Belem itself is about two miles from Lisbon, but contiguous to it, or, as the suburbs of London are to the city. I was here, as it were, quite at my ease; and usually spent my time rambling about the quays. The port was thronged with shipping, bringing troops and stores from England, and if I recollect rightly, the ‘Hibernia,’ the ‘Caledonia,’ and the ‘Britannia,’ and other ships of war lay in the bay; at all events, we constantly intermixed with the sailors, and were mostly coupled with them; some recognising old friends—town-mates; and others, nearer and dearer ties, and forming new links and acquaintances; this the peculiarity of our situations naturally tended to strengthen, fighting as we were in the same cause, though on different elements. One day, however, I remember being present at a regular row in a wine-house, between an American and a Lancashire man. They both belonged to the same ship, and from what I could understand, were very quarrelsome fellows, and the most unfair fighters on board. The Yankee was from Kentucky, and had a precious knack of “gouging” as they termed it, or, screwing his finger into the side locks of his opponent, and so with his thumb poking his eyes out. One or two on board had been “jockied” in this way. The Lancashire man, alias “Tummas,” alias “Lankey,” who had nearly lost one eye by a splinter at Trafalgar, seemed unwilling to risk the loss of the other in any encounter with him. “But,” said he, “I tell you what, you bl—d cowardly sea sarpent, if it warnt that I fear’d your fingering this ’ere solitary blinker o’ mine, I’d dust your Yankee jacket for you.” The “gouger,” however, despite the confession, though ready for a scrimmage, had some inward dread also, and seemed to dislike altogether the hazard of being bit, slobbered, and perhaps kicked to a jelly. The Englishman’s friends, nevertheless, came to a council of war; and it was agreed at last, that though ashore, they should thump it out “ship fashion.” “For you know,” said a short, fat, big-whiskered, little sailor, who, I believe, was the boatswain, “I’m d—d if they can kick, scratch, gouge or bite, when they hangs by their starn sheets.” It was settled, therefore, that they should have it out on a barrel. A butt big enough to hold the rations of a whole division, was soon procured of the Patrone, and the little man bolted to the boats for some large nails and a hammer. The barrel meantime, was rolled out to the centre of the quay, and to keep it steady, settled longways between two heaps of stones. Meanwhile the two combatants could scarcely be kept from each other, till the “little-whiskers” returned.