Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  “Thought he said ‘we’,” remarked one of the sailors.

  Skipper Simms, livid with rage, turned to search out the offender from the several men behind him.

  “Who was that?” he roared. “Show me the blitherin’ swab. Jes’ show him to me, I tell you, an I’ll learn him. Now you,” he yelled at the top of his voice, turning again to the men he had ordered into the forecastle after Billy Byrne, “you cowardly landlubbers you, get below there quick afore I kick you below.”

  Still no one moved to obey him. From white he went to red, and then back to white again. He fairly frothed at the mouth as he jumped up and down, cursing the men, and threatening. But all to no avail. They would not go.

  “Why, Skipper,” spoke up Bony Sawyer, “it’s sure death for any man as goes below there. It’s easier, an’ safer, to starve him out.”

  “Starve nothin’,” shrieked Skipper Simms. “Do you reckon I’m a-goin’ to sit quiet here for a week an’ let any blanked wharf rat own that there fo’c’s’le just because I got a lot o’ white-livered cowards aboard? No sir! You’re a-goin’ down after that would-be bad man an’ fetch him up dead or alive,” and with that he started menacingly toward the three who stood near the hatch, holding their firearms safely out of range of Billy Byrne below.

  What would have happened had Skipper Simms completed the threatening maneuver he had undertaken can never be known, for at this moment Theriere pushed his way through the circle of men who were interested spectators of the impending tragedy.

  “What’s up, sir?” he asked of Simms. “Anything that I can help you with?”

  “Oh!” exclaimed the skipper; “so you ain’t dead after all, eh? Well that don’t change the looks of things a mite. We gotta get that man outa there an’ these flea-bitten imitations of men ain’t got the guts to go in after him.”

  “He’s got your gun, sir,” spoke up Wison, “an’ Gawd knows he be the one as’ud on’y be too glad for the chanct to use it.”

  “Let me see if I can’t handle him, sir,” said Theriere to Skipper Simms. “We don’t want to lose any men if we can help it.”

  The skipper was only too glad to welcome this unexpected rescue from the predicament in which he had placed himself. How Theriere was to accomplish the subjugation of the mutinous sailor he could not guess, nor did he care so long as it was done without risk to his own skin.

  “Now if you’ll go away, sir,” said Theriere, “and order the men away I’ll see what I can do.”

  Skipper Simms did as Theriere had requested, so that presently the officer stood alone beside the hatch. Across the deck, amidships, the men had congregated to watch Theriere’s operations, while beyond them stood Barbara Harding held fascinated by the grim tragedy that was unfolding before her upon this accursed vessel.

  Theriere leaned over the open hatch, in full view of the waiting Byrne, ready below. There was the instant report of a firearm and a bullet whizzed close past Theriere’s head.

  “Avast there, Byrne!” he shouted. “It’s I, Theriere. Don’t shoot again, I want to speak to you.”

  “No monkey business now,” growled the mucker in reply. “I won’t miss again.”

  “I want to talk with you, Byrne,” said Theriere in a low tone. “I’m coming down there.”

  “No you ain’t, cul,” returned Byrne; “leastways yeh ain’t a-comin’ down here alive.”

  “Yes I am, Byrne,” replied Theriere, “and you don’t want to be foolish about it. I’m unarmed. You can cover me with your gun until you have satisfied yourself as to that. I’m the only man on the ship that can save your life — the only man that has any reason to want to; but we’ve got to talk it over and we can’t talk this way where there’s a chance of being overheard. I’ll be on the square with you if you will with me, and if we can’t come to terms I’ll come above again and you won’t be any worse off than you are now. Here I come,” and without waiting for an acceptance of his proposition the second officer of the Halfmoon slipped over the edge of the hatchway and disappeared from the sight of the watchers above.

  That he was a brave man even Billy Byrne had to admit, and those above who knew nothing of the relations existing between the second mate and the sailor, who had so recently felled him, thought that his courage was little short of marvelous. Theriere’s stock went up by leaps and bounds in the estimation of the sailors of the Halfmoon, for degraded though they were they could understand and appreciate physical courage of this sort, while to Barbara Harding the man’s act seemed unparalleled in its utter disregard of the consequences of life and death to himself that it entailed. She suddenly was sorry that she had entertained any suspicions against Theriere — so brave a man could not be other than the soul of honor, she argued.

  Once below Theriere found himself covered by his own revolver in the hands of a very desperate and a very unprincipled man. He smiled at Byrne as the latter eyed him suspiciously.

  “See here, Byrne,” said Theriere. “It would be foolish for me to say that I am doing this for love of you. The fact is that I need you. We cannot succeed, either one of us, alone. I think you made a fool play when you hit me today. You know that our understanding was that I was to be even a little rougher with you than usual, in order to avoid suspicion being attached to any seeming familiarity between us, should we be caught conferring together. I had the chance to bawl you out today, and I thought that you would understand that I was but taking advantage of the opportunity which it afforded to make it plain to Miss Harding that there could be nothing other than hatred between us — it might have come in pretty handy later to have her believe that.

  “If I’d had any idea that you really intended hitting me you’d have been a dead man before your fist reached me, Byrne. You took me entirely by surprise; but that’s all in the past — I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, and help you out of the pretty pickle you’ve got yourself into. Then we can go ahead with our work as though nothing had happened. What do you say?”

  “I didn’t know yeh was kiddin,” replied the mucker, “or I wouldn’t have hit yeh. Yeh acted like yeh meant it.”

  “Very well, that part’s understood,” said Theriere. “Now will you come out if I can square the thing with the skipper so’s you won’t get more than a day or so in irons — he’ll have to give you something to save his own face; but I promise that you’ll get your food regularly and that you won’t be beaten up the way you were before when he had you below. If he won’t agree to what I propose I give you my word to tell you so.”

  “Go ahead,” said Billy Byrne; “I don’t trust nobody wen I don’t have to; but I’ll be dinged if I see any other way out of it.”

  Theriere returned to the deck and seeking out the skipper drew him to one side.

  “I can get him up peaceably if I can assure him that he’ll only get a day or so in the cooler, with full rations and no beatings. I think, sir, that that will be the easiest way out of it. We cannot spare a man now — if we want to get the fellow later we can always find some pretext.”

  “Very well, Mr. Theriere,” replied the skipper, “I’ll leave the matter entirely in your hands — you can do what you want with the fellow; it’s you as had your face punched.”

  Theriere returned immediately to the forecastle, from which he presently emerged with the erstwhile recalcitrant Byrne, and for two days the latter languished in durance vile, and that was the end of the episode, though its effects were manifold. For one thing it implanted in the heart of Theriere a personal hatred for the mucker, so that while heretofore his intention of ridding himself of the man when he no longer needed him was due purely to a matter of policy, it was now reinforced by a keen desire for personal revenge. The occurrence had also had its influence upon Barbara Harding, in that it had shown her Mr. Theriere in a new light — one that reflected credit upon him. She had thought his magnanimous treatment of the sailor little short of heroic; and it had deepened the girl’s horror of Billy Byrne until it now amounted to little sho
rt of an obsession. So vivid an impression had his brutality made upon her that she would start from deep slumber, dreaming that she was menaced by him.

  After Billy was released for duty following his imprisonment, he several times passed the girl upon deck. He noticed that she shrank from him in disgust and terror; but what surprised him was that instead of the thrill of pride which he formerly would have felt at this acknowledgment of his toughness, for Billy prided himself on being a tough, he now felt a singular resentment against the girl for her attitude, so that he came to hate her even more than he had before hated. Formerly he had hated her for the things she stood for, now he hated her for herself.

  Theriere was often with her now, and, less frequently, Divine; for at the second officer’s suggestion Barbara had not acquainted that gentleman with the fact that she was aware of his duplicity.

  “It is just as well not to let him know,” said Theriere. “It gives you an advantage that would be wanting should he suspect the truth, so that now you are always in a position to be warned in plenty of time against any ulterior suggestion he may make. Keep me posted as to all he tells you of his plans, and in this way we can defeat him much more easily than as though you followed your natural inclinations and refused to hold communication of any sort with him. It might be well, Miss Harding, even to encourage him in the hope that you will wed him voluntarily. I think that that would throw him entirely off his guard, and pave the way for your early release.”

  “Oh, I doubt if I could do that, Mr. Theriere,” exclaimed the girl. “You cannot imagine how I loathe the man now that I know him in his true colors. For years he has importuned me to marry him, and though I never cared for him in that way at all, and never could, I felt that he was a very good friend and that his constancy demanded some return on my part — my friendship and sympathy at least; but now I shiver whenever he is near me, just as I would were I to find a snake coiled close beside me. I cannot abide treachery.”

  “Nor I, Miss Harding,” agreed Theriere glibly. “The man deserves nothing but your contempt, though for policy’s sake I hope that you will find it possible to lead him on until his very treachery proves the means of your salvation, for believe me, if he has been false to you how much more quickly will he be false to Simms and Ward! He would ditch them in a minute if the opportunity presented itself for him to win you without their aid. I had thought it might be feasible to lead him into attempting to take the ship by force, and return you to San Francisco, or, better still possibly, to the nearest civilized port.

  “You might, with propriety suggest this to him, telling him that you believe that I would stand ready to assist in the undertaking. I can promise you the support of several of the men — quite a sufficient number with Divine and myself, easily to take the Halfmoon away from her present officers.”

  “I will think over your suggestion, Mr. Theriere,” replied Barbara, “and I thank you for the generous impulse that has prompted you to befriend me — heaven knows how badly I need a friend now among so many enemies. What is it, Mr. Theriere? What is the matter?”

  The officer had turned his eyes casually toward the southeast as the girl spoke, and just now he had given a sudden exclamation of surprise and alarm.

  “That cloud, Miss Harding,” he answered. “We’re in for a bad blow, and it’ll be on us in a minute,” and with that he started forward on a run, calling back over his shoulder, “you’d better go below at once.”

  CHAPTER VII. THE TYPHOON

  THE storm that struck the Halfmoon took her entirely unaware. It had sprung, apparently, out of a perfectly clear sky. Both the lookout and the man at the wheel were ready to take oath that they had scanned the horizon not a half-minute before Second Mate Theriere had come racing forward bellowing for all hands on deck and ordering a sailor below to report the menacing conditions to Captain Simms.

  Before that officer reached the deck Theriere had the entire crew aloft taking in sail; but though they worked with the desperation of doomed men they were only partially successful in their efforts.

  The sky and sea had assumed a sickly yellowish color, except for the mighty black cloud that raced toward them, low over the water. The low moaning sound that had followed the first appearance of the storm, gave place to a sullen roar, and then, of a sudden, the thing struck the Halfmoon, ripping her remaining canvas from her as if it had been wrought from tissue paper, and with the flying canvas, spars, and cordage went the mainmast, snapping ten feet above the deck, and crashing over the starboard bow with a noise and jar that rose above the bellowing of the typhoon.

  Fully half the crew of the Halfmoon either went down with the falling rigging or were crushed by the crashing weight of the mast as it hurtled against the deck. Skipper Simms rushed back and forth screaming out curses that no one heeded, and orders that there was none to fill.

  Theriere, on his own responsibility, looked to the hatches. Ward with a handful of men armed with axes attempted to chop away the wreckage, for the jagged butt of the fallen mast was dashing against the ship’s side with such vicious blows that it seemed but a matter of seconds ere it would stave a hole in her.

  With the utmost difficulty a sea anchor was rigged and tumbled over the Halfmoon’s pitching bow into the angry sea, that was rising to more gigantic proportions with each succeeding minute. This frail makeshift which at best could but keep the vessel’s bow into the wind, saving her from instant engulfment in the sea’s trough, seemed to Theriere but a sorry means of prolonging the agony of suspense preceding the inevitable end. That nothing could save them was the second officer’s firm belief, nor was he alone in his conviction. Not only Simms and Ward, but every experienced sailor on the ship felt that the life of the Halfmoon was now but a matter of hours, possibly minutes, while those of lesser experience were equally positive that each succeeding wave must mark the termination of the lives of the vessel and her company.

  The deck, washed now almost continuously by hurtling tons of storm-mad water, as one mountainous wave followed another the length of the ship, had become entirely impossible. With difficulty the men were attempting to get below between waves. All semblance of discipline had vanished. For the most part they were a pack of howling, cursing, terror-ridden beasts, fighting at the hatches with those who would have held them closed against the danger of each new assault of the sea.

  Ward and Skipper Simms had been among the first to seek the precarious safety below deck. Theriere alone of the officers had remained on duty until the last, and now he was exerting his every faculty in the effort to save as many of the men as possible without losing the ship in the doing of it. Only between waves was the entrance to the main cabins negotiable, while the forecastle hatch had been abandoned entirely after it had with difficulty been replaced following the retreat of three of the crew to that part of the ship.

  The mucker stood beside Theriere as the latter beat back the men when the seas threatened. It was the man’s first experience of the kind. Never had he faced death in the courage-blighting form which the grim harvester assumes when he calls unbridled Nature to do his ghastly bidding. The mucker saw the rough, brawling bullies of the forecastle reduced to white-faced, gibbering cowards, clawing and fighting to climb over one another toward the lesser danger of the cabins, while the mate fought them off, except as he found it expedient to let them pass him; he alone cool and fearless.

  Byrne stood as one apart from the dangers and hysteric strivings of his fellows. Once when Theriere happened to glance in his direction the Frenchman mentally ascribed the mucker’s seeming lethargy to the paralysis of abject cowardice. “The fellow is in a blue funk,” thought the second mate; “I did not misjudge him — like all his kind he is a coward at heart.”

  Then a great wave came, following unexpectedly close upon the heels of a lesser one. It took Theriere off his guard, threw him down and hurtled him roughly across the deck, landing him in the scuppers, bleeding and stunned. The next wave would carry him overboard.

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sp; Released from surveillance the balance of the crew pushed and fought their way into the cabin — only the mucker remained without, staring first at the prostrate form of the mate and then at the open cabin hatch. Had one been watching him he might reasonably have thought that the man’s mind was in a muddle of confused thoughts and fears; but such was far from the case. Billy was waiting to see if the mate would revive sufficiently to return across the deck before the next wave swept the ship. It was very interesting — he wondered what odds O’Leary would have laid against the man.

  In another moment the wave would come. Billy glanced at the open cabin hatch. That would never do — the cabin would be flooded with tons of water should the next wave find the hatch still open. Billy closed it. Then he looked again toward Theriere. The man was just recovering consciousness — and the wave was coming.

  Something stirred within Billy Byrne. It gripped him and made him act quickly as though by instinct to do something that no one, Billy himself least of all, would have suspected that the Grand Avenue mucker would have been capable of.

  Across the deck Theriere was dragging himself painfully to his hands and knees, as though to attempt the impossible feat of crawling back to the cabin hatch. The wave was almost upon Billy. In a moment it would engulf him, and then rush on across him to tear Theriere from the deck and hurl him beyond the ship into the tumbling, watery, chaos of the sea.

  The mucker saw all this, and in the instant he launched himself toward the man for whom he had no use, whose kind he hated, reaching him as the great wave broke over them, crushing them to the deck, choking and blinding them.

  For a moment they were buried in the swirling maelstrom, and then as the Halfmoon rose again, shaking the watery enemy from her back, the two men were disclosed — Theriere half over the ship’s side — the mucker clinging to him with one hand, the other clutching desperately at a huge cleat upon the gunwale.

  Byrne dragged the mate to the deck, and then slowly and with infinite difficulty across it to the cabin hatch. Through it he pushed the man, tumbling after him and closing the aperture just as another wave swept the Halfmoon.