The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 17: Breakfast with a Spanish Privateer

'What the Hell are they playing at?' the Captain watched the crew of the Spanish brig as they bustled about on the isthmus between the northern and southern islands.

They were busy setting a table with silver cutlery, drinking goblets, cloths, plates, napkins, candles, and two red velvet chairs on opposing sides.

'What are they doing? Why haven't they attacked us yet?'

'Don't wish that away!' the Quartermaster whimpered. 'Be glad they're not blowing us to pieces right now.'

'But haven't you stopped to think why they aren't blowing us to bits?' the Captain pondered, lowering the spyglass. 'They have the upper hand. We're trapped in the bay. They have every gun trained on us and ready to fire. So, why aren't they?'

'Captain,' Martin tapped Black Hal's elbow. 'There's someone coming off their ship.'

The Captain nodded and put the glass back to his eye. He lowered it again pretty soon after, his face screwed into an expression of disgust and loathing.

'Hamish, care to confirm lest my eyes deceive?' He offered the spyglass to Martin, who took it and slowly put the rim to his eye, the brass still warm from sitting against the Captain's cheek.

He watched as a man with a wide-brimmed hat, a curled black moustache, and a jerkin with golden streaks, climbed down the ladder and into a skiff bobbing beside the ship. A couple of deckhands in white linen shirts rowed him over to shore, whilst he spoke emphatically with the man in an apron, who sat beside him with a pot on his lap.

When the skiff ran aground, their captain stepped out and put his hand on his cabin boy's shoulder. He leant into his ear, then sent him scurrying across the isthmus to the Scourge's camp.

'It's Van den Berg alright,' Martin grumbled, handing the spyglass back to the Captain. 'He's sending someone over.'

The cabin boy, as red as rust, no older than twelve, panted up to the crew. He timidly stepped forward, the men eying him with their hands over their pistols and swords.

'Speak to captain?' he drawled, his accent thick and throaty for such a young boy. 'Where the captain?'

'I'm the captain.' the Quartermaster stepped in front of Black Hal. 'What business do you have?'

'You're not captain.' the boy chuckled softly, then suddenly remembered the lion's den he'd just wandered into. 'Captain... he tall with big beard. He carry silver sword. Where is he?'

Captain Percival sighed and pushed the Quartermaster aside with a gentle nudge.

'Thank you, Ratchett, for taking the flack, but I can handle this. What do you want, boy?'

'Ah, you are him!' the boy beamed. 'Maestro, he want you to eat with him. He say he want to discuss terms.'

To this, Captain Percival's eyes blazed.

'Then you go back there and tell your maestro that if he wants to discuss terms of any kind, he can come here himself and face me like a man, not send a child to do his bidding.'

The boy strained to listen to the Captain's frothing rave. When he had finished, he muttered to himself and cleared his throat with a soft tweet.

'Mi Capitan told you would say this. If so, he told me to say that "Our guns are aimed at your camp. If do not cooperate,' he struggled to pronounce the longer word. 'We will blow you to sky high". Please, come with me, señor.' The boy beamed with infuriating innocence. 'If it help, he say you can bring one of your man with you.'

The Captain sighed and passed his hand over his mouth, pacing from side to side.

'Well... at least it might buy us some time,' he turned to Quartermaster. 'Pack up what you can quietly. Don't make it look like we're rushing to get away. If anything goes wrong, you're in charge. Get the men out as best you can.'