se, he can sometimes be made to
pay attention if he has the right kind of men over him, but when he
cannot understand and goes to sea with the certain knowledge he is on a
hard ship and will probably come to blows in a few minutes, he must have
some ocular demonstration of what is coming if he doesn't jump when a
mate sings out to him. Often the safety of the entire ship depends upon
the quickness with which an order can be carried out, and a man must not
hang back when the danger is deadly. He must do as he is told, instantly
and without question; if he gets killed--why, there is no great loss, for
any owner or skipper can get a crew aboard at any of the large ports of
trade. Of course, if he takes a different point of view, the only thing
for him to do is to stay on the beach. He must not ship on a sailing
packet that is carrying twenty percent more freight than the law allows
and is getting from three to four dollars a ton for carrying it some ten
or fifteen thousand miles over every kind of ocean between the frigid
zones. My men were surly enough, perhaps because they had heard what kind
of treatment they should expect; so after I had told them what they must
do, I bade them go below and straighten out their dunnage.

Mr. Trunnell, after separating his men from mine, cursed them
individually and collectively as everything he could think of, and only
stopped to scratch his big bushy head to figure out some new
condemnations. While doing this he saw me coming from the port side, and
forthwith he told me to take charge of the ship, as he was dead beat out
and would have to soak his head again before coming on watch. He smelled
horribly of stale liquor, and his eyes were bloodshot. I thought he would
be just as well off below, so I made no protest against taking command.

"Ye see, I never am used to it," he said, with a grin. "I can't drink
nothin'. Stave me, Rollins, but the first thing I'll be running foul of
some of these Dagos, and I don't want a fracas until I see the lay of the
old man. He's a queer one for sure, hey? Did you ever see a skipper with
such a look? Sech bleeding eyes--an' nose, hey? Like the beak of an old
albatross. He hasn't come out to lay the course yet, but let her go.
She'll head within half a point of what she's doin' now. Sink me, but I
don't believe there's three bloomin' beggars in my watch as can steer the
craft, and she's got a new wheel gear on her too. Call me if the old man
comes on de