Adventure Magazine Cover — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

Plunder whistles sounded for boarders away, and the crew divided into squads, arming them- selves, rushing to quarters, ready to board an imaginary enemy. The repelling of boarders was a maneuver seldom bothered with, save to assure them- selves of the readiness of boarding nettings and the assignment of stations. Pirates were wasps; they attacked first or sheered off. It was fight, or run if the quarry proved too dangerous. Up through the Mozambique Channel they went, edging in to the mountainous coast. with the great forests clothing its flanks and the perfume of gaudy tree- flowers wafted far out to sea. Avary knew of the existence of pirate colonies and rendezvous on Madagascar itself or the adjacent islands. To be a pirate chief had long been his dream, and he had kept in touch with all the news that was spread in home ports of the successes of the noted sea-rovers. Now he fancied he was coming into his own kingdom. They rounded the northern line of Mada- gascar and passed Cape Hopewell, named by the natives Ambro, reaching into a crescent bay close to Maritan, a pirate port of call where the native king was friendly. There were two sloops at anchor. Avary flew no colors; the skull and bones was reserved for a fighting flag. Dis- cretion restrained bravado in displaying it too freely. The Duke had the lines of a merchantman rather than that of a frigate, though her gun-ports were more than the average vessel of commerce carried. It seemed evident however that there were guilty minds aboard the sloops. No sooner had the larger vessel made the point and squared off toward the bay when both sloops slipped their cables and ran ashore on a soft beach, their hulls vomiting men who raced off into the thick woods. “They are small fry of our own sort,” declared Avary, watching them through his glass. ‘‘They fear we are a king’s ship come after them for some venture. ‘They are posting sentinels. There are recruits for us and the beginning of our fleet. “Look you, Horton, we’ll join forces with them. We'll send a boat with a truce flag. Take arms, but do not show them. Let two or three go empty-handed up the beach; the rest can cover them with muskets.” Horton nodded commendation of the 13 strategy, and the boat was lowered. Avary himself, primed with a swig of brandy, ap- peared from below and took charge. “T’ll do the talking,” he said. As they rowed ashore with a white flag displayed in the stern they caught the glitter of arms from the men posted on the fringe of the jungle. Avary narrowly inspected the sloops, slightly careened on the mud. < “They'll come off easNy enough at the flood,” he announced. | The genial warmth of his liquor gave him confidence; he saw that his men were in accord with his judgment; there was small danger that could not be offset by the news he brought, and he handled himself as a proper leader, springing ashore with the white flag and waving it, advanced boldly toward the woods. Three men _ backed him, displaying their empty hands. “What is your business? Whence come ye?” challenged the nearest outpost, his musket at the ready. “From the seas!” cried Avary, using the passphrase of the Brethren of the Coast and all those who had gone on the account. “Our business is the collection of merchan- dise and the swift spending of the proceeds. Look you, we are unarmed. Come down and talk with us.”’ The man lowered his musket, but did not shift his ground. ‘What ship is that?” he demanded. “Tt has not yet been christened,” replied’ Avary. ‘‘We borrowed it for our own occasions. If you would know the color of our flag, it is black. Since you think your sloops too small to oppose a ship of our metal, let us join forces and share profits. Are you blind or only timorous that you do not recognize gentlemen of fortune when you see them?” 7 A man pushed forward out of the woods, a swaggering figure dressed in a crimson coat with tarnished lace, his breeches thrust into bucket-topped boots, a hanger at his side, pistols in his belt. He tossed his weapons to the sand and came on boldly up to Avary. “Curse me,” he cried, “if I did not mis- take you. Your men row too well for free brethren, and your studdingsails fooled me. Your ship is handled like a man-of- war, and she is pierced for a heavy battery.” ““Men of ‘war we are,’ answered Avary. “But we fight for no king. Was ever a COMICMOoOokKks (C@