The Chilano was obdurate. Finding his voice at length, he swore by all the saints in South America that he would see our man in Jericho, or some even warmer locality, before he would give him a ha'penny. Springing to his feet, he ordered us all outside, threatening to call the _vigilantes_ to shift us if we did not go. "Gif me ze monai first; gif me ze monai," shouted Frenchy, spluttering with rage. "Or return to me ze artickeels." Seeing trouble looming large on the horizon, and remembering the captain's instructions and my promise, I stepped forward with the intention of taking it upon myself to come to an amicable settlement. I was too late, for Frenchy, beside himself with rage, reached forward and, laying violent hands upon Don Carlos's prominent nose, gave it a pull that made him squeak like a bos'n's pipe. At the same moment up jumped old Miguel, who had hitherto remained a silent observer, and seizing a stout malacca cane, loaded at one end, he brought it down with a crash on to Frenchy's skull. [Illustration: "LAYING VIOLENT HANDS UPON DON CARLOS'S PROMINENT NOSE, HE GAVE IT A PULL."] This was the signal for what followed. As the unfortunate seaman toppled to the floor, his face covered with blood, we five "Micronesias" made a forward rush. What else could we do? I am peaceably inclined, and would rather run a mile than fight a minute; but what Englishman could stand by and see a shipmate keel-hauled for standing up for his rights, without wanting to know the reason? Good intentions, captain's orders, my promises--they all blew away like a royal sheet in a breeze. With a "Come on, boys!" we got right down to business. The table, laden with glasses, cigars, and bottles, the chairs upon which we had been seated, as well as other sundries, instantly found a resting-place against the wall, all in a more or less complete state of dilapidation. While I and another fellow attended to Miguel and his wildly-swinging malacca cane, with the intention of rescuing Frenchy, the other three busied themselves with Don Carlos, who had now been reinforced by his man-of-all-work--a big, lumbering, evil-faced Chilano. The Frenchmen from the other ship formed the after-guard. They did not take any hand in the fight, and for that matter we did not blame them. Frenchy was our shipmate, not theirs. It was in our interests that he had got a cracked skull, and so we had a double right to punish his cowardly assailants. This, by the way, did not prove a very difficult job. They were cowards at heart, were these scoundrelly Chilanos. A short, sharp tussle, a few well-directed blows given with all an Englishman's zest, and we had Frenchy out of the mêlée, while, with a quick wrench, I possessed myself of the loaded cane.