The Argosy, April 1912 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

AS ruffans of yours are no longer content to snarl. Look at them out there. They mean mischief.”’ Smith looked. At one glance this ruler of men saw I was right, and at a stride he reached the doorway leading from cabin to deck. He was not one second too soon. For, even as he stepped forward, the con- ference among the malcontents ended. As one man they moved forward toward the cabin in whose doorway Smith, sword in hand, stood glaring at them. This time his weapon and his eyes did not check them. There was a hissing sound as a score of swords leaped from their scab- bards. The big fellow in the blue mantle was in advance of the rest. It was evident he was spokesman. Onward moved the men until their leader was barely two swords’-length from Smith. Then he halted and made as though to speak. But Smith spoke first. “What does this mean?” shouted the captain, his rough voice. booming forth like a cannon-shot. “Is it mutiny? If so, you will one and all wish you had not been born.” The blue-mantled man held his ground and replied: “We have had enough of that, Captain Smith. We have endured your browbeat- ings and your bullyings long enough. ‘The end has come. It is you who have brought ill luck upon this ship.” “A gang of blackguards like you and your fellows, Jerry Crowley,” retorted Smith, “are enough to bring ill fortune on Westminster Abbey itself. If—” “The breaking of the mirror,” pursued the blue-mantled Crowley, unheeding, “brought a curse on this ship. Our lives have been in peril from storm and wave ever since. And the shipmaster says the storm is not yet past. It is you, Captain John Smith, who have brought upon us this curse. And while you remain on board we shall not know one safe hour.” “The shore is overdistant to swim to,” jeered Smith, “and our consort ships are not in sight. I fear me you must e’en en- dure my fateful presence a while longer.” A confused howl of negation — furious, beastlike—rose from the crowd. “We shall not endure your presence,” Captain Smith,” retorted the spokesman. “That is what we have come to tell you. You brought ill luck upon us. If you stay we will all go to the bottom. And—” THE DICE FELL. 29 “The right men in the right place at last,’’ commented Smith. “And,” continued Crowley, his voice raising, “to save our own lives we must sacrifice you.” (Do not think I overdraw this scene, I beg. History will bear me out. From the beginning of the world seafarers have been rankly superstitious. And again and again they have thrown overboard men who they believed brought misfortune to the ship. To search no farther afield for an example, let me recall the case of the prophet Jonah in Holy Writ.) “You mean to hurl me overboard?” asked Smith in genuine wonder. For reply they unanimously pressed closer. Again ‘was their fear of him forgot in a greater terror—the superstitious dread that his continued presence would bring them shipwreck and drowning. At their forward move Smith raised his sword-point, but gave no other sign of emo- tion. Indeed, his usual truculence was re- placed by calm—a deadly calm. “Before you can cast me into the sea,” he drawled, “you must take me. Who first will court death by laying hands on John Smith?” They gathered for a rush. I quietly stepped into the broad doorway to one side of Smith, sword in hand. Aquia, the giant redman, hatchet aloft, stepped to Smith’s other side as unconcernedly as though about to serve his master’s dinner. We were three against twenty. The odds seemed overwhelming. Our position in the doorway, which we completely filled, gave us some added advantage. But I knew enough of hand-to-hand warfare to realize how slender was our hope of survival. Well, it would be, at any rate, a soldier’s death. And at the side of two brave men. One might do worse than die thus, with drawn sword, for the right. And, happier than I had been for months, I threw myself on guard. CHAPTER XI. I TRY MY HAND AT SWORD-PLAY. THE appearance of Aquia and myself be- side Smith was an evident surprise to the mutineers. I think they had not counted on the captain’s receiving help from the few of the passengers and crew who were not in the plot. CoOmicloool.