As my eyes feasted on the grandeur of these moonlight scenes, the tongue of the bell tolled seven; it was half past eleven and time to call my relief. With a dark lantern I started for the berth-deck; near the entrance to the conning tower I was approached by an excited sailor, who asked my opinion of the terrible massacre in Hong Kong. I informed the fellow that I had heard nothing of a massacre, whereupon he volunteered to show me a bulletin; leading the way to the pilot-house, he found it locked; gazing through the window, the man exclaimed, “Look there! read that!” The light was on, and, sure enough, there was a scrip attached to the wheel, the writing of which it was impossible to read. Having aroused my curiosity, I further inquired as to the circumstances leading to the massacre. For several minutes the fellow was non-committal, acting surprised at my ignorance in not even having heard the report of the guns. Impulsively he shouted, “Look there! see that cloud of smoke? The Inniskilling Dragoons have fired on the Royal Artillery, and, as the result of the conflict, ten thousand natives lie strewed in death.” This unusual surprise did not exactly paralyze me, but it was the cue for me to make my exit, which I did with symptoms of the ague, having made an excuse to go below for a pair of binoculars that we might gaze on the scene more clearly. This was my first experience with a victim of brain storm, and, although I shrink from the admittance of “having cold feet,” I must admit that the atmosphere on this occasion was unduly chilly. On the main deck I met some coal-passers who had been gambling in the engine-room; apprising these fellows of there being a crazy man on deck, we concurred in the advisability of notifying the master at arms and having him put away for safe keeping. In a short time the fellow was manacled and led to the brig, protesting his innocence of having been a party to the massacre. Upon examination by the surgeon, the man was removed to the “sick bay,” where it developed that the unfortunate fellow was suffering from acute melancholia. During the investigation to consider the advisability of sending him to a sanitarium in Yokohama, he tried to cough up a ten-inch shell which he claimed to have accidentally swallowed. Having undergone a course of treatment on the Island of Hondo, Japan, the fellow fully recovered, and I have since learned that he regained his normal health and is prospering in the middle West. Upon completion of our ship in dry dock, we bade adieu to the land of the heathen Chinee and steamed into the China Sea _en route_ to the Sula Archipelago, spending Thanksgiving in the harbor of Puerto Princessa on the Island of Palawan. VI. A Trip to Japan