by Max Brand
CHAPTER 28
"She's dead?" McTee asked softly when they stood on the promenadeoutside.
"She is. She must have been dying at about the time I brought in thatother message--the one you told me to bring."
They avoided each other's eyes. Inside the cabin they heard a faintsound like paper crumpled up. Then they caught a moan from the room--asoft sound such as the wind makes when it hums around the corners of atall building.
They were silent for a time, listening with painful intentness. Notanother murmur came from the cabin. Sloan wiped his wet forehead andwhispered shakily: "I wouldn't mind it so much if he'd curse and rave.But to sit like that, not making a sound--it ain't natural, CaptainMcTee."
"Hush, you fool," said McTee. "White Henshaw is alone with his dead.And it's me that he blames for it. I brought him the bad luck."
Sloan shuddered.
"Then I wouldn't have your name for ten thousand dollars, sir."
"If there's bad luck," said McTee solemnly, for every sailor has somesuperstitious belief, "it's on the entire ship--on every one of thecrew as well as on me. We'll have to pay for this--all of us--and payhigh. We're apt to _feel_ it before long. And I've got to go back tothat cabin after a while!"
He spoke it as another man might say: "And an hour from now I have toface the firing squad."
But when he returned to the cabin, he heard no outburst of reproachesfrom White Henshaw. The door to Henshaw's bedroom was closed, and McTeecould hear the captain stirring about in it, working at some namelesstask over which he hummed continually, now and then breaking intolittle snatches of song. McTee was stupefied. He tried to explain tohimself by imagining that Henshaw was one of those hard-headed men wholive for the present and never waste time thinking of the past. He hadmade many plans for his granddaughter. Now she was dead, and hedismissed her from his mind.
This explanation might be the truth, but nevertheless the steadyhumming wore on McTee's nerves until finally he knocked on the door ofthe inner cabin. It was dusk by this time, and when Henshaw opened thedoor, he was carrying a lantern.
"You!" he muttered. "Well, captain?"
"You seem busy," said McTee uneasily, shifting under the steady lightfrom the lantern. "I thought I might be able to help you."
"At the work I'm doing no man can help," answered Henshaw.
"What work?"
"I'm calculating profit and loss."
"On your cargo?"
"Cargo? Yes, yes! Profit and loss on this cargo."
And he broke into a harsh laugh. Obviously Henshaw was lying, yet theScotchman went on with the conversation, eager to draw out some hiddenmeaning.
"It's an odd idea of yours, this, to bring a shipment of wheat from thesouth seas to Central America."
"Aye, the first time it's ever been done. This wheat came all the wayfrom Australia and the United States, and now it's going back again.I'll tell you why. Wheat is scarce for export even in the States justnow, so I'm taking a gambling chance on getting this to port before thefirst quantities come from the north. If I get in in time, I'll cleanup--big."
"I understand," said McTee.
The captain raised his lantern again and shone it in the eyes of McTee.
"Do you understand?" he queried. "Do you?"
And he broke again into the harsh laughter. McTee started back with ascowl.
"What's the mystery, captain? What's the secret you're laughing about?"
Again Henshaw chuckled.
"You're a curious man, McTee. Well, well! What am I laughing about?Money always makes me want to laugh, and now I'm laughing about money.Do you understand that? No, you don't. Perhaps you will before long.Patience, my friend!"
For some reason the blood of McTee grew cold and colder as he listened.His original suspicion of insanity grew weaker. He was being mocked,and the mad do not mock.
"So tonight is the last night of Harrigan, eh?" said Henshaw suddenly.
"In the name of God," said McTee, deeply shaken, "why do you speak ofthat? Yes, tonight he dies!"
"Alone!" said Henshaw in a changed voice. "He dies alone! It must be agrim thing to die alone at sea--to slip into the black water--to drinkthe salt--a little struggle--and then the light goes out. So!"
He shivered and folded his arms. He seemed to be embracing himself tofind warmth.
"But to die in the middle of the ocean with many men around you," hewent on, speaking half to himself, "that would not be so bad. What doyou say, McTee?"
But McTee was not in a mood for speaking. He only stared, fascinatedand dumb. Henshaw continued: "In the middle of night, with the enginesthrumming, and the lights burning in every port, suppose a ship shouldput her nose under the surface and dive for the bottom! The men aresinging in the forecastle, and suddenly their song goes out. Thecaptain is in the wheelhouse. He is dreaming of his home town, maybe,when he sees the black waters rising over the prow. He thinks it is adream and rubs his eyes. Before he can look again, the waves are uponhim. There is no alarm; the wireless, perhaps, is broken; the boats,perhaps, are useless; and so the brave ship dives down to Davy Jones'slocker with all on board, and the next minute the waves wash over thespot and rub out all memory of those who died there. Well, well, McTee,there's a way of dying that would please White Henshaw more than adeath in a bed at a home port, with the landsharks sitting round yourbed grinning and nodding out your minutes of life. Ha?"
But Black McTee, like a frightened child caught in a dark room, turnedand fled in shameless fear into the deep night. Not till he was far aftdid he stop in a quiet place to think of Harrigan dying alone, chokingin the black water.
But Harrigan was far from fear. He lay on the deck above theforecastle, cradled by the swing of the bows. He shook away the lurkinghorror of the mutiny and gave himself up to peace.
In the midst of his sleep he dreamed of lying in a pitch-dark room andstaring up at a brilliant point of light, like a dark lantern partiallyunshuttered. And suddenly Harrigan woke, and looking up, he caught aflashing point of light directly above his eyes. In another moment hewas aware of the dark figure of a man crouched beside him, and then heknew that the light which glittered over his head was the shimmer ofthe stars against a steel blade.
The knife, as he stared, jerked up and then down with a sweep; Harriganshot up his hand to meet the blow, and his grip fastened on a wrist.Wrenching on that wrist, he jerked himself to his knees, and the knifeclattered on the deck, but at the same instant the other man--a dimfigure which he could barely make out in the thick night--rushed onhim, a shoulder struck against his chest, and he was thrown sprawlingon the deck, sliding with the toss of the deck underneath the rail. Hewould have fallen overboard had he not kept his grip on that wrist, andas he reached the perilous edge, the other man jerked back to free hisarm.
He succeeded, but the effort checked the slide of Harrigan's greatbody, and the next instant the Irishman was on his feet. He drove atthe elusive figure with his balled fist, but the other ducked beneaththe blow and fled down the ladder. Harrigan stopped only long enough tosweep up the fallen knife before he followed, but when he reached theedge of the deck, the waist of the ship extending back to the maincabin was empty. The man, whoever he was, must have fled into theforecastle.
Harrigan knew that if one of the sailors had dared to attack him, hemust be suspected, and if he was suspected by one, that one wouldpoison the minds of a dozen others in a short time. It was evenpossible that someone in authority had given orders for his death. Withthis in mind he climbed down the ladder and opened the door of theforecastle. He found the sailors sitting in a loose circle on the floorrolling battered dice out of a time-blackened leather box.
Harrigan sat down on the edge of his bunk, produced the captured knife,and commenced to sharpen it slowly, without ostentation, on the sole ofhis shoe. It was already of a razor keenness. It was a carving knifeevidently stolen from the galley of the ship; it had been ground sooften that the steel which remained was thin and narrow. A sharp blowwit
h that knife would drive it to the handle through human flesh. As hepassed it slowly back and forth across his shoe, Harrigan watched thefaces of the others with a side glance.
One or two looked up frankly and nodded approval when they saw hisoccupation. The others, however, kept at their game, and of these theonly one to pay no attention to his presence was Jerry Hovey. Itconvinced Harrigan at once that the bos'n had given orders for hisdeath. It might have been the bos'n himself who had made the attemptjust a moment before and had retreated to the forecastle.
On the other hand, the bos'n seemed to be breathing regularly, and theman with whom he had fought would not be able to keep his chest fromheaving a little after that violent effort. It was more probable thatone of the men who lay in their bunks had made the attempt, but itwould be useless to examine them. Then his glance fell on Kamasura, thecabin boy.
The little, flat-faced Jap was a favorite with Jerry Hovey, and he waspermitted to come forward whenever he pleased to the forecastle. He nowsat on a box against a wall, watching the dice game with his slanteyes. Once or twice he met the searching scrutiny of Harrigan with acalm glance, and when it was repeated for the third time, nodded andgrinned in the most friendly manner.
Harrigan was about to dismiss his suspicion from his mind, when henoticed that the Jap's arms were folded and the hands thrust up theopposite sleeves, concealing both wrists. Harrigan considered a moment,and then stooped over and commenced to unlace his boots. When the firstone was unloosened, he kicked it off, but with such careless vigor thatit skidded far across the floor and smashed against the box on whichKamasura sat. The little Oriental leaped to his feet and caught up theshoe. As he did so, Harrigan's watchful eye saw a bright-red spot onthe Jap's wrist. That was where the grip of his fingers had lain whenthey struggled on the deck above.
"'Scuse me, Kamasura," he called cheerily, and raised his hand tobetoken that the boot had come from him.
There was a flash of teeth and a glint of almond eyes as the Japgrinned in answer and the boot was tossed back. Harrigan caught it, buthis eye was not on the shoe. He was staring covertly at Jerry Hovey,and now he saw the gray-blue eyes of the bos'n flash up and glance witha singular meaning at Kamasura. If he had heard every detail of theplot, Harrigan could not have understood more fully. Thereafter, everymoment he spent on the _Heron_ would be full of danger, but apparentlyHovey had confided his hatred of the Irishman to Kamasura alone. IfHovey had spoken to the rest of the forecastle, those blunt sailorswould have showed their feelings by some scowling side glance atHarrigan. It flashed across his mind that the reason Hovey wished himout of the way was because he feared him.