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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 12 |
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_ Chapter Twelve Sydney Belton, as he felt the pressure of his father's hand, could not speak for a few minutes, and when he did find utterance, he seemed to have caught a fresh cold, for his voice sounded husky. "I want as a favour, father--" he began, in a faltering voice. "Here, it's all right, Syd, my boy," said his uncle; "don't bother your father for money. Now then, how much do you want?" "I don't want money, uncle." "Eh? Don't want money, sir? Wait a bit then till you get among your messmates, and you'll want plenty." "I want to beg Panama off from being punished." "Ah, to be sure. I'd forgotten him," cried Captain Belton; and he went to the fireplace and rang the bell. The butler answered, looking very serious and apologetic now as he glanced at Sir Thomas. But the old gentleman only shook his fist at him good-humouredly as his brother spoke. "Send John down to the cottage, to tell Strake to come up directly with his son." "Look here," said Sir Thomas, chuckling, "don't you two look like that. Pull serious faces, and let's scare the young dog. Do him good." By the time the breakfast was ended steps were heard in the hall, and the butler came in to announce that the gardener was waiting with his boy. "Send them in," said Captain Belton, austerely. The butler retired; Sir Thomas gave his brother and nephew several nods and winks, and then sat up looking most profoundly angry as the door was again opened and a low growling arose from the hall. Then a few whimpering protests, more growling, with a few words audible: "Swab"--"lubber"--"hold up!"--and then there was a scuffle, another growl, and Panama, looking white and scared, seemed to be suddenly propelled into the room as if from a mortar, the mortar making its appearance directly after in the shape of Barney, who pulled his forelock and kicked out a leg behind to each of the old officers before pointing to Pan and growling out-- "Young desarter--wouldn't come o' deck, your honours, and--" Barney's remarks had been addressed to his master, but he now turned round toward Sir Thomas, and seemed for the first time to realise the old admiral's condition, when his jaw dropped, he stared, and then began to scratch his head vigorously. "My!" he ejaculated; "your honour did get it last night." "Get it, you rascal--yes," cried Sir Thomas; "you nearly killed me amongst you." "And, your honour," said Barney, hoarsely, as he turned to his master, "I hadn't no idee it was you. I thought it was--" "Yes, yes, never mind now," said the captain. "I sent for you about this lad." "Oh, Master Syd, sir, say a word for me," cried the boy, piteously. "Father would ha' whacked me if I hadn't run away; then you whacked me when I did; and now I'm to be whacked again. Wish I was dead, I do." "Eh! eh! what's that?" cried Captain Belton. "You thrashed him, Sydney; what for?" "Well, father, we did have a little misunderstanding," said Sydney, composedly. "It was 'cause I wouldn't come back, sir; that's it, sir," whimpered Pan. "I knowd father had made the rope's-end ready for me, and he had." "What's that?" said the captain. "I said you were not to be flogged until you had been tried." "Well, your honour, orders it was, and I didn't lay it on him," growled Barney. "No; but you laid it across me in bed, and you kep' on showing of it to me, and you said that was my supper, and my breakfass, and--and--I wish I hadn't come back, I do." "Is this true, Strake?" "Well, your honour, I s'pose it's about it," said the boatswain. "I 'member showing of it to him once or twyste." "He's got it in his pocket now, sir," cried Pan. "Ay, ay. That's a true word, lad." "Let's see," said Sir Thomas, in magisterial tones. Barney fumbled unwillingly in his pocket, and drew out a piece of rope about two feet long, well whipped round at the ends with twine. "Humph!" said Sir Thomas, taking the instrument of torture. "So that's what you flog him with." "Well, your honour, meant to make a man of him." "Arn't yer going to speak a word for me, Master Syd?" whispered Pan. "Silence, sir!" said the captain. "Now look here: you ran away from your service, and from your father's house. Then, I suppose, you tried to persuade my son to go with you." Pan looked up reproachfully at Sydney. "I wouldn't ha' told o' you, Master Syd. But I don't care now. Yes; I wanted him to _come_." "Well, I'm glad you spoke the truth; but your companion did not tell tales of you. Now, look here, sir: I suppose you know you've behaved like an ungrateful young scoundrel?" "Yes, sir," whimpered Pan. "And you know you deserve to be flogged?" "Yes, sir, and I want it over; it's like all flogging, and wuss, for him to keep on showing me that there rope's-end." "Better pipe all hands to punishment, bo'sun," said Sir Thomas. "Ay, ay, sir," said Barney, thrusting his hand in his breast; and bringing out a silver whistle attached to his neck by a black ribbon, he put it to his lips. "No, no," cried the captain, "we're not aboard ship now. I wish we were," he added, "eh?" Sir Thomas nodded. "Well, sir," continued the captain, "are you ready to take your flogging?" "Yes, sir," said Pan, dolefully. "And what will you say if I forgive you?" "And make him forgive me too, sir?" cried Pan, nodding his head sideways at his father. "Yes, my lad." "Anything, sir. There, I'll never run away agen." "Will you be a good, obedient lad, and do as your father wishes you, and go to sea?" "No," said Pan, stolidly, "I won't." "Humph! what are we to say to this, Sir Thomas?" "Say?--that he's a cowardly young swab." "Ay, ay, sir; that's it," cried Barney. "Silence, sir. Look here, boy; we'll give you another chance. Will you go to sea?" The boy shook his head. "What! not with my son?" "What!" cried Barney, excitedly. "Master Syd going?" "Yes, Barney," cried the boy. "I'm going to be a sailor after all." The ex-boatswain showed every tooth in his head in a broad grin, slapped one hand down on the other, and cried in a gruff voice-- "Dear lad! There, your honours! The right stuff in him arter all. Can't you get me shipped in the same craft with him, Sir Thomas? I'm as tough as ratline hemp still." "You going to sea, Master Syd?" said Pan, looking at the companion of his flight wonderingly. "Yes, Pan; at once. Will you come?" "Course I will, sir," cried Pan. "Going to-day?" "There--there, your honours! Hear that?" cried Barney, excitedly. "Aren't that the right stuff too? Here, your honour, begging your pardon, that bit of rope's-end's mine." He caught up the rope, and gave it a flourish over his head. "Here, stop! what are you going to do?" cried Sydney, dashing at him, and getting hold of one end of the rope. "Going to do, Master Syd?--burn it; you may if you like. It's done it's dooty, and done it well. I asks your honours, both on you--aren't that wirtoo in a bit o' rope? See what it's made of him. Nothing like a bit o' rope's-end, neatly seized with a bit o' twine." "Ah, well, you've a right to your opinion, Strake," said the captain. "There, you can take him back home. I dare say we can manage to get him entered in the same ship as my son." "And if he's going to do the right thing now," said Sir Thomas, "I'll pay for his outfit too." "Thank, your honour; thank, your honour!" cried Barney. "Oh!" This last was from Pan, who had received a side kick from his father's shoe. "Then why don't yer touch yer hat to the admiral and say thankye too, you swab?" growled Barney, in a deep, hoarse whisper. "There," said the captain, "you can go now." "Long life to both your honours," cried Barney. "Come, Pan, my lad, get home; you dunno it, but your fortune's made." "Well, Syd, are you satisfied?" said the captain, as soon as they were alone. "Yes, father." "Then we'll go up by to-night's coach and see Captain Dashleigh to-morrow. What do you say?" "I'm ready, father. Will uncle come too?" "Uncle Tom come too, you young humbug! how can I?" cried the admiral. "No, I'm on sick leave, till my figure-head's perfect, so I shall have to stop here and sip the port." _ |
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