lingo that it was enough to frighten one. The convict was the worse
for liquor; indeed the Mowree had been tippling also, and before we
knew it, a blow was struck by Ben, and the two men came together like
magnets.

The Ticket-of-Leave-Man was a practised bruiser; but the savage knew
nothing of the art pugilistic: and so they were even. It was clear
hugging and wrenching till both came to the deck. Here they rolled
over and over in the middle of a ring which seemed to form of itself.
At last the white man's head fell back, and his face grew purple.
Bembo's teeth were at his throat. Rushing in all round, they hauled
the savage off, but not until repeatedly struck on the head would he
let go.

His rage was now absolutely demoniac; he lay glaring and writhing on
the deck, without attempting to rise. Cowed, as they supposed he was,
from his attitude, the men, rejoiced at seeing him thus humbled, left
him; after rating him, in sailor style, for a cannibal and a coward.

Ben was attended to, and led below.

Soon after this, the rest also, with but few exceptions, retired into
the forecastle; and having been up nearly all the previous night,
they quickly dropped about the chests and rolled into the hammocks.
In an hour's time, not a sound could be heard in that part of the
ship.

Before Bembo was dragged away, the mate had in vain endeavoured to
separate the combatants, repeatedly striking the Mowree; but the
seamen interposing, at last kept him off.