Pulp Classic:: The Opium Ship
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Originally published as a four-part serial in the legendary pulp magazine 'The Thrill Book,' here is the story of Sir Gerald Desmond, late officer in His Majesty's Royal Flying Corps. Broke and drunk in Manila, he befriends a consumptive Irish fiddler, Michael O'Sullivan, and the two become involved in a free fight with the native constabulary. From this brawl they are rescued by an unknown benefactor -- but when they come to their senses, they find themselves shanghaied aboard the schooner 'San Gregorio', bound for Mindoro Island. Typhoons, smugglers, beautiful women, opium, and mutiny are just the beginning of their adventures!
bed, Desmond found the window which O’Sullivan had opened, large catches keeping the iron shutters from banging. The ocean was a smother of blackness, but by the white lines of foam Desmond could see that there was no danger of the water flooding into the cabin, unless the cable binding the sea anchor should part. Toward the horizon, a faint rift of moonlight was piercing the heavens, and Desmond rightly imagined that the storm was blowing itself out. After some time he was able to make out the
After an instant, a torrent of sustained but husky blasphemy apprised him that the skipper had been rid of the gag. “Listen, now!” exclaimed Desmond quickly. “No noise, or we’re both of us trapped here! Juliana is safe, although Arevalo murdered the don in some stinkin’ fashion, and we thought he’d done for you, too.” “Let loose my hands an’ feet!” rasped the hoarse skipper strainingly. “Not yet, me bucko,” and Desmond grinned in the darkness. “I’ve a few things to say —” “Ye confounded ass!”
closed the door and started toward his bunk; then he looked into the mouth of her automatic, and obeyed her instantly. “Sit down and be quiet,” she said in a calm voice. “What is your name, please?” The yellow man was obviously astonished and disconcerted. Any yellow man would be, upon finding a white girl in his cabin and an automatic under his nose. “I am Chan Mow Su,” he said, slightly agitated. “Ah — you are Madame Burley!” To her surprise, he spoke very good French. “Certainly,” she
his discovery. He saw the woman standing staring at the schooner, and she was a white woman. For an instant he shifted his gaze and scanned the decks of the junk, but could see no white man aboard. Returning to the woman, searching her features with puzzled eyes, he could not resist the impression that she was white, frightened, tragic. Desmond slowly moved his hand across his breast as in signal, and she answered with a like gesture. “Miss Juliana!” Desmond turned and beckoned the girl beside
fit of coughing. Desmond eyed him for an instant and caught a significant glance from Rosemonde. “Run off with you, Michael Terence,” he said, “and make sure the vicinity is clear of Balderson and his murderin’ friends. I’ll be makin’ camp the while.” The fiddler departed and vanished among the trees. Des- H. BEDFORD JONES mond began to unload the boar, at which Rosemonde came to help him, and later Doña Juliana. He chose a fair camping spot beside the creek and had the heavy work done long