"God..."
On the aft deck of "Admiral Fredris," Colonel Beresford's hand holding the binoculars was trembling uncontrollably.
The backdrop of Caracas Harbor had taken on glaring stripes of blood red.
Just a few minutes ago, the soldiers of the Portuguese Army were marching in tidy formation, arrogantly swarming towards the solitary fortress on the west side, but now it was impossible to distinguish whole figures from pieces of bodies.
They were mixed together on the beach, interspersed with caplock guns, military flags, and other things, like rubbish thrown down by God...
His aide carefully reminded him, "Commander, the Spaniards are clearly prepared. I suggest an immediate retreat."
"Damn it!"
Colonel Beresford saw several water columns rising from the sea not far to the south, knowing it must be the 32-pound cannons from the fortress bombarding this side.
