CHAPTER VIII
THE WRECK OF THE "HALFMOON"
INSTANTLY Barbara Harding looked into the face of the
mucker she read her danger. Why the man should hate her so
she could not guess; but that he did was evidenced by the
malevolent expression of his surly countenance. For a moment
he stood glaring at her, and then he spoke.
"I'm wise to wot youse an' dat guy was chinnin' about," he
growled, "an' I'm right here to tell youse dat you don't wanta
try an' put nothin' over on me, see? Youse ain't a-goin' to
double-cross Billy Byrne. I gotta good notion to han' youse
wot's comin' to you. If it hadn't been fer youse I wouldn't
have been here now on dis Gawd-forsaken wreck. Youse is de
cause of all de trouble. Wot youse ought to get is croaked an'
den dere wouldn't be nothin' to bother any of us. You an' yer
bunch of kale, dey give me a swift pain. Fer half a cent I'd
soak youse a wallop to de solar plexus dat would put youse
to sleep fer de long count, you--you--" but here words failed
Billy.
To his surprise the girl showed not the slightest indication
of fear. Her head was high, and her level gaze never wavered
from his own eyes. Presently a sneer of contempt curled her
lip.
"You coward!" she said quietly. "To insult and threaten a
woman! You are nothing but an insufferable bully, and a
cowardly murderer. You murdered a man on the Lotus whose
little finger held more true manhood, bravery, and worth than
the whole of your great, hulking carcass. You are only fit to
strike from behind, or when your victim is unsuspecting, as
you did Mr. Theriere that other day. Do you think I fear a
THING such as you--a beast without honor that kicks an
unconscious man in the face? I know that you can kill me. I
know that you are coward enough to do it because I am a
defenseless woman; and though you may kill me, you never
can make me show fear for you. That is what you wish to
do--that is your idea of manliness. I had never imagined
that such a thing as you lived in the guise of man; but I have
read you, Mr. Byrne, since I have had occasion to notice you,
and I know now that you are what is known in the great
cities as a mucker. The term never meant much to me before,
but I see now that it fits your kind perfectly, for in it is all the
loathing and contempt that a real man--a gentleman--must
feel for such as you."
As she spoke Billy Byrne's eyes narrowed; but not with the
cunning of premeditated attack. He was thinking. For the first
time in his life he was thinking of how he appeared in the
eyes of another. Never had any human being told Billy Byrne
thus coolly and succinctly what sort of person he seemed to
them. In the heat of anger men of his own stamp had applied
vile epithets to him, describing him luridly as such that by the
simplest laws of nature he could not possibly be; but this girl
had spoken coolly, and her descriptions had been explicit--
backed by illustrations. She had given real reasons for her
contempt, and somehow it had made that contempt seem very
tangible.
One who had known Billy would have expected him to fly
into a rage and attack the girl brutally after her scathing
diatribe. Billy did nothing of the sort. Barbara Harding's
words seemed to have taken all the fight out of him. He stood
looking at her for a moment--it was one of the strange
contradictions of Billy Byrne's personality that he could hold
his eyes quite steady and level, meeting the gaze of another
unwaveringly--and in that moment something happened to
Billy Byrne's perceptive faculties. It was as though scales
which had dimmed his mental vision had partially dropped
away, for suddenly he saw what he had not before seen--a
very beautiful girl, brave and unflinching before the brutal
menace of his attitude, and though the mucker thought that
he still hated her, the realization came to him that be must not
raise a hand against her--that for the life of him he could
not, nor ever again against any other woman. Why this
change, Billy did not know, he simply knew that it was so,
and with an ugly grunt he turned his back upon her and
walked away.
A slight breeze had risen from the southwest since Theriere
had left Barbara Harding and now all hands were busily
engaged in completing the jury rigging that the Halfmoon
might take advantage of the wind and make the shore that
rose abruptly from the bosom of the ocean but a league away.
Before the work was completed the wind increased rapidly,
so that when the tiny bit of canvas was hoisted into position it
bellied bravely, and the Halfmoon moved heavily forward
toward the land.
"We gotta make a mighty quick run of it," said Skipper
Simms to Ward, "or we'll go to pieces on them rocks afore
ever we find a landing."
"That we will if this wind rises much more," replied Ward;
"and's far as I can see there ain't no more chance to make a
landing there than there would be on the side of a house."
And indeed as the Halfmoon neared the towering cliffs it
seemed utterly hopeless that aught else than a fly could find a
foothold upon that sheer and rocky face that rose abruptly
from the ocean's surface.
Some two hundred yards from the shore it became evident
that there was no landing to be made directly before them,
and so the course of the ship was altered to carry them along
parallel to the shore in an effort to locate a cove, or beach
where a landing might safely be effected.
The wind, increasing steadily, was now whipping the sea
into angry breakers that dashed resoundingly against the
rocky barrier of the island. To drift within reach of those
frightful destroyers would mean the instant annihilation of the
Halfmoon and all her company, yet this was precisely what
the almost unmanageable hulk was doing at the wheel under
the profane direction of Skipper Simms, while Ward and
Theriere with a handful of men altered the meager sail from
time to time in an effort to keep the ship off the rocks for a
few moments longer.
The Halfmoon was almost upon the cliff's base when a
narrow opening showed some hundred fathoms before her
nose, an opening through which the sea ran in long, surging
sweeps, rolling back upon itself in angry breakers that filled
the aperture with swirling water and high-flung spume. To
have attempted to drive the ship into such a place would have
been the height of madness under ordinary circumstances. No
man knew what lay beyond, nor whether the opening carried
sufficient water to float the Halfmoon, though the long,
powerful sweep of the sea as it entered the opening denoted
considerable depth.
Skipper Simms, seeing the grim rocks rising close beside his
vessel, realized that naught could keep her from them now. He
saw death peering close to his face. He felt the icy breath of
the Grim Reaper upon his brow. A coward at heart, he lost
every vestige of his nerve at this crucial moment of his life.
Leaping from the wheelhouse to the deck he ran backward
and forward shrieking at the top of his lungs begging and
entreating someone to save him, and offering fabulous rewards
to the man who carried him safely to the shore.
The sight of their captain in a blue funk had its effect upon
the majority of the crew, so that in a moment a pack of
screaming, terror-ridden men had supplanted the bravos and
bullies of the Halfmoon.
From the cabin companionway Barbara Harding looked
upon the disgusting scene. Her lip curled in scorn at the sight
of these men weeping and moaning in their fright. She saw
Ward busy about one of the hatches. It was evident that he
intended making a futile attempt to utilize it as a means of
escape after the Halfmoon struck, for he was attaching ropes
to it and dragging it toward the port side of the ship, away
from the shore. Larry Divine crouched beside the cabin and
wept.
When Simms gave up the ship Barbara Harding saw the
wheelmen, there had been two of them, desert their post, and
almost instantly the nose of the Halfmoon turned toward the
rocks; but scarcely had the men reached the deck than Theriere
leaped to their place at the wheel.
Unassisted he could do little with the heavy helm. Barbara
saw that he alone of all the officers and men of the brigantine
was making an attempt to save the vessel. However futile the
effort might be, it at least bespoke the coolness and courage
of the man. With the sight of him there wrestling with death
in a hopeless struggle a little wave of pride surged through the
girl. Here indeed was a man! And he loved her--that she
knew. Whether or no she returned his love her place was
beside him now, to give what encouragement and physical aid
lay in her power.
Quickly she ran to the wheelhouse. Theriere saw her and
smiled.
"There's no hope, I'm afraid," he said; "but, by George, I
intend to go down fighting, and not like those miserable
yellow curs."
Barbara did not reply, but she grasped the spokes of the
heavy wheel and tugged as he tugged. Theriere made no effort
to dissuade her from the strenuous labor--every ounce of
weight would help so much, and the man had a wild, mad
idea that he was attempting to put into effect.
"What do you hope to do?" asked the girl. "Make that
opening in the cliffs?"
Theriere nodded.
"Do you think me crazy?" he asked.
"It is such a chance as only a brave man would dare to
take," she replied. "Do you think that we can get her to take
it?"
"I doubt it," he answered. "With another man at the wheel
we might, though."
Below them the crew of the Halfmoon ran hither and
thither along the deck on the side away from the breakers.
They fought with one another for useless bits of planking and
cordage. The giant figure of the black cook, Blanco, rose
above the others. In his hand was a huge butcher knife. When
he saw a piece of wood he coveted in the hands of another he
rushed upon his helpless victim with wild, bestial howls, menacing
him with his gleaming weapon. Thus he was rapidly
accumulating the material for a life raft.
But there was a single figure upon the deck that did not
seem mad with terror. A huge fellow he was who stood leaning
against the capstan watching the wild antics of his fellows with
a certain wondering expression of incredulity, the while a
contemptuous smile curled his lips. As Barbara Harding chanced
to look in his direction he also chanced to turn his eyes
toward the wheelhouse. It was the mucker.
The girl was surprised that he, the greatest coward of them
all, should be showing no signs of cowardice now--probably
he was paralyzed with fright. The moment that the man saw
the two who were in the wheelhouse and the work that they
were doing he sprang quickly toward them. At his approach
the girl shrank closer to Theriere.
What new outrage did the fellow contemplate? Now he was
beside her. The habitual dark scowl blackened his expression.
He laid a heavy hand on Barbara Harding's arm.
"Come out o' dat," he bellowed. "Dat's no kind o' job fer
a broiler."
And before either she or Theriere could guess his intention
the mucker had pushed Barbara aside and taken her place at
the wheel.
"Good for you, Byrne!" cried Theriere. "I needed you
badly."
"Why didn't yeh say so den?" growled the man.
With the aid of Byrne's Herculean muscles and great weight
the bow of the Halfmoon commenced to come slowly around
so that presently she almost paralleled the cliffs again, but now
she was much closer in than when Skipper Simms had deserted her
to her fate--so close that Theriere had little hope of
being able to carry out his plan of taking her opposite the
opening and then turning and running her before the wind
straight into the swirling waters of the inlet.
Now they were almost opposite the aperture and between
the giant cliffs that rose on either side of the narrow entrance
a sight was revealed that filled their hearts with renewed hope
and rejoicing, for a tiny cove was seen to lie beyond the
fissure--a cove with a long, wide, sandy beach up which the
waves, broken at the entrance to the little haven, rolled with
much diminished violence.
"Can you hold her alone for a second, Byrne?" asked
Theriere. "We must make the turn in another moment and
I've got to let out sail. The instant that you see me cut her
loose put your helm hard to starboard. She'll come around
easy enough I imagine, and then hold her nose straight for
that opening. It's one chance in a thousand; but it's the only
one. Are you game?"
"You know it, cul--go to 't," was Billy Byrne's laconic
rejoinder.
As Theriere left the wheel Barbara Harding stepped to the
mucker's side.
"Let me help you," she said. "We need every hand that we
can get for the next few moments."
"Beat it," growled the man. "I don't want no skirts in my
way."
With a flush, the girl drew back, and then turning watched
Theriere where he stood ready to cut loose the sail at the
proper instant. The vessel was now opposite the cleft in the
cliffs. Theriere had lashed a new sheet in position. Now he
cut the old one. The sail swung around until caught in
position by the stout line. The mucker threw the helm hard to
starboard. The nose of the brigantine swung quickly toward
the rocks. The sail filled, and an instant later the ship was
dashing to what seemed her inevitable doom.
Skipper Simms, seeing what Theriere had done after it was
too late to prevent it, dashed madly across the deck toward
his junior.
"You fool!" he shrieked. "You fool! What are you doing?
Driving us straight for the rocks--murdering the whole lot of
us!" and with that he sprang upon the Frenchman with
maniacal fury, bearing him to the deck beneath him.
Barbara Harding saw the attack of the fear-demented man,
but she was powerless to prevent it. The mucker saw it too,
and grinned--he hoped that it would be a good fight; there
was nothing that he enjoyed more. He was sorry that he
could not take a hand in it, but the wheel demanded all his
attention now, so that he was even forced to take his eyes
from the combatants that he might rivet them upon the
narrow entrance to the cove toward which the Halfmoon was
now plowing her way at constantly increasing speed.
The other members of the ship's company, all unmindful of
the battle that at another time would have commanded their
undivided attention, stood with eyes glued upon the wild
channel toward which the brigantine's nose was pointed. They
saw now what Skipper Simms had failed to see--the little
cove beyond, and the chance for safety that the bold stroke
offered if it proved successful.
With steady muscles and giant sinews the mucker stood by
the wheel--nursing the erratic wreck as no one might have
supposed it was in him to do. Behind him Barbara Harding
watched first Theriere and Simms, and then Byrne and the
swirling waters toward which he was heading the ship.
Even the strain of the moment did not prevent her from
wondering at the strange contradictions of the burly young
ruffian who could at one moment show such traits of cowardliness
and the next rise so coolly to the highest pinnacles
of courage. As she watched him occasionally now she noted
for the first time the leonine contour of his head, and she was
surprised to note that his features were regular and fine, and
then she recalled Billy Mallory and the cowardly kick that she
had seen delivered in the face of the unconscious Theriere--
with a little shudder of disgust she turned away from the man
at the wheel.
Theriere by this time had managed to get on top of Skipper
Simms, but that worthy still clung to him with the desperation
of a drowning man. The Halfmoon was rising on a great
wave that would bear her well into the maelstrom of the
cove's entrance. The wind had increased to the proportions of
a gale, so that the brigantine was fairly racing either to her
doom or her salvation--who could tell which?
Halfway through the entrance the wave dropped the ship,
and with a mighty crash that threw Barbara Harding to her
feet the vessel struck full amidships upon a sunken reef. Like
a thing of glass she broke in two with the terrific impact, and
in another instant the waters about her were filled with
screaming men.
Barbara Harding felt herself hurtled from the deck as
though shot from a catapult. The swirling waters engulfed her.
She knew that her end had come, only the most powerful of
swimmers might hope to win through that lashing hell of
waters to the beach beyond. For a girl to do it was too
hopeless even to contemplate; but she recalled Theriere's
words of so short a time ago: "There's no hope, I'm afraid;
but, by George, I intend to go down fighting," and with the
recollection came a like resolve on her part--to go down
fighting, and so she struck out against the powerful waters
that swirled her hither and thither, now perilously close to the
rocky sides of the entrance, and now into the mad chaos of
the channel's center. Would to heaven that Theriere were near
her, she thought, for if any could save her it would be he.
Since she had come to believe in the man's friendship and
sincerity Barbara Harding had felt renewed hope of eventual
salvation, and with the hope had come a desire to live which
had almost been lacking for the greater part of her detention
upon the Halfmoon.
Bravely she battled now against the awful odds of the
mighty Pacific, but soon she felt her strength waning. More
and more ineffective became her puny efforts, and at last she
ceased almost entirely the futile struggle.
And then she felt a strong hand grasp her arm, and with a
sudden surge she was swung over a broad shoulder. Quickly
she grasped the rough shirt that covered the back of her
would-be rescuer, and then commenced a battle with the
waves that for many minutes, that seemed hours to the frightened
girl, hung in the balance; but at last the swimmer
beneath her forged steadily and persistently toward the sandy
beach to flounder out at last with an unconscious burden in
his mighty arms.
As the man staggered up out of reach of the water Barbara
Harding opened her eyes to look in astonishment into the face
of the mucker.
