The mate went below to put a fresh pair of irons on Louis, and in doing so handled him very roughly (a courageous performance), so that the Frenchman sobbed two or three times. “Ha,” quoth Goggins, “blubberin’, eh? That’s just like you Dagos. You’re nothin’ but a lot of old women with no more sand than a--a--a--jelly-fish, you ain’t.” People in glass houses occurred to me then, and I thought how Louis could, any day, pick up this miserable creature when he went down with his food, and shake the life out of him with just one of those mighty arms of his. The Frenchman is unlucky in having such wrists, for there is not a pair of irons in the ship nearly large enough, and each wrist is encircled by a ringlet of raw skin where the handcuffs have gripped and chafed it as though it had been seared with a hot bracelet. I cannot help feeling sorry for him, in spite of his deed; for it is improbable that a man whose general character is so good and whose face is so frank and honest is a villain at heart. Like the rest of his nation, he is very quick-tempered, and upon the second mate’s catching him by the throat his hand instantly flew to his weapon, the common sailor’s sheath-knife. On the other hand, both Tim and Coleman look like typical hard cases, with restless eyes and evil, discontented, sinister faces. Why is it that such men are seldom maltreated at sea? It is only such inoffensive creatures as Karl and Brün who are kicked about a ship’s deck like curs in an alley-way. Such men as I have mentioned first are thoroughly wide-awake, too, and know just how far to go in irritating captains and mates without laying themselves open to punishment; and when mates cannot detect them, they (the mates) “take it out” on others.