From the acclaimed author of The Winter Family , a swash-buckling adventure from piracy's Golden Age and a deft political allegory for our troubled times. Treasure Island meets Lord of the Flies . In 1721, when the most notorious pirates are either dead or on the run, Jimmy Kavanagh, who sailed with Blackbeard, decides to pull together a "Company of Gentleman of Fortune" for one last "Adventuring Cruise" that will set them all up for life. All begins well: the pirates sail across the Atlantic and sack Cape Coast Castle, looting it of chests of gold ill-gotten from the slave trade. But before Kavanagh can lead them on, he sickens, unleashing a drastic series of power struggles among the company. As further victories transform them from the hunters to the hunted, the pirates descend into mutiny, show trials, assassination and tyranny as they flee from their pursuers and struggle against the seas. Full of epic sea battles and storms, peopled with characters worthy of Mutiny on the Bounty , Jackman's pirate voyage is also an object lesson in how political systems degrade as the pirates, who set out as a band of brothers, are powerless to prevent the erosion of the norms and values that hold their Company together. Where they end will shock you. But given our own times, it might not surprise you. “ The Braver Thing  delivers enough lively incident to satisfy the most jaded appetite for skulduggery on the high seas.” — The Stratford Beacon Herald “Swashbuckling adventure ahoy! Treasure Island meets Lord of the Flies in this seafaring story of pirates, plundered loot and mutiny that is both a high-stakes story of piracy’s golden age and a political allegory for our times.” — The Globe and Mail “Five years after his acclaimed debut, The Winter Family— the Giller Prize-listed and Governor General Literary Award finalist is back with another bloody adventure of historical fiction that rings true to his masterful meditation on human nature, fractured societies and crumbling leadership.” — Guelph Today CLIFFORD JACKMAN's debut novel, The Winter Family , published in Canada, the US, France and Germany, was a finalist for the Governor-General's Literary Award for Fiction and longlisted for the Scotiabank Giller Prize. He lives in Guelph, with his wife, Cathy, and two children. Obed Coffin sat with his hand on the till and his eye on the sail. The launch slipped through the shadows of the tall masts of a man-of-war and beneath the barred windows of the fort, from which some prisoners shouted invective, and others called out for help, and still others sang: Did not you promise me That you would marry me They glided over the clear green water towards the pier, where the hangman erected tarry corpses encased in iron gibbets. Past the crowd of spectators, in the town, it was as if there was a carnival, drunk men wheeling, whores laughing, peddlers shouting, and music.  While the boat was being moored, the master tossed Coffin a canvas bag. “Count it, it’s all there,” he said. Coffin felt the coins in his hands, raised his eyes, and looked around the boat. The master did not meet his eye. None of the sailors objected to him being paid and discharged before the boat was unloaded; rather, they looked relieved. Coffin had served aboard three different merchant ships since his convalescence in the Cape Colony and so it had been every time. He knew (how he knew!) that he deserved their opprobrium, yet how dreadfully it stung, how terrible it was to know yourself a sinner, past redemption, how monstrous it was to be so alone. “My thanks,” Coffin said. He climbed the ladder and walked to shore. Behind him, the master crossed himself, and a sailor made a sign against the evil eye.  The sharp boys, who lurked in a school by the dock, noticed Coffin. A short, subdued fight took place. Once it was resolved, the victorious boy (a tall, thick lout with a cast in each eye) materialized before Coffin. “Hello sir, what do you need? Something to eat? Drink? A woman?” The boy turned his head to accommodate his crazy eyes and look over his prospect. Coffin wore a straw hat, a cloth shirt, duck trousers, no shoes. He was emaciated, except for his jutting stomach, and he was missing teeth. Ill luck radiated from him like heat. In his too-large eyes, nascent tears, wild grief, madness. “Good afternoon,” Coffin said, in a strong Nantucket accent. “A Quaker!” the boy said, regretting his reference to drink and women. “You must be hungry, Brother.” “Aye,” Coffin said. “Right this way,” the boy said. “You don’t want to eat down here, sir, they’ll cheat you, all the cheats are in town on account of all the hangings. They hang three or four a day, and it’s been going on for days, and it will go on for days to come. I don’t imagine you heard of the Governor’s victory?” The boy took Coffin by the hand, and he misliked its heat, its boniness, but prattled on. “Yes, Governor Rogers, him that banished the pirates. Well,