Adventure Magazine Cover — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

__ grass growin’ on it. _ galley them yellow hash-slingers eatin’ fried __ “chicken! Yes sir, fried chicken; I seen ’em with me own eyes in the galley last night __ packin’ their glands an’ we gettin’ cast-iron to 30 ae ~~ es < > ie A * a -* z re . = - the sea had moulded. Neither God, man nor the devil drew from them any respect; ____ only the sea that claimed them held their hearts, with reverence, with 38 and fasci- ‘Strangers when they had aap aboard the Faralon in San Francisco, they had tried té outswear, outyarn, finally, to knock _ down each other, and achieving no success they had become firm friends. “Deck an’ the Bos’,” the other seamen said as one might say “Damon and Py- ae thias. ”? Both were Irishmen; the Bos’, a strapping, blue-eyed six footer who came = eS, from the West Coast; Deck, somewhat younger, was raised in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn. He was not so tall as the _ bosun but stockily built with powerful - shoulders, and his brown eyes blazed up at the slightest provocation. “Oi think, Deck, it was a good idea to wait till the old man was finished and out of the way, the little squarehead. He has no great, burnin’ love fur you inyway, since you told him that if he’ld watch the ship’s course, you’ld watch her winches.” “Yeah, we'll be able to talk to that Chinee = steward more heart to heart with nobody cae aroun’ to butt in. The stingy son-of-a-gun, __ givin’ us steak, steak, steak every —— day, that you could sole yer shoes with, an’ blue An’ out there in the horse meat.” _ “Tis a —— outrage the stuff we get,” burst out the Bos’. “Oi notice though that | = _ the old man’s table don’t seem-to be sufferin’ from any famine.” “Veah!” cried Deck. “An’ where’s our _ fried chicken, Bos’; where’s all the rest of the decent grub we ought to be gettin’ = - aboard this wagon? I'll tell you where it is— it’s goin’ ashore every night in galley-coal E ae. sacks, while the ugly-mugged Chink an’ the ook. ‘skipper are rakin’ in the boppoes, an’ feedin’ us swill. I been on ships before this where . the steward tried that stunt, but he didn’t have the old man with ’im.” : atin Ye think the squarehead is ’ in with him?” You’ ve noticed yourself, Bos’, the way : Es 3g the skipper keeps callin’ the Chink up to his cabin. An’ he keeps the ports —— well shut ____ when he’s got him in there.” ~ Adventure \ “But are ye sure, Deck?” ’ The bosun brought his fist down Sige on the mess table. _ ‘“‘___ it, I know! I seen it meself last night. I was up the mainmast about eight bells to fix the connection on the cargo light, when I happens to look, down on the boat- deck. I notices there was somebody movin’ around there. It was foggy as all ——, but I see two men open the galley skylight—I’ll swear they was Chinks—then somethin’ was handed up from the galley. They took it to the side of the deck away from the dock an’ lowered it down. There must have been a sampan alongside to catch the bundle, because in a couple o’ minutes they come back for another load. An’ I says to me- self, “Now I know why we're existin’ on wormy beans an’ shoeleather.’ ”’ **Sellin’ our grub on us,” the bosun said, leering, ‘we moight ’ave suspected it. Oi wouldn’t trust a Chink and a Swede to- gither, even under me very eyes, unless they was both laid out in the same coffin. Do ye suppose, Deck, if we was to let the company know——” “A —— of a lot they’d do!” interrupted Deck contemptuously. “What does the company care whether a few seamen get bum food. Seamen are cheap; too —— cheap, Bos’, that’s what’s the trouble. Didn’t the company ship us out with rotten, crawlin’ mattresses an’ no blankets? Ain’t the company tryin’ right now to cut down what pay we got-and make us work more hours? Ain’t they too stingy to put aboard enough wire fer falls an’ tackle? They didn’t even give me tools to fix their winches, Do you think they don’t know what sort of a skipper they got? You bet they know. They ain’t losin’ any money if he sells our grub, are they? A fine lot o’ sympathy we’d get from the company.” The screen door of the saloon opened and a Chinaman-slipped in carrying a large bowl of soup and a platter of meat which he set on the table. Turning to the steward, the Bos’ pointed a finger at the contents of the platter. “What do you “call that stuff, bub?” he demanded. “Teck,” replied the Chinaman briefly. “Steak?” roared the bosun. “Steak— again?” Deck grabbed the steward roughly by the seat of his loose, white pants as he at- ~, tempted to escape. co 200 Pt x . - eS ree a ee el com