"You scout round for another berth, Dutchy; this man here"--pointing to Broncho--"is going to have that bunk," said the rolling-stone coolly, as he seated himself on his big chest and began to fill a well-smoked briar. "You tink you am cock o' dis foc's'le. Wait, mine fine fellah, you see different bresently," growled the Dutchman, picking himself up slowly. But he took care to keep his distance from the muscular Britisher, and retired to the other end of the foc's'le, frowning ferociously as a general laugh arose at his discomfiture. Suddenly the deck seemed to lift slowly; then there was a sidelong lurch and a rattle of falling tin-ware, as plates and pannikins slid off chests and fell to leeward. A slight swell was beginning to make itself felt as the _Higgins_ neared the entrance of the Golden Gate. "The divil take you, ye rowlin' hooker," yelled Pat, as he dived after his pannikin. "Motion affect you, Broncho?" asked Jack. "My innards ain't presumin' none so far," replied the shanghaied cattleman calmly. "Barrin' it's some like the heavin' of an earthquake I once was in down San Laredo way, I ain't takin' no account of it"; and he took out a corncob pipe, cut a plug, and was soon puffing away quite at his ease. "That's _bueno_," went on Jack approvingly. "When we turn to you'll have to go aloft; it's a bit of a hard graft the first time, but it'll soon come as easy to you as branding calves." "If you-alls has to go up them rope-ladders, it's a cinch[2] that this here shorthorn'll be in on the deal, an' I'm willing to bet a stack o' blues I ain't none behind before the draw, neither. I ain't gettin' tangled up in my rope none as to this here climbin' game. I surmise it ain't none plumb easy, but if my old wall-eyed pinto can't pitch me into the heavenly vaults, it's a hoss on me if this here ship can." "I expect there'll be the usual trouble when we turn to," continued the Britisher. "Mind your luff, old son, and don't hit back, or they'll lay you out." "Do you-alls assert as how I'm to let that big hoss-thief come man-handlin' me without puttin' up some kind o' bluff." "That's about the size of it; you'll only get the worst of it if you do. Take my word for it. Watch my play and whirl a mighty small loop." At this moment the bosun's deep voice was heard outside: "Turn-to, men, an' get them moorin' wires rolled up and the big lines below." Slowly they began to shuffle out of the foc's'le. "Snakes!" roared the black-browed mate, coming forward in three springs; "is this a funeral procession, or what?" Armed with a belaying-pin, he sprang to the door of the foc's'le and showered down blows upon the head and shoulders of each man in turn. "Jump, you packet-rats, jump!" he bellowed. "Is it jump ye want?" cried Pat, and came out flying with one mighty leap. Down went the pair of them, and this was the signal for the fight to begin.