Joel read this sentence thrice. There was a bold pride in it, and a strong and reckless note which seemed to bring his brother before his very eyes. Mark had always been so, swift of tongue, and strong, and sure. Joel turned another page, came to where Mark had written:
“This day I returned from my first cruise with full casks in two years, seven months, fifteen days. I found the Martin Wilkes in the dock. They report Captain John Shore lost at Vau Vau in an effort to save the ship’s boy, who had fallen overboard. The boy was also lost.”
And, below, in bold and defiant letters:
| “‘All the brothers were valiant.’” |
There were two more pages of entries, in Mark’s hand or in Joel’s, before the end. When he came to the fresh page, Joel dipped his pen, and huddled his broad shoulders over the book, and slowly wrote that which had to be written.
“Wind northeast, light,” he began, according to the ancient form of the sea, which makes the state of wind and weather of first and foremost import. “Wind northeast, light. This day the Martin Wilkes finished a three year cruise. Found in port the Nathan Ross. She reports that Captain Mark Shore left the ship when she watered at the Gilbert Islands. He did not return, and could not be found. They searched three weeks. They encountered hostile islanders. No trace of Mark Shore.”
When he had written thus far, he read the record to himself, his lips moving; then he sat for a space with frowning brows, thinking, thinking, wondering if there were a chance....
But in the end he cast the hope aside. If Mark lived, they would have found him, would surely have found him....
And so Joel wrote the ancient line:
| “‘All the brothers were valiant.’” |