Adventure Magazine Cover — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

Q2 “That fills her crew,” growled the board- ing master with a nod to the riding light of a ship at anchor close inshore. AWN was breaking. Stars were 1) fading. Mastheads of anchored ships swayed easily against the opening sky. A ship’s mate banged upon the forecastle door, rousing his crew. A drowsy sailor lurched off to the galley, fetching the morning coffee. “How long was you ashore?” asked one sailor of another. ‘Wot day is it?’ came the reply. questioner chuckled. Some surly, some indifferent, they sipped their coffee. The mate looked in. ‘Rouse out here, now! that windlass!” They straggled to the deck. But Jukes lay sleeping still, his face to the bulkhead. The mate stepped in and shook him. He wakened slowly. ‘Tumble out, here, you!’ Jukes climbed from the bunk and looked about him. ‘“‘Come on, now! Get out of here!” | With a long staggering stride, Jukes passed out to the new ship’s deck. The wind blew in his hair. The tide sang by. Jukes turned, wild-eyed, and faced the mate. Men on the forecastle head looked down and laughed to hear him curse. He gazed up at them, vacant-eyed. He looked toward the shore, saw his old ship, and shuddered. “Come on, my man!” the mate said. ““Vou’re at sea.” Alf Jukes ascended to the forecastle head. “Sing, some one!”’ said the mate, “‘sing and let’s get her away.” A sailor leaning on a windlass bar began to sing a forecastle song, a chantey, a ballad with awailing chorus. The tugboat’s smoke whirled by. The chorus rose and fell. The cable clanked. “W’y don’t ye sing, shipmate?” a sailor asked of Jukes. Alf Jukes let go his windlass bar. Fists clenched and arms upraised, his curses ringing loud above his comrades’ song, he looked upon the shore. “Come on, my man,” the mate said. “You're at sea.” The Get up and man You’re at sea, my man. BILL ADAMS EEKS were goneby. It was black W midnight. No star shone. Sails hung invisible. Long swells rolled sluggishly beneath the keel. The ship’s bow rose, dipped to deep hollows, and arose again. Half naked in the hot night, Alf Jukes lay slumbering. The watch below slept soundly all about him. The watch on deck sat talking on the hatch without. Sails flapped to the long roll of the ship. Chains clinked upon the lower masts. Blocks chattered squeakily. Now and again a heavy rope, a sheet or lazy tack, thud- thudded against the ship’s side. The wheel cluck-clucked. The sailors’ voices rose and fell, a mumble from the hatch. Poring above a chart, the skipper sat in his chart room. Presently he rose, looked out to the dark night, listened awhile, and went below. An hour passed. High and sudden, the mate’s voice rang above the noises of the night, and, answer- ing quick commands, gloom-hidden sailors leaped up and rushed to the braces. The skipper ran, pajama-clad and shout- ing, to the deck. The watch on deck were shouting at the ropes. A deep long grum- bling roar was allabout—the growl of rollers bursting on a reef. A sailor yelled at the forecastle door, wakening the sleepers of the watch below. Blackness was like a wall. The skipper was shouting orders. ‘The mate was shout- ing; the grumbling rumble coming closer, louder. The ship quivered. A rending sound rose sharp above the roar, died, and arose again. A topmast splintered and went overboard. ‘Torn canvas snarled. Blocks skirled. The ship slid on, settling beyond the reef. Last from his bunk came Jukes. Striking a match he held it high, and by its feeble flare saw the crazed struggles of his com- rades all yelling at the door. Fallen men clutched madly at the feet that trampled them. Water lapped into the forecastle. The match went out. The ship lurched heavily. Jukes stepped from the emptied forecastle into water knee deep. As he slid bare- footed to the rigging, the water rose to his waist. He gripped the shrouds and swung himself aloft. The water followed. He climbed, cat-nimble. The water followed COMICoOo® SS (C©@