CHAPTER 18
"There's times for truth an' there's times for lying," murmuredHarrigan, as he stowed away the bucket and brush and started down forthe fireroom, "an' this was one of the times for lyin'. He's sick forthe love of her, an' he's hatin' the thought of Harrigan."
So he was humming a rollicking tune when he reached the fireroom. Itwas stifling hot, to be sure, but it was twice as large as that of theMary Rogers. The firemen were all glistening with sweat. One of them,larger than the rest and with a bristling, shoebrush mustache like asign of authority, said to the newcomer: "You're Harrigan?"
He nodded.
"The chief wants to see you, boss, before you start swingin' theshovel."
"Where's the chief's cabin?"
"Take him up, Alex," directed the big fireman, and Harrigan followedone of the men up the narrow ladder and then aft. He was grateful forthis light respite from the heat of the hole, but his joy faded whenthe man opened a door and he stood at last before the chief, DouglasCampbell, who looked up at the burly Irishman in a long silence.
The scion of the ancient and glorious clan of the Campbells had fallenfar indeed. His face was a brilliant red, and the nose, comicallyswollen at the end, was crossed with many blue veins. Like Milton's_Satan_, however, he retained some traces of his original brightness.Harrigan knew at once that the chief engineer was fully worthy ofjoining those rulers of the south seas and harriers of weaker men,McTee and White Henshaw.
"Stand straight and look me in the eye," said Campbell, and in hisvoice was a slight "bur-r-r" of the Scotch accent.
Harrigan jerked back his shoulders and stood like a soldier atattention.
"A drinkin' man," he was saying to himself, "may be hard an' fallenlow, but he's sure to have a heart."
"So you're the mutineer, my fine buck?"
Harrigan hesitated, and this seemed to infuriate Campbell, who banged abrawny fist on a table and thundered: "Answer me, or I'll skin yourworthless carcass!"
The cold, blue eyes of Harrigan did not falter. They studied the faceof the Campbell as a fighter gauges his opponent.
"If I say 'yes,'" he responded at length, "it's as good as puttin'myself in chains; if I say 'no,' you'll be thinkin' I'm givin' in, youan' McTee, damn his eyes!"
Campbell grew still redder.
"You damn him, do you? McTee is Scotch; he's a gentleman too good to benamed by swine!"
The irrepressible Harrigan replied: "He's enough to make swine speak!"
Amazement and then a gleam of laughter shone in the eyes of the chiefengineer. He was seized, apparently, by a fit of violent coughing andhad to turn away, hiding his face with his hand. When he faced theIrishman again, his jaw was set hard, but his eyes were moist.
"Look me in the eye, laddie. Men say a good many things about me; theycall me a slave driver and worse. Why? Because when I say 'move,' mymen have to jump. I've asked you a question, and I'm going to get ananswer. Are you a mutineer or not?"
"I will not pleasure McTee by sayin' I'm not!"
The ponderous hand rose over the table, but it was checked before itfell.
"What the devil has McTee to do with this?" he bellowed.
"He's the one that sent me here." Harrigan was thinking fast as he wenton: "And you're going to keep me here for the sake of McTee."
Campbell changed from red to purple and exploded: "I'll keep no manhere to please another; not White Henshaw himself. He rules on deck,and I rule below. D'you hear? Tell me you're a liar! Speak up!"
"You're a liar," said Harrigan instantly.
The engineer's mouth opened and closed twice while he stared atHarrigan.
"Get out!" he shouted, springing to his feet. "I'll have you boxed upand sweated; I'll have you pounded to a pulp! Wait! Stay here! I'llbring in some men!"
Harrigan was desperate. He knew that what he had said was equivalent toa mutiny. He threw caution to the wind. Campbell had rung a bell.
"Bring your men an' be damned!" he answered; and now his head tiltedback and he set his shoulders to the wall. "I'll be afther lickin' yourwhole crew! A man do ye call yourself? Ah-h, ye're not fit to belickin' the boots ay a man! Slave driver? No, ye're an overseer, an'Henshaw kicks you an' you pass the kick along. But lay a hand onHarrigan, an' he'll tear the rotten head off your shoulders!"
The door flew open, and the second assistant engineer, a burly man,with two or three others, appeared at the entrance, drawn by thefurious clamor of the bell.
"What--" began the second assistant, and then stopped as he caughtsight of Harrigan against the wall with his hands poised, ready for thefirst attack.
"Who called you?" roared Campbell.
"Your bell--" began the assistant.
"You lie! Get out! I was telling a joke to my old friend Harrigan.Maybe I leaned back against the bell. Shake hands with Harrigan. I'veknown him for years."
Incredulous, Harrigan lowered his clenched fist and relaxed it to meetthe hesitant hand of the assistant.
"Now be off," growled the chief, and the others fled.
As the door closed, Harrigan turned in stupid amazement upon theScotchman. The latter had dropped into his chair again and now lookedat Harrigan with twinkling eyes.
"You'd have fought 'em all, eh, lad?"
He burst into heavy laughter.
"Ah, the blue devil that came in your eyes! Why did I not let them haveone whirl at you? Ha, ha, ha!"
"Wake me up," muttered Harrigan. "I'm dreamin'!"
"There's a thick lie in my throat," said Campbell. "I must wash it outand leave a truth there!"
He opened a small cupboard, exposing a formidable array of black andgreen bottles. One of the black he pulled down, as well as two smallglasses, which he filled to the brim.
"To your bonny blue eyes, lad!" he said, and raised a glass. "Here's anend to the mutiny--and a drop to our old friendship!"
Harrigan, still with clouded mind, raised the glass and drank. It was afine sherry wine.
"How old would you say that wine was?" queried the Scotchman withexaggerated carelessness.
The carelessness did not deceive Harrigan. His mind went blanker still,for he knew little about good wines.
"Well?" asked the engineer.
"H-m!" muttered Harrigan, and racked his brain to remember the ages atwhich a good vintage becomes a rare old wine. "About thirty-fiveyears."
"By the Lord!" cried Campbell. "It never fails--a strong man knows hisliquor like a book! You're almost right. Add three years and you haveit! Thirty-eight years in sunshine and shadow!"
He leaned back and gazed dreamily up to the ceiling.
"Think of it," he went on in a reverent murmur. "Men have been born andgrown strong and then started toward the shady side of life since thiswine was put in the bottle. For thirty-eight years it has beengathering and saving its perfume--draw a breath of it now, lad!--andwhen I uncork the bottle, all the odor blows out to me at once."
"True," said Harrigan, nodding sagely. "I've thought the same thing,but never found the words for it, chief."
"Have you?" asked Campbell eagerly. "Sit down, lad; sit down! Well,well! Good wine was put on earth for a blessing, but men have misusedit, Harrigan--but hear me preaching when I ought to be praying!"
"Prayin'?" repeated the diplomatic Harrigan. "No, no, man! Maybe you'vedrunk a good store of liquor, but it shines through you. It puts aflush on your face like a sun shinin' through a cloud. You'd heartenany man on a dark day!"
He could not resist the play on the words, and a shadow crossed theface of the engineer.
"Harrigan," he growled, "there's a double meaning in what you say, butI'll not think of it. You're no fool, lad, but do not vex me. But sayyour say. I suppose I'm red enough to be seen by my own light on a darknight. What does Bobbie say?
"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie usTo see oursels as others see us!
"Well, well! I forgave you for the sake of Bobbie! Do you know hisrhymes, lad?"
A light shone in the eye of Harrigan. He b
egan to sing softly in hismusical, deep voice: "Ye banks and braes of bonny Doon--"
"No, no, man!" cried Campbell, raising his hand in horror at the soundof the false accent. "It should go like this!"
He pulled a guitar out of a case and commenced to strum lightly on it,while he rendered the old song in a voice roughened by ill usage butstill strong and true. A knock at the door interrupted him at theclimax of his song, and he glared toward the unseen and rash intruder.
"What will ye hae?" he roared, continuing the dialect which the songhad freshened on his tongue.
"The shift in the fireroom is short-handed," said the voice. "Thatfellow Harrigan has not shown up. Shall we search for him?"
"Search for the de'il!" thundered Campbell. "Harrigan is doing a finepiece of work for me; shall I let him go to the fireroom to swing ashovel?"
"The captain's orders, sir," persisted the voice rashly.
Campbell leaped for the door and jerked it open a few inches.
"Be off!" he cried; "or I'll set you passin' coal yourself, my finelad! What? Will ye be asking questions? Is there no discipline? Mutiny,mutiny--that's what this is!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" murmured a rapidly retreating voice.
Campbell closed and locked the door and turned back to Harrigan with agrin.
"The world's a wide place," he said, "but there's few enough in it whoknow our Bobbie, God bless him! When I've found one, shall I let him godown to the fireroom? Ha! Now tell me what's wrong between you andMcTee."
"I will not talk," said Harrigan with another bold stroke of diplomacy,"till I hear the rest of that song. The true Scotch comes hard on mytongue, but I'll learn it."
"You will, laddie, for your heart's right. Man, man, I'm nothing now,but you should have heard me sing in the old days--"
"When we were in Glasgow," grinned Harrigan.
"In Glasgow," repeated Campbell, and then lifted his head and finishedthe song. "Now for the story, laddie."
Harrigan started, as though recalled from a dream built up by themusic. Then he told briefly the tale of the tyranny aboard the _MaryRogers_, now apparently to be repeated.
"So I thought," he concluded, "that it was to be the old story overagain--look at my hands!"
He held them out. The palms were still red and deeply scarred. Campbellsaid nothing, but his jaw set savagely.
"I thought it was to be this all over again," went on Harrigan, "till Imet you, chief. But with you for a friend I'll weather the storm.McTee's a hard man, but when Scot meets Scot--I'll bet on theCampbells."
"Would you bet on me against Black McTee?" queried the engineer, deeplymoved. "Well, lad, McTee's a dour man, but dour or not he shall not runthe engine room of the _Heron_."
And he banged on the table for emphasis.
"Scrub down the bridge every morning, as they tell you, but when theysend you below to pass the coal, come and report to me first. I'll havework for you to do--chiefly practicing the right accent for Bobbie'ssongs. Is not that a man's work?"