The Max Brand Megapack Read Online Free PDF Page A

treated better than anyone in the crew if you will put your hand in mine and say: ‘Captain McTee, I give you my word of honor as a man to do my best to obey orders during the rest of this trip and to hold no malice against you for anything that has happened to me so far.’
    “For you see,” he explained to the girl, “he probably thinks himself aggrieved by my discipline. Will you say it, Harrigan?”
    Instead of answering, the cold eye of Harrigan turned on Kate.
    “I told you not to speak to the captain,” he said.
    “Ah,” said McTee, “you were clever enough for that?”
    “Do you say nothing, Harrigan?” she said incredulously. “Do you really refuse to speak those words to the captain after he has been generous enough to give you a last chance to make a man of yourself?”
    Harrigan turned pale as he glanced at the captain. Her scorn and contempt gave a little metallic ring to her voice.
    “You need not be afraid. Captain McTee hasn’t told me anything about your record.”
    Harrigan smiled, but in such a manner that she stepped back. “Easy,” said McTee, “you don’t need to fear him in here. He knows that I’m his master.”
    “I’m glad you didn’t tell me his record,” she answered.
    “I can read it in his eyes.”
    “Lady,” said Harrigan, and his head tilted back till the cords stood strongly out at the base of his throat, “I’m afther askin’ your pardon for thinkin’ ye had ever a dr-rop av hot Irish blood in ye.”
    “Take him below, bos’n,” broke in McTee, “and put him in on the night shift in the fireroom.”
    No hours of Harrigan’s life were bitterer than that night shift. The bandages saved his hands from much of the torture of the shovel handle, but there was deep night in his heart. Early in the morning one of the firemen ran to the chief engineer’s room and forced open the door.
    “The red-headed man, sir,” he stammered breathlessly.
    The chief engineer awoke with a snarl. He had drunk much good Scotch whisky that evening, and the smoke of it was still dry in his throat and cloudy in his brain.
    “And what the hell is wrong with the red-headed man now?” he roared. “Ain’t he doin’ two men’s work still?”
    “Two? He’s doin’ ten men’s work with his hands rolled in cloth and the blood soakin’ through, an’ he sings like a devil while he works. He’s gone crazy, sir.”
    “Naw, he ain’t,” growled the chief; “that’ll come later. Black McTee is breakin’ him an’ he’ll be broke before he goes off his nut. Now get to hell out of here. I ain’t slept a wink for ten days.”
    The fireman went back to his work muttering, and Harrigan sang the rest of the night.
    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 like fire. He tore away the cloths and kept at his task, for he knew that if he refused to continue, he became by that act of disobedience a mutineer.
    The fourth day was a long nightmare, but at the end of it Harrigan was still at his post. That night the pain kept him awake. For forty-eight hours he had not closed his eyes. The next morning, as he prepared his bucket of suds and looked down at his blood-caked hands, the thought of surrender rose strongly for the first time. Two things fought against it: his fierce pride and a certain awe which he had noted as it grew from day to day in the eyes of the rest of the crew. They were following the silent battle between the great Irishman and the captain with a profound, an almost uncanny interest.
    As he scrubbed the bridge that morning, McTee, as always, stood staring out across the bows, impassive, self-contained as a general overlooking a field of battle. And the temptation to surrender swelled up in the throat of Harrigan like the desire for speech in a child. He kept his teeth hard together and prayed for endurance. Only five days, and it might be weeks before they made a port.