At this moment the bosun's deep voice was heard outside:
"Turn-to, men, an' get them moorin' wires rolled up and the big lines below."
Slowly they began to shuffle out of the foc's'le.
"Snakes!" roared the black-browed mate, coming forward in three springs; "is this a funeral procession, or what?"
Armed with a belaying-pin, he sprang to the door of the foc's'le and showered down blows upon the head and shoulders of each man in turn.
"Jump, you packet-rats, jump!" he bellowed.
"Is it jump ye want?" cried Pat, and came out flying with one mighty leap.
Down went the pair of them, and this was the signal for the fight to begin.
As Pat and Black Davis struggled in furious embrace on the deck, a big red-headed English man came charging to Pat's assistance.
"H'it's slaughter from the word go!" screeched the cockney, and with the fiery tanglefoot tingling through his veins he dashed madly upon the second mate, a short but tough-built block of a man called Barker.