I know not whether Cochose lunged forward of his own volition, or was pressed on from behind, yet suddenly he was within reach of me, and the battle was on.  It was short and fierce, his object evidently being to crush me in his giant grip, mine to oppose science to strength, and avoid his bear-hug.  We swayed back and forth to the sharp pitching of the ship, barely able to keep our feet, sparring for some advantage.  Once he would have had me, but for a lunge of the vessel which sent him sprawling on hands and knees; yet, before I could recover, the man was up again, furious with anger.  This time, he sprang straight at me, uttering a growl of rage, determined to smash me to the deck by the very power of his onslaught.  But I side-stepped him, getting in two swift blows, which rocked his head, and tore open one cheek, from which blood trickled.  Yet he kept his feet, blindly gripping for me, driven almost crazy by the pain of my last blow, and the jeers of his mates.

I evaded his clutch by leaping aside, but the space was far too small to permit these tactics to carry long, and finally he had me.  Yet, even as he seemingly crushed the very breath out of me, his giant strength met with a resistance which increased his fury.  Already the fellow had lost his head, but I fought coolly, putting my skill against brute force, every wrestler’s trick I knew flashing into my brain.  Breathless, my flesh scraped and bruised, I wriggled partly free, and tripped him, his great body striking the deck with a thud.  I fell with him, dragged down by his desperate grip, but was first upon my feet, saluted by a roar of delight from the lips of those crowding about us.  As he staggered up also, cursing fiercely, his lips drawn back in a snarl, his brutal face, that of a wild animal, I struck him again, a blow which would have ended the game, had not my foot slipped on the reeling deck.  As it was it drove him to his knees, groggy, and with one eye half closed, yet with strength enough left to regain his feet as soon as I. This time he charged me like a wild bull, froth whitening his lips, scarcely appearing human in the yellow light.  In mad rage he forgot all caution, all pretense at defense, his one thought to reach me with his hands, and throttle me into lifeless pulp.  Here was where skill and coolness won.  I fought him back, driving blow on blow through his guard, sidestepping his mad rushes, landing again and again on his body.  Twice I got in over his heart, and at last, found the chance I sought, and sent a right jab straight to the chin.  All the force of one hundred and eighty pounds was behind the clinched fist, and the negro went down as though floored by a poleaxe.  Once weakly he endeavored to rise, but this time I used my left, and he never stirred again, lying there with no sign of life except the quivering of the huge body.  Assured that he was down and out, I stood above him, gazing into the ring of excited faces.

“That’s one attended to,” I said shortly.  “Now is there any more of you who would like to fight this out?”