Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

36 hands. Have you the pistol, lad? It is all the weapon we have.” Barney, with a sigh and a groan, surren- dered the pistol which he took from_his shirt, and the Devon man put it into his pocket, an act that did not escape the no- tice of the men, who now came trooping down to the rail of the quarter-deck, Jim Rimble at their head. The Devon man let his eye rove over them, saying not a word, at first. Then— ‘Well, men?” ‘A fine mess you have got us into, me and my mates, we’re thinking sir,’’ said Rimble, after an awkward pause. There was a shuffling of uneasy feet and the bobbing of many heads. “T have got you into?” demanded the De- von man. ‘You, and the wench from Devonshire, that is.” “Oh, as to that I take the blame, if blame there be. But did I drag you out of your prison? Did you not come willingly enough, to take the ship at the risk of your neck, if need be?” “Well, then, as to that, sir, we would have been glad enough to go under in a free fight—but this is different.” “Different? How different? Can aman die more than once. Come, men, have done with complaints and keep your upper lips stiff. We'll get out of this. Do you fall to now and build up a longboat out of the planks of the ship. I put you on a pint of water a day—’tis all we have in the butts, but enough to last for three days. And in three days much may happen.” The men brightened up a bit at this, and some of them moved off as if to begin the work he had set them to. But Rimble, pull- ing at his forelock, spat into the scuppers and rolled his eyes. Finally he stam- mered— “My belly roars for victuals.” There was a laugh at this, in which Nancy joined. But it was a laugh that died away quickly. ‘Well, now, as to that, we’re all in the same boat, so to speak, Jim Rimble, and you are not a whit more hungry than am I, but I hope I know how to tighten my belt a notch or two. It isn’t as if we had been living on the fat of the land for the past God knows how long in d’Ogeron’s cursed dungeon. As for that, Jim Rimble, you have ever bragged what angler thou art. Adventure Show some of these men how to rig up a line or two, and perhaps we can have a fish for dinner. But whether we do or not, know ye, men, the first one among you who attempts violence—him will I pistol with my own hand. Now get to work!” The men turned away at this, sullenly enough, some of them, but presently, what with the fishing operations that began, or the interest that work arouses in even the most downcast of men, some of the lighter hearted began to whistle, and in ten min- utes Jim Rimble himself, his face all sun- shine again, was barelegged on the rail, a pipe between his teeth and the end of a line in his hand, the while he sang between puffs: “T loved a lass, a fair onel As fair as e’er was seen: She was indeed a rare one, Another Sheba’s Queen! But fool as then I was, I thought she loved me too! But now, alas, she has left me. Falero, lero, loo!” Some among them were carpenters, and soon the saw and the hammer were singing a merry tune which all but drowned out Jim Rimble’s ditty. Nancy and Barney leaned over the bulwarks at his side. “What bait do you use Master Rimble?”’ asked the girl, smiling. ‘‘A bit of a crab’s claw, Miss,” replied the sailor, pulling at his forelock and giving her boy’s breeches and loose canvas shirt a side- long glance, as if to say that he didn’t know rightly whether she deserved that feminine designation or not, but would follow the Captain’s example. The gay apparel in which Mistress Chil- lingworth had quit Lille, the crimson stock- ings, the new short coat, brilliant with rib- bons, had long since succumbed to hard usage, and she had picked up on shipboard a nondescript outfit, loose, rough cotton, stained and threadbare. The sleeves of her jacket reached but to the elbow. Her limbs were bare to the knee, and her shapely legs and arms were as brown as sun and wind and weather could make them. Her hair was gathered beneath a brimless cap which she had found upon the beach at Tortuga. About her throat was knotted a bit of scar- let silk which set off the rich color of her sunburned face. “Crab’s claw, Master Rimble? Why, ’tis a very proper lure to be sure.” “I wish I had known you had it,” cried CoOMmichoooks CO