Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

The World’s Opinion wonder, swallowing ripe dread. He set himself to meet the rush for the boats, to battle their animal panic. If they were cowards, they would learn to fight. But they did not come on. A hungry glance they cast at intervals toward the ready davits—then back at Arnie. They blinked; they tried to grin and only looked sickly in their coursing perspiration. Even Grant, his face the hue of ashes, gripped himself. Arnie heard him joke trivially; heard the crew laugh and grunt as they pumped—pumped—pumped. Of course, they would not rush for the boats—of course. He had not given the word. He felt the hot prickle of shame. Almost at once then he began to be de- fensive in his mind. He fell to inward argument, though what he argued against or who or why, he did not comprehend. He knew in his heart he could bring in the vessel. His mathematics permitted of no least question. He had figured it to the last hour—except for the pumps. All the power enlisted here would stand firm—ex- cept the pumps. Well, that was the chance he took, he and they. There always had to be chances. They took them equally. Equally? Aye, equally—except for their —— de- pendency. Hang them, why did they not make a break, mutter and cry out what they would do? Why? Why? But he knew why. He cursed the answer, cursed his clear knowledge of it. If they had but the veriest tithe of interest in the saving of the ship! They had not. They had but their faith. He wrestled with himself even while he wrestled with the pumps. They grinned and wrestled along with him—and so made his wrestling the harder. The mate might have protested, had he not protested quick- ly enough earlier. He said nothing. Three hundred miles out of port! He had sailed with masters who gave orders that endangered men every hour. Was he not captain here? And round-faced, jolly-eyed Beals of the port watch mouthed: “She’ll do it, won’t she, sir? Many’s the cap’n ’ud be scairt, but not the likes 0’ you.” “Tt’s knowin’ o’ yer wessel counts,” gravely adjudged Mart Gronah. Arnie made no reply. He strode to Charley Grant who, having sounded the 169 well, was engaged in wiping the lead dry so that the depth would not show. Their eyes met. There was no rebuke in the mate’s, neither rebuke nor protest. He essayed to shrug. Arnie asked him in a voice steady and loud enough for all to hear— “What has she made, Mr. Grant?” Grant glanced about and made to whisper. A gesture of Arnie’s arm signified more than one might surmise. Grant answered aloud— “Eight inches in an hour.” Wearily Arnie faced the pumps and the men clustered there. “All hands stand to abandon ship!” he ordered. To the mate who unseen grasped his hand and wrung it he gave a puzzled—or perhaps it was a stunned—look. , THE ship’s company of the Jessica SS drifted two days and two nights in the open boat, all of them in the long boat—for their spirits’ sake. But none of them felt it a very long time as open- boat drifting goes. They watched the ship founder and afterward discussed ardently the captain’s astounding knowledge of the time of her sinking. Arnie listened to them and more and more forgot in the sound of their voices the dream that had faded. It rained, keeping up a fine drizzle that wet them through but did not dampen their spirits. Arnie smiled at them through the mists; it was an art he had learned in seventeen years of sailing. It bespoke less an art, however, as they broke into Japes’ “Jonah” song and roared it crazily. Their eyes on him in an effort to do what- ever he asked fetched a glow quite incom- prehensible to him, but which strengthened and deepened as the hours passed. In his pocket, unread, lay a dirty yellow envelope containing a cablegram presenting him full-value insurance on the Jessica as a reward for bringing to attention the truth of the bark’s stowage and burning. He did not look into his pocket. He sat soaked to the skin and-wondered why this latest blow did not strike him down, fatalist though he had decided to be. But somehow it did not. Japes doled out rations with the regulari- ty of shipboard and taught the crew new verses of the “Jonah” song. He had seen his beloved flowered vest carefully wrapped comicbooks (C@)