Evening star., 1937-08-29
THIS WEEK

Ease me over"
The body slumped in the captains
grip; he laid it down and covered 1t
with thin cotton blanket. Olaf Peter
sons spirit had slipped away across
the Line.
Captain West blew out the lamp.
Outside the wind was moaning fitfully.
The sea gurgled about the hawseholes.
Woodwork creaked and groaned. His
face streaked with tell-tale moisture,
he strobe thoughtfully to the door.
The words of the mate came back to
him IT'S warning. Captain. Give
in, before we're all dead Captain
West sighed. He had to admit that
this was the worst voyage Of his
career. His ship was still crippled.
headreaching under jury rig. There
was still three feet of water down
below. Nearly half the crew were now
laid up. The pumping throughout the
long days and nights was running the
rest. Yes. maybe the mate was right
Captain West came to sudden. bitter
decision: but there was no choice now.
Stepping out on deck, he handed HIM
self aft to the crew.
Men," he said. addressing them
from the poop, "Olaf Peterson is dead"
In the hush that came over them, he
continued: you remember the Cor
dosoo Well. sons, Olaf Peterson was
her second mate. The crew murdered
her captain, abandoned her. got away
in the boats. Olaf Peterson they left
behind -"
The men gaped at him, white faced.
In many a watch below they had dis
cussed the Co1dora's fate; now here
was the mystery solved.
You thought he was Jonah. eh?
Well, listen - funny. isn't it? He was
rescued by this ship. You were goin' to
mutiny, just like Cordoca's men did.
Where are they now? They're dead!'
The parallel surprised them. Ex-
changing significant, fearful glances,
they moved closer to the foot of the
ladder.
But maybe, sons. that's different.
We are shorthanded. The winds still
westerly -a after nearly seventy
daysr' Captain West paused, made
deprecatory gesture with his hands.
''All right. then. we're turning back -
for the Falklands. Stand by to
square away!'
Ifhe had dropped dead, they couldn't
have been more surprised. AS the
meaning of those last words smote
them, great shout burst from them,
and they leaped for the braces. They'd
bend their backs; with JOY in their
hearts, they'd haul away on the hem
pen strands - when he gave the word.
Awaiting his chance to get the ship
before the wind. Captain West was
silent. The owners couldn't very we'll
blame him; he'd done his best. With
crippled ship and half the crew in their
hunks, the odds were -
Sharp and clear, cry arose: Sail
no! On the lee beam, sir!'
Tensely, Captain West gripped the
taffrail. After seventy days in lonely,
stormy ocean, the Jason was in COM
pany with ship harboring other
human souls. There was a hull in the
gale, but the seas still rolled high -
an eternal procession of titans ad-
vancing eastward As the Jason's poop
rose on an upward surge, Captain
West saw, away to leeward, dark
shape that wallowed in the troughs of
the water hills In that moment a
frown clouded his face; he turned half
around and called out quickly. "Mr.
Hand, the long glass. sir"
With a vague sense of dread, the
mate handed him the instrument. In
silence, the men stared aft. From
where they stood on the main deck,
they could not see beyond the crests of
the nearest smoking seas.
Captain West raised the glass to his