________________________________________________
_ I knew what it was as she came toward me. For ten minutes I had
watched her talking earnestly with the engineer, and now, with a
sign for silence, I drew her out of earshot of the helmsman. Her
face was white and set; her large eyes, larger than usual what of
the purpose in them, looked penetratingly into mine. I felt rather
timid and apprehensive, for she had come to search Humphrey Van
Weyden's soul, and Humphrey Van Weyden had nothing of which to be
particularly proud since his advent on the Ghost.
We walked to the break of the poop, where she turned and faced me.
I glanced around to see that no one was within hearing distance.
"What is it?" I asked gently; but the expression of determination
on her face did not relax.
"I can readily understand," she began, "that this morning's affair
was largely an accident; but I have been talking with Mr. Haskins.
He tells me that the day we were rescued, even while I was in the
cabin, two men were drowned, deliberately drowned - murdered."
There was a query in her voice, and she faced me accusingly, as
though I were guilty of the deed, or at least a party to it.
"The information is quite correct," I answered. "The two men were
murdered."
"And you permitted it!" she cried.
"I was unable to prevent it, is a better way of phrasing it," I
replied, still gently.
"But you tried to prevent it?" There was an emphasis on the
"tried," and a pleading little note in her voice.
"Oh, but you didn't," she hurried on, divining my answer. "But why
didn't you?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "You must remember, Miss Brewster, that
you are a new inhabitant of this little world, and that you do not
yet understand the laws which operate within it. You bring with
you certain fine conceptions of humanity, manhood, conduct, and
such things; but here you will find them misconceptions. I have
found it so," I added, with an involuntary sigh.
She shook her head incredulously.
"What would you advise, then?" I asked. "That I should take a
knife, or a gun, or an axe, and kill this man?"
She half started back.
"No, not that!"
"Then what should I do? Kill myself?"
"You speak in purely materialistic terms," she objected. "There is
such a thing as moral courage, and moral courage is never without
effect."
"Ah," I smiled, "you advise me to kill neither him nor myself, but
to let him kill me." I held up my hand as she was about to speak.
"For moral courage is a worthless asset on this little floating
world. Leach, one of the men who were murdered, had moral courage
to an unusual degree. So had the other man, Johnson. Not only did
it not stand them in good stead, but it destroyed them. And so
with me if I should exercise what little moral courage I may
possess.
"You must understand, Miss Brewster, and understand clearly, that
this man is a monster. He is without conscience. Nothing is
sacred to him, nothing is too terrible for him to do. It was due
to his whim that I was detained aboard in the first place. It is
due to his whim that I am still alive. I do nothing, can do
nothing, because I am a slave to this monster, as you are now a
slave to him; because I desire to live, as you will desire to live;
because I cannot fight and overcome him, just as you will not be
able to fight and overcome him."
She waited for me to go on.
"What remains? Mine is the role of the weak. I remain silent and
suffer ignominy, as you will remain silent and suffer ignominy.
And it is well. It is the best we can do if we wish to live. The
battle is not always to the strong. We have not the strength with
which to fight this man; we must dissimulate, and win, if win we
can, by craft. If you will be advised by me, this is what you will
do. I know my position is perilous, and I may say frankly that
yours is even more perilous. We must stand together, without
appearing to do so, in secret alliance. I shall not be able to
side with you openly, and, no matter what indignities may be put
upon me, you are to remain likewise silent. We must provoke no
scenes with this man, nor cross his will. And we must keep smiling
faces and be friendly with him no matter how repulsive it may be."
She brushed her hand across her forehead in a puzzled way, saying,
"Still I do not understand."
"You must do as I say," I interrupted authoritatively, for I saw
Wolf Larsen's gaze wandering toward us from where he paced up and
down with Latimer amidships. "Do as I say, and ere long you will
find I am right."
"What shall I do, then?" she asked, detecting the anxious glance I
had shot at the object of our conversation, and impressed, I
flatter myself, with the earnestness of my manner.
"Dispense with all the moral courage you can," I said briskly.
"Don't arouse this man's animosity. Be quite friendly with him,
talk with him, discuss literature and art with him - he is fond of
such things. You will find him an interested listener and no fool.
And for your own sake try to avoid witnessing, as much as you can,
the brutalities of the ship. It will make it easier for you to act
your part."
"I am to lie," she said in steady, rebellious tones, "by speech and
action to lie."
Wolf Larsen had separated from Latimer and was coming toward us. I
was desperate.
"Please, please understand me," I said hurriedly, lowering my
voice. "All your experience of men and things is worthless here.
You must begin over again. I know, - I can see it - you have,
among other ways, been used to managing people with your eyes,
letting your moral courage speak out through them, as it were. You
have already managed me with your eyes, commanded me with them.
But don't try it on Wolf Larsen. You could as easily control a
lion, while he would make a mock of you. He would - I have always
been proud of the fact that I discovered him," I said, turning the
conversation as Wolf Larsen stepped on the poop and joined us.
"The editors were afraid of him and the publishers would have none
of him. But I knew, and his genius and my judgment were vindicated
when he made that magnificent hit with his 'Forge.'"
"And it was a newspaper poem," she said glibly.
"It did happen to see the light in a newspaper," I replied, "but
not because the magazine editors had been denied a glimpse at it."
"We were talking of Harris," I said to Wolf Larsen.
"Oh, yes," he acknowledged. "I remember the 'Forge.' Filled with
pretty sentiments and an almighty faith in human illusions. By the
way, Mr. Van Weyden, you'd better look in on Cooky. He's
complaining and restless."
Thus was I bluntly dismissed from the poop, only to find Mugridge
sleeping soundly from the morphine I had given him. I made no
haste to return on deck, and when I did I was gratified to see Miss
Brewster in animated conversation with Wolf Larsen. As I say, the
sight gratified me. She was following my advice. And yet I was
conscious of a slight shock or hurt in that she was able to do the
thing I had begged her to do and which she had notably disliked. _
Read next: CHAPTER XXIII
Read previous: CHAPTER XXI
Table of content of Sea Wolf
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
