The Angel's Command

'ornpipes an'

shanties to conjure the buccaneer up? D'ye think the Frenchman will be at Puerto Rico?'

Spitting neatly over the side, the mate shook his head. 'If he is, there'll be none more surprised than me. That ole

Frenchie's long gone, prob'ly off into the Atlantic Ocean. Cap'n my eye. I was told Teal ran off from England 'cos of

gamblin' debts. The eldest son of a noble family, eh?'

Entirely in agreement with his companion, the bosun winked. 'An' not a ha'penny piece 'twixt the lot of 'em. I tell ye,

this ship's run by a pauper who knows more about the back an' front end of a horse than the bow an' stern of a ship!'

The mate tapped the belaying pin in his cupped hand. 'Aye, an' 'tis poor seamen like us who have t'put up with the

likes o' Teal. Come on, we'd best see the men get this craft shipshape afore Redjack comes back on deck.'

Running fair with a sprightly morning breeze, the Devon Belle edged closer to the island of Puerto Rico.

Padre Esteban was as good as his word. He entered the buccaneers' camp at daybreak, bringing with him two dozen of

his people. These were silent, dark-eyed, coffee-skinned locals carrying fearsome-looking machetes.

Ned sent a swift thought to Ben: 'They look peaceful enough, but I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of those

lads!'

Ben nodded. 'Look at the supplies they've brought with them.'

Besides a roasted goat, a pig and some chickens, the men brought smoked fish, a full honeycomb and an amazing

range of fruit and vegetables, plus a large sack of rough home-ground corn flour.

Pointing to a pile of empty gourds, the old padre explained. 'For water, there are plenty of pools and streams about to

fill these vessels with. How are you this morning, my son?'

Ben smiled as he shook the old man's hand. 'I am well, Padre. Thank you for your help. This is wonderful!'

Padre Esteban allowed Ned to stand with his front paws against his chest. He stroked the dog fondly. 'The Lord has

always smiled on us. There is food aplenty for all on this bounteous isle. Ah, here comes your captain.'

The Frenchman and the padre kissed cheeks in the Continental manner, on each side. It was obvious that the captain

had taken to the old fellow at first glance.

'I am Raphael Thuron, master of La Petite Marie. My friend, how can I thank you for all of this? Here, take these

gold coins I have with me, there's twenty of them—is that enough?'

Shaking his head, the old man pressed the gold back into Thuron's hand. 'Gold brings trouble and death with it. The

food costs nothing to grow, it is given freely to friends with good hearts. Take and enjoy it, in the name of our Lord.'

Ned licked Padre Esteban's hand as he communicated with Ben. 'See, I told you last night, this old man is a saint!'

As if he had intercepted the message, the padre chuckled. 'There are good men and bad men. All my life I have tried

to be good, but I am no saint. Just a man who likes to help others.'

Ben had never seen a pirate weep, but he noticed that Thuron sniffed loudly and brushed a sleeve across his eyes.

'Well, you've certainly helped us, my friend. Pierre, signal the ship, we need to get all of this back aboard. Padre, are

you certain that there is nothing we can give you in return for all this good food? Anything?'

Padre Esteban had a quiet word with one of his men, a big fellow who looked like some type of village headman. He

shrugged and turned back to the Frenchman. 'Perhaps if you have a bit of canvas and some iron nails to spare. They

are hard to come by, away from towns and ports.'

Captain Thuron agreed happily to the simple request. 'Ben, when you get back aboard the Marie, I want you and

Anaconda to load up any casks of nails we have and half of our spare canvas. Anaconda will row you and Ned back

here so you can present them to the padre.'

All that day the jolly boat plied back and forth between the ship and shore. The entire crew of the Marie were sorry to

leave Guayama and the gentle old priest. Ben and Ned were the last to leave; Anaconda sat in the boat whilst they

made their farewells to Padre Esteban. The boy carried a message from his captain to the padre: 'Cap'n Thuron says

that he hopes the nails and canvas will be useful to you. He also told me to tell you to watch out for three men who

have deserted the ship. They are called Ludon, Grest and Ricaud. Though what you will do if you find them I don't

know, Padre.'

Ned passed a brief angry thought. 'I know what I'd do with the rats. Deserters, huh!'

The old man shrugged. 'They will be gone by now, to some large port on the island, where they will meet others of

their kind. Thank your captain for me, Ben. He is a good and honest man, a rare quality in a buccaneer. My son, I wish

you could stay, but I feel in my heart that you are not destined to abide here with me. Keep the cross by you and

remember what I said. It will protect you. Now go—I wish both you and your faithful Ned a happy life. I cannot wish

you long life, because I know you already possess that. But think of me now and then. I will pray for you both. Go

now, and the Lord be with you.'

Ben would forget many things in the years to come, but he would never forget that sunny afternoon saying good-bye

to the old padre. Turquoise surf crested white as it boomed to break upon the golden sands of the beautiful island of

Puerto Rico. The tears from the old man's face were salty as the sea as he kissed the foreheads of the blue- eyed boy

and his dog. Bobbing up and down on the swell, the jolly boat drew away, with Anaconda plying the oars strongly.

Ben and Ned stared through the unashamed mist of sorrow-dewed eyes at the lone figure standing on the beach,

signing the air open-handed with a cross to speed them on their way.