Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

okippers off Georges “Her boilers!” burst out Captain Dan. “They’ve exploded!” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the Comber lurched dizzily from side to side. Her bow settled like that of a diving submarine. Two dories were slid into the water, but the deck of the trawler hove up with a sudden rocking motion, and the dories were crushed under the Comber’s careening side before the men could jump into them. With a hissing sound the bow plunged deeper. Into the sea men jumped, clinging to whatever loose woodwork they could grab. ‘The stern of the Comber lifted higher and higher until its big propeller was en- tirely exposed. And with a whistling noise scarcely less piercing than the strident prolonged blast of its now silent wail of distress had been, in a great gulf of swirling white water the trawler dived to the ocean depths. The rosette of green and white drew together over the vanished propeller like the mouth of a closed purse, swallowing the Comber forever. While the crew of the Pelamon stood spellbound at the frightful sight, Mel swung the schooner toward the spot where the Comber had gone down. A big section of wooden wreckage floated past. “Git busy, boys!” he barked, waking them from their trance. But Captain Dan already had a boat hook in his hands and stood at the port rail. Pierre and Bill Alden were launching a dory, as were Ike Crowe and Shiny. The heads of men bobbed in the water. Dan got his boat hook into the clothing of one fellow and dragged him over the rail— a badly frightened man of small! stature, but uninjured. “H’lo, Cale!” Captain Dan greeted the rescued man, recognizing him as Cale Smith of his old crew. But Cale merely gave him a surly look and made himself useful assisting other men in the water on to the deck of the Pelamon. All four dories of the Pelamen were now out, into which men were fished on all sides of the schooner. For they, experienced deep-water men all, had clung doggedly to whatever floating material they had grasped, knowing that however deep the suction of the sinking trawler drew them, they would eventually bob back to the sur- face. And most of them had leaped overside 137 from the stern, thereby avoiding the suction or being only partly drawn into it. “E calc’late ever’body got away,” anx- lously declared Cale to Captain Dan, ‘“’cause we had to abandon the engine room before the explosion, water filled ’ex up so fast.” The growing number of men on deck, who were either hauled aboard by Dan and other rescued men or brought in fromthe dories, seemed to confirm Cale’s belief. Mel watched anxiously while the. dories brought in their loads, studying the faces of all the rescued men. And when the last dory came in containing Captain Ira and Luke Carey, Mel’s square face brightened. “Call the roll, Captain Thomas,” Mek shouted at the skipper of the Comber. Cap- tain Ira was a tall, thin, somewhat stoop- shouldered seafarer in the early sixties, his black eyes and iron-gray hair and mus- tache lending to his hook-nosed hatchet face the evil aspect of a malign bird of prey. Captain Ira lined up his men and called off their names without loss of time. Twen- ty-six answered him. ‘All here,’’ he announced to Mel, disre- garding Captain Dan entirely. He seemed calm enough, even bold, in the face of the disaster to his prized trawler. A wicked. grin wrinkled the tight leathery skin of his sinister countenance. “T calc’late under the circumstances, Mel, my men can handle the navigatin’ o’ this schooner an’ give yourn a rest.”’ While Captain Ira was talking, Mel had picked up a spare harpoon pole from the deckhouse. “YT cale’late your offer ain’t exac’ly be comin’,” the striker answered the skipper of the ill-fated Comber. ‘‘In the fust place, I ain’t the man to be addressed on such a matter, bein’ as Cap’n Oldham is still skip- per here. Then ag’in, while you an’ your bulhes are aboard the Pelamon, your quarters will be in the fo’csle till we can git ye into port. Luke,” he addressed his former shipmate, who was lined up amid- ships with the Comber’s crew, “step out here.”’ “Aye, aye, sir,” replied Luke smilingly in the most approved maritime etiquette, advancing toward Mel. “Now tell what ye know,” Mel calmly ordered Luke. “Vd rather wait an’ tell it in court,” replied Luke. “All I can say, Mel, is that COMIGDIOOKSEEO