With his stone-headed club he struck the sword away, and he plunged his knife into Arana's breast.

He died, a brave man who had done his best at La Navidad.
Juan Morcillo and Gonzalo Fernandez and Diego Minas were slain.

I saw a lifted club and swerved, but too late.
Blackness and neither care nor delight.

Then, far off, a little beating of surf on shore, very far and nothing to do with anything.

Then a clue of pain that it seemed I must follow or that must follow me, and at first it was a little thin thread, but then a cable and all my care was to thin it again.