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!"