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    THE SEA BRIDE

    BY
    BEN AMES WILLIAMS

    AUTHOR OF
    ALL THE BROTHERS WERE VALIANT

    GROSSET & DUNLAP
    PUBLISHERS   NEW YORK

    Published by Arrangement with The Macmillan Company


    COPYRIGHT, 1919
    BY BEN AMES WILLIAMS

    COPYRIGHT, 1919
    BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

    Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1919.




THE SEA BRIDE




I


They were to be married before the open fire, in the big living-room of
the old house on the hill. Upstairs, Bess Holt was helping Faith dress.
Faith sat before the old, veneered dressing table with its little mirror
tilting on the curved standards, and submitted quietly and happily to
Bess's ministrations. Bess was a chatterbox, and her tongue flew as
nimbly as the deft fingers that arranged Faith's veil. Faith was
content; her soft eyes resting on her own image in the little mirror
were like the eyes of one who dreams dreams and sees visions. She scarce
heard Bess at all....

Only once she turned and looked slowly about this low-ceiled old room
that had been her home: the high, soft bed, with its canopy resting on
the four tall posts; the frame of that canopy was split in one place;
she had wound it with wire to strengthen it. How many mornings, waking
pleasantly as day stole in the little windows, she had seen that twist
of wire first of all as her eyes opened. She used to look at it, and
dream a little, before she rose.... One window, with its white hangings,
was just at the foot of the bed. The cool, salt-laden winds from the sea
used to whisper in there and soothe her sleep. She had always loved the
sea. Would she always love it so, when there was nothing else but the
sea on every hand?... When she should have sailed away with big Noll
Wing....

The high chest of drawers, the little dressing table, the delicate
chairs.... These were all old and familiar friends--whom she was leaving
behind her. And she loved them, loved the ugly paper on the wall, loved
the old daguerreotypes above the chest of drawers, loved the crooked
sampler by the never-used fireplace. Loved them....

She smiled happily and confidently. She loved them ... but she loved big
Noll Wing better. She would not regret....

Below stairs, her father, Jem Kilcup, talked with Dr. Brant, the
minister. They spoke of wind and weather, as men do whose lives lie near
the sea. They spoke of oil, of ships, of tedious cruises when the seas
were bare of whales.... The minister marked the old harpoon that stood
in the corner by the fire, and Jem told how with that battered iron he
had struck his last whale, a dozen years before.... A good tale. The
whale fought hard, left Jem with a crushed chest that drove him from the
sea. Their talk wandered everywhere save where their thoughts were; they
did not speak of Faith, nor of Noll Wing. Jem could not bear to speak of
his girl who was going from his arms to another's; the minister
understood, and joined with him in a conspiracy of silence. Only, when
Bess came whispering down to say that Faith was ready, old Jem gripped
Dr. Brant's arm and whispered harshly into the minister's ear: "Marry
them tight, and marry them hard, and true, Doctor. By God...."

Dr. Brant nodded. "No fear, my friend," he said. "Faith is a woman...."

"Aye," said Jem hoarsely. "Aye; and she's made her bed. God help her."

Things began to stir in the big house. Noll Wing was in the back room
with Henry Ham, who had sailed with him three voyages, and would back
him in this new venture. Young Roy Kilcup had found them there.... Old
Jem had a demijohn of cherry rum, thirty years unopened. He sent it in
to Noll.... And Noll Wing smacked his lips over it cheerfully, and
became more amiable than was his custom. Roy Kilcup caught him in this
mood and took quick vantage of it. When the three came in where Jem and
Dr. Brant were waiting, Roy crossed and gripped his father's arm. "I'm
going," he whispered. "Cap'n Wing will take me, as ship's boy. He's
promised, dad."

Old Jem nodded. His children were leaving him; he was past protesting.

"I'm ready," Roy told his father. "I'm going to pack, right after
they're married." He saw Dr. Brant smile, and whispered: "Be quick as
you can, sir."

The minister touched the boy's shoulder reassuringly. "Quiet, Roy," he
said. "There's time...."

People were gathering in the living-room from the other parts of the
house. They came by twos and threes. The men were awkward and uneasy,
and strove to be jocular; the women smiled with tears in their eyes.
When one woman surrenders herself to one man, all women weep. Bess
Holt, alone, did not weep. She was to play the organ; she sat down upon
the stool and spread her pretty, soft skirts about her, and looked back
over her shoulder to where Jem stood, in the hall, at the stair foot. He
was to sign to her when Faith was ready. Dr. Brant crossed and stood
beside the fireplace where the logs were laid, ready for the match. Noll
Wing and Henry Ham took stand with him. Ham, the mate, was a big man,
and an awkward one. His high collar irked him; his perilously shaven
chin moved restlessly back and forth in the effort to ease his tortured
throat. He coughed sepulchrally; and a woman giggled in the stillness,
and wept quietly into her handkerchief.

Cap'n Noll Wing stood easily, squarely upon his spread legs. He, too,
was a big man; his chest swelled barrel-like; his arms stretched the
sleeves of his black coat. Cap'n Wing was seldom seen without a cap upon
his head. Some of those in that room discovered in this moment for the
first time that he was bald. The tight, white skin upon his skull
contrasted unpleasantly with the brown of his leather cheeks. The thick
hair about his ears was tinged with gray. Across his nose and his firm
cheeks, tiny veins drew lacy patterns of purple. Garnished in wedding
finery, he was nevertheless a man past middle life, and no mistaking. A
man almost as old as Jem Kilcup, and wedding Jem Kilcup's daughter. An
old man, but a man, for all that; stout, and strong, and full of sap. He
had the dignity of mastery; he had the bearing of a man accustomed to
command and be obeyed. Roy Kilcup watched this man with eyes of
worship.

Bess, watching over her shoulder, saw old Jem look up the stairs, then
turn and nod awkwardly to her. She pressed the keys, the organ breathed,
the tones swelled forth and filled the room. Still, over her shoulder,
she watched the door, as did every other eye. They saw Faith appear
there, by her father's side; they saw her hand drop lightly on his arm.
Jem moved; his broad shoulders brushed the sides of the door. He brought
his daughter in, and turned with her upon his arm toward where Noll Wing
was waiting.

Faith's eyes, as she came through the door, swept the room once before
they found the eyes of Cap'n Wing and rested there. That single glance
had shown her Dan'l Tobey, behind the others, near the window; and the
memory of Dan'l's face played before her as she moved toward where Noll
waited. Poor Dan'l. She pitied him as women do pity the lover they do
not love. She had been hard on Dan'l. Not her fault; but still the
truth. Hard on Dan'l Tobey.... And misery dwelt upon his countenance, so
that she could not forget, even while she went to meet Noll Wing before
the minister.

Janie Cox dropped her handkerchief and dove for it desperately, as Faith
and Jem passed where she stood. Janie's swift movement was outrageously
conspicuous in that still room. Faith looked toward her, and saw poor
Janie crimson with embarrassment, and smiled at her comfortingly.

When she looked forward again, she found herself at Noll Wing's side,
and Dr. Brant was already speaking....

When they made their responses, Noll in his heavy voice of a master, and
Faith in the level voice of a proud, sure woman, her eyes met his and
promised him things unutterable. It is this speaking of eyes to eyes
that is marriage; the words are of small account. Faith pledged herself
to Noll Wing when she opened her eyes to him and let him look into the
depths of her. A woman who loves wishes to give. Faith gave all herself
in that gift of her quiet, steady eyes. Cap'n Wing, before them, found
himself abashed. He was glad when the word was said, when the still room
stirred to life. He kissed Faith hurriedly; he was a little afraid of
her. Then the others pressed forward and separated them, and he was glad
enough to be thrust back, to be able to laugh, and jest, and grip the
hands of men.

The women, and some of the men, kissed Faith as she stood there, hanging
on her father's arm. Her eyes flickered now and then toward Noll, her
Noll Wing now. But she could not always be watching him. Too many others
came to speak with her. Dan'l Tobey came; Dan'l with his round
moon-face, and his freckles, and his sandy hair.... Dan'l was only a
little older than herself; a chubby, strong young man.... Little more
than a boy, but a man, too.... Two cruises behind him.... He was going
out as second mate with Cap'n Wing, this afternoon. Faith knew Dan'l
loved her. She was pleasantly sorry, and at the same time secretly
glad. No woman is completely sorry that she is beloved. Faith told
herself she must help Dan'l get over it, on this cruise that was to
come. She must.... She decided, while she spoke to him, that she must
find a wife for Dan'l. What married woman is not a matchmaker? Faith had
now been a married woman for seven minutes by the tall clock a-ticking
in the corner....

Dan'l gave way to others; and Bess Holt cried in dismay, "Faith, the
fire was never lighted!"

It was true. In the swift moments before Faith came downstairs, no one
had remembered to touch a match to the kindling under the smooth, white
birch logs in the great fireplace. When Faith saw this, she felt a
sudden, swift pang of disappointment at her heart. She loved a fire, an
open fire, merrily blazing.... She had always dreamed of being married
before this great fire in her father's home. She herself had chosen
these logs, and under her eye her brother Roy had borne them into the
house and laid them upon the small stuff and kindling she had prepared.
She had wanted that fire to spring to life as she and Noll were married;
she had thought of it as a symbol of the new life that was beginning for
Noll. She was terribly disappointed....

In that first pang, she looked helplessly about for Noll. She wanted
comfort pitifully.... But Noll was laughing in the doorway, talking with
old Jonathan Felt, the owner of his vessel. He had not heard, he did not
see her glance. Bess Holt cried:

"Somebody light it quick. Roy Kilcup, give me a match. I'll light it
myself. Don't look, Faith! Oh, what a shame...."

Roy knew how his sister had counted on that fire. "I'll bet Faith
doesn't feel as though she were really married," he laughed. "Not
without a fire going.... Do you, Faith? Better do it over, Dr.
Brant...."

Some one said it was bad luck; a dozen voices cried the some one down.
Then, while they were all talking about it, round-faced Dan'l Tobey went
down on his knees and lighted the fire that was to have illumined
Faith's wedding.

Faith, her hand at her throat, looked for Noll again; but he and old
Jonathan had gone out to that ancient demijohn of cherry rum.... Dan'l
was looking hungrily at her; hungry for thanks. She smiled at him. They
were all pressing around her again....

It was little Bess Holt who set them moving, at last, down to the wharf.
Bess was the stage manager that day; every one else was too busy with
his or her own concerns. She whisked Faith away upstairs to change her
dress, and scolded the others out of the house.... All save Jem Kilcup
and Roy. Roy had packing of his own to do; he was flying at it like a
terrier. Jem would stay as long as he might with Faith. Noll, and
Jonathan Felt, and Noll's officers went to play host at the wedding
supper on the decks of the _Sally Sims_....

Faith's luggage had already gone aboard. When she and Jem and Bess
reached the wharf, the others were at the tables, under the boathouse,
aft. They rose, and pledged Faith in lifted glasses.... Then Faith sat
down beside her husband, at the head of the board, and old Jem settled
morosely beside her. They ate and drank merrily.

Faith was very happy, dreamily happy. She felt the big presence of her
husband at her side; and she lifted her head with pride in him, and in
this ship which he commanded. He was a man.... Once or twice she marked
her father's silence; and once she touched his knee with her hand
lightly, in comfort.... Cap'n Wing made a speech. They called on Jem,
but Jem was in no mind for chatter. They called on Faith; she rose, and
smiled at them, and said how happy she was, and touched her husband's
shoulder proudly....

Roy came, running, after a time.... And a little later, the tug whistled
from the stream, and Cap'n Wing looked overside, and stood up, and
lifted his hands.

"Friends," he said jocosely, "I'd like to take you all along. Come if
you want. But--tide's in. Them as don't want to go along had best be
getting ashore."

Thus it was ended; that wedding supper on the deck, in the late
afternoon, while the flags floated overhead, and the gulls screamed
across the refuse-dotted waters of the Harbor, and the tide whirled and
eddied about the piles. Thus it was ended; their chairs scraped upon the
deck; the boards that had been set upon boxes and trestles to make
tables and seats were thrust aside or overturned. They swept about
Faith, where she stood at her husband's side, arm linked in his, against
the rail....

Old Jem kissed her first of all, kissed her roundly, crushing her to
his breast; and she whispered, in his close embrace: "It's all right,
dad. Don't worry.... All right.... I'll bring you home...."

He kissed her again, cutting short her promise. Kissed her, and thrust
her away, and stumped ashore, and went stockily off along the wharf and
out of sight, never looking back. A solitary figure; somewhat to be
pitied, for all his broad shoulders and his fine old head.

The others in their turn, little Bess Holt last of all. Bess, now that
her tasks were done, had her turn at tears. She wept happily in Faith's
arms. Faith did not weep. She was too happy for even the happiest of
tears. She patted Bess's brown head, and linked arms with the girl while
Bess climbed to the wharf, and they kissed again, there....

Then every one waited, calling, laughing, crying, while the _Sally Sims_
was torn loose from her moorings. Cap'n Wing was another man now; he was
never a man to leave his ship to another, Faith thought proudly. His
commands rang through the still air of late afternoon; his eye saw the
hawsers cast off, saw the tug take hold....

The _Sally Sims_ moved; she moved so slowly that at first one must watch
a fixed point upon the wharf to be sure she moved at all. Roy was
everywhere, afire with zeal in this new experience; his eyes were
dancing. Faith stood aft, a little way from her husband, calling to
those upon the wharf. The tug dragged the _Sally_ stern first into the
stream, headed her around....

Last calls, last cries.... The individual figures on the wharf's end
slowly merged into one mass, a mass variegated by the black garments of
the men, by the gayer fabrics which the women wore. This mass in turn,
as the _Sally_ slipped eastward toward the sea, became a dot of color
against the brown casks which piled the wharf. Faith took her eyes from
it to glance toward her husband; when she looked back it was hard to
discover the dot again. Presently it was gone....

Men were in the rigging, now, setting the big, square sails. The wind
began to tug at them. The voice of the mate, Mr. Ham, roared up to the
men in profane commands. Cap'n Wing stood stockily on wide-spread legs,
watching, joining his voice now and then to the uproar.

The sea, presently, opened out before them, inviting them, offering all
its wide expanses to the _Sally Sims'_ blunt bow. The _Sally_ began to
lift and tilt awkwardly. The tug had long since dropped behind; they
shaped their course for where the night came up ahead of them.... They
sailed steadily eastward, into the gathering gloom....

Cap'n Wing bawled: "Mr. Tobey." And Dan'l came aft to where Faith stood
with her husband. He did not look at her, so that Faith was faintly
disquieted. The captain pointed to the litter of planks and boxes and
dishes and food where the wedding supper had been laid. Faith watched
dreamily, happily.... She had loved that last gathering with her
friends.... There was something sacred to her, in this moment, even in
the ugly débris that remained....

But not to Cap'n Wing. He said harshly, in his voice of a master:

"Have that trash cleared up, Mr. Tobey. Sharp, now."

"Trash?" Faith was faintly unhappy at the word. Dan'l bawled to the men,
and half a dozen of them came shuffling aft. She touched her husband's
arm. "I'm going below, now, Noll," she whispered.

He nodded. "Get to bed," he said. "I'll be down."

He had not looked at her; he was watching Dan'l and the men. Her own
eyes clouded.... Nevertheless, she turned to the cabin companion and
went below.




II


For two weeks Faith had been aboard the _Sally Sims_, making ready the
tiny quarters that were to be her home. When she came down into the
cabin now, it was with a sense of familiarity. The plain table, built
about the butt of the mizzenmast; the chairs; the swinging, whale-oil
lamps.... These were old friends, waiting to replace those other friends
she had left behind in her bedroom at home. She stood for a moment, at
the foot of the cabin companion, looking about her; and she smiled
faintly, her hand at her throat....

She was not lonely, not homesick, not sorry.... But her smile seemed to
appeal to these inanimate surroundings to be good to her.

Then she crossed the cabin quietly, and went into the smaller
compartment across the stern which was used by Cap'n Wing for his books,
his instruments, his scant hours of leisure.... This ran almost entirely
across the stern of the ship; but it was little more than a corridor.
The captain's cabin was on the starboard side, opening off this
corridor-like compartment. There was scant room, aft, aboard the _Sally
Sims_. The four mates bunked two by two, in cabins opening off the main
cabin; the mate had no room to himself. And by the same token, there was
no possibility of giving Faith separate quarters. There were two bunks
in the captain's cabin, one above the other. The upper had been built
in, during the last two weeks. That was all....

Faith had not protested. She was content that Noll was hers; the rest
did not matter. She found a measure of glory in the thought that she
must endure some hardships to be at his side while her man did his work
in the world. She was, after the first pangs, glad that she must make a
tiny chest and a half a dozen nails serve her for wardrobe and
dressing-room; she was glad that she must sleep on a thing like a shelf
built into the wall, instead of her high, soft bed with the canopy at
home. She was glad--glad for life--glad for Noll--glad for
everything....

She began, quietly, to prepare herself for bed. And while she loosened
her heavy hair, and began the long, easy brushing that kept it so glossy
and smooth, her thoughts ran back over the swift, warm rapture of her
awakening love for Noll. Big Noll Wing.... Her husband, now.... She, his
bride....

She had always worshiped Noll, even while she was still a school girl,
her skirts short, her hair in a long, thick braid. Noll was a heroic
figure, a great man who appeared at intervals from the distances of
ocean, and moved majestically about the little world of the town, and
then was gone again. The man had had the gift of drama; his deeds held
that element which lifted them above mere exploits and made them
romance. When he was third mate of the old _Bertha_, a crazy Islander
tried to knife him, and fleshed his blade in Noll Wing's shoulder, from
behind. Noll had wrenched around and broken the man's neck with a twist
of his hands. He had always been a hard man with his hands; a strong
man, perhaps a brutal man. Faith, hearing only glorified whispers of
these matters, had dreamed of the strength of him. She saw this strength
not as a physical thing, but as a thing spiritual. No one man could rule
other men unless he ruled them by a superior moral strength, she knew.
She loved to think of Noll's strength.... Her breath had caught in
ecstasy of pain, that night he first held her close against his great
chest, till she thought her own ribs would crack....

Not Noll's strength alone was famous. He had been a great captain, a
great man for oil. His maiden voyage as skipper of his own ship made
that reputation for the man. He set sail, ran forthwith into a very sea
of whales, worked night and day, and returned in three days short of
three months with a cargo worth thirty-seven thousand dollars. A cargo
that other men took three years to harvest from the fat fields of the
sea; took three years to harvest, and then were like as not to boast of
the harvesting. Oh, Noll Wing was a master hand for sperm oil; a master
skipper as ever sailed the seas....

He came back thus, cruise after cruise, and the town watched his
footsteps with pride and envy; he walked the streets with head high; he
spoke harshly, in tones of command; he was, Faith thought, a man....

She remembered, this night, her first sight of him; her first remembered
sight. It was when her father came home from his last voyage, his chest
crushed, himself a helpless man who must lie abed long months before he
might regain a measure of his ancient strength again. His ship came in,
down at the wharves, at early dawn; and Faith and Roy, at home with
their mother, had known nothing of the matter till big Noll Wing came up
the hill, carrying Jem Kilcup in his arms as a baby is borne. Their
mother opened the door, and Noll bore Jem upstairs to the bed he was to
keep for so long.... And Faith and Roy, who had always seen in their
father the mightiest of men, as children do, marveled at Noll Wing with
wide eyes. Noll had carried their father in his arms....

Faith was eleven, then; Roy not much more than half as old. While Noll's
ship remained in port, she and Roy had stolen down often to the wharves
to catch a stolen sight of the great man; they had hid among the casks
to watch him; they had heard with awe his thundering commands.... And
then he sailed away. When he came again, Faith was thirteen; and she
tagged his heels, and he bought her candy, and took her on his knee and
played with her.... Those weeks of his stay were witchery to Faith. Her
mother died during that time, and Noll was her comforter.... The big man
could be gentle, in those days, and very kind....

He came next when Faith was sixteen; and the faint breath of bursting
womanhood within her made Faith shy. When a girl passes from childhood,
and feels for the first time the treasures of womanhood within herself,
she guards that treasure zealously, like a secret thing. Faith was
afraid of Noll; she avoided him; and when they met, her tongue was
tied.... He teased her, and she writhed in helpless misery....

Nineteen at his next coming; but young Dan'l Tobey, risen to be fourth
mate on that cruise with Noll, laid siege to her. She liked Dan'l; she
thought he was a pleasant boy.... But when she saw Noll, now and then,
she was silent before him; and Noll had no eyes to see what was in the
eyes of Faith. He was, at that time, in the tower of his strength; a
mighty man, with flooding pulses that drove him restlessly. He still
liked children; but Faith was no longer a child. She was a woman; and
Noll had never had more than casual use for women. He saw her, now and
then; nothing more....

Nevertheless this seeing was enough so that Dan'l Tobey had no chance at
all. Dan'l went so far as to beg her to marry him; but she shook her
head.... "Wait ..." she whispered. "No. No.... Wait...."

"You mean--you will--some day?" he clamored. And she was frightened, and
cried out:

"No, I don't mean anything, Dan'l. Please--don't ask me.... Wait...."

He told her, doggedly, the day he sailed away, that he would ask her
again when he came home. And Faith, sure that she would never love
Dan'l, was so sorry for him that she kissed him good-by; kissed him on
the forehead.... The boy was blind; he read in that kiss an augury of
good, and went away with heart singing. He did not know the philosophy
of kisses. Let a girl permit a man to kiss her good-by--on cheek, or
forehead, or ear tip, or hand, or lip, or what you will--and there's
still a chance for him; but when she kisses him, sisterly, upon the
forehead, the poor chap is lost and has as well make up his mind to't,
Dan'l did not know, so went happily away....

Noll Wing, on that cruise, passed the great divide of life without
knowing it. Till then he had been a strong man, proud in his strength,
sufficient unto himself, alone without being either lonely or afraid;
but when he came home, there was stirring in him for the first time a
pang of loneliness.... This was the advance courier of age, come
suddenly upon him.

He did not understand this; he was not even conscious of the change in
him. He left his ship, and climbed the hill to his own house where his
sister waited for him; and he submitted to her timid ministrations as he
had never submitted before. He found it, somehow, faintly pleasant.... A
woman, puttering about him.... But comfortable, just the same, he told
himself. A man gets tired of men....

He had never tired of men before, never tired of himself before. Now
there was something in him that was weary. He wanted comfort. He was
worn with Spartan living; he was sick of rough life. He hungered for
soft ways, for gentle things.... Some one to mend his socks.... Always
wearing full of holes.... Some one to talk to, on ship board, besides
the rough crew and the respectful officers....

This unrest was stirring in him when he went to see old Jem Kilcup, and
Faith opened the door to him, and bade him come in.

He came in, tugging at his cap; and his eyes rested on her pleasantly.
She was tall, as women go; but not too tall. And she was rounded, and
strong, and firm. Her hair was thick, and soft; and her voice was low
and full. When she bade him good evening, her voice thrummed some cord
in the man. A pulse pricked faster in his throat....

He had come to see Jem; Jem was not at home. Faith told him this. In the
old days, he would have turned and stamped away. Now he hesitated; then
looked about for a chair, sat down. And Faith, who for the life of her
could not hold still her heart when Noll Wing was near, sat in a chair
that faced him, and they fell a-talking together.

He talked, as men will do, of himself. Nothing could have pleased Faith
better. Nor Noll, for that matter.... He loved to talk of himself; and
for an hour they sat together, while his words bore her across the seven
seas, through the tumult of storm, through the bloody flurry of the
fighting whale, through the tense silence of a ship where sullen men
plan evil.... She trembled as she listened; not with fear for him, but
with pride in him. She was already as proud of Noll as though he
belonged to her.

Thus began their strange courtship. It was scarce conscious, on either
side. Noll took comfort in coming to her, in talking to her, in watching
her.... His pulses stirred at watching her. And Faith made herself fair
for his coming, and made him welcome when he came....

She was his woman, heart and soul, from the beginning. As for Noll, he
found her company increasingly pleasant. She was a better listener than
a man; his tales were fresh and new to her. At the same time, knowing
him better, she began to mother him in her thoughts, as women will. She
began to mother him, and to guide him. Men need guiding, ever. Noll
might never have known what he wanted; but Faith was no weak girl. She
had the courage to reach out her hand for the thing that was dear to
her; she was not ashamed of her heart....

They came together by chance one night when the moon played hide and
seek with dark clouds in the sky; they met upon the street, as Faith
came home with Bess Holt; and Noll walked with them to Bess's house, and
then he and Faith went on together. She led him to talk of himself, as
ever. When they came to her gate, some sudden impulse of unaccustomed
modesty seized the man. He said hoarsely:

"But pshaw, Faith.... You must be sick of my old yarns by now...."

She was silent for a moment, there before him. Then she lifted her eyes,
smiling in the moonlight, and she quoted softly and provokingly:

                        "'... She thank'd me,
    And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
    I should but teach him how to tell my story,
    And that would woo her....'"

Noll Wing was no man of little reading. He understood, and cried out
hoarsely....

'Twas then, the moon providentially disappearing behind a cloud, that he
caught her and held her till her ribs were like to crack, while his lips
came fumbling down to find her own....

Afterward, Faith hid her eyes in shame, and scolded herself for
frowardness until he reassured her; she bade him, then, pay court in due
form, at her feet. He knelt before her, the big, strong man.... And her
eyes filled, and she knelt with him.

It was in her heart that she was pledging herself sacredly, with this
man, forevermore.

       *       *       *       *       *

Followed the swift days of preparation; a pleasant flurry, through which
Faith moved calmly, her thoughts far off. Old Jem Kilcup was wroth; he
knew Noll Wing, and tried to tell Faith something of this knowledge. But
she, proud and straight, would have none of it; she commanded old Jem
into silence, then teased him into smiles till he consented and bade her
take her man.

Roy was immensely proud of her. When it was decided that she should go
away with Noll upon the _Sally Sims_, Roy begged to go. Begged
fruitlessly, at first; for Noll Wing, having won the thing he wanted,
was already beginning to wonder whether he really wanted it at all. But
in the end, he consented.... Roy was to go with his sister....

Bess Holt.... Those were wild days for Bess; wild days of constant,
fluttering excitement. She buzzed about Faith like a humming bird about
a flower; and Faith quietly gave herself to the current of the days. She
was so happy that even Dan'l Tobey could not cloud her eyes. There was
one hot hour with Dan'l, when he accused, and swore, and begged. But
Faith had strength in her, so that in the end she conquered him and
held him.... He was silenced; only his eyes still accused her....

So.... Marriage! It was done, now. Done.... She was away, with Noll, the
world and life before them.... Brave Noll; strong Noll.... She loved him
so....

       *       *       *       *       *

When he came down into the cabin, she was waiting for him. She had put
on a dressing-gown, a warm and woolly thing that she and Bess had made
of a heavy blanket, to protect her against the chill winds of the sea.
Her braids were upon her shoulders; her hair parted evenly above her
broad brow. Her eyes were steady and sweet and calm.... Noll, studying
her while his heart leaped, saw where the dressing-gown parted at her
throat a touch of white, a spray of broidered blossoms which Faith
herself had made, with every stitch a world of hope and dreams....

He took off his cap, and his coat and vest. He wore suspenders. When
Faith saw them, she shivered in spite of herself. They were such
hopelessly ugly things.... She lifted her eyes from them, came closer to
him. He took her roughly in his arms, and she lifted one arm and drew it
around his thick neck, and drew his face down.

"Ah, Noll ..." she whispered proudly.




III


Faith Wing fitted easily into the life aboard the _Sally Sims_, as the
whaler worked eastward before starting on the long southward slant that
would bring her at last to her true hunting grounds. The mates saw her
daily as a pleasant figure in the life of the cabin; the boat-steerers
and the seamen and greenies caught glimpses of her, now and then, when
she sat on deck with sewing, or a book, or with idle hands and
thoughtful eyes. Faith, on her part, studied the men about her, and
watched over Noll, and gave herself to the task of being a good wife and
helpmate to him.

The first weeks of the cruise were arduous ones, as they are apt to be
on a whaler; for of the whole crew, more than half were green hands
recruited from the gutters, the farms, the slums.... Weak men, in many
cases; rotted by wrong living; slack-muscled, jangle-nerved. Weak men
who must be made strong; for there is no place for weakness in a
whaler's crew.

It was the task of the mates to make these weaklings into men. The
greenies must learn the rigging; they must learn their duties in
response to each command; they must be drilled to their parts in the
boats and prepared for the hunts that were to come. Your novice at sea
has never an easy time of it; he learns in a hard school, and this is
apt to be especially true upon a whaler. While the methods of the
officers differed according to the habit of the officer, they were never
gentle.

Cap'n Wing watched over all this, took a hand here and there. And Faith,
quietly in the background, saw a new Noll, saw in each of the officers a
man she had never seen ashore.

Noll was the master, the commander. When his voice bellowed along the
decks, even the greenest man leaped and desperately strove in his
efforts to obey. Noll was the dominant man; and Faith was pleasantly
afraid of him and his roaring tones.... She loved being afraid of
him....

There were four officers aboard the _Sally Sims_. These four, with
Roy--in his capacity of ship's boy--lived with Noll and Faith in the
main cabin. They were Faith's family. Big Henry Ham, the mate, was a man
of slow wit but quick fist; a man with a gift of stubbornness that
passed for mastery. The men of his watch, and especially the men of his
boat, feared him acutely. He taught them this fear in the first week of
the cruise, by the simple teachings of blows. Thereafter he relaxed this
chastisement, but held a clenched fist always over their cowering heads.
He had what passed for a philosophy of life, to justify this. When Faith
asked him, pleasantly, one day, whether it was necessary to strike the
men, he told her with ponderous condescension that no other measures
would suffice.

"They've no proper brains at all, ma'am," he explained. "Their brains is
all in their faces; and when they don't jump at the word, your fist in
their mouth jumps them. And next time, they jump without it. That's the
whole thing of it, ma'am."

And he added further: "They're children, ma'am." He smiled slyly. "When
you've babies of your own, you'll understand. Take the switch to 'em,
ma'am, till they learn what it is. Then they'll mind without, and
things'll go all smooth."

He was, after a fashion, a Pecksniffian man, this Henry Ham. Faith did
not like him, but she found it hard not to respect him. He was, after
all, efficient.

Dan'l Tobey, the second mate, was a man of another sort. Faith was
startled and somewhat amused to find what a difference there was between
Dan'l afloat and Dan'l ashore. Ashore, he was a round-faced, freckled,
sandy-haired boy with no guile in him; an impetuous, somewhat helpless
and inarticulate boy. Afloat, he was a man; reticent, speaking little,
speaking to the point when he spoke at all.... Shrewd, reading the
character of his men, playing upon them as a musician plays upon his
instruments. Of the five men in his boat, not one but might have whipped
him in a stand-up fight. Nevertheless, he ruled them. This one he
dominated by cutting and sarcastic words that left the man abashed and
helpless; that one he flattered; another he joked into quick
obedience.... The fourth, a surly giant who might have proved
unmanageable, he gave into the keeping of his boat-steerer, a big
Islander called Yella' Boy. He taught Yella' Boy to fear the man,
provoked a fight between them in which the giant was soundly whipped,
and thereafter used the one against the other and kept them both in
balance eternally. Dan'l had, Faith decided, more mental ability than
any man aboard--short of her Noll. He ruled by his wits; and this the
more surprised her because she had always thought Dan'l more than a
little stupid. She watched the unfolding of the new Dan'l with keenest
interest as the weeks dragged by.

James Tichel, the third mate, was a thin little old man given to
occasional bursts of tigerish rage in which he was the match for any man
aboard. In his second week, he took the biggest man in his boat and beat
him into a helpless, clucking wreck of bruises. Thereafter, there was no
need for him to strike a second time. Faith wondered whether these rages
to which the little man gave way were genuine, whether he gave way
because he chose to do so. In the cabin, he was distinguished for a dry
and acid wit. Faith did not like him, even when she guessed the secret
fear of the little man that he was passing his usefulness, that he was
growing too old to serve. He told her, once, in a moment of confidence,
that he had sailed as third mate for fourteen years, and once as
second....

"But never as mate; nor as skipper, ma'am," he mourned.

She tried to comfort him. "You will, some day," she told him. "Every
man's chance must come...."

He chuckled acridly. "Aye--but what if he's dead afore it?"

Willis Cox was fourth mate. He was a youngster; this his first cruise in
the cabin. He had been promoted from the fo'c's'le by Noll Wing on
Noll's last voyage. By the same token, he worshiped Noll as a demigod,
with the enthusiasm of youth; and a jealousy not unlike the jealousy of
women made him dislike Faith, at first, and resent her presence aboard.
No one could long dislike Faith, however. In the end, he included her in
his worship of Noll, and gave her all his loyalty.

Roy, in these new surroundings, flourished. He was tireless, always
stirring about the ship or clambering in the rigging, drinking in new
impressions like a sponge. He and Faith, as is apt to be the case
between brother and sister, fought each other constantly, bickering and
striving back and forth. Faith had somewhat outgrown this way of
childhood; but Roy was still a boy, and Faith felt toward him at times
the exasperation which a mother feels toward a child. It came to pass,
in the early stages of the voyage, that Roy included Noll Wing in his
warfare against Faith; and he turned to Dan'l Tobey. Between Dan'l and
the boy, a strange friendship arose, so that Faith often saw them
talking together, Roy chattering while Dan'l listened flatteringly.
Faith, ashore, had liked Dan'l; she was a little afraid of the new man
he had become, since they sailed. Nevertheless, she was pleased that Roy
liked him....

All these men had been changed, in subtle ways, by their coming to sea.
Faith, during the first weeks, was profoundly puzzled and interested by
this transformation. There was a new strength in all of them, which she
marked and admired. At the same time, there were manifestations at which
she was disquieted.

Noll Wing--her Noll--had changed with the rest. He had changed not only
in his every-day bearing, but in his relations with her. She was
troubled, from the very beginning, by these changes; and she was
troubled by her own reactions to them.

Noll, for instance, liked to come down to his cabin in his times of
leisure and take off his coat and vest and open his shirt at the throat
and lie down. Sometimes he took off his shoes. Usually, at such times,
he went to sleep; and Faith, who sometimes read aloud to him, would stop
her reading when Noll began to snore, and look at her husband, and try
to convince herself he was good to look upon. She learned to know, line
by line, the slack folds of his cheeks when he lay thus, utterly
relaxed. The meandering of the little purple veins beneath his skin
fascinated her and held her eyes. There were little, stiff hairs in his
ears, and in his nostrils; and where his shirt was open at the throat
she could glimpse the dark growth upon his broad chest. His suspenders
pressed furrows in the soft, outer covering of flesh which padded the
muscles of his shoulders. He was, by habit, a cleanly man; but he was at
the same time full-fleshed and full-blooded, and there was always about
him a characteristic and not necessarily unpleasant odor of clean
perspiration. At times, as she sat beside him while he slept thus, Faith
tried to tell herself she liked this; at times it frankly revolted her,
so that she was ashamed of her own revolt....

She had worshiped the strength of Noll; she was in danger of discovering
that at too close range, that strength became grossness.

The pitiless intimacies of their life together in the cabin of the
_Sally Sims_ were hard for Faith. They shared two small rooms; and Noll
must be up and down at all hours of day and night, when the weather was
bad, or the business of whaling engrossed him. Faith, without being
vain, had that reverence and respect for herself which goes by the name
of modesty. Her body was as sacred to her as her soul. The necessity
that they were under of dressing and undressing in a tiny room not eight
feet long was a steady torment to her....

She did not blame Noll for what unhappiness there was in these matters;
she blamed herself for over-sensitiveness, and tried to teach herself to
endure these things as a part of her task of sharing the rigors of
Noll's daily toil. But there were times when even the nakedness of
Noll's bald head revolted her.

She had been, when she married, prepared for disillusionment. Faith was
not a child; she was a woman. She had the wisdom to know that no man is
a heroic figure in a night shirt.... But she was not prepared to
discover that Noll, who walked among men as a master, could fret at his
wife like a nervous woman.

This fretful querulousness manifested itself more than once in the early
stages of the voyage. For Noll was growing old, and growing old a little
before his time because he had spent his life too freely. He was, at
times, as querulous as a complaining old man. Because he was apt to be
profane, in these moods, Faith tried to tell herself that they were the
stormy outbreaks of a strong man.... But she knew better. When Noll,
after they lost their second whale, growled to her:

"Damn Tichel.... The man's losing his pith. You'd think a man like him
could strike a whale and not let it get away...." Faith knew this was no
mere outbreak against Tichel, but an out and out whine.

She knew this, but would not admit it, even in her thoughts.

Another matter troubled her. Noll Wing was a drinker. She had always
known that. It was a part of his strength, she thought, to be able to
drink strong liquor as a man should. But aboard ship she found that he
drank constantly, that there was always the sickly sweet smell of
alcohol about him.... And at times he drank to stupefaction, and slept,
log-like, while Faith lay wide-eyed and ashamed for him in the bunk
below his. She was sorry; but because she trusted in Noll's strength and
wisdom, she made no attempt to interfere.

She had expected that marriage would shatter some of her illusions; and
when her expectations were fulfilled and far exceeded, she thrust her
unhappiness loyally behind her, and clung the closer to big Noll,
striving to lend her strength to him.

More than once, when Noll fretted at her while others were about, she
saw Dan'l Tobey's eyes upon her; and at such times she took care to look
serene and proud. Dan'l must not so much as guess it, if Noll should
ever make her unhappy....

But.... Noll make her unhappy? The very thought was absurd. He was her
Noll; she was his. When they were wedded, she had given herself to him,
and taken him as a part of herself, utterly and without reservation.

He might fail her high expectations in little things; she might fail
him. But for all that, they were one, one body and soul so long as they
both should live.

She was as loyal to him, even in her thoughts, as to herself. For this
was Faith; she was Noll's forever.

She thought that what she felt was hidden; but Dan'l Tobey had eyes to
see. And now and then, when in crafty ways he led big Noll to act
unworthily before her, he watched for the shadow that crossed her face,
and smiled in his own sly soul.




IV


There was, in Dan'l Tobey's boat, a little man named Mauger. It was he
whom Dan'l ruled by a superior tongue, deriding the man and scorching
him with jests that made Mauger crimson with shame for himself. Mauger
was a greenie; he was a product of the worst conditions of the city. He
was little and shrunken and thin, and his shoulders curled forward as
though to hug and shelter his weak chest. Nevertheless, there was a
rat-like spirit in the man, and a rat-like gleam in his black little
eyes. He was one of those men who inspire dislike, even when they strive
to win the liking of their fellows. The very fo'c's'le baited him.

It was through Mauger that the first open clash between Cap'n Wing and
Faith, his wife, was brought to pass; and the thing happened in this
wise.

Dan'l Tobey knew how to handle Mauger; and he kept the little man in a
continual ferment of helpless anger. When they were off in the boats
after a whale, or merely for the sake of boat drill, Dan'l gave all his
attention to Mauger, who rowed tub oar in Dan'l's boat.

"Now if you'll not mind, Mauger," he would say, "just put your strength
into the stroke there. Just a trifle of it. Gently, you understand, for
we must not break the oars. But lean to it, Mauger. Lean to it, little
man."

And Mauger strove till the veins stood out upon his narrow forehead, and
his black little eyes gleamed.... And within him boiled and boiled a
vast revolt, a hatred of Dan'l. Again and again, he was on the point of
an open outbreak; he cursed between his teeth, and slavered, and thought
of the bliss of sinking his nails in Dan'l's smooth throat.... The wrath
in the man gathered like a tempest....

But always Dan'l pricked the bubble of this wrath with some sly word
that left Mauger helpless and bewildered....

He set the man to scrub the decks, amidships, one day after an eighty
barrel bull whale had been tried out. There were other men at work,
scrubbing; but Dan'l gave all his attention to Mauger. He leaned against
the rail, and smiled cheerfully at the little man, and spoke
caustically....

"--not used to the scrub brush, Mauger. That's plain to see. But you'll
learn its little ways.... Give you time...."

And.... "Lend a little weight to it on the thrust, little man. Put your
pith into it...."

And.... "Here's a spot, here by my foot, that needs attention....
Come.... No, yonder.... No, beyond that again.... So...."

Or.... "See, now, how the Portugee there scrubs...." And when Mauger
looked toward the Portugee, Dan'l rasped: "Come.... Don't be looking up
from your tasks, little man. Attention, there...."

This continued until Mauger, fretted and tormented and wild with the
fury of a helpless thing, was minded to rise and fling himself at
Dan'l's round, freckled face.... And in that final moment before the
outbreak must surely have come, Dan'l said pleasantly:

"So.... That is nicely. Go below now, Mauger, and rest. Ye've worked
well...."

And the kindliness of his tone robbed Mauger of all wrath, so that the
little man crept forward, and down to his bunk, and fairly sobbed there
with rage, and nerves, and general bewilderment.

Dan'l was the man's master, fair....

This was one side of the matter; Cap'n Noll Wing was on the other side.

Noll Wing had been harassed by the difficulties of the early weeks of
the cruise. It seemed to the man that the whole world combined to
torment him. He was, for one thing, a compound of rasping nerves; the
slightest mishap on the _Sally Sims_ preyed on his mind; the least
slackness on the part of the mates, the least error by the men sent him
into a futile storm of anger....

Even toward Faith, he blew hot, blew cold.... There were times when he
felt the steadfast love she gave him was like a burden hung about his
neck; and he wished he might cast it off, and wished he had never
married her, and wished ... a thousand things. These were the days when
the old strength of the man reasserted itself, when he held his head
high, and would have defied the world.... But there were other hours,
when he was spiritually bowed by the burdens of his task; and in these
hours it seemed to him Faith was his only reliance, his only support.
He leaned upon her as a man leans upon a staff. She was now a nagging
burden, now a peaceful haven of rest to which he could retreat from all
the world....

If he felt thus toward Faith, whom, in his way, the man did love, how
much more unstable was his attitude toward the men about him. In his
relations with them, he alternated between storming anger and querulous
complaint. Once, when they were hauling up to the mainhead a blanket
strip of blubber from a small cow whale, the tackle gave and let the
whole strip snap down like a smothering blanket of rubber.... The old
Noll Wing would have leaped into the resulting tangle and brought order
out of it with half a dozen sharp commands, with a curt blow.... This
time, he stood aft by the boat house and nagged at the mate, and cried:

"Mr. Ham, will you please get that mess straightened out? In God's name,
why can't you men do things the right way? You...." He flung up his
hands like a hysterical woman. "By God, I wish I'd stayed ashore...."

And he turned and went aft and sulkily down into the cabin, to fret at
Faith, while Mr. Ham and Dan'l Tobey brought order out of chaos, and
Dan'l smiled faintly at his own thoughts.

Now it is a truth which every soldier knows, that a commanding officer
must command. When he begins to entreat, or to scold like a woman, or to
give any other indication of cracking nerves, the men under him conspire
maliciously to torment him, in the hope of provoking new outbreaks. It
is instinctive with them; they do it as naturally as small boys torment
a helpless dog. And it was so on the _Sally Sims_. The more frequently
Noll Wing forgot that he was master, the more persistently the men
harassed him.

His officers saw the change in Noll, and tried to hide it or deny it as
their natures prompted. The mate, Mr. Ham, developed an unsuspected
loyalty, covering his chief's errors by his own strength; and young
Willis Cox backed him nobly. Dan'l Tobey, likewise, was always quick to
take hold of matters when they slipped from the captain's fingers; but
he did it a little ostentatiously.... Noll himself did not perceive this
ostentation; but the men saw, and understood. It was as though Dan'l
whispered over his shoulder to them:

"See! The old man's failing. I have to handle you for him...."

Once or twice Dan'l bungled some task in a fashion that provoked these
outbreaks; and whether or not this was mere chance, Faith was always
about on these occasions. For example, at dinner one day in the cabin,
Dan'l looked mournfully at the salt beef that was set before him, and
then began to eat it with such a look of resignation on his countenance
that Noll demanded: "What's wrong with the beef, Mr. Tobey?"

Dan'l said pleasantly: "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. It's very good
fare, and almighty well cooked, I'd say."

Now it was not well cooked. Tinch, the cook, had been hurried, or
careless.... The junk he had brought down to the cabin was half raw, a
nauseous mass.... And Dan'l knew it, and so did Noll Wing. But Noll
might have taken no notice but for Dan'l, and Dan'l's tone....

As it was, he was forced to take notice. And so he bellowed for Tinch,
and when the cook came running, Noll lifted the platter and flung it,
with its greasy contents, at the man's head, roaring profanely....

Faith was at the table; she said nothing. But when Noll looked at her,
and saw the disappointment in her eyes--disappointment in him--he wished
to justify himself; and so complained: "Damned shame.... A man can't get
decent food out of that rascal.... If I wasn't a fool, Faith, I'd have
stayed ashore...."

Faith thought she would have respected him more if, having given way to
his anger, he had stuck to his guns, instead of seeking thus weakly to
placate her. And Dan'l Tobey watched Faith, and was well content with
himself.

It was Dan'l, in the end, who brought Mauger and Cap'n Wing together;
and if matters went beyond what he had intended, that was because chance
favored him.

It was a day when Mauger took a turn at the awkward steering apparatus
of the _Sally Sims_. The _Sally's_ wheel was so arranged that when it
was twirled, it moved to and fro across the deck, dragging the tiller
with it. To steer was a trick that required learning; and in any sea,
the tiller bucked, and the wheel fought the steersman in eccentric and
amazing fashion. This antiquated arrangement was one of the curses of
many ships of the whaling fleet.... Mauger had never been able to get
the trick of it....

Dan'l's watch came on deck and Mauger took the wheel at a moment when
Cap'n Wing was below. Faith was with him. Dan'l knew the captain would
be entering the log, writing up his records of the cruise, reading....
He also knew that if Noll Wing followed his custom, he would presently
come on deck. And he knew--he himself had had a hand in this--that Noll
had been drinking, that day, more than usual.

That Faith came up with Noll, a little later, was chance; no more. Dan'l
had not counted on it.

Mauger, then, was at the wheel. Dan'l leaned against the deckhouse
behind Mauger, and devoted himself amicably to the task of instructing
the man. His tone remained, throughout, even and calm; but there was a
bite in it which seared the very skin of Mauger's back.

"You'll understand," said Dan'l cheerfully, "you are not rolling a hoop
in your home gutter, Mauger. You're too impetuous in your ways.... Be
gentle with her...."

This when, the _Sally Sims_ having fallen off her set course, Mauger
brought her so far up into the wind that her sails flapped on the yards.
Dan'l chided him.

"Not so strenuous, Mauger. A little turn, a spoke or two.... You
overswing your mark, little man. Stick her nose into it, and keep it
there...."

The worst of it was, from Mauger's point of view, that he was trying
quite desperately to hold the _Sally's_ blunt bows where they belonged.
But there was a sea; the rollers pounded her high sides with an
overwhelming impact, and the awkward wheel put a constant strain on his
none-too-adequate arms and shoulders. When the _Sally_ swung off, and he
fought her back to her course, she was sure to swing too far the other
way; when he tried to ease her up to it, a following sea was sure to
catch him and thrust him still farther off the way he should go....

He fought the wheel as though it were a live thing, and the sweat burst
out on him, and his arms and shoulders ached; and all the time, Dan'l at
his back flogged him with gentle jeers, and seared him with caustic
words....

The rat-like little man had the temper of a rat. Dan'l knew this; he was
careful never to push Mauger too far. So, this afternoon, he brought the
man, little by little, to the boiling point, and held him there as
delicately in the balance as a chemist's scales.... With a word, he
might at any time have driven Mauger mad with fury; with a word he could
have reduced the helpless little man to smothering sobs.

He had Mauger thus trembling and wild when Noll Wing came on deck, Faith
at his side. Dan'l looked at them shrewdly; he saw that Noll's face was
flushed, and that Noll's eyes were hot and angry. And--behind the back
of Mauger at the wheel--he nodded toward the little man, and caught
Noll's eyes, and raised his shoulders hopelessly, smiling.... It was as
if he said:

"See what a hash the little man is making of his simple job. Is he not a
hopeless thing?"

Noll caught Dan'l's glance; and while Mauger still quivered with the
memory of Dan'l's last word, Noll looked at the compass, and cuffed
Mauger on the ear and growled at him:

"Get her on her course, you gutter dog...."

Which was just enough to fill to overflowing Mauger's cup of wrath. The
little man abandoned the wheel.... Dan'l caught it before the _Sally_
could fall away ... and Mauger sprang headlong, face black with wrath,
at Cap'n Wing.

He was scarce a third Noll's size; but the fury of his attack was such
that for a moment Noll was staggered. Then the captain's fist swung
home, and the little man whirled in the air, and fell crushingly on head
and right shoulder, and rolled on the slanting deck like a bundle of
soiled old clothes.... Rolled and lay still....

Cap'n Noll Wing, big Noll, whom Faith loved, bellowed and leaped after
the little man. He was red with fury that Mauger had attacked him, red
with rage that Mauger had, for an instant, thrust him back. He swung his
heavy boot and drove it square into the face of the unconscious man.
Faith saw....

The toe of the captain's boot struck Mauger in the right eye-socket, as
he lay on his side. At the blow, for an instant, the man's eye literally
splashed out, bulging, on his temple....

Some women would have screamed; some would have flung themselves upon
Noll to drag him back. Faith did neither of these things. She stood for
an instant, her lips white.... Her sorrow and pity were not for Mauger,
who had suffered the blow.... They were for Noll, her Noll, her husband
whom she loved and wished to respect.... Sorrow and pity for Noll, who
had done this thing....

She turned quickly and went down into her cabin....

Noll came down, minutes later, after she had heard the feet of running
men, the voices of men upon the deck. He came down, found her in the
cabin which served as his office. She was standing, looking out one of
the windows in the stern....

He said thickly: "That damned rat won't try that on me again...."

She turned, and her eyes held his. "That was a cowardly thing to do,
Noll, my husband," she said.




V


When Noll Wing kicked the unconscious man, and Faith slipped quietly
away and went below, the life of the _Sally Sims_ for an instant stood
still. Yella' Boy and Loum, two of the boat-steerers, were lounging at
the forward end of the boathouse, and saw. Dan'l Tobey, who had gripped
the wheel, saw. And three or four of the men, amidships, saw. For a
space they all stood still, watching, while Noll growled above his
victim, and Mauger, limp and senseless, rolled slackly back and forth
upon the deck with the motion of the vessel.

Then Noll looked around, and saw them all watching him with steady,
hard, frightened eyes; and their silence irked him, so that he broke it
with a cry of his own.

"You, Yella' Boy, sluice him off," he shouted.

Yella' Boy grinned, showed his teeth with the amiability of his dark
race; and he took a canvas bucket and dropped it over the rail, and drew
it up filled with brine, and flung this callously in Mauger's horribly
crushed face. The water loosed the blood, washed it away in flecks and
gouts.... It bared the skin, and through this skin, from many little
slits and scratches like the cracks in a half-broken egg, more blood
trickled, spreading moistly. The salt burned.... Mauger groaned
hoarsely, slumped into unconsciousness again.

"Douse him again," Noll Wing commanded. "The dog's shamming." He looked
around, saw Dan'l at the wheel. "You, Mr. Tobey, look to him," he
commanded.

Dan'l was one of those men whose hands have a knack for healing. He knew
something of medicine; he had gone so far, upon a former cruise, as to
trim away a man's crushed fingers after an accident of the whale
fisheries had nipped them.... He hailed one of the men in the waist,
now, and gave the wheel to this man, and then crossed to where Mauger
lay and knelt beside him, and dabbed away the blood upon his face....

Cap'n Wing, leaning against the rail, his knuckles white with the grip
he had upon it, watched Dan'l, and swayed upon his feet.... And Yella'
Boy, with his bucket still half full of brine, stood by, and grinned,
and waited.

Mauger came slowly back to life under Dan'l's ministrations; he groaned,
and he began to twitch, and kick.... And of a sudden he cried out, like
one suddenly waking from sleep. Then consciousness flooded him, and with
it came the agony he was enduring, and he howled.... And then his howls
grew weak and weaker till he was sobbing.... And Dan'l helped him to his
feet.... He had put a rough bandage about the man's head, and from
beneath this bandage, one of Mauger's eyes looked forth, blackly
gleaming, wild with the torment he endured. This eye fixed its gaze upon
Noll Wing....

Dan'l stepped a little nearer Noll, and said in a low voice: "His eye is
gone, sir. No good. It ought to be dimmed out.... Cleared away...."

That shocked the liquor out of Noll; his face went white beneath the
brown; and Mauger heard, and suddenly he screamed again, and leveled a
shaking finger at Noll Wing, and cursed him shrilly.... Dan'l whirled
and bade him be silent; he signed to Yella' Boy, and the harpooner half
dragged, half carried Mauger forward. But as they went, Mauger, twisting
in the other's arms, shook his thin fist at Noll Wing and swore
terribly.... Cursed Noll, called death down upon him, vowed that he
would some day even the score....

Yella' Boy cuffed him and dragged him away.... And Dan'l watched Noll to
see what the captain would say. Noll said nothing. He took off his cap
and rubbed his bald head and looked for an instant like an old man; his
eyes shifted furtively from Dan'l to the cursing man....

Abruptly, he turned and went aft to the stern of the ship and stood
there by himself, thinking. He sought reassurance; he abused Mauger
under his breath, and told himself the little man had been well
served.... The _Sally_ fell away; he turned and cursed the new man at
the wheel, and got relief from the oath he spoke. It gave him a
blustering sort of courage.... He wished Dan'l Tobey would tell him he
had done right.... But Dan'l had gone forward to the fo'c's'le....
Mauger was howling.... Noll thought Dan'l might be trimming away that
crushed eye.... And he shuddered. He was, suddenly, immensely lonely. He
wished with all his soul for support, for a word of comfort, a word of
reassurance....

He went down into the cabin, thinking to speak with Henry Ham. Mr. Ham
was always an apostle of violence.... But the mate was sleeping; Noll
could hear him snore. So was tigerish little James Tichel....

Noll went into the after cabin, and found Faith there. Her back was
turned, she was looking out of the stern windows. He wished she would
look at him, but she did not. So he said, his voice thick with anger,
and at the same time plaintive with hunger for a reassuring word....

"That damned rat won't try that again...."

Then Faith turned and told him: "That was a cowardly thing to do, Noll,
my husband."

He had come for comfort; he was ready to humble himself; he was a prey
to the instinct of wrong-doing man which bids him confess and be
forgiven.... But Faith's eyes accused him.... When a man's wife turns
against him.... He said, bitter with rage:

"Keep your mouth shut, child. This is not a pink tea, aboard the _Sally
Sims_. You know nothing of what's necessary to handle rough men."

Faith smiled a little wistfully. "I know it is never necessary to kick a
helpless man in the face," she said.

He was so nearly mad with fury and shame and misery that he raised his
great fist as though he would have struck even Faith. "Mind your own
matters," he bade her harshly. "The dog struck me.... Where would the
ship be if I let that go? I should have killed him...."

"Did you not?" Faith asked gently. "I thought he would be dead...."

"No; hell, no!" Noll blustered. "You can't kill a snake. He'll be
poisonous as ever in a day...."

"I saw ..." said Faith; she shuddered faintly. "I--think his eye is
gone."

"Eye?" Noll echoed. "What's an eye? He's lucky to live. There's
skippers that would have killed him where he stood.... For what he
did...."

Faith shook her head. "He's only a little man, weak, not used to sea
life. You are big, and strong, Noll.... My Noll.... There was no need of
kicking him."

The man flung himself, then, into an insane burst of anger at her. He
hated the whole world, hated Faith most of all because she would not
soothe him and tell him never to mind.... He raved at her, gripped her
round shoulders and shook her, flung her away from him.... He was
mad....

And Faith, steadfastly watching him, though her soul trembled, prayed in
her heart that she might find the way to bring Noll back to manhood
again; she endured his curses; she endured his harsh grip upon her
shoulders.... She waited while he flooded her with abuse.... And at the
end, when he was quiet for lack of words to say, she went to him and
touched his arm.

"Noll ..." she said.

He jerked away from her. "What?"

"Noll.... Look at me...."

He obeyed, in spite of himself; and there was such depths of tenderness
and sorrow in her eyes that the man's heart melted in him. "It's not
Mauger I'm sorry for," she told him. "It's you, Noll.... That you should
be so cowardly, Noll...."

His rage broke, then; he fell to fretting, whining.... She sat down; he
slumped like a child beside her. He told her he was tired, weary....
That he was worried.... That his nerves had betrayed him.... That the
drink was in him.... "They're all trying to stir me," he complained.
"They take a joy in doing the thing wrong.... They're helpless,
slithering fools.... I lost myself, Faith...."

He pleaded with her, desperately anxious to make her understand; and
Faith understood from the beginning, with the full wisdom of woman, yet
let him talk out all his unhappiness and remorse.... And because she
loved him, her arm was about him and his great head was drawn against
her breast long before he was done. She comforted him with touches of
her light hands upon his head; she soothed him with murmurs that were no
words at all....

The man reveled in this orgy of self-abasement. He groveled before her,
until she began to be faintly contemptuous, in her heart, at his
groveling. She bade him make an end of it....

"I was a coward, Faith," he cried. "You're right. I was a coward...."

"You are a man, Noll," she told him. "Stronger than other men, and not
in your fists alone. That is why I love you so...."

"I know, I know," he told her. "Oh, you're a wonder, Faith...."

"You're a man. Always remember that," she said.

He got up abruptly. He started toward the main cabin; and she asked:
"Where are you going, Noll?"

"Forward," he said. "I've wronged Mauger...." He was drunk with this
new-found joy of abasing himself. "I'll tell the man so. I'll right
things with him...."

And he added thoughtfully: "He cursed me. I don't want the man's hate.
I'll right things with him...."

She smiled faintly, shook her head. "No, Noll...."

He was stubborn. "Yes. Why not? I've...."

She said thoughtfully: "Noll, you're the master of this ship. Old
Jonathan Felt put her in your charge. You are responsible for her....
And that puts certain obligations on you, Noll. An obligation to be
wise, and to be prudent, and to be brave...."

He came back and sat down beside her. She touched his knee. "You are
like a king, aboard here, Noll. And--the king can do no wrong. I would
not go to Mauger, if I were you. You made a mistake; but there is no
need you should humble yourself before the men. They would not
understand; they would only despise you, Noll."

He said hotly: "Let them. They're sneaking, spineless things...."

"Let them fear you; let them hate you," she told him. "But--never let
them forget you are master, Noll. Don't go to Mauger...."

He had no real desire to go; he wished only to bask in her new-found
sympathy. And he yielded readily enough, at last....

The matter passed abruptly. She rose; he went up on deck; the _Sally
Sims_ went on her way. And for a day or two, Noll Wing, an old man, was
like a boy who has repented and been forgiven; he was offensively
virtuous, offensively good-natured.

Mauger returned to his duties the second day. He wore a bandage across
his face; and when it was discarded a week later, the hollow socket
where his eye had been was revealed. His suffering had worked a terrible
change in the man; he had been morose and desperate, he was now too much
given to chuckling, as though at some secret jest of his own. He went
slyly about his tasks; he seemed to have a pride in his misfortune; when
he saw men shrink with distaste at sight of his scarred countenance, he
chuckled under his breath....

Dan'l Tobey had cut away the crushed eye-ball; the lids covered the
empty socket. In the upper lid, some maimed nerve persisted in living.
It twitched, now and then, in such a fashion that Mauger seemed to be
winking with that deep hollow in his face....

The man had a fascination, from the beginning, for Noll Wing. The
captain took an unholy joy in looking upon his handiwork; he shivered at
it, as a boy shivers at a tale of ghosts.... And he felt the gleaming
glance of Mauger's remaining eye like a threat. It followed him whenever
they were both on deck together; if he looked toward Mauger, he was sure
to catch the other watching him.

Dan'l Tobey was cheerfully philosophical about the matter. "He can see
as well as ever, with what he has left," he told Noll one day. "And he
ought to count himself lucky. Your boot might have mashed his head
in.... And serve him right...."

"Aye," said Noll, willing to be reassured. "He's lucky to live. The dog
must know that...."

And he looked forward to where Mauger lounged amidships, beside the try
works, and saw the man's black eye watching him; and Mauger caught the
captain's glance, and chuckled unpleasantly, his face twisting. Noll
felt a quiver of horror, far within himself....

He began, even in the fortnight after the affair, to remember Mauger's
curses and threats as the man was borne away by Yella' Boy, that day.
Mauger had threatened to kill him, to cut his heart away.... The
meaningless cries of a delirious man, he told himself.... No doubt
Mauger had forgotten them before this.

He tried, one day, the experiment of giving the one-eyed man an order.
Smoking his pipe, he spilled ashes on the spotless deck; and he bellowed
forward to Mauger to come aft, and when the man came, he pointed to the
smudge of ashes, and:

"Clean that up," he said harshly. "Look sharp, now."

Mauger chuckled. "Aye, sir," he said respectfully, and on hands and
knees at the captain's feet performed his task, looking up slyly into
Noll Wing's face as he did so. The lid that closed the empty eye-socket
twitched and seemed to wink....

That night, as they were preparing to sleep, Noll spoke of Mauger to
Faith. "He does his work better than ever," he said.

She nodded. "Yes." And something in Noll's tone made her attentive.

"Seems cheerful, too," said Noll. He hesitated. "I reckon he's forgot
his threat to stick a knife in me.... Don't you think he has?"

Faith's eyes, watching her husband, clouded; for she read his tone.
Noll Wing, strong man and brave, could not hide his secret from her....

She understood that he was deathly afraid of the one-eyed
man.




VI


The _Sally Sims_ was in the South Atlantic on the day when Noll Wing
kicked out Mauger's eye. The life of the whaler went on, day by day, as
a background for the drama that was brewing. The men stood watch at the
mastheads, the _Sally_ plunged and waddled awkwardly southward; and now
and then a misty spout against the wide blue of the sea halted them, and
boats were lowered, and the whales were struck, and killed, and towed
alongside. Held fast there by the chain that was snubbed around the
fluke-chain bitt, they were hacked by the keen spades and cutting
knives, the great heads were cut off, and dragged aboard, and stripped
of every fleck of oily blubber; and the great bodies, while the spiral
blanket strips were torn away, rolled lumberingly over and over against
the bark's stout planks. Thereafter the tryworks roared, and the blubber
boiled, and the black and stinking smoke of burning oil hung over the
seas like a pall....

This smell of burning oil, the mark of the whaler, distressed Faith at
first. It sickened her; and the soot from the fires where the scrapple
of boiled blubber fed the flames settled over the ship, and penetrated
even to her own immaculate cabin. She disliked the smell; but the
gigantic toil of the cutting in and the roar of the tryworks had always
a fascination for her that compensated for the smell and the soot. She
rejoiced in strength, in the strong work of lusty men. To see a great
carcass almost as long as the _Sally_ lying helplessly against the rail
never failed to thrill her. For the men of the crew, it was all in the
day's work; stinking, sweating, perilous toil. For Faith it was a
tremendous spectacle. It intoxicated her; and in the same fashion it
affected Noll Wing, and Dan'l Tobey, and tigerish old Tichel. When there
were fish about, these men were subtly changed; their eyes shone, their
chests swelled, their muscles hardened; they stamped upon the deck with
stout legs, like a cavalry horse that scents the battle. They gave
themselves to the toil of killing whales and harvesting the blubber as
men give themselves to a debauch; and afterward, when the work was done,
they were apt to surrender to a lassitude such as follows a debauch.
There was keen, sensual joy in the running oil, the unctuous oil that
flowed everywhere upon the decks; they dabbed their hands in it; it
soaked their garments and their very skins drank it in.

Young Roy Kilcup took fire, from the beginning, at these gigantic
spectacles. He wished to go out in the boats that struck the whales; but
he lacked the sinews of a man, he lacked the perfect muscular control of
manhood. He was still a boy, nimble as a monkey, but given to awkward
gestures and leaps and motions. He could not be trusted to sit tight in
a boat and handle his oar when a whale was leaping under the iron; and
so he was condemned to stay on the ship.

But they could not deny him a part in the cutting in; and when that
work was afoot, he was everywhere, his eyes gleaming.... He slashed at
the blubber with a boarding knife; he minced it for the boiling; he
descended into the blubber room and helped stow the stuff there. Faith,
watching, loved his enthusiasm and his zeal....

After the matter of Mauger, things went smoothly for a space. The whales
came neither too fast nor too slow; they killed one or two, at intervals
of days; they cut them in; they tried them out, while the fires flared
through night and day and cast red shadows on the dark faces of the men,
and turned their broad, bared chests to gold. And when the blubber was
boiled, they cleaned ship, and idled on their way, and raised, in due
time, other whales....

Cap'n Wing chose to go west, instead of eastward past the tip of Africa
and up into the Indian Ocean. So they worked their painful way around
the Horn, fighting for inches day by day; and when the bleak fog did not
blanket them, Faith could see gaunt mountains of rock above the northern
rim of the sea. And once they passed a clipper, eastward bound. It swept
up on them, a tower of tugging canvas; it came abreast, slipped past,
and dwindled into a white dot upon the sea behind before night came down
and hid it from their eyes. In the morning, though they had idled with
no canvas pulling, through the night, the clipper was gone, and they
were alone again among the mountains that came down to the sea....

So they slid out at last into the South Pacific, and struck a little
north of west for the wide whaling grounds of the island-dotted South
Seas. And struck their whales....

The routine of their tasks.... But during this time, a change was
working in Noll Wing, which Faith, and Dan'l Tobey, and all who looked
might see.

The matter of Mauger had been, in some measure, a milestone in Noll
Wing's life. He had struck men before; he had maimed them. He had killed
at least one man, in fair fight, when it was his life or the other's.
But because in those days his pulse was strong and his heart was young,
the matter had never preyed upon him. He had been able to go proudly on
his way, strong in his strength, sure of himself, serene and unafraid.
He was, in those days, a man.

But this was different; this was the parting of the ways. Noll had spent
his great strength too swiftly. His muscles were as stout as ever; but
his heart was not. Drink was gnawing at him; old age was gnawing at him;
he was like an old wolf that by the might of tooth and fang has led the
pack for long.... He had seen strong men fail; he knew what failure
meant; and he could guess the slackening of his own great powers and
prevision the end of this slackening. The wolf dreads the day when a
young, strong wolf will drag him down; Noll dreaded the day when his
voice and his eye and his fist should fail to master the men. He had
been absolute so long, he could endure no less. He must rule, or he was
done....

At times, when he felt this failing of his own strong heart, he blamed
Faith for it, and fretted at her because she dragged him down. At other
times, he was ashamed, he was afraid of the eyes of the men; he fled to
her for comfort and for strength. He was a prey, too, to regretful
memories. The matter of Mauger, for instance.... He was, for all he
fought the feeling, tortured by remorse for what he had done to Mauger.

And he was dreadfully afraid of the one-eyed man.

At first, he half enjoyed this fear; it was a new sensation, and he
rolled in it like a horse in clover. But as the weeks passed, it nagged
at him so constantly that he became obsessed with it. Wherever he
turned, he saw the one-eyed man regarding him; and this steady scrutiny
of Mauger's one black eye was like a continual pin-prick. It twanged his
nerves.... He tried, for a time, to find relief in blustering; he roared
about the ship, bellowing his commands.... It comforted him to see men
jump to obey. But from the beginning, this was not utter comfort. He was
pursued by the chuckling, mirthless mirth of the one-eyed man. He
thought Mauger was like a scavenger bird that waits for a sick beast to
die. Mauger harassed him....

This change in Noll Wing reacted upon Faith. Because her life was so
close to his, she was forced to witness the manifestations which he hid
from the men; because her eyes were the eyes of a woman who loves, she
saw things which the men did not see. She saw the slow loosening of the
muscles of Noll's jaw; saw how his cheeks came to sag like jowls. She
saw the old, proud strength in his eyes weaken and fail; she saw his
eyes grow red and furtive.... Saw, too, how his whole body became
overcast with a thickening, flabby garment of fat, like a net that bound
his slothful limbs....

Noll's slow disintegration of soul had its effect upon Faith. She had
been, when she came to the _Sally Sims_ with him, little more than a
girl; she had been gay and laughing, but she had also been calm and
strong. As the weeks passed, Faith was less gay; her laugh rang more
seldom. But by the same token, the strength that dwelt in her seemed to
increase. While Noll weakened, she grew strong....

There were days when she was very lonely; she felt that the Noll she had
married was gone from her.... She was, for all her strength, a woman;
and a woman is always happiest when she can lean on other strength and
find comfort there.... But Noll.... Noll, by this, was not so strong of
soul as she....

She was lonely with another loneliness; with the loneliness of a
mother.... But Noll had told her, brutally, in the beginning, that there
was no place for a babe upon the _Sally Sims_. He overbore her, because
in such a matter she could not command him. The longing was too deep in
her for words. She could not lay it bare for even Noll to see....

Thus, in short, Faith was unhappy. Unhappy; yet she loved Noll, and her
heart clung to him, and yearned to strengthen and support the man,
yearned to bring back the valor she had loved in him.... There could
never be, so long as he should live, any man but Noll for her.

Dan'l Tobey--poor Dan'l, if you will--could not understand this. Dan'l,
for all his round and simple countenance, and the engaging frankness of
his freckles and his hair, had an eye that could see into the heart of a
man. He had understanding; he could read men's moods; he could play
upon them, guide them without their guessing at his guidance. He managed
skillfully. He held the respect, even the affection of the bulk of the
crew; he had the liking of all the officers save Willis Cox, who
disliked him for a reason he could not put in words. He bent his efforts
to hold Roy Kilcup; and Roy worshiped him. He took care to please Noll
Wing, and Noll leaned upon Dan'l, and trusted him. Dan'l was the only
man on the ship who always applauded whatever Noll might do; and Noll,
hungry as an old man for praise, fed fat on Dan'l's applause....

Dan'l was wise; he was also crafty. He contrived, again and again, that
Noll should act unworthily in Faith's eyes. To this extent he understood
Faith; he understood her ideals, knew that she judged men by them, knew
that when Noll fell short of these ideals, Faith must in her heart
condemn him.... And he took care that Noll should fall short....

For one thing--a little matter, but at the same time a matter of vast
importance--he used the fact that big Noll did not eat prettily. Noll,
accustomed to the sea, having all his life been a hungry man among men,
was not careful of the niceties of the table. He ate quickly; he ate
loudly; he ate clumsily. Dan'l, somewhat gentler bred, understood this;
and at the meals in the cabin when Noll was particularly offensive,
Dan'l used to catch Faith into spirited conversation, as though to
distract her attention.... He did this in such a way that it seemed to
be mere loyalty to Noll; yet it served to create an atmosphere of
understanding between Dan'l and Faith, and it showed him in her eyes as
a loyal servant, without hiding the fact that big Noll was a gross man.

When they were all on deck together, and Dan'l saw that burning sun or
splattering rain was unpleasant to Faith, he used to remedy the matter
by finding shelter for her; and in doing this he emphasized--by the
doing itself--the fact that Noll had failed to think of her. How much of
these things was, in the beginning, designed to win Faith from Noll it
is impossible to say. Dan'l delighted in the very doing; for he loved
Faith, had loved her for years, still loved her so intensely that there
were hours when he could have strangled Noll with his bare hands because
Noll possessed her.

Dan'l loved Faith with a passion that gripped him, soul and body; yet it
was not an unholy thing. When he saw her unhappy, he wished to guard
her; when he saw that she was lonely, he wished to comfort her; when he
came upon her, once, at the stern, and saw that she had tears in her
eyes, it called for all his strength to refrain from taking her in his
arms and soothing her. He loved her, but there was nothing in his love
that could have soiled her. Dan'l was, in some fashion, a figure of
tragedy....

His heart burst from him, one day when they were two weeks in the South
Pacific. It was a hard, bitter day; one of those days when the sea is
unfriendly, when she torments a ship with thrusting billows, when she
racks planks and strains rigging, when she is perverse without being
dangerous. There was none of the joy of battle in enduring such a sea;
there was only irksome toil. It told on Noll Wing. His temper worked
under the strain. He was on deck through the afternoon; and the climax
came when Willis Cox's boat parted the lines that held its bow and fell
and dangled by the stern lines, slatting against the rail of the
_Sally_, and spilling the gear into the sea. With every lurch of the
sea, the boat was splintering; and before the men, driven by Dan'l and
Willis, could get the boat inboard again, it was as badly smashed as if
a whale's flukes had caught it square. Noll had raged while the men
toiled; when the boat was stowed, he strode toward Willis Cox and spun
the man around by a shoulder grip.

"Your fault, you damned, careless skunk," he accused. "You're no more
fit for your job.... You're a...."

Willis Cox was little more than a boy; he had a boy's sense of justice.
He was heart-broken by the accident, and he said soberly: "I'm sorry,
sir. It was my fault. You're right, sir."

"Right?" Noll roared. "Of course I'm right. Do I need a shirking fourth
mate to tell me when I'm right or wrong? By...." His wrath overflowed in
a blow; and for all the fact that Noll was aging, his fist was stout.
The blow dropped Willis like the stroke of an ax. Noll himself filled a
bucket and sluiced the man, and drove him below with curses.

Afterward, the reaction sent Noll to Faith in a rage at himself, at the
men, at the world, at her. Dan'l, in the main cabin, heard Noll swearing
at her.... And he set his teeth and went on deck because of the thing he
might do. He was still there, half an hour later, when Faith came
quietly up the companion. Night had fallen by then, the sea was
moderating. Faith passed him, where he stood by the galley; and he saw
her figure silhouetted against the gray gloom of the after rail. For a
moment he watched her, gripping himself.... He saw her shoulders stir,
as though she wept....

The man could not endure it. He was at her side in
three strides.... She faced him; and he could see her
eyes dark in the night as she looked at him. He stammered:

"Faith! Faith! I'm so sorry...."

She did not speak, because she could not trust her voice. She was
furiously ashamed of her own weakness, of the disloyalty of her thoughts
of Noll. She swallowed hard....

"He's a dog, Faith," Dan'l whispered. "Ah, Faith.... I love you. I love
you. I could kill him, I love you so...."

Faith knew she must speak. She said quietly: "Dan'l.... That is not...."

He caught her hand, with an eloquent grace that was strange to see in
the awkward, freckled man. He caught her hand to his lips and kissed it.
"I love you, Faith," he cried....

She freed her hand, rubbed at it where his lips had pressed it. Dan'l
was scarce breathing at all.... Fearful of what he had done, fearful of
what she might do or say....

She said simply: "Dan'l, my friend, I love Noll Wing with all my heart."

And poor Dan'l knew, for all she spoke so simply, that there was no
part of her which was his. And he backed away from her a little, humbly,
until his figure was shadowed by the deckhouse. And then he turned and
went forward to the waist, and left Faith standing there.

He found Mauger in the waist, and jeered at him good-naturedly until he
was himself again. Faith, after a little, went below.

Noll was asleep in his bunk above hers. He lay on his back, one bare and
hairy arm hanging over the side of the bunk. He was snoring, and there
was the pungent smell of rum about him.

Faith undressed and went quietly to bed.




VII


"There is a tide in the affairs of men...." Their lives ebb and flow
like the tides; there are days, or months, or years when matters move
slackly, seem scarce to move at all. But always, in the end, the pulses
of the days beat up and up.... A moment comes when all life is
compressed in a single act, a single incident.... Thereafter the tide
falls away again, but the life of man is a different thing thereafter.

Such a tide was beating to the flood aboard the _Sally Sims_. Faith felt
it; Dan'l felt it; even Noll Wing, through the fury of his increasing
impotence, felt that matters could not long go on in this wise. Noll
felt it less than the others, because the waxing tension of his nerves
was relieved by his occasional outbursts of tempestuous rage. But Faith
could find no vent for her unhappiness; she loved Noll, and she wept for
him.... Wept for the Noll she had married, who now was dying before her
eyes.... And Dan'l suffered, perhaps, more than Faith. He suffered
because he must not seem to suffer....

The thing could not go on, Dan'l thought; he told himself, in the night
watches when he was alone on deck, that he could not long endure the
torment of his longing. Thus far he had loved Faith utterly; his
half-unconscious efforts to discredit Noll were the result of no malice
toward Noll Wing, but only of love for Faith. But the denial of his
longing for the right to care for her was poisoning him; the man's soul
was brewing venom. The honorable fibers of his being were
disintegrating; his heart was rotting in the man.

He was at the point where a little thing might have saved him; he was,
by the same token, at the point where a little thing could set him
forever upon the shameful paths of wrong.

Noll passed, at this time, into a period of sloth. He gave up, bit by
bit, the vigorous habits of his life. He had been accustomed of old to
take the deck at morning, and keep it till dusk; and when need arose in
the night, he had always been quick to leap from his bunk and spring to
the spot where his strength was demanded. He had, in the past, loved to
take his own boat after the whales that were sighted; he had continued
to do this in the early stages of this cruise, leaving Eph Hitch, the
cooper; and Tinch, the cook; and Kellick, and a spare hand or so to keep
ship with Faith and Roy Kilcup. But when they came into the South Seas,
he gave this up; and for a month on end, he did not leave the ship. The
mates struck the whales, and killed them, and cut them in, while Noll
slept heavily in his cabin.

He gave up, also, the practice of spending most of the day on deck. He
stayed below, reading a little, writing up the log, or sitting with
glazed eyes by the cabin table, a bottle in reach of his hand. He slept
much, heavily; and even when he was awake, he seemed sodden with the
sleep in which he soaked himself.

He passed, during this time, through varying moods. There were days
when he sulked and spoke little; there were days when he swore and
raged; and there were other days when he followed at Faith's heels with
a pathetic cheerfulness, like an old dog that tries to drive its stiff
legs to the bounding leaps of puppy play. He was alternately dependent
upon her and fretful at her presence....

And always, day by day, he was haunted by the sight of the one-eyed man.
He burst out, to Faith, one night; he cried:

"The man plans to knife me. I can see murder in his eye."

Faith, who pitied Mauger and had tried to comfort him, shook her head.
"He's broken," she said. "He's but the shell of a man."

"He follows me," Noll insisted. "I turned, on deck, an hour ago; and he
was just behind me, in the shadow...."

Faith, seeking to rouse the old spirit in Noll, said gently: "There was
a man who tried to stab you once. And you killed him with your hands.
Surely you need not be fearful of Mauger."

Noll brooded for a moment. "Eh, Faith," he said dolefully. "I was a hard
man, then. I've always been a hard man.... Wrong, Faith. I was always
wrong...."

"You were a master," she told him.

"By the fist. A master by the fist.... A hard man...."

He fell to mourning over his own harsh life; he gave himself to futile,
ineffectual regrets.... He told over to Faith the tale of the blows he
had struck, the oaths, the kicks.... This habit of confession was
becoming a mania with him. And when Faith tried smilingly to woo him
from this mood, he called her hard.... He told her, one day, she was
un-Christian; and he got out a Bible, and began to read.... Thereafter
the mates found him in the cabin, day by day, with the Bible spread upon
his knees, and the whiskey within reach of his hand....

The disintegration of the master had its inevitable effect upon the
crew; they saw, they grinned with their tongues in their cheeks; they
winked slyly behind Noll's back. One day Noll called a man and bade him
scrub away a stain of oil upon the deck. The man went slackly at the
task. The captain said: "Come, sharp there...." And the man grinned and
spat over the side and asked impudently:

"What's hurry?"

Noll started to explain; but Henry Ham had heard, and the mate's fist
caught the man in the deep ribs, and the man made haste, thereafter. Ham
explained respectfully to the captain:

"You can't talk to 'em, sir. Fist does it. Fist and boot. You know that,
well's me."

Noll shook his head dolefully. "I've been a hard man in the past, Mr.
Ham," he admitted. "But I'll not strike a man again...."

And the mate, who could not understand, chuckled uneasily as though it
were all a jest. "I will, for you, sir," he said.

If Dan'l Tobey had been mate, and so minded, he could have kept the crew
alert and keen; but Dan'l had his own troubles, and he did not greatly
care what came to Noll and Noll's ship. So, Noll's hand slackening, the
men were left to Mr. Ham; and the mate, while fit for his job, was not
fit for Noll's. Matters went from bad to worse....

This growing slackness culminated in tragedy. Where matters of life and
death are a part of every day, safety lies in discipline; and discipline
was lax on the _Sally Sims_. On a day when the skies were ugly and the
wind was freshening, they sighted a lone bull whale, and the mate and
Willis Cox lowered for him while the ship worked upwind toward where the
creature lay. The boats, rowing, distanced the bark; the mate struck the
whale, and the creature fluked the boat so that its planks opened and it
sank till it was barely awash, and dipped the men in water to their
necks. Silva, the mate's harpooner, cut the line and let the whale run
free; and a moment later, Willis Cox's boat got fast when Loum
pitchpoled his great harpoon over thirty feet of water as the whale went
down....

The big bull began to run headlong, and the men in Willis's boat
balanced on the sides for a "Nantucket Sleigh-ride." The whale ran
straightaway, so tirelessly they could not haul up on the line.... The
weather thickened behind them and hid the _Sally_ as she stopped to pick
up the mate and his wrecked boat. Then a squall struck, and night came
swiftly down....

When Willis saw it was hopeless to think of killing the whale, he cut.
It was then full dark, and blowing. Some rain fell, but the flying spume
that the wind clipped from the wave tops kept the boat a quarter full
of sea water, no matter how desperately they bailed. Toward midnight,
the thirsty men wished to drink.

A whaleboat is always provisioned against the emergency of being cast
adrift. Biscuits and water are stored in the lantern keg, with matches
and whatever else may be needful. The water is replenished now and then,
that it may be fresh....

When Willis opened the lantern keg, he found the water half gone, and so
brackish it was unfit to drink. A condition directly to be attributed to
the weakening of discipline aboard the _Sally_.... A serious matter, as
they knew all too well when the next day dawned bright and hot, with the
bark nowhere to be seen. Their thirst increased tormentingly; and on the
third day, when the searching _Sally_ found them, two men were dead in
the boat, and the other four were in little better case....

Willis had worked his boat toward an island northeast of the position
where he lost the _Sally_; Dan'l Tobey had guessed what Willis would do,
and had persuaded Noll to cruise that way. When they picked up the half
dead men, Noll decided to touch at the island for food and fresh water;
and they raised it in mid-morning of the second day.

They had seen other lands since the cruise began. But these other lands
had been rocky and inhospitable.... The harsh tops, for the most part,
of mountains that rose from the sea's depths to break the surface of the
sea. Men dwelt on them, clinging like goats in the crannies of the
rocks.... But they were not inviting. This island was different. When
Faith, coming on deck at the cry, saw it blue-green against the horizon,
she caught her breath at the beauty of it; and while the _Sally_ worked
closer, she watched with wide eyes and leaping pulses. She felt,
vaguely, that it was the portal of a new world; it was lovely, inviting,
pleasant.... She was suddenly sick of the harsh salt of the sea, sick of
the stinking ship.... She wanted soft earth beneath her feet, trees
above her head, flowers within reach of her hand....

This island was fair and smiling; it seemed to promise her all the
things she most desired.... She sought Noll Wing.

"Are you going ashore, Noll?" she asked.

He was in one of his slothful moods, half asleep in the after cabin; and
he shook his great head. "No.... Mates will get what we need. We'll be
away by night."

She hesitated. "I--want to go ashore," she said. "Won't you go with me?"

"You can go," he agreed, readily enough. "Nobody there but some
niggers--and maybe a few whites, on the beach. Nothing to see...."

"There's land," she told him, smiling. "And trees, and flowers.... Do
come."

"You go along. I'm--tired, to-day."

"I'd like it so much more if you came with me."

He frowned at her, impatient at her insistence. "Stop the talk," he told
her harshly. "I'm not going. Go if you want to. But be still about it,
let a man rest.... I'm tired, Faith.... I'm getting old...."

"You ought to look after getting the stuff for the ship," she reminded
him. "After all--you are responsible for her...."

"Mr. Ham will do that, better than me," he said. "Go along."

She went out, reluctantly, and sought the mate. His boat and James
Tichel's were to go ashore, leaving Dan'l in charge of the ship. He
grinned cheerfully at Faith's request, and bade his men rig a stool to
lower her into the boat. Faith protested, laughingly. "I can jump down,
as well as a man," she said; and he nodded assent and forgot her.

She was in his boat when they put off presently; she sat astern, while
Mr. Ham stood above her, his legs spread to steady himself against the
movement of the boat, his weight on the long steering oar that he always
preferred to the tiller. The _Sally_ had dropped anchor a mile off
shore, and canoes were already spinning out to her. The island spread
before them, green and sparkling in the sun; and the white beach shone
like silver.... It was more than a coral island; there were two hills, a
mile or so inland; and the white-washed huts of a considerable village
shone against the trees. The canoes met them, whirled about them; the
black folk shouted and clamored and stared.... Mr. Ham waved to them,
talked to them in a queer and outlandish mixture of tongues, bade them
go on to the _Sally_.... "Mr. Tobey'll buy what they've got," he told
Faith, as the whaleboat drove ahead for the shore.

James Tichel's boat was well astern of them, dragging a raft of floating
casks which would be filled with water and towed out to the _Sally_. He
was still far from shore when they drove up on the beach; and the men
jumped out into the shallow water and dragged the boat higher, so that
Faith, picking her way over the thwarts, could step ashore dry shod from
the bow. Her feet left scarce a mark upon the hard, white sand.

Mr. Ham said to her: "You come up to the trees; you can be cool there
while we're at our business."

But Faith shook her head. "I'm going to take a walk," she said. "I want
to get into the woods. How long will you be here?"

He hesitated dubiously. "Guess it's all right if you do," he decided.
"The niggers are friendly.... Most of 'em talk English, in a way. Go
ahead."

"How long have I?" Faith asked again. He said they would be ashore an
hour, perhaps more. "No matter, anyway," he told her. "Stay long as you
like. Do you want I should send a man with you?"

Faith told him she was not afraid; he grinned. She turned southward
along the beach, away from the huddled village. The smooth sand was so
firm it jarred her feet, and she moved up into the shade of the trees,
and followed them for a space, eyes probing into the tangle beyond them,
lips smiling, every sense drinking in the smells of the land.... When
she came, presently, to a well-marked path that led into the jungle-like
undergrowth, she hesitated, then turned in.

Within twenty steps, the trees closed about her, shutting away all sight
of the sea. For a little longer she could hear the long rollers pounding
on the beach; then that sound, too, became indistinct and dim.... It
was drowned in the thousand tiny noises of the brush about her.
Bird-notes, crackling of twigs, stirring of furry things. Once a little
creature of a sort she had never seen before, yet not unlike the
familiar and universal rabbit, hopped out of her path in a flurry of
excitement.

She heard, presently, another sound ahead of her; a sound of running,
falling water; and when she pressed on eagerly, she came out upon the
bank of a clear stream that dropped in bright cascades from one deep,
cool pool to another. She guessed this stream must come down between the
hills she had seen from the ship.... It was all the things she had
unwittingly longed for during the months aboard the _Sally_. It was
cool, and clear, and gay, and chuckling; the sea was always so turbulent
and harsh. She followed the path that ran up the northern bank of the
stream, and each new pool seemed more inviting than the last.... She
wanted to wade into them, to feel the water on her shoulders and her
throat and her arms.... Her smooth skin had revolted endlessly against
the bite of the salt water in which she bathed aboard the _Sally_; it
yearned for this cool, crystal flood....

She put aside this desire. The path she was following was a well-beaten
trail. People must use it. They might come this way at any time.... She
wished, wistfully, that she might be sure no one would come.... And so
wishing, she pressed on, each new pool among the rocks wooing her
afresh, and urging her to its cool embrace....

She heard, in the wood ahead of her, an increasing clamor of falling
water, and guessed there might be a cascade there of larger proportions
than she had yet seen. The path left the stream for a little, winding to
round a tangle of thicker underbrush; and she hurried around this
tangle, her eyes hungry to see the tumbling water she could hear....

Hurrying thus, she came out suddenly upon the lip of the pool.... Broad,
and dark, and deep; its upper end walled by a sheet of plunging water
that fell in a mirror-like veil and churned the pool to misty foam. Her
eyes drank deep; they swung around the pool.... And then, she caught her
breath, and shrank back a little, and pressed her hand to her throat....

Upon a rock, not fifty feet from her, his back half turned as he poised
to dive, there stood a man. A white man, for all the skin of his whole
body was golden-brown from long exposure to the open air.... He poised
there like some wood god.... Faith had a strange feeling that she had
blundered into a secret temple of the woods; that this was the temple's
deity. She smiled faintly at her own fancy; smiled....

God has made nothing more beautiful than the human body, whether it be
man's or woman's. Faith thought, in the instant that she watched, that
this bronzed man of the woods was the most beautiful thing she had ever
seen.... She had no sense of shame in watching him; she had only joy in
the sheer beauty of him, golden-brown against the green. And when, even
as she first saw him, he leaped and swung, smooth and straight, high
through the air, and turned with arms like arrows to pierce the bosom of
the pool, she gasped a little, as one gasps on coming suddenly out upon
a mountain top, with the world outspread below.... Then he was gone,
with scarce a sound.... She saw for an instant the golden flash of him
in the pool's depths....

His brown head broke the water, far across the way.... And he shook back
his hair, and passed his hands across his face to clear his eyes.... His
eyes opened....

His eyes opened, and he saw her standing there....

There were seconds on end that they remained thus, each held by the
other's gaze. Faith could not, for her life, have stirred. The spell of
the place was upon her. The man, for all his astonishment, was the first
to find his tongue. He called softly across the water:

"Good morning, woman...."

His voice was so gentle, and at the same time so gay, that Faith was not
alarmed. She smiled....

"It's after noon," she said. "Good afternoon--man!"




VIII


When Faith answered him, the man's face broke in smiles; he told her
laughingly: "If you're so familiar with the habits of the sun, you must
be a real woman, and not a dream at all.... I'm awake.... I am, am I
not?"

"I should think you would be," said Faith. "That water must be cold
enough to wake any one...."

He shook his head. "No, indeed. Just pleasantly cool. Dip your hand in
it...."

Something led her to obey him; she bent by the pool's sandy brink and
dabbled her fingers, while the man, a hundred feet away at the very foot
of the waterfall, held his place with the effortless ease of an
accustomed swimmer, and watched her. "Wasn't I right?" he challenged.

She nodded. "It's delicious...."

He said quickly: "You being here means that a ship is in, of course."

"Yes."

"What ship?"

"The _Sally Sims_--whaler...."

"The _Sally_! I know the _Sally_," the man cried. "Is Noll Wing still
captain?..."

"Of course."

His eyes were thoughtful. "I'm in luck, woman," he said. "Listen. Will
you do a thing for me?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"I've a sort of a home, up on the hill above us here.... Observatory....
I've been waiting four months for a ship to come along, keeping a
lookout from the top there.... Missed the _Sally_, somehow.... Must have
come up after I came down...."

"We made the island a little before noon," she said.

He chuckled. "Ah, I was in my boudoir then.... I want to ship on the
_Sally_. Does she need men?"

Her eyes clouded thoughtfully. "I--think so," she said. "They lost two,
three days ago."

"What was it?" he asked quickly. "Fighting whale...."

She shook, her head. "Boat got lost ... and they were short of water.
The jug wasn't fresh filled."

The man whistled softly. "That doesn't sound like one of Noll Wing's
boats," he said. "Noll is a stickler on those things...."

Faith bowed her head, tracing a pattern in the sand with her forefinger.
She said nothing. The man asked: "How long before they sail?"

"They're going to wait for me," she said.

His eyes lighted, and he chuckled. "Good. Now, listen.... If you'll be
so kind as to turn your back.... You see, I've been running wild here
for the past few months, and my clothes are all up at my place. I'll
trot up there and get them and come back here.... Get a few things that
I don't want to leave.... Will you turn your back?..." She had done so,
and she heard the water stir as he raced for the shore and landed. "I'm
going, now," he called.

"How long will you be?" she asked.

"Not over an hour," he told her. "About an hour."

"I'm afraid some one may come along this path.... Will they?... Should I
hide from them?..."

He laughed. "Bless you, this is my private path; it's officially taboo
to the natives, by special arrangement with the old witch doctor effect
that runs their affairs. There won't be a soul along.... I'll be back in
an hour...."

"I'll wait," she agreed softly. There was a light of mischief in her
eyes. Still standing with her face down stream, she heard his bare feet
pad the earth of the path for a moment before the sound was lost in the
laughing of the waterfall.... A moment later, his shout: "I'm gone."

She sat down quickly on the sand, smiling to herself, sure of what she
wished to do. She slipped off her shoes and her stockings with quick
fingers; and she gathered her skirts high about her thighs and stepped
with one foot and then another into the pleasant waters of the pool.
They rippled around her ankles; she went deeper.... The waters played
above her knees, while she balanced precariously in the swirling current
and gathered her skirts high....

The water was soothing as Heaven itself, after the salt.... But she was
not satisfied.... Merely wading.... She stood for a little, listening,
gathering courage, striving to pierce the shadows of the bush about her
with her eyes.... These first months of her marriage had driven a
measure of her youth out of Faith; they had been sober days, and days
more sober still were yet to come. But for this hour, a gay
irresponsibility flooded her; she waded ashore, singing under her
breath.... She began swiftly to loosen her skirt at the waist....

       *       *       *       *       *

When the man came trotting down the trail at last, shouting ahead to her
as he came, Faith was sitting demurely upon the sand, clothed and in her
right mind.... She was trying to appear unconscious of the fact that
around the back of her neck, and her pink little ears, wet tendrils of
hair were curling.... When he came in sight, she rose gravely to meet
him; and he looked at her with quick, keen eyes, and laughed.... She
turned red as a flame....

"I don't blame you," he said. "It's a beautiful pool...."

She wanted to be angry with him; but she could not.... His laughter was
infectious; she smiled at him. "I--couldn't resist it," she said....

She was studying the man. He wore, now, the accustomed garments of a
seaman, the clothes which the men aboard the _Sally_ wore. Harsh and
awkward garments; yet they could not hide the graceful strength of the
man. He was not so big as Noll, she thought; not quite as big as even
Dan'l Tobey.... Yet there was such symmetry in his limbs and the breadth
of his shoulders that he seemed a well-bulked man. His cheeks were lean
and brown, and his lips met with a pleasant firmness.... A man
naturally gay, she thought; yet with strength in him....

They started down the path toward the sea together. He carried a
cloth-wrapped bundle, swinging in his hand. She looked at him sidewise;
asked: "Who are you? How do you come to be here?"

"My name's Brander," he said. "I was third mate on the _Thomas Morgan_."

She tried to remember a whaler by that name. "New Bedford?" she asked.

"No.... Nantucketer."

Faith looked at him curiously. "But--what happened? Was she lost?..."

Brander's face was sober; he hesitated. "No, not lost," he said. He did
not seem minded to go on; and Faith asked again:

"What happened?"

He laughed uneasily. "I left them," he said, and again seemed to wish to
let the matter rest. But Faith would not.

"Is there any reason, why you should not tell me all about it?" she
asked.

"No."

"Then tell me, please...."

He threw up his free hand in a gesture of surrender. "All right," he
said....

They were following the narrow path down the stream's side toward the
sea. Faith was ahead, Brander on her heels. After a moment, he went
on....

"A man named Marks was the skipper of the _Thomas Morgan_. I shipped
aboard her as a seaman. I'd had one cruise before.... Not with him. I
shipped with him.... And I found out, within two days, that I'd made a
mistake.

"Not that they were hard on me. I knew my job, after a fashion; and ...
they let me alone. But the men had a tough time of it. It was a tough
ship, through and through. Marks; and his mate.... Mate's name was
Trant, and I'd not like to meet that man on a dark night. There was
murder in him.... The sheer love of it.... He was the sort of man that
will catch a shark just for the fun of spiking the creature's jaws and
turning him loose again.... I was in Taku once.... Saw a little China
boy catch a dragon fly and tie a twig to its tail and let it go. The
twig overbalanced the dragon fly--It went straight up into the air, fast
as it could wing.... May be going yet.... That was the sort of trick
Trant would have liked.

"Not that he ever actually killed a man on this cruise. Better if he
had, for the men. But he didn't.

"A big fellow. Heavy fisted; but he wasn't satisfied with the fist. The
boot for him...."

They were climbing a little knoll in the path; he fell silent while they
climbed; and Faith thought of Noll Wing and Mauger....

"Well," said Brander. "Well, you know how things drag along.... We
dragged along.... Then, one day, we touched.... We'd gone around into
the Japan Sea. Marks and Trant walked up to the second mate and took
him, between them, into a boat, and took him ashore.... They came back
without him. He was a man as big as Trant, but he had crossed Trant,
more than once.... Trant had a face that was cut to ribbons when he came
back aboard; but the other man did not come back at all. I never knew
what the particular quarrel was....

"They shoved the third mate up to the second, and put me in as third. I
said to myself: 'All right.... But don't go to sleep, Brander.' And I
didn't. It didn't pay.... I couldn't."

He waved his hand as though to dismiss what followed with a word....
Nevertheless, he went on:

"There was a man in my boat.... He was called 'Lead-Foot' by every one,
because he was a slow-moving man. He was not good for much. He was very
much afraid of every one. Especially Trant. He was bigger than Trant, so
Trant took a certain satisfaction from abusing him. I decided to
interfere with this. I told this big coward who was in my boat to keep
out of Trant's way; and I told Trant, jokingly, one day, to leave my men
alone. He was huffed at that; growled at me." Brander chuckled. "So I
swelled up my chest like a fighting cock and told him to keep hands off.
Oh, I threw a great bluff, I can tell you. But Trant was not a coward.
He waited his time; and I knew he was waiting....

"And while he waited, he talked to the captain; and I could see them
both whispering together. They whispered about me. They did not like to
have me about; and once Marks threatened to put me back in the
fo'c's'le; but he changed his mind.

"So matters were till we came past an island to the north of here, forty
or fifty miles. We made that island at dusk, and worked nearer it after
darkness had fallen. It came on cloudy and dark....

"I met Trant on the deck; and I said to him: 'Do we go ashore here?' He
grinned at me with his teeth and bade me wait till morning and see. And
that was enough for me. I knew what was coming. I thought I would hurry
it a little; but luck hurried it for me, in a way that worked out very
well.

"This lead-footed man was at the wheel. When the anchor went down, he
started forward and brushed against Trant. Trant may have meant it to be
so. Anyway, Trant knocked the lead-foot flying, and went after him with
the boot, jumping, as lumbermen do. There happened to be a belaying pin
handy. So I took it and cracked Trant, and he dropped in mid-leap....
Then Marks jumped me; and I managed to wriggle out from under him, and
he fell and banged his head. And he lay still; but Trant was up, by
then, and at me.

"The lead-footed man was yelling in my ear. I told him to go overboard
and swim for it; and he did. And just then Trant got in the way of the
belaying pin again, and this time he did not seem to want to get up.

"There was some confusion, you understand. I did not stay to straighten
things out. I went over, after Lead-Foot.... He could swim like a
porpoise. He was ahead of me, but half way in he met a shark, and came
clamoring back to me to be saved. So I got out of his way for fear he
would drag us both under, and then I kicked at the shark, and it went
about its business, and we swam on.... They were too busy sluicing the
Old Man and Trant to come after us in a boat.... They could have
knocked us in the head with an oar.... But they didn't....

"However, Lead-Foot took the shark so seriously that he swam too fast.
Or something of the sort.... Anyway, he keeled when we touched sand, and
I felt him and found that he was dead with heart failure or the like. I
didn't stop to work over him. I could hear Trant bellowing. He had come
to life; and a boat was racing after me.

"So I went into the bush and stayed there till the _Thomas Morgan_ took
herself off. After that, not liking the island, which was low and
marshy, I borrowed a native canoe and came over here.... And I've been
here, since."

They were within sound of the rollers on the beach when he finished.
Faith was silent for a little; then she asked: "Were there other white
men here? Why didn't you stay at the village?"

"There was too much society there," said Brander, grinning amiably. "I'm
a solitary man, by nature. So I went up into the hills. Besides, I could
watch for ships, there.... I'd no notion of staying here indefinitely,
you understand...."

Faith was filling out the gaps in his narrative from her own
understanding of the life aboard a whaler. She could guess what Brander
must have endured; she thought he had done well to come through it and
still smile.... She thought he was a man....

They could see the surf, through the thinning bush, when he said: "You
haven't told me how you happen to be aboard the _Sally Sims_...."

Faith had almost forgotten, herself. She remembered, and something like
a chill of sorrow struck down upon her. But: "I am Noll Wing's wife,"
she said.

They came out, abruptly, into the white glare of the beach, Mr. Ham's
boat was drawn up, a quarter-mile away. Brander looked toward it, looked
at Faith.

"Ah," he said quietly. "Then yonder is your husband's boat, waiting....
Noll Wing is an able skipper...."

Faith said nothing. They went on, side by side, toward Mr. Ham.




IX


When Mr. Ham, waiting by the boat with his men, saw Faith coming and saw
the stranger at her side, he came to meet them. His bearing was inclined
to truculence. Faith was ashore here in his charge; if this man had
disturbed her....

Faith reassured him. "I've a hand for you, Mr. Ham," she called. "You
need men."

Mr. Ham stopped, ten paces from them, with legs spread wide. He looked
from Faith to Brander. Brander smiled in a friendly way. "Can you use
me?" he asked. "I know the work."

Mr. Ham frowned thoughtfully. "What's this, ma'am?" he asked Faith.
"Who's that man?"

Faith said quietly: "Ask him. I believe he wants to ship. I told him we
were short."

The mate looked to Brander. His attitude toward Faith had been
deferential; toward Brander he assumed unconsciously the terrorizing
frown which he was accustomed to turn upon the men. "What do you want?"
he challenged.

Brander said pleasantly: "To ship with you."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was third mate on the _Thomas Morgan_," said Brander.

"Cap'n Marks?" Mr. Ham asked.

"Yes."

"We've no use for any o' Marks's mates aboard the _Sally_."

Brander smiled. "I wasn't thinking of shipping as mate. Can you use a
hand?"

"Where's the _Thomas Morgan_?"

"On th' Solander Grounds, likely."

"How come you're not with her?"

"I left them, hereabouts."

"Left them?"

"Yes."

"They've not the name of letting men go."

"They had no choice. They were--otherwise engaged when I took my leave."

"That's a slovenly ship," said Mr. Ham.

"One reason why I'm not on her now."

The mate frowned. "I'm not saying it's not in your favor that you got
away from them.... And we do need men." He added hastily: "Men; not
officers."

"That suits me."

Mr. Ham looked around. Faith stood a little at one side, listening
quietly. The _Sally_ rocked on the swells outside.... "Well, come
aboard," said the mate. "See what the Old Man says."

Brander nodded. "Thanks, sir," he said. He adopted, easily and without
abasement, the attitude of a fo'mast hand toward the officer, and went
ahead of the mate and Faith to stow his bundle in the boat. The other
men waiting there questioned him; but they all fell silent as Mr. Ham
and Faith came to where the boat waited.

Tichel had already taken the water casks out to the whaler. The men took
the whaleboat and dragged it down to the water. When it was half afloat,
Faith and the mate got in. The men shoved off, wading till the water was
deep enough for them to clamber aboard and snatch their oars and push
out through the rollers.... They worked desperately for a little, till
they were clear of the turbulent waters of the beach; then settled to
their work....

Brander sat amidships, his bundle at his feet, lending a hand now and
then on the oar of the man who faced him. Once he looked toward Faith;
she met his eyes.... Neither spoke, neither smiled.... The island was
receding behind them; Brander turned to watch it. They drew alongside
the _Sally_.

Dan'l Tobey was at the rail to receive them. The mate stood in the
tossing boat and lifted Faith easily to Dan'l at the rail; he swung her
aboard. Mr. Ham followed; then Brander; then the men. The mate saw to
the unloading of the boat, saw it safely stowed. Then turned to Brander,
"Come and see the Old Man," he said.

Dan'l Tobey heard. "He's asleep," he told Mr. Ham. "Who is this?"

The mate said: "He wants to ship. Says he was on the _Thomas Morgan_."

Dan'l looked at Brander. Mr. Ham added: "The captain's wife found him in
the bush."

Dan'l drawled: "Beach comber.... Eh?"

Brander said respectfully: "No, sir. I lived on the hill, there.... The
highest one. You can make out my place with the glass...."

"He was third mate on the _Thomas Morgan_," said Mr. Ham.

"We don't need an officer," Dan'l suggested. Brander sensed the fact
that Dan'l disliked him; he wondered at it.

"I'm asking to ship as a seaman, sir," he said.

Mr. Ham looked at Dan'l. "Best speak to the captain?" he asked.

"Oh, set him ashore," Dan'l suggested. "He's a troublemaker. Too wise
for the fo'c's'le...." He looked to Brander insolently. "Can't you see
he's a man of education, Mr. Ham? What would he want to ship before the
mast for?"

Mr. Ham looked puzzled. "How about it?" he asked Brander sharply.
Brander smiled.

"I did it, in the beginning, for sport," he said. "Now I'm doing it to
get home. If you need a man.... If not, I'll go ashore...."

Faith, standing by, said quietly: "Ship him, Mr. Ham." Her words were
not a request; they were a command. Dan'l looked at her swiftly,
shrewdly. Mr. Ham obeyed, with the instant instinct of obedience to that
tone....

It was not till days later that Faith wondered why she had spoken;
wondered why she had ventured to command.... And wondered why Mr. Ham
obeyed.... It gave her, somehow, a sense of power.... He had obeyed her,
as he would have obeyed Noll, her husband....

At the moment, however, having spoken, she went below.... She went
quickly, a little confused. She found Noll asleep, as Dan'l had said;
and she did not wake him. The _Sally_ got to sea.... The island fell
into the sea behind them. Before it was fully gone, Faith, with the
captain's glass, had searched that highest hill from the windows of the
after cabin; she discerned a little clearing, a rude hut.... Brander's
home....

She watched it for a space; then put the glass aside with thoughtful
eyes.

Brander's coming, in ways that could hardly be defined, eased the
tension aboard the _Sally_. When the man went forward to stow his
belongings in the fo'c's'le, he found the men surly.... Quarrelsome....
They looked at him sidewise.... They covertly inspected him....

The men of a whaler's crew are a polyglot lot, picked up from the
gutters and the depths. There were good men aboard the _Sally_, strong
men, who knew their work.... Some of them had served Noll Wing before;
some had made more than one voyage on the ships of old Jonathan Felt.
There was loyalty in these men, and a pride in their tasks.... But there
were others who were slack; and there were others who were evil.... The
green hands had been made over into able seamen, according to a whaler's
standard; and some of them had become men in the process, and some had
become something less than men. Yet they all knew their work, and did
it....

But they were, when Brander came among them, surly and ugly. In the days
that followed, tending strictly to his own work, he nevertheless found
time to study them.... A man with a tongue naturally gay, and a smile
that inspired friendship, he began to jest with them.... And little by
little, they responded.... Their surliness passed....

The officers felt the change. Willis Cox, still half sick from the
ordeal that had killed two of his men, took Brander into his boat.
Brander was only a year or two older than Willis, but he was vastly more
mature.... He knew men, and he knew the work of the ship; and Willis
liked him. He let Brander have his way with the other men, and his
liking for the newcomer led him to speak of it in the cabin, at supper
one night. "He's a good man," he said. "The men like him."

Dan'l Tobey said pleasantly: "He's after your berth, Will. Best watch
him."

Willis said honestly: "He knows more about the work than I do. I don't
blame him. But--he keeps where he belongs...."

"He will ... till he sees his chance," Dan'l agreed. "Don't let him get
away from you."

Old James Tichel grinned malignantly. "Nor don't let him get in my way,
Mr. Cox," he said, showing his teeth. "I do not like the cut of him."

The mate looked at Cap'n Noll Wing; but Noll was eating, he seemed not
to have heard. Faith, at her husband's side, said nothing. So Mr. Ham
kept out of the discussion. Only he wondered--he was not a discerning
man--why Dan'l disliked the newcomer. Brander seemed to Mr. Ham to be a
lucky find; they had needed a man, they had found a first-rater. That
was his view of the matter.

Brander's coming had worked like a leaven among the men. That was patent
to every one.... But this was not necessarily a good thing. A dominant
man in the fo'c's'le is, if the man be evil, a dangerous matter. The
officers rule their men by virtue of the fact that the men are not
united. Union among the men against the officers breeds mutiny.... Dan'l
said as much, now.

"He'll get the men after him like sheep," he said angrily. "Then--look
out."

"We can handle that," said Mr. Ham.

Dan'l grinned. "Aye, that's what is always said--till it is too late to
handle them. The man ought to have been left on the beach, where he
belonged."

Faith said quietly: "I spoke for him. It seems to me he does his work."

Dan'l looked up quickly, a retort on his lips; but he remembered himself
in time. "I'm wrong," he said frankly. "Brander is a good man. No doubt
the whole matter will turn out all right...."

Cap'n Wing, finishing his dinner, said fretfully: "There's too much talk
of this man. I'm sick of it. Keep an eye on him, Mr. Ham. If he looks
sidewise, clip him. But don't talk so much...."

The mate nodded seriously. "I'll watch him, sir."

Dan'l said: "I've no right to talk against him, sir. No doubt he's all
right."

Noll shook his great head like a horse that is harassed by a fly. "I
tell you I want no more words about him, Mr. Tobey. Be still." He got
up and stalked into his cabin. Faith followed him. The officers, one by
one, went on deck. Willis, there, came to Dan'l.

"You really think he means trouble, Mr. Tobey?"

Dan'l smiled. "If he were in my boat, I'd keep an eye peeled," he said.

Young Willis Cox set his jaw. "By God, I will that," he swore.

Dan'l pointed forward; and Willis looked and saw Brander talking with
Mauger, the one-eyed man, by the lee rail. "Mark that," said Dan'l.
"They're a chummy pair, those two."

Willis frowned. "That's queer, too," he said. "Mauger--he's not much of
a man. Why should Brander take up with him, anyhow?"

Dan'l smiled, sidewise. "Does Mauger--Is Mauger the captain's man?" he
asked.

"No. Hates him like death and hell."

"And Brander plays up to him...."

"Because Mauger hates the Old Man. Is that it?" Willis asked anxiously.

"I'm saying no word," protested Dan'l Tobey. "See for yourself, Will."




X


Roy Kilcup was another who did not like Brander. This was in part a
consequence of his position on the _Sally_, in part the result of Dan'l
Tobey's skillful tongue. Dan'l saw the tendency in Roy, and capitalized
it.

Roy lived in the cabin, where his duties as ship's boy kept him for most
of the time. It was true that in pay he ranked below the men, that he
was of small account in the general scheme of work aboard the whaler;
but he lived in the cabin, he was of the select, and to that extent he
was set apart from the men. Also, he was the brother of the captain's
wife, and that gave him prestige.

There was no great harm in Roy, but he was at that age where boys
worship men, and not always the best men. Also, he was at what might be
called the cocky age. He felt that the fact of his living in the cabin
made him superior to the men who hived in the fo'c's'le; and this
feeling showed itself in his attitude toward them. He liked to order
them around.... They were for the most part willing to obey him in the
minor matters with which he concerned himself.

Roy saw, as soon as any one, that Brander was a man above the average.
The day Brander was found on the island, he had gone ashore with Mr.
Tichel, and roved through the little native village, and returned to the
ship with the third mate before Faith appeared. Faith had suggested
that he go with her, but the boy scorned the notion of poking through
the woods.... He was thus back on the ship when Brander appeared.... But
he heard Dan'l Tobey object to the man, and he took his cue from Dan'l.
He disliked Brander.

This dislike was accentuated by a small thing which happened in the
second week Brander was on the _Sally_. They had killed a whale and cut
it in; and because the weather was bad, it had been a task for all
hands. The men were tired; but after the job was done, the regular
watches were resumed.... Dan'l Tobey's watch, which included Brander,
took first turn at scrubbing up; and when they went off and the other
watch came on, Roy was forward, fishing over the bow. He saw the tired
men trooping forward and dropping into the fo'c's'le; and he hailed
Brander.

"You, Brander," he called, in his shrill, boy's voice. "Get my other
line, from the starboard rail, under the boathouse. Look sharp, now!"

Now Roy had no right in the world to give orders, except as a messenger
of authority, and Brander knew this. So Brander said amiably: "Sorry,
youngster. I'm tired. Your legs are spry as mine...."

And he descended into the fo'c's'le with no further word, while Roy's
face blazed with humiliation, and the men who had heard laughed under
their breath. Some boys would have stormed, beaten out their strength in
futile efforts to compel Brander to do their bidding; Roy had cooler
blood in him. He fell abruptly silent; he went on with his fishing....
But he did not forget....

He told Dan'l Tobey about it. Dan'l was his confidant, in this as in
other things. And Dan'l comforted him.

"Best forget it, Roy," he said. "No good in going to the Old Man. The
man was right.... He didn't have to do it...."

"There was no reason why he should be impertinent," Roy blazed. "He
holds himself too high."

"Well, I'll not say he does not," Dan'l agreed. "Same time, it never
hurts to wait." And he added, a little uncomfortably, as though he were
unwilling to make the suggestion: "Besides, your sister shipped the man.
She'd have the say, in any trouble."

"I guess not," Roy stoutly boasted. "I guess she's nothing but a woman.
I guess Noll Wing is the boss around here."

"Sure," said Dan'l. "Sure. But--let's wait a bit."

This pleased Roy; it had a mysteriously ominous sound. He waited; and he
fell into the way of watching Brander, spying on the man, keeping the
newcomer constantly under his eye. Brander marked this at once, smiled
good-humoredly....

Brander and Faith saw very little of each other in those days; they
exchanged no words whatever, save on one day when Brander had the wheel
and Faith nodded to him and bade him good morning. For the rest, the
convention of the deck kept Brander forward of the tryworks; and Faith
never went forward. But now and then their eyes met, across the length
of the _Sally_; and one night at the cutting in, she heard Brander
singing a chanty to inspire the men as they tugged at the capstan
bars.... He sang well, a clear voice and a true one. In the shadows of
the after deck, she listened thoughtfully.

Dan'l came upon her there, when he paused for a moment in his work. He
saw her before she saw him, saw her face illumined by the light of the
flare in the rigging above the tryworks. And for a moment he stood,
watching; and the man's lip twisted....

That moment was a turning point in Dan'l Tobey's life. Before, there had
been a measure of good in the man; he had loved Faith well and
decently.... His capacity for mischief had been curbed. But in those
seconds while he studied Faith's countenance as she listened to
Brander's singing, he saw something that curdled the venom in the man.
When he stepped nearer, and she heard him, he was a different Dan'l....
The stocky, round-faced, freckled, sandy young man had become a power
for evil.... He was to use this power thenceforward without scruple....

Faith smiled at him; he said pleasantly: "The man sings well."

"Yes," Faith agreed. "I like it."

Then Dan'l turned back to his tasks, and Faith slipped down into the
cabin where Noll was, and offered to read aloud to her husband. Noll
sleepily agreed; he went to sleep, presently, while she read. When she
saw he was asleep, she dropped her book in her lap and studied the
sleeping man; and suddenly her eyes filled, so that she went down on
her knees beside him, and laid her arms gently about his shoulders, and
whispered pleadingly:

"Oh, Noll, Noll...."

       *       *       *       *       *

Roy Kilcup, coming up from the cabin one day, saw Dan'l Tobey strike a
man. He saw this at the moment his head rose above the companion. Dan'l
and the man were amidships, and Dan'l cuffed him and drove him forward.

Dan'l was not given to blows; he seldom needed to use them. So Roy was
curious. He went forward along the deck, and touched Dan'l's elbow, and
pointed after the cuffed man and asked huskily:

"What's the matter? What did he do?"

Dan'l had not seen Roy coming. He took a moment to think before he
answered; then he said in a fashion that indicated his unwillingness to
tell the truth:

"Oh--nothing. He was spitting on the deck."

Now a whaler is, when she is doing her work, a dirty craft; she is never
overly clean at best. But it is never permitted, on a ship that pretends
to decency, to spit upon the deck. Any man who did that on the _Sally_
would have been punished with the utmost rigor; and Roy knew this as
well as Dan'l. And Dan'l knew that Roy knew. Roy grinned youthfully,
protested:

"Oh, say, what's the secret about? What did he do?"

Dan'l smiled in a way that admitted his misstatement; he shook his head.
"Nothing," he said.

Roy looked angry. "Keep it to yourself if you want to." He had known
Dan'l all his life, and had no awe of him. "Don't tell if you don't want
to. If it's a secret, I guess I can keep still about it as well as any
one."

Dan'l looked sorrowful. "Just forget it, Roy," he said. "It doesn't
matter."

Roy flamed at him. "All right.... Keep it to yourself."

And Dan'l yielded reluctantly. "Well, if you've got to know," he said,
"I'll tell you.... He was laughing at Brander's story of why Faith
brought him aboard the ship here."

Roy's cheeks began to burn. "Brander.... What did Brander say?"

Dan'l shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't hear. He wasn't here at
the time. Probably didn't say anything. Probably the men just made it
up. The fo'c's'le is a dirty place, you know, Roy. Dirty men.... And
dirty talk...."

Roy said hotly: "By God, I won't have them talking about my sister...."

"I felt the same way," Dan'l agreed. "But--you can't do anything."

"What did Brander say? The sneak...."

"I don't know that he said anything," Dan'l insisted. "Probably not. I
just heard this man snickering, and telling two others something....
Heard him name Brander, and your sister.... So I struck in. The others
were just listening. They got out of the way. I asked this man what he
said; and he wouldn't tell me, so I hit him a clip and told him to keep
his tongue still...."

Roy whirled to look forward. The deck was all but empty, but Brander and
another man were by the knight's heads, talking casually together. Roy
said under his breath: "I'm going to...."

Dan'l caught his arm. "Wait...."

Roy shook loose. "No. This is my family affair, Dan'l. Let me alone...."
He started forward. Dan'l hesitated; then he drew back, turned aft,
stopped, watched.... He took a malicious pleasure in seeing what would
happen.

Brander had seen Roy coming; he was watching the boy, and smiling a
little. The other man's back was turned. Roy strode forward, head up,
eyes blazing; he kept on till he was face to face with Brander; he
stopped, and his hands trembled.

"You, Brander," he said thickly. "You keep your tongue off my...."

Brander moved like a flash of light. He swung Roy to him, swung the boy
around, pinned his arms with one of his own, clapped his hand over Roy's
mouth.... He lifted the boy easily and carried him, thus pinned and
gagged, aft as far as the tryworks. The other man stared in
astonishment; Dan'l took a step nearer the two. The others were out of
easy hearing when Brander stopped. Still holding Roy's mouth he said
quietly:

"Don't lose your head, youngster. You'll only do harm. Speak quietly.
What do you want to say?"

He released Roy and stepped back; and again Roy showed that he was more
than a boy. He did not spring at Brander; he did not curse; he did not
weep. He stood, straight as a wire, and his eyes were blazing. His
voice, when he found it, was husky and low, so that none but Brander
could hear.

"I don't know what you're saying about my sister," said Roy. "Whatever
it is, it's not true. If you say it again, I'll kill you."

Brander's eyes shadowed unhappily. He asked: "Why do you think I have
said anything?"

"No matter," said Roy harshly. "I know. Keep your tongue between your
lips, or I'll shoot you like a yellow dog. That's all...."

He swung abruptly, and went aft so quickly that Brander made no move to
stop him. Dan'l came quietly across the waist of the ship as Brander
took a step after Roy. "Get forward, Brander," he said.

Brander nodded pleasantly; he said: "Yes, sir."

And he went back to the forward deck, his eyes troubled. He fought, that
afternoon, with one of the hands, and whipped the man soundly. Dan'l
Tobey reported this in the cabin that evening; and Mr. Ham frowned and
said:

"He'd best learn we'll do all the fist work that's done aboard here."

Dan'l smiled. "He was an officer once," he reminded the mate. "It's a
habit hard to break."

Big Noll was there; he seemed not to listen. His attitude toward the new
man was still in doubt. Dan'l Tobey was wondering about it; and so was
Faith. It was to be decided, two days later, in a fashion peculiarly
dramatic.

Mauger, the one-eyed man, had an increasing hold on the imagination of
Noll Wing. The captain encountered the other wherever he went; and he
never encountered Mauger without an uneasy feeling that was half dread,
half remorse. He could not bear to look at Mauger's face, with the
dreadful hollow covered by the twitching lid; and Mauger sensed this and
put himself in the captain's path whenever he had the opportunity. Noll
wished he could be rid of the one-eyed man; and in his moments of rage,
he thought murderously of Mauger. But for the most part, he feared and
dreaded the other, and shivered at the little man's malicious and
incessant chuckling.

Again and again he spoke to Faith of Mauger, voicing his fear, wishing
that she might reassure him; till Faith wearied of it, and would say no
more. He spoke of his dread to Mr. Ham, who thought he was joking and
laughed at him harshly. Mr. Ham lacked imagination.

Brander, as has been said, was friendly with Mauger. He was sorry for
the little man; and he found in Mauger a singularly persistent spirit of
cheer which he liked. He was, for that matter, a friend of all the men
in the fo'c's'le, but because Mauger was marked by the cabin, his
friendship for Mauger was more frequently noted. Dan'l had seen it, had
pointed it out to Willis Cox....

Cap'n Wing came on deck one afternoon, a few minutes before the masthead
man sighted a pod of whales to the southward. The captain was more
cheerful than he had been for days; he was filled with something like
the vigor of his more youthful days. There was a joyful turbulence in
him, like the exuberance of an athlete.... He stamped the deck, striding
back and forth....

When the whales were sighted, the men sprang to the boats. Mauger,
since Willis Cox's tragic experience, had been put in the fourth mate's
boat with Brander, to fill the empty places there. Brander and Mauger
were side by side in their positions as they prepared the boat for
lowering. But the whales were still well away, the _Sally_ could cruise
nearer them, and Noll Wing did not at once give the signal to lower. He
stalked along the deck....

As he passed where Mauger stood, he marked that the line in the after
tub was out of coil a little. That might mean danger, when the whale was
struck and the line whistled like a snake as it ran. Noll Wing stopped
and swore sulphurously and bade Mr. Cox put his boat in order. Willis
snapped: "Mauger, stow that line."

Mauger reached for the tub, but his single eye had not yet learned
accurately to judge distance; he fumbled; and Brander, at his side, saw
his fumbling, and reached out and coiled the line with a single
motion....

Noll Wing saw; and he barked:

"Brander!"

Brander looked around. "Yes, sir."

"When a man can't do his own work here, we don't want him. Keep your
hands off Mauger's tasks."

Brander said respectfully: "I helped him without thinking, sir. Thought
the thing was to do the work, no matter who...."

Noll Wing stepped toward him; and his eyes were blazing, not so much
with anger as with sheer exuberance of strength. He roared: "Don't talk
back to me, you...."

And struck.

Now Noll Wing was proud of his fists, and proud of his eye; and for
fifteen years he had not failed to down his man with a single blow. But
when he struck at Brander, a curious thing happened....

Brander's head moved a little to one side, his shoulders shifted.... And
Noll's big fist shot over Brander's right shoulder. The captain's weight
threw him forward; Brander stepped under Noll's arm. The two men met,
face to face, their eyes not six inches apart. Noll's were blazing
ferociously; but in Brander's a blue light flickered and played....

The men waited, not breathing; the officers stepped a little nearer.
Dan'l Tobey licked his lips. This would be the end of Brander.... It was
not etiquette to dodge the Old Man's blows....

But, amazingly, after seconds of silence, Noll Wing's grim face relaxed;
he chuckled.... He laughed aloud, and clapped Brander on the shoulder.
"Good man.... Good man!"

Mr. Ham called: "We'll gally the sparm...."

And Noll turned, and waved his hand. "Right," he said. "Lower away,
boats...."

The lean craft struck the water, the men dropped in, the chase was on.




XI


When the boats left the _Sally_, Mr. Ham's in the lead as of right,
Faith came from the after deck to where Noll stood by the rail and
touched his arm. He turned and looked down at her.... He was already
regretting what had happened. His recognition of Brander's courage had
been the last flame of nobility from the man's soul; he was to go down,
thereafter, into lower and lower depths.... He was already regretful and
ashamed....

Faith touched his arm; he looked down and saw pride and happiness in her
eyes; and with the curious lack of logic of the male, he was the more
ashamed of what he had done because she was proud of him for it. She
said softly:

"That was fine, Noll."

"Fine--hell!" he said hoarsely. "I ought to have smashed him."

Faith smiled; she shook her head.... Her hand rested on his arm; and as
he turned to look after the departing boats, she leaned a little against
him. He mumbled: "Fool.... That's what I was. I ought to have smashed
him. Now he--every man aboard--they'll think they can pull it on me...."
His big fists clenched. "By God, I'll show 'em. I'll string him up for a
licking, time he gets back."

"I was--very proud," she said. "If you had struck him, I should have
been ashamed."

"That's the woman of it," he jeered. "Damn it, Faith; you can't run a
whaler with kisses...."

She studied his countenance. He was flushed, nervous, his lips
moving.... He took off his cap to wipe his forehead; and his bald head
and his gray hair and the slack muscles of his cheeks reminded her again
that he was an old, an aging man.... She felt infinitely sorry for him;
she patted his arm comfortingly.

He shook her off. "Yes, by God," he swore. "When he gets back, I'll tie
him up and give him the rope.... Show the dog...."

Roy had come up behind them; neither had heard him. The boy cried:
"That's right, sir. The man thinks he's running the _Sally_, sir. You've
got to handle him."

Faith said: "Roy, be still."

He flamed at her: "You don't know what you're talking about, Sis. You're
just a girl."

Noll said impatiently: "Don't have one of your rows, now. I'm sick of
'em. Roy, go down in the cabin and stay there...."

"I can't see the boats from there," the boy complained. Noll turned on
him; and Roy backed away and disappeared. Noll watched the boats,
dwindling into specks across the sea.... Beyond he could see, now and
then, the white spouts of the whales. Once a great fluke was lazily
upreared.... Faith watched beside him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whether, in the normal course of things, Noll would have carried out
his threat to whip Brander cannot be known. Chance, the dark chance of
the whale-fisheries, intervened.

Tragedy always hangs above a whaling vessel. This must be so when six
men in a puny boat with slivers of iron and steel go out to slay a
creature with the strength of six hundred men. When matters go well,
they strike their whale, the harpoon makes him fast, he runs out his
strength, they haul alongside and prod him with the lance, he dies....
But there are so many ways in which matters may go wrong. The sea is
herself a treacherous hussy, when she consorts with the wind, and
becomes drunk with his caresses. Under his touch she swells and breaks
tempestuously; she writhes and flings herself about.... Her least wave
can, if it chooses, smash the thin sides of a whaleboat and rob the men
in it of their strength and shelter; her gentlest tussle with her
consort wind can overwhelm them....

And if the sea be merciful, there remain her creatures. She is the wide,
blue pasture of the whale; a touch of his flukes, a crunch of his jaw, a
roll of his great bulk is enough to crush out the lives of a score of
men. If he had wit to match his size, he would be invulnerable; as it
is, men with their wits for weapons can strike and kill him in the
waters that are his own. It is rare to encounter a fighting whale, a
creature that deliberately sets itself to destroy the attacking boats;
the tragedies of the whale-fisheries are more often mere incidents,
slight mischances, matters of small importance to the whale....

A little, little thing and men die.

This day, the day when Brander faced Noll Wing and went unscathed, was
bright and fair, with a gentle turbulent wind, and a dancing sea. It was
warm upon the waters; the sun burned down upon them and its glare and
its heat were reflected from them.... The skin of men's faces was
scorched by it. The men, tugging at the oars in the boats, sweated and
strove; the perspiration streamed down their cheeks, trickled along the
straining cords of their necks, slid down their broad chests.... Their
shirts clung to them wetly; they welcomed the flying spray that lashed
them now and then.

The pod of whales was perhaps five miles from the _Sally_ when the boats
were lowered; but the wind was favoring, and its pressure upon the sail
helped them on for a space. When half the distance was covered, the oars
were discarded as the boats swung around with the wind almost dead
astern, and headed straight for the whales' lay. Before they reached the
basking, sporting creatures, the whales sounded; and it was necessary
for the men to lie upon their oars and wait for a full half hour before
the first spout showed the cachalots were back from their browsing in
the ocean caves below. The boats swung around and headed toward them,
sails pulling....

Mr. Ham's boat was in the lead; for that is the right of the mate. The
others were closely bunched behind him; and as they drew near the pod,
they separated somewhat, so that each might strike a whale. Dan'l Tobey
went southward, where a lone bull lay with the waves breaking over his
black bulk. Willis Cox and Tichel swung to the north of the mate, into
the thick of the pod.

The mate marked down his whale; a fat cow that would yield full seventy
barrels. He was steering; Silva, the harpooner, stood in the bow, knee
braced, ready with his irons. The men amidships prepared to bring down
mast and sail at the word, and stow them safely away so that they might
not hinder the battle that would come. The boat drove smoothly on....
Mr. Ham, looking north and south, saw that the others were drawing up
abreast of him, so that they would strike the whales at about the same
time. He thought comfortably that with a little luck they would kill two
whales, or perhaps three. That each boat should kill was too much to be
hoped for.

Then he gave his attention to his own prey. They slipped up on the
basking cow from almost dead astern, slid alongside her; and Mr. Ham
swung hard on the steering oar. The boat came into the wind; he
bellowed:

"Now, Silva; give her iron."

The harpooner moved quick as light, for all the power of the thrust he
put behind his stroke. He sank his first iron; snatched his second,
drove it home as the whale stirred.... Threw overboard the loose line
coiled forward.... The whale ran.

The sail came fluttering down, mast and all; and the four men amidships
rolled it awkwardly, stowed it along the gunwale.... Silva and the mate,
at the same time, were changing places in the boat. Silva, the
harpooning done, would now come into his proper function as
boat-steerer. It is the task of the mates to kill the whales. The boat,
half smothered in canvas, with Silva and Mr. Ham passing from end to
end, and the whale line already running out through the chock in the
bow, was a picture of confusion thrice confounded.

In this confusion, anything was possible; anything might happen. What
did happen was humiliating and ridiculous.

When Silva struck home the harpoons, he flung overboard a length of line
coiled by his knee. This slack line would allow the whale to run free
while the sail was coming down and he and the mate were changing places.
He threw it overboard--and failed to mark that one loop of it caught on
the point of one of the spare irons in the rack with the lances, at the
bow. He leaped for the stern, groped past Mr. Ham amidships....

The whale was running. As Mr. Ham reached the bow, the line drew taut.
That loop which had caught across the point of the harpoon was
straightened like a flash.

Now a harpoon is shaped, not like an arrow, but like a slanting blade.
It has a single barb; and the forward side of this barb is razor-sharp.
This razor edge cuts into the blubber and flesh; then the shank of the
barb grips and holds. But the edge that will cut blubber will also cut
hemp....

The loop of whale line was dragged firmly back along this three-inch
blade; it cut through as though a knife had done the trick, and the
whale was gone with two irons and thirty fathoms of line. Mr. Ham and
his boat bobbed placidly upon the water; and Mr. Ham looked, saw what
had happened, and spoke sulphurously. Then looked about to see what
might be done.

It was too late to think of getting fast to another whale. The pod was
gallied; the great creatures were fleeing. After them went James Tichel
in his boat, the spray sluicing up from her bows. Tichel was fast; the
whale was running with him.... Mr. Ham looked from Tichel for the other
boats. He saw Dan'l Tobey in distress. A whale had risen gently under
them, opening the seams of their craft; and they were half full of water
and sinking. They had cut.

Willis Cox had hold of a whale; and this one had sounded. Ham saw Willis
in the bow, watching the line that went straight down from the chock
into the water. This line was running out like a whip-lash, though
Willis put on it all the strain it would bear without dragging the
boat's bow under. It ran down and down....

Mr. Ham rowed across; and Willis called to him: "Big fellow. But he's
taken one tub."

"Give him to me," Mr. Ham said.

Willis shook his head. "I'd like to handle him. Get me the line from Mr.
Tobey's boat. He's mine."

Mr. Ham grinned. "All right; if you're minded to work...." He swung
quickly to where Dan'l and his men floated to their waists in water, the
boat under them. "Takin' a swim?" he asked, grinning.

Dan'l nodded. "Just that. You cut, I see. Why was that, now?"

Mr. Ham stopped grinning and looked angry. "Pass over your tubs," he
ordered; and Dan'l's men obeyed. Mr. Ham took the fresh line to
Willis....

He was no more than just in time. "The black devil's still going,"
Willis said. "Second tub's all but gone...."

"Bound for hell, more'n like," Mr. Ham agreed. "Hold him."

Dan'l's line was running out by this time; for Willis had worked
quickly.... And still the whale went down.... Mr. Ham stood by,
waiting.... The line ran out steadily; the whale showed no signs of
rising. The bow of Willis's boat was held down within inches of the
water by the strain he kept upon the line. One tub was emptied; he began
to look anxious.... And the whale kept going down.

Mr. Ham said abruptly: "There.... Pass over your line. He'll be gone on
you, first you know."

Willis looked at the smoking line.... And reluctantly, he surrendered.
With no more than seconds to spare, the end of his line was made fast to
the cut end of Mr. Ham's, and the whale continued to go down. He had
taken all the line of two boats--and wanted more.

"He's hungry," Mr. Ham grinned, watching the running rope. "Gone down
for supper, likely."

And a moment later, his eyes lighting:

"There.... Getting tired.... Or struck bottom, maybe."

They could all see that the line had slackened. The bow of Mr. Ham's
boat rode at a normal level; the line hung loose. And the mate turned
around and bellowed to his men:

"Haul in."

They began to take in the line, hand over hand; it fell in a wide coil
amidships, overlapping the sides, spreading.... A coil that grew and
grew. They worked like mad.... The only way to kill a whale is to pull
up on him until your boat rides against his very flank. All the line
this creature had stolen must be recovered, before he could be slain....
They toiled with racing hands....

Mr. Ham began to look anxiously over the bow, down into the blue water
from which the line came up. "He's near due," he said.

It is one of the curious and fatal habits of a sounding whale to rise
near the spot where he went down. It is as though the creatures followed
a well-known path into the depths and up again. This is not always true;
often a whale that has sounded will take it into his mind to run, will
set off at a double-pace. But in most cases, the whale comes up near
where he disappeared.... The men knew this. Dan'l Tobey, in his sinking
boat, worked away from the neighborhood to give the mate room. So did
Willis. And Mr. Ham, leaning one knee on the bow, peering down into the
water, his lance ready in his hand, waited for the whale to rise....

The line came in.... The nerves of each man tautened.... Mr. Ham said,
over his shoulder: "Silva, you coil t'line. Rest of you get in your
oars. Hold ready...."

He heard the men obey, knew they were ready to maneuver at his
command.... The whale was coming up slowly; the line was still slack,
but the creature should have breached long before....

The mate thought he detected a light pull on the line; it seemed to draw
backward, underneath the boat; and he said softly:

"Pull her around."

The oars dipped; the boat swung slowly on a pivot.... The line now ran
straight down....

Abruptly, Mr. Ham, bending above the water, thought he saw a black bulk
far down and down.... A bulk that seemed to rise.... He watched....

It was ahead of the boat; it became more plainly visible.... He waved
his hand, pointing: "There ..." he said. "There...."

Deep in the water, that black bulk swiftly moved; it darted to one side,
circling, rising.... Mr. Ham saw a flash of white, a huge black head, a
sword-like, saw-toothed jaw.... The big man towered; he flung his left
hand up and back in a tremendous gesture.

"Starn.... Oh, starn all!" he cried.

The oars bent like bows under the fierce thrust of the men as they
backed water.... The boat slid back.... But not in time....

Willis Cox, and the men in his boat, saw the long, narrow under jaw of
the cachalot--a dozen feet long, with the curving teeth of a tiger set
along it--slide up from the water, above the bow of the boat. The bow
lifted as the whale's upper jaw, toothless, rose under it.... The
creature was on its back, biting.... The boat rolled sidewise, the men
were tumbling out....

But that narrow jaw sheared down resistlessly. Through the stout sides
of the boat, crumpling and splintering ribs and planking.... Through
the boat.... And clamped shut as the jaws closed across the thick body
of the mate.... They saw the mate's body swell as a toy balloon swells
under a child's foot.... Then horribly it relaxed and fell away and was
lost in a smother of bloody foam....

       *       *       *       *       *

Loum, Willis's boat-steerer, swung them alongside the rolling whale. It
was Brander who caught a loop of the loose line; and while the creature
lay quietly, apparently content with what it had done, they hauled
close, and Willis--the boy's face was white, but his hand was
steady--drove home his lance, and drew it forth, and plunged it in,
again and yet again....

The whale seemed to have exhausted its strength. Having killed, it died
easily enough. Spout crimsoned, flukes beat in a last flurry, then the
great black bulk was still....

They picked up the men who had been spilled from the mate's boat. Not a
man hurt, of them all, save only Mr. Ham.

Him they never found; no part of him. The sea took him. No doubt, Faith
thought that night, he would have wished his rough life thus to end.




XII


Mr. Ham was dead and gone. Faith was surprised to find, in the next few
days, how much she missed him. The mate had been harsh, brutal to the
men, ready with his fist.... Yet somehow she found in her heart a deep
affection for the man. He was so amiably stupid, so stupidly good of
heart. His philosophy of life had been the philosophy of blows; he
believed men, like children, were best ruled for their own good by the
heavy hand of a master. And he acted on that belief, with the best will
in the world. But there had never been any malice in his blows; he
frowned and glared and struck from principle; he was at heart a simple
man, and a gentle one.... Not the stuff of a leader; never the man to
take command of a masterless ship. Nevertheless, a man of a certain rude
and simple strength of soul....

Faith was sorry he was gone; she felt they could have better spared
another man.... Almost any other, save Noll Wing.

She did not at once perceive the true nature of the change which Mr.
Ham's death must bring about aboard the _Sally_. In the balancing of man
and man which had made for a precarious stability there, Mr. Ham had
taken a passive, but nevertheless important part. Now he was gone; the
balance was disturbed. But neither Faith nor the others at once
perceived this; none of them saw that Dan'l Tobey as second mate, and
Dan'l Tobey as first mate, with only a step between him and the command,
were very different matters.... Not even Dan'l, in the beginning....

They were all too busy, for one thing; there were the whales to be cut
in--for James Tichel had killed and towed his booty back to the _Sally_
an hour after Mr. Ham died. Tichel's whale, and the one that had killed
Mr. Ham, would give the whole ship work for days; feverish work, hard
and engrossing. Cap'n Wing, who had leaned upon Mr. Ham in the past,
perforce took charge of this work, and the strain of it wearied him. He
no longer had the abounding vitality which it demanded.... It wearied
him; and what with the death of the mate, and the rush of this work and
his own weariness, he altogether forgot his threat to have the man,
Brander, whipped in the rigging. He forgot Brander, tried to drive the
men at their tasks, and eventually gave up in a stormy outbreak of
impatience and left the matter in the hands of Dan'l Tobey.

Dan'l went about the business of cutting in and boiling the blubber in a
deep abstraction; he was considering the problem raised by the death of
Mr. Ham, which none of the others--save, perhaps, Faith--had yet
perceived.

This problem was simple; yet it had possibilities of trouble. Mr. Ham
was gone; Dan'l automatically became first officer; old James Tichel
ranked as second, Willis as third.... But the place of fourth mate was
left empty.... It would have to be filled. The _Sally_ could not go on
about her business with one boat's crew forever idle. There would have
to be a new officer.

Dan'l was troubled by the problem, for the obvious reason that Brander
was the only man aboard with an officer's training; that Brander was the
obvious choice. Dan'l did not want Brander in the cabin; he had seen too
much in Faith's eyes that night when she heard Brander sing by the
capstan.... He had eyes to see, and he had seen. And there was boiling
in Dan'l a storm of hatred for Brander. He was filled with a rancor
unspeakable....

No one spoke of this necessity for choosing another officer until the
last bit of blubber from the two whales had been boiled; the last drop
of oil stowed in the casks; the last fleck of soot scoured from the
decks. Then it was old Tichel who opened the matter. It was at dinner in
the cabin that he spoke. Cap'n Wing was there, and Faith, and Dan'l, and
Roy. Willis Cox was on deck; Mr. Ham's chair was vacant. Old Tichel
looked at it, and he looked at Noll Wing, and he said:

"Who's to set there, cap'n?" He pointed toward the empty chair as he
spoke. It was at Cap'n Wing's right hand, where Mr. Ham had been
accustomed to sit. Dan'l Tobey had not yet preëmpted it. Dan'l was
always a discreet man.

Cap'n Wing looked across at Tichel. "Mr. Tobey, o' course," he said.

Tichel nodded. "Natural. I mean--who's goin' to be the new officer? Or
don't you figure to hev one?"

Noll had been drinking that day; he was befuddled; his brain was thick.
He waved one of his big hands from side to side as though to brush
Tichel away. "Leave it to me," he said harshly. "I don't call for any
pointers, Mr. Tichel. Leave it to me...."

James Tichel nodded again; he got up and wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand and went on deck.... Dan'l and Roy, Faith and Noll Wing,
were left together. Dan'l wondered whether it was time for him to speak;
he studied Noll's lowered countenance, decided to hold his tongue.... He
followed Tichel to the deck.

Noll said nothing of the matter all that day. At night, when they were
going to bed, Faith asked him: "Who have you decided to promote to be an
officer, Noll?"

He said harshly: "You heard what I told Tichel? Leave it to me."

"Of course," she agreed. "I just wanted to know. Of course...." She
hesitated, seemed about to speak, then held her peace. Brander was the
only man aboard who had the training; Noll must see that, give him time.

Faith wanted to see Brander in the cabin. She admitted this to herself,
quite frankly; she did not even ask whether there was anything shameful
in this desire of hers. She knew there was not.... The girl had come to
have an almost reverential regard for the welfare of the _Sally_; for
the prosperity of the cruise. It was her husband's charge; the
responsibility lay on him. She wanted matters to go well; she wanted
Noll to keep unstained his ancient record.... Brander, she knew, would
help him. Brander was a man, an able officer, skillful and courageous; a
good man to have at one's back in any battle.... She was beginning to
see that Noll would need a friend before this cruise was done; she
wanted Brander on Noll's side.

It may be that there was mingled with this desire a wish that Brander
might have the place that was due him; but there was nothing in her
thoughts of the man that Noll might not have known.

She watched Noll, next day; and more than once she caught him watching
where Brander aided with some routine task, or talked with the men.
There was trouble in Noll's eyes; and because she had come to understand
her husband very fully, Faith could guess this trouble. Noll was torn
between respect for Brander, and fear of him....

Brander, that day of Mr. Ham's death, had faced Noll unafraid; Noll knew
he was no coward. But by the same token, he had sworn to have Brander
whipped, and had not done so. He recognized the strength and courage in
the man; and at the same time he hated Brander as we hate those we have
wronged. Brander was not afraid of Noll; and for that reason, if for no
other, Noll was afraid of Brander. In the old days, when he walked in
his strength, Noll Wing had feared no man, had asked no man's fear. His
own fist had sufficed him. But now, when his heart was growing old in
his breast, he was the lone wolf.... He must inspire fear, or be himself
afraid.... He was afraid of Brander.

Afraid of Brander.... But Noll was no fool. No man who is a fool can
long master other men as Noll had mastered them. He set himself to
consider the matter of Brander, and decide what was to be done.

That night, when dark had fallen, and the _Sally Sims_ was idling on a
slowly stirring sea, Noll called the mates into the cabin. Faith and Roy
were on deck together; and Roy, with a boy's curiosity, stole to the top
of the cabin companion to listen to what passed. Faith paid him little
attention; she was astern, watching the phosphorescent sparks that
glowed and vanished in the disturbed water on the _Sally's_ wake. The
whaler was scarce moving at all; there was no foam on the water behind
her; but the little swirls and eddies were outlined in fire....

Noll looked around the table at the other mates; and he said heavily:

"We've got to have a new officer."

They knew that as well as he; the statement called for no reply. Only
Dan'l Tobey said: "Yes, sir.... And a man we know, and can count on."

Noll raised his big head and looked at Dan'l bleakly. "Mr. Tobey," he
said, "you know the men. Who is there that measures up to our wants,
d'you think?"

Dan'l started to speak; then he hesitated, changed his mind.... Said at
last: "I'm senior officer here, sir. But--I've not the experience that
Mr. Tichel has, for instance. Perhaps he has some one in mind."

Noll nodded. "All right, Mr. Tichel. If you have, say out."

James Tichel grinned faintly. "I have. But you'll not mind me, so no
matter."

"Out with it, any fashion," Noll insisted.

"Silva, then," said Tichel. "Silva!" He looked from one of them to
another. Noll's face was set in opposition; Dan'l's was neutral; Willis
Cox was obviously amazed. "Silva," said old Tichel, for the third time.
"He's a Portugee.... All right. But he's a good man; he knows the boat;
he's worked with Mr. Ham. And he can take the boat and make a harpooner
out of one or the other of two men in her...." He stopped, unused to
such an outbreak. "That's my say, leastwise," he finished.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Noll looked toward Dan'l again. "Now,
Mr. Tobey," he said.

Dan'l leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I've nothing
against Silva," he said quietly. "He's a good man. The best man in the
crew, I'm thinking.... But....

"The man I have in mind is Roy Kilcup. No less."

Noll's eyes widened; and old Tichel snapped: "He's never been in a
boat."

"I know the boy," Dan'l insisted. "I'll undertake to teach him all he
needs know in a week. He knows boats; he has guts and heart.... All he
needs to know is whales...."

"Aye," said Willis Cox scornfully. "Aye, that's all. But who does know
them?"

Dan'l smiled. "You might well enough ask, Mr. Cox."

Willis flushed painfully. "He's just a kid," he protested.

"You were almost three months older when you struck your first whale, if
I mind right," said Dan'l pleasantly.

Big Noll Wing interrupted harshly: "That's enough. Silva and Roy. Who
would you have, Mr. Cox?"

"Only one man aboard," said Willis.

"That's who.... I've no mind for conundrums."

"Brander," said Cox. "Brander!"

Noll seemed to slump a little in his chair; he smiled wearily. Dan'l
Tobey thought the captain had never looked so old. His big fist on the
table moved a little from side to side, then was still. In the silence,
they all heard the voice of Roy Kilcup, from the deck above, crying to
Faith in a trembling whisper:

"Dan'l wants to make me mate, Sis! He wants to make me mate...."

His voice was so tremulous, so obviously the voice of a boy, that every
man of them save Dan'l Tobey smiled. Noll said slowly: "He's over
youthful yet, Dan'l. Teach him the trade.... Happen, some day, we'll
see...."

Dan'l was betrayed by anger into indiscretion. "Over youthful, that may
be," he exclaimed. "But not a Portugee; and not a beach comber...."

Noll held up his big hand, silencing Dan'l. And he looked from man to
man; and he said slowly, as an old man speaks: "I've no liking for
Brander. He dared me to my face, t'other day. But there's this....

"He holds the crew. They like him. And he's a man; and he knows the job;
and he does not know how to be afraid. Also, he has a right to the
place. If we don't give it to him, he might well enough make a bit
trouble for us. Leastwise, that's the seeming of it to me...."

Dan'l said harshly: "I never heard that Noll Wing feared any man."

Noll smiled. "Age brings wisdom, Dan'l. I'm learning to fear.... So...."

       *       *       *       *       *

Dan'l Tobey found Brander on the fore deck, ten minutes later. Brander
was smoking, with two of the men. Dan'l touched his shoulder; Brander
stepped aside. The two men faced each other in the darkness for a
moment; and it was as though an electric spark of hostility passed
between them. Their eyes clashed....

Then Dan'l said pleasantly: "Get your traps and come aft to the cabin,
Brander."

Brander chuckled softly; he tapped out his pipe in his palm and tossed
the glowing ember over the rail. "Thank you, Mr. Tobey," he said. "I'm
pleased to accept your kind invitation."

There was a mocking light in his eye that Dan'l, even in the dark, could
see. Another man might have struck; but Dan'l was never one for blows.
He turned on his heel and went aft; and Brander dropped into the
fo'c's'le to collect his belongings.




XIII


Thus Brander came into the cabin. He and Willis Cox shared a small
compartment off the main cabin; while Dan'l and tigerish old Tichel
shared another. The four mates, Roy, Noll Wing, and Faith all lived in a
space not much more than twenty-five feet square. This intimacy that
could not be escaped served to intensify the clash of man and man.
Brander and Dan'l Tobey became, within the week, open and avowed
enemies.

They made no great show of their enmity, but each understood. Dan'l, by
virtue of his position as mate, gradually gathered into his own hands
the authority that old Noll Wing was letting slip; he assumed many of
the small prerogatives of the captain; and he took advantage of his
strength to give Brander irksome tasks, to make his work unnecessarily
hard. Noll saw nothing. He had fallen into something like a stupor; he
was rotting at the heart, like a great log that lies prone in the
forest. He played with his authority; he had days when he liked to fancy
that he was the Noll of old; but most of the time he spent in the cabin
below, sleeping, or perhaps drinking, or reading the Bible and
maundering over his own past sins. A wholesome interest in the Bible is
a good thing for any man; but Noll's interest was not wholesome. He was
morbidly absorbed in the Book; he read it and mourned to think how
wicked he had been. He complained to Faith as though she were to blame
for his ancient crimes.

It came to pass that he flooded Faith, little by little, with the
details of his own misdemeanors. His own orgy of self-depreciation led
him to decide that he was not worthy of her; he told her so; and when
Faith sought to hearten him, the man--to prove his point--recited the
tale of the hot blood of his youth. He told her the women he had known,
so that Faith was sickened; and he begged her to forgive him, and she
did. She forgave without rancor.... It was characteristic of Faith that
she held no anger against Noll because he was not what she thought him.
She had married him, eyes open.... He was her husband; she was his. She
set herself to serve him, to protect him against himself, with all the
loyalty that was in her. And more than all, she set herself to uphold
Noll as the master of his ship. He must bring the _Sally_ home with
bursting casks; that was Faith's creed and prayer. He must fight the
good fight; he must meet his responsibility; he must be master....

She worked to this end unceasingly; and on the whole her efforts were
without avail. Noll steadily degenerated.... His strength fled from him.

Faith was so concerned with Noll that she gave little heed to the
hostility between Dan'l Tobey and Brander. These two fought their fight
without her interference. And this struggle between them was a curious
thing. On Dan'l's side, it was a constant and persistent effort to
harass Brander and discredit him; on Brander's side, it was a
good-natured opposition to this effort. When Dan'l gave Brander two
men's work to do, Brander smiled--and did it. When Dan'l blamed Brander
for what was another's fault, or no fault of any man, Brander silently
and cheerfully took the blame. Now and then he looked at Dan'l with a
blue flash of anger in his eyes; but for the most part he was
good-humored; he seemed amused by Dan'l, nothing more.

Dan'l chose, one day, to take Brander to task at dinner in the cabin.
Noll and Faith were there, and the four mates. Brander, as was his duty,
came down last; he sat at the foot of the board. The _Sally_ was
cruising idly, watching for a spout. Brander and Willis Cox had been on
deck before dinner. There was little for either of them to do, save
watch for any chance of harm, or wait for word of a whale.

When Brander came down, he caught Faith's eye from the foot of the
companion ladder, and Faith nodded and said: "Good morning." Brander
smiled. Dan'l looked at Faith; and he looked at Brander; and he gripped
his chair to hold back a hot word that would have ruined him. Brander
sat down at the foot of the table. Noll seemed scarce to know he had
come, and Faith nodded to Brander to pass his plate. Brander did so, and
Faith served him. The plate went back to Brander.

Dan'l said slowly: "Mr. Brander, the main hatch was not fast when I came
down. Did you secure it?"

Brander looked up quickly, smiled. "No, sir," he said. "I...."

"Why not?" Dan'l demanded acidly. "Are you waiting for a squall to tear
it off?"

Willis Cox said: "I had it made fast, sir. Before Mr. Brander came on
deck."

Dan'l crimsoned in spite of himself; old Tichel grinned unpleasantly.
Brander smiled; and Faith looked at Dan'l and waited for his word of
acknowledgment. Dan'l saw her eyes.... He said to Brander: "Then, of
course, you couldn't make it fast. Why didn't you say so--since it was
done before you came on deck?"

Brander said soberly: "Sorry, sir." But his eyes were twinkling. What
use to explain; Dan'l could not be in a worse light. And Dan'l knew it.
He said hotly:

"What is so funny?..."

Noll Wing rumbled from the head of the table, where he had seemed
concerned only with his food: "Let be. Let be. The thing is done. That's
all that's needful, Mr. Tobey."

And Dan'l got hold of himself; he said respectfully: "Right, sir."

The matter dropped there.... A small thing; but an incident very typical
of the tension which was growing in the cabin of the _Sally Sims_.
Dan'l, jaundiced by his own hatred of Brander, by his disordered passion
for Faith, was not good company. Save Roy, all those in the cabin
avoided him. Roy was fiercely loyal to Dan'l; and he hated Brander the
more because Brander had been given the mate's berth to which Roy
himself had foolishly aspired. That was Dan'l's doing, that aspiration;
he had taken care to tell Roy that he had proposed Roy's name. "Brander
does not belong in the cabin," he told Roy. "He is rag tag and bob tail,
from God knows where. If I'd been Noll Wing, you would be fourth mate
to-day...."

He fed Roy's sense of wrong; for the boy might some day prove a useful
tool. Dan'l was full of venom in those days; but he had not yet formed
his ultimate plan.

He still loved Faith, with some faint traces of the old decency. He knew
in his heart that she would never love him; yet he would never be
content till he got this from her own lips. The inevitable happened one
evening when a new moon's thin crescent faintly lighted the dark seas.
Noll had gone early to a sodden sleep; Faith was not sleepy and went on
deck. Dan'l, from his cabin, heard her go; he arose and followed her....

There was little wind; the sea was flat; the _Sally_ scarcely stirred.
Dan'l told the man at the wheel to leave her and go forward; he made the
wheel fast and let the _Sally_ go her own gait. Her canvas was all
stowed; her yards were bare. When the man was gone, Dan'l turned to the
after rail, where Faith was sitting. The man's mouth was hot and dry,
and his pulse was pounding. He came to her; Faith said softly:

"Hello, Dan'l...."

Dan'l mumbled huskily.... "... Faith!" He stood beside her, and they
looked out across the water, where the starlight played. Dan'l was
trembling, and Faith felt the trouble in the man, as she had felt it for
weeks.... She and Dan'l had been boy and girl together; she was
infinitely sorry for him....

In the end, while he stood rigidly beside her, she laid her hand on his
arm. "Dan'l," she said, "I wish--you would get over being so unhappy."

He looked at her through the dark; his voice was like a croak.
"Unhappy ..." he repeated.

"It's not good for you, Dan'l," said Faith gently. "Unhappiness is--it's
like a poison. It burns...."

"Aye?" said Dan'l. "That's true, Faith. It burns...."

"Why not forget it?" she urged. "You're actually growing thin on it,
Dan'l. Your face is lined...."

Dan'l tried to laugh. "One thing," he said, "the ship's on my hands,
now. Noll Wing--he's aging. He's an old man, Faith."

Faith turned her head away from him quickly; she bit her lip in the
darkness. Dan'l repeated: "The _Sally's_ on my hands, Faith. I'm
master--without the name of it."

She said quietly: "Noll Wing is master here, Dan'l. Never think he is
not."

Dan'l turned abruptly away; he stood with his back to her. And as he
stood there, the jealousy of Brander and all the rancor that was
poisoning the man gave way for a moment to his tenderness for Faith. He
swung back sharply, gripped her shoulders.... "Faith," he said harshly,
"Noll is master. So be it. But, Faith--I may still love you. I do.
Nothing on earth can stop it. It's all there is in me, Faith. You....
You.... I would worship you; he kicks you with every word, as he kicks a
dog. Faith.... Faith...."

She faced him squarely. "Dan'l, you are wrong. You are wrong to tell me
this--to speak so.... It is not--manly, Dan'l."

The reproach in her voice made him shrink; it fired him. He caught her,
cried: "By God...." He would have swept her into his arms....

Brander said, from the top of the companion: "Mr. Tobey, shall I set a
man at the wheel?... There's wind coming...."

Dan'l cursed. "Hell!" He flung loose from Faith, he whirled on
Brander.... The two men faced each other tensely, Dan'l crouching with
bared teeth, Brander erect.... The starlight showed a little smile on
his face. Abruptly, Dan'l straightened....

"Set a man at the wheel--and be damned, Brander!" he said.

And he brushed past the fourth mate without a glance, and went below.
Brander called through the darkness to a knot of men on the deck,
forward. One came aft....

Faith still stood by the rail; Brander paid her no heed. The man took
the wheel.... Brander leaned against the forward end of the deckhouse.
After a little, Faith stirred, came to the companion to go below. At its
top, she paused.

"Good night, Mr. Brander," she said.

"Good night," he called pleasantly.

She went below. Dan'l, writhing in his bunk below old Tichel, who snored
above him, heard her cross the cabin and go into Noll's. And the nails
on his fingers bit his palms.

       *       *       *       *       *

The second day after, Dan'l came down into the cabin to find Noll.
"Would you mind coming on deck for a moment, sir?" he asked.

Noll was reading; he looked up resentfully. "What now, Mr. Tobey? Can't
you handle the ship?"

"I want you to see a thing...." There was a hint of evil in Dan'l's
tone. Faith was there, heard, wondered.... Noll looked at the mate;
bestirred himself....

They went on deck together; and Dan'l pointed forward.

Brander was there, by the tryworks. Facing him, grouped about him, were
four of the crew. Mauger was among them. Brander was talking; and the
men were laughing at what he said. One of the men looked aft and saw
Dan'l and Noll Wing watching them; and the man's face sobered instantly
and he backed away from the group. Brander turned around and saw the
captain. Noll called to him:

"Come aft, Mr. Brander."

Brander came, without haste, yet quickly. Noll and Dan'l waited for him
in silence; they kept silent when he faced them. He met Noll Wing's
sullen and angry eyes. His own were unashamed and unafraid. "What is it,
sir?" he asked at last.

Noll lowered his big head like a bull. "What was your talk with the men,
there?" he demanded.

Brander smiled. "The man Hatch tripped on a coil of line and fell. That
minded me of a thing that happened on the _Thomas Morgan_, and I told
them of it. A fat greeny caught his foot in the rigging and dove thirty
feet overside into the sea.... It was a comical thing, sir. And they
laughed at it."

"I do not want my mates consorting with the crew," said Noll sulkily;
and there was more complaint than accusation in his voice. Brander said:

"It does no harm to be friendly with the men. Liking is as good a handle
as fear, to hold them with."

Old Noll tried to beat down Brander's eyes with his own; but his own
were the first to shift. He shrank, the vigor of his anger passed, he
was an old man again. "Damn it, if you'd rather be forward, go there and
stay," he fretted. "Do you want to go back to the fo'c's'le, man?"

Brander said respectfully: "No, sir. I'll do as you say."

"For God's sake, do," Noll whined. He turned back to the cabin, brushed
Dan'l. "And you, Mr. Tobey. Don't bother me with such matters."

Dan'l looked at Brander, eyes glinting. "I thought it important, sir,"
he said.

Noll grunted and went below. Dan'l, with a triumphant grin at Brander,
followed him. Faith was in the main cabin; she looked at the two
seriously. "What was it, Noll?" she asked.

Noll shook his head fretfully; he stumped past her toward his own cabin.
"The man Brander, currying favor forward," he said. "I put a bee in his
bonnet."

Dan'l said: "He meant no harm, sir. I'm sure of it...."

Noll whirled on him. "Then why did you run to me?"

"So that you might set him right, and put an end to't," said Dan'l.
"He's a bit too friendly with the men.... It was time he was told...."

"Oh, aye," said Noll wearily. "Come, Faith...."

The door of the after cabin shut behind them; and Dan'l, left alone,
smiled at his own thoughts and was content.




XIV


There was one circumstance that counted against Brander in the eyes of
James Tichel, of Mr. Cox, and of some of the crew. This was the fact
that for close on a month after he was made an officer, the _Sally Sims_
sighted not one loose whale.

There were fish all about them. During the interval, they sighted three
other whaling craft, and stopped to gam with them. Two of the three were
cutting in when the _Sally_ sighted them; the third had just finished
trying out the blubber of a ninety barrel bull. But the _Sally_ sighted
not so much as a spout. And old Tichel, who had the superstitions of the
sea in his blood, began to look sidewise at Brander, and whisper that he
was a Jonah....

That new moon in whose light Dan'l tried to plead with Faith was another
ill omen. Noll Wing, coming on deck the first night the moon appeared,
saw it first over his left shoulder when Faith called to him to look. He
swung his head to the left.... Saw the moon.... And old Tichel's cry was
too late to stop him. Faith laughed at the second mate; Noll grumbled at
him. But Tichel clung to his doubts; and Willis Cox was converted to
them by the indisputable fact that the _Sally_ sighted no whales.

The men on a whaling vessel have an interest in the cruise. They are not
paid for the work they do, for the time they spend.... They are paid
according to the earnings of the vessel. Their salary, or wage, is
called a "lay." This ranges from the captain's lay down to that of the
greeny. The captain's is a twelfth; or at least this was Noll Wing's
lay. The greenies on the _Sally Sims_ were on a hundred and
seventy-fifth lay. Which, being interpreted, means that out of every
twelve barrels of oil which the _Sally_ brought home, one belonged to
the captain; and out of every hundred and seventy-five, one belonged to
each of the green hands. The captain got one in twelve, the mate one in
eighteen; the second mate got one in twenty-eight, and so the shares ran
down the scale. The lays were so arranged that out of every hundred and
seventy-five barrels, some fifty-five went to the officers and crew,
while the remainder went to the owner to pay the expenses of the voyage
and give him his profits.... Three per cent., or six, or a hundred, as
the luck of the cruise might decide.... The crew were sure of their
money, such as it was, before the owner got his; for it was the custom
of old Jonathan Felt to pay off his men at the current price of oil
before figuring his own profit or loss.

The effect of this arrangement was to give the mates and the men an
incentive to harder effort. The effect was to make them acutely
interested in the success of the cruise. And by the same token, the ill
luck which now beset the _Sally_ tended to fret their tempers and set
them growling about their tasks....

Some blamed Brander; some blamed Noll Wing; some blamed their luck....

Brander felt the strain as much as any of them. He was, in addition, an
untried man; he had not yet had his chance to strike a whale, and that
is the final test of a whaler's officers. When he was taken into the
cabin and given a boat, he was forced to be content with the poorest
material aboard. That is the fourth mate's luck. He had Mauger, the
one-eyed man; he had Loum as his harpooner; and he had to fill out his
crew three others who were weak hands at the oars and slack at every
task.

He set himself to whipping this crew into shape; and in the luckless
days when the _Sally_ idled with double watches at the mastheads, he
used to take his boat off and push the men to their work, training
steadily, fighting to put pith into them. He was not a man given to the
use of his fists; neither had his tongue the acid bite of Dan'l Tobey's.
But he had a way of railing at the men good-naturedly, abusing them with
a smile, that made them laugh and tug the harder at their oars; he won
from them more than they had ever given before.... And he inspired in
them a distinct loyalty which gave birth, in time, to a pride in their
boat which pleased Brander, and promised well.

Mauger, in particular, was Brander's shadow and slave. The one-eyed man,
who had been turned into a chuckling and harmless nonentity by the
captain's blow and kick, found Brander kindly. And he repaid this
kindliness with a devotion that was marked by every man aboard.... This
devotion was marked, above all, by Noll Wing. And Noll, in whom fear of
the one-eyed man was growing like a cancer, dreaded Brander all the more
because of it.

Noll and Faith were playing cribbage in the after cabin one night; and
the door into the main cabin was open. Faith sat on the seat across the
stern, and Noll was in a chair, his back to the door, his knees
supporting the board they used as a table. Brander came down from the
deck with word that one of the men had cut himself with his clasp knife;
he wanted to go to the medicine chest in the after cabin for materials
to care for the wound. The sea was turbulent; the _Sally_ was rocking on
it; the rigging was creaking and the timbers of the old craft groaned
aloud. This tumult drowned the noise of Brander's footsteps as he came
down the ladder and across the main cabin. When he appeared in the
doorway behind Noll, Faith saw him. Noll neither saw nor heard till
Brander said quietly:

"Sorry to bother you, sir...."

Noll, whose nerves were shaky, whirled up from his chair; the board slid
from his knees, the cards were spilled.... His face was ghastly with
fright; and when he saw Brander, this fright turned to rage.

"Damn you, Brander," he cried. "Don't you sneak up on me like that
again...."

Brander said respectfully: "I'm sorry. I should have...."

"What do you want?" Noll barked. "Get out of here. Get out of my sight.
Don't stand there gawping...."

"I want to get some...."

"I don't give a damn what you want," Noll cried. "Get up on deck, where
you belong. Sharp...."

Brander stood his ground. "One of my men has cut his hand," he said. "I
want some stuff to fix it up."

Noll wavered.... He threw up his hands. "All right. Get what you
want.... I can't get rid of you any other way. But don't come sneaking
up behind me again. I don't like it, Mr. Brander."

Brander made no reply; he crossed to the medicine chest and found what
he needed. Faith had picked up the fallen board, the cards.... She said
quietly: "Sit down, Noll. We'll deal that hand over again...."

Big Noll sat down, watching Brander sidewise. When Brander was gone,
Faith asked: "Why were you startled?"

"I don't like that man," Noll said. "He's too thick with Mauger for me.
Mauger'll stick a knife in me, some night.... He will, Faith."

Faith shook her head. "Don't be foolish, Noll. Mauger's not worth being
afraid of."

Noll laughed mirthlessly. "I tell you, there's murder in that man," he
protested. "And Brander's with him.... I've a mind...."

"It's your crib," said Faith, and played a card. "Three."

Noll mechanically took up the game; but Faith, watching, saw that his
eyes were furtively alert for half an hour thereafter.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the twenty-fifth day after the death of Mr. Ham, at about ten o'clock
on a warm and lazy morning, the man at the foremast head gave tongue to
the long hail of the whale-fisheries....

"Blo-o-o-o-w! Ah-h-h-h-h blo-o-o-o-o-o-w!"

The droning cry swept down through the singing rigging, swept the decks
of the _Sally_, penetrated into the fo'c's'le, dropped into the cabin
and brought Dan'l Tobey and Noll Wing from sleep there to the deck.
Faith was already there, sewing in her rocking chair aft by the wheel.
When Dan'l reached the deck, he saw her standing with her sewing
gathered in her hands, the gold thimble gleaming on her middle finger,
watching Brander. Brander was half way up the main rigging, glass
leveled to the southward.

Noll Wing bellowed to the masthead man: "Where away?..." And the man
swept a hand to point. Noll climbed up toward Brander, shouting to Mr.
Tobey to bring the _Sally_ around toward where the whale had been
sighted. The men from the mastheads and the fo'c's'le and all about the
deck jumped to their places at the boats to wait the command to lower.
Brander took the glass from his eye as Noll's weight pulled at the
rigging below him, and looked down at the captain, and started to speak;
then he changed his mind and waited, glass in hand, while Noll
scrutinized the far horizon....

Noll saw a black speck there, and focused his glass, and stared.... He
watched for a spout, watched for minutes on end. None came.... The black
speck seemed to rise a little, sluggishly, with the swell.... He looked
up to Brander.

"D'you make a spout?" he asked.

Brander shook his head. "No, sir."

Noll looked again, and Brander leveled his glass once more. The _Sally_
was making that way, now; the speck was almost dead ahead of them, far
on the sea. Tiny bits of white were stirring over the black thing, like
bits of paper in the wind.... Noll asked at last: "What do you make of
it, Mr. Brander? A boat.... Or a derelict...."

"I make it a dead whale," said Brander.

"No whale," Noll argued. "Rides too high."

"It will be rotten," Brander insisted. "Swollen.... Full of putrid gas."

They watched a while longer, neither speaking. The light wind that urged
them on was failing; the _Sally_ slackened her pace, bit by bit; but her
own momentum and some casual drift of the surface water still sent her
toward the floating speck. It bulked larger in their glasses.

They were within a mile of it before Noll Wing shut his glass. "Aye,
dead whale," he said disgustedly, and began to descend from the rigging.
Brander dropped lightly after him. Noll stumped past the men at their
stations by the boats till he came to Dan'l Tobey. "Dead whale," he told
Dan'l. "Let it be."

Brander, at Noll's heels, asked: "Do we lower?"

Noll shook his head. "No," he said sharply. The disappointment, coming
on the heels of the hope that had been roused, had made him fretful and
angry. Brander said:

"I was thinking...."

Noll turned on him querulously. "Some ships have truck with carrion and
dog meat," he snarled. "Not the _Sally_. I'll not play buzzard."

Brander smiled. "It's not pleasant, I know.... But, aboard the _Thomas
Morgan_, we got a bit of ambergris out of such a whale.... This one was
lean, you saw.... It died of a sickness. That's the kind...."

Dan'l Tobey said, with a grin: "A man'd think you like the smell of it,
Brander."

"Ambergris is fool's talk," Noll growled. "I've heard tell of it for
thirty year, and never saw a lump bigger than a man's thumb. Fool's
talk, Mr. Brander. Let be...."

He turned away; and Brander and Dan'l stood together, watching as the
_Sally_ drifted nearer and nearer the dead whale. They could see the
feasting sea birds hovering; they caught once or twice the flash of a
leaping body as sharks tore at the carcass. Here and there the blubber
showed white where great chunks had been ripped away. They watched, and
drifted nearer; and so there came to them presently the smell of it. An
unspeakable smell....

The men caught it first, in the bow; Dan'l and Brander heard their first
cries of disgust before the slowly drifting air brought them the odor.
But five minutes later, it had engulfed the ship, penetrated even into
the cabin. Noll got it; he stuck his head up out of the companion and
bellowed:

"Mr. Tobey, get the _Sally_ out o' range of that."

Dan'l said: "Not a breath of wind, sir." He went toward the companion,
as Noll stepped out on deck; and he grinned with malicious inspiration,
"Mr. Brander likes the smell of it, sir.... Why not send him off to tow
it out of range?"

Noll nodded fretfully. "All right, all right. Send him...."

Dan'l gave the order. Brander assented briskly. "I'll take a boarding
knife with me, if you don't object, sir," he said.

Dan'l chuckled. He was enjoying himself. "I'd suggest a clothespin, Mr.
Brander," he said; and he stood aft and watched Brander and his men drop
their boat and put away and row toward the lean carcass of the dead
whale, a quarter mile away. The jeers of the seamen forward pursued
them.

Dan'l got his glass to enjoy watching Brander and his crew tow the whale
out of the _Sally's_ neighborhood. The men worked hard; and Dan'l said
to Cap'n Wing: "They're in haste to be through, you'll see, sir." Once
the tow was under way, it moved swiftly. Men on the _Sally_ breathed
again....

They saw, after a time, that Brander and his men had stopped rowing and
brought their boat alongside the whale; and Dan'l's glass revealed
Brander digging and hacking at the carcass with the boarding knife....

Brander came back alongside in due time; and long before he reached the
_Sally_, Dan'l could see the exultation in the fourth mate's eyes. As
they slid past the bow, Brander's men taunted those who had jeered at
them. They were like men who have turned the tables on their
enemies....

Dan'l was uneasy.... The boat slid into position, the men hooked on the
tackles, then climbed aboard.... They swung on the falls, the boat rose
into its cradle.... And Brander turned to Dan'l and said pleasantly:

"It was worth the smell, Mr. Tobey."

He pointed into the boat; and Dan'l looked and saw three huge chunks of
black and waxy stuff--black, with yellowish tints showing through--and
he smelled a faint and musky fragrance. And he looked at Brander. "What
is it?" he asked. "What do you think you've found?"

"Ambergris," said Brander. "Three big chunks, four little ones. Close to
three hundred pounds...."

One-eyed Mauger chuckled at Brander's back. "And worth three hundred a
pound," he cackled. "Worth the smell, Mr. Tobey!"




XV


Brander's find, laid tenderly upon the deck, studied by Noll Wing and
the officers on their knees, set the _Sally_ buzzing with the clack of
tongues.

There was a romance in the stuff itself that caught attention. It came
from the rotting carcass of the greatest thing that lives; it came from
the heart of a vast stench.... Yet itself smelled faintly and fragrantly
of musk, and had the power of multiplying any other perfume a thousand
fold. Not a man on the _Sally_ had ever seen a bit larger than a
cartridge, before; they studied it, handled it, marveled at it.

Cap'n Wing stood up stiffly from bending over the stuff at last; he
looked at Brander. "It's ugly enough," he said. "You're sure it's the
stuff you think?"

Brander nodded. "Yes, sir, quite sure."

"What's it worth?" Cap'n Wing asked.

"Hundred and fifty to three hundred dollars a pound--price changes."

Noll looked at the waxy stuff again. "It don't look it," he said. "How
much is there of it?"

"Close to three hundred pounds...."

Noll's lips moved with the computation. He said, in a voice that was
hushed in spite of himself: "Close to ninety thousand dollars...."

Brander smiled. "That's the maximum, of course."

Dan'l Tobey said: "You've done the rest of us a service, Mr. Brander."

Brander looked at him; and an imp of mischief gleamed in his eye. He
said quietly: "The rest of you. I was sent out to remove the carcass,
not to dissect it. The digging for this was my private enterprise, Mr.
Tobey."

Old James Tichel gasped under his breath. Dan'l started to speak, then
looked to Noll. They all looked toward Cap'n Noll Wing.... It was for
him to deal with Brander's claim.... They looked to Noll; and big Noll
stared at the precious stuff on the deck, and at Brander.... And he said
nothing.

Brander smiled. He called Mauger to come aft and help him, and he
proceeded with the utmost care to clean the lumps of ambergris of the
filth that clung to them. He paid no further heed to the men about him.
Noll went below; and Faith, who had listened without speaking, followed
him. Dan'l and old Tichel got together by the after rail and talked in
whispers. Willis Cox stood, watching.... The young man's eyes were wide
and his cheeks were white. These seven ugly lumps of something like
hard, dirty yellow soap were worth more than the whole cruise of the
_Sally_ might be expected to pay.... They caught Willis's imagination;
he could not take his eyes from them.

Brander had Mauger fetch whale oil; he washed the lumps in this as
tenderly as a mother bathes a child. The black washed away, they became
an even, dull yellow in his hands.... Here and there, bits of white
stuff like bones showed in them.... Bits of the bones of the gigantic
squid on which the cachalot feeds. Their faint, persistent odor spread
around them....

When the cleaning was done, Mauger fetched steelyards and they weighed
the lumps, slinging each with care.... The larger ones were so heavy
that they had to make the scales fast to the rigging.... The largest
weighed seventy-four pounds and a fraction; the next was sixty-one; the
third, forty-eight. The four smaller lumps, weighed together, tipped the
beam at nineteen pounds.... The seven totaled two hundred and two
pounds....

Mauger was disappointed at that; he complained: "I took 'em to weigh
three hundred, anyways...."

Brander looked at Willis. "Two hundred isn't to be laughed at! Eh, Mr.
Cox?"

Willis said hoarsely: "That must be the biggest find of ambergris ever
was."

Brander shook his head. "The _Watchman_, out o' Nantucket, brought back
eight hundred pounds, in '58. I've heard so, anyways."

Willis had nothing to say to that; he went aft to join Tichel and Dan'l
Tobey and tell them the weight of the stuff.... Brander sent for Eph
Hitch, the cooper.... He showed him the ambergris....

"Fix me up a cask," he said. "Big enough to hold all that.... We'll stow
it dry...."

Eph scratched his head. He spat over the rail. "Fix you up a cask?" he
repeated. "Oh, aye." He emphasized the pronoun; and Brander's eyes
twinkled.

They packed the ambergris away in the captain's storeroom; the
compartment at the bottom of the _Sally_, under the cabin, in the very
stern. It rested there among the barrels and casks of food and the
general supplies.... There was no access to this place save through the
cabin itself; it was not connected with the after hold where water and
general stores and gear were stowed away. Brander suggested putting it
there; he came to Noll Wing with his request, and because Dan'l Tobey
was with Noll, Brander framed his question in a personal form.

"I'd like to stow this below us here," he said. "Best it be out of reach
of the men."

Dan'l scowled; Noll looked up heavily, met Brander's eyes. In the end,
he nodded. "Where you like," he said sulkily. "Don't bother me."

Brander smiled; and the cask was hidden away below....

But it was not forgotten; it could not be forgotten. From its hiding
place, the ambergris made its influence felt all over the vessel. It was
like dynamite in its potentialities for mischief. The mates could not
forget it; the boat-steerers in the steerage discussed it over and over;
the men forward in the fo'c's'le argued about it endlessly.

It was a rich treasure, worth as much as the whole cruise was like to be
worth in oil; and it was all in one lump.... That is to say, it was no
more than a heavy burden for a strong man. Two men could have carried
it....

A thousand acres of well-tilled farm land are worth a great deal of
money; but this form of riches is not one to catch the imagination.
Wealth becomes more fascinating as it becomes more compact. Coal is more
treasured than an equal value of earth; lead is more treasured than
coal; and men will die for a nugget of gold that is worth no more than
the unconsidered riches which lie all about them. Great value in small
compass sets men by the ears....

Every man aboard the _Sally_ had a direct and personal interest in
Brander's find of ambergris. And the matter of their debate was this:
was the ambergris the property of the _Sally_, a fruit of the voyage; or
was it Brander's? If it was a part of the profits of the cruise, they
would all share in it. If it was Brander's, they would not....

Brander--and this word had gone around the ship--had spoken of it as his
own. For which some condemned and hated him; some praised and chose to
flatter him. If the worth of the stuff was divided between them all,
Noll Wing and Dan'l Tobey would have the lion's share, and the men
forward would have no more than the price of a debauch. If it were
Brander's alone, they might beg or steal a larger share from him.
Or--and not a few had this thought--they might seize the whole treasure
and make off with it....

The possibilities were infinite; the potentialities for trouble were
enormous.

This new tension aboard the _Sally_ came to a head in the cabin; the
very air there was charged with it. Dan'l and old Tichel were against
Brander from the first; Cox was inclined to support him. Dan'l sought to
sound Noll Wing and learn his attitude....

He said to Noll casually, one day: "The 'gris will make this a fat
cruise, sir."

Noll nodded. "Oh, aye.... No doubt!"

Dan'l looked away. "Of course, Brander doesn't intend to claim it
all.... To push his claim...."

"Ye think not?" Noll asked anxiously.

"No," said Dan'l. "He knows he can't.... It's a part of the takings of
the _Sally_...."

Noll wagged his head dolefully: "Aye, but will the man see it that way?"

"He'll have to."

The captain looked up at Dan'l cautiously. "Did you mark the greed in
the one eye of Mauger when they came aboard?" he asked. "Mauger sets
store by the stuff...."

Dan'l snorted. "Mauger! Pshaw!"

Noll shifted uneasily in his chair. "Just the same," he said, "Mauger
holds a grudge against me.... He but waits his chance for a knife in my
back.... And Brander is his friend, you'll mind."

"You're not afraid of the two of them.... There's no need. I'll
undertake to see to that...."

"You're a strong man, Dan'l," said old Noll. "A strong, youthful man....
But I'm getting old. Eh, Dan'l...." His voice broke with his pity of
himself. "Eh, Dan'l, I've sailed the sea too long...."

Dan'l said, with some scorn in his tone: "Nevertheless, you're not
afraid...."

Then Faith opened the door from the after cabin; and Dan'l checked his
word. Faith looked from Dan'l to her husband, and her eyes hardened as
she looked to Dan'l again. "You'll not be saying Noll Wing is afraid
of--anything, Dan'l," she said mildly.

"I'm telling him," said Dan'l, "that he should not permit Brander to
claim the ambergris for himself."

Faith smiled a little. "You think Brander means to do that?"

"He has done it," said Dan'l stubbornly. "He claimed it in the
beginning; he speaks of what he will do with it.... He speaks of it as
his own."

"I think," said Faith, "that something has robbed you of discernment,
Dan'l. Why do you hate Brander? Is he not a good officer?... A man?"

Dan'l might have spoken, but Brander himself dropped down the ladder
from the deck just then; and Dan'l stood silently for a moment,
watching....

Brander looked at Faith, and spoke to her, and to the others. Then he
went into his own cabin and closed the door. They all knew the thinness
of the cabin walls; what they might say, Brander could hear distinctly.
Dan'l turned without a word, and went on deck.

He met Tichel there, and told him what had passed. Tichel grinned
angrily.... "Aye," said the old man. "He comes and Jonahs us, so we
sight no whale for a month on end.... And then is wishful to hold the
prize that the _Sally's_ boat found." His teeth set; his fist rose....
And Dan'l nodded his agreement.

"We'll see that he does not, in the end," he said.

"Aye," said Tichel. "Aye, we'll see t'that."

Roy Kilcup was a partisan of Dan'l's, in this as in all things; and Roy
alone faced Brander on the matter. He asked the fourth mate
straightforwardly: "Look here, do you claim that ambergris is yours?"

Brander smiled at the boy. "Why, youngster?" he asked.

"Because I want to know," said Roy. "That's why!"

"Well," Brander chuckled, "others want to know. They're not sleeping
well of nights, for wanting...."

"Do you, or don't you?" Roy insisted.

Brander leaned toward him and whispered amiably: "I'll tell you, the day
we touch at home," he promised. "Now--run along."

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus they were all concerned; but Noll Wing took the matter harder than
any, because Mauger, whom he feared, was concerned in it. His worry over
it gave him one sleepless night; he rose in that night and found the
whiskey.... And for the first time in all his life, Noll Wing drank
himself into a stupor.

He had always been a steady drinker; he had often been inflamed with
liquor. But his stomach was strong; he could carry it; he had never
debauched himself.

This time, he became like a log, and Faith found him, when she woke in
the morning, unclean with his own vomitings, sodden and helpless as a
snoring log. He lay thus two days.... And he woke at last with a scream
of fright, and swore that Mauger was at him with a knife, so that Dan'l
and Willis Cox had to hold the man quiet till the hallucination passed.




XVI


Faith and Brander had not, in this time, spoken a word together since
they met Mr. Ham upon the beach after Brander joined Faith by the island
pool. In the beginning, Brander was forward, and a gulf separated
them.... Not to mention forty feet of deck. Faith stayed aft; Brander
stayed forward. Afterward, when Brander came into the cabin, there was
still a gulf.... They met at table; they encountered each other, now and
then, in the cabin or on deck. But Brander had his work to do, and did
it; and Faith was much with Noll.

In the bush, by the pool, Faith had forgotten Noll Wing for a little
space; and in the forgetting, she and Brander had become friends very
quickly.... His question, as they reached the beach, made her remember
Noll; and her answer to that question, when she told him she was Noll's
wife, had reared a wall between them. Brander was a man; too much of a
man to forget that she was Noll's wife.... He did not forget.

In the _Sally_, after Brander came aft, Faith was toward him as she was
toward the other mates.... With this difference. She had known them
since the beginning of the voyage; she had known two of them--Dan'l and
Willis Cox--since they were boys. They were ticketed in her thoughts;
they were old friends, but they could never be anything more. Therefore
she talked often with them, as she did with Tichel, and as she had done
with Mr. Ham. She forgot they were men, remembering only that they were
friends....

Brander, on the other hand, was a newcomer, a stranger.... When a woman
meets a strange man, or when a man meets a strange woman, there is an
instant and usually unconscious testing and questioning. This is more
lively in the woman than in the man; she is more apt to put it into
words in her thoughts, more apt to ask herself: "Could I love him?" For
a man does not ask this question at all until he has begun to love; a
woman, consciously or unconsciously, asks it at once.... And until this
question is answered; until the inner thing that is sex has made
decision, a woman is reticent and slow to accept the communion of even
casual conversation....

Faith, almost unconsciously, avoided Brander. She spoke with him; but
there was a bar in her words. She saw him; but her eyes put a wall
between them. She thought of him; but she hid her thoughts from herself.
And Brander felt this, and respected it.... There was between them an
unspoken conspiracy of silence; an unspoken agreement that held them
apart....

This agreement was broken, and broken by Faith, on an afternoon some ten
days after the finding of the ambergris. The day was fair; the wind was
no more than normal.... No whales had yet been sighted by the _Sally_,
and her decks were clear of oil. Mr. Tichel's watch had the ship; but
Tichel himself, old man that he was, had stayed below and was asleep in
his cabin. Dan'l was asleep there, also; and Noll Wing dozed in the
after cabin. Willis Cox was reading, under the boathouse; and two of
the harpooners played idly at some game of cards in the lee of the rail
beside him. Brander and the man at the wheel had the after deck to
themselves when Faith came up from the cabin....

Roy was with her; but the boy went forward at once and climbed the
rigging to the masthead, to stand watch with the men there. He loved to
perch high above the decks, with the sea spread out like a blue saucer
below him. He teased Faith to go with him; but Faith shook her head.
There was always a certain physical indolence about Faith that
contrasted with the vigor of her habits of thought and speech; she liked
to sit quietly and read, or sew, or think, and she cared nothing at all
for such riotous exertion as Roy liked.

"No, Roy," she told her brother. "You go if you like. I'll stay down
here."

"Come on, Sis," he teased. "I guess you're afraid.... You never could
even climb a tree without squealing.... Come on."

She laughed softly. "No. I don't like to do hard things--like that."

"I won't let you fall," he promised.

"Some day, maybe.... Run along, Roy."

The boy went away resentfully; a little more resentfully because Brander
had heard her refusal. He looked back from the fore rigging, and saw
Faith standing near Brander.... And for a moment he was minded to go
back and join them; but the dwindling line of the ropes above him lured
him on. He climbed, lost himself among the great bosoms of the sails,
stopped to ride a yard like a horse and exult when it pitched and
rolled.... Climbed, at last, to the masthead perch where the lookouts
stood in their hoops with their eyes sweeping the wide circle of the
seas....

And Faith and Brander were together. Save for the man at the wheel, whom
neither of them heeded, they were alone. Brander was at the after rail
when she appeared; he nodded to her, and smiled. She stood near him,
hands on the rail, looking out across the sea astern. The wind tugged at
her, played with the soft hair about her brow, whipped her cheeks to
fire....

She did not look at Brander, but Brander looked at her. The man liked
what he saw; he liked not so much the beauty of her, as the strength and
poise that lay in her face. Her broad, low brow.... Her straight, fine
nose.... Her sweetly molded lips, and rounding chin.... Strength there,
and calm, and power.... Beauty, too; more than one woman's measure of
beauty, perhaps. But above all, strength. That was what Brander saw.

It was no new thing for the man to study Faith's countenance. It was
firm-fastened in his thoughts; he could conjure it up at will, and it
appeared before him, many times, without his volition. Faith's eyes were
blue, and they were large, and Brander could never forget them. The eye
of a man or of a woman is a thing almost alive; it seems to have a soul
of its own. Stand at one side, unobserved, and watch the eyes of your
friend; you will feel that you are watching some living personality
apart from the friend you know. It is like watching a wild thing which
is hiding in the forest. The eye is so alert, so infinitely alert, so
quick to swing to right or left at any sound....

Women's eyes differ as much as women themselves. Faith's eyes were like
Faith herself; there was no fear or uncertainty in them; and there was
no coquettishness, no seduction. They were level and calm and perfectly
assured; and Brander thought that to look into them was like taking a
strong man's hand. He thought Faith as fine a thing as woman can be....

Brander made sure that Faith did not see him studying her thus;
nevertheless, Faith must have felt his scrutiny. She was conscious of an
unaccountable diffidence; and when she spoke to him at last, without
looking toward him, her voice was so low he scarcely heard at all. She
said some idle thing about the beauty of the sea....

Brander smiled. The sky was so clear, and the heavens were so blue that
sky and heaven seemed to be cousins or sisters, hands clasping at the
far horizon. He said amiably: "Always think--looking off into the blue
on a day like this is like looking deep into blue eyes.... There seems
to be a soul off there, something hidden, out of sight.... But you can
feel it looking back at you."

Faith was so surprised that she looked up at him quickly, sidewise; and
she smiled, her cheeks a little flushed. "I never felt--just that," she
said. "But--did you ever look at a hill, so far away it is just a deep
blue shape against the sky? Blue's a beautiful color to look at, I
think."

He nodded. "From my hill," he said, "I used to be able to see an island
northwest of the one where I was.... Barely see it. Just a line laid
down along the sea.... A line of blue."

She said nothing in reply to this; and he said no more. They were thus
silent for a little before Faith asked: "Tell me.... You've never had a
chance.... How did you live, there? Wasn't it lonely? Or ... were there
others?..."

He laughed. "I wasn't lonely, in the least," he explained. "The old
devil-devil doctor of the village struck up an acquaintance with me....
He knew whites; and I was the only one there at the time. He used to
come and talk to me, and say charms over my garden.... I had a little
compass on my watch chain, and I gave it to him, and the old heathen was
my slave for life. So I arranged with him to have my path taboo--you
remember I told you.... And he was the only company I ever had."

"You had a--garden?"

"Yes. Good one. I put up a house, about six feet square--big enough for
me, and no more--and I trimmed down some trees around there; and there
was a little brook, and a shallow basin in the side of the hill where
rich soil had been collecting for a good many centuries, I suppose. I
think if I had planted pebbles there, it would have grown bowlders for
me. It did grow all I wanted."

She was thoughtful for a little, looked at him once. "Why did you ever
ship as a whaler?" she asked. "You don't look like the men that ship in
the fo'c's'le."

He laughed. "I know it. Maybe because I like the sea. My home was in
sight of it; a high old farm up in Maine, five miles inland. I used to
sit out on the hill there and watch the night come up from the east and
blanket the water; and when there was a surf I could hear it; and when I
could, I went down and got acquainted with the water, swimming, or
poking around in an old dory.... It was bound to get me in the end. My
father sent me to school.... He wanted me to be a doctor. But after two
years of it, I begged off.... And he let me go."

She nodded. "I know--a little--how you feel. I've always loved the smell
of the sea at home, and the sight of it.... But...." She grimaced
harshly. "I'm getting a bit tired of salt water, all the time.... I want
to get ashore."

"Sure," Brander chuckled. "And when you've been a month ashore, you'll
be hungry for the sea again. It's like a drug; you get used to it, and
you can't do without it."

She looked at him. "Do you think so?"

"I know it. Wait and see."

After a little, she spoke of the ill luck that had pursued the _Sally_.
"Isn't it unusual to go almost six weeks without getting a whale?"

"No, not necessarily," he told her. "You may kill every other day for a
year, and not see a fish for three months after. The whale seems to come
and go, in some waters...."

"These?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's uncertain, here. We're working over now into better
hunting grounds. The _Sally's_ done well, thus far, anyway. Almost a
thousand barrels, and not out a year. I've heard of ships that came home
with empty casks."

She looked at him curiously. "I think you know more about the work than
most men aboard," she said. "Yet you've not had the experience...."

"I've picked it up at games, read it, guessed it," he said pleasantly.
"They know more about the practical end than I. I haven't been tried out
yet, you know."

She smiled. "Mr. Tichel says you're a Jonah," she told him. "I think he
would be in favor of throwing you overboard."

He laughed cheerfully. She added: "I hope you're not one. I'm anxious
that Cap'n Wing should make a big record on this cruise. It's my first
with him, you know...."

His eyes were sober; but he said: "We'll fill the casks, all right. I
wouldn't worry."

She looked toward him and said: "Yes, we will." There was an immense
amount of quiet certainty and determination in her voice. Brander looked
at her for an instant, then turned to give some direction to the man at
the wheel. The _Sally_ heeled awkwardly to the thrust of the wind, and
battered at the sea with her blunt bows. The rigging creaked and tugged.
Willis Cox, under the boathouse, had dropped his book in his lap and was
dozing in his chair; the two harpooners had gone below. Forward, Faith
could see two or three men sprawled on the deck, asleep.... The warm,
afternoon wind seemed slumber laden; the _Sally Sims_ herself was like
a ship that walked in her sleep. A hush hung over them all, so that
Faith and Brander unconsciously lowered their voices.

Faith asked casually: "Why is it that you and Mr. Tobey do not like each
other?"

If he was surprised at the question, Brander did not show it. He said
frankly: "I've no dislike for Mr. Tobey. He's an able officer. He knows
his business."

"He does not like you," Faith said. "Why not?"

Brander smiled. "It may be," he admitted, "that Mr. Tobey is lacking in
a sense of humor. I've a way of laughing at things.... Mr. Trant, on the
_Thomas Morgan_, used to curse me for grinning so much of the time.
Perhaps Mr. Tobey...."

He did not finish the sentence; he seemed to consider it unnecessary, or
unwise.... Faith said nothing.... They stood together, eyes off across
the water, balancing unconsciously to the motion of the ship. Their
shoulders were almost brushing.... Brander felt the light contact on his
coat; and he moved away a little, inconspicuously....

She turned at last toward the companion; but after one step, stopped and
looked back at him. "I think," she said, "that Mr. Tobey believes you
mean to claim that find of ambergris belongs to you."

Brander smiled, and nodded. "I know he does. There's no harm in puzzling
Mr. Tobey."

"There may be harm--for you--in his believing that," she said; and for a
moment Brander's level eyes met hers, and she saw a flame in his. He
said quietly:

"I'm not particularly concerned...."

She bowed her head, to hide her eyes; and she went below so quickly it
was as though she fled from him.




XVII


Faith had assured herself, from the beginning, that Brander had no real
intention of claiming the ambergris was his personal booty. He was too
sensible for that, she felt; and he was not greedy....

She had been sure; but like all women, she wished to be reassured. She
had given Brander the chance to reassure her, speaking of the 'gris and
of Dan'l Tobey's suspicions in the matter. It would have been so easy
for Brander to laugh and say: "You know I have no such idea. It belongs
to the _Sally_, of course...." That would have settled the thing, once
and for all....

But Brander had not been frank and forthright. He had only said:
"There's no harm in puzzling Mr. Tobey...." And when she had suggested
that there might be harm for Brander in his attitude, his eyes had
hardened with something like defiance in them.... He had said he was not
worried as to what Dan'l might think or do. He thus remained as much of
a puzzle to Faith as ever.... If he had deliberately planned to steal a
place in her thoughts, he could have taken no better means. Faith, with
her growing sense of responsibility for the _Sally_, for the success of
the voyage, for the good renown of Noll Wing, was acutely concerned when
anything threatened that success. The ambergris was properly a part of
the _Sally's_ takings.... Brander must see it so. Did he mean to push
his claim, to make trouble?...

She tried to find her answer to this question in Brander's face; she
began to study him daily.... She perceived the strength of the man, and
his poise and assurance. Brander was very sure of himself and of his
capabilities, without in the least overrating them. He knew himself for
a man; he bore himself as a man.... Faith respected him; without her
realizing it, this respect and liking grew.

Unconsciously, Brander was ranked now and then in her thoughts beside
her husband, Noll Wing; she compared the two men without willing to make
the comparison. And in the process, she studied Noll Wing more closely
than she had ever studied him before. It was at this time that she first
marked the fact that Noll was shrinking, wasting the flesh from his
bones. His skin was becoming loose; it sagged. His great chest was
drawing in between his shoulders; his shoulders slumped forward. Also
Faith saw, without understanding, that the great cords of his neck were
beginning to stand out under the loose skin, that hollows were forming
about them. The man's bull neck was melting away.... Faith saw, though
she did not fully understand; she knew that Noll was aging, nothing
more....

She was drawn to Noll, at this discovery, by a vast tenderness; but this
tenderness was impersonal. She thought it a recrudescence of her old,
strong love for the man; it was in fact only such a feeling as she might
have had for a sick or wounded beast. She pitied Noll profoundly; she
tried to make him happy, and comfortable. She sought, now and then, to
woo him to cheerfulness and mirth; but Noll was shrinking, day by day,
into a more confirmed habit of complaint; he whined constantly, where in
the old days he would have stormed and commanded. And he resented
Faith's attentions, resented her very presence about him. One day she
went herself into the galley and prepared a dish she thought would
please him; when she told him what she had done, he exclaimed:

"God's sake, Faith, quit fussing over me. I got along more'n twenty year
without a woman...."

Faith would not let herself feel the hurt of this.... But even while she
watched over Noll, Brander more and more possessed her thoughts. Her
recognition of this fact led her to be the more attentive to Noll, as
though to recompense him for the thing he was losing.... She had never
so poured out herself upon him.

It was inevitable that this developing change in Faith should be marked
by those in the cabin. Dan'l saw it, and Brander saw it.... Brander saw
it, and at first his pulse leaped and pounded and his eyes shone with
his thoughts.... On deck, about his duties, he carried the memory of her
eyes always with him. Her eyes as she had looked at him, that day, and
many days before. Questioning, a little wistful.... A little
wondering....

But Brander was a strong man; and he put a grip upon himself. He was
drawn to Faith; he knew that if he let himself go, he would be caught in
a whirlwind of passion for her. But he did not choose to let himself go;
and by the same token, he took care to have no part in what might be
taking place in Faith herself. He knew that he might have played upon
her awakened interest in him; he knew that it would be worth life itself
to see more plainly that which he had glimpsed in her eyes;
nevertheless, he put the thing away from him. When she was about, he
became reticent, curt, abrupt.... He took refuge in an arrogance of
tone, an absorption in his work. He began to drive his men....

Dan'l Tobey saw. Dan'l had eyes to see; and it was inevitable that he
should discover the first hints of change in Faith. For he watched her
jealously; and he watched Brander as he had watched him from the
beginning. Dan'l saw Faith and Brander drawing together, day by day; and
though he hated Brander the more for it, he was content to sit still and
wait.... He counted upon their working Brander's own destruction between
them, in the end; and Dan'l was in a destructive mood in those days. He
hated the strength of Brander, the loyalty of Faith, the age of old Noll
Wing, and the youth of Roy.... He was become, through overmuch brooding,
a walking vessel of hate; it spilled out of him with every word, keep
his voice as amiable as he might. He hated them all....

But he was careful to hide his resentment against Roy; he cultivated the
boy, he worked little by little to debase Roy's standards of life, and
he looked forward vaguely to a day when he might have use for the lad.
Dan'l had no definite plan at this time save to destroy.... But for all
his absorption in Faith, he had not failed to see that Noll Wing's
strength was going out of him. If Noll were to die, Dan'l would be
master of the _Sally_ and those aboard her....

Dan'l never lost sight of this possibility; he kept it well in mind; and
he laid, little by little, the foundations upon which in that day he
might build his strength. Roy was one of these foundations....

Dan'l saw one obstacle in his path, even with Noll gone. The men
forward, and some of the under officers, were hotly loyal to Noll Wing;
and by the same token they looked upon Faith with eyes of awed
affection. Faith had that in her which commanded the respect of men; and
Dan'l knew that the roughest man in the crew would fight to protect
Faith, against himself or any other. He never forgot this....

When Roy Kilcup, last of them all, marked Faith's interest in Brander,
the boy unwittingly gave Dan'l a chance to strike a blow at the men's
trust in the captain's wife.

Roy, though he might quarrel with her most desperately, was at his heart
devoted to Faith, and wild with his pride in her. He marked a look in
her eyes one day; and it disturbed him. Dan'l found the boy on deck,
staring out across the water, his eyes clouded with perplexity and
doubt. Roy was aft; there was one of the men at the wheel. Dan'l glanced
toward this man.... One of his own boat crew, by name Slatter, with a
sly eye and a black tongue.... Dan'l spoke to him in passing, some
command to keep the _Sally_ steady against the pressure of the wind, and
stopped beside Roy, dropping his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Hello, Roy," he said amiably.

Roy looked up at him, nodded. Dan'l caught a glimpse of the shadow in
his eyes and asked in a friendly tone: "What's wrong? You're worried
about something...."

Roy shook his head. "No."

Dan'l laughed. "Shucks! You can't fool any one with that, Roy. If you
don't want to talk...."

Roy hesitated; he studied Dan'l for a moment. "Dan'l," he said, "you've
known Faith and me all our lives. I guess I can talk to you if I can to
anybody. And I've got to talk to somebody, Dan'l."

Dan'l nodded soberly. "I'm here to be talked to. What's the matter,
Roy?"

The boy asked abruptly: "Dan'l--have you noticed the way Faith looks at
Brander?"

Dan'l had been half prepared for the question; nevertheless his fingers
dug into his palms. He remained silent for a minute, thinking.... His
thoughts raced.... And his eyes fell on foul-tongued Slatter, at the
wheel.... There was a piece of luck; an instrument ready to his hand.
Dan'l still hesitated for a space; his brows twisting.... Then the man
threw all decency behind him, and flung himself at last into the paths
toward which his feet had been tending. He moved to one side, so that
Roy, facing him, must also face the man at the wheel; so that Roy's
words would come to Slatter's ears. And Dan'l was very sure that Slatter
would take care to hear....

For another moment he did not speak; then he laughed harshly; and he
asked: "What do you mean, Roy?"

Roy repeated: "I mean the way Faith looks at Brander all the time.
Looking at him.... A queer way...."

Dan'l Tobey seemed to be embarrassed; he looked to right and left, and
he said huskily: "Shucks--I guess you've got too much imagination, Roy."

Roy shook his head. "No, I haven't, either, I've been watching her....
She looks at him, and her eyes get kind of misty like.... And if you say
something to her, sometimes she doesn't hear you at all."

"She's got a right to think," Dan'l chuckled. "You talk too much,
anyway, Roy.... No wonder she don't listen to you." His tone was
good-natured. Roy fell silent for a moment, studying Dan'l's face; and
Dan'l looked confused. Roy said sharply:

"Dan'l, haven't you seen, yourself, what I mean? Haven't you, Dan'l?"

Dan'l turned his head away; he would not meet Roy's eyes. Roy cried: "I
knew you saw it.... Everybody must see...."

Dan'l said sternly: "Roy, you'd best not see too much. It don't pay.
There's times when it's wise to see little and say nothing. If it was
me, I'd say this was one of the times."

"That's all right," Roy admitted. "But I can talk to you...." He added
suddenly: "Dan'l, Noll Wing is too old for Faith. She ought to have
married you, Dan'l."

Children have a disconcerting way of sticking a word like a knife into
our secret hearts; they see so clearly, and they have not yet learned to
pretend they do not see. Roy, for all his eighteen years, was still as
much child as man; and Dan'l winced. "Land, Roy," he protested. "Get
that out of your head. Faith and me understand...."

Roy turned his back, looking aft. Dan'l glanced toward Slatter at the
wheel. Slatter's back was toward them; but Dan'l could have sworn the
man's ears were visibly pricking to miss no word. And Dan'l's eyes
burned unpleasantly. A woman's strongest armor is her innocence. If
Faith were tarnished in the eyes of the men in the fo'c's'le, she would
have few defenders there.... The roughest man will honor a good woman;
but he looks upon one who is soiled with contemptuous or greedy eyes.
Dan'l was willing, for his own ends, that the fo'c's'le should think
evil of Faith Wing.

While they stood thus, Brander came on deck, and spoke for a minute with
Dan'l, then went slowly forward. Because he and Dan'l clashed so
sharply, Brander had fallen into the way of spending much time amidships
with the harpooners, or forward with the crew.... Dan'l's place was
aft.... Roy watched Brander now as he spoke to the mate, watched him
walk away. When Brander was gone, Dan'l looked toward Roy. Roy said
quietly:

"Dan'l, if Brander tries to--to do anything to my sister, I'm going to
kill him."

Dan'l said nothing; and Roy moved abruptly past him and went below....

He was not seeking Faith; but he came upon her there, in the main cabin.
She was at the table, with a book, and paper and pen; and he stopped to
look over her shoulder, and saw that she was making calculations....
Latitude and longitude.... He asked: "What are you doing?"

She looked up at him. "Studying navigation, Roy. Don't you want to?"

He stared at her. "What are you doing it for?"

"Because I want to. Besides.... It's a good thing to be able to find out
where you are, on a world as big as this.... Don't you think?"

He flung himself into a chair across from her. "Look here, Faith.... Why
do you keep looking at Brander? All the time?"

Faith was startled; she was startled not so much at what Roy said, as at
what his words revealed to her. Nevertheless her voice was steady and
quiet as she asked: "What do you mean, Roy?"

"The way you look at Brander. He's not fit for you to talk to.... To
look at.... Anything. He's not fit to be around you...."

She laughed at him. "How do I look at Mr. Brander, Roy?" she asked.

"Why--like...." Roy groped for words; Faith was suddenly afraid of what
he might say. She interrupted him.

"Don't be silly, Roy. Go away.... Don't bother me.... I'm busy with
this, Roy."

He said: "You...." But she bent over her book; she paid him no attention
for a moment. Roy, sitting opposite, studied the top of her head, and
thought.... There was an expression in his eyes as though he were trying
to remember something familiar that evaded him. In the silence, they
could hear Cap'n Wing snoring in his cabin; they could hear old Tichel
stir in his bunk at the other side of the ship; they could hear the
muffled murmur of the voices of the harpooners, in the steerage. And all
about them the timbers that were the fabric of the _Sally_ creaked and
groaned as they yielded to the tug of the seas. Roy still stared with a
puzzled frown at the top of Faith's brown head.... Faith did not look up
from her book....

Suddenly Roy cried, in a low voice: "Faith! I know...." And, all in a
burst: "You look at Brander just like you used to look at Noll Wing when
we were kids...."

Faith went white; and she rose to her feet so swiftly that the book was
overturned on the table, the loose sheets of paper fluttered, the pen
rolled across to the edge of the table and fell and stuck on its point
in the cabin floor....

With a motion swift as light, forgetting book and paper and pen, Faith
slipped across, into the after cabin. She shut the door in Roy's face,
and he heard her slip the catch upon it.

Roy stared at the closed door; then he went abstractedly around the
table and pulled the pen loose from the floor. The steel point was
twisted, spoiled.




XVIII


The _Sally_ came, abruptly, into a sea that was full of whales. At
nightfall they had not smelled oil for weeks; at dawn there were spouts
on three quarters of the horizon; and thereafter for more than a month
there were never three successive days when they did not sight whales.

This turn of the luck brought three things to pass: Roy Kilcup had his
first chance in the boats during the chase; Brander killed his first
whale as an officer of the _Sally_; and Noll Wing killed the last
cachalot that was ever to feel his lance.

Dan'l Tobey had promised Roy, at the time when Brander was promoted to
be mate, that he would give the boy a chance in his boat. He put Roy on
the after thwart, under his own eye, and Roy leaned to the oar and
pulled with all his might, and bit his lip to hold back the sobbing of
his breath. The boy came of whaling stock; his father and his father's
father had been men of the sea. And he did not turn white when the
boat's bow slid at last alongside a slumbering black mass, and the keen
harpoons chocked home.

That first experience of Roy's was a mild one. The whale, a fairish
bull, showed no fight whatever. He took the irons as a baby takes
soothing sirup; and he lay still while they pulled alongside and prodded
him with a lance. At the last, when his spout was a crimson fountain,
he gave one gigantic forward leap; but he was dead not ten fathoms from
the spot where he lay when the first harpoon went home; and thereafter
there was only the long toil of towing the monster back to the ship for
the cutting in.

A small affair, without excitement; yet big for Roy. It worked a change
in the boy. He came back to the ship no longer a boy, but the makings of
a man. He spoke loftily to Faith; and he brushed shoulders with the men
on equal terms and was proud to do so, altogether forgetting the days
when he had liked to think himself their superior, and to order them
around. Dan'l catered to the new mood in the boy; he told Cap'n Wing in
Roy's hearing that the youngster would make a whaleman.... That he had
never seen any one so cool at the striking of his first whale.... Roy
swelled visibly.

Brander's initiation as an officer of the _Sally_ came at the same time;
and a bit of luck made it possible for the fourth mate to prove his
mettle. When they sighted spouts in three quarters, that morning, the
mate had chosen to go after a lone bull; old Tichel and Brander attacked
a small pod to the eastward; and Willis Cox went north to try for a fish
there.

Brander gave Tichel right of way, since the old man was his superior
officer; and they came upon the pod with a matter of seconds to choose
between them. The whales were disappointingly small; nevertheless Tichel
attacked the largest, and Brander took the one that fell to him. His
irons went home a moment after Tichel's; his whale leaped into the
first blind struggle, not fleeing, but fighting to shake off the iron.

Now it is customary, among whalemen, to wait till this first flurry has
passed, to allow the whale to run out his own strength, and then to pull
in for the finishing stroke. But Brander was ambitious; the whale was
small.... He changed places with Loum, and shouted orders to his men to
haul in the loose coils of line that had been thrown over with the
irons. The whale was circling, rolling, striking with its flukes; it had
not seen them, gave them no heed, but the very blindness of its
struggles made them a greater menace.

They drew in on the whale; and Loum at the steering oar swung Brander
against the monster's flank. Brander got home his lance in three thrusts
before they were forced to draw clear to avoid the whale's renewed
struggles. But those three were enough; the spout crimsoned; he loosed
and backed away from the final flurry, and the whale was dead ten
minutes from the time when the first iron went home.

That was exploit enough to prove Brander's ability; his quick kill
marked him as a man who knew his job. He could have afforded to be
content; but when his whale was fin out, and he looked around, he was in
time to see trouble come upon James Tichel.

The whale Tichel struck had sounded; and just after Brander killed, it
breached before his eyes, under the very bows of Tichel's boat. Brander
saw the black column of its body rise up and up from the sea; it seemed
to ascend endlessly.... Then toppled, and slowly fell, and struck the
water so resoundingly that for a moment the whale and Tichel's boat were
hidden alike. Tichel was dodging desperately to get clear; but the
wallowing whale rolled toward him, over him, smothering his craft....
Brander, when the tossing and tormented water quieted, saw the bobbing
heads of the men, and the boat just awash, and the gear floating all
around....

The whale showed no immediate disposition to run; it was rolling in a
frenzy, bending double as though to tear at its own wounds.... Brander
stuck a marking waif in his own whale, drove his men to their oars, cut
across to see that Tichel and the others were kept afloat by the boat,
and then managed to pick up one of the floating tubs of line, to which
the whale was still attached. The rest was easy enough; the whale fought
its strength away, and Brander made his kill.

Willis Cox had failed to get fast; the whales he sought to attack took
fright as he approached them, and his game got away with a white slash
across the blubber where Long Jim's desperate cast of the harpoon had
gone wild. So Willis rowed to join Brander, and picked up Tichel and his
men, and took their boat and Tichel's whale which Brander had killed, in
tow. Brander took the other; they worked back to the _Sally_. When they
got back to the ship, Noll Wing clapped Brander on the shoulder and
applauded him. The excitement of the sudden chase, after the weeks of
idling, had put life into Noll. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes were
shining; he had the look of his old self once more....

Two whales at a time is as much as any whaler cares to handle; the
_Sally_ had three. A blow of any violence would have made it impossible
for them to cut in even one of the carcasses before the steady heat of
the southern seas rendered them unfit; but no squall came. The luck of
the _Sally_ had turned, and turned in earnest. The men welcomed the hard
work after their long idleness; they toiled at the windlass and the
gangway with the heartiest will. They raised chants as they walked the
blanket pieces up to the main head or slacked them down the deck to be
cut and stowed in the blubber room below the main hatch. The
intoxication of the toil took possession of them; they went at it
singing and exultant and afire; and even Noll caught the spirit of the
day from them. Youth flooded back into the man; his shoulders
straightened; his chest seemed to swell before their eyes. Faith,
watching him, thought he was like the man she had loved.... She was, for
a time, very happy....

The fever of it got into Noll's blood; and when they killed another
whale the third day after, he swore that at the next chance he would
himself lower for the chase. He fed on the thought.... Faith, fearful
for him, ventured to protest; her first thought was ever that on Noll's
safety depended the safety of the _Sally_, that Noll's first duty was to
bring the _Sally Sims_ safely home again. She told Noll this; told him
his place was with the ship.

"The _Sally_ is your charge," she said. "You ought not to risk
yourself.... Take chances...."

He laughed at her tempestuously. "By God," he cried, "I was never a man
to send men where I was afeared to go. So let be, Faith. You coddle me
like a child; and I am not a child at all. Let be."

Faith surrendered helplessly; but she hoped he would forget, would not
keep his word. He might have forgotten as she hoped; he was sinking back
into his old lassitude when the masthead men sighted the next whale; but
Dan'l sought Noll out and said anxiously:

"Best think better of it, sir. This looks like a big whale; a hard
customer."

Noll had so nearly forgotten that he asked: "Think better of what, man?"

Dan'l smiled, as though he were pleased. "I thought you meant to lower,"
he said. "You do well to change your mind. Stay aboard here; leave us to
handle him."

Which was like a goad to Noll, as Dan'l must have known it would be. The
captain laughed angrily, and thrust Dan'l aside, and took the mate's own
boat with Roy on the after thwart, and lowered. Faith was anxious; she
found chance to say to Brander, as the other boats were striking the
water: "Look after him, Mr. Brander." And Brander nodded reassuringly.

Dan'l climbed into the rigging to watch the battle; he scarce took his
glass from his eye. What he hoped for, whether he thought chance and the
whale might wipe Noll from his path, only Dan'l knew.

This whale, as it chanced, was sighted at early morning; and this was as
well. A big bull, the creature lay quietly, just awash, while the
captain's boat came upon it from behind. He stirred not at all till Noll
Wing swung hard on the long steering oar and brought them in against
the black side and bellowed to Silva:

"Let go! Let go the irons!"

Silva knew his work as well as any man; and he got both harpoons home to
the hitches, and threw the line clear as the bull leaped bodily forward
and upward, half out of the water, and whirled in a smothering turmoil
of spray and tortured foam to escape the blades that bit him. Noll swung
them out of his way, shouted to Silva:

"Aft, now! Let me be at him, man...."

And Silva came stumbling back across the thwarts to take the steering
oar, while Noll went forward and chose his lance and braced himself in
the bow.

The whale, his first torment dulled, had stopped his struggle and lay
still, swinging slowly around in the water. It was as though he looked
about to discover what it was that had attacked him; and old Tichel--the
other boats were standing by in a half circle about Noll and the
whale--bawled across the water:

"'Ware, sir. He's looking for you."

Noll heard and waved his hand defiantly; and at the same time, the whale
saw Noll's boat and charged it.

The whale, as has been said, would be invulnerable if his wit but
matched his bulk. It does not. Furthermore, the average whale will not
fight at all, but runs; and it is his efforts to escape that blindly
cause the damage, and even the tragedies of the fisheries. But when he
does attack, he attacks almost always in the same way. The sperm whale,
the cachalot, trusts to his jaw; he bites; and his enemy is not the men
in the boat, but the boat itself. Perhaps he cannot see the men; his
eye is small and set far back on either side of his great head.
Certainly, when once a boat is smashed, it is rare for a whale to
deliberately try to destroy the men in the water. The sperm whale tries
to bite; the right whale--it is from him your whalebone comes--strikes
with his vast flukes. He will lie quietly in the water and brush his
flukes back and forth across the surface, feeling for his enemy. If his
flukes touch a floating tub, an oar, a man, they coil up like an
enormous spring, and slap down with a blow that crushes utterly whatever
they may strike. The whalemen have a proverb: "'Ware the sperm whale's
jaw, and the right whale's flukes." And there is more truth than poetry
in that.

When a sperm whale destroys a boat with his flukes, it is probably
accident; but he bites with malice prepense and pernicious. The whale
which Noll had struck set out to catch Noll's boat and smash it in his
jaws.

His very eagerness was, for a long time, his destruction. The whale was
bulky; a full hundred feet long, and accordingly unwieldy. A man on foot
can, if he be sufficiently quick, dodge a bull in an open field; by the
same token, a thirty-foot whaleboat, flat-bottomed, answering like magic
to the very thought of the men who handle her, can dodge a
hundred-barrel bull whale. Noll's boat dodged; the men used their oars
at Noll's command, and Silva in the stern swung her around as on a pivot
with a single sweep. The whale surged past, the water boiling away from
its huge head.

Surged past, and turned to charge again.... This time, as it passed,
Noll touched the creature with his lance, but the prick of it was no
more than the dart in the neck of a fighting bull. It goaded the whale,
and nothing more. He charged with fury; his very fury was their safety.

Noll struck the whale at a little after nine o'clock in the morning. At
noon, the vast beast was still fighting, with no sign of weariness. It
charged back and forth, back and forth; and the men swung the boat out
of his way; and their muscles strained, their teeth ground together, the
sweat poured from them with their efforts. They were intoxicated with
the battle. Noll, in the bow, bellowed and shouted his defiance; the men
yelled at every stroke; they shook their fists at the whale as he raged
past them. And Silva, astern, snatching them again and again from the
jaws of destruction, grinned between tight lips, and plied his oar, and
cried to Noll to strike.

At a little after noon, the whale swung past Noll with such momentum
that he was carried out to the rim of the circle in which the fight was
staged, and saw Tichel's boat there. Any boat was fair game to the
monster; and Tichel had grown careless with watching the breath-taking
struggle. He had forgotten his own peril; he expected the whale to turn
back on Noll again....

It did not; it swung for him, and its jaws sheared through the very
waist of his boat, so that the two halves fell away on either side of
the vast head. The men had time to jump clear; there was no man
hurt--save for the strangling of the salt water--and the whale seemed to
feel himself the victor, for he lay still as though to rest upon his
laurels.

Willis Cox was nearest; he drove his boat that way, and stood in the
bow, with lance in hand to strike. But Noll, hauling up desperately on
the line, bellowed to him: "Let be, Willis. He's mine." And Willis
sheered off.

Then the whale felt the tug of the line, and whirled once more to the
battle. Willis picked up Tichel and his men, towed the halves of the
boat away, back to the ship.... The _Sally_ was standing by, a mile from
the battle. Such whales as this could sink the _Sally_ herself with a
battering blow in the flank. It was dangerous to come too near. Willis
put Tichel and his men aboard, and went back to wait and be ready to
answer any command from Noll.

The fifth hour of the battle was beginning.... The whale was tireless;
and Noll, in the bow of his boat, seemed as untired as the beast he
fought. But his men, even Silva, were wearying behind him. It was this
weariness that presently gave the whale his chance. He charged, and
Silva's thrust on the long oar was a shade too late. The boat slipped
out of reach of the crashing jaws; but the driving flukes caught it and
it was overturned. The gear flew out....

Noll, in the bow, clung to the gunwale for an instant as the boat was
overthrown. Long enough to wrench out the pin that held the line in the
boat's bow. Silva, astern, would have cut; his hatchet was ready. But
Noll shouted: "No, by God! Let be...."

Then they were all in the water, tumbling in the surges thrown back by
the passage of the monster.... And the whale drove by, turned, saw no
boat upon the water, thought victory was come....

Brander, at this time, was a quarter-mile away. When the boat went
over, he yelled to his men: "Pull.... Oh, pull!" And they bent their
stout oars with the first hot tug; fresh men, untired, hungry these
hours past for a chance at the battle. Brander started toward where lay
the capsized boat, the swimming men....

And Noll Wing lifted a commanding arm and beckoned him to make all
speed. Brander urged his men: "Spring hard! Spring.... Hard. Now, on!"

A whaleboat is as speedy as any craft short of a racing shell; and
Brander's men knew their work. They cut across the vision of the loafing
whale; and the beast turned upon this new attacker with undiminished
vigor.

Brander's eyes narrowed as he judged their distance from the drifting
boat; he swerved a little to meet the coming whale head on. The whale
plowed at him; they met fifty yards to one side of the spot where the
boat was floating; and as they met, Brander dodged past the whale's very
jaw, and slid astern of him. Before the whale could turn, he was
alongside the capsized boat, dragging Noll over his own gunwale.

He dragged Noll in; and he saw then that the captain held in his hand a
loop of the line that was fast to the whale. And Brander grinned with
delighted appreciation. Noll straightened, brushed Brander back out of
the way without regarding him, passed the line to the men in Brander's
boat. "Haul in," he roared. "Get that stowed aboard here. By God, we'll
get that whale...."

They worked like mad, coiling the slack line in the waist, while Noll
fitted it into the crotch and pinned it there. The whale was back at
them, by then; they dodged again. And this time, as the creature swung
past, Loum--Brander's boat-steerer--brought them in close against the
monster's flank before dodging out to evade the smashing flukes. In that
instant, Noll saw his chance, and drove home his lance to half its
length.

It was the first fair wound the whale had taken; a wound not fatal, not
even serious. Nevertheless, it seemed to take the fight out of the
beast. He sulked for a moment, then began--for the first time in more
than five hours' fighting--to run.

The line whipped out through the crotch in the bow; the men tailed on to
it, and let it go as slowly as might be, while Loum swung the steering
oar to keep them in the creature's track. Noll, in the bow, was like a
man glorified; his cap was tugged tight about his head; he had flung
away his coat, and his shirt was open half way to the waist. The spray
lashed him; his wet garments clung to his great torso. His right hand
held the lance, point upward, butt in the bottom of the boat; his left
rested on the line that quivered to the tugging of the whale. His knee
was braced on the bow.... A heroic figure, a figure of strength
magnificent, he was like a statue as the whaleboat sliced the waves; and
his lips smiled, and his eyes were keen and grim. The line slipped out
through the burning fingers of the men; the whale raced on.

Abruptly Noll snapped over his shoulder: "Haul in, Mr. Brander," And
Brander, at Noll's back, gave the word to the men; and they began to
take back the line they had given the whale in the beginning. It came in
slowly, stubbornly.... But it came. They drew up on the whale that fled
before them. They drew up till the smashing strokes of the flukes as the
creature swam no more than cleared their bow. Drew up there, and sheered
out under the thrust of Loum's long oar, and still drew on.... They were
abreast of the flukes; they swung in ahead of them.... They slid,
suddenly, against the whale's very side.

The end came with curious abruptness. The whale, at the touch of the
boat against his side, rolled a little away from them so that his belly
was half exposed. The "life" of a whale, that mass of centering blood
vessels which the lance must find, lies low. Noll knew where it lay; and
as the whale thus rolled, he saw his mark.... He drove the lean lance
hard; drove it so hard there was no time to pull it out for a second
thrust. Nor any need. It was snatched from his hands as the whale rolled
back toward them. Loum's oar swung; they loosed line and shot away at a
tangent to the whale's course. And Noll cried exultantly, hands flung
high: "Let me, let me, be. He's done!"

They saw, within a matter of seconds, that he was right. The whale
stopped; he slowly turned; he lay quiet for an instant as though
counting his hurts. The misty white of his spout was reddened by a
crimson tint; it became a crimson flood. It roared out of the spout
hole, driven by the monster's panting breath.... And the whale turned
slowly on his side a little, began to swim.

A tiny trout, hooked through the head and thrown back into the pool,
will sometimes race in desperate circles, battering helplessly against
the bank, the bottom of the pool, the sunken logs.... Thus this
monstrous creature now swam; a circle that centered about the boat where
Noll and the others watched; that tore the water and flung it in on
them. Faster and faster, till it seemed his great heart must burst with
his own labors. And at the end, flung half clear of the water, threw his
vast bulk forward, surged idly ahead, slowly.... Was still.

Noll cried: "Fin out, by God. He's dead...."

A big whale, as big as most whalemen ever see, the biggest Noll himself
had ever slain. A fitting thing; for old Noll Wing had driven his last
lance. He was tired; he showed it when Brander gave the whale to Willis
for towing back to the ship, and raced for the _Sally_ with Noll panting
in the bow. The fire was dying in the captain's eyes; he pulled
Brander's coat about his great shoulders and huddled into it. He scarce
moved when they reached the _Sally_. Brander helped him aboard. Dan'l
Tobey cried: "A great fight, sir. Six hours; and two stove boats.... But
you killed."

Noll wagged his old head, looked around for Faith, leaned heavily upon
her arm.

"Take me down, Faith," he said. "Take me down. For I am very tired."




XIX


One-eyed Mauger sought out Brander three days later. Brander had been
decent to him from the beginning; and Mauger, who had been changed from
a venomous and evil thing into a cacklingly cheerful nonentity by Noll
Wing's blow and kick, repaid Brander with a devotion almost inhuman. He
sought out Brander three days later.... That is to say, he made
occasion, during the work of scrubbing up after Noll's last whale, to
come to Brander's feet; and while he toiled at the planking of the deck
there, he looked up at the fourth mate and nodded significantly.

Brander understood the one-eyed man; he asked: "What's wrong, Mauger?"
His tone was friendly.

Mauger chuckled mirthlessly, deprecatingly. "Don't want you should git
mad," he protested.

Brander shook his head, his eyes sobering. "Of course not. What is it?"

"There's chatter, forward," said Mauger. "They're talking dirt."

Brander's voice fell. "Who?"

"Slatter was th' first. Others now. Dirt."

Brander looked about the deck; there was no one within hearing. He asked
quietly: "What kind of dirt?"

Mauger looked up and grinned unhappily and apologetically. "You know,"
he said. "You and--her...."

Brander's eyes hardened; he said, under his breath: "Thanks, Mauger."
And he walked away from where the one-eyed man was scrubbing. Mauger
rose on his knees to look after the fourth mate with something like
worship in his eyes.

Brander went aft with his problem. A real problem. Faith besmirched....
He would have cut off his right hand to prevent it; but cutting off his
right hand would have done no good whatever. He would have fought the
whole crew of the _Sally_, single-handed; but that would have done even
less good than the other. You cannot permanently gag a man by jamming
your fist in his mouth. And Brander knew it; so that while he boiled
with anger and disgust, he held himself in check, and tried to consider
what should be done....

Must do something.... No easy task to determine what that something was
to be.

Brander considered the members of the crew; the fo'm'st hands. Slatter
he knew; an evil man. Others there were like him, either from weakness
or sheer malignant festering of the soul. But there were some who were
men, some who were decent.... Some who would fight the foul talk, wisely
or unwisely as the case might be; some who had eyes to see the goodness
of Faith, and hearts to trust her....

Brander's task was to help these men. He could not himself go into the
fo'c's'le and strike; to do so would only spread the filth of words
abroad. But--one thing he could do. He saw the way....

Avoid Faith.... That would not be easy, since their lives must lie in
the cabin. Avoid Faith, avoid speaking to her save in the most casual
way, avoid being alone with her. That much he must do; and something
more. The crew would be spying on them now, watching, whispering. He
must give them no food for whispers; he must go further. He must give
them proof that their whispers were ill-founded. He must....

It was this word of Mauger's that led Brander to a determination which
was to threaten him with ruin in the end; it was this word of Mauger's
that determined Brander to give himself to the crew. To keep some of
them always near him, always in sight of him; to force them, if he
could, to see for themselves that he had little talk with Faith and few
words with her. That was what Brander planned to do. He worked out the
details carefully. When he was on deck, he must keep in their sight; and
he must keep himself on deck every hour of the day save when he went
below for meals. He decided to do more; the nights were warm and
pleasant. He had a hammock swung under the boathouse, and planned to
sleep there; he laid open his whole life to their prying eyes. Let them
see for themselves....

He was satisfied with this arrangement, at last. It was the best that
could be done; he put it into action at once, and he saw within three
days' time that Slatter and the others had noticed, and were wondering
and questioning.

The men were puzzled; the cabin was puzzled. And no one was more puzzled
by Brander's new way of life than Dan'l Tobey. He was puzzled, but he
was at the same time elated. For he perceived that Brander had given him
a weapon, a handle to take hold of. And Dan'l was not slow to take
advantage of it.

They were working westward at the time, killing whales as they went.
Ahead was the Bay of Islands, and Port Russell. Southward, the Solander
Rock, and the Solander Grounds, where all the big bull whales of the
seven seas have a way of flocking as men flock to their clubs. A cow is
seldom or never seen there; the bulls are slain by scores. Toward this
hunting ground, as famous for its whales as it was infamous for its ugly
weather, the _Sally Sims_ was working. They would touch at Port Russell
on the way....

Three days before they were like to make the Port, Dan'l made an
occasion to have words with Noll Wing. Noll was on deck, Faith and the
officers--save Brander, who was with Mauger forward--were all below.
There was a group of men by the tryworks; and Dan'l strolled that way.
He moved inconspicuously, approaching them on the opposite side of the
ship; and when he came near, he stopped and seemed to listen. Noll, aft,
was paying him little attention though Dan'l made sure that the captain
saw.

Slatter was among the group of men; Dan'l scattered them, angrily, and
drove them forward. When they were gone, he went aft again; and as he
had expected, Noll asked:

"What was that, Dan'l?"

Dan'l smiled and said it was nothing that mattered; and his tone
suggested that it mattered a great deal. Noll sternly bade him speak,
and Dan'l said reluctantly:

"It was but the foolish talk of idle men, sir. I bade them keep their
tongues still."

"What manner of foolish talk?"

Dan'l would not meet Noll's eyes. "Why, lies," he said. "Chatter."

Noll said heavily: "I'm not a man to be put off, Dan'l. Speak up, man."

Dan'l frowned sorrowfully: "It was just their talk about Mr. Brander and
Faith, sir. Lies, as I told you. They shut up when I spoke to them."

"What talk of Brander and my wife?" Noll asked slowly.

Dan'l shook his head. "You can guess it for yourself, sir. The men have
nothing better to do than chatter and gossip like old women. They've had
no work for three days. We need another whale to shut their mouths."

"What talk?" Noll repeated.

Dan'l smiled. "I think too well of Faith and of Brander to say it for
you," he insisted.

Noll fell silent, his brows lowering for a space; then he waved his
great hand harshly. "Bosh," he said. "Foolishness."

Dan'l nodded. "Of course. Nevertheless, I...." He fell silent; and Noll
looked at him acutely.

"You--what?" he asked.

"I don't blame Mr. Brander, you understand," said Dan'l. "But--it's in
my mind that--being with the crew as much as he is--he should put a stop
to it."

Noll's eyes ranged the deck. Brander was amidships now; and Mauger was
still with him. Mauger was scraping at the rail, cleaning away some
traces of soot from the last trying out, under Brander's eye. They were
talking together; and Noll frowned and looked at Dan'l and asked:

"You think Mr. Brander is too much with the crew?"

Dan'l shook his head. "No, not too much. It's as well for an officer to
be on good terms with the men. Leastwise, some think so. I was never one
to do it. But--no, not too much. Nevertheless, he's much with them."

Noll thought for a while, his brows lowering; and he said harshly, at
the end: "That matter of Faith is trash. Their clacking tongues should
be dragged out...."

Dan'l nodded. "Aye; but that would not stop them. You know the men,
sir." And he added: "Still it seems Brander should be able to hush
them." And after a moment more: "You mark, he's all but deserted us in
the cabin. He sticks much with the men of late."

Noll's face contracted. He touched Dan'l's arm. "I've seen that he is
much with Mauger," he agreed. "And Mauger...." His muscles twitched; and
he said under his breath: "Mauger's whetting his knife for me, Dan'l.
I'm watchful of that man."

"He has a slinking eye," said Dan'l. "But I make no doubt he's harmless
enough, sir. I'd not fear him...."

Noll said stoutly: "I'm not a hand to fear any man, Dan'l.
Nevertheless, that twitching eye of his frets me...." He shuddered and
gripped Dan'l's arm the tighter. "I should not have kicked the man,
Dan'l. I've been a hard man; too hard.... An evil man, in my day. I
doubt the Lord has raised up Mauger to destroy me."

Dan'l laughed. "Pshaw, sir.... Even the Lord would have small use for a
thing like Mauger." He waited for a moment thoughtfully. "Any case," he
said. "If you were minded, you could drop him ashore at Port Russell and
be rid of him."

Noll moved abruptly. "Eh," he said. "I had not thought of that." He
seemed to shrink from the thought.... "But it may be he is meant to be
about me.... I'd not go against the Lord, Dan'l...."

Dan'l looked sidewise at the captain; and there was something like
contempt in his eyes. He said slowly: "If it was me, I'd set the man
quietly ashore...."

He turned away, left Noll to think of the matter....

       *       *       *       *       *

Dan'l wondered, all that day, whether Noll would act; but toward
nightfall they raised a spout, and killed as dark came upon them. That
held them, for cutting in and trying out, three days where they lay; and
they killed once more before they made the Bay of Islands. They were
touching at Port Russell for water and fresh vegetables; they put in
there....

When the anchor went down, Noll sent for Brander to come down to him in
the cabin. They had anchored at nightfall, and would not go ashore till
morning. Noll sent for Brander; and when Brander came, Noll looked at
him furtively....

Brander saw the captain had been drinking; Noll's hands shook, and his
fingers and his tongue were unsteady. The muscles of his face twitched;
and there was a Bible open in his lap and a bottle beside him. Brander
held his eyes steady, masked what he felt. Noll beckoned with a crooked
finger.

"Come 'ere," he said huskily.

Brander faced him. They were in the after cabin; and Noll sat still.
"We're staying here a day," he said.

Brander nodded. "Wood and stores, sir, I suppose."

Noll nodded heavily. "Oh, aye.... But, something else, Mr. Brander. I'm
goin' leave here that man in your boat. Mauger...."

Brander's lips tightened faintly; he held his voice. "Mauger?" he
echoed. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Don' want him around any more," said Noll slowly.

"Why not?" Brander insisted.

Noll's lips twitched with the play of his nerves, and he poured a drink
and lifted it to his mouth with unsteady fingers. He set down the glass,
spilling a little of the liquor; and he wiped his mouth with the back of
his hand. "I had 'casion to discipline Mauger," he said, with awkward
dignity, his head wagging. "I had 'casion to discipline Mauger. An' now
he's got a knife for me. He's goin' kill me. I ought kill him; put the
man shore, 'stead of that."

Brander smiled reassuringly. "Mauger's harmless, sir. And he does his
work."

Noll shook his head. "I know 'im. He's a murd'rer. I'm goin' put him
ashore."

The fourth mate hesitated; then he said quietly: "All right. If he goes,
I go too."

Noll's head jerked back as though he had been struck; and his red eyes
widened and narrowed again as he peered at Brander, and he hesitated
unsteadily. "Wha's that?" he asked. "Wha's that you say?"

"I say I'll go if he goes."

Noll's head drooped and swayed wearily; but after a moment he asked:
"Wha' for?"

"The man shipped for the cruise," said Brander. "He does his work. I'll
not be a party to putting him ashore--dumping him in this God-forsaken
hole."

Noll raised a hand. "Don' speak of God," he said reprovingly. "You don'
understand Him, Mr. Brander." Brander said nothing; and Noll's hand
dropped and he whined: "Man can't do what he wants on his own ship...."

Brander said: "Do as you like, sir. I think you should let him stay. He
means no harm...."

Noll waved his hand. "Oh, a'right," he agreed. "Say no more 'bout it at
all. Let be. Keep'm; keep'm, Mr. Brander. But lis'en." He eyed Brander
shrewdly. "Lis'en. I know one thing. He's goin' to knife me some night.
I know. He's a murd'rer. And you're defending him.... Pr'tecting him.
Birds of a feather flock t'gether, Mr. Brander." The captain got
unsteadily to his feet, raised a threatening hand. "When he kills me;
just r'member. My blood's on your own head, sir."

Brander hesitated; his heart revolted. His impulse was to leave the
ship, take Mauger, trust his luck.... But he thought of Faith. This man,
her husband, was dying.... He could see that. And when he was gone,
there would be trouble aboard the _Sally_. Faith herself meant trouble;
the ambergris in the captain's storeroom meant more trouble.... Brander
knew it might well be that Faith would need him in that day.... He could
not leave her....

He said quietly: "I take that responsibility, sir."

Noll was slumped in his chair again. "Go 'way," he said, and waved his
hand. "Go 'way."

       *       *       *       *       *

That night, in the small hours, Noll screamed in a way that woke the
ship; he had come out of drunken slumber, desperate with a vivid
hallucination that appalled him....

He thought that Mauger was at him with a sheath knife, and that Brander
was at Mauger's back. Faith and Dan'l fought to soothe him; Faith in her
loose dressing-gown, her hair in its thick braid.... Dan'l had more eyes
for Faith than for Noll. He had never seen her thus before; never seen
her so beautiful; never seen her, he thought, so desperately to be
desired.... His lips were wet at the sight of her....

Noll's terror racked and tore at the man; it seemed to rip the very
flesh from his bones. When it passed, at last, and he fell asleep again,
he was wasted like a corpse.

Dan'l, looking at Noll and at Faith, wished Noll were a corpse indeed.




XX


A change was coming to pass in Faith at this time. As the strength
flowed out of Noll, it seemed to flow into her. As Noll weakened, Faith
was growing strong.

She had never lacked a calm strength of her own; the strength of a good
woman. But she was acquiring now the strength and resolution of a man.
At first, this was unconscious; the spectacle of Noll's degeneration
moved her by the force of contrast. But for a long time she clung to the
picture of the Noll of the past, clung to the hope that the captain
would become again the man she had married. And so long as she did this,
she made herself a part of him, his support.... She merged herself in
him, thought of herself only as his helpmate.... She had always tried to
stimulate his pride and strength; she had tried to lead him to reassume
the domination of the _Sally_ and all aboard her. And in the days before
Noll went out to kill his whale, she thought for a time she had
succeeded.

But when Noll came back to her that day, exhausted by the struggle, the
fire gone out of him, Faith perceived that he was a weak vessel,
cracking and breaking before her eyes.

Noll was gone; he was no longer a man. His hands and his heart had not
the force needed to enable him to command the _Sally_, to make the
voyage successful, to bring the bark safely back to port in the end.
Faith saw this; but she refused to consider the chance of failure. She
had married Noll when he was at the height of his apparent strength; the
signs of his disintegration were not yet apparent. They had swept upon
him suddenly.... But she would not have it said of him, when he was
gone, that he had sailed the seas too long; that he had failed at last,
and shamefully....

She had come to look upon the success of this last voyage of Noll's as a
sacred charge; and when Noll's shoulders weakened, she prepared
deliberately to take the burden on her own. The _Sally_ must come safely
home, with filled casks for old Jonathan Felt; she must come safely
home, no matter what happened to Noll--or to herself. The prosperity of
the _Sally Sims_ was almost a religion to Faith....

She had begun to study navigation more to pass the long and dreary days
than from any other motive; she applied herself to it now more ardently.
And she began, at the same time, to study the men about her; to weigh
them; to consider their fitness for the responsibilities that must fall
upon them. The fo'm'st hands, and particularly the mates, she weighed in
the balance. The mates, and above all Dan'l Tobey. For if Noll were to
go, Dan'l, by all the ancient laws of the sea, would become master of
the ship; and their destinies would lie in his hands....

Short of the Solander Grounds, they struck good whaling, and lingered
for a time; and day by day the tuns and casks were filled, and the
_Sally_ sank lower in the water with her increasing load. They were
two-thirds full, and not yet two years out. Good whaling.... At dinner
in the cabin one day, Dan'l Tobey said to Faith:

"You've brought us good luck, Faith, by coming along, this cruise. We
never did much better, since I've been with Cap'n Wing."

Faith looked to Noll. Noll was eating slowly, paying them no attention.
Silence was falling upon the captain in those days, like a foreshadowing
of the great silence into which he would presently depart. He said
nothing; so Faith said: "Yes. We've done well.... I'm glad."

Old James Tichel looked slyly from face to face. "And the 'gris, stowed
below us here, will make it a fine fat cruise for old Jonathan Felt when
we come home," he chuckled.

At the mention of the ambergris, a little silence fell. Brander was at
the table, Brander and the others. Dan'l and Willis Cox and young Roy
Kilcup looked at Brander, as though expecting him to speak. He said
nothing, and old Tichel, gnawing at his food, chuckled again, as though
pleased with what he had said.

The ambergris, so rich a treasure in so small a bulk, had never been
forgotten for a minute by any man in the cabin; nor by Faith. But they
had not spoken of it of late; there was nothing to be said, and there
was danger in the saying. It was as well that it be forgotten until they
were home again.... There were too many chances for trouble in the
stuff....

When Brander did not speak, however, Dan'l gently prodded him. He said
to Tichel: "You're forgetting that Mr. Brander claims it for his own."

Tichel chuckled again. "Oh, aye, I was forgetting that small matter," he
agreed. "My memory is very short at times."

Still Brander said nothing. Dan'l looked toward him. "I'll be warrant
Mr. Brander does not forget," he said.

Brander looked toward Dan'l, and he smiled amiably. "Thank you," he told
the mate. "Keep me reminded. It had all but slipped from my mind."

There was so much hostility in the air, in the slow words of the men,
that Faith said quietly: "We'll be on the Solander, soon. I'm looking
forward to that, Dan'l. You've seen the Rock?"

She hoped to change them to another topic; but Dan'l brought it smoothly
back again. "Yes," he said. "Yes.... Last cruise, the _Betty Howe_, out
of Port Russell, picked up a sizable chunk of 'gris not a week before we
touched the grounds. That brought two-sixty to the pound, I heard."

"How much was it?" Willis Cox asked; and Dan'l looked to Willis and said
amiably:

"Fifteen pound or so. No more than a thimbleful to what we've got....
That is to say, to what Mr. Brander's got, below here."

Brander had finished eating; he rose to go on deck. But Roy Kilcup could
no longer hold his tongue. He got to his feet in Brander's path,
demanded sharply:

"Do you honestly mean to claim that for your own, Mr. Brander? Are you
so much of a hog?"

Brander looked down at the boy; and he smiled. "I'll give you your
share, now, if it will stop your worrying, youngster," he said.

"I want to know what you're going to do," Roy insisted. "Are you going
to stick to your claim?"

"Others want to know," said Brander, and stepped to one side to pass
Roy. Roy would have spoken again; but Noll said heavily from the head of
the table:

"Roy, let be."

That put a moment's silence upon them all. In this silence, Brander went
on his way to the deck. Roy stared after him for a moment, then sat down
in his place. His face was sullen and angry.... No one spoke of the
matter again; but Dan'l saw that Faith was thoughtful. Faith was
puzzling over Brander, trying to fathom the man.... She was troubled and
uneasy.... Dan'l saw that Noll had lifted his heavy head and was
watching her.

Afterward, Dan'l went with Noll into the after cabin. Faith had gone on
deck; and she and Willis Cox were talking together, by the wheel, with
Roy. Brander, as usual, had taken himself to the waist where he was
under the eye of the crew. His harpooner, Loum, was with him. Mauger
hung within sound of his voice like an adoring dog.

Dan'l, in the after cabin with Noll, made up the log. Noll sat heavily
on the seat, half asleep. He got up, while Dan'l was still writing, and
got his bottle. It was almost empty; and he cursed at that, and Dan'l
looked up and said:

"Sit down, sir. Give that to me. I'll fill it up again."

Noll accepted the offer without speaking, and gave Dan'l the key to his
storeroom, where there was a cask of whiskey, and another of rum. Dan'l
came back presently with the bottle filled.... His eyes were shining
with an evil inspiration, but he said nothing for a little. When his
work on the log was done, however, he looked across to Noll, and after a
little, as though answering a spoken question, said:

"I wouldn't worry about him, sir."

Noll looked at him dully. "About who, Dan'l?"

"Brander. I saw you watching him...."

Noll dropped his head. "I don't like the man."

"He's a good officer."

"Oh, aye...."

"I doubt if he means trouble over the 'gris."

Noll waved a hand fretfully. "He's too much with the crew, Mr. Tobey."

Dan'l shook his head. "I doubt it. That's one way to handle men--Be one
of them. They'll do anything for him, sir."

Noll's eyes narrowed with the shrewdness of a drunken man. "That's the
worst part of it. Will they do anything for me, Dan'l? Or for you?"

Dan'l said reluctantly: "Well, sir, maybe they'd jump quicker for him."

"And that's not reassuring," said Noll. "Is it, now?"

"It wouldn't be, if he meant wrong. I don't think he does. Any case, he
knows the 'gris is not his, in the end...." And he added: "You're
concerned over Faith and him--the way they are when they're together.
But there's no need, sir. Faith is loyal...."

Noll looked at the mate, and he frowned. "How are they, when they're
together?"

"I thought you had marked it for yourself.... I meant nothing."

"Nothing? You meant something. You've seen something. What is it you've
seen, Dan'l?"

Dan'l protested. "Why, nothing at all. There's no harm in their being
friends. He's a young man, strong, with wisdom in his head; and she's
young, too. It's natural that young folk should be friendly."

Noll's head sank upon his chest; he said dully: "Aye, and you're
thinking I'm old."

"No, sir," Dan'l cried. "Not that. You're not so old as you think, sir.
Not so old but what you might strike, if there was need. I only meant it
was to be expected that they should be drawn together, like. Faith's
young...."

Noll's eyes were reddening angrily. "Speak out, man," he exclaimed.
"Don't shilly-shally with your tongue. If there's harm afoot, by God, I
can take a hand. What's in your mind?"

"Why, nothing at all. No harm in the world, sir.... I was only meaning
to reassure you. I thought you had seen her eyes when she looked at the
man...."

"Her eyes?"

"Aye."

"What's in her eyes?"

Dan'l frowned uncomfortably. "Why--friendship, if you like. Liking,
perhaps. Nothing more, I'll swear. I know Faith too well...."

Noll said heavily: "I'll watch her eyes, Dan'l."

Dan'l said with apparent anxiety: "You should not concern yourself,
Cap'n Wing. It's but the fancy of youth for youth.... I...."

Noll came to his feet with sudden rage in him. "Have done, Dan'l. I...."

They both heard, then, Faith's step in the main cabin; and their eyes
met and burned. And Dan'l got up quietly, and closed the log, and as
Faith came in, he went out and closed the door behind him. Closed the
door and crossed to the companion as though to go on deck; but he
lingered there, listening....

Listened; but there was little for him to hear. When the door closed
behind him, Faith had turned to her own cabin, hers and Noll's. Noll sat
down, his eyes sullen.... He watched her through the open door to the
cabin where their bunks were. She turned after a moment and came out to
him; and he got to his feet with a rush of anger, and stared at her, so
that she stood still....

He said hoarsely: "Faith.... By God...."

His words failed, then, before the steady light in her eyes. She was
wondering, questioning him.... She met his eyes so fairly that the soul
of the man cowered and shrank. The strength of rage went from him. He
drew back.

"What is it, Noll?" she asked. "Why are you--angry?"

He lifted a clenched hand over his head; it trembled there for an
instant, then came slowly down. He wrenched open the door to the main
cabin, and went out and left her standing there....

Faith watched him go; perplexity in her eyes. Dan'l joined him, and they
went on deck together.




XXI


They came to the Solander Grounds with matters still in this wise.
Brander much with the crew; Noll Wing rotting in his chair in the cabin;
Faith gaining strength of soul with every day; Dan'l playing upon Noll,
upon Roy, upon all those about him to his own ends....

The Solander received them roughly; they passed the tall Solander Rock
and cruised to the westward, keeping it in sight. There was another
whaling ship, almost hull down, north of them, and the smoke that
clouded her told the _Sally_ she had her trypots going. Dan'l Tobey was
handling the vessel; and he chose to work up that way. But before they
were near the other craft, the masthead men sighted whales.... Spouts
all about, blossoming like flowers upon the blue water. Noll had
regained a little of his strength when they came upon the Grounds; he
took the ship, and bade Dan'l and the other mates lower and single out a
lone whale....

"They'll all be bulls, hereabouts," he said. "Big ones, too.... And
we'll take one at a spell and be thankful for that...."

The whale was, as Noll had predicted, a bull. Dan'l made the kill, a
ridiculously easy one. The vast creature lifted a little in the water at
the first iron; he swam slowly southward; but there was no fight in him
when they pulled up and thrust home the lance. The lance thrusts seemed
to take out of him what small spirit of resistance there had been in the
beginning; and when his spout crimsoned, he lay absolutely still, and
thus died....

An hour after lowering, the whale was alongside the _Sally_; a monstrous
creature, not far short of the colossus Cap'n Wing had slain. He was
made fast to the fluke-chain bitt, and the cutting in began
forthwith.... That, too, on Noll Wing's order. "Fair weather never
sticks, hereabouts," he said. "Work while there's working seas."

Now the first part of cutting in a whale is to work off the head; and
that is no small task. For the whale has no neck at all, unless a
certain crease in his thick blubber may be called a neck. The spades of
the mates, keen-edged, and mounted on long poles with which they jab
downward from the cutting stage, chock into the blubber and draw a deep
cut along the chosen line.... The carcass is laboriously turned, the
process is repeated.... Thus on, till at last the huge mass can be torn
free....

Before the work on this whale was half done, it became apparent that a
gale was brewing. Cross swells, angling together at the mouth of Foveaux
Straits, kicked up a drunken sea that made the _Sally_ pitch and roll at
the same time; a combination not relished by any man. Nevertheless, the
head was got off and hauled alongside for cutting up....

This work had taken the better part of the night; and with the dawn,
there arose a whine in the wind that sang a constant, high note in the
taut rigging. With the _Sally_ pitching and rolling drunkenly, the
fifteen ton junk was got off the head and hoisted aboard, while every
strand of rigging creaked and protested at the terrible strain. The
blubber was coming in; but the wind was increasing....

In the end, the _Sally_ had to let go what remained of her catch and run
for it, losing thereby the huge "case" full of spermaceti, and a full
half of the blubber. But it was time.... The wind was still
increasing.... The _Sally_ scudded like a yacht before it....

They ran into Port William for shelter, and Noll Wing swore at his ill
luck, and when the ship was anchored, went sulkily below.... Dan'l drove
the men to their tasks....

The weeks that followed were repetitions of this first experience, with
such capricious modifications as the gales and the sea chose to arrange.
They killed many big whales; some they lost altogether, and some they
lost in part, and some few they harvested. They fell into the way of
running for port with their kill as soon as the whale was alongside,
rather than risk the storms in the open.... It was hard and steady work
for all hands; and as the men had grumbled at ill luck when they sighted
no whales, so now they grumbled because their luck was overgood. The
deck of the _Sally_ was filled with morose and sullen faces....

Dan'l found them easy working, ready for his hands; and by a word
dropped now and then through these busy times, he led them in the way he
wished them to go.... He never let them forget, for one thing, the
ambergris beneath the cabin. When they grumbled, he reminded them it
was there as a rich reward for all their labors.... And he reminded
them, at the same time, that Brander claimed it.... Neither did he let
the men forget that which he wished them to believe of Faith and
Brander. By indirections; by words with Roy which he took care they
should overhear; by reproofs for chance-caught words, he kept the matter
alive in their minds, so that they began to look at Faith sidewise when
she appeared upon the after deck....

Brander was not blind to this; and if he had been blind, Mauger's one
eye would have seen for him. He knew the matter in the minds of the men;
but he could not be sure that Dan'l was putting it there.... Could not
be sure; nevertheless, he spoke to Dan'l of it one day.... It was the
first time since Brander came aboard that he and Dan'l had had more than
passing word.

Brander made an opportunity to take the mate aside; and he held Dan'l's
eyes with his own and said steadily: "Mr. Tobey, there's ugly talk among
the men aboard here that should be put a stop to...."

Dan'l looked surprised; he asked what Brander meant. Brander said
openly: "They're coupling my name with that of the captain's wife.
You've heard them. It should be ended."

Dan'l said amiably: "I know. It's very bad. But that is a thing you
can't stop from the after deck, Mr. Brander."

Brander said: "That's true. So what do you think should be done in the
matter?"

The mate waved his hand. "It's not my affair, Mr. Brander. It's not me
whose name is coupled with Faith's. You know that, yourself."

Brander nodded. "Suppose," he said, "suppose I go forward again.... I'll
make some occasion to commit a fault: Cap'n Wing can send me forward and
put Silva, or another, in my place."

Dan'l looked at Brander sharply; and he shook his head. "The men would
be saying, then, that it was because of this matter you were put out of
the cabin."

"I suppose so."

"It is very sure."

"What would you suggest?" Brander asked, his eyes holding Dan'l's. Dan'l
seemed to weigh the matter.

"How if you were to leave the ship completely?" he inquired.

Brander's eyes narrowed; and Dan'l, in spite of himself, turned away his
head. If Brander left the ship.... There was no other man aboard whom he
need fear when the time should come.... If Brander but left the ship....

Brander's eyes narrowed; he studied Dan'l; and after a little he laughed
harshly, and nodded his head as though assured of something which he had
doubted before. "No," he said. "No. I'll not leave the _Sally_...." He
could never do that; there might come the day when Faith would have to
look to him.... "No; I'll stick aboard here...."

Dan'l's hopes had leaped so high; they fell so low.... But he hid his
chagrin. "You are right," he said. "That is a deal to ask, just to stop
the idle chatter of the men. Stay.... Best stay.... It will be
forgotten."

Brander turned abruptly away, to crush down a sudden flood of anger that
had clenched his fists. He knew Dan'l, now, beyond doubt. He had guessed
the mate's eagerness to be rid of him.... Dan'l should not have his way
in this so easily....

Dan'l's own eyes had been opened by this talk with Brander. The mate's
heart had not yet formed his full design; he was working evil without
any further plan than to bring harm and ruin.... But Brander's
suggestion, the possibility that Brander might leave the ship, had
revealed to Dan'l in a single flash how matters would lie in his two
hands if Brander were gone. Noll Wing was nothing; old Tichel he could
swing; Willis Cox was a boy; the crew were sheep. Only Brander stood out
against him; only Brander must be beaten down to clear his path. With
Brander gone....

Dan'l set himself this task; to eliminate Brander. He thought of many
plans, a little mishap in the whaling, a kinked line, a flying spade, an
ugly mischance.... But these could not be arranged; he could only hope
for the luck of them. Hope for the luck.... But that need not prevent
him working to help out the fates. Not openly; he could not do that
without setting Brander on guard. And Brander on guard was doubly to be
feared. Dan'l remembered an ancient phrase, the advice of an old
philosopher to a rebellious soul, he thought. "When you strike at a
king, you must kill him...." It was so with Brander; he must be
destroyed at a blow.... Utterly....

Noll was a tool that might serve; Noll would strike, if he could be
roused to the full measure of wrath. Dan'l worked with Noll discreetly,
in hidden words, appearing always to defend Brander.... Brander and
Faith meant no harm.... They were friends, no more.... Dan'l assured
Noll of this, again and again; and he took care that his assurances
should not convince. Noll stormed at him one night:

"Why must you always be defending Faith? Why do you stand by her?"

And Dan'l said humbly: "I've always known Faith, sir. I don't want to
see her do anything.... That is, I don't want to see you harsh with her,
sir."

And Noll fell into a brooding silence that pleased Dan'l mightily....
But still he did not strike at Brander....

Dan'l reminded the captain that Brander still gave much time to the
crew; he played on that string.... Still hoping Noll might be roused to
overwhelming rage. But Dan'l's poisoned soul was losing its gift of
seeing into the hearts of men; the old Noll would have reacted to his
words as he hoped. This new Noll was another matter; this Noll, aging
and rotting with drink, was led by Dan'l's talk to hate Brander--and to
fear him. His fear of Brander and of the one-eyed man obsessed even his
sober mind. He would never dare seek to crush Brander openly; Faith he
might strike, but not the man.

In the end, even Dan'l perceived this; he cast about for a new
instrument, and found it in the man, Slatter.

Slatter had crossed Brander's path, to his sorrow. The loose-tongued man
dropped some word of Faith which Brander heard, and Brander
remembered.... He made pretext of Slatter's next small failure at the
work to beat the man into a bleeding pulp.... No word of Faith in this;
he thrashed Slatter for idling at the windlass when a blanket strip was
being hoisted, and for impudence.... And Slatter was his enemy
thereafter. Dan'l saw, and understood.... And he cultivated Slatter; he
tended the man's hurts, and gave him covert sympathy for the beating he
had taken.... And Slatter, emboldened, harshly swore that he would end
Brander for it, give him half a chance.

Dan'l said hastily, and quietly: "Don't talk such matters, man. There's
more than you aboard ship would do that if they dared. I'm not saying
even Noll Wing would not smile to see Brander gone.... No matter
why...."

"I know why," Slatter swore. "Every man forrad knows the why of
that...."

"Well, then you'll not blame Noll," said Dan'l. "I'm thinking he'd fair
kiss the man that had a hand in ending Brander, if it was not done too
open. But there's none aboard would dare it...."

"By God, let me get him forrad, right, and I'll...."

"Quiet," said Dan'l. "Here's the man himself...."

Here was his tool; Dan'l waited only the occasion. There was a way to
make that.

A whaler's crew are for the most part scum; harmless enough when they're
held in hand.... Harmless enough so long as they're kept in fear. But
alcohol drives fear out of a man. And there was whiskey and rum in the
captain's storeroom, aft....

It was one of the duties of Roy, as ship's boy, to fetch up stores from
this room at command; he was accustomed to fill Noll Wing's bottles now
and then. Dan'l saw he might use Roy; and he did so without scruple.
"I've need for liquor, Roy," he told the lad. "But I'd not ask Noll....
He's jealous of the stuff, as you know. So when next you're down, fill a
jug.... Fetch it up to me."

He said it so casually that Roy agreed without question. The boy was
pleased to serve Dan'l.... Dan'l held him, he had captured Roy, heart
and soul. Roy gave him the jug full of liquor next morning, Slatter had
it by nightfall, and that without Dan'l's appearing in the matter.
Slatter came aft to take the wheel, and Dan'l saw to it the jug was in
his sight and at hand.... Slatter carried it forward with him.... He
passed Dan'l in the waist; and Dan'l looked at the jug and laughed and
said:

"Man, that looks like liquor."

Slatter grinned uneasily. "Oil for the fo'c's'le lamp," he said.

Dan'l wagged his head. "See that that's so," he said. "If any ructions
start in the fo'c's'le, I'll send Brander forward to quiet you. You'll
not be wanting Brander to lay hand on you again."

Slatter's eyes shifted hungrily; he went on his way with quick feet,
and Dan'l watched him go, and his eyes set hard.

That was at dusk. Toward ten that night, when Brander was in his hammock
under the boathouse, one of the men howled, forward, and there was the
sound of scuffling in the fo'c's'le. Dan'l was aft, waiting.... He
called to Brander:

"Go forward and put a stop to that yammering, Mr. Brander."

Brander slid out of his hammock, assented quietly, and started forward
along the deck. Dan'l watched his dark figure in the night until it was
lost in the waist of the _Sally_.... He waited a moment.... Brander must
be at the fo'c's'le scuttle by now....

Came cries, blows, a tumultuous outbreak. The _Sally_ rang with the
storm of battle. Then, abruptly, quiet....

At that sudden-falling quiet, Dan'l turned pale in spite of himself; he
licked his lips. The thing was done....

He ran forward, virtuously ready to take a hand.




XXII


When Brander, at Dan'l's command, went forward to quiet the men in the
fo'c's'le, he found two or three of the crew on deck about the scuttle,
watching the tumult below.... When they heard him and saw him, they
backed away. The light from the fo'c's'le lamp dimly illumined their
faces; and Brander thought there was something murderous and at the same
time furtive in their eyes.

More than that, he caught the smell of alcohol.... So there was whiskey
loose below him.

A man boiled up the ladder past him to the deck, saw him and slid away
into the dark. Another.... Six or eight were still fighting below.

Brander had that sixth sense which men must have who would command other
men; he felt, now, the peril in the air. His duty was down there among
those fighting men; to get down, he would ordinarily have used the
ladder. But to do so would be to engage his hands and his feet, and he
might well have need of both these members.... He put his hands on the
edge of the fo'c's'le scuttle and dropped lightly to the floor of the
fo'c's'le, without touching the ladder. He landed on his toes, poised,
ready....

The narrow, crowded, triangular den was thick with the smell of hot men,
of whiskey, of burning oil; the air was heavy with smoke. A single
swinging lamp lighted the place.... Beneath this lamp, four or five men
were involved in a battle from which legs and arms were waved awkwardly
as their owners struggled. Two other men crouched at opposite sides of
the fo'c's'le.... Watching.... One was Mauger; the other Slatter.
Brander cried:

"Drop it, now...."

The character of the struggle changed; the fighting men straightened....
Then some one hit the lamp and sent it whirling into darkness; and at
the same moment, Brander heard Slatter scream murderously.... He slipped
to one side, backed into a corner, held hands before him, ready to meet
an attack....

Slatter's charge, if he were attacking Brander, should have carried the
man past the mate's hiding place. But Brander, in the dark, heard a
thump of two bodies together, and heard Slatter bellowing profanity, and
heard heels thumping upon the floor. Then two or three men made a rush
up the ladder to the deck.... Another.... Brander stepped forward,
tripped over a whirling leg, and dropped upon a smother of two bodies
which writhed beneath him. An arm was flying; he gripped for it and
felt the prick of a knife in his wrist. So.... Death in the air,
then....

He dragged that arm down to his face and bit at the wrist and the back
of the hand, till he felt the knife drop from the man's fingers.... The
three of them were writhing and striking and kicking and strangling....
But the knife was gone.... So much the better. He began to fumble with
his right hand, seeking marks for his fists.... He did not strike
blindly, but when he struck, his blows went home.... On some one's ribs,
and back, and once on the neck at the base of the ear....

They were fighting in silence now.... All had passed so quickly that it
was still scarce more than seconds since Brander dropped into the
fo'c's'le. Their bodies thumped the planking resonantly; they struggled
in a fashion that shook the ship. They were gasping and choking for
breath....

Some one screamed terribly in Brander's very ear, and a hand that was
gripping his neck relaxed and fell away. The bodies of the fighting men
were for an instant still; and in that instant's silence, some one
asked:

"You all right, Mr. Brander?"

Brander knew the voice. Mauger's. He said: "Yes...."

Mauger squirmed out from under Brander.... "What hit Slatter?" he asked
sharply. "Did you get him?..."

Brander got up, and the body of Slatter fell away from him limply. It
was about that time that Dan'l reached the fo'c's'le scuttle above, and
looked down into the darkness. He saw nothing; and he called:

"Mr. Brander?"

Brander said quietly: "Yes, sir, all right."

"What's wrong, here?"

"Slatter tried to knife me," said Brander.

"Have you got him?"

"I don't know. He's still. Strike a light, if you please...."

Dan'l was already half way down the ladder; but even before his sulphur
match scratched, Brander's nostrils told him what had happened. They
brought him a smell.... Unmistakable.... Appalling.... The smell of
blood....

He was on his knees beside Slatter's body when Dan'l bent over him with
the flickering match. They saw Slatter doubled forward over his own
legs, and Brander explained swiftly: "I had a full-Nelson.... I was
forcing him over that way when he yelled...."

He lifted Slatter's body; and they saw the hilt of a knife that was
stuck downward, deep into his right thigh. Dan'l cried:

"You've killed him."

And one-eyed Mauger interrupted loyally: "No, he didn't. Didn't...."

Dan'l looked at the one-eyed man. "How do you know?"

"I did. I stuck the knife in him...."

Brander looked at Mauger, and he touched the little man's shoulder.
"You're a liar, little friend," he said, and smiled. And he turned to
Dan'l. "I bit the knife out of his hand," he said. "Out of Slatter's....
It fell against my chest and slid down.... It must have dropped between
his body and his legs, and his own body, bending forward, drove it in."

Dan'l smiled unpleasantly. "All right; but Mauger says he did it."

Brander shook his head. "He didn't. For a good reason. He was flat on
the floor, and I was kneeling on his back, between him and Slatter,
when Slatter yelled and quit fighting...."

Dan'l groped for the whale-oil lamp and lighted it and bent to look at
the knife. "How did it kill him, there?" he demanded.

"Struck the big thigh artery," said Brander. "It must have...."

Then Noll Wing's voice came to them from the scuttle. "What's wrong,
below?" And his big bulk slid down the ladder....

       *       *       *       *       *

Brander's explanation was the one that went down in the log, in the end.
Noll wrote it himself, in the irregular and straggling characters which
his trembling fingers formed. And that was Faith's doing; for Dan'l did
not believe, or affected not to believe, and Noll was too shaken by the
tragedy to know what he believed.

Dan'l and Noll and Faith talked it over between them, in the after
cabin, the next morning. Faith had slept through the disturbance of the
night before; but when she heard of it in the morning it absorbed her.
She went on deck and found Brander and made him tell her what had
happened. He described the outbreak in the fo'c's'le; he told how, when
he went forward, he smelled liquor on the men.... How he dropped through
the fo'c's'le scuttle, and some one knocked the lamp from its hanging,
and Slatter rushed him.

"Mauger saw what the man meant," he said. "He jumped on him from the
side; and then I took a hand; and we had it for a while, in a heap on
the floor."

The other men in the fo'c's'le had fled to the deck, leaving Slatter to
do his own work. "I made him let go of the knife," Brander explained,
"and after we had banged around for a while, I got him from behind, my
arms under his, my hands clasped behind his neck. I bent him over,
forward.... He was trying to get hold of my throat, over his
shoulder.... And he yelled and let go...."

Faith's eyes were troubled. "You say the men had been drinking?"

"Yes."

"Where did they get it?"

Brander shook his head; he waited for her to speak. She said: "Let me
talk to Mauger."

He sent the one-eyed man to her, and took himself away.... Mauger told
his story volubly. The little man had added a cubit to his stature by
his exploit; he had done heroically, and knew it, and was proud.... He
told, straightforwardly, how Brander dropped down into the
fo'c's'le.... "Slatter had fixed it with a man to knock out the light,"
he explained. "I heard them whispering. I was watching.... I saw Slatter
had a knife. So when he jumped for Mr. Brander, I tripped him, and he
fell over me, and then Mr. Brander grabbed him...." The little man
chuckled at the joke on himself. "They fit all over me, ma'am," he said,
"They done a double shuffle up and down my backbone, right."

Faith smiled at him and told him he did well. "But where did the men get
liquor?" she asked.

Mauger grinned and backed away. "I dunno, ma'am.... Did they have
any?..."

She said steadily: "Mauger, where did the men get the liquor?"

The man squirmed, but he stood still under her eyes; he tried to avoid
her.... But in the end he came nearer, looking backward and from side to
side. Came nearer, and whispered at last....

"Slatter brought a jug forward after his go at the wheel, ma'am."

"Slatter?" Faith echoed softly.... "Slatter.... All right, Mauger.
And--don't talk too much, forward...."

The man escaped eagerly. He had been willing enough to talk about
Slatter's knife and his own good deed; but this other was another
matter. Whiskey in the fo'c's'le....

This was in the early morning, before the whole story had spread to
every man. Faith went quickly below, and asked his keys from Noll, and
went into the storeroom. Found nothing there to guide her.... But while
she was there, Tinch, the cook, came down to get coffee.... She studied
the man thoughtfully....

"Tinch," she said, finger pressing her cheek, "I left a jug down
here.... It's gone. Have you seen it anywhere?"

Tinch, a tall, lean man with a bald head, looked at her stupidly, and
ran a thin finger through his straggly locks and thought. "Waal, now,
ma'am," he said at last, "I rec'lect I see Roy fetch a jug up out o'
here, yist'day."

"Roy?" she asked. "What was he down here for?"

"Come down to...." He looked at her, and was suddenly confused with fear
he had played Judas. "Waal, now, ma'am," he drawled, "I cal'late you'd
best ask the boy that there."

She nodded at once. "Of course.... Thank you, Tinch."

So Faith had this matter in her mind when Dan'l came down to find Noll,
in mid-morning, and ask what was to be done about the tragedy. Noll said
fretfully: "Slide Slatter over t'side, Mr. Tobey. Do I have to look
after everything aboard this ship?"

Dan'l nodded. "Hitch is fixing for that," he said. "What I mean is, how
about Mauger? He says he done it."

Noll said sullenly: "Well, if he says he done it, he done it."

"That's what I say," Dan'l agreed. "Only thing is, Brander stands up for
him. So what do you aim t'do?"

"Brander stands up for him...."

"Says he couldn't ha' done it, any ways."

Noll threw up his fist angrily. "Damn it, Mr. Tobey; don't run to me
with this. Find out what happened.... Then tell me. That's the thing....
My God, this ship is.... God's sake, Mr. Tobey, be a man."

Dan'l said steadily: "All right; I say Mauger did it."

Noll's cheeks turned pale and his eyes narrowed on the mate. "Stuck the
knife in him?"

"Yes."

The captain's hands tapped his knees. "How did he know to stick it in
the man's leg so neat? Most men would ha' struck for the back.... The
man knows the uses of a knife, Mr. Tobey."

Dan'l nodded. "Oh, aye...."

Noll looked furtively toward the door. "I've allus said he'd a knife for
me.... He'll be on my back, one day...." He was trembling, and he poured
a drink and swallowed it. Faith, sitting near him, looked up, looked at
Dan'l, then bent her head over her book again. Dan'l said:

"I think it's wise to put him in irons."

Noll roared: "Then do it, Mr. Tobey. Don't come whining to me with your
little matters. I'm an old man, Dan'l.... I'm weary and old.... Settle
such things.... That's the business of a mate, Mr. Tobey...."

Faith said quietly, without looking up: "Why make so much talk? Mr.
Brander has explained what happened."

The men were silent for an instant, surprised and uneasy. Dan'l looked
at the captain; Noll's head was bent. Dan'l ventured to say:

"You think Mr. Brander is right?"

"Of course."

Dan'l suggested awkwardly: "You--think he's telling truth?"

Faith nodded. "Any one can see that...."

Dan'l laughed mirthlessly, "Then we'd best write.... We'd best let Mr.
Brander write his story in the log, sir."

Faith looked at Dan'l steadily; then she turned to her husband. "Noll,"
she said, "you write the log. I'll tell you what to write."

He looked up at her stupidly, not understanding. She got up and opened
the log book and gave him a pen. He protested: "Faith, wait...."

She touched his shoulder lightly with her hand, silencing him. "Write
this," she said; and when Noll took the pen, she dictated: "Some one
gave the men liquor this day; they were drinking in the fo'c's'le. When
Mr. Brander went forward to quiet them...." She saw Noll had fallen
behind with his writing, and waited a moment, then repeated more slowly:
"When Mr. Brander went forward to quiet them, Slatter attacked him with
a knife. In the struggle, Slatter dropped the knife, and a moment later
fell on it, dying from the wound."

She repeated the last sentence a second time, so that Noll got it word
for word; and then she took the log from him, and blotted it, and put it
away. Dan'l Tobey protested:

"Aren't you saying anything about Mauger?"

Faith smiled quietly. "Thank you for reminding me," She opened the log
again, bade Noll write, said slowly: "The man Mauger saved Mr. Brander's
life by tripping Slatter as he charged." Dan'l grimaced as she
finished....

"Now," said Faith, "Slatter was not important; at least he is no longer
important. But there is one thing, Noll, that you must stop.... The
whiskey that went forward...."

Noll looked at her slowly, frowning as though he sought to understand;
Dan'l said:

"That was probably Slatter, stole it. The men say so...."

"He took it forward," Faith agreed. "But he did not get it from the
stores. He could not." She hesitated, her lips white; then she set them
firmly. "Dan'l, fetch Roy here," she said.

Dan'l was so surprised that for an instant he did not stir. "Roy?" he
repeated. "What's he...."

Faith looked to her husband. "Will you tell him to bring Roy?" she
asked.

Noll asked heavily: "What's the boy.... Go along, Dan'l. Fetch him."

Dan'l got up at once, and went out, closing the door behind him. They
heard him go on deck.... A minute later, he was back with Roy at his
heels, and Faith saw her brother's face was white. She asked quickly:

"Roy, why did you steal a jug of whiskey from the stores?"

Roy cried, on the instant: "That's a lie."

Faith studied him. He expected accusation, questioning. Instead she
nodded. "All right."

"Who says I stole whiskey?" Roy demanded.

"I," Faith told him.

"Who.... Somebody lied to you...."

"No."

Roy was near tears with bafflement. "Why.... What makes you...."

Faith asked quietly: "Don't you want to tell?"

"It's a lie, I say."

She looked to her husband; and Noll saw they were all waiting on him,
and he tried to rise to the occasion. "By God, Roy.... What did you go
and do that for? God's sake, can't a man have a ship without a pack of
thieves on her? Mr. Tobey, you...." He wavered, his eyes swung
helplessly to Faith. He seemed to ask her to speak for him; and she said
to Dan'l:

"Take him on deck, Dan'l. Till Cap'n Wing decides...."

Roy insisted. "I tell you, I didn't...."

But Dan'l Tobey hushed him. Dan'l was getting his first glimpse of the
new Faith; and he was afraid of her. He took Roy's arm, led him out and
away.... Faith and Noll were left alone.

At noon that day, at Noll Wing's profane command, Roy was put in irons
and locked in the after 'tween decks to stay a week on bread and water.
The boy cursed Faith to her face for that; and Faith went to her cabin,
and dropped on her knees and prayed.

But she kept a steady face for the men, and in particular she kept a
steady eye for Dan'l Tobey. She knew Dan'l, now.... Dan'l had warned
Roy, before bringing him to the cabin. He must have warned the boy, for
Roy was prepared for the accusation. He must have warned the boy,
therefore he must have known what Faith would assert....

And Faith knew enough of Dan'l's ascendancy over Roy to be sure the mate
had prompted her brother's theft.

She must watch Dan'l, fight him. And ... she thanked God for Brander.
There was a man, a man on her side.... She was not to fight alone.

She dreamed of Brander that night. He was battling for her, in her
dream, against shadowy and unseen things. And in her dream, she thought
he was her husband.




XXIII


An unrest seized Noll Wing; an unrest that was like fear. He assumed, by
small degrees, the aspect of a hunted man. It was as though the death of
Slatter prefigured to him what his own end would be. His nerves betrayed
him; he could not bear to have any man approach him from behind, and he
struck out, nervously, at Willis Cox one day when Willis spoke from one
side, where Noll had not seen him standing.

The continual storms of the Solander irked him; the racking work of
whaling, when it was necessary to run to port with each kill, fretted
the flesh from his bones. They lost a whale one day, in a sudden squall
that developed into a gale and swept them far to the southward; and when
the weather moderated, and Dan'l Tobey started to work back to the
Grounds again, Noll would have none of it.

"Set your course t'the east'ard," he commanded. "I'm fed up with the
Solander. We'll hit the islands again...."

Dan'l protested that there was nowhere such whaling as the Solander
offered; but Noll would not be persuaded. He resented the attempt to
argue with him. "No, by God," he swore. "A pity if a man can't have his
way. Hell with the Solander, Dan'l. I'm sick o' storms, and cold. Get
north t'where it's warm again...."

So they did as he insisted, and ran into slack times once more. The men
at first exulted in their new leisure; they were well enough content to
kill a whale and loaf a week before another kill. Then they began to be
impatient with inaction; discontent arose among them. They remembered
the ambergris; and their talk was that they need stay out no longer,
that the voyage was already a success, that they had a right to expect
to head for home.

Brander, ever among them as he had promised himself he would be, worked
against this discontent. He tried to hearten them; they gave him half
attention, and some measure of liking.... But their sulking held and
grew upon them.

There was as much ill feeling aft as forward. Roy, released from his
irons long before, had not spoken to Faith since his release. He hated
his sister with that hatred which sometimes arises between blood kin,
and which is more violent than any other. Let lovers quarrel; let
brothers clash; let son and father, or mother and daughter, or brother
and sister go asunder, and there is no bitterness to equal the
bitterness between them. It is as though the strength of their former
affection served to intensify their hate. It is like the hatred of a
woman scorned; she is able to hate the more, because she once has loved.

Roy hated Faith; and with the ingenuity of youth, he found out ways to
torment her. He perceived that Faith must always love him, he perceived
that her thoughts hovered over him as do the thoughts of a mother; and
he took pleasure in agonizing her with his own misdeeds. He lied for
the pleasure of lying; he swore roundly; and once, under Dan'l's gentle
guidance, he pilfered rum and drank himself into the likeness of a
beast. When Faith chided him for that, he told her with drunken good
nature that she was to blame; that she had driven him to it. Faith's
sense of justice was strong; she was too level of head to condemn
herself; nevertheless, she was made miserable by what the boy had
done.... Yet she led Noll to punish him for this theft, more sternly
than before; and afterward, she had Roy sent forward to take his place
among the men, and the cabin was forbidden ground to him thereafter.

Noll was wax in Faith's hands in these days. His fear, growing upon him,
had shaken all the fiber out of the man. He could be swayed by Dan'l, by
old Tichel, by Faith, by almost any one.... Save in a single matter. He
was drinking steadily, now; and drinking more than ever before. He was
never sober, never without the traces of his liquor in his eyes and his
loose lips and slack muscles. And they could not sway him in this
matter. He would not be denied the liquor that he craved.

Faith tried to win it away from him; she tried to strengthen the man's
own will to fight the enemy that was destroying him. She tried to fan to
life the ancient flame of pride.... But there was no grain of strength
left in Noll for her to work on. He waved her away, and filled his
glass....

She might have destroyed what liquor remained aboard the _Sally_; but
she would not. That would not cure; it would only put off the end. At
their first port, Noll would get what he wanted.... And there were
islands all about them; he could reach land within a matter of
twenty-four hours, or forty-eight, at any time. She fought to help Noll
help himself; she would not do more. Noll was a man, not a baby desiring
the fire which must be kept beyond its reach. He knew his enemy, and he
embraced it knowingly.

Faith never felt more keenly the fact of her marriage to Noll than in
those last days of his life. She never thought of herself apart from
him; and when he debauched himself, she felt soiled as though she were
herself degraded. Nevertheless, she clung to him with all her soul;
clung to him, lived the vows she had given him.... There were other
times, after that first, when she dreamed of Brander.... But she could
not curb her dreams.... He was much in them; but waking, she put the man
away from her. She was Noll's; Noll was hers. Inescapable....

Brander avoided her. His heart was sick; she possessed it utterly. But
he gave no sign; he never relaxed the grip in which he held himself. Now
and then, on deck, when Noll swore at her, or whined, or fretted,
Brander had to swing away and put the thing behind him. But he did it;
he was strong enough to do this; he was almost strong enough to keep his
thoughts from Faith. Almost.... But not quite.... She dwelt always with
him; he was sick with sorrow, and pity, and yearning for the right to
cherish her.

They spoke when they had to, in cabin or on deck; but they were never
alone, and they avoided each the other as they would have shunned a
precipice....

Save for one day, a single day.... A day when Faith called Brander to
her on the deck and spoke to him.... A single day, that would have been,
but for the strength of Faith, the bloody destruction of them both.

This incident was the climax of two trains of events, extending over
days.... Extending, in the one case, back to that first day when Dan'l
had roused the brand of jealousy in Noll to flame. Dan'l had never let
that flame die out. He fanned it constantly; and when he saw in Faith's
eyes, after the matter of Roy's first theft of the whiskey, that she had
guessed his part in it, he threw himself more hotly into his intrigue.
He kept at Noll's side whenever it was possible; he whispered....

He spoke openly of Brander's fondness for the men, of Brander's habit of
talking with them so constantly. Faith heard him strike this vein, again
and again.... He harped upon it to Noll, seeming to defend Brander at
the same time that he accused.... He played upon the strain until even
Faith's belief in Brander was shaken. There was always the matter of the
ambergris. Brander might have ended it with a word, but he would not
give Dan'l Tobey that satisfaction. He would not say, forthright, that
the 'gris belonged to the _Sally_.... And Dan'l magnified this matter,
and many others.... Until even Faith found it hard not to doubt the
fourth mate.... She caught herself, more than once, watching him when he
laughed and talked with the men. Was there need of that? Why did he do
it? She could find no answer....

Noll feared Brander more and more; and Dan'l covertly taunted the
captain with this fear. He roused Noll, time on time, to flagging gusts
of rage; but always these passed in words.... And Noll fell back into
his lethargy of drink again. Dan'l began to fear there was not enough
man left in Noll to act.... He turned his guns on Faith, accusing her as
he accused Brander....

But words were light things. Noll, moved though he might be, had in his
heart a trust in Faith which Dan'l found it hard to shake. He might
never have shaken it, had not luck favored him.... And this luck came to
pass on the day Faith sought speech with Brander.

That move, on Faith's part, was the result of an increasing peril in the
fo'c's'le. The men were getting drink again.

This began one day when a fo'm'st hand came aft to take the wheel and
old Tichel smelled the liquor on him, and saw that the man's feet were
unsteady, and flew into one of his tigerish fits of rage.... He drove
the man forward with blows and kicks; and he came aft with his teeth
bared and flamed to Noll Wing, and men were sent for and questioned.
Three of them had been drinking. They were badly frightened; they were
sullen; nevertheless, in the end, under old Tichel's fist, one of them
said he had found a quart bottle, filled with whiskey, in his bunk the
night before.... Tichel accused him of stealing it; the man stuck to his
tale and could not be shaken.

The men could not come at the stores through the cabin; there was
always an officer about the deck or below. Tichel thought they might
have cut through from the after 'tween decks, and the stores were
shifted in an effort to find such a secret entrance to the captain's
stores. But none was found; there was no way....

Three days later, there was whiskey forward again. Found, as before, in
a bunk.... Two men drunk, rope's endings at the rail.... But no solution
to the mystery.

Two days after that, the same thing; four days later, a repetition. And
so on, at intervals of days, for a month on end. The whiskey dribbled
forward a quart at a time; the men drank it.... And never a trace to the
manner of the theft.

In the end, Roy Kilcup found a bottle in his bunk, and drank the bulk of
it himself, so that he was deathly sick and like to die. Faith,
tormented beyond endurance, looking everywhere for help, chose at last
to appeal to Brander.

Brander had the deck, that day. Willis Cox and Tichel were sleeping....
Dan'l was in the main cabin, alone; Noll in the after cabin, stupid with
drink. Roy had been sick all the night before, with Willis Cox and
Tichel working over him, counting the pounding heart-beats, wetting the
boy's head, working the poison out of him. Roy was forward, in his bunk,
now, still sodden.

Faith came from the after cabin, passed Dan'l and went up on deck.
Something purposeful in her face caught Dan'l's attention; and he went
to the foot of the cabin companion and listened. He heard her call
softly:

"Mr. Brander."

Dan'l thought he knew where Brander would be. In the waist of the
_Sally_, no doubt. There was a man at the wheel. Faith did not wish this
man to hear what she had to say. So she met Brander just forward of the
cabin skylight by the boathouse; and Dan'l, straining his ears, could
hear.

Faith said: "Mr. Brander, I'm going to ask you to help me."

Brander told her: "I'd like to. What is it you want done?"

"It's--Roy. I'm desperately worried, Mr. Brander."

"He's all right, Mr. Cox tells me. He'll be well enough in a few
hours...."

"It's not just--this drunkenness, Mr. Brander. It's--more. My
brother's.... He is in my charge, in a way. Father bade me take care of
him. And he's--taking the wrong path."

Brander said quietly: "Yes."

Dan'l looked toward the after cabin, thought of bringing Noll to
hear.... But there was no harm in this that they were saying; no
harm.... Rather, good.... He listened; and Faith said steadily:

"My husband is not--not the man he was, Mr. Brander. Mr. Tobey.... I
can't trust him. I've got to come to you...."

Dan'l decided, desperately, to bring Noll and risk it, trust to his luck
and to his tongue to twist their words.... He went softly across to the
after cabin and shook Noll's shoulder; and when the captain opened his
eyes, Dan'l whispered:

"Come, Noll Wing. You've got to hear this...."

Noll sat up stupidly. "What? Hear what?... What's that you say?"

Dan'l said: "Faith and Brander are together, on deck, whispering...." He
banged his clenched fist into his open hand. "By God, sir.... I've grown
up with Faith; I like her.... But I can't stand by and see them do this
to you...."

"What are they about?" Noll asked, his face flushing. He was on his
feet. Dan'l gripped his arm....

"I heard her promise him you would soon be gone, sir.... That you were
sick.... That you...."

Noll strode into the cabin; Dan'l whispered: "Quiet! Come...." He led
him to the foot of the companion-stair, bade him listen.

And it was then the malicious gods played into Dan'l's evil hands; for
as they listened, Faith was saying.... "Try to make him like you.... But
be careful. He doesn't, now.... If he guessed...."

Brander said something which they could not hear; a single word; and
Faith cried:

"You can. You're a man. He can't help admiring you in the end. I--" She
hesitated, said helplessly: "I'm putting myself into your hands...."

Dan'l had wit to seize his fortune; he cried out: "By God, sir...."

But there was no need of spur to Noll Wing now. The captain had reached
the deck with a single rush, Dan'l at his heels.... Faith and Brander
sprang apart before their eyes; and because the innocent have always
the appearance of the guilty, there was guilt in every line of these two
now.

Noll Wing, confronting them, had in that moment the stature of a man; he
was erect and strong, his eyes were level and cold. He looked from Faith
to Brander, and he said:

"Brander, be gone. Faith, come below."

Brander took a step forward. Faith said quickly to him: "No." And she
smiled at him as he halted in obedience.

Then she turned to her husband, passed him, went down into the cabin.
And Noll, with a last glance at Brander, descended on her heels.

Dan'l, left facing the fourth mate, grinned triumphantly; and for an
instant he saw death in Brander's eyes, so that his mirth was frozen....
Then Brander turned away.




XXIV


Faith went down into the main cabin, crossed and entered the cabin
across the stern, turned there to await her husband. He followed her
slowly; he came in, and shut the door behind him. The man was
controlling himself; nevertheless, he thrust this door shut with a force
that shook the thin partition between the cabins.... And he snapped the
bolt that held it closed.

Then he turned and looked at Faith. There was a furious strength in his
countenance at that moment; but it was like the strength of a maniac.
His lips twitched tensely; his eyes moved like the eyes of a man who is
dizzy from too much turning on his own heels.... They jerked away from
Faith, returned to her, jerked away again.... All without any movement
of Noll's head. And as the man's eyes wavered and wrenched back to her
thus, the pupils contracted and narrowed in an effort to focus upon her.
For the rest, he was flushed, brick red.... His whole face seemed to
swell.

He was inhuman; there was an ape-like and animal fury in the man as he
looked at his wife....

Abruptly, he jerked up his hands and pressed them against his face and
turned away; it was as though he thrust himself away with this pressure
of his hands. He turned his back on her, and went to his desk, and
unlocked a drawer. Faith knew the drawer; she was not surprised when he
drew out of it a revolver.

Bending over the desk, with this weapon in his hand, Noll Wing made sure
every chamber was loaded.... He paid her no attention. Faith watched him
for an instant; then she turned to the bench that ran across the stern
and picked up from it a bit of sewing, embroidery.... She sat down
composedly on the bench, crossed her knees in the comfortable attitude
of relaxation which women like to assume. One foot rested on the floor;
the other swayed back and forth, as though beating time, a few inches
above the floor. It is impossible for the average man to cross his knees
in this fashion, just as it is impossible for a woman to throw a ball.
Sitting thus, Faith began to sew. She was outlining the petal of an
embroidered flower; and she gave this work her whole attention.

She did not look up at Noll. The man finished his examination of the
weapon; he turned it in his hand; he lifted it and leveled it at Faith.
Still Faith did not look up; she seemed completely unconcerned. Noll
said harshly:

"Faith!"

She looked up then, met his eyes fairly, smiled a little. "What is it,
Noll?"

"I'm going to kill you," he said, with stiff lips.

"All right," she said, and bent her head above her sewing once more,
disregarding him.

Noll was stupefied.... This was not surprise; it was the helplessness
which courage inspires in a coward. For Noll was a coward in those last
days.... His face twisted; his hand was shaking.... He stared over the
revolver barrel at Faith's brown head. Her hair was parted in the
middle, drawn back about her face. The white line of skin where the hair
was parted fascinated him; he could not take his eyes from it. The
revolver muzzle lowered without his being conscious of this fact; the
weapon hung in his hand.... His eyes were fixed on Faith's head, on the
part in her hair.... She wore an old, tortoise comb, stuck downward into
the hair at the back of her head, its top projecting upward.... A
singular, old-fashioned little ornament.... There was a silver mounting
on it; and the light glistened on this silver, and caught Noll's eye,
and held it....

Faith continued her quiet sewing. And Noll's tense muscles, little by
little, relaxed.... His fingers loosed their grip on the revolver butt;
it dropped to the floor with a clatter. The sound seemed to rouse Noll;
he strode toward Faith. "By God," he cried. "You'll...." He swung down a
hand and gathered the fabric of her work between harsh fingers. Her
needle was in the midst of a stitch; it pricked him.... He did not feel
the tiny wound. He would have snatched the stuff out of her hands.... He
felt as though it were defending her....

But when his hand swept down between hers and caught the bit of
embroidery, Faith looked up at him again, and she caught his eyes. That
halted him; he stood for an instant motionless, bending above her, their
faces not six inches apart.... Then the man jerked his hand away.... He
released his grip on the bit of fancy work; but the needle was deep in
his finger, so that he pulled it out of the cloth. The thread followed
it; when his quick movement drew the thread to full length, the fabric
was jerked out of Faith's unresisting hands. It dangled by the thread
from the needle that stuck in Noll's finger; and he saw it, and jerked
the needle out with a quick, spasmodic gesture, and flung it to one
side. He did not look at it; he was looking, still, at Faith.

"Put that away," he said hoarsely.

Faith smiled, glanced toward the bit of white upon the floor. "I'm
afraid there's blood on it," she said.

"Blood ..." he repeated, under his breath. "Blood...." She folded her
hands quietly upon her knee, waiting.

"I want to talk to you," he said.

She nodded. "All right. Do."

His wrath boiled through his lips chokingly. "You ..." he stammered.
"You and Brander...."

Her eyes, upon his, hardened. She said nothing; but this hardening of
her eyes was like a defiance. He flung his hands above his head. "By
God, you're shameless," he choked. "You're shameless.... A shameless
woman.... And him.... I took him out of a hell hole.... And he takes
you.... I'll break him in two with my hands."

She said nothing; he flung into an insanity of words. He cursed her
unspeakably, with every evil phrase he had learned in close to thirty
years of the sea. He accused her of unnamable things.... His face
swelled with his fury, the veins bulged upon his forehead, his eyes were
covered with a dry film. His mouth filled with saliva, that splattered
with the venom of his words.... It ran down his chin, so that he brushed
it away with the back of his hand.... He was uncontrolled, save in one
thing. Something made him hush his voice; he whispered harshly and
chokingly.... What he said could scarce have been heard in the main
cabin, six feet away from them....

The man was slavering; there were flecks of foam upon his lips.... And
Faith watched him in a curious detachment, as though he were something
outside the world, below it, beyond it.... She scarce heard his words at
all; she was looking at the man's naked soul.... It was so inexpressibly
revolting that she had no feeling that this soul had once been wedded to
hers; she could not have believed this if she had tried. This was no
man, but a beast.... There could be nothing between them. She had
married Noll Wing; not the body of him, nor the face of him, but the
soul within the man. And this was not Noll Wing's soul she saw.... That
was dead; this horrible thing had bred festeringly in the carrion....

Humanity has an immense capacity for rising to an emergency. The human
heart sustains a grief that should kill; it throws this grief aside and
is--save for a hidden scar--as gay as it was in the beginning. Man meets
peril or death, meets them unafraid.... If he had considered these
emergencies in the calm and security of his home, his hair would have
crawled with terror at the thought of them. The imagination can conjure
dreadful things; the heart and soul and body of man can endure
catastrophes beyond imagining. There is no load too heavy for this
immortally designed fabric of flesh and blood and bone to bear. There
is a psychological phenomenon that might be called the duplication of
personality. A soldier in battle becomes two men. One of these men is
convulsed with lust for blood; he screams, he shoots, he stabs, he
kills. The other is calm and serene; he watches the doings of his other
self, considers them with calm mind, plans perilous combinations in the
twinkling of an eye.... The soldier contains within himself a general
who plans, and an army which executes the plan....

It was so with Faith. She shrank in spirit and heart before Noll's
horrible outpouring; yet was she at the same time steady and
undisturbed. There was a numbness upon her; a numbness that killed
suffering and at the same time stimulated thought.... She was able to
perceive the very depths of Noll; she looked, at the same time, into her
own depths.... She heard him accuse her of foul passion for Brander; she
knew, instead, that she loved Brander completely.... She had never known
her love for Brander before; Noll showed it to her, dragged it out where
she could see it beyond mistaking.... And even in that moment she
welcomed this love; welcomed it, and saw that it was honest, and
wholesome, and splendid, and clean.... She welcomed it, so that she
smiled....

Her smile struck Noll like a blow in the face, stunning and sobering
him. He flung out his hands.

"Come!" he commanded. "What do you say? Say something? Say...."

"What?" she asked. "What shall I say?"

"Is it true? Damn you.... Damn you.... Is it true?"

"Could I say anything you would believe?"

"No, by God! You're dirty and false as hell. You...." He struck his
hands together helplessly. "Nothing," he cried. "Nothing! Nothing you
can say.... Dirty as hell...."

Yet his eyes still besought her to speak; she touched the bench beside
her. "Sit down, Noll," she said gently.

The man towered above her, hands upraised. His fingers twisted and
writhed and clenched as though upon a soft throat that he gripped. His
features worked terribly.... And then, before her eyes, a change came
upon him. The tense muscles of his fury sagged; the blood ebbed from his
veins, so that they flattened; the black flush faded on his cheeks....
He opened his mouth and screamed once, a vast and stricken scream of a
beast in pain. It was like the scream of a frightened, anguished
horse.... It rang along the length of the _Sally_, so that the men
forward shrank and looked over their shoulders, and every man aboard the
ship was still....

He screamed, and then his great body shrank and collapsed and tottered
and fell.... He dropped upon his knees, at her feet. He flung his head
in her lap, his arms about her waist, clinging as a drowning man might
cling to a rock. His cap dropped off; she saw his bald old head
there.... He sobbed like a child, his great shoulders twitching and
heaving.... His face was pressed upon her clasped hands; she felt his
tears upon her wrists, felt the slaverings of his sobbing mouth upon her
fingers....

He cried softly: "Eh, Faith.... Faith.... Don't you turn against me,
now. I'm old, Faith...." And again: "I'm old, Faith.... Dying, Faith....
Don't leave me.... Don't turn against me now."

She bent above him, filled with an infinite pity and sorrow. This was
the wreck of her love; she no longer loved him, but her heart was filled
with sorrow.... She bent forward and laid her smooth cheek against the
smooth parchment of his bald old head. She loosed her hands, and drew
them out from beneath his face, and laid them on his shoulders, stroking
him gently.

"There, Noll.... There ..." she murmured. Foolish words, meaningless,
like the comforting sounds of an inarticulate animal.... Yet he
understood. There were no words for what was in her heart; she could
only whisper: "There.... There.... There...." And gently touch his
shoulders, and his head.

"They're all against me, Faith," he told her, over and over. "All
against me. Even you...."

"No, no, Noll. There...."

"You love him.... You love him."

"No, Noll. No...." She lied, not to deceive her husband, but to comfort
him. Her eyes, above Noll's head, seemed to ask her love's pardon for
the lie. "No, Noll.... You're my husband."

His arms tightened about her waist; his great chest pressed against her
knees. "You're mine," he begged. "You're mine. Don't go away from me."

"No. Never.... Never, forever."

He raised his face from her lap at last; and she saw that it was sunken
like the countenance of one long dead. Cadaverous.... He cried, in utter
self-abasement. "Eh, Faith. I don't deserve you. I'm an old, helpless
man...."

She smiled at him. "I married you, Noll."

"I'm no good. They're laughing at me...."

Her eyes heartened him. "Master them. Command them. You are the master,
Noll."

"I can't.... There's no strength in me...."

"It's there. Master them, Noll."

"I can't hold myself, Faith. Not even myself. I'm rotted with whiskey,
and years, and strife...."

"Master yourself, Noll."

"Faith, Faith.... It's too late. I'm gone. I can't."

"You can," she said. She spoke the two words quietly; yet somehow they
gave him of her strength, so that his head lifted higher, and the
muscles took form beneath his slack cheeks. He stared into her eyes, as
though he were drinking her soul through them; his chest swelled as
though virtue were going into him. They sat thus, minutes on end.... He
got to his feet. His eyes cleared, with the tempestuous and short-lived
fire of age in their depths. He swore:

"By God, Faith. I will. I'll command.... Myself and them."

"You can," she said again. "You can. So--do, Noll."

He turned away from her, looking about with new eyes.... She smiled
sadly; she knew him too well, now.... She was not surprised when his
first act was to go to the lockfast and get his bottle, and drink.... He
smacked his lips, chuckled at her.

"By God, Faith, I'll show these dogs," he cried, and flung open the
door. She heard him go out and climb up to the deck.... She sat where he
had left her....

Sat there, and knew her love for Brander. In those minutes while she
remained where Noll had seen her last, she listened to the singing of
new voices in her heart. Brander was before her, in her eyes, in her
thoughts.... He possessed her, in that moment, more completely than Noll
had ever done. She gave herself to him completely, without reluctance
and without faintest reservation. No need to see him, no need to tell
him. She knew, he must know.... She never asked whether he loved her;
she had always known that. Known it without admitting the knowledge,
even in her thoughts. She loved him, body and heart and soul; her eyes
yearned for his, her tongue to tell him what her heart was singing, her
arms to embrace him....

She got up, at last, a little wearily.... It was only a matter of
minutes that she sat there, looking within herself. When she listened,
now, she could hear Noll's voice, on deck, roaring in the old way....
Once she heard Brander answer him, from somewhere amidships. Again she
caught the murmur of Dan'l Tobey's tones....

Brander was her love; but Noll.... Noll was her husband, she his wife.
And Faith passed her hand across her eyes as though to wipe away these
visions she had looked upon. Noll was her husband; her vows were his.
She was his, and would be.... Nothing he could do would make her less
his; he was in her keeping, his life and hers could never take diverging
paths. He was her charge, to strengthen, and guide, and support; his
tasks were hers, his responsibilities were her responsibilities, his
burdens must rest upon her shoulders....

But she did not deceive herself. Old Noll was dead, old Noll Wing who
had mastered men for year on year. That Noll was dead; the Noll who
lived was a weakling. But she was a part of the living Noll; and she was
no weakling. So....

Her lips set faintly. Love Brander though she did, there was no place
for him in her life. Her life was Noll; her life belonged to Noll. Noll
was failing; his flesh might live, but his soul was dead and his
strength was gone. His tasks fell upon her.

Quite simply, in that moment, Faith promised herself that whatever
happened, the _Sally Sims_ should come safe home again; that no man
should ever say Noll Wing had failed in the end; that no man should ever
make a jest of Noll's old renown. And if Noll could not manage these
things for himself, she would....

She began, suddenly, to cry; she locked herself in her cabin and wept
bitterly for hours.... But afterward, bathing her eyes, freshening
herself to meet Noll's eyes, she looked into the mirror, and smiled and
lifted her head. "You can do it, Faith," she told herself. "You can do
it, full as well as he."

And then, more seriously: "You must, Faith Wing. You must bring the
_Sally_ home."

When she stepped out into the after cabin, she saw the revolver still on
the floor where Noll had left it. She picked it up to return it to its
proper drawer....

But on second thought, she changed her mind, and took it and hid it in
her bunk.




XXV


A curious lull settled down upon the _Sally Sims_ during the days after
Noll's open accusation of Faith, and his collapse before her steady
courage. There was an apathy in the air; they saw few whales, lowered
for them without zeal, missed more than one that should have been
killed.... There was a silence upon the ship, like the hush of listening
men who wait to hear an expected call. This paralysis gripped every soul
aboard--save Noll Wing alone.

Noll, in those last days, stalked his deck like a parody of the man he
once had been. Faith had put a fictitious courage in the man; he thought
himself once more the master, as in the past. His heels pounded the
planks; his head was high; his voice roared.... But there was a tremor
in his stride; there was a trembling about the poise of him; there was a
cracking quaver in his voice. He was like a child who plays at being a
man.... They humored him; the men and the mates seemed to enter into a
conspiracy to humor him. They leaped to his bidding; they shrank from
his curses as though desperate with fear.... And Noll was so delighted
with all this that he was perpetually good-natured, jovial....

He was, of course, drinking heavily and steadily; but the drink seemed
to hearten him and give him strength. Certainly it made him lenient; for
on three occasions when the men found a bottle, forward, and befuddled
themselves with it, Noll only laughed as though at a capital jest. Noll
laughed.... But Faith wondered and was distressed and watched to see how
the liquor was being stolen. She was disturbed and alarmed; but Noll
laughed at her fears.

"A little of it never hurt a man," he told her boastfully. "Look at me,
to see that. Let be, Faith. Let be."

When she protested, he overrode her; and to show his own certainty of
himself, he did a thing that Noll sober would never have done. He had
the rum drawn from the barrel in his storeroom and served out to the
men, a ration daily.... It amused him to see the men half fuddled with
it. He forced it on them; and once, while Faith watched hopelessly, he
commanded a hulking Cape Verder--the biggest man in the fo'c's'le--to
drink a bout with him. They took glass for glass, till the other was
helpless as a log; and Noll vaunted his own prowess in the matter.

Dan'l Tobey contented himself with the progress of these matters; he no
longer stuck a finger in the pie. Noll was going; that was plain to any
seeing eye. The captain grew weaker every day; his skin yellowed and
parched, and the lower lids of his eyes sagged down and revealed the
flaming red of their inner surface. These sagging lower lids made
crescent-shaped pockets which were forever filled with rheumy fluid....
Noll was an ugly thing; and his perpetual mirth, his cackling laughter
were the more horrible.... He was a laughing corpse; dissolution was
upon him. But he kept himself so steeped with alcohol he did not feel
its pangs.

Faith could do nothing; Brander could do nothing. Between these two, no
further word had passed. But there was no need. Meeting face to face on
deck, the day after Noll surprised them, their eyes met in a long and
steady glance.... Their eyes met and spoke; and after that there was no
need of words between them. There was a pledging of vows in that glance;
there was also a renunciation. Both saw, both understood.... Faith
thought she knew Brander to the depths....

Neither, in that moment, knew that Dan'l Tobey was at hand; but the mate
had seen, and he had understood. He saw, slipped away, held his peace,
considered.

Brander was fighting for Roy, to fulfill his pledge to Faith. He had set
himself to win the boy's confidence and esteem; he applied himself to
this with all the strength there was in him. Yet he was careful; he did
not force the issue; he did not harass Roy with his attentions.... He
held off, let Roy see for himself, think.... There were days when he
thought he made some progress; there were days when he thought the
effort was a hopeless one. Nevertheless, he persisted....

Noll Wing's good will, in those days, extended even to Brander. He
offered Brander a drink one day.... Brander refused, and Noll
insisted.... And was still refused. Noll said hotly, querulously:

"Come, Brander.... Don't be stiff, man. It will warm you, do you
good.... You're needing warming. You're over cold and calm."

Brander shook his head, smiling. "Thanks; no, sir."

"Damn it, man," Noll complained. "Are you too proud to drink with the
skipper?"

Brander refused again; and Noll's brows gathered suspiciously. "Why
not?"

"My wish, sir,"

"Ye've a grudge against me. I remember.... You stick with Mauger...."

"No, sir."

Noll flung out his hand. "Be off. Your sour face is too ugly for me to
look at. Mauger's none so particular.... He'll drink with me."

It was true; Mauger had more than once accepted drink from Noll. Noll,
at these times, watched the one-eyed man furtively, almost appealingly.
It was as though he sought to placate him and make a friend of him.
Mauger had a weak head; he was not one to stand much liquor. It dizzied
him; and this amused Noll.... This day, after Brander had refused him,
Noll sent for Mauger and made the one-eyed man tipsy, and laughed at the
jest of it.

Then, one day, this state of affairs came abruptly to an end. Noll went
down into the storeroom to fill his bottle; and the spigot on the
whiskey barrel gasped and failed. The whiskey was gone.

Now Noll had given of the rum to the crew; he had exhausted that. But
the whiskey he kept jealously. He knew there should be more.... Much
more than this.... Gallons, at the least.... He turned the handle of
the spigot again, tipped the barrel, unable to understand.... His bottle
was half full.... But no more came....

He frowned, puzzled his heavy head, tried to understand.... He came
stumbling up out of the storeroom at last, with the half-filled bottle
in his hand.... And the man's face was white. He sought Faith, held the
bottle out to her.

"I say ..." he stammered. "It's gone.... Gone, by God...."

Faith asked sharply: "What is it, Noll?"

"The whiskey's gone."

Faith cried: "Thank God!"

He stared at her thickly. "Eh? You had a hand in it.... You've stole it
away...."

"No."

He looked at her and knew she spoke the truth. He shook his head....
"Some hound ..." he whispered. "They've stole it...."

She questioned him; he had the shrewdness which occasionally
characterizes the alcoholic. He had kept some count of the whiskey used
during the cruise; he had himself handled the barrel two weeks before.
It was then a quarter full. The thefts that had appeared in the
fo'c's'le could not account for the rest. There was still a considerable
amount that had been stolen, that had not yet appeared. "It's aboard
here, by God," he swore at last. "They've got it hid away. You,
Faith...."

She shook her head. He said placatingly: "No, you'd not do that trick.
Not rob an old man.... I've got to have it, Faith...." His eyes
suddenly flickered with panic. "It's life, Faith. Life. I've got to have
it, I say...."

He was right, she knew. There must still be a hidden store of the liquor
aboard the _Sally_.... To be doled out to the men by the thief in his
own good time.... And Faith knew enough of such matters to understand
that Noll, without the ration of alcohol to which he was accustomed,
would suffer torment, would be like a madman.... The stuff must be
found....

Noll was already trembling at the prospect of deprivation; he hugged to
his breast the scant store that remained to him.... And of a sudden, as
though afraid even this would be stolen, he tipped the bottle to his
lips. He gulped greedily.... Before Faith could interfere, the last of
it was gone....

That fierce draught put some strength and courage back into him; he
stamped his feet. "I'll make them give it up, by God," he swore.
"Watch...."

He started for the deck; and Faith, afraid for him, followed quietly
behind. Passing through the main cabin, he roared to the officers who
were asleep in their bunks: "On deck, all hands.... On deck, all
hands...." They leaped out to obey him, not knowing what to expect. He
reached the deck, still bellowing: "On deck, all. On deck, every man of
you...." Brander was amidships; and he called: "Rout out the dogs, Mr.
Brander. Fetch them aft."

The men came; they tumbled up from the fo'c's'le; they slid down from
the mastheads.... Harpooners, mates, under officers grouped themselves
by the captain; the crew faced him in a huddled group. He cursed them,
man by man, for thieving dogs. "Now," he swore at last. "Now some one o'
you has got the stuff hid away. Out with it; or I'll cut the heart out
of you."

He paused, looking about him with flickering, reddened eyes. No man
stirred, but Dan'l Tobey asked:

"What's wrong, Cap'n Wing?"

Noll told him, told them all, profanely. Somewhere there was hidden a
store of whiskey; he meant to have it. If the thief gave it up, so much
the better. He would get off with a rope's ending. If he persisted in
silence, he would die.... Noll vowed that by all the oaths he knew.

The men stirred; they looked at their neighbors.... And then their eyes
fastened on the captain, with a curious intentness. They licked their
lips; and Faith thought they were enjoying this spectacle of Noll's weak
rage.... She thought they were like dogs of a pack, with hungry eyes,
watching the futile anger of a dying man.... She was afraid of them for
an instant; then she was afraid of no man in the world.... She stood by
Noll Wing's side, proud and level-eyed.

When Noll got no answer, his cackling fury waxed. He swore every man of
them should be tied up and flogged unless the guilty spoke. They scowled
at that; and one of them said sullenly:

"It's no man forra'd a-doing this, sir.... Look aft, at them that had
the chance."

The word seemed to focus the sullen hate among the men; they growled
like beasts, and surged a step forward. Brander, from the captain's
side, moved toward them and lashed at him who had spoken with a swift
fist, so that the man fell and lay still as a log. Brander looked down
at the still man, faced the others. "Be silent," he said quietly.
"Unless you've a word to say to the captain about what he wants. And get
back.... Back into the waist; and stay...."

They gave back before him; and Dan'l said softly from Brander's back:
"They mind you well, Mr. Brander. You've a rare control of them." The
words were innocent enough, but the tone was accusation. Brander faced
the mate, and Dan'l grinned malignantly....

Noll passed abruptly from threats to pleadings; he tried to cloak his
pleading under a mask of fellowship; he spoke to the men as to friends,
beseeching them to yield what he wanted. They remained silent; and his
mask fell off, and he abased himself before them with his words, so that
old Tichel and Willis Cox were sickened, and Dan'l was pleased. Brander
made no sign; he stood loyally at the captain's side; and Faith was on
Noll's other hand....

She was studying the faces of the men and of the officers, seeking for a
shadow of guilt. The men were sullen; but there was no shame in their
eyes. There was nothing furtive--save in the countenance of Mauger. The
one-eyed man had ever a furtive look; the twitching of his closed eye
irresistibly suggested a malignant wink. Faith watched him; she saw his
eyes were fixed on Brander.... In spite of herself, a cold pang of
doubt touched her.... Mauger had reason to hate Noll Wing.... Had he?...

She put the thought away, to study Dan'l Tobey. But Dan'l, though he was
obviously content with matters, had no trace of guilt or fear in his
demeanor. He was perfectly assured, almost triumphant. Faith thought he
could not appear so if he were the thief.... Not Dan'l; not Willis Cox,
nor Tichel.... Not Brander; she would not have it so....

Yet she could not keep her eyes away from Mauger's leering, chuckling,
furtive countenance.

Abruptly, she touched Noll's arm. The captain was near a collapse.... He
was pleading helplessly, so that some of the men were beginning to grin.
Faith touched his arm; she said quietly:

"Noll, do not beg. You are master."

He caught himself together with a terrific effort.... He turned and
stumbled away down into the cabin, Faith after him. Dan'l came down a
little later, respectful.... "Why not put into port somewhere, sir?" he
suggested. "Get what you want...."

Noll clutched at that desperately.... "Aye, quick, Mr. Tobey. What's
nearest?"

Dan'l named the nearest island where they were like to find a trading
post; Noll nodded. "Put for it, Dan'l. All sail on. For God's sake,
quickly, man!"

Ten minutes later, the _Sally_ heeled to a new tack.... And Noll, with
Faith, below in the cabin, bit at his nails, and tried to hold himself,
and stifle the appetite that was tearing him. His passion and pleading
had burned out the effects of the drink he had taken; his body agonized
for more....

By nightfall, Noll was shaking with an ague. He would not sleep that
night. And toward dawn, a brewing gale caught the _Sally_....

She fought that storm till noon, giving way before it; and in the cabin
Noll passed from tremors to paroxysms of fright. He gnawed at his own
flesh; and hallucinations began to prey upon him. Faith fought him, bade
him lie down, tried to soothe him. She knew the danger of his enforced
abstinence; she gave him a draught that should have compelled sleep; but
after an hour he woke with a scream, and clutched at her shoulders with
fingers that bit the flesh, and flung her away from him, and cowered in
the most distant corner, hands before him, shrieking:

"Back, Mauger! Get away.... You devil! Mauger, get back.... Eh, man, get
away.... By God, I'll ... I never meant the kick, man.... Let be.... My
God, let be...."

She called softly: "It's Faith, Noll. It's Faith, Faith.... Not
Mauger...."

He recognized her, and ran and caught her and swung her around before
him and besought her to keep Mauger and his knife away. She told him,
over and over: "He's not here, Noll. He's not here. It's Faith...."

He cried: "Look at his knife...." He pointed horribly. "His knife....
It's red, now.... Look at the knife. Kill him, Faith.... Drive him
away...."

She held him against her breast as she would have held a child. Brander
came to the door, with Willis Cox. She called to them: "Stay away....
He's mine. I'll tend him." Noll saw them, and screamed at Brander:

"There! Him! There's a knife in his sleeve...."

Brander slipped out of sight; she managed to quiet Noll for a space; but
he broke out again: "Mauger! He's coming, Faith.... There...." And then,
to the man he thought he saw: "Mauger! Get back, man. Let be.... God's
sake...."

Then he wept whisperingly to Faith: "See his eye! Down on his cheek....
Hanging.... Make him put it back--where it belongs.... Mauger, man...."

Bit by bit she wooed him back to sanity, or the semblance of it. He was
quiet when Dan'l Tobey came down; and when he saw Dan'l, Noll demanded:

"Are we making it, Dan'l? Are we near there?..."

Dan'l shook his head. "Not with this gale, sir.... We're going away...."

Noll came to his feet, cat-like. "By God, you're all cowards. I'll bring
her in. I'll bring her in, I say...." He shook Faith away, went up to
the deck with Dan'l at his heels. The _Sally_, riding high as whalers
do, was reasonably dry; but she was fighting desperately in the gale,
racking her rigging. The wind seemed to clear Noll's head; he looked
about, aloft.... Bellowed an order to get sail on her....

Faith protested: "Noll, she'll never stand...."

He brushed her away with clenched fist. She took shelter in a corner by
the deckhouse, ten feet from him..... And Noll Wing took the ship, and
under his hand the _Sally_ did miracles....

That fight with the storm was a thing men still talk about; they say it
was an inhuman and a marvelous thing. Noll stood aft, legs braced,
scorning a hand hold. His voice rang through the singing wind to the
remotest corner of the _Sally_, and the highest spar. Regardless of wind
and sea, he crowded on sail, and brought her around to the course he
wished to take, and drove her into it.... Time and time again, during
that afternoon and that long night, every sane man aboard thought her
very masts must be torn out of her. Three times a sail did go; but Noll
would never slacken. On the after deck, he raved like a madman, but his
commands were seamanly.... A miracle of seamanship, stark madness....
But madness that succeeded. The _Sally_ drove into the gale, she fought
as madly as Noll himself was fighting.... And Noll, aft, screamed
through the night and drove them on.

Faith never left her post, so near him. No man aboard had sleep that
night. No man dared sleep, lest death find him in his dreams. Willis Cox
and Tichel came to Noll more than once, beseeching.... But he drove them
away. Dan'l never interfered with the captain; it seemed there was a
madness on him, too. And Brander and Dan'l Tobey between them were
Noll's right hand and his left, driving the men to the tasks Noll set
them, holding them sternly in hand....

They could only guess how far they had come through the darkness. An
hour before daylight, Dan'l stopped to gasp to Faith: "We're near there,
I'm thinking. If we're not nearer the bottom...." Brander took more
practical steps; he found Mauger, and set the one-eyed man well forward,
and bade him watch and listen for first sign of land. Mauger nodded
chucklingly; he gripped a hold on the taut lines, and set his one eye
into the darkness, and tuned his ear to the storm....

The wind, by this time, was moderating; even Faith could feel a
slackening of the pressure of it that had torn at her garments the night
through. She was weak with fighting it; nevertheless she held her post.
And the steady thrust of the gale slowly modified and gave way.... The
first hints of light showed in the skies.... They caught glimpses of
scudding clouds, low overhead.... But the worst was passed; and every
man knew it. Noll, still standing like a colossus at his post, knew it;
and he shook his fist at the skies and the sea, and he cursed the wind
and dared it.... Faith could see him, dimly, in the coming light....
Head bare, eyes frantic, cheeks sunken.... An enormous, but a wasted
figure of a man....

The very waters about them were quieting somewhat.... Their nerves and
their muscles relaxed; they were straining their eyes to see into the
dimness of the coming day....

It was Mauger, in the bows, who caught first hint of danger. He saw that
they drove abruptly from long-rolling swells into quieter waters.... He
stared off to windward, looking to see what had broken the force of the
seas.... Saw nothing; but thought he heard a rumbling roar there....
Looked forward, where the less turbulent waters were piling ahead of
them....

Looked forward, and glimpsed a line of white that lived and never died;
and he turned and streamed a warning aft.... Ran, to carry the word
himself.... Screaming as he ran....

Brander, amidships, heard him and shouted to Noll Wing; but Noll did not
hear. The captain was intoxicated with the long battle; he was delirious
with the cry of tortured nerves and starved body.... He did not hear.
Mauger flashed past Brander as he ran.... The one-eyed man's screams
were inarticulate now.... Too late, in any case....

Noll saw Mauger coming; and he put up his hands; and his eyes glared. He
shrieked with overwhelming terror.... Mauger flung on. Then the
_Sally's_ bows drove on the solid sand; Mauger sprawled; men everywhere
fell headlong. Noll was thrown back against the after rail....

Mauger rolled over and over where he fell; and it chanced that his
sheath knife dropped out in the fall, and touched his hand. He had it in
his fingers when he scrambled to his feet, still intent on bearing his
warning. He had the knife in his hand, he leaped toward the wheel.... He
did not realize it was too late to swerve the _Sally_.... Toward the
wheel, knife in hand, forgetting knife and Noll Wing....

To Noll's eyes, Mauger must have looked like a charging fiend; he saw
the knife. He screamed again, and turned and flung himself in desperate
flight but over the after rail.

He was instantly gone. Perhaps the undertow, perhaps some creature of
the sea, perhaps the fates that had hung over him struck then. But those
aboard the _Sally Sims_ were never to see Noll Wing, nor Noll's dead
body, again.




XXVI


Dawn came abruptly; a lowering dawn, with gray and greasy clouds racing
past so low they seemed to scrape and tear themselves upon the tips of
the masts. No sun showed; there was no light in the sky. The dawn was
evidenced only by a lessening of the blackness of the night. They could
see; there was no fog, but a steady rain sprang up, and clouded objects
at a little distance....

This rain had one good effect; it beat down the turbulence of the waves.
Faith, from the bow, could see that they had grounded upon a sandy beach
which spread like a crescent to right and left. The tips of the crescent
were rocky points which sheltered the _Sally_ from the force of the
seas. She was not pounding upon the sand; she lay where she had struck,
heeled a little to one side.... There were breakers about her and ahead
of her upon the sand; but these were not dangerous. They were caused by
the reflex tumult of the waters, stirred up in this sheltered bay in
sympathy with the storm outside.

That gale was dying, now. Above them the wind still raced and played
with the flying clouds; but there was no pressure of it upon what little
canvas the _Sally_ still flew. They were at peace....

At peace. Faith, studying the position of the _Sally_, was herself at
peace. This was her first reaction to her husband's death; she was at
peace. Noll was gone, Noll Wing whom she had loved and married.... Poor
Noll; she pitied him; she was conscious of a still-living affection for
him.... There was no hate in her; there was little sorrow.... He was
gone; but life had burdened him too long. He was well rid of it, she
thought.... Well rid of his tormented flesh; well rid of the terror
which had pursued him....

When Noll went over the stern, Dan'l Tobey appeared from nowhere, and
saw Mauger with the knife in his hand, standing paralyzed with horror.
Dan'l fell upon Mauger, fists flying.... He downed the little man,
dropped on him with both knees, gripped for his throat.... Then Brander,
coming from the waist of the ship on Mauger's heels, caught Dan'l by the
collar and jerked him to his feet. Dan'l's hands, clenched on Mauger's
throat, lifted the little man a foot from the deck before they let go to
grip for Brander. The men clustered aft; old Tichel's teeth bared.... In
another moment, there would have been a death-battle astir upon the
littered decks.

But Faith cried through the gloom: "Dan'l. Mr. Brander. Drop it. Stand
away."

There was a command in her clear tones which Dan'l must have obeyed; and
Brander did as she bade instinctively. The two still faced each other,
heads forward, shoulders lowered.... Behind Brander, Mauger crawled to
his feet, choking and fumbling at his throat. Faith said to Dan'l:

"It was not the fault of Mauger, Dan'l."

"He had a knife...."

"He fell," she said. "I saw. He fell when she struck; his knife dropped
from its sheath.... He picked it up.... That was all."

"All?" Dan'l protested. "He drove Noll Wing to death."

She shook her head. "No.... Noll's own terrors. Noll was mad...."

"What was he doing aft, then? He'd no place here...."

Brander explained: "I had him forward, watching for breakers. He saw
them, and yelled, and when no one heard he raced to give the word...."

Faith nodded. "Yes; he was gripping for the wheel to swing it down, even
when Noll...."

Dan'l swung to Brander. "You're over quick to come between me and the
men, Mr. Brander," he said harshly. "Best mend that."

"I'll not see Mauger smashed for no fault," Brander told him steadily.
Dan'l took a step nearer the other.

"You'll understand, I'm master here, now."

There was battle in Brander's eyes. Men's blood was hot that morning....
But Faith stepped between. "Dan'l. Noll's gone. First thing is to get
the _Sally_ free."

Dan'l still eyed Brander for a moment; then he drew back, swung away,
looked around. The island they had struck was barely visible through the
drifting rain.... He said: "This is not where we headed."

"You know this place?"

"No."

"Then we'll get clear as quick as may be."

He smiled sneeringly: "I'm thinking we're here to stay, Faith.
Leastwise, the _Sally_...."

"The _Sally_ does not stay here," Faith told him sternly. "She floats;
she fills her casks; she goes safely home to Jonathan Felt," she said.
"Mark that, Dan'l. That's the way of it, and nothing else."

Dan'l said sullenly: "You're not over concerned for Noll's going."

"He's gone," said Faith. "An end to that. But the _Sally_ was his
charge; she's my charge now. I mean to see her safe."

"Your charge?" Dan'l echoed. "It's in my mind that when the captain
dies, the mate succeeds."

"You take his place, if I choose," Faith told him.

He met her eyes, tried to look her down. Mauger had slipped away; old
Tichel, and Willis Cox, and Brander were standing by. "You take his
place, if I choose," Faith repeated. And Dan'l looked from her to the
faces of the officers....

There was a weakness in Dan'l's villainy; he could destroy, he could
undermine trust, seduce a boy, kill honor.... But he lacked constructive
ability. He had known for months that this moment must come, this moment
when Noll was gone, and the ship and all the treasures aboard her should
lie ready to his hand. Yet he had made no plan for this crisis; he did
not know what he meant to do. Even now, by open battle he might have
won, carried the day. Old Tichel was certainly for him; perhaps Willis,
too. And Roy.... And many of the men.... A blow, a fight, and the day
might have been his....

But Dan'l was never a hand for strife where guile might do as well; he
was not by nature a man of battle. Also ... Faith was within his reach,
now; Noll was gone; there was no barrier between them; he need not anger
her, so long as there was a chance to win by gentler ways.... Gentler
ways, guileful.... He nodded in abrupt assent.

"All right," he said. "You were Noll's wife; your interest is a fair
one.... I'll work with you, Faith...."

Faith was content with that for the moment. "We'll get the _Sally_
away," she said.

Dan'l smiled. "And--how?..."

"Get out a kedge; we'll try to warp her off when the tide comes in."

He chuckled. "Oh, aye.... We'll try."

"Do," said Faith; and she turned and went below. Went below, and wept a
little for pity of old Noll, and then dried her eyes and strengthened
her heart for the task before her.... To bring Noll's ship safely
home....

       *       *       *       *       *

It was mid-tide when the _Sally_ struck; and this was in some measure
fortunate, because the ebbing waters left her free of the rollers that
might have driven her hard and fast upon the sand. They broke against
her stern, but with no great force behind them. At the slack on the ebb,
the men could wade about her bows, to their waist in the water.... They
got the kedge out, astern, and carried a whale line about the capstan;
and when the tide came quietly in again, they waited for the flood, then
strove at the bars to warp her free....

When she did not stir, though the men strove till their veins were like
to burst, some cursed despairingly; but Faith did not. Nor Dan'l. Dan'l
was quiet, watching, smiling at his thoughts.... He let Faith have her
way. Before the next tide, they had rigged the cutting-in tackle to give
a stouter pull at the kedge; but this time the whale line parted and
lashed along the decks, and more than one man was struck and bruised and
cut by it....

Dan'l said then: "You see, we're here to stay. Best thing is to lower
and make for the nearest port."

"Leave the ship?" Faith asked.

"Yes. What else?"

"No. We'll not leave her."

He smiled. "What, then?"

"It's a week past full moon," she said. "There'll be higher tides on the
new moon.... Still higher on the next full. We'll float her, one time or
another."

Dan'l chuckled. "An easterly'll drive her high and dry, 'fore then."

Faith's eyes blazed. "I tell you, Dan'l, we stick with the _Sally_; and
we get her safe away.... Are you afraid to stick?"

He laughed, outright, pleasantly. "Pshaw, Faith.... You know I'm not
afraid." He could be likeable when he tried; she liked him, faintly, in
that moment. She gripped his hand.

"Good, Dan'l. We'll manage it, in the end...."

So they settled for the waiting; and Dan'l put the men to work repairing
the harm the storm had done the _Sally_. Her rigging was strained; it
had parted here and there. She had lost some canvas. Willis Cox's boat
had been carried away.... They rove new rigging, spread new sails,
replaced Willis's boat with one of the spares.... There was work for all
hands for a month, to put the _Sally_ in shape again.

One thing favored them. The _Sally_, for all her clumsy lines, was
staunch; and the shock when, she drove her bow upon the sand had opened
never a seam. She was leaking no more than a sweet ship will. They found
a cask or two of oil that had burst in the hold; and there was some
confusion among the stores.... But these were small matters, easily set
right....

The new moon was due on the fifth day after they struck. On the fourth,
another bottle of whiskey appeared in the fo'c's'le, and two men were
drunk. Dan'l had the men whipped.... Faith made no objection to this;
but she watched the faces of the others.... Watched the officers, and
Brander in particular, and Mauger.... Brander, since that morning of
Noll's death, had avoided her more strictly.... He and Dan'l did not
speak, save when they must. She saw the man was keeping a guard upon
himself; and she puzzled over this. She could not know that Brander was
afire with joy at the new hope that was awakening in him; afire with a
vision of her.... He fought against this, held himself in check; and she
saw only that he was morose and still and that he avoided her eye....

The high tides of the new moon failed to float them; and there was
growling forward. Dan'l said, openly, that he believed they would never
go free. The men heard; and the superstitions of the sea began to play
about the fo'c's'le. There was unrest; the men felt approaching the
possible liberation from ship's discipline when they abandoned the
_Sally_. They remembered the ambergris beneath the cabin. There was a
fortune.... They could take no oil with them; but they could take that
when the time should come to leave the ship. Plenty of room in one boat
for it and half a dozen men besides.... They fretted at the waiting,
called it hopeless, as Dan'l did.... The barrier between officers and
men was somewhat lowered; more than one of the men spoke to Brander of
the ambergris. Did he claim it for his own?...

Faith, one day, heard a man talking to Brander amidships; she caught
only a word or two. One of these words was "'Gris." She saw that the man
was asking Brander a question; she saw that on Brander's answer, the man
grinned with greed in his eyes, and turned away to whisper to two of his
fellows....

She wondered what Brander had said to him, why Brander had not silenced
the man. And she watched Brander the closer, her heart sickening with a
fear she would not name....

They had landed before this and explored their island.... Low and flat
and no more than a mile or two in extent, it had fruit a-plenty, and a
spring of good water.... But none dwelt anywhere upon it. It soon palled
upon them; they stuck by the ship; and the days held clear and fine and
the nights were warm, and the crescent moon above them flattened, night
by night, till it was no longer a crescent, but half a circle of silver
radiance that touched the beach and the trees and the sea with magic
fingers....

That night, with the fall tides still a week away, Roy Kilcup came into
the waist and looked aft. There was no officer in sight at the moment
save old Tichel, and Roy hailed him softly.... Tichel went forward to
where the boy stood; they whispered together. Then Tichel went with Roy
toward the fo'c's'le....

Faith was in her cabin; Dan'l was in the main cabin; and Willis and
Brander were playing cribbage near him when the outcry forward roused
them. A man yelled.... They were on deck in tumbling haste; and Faith
was at their heels....

Came Tichel, dragging Mauger by the collar. His right hand gripped
Mauger; his left held a bottle. He shook the one-eyed man till Mauger's
teeth rattled; and he brandished the bottle. "Caught the pig," he cried
furiously. "Here he is. With this hid under his blanket...."

Mauger protested: "I never put it there...." Tichel cuffed him into
silence. Dan'l asked sharply:

"What's that, Mr. Tichel?"

"Whiskey, Mr. Tobey. He took it forward and hid it in his bunk...."

Faith said: "Tell the whole of it, Mr. Tichel. What happened?" She
looked from Tichel to Brander. Brander was standing stiffly; she thought
his face was white. Mauger hung in Tichel's grip.

Old Tichel had given a promise to Roy; Roy had begged him not to tell
that the boy had spied. Tichel said now:

"I saw him go forra'd, with something under his coat. Never thought for
a minute; then it come to me what it might be. I took after him. Rest
of the men were on deck, sleeping.... It's hot, below, you'll mind. I
dropped down quietly. Mauger, here, was in his bunk. I routed him out,
and rummaged, and there you are, ma'am." He shook the bottle
triumphantly.

Faith asked the one-eyed man: "Where did you get it, Mauger?"

"Never knowed it was there," Mauger swore. "Honest t'the Lord,
ma'am...."

Tichel slapped his face stunningly.... Faith said: "No more of that, Mr.
Tichel. Dan'l, what do you think?"

Dan'l lifted his hand, with a glance at Brander. "Why--nothing!
Somebody's been doing it; him as well as another."

"Willis," Faith asked. "What's your notion?"

"I guess Mauger done it."

"Brander?"

Brander lifted his head and met her eyes. "Other men have found whiskey
in their bunks without knowing how it got there," he said. "I believe
Mauger."

Old Tichel snarled: "I'm saying I saw him take it aft." He dropped
Mauger and took a fierce step toward Brander. "Ye think I'd lie?"

"I think you're mistaken," Brander said evenly. Tichel leaped at him;
Brander gripped the other's arms at the elbow, held him. Faith, said
sharply:

"Enough of that. We'll end this thing, to-night. Mr. Tobey, get
lanterns, lights, search the ship till you find the rest of this stuff."
She took the whiskey bottle, opened it, and poured its contents over
the rail. "Search it out," she said. "Be about it."

Save Dan'l Tobey, the officers stood stock still, as though not
understanding. Dan'l acted as quickly as though he had expected the
order. He sent Silva, the harpooner, to get the fo'm'st hands together
forward and keep them there under his eye. He sent Tichel and Yella' Boy
into the main hold; Willis and Long Jim into the after 'tween decks.
Brander and Eph Hitch were to search the cabin and the captain's
storeroom; and Faith went down with them to give them the keys.... Loum,
Kellick, and Tinch, the cook, were put to rummaging about the after deck
and amidships....

There was no need of lights upon the deck itself; the moon bathed the
_Sally_ in its rays, and one might have read by them without undue
effort. Below, the whale-oil lanterns went to and fro.... Brander and
Hitch made short work of their task; and they came on deck with Faith.
Dan'l sent Brander to rummage through the steerage where the harpooners
slept; and at Faith's suggestion, Hitch and Loum went aloft to the
mastheads to make sure there was no secret cache there.... They were an
hour or more at their search of the _Sally_; and at the end of that time
they were no wiser than they were before. Faith had gone below before
the end; she came on deck as Tichel and Yella' Boy reported nothing
found below. She asked Dan'l:

"Have you found anything?"

"No."

"Where have you looked?"

Dan'l said: "Everywhere aboard her, Faith. The stuff's well hidden,
sure...."

Faith said quietly: "If it's not on the _Sally_, it's near her. Search
the boats, Mr. Tobey."

Dan'l nodded. "But it'd not be in them," he said. "That's sure enough."

"It's nowhere else, you say. Try...."

Willis Cox and Brander turned toward where their boats hung by the rail;
and Faith called quietly: "Willis, Mr. Brander. Let Mr. Tobey do the
searching."

Willis stopped readily enough; Brander--forewarned, perhaps, by some
instinctive fear--hesitated; she spoke to him again. "Mr. Brander."

He stood still where he was. Dan'l was looking through his own boat at
the moment. He passed to old Tichel's; to that of Willis Cox. Brander's
came last. He flashed his lantern in it as he had in the others, studied
it from bow to stern, opened the stern locker beneath the cuddy
boards....

There was a jug there; a jug that in the other boats had contained
water. He pulled the stopper and smelled....

"By God, Faith, it's here!" he cried.




XXVII


The closer the bond between man and man, or between man and woman, the
easier it is to embroil them, one with another. It is hard for an
outsider to provoke a quarrel between strangers, or between casual
acquaintances; but it is not hard for a crafty man to make dissension
between friends; and almost any one may, if he chooses, bring about
discord between lovers. And this is a strange and a contradictory thing.

When Dan'l found the whiskey in Brander's boat, and came toward Faith
with the open jug in his hands, Faith stood with a white face, looking
steadily at Brander, and not at Dan'l at all. Brander had made one move
when Dan'l lifted the jug; he had stepped quickly toward the boat, but
Faith spoke quietly to him, and he stopped, and looked at her....

Dan'l was watching the two of them. Mauger saw a chance, and as the mate
passed where the one-eyed man crouched, Mauger leaped at him to snatch
the whiskey away. Tichel caught Mauger from behind, and held him....

The little man had had the best intentions in the world; but this
movement on his part completed the evidence of Brander's guilt; for
Mauger was Brander's man, loyal as a dog, and Faith knew it. She thought
quickly, remembering the past days, remembering Mauger's furtive air
and Brander's aloofness, and his support of Mauger against Tichel....
She was sure, before Dan'l reached her with the jug, that Mauger and
Brander were guilty as Judas.... That Brander was guilty as Judas....
She scarce considered Mauger at all.

Dan'l handed her the jug, and she smelled at it. Whiskey, beyond a
doubt. She took it to the rail and poured it overside as she had poured
the contents of the bottle. Then came slowly back and handed the empty
jug to Brander.

"This is yours," she said. "You had best rinse it and fill it with water
and put it in your boat again."

The moon was bright upon them as they stood on the deck. He could see
her face, he could see her eyes; and he saw that she thought him guilty.
His soul sickened with the bitterness of it; and his lips twisted in a
smile.

"Very well," he said.

She looked at him, a little wistfully. "You're not denying it's yours?"

He shook his head. "No." If she believed, let her believe. He was
furious with her....

"Why did you do it?" she asked.

He said nothing; and she looked up at him a moment more, and then turned
to Mauger. "Why did you do it?" she asked the little man.

Mauger squinted sidewise at Brander. Mauger was Brander's man; and all
his loyalty was to Brander. Brander chose not to speak, not to deny the
charge she laid against them.... All right; if Brander could keep
silent, so could he. If Brander would not deny, neither would he. He
grinned at Faith; and the closed lids that covered his empty eye-socket
seemed to wink; but he said nothing at all.

Dan'l Tobey chuckled at Brander. "Eh, Brander, I'm ashamed for ye," he
said. "Such an example t'the crew."

Brander held silent. He was waiting for Faith to speak....

When neither Brander nor Mauger would answer her, Faith turned her back
on them all and went to the after rail and stood there alone,
thinking.... She knew Dan'l would wait on her word.... What was she to
do? She needed Brander; she would need him more and more.... Dan'l was
never to be trusted; she must have a man at her back.... Brander.... In
spite of her belief that he had done this thieving, she trusted him....
And loved him.... Loved him so that as she stood there with her back to
them all, the tears rolled down her cheeks, and her nails dug at her
palms.... Why had he done this? Why did he not deny? Protest? Defend
himself? She loved him so much that she hated him. If he had offended
against herself alone, she might have forgiven.... But by stealing
whiskey and giving it to the crew he was striking at the welfare of the
_Sally Sims_ herself.... And the _Sally_ was dearer to Faith just now
than herself.

He had struck at the _Sally_; she set her lips and brushed the tears
from her cheeks and turned back to them. "Mr. Tobey," she said. "Put
Mr. Brander in irons, below. Give Mauger a whipping and send him
forward." She hesitated a moment, glanced at Willis. "If you'll come
down to the cabin with me," she said, "I'll give you the irons."

Willis stepped toward her; and with no further glance for Brander, she
turned and went below.

       *       *       *       *       *

They had been two weeks hard and fast on the sand; there was another
week ahead of them. An easterly storm would cement them into the sand
beyond any help; and the men looked for it daily.... For the rest, there
was little to do. The _Sally_ was in shape again, ready to be off if she
had the chance.... The men, with black faces, loafed about the fore deck
and whispered man to man; and Dan'l went among them now and then, and
talked much with Roy, and some with the others.... Roy was elated in
those days; the boy went about with shining eyes and triumphant lips.
Every other face among the crew was morose save his....

Dan'l was not morose. He was overly cheerful in those days. He spoke in
louder tones than was his custom; and there was no caustic bite to his
tongue. But his eyes were narrower, and more furtive.... And once or
twice Faith saw him turn away from a word with some of the crew and
catch sight of her watching him, and flush uneasily....

But Faith scarce heeded; she was sick with sorrow, and sick with
anxiety.... The tides were rising higher every day; she watched for the
hour when they should lift the _Sally_.... And at each high tide, she
made the men stand to the capstan bars, and fight in desperate efforts
to fetch the _Sally_ free. The day before the night of the full of the
moon, she had them fetch up casks from the hold and lower them overside
and raft them there.... Cask after cask, as many as the men could handle
during the day, so that the _Sally_ was lighter at nightfall than she
had ever been before.

The tide was at the flood that night at nine; and for half an hour
before, and for a full hour after the waters had begun to ebb, every man
of them strove to stir the _Sally_.... And strove fruitlessly; for the
ship seemed fast-bedded in the sand, beyond moving. At ten o'clock,
Faith left the deck and went sick-heartedly below....

At half past ten, Dan'l knocked on the door of the after cabin, and she
bade him come in. He opened the door, shut it behind him, looked at her
with his cap in his hands for a space, then sat down on the seat beside
the desk where she was sitting.

"Eh, Faith," he said, "we're stuck."

For a moment, she did not answer; then she lifted her head and looked at
him. "There's a high tide to-morrow night; comes a bit higher than it is
on the flood," she said. "We'll get out more casks to-morrow, and
to-morrow night we'll float her."

Dan'l shook his head slowly. "You're brave, Faith, and strong.... But
the sea's stronger. I've sailed them long enough to know."

She said steadfastly: "The _Sally Sims_ has got to come free. It's in my
mind to get her off if we have to take every stick out of her and lift
her off ourselves...."

"If we could do it, I'd be with you," he told her. "But we can't,
Faith."

"We will," she said.

He smiled, studied her for a moment, then leaned toward her, resting his
hands on the desk. "Faith," he said softly, "you're a wonderful, brave
woman."

She looked at him with a weary flicker of lips and eyes that might have
passed for a smile. "It's not that I'm brave, Dan'l," she said. "It's
just that I'll not let Noll Wing's ship rot here when it should be bound
home t'the other side of the world."

"Noll Wing's ship?" he echoed. "Eh, Faith, but Noll Wing is dead and
gone."

She nodded. "Yes."

"He's dead and gone, Faith," he repeated swiftly. "He's dead, and
gone.... And but for Noll Wing, Faith, you'd have loved me, three year
ago."

She looked up, then, and studied him, and she said softly: "You'll mind,
Dan'l, that Noll Wing is not but three weeks dead.... Even now."

"Three weeks dead!" he cried. "Have I not seen? He's been a dead man
this year past; a dead man that walked and talked and swore.... But dead
this year past. You've been a widow for a year, Faith...."

She shook her head. "So long as the _Sally_ lies here on the sand," she
said, "I'm not Noll Wing's widow; I'm his wife. It was his job to bring
her home; and so it is my job, too. And will be, till she's fast to the
wharf at home."

"Then you'll die his wife, Faith; for the _Sally_'ll never stir from
here."

"If she never does," said Faith, "I'll die Noll Wing's wife, as you
say."

He cried breathlessly: "What was Noll Wing that you should cling to him
so, Faith?"

"He was the man I loved," she said.

His face blackened, and his fist banged the desk. "Aye; and but for him
you'd have loved me. Loved me...."

"I never told you that, Dan'l."

"But 'twas true. I could see. You'd have loved me, Faith...."

"Dan'l," she said slowly, "I'm in no mind to talk so much of love, this
night."

The man sat back in silence for a space, not looking at her; nor did she
look at him. In the end, however, he shaped his words afresh. "Faith,"
he said softly, "we were boy and girl together, you and I. Grew up
together, played together.... I loved you before you were more than a
girl. Before you ever saw Noll Wing. Can you remember?"

He was striving with all his might to win her; and Faith said gently:
"Yes, Dan'l. I remember."

"When I sailed away, last cruise but one, you kissed me, Faith. Do you
mind?"

She looked at him in honest surprise. "I kissed you, Dan'l?"

"Yes. On the forehead...."

She shook her head. "I don't remember ... at all."

If he had been wholly wise, he would have known that her not remembering
was the end of him; but Dan'l in that moment was not even a little wise.
He was playing for a big stake; Faith was never so lovely in his eyes;
and there was desperation in him. He was blind with the heat of his own
desire.... He cried now:

"You do remember. You're pretending, Faith. You could not forget. You
loved me then; and, Faith, you love me now."

She shook her head. "No, Dan'l. Have done."

"I love you, Faith; you love me, now."

"No."

He leaned very close to her. "You do not know; you're not listening to
your heart. I know more of your heart than you know, Faith...."

"No, no, no, Dan'l," she said insistently.

He flamed at her in sudden fury: "If it's not me, it's Brander.... Him
that you...."

"Brander?" she cried, in a passion. "Brander? The thief that's lying now
in the irons I put upon him? Him? Him you say I love?"

The very force of her anger should have told him the truth; but he was
so blind that it served only to rejoice him. "I knew it," he cried. "I
knew it. So you love me, Faith?..."

"Must a woman always be loving?" she demanded wearily.

"Aye, Faith. It's the nature of them.... Always to be loving.... Some
one. With you, Faith, it's me. Listen and see...."

"Dan'l," she said steadily, "what's the end of all this? What's the end
of it all? What would you have me do?"

"Love me," he told her.

"What else?"

"See the truth," he said. "Understand that the _Sally_ is lost.... Fast
aground, here, to rot her bones away.... See that it's hopeless and
wild to stick by her. We'll get out the boats. You and I and Roy and a
man or two will take one; the others may have the other craft. It's not
fifty miles to..."

"Leave the _Sally_?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"I'll not talk with you, Dan'l. I'll never do that."

"There's th' ambergris," he reminded her. "We'll take that. It will
recompense old Jonathan for his _Sally_ and her oil."

Her word was so sharp that it checked him; he was up on his feet,
bending above her, pouring out his pleadings.... But she threw him into
silence with that last word; and the red flush of passion in his face
blackened to something worse, and his tongue thickened with the heat in
him. He bent a little nearer, while her eyes met his steadily; and his
hands dropped and gripped her arms above the elbows. She came to her
feet, facing him....

"Dan'l," she said warningly.

"If you'll not go because you will, you'll go because you must," he told
her huskily and harshly. "Go because you must.... Whine at my feet afore
I'm through with you. Beg me to marry you in th' end...."

If she had been able to hold still, to hold his eyes with hers, she
might have mastered him even then; for in any match of courage against
courage, she was the stronger. But the horror of him overwhelmed her;
she tried to wrench away. The struggle of her fired him.... In a battle
of strength and strength she had no chance. He swung her against his
chest, and she flung her head back that her lips might escape him. He
laughed. His lips were dry and twitching as she fought to be away from
him; he held her for an instant, held her striving body against his own
to revel in its struggles....

He had her thus in his arms, forcing her back, crushing her, when the
door flung open and Roy Kilcup stood there. The boy cried in desperate
warning:

"Dan'l, Brander is...."

Then he comprehended that which he saw; and he screamed with the fury of
an animal, and flung himself at Dan'l, tearing at the man with his
strength of a boy.




XXVIII


Dan'l had laid his plans well; he had felt sure of success; but he had
not counted on trouble with Faith. He thought, after their failure to
float the _Sally_, she would be crushed and ready to fall into his arms;
ready at least to yield to his advice and come away and leave the _Sally
Sims_ where she lay.

After that, Dan'l counted on separating the crew by losing the other
boats. The ambergris would be in his; he would master the men with
him.... Faith and the treasure would be his....

Brander was to stay in the _Sally_, ironed in the after 'tween decks.
Dan'l thought Brander was destroyed by the evidence of his thieving; he
no longer feared the man.

Not all the crew would go with him when he left the ship. Old Tichel had
refused. "I've waited all my days to be cap'n of a craft," Tichel
declared. "With you gone, I'm master o' the _Sally_, I'll stay and get
the feeling of it." And Dan'l was willing to let him stay. Willis Cox
agreed to do as Faith decided. Long Jim, the harpooner, was loyal to
Tichel. Loum, Dan'l did not trust. The man might stay with Brander if he
chose.

But Dan'l had on his side Kellick, the steward; and Yella' Boy, and
Silva, and four seamen from forward, and seven of those who had shipped
as green hands. Silva hated Brander no less than Dan'l, for Brander had
been given the mate's berth that Silva claimed.... Silva was Dan'l's
right-hand man in his plans.

And Roy, of course, was Dan'l's, to do with as he chose.

Mauger got some whisperings of all this in the fo'c's'le. There was no
effort to keep it secret from him; no effort to keep the matter secret
at all. Dan'l had said openly that if the _Sally_ did not float, he was
for deserting her; those might come with him who chose. Save Mauger,
there were none openly against him. Tichel would stay, Willis waited on
Faith's word, but the rest held off and swung neither one way nor
another.

All of which Mauger, with infinite stealth, told Brander, sneaking down
into the after 'tween decks at peril of his skin, night after night; and
Brander, fast-ironed there, and taking his calamities very
philosophically, praised the little man. "Keep your eyes open," he said.
"Bring me any word you get. Warn me in full time. And--find me a good,
keen file."

Mauger fetched the file, pilfering it from the tool chest of Eph Hitch,
the cooper. Brander worked patiently at his bonds, submitting without
protest to his captivity.

That night of the full moon, after they had failed to float the _Sally_,
Dan'l called Silva and bade him prepare two boats. "Get food and water
into them," he said. "Plenty. Make them ready. Tell the rest of them to
lower if they've a mind. I'm for leaving."

Silva grinned his understanding. He asked a question. Dan'l said: "I'm
going down, now, to convince her. She'll come, no fear."

He went below and left Silva to prepare the boats. Old Tichel was on
deck, but Willis had gone below. Tichel did not molest Silva. Discipline
had evaporated on the _Sally_; it was every man for himself. Those who
were for leaving ship were hotly impatient; and one boat full of men
lowered and drew slowly away toward the mouth of the cove where the
_Sally_ lay. There was no wind; the sea was glassy; and their oars
stirred the water into sparkling showers like jewels. Kellick and Yella'
Boy and four seamen were in that boat. Five of the green hands and
Tinch, the cook, caught the infection, and dumped food into another and
water, and followed....

Silva got his boat overside. He had with him two men, men of his
choosing who had signed as green hands but were stalwarts now. He saw
that the boat was ready, then stood in her by the rail, waiting for
Dan'l to come with Faith. Roy was on the after deck, where he would join
them.

The men in the two boats that had already put off were lying on their
oars, half a mile away, watching the _Sally_. In all their minds was the
thought of the ambergris. They had no notion of leaving that behind; and
they did not mean to be tricked of their share in it. Silva could see
the boats idly drifting....

Mauger had slipped down to Brander with the word. "Two boats gone
a'ready," he said. "Silva waiting for Dan'l Tobey, now."

"Where's Faith?" Brander asked.

"In the cabin. Mr. Tobey went to her. He've not come up, yet."

Brander considered. "Fetch a handspike," he said; and Mauger crawled on
deck and returned with it, and Brander pried open the irons he had filed
apart. He stood up and shook himself to ease the ache of his muscles.
"Now," he said, "let's go see...."

He climbed up on deck, Mauger at his heels, and started aft. Roy saw him
coming, and Silva, from the rail, marked his movements and watched. Roy
dropped into the cabin to warn Dan'l; Brander leaped to follow him.
Silva spoke to his two men, and plunged up to the deck and darted after
Brander.

Brander was at the foot of the companion ladder in the cabin when Roy
threw open the door of the after cabin to shout his warning; he saw, as
Roy saw, Dan'l gripping Faith and struggling with her. He heard Roy's
cry.... Leaped that way....

Roy was before him. Roy, grown into a man in that moment. Dan'l had told
him they would leave the ship, told him nothing more. Roy hated his
sister, and Dan'l knew this, and feared no trouble from the boy. But he
forgot that a boy's hate is not over strong. When Roy saw Faith in
Dan'l's arms, helplessly fighting against his kisses, he leaped to
protect her as though there had never been harsh words between them. Roy
was on Faith's side, thenceforward.

The boy gripped Dan'l from behind; and for an instant more Dan'l clung
to Faith. His encircling arm tightened about her so that she thought her
ribs would crack; and when he flung her away, she was breathless and
sick to nausea, and she fell on the floor and lay there, retching and
gasping for breath. Dan'l flung her away, and swung on Roy.

"You young fool," he swore, "I'll kill you, now."

Roy was helpless before him. Dan'l held him by the throat, his fingers
sinking home, Roy beat and tore at the man helplessly for a space, then
his face blackened, and his eyes bulged, and Dan'l flung him away.

Brander might have helped him, but for the fact that three men dropped
on him from the companion hatch and bore him smothering to the deck. The
three were Silva and his allies. Silva had a knife; and Mauger had felt
it, on the deck above. The one-eyed man lay there now, twisting and
clutching at a hole in his side. Silva was first down on Brander; and he
struck at Brander's neck as he leaped. But Brander had time to dodge to
one side, so that Silva hit him on the hip and bore him down. Then the
other two were upon him....

This sudden tumult in the cabin rang through the _Sally_. The night was
still; the noise could be heard even by the boats that drifted half a
mile away. Its abrupt outbreak was unsettling; it jangled taut nerves.
The two remaining seamen and Long Jim, Loum, and Eph Hitch lost courage,
raced for a boat, dropped it to the water and pulled off to see what was
to come. Tichel, who was on deck, ran to try to stop them; but Loum
struck out blindly and threw the mate off-balance for an instant that
was long enough to let them get away.

The desertion of these last men left on the _Sally_ only the four
officers, Roy, Mauger, Silva, and Silva's two men. Faith was still
helpless, so was Roy, and Mauger had dragged himself upright against the
bulwarks and stripped up his shirt to investigate his wound. It was
bleeding profusely, but he found he could breathe without difficulty,
and told himself shrewdly that he would come out all right.

Of men able to fight aboard the _Sally_, there were left Dan'l, Silva,
and the two seamen on one side, against Brander and Tichel and Cox. The
attitude of Tichel and Cox was in some sort uncertain. But the problem
was quickly settled....

Dan'l, dropping Faith and flinging Roy aside, had charged into the main
cabin to finish Brander; but Brander was so inextricably involved in his
struggle with his three antagonists that Dan'l got no immediate chance
at him. He was shifting around the twisting tangle of men, watching,
when Willis came out of his cabin in a single leap.... Willis had been
asleep; he was in shirt and trousers, his belt tight-girthed. He stared
stupidly, not understanding.

Dan'l, balked of his chance at Brander, took Willis for fair game. If he
thought at all, it was to remember that Willis was loyal to Faith. He
attacked before Willis was fully awake, and bore the other man back into
the cabin from which Willis had come. He bent Willis against the bunks
so that for an instant it seemed the man's back would snap; but
desperation gave Willis the strength to fling himself away.... They
whirled into the cabin, still fighting. Dan'l was drunk with his own
rage by now.... He had thrown himself into a debauch of battle; and he
proved, this night, that he could fight when he chose....

He rocked Willis at last with a left-hand blow in the ribs, so that the
younger man dropped his arms to hug his bruised body; and Dan'l drove
home his fist to the other's jaw. The blow smacked loudly; and Willis
went down without a sound, his jaw broken....

If old Tichel had come down the companion ladder a minute sooner, he
might have saved Willis; and he and Willis between them might have
overcome Dan'l. But he was too late for that; he was in time to see
Willis fall; and before he could speak, Dan'l Tobey had attacked him.

Dan'l was pure maniac now; he did not stop to ask whether Tichel were
friend or foe. And Tichel, old man though he was, was never one to
refuse a battle. He met Dan'l's charge with the tigerish venom that
characterized him in his rages; he leaped and was fairly in the air when
Dan'l struck him. But Dan'l's greater weight and the impetus of his
charge were too much for old Tichel. In the flash of a second, Dan'l had
him by the throat, down, banging his head against the floor till the
skin of his scalp was crushed and the blood flowed, and Tichel at last
lay still....

Dan'l got up, choking for breath, his chin down on his chest. There was
blood on him; his shirt was torn; his hair was wild. The mild, round
face of the man was distorted by wrinkles of passion. His lip was
bruised by a blow, and it puffed out in a surly, drunken way.... He
stood there, tottering, looking with blinking eyes at the heap of men
fighting at one side of the cabin.... Brander was in that heap
somewhere. It was still less than thirty seconds since Dan'l had smashed
Willis's jaw. Dan'l stepped unsteadily toward the heap of men and
peered down at them and laid hands on them to pull them away.... They
were too closely intertwined....

He backed off and looked around for a weapon. In a corner of the cabin
he saw something that might serve.... The head of a killing lance.... A
bar of metal three or four feet long, flattened at one end like the
blade of a putty knife, and ground to the keenest edge.... In the
whale-fisheries, it would be mounted on a staff; but there was no staff
in it now. He picked the thing up, and balanced it in his hands, and
walked gingerly back toward the striving knot of men.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Brander dropped down into the cabin and through the open door saw
Faith in Dan'l's arms, he was for an instant paralyzed.... Then, as rage
surged up in him, he sensed the danger above him, and dodged to one side
as Silva leaped down from the deck. Silva struck against Brander's hip,
his knife slitting the air. Brander was thrown headlong, and Silva flung
after him. Brander rolled on his back, catching Silva in the stomach
with both feet, as the other two men dropped across his body.

He had put little force into his kick at Silva, so that the man was
unhurt. Brander gripped one of the men who had fallen on him, and
whirled him under. At the same time, the other man attached himself to
Brander's neck, his right arm about Brander's neck to choke him. Brander
wedged his chin down and gripped this arm between his chin and his
breast, holding it off a little from his throat. Then Silva came at him
from the left side, and Brander's left hand flung out and gripped
Silva's knife wrist....

Brander was past the first flush of anger; he was cool, now, as he was
always cool in danger. Save Silva, the men against him were unarmed. At
least, neither made any effort to use a weapon. Therefore Brander flung
the one man out of his arms, and gave his attention to Silva. He was
just in time. Silva had shifted the knife to his other hand. Brander
grabbed for it, and the blade slid along his fingers, barely scratching
them.... Then he had the hand that held it; and he dragged it down and
wrenched it over, and across, and the fingers opened and the knife fell.
Brander groped for it, Silva swarming over him. He got the knife, but
knew he could not use it, so he threw it with the half of his arm which
was free. Crushed down by the man atop him, he saw that it slid across
the floor and flew into the after cabin. He thought Silva had not seen
it go....

Brander had not marked Dan'l when the man came first to crouch above
them. Dan'l was at Willis when Brander threw the knife. That weapon
being gone, Brander turned his attention to the man who had his throat.
He worked as coolly as though this man was his only antagonist; and
while he held off the others with his left hand and his knees, his right
went up over his shoulder and found the face of the man who choked him.
This groping hand of his came down against the man's face from above.
His palm rested against the cheek of his antagonist; and his fingers
groped under the other's jaw bone and clenched around it, biting far
into the soft flesh at the bottom of the mouth. He got a grip on this
that would hold; and the man screamed, and Brander jerked him up, and
over his shoulder.... The man slid helplessly tearing at Brander's
clenched fingers. Brander, at this time, was sitting up, with Silva at
his left, arms gripping, fists striking, and the other at the right. The
man whose jaw he had came down in Brander's lap, and he brought his
right knee up with all his force against the other's head and the man
became a dead weight across his legs. Brander wriggled free of him,
thought calmly that one of the three was gone and only two remained, and
turned his attention to the others.

He had been forced to let them have their will of him for the seconds
required to deal with the man who had choked him. They had him down,
now, on his back on the cabin floor. One on either side.... He got a
left-hand grip on the seaman; he set his right hand on Silva's arm and
his fingers clenched on Silva's biceps. He flung them off a little,
freeing himself, so that he might have fought to his feet....

But when he thrust these two back, thus to right and left, and started
to sit up, he saw above him Dan'l. Dan'l, an insane light in his eyes,
the whaling lance poised in the thrusting position. It flickered
downward like a shaft of light....

Brander wrenched with all his strength at Silva; he swung Silva up and
over his own body just in time to intercept the lance. It slid in
between two ribs, an inch from Silva's backbone, and pierced him through
to the sternum.... It struck obliquely, cut half way into the mingled
cartilage and bone.... Then the soft iron of the shaft "elbowed" at
right angles, and Dan'l had to twist and fight to pull it free. Silva,
of course, was as dead as dead. Blood poured out of his mouth in
Brander's very face.... He flung the corpse aside, rolling after it to
be on his feet before Dan'l should strike again. But the remaining
seaman was in his path, grappled him, held him for an instant
motionless. Dan'l had had no chance to straighten the lance; he lifted
it like a hoe to bring it down on Brander's back.

Then Faith called, from the door of the after cabin:

"Dan'l! Have done!"

Dan'l looked and saw her, weak, trembling, gripping the doorsill with
her left hand. In her right was a revolver.

He leaped toward her, roaring; and Faith waited till he was within six
feet of her, then shot him carefully through the knee. He fell on his
face at her feet, howling.

At the same time, Brander got home a blow that silenced his last
antagonist, and a great quiet settled down upon the _Sally Sims_.




XXIX


What shadows remained, Roy was able to clear away. Roy, who had hated
Brander, and who had hated Faith, yet in whom lived a strain of true
blood that could not but answer to these two in the end. The evil in
Dan'l had been writ in his face for any man to see, when Roy found him
clutching Faith; and Roy was not blind.

The boy abased himself; he was pitifully ashamed. Still hoarse from the
choking Dan'l had given him, he told how he had stolen the whiskey at
the man's bidding.... A little at first; a ten-gallon keg in the end....
Told how he had himself filled Brander's boat jug with the liquor, and
hidden a bottle in Mauger's bunk, and lied to old Tichel in the matter.
Told the whole tale, and made his peace with them, while Faith and
Brander watched each other over the boy's sobbing head with eloquent
eyes....


For the rest; Silva was dead, and they buried him in the sand of the
beach. Mauger had a shallow knife slit along his ribs; Willis Cox had a
broken jaw. The others had suffered nothing worse than bruises, save
only Dan'l Tobey. Dan'l's knee was smashed and splintered, and he lay in
a stupor in the cabin, Willis watching beside him.

Those who had fled to the boats came shamedly back at last; and Faith
and Brander met them at the rail, and Faith spoke to them. They had done
wrong, she told them; but there was a chance of wiping out the score by
bending to the toil she set them. They were already sick of
adventuring; they swarmed aboard like homesick boys. She and Brander
told them what to do, and drove them to it....

Before that day was gone, they had half her load out of the _Sally_; and
at full tide that night, with every hand tugging at a line or breasting
a capstan bar, they hauled her off. She slid an inch, two inches,
four.... She moved a foot, three feet.... They freed her, by sheer power
of their determination that she must come free. They dragged her full
ten feet before the suction of the sand beneath her keel began to slack,
and ten feet more before she floated free.... Then the boats lowered,
and towed her safe off shore, and anchored her there.

After that, three days to get the casks inboard again and stowed below.
Three days in which Dan'l Tobey passed from suffering to delirium.
Brander had tended his wound as best he could; but the bone was
splintered and the flesh was shattered, and there came an hour when the
flesh about the wound turned green and black. It gave off a horrible
fetid odor of decay.

Brander told Faith: "He's got to lose either leg or life."

She did not ask him if he were sure; she knew him well enough, now,
never to doubt him again. But Dan'l, in an interval of lucidity, had
heard; and he croaked:

"Take it off, Brander. Take it off. Get the ax, man."

Brander bent over the man. "I'll do my best for you."

Dan'l grinned with the old jeer in his eyes. "Aye, I've no doubt, Mr.
Brander. Go at it, man."

They had not so much as a vial of morphia to deaden the pain; but Dan'l
slumped into delirium at the first stroke of the knife Brander had
whetted to a razor keenness. His body twitched in the grip of Willis Cox
and Loum.... Faith helped Brander tie the arteries; Roy stood by to give
what aid he could....

When it was done, Faith said the _Sally_ would lie at anchor till Dan'l
died or mended; and in two weeks Brander told her the man would live.
She nodded.

"Then we'll go out and fill our casks," she said, "and then for home."

Brander looked at her with shining eyes. "Aye, fill our casks," he
agreed, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to stick
to that task till it was done. They put to sea.

Dan'l was going to live; but the man was broken. He was not to quit his
bunk through the months of the homeward cruise; he was wasted by the
fury of his own passions, by the shock of his crippling injury.... He
had aged; there was no longer any strength in the man. So old Tichel
came into his own at last; he became the titular master of the ship, and
Faith was content to let him hold the reins, so long as he did as she
desired. Willis Cox yielded precedence to Brander; Brander was mate.
When they sighted whales, all three of them lowered, while Faith kept
ship. Their work had been nearly done before Noll died; they lacked less
than a dozen whales to fill. Young Roy, to his vast content, was allowed
to take out a boat and kill one of that last dozen, while Brander in his
boat lay watchfully by.

Came a day, when the trying out was done, that Brander went to Faith.
"We're bung up," he said. "The last cask's sweating full."

Faith nodded happily, and swung to Mr. Tichel. "Then let's for home,"
she said.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the rest, the matter tells itself. They hauled in to the nearest
island port and overhauled and recoopered the water casks, and took on
wood and water for the five months' homeward way. They stocked with
potatoes and vegetables. The crow's nests came down, and to'gallant
masts were set to carry canvas on the passage. The gear was stripped
from the whaleboats and stowed away, and two of the boats were lashed
atop the boathouse, with the spares. The rigging had a touch of tar, the
hull and spars took a lick of paint, the wood-work shone with
scraping....

So, to sea. The first day out saw the dismantling of the tryworks; and
broken bricks flew overside for half that day, all hands joining in the
sport of it. Then a clean deck, and a stout northwest wind behind them,
and the long easterly stretch to the Horn was begun....

That homeward cruise was a pleasant time for Faith and Brander. They
were much together, speaking little, speaking not at all of
themselves.... Save once, Faith said, smiling at him shyly:

"I knew you hadn't done it, even when I told them to put you in
irons...."

He nodded. "I knew you knew."

They both understood; their eyes said what their lips were not yet
ready to say. There was a reticence upon them. Faith, on the deck of her
husband's ship, felt still the shadow of Noll Wing in her life....
Brander felt its presence. It made neither of them unhappy; they
respected it. Faith was never ashamed of Noll. He had been a man.... She
had loved him; she was proud that he had loved her....

Day by day they were together, on deck or below, while the winds worked
for them and the stars in their courses watched over them. Through the
chill of southern waters as they rounded the Cape.... Cap'n Tichel
looking back at it, waved his hand in valedictory; and Faith asked:
"What are you thinking, Mr. Tichel?"

"Saying good-by to old Cape Stiff there," he chuckled. "I'll not come
this way again."

"Yes, you will," she told him. "You're captain of your own ship, now....
And will be, next cruise."

He shook his head. "I know when I'm well off, young lady. Old Tichel's
ready to stick ashore, now...."

She left him, staring back across the dull, cold sea.... He stood there
stiffly till the night came down upon the waters.

After that, they struck warmer winds, with a pleasant ocean all about,
and the scud of spray sweet upon their cheeks, and the _Sally_ fat with
oil beneath their feet. A happy time, when Faith and Brander, with never
a word and never a touch of hand, grew close as man and woman can
grow....

Never a cloud in the skies from their last kill to the day they picked
up the tug that shunted them alongside their wharf at home.

       *       *       *       *       *

There are many things that never get into the log. Faith had no vengeful
heart toward Dan'l; the man had reaped what he sowed. With the _Sally_,
Noll Wing's ship, safe home again, she was willing to forget what had
passed. She told Dan'l so. Silva was dead; the others were but
instruments. The matter was done....

Dan'l, possessed by a creeping apathy, nodded his thanks to her and
turned away his head. The man was dying where he lay; he would not long
survive.

Old Jem Kilcup was at the wharf to hug Faith against his broad chest. An
older Jem than when she went away; but a glad Jem to see her home again.
Jonathan Felt was with him, asking anxiously for Noll. When Faith told
them Noll was gone, old Jonathan fell sorrowfully silent. The whole town
would mourn Noll; he had been one of its heroes....

Faith said proudly: "He's dead, sir. But this was his fattest cruise. He
never brought home better than he's sent, now."

"You're full?" asked Jonathan.

"Aye, every cask.... And more," said Faith. And told him of the
ambergris. She gave Brander so much credit for that, and for other
things, that Jonathan hooked his arm in that of the young man, and
walked with him thus when they all went to the office to hear Cap'n
Tichel make his report.

Jem sat there, listening, proud eyes on Faith, while Tichel told the
story; and Faith listened, and looked now and then at Brander, where he
stood in the shadows by the window. In the end, Tichel said
straightforwardly that he was content with what life had brought him,
that he was through with the sea. But he pointed toward Brander.

"There's a man'll beat Noll Wing's best for you," he said.

Jonathan got up, spry little old figure, and crossed to grip Brander by
the hand. "You'll take out a ship o' mine?" he asked; and Brander
hesitated, and his eyes crossed to meet Faith's, as though to ask
permission. Faith nodded faintly; and Brander said:

"Yes, sir, if you like."

"I do like," said Jonathan briskly. "I do like; so that's settled and
done."

Afterward, Tichel and Willis went back to the ship. Jem, with Faith on
his arm, were to go up the hill to Faith's old home. They stopped
outside Jonathan's door to say good-by to Brander for a little while.
Faith was free of the load of responsibility that she had taken on her
shoulders; she had put Noll Wing's ship behind her. She looked up at him
with eyes that offered everything.

Brander said quietly: "I've much to say to you that's never been said.
Will you let me come to your home this night for the saying?"

Faith looked up at her father, looked to Brander again, and smiled,

"Do come," she said.


THE END


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


       *       *       *       *       *




May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list


ZANE GREY'S NOVELS

  THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS

    A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of
    frontier warfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is
    captured by bandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a
    delightful close.

  THE RAINBOW TRAIL

    The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great
    western uplands--until at last love and faith awake.

  DESERT GOLD

    The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends
    with the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the
    girl who is the story's heroine.

  RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE

    A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon
    authority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of
    the story.

  THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN

    This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo
    Jones, known as the preserver of the American bison, across the
    Arizona desert and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep
    canons and giant pines."

  THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT

    A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a
    young New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the
    girl shall become the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well,
    that's the problem of this great story.

  THE SHORT STOP

    The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame
    and fortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the
    start are followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage
    and honesty ought to win.

  BETTY ZANE

    This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful
    young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.

  THE LONE STAR RANGER

    After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw
    along the Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river,
    he finds a young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue
    her, brings down upon himself the wrath of her captors and
    henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by
    outlaws.

  THE BORDER LEGION

    Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless
    Western mining camp to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she
    loved him--she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a
    bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the
    leader--and nurses him to health again. Here enters another,
    romance--when Joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the
    throes of dissipation. A gold strike, a thrilling robbery--gambling
    and gun play carry you along breathlessly.

  THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS.
  By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey

    The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told
    by his sister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and
    his first encounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express
    rider, then near Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later
    engaged in the most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very
    interesting account of the travels of "The Wild West" Show. No
    character in public life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination
    of America than "Buffalo Bill," whose daring and bravery made him
    famous.


STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER

  MICHAEL O'HALLORAN. Illustrated by Frances Rogers.

    Michael is a quick-witted little Irish newsboy, living in Northern
    Indiana. He adopts a deserted little girl, a cripple. He also
    assumes the responsibility of leading the entire rural community
    upward and onward.

  LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer.

    This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The
    story is told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large
    family, but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with
    the love affairs of older members of the family. Chief among them is
    that of Laddie and the Princess, an English girl who has come to
    live in the neighborhood and about whose family there hangs a
    mystery.

  THE HARVESTER. Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs.

    "The Harvester," is a man of the woods and fields, and if the book
    had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would be
    notable. But when the Girl comes to his "Medicine Woods," there
    begins a romance of the rarest idyllic quality.

  FRECKLES. Illustrated.

    Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in
    which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the
    great Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him
    succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his
    love-story with "The Angel" are full of real sentiment.

  A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. Illustrated.

    The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, loveable type
    of the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and
    kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the
    sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins
    from barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high
    courage.

  AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. Illustrations in colors.

    The scene of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiana.
    The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing
    love. The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of
    nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all.

  THE SONG OF THE CARDINAL. Profusely illustrated.

    A love ideal of the Cardinal bird and his mate, told with delicacy
    and humor.


THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART

  DANGEROUS DAYS.

    A brilliant story of married life. A romance of fine purpose and
    stirring appeal.

  THE AMAZING INTERLUDE. Illustrations by The Kinneys.

    The story of a great love which cannot be pictured--an
    interlude--amazing, romantic.

  LOVE STORIES.

    This book is exactly what its title indicates, a collection of love
    affairs--sparkling with humor, tenderness and sweetness.

  "K." Illustrated.

    K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, goes to live in a little town where
    beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is in training to become a nurse.
    The joys and troubles of their young love are told with keen and
    sympathetic appreciation.

  THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.

    An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of
    the "Man in Lower Ten."

  WHEN A MAN MARRIES. Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.

    A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his
    aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family
    income, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. How the young man
    met the situation is entertainingly told.

  THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illustrated by Lester Ralph.

    The occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of Arnold Armstrong
    on the circular staircase. Following the murder a bank failure is
    announced. Around these two events is woven a plot of absorbing
    interest.

  THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. (Photoplay Edition.)

    Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly
    realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious
    doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with
    world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and
    slender means.


BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS

  SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.

    No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal
    young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and
    reminiscent of the time when the reader was Seventeen.

  PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant.

    This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous,
    tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a
    finished, exquisite work.

  PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm.

    Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable
    phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile
    prankishness that have ever been written.

  THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.

    Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against
    his father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The
    love of a fine girl turns Bibbs' life from failure to success.

  THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece.

    A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a
    country editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in
    the love interest.

  THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.

    The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's
    engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another,
    leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid
    and unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her
    sister.


KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES

  SISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank Street.

    The California Redwoods furnish the background for this beautiful
    story of sisterly devotion and sacrifice.

  POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. Frontispiece by George Gibbs.

    A collection of delightful stories, including "Bridging the Years"
    and "The Tide-Marsh." This story is now shown in moving pictures.

  JOSSELYN'S WIFE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.

    The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for
    happiness and love.

  MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers.

    The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions.

  THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.

    An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come with a
    second marriage.

  THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.

    A sympathetic portrayal of the quest of a normal girl, obscure and
    lonely, for the happiness of life.

  SATURDAY'S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.

    Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through
    sheer determination to the better things for which her soul
    hungered?

  MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.

    A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background of
    every girl's life, and some dreams which came true.


JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S STORIES OF ADVENTURE

  KAZAN

    The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn
    between the call of the human and his wild mate.

  BAREE, SON OF KAZAN

    The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he
    played in the lives of a man and a woman.

  THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM

    The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his
    battle with Captain Plum.

  THE DANGER TRAIL

    A tale of snow, of love, of Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the
    North.

  THE HUNTED WOMAN

    A tale of the "end of the line," and of a great fight in the "valley
    of gold" for a woman.

  THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH

    The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is
    blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.

  THE GRIZZLY KING

    The story of Thor, the big grizzly who lived in a valley where man
    had never come.

  ISOBEL

    A love story of the Far North.

  THE WOLF HUNTERS

    A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.

  THE GOLD HUNTERS

    The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.

  THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE

    Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.

  BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY

    A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made
    from this book.


RALPH CONNOR'S STORIES OF THE NORTHWEST

  THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND

    The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves his hills
    and forests to fight the battle for freedom in the old world.

  BLACK ROCK

    A story of strong men in the mountains of the West.

  THE SKY PILOT

    A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor, the truest
    tenderness and the finest courage.

  THE PROSPECTOR

    A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them to lend a
    hand to the lonely men and women who needed a protector.

  THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY

    This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and volcanic
    human nature and with a hero whose power breathes from every word.

  GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS

    In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has found human
    nature in the rough.

  THE DOCTOR

    The story of a "preacher-doctor" whom big men and reckless men loved
    for his unselfish life among them.

  THE FOREIGNER

    A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a "foreigner" who made a brave and
    winning fight for manhood and love.

  CORPORAL CAMERON

    This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about which Ralph
    Connor builds all his stories, appears again in this book.


THE NOVELS OF GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ

  THE BEST MAN

    Through a strange series of adventures a young man finds himself
    propelled up the aisle of a church and married to a strange girl.

  A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

    On her way West the heroine steps off by mistake at a lonely
    watertank into a maze of thrilling events.

  THE ENCHANTED BARN

    Every member of the family will enjoy this spirited chronicle of a
    young girl's resourcefulness and pluck, and the secret of the
    "enchanted" barn.

  THE WITNESS

    The fascinating story of the enormous change an incident wrought in
    a man's life.

  MARCIA SCHUYLER

    A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirts and poke
    bonnets.

  LO, MICHAEL!

    A story of unfailing appeal to all who love and understand boys.

  THE MAN OF THE DESERT

    An intensely moving love story of a man of the desert and a girl of
    the East pictured against the background of the Far West.

  PHOEBE DEANE

    A tense and charming love story, told with a grace and a fervor with
    which only Mrs. Lutz could tell it.

  DAWN OF THE MORNING

    A romance of the last century with all of its old-fashioned charm. A
    companion volume to "Marcia Schuyler" and "Phoebe Deane."


"STORM COUNTRY" BOOKS BY GRACE MILLER WHITE

   JUDY OF ROGUES' HARBOR

    Judy's untutored ideas of God, her love of wild things, her faith in
    life are quite as inspiring as those of Tess. Her faith and
    sincerity catch at your heart strings. This book has all of the
    mystery and tense action of the other Storm Country books.

  TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY

    It was as Tess, beautiful, wild, impetuous, that Mary Pickford made
    her reputation as a motion picture actress. How love acts upon a
    temperament such as hers--a temperament that makes a woman an angel
    or an outcast, according to the character of the man she loves--is
    the theme of the story.

  THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY

    The sequel to "Tess of the Storm Country," with the same wild
    background, with its half-gypsy life of the squatters--tempestuous,
    passionate, brooding. Tess learns the "secret" of her birth and
    finds happiness and love through her boundless faith in life.

  FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING

    A haunting story with its scene laid near the country familiar to
    readers of "Tess of the Storm Country."

  ROSE O' PARADISE

    "Jinny" Singleton, wild, lovely, lonely, but with a passionate
    yearning for music, grows up in the house of Lafe Grandoken, a
    crippled cobbler of the Storm Country. Her romance is full of power
    and glory and tenderness.


ELEANOR H. PORTER'S NOVELS

  JUST DAVID

    The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to fill in the
    hearts of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he is left.

  THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING

    A compelling romance of love and marriage.

  OH, MONEY! MONEY!

    Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the dispositions of his
    relatives, sends them each a check for $100,000, and then as plain
    John Smith comes among them to watch the result of his experiment.

  SIX STAR RANCH

    A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their summer on Six
    Star Ranch.

  DAWN

    The story of a blind boy whose courage leads him through the gulf of
    despair into a final victory gained by dedicating his life to the
    service of blind soldiers.

  ACROSS THE YEARS

    Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. Contains some
    of the best writing Mrs. Porter has done.

  THE TANGLED THREADS

    In these stories we find the concentrated charm and tenderness of
    all her other books.

  THE TIE THAT BINDS

    Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter's wonderful talent for
    warm and vivid character drawing.


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