One day when the large bell forward had rung for dinner, the boatswain gave an order which detained Salve for some time after the others had taken their places at the long table in the round-house, and when he came in everything was eaten up, and he lost his dinner.  The following day exactly the same thing happened, and he had to content himself with his breakfast and supper rations for the day.  He perfectly understood the meaning of it.  In smartness and activity he was so far beyond comparison superior to any of the other foretop hands, that the boatswain had not been able to find any excuse for subjecting him to punishment:  he was going to try and hit him in another way.  On his lonely watch that night Salve decided what he should do if the trick was practised a third time upon him.  It would be better to bring things to a crisis at once than have his strength gradually exhausted by continued insufficiency of food.

The same order being given at the same time next day, he carried it out as speedily as he could, and hurried on then to the round-house, where the others were already at their dinner, with a bowl of meat and soup to every two men.

He sat down by the side of the Irishman, who he saw had a bowl to himself.

“Put the bowl this way,” he said, coolly.

The Irishman merely looked at him contemptuously.  He was evidently astonished at his audacity, but went on eating composedly.

Salve felt that he must not be beaten.

“Life for life, Irishman,” he cried, springing to his feet, and as the other also rose, giving him a blow in the face that sent him backwards on the bench against the wall.

A fierce conflict now ensued.  The Irishman got up like a bleeding ox, and catching up a marline-spike that was hanging from the beam, gave Salve a deep wound in the cheek, the scar of which he carried his whole life through.  They drew their knives then; and Salve’s coolness and activity soon gave him the superiority over his furious and unwieldy opponent.  His movements were like those of a steel spring; and pale and smiling, he delivered every blow with such well-calculated effect, that the affair ended with the Irishman, bleeding profusely and half-unconscious, tumbling out of the narrow doorway to save himself.

There were not a few who were glad enough that the dreaded Irishman should have been worsted, and it was to this feeling Salve was indebted for being allowed to fight it out alone with him.  He stuck his knife now into the table by the side of his dish, and, looking round him, asked, “Is there any one else now who would like to keep me out of my meat?”

There was no answer.

“While I am about it,” he continued, without noticing the blood that was running down his face and over his hands, “I’ll settle this matter once for all.  I have two days’ rations owing to me.  Very well.  For the next two days I shall keep one dish to myself.  I shall see then what the Irishman or any one else thinks of it.”