Books: Harrigan
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Max Brand >> Harrigan
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All this had occurred in the space of half a dozen seconds; the first
rush of the mutineers was spent; before they could lunge forward again,
McTee flung the half-lifeless body of his human weapon into the midst
of the crowd and, turning with Harrigan at his shoulder, they sprang up
the ladder to the main cabin door.
Hovey was screaming commands over the din; the crowd rushed after the
fugitives.
Harrigan shouted at McTee: "Get Kate! Take her aft to the wireless
house! I'll hold 'em here a minute and then join you!"
McTee nodded and tore down the deck toward Kate's cabin, while Harrigan
pulled the knife of Kamasura from his trousers and thrust it in the
face of the first man up the ladder. The blade slashed him from nose to
cheekbone, and he toppled back with a yell, bearing with him in the
fall the two men immediately below. Harrigan glanced across to the
other ladder on the farther side of the deck, and saw Kate and McTee
running aft. He turned and raced after them.
The wireless house was their one hope. There the sea would be at their
backs, and the only approach for the mutineers in their rush would be
up the ladders reaching from the deck below; the main cabin, on the
other hand, had half a dozen places from which it could be assailed.
This had been instantly seen by the other officers, and when Harrigan
reached the ladder to the deck at the other end of the cabin, he saw
Salvain standing in front of the wireless house, Kate and McTee in the
act of climbing the steps from the waist, and White Henshaw, with his
hair blowing, following hard in their tracks.
Harrigan reached the waist at a leap, and in another moment joined the
survivors in the shelter of the wireless house--Kate, McTee, Henshaw,
Salvain, and Sloan, a party of six. They were safe for the moment, for
the mutineers would certainly never venture an attack against the
wheelhouse, where they could be beaten from the ladders by the
defendants, but they were safe without food, without water.
Then, as they stared hopelessly across the waist, they saw three men
led across the rear promenade of the main cabin. Their hands were tied
behind them, and they were kicked forward by the mutineers, first Jacob
Van Roos--they could note his pallor even at that distance--then Eric
Borgson, scowling and defiant, and dragged along by the men of the
forecastle; and last came Douglas Campbell, surrounded by the firemen.
Finally, Jerry Hovey shouted across the waist:
"Black McTee! Oh, Black McTee!"
The Scotchman raised his hand as a token that he heard.
"You're done for, McTee, you and all the rest. You're bound to starve,
and when you're weak, we'll come and carry you forward, and you'll die
by inches as the other three are going to die; but if you want to
live--you and the girl and all of you, give us White Henshaw to treat
as he ought to be treated. Give us him, an' the rest of you'll be
saved. If you won't trust us, we'll bring you food and water enough to
keep you alive till we reach shore. Give us Henshaw and--"
He broke off, for he heard the harsh, ringing laughter of White
Henshaw. The captain held up his revolver.
"No use, Hovey," he called. "I fired five shots, but I saved one for
myself. Ha, ha, ha!" And his mirthless cackle broke out once more.
"Look!" cried Kate, and pointed at the captain.
Down the left side of Henshaw, bright against the white of his coat,
was a rapidly growing stain of red. They could see the small slit in
the cloth where a knife thrust had entered his side, but the old
buccaneer would give no sign of his injury. He waved his gun toward
Kate as she advanced an impulsive step toward him.
"Keep back!" he commanded. "Woman and man, I trust none of you. Give me
distance or I'll use this bullet on the first of you and give what's
left of me to the sea."
"By the Lord, he's wounded!" cried Harrigan. "Steady, old heart of oak,
you've nothing to fear from us. Hovey! Oh-h, Hovey, we'll see you
damned before we give up the captain!"
The bos'n, choking with his fury, shook his clenched fist at them and
disappeared into the cabin.
"Now lie down," said McTee to the captain, "and we'll fix you up. Are
you badly hurt?"
"Enough to finish me," said Henshaw calmly, "but keep off! I'll have
none of you! None of your tricks!"
His old body was trembling with the pain of his wound, but the hand
which held the gun leveled on McTee was as steady as a rock. Kate
pushed McTee aside and turned a glance of scorn on the others.
"You'd let him die among you--for fear of an old man and his wretched
revolver?"
She faced Henshaw.
"Go into the wireless house, Captain Henshaw, and I will go in alone
with you. If you don't trust me, you can keep your revolver at my
breast while I dress your wound--but see!--you will bleed to death in a
short time!"
He laughed again, saying: "Girl, there's nothing between heaven and
hell that can make me die by anything but fire--fire at sea--blue
fire."
She whitened at sight of his frenzied, yellow face, and then she saw
Harrigan slipping around to take the captain from the rear. He saw the
shadow of the Irishman just too late, and whirled with a curse at the
same time that Harrigan's iron hand seized the gun. For an instant he
struggled, but those mighty arms gathered him as easily as a woman
lifts a stubborn child, and he was carried into the wireless house and
placed on Sloan's bunk. As soon as he discovered that he was helpless
in their hands, he ceased struggling and lay without a motion while
they tore away his coat and shirt and Kate started to dress the deep,
ugly wound.
She had scarcely finished when a shout, or rather a scream, from fifty
throats brought them running out of the wireless house. Again and again
that cry was repeated from the main cabin, and they could not tell
whether it was despair or agony that inspired it.
Neither of these emotions caused it. All that time Hovey had been
kneeling in front of the captain's safe working at the combination, for
he had seen Henshaw open it several times and thought that he could
imitate the captain's motions. But he failed. Around him packed the
sailors in both cabins, a serried mass of intent faces and burning
eyes. But at last Hovey stood up and announced his failure--he could
not work the combination. Then came that yell which those in the
wireless house heard, a cry of mingled rage and disappointment. Gold in
untold quantities was here just within their reach--and yet just beyond
it. A few inches of steel kept the gold safe.
Men beat it with their bare hands in a senseless fury, till Garry
Cochrane slipped through the dense mass of sailors.
"I know something about locks. What do I get, lads, if I open this
one?"
"Five shares!"
"Ten shares!"
"Ten shares!" nodded Cochrane. "Good! Now keep still. I need quiet."
They were mute; not a breath was drawn; they scarcely dared move their
eyes lest he should be disturbed. Cochrane touched the lock lightly and
then rubbed his fingertips vigorously back and forth on the carpet--
anything to stimulate those fine nerves which are as valuable to some
criminals as eyes are to normal people.
With ear pressed close to the combination, he turned it slowly, by
delicate degrees, waiting for the telltale click. They saw him set his
teeth and grow eager as a hound on a scent of blood; they saw the
fingers move rapidly and nervously, and then came a click which was
audible through the entire room, and the door of the safe swung open.
Still no one stirred, no one breathed. He took out a small canvas bag,
he untied the top, he spilled the contents out, and then they saw
bright gold, gold which inspires, and gold which destroys, gold the
tempter and the murderer.
A wild scramble followed. They swept the gold up in handfuls and tossed
it into the air, laughing like madmen as the light gleamed on the
yellow surfaces. And at length when they were wearied of touching it
and caressing it, Hovey apportioned the spoils: to Cochrane, by common
assent, the ten shares, a fortune; to Sam Hall, Kyle, and Flint, two
shares each, for they had been leaders in the fight; to himself ten
shares, also by universal voice, and to each of the others, forty in
all, his portion.
There was no fighting or complaint over the division of the spoils.
What difference did a few hundred pieces here or there matter? Gold in
floods, gold in oceans, was before them, and each man gathered his own
share close.
But where there is gold there is death. One of the firemen said in the
ear of Hovey: "The second assistant--Fritz Klopp--he is dying."
It was upon Klopp that they depended for the running of the Heron.
Hovey merely laughed: "Carry him in here. He'll come to life when he
sees this!"
They had left Klopp lying on the deck. He had been one of the first to
leap at White Henshaw, and a bullet from the captain's revolver had
torn its way through his lungs; his eyes were glazing fast when two of
the firemen carried him into the outer cabin of White Henshaw and
placed him in an armchair beside the desk.
"How are you, Klopp?" asked Hovey.
"I am dying," answered the engineer, and a faint pink froth bubbled to
his lips as he spoke.
Hovey merely laughed; he spilled Klopp's share of the gold across the
surface of the table, a gleaming pile.
"How are you, Klopp?" he repeated.
"I will live," croaked the dying man, and instantly his clutches were
among the hundreds of coins, and his red mouth grinned with a ghastly
joy. He had forgotten death.
"You will live!" rumbled Sam Hall. "A man would be a fool to die when
there's so much money in sight. Where's your hurt?"
"I have no hurt," whispered Klopp hoarsely, "but I'm on fire inside.
Water! Something to drink!"
"Something to drink, but not water," responded Hovey. "Hey, Kamasura!
Drink! Whisky!"
Instantly Kamasura, who had evidently anticipated the order, came
staggering into the room with a literal armful of bottles. Hovey
himself brought a glass and placed it in the hand of Klopp and filled
it to the brim.
"Drink!" shouted Hovey, and sprang upon a chair so that all might see
him. "Drink to Fritz Klopp! White Henshaw potted him, but he laughs at
death, and he'll bring the old _Heron_ to shore. Here's to Fritz
Klopp!"
Many a glass was raised high. They drank with a shout of applause to
Fritz Klopp, who sat without stirring his glass, one hand upon it, and
the other buried among the heaps of gold, his head resting against the
back of the chair, and his red mouth still ajar in that horrible grin.
"What ye laughin' at?" yelled Sam Hall in his ear. "Are ye drunk at the
sight of the money, man?"
There was no answer. Hall caught him by the shoulder to rouse him, but
Klopp's head merely sagged far to one side, though his glazed eyes
still seemed to be fixed upward upon the same spot on the ceiling at
which he had been staring before.
"What is it?" cried one or two. "What does he see?"
"Death, you fools!" answered Hovey. "And how the devil will we bring
the _Heron_ to land without an engineer?"
CHAPTER 33
"Make Campbell run the ship," said Cochrane.
"You can't _make_ a Scotchman do anything."
"Persuade him, then," went on Cochrane. "He'd sell his soul for a drink
of that whisky. But if you can't persuade him, I'd trust to those
fellows to make him do what you want."
And he pointed to the firemen.
"I'll let 'em play their little game till they're tired of it,"
answered Hovey, "an' then we'll bring up Campbell an' try what we can
do with him."
The "little game" had now become a wild debauch. Except for the few
unfortunates who had been detailed by Hovey to guard the prisoners and
see that the fugitives in the wireless house made no attempt to rush
the main cabin as a forlorn hope, every man of the crew was gathered in
the captain's cabins or on the deck nearby. The fireroom was deserted;
the engines stopped; the _Heron_ floated idly on the swell of the sea;
but heedless of this the mutineers celebrated their victory.
They divided their attention between drinking and gambling. They seemed
feverishly eager to throw away their piles of gold. Some of them
flipped coins at ten dollars a throw. Others tossed dice. One group of
four sat around a greasy pack of cards betting on which man would draw
the first jack.
Those who lost did not envy the winners. They looked about; gold was on
all sides, heaps of it; if their hands were empty, their eyes were
rich. Sam Hall lost his entire share within an hour, betting
recklessly. He approached a gigantic fireman who squatted by the wall
with a canvas bag clutched in one hand and a broken bottle in the
other. The whisky had run out on the floor, but the fellow was too far
gone to know the difference, and from time to time he raised the empty
bottle to his lips.
"Money gone," said Hall. "Gimme!" And he held out his hand.
The fireman, with a vast grin, delved his hand into the bag and brought
it forth loaded with gold, which Hall took without a word and returned
to his game of rolling dice, one throw at five hundred dollars a throw.
In ten minutes he went back to the fireman with a double handful of
corns.
"Principal an' interest," grunted the big sailor, and dumped his gold
into the canvas bag which, filled to overflowing, spilled a dozen coins
upon the floor.
The fireman, with a groan of dull content, slipped prone on the floor
and was instantly asleep, embracing the canvas bag in both arms. Every
man in the crew was in a somewhat similar condition, saving Hovey, with
his gray-blue, steady eyes, and Cochrane, with his glittering, shifty
black. These two watched the rest descend toward swinish
unconsciousness; they saw, and waited coolly, and now and then glanced
at each other with faint smiles of understanding.
Somewhere in the waist of the ship Jacob Flint was singing shrill songs
of infinite profanity, but otherwise there was no sound on the _Heron_
as the sun went down, and all night long the old freighter wallowed
sluggishly up and down on the waves, as if she waited for dawn before
resuming her journey toward the shore.
There was a wisdom, however, in Hovey's laxness of discipline during
the first day of his mastery. The next morning the men slept late,
sprawling about the deck, and Hovey and Cochrane first roused ominous
Jacob Flint and Sam Hall and Kyle. With this nucleus of five mighty
men, men to be feared on land or sea, Hovey started to rouse the rest
of the mutineers. They woke cursing and sad of stomach and head, and to
the first orders they responded with cursing; the reply was a
sledge-hammer blow from the fist of Hall or Kyle, and while the man lay
on the deck, it was explained curtly and forcibly to him that while the
_Heron_ was at sea, he would have to obey Bos'n Hovey; but as soon as
the ship reached land, each man could be his own master.
First of all the firemen were commanded to the hole to get up steam,
but when this was done, it was found that there was some minor trouble
with the machinery. An engineer was needed; Hovey, with Cochrane, Flint
and Hall beside him, sent for Campbell, and retired to the cabin to
await his coming.
There sat the body of Fritz Klopp as it had remained ever since the
beginning of the revels the day before, grinning up at the ceiling.
Hall and Flint raised the body, and the clutching fingers were found to
be frozen by death immovably around a whole handful of gold. As Hall
suggested, this would serve as lead to take him to the bottom of the
sea. The others applauded the thought, and with his hand still full of
gold, they carried Fritz Klopp to the rail and dumped him into the
water.
As they re-entered the cabin, Campbell was kicked in from the opposite
door. His hands were manacled behind him, and the force of the kick,
together with a sway of the ship, threw him off his balance. He crashed
on his face at the feet of Hovey. The bos'n grew positively pale with
pleasure. He selected a cigar from an open box on the table and lighted
it leisurely.
At last he ordered: "Pick him up."
The chief engineer was jerked to his feet and stood with a trickle of
blood running down from his split lip. His face was rather purple than
red, and the dark pouches underneath his eyes told the horror of the
night he had passed. Nevertheless, the eyes themselves were bright.
Far away, half heard, and drowned by any noise near at hand, was a
sound of singing. It was Black McTee in the wireless house, half
maddened by thirst and hunger and despair, and singing in defiance
songs of bonny Scotland.
"There's been trouble aboard, chief," he said, "but now trouble's over.
All over! We want you to take charge of the engines again and bring us
to shore."
Campbell waited, not as if he had not heard. In spite of himself, Hovey
stirred a trifle and grew uneasy. From a corner of the room he picked
up a canvas bag and dropped it with a melodious jingling on the table
in front of the engineer.
"This is your share," he said.
Campbell smiled faintly.
"And this," said Hovey, with a glance at his companions.
The smile had not altered on the lips of the Scotchman.
"With this money," said Hovey, forcing himself to remain calm, "you can
retire from active work. You can get yourself a little place on the
coast somewhere"--he had heard Campbell name some of his dreams--"and
have a little cellar full of the right stuff, and have your friends run
out to see you now an' then, an' talk over things that're goin' on at
sea--where you ain't."
Here he placed a third bag of money on the table.
"You could do all that and more, chief--a lot more--with this money."
Hovey cut the lace which tied the mouth of one of the bags; he poured
the gleaming contents across the table.
"Well?" he asked softly.
"Damn you!" whispered Campbell, and then, "You fool, am I not Scotch?"
"At least," went on the bos'n easily, "think it over, chief, and while
you're thinkin', what d'you say to a drop of the real stuff?"
Campbell had not tasted either food or liquid since early the day
before, and his eyes were moist as they stared at the two bottles.
"Set his hands free," said Hovey, "so that the chief can drink. We
ain't half-bad fellers, Campbell; but we've got good cause for raisin'
the hell you've seen on the _Heron._"
While he spoke, the arms of Campbell were set free, and glasses were
shoved toward him, one full of Scotch and the other of seltzer. The
mutineers were already raising their drinks for a toast when Campbell
took his with a violently trembling hand. But as he lifted the liquor,
he was fully conscious for the first time of a singing which had been
faint in the air for some time, the songs of Black McTee in the
wireless house, and now the big-throated Scotchman swung into a new
air, plaintive and rapid in cadence, a death song and a war song at
once, the speech of Bruce before Bannockburn, as Burns conceived it.
Loud and true rang the voice of Black McTee, breaker of men:
"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce hae aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!"
And the hand of Campbell checked on its way to his lips. "We're lookin'
in your eyes, chief," said Hovey. And the song broke in:
"Wha would be a traitor slave,
Let him turn and flee!"
Campbell was staring at the wall like one who sees a
vision but cannot make out its meaning.
The voice of Black McTee swelled high and strong:
"Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freemen stand and freemen fa',
Let him on wi' me!"
And the glass dropped from the lips of the Scotchman. It crashed
against the hard floor. Broad Scotch was on his tongue.
"I canna drink wi' murderers!" he cried.
"Damn you!" said Hovey, and drove his fist into Campbell's face,
hurling him to the deck.
The manacles were clapped on his wrists again; he was dragged once more
to his feet.
"Take him out," said Hovey to the grinning sailors who had lingered in
the door. "Take him back to the waist of the ship before the wireless
house. Wait for me there. And see that Van Roos and Borgson are brought
there also."
CHAPTER 34
As Campbell was dragged away, the bos'n said to his companions: "Now,
lads, you see where Campbell stands!"
They growled for answer.
"But I'll get him!" went on Hovey. "I'm going to kill Van Roos and
Borgson by inches before his eyes. And when he sees 'em die--they'll
have to die, anyway, before we reach shore--Campbell will be water in
our hands. He'll see 'em die, an' them in the wireless house will see
'em die. Their throats are thick with thirst by now. We'll show 'em
water an' food, an' offer it to 'em if they'll give up Henshaw. If they
won't, we'll show 'em how we'll kill 'em when they're too weak to
resist. They'll see a sample in Van Roos and Borgson. Every yell they
let out'll be an argument for us. We'll have Henshaw before the day's
done."
Sam Hall pushed his thick fingers slowly through his hair, stupefied by
this careful cruelty, and even the one eye of Jacob Flint grew dim, but
Garry Cochrane slapped the bos'n on the shoulder heartily.
"Jerry," he said, "you got the makin's of a great man. Let's go start
the fun."
On the way aft they passed the firemen sprawling on the shady side of
the deck. They stumbled to their feet at sight of Hovey, and swore
volubly that the hole of the ship was too hot for a man to live in it
five minutes. Hovey passed them without a word. He had to tend to
Campbell now, and without an engineer it was useless to work men in the
fireroom.
First of all he had two buckets of water carried aft and placed just
below the edge of the raised deck which supported the wireless house.
There were dippers floating invitingly on the surface of the water in
each bucket. Then from the galley of the ship Kamasura and Shida, the
cabin boys, brought out steaming meats and cut loaves of bread and
displayed the feast near the buckets of water. Upon this outlay gazed
the famine-stricken fugitives, Sloan, McTee and Harrigan; Kate did not
see, for she was caring for the sick captain. Hovey advanced and made a
speech.
"We're actin' generous and open to you," he began. "We're offerin' you
food an' water--all you want--in exchange for White Henshaw. He sold
his soul to hell long ago, an' we've come to claim payment. It's
overdue, that's what it is!"
"Aye, aye!" came a chorus of yells from the sailors. "White Henshaw's
overdue."
"Look at this here water," went on Hovey, with a tempting wave of his
hand. "Why not take this up an' help yourselves--after you've given us
Henshaw?"
Sloan crowded in between Harrigan and McTee; his voice was a slavering
murmur: "For pity's sake, boys, what we going to do?"
Harrigan and the big Scot exchanged glances. Faintly and slowly they
smiled. There was a profound mutual understanding in that smile.
"I'm dying," went on Sloan eagerly and still in that slavering voice.
"I'm burnin' up inside. For God's sake let 'em take him and finish him
off!"
And always as he spoke his quick eyes went back and forth from face to
face. They had neither eye nor voice for him. They turned their
attention back to Hovey, who now spoke again hastily.
"But if you don't give us Henshaw, we'll take him, anyway. In one more
day--or maybe two at the most--we'll come an' get you--understand? An'
what we'll do to you when we get you will be this!"
He gestured over his shoulder. Eric Borgson was being led out on the
deck by some of the crew.
"Look him over, Cap'n McTee. He's a big man, an' we're goin' to kill
him by inches. So we're goin' to finish Van Roos--the same way. Speak
out, lads; d'you want to die like these two are goin' to die, or will
you turn over Henshaw--who needs killin'?"
McTee smiled benevolently down upon the upturned, furious faces of the
mutineers, and muttered: "Harrigan, I could drink blood."
"An' lick your lips afther it," groaned the Irishman softly. "An' so
could I, Angus! They're startin' their devil work. Let's go inside. I
can't be standing the sight of it, McTee."
"Go inside an' let 'em rush the wireless house?" said McTee
incredulously. "No, lad. We _got_ to stay an' watch. Besides, maybe
this is the way we'll all die--after we're too weak to fight 'em. And
I'm rather curious to learn just how I'll die; I've always been!"
They were binding Borgson face down on the hatch.
"Look," said Harrigan. "Maybe it ain't goin' to be so bad as we
thought. They're just goin' to lick Borgson the way he licked the Jap."
"They'll do more," replied McTee, shaking his head. "Henshaw and
Borgson and Van Roos have really put those wild men through hell, and
now they're going to get it back with interest."
In the meantime little Kamasura stepped out from the crowd. He was
naked to the waist, for the raw incisions which the lash had left would
not bear the weight of clothes. He carried the blacksnake in his hands,
drawing it caressingly through his hands as Borgson had done. Now the
tying of Borgson was completed, and the sailors spread back in a loose
circle to watch their entertainment.
The Japanese took his distance carefully, shifting repeatedly a matter
of inches to make sure that no stroke would be wasted. Then he whirled
the blacksnake over his head. They could see Borgson wince as the lash
sang above him, and the muscles of his bare back flexed and stood up in
knots that glistened under the sunlight. But the stroke did not fall.
Kamasura had learned the lesson of creating suspense from the very man
he was now about to torture. Harrigan bowed his head in his hands.
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