The Mucker

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  CHAPTER VII. THE TYPHOON

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

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

  The sky and sea had assumed a sickly yellowish color, except for themighty black cloud that raced toward them, low over the water. The lowmoaning sound that had followed the first appearance of the storm, gaveplace to a sullen roar, and then, of a sudden, the thing struck theHalfmoon, ripping her remaining canvas from her as if it had beenwrought from tissue paper, and with the flying canvas, spars, andcordage went the mainmast, snapping ten feet above the deck, andcrashing over the starboard bow with a noise and jar that rose above thebellowing of the typhoon.

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

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

  With the utmost difficulty a sea anchor was rigged and tumbled overthe Halfmoon's pitching bow into the angry sea, that was rising to moregigantic proportions with each succeeding minute. This frail makeshiftwhich at best could but keep the vessel's bow into the wind, saving herfrom instant engulfment in the sea's trough, seemed to Theriere but asorry means of prolonging the agony of suspense preceding the inevitableend. 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 everyexperienced sailor on the ship felt that the life of the Halfmoon wasnow but a matter of hours, possibly minutes, while those of lesserexperience were equally positive that each succeeding wave must mark thetermination of the lives of the vessel and her company.

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

  Ward and Skipper Simms had been among the first to seek the precarioussafety below deck. Theriere alone of the officers had remained on dutyuntil the last, and now he was exerting his every faculty in the effortto save as many of the men as possible without losing the ship in thedoing of it. Only between waves was the entrance to the main cabinsnegotiable, while the forecastle hatch had been abandoned entirely afterit had with difficulty been replaced following the retreat of three ofthe crew to that part of the ship.

  The mucker stood beside Theriere as the latter beat back the men whenthe seas threatened. It was the man's first experience of the kind.Never had he faced death in the courage-blighting form which the grimharvester assumes when he calls unbridled Nature to do his ghastlybidding. The mucker saw the rough, brawling bullies of the forecastlereduced to white-faced, gibbering cowards, clawing and fighting to climbover one another toward the lesser danger of the cabins, while the matefought 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 ofhis fellows. Once when Theriere happened to glance in his directionthe Frenchman mentally ascribed the mucker's seeming lethargy to theparalysis of abject cowardice. "The fellow is in a blue funk," thoughtthe second mate; "I did not misjudge him--like all his kind he is acoward at heart."

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

  Released from surveillance the balance of the crew pushed and foughttheir way into the cabin--only the mucker remained without, staringfirst at the prostrate form of the mate and then at the open cabinhatch. Had one been watching him he might reasonably have thought thatthe man's mind was in a muddle of confused thoughts and fears; but suchwas far from the case. Billy was waiting to see if the mate would revivesufficiently to return across the deck before the next wave swept theship. It was very interesting--he wondered what odds O'Leary would havelaid against the man.

  In another moment the wave would come. Billy glanced at the open cabinhatch. That would never do--the cabin would be flooded with tons ofwater should the next wave find the hatch still open. Billy closedit. Then he looked again toward Theriere. The man was just recoveringconsciousness--and the wave was coming.

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

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

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

  For a moment they were buried in the swirling maelstrom, and then as theHalfmoon rose again, shaking the watery enemy from her back, the two menwere disclosed--Theriere half over the ship's side--the mucker clingingto him with one hand, the other clutching desperately at a huge cleatupon the gunwale.

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

  Theriere was conscious and but little the worse for his experience,though badly bruised. He looked at the mucker in astonishment as the twofaced each other in the cabin.

  "I don't know why you did it," said Theriere.

  "Neither do I," replied Billy Byrne.

  "I shall not forget it, Byrne," said the officer.

  "Yeh'd better," answered Billy, turning away.

  The mucker was extremely puzzled to account for his act. He did not lookupon it at all as a piece of heroism; but rather as a "fool play" whichhe should be ashamed of. The very idea! Saving the life of a gink who,despite his brutal ways, belonged to the much-despised "highbrow" class.Billy was peeved with himself.

  Theriere, for his part, was surprised at the unexpected heroism of theman he had long since rated as a cowardly bully. He was fully determinedto repay Byrne in so far as he could the great debt he owed him. Allthoughts of revenge for the mucker's former assault upon him weredropped, and he now looked upon the man as a true friend and ally.

  For three days the Halfmoon plunged helplessly upon the storm-wrackedsurface of the mad sea. No soul aboard her entertained more than thefaintest glimmer of a hope that the ship would ride out the storm; butduring the third night the wind died down, and by morning the sea hadfallen sufficiently to make it safe for the men of the Halfmoon toventure upon deck.

  There they found the brigantine clean-swept from stem to stern. Tothe north of them wa
s land at a league or two, perhaps. Had the stormcontinued during the night they would have been dashed upon the coast.God-fearing men would have given thanks for their miraculous rescue;but not so these. Instead, the fear of death removed, they assumed theirformer bravado.

  Skipper Simms boasted of the seamanship that had saved the Halfmoon--hisown seamanship of course. Ward was cursing the luck that had disabledthe ship at so crucial a period of her adventure, and revolving in hisevil mind various possible schemes for turning the misfortune to hisown advantage. Billy Byrne, sitting upon the corner of the galleytable, hobnobbed with Blanco. These choice representatives of the ship'scompany were planning a raid on the skipper's brandy chest during thedisembarkation which the sight of land had rendered not improbable.

  The Halfmoon, with the wind down, wallowed heavily in the trough of thesea, but even so Barbara Harding, wearied with days of confinement inher stuffy cabin below, ventured above deck for a breath of sweet, cleanair.

  Scarce had she emerged from below than Theriere espied her, and hastenedto her side.

  "Well, Miss Harding," he exclaimed, "it seems good to see you on deckagain. I can't tell you how sorry I have felt for you cooped up alonein your cabin without a single woman for companionship, and all thosefrightful days of danger, for there was scarce one of us that thoughtthe old hooker would weather so long and hard a blow. We were mightyfortunate to come through it so handily."

  "Handily?" queried Barbara Harding, with a wry smile, glancing aboutthe deck of the Halfmoon. "I cannot see that we are either through ithandily or through it at all. We have no masts, no canvas, no boats;and though I am not much of a sailor, I can see that there is littlelikelihood of our effecting a landing on the shore ahead either with orwithout boats---it looks most forbidding. Then the wind has gone down,and when it comes up again it is possible that it will carry us awayfrom the land, or if it takes us toward it, dash us to pieces at thefoot of those frightful cliffs."

  "I see you are too good a sailor by far to be cheered by anyquestionable hopes," laughed Theriere; "but you must take the willinto consideration--I only wished to give you a ray of hope that mightlighten your burden of apprehension. However, honestly, I do think thatwe may find a way to make a safe landing if the sea continues to godown as it has in the past two hours. We are not more than a league fromshore, and with the jury mast and sail that the men are setting underMr. Ward now we can work in comparative safety with a light breeze,which we should have during the afternoon. There are few coasts, howeverrugged they may appear at a distance, that do not offer some footholdfor the wrecked mariner, and I doubt not but that we shall find this noexception to the rule."

  "I hope you are right, Mr. Theriere," said the girl, "and yet I cannotbut feel that my position will be less safe on land than it has beenupon the Halfmoon. Once free from the restraints of discipline whichtradition, custom, and law enforce upon the high seas there is notelling what atrocities these men will commit. To be quite candid, Mr.Theriere, I dread a landing worse than I dreaded the dangers of thestorm through which we have just passed."

  "I think you have little to fear on that score, Miss Harding," said theFrenchman. "I intend making it quite plain that I consider myself yourprotector once we have left the Halfmoon, and I can count on several ofthe men to support me. Even Mr. Divine will not dare do otherwise. Thenwe can set up a camp of our own apart from Skipper Simms and his factionwhere you will be constantly guarded until succor may be obtained."

  Barbara Harding had been watching the man's face as he spoke. The memoryof his consideration and respectful treatment of her during the tryingweeks of her captivity had done much to erase the intuitive feelingof distrust that had tinged her thoughts of him earlier in theiracquaintance, while his heroic act in descending into the forecastlein the face of the armed and desperate Byrne had thrown a glamour ofromance about him that could not help but tend to fascinate a girl ofBarbara Harding's type. Then there was the look she had seen in his eyesfor a brief instant when she had found herself locked in his cabin onthe occasion that he had revealed to her Larry Divine's duplicity. Thatexpression no red-blooded girl could mistake, and the fact that he hadsubdued his passion spoke eloquently to the girl of the finenessand chivalry of his nature, so now it was with a feeling of uttertrustfulness that she gladly gave herself into the keeping of HenriTheriere, Count de Cadenet, Second Officer of the Halfmoon.

  "O Mr. Theriere," she cried, "if you only can but arrange it so, howrelieved and almost happy I shall be. How can I ever repay you for allthat you have done for me?"

  Again she saw the light leap to the man's eyes--the light of a lovethat would not be denied much longer other than through the agency of amighty will. Love she thought it; but the eye-light of love and lust aretwin lights between which it takes much worldly wisdom to differentiate,and Barbara Harding was not worldly-wise in the ways of sin.

  "Miss Harding," said Theriere, in a voice that he evidently found itdifficult to control, "do not ask me now how you may repay me; I--;" butwhat he would have said he checked, and with an effort of will that wasalmost appreciable to the eye he took a fresh grip upon himself, andcontinued: "I am amply repaid by being able to serve you, and thus toretrieve myself in your estimation--I know that you have doubted me;that you have questioned the integrity of my acts that helped to leadup to the unfortunate affair of the Lotus. When you tell me that youno longer doubt--that you accept me as the friend I would wish to be, Ishall be more than amply repaid for anything which it may have beenmy good fortune to have been able to accomplish for your comfort andsafety."

  "Then I may partially repay you at once," exclaimed the girl with asmile, "for I can assure you that you possess my friendship to thefullest, and with it, of course, my entire confidence. It is true thatI doubted you at first--I doubted everyone connected with the Halfmoon.Why shouldn't I? But now I think that I am able to draw a very clearline between my friends and my enemies. There is but one upon the rightside of that line--you, my friend," and with an impulsive little gestureBarbara Harding extended her hand to Theriere.

  It was with almost a sheepish expression that the Frenchman took theproffered fingers, for there had been that in the frank avowal ofconfidence and friendship which smote upon a chord of honor in the man'ssoul that had not vibrated in response to a chivalrous impulse for somany long years that it had near atrophied from disuse.

  Then, of a sudden, the second officer of the Halfmoon straightened tohis full height. His head went high, and he took the small hand of thegirl in his own strong, brown one.

  "Miss Harding," he said, "I have led a hard, bitter life. I have notalways done those things of which I might be most proud: but therehave been times when I have remembered that I am the grandson of one ofNapoleon's greatest field marshals, and that I bear a name that has beenhonored by a mighty nation. What you have just said to me recalls thesefacts most vividly to my mind--I hope, Miss Harding, that you will neverregret having spoken them," and to the bottom of his heart the man meantwhat he said, at the moment; for inherent chivalry is as difficult tosuppress or uproot as is inherent viciousness.

  The girl let her hand rest in his for a moment, and as their eyes metshe saw in his a truth and honesty and cleanness which revealedwhat Theriere might have been had Fate ordained his young manhood todifferent channels. And in that moment a question sprang, all unbiddenand unforeseen to her mind; a question which caused her to withdraw herhand quickly from his, and which sent a slow crimson to her cheek.

  Billy Byrne, slouching by, cast a bitter look of hatred upon the two.The fact that he had saved Theriere's life had not increased his lovefor that gentleman. He was still much puzzled to account for the strangeidiocy that had prompted him to that act; and two of his fellows hadfelt the weight of his mighty fist when they had spoken words of roughpraise for his heroism--Billy had thought that they were kidding him.

  To Billy the knocking out of Theriere, and the subsequent kick whichhe had planted in the unconscious man's face, were true in
dications ofmanliness. He gauged such matters by standards purely Grand Avenuesqueand now it enraged him to see that the girl before whose very eyes hehad demonstrated his superiority over Theriere should so look with favorupon the officer.

  It did not occur to Billy that he would care to have the girl look withfavor upon him. Such a thought would have sent him into a berserkerrage; but the fact remained that Billy felt a strong desire to cut outTheriere's heart when he saw him now in close converse with BarbaraHarding--just why he felt so Billy could not have said. The truth ofthe matter is that Billy was far from introspective; in fact he did verylittle thinking. His mind had never been trained to it, as his muscleshad been trained to fighting. Billy reacted more quickly to instinctthan to the processes of reasoning, and on this account it was difficultfor him to explain any great number of his acts or moods--it is to bedoubted, however, that Billy Byrne had ever attempted to get at thebottom of his soul, if he possessed one.

  Be that as it may, had Theriere known it he was very near death thatmoment when a summons from Skipper Simms called him aft and saved hislife. Then the mucker, unseen by the officer, approached the girl. Inhis heart were rage and hatred, and as the girl turned at the sound ofhis step behind her she saw them mirrored in his dark, scowling face.