Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 89: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE ROARING HORN 83 Now—he’s wavin’ a signal. I can see him good.” “Well, reckon we got to run down to him.” ‘Without callin’ the Old Man? Sure, we'd lose all o’ twenty miles by pickin’ up that feller. We could just fail to see him, couldn’t we?” ‘Hell, no!” growled Leadspitter. “Not after that whiskered whelp o’ misery, . Tyson, reported it. There’s plenty aboard here, as ’d like nothin’ better than to jack us up for it after we made port.” His scarred face contracted to a snarl. “We got to run down on her. Damn the luck, I say!” “And the Old Man?” *“‘Last thing he said afore he turned in, was not to call him for nothin’ short of a typhoon. What’s more, I reckon I got authority to shift the course without none 0’ your lip!” Leadspitter snicked the telescope shut. “Tl take this on myself,” he decided, and commanded, ‘Keep her off three pints to west’ard! Port fore brace! Shake a leg there, you bushborn cod haulers! Port fore brace!”’ The watch on deck jumped to the order, Mayes slacking off the weather braces. So handled, the ship swung round till the wind was abeam on her starboard side, with the yards trimmed accordingly. Thus she stood away toward the vague speck that, alone upon the vast heaving breast of old ocean, broke that immeasurable solitude. Tensions of interest keyed up all hands. Along the rail dishevelled men leaned, peering. Discussion, speculation waxed keen. That interest leaped suddenly to high intensity when a few minutes later Leadspitter took another sight. In amazement the mate exclaimed: ““Hell’s hinges, what d’you think, now? If my eyes ain’t gone plumb bad—” “What is it, sir?” interrogated Mayes. “You said ’twas a man, eh? Well, it ain’t!”’ *‘What is it, then?’ ‘What else could it be, if it ain’t a man?” “Sure, you don’t mean a woman, sir?” “That’s what I do! A woman, s’help my God!’ CHAPTER IV A PROBLEM IN PETTICOATS S THIS intelligence ran through the. ship, disparate emotions came into play. Some of the roughnecks laughed, cheered, even essayed a word or two of ribaldry; for to the run of sailors, as to jailbirds—both being reft of feminine society for long stretches—a woman makes more elemental appeal than to normal free citizens. Certain of the more seasoned men, though, frowned and shook anxious heads. Picking up anybody at sea, is it not risky business? Chubbock, rich in lore and proverb, muttered: “Save a drowndin’ man at sea, An’ he’ll prove your enemy!” ““An’ a woman, my glorianna!” added Solomon Moon. “A woman an’ a parson, dat’s bound to be ten times worse!” Leaning against the batten of the forward main rigging, there in the cutting sunlight, old Solomon voiced his fears: “lve see bad luck happen a ship, many’s de time, from losin’ a cat over- burd, ’specially a black ’un. Likewise anybody exceptin’ de Old Man whistlin’ at sea, an’ a hatch cover put on deck upside down. Yes, me sons,” he crisply declared, ‘‘an’ I’ve see wracks alang of hayvin’ a draw bucket into de ocean, tearin’ a flag, sewin’ sails on de quarter deck, an’ a hundurd odder t’ings. But de most an’ worst bad luck I’ve see from parsons an’ women aburd ship!” Speaking thickly by reason of his quid, he told of Jonah ships and sailors, and especially how during one spell of long continued, heavy weather, a certain mis- sionary had been adjudged a “‘jinker’’ on the Golden Cloud, bound from St. Johns, Newfoundland, to Ceylon. One dark night off the Cape of Good Hope, that unfortunate individual had mysteriously vanished. comnlicloooks.com