Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

8 Adventure Bluenose ship and Glascow gear—and lokee, lad! Dry as a bone, yet running fifteen knots on a bowline with yards braced sharp! Ye hear that! And sail—bless me, but ye should ha’ seen Bully Forbes crack on! Going into the Melbourne trade, he is, next v’yage. Running west’ard, we’d sight ’em with double-reefed tawps’ls, and we’d be doin’ our fourteen close-hauled, wi’ three royals and main-skysail booming! I came to bring ye the news o’ them new ships, lad. You and me, we’ll work back to England and ship wi’ the Blackwall frigates, eh?”’ Hampton lighted his pipe, smiling at Warlock’s wild enthusiasm over these new ships and even sharing it in a measure. “What about California?” he asked. “Hey?” The other gaped at him for a moment, open-mouthed, then made a grimace. ‘‘Arrh! D’ye mean to say ye’ve bit that bait? Should h’ known better, Dick Hampton! I was there three year back—d’ye mind me telling you about it? Aye, gold there may be, but it’s a bleak, drear land, and heaven help the poor rogues ashore there!”’ Hampton shook his head. ‘‘No gold bait on the hook, matey. All ye say is true, and more; by what I hear, there’s many a man there wishing himself back home again. Ye remember I told ye of my younger brother, Elir”’ “Eli, eh?’”? Warlock nodded, his queer light-gray eyes glittering. “I seen nothing of him about the farm, Dick.” “He’s gone to California, I hear, and word has come back from him. I’m going home to see what’s to be done. Somehow, there’s a feeling on me that I must go there, and ’t’s pulling cursed hard at me. Not that I want to go, mind! If I had my own way about it, I’d go on past the farm with never a word, on past Salem, and over to Beverly. There’s a brig waiting, bound for Chagres.” Warlock groaned. ‘‘Chagres and hell is the same place—but ye know that, matey. I’spose you’ve been offered command of her, eh? What’s the likes of you doin’ as cap’n aboard a dirty little Chagres brig, when ye might be walkin’ the deck of a fine packet wi’ skysails and studdin’s’ls blowing her over, a hundred days to Mel- bourne? Arrh! I’d sooner be a Blackwall packet-rat than skipper o’ the best Chagres brig afloat! And so you would, too.” “I’m not offered any command—it’s fourth mate’s berth.”” Hampton pulled at his pipe. ‘“There’s more things in life than fine ships, Job.”’ “Hm!” Job Warlock studied him re- flectively, then his swart features puckered up in shrewd surmise. ‘“Ye’ve gone the way of all men, then; that’s clear. There’s a girl in it somewhere. the women! Aye, there’s a lass in it. Ye’ve too much sense to ship for Chagres, otherwise, for ye know that hell-hole well enough. Still, the west coast’s not so bad. I was drogin’ hides up there in the Californias, as I’ve told ye before, under the San Juan cliffs and beyond, and I know it. Down below there it’s a queer land, that west coast— Baja California they call it—all desert and Injuns and lost old missions and the bones o’ white men. Soit’sa woman, eh? Well, the world’s a good place——”’ Hampton puffed at his pipe, sat silent for a little space, tempted sorely. A mile or so distant was the place he called home, with a jeer in his heart at the word. He had no affection for it, or for the man who lived there; none received, none given. If he went on, he anticipated biting words, harsh words, a flame of anger rising in him against the dour and godly man who lived by the letter of the Scriptures and knew not the spirit which Jay behind them. Of his own will, Hampton would have avoided all this. He would have gone on to Beverly, where he knew that, welcome or not, certain work awaited him. Yet duty impelled him home. He had money, and his father might have need of it; then Eli was gone, and this hurt him sorely. He must find out about it all. If he did so, he might never get to Beverly—this same duty to his younger brother might well turn his steps into a far different path. The thought brought sore hurt into his soul, yet he could not deny what must be done. “Woman? More than that,” he re- sponded at length. ‘‘You were on the west coast three years ago,eh? Did ye ever hear of a man named James Day out that way, Job?” “Day?” Warlock bit at his pipe-stem, shaggy brows down-drawn, and finally his ear-hoops shook in slow negation. “No. And yet, somehow, I mind the name es “He has two schooners running north from Panama, or says that he has.” “Bless me, here we are—aye, there it is! comicbooks.cO in