“We thought it was that, but we had to wait nearly another hour afore the two came aboard, to make sure. There was a difference in the way they came aboard, too, from that of the mate. _They_ didn’t make no noise, and the fust thing we knew of their coming aboard was seeing a bare, black foot waving feebly at the top of the fo’c’s’le ladder feelin’ for the step. “That was Bob. He came down without a word, and then we see ’e was holding another black foot and guiding it to where it should go. That was Bill, an’ of all the ’orrid, limp-looking blacks that you ever see, Bill was the worst when he got below. He just sat on a locker all of a heap and held ’is ’ead, which was swollen up, in ’is hands. Bob went and sat beside ’im, and there they sat, for all the world like two wax figgers instead o’ human beings. “‘Well, you done it, Bill,’ ses Joe, after waiting a long time for them to speak. ‘Tell us all about it.’ “‘Nothin’ to tell,’ ses Bill, very surly. ‘We knocked ’im about.’ “‘And he knocked us about,’ ses Bob, with a groan. ‘I’m sore all over, and as for my feet—’ “‘Wot’s the matter with them?’ ses Joe. “‘Trod on,’ ses Bob, very short. ‘If my bare feet was trod on once they was a dozen times. I’ve never ’ad such a doing in all my life. He fought like a devil. I thought he’d ha’ murdered Bill.’ “‘I wish ’e ’ad,’ ses Bill, with a groan; ‘my face is bruised and cut about cruel. I can’t bear to touch it.’ “‘Do you mean to say the two of you couldn’t settle ’im?’ ses Joe, staring. “‘I mean to say we got a hiding,’ ses Bill. ‘We got close to him fust start off and got our feet trod on. Arter that it was like fighting a windmill, with sledge-hammers for sails.’ “He gave a groan and turned over in his bunk, and when we asked him some more about it, he swore at us. They both seemed quite done up, and at last they dropped off to sleep just as they was, without even stopping to wash the black off or to undress themselves. “I was awoke rather early in the morning by the sounds of somebody talking to themselves, and a little splashing of water. It seemed to go on a long while, and at last I leaned out of my bunk and see Bill bending over a bucket and washing himself and using bad langwidge. “‘Wot’s the matter, Bill?’ ses Joe, yawning and sitting up in bed. “‘My skin’s that tender, I can hardly touch it,’ ses Bill, bending down and rinsing ’is face. ‘Is it all orf?’ “‘Orf?’ ses Joe; ‘no, o’ course it ain’t. Why don’t you use some soap?’ “‘_Soap_,’ answers Bill, mad-like; ‘why, I’ve used more soap than I’ve used for six months in the ordinary way.’ “That’s no good,’ ses Joe; ‘give yourself a good wash.’