XIV
Joel lay for an hour, planning what he should do. He could not yield.... He could not yield, even though he might wish to do so; for the yielding would forfeit forever all control over these men, or any others. He could not yield....
Yet he did not wish to fight; for the battle would be hopeless, with only death at the end for him, and it would ruin the men and lose the ship.... Blood marks a ship with a mark that cannot be washed away. And Joel loved his ship; and he loved his men with something of the love of a father for children. Children they were. He knew them. Simple, easily led, easily swept by some adventurous vision....
He slept, at last, dreamlessly; and in the morning, when they came to him, he told them what he wished to do.
“Call the men aft,” he said. “I’ll speak to them. We’ll see what their will is.”
Mark mocked him. “Ask the men, is it?” he exclaimed. “Let them vote, you’ll be saying. Are you master of the ship, man; or just first selectman, that you’d call a town meeting on the high seas?”
“I’ll talk with the men,” said Joel stubbornly.
Varde strode forward angrily. “You’ll talk with us,” he said. “Yes or no. Now. What is it?”