Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

Two Strong Men tore through the dense mass of them, gashing, shattering, till the fearless boarders reeled, their ranks decimated. Eight times Diego led a handful of weary pikemen in a charge that drove the survivors back into the sea. His splendid spirit, which had trained and inspired the motley crew of the San Gregorio—which was more of an armed passenger ship than a man-of-war— urged them on now to do more than their best, to face and hurl back professional warriors. But no sooner was one boarding party swept away than a fresh onslaught rolled up over the rail. It was like fighting the waves of the sea. Hundreds of the Japan- ese remained, and the defenders were now very few. Half those that had held the waist lay dead or desperately wounded on the deck, mingling their blood with that of their fallen foes; and ever the heavy, two-handed Oriental swords sheared through the plates of their dripping armor. And now from the forecastle came a de- spairing cry. “‘More men!”’ gasped Gil Robles. men!” Glancing swiftly about to count his depleted forces, Diego caught sight of a gorgeous, over-armored figure slinking away toward the shelter of the cabin. “Don Feliz!” he cried roughly. ‘Back to your post! What? Your blade is as clean as it was yesterday! Here by me, you dog, and show yourself a man, or by the saints, I will kill you with my own hand!” The speculator turned toward him a face gray with terror. The flashing Japanese swords had frightened from Arruego all the little manhood he possessed. His diseased imagination pictured those great, razor-edged blades shearing through his shrinking flesh; but the captain’s eyes filled him with a fear more imminent, more terrible than the fear of the shouting, black- masked Japanese. He staggered over to Diego’s side, his rapier trembling in his hand. “Senor Capitén,”’ reported a musketeer, saluting with a powder-blackened hand, “Lieutenant Gomez bids me say that he can not hold the poop without reenforce- ments. Thrice have the heathen scaled the quarter-gallery and nigh forced their way in through the stern-windows of the cabin!” “More 177 “Then we must ply them with the murderer-guns,”’ thought Diego, and beck- oned the master-gunner to him. “Shift two swivels to the after-rail and two others to the forecastle-head!’’ he commanded. But the old master-gunner made a sign of negation. “They are all too hot to be shifted, or reloaded either. The last chamber we managed to wedge home exploded with the heat of the breech before I could touch fire to it. Unless you can hold them off with point and edge, you must strike or sound a parley.”’ “Never!” replied Diego. “I will fight to the end, and then order you to blow up the magazine!’ : “And I will obey,” answered the master- gunner.steadily. “But there are only two barrels of powder left.” “Then listen,” said the captain, ‘‘and I will teli you what to do with them. The scheme 1 is desperate, but we have no othér + 1 ott “OH LORD OF TOSA,” propeted Kurushima’s gray-haired second in command, ‘half our men are slain, the rest are weary and sorely wounded, and this devil-ship is as strong as ever! Whenever we win her deck and drive back her crew, their high-placed guns sweep us away as an angry chess-player sweeps the pieces from the board. Their weapons are too powerful; their captain, whose sword is everywhere, is no mortal but a demon— else how could he have flown over our castle-wall? Let us give up and row back to the shore! This is worse than the tortoise-boat!”’ 3 ‘Let dogs and cowards pull for the shore!” cried Kurushima. “Let the true Samurai follow me!” Without waiting to see if any -followed, the Daimio sprang from the stern of his own disabled boat to that of another, half- full of blood-tinged water, whose bow touched the San Gregorio’s waist. Pulling himself up by the channels, he climbed to the gunwale and stood there, slashing away the tattered waist-cloths, till he could look down upon the deck. Before him stood a Spaniard: a sallow, effeminate-looking man with cunning, shifty eyes and livid face, whose splendid Milanese breastplate, cuishes, and morion showed no mark of battle. Don Feliz de Arruego, GOmicsoo SS (C@) —