Adventure Magazine Cover — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

74 The stricken master gestured with im- patience and despair. “San Francisco is two hundred miles astern. Columbia River is almost twice that ahead. Between them there isn’t a haven that can be entered in this gale and on this black night.” “Hew about Humboldt Bay?” desper- ately. “Tt’s the only real harbor within reach. It’s twenty miles away, and it might as well be twenty hundred.”’ “Why? Won’t she stay afloat long enough to reach it?” “Suffering hymnbooks!” wailed Lind- strom. up your vessels. It’s plain —— to-night with this gale. Nothing can cross it——’”’ Lindstrom left the end of the sentence unfinished. A light of hope on his face, he suddenly grasped Madison’s arm. ““A MIRACLE has happened. Mid- night Johnson is the only man who mea con take a steamer into Humboldt on a night like this.” “Bah! He wrecked the Westland twice when the bar was calm. What could that four-flusher do?” “More than you think. How did he get his nickname?”’ “What difference does that make? Even if he could help us he’s not here.” “But that’s the miracle. He is aboard! Yesterday for the first time in seven years I ran across him. He’s for’ard in the fo’csle now.” Lindstrom turned abruptly and dis- appeared from the bridge. Madison started to follow, then stopped and steod shivering, the bottoms of his thin pajamas whipping in the gale, until Lind- strom returned with Johnson. Behind them came two other officers. In the hang-dog attitude which had grown on him with years of drunkenness and re- buffs from former friends, Johnson stood uncertainly waiting. He had been sleeping soundly—his first real sleep in three nights —and even the steamer’s banging against the rocks had failed to awaken him. Lindstrom as yet had told him nothing; had simply ordered him on to the bridge. Madison’s lip curled as he disdainfully eyed the broken-down man. Momentarily he had forgotten the danger. ‘“‘We’re going down,” shouted Lindstrom. ‘You know how Humboldt Bar holds: Adventure “Our only hope is to get into Humboldt Bay. Can you take us across the bar?” Like a bird dog at sight of his master re- moving a gun from its rack, at the mention of Humboldt Johnson straightened ° up. The stoop went out of his shoulders; his chin lifted; eagerness entered his eyes. ‘“‘You know I can,” he yelled in reply, his voice breaking oddly. “I can if she holds together. But this steamer’s too big. If she’s got any bottom in her now there won’t be much left when she quits bumping on the middle ground. Where are we now?” “Blunt’s Reef lightship is a mile and a half west by south.” Johnson turned, glanced into the bin- nacle, then leaned over and through the wheel-house scuttle gave crisp orders for an altered course. Then he picked up a speak- ing tube. “Chief, give her all she’s got! Tie down the safety valves. Our only chance is to win a race to Humboldt, and it’s up to you to win it for all of us! Understand?”’ “Tf understand you’re crazy,’ was the profane reply. ‘‘No vessel can get into Humboldt tonight. Say, who are you?” “This is Steve Johnson—Midnight John- son “The thing I said.” The click of the whistle snapping back into place at the lower end of the tube was the abrupt finish of the conversation. The chief had decided that this was no time for speech. Soon an unaccustomed vibration ran through the steamer as she spurted ahead under forced draft. By this time Johnson stood alone on the bridge. Mysteriously rumors of the seriousness of the mishap had spread among the passen- gers. To quiet their fears Lindstrom and the officers had gone below. Also they were carrying out Johnson’s orders to remove the occupants from the starboard deck state- rooms. Madison had retired to dress. Steam pumps chugged frenziedly in a losing race with the rising water. The ves- sel was well bulkheaded, but this was no protection. Her bottom had been penetrat- ed in nearly all the bulkhead sections. Under forced draft, scurrying with’ the fury of the gale astern, the Charlotte logged close to twenty-one knots. For each mile gained to the northward, however, the sea crept in several inches on the pumps. you say! I take back every- Co DOOK AMG C©