Chapter Ten.“I can’t bully him to-night—a young dog!” said the captain. “He must be half-starved. I wonder whether Broughton has gone to bed.”He went down slowly to the library without a light, meaning to summon the butler and make him prepare a tray.But meanwhile Admiral Belton had provided himself with a chamber candlestick and stolen softly down-stairs, through the baize door at one side of the hall, and along the passage that led to the kitchen.“Can’t leave the poor lad to starve,” he muttered; “and I dare say I shall find out the larder by the smell.”He chuckled to himself as he softly unfastened a door.“Nice game this for one of his Majesty’s old officers of the fleet,” he said. “Wonder what they’d say at the club if they saw me?”The door passed, he had no difficulty in finding the kitchen, for there was a pleasant chirping of crickets to greet his ear; a kitcheny smell that was oniony and unmistakable, and a few paces farther on his feet were on stones that were sanded, and all at once there was a loud pop where he put down his foot.He lowered the light and saw that black beetles were scouring away in all directions.“Cockroaches, by George!” he muttered. “Now where can the larder be?”There were three doors about, and he went to the first.“Hah!” he ejaculated, with a sniff. “Here we are; no doubt about it.”He slipped a bolt, lifted a latch, stepped in and stepped out again quickly, then closed the door.“Scullery!” he snarled. “Bah! what an idiot I do seem, prowling about here.”He crossed the kitchen, slaying two more black beetles with his broad feet in transit, and opened another door. This he found led into a cool passage, along one side of which was a wirework kind of cage.“Here we are at last,” he said; and opening the door, he found himself in presence of part of a cold leg of mutton, a well-carved piece of beef, and a cold roast pheasant.“Now then for a plate,” he muttered; and this he secured by sliding some tartlets off one on to the shelf.“Why, I’ve no knife,” he muttered, as he cast his eyes upon the cold roast pheasant. “I must have some bread too.”A huge brown pan on the stone floor suggested the home of the loaves, and on raising the lid he found a half loaf, which he broke in two, secured one piece, and transferred it to the plate.“Hang it all, where is there a knife?” he muttered. “One can’t cut beef or mutton without a knife. ’Tisn’t even as if one had got one’s sword. Here—I know.”He seized the pheasant.“Humph! too much for a boy. Don’t know, though; dare say he could finish it. Wouldn’t do him good. I’ll—that’s it.”He took hold of one leg, and holding the bird down, pulled off one of its joints; then another; after which he placed the pair of legs thoughtfully on the plate.“May as well give him a wing too,” he said; and seizing the one having the liver, he was in the act of tearing it off, when an exclamation behind made him start round and face the captain.“My dear Tom!” exclaimed the latter. “Why, my dear boy, didn’t you speak, and so have ordered a supper-tray?”“But you seem to be hungry too,” growled the admiral, pointing with the wing he had now torn-off at a plate and knife and fork his brother carried.“Eh? yes,” said the captain, starting and looking conscious. “I—er—that is—”“Why, Harry!” exclaimed Sir Thomas.“Tom!” cried the captain. “You don’t mean that you have come down to—”“Yes, I do,” cried the admiral, fiercely. “Think I was going to bed after a good dinner to shut my eyes whilst that poor boy was half-starved?”“But it is a punishment for him,” said the captain, sternly.“Punishment be hanged, sir!” cried Sir Thomas. “Harry, you are my brother, and I am only a guest here, but you are a humbug, sir.”“What do you mean?”“Mean that you’ve been bouncing about being strict, and the rest of it, and yet you brought that plate and knife to cut your boy some supper.”“Well, er—I’m afraid I did, Tom.”“I’m not afraid, but I’m very glad you’re not such a hard-hearted scoundrel. Poor boy! he must be famished. Here, give me that knife.”The captain handed the knife, but in doing so brushed his sleeve over the flame of the candle he carried, and extinguished it.“How provoking!”“Never mind,” said his brother; “one must do.”As he spoke, the admiral hacked a great piece off the breast of the pheasant, and added it to the legs and wing.“There,” he said, “that ought to keep him going till breakfast. Must have a bit o’ salt, Harry. Hush!”He stooped down and blew out the remaining candle, as the captain caught his arm, and they stood listening.For the creaking of a door had fallen upon their ears; and partly from involuntary action consequent upon the dread of being caught in so unusual a position, partly from the second thought to which he afterwards gave vent, the admiral sought refuge in the dark.“Burglars, Harry,” he whispered. “They’re after your plate.”“Hist! don’t speak; we may catch them,” was whispered back, and the two old officers stood listening for what seemed an interminable length of time before they saw the dim reflection of a light; heard more whispering, and then the door leading into the larder passage was softly opened.“Coming into the trap,” thought the captain, as with his heart beating fast he prepared for the encounter which he foresaw must take place. “Be ready,” he said, with his lips to his brother’s ear.“Right. They’re going to board,” was whispered back.They were not long kept in doubt, for the larder door was suddenly thrown open, and three men dashed in armed with bludgeons and a cutlass. There was a sharp scuffle in the darkness, in which the two brave old officers made desperate efforts to master their assailants, but only to find that their years were against them, and they were completely overcome.“You lubbers! Do you give in?” cried a hoarse voice—that of the man sitting on the captain’s chest, while two men were holding down the admiral, who still heaved and strove to get free.“Strake, you scoundrel! is it you?” panted the captain.Barney executed a curious manoeuvre, half bound, half roll, off his master, and brought up close to one of the larder shelves, while one of the other men left the admiral and ran out, to return with a light.The scene was strange. Barney was standing supporting himself against the larder shelf, with his elbow on the cold sirloin of beef; the footman, in his shirt and breeches, was in a corner; and Captain Belton and his brother, with their clothes half torn-off their backs, were seated on the bare floor, staring angrily at their assailants; while Broughton, the butler, was in the doorway, with the candle he had fetched held high above his head.“My last tooth gone,” roared the admiral. “You scoundrels, you shall pay for this.”“Strake, you rascal!” cried the captain. “Broughton, is this some plot to rob me?”The men stared aghast, as the captain struggled up.“Speak, you ruffians! You, John!” roared the captain, as he got his breath again, and stood trembling with passion as he glared at the footman.“Beg pardon, sir,” stammered the frightened servitor.“No, don’t stop for that, sir,” cried his master; “tell me what the dickens this means.”“Please, sir, I heard noises down-stairs, and I thought it was after the plate; so I told Broughton, sir, and he sent me after the gardener, sir.”“And then you came and attacked us,” roared the admiral. “Here, I’m half killed.”“We didn’t know it was you, Sir Thomas,” growled Barney.“Then why didn’t you know, you idiot?” cried the captain.“Didn’t think anybody could be down-stairs, sir,” said the butler, respectfully.“Why didn’t you show your colours, you scoundrel?” cried the admiral, “and not come firing broadsides into your friends. Confound—I say, Harry, my lad, just look at me.”“I’m very sorry, sir,” faltered the butler.“Hang your sorrow, sir! You’ve broke my watch-glass, and I can feel the bits pricking me.”“Come to me at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, all of you,” cried the captain, fiercely, “and I’ll pay you your wages, and you shall go.”“No, no, no,” said the admiral; “I think we’ve given them as much as they gave us, and—haw, haw, haw!” he roared, bursting into a tremendous peal of laughter; “we didn’t show our colours either. It’s all right, brother Harry; they took us for burglars—but they needn’t have hit quite so hard.”“Beg your honour’s pardon, sir, sure,” growled Barney.“Beg my pardon, sir!—after planting your ugly great knees on my chest, and then sitting on me with your heavy carcase!”“Is anything the matter?” said a voice at the door, and Sydney made his appearance, looking startled at the scene.“No, no, my boy,” cried his uncle, cheerily; “only your father and I came down to get you a bit of supper, and then they boarded us in the dark.”“Yes, yes, that was it, Syd,” said the captain. “Here, put that plate on a tray, Broughton, and take it into the library. I’m very sorry this has happened.”“All a mistake, sir, I’m sure,” said the butler, taking the plate with the hacked and torn-off portions of pheasant.“Yes; don’t say any more about it. Come, brother Tom; come, Sydney.”He led the way, but the jolly old admiral could not follow for laughing. He leaned up against the larder shelf, and stood wiping his eyes; and every time he got over one paroxysm he began again. But at last he beckoned to Barney.“Here, give me your arm, bo’sun,” he said, “and help me into the library; I feel as if everything were going by the board. Oh, dear me! oh, dear me! Wait till I’ve buttoned this waistcoat. Well, it’s a lesson. Done for you, Syd, if you had been going to sea. Never attack without proper signals to know who are enemies and who are not.”The supper was soon spread in the library, and Sydney was ravenous for a few mouthfuls, but after that he pushed his plate away, and could eat no more.“What!” cried his uncle; “done? Nonsense! I can peck a bit now myself; and, Harry, my boy, I must have a glass of grog after this.”The result was that Syd did eat a decent supper, and an hour later, when all was still, he sat thinking for a time about the coming morning. Perhaps more than that of the fact that neither his father nor his uncle had shaken hands when they parted for the night.Then came sleep—sweet, restful sleep—and he was dreaming vividly for a time of a desperate fight with the French, in which he boarded a larder, and captured a butler, footman, and a gardener. After that all was dense, dreamless sleep, till he started up in bed, for there was a knocking at his door.
“I can’t bully him to-night—a young dog!” said the captain. “He must be half-starved. I wonder whether Broughton has gone to bed.”
He went down slowly to the library without a light, meaning to summon the butler and make him prepare a tray.
But meanwhile Admiral Belton had provided himself with a chamber candlestick and stolen softly down-stairs, through the baize door at one side of the hall, and along the passage that led to the kitchen.
“Can’t leave the poor lad to starve,” he muttered; “and I dare say I shall find out the larder by the smell.”
He chuckled to himself as he softly unfastened a door.
“Nice game this for one of his Majesty’s old officers of the fleet,” he said. “Wonder what they’d say at the club if they saw me?”
The door passed, he had no difficulty in finding the kitchen, for there was a pleasant chirping of crickets to greet his ear; a kitcheny smell that was oniony and unmistakable, and a few paces farther on his feet were on stones that were sanded, and all at once there was a loud pop where he put down his foot.
He lowered the light and saw that black beetles were scouring away in all directions.
“Cockroaches, by George!” he muttered. “Now where can the larder be?”
There were three doors about, and he went to the first.
“Hah!” he ejaculated, with a sniff. “Here we are; no doubt about it.”
He slipped a bolt, lifted a latch, stepped in and stepped out again quickly, then closed the door.
“Scullery!” he snarled. “Bah! what an idiot I do seem, prowling about here.”
He crossed the kitchen, slaying two more black beetles with his broad feet in transit, and opened another door. This he found led into a cool passage, along one side of which was a wirework kind of cage.
“Here we are at last,” he said; and opening the door, he found himself in presence of part of a cold leg of mutton, a well-carved piece of beef, and a cold roast pheasant.
“Now then for a plate,” he muttered; and this he secured by sliding some tartlets off one on to the shelf.
“Why, I’ve no knife,” he muttered, as he cast his eyes upon the cold roast pheasant. “I must have some bread too.”
A huge brown pan on the stone floor suggested the home of the loaves, and on raising the lid he found a half loaf, which he broke in two, secured one piece, and transferred it to the plate.
“Hang it all, where is there a knife?” he muttered. “One can’t cut beef or mutton without a knife. ’Tisn’t even as if one had got one’s sword. Here—I know.”
He seized the pheasant.
“Humph! too much for a boy. Don’t know, though; dare say he could finish it. Wouldn’t do him good. I’ll—that’s it.”
He took hold of one leg, and holding the bird down, pulled off one of its joints; then another; after which he placed the pair of legs thoughtfully on the plate.
“May as well give him a wing too,” he said; and seizing the one having the liver, he was in the act of tearing it off, when an exclamation behind made him start round and face the captain.
“My dear Tom!” exclaimed the latter. “Why, my dear boy, didn’t you speak, and so have ordered a supper-tray?”
“But you seem to be hungry too,” growled the admiral, pointing with the wing he had now torn-off at a plate and knife and fork his brother carried.
“Eh? yes,” said the captain, starting and looking conscious. “I—er—that is—”
“Why, Harry!” exclaimed Sir Thomas.
“Tom!” cried the captain. “You don’t mean that you have come down to—”
“Yes, I do,” cried the admiral, fiercely. “Think I was going to bed after a good dinner to shut my eyes whilst that poor boy was half-starved?”
“But it is a punishment for him,” said the captain, sternly.
“Punishment be hanged, sir!” cried Sir Thomas. “Harry, you are my brother, and I am only a guest here, but you are a humbug, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mean that you’ve been bouncing about being strict, and the rest of it, and yet you brought that plate and knife to cut your boy some supper.”
“Well, er—I’m afraid I did, Tom.”
“I’m not afraid, but I’m very glad you’re not such a hard-hearted scoundrel. Poor boy! he must be famished. Here, give me that knife.”
The captain handed the knife, but in doing so brushed his sleeve over the flame of the candle he carried, and extinguished it.
“How provoking!”
“Never mind,” said his brother; “one must do.”
As he spoke, the admiral hacked a great piece off the breast of the pheasant, and added it to the legs and wing.
“There,” he said, “that ought to keep him going till breakfast. Must have a bit o’ salt, Harry. Hush!”
He stooped down and blew out the remaining candle, as the captain caught his arm, and they stood listening.
For the creaking of a door had fallen upon their ears; and partly from involuntary action consequent upon the dread of being caught in so unusual a position, partly from the second thought to which he afterwards gave vent, the admiral sought refuge in the dark.
“Burglars, Harry,” he whispered. “They’re after your plate.”
“Hist! don’t speak; we may catch them,” was whispered back, and the two old officers stood listening for what seemed an interminable length of time before they saw the dim reflection of a light; heard more whispering, and then the door leading into the larder passage was softly opened.
“Coming into the trap,” thought the captain, as with his heart beating fast he prepared for the encounter which he foresaw must take place. “Be ready,” he said, with his lips to his brother’s ear.
“Right. They’re going to board,” was whispered back.
They were not long kept in doubt, for the larder door was suddenly thrown open, and three men dashed in armed with bludgeons and a cutlass. There was a sharp scuffle in the darkness, in which the two brave old officers made desperate efforts to master their assailants, but only to find that their years were against them, and they were completely overcome.
“You lubbers! Do you give in?” cried a hoarse voice—that of the man sitting on the captain’s chest, while two men were holding down the admiral, who still heaved and strove to get free.
“Strake, you scoundrel! is it you?” panted the captain.
Barney executed a curious manoeuvre, half bound, half roll, off his master, and brought up close to one of the larder shelves, while one of the other men left the admiral and ran out, to return with a light.
The scene was strange. Barney was standing supporting himself against the larder shelf, with his elbow on the cold sirloin of beef; the footman, in his shirt and breeches, was in a corner; and Captain Belton and his brother, with their clothes half torn-off their backs, were seated on the bare floor, staring angrily at their assailants; while Broughton, the butler, was in the doorway, with the candle he had fetched held high above his head.
“My last tooth gone,” roared the admiral. “You scoundrels, you shall pay for this.”
“Strake, you rascal!” cried the captain. “Broughton, is this some plot to rob me?”
The men stared aghast, as the captain struggled up.
“Speak, you ruffians! You, John!” roared the captain, as he got his breath again, and stood trembling with passion as he glared at the footman.
“Beg pardon, sir,” stammered the frightened servitor.
“No, don’t stop for that, sir,” cried his master; “tell me what the dickens this means.”
“Please, sir, I heard noises down-stairs, and I thought it was after the plate; so I told Broughton, sir, and he sent me after the gardener, sir.”
“And then you came and attacked us,” roared the admiral. “Here, I’m half killed.”
“We didn’t know it was you, Sir Thomas,” growled Barney.
“Then why didn’t you know, you idiot?” cried the captain.
“Didn’t think anybody could be down-stairs, sir,” said the butler, respectfully.
“Why didn’t you show your colours, you scoundrel?” cried the admiral, “and not come firing broadsides into your friends. Confound—I say, Harry, my lad, just look at me.”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” faltered the butler.
“Hang your sorrow, sir! You’ve broke my watch-glass, and I can feel the bits pricking me.”
“Come to me at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, all of you,” cried the captain, fiercely, “and I’ll pay you your wages, and you shall go.”
“No, no, no,” said the admiral; “I think we’ve given them as much as they gave us, and—haw, haw, haw!” he roared, bursting into a tremendous peal of laughter; “we didn’t show our colours either. It’s all right, brother Harry; they took us for burglars—but they needn’t have hit quite so hard.”
“Beg your honour’s pardon, sir, sure,” growled Barney.
“Beg my pardon, sir!—after planting your ugly great knees on my chest, and then sitting on me with your heavy carcase!”
“Is anything the matter?” said a voice at the door, and Sydney made his appearance, looking startled at the scene.
“No, no, my boy,” cried his uncle, cheerily; “only your father and I came down to get you a bit of supper, and then they boarded us in the dark.”
“Yes, yes, that was it, Syd,” said the captain. “Here, put that plate on a tray, Broughton, and take it into the library. I’m very sorry this has happened.”
“All a mistake, sir, I’m sure,” said the butler, taking the plate with the hacked and torn-off portions of pheasant.
“Yes; don’t say any more about it. Come, brother Tom; come, Sydney.”
He led the way, but the jolly old admiral could not follow for laughing. He leaned up against the larder shelf, and stood wiping his eyes; and every time he got over one paroxysm he began again. But at last he beckoned to Barney.
“Here, give me your arm, bo’sun,” he said, “and help me into the library; I feel as if everything were going by the board. Oh, dear me! oh, dear me! Wait till I’ve buttoned this waistcoat. Well, it’s a lesson. Done for you, Syd, if you had been going to sea. Never attack without proper signals to know who are enemies and who are not.”
The supper was soon spread in the library, and Sydney was ravenous for a few mouthfuls, but after that he pushed his plate away, and could eat no more.
“What!” cried his uncle; “done? Nonsense! I can peck a bit now myself; and, Harry, my boy, I must have a glass of grog after this.”
The result was that Syd did eat a decent supper, and an hour later, when all was still, he sat thinking for a time about the coming morning. Perhaps more than that of the fact that neither his father nor his uncle had shaken hands when they parted for the night.
Then came sleep—sweet, restful sleep—and he was dreaming vividly for a time of a desperate fight with the French, in which he boarded a larder, and captured a butler, footman, and a gardener. After that all was dense, dreamless sleep, till he started up in bed, for there was a knocking at his door.
Chapter Eleven.“May I come in, sir?”“Yes; come in, Broughton,” said Syd, recognising the voice, and the butler entered with one hand bound up.“That, sir? Oh, nothing, sir. Only got it in the scrimmage last night. So glad to see you back again, Master Syd.”“Oh, don’t talk about it, Broughton,” groaned the boy. “My father down?”“No, sir; but he’s getting up, and your uncle too. I was to come and tell you to make haste.”“Yes, I’ll make haste,” said Syd; and as soon as he was alone he began to dress hurriedly, with every thought of the blackest hue, and a sensation of misery and depression assailing him that was horrible.He quite started as he went to the glass to brush his hair, for his face was white and drawn as if he had been ill. But there was very little more time for thought. The breakfast-bell rang, and he hurried down into the dining-room, glad to get off the staircase and through the hall, where one of the housemaids was still busy, and ready to look at him curiously as the boy who ran away from home—and came back.Syd thought of that latter, for he knew but too well the servants might think it was brave—almost heroic and daring—to run away; to come back seemed very weak and small.In those few moments Syd wished that ten years would glide away, and all the trouble belong to the past.His father was in a chair by the window ready to look up sharply, and then let his eye fall upon the book he was reading without uttering a word.Broughton came in bearing a tray with the coffee and a covered dish or two ready to place upon the table, then he left, and Syd was alone again with his father.“What will he say?” thought the culprit; but he could not decide in which form his verbal castigation would come.As he sat glancing at his father from time to time, Syd noted that there was a scratch upon his forehead, and that a bit of sticking-plaster was on one of his knuckles, proofs these of the severity of the past night’s struggle.Then came a weary waiting interval before there was a deep-toned cough outside the door.“Hah!” ejaculated the captain, rising from his seat as the door opened, and the old admiral stumped into the room.“Morning, Harry,” he said; “morning, Syd.”He closed the door behind him and came forward, and then, odd as it may sound in connection with one who was weak, unwell, and suffering from so much mental trouble, Sydney burst into a hearty fit of laughter. He tried to check it; he knew that under the circumstances it was in the worst of taste; he felt that he would excite his father’s anger, and that then he would be furious; but he laughed all the same, and the more he tried the more violent and lasting the fits grew.“Sydney!” cried his father, and then there was a pause followed by a hearty “Ha, ha, ha!” as the captain joined in, and the admiral gently patted his own face first on one side and then on the other.“Yes,” he said, quietly; “you may well laugh. I look a nice guy, don’t I?”“Oh, uncle! I beg your pardon—but—oh, oh, oh, I can’t stop laughing,” cried Sydney.“Well, get it done, boy,” said the old gentleman, “for I want my breakfast. Oh, here is Broughton.”The butler entered with a rack of hot dry toast, and as he advanced to the table the admiral exclaimed—“Now, sir, look here; you’ve made a nice mess of my phiz. What have you got to say to this?”The butler raised his eyes as he set down the toast, gazed full in the old gentleman’s face, his own seemed frozen solid for a moment, and then, clapping the napkin he carried to his mouth to smother his laughter, he turned and fled.“And that son of a sea-cook begged my pardon last night, and said he was sorry. Yes, I am a sight. Look at my eyes, Harry, swollen up and black. There’s a nose for you; and one lip cut. Why, I never got it so bad in action. And all your fault, Syd. There, I forgive you, boy.”“Well, it’s impossible to give this boy a serious lecture now, Tom,” said the captain, wiping his eyes, as he passed the coffee.“Of course. Who wants serious lectures?” said the admiral, testily. “The boy did wrong, and he came back and said he was sorry for it. You’ve told me scores of times that you never flogged a man who was really sorry for getting into a scrape. Give me some of that ham, Syd, and go on eating yourself. I say, rum old punch I look, don’t I?”Syd made no reply, but filled his uncle’s plate, and the breakfast went on nearly to the end before the topic dreaded was introduced.“Well, Sydney,” said his father, rather sadly, “so I suppose I must let you be a doctor?”“Wish he was one now,” cried the admiral. “I’d make him try to make me fit to be seen. Humph! doctor, eh? No; I don’t think I shall try to be ill to give you a job, Syd; but I’m very glad, my boy, that you did not take that money.”Sydney bent over his coffee, and his father went on—“It’s like letting you win a victory, sir, but I suppose I must give in. I don’t like it though.”“Humph! more do I,” said Sir Thomas. “I’ll forgive you though if you train up for a naval surgeon. Do you hear, sir?”“Yes, uncle, I hear,” said Sydney.“Then why don’t you speak?”“I was thinking of what you said, uncle.”“Humph! Well, I hope you’ll take it to heart.”“Yes,” said his father; “you may as well be a surgeon.”“That’s what I should have liked to be,” said Sydney, “if I had been a doctor.”“Well, you’re going to be, sir. Your uncle and I have talked it over, and you shall study for it, and begin as soon as you’re old enough.”Sydney sat still, gazing at his plate; but he raised his eyes at last, and looked firmly at his father, who was watching him keenly.“Thank you, father,” he said.“No, sir, don’t thank me; thank your indulgent uncle.”“No, don’t, boy, because I give way most unwillingly; and I’m confoundedly sorry you should want to be such a physic-mixing swab.”“You needn’t be sorry, uncle,” said Sydney, quietly; “and I’m very grateful to you, father, but I shall not be one now.”“Not be a doctor!” said the captain, sharply. “Then pray, sir, what do you mean to be?”“A sailor, father.”“What?” cried the brothers in chorus.“And I want to go to sea at once.”“You do, Syd?”“Yes, father. I saw it all when I’d gone away, and I came back for that.”“Hurrah!” cried the admiral, starting from his seat, and dropping back with a groan of pain. “Bless my heart!” he cried, “how sore I am! But hurrah! all the same. You’ll be a middy, my boy.”“Yes, uncle. I want to be at once.”“And you’ll try to make yourself a good officer, my boy?” cried his father, leaning over the table to catch his son’s hand.“Yes, father, as hard as ever I can.”“T’other hand, Syd, lad,” cried the admiral; and he grasped it firmly. “Try, Harry?—he won’t need to try. He’s a Belton every inch of him, and he’ll make a ten times better officer than ever we did. Here, where’s the port? Who’s going to drink success to the boy in coffee? Bah, what does the liquor matter! We’ll drink it in our hearts, boy. Here’s to Admiral Belton—my dear boy—our dear boy, Harry, eh?”“God bless you, my lad!” cried Captain Belton. “You’ve made me feel more proud of you and happy than I have felt for years.”“Here, hi!” roared the admiral; “where’s that lubber Strake? I want some one to help me cheer. Sydney, boy, God bless you! Iamglad you ran away.”“Then you forgive me, father?”“Hold your tongue, sir,” cried Captain Belton, laying his hand on his son’s shoulder. “There are things that we all like to forget as soon as we can—this is one of them. Let’s blot it out.”“But I want to ask a favour, father.”“Granted, my boy, before you ask.”
“May I come in, sir?”
“Yes; come in, Broughton,” said Syd, recognising the voice, and the butler entered with one hand bound up.
“That, sir? Oh, nothing, sir. Only got it in the scrimmage last night. So glad to see you back again, Master Syd.”
“Oh, don’t talk about it, Broughton,” groaned the boy. “My father down?”
“No, sir; but he’s getting up, and your uncle too. I was to come and tell you to make haste.”
“Yes, I’ll make haste,” said Syd; and as soon as he was alone he began to dress hurriedly, with every thought of the blackest hue, and a sensation of misery and depression assailing him that was horrible.
He quite started as he went to the glass to brush his hair, for his face was white and drawn as if he had been ill. But there was very little more time for thought. The breakfast-bell rang, and he hurried down into the dining-room, glad to get off the staircase and through the hall, where one of the housemaids was still busy, and ready to look at him curiously as the boy who ran away from home—and came back.
Syd thought of that latter, for he knew but too well the servants might think it was brave—almost heroic and daring—to run away; to come back seemed very weak and small.
In those few moments Syd wished that ten years would glide away, and all the trouble belong to the past.
His father was in a chair by the window ready to look up sharply, and then let his eye fall upon the book he was reading without uttering a word.
Broughton came in bearing a tray with the coffee and a covered dish or two ready to place upon the table, then he left, and Syd was alone again with his father.
“What will he say?” thought the culprit; but he could not decide in which form his verbal castigation would come.
As he sat glancing at his father from time to time, Syd noted that there was a scratch upon his forehead, and that a bit of sticking-plaster was on one of his knuckles, proofs these of the severity of the past night’s struggle.
Then came a weary waiting interval before there was a deep-toned cough outside the door.
“Hah!” ejaculated the captain, rising from his seat as the door opened, and the old admiral stumped into the room.
“Morning, Harry,” he said; “morning, Syd.”
He closed the door behind him and came forward, and then, odd as it may sound in connection with one who was weak, unwell, and suffering from so much mental trouble, Sydney burst into a hearty fit of laughter. He tried to check it; he knew that under the circumstances it was in the worst of taste; he felt that he would excite his father’s anger, and that then he would be furious; but he laughed all the same, and the more he tried the more violent and lasting the fits grew.
“Sydney!” cried his father, and then there was a pause followed by a hearty “Ha, ha, ha!” as the captain joined in, and the admiral gently patted his own face first on one side and then on the other.
“Yes,” he said, quietly; “you may well laugh. I look a nice guy, don’t I?”
“Oh, uncle! I beg your pardon—but—oh, oh, oh, I can’t stop laughing,” cried Sydney.
“Well, get it done, boy,” said the old gentleman, “for I want my breakfast. Oh, here is Broughton.”
The butler entered with a rack of hot dry toast, and as he advanced to the table the admiral exclaimed—
“Now, sir, look here; you’ve made a nice mess of my phiz. What have you got to say to this?”
The butler raised his eyes as he set down the toast, gazed full in the old gentleman’s face, his own seemed frozen solid for a moment, and then, clapping the napkin he carried to his mouth to smother his laughter, he turned and fled.
“And that son of a sea-cook begged my pardon last night, and said he was sorry. Yes, I am a sight. Look at my eyes, Harry, swollen up and black. There’s a nose for you; and one lip cut. Why, I never got it so bad in action. And all your fault, Syd. There, I forgive you, boy.”
“Well, it’s impossible to give this boy a serious lecture now, Tom,” said the captain, wiping his eyes, as he passed the coffee.
“Of course. Who wants serious lectures?” said the admiral, testily. “The boy did wrong, and he came back and said he was sorry for it. You’ve told me scores of times that you never flogged a man who was really sorry for getting into a scrape. Give me some of that ham, Syd, and go on eating yourself. I say, rum old punch I look, don’t I?”
Syd made no reply, but filled his uncle’s plate, and the breakfast went on nearly to the end before the topic dreaded was introduced.
“Well, Sydney,” said his father, rather sadly, “so I suppose I must let you be a doctor?”
“Wish he was one now,” cried the admiral. “I’d make him try to make me fit to be seen. Humph! doctor, eh? No; I don’t think I shall try to be ill to give you a job, Syd; but I’m very glad, my boy, that you did not take that money.”
Sydney bent over his coffee, and his father went on—
“It’s like letting you win a victory, sir, but I suppose I must give in. I don’t like it though.”
“Humph! more do I,” said Sir Thomas. “I’ll forgive you though if you train up for a naval surgeon. Do you hear, sir?”
“Yes, uncle, I hear,” said Sydney.
“Then why don’t you speak?”
“I was thinking of what you said, uncle.”
“Humph! Well, I hope you’ll take it to heart.”
“Yes,” said his father; “you may as well be a surgeon.”
“That’s what I should have liked to be,” said Sydney, “if I had been a doctor.”
“Well, you’re going to be, sir. Your uncle and I have talked it over, and you shall study for it, and begin as soon as you’re old enough.”
Sydney sat still, gazing at his plate; but he raised his eyes at last, and looked firmly at his father, who was watching him keenly.
“Thank you, father,” he said.
“No, sir, don’t thank me; thank your indulgent uncle.”
“No, don’t, boy, because I give way most unwillingly; and I’m confoundedly sorry you should want to be such a physic-mixing swab.”
“You needn’t be sorry, uncle,” said Sydney, quietly; “and I’m very grateful to you, father, but I shall not be one now.”
“Not be a doctor!” said the captain, sharply. “Then pray, sir, what do you mean to be?”
“A sailor, father.”
“What?” cried the brothers in chorus.
“And I want to go to sea at once.”
“You do, Syd?”
“Yes, father. I saw it all when I’d gone away, and I came back for that.”
“Hurrah!” cried the admiral, starting from his seat, and dropping back with a groan of pain. “Bless my heart!” he cried, “how sore I am! But hurrah! all the same. You’ll be a middy, my boy.”
“Yes, uncle. I want to be at once.”
“And you’ll try to make yourself a good officer, my boy?” cried his father, leaning over the table to catch his son’s hand.
“Yes, father, as hard as ever I can.”
“T’other hand, Syd, lad,” cried the admiral; and he grasped it firmly. “Try, Harry?—he won’t need to try. He’s a Belton every inch of him, and he’ll make a ten times better officer than ever we did. Here, where’s the port? Who’s going to drink success to the boy in coffee? Bah, what does the liquor matter! We’ll drink it in our hearts, boy. Here’s to Admiral Belton—my dear boy—our dear boy, Harry, eh?”
“God bless you, my lad!” cried Captain Belton. “You’ve made me feel more proud of you and happy than I have felt for years.”
“Here, hi!” roared the admiral; “where’s that lubber Strake? I want some one to help me cheer. Sydney, boy, God bless you! Iamglad you ran away.”
“Then you forgive me, father?”
“Hold your tongue, sir,” cried Captain Belton, laying his hand on his son’s shoulder. “There are things that we all like to forget as soon as we can—this is one of them. Let’s blot it out.”
“But I want to ask a favour, father.”
“Granted, my boy, before you ask.”
Chapter Twelve.Sydney Belton, as he felt the pressure of his father’s hand, could not speak for a few minutes, and when he did find utterance, he seemed to have caught a fresh cold, for his voice sounded husky.“I want as a favour, father—” he began, in a faltering voice.“Here, it’s all right, Syd, my boy,” said his uncle; “don’t bother your father for money. Now then, how much do you want?”“I don’t want money, uncle.”“Eh? Don’t want money, sir? Wait a bit then till you get among your messmates, and you’ll want plenty.”“I want to beg Panama off from being punished.”“Ah, to be sure. I’d forgotten him,” cried Captain Belton; and he went to the fireplace and rang the bell.The butler answered, looking very serious and apologetic now as he glanced at Sir Thomas. But the old gentleman only shook his fist at him good-humouredly as his brother spoke.“Send John down to the cottage, to tell Strake to come up directly with his son.”“Look here,” said Sir Thomas, chuckling, “don’t you two look like that. Pull serious faces, and let’s scare the young dog. Do him good.”By the time the breakfast was ended steps were heard in the hall, and the butler came in to announce that the gardener was waiting with his boy.“Send them in,” said Captain Belton, austerely.The butler retired; Sir Thomas gave his brother and nephew several nods and winks, and then sat up looking most profoundly angry as the door was again opened and a low growling arose from the hall. Then a few whimpering protests, more growling, with a few words audible: “Swab”—“lubber”—“hold up!”—and then there was a scuffle, another growl, and Panama, looking white and scared, seemed to be suddenly propelled into the room as if from a mortar, the mortar making its appearance directly after in the shape of Barney, who pulled his forelock and kicked out a leg behind to each of the old officers before pointing to Pan and growling out—“Young desarter—wouldn’t come o’ deck, your honours, and—”Barney’s remarks had been addressed to his master, but he now turned round toward Sir Thomas, and seemed for the first time to realise the old admiral’s condition, when his jaw dropped, he stared, and then began to scratch his head vigorously.“My!” he ejaculated; “your honour did get it last night.”“Get it, you rascal—yes,” cried Sir Thomas; “you nearly killed me amongst you.”“And, your honour,” said Barney, hoarsely, as he turned to his master, “I hadn’t no idee it was you. I thought it was—”“Yes, yes, never mind now,” said the captain. “I sent for you about this lad.”“Oh, Master Syd, sir, say a word for me,” cried the boy, piteously. “Father would ha’ whacked me if I hadn’t run away; then you whacked me when I did; and now I’m to be whacked again. Wish I was dead, I do.”“Eh! eh! what’s that?” cried Captain Belton. “You thrashed him, Sydney; what for?”“Well, father, we did have a little misunderstanding,” said Sydney, composedly.“It was ’cause I wouldn’t come back, sir; that’s it, sir,” whimpered Pan. “I knowd father had made the rope’s-end ready for me, and he had.”“What’s that?” said the captain. “I said you were not to be flogged until you had been tried.”“Well, your honour, orders it was, and I didn’t lay it on him,” growled Barney.“No; but you laid it across me in bed, and you kep’ on showing of it to me, and you said that was my supper, and my breakfass, and—and—I wish I hadn’t come back, I do.”“Is this true, Strake?”“Well, your honour, I s’pose it’s about it,” said the boatswain. “I ’member showing of it to him once or twyste.”“He’s got it in his pocket now, sir,” cried Pan.“Ay, ay. That’s a true word, lad.”“Let’s see,” said Sir Thomas, in magisterial tones.Barney fumbled unwillingly in his pocket, and drew out a piece of rope about two feet long, well whipped round at the ends with twine.“Humph!” said Sir Thomas, taking the instrument of torture. “So that’s what you flog him with.”“Well, your honour, meant to make a man of him.”“Arn’t yer going to speak a word for me, Master Syd?” whispered Pan.“Silence, sir!” said the captain. “Now look here: you ran away from your service, and from your father’s house. Then, I suppose, you tried to persuade my son to go with you.”Pan looked up reproachfully at Sydney.“I wouldn’t ha’ told o’ you, Master Syd. But I don’t care now. Yes; I wanted him tocome.”“Well, I’m glad you spoke the truth; but your companion did not tell tales of you. Now, look here, sir: I suppose you know you’ve behaved like an ungrateful young scoundrel?”“Yes, sir,” whimpered Pan.“And you know you deserve to be flogged?”“Yes, sir, and I want it over; it’s like all flogging, and wuss, for him to keep on showing me that there rope’s-end.”“Better pipe all hands to punishment, bo’sun,” said Sir Thomas.“Ay, ay, sir,” said Barney, thrusting his hand in his breast; and bringing out a silver whistle attached to his neck by a black ribbon, he put it to his lips.“No, no,” cried the captain, “we’re not aboard ship now. I wish we were,” he added, “eh?”Sir Thomas nodded.“Well, sir,” continued the captain, “are you ready to take your flogging?”“Yes, sir,” said Pan, dolefully.“And what will you say if I forgive you?”“And make him forgive me too, sir?” cried Pan, nodding his head sideways at his father.“Yes, my lad.”“Anything, sir. There, I’ll never run away agen.”“Will you be a good, obedient lad, and do as your father wishes you, and go to sea?”“No,” said Pan, stolidly, “I won’t.”“Humph! what are we to say to this, Sir Thomas?”“Say?—that he’s a cowardly young swab.”“Ay, ay, sir; that’s it,” cried Barney.“Silence, sir. Look here, boy; we’ll give you another chance. Will you go to sea?”The boy shook his head.“What! not with my son?”“What!” cried Barney, excitedly. “Master Syd going?”“Yes, Barney,” cried the boy. “I’m going to be a sailor after all.”The ex-boatswain showed every tooth in his head in a broad grin, slapped one hand down on the other, and cried in a gruff voice—“Dear lad! There, your honours! The right stuff in him arter all. Can’t you get me shipped in the same craft with him, Sir Thomas? I’m as tough as ratline hemp still.”“You going to sea, Master Syd?” said Pan, looking at the companion of his flight wonderingly.“Yes, Pan; at once. Will you come?”“Course I will, sir,” cried Pan. “Going to-day?”“There—there, your honours! Hear that?” cried Barney, excitedly. “Aren’t that the right stuff too? Here, your honour, begging your pardon, that bit of rope’s-end’s mine.”He caught up the rope, and gave it a flourish over his head.“Here, stop! what are you going to do?” cried Sydney, dashing at him, and getting hold of one end of the rope.“Going to do, Master Syd?—burn it; you may if you like. It’s done it’s dooty, and done it well. I asks your honours, both on you—aren’t that wirtoo in a bit o’ rope? See what it’s made of him. Nothing like a bit o’ rope’s-end, neatly seized with a bit o’ twine.”“Ah, well, you’ve a right to your opinion, Strake,” said the captain. “There, you can take him back home. I dare say we can manage to get him entered in the same ship as my son.”“And if he’s going to do the right thing now,” said Sir Thomas, “I’ll pay for his outfit too.”“Thank, your honour; thank, your honour!” cried Barney.“Oh!”This last was from Pan, who had received a side kick from his father’s shoe.“Then why don’t yer touch yer hat to the admiral and say thankye too, you swab?” growled Barney, in a deep, hoarse whisper.“There,” said the captain, “you can go now.”“Long life to both your honours,” cried Barney. “Come, Pan, my lad, get home; you dunno it, but your fortune’s made.”“Well, Syd, are you satisfied?” said the captain, as soon as they were alone.“Yes, father.”“Then we’ll go up by to-night’s coach and see Captain Dashleigh to-morrow. What do you say?”“I’m ready, father. Will uncle come too?”“Uncle Tom come too, you young humbug! how can I?” cried the admiral. “No, I’m on sick leave, till my figure-head’s perfect, so I shall have to stop here and sip the port.”
Sydney Belton, as he felt the pressure of his father’s hand, could not speak for a few minutes, and when he did find utterance, he seemed to have caught a fresh cold, for his voice sounded husky.
“I want as a favour, father—” he began, in a faltering voice.
“Here, it’s all right, Syd, my boy,” said his uncle; “don’t bother your father for money. Now then, how much do you want?”
“I don’t want money, uncle.”
“Eh? Don’t want money, sir? Wait a bit then till you get among your messmates, and you’ll want plenty.”
“I want to beg Panama off from being punished.”
“Ah, to be sure. I’d forgotten him,” cried Captain Belton; and he went to the fireplace and rang the bell.
The butler answered, looking very serious and apologetic now as he glanced at Sir Thomas. But the old gentleman only shook his fist at him good-humouredly as his brother spoke.
“Send John down to the cottage, to tell Strake to come up directly with his son.”
“Look here,” said Sir Thomas, chuckling, “don’t you two look like that. Pull serious faces, and let’s scare the young dog. Do him good.”
By the time the breakfast was ended steps were heard in the hall, and the butler came in to announce that the gardener was waiting with his boy.
“Send them in,” said Captain Belton, austerely.
The butler retired; Sir Thomas gave his brother and nephew several nods and winks, and then sat up looking most profoundly angry as the door was again opened and a low growling arose from the hall. Then a few whimpering protests, more growling, with a few words audible: “Swab”—“lubber”—“hold up!”—and then there was a scuffle, another growl, and Panama, looking white and scared, seemed to be suddenly propelled into the room as if from a mortar, the mortar making its appearance directly after in the shape of Barney, who pulled his forelock and kicked out a leg behind to each of the old officers before pointing to Pan and growling out—
“Young desarter—wouldn’t come o’ deck, your honours, and—”
Barney’s remarks had been addressed to his master, but he now turned round toward Sir Thomas, and seemed for the first time to realise the old admiral’s condition, when his jaw dropped, he stared, and then began to scratch his head vigorously.
“My!” he ejaculated; “your honour did get it last night.”
“Get it, you rascal—yes,” cried Sir Thomas; “you nearly killed me amongst you.”
“And, your honour,” said Barney, hoarsely, as he turned to his master, “I hadn’t no idee it was you. I thought it was—”
“Yes, yes, never mind now,” said the captain. “I sent for you about this lad.”
“Oh, Master Syd, sir, say a word for me,” cried the boy, piteously. “Father would ha’ whacked me if I hadn’t run away; then you whacked me when I did; and now I’m to be whacked again. Wish I was dead, I do.”
“Eh! eh! what’s that?” cried Captain Belton. “You thrashed him, Sydney; what for?”
“Well, father, we did have a little misunderstanding,” said Sydney, composedly.
“It was ’cause I wouldn’t come back, sir; that’s it, sir,” whimpered Pan. “I knowd father had made the rope’s-end ready for me, and he had.”
“What’s that?” said the captain. “I said you were not to be flogged until you had been tried.”
“Well, your honour, orders it was, and I didn’t lay it on him,” growled Barney.
“No; but you laid it across me in bed, and you kep’ on showing of it to me, and you said that was my supper, and my breakfass, and—and—I wish I hadn’t come back, I do.”
“Is this true, Strake?”
“Well, your honour, I s’pose it’s about it,” said the boatswain. “I ’member showing of it to him once or twyste.”
“He’s got it in his pocket now, sir,” cried Pan.
“Ay, ay. That’s a true word, lad.”
“Let’s see,” said Sir Thomas, in magisterial tones.
Barney fumbled unwillingly in his pocket, and drew out a piece of rope about two feet long, well whipped round at the ends with twine.
“Humph!” said Sir Thomas, taking the instrument of torture. “So that’s what you flog him with.”
“Well, your honour, meant to make a man of him.”
“Arn’t yer going to speak a word for me, Master Syd?” whispered Pan.
“Silence, sir!” said the captain. “Now look here: you ran away from your service, and from your father’s house. Then, I suppose, you tried to persuade my son to go with you.”
Pan looked up reproachfully at Sydney.
“I wouldn’t ha’ told o’ you, Master Syd. But I don’t care now. Yes; I wanted him tocome.”
“Well, I’m glad you spoke the truth; but your companion did not tell tales of you. Now, look here, sir: I suppose you know you’ve behaved like an ungrateful young scoundrel?”
“Yes, sir,” whimpered Pan.
“And you know you deserve to be flogged?”
“Yes, sir, and I want it over; it’s like all flogging, and wuss, for him to keep on showing me that there rope’s-end.”
“Better pipe all hands to punishment, bo’sun,” said Sir Thomas.
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Barney, thrusting his hand in his breast; and bringing out a silver whistle attached to his neck by a black ribbon, he put it to his lips.
“No, no,” cried the captain, “we’re not aboard ship now. I wish we were,” he added, “eh?”
Sir Thomas nodded.
“Well, sir,” continued the captain, “are you ready to take your flogging?”
“Yes, sir,” said Pan, dolefully.
“And what will you say if I forgive you?”
“And make him forgive me too, sir?” cried Pan, nodding his head sideways at his father.
“Yes, my lad.”
“Anything, sir. There, I’ll never run away agen.”
“Will you be a good, obedient lad, and do as your father wishes you, and go to sea?”
“No,” said Pan, stolidly, “I won’t.”
“Humph! what are we to say to this, Sir Thomas?”
“Say?—that he’s a cowardly young swab.”
“Ay, ay, sir; that’s it,” cried Barney.
“Silence, sir. Look here, boy; we’ll give you another chance. Will you go to sea?”
The boy shook his head.
“What! not with my son?”
“What!” cried Barney, excitedly. “Master Syd going?”
“Yes, Barney,” cried the boy. “I’m going to be a sailor after all.”
The ex-boatswain showed every tooth in his head in a broad grin, slapped one hand down on the other, and cried in a gruff voice—
“Dear lad! There, your honours! The right stuff in him arter all. Can’t you get me shipped in the same craft with him, Sir Thomas? I’m as tough as ratline hemp still.”
“You going to sea, Master Syd?” said Pan, looking at the companion of his flight wonderingly.
“Yes, Pan; at once. Will you come?”
“Course I will, sir,” cried Pan. “Going to-day?”
“There—there, your honours! Hear that?” cried Barney, excitedly. “Aren’t that the right stuff too? Here, your honour, begging your pardon, that bit of rope’s-end’s mine.”
He caught up the rope, and gave it a flourish over his head.
“Here, stop! what are you going to do?” cried Sydney, dashing at him, and getting hold of one end of the rope.
“Going to do, Master Syd?—burn it; you may if you like. It’s done it’s dooty, and done it well. I asks your honours, both on you—aren’t that wirtoo in a bit o’ rope? See what it’s made of him. Nothing like a bit o’ rope’s-end, neatly seized with a bit o’ twine.”
“Ah, well, you’ve a right to your opinion, Strake,” said the captain. “There, you can take him back home. I dare say we can manage to get him entered in the same ship as my son.”
“And if he’s going to do the right thing now,” said Sir Thomas, “I’ll pay for his outfit too.”
“Thank, your honour; thank, your honour!” cried Barney.
“Oh!”
This last was from Pan, who had received a side kick from his father’s shoe.
“Then why don’t yer touch yer hat to the admiral and say thankye too, you swab?” growled Barney, in a deep, hoarse whisper.
“There,” said the captain, “you can go now.”
“Long life to both your honours,” cried Barney. “Come, Pan, my lad, get home; you dunno it, but your fortune’s made.”
“Well, Syd, are you satisfied?” said the captain, as soon as they were alone.
“Yes, father.”
“Then we’ll go up by to-night’s coach and see Captain Dashleigh to-morrow. What do you say?”
“I’m ready, father. Will uncle come too?”
“Uncle Tom come too, you young humbug! how can I?” cried the admiral. “No, I’m on sick leave, till my figure-head’s perfect, so I shall have to stop here and sip the port.”
Chapter Thirteen.A supercilious-looking waiter—that is to say, a waiter who has had a good season and saved a little money—was standing at the door of the oldest hotel in Covent Garden, when a clumsy coach was driven up to the door.The coach was so old and shabby, and drawn by two such wretched beasts, that the supercilious waiter could not see it; and after looking to his right and his left he turned to go in.“Here, hi!” came from the coach; but the waiter paid no heed.“Here, Syd, fetch that scoundrel here.”The door was flung open, the lad leaped out and went at the waiter like a dog, seizing him by the collar, spinning him round, and racing him protesting the while down the steps and over the rough pavement to the coach door.“You insolent scoundrel, why didn’t you come when I called?” said Captain Belton, from inside the fusty coach.“Don’t I tell you we’re full!” cried the waiter; “and don’t you come putting—”“Silence, sir! how dare you!” cried the captain in his fiercest tones. “How do you know that we want to stay in your dirty hotel? Take my card up to Captain Dashleigh, and say I am waiting.”The man glanced at the card, turned, and ran with alacrity into the house.“That’s just the sort of fellow I should like to set Strake at, Syd, with his mates and the cat. A flogging would do him good.”The next minute the waiter was back at the coach door with Captain Dashleigh’s compliments, delivered in the most servile tones, and would Captain Belton step up?“Get down my valise and pay the coachman,” said the captain. “We shall sleep here to-night, though you are full.”They were shown into a room where a little, dandified man in full uniform was walking up and down, evidently dictating to his secretary, who was busily writing.Syd stared. He had been accustomed to look upon his father and uncle, and the friends who came to see them, as types of naval officers—big, loud-spoken, grey-haired, bluff men, well tanned by long exposure to the weather; and he wondered who this individual could be who walked with one hand upon the hilt of his sword, pressing it down so that the sheath projected nearly at right angles between the tails of his coat, and as he walked it seemed to wag about like a monkeyish part of his person. The other hand held a delicate white handkerchief, which he waved about, and at each movement it scented the air.“Ah, my dear Captain Belton, so glad to see you. Lucky your call was now. So much occupied, you see. Sit down, my dear sir. And this is your son? Ah,” he continued, inspecting Syd through a gold-rimmed eyeglass, “nice little lad. Looks healthy and well. Seems only the other day I joined the service in his uncle’s ship. I have your brother’s letter in my secretary’s hands. So glad to oblige him if I can. How is the dear old fellow?”“Hearty, Captain Dashleigh,” said Syd’s father. “Desired to be kindly remembered to you.”“Ah, very good of him. Splendid officer! The service has lost a great deal through his growing too old.”“We don’t consider ourselves too old for service. Timbers are sound. We only want the Admiralty to give us commands.”“Ah, yes, to be sure,” said the dandy captain, who seemed to be about eight-and-thirty; and he continued his walk up and down the room as his visitors sat.“You have succeeded well, Dashleigh,” said Captain Belton.“Well, yes—pretty well—pretty well. Very arduous life though.”“Oh, hang the arduous life, sir,” said Captain Belton. “It’s a grand thing to be in command of a two-decker.”“Yes,” said the little man, who in physique was rather less than Sydney; “the Government trust me, and his Majesty seems to have confidence in my powers. But you will, I know, excuse me, my dear old friend, if I venture to hint that my time is not my own. Sir Thomas said you would call and explain how I could serve him. What can I do? One moment—I need not say that I look upon him as my father in the profession, and that I shall be delighted to serve him. You will take a pinch?”He handed a magnificent gold snuff-box set with diamonds, and a portrait on china in the lid indicated that it came from one of the ministers.“Thanks, yes. But, my dear Dashleigh, you should not use scented snuff.”“Eh?—no? The fashion, my dear sir. Now I am all attention.”“Then why don’t you sit down as a gentleman would?” said Captain Belton to himself. Then aloud—“My business is very simple, sir. This is my son, whom I wish to devote to the King’s service, and my brother, Sir Thomas Belton, asks, and I endorse his petition, that you will enter him in your ship, and try to do by him as my brother did by you.”“My dear Captain Belton! Ah, this is sad! What could have been more unfortunate! If you had only been a week sooner!”“What’s the matter, sir?” said the captain, sternly.“Matter?—I am pained, my dear Captain Belton; absolutely pained. I would have done anything to serve you both, my dear friends, but my midshipmen’s berth is crammed. I could not—dare not—take another. If there was anything else I could do to serve Sir Thomas and you I should be delighted.”“Thank you, Captain Dashleigh,” said Syd’s father, rising; “there is nothing else. I will not detain you longer.”“I would say lunch with me, my dear sir, but really—as you see—my secretary—the demands upon my time—you thoroughly understand?”“Yes, sir, I understand. Good morning.”“Good morning, my dear Captain Belton;goodmorning, my young friend. I will speak to any of the commanding officers I know on your behalf. Good day.”The captain stalked silently down-stairs, closely followed by Syd, and then led the way round and round the market, taking snuff savagely without a word.But all at once he stopped and drew himself up, and gave his cane a thump on the pavement, while his son thought what a fine-looking, manly fellow he was, and what a pleasure it was to gaze upon such a specimen of humanity after the interview with the dandy they had left.“Syd,” said the captain, fiercely, “if I thought you would grow up into such an imitation man as that, confound you, sir, I’d take and pitch you over one of the bridges.”“Thank you, father. Then you don’t like Captain Dashleigh?”“Like him, sir? A confounded ungrateful dandy Jackanapes captain of a seventy-four-gun ship! Great heavens! the Government must be mad. But that’s it—interest at court! Such a fellow has been promoted over the heads of hundreds of better men. All your uncle’s services to him forgotten, and mine too.”“But if there wasn’t room in his ship, father?”“Room in his ship sir?” cried the captain, wrathfully. “Do you think there would not have been room in my ship for the son and nephew of two old friends? Why, hang me, if I’d been under that man’s obligations, I’d have shared my cabin with the boy but what he should have gone.”“Yes, father, I think you would. So we’ve failed.”“Failed? Yes. No; never say die. But I’m glad. Hang him! With a captain like that, what is the ship’s company likely to be! No, Syd, if you can’t go afloat with a decent captain, you shall turn doctor or tailor.”“Why don’t you have a ship again, father?”“Because I have no interest, my boy, and don’t go petitioning and begging at court. But they don’t want sea-captains now, they want scented popinjays. Why, Syd, I’ve begged for a ship scores of times during the past two years, but always been passed over. I wouldn’t care if they’d appoint better men; but when I see our best vessels given to such things as that! Oh, hang it, I shall be saying what I shall be sorry for if I go on like this. Come and have a walk. No; I’ll go to the Admiralty, and see if I can get a hearing there. If I can’t—if they will not help me to place my boy in the service which all the Beltons have followed for a hundred and fifty years, I’ll— There, come along, boy, the world is not perfect.”He walked sharply down into the Strand and then on to Whitehall, where he turned into the Admiralty Yard, and sent in his card to one of the chief officials, who kept him waiting two hours, during which the captain fumed to see quite a couple of score naval officers go in and return, while he was passed over.“Here you see an epitome of my life during the past fifteen years, Syd,” he said, bitterly. “Always passed over and—”“His lordship will see you now, if you please,” said an official.“Hah! pretty well time,” muttered the captain. “Come along, Syd.”They followed the clerk along a gloomy passage, and were shown into a dark room where a fierce-looking old gentleman in powder and queue sat writing, but who laid down his pen and rose as Captain Belton’s name was announced; shook hands cordially, and then placed his hands upon his visitor’s shoulders and forced him into an easy-chair.“Sit down, Harry Belton, sit down,” he cried. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but wanted to get rid of all my petitioners and visitors, so as to be free for a long talk. Why, I haven’t seen you or heard of you these ten years.”“Not for want of my applying for employment, my lord,” said Captain Belton, stiffly.“But then I’ve not been in office, my dear Belton; and, hang it, man, don’t ‘my lord’ me. And who’s this?”“My son, my lord,” said the captain.“Don’t ‘my lord’ me, man!” cried the old gentleman, fiercely. “You always were a proud, stubborn fellow. And so this is your son, is it?” he continued, peering searchingly in the boy’s face. “Ah! chip of the old block; stubborn one too, I can see. Shake hands, sir. Now then, what are you going to be?”“A sailor, sir—my lord, I mean.”“Don’t correct yourself, boy. A sailor, eh? Like your father and grandfather before you, eh? Good; can’t do better. I wish you luck, my lad. We want a school of lads of your class. The navy’s full of milksops, and dandies, and fellows who have got their promotion by favour, while men like your father, who have done good service and ought to be doing it now, instead of idling about as country gentlemen—”“Not my fault,” cried the captain, hotly. “I’ve begged for employment till I’ve grown savage, and sworn I would appeal no more.”“Hah! yes,” said the old gentleman, sitting back in his chair, and holding Syd’s hand still in his; “there’s a deal of favour and interest in these days, my dear Belton. John Bull’s ships ought to be commanded by the best men in the navy, but they’re not; and those of us who would like to do away with all the corruption, can’t stir. Never mind that now. Let’s talk of Admiral Tom. How is the dear old boy?”“Like I am—growing old and worn with disappointment.”“Nonsense, Belton; nonsense. We can’t shape our own lives. Better make the best of things as they are. Well, my boy, what ship have you joined?”“None, sir—yet.”“I came up to see Dashleigh, on the strength of his having been under my brother, and asked him to take my son.”“And he wouldn’t, of course,” said the old gentleman, more fiercely still. “Wrong man, my dear sir. Ladder kicker. And so, young sir, you haven’t got a ship?”“No; and if you could help me, my lord—”“If you call me my lord again, Harry Belton, I won’t stir a peg.—Do you know, boy, that I was once in command of a small sloop, and your father was my first officer? I say, Belton, remember those old days?”“Ay, I do,” said the captain, with his eyes lighting up.“Remember cutting out the Spaniard at Porto Bello?”“Yes; and the fight with the big vessel in the Gut.”“Ah, to be sure. How we made the splinters fly! Bad luck that was for those other two to come up. Rare games we had, my boy. We must get you a ship under some good captain.”“If you could do that for me,” said Captain Belton, eagerly.“Well, I can try and serve an old friend, even if he is a lazy one who likes to be in dock instead of being at sea. By the way, Belton, how old are you?”“Fifty-eight.”“Ah, and I’m seventy. Plenty of work in me yet, though. There, I’ll bear my young friend here in mind. Come and dine with me one day next week, Belton, for I must send you off now; you’ve had half an hour instead of five minutes. Say Monday—Tuesday.”“Thank you, no,” said the captain, rising. “I’ve done all I can, and will get back home.”“Bah! You’re a bad courtier, Belton. Stubborn as ever. You ought to hang about here, and sneak and fawn upon me, and jump at the chance of dining with me, in the hope that I might be able to help you.”“Yes, my lord, I suppose so,” said the captain, sadly; “but if the country wants my services it will have to seek me now. I’m growing too old to beg for what is my right.”“And meanwhile our ships are badly handled and go to the bottom, which would be a good thing if only their inefficient captains were drowned; but it’s their crews as well. There, good-bye, Belton. Don’t come to town again without calling on me. I’ll try and serve your boy. One moment—where are you? Oh yes, I see; I have your card. Good-bye, middy. Remember me to the admiral.”The fierce-looking old gentleman saw them to the door, and soon after father and son were on their way back to the hotel, and the next morning on the Southbayton coach.“Ah, Sydney, lad,” said the captain, “we shall have to bind you ’prentice to a ’pothecary, after all.”“But Lord Claudene said he would try and serve you about me, father; and I should be disappointed if I didn’t go to sea now.”“Indeed?” said the captain, laughing. “You will have to bear the disappointment. There are hundreds constantly applying at the Admiralty.”“Yes, father, but you are a friend.”“Yes, my boy, I am a friend; and yet what I want I should have to be waiting about for years, and then perhaps not succeed.”
A supercilious-looking waiter—that is to say, a waiter who has had a good season and saved a little money—was standing at the door of the oldest hotel in Covent Garden, when a clumsy coach was driven up to the door.
The coach was so old and shabby, and drawn by two such wretched beasts, that the supercilious waiter could not see it; and after looking to his right and his left he turned to go in.
“Here, hi!” came from the coach; but the waiter paid no heed.
“Here, Syd, fetch that scoundrel here.”
The door was flung open, the lad leaped out and went at the waiter like a dog, seizing him by the collar, spinning him round, and racing him protesting the while down the steps and over the rough pavement to the coach door.
“You insolent scoundrel, why didn’t you come when I called?” said Captain Belton, from inside the fusty coach.
“Don’t I tell you we’re full!” cried the waiter; “and don’t you come putting—”
“Silence, sir! how dare you!” cried the captain in his fiercest tones. “How do you know that we want to stay in your dirty hotel? Take my card up to Captain Dashleigh, and say I am waiting.”
The man glanced at the card, turned, and ran with alacrity into the house.
“That’s just the sort of fellow I should like to set Strake at, Syd, with his mates and the cat. A flogging would do him good.”
The next minute the waiter was back at the coach door with Captain Dashleigh’s compliments, delivered in the most servile tones, and would Captain Belton step up?
“Get down my valise and pay the coachman,” said the captain. “We shall sleep here to-night, though you are full.”
They were shown into a room where a little, dandified man in full uniform was walking up and down, evidently dictating to his secretary, who was busily writing.
Syd stared. He had been accustomed to look upon his father and uncle, and the friends who came to see them, as types of naval officers—big, loud-spoken, grey-haired, bluff men, well tanned by long exposure to the weather; and he wondered who this individual could be who walked with one hand upon the hilt of his sword, pressing it down so that the sheath projected nearly at right angles between the tails of his coat, and as he walked it seemed to wag about like a monkeyish part of his person. The other hand held a delicate white handkerchief, which he waved about, and at each movement it scented the air.
“Ah, my dear Captain Belton, so glad to see you. Lucky your call was now. So much occupied, you see. Sit down, my dear sir. And this is your son? Ah,” he continued, inspecting Syd through a gold-rimmed eyeglass, “nice little lad. Looks healthy and well. Seems only the other day I joined the service in his uncle’s ship. I have your brother’s letter in my secretary’s hands. So glad to oblige him if I can. How is the dear old fellow?”
“Hearty, Captain Dashleigh,” said Syd’s father. “Desired to be kindly remembered to you.”
“Ah, very good of him. Splendid officer! The service has lost a great deal through his growing too old.”
“We don’t consider ourselves too old for service. Timbers are sound. We only want the Admiralty to give us commands.”
“Ah, yes, to be sure,” said the dandy captain, who seemed to be about eight-and-thirty; and he continued his walk up and down the room as his visitors sat.
“You have succeeded well, Dashleigh,” said Captain Belton.
“Well, yes—pretty well—pretty well. Very arduous life though.”
“Oh, hang the arduous life, sir,” said Captain Belton. “It’s a grand thing to be in command of a two-decker.”
“Yes,” said the little man, who in physique was rather less than Sydney; “the Government trust me, and his Majesty seems to have confidence in my powers. But you will, I know, excuse me, my dear old friend, if I venture to hint that my time is not my own. Sir Thomas said you would call and explain how I could serve him. What can I do? One moment—I need not say that I look upon him as my father in the profession, and that I shall be delighted to serve him. You will take a pinch?”
He handed a magnificent gold snuff-box set with diamonds, and a portrait on china in the lid indicated that it came from one of the ministers.
“Thanks, yes. But, my dear Dashleigh, you should not use scented snuff.”
“Eh?—no? The fashion, my dear sir. Now I am all attention.”
“Then why don’t you sit down as a gentleman would?” said Captain Belton to himself. Then aloud—“My business is very simple, sir. This is my son, whom I wish to devote to the King’s service, and my brother, Sir Thomas Belton, asks, and I endorse his petition, that you will enter him in your ship, and try to do by him as my brother did by you.”
“My dear Captain Belton! Ah, this is sad! What could have been more unfortunate! If you had only been a week sooner!”
“What’s the matter, sir?” said the captain, sternly.
“Matter?—I am pained, my dear Captain Belton; absolutely pained. I would have done anything to serve you both, my dear friends, but my midshipmen’s berth is crammed. I could not—dare not—take another. If there was anything else I could do to serve Sir Thomas and you I should be delighted.”
“Thank you, Captain Dashleigh,” said Syd’s father, rising; “there is nothing else. I will not detain you longer.”
“I would say lunch with me, my dear sir, but really—as you see—my secretary—the demands upon my time—you thoroughly understand?”
“Yes, sir, I understand. Good morning.”
“Good morning, my dear Captain Belton;goodmorning, my young friend. I will speak to any of the commanding officers I know on your behalf. Good day.”
The captain stalked silently down-stairs, closely followed by Syd, and then led the way round and round the market, taking snuff savagely without a word.
But all at once he stopped and drew himself up, and gave his cane a thump on the pavement, while his son thought what a fine-looking, manly fellow he was, and what a pleasure it was to gaze upon such a specimen of humanity after the interview with the dandy they had left.
“Syd,” said the captain, fiercely, “if I thought you would grow up into such an imitation man as that, confound you, sir, I’d take and pitch you over one of the bridges.”
“Thank you, father. Then you don’t like Captain Dashleigh?”
“Like him, sir? A confounded ungrateful dandy Jackanapes captain of a seventy-four-gun ship! Great heavens! the Government must be mad. But that’s it—interest at court! Such a fellow has been promoted over the heads of hundreds of better men. All your uncle’s services to him forgotten, and mine too.”
“But if there wasn’t room in his ship, father?”
“Room in his ship sir?” cried the captain, wrathfully. “Do you think there would not have been room in my ship for the son and nephew of two old friends? Why, hang me, if I’d been under that man’s obligations, I’d have shared my cabin with the boy but what he should have gone.”
“Yes, father, I think you would. So we’ve failed.”
“Failed? Yes. No; never say die. But I’m glad. Hang him! With a captain like that, what is the ship’s company likely to be! No, Syd, if you can’t go afloat with a decent captain, you shall turn doctor or tailor.”
“Why don’t you have a ship again, father?”
“Because I have no interest, my boy, and don’t go petitioning and begging at court. But they don’t want sea-captains now, they want scented popinjays. Why, Syd, I’ve begged for a ship scores of times during the past two years, but always been passed over. I wouldn’t care if they’d appoint better men; but when I see our best vessels given to such things as that! Oh, hang it, I shall be saying what I shall be sorry for if I go on like this. Come and have a walk. No; I’ll go to the Admiralty, and see if I can get a hearing there. If I can’t—if they will not help me to place my boy in the service which all the Beltons have followed for a hundred and fifty years, I’ll— There, come along, boy, the world is not perfect.”
He walked sharply down into the Strand and then on to Whitehall, where he turned into the Admiralty Yard, and sent in his card to one of the chief officials, who kept him waiting two hours, during which the captain fumed to see quite a couple of score naval officers go in and return, while he was passed over.
“Here you see an epitome of my life during the past fifteen years, Syd,” he said, bitterly. “Always passed over and—”
“His lordship will see you now, if you please,” said an official.
“Hah! pretty well time,” muttered the captain. “Come along, Syd.”
They followed the clerk along a gloomy passage, and were shown into a dark room where a fierce-looking old gentleman in powder and queue sat writing, but who laid down his pen and rose as Captain Belton’s name was announced; shook hands cordially, and then placed his hands upon his visitor’s shoulders and forced him into an easy-chair.
“Sit down, Harry Belton, sit down,” he cried. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but wanted to get rid of all my petitioners and visitors, so as to be free for a long talk. Why, I haven’t seen you or heard of you these ten years.”
“Not for want of my applying for employment, my lord,” said Captain Belton, stiffly.
“But then I’ve not been in office, my dear Belton; and, hang it, man, don’t ‘my lord’ me. And who’s this?”
“My son, my lord,” said the captain.
“Don’t ‘my lord’ me, man!” cried the old gentleman, fiercely. “You always were a proud, stubborn fellow. And so this is your son, is it?” he continued, peering searchingly in the boy’s face. “Ah! chip of the old block; stubborn one too, I can see. Shake hands, sir. Now then, what are you going to be?”
“A sailor, sir—my lord, I mean.”
“Don’t correct yourself, boy. A sailor, eh? Like your father and grandfather before you, eh? Good; can’t do better. I wish you luck, my lad. We want a school of lads of your class. The navy’s full of milksops, and dandies, and fellows who have got their promotion by favour, while men like your father, who have done good service and ought to be doing it now, instead of idling about as country gentlemen—”
“Not my fault,” cried the captain, hotly. “I’ve begged for employment till I’ve grown savage, and sworn I would appeal no more.”
“Hah! yes,” said the old gentleman, sitting back in his chair, and holding Syd’s hand still in his; “there’s a deal of favour and interest in these days, my dear Belton. John Bull’s ships ought to be commanded by the best men in the navy, but they’re not; and those of us who would like to do away with all the corruption, can’t stir. Never mind that now. Let’s talk of Admiral Tom. How is the dear old boy?”
“Like I am—growing old and worn with disappointment.”
“Nonsense, Belton; nonsense. We can’t shape our own lives. Better make the best of things as they are. Well, my boy, what ship have you joined?”
“None, sir—yet.”
“I came up to see Dashleigh, on the strength of his having been under my brother, and asked him to take my son.”
“And he wouldn’t, of course,” said the old gentleman, more fiercely still. “Wrong man, my dear sir. Ladder kicker. And so, young sir, you haven’t got a ship?”
“No; and if you could help me, my lord—”
“If you call me my lord again, Harry Belton, I won’t stir a peg.—Do you know, boy, that I was once in command of a small sloop, and your father was my first officer? I say, Belton, remember those old days?”
“Ay, I do,” said the captain, with his eyes lighting up.
“Remember cutting out the Spaniard at Porto Bello?”
“Yes; and the fight with the big vessel in the Gut.”
“Ah, to be sure. How we made the splinters fly! Bad luck that was for those other two to come up. Rare games we had, my boy. We must get you a ship under some good captain.”
“If you could do that for me,” said Captain Belton, eagerly.
“Well, I can try and serve an old friend, even if he is a lazy one who likes to be in dock instead of being at sea. By the way, Belton, how old are you?”
“Fifty-eight.”
“Ah, and I’m seventy. Plenty of work in me yet, though. There, I’ll bear my young friend here in mind. Come and dine with me one day next week, Belton, for I must send you off now; you’ve had half an hour instead of five minutes. Say Monday—Tuesday.”
“Thank you, no,” said the captain, rising. “I’ve done all I can, and will get back home.”
“Bah! You’re a bad courtier, Belton. Stubborn as ever. You ought to hang about here, and sneak and fawn upon me, and jump at the chance of dining with me, in the hope that I might be able to help you.”
“Yes, my lord, I suppose so,” said the captain, sadly; “but if the country wants my services it will have to seek me now. I’m growing too old to beg for what is my right.”
“And meanwhile our ships are badly handled and go to the bottom, which would be a good thing if only their inefficient captains were drowned; but it’s their crews as well. There, good-bye, Belton. Don’t come to town again without calling on me. I’ll try and serve your boy. One moment—where are you? Oh yes, I see; I have your card. Good-bye, middy. Remember me to the admiral.”
The fierce-looking old gentleman saw them to the door, and soon after father and son were on their way back to the hotel, and the next morning on the Southbayton coach.
“Ah, Sydney, lad,” said the captain, “we shall have to bind you ’prentice to a ’pothecary, after all.”
“But Lord Claudene said he would try and serve you about me, father; and I should be disappointed if I didn’t go to sea now.”
“Indeed?” said the captain, laughing. “You will have to bear the disappointment. There are hundreds constantly applying at the Admiralty.”
“Yes, father, but you are a friend.”
“Yes, my boy, I am a friend; and yet what I want I should have to be waiting about for years, and then perhaps not succeed.”
Chapter Fourteen.“What!” cried Sir Thomas, when he heard the adventures in town, “you mean to tell me that Dashleigh treated you as you say?”“Exactly,” replied his brother.“My face show the marks much now?”“No; hardly at all.”“Then we’ll go up to town to-morrow.”“What for, Tom?” said the captain. “You’ll do no better than I did.”“I’m not going to try, Harry,” said the old gentleman, fiercely.“Then why go? You are comfortable here.”“I’m going up to horsewhip that contemptible little scoundrel Dashleigh, and fight him afterwards, though he’s hardly gentleman enough.”“Nonsense, Tom!”“Nonsense? Why I made that fellow—and pretty waste of time too! And now he’s in command of a seventy-four, and you may go begging for a word to get your boy into the midshipmen’s berth.”Uncle Tom did not go up to town to horsewhip or fight.“Never mind,” he said, “he’s sure to run his ship on the rocks, or get thrashed—a scoundrel! Here, Syd, take my advice.”“What is it, uncle?”“Never do any one a kind action as long as you live.”“You don’t mean it, uncle.”“What, sir? No, I don’t: you’re right.”A week passed, during which Barney suggested that the proper thing for Captain Belton to do was to purchase some well-built merchant schooner, and fit her out as a privateer.“I could soon get together as smart a crew as you’d care to have, and then there’d be a chance for your son to get to be a leefftenant ’fore you knew where you were.”But Captain Belton only laughed, and matters at the Heronry remained as they were, till one day with the other letters there came one that was big and official, and its effect upon the two old officers was striking.“From the Admiralty, Tom,” said the captain, as he glanced at the great seal, and then began to take out his knife to slit open the fold.“I can see that,” said the admiral. “It’s from Claudene. Syd, lad, you’re in luck. He has got you appointed to a ship, after all.”“Bless my soul!” cried the captain, dropping the great missive on the table.“What is it, my lad?—what is it?” cried Sir Thomas.“Read—read,” cried Captain Belton, huskily—“it’s too good to believe.”Sir Thomas snatched up the official letter, cast his eyes over it, and then, forgetting his gout, caught hold of Syd’s hands and began to caper about the room like a maniac.“Hurrah! Bravo, Harry, my lad. I’ve often grumbled; but I avow it—I am past service, gouty as I am; but you were never more seaworthy.”“Uncle, why don’t you speak?” cried Sydney, excitedly. “Has father got a ship?”“Got a ship, my lad? He’s appointed to one of the smartest in the navy—theSiriusfrigate, and she’s ordered abroad.”Captain Belton drew himself up, and his eyes flashed as in imagination he saw himself treading once more the quarter-deck of a smart ship.“It’s too good to believe,” he muttered—“too good to believe.”“You haven’t read the letter,” said his brother, looking wistfully across to the tall, eager-looking man before him.“No,” said Captain Belton. “Hah! from Claudene,”—and he read aloud:—“My dear Belton, I have managed this for you, and I’m very glad, for you will do us credit. The appointment will clear away the difficulty about your boy, for you can have him in your own ship, and keep the young dog under your eye. My good wishes to you, and kind regards to your brother. Tell him I wish I could serve him as well, but I can’t see my way.”“Of course he can’t,” said the old admiral, quickly. “No; I’m too old and gouty now. But as for you, you dog, why don’t you stand on your head, or shout, or something? Here, I am well enough to go up to town after all. Syd and I are going to see about his uniform. TheSirius—well, you two have luck at last. Here, hi! you, sir! Put down that confounded birch-broom, and come here.”Uncle Tom had caught sight of Barney at the bottom of the lawn sweeping leaves into a heap for his son to lift them between two boards into the waiting barrow.As Barney looked up and saw the admiral signalling from the window, he came across the lawn at a trot, dragging the broom after him.“Drop that broom and salute your officer, you confounded old barnacle!” roared the old gentleman. “Salute, sir, salute: your master’s appointed to the smartest frigate in the service.”Barney struck an attitude, sent his old cocked hat spinning into the air, and then catching it, tucked it under his arm, and pulled his imaginary forelock over and over again.“Good luck to your honour! I am glad. When would you like me to be ready, sir? Shall I go on first and begin overhauling?”“You, Strake?” said the captain, thoughtfully.“You’re not going to leave me behind, sir? No, no, sir; don’t say that, sir—don’t think it, sir. I’m as strong and active as ever I was, and a deal more tough. Ask him to take me, Master Syd.”“Take you, Strake?” said the captain again. “Why, what is to become of my garden?”“Your garden, captain! What do you want with a garden when you’re at sea? Salt tack and biscuit, and a few bags o’ ’tatoes about all you want aboard ship.”The captain shook his head.“It’s a long time since you were on active service, Strake.”“Active sarvice, captain! Why, I was on active sarvice when the admiral hailed me; and, I tell you, I never felt more fit for work in my life. Course I’d like to be your bo’sun, captain, but don’t you stand ’bout that. You take me, and I’ll sarve you afore the mast as good and true as if I was warrant officer once more. You’ve knowed me a lot o’ years, Sir Thomas; say a good word for me.”“I’ll say you’re a good fellow, Strake, and a first-class sailor,” said the admiral.“For which I thank ye kindly, sir. But you don’t say a word for a man, Master Syd. I know I’ve cut up rough with you, sir, often over plums and chyce pears as I wanted to save for the dessart, but my ’art’s been allus right for you, my lad, and never a bit o’ sorrow till I see you flying in the master’s face and not wantin’ to sarve the King. You won’t bear malice, sir, and ’atred in yer ’art. Say a good word.”“Yes, Barney. Do take him, father.”“It is a question of duty and of the man’s ability. Look here, Strake, if I say no, it’s because I fear that you would not be smart enough at your age. It is not a question of the will to serve.”“I should think not, sir. Why, you won’t have a man of your crew more willing to sarve you right.”“I know that; but the activity and smartness?”“Activity, sir? Why, I’m as light as a feather, sir, and I’d run up the ratlines and away aloft and clap my hand on the main-truck long afore some o’ your youngsters.”“Well, Strake, I’ll take you.”“Why—”“Stop a moment. It must be with the understanding that you undertake anything I set you to do, for there may be a good boatswain aboard.”“Right, sir; any thing’s my work. I’ll see about my kit at once.”“Syd, you shall go with me, unless you would like to wait for a chance on another ship.”“No, father, I’ll go with you,” cried Syd. “And what about Pan?”“He can come,” said the captain. “Now leave me with your uncle, I want to talk to him at once.”A complete change seemed to have come over Barney as he made for the open window, not walking as usual, but in a light trot upon his toes, as if he were once more on the deck of a ship; and as soon as he was in the garden and out of sight of the window, he folded his arms and began to evince his delight by breaking into the first few steps of a hornpipe.He was just in the middle of it when Pan came silently up behind with a board in each hand, to stand gazing from Syd to his father and back again in speechless wonderment, and evidently fully believing that the old man had gone mad.All at once Barney was finishing off his dance with a curve round on his heels, but this brought him face to face with his wide-eyed, staring son.The effect was instantaneous. He stopped short in a peculiar attitude, feeling quite abashed at being found so engaged, and Syd could hardly contain his laughter at the way in which the old boatswain got out of his difficulty.“What now, you ugly young swab!” he roared. “Never see a sailor of the ryle navy stretch his legs afore?”“Is that how sailors stretches their legs?” said Pan, slowly.“Yes, it be. Now then, what have you got to say to that?”“You arn’t a sailor, father.”“What? Hear him, Master Syd? That’s just what I am, boy, and you too. We’re all on us outward bound; and now you come along, and I’ll just show you something with a rope’s-end.”“Why, I aren’t been doing nothing now,” cried Pan, drawing back.“Who said you had, you swab! Heave ahead. Stow talking and get that there rope. I’m going to give you your first lesson in knotting and splicing. Ah, you’ve got something to larn now, my lad. Go and run that there barrow and them tools into the shed. No more gardening. Come on into the yard, Master Syd, and we’ll rig up that there big pole, and a yard across it, and I’ll show you both how to lay out with your feet in the sturrup. Come on.”“But, Master Syd, father isn’t going to sea again, is he?”“Yes, Pan, we’re all off to join a fine frigate.”“And make men on you both,” cried Barney. “Lor’, it’s a wonder to me how I’ve managed to live this ’long-shore life so long. Come on, my lads. No, no, don’t walk like that. Think as you’ve got a deck under your feet, and run along like this.”Barney set the example, and Syd laughed again, for the gardener seemed to have gone back ten years of big life, and trotted along as active as a boy.
“What!” cried Sir Thomas, when he heard the adventures in town, “you mean to tell me that Dashleigh treated you as you say?”
“Exactly,” replied his brother.
“My face show the marks much now?”
“No; hardly at all.”
“Then we’ll go up to town to-morrow.”
“What for, Tom?” said the captain. “You’ll do no better than I did.”
“I’m not going to try, Harry,” said the old gentleman, fiercely.
“Then why go? You are comfortable here.”
“I’m going up to horsewhip that contemptible little scoundrel Dashleigh, and fight him afterwards, though he’s hardly gentleman enough.”
“Nonsense, Tom!”
“Nonsense? Why I made that fellow—and pretty waste of time too! And now he’s in command of a seventy-four, and you may go begging for a word to get your boy into the midshipmen’s berth.”
Uncle Tom did not go up to town to horsewhip or fight.
“Never mind,” he said, “he’s sure to run his ship on the rocks, or get thrashed—a scoundrel! Here, Syd, take my advice.”
“What is it, uncle?”
“Never do any one a kind action as long as you live.”
“You don’t mean it, uncle.”
“What, sir? No, I don’t: you’re right.”
A week passed, during which Barney suggested that the proper thing for Captain Belton to do was to purchase some well-built merchant schooner, and fit her out as a privateer.
“I could soon get together as smart a crew as you’d care to have, and then there’d be a chance for your son to get to be a leefftenant ’fore you knew where you were.”
But Captain Belton only laughed, and matters at the Heronry remained as they were, till one day with the other letters there came one that was big and official, and its effect upon the two old officers was striking.
“From the Admiralty, Tom,” said the captain, as he glanced at the great seal, and then began to take out his knife to slit open the fold.
“I can see that,” said the admiral. “It’s from Claudene. Syd, lad, you’re in luck. He has got you appointed to a ship, after all.”
“Bless my soul!” cried the captain, dropping the great missive on the table.
“What is it, my lad?—what is it?” cried Sir Thomas.
“Read—read,” cried Captain Belton, huskily—“it’s too good to believe.”
Sir Thomas snatched up the official letter, cast his eyes over it, and then, forgetting his gout, caught hold of Syd’s hands and began to caper about the room like a maniac.
“Hurrah! Bravo, Harry, my lad. I’ve often grumbled; but I avow it—I am past service, gouty as I am; but you were never more seaworthy.”
“Uncle, why don’t you speak?” cried Sydney, excitedly. “Has father got a ship?”
“Got a ship, my lad? He’s appointed to one of the smartest in the navy—theSiriusfrigate, and she’s ordered abroad.”
Captain Belton drew himself up, and his eyes flashed as in imagination he saw himself treading once more the quarter-deck of a smart ship.
“It’s too good to believe,” he muttered—“too good to believe.”
“You haven’t read the letter,” said his brother, looking wistfully across to the tall, eager-looking man before him.
“No,” said Captain Belton. “Hah! from Claudene,”—and he read aloud:—
“My dear Belton, I have managed this for you, and I’m very glad, for you will do us credit. The appointment will clear away the difficulty about your boy, for you can have him in your own ship, and keep the young dog under your eye. My good wishes to you, and kind regards to your brother. Tell him I wish I could serve him as well, but I can’t see my way.”
“Of course he can’t,” said the old admiral, quickly. “No; I’m too old and gouty now. But as for you, you dog, why don’t you stand on your head, or shout, or something? Here, I am well enough to go up to town after all. Syd and I are going to see about his uniform. TheSirius—well, you two have luck at last. Here, hi! you, sir! Put down that confounded birch-broom, and come here.”
Uncle Tom had caught sight of Barney at the bottom of the lawn sweeping leaves into a heap for his son to lift them between two boards into the waiting barrow.
As Barney looked up and saw the admiral signalling from the window, he came across the lawn at a trot, dragging the broom after him.
“Drop that broom and salute your officer, you confounded old barnacle!” roared the old gentleman. “Salute, sir, salute: your master’s appointed to the smartest frigate in the service.”
Barney struck an attitude, sent his old cocked hat spinning into the air, and then catching it, tucked it under his arm, and pulled his imaginary forelock over and over again.
“Good luck to your honour! I am glad. When would you like me to be ready, sir? Shall I go on first and begin overhauling?”
“You, Strake?” said the captain, thoughtfully.
“You’re not going to leave me behind, sir? No, no, sir; don’t say that, sir—don’t think it, sir. I’m as strong and active as ever I was, and a deal more tough. Ask him to take me, Master Syd.”
“Take you, Strake?” said the captain again. “Why, what is to become of my garden?”
“Your garden, captain! What do you want with a garden when you’re at sea? Salt tack and biscuit, and a few bags o’ ’tatoes about all you want aboard ship.”
The captain shook his head.
“It’s a long time since you were on active service, Strake.”
“Active sarvice, captain! Why, I was on active sarvice when the admiral hailed me; and, I tell you, I never felt more fit for work in my life. Course I’d like to be your bo’sun, captain, but don’t you stand ’bout that. You take me, and I’ll sarve you afore the mast as good and true as if I was warrant officer once more. You’ve knowed me a lot o’ years, Sir Thomas; say a good word for me.”
“I’ll say you’re a good fellow, Strake, and a first-class sailor,” said the admiral.
“For which I thank ye kindly, sir. But you don’t say a word for a man, Master Syd. I know I’ve cut up rough with you, sir, often over plums and chyce pears as I wanted to save for the dessart, but my ’art’s been allus right for you, my lad, and never a bit o’ sorrow till I see you flying in the master’s face and not wantin’ to sarve the King. You won’t bear malice, sir, and ’atred in yer ’art. Say a good word.”
“Yes, Barney. Do take him, father.”
“It is a question of duty and of the man’s ability. Look here, Strake, if I say no, it’s because I fear that you would not be smart enough at your age. It is not a question of the will to serve.”
“I should think not, sir. Why, you won’t have a man of your crew more willing to sarve you right.”
“I know that; but the activity and smartness?”
“Activity, sir? Why, I’m as light as a feather, sir, and I’d run up the ratlines and away aloft and clap my hand on the main-truck long afore some o’ your youngsters.”
“Well, Strake, I’ll take you.”
“Why—”
“Stop a moment. It must be with the understanding that you undertake anything I set you to do, for there may be a good boatswain aboard.”
“Right, sir; any thing’s my work. I’ll see about my kit at once.”
“Syd, you shall go with me, unless you would like to wait for a chance on another ship.”
“No, father, I’ll go with you,” cried Syd. “And what about Pan?”
“He can come,” said the captain. “Now leave me with your uncle, I want to talk to him at once.”
A complete change seemed to have come over Barney as he made for the open window, not walking as usual, but in a light trot upon his toes, as if he were once more on the deck of a ship; and as soon as he was in the garden and out of sight of the window, he folded his arms and began to evince his delight by breaking into the first few steps of a hornpipe.
He was just in the middle of it when Pan came silently up behind with a board in each hand, to stand gazing from Syd to his father and back again in speechless wonderment, and evidently fully believing that the old man had gone mad.
All at once Barney was finishing off his dance with a curve round on his heels, but this brought him face to face with his wide-eyed, staring son.
The effect was instantaneous. He stopped short in a peculiar attitude, feeling quite abashed at being found so engaged, and Syd could hardly contain his laughter at the way in which the old boatswain got out of his difficulty.
“What now, you ugly young swab!” he roared. “Never see a sailor of the ryle navy stretch his legs afore?”
“Is that how sailors stretches their legs?” said Pan, slowly.
“Yes, it be. Now then, what have you got to say to that?”
“You arn’t a sailor, father.”
“What? Hear him, Master Syd? That’s just what I am, boy, and you too. We’re all on us outward bound; and now you come along, and I’ll just show you something with a rope’s-end.”
“Why, I aren’t been doing nothing now,” cried Pan, drawing back.
“Who said you had, you swab! Heave ahead. Stow talking and get that there rope. I’m going to give you your first lesson in knotting and splicing. Ah, you’ve got something to larn now, my lad. Go and run that there barrow and them tools into the shed. No more gardening. Come on into the yard, Master Syd, and we’ll rig up that there big pole, and a yard across it, and I’ll show you both how to lay out with your feet in the sturrup. Come on.”
“But, Master Syd, father isn’t going to sea again, is he?”
“Yes, Pan, we’re all off to join a fine frigate.”
“And make men on you both,” cried Barney. “Lor’, it’s a wonder to me how I’ve managed to live this ’long-shore life so long. Come on, my lads. No, no, don’t walk like that. Think as you’ve got a deck under your feet, and run along like this.”
Barney set the example, and Syd laughed again, for the gardener seemed to have gone back ten years of big life, and trotted along as active as a boy.