A trim 18th century sailing vessel plowed steadily westward through the waves and swells of the mid-Atlantic Ocean. The year was 1730. The Scotch-Irish emigrants composing the entire passenger list, by now accustomed to the discomforts of sea travel, whiled away their hours. The children engaged in simple games, the women knitted and talked and the men strolled the deck leisurely or conversed in small groups. The crewmen went about their routine duties and the captain kept to the bridge.

The passengers had embarked in high spirits on their voyage to the new world, anticipating escape from religious and economic persecution and freedom to make their own destinies. Now, underneath the outward calm, there was a deepening cloud of suspicion and fear. Before leaving Northern Ireland, the emigrants had converted their entire possessions—homes, livestock, farm equipment and household effects—into gold specie. As this particular shipload of emigrants included men of above average wealth, several heavy kegs of gold sovereigns had been loaded aboard under the envious eyes of the captain and crew.

Now in mid-ocean, as the men strolled or lounged about the deck, there were whispers that a plot was afoot to seize the gold, possibly murder or maroon the passengers and divide the spoils among captain and crew. Curious actions of some of the sailors and a conjecture that even now the ship was off course added grounds for deep suspicions.

With the lives of their families in peril and their entire fortunes at stake, the men held a secret council. Convinced by now that the plot was real, the matter to be decided was whether to remain quiet and hope their lives would be spared when