Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

Shattered Altars himsilf around me neck this marnin’! ’Tis lucky fer me—and fer ye—thot the thing had no head a’ tall or I might not be able to put me Jawn Hancock to these bits o’ parchmint thot’ll make Private Morey, the pair o’ thim, carporals. Did THE HOS 143 yez hear me say git out o’ here? Will, I mint it. Git out—git out at wanst, and don’t be fer tryin’ to thank an auld fool of a fayther, or I’ll pull them same stripes off before ye can sew ’em on, the pair Q’ ye.” : oy —— —_ ¢ anes ‘ ate ~ * ave z ? a a A TALE OF THE BRETHREN OF THE MAIN ~~ —~®@y Rafael Sabatini _ Author of “Santa Maria,” “Lord Julian’s Mission,” etc. THE great .harbor of Port Royal—spacious enough to have given moorings to all the ships of all the navies of the world— the Colleen, Peter Blood’s great red-hulled ship, rode at anchor. Almost she had the air of a prisoner; for a quarter of a mile ahead to starboard rose the lofty, massive single round tower of the fort, whilst a couple of cables’ length astern and to larboard rode the six men-of-war that com- posed the Jamaica squadron. Abeam with her, across the harbor, were the flat-fronted white buildings of that im- posing city coming down to the very water’s edge. Behind these the red roofs rose like ter- races marking the gentle slope upon which the city stood, dominated here by a turret, there by a spire, and behind these again a range of green hills with, for ultimate background, a sky that was like a dome of polished steel. On a cane day-bed that had been set on the quarter-deck and sheltered from the dazzlig, blistering sunshine by an improvized awning of brown sail-cloth lounged Peter Blood. From immediately below him came the swish of mops and the gurgle of water in the scuppers, for it was still early morning and under the directions of the bo’sun the swabbers were at work in the waist and fore- castle. And despite the heat one of the toilers found breath to croak a ribald buc- caneering ditty: For we laid her board and board And we put her to the sword, 4nd we sank her in the deep blue sea. So it’s heigh-ho and heave-a-ho! Who'll sail to the south with me? Blood heaved a sigh and the ghost of a smile played over his keen, lean, sun-tanned, face. Then the black brows came together over the vivid blue eyes and thought swiftly closed the door upon his immediate sur- roundings. He was considering his queer destiny; and it seemed to him that the wheel of it had come full circle. Transplanted to the plantations after Sedgemoor, as a rebel, he had been sold into slavery at Barbados to a wealthy, brutal planter named Bishop. Thence he had escaped to become in a short while the. cCoOmicoooks C@