more violent
suffocating paroxysm seized the unfortunate person who was lying on his
back. He wrenched and writhed about convulsively. The chin, with the
damp black beard, pointed higher in the air as the back muscles stiffened
and the chest swelled in an unconscious and instinctive effort to get
more air. Under the whiskers, and all unseen, I knew that the skin was
taking on a purplish hue.

The captain, or Wolf Larsen, as men called him, ceased pacing and gazed
down at the dying man. So fierce had this final struggle become that the
sailor paused in the act of flinging more water over him and stared
curiously, the canvas bucket partly tilted and dripping its contents to
the deck. The dying man beat a tattoo on the hatch with his heels,
straightened out his legs, and stiffened in one great tense effort, and
rolled his head from side to side. Then the muscles relaxed, the head
stopped rolling, and a sigh, as of profound relief, floated upward from
his lips. The jaw dropped, the upper lip lifted, and two rows of
tobacco-discoloured teeth appeared. It seemed as though his features had
frozen into a diabolical grin at the world he had left and outwitted.

Then a most surprising thing occurred. The captain broke loose upon the
dead man like a thunderclap. Oaths rolled from his lips in a continuous
stream. And they were not namby-pamby oaths, or mere expressions of
indecency. Each word was a blasphemy, and there were many words. They
crisped and crackled like electric sparks. I had never heard anything
like it in my life, nor could I have conceived it possible. With a turn
for literary expression myself, and a penchant for forcible figures and
phrases, I appreciated, as no other listener, I dare say, the peculiar
vividness and strength and absolute blasphemy of his metaphors. The
cause of it all, as near as I could make out, was that the man, who was
mate, had gone on a debauch before leaving San Francisco, and then had
the poor taste to die at the beginning of the voyage and leave Wolf
Larsen short-handed.

It should be unnecessary to state, at least to my friends, that I was
shocked. Oaths and vile language of any sort had always been repellent
to me. I felt a wilting sensation, a sinking at the heart, and, I might
just as well say, a giddiness. To me, death had always been invested
with solemnity and dignity. It had been peaceful in its occurrence,
sacred in its ceremonial. But death in its more so