lation was by no means the easy--we might say
free-and-easy--business which he had supposed it to be. In short, the
camp presented the interesting spectacle of a human society undergoing
the process of mushroom growth from a condition of chaotic
irresponsibility to that of civilised order.

The chaotic condition had been growing worse and worse for some time
before Grummidge was forced to take action, for Grummidge was a man of
long-suffering patience. One night, however, he lost all patience, and,
like most patient people when forced out of their natural groove, he
exploded with surprising violence and vigour.

It happened thus:--

The crew had built for themselves a hut of specially large dimensions,
in which they nightly assembled all together round the fires, of which
there were two--one at either end. Some of the men told stories, some
sang songs, others played at draughts of amateur construction, and a
good many played the easy but essential part of audience.

The noise, of course, was tremendous, but they were used to that, and
minded it not. When, however, two of the men began to quarrel over
their game, with so much anger as to interrupt all the others, and draw
general attention to themselves, the thing became unbearable, and when
one called the other "a liar," and the other shouted with an oath,
"You're another," the matter reached a climax.

"Come, come, Dick Swan and Bob Crow," cried Grummidge, in a stern voice;
"you stop that. Two liars are too much in this here ship. One is one
too many. If you can't keep civil tongues in your heads, we'll pitch
you overboard."

"You mind your own business," gruffly replied Dick Swan, who was an
irascible man and the aggressor.

"That's just what I'll do," returned Grummidge, striding up to Swan,
seizing him by the collar, and hurling him to the other end of the room,
where he lay still, under the impression, apparently, that he had had
enough. "My business," said Grummidge, "is to keep order, and I mean to
attend to it. Isn't that so, boys?"

"No--yes--no," replied several voices.

"Who said `No'?" demanded Grummidge.

Every one expected to see Big Swinton step forward, but he did not. His
revenge was not to be gratified by mere insubordination. The man who
did at last step forward was an insignificant fellow, who had been
nicknamed Spitfire, and whose chief characteristics were self-will and
ill-nature. He did not lack courage, however, for he bo