Chapter 6

Joel nodded. "When my brother came aboard at Tubuai," 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 excepted, 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."

Varde, at Joel's side, swung his head and looked bleakly at Mark 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 refused 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 in 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 for going after them?"

There was a murmur of assent 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, Varde 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 trussed fowl, 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 Varde take him down. Varde, you'll stay in the after cabin. If he tries to get free, summon me. And--treat Mrs. Shore with the utmost courtesy."

Varde 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; Varde 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 Varde 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...."

Varde 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 telltale 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 Varde, 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 Varde 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.

XV

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 foremast hand. Finch and Varde 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 Morrell? A boy, hot with the wonder and glamor of Mark's tale. 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 Worthen long among the foremast hands. 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 could 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 commands.... Heard Mark's laughter. Mark and Jim were astern, 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 Morrell 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 Morrell 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 Varde 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 Varde 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 Varde, and crushed him, and beat at his head with his fists until the mate's spasmodic struggles 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 to help. Please...."

He shook his head. "This is my task. Quick."

She fled....

He lifted Varde 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 Varde, wrist and ankle; and he stripped away the blanket, and stuffed into Varde's mouth a heavy, woolen sock, and tied it there with a handkerchief.... Varde'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 lockfast, 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 heeling 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 that 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.

XVI

At the moment when Joel reached the deck, the other men aboard the _Nathan Ross_ were widely scattered.

Varde, 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 fo'c's'le; 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 Shore, Finch, a foremast 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 an 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 astern. The broad back of Jim Finch was within six feet of him....

What moved Mark Shore in that moment, it 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's 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 whaleboats hung, and called to Finch quietly:

"Mr. Finch, step here."

Finch had retreated until his shoulders were braced against the wall of the after house. He leaned there, hands outspread against the wall behind him, staring at Joel with goggling eyes. And Joel said again:

"Come here, Mr. Finch."

Joel's composure, and the determination and the confidence in his tone, frightened Finch. He clamored 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 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 irons 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 amidships, near the try works. The two harpooners were there; and one of them was that black whom Joel had brought from the _Martin Wilkes_, and in whom he placed some faith. He eyed these men for a moment, wondering whether they were nerved 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 Shore 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 near 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 man 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. "'Tis 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.

"Aye," 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 shoulders 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, hark 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 behind 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.

XVII

THE story of that battle upon the tumbling decks of the _Nathan Ross_ was to be told and re-told at many a gam upon the whaling grounds. It was such a story as strong men love; a story of overwhelming odds, of epic combat, of splendid death where blood ran hot and strong....

There were a full score of men in the group that came aft toward Joel. And as they came, others, running from the fo'c's'le and dropping from the rigging, joined them. Every man was drunk with the vision of wealth that he had built upon Mark Shore's story. The thing had grown and grown in the telling; it had fattened on the greed native in the men; and it was a monstrous thing now, and one that would not be denied.... The men, as they moved aft, made grumbling sounds with their half-caught breath; and these sounds blended into a roaring growl like the growl of a beast.

To face these men stood Joel. For an instant, he was alone. Then, without word, old Aaron took his stand beside his captain. Aaron held gripped in both hands an adze. Its edge was sharp enough to slice hard wood like cheese.... And at Joel's other side, the cook. A round man, with greasy traces of his craft upon his countenance. He carried a heavy cleaver. There is an ancient feud between galley and fo'c's'le; and the men greeting the cook's coming with a hungry cry of delight....

Joel glanced at these new allies, and saw their weapons. He took the adze from Aaron, the cleaver from the other; and he turned and hurled them behind him, over the rail. And in the moment's silence that followed on this action, he called to the men:

"Go back to your places."

They growled at him; they were wordless, but they knew the thing they desired. The cook complained at Joel's elbow: "I could use that cleaver."

"I'll not have blood spilled," Joel told him. "If there's fighting, it will be with fists...."