Skull and Bones

Chapter 35

The flagship doubled to the task of launching the longboat. This complex task first required the removal of the ship's other boats, which nestled one-inside-the-other, in the longboat. Thus a great triple block was bent to the mainstay; then a hundred men — chanting and hauling to the music of a pipe — whisked each boat aloft, such that it could be swung aside, by lines bent to the main yard, and set down out of the way, enabling the great longboat itself to be drawn aloft.

Standing behind the gilded balustrade at the break of the quarterdeck, in the blue coat, red waistcoat, and gold-laced hat of his king's sea service, and with his officers respectfully in his lee, Capitán de Navio Adolfo Peña-Castillo watched in satisfaction as his men went about their duties. Many were not even Spaniards, for the ship had been thirty years on Caribbean duties, and there were as many Indians as white men on the lower deck. But all his officers were Spanish, and all hands were proud of their Havana-built ship, for she was so stoutly made, of such massive Cuban mahogany, that she was believed to be invulnerable, and in all her service no enemy shot had ever pierced her sides.

Peña-Castillo glanced at the two big frigates that made up his squadron: Andrés de Fez and Lepanto: splendid names both! The former celebrated an Andalusian admiral, and the latter the battle whereby the navies of Spain and her allies had smashed the Turk and saved Christendom. These fine ships were hove to with backed topsails at the mouth of St Helena Sound, for there was plenty enough depth to float the flagship, and Peña-Castillo was pleased personally to confront the English schooner that was trying so hard to avoid him, and which had sailed past the supply ship, concealed between Tercero and Quarto islands, and darted into another inlet further up the sound, like a rat into a rabbit hole.

In all this, there was a pleasing satisfaction to Peña-Castillo, who was a logical, intellectual man — talents profoundly unusual in a sea officer — since he was merely sufficient in seamanship, but came of excellent family, was ruthlessly hardworking, and was gifted with a powerful mind nourished by extensive reading. Behind his back, his men called him el cerebro gordo.… the big fat brain.

And now San Pedro de Arbués, with all way taken off, was slowly rolling as the heavy longboat finally heaved aloft and went down into the water with a coxswain and a dozen men aboard, oars raised like standing soldiers, in as neat a piece of drill as a seaman's heart could desire.

"Señor Capitán," said a teniente, stepping forward and touching his hat.

"Ah," said Peña-Castillo, "Burillo!"

"Permission to disembark, Señor Capitán?"

"Permission granted!" said Peña-Castillo. "And remember my orders!"

"I shall search as you bid, Señor Capitán!"

Teniente Burillo was an aggressive, heavy young man, ever ready to urge the men to their duties with a kick, but he was diligent and active, and in every way ideal for his allotted duty. He saluted again, and ran off beckoning to a dozen of marines standing ready with their muskets, and an equal number of seamen with pistols and cutlasses. These swarmed over the side and into the big boat, and took their places. Burillo nodded. It was well done. Finally — raising his hat to the image of San Pedro in its shrine under the quarterdeck — he went over the side himself, and took his place in the stern, with the sides of the great ship looming over him, and her masts, yards and sails shadowing out the sun.

"Give way!" he said, and the longboat pulled towards the English ship, which was less than a hundred yards off, anchored in the midstream of one of the sound's many rivers, where she affected to be harmless and at peace with all the world. Burillo smiled. She'd better be peaceful! He had nearly forty men in the longboat, and San Pedro was broadside on, with her main battery run out and bearing directly on the schooner… which of course placed the longboat in the line of fire… but Burillo shrugged. This was a risk that went with the sea life!

Clank-clunk! Clank-clunk! Clank-clunk! The longboat surged forward, the schooner drew close, and Burillo nodded in appreciation of her fine lines, broad spars and sharp prow. Everything about her said "speed". She was neat and shipshape, well found and in all respects fit for action, being pierced for fourteen guns: a heavy battery for a ship of her size. Fortunately, in this present moment, the gun-ports were secured, no black muzzles were in sight, and no hostile move threatened. But…

"Oh yes," muttered Burillo, "she's a privateer, all right. A blind man could see it… a privateer or a pirate."

Meanwhile, there were men peering out from the schooner, and grinning and waving in the most friendly manner. And there was a tall man with a green bird on his shoulder. He was waving from the quarterdeck.

Bump! Boom! The longboat came alongside the schooner, and Burillo leapt for the main chains and hauled himself aboard, with his nimble seamen instantly following, and the marines with their encumbering muskets coming over the side seconds later. Burillo glanced around him. The schooner was in excellent order: neat and polished and lines coiled down. More than that, the men now standing looking at him had been busy with holystones, mops and buckets, scrubbing the decks… decks which were already white and gleaming.

There were only a dozen men on deck, and it seemed to Antonio Burillo that he was master of the schooner… but you never knew with the English. He saw the careful looks on his men's faces as they looked round with firelocks raised.

Good! he thought. But, bump… bump… bump! Here came the tall man.

"Good day to you, Señor Teniente!" he said in ready Spanish.

Burillo looked at him and saw that he was a cripple. His left leg was entirely gone, and he leaned on a long crutch that thumped the deck as he moved. He was a strange figure, for a huge green parrot sat on his shoulder, and he was indeed tall, towering over Burillo and smiling politely out of a pale, English face with yellow hair showing under the handkerchief that was bound round his head… his hat being already doffed and held respectfully in a big hand.

"Good day," said Burillo. "Who is captain here?"

The tall man bowed.

"I am," he said. "John Silver, at your service! John Silver of the good ship Walrus."

Burillo frowned. He was puzzled. The Englishman spoke good Spanish, but with a strong Portuguese accent.

"Silva?" said Burillo, mistaking the word. "Da Silva? Are you Portuguese?"

"English, senor, but born of a Portuguese father. Da Silva was his name."

"So," said Burillo, "what is your business here, Capitán Da Silva?"

The tall man smiled. He shrugged his shoulders. He reached up to the parrot, which gently nipped his fingers with a beak that looked capable of snapping a marlin spike.

"I am a dealer in skins, Señor Teniente. I am here to trade with the Indians."

"Ah," said Burillo. "And have you any aboard?"

"Indians, Señor Teniente?"

"No… Skins."

The tall man smiled regretfully. "I fear not, senor, for business has been bad."

"How unfortunate."

"Indeed, senor. And might I ask your business… here in British waters?"

Now Burillo shrugged. He shrugged and smiled.

"The ships of our squadron were damaged by foul weather. We seek shelter to make repairs and to rest our men."

"Ah," said Silver, looking at the immaculate perfection of the Spanish ships.

"There is also the matter of piracy, Capitán Da Silva," said Burillo.

"Piracy?" The tall man recoiled in horror.

"Indeed. Spanish ships have been lost off the Carolinas," said Burillo, "and my squadron serves the duty of all civilised mankind in seeking to extinguish piracy by capturing the pirates… and hanging them."

Silver forced another smile.

"Might I offer you a glass of wine in my cabin, Señor Teniente?" he said. "And perhaps I might present my officers?"

"Perhaps," said Burillo. "First, might I look at your beautiful ship? And in any case, it is my pleasure to offer you the hospitality of my commander, Capitán Peña-Castillo, aboard our flagship." He gestured towards the huge bulk of San Pedro which so utterly dominated the sound.

"Look at my ship? A pleasure, senor!" said Silver, and led the way, pointing out features of interest while Burillo stared at everything comprehensively, especially the decks and the gunports, and eventually made his way aft and found the lockers where the ship's flags were kept. There were rows of them, carpentered into the taffrail, neat as bookshelves, each deep, narrow recess closed by a square wooden flap that hinged upwards.

"Looking for anything, senor?" said Silver, his smile fading.

"Yes…" said Burillo, and glanced up to make sure that his men were close by.

Clap! Clap! went the wooden covers as Burillo's busy fingers raised and dropped them. Then…

"Ah!" said Burillo. "What's this?" and he hauled out a large black flag. Turning to Silver, he held it up. "Isn't this the skull and bones?" he said. "The flag of piracy?"

"Mother of God!" said Silver, and piously crossed himself. "How did that get there?"

Soon Capitán Da Silva was making his way up the ponderous sides of San Pedro, a feat he managed with surprising ease: his crutch swung from his shoulder by a lanyard, and the big green bird left aboard his own ship. Having clambered over the massive rail, he wedged his crutch under his arm, and looked up and down the decks of one of the most powerful ships in the Americas, for the broadside guns were indeed twenty-four-pounders, which were indeed run out and shotted, and matches burning beside them in tubs. Meanwhile the decks were thick with men — hundreds of them: far too many even for so big a ship as this, for as well as seamen and marines, there were Spanish infantrymen, in their French- looking white coats with coloured turnbacks, and all of them peering in patronising curiosity at the creature Teniente Burillo had brought aboard.

"Follow me," said Burillo, and led the way under the break of the quarterdeck, into the depths of the ship, and towards the stern. Nudged by the muskets of the Spanish marines, Silver hopped after him, pausing only to cross himself as he passed the shrine of San Pedro. Burillo stopped at the ornate, carved door that led to the great cabin. Two more marines were on duty. They saluted.

"Wait here," said Burillo, and knocked and went in.

Silver waited for a good, long wait, until Burillo emerged, and beckoned. Ducking his head, Long John went inside with his hat in his hand. The cabin was magnificent: carved, painted and gilded in the style of a generation earlier. The furnishings were rich with scarlet upholstery, religious paintings hung in rows, and behind the stern windows there was a massive balustraded balcony, for the captain's private use.

Thus Capitán Adolfo Peña-Castillo sat in the bosom of his power with a broad table before him and his stern gallery behind him, and he faced this Englishman, whose father was Portuguese. Peña-Castillo waved at Burillo, indicating that he should take a chair, and glanced to either side of himself where sat his first officer and his personal secretary and other officers. He turned again to the Englishman, whom he left standing… or rather leaning on his crutch.

"Capitán Da Silva," he said, "Teniente Burillo has explained that it is my duty to hang pirates?" The Englishman said nothing. He merely nodded and licked his lips. Peña-Castillo nodded in turn, and smiled cynically, "But," he said, "Teniente Burillo tells me that your ship cannot be a pirate because she mounts just eight guns… four on each beam."

"That she does, Señor Capitán," said the Englishman.

"Yet she is pierced for fourteen."

"Yes, Señor Capitán. That's how she was when I got her."

"So where are the other ten guns?"

"Sold, Señor Captain." The Englishman smiled. "I have no need for them."

"Because you are a trader in skins?"

"Yes, senor."

"And yet you have no skins in your ship?"

"No, senor."

"But you have the black flag aboard. The skull and bones."

"I swear on the blessed virgin that I know nothing of that flag!" said the Englishman promptly, and it was Peña-Castillo's turn to smile.

"Accepting for the moment your pretence of being in the true faith…"

"The which I am, by sweet Mary's blessed name!" cried Silver.

"No doubt," said Peña-Castillo with a small, sour smile, "but there is still the matter of the missing guns, for Teniente Burillo — who is a most observant officer — tells me that he saw the marks of their wheels on your decks, which decks you were swabbing and scraping in the attempt to hide them." Silver said nothing. Peña-Castillo continued: "Which suggests to me that, on seeing my squadron, you cast some of your guns over the side to hide the fact that you are a pirate."

"Never! Not on pain of my immortal soul! Not by — "

"Please!" said Peña-Castillo, waving a hand. "I am not a fool."

"Bah!" said the Englishman, and hopped forward and dragged a chair out from Peña-Castillo's table, and slumped down in it. He sighed heavily, drew out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow, and glared at the Spaniards. "Well then, Señor Capitán," he said, "since you've made up your mind to hang me, you won't mind if I take the weight off my legs, of which I've only got one… and put mine arse to an anchor!"

Burillo sprang to his feet. The rest gasped. But Peña-Castillo merely smiled. He was amused. He'd taken this posturing

Anglo-Portuguese pirate for no more than a clumsy villain, but looking at the man now as he stared straight back into Peña-Castillo's eyes… perhaps he was something more.

"And why should I not hang you, Capitán Da Silva?"

"Silver. Just Silver."

"By whatever name, why should I not hang you?"

"Because I'm a privateer, with a commission from the governor of Virginia."

"Ah! The governor of Virginia," said Peña-Castillo. "Another commission?"

"What?" said Silver.

Peña-Castillo smiled again. "Do you think you are the only pirate with such papers? The only one that I have captured?"

"Well, bugger me through me breeches!" said Silver, but he said it in English.

"What?" said Peña-Castillo.

"I said I'm a licensed privateer. All proper and legal."

"No, Capitán Silver. An English colonial governor may not issue letters of marque. Only your king can do that, and even his commission is valid only in time of war, and there is no war — at present — between England and Spain. That is the law, as you well know."

Peña-Castillo saw his words strike like a roundshot. He saw Silver bow his head in despair and grind his teeth. And Peña-Castillo noted how Silver thought deeply, searching for escape, and shaking his head as if struggling within himself, and looking this way and that as if to find guidance in the ship's dark timbers.

Finally Silver made his decision… and looked up… and cleared his throat… and met Peña-Castillo's eye. All this the Spanish captain watched with fierce concentration. He was a penetrating observer who spotted the little signs others would have missed. He felt a prickle of excitement. He was watching a man fighting for his life, and in Peña-Castillo's opinion, Capitán Silver had just searched his imagination for a way out, and found it… but was not proud of it, because his conscience did not like it.

"Señor Capitán," said Silver.

"Señor Capitán," said Peña-Castillo graciously.

"I blame myself for the black flag!" said Silver.

"Do you?" said Peña-Castillo.

"Yes. I should've thought of it and got rid of it!"

"Ah!" said Peña-Castillo, as if sympathetically. "No man is perfect. We all make mistakes." He smiled a little smile, for he sensed there was more to come and wished to encourage Capitán Silver.

"Huh!" said Silver, and shifted in his chair. "So here I am, on a lee shore, dismasted and rolling gunwale-under."

"Indeed," said Peña-Castillo.

"Yes," said Silver. "For you could hang me… but you'd be a fool if you did."

"A fool?"

"A damned fool!" Silver beat the table with his fist and glared at Peña-Castillo. "For what are you doing here, Capitán, in British waters, with a ship full of soldiers…" Silver stared hard at the Spaniard "… And siege guns besides?"

Peña-Castillo spread his hands innocently, but he made no denial… and knew on the instant that he'd given something away. There were no siege guns on deck, but there was indeed an artillery train below. Silver was clever! More so than he'd thought.

"You're here to land men and guns," said Silver. "To take and capture British settlements! You're here to be best placed, so soon as that war starts — which all the world knows is coming." Silver leaned forward across the table, looking in his turn for the little signs on Peña-Castillo's face. "Or maybe even before it starts?"

Peña-Castillo never blinked, but the men on either side of him gaped in amazement, and their round mouths made Silver laugh at the accuracy of his guess.

"Well then, Señor Capitán," said Silver, "how about starting with Savannah? It's a fine big fort they're building to defend the town, with guns a-plenty and a garrison to man them. If you try to take that by siege you'll lose men by the thousand with maybe nothing to show for it!"

Peña-Castillo's clever heart began to beat faster. Capitán Silver was coming to the point at last.

"What's more," said Silver, "it ain't just the big fort! Them Savannians've placed guns at the mouth of the Savannah River itself. I saw the works last time I came past."

"We know," said Burillo, "we've seen — " and he shut up fast as Peña-Castillo glared at him.

"Been looking, have you, Teniente?" Silver sneered. "So you'll know that if this fine squadron sailed up Savannah River, then it'd come under heavy fire, and some of you might not get out again!"

"Perhaps," said Peña-Castillo, for there was no point in denying it.

"But what if I was to give you the fort and town of Savannah?" said Silver. "What if I was to give them to you without a shot being fired?"

"But you are an Englishman," said Burillo.

Peña-Castillo winced, despairing at his subordinate's interruption at this crucial moment. But Silver never wavered.

"Yes," said Silver, "I'm an Englishman: and I'm a live one, and one as wants to go on living!"