The Nancy’s Last Breath

The Nancy was not a fighter, no rows of guns. Not a flagship

meant to scare anyone. She carried gunpowder, shotbread, the things

that keep an army breathing. That made her worth chasing. Red coats drove

us down the coast, forced us where the water turns thin and neat.

We ran her aground on purpose, let the hull bite sand, let her look

finished. What stayed aboard stayed for a reason. I volunteered to

stay near. No speech, no argument. Just a slow fuse and the

weight of knowing. They came rowing in like the work was done. Laughing,