Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

Adventure Under locks an’ keys, An’ it sure is nice to be Out of wind an’ storm In a gat that’s warm, Which 1s Home Sweet Home to me.”’ ‘‘Speakin’ of jails,” a brawny sailor said, ‘Here in the States they may mean board and bed, But at some ports where I have got in Dutch The turnkeys doesn’t feed you very much. Your bed’s a board, whenever it ain’t stone That chills you to the very marrow bone. Yet I must say you do meet up with blokes In jail sometimes that’s interestin’ folks. F’r instance, down in one town in Peru, I lands in prison for a day or two Until the captain, bein’ short of men, Finds where I am an’ gets me out again. Well, while I’m there, my cellmate is a geek Non (hn HEY x That’s got a red scar runnin’ down his cheek, c fg ad | ae et oe A twisted mouth an’ eyes that’s glowerin’ green. = me. a ve ie <i Rie i He wears a crimson head-dress on his bean; Rc et eae An’ when he speaks—say, I’m a sailor, see; tw lt 8 Ser, reill aT os i et It’s pretty hard to shock a bird like me— aah Pine i But when that feller’s tongue begins to clack His curses is so wicked an’ so black, 4 he “a Duty in Wing an pu a os ac ay I sit an’ shudder, an’ this mop of mine oe 2 | Begins to raise, an’ all along my spine Sy =, I feels the cold chills chasin’. “<. “ales La < In my sleep . | al, pt. f I’d hear him gruntin’ somethin’, low an’ deep, ee Ce Sa , A kind of chant that gets me wide awake a An’ makes my heart stand still, my body quake; ‘ UL ro An’ lyin’ there I learns his cussed song I won’t forget it all my whole life long. “Cuilas and knife, cutlas and knife; Blood’s the joy of a pirate’s life; Our ship was swift and our flag was black, And we were a murderous wolfish pack, Led by the wickedest ruthless brute That ever scuttled a ship for loot. We drank black rum in a fiery flood But our hottest thirst was a thirst for blood. “Cutlas and knife, cutlas and knife; We dreamed of slaughter and thrived on strife; We laughed when decks were a slippery red And hatches cluttered with heaped-up dead. With knives still clenched in our gleaming teeth We tossed our foes to the sharks beneath, Then shared our plunder of gear and gold And broached the rum that was in the hold. COMICLMOOKKS.GO© =