John Drake - Skull and Bones

"The law must have him!" he cried, pointing at McLonarch. "He's bloody murder! He's anarchy and civil war!" He appealed to their patriotism: "You may be outlaws, but you're still Englishmen! Surely you care for your own land? Surely you don't want -"

But they howled him down. They hated him for what he was, and besides they weren't all Englishmen, and he had no gift of speech.

McLonarch saw that his time was come. He caught Tom Allardyce's eye and nodded. Allardyce nodded back, and began to yell and shout that McLonarch should be heard. Allardyce was consumed with passion for the cause that pulsed in his blood, and his fervent, near-religious conviction was the drum roll and fanfare for what was to come. Thus McLonarch stepped forward, tall and ascetic. Though he faced the mass of heavily armed men alone and unarmed, he remained serene in his dignity and charisma.

His eyes swept over them in such a way that every man present felt that he personally was being addressed. He raised his hands above his shoulders, and a silence fell that was so complete every creak of the ship could be heard, and every chuckle of water under her bow. He stood tall, he took a breath…

He hadn't spoken a word and already they were gaping.

His voice, when it came, was majestic.

It rang with beauty and resonance.

It was poetic and solemn.

It was magnificent.

If he'd read them a cockle boat's bill of lading they'd have been entranced. But he offered infinitely more than that. He spoke of riches in this life, and salvation in the next. He made them laugh, he made them cry, he led them dancing down the flowery path towards…

Even the Protestants were welcome. Even they might be saved, if only they followed him. By the time he'd finished they were hoisting a noose to the yard-arm for Norton, screaming defiance in Long John's face… and threatening to hang him too.

Three bells of the middle watch 6th April 1753 Aboard Bounder The Atlantic

In the dark, heaving night, Mr Braddock the musician – he who knew Flint for what he was – found it hard to see who was waiting for him on the fo'c'sle. Bounder was well named, for while she was extremely fast, no man would have called her comfortable. So Braddock hung on to the pinrails when he could, and staggered from one handhold to another when he couldn't, and tried not to notice the enormous gleaming waves that rose and sank on either side of the rushing ship.

"Ah!" he thought, seeing a wet, glistening figure crouched by the foremast. He glanced behind and around himself. There must be lookouts in the tops, and men at the helm, but he couldn't see any of them: only the sodden decks and whatever tackles and gear he'd got his hands on at any given moment.

"Wheeeeeep!" A soft whistle came from the dark figure. Braddock waved his arm. The figure waved back. He got closer… and closer… with the ship working under his feet, and himself trembling all the while, for he'd never become much of a seaman, and tonight he was afraid of perils worse than the sea.

"Mr Braddock!" said the figure.

"Welles?" said the musician.

"Aye, sir!"

Reassured, he got himself right next to Welles, who was one of the marines, a straight and decent fellow who detested Flint as much as Braddock did, and who had promised to share information that would bring the villain to justice: information to be imparted at this secret meeting. Braddock looked at Welles's face. The marine appeared nervous and kept glancing about, which was hardly surprising.

"Did anyone see you come forrard?" asked Welles.

"No," said Braddock, and the marine looked over his shoulder and groaned. Braddock had a sudden moment of fright. Why wouldn't Welles look him in the eye? What if… "Uuuuch!" said Braddock. "Uch! Uch! Uch!" And his eyes popped and his face darkened and his tongue stuck out, and he kicked and fought with the superhuman strength that nature gives to a man who is being strangled.

But it did him no good. The silent figure that had risen behind him had thrown a two-foot length of log-line over Braddock's head, hands crossed to form a loop of it, and a neat wooden toggle made fast to each end of the line. With the toggles gripped firmly in two strong hands, Braddock's efforts to free himself served only to throttle him all the quicker, the thin line crushing his larynx and trachea, and biting deep into flesh to nip the great pumping vessels that fed the brain.

"Ah!" said Flint softly, as Braddock suddenly went limp and hung heavily in the embrace of the cord. It looked as if a sorely troubled heart had given up the struggle and stopped beating. But Flint hung on, just to be sure, just to be safe and only let Braddock fall when his arms could take the strain no more.

Flint looked up. He saw Welles's face and almost laughed. Mr Welles had proved susceptible to an offer of gold, but now he'd seen actual murder, he was clearly regretting it.

"Quick!" said Flint. "Over the side with him!"

"Over the side?"

"Yes! Or perhaps we should take him home to his mother? What do you think?"

Welles groaned again, but set to, and with Flint's help heaved Braddock over the side. The dark body went in without a splash.

"Now, follow me," commanded Flint. "You must be paid!"

"Aye-aye, sir," said Welles, cheering up at the prospect, and the two men groped forward to the bowsprit that stood out over the white water as it gushed and foamed and threw up a constant heavy wetting. In the dim starlight, their slick-wet, tar- coated garments gleamed like sea-lions, and they hung on hard, for the ship's motion was especially severe right up at the bow.

"Come closer," said Flint. "I don't want to shout!"

"Aye-aye, sir."

"No – closer!"

Welles came right next to Flint so that their heads were almost touching. Then: "Back off a little," said Flint. "Give us room."

"Us, Cap'n?"

"Us!" said Flint as Billy Bones's cord flickered over Welles's head, and that straight and decent fellow began his choking. He sprayed spittle in all directions and – being a man with horny fingernails – he clawed blood all round the line that bit into his flesh as he shook with mighty convulsions. But like Mr Braddock he soon fell silent, and Billy Bones dropped him over the bow to be pounded, scraped and over-ridden by the speeding ship.

After their exertions, Flint and Bones crouched silent by the bowsprit for a while. Then Flint threw his strangling-line into the sea and motioned for Bones to do the same.

"Come!" said Flint, when he'd got his breath back, for even he didn't strangle a man entirely without disturbance to his inner peace. As for Billy Bones, he was drowning in a whirlpool of horror and guilt, and his hands shook like a drunkard's.

The two men groped their way back to the small quarterdeck, where the watch was on duty, having seen nothing and heard nothing, for the night was dark and the sea was loud. The watch saluted Flint, and he acknowledged them. Then Captain Flint and Lieutenant Bones straightened their backs – as British officers should – and went to stand beside the weather rail.

"Well, Lieutenant," said Flint, "that removes the lesser threat. And I have taken measures to ensure that the greater one stays nicely asleep."

"How's that, Cap'n?"

"I'm dosing Mr Povey with laudanum… to ease his pain." "Ah!"

"But I think we must now face the truth."

"Truth, Cap'n?"

"We are bound for England, Billy-boy; I can enter two men as 'lost over the side' in the ship's books, but not many more. We must keep up the pretence of being in the king's service, or we'll find ourselves back in irons again." He shook his head regretfully. "Alas, not all aboard are completely stupid!"