CHAPTER 6
In the morning there was the usual task of scrubbing down the bridge.The suds soaked through the bandages at once and burned his hands likefire. He tore away the cloths and kept at his task, for he knew that ifhe refused to continue, he became by that act of disobedience amutineer.
The fourth day was a long nightmare, but at the end of it Harrigan wasstill at his post. That night the pain kept him awake. For forty-eighthours he had not closed his eyes. The next morning, as he prepared hisbucket of suds and looked down at his blood-caked hands, the thought ofsurrender rose strongly for the first time. Two things fought againstit: his fierce pride and a certain awe which he had noted as it grewfrom day to day in the eyes of the rest of the crew. They werefollowing the silent battle between the great Irishman and the captainwith a profound, an almost uncanny interest.
As he scrubbed the bridge that morning, McTee, as always, stood staringout across the bows, impassive, self-contained as a general overlookinga field of battle. And the temptation to surrender swelled up in thethroat of Harrigan like the desire for speech in a child. He kept histeeth hard together and prayed for endurance. Only five days, and itmight be weeks before they made a port. Even then the captain might puthim in irons rather than risk his escape.
"Harrigan," said McTee suddenly. "Don't keep it up. You're bound tobreak. Speak those words now that I told you to say and you're a freeman."
Harrigan looked up and the words formed at the base of his tongue.Harrigan looked down and saw his crimson hands. The words fell backlike dust on his heart.
"Take you for my master an' swear to forget what you've done?" he said,and his voice was hardly more than a whisper. "McTee, if I promised youthat I'd perjure blacker 'n hell an' kill you someday when your backwas turned. As it is, I'll kill you while we're standin' face to face."
McTee laughed, low, deep, and his eyes were half closed as if he heardpleasant music. Harrigan grinned up at him.
"I'll kill you with my bare hands. There's no gun or knife could dojustice to what's inside of me."
His head tilted back and his whisper went thick like that of adrunkard: "Ah-h, McTee, look at the hands, look at the hands! They'rered now for a sign av the blood av ye that'll someday be on 'em!"
And he picked up his bucket and brush and went down the deck. The laughof McTee followed him.
Having framed the wish in words, it was never absent from Harrigan'smind now. It made that day easier for him. He stopped singing. Heneeded all his brain energy to think of how he should kill McTee.
It was this hungry desire which sustained him during the days whichfollowed. The rest of the crew began to sense the mighty emotion whichconsumed Harrigan. When they saw both him and McTee on the deck, theireyes traveled from one to the other making comparisons, for they feltthat these men would one day meet hand to hand. They could not stayapart any more than the iron can keep from the magnet.
Finally Harrigan knew that they were nearing the end of their longjourney. The port was only a few days distant, for they were far in thesouth seas and they began to pass islands, and sometimes caught sightof green patches of water. Those were the coral reefs, the terror ofall navigators, for they grow and change from year to year. To alight-draught ship like the _Mary Rogers_ these seas were comparativelysafe, but not altogether. Even small sailing craft had come to grief inthose regions.
Yet the islands, the reefs, the keen sun, the soft winds, the singingof the sailors, all these things came dimly to Harrigan, for he knewthat his powers of resistance were almost worn away. His face was amask of tragedy, and his body was as lean as a starved wolf in winter.His will to live, his will to hate, alone remained.
Each morning it was harder for him to leave the bridge without speakingthose words to the captain. He rehearsed them every day and vowed theywould never pass his lips. And every day he knew that his vow wasweaker. When he was about to give in, he chanced to see McTee and KateMalone laughing together on the promenade.
It was McTee who saw Harrigan first and pointed him out to Kate. Sheleaned against the rail and peered down at him, shuddering at the sightof his drawn face and shadowed eyes. Then she turned with a littleshrug of repulsion.
McTee must have made some humorous comment, for she turned to glancedown at Harrigan again and this time she laughed. Blind rage made theblood of the Irishman hot. That gave him his last strength, but eventhis ran out. Finally he knew that the next day was his last, and whenthat day came, he counted the hours. They passed heavy-footed, as timegoes for one condemned to die. And then he sat cross-legged on his bunkand waited.
The giant Negro came, bringing word that the bos'n wanted him to scrubdown the bridge. He remained with his head bowed, unhearing. The bos'nhimself came, cursing. He called to Harrigan, and getting no answershook him by the shoulder. He put his hand under Harrigan's chin andraised the listless head. It rolled heavily back and the dull eyesstared up at him.
"God!" said the bos'n, and started back.
The head remained where he had placed it, the eyes staring straight upat the ceiling.
"God!" whispered the bos'n again, and ran from the forecastle.
In time--it seemed hours--Harrigan heard many voices approaching.McTee's bass was not among them, but he knew that McTee was coming, andHarrigan wondered whether he would have the strength to refuse to obeyand accept the fate of the mutineer; or whether terror would overwhelmhim and he would drop to his knees and beg for mercy. He had once seena sight as horrible. The voices swept closer. McTee was bringing allthe available crew to watch the surrender, and Harrigan prayed with allhis soul to a nameless deity for strength.
Something stopped in the Irishman. It was not his heart, but somethingas vital. The very movement of the earth seemed to be suspended whenthe great form blocked the door to the forecastle and the ringing voicecalled: "Harrigan!"
At the summons Harrigan's jaw fell loosely like that of an exhausteddistance-runner, and long-suppressed words grew achingly large in histhroat.
"I've had enough!" he groaned.
"Harrigan!" thundered the captain, and Harrigan knew that his attemptedspeech had been merely a silent wish.
"God help me!" he whispered hoarsely, and in response to that briefprayer a warm pulse of strength flooded through him. He sprang to hisfeet.
"I refuse to work!" he cried, and this time the sound echoed backagainst his ears.
There was a long pause.
"Mutiny!" said McTee at last, and his voice was harsh with theknowledge of his failure. "Bring him outside in the open. I'll dealwith him!"
He retreated from the door, but before any of the sailors could go into fulfill the order, Harrigan walked of his own accord out onto thedeck. The wind on his face was sweet and keen; the vapors blew fromeyes and brain. He was himself again, weaker, but himself. He saw thecircle of wondering, awe-stricken faces; he saw McTee standing withfolded arms.