The Angel's Command

with the same brush. One pirate's the same as another to a privateer or navy cap'n—they'd hang us all!'

Ben looked askance at Mallon. 'Surely they wouldn't hang us?'

The buccaneer laughed grimly. 'Of course they would, the law's the law. There's no such thing as a good pirate. We're

all gallows bait. Those privateers are the worst—they're nought but pirates like us, with a letter o' marque to make their

crimes legal. Have ye ever seen a pirate hung, lad?'

Ben shook his head hastily. 'Never, have you?'

Mallon nodded. 'Aye, one time I was ashore in the Bahamas without a ship. I saw a pirate, man named Firejon,

executed by order of the governor. 'Twas a fancy affair. All the ladies an' gentry turned out in their coaches to witness

it. I stood in the crowd. Firejon was a bad 'un—there was a big price on his head.

'British Royal Navy had sunk his ship an' brought him ashore in chains. Some said hangin' was too good for Firejon,

'cos of his terrible crimes. So they flogged him first, then sat him in a cell for two days on bread and water. There they

gave him a rope, so he could make a noose for his own neck. I tell ye, the hanging 'twas an awful sight to see. The

governor refused to let Firejon wear chains or manacles.'

Ben was fascinated and horrified at the same time. 'Why was that?'

Mallon pursed his lips. 'So he wouldn't hang quickly with the weight of 'em to pull him. down. A local preacher wrote

out a poem that they made Firejon read aloud from the scaffold afore they turned him off. I can still remember that

poem word for word. Would ye like to hear me say it, Ben?'

Without waiting for a reply, Mallon launched into the verse.

'Come all ye mothers' sons who sail the sea,

Attend to this last tale that I will tell.

Embark not on a life of piracy,

'Tis but a dreadful trip which ends in hell.

Those honest ships you plunder, loot and sink,

Good vessels at your mercy, which you wreck,

For gold to waste, in taverns where ye drink,

Will one day drop the noose about your neck.

For once I was a wicked buccaneer,

I scorned the laws of man and God on high,

But now, with none to weep or mourn me here,

Upon this gallows I am bound to die.

Take warning now by my untimely end,

A judgement day must come to everyone.

Too late for me my evil ways to mend,

O Lord have mercy now my days are done!'

Mallon paused for effect, then continued. 'Then the soldiers set up a roll upon their drums ...'

Suddenly Ben felt queasy. Grasping a ratline, he swung out of the crow's nest and began climbing down. 'I think I've

heard enough, thanks!'

Mallon brought the telescope up to his eye and peered aft. 'Sail abaft, Cap'n. I think 'tis a Greek man-o'- war!'

Ben felt far more frightened than he had at sighting the Barbary corsair. Suddenly he knew why Raphael Thuron

wanted to give up being a pirate and live peacefully ashore.

Ned looked up from the remains of his mutton bone. 'I thought you were used to shipboard life, mate. You look

seasick to me. Here, Cap'n, come and take a peep at this boy!'

Thuron had not heard Ned, but he saw that Ben was pale and unsteady. The Frenchman threw an arm about the boy's

shoulders. 'What ails ye, shipmate?'

Ben tried to straighten himself up. 'I'll be alright, sir.'

Thuron glanced up at the man in the crow's nest and back to Ben. 'Hah, you've been listening to that sack of woe and

misery. I'll wager he told ye all about a pirate hanging. Did he recite his favourite poem, too?'

Ben wiped a forearm across his sweat-beaded forehead. 'Aye, Cap'n, he did, it was a dreadful thing—'

'Rubbish!' Thuron interrupted the boy. 'He made it all up from gossip that he's heard. Take no notice of Misery

Mallon. How he ever got to be a buccaneer I'll never know. They say he was a preacher once, but the congregation

banished him for stealing money from the offertory box. I'd have flung him overboard long ago, but he'd frighten the

fishes with his tales of horrible pirate executions!'

Ben managed a smile. 'But what about the Greek Navy vessel?'

Ned was standing with his paws on the rail, watching the approaching ship. Thuron scratched fondly behind the dog's

ears. 'You leave that to me an' Ned. We'll take care of it, won't we, fellow?'

The dog nodded his head as he contacted Ben by thought. 'Aye, don't worry, Ben, I'll take off my cutlass, hide my

brass earrings and cover up all these tattoos. They'll think I'm just a harmless old cabin hound!'

Ben tugged at his dog's wagging tail. 'Good idea. No one will ever know you're Naughty Ned, terror of the high seas!'

The Greek ship was named the Achilles. Smart as a new pin, it was rigged out with even more guns than a privateer

and carried archers as well as musketeers. They lined the decks, all hands fit and ready for action. The Achilles stood

off, broadside to the Marie, cannon loaded and pointing right at her.

Thuron hailed the captain in a world-weary voice. 'What d'you want, bothering honest merchants? Aren't there

enough pirates and rascals to chase?'

The Greek captain, who wore a white linen kilt and a long blue stocking cap, replied in excellent French. 'A

merchantman, eh? What cargo do you carry, sir?'

Thuron threw him a disgusted glance. 'None. We were boarded and robbed by a Spanish pirate. Woven cane chairs,

that's what the villain took, a full cargo of them. May his bottom get splinters in it every time he sits down, curse

him!'

The Greek captain laughed. 'Pirates will steal anything, sir. You were lucky to escape alive. So you have nothing

aboard?'

The Frenchman gave an eloquent shrug. 'Nothing, Captain, you can come and see for yourself.'