The Argosy, April 1912 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

AS THE DICE FELL. 20 And the difficulty of the task that now confronted them served only to urge them to further and more furious efforts. Their hatred was at boiling point. Their fighting spirit was up. The time when the power of a more masterful mind could quell them was past. There was no hope for us. I hit on a bold plan. These men were gamblers and were wont to stake all on one throw: I would appeal to that instinct in them. “Wait!” I cried, as they gathered about Crowley, arranging for a better and more carefully executed assault. ‘“ Wait! Crow- ley, ’tis to you I am speaking.” “The time for speaking is past,” he srowled. “You are these men’s leader,” I hurried on. “You voiced their alleged grievance. Are you man enough to take the weight of that grievance upon yourself? ”’ He looked puzzled. So did the rest. They did not understand. “Will you hold back your pack of curs,”’ I continued, ‘and meet me, man to man, hand to hand, sword to sword?” “What?” “Will you let us represent our two fac- tions and let the whole quarrel rest on the result of our duel?” A murmur of keen, wondering interest sprang from the group. I gave it no time to die down. “If you men charge us again,” [ said, “you may or may not overcome us. But in any case you will lose many lives. You have seen how we can fight. On the other hand, if we beat you into submission you all will continue to snarl for the rest of the voyage.” Again I paused for the fraction of a sec- ond to let my words sink in. Then I re- sumed: “Let us rather be true gamesters. Fight me, Master Crowley. If I win let your men pledge themselves to obedience. If you win, Captain Smith shall be delivered into your hands.” “Hold on!” cried Smith (speaking to me in Italian, that he might not be under- stood by the rest). “ What are you doing, man? Offering to deliver me over like a trussed pig to the butchers? Have I no voice in this?” “Tf they attack again,” I answered, in the same language, “we are none of us likely to have ‘ voice’ about anything. We should not have lived through the first charge had they not attacked in confusion and with no concerted plan. Next time they will be wiser and four or five of them will engage each of us at once. No mortal, outside a romance book, could live for one minute against such odds. What I propose to Crowley is our only chance.” “Then,” Smith insisted, “it must be I, and not you, who shall fight him. This is my quarrel.” “Should you step from this doorway,” I retorted, “they will fall on you in a body. No. Mine is the only course. Take heart. You know something of my sword play.” Turning to the mutineers, who had been conferring excitedly together, I asked in English: ‘Do you consent?” “Yes!” they roared, Crowley among them. | : It is human nature to enjoy watching an exciting contest between two well-matched men. It is gambler nature to enjoy the playing of a desperate hazard. Crowley evidently had the reputation of being a brilliant swordsman. Otherwise he could not have won his way to the mastery of such a rabble. I, on the other hand, was un- known to them as a fencer. From all these reasons I was not all surprised by the loud and ready assent to my proposition. ““Good!” I assented, stepping out into the cleared space in front of the doorway. “So be it. If I win, you men are to come to heel and conduct yourselves with due submission. If I lose, Captain Smith is yours. It is so understood?” “Yes,’”’ roared the mutineers again. And Crowley, casting aside his blue mantle, strode forth into the open space to confront me. The deck was slippery and uneven. The ship was pitching wildly in the ground- swell of the storm. The pain from my two flesh wounds was sharp, yet I greeted right blithely this single chance of win- ning for us. “On guard!” cried Crowley. And our blades clashed together. CHAPTER XII. AN AFFAIR IN MIDOCEAN. THERE is a sort of “sixth sense” pos- sessed by every expert fencer which tells him at first clash of the blades whether or not his opponent is a good swordsman. Comicoool.