Long before this, Harrigan had reported to the bos'n, burly Jerry
Hovey, and had been assigned to a bunk into which he fairly dived and
fell asleep in the posture in which he landed. In the morning he
tumbled out with the other men and became the object of a crossfire of
questions from the curious sailors who wanted to know all the details
of the wreck of the _Mary Rogers_ and the life on the island. He was
saved from answering nine-tenths of the chatter by a signal from the
bos'n, who beckoned Harrigan to a stool a little apart from the rest of
the crew. Jerry Hovey was a cheery fellow of considerable bulk, with an
habitual smile. That smile went out, however, when he talked with
Harrigan, and the Irishman became conscious of a pair of steady, alert
gray eyes.
"Look here," said Hovey, and he talked out of the corner of his mouth
with a skill which would have become an old convict of many terms,
"I've had it put to me straight that you're a hard one. Is that the
right dope?"
Harrigan smiled.
"Because if it is," said Hovey, "we're the best gang at bustin' up
these hard guys that ever walked the deck of a ship. If you try any
side steps and fancy ducking of your work, there'll be a disciplinin'
comin' your way at a gallop. Are you wise?"
Harrigan still smiled, but the coldness of his eye made the bos'n
thoughtful. He was not one, however, to be easily cowed. Now he balled
his fist and smote it against the palm of his other hand with a slap
that resounded.
"On my own hook," he stated, "I can sling my mitts with the best of
them, an' I'm always lookin' for work in that line. Now I'm sayin' all
this in private, sonny, to let you know that Black McTee has wised up
the skipper about you, and I'm keepin' a weather eye open. If you make
one funny move, I'll be on your back."
"All right, Jerry."
"Don't call me Jerry, you swab! I'm the bos'n."
"Look me in the eye, Jerry Hovey, me dear. If you so much as bat the
lashes av wan eye in lookin' at me, I'll bust ye in two pieces like a
sea biscuit, Jerry, an' I'll eat the biggest half an' throw the rest
into the sea. Ar-r-re ye wise?"
Now, Jerry Hovey was a very big man, and he had thrashed men of larger
bulk than Harrigan. But there was something about the Irishman's
thickness of shoulder and length of arm that gave him pause. So first
of all Jerry grew very thoughtful indeed, and then his habitual smile
returned. Nevertheless, Harrigan did not forget those gray, alert eyes.
The bos'n went on in a gentler voice: "I was tryin' you out, Harrigan.
I'll lay to it that the cap'n has the wrong idea about you. But will
you tell me why he's ridin' you?"
"Sure. It's Black McTee. Before the _Mary Rogers_ went down, McTee was
tryin' to break me. I guess he's asked this White Henshaw to try a
hand. What have they got lined up for me?"
"You're to scrub down the bridge an' while your hands are still soft
you go down to the fireroom an' pass coal. It'll tear your hands off,
that work."
Harrigan was gray, but he answered. "That's an old story. McTee worked
me like that all the time."
"An' you didn't break?" gasped Hovey.
Harrigan grinned, but his smile stopped when he noticed a certain
calculation in the face of the bos'n.
"Mate," said Hovey, "I guess you're about ripe for something I'm goin'
to say to you one of these days. Now go up to the bridge an' scrub it
down."
With the prospect of the long torture before him once more, Harrigan in
a daze picked up the bucket of suds to which he was pointed and went
with his brush toward the bridge. Through the mist which enveloped his
brain broke wild thoughts--to steal upon McTee at the first meeting and
hurl his hated body overboard. Yet even in his bewildered condition he
realized what such an act would mean. Murder on land is bad enough, but
murder at sea is doubly damned by the law. It was in the power of White
Henshaw to hang him up to the mast.
Revolving these dismal prospects with downward head, he climbed from
the waist of the ship to the cabin promenade, and there a voice hailed
him, and he turned to see Kate Malone approaching. She was all in
white--cap, canvas shoes, silk shirt absurdly lose at the throat, and
linen coat with the sleeves turned far back so that her hands would not
be enveloped. The duck trousers were also taken up several reefs.
"Good morning," she said, and held out her hand.
He watched her smile wistfully, and then made a little gesture with his
own hands, one burdened with the scrubbing brush and the other with the
bucket.
"What does it mean?"
"Hell," said Harrigan.
"Explain."
"It's McTee again, damn his eyes!"
"Do you mean to say they've started to treat you as they did on the
_Mary Rogers_? The scrubbing and then the work in the fireroom?"
"Right."
She stamped her foot in impotent fury.
"What manner of man is he, Dan? He's not all brute; why does he treat
you like this?"
The Irishman smiled.
She cried with increasing anger: "What can I do?"
"Make your skin yellow an' your hair gray an' walk with no spring in
your step. He wants to break me now because of you."
There was moist pity in her eyes, yet they gleamed with excitement at
the thought of this battle of the Titans for her sake.
"I will go to him," she said after a moment, "and tell him that you
mean nothing to me. Then he will stop."
The cold, incurious eyes studied her without passion, and once more he
smiled.
"He'll not stop. Whether you like me or not, Kate, doesn't count. One
of us'll go down, an' you'll be for the one that's left. He knows it--I
know it."
"Harrigan!" called the voice of McTee from the bridge, and the tall
Scotchman lifted his cap to Kate.
"I'm the slave," said Harrigan, "and there's the whip. Good-by."
She stamped her foot with an almost childish fury, saying: "Someday he
shall regret this brutal tyranny. Good-by, Dan, and good luck!"
She took his hand in both of hers, but her eyes held spitefully upon
the bridge, as if she hoped that McTee would witness the handshake; the
captain, however, had turned his back upon them.
Dan muttered to himself as he climbed the bridge: "Did she do that to
anger McTee or to please me?" And the thought so occupied his mind that
he paid no attention to the Scotchman when he reached the bridge. He
merely dropped to his knees and commenced scrubbing. McTee, in the
meanwhile, loitered about the bridge as if on his own ship. In due time
Harrigan drew near, the suds swishing under his brush. The Irishman,
remembering suddenly, commenced to hum a tune.
"The old grind, eh, Harrigan?" said McTee.
The Irishman, humming idly still, looked up, calmly surveyed the
captain, and then went on as if he had heard merely empty wind instead
of words.
"After the scrubbing brush the shovel," went on McTee, but still
Harrigan paid no attention. He rose when his task was completed and
made his eyes gentle as if with pity while he gazed upon McTee.
"I'm sorry for you, McTee; you've made a hard fight; it's strange
you've got no ghost of a chance of winnin'."
"What d'you mean?"
"Couldn't you hear her when she talked to me?"
"I could not."
"Couldn't you see her face? It was written there as plain as print."
McTee cleared his throat.
"What was written there?"
"The thing you want to see. When she took my hand in both of hers--"
"Hell!"
"Ah-h, man, it was wonderful! The scrubbing brush an' the shovel--they
mean nothin' to me now."
"Harrigan, you're lying."
The latter dropped his scrubbing brush into the bucket of suds and
stood with arms akimbo studying the captain.
"For a smart man, McTee, you've been a fool. I could of gone down on me
knees an' begged to do what you've done. Don't you see? You've thrown
her with her will or against it into me arms. I'm poor Harrigan, brave
and downtrodden; you're Black McTee once more, the tyrant. She looks
sick at the mention of your name."
"I never dreamed you'd go whining to her. I thought you were a man;
you're only a spineless dog, Harrigan!"
"Am I that? She pities me, McTee, an' from pity it's only one step to
something bigger. Can you trust me to lead her that one step? You can!"
"If I went to her and told her how you boasted of having won her?"
"She wouldn't believe what you said about me if you swore it with both
hands on the Bible. Be wise, McTee. Give up the game. You've lost her,
me boy! For every day that I work in the fireroom I'll come to her an'
show her the palms of me bleedin' hands an' mention your name. An' for
every day I work in the hole the hate of you will burn blacker into her
heart."
"I'd rather have her hate than her pity."
"You'll have both; her hate for torturin' Harrigan; her pity for
lettin' the devil in you get the best of the man. You're done for,
McTee."
Each one of the short phrases was like a whip flicked across the face
of McTee, but he would not wince.
"You've said enough. Now get down to the fireroom. I've had Henshaw
prepare the chief engineer for your coming."
Harrigan turned.
"Wait! Remember when you're in hell that the old compact still holds.
Your hand in mine and a promise to be my man will end the war."
Only the low laughter of the Irishman answered as he made his way down
to the deck.