Adventure Magazine Cover — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

The Burden: Paternal “Why, how do you mean?” “Tt’s like this, captain.” _ The pilot peered over the rail, watched Rat-face for a moment and drew back, bringing the old man beside the telegraph where I stood. “This way, skipper; she’s fitted with that single rod and bevel steering-gear. You know it, of course. Mighty good, too, in a new ship, or where it’s-been looked after. But in the /lamingo it’s worn out, While she lies at a dock or at anchor, it passes all right; the inspectors try it, and it controls perfectly; but when the ship’s under way and working like such an old ballyhoo does even in a calm, that gear slips a cog 4s often as not, and that’s no joke if she has to maneuver in the tail of the Rip.” The old man’s face was grim and drawn. He was silent for perhaps five minutes; then, with Points Nepean and Lonsdale opening ahead, he relinquished command to the pilot and stationed himself at the port side weather cloth with his binoculars. WE HAD no passengers other than a the shareholders, and they clustered [S at the fore rail of the bridge-deck as we raised the land. I could hear them chatting; and pretty soon it was made obvious that Rat-face was scarcely of the crowd though with them. He, too,, had binoculars, and I believe he stood actually in one spot without moving his feet from that moment until Mud Island was so close he might have jumped on to it. But once within the Heads there was lit- tle time for star-gazing. I kept my end of the lookout with every faculty alert, scarcely noticing the old- man until I heard him swear gruffly under his breath. Then I followed the direction of his gaze and saw enough to keep me awake properly. To starboard, apparently coming out ,through Finnace Channel, a red, long- necked .sm<estack swayed above a wall- sided, rust-marked hull which squattered along without regard for the directness of a straight line, seemingly bent upon laying her old bones upon the flats. So amazingly erratic were her antics that I could not believe them due to faulty steering-gear. They looked more like de- liberate intention to me; and the same thought struck the old man, for I heard him swear again, damning Dick Sed a dark- souled fooi. Then I stole a glancé at Rat-face beneath us, and in doing so came against the skipper on the same errand. We both surprized Rat-face looking upward, and he immedi- ately turned his head toward the Flamingo again. There was no doubt as to the iden- -tity of that sway-backed, wry-necked old ruin hurrying across our course as we steamed fair for the Symonds Channel our- selves. Nor was there any doubt about the thoughts running through Rat-face’s mean little soul. -The Flamingo swerved badly even as he met our glances, and as she barely drew clear, with swirling waters tearing at her stern as she got farther into the tidal sweep, triumphant expectancy sat upon Mr. Rat-face like a new hat. “By Cripes, she’ll never make it this trip!’ exclaimed the pilot excitedly. “It’s a darn shame to send her out!” - “Has she a pilot, think?” The question came in such cold, level tones that I could scarcely realize it was the old man who uttered it. The Flamingo was about two hundred fathoms away now, broad on our starboard beam and crossing us. Ours was the duty to give her room, by passing across her stern if necessary; hers the right of way; she had but to hold her course, and—— “Get caught once more, and she’s done!” 43 cried Captain Basil, taking the words out of my mouth as if he knew what I was thinking. The men on the deck below were chattering excitedly, glancing up as if to see what we were going to do. Rat-face so far forget himself as to yell up something about having a care, but somebody beside him told him to keep quiet, and I heard the old man repeat his question. “No, captain,” the pilot replied absently. “She carries no pilot. Skipper has a pilot- ing license. But look at her!” No need to tell us. We saw the Flamingo yaw abruptly, as if to ram us with malice aforethought, and as she fought to straighten out against the deadly suction of the racing waters, her stern seemed to touch the ground slightly. Slowly, so slowly that it seemed flying straight into the face of destruction, her head came toward us. She was not holding her course, as the law demands; but by her erratic movements put us in peril too if we obeyed the law and held our course. “One of us is going to strike! 49) I muttered. Eomichbooks (E@)