Part 27 (1/2)
”I shall send that order to you in writing. If you refuse to obey then, I shall act!”
He turned on his heel; McTee stayed a moment to smile upon Harrigan, and then followed. As the door closed, Harrigan turned to Campbell and found him sitting, shuddering, with his face buried in his hands. He touched the Scotchman on the shoulder.
”You've done your part, chief. I won't let you do any more. I'm starting now for the hole.”
”What?” bellowed Campbell. ”Am I no longer the boss of my engine room?
You'll sit here till I tell you to move! d.a.m.n Henshaw and his written orders!”
”If you refuse to obey a written order, he can take your license away from you in any marine court.”
”Let it go.”
”Ah-h, chief, ye're afther bein' a thrue man an' a bould one, but I'd rather stay the rest av me life in the hole than let ye ruin yourself for me. Whisht, man, I'm goin'! Think no more av it!”
Campbell's eyes grew moist with the temptation, but then the fighting blood of his clan ran hot through his veins.
”Sit down,” he commanded. ”Sit down and wait till the order comes. It's a fine thing to be chief engineer, but it's a better thing to be a man.
What does Bobbie say?”
And he quoted in a ringing voice: ”A man's a man for a' that!”
Afterward they sat in silence that grew more tense as the minutes pa.s.sed, but it seemed that Henshaw, with demoniac cunning, had decided to prolong the agony by delaying his written order and the consequent decision of the engineer. And Harrigan, watching the suffused face of Campbell, knew that the time had come when his will would not suffice to make him follow the dictates of his conscience.
All of which Henshaw knew perfectly well as he sat in his cabin filling the gla.s.s of McTee with choice Scotch.
They sat for an hour or more, chatting, and McTee drew a picture of the pair waiting below in silent dread--a picture so vivid that Henshaw laughed in his breathless way. In time, however, he decided that they had delayed long enough, and took up pen and paper to write the order which was to convince the dauntless Campbell that even he was a slave.
As he did so, Sloan, the wireless operator, appeared at the door, saying: ”The report has come, sir.”
CHAPTER 23
He held a little folded paper in his hand. At sight of it Henshaw turned in his chair and faced Sloan with a wistful glance.
”Good?”
”Not very, sir.”
Henshaw rose slowly and frowned like the king on the messenger who bears tidings of the lost battie.
”Then very bad?”
”I'm afraid so.”
”Very well. Let me have the message. You may go.”
He took the slip of paper cautiously, as if it were dangerous in itself, and then called back the operator as the latter reached the door.
”Come back a minute. Sloan, you're a good boy--a very good boy.