And Blaker, who had never liked Simpson, laughed till he cried. "Are you willing to stake everything on your fightin' abilities, Mr. Simpson?" And when Simpson said "Aye" through his teeth, the admiral jumped down on the main-deck. Now, according to all precedents, the fight should have been long and arduous, with varying fortunes. But the admiral never regarded precedents, and inside of ten seconds Mr. Simpson was lying totally insensible under the spare topmast. To encounter the admiral's right was to escape death by a hair's-breadth, and it took Charles Simpson, Able Seaman (_vice_ Mr. Simpson, Chief Officer), two hours and a quarter to come to. "And I thot he could fight," said the disgusted skipper. "Come right up, Mr. What's-your-name; you're the man for me. There ain't no reason for you to trouble about my second mate, for Simpson could lay him out easy. All I ask of you is to work the whole crowd up good. And I don't care if you are an admiral, you are the right sort all the same. I guess that Simpson must have reckoned he struck a cyclone." And Blaker rubbed his hands. Like Simpson at the fight between the admiral and Knight, he did not know when he had enjoyed himself more. He improved the occasion by going below and getting far too much to drink, as was his custom. And the promoted admiral took charge of the deck. "Ability tells anywhere," said Sir Richard Dunn. "I didn't rise in the service for nothing. Ship me where you like, and I'll come to the top. If I don't take this hooker into New York as captain and master, I'll die in the attempt." He had quite come to himself and was beginning to enjoy himself. His natural and acquired authority blossomed wonderfully when he took on the new job, and as Blaker never swore, the admiral's gift of language was a great vicarious satisfaction to him. Wiggins accepted the situation without a murmur. Even Simpson himself bore no malice when his supplanter not only showed none, but after knocking the boson's head against a bollard, gave his place to the former mate. Though he kept the men working and got the last ounce out of them, none of them were down on him. "I tell you he's an admiral, sure," they said. "He's got all the ways of one, I own," said Bill, an old man-o'-war's man. "I spoke to an admiral myself once, or rather he spoke to me." "What did he say?" asked the rest of his watch. "He said," replied Bill proudly--"he upped and said, 'You cross-eyed son of a dog, if you don't jump I'll bash the ugly head off of you.' And you bet I jumped. Oh, he's all the ways of some admirals, he has." "Well, admiral or none," said the rest of the crowd, "things goes on pleasanter than they done when you was mate, Simpson." And Simpson grunted. "And he gets more work out of us than you done either, Simpson, for all your hammerin' of us."