Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 154: what you’re looking at

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

144 admiral of a buccaneering fleet that was the terror of Spain and the cause of perpetually strained relations between the courts of the Escurial and St. James’s. Despairing of subduing him by force, Lord Sunderland, the Secretary of State, set about seducing him from his allegiance to the Brotherhood of the Main by a com- mission in the King’s service. It was a proposal that Blood would have scorned had not a curious set of circumstances en- tangled him in their net. The ship bearing Lord Julian Wade— Lord Sunderland’s envoy and kinsman— had fallen a victim to a Spanish privateer off Hispaniola, and Lord Julian had been taken prisoner together with Miss Arabella Bishop, who was returning from St. Nich- olas to Jamaica, of which her uncle— the whilom Barbados planter—was now deputy-governor. From this captivity Blood had rescued them, and then, largely as a consequence, he had run into a half- squadron of the fleet from Port Royal com- manded by Colonel Bishop himself, of whom Blood knew that in no circumstances could he expect quarter. ee -Thus, when Miss Bishop had urged him then to place himself under shelter of the commission of which Lord Julian was the bearer, he had succumbed—not from love of life, but because she who scorned him for what he he was become had pointed out that by loyal service he might find redemption. And so it fell out that the exultation of his bitter enemy, Colonel Bishop, was dashed as it reached its zenith and his hand closed upon the buccaneer he had sworn to hang. Instead of going to the gallows here was Blood taking his ease in Port Royal waters, holding colonel’s rank in the King’s service, his fine ship a unit in the Jamaica squadron. Presently when news of it reached the buccaneer fleet that vainly awaited him in Tortuga, his name that had stood so high among the Brethren of the Main would become a byword, a thing of execration, and before all was done his life might pay forfeit for what would be accounted a treacherous defection. And for what had he placed himself in this position? To re- deem himself in the eyes of a slip of a girl who continued, notwithstanding, to regard him with aversion. He had scarcely seen her since his coming Adventure to Port Royal a fortnight ago, and this al- though daily he had haunted the fort where her uncle resided, and daily braved the un- masked hostility and baffled rancor in which Colonel Bishop held him. It was the graceful elegant voung trifler from St. James’s, Lord Julian Wade, who absorbed her every moment. And what chance had Blood, a desperate adventurer with a record of outlawry, against such a rival as that, a man of parts, moreover, as he was bound to admit? In the bitterness of his soul, he beheld himself to be as the dog in the fable that had dropped the substance to snatch a de- lusive shadow. | A boat that had approached unnoticed from the shore scraped and bumped along- side the Colleen and a raucous voice sent up a hailing shout. From the ship’s belfry two silvery notes rang clear and sharp, and a moment or two later the bo’sun’s whistle shrilled a long wail. The sounds disturbed Colonel Blood from his disgruntled musings. He rose, a tall active man, very elegant in black and silver of a Spanish fashion, the long ringlets of his jet-black hair reaching to the collar of fine point that adorned his doublet. He advanced to the carved rail of the quarter- deck, just as Jerry Pitt, the master of the Colleen, set foot upon the companion. This active, shapely, golden-bearded Devonshire lad had been Blood’s fellow-slave in Barba- dos and his closest friend in those three years of piracy that had followed their escape. “A note for you from the deputy-gover- nor,” he said shortly, and proffered the folded sheet he carried. Blood broke the seal and read swiftly. Pitt, loosely clad in shirt and _ breeches, leaned against the. rail and watched him, unmistakable concern imprinted on his fair, frank countenance. Blood uttered a short laugh and curled his lip. “Tt is a very peremptory summons,” he said, and passed the note to his friend. Pitt’s gray eyes skimmed it. “You'll not go?” he said, between ques- tion and assertion. “Why not? Haven’t I been a daily visitor at the fort - “But it'll be about Wolverstone that he wants to see you. It gives him a real griev- ance at last. You know, Peter, that it is cComicloooks C@