The Max Brand Megapack

by Max Brand

  There was a grim significance in that repeated phrase, “I know,” for it hinted at a knowledge more complete and evil than falls to the share of the ordinary mortal.

  “Lads, keep your eyes on the deck and play the game until I give the word! If the wind of this comes to the captain, it’s overboard for Jerry Hovey. I’d rather give myself to the sharks than to White Henshaw. That’s all.

  “Now, lads, it’s come to the point where we’ve got to know what we’ll do. There’s two ways. One is to crowd all them what ain’t in the mutiny into one cabin an’ keep ’em there till we beach the boat.”

  “So that they can get out and tell the land sharks what we’ve done?” suggested Garry Cochrane in disgust.

  “Garry,” said Hovey with deep feeling, “you’re a lad after my heart. And you’re right. If one of them lives, he’ll be enough to put a halter around the necks of each of us. We couldn’t get away. If we’re once described, there ain’t no way we could dodge the law.”

  He grinned sardonically as he looked about the circle: “There’s something about us, lads, that makes us different from other men.”

  The sailors glanced appreciatively at the scarred countenances of their fellows and laughed hoarsely.

  “So the second way is the only way,” went on Hovey, seeing that he had scored his point. “The rest of the crew that ain’t with us has got to go under. Are you with me?”

  “Aye,” croaked the chorus, and every man looked down at the floor. Each one had picked out the man he hated the most, and was preparing the manner of the killing.

  “Good,” said Hovey; “and now that we’ve agreed on that, we’ve got to choose—”

  He stopped, going rigid and blank of face. He had seen the open, chilling blue eye of Harrigan, who, drawn on into forgetfulness, had lain for some time on his bunk watching the scene without caution.

  CHAPTER 21

  “He’s heard!” stammered Hovey, pointing. “Guard the door! Get him!”

  “Bash in his head an’ overboard with the lubber!” growled Sam Hall.

  Not one of the others spoke; their actions were the more significant. Some leaped to the door and barred the exit.

  Others started for Harrigan. The latter leaped off his bunk and, sweeping up a short-legged, heavy stool, sprang back against the wall. This he held poised, ready to drive it at the first man who approached. Their semicircle grew compact before him, but still they hesitated, for the man who made the first move would die.

  “You fools!” said Harrigan, brandishing his stool. “Keep off!”

  He was thinking desperately, quickly.

  “Harrigan,” said Hovey, edging his way to the front of the sailors, “you heard!”

  “I did!”

  They growled, infuriated. His death was certain now, but they kept back for another moment, astonished that this man would sign his own sentence of doom. From marlinspikes to pocketknives, every man held some sort of a weapon. Garry Cochrane, flattening himself against the wall at one side, edged inch by inch toward Harrigan.

  “I heard it all,” said the Irishman, “and until the last word I thought you were a lot of bluffin’ cowards.”

  “You had your chance, Harrigan,” said Hovey, “an’ you turned me down. Now you get what’s due you.”

  The sailors crouched a little as if at a command to leap forward in the attack. Cochrane was perilously near.

  “If I get my due,” said Harrigan coolly, “you’ll go down on your knees. Stand back, Cochrane, or I’ll brain ye! You’ll go down on your knees an’ thank God that I’m with ye!”

  “Stand fast, Garry!” ordered Hovey. “What do you mean, Harrigan?”

  The Irishman laughed. Every son of Erin is an actor, and now Harrigan’s laughter rang true.

  “What should I mean except what I said?” he answered.

  “He’s tryin’ to save his head,” broke in Kyle, “but with the fear of death lookin’ him in the eye, any man would join us. Finish him, lads.”

  “You fool!” said Harrigan authoritatively. “Don’t talk so loud, or you’ll have White Henshaw down on our heads. Maybe he’s heard that bull voice of yours already!”

  It was a master stroke. The mention of the terrible skipper and the skillful insinuation that he was one of them, made them straighten and stare at him.

  “Go guard the door,” said Hovey to one of his sailors, “an’ see that none of the mates is near. Now, Harrigan, what d’you mean? You’d hear no word of mutiny when I talked to you. Speak for your life now, because we’re hard to convince.”

  “We can’t be convinced,” said Garry Cochrane, “but maybe it’ll be fun to hear him talk before we dump him overboard.”

  Instead of answering the speaker, Harrigan looked upon Hovey with a cold eye of scorn.

  He said: “I changed my mind. I’m not one of you. I thought the bos’n was a real captain for the gang, but I’ll not follow a dog that lets every one of his pack yelp.”

  “I’m a dog, am I?” snarled Hovey furiously. “I’ll teach you what I am, Harrigan. An’ you, Cochrane, keep your face shut. I’ll learn you who’s boss of this little crew!”

  “If you’re half the man you seem,” went on Harrigan, “this game looks good to me.”

  “You lie,” said the bos’n. “You turned me down cold when I talked to you.”

  “You fool, that was because you said no word outright of wipin’ out the officers an’ takin’ control of the ship. You sneaked up to me in the dark; you felt me out before you said a word; you were like a cat watchin’ a rathole. Am I a rat? Am I a sneak? Do I have to be whispered to? No, I’m Harrigan, an’ anyone who wants to talk to me has got to speak out like a man!”

  The very impudence of his speech held them in check for another precious moment. He whirled the heavy stool.

  “If you wanted me, why didn’t you come an’ say: ‘Harrigan, I know you. You hate Henshaw an’ McTee an’ the rest. We’re goin’ to wipe ’em out an’ beach the ship. Are you with us?’ Why, then I’d of shook hands with you, and that would end it. But when you come whisperin’ and insinuatin’, sayin’ nothin’ straight from the shoulder, how’d I know you weren’t sent by Henshaw to feel me out, eh? How do any of you know the bos’n ain’t feelin’ you out for the skipper he’s sailed with ten years?”

  The circle shifted, loosened; half the men were facing Hovey with suspicious eyes. They had not thought of this greater danger, and the bos’n was desperate in the crisis.

  “Boys,” he pleaded, “are you goin’ to let one stranger ball up our game? Are you goin’ to start doubtin’ me on his say-so?”

  The men glanced from him to Harrigan. Plainly they were deep in doubt, and the Irishman made his second masterful move. He stepped forward, dropping his stool with a crash to the floor, and clapped a hand upon Hovey’s shoulder.

  “I spoke too quick,” he said frankly, “but you got me mad, bos’n. I know you’re straight, an’ I’m with you, for one. A man Harrigan will toiler ought to be good enough for the rest, eh?”

  Jerry Hovey wiped his gleaming forehead. The kingdom of his ambition was rebuilt by this speech.

  “Sit down, boys,” he ordered. “The last man in the forecastle is with us now. We’re solid. Sit down and we’ll plan our game.”

  The plan, as it developed after the circle re-formed, was a simple one. They were to wait until the ship was within two or three days’ voyage from the coast of Central America—their destination—and then they would act. They had secured to their side the firemen and the first assistant engineer. That meant that they could run the ship safely with the bos’n, who understood navigation, at the wheel. They would select a night, and then, on the command of Hovey, the men would take the arms which they had prepared.

  One of the Japanese cabin boys, Kamasura, was a member of the plot. He would furnish butcherknives and cleavers from the kitchen. Besides this, there were various implements which could be used as bludgeons; and finally there were the pocketknives
with which every sailor is always equipped, generally stout, long-bladed instruments. The advantage of firearms was with the officers of the ship, but apparently there were no rifles and probably very few revolvers aboard. Against powder and lead they would have the advantage of a surprise attack.

  First, Sam Hall and Kyle were to go down to the hole of the ship and lead the firemen in their attack upon the oilers and wipers, most of whom had not been approachable with the plan of mutiny because they were newly signed on the ship. In this part of the campaign the most important feature would be the capturing of Campbell, who would be reserved for a finely drawn-out, tortured death. The firemen had insisted upon this.

  In the meantime Hovey with Flint and the rest would attack the cabins of Henshaw, McTee, and the mates. Here they depended chiefly upon the effect of the surprise. If it were possible, Henshaw also was to be taken alive and reserved for a long death like Campbell. This done, they would lead the ship to an uninhabited part of the shore, beach her, and scatter over the mainland, each with his share of the booty.

  Harrigan forced himself to take an active part in the discussion of the plans. Several features were his own suggestion, among others the idea of presenting a petition for better food to Henshaw, and beating him down while he was reading it; but all the time that the Irishman spoke, he was thinking of Kate.

  When the crew turned into their bunks at last, he went over a thousand schemes in his head. In the first place he might go to Henshaw at once and warn him of the coming danger, but he remembered what the bos’n had said—in such a case he would not be believed, and both the crew and the commander would be against him.

  Finally it seemed to him that the best thing was to wait until the critical moment had arrived. He could warn the captain just in time—or if absolutely necessary he could warn McTee, who would certainly believe him. In the meantime there were possibilities that the mutiny would come to nothing through internal dissension among the crew. In any case he must play a detestable part, acting as a spy upon the crew and pretending enthusiasm for the mutiny.

  With that shame like a taste of soot in his throat, he climbed to the bridge the next morning with his bucket of suds and his brush, and there as usual he found McTee, cool and clean in the white outfit of Henshaw. At sight of the Scotchman he remembered at once that he must pretend the double exhaustion which comes of pain and hard labor. Therefore he thrust out his lower jaw and favored McTee with a glare of hate. He was repaid by the glow of content which showed in the captain’s face.

  “And the hole of the Heron,” he said, speaking softly lest his voice should carry to the man in the wheelhouse, “is it cooler than the fireroom of the Mary Rogers?”

  Harrigan glanced up, glowering.

  “Damn you, McTee!”

  “The palms of your hands, lad, are they raw? Is the lye of the suds cool to them?”

  Another black glance came in reply and McTee leaned back against the rail, tapping one contented toe against the floor.

  “It was a fine tale you told me yesterday, Harrigan,” he said at length, “but afterward I saw Kate, and she was never kinder. I spoke of you, and we laughed together about it. She said you were like a horse that’s too proud—you need the whip!”

  Harrigan was in doubt, but he concealed his trouble with a mighty effort and smiled.

  “That’s a weak lie, Angus. When I was a boy of ten, I would of hung me head for shame if I could not have made a better lie. Shall I tell you what really happened when you met Kate? You came up smilin’ an’ grinnin’ like a baboon, an’ she passed you by with a look that went through you as if you were just a cloud on the edge of the sky. Am I right, McTee?”

  “You’ve seen her, and she’s told you this,” exclaimed the captain.

  Harrigan chuckled his triumph and went on with the scrubbing of the bridge.

  “No, Angus, me dear, I’ve not seen her, but when two souls are as close as hers and mine—well, cap’n, I leave it to you!”

  McTee ground his teeth with rage and turned his back on the worker for a moment until he could master the contorted muscles of his face.

  “Tut, McTee,” went on the Irishman, “you’ve but felt the tickle of the spur; when I drive it in, you’ll yell like a whipped kid. Always you play into me hands, McTee. Now when you see Kate, you’ll feel me grin in the background mockin’ ye, eh?”

  The banter gave the captain a shrewd inspiration. He leaned, and catching one of Harrigan’s hands with a quick movement, turned it palm up. It was as he suspected; the palm, though red from the effect of the strong suds and still scarcely healed after the torment of the Mary Rogers, was nevertheless manifestly unharmed by the labor which it was supposed Harrigan had performed the day before. The hand was wrenched away and a balled fist held under McTee’s nose.

  “If you’re curious, Angus, look at me knuckles, not me palm. It’s the knuckles you’ll feel the most, cap’n.”

  CHAPTER 22

  But McTee, deep in thought, was walking from the bridge. He went straight to the hole of the ship and questioned some of the firemen, and they told him that Harrigan had done no work passing coal the day before; Campbell, it appeared, had taken him for some special job. With this tidings the Scotchman hastened back to Henshaw.

  “The game’s slipping through our hands, captain,” he said.

  “Harrigan?” queried Henshaw.

  “Aye. He didn’t pass a shovelful of coal in the hole yesterday.”

  “Tut, tut,” answered the other with a wave of the hand. “I sent orders to Campbell, and told him what sort of a man he could expect to find in Harrigan.”

  “I’ve just talked to the firemen. They say that Harrigan didn’t handle a single pound of coal. That ought to be final.”

  Henshaw went black.

  “It may be so. I’ve given more rope to old Campbell than to any man that ever sailed the seas with White Henshaw, and it may be he’s using the rope now to hang himself. We’ll find out, McTee; we’ll find out! Where’s Harrigan now?”

  “Gone below a while ago after he finished scrubbing down the bridge.”

  “We’ll speak with Douglas. Come along, McTee. There’s nothing like discipline on the high seas.”

  He went below, murmuring to himself, with McTee close behind him. Strange sounds were coming from the room of the chief engineer, sounds which seemed much like the strumming of a guitar.

  “He’s playing his songs,” grinned Henshaw, and he chuckled noiselessly. “Listen! We’ll give him something to sing about—and it’ll be in another key. Ha-ha!”

  He tasted the results of his disciplining already, but just as he placed his hand on the knob of the door, another sound checked him and made him turn with a puzzled frown toward McTee. It was a ringing baritone voice which rose in an Irish love song.

  “What the devil—” began Henshaw.

  “You’re right,” nodded McTee. “It’s the devil—Harrigan. Open the door!”

  The captain flung it open, and they discovered the two worthies seated at ease with a black bottle and two glasses at hand. Campbell, in the manner of a musical critic of some skill, leaned back in a chair with his brawny arms folded behind his head and his eyes half closed. Harrigan, tilted back in a chair, rested his feet on the edge of a small table and swept the guitar which lay on his lap. In the midst of a high note he saw the ominous pair standing in the door, and the music died abruptly on his lips.

  He rose to his feet and nudged Campbell at the same time. The latter opened his eyes and, glimpsing the unwelcome visitors, sprang up, gasping, stammering.

  “What? Come in! Don’t be standing there, Cap’n Henshaw. Come in and sit down!”

  In spite of his bluster his red face was growing blotched with patches of gray. Harrigan, less moved than any of the others, calmly replaced the guitar in its green cloth case.

  “I sent this fellow down to be put at hard work,” said Henshaw, and waited.

  It was obvious to Harrigan that the chief engine
er was in mortal fear. He himself felt strangely ill at ease as he looked at White Henshaw with his skin yellow as Egyptian papyrus from a tomb.

  “Just a minute, captain,” began the engineer. “You sent Harrigan down to the hole because he’s considered a hard man to handle, eh?”

  Henshaw waited for a fuller explanation; he seemed to be enjoying the distress of Campbell.

  “Just so,” went on the Scotchman, “but there are two ways of handling a difficult sailor. One is by using the club and the other by using kindness. The club has been tried and hasn’t worked very well with Harrigan. I decided to take a hand with kindness. The results have been excellent. I was just about—”

  His voice died away, for McTee was chuckling in a deep bass rumble, and Henshaw was smiling in a way that boded no good.

  The captain broke in coldly: “I’ve heard enough of your explanation, Campbell. Send Harrigan down to the hole at once. We’ll work him a double shift today, for a starter.”

  Campbell was trembling like a self-conscious girl, for he was drawn between shame and dread of the captain.

  “Look!” he cried, and taking the hand of Harrigan, he turned it palm up. “This chap has been brutally treated. He’s been at work that fairly tore the skin from the palms of his hands. One hour’s work with a shovel, captain, would make Harrigan useless at any sort of a job for a month.”

  “Which goes to show,” said McTee, “that you don’t know Harrigan.”

  “I’ve heard what you have to say,” said Henshaw. “I sent him down to work in the hole; I come down and find him singing in your room. I expect you to have him passing coal inside of fifteen minutes, Campbell.”

  Harrigan started for the door, feeling that the game had been played out, and glad of even this small respite of a day or more from the labor of the shovel. Before he left the room, however, the voice of Campbell halted him.