“Ay, ay, sir,” was the cheery response, as Johansen started forward. In the meantime the erstwhile cabin-boy had not moved. “What are you waiting for?” Wolf Larsen demanded. “I didn’t sign for boat-puller, sir,” was the reply. “I signed for cabin-boy. An’ I don’t want no boat-pullin’ in mine.” “Pack up and go for’ard.” This time Wolf Larsen’s command was thrillingly imperative. The boy glowered sullenly, but refused to move. Then came another stirring of Wolf Larsen’s tremendous strength. It was utterly unexpected, and it was over and done with between the ticks of two seconds. He had sprung fully six feet across the deck and driven his fist into the other’s stomach. At the same moment, as though I had been struck myself, I felt a sickening shock in the pit of my stomach. I instance this to show the sensitiveness of my nervous organization at the time, and how unused I was to spectacles of brutality. The cabin-boy—and he weighed one hundred and sixty-five at the very least—crumpled up. His body wrapped limply about the fist like a wet rag about a stick. He lifted into the air, described a short curve, and struck the deck alongside the corpse on his head and shoulders, where he lay and writhed about in agony. “Well?” Larsen asked of me. “Have you made up your mind?” I had glanced occasionally at the approaching schooner, and it was now almost abreast of us and not more than a couple of hundred yards away. It was a very trim and neat little craft. I could see a large, black number on one of its sails, and I had seen pictures of pilot-boats. “What vessel is that?” I asked. “The pilot-boat _Lady Mine_,” Wolf Larsen answered grimly. “Got rid of her pilots and running into San Francisco. She’ll be there in five or six hours with this wind.” “Will you please signal it, then, so that I may be put ashore.” “Sorry, but I’ve lost the signal book overboard,” he remarked, and the group of hunters grinned. I debated a moment, looking him squarely in the eyes. I had seen the frightful treatment of the cabin-boy, and knew that I should very probably receive the same, if not worse. As I say, I debated with myself, and then I did what I consider the bravest act of my life. I ran to the side, waving my arms and shouting: “_Lady Mine_ ahoy! Take me ashore! A thousand dollars if you take me ashore!” I waited, watching two men who stood by the wheel, one of them steering. The other was lifting a megaphone to his lips. I did not turn my head, though I expected every moment a killing blow from the human brute behind me. At last, after what seemed centuries, unable longer to stand the strain, I looked around. He had not moved. He was standing in the same position, swaying easily to the roll of the ship and lighting a fresh cigar. “What is the matter? Anything wrong?” This was the cry from the _Lady Mine_. “Yes!” I shouted, at the top of my lungs. “Life or death! One thousand dollars if you take me ashore!”