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Chapter 4

Word Count: 2387    |    Released on: 18/11/2017

o was called 'the doctor' by the crew, 'Tommy' by the hunters, and 'Cooky' by Wolf Larsen, was a changed personage. The difference worked in my statu

ms, I was supposed to be his assistant in the galley, and my colossal ignorance concerning such things as peeling potatoes or washing greasy pots was a source of unending and sarcastic wonder to

arn till later), was plunging through what Mr. Mugridge called an ''owlin' sou'easter.' At half-past five, under his directions,

other arm several loaves of fresh-baked bread. One of the hunters, a tall, loose-jointed chap named Henderson, was going aft at the time from the stee

! Sling yer 'ook

shot, on the inside, till he was many feet higher than my head. Also, I saw a great wave, curling and foaming, poised far above the rail. I was directly under it. My mind di

something, y

er and being swept along I knew not where. Several times I collided against hard objects, once striking my right knee a terrible blow. Then the flood seemed suddenly to subside, and I was breathing the good air again. I had been swept against the galley and around the steerage comp

! Where's the pot? Lost overboard? Serve y

ill in my hand. I limped to the galley and handed it to hi

'd like to know. Eh? Wot're you good for, anyw'y? Cawn't even carry

t at me with renewed rage. ''Cos you've 'urt y

hout further mishap. Two things I had acquired by my accident: an injured kneecap that went undressed and from which I suffered for weary months, and the name of 'Hump,' which Wolf Larsen had called me from the poop

ng. But what struck me most forcibly was the total lack of sympathy on the part of the men whom I served. I could feel my knee through my clothes swelling up to the size of an apple, and I was sick and faint from the pain of it. I could catch glimp

h things in time. It may cripple you some, but, all the same, you'll be

I nodded my head with

literary things? Eh? Good. I'll h

r account of me, he turned

esence of the cook and to be off my feet. To my surprise, my clothes had dried on me, and there seemed no indications of catching cold either from the last soaking or fr

p on edge in the midst of the swelling. As I sat in my bunk examining it (the six hunters were a

ted. 'Tie a rag around it

hese men justice. Callous as they were to my suffering, they were equally callous to their own when anything befell them. And this was due, I believe, first to habit and second

emental environment seemed to call for a savage repression. Like the savage, the attitude of these men was stoical in great things, childish in little things. I remember, later in the voyage, seeing Kerfoot, another of t

to swim. He held that it did; that it could swim the moment it was born. The other hunter, Latimer, a lean Yankee-looking fellow, with shrewd, narrow-slitted eyes, held otherwise; held that th

in the confined space. Childish and immaterial as the topic was, the quality of their reasoning was still more childish and immaterial. In truth, there was very little reasoning or none at all. Their method was one of assertion, assumption, and denunciation. They proved that a seal-pup could swim or not swim at birth by stating the proposition

; and this, combined with the violent movement of the ship as she struggled through the storm, would surely have made me seasick had I been a

d a recluse on an assured and comfortable income. Violent life and athletic sports had never appealed to me. I had always been a bookworm; so my sisters and father had called me during my childhood. I had gone camping but once in my life, and then I left the party almost at its start and returned to the comforts and conveniences of a roof. And here I was, with dreary and endless vistas before me of table-setting, potato-peeling, and dishwashi

nd pictured their grief. I was among the missing dead of the Martinez disaster, an unrecovered body. I could see the headlines in the papers, the fellows at the University Club and the Bibelot shaking their heads and

rk and the fittings groaning and squeaking and complaining in a thousand keys. The hunters were still arguing and roaring like some semi-human, amphibious breed. The air was filled with oaths and indecent expressions. I could see their faces, flushed and angry, the brutality distorted and emphasized by the sickly yellow of the sea-lamps, which rocked back and forth with the ship. Throug

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