Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

540 It was a green typhoon that hurtled down on the becalmed and simmering ship. No man of all the crew marked its com- ing. They remained to witness what wild winds can do. Stripped of her main and mizzen masts, and with the foremast sprung, the Borneo was lifted, driven and tossed northward be- fore the teeth of a hot gale that became increasingly hostile. Micky and Red Landyard hung over the spokes of the almost useless wheel, and at- tempted to hold the ship’s bow before the wind. A patch of sail, not much larger than a handkerchief, was drawing them on. Ahead lay purple waters. Astern showed towering seas and a livid sky. Weary from three watches at the helm, Micky remarked to his silent mate: ‘““What’s th’ use. This ocean is too bloomin’ much for me.’ ‘““You’ve got no ship—above th’ deck. Th’ crew are snug im th’ fo’c’s‘le. They re- fuse to come out.” Micky’s eyes flashed, then closed in pain. He squinted “through the wheel-house win- dows. The long planks of the Borneo were wind and wave swept. A Niagara of foaming water escaped through a score of places in the shattered rails. ‘We're ’eadin’ for Longtown,”’ he said. ‘“‘ *EKadin’ right back with a jury rig.” “ All th’ winds blow that way. might as well go.” The misty mountains of the- island, the surf-curdled beach, the whipping stems of the palm trees in the jungle, rose before the shattered jib-boom of the clipper. Micky intended trying for the harbor entrance. He hraced himself and lifted the wheel, a spoke or two. The stricken ship refused to answer her helm. She stubbornly head ed for a lee shore where the surf was the ‘“‘ Keep her off!” cried Red Landyard. “JT cawn’t!” said Micky. ‘“ Th’ bloody ’ooker’s bewitched.” The mate grasped the wheel-spokes. He let go and leaned: over. “Tiller rope’s carried away!” he ex- Claimed. “ She has no helm!” A moment’s pause was followed by a hit- ing of the derelict’s bow. The stump of We ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. the jib-boom steadied. A rush of mou- tainous seas, wind-driven, Borneo. She went forward, scraped her keel, stag- gered, swung, and crashed into a sandy cove where the waves pounded violently. The drenched crew swarmed from the forecastle and went overside like gray rats. They looked back when they had drawn their legs from the sucking undertow. Micky and Red Landyard climbed to the pounding fore-peak, dived, and came pad- dling up the stream that led into the inlet. They stood, almost naked, and surveyed the wreck. The Yankee shook his fist to- ward the grinning figurehead. A sudden calm came upon the waters. The bending palms straightened. The sea began to go down as the southern gale died to a faint breeze laden with spicy odors and Eastern perfumes. Micky drew Red Landyard through the jungle and toward the British Consul’s resi- dence at Longtown. “Th’ Scotch agents can go ’ang!” he declared. ~“ They can ’ave th’ ship an’ my ‘ticket.’ I want a passage ‘ome in a steamer. I'll wait till one comes—hiff hit’s ten years. I’m done with windjammers an’ clipper ships.” The Yankee mate followed the little cockney. They left the jungle and went along the pounded sand of the beach. The Union Jack was flying from” the flag-pole in front of the Consul’s residence. The consul sat and watched the two seamen climb the steps and roll to his side. ‘IT saw you come ashore,” he said. “A beastly wind, wasn’t it. Thought I’d lose my new roof.” ‘“Damn you an’ your roof!” snapped Micky. ‘“ Hi want a passage to England. So does my mate.” “T can fix you out—in a week or so. The Star of Asia will be due then.” Micky sat down in a rattan chair and mopped his brow with a tattered sleeve. He eyed Red Landyard. “ All right!” he said. “ Fix us out! I’m done with th’ sea.” . The consul clapped his hands. A native servant brought a square-face of gin and three glasses. Around. the glasses were = Original fro TE UNRIO NOOK =) .pooped ie - CO THE OHIO STA