"Don't talk so, but bring Pan along. You needn't be afraid, I shall not try to go."

"Par—role, lad?"

"Yes, parole," said Sydney.

"Ah, well, you are a gent, and I can trust you," said Barney. "Now then," he added, as he stirred up his son with the toe of his natty evening shoe; "get up."

"No, no, no," whined Pan.

"If you don't get up I'll kick you over the palings. Get up, you ugly young lubber, or I'll—"

"Oh!" Pan winced, and rose to his knees, eagerly scanning his father's hands in the gloom to see if the rope's-end was visible.

"And, look here, Barney," said Sydney, quietly, "you are not to hit Pan."

"Not what, my lad?"

"You are not to rope's-end him."

"Who says so?"

"I do."

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, look here, my lad, he's hurt my feelings so that I'm going to lock myself up with him in his bedroom, and then I'm going to skin him."

"Oh, oh!" cried Pan.

"You are not going to touch him, but to bring him before my father."

"'Fore the skipper?" said Barney, in a puzzled voice. "Well, yes, my lad, he's in full command. There is something in that."

"But you shouted, and said some one was coming. Who is it?"

"Oh, that was only a manoofer, Master Syd, just to scare you into s'rending."

"Then there is no one coming?"

"It's par—role, mind."

"Yes, parole, of course."

"And you won't try to cut and run again?"

"No—no!" cried Sydney, impatiently.

"No one. Now then you, Pan, my man, hyste yerself on them two legs o' yourn. On'y you wait till I'm a-handlin' that there bit o' rope."

"You touch him if you dare!" cried Sydney. "My father will punish him."

"Oh, Master Syd!" cried Pan.

"Hold your row, will you, you lubber," growled Barney, seizing his son by the collar, setting him on his legs, and giving him a good shake at the same time.

Pan uttered a low moan, and shuffling his feet along the gravel, allowed himself to be led towards the gate.

Sydney shivered as he felt that he was approaching sentence.

"Is my father in the dining-room?"

"Yes, Master Sydney.—Here you, lift up them pretty hoofs o' yours, will yer!"

"Is my uncle with him?"

"Yes, Master Syd."

"Have they been trying to find us?"

"No, Master Syd. The skipper said as if you was such a young cur as to go and disgrace yourself like that 'ere by running away and desarting the King's colours, he wouldn't stir a step arter yer."

"Oh!" groaned Sydney to himself. Then in a whisper, "What did my uncle say?"

"Said Amen to it, and that he'd been fool enough to give you the money to go with."

"No, no, Barney, I didn't take his money."

"Ah, well, I don't know nothing 'bout that. But here's the gate. On you go first."

"No; go on first with Pan."

"And let you shoot off."

"Am I not on parole?"

"Ay, ay. Forgetted that. Now then, you swab; on with you."

As Barney led the way towards the front door, Sydney noticed that there was a light in the dining-room, whose windows were open, the weather being still warm and fine.

"Stop, Barney," he said, after a sudden thought, "we'll go in there through the window."

"Nay, my lad, nay," said the boatswain; "it'll look as if I was spellin' arter a glass o' wine."

"Never mind. I'll go first, and you bring in Pan afterwards."

"Oh, Master Syd, don't."

"Yah! you swab, be quiet!" said Barney, giving his unfortunate son another shake. "Wait till the admiral's pronounced court-martial on you; and then—"

He did not finish, but followed close behind Sydney, who drew a long breath, walked boldly up to the open French window, looked in a moment on where the two fine old veterans were sitting talking sadly together, and then stepped in.

"What!" roared the admiral, rising from his chair, and oversetting his glass of port.

"You here, sir!" cried Captain Belton. "Why have you come back?"

"Because I've been thinking all night, father," said Syd, quietly, "and I've found out I was a fool."



CHAPTER NINE.

There was a dead silence in the dining-room at the Heronry for some time, during which Syd stood with his head erect gazing at his father, who was erect by the table as he might have stood in old times upon his quarter-deck with some mutineer before him; the admiral dropped back into his arm-chair, stared from one to the other as if astounded by his nephew's declaration, while the light shone full upon Syd, who looked pale, shabby, and dirty, but with a frank daring in his face which kept the two old men silent.

In the background close to the window stood Barney, with all his old training manifest in his attitude—that of a petty officer in charge of a prisoner; for that was the character which his son occupied just then in his eyes. His gardening was, for the time being, forgotten, and he felt that he was in the presence of his commanding officer, not of the master whom he served.

The painful silence was broken by Pan, to whom all this was awe-inspiring. For the moment he forgot all about ropes'-ends, and worked himself up into the belief that he would be sentenced to some terrible punishment. He fidgeted about, breathed hard, looked appealingly from the captain to the admiral and back again, and at last, unable to contain himself longer, he burst forth into a long and piteous howl, dropping down upon his knees, and from that attitude would have thrown himself prone, had not Barney tightened his hold upon his collar and shaken him up into a kneeling position again.

"Stow that!" he growled, as the admiral seized the port wine decanter as if to throw at the boy, but altered his mind and poured himself out a glass instead.

Then the terrible silence began again, and lasted till the captain turned to his brother. But he did not speak, and after a few moments longer Sir Thomas exclaimed—

"You young dog! spent all the money you got out of me, and now you've sneaked back."

"I haven't, uncle," cried Syd, indignantly. "I didn't take it. It's on the table in my room."

This seemed to unlock Captain Belton's lips.

"Well, sir, now you have come back, what do you want?" he said.

"I've told you, father. I've been wrong, and want you to forgive me."

"No, sir: you deserted; and now you come crawling back and want to go on as before. Can't trust you again. Go and be a doctor."

"Will you hold up!" growled Barney, fiercely, as he shook his son, who seemed to want to burrow down out of sight through the carpet.

"Oh, father!" began Syd. But he was stopped by his uncle.

"Hold your tongue, sir! Court hasn't called upon you for your defence. Look here, Harry, put the prisoners back while we talk it over."

"Yes," said the captain, coldly, "you can go to your room, sir, and wait till your uncle and I have decided what steps we shall take."

"Yes, sir, confound you! and go and wash your dirty face," said Sir Thomas, fiercely; "you look a disgrace to your name."

"As for your boy, Strake, take him and punish him well."

"Ay, ay, sir!" growled Barney, with alacrity; but his voice was almost drowned by a howl of misery from Pan—a cry that was checked by his father's fierce grip.

"Like me to do down Master Syd same time, sir?" whispered the ex-boatswain.

"No, father, don't let him be punished," said Sydney, quickly. "I made him come back."

"Yes, sir, he did, he did," cried Pan, eagerly. "You did; didn't you, Master Syd?"

"And I promised him he should not be punished."

"Yes, sir, he did, or else I wouldn't have come back."

"What!" roared the admiral, in a tone which made Pan shrink into himself. "And look here, sir," he continued, turning to his nephew, "who made you first in command with your promises?"

"Don't let him be flogged, father," pleaded Syd. "I'm to blame about him. I did promise him that if he would come back he should not be punished."

"Take your boy home, Strake, and bring him here to-morrow morning," said the captain, sternly. "He is not to be flogged till he has made his defence."

"Ay, ay, sir!" growled the old boatswain; and pulling an imaginary forelock, he hauled Pan out of the room, their passage down the path towards the gardener's cottage being accompanied by a deep growling noise which gradually died away.

"Well, sir," said the captain, coldly, "you heard what I said."

Syd looked from one to the other appealingly, feeling that as he had humbly confessed he was in the wrong, he ought to be treated with more leniency, but his uncle averted his gaze, and his father merely pointed to the door, through which, faint, weary, and despondent, the boy went out into the hall, while the two old men seemed to be listening till he had gone up-stairs.

"A miserable, mean-spirited young scoundrel!" said Captain Belton, angrily, but his face grew less stern directly, as he saw his brother throw himself back in his chair, to laugh silently till he was nearly purple.

"Oh, dear me!" he panted at last, "nearly given me a fit. What a dirty, miserable object he looked!"

"Disgraceful, Tom!" said the captain. "Now, then, what would you do with the young dog? Send him off to some school for a couple of years?"

"No," said the admiral, quietly.

"I don't like thrashing the boy."

"Of course not, Harry."

"But I must punish him."

"What for?"

"What for? Disobedience. This mad escapade—"

"Bah!"

"Tom?"

"I said Bah! Punish him? Why, look at the boy. Hasn't he punished himself enough? Why, Harry, we were boys once, and precious far from perfect, eh? I say, I don't think either of us would have had the courage to have faced our old dad and confessed like that."

"Humph! perhaps not, Tom."

"No perhaps about it, dear old boy."

"But I must punish him."

"No, you mustn't. I won't have him punished. I like the young dog's spirit. We said he should go to sea. He said he didn't want to go, and sooner than do what he didn't like he cut and run, till he found out he was making a fool of himself, and when he did find it out he came and said so like a man."

"Well, yes," said the captain, "he did confess, but this must not be passed over lightly."

"Bah! Tchah! Pah! let it be. You see if he don't come the humble to-morrow morning, and want us to let him go to sea."

"Think so?"

"Sure of it, my dear boy. I'm not angry with him a bit. He showed that he had some spirit in running away."

"And that he was a cur in sneaking back."

"Steady there," cried the admiral, "nothing of the kind. I say it took more pluck to come back and face us, and own he was in the wrong, than to run away."

The captain sat slowly sipping his port, and the subject was discussed no more.

Then at last bedtime came.

Syd was seated in his room alone. He had washed and changed his clothes, expecting moment by moment to be summoned to hear his fate, but the hours had passed, and he was sick and faint with hunger and exhaustion.

As he sat there he heard the various familiar noises in the house, each of which told him what was going on. He recognised the jingling of glasses on a wooden tray, which he knew meant the butler clearing the dining-room. He heard the closing of the library door. Then there was a long silence, followed by the rattling of shutters, the shooting of bolts, the noise made by bars, and after another lapse, the murmur of deep voices in the hall, the clink of silver candlesticks on the marble slab, and a deep cough.

"They're gone up to bed," said Sydney to himself, and wearily thinking that he would not be spoken to, and that he had better patiently try to forget his hunger in sleep, so as to be ready for the painful interview of the morning, he rose to undress.

But he did not begin. He stood thinking about the events of the past twenty-four hours, and like many another, felt that he would have given anything to recall the past.

For he was very miserable, and his misery found vent once more as he was asking himself what would be his fate in the world.

"Yes, I've behaved like a wretched, thoughtless fool."

"Pst! Syd!"

He started and looked round, to see that the door had been slightly opened, and that his uncle's great red face was thrust into the room.

"Yes, sir," he faltered—he dared not say, "Yes, uncle."

"Had anything to eat?" whispered the old admiral.

"No, sir."

The door closed, and the boy's spirits rose a little, for with all his fierceness it was evident that the old admiral was kindly disposed. But his spirits went down again. Uncle Tom was only a visitor, and his father was horribly stern and harsh. His voice had thrilled the boy, who again and again had wondered what was to be his fate.

"I'll tell uncle how sorry I am, and ask him to side with me," thought Sydney; and he had just made up his mind to speak to him if he came again, and surely he would after coming to ask him about the food, when the door-handle rattled slightly, and the boy involuntarily turned to meet his uncle just as the door was pressed open a little, and he found himself face to face with his father, who remained perfectly silent for a few moments as Syd shrank away.

"Hungry, my lad?" he said at last.

"Yes, father—very."

"Hah!"

The door closed, and the prisoner was left once more to his own thoughts.



CHAPTER TEN.

"I can't bully him to-night—a young dog!" said the captain. "He must be half-starved. I wonder whether Broughton has gone to bed."

He went down slowly to the library without a light, meaning to summon the butler and make him prepare a tray.

But meanwhile Admiral Belton had provided himself with a chamber candlestick and stolen softly down-stairs, through the baize door at one side of the hall, and along the passage that led to the kitchen.

"Can't leave the poor lad to starve," he muttered; "and I dare say I shall find out the larder by the smell."

He chuckled to himself as he softly unfastened a door.

"Nice game this for one of his Majesty's old officers of the fleet," he said. "Wonder what they'd say at the club if they saw me?"

The door passed, he had no difficulty in finding the kitchen, for there was a pleasant chirping of crickets to greet his ear; a kitcheny smell that was oniony and unmistakable, and a few paces farther on his feet were on stones that were sanded, and all at once there was a loud pop where he put down his foot.

He lowered the light and saw that black beetles were scouring away in all directions.

"Cockroaches, by George!" he muttered. "Now where can the larder be?"

There were three doors about, and he went to the first.

"Hah!" he ejaculated, with a sniff. "Here we are; no doubt about it."

He slipped a bolt, lifted a latch, stepped in and stepped out again quickly, then closed the door.

"Scullery!" he snarled. "Bah! what an idiot I do seem, prowling about here."

He crossed the kitchen, slaying two more black beetles with his broad feet in transit, and opened another door. This he found led into a cool passage, along one side of which was a wirework kind of cage.

"Here we are at last," he said; and opening the door, he found himself in presence of part of a cold leg of mutton, a well-carved piece of beef, and a cold roast pheasant.

"Now then for a plate," he muttered; and this he secured by sliding some tartlets off one on to the shelf.

"Why, I've no knife," he muttered, as he cast his eyes upon the cold roast pheasant. "I must have some bread too."

A huge brown pan on the stone floor suggested the home of the loaves, and on raising the lid he found a half loaf, which he broke in two, secured one piece, and transferred it to the plate.

"Hang it all, where is there a knife?" he muttered. "One can't cut beef or mutton without a knife. 'Tisn't even as if one had got one's sword. Here—I know."

He seized the pheasant.

"Humph! too much for a boy. Don't know, though; dare say he could finish it. Wouldn't do him good. I'll—that's it."

He took hold of one leg, and holding the bird down, pulled off one of its joints; then another; after which he placed the pair of legs thoughtfully on the plate.

"May as well give him a wing too," he said; and seizing the one having the liver, he was in the act of tearing it off, when an exclamation behind made him start round and face the captain.

"My dear Tom!" exclaimed the latter. "Why, my dear boy, didn't you speak, and so have ordered a supper-tray?"

"But you seem to be hungry too," growled the admiral, pointing with the wing he had now torn-off at a plate and knife and fork his brother carried.

"Eh? yes," said the captain, starting and looking conscious. "I—er— that is—"

"Why, Harry!" exclaimed Sir Thomas.

"Tom!" cried the captain. "You don't mean that you have come down to—"

"Yes, I do," cried the admiral, fiercely. "Think I was going to bed after a good dinner to shut my eyes whilst that poor boy was half-starved?"

"But it is a punishment for him," said the captain, sternly.

"Punishment be hanged, sir!" cried Sir Thomas. "Harry, you are my brother, and I am only a guest here, but you are a humbug, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"Mean that you've been bouncing about being strict, and the rest of it, and yet you brought that plate and knife to cut your boy some supper."

"Well, er—I'm afraid I did, Tom."

"I'm not afraid, but I'm very glad you're not such a hard-hearted scoundrel. Poor boy! he must be famished. Here, give me that knife."

The captain handed the knife, but in doing so brushed his sleeve over the flame of the candle he carried, and extinguished it.

"How provoking!"

"Never mind," said his brother; "one must do."

As he spoke, the admiral hacked a great piece off the breast of the pheasant, and added it to the legs and wing.

"There," he said, "that ought to keep him going till breakfast. Must have a bit o' salt, Harry. Hush!"

He stooped down and blew out the remaining candle, as the captain caught his arm, and they stood listening.

For the creaking of a door had fallen upon their ears; and partly from involuntary action consequent upon the dread of being caught in so unusual a position, partly from the second thought to which he afterwards gave vent, the admiral sought refuge in the dark.

"Burglars, Harry," he whispered. "They're after your plate."

"Hist! don't speak; we may catch them," was whispered back, and the two old officers stood listening for what seemed an interminable length of time before they saw the dim reflection of a light; heard more whispering, and then the door leading into the larder passage was softly opened.

"Coming into the trap," thought the captain, as with his heart beating fast he prepared for the encounter which he foresaw must take place. "Be ready," he said, with his lips to his brother's ear.

"Right. They're going to board," was whispered back.

They were not long kept in doubt, for the larder door was suddenly thrown open, and three men dashed in armed with bludgeons and a cutlass. There was a sharp scuffle in the darkness, in which the two brave old officers made desperate efforts to master their assailants, but only to find that their years were against them, and they were completely overcome.

"You lubbers! Do you give in?" cried a hoarse voice—that of the man sitting on the captain's chest, while two men were holding down the admiral, who still heaved and strove to get free.

"Strake, you scoundrel! is it you?" panted the captain.

Barney executed a curious manoeuvre, half bound, half roll, off his master, and brought up close to one of the larder shelves, while one of the other men left the admiral and ran out, to return with a light.

The scene was strange. Barney was standing supporting himself against the larder shelf, with his elbow on the cold sirloin of beef; the footman, in his shirt and breeches, was in a corner; and Captain Belton and his brother, with their clothes half torn-off their backs, were seated on the bare floor, staring angrily at their assailants; while Broughton, the butler, was in the doorway, with the candle he had fetched held high above his head.

"My last tooth gone," roared the admiral. "You scoundrels, you shall pay for this."

"Strake, you rascal!" cried the captain. "Broughton, is this some plot to rob me?"

The men stared aghast, as the captain struggled up.

"Speak, you ruffians! You, John!" roared the captain, as he got his breath again, and stood trembling with passion as he glared at the footman.

"Beg pardon, sir," stammered the frightened servitor.

"No, don't stop for that, sir," cried his master; "tell me what the dickens this means."

"Please, sir, I heard noises down-stairs, and I thought it was after the plate; so I told Broughton, sir, and he sent me after the gardener, sir."

"And then you came and attacked us," roared the admiral. "Here, I'm half killed."

"We didn't know it was you, Sir Thomas," growled Barney.

"Then why didn't you know, you idiot?" cried the captain.

"Didn't think anybody could be down-stairs, sir," said the butler, respectfully.

"Why didn't you show your colours, you scoundrel?" cried the admiral, "and not come firing broadsides into your friends. Confound—I say, Harry, my lad, just look at me."

"I'm very sorry, sir," faltered the butler.

"Hang your sorrow, sir! You've broke my watch-glass, and I can feel the bits pricking me."

"Come to me at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, all of you," cried the captain, fiercely, "and I'll pay you your wages, and you shall go."

"No, no, no," said the admiral; "I think we've given them as much as they gave us, and—haw, haw, haw!" he roared, bursting into a tremendous peal of laughter; "we didn't show our colours either. It's all right, brother Harry; they took us for burglars—but they needn't have hit quite so hard."

"Beg your honour's pardon, sir, sure," growled Barney.

"Beg my pardon, sir!—after planting your ugly great knees on my chest, and then sitting on me with your heavy carcase!"

"Is anything the matter?" said a voice at the door, and Sydney made his appearance, looking startled at the scene.

"No, no, my boy," cried his uncle, cheerily; "only your father and I came down to get you a bit of supper, and then they boarded us in the dark."

"Yes, yes, that was it, Syd," said the captain. "Here, put that plate on a tray, Broughton, and take it into the library. I'm very sorry this has happened."

"All a mistake, sir, I'm sure," said the butler, taking the plate with the hacked and torn-off portions of pheasant.

"Yes; don't say any more about it. Come, brother Tom; come, Sydney."

He led the way, but the jolly old admiral could not follow for laughing. He leaned up against the larder shelf, and stood wiping his eyes; and every time he got over one paroxysm he began again. But at last he beckoned to Barney.

"Here, give me your arm, bo'sun," he said, "and help me into the library; I feel as if everything were going by the board. Oh, dear me! oh, dear me! Wait till I've buttoned this waistcoat. Well, it's a lesson. Done for you, Syd, if you had been going to sea. Never attack without proper signals to know who are enemies and who are not."

The supper was soon spread in the library, and Sydney was ravenous for a few mouthfuls, but after that he pushed his plate away, and could eat no more.

"What!" cried his uncle; "done? Nonsense! I can peck a bit now myself; and, Harry, my boy, I must have a glass of grog after this."

The result was that Syd did eat a decent supper, and an hour later, when all was still, he sat thinking for a time about the coming morning. Perhaps more than that of the fact that neither his father nor his uncle had shaken hands when they parted for the night.

Then came sleep—sweet, restful sleep—and he was dreaming vividly for a time of a desperate fight with the French, in which he boarded a larder, and captured a butler, footman, and a gardener. After that all was dense, dreamless sleep, till he started up in bed, for there was a knocking at his door.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"May I come in, sir?"

"Yes; come in, Broughton," said Syd, recognising the voice, and the butler entered with one hand bound up.

"That, sir? Oh, nothing, sir. Only got it in the scrimmage last night. So glad to see you back again, Master Syd."

"Oh, don't talk about it, Broughton," groaned the boy. "My father down?"

"No, sir; but he's getting up, and your uncle too. I was to come and tell you to make haste."

"Yes, I'll make haste," said Syd; and as soon as he was alone he began to dress hurriedly, with every thought of the blackest hue, and a sensation of misery and depression assailing him that was horrible.

He quite started as he went to the glass to brush his hair, for his face was white and drawn as if he had been ill. But there was very little more time for thought. The breakfast-bell rang, and he hurried down into the dining-room, glad to get off the staircase and through the hall, where one of the housemaids was still busy, and ready to look at him curiously as the boy who ran away from home—and came back.

Syd thought of that latter, for he knew but too well the servants might think it was brave—almost heroic and daring—to run away; to come back seemed very weak and small.

In those few moments Syd wished that ten years would glide away, and all the trouble belong to the past.

His father was in a chair by the window ready to look up sharply, and then let his eye fall upon the book he was reading without uttering a word.

Broughton came in bearing a tray with the coffee and a covered dish or two ready to place upon the table, then he left, and Syd was alone again with his father.

"What will he say?" thought the culprit; but he could not decide in which form his verbal castigation would come.

As he sat glancing at his father from time to time, Syd noted that there was a scratch upon his forehead, and that a bit of sticking-plaster was on one of his knuckles, proofs these of the severity of the past night's struggle.

Then came a weary waiting interval before there was a deep-toned cough outside the door.

"Hah!" ejaculated the captain, rising from his seat as the door opened, and the old admiral stumped into the room.

"Morning, Harry," he said; "morning, Syd."

He closed the door behind him and came forward, and then, odd as it may sound in connection with one who was weak, unwell, and suffering from so much mental trouble, Sydney burst into a hearty fit of laughter. He tried to check it; he knew that under the circumstances it was in the worst of taste; he felt that he would excite his father's anger, and that then he would be furious; but he laughed all the same, and the more he tried the more violent and lasting the fits grew.

"Sydney!" cried his father, and then there was a pause followed by a hearty "Ha, ha, ha!" as the captain joined in, and the admiral gently patted his own face first on one side and then on the other.

"Yes," he said, quietly; "you may well laugh. I look a nice guy, don't I?"

"Oh, uncle! I beg your pardon—but—oh, oh, oh, I can't stop laughing," cried Sydney.

"Well, get it done, boy," said the old gentleman, "for I want my breakfast. Oh, here is Broughton."

The butler entered with a rack of hot dry toast, and as he advanced to the table the admiral exclaimed—

"Now, sir, look here; you've made a nice mess of my phiz. What have you got to say to this?"

The butler raised his eyes as he set down the toast, gazed full in the old gentleman's face, his own seemed frozen solid for a moment, and then, clapping the napkin he carried to his mouth to smother his laughter, he turned and fled.

"And that son of a sea-cook begged my pardon last night, and said he was sorry. Yes, I am a sight. Look at my eyes, Harry, swollen up and black. There's a nose for you; and one lip cut. Why, I never got it so bad in action. And all your fault, Syd. There, I forgive you, boy."

"Well, it's impossible to give this boy a serious lecture now, Tom," said the captain, wiping his eyes, as he passed the coffee.

"Of course. Who wants serious lectures?" said the admiral, testily. "The boy did wrong, and he came back and said he was sorry for it. You've told me scores of times that you never flogged a man who was really sorry for getting into a scrape. Give me some of that ham, Syd, and go on eating yourself. I say, rum old punch I look, don't I?"

Syd made no reply, but filled his uncle's plate, and the breakfast went on nearly to the end before the topic dreaded was introduced.

"Well, Sydney," said his father, rather sadly, "so I suppose I must let you be a doctor?"

"Wish he was one now," cried the admiral. "I'd make him try to make me fit to be seen. Humph! doctor, eh? No; I don't think I shall try to be ill to give you a job, Syd; but I'm very glad, my boy, that you did not take that money."

Sydney bent over his coffee, and his father went on—

"It's like letting you win a victory, sir, but I suppose I must give in. I don't like it though."

"Humph! more do I," said Sir Thomas. "I'll forgive you though if you train up for a naval surgeon. Do you hear, sir?"

"Yes, uncle, I hear," said Sydney.

"Then why don't you speak?"

"I was thinking of what you said, uncle."

"Humph! Well, I hope you'll take it to heart."

"Yes," said his father; "you may as well be a surgeon."

"That's what I should have liked to be," said Sydney, "if I had been a doctor."

"Well, you're going to be, sir. Your uncle and I have talked it over, and you shall study for it, and begin as soon as you're old enough."

Sydney sat still, gazing at his plate; but he raised his eyes at last, and looked firmly at his father, who was watching him keenly.

"Thank you, father," he said.

"No, sir, don't thank me; thank your indulgent uncle."

"No, don't, boy, because I give way most unwillingly; and I'm confoundedly sorry you should want to be such a physic-mixing swab."

"You needn't be sorry, uncle," said Sydney, quietly; "and I'm very grateful to you, father, but I shall not be one now."

"Not be a doctor!" said the captain, sharply. "Then pray, sir, what do you mean to be?"

"A sailor, father."

"What?" cried the brothers in chorus.

"And I want to go to sea at once."

"You do, Syd?"

"Yes, father. I saw it all when I'd gone away, and I came back for that."

"Hurrah!" cried the admiral, starting from his seat, and dropping back with a groan of pain. "Bless my heart!" he cried, "how sore I am! But hurrah! all the same. You'll be a middy, my boy."

"Yes, uncle. I want to be at once."

"And you'll try to make yourself a good officer, my boy?" cried his father, leaning over the table to catch his son's hand.

"Yes, father, as hard as ever I can."

"T'other hand, Syd, lad," cried the admiral; and he grasped it firmly. "Try, Harry?—he won't need to try. He's a Belton every inch of him, and he'll make a ten times better officer than ever we did. Here, where's the port? Who's going to drink success to the boy in coffee? Bah, what does the liquor matter! We'll drink it in our hearts, boy. Here's to Admiral Belton—my dear boy—our dear boy, Harry, eh?"

"God bless you, my lad!" cried Captain Belton. "You've made me feel more proud of you and happy than I have felt for years."

"Here, hi!" roared the admiral; "where's that lubber Strake? I want some one to help me cheer. Sydney, boy, God bless you! I am glad you ran away."

"Then you forgive me, father?"

"Hold your tongue, sir," cried Captain Belton, laying his hand on his son's shoulder. "There are things that we all like to forget as soon as we can—this is one of them. Let's blot it out."

"But I want to ask a favour, father."

"Granted, my boy, before you ask."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

Sydney Belton, as he felt the pressure of his father's hand, could not speak for a few minutes, and when he did find utterance, he seemed to have caught a fresh cold, for his voice sounded husky.

"I want as a favour, father—" he began, in a faltering voice.

"Here, it's all right, Syd, my boy," said his uncle; "don't bother your father for money. Now then, how much do you want?"

"I don't want money, uncle."

"Eh? Don't want money, sir? Wait a bit then till you get among your messmates, and you'll want plenty."

"I want to beg Panama off from being punished."

"Ah, to be sure. I'd forgotten him," cried Captain Belton; and he went to the fireplace and rang the bell.

The butler answered, looking very serious and apologetic now as he glanced at Sir Thomas. But the old gentleman only shook his fist at him good-humouredly as his brother spoke.

"Send John down to the cottage, to tell Strake to come up directly with his son."

"Look here," said Sir Thomas, chuckling, "don't you two look like that. Pull serious faces, and let's scare the young dog. Do him good."

By the time the breakfast was ended steps were heard in the hall, and the butler came in to announce that the gardener was waiting with his boy.

"Send them in," said Captain Belton, austerely.

The butler retired; Sir Thomas gave his brother and nephew several nods and winks, and then sat up looking most profoundly angry as the door was again opened and a low growling arose from the hall. Then a few whimpering protests, more growling, with a few words audible: "Swab"—"lubber"—"hold up!"—and then there was a scuffle, another growl, and Panama, looking white and scared, seemed to be suddenly propelled into the room as if from a mortar, the mortar making its appearance directly after in the shape of Barney, who pulled his forelock and kicked out a leg behind to each of the old officers before pointing to Pan and growling out—

"Young desarter—wouldn't come o' deck, your honours, and—"

Barney's remarks had been addressed to his master, but he now turned round toward Sir Thomas, and seemed for the first time to realise the old admiral's condition, when his jaw dropped, he stared, and then began to scratch his head vigorously.

"My!" he ejaculated; "your honour did get it last night."

"Get it, you rascal—yes," cried Sir Thomas; "you nearly killed me amongst you."

"And, your honour," said Barney, hoarsely, as he turned to his master, "I hadn't no idee it was you. I thought it was—"

"Yes, yes, never mind now," said the captain. "I sent for you about this lad."

"Oh, Master Syd, sir, say a word for me," cried the boy, piteously. "Father would ha' whacked me if I hadn't run away; then you whacked me when I did; and now I'm to be whacked again. Wish I was dead, I do."

"Eh! eh! what's that?" cried Captain Belton. "You thrashed him, Sydney; what for?"

"Well, father, we did have a little misunderstanding," said Sydney, composedly.

"It was 'cause I wouldn't come back, sir; that's it, sir," whimpered Pan. "I knowd father had made the rope's-end ready for me, and he had."

"What's that?" said the captain. "I said you were not to be flogged until you had been tried."

"Well, your honour, orders it was, and I didn't lay it on him," growled Barney.

"No; but you laid it across me in bed, and you kep' on showing of it to me, and you said that was my supper, and my breakfass, and—and—I wish I hadn't come back, I do."

"Is this true, Strake?"

"Well, your honour, I s'pose it's about it," said the boatswain. "I 'member showing of it to him once or twyste."

"He's got it in his pocket now, sir," cried Pan.

"Ay, ay. That's a true word, lad."

"Let's see," said Sir Thomas, in magisterial tones.

Barney fumbled unwillingly in his pocket, and drew out a piece of rope about two feet long, well whipped round at the ends with twine.

"Humph!" said Sir Thomas, taking the instrument of torture. "So that's what you flog him with."

"Well, your honour, meant to make a man of him."

"Arn't yer going to speak a word for me, Master Syd?" whispered Pan.

"Silence, sir!" said the captain. "Now look here: you ran away from your service, and from your father's house. Then, I suppose, you tried to persuade my son to go with you."

Pan looked up reproachfully at Sydney.

"I wouldn't ha' told o' you, Master Syd. But I don't care now. Yes; I wanted him to come."

"Well, I'm glad you spoke the truth; but your companion did not tell tales of you. Now, look here, sir: I suppose you know you've behaved like an ungrateful young scoundrel?"

"Yes, sir," whimpered Pan.

"And you know you deserve to be flogged?"

"Yes, sir, and I want it over; it's like all flogging, and wuss, for him to keep on showing me that there rope's-end."

"Better pipe all hands to punishment, bo'sun," said Sir Thomas.

"Ay, ay, sir," said Barney, thrusting his hand in his breast; and bringing out a silver whistle attached to his neck by a black ribbon, he put it to his lips.

"No, no," cried the captain, "we're not aboard ship now. I wish we were," he added, "eh?"

Sir Thomas nodded.

"Well, sir," continued the captain, "are you ready to take your flogging?"

"Yes, sir," said Pan, dolefully.

"And what will you say if I forgive you?"

"And make him forgive me too, sir?" cried Pan, nodding his head sideways at his father.

"Yes, my lad."

"Anything, sir. There, I'll never run away agen."

"Will you be a good, obedient lad, and do as your father wishes you, and go to sea?"

"No," said Pan, stolidly, "I won't."

"Humph! what are we to say to this, Sir Thomas?"

"Say?—that he's a cowardly young swab."

"Ay, ay, sir; that's it," cried Barney.

"Silence, sir. Look here, boy; we'll give you another chance. Will you go to sea?"

The boy shook his head.

"What! not with my son?"

"What!" cried Barney, excitedly. "Master Syd going?"

"Yes, Barney," cried the boy. "I'm going to be a sailor after all."

The ex-boatswain showed every tooth in his head in a broad grin, slapped one hand down on the other, and cried in a gruff voice—

"Dear lad! There, your honours! The right stuff in him arter all. Can't you get me shipped in the same craft with him, Sir Thomas? I'm as tough as ratline hemp still."

"You going to sea, Master Syd?" said Pan, looking at the companion of his flight wonderingly.

"Yes, Pan; at once. Will you come?"

"Course I will, sir," cried Pan. "Going to-day?"

"There—there, your honours! Hear that?" cried Barney, excitedly. "Aren't that the right stuff too? Here, your honour, begging your pardon, that bit of rope's-end's mine."

He caught up the rope, and gave it a flourish over his head.

"Here, stop! what are you going to do?" cried Sydney, dashing at him, and getting hold of one end of the rope.

"Going to do, Master Syd?—burn it; you may if you like. It's done it's dooty, and done it well. I asks your honours, both on you—aren't that wirtoo in a bit o' rope? See what it's made of him. Nothing like a bit o' rope's-end, neatly seized with a bit o' twine."

"Ah, well, you've a right to your opinion, Strake," said the captain. "There, you can take him back home. I dare say we can manage to get him entered in the same ship as my son."

"And if he's going to do the right thing now," said Sir Thomas, "I'll pay for his outfit too."

"Thank, your honour; thank, your honour!" cried Barney.

"Oh!"

This last was from Pan, who had received a side kick from his father's shoe.

"Then why don't yer touch yer hat to the admiral and say thankye too, you swab?" growled Barney, in a deep, hoarse whisper.

"There," said the captain, "you can go now."

"Long life to both your honours," cried Barney. "Come, Pan, my lad, get home; you dunno it, but your fortune's made."

"Well, Syd, are you satisfied?" said the captain, as soon as they were alone.

"Yes, father."

"Then we'll go up by to-night's coach and see Captain Dashleigh to-morrow. What do you say?"

"I'm ready, father. Will uncle come too?"

"Uncle Tom come too, you young humbug! how can I?" cried the admiral. "No, I'm on sick leave, till my figure-head's perfect, so I shall have to stop here and sip the port."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A supercilious-looking waiter—that is to say, a waiter who has had a good season and saved a little money—was standing at the door of the oldest hotel in Covent Garden, when a clumsy coach was driven up to the door.

The coach was so old and shabby, and drawn by two such wretched beasts, that the supercilious waiter could not see it; and after looking to his right and his left he turned to go in.

"Here, hi!" came from the coach; but the waiter paid no heed.

"Here, Syd, fetch that scoundrel here."

The door was flung open, the lad leaped out and went at the waiter like a dog, seizing him by the collar, spinning him round, and racing him protesting the while down the steps and over the rough pavement to the coach door.

"You insolent scoundrel, why didn't you come when I called?" said Captain Belton, from inside the fusty coach.

"Don't I tell you we're full!" cried the waiter; "and don't you come putting—"

"Silence, sir! how dare you!" cried the captain in his fiercest tones. "How do you know that we want to stay in your dirty hotel? Take my card up to Captain Dashleigh, and say I am waiting."

The man glanced at the card, turned, and ran with alacrity into the house.

"That's just the sort of fellow I should like to set Strake at, Syd, with his mates and the cat. A flogging would do him good."

The next minute the waiter was back at the coach door with Captain Dashleigh's compliments, delivered in the most servile tones, and would Captain Belton step up?

"Get down my valise and pay the coachman," said the captain. "We shall sleep here to-night, though you are full."

They were shown into a room where a little, dandified man in full uniform was walking up and down, evidently dictating to his secretary, who was busily writing.

Syd stared. He had been accustomed to look upon his father and uncle, and the friends who came to see them, as types of naval officers—big, loud-spoken, grey-haired, bluff men, well tanned by long exposure to the weather; and he wondered who this individual could be who walked with one hand upon the hilt of his sword, pressing it down so that the sheath projected nearly at right angles between the tails of his coat, and as he walked it seemed to wag about like a monkeyish part of his person. The other hand held a delicate white handkerchief, which he waved about, and at each movement it scented the air.

"Ah, my dear Captain Belton, so glad to see you. Lucky your call was now. So much occupied, you see. Sit down, my dear sir. And this is your son? Ah," he continued, inspecting Syd through a gold-rimmed eyeglass, "nice little lad. Looks healthy and well. Seems only the other day I joined the service in his uncle's ship. I have your brother's letter in my secretary's hands. So glad to oblige him if I can. How is the dear old fellow?"

"Hearty, Captain Dashleigh," said Syd's father. "Desired to be kindly remembered to you."

"Ah, very good of him. Splendid officer! The service has lost a great deal through his growing too old."

"We don't consider ourselves too old for service. Timbers are sound. We only want the Admiralty to give us commands."

"Ah, yes, to be sure," said the dandy captain, who seemed to be about eight-and-thirty; and he continued his walk up and down the room as his visitors sat.

"You have succeeded well, Dashleigh," said Captain Belton.

"Well, yes—pretty well—pretty well. Very arduous life though."

"Oh, hang the arduous life, sir," said Captain Belton. "It's a grand thing to be in command of a two-decker."

"Yes," said the little man, who in physique was rather less than Sydney; "the Government trust me, and his Majesty seems to have confidence in my powers. But you will, I know, excuse me, my dear old friend, if I venture to hint that my time is not my own. Sir Thomas said you would call and explain how I could serve him. What can I do? One moment—I need not say that I look upon him as my father in the profession, and that I shall be delighted to serve him. You will take a pinch?"

He handed a magnificent gold snuff-box set with diamonds, and a portrait on china in the lid indicated that it came from one of the ministers.

"Thanks, yes. But, my dear Dashleigh, you should not use scented snuff."

"Eh?—no? The fashion, my dear sir. Now I am all attention."

"Then why don't you sit down as a gentleman would?" said Captain Belton to himself. Then aloud—"My business is very simple, sir. This is my son, whom I wish to devote to the King's service, and my brother, Sir Thomas Belton, asks, and I endorse his petition, that you will enter him in your ship, and try to do by him as my brother did by you."

"My dear Captain Belton! Ah, this is sad! What could have been more unfortunate! If you had only been a week sooner!"

"What's the matter, sir?" said the captain, sternly.

"Matter?—I am pained, my dear Captain Belton; absolutely pained. I would have done anything to serve you both, my dear friends, but my midshipmen's berth is crammed. I could not—dare not—take another. If there was anything else I could do to serve Sir Thomas and you I should be delighted."

"Thank you, Captain Dashleigh," said Syd's father, rising; "there is nothing else. I will not detain you longer."

"I would say lunch with me, my dear sir, but really—as you see—my secretary—the demands upon my time—you thoroughly understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand. Good morning."

"Good morning, my dear Captain Belton; good morning, my young friend. I will speak to any of the commanding officers I know on your behalf. Good day."

The captain stalked silently down-stairs, closely followed by Syd, and then led the way round and round the market, taking snuff savagely without a word.

But all at once he stopped and drew himself up, and gave his cane a thump on the pavement, while his son thought what a fine-looking, manly fellow he was, and what a pleasure it was to gaze upon such a specimen of humanity after the interview with the dandy they had left.

"Syd," said the captain, fiercely, "if I thought you would grow up into such an imitation man as that, confound you, sir, I'd take and pitch you over one of the bridges."

"Thank you, father. Then you don't like Captain Dashleigh?"

"Like him, sir? A confounded ungrateful dandy Jackanapes captain of a seventy-four-gun ship! Great heavens! the Government must be mad. But that's it—interest at court! Such a fellow has been promoted over the heads of hundreds of better men. All your uncle's services to him forgotten, and mine too."

"But if there wasn't room in his ship, father?"

"Room in his ship sir?" cried the captain, wrathfully. "Do you think there would not have been room in my ship for the son and nephew of two old friends? Why, hang me, if I'd been under that man's obligations, I'd have shared my cabin with the boy but what he should have gone."

"Yes, father, I think you would. So we've failed."

"Failed? Yes. No; never say die. But I'm glad. Hang him! With a captain like that, what is the ship's company likely to be! No, Syd, if you can't go afloat with a decent captain, you shall turn doctor or tailor."

"Why don't you have a ship again, father?"

"Because I have no interest, my boy, and don't go petitioning and begging at court. But they don't want sea-captains now, they want scented popinjays. Why, Syd, I've begged for a ship scores of times during the past two years, but always been passed over. I wouldn't care if they'd appoint better men; but when I see our best vessels given to such things as that! Oh, hang it, I shall be saying what I shall be sorry for if I go on like this. Come and have a walk. No; I'll go to the Admiralty, and see if I can get a hearing there. If I can't—if they will not help me to place my boy in the service which all the Beltons have followed for a hundred and fifty years, I'll—There, come along, boy, the world is not perfect."

He walked sharply down into the Strand and then on to Whitehall, where he turned into the Admiralty Yard, and sent in his card to one of the chief officials, who kept him waiting two hours, during which the captain fumed to see quite a couple of score naval officers go in and return, while he was passed over.

"Here you see an epitome of my life during the past fifteen years, Syd," he said, bitterly. "Always passed over and—"

"His lordship will see you now, if you please," said an official.

"Hah! pretty well time," muttered the captain. "Come along, Syd."

They followed the clerk along a gloomy passage, and were shown into a dark room where a fierce-looking old gentleman in powder and queue sat writing, but who laid down his pen and rose as Captain Belton's name was announced; shook hands cordially, and then placed his hands upon his visitor's shoulders and forced him into an easy-chair.

"Sit down, Harry Belton, sit down," he cried. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but wanted to get rid of all my petitioners and visitors, so as to be free for a long talk. Why, I haven't seen you or heard of you these ten years."

"Not for want of my applying for employment, my lord," said Captain Belton, stiffly.

"But then I've not been in office, my dear Belton; and, hang it, man, don't 'my lord' me. And who's this?"

"My son, my lord," said the captain.

"Don't 'my lord' me, man!" cried the old gentleman, fiercely. "You always were a proud, stubborn fellow. And so this is your son, is it?" he continued, peering searchingly in the boy's face. "Ah! chip of the old block; stubborn one too, I can see. Shake hands, sir. Now then, what are you going to be?"

"A sailor, sir—my lord, I mean."

"Don't correct yourself, boy. A sailor, eh? Like your father and grandfather before you, eh? Good; can't do better. I wish you luck, my lad. We want a school of lads of your class. The navy's full of milksops, and dandies, and fellows who have got their promotion by favour, while men like your father, who have done good service and ought to be doing it now, instead of idling about as country gentlemen—"

"Not my fault," cried the captain, hotly. "I've begged for employment till I've grown savage, and sworn I would appeal no more."

"Hah! yes," said the old gentleman, sitting back in his chair, and holding Syd's hand still in his; "there's a deal of favour and interest in these days, my dear Belton. John Bull's ships ought to be commanded by the best men in the navy, but they're not; and those of us who would like to do away with all the corruption, can't stir. Never mind that now. Let's talk of Admiral Tom. How is the dear old boy?"

"Like I am—growing old and worn with disappointment."

"Nonsense, Belton; nonsense. We can't shape our own lives. Better make the best of things as they are. Well, my boy, what ship have you joined?"

"None, sir—yet."

"I came up to see Dashleigh, on the strength of his having been under my brother, and asked him to take my son."

"And he wouldn't, of course," said the old gentleman, more fiercely still. "Wrong man, my dear sir. Ladder kicker. And so, young sir, you haven't got a ship?"

"No; and if you could help me, my lord—"

"If you call me my lord again, Harry Belton, I won't stir a peg.—Do you know, boy, that I was once in command of a small sloop, and your father was my first officer? I say, Belton, remember those old days?"

"Ay, I do," said the captain, with his eyes lighting up.

"Remember cutting out the Spaniard at Porto Bello?"

"Yes; and the fight with the big vessel in the Gut."

"Ah, to be sure. How we made the splinters fly! Bad luck that was for those other two to come up. Rare games we had, my boy. We must get you a ship under some good captain."

"If you could do that for me," said Captain Belton, eagerly.

"Well, I can try and serve an old friend, even if he is a lazy one who likes to be in dock instead of being at sea. By the way, Belton, how old are you?"

"Fifty-eight."

"Ah, and I'm seventy. Plenty of work in me yet, though. There, I'll bear my young friend here in mind. Come and dine with me one day next week, Belton, for I must send you off now; you've had half an hour instead of five minutes. Say Monday—Tuesday."

"Thank you, no," said the captain, rising. "I've done all I can, and will get back home."

"Bah! You're a bad courtier, Belton. Stubborn as ever. You ought to hang about here, and sneak and fawn upon me, and jump at the chance of dining with me, in the hope that I might be able to help you."

"Yes, my lord, I suppose so," said the captain, sadly; "but if the country wants my services it will have to seek me now. I'm growing too old to beg for what is my right."

"And meanwhile our ships are badly handled and go to the bottom, which would be a good thing if only their inefficient captains were drowned; but it's their crews as well. There, good-bye, Belton. Don't come to town again without calling on me. I'll try and serve your boy. One moment—where are you? Oh yes, I see; I have your card. Good-bye, middy. Remember me to the admiral."

The fierce-looking old gentleman saw them to the door, and soon after father and son were on their way back to the hotel, and the next morning on the Southbayton coach.

"Ah, Sydney, lad," said the captain, "we shall have to bind you 'prentice to a 'pothecary, after all."

"But Lord Claudene said he would try and serve you about me, father; and I should be disappointed if I didn't go to sea now."

"Indeed?" said the captain, laughing. "You will have to bear the disappointment. There are hundreds constantly applying at the Admiralty."

"Yes, father, but you are a friend."

"Yes, my boy, I am a friend; and yet what I want I should have to be waiting about for years, and then perhaps not succeed."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"What!" cried Sir Thomas, when he heard the adventures in town, "you mean to tell me that Dashleigh treated you as you say?"

"Exactly," replied his brother.

"My face show the marks much now?"

"No; hardly at all."

"Then we'll go up to town to-morrow."

"What for, Tom?" said the captain. "You'll do no better than I did."

"I'm not going to try, Harry," said the old gentleman, fiercely.

"Then why go? You are comfortable here."

"I'm going up to horsewhip that contemptible little scoundrel Dashleigh, and fight him afterwards, though he's hardly gentleman enough."

"Nonsense, Tom!"

"Nonsense? Why I made that fellow—and pretty waste of time too! And now he's in command of a seventy-four, and you may go begging for a word to get your boy into the midshipmen's berth."

Uncle Tom did not go up to town to horsewhip or fight.

"Never mind," he said, "he's sure to run his ship on the rocks, or get thrashed—a scoundrel! Here, Syd, take my advice."

"What is it, uncle?"

"Never do any one a kind action as long as you live."

"You don't mean it, uncle."

"What, sir? No, I don't: you're right."

A week passed, during which Barney suggested that the proper thing for Captain Belton to do was to purchase some well-built merchant schooner, and fit her out as a privateer.

"I could soon get together as smart a crew as you'd care to have, and then there'd be a chance for your son to get to be a leefftenant 'fore you knew where you were."

But Captain Belton only laughed, and matters at the Heronry remained as they were, till one day with the other letters there came one that was big and official, and its effect upon the two old officers was striking.

"From the Admiralty, Tom," said the captain, as he glanced at the great seal, and then began to take out his knife to slit open the fold.

"I can see that," said the admiral. "It's from Claudene. Syd, lad, you're in luck. He has got you appointed to a ship, after all."

"Bless my soul!" cried the captain, dropping the great missive on the table.

"What is it, my lad?—what is it?" cried Sir Thomas.

"Read—read," cried Captain Belton, huskily—"it's too good to believe."

Sir Thomas snatched up the official letter, cast his eyes over it, and then, forgetting his gout, caught hold of Syd's hands and began to caper about the room like a maniac.

"Hurrah! Bravo, Harry, my lad. I've often grumbled; but I avow it—I am past service, gouty as I am; but you were never more seaworthy."

"Uncle, why don't you speak?" cried Sydney, excitedly. "Has father got a ship?"

"Got a ship, my lad? He's appointed to one of the smartest in the navy—the Sirius frigate, and she's ordered abroad."

Captain Belton drew himself up, and his eyes flashed as in imagination he saw himself treading once more the quarter-deck of a smart ship.

"It's too good to believe," he muttered—"too good to believe."

"You haven't read the letter," said his brother, looking wistfully across to the tall, eager-looking man before him.

"No," said Captain Belton. "Hah! from Claudene,"—and he read aloud:—

"My dear Belton, I have managed this for you, and I'm very glad, for you will do us credit. The appointment will clear away the difficulty about your boy, for you can have him in your own ship, and keep the young dog under your eye. My good wishes to you, and kind regards to your brother. Tell him I wish I could serve him as well, but I can't see my way."

"Of course he can't," said the old admiral, quickly. "No; I'm too old and gouty now. But as for you, you dog, why don't you stand on your head, or shout, or something? Here, I am well enough to go up to town after all. Syd and I are going to see about his uniform. The Sirius—well, you two have luck at last. Here, hi! you, sir! Put down that confounded birch-broom, and come here."

Uncle Tom had caught sight of Barney at the bottom of the lawn sweeping leaves into a heap for his son to lift them between two boards into the waiting barrow.

As Barney looked up and saw the admiral signalling from the window, he came across the lawn at a trot, dragging the broom after him.

"Drop that broom and salute your officer, you confounded old barnacle!" roared the old gentleman. "Salute, sir, salute: your master's appointed to the smartest frigate in the service."

Barney struck an attitude, sent his old cocked hat spinning into the air, and then catching it, tucked it under his arm, and pulled his imaginary forelock over and over again.

"Good luck to your honour! I am glad. When would you like me to be ready, sir? Shall I go on first and begin overhauling?"

"You, Strake?" said the captain, thoughtfully.

"You're not going to leave me behind, sir? No, no, sir; don't say that, sir—don't think it, sir. I'm as strong and active as ever I was, and a deal more tough. Ask him to take me, Master Syd."

"Take you, Strake?" said the captain again. "Why, what is to become of my garden?"

"Your garden, captain! What do you want with a garden when you're at sea? Salt tack and biscuit, and a few bags o' 'tatoes about all you want aboard ship."

The captain shook his head.

"It's a long time since you were on active service, Strake."

"Active sarvice, captain! Why, I was on active sarvice when the admiral hailed me; and, I tell you, I never felt more fit for work in my life. Course I'd like to be your bo'sun, captain, but don't you stand 'bout that. You take me, and I'll sarve you afore the mast as good and true as if I was warrant officer once more. You've knowed me a lot o' years, Sir Thomas; say a good word for me."

"I'll say you're a good fellow, Strake, and a first-class sailor," said the admiral.

"For which I thank ye kindly, sir. But you don't say a word for a man, Master Syd. I know I've cut up rough with you, sir, often over plums and chyce pears as I wanted to save for the dessart, but my 'art's been allus right for you, my lad, and never a bit o' sorrow till I see you flying in the master's face and not wantin' to sarve the King. You won't bear malice, sir, and 'atred in yer 'art. Say a good word."

"Yes, Barney. Do take him, father."

"It is a question of duty and of the man's ability. Look here, Strake, if I say no, it's because I fear that you would not be smart enough at your age. It is not a question of the will to serve."

"I should think not, sir. Why, you won't have a man of your crew more willing to sarve you right."

"I know that; but the activity and smartness?"

"Activity, sir? Why, I'm as light as a feather, sir, and I'd run up the ratlines and away aloft and clap my hand on the main-truck long afore some o' your youngsters."

"Well, Strake, I'll take you."

"Why—"

"Stop a moment. It must be with the understanding that you undertake anything I set you to do, for there may be a good boatswain aboard."

"Right, sir; any thing's my work. I'll see about my kit at once."

"Syd, you shall go with me, unless you would like to wait for a chance on another ship."

"No, father, I'll go with you," cried Syd. "And what about Pan?"

"He can come," said the captain. "Now leave me with your uncle, I want to talk to him at once."

A complete change seemed to have come over Barney as he made for the open window, not walking as usual, but in a light trot upon his toes, as if he were once more on the deck of a ship; and as soon as he was in the garden and out of sight of the window, he folded his arms and began to evince his delight by breaking into the first few steps of a hornpipe.

He was just in the middle of it when Pan came silently up behind with a board in each hand, to stand gazing from Syd to his father and back again in speechless wonderment, and evidently fully believing that the old man had gone mad.

All at once Barney was finishing off his dance with a curve round on his heels, but this brought him face to face with his wide-eyed, staring son.

The effect was instantaneous. He stopped short in a peculiar attitude, feeling quite abashed at being found so engaged, and Syd could hardly contain his laughter at the way in which the old boatswain got out of his difficulty.

"What now, you ugly young swab!" he roared. "Never see a sailor of the ryle navy stretch his legs afore?"

"Is that how sailors stretches their legs?" said Pan, slowly.

"Yes, it be. Now then, what have you got to say to that?"

"You arn't a sailor, father."

"What? Hear him, Master Syd? That's just what I am, boy, and you too. We're all on us outward bound; and now you come along, and I'll just show you something with a rope's-end."

"Why, I aren't been doing nothing now," cried Pan, drawing back.

"Who said you had, you swab! Heave ahead. Stow talking and get that there rope. I'm going to give you your first lesson in knotting and splicing. Ah, you've got something to larn now, my lad. Go and run that there barrow and them tools into the shed. No more gardening. Come on into the yard, Master Syd, and we'll rig up that there big pole, and a yard across it, and I'll show you both how to lay out with your feet in the sturrup. Come on."

"But, Master Syd, father isn't going to sea again, is he?"

"Yes, Pan, we're all off to join a fine frigate."

"And make men on you both," cried Barney. "Lor', it's a wonder to me how I've managed to live this 'long-shore life so long. Come on, my lads. No, no, don't walk like that. Think as you've got a deck under your feet, and run along like this."

Barney set the example, and Syd laughed again, for the gardener seemed to have gone back ten years of big life, and trotted along as active as a boy.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"Have they come, Syd, lad?" said the admiral, as the boy walked into the private room of the Red Lion, Shoreport, where the old man had taken up his quarters for the past fortnight, and had spent his time down at the docks, where the Sirius was being overhauled in her rigging, and was getting in her stores and ammunition ready for her start to the West Indian station in another week's time.

The coach had not long come in, and on hearing the horn the old sailor, with a twinkle in his eye, had sent the lad to do exactly what he wanted, but would have shrunk from for fear of seeming particular.

"Yes, uncle," he said quietly, "a box has come."

"Well, well, where is it?"

"I told him to put it in my bedroom."

"Well, why don't you go and open it, and see if your outfit is all right?"

"Oh, there's plenty of time, uncle," said Syd, with assumed carelessness.

"Yah! get out, you miserable young humbug. Think I was never a boy myself, and don't know what it means. You're red-hot to go and look at your duds. There, be off and put on your full-dress uniform, and then come down and let's see."

"Put them on, uncle, now?"

"Yes; put them on now," cried the old man, imitating his nephew's voice and manner. "Yes, put them on—now. Not ashamed of the King's livery, are you?"

"No, sir, of course not."

"Then go and put them on, and don't come down with your cocked hat wrong way on."

Syd hesitated, feeling a little abashed, but his uncle half jumped out of his seat.

"Be off, you disobedient young dog," he roared. "If you don't want to see them, I do. There, I'll give you a quarter of an hour."

Sydney took half an hour, and then hesitated about going down-stairs. He peeped out of his room twice, but there was always some one on the stairs, chambermaid, waiter, or guest staying in the place.

At last, though, all seemed perfectly quiet, and fixing his cocked hat tightly on his head, and holding his dirk with one hand to keep it from swinging about and striking the balusters, he ran along the passage and dashed down the stairs.

The quick movement caused his cocked hat to come down in front over his eyes, and before he had raised it again he had run right into the arms of the stout landlady. There was a shrill scream, and the lady was seated on the mat, while by the force of the rebound Sydney was sitting on the stairs, from which post he sprang up to offer his apologies.

"You shouldn't, my dear," said the landlady, piteously, as she stretched out her hands like a gigantic baby who wanted to be helped up.

Sydney's instincts prompted him to rush on to his father's small sitting-room, but politeness and the appeal of the lady compelled him to stay; and after he had raised her to her proper perpendicular, she smiled and cast her eyes over his uniform, making the boy colour like a girl.

"Well, you do look nice," she said; "only don't knock me down again. There, I'm not hurt. They're quite new, ain't they?"

Sydney nodded.

"I thought so, because you haven't got them on quite right."

Sydney stopped to hear no more, but ran on, checked himself, and tried to walk past three waiters in the entry with dignity.

He did not achieve this, because if he had the waiters would not have laughed and put their napkins to their mouths, on drawing back to let him pass.

"Oh, shouldn't I like to!" he thought, as he set his teeth and clenched his fists.

He felt very miserable and as if he was being made a laughing-stock; in fact his sensations were exactly those of a sensitive lad who appears in uniform for the first time; and hence he was in anything but a peaceful state of mind as he dashed into the room where his uncle was waiting, to be greeted with a roar of laughter.

"What a time you have been, sir! Why, Syd, I don't think much of your legs, and, hang it all, your belt's too loose, and they don't fit you. Bah! you haven't half dressed yourself. Come here. Takes me back fifty years, boy, to see you like that."

"Why did you tell me to go and put them on?" cried the boy, angrily, "if you only meant to laugh at me?"

"Bah! nonsense! What do you mean, sir? Are you going to be so thin-skinned that you can't bear to be joked? Come here."

The boy stood by his side.

"I was going to show you how to take up your belt and to button your waistcoat. There! that's better. Flying out like that at me because I laughed! How will you get along among your messmates, who are sure to begin roasting you as soon as you go aboard?"

"I beg your pardon, uncle. I seemed to feel so ridiculous, and everybody laughed."

"Let them. There! that's better. See how a touch or two from one who knows turns a slovenly look into one that's smart. Hallo! some one at the door, my lad; go and see. No; stop. Come in."

The door was opened, and Barney in his uniform of petty officer entered, looking smartened up into a man ten years younger than when he worked in the garden at the Heronry.

As Barney took off his hat and entered, closing the door behind him, his eyes lit first upon Syd, and his face puckered up into a broad grin.

"And now you!" cried Sydney, angrily. "Uncle, I'm not fit to wear a uniform; I look ridiculous."

"Who says so?" cried the old man, angrily. "Here you, Strake, don't stand grinning there like a corbel on an old church."

"Couldn't help it, your honour."

"There, you see, uncle."

"I don't, sir. Going to let the grin of that confounded fellow upset you? If he laughs at you again because he thinks you are a fool, show him that you're not one; knock him down."

"His honour the captain's compliments, Sir Thomas, and he'd be glad to see you on board along o' Master Sydney here."

"Is your master on board, then?"

"Ay, sir; and I've come across in the gig, as is waiting for us with one of the young gentlemen to keep the men in their places."

"Right; we'll come," said the old admiral. "Now, Syd," he whispered, "do you know why people laugh?"

"Yes, uncle, at me."

"Well, yes, my lad; so they did at me years ago. But you don't know why."

"I think I do, uncle."

"No, boy, you do not; you look as if you had got on your uniform for the first time. We're going out now, so look as if you hadn't got it on for the first time. Hold up your head, cock your hat, and if you look at people, don't look as if you were wondering what they thought of you, but as if you were taking his weight. See?"

"Yes, uncle, I think I do. But must I go like this?"

"Confound you, sir!" growled the old man. "Why do you talk like that?"

"Because I look absurd."

"Oh, that's it, is it? Then look here, Syd, I'll prove that you don't."

"If you can prove that, uncle, I shall never mind wearing a uniform again."

"Then you need not mind, boy, for if you looked absurd I wouldn't be seen with you. Now then, hold up your head, and remember you are a king's officer. March!"

The old man gave his cane a thump, cocked his own hat, and stamped along by the side of his nephew. Pan, who was outside waiting for his father's return, staring wide-eyed at Sydney's uniform, and then following behind with Barney, wishing he was allowed to wear a little gilded sword like that.

In this way they walked down to the boat, which lay a short distance from the landing-place, with a handsome boy in middy's uniform leaning back in the stern-sheets, and keeping strict watch on his men to keep them from yielding to the attraction of one of the public-houses, stronger than that of duty.

Barney stepped forward and hailed the boat, which was quickly rowed alongside, the coxswain holding on as the admiral stepped in, followed by his nephew, who found himself directly after beside the good-looking, dark-complexioned middy, who took the helm, and gave the order to give way. The oars fell with a splash, and Sydney felt that he was at last afloat and on his way to join the frigate.

The admiral took snuff, and after a word or two with the middy in charge of the boat, sat gazing silently about him, while from time to time Sydney turned his eyes to find that his companion was examining him closely, and with a supercilious air which made the new addition to the midshipmen's mess feel irritable and ready to resent any insult.

But none was offered, and the men rowed on, till after threading their way through quite a forest of masts the frigate was sighted.

"There she lies, Syd," whispered his uncle; "as fine a craft as you need wish to see. What's your name, youngster?"

"Michael Terry," said the midshipman.

"Ho!" ejaculated the admiral. "Well, this is my nephew, Sydney Belton, your new messmate. I hope you'll be very good friends."

"I'm sure we shan't," said the young fellow to himself. "Too cocky for me. But we can soon cut his comb."

"Arn't you going to shake hands, youngsters?"

"Oh, yes, if you like," said the youth. "There's my hand."

Sydney put out his, but somehow the hand-shake which followed did not seem to be a friendly one, and more than once afterwards he thought about that first grip.

"Ah, that's right," said the admiral; "always be good friends with your messmates."

Syd looked up quickly, and a feeling of angry resentment made his cheeks flush, for his eyes encountered those of the midshipman, and being exceedingly sensitive that day, it seemed to him that Terry was laughing in his sleeve at Sir Thomas.

Syd's eyes flashed, and the young officer stared at him haughtily in return, his glance seeming to say, "Well, I shall laugh at the comical-looking old boy if I like."

The eye encounter which had commenced was checked by Sir Thomas suddenly turning to his nephew.

"There's your ship, boy," he said, "and I wish you luck in her."

Syd looked in the direction pointed out, to see the long, graceful vessel lying at anchor with quite a swarm of men busy aloft bending on new sails, renewing the running-rigging, and repairing the damages caused her in a severe encounter with a storm. And as he gazed with an unpleasant feeling of shrinking troubling him, the boat rapidly neared the side, the oars were thrown up, the coxswain deftly manoeuvred the stern close to the ladder, held on, and Sir Thomas rose and went up the side with an activity that seemed wonderful for his years.

Then with a sensation of singing in his ears, and confused and puzzled by the novelty of all around, Sydney Belton somehow found himself standing on deck facing his father, who came forward to meet the admiral, then gave him a nod and a look which took in his uniform before he went aft, leaving the new-comer standing alone and feeling horribly strange, and in everybody's way.

For the boat's crew were busy making fast the gig in which they had come aboard, and Syd had to move three times, each position he took up seeming to be worse.

He wanted to go after Sir Thomas, but did not like to stir, and he felt all the more uncomfortable as he noticed that people kept looking at him, and talking to one another about him, he felt sure.

"Where can Barney be gone?" he muttered, angrily. "How stupid to leave me standing dressed up like this for every one to stare at! Father ought to have stopped."

He gave a furtive glance to the left, and the blood flushed in his cheeks again as he caught sight of Terry, who was talking to another lad of his own age in uniform, and Syd felt that they must be talking about him; and if he had felt any doubt before, their action would have endorsed his opinion, for they smiled at one another and walked away.

"It's too bad," he said to himself; "they must know how horribly strange I feel."

"Hullo, squire! Who are you?"

Syd turned round to face the speaker, for the words had, as it were, been barked almost into his ear, and he had heard no one approach, for it had seemed to be one of the peculiarities of aboard ship that people passed to and fro and by him without making a sound.

He found himself facing a stern, middle-aged man in uniform, who looked him over at a glance, and Syd flinched again, for the officer smiled slightly, not a pleasant smile, for it seemed as if he were going to bite.

"I am Sydney Belton, sir."

"Eh? Oh, the captain's boy. Yes, of course. In full rig, eh? Well, why don't you go below? You look so strange."

"Does he mean in uniform?" thought Syd.

"Yes, sir," he said aloud. "My father has gone down there."

"Aft, boy, aft; don't say down there. Well, why don't you go below? Seen your messmates?"

"I have seen the young officer who came with us in the boat."

"Eh? Who was that? Yes, I remember. Well, he ought to have taken you down. Here, Mr Terry, Mr Roylance—oh, there you are!—take Mr Belton down and introduce him to his messmates; and, I say, youngster— no, never mind now. Look sharp and learn your duties. Hi! you sirs, what are you doing with that yard?" he yelled out to some men up aloft, and he walked nimbly away just as the two midshipmen joined Syd.

"Thought, as you were the captain's son, you might be going to have your quarters in the cabin," said Terry, with a sneering look in his face. "Be better there, wouldn't he, Roy?"

"I should think so," said the other, looking at the new-comer quizzically.

"My father said I should have to be with the other midshipmen," said Syd, quickly.

"With the midshipmen, not the other midshipmen," said Terry, with a sneer. "You are not a midshipman, are you?"

"I suppose I am going to be one when I have learned how," replied Sydney, shortly. "My father said that I was not to expect any favours because I was the captain's son."

"Did he now?" said Roylance; "and what did your mother say?"

Syd winced, and looked so sharply at the speaker that the latter pretended to be startled.

"Wo ho!" he cried. "I say, Terry, this chap's a fire-eater; a bit wild."

"Here, come along down, youngster. Don't banter him, Hoy," said Terry, who had noticed that the officer who had given the order was coming back, and he led the way toward the companion-ladder.

"Who's that gentleman in uniform?" said Sydney. "Eh? That one?" said Terry, looking in another direction. "Oh, that's the purser. You'll have to be very civil to him—ask him to dinner and that sort of thing."

"No, no, I wouldn't do that at first," said Roylance, as they descended. "Ask him to have a glass of grog with you."

"Yes," said Terry. "Get to the dinner by and by. Pray how old are you?"

"Between sixteen and seventeen," replied Sydney, who writhed under his companion's supercilious ways, but was determined to make friends if he could.

"Are you though?" said Roylance. "Fine boy for his age; eh, Mike?"

"Very. Mind your head, youngster. We're going to have all this properly lighted now, I suppose. Our last captain did not give much thought to the 'tween decks. By the way, the young gentlemen of our mess are a bit particular. He ought to show to the best advantage, eh, Roy, and make a good impression."

"Yes, of course."

"Perhaps," continued Terry, turning to Syd, "you'd like to see the ship's barber and have a shave before we go in."

"No, thank you," said Syd, laughing, "I don't shave."

"Remarkable," said Roylance.

"Don't banter, Roy," cried Terry. "The young gentleman is strange, and you take advantage, and begin to be funny. Don't you take any notice of him. By the way though, I didn't introduce you. This is Mr William Roylance, Esquire. Father's not a captain, but a bishop, priest, or deacon, or something of that kind. Very good young man, but don't you lend him money! I say, see that door?"

"Yes," said Sydney, looking at a dimly-seen opening barely lit by a smoky lanthorn.

"Thought I'd show you. Hot water baths in there if you ever wash."

"Ever wash?" said Syd, wonderingly.

"Yes. We do here—a little—when there is any water. Rather particular on board a frigate. Here we are."

He led the way to where in a dimly-lit hole, so it seemed to Sydney, about half a dozen youths were seated beneath a swinging lanthorn busily engaged in some game, which consisted in driving a penny-piece along a dirty wooden table, scoured with lines and spotted with blackened drops of tallow.

The coming, as it seemed, of a visitor, in all the neatness and show of a spick and span new uniform, caused a cessation of the game and its accompanying noise; but before a word was spoken, Sydney had taken in at a glance the dingy aspect of the place, and had time to consider whether this was the midshipmen's berth.

"Here you are, gentlemen," shouted Terry. "Your new messmate: the boy with a belt on."

"Let him take it off then," cried a voice. "Come on, youngster, here's room. Got any money?"

Syd thought of his new uniform and felt disposed to shrink, but he did not hesitate. He had an idea that if he was to share the mess of the lads about him, the sooner he was on friendly terms the better, so he nodded and went forward; but his pace was increased by a sudden thrust from behind, which sent him against the end of the table, and his hat flying to the other side.

"Shame! shame!" cried Terry, loudly, and there was a roar of laughter. "Look here, Roy, I won't have it; it's too bad. Not hurt, are you, Belton?"

"No," said Syd, turning and looking him full in the face; "only a little to find you should think me such a fool as not to know you pushed me."

"I? Come, young fellow, you'll have to learn manners."

He moved threateningly toward Syd, but the latter did not heed him, for his attention was taken up by what was going on at the table, for one of the lads cried out—

"Any one want a new hat? Too big for me."

"Let me try."

"No; pass it here."

"Get out, I want one most."

There was a roar of laughter, and Syd bit his lip as he saw his new hat snatched about from one to the other, and tried on in all sorts of ways, back front, amidships, over the eyes, over the ears, and it was by no means improved when the new hand snatched it back and turned to face Terry.

"Look here, sir," said the latter, haughtily; "you had the insolence to accuse me of having pushed you."

There was a dead silence as Sydney stood brushing his hat with the sleeve of his coat, and without shrinking, for there was a curious ebullition going on in his breast. He did not look up, for he was fighting—self, and thinking about his new uniform in a peculiar way. That is to say, in connection with dirty floors, scuffles, falls, the dragging about of rough hands, etcetera.

"Do you hear what I say, sir?" continued Terry, loudly, and every neck was craned forward in the dim cockpit.

"Yes, I heard what you said," replied Syd, huskily; and then he bit his lip and tried to force down the feeling of rage which was in his breast.

"And I heard what you said, sir," cried Terry, ruffling up like a game-cock, and thinking to awe the new reefer and impress the lads present, over whom he ruled with a mighty hand. "You are amongst gentlemen here, and we don't allow new greenhorns or country bumpkins to come and insult us."

"I don't want to insult anybody," said Syd, in a low tone. "I want to be friends, as my father told me to be."

"But you insulted me, sir. You said I pushed you just now."

"So you did," cried Sydney, a little more loudly.

"What?" cried Terry, threateningly.

"And then shammed that it was that other middy."

A murmur of excitement ran round the mess.

"Why, you insolent young cub," cried Terry, seizing Sydney by the collar of his coat; but quick as thought his hand was struck aside, and the two lads were chest to chest, glaring in each other's eyes.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" cried Terry, with a mocking laugh. "Well, the sooner he has his plateful of humble-pie the better; eh, lads?"

The murmur of excitement increased.

"Then I shall have to fight," thought Syd; but at that moment a gruff voice exclaimed—

"Cap'en wants you, Master Syd. Admiral's going ashore."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

"Why, what was up, sir?" whispered Barney, whose timely appearance put an end to the discussion. "Wasn't going to be a fight, weer it?"

"I suppose so, Barney," said Syd, rather dolefully.

"Then it'll have to be yet, lad; but it's a bit early."

"Yes, Barney."

"They didn't lose no time in 'tackling on yer."

"No, Barney."

"Well, lad, it's part of a reefer's eddication, so you'll have to go through with it. You're a toughish chickin as can whack my Pan; and he knows how to fight, as lots o' the big lads knows at home."

"I don't want to fight," said Sydney, bitterly.

"No, my lad, but you've got to now. Well, that there's a big un, and he'll lick you safe; but you give him a tough job to do it, and then all t'others 'll let you alone."

"Well, Syd, lad; seen your new messmates?" cried a cheery voice.

"Yes, uncle, I've seen them."

"That's right, boy. I'm going ashore now. I'm proud of your ship, Syd, proud of the crew, and proud of you, my lad. Keep your head up, and may I live to see you posted. No, that's too much, but I must see you wear your first swab."

"Am I to go ashore with uncle, father?" said Sydney.

"Hush, my boy, once for all," said Captain Belton. "You are a junior officer now; I am your captain. We must keep our home life for home. No, Mr Belton, you will not go ashore again. You have joined your ship, and your chest will be brought on board by the boatswain."

"Is Barney going to be a boatswain, sir?" cried Sydney, in his eagerness.

Captain Belton gave him a look which said plainly enough, "Remember that I am your captain, sir!"

And feeling abashed, the boy looked in another direction, to see that Barney was winking and screwing up his face in the most wonderful way to convey certain information of the fact that in his inexperience Sydney had not read in his uniform.

"There, good-bye, Syd," said the old admiral, after a few minutes' more conversation with the captain, during which time the boat's crew had been piped away, and Terry had hurried on deck to take charge once more. Then there was a warm grasp of the hand as the old man leaned toward him, his words seeming the more impressive after what had just occurred.

"God bless you, my lad!" he whispered. "You'll get some hard knocks; perhaps it'll come to a fight among your messmates, but if it does, don't have your comb cut. Recollect you're a Belton, and never strike your colours. Always be a gentleman, Syd, and never let any young blackguard with a dirty mind lead you into doing anything you couldn't own to openly. There, that's all, my boy. Drop the father, and never go to him with tales; he has to treat you middies all alike. There! Oh, one word; don't bounce and show off among your messmates, because your father's the captain, and you've got an old hulk at home who is an admiral; but whenever you want a few guineas to enjoy yourself, Uncle Tom's your banker, you dog. There! Be off!"

Syd tried hard, but his eyes would get a little dim as the bluff old gentleman touched his hat to the officers, and went over the side, while the captain put his hands behind him and walked thoughtfully aft, to have a long consultation with the first lieutenant, after which he too went ashore without seeing his son again, and Sydney prepared for his first night on board.

There was so much that was novel that the new middy had no time to feel dull, and he spent his time on deck, watching the return of the boat, saw it swung up to its davits again, and then, after noting the marines relieve guard, and the sentries at their posts, he was going forward, when he encountered the officer who had before spoken to him.

"Got your traps on board yet, Mr Belton?"

"Not yet, sir. My chest is coming to-night."

"That's right. You'll be in a different fig then to-morrow, and I'll have a talk to you. Better pick up what you can from your messmates, but don't quarrel, and don't believe everything they tell you."

He nodded not unkindly to the boy, and went off, while Barney, who had been watching his opportunity, came up and touched his hat.

"Your chest's come aboard, sir, and I've had it put below. Better keep it locked, my lad, for you'll find my young gents pretty handy with their games."

"Thank you, Barney."

"Say Strake, sir, please now, or bo'sun."

"Very well, Strake. Where is Pan?"

"Right, sir. Forrard along with the other boys. Getting his roasting over. What yer think o' the first luff?"

"I haven't seen him yet, Bar—Strake."

"Oh, come now, sir; speak the truth whatever you do, and don't try those games on me. Why, I sin yer talking to him."

"That?" said Sydney, smiling, as one who knows better smiles at the ignorant. "Why, Strake, that was the purser."

"Poof!" ejaculated the boatswain, with a smothered laugh. "Who told you that, sir?"

"That midshipman who brought us off in the boat."

"A flam, sir, a flam. He was making game of you. That's the first luff."

"What a shame!" thought Syd, and then he fell a thinking about the orders he gave him—not to quarrel with his messmates. "And I'm sure to quarrel as soon as I go down. No, I will not. He may say what he likes."

"You speak, sir?" said the bo'sun.

"No, Strake, I was thinking."

"Here, you're wanted below, I think," said one of the warrant officers, coming up and speaking to the ex-gardener.

"Who wants me?"

"That's your boy, isn't it, that you brought aboard?"

"Ay, it is."

"Well, I think he has got into a bit of a row with some of the young monkeys below. Go and stop it at once."

"That's Pan-y-mar gone and showed his teeth, Master Syd," whispered the bo'sun, and he trotted forward, while feeling now that he ought to go and see about his chest, and at the same time wishing that he could go forward and see what was wrong about Pan—but fearing to make some breach of discipline—Sydney once more went below.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

It was impossible to help thinking about the handsome old dining-room at the Heronry as Sydney sat down to his first meal at the midshipman's mess, and however willing he might have been to consider that polished mahogany tables and plate were not necessaries, he could not help comparing the food with that to which he had been accustomed.

As luck had it, he found himself seated next to Roylance, who laughed good-humouredly, and said—

"Don't take any notice of the rough joking, youngster."

He was not above a year older than Sydney, but he had been two years at sea, and seemed to look down from a height of experience at his companion.

"I am not going to," said Sydney, looking up frankly to the other's handsome face.

"That's right. Terry's cock of the walk here, and shows off a good deal. We all give in to him, so be civil too, and it will save a row. The luff doesn't like us to quarrel."

"He told me not to," said Syd.

"Then I wouldn't. If Terry gives you a punch on the head, take it, and never mind."

Syd was silent.

"Got your chest, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Everything's new, awkward, and fresh to you now, but you'll soon get used to it. You'll put on your undress uniform to-morrow, of course. I'll tell you anything you want to know. Nobody told me when I came on board, and I had a hard time of it."

"Did the others tease you much?"

"They did and no mistake, and I got it worse because I kicked against it; and the more a fellow kicks, the more they worry you."

These few friendly advances from a messmate who seemed to be one of the most likely-looking for a companion, sent a feeling of warmth through the new-comer's breast, and in spite of the coarseness of the provisions, which were eked out with odds and ends brought by the middies from the shore, Sydney made a fairly satisfactory meal, the better that Terry was on duty.

"But I've got to meet him some time," thought Sydney; and he wondered how he would feel when he received that blow which was sure to come, and stamp him as one of the subordinates of the lad whom his new friend had dubbed the cock of the walk.

In spite of the novelty of everything about him, Syd had plenty of time to feel low-spirited, and to envy the light-heartedness of his new friend, who in the course of the evening seemed to feel that further apology was due for their first encounter that day.

"I say, Belton," he said, "I am sorry I played you those tricks and sided with Terry as I did. It was all meant for a game. We have such a rough, uncomfortable life here that one gets into the habit of making fun of everything and everybody, from the captain downwards."

"Don't say any more about it," replied Sydney, holding out his hand. "I'm not such a milksop that I mind it."

"That's right," cried Roylance, grasping the extended hand. "You'll soon be all right with us."

"Hi! look there," cried a squeaky-voiced little fellow at the end of the table; "there's old Roy making friends with the new fellow. I say, Belt, don't you believe him. He'll want to borrow money to-morrow."

Bang!

"No, you didn't," cried the little middy, who had ducked cleverly and avoided half a loaf which Roylance threw at his head and struck the bulkhead instead.

"You'll have to be stopped, Jenkins," said Roylance. "You've got off so far because you are such a miserable little beggar."

"Don't you believe him, Belt," cried the little fellow, who had a withered, old-mannish look, and an exceedingly small nose, like a peg in the middle of his face. "Roy's afraid of me. Look at that."

He slipped off his coat, drew up his sleeve, and exhibited his muscle in a pugnacious fashion, which brought forth a roar of laughter.

"Baby Jenks fights best with his tongue," said Roylance, coolly. "We shall have to cut it before he grows civil."

The rattle of the chattering tongues went on till bedtime, and at last, for the first time in his life, Sydney found himself lying in a hammock, tired out but confused, and hardly able to realise that he was down below in a close place, with his face not many inches from the ceiling with its beams and rings. Talking was going on upon each side. The place was very dark, and there was a dim-looking lantern swinging some distance away in the middle of what seemed to be a luminous fog.

He lay there thinking that the hammock was not so very uncomfortable, only he did not feel quite at home with his head and heels high, and as every time he moved he felt as if he must fall, he at last lay very still, thinking how strange it all was, and how he seemed to be completely separated from his father, as much so as if they were in different ships.

Then after coming to the conclusion that he rather liked Roylance, but that he should never care for life aboard ship, the light from the lanthorn swung to and fro a little, and then all was perfectly black where it had hung the minute before.

This did not trouble Syd, for it seemed quite a matter of course that the light should be put out, and so he lay thinking over all that had passed that day—that he was glad Barney Strake and Pan were on board; that Roy lance seemed to be so friendly; then that he should have to stand up and meet Terry before very long and allow himself to be thrashed. Then he thought about nothing at all, for that pleasant, restful sensation that precedes sleep came over him, and all was blank till he felt a curious shock and was wide-awake.

"Here, hi! What's the matter?" shouted a squeaky voice.

"I—I don't know," said Sydney, feeling about him and gradually realising that he was on the floor among his blankets. "I think the rope of my hammock has broken."

There was an outburst of tittering at this, and now it began to dawn upon him that he was the victim of some trick.

"Look here, you fellows," said a voice which Sydney recognised; "the first luff said there was to be no more of these games. Who did it?"

"Baby Jenks," said a voice, and there was a laugh.

"I didn't," squeaked the little middy; "it was one of Roy's games."

"Say it was me again, and I'll come and half smother you."

"Well, they said it was me," protested Jenkins. "I was asleep."

"Who was it?" cried Roylance again.

"Captain Belton, to make his boy sharp," said a voice out of the darkness—a voice evidently disguised by being uttered through a pair of half-closed hands.

There was a hearty laugh here, during which, feeling very miserable and dejected, Syd was groping about, trying to find out how the hammock was fastened, and in the darkness growing only more confused.

"Where are you?" said Roylance.

"Here. It's come untied, I think."

"Untied! You've been cut down."

"Cut?" said Sydney, wonderingly.

"Down. Never mind. It was only at your feet. I'll soon put you right again."

Syd stood there listening to his companions' hard breathing and the whispering and tittering going on in the other hammocks for a few minutes, during which a noise went on like as if a box was being corded. At last this ceased.

"There you are! Where are your blankets?"

"Here; but they're all in a dreadful muddle."

There was a shout of laughter at this, and directly after Sydney heard a gruff voice say—

"Steady there, young gen'lemen. Anything the matter?"

"No; it's all right. Only some one tumbled out of bed."

There was a low grumbling sound, and Roylance whispered—

"Never mind; I'll put 'em right for you. There you are; turn in, and I don't suppose any one will upset you after to-night. If anybody comes, and you hear him, hit out."

"Thank you," said Syd, rather dolefully; "I will."

He climbed into his hammock again, and listened to the rustling sound made by Roylance and the remarks of his messmates.

"Baby Jenks was right. Old Roy means to suck every shilling out of the new fellow," said a voice.

"Does he, Bolton?" cried Roylance. "I know your voice."

"Why, I never spoke. 'Twasn't me," cried the accused.

"Well, it sounded like you," grumbled Roylance, and there was another roar of laughter.

"Look here, youngsters, I want to go to sleep, and I'll come and cut down the next fellow who makes a row."

"Yah!"

"Boo!"

"Daren't!"

These ejaculations came tauntingly from different parts, but in smothered tones, which indicated that the voices were disguised, and after a few more threats from Roylance, there was perfect quiet once more in the berth.

"So I'm not to sleep," thought Sydney, "but keep guard and wait for whoever it was that cut the cords of my hammock. A nasty cowardly trick."

The fall and its following had so thoroughly roused up the sufferer that he felt not the slightest inclination to sleep, and feeling that he could easily keep awake and hear any one approach, he lay listening to the hard breathing on both sides till all grew more and more subdued; and though it was pitch dark the surroundings grew misty and strange, and Syd lay listening to a strange sound which made him turn his head in the direction of the door, towards where he could see a sturdily-built young fellow down on his hands and knees, crawling in as easily as a dog. Now he peered to one side, now to the other. Then he ran on all fours under the hammocks, which seemed to stand out quite clearly with their occupants therein. Then his head appeared, and it seemed, though he could not make out the face, that it was Terry. But the head disappeared again, and as Syd watched he felt that his hammock was the object in view, and in his dread he started to find that all was intensely dark and that he had been dreaming all this.