Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

THE ROARING FORTIES. “ So the good boy has come back to me!” “ Only to get my captain.” “ Ah, I will let him go. stay.” The moon, riding high, suffused the gar- den in a mellow glow. Far down the ter- raced cliffs the river wound its way like a silver serpent through the night. The myriad lights blinking below seemed like stars from other worlds. ‘Stay with me?” Wanda MacBayne, the charmer, was whispering again. There was something in the air of that Far East garden that acted like an opiate upon the soul. Here ambition seemed to fail. Here restlessness and striving ceased. Here was Nirvana. Here was a realm where one could bathe forever in the moonlight of forgetfulness. “ Stay with me?” Wanda MacBayne was yet whispering, and even when she did not speak her whole being was pleading. But for Richard all was not forgetful- ness. The silver streak of the river, Valky- rie, the open sea, and something far beyond, were also whispering in that moment. The eyes of the East, gazing into Rich- ard’s eyes, saw the look of indecision. “No, no, you do not want to stay. You are listening unto other voices. You were not made for me.” Richard did not answer. In the peace of that Far East garden speech seemed to fail. : Wanda MacBayne was gazing at the sil- ver winding of the river. Perhaps she, too, heard something of its far-off call. For it was she who finally roused Richard from that soul’s sleep that was stealing over him. “No, you are not for me. You must pass on. You must forget. Come, Dll help you take your captain.” But you must CHAPTER XXXIX. RACING BEFORE A TYPHOON. “ A LL hands on deck!” There was no mistaking that voice, ringing loud and sharp above the jargon of the river. Forbes, lion- 271 hearted once more, was pacing the weather poop, in company with the pilot. China was behind him, its lapses a vanished night- mare; in his heart. the running tide, and that long, strong call from the open sea. The master had come back to the Valkyrie. ‘“ Man the capstan!” The swift current of the Min seemed to pause at that thrilling note. What magic spell was here? Why such light in the eyes of sailormen? Why such eagerness in swift and restless feet? “ Ah, we have it, they are going home! Home! Hark! the tramp, tramp, tramp on the fo’c’s’le head—” and—and—the chantyman gives answer to the call of the running tide. “We're homeward bound, oh, joyful sound! Good-by, fare ye well! Good-by, fare ye well! Come, rally the capstan, and run quick around, Hurrah, my boys, we’re homeward bound! “Our anchor we'll weigh, and our sails we will set, Good-by, fare ye well! Good-by, fare ye well! The friends we are leaving, we leave with regret, Hurrah, my boys, we’re homeward bound! “Oh, heave with a will, and heave long and strong! Good-by, fare ye well! Good-by, fare ye well! Oh, sing a good chorus, for "tis a good song! Hurrah, my boys, we’re homeward bound! “We're homeward bound, may the winds blow fair, Good-by, fare ye well! Good-by, fare ye well! Wafting us true, to the friends waiting there, Hurrah, my boys, we’re homeward bound!” A few miles down stream the swift flow- ing current of the Min had caused a jam of three of the clippers—the Lothario, Wan- derer and Challenge. It was now dead low tide, and the pilot refused to go on until there was more water, so there was nothing to do but to anchor. At nine o’clock on the following morning COMMiICLoolks (C@