For a slight offence Captain S—— would send a man aloft to scrape masts in a gale of wind; for a graver misdemeanour he would clap him in irons; had the lash been permitted, he would probably not have hesitated to use it. As might be supposed, things did not go very well in the fo’castle. At length a climax was reached, when the starboard watch came aft one day and lodged a complaint. Getting little or no satisfaction, they retired sullenly, went below, and refused to work for a whole week. The working of the ship then devolved on the first and second mates, the carpenter and the cook, with such of the cabin passengers as could give them assistance. The steerage passengers, siding with the sailors, would not touch a rope, and things even went so far that one of them was placed in confinement for insolence. Some of us were rather glad of the opportunity thus afforded of running up the rigging and creeping through the lubbers’ hole without being “salted.” When orders were given to shorten sail or shake out a reef, we “lay out” on the yard in sailor fashion; but how much good we did on such occasions will never be known.[2] At any rate, we counted it fine fun, and it gave the _fiasco_ a touch of romance that we slept with loaded pistols under our pillows. But the mutiny ended harmlessly when the pilot came on board. One may cross the Atlantic nowadays without any kind of “adventure” like that to adorn a tale, even without so much as once speaking to the captain. Not every one has the chance of seeing Jack in his citadel. I was deputed by the captain to interview the strikers and endeavour to pacify them. Armed with a copy of the shipping articles which the men had all signed, and another formidable document printed in very large type, I went down into the dingy cabin at the dinner hour. Such a place as it was! I shall never forget it. It corresponded in minute detail to Dana’s description of his fo’castle in “Two Years Before the Mast.” It was devoid of furniture. There was not even a table to place their food on. In the centre of the floor stood a dirty-looking wooden tub containing a junk of boiled salt beef; near it was a pail full of boiled rice and some hard-tack. The men, about a dozen of them, sat each man on his sea-chest, using his jack-knife to cut and carve with. There were no plates. Imagine the rest. The only grievance they would mention to me was that they had been refused molasses with their rice! Their mind was made up to stay under hatches till the pilot came aboard. They would work for him, but not for the captain; and they kept their word. As I was about leaving, the spokesman of the party, pointing to the mess on the middle of the floor, said with a look that constrained pity, “Mister, how would you like that for your own dinner?” He had the best of the argument. It may be added here that this voyage to New York lasted forty-two days, and the last entry in my log is to the effect that we made as good a passage as any ship