Cool Guy witnessed a brutal massacre.
More than two hundred captured laborers were driven forward by muskets and crossbows at their backs. A rope bound the ankles of every ten men together, preventing them from breaking free or running fast. They could only trudge forward in numb despair.
They could not stop, nor did they dare, because lead shot and arrows from behind would find anyone who stopped.
These wretches, draped in sacks or lacking even shirts and trousers, shivered in the cold spring wind as they shuffled stiffly forward.
The Restoration Army soldiers and officers arrayed in lines ahead showed them no pity or mercy either. The pikemen halted, and another rank of musketeers stepped forward, raised their weapons, and fired.
Amid crackling flashes of lightning, the "zombies" fell by the dozen. Some abruptly froze where they stood before crumpling to the ground; others toppled straight forward or backward like logs.
Death laughed wildly over the battlefield, raising his scythe and swinging it at the wretches, reaping more than twenty lives in a single stroke.
Being killed outright was a blessing. The less fortunate clutched their severed hands or feet, or stared down at the wounds blasted open in their bellies, rolling on the ground as they wailed and sobbed.
The numb captives finally snapped out of their stupor. Some tried to flee, but that was no easy feat.
The ropes binding their ankles were the first shackle. With only clubs in their hands and no sharp tools, the wretches could hardly undo those tight knots.
The few lucky enough to have hoes fared little better. A hoe was no knife. It worked well for digging earth and stone, but cutting through tough, water-soaked hemp rope as thick as a thumb was anything but easy.
Before the Restoration Army