quailed under it.

"Yes, sir," was the meek reply, as the offending head disappeared
into the galley.

At this sweeping rebuke, which the cook had only pointed, the rest
of the crew became uninterested and fell to work at one task or
another. A number of men, however, who were lounging about a
companion-way between the galley and hatch, and who did not seem to
be sailors, continued talking in low tones with one another.
These, I afterward learned, were the hunters, the men who shot the
seals, and a very superior breed to common sailor-folk.

"Johansen!" Wolf Larsen called out. A sailor stepped forward
obediently. "Get your palm and needle and sew the beggar up.
You'll find some old canvas in the sail-locker. Make it do."

"What'll I put on his feet, sir?" the man asked, after the
customary "Ay, ay, sir."

"We'll see to that," Wolf Larsen answered, and elevated his voice
in a call of "Cooky!"

Thomas Mugridge popped out of his galley like a jack-in-the-box.

"Go below and fill a sack with coal."

"Any of you fellows got a Bible or Prayer-book?" was the captain's
next demand, this time of the hunters lounging about the companion-
way.