The whole waterfront heard the challenge. Stores were deserted to
witness the imminent fight.

The dark-faced captain ascended the gang-plank, and walked to the
forecastle head, where the mate was directing the making taut a line.

"Now," said the skipper, a foot from the mate, "knock!"

The mate hesitated. That would be a crime; he would go to jail and
the captain would be delighted.

The master taunted him:

"Knock my block off! Touch my block, and I'll whip you so your mother
wouldn't know you, you dirty, drunken, son of a sea-cook!"

The mate looked at him angrily, but uncertainly. He heard the
laughter and the cheers of the bystanders on the quay and in the
embowered street. He looked down at the deck, and he caught sight of
a capstan-bar, which he gazed at longingly. Any blow would send him
to prison, but why not for a sheep instead of a lamb?

He hesitated, and lifted his eyes to the black brow of the skipper,
lowering within touch.

"Make fast your line about that cannon!" said the master, sharply.

The sailors waited joyfully for the fray, and the Raratonga stevedores
on other vessels stopped their work. But nothing happened.