Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

McMASTERS’ swung again. He drove home wooden pegs that were fitted with expanding wedges on their ends. | The little skipper staggered over the deck, climbed to the forepeak, and looked over- side. Aphrodite rising from the waves, had been cast loose where she sank in seven fathoms of water. In her place leered the ugliest of the temple idols—a gargoyle with.a perpetual grin. / ‘A touch of paint,” said Red Land- yard. ‘““A bit of gold leaf on th’ cheeks, an’ we’ve got a figurehead.” Micky steadied his rocking legs. He whispered to the mate: “ There’s a name on th’ bottom of that idol. Don’t I see some lettering?”’ “Yes, skipper. It’s in an unknown language—nobody knows anything about. Let it go!” Micky roHed aft, turned in his bunk, and slept for half a watch. He came on deck at dawn. A southerly trade-wind was slowing. - “Cat th’ anchor, Mr. Landyard,” he _ said to the mate. “Set everything but th’ royals an’ flyin’ jib. We're going hout be- fore th’ ’eathen see their bloomin’ idol!” The Borneo left the open harbor of Loagtown and took the trade-wind over her starboard quarter. It was her best point vef sailing. She logged eight knots. Micky mildly suggested to his-mate certain things which occurred to him. ‘“‘ Unbatten th’ fore hatch, Red. Get th’ watch at work an’ lighten ’er a little more - aft. See, she yaws a bit. She’s too far hout in the bow. An’, Red,” added Micky when: the mate turned to leave the quarter- ‘deck, “Red, you might set th’ royals on fore an’ main.”’ Micky was never a bucko skipper. He allowed his crew to come aft whenever they wanted to, He visited the forecastle, and would, at times, sit on a bunk and chin with a seaman.. He held that the way of the sea was changing and that many a good man might be before the mast. Red Landyard, the Yankee, was Micky’s mouthpiece. The mate nursed few illu- sions. He personally picked the additions to the crew who came aboard at Torres Strait. Among them were a few shell- FOLLY, 535 backs — world wanderers — who believed that the ocean held its\ mysteries. One of these men drew the mate out of ear-shot of the others. - ‘“ Speakin’ in general, Mr. Landyard,” he said, ‘‘ wouldn’t it be just as well for all hands if you heaved that figgerhead over- board? I’ve sailed on ships, man an’ boy, going now thirty vears. 1 never saw no luck in an idol. We're bound to run foul of somethin’.” The mate laughed’ and clapped the old salt on the back. ‘“ Skipper’s orders,” said he. “I’m not superstitious—I rather have thirteen” dol- lars any day than twelve. McMasters don’t believe in those things. This is'a good ship, well-found, fast as a witch, and we're heading for th’ Horn as if all th’ girls in Liverpool were pullin’ th’ strings.” The old salt’s name was Dipford. He shook his gray head and went among the crew. ~ Red Landyard inspected the tore-hold, ordered the fore-hatch battened, saw that a . tarpaulin was lashed to the deck-bolts, and hurried aft.. ‘““Some of th’ crew are worried about that idol,” he told Micky. “‘ Old Dinter says itll bring no good luck!” Micky rubbed the bristles on his chin and shot a quick glance foreward. ‘“What th’ bleedin’ more luck de we want than this?” he exclaimed. ‘“‘ A sou’- west trade-wind, a clean ship, an’ an ocean of sea room.” Red Landyard looked at the bulcing sails with a certain pride. He strode to the wheel-house and stared into the binnacle. “Hold her steady,” he said, and went back to the skipper’s side. The Borneo surged on. A sparkle ran across the domelike sea. The trade- ‘Wind was laden with soft spices and fragrant odors. Each strand of rigging hummed its own note. The balm of clean living came to the two seamen on the ship’s quarter-deck. They lifted their chins and gulped the breeze. ‘“She’s carryin’ th’ mail!’’ exclaimed Micky. ‘“‘ Who talks of bad luck?” ‘“Some of them would find fault with Heaven. I'll tell th’ cook to double th’ aL ASONNMIGIIOOKS Conn \ “T IT