There was no vim, no go, no activity.

Every step and movement was an effort, as if they were dead men raised out of coffins or sick men dragged from hospital beds.

Sick they were--whiskey-poisoned.
Starved they were, and weak from poor nutrition.

And worst of all, they were imbecile and lunatic.
I looked aloft at the intricate ropes, at the steel masts rising and carrying huge yards of steel, rising higher and higher, until steel masts and yards gave way to slender spars of wood, while ropes and stays turned into a delicate tracery of spider-thread against the sky.

That such a wretched muck of men should be able to work this magnificent ship through all storm and darkness and peril of the sea was beyond all seeming.