Adventure Magazine Cover — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

60 sagged as they sank into the valleys. The men lolled on the thwarts, their belts tight- ened against a growing hunger, their tongues swollen in dry mouths. | Some chewed on bullets, since Simon’s tobacco had given out on the fifth day and they had been seven at sea. All gazed covertly, almost continually, at Pierre, with bloodshot, sun-scorched eyes. ‘Their faces were sullen. Luck seemed steadily against them. There seemed nothing ahead but starvation for them, a meal to the per- sistent sharks, or a humiliating return. The rations had been halved again that morning. . The high range of Hispaniola was in plain view with the verdure of the lower slopes and levels about the blue hills like a green veil. It was on their lee and, aiding the wind, a current held them gripped, slowly swinging them in toward shore and the promontory of Cape Beata, that seemed to them far from being “blessed.” Pierre doubted whether he could persuade them to put about to sea again, and his soul was sour within him. So far his will had triumphed, his belief in his “happy hour” and the “gold ship,” that was birthmarked on his wrist, unfalter- ing. While the rations were full, and before V6" Loaptede Wec? 72° Adventure FUISPAN IOLA (WAIT1) CDOMINICA) the wine and tobacco gave out, he had held his crew closer to his own mark of confi- dence. The last twenty-four hours. had seen the barometer of hope go down hour by hour until the degree marked danger from open mutiny, holding him responsible for a feather-brained — enterprise. He would be the laughing stock of the Spanish Main, he told himself, chewing the bitter cud of failure as he held the tiller and gazed moodily ahead toward the land. In the west clouds were already marshal- ing for the sunset review. A cable’s length away a covey of flying fish soared from the water, gleaming in blue and silver. In- stantly the sharks’ fins on that side of the boat disappeared, as the sea-tigers, while waiting for their human feast, chased the dolphins that in turn harried the flying fish. The men’s eyes turned longingly toward the shimmering skimmers, then dully back to Pierre with slow resolution gathering to protest. “Let’s make Beata Island, mates. There’s water there.” : The gruff voice was echoed by others. Pierre glanced down the boat to where San- derson’s gray eyes reassured him of one steady adherent. He marked the man who DOOKS (© in