Adventure Magazine Cover — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

Yankee Tricks whiskers, gol ram his hide! He told me to tell you that the sooner you go ashore and talk business the better you’ll like his terms.”’ Captain Asa Swift said nothing as he went over the WNabob’s side. But the boat’s crew observed with joy that “the Old Man had shipped his fighting face.” Yet the privateersman felt helplessly out of his element as he strode into Terwil- liger’s dusty little office. Had Swift been in either Federal or State service, he could have commandeered transportation and left the deacon to fight it out with the government. But as the mere holder of a letter-of-marque, he would have to drive his own bargains. “How much do you want for hauling our stuff to Boston, deacon?” he asked bluntly. “Two hundred and fifty dollars a ton.” “Two hundred and fifty-two thousand tons. - Great Cesar, deacon, that’s five hundred thousand dollars!”’ “Cargo’s worth a million at your own valuation, ain’t it? That leaves another half-million for you and Bloggs.” ‘‘And the rest of the officers and crew. Can’t you set us a lower figure?”’ “‘No, but I can set a higher one, Terwilliger. you’n Bloggs diddled me out of that cargo of Irish linens, or how you made me throw overboard all my own guns and fixings? Thought you were playing a smart trick on the old deacon, didn’t yer I’ve got you caught in a cleft stick now, young feller, and you’ll be a durn sight leaner and less pert by the time I turn you loose.” ““Maybe so, maybe not. Deacon, do you know Vigo Bay?” “Port of call, nor’west coast of Spain,” replied Terwilliger promptly. ‘Put in there for provisions and water in September 1800, and was overcharged something scandalous.” “Maybe that’s where you caught the habit,” said Swift dryly. “Did you ever hear tell of what happened at Vigo just a hundred years to the month before you went there?” “T don’t cumber my mind with the vain and gory details of profane history,”’ replied the sanctimonious deacon. ‘The holy Scriptures are good enough reading for me.” “The gory details of Vigo’s history have a lesson for you and me,” said the privateers- man. ‘“There was a Spanish treasure-fleet arrived there from the West Indies, just like the Nabob came to Falport. ‘The Span- ”” snarled “Think LTve forgotten how - 89 iards called out a lot of militia and fixed up a fort or.two to guard the harbor and ship- ping, same as our folks have done here. . And then there was.a delay about unloading the treasure and hauling it up-country, be- cause of a fuss over the price of cartage and sO on, Same as you and I are having in this office ‘right now. “Pretty soon the English learned what was going on. Next thing the Vigo folks knew, the redcoats had landed and were chasing the militia out of the forts, while the King’s ships were smashing their way into the harbor to burn, sink and destroy. After the smoke had lifted, the Britishers had all that was left of the treasure-fleet— and there wasn’t much left of Vigo. ‘““Now, deacon, are you going to play dog in the manger till the same thing happens to Falport or are you going to bring your terms down to a reasonable figure?”’ ‘““You’ve heard my terms and you can take ’em or leave ’em,”’ snapped the deacon, displaying two broken rows of tobacco- stained teeth that made Swift think of tumble-down stone walls marking an old spite-lane. “Tl leave ’em fora while and take a look around,” said the captain, turning to the door. “Look all you’ve a mind to,” scoffed the deacon from the top of his high office- stool. “If you can buy or hire a team from aniybody else in Falport today, bring the critters round and let me have a look at 7em.”’ “T will,” promised the captain curtly. He fled from the office because he knew that if he gazed for five seconds longer at Terwilliger’s skinny, dangling ankles he would be unable to keep his hands off them. The temptation to pluck the deacon from his stool and swing him around his head— a feat well within the brawny privateers- man’s strength—was rapidly becoming ir- resistible. “Guess I'll drop round to the tavern and see Joel Tenterden,’ soliloquized Captain Swift. “Being as he’s town butcher as well as hotel-keeper, Joel ought to know the state of the cattle-market.” WALKING up Main Street, the Sor privateersman entered the tavern bar and asked for the proprietor. The bartender jerked his thumb toward the rear of the premises. MICLOOOK (C@