Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 156: what you’re looking at

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

154 engine-room; the Hawk pulsed with life, began to creep ahead, and again felt her way through the fog. The wheelman blinked into the binnacle, took a spoke and gave one. The lookout, after a furtive look at the master, eased his feet by leaning with his elbow on the rail. The second mate stood with one hand on the telegraph, and sounded fog signals at two-minute intervals. Captain Mac frowned into the fog ahead. The fog was still thick as wool, but now it was drifting lazily across the bow in an easterly direction. “Breeze coming from off shore, sir,”’ the second mate. Captain Mac nodded. ‘The breeze freshened, and the fog drove seaward in slow coils; the coils thinned and became fine, gray whorls of mist. The mist became thinner and thinner, and a blue line of coast stood out here and there on the western horizon. The sun broke through; the sky appeared, and the sea; the sea turned slowly from gray to blue. ‘You needn’t blow the whistle any more, mister,” said Captain Mac. “Fog lifted at 3 P.M.—enter it in the log-book. And full speed——”’ He suddenly ceased speaking, fac him- self on his toes and gazed ahead. ‘“‘What’s that ahead, Mister Scott?” he asked. The second mate left the center of the bridge and came into the wing, where he leaned over the rail and followed the master’s gaze. He stared long and earnest- ly, then shook his head and rested his eyes, and with a shade of resentment in his voice, “I see nothing, sir,’ he said. “Nothing?” Captain Mac smiled on one side of his face, the side away from Mr. Scott; then he reached under the rail and snatched the binoculars from their box, and leveled them ahead. The second mate found another pair, put them to his eyes and regulated them carefully. Far, far ahead a speck of black rested on the blue of the swelling sea. The second mate too could see it now. It might be anything—a box, a cask, a spar, a boat “Tt’s a boat,” said Captain Mac, “and there’s some one in it.” “Ym not sure—” began Mr. Scott; but the little captain cut him short: “No? Hold your course and speed, said Adventure mister, till we come up with that fellow. You don’t see that cutter yet, do you?” “‘No, sir,” answered Scott, after sweep- ing the horizon a-stern with his glasses. ‘“‘There’s a big gray tramp heading in, but no cutter.” The black speck grew slowly larger as the Hawk, still at reduced speed, bore down upon it. Soon they could see without the aid of binoculars that the object was indeed a boat, and that there was a man in it. The man sat still in the stern-sheets, upon a thwart, and interestedly watched the old freighter coming toward him. The man had evidently been rowing, for one oar was still in its rowlock and the other lay atop the thwarts. A blue uniform cap, without gold or insignia, was pulled low over his eyes; he was coatless and his blue cotton shirt was wide open at the neck. ‘That fellow looks like a sailor,” com- mented Captain Mac, studying the man through his glasses. “Yes, sir, he does,” agreed ‘the second mate. ‘Looks like a pirate, to me. Gosh, what a face!”’ Captain Mac ordered the engine stopped; the Hawk ran out the way on her and rolled easily a hundred yards or so to windward of the man in the boat. The man crawled slowly and painfully over the thwarts, put out the oars and came pulling weakly toward them. A blur of white on the bow of the boat became a name—Sabine. ‘Sabine, eh?’ mused Captain Mac. “Yes, sir. She’s an old yacht. Re- member we’ve been seeing her hanging off Jersey for the last six months?” Captain Mac nodded. “Rum-runner, Cap’n, I think.” “No doubt.” The boatswain and his men had a pilot ladder over the lee side and were standing by to toss the boat a line. The Sabine’s boat bumped alongside, and the man dropped his oars and stood up. He ignored the heaving-line that fell across the gunwale, and stepping onto the bottom rung of the pilot ladder, shoved the boat adrift; then he came slowly, wearily up, climbing as if he were nearly exhausted. Strong arms helped him over the rail, and he dropped heavily to the deck, then stag- gered to the nearest hatch and sat upon it. ‘““Water!”’ he grunted. A pitcher of water was brought and the man drank greedily, with a gurgling noise. Comicboolk A) © =