When God Laughs by Jack London (recommended books to read TXT) 📕

a hand heavily on his arm. “Ye won’t have to hold me, sir. I’ll stand still.”

“Stop yer blitherin’, an’ go an’ get the tureen cover,” Behane commanded Johnny Sheehan, at the same time dealing him a heavy cuff alongside the head.

The boy, who was scarcely more than a child, fetched the cover. He crawled and tottered along the deck, so weak was he from hunger. The tears still ran down his cheeks. Behane took the cover from him, at the same time administering another cuff.

O’Brien took off his coat and bared his right arm. His under lip still trembled, but he held a tight grip on himself. The captain’s penknife was opened and passed to Gorman.

“Mahoney, tell me mother what happened to me, if ever ye get back,” O’Brien requested.

Mahoney nodded.

“ ’Tis black murder, black an’ damned,” he said. “The b’y’s flesh’ll do none iv yez anny good. Mark me words. Ye’ll not profit by it, none iv yez.”

“Get ready,” the captain ordered. “You, Sullivan, hold the cover⁠—that’s it⁠—close up. Spill nothing. It’s precious stuff.”

Gorman made an effort. The knife was dull. He was weak. Besides, his hand was shaking so violently that he nearly dropped the knife. The three boys were crouched apart, in a huddle, crying and sobbing. With the exception of Mahoney, the men were gathered about the victim, craning their necks to see.

“Be a man, Gorman,” the captain cautioned.

The wretched cook was seized with a spasm of resolution, sawing back and forth with the blade on O’Brien’s wrist. The veins were severed. Sullivan held the tureen cover close underneath. The cut veins gaped wide, but no ruddy flood gushed forth. There was no blood at all. The veins were dry and empty. No one spoke. The grim and silent figures swayed in unison with each heave of the ship. Every eye was turned fixedly upon that inconceivable and monstrous thing, the dry veins of a creature that was alive.

“ ’Tis a warnin’,” Mahoney cried. “Lave the b’y alone. Mark me words. His death’ll do none iv yez anny good.”

“Try at the elbow⁠—the left elbow, ’tis nearer the heart,” the captain said finally, in a dim and husky voice that was unlike his own.

“Give me the knife,” O’Brien said roughly, taking it out of the cook’s hand. “I can’t be lookin’ at ye puttin’ me to hurt.”

Quite coolly he cut the vein at the left elbow, but, like the cook, he failed to bring blood.

“This is all iv no use,” Sullivan said. “ ’Tis better to put him out iv his misery by bleedin’ him at the throat.”

The strain had been too much for the lad.

“Don’t be doin’ ut,” he cried. “There’ll be no blood in me throat. Give me a little time. ’Tis cold an’ weak I am. Be lettin’ me lay down an’ slape a bit. Then I’ll be warm an’ the blood’ll flow.”

“ ’Tis no use,” Sullivan objected. “As if ye cud be slapin’ at a time like this. Ye’ll not slape, and ye’ll not warm up. Look at ye now. You’ve an ague.”

“I was sick at Limerick wan night,” O’Brien hurried on, “an’ the dochtor cudn’t bleed me. But after slapin’ a few hours an’ gettin’ warm in bed the blood came freely. It’s God’s truth I’m tellin’ yez. Don’t be murderin’ me!”

“His veins are open now,” the captain said. “ ’Tis no use leavin’ him in his pain. Do it now an’ be done with it.”

They started to reach for O’Brien, but he backed away.

“I’ll be the death iv yez!” he screamed. “Take yer hands off iv me, Sullivan! I’ll come back! I’ll haunt yez! Wakin’ or slapin’, I’ll haunt yez till you die!”

“ ’Tis disgraceful!” yelled Behane. “If the short stick’d ben mine, I’d a-let me mates cut the head off iv me an’ died happy.”

Sullivan leaped in and caught the unhappy lad by the hair. The rest of the men followed, O’Brien kicked and struggled, snarling and snapping at the hands that clutched him from every side. Little Johnny Sheehan broke out into wild screaming, but the men took no notice of him. O’Brien was bent backward to the deck, the tureen cover under his neck. Gorman was shoved forward. Some one had thrust a large sheath-knife into his hand.

“Do yer duty! Do yer duty!” the men cried.

The cook bent over, but he caught the boy’s eyes and faltered.

“If ye don’t, I’ll kill ye with me own hands,” Behane shouted.

From every side a torrent of abuse and threats poured in upon the cook. Still he hung back.

“Maybe there’ll be more blood in his veins than O’Brien’s,” Sullivan suggested significantly.

Behane caught Gorman by the hair and twisted his head back, while Sullivan attempted to take possession of the sheath-knife. But Gorman clung to it desperately.

“Lave go, an’ I’ll do ut!” he screamed frantically. “Don’t be cuttin’ me throat! I’ll do the deed! I’ll do the deed!”

“See that you do it, then,” the captain threatened him.

Gorman allowed himself to be shoved forward. He looked at the boy, closed his eyes, and muttered a prayer. Then, without opening his eyes, he did the deed that had been appointed him. O’Brien emitted a shriek that sank swiftly to a gurgling sob. The men held him till his struggles ceased, when he was laid upon the deck. They were eager and impatient, and with oaths and threats they urged Gorman to hurry with the preparation of the meal.

“Lave ut, you bloody butchers,” Mahoney said quietly. “Lave ut, I tell yez. Ye’ll not be needin’ anny iv ut now. ’Tis as I said: ye’ll not be profitin’ by the lad’s blood. Empty ut overside, Behane. Empty ut overside.”

Behane, still holding the tureen cover in both his hands, glanced to windward. He walked to the rail and threw the cover and contents into the sea. A full-rigged ship was bearing down upon them a short mile away. So occupied had they been with the deed just committed, that none had had eyes for a lookout. All hands watched her coming on⁠—the brightly coppered