Adventure Magazine Cover — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

The Witch of Aleppo water itself, and the voice of the girl rose clearly to the listening men. It was a love song of Persia, wild and plaintive. Hearing it, the man who had been sounding the drum to time the stroke of the oars, ceased his efforts, and the Cos- sacks who had been washing out their wounds with salt water, lifted their heads. The rush of water and the creaking of the oars did not drown the voice of Lali. The song deepened, sounding the rmg of weap- ons, the thudding of horses’ hoofs, and mel- lowed to a note of grief, dwindling so that long after she had ceased the warriors strained their ears to catch her voice. The eyes of the ataman, Demid, sweep- ing the stretch of gray water, were moody. He was thinking of the steppe, the home- land of the Cossacks, and of another voice. So Tleana, the granddaughter of Rurik had sung to him when he was weary. Michael, who alone of the ship’s company had known nothing of Lali, gripped his oar hard. “Medea! Child of AStes, and mistress of the black arts! By the blessed saints, what other woman aboard this vessel would have a song in her heart?” Tne whim seized him again. Here were the Argonauts and he was one of them. They were in search of the Golden Fleece. He wondered what they would find. “In the name of the Horned One!”’ The harsh voice of Balaban bellowed at him. “Would you drive us upon the rocks?” Glancing over the rail, Michael thrust on the sweep, straightening the gaHey on its course. The drum resumed its beat, but the older Cossacks shook their heads sagely. This singing girl to them was an omen of evil fortune. During the next week their uneasiness grew. While Balaban was clearly heading south by southeast—between the signs of Sirocco and Levant on the ancient compass —they raised land continually on the port bow. When they should have been, to the best of their knowledge, out in the open sea, they encountered numerous sails pass- ing along the bare headlands of this strange coast. The aspect of it was not familiar to Ayub, but Balaban, after questioning some of the Genoese, announced that they were passing along the peninsular of the Krim Tatars.* Several of the passing vessels * The Crimea, on modern maps. 27 were flying the Turkish colors, but Demid kept his distance from them, and no effort was made to speak the galley. He made several attempts to find water along the coast, and was at last successful. This replenished the water-butts, and Balaban assured them that only some sev- enty leagues remained to be covered, across the main sea. Ostrog pointed to the sunset that evening—a red glow, centered in drift- ing cloud banks. ‘“‘A wind on the morrow,”’ he said to Bala- ban. “Aye, wind.” “surely we must put in to shore and drop anchor.”’ “Nay, the Falcon will not.” Balaban shrugged. “A falcon is at Hone on the land; he is not a gull. Bah!’ Oaths flowed from the thick lips of the seaman. “Aye, pray if voit will It is the hour of the namaz gar, the evening prayer.” Balaban pointed to the rows of Moslem warriors who were kneeling, facing the East, and going through the motions of washing. “The wench brings us ill fortune.” “What will be, will be. My luck still holds.” The Levantine gave the order to pull away from the lee shore. Two men were sent up the mast to the spar, and the great triangular sail loosed its folds for the first time. But Balaban“id not yet make fast the lower corner, to which the sheet was at- tached. CLOUDS rose higher against the @a@ stars. The glow of a lanthorn fell Ssa= on the bronze disc of the compass, over which, in the shadows, Demid stood. The surface of the waters was dull and oily, and the galley rolled, -so that the Cossacks could not sleep. Still the oars creaked, as exhausted men pulled in time to the monotone of the drum. It was hard work, for the swells were run- ning strong, but the slaves knew the danger of a lee shore. From time to time a cold breath of air came from the northwest. “The sea is restless,” muttered the Cos- sacks. “Soon it will begin to prance and then you will know sorrow,” spoke up Ayub from the darkness. Suddenly the sail snapped, as if a giant oO COMmicloo Sj ©