Adventure Magazine Cover — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

Intuition leaned forward and brought the well- wrapped handle down across Bob’s fore- head. The blow was repeated—this time over the ear. McMasters’ son fell flat, quivered, then was still with his strong fea- tures turned to the tropic stars. Blue Peter dragged Bob to the open fore- hatch, lowered away and followed after him. The old salt cut line, bound Bob’s hands and feet, triced him beyond any chance of mov- ing, gagged him with a piece of canvas, and hauled McMasters’ son forward until he was wedged between two cases near the fore- castle bulkhead. Then the seaman climbed on deck, pulled the hatch over the coaming and resumed his lone watch as if nothing had happened. Red Landyard, yawning, appeared at six bells. The Yankee mate studied the surface of the lagoon, lifted his chin, sensed the slight offshore breeze and ordered Blue Peter to call the Lascar and spread foresail and staysail. “We're goin’ away from your —— rats!” said the sleepy mate. Blue Peter looked at the wharf. “They’re swarmin’ aboard, sir. Like as not th’ hold is full of them.” “We should worry—they’re good luck!” Blue Peter went about the business of rousting out the Lascar, drawing in shore- lines, coiling them up, and hoisting foresail and jib. The Calipso, with Red Landyard hanging on the wheel, sheered from the wharf and glided across the lagoon. The tide, being at flood, allowed room for the keel over the lava at the strait, and the schooner drove to sea. Noontime found Nati horizon-down and a bracing breeze singing through the Calipso’s rigging. Micky, as if he had been given new wine, appeared on deck and walked briskly to the quarter-deck rail. He glanced over and saw Blue Peter standing in the bow; the old seaman’s face was turned toward a smudge that marked the island. ‘¢°E’s sorry we set sail,” said the little skipper to the mate. “’E’s longin’ for Nati.” Red Landyard cut a chew from a plug of tobacco. ‘Blue Peter isn’t sorry, skipper. He’s glad. He was croakin’ concernin’ rats an’ Nati ever since we went there. I don’t fathom that old barnacle, an’ I never will. He’s queer!” 95 “*°E’s got intuition.” A diversion occurred aboard the Calipso when the sun set with a rush of scarlet streamers flamingoing the west. Across the sea came a tidal bore—an unusually high wave—that rocked the schooner, swung her three points off course, and set sails and standing rigging flapping. “Gol blyme!”’ exclaimed Micky. What was that?” The little skipper unconsciously glanced toward Nati—more than horizon-down. He reeled and grasped Red Landyard’s arm. ‘Was that a dizzy stroke, or ham I seein’ things?” ‘Here it comes again,”’ drawled the mate. “It’s a bunch of tidal waves—each bigger than th’ other! Look out—hang on to somethin’—we’re in for it, proper!’ Za like a chip in a whirlpool—the bow went under, then the stern was sucked between mountainous waves. A racking was in the air—rain fell—far-off explosions sounded with tropical thunder. Daybreak revealed a scene of desolation. Lava floated on the sea—wreckage, mud, silt discolored the water. The schooner’s deck and tangled rigging were coated with pink slime. Over the heavens was spread a pall through which the sun tried to appear. “We'll make for Nati!’ Micky shouted to Red Landyard. ‘‘Clear that foresail. ’Ere comes a wind!” The mate, aided by Blue Peter and the Lascar, succeeded in setting the sail and taking advantage of a hot wind from the south. The fast schooner heeled over. Mickv hung to the wheel. Noon came and was passed; it was in the long forenoon next day before a canoe was raised and a course set to intercept it. The cockney skipper shouted to the natives in the canoe— “What ’appened at Nati?” A brown giant pointed a frightened finger toward the bottom of the sea. ‘“‘Nati gone,” he answered. “Big moun- tain blow up—all gone, cappin. We go too— for next island.”’ Micky reeled from the rail; Red Landyard caught the little skipper and carried him toward the cabin companion. “My boy’s gone too,’ sobbed Micky. ‘That island is no more.”’ Blue Peter came up the quarter-deck THE Calipso tossed and twisted GO NOOLK S C@ iin