Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

Not for a Thousand He braced himself and swigged some hot coffee that burned his throat. “You're all right!” he roared at the astonish- ing Yankee. Outside, working up the life-line, he crept through crushing seas to the pumps wheezing out their lungs at the madman’s game of drink- ing the ocean dry. Captain Miant halted him. ‘Where is she now, Arnie?” bloodshot, his face encrusted: “Saint Eugenie, sir!” He clapped his lips over the impulsive, “and if I care!” The old man’s face was too tragic for that, after all. He wondered in a fog of thoughts how he knew where they were; but he was sure he was right. “Tf I could} make Saint Lucas—If I could round the point What hunger! Here was something more than life going into the losing. Arnie who had shipped on a year’s cruise for a kiss—and lost it —Arnie thrust the salt out of his eyes, spat it out of his mouth. These two, after years of sailing, at last came near knowing each other. The captain was losing his ship; Amie was losing all that his groping mind understood— Lelona. And-as certainly as Lelona was lost, the Snowbird was lost. Lower and lower the struggling ship thrust her bows. The crew mumbled and cursed and broke from the pumps. They counted this a crazy work; they knew how far the water had advanced in the for- ward part of the hold. To hang on longer meant suicide. Seams had started. The bow- sprit was snapped clean off; the bark no longer answered her helm. At length the captain acknowledged the grim truth. The order was passed— “All hands stand by to abandon ship!” The Snowbird had sailed her last voyage; the winds and the waves claimed her. edged toward the long-boat. Two boats lay smashed in the davits. Only the long-boat and a small gig remained seawor- thy. Six must ride in the gig, and that no more than a cockle-shell. ‘The lugubrious word went round— “A short ride for six!” The mate without a word struggled forward to where the gig was lashed. He bent over the lashings; his features betrayed no whit of flinch- ing. A hand fell on his shoulder. He looked into thé face of Arnie Sondheim. “Y’ll take ’er over, Mr. Lairton,” Arnie rasped in his ear. “All the same with me,” and it was plain that he meantit. “I’malone man. I can handle ’er.’ “Drawing’s aft,” rapped out the mate. “‘Take your chance there.” “Flip you, sir!” Arnie showed a piece of money. ‘Heads or tails?” The mate gloomed His eyes were 9 The crew o7 athim. ‘“Youcall,sir. I’ve handled a skiff all my life.” “Heads!” jerked the mate. Arnie showed tails and took over the rope-end. Four others, cursing and glowering, cheated the seas sweep- ing the deck and came to his assistance. One more to. come. Slipping and sliding stumbled up a queer bit of humanity so laden down with well-wrapped parcels that only two watery eyes showed. The mittened fingers ‘held out a be- draggled square of paper scrawled with the word “oig.”’? In the next minute the little boat swung clear. “Cal’late the weather’s a-cuterin’,” the cook mumbled and sprawled into it, his parcels flying about him. He pounced upon them, every one. “Aboard, men! “Says Jonah, ‘Sing hey, ’tis my lucky day, An’ I'll lay me a course tuh Frisco . . Arnie, diving for an oar to keep the boat off, heard him. He laughed; it was funny. “Let fall,” he bawled. The sheets slowly paid out. The gig caught a comber; the tackle was jerked loose. Side- wise they swept into a lurid green gulley, rose and looked astern. Captain Miant was clinging to the rail and staring back. Utter dejection showed in his posture. Then the long-boat took the water Chaos! A white hissing overhead, a boiling green below, about and above. A sense of panic giving way to despair, to a dank numbness; the © cold settling in the marrow; bailing—bailing— bailing—to no avail! In the sternsheets Arnie steered with an oar for a rudder, steered instinctively, his mind else- where. The cook, having never learned idleness, bailed and jabbered like ten. A chattering grew in his mouth and became so regular that the men swore at him when their nerves could stand it no longer. He smiled weakly in com- plete understanding. “Frosts a man right smart, don’t it? Turns a man’s stomick He shivered constantly as if he were a mound of gelatin. Withal he was sick, sick. By and= by he could lean over the gunwale and relieve himself. “Sho! The saloon won’t stand the wet, lads. If yuh’d set on ’um kindly—no fear o’ crushin’.” In three hours his voice had wasted to a thin thread. From sitting erect he sagged to a worn slouch, thence to a hal-fsprawl, whence he roused like a jumping-jack to call for the bucket. The snow stopped falling as it grew dark. The wind showed signs of veering. The green cascades were endless. A funk had seized the men; depression came on the heels of a dreary dusk; ennui conspired to reduce the chances of these abandoned few. Only Arnie maintained his place and kept them atop the seas somehow. Go NOOK Col