"Minchia!Cazzo! De La Cosa, what have you been doing these days? Why does the ship first dock and then head out to sea? One moment towards the west, another towards the east, always spinning around aimlessly?…"
"Merda! And what's with the cannon fire? It's been sounding off erratically, could we encounter Berber pirates on the western coast of the Peninsula?!…"
The dim oil lamp was hung on the bulkhead of the hold. Though not bright, the light pierced the men's eyes in the lower deck, making them close their eyes. The narrow cabin was in chaos, a pungent and strong smell filled the air, making them want to cover their noses. This "Commander Suite" converted from a storeroom was quite awful! Even worse was the man with a pale face, as thin as a gaunt donkey, leaning against the filthy deck of the ship. He had only one ear, and his clothes, worn for three months, were speckled and emitted an indescribable odor…
