English
AmongthemostvividmemoriesofmylifearethoseoftheeventsontheGhostwhichoccurredduringthefortyhourssucceedingthediscoveryofmyloveforMaudBrewster.
I,whohadlivedmylifeinquietplaces,onlytoenterattheageofthirty-fiveuponacourseofthemostirrationaladventureIcouldhaveimagined,neverhadmoreincidentandexcitementcrammedintoanyfortyhoursofmyexperience.
NorcanIquiteclosemyearstoasmallvoiceofpridewhichtellsmeIdidnotdosobadly,allthingsconsidered.
Tobeginwith,atthemiddaydinner,WolfLarseninformedthehuntersthattheyweretoeatthenceforthinthesteerage.
Itwasanunprecedentedthingonsealing-schooners,whereitisthecustomforthehunterstorank,unofficiallyasofficers.
Hegavenoreason,buthismotivewasobviousenough.
HornerandSmokehadbeendisplayingagallantrytowardMaudBrewster,ludicrousinitselfandinoffensivetoher,buttohimevidentlydistasteful.
Theannouncementwasreceivedwithblacksilence,thoughtheotherfourhuntersglancedsignificantlyatthetwowhohadbeenthecauseoftheirbanishment.
JockHorner,quietaswashisway,gavenosign;butthebloodsurgeddarklyacrossSmoke’sforehead,andhehalfopenedhismouthtospeak.
WolfLarsenwaswatchinghim,waitingforhim,thesteelyglitterinhiseyes;butSmokeclosedhismouthagainwithouthavingsaidanything.
“Anythingtosay?”theotherdemandedaggressively.
Itwasachallenge,butSmokerefusedtoacceptit.
“Aboutwhat?”heasked,soinnocentlythatWolfLarsenwasdisconcerted,whiletheotherssmiled.
“Oh,nothing,”WolfLarsensaidlamely.“Ijustthoughtyoumightwanttoregisterakick.”
“Aboutwhat?”askedtheimperturbableSmoke.
Smoke’smateswerenowsmilingbroadly.Hiscaptaincouldhavekilledhim,andIdoubtnotthatbloodwouldhaveflowedhadnotMaudBrewsterbeenpresent.
Forthatmatter,itwasherpresencewhichenabled.Smoketoactashedid.
HewastoodiscreetandcautiousamantoincurWolfLarsen’sangeratatimewhenthatangercouldbeexpressedintermsstrongerthanwords.
Iwasinfearthatastrugglemighttakeplace,butacryfromthehelmsmanmadeiteasyforthesituationtosaveitself.
“Smokeho!”thecrycamedowntheopencompanion-way.
“How’sitbear?”WolfLarsencalledup.
“Deadastern,sir.”
“Maybeit’saRussian,”suggestedLatimer.
Hiswordsbroughtanxietyintothefacesoftheotherhunters.
ARussiancouldmeanbutonething—acruiser.
Thehunters,nevermorethanroughlyawareofthepositionoftheship,neverthelessknewthatwewereclosetotheboundariesoftheforbiddensea,whileWolfLarsen’srecordasapoacherwasnotorious.Alleyescentreduponhim.
“We’redeadsafe,”heassuredthemwithalaugh.“Nosaltminesthistime,Smoke.ButI’lltellyouwhat—I’lllayoddsoffivetooneit’stheMacedonia.”
Nooneacceptedhisoffer,andhewenton:“Inwhichevent,I’lllaytentoonethere’stroublebreezingup.”
“No,thankyou,”Latimerspokeup.“Idon’tobjecttolosingmymoney,butIliketogetarunforitanyway.
Thereneverwasatimewhentherewasn’ttroublewhenyouandthatbrotherofyoursgottogether,andI’lllaytwentytooneonthat.”
Ageneralsmilefollowed,inwhichWolfLarsenjoined,andthedinnerwentonsmoothly,thankstome,forhetreatedmeabominablytherestofthemeal,sneeringatmeandpatronizingmetillIwasalla-tremblewithsuppressedrage.
YetIknewImustcontrolmyselfforMaudBrewster’ssake,andIreceivedmyrewardwhenhereyescaughtmineforafleetingsecond,andtheysaid,asdistinctlyasifshespoke,“Bebrave,bebrave.”
Weleftthetabletogoondeck,forasteamerwasawelcomebreakinthemonotonyoftheseaonwhichwefloated,whiletheconvictionthatitwasDeathLarsenandtheMacedoniaaddedtotheexcitement.
Thestiffbreezeandheavyseawhichhadsprungupthepreviousafternoonhadbeenmoderatingallmorning,sothatitwasnowpossibletolowertheboatsforanafternoon’shunt.Thehuntingpromisedtobeprofitable.
Wehadsailedsincedaylightacrossaseabarrenofseals,andwerenowrunningintotheherd.
Thesmokewasstillmilesastern,butoverhaulingusrapidly,whenweloweredourboats.
Theyspreadoutandstruckanortherlycourseacrosstheocean.
Nowandagainwesawasaillower,heardthereportsoftheshot-guns,andsawthesailgoupagain.
Thesealswerethick,thewindwasdyingaway;everythingfavouredabigcatch.
Asweranofftogetourleewardpositionofthelastleeboat,wefoundtheoceanfairlycarpetedwithsleepingseals.
Theywereallaboutus,thickerthanIhadeverseenthembefore,intwosandthreesandbunches,stretchedfulllengthonthesurfaceandsleepingforalltheworldlikesomanylazyyoungdogs.
Undertheapproachingsmokethehullandupper-worksofasteamerweregrowinglarger.ItwastheMacedonia.
Ireadhernamethroughtheglassesasshepassedbyscarcelyamiletostarboard.
WolfLarsenlookedsavagelyatthevessel,whileMaudBrewsterwascurious.
“Whereisthetroubleyouweresosurewasbreezingup,CaptainLarsen?”sheaskedgaily.
Heglancedather,amoment’samusementsofteninghisfeatures.
“Whatdidyouexpect?Thatthey’dcomeaboardandcutourthroats?”
“Somethinglikethat,”sheconfessed.“Youunderstand,seal-huntersaresonewandstrangetomethatIamquitereadytoexpectanything.”
Henoddedhishead.“Quiteright,quiteright.Yourerroristhatyoufailedtoexpecttheworst.”
“Why,whatcanbeworsethancuttingourthroats?”sheasked,withprettynaïvesurprise.
“Cuttingourpurses,”heanswered.“Manissomadethesedaysthathiscapacityforlivingisdeterminedbythemoneyhepossesses.”
“’Whostealsmypursestealstrash,’”shequoted.
“Whostealsmypursestealsmyrighttolive,”wasthereply,“oldsawstothecontrary.
Forhestealsmybreadandmeatandbed,andinsodoingimperilsmylife.
Therearenotenoughsoup-kitchensandbread-linestogoaround,youknow,andwhenmenhavenothingintheirpursestheyusuallydie,anddiemiserably—unlesstheyareabletofilltheirpursesprettyspeedily.”
“ButIfailtoseethatthissteamerhasanydesignsonyourpurse.”
“Waitandyouwillsee,”heansweredgrimly.
Wedidnothavelongtowait.Havingpassedseveralmilesbeyondourlineofboats,theMacedoniaproceededtolowerherown.
Weknewshecarriedfourteenboatstoourfive(wewereoneshortthroughthedesertionofWainwright),andshebegandroppingthemfartoleewardofourlastboat,continueddroppingthemathwartourcourse,andfinisheddroppingthemfartowindwardofourfirstweatherboat.Thehunting,forus,wasspoiled.
Therewerenosealsbehindus,andaheadofusthelineoffourteenboats,likeahugebroom,swepttheherdbeforeit.
OurboatshuntedacrossthetwoorthreemilesofwaterbetweenthemandthepointwheretheMacedonia’shadbeendropped,andthenheadedforhome.
Thewindhadfallentoawhisper,theoceanwasgrowingcalmerandcalmer,andthis,coupledwiththepresenceofthegreatherd,madeaperfecthuntingday—oneofthetwoorthreedaystobeencounteredinthewholeofaluckyseason.
Anangrylotofmen,boat-pullersandsteerersaswellashunters,swarmedoverourside.
Eachmanfeltthathehadbeenrobbed;andtheboatswerehoistedinamidcurses,which,ifcurseshadpower,wouldhavesettledDeathLarsenforalleternity—“Deadanddamnedforadozeniveternities,”commentedLouis,hiseyestwinklingupatmeasherestedfromhaulingtautthelashingsofhisboat.
“Listentothem,andfindifitishardtodiscoverthemostvitalthingintheirsouls,”saidWolfLarsen.“Faith?andlove?andhighideals?Thegood?thebeautiful?thetrue?”
“Theirinnatesenseofrighthasbeenviolated,”MaudBrewstersaid,joiningtheconversation.
Shewasstandingadozenfeetaway,onehandrestingonthemain-shroudsandherbodyswayinggentlytotheslightrolloftheship.
Shehadnotraisedhervoice,andyetIwasstruckbyitsclearandbell-liketone.Ah,itwassweetinmyears!
Iscarcelydaredlookatherjustthen,forthefearofbetrayingmyself.
Aboy’scapwasperchedonherhead,andherhair,lightbrownandarrangedinalooseandfluffyorderthatcaughtthesun,seemedanaureoleaboutthedelicateovalofherface.
Shewaspositivelybewitching,and,withal,sweetlyspirituelle,ifnotsaintly.
Allmyold-timemarvelatlifereturnedtomeatsightofthissplendidincarnationofit,andWolfLarsen’scoldexplanationoflifeanditsmeaningwastrulyridiculousandlaughable.
“Asentimentalist,”hesneered,“likeMr.VanWeyden.
Thosemenarecursingbecausetheirdesireshavebeenoutraged.Thatisall.Whatdesires?
Thedesiresforthegoodgrubandsoftbedsashorewhichahandsomepay-daybringsthem—thewomenandthedrink,thegorgingandthebeastlinesswhichsotrulyexpressesthem,thebestthatisinthem,theirhighestaspirations,theirideals,ifyouplease.
Theexhibitiontheymakeoftheirfeelingsisnotatouchingsight,yetitshowshowdeeplytheyhavebeentouched,howdeeplytheirpurseshavebeentouched,fortolayhandsontheirpursesistolayhandsontheirsouls.”
“’Youhardlybehaveasifyourpursehadbeentouched,”shesaid,smilingly.
“ThenitsohappensthatIambehavingdifferently,formypurseandmysoulhavebothbeentouched.
AtthecurrentpriceofskinsintheLondonmarket,andbasedonafairestimateofwhattheafternoon’scatchwouldhavebeenhadnottheMacedoniahoggedit,theGhosthaslostaboutfifteenhundreddollars’worthofskins.”
“Youspeaksocalmly—”shebegan.
“ButIdonotfeelcalm;Icouldkillthemanwhorobbedme,”heinterrupted.“Yes,yes,Iknow,andthatmanmybrother—moresentiment!Bah!”
Hisfaceunderwentasuddenchange.Hisvoicewaslessharshandwhollysincereashesaid:
“Youmustbehappy,yousentimentalists,reallyandtrulyhappyatdreamingandfindingthingsgood,and,becauseyoufindsomeofthemgood,feelinggoodyourself.
Now,tellme,youtwo,doyoufindmegood?”
“Youaregoodtolookupon—inaway,”Iqualified.
“Thereareinyouallpowersforgood,”wasMaudBrewster’sanswer.
“Thereyouare!”hecriedather,halfangrily.“Yourwordsareemptytome.
Thereisnothingclearandsharpanddefiniteaboutthethoughtyouhaveexpressed.
Youcannotpickitupinyourtwohandsandlookatit.Inpointoffact,itisnotathought.
Itisafeeling,asentiment,asomethingbaseduponillusionandnotaproductoftheintellectatall.”
Ashewentonhisvoiceagaingrewsoft,andaconfidingnotecameintoit.
“Doyouknow,IsometimescatchmyselfwishingthatI,too,wereblindtothefactsoflifeandonlyknewitsfanciesandillusions.
They’rewrong,allwrong,ofcourse,andcontrarytoreason;butinthefaceofthemmyreasontellsme,wrongandmostwrong,thattodreamandliveillusionsgivesgreaterdelight.
Andafterall,delightisthewageforliving.
Withoutdelight,livingisaworthlessact.
Tolabouratlivingandbeunpaidisworsethantobedead.
Hewhodelightsthemostlivesthemost,andyourdreamsandunrealitiesarelessdisturbingtoyouandmoregratifyingthanaremyfactstome.”
Heshookhisheadslowly,pondering.
“Ioftendoubt,Ioftendoubt,theworthwhilenessofreason.
Dreamsmustbemoresubstantialandsatisfying.
Emotionaldelightismorefillingandlastingthanintellectualdelight;and,besides,youpayforyourmomentsofintellectualdelightbyhavingtheblues.
Emotionaldelightisfollowedbynomorethanjadedsenseswhichspeedilyrecuperate.Ienvyyou,Ienvyyou.”
Hestoppedabruptly,andthenonhislipsformedoneofhisstrangequizzicalsmiles,asheadded:
“It’sfrommybrainIenvyyou,takenotice,andnotfrommyheart.Myreasondictatesit.Theenvyisanintellectualproduct.
Iamlikeasobermanlookingupondrunkenmen,and,greatlyweary,wishinghe,too,weredrunk.”
“Orlikeawisemanlookinguponfoolsandwishinghe,too,wereafool,”Ilaughed.
“Quiteso,”hesaid.“Youareablessed,bankruptpairoffools.Youhavenofactsinyourpocketbook.”
“Yetwespendasfreelyasyou,”wasMaudBrewster’scontribution.
“Morefreely,becauseitcostsyounothing.”
“Andbecausewedrawuponeternity,”sheretorted.
“Whetheryoudoorthinkyoudo,it’sthesamething.
Youspendwhatyouhaven’tgot,andinreturnyougetgreatervaluefromspendingwhatyouhaven’tgotthanIgetfromspendingwhatIhavegot,andwhatIhavesweatedtoget.”
“Whydon’tyouchangethebasisofyourcoinage,then?”shequeriedteasingly.
Helookedatherquickly,half-hopefully,andthensaid,allregretfully:“Toolate.I’dliketo,perhaps,butIcan’t.
Mypocketbookisstuffedwiththeoldcoinage,andit’sastubbornthing.
Icanneverbringmyselftorecognizeanythingelseasvalid.”
Heceasedspeaking,andhisgazewanderedabsentlypastherandbecamelostintheplacidsea.
Theoldprimalmelancholywasstronguponhim.Hewasquiveringtoit.
Hehadreasonedhimselfintoaspelloftheblues,andwithinfewhoursonecouldlookforthedevilwithinhimtobeupandstirring.
IrememberedCharleyFuruseth,andknewthisman’ssadnessasthepenaltywhichthematerialisteverpaysforhismaterialism.
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