The Argosy — page 246: what you’re looking at

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

230 OVERHAULED BY A PIRATE. A STORY OF THE SOUTH ATLANTIC. [The following story is literally true, and may possibly be recognized by some men still living. ] “6 IFTY miles more to Rio,” says my companion, as we recline on a spare sail in the fore-top of the Southampton packet, enjoy- ing, in all its fulness, a pleasure which the men of the north can but faintly appreciate—the luxury of shade and inaction—and surveying, with that cool, nothing-to-speak-of air characteristic of the undemon- Sstrative Anglo-Saxon, the vast smooth expanse of sunlit sea beneath our feet, and the huge dark-green pyramid of Cape Frio, topped by its trim little light-house, towering giant-like overhead. My fellow-watcher is a fine specimen of the ‘* been everywhere and seen everything” class ; a kind of real life Tom Thurnall, with all the ready invention, picturesque cosmopolitanism, and cool self-reliance, of Mr. Kingsley’s wonderful hero. He has been half-murdered in Australia, fever stricken at Madras, run out of water in the North Pacific; he has summered at Bahia:and wintered in Van Dieman’s Land, eaten rice at Shanghai and drunk rum in Jamaica ; served a gun at the bom- bardment of Sweaborg, and lain off Cronstadt in the “ Wellington ;” and is now, seulement pour s’amuser, about to join me in a run through the interior of Brazil. ‘Now I think of it,” remark I, ‘‘ you promised me a South American story, and I’ve never had it yet. Suppose you give it me to-day. With all your travels, you must know a good yarn or two.” ‘‘ Ah, that’s just the mistake people always make,” answers my friend. “On that point, I can’t do better than quote you the verdict of an old boatswain of mine: ‘ You see, sir, folks think as how we sailors ought to know all about the places we’ve been to—but, d’ye mind, most on us don’t lean that way ; we just drop into the fust grog-shop, and that’s all we see till we're off again. You ax a sailor where’s ‘The Three Tuns’ or ‘ The Jolly Mariner,’ and he'll tell you fast enough; but try him upon the scenery, and the hanimals, and the lingo,.and all that ’ere—and he’s mum directly.’ ” “Well,” remark I, laughing, “in spite of Professor Boatswain’s dictum, I still adhere to my creed that you possess a good story or two. Can’t you recollect a yarm connected with Cape Frio yonder? It would come in very appropriately just now.” Over the ancient mariner’s broad, jovial face, falls a sudden gloom like the shadow of some great peril rising up again from the far past. Before he can utter a word, I divine that the coming story, will be one of no ordinary interest. ECORNICLOOO SS (C(O) in —_)