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Updated: May 14, 2025
I noted that the hunter, a huge Scandinavian sitting in the bow, held his rifle, ready to hand, across his knees. It should have been in its proper place in the rack. When they came opposite our stern, Wolf Larsen greeted them with a wave of the hand, and cried: "Come on board and have a 'gam'!" "To gam," among the sealing-schooners, is a substitute for the verbs "to visit," "to gossip."
He waited till the boat was an oar's length from the shore, and then up and away. They chased him for an hour up and down the boulders, till a marihe flung a stone that took him behind the ear providentially and knocked him senseless. Alone? Of course. But that's like that tale of sealing-schooners; the Lord God knows the right and the wrong of that story. The cutter did not investigate much.
They say he used to board the sealing-schooners up Alaska way when the fog was so thick that the Lord God, He alone, could tell one man from another. Holy-Terror Robinson. That's the man. He is with me in that guano thing. The best chance he ever came across in his life." He put his lips to my ear. "Cannibal? well, they used to give him the name years and years ago. You remember the story?
To begin with, at the midday dinner, Wolf Larsen informed the hunters that they were to eat thenceforth in the steerage. It was an unprecedented thing on sealing-schooners, where it is the custom for the hunters to rank, unofficially as officers. He gave no reason, but his motive was obvious enough.
That it was mockery made the situation more puzzling to her. "I may be taken off by some passing vessel, perhaps," she suggested. "There will be no passing vessels, except other sealing-schooners," Wolf Larsen made answer. "I have no clothes, nothing," she objected.
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