The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

630 care and a little mothering. Impul- sively she touched the girl on the shoulder. “We'll all go back next summer, Meta, together.” “JT don’t know whether I'd care to come back,” was the reply in an indif- ferent voice. reconciliation passed. The Indian Star managed a brilliant run to Dutch Harbor, swept through the Pass into the Pacific, and fled down the slope of the world toward home, now lifting a sister sail on the horizon and calling to her by signals, now see- ing far-away lights at evening to mark the position of still some other can- nery tender. “We shall see Mount Tamalpais in eight days,” Merkel triumphed at the dinner-table. ““H-m!” said the chief mate, star- ing into his plate. His tone was inde- scribably cynical. The captain glanced at him sharply, raising his eyebrows in silent interro- gation. Nelson nodded back. ‘“ And it’s the change of the moon, too.” So passed the word that the wind was due to haul against us and make a foul ending to our voyage. That night a heavy squall from the southwest carried away the foretop- gallantsail and made a hard watch of it for the crew, reenforced “as they were by the fishermen and cannery helpers. In the gray of the forenoon Mer- kel’s skill and Nelson’s terrific driving energy availed nothing. At noon the Indian Star was riding to the drag of her cable, dismasted, with smashed decks, out of the track of all ships. Out of the forty persons aboard a dozen had been swept overside, in- cluding the captain, who went over with the broken spokes of the wheel still in his faithful grasp. I myself felt the disaster beyond re- pair. What hope was there for us in a sinking and helpless vessel, adrift on the loneliest ocean in the world? Thus the moment of THE ARGOSY. There wasn’t even the slim prospect of making land in the small boats; the mate and I figured that we were eight hundred miles from the coast—an im- possibility in the storm that threatened to rage for weeks to come. We debated it up and down during that miserable day until the fall of night made up a doubly dreadful scene. “ Luckily, she rides high and doesn’t take any water over,” Nelson said. “But as she fills up”—he knuckled the table furiously with his_ brine- drenched hands—“ why haven’t we a ship left? God!” At that moment, as if invoked by the appeal, entered the cook, a Chinese known to us as One Hop. He bore in his slender brown arms a steaming bowl of soup. This he deftly adjusted yn the fiddles and then remarked im- perturbably, “ Chow!” Nelson stared at him, and then nod- ded. The routine of life was resumed. I dragged Evans and Mrs. Evans out of their room, where they were fool- ishly trying to pack valuables; I found Meta Braun sitting very quietly on her bunk, and brought her, too, out to sit at the reeling table. We ate ravenous- ly, warmed by the hot soup. “ There’s one thing,’ Nelson re- marked with a curious inflection of humor, “‘ we can’t starve with all this fish in the hold.” Fvans nodded sourly. His wife said nothing for a moment, but seemed suddenly shocked. ““ And—and we’re short of provi- sions? ”’ she demanded, turning pale. “ How—how long will wé be, Mr. Nelson? ” The mate—now, of course, in com- mand — fell into profound thought. When he spoke it was gently, almost as though he wished to save himself from the pain of too sudden realization of the truth. “Not long,” he said. Then he smiled reassuringly, competently, and left for the deck. I followed him, to stand by the stump of the mizzenmast COMicdoo S CO@