CHAPTER XI



The Ghost has attained the southernmost point of the arc she is
describing across the Pacific, and is already beginning to edge
away to the west and north toward some lone island, it is rumoured,
where she will fill her water-casks before proceeding to the
season's hunt along the coast of Japan. The hunters have
experimented and practised with their rifles and shotguns till they
are satisfied, and the boat-pullers and steerers have made their
spritsails, bound the oars and rowlocks in leather and sennit so
that they will make no noise when creeping on the seals, and put
their boats in apple-pie order--to use Leach's homely phrase.

His arm, by the way, has healed nicely, though the scar will remain
all his life. Thomas Mugridge lives in mortal fear of him, and is
afraid to venture on deck after dark. There are two or three
standing quarrels in the forecastle. Louis tells me that the
gossip of the sailors finds its way aft, and that two of the
telltales have been badly beaten by their mates. He shakes his
head dubiously over the outlook for the man Johnson, who is boat-
puller in the same boat with him. Johnson has been guilty of
speaking his mind too freely, and has collided two or three times
with Wolf Larsen over the pronunciation of his name. Johansen he
thrashed on the amidships deck the other night, since which time
the mate has called him by his proper name. But of course it is
out of the question that Johnson should thrash Wolf Larsen.

Louis has also given me additional information about Death Larsen,