Adventure Magazine Cover — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

Next in Command another brief consultation; then repaired to the maindeck, where Gerlack blew his whis- tle and passed the awakening word: “All hands clear ship for action!” In the wink of an eye the seemingly som- nolent little vessel was transformed into a hint of pandemonium, but not unmethod- ically, for within half an hour the upper decks were bare of everything movable. Railings, stanchions and ladders were taken down and stored below; the iron hatch- covers were brought up and battened down; small boats were sheathed in canvas and swung free at their davits, ready to be cut away at a second’s notice and dropped into the sea, no woodwork being left exposed on board a ship in action. All guns were cast loose and provided with accessories and ammunition. However remote the chances of a sea combat, the rawest ‘‘rookie”’ on the gunboat understood that this warlike preparation was not a grandstand play on the part of the petty officers in temporary charge. There was a possibility of the need, and Desmond was simply following the primary fixed pol- icy of the service, that the faintest shadow of a need justifies the fullest details of pre- paredness. About half after four o’clock the “wire hawser”’ captain went on the bridge and was informed by the tyro navigator that another half-hour ought to bring the port of Ver- decaya off the beam. Desmond was still on the bridge when the lookout man in the crow’s-nest hailed the deck. ‘““Smoke-O!” “Where away?” sang back Quinlan. “One point off the port bow, sir.” ‘“‘Better sheer inshore a little more, Quinny,” suggested the commander. “If by any chance it’s one of ’em we’re lookin’ for, we'll want to edge in between her and the harbor mouth.” “Right enough,’ agreed Quinlan. ‘‘Steady aport, helmsman!”’ . “Steady aport, sir!’ echoed Looky, tee- tering on toes and heels as the blood began tingling in remote corners of his anatomy. “Sail-O!”? sang down the lookout man. “Where away?” © “Same point as last, sir; ships in company.” “Jeeminy!” whistled Quinlan. ‘it’s them!” ‘“*A hundred-to-one shot!”’ avowed Des- mond. ‘‘ What else but warboats would be there’s two “I bet 867 travelin’ close in and in company at such a place as this?”’ Lookyhere’s heels grew so light that they stayed in air while he noiselessly danced on his toes, his glance alternating between the binnacle and the oncoming smoke-cloud. “By the light that never lit on Moses or the sea!” he began. “Shut up, Lally!” snapped Quinlan. “Mind your steering! You con this craft and I’ll do the leathernecking of the others. Steady a little faster!” “Ay, ay, sir; steady a little faster, sir!” seconded Looky submissively; adding under his breath: ‘‘ But you'll pay ‘for the refresh- ments, old souse, next liberty we make to- gether!” Commander Desmond, an orderly and the captain’s yeoman, the latter impressed into emergency duty as a messenger, clattered down to the maindeck, the voice of Quinlan following them from the bridge: “Verdecaya in sight, sir. Harbor’s noth- ing but a wide-open cove a mile or so across at the mouth.” “All right, Quinlan. Try to keep in the main channel at thexentrance; we'll lay-to there if we get in ahead of the others.’”” : “ Ship’s are turnin’ in toward the harbor, sir,” reported the lookout man. “Can't you make ’ “em out?” called Quin- lan. The man aloft knelt down and steadied his telescope on the railing of the crow’s- nest. “Three slantin’ stripes, red, on a white field, flyin’ at both peaks, sir,” he announced. “That’s the Oronaguan ensign, sir!” cried Quinlan. The captain spoke to Gerlack, whose whistle shrilled in the sunshine. “Battle stations!” he bellowed. Quickly and without words the gun-crews gathered around the batteries, each man on the exact spot assigned for his special duty. ‘Holler down to Nauheim to have the engine and fire-room gang hump them- selves!”? ordered Desmond. it, if you can, Quinny! Get in hail, any- way.” “Ay, ay, sir! Lally.” : ‘“‘Portapoint ’n’ alfsir,”’ spluttered Looky, beside himself. ‘‘Don’t I wish,” he com- plained to the compass, “‘that I could shoot straight instead of steerin’ straight? Then I’d be down on deck with the bunch, shootin’ Port a point and a half, C© “Beat ’em to’ MICLOOOKS (©