"Merda! Damn it! Bastards! Mongrels! A pack of dogshit shat out by dirt dogs! You actually dared betray me and seize my authority!..."
"Minchia! When I get back to Seville, when I bring news of the new route and go before the holy Queen... I'll expose every bit of your shamelessness, your vileness, your ugliness! I'll hang every last one of you!... Just you wait! I, the wise, brave, and powerful Expedition Commander Columbus, will one day chop off the limbs and heads of you traitors and feed them to my dogs!... Watch as you're dragged out!..."
It was nearly evening. Dull clouds came rolling in from the sea, blotting out the dispirited sun and bringing with them the salty tang of the Caribbean. Scattered raindrops fell off and on, soaking the Sailors' clothes. That damp, clinging fatigue felt like the two defeats from not long ago, leaving everyone listless and low.
On the entire Clark carrack, only the stubborn "Commander" Columbus kept roaring and shouting. He strode back and forth across the ship, bellowing curses like an angry, braying, mule-headed donkey.
"Merda! What kind of dogshit backup lateen is this? Short as that thing of the Pinzon Brothers!... Pedro, adjust it again. This mizzen is too short; there's no need to raise it that high!..."
"Minchia! Why the hell is it raining all of a sudden again? The weather in these waters is just like Pinzon's mother after the natives screwed her till she cried, sobbing and sniffling without end! So damned annoying!... Arana, spread out the sailcloth and catch more rainwater. Save it to drink!..."
"Yes... brother-in-law..."
"Lord bless us! Get to work..."
On the former flagship Santa Maria, boatswain Arana, listless and weak, took pilot Pedro with him to adjust the new sail on the mizzenmast, then