Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

The Pirates of Andrus Island its shape was hard to tell. It looked like some queer growth of fungus such as might be found about stumps in a swamp. He wore a frayed suit of pongee cloth which was wrinkled. “So I have come to bring to your island the comforts of religion—the white man’s religion,”’ concluded Jessup. ‘Tonight we will have hymn-singing, and from this in- strument you will hear the music of civili- zation.” He pointed toward the battered cld melodeon with its yellowed keys; its treadle- board was covered with a piece of red carpet which showed where the feet of the player had worn it almost through; the music- prop that once had been an ornately filigreed piece of wood work was only a wreck of its former self, being now held together with lines of string tied so that the sheets of music would be held in place in spite of any breeze. Doxey pressed into the crowd of natives, and lifting his hand, sang out loudly: “Could you come and have a look at my ship-mate, sir? He ain’t so very sick, but he thinks he’s like to die, and he wants the prayer of a parson to comfort him, sir.” The missionary started back in surprize at hearing his own language coming out of the native throng. He peered over his amber glasses in amazement until he had located Doxey. “Bless my soul!’ he exclaimed. white brother here! only natives where He broke off and gave a gasping cough behind his hand. He seemed incapable of saying any more for the time. With open mouth he continued to stare at Doxey, his eyes studying carefully the sun-browned man before him. ‘““You’re Salvation Jessup, eh, matey?” went on Doxey. ‘I hopes you don’t mind my manner of speakin’, sir, but we’ve heard of you and how you always gives a hand up to sailors what’s run afoul of bad weather.”’ “T’m proud of that name, my good man,” said Jessup with a reassuring smile. ‘“The greatest profession in the world is that which dispenses salvation. That name is my badge of glory. It tells of my success with savage creatures in benighted places such as this out-of-the-way island. Salvation Jessup! It’s the name of service in the name of the Creator.” “Thought you wouldn’t mind my bein’ “cA I thought there were a) 153 so bold as to call you by it, sir. No offense meant, matey. You’re a sailorman like myself, I takes it.” There was a trace of cockney accent in Doxey’s way of talking, and now he pulled at his forelock in an old fashioned salute, holding his battered hat in his hand. “T am an apostle of the sea, yes,” said Jessup. “But what can I do for you, my good man?” “T’m a respectable sailcrman, sir,” pro- ceeded Doxey. “Me and a shipmate of mine, we’re beached here—some weeks it’s been—I’ve lost track. Sickish, my mate is, and when I tells him the missionary packet’s in, he says as how he’d like a word with the parson, if he’d take the trouble to talk with a sailorman that ain’t long for this world. Not that he’s to die, as I looks at it, but a bit of comfort would do him good, and a bit of prayer to buck up his courage like, sir.” Jessup glanced up through the palm grove at the native houses in the edge of the jungle. “Where is your shipmate?” he asked taking in the thatched roofs. ‘“‘Not here, sir, in the village. took to livin’ with the natives. Not our style. Ain’t right, sir, as we looks at it. So we made a little hut in a little valley, and kept by ourselves. It’s not far, sir; just a bit of awalk. If you’d be so kind as to come along with me, I’ll show it.” “You say you were shipwrecked? long ago was that?” asked Jessup. He moved slowly toward Doxey, pushing his way through the natives about him. “Back a few weeks, sir. The Nelson Leeds it was—bark out of Hong Kong for Java. Went down in a typhoon, way to the nor’rad, and all hands lost but us. Most likely you’ve heard.” “No, I haven’t heard of the loss of the Leeds, but I do know there was a typhoon a few weeks ago.” ‘“‘No, no chance for the news to be out,” said Doxey. ‘‘Not a ship’s been in sight of this crimson island, beggin’ pardon, sir, for my manner of speakin’, but it’s hard to be lost to everybody and stuck with a lot of ’eathens on a ’eathen island of the likes of this place.” Jessup stood now outside the circle of natives and surveyed Doxey with critical eye, noting the sun-blackened skin of the man, his ragged but clean clothing, his We never How CoMmiclboookk Wh) CO 5}