One of the hunters, a little dark-eyed man whom his mates called "Smoke," was telling stories, liberally intersprinkled with oaths and obscenities; and every minute or so the group of hunters gave mouth to a laughter that sounded to me like a wolf-chorus or the barking of hell-hounds.

The sailors trooped noisily aft, some of the watch below rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and talked in low tones together.
There was an ominous and worried expression on their faces.

It was evident that they did not like the outlook of a voyage under such a captain and begun so inauspiciously.

From time to time they stole glances at Wolf Larsen, and I could see that they were apprehensive of the man.
He stepped up to the hatch-cover, and all caps came off.

I ran my eyes over them--twenty men all told; twenty-two including the man at the wheel and myself.