There was a painful cut above my ear, most likely caused by a flying splinter. I could not see out of my left eye, and I reached up expecting the worst to find that I merely needed to wipe a clot of blood from the lid. Fiercely armed men rushed about, blood flowed from the scuppers, spars were shattered and splintered, a mast and sail had crashed onto the foredeck, and a score of wounded and dead were scattered about. There were muffled cries and a cold internal voice told me, Your hearing is nearly gone from standing too close to a twelve-pound cannon, and those are cries of the wounded, and when you open your eyes you will wish you hadn't. I awoke to the slaughterhouse smell of blood and the sulfur stink of gunpowder. 1 The Author finds himself at the mercy of dire and bloody circumstance.
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