It was also serious, for I learned that he was capable of using it, that under all his cowardice there was a courage of cowardice, like mine, that would impel him to do the very thing his whole nature protested against doing and was afraid of doing."Cooky's sharpening his knife for Hump,"was being whispered about among the sailors, and some of them twitted him about it.This he took in good part, and was really pleased, nodding his head with direful foreknowledge and mystery, until George Leach, the erstwhile cabin-boy, ventured some rough pleasantry on the subject.
Now it happened that Leach was one of the sailors told off to douse Mugridge after his game of cards with the captain.Leach had evidently done his task with a thoroughness that Mugridge had not forgiven, for words followed and evil names involving smirched ancestries.Mugridge menaced with the knife he was sharpening for me.Leach laughed and hurled more of his Telegraph Hill billingsgate, and before either he or I knew what had happened, his right arm had been ripped open from elbow to wrist by a quick slash of the knife.The cook backed away, a fiendish expression on his face, the knife held before him in a position of defence.But Leach took it quite calmly, though blood was spouting upon the deck as generously as water from a fountain.
"I'm goin' to get you, Cooky," he said, "and I'll get you hard.And I won't be in no hurry about it.You'll be without that knife when I come for you."So saying, he turned and walked quietly forward.Mugridge's face was livid with fear at what he had done and at what he might expect sooner or later from the man he had stabbed.But his demeanor toward me was more ferocious than ever.In spite of his fear at the reckoning he must expect to pay for what he had done, he could see that it had been an object-lesson to me, and he became more domineering and exultant.Also there was a lust in him, akin to madness, which had come with sight of the blood he had drawn.He was beginning to see red in whatever direction he looked.The psychology of it is sadly tangled, and yet could read the workings of his mind as clearly as though it were a printed book.
Several days went by, the Ghost still foaming down the trades, and I could swear I saw madness growing in Thomas Mugridge's eyes.And I confess that I became afraid, very much afraid.Whet, whet, whet, it went all day long.The look in his eyes as he felt the keen edge and glared at me was positively carnivorous.I was afraid to turn my shoulder to him, and when I left the galley I went out backwards -- to the amusement of the sailors and hunters, who made a point of gathering in groups to witness my exit.The strain was too great.sometimes thought my mind would give way under it -- a meet thing on this ship of madmen and brutes.Every hour, every minute of my existence was in jeopardy.I was a human soul in distress, and yet no soul, fore or aft, betrayed sufficient sympathy to come to my aid.At times I thought of throwing myself on the mercy of Wolf Larsen, but the vision of the mocking devil in his eyes that questioned life and sneered at it would come strong upon me and compel me to refrain.At other times I seriously contemplated suicide, and the whole force of my hopeful philosophy was required to keep me from going over the side in the darkness of night.
Several times Wolf Larsen tried to inveigle me into discussion, but I gave him short answers and eluded him.Finally, he commanded me to resume my seat at the cabin table for a time and let the cook do my work.Then I spoke frankly, telling him what I was enduring from Thomas Mugridge because of the three days of favoritism which had been shown me.Wolf Larsen regarded me with smiling eyes.
"So you're afraid, eh?" he sneered.
"Yes," I said defiantly and honestly, "I am afraid.""That's the way with you fellows," he cried, half angrily, "sentimentalizing about your immortal souls and afraid to die.At sight of a sharp knife and a cowardly Cockney the clinging of life to life overcomes all your fond foolishness.Why, my dear fellow, you will live forever.You are a god, and God cannot be killed.Cooky cannot hurt you.You are sure of your resurrection.What's there to be afraid of?
"You have eternal life before you.You are a millionnaire in immortality, and a millionnaire whose fortune cannot be lost, whose fortune is less perishable than the stars and as lasting as space or time.It is impossible for you to diminish your principal.Immortality is a thing without beginning or end.Eternity is eternity, and though you die here and now you will go on living somewhere else and hereafter.And it is all very beautiful, this shaking off of the flesh and soaring of the imprisoned spirit.Cooky cannot hurt you.He can only give you a boost on the path you eternally must tread.
"Or, if you do not wish to be boosted just yet, why not boost Cooky?
According to your ideas, he, too, must be an immortal millionnaire.You cannot bankrupt him.His paper will always circulate at par.You cannot diminish the length of his living by killing him, for he is without beginning or end.He's bound to go on living, somewhere, somehow.Then boost him.
Stick a knife in him and let his spirit free.As it is, it's in a nasty prison, and you'll do him only a kindness by breaking down the door.And who knows? -- it may be a very beautiful spirit that will go soaring up into the blue from that ugly carcass.Boost him along, and I'll promote you to his place, and he's getting forty-five dollars a month."It was plain that I could look for no help or mercy from Wolf Larsen.
