TER XXII. HOSTILITIES

In the great harbour of Port Royal, spacious enough to have given
moorings to all the ships of all the navies of the world, the Arabella
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 composed the Jamaica squadron.

Abeam with the Arabella, across the harbour, were the flat-fronted white
buildings of that imposing city that came down to the very water's edge.
Behind these the red roofs rose like terraces, marking the gentle slope
upon which the city was built, 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 for him on the quarter-deck,
sheltered from the dazzling, blistering sunshine by an improvised awning
of brown sailcloth, lounged Peter Blood, a calf-bound, well-thumbed copy
of Horace's Odes neglected in his hands.

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 Hayton, the bo'sun, the swabbers were at work in the
waist and forecastle. Despite the heat and the stagnant air, one of the
toilers found breath to croak a ribald buccaneering ditty:

"For we laid her board and board,
And we put her to the sword,
And we sank her in the deep blue sea.
So It's heigh-ho, and heave-a-ho!
Who'll sail for the Main with me?"

Blood fetched a sigh, and the ghost of a smile played over his lean,
sun-tanned face. Then the black brows came together above the vivid
blue eyes, and thought swiftly closed the door upon his immediate
surroundings.

Things had not sped at all well with him in the past fortnight since his
acceptance of the King's commission. There had been trouble with Bishop
from the moment of landing. As Blood and Lord Julian had stepped ashore
together, they had been met by a man who took no pains to dissemble his
chagrin at the turn of events and his determination to change it. He
awaited them on the mole, supported by a group of officers.

"You are Lord Julian Wade, I understand," was his truculent greeting.
For Blood at the moment he had nothing beyond a malignant glance.

Lord Julian bowed. "I take it I have the honour to