The Yankee was from Kentucky, and had a precious knack of “gouging” as they termed it, or, screwing his finger into the side locks of his opponent, and so with his thumb poking his eyes out. One or two on board had been “jockied” in this way. The Lancashire man, alias “Tummas,” alias “Lankey,” who had nearly lost one eye by a splinter at Trafalgar, seemed unwilling to risk the loss of the other in any encounter with him.
“But,” said he, “I tell you what, you bl—d cowardly sea sarpent, if it warnt that I fear’d your fingering this ’ere solitary blinker o’ mine, I’d dust your Yankee jacket for you.”
The “gouger,” however, despite the confession, though ready for a scrimmage, had some inward dread also, and seemed to dislike altogether the hazard of being bit, slobbered, and perhaps kicked to a jelly. The Englishman’s friends, nevertheless, came to a council of war; and it was agreed at last, that though ashore, they should thump it out “ship fashion.”
“For you know,” said a short, fat, big-whiskered, little sailor, who, I believe, was the boatswain, “I’m d—d if they can kick, scratch, gouge or bite, when they hangs by their starn sheets.”
It was settled, therefore, that they should have it out on a barrel.
A butt big enough to hold the rations of a whole division, was soon procured of the Patrone, and the little man bolted to the boats for some large nails and a hammer.
The barrel meantime, was rolled out to the centre of the quay, and to keep it steady, settled longways between two heaps of stones. Meanwhile the two combatants could scarcely be kept from each other, till the “little-whiskers” returned.
“Clear the gangways!” at last roared a voice from the crowd, and the boatswain bounced, almost breathless, to the barrel. In a few minutes, Yankee and Lankey were seated, and the little man first nailing one by a small bit of the bottom of his canvas trowsers to the barrel edge, and the other by the same contingency to the other, brought them fronting and about two feet apart. The two then proceeded to balance their fists, like rope-dancers’ poles, and fixing their eyes on each other, awaited the signal to begin.
“Now, gemmen,” bellowed the boatswain, “clear the decks; and you, Tummas, for the honour of your messmates let’s have no shamming afore these ere Portugals and biled lobsters. Now, softly, my lads: when you sees me put my quid into my jaws—” the two men looked at each other; “heave in your broadsides.”
The words were scarcely out, when in flopped the quid, and the combatants commenced hammering away at each other at what both, perhaps, thought hurricane rate.