The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 127: what you’re looking at

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

THE THING THAT WAS CAESAR’S. long crackle of lightning that sounded like rifle-fire. A crash as of wire rope flung hastily to the deck brought him quickly to his feet, and the patter of bare feet on the deck made him open his door. The lash of the rain in his face stung like shot, but he could see that there were no lights visible. Voices on the bridge drew him staggering to the foot of the companionway. The dim figure of a man caromed into him and nearly knocked him off his feet. “Get out o’ here! Ain’t it bad enough havin’ the damned _ hooker struck by lightnin’ an’ every compass- needle chasin’ itself like a cat chasin’ its own tail at play, without buttin’ into every cock-eyed, pig-tailed pirate off the Canton coast?’ And the chief engineer shoved him angrily to one side. Oakes whistled softly and crept back to his own cabin. The hours of the night passed slowly and at the first streak of gray dawn he was out on deck. It was a very different scene from that of the night before. The ship was wallowing in the sea-way, plunging deeply into the heavy cross-sea so that the green water broke aft of the fore- castle and all forward of the main- miast was a sodden space. The steam-winch was gone from the deck, and the gangways forward were clogged with a mass of broken gear that resembled nothing, or, as the ordi- narily taciturn English mate put it: “Tt’s a rep’lar Chinese raffle; nothin’ at hand and everything on top.” “ What’s the trouble, anyway?” Oakes asked of that officer. “Trouble, is it, Mr. Oakes? Trouble enough. She was struck by lightnin’ about four bells in the mornin’, an’ every compass on board is smashed. The whole electric ap- paratus is knocked out. We’re runnin’ by dead reckonin’ now, an’ a sweet job we’re makin’ of it—’’ ‘Where are we? ” 597 ‘God knows, Who knows all things. I made her position yesterday. You can guess what we’re off our course. Losh man! What’s that? ” It was a dull, rumbling crash that threw Oakes and the mate prone upon the deck, and it was followed by a succession of other shocks such as a sled makes -when running over rocks on a snow-slide. The mate sprang to his feet and made for the engine-room hatch, and reached it just as the first assistant engineer sprang out of the scuttle and took his stand at the door with an iron Spanner in his hand. “Get back!” they heard him cry. “Get back, I say—every mother’s son of ye! Get back, I say!” He struck viciously at a head that thrust through the hatch. The man dropped, and the engineer wiped his face methodically with a handful of dirty cotton waste. “Scared stiff,’ he said, grinning apologetically. “The whole black gang’s tryin’ to stampede. That’s why the chief sent me up here to whack the first head that shows itself through the scuttle. He’s workin’ ’em over now with a shovel.” The yells and imprecations from the foot-plates in the furnace-room that came up the open funnel told that the chief was doing his selected work with scientific thoroughness, learned from much experience. Oakes, disturbed, went to the saloon- deck, where Marjorie was standing, waiting for him. “What is it?” “T don’t know yet. Wait—” It was the shrilling of the boat- swain’s whistle along the decks, fol- lowed presently by the rush of four men forward with some planks and canvas. “ Struck a derelict! Look!” Oakes pointed out over the starboard bow, and Marjorie’s eyes followed his finger. There, a hundred yards away, flush with the mass of gray-green water, COMicdoo S CO@