No opposition being made by the officers, the crew at once formed a ring round the two combatants. A few of the more generous sympathized with the “little one,” as they called Harry; but with the majority there was no particular sentiment, except a desire to see the fight, with no preference for either party. Prominent in the ring was Tom Patch, Harry’s friend. His honest, bronzed face was shadowed by anxiety, for he, like the rest, had no doubt that Harry would get whipped. He longed to have a part in the fray, and take his side by his young friend; but that, of course, could not be allowed.
“It’s a shame,” he muttered. “It aint a fair match. Jack’s twenty pounds heavier than the little one.”
“Let ’em fight it out! Who cares which gets whipped?” said the next sailor.
“I do,” said Tom. “The little fellow’s a good one, and I don’t believe he made the figger.”
“Silence, men!” exclaimed the captain, in an authoritative voice. “Pitch into him, boy, and mind you give him a sound flogging, or you’ll get one yourself.”
Jack did not need to be urged on. He had an unreasoning and unreasonable hatred to our hero, whom he instinctively felt to be his superior in every way but one, though he did not choose to acknowledge it, that was in physical strength, in which he felt confident that he excelled Harry. He accordingly advanced in a blustering way, confident of an easy victory, swinging his fists in an unscientific way.
“Let ’em fight it out.”
Harry awaited his approach calmly, quietly putting himself in the proper attitude of defence. With his fists doubled up, prepared for action, and one foot advanced before the other, he stood, watching warily the demonstrations of his antagonist. Jack did not comprehend the meaning of this preparation, and continued to advance with rash confidence in his own prowess. He made a fierce lunge at our hero, not taking care to protect himself against assault. The consequence was, that while Harry parried the blow with one hand, with the other he planted a smart return blow in Rodman’s face, which, striking his nose, drew blood.
There was a shout of applause, mingled with surprise, at this unexpected turning of the tables.