John Drake - Skull and Bones

"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, Seсor 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, Capitбn 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, Seсor Teniente. I am here to trade with the Indians."

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

"Indians, Seсor 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, Capitбn 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, Seсor 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, Capitбn Peсa-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 Capitбn 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 Capitбn Adolfo Peсa-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. Peсa-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.