Everything was lost at sea. His beloved ship, which he called home, his crew mates, his Captain, cargo, belongings, trinkets, and any acquired loot from other wrecks. Sure, many called them scavengers, pirates, smugglers, sea vultures, Vagabonds, Corsairs, sea dregs, vile buccaneers. However they worked as privateers, scavengers, rescuers, fishermen, seasonal Whalers, and escorts. Now that was all gone. It was just him in his raggedy, torn, wet clothes. His tricorn hat still rested on his head. Alone on a piece of the ship he once called home wielding nothing but an oar to paddle with, hunt with, or to fend off sea predators with. Now he was a castaway alone in the middle of the sea. The events of what happened ran together in his mind. A strong series of waves, dangerous storm, winds that picked up in the wrong time of the day, and season. Such power of nature sent the ship spinning in a whirlpool whilst getting hit by waves and debris from other floating wreckage. In the waters were plenty of fish to kill and eat. For two days he did this until a small creature bigger than the other fish circled his floating craft. At first it appeared to be an overgrown fish fishermen would find, but instead it was a small hammerhead shark looking for food. Prepared to fight off this predator of the sea he raised his oar to strike down on it. He missed a few times but struck its fin barely doing much harm. The intent was to send a message to keep it away from him. He was not going to be a mean today.
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