"That is the fellow, he who pulls the oars," said Captain Bramble to his
surgeon.

"He must be a vulgar chap, and pulls those instruments as though bred to
the business."

"Not so very vulgar, either," said the other; "the fellow has seen the
world and has his notions of honor, and knows how to behave, that is
plain enough."

"Egad, he shoots that skiff ahead like an arrow; the fellow could make
his fortune as a ferryman," continued the surgeon, facetiously.

"Give way, lads, give way," said the English captain, impatiently, to
his men, as he saw that the skiff would reach the point long before he
got there himself.

A short half-hour found the two rivals standing opposite to each other
at some twelve paces distance, each with a pistol in his hand. The
preliminaries had been duly arranged between the surgeon and Don
Leonardo, the latter of whom had not ceased up to the last moment to
strive and effect a reconciliation. Not that he dreaded bloodshed, it
was a pastime to him, but because it jarred so manifestly with his
interests to have his friend run the risk of his life. Both of the
principals were silent. Captain Bramble was exceedingly red in the face,
and evidently felt the bitterness of anger still keenly upon him; while
the open, manly features of his opponent wore the same placid aspect as
had characterized them while he leaned over the side of his own ship, or
gazed idly into the rippling waters that laved the dark hull.