Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

okipper Joe, Retired He turned his horse and rode after Clarissa and Bonivard. Messire Thibaut was waiting for him; Messire Thibaut had sent them on by a crossroad which climbed up toward Novara and the hills, and he caught them up where they rode close, chat- tering like children. Clarissa turned to him and took him into their talk prettily, all hap- piness, and they could not make enough of him. “But your eyes are behind you,” she cried at last. “Oh, my lord, is there danger for us yet?” “We are safe enough,” Silvain said. 103 “See the sun on the snows, Clarissa,” Bonivard cried. ‘‘We shall be in the moun- tains tomorrow.”’ ‘“‘There is only sunshine before us,” she smiled. ‘But why do you look back, Silvain?”’ Silvain pointed down the road in the plain. It gleamed in a long array of steel. ‘See, there is the army of France march- ing to war, and a knight of France am I, and I may not ride under her banner nor fight for her. I am a lonely man and my heart is desolate.” SKIPPER JOE, RETIRED by Earl W. Scott VERY mornin’ bright or fair, Skipper Joe, he takes the air. He rolls down the quay like he trod the deck Of his bark at sea, the ol’ John Peck. Standin’, he scans the distant sea, An’ clouds of smoke drift off to lee From the stubby pipe betwixt ’is teeth An’ the gulls swirl up from the bar beneath An’ halo ’is head with its cropped white hair. His hard hand shades ’is eyes from the glare As he notes the barks in the offing, where The tall ships idle at anchor there. He knows the tramps an’ knows ’em well, An’ the whalers whose stinkin’ decks are hell; Or the line ships gleamin’, white an’ fine, Their bows a-glistenin’ jewels of brine As they weigh their anchors, ‘‘Yo, heave ho,” When the tide is right on the bar below. Some day the quay’ll miss ol’ Joe, © A-watchin’ the sea that he loved so; For ’is sailor soul, outbound’! ride, In a white ship’s sail on the ebbing tide; An’ the gulls’ll hover round and round, Castin’ their shadders on the ground— Mem ries, brave, of souls at sea, Of sailor-men that usta be. CO DOO (C© inn