Gone was the young woman poetically commenting on beauty and war; instead, I was met with searching eyes with probing intelligence. “I want to know everything about you. I have lived a sheltered life, but you have seen and done so much. Tell me about where you grew up, tell me about your parents, tell me about your sons, tell me about life at sea, tell me about you.”

A successful ship captain in battle does not stand next to the wheel with his hands behind his back. I slipped on the bloody deck as I moved from one end of the ship to another, giving firing instructions as I shifted from gun to gun. I barked orders to be relayed to my flotilla. For hours I never stopped moving, encouraging my men and wreaking havoc on the enemy. Everywhere I went, I heard the sweet whoosh of balls shooting wide and the terrible smack of those hitting their target. A cannonball struck a man near me, covering me with blood and gore. I tried to wipe it off. The salty taste of another man’s blood always finds its way into your mouth.