"Be careful," cautioned Vyse. "Try tiring him out."
"I mean to," rejoined Broadmayne.
Already the rough preparations for the contest were complete. The slightly curving steel deck made a sorry ring, destitute of matting. Two ropes had been stretched from rail to rail, two others crossing them at right angles.
Pengelly was appointed referee. Barnard, the bo'sun, acted as timekeeper, conspicuously displaying a handsome gold watch, lately the property of the captain of the Cap Hoorn. Captain Cain, perched upon the upturned keel of the quick-firer's screen, watched the proceedings at a distance of about five yards; but the crew, squatting on deck, crowded close to the ropes, determined not to miss the advantage of the front row seats.
The ex-stoker opened the proceedings by making a bull-like rush at his antagonist. Broadmayne avoided the onslaught with comparative ease, but could not resist the temptation of delivering a left at the side of the other's head. Adroitly ducking, the man avoided the blow and retaliated with a jab intended for the Sub's ribs in the region of the heart. It was not a vicious blow. The ex-stoker, thinking he was bound to win, was loath to make an early finish. A spectacular display to delight his comrades was what he wanted. The knock-out, he decided, would come in the fifth round—not before.
Nevertheless, the jab jolted Broadmayne severely. It taught him a lesson. For the rest of the round he was strictly on the defensive, trusting to footwork to avoid further punishment.
The second round was much on the same principle. It ended with Broadmayne feeling none the worse, but the ex-stoker somewhat blown and perspiring freely. The spectators, disappointed at the tameness of the contest, blew off steam by shouting to their champion to get to work, and jeering at the Sub's wary and seemingly faint-hearted tactics.
Goaded by the exhortations of his messmates, the ex-stoker warmed to his work in the third round. More than once he drove Broadmayne against the ropes, where only by dexterity did he escape a disastrous "clinch." Once the Sub got home with a smashing blow between his antagonist's eyes. It would have knocked out any ordinary man, but the fellow, beyond recoiling, seemed none the worse. Quickly he had his revenge by delivering a straight left on Broadmayne's left cheek, which had the effect of sobering him completely for the rest of the round.
"Fourth round—seconds out of the ring!"
Broadmayne left his corner feeling far from comfortable. The ex-stoker, with blood trickling from his nose, grinned disdainfully at him, then ducking, rushed headlong at his adversary.