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Syd Belton: The Boy who would not go to Sea, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 9 |
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_ CHAPTER NINE. There was a dead silence in the dining-room at the Heronry for some time, during which Syd stood with his head erect gazing at his father, who was erect by the table as he might have stood in old times upon his quarter-deck with some mutineer before him; the admiral dropped back into his arm-chair, stared from one to the other as if astounded by his nephew's declaration, while the light shone full upon Syd, who looked pale, shabby, and dirty, but with a frank daring in his face which kept the two old men silent. In the background close to the window stood Barney, with all his old training manifest in his attitude--that of a petty officer in charge of a prisoner; for that was the character which his son occupied just then in his eyes. His gardening was, for the time being, forgotten, and he felt that he was in the presence of his commanding officer, not of the master whom he served. The painful silence was broken by Pan, to whom all this was awe-inspiring. For the moment he forgot all about ropes'-ends, and worked himself up into the belief that he would be sentenced to some terrible punishment. He fidgeted about, breathed hard, looked appealingly from the captain to the admiral and back again, and at last, unable to contain himself longer, he burst forth into a long and piteous howl, dropping down upon his knees, and from that attitude would have thrown himself prone, had not Barney tightened his hold upon his collar and shaken him up into a kneeling position again. "Stow that!" he growled, as the admiral seized the port wine decanter as if to throw at the boy, but altered his mind and poured himself out a glass instead. Then the terrible silence began again, and lasted till the captain turned to his brother. But he did not speak, and after a few moments longer Sir Thomas exclaimed-- "You young dog! spent all the money you got out of me, and now you've sneaked back." "I haven't, uncle," cried Syd, indignantly. "I didn't take it. It's on the table in my room." This seemed to unlock Captain Belton's lips. "Well, sir, now you have come back, what do you want?" he said. "I've told you, father. I've been wrong, and want you to forgive me." "No, sir: you deserted; and now you come crawling back and want to go on as before. Can't trust you again. Go and be a doctor." "Will you hold up!" growled Barney, fiercely, as he shook his son, who seemed to want to burrow down out of sight through the carpet. "Oh, father!" began Syd. But he was stopped by his uncle. "Hold your tongue, sir! Court hasn't called upon you for your defence. Look here, Harry, put the prisoners back while we talk it over." "Yes," said the captain, coldly, "you can go to your room, sir, and wait till your uncle and I have decided what steps we shall take." "Yes, sir, confound you! and go and wash your dirty face," said Sir Thomas, fiercely; "you look a disgrace to your name." "As for your boy, Strake, take him and punish him well." "Ay, ay, sir!" growled Barney, with alacrity; but his voice was almost drowned by a howl of misery from Pan--a cry that was checked by his father's fierce grip. "Like me to do down Master Syd same time, sir?" whispered the ex-boatswain. "No, father, don't let him be punished," said Sydney, quickly. "I made him come back." "Yes, sir, he did, he did," cried Pan, eagerly. "You did; didn't you, Master Syd?" "And I promised him he should not be punished." "Yes, sir, he did, or else I wouldn't have come back." "What!" roared the admiral, in a tone which made Pan shrink into himself. "And look here, sir," he continued, turning to his nephew, "who made you first in command with your promises?" "Don't let him be flogged, father," pleaded Syd. "I'm to blame about him. I did promise him that if he would come back he should not be punished." "Take your boy home, Strake, and bring him here to-morrow morning," said the captain, sternly. "He is not to be flogged till he has made his defence." "Ay, ay, sir!" growled the old boatswain; and pulling an imaginary forelock, he hauled Pan out of the room, their passage down the path towards the gardener's cottage being accompanied by a deep growling noise which gradually died away. "Well, sir," said the captain, coldly, "you heard what I said." Syd looked from one to the other appealingly, feeling that as he had humbly confessed he was in the wrong, he ought to be treated with more leniency, but his uncle averted his gaze, and his father merely pointed to the door, through which, faint, weary, and despondent, the boy went out into the hall, while the two old men seemed to be listening till he had gone up-stairs. "A miserable, mean-spirited young scoundrel!" said Captain Belton, angrily, but his face grew less stern directly, as he saw his brother throw himself back in his chair, to laugh silently till he was nearly purple. "Oh, dear me!" he panted at last, "nearly given me a fit. What a dirty, miserable object he looked!" "Disgraceful, Tom!" said the captain. "Now, then, what would you do with the young dog? Send him off to some school for a couple of years?" "No," said the admiral, quietly. "I don't like thrashing the boy." "Of course not, Harry." "But I must punish him." "What for?" "What for? Disobedience. This mad escapade--" "Bah!" "Tom?" "I said _Bah_! Punish him? Why, look at the boy. Hasn't he punished himself enough? Why, Harry, we were boys once, and precious far from perfect, eh? I say, I don't think either of us would have had the courage to have faced our old dad and confessed like that." "Humph! perhaps not, Tom." "No perhaps about it, dear old boy." "But I must punish him." "No, you mustn't. I won't have him punished. I like the young dog's spirit. We said he should go to sea. He said he didn't want to go, and sooner than do what he didn't like he cut and run, till he found out he was making a fool of himself, and when he did find it out he came and said so like a man." "Well, yes," said the captain, "he did confess, but this must not be passed over lightly." "Bah! Tchah! Pah! let it be. You see if he don't come the humble to-morrow morning, and want us to let him go to sea." "Think so?" "Sure of it, my dear boy. I'm not angry with him a bit. He showed that he had some spirit in running away." "And that he was a cur in sneaking back." "Steady there," cried the admiral, "nothing of the kind. I say it took more pluck to come back and face us, and own he was in the wrong, than to run away." The captain sat slowly sipping his port, and the subject was discussed no more. Then at last bedtime came. Syd was seated in his room alone. He had washed and changed his clothes, expecting moment by moment to be summoned to hear his fate, but the hours had passed, and he was sick and faint with hunger and exhaustion. As he sat there he heard the various familiar noises in the house, each of which told him what was going on. He recognised the jingling of glasses on a wooden tray, which he knew meant the butler clearing the dining-room. He heard the closing of the library door. Then there was a long silence, followed by the rattling of shutters, the shooting of bolts, the noise made by bars, and after another lapse, the murmur of deep voices in the hall, the clink of silver candlesticks on the marble slab, and a deep cough. "They're gone up to bed," said Sydney to himself, and wearily thinking that he would not be spoken to, and that he had better patiently try to forget his hunger in sleep, so as to be ready for the painful interview of the morning, he rose to undress. But he did not begin. He stood thinking about the events of the past twenty-four hours, and like many another, felt that he would have given anything to recall the past. For he was very miserable, and his misery found vent once more as he was asking himself what would be his fate in the world. "Yes, I've behaved like a wretched, thoughtless fool." "Pst! Syd!" He started and looked round, to see that the door had been slightly opened, and that his uncle's great red face was thrust into the room. "Yes, sir," he faltered--he dared not say, "Yes, uncle." "Had anything to eat?" whispered the old admiral. "No, sir." The door closed, and the boy's spirits rose a little, for with all his fierceness it was evident that the old admiral was kindly disposed. But his spirits went down again. Uncle Tom was only a visitor, and his father was horribly stern and harsh. His voice had thrilled the boy, who again and again had wondered what was to be his fate. "I'll tell uncle how sorry I am, and ask him to side with me," thought Sydney; and he had just made up his mind to speak to him if he came again, and surely he would after coming to ask him about the food, when the door-handle rattled slightly, and the boy involuntarily turned to meet his uncle just as the door was pressed open a little, and he found himself face to face with his father, who remained perfectly silent for a few moments as Syd shrank away. "Hungry, my lad?" he said at last. "Yes, father--very." "Hah!" The door closed, and the prisoner was left once more to his own thoughts. _ |
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