The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

412 “Young Boston, Keough, an’ Sullivan, sir,” refurned the mate quickly. “Where in perdition is that long crab of a Bower?” broke out the wrathful skipper. “Bo’sun! You go get him—and by the Lord, if you liquor up I'll flay you! Slip ashore an’ hustle him. Tell him if he ain’t aboard in half an hour I’ll break him an’ put him to work in the galley! If you come back without him, I'll flake you!” Fancy Harry beckoned one of the passing native boats, and was gone. “Man that windlass!” bawled Steelfist, in afury. ‘‘Loose them tops’ls!” As the men leaped about their work, Marshall eyed the Finn, who stood where Forrester had left him. The fellow looked grotesque in his sadly battered finery, and his pale, watery blue eyes blinked fearfully at the skipper. “What’s your name?” whipped out Mar- shall suddenly. “Ole Kafban, sir.” “Mr. Forrester! line!” As he took the line, Steelfist cast one eye at the rigging, then seemed to alter his in- ‘tention. Striding to the shrinking figure of Ole Kafban, he merely tied one end of the line to one wrist, taking a turn around his own left hand with the other end. Thus he held the Finn at the end of a fathom of tether, like a dog on the leash. “Ole Kafban, did you know my three men had been carried aboard the Foster?”’ he demanded, fastening his glittering eyes on the seaman. “Naw, sir—” The line tightened, and Ole flung up his free arm in terror. — Pass me some small “Naw, sir! I vas ’shore all day. Dond’t —Dond’t!” “Don’t get scared, son,” Marshall laughed grimly. “My men all love me, I’m so gentle!”’ He twisted another turn of the line about his wrist, drawing the Finn a foot closer to him. “T don’t believe you did know about those men, Ole.”’ Marshall’s face held the wolf- ish look that augured an outburst of pas- sion. ‘But you can tell where the Foster’s bound for, can’t you now?” The line tightened, almost imperceptibly. “Ay dond’t knaw, sir, Ay dond’t knaw! Capen Howard dond’t knaw himself—oh, Fader!” Marshall suddenly jerked on the line. THE ARGOSY. The Finn lurched toward him, stumbling, and the steel fist crunched viciously into the side of the helpless man. With a low groan, Ole Kafban slid to his knees and went down in a limp heap, fainting more from terror than from the sickening blow. What else the skipper had in store for the Finn was postponed by the arrival of Fancy Harry Lovell and the second mate. “Dump this rat into the fo’c’s’le, Mr. Forrester,” snapped Marshall. ‘“He’ll sign on when we’re away, or we'll waste a length of canvas on him. Are you hove short?” “Cable’s ‘most up an’ down, sir. Break out in two minutes.” The senseless Finn was dropped into the fo’c’s’le. As Bower came over the side he sought refuge from .the skipper’s evident wrath in his duties, and took his station for getting under way”, The John Foster, heel- ing to the strong trade wind, was like a fairy toy in the distance. ‘““Heave away for’ard!” sang out Mar- shall, his eye on the diminishing speck. ‘““Heave*away,” echoed Forrester, and the men walked the capstan around in silence, save for the jar and surge of the cable links. ‘““Anchor’s apeak, sir!” cried the mate. “Up with the tops’ls,” came the curt or- der. “All three together, now! Lively men, lively!” Divided into three groups, with the mates, the cook, and even the Chinese steward lending a hand, the men at the halliards sorely missed the beef of the three absent men. The foretopsail was mastheaded first. While the hagds ran to give a pull on the main, Forrester directed Blake to bring the Finn from the fo’c’s’le. Blake slipped down to find Ole Kafban sitting on the floor, shiv- ering in fear. “We're short-handed, Ole. Slip up and bear a hand, and maybe Steelfist will go light on you. We're after the Foster. Re- member now, I’m your friend and the friend of Miss Peabody. Chase along with you!” Somewhat reassured, Ole lumbered up the ladder. Blake, remembering that he had not been sent to stow chain, darted to the chain locker hatch. He found the chain below piled in lumps, just as it had fallen from the windlass, and it was plain that no one had been spared from the capstan bars to stow it. Therefore, the suit-case was safe for the time, buried under a ton of chain. Jumping for the deck again, Blake joined COPMICLOOOKS (E@)