The captain’s order was a general one and addressed to no one in particular. The sailors stood still, therefore, till the captain exclaimed again, stamping fiercely:—

“Seize him, I say, and strip him.”

With a grin of enjoyment Jack Rodman started forward, and prepared to obey the captain’s command. He expected to be supported by others of the crew, but found himself alone. Still he was taller and stouter than Harry, and felt confident of an easy victory over him.

When our hero saw him approach, he said, in a cool, collected manner, by no means intimidated by the prospect of a conflict with his superior in size:—

“Stand off, Jack Rodman, if you know what’s good for yourself!”

“What can you do?” sneered Jack; and he gave a glance at the captain for encouragement.

“Give him a thrashing!” said the captain, anticipating with pleasure the utter discomfiture of Harry, who, so far as appearances went, was decidedly the weaker of the two. But appearances are sometimes deceitful, and Jack Rodman would not have been by any means so confident of an easy victory, had he been aware that our hero, as previously stated, was no mean proficient in the art of self-defence, having been initiated in the science of boxing by a young man from New York, who spent a summer in Vernon.

“A ring! a ring!” shouted the sailors. “Let ’em have it out!”

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.

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.

“Good for you!” “I bet on the little one!” “He’s got pluck!” was heard from the sailors.

Perhaps the most astonished person on deck was Jack Rodman himself. Evidently he had made some mistake in his calculations. He had gone in for an easy victory, and expected that his first blow would prove a crusher. But, instead of this, his own nose was bleeding, and his small antagonist stood facing him, as cool and composed as if, instead of being an actor in the contest, he had only been an indifferent spectator.

How did it all happen? That was what puzzled Jack. He took a fresh look at Harry, to make sure that he was right in his first impression, as to his inferior size and strength.

“Give it to him, Jack! Don’t let him get the best of you!” called out a backer.

“No, I won’t,” growled Jack. “I’ll chaw him up.”

Our hero listened to this threat without being discomposed. He had made a critical survey of his antagonist, and formed an estimate of his ability. He saw that Jack was his superior in strength, and if they should come to a close contest that he would get the worst of it. But he saw also that of scientific fighting Jack knew nothing. His course was to keep him at arm’s length, and conduct the contest on scientific principles.

Jack rushed in again with the same headlong precipitation as before, and his reception was about the same as before. This time our hero planted a blow in his left eye, which caused Jack to stagger back with a howl of dismay and rage. By this time his blood was up, and he was driven on by a kind of blind fury, aggravated by the mortification he experienced at being worsted by a smaller boy in presence of the ship’s crew. His reputation was at stake. He knew that if he retired from the contest defeated, he would never hear the last of it. A coward and a bully by nature, he never would have made the first attack, had he anticipated that Harry would prove so powerful an antagonist; but now he was in for it his blood was up, and he determined, as the boys say, “to go in and win.”

He made another furious dash, and tried hard to seize Harry around the middle, when he would have found it an easy task, in consequence of his superior strength, to throw him down, and take vengeance upon him for the personal damages he had already received. But our hero understood very well his purpose, and braced himself for what he instinctively felt would be the final contest. He eluded the grasp of his furious adversary, and planted two blows quick as lightning, one in his breast, the other in his face. While Jack was staggering under them, he gathered up his strength, and put it all into one final blow, which finished the work effectually. Jack fell on deck heavily, and so bewildered was he that he lay there motionless, and did not at first attempt to rise.

This quite turned the tide in favor of our hero. Sailors admire pluck, especially when it is shown by a little fellow contending against odds. There was a chorus of approving exclamations, expressed in the characteristic sailor dialect, and Harry, standing in the centre of the ring, his face flushed with the excitement of the contest, was transformed in the eyes of all into a hero. The most delighted of all was Tom Patch, who swung his hat, and called out for three cheers for the victor. The result was the more gratifying to him, because wholly unexpected. The supercargo, also, standing aloof from the ring, had witnessed the contest, and his sympathies also had been with our hero, for he had already formed an opinion far from favorable of Jack Rodman, whom he had another reason for not liking.

But there was one to whom the result of the contest was in the highest degree unsatisfactory. This was Captain Brandon. He had been far from anticipating such a denouement, and a frown gathered on his face.

“Get up, and try it again!” he said to Jack.

But Jack Rodman had had enough of it. The last five minutes had enlightened him considerably on the subject of Harry’s prowess, and he did not care to trust himself again in his hands. Besides, his nose was damaged, and his eye swollen, and he felt decidedly worse for the exercise he had just taken. Accordingly he intimated that he did not feel very well, and positively refused to renew the fight.

“All right!” growled Captain Brandon. “I’ve got an account to settle with the boy myself. He may not get off so easily out of my hands. Men, go back to your work.”

At the captain’s word of command the ring was broken, and the sailors returned to the duties which had been interrupted by the contest that has just been described.

“Now, you young rascal,” said Captain Brandon, menacingly, “what did you mean by that —— picture?” filling up the blank with an oath, with which I do not choose to soil this page.

“I have already told you, Captain Brandon,” said Harry, firmly, “that I had nothing to do with the drawing.”

“It’s a lie!” said the captain, hoarsely.

“It’s the truth,” repeated Harry, glancing composedly at the face of Captain Brandon, distorted with rage.

“Do you dare to contradict me?” exclaimed the captain, furiously.

“I contradict no one,” said Harry. “I only say that I had nothing to do with that picture. I did not see it till this morning, a short time before you charged me with it.”

“Your lie shan’t save you!” exclaimed Captain Brandon. “I’ll take you in hand myself, and we’ll see who’ll come off best.”

Harry turned pale. He knew that he was no match for a grown man, and he saw that in the present state of the captain’s temper he was likely to suffer severely. That he should dread the treatment he was likely to receive was only natural, but he showed no outward fear, save in the paleness of his cheeks. He stood manfully, with his lips compressed, waiting for the attack. But help came to him from an unexpected quarter.

“Stop one moment, Captain Brandon!” said the supercargo, and there was a tone of authority in the young man’s voice.

The captain turned.

“Mr. Weldon,” he said, “this is no affair of yours I will thank you to attend to your own business.”

“Captain Brandon, you are about to punish this boy for nothing.”

“Do you call that nothing?” asked the captain, indicating the caricature.

“He had no hand in it.”

“So he says.”

“He tells the truth.”

“Perhaps you can tell me who drew it, then?” sneered the captain.

“I can.”

For one moment the captain thought that the supercargo might himself have been implicated; but he saw that this was absurd.

“Who did it, then?”

“The boy he was fighting with,—Jack Rodman.”

“Are you sure of this?” demanded the captain, in amazement.

“Yes; I saw him myself engaged upon it last evening. I would not have betrayed him, had he not tried to implicate an innocent party.”

Captain Brandon knew not what to think. He could not doubt the supercargo’s word after this positive statement, nor could he proceed to punish Harry for a fault which, as it appeared, he had not committed. Yet, strange as it may appear, he felt more incensed against Harry, who was proved to be innocent, than against Jack Rodman, whom he knew to be guilty. He could not help wishing that he had not been told the truth of the matter until he had inflicted punishment upon our hero.

In return for the supercargo’s explanation, he did not reply a word, but, turning on his heel, descended the companion-way to the cabin, where he kept himself for the next two or three hours. After he had left the deck, Harry went up to the supercargo, and in a frank way said:—

“I cannot tell you, Mr. Weldon, how much I am obliged to you for coming to my defence.”

“I told you I would stand your friend when you stood in need of one.” said the young man, kindly. “I am thankful that I was able to do it so effectually.”

He took Harry’s hand and pressed it warmly. Our young hero felt, with a thrill of thankfulness, that he had at least one good friend on board the Sea Eagle; two, in fact, for Tom Patch he knew would stand by him through thick and thin.