Cammock was not free from trouble; he had his own share. The _Broken Heart_ was no happier to him, though he no longer suffered from Stukeley. The men of war were the cause of the trouble, even as he had feared. They were too independent, they resented control, they had a bad effect upon the ship’s discipline. He had had trouble with them from the very first, when they came aboard drunk, twenty-seven of them, bringing with them, as members of their company, the two deserters from the trading-booth. He had promptly put the two deserters into irons for a night. He had then turned them forward, stopped their rum for the voyage, and forced them to work on deck from eight in the morning till four in the afternoon, on all days, whether it was their watch or not. This had caused a mutiny among the men of war. They had come on deck to demand the return of their mates. Margaret, having called all hands aft, had spoken to them, as Cammock confessed, “like a father.” He had read his commission to them. He had promised them that, if they showed any signs of rebellion, he would land them at an English colony, where they should be drafted into the Navy without mercy. He had then called out the two men who had been most noisy in the mutiny, and had put them in the bilboes abaft the main mast, under a sentry, for the next three days. But though the mutiny was crushed, the ill-feeling remained. The men of war went about their duties sullenly, showing that they resented his action. The fo’c’s’le hands, quick to catch the mutinous temper, became “soldiers,” who loafed and skulked, till the mates, goaded by their insolence, made protest, with a bight of the topgallant brace. Cammock had more than the anxieties of office on his shoulders. He had to walk the poop, the captain of all on board, in a false position. In a sense he was a privateer. Had he been, as he once was, a privateer only, he would have known how to handle the privateers beneath him. He understood them. He could even feel for them; he knew how they felt towards him; when he saw them hanging round the hatch, cursing the cruise and all on board. But in the _Broken Heart_ he was less the privateer than the merchant captain going trading. He had divided interests to manage; he had a divided crew under his command. He could see that the temper of the ship was as bad as it could be. The men were in that difficult state a little on this side of mutiny, always on the verge, never quite declaring, but sullen enough to make their captain’s life an anxious life. He expected that their arrival at Springer’s Key would put them in a better spirit. He wished that he could give them some fighting on the way; for it was the belief of his old commander that there is nothing like the sight of a dead or wounded comrade to make a man look to his leader with trust and thankfulness. Meanwhile he drilled all hands daily at the guns, expecting a refusal of duty at any moment. Thinking of the situation