He slipped onto his bunk and lay with his hands folded
under his head, thinking; for between the danger from
the leader of the mutiny and the danger from McTee
and Henshaw, he was utterly confused. He made
out the voices of the two gamblers, Hall and Cochrane.
“Three deuces to beat,” said Hall.
“I’d beat three fives to get Van Roos,”
answered Cochrane.
Jan Van Roos was the second mate, a genial Dutchman
with rosy cheeks and a hearty laugh for all occasions;
but he was an excellent sailor and a strict disciplinarian.
Therefore he had won the hatred of the crew.
The entire group of mutineers had shaken dice to have
the disposing of the mate in case he was captured
alive. Now the dice rattled and clicked on the
deck as Cochrane made his cast.
“Forty-three!” called Cochrane. “Now
watch the fours.”
He swept up the other three dice and made his second
cast. Another four rolled upon the deck.
He had won Van Roos, to dispose of him as he saw fit.
Harrigan heard the rumble of Sam Hall’s cursing.
“Easy, lad,” said Cochrane soothingly.
“We’ll work on Van Roos together, and
if we don’t sweat every ounce of blubber out
of his fat carcass, my name is not Garry.”
There was a sharp knock at the door of the forecastle,
and a moment later Shida, the other Japanese cabin
boy, entered and came directly to the bunk of Harrigan.
He whispered in the ear of the Irishman: “Meester
Harrigan, get up. Cap’n McTee, he want.”
“Where is he?” growled Harrigan.
“I show.”
Harrigan slipped on his shoes and followed Shida aft,
wondering. The little, quick-footed Jap brought
him back of the wheelhouse and then disappeared.
Leaning against the rail was McTee, unaware of their
coming and peering out at the wake of the ship.
As the Heron’s stern dipped to a trough of a
wave that towered blackly into the night, the outlines
of McTee’s form were blurred, but the next moment
he was tossed up against the very heart of the starry
sky. With that peculiar mixture of fear and thrilling
exultation which he always felt when he came into
the presence of the captain, Harrigan drew close.
Perhaps the sailor had chosen this heaving afterdeck
as the place for their final death struggle, ending
when one of them was hurled into the black ocean.
It was this thought which gave the ring to his voice
when he called, “I’ve come, McTee!”
The captain whirled, bracing himself against the rail
with both hands, as though prepared to meet an attempt
to thrust him overboard. Then— and
Harrigan thought his ears deceived him as he listened—McTee
said with a great, outgoing breath: “Thank
God!”
He explained: “Come closer; talk soft!
Harrigan, guard yourself tonight. There’ll
be an attempt at your life!”
“Another?” queried Harrigan.
