“This fellow Kamasura,” he announced to
the crew, “has blown up the boats of the Heron.
There’s no doubt of it. Borgson caught him
almost in the act. I could do worse things than
this to Kamasura, but I’ve decided to flog him
until he confesses.”
There was not a word of answer from the crew; they
waited, hushed, ominous. A whisper sounded in
the ear of Harrigan, who stood with gritting teeth
and clenched hands.
It was McTee who murmured: “Hold onto yourself,
Harrigan. Our time hasn’t come.”
“I’ll hold onto myself all right,”
said Harrigan, “but look at the crew.”
In fact, there was something more deadly than any
snarling of a crowd in this unnatural silence of many
men. Also they were not looking at Kamasura;
they were staring, every man, at the bos’n, who
stood with his whistle hanging from a cord around
his neck.
“Begin!” said Henshaw.
The blacksnake whistled around the head of the third
mate and there was a long scream from Kamasura—but
the blacksnake only cracked loudly in the air.
Borgson laughed with a hideous delight. Harrigan,
sickly white, bowed his head. Again the blacksnake
whirled and again it cracked, but this time on naked
flesh, and the scream of Kamasura was like the cut
of a knife.
Again, again, and again the blacksnake fell, and now
Kamasura twisted his head toward the captain and cried
in a voice made thin by pain and rage at once:
“I confess! Captain, let me speak!”
At a gesture from Henshaw, the third mate reluctantly
stepped back, drawing the lash of the blacksnake slowly
through his hands with a caressing touch. Van
Roos, the color completely gone from his usually blooming
cheeks, cut the ropes, and Kamasura rose, facing the
captain. He extended a naked, trembling arm toward
Hovey.
“Mutiny!” he yelled. “The whole
crew—the whole forecastle—mutiny,
Cap’n Henshaw! I know—”
The piercing whistle of the bos’n cut into his
speech, and the crew rolled forward over the hatch
with a single shout that might have come from one
throat except for its shrill volume.
“It’s come!” cried Harrigan to McTee.
“Kate!”
But even as he whirled, two sailors leaped on him
from behind and bore him to the deck. At the
same time a gun flashed in the hand of Henshaw, and
he fired twice into the onrushing host. Two men
crumpled up on deck and the others gave back a little—they
were glad to turn to the easier prey of Van Roos and
Borgson, who were instantly overpowered, while Henshaw,
with brandished revolver, made his way toward the main
cabin.
