being attended with loud language,
menacing looks, and frantic gesticulations, attracted the attention of
all who were within sight or hearing.

Two of the Spaniards, large, good-looking men, were apparently very
bitter in their denunciations of each other. They suddenly threw off
their coats, which they wrapped around the left arm, and each
grasping a long Spanish knife, the original of the murderous
"bowie-knife,"--attacked each other with a ferocity terrible to behold.
Every muscle seemed trembling and convulsed with passion, their
eyes flashed with desperation, and their muscles seemed endued with
superhuman power, as they pushed upon each other.

Many furious passes were made, and dexterously parried by the left arm,
which was used as a buckler in which to receive the thrusts. At length
one of the combatants received a wound in the chest, and his shirt bosom
was instantly stained with blood. This served only to rouse him to more
desperate exertions if possible; and, like two enraged tigers, these
men no longer thought of defending themselves, but were bent only on
assailing each other.

Such a combat could not last long. One of the Spaniards sank to the
deck, covered with wounds and exhausted with blood, while the victor,
who, from the gory condition of his linen, his pallid cheeks, and
staggering steps seemed in little better plight, was assisted into the
cabin by his companions.

Duels of a similar character, fought on the spot with knives, the
left arm protected with a garment used as a shield, were by no means
unfrequent among the Spaniards in the New World, and the barbarous
custom is not yet obsolete.

The vessel, on whose decks this horrible scene of butchery was enacted,
left the harbor on the following day, to the great gratification of her
neighbors; and a rusty, ill-looking schooner, called the John, hauled
from another part of the roadstead, and took the berth vacated by the
Spaniards. Like other American vessels that had been coquetting with the
revenue laws, neither the name of the schooner nor the place to which
she belonged was painted on her stern. A close intimacy, intended
doubtless for their mutual advantage, existed between Captain Turner
and the master of the John. The crews of the two vessels also became
acquainted, and when the day's work was ended, often assembled on board
one of the vessels, and indulged in singing, conversing, skylarking, or
spinning yarns.

Swimming was an agreea