The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

84 By way of reply, her tops’ls ap- peared slowly one after the other. Wilson, knowing the smartness of Gloucestermen in general, wondered at this and scanned her with his glasses. “Only one man to make and take in sail and steer her!’ he cried aloud. “ By Jove, this isn’t only fishing—it’s smuggling, Pll wager! ” Another shot, closer this time, whis- tled across the bows of the Rosan; but the cheerful-faced young man aboard of her merely looked at his pursuer and grinned as he eased her flight through the rising gale. To describe that race would be to rehearse a comedy well known to every American fisherman in_ the Banks latitudes. Had the wind risen to the height expected, the Penguin would have been hull-down behind the Rosan in three hours. But it merely remained a stiff breeze, and the cutter, wrenching twelve knots out of her tired engines, was just able to keep the schooner within a long gunshot. It was already late afternoon, and, as the early September darkness drew on swiftly, Wilson sent for Captain Ramsay to come to the chart-room. He did so, snarling and angry be- cause of the Penguin’s failure to over- haul her prey. “That idiot has laid a course direct for the Breakwater Shoals,” said Wil- son. ‘“ He must be crazy.” Ramsay looked at the chart and saw where the tiny figures told of water shoaling from thirty fathoms to three. “Can you make out his lights? ” “Yes, sir, and he’s holding a direct course.” “We'll follow him till we scrape the bottom,” snarled Ramsay. “ Yes, sir.” There was a heavy sea running, de- spite the comparative moderation of the wind, for a light air will kick up nasty waves in shallow water, and the Penguin plunged and rolled for an- other hour. THE ARGOSY. “Her lights are brighter; I believe were gaining on her,” cried Wilson suddenly, and passed the night-glasses to the captain. “We are,” reported the grimly. ‘‘ Keep right after her.” And they kept after her until the Rosan was scarcely a mile away; for Del Tanner, fearful of squalls in handling the vessel at night alone, had shortened sail until she carried only two jibs and a foresail. “Send a man to the starboard bow with the lead,” ordered Ramsay, con- sulting his chart with a worried look. The heavy lead whirled about in great circles from the sailor’s hand, suddenly shot forward, and plumped into the sea ahead of the Penguin. “Fifteen fathom!” came the cry to those in the pilot-house. The cutter surged drunkenly into the black waves, shipping water over her bow at every plunge. . “Ten fathom!” came the voice of the leadsman. “ By Jove, she’s still on her course!” cried Ramsay, with the glasses to his eyes. “He must want to pile her up pretty badly. Stand by the engine tele- graph, Wilson! ”’ “Bight fathom!” There was no speech now in the pilot-house. Ejach man mentally assured himself of the Penguin’s twenty-two-foot draft, and prayed that the lunatic aboard the Rosan might come to his senses before it was too late. “Six fathom, and shoaling fast!” sang out the leadsman, making his in- strument whistle above his head as he whirled it. With his hand on the telegraph, Wil- son stood tense and ready for the word from Ramsay should that word come. “Five fathom!” “Hard up your helm!” snarled the captain. The wheelman spun the spokes and the Penguin veered off into the trough of the sea, rolling until she shipped water over the windward rail with every plunge. “ Curse that fiend!’ muttered Ram- latter CoOMmicbook CO