"Boss! It's bad! Really bad! The Natives' arrows are poisoned! Six Sailors have been poisoned, and two are already dead!…"
"What?! How can that be? The Natives' arrows are so light, at most they scratch a bit of skin—how could that kill a man?…"
The Portugal sailing ship trimmed her sails, turned toward the open ocean, and steered away from the Caribbean tribes' lair, Flower Island of Martinique. As the sails filled and the convoy began to pick up speed, the Caribs' canoes gradually fell behind. Soon their shouting dropped aft, slowly pulling away toward the East, until it vanished at the eastern horizon.
Yet just as Bruno finally breathed out in relief, he heard the urgent report from Sailor Chief Haloduo. Shocked and furious, he thought of those Natives' thin arrows that had just been whistling about—one had nearly grazed his neck… He drew a deep breath, glared at Haloduo's sweating round face, and barked.
