On the deck of the Black Thorn, five or six sailors surrounded Arthur with curved swords, but they looked at each other, none daring to step forward.
Arthur took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood off his sword.
He tossed the handkerchief aside and asked, "Where is Fred?"
At his words, the sailors exchanged looks; none spoke, but all glanced towards the wooden door leading to the ship's hold.
Arthur nodded slightly, "Good."
As he spoke, a volley of musket fire erupted from behind him, courtesy of the sniggering marines offering their firepower support.
Through the thick white smoke, Arthur's footsteps moved past one body after another, while on either side of the deck, members of the Black Thorn's crew knelt down, clasping their hands over their heads, disarmed.
Arthur approached the cabin door, not bothering to push it open with his hands but instead drawing the two flintlock pistols from his waist and firing rapidly at the wooden door.