cers and the worst left to us; and with
foul water and rotten food, there's no hope or help. But, if we're going
in for this sort of thing, we ought to do it decently. We can't slap
a government in the mouth, and we can't kick an admiral without paying
heavy for it in the end. If it's wholesome petitioning you're up to, I'm
with you; but I'm not if there's to be knuckle-dusting."

Ferens shrugged a shoulder.

"Things are movin', and we've got to take our stand now when the time is
ripe for it, or else lose it for ever. Over at Spithead they're gettin'
their own way. The government are goin' to send the Admiralty Board down
here, because our admiral say to them that it won't be safe goin' unless
they do."

"And what are we going to do here?" asked Dyck. "What's the game of the
fleet at the Nore?"

Ferens replied in a low voice:

"Our men are goin' to send out petitions--to the Admiralty and to the
House of Commons."

"Why don't you try Lord Howe?"

"He's not in command of a fleet now. Besides, petitions have been sent
him, and he's taken no notice."

"Howe? No notice--the best admiral we ever had! I don't believe it,"
declared Dyck savagely. "Why, the whole navy believes in Howe. They
haven't forgotten what he did in '94. He's as near to the seaman as the
seaman is to his mother. Who sent the petitions to him?"

"They weren't signed by names--they were anonymous."

Dyck laughed.

"Yes, and all written by the same hand, I suppose." Ferens nodded.

"I think that's so."

"Can you wonder, then, that Lord Howe didn't acknowledge them? But I'm
still sure he acted promptly. He's a big enough friend of the sailor to
waste no time before doing his turn."

Ferens shook his head morosely.

"That may be," he said; "but the petitions were sent weeks ago, and
there's no sign from Lord Howe. He was at Bath for gout. My idea is he
referred them to the admiral commanding at Portsmouth, and was told
that behind the whole thing is conspiracy--French socialism and English
politics. I give you my word there's no French agent in the fleet, and
if there were, it wouldn't have any effect. Our men's grievances are not
new. They're as old as Cromwell."

Suddenly a light of suspicion flashed into Ferens's face.

"You're with us, aren't you? You see the wrongs we've suffered, and how
bad it all is! Yet you haven't been on a voyage with us. You've only
tasted the life in harbour. Good God, this life is heaven to what we
have a