and accept the fate of the mutineer; or whether terror would overwhelm
him and he would drop to his knees and beg for mercy. He had once seen
a sight as horrible. The voices swept closer. McTee was bringing all
the available crew to watch the surrender, and Harrigan prayed with all
his soul to a nameless deity for strength.

Something stopped in the Irishman. It was not his heart, but something
as vital. The very movement of the earth seemed to be suspended when
the great form blocked the door to the forecastle and the ringing voice
called: "Harrigan!"

At the summons Harrigan's jaw fell loosely like that of an exhausted
distance-runner, and long-suppressed words grew achingly large in his
throat.

"I've had enough!" he groaned.

"Harrigan!" thundered the captain, and Harrigan knew that his attempted
speech had been merely a silent wish.

"God help me!" he whispered hoarsely, and in response to that brief
prayer a warm pulse of strength flooded through him. He sprang to his
feet.

"I refuse to work!" he cried, and this time the sound echoed back
against his ears.

There was a long pause.

"Mutiny!" said McTee at last, and his voice was harsh with the