One among them, apparently their ringleader in incipient mutiny, an upstanding bully with the jaw of a prize-fighter, took it upon himself openly to defy the officer, exclaiming profanely that he'd be damned if he ever enlisted to do nigger work.

The others laughed, and joined in the revolt, until the captain unceremoniously flung off his blouse, thus divesting himself of every vestige of rank, and proceeded to enforce his authority.

It was a battle royal, the soldiers crowding eagerly about, and yelling encouragement impartially first to one combatant, and then another.
"Kick him in the ribs, Sam!" "Now, Abe, yer've got him--crack the damn cuss's neck." "By golly! that's the way we do it in ol' Salem." "He's got yer now, Jenkins, he's got yer now--good boy, Abe." Exactly what occurred I could not see, but when the circle of wildly excited men finally broke apart, the big rebel was lying flat on his back in the yellow mud, and the irate officer was indicating every inclination to press him down out of sight.
"Hav' yer hed 'nough, Sam Jenkins ?" he questioned, breathlessly.
"Then, blame ye, say so." "All right, Abe--yer've bested me this time." "Will yer tote them passels ?" The discomfited Jenkins, one of whose eyes was closed, and full of clay, attempted a sickly grin.
"Hell! yes," he admitted, "I'd sure admire ter dew it." The conqueror released his grip, and stood up, revealing his full height, and reaching out for the discarded blouse, quietly slipped it on.

One of the _Adventurer's_ passengers, an officer in uniform, going ashore, another tall, spare man, had halted on the gangplank to watch the contest.

Now he stepped forward to greet the victor, with smiling eyes and outstretched hand.
"Not so badly done, Captain," he said cordially.