Adventure Magazine Cover — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

16 of the men. Other shouts came down the wind from Fulke’s sloop, faintly. The sun had sucked up all the mist; the dark blue sea ran briskly with hissing crests. ‘The horizon was clear; the four ships had the stage set and cleared for their encounter— a fair scene for drama. To left and right the sloops raced, con- verging toward the apex of a V, where the dhow smashed through the water with a great show of speed, low in the water, packed with cargo and living freight beyond her proper sailing capacity. Avary’s ship came on between the sloops. There was no backing out now. He could not check hismen. Horton had given orders that he must follow up to retain his position. His crafty mind cast the chances. To let the sloops board, bear the brunt of the encounter, be most certainly beaten back, if they were not blown out of the water by the guns of the dhow? Their disaster would check the zeal of his own men; meantime he’d work ship to bring alternate batteries to bear, luffing and wearing, falling well back with each discharge yet apparently eager to fight. If by good chance they dismasted the dhow he would get all credit for strategy. At that, he could sail about her and pour in his broadsides until she was ready to sur- render. Not to the point of sinking her— it was the treasure they wanted, not the hollow victory. He might get the woman after all—long-range fighting, maneuvering with the better sea qualities of The Duke and his own seamanship helping to offset the number of guns. That was the plan. The fore-chaser went off with a roar, enveloping the bows in woolly smoke that blew to leeward swiftly enough for Avary, on the poop, to observe the shot. The pro- jectile plumped fairly across the bows of the dhow. The pirates cheered. Avary saw the intention; the shot was a bid for surrender. The answer came in quick retort, belching smoke and fire from every gun aport on the dhow. Out of the vapor the tops of her masts showed with the green pénnant flaunting defiance. The range was too great; but the geysering water midway showed how menacing such a discharge might be if properly placed— once. “All hands walk the braces! Down the helm! Starboard batteries ready.” Avary roared his order through his speak- Adventure ing-trumpet. Horton had actually taken the initiative, but the men did not know that. Avary was still in command. The Duke came into the wind, began to pay off as the crew held her headsails aback. The fourteen cannon of her starboard battery crashed and the ship shivered to the recoil. The drift of burning gases swept the deck and the men sniffed it in like an elixir. There was no mistaking their temper. Imagination did not bother them—nor the very apparent odds. ‘They responded to one primitive emotion—the instinct to fight. Like those of the dhow, the missiles fell far short. The broadside guns lacked the range of the bow chaser. Back came an answering broadside, use- less, save for intimidation and defiance, as the roar of a lion facing the tribesmen. The sloops -went racing on like wolves after a stag while The Duke gathered way on her new tack. No sooner was she fairly going than Avary wore ship and let fly with the port guns. The men never questioned his tactics. The firing temporarily relieved their ten- sion; the belching of the flame, the thunder of the discharge, the stagger of the deck under their feet, all matched their mood. They did not notice that they made scant headway in such maneuvering. Avary repeated it while the sloops closed in fast on the dhow, leaving their powerful consort lagging. Then Horton came bounding to the poop, brushing away all ceremony. ‘What fool trick is this?’’ he demanded of Avary. ‘They hold their fire. We waste ours.” “We are closing in,” said Avary. “We'll be in range before long.” “Before long!- What then? Lead’s a dull knife for a trick like this. Steel, and that quickly, is what we need. A rush from all sides, as we agreed. She’d riddle us at this sort of plav. ‘What kind of a scurvy knave are you, Avary? D’you want to sacrifice the sloops? If they are beaten off with loss they’ll blame you. If they make good—and those pil- grims will break once they are boarded— they'll claim the glory. Aye, and take the best of the loot before we get a look at it. Fulke and Neill will see through you, as I do, and you for a lousy coward! “Head up and join ’em. They’re closing now.” COnmmicloool< (C@