There is, of course, another side to the question, and it applies almost exclusively to the fine seamen that are reared in America and the British North American colonies. Strangely enough, these splendid men do not profit as they might be expected to do by the facilities for education provided in their go-ahead country. It would seem as if they thought that it was necessary for a man of action to coarsen himself; to become--I say it without any intention of giving offence--more or less of a ruffian. The quiet, firm authority which marks the native-born gentleman does not appeal to them. The ideal Yankee or "Blue-nose" mate is a splendid seaman, with a voice of brass and a fist of iron. When work is afoot he may be heard all over the ship, and it is impossible to conceive of him being a silent, reserved, and thoughtful man. In the practice of seamanship this plan seems to work well. I shall never forget while lying in Hong Kong harbour a fine American ship, the _Colorado_, coming in one evening. We had done work for the day, and were smoking the after-supper pipe on the forecastle head. Therefore we were keenly observant of the doings of the newcomer, and with that minute admiration of smartness possessed by all seamen, even the laziest, we watched her. She came grandly up to her moorings close to us, amidst a very hurricane of roaring orders, and presently was securely moored. Then, instead of furling sails and coiling up ropes, as would have been the case with an English ship, the crew began to strip the yards of the sails and stop up the running-gear. The mate was ubiquitous. His tremendous tones reverberated over the quiet harbour incessantly, weighted by the weird profanity affected by American seamen. The men flew from spar to spar, sails descended magically, were seized, stopped up, and stowed away immediately. Before it was quite dark the ship was in as complete harbour trim as if she had been anchored a week, and even the few sea-marks upon her outside had been carefully removed. Then, and not till then, were the hard-driven crew permitted to seek the forecastle and rest from their labours. And although every one of our crew were loud in their condemnation of the "infernal nigger-drivin'," as they called it, they did not withhold their admiration of the consummate smartness of the whole business, and added in chorus: "Yes, but y' sh'd see th' grub them fellows hev got ter go below ter. When a man gits 'nough t' eat 'ee don' mind workin'." It is conceivable that the splendid officer who thus made things fly could hardly write his own name, since it is the good sailor-man an American skipper looks for, not a gentleman. More than that, I'm afraid the more "bucko" he is the better, from the skipper's point of view. To be quiet and reserved is decidedly against him. I was once in an American ship where the skipper was old--too old to go to sea really, although he had no doubt been a smart man in his day.