Adventure Magazine Cover — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

The Fenceless Meadows stealing from ventilators and from tight shut skylights. Night falling, a full moon glimmered upon the burning clipper with white crested waves rolling in upon her; her crew gathered upon the poop, waiting. with the unques- tioning patience of the sea; the sails ashine in the yellow lights of midnight, porpoises gamboling beneath her bow. Dowser took the wheel, Moses, with the child in his arms, beside him; the mate on the bridge, searching the seas for a sail. Day came again, flaming; a tropic day ablaze above a blazing ship, the sea ahead of her hidden under wind-blown clouds of smoke—the skysails set, holding the clipper down, with her railing awash and the sea - hissing around her. Night fell upon her; the moon silvering the fires that seemed to hover over her; Nance Dowser asleep, her head on the old cook’s shoulder; her father at the wheel again, hour after hour, untiring; relieved at the dawn by Tattersall to take his daughter in his arms, pressing her small cheek to his hard face, kissing her—in front of his sailors—and handing her back to old Moses. Day breaking wide, upon a clipper burn- ing at sea, none spoke of the life-boats— men beneath the spell of the child, the skipper’s daughter; ignorant men, waiting, with the old patience of the sea. At sundown, two miles off shore, the islanders met her, luffed to the wind, with her sails shaking. Their head-man, stand- ing in the bow of the whale-boat hailed her, shaking his head, gesticulating, pointing beyond the horizon; her hands crowding in the mizzen-shrouds, listening, waiting for orders, wondering; watching the skipper and mate conferring together, staring at the island, and along their ship. Dowser spoke to his mate. “Shoofly, we can’t beach her here. She’d break up in ten minutes. ——., I hate to leave her—but I can’t ask ’em to stay and take a chance of getting her on a safe beach at Manga Reeva. She’d burn out there perhaps; and could perhaps be refitted and taken to sea again. , I hate to leave her. But I can’t ask ’em to stay.” An old sailor, Reuben Sweeney, a man who from boyhood had followed the sea, a man with great arms and a vast chest, stepped forward, touching his hat, his eyes upon the skipper’s daughter. 0 145 “Captain, we're with you, sir—you an’ little Fancy Nan—where you says sir, we goes—all on us.” A murmur, a long breath of assent, ran among the gathered sailors—sailors of the square rigged ships. From the arms of the old sea-cook the child waved frantically—holding doll Moses up for the islanders to see. They squared the yards away; their feet scarce able to stand on the decks. To quick orders from the mates they answered with great shouts—singing the braces in. The Nanette, paying off to clear the island, with the wind taking her at her best sailing- point, as if glorying in a new-given freedom, trampled the green seas to a smother below her lifting forefoot; the sea roaring alongside, the wind drumming in her shrouds, the islanders watching her; the old head-man, in the bow of the whale-boat, standing with his face upturned to the sky, from which stars began to flash. The ship sped away down the green and darkening furrows, the foam creaming her wake, sea-fowl screaming about her. Night fell and she was gone. From the summit of the island men and women watched her going—seeing a dim glow long after they had lost her in the night. When night fell once more, the shores of Manga Reeva were rising from the sea. The ship was burning indeed now; fires breaking her decks and tongues of flame sweeping hungrily along them. The courses, foresail, mainsail and cross-jack, had been cut away and left to blow over- board. lest, reaching and feeding upon them, the fires leap to the sails above. Great columns of smoke blew from the doomed ship, hiding the furrows. Reuben Sweeney was at the wheel, Dow- ser and the sea-cook with the child beside him. The child alone had food and, ignorant of danger, knew no fear. The wind had fallen to a light breeze, the sea rolling upon the long white beach ahead of the clipper. Captain Dowser spoke to his mate and his mate to the men. “Stand by! She’ll strike in a minute. Unless we can clear the boats it’ll be every man for himself.” She struck, going ashore with a slow Jurch upon the crest of a long swell; her masts, ripping out of her, going overboard with a great crash; flames shooting from per C@ (Cc DOOKS C@