Glass Hand

Sabre punch upside teh head. Inside the gunwales a sloppy wave cruised by roiling some flotsam. A bottle, inside of which was a small orange crab and the remains of a note careened by and disappeared over the side and into the sea.

Boot into the leg. The wooden one, so no hurt, no foul. However, a free chance to return the favor and dash the dastardly fellow to the deck. Where another wave sent small boxes, spliters of wood, coils of rope and that fine fellow rolling together and over the side and into the sea.

Grapeshot cutting the sails. Clearing what is left of the deck. Not much left of the deckhands. Not much left of the glass windows or navigation lights neither. Before another cannister comes sailing through the smoky air it is over the side into the water and onto the task of the swimming to the distant shore. A looking glass in one hand and a bottle in the other.