Adventure Magazine Cover — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

80 could check her headlong speed, and the unending storm of her answering shafts chased the scantily armored galeotti to cover beneath the bulwarks. With a hoarse racket of shouts and imprecations the long, slender craft ranged alongside and closed with her prey, to an accompaniment of clat- tering oars and creaking cordage. Grappling-irons clutched the bulwarks of the Sancta Spiriiu; brawny pirates, with only hauberks to cover their nakedness, lashed ropes to the rigging of the mast. A horde of mail-clad figures scrambled up the side of the merchantman and cut and thrust at the thin line of the galeotti. “St. Bacchus!’ apostrophized Ali with uncommon piety—for him. ‘You spoke of a rare fight, Messer Matteo. *Tis more like- ly to be a rare slaughter unless this device of mine doth asI hope. Let us try it.” He ran to the rope which held the dan- gling water-butt and its load of stones and gravel. It was knotted in a sailor’s slip- noose to an iron ring in the deck. High overhead the water-butt swung as the ships swayed on the rocking waves. It moved in a restricted arc like a gigantic pendulum whose mechanism was running down. “T have it,’ shouted Matteo to make him- self heard above the din of the fighting and the uproar of the frightened passengers below decks. ‘“‘Here!’’ He seized one of the two helmsmen and motioned to the man to grasp the rope beside him. They hauled together on the rope, adding their strength to the movement imparted by the natural motion of the vessel, and the arc of the water butt was increased. It swung farther and farther in each direction, sometimes over the deck of the Sancta Spiritu, sometimes over the pirate galley. The pirates themselves perceived the maneuver, and the bowmen who still clustered thickly on poop and _ forecastle discharged a buzzing swarm of arrows against the three at the rope’s end. Mat- teo’s mail of proof turned the shafts, but the galeotti beside him sank with four arrows in shoulder, arm and thigh. “Quick, Ali!” called Matteo. ‘Cut the rope when next the cask is poised over the pirate. They may slay us if you pause.”’ Ali made no answer, but stood silent with sword raised above the tautened rope, his eyes glued on the spinning water-butt. The ungainly contrivance swung in over the deck of the Sancta Spiritu, already invaded Adventure forward of the mast. Then, ever so slowly, it seemed, it swung out again. Yells of fear came from the pirates, threats and execra- tions. Their archers labored anew, and the kite-shaped shield which the old Turcople upheld with his left arm rang under the battering shafts. But he refused to budge. His sword was poised, ready. Out, out, swung the cask. It was fair over the pirates’ deck. Swish! The sword came down. The rope parted. The water- butt heaved ponderously, and dropped. But at that moment a puff of wind caught the two vessels, the Sancta Spiritu lurched against the slighter hull of the pirate—and the missile of Ali’s devising smashed square- ly on the merchantmen’s massive bulwarks. There was a shattering of timbers, a scat- tering of stones and gravel, and a group of pirates and galeotti were smeared across the decks. Then the two vessels ground together again, and the yelling pirates poured with renewed confidence through the gap in the bulwarks. “St. Matthew! What a mischance!’’ cried Matteo. ‘““Ah, blessed saints, was ever the like before!’ groaned the patrono. Ali shook his sword in air, and gave vent to a flood of wholly impious blasphemy— in errant moments he forgot his surface veneer of Christianity and became the Semitic pagan he was born. “The fat is in the fire,” he growled. “Well, Messer Matteo, we shall be meeting your father and mother sooner than we expected. Let us make a good end.” But Matteo laughed with a cheerfulness that sprang unbidden in his breast. “Nay, old wolf,” he answered. “There are blows yet to be struck, and who knows what may happen. These galeotti are stout people, but they need leaders. Follow on.”’ ‘There spoke Messer Gui,” chuckled Ali. “T follow, lordling.”’ Matteo leaped down the ladder stairs with a single bound, the old Turcople at his heels. “Rally to the poop, Christians all!” he shouted. “Back! Back, I say!” The galeotti heard him, and abandoned the unequal fight along the line of the bul- warks, a fight in which they were already worsted. They retreated aft, fighting as they came, and Matteo and Ali took their places in the front rank. ““Ho, there, Beardless One!’’ shouted the COMmicaoo® S (C@