Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 144: what you’re looking at

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

Author of “The Tangled Warp,” “Sword Fishin’ ”’, etc. fe ASHED to the wheel of the sword- Me fishing schooner Pelamon, the squat frame of Captain Dan Old- ham dripped the salt water of combers that crashed over the stern. The seven men of his crew were bound to the fore and mainmast ratlines, awaiting what were likely to be the last moments of the sturdy little fishing vessel. The West Indian hurricane had caught the Pelamon unawares early that afternoon. It came without warning other than a slight drop in the barometer. It had suddenly swept northward—a huge wave, followed by a veritable tornado which brought with it the heaviest seas Captain Dan had experi- enced in a sailing career of over forty years. His brown eyes were wide, the severe lines of his masterful, rotund face were grim as an owl’s. It was a fighting face—yet, on less serious occasions, it was as genial as that of a boy, whom threescore years had aged only by graying the sparse brown hair a little and widening, somewhat, the plump waistline. — Nor did the men lashed to the ratlines betray their fears by their facial expressions, though terror must have crept into the hearts of them. There was one who showed his white teeth in mocking laughter, though it was not wholly apparent whether it was from diabolic mirth or hysteria. Most sober of all in the ratlines was the big, broad-shouldered fellow in the blue mackinaw. His heavy brows were con- tracted, his square countenance was that of a pugilist who is seeking an opening in his antagonist’s defense. But there was no opening in the gale through which the Pelamon could strike to shake herself of its deadly embrace. So suddenly had the hurricane swooped down upon her, there had been no time to lower the foresail which, providentially, was the only rag up when the storm broke. As the great waves smashed down on her stern, nosing her into a hollow and bearing her quivering up on the crest of the suc- ceeding comber, it seemed as if fate alone prevented her from diving into a huge sea and never coming up. If a wave should crash down full on her deck it would swamp her like a lobster pot. The men lashed to the ratlines were well aware of this; Captain Dan expected it to happen momentarily. But, fighter that he was, deep in his stub- born heart there was hope—hope that came from prayers that had been answered on similar, though less arduous occasions. Oc- casionally his lips moved. In the ratlines they were pointing to port. On the crest of a comber Dan looked in that direction. He glimpsed the shadowy form of a two-masted schooner, running 126 COMIGDIOOKSEEO