Adventure Magazine Cover — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

Yankee Tricks English frigate-captains to come aboard us?” “T certainly am. Ill be the fleet-captain and receive ’em one by one at the gangway, as they come aboard, and escort ’em aft to the cabin, where you’re to be the admiral.” ‘‘What in creation! Mean admiral?” ‘*You’ve got to be old Sir Theobald Warrington, Vice-Admiral of the White. That’s his pennant aloft there that I’ve cut out with my own hands.” ‘“‘Mebbe it is but the good Lon never cut me out for a Tory admiral nor a play-actor neither,” protested Noah Bloggs. ‘One look at me and one word out of my mouth and those Britishers will spot me for a Yankee.” “T guess they will,’ admitted Swift. “Particularly as you’ll have an armed guard in the cabin with you to grab those British- ers and put ’em where the dogs won’t bite ‘em, as fast as I show ’em in. Soon as we get all the captains aboard and stowed away, we'll hoist another signal— ‘**Tisregard movements of the commander- in-chief.’ ”’ “Then we'll run in as if we were trying ‘to find out the strength of the new Sandy Hook batteries by drawing their fire, which is just the sort of thing old Warrington used to do off Toulon. When we’re safe past the fleet, we’ll run up the Stars and Stripes and head for New York.” “Suppose the forts misdoubt us and fill us full of cannon-balls, flag and all? Wouldn’t it be safer to set somebody ashore on Long Island with a message and stand out to sea till he’s had time to deliver it to the army officer in charge at Sandy Hook?” ‘“‘That’s a smart idea, Noah. Trouble is, the news of our taking the Nabob off Finisterre must have left England some time ago, and I don’t want to risk its reaching the blockading fleet before we do. So we'll hold on and try our luck this after- noon. By the way the wind’s freshening, we ought to be off the Highlands by seven bells.” In the first dogwatch the Nabob, on the port tack and under all plain sail, bore boldly down on the British blockading squadron off Sandy Hook. The largest of the four frigates standing on and off there stood out to meet her. Suddenly a cloud of smoke puffed from a forward port, followed by the boom of a heavy gun “Godfrey’s Cordial! He’s firing at us!’ cried Noah Bloggs. : 93 “He’s firing a vice-admiral’s salute,” corrected Swift as the blank discharges rolled: from the British fleet. “Hoist that first signal. There go the acknowledge- ments! Back the topsails, Mr. Gifford, and lower a Jacob’s ladder to leeward. Here comes the captain’s gig from the nearest frigate and the others are pulling in his wake. Better go below and stand by with the reception committee, Noah.” The captain of H. M. S. Achates, forty- four, who up to now had been the “senior officer present,” came alongside the sup- posed seventy-four, ascended the Jacob’s ladder to the starboard gangway and ex- changed salutes with the officer he found awaiting him there. Then the gallant captain turned a fine rich plum color with astonishment and rage. “Swift—by gad!” “Carteret-Carstairs!”’ ejaculated the equal- ly astounded Swift. FOR the moment both were too much surprized to do anything but stand and stare at each other. The roel was broken by the supposedly royal marine light infantryman who had been presenting arms beside them. Leveling his musket at the visitor, he asked in purest New England accents— ‘‘Want me to drop him, cap’n?”’ “No!” shouted Swift, knocking up the flintlock and throwing his arms. about Carteret-Carstairs as the latter was about to dive overboard. “Shove off!’ shouted the Englishman to his boat’s crew, who were staring up in astonishment at the amazing’ spectacle of two officers of high rank engaged in a wrestling match. ‘This craft is a Yankee in disguise! Shove off and warn the other gigs!” “Let ’em alone!” commanded Swift as the American musketeers rushed to the Nabob’s starboard rail. ‘“T’ll pistol the man who pulls a trigger.”’ Dragging the struggling Carteret-Car- stairs inboard, he continued to give his orders. “Square away for the port, Mr. Gifford— set flying-jib and stuns’ls. Haul down that signal and run up the other one.” “Will you have the goodness to release me?” said Captain Carteret-Carstairs freez- ingly as he realized the futility of his own efforts to shake off Swift’s sinewy arms. NOOK C@