nd pressed it; and in that moment the
long, unspoken enmity between the brothers died forever. They faced the
men....

One howled like a wolf: "He's done us. Done us in."

And another: "They're going to hog it. Them two...."

The little sea of scowling, twisting faces moved, it surged forward....
The men charged, more than a score, to overwhelm the four.

In the moment before, Joel had marked young Dick Morrell, at one side,
twisted with indecision; and in the instant when the men moved, he
called: "With us, Mr. Morrell."

It was command, not question; and the boy answered with a shout and a
blow.... On the flank of the men, he swept toward them. And Joel's
harpooner, and one of Asa Worthen's old men formed a triumvirate that
fought there....

They were thus seven against a score. But they were seven good men. And
the score were a mob....

It was fists, at the first, as Joel had sworn. The first, charging line
broke upon them; and old Aaron was swept back, fighting like a cat, and
crushed and bruised and left helpless in an instant. The fat cook dodged
into his galley, and snatched a knife and held the door there, prodding
the flanks of those who swirled past his stronghold. Joel dropped the
first man who came to him; and likewise Mark. But another twined 'round
Joel's legs, and he could not kick them free, and there was no time to
stoop and tear the man away.

He and Mark kept back to back for a moment; but Mark was not a defensive
fighter. He could not stand still and wait attack; and when his second
man fell, he leaped the twisting body and charged into the clump of them.
His black hair tossed, his eye was flaming; and his long arms worked like
pistons and like flails. He became the center of a group that writhed and
dissolved, and formed again. His head rose above them all.

The man who gripped Joel's legs, freed one hand and began to beat at
Joel's body from below. Joel could not endure the blows; he bent, and
took a rain of buffets on his head and shoulders while he caught the
attacker by the throat, and lifted him up and flung him away. He
staggered free, set his back against the galley wall; and when he shifted
to avoid another attack, he found his place in the galley door. The fat
cook crouched behind him, and Joel heard him shout: "I'll watch your
legs, Cap'n. Give 'em the iron, sir. Give 'em th' iron."

Once Joel, looking down, saw the cook's knife play like a flame between
his knees.... None woul