To make good this promise, Campbell straightway sang for Harrigan's
delectation two or three more of his favorite selections. It was
evening, and the shift in the fireroom was ended before Harrigan left
the engineer's room. On his way to the deck he passed the tired firemen
from the hole of the ship. They stared at the Irishman with wide eyes,
for it was known that he had been in the chief engineer's room for
several hours; they looked upon him as one who has been in hell and has
escaped from thence to the upper air.
He was, in fact, a marked man when he reached the forecastle. Rumor
travels through a ship's crew and it was already known that Black McTee
hated the Irishman and that White Henshaw had commenced to persecute
him in a new and terrible manner.
This would have been sufficient tragedy to burden the shoulders of any
one man, however strong, and when to this was added the fact that he
had been kept by the grim chief engineer for several hours in the
chief's own room, and finally considering that this man had passed
through a shipwreck, one of three lone survivors, it is easy to
understand why the sailors gave him ample elbow room.
It was evidently expected that he would break out into a torrent of
abuse, and when he, perceiving this, remained silent, their awe
increased. All through supper he was aware of their wondering glances;
above all he felt the gray, steady eyes of Jerry Hovey, the bos'n, yet
he ate without speaking, replying to their tentative questions with
grunts. Before the meal was finished and the pipes and cigarettes
lighted, he was a made man. Persevering in his role, as soon as he had
eaten he went out on deck and sat down in the corner between the rail
and the forecastle upon a coil of rope.
As deep as the blue sea in the evening light was the peace which lay on
the soul of Harrigan, for the day had brought two great victories, one
over McTee and the other over the chief engineer. It was not a stolid
content, for he knew the danger of the implacable hate of McTee, but
with the aid of Campbell he felt that he would have a fighting chance
at least to survive, and that was all he asked.
So he sat on the coil of rope leaning against the rail, and looked
ahead. It was almost completely dark when a hand fell on his shoulder
and he looked up into the steady, gray-blue eyes of the bos'n.
"I promised to talk to you tonight," said that worthy, and sat down
uninvited on a neighboring coil of rope.
He waited for a response. As a rule, sailors are glad to curry favor
with the bos'n. Harrigan, however, sat without speaking, staring
through the gloom.
"Well?" said Hovey at length. "You're a silent man, Harrigan."
There was no response.
"All right; I like a silent man. In a way of speakin', I need 'em like
you! If you say little to me, you're likely to say little to others.
"I don't talk much myself," went on Hovey, "until I know my man. I
ain't seen much of you, but I guess I figure you straight."
He grew suddenly cautious, cunning, and the steady, gray-blue eyes
reminded Harrigan of a cat when she crouches for hours watching the
rathole.
"You ain't got much reason for standing in with White Henshaw?" he
purred.
"H'm," grunted the Irishman, and waited.
"Sure, you ain't," went on Hovey soothingly, "because McTee has raised
hell between you. They say McTee tried his damnedest to break you?"
The last question was put in a different manner; it came suddenly like
a surprise blow in the dark.
"Well?" queried Harrigan. "What of it?"
"He tried all the way from Honolulu?"
"He did."
"Did he try his fists?"
"He did."
Jerry Hovey cursed with excitement.
"And?"
"I carried him to his cabin afterward," said Harrigan truthfully.
"Would you take on McTee again? Black McTee?"
"If I had to. Why?"
"Oh, nothin'. But McTee has started White Henshaw on your trail. Maybe
you know what Henshaw is? The whole South Seas know him!"
"Well?"
"You'll have a sweet hell of a time before this boat touches port,
Harrigan."
"I'll weather it."
"Yes, this trip, but what about the next? If Henshaw is breakin' a man,
he keeps him on the ship till the man gives in or dies. I know!
Henshaw'll get so much against you that he could soak you for ten years
in the courts by the time we touch port. Then he'll offer to let you
off from the courts if you'll ship with him again, and then the old
game will start all over again. You may last one trip--other men
have--one or two--but no one has ever lasted out three or four
shippings under White Henshaw. It can't be done!"
He paused to let this vital point sink home. Only the same dull silence
came in reply, and this continued taciturnity seemed to irritate Hovey.
When he spoke again, his voice was cold and sharp.
"He's got you trapped, Harrigan. You're a strong man, but you'll never
get his rope off your neck. He'll either hang you with it or else tie
you hand and foot an' make you his slave. I _know!_"
There was a bitter emphasis on the last word that left no doubt as to
his meaning, and Harrigan understood now the light of that steady,
gray-blue eye which made the habitual smile of good nature meaningless.
"Ten years ago I shipped with White Henshaw. Ten years ago I didn't
have a crooked thought or a mean one in my brain. Today there's hell
inside me, understand? Hell!" He paused, breathing hard.
"There's others on this ship that have been through the same grind,
some of them longer than me. There's others that ain't here, but that
ain't forgotten, because me an' some of the rest, we seen them dyin' on
their feet. Maybe they ain't dropped into the sea, but they're just the
same, or worse. You'll find 'em loafin' along the beaches. They take
water from the natives, they do."
He went on in a hoarse whisper: "On this ship I've seen 'em busted. An'
Henshaw has done the bustin'. This is a coffin ship, Harrigan, an'
Henshaw he's the undertaker. He don't bring 'em to Davy Jones's
locker--he does worse--he brings 'em to hell on earth, a hell so bad
that when they go below, they don't notice no difference. Harrigan, me
an' a few of the rest, we know what's been done, an' some of us have
thought wouldn't it be a sort of joke, maybe, if sometime what Henshaw
has done to others was done to himself, what?"
The sweat was standing out on Harrigan's face wet and cold. It seemed
to him that through the darkness he could make out whole troops of
those broken men littering the decks. He peered through the dark at the
bos'n, and made out the hint of the gray-blue eyes watching him again
as the cat watches the mousehole, and the heart of Harrigan ached.
"Hovey, are you bound for the loincloth an' the beaches, like the
rest?"
"No, because I've sold my soul to White Henshaw; but you're bound
there, Harrigan, because you can never sell your soul. I looked in your
eyes and seen it written there like it was in a book."
He gripped the Irishman by the shoulder.
"There's some say this is the last voyage of White Henshaw, but me an'
some of the rest, we know different. He can't leave the sea, which
means that he won't take us out of hell. Now, talk straight. You stood
up to McTee; would you stand up to Henshaw?"
Harrigan muttered after a moment of thought: "I suppose this is mutiny,
bos'n?"
"Aye, but I'm safe in talkin' it. White Henshaw trusts me, he does,
because I've sold my soul to him. If you was to go an' tell him what
I've said, he'd laugh at you an' say you was tryin' to incite
discontent. What's it goin' to be, Harrigan? Will you join me an' the
rest who can set you free an' make a man of you, or will you stay by
McTee and White Henshaw and that devil Campbell?"
"How could you set me free?"
"One move--altogether--in the night--we'd have the ship for our own,
an' we could beach her and take to the shore at any place we pleased."
Harrigan repeated: "One move--altogether--in the night! I don't like
it, bos'n. I'll stand up to my man foot to foot an' hand to hand, but
for strikin' at him in the dark--I can't do it."
He caught the sound of Hovey's gritting teeth.
"Think it over," persisted the bos'n. "We need you, Harrigan, but if
you don't join, we'll help McTee and Henshaw and Campbell to make life
hell for you."
"I've thought it over. I don't like the game. This mutiny at
night--it's like hittin' a man who's down."
"That's final?"
"It is."
"Then God help you, Harrigan, for you ain't the man I took you for."