Of the four boat-steerers, I shall mention only the one on our boat. He was a Portuguese from St. Michaels, and his name was Manuel—a broad-shouldered, stalwart fellow, with a long, powerful arm. And he was also a fine fellow—kind-hearted and good-natured. We had several other Portuguese in the crew, natives of the Azores, one or two blacks from the Cape Verdes and also one Kanaka from the Hawaiian Islands. One member of the crew deserves especial mention. His name was Israel Kreelman, a native of Vermont. He was getting along in years and had followed the sea since his sixteenth year. He had never got above the berth of seaman, for while he did his work faithfully and well, he was not qualified for any higher position. Kreelman seemed to me, at first, rather austere, but in time I found him generally kind and companionable, and he took a real interest in me. I have spoken of the hard-looking American seaman who talked to me savagely and jostled me the first day out. His name was Jake, and in a few days everybody was afraid of him. He talked little, and when he did he was profane and abusive. I think it was just a week to a day from the day of sailing, when an event occurred which nearly ended in a tragedy. Jake was ugly as usual and had some words with the fourth mate. He was cautioned in an emphatic tone. He did not seem inclined to retort, but directed his abuse against the food served to the men, which he called slush. [Illustration: Jake partly lost his balance, and the captain seized him.] “There’s the coffee,” he said, “the captain and officers get the best of it in the cabin. Then they add water to what’s left, and this is what the boat-steerers and others get in the steerage. Then they add more water to what’s left and that’s what we get in the forecastle. It’s nothin’ but the captain’s slops.” There was some truth in Jake’s remarks, but the language used might have been more moderate. The captain was standing near by, and his face flushed rapidly. “Look here, Jake,” he exclaimed, “let me hear no more language of that kind. If I do, I’ll put you in irons.” “You’re a coward. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”