"The ship came to anchor in the stream as the wind was ahead, and when we got below that night into the forecastle, there were great yarns a-going about the mate. The Dutchmen got scared half out of their wits, and made up their minds to be murdered before they were a month older. "There was a man named Jackson on board, who was boatswain of the 'Flying Cloud,' in Hong Kong, when Clarkson was there, mate of the 'Black Squall.' "He was the chap that first spotted him when he came on board, and he told hard stories about his carryings on and the number of sailors he had murdered. "The old man stayed ashore, and that night the mate and passenger got to drinking in the cabin, and about ten o'clock the mate came forward, 'three sheets in the wind, and the fourth shaking.' He couldn't find any one on the watch, and while he was prying about forward, he tumbled over the chain-cable, and hurt himself some, I guess, by the noise he made. Then he called all hands, and got the whole thirty of us out on deck. He gave us a lecture in rather a different style from the owner's speeches. He called us all 'the sons of sea-cooks,' that he could twist round his tongue, and cursed us in a way that made our blood run cold; about all we could make out was, that he was Johnny Clarkson, and was going to jump down our throats, drive us around, play the mischief, and kill Injuns generally. At last, he set the watch and sent us below saying, 'Remember, I'm Johnny Clarkson.' "We thought we'd got enough of an introduction, and if we could have helped ourselves we wouldn't have continued the acquaintance; but there was no backing out then. "The next morning the captain and his wife came off in a steam-tug, and we got underway and towed out past the light. "The 'old man' was a Dane, or some kind of a Dutchman, named Johnson; that's all I know about him or his wife, except that the passenger told me in 'Frisco,' that he wrote home to his friends, that the captain was a demon and his wife was a she devil. "While we were making sail on the ship, the mate travelled about the decks, raving like a madman. He thought one man didn't haul hard enough on the main-topsail halyards, so he cursed him and called him a bad name. The man gave him a 'black look' in return, and Clarkson knocked him down senseless, with a big gash cut in his head, with an iron belaying-pin. When the yard was mastheaded he sung out, 'haul that thing out of the way and belay.' "All hands were kept up in the afternoon and, if there was any excuse to be found for doing it, the watch below would often be called out in the forenoon. Every order was accompanied by an oath, and belaying-pins, and leading-blocks were hurled about the deck at any one that didn't move on the 'clean jump.' Things went on this way for about a fortnight, without anything very particular happening, except that somebody got licked nearly every watch, and then we had a little the biggest row that ever I saw aboard of a ship.