Classic Audiobook Collection - The Pirates by Morgan Robertson ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: January 27, 2024

The Pirates by Morgan Robertson audiobook. Genre: adventure When Ensign William Denman stays aboard a brand-new U.S. Navy destroyer for one quiet night, he expects nothing more dangerous than paperwork and a watchman's round. Instead, a dozen escaped prisoners slip through the fog, silence the sentries, and steal the fastest ship afloat, a turbine-driven grayhound fitted with torpedoes, searchlights, and a crackling new wireless set. Their leader, the hard-handed Herbert Jenkins, offers Denman a stark choice: parole and cooperation, or confinement in irons. Denman gives his word not to interfere, but honor does not make him safe. As the stolen destroyer surges into the Atlantic and warships begin to close in, Denman discovers an even more personal threat among the fugitives: John Forsythe, his boyhood rival, carrying an old grievance that time and uniforms have not erased. Trapped on a vessel that can outrun almost anything but cannot outrun consequences, Denman must weigh duty against survival, read the shifting loyalties of desperate men, and decide how far a naval officer can bend before he breaks. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:13:27) Chapter 02 (00:25:21) Chapter 03 (00:36:38) Chapter 04 (00:46:51) Chapter 05 (00:57:38) Chapter 06 (01:09:51) Chapter 07 (01:24:21) Chapter 08 (01:34:24) Chapter 09 (01:51:01) Chapter 10 (02:03:13) Chapter 11 (02:18:37) Chapter 12 (02:33:04) Chapter 13 (02:44:13) Chapter 14 (02:56:07) Chapter 15 (03:05:35) Chapter 16 (03:15:09) Chapter 17 (03:28:31) Chapter 18 (03:41:35) Chapter 19 (03:48:40) Chapter 20 (04:04:20) Chapter 21 (04:16:30) Chapter 22 (04:26:41) Chapter 23 (04:38:38) Chapter 24 (04:49:48) Chapter 25 (05:01:18) Chapter 26 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Pirates by Morgan Robertson. Prologue. Two young men met in front of the post office of a small country town. They were of the same age, 18. Each was well-dressed, comely, and apparently of good family. And each had an expression of face that would commend him to strangers, save that one of them, the larger of the two, had what is called a bad eye. that is, an eye showing just a little too much white above the iris.

In the other's eye, white predominated below the iris. The former is usually the index of violent, though restrained, temper. The latter of an intuitive, psychic disposition with very little self-control. The difference in character so indicated may lead one person to the presidency, another to the gallows. and though no such results are promised with similar divergence of path, of pain and pleasure, of punishment and reward, is this story concerned. The two boys were schoolmates and friends with never a quarrel since they had known each other. They had graduated together from the high school, but neither had been valeditorian.

They later sought the competitive examination given by the congressman of the district for an appointment to the Naval Academy. and had won out overall. But so close together that the congressman had decreed another test. They had taken it, and since then had waited for the letter that named the winner. Hence, the daily visits to the post office, ending in this one, when the larger boy, about to go up the steps, met the smaller coming down with an open letter, and smiling,

I've got it, Jack, said the smaller boy joyously. Here it is. I win. But, of course, you're the alternate. Read it. He handed the letter to Jack, but it was decline. What's the use? Was the somewhat sulky response.

I've lost, sure enough. All I've got to do is to forget it. Then let me read it to you, said the winner eagerly. I want you to feel glad about it, same as I would if you had passed first. Listen Mr. William Denman Dear sir, I am glad to inform you

that you have successfully passed the second examination for an appointment to the Naval Academy winning by three points in history over the other contestant, Mr. John Forsyth. Who, of course, is the alternate in case you do not pass the entrance examination at Annapolis? Be ready at any time for instructions from the Secretary of the Navy to report an Annapolis.

Sincerely yours, Jacob Blan. What do I care for that? said Forsyth. I suppose I've got a letter in there, too. Let's see. While Demmon waited, Forsyth entered the post office and soon emerged reading a letter.

Same thing, he said. I failed by three points in my special study. How is it, Bill? He demanded fiercely, as his disappointment grew upon him. I've beaten not only you, but the whole class from the primary up in history, ancient, modern, and local. Until now. There's something crooked here. His voice sank to a mutter.

Crooked, Jack. What are you talking about? replied Denman hotly. Oh, no, Bill. Never mind. Come on if you're going home. they walked side by side in the direction of their homes, near together and on the outskirts of the town. Each busy with his thoughts.

Denman, though proud and joyous over the price he had won, was yet hurt by the speech and manner of Forsyth, and hurt still further by the darkening cloud in his face as they walked on. Forsyth's thoughts were best indicated by suddenly turning toward Denman and blurting out, Yes, I say, there's something crooked in this. I can beat you in history any day in the week. But your dad and old Blan are close friends.

I see it now. Denman turned white, as he answered. Do you want me to report your opinion to my father and Mr. Blan? Oh, you would, wouldn't you? And take for me the alternate, too. Well, you're a cur, Bill Denman. Go ahead and report. They were now on a block bounded by Vic and Lotz, and no one was within sight.

Denman stopped, threw off his coat and said, No, I'll not report your opinion. But you square yourself, Jack Forsyth, and I'll show you the kind of Kerr I am. Forsyth turned, saw the anger in Dedman's eyes, and promptly shed his coat. It was a short fight of one round only. each fought courageously and with such fistic skills as schoolboys acquire and each was equal to the other in strength but one possessed about an inch longer reach than the other which decided the battle denman with nose bleeding and both eyes closing went down at last and could not arise not even see the necessity of rising, but soon his brain cleared, and he staggered to his feet, his head throbbing viciously, and his face and clothing smeared with blood from his nose.

To see between puffed eyelids the erect figure of Forsyth swaggering around a distant corner, he staunched the blow with his handkerchief, but as there was not a brook, a ditch, or a puddle in the neighborhood, he could only go home as he was, trusting that he would meet not. No one. Licked, he muttered. For the first time of my life, too. What do the old gentleman and mothers say? What the father and mother might say, or what they did say, has no part in this story. But what another person said may have a place in value and will be given here. This person was the only one he met before reaching home. A very small person, about 13 years old, with big, gray eyes and long, dark ringlets, who ran across the street to look at him.

Why, Billy Denman, she cried, shocked and anxious. What has happened to you? Run over? No, Flory, he answered painfully. I've been licked. I had a fight. But don't you know what's wrong to fight, Billy? Maybe, answered Denman, trying to get more blood from his face to the already saturated

handkerchief. But we all do wrong. Sometimes. The child planted herself directly before him and looked chidingly into his discolored and disfigured face. Billy Denman, she said, shaking a small finger at him. Of course I'm sorry, but if you've been fighting when you know what is wrong, why it served you right? Had he not been aching in every joint.

His nose, his lips, and his eyes. This unjust speech might have amused him. As it was, he answered testily. Florence Fleming, you're only a kid yet, though the best one I know. And if I should tell you the name I was called, which brought on the fight, you would not understand. But you'll grow up someday, and then you will understand. Now, remember this fight. and when some woman or possibly some man calls you a cat,

you'll feel like fighting too. But I wouldn't mind, she answered, firm in her position. Papa called me a kitten today, and I didn't get mad. Well, Flory, he said wearily. I won't try to explain. I'm going away before long, and perhaps I won't come back again. What if I do? There will be another fight.

Going away, Billy? She cried an alarm. Where to? To Annapolis. I may stay or I may come back. I don't know. And you are going away, and you don't know that you'll come back. Oh, Billy, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry you got licked, too. Who did it? I hate him. Who licked you, Billy? Never mind, Flory. He'll tell the news. and you'll soon know who he is. He walked on, but the child headed to him and faced him.

There were tears in the gray eyes. And you're going away, Billy, she exclaimed again. When are you going? I don't know, he answered. Whatever I'm sent for. If I don't see you again, goodbye, Flory Girl. He stooped to kiss her, but straightened up, remembering the condition of his face. But I will see you again, she declared.

I will. I will. I'll come to your house. And Billy, I'm sorry I scolded you. Really I am. He smiled ruefully. Never mind that, Florey. You always scold in me, you know. And I'm used to it. But only when you did wrong, Billy. She answered gravely. And somehow I feel that this time you have not done wrong. But I won't scold you the next time you really. do wrong, I promise. Oh, yes you will, little girl. It's the privilege and prerogative of your sex. He patted her on the head and went on, leaving her staring, open-eyed, and tearful.

She was the child of a neighbor. He amended her dolls, soothed her griefs, and protected her since infancy. But she was only as a small sister to him. While waiting for orders to Annapolis, he saw her many times, but she did not change to him. She changed, however. She had learned the name of his assailing, and through her expressed hatred for him, and through her sympathy for Billy as the disfigurements left his face. She passed a border between childhood and womanhood. When orders came, he stopped at her home, kissed her goodbye, and went to Annapolis, leaving her sad eye with quivering lips. and he did not come back.

End of Prologue. Chapter 1 of The Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Denaoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 1. She was the largest, fastest, and the latest thing in seagoing destroyers. And though the specifications called for about 36 knots speed, She had made 38 on her trial trip, and later, under careful nursing by her engineers,

she had increased this to 40 knots an hour, five knots faster than any craft of flow. And with a clean bottom, this speed could be depended upon at any time it was needed. She derived the speed from six water tube boilers, feeding out of pressure of 300 pounds live steam to five turbine engines working three screws. one high-pressure turbine on the center shaft, and four low-pressure on the wing shafts. Besides these, she possessed two astern turbines and two cruising turbines, all four on the wing shafts. She made steam with oil fuel, there being no coal on board except for heating and cooking, and could carry 130 tons of it, which gave her a cruising radius of about 2,000 miles.

Also, with peace tanks filled, she could steam 3,000 miles without replenishing. This would carry her across the Atlantic at 13 knots speed. But if she was in a hurry, using all turbines, she would exhaust her oil in two days. When in the hurry, she was a spectacle to remember. Built on conventional lines, she showed at a mile's distance nothing but a high bow and four short funnels over a mighty bow wave that hid the rest of her long, dark-hued hull, and a black horizontal cloud of smoke that stretched a stern half a mile before the wind could catch and rended. She carried four 21-inch torpedo tubes and a battery of six 12-pounder rapid-fire guns.

Also, she carried two large searchlights and a wireless equipment of 70 miles reach, the aerials of which stretched from the truck of her short signal mast aft to the short pole at afts. Packed with machinery, she was a hotbox, even when at rest, and when in action, a veritable bake-upin. She had hygienic airspace below decks for about a dozen men, and this number could handle her, but she carried berths and accommodations for 60. Her crew was not on board, however. newly scraped and painted in the dry dock, she had been hauled out, stored, and fueled by a Navy Yard gang,

and now lay at the dock ready for sea, ready for her draft of men in the morning, and was no one on board for the night but the executive officer, who, with something on his mind, had elected to remain. While the captain and other commission officers went ashore for the night,

four years of the Naval Academy, a two-year sea cruise, and a year of actual service had made many changes in Denman. He was now 25, and Ensign. But, because of his position as executive, bearing the complimentary title of Lieutenant, he was a little taller and much straighter and squareer of shoulder than he was when he had gone to the academy. He had grown to trim mustache, and the sun and winds of many seas had tanned his face to the color of his eyes, which were of a clear brown, and only in repose did they now show the old-time preponderance of white beneath the brown.

In action, these eyes looked now through two slits formed by nearly parallel eyelids, and with the tightly closed lips and high-arching eyebrows, sure sign of the highest and best form of physical and moral courage, they gave his face a sort of take-care look, which most men heeded. Some women would have thought him handsome. Some would not. It all depended upon the impression they made of him, and the consequent look in his eyes.

At Annapolis, he had done well. He was the most popular man of his class, had won honors from his studies and fistfights from his fellows. While at sea, he had shown a reckless disregard for his life, in such matters as bursting flus, men overboard, and other casualties of seafaring. That brought him many typewritten letters from Washington. a few numbers of advancement and the respect and admiration of all that knew

where had heard of him. His courage, like Mrs. Caesar's morals, was above suspicion. Yet there was one man in the world who was firmly convinced that Lieutenant Dedman had a yellow streak in him,

and that man was Deadman himself. He had never been home since his departure for Annapolis. He had promised a small girl that if he came back, there would be another fight. in which, as he mentally vowed, he would redeem himself. In this he had been sincere,

but as the months of the academy went on, with the unsettled fight still in the future, his keen resentment died away, leaving in his place a sense of humiliation and chagrin. He still meant to go back, however, and would have done so when the vacation came, but a classmate invited him to his home. And there he went,

glad of the reprie from embarrassing and, as it seemed to him now, an undignified conflict with a civilian. But the surrender brought its sting and his self-respect lesson. At the next vacation, he surrendered again, and the sting began eating into his soul. He thought of the overdue redemption he had promised himself at all times and upon all occasions. But oftenest, just before going to sleep, with the mental picture of Jack Forsyth swaggering around the corner, while he lay conquered and helpless on the ground, would accompany him through his dreams and be with him when he wakened in the morning. It became an obsession, and very soon the sudden thought of his coming fight with Forsyth brought the uplift of the heart and the slight choking

sensation that betokened nothing but fear. He would not admit it at first, but finally was compelled to. Honest with himself as he was with others, he finally yielded in the mental struggle and accepted the dictum of his mind. He was afraid to fight Jack Forsyth, with no reference to, or regard for his standing as an officer and a gentleman. But now it seemed all this was to leave him. A month before, he had thought strongly of his child friend Flory. And, with nothing to do one afternoon, he had written her a letter. A jolly, rollicking letter filled with masculine colloquialisms, and friendly endearments, such as he had bestowed upon her at home. And it was the dignity of her reply received that day,

with the contents of the letter, which was the something on his mind that kept him aboard. His cheeks burned as he realized that she was now about 20 years old, a young lady, and that his letter to her had been sadly conceived and much out of place. But the news in the letter, which began with, Dear Sir, and ended with, sincerely yours, affected him most. It read, I presume that you'd know your enemy, Jack Forsyth, took his disappointment so keenly that he never amounted to much at home, but about two years ago enlisted in the Navy. This relieves you, as father tells me, from the necessity of thrashing him, as you declared you

would. Officers and enlisted men cannot fight, he said. as the officer has the advantage I can always order the man to jail. I thank you very much for remembering me after all these years. In fact, I shall never forget your kindness. His cheeks and ears had burned all day. And when his fellow officers had gone and he was alone,

he re-read the letter. Sarcasm and contempt between every line, he muttered. She expected me. The whole town expected me to come back and lick that fellow. Well, his eyelids became rigidly parallel. I'll do it. When I find him, I'll get surely for both of us.

Take him home and square the account. This resolution did him good. The heat left his cheek, and the sudden jump of the heart did not come with the occasional thought of the task. Gradually the project took form. He would learn what ship Forsyth was in. He'd transfer it to her. and when in port arranged the shore leave. He could not fight him in the Navy, but as man to man,

in civilian's clothing in the town park. He would fight him and thrash him before the populace. It was late when he had finished the planning. He lighted the last cigar and salted around the deck until the cigar was consumed. Then he went to his room and turned in, thinking of the caustic words of Miss Flory, forgiving her the while and wondering how she looked grown up.

They were pleasant thoughts to go to sleep on, but sleep did not come. It was an intensely hot muggy night, and the mosquitoes were thick. He tried another room, then another, and at last, driven out of the wardroom by the pests. He took refuge in the steward's pantry, and spreading his blanket on the floor, went to sleep on it. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 of The Pirates by Morton Robertson. This the book of box recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 2. He slept soundly, and as he slept, the wind blew up from the east,

driving the mosquitoes to cover, and bringing with it a damp, impenetrable fog that sank down over the Navy Yard and hid century from century, compelling them to count their steps as they paced. They were scattered throughout the yard at various important points, one at the gangway of each ship of the docks,

others at corners and entrances to the different walks that traversed the green lawn, and others under the walls of the huge naval prison. One of these whose walk extended from corner to corner heard something and paused often

to listen intently, his eyes peering around into the fog, but the sound was not repeated while he listened. Only as his footfalls sounded soggily on a damp path, where they punctuated by this still, small sound that he could not localize or remember. If asked, he might have likened it to the rustling of paper, or the sound of the cat's claws digging into a carpet, but at last it ceased, and it went back and forth many times. without hearing it. Then, when about halfway from corner to corner, a heavy body came down from above,

landing on his head and shoulders and bearing him to earth. Ball's rifle was knocked from his hand, and big fingers clutched his throat. He struggled and endeavored to call out, but the grip on his throat was too strong, and finally he quieted, his last flicker of consciousness cognizing other dropping bodies and the muttered and whispered words of men.

So much for this century. I know the way, whispered the garotor, and a few gathered around him. We'll make a bee-line for the dock and avoid him. Then, if we can't find a boat, we'll swim for it. It's the only way. Right, whispered another. Fall in here behind Jenkins, all of you. The whispered word was passed along,

and in single file the dark brown bodies each marked a knee and elbow with a white number followed the leader Jenkins he led them across the green around corners where sentries were not and down to the dock where lay the destroyer here was a sentry pacing up and down but so still was their approach

that he did not see them until they were right upon him who goes he started but the challenge was caught in his wrote. He, too, was choked until consciousness almost left him. Then the stricture was relaxed while they questioned him. Got a boat around here? hissed Jenkins in his ear. Whisper. Don't speak. No, gasped the sentry, unable to speak louder had he dared. How many men are aboard the destroyer? was asked. None now. Crew joins in the morning. Nobody on board, you say.

Lie quiet. If you raise a row, I'll drop you overboard. Come here, you fellows. They closed about him, 13 and all, and listened to his project. He was a pilot of the bay. How many machinists were there in the party? Four claimed the rating. Right enough, said Jenkins.

We'll run around. She's oil fuels, I understand. You can fire up in ten minutes, can you? Good. Come on. Wait, though. Jenkins, with his grip of steel, was equal to the task of tearing a strip from his brown prison jacket. And with this, he securely gagged the poor sentry.

Another strip from another jacket bound his hands behind him. And still another secured him to a mooring cleat face upward. This done, they suddenly filed aboard and spread through the interior. The sentry had spoken truly, they agreed, when they mustered together. There was no one on board, and the machinists reported plenty of oil fuel. Soon the fires were lighted and the indicator began to move as the boilers made steam. They did not wait for full pressure. Jenkins has spread out a chart in the pilot house.

And when the engines could turn over, he gave the word. Lines were taken in except a spring to back on. Then this was cast off, and the long, slim hull moved almost silently away from the deck. Jenkins steered by the light of a match held over the compass until there was steam enough to turn the dynamos. Then the electrics were turned on in the pilot house, engine room, and side light boxes, by which time the dock was out of sight in the fog, and they dared to turn. speak in articulate words. Their language was profane, but joyous, and their congratulations, hearty and sincere. A table knife is an innocent and innocuous weapon, but two table knives are not,

for one can be used against the other so skillfully as to form a fairly good hacksaw, with which prison bars may be sawed. The sawing of steel bars was a sound that the century had heard mingling with his footfalls. Jenkins at the wheel called to the crowd, "'Take the wheel, one of you,' he ordered. "'I've just rounded the corner. "'Keeper, Sout east, half south for a mile. "'I'll be here then. "'I want to rig the log over the stern.'

"'The man answered, and Jenkins departed with the boat's patent log. "'Down in the engine and boiler rooms were the four machinists. "'Engineers, they would be called in merchant steamers. "'And under their efforts, the engines turn faster, while the growing bow waves spread from each side of the sharp stern. The fog was still thick, so thick that the fan-shaped beams from the sidelines could not pierce it as far as the bow,

and the forward funnel was barely visible. A magnified black stump. Jenkins was back among them soon, remarking that she made 20 knots already. Then he slowed down, ordered the lead hove, each side, and ringing full speed,

quietly took the wheel, changing the course again to east, quartered north, and ordering a man aloft to keep a lookout in the thinner fog for lights ahead. In a few minutes, the man reported, a fixed white light four points off the starboard bow. And a little later, a fixed white and red flashlight two points off the port bow. Good, grunted Jenkins. I know just where I am. Come down from a loft, he called.

And watch out for buoys. I'm going out to South in Apocity channels. Then a dull boom rang out from a stern, followed by another, and another. And Jenkins laughed. They found that century, he said, and have telephoned Fort Independence. But it's no good.

They've only got salute guns. We passed that fort 20 minutes ago. Any others? They asked. Fort Warren down on the narrows. That's why I'm going through the hypocrity. Keep your eyes peeled for buoys, you ginks, and keep those leads going. Calm and imperturbable.

A huge, square-faced giant of a man. Jenkins naturally assumed the leadership of this band of jailbreakers. The light from the binnacle illuminated the countenance of rugged yet symmetrical features, stamped with prison power, but also stamped with a stronger imprint of refinement. A man palpably out of place, no doubt. A square peg in a round hole. A man with every natural attribute of a master of men.

Some act of rage or passion, perhaps. Some non-adjustment to an unjust environment had sent him to the naval prison to escape and become a pirate. For that was a legal status of all. Soon the wind shifted in the fog clear to sea. but still held its impenetrable wall between them and the town. Then it turned on both searchlights and saw buoys ahead to starboard and port. Jenkins boasted a little. I've run these channels for years, he said, and I know them, as I know the old backyard at home.

Hello, what's up? A man had run to the pilot house door in great excitement. An officer aboard, he whispered. I was down looking for grubble. and saw him. He's been asleep. Take the wheel, said Jenkins calmly. Keep her as she goes and leave that black buoy to starboard.

Then he stepped out on deck. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa. Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 3. Seaman.

Officers as well as men, accustomed to watch and watch of four hours alternate duty and sleep, usually waken at eight bells. Even when sure of an all night's sleep, it was long after midnight when Denman had gone to sleep on the pantry floor, and the slight noise of getting underway did not arouse him. But when eight bells came round again, he sat up, confused, not conscious that he had been called, but dimly realizing that the boat was at sea

and that he was culpable in not being on deck. The crew had come, no doubt, and he had overslept. He did not immediately realize that it was still dark, and that if the crew had come, the steward would have found him. He dressed hurriedly in his room and went on deck, spying a fleeing man in brown, mounting the steps ahead of him, and looking round. A stern was a fog-bank, and ahead the open sea. toward which the boat was charging at full speed.

As he looked, a man came aft and faced him. The deadman expected that he was step aside while he passed, but he did not. Instead, he blocked his way. Are you an officer of this boat, sir? Ask the man respectfully. I am. What do you want? Only to tell you, sir, that she is not now under the control of the Navy Department.

My name is Jenkins, and with twelve of others I escaped from the prison tonight and took charge of this boat for a while. We did not know you were on board. Denman started back and fell for his pocket pistol, but it was in his room. However, Jenkins had noticed the movement and immediately sprang upon him, bearing him against the nearest ventilator and pinning his arms to his side. None of that, sir, said the giant sternly. Are there any others on board beside yourself?

Not that I know of. answered Denman with forced calmness. The crew had not joined when I went to sleep. What do you intend to do with me? He had seen man after man approach from forward, and now a listening group surrounded him. That's for you to decide, sir. If you will renounce your official position,

we'll put you on parole. If you will not, it will be confined below decks till we're ready to leave this craft. All we want is our other words. How do you intend to get it? Every warship in the world will chase this boat. There's not a craft in the world that can catch her, rejoined Jenkins. But that is beside the point.

Will you go on parole, sir? War and irons. How many are there in your party? Thirteen, all told. And that, too, is beside the point. Answer quickly, sir. I'm needed at the wheel. I accept your offer, said gentlemen.

because I want fresh air, and nothing will be gained in honor and integrity in my resisting you. However, I shall not assist you in any way. Even if I see you go into destruction, I shall not warn you. That is enough, sir, answered Jenkins. You give me your word of honor, do you? As an American naval officer, not to interfere with the workings of this boat or the movements for crew until after we have left her. I give you my word, said the young officer. not without some misgivings.

You seem to be in command. What shall I call you? Herbert Jenkins. Seaman Gunner. Captain Jenkins, growled a man. And others repeated it. Captain Jenkins, responded Denman. I greet you cordially.

My name is William Denman, Anson in the United States Navy, and formerly executive officer of this boat, A suppressed exclamation came from the group. A man stepped forward, peered closely into Deadman's face, then stepped back. None of that, Forsyth, said Jenkins sternly.

We're all to treat Mr. Denman with respect. Now, you fellows, step forward and introduce yourselves. I know only a few of you by name. Jenkins went to the wheel, picked up the buoys played upon by the searchlights. and sent the man to join the others, as one after another faced Denman and gave his name. Guess you know me, Mr. Denman, said Forsyth,

the first to respond. I know you, Forsyth, answered Denman, hot and ashamed. For at the sight and sound of him, the old heart jump and throatache had returned. He fought it down, however, and listened to the names as the men gave them. William Hawks, Seaman.

George Davis, Seaman. John Kelly, gunner's mate. Percy Daniels, ships cook. And Thomas Billings, Wardroom steward. John Casey and Frank Munson, they explained, were at the searchlights forward. And down below are the four machinists, Riley, Samson, King, and Dwyer. Demman politely bowed his acknowledgments and asked the ratings of the searchlight men.

Wireless operators, they answered. you seem well-equipped and well-chosen men, he said, to run this boat, and to lead the government a lively dance for a while. But until the end comes, I hope we will get on without friction. In the absence of the masterful Jenkins, they made embarrassed replies. All but Forsyth, who remains silent. For no sudden upheaval and reversing relations will eliminate the illisted man's respect for an officer. Daylight had come, and Jenkins, having cleared the last of the buoys, called down the man at the searchlights. You're wireless sharps, aren't you? he asked.

Go down to the apparatus and see if he could pick up any messages. The whole coast must be aroused. The two obeyed him and went in search of the wireless room. Soon, one return. The air is full of talk, he said. cases at the receiver is still listening, but I made out only a few words like Charleston, Brooklyn,

jail, Pirates, Pensacola, and one phrasing, send in pursuit. The open sea for us, said Jenkins grimly. Until we can think out a plan,

send one of those soldiers to the wheel. A soldier, one who, so far, had done no work. relieved him, and he mustered his men. All but two in the engine room, to a council amid ships. Briefly, he stated the situation, as hinted at that by Denman, been verified by the wireless messages.

Every nation in the world would send its cruisers after them, and no civilized country would receive them. There was but one thing to do under the circumstances. Make for the wild coast of Africa, destroy the boat, and land. each man to work out his future as he could. After a little parley, they assented, taking no thought of fuel or food, and trusting the Jenkins' power to navigate. Then, it being broad daylight,

they raided the boat's stores for clothing and discarded their prison suits of brown for the blue of the Navy. Jenkins, the logical commander, donning the uniform of the captain, as large a man as himself. Next, they chose their bunks in the forecastle. And, as they left the deck, Jenkins picked up a bright object on the floor and absently put it in his trouser pocket. End of Chapter 3.

Chapter 4 of The Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This lib of box recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 4. The boat was now charging due east at full sports. speed out in the broad Atlantic. And, as the full light of day spread over the sea, a few specks and trails of smoke astern showed themselves.

But whether or not they were pursuing craft that had crept close into darkness while they were making steam could not be determined, for they soon sank beneath the horizon. Assured of immediate safety, Jenkins now stationed his crew. Forsyth was a seaman. He and Hawks, Davis and Kelly. The gunners' mate, who comprised the deck force. Riley, Samson, King, and Dwyer, all machinists, would attend to the engine and boilers. Casey and Munson, the two wireless operators, would attend to their department.

Walt Daniels and Billings, the cook and steward, would cook and serve the meals. There would be no officers, Jenkins declared. All were to stay and watch and work faithfully and amicably for the common good. and all disputes were to be referred to him. To this they agreed, for, though many they were of higher comparative rating in the Navy, Jenkins had a strong voice, a dominating personality, and a heavy fist. But Jenkins had his limitations as came out during the confab. He could not navigate.

He had been an expert pilot of Boston Bay before joining the Navy, but in the open sea, he was his helplessly. as any. However, he said in extenuation, we only need to sail about southeast to reach the African coast. When we hit it, we'll know it. So the course was changed, and soon they sat down to their breakfast. Such a meal as they had not tasted in years. Wardroom grub, every mouthful.

Demon was invited, and, as he was a prisoner on parole, he was not too dignified to accept, though he took no part in the hilarious conversation. But neither did Forsyth. Denman went to his room, locked up his private papers, and surrendered his revolver to Jenkins. Who declined it?

He then put it with his papers and returned to the deck, seating himself in a deck chair on the quarter. The watch had gone down, and those on deck, under Jenkins, who stood no watch. Busy themselves in necessary cleaning up of decks and stowing below of the fenders the boat had worn at the dock. Forsyth had gone below,

and the deadman was somewhat glad in his heart to be free of him until they settled his mind in regard to his attitude towards him. Manifestly he, a prisoner on parole, could not seek a conflict with him. On the contrary, should Forsyth seek it, by word or deed, he could not meet him without breaking his parole, which would bring him close confinement. Then, two, that prospective fight and vindication before Miss Florey and his townsmen seemed a very small importance compared with the exigency at hand, the stealing by jailbreakers are the Navy's best destroyer, and one of its officers.

His duty was to circumvent these fellows and return the boat to the government. To accomplish this, he must be tactful and diplomatic, deferring action until the time should come when he could safely ask to be released from parole. And with regard to this, he was glad that Forsyth, though as evil-eyed as before, and with an additional truckling expression of the face, had thus far shown him no insolity. He was glad, too, because in his heart, there was no revengeful thoughts about Forsyth. Nothing but thoughts of duty to himself that have been sadly neglected. Thus tranquilized, he lit a cigar and looked around the horizon. A spectre to north caught his eye, and as he watched,

It became a spot. Then a tangible silhouette. A battleship. Though of what country, he could not determine. It was heading on a course that would intercept their own, and in their short time, at the speed they were making, the destroyer would be within range of her heavy guns,

one shell from which could break the frail craft in two. Jenkins and its growl were busy. The man at the wheel was steering by compass and looking ahead, and it was the wireless operator on watch, Casey, who rushed on deck, looked at the battleship and shouted the Jenkins. Don't you see that fellow? He yelled excitedly. I heard him before I saw him. He asked, what ship is that?

Jenkins looked into the north, just in time to see a tongue of red dark from the casemate port. Then, as the bark of the gun came down the wind, a spurt of water lifted from the sea about a hundred yards ahead. port your wheel hard over, yelled Jenkins running forward. The destroyer swung to the southward, showing her stern to the battleship, and increasing her speed as the engine room staff nursed the oil feed and the turbines. Black smoke, unconsued carbon and even the blowers could not ignite, belched up from the four short funnels, and partly hit her from the battleship's view. But, obscure though she was, she could not quite hide herself in her smoke,

nor could her speed carry her faster than the twelve-inch shells that now came plowing through the air. They fell close, to starboard and to port, and a few came perilously near to the stern, but none hit or exploded. And soon they were out of range, and the firing ceased. The battleship heading to the west. Jenkins came aft and looked sternly at Demand, still smoking his cigar. Did you see that fellow before we did? He asked. I did, answered Denman.

returning a stare. Why didn't you sing out? If we're sunk, you drown too, don't you? You forget, Captain Jenkins, that I accepted my parole on condition and I should neither interfere with you, nor assist you. But your life.

Don't you value that? Not under some conditions. If I cannot emerge from this adventure with credit and honor intact, I prefer death. Do you understand? Jenkins' face worked visibly, as anger left it.

And wondering doubt appeared. Then his countenance cleared, and he smiled. You're right, sir, I understand now. But you know what we mean to do, don't you? Make the African coast and scatter. You can stand for that, can you? Not unless I have to. But you will not reach the coast.

You will be hunted down and caught before then. Jenkins' face clouded again. And what part will you play, if that comes, he asked. no part, active or resistant, unless first released from parole. But if I asked for that release, it will be at a time when I'm in greater danger than now, I promise you that. Very well, sir. Ask for it when you like. And Jenkins went forward. The course to the southeast was resumed, but a half an hour or two other specs on the southern horizon resolved into scout cruisers heading their way. And they turned to the east, still rushing at full speed.

They soon dropped the scouts, however, but were again driven to the north by a second battleship that shelled their vicinity for an hour before they got out of range. It was somewhat discouraging, but as darkness closed down, they once more headed their course. And all night they charged along at 40 knots, with lights extinguished, both every man's eyes searching the darkened horizon for other lights. They dodged a few, but daylight brought to view three quixing. cruisers ahead and to port that showed unmistakable hostility in the shape of screaming shells and solid shot. Again, they charged into north, and it was midday before the cruisers were

dropped. They were French, as all knew by their build, though there was no one navigating the boat. Denman, in view of future need of it, took upon himself the winding of the coroners. And the days went on, Casey and Munson reporting messages sent from shore to ship. Battleships, cruisers, scouts, and destroyers appearing and disappearing, and their craft racing around the Atlantic like a hunted fox. Jenkins did his best to keep track of the various courses, but, not skilled at traverse, grew bewildered at last, and finally intimated that he did not know where they were.

End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of The Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This the Brevox recording is in the public domain Read by Joe Danoia Chesterfield, New Jersey Chapter 5 One morning there was a council of war amid ships To which Denman was not invited

Until it adjourned as a council To become a committee of ways and means Then they came aft in a body And asked him to navigate No said Denman firmly Rising to his feet and facing them I will not navigate unless you surrender this craft to me and work her back to Boston, where you will return to the prison.

Well, we won't do that, shouted several angrily. Wait, you fellows, said Jenkins firmly, and speak respectfully to an officer while you ask like one. Mr. Denman, your position need not be changed for the worse. You can command this boat in all hands if you will take us to the African coast. My position would be changed, answered Denman. If I command this boat, I take her back to Boston, not to the African coast. Very well, sir, said Jenkins, a shade of disappointment on his face.

We cannot force you to join us or to help us. So. Well, come forward, you fellows. Say Jenkins, broken Forsyth. You're doing a lot of dictating here, and I've wondered why. Who gave you the right to decide? You admit your incompetency. You can't navigate, can you?

No, I cannot, retorted Jenkins, flushing. Neither can I learn at my age. Neither can you. I can't, stormed Forsyth. His eyes glaring white as he glanced from Jenkins to Denman and back. Well, I'll tell you I can. I tell you I haven't forgotten all I learned at school. and I can pick up navigation without currying favor from this milk-fed thief.

You know well. He advanced and held his fist under Demons' face, that I won the appointment you robbed me of, and that the uniform you wear belongs to me. At the first word, Demond's heart gave the old familiar thump and jump into his throat. Then came a quick reaction, a tingling at the hair roots,

an opening of the eyes, followed by their closing to narrow slits. and with the full weight of his body behind, he crashed his fist into Forsyte's face, sending him reeling and whirling to the deck. He would have followed to repeat the punishment, but the other stopped him. In the intoxication of ecstasy at the unexpected adjustment of his mental poise,

he struck out again and again, and floored three or four of them before Jenkins backed him against the companion. He broke his parole, put him in irons, "'Shuck him overboard!' They coursed and closed around him threateningly. Though Forsyth, his hand to his face, remained in the background. "'That's right, sir,' said Jenkins, holding Demmon at the end of one long arm. "'You have violated your agreement with us,

and we must consider you a prisoner under confinement.' "'All right,' panted Demon. "'Iron me, if you like. but first form a ring and let me thrash that dog. He thrashed me at school when I was the smaller and weaker. I've promised him a licking. Let me give it to him. No, sir, we will not, answer Jenkins.

Things are too serious for fighting. You must hand me that pistol in any arms that you may have and be confined to the wardroom. And you, Forsyfe, he said, looking at the victim. If you can master navigation, get busy and make good. And you other ginks, get out of here. Talk it over amongst yourselves. And if you agree with Forsyth and I'm not in command here, get busy too.

And I'll overrule you. He released Dedman, moved around among them, looking each man steadily in the face, and then staggered forward. Now, sir, he said to Denman. Come below. Deadman followed him down to the companion and into the wardroom. Knowing the etiquette as well as Jenkins, he led him to his room,

opened his desk in all receptacles, and Jenkins secured the revolver. Is this all you have, sir? asked Jenkins. Why do you ask that? answered Dedman hotly. As a prisoner, why may I not lie to you? Because, Mr. Denman, I think you wouldn't. However, I won't ask. I'll search this room in the whole boat, confiscating every weapon. You'll have the run of your stateroom and the wardroom, but will not be allowed on deck.

And you will not be annoyed, except perhaps to lend Forsyth any books he may want. He's the only educated man in the crowd. Better send him down under escort, responded Denman, if you want him back. Yes, yes, that'll be attended to. I've no part in your private affair, sir. But you gave him a good one, and that ought to be enough for a while. If you tackle him again, you'll have a whole bunch at you. Better let well enough alone.

Deadman sat down in his room, and Jekins departed. Soon he came back with three others, the steadiest men of the crew, and they made a systematic search for weapons in the wardroom, and all the state rooms opening from it. Then they locked the doors leading to the captain's quarter, and the doors leading forward and went on deck, leaving dead men a prisoner. Friddy concoct any antagonistic plan that came to his mind, but he made none as yet. He was too well contented and happy, not so much of being released from a somewhat false position

as a prisoner under parole, as in the lifting of the burden of the years. The shame, humiliation, chagrin, and anger dating from the school day thrashing. He smiled as he recalled a picture of Forsyth staggering along the deck. The smile became a grin, then a soft chuckle, ending in joyous laughter. Then he applied the masculine lever of all emotion. He smoked. The state rooms robbed of all weapons were left open. As each room contained a deadlight or circular window, he had a view of the sea on each being.

but nothing ahead or astern nor could he hear voices on deck unless pitched in a high key for the men their training strong upon them remained forward there was nothing on either horizon at present the boat was stormed along to the southward

as he knew by a glance at the telltale overhead and all seemed well with the runaways until a sudden stopping of the engines roused him up to peer out the deadlight and speculate as what was ahead. But he saw nothing from either side and strained his ears for sounds from the deck. There was excitement above.

Voices from forward came to him, muffled, but angry and argumentative. They grew louder as the men came aft. And soon he can distinguish Jenkins' loud profanity, drowning the protests of the others. She's a fire and her boats are burned. There's a woman aboard. I tell you we're not going to let him drown.

Over with that boat, or I'll stretch somebody out on deck. Oh, you will, Forsyth. Then came a thud as of the swift contact of two hard objects, and it sounded as of a bag of potatoes falling to the deck, which told Demmon that someone had been knocked down. Go ahead with the machine, Samson, said Jenkins again, and forward there. Port your wheel and steer for the yacht.

Demmon sprang to a Starboard deadlight and looked. He can now see, slantwise through the thick glass, a large steam yacht, a fire from her mainmast to a bow. And on the still-in-tapped quarter-deck, a woman frantically beckoning. Men, nearer the fire, seemed to be fighting it. The picture disappeared from view as the boat, under the impulse of her engines and wheel, straight into a course for the wreck.

Soon the engine stopped again, and Deadman heard the sounds of the boat being lowered. He saw this boat leave the side, manned by Hawks, Davis, Forsyth, and Kelly. But it soon left his field of vision, and he waited. Then came a dull, coughing, prolonged report, and the voices on deck broke out. Blown up, yelled Jenkins. She's sinking forward. She's cutting, too. Where are they? Where's the woman?

That wasn't powder, Riley. What was it? Steam, answered the machinist, coolly. They didn't rape the fires until too late, I suppose. And left the engine under one bell, possibly. While they steered for the wind with the preventer tiller. They've got somebody. Can you see?

It's the woman, blown overboard. See anyone else? I don't. Riley did not answer. And soon, Jenkins spoke again. They're coming back. Only the woman. Only the woman out of the whole crowd. They better hurry up, responded Riley. What's that over the Norwood? Nothing but a tramp, said Jenkins at length. But we don't want to be interviewed. Bear a hand, you fellows, he shouted. Is the woman dead? No, guess not, came the answer through the small deadlight. Fainted away since we picked her up. Burned or scalded somewhat. End of Chapter 5.

Chapter 6 of The Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This lib of box recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 6. Deadman saw the boat for a moment or two. as it came alongside, and noticed the still form of the woman in the stern sheets, her face hidden by a black silk neckerchief. Then he could only know by the voices that they were lifting her aboard

and aft to the captain's quarters. But he was somewhat surprised to see the door that led to these quarters opened by Jenkins, who beckoned him. We've picked up a poor woman, sir, he said, and put her in here. Now, we're too busy on deck to tend to her, Mr. Denman, and then... We don't know how. But...

Well, you're an educated man, and a gentleman. Would you mind? I've chased the bunch out, and I won't let them bother you. It's just an extension of your cruising radius. Certainly, said Denman. I'll do what I can for her. All right, sir. I'll leave this door open, but I must lock the after-companion.

He went on deck by the wardrobe stairs While Demmon passed through to the woman She lay on a transom Dripping water from her clothing to the carpet And with the black cloth still over her face But on hearing his footsteps She removed it Showing a countenance puffed and crimson

From the scalding of the live steam That had blown her overboard Then, groaning pitifully She sat up And looked at him and through swollen eyelids What is it? she exclaimed, weakly. What has happened? Where is father?

Madam, said Denman gently. You have been picked up from a steam yacht which exploded her boilers. Are you in pain? What can I do for you? I don't know. Yes, I am in pain. My face. Wait.

I'll get you what I can from the medicine chest. Devin explored the... the surgeon's quarters and returned with bandages and a mixture of linseed oil and lime water. He gently laughed and bound the poor woman's face and then led her to the captain's birth. Go in, he said. Take off your wet clothes and put on these pajamas. Here they are. He produced them from a locker. And then turn in. I will be here and will take care of you. He departed and when he saw the wet garments flung out, he gathered the

them and hung them up to dry. It was all he can do, except to look through the surgeon's quarters for stimulants, which he found. He poured out a strong dose of brandy, which he gave to the woman, and had the satisfaction of seeing her sink into profound slumber. Then, returning to the wardroom, he found Jenkins waiting for him. I'm after a sextant, Mr. Denman, he said. An almanac, a nautical almanac.

Forsyth wants them. You must find them yourself, then, answered Denman. Neither under parole nor confinement will I aid you in any way unless you surrender. Nonsense, said Jenkins impatiently, as he stepped past Denman and approached a bookcase. When we're through with the boat, you can have her. He had unconsciously turned his back. Dedman saw the protruding butt of his pistol in Jenkins' pocket, and, without any formulated plan for the future, only

seeing a momentary advantage in the possession of the weapon, pounced on his shoulders, an endeavor to secure it. But he was not able to. He could only hold on, his arms around Jenkins' neck, while the big sailor hove his huge body from side to side. And, gripping his legs, endeavored to shake him off. No word was spoken, only their deep breathing attested to their earnestness. And they thrashed around the wardroom like a dothed.

dog and a cat. Denman, in the latter similitude, in the air most of the time. But he was getting the worst of it, and at last to say the trick he knew of, taught him in Japan, and to be used as a last resort. Gripping his legs tightly around the body of Jenkins, he sagged down and pressed the tips of his forefingers into two vulnerable parts of the thick neck, where certain important nerves approach the surface. parts as vulnerable as the heel of Achilles.

Still clinging, he mercilessly continued the pressure, while Jenkins swayed back and forth, and finally fell backward to the floor. Deadman immediately secured the pistol. Then, panting hard, he examined his victim. Jenkins was breathing with the greatest difficulty, but could not speak or move, and his big eyes glared piteously up at his conqueror.

The latter would have ironed him at once, but the irons were forward in the armroom. So he temporarily bound him hand in foot with neckties were pleaded from his fellow officer's staterooms. Then, relieving Jenkins of his keys, he went forward through the front door to the arm room, from which he removed, not only wrist and leg arms, but every cut list of service revolver that the boat was stocked with, and a plentiful supply of ammunition. First, properly securing the still inert and helpless Jenkins, he dragged him to a corner,

and they stole the paraphernalia of war in his room, loading as many as a dozen of the heavy revolvers. He was still without a plan, working under intense excitement and can only follow impulses, the next of which was to lock the wardrobe companion down, which Jenkins had come, and to see that the forward door and the after companion were secured. this done, he sat down abreast of his prisoner to watch him and think it out.

There was no change in Jenkins. He still breathed hard and endeavored unsuccessfully to speak. While his eyes, the angry glare gone from them, looked up inquiringly. Oh, you're all right, Captain Jenkins, said Denman. You'll breathe easier tomorrow. And in a week, perhaps, you may speak a whisper. but you are practically deprived from command. So make the best of it.

Jenkins seemed willing to, but this did not solve the problem. There were 12 other recalcitrants on deck, who might not be so easily jih Tzued into weakness and dumbness. As the situation cleared, he saw two ways of solving it, one to remain below, and from the shelter of his room

to pop them one by one as they came down. The other, to take the initiative, assert himself on deck behind the menace of cocked revolvers, and overaw them into submission. The first plan involved hunger, for he could eat nothing not provided by them. The other, a quick and certain ending of the false position he was in, a plan very appealing to his temperament. He rose to his feet with a final inspection of Jenkins' bonds, and, going to his room, belted an arm himself with three heavy revolvers, then opened the

wardrobe companion door and stepped to the deck. No one was in sight except a man at the wheel, not now steering in the close armored conning tower, but at the upper wheel on the bridge. He looked aft, and, spying Denman gave a shot of warning, but no one responded. And Denman, with a clear field, advanced forward, looking to the right and left, until he reached the engine room hatch. Down which he peered, Riley's anxious face looked up at him, and farther down was the cringing form of King, his maid of the starboard watch. Demmon did not know their names, but he sternly commanded them to come up.

We can't leave the engine, sir, said Riley, tricking under the cold argument of two cold, blue tubes pointed at them. Shut off your gas. And never mind your engines, commanded Denman. Come up on deck quietly, or I'll put holes in you. King shut off the gas. Riley turned a valve. They eased off the making steam.

And the two appeared before Denman. Lie down on deck, the two of you, said Denman sharply. Take off your neckerchiefs and give them to me. They obeyed him. He took the two squares of black silk. similar to that which had covered the face of the rescued woman. And with them, he bound their hands tightly behind their backs. Lie still now, he said, until I settled matters.

They could rise and move, but could not for him immediately. He went forward and mounted to the bridge. How are you heading, he demanded, with a pistol pointed toward the helmsman. South. Do south, sir, answered the man. It was Davis of the Starboard Watch. Leave the wheel. The engine is stopped. Down on deck with you and take off your neckerchief. Davis descended meekly, gave him the neckerchief, and was bound as were the others.

Then Denman looked for the rest. So far, good. He had three prisoners on deck, and one in the wardroom. The rest were below, on duty, or asleep. They were in the forecastle, the cruise quarters, In the wireless room below the bridge, in the galley just fell out of the wardroom. Deadman had his choice, and decided on the forecastle as the place containing the greatest number. Down the forehatch he went and entered the apartment. A man rolled out of a bunk and faced him.

Up with your hands, said Dedman softly. Up quickly. The man's hands went up. All right, sir, he answered, sleepily, and somewhat weakly. My name's Hawks, and I haven't yet disobeyed an order from an officer. Don't, warned Demon sharply. Take off your neckerchief. Off came the black silk square. Wake up the man nearest you.

Tie his hands behind his back and take off his necktie. It was a machinist named Samson who was wakened and bound, with the cold blue tube of Denman's pistol looking at him. And then it was Dwyer, his watchmate. and Munson, the wireless man off duty, ending with old Kelly, the gunner's mate. Each tied with the neckerchief of the last man, Waken. And Hawks, the first to surrender, with the neckerchief of Kelly.

On deck with you all, commanded Demon. And he drove them up the steps to the deck, where they lay down beside Riley, King, and Davis. None spoke or protested. Each felt the interview. vision of the presence of a commissioned officer, and Demon might have won, might have secured the rest and brought him under control, had not a bullet sped from the after-companion, which, besides knocking his cap from his head, inflicted a glancing wound on his scalp and sent him headlong

into deck. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of The Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This lib of provox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey Chapter 7 After the rescue of the woman,

all but those on duty had mustered forward near the bridge. Jenkins, with a pair of binoculars to his eyes, inspecting a receding steamer on the horizon. The others passing comments. All had agreed that she was a merchant craft, the first they had met at close quarters, but not all were agreed that she carried no wireless equipment. Jenkins, even with the glasses, could not be sure.

But he was sure of one thing, he asserted. Even though the steamer had recognized and reported their position, it made little difference. Well, said Forsyth, if she can report us, why can't we? Why can't we fake a report? Send that a message that we've been seen a thousand miles north. That's a good idea, said Casey, the wireless man off duty. We needn't give any name. Only a jumble of letters that spelled nothing.

How far can you send with what you've got? asked Jenkins. With those aerials, answered Casey, glancing aloft at the long gridiron of wire. About fifty miles. Not much good, I'm afraid, said Jenkins. Lord knows where we are, but we're more than fifty miles from land. That as far as you can reason? Broke in, Forsyth. Jenkins, you're handy at a knockdown,

but if you can't use what brains you've got, you'd better resign command here. I don't know who elected you anyhow. Are you looking for more, Forsyth? Asked Jenkins, taking a step toward him. If you are, you can have it. If not, get down to your studies and find out where this craft is so we can get somewhere.

Forsyth, hiding his emotions under a forced grin, retreated toward the front of, forehatch. I can give you a latitude, he said before descending, by a meridian observation this noon. I picked up the method in one lesson this morning. But I tell you, fellows, I'm tired of getting knocked down. Jenkins watched him descend, then said to Casey, fake up a message claiming to be from some ship with a jumbled name, as you say, and be ready to send it if he gets a position. Then you think well of it? Certainly. Forsyth has brains.

The only trouble with him is that he wants to run things too much. Casey, a smooth-faced, keen-eyed Irish-American, descended to consult with his confrre, Munson. And Forsyth appeared, swinging the book. Laying this on the bridge stairs, he passed Jenkins and walked aft. Where are you going? asked the latter. Forsyth turned, white with rage, and answered slowly and softly. down to the officer's quarters to get a sextant or a quadrant.

I found that book on navigation in the pilot house, but I need the instrument and a nautical almanac. That is as far as my studies have progressed. You stay out of the officer's quarters, said Jenkins. There's a man there that'll eat you alive if you show yourself. You want a sextant and a nautical almanac? Anything else? That is all. I'll get them.

And remember, you and the rest are to stay away from the after end of the boat. Forsyth made no answer as Jenkins passed him on the way aft, but muttered, Eat me alive? We'll see. Riley, one of the machinists, appeared from the engine room hatch and came forward, halting before Forsyth. Say, he grumbled. What caused that big lobster to?

bully ragged this crowd the way he's been doing. I heard him just now giving you hell. It gave me hell yesterday when I spoke with a short oil. Short oil, queried Forsyth. Do you mean that? I mean that the oil won't last but a day longer. We've been storming along at 40 knots and eating up oil. What do we do? God knows, answered Forsyth, reflectively. Without oil, we stop in mid-ocean. What then? What then? queried Riley. Well, before then we must hold up some craft and get the oil. Also grub and water, if I guess right.

This bunch is hard on the commissary. Riley, said Forsyth impressively. Will you stand by me? Yes, if we could bring that big chump to terms. All right. Talk to your partners. Something must be done, and he can't do it. Wait a little, as though to verify Riley and uphold him in his contention.

Daniels, the cook, came forward from the gallery and said, Just about one week's whack-up and water left. I'll have to go on an allowance. Then he passed on, but was called back. One week's grub left, asked Forsyth. Sure of that, Daniels? Surest thing you know. plenty of beans and hardtack, but who wants beans and hardtack?

Have he spoken Jenkins about it? No, but we meant to. Something's got to be done. Where is he now? Down aft, said Forsyth reflectively. What's keeping him? Riley sank into the engine room, and Daniels went forward to the forecastle, reappearing before Forsyth had reached a conclusion.

Come after with me, Daniels, he said. Let's find out what. What's doing? Together they crept aft and peered down the wardroom skylight. I saw Demand Jenkins locked in furious embrace and watched while Jenkins sat down, helpless and impotent. They saw Demand bind him, disappear from sight, and reappear with the irons. Then they listened to his parting lecture to Jenkins. Come, said Forsyth. Down below with us, quick. They descended the galley companion from which a passage led to ask.

after the petty officer's quarters, which included the arm room, and then stood a forward door of the wardroom. Here they halted, and listened to Demand's movements while he armed himself and climbed the companion's stairs. They could also see through the keyhole. He's healed, cried Forsyfe. Where did you get the guns? Where's the arm room?

Hereabouts somewhere. Where is it? They hurriedly searched and found the arm room. It contained cumbersome rifles, cutlasses, and warheads. But no pistols. He's removed them all. Can we break in that door? Asked Forsyth, rushing toward the bulkhead.

No, hold on, said Daniels. We'll watch from the companion. And when he's forward, we'll sneak down the other and heal ourselves. Good. So while Demmon crept up and walked forward, glancing right and left, the two watched him from the galley hatch, and, after he had bound the two engineers and the helmsman, they slipped aft and descended the wardrobe stairs.

Here they looked at Jenkins, vainly trying to speak, but ignored him for the present. They hurried through the quarters and finally found Demmon's room with his arsenal-loaded revolvers. They belted and armed themselves, and carefully climbed the steps just in time to see Demmon drive the forecastle-concassel contingent to the deck. Then Forsyth, taking careful aim, sent the bullet which knocked them in unconscious

to the deck. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of The Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This the Brevox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 8, Forsyth and Daniels ran forward, while Billings, the cook-off watch, followed from the galley hatch. and Casey came up from the wireless room. Each asked questions, but nobody answered at once. There were eight-pound men lying upon the deck, and these must first be released, which was soon done. Dead men, lying prone with a small pool of blood near his head,

was next examined and pronounced alive. He was breathing, but dazed and shocked, for a large-calibular bullet glancing up. upon the skull has somewhat the same effect as the blow of a cudgel. He opened his eyes as the man examined him, and dimly heard what they said. Now, said Forsyth, when these preliminaries were concluded. Here we are, Miles at Sea, with short store of oil, according to Riley, and a short store of grub, according to Daniels. What's to be done, eh?

The man who has Boston so far hasn't seen this. It is now down in the wardroom, knocked out by this brass button doodling. What are you going to do, hey? Forsyth flourished his pistols dramatically and glared unspeakable things to doodling on the deck. Well, Forsyth, said old Kelly the gunner's mate. You've pretended to be a navigator. What do you say? I say this, declared Forsyth.

I'm not a navigator, but I can be. But I want it understood. There has got to be a leader, a commander. If you fellows agree, I'll master to navigation and take this boat to the African coast. But I want no halfway work. I want my orders to go, just as I give them. Do you agree? You've gone wrong under Jenkins.

Take your choice. You're right, Forsy. said Casey, the wireless man to the starboard watch. Jenkins is too easy, too careless. Take the job, I say. Do you all agree? yelled Forsyth wildly in his excitement. Yes, yes, they exclaim. Take charge and get us out of these seas.

Who wants to be locked up? All right, said Forsyth. Then I'm the commander. Lift that baby down to the skipper's room with the sick woman and let them nurse each other. Lift Jenkins out of the wardroom and stole him in the forecastle bunk. Riley, nurse your engines and save oil,

but keep the dynamo going for the wireless. And you, Casey, have you got that message cooked up? I have. All I want is the latitude and longitude to send it from. I'll give it to you soon. Get busy now and do your share. I must study a little. the meeting adjourned.

Deadmen, still dazed with a splitting headache, was assisted aft and below to the spare berth in the captain's quarters, where he sank at the unconsciousness with the moaning of the stricken woman in his ears. Casey went down to his partner and his instruments. Riley and King, with their confrars of the other watch, went down to the engines to nurse them. In Forsyth, after Jenkins had been lifted out of the wardrobe and forward to the forecastle bunk,

searched the bookshelves in the desks of the officers, and, finding what he wanted, went forward to study. He was at. He was a high school graduate and only needed to apply himself to produce results. And Forsyth produced them. As he had promised, he took a meridian observation that day, and half an hour announced the latitude. 35 degrees, 40 minutes north.

Now Casey, he called after he had looked at the track chart. Got your fake message ready? Only this, answered Casey, scanning a piece of paper. Listen. Stolen Destroyer bound north. Latitude, so-and-so. Longitude, so-and-so. That'll do, or anything like it. Send it from latitude 40 North, 55 West. That's up close to the corner of the lanes.

and if it's caught up, it'll keep them busy up there for a while. What's our longitude? Don't know, and won't until I learn the method. But just north of us is the west-teeast track of outbound low-power steamers. Which, I take it, means tramps and tankers. Well, we'll have good use for a tanker. You mean we'll hold up one for oil? Of course, and for grub if we need it.

Piracy, Forsyth. Have pirates got anything on us now? asked Forsyth. What are we? Mutineers, convex, strong-arm men, thieves? Or just simply pirates? Off the deck with you, Casey, and keep your wires hot. Forty north, 45 west for a while. Then we'll have it farther north.

Casey jotted down the... the figures and departed to the wireless room, where, at intervals throughout the day, he sent out into the ether of the radiating waves, which, if picked up within 50 miles by a craft beyond the horizon, might be relayed on. The success of the scheme cannot be learned by any tangible signs, but for the next few days, while the boat lay with white engines and Forsyth studied navigation, they remarked that they were not pursued or noticed by passing craft. And as the boat, with dead engines, rolled lazily in the long Atlantic swell, while the men, all but Forsyth, the two cooks and the two wireless experts,

lulled lazily about the deck, the three invalins of the ship's company were convalescing in different degrees. Jenkins, dumb and wheezy, laid prone in the forecastle bunk, trying to wonder how it happened. his mental faculties, though apprising him that he was alive, would hardly carry him to the point of wonder. For wonder predicate's imagination. And what little Jenkins was born with had been shocked out of him. Still he struggled and puzzled and guessed weakly as to what had happened to him.

When a committee from the loungers above visited him and asked him what struck him, he can only point suggestively to his throat and wag his head. he could not even whisper. And so they left him, pondering over the profanely expressed opinion of Old Kelly, that it was a visitation from God. The committee went after the skipper's quarters, and here loud talk and profanity ceased,

for there was a woman below. And, while these fellows were not gentlemen, as the term is understood, they were men. Bad men. But men On the way down the stairs Kelly struck, barehanded

His watchmate Hawks For expressing an interest in the good books of the woman And Samson A giant, like his namesake Smote old Kelly Hip and thigh For qualifying his strictures on the common of hawks Thus corrected and enjoin

With caps in hand They approached the open door The Starboard Room Where lay the injured woman in the birth fully clothed in her now dried garments and her face still hidden in Deadman's bandage Excuse me, madam, said Samson, the present chairman of the committee

Can we do anything for you? I cannot see you, she answered faintly. I did not know where I am, nor about what happened to me. But I am in need of attention. One man was kind to me, but he has not returned. Who are you? you men.

We're a crew of the boat, answered Samson awkwardly. The skippers forward, and I guess the man that was kind to you was our prisoner. He's not on the job now, but... What can we do? Tell me where I am and where I'm going. What boat is this? Who are you? Well, madam, broken old Kelly.

We're a crowded jailbreakers that stole a torpedo boat destroyer and put the sea. We got you off a burn and sinking yacht, and you're here with us. But I'm blessed if I know what we'll do with you. Our necks are in the halter, so to speak. Or rather, our hands and ankles are in irons for life if we're caught. You've got to make the best of it until we get caught. And if we don't, you've got to make the best of it too. Lots of young men among us.

And you're no spring chicken by the looks of you. Oh, Kelly went down before a fist of blood. from Hawks, who thus strove to rehabilitate himself in the good opinion of his mates. And Hawks went backward from a blow from Samson, who, as yet unsullied from unworthy thought, held his position as peacemaker and moralist. And while they were recovering from the excitement, Denman, with blood in his face from the wound in his scalp,

appeared among them. Are you fellows utterly devoid of manhood and self-respect, he said sternly, that you appear before the door of a sick room and bade a woman who cannot defeat herself even by speech? Shame upon you. You have crippled me,

but I am recovering. If you cannot aid this woman, leave her to me. She is burned, scalded, disfigured. She hardly knows her name or where she came from. You have saved her from the wreck and have since then the Glech

her. Men, you are jailbirds, as you say, but you are American seamen. If you cannot help her, leave her. Do not insult her. I am helpless. If I had power, I would decree further relief from the medicine chest. But I am a prisoner. Restricted. Samson squared his big shoulders. On deck with you, fellas. All of you, get. Quick! They followed up the companion, leaving Samson looking at Deadman. Lieutenant, he said.

You take care of this poor woman, and if anyone in her fears, notify me. I'm as big a man as Jenkins, who's knocked out, and a bigger man than Forsyth, who's now in command. But we're fair, understand. We're fair, the most of us. Yes, yes, answer. Mr. Denman, as he staggered back to a transom seat. Want anything to yourself?

Asked Samson, as he noted the supine figure of Denman. You're still Lieutenant Denman of the Navy. Understand? No, I do not. Leave me alone. Samson followed his mates. Demon sat out a few moments, nursing his aching head and trying to adjust himself to conditions. And as he sat there, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

and heard a weak voice saying, Are you Lieutenant Denman? Billy Denman? He looked up. The bandaged face of the woman was above him. Out of the folds of the bandage looked two serious, grey eyes. And he knew them. Flory, he said in a choke.

Is this you? Grown up? Florey Fleming. How? Why? What brings you here? I started on the trip, Billy, she said calmly, with father on a friend's yacht bound for the Bermudas.

We caught fire, and I was the only one saved, it seems. But how are you here, subordinate to these men? Are you injured, Billy? You're bleeding. What is heaven? The finger of fate, Florey, or the act of God. answered Denman with a painful smile. We must have the concede taken out of us on occasions, you know.

Forsyth, my schoolmate, is a command of this crowd of jailbreakers and pirates. Forsyth? Your conqueror? She was seated this step. Do you know, Mr. Demmon, that you were my hero when I was a child, that I never forgave Jack Forsyth? I had hoped to hear. Oh, I know, he interrupted hotly, while his head frowned anew with a surge of emotion.

I know what you and the whole town expected. But I knocked them down on deck a short time back, and the knockdown stands. But they would not allow a finish. Then he shot me when I was not looking. I am glad, she answered simply, for your sake, and perhaps for my own. For I, too, it seems, amid his power. He answered her as he could, and coherently and meaninglessly, but she went to her room and closed the door.

End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 9 Down the wardrobe companion came Forsyth, followed by Samson, who edged alongside of him as he peered into the after compartment, where Denman sat on the transom. What do you want down here with me? asked Forsyth in a snarl, as he looked sideways at Samson, to see that you act like a man, answered the big machinist. There's a sick woman here, and a more or less sick man, answered Forsyth.

that if I hadn't made sick, would have had you in irons. Get up on deck. All I want is a chronometer. Under the circumstances, rejoined Samson Cooley. Though I acknowledge your authority as far as governing this crew is concerned, when it comes to a sick woman, defended only by a wounded officer, I shift to the jurisdiction of the officer. If Lieutenant Demand asked that I go on deck, I will go.

Otherwise, I remain. Wait, said Dunman and Wigley, for you have lost much blood. Perhaps Forsyth need not be antagonized or coerced. Forsyth. Do you remember a little girl at home named Florey Fleming? Well, that woman is she. I appeal to whatever is left of your boyhood ideals to protect this woman and care for her. Yes, I remember her, answered Forsyth, with a bitter smile.

She thought you were a tin god on wheels, and told me after you'd gone that you'd come back and thrash me. You didn't, did you? His speech ended in a sneer. No, but I will when the time comes, answered Denman. But the mental transition from pity to anger overcame him, and he sank back. Now, this is neither here nor there, Forsyth, said Samson sternly. you want a chronometer. When you get it, you have no more business here than I have. I think you better use your authority like a man,

or I'll call a meeting of the boys. Of course, answered Forsyth, looking at the big shoulders of Samson, but inasmuch as I knew this fellow from boyhood and knew this girl when I was a child, the best care I can give her is to remove this chap from her vicinity. We'll put him down the forepeak, and let one of the cooks feed her,

and nurse her. We'll see about that on deck, said Samson indignantly. I'll talk. Yes, broken Denman standing up. Forcith is right. It is not fitting that I should be here alone with her. Put me anywhere you like, but take care of her as you are men and Americans. Forsyth made no answer, but Samson gave Demmon a troubled, doubtful look. Then not it. and followed Forsyth to the various rooms until they had secured what he wanted. Then they went on deck together, but in an hour they were back.

And, though Deadman had heard nothing of a conclave on deck, he judged by their faces that there had been one, and then if Forsyth had been overruled by the influence of Samson. For Samson smiled, and Forsyth scowled, as they led Deadman into the wardroom to his own birth, and locked him in with the assurance that cooks would feed him and attend to the wants of himself and the woman. Billings had come with Arnica, plaster, and bandages,

and roughly dressed his wound. But he gave them no information of their plans. However, Deming could still look out through a deadline. A few hours after the boat's engines had started, he could see a steamer on the horizon, steaming, of course, that would soon intercept without the destroyer. She was a one-futtle, two-masted craft, a tramp, possibly, a working boat, surely. But he only learned when her striped funnel came to view that she belonged to a regular line.

She made no effort to avoid them, but held on until with inhaling distance, when he heard Forsyth's voice from the bridge. Stamer ahoi, he shouted. What's your cargo? Oil, answered the man in the steamer's bridge. What are you holding me up for? Oil, answered Forsyth. How is it stowed? In cases or in bulk?

In bulk, you doggone, fool. Very good. We want some of that oil. You do, hey? Who are you? You look like that runaway destroyer I've heard so much about. I was going to recompense the company for the oil you want. Hey, where do I come in? Who pays the bill? Send it to the United States government or send it to the devil. Pass a hose over the side and dip your end in a tank.

Suppose I said no. Well, we'll send a few shells into your waterline. Is that straight? Are you pirates that would sink a working craft? As far as your concern, we are. Pass over your hose and stop talking about it. All we want is a little oil. Will you give me a written receipt?

Of course. Name your bill. We'll toss it up in the drift boat. Pass over the hose. All right. Hook up your own reducer and suck it full with your pump. Then it will siphon down. Got reducers, Samson?

Got several. Guess we could start the flow. The two craft drew close together. The hose was flown from the tanker to the destroyer. And the four machinists worked for a while with wrenches and punches and pull. pump fittings until the connection was made. Then they started the pump, filled a hose, and, disconnecting, dropped their end into the tanks.

The oil, by the force of gravity, flowed from one craft to the other until the gauges showed a full supply. Then a written receipt for 125 tons of oil was signed by the liters, tied to a piece of iron, and tossed aboard the tanker. and the two craft separated The pirate heading south As Denman can see by the telltale Denman His wounded scalp easier

Light down in his birth And smoked while he thought out his plans Obviously the men were pirates Fully committed They would probably repeat their performance And as obviously they would surely be caught in time There was nothing you can do Except to heal his wound

And wait he cannot even assist Miss Flory, no matter what peril might menace her. Then, as he remembered a bunch of duplicate keys given him when he joined his executive officer, he thought that perhaps he might. They were in his desk, and, rolling out, he secured them. He tried them in turn on his door lock, and finally found the one that fitted. This he took off the ring and secured with his own bunch of keys. placed in the others, which he easily surmised belonged to all the locking doors in the boat in another pocket.

Then he lay back to finish his smoke. But Samson opened his door and interrupted. You'll excuse me, sir, he began, while Devin peered critically on him through the smoke. But I suppose you know what we've just done. Yes, he answered, I could see a little and hear more. You've held up and robbed an old steamer, and is a piracy's search? sir, in the old sense? A hanging matter if we're caught.

Hardly no, said Deadman, after a moment's reflection. Laws are repealed every now and then. Did you kill anyone? No, sir. Well, I judge that a pirate had seized about in the same plane as a burglar on shore. If he kills anyone while committing a felony, he's guilty of murder in the first degree. Better not kill any fellow men.

Then you'll only get a long term. perhaps for life when you're nabbed. Thank you, Mr. Denman. They're talking big things on deck, but there'll be no killing. Forsyth is something of a devil and will stop at nothing. But I'll... Pardon me, said Denman lazily.

He'll stop at me if you release me. Not yet, sir. It may be necessary, but at present we're thinking of ourselves. All right. But tell me, how did you get a key to my door? How many keys are there? Oh, from Billings, sir. Not with Forsy's knowledge, however. Billings and some others think no more of him than I do.

That's right, responded Denman. I know him at school. Look out for him. By the way, is the lady aft being attended to? Yes, sir. Daniels, the other cook, brings her what she needs. She has not locked up, though. That's good.

Give her the run of the deck, and take care of her. Yes, sir, we will, answered Samson, as respectfully as though it were a legitimate order. For force of habit is strong. Then he left the room, locking the door behind him. Denman smoked until he finished the cigar, and, after he'd eaten a supper brought by Billings, He smoked again until darkness closed down.

With the closing down of darkness, came a plan. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This lib of box recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 10. Tossing his cigar through the open deadlight,

Demmon arose and unlocked his door, passing into a small and empty wardroom. First, he tried the forward door leading into the petty officer's quarters and to the armroom, and, finding it locked, sought for the key which opened it, and passed through, closing the door softly behind him. Farther forward, he could hear the voice of Billings, singing cheerfully to himself in the galley, and, filtering through the galley hatch and open deadlights, the voice of Forsyth, uttering angry commands to someone on deck.

He had no personal design upon Billings, nor at present upon Forsyth. So he searched the armroom. As Forsyth and Daniels had found, there was nothing there more formidable than cutlasses, rifles, and torpedo heads. The pistols had been removed to some other place. So Deming went back and searched the wardrobe,

delving into closets and receptacles, looking for arms. But he found none and sat down on the chair to think. Presently he arose and tapped on the glazed glass door of the captain's apartment. Flory, he said in a half whisper. Flory, are you awake? There was no answer for a moment. That he saw a shadow move across the door. Florey, he repeated.

Are you awake? Who is this? He came in answering whisper through the door. Denman. Billy Denman, he answered. If you're a waking clothes, let me in. I have a key, and I want to talk with you. All right, yes. Come in. But I have no key, and the door is locked.

Denman quickly found the key and opened the door. She stood there with her face still tied up in claws, and only her gray eyes showing the light from the electric bulbs of the room. "'Flory,' he said. "'Will you do your part towards helping us out of our present trouble?' "'I'll do what I can, Billy, but I cannot do much.' "'You can do a lot,' he responded. "'Just get up on deck with your face tied up and walk around.

"'Speak to any man you meet. "'Then go forward to the bridge. "'Ask anyone you see, any question you're like, "'as to where we are going, or what is to be done with us.' anything at all which will justify your presence on deck. Just let them see that you are on deck and will be on deck again. Will you, Flory? My face is still very bad, Billy, and the wind cuts like a knife.

Why must I go up among those men? I'll tell you afterward. Go along, Flory. Just show yourself and come down. I am in the dark. Why do you not tell me what is ahead? I would rather stay here and go to bed. You can go to bed in ten minutes, said Denman.

But go up first and show yourself, and come down. I will do the rest. Well, Billy, I will. I do not like to, but you seem to have some plan which you did not tell me of. So, well, all right, I'll go up. She put on a cloak and ascended the companion stairs, and Denman sat down to wait. He heard nothing,

not even a voice of congratulation. And after a few moments, Flory came down. I met them all, she said, and they were civil and polite. What more do you want of me, Billy? Your cloak, your hat, and your skirt. I will furnish the bandage.

What? Exactly. I will go off. Bob dressed like you and catch them on a wares one by one. But Billy, they will kill you or hurt you. Don't do it, Billy. Now here, Flory Girl, he answered firmly. I'll go into the wardroom and you toss in the materials from my disguise.

Then you go to bed, and if I get into trouble, they will return the clothes. But suppose they kill you. I will be at their mercy. Billy, I'm alone here without you. Flory, they are sailors. That means they are men. If I win, you are all right, of course. Now let me have the things.

I want to get command of this boat. Take them, Billy. But return to me and tell me, don't leave me in suspense. I won't. I'll report, Floree. Just wait and be patient. He passed into the wardroom, and soon the skirt, hat, and cloak were thrown to him. He had some trouble in donning the garments.

For, while the length of the skirt did not matter, the width certainly did. And he must needs piece out the waist-bound the length of string, ruthlessly punching holes to receive it. The cloak was a tight squeeze for his broader shoulders, but he managed it. and after he had thoroughly massed his face with bandages, he tried the hat. There were hat-pins sticking to it, which he knew the utility of. But, as she furnished him nothing of her thick ground of hair, he jabbed these through the bandage and surveyed himself in the skipper's large mirror. Most ladylike, he muttered, squinting through the bandages.

Then he went on deck. His plan had progressed no further than this, to be able to reach the deck unrecognized so that he can watch, listen to the talk, and decide what he might do later on. Billings still sang cheerily in the galley, and the voices forward were more articulate. Chiefly concerned, it seemed, with the replenishing of the water and food supply

and the necessity of foresight's pursuing his studies so that they can know where they were. The talk ended by their driving their commander below, and when the watches were set, Demand himself went down. He descended as he had come up by the captain's companion, reported his safety to flory through the partly open-state room door, and also requested that,

each night as she retired, she should toss the hat, cloak, and skirt into the wardroom. To this she agreed, and he discarded the uncomfortable rig and went to his room, locking the captain's door behind him, also his own. His plan had not progressed. He had only found a way to see things from the deck instead of through a deadlight.

And he went to sleep with the trouble thought that, even though he should master them all, as he had once nearly succeeded in doing, he would need to release them in order that they should work ship. To put them on parole was out of the question. The sudden stopping of the turbines woke him in the morning, and the sun shining to his deadlight apprised him that he had slept late. He looked out and ahead and saw a large white steam yacht resting,

quietly on the rolling groundswell, apparently waiting for the destroyer to creep up to her. But another hold-up, he said. And for grub and water this time, I suppose. Wishing to see this from the deck, he rushed after the captain's room and tapped on the door,

meanwhile fumbling for his keys. There was no answer, and, tapping again, he opened the door and entered. Flory, he called in a whisper. Are you awake? She did not reply, but he heard Samson's voice from the deck. This is your chance, miss, he said.

We're going to get stores from that yacht, but no doubt she'll take you on board. Is she bound to New York or some port where I may reach friends? Asked the girl. No, bound to the Mediterranean. Will you release Mr. Denman as well? No. I'm pretty sure the boys will not. He knows our plans, and is a naval officer, you see.

with a strong interest in landing us. Once on shore, he would have every warship in the world after us. Then I stay here with Mr. Denman. He is wounded and is my friend. Demman was on the point of calling up to insist that she leave the yacht. But he thought, in time, that it would reveal his position

and leave him more helpless. While, perhaps, she might still refuse to go. here at Samson's footsteps going forward and called to her softly. But she, too, had moved forward. And he went back to his deadlight. It was a repetition of the scene with the oil steamer. Forsyth, loudly and profanly announcing his wants and calling the yacht's attention to two 12-pounders aimed at her waterline.

She was at the standard type, Clipper bowed, square stern, with one funnel and two masts. and from the trucks of these masks stretched a three-wire grid for a wireless outfit. Forward was a crowd of blue-clad sailors. On the bridge, an officer and a helmsman. An aft, on the fantail, a number of guests. While amid ships, conversing earnestly, were two men, whose dress indicated that they were the owner and sailing master. In the door of a small deck house near them stood another manning in form.

and to this man the owner turned and spoke a few words. The man disappeared inside, and Denman, straining his ears, heard the rasping sound of a wireless sender. And simultaneously, Casey's warning shout to Forsyth. He's calling for help, Forsyth. Stop him! Then came Forsyth's vibrant voice. Call that man out of the wireless room, he yelled, or we'll send a shell into it. "'Train that gun, Kelly, and stand by for the word.'

"'Call him out,' he continued. "'Stop that message.' The rasping sound ceased, and the operator appeared. Then, with their eyes distended, the three ran forward. "'Anyone else in that deckhouse?' called Forsyth. "'No,' answered the sailing master. "'What are you going to do?' "'Kelly,' said Forsyth.

Aim low and send a shell into the house. Aim low so as to smash the instruments. Kelly's reply was inarticulate, but in a moment the gun barked, and the deckhouse disintegrated into a tangle of kindling from which oozed a cloud of smoke. Women scream, and forward and aft,

Viot's people crowded where the ends of the craft. What in thunder are you trying to do? roared the sailing master, shaking his fist. Are you going to sink us? not unless necessary, replied Forsyth. But we want grub, good grub too. And water. We want water through your own hose, because ours is full of oil.

Do you agree? It was a short confab between the owner and the sailing master, ending with the latter is calling out. We'll give you water and grub, but don't shoot any more hardware at us. Come closer and throw a heaving line. and send your boat, if you like, for the grub. Our boats are all lashed down. That's reasonable, answered Forsyth.

Hawks, Davis, Daniels, Billings. You fellows clear away that boat of ours, and stand by to go for the grub. The two craft drew together, and for the rest, it was like the other hold-up. The hose was passed, and, while the tanks were filling, The boat passed back and forth, making three trips, heavily laden with barrels, packages, and boxes. Then, when Forsyth Key of the Word, the hose was drawn back, the boat hoisted and secured, and the two crafts separated without another word of threat or protest. End of Chapter X

Chapter 11 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This lib of box recording is in the public door. Romaine. Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 11. Fully committed, muttered Denman, as he drew back from the deadlight. They'll stop at nothing now. He was about to open his door to visit Flory, if she had descended, when it was opened from without by Billings, who had brought his breakfast. "'I'll have better grow up in a while, sir,' he said, as he deposited the tray on the desk. Suppose you know what happened.

Yes, I see life imprisonment for all of you, unless you are killed in the catching. Can't help it, sir, answered Billings with a deprecatory grin. We're not going back to jail, nor will we starve on the high seas. All we're waiting for is the course of the African coast. Unless... He paused. Unless what? demanded Denman, leaning over his breakfast.

Well, unless the vote is to stay at sea, we've got a good, fast boat under us. What do you mean? Continued piracy. I can't tell you any more, sir, answered Billings, as he went off. After carefully locking the door behind him, when Denman had finished his breakfast, he quietly led himself out. Tapping on the after door, he saw Flory's shadow on the translucent glass,

and opened it. She stood before him with the bandages removed, and he saw her features for the first time since she had come aboard. They were pink, and here or there was a blister that had not yet disappeared. But, even so handicapped, her face shone with a beauty that he had never seen in the woman, nor imagined in the grown-up child that he remembered. The large, serious, grey eyes were the same.

But the short, dark ringlets had to devoured. developed to a wealth of hair that would have suitably crowned a queen. Deadman stood transfixed for a moment. Then found his tongue. Flory, he said softly, so it's not to be heard from above. Is this really you? I wouldn't have known you. Yes, I know, she answered with a smile,

which immediately changed to a little grimace of pain. I was badly scalded, but I had to take off the cloth to eat my breakfast. No, he said. I didn't mean that. I mean, you've improved so. Why, Flory, you've grown up to be a beauty. I never imagine you. You're looking so fine. Don't talk like that, Billy Deadman. I'm disfigured for life. I know. I can never show my face again. Nonsense, Florey. The redness will go away.

But tell me, why didn't you go aboard that yacht? I overheard you talking to Samson. Why didn't you go and get away from this bunch? I have just told you, she answered. Wallet hadn't overspread her pink face that did not come out of the scolding. There were women on that yacht. Do you think I want to be stared at and pitied and laughed at? I never thought of that, said Denman.

but I suppose it is a very vital reason for a woman. Yet, it's too bad. This boat is sure to be captured, and there may be gunfire. It's a bad place for you. But Flory, let me tell you, did you see what came on board from the yacht? Boxes and barrels and the water. Yes, and some of those boxes contain whiskey and brandy. Whiskey and Brandy make men forget that they are men.

Have you a key for your door? No, I never saw one. Deadman tried his bunch of keys on the stateroom door until he found the right one. This he took off the ring and inserted it in the lock. Lock your door every time you go in there, he said impressively. And, Flory, another thing. Keep that pretty face of yours out. a sight of these men.

Go riding in there now and replace the bandages. Then, after a while, about nine o'clock, go on deck for a walk around, and then let me have your rig. I want a daylight look at things. She acquiesced, and he went back to his room, locking himself in, just in time to escape the notice of Billings, who had come for the tray. Are you fellows going to deprive me of all exercise? He demanded.

Even a man in irons is allowed to walk the deck a little. Don't know, sir, answered Billings. Forsyth is the man to talk to. I'll do more than talk to him, growled Demme in between his teeth. Carry my request for exercise to him. Say that I demand the privileges of a convict. Very good, sir, answered Billings as he went out. In a few moments, he was back with the news that Forsyth had profanly denied the request.

whereat Demond's heart hardened the more. He remained quiet until two bells, nine o'clock, had struck, then went out and approached the afterdoor. Just in time to see Flory's shadow pass across the glass as she mounted the stairs. He waited, and at about five minutes she came down, and, no doubt seeing his shadow on the door, tapped gently. He promptly opened it, and she said, leave the door open, and I'll throw you my things in a minute.

They are drinking up there. Drinking, he mused as he waited. Well, perhaps I can get a gun if they drink his stupidity. Soon, Flory's hand opened the door, and the garments came through. Deadman had a little trouble now in donning them. And, with his head tied up as before, he passed through the captain's apartment to the deck. It was a mild, sunshiny morning. with little wind

and that for the northeast white globes of cloud showed here and there and dead men knew them from the unmistakable sign of the trade winds but it was more interested in matters on deck

all hands except Billings who was singing in the gallery and Munson one of the wireless men were clustered around the forward funnel and there were several bottles circulating around Forsyth with a sexton in his hand was berating them

Go slow, you infernal ginks, he snarled at him. You'll be so drunk in an hour that you won't know your names. Ready in there, Munson? Yes, answered Munson from the pilot house. Forsyth put the sexton to his eye and swept it back and forth for a few moments. Time, he called suddenly, and lowering the sextant, looked in at Munson. Got it? asked Munson. Yes.

and have it down in black and white. Forsyth made a notation from the sexton on a piece of paper. Now again, said Forsyth, and again he took a sight, shouted, Time, and made another notation. Then he went into the pilot house, and Munson came out and made the shortest cut to the nearest bottle. He's taken the chronometer's sights, mused them, and he leaned against the companionhood. Well, he's progressing fast, but there was never a doubt that he is a scholar. He went down and threw a crack of the door, obtained Miss Flory's permission to keep the cloak and skirt for the morning,

as he wanted to see later how the drinking was progressing. Florey consented, and he went to his room to wait. As he waited, the sounds above grew ominous. O's in loud laughter, shouts, Whoops and grumblings, mingled with Forsyth's angry voice of command, came down to him through the open deadlight. Soon he heard the thumping of human bodies on deck and knew there was a fight going on. A fight always appealed to him. And, yielding to this unworthy curiosity, Demmon again passed through the captain's quarters, making sure on the way that Floyd was locked in

and reached the deck. There were two fights in progress. one, a stand-up and knock-down affair near the pilot house, the other a wrestling match amid chips. He could not recognize contestants, and what to thought that perhaps Forsyth was one of them, stepped forward a few feet to observe. At this moment, buildings, the cheerful buildings, came up to galley hatch,

no longer cheerful, but morose of face and menacing of gait. as is usual with this type of man when drunk he spied Denman in his skirt, cloak, hat, and bandage and, with a clucking chuckle in his throat and a leering grin on his face, made for him. Say, old girl, he said thickly.

Let's have a kiss. Denman, anxious about his position and peculiar privilege, backed away. But the underbashed pursuer still pursued and caught him on the companion. He attempted to pass his arm around Denman, but did not succeed. Denman pushed him back a few feet. Then, with the whole weight of his body behind it,

launched forth his fist and struck the sailor squarely between the eyes. Billings was lifted off his feet and hurled backwards his whole length before he reached the deck. Then he lay still for a moment, and as he showed signs of life, Dempon darted down to the wardroom, where he shed his disguise as quickly as possible. Then he roused Flory, passed the garments into her, warned her to keep her door locked, and went to his own room locking the doors behind him. He waited and listened while the shouts and oaths above grew less, and finally silent, though at times he recognized Forsy's threatening voice.

He supposed that by now all of them except Forsyth were stupidly drunk. I was much surprised when, at eight bells, Billings opened the door, with his dinner, well-cooked and savory. He was not quite sober, but as sober as a drunken man may become, who was at every nerve, sinew, and internal organ, shocked as by the kick of a mule. Bad times on deck, sir, he said. This drink-ins all to the bad. He leered comically through his closed and blackened eyelids and tried to smile, but it was too painful and his face straightened. Why? What has happened? inquired Demand. I heard the row, but couldn't see.

Nothing serious, sir, answered Billings, except to me. Say, sir, that woman aft. Keep away from her. Take it from me, sir, she's a bad on. Got a punch like a battering ram. Did you ever get the big end of a hand spike jammed into your face by a big man, sir? Well, that's the kind of punch she has. Billings departed, and Demmon grinned maliciously while he ate his dinner.

and, after Billings had taken away the dishes, with more comments on the woman's terrible punch, Deadman went out into the wardroom, intending to visit Miss Flory. A glance overhead stopped him and sent him back. The lubbers point on a telltale marked due west-northwest of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of the Pirates by Morton Robertson. This the Brevox recording is in the public domain. read by Joe Danoia Chesterfield, New Jersey

Chapter 12 He sat down to think Samson had hinted at big things talked about Billings had spoken of a vote To stay at sea or not However, there could have been no vote in Spillings' last visit because of their condition

But Forsyth had indubably taking chronometer sights in the morning And being most certainly sober, had doubtless word them out and ascertained the longitude, which with a meridian observation at noon, would give him the position of the yacht.

The big things require a vote were all in Forsyth's head, and he had merely anticipated the vote. Not knowing their position himself, except as indicated by the tradewind clouds, Devman can only surmise that a west-northwest course would hit the American coast somewhere between Boston,

and Charleston. But what they wanted there was beyond his comprehension. He gave up the puzzle at last and visited Florey, finding her dressed, swathed in the bandage, and sitting in the outer apartment reading.

Briefly he explained the occurrences on death. And, as all was quiet now, asked her to step up and investigate. She did so and returned. "'Forsight is steering,' she said. "'And two or three are awake, but staggering around.

"'And several others are asleep on the deck.' "'Well,' he said hopefully, "'Forsight evidently can control himself, "'but not the others. "'If they remain drunk or get drunker, "'I mean to do something tonight. "'No use trying now.' "'What will you do, Billy?'

"'She asked with concern in her voice. "'I don't know.' I'll only know when I get at it. I hope that Forsyth will load up, too. Hello. What's up? Run up, Flory, and look. The engine had stopped, and Forsy's fury as invective could be heard.

Flory ran up the steps, peeped out, and returned. He is swearing at someone, she said. So it seems, said Deadman. Let me have a look. He ascended. and carefully peeped over the companion hood. Forsyth was looking down the engine room hatch, and his voice came clear and distinct,

as he anathematized the engineers below. Shut off your oil, you drunken mutts, he vociferated. If the whole four you can't keep steam on the steering gear, shut it off. All of it, I say. Shut off every burner and get into your bunks till you're sober. Then Samson's deep voice rose from the hatch. You'll stop talking like the, that to me, my lad, before long, he said. Or I'll break some of your bones. Shut off the oil,

every burner, reiterated Forsyth. We'll drift for a while. Right you are, sang out another voice, which Demmon recognized as Dwyer's. And here, you booming crank, take a drink and get into a good humor. Pass it up, then. I need a drink by this time. But shut off that oil. Demond saw Forsyth reached down and bring up a bottle from which did

a deep draft. The electric lights slowly dimmed in the cabin indicating the slowing down of

the dynamo engine. Then he went out. Denman descended uneasy in mind

into the half darkness of the cabin. He knew for what he had learned of Forsyth

that the first drink would lead to the second and the third and that his

example would influence the rest to further drinking. but he gave none of his fears to Flory He simply bade her go into a room and lock the door Then he went to his own room against the possible advent of buildings at suppertime

But there was no supper for any that evening Long before the time for it pandemonium raged above And the loudest angry's voice was that of Forsyth Until Toward the last Samson's voice rose above it and as a dull thud on the deck came to denham's ears he knew that his fist had silenced it evidently the sleeping men had wakened to further potations and at last the stumbling feet of some of them approached the stern then again king sampson's voice come back here he roared keep away from that companion the lot of you or i'll give you what i gave foresight a burst of invective and maledictive and maledictive

and then there were the sounds of conflict, even the crashing of fists, as well as the thuds on the deck, coming to Denman through the deadlight. For we all, continued Samson, between the sounds of impact. And soon the shuffling of feet indicated at retreat. Denman, who had opened his door, ready for a rush to Flory's defense. Now went aft to reassure her. She opened the door at his tap and his voice through the keyhole. it's all right for the present flory he said while samson is sober they won't come aft again oh billy she gasped i hope so don't deserve me billy don't worry he said reassuringly

they'll all be stupid before long and then tonight there'll be something doing on our side now i must be in my room when billings comes or until i'm sure when he'll be sure when he'll be, will not come. And you stay here. I'll be on hand if anything happens. He went back to his room, but Billings did not come with his supper. And one by one, the voices above grew silent,

and their shuffling footsteps ended in thuds as their owners dropped to the deck. And when darkness had closed down, and all above was still, dead men crept out to make an order. He reached the door leading to the captain's room, was just about to open it when a screen came to his ears. Billy, Billy, come, come quick, help!

Then a tense voice. Shut up your noise in there and open the door. I only want to have it talk with you. Denman was in the room before the voice had ceased, and in the darkness barely made out the figure of a man fumbling at the knob of the stateroom door. He knew, as much by intuition as by recognition of the voice, that it was Forsyth.

And, without a word, Word of warning sprang in his throat. With an oath, Forsyth gripped him, and they swayed back and forth in a small cabin, locked together and embraced as strained muscles and sinews to the utmost. Forsyth expended breath and energy and curses. Denman said nothing until Flory screamed again. Then he found voice to call out. All right, Flory, I've got him.

She remained silent while the battle continued. At first it was a wrestling match. each with a right arm around the body of the other, and with Demon's left hand gripping Forsyth's left wrist. Their left hand swayed about above their heads, to the right, to the left, and down between the close pressure of their chests. Devin soon found that he was the stronger of arm,

for he twisted his enemy's arm around as he pleased, but he also found that he was not stronger of fingers, for suddenly, Forsyth broke away from his grip and seized tightly the wrist of Denman. Thus reversed, the battle continued. And as they reeled about, chairs, table, and desk were overturned, making a racket as the combatants stumbled around over and among them. That would have aroused all hands had they been but normally asleep. As it was, there was no interruption, and the two battled on in the darkness to an end.

It came soon. Forsyth suddenly released his clasp on Demmon's wrist and gripped his throat. Then as suddenly, he brought his right hand up, and Demmon felt the pressure of his thumb to his right eyeball. He was being choked and gouged. And, strangely enough, in this exigency, there came to him no thought of the trick by which he had mastered Jenkins. But instead, he mustered his strength, pushed Forsyth from him, and struck out blindly. It was a lucky blow, for his eyes were filled with lights of various hue, and he could not see. see. Yet his fist caught Forsyth on the chin, and Deadman heard him crash back over the upturned

table. Forsyth uttered no sound, and when a light had gone out of his eyes, Dedman groped for him and found him, just beginning to move. He groan and sat up. End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This the book of box recording is in the public domain. by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 13. No, you don't, said Denman grimly. Fair play is wasted on you.

So back you go to the land of Nod. He drew back his right fist and again sent it crashing on the chin of his victim, whom we can just see in the starlight from the companion. And Forsyth rolled back. Like Jenkins, he had arrayed himself in an officer's uniform. and there was no convenient neckerchief with which to bind him. But Denman took his own and securely tied his hands behind his back, and with another string tie from his room, tied his ankles together.

Then only did he think of Flory and called to her. She answered hysterically. It's all right, Flory, girl, he said. It was Forsyth, but I've knocked him silly and have him tied hand-in foot. Go to sleep now. I can't go to sleep, Billy. She wailed. I can't.

Don't leave me alone anymore. I must, Flory, he answered. I'm going on deck to get them all. I'll never have a better chance. Keep quiet and don't come out, no matter what you hear. But come back soon, Millie, she pleaded. I will, soon as I can. But stay quiet in there until I do.

He stole softly up the stairs and looked forward. The stars illuminated the decks efficiently for him to see the prostrate forms scattered about, but not enough for him to distinguish one from another until he had crept close. The big machinist, Samson, he found nearest to the companion, as though he had picked this spot to guard, even in drunken sleep. The sacred after Gavin. Demmon's heart felt a little twinge of pain as he softly untied and withdrew the big fellow's neckerchief and bound his hands behind him.

samson snored on through the process the same with the others kelly daniels and billings lay near the afterfell monson kacey dwyer and king were in the scuppers and midships riley davis and hawks were huddled close to the pilot-house and not a man moved in protest as demmen bound them one and all with their own neckerchiefs there was one more the stricken jenkins in the forecastle and Denman descended and examined him by the light of a match. He was awake and blinked and grimaced at Denman, striving to speak. Sorry for you, Jenkins, said Billy. You'll get well in time, but you'll have to wait. You're harmless enough now, however. There was more to do before he felt secure of his victory.

He must tie their ankles, and, as necrushets have run out, he sought, by the light of matches, the Bosen's lock. in the four-peak. There he found spun yarn, and, cutting enough lengths of it, he came up and finished a job, tying knots so hard and seemingly that the strongest fingers of a fellow prisoner could not untie them.

Then he went aft. Forsyth was still unconscious, but he regained his senses while Demand dragged him up the steps and forward beside his enemy, Samson. And he admitted various sulfurous comments on the situation that cannot be recorded here. Demon wanted the weapons, but, with engines dead,

there was no light save from his very small supply of matches, and for the simple, and perhaps very natural, desire to save these for his cigar lights. He forbore a search for them beyond an examination of each man's pockets. He found nothing, however. It seemed that they might have agreed upon disarmament before the drinking began.

But from Forsyth, He secured a bunch of keys, which he was to find useful later on. All else was well. Each man was bound hand and foot. Jenkins was still a living corpse, and Forsyth, the soberest of the lot, had apparently succumbed to the hard knocks of the day and gone to sleep again. So Denman went down, held the jubling conversation with Flory through the keyhole, and returned to the deck, where, with a short spanner in his hand,

were plevin from the engine room for use in case of an emergency, he spent the night on watch. Four, with all the lights out, a watch was necessary, but nothing happened. The men snored away their drunkenness, and at daylight most of them were awake and aware of their plight. Demon paid no attention to their questions, but, when the light permitted, went on a search for the arms and irons, which he found in the forecastle, carefully stowed in a bunk.

He counted the pistols and satisfied himself that they were all there. Then he carried them aft to his room, dealt himself with one of them, and returned for the cutlasses, which he hid in another room. But the irons he spread along the deck. And while they cursed and maligned him, he replaced the silk and spun-yard fetters with manacles of steel. Next, he dragged protesting prisoners from forward and aft,

until you had them all bunched to midships, and then, walking back and forth before them, delivered a short, comprehensive lecture on the unwisdom of stealing torpedo boat destroyers and getting drunk. Like all lecturers, he allowed his audience to answer, and when he refuted the last argument, he unlocked the irons of Billings and Daniels,

and sternly ordered them to cook breakfast. They meekly arose and went to the galley, from which, before long, savory odors arose. And, while waiting for breakfast, Demon aroused Miss Flory and brought her on deck, clothed and bandaged, to show her his catch. And what will you do now, Billy? she asked, as she looked at the unhappy men amid ships.

Haven't the slightest idea. I've got to think it out. I'll have to release some of them to work the boat. and I'll have to shut down and iron them while I sleep, I suppose. I've already freed the two cooks and we'll have breakfast soon. I'm glad of that, she answered. There was no supper last night, and I'm hungry as a wolf myself. Well, they are hungry, too.

We'll have our breakfasts on deck before they get theirs. Perhaps the sight will bring them to terms. Why cannot I help, Billy? asked the girl. I could watch while you would. or asleep and wake you if anything happened. Oh no, Flory Girl. Of course, I'll throw the stuff overboard, but I wouldn't trust some of them.

Drunk or sober. Billings soon reported breakfast ready and asked how he should serve the captives. Do not serve them at all, said Demmon sharply. Bring the cabin table on deck and place it on a starboard quarter. Serve breakfast for two, and you and Daniels eat your own in the galley.

Very good, sir. answered to subdued billings with a glance at the long blue revolver at Denman's waist. He departed, and with Daniel's help, arranged the breakfast as ordered. Flory was forced to remove her bandage. But as she faced aft at the table, her face was visible to Denman only. He faced forward, and while he ate, he watched the men, who squirm as the appetizing odors of broiled ham, cornbread, and coffee assailed their nostrils. on each countenance.

Besides the puffed, bloated appearance coming of heavy and unaccustomed drinking was a look of anxiety and disquiet. But they were far from being conquered, in spirit at least. Breakfast over, Denman sent Flory below, ordered the dishes and table below, and again put the irons on buildings and Daniels. Then he went among them. What do you mean to do?

Asked Forsyth. as Demmon looked down on him. Keep us here and starve us. I will keep you in irons while I have the power, answered Denman, no matter what I may do with the others. Samson, he said to the big machinist. You played a man's part last night, and I feel strongly in favor of releasing you on parole.

You understand the nature of parole. Do you not? I do, sir, answered the big fellow, thickly. and if i give it i would stick to it what are the conditions sir that you stand watch and watch with me while we take this boat back to boston that you aid me in keeping this crowd in subjection that you do your part in protecting the lady aft from annoyance in return i promise you my influence at washington i have some and can i rouse more you will in all probability be pardon no sir answered samson promptly i am one of this crowd you are not one of us i wouldn't deserve a pardon if i went back on my mates even this dog alongside me he's one of us too and while i have smashed him and will smash him again i will not accept my liberty while he or any of the others is in irons Demond bowed low to him and went on. He questioned only a few, those who seemed trustworthy, but met with the same response.

And he left them, troubled in mind. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This the book of box recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 14. He sat down in a deck chair and lighted the cigars and aid to his mental processes. Three projects presented themselves to his mind, each of which included, of course, the throwing overboard of the liquor and the secure hiding of the arms, except a pistol for himself, and one for Florida. The first was to release them all, and, backed by his pistol, his uniform, and the power of the government to treat them.

as mutineers, and shoot them if they defied or disobeyed him. To this was the logical objection that they were already more than mutineers, that there was no future for them. That, even though he overawed and conquered them, compelling them to work the boat shoreward, each passing minute would find them more keen to revolt. And that, if they rushed him in a body, he can only halt a few.

The others would master him. The second plan was born of his thoughts before breakfast. It was to release one cook, one engineer, and one helmsman at a time, to guard them until sleep was necessary, then to shut off steam, lock them up, and allow the boat to drift while they slept. Against this plan was the absolute necessity to a seem as mine of a watch, even a one-man watch.

And this one man could work mischief while he slept. could even, if handy with tools, file out a key that would unlock the shackles. The third plan was to starve them into contrition and subjection, torturing them a while with the odors of food cooked for himself and flory. But this was an inhuman expedient,

only to be considered as a last resource. And, besides, it would not affect a man doing the cooking. He can keep himself well-fed and obdurate. And, even though, they surrendered and worked the way back to our prison. Would their surrender last beyond a couple of good meals? He thought not.

Yet out of this plan came another, and he went down to the companion. Florie, he called. Can you cook? She appeared at the stateroom door without her bandages, smiling at his query. And for the moment,

Demmon forgot all about his plans. Though the pink tinge still overspread her face, the blisters were gone. and in the half-light of the cabin it shone with a new beauty that had not appeared to him in the garish sunlight when at breakfast. When he was intent upon watching the men, his heart gave a sudden jump, and his voice was a little unsteady as he repeated the question. Well, yes, Billy, she answered. I know something about cooking.

Not much, though. Will you cook for yourself and me? He asked. If so, I'll keep the men locked up, and we'll wait for something to come. along. I will, she said, but you must keep them locked up, Billy. I'll do that, and fit you out with a pistol, too.

I'll get you one now. He brought her a revolver, fully loaded with a further supply of cartridges, and fitted the belt about her waist. Then, his heart's still jumping. He went on deck. Love her? He mused joyously.

Of course. Why didn't I think of it before? But there was work to be done, and he set himself about it. He searched the storerooms and inspected the forecastle. In the first he found several cases of liquor, also a barrel of hard bread. In the forecastle, he found that the water supply was furnished by a small faucet on the after bulkhead. Trying it, he found a clear flow. Then he selected from his bunch of keys the one belonged to the forecastle door.

and put it in the lock outside. Next, with a few cautionary remarks to the men, he unlocked their wrist irons one by one. And after making each man place his hands in front, relocked the irons. Now then, he said, standing over the last man. You can help yourselves and jenkins spread in water. One by one, get up on your feet and pass into the forecastle.

If any man needs help, I will assist him. Some men should scramble to their feet unaided, while others could not. These demon helped, but, as he assisted them with one hand, holding his pistol in the other, there was no demonstration against him with double fists. Which is possible and potential. Mumbling and muttering, they fluttered down the small hatch and forwarded to the forecastle. The last in line was Samson. And Denman stopped him.

"'Have a job for you, Samson,' he said after the rest had disappeared. "'You were the strongest man in the crowd. "'Go down the hatch, but after the storeroom, "'get the barrel of hard bread into the forecastle. "'You can do it without my unlocking you.' "'Very good, sir,' answered Samson respectfully, and descended. "'Demond watched him from above, as, with his manacled hands. he twirled the heavy barrel forward and into the men's quarters.

Shut the door, turn the key on them, and come aft here, he commanded. Samson obeyed. Now lift up on deck, and then toss overboard every case of liquor in that storeroom. Very good, sir. And up came six cases, as easily in his powerful grip as though they had been bandboxes. Then he hoisted his own huge bulk to the deck. Over to side with them all, commanded Dedman. Samson picked them up, and whether or not it came from temper,

threw them from where he stood above and beyond the rail. But the fifth struck the rail and fell back to the deck. He advanced and threw it over. Carry the other one, said Denman, and Samson lifted it up. It was a low skeleton rail, and as the big man hobbled toward it, Somehow, neither he nor Demmon ever knew how, his foot slipped, and he and the box went overboard together. The box floated, but when Samson came to the surface, it was out of his reach. He gurgled.

I can't swim, without a thought. Demen laid his pistol on the deck, shed his coat, and dove overboard, reaching the struggling man in three strokes. Keep still, he commanded, as he got behind, and he saw. secured a light but secure grip on Samson's hair. Tridwater if you can, but don't struggle. I'll tell you back to the boat. But, though Samson grew quiet and Denman succeeded in reaching the dark steel side, there was nothing to catch hold of. Not a trailing rope, nor eyeball, nor even the open deadlights, for they were high out of reach. The crew were locked in the forecastle, and there was only Flory. There was no wind, and only the long.

long, heaving groundswell, which rolled the boat slightly, but not enough to bring those tantalizing deadlights within reach. And at last, at a sound of dishes rattling in the galley, deadman called out. Flory! he shouted. Flory! Come on deck! Throw a rope over! Flory! Oh, Flory! End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of the Pirates. by Morgan Robertson. This the book of Vox recording is in the public domain.

Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 15. She came hurriedly and peered over the rail with a startled, frightened expression. Then she screamed. Can you see any ropes lying on deck, Flory? Called Denman. If you can, throw one over. She disappeared for a moment. Then came back and cried out frantically.

No, there is nothing. No ropes. What shall I do? Go down and get the tablecloth, said Denman, as calmly as he could, with his nose just out of water, and a big, heavy, frightened man bearing him down. Flory vanished and soon reappear with the tablecloth of the morning's breast. It was a cloth of generous size, and she lowered it over. Tie one corner to the rail, Florey, said Dens. Denman, while he held the irresponsible Samson away from the still frail support.

She obeyed him, tying the knot that all women tie, which no sailor can name. And then Dedman led his man up to it. Samson clutched it with both hands, drew it taught, and supported his weight on it. Fortunately, the knot not slip. Demmon also held himself off by it until he had recovered his breath, then cast a bow for means of getting on board. He felt that the tablecloth would not bear his weight and that of his water-soaked clothing, and temporarily gave up the plan of climbing it.

Forward were the signal halliards, and they too were of a small line. And even if doubled again and again until strong enough, he knew by experience the wonderful strength of arm required him climbing out of water hand over hand. This thought also removed the tablecloth from the problem, but suggested another by its association with the necessity of feet, in climbing with wet clothes. He remembered that forward,

just under the anchor david, was a small, fixed ladder, bolted into the bow of the boat for use and getting the anchor. So, cautioning Samson not to let go, he swam forward with Flory's frightened face following above.

And, reaching the ladder, easily climbed on board. He was on the high forecastle deck, but the girl had reached it before him. Billy, she exclaimed that she approached him. Oh, Billy! He caught her just as her face grew white and her figure limp, and forgot Samson for the moment.

The kisses he planted on her lips and cheek forestalled the fainting spell, and she roused herself. I thought you would drown, Billy, she said weakly, with her face of a deeper pink than he had seen. Don't drown, Billy. don't do that again. Don't leave me alone. I won't, Flory, he answered stoutly and smilingly.

I'm born to be hang, you know. I won't drown. Come on, I must get Samson. They descended, Devin picking up his pistol on the way, and found Samson quietly waiting at the end of the templecloth. With his life temporarily safe, his natural courage had come to him. I'm going to tell you forward to the end. anchor ladder, Samson.

You'll have to climb it the best way you can, for there isn't a purchase on board that will bear your weight. Hold tight now. He untied Florey's knot and slowly dragged the big man forward, experiencing a check at the break of the forecastle, where he had to halt and piece out the tablecloth with a length of signal halliards. But finally, Samson got to the ladder.

Samson had some trouble in mounting, for shackles would not permit one hand to reach up to a rung, without letting go with the other. But he finally accomplished the feat and floundered over the rail where he sat on deck to recover himself. Finally, he scrambled to his feet. Mr. Denman, he said,

you've saved my life from me, whatever I can do for you, except... His face took on a look of embarrassment. Except going back on my mates. As I said, I would do at any time of my friends. my life. That was what I might have suggested, answered

Deadman calmly, that you aid me in controlling this crew until we reach Boston. I cannot, sir. There is prison for life for all of us if we were taken. And this crowd will break out, sir. Mark my words. You won't have charge very long. But, in that case, I mean, I might be of service. I can control them all. even Forsyth when I'm awake. Forsyth, grinned Denman.

You can thank Forsyth for your roundup. If he hadn't remained sober enough to attempt to break into Miss Fleming's room while you were all dead drunk, I might not have knocked him out, and might not have roused myself to tie you all hand in foot. Did he do that, sir? asked Samson, his rugged features darkening. He did, but I got there in time to knock him out. "'Well, sir,' said Samson, "'I can promise you this much.

"'I must be locked up, of course, I realize that. "'But if we again get charged, "'I must be asleep part of the time, "'and so I will see to it that you retain possession of your gun. "'And the lady, too, as I see she carries one. "'Also, sir, that you will have the run of the deck. "'On parole, of course. "'That is kind of you,' smiled Denman.

but I don't mean to let you take charge. It is bread and water for you all until something comes along to furnish me a crew. Come on, Samson, to the forecastle. Samson preceded him down the steps, down the hatch, and to the forecastle door, through which Denman admitted him, then relocked the door and bunched the key with the others.

Then he joined Flory, where she had awaited amid ships. Now then, Flory, girl, he said jubilantly. You can have the use of the deck, and go and come as you like. I'm going to turn in. You see, I was awake all night. Are they secured safely, Billy? She asked, tremulously.

Got them all in the forecastle, in double irons, with plenty of hard tack and water. We needn't bother about them anymore. Just keep your eyes open for a sail, or smoke on the horse. horizon. And if you see anything, call me. I will, she answered. And I'll have dinner ready at noon. That's good. A few hours sleep will be enough. Then I'll try and polish up what I once learned about wireless. And say, Flory, next time you go below, look in the glass and see how nice you look, she turned her back to him, and he went down. In five minutes, he was a slothed. He was a sleep. And as he slipped off into unconsciousness, there came to his mind the thought that one man in

the forecastle was not mannical. And when Flore awakened him at noon, the thought was still with him. But he dismissed it. Jenkins was helpless for a while, unable to move or speak, and need not be considered. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This the book of box recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey Chapter 16 Flory had proven herself a good cook, and they ate dinner together. Then Denman went on deck.

The boat was still rolling on a calm sea. But the long, steady, low-moving hills of blue were now mingled with a cross swell from the northwest, which indicated the push from beyond the horizon, not connected with the tradewind. And in the west, the low bank of clotheque, cloud rose up from and merged its lower edge width to the horizon. While still higher, shone up mackerel sky and mare's tail clouds, sure index of coming wind.

But there was nothing on the horizon in the way of sail or smoke. And anticipating another long night watch, he began preparations for it. Three red lights at the mast head were needed as a signal that the boat, a steamer, was not under command. these he found in a lamproom. He filled, trimmed, and rigged them to the signal halliards on the bridge, ready for hoisting at nightfall. Then, for a day signal of distress, he hoisted an ensign, union down, at the small yard aloft. Next in his mind came to wish to know his position, and he examined the logbook. Forsyth had made an attempt to start a record, and out of his crude efforts, Devin picked the figures which he had noted down,

as the latitude and longitude at noon of the day before. He corrected this with the boat's course throughout the afternoon, until the time of shutting off the oil feed, and added the influence of a current, which his more expert knowledge told him of. 31 north and 55, 40, west was the approximate position, and he jotted it down. This done.

He thought of the possibility of lighting the boat through the night and sought the engine room. He was but a theoretical engineer, having devoted most of his studies to the duties of a line officer. But he mastered in a short time the management of the small gas engine that worked at Dynamo, and soon had it going. Electric bulbs in the engine room sprang into life. And, after watching the engine for a short time, he decided that it required only occasional inspection and sought the deck. The cross sea was increasing And the bank to the northwest

Was larger and blacker While the mare's tails and macro scales Had given way to cirrus clouds That raced across the sky Damp gusts of wind blew Cold and heavy against his cheek And he knew that a storm was coming That would try out the low-built craft

To the last of its powers But before it came He would polish up his forgotten knowledge Of wireless telegraphy and searched the wireless room for books. He found everything but what he wanted most, the codebook, by which he could furnish up dots and dashes.

Angry at his bad memory, he studied the apparatus, found him in working order, and left the task to go on deck. An increased rolling of the boat threatened the open deadlights. Trusting that the men in the forecastle will close theirs, he attended to all the others, then sought Flory in the galley.

where she had just finished the washing of the dishes. Her face was not pale, but there was a wild look in her eyes, and she was somewhat unsteady on her feet. Oh, Billy, I'm sick, sea-sick, she said, Weigley. I'm a poor sailor. Go to bed, little girl, he said gently. We're going to have some bad weather, but we're all right. So stay in bed.

He supported her after the wardroom to her stateroom door in the after-caven. I'll get supper, Flory, and if you can eat, I'll bring you some. Lie down now, and don't get up until I call you, or until you feel better. He again sought the deck. The wind now came steadily, while the whole sky above and the sea about were assuming the gray hue of a gale. He closed all hatches and companions, taking a peep down into the engine room before closing it up. The dynamo was buzzing finally. A few splashes of rain fell on him

And he clothed himself in oil skins and rubber boots To watch out the gale, choosing to remain aft, Where his footsteps over her might reassure the seasick grow below. Instead of the bridge, where he would have placed himself under normal conditions. The afternoon wore on, Each hour marked by a heavier pressure of the wind And an increasing height to the seas. Which,

at first just lapping at the rail, now lifted up and washed across the deck. The bolt rolled somewhat, but not to add to his discomfort, or that of those below. But there were no loose articles on deck to be washed overboard. So Denman paced the deck, occasionally peeping down the engine room hatch at the dynamo. And again, trying the drift by the old-fashioned chippin-real log at the stern. When tired, he was sit down in the deck chair, which he had wedged between the after-tore pto and the taffrail. Then resume his pacing.

As darkness closed down, he sought Flory's door and asked her if she would eat something. She was too ill, she said. And knowing that no words could comfort her, he left her and in the galley ate his own supper. Tinned meat, bread, and coffee. Again the deck,

the intermittent pacing, and resting in the chair. The gale became a hurricane in the occasional squire. occasional squalls, but at these times the sea were beaten to a level of creamy froth, luminous with a phosphorescent glow, while the boat's rolling motion would give way to a stiff inclination to starboard of fully 10 degrees. Then the squalls would pass. The seas rise the higher for the momentary suppression, and the boat resumed her wallowing, rolling both rails under and practically underwater. Except for the high forecastle deck, the fall. The

funnels and the companions. Denman did not worry. With the wind in northwest, the storm center was surely to the north and eastward of him. And he knew that, according to the laws of storms in the North Atlantic, it would move away from him and out to sea. And so it continued until about midnight when he heard the rasping of the companionhood, then saw Flore's face peering out. He sprang to the companion. Billy, oh Billy, she said plainly. Let me come up here with you. But you'll feel better lying down, dear, he said. Better go back.

It's so close and hot down here. Please let me come up. Why, yes, Flory, if you like. But wait until I fit you out. Come down a moment. They descended, and he found rubber boots, a south-wester, and a long, oil-skin coat, which he donned in her room.

Then he brought up another chair, lashed it with more neckties to his own, and seated her in it. Don't be frightened, he said, as a sea climbed on board and washed aft, nearly flooding their rubber boots, and eliciting a little scream from the girl. We're safe, and the wind will blow out in a few hours. He seated himself beside her. As they faced the leeward, the long brims of the Southwesters sheltered their faces from a blast of rain and spume, permitting conversation. but they did not converse for a time. Ten men only reached up inside a long sleeve of her big coat to where a small hand nestled,

soft and warm, in its shelter. He squeezed it gently, but there was no answering pressure, and he contented himself with holding it. He was a good sailor, but a poor lover, and a reeling, water-washed deck in a gale of wind is an embarrassing obstacle to lovemaking.

Yet he squeezed again, after ten minutes of silence, had gone by, and several Cs had bombarded their feet. Still no response in kind. And he spoke. Flory, he said, as gently as he could when he was compelled to shout. Do you remember the letter you sent me the other day? The other day, she answered. Why, it seems like years since then. Last week, Florey, it made me feel like, like 30 cents. Why, Billy? Oh, the unwritten roast between the lines, little girl. I knew what you thought of me.

I knew that I'd never made good. How... What do you mean? About the fight, years ago. I was to come back and lick him, you know, and didn't. That's all. Are you still thinking of that, Billy? What, you've won.

You're an officer. Well, he is a sailor. Yes. But he lived me at school, and I know you expected me to come back. And you did not come back. You never let me hear from you. You might have been dead for years before I could know it. Is that it, Flory?

He exclaimed in amazement. Was it me you thought of? I suppose you had grown to despise me. She had not answered this. But when he again pressed her hand, she responded. Then, over the sounds of the storm, he heard a little sob. And,

reaching over, drew her face close to his, and kissed her. I'm sorry, Florey, but I didn't know. I've loved you all these years, but I did not know it until a few days ago. And I'll never forget it, Florey,

and I promise you, and myself too, that I'll still make good, as I promised before. Poor lover, though he was, he had won. She did not. answer, but her own small hand reached for his. And so they passed the night, until, just as a lighter

grey shown in the east, he noticed that one of the red lamps at the signal yard had gone out, as the lights were still necessary. He went forward to lower them. But just as he was about to mount the bridge stairs, a crashing blow from two heavy fists sent him headlong and senseless to the deck. When he came to, he was bound hand and foot as he had bound the men, with neckerchiefs. and lay close to the forward funnel. With the whole 13, Jenkins and all looking down at him, but Jenkins was not speaking. Forsyth, searching Demmon's pockets,

was doing all at the occasion required. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This the book of box recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 17. When Samson had entered the forecastle after his rescue by Denman, he found a few of his mates in their bunks. The rest sitting around in disconsolate postures. Some, holding their aching heads, others looking indifferently at him with bleary eyes. The apartment, long and triangular in shape, was dimly lighted by four deadlights, two each side. And for a moment, Samson cannot distinguish one from another. "'Where's my bag?' he demanded generally. "'I want dry clothes.

"'He groped his way to the bunk he had occupied, "'found his clothes bag, and drew out a complete change of garments. "'Who's got a knife?' was his next request. "'And, as no one answered, "'he repeated the demand in a louder voice. "'What do you want of a knife?' asked Forsyth, "'with a slight snarl. "'To cut your throat, you hang-dog scoundrel.'

said Samson, irately. Forsyth, you speak kindly and gently to me while we're together, or I'll break some of you small bones. Who's got a knife? Here's one, Samson, said Hawks, offering one of the square-bladed jack-knives used in the Navy. All right, Hawks. Now you stand up and rip these wet duds off me?

I can't get them off with the Darby's in the way. Hawks stood up and obeyed him. Soon the dripping garments fell away. and Samson rubbed himself dry with a towel, while Hawks, sleepily, turned in. What kept you? And what happened? asked Kelly. Did he douse you with a bucket of water? Samson did not answer at once, not until he had slashed the side seams of a whole new suit and crawled into it. Then, as he began fascinated on with buttons and strings, he said coldly.

Worse than that, he's made me his own. friend. His friend? queried two or three. His friend, repeated Samson. Not exactly while he has me locked up, he added. But if I ever get out again, that's all. And his friend in some ways while I'm here. Do you hear that Forsyth? Forsyth did not answer, and Samson went on. And not only his friend, but the woman's two. Hear that. Forsyth? Forsyth refused to answer. That's right and proper, went on Samson, as he fastened the last button.

Hide your head and saw wood, you snake-eyed imitation of a man. What's up, Samson? Wearily asked Casey from a bunk. What doused you? What you got on Forsyth now? I'll tell you in good time, responded Samson. I'll tell you now about Dunman. I throw all the booze overboard at his orders.

Then I tumbled over. And, as I can't swim, would have been there yet if he hadn't jumped after me. Then we couldn't get up the side, and the woman came with a tablecloth. That held me until I was towed to the anchor ladder. That's all. I just want to hear one of you ginks say a word about the woman that she wouldn't like to hear. That's for you all. and for you, Forsyth, a little more in good time.

Bullie for the woman, growled old Kelly. Wonder if we traded her right. We treated her as well as we knew how, said Samson. That is, all but one of us. But I've promised Denman, and the woman threw him, I'd have a better show if we get charged again. Ah, forget it, grunted Forsyth from his bunk. She's no good.

She's been stuck on that baby since she was a kid. Samson went toward him, seized him by the shirt collar, and pulled him bodily from the bunk. Then, smothered his protesting voice by a grip in his throat, slatted him from side to side, as a farmer uses a flail, and threw him headlong against the after-bookhead and halfway into an empty bunk. Samson had uttered no word, and Forsyth only muttered as he crawled back to his own bunk. but he found courage to say what do you pick on me for if you hadn't all got drunk you wouldn't be here you mean said samson quietly that if you hadn't remained sober enough to find your way into the after-cab and frighten the woman we wouldn't have been here for that's what roused denman a few oaths and growls followed this and men sat up in their bunks while those that were out of their bunks stood up Samson sat down.

Is that so, Samson? Got that right, old man? Sure of it, they asked. And then, over the hubbub of profane indignation, Rose Forsyth's voice, Who gave you that? he yelled. Denman? Yes, Denman, answered Samson. He lied.

I did nothing of a... You lie yourself, you dog. You're shown on your chin the marks of Denman's fist. You did that just now, answered Forsyth, fingering a small bleeding bruise. I didn't hit you. I choked you. Denman knocked you out. Well, answered Forsyth, forgetting the first accusation in light of his last. It was a lucky blow in the dark.

He couldn't do it in the daylight. Self-convicted, said Samson quietly. Then... For a matter of ten minutes, the air in a close apartment might have smelled sulfurous to one strange to forecastle a discourse. Forsyth, his back toward them, listened quietly while they called him all the names, printable and unprintable, which angry and disgusted men may think of. But when it had ended, when the last voice had silenced and the last man gone to the water faucet for a drink before turning in, Forsyth said,

I'll even things up with you fellows if I'd get on deck again. Only a few grunts answered him, and soon all were asleep. They waken, one by one, in the afternoon, to find the electric bulbs glowing, and the boat rolling heavily, while splashes of rain came in through the weather deadlights. These they closed,

and, better-humored after their sleep, and hungry as soon. well. They attacked the barrel of bread and the water faucet. He started a dynamo, remarked Riley, one of the engineers. Why don't he start the engine and keep her head to the sea? Because he knows too much, came a hoarse whisper, and he turned to Jenkins, who was sitting up, regarding them disapprovingly. Because he knows too much, he repeated in the same horse whisper. This is a so-called sea-going destroyer. But no one but a fool would Buckwell. into a headsea.

And that's what's coming, with a big blow, too. Remember the English boat that broke her back in the North Sea? Hello, Jenkins. You alive? Answered one. And others asked of his health. I'm pretty near all right, he said to them. I've been able to move and speak a little for 24 hours.

But I saved my energy. I wasn't sure of myself, though, or I'd have a dab deadman when he came in here for the pistols. Has he got them? Quirred a few, and they examined the empty bunk. He sure has, they continued. Got them all. Now I'll worry in for it.

Not necessarily, said Jenkins. I've listened to all this powwow, and I gather that you got drunk to the last man, and he gathered you in. That's about it, Jenkins, assented Samson. We all got gloriously drunk. And before you got drunk, you made this pinheaded, educated,

He jerked his thumb towards Forsyth. Your commander. Well, we needed a navigator and you were out of commission, Jenkins. I'm in commission now, though. When we get on deck, we'll still have a navigator, and it won't be Denman either. What do you mean, began Forsyth? That you'll take charge again and make... Yes, said Jenkins.

Make you navigate. Make you navigate under orders and under fear of punishment. You're the worst hammered man in this crowd, but hammering doesn't improve you. You'll be kill-hauled or triced up by the thumbs or spread eagle over a boiler. But you'll navigate. Now shut up. There was silence for a while. Then one said.

You spoke about getting on deck again, Jenkins. Got any plan? Want to go on deck now and watch in this storm? Jenkins retorted. No. not unless necessary. And get in your bunk and wait for this to blow over. If there's any real need of us, Denman will call us out.

This was good sailorly logic, and they climbed back into their bunks, to smoke, to read, or to talk themselves to sleep again. As the wind and sea arose, they closed the other two dead lights. And when darkness closed down, they turned out all the dazzling bulbs and slept through the night, as only sailors can. Just before daylight, Jenkins lifted his big bulk out of the bunk, and, taking a key from his pocket, unlocked the forecastle door. He stepped into the passage and found the hatch loose on the comings,

then came back and quietly awakened them all. I found this key in the deck near the door first day aboard, he volunteered, but put it in my pocket instead of the door. They softly crept into the passage and lifted the hatch. but it was the impressible and most certainly courageous Forsyth who was the first to climb up. He reached the depth just in time to dodge into the darkness behind the bridge ladder at the sight of Denman coming forward to attend to the lamps. And it was he who sent both fists in the side of Denman's face, with force enough to knock him senseless. Then came the others.

End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of the Pirates by Mord Robertson This the Brevox recording is in the public domain Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey Chapter 18 That'll do, Forsyth, said Samson, interrupting the flow of Billingsgate. We'll admit prayers and flowers at this funeral.

Stand up, Forsyth arose, waving two bunches of keys and Devon's revolver. Got him foul! he yelled excitedly. All the keys and his gun. All right. Just hand that gun to me. What? You won't.

Forsyth had backed away at the command, but Samson sprang upon him and easily disarmed him. Now, my lad, he said sternly. Just find the key of these Darby's and unlock us. Forsyth, muttering, got one good smash in him anyhow. Found the key of the handcuffs. and, first in knocking his own, went the rounds. Then he found the key of the leg irons, and soon they were all free, and the menacles tossed down the hatch to be gathered up later.

Then Big Jenkins reached his hand out to Forsyth, but not in a token of amnesty. The keys, he said in a hoarse whisper. Aren't they safe enough with me? queried Forsyth, hotly. Jenkins still maintained the ostriched hand, and Forsyth looked irresolutely around. He saw no signs of sympathy.

They were all closing in on him, and he meekly handed the two bunches to Jenkins, who pocketed them. Meanwhile, Samson had lifted Denman to his feet, and, as the boat still rolled heavily, he assisted him to the bridge stairs, where he could get a grip on the railing with his fettered hands. Daylight had come,

and Denman could see Flory, still seated in the deck chair, looking forward with frightened eyes. Jenkins, step here a moment, said Samson. And you other fellows, keep back. Jenkins drew near. Did you hear in the folk asshole? Samson went on. What I said about Mr. Demand saving my life,

and that I promised him parole on the possession of his gun in case we got charge again. Jenkins nodded, but said, He broke his parole before. So would you? under the same provocation. Forsyth called him a milk-fed thief. Wouldn't you have struck out? Jenkins nodded again, and Samson continued.

All right. My proposition is to place Mr. Demmon under parole once more to give him and a lady the run of the deck a bath to the galley hatch, and to leave them both the possession of their guns for self-defense, in case. He looked humorously around at the others. These inebriates get drunk again.

But the other guns. He has them somewhere. We want power of self-defense, too. Mr. Denman, said Samson, turning to the prisoner. You've heard the conditions. Will you tell us where their arms are? And will you keep after the galley hatch, you and the lady. I will, answered Denman.

On condition that you all, and particularly your navigator, keep forward to the galley hatch. We'll do that, sir, except, of course, in case of working or fighting ship. Now, tell us where the guns are, and we'll release you. Haven't we something to say about this? inquired Forsyth, while a few others grumbled at disapproval of the plan. No, you have not, answered Jenkins, his hoarse whisper becoming a voice. Not a one of you. Samson and I will be responsible for this. "'All right, then,' responded Forsyth.

"'But I'll carry my gun all the time. "'I'm not going to be shot down without a white man's chance.' "'You'll carry a gun, my son,' said Samson, "'when we give it to you. "'And then it won't be to shoot Mr. Denman.' "'It's on your account, remember, that we're giving him a gun. "'Now, Mr. Denman, where are the pistols and toothpicks?' "'The pistols are in my room.

the cutlasses in the room opposite. You have the keys. After all hands, ordered Jenkins, fumbling in his pockets for the keys. And get the weapons. Away they trooped and crowded down the wardrobe companion. Samson, lifting his cap politely to the girl in the chair. In a short time they reappeared, each man loaded down with pistols and cutlasses. They placed them in the forecastle, and when they had come up, Samson released a death of

Demond's bonds. Now, sir, you are free. We'll keep our promises when we expect you to keep yours. Here's your gun, Mr. Demon. Thank you, Samson, said Denman, pocketing the revolver, and shaking his aching hands to circulate the blood. Of course, we are to keep our promises, even though you see things done that will raise your hair, sir. What do you mean by that? asked Denman, with sudden interest. Can't tell you anything, sir, except what you may know or will know. This boat is not bound for the African coast. That's all, sir. Go below the watch, broken Jekyllis Husky voice. To stations, the rest. End of Chapter 18. Chapter 19 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 19. What happened, Billy? asked Flory as Denman joined her. Not much, Flory, he replied, as cheerfully as was possible in his mood. Only a physical and practical demonstration that I am the two ends and the bite of a fool. You're not a fool, Billy. But what happened? How did they get out?

By picking the lock of the door, I suppose. Or, perhaps, they had a key inside. That's where the fool comes in. I should have nailed the door on them. And what do they mean to do? Don't know. They have some new project in mind, but were better off than before, girl.

We're at liberty to carry arms and to go and come, provided we stay this side of the galleyhatch. There'll let us alone and stay forward to the hatch. By the way, he added, in view of the rather indeterminate outlook, let's carry our hardware outside. He removed his belt from his waist and buckled it outside his well-skin coat. Then, when he transferred the pistol from his pocket to the scabbard, he assisted the girl. There, he said, as he stood back and looked at her admiringly.

With all due regard for your good looks, Florey, you resemble a cross between a cowboy and a second mate. No more so than you, she retorted. But I've lost my place as cook, I think. She pointed at the galley chimney from which smoke was arising. Denman looked and also became interested in an excited convention forward, though Jenkins had sent the watch below and the rest of stations, only the two cooks had a beam.

The others, with the boat still rolling in the heavy sea, has surrounded Jenkins and seemed to be arguing with him. The big man, saving his voice, answered only by signs as yet. But the voices of the others soon became audible to the two aft. I tell you, it all worked out, Jenkins. All figured out while you were dopey in your bunk. Jenkins shook his head. Then followed an exciting burst of reason and flow of words

from which Denman could only gather a few disjointed phrases. Dead easy, John. Jenkins. Run close in the land. Casey's brother. Can hoff it too. Might get a job which be better. Got a private code made up. Don't need money. Can't beat his way in. My brother has a wireless. Take the dingy. We don't need it. I'll take the chance if you have a lifeboy handy. Chance of a lifetime. Who wants beachcombing in Africa? You'll see. He'll watch the financial news.

I'll slow away and hurt. I'll tell you, Jenkins, there'll be no killing. I've made up my mind to that, and we'll see to it. The last speech was from Samson. And, on hearing it, Jenkins waved them all away. Then he used his voice. "'Get to stations,' he said. "'I'll think it out.'

"'Forsight, take the bridge and dope out where we are.' They scattered, and Forsyth mounted to the bridge, while Jenkins, still a sick man, descended to the forecastle. "'What does it all mean, Billy?' asked the girl. "'Having the slightest idea,' answered Denman, as he seated themselves beside her. "'They've all been hinting at big things. and Samson said that they might raise my hair. However, we'll know soon.

The wind is going down. This was the outer fringe of a cyclone. Why don't they go ahead? Too much sea. These boats are made for speed, not strength. You can break their backs by steaming into a headsea. Daniels, the cook, came on deck and aft to the limbs of the hatch, indicating by his face and manner that he wished to speak to Demon.

Demmon arose and approached him. But you and the lady eat breakfast together, sir, he asked. I believe so, answered Demon. Then, turning to Flory. How will it be? May I eat breakfast with you this morning? She nodded. Then, sir, said Daniels.

I'll have to serve it in the aftergavin. Why not the wardroom? Why not keep out of Miss Fleming's apartment? Because Mr. Demand, our work is laid out. Billings attends to the wardroom and swears he won't serve this lady, or get within reach of her. Serve it in the after-cabin, then, said Dedman, turning away to hide the coming smile. And Daniels departed.

Not caring to agitate the girl, with the count of Billings' drunken overtures, and his own vicarious repulse of them. He did not explain to her Billing's trouble of mine, but he found trouble of his own in explaining his frequent bursts of laughter when they ate their breakfasts. breakfast in the cabin. And Flory found trouble in accepting these explanations, for they were irrelevant, incompetent, and denain. After breakfast, they went on deck without oilskins, for wind and sea were going down. There was a dry deck, and above, a sky which, still gray with the background of storm cloud, yet showed an occasional glimmer of blue. while to the east the sun shone clear and unobstructed, but on the whole clean-cut horizon,

there was not a sign of sail or smoke. Eight bells having struck, the watches were changed, but except possibly a man in the engine room getting up steam. For smoke was pouring out of the four funnels. No one was at stations. The watch on deck was scattered about forward, and force had they given way to Jenkins, who, with his eye fixed to a long telescope, was scanning the horizon from the bridge.

Denman, for over 48 hours without sleep, could have turned in had not curiosity kept him awake. So he waited until 9 o'clock, when Forsyth, with Munson's help, took morning sights, and later until 10, when Forsyth handed Jenkins as-s-lop-paper, on which presumably he had jotted the boat's approximate position. immediately Jenkins ran the engine bells, and the boat forged ahead. Denman watched her swing to a starboard wheel, and when the rolling gave way to a pitching motion as she met the head sea, he glanced at the after-binical compass. Northwest by north, half-north, he said. Whatever their plan is, Jenkins had been won over.

Flory, better turn in. I'm going to. Lock your door and keep that good. unhandy, but they were not menaced, not even roused for dinner, for Daniels had gone below, and Billings, on watch for the morning, could not wake, Edmund, and would not approach his Flory's door. So it was late in the afternoon when they again appeared on deck. The weather had cleared, the sea was smoothing, and the boat surging along under the cruising turbines, while Hawks had the wheel, and Forsyth, still in officer's uniform, haste back and forth.

Evidently, Jenkins, in light of his physical and mental limitations, had seen the need of an assistant, while Kelly, the gunner's mate, was fussing around a 12-pounder. The rest were out of sight. Dembin concluded that some kind of seed discipline had been established while he slept, and that Kelly had been put in charge of the gunnery department and been relieved from standing one. watch. Otherwise, by the former arrangement, Kelly would have been below while Forsyth and Hawks were on deck. The horizon was dotted with specks, some showing smoke, others under the glass showing canvas. Demmon examined each by the captain's binoculars, but saw no signs of

a government craft. All were peaceably going their way. Why is it? asked Florey as she took the glass from Denman. that we see so many vessels now, when we lay for days without seeing any. We were in a pocket, I suppose, answered Denman. Lane routes, trade routes for high and low-power craft, as well as for sailing craft, are so well established these days

that if you get between them, you can wait for weeks without seeing anything. Do you think there's any chance for being rescued soon? I don't know, Flory. though we can't go much nearer the coast without being recognized. In fact, I haven't thought about it much lately. The truth is, I'm getting interested in these fellows. This is the most daring and desperate game I ever saw playing,

and how they'll come out is a puzzle. Hello, eight bells. The bell was struck on the bridge, and the watch has changed, except that Jenkins, after a short talk with Forsyth, did not relieve him, but came after the engine room hatch, where he held another short talk with Samson and Riley, who, instead of going below, had waited.

Only a few words came to Demand's ears, and these in the hoarse accents of Jenkins as he left them. Six days at cruising speed, you say, and two at full steam? All right, Jenkins continued aft, but halted and called the retreating Samson, who joined him. Then the two approached the galley hatch and held Denman.

Captain Jenkins can't talk very well, sir, said Samson with a conciliatory grin. But he wants me to ask you what you did to him. He says he bears no grudge. Can't tell you, answered Demon promptly. There is a trick of Japanese jiu-jitsu, not taught in the schools, and known only to experts. I learned it in Japan when my life was in danger. Jenkins nodded, as though satisfied with the explanation, And Samson resumed.

Another thing we came after, Mr. Demmon, is to notify you that we must search the skipper's room in the wardroom for whatever money there is on board. There may be none, what we want the last cent. What on earth? exclaimed Demon. Do you want with money? Then, as their face is clouded, he said. Oh, go ahead.

Don't turn my room upside down. You'll find my pile in a suit of citizen's clothes was hanging up. About four and a half. Four and a half is a whole lot, sir, remarked Samson as they descended the wager match. Got any money down below, Florey? inquired Deadman, joining the girl. She shook her head. No, I lost everything but what I wear. The tears that started to her eyes surprised Deadman that hers was more than a money loss. But there was no comfort of mere words for such loss, and he went on quickly. They were going through the cabman. They were going through the haven't for money. They'll get all I've got. Did you see any cash in the captain's desk?

What? Yes, Billy, she said, hesitatingly. I wanted a place to put my combs when I wore the bandage, and I saw some money in the upper desk. It was a roll. He's lost it then. Always was a careless man. Did you count it? No. I had no right to. But the question in Dempon's mind was answered by Samson when Ian Jenkins emerged from the hatch. Five hundred, he said. Fine. We won't need a quarter of it, Jenkins. Five hundred, repeated them to the girl.

Jailbreaking, stealing government property, mutiny against me, piracy, and burglary. Heaven helped them when they are caught. But will they be? Can't help but be caught. I know nothing of their plans, but I do know that they're running right into the Hornets nest. If a single one of those crafts on the horizon recognizes this boat and can wireless in the Eustation, we'll be surrounded tomorrow.

But as it happened, they were not recognized, though it took desperate chances in charging through a coasting fleet and daylight. In that nightfall, Jenkins gave the order for full speed. End of Chapter 19. Of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This the Brevox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Danoia, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 20. For an hour,

Demen remained with Flory to witness the unusual spectacle of a 40-not destroyer in a hurry. The wind was practically gone, though a heavy ground swell still met the boat from the northwest. And as there was no moon, nor starlight, and as all lights were out but the white, masthead than the red and green side lights, invisible from half, but dimly lighting the sea ahead. The sight presented was unusual and all-inspiring. They seemed to be looking at an ever-receding

wall of solid blackness, beneath which rose and spread from the high bow to star-wurning port. Two huge moving snowdrifts, lessening in size as the bow lifted over the crest of a sea it had climbed, and increasing into a liquid avalanche of foam that sent spagulls up the bright illumination of the mast-head light when the prow buried itself in the base of the next sea. A stern was a white, self-luminous wake that narrowed to a point in the distance before it had lost its phosphorescent glow. Flory was interested only in the glorious picture as a whole. Denman, equally impressed, was interested in the somewhat rare spectacle of a craft meeting at 40 knots, a sea running at 20, for not a drop of water hit the deck where they stood.

They went below at last, but Denman, having slept in nearly all day, was long in getting to sleep. A curious, futile, and inconsequential thought bothered him. The thought that the cheerful buildings had ceased his singing in the galley. The monotonous humming of the turbines brought sleep at last. But he awakened at daylight from a dream in which Billings. Billings, dressed in a mother hubbard and a poke bonnet, was trying to force a piece of seawater soap into his mouth, and it almost succeeded when he awoke. But it was the stopping of the turbines that really had awakened him, and he dressed hurriedly

and went on deck. There was nothing amiss. No one was in sight but Jenkins, who leaned lazily against the bridge rail. In the dim light that shone, nothing could be seen on the horizon or within it. So, a little ashamed of his uncalled for curiosity, he hurried down and turned in, all standing, to wait for breakfast and an explanation, but no explanation was given him, either by events or the attitude of the men. Those on deck avoided the after end of the boat. All except old Kelly, whose duties brought him finally to the afterguns and tubes. But while civilly lifting his cap to Miss Flory, he was grouchy and tasked to turn in his manner until his work was done. Then he halted at the galley hatch on his way forward to lean over and pronounce anathema of the heads of the cooks because of the quality of the food.

While waiting for breakfast, Devin had listened to an angry and wordy argument between the two cooks, in which Daniels had voiced his opinion of buildings for waking him from his watch below to serve the prisoners. when the watches were changed at eight bells of that morning, he had heard Hawks and Davis, the two seamen of the deck department, protesting violently to Jenkins at the promotion of Forsyth and Kelly, which left them to do all the steering. Jenkins had not answered orally,

but his gestures overruled the protest. Even Casey and Munson argued almost to quarreling over various tricks of their trade, which Denman, as he listened, could only surmise were to form a part of the private code they have spoken of when haranguing Jenkins. There was a nervous unrest pervading them all, which,

while even Flory and Devon intact, even reached the engine room. At noon, Samson and Dwyer were relieved, and the former turned back to shout down the hatch. I told you to do it, and that goes. We've overhauled and cleaned it. You two, assemble and oil it up this afternoon, or you'll hear from me at eight bells.

the voice of Riley, who was nearly as large a man as Samson, answer hotly but inarticulately, and Demon can only ascribe the row to a difference of opinion concerning the condition of some parts of the engines. Samson, though possibly a lesser engineer than the others of his department, yet dominated them as Jenkins dominated them all, by pure force of personality. He had made himself chief engineer,

and his orders were obeyed, as evidenced by the tranquil silence that emanated from the engine room when Samson returned at four in the afternoon. All day the boat lay with quiet engines and a bare head of steam, rolling slightly in a swell that came from the east, while the sun shone brightly overhead from east to west, and only a few specks appeared on the horizon, to remain for a time, then vanish. Meanwhile, Flory worried Denman with questions he could not answer. Forsyth took the sights in the morning, he explained at length, and a meridian observation at noon.

He has undoubtedly found another pocket, as I call these triangular spaces between the routes. But I did not know where we are. Except that, computing our yesterday and last night's run, we were within from 60 to 100 miles of New York. He was further mystified when, on going to his room for a cigar after supper, he found his suit of citizens' clothes missing from its hook.

Not the same thief, he grumbled. Samson and Jenkins are too big for it. He did not mention his loss to Flory, not wishing to arouse further feminine speculation. And when, at a later hour in his higher latitude, darkness had come, and full speed was roamed to the engine room, he induced her to retire. I don't know what's up, he said.

But get all the sleep you can. I'll call you if anything happens. He did not go to sleep himself, but smote, and waited while the humming turbines gathered in the miles. One hour, two hours, nearly three, until a quarter to eleven o'clock. When speed was reduced, remembering his embarrassment of the morning, the deadman did not seek the deck, but looked through his deadlight. Nothing but darkness met his eye. It was a black night with rain.

He entered the lighted wardroom and looked at the telltale above. They told him that the boat was heading due north. Then he entered an opposite room. All were unlocked now, from which, slanting through the deadlight, he saw lights. He threw open the thick, round window and saw more clearly. lights shore lights ahead enterport he saw no land but from the perspective of the lights he judged that they ran east and west then he heard the call of the lead a quarter seventeen and a little later by the deep seventeen delivered in the sing-song voice by hawks the coast of long island muttered demmin well for picked-up schoolboy navigation It is certainly a feat

To run over 600 miles And stop over soundings The boat went on at reduced speed Until Hawks had called out By the Mark 10 When the engine stopped And there was a rush of footsteps on deck That centered over the open deadlight

Above which was slung to the Davits The boat called by them the dinghy But which was only a very small gasoline launch In with you, Casey said Jenkins in his low hoarse voice and turn her over. See about the bottom plug, too. Clear away those guys for and aft, you fellows. In a few moments came the buzzing of the small engine. Then it stopped. And Casey said, Engines all right, and so is the plug. Shove out and lower away. Got everything right, Casey? Got your

money? Got the code? Got everything? Was the impatient. answer. Well, remember, you're to head the boat out from the beach, pull the bottom plug, and let her sink in deep water. Make sure your wheels and midships. Shove out and lower away, retorted Casey. Do you think I never learned to run a NAFTA launch? Demmon heard the creaking sound of the Davitz turning in their beds, then the slackening away of the falls. They're unhooking by Casey and the chugging of the engine as the launch drew away. Good luck, Casey, called Jenkins. All right, answered Casey from the distance.

Have your life buoys handy. Demmon ducked out of sight as the launch was lowered, and he did not see Casey. But, on opening a locker in his room for a fresh box of cigars, he noticed that his laundry had been tampered with, sick shirts, and twice as many collars were gone. On looking further, he missed a new derby hat that he had prized more than usual. Also his suitcase. Casey and I are about the same size, he muttered. But what the deuce does it all mean? He went to sleep with the turbines humming full speed in his ears.

But he wakened when they were reduced to cruising speed. Looking at his watch and the light from the wardroom, he found that it was half past two. And, on stepping out for a look at the telltale, he found the boat heading due south. back in the pocket, he said, as he returned to his room. But the engines did not stop, as he partly expected, but remained at half speed. And the boat still headed south when he wakened at breakfast time.

End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe D'Noya, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 21. after breakfast, King, one of the machinists, and a pleasant-faced young man, came aft with an ensign, a hammer, chisel, and paint pot. This is work, sir, he said as he passed, tipping his cap politely to Miss Flory.

Should have been done before. He went to the taffrail, and, leading over with a hammer and chisel, removed the raised letters that spelled the boat's name. Then he covered the hiatus with the chaffrail. paint and hoisted the ends into the flagstaff. Now, sir, he remarked, as he gathered up his tools and paintpot. She's a government craft again. I see, commented Denman.

Then to flory as King went forward. They're getting foxy. We're steaming into the crowd again, and they want to forestall inspection and suspicion. I wonder if our being allowed on deck is part of the plan. A lady and an officer, haft looked legitimate. At noon, every man was dressed through the regulations, in clean blue, with neckerchief and knife lanyard, while Jenkins and Forsyth appeared in full undressed uniform, with tasteful linen and neckwear. That this was part of the plan was proven when,

after a display of bunting the international signal code from the yard up forward, they ranged alongside of an outboard tank steamer that had kindly slowed down for them. All hands, But one cook, and one engineer, had mustered on deck, showing a fair semblance of a full-powered watch. And the one cook, Billings, displayed himself above the hatch for one brief moment, glad in spotless white jacket. Then, just before the two bridges came together, Jenkins hurried down the steps and afted Demmen to speak a few words. Then hastened forward.

It was sufficiently theatrical to impress the skipper of the tanker. But what Jenkins really said to Demmon was, You were to remember your parole, sir, and not held at steamer, to which Demon had nodded dissent. Steamer, ahoy! shouted Forsyth through a small megaphone. You are laden with oil, as you said by signal.

We would like to replenish our supply, which is almost exhausted. Yes, sir, answered to Skipper. But to whom shall I send the bill? to the superintendent of the Charleston Navy Yard It will very likely be paid to your owners before you get back We want as much as a hundred tons I have made out a receipt for that amount

Throw us a heaving line to take our hose And I will send it up on the bite Very well, sir Anything else I can do for you, sir Yes, we want about 200 gallons of water But now in a long time certainly sir very glad to accommodate you then after that runaway torpedo boat yes any news of her on shore our wireless is out of order well the opinion is that she was lost in a big blow a few days ago she was reported well to the nord and it was a st lawrence valley storm did you get any of it very little answered forsyth we were well to the southered a slight

stumble in good diction there, Mr. Forsyth, muttered the listening, dead men. Otherwise, very well carried out, but the deluded tank skipper made no strictures on Forsy's diction. And, while the pleasant conversation was going on, the two lines of hose were passed, and the receipt for oil and water sent up to the steamer. In a short time, the tanks were filled. The hose hauled back, and the starting bells run in both engine rooms. The destroyer was first together way. And, as her stern drew a breast of the tanker's bridge, the skipper lifted

his cap to Flory and Denman, and called out, good afternoon, Captain, I'm very glad I was able to accommodate you. To which Denman, with all hands looking expectantly at him, only replied with a bow, as became a dignified commander with two well-trained officers on his bridge to attend to the work. The boat circled around, headed northwest. and went on at full speed until not only the tanker, but every other craft in view had sunk beneath their rising. Then the engines were stopped, and the signal yard sent down. Back in the pocket again, said Deadman DeFourri.

What on earth can they be driving at? And why? she answered with another query. Did they go to all that trouble to be so polite and nice? When, as you say, they are fully committed to pilot. and robbed the other vessels by force. This seems to show, he said, the masterhand of Jenkins, who is a natural-born gentleman, as against the work of Forsyth, who is a natural-born brute. Yet he is a high school graduate.

And Jenkins is a past seaman apprentice. What is that? One who enters the Navy at about 15 or 16 to serve until he is 21, then to leave the Navy or re-enlist. They seldom re-enlist, for they are trained, tutor, and disciplined into good workmen, to whom shore life offers better opportunities. Those who do re-enlist have raised the standard

of the Navy sailor to the highest in the world. But those that don't are sad loss to the Navy. Jenkins re-enlisted. So did Forsyth. But do you think the training and tutoring that Jenkins received equal to an education like Forsyth's? Or yours? They learn more facts, answered Deadman.

The training makes a man of a bad boy and a gentleman of a good one. Would a ghastly pity that, because of conservatism and politics, all this splendid material for officers should go to waste, and the appointments to Annapolis be given to good high school scholars, who might be cowardly cissies at heart, or blackguards like Forsyth. But that is how you received your appointment. appointment, Billy Denman, said the girl warmly. And you are neither a sissy nor a blackguard.

I hope not, he answered grimly. Yet, if I had first served my time as seaman apprentice before being appointed to Annapolis, I might be up on that bridge now, instead of standing supinely while one seaman apprentice does the navigating, and another the bossing. There is that man again. I'm afraid of him, Billy. all the others, except Forsyth, have been civil to me. But he looks at me so, so hatefully,

Billings, minus his clean white jacket, had come up the hatch and gone forward. He came back soon, showing a sullen, scowling face, as though his cheerful disposition had entirely left him. As he reached the galley hatch, he cast upon the girl a look of such intense hatred and malevolence, that Denman, white with anger, sprang to the hatch and halted him. If ever again, he said explosively,

I catch you glaring at this lady in that manner. Parole or no parole? I'll throw you overboard. Billing's face straightened. He saluted, and, without a word, went down the hatch, while Denman returned to the girl. He's an enlisted man, he said bitterly. Not a past to seem an apprentice. so I downed him easily with a few words.

And then came the thought, which he did not express to Florey, that his fancied limitations, which prevented him from being on the bridge, also prevented him from enlightening the morbid Billings as to the real source of the terrible punch he had received. Four, while he could justify his silence to Florey, he could only, with regard to Billings, Philip Maskeland dread of ridicule by dressing in feminine clothing.

End of Chapter 21. Chapter 22 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 22. At supper that evening, they were served with prunes, bread without butter, and weak tea with neither milk nor sugar. "'O it is from forward, sir,' said Daniels, noticing Demmond's had volunteered a look of surprise. All hands are to be on short allowance for a while, until something comes our way again.

"'But why?' asked Denman. "'Do you meant to include us in your plans and economies? "'Why did you not rid yourself of us last night when you said one of your number is sure?' "'Daniels was a tall, somber-faced man, a typical ship's cook, and he answered slowly. I cannot tell you, sir, except that both you and the lady might talk about this boat.

Oh, well, said Demand. I was speaking for this lady who doesn't belong with us. My place is right here. Yes, sir, agreed Daniels. But I am at liberty to say, sir, to you and the lady that you best look out for buildings.

He seems to be going baddie. I had him talking to himself, threatening harm to this lady. I don't know what he's got against her myself. Tell him, said Denman sharply, that if he enters this apartment or steps one foot abath the galley hatch on deck, the parole is broken. I'll put a bullet through his head. You might tell it to Jenkins, too.

Daniels got through the wardrobe door before answering. I'll not do that, sir. Jenkins might confine him and leave all the work to me. I think Billings needs a licking. Whether Daniels applied this treatment for the insane to Billings, or whether Billings, with an equal right to a judge Daniel's insane, had applied the same treatment to him, could not be determined without violation of the parole.

But when they had finished supper and reached the deck, sounds of conflict came up from the galley hatch, unheard and uninterrupted by those four. forward. It was a series of thumps, oaths, growlings, and the rattling of pots and pans in the galley floor. Then there was silence. You see, said Denman to Flory with mock seriousness. The baleful influence of a woman aboard ship? It never fails. I can't help it, she said with a pout and a blush. Her blushes were discernible now, for the last vestige of the scalding had gone. But I mean to wear a veil from this on.

I had one in my pocket. I think that would be wise, answered Denman, gravely. These men are... You see, Billy, she interrupted. I've got a new complexion. Brand new. Peaches and cream for the first time of my life. And I'm going to take care of it.

That's right, he said with a laugh. But I'll wager you won't patent the process. Live steam is rather severe as a beautifier, but she kept her word. After the meager breakfast next morning, which Daniels served with no explanation of the row. She appeared on deck with her face hidden, and from then on wore the veil. There was a new activity among the men, a partial relief from the all-pervading nervousness and irritability. Gun and torpedo practice, which brought to drill every man on board, except Monson buried in his wireless room,

and one engineer on duty was inaugurated and continued through the day. Their nanny blue uniforms discarded, they toiled and perspired at the task. And when, toward the end of the afternoon, Old Kelly decided that they could be depended upon to fire a gun or eject a torpedo. Jenkins decreed that they should get on deck and lash to the rail and their chocks, four extra torpedoes. As there was one in each tube, this made aid the deadliest weapons of warfare ready at hand. And when a task was done, they quit for the day.

The Debt Force going to the bridge for a look around the empty horizon, the cooks to the galley, and the machinists to the engine room. Denman, who with doubt and misgiving, had watched the day's preparations, led Flory down the companion. They're getting ready for a mix of some kind, and there must be some place to put you away from the gunfire. How's this? He opened a small hatch covered by the loose after edge of the cabin carpet

and disclosed a compartment below, which might have been designed for stores, but which contained nothing as the lighted electric bulb showed him. Coming up, he threw a couple of blankets down and said, There's a cyclone cellar for you, Flory, below the waterline. If we're fired upon, jump down, and don't come up until a cold, or until water comes in. Then he went to his room for the extra store of cartridges he had secreted, but found them gone. Angrily returning to Flory, he asked for her supply. And she, too, searched and found nothing.

But both their weapons were fully loaded. Well, he said philosophically, as they returned to the deck. They only guaranteed us the privilege of carrying arms. I suppose they feel justified from their standpoint, but on deck they found something to take their minds temporarily off the loss. Samson, red in the face, was vociferating down the engine room hatch. Come up here, he said loudly and defiantly. Come up here and prove it if you think you're a better man than I am.

Come up and square yourself, you flannel-mouthed Mick. the flannel-mouthed Mick in the person of Riley, white a face rather than red, but with eyes blazing and mouth-set and ugly grin, lined up. It was a short fight. The blows delivered by Samson, the parian done by Riley, and ended with a crashing swing on Riley's jaw that sent him to the deck, not to rise for a few moments. Had enough? asked Samson triumphantly.

Had enough, you imitation of an ash cat? Oh, I guess you have. Think it out. He turned and met Jenkins, who had run aft from the bridge. Now, Samson, this will be enough of this. What have you got to say about it? inquired Samson, irately. Plenty to say, he answered Jenkins, calmly. Not much you haven't.

You keep away from the engine room and the engine more fares. I could tend to my department. and you tend to yours. I can tend to yours as well when the time comes. There's work ahead for... Well, attend to me now. You sweated me all day, like a stoker at your work. Now go on and finish it up.

I'll take a fall out of you, Jenkins, right here. No, you won't. Wait until the work's done, and I'll accommodate you. Jenkins went forward, and Samson, after a few moments of scarcely audible grumbling, followed to the forecastle. Then Riley got up, looked after him, and shook his fist. I'll get even with you for this, he declared, with lurid profanity.

I'll have your life for this, Samson. Then he went down the hatch, while Forsyth on the bridge, who had watched the whole affair with an evil grin, turned away from Jenkins when the latter joined him. Perhaps he enjoyed the sight of the road. someone beside himself be knocked down. It looks rather bad, Florey, said Denman dubiously.

All this quarreling among themselves. Whatever job they have on hand, they must hold together, or will get the worse of it. I don't like to see Jenkins and Samson had it, though the two cooks are only a joke, but there was no more open quarreling for the present. As the days wore on, a little gun and torpedo drill was canned. carried out. While, with steam up, the boat made occasional darts to the north or south to avoid too close contact with passing craft, and gradually, by fits and starts, crept more to the westward, and Jenkins recovered complete control of his voice and movements,

while Munson, the wireless man, grew haggard and thin. At last, the nine o'clock one evening, Just before Demmon went down, Munson ran up the sheet of paper, shouting to the bridge. Called on with the United. Night shift. Then, having delivered the sheet to Jenkins, he went back, and the rasping sound of his sending instruments kept up through the night. But when Demon sought the deck after breakfast, it had stopped. And he saw Munson still haggard a face, talking to Jenkins at the hatch. Got his wavelength now,

Demmen heard him say. Took all night, but that in the code will fool them all. From then on, Munson stood watch this instrument only from six in the evening until midnight. Got more sleep thereby.

And soon the tired, haggard look left his face. And it resumed this normal expression of intelligence and cheerfulness. End of chapter 22. Chapter 23. of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey. Chapter 23 After supper about a week later, Demon and Flory sat in the deck chairs, watching the twilight give way to the gloom of the evening, and speculating, in a desultory manner, on the end of this never-ending voyage. When Monson again darted on deck,

and ran up the bridge stairs with a sheet of paper, barely discernible in the gathering darkness, and handed it to Jenkins, who appeared over it in the glow from the binnacle. Then Jenkins blew in the boatswens whistle. The shrill, trilling, and penetrating call that rouses all hands in the morning, but is seldom given again throughout the day, except in emergencies. All hands responded. Both cooks rushed up from the galley. The engineers on watch shut off all burners and appeared.

The men tumbling up from the forecastle, all joining Jenkins and Munson on the bridge. Demmon strained his ears, but could hear nothing, though we saw each man bending over the paper in turn. Then they quickly went back to their places below or on deck. And, as the bells were given to the engine room, the rasping of the wireless could be heard. As the two cooks came aft,

Demmen heard them discussing excitedly, but inaudibly, the matter in hand. And his curiosity getting the better of his pride, he waited only long enough to see the boat steady at East-Northeast. Then went down and forward to the door leading to the passage that led to the galley. Billings was doing most of the talking in a high-pitched, querulous tone, and Daniels answered only by grunts and low-pitched monosyllables. Gigantia! 10 tomorrow 5 million

were a few to the words and phrases didn't have been caught And at last he heard the concluding words of the talk Dry up, said Daniels, loudly and threateningly Yes, 13 isn't a lucky number But if you don't shut up and clear off these dishes I'll make our number 12 Glad you got something to think about besides that woman

But shut up you make me tired Demon went back to Flory somewhat worried but no longer puzzled Yet he gave the girl none of his thoughts that evening He waited until morning When After a look around a bright horizon

dotted with sail and steam He said to her as she came up Eat all the breakfast you can this morning Flory For it may be some time before what eat again Why Billy What's the matter asked the girl. We've traveled at cruising speed all night, he answered.

And now must be up close to the corner, as they call the position where the outbound liners change to the Great Circle Course. Well, she said, inquiringly. Did you ever hear of the gigantia? Why, of course. You mean the new liner? Yes, the latest and largest steamship built.

She was on her maiden voyage when this boat left port and is about due to start east again. Flory, she carries five million in bullion. And these fellows mean to hold her up. Goodness! exclaimed the girl. You mean they will rob her? A big steamship?

She's big enough, of course, to tuck this boat down a hatchway. But these passenger boats carry no guns except for saluting. While this boat could sink her with the armament she carries. Look at those torpedoes. eight altogether and more below decks. Eight compartments could be flooded, and bulkheads are not reliable. But will they dare? Desperate though they are, will they dare fire on a ship full of passengers? How did you learn this, Billy? It seems it possible. Incredible. Remember the gun and torpedo drill?

said Denman, softly, yet excitedly, are being in these latitudes? Are being in these latitudes? is significant. They put Casey ashore the other night and robbed the captain and me to outfit him. I overheard some of the talk. He has reached New York, secured a position as night operator in a wireless station, studied the financial news, and said word last night,

but the giganta sails at ten this morning with five million in gold. And where do you think she is now? asked the girl, glancing around the horizon. At her dock in New York. She'll be out here late in the afternoon, I think. But, heavens, what chances? To wait all day, while any craft that comes along may recognize this boat and notify the nearest station. Why didn't they intercept the lane route out at sea, where there's no crowd like this?

I can only account for it by the shortage of stores. Yes, that's it. No sane pirate would take such risks. we've plenty of oil and water, but little food. That Demmon had guessed rightly was partly indicated by the action of the men and the boat that day. All hands kept the deck, and their first task was to discard the now useless signal mast, which might help identify the boat as the runaway destroyer. Two engineers saw it nearly through the mast at its base,

while the others cleared away the light shrouds and forestay. Then, a few tugs on a lee shroud sent it overboard. while the men dodged from under. Beyond smashing the bridge rail, it did no damage. The dodging tactics were resumed. A steamer appearing on the east or west horizon, heading as to pass to the northward or southward, was given a wider berth by a dash at full speed in the opposite direction. Every face.

Even Florees and Denmans wore an anxious, nervous expression, and the tension increased as the hours went by. dinner was served but brought no relief. Men spoke sharply to one another, and Jenkins roared his orders from the bridge, bringing a colonation to the strain that no one could have foreseen. The sudden appearance of an inbound steamer out of the haze that had arisen to the east necessitated immediate full speed.

Riley was in charge of the engine room, but Samson stood at the hatch, exercising an unofficial supervision, and it was he that received Jenkins' thundering requests for more steam. Samson, in a voice equally loud and with more profanity, admonished Jenkins to descend to the lower regions and attend to his own affairs. Jenkins yielded, leaving Forsyth in charge of the bridge, he came down the stairs and aft on the run. Not a word was spoken by either.

But, with the prescience that men feel at the coming of a fight, the two cooks left their dishes and the engineers their engines to crowd their heads into the hatches. Riley showed his disfigured face over the heads of the other two, and on the bridge, Forsyth watched with the same evil grin. But few blows were passed. Then the giants, locked and twisting and writhing, whirled about the deck. Flory screamed.

But Demmon Soundster, nothing can be done, he said, without violating the parole. And even if, he said, he said, he said, stopped, for the two huge forms, tightly embraced, had reeled like one solid object to the rail, which, catching them that just above the knees, had sent them overboard, exactly as Samson had gone before. Man overboard, yelled Denman. Uselessly, for all had seen. But he threw a life buoy fastened to the quarter, was about to throw another, when he looked,

and saw that his first was a hundred feet this side, the struggling men. He turned to glance forward. Men were running about frantically and shouting, but nothing was done. And the boat still headed a matter of 40 knots an hour. Riley grinned from the hatch. And,

forward on the bridge, Forsyth turned as now sober face away, to look at the compass, and at the steamer, fast disappearing in the haze that followed her. Then, more as an outlet for his anger and disgust than in the hope of the, saving life. Demmon threw the second life buoy high in the air over the stern and led the shock and

hysterical flory down the stairs. Rest here a while, he said gently, and try to forget it. I don't know what they'll do now, but keep your pistol with you at all times. He went up with the grave face to many heartfelt misgivings. Four, with Forsyth and Riley now the master's spirits, Things might not go well with them. End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of the Pirates by Morgan Robertson. This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. Read by Joe Dinoa, Chesterfield, New Jersey.

Chapter 24. In about ten minutes, Forsyth ground the wheel over and headed back. But, though Deming kept a sharp lookout, he saw nothing of the two men or the life buoys. he could feel no hope for Samson, who was unable to swim. As for Jenkins, possibly a swimmer, even should he reach a life buoy, his plight would only be prolonged to a lingering death by hunger and thirst, for there was only one chance in a million that he would be seen and picked up. After ten minutes on the backtrack,

the boat was logically in about the same position as when she had fled from the steamer. But Forsy had kept on for another ten minutes. When, the haze having enveloped a whole horizon, he stopped the engines, and the boat lost way, rolling sluggishly in the trough. There was no wind, and nothing but a long ground swell and the haze to inconvenience them. The first, in making it difficult to sight a telescope. The second in hiding everything on the horizon, though hiding the boat herself. But at last, Forsyth fixed something in the glass, gazing with. long and intently, had a faint spot appearing to the northwest, and Denman, following suit with

the binoculars, saw what he was looking at, a huge bulk coming out of the haze carrying one short mast and five funnels. Then he remembered the descriptions he had read of the mighty gigantia, the only ship afloat with five funnels since the Great Eastern. Forsyth called, and all hands flocked to the bridge where they discussed the situation. Anne, as Demmon judged by the many faces turned his way, discussed him and Flory. But whatever resulted from the latter came to nothing. They suddenly left the bridge to disappear in the forecastle for a few moments. Then to reappear, each man belted in pistol, and one bringing an outfit to Forsyth on the bridge.

Two engineers went to the engines. Forsyth rang full speed to them, and the rest, Cook's in all, swung the four torpedo tubes to port and man the forward one. The big ship seemed to grow in size visibly as her speed, plus the destroyers brought them together. In a few moments, dead men made out details. Six parallel lines of deadlights, one above the other, and extending from bow to stern, a length of a thousand feet. three tiers of deck houses, one above the other and midships, a line of 20 boats to a side along the upper deck, and her after-rails black with passengers,

while as many as six uniformed officers stood on her bridge, 80 feet above the waterline, the little destroyer rounded two alongside, and slowed down to a little more than the speed of a larger ship, which permitted her to creep along the huge black side, inch by inch until the bridges were nearly abreast. Then a white-whiskered man on the high bridge hailed. Steamer, ahoi.

What do you want? Want all that bullion stored in your strong room? Answered Forsyth through a megaphone. And, if you please, speak more distinctly, for the watch of your bow's wave, prevents my hearing what you say. The officer was handed a megaphone, and through it, his own.

voice came down like a thunder clap. You want the billions stored in our strong room, do you? Anything else you want, sir? Yes, answered Forsyth. You want a boat full of provisions, three barrels of flour, the rest and canned meats and vegetables. Anything else? There was as much derision in the voice as can carry through a megaphone. That is all, answered Forsyth. load your gold into one of your own boats, the provisions in another. Lower them down and let the falls unreve so that they will go adrift. We will pick them up. Well, of all the infernal impudence I ever heard, yours is the worst.

I judge that you are that crew of jailbreakers we've heard of that stole a government boat and turned pirates. You are right, answered Forsyth. But don't waste our time. Will you give us what we asked for, or shall we sink you? Sink us, you scoundrel? You can't. You better not try or threaten to. Your position is known, and three scouts started this morning from Boston and New York.

That bluff don't go, answered Forsyth. Will you cough up? No. Most decidedly, no, roared the officer, who might or might not have been the captain. Kelly, said Forsyth, send that whitehead straight into him. Whitehead torpedoes, be it known,

are a mechanical fish of machine steel, self-repelling and self-steering, actuated by a small air engine, and carrying in their warheads, a charge of over 200 pounds of gun cotton, and in their blunt noses, a detonating cap to explode it on contact. At Forsyth's word, Kelly turned a lever on the tube, and the contained torpedo dived gently overboard.

Denman, looking closely, saw it appear once on the surface, porpoise-like, before it dived to an indicated depth. The inhuman devil, he commented, with gritting teeth. A muffled report came from the depths. A huge amount of water lifted up to break the scattered fragments in bubbles. Then these bubbles burst, giving vent to clouds of brown and yellow smoke, while up through the ventilators and out through the open lower deadlights came more of this smoke, and the sound of human voices, screaming and groaning. These sounds were drowned in the buzzing of thousands of other voices on deck

as men, women, and children fought their way toward the stern. Do you agree? yelled Forsyth through the megaphone. Do you agree, or shall we unload every torpedo we've got into your hull? Old Kelly had calmly marshaled the crew to the next torpedo, and looked up to Forsyth for the word. But it did not come. Instead, over the buzzing of the voices came the officer's answer, loud and distinct. We agree. We understand that your necks are in the halter, that you have nothing to lose, even though you should fill every compartment and drown every soul. on board this ship. So we will accede to your demands. We will fill one boat with the bullion

and another with provisions and cast them adrift. But do not fire again for God's sakes. All right, answered Forsyth. Bear a hand. Breast to breast, the two craft charged along, while two boats were lowered to the level of the main deck, and swiftered into the rail. Sailors appeared from the doors and pairs, each carrying a box that taxed their strength and made them stagger. There were ten in all, and they slowly and carefully ranged them along the bottom of one of the boats so as to distribute their weight. While this was going on, stewards and galley helpers were filling the other boat with provisions, in boxes, barrels, and packages. Then the word was given, and the boats were cast off and lowered, the tackles of the heavier,

groaning mightily under the strain. When they struck the water, the falls were instantly let go. And, as the boats drifted astern, the tackles unroved their long lengths from the blocks and were hauled on board again. Forsyth stopped the engines and then back toward the drifting boats. As the destroyer passed a stern off the giant steamer, a shout rang out, but only Demmon heard it about the buzzing of voices. And it seemed that only he saw Casey spring from the high rail of the mammoth into the sea. For the rest were busy grappling for the boat's painters, and Forsyth was looking aft. When the painters were secured and the boats drawn alongside, Forsyth rang for half speed, and the boat, under a port wheel, swung away from the gigantia, and went ahead. There's your man, Casey, yelled Demmon excitedly. Are you going to leave him? Forsyth, now looking dead

the head seemed not to hear. But Riley spoke from the hatch. Hold your jaw back there, but you'll get a passage too. With Casey's cries in his ears, sick at heart in the belief that not even a lifeboy would avail for the giant steamship had not stopped her engines throughout the whole transaction, was now half mile away. Demmon went down on the flory, obediently waiting, yet nervous and frightened. He told her nothing of what had occurred, but soothed and quieted her with the assurance that they would be rescued soon. End chapter 24. Chapter 25 of the pirates by Morton Robertson.

This lib of box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 25. The engine stopped. And climbing the steps to look forward, Demmon saw the bridge deserted and the whole ten surrounding an equal number of strong boxes, stamped and burn with official-looking letters and numbers. farther along with a provision,

and a peepa stern shown Denman drifting boats. The big gigantia had disappeared in the haze that hid the whole horizon, but up in the western sky was a portend, a black silhouette of irregular outline that grew larger as you look. It was a monoplane, an advanced scout of the scout boat, and Demmon recognized the government model. It seemed to have cited the destroyer, fur came straight on with a rush, circled overhead, and turned back.

There was no signal made. And, as it dwindled the way in the west, Demmon's attention was attracted to the men surrounding the boxes. Only Munson was still watching the receding monoplane, but the rest were busy. With hammers and cold chisels from the engine room, they were opening the boxes of treasure. Did anyone see that fellow before?

demanded Munson, pointing to the spot in the sky. A few looked, and the others answered with oaths and commands. Forget it. Open the boxes. Let's have a look at this stuff. But Munson spoke again. Forsyth. How about the big fellow's wireless?

We didn't disable it. He sent the news already. What do you think? Oh, shut up, answered Forsyth, irately. I didn't think of it. Neither did anyone. What of it? Nothing afloat can catch us. Open the box. Let's have a look, and we'll beat it for Africa.

I tell you, vociferated Munson, that you better start now, at full speed, too. That's a scout, and the motherboat isn't far away. Will you shut up, or I shut you up? shouted Forsyth. You'll not shut me up, retorted Munson. You're the biggest fool in this bunch. in spite of your bluff. Why don't you go ahead and get out of this neighborhood?

A box cover yielded at this juncture, and Forsyth did not immediately answer. Instead, with Munson himself and Billings, the cook, insanely admitting whoops and yelps as he danced around for a peep, he joined the others in tearing out excelsior from the box. Then the bare contents came to view. Lead! howled Riley, as he stood erect.

giving a few men back with his shoulders. Let it is, if I know one medal from another. Open them all, Ward Forsythe. Get the axes, pinch bars, anything. Start your engine, yelled Munson. But he was not listened to. With every implement that they can lay their hands on, they attacked the remaining boxes.

And as each in turn disclosed its contents, there went up howls of disappointment and rage. "'Lead!' they shouted that last. "'All lead. "'Was this the job put up for us?' "'No,' yelled Munson. "'Not for us. "'Every steamer carrying bullion

"'also carries lead in the same kind of boxes. "'I've read of it many a time. "'It's a safeguard against piracy. "'We've been fool, that's all. "'Forsight have answered profanely "'and as coherently as is rage and excitement would permit. Munson replied by holding his fist under Forsyth's nose. Get up on the bridge, he said. And you, Riley, to your engines. Riley obeyed the call of the exigency,

but Forsyth resisted. He struck Munson's fist away, but received it immediately full in the face. Staggering back, he pulled his revolver, and before Munson could meet this new antagonism, he aimed and fired. Munson lurched headlong and lay still. Then an uproar began. The others charged on Forsyth, who retreated with his weapon at arm's length. He held them off until, at his command, all but one had placed his pistol back in the scabbard. The dilatory one was Old Kelly, and him Forsyth shot through the heart.

Then the pistols were redrawn, and the shooting became general. How Forsyth, single-handed against the eight remaining men, won in that gunfight, can only be explained by the fact that the eight were too wildly excited to aim or leave each other free to attempt aiming, while Forsyth, a single target,

only needed to shoot at the compact body of men to make a hit. It ended soon with Hawks, Davis, and Daniels writhing on the deck, and Forsyth hiding, uninjured behind the forward funnel, while Riley, King, and Dwyer, the three engineers, were retreating into their engine room. Now if you've had enough, shouted Forsyth, start the engine when I give you the bells.

Then he mounted to the bridge and took the wheel. But though the starting of the engines at full speed indicated that the engineers had had enough, there was one man left who had not. It was Billings. who danced around the dead and the wounded, shrieking and laughing with the emotions of his disordered brain. But he did not fire on Forsyth

and seemed to have forgotten the animus of the recent friction. He drifted aft, muttering to himself, until suddenly he stopped and fixed his eyes on the dead men, who, with gritting teeth, had watched the deadly fracas at the companion. I told you so. I told you! ran out the crazed voice of billing.

A woman aboard ship always makes trouble. There, take it. He pulled his revolver and fired. And Denman, stupefied with the unexpected horror of it all, did not know that Flory had crept up beside him in the companion till he heard her scream in conjunction with the whizz of the bullet through her hair. Then Denman awoke, after assuring himself of the girl's safety and pushing her down the companion, he drew his revolver.

and, taking careful aim, executed billings with the cold calmness of a hangman, a bullet, nearly coincident with the report of a pistol, came from the bridge, and there was Forsyth, with one hand on the wheel facing aft and taking second aim at him. Demmen accepted the challenge and stepped boldly out of the companion. They emptied their revolvers, but neither did damage. and as Forsyth reloaded, Demmon cast a momentary glance at the black spot in the southern sky. Hardly sweeping the upper horizon,

he saw still another to the east, while out of the haze in the northwest was emerging a scout cruiser, no doubt the mother of the first monoplane. But she was two miles away, and soon began spinning shot and shell, which plowed up the water perilously near. You're caught, Forsyth! called out Denman pointing to the south and east.

Will you surrender before we're sunk or killed? Forsyth's answer was another shot. Flory, called Denman down the companion. Hand me your gun and pass up the tablecloth. Then get down that hatch out of the way. We're being fired at. She obeyed him. And, with Forsyth's bullets whistling around his head,

he hoisted the flag of truce and surrender to the Flagstaff. but just a moment too late. A shell entered the boat amid ships and exploded in her vitals, sending up through the engine room hatch a cloud of smoke and white steam, while fragments of the shell punctured the deck from below. But there were no cries of pain or calls for help from the three men in the engine room. Forsyth left the bridge. Breathing vengeance and raging like a madman, he rushed aft.

I'll see you go first, he shrieked. He fired again and again as he came. Then, realizing that he had but one bullet left in his pistol, he halted at the galley hatch, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger for the last time. There are tricks of the fighting trade taught the naval officers that are not included in the curriculum at Annapolis. Denman, his loaded revolver hanging in the right hand of his side,

had waited for this final shot. Like a duelist, he watched, not his opponent's hand, but his eye. And the moment that I gave me the unconceivable signal to the trigger finger, he ducked his head and the bullet sped above. Now Forsyth, he said, as he covered the chagrined marksman. You should have aimed lower and to the right, but that's all passed now. This boat is practically captured, and I'm not going to kill you, for, even though it would not be murder, there's no excuse in my conscience for it.

Whether the boat sinks or not, we will be taken off in time, for that fellow yonder is coming and has ceased firing. But before you were out of my hands, I want to settle an old score with you. One dating from our boyhood, which you'll perhaps remember. Toss that gun forward and step afton. Forsyth. His face working convulsively, obeyed him. Flory, called Demin down the hatch. Come up now. We're all right. She came, white in the face, and stood beside him. Off with your coat, Forsyth, and stand up to me. We'll finish that old fight. Here, girl, hold this gun. Flory took the pistol and the two men discarded their jackets and faced each other.

there was hardly need of describing in detail the fist fight that followed. It was like all such, but one man is slightly the superior of the other in skill, strength, and agility. In this case, that one was Denman. And, though again and again he felt the weight of Forsyth's fist and reeled the deck occasionally, he gradually tired out his heavier, though weaker adversary.

And at last, with the whole weight of his body, behind it dealt a crashing blow on Forsyth's chin. Deadman's old-time foe staggered backward and fell face upward. He rolled his head to the right and to the left a few times, then sank into unconsciousness. Denman looked down on him, waiting for a movement. But none came. Forsyth had been knocked out, and for the last time. Flory's scream aroused Denman.

Is the boat sinking, Billy? He looked and sprang. for a life buoy, which he slipped over floor his head. The bow of the boat was flushed with the water, which was lapping at the now quiet bodies of the dead and wounded men forward. He secured another life buoy for himself. As he donned the cork ring, a hail came from a beam. Jump!

It said. Jump! We'll be carried down with the wash. The big scout ship was but a few lengths away, and a boat full of armed men was approaching. hand in hand they leapt into the sea and Denman, towing the girl by the becket of her life buoy, paid no attention to the sinking hull

until satisfied that they were safe from the suction. When he looked, the bow was underwater, the stern rising in the air higher and higher, until a third of the afterbody was exposed. Then it slid silently, but for the bursting of huge air bubbles, out of sight in the depths. About a year later, Lieutenant Demmon received a letter with a Paris postmark, which he opened in the presence of his wife.

In it was a draft on the Boston bank made out in his order. Good, he exclaimed, as he glanced down the letter. Listen, Flory, here's something that pleases me as much as my exoneration by the Board of Inquiry. Then he read to her the letter, Dear Sir, inasmuch as you threw two lifebuies over for us, you may be glad. even at this late period, to know that we got them. The fight stopped when we hit the water. And since then, Samson and myself have been chums.

I saw both buoys thrown. I held Samson up while I swam with him to the first. Then, from the top of a sea, I saw the other. And getting it returned to him. We were picked up by a fisherman next day. But you will not mind, sir, if I do not tell you where we land. ended, or how we got here, or where we'll be when a slither reaches you. We will not be here, and never again in the United States.

We want to thank you for giving us a chance for our lives. We read in the Paris Herald of your hearing before the Board of Inquiry, and the story you told of the Mess Forsyth made of things, and the final sinking of the boat. Of course, we were sorry for them, for they were our mates. but they ought not to have gone back on Casey, even though they saw fit to leave Samson and me behind. And, thinking this way, we are glad that you licked Forsyth,

even at the last minute. We enclose a draft for $550, which we'd like you to cash and pay the captain, whose name we do not know, the money we took from his desk. We hope that what is left will square up for the clothes and money we took from your room. You see, as we did not get you,

give Casey but a little of the money, and it came in mighty handy for us, too, when we got ashore. It seems we are obligated to return it. I will only say, to conclude, that we got it honestly. Samson joins me in our best respects to Miss Fleming and yourself. Truly yours, Herbert Jenkins. Oh, I'm glad, Billy, she exclaimed. They are honest men after all. Honest men, repeated Demmon quizzically. Yet, they stole a fine destroyer from Uncle Sam. I don't care, she said stoutly. I'm glad they were saved.

And Billy Boy, her hands were on his shoulders. If they hadn't stolen that fine destroyer, I wouldn't be here today, looking into your eyes. And Billy, gathering her into his arms. Let it go at that. End of Chapter 25. Pirates by Morgan Robertson.