Adventure Magazine Cover — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

094 removal of the guns from Vienna to the Triest arsenal, a few hundred yards from the dock. However, to get them over that short distance and then to get away with them was a problem that puzzled me. I was mulling over it one day in a café when a maudlin young Englishman, who was sitting at the table with me, pulled out a passport, all plastered with red seals and wax in the old Continental fashion. The instant I saw it an inspiration seized me. I became the most jovial of companions and plied the Englishman with wine until he fell sound asleep. Then I took the passport from his pocket and hustled off to the arsenal. I had been assiduously cultivating the officers there and was delighted to find in charge of the guard the young lieutenant with whom I was best acquainted. I told him I would have the order for the release of the rifles within an hour and proceeded to celebrate by getting him into the same state in which I had found the convenient Englishman. I sent word to Lorensen, sailing master of the Leckwith, to get up a full head of steam, and engaged a dozen big wagons to be at the arsenal in an hour. I arrived with the wagons, waved the gaudy passport in front of the young officer’s face and, without try- ing to read it, he told me to go ahead. We made quick work of getting the boxed arms to the ship and under her hatches, for the guard was changed at four o’clock and my sleepy young friend would be succeeded by an officer who was sober and in his right mind. We were not quite fast enough, however, for, just as we were pulling out, the new officer of the guard came running down the dock, shouting that he wanted to see the order for the release of the arms. As he was well out of arm’s reach I made a fussy effort to hand him the passport. Then I opened it out and showed it*to him, all the while explaining that it was all right. He went away shaking his head, and I anticipated trouble at the fort at the en- trance to the harbor, at the head of the Adriatic, as the channel through which we had to run was narrow. The fort occupied a commanding position and had high walls from the water’s edge, with a free bastion high up. Sure enough, a shot whizzed across our bows. Immediately I swung the ship in, and before they saw I was not going to Adventure come to anchor, as they had supposed, we were so close under the walls that they could not bring their guns to bear on us. It was only a very few minutes, however, until they could reach us with their seaward guns and they let go at us without any de- lay. The second shot took a bite out of the mainmast, and it looked as though they had found our range and would smash us in a jiffy, but the brave little ship was tearing through the water at her top speed and, as she was going directly away from them, was hard to hit. Shells splashed uncom- fortably close to us for a few minutes, but, save for one shot that carried away some of the gingerbread work on the stern, we were not struck again, and were soon out of reach of anything like accurate aim. The arms were rushed to Bordeaux and turned over to the Committee of Safety only a few days before the Battle of Sedan. I was sufficiently enthusiastic in the cause of France to land them without a proper guarantee of payment, and, in fact, they never were paid for. Everything was tur- moil, so after waiting a few days I placed the bill for the arms with an attorney and hurried on to London, en route for Venez- uela, where I expected to find more excite- ment. I placed the Leckwith and my ships in the hands of Nickell & Co. for charter and took the first steamer for New York. SOUTH AMERICA AMONG VENEZUELAN REVOLUTIONS PpHe first word that reached me on my arrival in New York near the end of September, 1870, was that my wife, who had sailed ahead of me, was seriously ill at her old home in Illinois. I went to her at once and remained at her side until the end, three weeks later. When I returned to New York after the funeral I was greatly depressed and was in a mood for anything that offered excite- ment. A few days later I met Frank (Fran- cis Lay) Norton. Knowing each other by reputation, we soon became friends. Later we became partners in some of the most gloriously exciting exploits in which I have been fortunate enough to participate. Norton was a natural born pirate, and he looked the part. He was then about forty years old, five feet eight inches tall, thin and wiry, and possessed of remarkable Gomicbdooksteo