Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 130: what you’re looking at

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

276 he said, and he left the wardroom with the chief. The game broke up shortly before mid- night, and I bundled into my sheepskin and climbed topside to relieve the deck. Weldorf answered my questioning nod quickly. ‘““'We saw that the lad got a hot bath,” he said. ‘“ He was mighty near frozen. And he’s stowed away in the forward quar- ters now, in a spare bunk near Sing’s. I’m kind of glad he—ah—got away.” “* Ditto!” I whispered. Weldorf lingered to finish his cigarette. “Pretty black night if a man tried to make the beach,” he rambled on. “ Not a star in sight.” He flicked his ash over the side. “Can hardly see the water.” I peered out with him. Our head was upstream now, and we could hear the gur- gling of the unseen river about our chain and narrow bows. A chill breeze whipped in our faces and blew our cigarettes aglow. The condensed moisture set my -eyes a winking. ; I turned with a half chuckle, for some- how my spirits had risen. “*Qn such a night—’” I started to quote. “Hah!” returned Weldorf. ‘ Not for love—not this night. Better begin with Hamlet: ‘ Now ’tis the witching hour of the night when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes forth conta—’ ” I shivered elaborately. ** 'You’ve smoked enough,” I cried. ‘ As officer of the deck I order you below and to your bunk. Sweet dreams.” “May the river devils spare you,” Wel- dorf grinned, tossed his half-consumed smoke over the side, and disappeared. I took my usual turn about the bridge to see that all were well; then climbed down to the main deck and rapidly made my way to the fantail. All was clear. All lights were burning brightly. There was silence below, only warm air and chorused breath- ing came to me as I peered down the hatch- ways of the after and forward quarters of the vessel. On the foc’s’le, blinking in the dew-laden breeze, I kicked the chain between wild- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. cat and chock. Shielding my eyes from the bow light I could barely make out the stiff arc of the chain to where it vanished in a small swirl of black that must be water. The swift river muttered under me as I leaned over'the life lines. All was well here, too. I returned to my usual post in the star- board wing of the bridge, lit another ciga- rette, and leaned my chin on my crossed elbows on the sill of the open port. And, as usual, lulled by the tranquillity of the night, and the whisperings of the Yangtse I began to dream. To dream of home, of letters I had re- ceived—and not received. Of China—the things I had bought in Shanghai, the pleas- ure they would give my family at home. Of the Russian City of the Eastern Dawn far to the north—I wondered what it would be like. I wondered how long we would stay. Perhaps there, too, one could acquire curious treasures—brass samovars, for in- stance, that some ancient, revolution-ruined house no longer could use. I had heard much of Viadivostok—our cruisers alter- nated there throughout the year to see that certain promises—made by none-too-trust- worthy an ally—were kept; and that the people might live in some security and peace. Security! Peace! What more natural than that my mind should flash to the Chinese lad hidden under blankets below? Was he secure, I wondered? Was it really, for him, an escape? Would not that dread society, to which he had for- feited his soul and his life, send the knife to follow him to that city in the north? It was implacable, that awful league of souls and blood—and its record, knew no failure. Relentlessly its calm mind would follow the boy. Inexorably the payment would be ex- acted. The few days of security on this ship would be but brief respite for him. His doom was written, his soul already beyond the bounds of hope, his life—was not sis life. Surely, with the certainty of the inevi- table hand of death, the agent of the So- ciety of Ancestral Loss would seek him out. comicboooks C©