A Pirate Flag for Monterey

By Lester del Rey

In 1819, the bustling colony of Monterey, California, faces an unexpected threat when Hypolite Bouchard, an Argentine corsair, sets his sights on the settlement's bountiful riches. Determined to strike a blow against Spain's New World possessions, Bouchard plans to sack and burn the town, claiming its gold, jewels, and food stores for Argentina.

Young Miguel "Mike" San Lucas Obanion y Boronda and his uncle, Captain Roger Obanion, learn of the impending attack while returning from the Orient aboard the merchant ship "Boston Belle." Racing against time to warn Monterey, their journey takes a perilous turn when they become prisoners of the pirates.

Based on true events, this gripping tale weaves together the lives of real and fictional characters, painting a vivid picture of California during a tumultuous period in history. As Mike and Captain Obanion struggle to break free and lead the resistance against Bouchard's invading forces, readers are transported to a land on the brink of change, where the actions of a few brave individuals can alter the course of history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thunderchild Publishing
• Release date: Jun 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9781667603988

Lester del Rey

Lester del Rey (June 2, 1915 – May 10, 1993) was an American science fiction author and editor. He was the author of many books in the juvenile Winston Science Fiction series, and the editor at Del Rey Books, the fantasy and science fiction imprint of Ballantine Books, along with his fourth wife Judy-Lynn del Rey.

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Table of Contents

A PIRATE FLAG FOR MONTEREY

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

DEDICATION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

A PIRATE FLAG FOR MONTEREY

LESTER DEL REY

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 1952 by Lester del Rey (renewed 1980).

Published by arrangement with Wildside Press LLC and John Gregory Betancourt.

All rights reserved.

Edited by Dan Thompson

A Thunderchild eBook

Published by Thunderchild Publishing

First Edition: May 1952

First Thunderchild eBook Edition: April 2015

Cover illustration by Howard Pyle.

DEDICATION

To

Helen Knight

CHAPTER 1

Fire in the Hold!

The wind was rising and the waves were growing rougher. The sails of the Boston Belle gave out a deep slapping sound as a sharp gust of wind filled them. The ship seemed to do a rough dancing step that rocked her masts from side to side. Then she settled down and began cutting through the Pacific toward California, leaving a boiling wake behind her.

The boy in the crow’s nest atop the mainmast lowered his telescope and braced himself more firmly against the rolling of the ship. Miguel San Lucas Obanion y Boronda hardly looked strong enough to carry his name. He was tall for his age — sixteen in another month — but almost too slim. Only the confidence on his alert, pleasant face showed that the slimness was matched by a wiry toughness that was better than any amount of heavy muscle. He brushed the light hair out of his blue-gray eyes, lifted the telescope, and again began scanning the horizon.

From the deck, busy sounds reached him, and he looked down once more. Men stood beside the capstan, leaning against the iron bars stuck in it; they were waiting for the mate’s orders to begin walking around it, winding it to lower the sails. His uncle, Captain Roger Obanion, stood studying the sails, figuring whether a strong wind was coming up that would make full sails dangerous.

Finally, the captain’s voice lifted, showing just a hint of worry. As she goes. And hold her east-east by sou’-east. He made a megaphone of his hands as soon as the orders had been repeated by the mate and helmsman and turned his face up to his nephew. Ahoy, Mike. What sign of the pirates?

No sign of a sail, sir, Mike called down. He swept the horizon to the west with his telescope again. Then, at a motion from his uncle, he came sliding down to the deck, while another sailor climbed up to replace him. It looks as if we’ve outrun him.

Don’t you be counting on it, Captain Obanion warned. He was a firm, heavy man, with a warm Irish face, thin, red hair, and huge, but gentle hands. "When we had a light wind, we could show his heavy Argentina a clean pair of heels. But he has the advantage when it starts to blow. Maybe, though, since we’ve lost him and night is coming on, we can reach Monterey before him. At least, it’s for that I’m hoping."

He turned into his cabin with Mike behind him. Captain Obanion dropped into a seat before his desk and reached for the ship’s log. The page was open at the latest entry, dated for that day, November 13, 1818. Now he began adding details, the goose-quill pen leaving words behind as firm and strong as he was. But his face grew more worried as he wrote.

"If it was just the Boston Belle, now, he said, I’d head a point north to fool him, and we’d be safe enough. But it’s Monterey that’s worrying me. Not knowing of Bouchard’s coming — the poor fools are just sitting ducks for any freebooter with guns who comes along. Lad, we’ve got to get to Monterey before he does — we both know that; and that means I’m bound to head straight there — right along the course he’ll be taking."

Monterey was Mike’s home, and his own worries had been growing for hours. Monterey held his mother and his friends. He had been thinking of that far more than of the ship. But Bouchard wouldn’t hurt us, would he, Uncle Roger? he suggested doubtfully. You’re flying the flag of the United States, and he’s supposed to be part of the Argentine navy. Argentina isn’t at war with the United States — just with Spain.

Captain Obanion sighed heavily. No, lad, Argentina wouldn’t sink a merchant ship of the United States — but Bouchard would. He was always a pirate, and no new flag will change that. Besides, he’ll be knowing we may warn Monterey, and that he cannot permit. If he sinks us all without a trace, who’s to know of it? He can go on and loot your Monterey in comfort then.

There was a knock on the door of the cabin, and a tall, lean-faced young man entered. Padre José Serra, distant relative of the priest who had first built missions in Upper California, was showing the same worry that the others felt. His ankle-length robe of dark wool seemed to hang on him unhappily, and his hands fumbled with the rosary that hung about his waist. He bowed his close-cropped head until the shaven circle on top showed baldly.

Captain Obanion shifted at once to Spanish that was nearly perfect, except for a faint Irish accent. Buenos días, Padre. Our luck is holding up. The Argentinean pirate ships are out of sight.

My prayers have been answered then, the young padre said, but the worry did not leave his face. God has confounded the pirates as he must confound all who wrongfully try to rebel against the will of the rightful King of Spain. I heard your words, Captain. Pirate or not, what difference? The traitors who have mocked the King with their talk of freedom and founding an independent republic are not to be trusted.

Obanion lifted an eyebrow. We Americans rebelled against an English King who didn’t do right by us, and I think God was on our side. It seems to me, you trust us too. I have no use for Bouchard and his men, but why shouldn’t Argentina throw off the heavy yoke of your King Philip’s mistreatment? Why shouldn’t every honest man or colony have freedom?

Because Spain is the mother of Argentina, as she is of Alta California and Mexico. Without the wise rule from the mother land, we would be nothing; we would have no law or peace, only savagery and chaos!

Sure, now! Obanion spoke in English, then switched back to Spanish. Wise rule, indeed! Your missions are taxed until you nearly starve. You’re forbidden to trade with outsiders, and you padres have been forced to smuggle goods — against the law of your King, too — to such vessels as mine. Your colonists have been picked from the criminals of Mexico City, your soldiers are unpaid, and Spain cares nothing for you, except to take your riches and laugh at your troubles.

A misunderstanding. When the King learns the facts … Padre Serra began.

But Mike was no longer listening. It was an old argument he had heard often before. He knew they were talking only to try to forget the present troubles.

The long night and morning of fearing seizure by Bouchard’s two ships had left no time for sleeping, and he was too tired to listen to the argument. It was still several hours before mealtime, and his eyes were too heavy to keep open. He stood up quietly, with a questioning look at his uncle. When Captain Obanion nodded, Mike went out of the cabin to his own little one across the passage.

But when he was stretched out on his bunk, sleep would not come. Now that they were so near Monterey and his mother, he was excited, even without the pirates.

As a boy, he had never even heard of Monterey. Mike’s life had been spent between Boston and Mexico City, so that he spoke English and Spanish with equal ease — as well as a little French the padres had taught him in school. Then, five years ago, when his Irish mother returned from a visit to her old Boston home aboard her brother’s ship, the Boston Belle, Mike’s Spanish father had announced that they were moving from Mexico City to Monterey on a mission for the Governor of Mexico. Captain Obanion had heard of the rich trade in sea-otter skins between Monterey and China. While they made ready, he worked his ship down South America, through the dangerous passage around the Horn, and picked them up at a Pacific port to carry them to their new home.

Monterey had become their real home almost at once, and they had no wish to return to Mexico. Even when