Now, you damned English whelp, remember that!" Before I even suspected what was coming, his unexpected action as swift as the leap of a poised tiger, he struck me fairly between the eyes with the butt of a pistol, and I went down sprawling onto the deck.

For a moment I seemed, in spite of the viciousness of the blow, to retain a spark of consciousness, for I knew he kicked me savagely with his heavy sea boots; I felt the pain, and even heard the words, and curses, accompanying each brutal stroke.
"You drunken dog! You whelp of a sea wolf! You English cur! Take that--damn you! And that! You'll not forget me for awhile, That's it--squirm, I like to see it.

When you wake up again, you'll remember Pedro Estada, How did that feel, you grunting pig?
Here, LeVere, Manuel, throw this sot into the forecastle.

Curse you, here is one more to jog your memory." The heavy, iron-shod boot landed full in my face, and every sensation left me as I sank limply back, bloody and unconscious..