Argosy, September 1955 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

ba 106 ROWAN AYERS tiny cabin to investigate the noise. Brew pounced on him in- stantly, and armed him with a vicious-looking boat-hook. “ You might need this, chum,” he said, good-naturedly, “ especially if you're in the boarding party.” Michael felt deliciously powerless. It was like falling over a precipice in a nightmare, and waking up to find that you are, in fact, floating peacefully but unaccountably about the room. ‘The whole thing had gone too far already, much too far, to allow of any drawing back. Silver Streak sped forward at nearly fourteen knots, her finely tapered bows cleaving the small, loppy waves and throwing out huge flat sheets of spray on either side of the hull. Ahead, the Mary Lou had fully completed her turn, and was plainly making for home. As yet, however, she could have no possible idea of the Silver Streak’s intention. Neither, at that moment, had Michael. Nor for that matter, he imagined, had Knocker and Brew. The port and starboard watches had now been shepherded onto the upper deck, and each had been given some sort of weapon. The small boy, to his delighted astonishment, was treated to a heavy Verey pistol, that was, fortunately, unloaded. Blondie had been divested of her bucket, and, in exchange, given a fire- extinguisher that, Michael knew to his cost, was extremely simple to operate. The small boy’s mother had been armed with a thick wad of cotton waste, which she was now examining as if it were an old cabbage crawling with maggots. Brew himself, tucking the strap of his cap firmly round his fierce, craggy chin, was, mercifully, as yet unarmed. Knocker, aware of his new responsibility as action helmsman, half closed his eyes and stared at the squatting enemy ahead. ‘“T don’t think we’ll ram,” said Michael cautiously. He had already in his mind’s eye seen the chaos which would follow such an action. ‘“No, sir. We’ll bring up as close as we can, and let her have a broadside.”’ Brewis came crashing into the wheelhouse. ‘‘ Number One Gun’s crew closed up, cleared away, lined up,” he reported briskly. : “Very good, Brewis. Don’t open fire till I give the order.” “ By, ay, sir.” When Michael followed him onto the deck, he could scarcely hold back his bubbling, hysterical laughter. Lined up on the port side were Number One Gun’s crew, consisting of Puddenead with the squeegee, Blondie with the ; ~* st ne ’ * 1 ‘ commiclooks.comn