enough to put
'im on de tail end o' de line.'

"I size 'im up good w'ile we eats. He weigh 196, dey tells me, an'
nobuddy be'n lucky 'nuff to lay 'im out. 'Cordin' t' ship rules, dey
couldn't gang up on 'im. Cap'm mek ev'ybuddy fight single. Wan't no sich
thing ez quarrelin'. Effen two sailors gits in a rucus, day pipe 'em up
on de main deck."

"Do what?" the reporter asked.

"Pipe 'em up--de bos'n blow a whistle an' call 'em in t' fight it out,
w'ile de othas watch de fun. Den day gotta shake han's, an' hit done
settled.

"Well, Ah see dis here Haiti niggah be a li'l bigger'n me, but Ah figger
I gwine gin 'im a chajnce to staht sump'n de nex' time. So atter I takes
a couple o' drinks, I goes down early an' gits fust in de line. Sho'
'nuff, Rousseau comes up an' crowds in ahead o' me. Ah pushes him to one
side, an' gits ahead o' him. He raises his eyebrows, sorta
suprised-like, an' gits ahead o' me. I be fixin' to knock 'im clean ovah
de rail, but by dat time, de Cap'm had 'is eye on us.

"'Pee-e-e-e-p,' go de whistle; 'Tay-lor-r-r-r' de bos'n sing out.

"'Taylor," I ahnswer.

"'Come to de mahst.'

"I tells 'em how it was, how I fixin' to knock dat niggah so far into de
Gulf we be thoo eatin' 'fore he kin swim back.

"'Pipe 'im up, bos'n,' says de cap'm.

"Rousseau comes in, and de whole crew wid 'im, t' see de fight. 'Pull
off yer shirts,' says de cap'm, an' we done it. 'Wait,' says de bos'n;
'de deck jes' be'n swabbed down--why bloody hit up, Cap'm? How 'bout
lettin' 'em fight on shore?'

"Day was a flatform 'side a buildin' nex' to de water. Dey all line de
rail an' let us go ashore t' scrap hit out. Boy, dat _was_ some fight;
We fout ontell we was lak two game roosters--both tired out, but still
wantin' t' keep goin'. We jes' stan' dere, han's on each otha's
shoulders, lookin' into each otha's eyes, blood runnin' down to our
toes. Pretty soon he back off an' try to rush me. I side steps, an' gits
in a lucky lick below de heart. He draps to his knees, an' rolls ovah
on his back, wallin' his eyes lak he dyin'.

"Dey lay 'im on de deck an' souse 'im wid a bucket o' water, but he
sleeps right on. De res' go back to de mess line, all but me--I wan't
hongry. De nex' day I gits in line early, but dey wan't no Haiti niggah
t' muscle in ahead o' me. He kep' to his bunk mighty nigh a week."

Judging from the appearance of this feeble old man, one would hardly
think that he was once a rollicking scrapper, with