The Sea Wolf | Page 2

was tooting in terror-stricken fashion.
"And now they're payin' their respects to each other and tryin' to get
clear," the red-faced man went on, as the hurried whistling ceased.
His face was shining, his eyes flashing with excitement as he translated
into articulate language the speech of the horns and sirens. "That's a
steam-siren a-goin' it over there to the left. And you hear that fellow
with a frog in his throat--a steam schooner as near as I can judge,
crawlin' in from the Heads against the tide."
A shrill little whistle, piping as if gone mad, came from directly ahead
and from very near at hand. Gongs sounded on the Martinez. Our
paddle-wheels stopped, their pulsing beat died away, and then they
started again. The shrill little whistle, like the chirping of a cricket amid
the cries of great beasts, shot through the fog from more to the side and
swiftly grew faint and fainter. I looked to my companion for
enlightenment.
"One of them dare-devil launches," he said. "I almost wish we'd sunk
him, the little rip! They're the cause of more trouble. And what good
are they? Any jackass gets aboard one and runs it from hell to breakfast,
blowin' his whistle to beat the band and tellin' the rest of the world to
look out for him, because he's comin' and can't look out for himself!
Because he's comin'! And you've got to look out, too! Right of way!
Common decency! They don't know the meanin' of it!"

I felt quite amused at his unwarranted choler, and while he stumped
indignantly up and down I fell to dwelling upon the romance of the fog.
And romantic it certainly was--the fog, like the grey shadow of infinite
mystery, brooding over the whirling speck of earth; and men, mere
motes of light and sparkle, cursed with an insane relish for work, riding
their steeds of wood and steel through the heart of the mystery, groping
their way blindly through the Unseen, and clamouring and clanging in
confident speech the while their hearts are heavy with incertitude and
fear.
The voice of my companion brought me back to myself with a laugh. I
too had been groping and floundering, the while I thought I rode
clear-eyed through the mystery.
"Hello! somebody comin' our way," he was saying. "And d'ye hear that?
He's comin' fast. Walking right along. Guess he don't hear us yet.
Wind's in wrong direction."
The fresh breeze was blowing right down upon us, and I could hear the
whistle plainly, off to one side and a little ahead.
"Ferry-boat?" I asked.
He nodded, then added, "Or he wouldn't be keepin' up such a clip." He
gave a short chuckle. "They're gettin' anxious up there."
I glanced up. The captain had thrust his head and shoulders out of the
pilot-house, and was staring intently into the fog as though by sheer
force of will he could penetrate it. His face was anxious, as was the
face of my companion, who had stumped over to the rail and was
gazing with a like intentness in the direction of the invisible danger.
Then everything happened, and with inconceivable rapidity. The fog
seemed to break away as though split by a wedge, and the bow of a
steamboat emerged, trailing fog-wreaths on either side like seaweed on
the snout of Leviathan. I could see the pilot-house and a white-bearded
man leaning partly out of it, on his elbows. He was clad in a blue
uniform, and I remember noting how trim and quiet he was. His

quietness, under the circumstances, was terrible. He accepted Destiny,
marched hand in hand with it, and coolly measured the stroke. As he
leaned there, he ran a calm and speculative eye over us, as though to
determine the precise point of the collision, and took no notice
whatever when our pilot, white with rage, shouted, "Now you've done
it!"
On looking back, I realize that the remark was too obvious to make
rejoinder necessary.
"Grab hold of something and hang on," the red-faced man said to me.
All his bluster had gone, and he seemed to have caught the contagion of
preternatural calm. "And listen to the women scream," he said
grimly--almost bitterly, I thought, as though he had been through the
experience before.
The vessels came together before I could follow his advice. We must
have been struck squarely amidships, for I saw nothing, the strange
steamboat having passed beyond my line of vision. The Martinez
heeled over, sharply, and there was a crashing and rending of timber. I
was thrown flat on the wet deck, and before I could scramble to my feet
I heard the scream of the women. This it was, I am certain,--the most
indescribable of blood-curdling sounds,-- that threw me