Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

_McMASTERS” FOLLY. Limping like a wounded bird with a drag- ging pinion, the ship headed into the north- easter which gradually swung from the east. Gust followed gust. The night brought other troubles to Micky and the weary crew. A leak sprang in the seams. The mate sounded the forward pump and set three hands clanking the handles. He came aft and climbed to the quarter- deck. The ship’s list to leeward was all of fifteen degrees. Micky still held his po- sition in the mizzen weather shrouds. The little skipper’s eyes were baleful. “ Tt couldn’t be helped!” said Red Land- yard. ‘She came on us very unexpected, skipper.” Micky had worn his anxious soul out esti- mating the damage done by the storm. ‘Vast with that talk!’’ he snapped. “‘ What d’ye make of th’ sky to windward?” “ Looks like more wind,” said the mate ‘unfeelingly. “There cawn't be more!”’. “ Oh, yes, there can, skipper! This hur- ricane can become a simoon an’ th’ simoon change into a tornado. We're lucky to have any spars left.” Micky gulped and thought of the thrifty Scotch owners. “I was trusted,” he said, “ and now look at th’ ship!” Red Landyard had a Yankee’s buoy- ancy. ‘She'll weather it!” he declared. “ All that’s really gone is th’ maintopmast an’ a few spars. We can put in Sandy Point for refitting.” “ Hif we ever get to Sandy Point! ain’t makin’ any ’eadway.” An observation taken the next day at noon, when the sun appeared for a few seconds, attested to Micky’s statement. The Borneo was being driven back toward Longtown. Red Landyard, taking advantage of a les- sening gale, had the deck cleared and the broken rigging spliced. He got out old can- vas and set the crew to work. The pump was unshipped when the well sounded dry. A day passed with the Borneo making slight headway toward the south. A second day allowed Micky to run down some of his latitude. Storm sails were set on the main and mizzen. The ship, close-hauled, ran We 537 across the gale, dipped her lee rails and righted sullenly. A week of head-wind sailing brought the clipper within the zone of. Cape Horn storms. The easterly gale died and was succeeded by a southern hurricane that car- ried teeth of ice. Micky stared south- easterly, where he wanted to go, and shook his broken fist. | ‘““She’s perverse!” admitted Red Land- yard. “I never saw wind with so much meanness.” — The little skipper’s pea-jacket was sheathed with sleet. His chin bristled through a glazed coating. The ship took the long slushy rollers, ran off the wind, and came back to her course sluggishly. There was no life in her. ‘““Cawn’t you suggest Micky asked the mate. ‘¢ Sure,” said Red Landyard. ‘ Do what the crew suggest, if you want to get around the Horn. Chop away that idol!” ~ “Bly me hif I will!” snapped Micky. “TI ain’t superstitious.”’ | “Old Dipford has th’ crew all worked up about that figurehead I brought from th’ jungle temple.” “It’s a billiken! It’s good luck!” The Yankee understood the little Cock- ney skipper. He knew there was no chang- ing Micky’s mind.. “ All right,” he drawled. “I just mentioned it, you know.” Micky leaped a foot or more from the icy deck. He brought his clenched fists down on the quarter-deck rail. He faced the biting head wind and snapped defi- antly. “T hordered that idol! something?” I’m responsible! Th’ hidea of a-wooden image ’avin’ any- . thing to do with th’ weather! Th’ hidea!” “‘ Tt is a queer idea, skipper. Ill tell th’ crew that th’ first man who lays hands .on that image, goes overboard.” Micky was satisfied. He did not believe in any of the superstitions common to sea- men. He had found bolts in hollow spars, ‘iron near the binnacle, sick dogs that were taken for ghosts, and the other things that might set a ship’s crew talking among themselves. “We'll. make th’ Horn!” he promised. “ Ain’t I been around ten: times! oS Original rom, - aes eee 4 | (C(O) -) GIoOok CO