Adventure Magazine Cover — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

THE PRIZE. A TALE OF THE BRETHREN OF THE MAIN 4y Rafael Sabatini Author of ‘‘Rebels Convict,” ‘“Don Diego Valdez,” HE fame of Captain Peter Blood had run like ripples before the breeze across the face of the Caribbean from the Bahamas to the Windward Isles, from New Provi- dence to Trinidad. ,An echo of it had reached Europe, and at the Court of St. James’s representations were made by the ambassador of Spain, to whom it was an- swered that it must not be supposed that Captain Blood held any commission from the King of England; that he was in fact a proscribed rebel, and that any measures against him by King Philip V would re- ceive the cordial approbation of King James II. It was a brutum fulmen that inspired no terrors. In old Tortuga, that nest of piracy, the captain took his ease, what time his eight- score reckless followers gamed and drank and squandered in excesses the gold they had brought back from their last raid upon the sea-going subjects of the King of Spain. And meanwhile adventurers of every de- eree—from men who knew no trade but that of piracy to rude _ boucan-hunters athirst for easy plunder—flocked to offer him their swords. One day as he sat with Hagthorpe’ and Wolverstone over a pipe and a bottle of rum in the stifling reek of tar and stale tobacco of a waterside tavern, he was accosted by a splendid ruffian in a gold- laced coat of dark-blue taffetas, with a f 71 ‘understand the question. crimson sash that was a foot wide about the waist. “C’est vous qu’on appelle Le Sang?” (Are you the man thev call Blood?) the fellow hailed him. | The captain knew enough French to He looked up to consider the questioner before replying. The man was tall and built on lines of agile strength, with a swarthy aquiline face that was brutally handsome. A diamond of, great price flamed on the indifferently clean hand resting on the pommel of his long rapier, and there were gold rings in his ears, half-concealed by the long ring- lets of his oily chestnut hair. Captain Blood took the pipe-stem from between his lips. “My name,” he said, “is Peter Blood. The Spaniards know me for Don Pedro Sangre, and a Frenchman may call me Le Sang if he pleases.” “Good,” said the gaudy adventurer in English, and without further invitation he drew up a stool and sat down at that greasy table. ’ ‘““My name,” he informed the three men, two of whom at least were eying him askance, “it is Levasseur. You may have heard of me.” They had, of course. Captain of a twenty-gun ship, with a crew mainly com- posed of French boucan-hunters from Northern Hispaniola, his reputation as a Commiclooo <SEiGO