Tyler Brown
Stories From the Crow's Nest (6 of 10)

His head was half off leaning on his right shoulder, blood
cascading down his back.  So I polished it off with another
quick hack, and his crimson highlighted the deck.

This spectacle, this inhumane melee, was different than I had ever imagined.  I expected swashbuckling sword fights and booming artillery and yelling and cheering, and that swords and shot would make clean marks through bodies, not like stabbing an overfilled jelly pastry with a fork.  I never expected the mess it would cause, and the fact that it was much like a fight my pals and I would partake in down at the pubs, only with lethal weapons.  Seeing a man getting blindsided by knuckles when he wasn’t looking and watching him drop like a bag of bricks was disturbing enough.  Seeing a man get side swiped by a cutlass and watching pieces of skull splinter in the air was a completely different story.

Then it was over.  Just as quick as it had started, it stopped.  The whole thing didn’t last more than fifteen minutes.  The Ports were quickly polished off and the captain sent a boarding crew to pillage and plunder their packet. 

They went on torturing the enemy, and I climbed back up to the nest.  It was colder than normal, even though it was hot out.  I shivered as I looked down upon Tara.  Her body was damn near painted red.  I grabbed the spyglass and surveyed the Portuguese ship that was strangely dubbed La Ganadora, “The Winner.”  There was nobody to be seen on her, and then she exploded as one of our 24-pounders struck her powder kegs on the third deck.  I looked back upon Tara only to see the men laughing.   

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