As for Wolf Larsen and myself, we got along fairly well; though I could not quite rid myself of the idea that right conduct, for me, lay in killing him.

He fascinated me immeasurably, and I feared him immeasurably.

And yet, I could not imagine him lying prone in death.

There was an endurance, as of perpetual youth, about him, which rose up and forbade the picture.

I could see him only as living always, and dominating always, fighting and destroying, himself surviving.
One diversion of his, when we were in the midst of the herd and the sea was too rough to lower the boats, was to lower with two boat-pullers and a steerer and go out himself.