I awoke, oppressed by a mysterious sensation. There seemed somethingmissing in my environment. But the mystery and oppressiveness vanishedafter the first few seconds of waking, when I identified the missingsomething as the wind. I had fallen asleep in that state of nervetension with which one meets the continuous shock of sound or movement,and I had awakened, still tense, bracing myself to meet the pressure ofsomething which no longer bore upon me.

It was the first night I had spent under cover in several months, and Ilay luxuriously for some minutes under my blankets (for once not wet withfog or spray), analysing, first, the effect produced upon me by thecessation of the wind, and next, the joy which was mine from resting onthe mattress made by Maud’s hands. When I had dressed and opened thedoor, I heard the waves still lapping on the beach, garrulously attestingthe fury of the night. It was a clear day, and the sun was shining. Ihad slept late, and I stepped outside with sudden energy, bent uponmaking up lost time as befitted a dweller on Endeavour Island.

And when outside, I stopped short. I believed my eyes without question,and yet I was for the moment stunned by what they disclosed to me.There, on the beach, not fifty feet away, bow on, dismasted, was ablack-hulled vessel. Masts and booms, tangled with shrouds, sheets, andrent canvas, were rubbing gently alongside. I could have rubbed my eyesas I looked. There was the home-made galley we had built, the familiarbreak of the poop, the low yacht-cabin scarcely rising above the rail.It was the _Ghost_.

What freak of fortune had brought it here—here of all spots? what chanceof chances? I looked at the bleak, inaccessible wall at my back and knowthe profundity of despair. Escape was hopeless, out of the question. Ithought of Maud, asleep there in the hut we had reared; I remembered her“Good-night, Humphrey”; “my woman, my mate,” went ringing through mybrain, but now, alas, it was a knell that sounded. Then everything wentblack before my eyes.

Possibly it was the fraction of a second, but I had no knowledge of howlong an interval had lapsed before I was myself again. There lay the_Ghost_, bow on to the beach, her splintered bowsprit projecting over thesand, her tangled spars rubbing against her side to the lift of thecrooning waves. Something must be done, must be done.

It came upon me suddenly, as strange, that nothing moved aboard. Weariedfrom the night of struggle and wreck, all hands were yet asleep, Ithought. My next thought was that Maud and I might yet escape. If wecould take to the boat and make round the point before any one awoke? Iwould call her and start. My hand was lifted at her door to knock, whenI recollected the smallness of the island. We could never hide ourselvesupon it. There was nothing for us but the wide raw ocean. I thought ofour snug little huts, our supplies of meat and oil and moss and firewood,and I knew that we could never survive the wintry sea and the greatstorms which were to come.

So I stood, with hesitant knuckle, without her door. It was impossible,impossible. A wild thought of rushing in and killing her as she sleptrose in my mind. And then, in a flash, the better solution came to me.All hands were asleep. Why not creep aboard the _Ghost_,—well I knew theway to Wolf Larsen’s bunk,—and kill him in his sleep? After that—well,we would see. But with him dead there was time and space in which toprepare to do other things; and besides, whatever new situation arose, itcould not possibly be worse than the present one.

My knife was at my hip. I returned to my hut for the shot-gun, made sureit was loaded, and went down to the _Ghost_. With some difficulty, andat the expense of a wetting to the waist, I climbed aboard. Theforecastle scuttle was open. I paused to listen for the breathing of themen, but there was no breathing. I almost gasped as the thought came tome: What if the _Ghost_ is deserted? I listened more closely. There wasno sound. I cautiously descended the ladder. The place had the emptyand musty feel and smell usual to a dwelling no longer inhabited.Everywhere was a thick litter of discarded and ragged garments, oldsea-boots, leaky oilskins—all the worthless forecastle dunnage of a longvoyage.

Abandoned hastily, was my conclusion, as I ascended to the deck. Hopewas alive again in my breast, and I looked about me with greatercoolness. I noted that the boats were missing. The steerage told thesame tale as the forecastle. The hunters had packed their belongingswith similar haste. The _Ghost_ was deserted. It was Maud’s and mine.I thought of the ship’s stores and the lazarette beneath the cabin, andthe idea came to me of surprising Maud with something nice for breakfast.

The reaction from my fear, and the knowledge that the terrible deed I hadcome to do was no longer necessary, made me boyish and eager. I went upthe steerage companion-way two steps at a time, with nothing distinct inmy mind except joy and the hope that Maud would sleep on until thesurprise breakfast was quite ready for her. As I rounded the galley, anew satisfaction was mine at thought of all the splendid cooking utensilsinside. I sprang up the break of the poop, and saw—Wolf Larsen. What ofmy impetus and the stunning surprise, I clattered three or four stepsalong the deck before I could stop myself. He was standing in thecompanion-way, only his head and shoulders visible, staring straight atme. His arms were resting on the half-open slide. He made no movementwhatever—simply stood there, staring at me.

I began to tremble. The old stomach sickness clutched me. I put onehand on the edge of the house to steady myself. My lips seemed suddenlydry and I moistened them against the need of speech. Nor did I for aninstant take my eyes off him. Neither of us spoke. There was somethingominous in his silence, his immobility. All my old fear of him returnedand by new fear was increased an hundred-fold. And still we stood, thepair of us, staring at each other.

I was aware of the demand for action, and, my old helplessness strongupon me, I was waiting for him to take the initiative. Then, as themoments went by, it came to me that the situation was analogous to theone in which I had approached the long-maned bull, my intention ofclubbing obscured by fear until it became a desire to make him run. Soit was at last impressed upon me that I was there, not to have WolfLarsen take the initiative, but to take it myself.

I cocked both barrels and levelled the shot-gun at him. Had he moved,attempted to drop down the companion-way, I know I would have shot him.But he stood motionless and staring as before. And as I faced him, withlevelled gun shaking in my hands, I had time to note the worn and haggardappearance of his face. It was as if some strong anxiety had wasted it.The cheeks were sunken, and there was a wearied, puckered expression onthe brow. And it seemed to me that his eyes were strange, not only theexpression, but the physical seeming, as though the optic nerves andsupporting muscles had suffered strain and slightly twisted the eyeballs.

All this I saw, and my brain now working rapidly, I thought a thousandthoughts; and yet I could not pull the triggers. I lowered the gun andstepped to the corner of the cabin, primarily to relieve the tension onmy nerves and to make a new start, and incidentally to be closer. AgainI raised the gun. He was almost at arm’s length. There was no hope forhim. I was resolved. There was no possible chance of missing him, nomatter how poor my marksmanship. And yet I wrestled with myself andcould not pull the triggers.

“Well?” he demanded impatiently.

I strove vainly to force my fingers down on the triggers, and vainly Istrove to say something.

“Why don’t you shoot?” he asked.

I cleared my throat of a huskiness which prevented speech. “Hump,” hesaid slowly, “you can’t do it. You are not exactly afraid. You areimpotent. Your conventional morality is stronger than you. You are theslave to the opinions which have credence among the people you have knownand have read about. Their code has been drummed into your head from thetime you lisped, and in spite of your philosophy, and of what I havetaught you, it won’t let you kill an unarmed, unresisting man.”

“I know it,” I said hoarsely.

“And you know that I would kill an unarmed man as readily as I wouldsmoke a cigar,” he went on. “You know me for what I am,—my worth in theworld by your standard. You have called me snake, tiger, shark, monster,and Caliban. And yet, you little rag puppet, you little echoingmechanism, you are unable to kill me as you would a snake or a shark,because I have hands, feet, and a body shaped somewhat like yours. Bah!I had hoped better things of you, Hump.”

He stepped out of the companion-way and came up to me.

“Put down that gun. I want to ask you some questions. I haven’t had achance to look around yet. What place is this? How is the _Ghost_lying? How did you get wet? Where’s Maud?—I beg your pardon, MissBrewster—or should I say, ‘Mrs. Van Weyden’?”

I had backed away from him, almost weeping at my inability to shoot him,but not fool enough to put down the gun. I hoped, desperately, that hemight commit some hostile act, attempt to strike me or choke me; for insuch way only I knew I could be stirred to shoot.

“This is Endeavour Island,” I said.

“Never heard of it,” he broke in.

“At least, that’s our name for it,” I amended.

“Our?” he queried. “Who’s our?”

“Miss Brewster and myself. And the _Ghost_ is lying, as you can see foryourself, bow on to the beach.”

“There are seals here,” he said. “They woke me up with their barking, orI’d be sleeping yet. I heard them when I drove in last night. They werethe first warning that I was on a lee shore. It’s a rookery, the kind ofa thing I’ve hunted for years. Thanks to my brother Death, I’ve lightedon a fortune. It’s a mint. What’s its bearings?”

“Haven’t the least idea,” I said. “But you ought to know quite closely.What were your last observations?”

He smiled inscrutably, but did not answer.

“Well, where’s all hands?” I asked. “How does it come that you arealone?”

I was prepared for him again to set aside my question, and was surprisedat the readiness of his reply.

“My brother got me inside forty-eight hours, and through no fault ofmine. Boarded me in the night with only the watch on deck. Hunters wentback on me. He gave them a bigger lay. Heard him offering it. Did itright before me. Of course the crew gave me the go-by. That was to beexpected. All hands went over the side, and there I was, marooned on myown vessel. It was Death’s turn, and it’s all in the family anyway.”

“But how did you lose the masts?” I asked.

“Walk over and examine those lanyards,” he said, pointing to where themizzen-rigging should have been.

“They have been cut with a knife!” I exclaimed.

“Not quite,” he laughed. “It was a neater job. Look again.”

I looked. The lanyards had been almost severed, with just enough left tohold the shrouds till some severe strain should be put upon them.

“Cooky did that,” he laughed again. “I know, though I didn’t spot him atit. Kind of evened up the score a bit.”

“Good for Mugridge!” I cried.

“Yes, that’s what I thought when everything went over the side. Only Isaid it on the other side of my mouth.”

“But what were you doing while all this was going on?” I asked.

“My best, you may be sure, which wasn’t much under the circumstances.”

I turned to re-examine Thomas Mugridge’s work.

“I guess I’ll sit down and take the sunshine,” I heard Wolf Larsensaying.

There was a hint, just a slight hint, of physical feebleness in hisvoice, and it was so strange that I looked quickly at him. His hand wassweeping nervously across his face, as though he were brushing awaycobwebs. I was puzzled. The whole thing was so unlike the Wolf Larsen Ihad known.

“How are your headaches?” I asked.

“They still trouble me,” was his answer. “I think I have one coming onnow.”

He slipped down from his sitting posture till he lay on the deck. Thenhe rolled over on his side, his head resting on the biceps of the underarm, the forearm shielding his eyes from the sun. I stood regarding himwonderingly.

“Now’s your chance, Hump,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” I lied, for I thoroughly understood.

“Oh, nothing,” he added softly, as if he were drowsing; “only you’ve gotme where you want me.”

“No, I haven’t,” I retorted; “for I want you a few thousand miles awayfrom here.”

He chuckled, and thereafter spoke no more. He did not stir as I passedby him and went down into the cabin. I lifted the trap in the floor, butfor some moments gazed dubiously into the darkness of the lazarettebeneath. I hesitated to descend. What if his lying down were a ruse?Pretty, indeed, to be caught there like a rat. I crept softly up thecompanion-way and peeped at him. He was lying as I had left him. AgainI went below; but before I dropped into the lazarette I took theprecaution of casting down the door in advance. At least there would beno lid to the trap. But it was all needless. I regained the cabin witha store of jams, sea-biscuits, canned meats, and such things,—all I couldcarry,—and replaced the trap-door.

A peep at Wolf Larsen showed me that he had not moved. A bright thoughtstruck me. I stole into his state-room and possessed myself of hisrevolvers. There were no other weapons, though I thoroughly ransackedthe three remaining state-rooms. To make sure, I returned and wentthrough the steerage and forecastle, and in the galley gathered up allthe sharp meat and vegetable knives. Then I bethought me of the greatyachtsman’s knife he always carried, and I came to him and spoke to him,first softly, then loudly. He did not move. I bent over and took itfrom his pocket. I breathed more freely. He had no arms with which toattack me from a distance; while I, armed, could always forestall himshould he attempt to grapple me with his terrible gorilla arms.

Filling a coffee-pot and frying-pan with part of my plunder, and takingsome chinaware from the cabin pantry, I left Wolf Larsen lying in the sunand went ashore.

Maud was still asleep. I blew up the embers (we had not yet arranged awinter kitchen), and quite feverishly cooked the breakfast. Toward theend, I heard her moving about within the hut, making her toilet. Just asall was ready and the coffee poured, the door opened and she came forth.

“It’s not fair of you,” was her greeting. “You are usurping one of myprerogatives. You know you I agreed that the cooking should be mine,and—”

“But just this once,” I pleaded.

“If you promise not to do it again,” she smiled. “Unless, of course, youhave grown tired of my poor efforts.”

To my delight she never once looked toward the beach, and I maintainedthe banter with such success all unconsciously she sipped coffee from thechina cup, ate fried evaporated potatoes, and spread marmalade on herbiscuit. But it could not last. I saw the surprise that came over her.She had discovered the china plate from which she was eating. She lookedover the breakfast, noting detail after detail. Then she looked at me,and her face turned slowly toward the beach.

“Humphrey!” she said.

The old unnamable terror mounted into her eyes.

“Is—he?” she quavered.

I nodded my head.