tom show black
in a breaking crest. At the best, that was all. For Johnson and Leach
the travail of existence had ceased.

The men remained grouped amidships. No one had gone below, and no one
was speaking. Nor were any looks being exchanged. Each man seemed
stunned--deeply contemplative, as it were, and, not quite sure, trying to
realize just what had taken place. Wolf Larsen gave them little time for
thought. He at once put the _Ghost_ upon her course--a course which
meant the seal herd and not Yokohama harbour. But the men were no longer
eager as they pulled and hauled, and I heard curses amongst them, which
left their lips smothered and as heavy and lifeless as were they. Not so
was it with the hunters. Smoke the irrepressible related a story, and
they descended into the steerage, bellowing with laughter.

As I passed to leeward of the galley on my way aft I was approached by
the engineer we had rescued. His face was white, his lips were
trembling.

"Good God! sir, what kind of a craft is this?" he cried.

"You have eyes, you have seen," I answered, almost brutally, what of the
pain and fear at my own heart.

"Your promise?" I said to Wolf Larsen.

"I was not thinking of taking them aboard when I made that promise," he
answered. "And anyway, you'll agree I've not laid my hands upon them."

"Far from it, far from it," he laughed a moment later.

I made no reply. I was incapable of speaking, my mind was too confused.
I must have time to think, I knew. This woman, sleeping even now in the
spare cabin, was a responsibility, which I must consider, and the only
rational thought that flickered through my mind was that I must do
nothing hastily if I were to be any help to her at all.

CHAPTER XX

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. The young slip of a gale,
having wetted our gills, proceeded to moderate. The fourth engineer and
the three oilers, after a warm interview with Wolf Larsen, were furnished
with outfits from the slop-chests, assigned places under the hunters in
the various boats and watches on the vessel, and bundled forward into the
forecastle. They went protestingly, but their voices were not loud.
They were awed by what they had already seen of Wolf Larsen's character,
while the tale of woe they speedily heard in the forecastle took the last
bit of rebellion out of them.

Miss Brewster--we had learned her name from the engineer--slept on and
on. At supper I reque