 8 You're blaming me," said Mark, when he and Joel were puffing at their pipes, for leaving my ship. Joel said slowly, No, but I do not understand it. Mark laughed, a soft and throaty laugh. 8 You would not, Joel. You would not, for you never felt an overwhelming notion that you must dance in the moon upon the sand. You've never felt that, Joel. And I have. I'm not a hand for dancing, said Joel. Mark seemed to forget that his brother sat beside him. His eyes became misty and thoughtful, as though he were living over again the days of which he spoke. 9 Mind, Joel, he said, There's a pagan in every man of us. And there's two pagans in some of us. And I'm minded, Joel, that there are three of them in me. Toward so that night. It was night when you left the ship. I, night, night and the moon, and it may have been that I had been drinking a drop or two. Also, as you shall see, I was not well. I tell these things not by way of excuse and palliation, but only so that you may understand. Do you see? I was three pagans in one body, and that body witched by moon and twisted by drink and trembling with fever. And so it was I went ashore and flung my men behind me and went off, dancing along the hard sand. That was a night, Joel, a slow-winded, warm, trembling night when there was a song in the very air. The wind tingled on your throat like a woman's fingertips, and the sea was singing at the one side, and the wind in the palms on the other. And ahead of me the wild, discordant chanting of the islanders about their fires. That singing it was that got me by the throat and led me. I twirled around and around, very solemnly by myself in the moonlight on the sand, and all the time I went onward toward the fires. I remember when I came in sight of the fires, I threw away my coat and ran in among them, and they scattered and yelled their harsh, meaningless, throaty yells, and they hid in the bush to stare at me by the fire. They hid in the rank-thick grasses, all except one, Joel. Joel, listening, watched his brother and saw through his brother's eyes, for he knew for all his slow blood the witchery of those warm southern nights. "'The moon was on her,' said Mark. The moon was on her, and there was a red blossom in her hair, and some strings of things that clothed her. A little brown girl with eyes like the eyes of a deer, and not afraid of me. That was the thing that got me, Joel. She stood in my path, met me, watched me, and her eyes were not afraid. She was very little. She was only a child. I suppose we would call her sixteen or seventeen years old. But they ripened quickly, Joel, these island children. Her little shoulders were as smooth and soft. You could not even mark the ridge of her collar bones. She was fleshed so sweetly. She stood and watched me, and the others crept out of the grasses at last and stood about us. And then this little brown girl held up her hand to me and pointed me out to the others and said something. I did not know what it was that she said, but I know now. She said that I was sick. I did not know, then, that I was sick. When she lifted her hand to me, I caught it, and I began to lead her in a wild dance in the moonlight about the dying fires. I could see them in the shadows, their eyeballs shining as they watched us. And they seemed, after a little, to move about in a misty, inhuman fashion. And they twisted into strange cloud-like shapes. And I stopped to laugh at them, and my head dropped down before I could catch it and struck against the earth. And the earth forsurged me, Joel, and left me swimming in nothing at all. My memory was a long time in coming back to me, Joel. It would peep out at me like a timid child hiding among the trees. I would see it for an instant, then it would be gone. But I know it must have been many days that I was on the island there. And I knew, after a time, that I was most extremely sick. And the little brown girl put cool leaves on my head, and gave me strange brews to drink, and rubbed and patted my chest and my body with her hands in a fashion that was immensely comfortable and strengthening. And I twisted on a bed of coarse grass. And I remember singing at times. He looked toward Joel, with his eyes suddenly flaming. Hey, Joel, I tell you, I was not three pagans, but six in those days. The things clear beyond your guessing, Joel, but it was big, an immense thing. I was back at the beginning of the world with food and drink and my woman. It was big, I tell you, big. His eyes clouded. He fell silent, and so at last went on again. I was asleep one night, tossing in my sleep. And something woke me. And I laid my hand on the spot beside me where the little brown girl used to lie, and she was gone. So I got up, unsteadily. There were rifles snapping in the night, and there were screams. And I heard a white man's black curse and the slap of a blow of flesh on flesh and the screams. So I went that way, and the sounds retreated before me until I came out, unsteadily, upon the open beach. There was no moon that night, and the water of the lagoon was shot with fire. And there was a boat pulling away from the beach with screaming in it. I swam after the boat for a long time, for I thought I had heard the voice of the little brown girl. The water was full of fire. When I lifted my arms the fire ran down them in streams and drops. And sometimes I forgot what I was about and stopped to laugh at these drops of fire. But in the end I always swam on. I remember once I thought the little brown girl swam beside me, and I tried to throw my arm about her, and she wrenched away, and she burned me like a brand. I found afterwards what that was. My breast and sides were rasped and raw where a shark's rough skin had scraped them. I have wondered, Joel, why the beast did not take me. But he did not, for I bumped at last into the boat and climbed into it, and it was empty. But I saw a rope at the end of it, and I pulled the rope and came to the schooner's stern and climbed a border. His voice was ringing exultantly and proudly. I swung aboard, he said, and I stumbled over fighting bodies on the deck, a stern there, and someone cried out in the waist of her, and I knew it was the little brown girl. So I left those struggling bodies at the stern, for they were not my concern, and I went forward to the waist, and I found her there. A fat man had her. She was fighting him, and he did not see me. And I put my fingers quietly into his neck from behind, and when he no longer kicked back at me, and no longer tore at my fingers with his, I dropped him over the side. I saw a fiery streak in the water where I dropped him. That shark was not so squeamish as the one I had embraced. It may have been the other was embarrassed at my ways, Joel. Do you think that might have been the way of it? Joel's knuckles were white, where his hand rested on his knee. Mark saw and laughed softly. There's blood in you after all, boy! he applauded. I've hopes for you. Joel said slowly. What then? What then, Mark? Mark laughed. Well, that was a very funny thing, he said. You see, the other two men, they were busy a stern with their own concerns. And when I had confronted the little brown girl, and sat down in the deck to laugh at the folly of it all, she slipped away from me, and went aft, and got all their rifles. She brought them to me. She seemed to expect things of me. So I, still laughing for the fever was on me, I took the rifles and threw them, all but one, over the side. And I went down into the cabin with the little brown girl, and went to bed, and she sat beside me with the rifle and a lamp hanging above the door. And that was all that happened until I woke one morning, and saw her there, and wondered where I was. And my head was clear again. She made me understand that the men had sought to come at me, but had feared the rifle in her hands. And we were in the open sea, as I could feel by the labour of the schooner underfoot. So I took the rifle in the crook of my arm, and with the little brown girl at my heel I went up on deck, and we made a treaty. He fell silent for a moment, and Joel watched him and waited. And at last Mark went on. I had been more than a month on the island, he said. The Nathan Ross had gone. This schooner was a perler, and they had the location of a bed of shell. They had been waiting till another schooner should leave the place to leave their own way clear. And when that time came they went ashore to get the brown women for companions on that cruise. And they made the mistake of picking up my little brown girl when she ran out of the hut, and so brought me down upon them. There were two of them left, two whites, and three black men forward, who were of no account, and the other two women. These other two were chatting together on the deck a stern when I appeared. They seemed content enough. The men were not happy. There was a large man with slanting eyes. There was oriental blood in him. You could see that. He called himself Quint. But his eyes were Jap or Chinese, and he had their calm blank screen across his countenance to hide what may have been his thoughts. Quint he called himself, and he was a big man, and very much of a man in his own way, Joel. The other was little, and he walked with a slink and a grin. His name was Fetcher, and he was oily in his speech. When they saw me, they studied me for a considerable time without speech. And I stood there with the rifle in my arm and laughed at them. And at last Quint said calmly, You took Farrell! The fat man, I asked him. He nodded. Yes, I said. He took my girl, and so I dropped him into the water, and a friend met him there and hurried him away. Your girl, he echoed in a nasty way. You're that then? Am I, I asked, and shifted the rifle a thought to the fore. And his eyes held mine for a space, and then he shook his head. I see that I was mistaken, he said. Your sight is good, I told him. Now, what is this? Tell me. He told me, evenly and without malice. They had a line on the pearls. There were enough for three. I was welcome. And at the end I nodded my consent. The Nathan Ross was gone. Furthermore, there were nine pagans in me now, and the prospect of looting some still lagoon, in company with these two rats, had a wild flavor about it that caught me. My blood was burning, and the sun was hot. Also, they had liquor aboard her. Liquor and loot, and the three women. Pagan, Joel. Pagan. But wild and red and raw. There's a glory about such things. Songs are made of them. There was no handshaking, but we made alliance, and crowded on sail, and went on our way. He stopped short, laughed, filled his pipe again, watched Joel. You're shocked with me, boy. I can see it, he taunted, mockingly. Joel shook his head. Will you hear the rest? Mark asked. And Joel nodded. Mark lighted his pipe, laughed. His fingers thrummed on the desk beside him. We were a week on the way, he said, and all Pagan, every minute of the week. Days when we fought a storm, as bad as I've ever seen, Joel, we fought it, holding to the ropes with our teeth, bare to the waist, with the wind scourging us. It tore at us, and lashed at us. And we drove the three black men with knives to their work. And the three women stayed below, except my little brown girl. She came up now and then with dry clothes for me, and I had to drive her to shelter. And when there was not the storm, there was liquor, and they had cards. We staked our shares in the catch that was to come. Hour on hour, gilling and playing with few words, and our eyes burned hollow in their sockets. And Quint's thin mouth twisted and writhed all the time, like a worm on a pin. He was a nervous man for all his calm, a very nervous man. The fifth day one of the blacks stumbled in Quint's path on deck. Quint had been losing at the cards. He slid a knife from his sleeve into the man's ribs and tipped the black over the rail without a word. I was twenty feet away, and it was done before I could catch breath. I shouted, and Quint turned and looked at me, and he smiled. What is it? he asked. Have you objections to present? And the smeared blade in his hand, and the bubbles still rising over side. I was afraid of the man, Joel. I tell you, I was afraid. The only time. Fears a pagan joy, boy. It was like a new drink to me. I nursed it, eating it, and I shook my head, humble. No objections, I said to Quint, tis your affair. That was my thought, he agreed, and passed me and went asternth. I stood aside to let him pass and trembled and laughed for the joy of my fear. And then we came to the lagoon, and the blacks began to dive. Only the two we had, and there was no sign of islanders ashore. But the water was shallow, and we worked the men with knives, and they got pearls. Sometimes one or two in a day, sometimes a dozen. Do you know pearls, Joel? They're as sweet as a woman's skin. I had never seen them before, and we all went a little mad over them. They made Fetcher hysterical. He laughed too much. They made Quint morose. They made me tremble. He wiped his hand across his eyes, as though the memory wearied him. And he moved his great shoulders, and looked at Joel, and laughed. But it could not last in that fashion, he said. It might have been anything. It turned out to be the women. I said they seemed content. They did. But that may be the way of the blacks. They have a happy habit of life. They laugh easily. At any rate we found one morning that Quint's girl was gone. She was not on the schooner, and ashore we found her tracks in the sand. She had gone into the trees. And we beat the island, and we did not find her. And Quint sweated all that day. That night he looked at my little brown girl, and touched her shoulder. I was across the deck, the girl coming to me with food. I said to him, No, she's mine, Quint. And he looked at me, and I beat him with my eyes. And as his turned from mine, Fetcher and his woman came on deck, and Quint tapped Fetcher, and said to him, What will you take for her? Fetcher laughed at him, and Quint scowled. And I, for I was minded to see sport, came across to them, and said, Play for her! Play for her! Fetcher was willing, because he had the blood that gambles anything. Quint was willing, because he was the better player. They sat down to the game in the cabin after supper. Poker, cold hands, nine of them, winner of five to win. Fetcher got two, lost four, got two more. I was dealing. Card by card, face upward. I remember those hands. And my little brown girl and the other watching from the corner. The hands on the table grew, card by card. Fetcher got an ace, Quint a deuce. Fetcher a queen, Quint a seven. Fetcher a jack, Quint a six. Fetcher a ten, Quint a ten. Only the last card to come to each. If Fetcher paired any card, he would win. His card came first. It was a seven. He was ace, queen high. Quint had deuce, six, seven, ten. He had to get a pair to win. I saw Quint's hand stir beneath the table, and I glimpsed a knife in it. But before I could speak or stir, Fetcher dropped his own hand to his trouser leg, and I knew he kept a blade there. So I laughed and dealt Quint's last card. A deuce. He had a pair, enough to win. He leaned back, laughing grimly, and Fetcher's knife went in beneath the left side of his jaw, where the jugular lies. Quint looked surprised and got up out of his chair and lay down quietly across the table. I heard the bubbling of his last breath. Then Fetcher laughed and called his woman, and they took Quint on deck and tipped him over side. The knife had been well thrown. Fetcher had barely moved his wrist. I was much impressed with the little man, and told my brown girl so. But she was frightened, and I comforted her. He was silent again for a time, pressing the hot ashes in his pipe with his thumb. The water slapped the broad stern of the ship beneath him, and Joel's pipe was gurgling. There was no other sound. Little Priss, nails biting her palms, thought she would scream if the silence held an instant more. But Mark laughed softly and went on. Fetcher and I worked smoothly together, he said. The little man was very pleasant and affable, and I met him halfway. The blacks brought up the shells, and we idled through the days and played cards at night. We divided the take each day, so our stakes ran fairly high. But luck has a way of balancing. On the day when we saw the end in sight, we were fairly even. Fetcher and the blacks and I went ashore to get fruit from the trees there. Plenty of it everywhere, and we were running short. We went into the brush together very pleasantly, and he fell a little behind. I looked back, and his knife brushed my neck and quivered in a tree a yard beyond me. So I went back and took him in my hands. He had another knife, the little man fairly bristled with them. But it struck a rib, and before he could use it again his neck snapped. So that I was alone on the schooner with the two blacks and Fetcher's woman and the little brown girl. Fetcher's woman went ashore to find him and never came back. And I decided it was time for me to go away from that place. The pagans were dying in me. I did not like that quiet little island any more. But the next morning, when I looked out beyond the lagoon, another schooner was coming in. So I was uncomfortable with Fetcher's pearls as well as mine in my pocket. There are some hard men in these seas, Joel, and I knew none of them would treasure me above my pearls. So I planned a story of misfortune, and I went ashore to hide my pearls under a rock. The blacks had brought me ashore. I went out of their sight to do what I had to do, and when I came back, after hiding the pearls, I saw them rowing very swiftly toward the schooner. And they looked back at me in a fearful way. I wondered why, and then four black men came down on me from behind with knives and clubs. I had a very hard day that day. They hunted me back and forth through the island. I had not even a knife with me, and I met them here and there, and suffered certain contusions and bruises and minor cuts. Also, I grew very tired of killing them. They were wiry, but they were small, and died easily. And so I was glad, when from a point where they had cornered me, I saw the little brown girl rowing the big boat toward me. She was alone. The blacks were afraid to come, I thought. But I found afterward that this was not true. They could not come, for they had tried to seize the schooner, and go quickly away from that place, and the little brown girl had drilled them both. She had a knack with the rifle. I waited to meet the boat, and she tossed me the gun. I held them off for a little, while we drew away from the shore. But when we were thirty or forty yards off, I heard rifles from the other schooner, firing past us at the blacks in the bush. And the girls stopped rowing. So I turned around and saw that one of the balls from the other schooner had struck her in the back. So I sat there, in the sun, drifting with the wind, and held her in my arms till she coughed and died. Then I went out to the other schooner, and told them they were bad marksmen. They had only been passing by, for copra. And the story, I told them, was a shocking one. They were much impressed, and they seemed glad to get away. But the blacks were still on shore, so that I could not go back for the pearls. And I worked the schooner out by myself, and shaped a course. And I worked the schooner out by myself, and shaped a course. I came to Tubuay, alone, thus, a day before you, Joel. Chapter 9 Of All The Brothers Were Valiant This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline For a long time after Mark's story ended, the two brothers sat still in the cabin, puffing at their pipes, thinking. Mark watched Joel, waiting for the younger man to speak. And Joel's thoughts ranged back, and picked up the tail in the beginning, and followed it through once more. And Joel's thoughts ranged back, and picked up the tail in the beginning, and followed it through once more. They were silent for so long that little Priss, in the cabin, drifted from waking dreams to dreams in truth. The pictures Mark's words had conjured up merged with troubled fantasies, and she twisted and cried out softly in her sleep, so that Joel went in at last to be sure she was not sick. But while he stood beside her, she passed into quiet and untroubled slumber, and he came back and sat down with Mark again. You brought the schooner into Tubawai, he asked. I, alone, half a thousand miles. There's a task, Joel. And left it there? Yes. Why? Mark smiled grimly. It was known there, he said quietly. Also, the threem whom I had found aboard it were known, and they had friends in Tubawai who wondered what had come to them. I was beginning to find their questions troublesome when the Nathan Ross came in. They will ask more questions now, said Joel. They must ask them of the schooner, and she does not speak, Mark told him. Joel was troubled and uncertain. It's a black thing, he said. They'll not be after me if that distresses you, Mark promised him. Curiosity does not go to such lengths in these waters. You told no one? Mark laughed. The pearls were my own concern. You're the first, I've told. He watched his brother. Joel frowned thoughtfully, shook his head. You plan to go back for them? he asked. You and I, said Mark casually. Joel looked at him in quick surprise, and Mark laughed. Yes, he repeated, you and I. I am not selfish, Joel. Besides, there are plenty for two. Joel, for an instant, found no word, and Mark leaned quickly toward him. He tapped Joel's knee. We'll work up that way, he said quietly. When we come to the island, you and I go ashore and get them, where they're hid beneath the rock. And we come back aboard with no one any wiser, rich. A double handful of them, Joel. Joel's eyes were clouded with thought. He shook his head slowly. What of the blacks, he asked. Mark laughed. They were brought down on us by the woman who got away, he said. Quint's woman. I heard as much that day, saw her among them. But they're gone before this. Joel said slowly, you are not sure of that, and I cannot risk the ship. Mark asked sneeringly, are you afraid? The younger man flushed. But he said steadily, yes, afraid of losing ace-a-worthenship for him. Mark chuckled, unpleasantly. I minded of what is written here and there in the log of the house of shore, he said, half to himself. And he quoted, All the brothers were valiant. There's more to that, Joel. And all the sisters virtuous. I had not known we had sisters, but it seems you're one boy, not valiant by your own admission, but at least you're fairly virtuous. Joel paid no heed to the taunt. Ace-a-worthen likes care taken of his ship, he said, half to himself. I'm thinking he would not think well of this. He's not a man to gamble. Gamble, Mark echoed scornfully. He has no gamble in this. The pearls are for you and me. He will know nothing whatever about them. A handful for me and a handful for you, Joel, for the taking. You did not think to give him owner's lay, Joel asked? No. Where is this island? Mark laughed. I'll not be too precise until I have your word, Joel. But it is to the northward. Our course is west, then south. Since when has the Nathan Ross kept schedule and timetable like a male ship? Joel shook his head. I cannot do it, Mark. Why not? A risk I have no right to take, and wasted weeks out of our course, for which Ace-a-worthen pays. Mark smiled sardonically. You're vastly more virtuous than any sister could be, Joel, my dear. Joel said steadily. There may be two minds about that. There may be two minds as to the duty of a captain to his ship and his owner. But I've shown you my mind in the matter. Mark leaned toward him, eyes half-friendly. You're wrong, Joel. I'll convince you. You'll not. A handful of them, Mark whispered. Worth anything, up to a hundred thousand, maybe more. I do not know the little things as well as some. All for a little jog out of your way. Joel shook his head. I said to him, I'll give you my word, Joel. And Mark, in a sudden surge of anger, stormed to his feet with clenched hand, upraised. By the Lord Joel, I'd not have believed it. You're mad, plain mad, sister, dear. You— Joel said quietly. Your schooner is at Tubuay. I'll set you back there, if you will. Mark mocked him. Would you throw your own brother off the ship, he captained? Oh, hard, hard, hard. You may stay or go, Joel told him. Have your way. Mark's eyes for an instant narrowed. They turned toward the door of the cabin, where prists lay. And there was a flicker of black hatred in them, but his voice was suave when he replied. With your permission, Captain Deer, I'll stay. Joel nodded. He rose. Young Morel has given you his bunk, he said. So good night to you. He opened the door into the main cabin, and Mark, his fingers twitching, went out. He turned, spoke over his shoulder. Good night, and pleasant dreams, he said. End of Chapter 9 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 10 Of All the Brothers Were Valiant This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline All the Brothers Were Valiant By Ben Ames Williams Chapter 10 Even Joel Shaw saw the new light in Priscilla's eyes when she met Mark at breakfast in the cabin next morning. And it is said husbands of the last to see such things. That story she had heard the night before, the story Mark told Joel in the after cabin, had made of him something superhuman in her eyes. He was a gigantic and epic figure, he had lived red life and fought for his life and killed. There was Puritan blood in Priscilla, but overrunning it was a flood of warmer life, a cross-strain from some southern forebear which sang now in answer to the touch of Mark's words. She watched him that morning with wide eyes that were full of wonder and of awe. Mark saw and was immensely amused. He asked her, Why do you look at me like that, little sister? I'm not going to bite. Priscilla caught herself and smiled and laughed at him. How do I look at you? You're imagining things, Mark. Am I? he asked, and he touched Joel's arm. Look at her, Joel, and see which of us is right. Joel was eating his breakfast silently, but he had seen Priscilla's eyes. He looked toward her now, and she flushed in spite of herself and got up quickly and slipped away. They watched her go, Joel's eyes clouded. Thoughtfully, Mark's shining. And when she was gone, Mark leaned across and said to Joel softly, a devil of mischief in his eyes, She heard my tale last night, Joel. She was not asleep. Fooled you. Joel shook his head. No, she was asleep. Mark laughed. Don't you suppose I know? I've seen that look in woman's eyes before. In the eyes of the little brown girl, the night I dropped the fat man over side. He sat there, chuckling, when Joel got abruptly to his feet and went on deck. And when he came up the companion a little later, he was still chuckling under his breath. After that first morning, Priscilla was able to cloak her eyes and hide her thoughts. And on the surface, life aboard the Nathan Ross seemed to go on as before. Mark threw himself into the routine of the work, mixing with the men, going off in the boats when there was a whale to be struck, doing three men's share of toil. Joel one day remonstrated his work, Joel one day remonstrated with him. It is not wise, he said. You were captain here. You are my brother. It is not wise for you to mix as an equal with the men. Mark only laughed at him. Your dignity is very precious to you, Joel, he mocked. But as for me, I am not proud. You'd not have me sit aft and twiddle my thumbs and hold yarn for little press. And I must be doing something. He and Jim Finch were much together. Finch always gave Joel careful obedience, always handled the ship when he was in charge with smooth efficiency. His boat was the best man and the most successful of the four. But he and Joel were not comradely. Joel instinctively disliked the big man, and Finch's servility disgusted him. The mate was full of smooth and flattering words, but his eyes were shallow. Mark talked with him long one morning, and then he left Finch and came to Joel by the after-house, chuckling as though at some enormous jest. Will you look at Finch there? he begged. Joel had been watching the two. He saw Finch now standing just forward of the boat-house with flushed cheeks and eyes fixed and hands twitching. The big man was powerfully moved by something. What is it that's got him? Joel asked. I have told him about the pearls, Mark chuckled. He's wild to be after them. Joel turned on his brother hotly. You're mad, Mark, he snapped. That is no word to be loose on the ship. I've told but Finch, Mark protested. It's mirthful to watch the man wiggle. He'll tell the ship. His tongue wags unceasingly. Mark lifted his shoulders. Tell him to be silent. You should keep order on your ship, Joel. Joel beckoned and Finch came toward them. As he came he fought for self-control, and when he stood before them his lips were twisting into something like a smile, and his eyes were shifty and gleaming. Joel said quietly. Mr. Finch, my brother says he has told you his story. Yes, sir, said Finch. An extraordinary adventure, Captain Shore. I think at best the men should know nothing about it, Joel told him. You will please keep it to yourself. Finch grinned. Of course, sir. There's no need they should have any share in them. Joel flushed angrily. We are not going after them. I consider it dangerous and unwise. Over Finch's fat cheeks swept a twitching grimace of dismay. But I thought— He looked at Mark, and Mark was chuckling. It's so easy, sir, he protested. Just go and get them. Rich! Joel shook his head. Keep silent about the matter, Finch. Finch slowly bowed his head, and he smirked respectfully. Very well, Captain Shore, he agreed. You always know best, sir. He turned away, and after a little, Mark said softly, You have him well trained, Joel, like a little dog. I wonder that you can handle men so. Two days later Joel knew that either Finch or Mark had told the tale anew. Young Dick Morel came to him with shining eyes. Is it true, sir, that we're going after the pearls your brother hid? He asked. I just heard. Joel gripped the boy's arm. Who told you? Morel twisted free, half angry. I overheard it, sir. Is it true? No, said Joel. We're a whaler, and we stick to our trade. Dick lifted both hands, in a gesture almost pleading. But it would be so simple, sir. Keep the whole matter quiet, Morel, Joel told him. I do not wish the men to know of it, and if you hear any further talk, report it to me. Morel's eyes were sulky. He said slowly. Yes, sir, I'll tell you later. He said slowly. Yes, sir. The set of his shoulders, as he stocked forward, seemed to Joel defiant. Within the week the whole ship knew the story. Old Aaron Burnham, repairing a bunk in the folksal, heard the men whispering the thing among themselves. Tongues hissing like little serpents, sir, he told Joel in the cabin that night. All of pearls, and women, and the like, and a shine in their eyes. Thanks, Aaron, Joel said. I'm sorry the men know. I, they know, be sure of that, Aaron repeated, with bobbing head. And they're roused by what they know. Some say you're going after the pearls, and aim to fraud them of their lay, and some say you're a mad fool that will not go. Joel's fist on the table softly clenched. What else, he asked. Aaron watched him sidewise. There was a whisper that you might be made to go. Priscilla saw that night that Joel was troubled. She and Mark were together on the cushioned seat in the after-cabin, and Joel sat at his desk over the log. Mark was telling Priss an expurgated version of some one of his ventures, and Joel, looking once or twice that way, saw the quick-caught breath in her throat, saw her tremulous interest, and his eyes clouded, so that when Priscilla chanced to look toward him, she saw and cried, Joel, what's the matter? You look so... He looked from one of them to the other for a space, and then his eyes rested on Mark's, and he said slowly, It's in my mind that I'd have done best to set you ashore at Tooboo Eye, Mark. Mark laughed, but Priss cried hotly, Joel, what a perfectly horrible thing to say! Her voice had grown deeper and more resonant of late, Joel thought. It was no longer the voice of a girl, but of a woman. Mark touched her arm. Don't care about him, he told her. That's only brotherly love. He oughtn't to say it. Joel said quietly, This is a matter you do not understand, Priscilla. You would do well to keep silent. It is my affair. A month before, this would have swept Priss into a fury of anger, but this night, though her eyes burned with slow resentment, she bit her lips and was still. A month ago she would have forgotten overnight. Now she would remember. Mark got up, laughed. He's bad company, Priss, he told her. Come on, deck with me. She rose readily enough, and they went out through the main cabin and up the companion way. Joel watched them go. They left open the door into the cabin, and he heard Vard and Finch at the table there, talking in husky whispers. It was so he knew over the whole ship. Everywhere the men were whispering. They're hung over the Nathan Ross, a cloud as definite as a man's hand. And every man scowled, save Mark Shore. Mark smiled with malicious delight at the gathering storm he had provoked. Joel, left in the after-cabin, felt terribly lonely. He wanted Priss with him, laughing at his side. His longing for her was like a hot coal in his throat, burning there. And she had taken sides with Mark, against him. His shoulders shook with the sudden surge of his desire to grip Mark's lean throat. Ashore he would have done so. But, as things were, the ship was his first charge, and a break with Mark would precipitate the thing that menaced the ship. He could not fight Mark without risking the Nathan Ross, and he could not risk the Nathan Ross. Not even! His head dropped for an instant in his arms, and then he got up quickly and shook himself and set his lips. No man aboard must see the trouble in his heart. He went through the main cabin and climbed to the deck. There was some sea running, and a wind that brushed aside all smaller sounds, so that he made little noise. Thus, when he reached the top of the companion, he saw two dark figures in the shadows of the boat-house, closely clasped. He stood for an instant, white-hot. His wife and Mark his little press and his brother. Then he went quietly below and glanced at the chart and chose a course upon it. The nearest land. He and Mark ashore together. His blood ran hungrily at the thought. End of chapter 10. Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 11 of All the Brothers were Valiant This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline All the Brothers were Valiant by Ben Ames Williams Chapter 11 Priscilla went on deck that night so angry with Joel that she could have killed him. And Mark played upon her as a skilled hand plays upon the harp. It was such a night as the South Seas know, warm and languorous, the wind caressing and the salt spray stinging gently on the cheek. The moon was near the full and it laid a path of silver on the water. This path was like the road to Fairyland. And Mark told Priscilla so. He dropped into a gay little fantasy that he conceived on the moment, a story of fairies and of dancing in the moonlight and of a man and a woman hand in hand. She felt the spell he laid upon her and struggled against it. Tell me about the last fight when the little brown girl was killed, she begged. He had told her snatches of his story here and there, but he had not till that night spoken of the pearls. When Pris heard of them, she swung about and lifted up her face to his, listening like a child. And Mark told the story with a tongue of gold, so that she saw it all, the lagoon, blue in the sun, and the schooner creeping in from the sea, and the hours of flight through the semi-jungle of the island, with the blacks in such hot pursuit. He told her of the times when they surrounded him, when he fought himself free, how he got a great stone and gripped it in his hand, and how with this stone he crushed the skull of a young black with but one eye. Pris shuddered with delicious horror at the tail. She loved best to hear the story of the little brown girl whom Mark had loved. And that would have told either of them, if they had stopped to consider, that she did not love Mark. Else she would have hated the other, brown or white. And he told how the little brown girl saved him, and gave her life in the saving, and how he had stopped at a little atoll on his homeward way and buried her. She had died in his arms, smiling because she lay there. And the pearls, Pris asked when she had heard the story through. You left them there? There they are still, he told her, safely hid away. How many, she asked. Are they lovely? Three big ones and thirty-two of a fair size, and enough little ones and seeds to make a double handful. But why did you leave them there? The black men were on the island. They were there and watchful and very angry. Couldn't you have kept them in your pocket? He laughed. That other schooner made me cautious. Man's life is cheap in such matters. And if they guessed I had such things upon me, if I slept too soundly or the like, do you see? She nodded her dark head. I see. But you'll go back. He chuckled at that and tapped on the rail with one knuckle in a thoughtful way. I had thought that Joel and I would go in the Nathan Ross and fetch the things away, he said. Of course, she exclaimed. That would be so easy. I'd love to see the pearls. Easy! That was my own thought, he agreed. Something in his tone prompted her question. Why isn't it? Joel objects, he said dryly. He won't. But why? I don't understand. Why? Mark laughed. He speaks of a matter of duty, not to risk the ship. Is there a risk? No, he chuckled maliciously. As a matter of cold fact, press, I'm fearful that Joel is a bit timid in such affairs. She flamed at him. Afraid? He nodded. I don't believe it. His eyes shone. What a loyal little bride! But I taxed him with it, and that was the word he used. She was so angry that she beat upon Mark's great breast with her tiny fists. It's not true! It's not true! she cried. You know! Abruptly Mark took fire. She was swept in his arms, clipped there, half lifted from the deck to meet his lips the dip to hers. She was like nothing in his grasp. She could not stir. And from his lips, and circling arms, and great body, the hot fire of the man flung through her. She fought him. But even in that terrific moment, she knew that Joel had never swept or wound her soul. She twisted her face away. And thus, from the shadow where they stood, she saw Joel. He was at the top of the cabin, companion, looking toward them, his face illumined by the light from below. And she watched for an instant, frozen with terror, expecting him to leap toward them and plunge at Mark and buffet him. Joel stood for an instant, unsteering. Then he turned very quietly and went downstairs again into the cabin. She thought, sickly, that he had shirked. He had seen, and held his hand. What was it Mark had said? Afraid. Mark had not seen Joel. He kissed her again. Then she twisted away from him and fled below. Joel was at his desk. He did not look up at her coming, and she stood for an instant behind him, watching his bent head. Then she slipped into her own cabin, and snapped the latch, and plunged her face in her pillow to stifle bursting sobs. End of CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XII. The Nathan Ross changed course that day, and the word went around the ship. It passed from man to man. There was whispering, and there were dark looks flung toward Joel. Joel kept the deck all day, silent and watchful and waiting. Mark spoke to him once or twice, asking what he meant to do. Joel told him nothing. He had fought out his fight the night before. He knew himself. Mark and Finch talked together during the morning. Joel watched them without comment. Later he saw Mark speak to the other mates one by one. At dinner in the cabin the mates were silent. Their eyes had something of shame in them, and something of venomous hate. They already hated Joel, whom they planned to wrong. The day was fair, and the wind drove them smoothly. There was no work to be done, never a spout on the sea. Joel, watching once or twice the whispering groups of idle men, wished a whale might be sighted, and once he sent Morrell and Vard to find tasks for the men to do, and kept them at it through the long afternoon, scraping, scrubbing, and painting. Priss kept to her cabin. When she did not appear at breakfast Joel went to her door and knocked. She called to him, I've a headache, I'm going to rest. He ordered that food be sent to her. He stayed on deck till late that night, but with the coming of night the ship had grown quiet, and most of the men were below in the folksal. So at last Joel left the deck to Vard and went below. He sat down at his desk and rode up the day's log. Priss came to him there. She had been in bed, and she wore a heavy dressing gown over her night garments. Her hair was braided, hanging across her shoulders. She sat down beside the desk, and when Joel could fight back the misery in his eyes, he looked toward her and asked, Is your head better? She said very quietly, Joel, I want to ask you something. He wanted her sympathy so terribly, and her tone was so cool and so aloof that he winced. But he said, Very well. Mark says he asked you to take the Nathan Ross to get the pearls he left on that island. Is that true? Yes, said Joel. He says you would not do it. I will not do it, Joel told her. He says, said Priss quietly, that you were afraid. He says that was your own word when he accused you. Is that true? If there had been any sympathy or understanding in her voice or in her eyes, he would have told her. Told her that it was for his ship and not for himself that he was afraid. But there was not. She was so cold and hard. He would not seek to justify himself to her. Yes, he said quietly. I used that word. She turned her eyes quickly away from his that he might not see the pain in hers. She rose to go back to her cabin. As she reached the door, someone knocked on the door that led to the main cabin. And without waiting for word from Joel, that door opened. Mark stood there. He came in with Finch and Vard and old Hooper and young Morrell on his heels. Priss shrank back into her cabin, closed the door to a crack. Listened. Joel got to his feet. What is it? he asked. Mark bowed low, faced his brother with a cold and triumphant smile. These gentlemen have asked me, he explained, to tell you that we have decided to go fetch the pearls. End of Chapter 12, Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 13 of All the Brothers Were Valiant This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline All the Brothers Were Valiant by Ben Ames Williams Chapter 13 When Priss threw the crack in the door, heard what Mark had said, she shut the door of her cabin soundlessly and crouched against it, listening. She was trembling. There was a long moment when no one of the men in the after cabin spoke. Then Big Jim Finch said swavly, That is to say, if Captain Shore does not object. Joel asked then, What if I do object? Mark laughed. If you do object, why, we'll just go anyway. But you'll have no share. And Surly Vard added, Wait as soon you did object. Mark bade him be quiet. That's not true, Joel, he said. You know I wanted you in this from the first. Your coming in will prevent complications. With you in the whole matter is very simple and safe. But without you we will be forced to take measures that may be reprehensible. Joel did not speak. And Priss, trembling against the door, thought bitterly, He's afraid. He said himself that he is afraid. Dick Morrell begged eagerly, Please Captain Shore, there's a fortune for all of us. Mr. Worthen would tell you to do it. Joel said then, I told Mark Shore in the beginning that I would not risk my ship. The enterprise is not lawful. The pearls were stolen in the beginning. Murder hung around them. Bad luck would follow them. And there are blacks on the island to prevent our finding them in any case. There's no harm in going to sea, Morrell urged. Tis far out of our proper way, wasted time. And the men should be thinking of oil, not of pearls. Mark laughed. That may be, he agreed. But the men's thoughts are already on the pearls. They've no mind for wailing, Joel. They've no mind for it. I'm doubtful that what you say is true. His brother snapped angrily. Do you call me a liar? No, said Joel gently. You were never one to lie, Mark. And press, listening, winced at the thing which was like apology in his tone. She heard Mark laugh again aloud, and she heard the fat chuckle of Jim Finch. Then Mark said, It's well you remember that. So will you go with us, or do we go without you? There was a long moment of silence before Joel answered. At last he said, You're making to spill blood on the Nathan Ross, Mark. I've no mind for that. I'll not have it, if I can stop it. So I'll consider this matter to-night, and give you your answer in the morning. You'll answer now, Vard said sullenly. There's too much words and words. You'll answer now. I'll answer in the morning, Joel repeated, as though he had not heard, Vard. In the morning. And for now I'll bid you good night, gentlemen. Mark chuckled. There's one matter, Joel. You've two rifles and a pair of revolvers in the lock fast by your cabin there. I'll take them to avoid that blood spilling you mentioned. Priss held her breath, listening. But Joel said readily, Yes, here is the key, Mark. And I hold you responsible for the weapons. Her anger at Joel for his submission beat in her ears, and she heard the jingle of the keys, and the scrape and ring of the weapons as Mark took them. He called to Joel as he did so. They'll not leave my hand till the morning, Joel, my boy. The keys jingled again. Mark said, We'll ask you to stay in the after cabin here till morning, and Vard will be in the main cabin to see that you do it. I'll stay here, Joel promised. Then we'll bid you good night. Priss heard Joel echo the words in even tones. Then the door closed behind the men. There was no further sound in the after cabin. She opened her door. Joel stood by his desk, head drooping, one hand resting on the open log before him. She went toward him, and when he turned and saw her, she stopped and studied him, her eyes searching his. And at last she said so softly it was as though she spoke to herself. All the brothers were valiant, Joel. Are you just a coward? He would not justify himself to her. He could only remember the shadow deck beneath the boathouse, Priscilla in his brother's arms. He lifted his right hand a little, said sternly. Go back to your place. She flung her eyes away from him, stood for an instant. Then went to her cabin with feet that lagged and stumbled. End of Chapter 13 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 14 of All the Brothers Were Valiant This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline All the Brothers Were Valiant By Ben Ames Williams Chapter 14 Joel lay for an hour, planning what he should do. He could not yield. He could not yield, even though he might wish to do so. For the yielding would forfeit forever all control over these men, or any others. He could not yield. Yet he did not wish to fight, for the battle would be hopeless, with only death at the end for him, and it would ruin the men and lose the ship. Blood marks a ship with a mark that cannot be washed away, and Joel loved his ship, and he loved his men with something of a love of a father for children. Children they were, he knew them. Simple, easily led, easily swept by some adventurous vision. He slept at last, dreamlessly. And in the morning, when they came to him, he told them what he wished to do. Call the men aft, he said. I'll speak to them. We'll see what their will is. Mark mocked him. Ask the men, is it? he exclaimed. Let them vote, you'll be saying. Are you master of the ship, man, or just first selectman, that you'd call a town meeting on the high seas? I'll talk with the men, said Joel stubbornly. Vard strode forward angrily. You'll talk with us, he said. Yes or no? Now, what is it? They were in the main cabin. Joel looked at Vard steadily for an instant. Then he said, I'm going on deck. You'll come. Press in the door of the after-cabin, a frightened and trembling little figure, called to him. Joel! Joel, don't! He said, without turning, stay in your cabin, Priscilla. And then he passed between Vard and Finch. At the foot of the companion, and turned his back upon them, and went steadily up the steep, ladder-like stair. Vard made a convulsive movement to seize his arm, but Mark touched the man, held him with his eyes, whispered something. They had left old Hooper on deck. He and Aaron Burnham were standing in the after-house when Joel saw them. Joel said to the third mate, Mr. Hooper, tell the men to lay aft. Mark had come up at Joel's heels, and Hooper looked past Joel to Mark for confirmation. And Mark smiled mirthlessly and approved. Yes, Mr. Hooper, call the men, he said. Where to hold a town meeting? Old Hooper's slow brain could not follow such maneuvering. Nevertheless he bellowed a command. And the harpooners from the steerage, and the men from foalsel and foredeck, came stumbling and crowding aft. The men stopped amid ships, and Joel went toward them a little ways, until he was under the boat-house. The mate stood about him, the harpooners a little to one side. And Mark leaned on the rail at the other side of the deck, watching, smiling. The revolvers were in his belt. The rifles leaned against the after-rail. He polished the butt of one of the revolvers while he watched and smiled. Joel said, without preamble, Men, the mates tell me that you've heard of my brother's pearls. The men looked at one another and at the mates. They were a jumbled lot, riff-raff of all the seas, Cape Verders, Islanders, a cockney or two, a Frenchman, two or three Norsemen, and a backbone of New England stock. They looked at one another and at the mates with stupid, questioning eyes. And one or two of them nodded in a puzzled way, and the Cape Verders grinned with embarrassment. A New Englander drawled, I, sir, we've heard the tale. Joel nodded. When my brother came aboard at Tubawai, he said quietly, He proposed that we go to this island. I do not know its position. Mark drawled from across the deck. You know as much as any man aboard, myself accepted, Joel. It's my own secret, mind. He proposed that we go to this island, Joel pursued, and that he and I go ashore and get the pearls and say nothing about them. Vard at Joel's side swung his head and looked bleakly at Mark's shore. And one or two of the men murmured. Joel said quickly, Don't misunderstand. I'm not blaming him for that. You must not. The pearls are his. He has a right to them. What I want you to know is that I refuse to go with him and get them on half shares. I could have had half and refused. Now he has spread the story among you. And the mates say that I must go with you all and get the things. He stopped and the eyes of the men were on him, and one or two nodded and a voice here and there exclaimed an approval. Joel waited until they were quiet again. Then he said, These pearls have cost life. At least five men and a woman died in the getting of them. If we had them aboard here, more of us would die, for none would be content with his share. It's in my mind that they'd bring blood aboard the Nathan Ross, and I have no wish for that. But first, how many of you are forgoing after them? There was a murmur of ascent from many throats, and Joel looked from man to man. Most of you, at least, he said. Is there any man against going? There may have been, but no man spoke. And over Joel's face passed a weary little shadow of pain. For a long moment he stood in the sun, studying them. And they saw his lips were white. Then he said quietly, You shall not go. The Nathan Ross goes on about her proper matters. The pearls stay where they are. He shifted his weight, looked quickly toward his brother. He was poised for battle. By the very force of his word there was a chance he might prevail. He watched the men in whose hands the answer lay. If he could hold them, hands clamped his arms and Mark smiled across the deck. Finch and old Hooper on one side, Vard and Morrell on the other. And after the first wrench of his surprise he knew it was hopeless to struggle and stood quietly. Mark strolled across the deck, smiling coldly. If you'll not go, Joel, you must be taken, he said. And to the mates, bring back his arms. Joel felt the cord slipped through his elbows and drawn tight and looped and made secure. Old Aaron Burnham pushed forward and tugged at them, and Joel heard him say, they'll hold him fast, Captain Shore, like a trust foul, sir, that he is. Captain Shore, that would be Mark, come into command of the ship again. And Aaron added, I've set the bolt on his cabin door, sir, not five minutes gone. Mark laughed. Good enough, Aaron, you and Vard take him down. Vard, you'll stay in the after cabin. If he tries to get free, summon me. And treat Mrs. Shore with the utmost courtesy. Vard was at Joel's side, and Joel saw the twist of his smile at Mark's last word. For a moment, thought of Priss left Joel sick. He thrust the thought aside. They took him down into the main cabin. Vard ahead, then Joel, and old Aaron close behind, his hand on Joel's elbow. Priss met them in the after cabin, crouching in a corner, white and still, her hands at her throat. Her eyes met his for an instant before Vard led him toward his own cabin. Aaron, behind, looked toward Priss, and the girl whispered hoarsely, Is he hurt? He is not, said Aaron grimly. We were most gentle with the man, and he made no struggle at all. Vard thrust Joel into the little cabin where his bunk was, and Joel heard the snick of a new-set bolt on the outer side of the door. He was alone, bound fast. Before he left the deck, he had heard Mark cry an order to the man at the wheel. The tell-tale in the after-cabin ceiling told him the Nathan Ross had changed her course again, for Mark's Island. In the face of men, he had held himself steady and calm. But now, alone in his cabin, he strained at his bonds, lips cracking over set teeth. He strained and tugged. Hopeless. No, not hopeless. He felt them yield a little, a little more. Then, with a tiny snap of sound, the coils were loose, and he shook the cords down over his wrists and hands. He caught them as they fell across his fingers lest the sound of their fall might warn Vard in the cabin outside his door. And he was still stupefied by the surprise of this deliverance. He lifted the broken bonds and examined them. A single strand had yielded, loosing all the rest. And where it had broken, Joel saw, it had been sliced all but through with a keen blade. Who! his thoughts raced back over the brief minutes of his bondage. Who! No other but Aaron Burnham could have had the chance and the good will. Old Aaron. And Aaron's knives were always razor sharp. Drawn once across the tight-stretched cord, Aaron had freed him. Aaron. He remembered something else. Aaron's words to Mark on deck. I've set the bolt on his cabin door. Aaron had set the new bolt that was the only bar between him and the after-cabin, where Vard stood watch. Aaron had set the bolt, and Aaron had cut his bonds. Therefore the bolt must be flimsy, easily forced away. That would be Aaron's plan. A single thrust would open the way. He turned toward the door, then caught himself, drew back, dropped on the bunk, and lay there, planning what he must do. End of Chapter 14. Recording by Roger Maline. All the brothers were valiant by Ben Ames Williams. Chapter 15. The discovery of Aaron's loyalty had been immensely heartening to Joel. If Aaron were loyal there might be others. Must be. Not all men are false. He wondered who they would be. He went over the men, one by one, from mate to humblest formist hand. Finch and Vard were surely against him. Old Hooper, he and Aaron were cronies, and the other mates had left Hooper somewhat out of their movements thus far. Old Hooper might be, give him his chance, on Joel's side. Old Hooper and Aaron. Two. Dick Morell? A boy, hot with the wonder and glamour of Mark's tail. Easily swung to either side. Joel thought he would not swing too desperately to the lawless side. But he could not be counted on. What others were there? Joel had brought his own harpooner from the Martin Wilkes. A big island black. A decent man. A chance. Besides him there were three men who had served Asa Werthen long among the formist hand. Uncertain quantities. Chances everywhere. But he must strike quickly. There was no time to sound them out. When his dinner was brought at noon his broken bonds would be discovered. They would be more careful thereafter. Three hours lay before him. He set himself to listen with all his ears, to guess at what was going on above decks, and so choose his moment. He must wait as long as it was safe to wait. He must wait till men's bloods ran less hot after the crisis of the morning. He must wait till sober second thought was upon them. But there was always the chance to fear that Mark might come down. He would not wait too long. He could hear feet moving on the deck above his head. The Nathan Ross had run into rougher weather with her change of course. The wind was stiffening, and now and then a whisk of spray came aboard. He heard Jim Finch's bellowing command. Heard Mark's laughter. Mark and Jim were a stern, fairly over his head. There were men in the main cabin. The scrape of their feet, the murmur of their voices came to him. Dick Morell and Old Hooper perhaps. It was through these men that Joel's moment came. Finch on deck shouted down to them. Mark had decided to shorten sail, ease the strain on the old masts. Joel heard Morell and Hooper go up to the deck. That would mean most of the men aloft. The decks would be fairly clear. His chance. He wished he could know where Vard sat, but he could not be sure of that, and he could not wait to guess by listening. He caught up a blanket from his bunk, held it open in his hands, drew back, and threw himself against the cabin door. It opened so easily that he overbalanced, all but fell. The screws had been set in punch holes so large that the threads scarce took hold at all. Joel stumbled out, saw Vard on the cushioned bench which ran across the stern. The mate was reading a book from Joel's narrow shelf. At sight of Joel he was for an instant paralyzed with surprise. That instant was long enough for Joel. He swept the blanket down upon the man, smothering his cries with fold on fold, and he grappled Vard and crushed him, and beat his head with his fists until the mate's spasmodic struggle slackened. Priss had heard the sounds of combat, swept out of her cabin, bent above them. He looked up and saw her, and he said quietly, Get back into your place. She cried pitifully, I want a help, please. He shook his head. This is my task, quick. She fled. He lifted Vard and carried him back to the cabin where he himself had been captive. And there, with the cords that had bound his own arms, he bound Vard, wrist, and ankle. And he stripped away the blanket, and stuffed into Vard's mouth a heavy, woolen sock, and tied it there with a handkerchief. Vard's eyes flickered open at the last, and Joel said to him, I must leave you here for the present. You will do well to lie quietly. He left the man lying on the floor and went out into the after-cabin and salvaged the bolt and screws that had been sent flying by his thrust. He put the bolt back in place, pushed the screws into the holes, bolted the door. No trace remained of his escape. Priss stood in her own door. Without looking at her, he opened the door into the main cabin. That apartment was empty as he had expected. The companion stair led to the deck. But he could not go up that way. Mark and Jim Finch were within reach of the top of the stair. He would be at a disadvantage, coming up to them from below. He must reach the deck before they saw him. He crossed the cabin to a lock-fast and opened it, and took out the two pairs of heavy ship's irons that lay there. Spring handcuffs that locked without a key. He put one pair in each pocket of his coat. There was a seldom used door that opened from the main cabin into a passage which led, in turn, to the steerage where the harpooners slept. Joel stepped to this door, slipped the bolt, entered the passage, and closed the door behind him. It was black dark where he stood. The passage was unlighted, and the swinging lamp in the steerage did not send its rays this far. The Nathan Ross was healing and bucking heavily in the cross seas, and Joel chose his footing carefully and moved forward along the passage, his hands braced against the wall on either side. The way was short, scarce half a dozen feet, but he was long in covering the distance, and he paused frequently to listen. He had no wish to encounter the harpooners in their narrow quarters. He heard, at last, the muffled sound of a snore, and so covered the last inches of his way more quickly. When he was able to look into the place, he saw the two of the men were in their bunks, apparently asleep. The black whom he had brought from the Nathan Ross was not there. Joel was glad to think he was on deck, glad to hope for the chance of his help. With steps so slow, he seemed like a shadow in the semi-darkness, he crossed to the foot of the ladder that led to the deck. The men in their bunks still slept. He began to climb. The ship was rolling heavily, so that he was forced to grip the ladder tightly. One of the sleepers stirred, and Joel froze where he stood and watched, and waited for endless seconds till the man became quiet once more. He climbed till his head was on a level with the deck still hidden by the sides of the scuttle at the top of the ladder. And there he poised himself. For the last steps to the deck must be made in a single rush, so quickly that interference would be impossible. He made them. One, three, he stood upon the deck, looked aft. Mark and Jim Finch stood there, not ten feet away from him. Finch's back was turned, but Mark saw Joel instantly, and Joel, watching, saw Mark's mouth widen in a broad and mischievously delighted smile. End of Chapter 15 Recording by Roger Moline Chapter 16 Of All The Brothers Were Valiant This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Moline All The Brothers Were Valiant By Ben Ames Williams Chapter 16 At the moment when Joel reached the deck, the other men aboard the Nathan Ross were widely scattered. Vard, the second mate, he had left tied and helpless in the cabin. Two of the four harpooners were below in their bunks asleep. The greater part of one watch was likewise below in the focsel, and the rest of the crew, under Dick Morrell's eye, were shortening sail. In the after-part of the ship there were only Mark, Shor, Finch, a formast hand at the wheel, old Aaron Burnham, and the cook. Of these, Mark, Jim, and the man at the wheel were in sight when Joel appeared, and only Mark had seen him. Joel saw his brother smile, and stood for an instant, poised to meet and attack. None came. He swept his eyes forward, and saw that he need fear no immediate interference from that direction, and so he went quietly toward the men asterned. The broad back of Jim Finch was within six feet of him. What moved Mark, Shor, in that moment is hard to say. It may have been the reckless spirit of the man, willing to wait and watch and see what Joel would do, or it may have been the distaste he must have felt for Jim Finch's slavish adulation, or it may have been an unadmitted admiration for Joel's courage. At any rate, while Joel advanced, Mark stood still and smiled, and he gave Finch no warning, so that when Joel touched the mate of Elbow, Finch whirled with a startled gasp of surprise and consternation, and in his first panic tried to back away. Still, Mark made no move. The man at the wheel uttered one exclamation, looked quickly at Mark for commands, and took his cue from his leader. Finch was left alone and unsupported to face Joel. Joel did not pursue the retreating mate. He stepped to the rail, where the whale-boats hung, and called to Finch quietly, Mr. Finch, step here! Finch had retreated until his shoulders were embraced against the wall of the after-house. He leaned there, hands outspread against the wall behind him, staring at Joel with gobbling eyes, and looking at Mark's face. Staring at Joel with gobbling eyes. And Joel said again, Come here, Mr. Finch! Joel's composure and the determination and the confidence in his tone frightened Finch. He clammered suddenly, How did he get here, Captain Shore? Jump him! Tie him up! You! Aaron! He appealed to the man at the wheel, and to old Aaron, who had appeared in the doorway of the tiny compartment where his tools were stored. Neither stirred. Mark's shore, chuckling, stared at Finch and at Joel, and Finch cried, Captain Shore! Come on! Let's get him! Joel said for the third time, Come here, Finch! Finch held out a hand to Mark, appealingly. Mark shook his head. This is your affair, Finch, he said. Go get him yourself. He's waiting for you, and you're twice his size. Give Finch his due. With even moral support behind him, he would have overwhelmed Joel in a single rush. Without that support, he would still have faced any reasonable attack. But there was something baffling about Joel's movements, his tones, the manner of his command, that stupefied Finch. He felt that he was groping in the dark. The mutiny must have collapsed. It may have been only a snare to trap him. He was alone, against Joel, and with none to support him. Finch's courage was not of the solitary kind. He took one slow step toward Joel, and in that single step was surrender. Joel stood still, but his eyes held the big man's, and he said curtly, Quickly, Finch! Finch took another lagging step, another. Joel dropped his hand in his coat pocket and drew out a pair of irons. He tossed them toward Finch, and the mate shrank. And the iron struck him in the body and fell to the deck. He stared down at them, stared at Joel. Joel said, Pick them up! Snap one on your right wrist. Then put your arms around the davit there, and snap the other. Finch shook his head in a bewildered way, as though trying to understand. And abruptly a surge of honest anger swept him, and he stiffened and wheeled to rush at Joel. But Joel made no move, either to retreat or to meet the attack. And Finch, like a huge and baffled bear, slumped again, and slowly stooped and gathered up the handcuffs. With them in his hands, he looked again at Joel, and for a long moment their eyes battled. Then Joel stepped forward, touched Finch lightly on the arm, and guided him toward the rail. Finch was absolutely unresisting. The sap had gone out of him. Joel drew the man's arms around the davit and snapped the irons upon his wrist. Finch was fast there, out of whatever action there was to come, and Joel's lips tightened with relief. He stepped back. He saw, then, that some of the crew had heard, and three or four of them were gathering amid ships, near the tri-works. The two harpooners were there, and one of them was that black whom Joel had brought from the Martin Wilkes, and in whom Finch had brought from the Martin Wilkes, and in whom he placed some faith. He eyed these men for a moment, wondering whether they were nerve to strike. But they did not stir. They did not move toward him, and he guessed they were as stupefied as Finch by what had happened. So long as the men aft allowed him to go free, they would not interfere. They did not understand, and without understanding they were helpless. He turned his back on them and looked toward Mark. Mark sure had watched Joel's encounter with Finch in frank enjoyment. Such incidents pleased him. They appealed to his love for the bold and daring facts of life. He had smiled. But now Joel saw that he had stepped back a little, perhaps by accident. He was behind the man at the wheel, behind the spot where Aaron Burnham stood. He was standing almost against the after rail, in the narrow corridor that runs fore and aft through the after-house. The pistols were in his belt, and the two rifles leaned on the rail at his side. Mark himself was standing at ease, his arms relaxed, his hands resting lightly on his hips and his feet apart. He swayed to the movement of the ship, balancing with the unconscious ease of long custom. Joel went toward him, not slowly, yet without haste. He passed old Aaron with no word, passed the wheelman, and faced his brother. They were scarce two feet apart when he stopped. And there were no others enough to hear, above the slashing of the seas and the whistle of the wind, his low words. He said, Mark, you've made a mistake, a bad mistake, in starting this mutiny. Mark smiled slowly. That's a hard word, Joel. It's in my mind that if this is mutiny it's a very peaceful model. Nevertheless, it is just that, said Joel. It is that, and it is also a mistake. And you are wise men enough to see this. There is still time to remedy the thing. It can be forgotten. Mark chuckled. If that is true, you've a most convenient memory, Joel. Joel's cheeks flushed slowly, and he answered, I am anxious to forget, whatever shames the house of shore. Mark threw back his head, and laughed aloud. Bless you, boy, he exclaimed, It is no shame to you to have fallen victim to our numbers. But there was a heat in his tones that told Joel he was shaken, and Joel insisted steadily, It was not my own shame I feared. Mine, then, Mark challenged. I, said Joel, Yours. Mark bent toward him with a mocking flare of anger in his eyes, and he said harshly, You've spoken too much for a small man. Be silent, and go below. Joel waited for an instant. Then his shoulder stirred as though he chose a hard course, and he held out his hand and said quietly, Give me the guns, Mark. Mark stared at him, and he laughed aloud. You're immense, boy, he applauded. The cool nerve of you. His eyes warmed with frank admiration. Joel, heart to this, he cried, and jerked his head toward the captive finch. You've ripped the innards out of that mate of mine. I'll give you the job. You're mate of the Nathan Ross, and I'm proud to have you. I am captain of the Nathan Ross, said Joel, And you are my brother, and a mutineer. Give me the guns. Mark threw up his hand angrily. You'll not hear reason. Then go below and stay there, you. There are few men who can stand flat-footed and still hit a crushing blow, but Joel did just this. When Mark began to speak, Joel's hands had been hanging limply at his sides. On Mark's last word, Joel's right hand whipped up as smoothly as a whip snaps, and it smacked on Mark's lean jaw with much the sound a whip makes. It struck just below the point of the jaw on the left-hand side, and Mark's head jerked back and his knees sagged, and he tottered weakly forward into Joel's very arms. Joel's hands were at the other's belt, even as Mark fell. He brought out the revolvers, then let Mark slip down to the deck, and he stepped over the twitching body of his brother and caught up the two rifles, and dropped them with the revolvers over the after rail. Mark's splendid body had already begun to recover from the blow. He was struggling to sit up, and he saw what Joel did and cried aloud, Don't be a fool, boy! Keep them! Hell! For the weapons were gone. Joel turned and looked down at him, and he said quietly, While I can help it, there'll be no blood shed on my ship. Mark swept an arm toward the waist of the ship, and Joel looked and saw a growing knot of angry men there. See them, do you? Mark demanded. They're drunk for blood. It's out of your hands, Joel. You've thrown your ace away. Now, boy, what will you do? The men began to surge aft along the deck. End of Chapter 16. Recording by Roger Moline