"I don't want you to let me see those things again, while you're on board of this ship," said the mate.
"Why so; do you intend to let those sailors play Isaac and Josh with you?"
"No," said the mate, "but when I can't keep men in order, without using such weapons as that, I'll give up to some one who can. I never knew a man yet who carried such things but he proved to be a coward at heart."
"No man can call me a coward," replied the second mate in an angry tone.
"Well," said the mate, "I hope you are not one, but I shall think better of you if I hear nothing more about brass knuckles."
This was not a very pleasant opening of acquaintance, and both parties took at the outset a dislike to each other.
I gained from each of them a brief account of their antecedents.
Mr. Morrison, the first mate, was a Scotchman by birth, about forty-two years of age. He had been captain of English vessels, but having met with misfortunes, concerning which he was very reticent, he had begun to seek his fortune in the American merchant service. He was a short, thick-set man, with a ruddy complexion and a cast of countenance expressing courage and determination. His bearing was significant of "Scotch pride." He was a man of much intelligence and had received a good education.
Mr. Howard, the second mate, hailed from the State of Maine. He was of medium height and well built, but had a brutal look and seemed ordinary in intelligence. He frankly confided to me the immediate occasion of his shipping in the "Dublin."
"Last voyage I was second mate of the 'Minerva.' We had a nigger crew and used 'em pretty rough I must say; but I had 'em in such good discipline that one day I got mad with a 'moke' about something and I told him to lay his head down on the hatch for I was going to chop it off. He did just as I told him, and though he thought I was going to kill him, he didn't dare to move or say his soul was his own. That's what I call good discipline.