Harrigan
- -
- 100%
- +
The knife, as he stared, jerked up and then down with a sweep; Harrigan shot up his hand to meet the blow, and his grip fastened on a wrist. Wrenching on that wrist, he jerked himself to his knees, and the knife clattered on the deck, but at the same instant the other man—a dim figure which he could barely make out in the thick night—rushed on him, a shoulder struck against his chest, and he was thrown sprawling on the deck, sliding with the toss of the deck underneath the rail. He would have fallen overboard had he not kept his grip on that wrist, and as he reached the perilous edge, the other man jerked back to free his arm.
He succeeded, but the effort checked the slide of Harrigan's great body, and the next instant the Irishman was on his feet. He drove at the elusive figure with his balled fist, but the other ducked beneath the blow and fled down the ladder. Harrigan stopped only long enough to sweep up the fallen knife before he followed, but when he reached the edge of the deck, the waist of the ship extending back to the main cabin was empty. The man, whoever he was, must have fled into the forecastle.
Harrigan knew that if one of the sailors had dared to attack him, he must be suspected, and if he was suspected by one, that one would poison the minds of a dozen others in a short time. It was even possible that someone in authority had given orders for his death. With this in mind he climbed down the ladder and opened the door of the forecastle. He found the sailors sitting in a loose circle on the floor rolling battered dice out of a time-blackened leather box.
Harrigan sat down on the edge of his bunk, produced the captured knife, and commenced to sharpen it slowly, without ostentation, on the sole of his shoe. It was already of a razor keenness. It was a carving knife evidently stolen from the galley of the ship; it had been ground so often that the steel which remained was thin and narrow. A sharp blow with that knife would drive it to the handle through human flesh. As he passed it slowly back and forth across his shoe, Harrigan watched the faces of the others with a side glance.
One or two looked up frankly and nodded approval when they saw his occupation. The others, however, kept at their game, and of these the only one to pay no attention to his presence was Jerry Hovey. It convinced Harrigan at once that the bos'n had given orders for his death. It might have been the bos'n himself who had made the attempt just a moment before and had retreated to the forecastle.
On the other hand, the bos'n seemed to be breathing regularly, and the man with whom he had fought would not be able to keep his chest from heaving a little after that violent effort. It was more probable that one of the men who lay in their bunks had made the attempt, but it would be useless to examine them. Then his glance fell on Kamasura, the cabin boy.
The little, flat-faced Jap was a favorite with Jerry Hovey, and he was permitted to come forward whenever he pleased to the forecastle. He now sat on a box against a wall, watching the dice game with his slant eyes. Once or twice he met the searching scrutiny of Harrigan with a calm glance, and when it was repeated for the third time, nodded and grinned in the most friendly manner.
Harrigan was about to dismiss his suspicion from his mind, when he noticed that the Jap's arms were folded and the hands thrust up the opposite sleeves, concealing both wrists. Harrigan considered a moment, and then stooped over and commenced to unlace his boots. When the first one was unloosened, he kicked it off, but with such careless vigor that it skidded far across the floor and smashed against the box on which Kamasura sat. The little Oriental leaped to his feet and caught up the shoe. As he did so, Harrigan's watchful eye saw a bright-red spot on the Jap's wrist. That was where the grip of his fingers had lain when they struggled on the deck above.
"'Scuse me, Kamasura," he called cheerily, and raised his hand to betoken that the boot had come from him.
There was a flash of teeth and a glint of almond eyes as the Jap grinned in answer and the boot was tossed back. Harrigan caught it, but his eye was not on the shoe. He was staring covertly at Jerry Hovey, and now he saw the gray-blue eyes of the bos'n flash up and glance with a singular meaning at Kamasura. If he had heard every detail of the plot, Harrigan could not have understood more fully. Thereafter, every moment he spent on the Heron would be full of danger, but apparently Hovey had confided his hatred of the Irishman to Kamasura alone. If Hovey had spoken to the rest of the forecastle, those blunt sailors would have showed their feelings by some scowling side glance at Harrigan. It flashed across his mind that the reason Hovey wished him out of the way was because he feared him.
CHAPTER 29
He slipped onto his bunk and lay with his hands folded under his head, thinking; for between the danger from the leader of the mutiny and the danger from McTee and Henshaw, he was utterly confused. He made out the voices of the two gamblers, Hall and Cochrane.
"Three deuces to beat," said Hall.
"I'd beat three fives to get Van Roos," answered Cochrane.
Jan Van Roos was the second mate, a genial Dutchman with rosy cheeks and a hearty laugh for all occasions; but he was an excellent sailor and a strict disciplinarian. Therefore he had won the hatred of the crew. The entire group of mutineers had shaken dice to have the disposing of the mate in case he was captured alive. Now the dice rattled and clicked on the deck as Cochrane made his cast.
"Forty-three!" called Cochrane. "Now watch the fours."
He swept up the other three dice and made his second cast. Another four rolled upon the deck. He had won Van Roos, to dispose of him as he saw fit. Harrigan heard the rumble of Sam Hall's cursing.
"Easy, lad," said Cochrane soothingly. "We'll work on Van Roos together, and if we don't sweat every ounce of blubber out of his fat carcass, my name is not Garry."
There was a sharp knock at the door of the forecastle, and a moment later Shida, the other Japanese cabin boy, entered and came directly to the bunk of Harrigan.
He whispered in the ear of the Irishman: "Meester Harrigan, get up.
Cap'n McTee, he want."
"Where is he?" growled Harrigan.
"I show."
Harrigan slipped on his shoes and followed Shida aft, wondering. The little, quick-footed Jap brought him back of the wheelhouse and then disappeared. Leaning against the rail was McTee, unaware of their coming and peering out at the wake of the ship.
As the Heron's stern dipped to a trough of a wave that towered blackly into the night, the outlines of McTee's form were blurred, but the next moment he was tossed up against the very heart of the starry sky. With that peculiar mixture of fear and thrilling exultation which he always felt when he came into the presence of the captain, Harrigan drew close. Perhaps the sailor had chosen this heaving afterdeck as the place for their final death struggle, ending when one of them was hurled into the black ocean.
It was this thought which gave the ring to his voice when he called,
"I've come, McTee!"
The captain whirled, bracing himself against the rail with both hands, as though prepared to meet an attempt to thrust him overboard. Then— and Harrigan thought his ears deceived him as he listened—McTee said with a great, outgoing breath: "Thank God!"
He explained: "Come closer; talk soft! Harrigan, guard yourself tonight. There'll be an attempt at your life!"
"Another?" queried Harrigan.
"They've tackled you already?"
Harrigan took out the knife and waved it in the faint starlight.
"They did," he said jauntily, "and they left this behind them as a token."
"Listen," said McTee; "it's not for nothing that men call me Black, but all evening I've been remembering the time when we took hands in the trough of the sea. I've thought of that, Harrigan, and it made me weak inside—"
He paused, but Harrigan would not speak.
"Because I planned your death tonight, Dan."
"Angus, the steel ain't been sharpened that can kill me."
"Don't be too confident. Get every word I say. I'm washing my soul out for you. It's Hovey and the little Jap, Kamasura, that you'll have to guard against."
"I know 'em both."
"D'you mean to say—"
"No, I didn't make 'em confess, but I saw 'em lookin' at each other.
What made you hitch up with swine like them? Was it because of—her?"
"Yes."
"Then I forgive you for it. Angus, I got a sort of a desire to shake hands with you. There's nothin' but swine an' snakes aboard the Heron. I'd like to feel the grip of a man's hand."
They fumbled in the dark and then their hands met. They retained that grasp till the ship sank twice to the deep shadow of the trough and swung up again to the crest.
"There's no peace between us till she's out of the way," muttered Harrigan at last. "What d'you say, Angus?"
"Harrigan, there are times when you're a poet. Strip!"
The Irishman was tearing off his shirt, when three crashing, rattling explosions sent a shudder through the Heron, and his arms dropped nervelessly.
"Where was it?" gasped Harrigan.
"Forward," answered McTee.
"Kate!" they cried in the same breath, and rushed for the main cabin.
CHAPTER 30
The decks were already thick with half-dressed sailors. Here and there lanterns gleamed, and what they showed was the three lifeboats of the Heron—two on one side of the cabin and one on the other—blown into matchwood. Only shapeless fragments and bundles of kindling wood dangled from the davits. Captain Henshaw, cool and calm in his white clothes, stood with folded arms examining the wreckage on one side.
The sailors from the forecastle went here and there, muttering, growling surlily; for a shrewd blow had been struck at their plan of mutiny, the last item of which was to abandon the Heron off a deserted coast and then row ashore in the lifeboats. Over their clamor and cursing broke two voices, one accusing in a deep bass and the other protesting innocence in a harsh treble. It was the third mate, Eric Borgson, who approached carrying little Kamasura under his arm like a bundle.
"Here's the little devil who done the work," he snarled, and flung Kamasura at the feet of White Henshaw.
The Japanese are a brave people, but in that dreadful presence Kamasura made no effort to regain his feet, but remained on his knees, groveling and clinging to the hands of the captain, while he shrieked out an explanation. To remove his hands from those clinging fingers, Henshaw simply raised his foot, laid it against the breast of the Jap, and thrust out. The kick sent Kamasura rolling head over heels till he crashed against the rail. He lay partially stunned by the impact, and Eric Borgson, bellowing his enjoyment of this pleasant jest, collared poor Kamasura and dragged him back before White Henshaw. The Jap was now inarticulate with terror and pain.
"I was comin' down out of the wheelhouse," said the mate, "to get a bite of lunch—this bein' a night watch—when I seen this little yellow rat sneakin' down the deck like a thief. I didn't think nothin' much about it, supposin' he'd just lifted some chow, maybe, and then I heard them explosions. They knocked me off my pins, but I scrambled over an' collared this fellow. He showed he was guilty right off the bat by yellin' for mercy."
"Captain, captain!" screamed Kamasura. "Lies, lies-all lies. I go down the deck—"
The heavy hand of Eric Borgson smashed against Kamasura's mouth. The Jap sagged back, was jerked upright, and the mate's clubbed fist jarred home again.
"Lies, are they?" thundered Borgson. "I'll teach you to say that word to Eric Borgson, ha!"
And he struck the half-conscious Jap again full in the face. There was a slight commotion in the back of the gathering crowd of sailors.
Harrigan was urging forward, but he was caught by the iron hands of McTee and held back.
"For the love of Mike," moaned the Irishman softly, "let me at that swine of a mate!"
"Shut up!" cautioned McTee savagely, but in a whisper. "That's the Jap who tried to knife you!"
"I will—I'll shut up," sighed Harrigan, panting, "but ah-h, to get in punchin' distance of Borgson for one second!"
"What shall we do with him?" Borgson was asking.
"Captain!" begged the husky voice of Kamasura, fighting his way back to semi-consciousness.
"If he tries to speak again, smash his mouth in," said Henshaw without raising his voice. "Tonight put him in irons. I'll tend to him tomorrow. Go get the irons. Hovey, take Kamasura below."
"Aye, aye, sir," said Hovey, and caught the Jap by the arms behind.
That touch quieted Kamasura, and as he was led off, he began to whisper quickly.
The moment they were away from the crowd, Hovey said: "Say it slow—no, you don't have to beg me to help you. I'll do what I can. You know that. Now tell me what you saw."
"Cap'n McTee—behind the wireless house—holding the hand of Harrigan.
They were talkin' soft—like friends!"
"By God," muttered Hovey fiercely, "an' yet McTee told me he wanted Harrigan put out of the way. He's double-crossin' us. They're teamin' it together. What did they say?"
The Jap spat blood copiously before he could answer: "I could not hear."
"You ain't worth your salt," responded Hovey.
"I cannot help—I am crush—I am defeat. Do not let them bring me before Henshaw. To look at him—it puts the cold in my heart. I cannot speak. I shall die—I—"
"Keep your head up," said Hovey. "There's nothing I can say that'll help you—just now. Later on you'll be able to deal with Henshaw and Borgson just the way they dealt with you. Does that help any?"
"Ah-h," whispered the Jap and drew in his breath sharply with delight.
"I might start the boys—I might turn them loose on the ship," went on Hovey, "but the time ain't come yet for that. We're too far from the coast. Whatever happens, Kamasura, can you promise me to keep your face shut about the mutiny?"
"Yes-s."
"Even if they was to tie you up an' feed you the lash? Henshaw's equal to that."
Kamasura stammered, hesitated.
"Don't make no mistake," said Hovey fiercely, "because we'll be standin' close, some of us, an' the first tune you open your damned mouth, we'll bash your head in. Get me?"
The entrance of Eric Borgson made it impossible for the Jap to answer with words, but his eyes were eloquent with promise. Hovey started back for the forecastle; he had much to say to the sailors, and thereafter life on the Heron would be equally dangerous for both Harrigan and McTee.
The two, in the meantime, were making their way aft shoulder to shoulder. When they reached the stretch of deck behind the wireless house, McTee said: "Harrigan, what's it to be? Are you for fighting it out?"
"I'm with you in anything you say," retorted the dauntless Irishman, and then with a changed voice, "but I'm feelin' sort of sick inside, Angus. Did ye see that murtherin' dog smash the mouth of that Jap when he hadn't the strength to lift his head? Ah-h!"
"I'm sick, too," said McTee, "but not because of the Jap. It's something worse that bothers me."
"What?"
"It's the thought of White Henshaw, Dan. The brain of that old devil is going back on him. I think he loves death more than life. His memories of what he's done put him in hell every minute he lives."
"Go easy, McTee," said Harrigan. "D'you mean to say that Henshaw blew up those boats—an' his ship still in the middle of the Pacific?"
"I say nothing. All I know is that he talked damned queerly of how wonderful it would be if a ship in the middle of the sea put her nose under the waves and started for Davy Jones's locker. Yes, if she went down with all hands—dived for the bottom, in fact."
"What can we do?"
"I don't know, but I'm beginning to think that this ship—and our lives—would be safer in the hands of Hovey and his gang of cutthroats than they will be under White Henshaw. Queer things are going to happen on the Heron, Harrigan, mark my word."
"You think Henshaw blew up the boats so not one of the crew could escape?"
"It sounds too crazy to repeat."
"McTee!"
"Yes, I'm thinking of her, too."
"Between the mutiny and the crazy captain, Angus, it'll take both of us to pull her through."
"It will."
"Then gimme your hand once more, cap'n. We're in the trough of the sea once more, an' God knows when we'll reach dry land, but while we're on the Heron, we're brothers once more. For her sake I'll forget I hate you till we've got the honest ground under our feet once more."
"When the time comes," said McTee, "it'll be a wonderful fight."
"It will," agreed Harrigan fervently. "But first, McTee, we must let her know that we're standin' shoulder to shoulder to fight for her. Otherwise she won't give us her trust."
"You're right again. We'll go to her cabin now and tell her. But don't give her a hint of all that we fear. She already knows about the mutiny—and she knows about your part in it."
"You saw to that, McTee?" said Harrigan softly, as he pulled on his shirt.
"I did."
"Ah-h, Angus, that fight'll be even better than I was afther thinkin'."
And they went forward, walking again shoulder to shoulder. It was Harrigan who stood in front at her door and knocked. She opened it wide, but at sight of him started to slam it again. He blocked it with his foot.
"I've not come for my own sake," he said in a hard voice, "but the two of us have come together."
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and she made out the towering form of McTee. At that she opened the door, glancing curiously from one to the other. The eyes of Harrigan went from her face to McTee, and his eyes flamed.
"Speak up, McTee," he said savagely. "Tell her you lied about me."
The Scotchman glowered upon him.
"I'll tell her what I've just found out," he answered coldly, and turned to Kate. "We were mistaken in what we thought when we overheard Hovey talking with Harrigan. Dan was simply playing a part with them— he was trying to learn their plans so as to use them against the mutineers when the time came."
There was a joyousness in her voice that cut McTee like a knife as she cried: "I knew! I knew! My instinct fought for you, Dan. I couldn't believe what I heard!"
"What you both heard?" he said bitterly. "I remember now. It was when I talked with Hovey in front of this cabin?"
"Ask no more questions," said McTee. "I'm seeing red now."
"Black! You see nothin' but black, ye swine! The soot in your soul is a stain in your eyes, McTee."
They turned toward the door, but she sprang before it and set her shoulders against the boards.
"Sit down—you too, Dan."
They obeyed slowly, McTee taking the edge of the bunk and Harrigan lowering his bulk to the little campstool, which groaned beneath his weight. She sat on a chair between them, while she looked from face to face.
"When you came in you were friends," she said, "and the only thing that could bring you to friendship was danger. There is danger. What?"
They exchanged glances of wonder at this shrewd interpretation.
"There is danger," said McTee at length, "and it's a danger which is something more than the mutiny, perhaps."
"I will tell it," said Harrigan.
He drew his chair closer to Kate and leaned over so that his face was near hers. She knew at once that he had forgotten all about the presence of McTee.
"Kate, I will not lie to ye, colleen"—here McTee set his teeth, but Harrigan went on—"I hate McTee, and it's for your sake that I hate him. And it's for your sake that I'm goin' to forget it for a while. There's throuble abroad—there's a cloud over this ship an' a curse on it—"
"What he means to say," broke in McTee, and then he became aware that she had not heard him speak, and he saw her smiling as she drank in the musical brogue of the Irishman.
"A curse on it, acushla, an' a promise av death that only two shtrong men can save you from—an' McTee is shtrong—so I've put away desire av killin' him till we get you safe an' sound to the shore, colleen, acushla; but ye must trust in us, an' follow us as ye love your life an' as I love ye!"
She straightened in her chair and turned her eyes toward McTee.
"And you cannot tell me what the danger is?"
"We cannot," he answered, "but you must pay no attention to anything that happens or to anything that is said to you by others. There are only two men on the Heron whom you can trust—and here we are. But there may be wild happenings on the Heron. Keep your courage and trust in Angus McTee and—"
"And Harrigan," broke in the Irishman quickly, with a glare at the captain.
She reached an impulsive hand to both of them, and they met the clasp, keeping, as it were, one eye upon her and one eye of hate upon each other.
She said, and her voice was low and musical with exultation: "I've no care what happens. I know we shall pull through safely. The three of us—Dan, Angus—we lived through the storm when the Mary Rogers sank, we lived on the island and survived, we reached the Heron in safety, and as long as we stay together, we'd be safe if the whole world were against us. Don't you feel it?"
She rose, and they stood up, towering above her, while she went on in a voice trembling somewhat: "But we must not be seen together if all these dangers threaten us; they must not know that the three of us are like one great heart."
They stepped back, and McTee pulled open the door, but still she retained their hands, and now she raised them both to her lips with a gesture so swift that they could not resist it.
"Both of you," she said; "God bless you both!"
CHAPTER 31
She released their hands; the door closed upon them; they stood facing each other on the deck in the dark.
"McTee," said Harrigan with deep emotion, "we're swine. We were about to fight before—her."
"Harrigan," said McTee, "we are swine. But when the time comes, we'll make up for it to her. If you hear a word in the forecastle, let me know about it; if I hear a word in the captain's cabin, I'll send for you. I may be wrong. Henshaw may be in his right senses. We'll see. In the meantime there are just the two of us, Harrigan, and against us there's a mutinous crew on one side and a mad captain, I think, on the other."
"There's no use in thinkin'," said Harrigan; "when the time comes, we'll fight. So long, Angus. When the trouble starts, our assemblin' point is Kate."
And he went forward to the forecastle. In the morning he discovered what he wanted to know. The men were aloof from him. He was conscious of eyes upon him whenever his back was turned, but while he faced them, no one would meet his glance.
In some way Hovey had learned that Harrigan was no longer to be trusted as a member of the mutineers, and he must have spread his tidings among the rest of the sailors. What he sensed in those covert glances, however, was not an immediate danger, but rather a waiting—an expectancy, and he deduced rightly that they would not attempt to lay a hand upon him until the mutiny was started. Then he would be reserved for some lingering death as a traitor doubly dyed.
While they were eating breakfast, Hovey came in late with the word that during the night someone had tampered with the dynamo, and the result was that the ship must complete her voyage without electric lights and—far more important—without the use of the wireless. Sam Hall started to blurt a comment on this, but a glance from Hovey silenced him. It was plain that the bos'n would risk no conversation from his blunt sailors while Harrigan was in earshot. The Irishman hurried through his breakfast and took his bucket and scrubbing brush toward the bridge, for he had many questions to ask McTee. He had scarcely left the forecastle when Hovey said to Garry Cochrane: "Watch the door. I've got something important to say."
Cochrane took up the designated position, and Hovey went on: "Lads, I've bad news, bad and good news together. The boats are gone—though who the devil destroyed them we don't know—and now the wireless is destroyed. The boats are a big loss, for now we'll have to rig up some sort of a raft to make shore when we beach the Heron. The busting of the wireless almost balances that loss. Now we're sure they can't slip out any quick wireless call that would bring a dozen ships after us. Bad news and good news together; and here's some more of the same kind.