Syd Belton

"I told you not to speak, sir," cried the lieutenant, angrily. "I advise you not to be conceited, not to jump at the conclusion that you are very clever, and not to begin to domineer over your messmates because they flatter and fawn upon you on the strength of your having thrashed Mr Terry. You see I hear all these things."

Sydney felt the colour rising.

"Take that advice and you may, if you attend well to your studies in navigation, become a respectable officer. Life is not all play, my lad, so think that one of these days you will be going up for your examination to pa.s.s for lieutenant. Don't waste your time, and find yourself, when a call is made upon you, perfectly helpless and be turned back. It will be years first, but years soon spin round. There, I think that is all I have to say."

"Frightened me nearly into fits, and only wanted to say that," thought Sydney.

"No. Just another word. You think me a very gruff, fault-finding fellow, don't you?"

Sydney was silent.

"I asked you, Mr Belton, if you did not find me a very severe officer.

Why don't you answer?"

"Told me not, sir."

"Humph! Yes; I did. But you may answer now. You do find me very severe?"

"Yes, sir; very."

"And you don't like me?"

"No, sir."

"Humph! That's frank, sir. But I like it. Shall I tell you why you don't like me? I will. Because I do my duty rigidly. Now one word more. Don't say a word to your messmates about what I tell you now.

It's our secret, Mr Belton; and don't presume upon it, and go backwards."

"I'll try not, sir."

"Good. Then look here. You have been a very short time on board, and I have often found fault with you; but I like to be just. On the whole, Mr Belton, I am very much pleased with your conduct. I felt prejudiced against you, as I was afraid I was to have an addition to my young monkeys in the shape of a spoiled, petted boy. I was ignorant then, for I did not know Captain Belton so well as I do now. There: go to your duties.

Sydney wanted to say a great deal, but he felt that he was dismissed, and he left the deck and went down below, to avoid his messmates.

Not an easy task, for they were after him directly.

"This isn't the way to the mast-head," cried Jenks.

"Want the rope and the biscuit?" said Bolton.

"What have you been doing?" cried Roylance.

"Nearly everything that's wrong."

"Then he has been wigging you?"

"Yes."

"I know. It's because you didn't touch your hat to him the other day,"

said another of the boys.

Sydney was going to speak, but he caught sight of Terry lounging towards them, and that made him reticent.

Time glided on, and then came the cry, "Land ho!" with everybody ready to gaze eagerly at the low-looking cloud lying far away on the water where sea and sky met. This cloud gradually a.s.sumed the appearance of land, and Sydney gazed wonderingly at the island of Barbadoes, and began to ask himself whether he would be able to get leave to go ash.o.r.e.

But there was no landing allowed. The stay was too brief, and before long they were sailing away toward the wonderful chain of islands that lie in the intensely blue Caribbean Sea.

Jamaica at last, after a long calm, a name a.s.sociated in Sydney's mind with sugar, mola.s.ses, and rum. But to the great disappointment of all on board, there was to be no landing; even there the middies having to be content to buy cocoa-nuts, oranges, and sweetmeats off the black women whose boats hovered about the anch.o.r.ed frigate.

There was a sister s.h.i.+p lying here, the _Orion_, just fresh in from a cruise round the islands, and the two captains were in constant communication, for here it proved to be, and not at Barbadoes, that Captain Belton was to open his sealed orders and learn definitely what were to be his next steps.

What they were to be troubled the mids.h.i.+pmen very little, for there they were at anchor at what seemed to be a paradise--all waving gra.s.s, blue mountain, rivulet, and suns.h.i.+ne. An island of beauty set in an amethyst sea.

"And we can't go ash.o.r.e," cried Jenkins. "I've a good mind to swim for it."

"One mouthful for the first shark," said Roylance.

"Eh, what? sharks? No sharks here, are there?"

"Harbour swarms with them."

"Gammon!"

"Ask any of the men who have been here before, then," said Roylance.

"But, really, Roy? No gammon!"

"It's a fact, I tell you. Try it, if you doubt me."

"N-no," said Jenkins, coolly; "you see one would have to swim in one's uniform, and get ash.o.r.e so wet."

"Naturally," said Roylance, laughing.

"No," said Jenkins, "I wouldn't swim ash.o.r.e naturally. Looks so bad.

I'll stop aboard."

"Hullo, Bolton; what's the matter?" cried another of the middies.

"Asked leave?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"Said he'd mast-head the next fellow who asked leave to go ash.o.r.e."

"Strikes me we're off somewhere directly," said Roylance. "Let's send Belton into the cabin to ask his father what he's going to do."

"I shouldn't like to be Belt then," said Jenkins. "Fancy the captain's face. Hullo! What's that?"

"Somebody coming on board."