Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

On the Account For that’s the way to die, sirs, not with a canting sigh, sirs. The Roger flaunting at the peak, the ocean to the lee A-sailing down the coast of the High Barbaree. Yo ho, for the life of a rover! The sloop heeled to the strengthening wind with a rush of foam along her sides that seethed in at the scuppers. The low land was but a line behind them. Clouds had come scurrying up with the dawn and the sun seemed to rush through the masses of scud that promised dirty weather ahead. A shaft shot through a rift and picked out the triangle of sail that was making its way out of the East Passage. The pursuit wason. Bane called for his glass and pulled out the long telescope. “It’s but a sloop,” he announced. ‘She sails fast and she’s a gut of men aboard. Fight or run, there’s a storm brewing. Break out a keg, bullies all. The sloop’s stanch, no need for a reef. Double-shot the guns in case we need ’em. Take the tarpaulin off the stern-chaser!” A furious blast swooped down and tore the woolen cap from his head as he stood by the rail, clinging to the stays. ‘“‘Hell’s loose, lads. May the devil serve us!?? CHAPTER III ‘FROM THE SEAS!’ LU sunless noon found the pirates’ sloop in a welter of gray sea that matched the leaden scurry of the sky above them. They had long since dropped the chase and had made shift to double-reef | the mainsail but they were in sorry case. The cabin accommodations were scanty and sixty of them were forced to make shift for themselves upon the spume-swept deck. The water was fairly warm but they were drenched and endeavored to offset their misery by copious drafts of rum. As the afternoon wore on darkness came rapidly with an increasing gale and it was all they could do with tackles to the goose- neck of the tiller, two men at the wheel and two in the combination gunroom and cabin, to keep the ship’s head to the sea. The waves ran riot, charging in a maelstrom. The sky turned slaty-black, illumined with sheets of lightning that lit up the seething yeast of the tortured ocean and the claps of thunder kept up an incessant peal. On deck the men answerec the storm with 11 161 blasphemies that were swept aft in a jumble of imprecation. The sloop staggered under the blows of wind and water. the billows pounded at her stem as if a giant beat upon a mighty drum. The place was reeking with foul air and the lamp shone dimly through trailing to- bacco smoke. At the head of the table Bane held place, having given over the deck to the quartermaster, ““Scarry-Dick”’ Denton. His eyes were set and his beard was soaked with liquor spilled by the tossing of the sloop as he tried to quaff it. “Sink or swim,” he shouted, ‘“‘we’ll go through bravely. Blood and fire, listen to the thunder!” He rose, swaying, as the cabin glared blue in the lightning that poured in through port- holes and skylight, and held to the breech of a gun, securely lashed behind its closed port. ‘The gods are drunk with us in their tip- ple and have gone together by the ears. Death and fury, an’ we could, I’d run out the guns and return ’em a salute. The king’s men have run for cover but we are bound for the open. Blow, ye, blow. The wind’s from all quarters. I'm for the deck.”’ He made his way over the sodden bodies of some of the crew and reached the deck as one of the short and furious seas broke upon the poop, tore away the taffrail and swept the two men from the wheel, driving them into the boarding netting that had been stretched above the coaming for safety- lines. Bane jumped to the tiller and put his strength to it while the men on the watch- tackles heaved with him. A maddened gust of wind roared at the sloop and seemed for the moment to lift her clear of the seething water. Her stem crashed down, the reefed staysail broke clear and whipped out of sight like a storm-herded gull. Scarry-Dick, clinging to the netting, fought his way forward and, with three men, worked at the furl of the thrashing jib. A tiny lull saved them from the trough and the pirates managed to set enough headsail to keep the sloop from broaching to. The carpenter clawed his way out of the cabin and clung to Bane, shouting in his ear. Water was working in, already above the line of bilge. As the quartermaster came back Bane signaled for him to take the helm and dived below, kicking the drunken men in the cabin into sensibility and buffeting them before him. | CoOMmiclsoo In the cabin - CO