
days
.
That
was
all
.
But
that
men
should
wreak
their
anger
on
others
by
the
bruising
of
the
flesh
and
the
letting
of
blood
was
something
strangely
and
fearfully
new
to
me
.
Not
for
nothing
had
I
been
called
"
Sissy
"
Van
Weyden
,
I
thought
,
as
I
tossed
restlessly
on
my
bunk
between
one
nightmare
and
another
.
And
it
seemed
to
me
that
my
innocence
of
the
realities
of
life
had
been
complete
indeed
.
I
laughed
bitterly
to
myself
,
and
seemed
to
find
in
Wolf
Larsen
's
forbidding
philosophy
a
more
adequate
explanation
of
life
than
I
found
in
my
own
.
And
I
was
frightened
when
I
became
conscious
of
the
trend
of
my
thought
.
The
continual
brutality
around
me
was
degenerative
in
its
effect
.
It
bid
fair
to
destroy
for
me
all
that
was
best
and
brightest
in
life
.
My
reason
dictated
that
the
beating
Thomas
Mugridge
had
received
was
an
ill
thing
,
and
yet
for
the
life
of
me
I
could
not
prevent
my
soul
joying
in
it
.
And
even
while
I
was
oppressed
by
the
enormity
of
my
sin
--
for
sin
it
was
--
I
chuckled
with
an
insane
delight
.
I
was
no
longer
Humphrey
Van
Weyden
.
I
was
Hump
,
cabin-boy
on
the
schooner
Ghost
