“Clear the gangways!” at last roared a voice from the crowd, and the boatswain bounced, almost breathless, to the barrel. In a few minutes, Yankee and Lankey were seated, and the little man first nailing one by a small bit of the bottom of his canvas trowsers to the barrel edge, and the other by the same contingency to the other, brought them fronting and about two feet apart. The two then proceeded to balance their fists, like rope-dancers’ poles, and fixing their eyes on each other, awaited the signal to begin. “Now, gemmen,” bellowed the boatswain, “clear the decks; and you, Tummas, for the honour of your messmates let’s have no shamming afore these ere Portugals and biled lobsters. Now, softly, my lads: when you sees me put my quid into my jaws—” the two men looked at each other; “heave in your broadsides.” The words were scarcely out, when in flopped the quid, and the combatants commenced hammering away at each other at what both, perhaps, thought hurricane rate. In the course of a few rounds Tummas fell, but caught by his breech, remaining hanging over the barrel edge; up however, he was re-seated, and at it they went again until Yankee fell also, and hung in the same manner. “Excellent!” roared the boatswain, “excellent prewentative, or my old aunt warnt a wirgin!” Yankee was soon himself, and they closed again, round after round, until the two champions hung powerless at the same moment. “Drawn fight!” bellowed the little man again; “both tough ones;” and he proceeded to separate with an enormous clasp knife the fixtures at their trowsers: all this while the crowd about them were convulsed with laughter, which was further increased by a hole in each of the combatant’s trowsers, which the boatswain had carefully cut large enough almost to admit the barrel. The two sailors, however, having recovered themselves, and with a growl tucked back the blue check, steered away to the wine-house.