 CHAPTER I The fine old house stood on jumping Tom Hill above the town. It had stood there before there was a town, when only a cabin or two fringed the woods below, nearer the shore. The weather boarding had been brought in ships from England, ready sod, likewise the bricks of the chimney. Indians used to come to the house in the cold of winter, begging shelter. In blankets and food and drink they slept upon the kitchen floor, and when Joel Shores, great-great grandfather, came down in the morning he found Indians and blankets gone together. Sometimes the Indians came back with a venison haunch or a bare stake, sometimes not at all. The house had now the air of disuse, which old New England houses often have. It was in perfect repair, its paint was white and its shutters hung squarely at the windows, but the grass was uncut in the yard, and the lack of a veranda and the tight-closed doors and windows made the house seem lifeless and lacking the savor of human presence. There was a white-painted picket fence around the yard, and a rambler rose draped these pickets. The buds and the rose were bursting into crimson flower. The house was four-square, plain and without any ornamentation. It was built about a great square chimney that was like a spine. There were six flues in this chimney, and a pot atop each flue. These little chimney-pots breaking the severe outlines of the house gave the only suggestion of lightness or frivolity about it. They were like the heads of impish children peeping over a fence. Across the front of this house, on the second floor, ran a single long room like a corridor. Its windows looked down across the town to the harbour. A glass hung in brackets on the wall. There was a hog-yoke in its case upon a little table, and a ship's chronometer and a compass. There were charts in a tin tube upon the wall, and one that showed the harbour and the channel to the sea hung between the middle windows. In the north corner a harpoon and two lances and a boat-spade leaned. Their blades were covered with wooden sheaths, painted gray. A fifteen-foot jaw-bone, cleaned and polished and with every curving tooth in place, hung upon the rear wall and gleamed like old and yellow ivory. The chair at the table was fashioned of whale-bone, and on a bracket above the table rested the model of a whaling-ship. Not more than eighteen inches long, fashioned of sperm ivory and perfect in every detail. Even the tiny harpoons in the boats that hung along the rail were tipped with bits of steel. The windows of this place were tight-closed. Nevertheless, the room was filled with the harsh, strong smell of the sea. Joel Shore sat in the whale-bone chair at the table reading a book. The book was the log of the house of shore. Joel's father had begun it when Joel and his four brothers were ranging from babyhood through youth. A full half of the book was filled with entries in old Matthew Shore's small, cramped hand. The last of these entries was very short. It began with a date, and it read, Wind began light from the south. This day came into harbour the bark Winona after a cruise of three years, two months, and four days. Captain Chase reported that my eldest son, Matthew Shore, was killed by the fluke of a right whale at Christmas Island. The whale yielded seventy barrels of oil. Matthew Shore was second mate. And below, upon a single line, like an epitaph, the words, All the brothers were valiant. Two days after the old man sickened, and three weeks later he died. He had set great store by Big Matt. Joel, turning the leaves of the log, and scanning their brief entries, came presently to this, written in the hand of his brother, John. Wind easterly. This day the Betty was reported lost on the Japan ground, with all hands saved the boy and the cook. Noah Shore was third mate. Day ended as it began. And below, again, that single line. All the brothers were valiant. There followed many pages filled with reports of rich cruises, when ships came home with bursting casks, and the brothers of the House of Shore played the parts of men. The entries were now in the hand of one, now of another. John, and Mark, and Joel. Joel read phrases here and there. This day the Martin Wilkes returned. Two years, eleven months, and twenty-two days. Died on the cruise, and first mate John Shore became captain. Day ended as it began. And a pager too further on. Martin Wilkes, two years, two months, four days. Tubbs on deck filled with oil, for which there was no more room in the casks. Captain John Shore. Mark Shore s first entry in the log stood out from the others. For Mark s hand was bold and strong, and the letters sprawled blackly along the lines. Furthermore, Mark used the personal pronoun, while the other brothers wrote always in the third person. Mark had written, This day, I, Mark Shore, at the age of twenty-seven, was given command of the wailing bark Nathan Ross. Joel read this sentence thrice. There was a bold pride in it, and a strong and reckless note which seemed to bring his brother before his very eyes. Mark had always been so, swift of tongue, and strong, and sure. Joel turned another page, came to where Mark had written. This day I returned from my first cruise with full casks in two years, seven months, fifteen days. I found the Martin Wilkes in the dock. They report Captain John Shore lost at Vauvau in an effort to save the ship's boy who had fallen overboard. The boy was also lost. And below, in bold and defiant letters, all the brothers were valiant. There were two more pages of entries in Mark s hand or in Joel s before the end. When he came to the fresh page, Joel dipped his pen and huddled his broad shoulders over the book, and slowly wrote that which had to be written. Wind northeast light. He began, according to the ancient form of the sea, which makes the state of wind and weather of first and foremost import. Wind northeast light. This day the Martin Wilkes finished a three-year cruise. Found in port the Nathan Ross. She reports that Captain Mark Shore left the ship when she watered at the Gilbert Islands. He did not return and could not be found. They searched three weeks. They encountered hostile islanders. No trace of Mark Shore. When he had written thus far he read the record to himself, his lips moving. Then he sat for a space with frowning brows, thinking, thinking, wondering if there were a chance. But in the end he cast the hope aside. If Mark lived they would have found him, would surely have found him. And so Joel wrote the ancient line. All the brothers were valiant. And below, as an afterthought, he added, Joel Shore became first mate of the Martin Wilkes on her cruise. He blotted this line and closed the book and put it away. Then he went to the windows that looked down upon the harbour and stood there for a long time. His face was serene, but his eyes were faintly troubled. He did not see the things that lay outspread below him. Yet they were worth seeing. The town was old and it had the fragrance of age about it. Below Joel, on the hill slopes among the trees, stood the square white houses of the townfolk. Beyond them the white spire of the church with its weather vane atop. Joel marked that the wind was still northeast. The vane swung fitfully in the light air. He could see the masts and yards of the ships along the waterfront. The yards of the Nathan Ross were canted in mournful tribute to his brother. At the pier end beside her he marked the ranks of casks, brown with sweating oil. Beyond the smooth water ruffled in the wind and dark ripple shadows moved across its surface with each breeze. There were gulls in the air and on the water. Such stillness lay upon the sleepy town that if his windows had been open he might have heard the harsh cries of the birds. A man was sculling shoreward from a fishing-scooner that lay at anchor off the docks, and a whale-boat crawled like a spider across the harbour toward Fairhaven on the other side. On a flag-staff above a big building near the water a half-masted flag hung idly in the faintly stirring air. It hung there he knew for his brother's sake. He watched it thoughtfully, wondering. There had been such an abounding insolence of life in Big Mark's shore. It was hard to believe that he was surely dead. A woman passed along the street below the house and looked up and saw him at the window. He did not see her. Two boys crawled along the white picket fence and pricked their fingers as they broke half-open clusters from the rambler without molestation. A gray squirrel, when the boys had gone, came down from an elm across the street and sprinted desperately to the foot of the great oak below the house. When it was safe in the oak's upper branches it scolded derisively at the imaginary terrors it had escaped. A blue jay with ruffled feathers, a huge blue ball in the air, rocketed across from the elm and established himself near the squirrel and they swore at each other like coachmen. The squirrel swore from temper and disposition, the jay from malice and derision. The bird seemed to have the better of the argument, for the squirrel suddenly fell silent and departed, his emotions revealing themselves only in the angry flicks of his tail. When he was gone the jay began to investigate a knot in a limb of the oak. The bird climbed around this knot with slow motions curiously, like those of a parrot. A half-grown boy came up the street and turned in at the gate. Joel remained where he was until the boy manipulated the knocker on the door. Then he went down and opened. He knew the boy, Peter Howe. Peter was thin and freckled and nervous and he was inclined to stammer. When Joel opened the door Peter was at first unable to speak. He stood on the step, jerking his chin upward and forward as though his collar irked him. Joel smiled slowly. Come in, Peter, he said. Peter jerked his chin, jerked his whole head furiously. He said, Asa Werthen wants to see you. Asa Werthen was the owner of the Martin Wilkes and of the Nathan Ross. Joel nodded gently. Thank you, Peter, he told the boy. I'll get my hat and come. Peter jerked his head. He seemed to be choking. He's at his office, he blurted. Joel had found his hat. He closed the door of the house behind him and he and Peter went down the shady street together. CHAPTER II Asa Werthen was a small, lean, strong old man, immensely valuable. He must have been well over sixty years old and he had grown rich by harvesting the living treasures of the sea. He had grown rich by harvesting the living treasures of the sea. Asa Werthen was a small, lean, strong old man, immensely valuable. He must have been well over sixty years old and he had grown rich by harvesting the living treasures of the sea. At thirty-four he owned his first ship. She was old and cranky and no more sea-worthy than a log, but she earned him more than four hundred thousand dollars, net, before he beat her on the sand below the town. She lay there still, her upper part strong and well preserved. But her bottom was gone and she was slowly rotting into the sand. Asa himself had captained this old craft until she had served her appointed time. But when she went to the sand-flats he, too, stayed ashore to watch his ships come in. When they were in harbor they birthed in his own dock, and from his office at the shoreward end of the pier he could look down upon their decks and watch the casks come out so fat with oil, and the stores go aboard for each cruise. The cries of the men and the wheeling gulls, the rattle of the blocks and gear, and the rich smell of the oil came up to him. The Nathan Ross was loading now, and when Joel climbed the office stairs he found the old man at the window, watching them sling great shucks of staves into her hold and fidgeting at the luberliness of the men who did the work. Asa's office was worth seeing. A strange, huge room windowed on three sides. Against one wall a whale-boat with all her gear in place. In a corner the twisted jaw of a sixty-barrel bull killed in the Seychelles. And Asa worthens big desk with a six-foot model of his old ship-a-toppet between the forward windows. Beside the desk stood that contrivance known to the whalemen as a woman's tub. A cask sawed chair-fashion with a cross-board for seat, and ropes so rigged that the hole might be easily and safely swung from ship to small boat or back again. Asa had taken his wife along on more than one of his early voyages, before she died. At Joel's step the little man swung awkwardly away from the window toward the door. Many years ago a racing whaleline had snarled his left leg and whipped away a gout of muscle, and this leg was now shorter than its fellow, so that Asa walked with a pegging limp. He hitched across the big room and took Joel's arm and led the young man to the desk. "'Sit down, Joel. Sit down,' he said briskly. "'I have words to say to you, my son. Sit down.'" Asa was smoking, and Joel took a twist of leaf from his pocket and cut three slices and crumbled them and stuffed them into the bowl of his black pipe. Asa watched the process, and he watched Joel puffing without comment. There was something furtive in the scrutiny of the young man, but Joel did not mark it. When the pipe was ready Asa passed across a match and Joel struck it and puffed slowly. Asa began abruptly what he had to say. "'Joel, the Nathan Ross will be ready for sea in five days. She's stout, her timbers are good, and her tackle is strong. She's a lucky ship. The oil swims after her across the broad sea and begs to be taken. She's my pet ship, Joel, as you know, and she's uncommon well-fitted. Mark, Hatter, now I want you to take her.'" Joel's calm eyes had met the others while Asa was speaking, and Asa had shifted to avoid the encounter. But Joel's heart was pounding so, at the words of the older man, that he took no heed. He listened and he waited thoughtfully until he was sure of what he wished to say. Then he asked quietly, "'Is not James Finch the maid of her? Did he not fetch her home?' "'I,' said Asa, impatiently, he brought her home in the top scurry of haste. There was no need of such haste, for he still had casks unfilled and there was a sparm all about him where he lay. He should have filled those last casks. "'Tis in them the profit lies,' he shook his head sorrowfully. "'No, James Finch will not do. He is a good man, under another man, but he is not the spine that stands alone. When Mark's shore was gone, James had no thought but to throw the tri-works over side and scurry hitherward as though he feared to be out upon the seas alone.' Joel puffed thrice at his pipe. Then, "'You said this morning that for three weeks he hunted Mark up and down the Gilbert Islands?' Asa's little eyes whipped toward Joel and away again. "'Oh, I,' he said harshly. Three weeks he hunted when one was plenty. If Mark's shore lived and wished to find his ship again, he'd have found her in a week. If he were dead, there was no need of the time wasted.' "'Nevertheless,' said Joel quietly, James Finch has my thanks for his search, and I'm no mind to do him a harm or to step into his shoes.' Asa smiled grimly. "'Year over-considerate,' he said. "'Jim Finch was your brother's man and a very loyal one. As long as he is another's man, he is content. But he has no want to be his own master and the master of a ship and of men. I've asked him.' Joel puffed hard at his pipe, and after a little he asked, "'Sir, what think you it was that came to Mark?' Asa looked at him sharply, then away, and his accustomed volubility fell away from him. He lifted his hands. "'Ask James Finch. I've no way to tell,' he said curtly. "'Have you no opinion?' Joel insisted. The ship-owner tilted his head, set fingertip to fingertip, assumed the air of one who delivers judgment. "'Ilanders, tis like,' he said. "'There is a many there.' He looked sidewise at Joel, looked away. Joel was nodding. "'Yes, many thereabouts,' he agreed. "'But there would have been tracks. Were there none?' Mark left his boat's crew, said Asa, walked away along the shore. That was all. "'No tracks?' They saw where he'd left the sand. The ship-owner shifted in his chair. "'Seems like I'd heard you and Mark weren't two good friends, Joel. You're a mighty worked up.' Joel looked at the little man with bleak eyes. He was my brother. "'I've heard tell he forgot you was his sometimes.' Joel paid no heed. "'You think it was Islanders?' Asa kicked the corner of his desk, watching his foot. "'What else was there?' "'I've nothing in my mind,' said Joel, and shook his head. "'But it sticks in me that Mark was no man to die easy. "'There was a full measure of life in him.' Asa got up awkwardly, waved his hand. "'Where off course, Joel. What about the Nathan Ross?' "'Ready for sea, come Tuesday. "'I'm not one to presser on any man unwilling. "'Say your say, man. Do you take her or no?' Joel drew slowly once more upon his pipe. "'If I take her,' he said, "'we'll work the Gilberts first of all and try once again for a sign of my brother, Mark.' Asa jerked his head. "'So you pick up any oil that comes your way? I've no objection,' he agreed. "'Matter of fact, that's the best thing to do. Mark may yet live.' Asa's eyes snapped up to the others. "'You take her, then?' Joel nodded slowly. "'I take her, sir,' he said, with thanks to you.' Asa banged his hand jubilantly on his desk. "'That's done. Now!' The two men sat down at Asa's big desk again, and for an hour they were busy with matters that concerned the coming cruise. When a whale-ship goes to sea she goes for a three-year cruise, and save only the items of food and water she carries with her everything she will need for that whole time, with an ample allowance to spare. She is a department store of the seas, for she works with iron and wood, with steel and bone, with fire and water and rope and sail. All these things she must have, and many more. And the list of a whale-ship's stores are long and long, and take much checking. When they had considered these matters, Asa sent out to the pier-head to summon Jim Finch, and told the man that Joel would have the ship. Joel said to Finch slowly, "'I've no mind to fight a grudge aboard my ship, sir. If you blame me for stepping into your shoes, Mr. Worthen will give you another birth.' Finch shook his head. He was a big, laughing man with soft, fat cheeks. "'No, sir,' he declared. "'It's yours, and welcome. Your brother was a man, and you've the look of another, sir.' Joel frowned. He was uncomfortable. He had an angry feeling that Finch was too amiable. But he said no more, and Finch went back to the ship, and Asa and Joel continued with their task. While they worked, the afternoon sun drifted down the western sky, till its level rays were flame-lances laid across the harbour. A fishing craft at anchor in midstream hoisted her sails with a creek and rattle of blocks, and drifted down the channel with the tide. The wheeling gulls dropped one by one to the water, or they lurched off to some quiet cove to spend the night. Their harsh cries came less frequently, were less persistent. The wind had swung around, and it was fetching now from the water a cold and salty chill. There was a smell of cooking in the air, and the smoke from the Nathan Rosses Galley and the cool smell of the sea mingled with the strong odor of the oil in the casks, ranked at the end of the pier. The sun had touched the horizon when Joel at last rose to go. Asa got up with him, dropped a hand on the young man's shoulder. They passed the contrivance called a woman's tub, and Asa, at sight of it, seemed to be minded of something. He stopped and checked Joel, and with eyes twinkling, pointed to the tub. "'Will you be wishful to take that on the cruise, Joel?' he asked, and looked up sidewise at the younger man and chuckled. Joel's brown cheeks were covered with slow fire. But his voice was steady enough when he replied. "'It's a kind offer, sir,' he said. I know well what store you set by that tub.' "'Will you be wanting it?' Asa still insisted. "'I'll see,' said Joel quietly. I will see." CHAPTER III The brothers of the House of Shore had been on the whole, slow to take to themselves wives. Matt had never married nor Noah nor Mark. John had a wife for the weeks he was at home before his last cruise, but he did not take her with him on that voyage, and there was no John Shore to carry on the name. John Shore's widow was called Rachel. She had been Rachel Holt, and her sister's name was Priscilla. Rachel was one of those women who suggest slumbering fires. She was slow of speech and quiet and calm. But John Shore and Mark had both loved her, and when she married John, Mark laughed a heart and reckless laugh that made the woman afraid. John and Mark never spoke, one to another, after that marriage. Rachel's sister Priscilla was a gay and careless child. She was six years younger than Joel, and she had acquired in babyhood the habit of thinking Joel the most wonderful-created thing. Their yards adjoined, and she was the baby of her family and he of his. Thus the big boy and the little girl had always been comrades and allies against the world. Before Joel first went to sea, as ship's boy, the two had decided they would some day be married. Joel went to supper that night at Priscilla's home. He was alone in his own house, and Mrs. Holt was a person with a mother's heart. Joel lived at home. She gave Joel quiet welcome at the door, before Priscilla in the kitchen heard his voice and came flying to overwhelm him. She had been making popovers, and there was flour on her fingers, and on Joel's best black coat when she was done with him. Rachel brushed it off when Priss had run back to her oven. They sat down at table. Mrs. Holt at one end, her husband, he was a big man, an old sea-captain, and full of yarns as a knitting-bag, at the other, and Rachel at one side, facing Priss and Joel. Joel's ship had come in only that day. The Nathan Ross had been in port for weeks, so the whole town knew Mark Shore's story. They spoke of it now, and Joel told them what he knew. Rachel wondered if there was any chance that Mark might still be alive. Her father broke in with the story of Mark's first cruise, when the boy had saved a man's life by his quickness with the hatchet on the racing-line. The town was full of such stories, for Mark was one of those men about whom legends arise. And now he was gone. Priscilla listened to the talk with the wide eyes of youth, odd by the mystery and majesty of tragic things. She remembered Mark as a huge man, like a pagan god, in whose eyes she had been only a thin legged little girl who made faces through the fence. After supper, when the others had left them in the parlor together, she said to Joel, Do you think he's dead? Her voice was a whisper. I aimed to know, said Joel. Rachel looked in at the door. You needn't bother with the dishes, Pris, she said. I'll do them. Priscilla had forgotten all about that task. She ran contritely toward her sister. Oh, I'm sorry, Rachel. I will. I will do them. Joel and I—Rachel laughed softly. I don't mind them. You two stay here. Priscilla accepted the offer in the end. But she had no notion of staying in the tight-windowed parlor, with its harsh carpet on the floor and its samplers on the walls. She was of the new generation, the generation which discovered that the night is beautiful and not unhealthy. Let's go outside, she said to Joel. There's a moon. We can sit on the bench under the apple tree. They went out side by side. Joel was not a tall man, but he was inches taller than Priscilla. She was tiny, a dainty, sweetly proportioned creature, built on fine lines that were strangely out of keeping with the stalwart stock from which she sprung. Her hair was darker than Joel's. It was a brown so dark that it was almost black. But her eyes were vividly blue, and her lips were vividly red, and her cheeks were bright. She slipped her hand through Joel's big arm as they crossed the yard, and when they had found the seat she drew his arm frankly about her shoulders. I'm cold, she said, laughing up at him. You must keep me warm. The moon flexed down through the leaves upon her face. There was moonlight on her cheek and on her mouth, but her thick hair and her eyes were shadowed and a mysterious. Joel saw that her lips were smiling. She drew his head down toward hers. Joel was flesh and blood, and she panted and gasped and pushed him away and smoothed her hair and laughed at him. I love you to be so strong, she whispered happily. He had not told them at supper of his promotion. He told Priscilla now, and the girl could not sit still beside him. She danced in the path before the seat. She perched on his knee and caught his big shoulders in her tiny hands and tried to shake him back and forth in her delight. You don't act a bit excited, she scolded. You don't act as though you were glad a bit. Aren't you glad, Joe? Aren't you just so proud? Yes, he told her. Of course. Yes, yes, I am glad and I am proud. Oh! she cried. I could just hug you in two. She tried it, tightening her arms about his big neck, clinging to him. He sat stiff and awkward under her caresses, thrilling with a happiness that he did not know how to express. He felt uneasy, half embarrassed. Her ecstasy continued. Then abruptly it passed. She became practical. Still upon his knee, she began to ask questions. When would he sail away? She had heard that Nathan Ross was almost ready. When would he come back? When would he be rich so that they might be married? Would it be long? Joel found tongue. We will be married Monday, he said slowly. We will go away on the Nathan Ross together. I do not want to go alone. She slipped from his knee, stood before him. Why, Joel, you're just crazy to think of it. He shook his head. No, he said. No, I have thought all about it. It is the best thing to do. We will be married Monday, and we will make a bigger cabin on the Nathan Ross. His voice always slowed a little as he spoke the name of his first ship. You will be happy on her, he said. You will like it all, the sea. She returned to his knee, tumbling his hair. You silly! Men don't understand. Why, I couldn't be ready for ever so long. And I wouldn't dare go away with you for so awfully long. I just couldn't. Her eyes misted with thought, and she said quite seriously, Why, Joel, we might find we didn't like each other at all. But we'd be on the ship with no way to get away from it, for three years. Don't you see? Joel said calmly, That is not so, because we know about, liking each other, already. I know how it is with you. It is clothes that you are thinking about. Well, you can get them in the stores. And you have many already. You have new dresses whenever I see you. She laughed gaily. But Joel, you only see me once in three years. Of course I have new dresses then. But I just couldn't. She laughed again, a faint uneasiness in her laughter. She left his knee and sat down soberly beside him. She was feeling a little crushed, smothered, as though she were being pushed back against a wall. Joel said steadily, Mr. Worthen will be glad to know you go with me, and everyone will be glad for you. She burst abruptly into tears. She was miserable, she told him. He was making her miserable. She hated to be bullied, and he was trying to bully her. She hated him. She wouldn't marry him. Never. He could go off on his old ship and never come back. That was all. She would not go, and he ought not to ask her to anyway. To prove how much she hated him, she nestled against his side and his arm and folded her. Joel had not the outward seeming of a wise man. Nevertheless, he now said, The other girls will all be envying you to be married so quickly and carried away the very next day. Her sobs miraculously ceased, and he smiled quietly down upon her dark head against his breast. Everyone will do things for you, the whole town. They will come down to see a sail away. He fell silent, leaving his words for her consideration. She remained very quiet against his side for a long time, breathing very softly. He thought he could almost read her thoughts. It will be, he said, like a story, like a romance. And the word sounded strangely on his sober lips. But at the word the girl sat up quickly, both hands gripping his arm. He could see her eyes dancing in the moonlight. Oh, Joe, she cried. It would really be just loads of fun and terribly romantic. Wonderful. She pressed a hand to her cheek, thinking, And if I could, she could, she said, Do thus and so. Joel listened, and he smiled. For he knew that his bride would sail away with him. End of Chapter 3 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 4 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 4 In the few days that remained before the Nathan Ross was to sail, there was no time for remodeling her cabin to accommodate Priscilla. So that was left for the first weeks of the cruise. There were matters enough without it to occupy those last days. Little Priss was caught up like a leaf in the wind. She was whirled this way and that in a pleasant and heart-stirring confusion. And through it all, her laughter rang in the air like the sound of bells. To Joel, Sunday night, she said, Oh, Joe, it's been an awful rush, but it's been such fun, and I never was so happy in my life. And Joel smiled and said quietly, Yes, with happier times to come. She looked up at him wistfully. You'll be good to me, won't you, Joel? He patted her shoulder. They were married in the big old white church, and every pew was filled. Afterwards they all went down to the piers, where Asa Werthen had spread long tables and loaded them so that they groaned. Alongside lay the Nathan Ross, her decks littered with the last confusion of preparation. Joel showed Priscilla the lumber for the cabin alterations, ranked along the rail beneath the boathouse. And she gripped his arm tight with both hands. Afterwards he took Priscilla up the hill to the great house of shore. Rachel had prepared their wedding supper there. At a quarter before ten o'clock the next morning the Nathan Ross went out with the tide. When she had cleared the dock and was fairly in the stream, Joel gave her in charge of Jim Finch. And he and Priscilla stood in the after-house, a stern, and looked back at the throng upon the pier, until the individual figures merged into a black mass, pepper insulted with color where the women stood. They could see the handkerchiefs flickering until a turn of the channel swept them out of sight of the town, and they drifted on through the widening mouth of the bay toward the open sea. At dusk that night there was still land in sight behind them, and on either side. But when Priscilla came on deck in the morning there was nothing but blue water and laughing waves. And so she was homesick all that day, and laughed not at all till the evening, when the moon bathed the ship in silver fire, and the white-caps danced all about them. The Nathan Ross was, in no sense a lovely ship, there was about her none of the poetry of the seas. She was designed strictly for utility, and for hard and dirty toil. Blunt she was of bow and stern, and her widest point was just to beam the foremast, so that she had great shoulders that buffeted the sea. These shoulders bent inward toward the prow, and met in what was practically a right angle, and her stern was cut almost straight across, with only enough overhang to give the rudder room. Furthermore her masts had no rake. They stood up stiff and straight as sore thumbs, and the bowsprit, instead of being something near horizontal, rose toward the skies at an angle close to forty-five degrees. This bowsprit made the Nathan Ross look as though she had just stubbed her toe. She carried four boats at the davits, and two spare-craft, bottom up, on the boat-house just forward of the mason-mast. Three of the four at the davits were on the starboard side, and since they were each thirty feet long, while the ship herself was scarce a hundred and twenty, they gave her a sadly cluttered and overloaded appearance. For the rest she was painted black, with a white checker-boarding around the rail, and her sails were smeared and smuddy with smoke from burning blubber scraps. Nevertheless she was a comfortable ship, and a dry one, and she was a very comfortable ship, and a dry one. She rode waves that would have swept a vessel cut on prouder lines, and she was moderately steady. She was not fast nor cared to be. An easy five or six knots contented her, for the whole ocean was her hunting ground, and though there were certain more favored areas you might meet whales anywhere. Give her time, and she would poke that blunt nose of hers right round the world, and come back with a net profit anywhere up to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in her sweating casks. Priscilla Holt knew all these things, and she respected the Nathan Ross on their account. But during the first weeks of the cruise she was too much interested in the work on the cabin to consider other matters. Old Aaron Burnham, the carpenter, did the work. He was a wiry little man, gray and grizzled, and he loved the tools of his craft with a jealous love that forbade the laying on of impious hands. Through the long, calm days when the ship snored like a sleepwalker through the empty seas, Priscilla would sit on box or bench or floor, and watch Aaron at his task, and ask him questions, and listen to the old man's long stories of things that had come and gone. Sometimes she tried to help him, but he would not let her handle an edged tool. He'll know have the eye for it, he would say. Leave it be. Now and then he let her try to drive a nail, but as often as not she missed the nail-head and marred the soft wood until Aaron lost patience with her. Mark you, he cried. Men will see the scar there, and they'll be thinking I did this task with my foot, ma'am. And Priscilla would laugh at him and curl up with her feet tucked under her skirts and her chin and her hands, and watch him by the long hour on hour. The task dragged on. It seemed to her endless. For Aaron had other work that must be done, and he could give only a spare time to this. Also he was a slow worker, accustomed to take his own time, and when Priscilla grew impatient and scolded him, the old man merely sat back on his knees and scratched his head and tapped thoughtfully with his hammer on the floor beside him. Well, ma'am, he said, I do things so, and I do things so, and it takes time, that does, ma'am. Now and then, through those days, Priscilla's enthusiasm would send her skittering up the companion to fetch Joel to see some new wonder, a window set in the stern, or a bench completed, or a door hung. And Joel, looking far offener at Priscilla than at the object she wished him to consider, would chuckle and touch her shoulder affectionately and go back to his post. In the sixth week the last nail had been driven, and the last lick of paint was dry. In the result Priscilla was as happy as a bride has a right to be. Across the very stern of the ship, with windows looking out upon the wake, ran what might have been called a sitting-room. It was perhaps twenty feet wide and eight feet deep, and its rear wall, formed by the overhanging stern, sloped outward toward the ceiling. Against the slope, beneath the three windows, a broad, cushioned bench was built to serve as couch or seat. The bench was broken in one place to make room for Joel's desk, and the cabinet wherein he kept his records and his instruments. Priscilla had put curtains on the windows, and she had a lily in a pot at one of them, and a clump of pansies at another. Joel's cabin opened off this compartment on the starboard side. Hers was opposite. The main cabin, with its folding table built about the thick butt of the mizzen mast, had been extended forward to make room for the enlargement of this stern apartment, and the mates were quartered off this main cabin. The galley and the storerooms were on the main deck, in the after-house, on either side of the awkward walking-wheel by which the ship was steered, and the cabin companion was just forward of this wheel. There were aboard the Nathan Ross about thirty men, all told, but the most of them were not of Priscilla's world. The four messed hands never came aft of the tri-works, save on tasks assigned, and the secondary officers, boat-steers and the like, slept in the steerage and kept forward of the boat-house. Thus the after-deck was shared only by Priscilla and Joel, the mates, the cook, and old Aaron, who was a man of many privileges. This world Priscilla ruled. Joel adored her, Jim Finch gave her the clumsy homage of a puppy, and was at times just as oppressively amiable. Old Aaron talked to her by the hour while he went about his work, and the other mates Vard, the sullen, and Hooper, who was old and losing his grip, and Dick Morrell, who was young and finding his, paid her the respect that was her due. Young Morrell, he was not even as old as she was, helped her on her first climb to the masthead. He was only a boy. The girl, when the first homesick pangs were passed, was happy. Until the day they killed their whale, a seventy-barreled cashelot cow who died as peaceably as a chicken, with only a convulsive flop or two when the lances found the life, Priscilla took a single glimpse of the shuddering, bloody, oily work of cutting in the carcass, and then she fled to her cabin and remained there steadfastly until the long task was done. The smoke from the bubbling tripod and the persistent smell of boiling blubber sickened her, and the grime that descended over everything appalled her dainty soul. Not until the men had cleaned ship did she go on deck again, and even then she scolded Joel for the affair, as though it were a matter for which he was wholly to blame. There just isn't any sense in making so much dirt, she told him. I've had to wash out every one of my curtains, and I can't ever get rid of that smell. Joel chuckled. I, the smell sticks, he agreed, but you'll be used to it soon, press. You'll come to like it, I'm thinking. Any case will not be rid of it while the cruise is on. She was so angry that she wanted to cry. Do you actually mean, Joel Shore, that I've got to live with that sickening, hot oil smell for three years? He nodded slowly. Yes, press, no way out of it. It's part of the work. Come another month and you'll not mind at all. She said positively. I may not say anything, but I shall always hate that smell. His eyes twinkled slowly, and she stamped her foot. If I'd known it was going to be like this, I wouldn't have come, Joel. Now don't you laugh at me. If there was any way to go back, I'd go. I hate it. I hate it all. You ought not to have brought me. They were on the broad bench across the stern, in their cabin, and he put his big arm about her shoulders and laughed at her, till she could do no less than laugh back at him. But she assured herself of this. She was angry, just the same. Nevertheless, she laughed. Joel had put the Nathan Ross on the most direct southward course, touching neither Azores nor Cape Verdes. For it was in his mind, as he had told Asa Worthen, to make direct for the Gilbert Islands and seek some trace of his brother there. That had been his plan before he left Porte. But the plan had become determination after a word with Aaron Burnham one day. Joel, resting in the cabin while old Aaron worked there, fell to thinking of his brother, and so asked, Aaron, what is your belief about my brother, Mark Shore? Is he dead? Aaron was building that day the forward partition of the new cabin, fitting his boards meticulously, and driving home each nail with hammer-strokes that seemed smooth and effortless, yet sank the nail to the head in an instant. He looked up over his shoulder, at Joel, between nails. Dead, do you say? He countered quizzically. Joel nodded. The Islanders, did they do it, do you believe? Old Aaron chuckled, asthmatically. He had lost a foretooth, and the effect of his mirth was not reassuring. There is a brew in the islands, he said. More liked was the island brew, nor the island men. Joel, for a moment, sat very still and considered. He knew Mark Shore had never scrupled to take strong drink when he chose, but Mark had always been a strong man to match his drink and conquer it. Said Joel, therefore, after a space of thought, Why do you think that, Aaron? Drink was never liked to carry Mark away. Aaron squinted up at him. Have you sampled that island brew? Tis made of pineapples, or sego, or the like outlandish stuff, I've heard. And one sip is deviltry, and two is madness, and three is corruption. Some stomachs are used to it, they can handle it. But a raw man! There was significance in the pause and the unfinished sentence. Joel considered the matter. There had always been, between him and Mark, something of that sleeping enmity that so often arises between brothers. Mark was a man swift of tongue, flashing and full of laughter and hot blood, a colorful man like a splash of pigment on white canvas. Joel was in all things his opposite, quiet and slow of thought and speech, and steady of gait. Mark was accustomed to jeer at him, to taunt him, and Joel, in the slow fashion of slow men, had resented this. Nevertheless, he cast aside prejudice now in his estimate of the situation, and he asked old Aaron, Do you know there were islanders about, or this wild brew you speak of? Aaron drove home a nail, and with his punch said it flushed with the soft wood. There was some drunken crew shouting and screeching a mile up the beach, he said. Some few of them came off to us with fruit, the sober ones. Twas them, Mark Shore, went to pandander with. He went to them, Joel echoed. Aaron nodded. Aye, that he did! There was a long moment of silence before Joel asked huskily, But was it like that he should stay with them freely? For it is a black and shameful thing that a captain should desert his ship. When he had asked the question, he waited in something like fear for the carpenter's answer. It comes to me, said Aaron slowly at last, that you did not well know your brother. You'd only seen him ashore, and I'm doubting that you knew all the circumstances of his departure from this ship. I know that he went ashore, said Joel, went ashore and left his men and departed, and I know that they searched for him three weeks without a sign. Aaron sat back on his heels and rubbed the smooth head of his hammer thoughtfully against his dry old cheek. I'm not one to speak harm, he said, and I've said not in the town, but you have some right to know that Mark Shore was not a sober man when he left the ship. In truth he had not been sober, cold sober, for a week, and he left with a bottle in his coat. He nodded his gray old head, eyes not on Joel, but on the hammer in his hand. Also there was a pearling schooner in the lagoon with drunk white men aboard, he glanced sidewise at Joel then and saw the captain's cheekbones slowly whitened, whereupon old Aaron bent swiftly to his task, half fearful of what he had said. But when Joel spoke it was only to say quietly, ASA should have told me this! Aaron shook his head vehemently, but without looking up from his task. Not so, he said. There was no need the town should chew Mark's name. Better, he glanced at Joel. Better if he were thought dead! ASA's a good man, you mind, and he knew your father. Joel nodded at that. ASA meant wisest, I've no doubt, he agreed, but Mark would do nothing that he was ashamed of. Mark sure, said Aaron thoughtfully, did many things without shame for which other men would have blushed. Joel said curtly, Aaron, you'll say no more such things as that. You're right, Aaron agreed. I should not have said it, but tis so. Joel left him and went on deck, and his eyes were troubled. Priss was there, with Dick Morrell showing her some trick of the wheel, and they were laughing together like children. Joel felt immensely older than Priss, yet the difference was scarce six years. She saw him and left Morrell and came running to Joel's side. Did you sleep? she asked. You needed rest, Joe. I rested, he told her, smiling faintly. I'll be fine. End of Chapter 4 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 5 Of All The Brothers Were Valiant This LeBervok's recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline All The Brothers Were Valiant by Ben Ames Williams Chapter 5 They drifted past Pernambuco and touched at Trinidad, and so worked south and somewhat westward for Cape Horn. And in Joel grew stronger and ever the resolve to hunt out Mark and find him and fetch him home. The blood-tie was strong on Joel, stronger than any memory of Mark's derision, and, for the honour of the House of Shore, it were well to prove the matter if Mark were dead. It is not well for a shore to abandon his ship in strange seas. He asked Aaron, two weeks after their first talk, whether they had questioned the white men in the pearling schooner. Oh, I, said Aaron cheerfully, I sought them out myself. Three of them they was, and ill-favoured. A slinky small man, and a rat-eyed large man, and a fat man in between, all unshaven and filthy and drunken as owls. They had seen not of Mark's shore, they said. I'm thinking he'd let them see but little of him. He had no tenderness for dirt. Joel told Priss nothing of what he hoped and feared, nor did he question Jim Finch in the matter. Finch was a good man at set tasks, but he was too amiable, and he had no clamp upon his lips. Joel did not wish the word to go abroad among the men. He was glad that most of the crew were new since last voyage, but the officers were unchanged, save that he stood in his brother's shoes. They left Trinidad behind them, and shouldered their way southward, the blunt bow of the Nathan Ross battering the seas. And they came to the straits, and worked in, and made their resting day by day, while little Priss, wide-eyed on the deck, watched the gaunt cliffs past whose wave nod feet they stole. And so, at last, the Pacific opened out before them, and they caught the winds, and worked toward Easter Island. But their progress was slow. To men unschooled in the patience of the whaling trade, it would have been insufferably slow. For they struck fish, and day after day they hung idle on the waves, while the tripods boiled. And, day after day, they loitered on good whaling grounds, while the boats were out thrice and four times between sun's rise and set. If Joel was impatient he gave no sign. If his desires would have made him hasten on, his duty held him here, where rich catches waited for the taking, and while there were fish to be taken he would not leave them behind. Priscilla hated it. She hated the grime, and the smoke, and the smell of boiling oil. And she hated this dawdling on the open seas, with never a glimpse of land. More than once she made Joel bear the brunt of her own unrest, and because it is not always good for two people to be too much together, and because she had nothing better to do, she began to pick Joel to pieces in her thoughts, and fret at his patience and stolidity. She wished he would grow angry, wished even that he might be angry with her. She wished for anything to break the long days of deadly calm. And she watched Joel more intently than it is well for wife to watch husband, or for husband to watch wife. He did so many things that tried her sore. He had a fashion, when he had finished eating, of setting his hands against the table, and pushing himself back from the board with slow and solid satisfaction. She came to the point where she longed to scream when he did this. When they were at table in the main cabin, she watched with such agony of trembling nerves for that movement of his that she forgot to eat, and could not relish what she ate. Joel was a man, and his life was moving smoothly. His ship's casks were filling more swiftly than he had any right to hope. His wife was at his side. His skies were clear. He was happy, and comfortable, and well content. Sometimes, when they were preparing for sleep at night in the cabin at the stern, he would relax on the couch there. But she did not wish for him to put his feet upon the cushions. She said that his shoes were dirty. He offered to take off his shoes, and she shuddered. He had a fashion of stretching and yawning comfortably, as he bade her good night, and sometimes a yawn caught him in the middle of a word, and he talked while he yawned. She hated this. She was passing through that hard middle-ground, that purgatory between maidenhood and wifehood in the course of which married folk find each other only human, after all. And she had not yet come to accept this condition, and to glory in it. She had always thought of Joel as a hero, a protector, a fine, stalwart, able, noble man, now she forgot that he was commander of the ship and master of the men aboard her, and saw in him only a man who, when work was done, liked to take his ease, and who talked through his yawns. She nod at this bone of discontent in the hours when Joel was busy with his work. She was furiously resentful of Joel's flesh and bloodness, and Joel, because he was too busy to be introspective, continued calmly, happy and content. The whales led them past Easter Island for a space, and then, abruptly, they were gone. Came day on day when the men at the mast had saw no misty spout against the wide blue of the sea, no glistening black body lying awash among the waves, and the Nathan Ross, with all hands scrubbing white the decks again, bent northward, working toward that maze of tiny islands which dots the wide south seas. Their water was getting stale and running somewhat low, and they needed fresh foodstuffs. Joel planned to touch at the first land that offered. To Buai, that would be. He marked their progress on the chart. On the evening before they would reach the island, when Joel and Priss were preparing for sleep, Priss burst out furiously, like a teapot that boils over. The storm came without warning, and so far as Joel could see, without provocation. She was sick, she said, of the endless wastes of blue. She wanted to see land, to step on it. If she were not allowed to do so very soon, she would die. Joel at first was minded to tell her they would sight land in the morning. Then, with one of the blundering impulses to which husbands fall victim at such moments, he decided to wait and surprise her. So, instead of telling her, he chuckled as though at some secret jest, and tried to quiet her by patting her dark head. She fell silent at his caress, and Joel thought she was appeased. As a matter of fact, she was hating him for having a laugh at her, and her calm was ferocious. He discovered this too late. He had just kissed her good night. She turned her cheek to his lips, and he was faintly hurt at this. But he only said cheerfully, there, Pris, you'll be all right in the morning. He yawned in mid-sentence, so that the last two or three words sounded as though he were trying to swallow a large and hot potato while he uttered them. Pris could stand no more of that, positively, so she slapped his face. He was amazed, and he stood, looking at her helplessly, while the slapped cheek grew red and red. Pris burst into tears, stamped her foot, called him names, she did not mean, and as a climax darted into her own cabin, and swung the door and snapped the latch. Joel did not, on the least, understand, and he went to his bunk at last, profoundly troubled. An hour after they anchored the next day at Tubawai, a boat came out from shore and ran alongside, and Mark Shore swung across the rail aboard the Nathan Ross. Pris was below in the cabin with Pris, when his brother boarded the ship. Vard and Dick Morel had gone ashore for water and supplies, and Pris was to go that afternoon with Joel. She was sewing a ribbon rosette upon the hat she would wear, when she and Joel heard the sound of excited voices and the movement of feet on the deck above their head. He left her, curled up on the cushioned bench with the gay ribbon in her hands, and went out through the main cabin and up the companion. He had been trying, clumsily enough, to make friends with Pris, but she was very much on her dignity that morning. When his head rose above the level of the cabin skylight, he saw a group of men near the rail, amidst ships. Finch and Hooper and old Aaron Burnham and two of the harpooners, all pressing close about another man. Finch obscured this other man from Joel's view until he climbed up on deck. Then he saw that the other man was his brother. He went forward to join them, and at chance that at first no one of them looked in his direction. Mark's back was half turned, but Joel could see that his brother was lean and bronzed by the sun. And he wore no hat, and his thick black hair was rumbled and wild. The white shirt that he wore was open at the throat above his brown neck. His arms were bare to the elbows. His chest was like a barrel. There was a splendor of strength and vigor about the man, in the very look of him, and in his eye, and his voice, and his laughter. He seemed to shine like the sun. Joel, as he came near them, heard Mark laugh throatily at something Finch had said, and he heard Finch say, unctuously, Be sure, Captain Shore, every man aboard here is damned glad you've come back to us. You were missed. Missed sore, sir. Mark laughed again at that, and he clapped Jim's fat shoulder. The action swung him around so that he saw Joel for the first time. Joel thrust out his hand. Mark, man! They said you were dead, he exclaimed. Mark Shore's eyes narrowed for an instant, in a quick appraising scrutiny of his brother. Dead, he laughed jeeringly, do I look dead? He stared at Joel more closely, glanced at the other men, and chuckled. By the Lord, kid, he cried, I believe old Asa has put you in my shoes. Joel nodded. He gave me command of the Nathan Ross, yes. Mark looked sidewise at big Jim Finch, and grinned. Over your head, eh, Jim? Too damned bad. Finch grinned. I had no wish for the place, sir. You see, I felt very sure you would be coming back to your own. Mark tilted back his head, and laughed. You were always a very cautious man, Jim Finch. Never jumped till you were sure where you would land. He wheeled on Joel. Well, boy, how does it feel to wear long pants? Joel, holding his anger in check, said slowly, We've done well. Close on eight hundred barrel aboard. Mark wagged his head in solemn reproof. Joey, Joey, you've been fiddling away your time. I can see that. Over his brother's shoulder Joel saw the grinning face of big Jim Finch and his eyes hardened. He said quietly, If that's your tone, Mark, you'll call back your boat and go ashore. A flame surged across Mark's cheek, and he took one swift terrible step toward his brother. But Joel did not give ground, and after a moment in which their eyes clashed like swords, Mark relaxed and laughed and bowed low. I was wrong, grievously wrong, Captain Shore, he said sonorously. I neglected the respect, do your office. Your high office, sir. I thank you for reminding me of the, the proprieties, Captain. And he added in a different tone. Now will you not invite me aft on your ship, sir? Joel hesitated for a bare instant, caught by a vague foreboding that he could not explain. But in the end he nodded as though an answer to the unspoken question in his thoughts. Will you come down into the cabin, Mark? he invited quietly. I've much to ask you, and you must have many things to tell. Mark nodded. I will come, he said, and his eyes lighted suddenly, and he dropped a hand on Joel's shoulder. I, Joel, he said softly into his brother's ear as they went aft together. I, I've much to tell. Many things and marvellous. Matters you'd scarce credit, Joel. Joel looked at him quickly and Mark nodded. True they are, Joel, he cried exultantly. Marvellous and true as good red gold. At the tone and the eager light in his brother's eyes, Joel's slow pulses quickened, but he said nothing. At the top of the cabin companion he stepped aside to let Mark descend first, and Mark went down the steep and awkward stair with the easy sliding gate of a great cat. Joel, behind him, could see the muscles stir and swell upon his shoulders. In the cabin Mark halted abruptly and looked about and exclaimed, You've changed things, Joel. I'd not know the ship. The door into Priscilla's cabin across the stern was open. Priss had finished that matter of the ribbon and was watering her flowers, kneeling on the bench when she heard Mark's voice and knew it. And she cried, in surprise and joy, Mark! Oh, Mark! And she ran to the door and stood there, framed for Mark's eyes against the light behind her, hands holding to the door frame on either side. Mark cried delightedly, Priss, halt! And he was at her side in an instant and caught her without ceremony and kissed her roundly as she had been accustomed to do when he came home from the sea. But he must have been a blind man not to have seen in that first moment that Priss was no longer child but woman. And Mark was not blind. He kissed her till she laughingly fought herself free. Mark! She cried again. You're not dead. I knew you couldn't be. Joel, behind them, at sight of Priscilla in his brother's arms, had stirred with a quick rush of anger. But he was ashamed of it in the next moment and stood still where he was. Mark held Priss by the shoulders, laughing down at her. And how did you know I couldn't be dead? he demanded. Miss wise lady. She moved her head confusedly. Oh, you were always so, so alive or something. You just couldn't be. He chuckled, released her, and stood away and surveyed her. Priss! Priss! he said contritely. You're not a little kid any longer. Dresses down and hair up. He wagged his head. It's a wonder you did not slap my face. And then he looked from her to Joel, and abruptly he tossed his great head back and laughed aloud. By the Lord, he roared, the children are married, married! Priscilla flushed furiously and stamped her foot at him. Of course we're married, she cried. Did you think I'd come clear around the world with— Her words were smothered in her own hot blushes. And Mark laughed again until she cried. Stop it! I won't have you laughing at us. Joel, make him stop. Mark sobered instantly, and he backed away from Joel in mock panic, both hands raised defensively so that they laughed at him. When they laughed, he cast aside his panic and sat down in the cushions, stretching his legs luxuriously before him. Now, he exclaimed, tell me all about it, when, and why, and how. Priss dropped on the bench beside him, feet tucked under her in the miraculous fashion of small women, and she enumerated her answers on the pink tips of her fingers. When, she repeated, the day before we sailed. Why? Just because. How? In the same old way? She waved her hand, as though disposing of the matter once and for all, and looked up at him and laughed. Joel thought she had not seemed so completely happy since the day the cabin was finished. So, she said, that's all there is to tell you about us. Tell us about you! Mark's eyes twinkled. Ah, now, what's the use? That will come later. Besides, some chapters are not for gentle ears. He nodded toward Joel. So, you love the boy, Yonder? Priss bobbed her head, red lips pursed, eyes dancing. Why? Mark demanded. What are you discovering him? She looked at Joel, and they laughed together as though at some delightful secret, mutually shared. Mark wagged his head, dollarously. And I suppose he's wild about you, he asked. She nodded more vigorously than ever. Mark rubbed his hands together. He looked at Joel with a faintly malicious twinkle in his eyes. Well now, he exclaimed. That is certainly the best of news! Joel saw the mocking and malignant little devil in his eye. I've never had a kid sister, said Mark gaily. And it's been the great sorrow of my life, Priss. So, Joel, you must expect Priss and myself to turn out the very best of friends. And Priscilla, on the seat beside him, nodded her lovely head once more. I should say so, she exclaimed. End of Chapter 6 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 7 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 7 Mark Shore held something like a reception on the Nathan Ross all that first day. He went forward among the men to greet old friends and meet new ones, and came back and complimented Joel on the quality of his crew. You've made good men of them, he said. Those that weren't good men before. He listened with a smile half-contemptuous to Jim Finch's somewhat slavish phrases of welcome and admiration. And he talked with Vard, the morose second mate, so gaily that even Vard was cozen at last into a grin. Old Hooper was pathetically glad to see him. Hooper had been mate of the ship on which Mark started out as a boy, and he liked to hark back to those old days. Young Dick Morrill, on his trips from the shore, gave Mark Frank worship. Joel saw all this. He could not help seeing it. And he told himself again and again that it was only to be expected. Mark had captained the ship, had captained these men on their last cruise. They had thought him dead. It was only natural that they should welcome him back to life again. But even while he gave himself this reassurance, he knew that it was untrue. There was more than mere welcome in the attitude of the men. There was more than admiration. There was a quality of awe that was akin to worship, and there was, beneath this awe, a lively curiosity as to what Mark would do. They knew him for a quick man, dominant, one with the will to lead. And now he found himself supplanted, dependent on the word of his own younger brother. Everyone knew that Mark and Joel had always been rather enemies than comrades, so now they wondered and waited and watched with all their eyes. Joel saw them, by twos and threes, whispering together about the ship, and he knew what it was they were asking each other. Of all those on the Nathan Ross that day, Mark himself seemed least conscious of the dramatic possibilities of the situation. He was glad to be back among friends, but beyond that he did not go. He gave Joel an exaggerated measure of respect, so extreme that it was worse than scorn or mockery. Otherwise he took no notice of the potentialities created by his return. Priss had planned to go ashore in the afternoon, but Mark dissuaded her. This was not difficult. He did it so laughingly and so dexterously that Priss changed her mind without knowing just why she did so. Mark took it upon himself to make up for her disappointment. They were together most of the long, hot afternoon. Joel could hear their laughter now and then. He had expected to go ashore with Priss, but when she came to him and said, Joel, Mark says it's just dirty and hot and ugly ashore, and I'm not going. He changed his mind. There was no need of his making the trip, after all. Vard and Morrell had brought out water, towing long strings of almost filled casks behind their boats, and boats from the shore had come off to sell fresh food. So, at dusk, the anchor came up, and the Nathan Ross spread her dingy sails, and stalked out of the harbour with the utmost dignity in every stiff line of her, and the night behind them swallowed up the island. Mark and Priss were a stern to watch it blend in the darkness and lose itself. And Priss, when their last glimpse of it faded, heard the man draw a deep breath of something like relief. She looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. What is it? she asked softly. Were you unhappy there? Mark laughed aloud. My dear Priss, he said in the elder brother manner he affected toward her. My dear Priss, the South Sea Islands are no place for a white man, especially when he is alone. I'm glad to get back in the smell of oil, with an honest deck underfoot, and I don't mind saying so. Priss shuddered and wrinkled her nose. Ugh! how I hate that smell! she exclaimed. But Mark, tell me where you've been, and what you did, and everything. Why won't you tell? He wagged his head at her severely. Children, he said, should be seen and not heard. She stamped her foot. I'm not a child. I'm a woman. He bent toward her suddenly, his dark eyes so close to hers that she could see the flickering flame which played in them, and the twist of his smile. I wonder, he whispered. Oh! I wonder if you are. She was frightened, deliciously. Mark had persisted all day long in his refusal to tell her of himself. He had dropped a sentence now and then that brought to life in her imagination a strange, wild picture. But always he set a bar upon his lips, caught back the words, refused to explain what it was he had meant to say. When she persisted, he laughed at her and told her he only did it to be mysterious. Mystery is always interesting, you understand, he explained. And I wish to be very interesting to you, Priss. She looked around the after-deck for Joel, but he was below in the cabin, and she decided abruptly that she must go down. They had bought chickens at Tubuay, and they had two of them boiled for supper that night in the cabin. It was a feast after the long months of sober diet, and the presence of Mark made it something more. He was a good talker, and without revealing anything of the months of his disappearance, he nevertheless told them stories that held each one breathless with interest. But after supper he went on deck with Finch, and Joel and Priss sat in the cabin astern for a while. And Joel rode up in the ship's log the story of his brother's return. Priss read it over his shoulder, and afterwards she clung close to Joel. He's a terribly overwhelming man, isn't he? she whispered. Joel looked down at her and smiled thoughtfully. I, Mark's a big man, he agreed, big in many ways, but you'll be used to it. When she prepared to go to bed, he bade her good night, and left her, and went on deck, and Priss, in her narrow bunk in the cabin at the side of the ship, lay wide-eyed, with many thoughts stirring in her small head. She was still awake when she heard them come down into the main cabin together, Joel and Mark. Joel and Priss were in the cabin, and Joel and Mark were in the cabin. The walls were thinned, she could hear their words, and she heard Mark ask, Sure, Priss is asleep? There are parts not for the pretty ears of a bride, Joel. Priss was not asleep, but when Joel came to see, she closed her eyes, and lay as still as still, scarce breathing. Joel bent over her softly, and he touched her head clumsily with his hand, and patted it, and went away again, closing her door behind him. She heard him tell Mark, I, she's fast asleep. The brothers sat by Joel's desk in the cabin across the stern, and Mark, without preamble, told his story there. Priss, ten feet away, heard every word, and she lay huddled beneath the blankets, eyes staring upward into the darkness of her cabin, and as she listened, she shuddered and trembled and shrank at the terror and wonder and ugliness of the tale he told. No Desdemona ever listened with such half-caught breath. End of Chapter 7 Recording by Roger Maline