Adventure Magazine Cover — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

90 all ——ed me when I inspected their bunks. I think you got picked men—picked for meanness. Like as not they’ll murder a few natives at Nati.” “But will they get th’ hoysters?”’ “Pearls?” ‘“‘Gol blyme, yes—th’ pearls!” “They may get them—but they look as if they’d keep some for themselves.” “My boy’ll see that they don’t!” said Micky. THE Calipso ran before north- eastern gales for two days and made fame grand time. The divers were sea- ace and quarrelsome; they fought with the cook, messed up the galley, called Red Landyard forward and argued with him con- cerning their quarters—which, on account of following seas, were wet. Red had a tobacco-stained beard, a glit- tering pair of eyes, and fists like blocks. He proceeded, while Micky watched from the quarter-deck and Blue Peter stood near by, with ultimate instructions: “Two of you come out on deck an’ share th’ watch! Two of you turn in—I’ll need you next watch. Th’ articles you signed called for assistance in case of necessity. There’s a necessity! Lay aloft an’ furl that maintopsail! You I mean—an’ you IT mean!”’ Red’s eyes flamed; he selected a puny- looking diver, yanked him from the galley and hurled him toward the mainmast. The next to follow was a big man—who melted in the mate’s nipping grip. The two divers climbed the weather shrouds, cursed the schooner, and strained their arms in the biting gale that came over stern. The maintopsail was made snug— in a fashion. Returning to the deck, the two divers avoided Red Landyard, went for- ward, and stood near where Blue Peter crouched at the forecastle companion. “I guess that’ll larn them who’s boss here,” said the mate to Micky Masters. “They act like first-cabin passengers!” Micky’s grin was unholy. “Keep them on deck until we run down hour latitude—they’ve ’ad too much gin an’ not henough ginger for deep-reef diving.” Blue Peter came aft at the change of watch, touched a gray forelock and looked at McMasters. “Can I speak to you a minute, skipper?”’ Micky nodded and watched the old salt Adventure climb the weather steps. Blue Peter grasped the quarter-deck rail. “You got four men in th’ galley, skipper.” “Gol blyme, yes!”’ “Three o’ them are divers—after a fashion. Th’ other, skipper, is no diver. He’s never been under th’ surface—unless he fell overboard. How do I know, skipper?”’ Micky’s jawsquared; he clenched his fists. “Ves, ’ow d’you know?” Blue Peter took his time; he pulled out his cord-wrapped pipe, filled it with black tobacco, struck a sulfur match on a dry spot, shielded his flame, and puffed slowly. “lve been goin’ deep sea, man an’ boy, for almost fifty years. I’ve been on pearlers an’ blackbirders an’ copra schooners an’ traders; an’ I’ve never yet seen a diver who couldn’t breathe.” Micky glared at the shell-back. “What d’you mean?” Slowly Blue Peter’s pipe-stem steadied on the galley-house, out from which came a trailing smudge of smoke that shot forward and was whipped over the plunging bow. ‘“‘What do I mean, skipper? I mean what I saw with my own eyes—they not being of the best, I may be wrong—but th’ mate— a good man—sent th’ divers aloft to furl sail, an’ when th’ divers came forrard one of them was blowin’ like a porpoise stranded on asandbar. He was short-winded; is that th’ way for a diver to be?”’ “Which one?” Micky Masters shot the question through gritted teeth. Blue Peter placed the pipe-stem in his mouth, puffed deliberately, squinted his eyes and said: “Tt wasn’t th’ little diver—as I’d sus- pect from th’ build o’ him—it was th’ big man who blowed so hard. Says I then an’ there, skipper, he’s a harpy sailin’ under false colors.” The cockney captain was off the poop and forward in a rush of indignation; he disappeared in the galley-house; he re- appeared dragging the big diver whom Red Landyard had sent aloft to furl the maintop- sail. Backed against a dipping rail, with the green seas lipping the scuppers, Micky held the man and called for Red Landyard. The mate, half-dressed, in vermilion- hued underwear and with a pair of heavy trousers dragging around his knees, ap- peared from the cabin. He lunged to the skipper. GOMIIGooOo S (©