Part 22 (2/2)

”In Glasgow,” repeated Campbell, and then lifted his head and finished the song. ”Now for the story, laddie.”

Harrigan started, as though recalled from a dream built up by the music. Then he told briefly the tale of the tyranny aboard the _Mary Rogers_, now apparently to be repeated.

”So I thought,” he concluded, ”that it was to be the old story over again--look at my hands!”

He held them out. The palms were still red and deeply scarred. Campbell said nothing, but his jaw set savagely.

”I thought it was to be this all over again,” went on Harrigan, ”till I met 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 the Campbells.”

”Would you bet on me against Black McTee?” queried the engineer, deeply moved. ”Well, lad, McTee's a dour man, but dour or not he shall not run the 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 they send you below to pa.s.s the coal, come and report to me first. I'll have work for you to do--chiefly practicing the right accent for Bobbie's songs. Is not that a man's work?”

CHAPTER 19

To make good this promise, Campbell straightway sang for Harrigan's delectation two or three more of his favorite selections. It was evening, and the s.h.i.+ft in the fireroom was ended before Harrigan left the engineer's room. On his way to the deck he pa.s.sed the tired firemen from the hole of the s.h.i.+p. They stared at the Irishman with wide eyes, for it was known that he had been in the chief engineer's room for several hours; they looked upon him as one who has been in h.e.l.l and has escaped from thence to the upper air.

He was, in fact, a marked man when he reached the forecastle. Rumor travels through a s.h.i.+p's crew and it was already known that Black McTee hated the Irishman and that White Henshaw had commenced to persecute him in a new and terrible manner.

This would have been sufficient tragedy to burden the shoulders of any one man, however strong, and when to this was added the fact that he had been kept by the grim chief engineer for several hours in the chief's own room, and finally considering that this man had pa.s.sed through a s.h.i.+pwreck, one of three lone survivors, it is easy to understand why the sailors gave him ample elbow room.

It was evidently expected that he would break out into a torrent of abuse, and when he, perceiving this, remained silent, their awe increased. All through supper he was aware of their wondering glances; above all he felt the gray, steady eyes of Jerry Hovey, the bos'n, yet he ate without speaking, replying to their tentative questions with grunts. Before the meal was finished and the pipes and cigarettes lighted, he was a made man. Persevering in his role, as soon as he had eaten he went out on deck and sat down in the corner between the rail and the forecastle upon a coil of rope.

As deep as the blue sea in the evening light was the peace which lay on the soul of Harrigan, for the day had brought two great victories, one over McTee and the other over the chief engineer. It was not a stolid content, for he knew the danger of the implacable hate of McTee, but with the aid of Campbell he felt that he would have a fighting chance at least to survive, and that was all he asked.

So he sat on the coil of rope leaning against the rail, and looked ahead. It was almost completely dark when a hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up into the steady, gray-blue eyes of the bos'n.

”I promised to talk to you tonight,” said that worthy, and sat down uninvited on a neighboring coil of rope.

He waited for a response. As a rule, sailors are glad to curry favor with the bos'n. Harrigan, however, sat without speaking, staring through the gloom.

”Well?” said Hovey at length. ”You're a silent man, Harrigan.”

There was no response.

”All right; I like a silent man. In a way of speakin', I need 'em like you! If you say little to me, you're likely to say little to others.

”I don't talk much myself,” went on Hovey, ”until I know my man. I ain't seen much of you, but I guess I figure you straight.”

He grew suddenly cautious, cunning, and the steady, gray-blue eyes reminded Harrigan of a cat when she crouches for hours watching the rathole.

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