The first mate, Mr. Menzies, was a man of wide experience and knowledge. He was a great powerful man, a thorough old sea-dog, with a face and fist like a prize-fighter. He was never happy unless paddling about the deck up to his waist in salt water; all his clothes were white with brine. He was always on the alert, and never caught napping, in fact, he slept with his eyes open, which perhaps accounts for it. Well I remember the first time I went to his room to call him, and the fright he gave me. Opening the door gently, I was going to call him, when I saw him lying in his berth with his eyes wide open. Thinking he was awake, I closed the door and went forrard without speaking. At eight bells he did not appear to relieve the second mate, so I went aft again to his room, and after turning his lamp up I found he was lying in the same position looking straight at me with his eyes wide open, but the eyes had a glazed, dull appearance about them. I began to feel quite nervous. Speaking quietly I said:

“It has gone eight bells, sir.”

He never moved, but lay there with his eyes wide open. I gave one jump and was out on deck trembling like a leaf. Rushing up the poop ladder, I said to the second mate:

“Oh, sir, please go to Mr. Menzies, I think he’s dead.”

In a moment he had sprung down the ladder, and was at the mate’s room.

“Mr. Menzies,” he called out loudly, as he opened the door—the mate woke at once.

“Hello, what’s up? What does this mean why are you off the poop, Mr. Ross,” he asked?

The second mate ran up on deck again, and caught me by the scruff of the neck, and was just about to strike me for telling him falsely, as he thought, when the captain stepped out of the companion on deck. Seeing the action of the second mate, he called out:

“Here Mr. Ross, what’s this about, what has the lad done?”

“He told me a lie, sir, when I sent him to call the mate.”

“I did not,” I retorted, “I’m not in the habit of telling lies, I told you I thought the mate was dead.”

Just then Mr. Menzies came on the poop and asked what was the reason the second mate came off the poop at night to call him.

The second mate then told him what I had said.

“Oh is that so!”

Turning to me he said:

“When you come to call me in future, knock at the door loudly, you need not come in. Now go to your berth.”

I did so at once, for I was rather upset, it being my first experience of anything in the shape of a blow since coming to sea.

After I left the poop, the mate explained to the captain and second mate that he often slept with his eyes wide open he had been told, and no doubt it had given the lad a start. For my part, I took care that I never went into his room again to call him.

The second mate, Mr. Ross, was a young officer of athletic build, inexperienced, hot-headed, and stubborn as a mule. Overwhelmed with a sense of the dignity of his position, he thought the only way to impress a sailor was by knocking him down—a bad principle at any time, (perhaps some of his ancestors had been slave-drivers, and the taint clung.) He considered it quite beneath him to let a sailor explain anything to him. The man might have far greater experience, and might possibly be able to teach him far more than he knew, but he would never admit he was wrong, and was continually calling the men duffers and loafers. For instance, one of his Frenchmen had been twelve years boatswain in the French navy, and no duffer could hold that post, neither was he a loafer, for a harder working man I never sailed with. George, the Greek, had for years been acting second mate and boatswain in American ships, and it is well known that a man may be a duffer when he joins an American ship, but they will make a sailor of him before he leaves her. And so it was with most of our crew, they were fairly willing workers, but their knowledge of the Queen’s English was very limited and the second mate had not patience to try and explain to them, although the mate had no trouble with them at all. The second mate’s arbitrary and tyrannical ways were causing a bitter feeling to spread amongst the men, and I heard many a smothered threat from them, growing louder after each outburst on his part, vowing to be even with him some day when he least expected it.

Another thing I found out before we had been long at sea, and that was that the crew were a lot of confirmed gamblers, and every minute they could spare was spent in playing cards for stakes. I have since watched an English crew gamble day by day and night by night for weeks together, and never an angry word from the loser, but not so with these men, they were like perfect demons while playing, their eyes gleamed with the gambling fever, fairly starting out of their heads, one hand meanwhile played with the sheath knife in their belt, and the moment a man began to lose he at once accused the others of cheating, and the end was a fight. They cannot stand a losing game. When they come to blows they generally grip the blade of their knife, leaving about half an inch of the blade protruding, and always cut downwards, or across the face, and arms, making superficial wounds that are rarely mortal or even dangerous, but are horribly disfiguring. When things got to this stage, Old George the Greek and the big Frenchman would step in and quieten them. The officers very seldom had to interfere, which was, perhaps, just as well.

One night, while running through the south-east trade winds, the weather was very unsettled and squally, and a hard-looking squall rose up to windward. Mr. Menzies saw it, and called out to stand by the royal and top-gallant halliards. The watch were in the forecastle playing cards, and did not hear him. The man on the look-out heard the mate, and stamped his feet on the deck, but the watch were too intent on their game, and either did not, or would not hear him. Seeing no one stirring about the deck, and the squall rising fast, the mate sang out to the man at the wheel, “Keep her off, hard up!” and then, rushing along the deck into the forecastle he seized the Spaniards by their throats, and fairly flung them out on the deck. Just at that moment the squall struck the ship with all sail set, and she heeled over until the lee rail was under water. I thought the masts would have gone over the side, but the helm being up the vessel rushed through the water like a frightened deer. But thank God there was no sea running, or it would have been disastrous. All hands now rushed on deck as fast as they could at the angle the ship was lying over. The captain sprang to the wheel, but the helmsman had already got it hard over, and the ship was paying off before the wind. The royal and small stay sails had all blown to ribbons. As the ship swung off before the wind, she came upright again—by this time the squall had passed over. The mate and second mate then set to with their fists and belaying pins, and laid about the four men who should have been on deck, and in a few minutes the deck was like the floor of a slaughter house with blood.

The captain came along the deck afterwards and ordered all hands to stop on deck until the torn sails were replaced. This was done in sullen silence, and the watch on deck, all cut and bruised with the blood running from their heads and faces, were sent aloft to send down the old sails and bend the new ones. By the time this was done it was four a.m.

But our troubles were not yet over—one of the Turks standing by me as the new sails were set, swore he would knife the mate for striking him. I told him to be careful of what he said, or he would get himself into trouble, if he had been on deck, as he should have been when the mate called, the sails would not have been lost, and there would have been no cause for the mate to strike him. No sooner had I said this than he struck me in the mouth and knocked me down, as I sprang up again I seized him by the ankles and jerked his feet from under him. Down he fell, striking his head violently against the hatchcombing. He lay where he fell, senseless.

The other one made a move towards me, knife in hand, but the mate came along the deck just then and caught hold of him. On learning the cause of the row, he put him in irons. The insensible man was carried aft, and it was seen he had a severe scalp wound. The captain dressed it, and the man on slowly coming to his senses was locked in a spare room until later on in the day.

I told the mate that the Turk threatened to knife him. He smiled and told me not to be alarmed as he was not. “I have sailed with those sort of men before” he said, and taking a six chambered revolver from his hip pocket, he showed it to me, remarking at the same time, “I am prepared for them one and all.”

Strange though it may seem, from that day we had no trouble with them. They all seemed to pull together. Old George the Greek, in some way, got complete control over them. He was the most powerful man on board, standing six feet two in his stockings and built in proportion, with a long bristling moustache, and hair as white as snow. He was sixty years of age, the strongest and most active man on board, and withal, in his bearing and manner a courteous gentleman. I often thought what a model he would have made for a picture of a brigand chief.