Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

= EY /} a ‘ eta CAPTAIN A:E:DINGLE Author of ‘Blind Luck on St. Paul,” ‘The Harpooner,” etc. BAKEN by-and-large, that last China voyage of the full-rigged ship Foochow beat most sea fiction by fathoms to feet. A queer outward passage, occupying five months of all too fine weather, succeeded by a homeward trip of a hundred-and-eighty days from Hankow Bay to the Breakwater, would have been enough to give windjammer sailors a topic to add to the interminable hank of yarns about “‘last ships.”’ The fact that we had, as bo’sun, Big Jim Chivers aboard of us, added a touch of color of its own, for Chivers had long been the talk of forecastles and after-guards alike. He had commanded big passenger steamers fifteen years before, and the story of his come-down wasn’t pretty. But it was Ben Corbet, A. S., who injected the ginger into the voyage that made it memo- rable: Ben, and the bo’sun’s final drop. We slopped lazily out past Chusan into the Eastern Sea, homeward bound, and Ben Corbet had the wheel. His remaining on the Foochow puzzled everybody, from the skipper down, for he had spent most of the time in Hankow lying in hospital, and could easily have been discharged and sent home in comfort. The old man told him as much while visiting him; for Captain Raikes was nearer human than most ship-masters. But it seemed as if the mere suggestion had has- tened his recovery; for he took up his old bunk in the forecastle the next day. The skipper stepped to the binnacle, and after a peep at the compass, asked Ben: “Feel all right now, Corbet? Don’t feel weak at all?” “I’m feeling fit, sir, thank you,” re- sponded the seaman, smiling at, the old man. “‘Never felt better, or stronger, sir.” Forward a knot of men were putting a long splice into a big wire, and the bo’sun superintended the difficult job. His surly, growling voice could be heard all through the ship, and men had acquired the habit of jumping when he spoke. Ben Corbet heard it, and when he had answered the skipper his eyes glinted coldly, in vivid contrast to the warm smile that had accompanied his answer; his body stiffened, and his chest heaved under his thin cotton jumper; his face lost its ruddy glow and went dead white. The skipper glanced at him doubtfully, and then came over to where the mates were standing, shaking his head. ‘That fellow ought to have gone home by steam,” he remarked. ‘He says he’s fine and fit, but I know better. Look at him!” 80 “It’s either weakness or something he’s boiling up for the bo’sun, sir,’”’ replied the mate, with a grin. “I’ve seen men look that kind of white just before something happened to a man they had it in for.” ‘“‘Perhaps it’s that,’ returned Captain Raikes, thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think he’s fool enough to try to get even with Chivers, E® book © =