Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

McMASTERS'’ Micky had the stubbornness of his own conviction. He rubbed his bristling jaw and flecked away a piece of ice. He looked at the heaving sea and the straining canvas. The gale, which had lasted for over three wee!:s, had increased in force, if anything. The Borneo was laboring in a cross current and making scant progress on the new tack. “We'll go about,” said Mickey. “I don’t like th’ looks of these clouds to windward.” The old course proved no safer sailing. A mountain of bitter-tasting brine came over the forepeak, dashed against the break . of the quarter-deck, and cascaded upon the little skipper who ducked too late. He emerged and was blown against the wheel- house. A storm sail, made from No. 1 flax can- -vas, carried away like a puff from a three- inch gun. Through a bitter week Micky dtemptea to round the Horn. He went as far south as the ice. A southeasterly gale hurled him westward. He attempted to reach the coast of Chili in the vicinity of Chiloe Island. A norther blew the Borneo south. There was no denying the insistent per- verseness of the gale. It whimpered upon the clipper ship like a pack of enraged wolves. It snarled and snapped. It tore away more canvas and started the seams leaking. Reluctantly Micky gave an un- expected order. ‘“‘ Put th’ wheel up! If we cawn’t go ‘round Cape ’Orn we'll go ’round Cape o’ Good Ope! ») “Good Lord!” exclaimed Red Landyard through chattering teeth. ‘‘ Th’ Cape of Good Hope is seven thousand miles away!”’ “ More than that, but we’re goin’ there!” The Borneo, dripping ice water from her grotesque figurehead to her broken taff- rail, wore around, took the seas over the poop and staggered before the wind. The storm canvas was unreefed. The crew braced the frozen yards. The staysail sheets were loosened. Dipping beneath the long snow-covered waves of the Horn region, the clipper re- gained some of her former elasticity. She rode higher, and as Red Landyard re- marked, “a bit dryer and warmer.” idleness. FOLLY. 539 “’Ow about th’ bloomin’ figger’ead now?” Micky shouted on the second week after wearing around and taking the gale over the stern. ‘It’s still there,” said Red Landyard. ‘ But th’ gale is with hus! We’re makin’ grand time.” ‘“ Nowhere!” Micky breathed on his frosted fingers. It charmed his heart to feel the surge and carry of the Borneo. She was moving through the heavy seas at seven or eight knots every hour. the progress seemed far more certain than bucking the head winds of the Horn. The little skipper clicked his frosted eye- lashes and blinked at the mate. ‘ Seems th’ gale is easin’ off a bit,” he remarked. ‘““Wouldn’t wonder we ’ad grand weather all th’ way to Table Bay.” ~ ‘You better ditch that idol! brought no good luck to this ship.” “Tl ’ang hon to th’ wooden image to th’ end. I'll show that scum forrard there is no such thing as superstition.” “There ts such a thing as superstition! ” “* Well, it don’t work with me! See, th’ gale is subsidin’, jus’ as I expected.”’ The easterly hurricane died to a steady breeze. Red Landyard set the royals and the flying-jib. He had the cook and an old navy boatswain stitch new canvas, taken from the ship’s stores. A day came when Micky pointed north over the starboard rail. ‘Longitude of Longtown,” he told the Yankee. “ We’re going sou’ o’ where we started.” A few watches passed with steady winds from the east. Then came a great and brooding calm. The ship rolled, turned, and lay in a heaving sea without a breeze to hold her headway. The idle sails flapped against the masts. The sun hung at the end of a yard-arm like a bronze shield of hate. started running in the deck seams. The crew walked the deck and shook their fists at McMasters. A week passed in Then, and like a clap of tropical thunder, the Borneo was struck by the grandfather of all the gales in the world. It’s ( Ori¢ ol inal f UNGSOL It would take a month ° or more to reach Cape of Good Hope, but. The pitch lOOOK CO