In the course of our discussion Strictland lost his temper, and indulged in language towards myself that I was not disposed to pass lightly over.

The next morning, the little uninhabited island of Orchilla being in sight, the wind light and the weather pleasant, the boat was launched, and the mate with several passengers, urged by curiosity, embarked, and were pulled ashore by Strictland and myself.

While the other parties were rambling about, making investigations, we, more pugnaciously inclined, retired to a short distance from the shore, and prepared to settle all our disputes in a "bout at fisticuffs," an ungentlemanly method of settling a controversy, but one which may afford as much SATISFACTION to the vanquished party as a sword-thrust through the vitals, or pistol bullet in the brain.
After exchanging a few left-handed compliments with no decided result, our pugilistic amusement was interrupted by the unauthorized influence of two of the passengers, who had been searching for shell-fish among the rocks.

What the result of the contest would have been I will not venture to conjecture.

I was but a tyro in the art, while Strictland prided himself in his scientific skill, and gave an indication of the purity of his tastes by boasting of having once acted in the honorable capacity of bottle-holder to a disciple of the notorious Tom Crib, on a very interesting public occasion.
After we had been about a fortnight on our passage, daily beating to windward in the Caribbean Sea, we were fallen in with by a British sloop-of-war.