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Updated: May 10, 2025
It was a ringing baritone voice which rose in an Irish love song. "What the devil " began Henshaw. "You're right," nodded McTee. "It's the devil Harrigan. Open the door!" The captain flung it open, and they discovered the two worthies seated at ease with a black bottle and two glasses at hand.
Why are you waiting here? You fool! Run! Minutes mean life or death to her!" McTee hastened back to the wireless house in the after-part of the ship. To Sloan he gave the message, even exaggerating it somewhat. After it was sent, he said: "Look here, my boy, do you realize that it's dangerous to bring the captain messages like that last one you carried to him?" "Do I know it? I should say I do!
McTee moistened his white lips. He rose. "I'm going for a walk I always do after eating." And he strode off down the beach. Harrigan instantly secured a handful of the shellfish. "Speakin' of salt," he said apologetically, "I'll have to try a couple of these to be sure that the captain's right. I can tell by a taste or two."
Maybe I'll need you. Getting old; not what I used to be." "I see you're not," said McTee boldly. Henshaw scowled: "What do you mean?" "That affair of Harrigan. He's still going scot-free, you know." "Right! McTee, I'm getting feeble-minded, but I'll make up for lost time." He caught up pen and paper, while McTee drew a long breath of relief.
A fresh breeze was sweeping from the ocean onto the shore, and red tongues licked about the main cabin and darted like reaching hands into the heart of the sky. By these flashes they could make out the struggling rafts where the sailors cheered and yelled in the triumph of their escape. But McTee set about erecting a jury sail.
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.
Then they were pitched high up on the crest of a wave. As Harrigan grappled the timber with arms and legs, it turned over and over and then pitched down through empty space. The wind had literally cut away the top of the wave. He went down, submerged, and then rose to a giddy height again. As he caught a great breath of air, he saw that McTee was no longer on the timber.
"I kept the rest of them away," went on the Irishman. "When you woke up, I wanted you to hear why I didn't finish you." He raised his shaking hands and gripped at the air. "Ah-h! When me ould silf is back, I'll shtand up to ye. Tis a promise, McTee. Black McTee, Black McTee I'll make ye Red McTee red as the palms av me hands." McTee tied the cold, wet towel around Harrigan's forehead.
Suppose I should be robbed of the sight of my girl and of my gold at the same time!" McTee started to say something cheerful, but his voice died away to a mutter. Henshaw was staring at the wall with visionary eyes filled with horror and despair. "Lad, do you think ghosts have power?" "Henshaw, you've drunk a bit too much!" "If they have no power, I'm safe. I fear no living man!"
His face altered suddenly to a malevolence so terrible that both the men stepped back. Harrigan was trembling like a hysterical girl. He looked in the face of McTee and saw that the Scotchman had blanched. For a long moment they exchanged glances, and then McTee went down from the bridge and entered the cabin. Henshaw was not there.
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