As soon as Louis was secured we turned our attention to the second mate again, and after reaching the conclusion that there was no internal hemorrhage, or, at least, none that our slight skill could detect, we drew the edges of the wound together, into which you might easily have thrust a plum, securing them with adhesive plaster, and then bound up the cut with listerine-soaked cloths. Poor fellow! he had a bad night. Two heavy doses of laudanum and a five-grain opium pill had no more effect on him than so much nitre; and it was not until shortly before eight this morning that he dozed away, only to be aroused by the clang of the huge breakfast-bell just without his door. He is suffering dreadfully, has a high fever, and has conceived the notion that he is in slivers inside. At 8.15 this morning the after wheel-house door was opened, and the captain asked Louis if there was anything that he wanted, to which the Frenchman answered by turning his back with a shrug. Then the skipper said to him, “I just came to tell you that you’re no longer a seaman aboard this ship. You’re a prisoner, and will remain so till I hand you over to the authorities in San Francisco.” Then breakfast, consisting of burgoo, hard bread, salt beef, and coffee, was taken to him, and he was left alone till one o’clock, when a pannikin of soup was carried to him, which he refused, although he ate another piece of salt beef and a huge piece of soft bread. The manacles are knocked off when he eats, after which they are locked on again, and he is then left utterly alone. He is not allowed to enter the forecastle upon any pretext, and when it is necessary for him to go forward, the mate follows immediately behind. At a little before nine this morning, as I was reading by the wheel-house, Paddy, who was steering, leaned out and whispered, “Look, the old man’s goin’ to read the riot act.” I glanced forward, and saw that the ship’s company had been mustered aft on the main-deck, with the captain glaring at them, but not in the least excited. I reached the break of the poop just in time to hear what it was about. Said the skipper: “I hear you men are finding fault with the food and say I’m starving you; is that so?” Tim, with a villanous twist, came forward, and said, “It is, sor; and we don’t get enough wather to wash our hands wid,” holding out two dirty paws. “Not enough to wash your hands with, eh?” said the old man. “It looks to me as if there was plenty of water over the side, and I believe you’ve got enough salt-water soap. Is that all you’ve got to say?” “It is, sor,” said Tim. “Is there any one else in the same fix?” asked the skipper. Coleman then stepped out and said the same thing about the food and water. Every one else seemed to find something mighty interesting in the deck-seams. “All right. Mr. Goggins, you will see that the men are put on government allowance from now till I see fit to stop it. You can go forrad,” he added to the men.