on board--captain, two mates, bos'un and
myself. The bos'un was, although hard on the crew, not brutal, and he
never struck them.

We had not been out three days when the captain, in a fit of rage,
knocked a Gilbert Islander down for dropping a wet paint-brush on
the deck. Then he kicked him about the head until the poor fellow was
insensible.

From that time out not a day passed but one or more of the crew were
struck or kicked. The second mate's conduct filled me with fury and
loathing, for, in addition to his cruelty, his language was nothing but
a string of curses and blasphemy. Within a week I saw that the Gilbert
Islanders were getting into a dangerous frame of mind.

These natives are noted all over the Pacific for their courage, and
seeing that mischief was brewing, I spoke to the bos'un about it. He
agreed with me, but said it was no use speaking to the skipper.

To me the captain and officers were civil enough, that is, in a gruff
sort of way, so I decided to speak to the former. I must mention that I
spoke the Gilbert and Savage Island dialects, and so heard the natives
talk. However, I said nothing of that to the German. I merely said to
him that he was running a great risk in knocking the men about, and
added that their countrymen might try to cut off the brig out of
revenge. He snorted with contempt, and both he and the mates continued
to "haze" the now sulky and brooding natives.

One calm Sunday night we were in sight of Funafuti lagoon, and also of a
schooner which I knew to be the _Hazeldine_ of San Francisco. She, like
us, was becalmed.

In the middle watch I went on deck and found the skipper and second mate
drunk. The mate, who was below, was about half-drunk. All three men had
been drinking heavily for some days, and the second mate was hardly able
to keep his feet. The captain was asleep on the skylight, lying on his
back, snoring like a pig, and I saw the butt of his revolver showing in
the inner pocket of his coat.

Presently rain began to fall, and the second mate called one of the
hands and told him to bring him his oil-skin coat. The man brought it,
and then the brutal Swede, accusing him of having been slow, struck him
a fearful blow in the face and knocked him off the poop. Then the brute
followed him and began kicking him with drunken fury, then fell on the
top of him and lay there.

I went for'ard and found all the natives on deck, very excited and armed
with knives. Addressing