The Irishman had taken a fancy to the boots of the wretched Spaniard who was ill, and was now wearing them.
"Irishman," said Salve, as the other passed him, when they were lounging about after dinner, "that is an awkward pair of boots you have on there.
If you take my advice you'll return them to their owner, or--I shall have to pull them off you." The Irishman glared at him, but turned pale at the last threat; and Salve's eye seemed to light up at the prospect of carrying it out.

The former made the mistake of preparing to defend himself instead of taking the aggressive, and in a moment was knocked down and stunned for an instant by a couple of unexpected blows from Salve, who flew at him like a tiger-cat.

The crew gathered round.

The Irishman seized a heavy iron pump-handle as a weapon, and Salve a handspike; and Salve kept his word.
He pulled the boots off as the other lay senseless on the deck, and took them down to the Spaniard.
In point of physical strength, Salve was far from being the equal of many of these men, who, he knew very well, were now only looking out for an occasion to get the better of him.

His only chance was to take the initiative on all occasions, and to seem the most reckless and the most careless of life, and the most eager to fight of them all.