His letters to Mr. Astor, wherein he pours forth the bitterness of his
soul, and his seamanlike impatience of what he considers the "lubberly"
character and conduct of those around him, are before us, and are
amusingly characteristic. The honest captain is full of vexation on his
own account, and solicitude on account of Mr. Astor, whose property he
considers at the mercy of a most heterogeneous and wasteful crew.

As to the clerks, he pronounced them mere pretenders, not one of whom
had ever been among the Indians, nor farther to the northwest than
Montreal, nor of higher rank than barkeeper of a tavern or marker of a
billiard-table, excepting one, who had been a school-master, and whom he
emphatically sets down for "as foolish a pedant as ever lived."

Then as to the artisans and laborers who had been brought from Canada
and shipped at such expense, the three most respectable, according
to the captain's account, were culprits, who had fled from Canada on
account of their misdeeds; the rest had figured in Montreal as draymen,
barbers, waiters, and carriole drivers, and were the most helpless,
worthless beings "that ever broke sea-biscuit."

It may easily be imagined what a series of misunderstandings and
cross-purposes would be likely to take place between such a crew
and such a commander. The captain, in his zeal for the health and
cleanliness of his ship, would make sweeping visitations to the "lubber
nests" of the unlucky "voyageurs" and their companions in misery, ferret
them out of their berths, make them air and wash themselves and their
accoutrements, and oblige them to stir about briskly and take exercise.

Nor did his disgust and vexation cease when all hands had recovered from
sea-sickness, and become accustomed to the ship, for now broke out an