All the Brothers Were Valiant

by Ben Ames Williams

“‘Your girl?’ he echoed, in a nasty way. ‘You’re that, then?’

“‘Am I?’ I asked, and shifted the rifle a thought to the fore. And his eyes held mine for a space, and then he shook his head.

“‘I see that I was mistaken,’ he said.

“‘Your sight is good,’ I told him. ‘Now—what is this? Tell me.’

“He told me, evenly and without malice. They had a line on the pearls; there were enough for three. I was welcome. And at the end, I nodded my consent. The Nathan Ross was gone. Furthermore, there were nine pagans in me now; and the prospect of looting some still lagoon, in company with these two rats, had a wild flavor about it that caught me. My blood was burning; and the sun was hot. Also, they had liquor aboard her. Liquor, and loot, and the three women. Pagan, Joel. Pagan! But wild and red and raw. There’s a glory about such things.... Songs are made of them.... There was no handshaking; but we made alliance, and crowded on sail, and went on our way.”

He stopped short, laughed, filled his pipe again, watched Joel. “You’re shocked with me, boy. I can see it,” he taunted mockingly. Joel shook his head. “Will you hear the rest?” Mark asked; and Joel nodded. Mark lighted his pipe, laughed.... His fingers thrummed on the desk beside him.

“We were a week on the way,” he said. “And all pagan, every minute of the week. Days when we fought a storm—as bad as I’ve ever seen, Joel. We fought it, holding to the ropes with our teeth, bare to the waist, with the wind scourging us. It tore at us, and lashed at us.... And we drove the three black men with knives to their work. And the three women stayed below, except my little brown girl. She came up, now and then, with dry clothes for me.... And I had to drive her to shelter....

“And when there was not the storm, there was liquor; and they had cards. We staked our shares in the catch that was to come.... Hour on hour, dealing, and playing with few words; and our eyes burned hollow in their sockets, and Quint’s thin mouth twisted and writhed all the time like a worm on a pin. He was a nervous man, for all his calm. A very nervous man....

“The fifth day, one of the blacks stumbled in Quint’s path, on deck. Quint had been losing, at the cards. He slid a knife from his sleeve into the man’s ribs, and tipped the black over the rail without a word. I was twenty feet away, and it was done before I could catch breath. I shouted; and Quint turned and looked at me, and he smiled.

“‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Have you objections to present?’ And the smeared blade in his hand, and the bubbles still rising, overside. I was afraid of the man, Joel. I tell you I was afraid. The only time. Fear’s a pagan joy, boy. It was like a new drink to me. I nursed it, eating it. And I shook my head, humble.