“Certainly, Sir Philip; I have not the slightest objection to your getting into the boat,” replied Tom, stepping aside so that the baronet could pass, but still remaining between Clinch and the steps. “And that porter must carry my bag into the boat, and take it up to the hotel when he gets ashore,” continued Sir Philip haughtily. “I beg your pardon, Sir Philip; but the captain’s order is, that no one belonging to the steamer shall be allowed to go on shore,” interposed the officer of the deck. “Into the boat with you, porter!” cried the baronet, who was disposed to carry his point, though he was entirely willing to part company with Clinch, whom he regarded as an undesirable companion for the proposed lark. Clinch saw that his last chance was to make a rush into the boat, in which Lord Fillgrove had already seated himself. He made a desperate push to get by Tom Speers; but the officer promptly grabbed him by the collar, and crowded him back from the rail. “Let go of him, or I’ll break your bloody head!” exclaimed Sir Philip. “I should be sorry to strike a baronet; but, if you do, there will be two bloody and broken heads in this vicinity,” answered Tom quietly. “Mr. Clinch is an officer of the steamer, and he cannot leave her.” “But he shall leave her!” protested Sir Philip, blustering up to the officer of the deck. “I think not.--Winchell, pass the word for Mr. Shakings,” added Tom, addressing one of the watch who had come up to see what the matter was. “Pass the word for Mr. Shakings!” called Winchell, hailing the other seamen of the watch on the forecastle. “Now’s your time, Clinch!” shouted Sir Philip. “Into the boat with you before the big boatswain comes!” Clinch threw the carpet-bag upon the rail, and rushed upon Speers, intent upon crowding him out of the way. But Tom was stout, resolute, and self-possessed; and he easily flung his adversary back. But the Briton on the deck was excited; and he went in to assist the porter. He struck Speers a heavy blow in the face, while he was engaged with Clinch; but, as soon as the mutineer was disposed of, Tom turned his attention to the sprig; and, with a well-directed hit on the nose, sent him over backwards, with his prominent facial organ bathed in gore. The victory was certainly with Tom Speers so far. But Clinch had picked himself up during this diversion, and was about to leap on the rail, when Shakings grabbed him by the collar. “So you have got a new uniform, my beauty!” exclaimed the big boatswain, as he slung his prisoner back like a basket of bread. Sir Philip picked himself up; and he was the maddest baronet on the face of the Western Continent. He wanted to fight for revenge now rather than for the possession of Clinch. He was making a rush at Tom Speers, who stood ready for him, when Mr. Rimmer, attracted by the scuffle, came aft as fast as his slow-moulded nature would permit.