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 the 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.

Varde 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 Varde steadily for an instant; then he said: “I’m going on deck. You’ll come....”

Priss, 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 Varde and Finch, at the foot of the companion, and turned his back upon them and went steadily up the steep, ladder-like stair. Varde 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. “We’re 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 forecastle and fore deck came stumbling and crowding aft. The men stopped amidships; and Joel went toward them a little ways, until he was under the boat house. The mates 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:

“Aye, sir. We’ve heard th’ tale.”

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.

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