Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

30 shook his head, yet would not gainsay the plan of an older and wiser man. He thought that the master of the Confidentia was too shrewd for Chancellor’s question- ing, and in this he was right. 2g BUT it fell out not as they had planned. The mist thinned away steadily though the near-by shore was still hidden. They could hear the surf breaking on the rocks, and the cries of rooks and gulls. Once the lookout of the Edward sighted a skiff with one man in it—a dwarf whose fishskin garments glittered with spray. He pulled out to stare at the Edward which was making little way in the heavy cross seas. And then, with a glance to windward he bared pointed teeth in a sound- less laugh and pulled away for the shore. The three ships bore in, and presently sighted the cliffs of a headland. But the wind which had been rising steadily, grew to a full gale, twisting and buffeting the bttle vessels until Sir Hugh made signal to put about and gain sea room entrance into the bay being impossible. A lowering sky seemed to press the very masts of the Edward, and through the sweeping cloud wrack Ralph caught a glimpse of the silver circle of the sun, low over the land. He noticed that the cries of the birds had ceased, and that the mari- ners were taking in all but the main- and foresails. Obeying a second signal from the ad- miral-ship, Chancellor, whose vessel was the handiest of the three, ran within hail of Willoughby on the lee side. The shout of the captain general came to them faintly over the thud and hiss of the waters and the whining of rigging. “‘The rendezvous is Wardhouse. A’ ——’s name, Dick, stand by me.” The next moment the dim light was eclipsed as if a lamp in the sky had been put out; a blast heeled the Edward, splitting the main course. As far as Thorne could see the horizon was a void, laced with the white of flying foam. Out of the blackness the white crests of waves roared at him, crashed on the bow, filling the air with spume, and raced aft to merge into the boiling wake. He propped himself against the bulwarks and hooked one arm around a backstay, bending his head to snatch a breath of air. He did not dare to stir from this post of Adventure vantage, but the able shipmen he could see laboring at the jeers, where the main- yard with its shreds of sail was being lowered away and secured. Ever and anon he heard Chancellor’s shout—no louder than a whisper—and the answering pipe of Peter’s whistle. For a while he watched the stern lantern of the Bona Esperanza pitching in the murk ahead of them. Sir Hugh was carrying more sail than Chancellor, and drifted far- ther to leeward, so that presently the point of light winked out. Ralph, awed by the racing seas, kept the deck, full of wonder and interest, and half believing that the ship would break into pieces the next moment. So it happened that some hours later—he judged it to be the mid hours of the short night—he heard a startled cry from the fore deck. “Ice on the weather bow!”’ From the topgallant poop behind him came the hoarse bellow of Burroughs, the master. “Helm hard a-weather! foresheet to wear ship!” For a moment the Edward seemed to hang back and Thorne loosened his hold to peer over the side. He could see no ice, nothing save a vague blur of white where the seas were breaking. Then the ship brought-to on the other tack with a lurch and he lost his balance, rolling into the lee scuppers. A rush of water drenched him, and he struggled to his knees, coughing and shiver- ing, when a powerful hand caught him under the shoulder and drew him erect. He made out the great bulk and the reeking leather garments of the boatswain. “Gunner,’”’ Chancellor’s clear voice rang out, ‘‘fire me a caliver to leeward.” The wind all at once seemed to Thorne to grow bitter and chill as in mid-winter. He waited until one of the small guns of the forecastle flashed and roared. ‘Are we doomed, Peter?” he cried. our time run out?” The boatswain, who had been peering over the bulwark, roared with laughter. ‘’Tis the younker! Nay Master Ralph, thou’lt live yet to be hung. This is no more than a fairish blow, a goodish blow, ye might say. The caliver was fired to warn the others of the ice, if so be they are within sight or hearing, which I doubt.”’ Veer out the "Is GOMIGIOO (©