“Too much ’Frisco tanglefoot for the health of my crew!” Wolf Larsen shouted after. “This one”—indicating me with his thumb—“fancies sea-serpents and monkeys just now!” The man on the _Lady Mine_ laughed back through the megaphone. The pilot-boat plunged past. “Give him hell for me!” came a final cry, and the two men waved their arms in farewell. I leaned despairingly over the rail, watching the trim little schooner swiftly increasing the bleak sweep of ocean between us. And she would probably be in San Francisco in five or six hours! My head seemed bursting. There was an ache in my throat as though my heart were up in it. A curling wave struck the side and splashed salt spray on my lips. The wind puffed strongly, and the _Ghost_ heeled far over, burying her lee rail. I could hear the water rushing down upon the deck. When I turned around, a moment later, I saw the cabin-boy staggering to his feet. His face was ghastly white, twitching with suppressed pain. He looked very sick. “Well, Leach, are you going for’ard?” Wolf Larsen asked. “Yes, sir,” came the answer of a spirit cowed. “And you?” I was asked. “I’ll give you a thousand—” I began, but was interrupted. “Stow that! Are you going to take up your duties as cabin-boy? Or do I have to take you in hand?” What was I to do? To be brutally beaten, to be killed perhaps, would not help my case. I looked steadily into the cruel grey eyes. They might have been granite for all the light and warmth of a human soul they contained. One may see the soul stir in some men’s eyes, but his were bleak, and cold, and grey as the sea itself. “Well?” “Yes,” I said. “Say ‘yes, sir.’” “Yes, sir,” I corrected. “What is your name?” “Van Weyden, sir.” “First name?” “Humphrey, sir; Humphrey Van Weyden.” “Age?” “Thirty-five, sir.” “That’ll do. Go to the cook and learn your duties.” And thus it was that I passed into a state of involuntary servitude to Wolf Larsen. He was stronger than I, that was all. But it was very unreal at the time. It is no less unreal now that I look back upon it. It will always be to me a monstrous, inconceivable thing, a horrible nightmare. “Hold on, don’t go yet.” I stopped obediently in my walk toward the galley. “Johansen, call all hands. Now that we’ve everything cleaned up, we’ll have the funeral and get the decks cleared of useless lumber.” While Johansen was summoning the watch below, a couple of sailors, under the captain’s direction, laid the canvas-swathed corpse upon a hatch-cover. On either side the deck, against the rail and bottoms up, were lashed a number of small boats. Several men picked up the hatch-cover with its ghastly freight, carried it to the lee side, and rested it on the boats, the feet pointing overboard. To the feet was attached the sack of coal which the cook had fetched.