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 theSiriuswas 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 theothermidshipmen,” 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.”
“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 theSiriuswas 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 theothermidshipmen,” 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.
“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 themorea 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.It was very hot, and there was heavy breathing all around, but not another sound, so feeling once more that it would be impossible to sleep, and that he might as well be on guard, Syd kept his vigil for quite five minutes, and then, as was perfectly natural, went off fast asleep again, to lie until it seemed to him that there was a crash of thunder, and then all was blank.“Here, hi! Sentry! Bring a lantern. It’s a mean, cowardly act, and I’ll complain to the first lieutenant.”The roar of laughter which had been going on, mingled with comments, ceased at this, and was succeeded by a low buzzing sound, which seemed to Syd to be close to his ears as he saw a dim light, felt horribly sleepy, and as if his head ached violently.“It’s too bad. The other was only a game. The poor fellow’s head’s cut and bleeding, and whoever did this is a mean-spirited coward, and no gentleman.”“Shall I go and rouse up the doctor, sir?”“No; we’ll bind it up, and keep it all quiet. There’d be no end of trouble if the captain knew. I only wish I knew who did it, cutting a fellow down by the head like this.”Syd tried to speak, but he was like one in a dream.“If I knew who it was—” said Roylance.“What would you do?” said a voice, which Syd seemed to recognise; “go and tell his daddy?”“No; I’d tell him he was a mean-spirited, cowardly hound,” said Roylance, “and not fit for the society of gentlemen.”“Hark at the bishop’s boy, I dare say he did it himself.”“Just the sort of thing I should do!” replied Roylance, sharply. “More likely one of Mike Terry’s brutal tricks.”“Oh, very well, Master Roy. You and I can talk that over another time. So you mean to say I did it?”Roylance did not answer, and just then Sydney recovered his voice, the faintness passing away like a cloud. “Was it he?” whispered the boy. “I’m not sure,” whispered Roylance. “Don’t quarrel because of me. Does my head bleed now?”“No; I’ve tied my handkerchief tightly round it. Lie still, you’ll be better soon.—Here, marine, knot up that hammock again. You shan’t be cut down again, for I’ll keep watch.”“There’s nothing the matter,” said Terry, from the other end of the berth; “it’s only one of Miss Roylance’s fads. Currying favour with the skipper by making a pet monkey of his boy.”Roylance ground his teeth, and Syd lay very quiet listening, and watching the marine as he knotted together the broken lines, helping him in afterwards, and going away with the lantern.“Don’t wait,” whispered Syd; “it’s very good of you, but I’m not hurt much. They cut the ropes up by my head, didn’t they?”“Yes; the cowards! But I don’t think they’ll touch you again now. Shall I stop?”“No; don’t, please. I may as well take my chance.”“Very well,” said Roylance, and he went back to his own hammock amongst the remarks and laughs of those who, from liking or dread, had made themselves the parasites of the leader of the mess.
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 themorea 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.
It was very hot, and there was heavy breathing all around, but not another sound, so feeling once more that it would be impossible to sleep, and that he might as well be on guard, Syd kept his vigil for quite five minutes, and then, as was perfectly natural, went off fast asleep again, to lie until it seemed to him that there was a crash of thunder, and then all was blank.
“Here, hi! Sentry! Bring a lantern. It’s a mean, cowardly act, and I’ll complain to the first lieutenant.”
The roar of laughter which had been going on, mingled with comments, ceased at this, and was succeeded by a low buzzing sound, which seemed to Syd to be close to his ears as he saw a dim light, felt horribly sleepy, and as if his head ached violently.
“It’s too bad. The other was only a game. The poor fellow’s head’s cut and bleeding, and whoever did this is a mean-spirited coward, and no gentleman.”
“Shall I go and rouse up the doctor, sir?”
“No; we’ll bind it up, and keep it all quiet. There’d be no end of trouble if the captain knew. I only wish I knew who did it, cutting a fellow down by the head like this.”
Syd tried to speak, but he was like one in a dream.
“If I knew who it was—” said Roylance.
“What would you do?” said a voice, which Syd seemed to recognise; “go and tell his daddy?”
“No; I’d tell him he was a mean-spirited, cowardly hound,” said Roylance, “and not fit for the society of gentlemen.”
“Hark at the bishop’s boy, I dare say he did it himself.”
“Just the sort of thing I should do!” replied Roylance, sharply. “More likely one of Mike Terry’s brutal tricks.”
“Oh, very well, Master Roy. You and I can talk that over another time. So you mean to say I did it?”
Roylance did not answer, and just then Sydney recovered his voice, the faintness passing away like a cloud. “Was it he?” whispered the boy. “I’m not sure,” whispered Roylance. “Don’t quarrel because of me. Does my head bleed now?”
“No; I’ve tied my handkerchief tightly round it. Lie still, you’ll be better soon.—Here, marine, knot up that hammock again. You shan’t be cut down again, for I’ll keep watch.”
“There’s nothing the matter,” said Terry, from the other end of the berth; “it’s only one of Miss Roylance’s fads. Currying favour with the skipper by making a pet monkey of his boy.”
Roylance ground his teeth, and Syd lay very quiet listening, and watching the marine as he knotted together the broken lines, helping him in afterwards, and going away with the lantern.
“Don’t wait,” whispered Syd; “it’s very good of you, but I’m not hurt much. They cut the ropes up by my head, didn’t they?”
“Yes; the cowards! But I don’t think they’ll touch you again now. Shall I stop?”
“No; don’t, please. I may as well take my chance.”
“Very well,” said Roylance, and he went back to his own hammock amongst the remarks and laughs of those who, from liking or dread, had made themselves the parasites of the leader of the mess.
Chapter Eighteen.Syd started into wakefulness in the morning to find that he had been sleeping heavily. His head ached a little, and when he moved there was a smarting sensation, but he felt disturbed mentally more than in body. He turned out of his hammock and dressed as quickly as the new stiff buttonholes of his uniform would allow, all the time suffering from a sensation of misery and discomfort which made his temper anything but amiable.“How’s your head?” said Roylance, who was one of the last to wake.“Bad—sore—aches.”“Let me look.”Syd submitted himself unwillingly.“Only wants a bathe, and a bit of plaister. I’ll see to that.”The dressing was finished, the hammocks rolled up, and Syd was wondering how long breakfast would be, and what they should have. Terry, who was strolling about the place watching him furtively, suddenly stood aside, the others watching him.At that moment Roylance came down into his berth with a pair of scissors and some sticking-plaister.“Here you are,” he said. “I’ll just cut a little of the hair away, and put a bit of this on. It won’t show under your hat.”“All right,” said Syd, sitting down in the middle of the place on the top of his sea-chest; “but you needn’t have fetched that. I had some in here.”“Do for next time,” said Roylance, cutting off a large piece of plaister.“Oh, nonsense,” said Syd, laughing; “a quarter of that would do. I could do it myself if I could see.”Just then Terry came swaggering up, and Roylance winced, the scissors with which he was cutting the plaister trembling a little.“Oh, look here, Master Roy,” said Terry, haughtily. “You made some remarks to me in the night about that cutting down of the hammock. I want an apology from you.”“I’m busy now, Mr Terry,” said Roylance; and the irritable feeling which troubled Syd seemed to be on the increase.“I didn’t ask you if you were busy, sir, I said I wanted an apology,” continued Terry, while the rest of the mess looked on excitedly at the promising quarrel between the two eldest middies on board theSirius.“I’m attending to this new messmate’s hurt.”“Let him go to the doctor if he is hurt,” snarled Terry. “I tell you I want an apology. You as good as said that I cut down this cub’s hammock last night.”“If I had quite said it, I dare say I shouldn’t have been far wrong,” replied Roylance, in a low tone.“Oh, indeed, miss,” sneered Terry, “you always were clever with your tongue, like the long thin molly you are. Now then, take that back before—”He ceased speaking and doubled his fists.Syd felt as if he were sitting on a fire, and something within him was beginning to boil.“I’m not going to apologise now,” said Roylance, wincing a little, but speaking more determinedly than before.“Arn’t you? Then I’m going to make you,” said Terry. “Bolton, go to the bottom of the ladder and give warning.”“No, no; send Jenks,” said the boy addressed, appealingly.“You go, and do as you’re told,” said Terry, fiercely; and Syd felt as if he must boil over soon, no matter how much he was hurt.“Now then, Miss Roylance, if you please, I’m waiting,” said Terry, in an offensive way. “You’re such a talker that you can easily make a nice apology.”Roylance went on cutting and sticking the piece of plaister.“Do you hear me, sir?” cried Terry, “or am I to set Baby Jenks to thrash you?”“Stand up, Belton,” said Roylance, quietly. “Now then, turn a little more to the light;” and Sydney rose.“Stand aside, youngster. I want to give Miss Roylance a bit of sticking-plaister first.”As he spoke he gave Syd, who was between them, a push, whose result astounded him.“Out of the way will you,” cried Syd, fiercely; “can’t you see he’s busy?”That which had been boiling in him had gone over the side at last, and Terry stopped short staring with astonishment.“If you want to talk to him, wait till he has done my head. Better talk to me, for it was you, you great coward, who cut me down.”“Why you—oh, this is too good!” cried Terry, with a forced laugh, as he looked round at the little knot of his messmates. “There, wait a minute till I’ve done with Molly Roylance, and I’ll soon settle your little bill.”Roylance stood looking pale and excited, with the scissors and plaister still in his hand, but on his guard ready to spring back or sidewise if attacked. Then he, like his would-be assailant, stared in astonishment. For Syd had resumed his position between them as if about to lower his head to the light; when, feeling that if he wished to maintain his character he must act sharply against what was to him a new boy in the midshipman’s mess, Terry laid hold of Syd’s collar and swung him round.“Out of the way, will you!” he said; and as the road was clear he made a spring at Roylance, but suddenly gave his head a twist, tripped over the new sea-chest that was in the way, and fell heavily.“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he cried, as he sprang to his feet. “Well, the sooner you have your lesson the better.”He began to divest himself of his upper garment as he spoke; and Syd, whose teeth were set, and whose knuckles were tingling from the effect of the blow he had planted on Terry, rapidly imitated him.“No, no,” said Roylance, excitedly; “this is my quarrel. You see fair.”“You want me to quarrel with you?” cried Syd, fiercely; “see fair yourself. Hold that.”He threw his garment to the tall slight lad, and rolled up his sleeves, to stand forth no mean antagonist for the bully, though Terry was a couple of inches taller, as many years older, and better set.“Be ready to pick him up, Molly Roy,” said Terry, sneeringly. “Get a sponge and a basin of water ready, Baby Jenks, and—”He staggered back. For as he spoke he had begun sparring at one who was smarting with rage, and the thought that the cowardly fellow who had injured him so in the night was before him ready for him to take his revenge. Syd thought of nothing else, and the moment he was facing his adversary, clashed in at him, delivering so fierce a blow that Terry nearly went down.Then came and went blow after blow. There was a close, a fierce struggle here and there, and both went down just as a pair of broad shoulders were seen at the door beside those of Bolton, who was keeping watch over the fight instead of the companion-ladder, and the broad shoulders and the rugged countenance were those of the new boatswain.“Arn’t lost much time,” he growled.“No. Don’t stop ’em,” whispered Bolton. “Let them have it out.”“Oh, I arn’t agoin’ to stop ’em,” growled back Barney. “He’s got to be a fighting man, so he’d better larn to fight.”“Can he fight?” whispered the middy.“Seems like it, sir: that was right in the nose.”An excited murmur ran through the spectators, as after a sharp little episode, during which Syd had been a good deal knocked about, Terry went back against the bulkhead and stood with his hand to his face.“Ready for the sponge and basin, Mike Terry?” squeaked Jenks; and there was a laugh.“I’ll remember that, Baby,” cried Terry, squaring up to his adversary again with the full intention of putting an end to an encounter beneath his dignity; and after a sharp struggle Syd’s crown struck the bulkhead loudly, and he went down sitting on a locker.“That’s done him,” said Bolton, with a sigh, as if he were disappointed.“Not it, my lad. Master Syd arn’t got warm yet. Your chap’s got his work cut out to lick him.”“Then he can fight?” whispered Bolton, eagerly.“Well, it arn’t so much his fighting; it’s a way he’s got o’ not being able to leave off when he’s wound up, and that tires ’em. Look at that.”The fight had been renewed by Terry rushing forward to finish off his antagonist, who had seemed to be a little confused by the last round.But Sydney eluded him, and with a wonderful display of activity avoided several awkward blows, and after wearying his enemy managed to deliver one with all his might in unpleasant proximity to Terry’s eyes.The struggle went on with varying success, Syd on the whole naturally getting far the worst of it; but Barney stood stolidly looking on, and when Roylance felt his heart sink as he saw how badly his brave young defender was being beaten, the boatswain said coolly to Bolton in reply to a—“Now then, what do you think of that?”“Lot’s o’ stuff in him yet, young gen’leman. He’s good for another hour.”There was encounter after encounter, and close after close, during which Syd generally went down first; but to Terry’s astonishment the more he knocked his young antagonist about the fiercer it made him, and at last after delivering a successful blow full in Syd’s chest he cried out—“Take him away, Roy; I don’t want to hurt him any—”Terry did not finish his remark, for the second half of that last word was knocked back by a bang right in the mouth, followed up by several others so rapidly delivered that the champion of the midshipmen’s mess went down this time without a struggle.“What do you think o’ that, young gen’leman?” said Barney.“Hurray!” whispered Bolton, bending down and squeezing his hands between his knees; “he’ll lick him.”“Eh? I thought he was your man.”“A beast! He’s always knocking us about,” whispered Bolton. “Hurray! go it, Belt.”The adversaries were face to face again, and there was a breathless silence.“Had enough?” panted Terry.“No, not half,” cried Syd, rushing at him.“Look at that! See his teeth?” said Barney. “That’s British bull-dog, that is. Master Syd never fights till he’s made, but when he does—My eye! that was a crack.”But it was not Barney’s eye. It was Terry’s, and the blow was so sharp that the receiver went down into a corner, and refused to get up again, while the subjects of the fallen king crowded round the victor eager to shake hands.“No, no,” panted Syd; “don’t: my knuckles are all bleeding. What’s my face like?” he said sharply to Roylance.“Knocked about; but never mind that, Belton; you’ve won.”“I don’t mind,” was the reply; “and I don’t want to win. Are you much hurt?” he continued, going to Terry’s corner, where the vanquished hero was still seated upon the floor with little Jenkins, with much sympathy, offering to sponge his face.“I’m sorry we fought,” said Syd, quietly. “Shake hands.”There was no reply.“You’re not hurt much, are you?”Terry gave him one quick look, and then let his head down on his chest.“You’ll shake hands?” said Syd. “We can be friends now.”Still no notice.“Shake hands, Mike Terry,” piped little Jenkins. “You’ve licked everybody, and it was quite your turn.”“Hold your tongue, you little wretch,” hissed the other. “I owe you something for this.”“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the impish little fellow, beginning to caper about with the sponge. “You touch me again and I’ll get Belton to give you your gruel. You nasty great coward, you’ve got it at last.”“Don’t you be a coward,” said Syd, sharply. “Now, Mr Terry, I’m very sorry: shake hands.”“Here, one of you take that basin and sponge away from Jenks,” said Terry, getting up painfully. “He wouldn’t have done this if I hadn’t hurt one of my arms.”“Well, if I was licked fair like that, I would own to it,” said Bolton. “It was fair, wasn’t it, Roy?”“As fair as a fight could be,” was the reply.“Yes,” said Barney, thrusting in his head, “that was as fair as could be, Master Syd.”“What you, Barney!”“Bo’sun, sir. I wouldn’t interrupt you afore, ’cause I knowed you wouldn’t like it, but the captain wants to see you.”“What!” cried Sydney, as he clapped his hands to his swollen nose and lips. “Wants to see me?”“Soon as ever he’s done his braxfass, sir.”“Oh, what shall I do?” cried Syd.“Dunno, sir,” said the boatswain, grinning, “unless you sends word you’re sea-sick, for you do look bad.”“No, no, I can’t do that.”“Oh, I dunno, sir,” said the boatswain, chuckling. “You was sea-sick months before you joined your ship, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t be now. My Panny-mar’s got it too. Took bad last night.”“What, has he been fighting?”“Didn’t ask him, sir; but he can’t see out of his eyes, and when I asked him how he felt, he grinned like all on one side.”“I heard there was a fight with a new boy,” piped out Jenkins. “Had it out with Monkey Bill and licked him. Was that your boy, bo’sun?”“That’s him, sir. We all comes of a fighting breed; him and me and the cap’en and Master Syd here. Skipper’s awful, and I shall be sorry for the Frenchies and Spanles as he tackles. Well, Master Syd, what am I to tell the captain’s sarvant ’bout you?”“Go and ask to see the captain,” said Syd, firmly, “and tell him that I have been having a fight, and am not fit to come.”“Hear that?” said the boatswain, looking proudly round—“hear that, young gen’lemen? That’s Bri’sh bull-dog, that is. What do you think of your messmate now?”The middies gave a cheer, and crowded round Syd as Terry bent over the locker to bathe his swollen face, and he looked up once, but did not say a word.“Some says fighting among boys is a bad thing,” muttered the boatswain, as he went on deck, “and I don’t approve of it. But when one chap bullies all the rest, same as when one country begins to wallop all the others, what are you to do?”
Syd started into wakefulness in the morning to find that he had been sleeping heavily. His head ached a little, and when he moved there was a smarting sensation, but he felt disturbed mentally more than in body. He turned out of his hammock and dressed as quickly as the new stiff buttonholes of his uniform would allow, all the time suffering from a sensation of misery and discomfort which made his temper anything but amiable.
“How’s your head?” said Roylance, who was one of the last to wake.
“Bad—sore—aches.”
“Let me look.”
Syd submitted himself unwillingly.
“Only wants a bathe, and a bit of plaister. I’ll see to that.”
The dressing was finished, the hammocks rolled up, and Syd was wondering how long breakfast would be, and what they should have. Terry, who was strolling about the place watching him furtively, suddenly stood aside, the others watching him.
At that moment Roylance came down into his berth with a pair of scissors and some sticking-plaister.
“Here you are,” he said. “I’ll just cut a little of the hair away, and put a bit of this on. It won’t show under your hat.”
“All right,” said Syd, sitting down in the middle of the place on the top of his sea-chest; “but you needn’t have fetched that. I had some in here.”
“Do for next time,” said Roylance, cutting off a large piece of plaister.
“Oh, nonsense,” said Syd, laughing; “a quarter of that would do. I could do it myself if I could see.”
Just then Terry came swaggering up, and Roylance winced, the scissors with which he was cutting the plaister trembling a little.
“Oh, look here, Master Roy,” said Terry, haughtily. “You made some remarks to me in the night about that cutting down of the hammock. I want an apology from you.”
“I’m busy now, Mr Terry,” said Roylance; and the irritable feeling which troubled Syd seemed to be on the increase.
“I didn’t ask you if you were busy, sir, I said I wanted an apology,” continued Terry, while the rest of the mess looked on excitedly at the promising quarrel between the two eldest middies on board theSirius.
“I’m attending to this new messmate’s hurt.”
“Let him go to the doctor if he is hurt,” snarled Terry. “I tell you I want an apology. You as good as said that I cut down this cub’s hammock last night.”
“If I had quite said it, I dare say I shouldn’t have been far wrong,” replied Roylance, in a low tone.
“Oh, indeed, miss,” sneered Terry, “you always were clever with your tongue, like the long thin molly you are. Now then, take that back before—”
He ceased speaking and doubled his fists.
Syd felt as if he were sitting on a fire, and something within him was beginning to boil.
“I’m not going to apologise now,” said Roylance, wincing a little, but speaking more determinedly than before.
“Arn’t you? Then I’m going to make you,” said Terry. “Bolton, go to the bottom of the ladder and give warning.”
“No, no; send Jenks,” said the boy addressed, appealingly.
“You go, and do as you’re told,” said Terry, fiercely; and Syd felt as if he must boil over soon, no matter how much he was hurt.
“Now then, Miss Roylance, if you please, I’m waiting,” said Terry, in an offensive way. “You’re such a talker that you can easily make a nice apology.”
Roylance went on cutting and sticking the piece of plaister.
“Do you hear me, sir?” cried Terry, “or am I to set Baby Jenks to thrash you?”
“Stand up, Belton,” said Roylance, quietly. “Now then, turn a little more to the light;” and Sydney rose.
“Stand aside, youngster. I want to give Miss Roylance a bit of sticking-plaister first.”
As he spoke he gave Syd, who was between them, a push, whose result astounded him.
“Out of the way will you,” cried Syd, fiercely; “can’t you see he’s busy?”
That which had been boiling in him had gone over the side at last, and Terry stopped short staring with astonishment.
“If you want to talk to him, wait till he has done my head. Better talk to me, for it was you, you great coward, who cut me down.”
“Why you—oh, this is too good!” cried Terry, with a forced laugh, as he looked round at the little knot of his messmates. “There, wait a minute till I’ve done with Molly Roylance, and I’ll soon settle your little bill.”
Roylance stood looking pale and excited, with the scissors and plaister still in his hand, but on his guard ready to spring back or sidewise if attacked. Then he, like his would-be assailant, stared in astonishment. For Syd had resumed his position between them as if about to lower his head to the light; when, feeling that if he wished to maintain his character he must act sharply against what was to him a new boy in the midshipman’s mess, Terry laid hold of Syd’s collar and swung him round.
“Out of the way, will you!” he said; and as the road was clear he made a spring at Roylance, but suddenly gave his head a twist, tripped over the new sea-chest that was in the way, and fell heavily.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he cried, as he sprang to his feet. “Well, the sooner you have your lesson the better.”
He began to divest himself of his upper garment as he spoke; and Syd, whose teeth were set, and whose knuckles were tingling from the effect of the blow he had planted on Terry, rapidly imitated him.
“No, no,” said Roylance, excitedly; “this is my quarrel. You see fair.”
“You want me to quarrel with you?” cried Syd, fiercely; “see fair yourself. Hold that.”
He threw his garment to the tall slight lad, and rolled up his sleeves, to stand forth no mean antagonist for the bully, though Terry was a couple of inches taller, as many years older, and better set.
“Be ready to pick him up, Molly Roy,” said Terry, sneeringly. “Get a sponge and a basin of water ready, Baby Jenks, and—”
He staggered back. For as he spoke he had begun sparring at one who was smarting with rage, and the thought that the cowardly fellow who had injured him so in the night was before him ready for him to take his revenge. Syd thought of nothing else, and the moment he was facing his adversary, clashed in at him, delivering so fierce a blow that Terry nearly went down.
Then came and went blow after blow. There was a close, a fierce struggle here and there, and both went down just as a pair of broad shoulders were seen at the door beside those of Bolton, who was keeping watch over the fight instead of the companion-ladder, and the broad shoulders and the rugged countenance were those of the new boatswain.
“Arn’t lost much time,” he growled.
“No. Don’t stop ’em,” whispered Bolton. “Let them have it out.”
“Oh, I arn’t agoin’ to stop ’em,” growled back Barney. “He’s got to be a fighting man, so he’d better larn to fight.”
“Can he fight?” whispered the middy.
“Seems like it, sir: that was right in the nose.”
An excited murmur ran through the spectators, as after a sharp little episode, during which Syd had been a good deal knocked about, Terry went back against the bulkhead and stood with his hand to his face.
“Ready for the sponge and basin, Mike Terry?” squeaked Jenks; and there was a laugh.
“I’ll remember that, Baby,” cried Terry, squaring up to his adversary again with the full intention of putting an end to an encounter beneath his dignity; and after a sharp struggle Syd’s crown struck the bulkhead loudly, and he went down sitting on a locker.
“That’s done him,” said Bolton, with a sigh, as if he were disappointed.
“Not it, my lad. Master Syd arn’t got warm yet. Your chap’s got his work cut out to lick him.”
“Then he can fight?” whispered Bolton, eagerly.
“Well, it arn’t so much his fighting; it’s a way he’s got o’ not being able to leave off when he’s wound up, and that tires ’em. Look at that.”
The fight had been renewed by Terry rushing forward to finish off his antagonist, who had seemed to be a little confused by the last round.
But Sydney eluded him, and with a wonderful display of activity avoided several awkward blows, and after wearying his enemy managed to deliver one with all his might in unpleasant proximity to Terry’s eyes.
The struggle went on with varying success, Syd on the whole naturally getting far the worst of it; but Barney stood stolidly looking on, and when Roylance felt his heart sink as he saw how badly his brave young defender was being beaten, the boatswain said coolly to Bolton in reply to a—
“Now then, what do you think of that?”
“Lot’s o’ stuff in him yet, young gen’leman. He’s good for another hour.”
There was encounter after encounter, and close after close, during which Syd generally went down first; but to Terry’s astonishment the more he knocked his young antagonist about the fiercer it made him, and at last after delivering a successful blow full in Syd’s chest he cried out—
“Take him away, Roy; I don’t want to hurt him any—”
Terry did not finish his remark, for the second half of that last word was knocked back by a bang right in the mouth, followed up by several others so rapidly delivered that the champion of the midshipmen’s mess went down this time without a struggle.
“What do you think o’ that, young gen’leman?” said Barney.
“Hurray!” whispered Bolton, bending down and squeezing his hands between his knees; “he’ll lick him.”
“Eh? I thought he was your man.”
“A beast! He’s always knocking us about,” whispered Bolton. “Hurray! go it, Belt.”
The adversaries were face to face again, and there was a breathless silence.
“Had enough?” panted Terry.
“No, not half,” cried Syd, rushing at him.
“Look at that! See his teeth?” said Barney. “That’s British bull-dog, that is. Master Syd never fights till he’s made, but when he does—My eye! that was a crack.”
But it was not Barney’s eye. It was Terry’s, and the blow was so sharp that the receiver went down into a corner, and refused to get up again, while the subjects of the fallen king crowded round the victor eager to shake hands.
“No, no,” panted Syd; “don’t: my knuckles are all bleeding. What’s my face like?” he said sharply to Roylance.
“Knocked about; but never mind that, Belton; you’ve won.”
“I don’t mind,” was the reply; “and I don’t want to win. Are you much hurt?” he continued, going to Terry’s corner, where the vanquished hero was still seated upon the floor with little Jenkins, with much sympathy, offering to sponge his face.
“I’m sorry we fought,” said Syd, quietly. “Shake hands.”
There was no reply.
“You’re not hurt much, are you?”
Terry gave him one quick look, and then let his head down on his chest.
“You’ll shake hands?” said Syd. “We can be friends now.”
Still no notice.
“Shake hands, Mike Terry,” piped little Jenkins. “You’ve licked everybody, and it was quite your turn.”
“Hold your tongue, you little wretch,” hissed the other. “I owe you something for this.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the impish little fellow, beginning to caper about with the sponge. “You touch me again and I’ll get Belton to give you your gruel. You nasty great coward, you’ve got it at last.”
“Don’t you be a coward,” said Syd, sharply. “Now, Mr Terry, I’m very sorry: shake hands.”
“Here, one of you take that basin and sponge away from Jenks,” said Terry, getting up painfully. “He wouldn’t have done this if I hadn’t hurt one of my arms.”
“Well, if I was licked fair like that, I would own to it,” said Bolton. “It was fair, wasn’t it, Roy?”
“As fair as a fight could be,” was the reply.
“Yes,” said Barney, thrusting in his head, “that was as fair as could be, Master Syd.”
“What you, Barney!”
“Bo’sun, sir. I wouldn’t interrupt you afore, ’cause I knowed you wouldn’t like it, but the captain wants to see you.”
“What!” cried Sydney, as he clapped his hands to his swollen nose and lips. “Wants to see me?”
“Soon as ever he’s done his braxfass, sir.”
“Oh, what shall I do?” cried Syd.
“Dunno, sir,” said the boatswain, grinning, “unless you sends word you’re sea-sick, for you do look bad.”
“No, no, I can’t do that.”
“Oh, I dunno, sir,” said the boatswain, chuckling. “You was sea-sick months before you joined your ship, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t be now. My Panny-mar’s got it too. Took bad last night.”
“What, has he been fighting?”
“Didn’t ask him, sir; but he can’t see out of his eyes, and when I asked him how he felt, he grinned like all on one side.”
“I heard there was a fight with a new boy,” piped out Jenkins. “Had it out with Monkey Bill and licked him. Was that your boy, bo’sun?”
“That’s him, sir. We all comes of a fighting breed; him and me and the cap’en and Master Syd here. Skipper’s awful, and I shall be sorry for the Frenchies and Spanles as he tackles. Well, Master Syd, what am I to tell the captain’s sarvant ’bout you?”
“Go and ask to see the captain,” said Syd, firmly, “and tell him that I have been having a fight, and am not fit to come.”
“Hear that?” said the boatswain, looking proudly round—“hear that, young gen’lemen? That’s Bri’sh bull-dog, that is. What do you think of your messmate now?”
The middies gave a cheer, and crowded round Syd as Terry bent over the locker to bathe his swollen face, and he looked up once, but did not say a word.
“Some says fighting among boys is a bad thing,” muttered the boatswain, as he went on deck, “and I don’t approve of it. But when one chap bullies all the rest, same as when one country begins to wallop all the others, what are you to do?”