It very soon became clear to Salvé that he could not have hit upon a
more unfortunate ship. The crew was composed of the dregs of the New
Orleans and Charleston docks--men with every species of vice and
degradation stamped upon their countenances, and amongst whom every
second word was some infamous oath or blasphemy. Blows with handspikes
were of common occurrence, and brutality and violence generally were the
order of the day. There was no court of appeal, and the immunity which
any one individual might enjoy depended entirely upon how far he was
protected by the officers--who, however, in a general way, did not
interfere in the quarrels forward--or had formed a league with others.

The Americans and the Irish banded together, and being the most
numerous, practised a shameless system of tyranny against any who could
not defend themselves--a miserable sickly Spaniard, who had been forced
to work until he had actually dropped, having recently been more
especially the object of their attentions. Their supremacy, however, was
contested by a party of seven or eight tattered countrymen of the
latter, with one or two Portuguese, who were always ready with their
knives, and who formed a sort of opposition. To this party Federigo had
attached himself.

Salvé stood alone. The Americans and Irish had at first reckoned upon
having him with them, but had gradually turned against him. They had
taken offence at his apparent disinclination to associate with them more
than he could help. He seemed to think himself too good for them; and in
addition to that, the seaman-like qualities which he displayed made them
dislike him out of envy. But their hostility was perhaps mainly due to
the boatswain, who encouraged the idea among the rest of the crew that
he was favoured by the officers. Federigo came out now in an