d to see more of
shore, and away we went, leaving Victor snoring. It was curious, the
judgment passed on Victor by his shipmates, drinkers themselves. They
shook their heads disapprovingly and muttered: "A man like that oughtn't
to drink." Now Victor was the smartest sailor and best-tempered shipmate
in the forecastle. He was an all-round splendid type of seaman; his
mates recognised his worth, and respected him and liked him. Yet John
Barleycorn metamorphosed him into a violent lunatic. And that was the
very point these drinkers made. They knew that drink--and drink with a
sailor is always excessive--made them mad, but only mildly mad. Violent
madness was objectionable because it spoiled the fun of others and often
culminated in tragedy. From their standpoint, mild madness was all
right. But from the standpoint of the whole human race, is not all
madness objectionable? And is there a greater maker of madness of all
sorts than John Barleycorn?

But to return. Ashore, snugly ensconced in a Japanese house of
entertainment, Axel and I compared bruises, and over a comfortable drink
talked of the afternoon's happenings. We liked the quietness of that
drink and took another. A shipmate dropped in, several shipmates dropped
in, and we had more quiet drinks. Finally, just as we had engaged a
Japanese orchestra, and as the first strains of the samisens and taikos
were rising, through the paper-walls came a wild howl from the street.
We recognised it. Still howling, disdaining doorways, with blood-shot
eyes and wildly waving muscular arms, Victor burst upon us through the
fragile walls. The old amuck rage was on him, and he wanted blood,
anybody's blood. The orchestra fled; so did we. We went through
doorways, and we went through paper-walls--anything to get away.

And after the place was half wrecked, and we had agreed to pay the
damage, leaving Victor partly subdued and showing symptoms of lapsing
into a comatose state, Axel and I wandered away in quest of a quieter
drinking-place. The main street was a madness. Hundreds of sailors
rollicked up and down. Because the chief of police with his small force
was helpless, the governor of the colony had issued orders to the
captains to have all their men on board by sunset.

What! To be treated in such fashion! As the news spread among the
schooners, they were emptied. Everybody came ashore. Men who had had no
intention of coming ashore climbed into the boats.