It very soon became clear to Salve 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.

Salve 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 unexpectedly friendly light; and Salve perceived that it was only owing to him that all the Portuguese were not against him also.  The result was that the two gradually approached such other again.

There were of course in such a collection of riff-raff, individual bullies whose hands were against every man, but who to some extent kept each other in check.  The one most feared of these was a huge, copper-coloured, scarred Irishman, who seemed periodically to be possessed by a very demon of violence, and to be actually running over with bad blood.  He had been in irons for some time before the vessel arrived at Rio, for having one day sworn on deck that he would murder the captain.  It was with this ruffian that Salve had first to measure himself, the boatswain being the immediate cause.