Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

Days of Morgan *‘And now,” added the Devon man to Nancy, “I have sent for the Spanish Cap- tain, and if you like you may remain here by me and speak with him.” The Spaniard emerged now from his cab- in where he had retired when the ship had struck, and with him was a girl about her own age who was the most beautiful wo- man, Nancy thought, that she had ever seen, a dark, tigress-eyed creature, with hair like the mantle of midnight, and the pale olive complexion of her race. “My apologies to you, Sefor, for the inconveniences we have put you to,” smiled Stillingfleet with the easy grace of a cour- tier; but, although he addressed himself to the Spanish captain, Nancy observed that he had eyes only for the daughter, and a feeling surged within her bosom such as she had never known before. “Nay, Captain,” the Spaniard answered with a bow, “ ’tis the fortune of war and I can not complain. I would have the honor of presenting you to my daughter, did I but know your names.” “Captain Stillingfleet, of his Mayjesty’s Royal Navy—at your service, Sefior.”’ The Spaniard looked now at Nancy, meaningly, at her bare limbs, her coarse shirt and breeches, at her mop of hair crowded into her cap, and there was a ques- tion in his eyes, although he did not speak. His daughter, surveying her from unkempt crown to bare toes, her own lips and nos- trils curling into a contemptuous smile, turned her back, while the hot blood mount- ed to the English girl’s cheeks. “My name,” said Nancy, quivering at the insult that was more full of meaning than any mere words might have expressed, ‘“‘can matter little to you. Therefore I for- bear to mention it.” The Spaniard flushed, and would have spoken had not Captain Stillingfleet inter- posed. “Nay,” says he, looking at his country- woman, “one should be given courtesy when one’s ship hath been seized from under him.”’ Whereat Nancy bit her lip in vexa- tion at the position in which she found her- self, and, repenting as quickly as she had offended, she had an apology on her tongue when the Spanish girl, with a languishing glance at Captain Stillingfleet, shrugged her shoulders with a gesture more eloquent than language. *“*“One’s ship’ indeed,”’ flared up Nancy 47 at this, stung again to the quick. ‘‘Since when have Spaniards sailed in English ships and called them theirs?”’ “English ships!’ exclaimed Captain Still- ingfleet. ‘‘Ay, this is an English ship.” ‘That can not be.”’ “Is it not so, Sefior Captain?” she de- manded, wheeling upon him. “Then how came you by it? What did you with the English crew who manned her? Peradven- ture they are starving their lives out in the galleys, or rotting in the dungeon beneath the sea at San Juan d’Ulloa, where that brave Plymouth man, John Hawkins, did have a taste of your treachery as every one in Devon knows. And you Captain Still- ingfleet prate of seizing a ship! We have but taken for England what is rightfully England’s.”’ “Not so fast, Mistress Nancy,” broke in the Devon man at this, while some of the mariners lurched down to the rail of the quarterdeck at hearing the girl’s voice rise with excitement. “It can not be an Eng- lish ship—’tis not rigged as one.” ‘English she is, I tell you,” she cried. “‘T have seen too many of them laid down not to know. Jim Rimble!” she called, and Jim the angler stepped out of the little knot of men gathered at the rail. “Say truly, Jim Rimble, whether this be an English ship or no.” Jim Rimble pulled his forelock, and roll- ing his eyes at her said— ‘“‘Ay, Miss, ’tis an English ship.” “What did I tell your” cried the girl tri- umphantly. “TI knew her for an English ship the minute I set my eyes upon her.” “English she be, Miss, from main to keel,”’ confirmed Jim Rimble again, putting an almost incredible amount of deep-toned conviction into his husky voice, ‘‘and built by the Petts at Woolwich—or I'll kiss a pig. Her rigging’s Spanish and her tack- ling, too, and her boulspret are new, but her hull’s British. The Madre de Dios, they call her now, Miss, but she’s the old Snap- dragon, or I will kiss a es “How, now, Sefior Captain,” says Nancy with a sparkle in her eyes, “‘we have but taken what is our own here.” “Hurrah!” shouted the men. the talk, Devon.”’ The Spanish girl’s lips curved again ever so delicately and disdainfully, and Nancy felt herself grow feverish once more., “That’s CoOMmichoooks CO