"Che minchione! I told you not to leave the ship, you bunch of fools insisted on going down! I told you that this native tribe is tricky, to trade properly... But none of you listened to me, insisting on starting a fight! Now you can't even win, getting your asses kicked by the natives! Ha! You sniveling cowards, even a woman's 'sheath' is tougher than your 'swords'!"
The night was dim, and the torches flickered away. Three sea ships, with their sails half full, sailed towards the narrow rivermouth. The fleet landed and fought for half a day, failing to raid the native tribe, losing six sailors, and injuring several others. The morale of the entire fleet had noticeably dropped, even the flag of Castile at the ship's bow was weakly swaying.
