Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

Plum Duff 123 piece SEAMEN WANTED, I knowed right © off—quick-witted I always was—that there was a berth. And I says: “Ho, Mark Dobey, ye ornery-eyed sculpin, be you a seaman? And if so, why? And if not, why in not?” So I kids myself into light and carefree man- ners and hove around to sign up. The bloke. squinted his mean little eyes at my papers and seen all was hunky-dory. Then he relieves his mind of sentiments along about as fol- lows— “Ship-is-the-Pungai-you’ll-find-her-on - Fifty- Fast-she-sails-tomorrow - light - for - Valparaiso - where-all-hands-will-be-paid-off-and-the - vessel- turned-over-to-new-owners-NEXT!” Paid off in Valparaiso. “So that’s the bug in the broth,” says I, and I turns quick to hand him back my half of that dod-rotted document. But be split if he hadn’t signed the next in line already and was crooning to him— “Ship-is-the-Pungai-you’ll-find-her-on——”’ I waited for no more. The vessel’s name did not appeal to me: some way I knowed she’d be old and rolly. Sailing light I don’t never care for. But paid off in Valparaiso! “No, no, Mark me boy,” says I. “It will not do a-tall,” says I. And as I turns the corner, coming faint out the window I hears “turned-over-to-new-owners-NEXT!” So then that night I steamed down along to Tim’s. And I told Timmie all about it. And just as I got ready to go Tim says— “Just one more; this time on the house.” Then I took note of a couple blokes in sea- faring clothes—I’ll lay one was a bosun; he had the wicked jaw—setting in the corner and watching Tim and I. So I blowed over and told ’em all about the Pungai and Valparaiso and how I’d be split if I’d go off down there to be paid off on the near edge of nowhere, and they laughed like proper hellions and— “Sure,” says they. “‘We’re with you there, brother,” says they two. We had several more after that. Tim come over from behind the bar and we had several more. My stummick was having one of her off spells. I had ate some fish at Tartarini’s and it had set sort of heavy. Pretty soon along that fish begun to bother me considerable and I seen Tim and the two sailormen go around and round, and the next thing I knowed I didn’t know anything a-tall. Well, I come to. And the first thing I seen was a big calendar made fast to a bulkhead with “Friday, March 13” plastered all over it. And the next thing I seen was a life-belt strapped to the deck right over my head. It was old. The rats had chawed off one corner and the cork was oozing out. But there was bright new lettering stenciled on it, and when I seen that lettering my liver turned turtle. Be split if it ain’t ‘S. S. Pungaz.” So I shut me eyes tight and pinched me arm hard. Says I: “Dobey, old sparhawk, ’tis that fish at Tar- tarini’s. Wake up, Mark Dobey, wake up.” Then I opens one eye just a mite. “S, S. Pungai,” sees I again. So then I knowed there ain’t no dream to it and I Jets out a howl for being paid off in Valparaiso. And the vessel took a roll, and I fetched up on the deck. Some little time later in come the coot with the wicked jaw I’d seen at Tim’s, “Hillo, brother,”’ says he. “Dod rot ye, hillo,” says I. “Come, come,” says he, “bear no malice, brother. I had me orders,” says he. “And treat me respectful hereinafter,” says he. “For I’m the bosun along aboard,” “Bosun me eye,” I says to him. “Ye’rea bloomin’ shanghai-artist in disguise,” says I. “Well, well, call it that if you will,” says he. “Howsomever, have you ever done tricks at the wheel?” “T have,” “Good! says I. The old man is wanting a fourth helmsman on the bridge. You relieve Dugan at noon. So now you’re a quartermaster,” says he. ‘Come now, how’s that—dquarter- master, hey?” And he slaps me on the back, “What’s your name?”’ says he. “Dobey, dod rot ye. What’s yourn?” “Bell, Bosun Bell; that’s me.” At that he left and I followed him up the forecastle companion for to give this Pungai some slight inspection. So help me if that ship ain’t the meanest and wretchedest and dirtiest-looking thing I set eye to since footing it off the Caramao. In point of fact she might have been sister shi to that there rotten crate. Five holds she had, the bunker being small and abaft her super- structure. Her engine-room gratings come up. just alongside the funnel, and I could most believe myself popping up from the fire-room for a whisk of air and seeing that Duff leaning over the after bridge rail, the blue Colt in his drunken fist. I could almost hear him roar and laugh and blaze away as I ducked back and he howled— “Get back there to your fires, you scum!” And like the Caramao this here hadn’t had no paint nor tar on her plates since —— knowed when. All her decks was messy. Ashes lay- ing here and there. Lines rolled up all ways. Squeegees under the rail, no tarpaulins on the winches, cargo- booms banging for want of lashing, running-gear all scrimshawed. But when I come alongside her superstructure I looked and hanging on the forward bridge rail I seen a brand new name-plate, PUNGAT, Gomichbooks (E@)