especially in the matter of arguing.

They were all older than I. Stevey Todd was a few years older. I
recognised Abe Dalrimple here, for he came from Adrian, though I'd
seen him but seldom before. Three more I'll name, Kid Sadler, J. R.
Craney, and Jimmy Hagan, who was called Irish; for they were ones
that I had to do with later. I never met another crew like the
_Hebe Maitland's_. I guess there never was one.

Aboard and under Clyde's eye they were a quiet crew, even Sadler,
who wasn't what you'd call submissive by nature, but in port, Clyde
would now and then let them run riotous. He was a little, old, dried
up, and odd man with a vein of piousness in him, and he could handle
men in a way that was very mysterious.

The fourth day out of New York, as I recollect it, was fair, the sun
shining, and everything peaceful except on board the _Hebe
Maitland_. But on the _Hebe Maitland_ the men were running
around with paint pots and hauling out canvas from below. Nobody
seemed to tell me what was the matter. The _Hebe Maitland's_
hull was any kind of a dingy black, but the rails, canvas,
tarpaulins, and companion were all white. By the end of the day
almost everything had modified. They'd got a kind of fore-shortening
out of the bowsprit, and another set of canvas partly up that was
dirty and patched. The boats were shifted and recovered, cupola taken
off the cabin, and the whole look of the ship altered in mid-sea.
Then Clyde came out of his cabin with a board in his hand, and they
unscrewed the _Hebe Maitland's_ name from forward under the
anchor hole, and the _Hebe Maitland_ in gilt was the _Hawk_
in white.