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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 20 |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. The cure was complete, and two days later Syd had almost forgotten that he had been ill. The weather was glorious, and as they sailed on south and west before a favouring breeze, life at sea began to have its charms. Every day the ocean seemed to grow more blue; and pretty often there was something fresh to look at, fish, or bird wandering far from land. But theirs was to be no pleasure trip, as Syd soon realised upon seeing the many preparations that were being made for war. In his old days of command, Captain Harry Belton's was considered the smartest manned ship in the squadron in which he served, and it was his ambition now to make up for the many deficiencies he discovered on board the frigate. Consequently gun and small-arm drill was almost as frequent as the practice of making and shortening sail. The crew grumbled and grew weary, but all the same they felt an increasing respect for the officer who was determined to have everything done in the best way possible, and when the captain did say a few words of praise for some smart bit of seamanship, the men felt that it was praise worth having. It seemed rather hard to Syd at times that his father should be so cold and distant. Roylance, who had become great friends with the new middy, noticed it too. "Were you bad friends at home?" he said to Syd, one day, as they were leaning over the taffrail gazing down at the clear blue sea. "Oh no, the best of friends; and I always dined with him and Uncle Tom when he was there, and sat with them at dessert." "Oh, I say, don't talk about it," said Roylance; "late dinners and dessert. Different to our rough berth, eh?" "Ye-es," said Syd: "but one gets to like this more now." "Does seem strange though about the captain." "Takes more notice of the others than he does of me." "I don't know about more," said Roylance. "Treats us all the same, I think. Well, when you come to think of it, you are one of us, and it wouldn't be fair if he favoured you." "No." "Suppose it was promotion? No, you mustn't grumble.--I say." "Yes." "I wouldn't trust old Terry too much, Syd." "Why not? He's friendly enough now; and we don't want to fight again." "No; but he's too civil to you now, and always looks to me as if he would do you an ill turn if he could." Syd laughed. "Ah, you may grin; but you wouldn't laugh if you found he'd just given you a push and sent you overboard some dark night." "Nonsense!" "I hope it is, but don't you trust him. I've known Mike Terry three years, and I've always found that he never forgave anybody who got the better of him." "I'm not going to trust him particularly, nor keep him off," said Syd, carelessly. "I say, though, how funny it is I find myself talking and feeling just as if I'd been at sea ever so long, instead of two or three weeks." "Soon get used to it. You've been very lucky, though." "How?" said Syd. "Being beaten nearly to a mummy, and then being sea-sick for a week?" "Having that fight, and marking Mike Terry. It's made all the fellows like you." "And I don't deserve it." "Oh, don't you! Well, never mind about that." "No; never mind about that," said Syd, carelessly. "I say, where are we going?" "Don't know. Nobody does. Sealed orders to be opened somewhere. I can guess where." "Indeed!" "Yes; at Barbadoes." "Is that a nice place?" "Middling. I like Jamaica better." "And shall we go there?" "Wait, and you'll see, like the rest of us." "But do you think we shall have to fight?" "If we meet any of the enemy's ships, we shall have to fight or run away." "We shall never run away," said Syd, hotly. "My father would never do that." Almost as he spoke, the man at the mast-head shouted "Sail ho!" and there was a commotion aboard. Glasses were levelled, and before long a second ship was made out; and before long two more appeared, and by the cut of the sails it was decided that it was a little squadron of the French. Syd, to whom all this was wonderfully fresh, was eagerly scanning the distant sails, which showed up clearly now in the bright sunshine, when a voice behind him said-- "Of course. How cowardly!" "What would you do then?" said another familiar voice. "Face them as a king's ship should." "One frigate against four--one of which seems to be a two-decker, eh? Well, I say, the skipper's right to cut and run." "Cut and run from the presence of the enemy--his father going to flee?" Syd felt the blood come into his face, as he listened to the rapid orders that were given, as the ship's course was altered, and in a short time the _Sirius_ was rushing through the sea at a tremendous rate. Syd bit his lip, and felt cold with shame and mortification. It seemed to him that he would not be able to face his messmates down below that evening; and seizing the opportunity he made his way to where the bo'sun was standing, silver pipe in hand, ready for the next order that might come. "Barney," he whispered, "we're running away." "Not us, my lad," said the old sailor, gruffly. "Four to one means having our top gear knocked about our deck, and then boarding. Skipper knows what he's about, and strikes me he'll 'stonish some o' them Mounseers afore they know where they are." "Then, why don't we go and fight them?" "Good sword-play don't mean going and blunder-headed chopping at a man like one goes at a tree, but fencing a bit till you get your chance. We're fencing, lad. What we've got to do is to take or sink all the enemy we can, not get took or sunk ourselves." "But the glory, Barney." "More glory in keeping afloat, my lad, than in going down. You let the skipper be; he's a better sailor than you are, I'll be bound." Syd, after a further conversation with the boatswain, saw the night come on, with the enemy's little squadron evidently in full chase. He had clung to the hope that his father was manoeuvring so as to attack the ships one by one; but though the frigate had been cleared for action, and the men were full of excitement, there seemed as if there was to be no fighting that night. The boy was disappointed. He was not free from the natural terror that any one would feel, but at the same time he was eager to see a naval encounter. For home conversation between his father, uncle, and their friends had frequently been of the sea and sea-fights; and he was thoroughly imbued with the belief that a British man-of-war could do precisely what it liked with the enemy, and victory against any odds was a certainty. And here were they undoubtedly running away, to Syd's great disgust, for he had yet to learn that the better part of valour is discretion, and that a good commander is careful of his ship and men. He was the more annoyed upon encountering Terry soon afterwards discussing the state of affairs with a couple of the lads below, and finding that he ceased speaking directly, and turned away with a laugh. Syd sat down pretending to ignore what he had seen, but the feeling within him drove him on deck again, where he was not long before one of the hearers of Terry's remarks took care that he should know what had been said. Syd was leaning over the stern gazing away into the transparent darkness, with the stars shining brilliantly overhead, when Jenkins came to his side. "See 'em now?" said the boy. "No. It is too dark." "Then we shan't take any prizes this time. What a pity!" "Perhaps we should have been turned into a prize, Jenky," said Syd, for he was now on the most familiar terms with all his messmates. "Yes," said the boy, "perhaps so; but Mike Terry says if our old captain had been in command, he'd have put his helm down when those four frog-boxes were well within range, cut right between them, giving them our broadsides as we sailed, then rounded under their sterns, raked first one and then another as we passed, left two of them with their masts gone by the board, and gone on across the bows of the other two, and raked them from forrard. He says they'd have struck their colours in no time. Then prize crews would have been put aboard, and we should have gone back to port in triumph, with plenty of prize-money, and promotion to come." "Almost a pity the old captain was not in command, isn't it?" said Syd, bitterly. "He says it is. He thinks it's downright cowardly to run for it like this. Why, he says even he, young as he is, could have done it." A sudden snap close at hand made the two lads start and look round, to see a tall dark figure a few yards away in the act of closing a night-glass. "And pray who is the brave and experienced young officer who would have done all this?" said a cold sarcastic voice, which Syd recognised directly. "No: stop. Don't tell me, but tell him that it is a great mistake for young gentlemen in the midshipmen's berth to criticise the actions of their superior officers, who may be entirely wrong, but whether or no, their critics are more in error." "It was--" "I told you not to name him, sir. I don't wish to know. That will do." The two boys felt that this was a dismissal, and they hurried away. "Oh, I say, Belt," whispered Jenkins, "did you hear your father come up?" "No; I think he must have been standing there, using his glass, when you came." "I did think I saw something black. Oh, I say, Belt, your dad is a Tartar." This little episode did not tend to make Syd more comfortable, and from that hour whenever he saw any of the men or officers talking together, he immediately fancied that they must be discussing and disapproving of Captain Belton's action in running away. It was long afterwards that Syd knew that his father's orders were to stop for nothing, but to make all speed for the West Indies, where another vessel of war was lying. Though without those orders it would have been madness to have allowed the enemy to close in and attack. Syd was on deck at daybreak, eager to scan the horizon, but only to find that those before him of the watch had been performing the same duty with their glasses, and there was not a sail in sight. _ |
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