Syd Belton

"Syd Belton" (continued 7)

Reading edition

It was not the men’s fault, for they were at the bottom of a vast natural wall, which towered up from fifteen to twenty feet, and so smooth that there was not the slightest foothold to enable them to climb.

The officer who had come up to it before with a flag of truce had in his excitement omitted to notice the difficulty, and consequently neither rope nor spar had been brought; and though the men clambered and shouted and made brave efforts to mount upon each other’s shoulders, fortunately for them they were not able to get up far enough to be sent down with a cut on the head.

The shouting and confusion lasted for some time, during which the defenders crouched in safety behind their breastwork, and waited.

At last, just as the officers were deciding upon withdrawing their men, and asking themselves what their fate would be if the English began to play upon them during their retreat to the one boat which was left, there was another cheer, and a reinforcement from the frigate appeared.

Strake sprang up to alter the level of the gun and take aim, but Syd stopped him.

“This one hasn’t come to attack,” he said, as he saw that the boat was only half manned; the captain having seen the misfortunes that had befallen his other boats, and sent this one on to afford his men a means of retreat.

For the attack was hopeless, and the officers gathered their men together, and despatched them in two parties to the little pier, the men moving with the greatest of regularity; and while a few kept up a running fire against the battery, the others embarked.

“Now then, sir, give the word,” whispered Strake, who was hoarse with excitement; “I can send a shot right through that there boat.”

“What for?” said Syd, coldly. “They are retreating, and we don’t want to stop them and make them prisoners.”

“But they’re our mortial enemies, sir,” cried the boatswain, aghast.

“Let them go,” said Syd; and as the boats pushed off, with the frigate recommencing its useless fire to cover the retreat, the defenders of the little natural fort gave a hearty cheer.

“We don’t want a lot of bloodshed, Roy,” said Syd, as they congratulated one another over the refreshment they were glad to take.

“No; but I suppose we ought to have slaughtered a lot of them. We could.”

“My father used to tell my uncle, the admiral, that he was the greatest commander who could achieve a victory with the smallest loss of life.”

“Yes, sir,” said a gruff voice behind him; “but I’ve know’d your father send some awful broadsides and rakings into the enemy’s ships. Why, when we’ve gone aboard arter to take the furren captain’s sword, I’ve seed their deck all slippery with blood.”

“And I’m glad those stones are not.”

“Very well, sir, if you’re satisfied, I am; but I want to know what’s gone o’ my Pan. Hasn’t hidden hisself in that water-cave, has he?”

“I have not seen him,” said Syd, and with Roylance he climbed up to the flagstaff to see the enemy’s two crowded boats return to the frigate’s side, after which the French captain made a slight change in his position; and as they watched they saw two fresh boats lowered and row away, and then they were recalled.

Then came a long spell of waiting in miserable inaction till toward sunset, when the two boats put out again, spent a little time sounding close up to the rocks where Roylance was rescued, and were again recalled.

“What does that mean, sir?” said Syd, as he told all this to the lieutenant, who, as he lay helpless, eagerly listened to every word.

“I don’t quite see, my lad,” he said. “A trick, probably, to take off your attention. But be well on your guard, for, depend upon it, they will try to surprise you to-night, and come prepared with ladders of some kind for the escalade.”

Chapter Forty Four.

The night was brilliant starlight, and the strictest watch was kept, but hour after hour went by, and there was not a sound; no dark shadow creeping over the water from the frigate, which lay anchored, with her lights showing reflections on the smooth sea.

Everything was in readiness to give the enemy a good reception if they came, and in spite of his weakness, the boatswain rose from where he lay on a folded-up sail beside one of the heaps of ball, to see if the light in the lanthorn by his head was burning, and handy for the slow matches to fire the guns.

“That there swab has gone down into his old hole by the water, sir, so as to save his skin,” said Strake, on one of the occasions when Syd was going his rounds, “and here he might be o’ no end of use saving his poor father. You won’t say I arn’t to use the rope’s-end arter this, sir.”

“Hadn’t you better go up to the hospital and lie down, Strake?” replied Syd; “you are tired out.”

“So are you, sir: so’s all on us. But if I went and had a caulk just when the enemy might come, what should I say arterwards when I met the skipper?”

“But your injuries are such as sent you into hospital.”

“Where I warn’t going to stay, sir. Been up to the flagstaff, sir?”

“I have just come from there, and I have been with Mr Roylance, and had a talk with Mr Dallas. All’s well.”

“Seems well, Mr Syd, sir,” whispered the boatswain, so as not to be heard by the men; “but I’m sure all aren’t well. They’re trying to dodge us, sir, and you see if they don’t come and board us just afore daylight, when they think we’re asleep. Tell them chaps at the look-out to keep their eyes open, and be on the kwe weave, as the Frenchies call it, for boats sneaking up in the dark. You’ve got two there.”

“Yes, Strake, and each man has a glass, and those very instructions.”

“What a horficer he will make,” muttered the boatswain; and then the watch went on, with the men peering through the transparent darkness at the waves heaving over the little natural pier, and the bright stars broken up into spangles on the smooth surface of the sea.

“Rather queer about Terry,” said Roylance in a whisper, as Syd joined him where he was leaning over the rough parapet, watching the surface for the first sign of the enemy.

“Very,” said Syd.

“I can’t understand it.”

“I can,” thought Syd, as he recalled what he had seen; and in the full belief that his messmate was heartily ashamed of his treacherous conduct of the previous day, he went softly up to find the lieutenant sleeping peacefully. He stood looking at him for a few moments, and then went up to the empty battery, to stand looking down over the precipice, before gazing up towards the flagstaff.

“All well, Rogers?” he said in a low, distinct voice.

“All well, sir,” came back from far on high. “Nothing left the ship. We could ha’ seen by the broken water. It brimes to-night, and we should have seen their oars stirring the water up.”

Note: “brimes” means “is phosphorescent.”

Syd went thoughtfully back, feeling so exhausted and drowsy that twice over he stumbled, and shook his head to get rid of the sleepy feeling, for it had been a terribly trying and anxious time.

“I’ll go and talk to Strake,” he said to himself; and pulling out a biscuit, he began to nibble it to take off the sensation of faintness from which he suffered, as he began wondering whether the French would attack them that night, or come prepared the next day with ladders to scale the natural wall which was their chief defence.

“All well, Strake?” he said, as he reached the place again where the boatswain was lying down.

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Halt! who goes there?”

“On’y me,” cried a hoarse, excited voice, in a whisper, accompanied by a panting noise. “Where’s father?”

“What, Pan-y-mar?” growled the boatswain. “Just you come here, you ugly-looking young swab.”

“Hush, father!” whispered the boy, coming out of the darkness. “Give’s a cutlash; the French is coming.”

“What? Where?” said Syd, eagerly. “To your guns, my lads.”

“No, no,” cried the boy, in a hurried whisper. “Not that way; they’re coming over the top there.”

“He’s been dreaming,” growled the boatswain. “What d’yer mean, you dog?”

“I arn’t been asleep,” cried Pan, angrily; “and I’m so hungry.”

“Tell me: what do you mean?” cried Syd.

“I’ve been a-watching o’ Mr Terry, sir. He went down on the rocks over yonder, and I lay down and see him make signs to the French ship, and two boats come out and rowed in close to where he was a-hiding down in one o’ them big cracks like I hid in and found the water.”

“Yes; go on,” whispered Syd, whose heart sank with apprehension.

“And he talked to ’em, and they talked to him, and then rowed back to the French ship.”

“What did they say?”

“I dunno; I was too far off to hear.”

“Well, go on.”

“I thought he was up to some game, and I lay there and watched him, and I’ve been watching of him ever since, till to-night he crawled into the stores, after hiding all yes’ afternoon and to-night, and I see him come creeping out again with a rope, and he put it over his shoulder. And then he climbed up one o’ those cracks, and I went arter him, and he got right out there past the water-hole, and then crep’ all along till he got to the place where you hauled Mr Roylance and t’other sailor up with a rope. And I crep’ up close as I could, and lay there watching him hours till three boats come round from the other side, and then Mr Terry tied the end of the rope round a big block, and let the other end down, and I see a French sailor come up, and then another, and another, and they let down more rope, and they’re all climbed up, and they’re coming right up yonder over the top by the flag-post.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cos I come that way first, and they was all coming close up arter me all the time, and I had to come on my hands and knees.”

“Why didn’t you come the other way, and give the alarm in front?”

“’Cos they’ve got lots o’ fellows there with swords and pistols. I heard ’em cock.”

“Yah! it’s all a fancy,” growled Strake; “he’s scared, and dreamed it.”

“I didn’t,” cried the boy.

“Couldn’t climb up there,” growled Strake.

“Yes, they could, Strake,” cried Syd, excitedly. “Once they were on the rock they could climb up, and—yes, they’d come over by the flagstaff.”

“I tell yer the young swab dreamt it.”

“Ahoy! help!”

Bang! bang! Bang! bang!—Pistol-shots from high up by the flagstaff; and as the men seized their cutlasses and pistols, and, with Syd and Roylance at their head, advanced up the gap to meet this treacherous attack from the rear, there was the clash of steel, the sounds of struggling, then a momentary silence, followed by a few sharp orders, and the rattling noise of stones told that a strong party of men were coming down the rough path from the flagstaff.

“Forward, my lads!” cried Roy lance; “we may beat them back.”

The men gave a cheer, and advanced quickly, the excitement of all taking them from the battery, which was left defenceless.

As they advanced, the old feeling of terror that he had always felt when about to engage in a school-fight was for a few moments in Sydney’s breast; then the eager excitement carried all away, and, sword in hand, he ran on with his men.

Directly after there was the shock and confusion of the two parties meeting, with stray shots, the clatter of sword against sword, with sparks flying in the darkness, and the shouts and cheers of contending men.

What he did Syd never knew, for everything was centred in the one idea that he was leading his father’s men, and that he must try and be brave. And if being brave meant rushing on with them right at the descending Frenchmen, he was brave enough.

So vigorous was the rush, and so desperate were the little English party at being surprised in so sudden a fashion, that the first group of the enemy were driven backward toward the path by which they had climbed down. But more and more were hurrying from above to their help, the officers threw themselves to the front, and the flight was stayed, while quite a series of single combats began to take place.

“Give it ’em, boys! Old England for ever!” was yelled out in the darkness, close by to where Syd was cutting and thrusting at an active little Frenchman. Then there came a groan, and the same voice said hoarsely—

“Oh, if I had my strength!”

“Hurrah, boys! they’re giving way!” shouted Roylance. “Keep together, and over with them.”

For in spite of the bravery of their officers, the French were yielding ground once more, and being slowly driven up the narrowing path. But there was a fresh burst of cheering, the hurry of feet, and about twenty of the French frigate’s crew, who had taken advantage of the little garrison being attacked from the rear, and crept up to the cliff wall to scale it with a spar, one man going up with a rope which he had secured to a gun, soon turned the tables again.

With enemies before and behind triple their strength, and taking them in each case so thoroughly by surprise, the mêlée did not last long. Syd was conscious of seeing sparks after what seemed to be a loud clap of thunder above his head, and the next thing he knew was that Roylance was saying—

“Belt, lad, do, do try and speak.”

“Speak? yes,” he faltered. “What’s the matter?”

“Matter! don’t ask.”

“But what does it mean? Where are we? Has Terry won?”

“My poor old fellow, you haven’t been fighting Terry—yes, you have—a coward! he is with the French.”

“And—” cried Syd, sitting up, “are we beaten?”

“Yes! no!” cried Roylance. “They’re all down or prisoners—but eight of us here.”

“Where are we?” said Syd, who felt sick and dizzy.

“Up in the little top battery, and they’re coming on again. Stand by, lads!”

Syd rose to his feet as the men cheered, and stood with his sword hanging by the knot to his wrist, holding on by the rough stone wall, looking over into the starlit gloom at a body of French sailors apparently about to attack. Just then an officer stepped forward, and said, cheerily—

“Rendez-vous, mes braves. Parlez, vous!” he continued, turning to some one at his side.

“Here, you there!—the French officer says it’s no use to fight any longer; he has taken the place, so give up.”

“Terry!” cried Roylance; “you miserable traitor!” and the men around burst into a loud groan, and hooted the renegade.

“Yes, traitor!” cried Syd, excitedly; and forgetting his wound, “coward!”

“Coward yourself!” cried Terry. “Do you think I was going to stay in a service which compelled men to serve under a contemptible boy like you? Here, my lads, it’s no use to resist. Give up, and you will have good treatment as prisoners. Come out.”

“Do you hear, lads?” cried Roylance. “Will you do as the new English-French deserter says?”

“No!” roared the men; and Rogers’ voice rose above them—“Say, lads, it’s yard-arm for a desarter, eh?”

“Yes.”

Terry turned away savagely, and they saw him saying something to the French officer—saw him dimly, as it seemed, then more plainly, for day was breaking with the rapidity of the change in the tropics; and as a movement took place, they all knew that a final assault was to be given, and must go against them.

Then the spirit of Syd’s family seemed to send a flush through him; he forgot his pain, the sickness passed off, and he turned to gaze on the torn and blood-stained men about him.

“French and English,” he cried, raising his sword.

“Hurray!” shouted the brave fellows; and every cutlass flashed as they prepared to defend their tiny stronghold, built up for the very emergency in which they were.

“Rendez, messieurs!” shouted the French officer, half appealingly.

“Non, non!” shouted Sydney, excitedly.

“En avant!” rang out the order, and with a rush the men came on in the rapidly increasing morning light.

At that moment the rocks echoed and quivered as a heavy gun thundered forth.

Chapter Forty Five.

The advance was checked, and a man ran up to the flagstaff, to reach it at last, and then he shouted down something in French, which the occupants of the upper defence could not make out.

A second gun rolled forth its summons, and, giving an order, the French officer led his men toward the lower battery, where about twenty were halted, and busied themselves in turning one of the guns, so that it was pointed toward the upper battery, while the rest went down over the wall.

“What does it mean?” said Syd. “Are they going to blow us out of here?”

“No,” said Roylance, “I think not. It is to occupy the place and keep us at bay. I’d give something to see what it all means. We’re so shut up here, and can see nothing,” he said, fretfully.

And it was so. They had a good view of the sea right out toward the town, but looking back they could see along the gap to their guns, which with the breastwork completely hid the landing-place.

“I’d give something to know what it all means.”

“That gun meant the recall,” said Roylance.

“If I could get to the flagstaff,” said Syd.

“I think I could slip over at the back here,” said Rogers; “climb along, and then crawl up.”

“No, no, my lad; you’d break your neck.”

“Oh, no, sir. You trust me.”

“He can climb like a monkey, sir,” said another of the men, who was binding up a wound.

“Then try,” said Syd, after a glance upward to see that the French were not there.

The man slipped over the back directly, and crept along a narrow ledge that made them all feel giddy, but he got along in safety, and then creeping and climbing to the left of the regular path he disappeared in a rift.

“He’ll do it now,” said Roylance, who stood nursing one arm. “I say, Belt, as soon as you can I should be glad of a little help.”

“Yes, I’ll come directly,” said Sydney; “but where are our other fellows?”

“All wounded or prisoners. The French have had the best of it this time. We shall be prisoners of war, lad.”

“I wouldn’t care, only we’ve lost the place, Roylance. Oh, how could an English fellow be so treacherous!”

“Don’t know,” said Roylance, dismally. “There always was something wrong with Mike Terry.”

“Ahoy!” came from above their heads; and they looked up to see that Rogers had reached the flagstaff, and had hauled up the British colours, which blew out in the morning air as a faint cheer came from the hospital, and an angry chattering from about the guns.

“Sail ho! Sirius in sight,” shouted Rogers through his hands; “boat’s gone back to the Frenchman. Hurray!”

He was answered by a cheer from the little group about Syd, as three of the French sailors ran up at a trot, and began to mount the flagstaff path.

“Look out, Rogers. Don’t be taken.”

“Not I, sir. I’m coming back,” shouted the sailor; and he disappeared, leaving the colours flying, and climbing back into the sturdy little work in time to join his companions in a loud groaning. For the French reached the top and hauled the British colours down, one of the enemy waving them derisively at the Englishmen, and throwing the flag over his shoulder as he laughed at them, and then carried it down to the battery, where his comrades had been strengthening their works toward the English position, one man standing ready with a port-fire to sweep the gap should there be an attack.

Two hours’ waiting ensued—two weary hours, with injuries growing stiff, wounds smarting, and a terrible feeling of thirst coming on. That was forgotten directly the heavy boom of a gun was heard, answered by another; and for a time, as report after report echoed among the rocks, the imprisoned party saw in imagination the Sirius coming slowly up and attacking the French frigate, which answered with shot for shot. But it was most tantalising; and again and again Syd was for climbing up to the flagstaff to see what was going on, duty to the men alone keeping him to his post.

Their patience was rewarded at last, for Roylance suddenly gave a cheer, which was taken up by the others, as they saw the French frigate, her sails dotted with shot-holes, forge into sight, firing hard the while.

“Why, she’s beaten—retreating,” cried Sydney.

“No, only manoeuvring,” replied Roylance; “and, hurrah! my lads, here comes the Sirius.”

Syd’s heart gave a leap as his father’s noble frigate came slowly into sight round the south end of the gap, bringing with her a cloud of smoke which was rent and torn with flames of fire. For the next hour, there, a mile away, the frigates lay manoeuvring and exchanging their broadsides, neither appearing to get the upper hand.

Two of the French officers were now up at the flagstaff, where they had hoisted their own colours, and they were eagerly watching the varying fortunes of the naval action, which, as far as the lookers-on could see, might result in the favour of either. The firing was terrific, and for the time being the occupants of the fort forgot their enmity in the excitement of the naval engagement going on.

A wild shrill cheer suddenly rose from by the flagstaff, answered by a shout of defiance from the English battery, as all at once the mizzen-topmast of the Sirius with its well-filled sails bowed over as if doubled-up; but the loss did not check the firing nor her way, and the shrill cheer was silenced. For in the midst of the French elation, and as the course of the frigate was changed so that she might cross the bows of the Sirius and rake her, two more of the officers had gone up from by the guns, and were mounting the path to the flagstaff to participate in the triumph. They were in time to see the mainmast of the French frigate, already sorely wounded, yield to a puff of wind and go right over to leeward, leaving the beautiful ship helpless like a sea-bird with a broken wing.

Captain Belton quickly took advantage of the position, raked the Frenchman from stem to stern, ran his own vessel close up under her quarter, and as the smoke rolled away a crowd of boarders were seen pouring over on to her decks, the shouts and cheering of the fighting reaching to the ears of the spectators.

“We’ve taken her,” cried Roylance, exultingly, and he was about to call upon the men to cheer when a look from Syd silenced him.

“Quick, lads!” he whispered. “In two parties. I’ll lead one, Mr Roylance the other. We’ll divide and run down to the guns and take them before they know where they are. Hist, not a sound! Now!”

The officers were still gazing directly away at the concluding episodes of the fight, so that only one was down at the battery, whose occupants were so taken by surprise, that before the junior lieutenant left had given the order to fire the Englishmen were half-way to them. Then as a cannon sent its charge of grape hurtling up the narrow pass, the two little parties cheered, dashed on, jumped over the rough wall cutlass in hand, and in less than a minute the place was once more in English hands.

“More prisoners than we want,” said Syd; but they were soon got rid of, being disarmed, and compelled to lower themselves down a rope to the foot of the great natural wall, where they were huddling together, a discontented-looking group, when Syd had taken the swords of the other French officers and sent the British colours flying once more from the flagstaff.

The French lieutenant shrugged his shoulders as he handed his sword to Syd.

“Ah, vous anglais!” he muttered, and then to one of his companions in French—

“It is of no use to try any longer. The men from the English frigate will be ashore directly. But to be beaten by that boy!”

He was quite right. Before an hour had elapsed two well-manned boats from the Sirius was at the landing-place to take possession and charge of the prisoners, while in another hour Syd was standing before his father, giving him an account of all that had been done.

Captain Belton listened almost grimly to his son’s narrative, and when he had finished—

“Well, sir,” said the captain; “and what have you to say for yourself? You went ashore without leave. Of course you will be punished.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are Mr Roylance and Mr Terry?”

“Ashore, sir, wounded both.”

“And Mr Dallas badly, I hear. Tut—tut—tut! and I have a terrible array of losses to confront here. Well, you have something else to say?”

Syd was hesitating, for he had a painful duty to perform. Had he been the only holder of the knowledge of his messmate’s treachery, he would have held his tongue: but it was known to all on shore, and he told everything.

“Go now,” said the father, “I am too busy to say more. You can stay on board; I will give orders for a fresh party to occupy the rock.”

Syd thought his father might have forgotten the captain a little more at their encounter, and given him a word of praise; but he smothered his feelings, and joined his messmates in the gun-room, for the middies’ quarters were horribly occupied just then by the doctors.

He had stared aghast at the shattered aspect of the deck and rigging, and seen that the French frigate was no better, and then learned that which he was longing to hear.

It was a simple matter; the gale they had felt on the rock had grown into a hurricane outside, and in the midst of it both the Sirius and her consort were cast ashore on one of the coral islands far out of the regular track of ships.

There they had been ever since, till by clever scheming and indefatigable work, Captain Belton had got his frigate off, literally carving a little canal for her from where she lay to the open water. For his consort was a hopeless wreck, and he had the help of a second crew.

As soon as they were clear, Captain Belton made sail for the rock again, to arrive only just in time.

The wreck had given him one advantage, though: he had the crews of both frigates on board, and several extra guns which he had saved.

It was nearly dark when the boat from the shore arrived with the wounded and the remnant of the brave defenders of the rock, and a warm welcome was accorded them; the two little middies, Bolton and Jenkins, who had nearly gone mad over Syd, seeming to complete the process with Roylance, who got away from them as soon as possible to draw Sydney aside.

“Seen him?” he said, in a low tone.

“Whom—Mr Dallas? Yes.”

“No, no; Terry.”

“No; nor do I want to.”

“Yes; go and see him, poor wretch.”

“If I do he’ll accuse me of being the cause of all his trouble.”

“No, no; I’ve shaken hands with him.”

“Shaken hands?”

“Why not? My father is a clergyman. I want to recollect something of what he taught me.”

“But with a man like that, even if he is wounded?”

“But, poor fellow! he’s dying.”

“What!” cried Syd.

“Don’t you know?”

Syd shook his head. He felt half suffocated.

“In that last scuffle when we took back the battery, he was one of the fellows we drove over the side. I didn’t know it then. No one did till he was picked up from where he crouched. The doctor has gone to him now.”

Syd hurried away, and after a time was able to find his old messmate lying where he had been left by the surgeon, side by side with one of the many wounded who filled the lower decks.

There was a lanthorn swinging overhead, and Syd started as he saw the ghastly change in the young man’s countenance.

He could not think of enmity or treachery at such a moment as that, but went close up.

“Terry,” he said, “I’m sorry it has come to this.”

The midshipman’s face lit up, and he feebly raised his hand.

“Better so,” he said, in a faint whisper. “Good-bye.”

Chapter Forty Six.

They knew in the midshipman’s little company that night how Michael Terry had died, and the frank-hearted lads joined in saying they were glad he had died from his fall, and not from a wound given by an English blade. And somehow, though it was known to all now, not a voice uttered a word about his treachery. The terrible fate that had overtaken him had come as a veil over all that.

For the next few days, as they lay there to leeward of the rock, Syd and Roylance used to look up at the colours flying from the flagstaff, and feel something like regret that they were no longer living in the gap; but there was endless work to do. The captain had transferred his less fortunate brother officer and crew to the French frigate, and on board both vessels the knotting, splicing, and repairing that went on was enormous, while the carpenters and their mates had the busiest of times.

One of the first things done after hospital tents had been rigged up in the gap, was for all the wounded to be transferred to the shore; the garrison was strengthened, provisions and stores landed, a surgeon put in charge, and the Sirius with the prize set sail for the nearest British possession to land their prisoners.

In a week they were back off the rock, and after communications, sailed on for Saint Jacques; the French frigate, in spite of being minus one mast, making fair way under the jury spar set up, and, thanks to the vigorous efforts made in the way of repairs, in excellent fighting trim, and with her crew eager to make up in the end for the loss of their own ship.

Syd had been out of the naval engagement, but he was now to witness a bold attack made upon a fortified port—a successful attack, the batteries being pretty well demolished, and the force of sailors and marines that was landed carrying all before them, so that in one short day the British flag waved over the town of Saint Jacques, and the island of La Haute became one of the possessions of the British Crown.

After refitting, the Sirius did good work in the western seas for two years before she was ordered home, where upon the captain landing at Shoreport, it was known that he was promoted to the command of a line-of-battle ship, while sundry honours were ready for his officers, notably for Mr Dallas, who had long been well and strong.

“Yes, Strake,” said Roylance, “promotion for every one but the poor midshipman.”

“Wait a bit, sir, wait a bit,” said the bronzed old fellow. “’Tain’t fault o’ gover’ment, but fault o’ natur’. Soon as you and Mr Belton here grows big enough you’ll be lufftenants, and then captains; and if that swab of a boy of mine minds his eye he’ll be a bo’sun.”

“You’ll lay up now, I suppose?” said Roylance.

“Me, sir? me lay up?” cried the boatswain, indignantly. “Not the man. No, sir, I hope to sail yet with young Capen Belton when the old capen’s a admiral, as he’s sure to be afore long.”

“Seems a long time to wait for promotion,” said Syd.

“Awful, sir, to a young gent who has only been two years at sea. But—whish, sir! Look!”

Syd, who was leaning over the side with Roylance, gazing at the town, started with pleasure, for in the stern-sheets of the barge, which was coming back from shore with the captain, who was returning to take leave of his officers before quitting the Sirius for good, was the grey-whiskered, florid face of Admiral Belton.

He came on board, bowing to the salutes given him, and then looking round sharply, he exclaimed—

“Now then, where’s that doctor?”

“Here, uncle,” cried Syd, merrily.

“Why! Well! Hang the boy, I shouldn’t have known you. You have grown! Shake hands, you dog! I’m proud of you. I know all about it. I say,” he said with a chuckle, “don’t want to be a doctor now, eh?”

“Saving your honour’s presence,” growled a deep voice, “I dunno what we should ha’ done if he hadn’t been one.”

“Hah! bo’sun, you there. Glad to see you. Do you follow my brother to his new ship?”

“Ay, ay, sir; please goodness, and Mr Belton here, too.”

“No,” said Captain Belton, quietly. “My son is going for a cruise with Commander Dallas in the sloop-of-war to which he has been appointed.”

“Then, saving your honour’s presence, and thinking of you as the best captain I ever served, if it could be managed, I’d like to sail under Mr Dallas too, and I’ll take my boy.”

“You shall, Strake; and I’m very glad.”

So six months after Sydney Belton joined the sloop Ariel, and this time saw active, service in the eastern seas.

The End.