Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

Deferred succumbed to this beast’s wiles. He tired of her, as he had tired of others who had been too weak to resist his blandishments. “But she had, God help her, learned to care for him to the exclusion of my father. Then came the disaster to the steamer. This man saw a way to be rid of her then, and that is why she was found in his cabin, locked up, when everybody expected the ship had gone down!” Chivers stood rooted to the deck, and Corbet stepped a half-pace nearer to him as he continued: “In short, my father received her back to his home in full forgiveness, but the dis- grace killed her. She died in his arms. Ever since I was big enough, I have fol- lowed the sea in the hope of one day sailing with this man. In this ship I found him, and carried out my intent. “In all the fighting that has occurred between us, one object has been in view, that of finding his strength and matching it with my own. Yesterday I satished myself that I am at last able to handle him. I saved him from drowning, simply because I could not let him escape by that easy way. Captain Raikes, I have sworn to kill that man with my hands, and “Look out!’ roared the second mate. Chivers uttered a bellow of sheer blind terror, and broke for the rail. The mate and Captain Raikes hurled themselves at the flying figure, but the maddened bo’sun burst through them like a charging bull. He was within three feet of the lee rail when Corbet plunged after him in a flying tackle, and brought him with a crash to the deck. THEN ensued a silent, awful con- flict that kept would-be interrupters — standing open-mouthed. With the grip of his implacable foe upon him, Chivers called up all his fighting instincts and put gut all his tremendous strength. With fists and feet he hammered and pounded at the clinging Nemesis; but Corbet’s slim, sinewy hands fastened in a steely grip on his brawny throat and squeezed like Fate. The young fellow’s face and chest were pounded raw, his mouth and ear poured blood, one eye was closed and the other all but blinded. Still the knuckles of his hands shone white through the taut skin; still his fingers sank deeper and deeper into the great neck of his adversary. Suddenly Corbet uttered the first sound 85 since the conflict began, and it was a grim laugh of triumph. The bo’sun’s blows were missing now; the great fists hammered at deck and waterways; the ape-like arms moved jerkily and fell slower as his suffused face was overshadowed with the blackness of strangulation. | “By God! Stop them!” barked the skip- per, stepping forward as he emerged from his stupefaction. ‘‘Pull him off, men!” ‘Never mind, sir,” panted Corbet, rising and gulping in great breaths of revivifying air. ‘I’ve finished with him. Now do what you like with me.” He held out both hands. “I suppose you'll turn me over to the police, sir?”’ Captain Raikes walked the deck apart for several minutes, while the two mates ranged themselves on either side of Corbet, and a deep muttering growl of approbation went up from the seamen who had thrown disci- pline to the four winds during the fight and were now mobbed about the ladders. ‘“‘If I was the old man, Corbet, I’d recom- mend you for a Carnegie medal!” said the mate, gruffly. “Same here,”’ rejoined the second mate, who-was yet thrilling with the excitement. The skipper stopped at last, and said, shortly: “You can go forward, Corbet. I’ll deal with you later on. Some of you men get this body down on the fore-hatch and let Sails sew it up.” And when the poop was clear again, save for the helmsman and his officers, Captain Raikes told the mates: ‘““There’s only one thing to do in this mat- ter, gentlemen. It’s no business of the police, or anybody else ashore. If you’re agreed, I’ll enter the affair in the log and have you witness it, and I think we can ring down the curtain on the final act*of the Ultonia case.” “Tf it clears Ben Corbet, sir, I’ll sign anything!”’ said the mate. “Same here, sir,” agreed the second mate emphatically. And this is the entry that appeared in the Foochow’s official log, duly witnessed, all shipshape and Bristol fashion: 39 Latitude 8 eee 40 mins. South; Longitude 72 degs. 04 mins. East, James Chivers, boatswain, fell overboard. He was saved with great gallantry by Benjamin Corbet, Able Seaman. Chivers was in bad shape when brought on board, and died the next day of deferred strangulation. . COmicloo C©