MyintimacywithWolfLarsenincreases—ifbyintimacymaybedenotedthoserelationswhichexistbetweenmasterandman,or,betteryet,betweenkingandjester. Iamtohimnomorethanatoy,andhevaluesmenomorethanachildvaluesatoy. Myfunctionistoamuse,andsolongasIamuseallgoeswell;butlethimbecomebored,orlethimhaveoneofhisblackmoodscomeuponhim,andatonceIamrelegatedfromcabintabletogalley,while,atthesametime,Iamfortunatetoescapewithmylifeandawholebody. Thelonelinessofthemanisslowlybeingborneinuponme. Thereisnotamanaboardbuthatesorfearshim,noristhereamanwhomhedoesnotdespise. Heseemsconsumingwiththetremendouspowerthatisinhimandthatseemsnevertohavefoundadequateexpressioninworks. HeisasLuciferwouldbe,werethatproudspiritbanishedtoasocietyofsoulless,Tomlinsonianghosts. Thislonelinessisbadenoughinitself,but,tomakeitworse,heisoppressedbytheprimalmelancholyoftherace. Knowinghim,IreviewtheoldScandinavianmythswithclearerunderstanding. Thewhite-skinned,fair-hairedsavageswhocreatedthatterriblepantheonwereofthesamefibreashe. Thefrivolityofthelaughter-lovingLatinsisnopartofhim. Whenhelaughsitisfromahumourthatisnothingelsethanferocious. Buthelaughsrarely;heistoooftensad. Anditisasadnessasdeep-reachingastherootsoftherace. Itistheraceheritage,thesadnesswhichhasmadetheracesober-minded,clean-livedandfanaticallymoral,andwhich,inthislatterconnection,hasculminatedamongtheEnglishintheReformedChurchandMrs.Grundy. Inpointoffact,thechiefventtothisprimalmelancholyhasbeenreligioninitsmoreagonizingforms. ButthecompensationsofsuchreligionaredeniedWolfLarsen. Hisbrutalmaterialismwillnotpermitit. So,whenhisbluemoodscomeon,nothingremainsforhim,buttobedevilish. Werehenotsoterribleaman,Icouldsometimesfeelsorryforhim,asinstancethreemorningsago,whenIwentintohisstateroomtofillhiswater-bottleandcameunexpectedlyuponhim.Hedidnotseeme. Hisheadwasburiedinhishands,andhisshoulderswereheavingconvulsivelyaswithsobs.Heseemedtornbysomemightygrief. AsIsoftlywithdrewIcouldhearhimgroaning,“God!God!God!” NotthathewascallinguponGod;itwasamereexpletive,butitcamefromhissoul. Atdinnerheaskedthehuntersforaremedyforheadache,andbyevening,strongmanthathewas,hewashalf-blindandreelingaboutthecabin. “I’veneverbeensickinmylife,Hump,”hesaid,asIguidedhimtohisroom. “NordidIeverhaveaheadacheexceptthetimemyheadwashealingafterhavingbeenlaidopenforsixinchesbyacapstan-bar.” Forthreedaysthisblindingheadachelasted,andhesufferedaswildanimalssuffer,asitseemedthewayonshiptosuffer,withoutplaint,withoutsympathy,utterlyalone. Thismorning,however,onenteringhisstate-roomtomakethebedandputthingsinorder,Ifoundhimwellandhardatwork. Tableandbunkwerelitteredwithdesignsandcalculations. Onalargetransparentsheet,compassandsquareinhand,hewascopyingwhatappearedtobeascaleofsomesortorother. “Hello,Hump,”hegreetedmegenially.“I’mjustfinishingthefinishingtouches.Wanttoseeitwork?” “Alabour-savingdeviceformariners,navigationreducedtokindergartensimplicity,”heansweredgaily. “Fromto-dayachildwillbeabletonavigateaship.Nomorelong-windedcalculations. Allyouneedisonestarintheskyonadirtynighttoknowinstantlywhereyouare.Look. Iplacethetransparentscaleonthisstar-map,revolvingthescaleontheNorthPole. OnthescaleI’veworkedoutthecirclesofaltitudeandthelinesofbearing. AllIdoistoputitonastar,revolvethescaletillitisoppositethosefiguresonthemapunderneath,andpresto! thereyouare,theship’spreciselocation!” Therewasaringoftriumphinhisvoice,andhiseyes,clearbluethismorningasthesea,weresparklingwithlight. “Youmustbewellupinmathematics,”Isaid.“Wheredidyougotoschool?” “Neversawtheinsideofone,worseluck,”wastheanswer.“Ihadtodigitoutformyself.” “AndwhydoyouthinkIhavemadethisthing?”hedemanded,abruptly. “Dreamingtoleavefootprintsonthesandsoftime?” Helaughedoneofhishorriblemockinglaughs.“Notatall. Togetitpatented,tomakemoneyfromit,torevelinpiggishnesswithallnightinwhileothermendothework.That’smypurpose.Also,Ihaveenjoyedworkingitout.” “Thecreativejoy,”Imurmured. “Iguessthat’swhatitoughttobecalled. Whichisanotherwayofexpressingthejoyoflifeinthatitisalive,thetriumphofmovementovermatter,ofthequickoverthedead,theprideoftheyeastbecauseitisyeastandcrawls.” Ithrewupmyhandswithhelplessdisapprovalofhisinveteratematerialismandwentaboutmakingthebed. Hecontinuedcopyinglinesandfiguresuponthetransparentscale. Itwasataskrequiringtheutmostnicetyandprecision,andIcouldnotbutadmirethewayhetemperedhisstrengthtothefinenessanddelicacyoftheneed. WhenIhadfinishedthebed,Icaughtmyselflookingathiminafascinatedsortofway. Hewascertainlyahandsomeman—beautifulinthemasculinesense. Andagain,withnever-failingwonder,Iremarkedthetotallackofviciousness,orwickedness,orsinfulnessinhisface. Itwastheface,Iamconvinced,ofamanwhodidnowrong. AndbythisIdonotwishtobemisunderstood. WhatImeanisthatitwasthefaceofamanwhoeitherdidnothingcontrarytothedictatesofhisconscience,orwhohadnoconscience. Iaminclinedtothelatterwayofaccountingforit. Hewasamagnificentatavism,amansopurelyprimitivethathewasofthetypethatcameintotheworldbeforethedevelopmentofthemoralnature.Hewasnotimmoral,butmerelyunmoral. AsIhavesaid,inthemasculinesensehiswasabeautifulface. Smooth-shaven,everylinewasdistinct,anditwascutasclearandsharpasacameo;whileseaandsunhadtannedthenaturallyfairskintoadarkbronzewhichbespokestruggleandbattleandaddedbothtohissavageryandhisbeauty. Thelipswerefull,yetpossessedofthefirmness,almostharshness,whichischaracteristicofthinlips. Thesetofhismouth,hischin,hisjaw,waslikewisefirmorharsh,withallthefiercenessandindomitablenessofthemale—thenosealso. Itwasthenoseofabeingborntoconquerandcommand.Itjusthintedoftheeaglebeak. ItmighthavebeenGrecian,itmighthavebeenRoman,onlyitwasashadetoomassivefortheone,ashadetoodelicatefortheother. Andwhilethewholefacewastheincarnationoffiercenessandstrength,theprimalmelancholyfromwhichhesufferedseemedtogreatenthelinesofmouthandeyeandbrow,seemedtogivealargenessandcompletenesswhichotherwisethefacewouldhavelacked. AndsoIcaughtmyselfstandingidlyandstudyinghim. Icannotsayhowgreatlythemanhadcometointerestme.Whowashe?Whatwashe?Howhadhehappenedtobe? Allpowersseemedhis,allpotentialities—why,then,washenomorethantheobscuremasterofaseal-huntingschoonerwithareputationforfrightfulbrutalityamongstthemenwhohuntedseals? Mycuriosityburstfrommeinafloodofspeech. “Whyisitthatyouhavenotdonegreatthingsinthisworld? Withthepowerthatisyoursyoumighthaverisentoanyheight. Unpossessedofconscienceormoralinstinct,youmighthavemasteredtheworld,brokenittoyourhand. Andyethereyouare,atthetopofyourlife,wherediminishinganddyingbegin,livinganobscureandsordidexistence,huntingseaanimalsforthesatisfactionofwoman’svanityandloveofdecoration,revellinginapiggishness,touseyourownwords,whichisanythingandeverythingexceptsplendid. Why,withallthatwonderfulstrength,haveyounotdonesomething? Therewasnothingtostopyou,nothingthatcouldstopyou.Whatwaswrong?Didyoulackambition?Didyoufallundertemptation?Whatwasthematter?Whatwasthematter?” Hehadliftedhiseyestomeatthecommencementofmyoutburst,andfollowedmecomplacentlyuntilIhaddoneandstoodbeforehimbreathlessanddismayed. Hewaitedamoment,asthoughseekingwheretobegin,andthensaid: “Hump,doyouknowtheparableofthesowerwhowentforthtosow? Ifyouwillremember,someoftheseedfelluponstonyplaces,wheretherewasnotmuchearth,andforthwiththeysprungupbecausetheyhadnodeepnessofearth. Andwhenthesunwasuptheywerescorched,andbecausetheyhadnoroottheywitheredaway. Andsomefellamongthorns,andthethornssprungupandchokedthem.” “Well?”hequeried,halfpetulantly.“Itwasnotwell.Iwasoneofthoseseeds.” Hedroppedhisheadtothescaleandresumedthecopying.Ifinishedmyworkandhadopenedthedoortoleave,whenhespoketome. “Hump,ifyouwilllookonthewestcoastofthemapofNorwayyouwillseeanindentationcalledRomsdalFiord. Iwasbornwithinahundredmilesofthatstretchofwater.ButIwasnotbornNorwegian.IamaDane. MyfatherandmotherwereDanes,andhowtheyevercametothatbleakbightoflandonthewestcoastIdonotknow.Ineverheard. Outsideofthatthereisnothingmysterious.Theywerepoorpeopleandunlettered. Theycameofgenerationsofpoorunletteredpeople—peasantsoftheseawhosowedtheirsonsonthewavesashasbeentheircustomsincetimebegan.Thereisnomoretotell.” “Butthereis,”Iobjected.“Itisstillobscuretome.” “WhatcanItellyou?”hedemanded,witharecrudescenceoffierceness.“Ofthemeagrenessofachild’slife?offishdietandcoarseliving? ofgoingoutwiththeboatsfromthetimeIcouldcrawl? ofmybrothers,whowentawayonebyonetothedeep-seafarmingandnevercameback? ofmyself,unabletoreadorwrite,cabin-boyatthematureageoftenonthecoastwise,old-countryships? oftheroughfareandrougherusage,wherekicksandblowswerebedandbreakfastandtooktheplaceofspeech,andfearandhatredandpainweremyonlysoul-experiences?Idonotcaretoremember. AmadnesscomesupinmybrainevennowasIthinkofit. ButtherewerecoastwiseskippersIwouldhavereturnedandkilledwhenaman’sstrengthcametome,onlythelinesofmylifewerecastatthetimeinotherplaces. Ididreturn,notlongago,butunfortunatelytheskippersweredead,allbutone,amateintheolddays,askipperwhenImethim,andwhenIlefthimacripplewhowouldneverwalkagain.” “ButyouwhoreadSpencerandDarwinandhaveneverseentheinsideofaschool,howdidyoulearntoreadandwrite?”Iqueried. “IntheEnglishmerchantservice.Cabin-boyattwelve,ship’sboyatfourteen,ordinaryseamenatsixteen,ableseamanatseventeen,andcockofthefo’c’sle,infiniteambitionandinfiniteloneliness,receivingneitherhelpnorsympathy,Ididitallformyself—navigation,mathematics,science,literature,andwhatnot.Andofwhatusehasitbeen? Masterandownerofashipatthetopofmylife,asyousay,whenIambeginningtodiminishanddie.Paltry,isn’tit? AndwhenthesunwasupIwasscorched,andbecauseIhadnorootIwitheredaway.” “Buthistorytellsofslaveswhorosetothepurple,”Ichided. “Andhistorytellsofopportunitiesthatcametotheslaveswhorosetothepurple,”heansweredgrimly.“Nomanmakesopportunity. Allthegreatmeneverdidwastoknowitwhenitcametothem.TheCorsicanknew. IhavedreamedasgreatlyastheCorsican. Ishouldhaveknowntheopportunity,butitnevercame.Thethornssprungupandchokedme. And,Hump,Icantellyouthatyouknowmoreaboutmethananylivingman,exceptmyownbrother.” “Andwhatishe?Andwhereishe?” “MasterofthesteamshipMacedonia,seal-hunter,”wastheanswer.“WewillmeethimmostprobablyontheJapancoast.Mencallhim‘Death’Larsen.” “DeathLarsen!”Iinvoluntarilycried.“Ishelikeyou?” “Hardly.Heisalumpofananimalwithoutanyhead.Hehasallmy—my—” “Brutishness,”Isuggested. “Yes,—thankyoufortheword,—allmybrutishness,buthecanscarcelyreadorwrite.” “Andhehasneverphilosophizedonlife,”Iadded. “No,”WolfLarsenanswered,withanindescribableairofsadness. “Andheisallthehappierforleavinglifealone. Heistoobusylivingittothinkaboutit. Mymistakewasineveropeningthebooks.” 
