The rest of that day passed gloomily for Sydney, who was in the garden
just before dinner, when Barney came up to him.
"Seen him, Master Sydney?" he said gloomily.
"Seen who? My father?"
"No, my boy, Panama. Strikes me he's cut and run, and when the skipper
hears on it there'll be no end of a row."
"Oh, nonsense! He's hiding in the lofts, or one of the outhouses,
Barney."
"No, my lad, I've hunted 'em all over with a hay-fork."
"And of course you didn't find him. If he saw you coming with a
two-pronged fork what would he think?"
"But I wasn't going to job on him with it, Master Syd."
"How was he to know that, Barney?"
"'Cause I'm allus such a good father to him."
"And hit him with the rake-handle only this morning."
"Well, that would only loosen his skin a bit, and give him room to grow.
Do him good."
"Don't see it, Barney. Wouldn't do me any good, only make me wild."
"But you don't think he's cut and run, do you, lad?"
"I dare say he has, but he'll soon come back."
"Only let me get hold of him then."
"If you touch him when he does, I'll tell my father and Sir Thomas you
ill-use him."
"What a shame! Master Syd, you shouldn't. But you do think he'll come
back, sir?"
"Why, of course."
"That's right. I want him to go along o' you."
"Along with me?"
"Of course. I heared the skipper was going to take you up to town
to-morrow to see your new captain."
"Oh!" ejaculated Syd; and he turned sharp round and ran into the house,
where he was soon after seated at table with his uncle and father,
feeling that the servants were watching him, and expecting every moment
to hear some allusion to the next day's journey.
But though no word of the kind was said, Syd cracked no walnuts that
night, but sat gloomily over the dessert till his uncle filled his
glass, called upon him to pass the port to his father, and then in a
loud voice said--
"Here's health and success to Sydney Belton--middy, master's mate,
lieutenant, commander, post--captain, admiral."
"Hear! hear!" cried Captain Belton; and Sydney sat feeling more guilty
than ever he had felt in his life.
For his brain was full of thoughts that he dared not have laid bare, and
his inclination was trying to drag down the balance in which he felt
that he hung.
As he sat there holding on tightly by the nut-crackers that he had not
used, he felt as if he should have to answer all manner of questions
directly, and be put through a terrible ordeal; but to his intense
relief, the conversation turned upon an expedition to Portobello, and
the way in which certain ships had been handled, the unfortunate
officers in command not having done their duty to the satisfaction of
the admiral. And as this argument seemed to grow more exciting the boy
softly slipped from his chair and went out again to his place of
meditation--the garden.
"Shall I--shan't I?" he said to himself. Should he make a bold dash,
and go off like heroes he had read of before, seeking his fortune
anywhere?
He was quite ready to do this, but in a misty way it seemed to him that
there would be no fortune to be found; and in addition, it would be
going in direct opposition to his father's and uncle's wishes, and they
would never forgive him.
"No," he said, as he walked up and down the broad walk nearest the road,
"I must give up and go to sea."
But even as he said this softly, he felt so much on the balance, that he
knew that a very little would send him away.
That very little came unexpectedly, for as he walked on down the garden
in the darkness, where the short sturdy oak-trees sent their branches
over the path on one side, and overhung the road on the other, a voice
whispered his name--
"Master Syd!"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Hush! Don't make such a row, or they'll hear you."
"Who is it--Pan?"
"Yes, Master Syd."
"Where are you?"
"Sittin' straddlin' on this here big bough."
"You've come back then, sir. Your father thought you had run away,"
said Syd sternly.
"So I have; and I arn't come back, on'y to see you, Master Syd."
"Come down, then. What are you doing up that tree?"
"On'y waiting to talk to you."
"But your father says he is going to rope's-end you for running away."
"No, he isn't going to, because I shan't come back."
"But you are back."
"Oh no, I arn't, Master Syd. I'm not going to be knocked about with
rake-handles, and then sent off to sea. How would you like it?"
"I'm not knocked about, Pan; but I'm going to be sent off to sea."
"Then don't go, Master Syd."
There was no answer for the moment; then the latter looked up in among
the dark branches, where the dying leaves still clung.
"You said you had come back to see me, Pan."
"Yes, Master Syd."
"What for? Because you repented?"
"No; it was to ask you--"
"What for? Some money, Pan?"
"No, Master Syd," replied the boy in a hesitating way. "Hist! Listen!
Some one coming?"
"No; I can't hear any one. Why did you come back?"
"You don't want to go to sea, Master Syd, do you?"
"No."
"More don't I, and I won't go."
"Well?"
"I'm going right away, Master Syd, to make a fortune. Come along o'
me."
"What!" said Syd, who felt startled at the suddenness of the
proposition, one which accorded so well with his own wishes. "Go with
you?"
"Oh, I don't mean as mates, only go together," whispered Pan. "You'd
always be master, and I'd always clean your knives and boots for you."
"And what should we do, Pan? Where could we go so as to make a living?"
"Make a living?" said Pan, in a wondering tone. "Don't want to make a
living--we want to make a fortune."
"But we must have some money."
"I've got two shillings saved up."
Syd's brow puckered. He knew a little more about the necessities of
life, and did not feel disposed to set sail on the river of life with no
more than two shillings.
"But you've got some money, Master Syd?"
"Yes; eight or nine shillings, and a crown uncle gave me day before
yesterday."
"Come along then, that's enough."
Syd hesitated, and thought of the five guineas thrown down in his room.
"If you don't come they'll send you to sea."
That settled it. So evenly was the lad balanced, that a feather-weight
was enough to work a change. His dread of the sea sent the scale down
heavily.
"Wait here," he said.
"What for?"
"Till I've been and tied up some clean clothes to take with me."
"Never mind your clothes," whispered Pan. "If your father catches you
there'll be no chance."
"Look here," said Syd sharply, "if I'm going with you, Pan Strake, I
shall do as I like. I'm not going to be ordered about by you."
"No, Master Syd, I won't say nothing no more."
Sydney stood thinking for a moment or two, not hesitating, for his mind
seemed quite made up. Then without another word he stepped on to the
grass, and ran up the garden, keeping out of sight of the occupants of
the dining-room, by interposing the bushes between him and them.
His heart began to beat heavily now, as the full force of that which he
was about to do impressed him on hearing his father's voice speaking
loudly; and as he crept nearer the window, so as to pass it, behind the
bushes, and reach the entrance, he heard the captain say plainly, his
words sounding loudly from the open dining-room window--
"Yes, Tom, I've quite made up my mind. It will be the best thing for
him. It will be a better school than the one he is at. Time he began
to learn the profession, eh?"
"Yes, quite; and good luck to him," said his uncle, gruffly.
Syd stopped to hear no more, but hurried to the front, waited till all
was silent in the pantry, and then slipped up to his bedroom, where a
few minutes sufficed for him to make up a change of clothes in a
handkerchief.
That was all he wanted, he told himself. No: a brush and comb.
"Comb will do," he muttered; "people going to seek their fortunes don't
want brushes."
He ran his hand in the darkness along the dressing-table, and touched
not a comb, but a tiny pile of money.
Five shillings! And on his dressing-table! How did they come there?
He knew the next moment they were not shillings but guineas, the five he
passionately threw down in a corner of the room, and when the maid came
up to straighten the place she must have found them and placed them on
the table. It was tempting.
Syd was going away out into the wide world with only a few shillings in
his pocket, and these guineas, which were honestly his, would be
invaluable, and help him perhaps out of many a scrape. Should he take
them or no?
Syd pushed them away from him. They were given to him because his uncle
believed that he was going patiently with him to see his friend in
London. If he took them it would seem despicable, and he could not bear
that; so hurrying out of the room, he ran down-stairs lightly and as
quickly as possible, so as to get away and beyond the power of the
house, which seemed to be all at once growing dear to him, and acting
like a magnet to draw him back.
As he cleared the door and made for the shrubs, he heard his uncle's
voice as he laughed at something the captain said. Then Captain Belton
spoke again, and Syd clapped his hand and his bundle to his ears to stop
the sound.
"If I listen I shan't be able to go," he said with a sigh; and he was
just about to break into a trot to run down and join Pan, when there was
a footstep on the gravel, and the boy stopped short in the shadow cast
by a tree.
"Father!" he said to himself. "Can he have found out so soon?"
The step on the gravel came nearer, and Syd knew that it must have
passed right under the tree where Pan was hiding.
"Could father have gone down there so quickly?" thought the boy.
Then all doubt was at an end, for he whose steps were heard stopped
close at hand, muttering aloud--
"Swears he ketched sight on him in the road to-night, so he must have
come home. If I on'y do get howd on him by the scruff of his precious
neck, I'll teach him to run away."
A cold chill ran through Sydney, and he shivered. Suppose his father
knew that he was going to do this mean, contemptible thing--run away and
degrade himself--what would he say? and how would he act? Like Barnaby
spoke, his old boatswain and gardener?
Syd shivered again. He was not afraid of the pain, but he shrank from
the idea of the degradation. He fancied himself held by the collar and
a stick raised to punish him. It was horrible.
"If I don't loosen his hide my name arn't what it is," growled the old
boatswain; and he moved on, going close by Sydney, who stood listening
with heavily beating heart till Barney had gone right up to the back of
the house.
Then only did Sydney run on till he was beneath the tree, and called
Pan.
"You there?"
"Yes, Master Syd."
"Did you hear who that was down the garden?"
"Father."
"Did you hear what he said?"
There was a low laugh up in the tree.
"Yes, I heared; but he has got to ketch me first. Ready?"
"Yes, I'm ready, Pan."
"Get up here then."
"Why?"
"You can get out along one of these big branches, and drop out into the
road."
"No, no, come down, and let's go by the gate."
"And come upon my father waiting with a rope's-end? Why, when he's wild
he lets out anyhow, and in the dark you'd get it as much as me. This
way."
Syd listened, and heard the boy creep actively along the bough and drop
down on the other side of the fence.
"Catch," he whispered. "Ready?"
"Yes."
He threw over his bundle, and then swung himself up into the tree, got
astride the big bough, and was working himself along, when a sound close
at hand made him stop short to listen.
It was intensely dark where he sat beneath the thickly-leaved tree, and
all was quite still. But he felt sure that he had heard some one
approaching, and just as he had made up his mind to get further along,
Pan's voice reached him from the other side of the paling--
"Come on."
Hoping that he might have been mistaken, Syd changed his position, so
that he hung over the bough, and had just begun to edge along, when
there was a quick rustling behind him, and the breaking down of shrubs,
as if a man was forcing himself through, and the next minute he felt one
of his legs seized.
"My father!" thought Syd, and a cold chill of dread, shame, and misery
ran through him as he lay across the bough, silent and motionless, but
clinging to it with all his might.
"Got ye, have I, Pan-y-mar?" growled a husky voice. "Now then, let go,
and come and take it in your room, or I'll lay on here."
The first sound of that voice sent a warm glow through Syd, and thawed
his frozen faculties.
Exulting in the idea that it was only the old boatswain, he drew himself
all together as he held on with his arms to the bough, and then he
kicked out with all his might; the attack being so unexpected, that as
Barney received both feet in his chest, he loosened his hold, grasped
wildly at the air to save himself, and then came down in a sitting
position with sufficient force to evoke a groan; while by the time he
had recovered himself sufficiently to rise and get to the fence, he
could hear the rapid beat of steps in the distance.
"Why, there must be some one with him," growled Barney. "All right, my
boy, on'y wait a bit. You'll come crawling round the cottage 'fore
you're many hours older, and I'll lay that there rope's-end in the tub.
It'll make it lie closer and heavier round your back. Oh!"
He had taken a step to go back out of the shrubbery to the path, when an
acute pain ran up his spine, and made him limp along to the gardener's
cottage at the bottom of the grounds, grumbling to himself, and
realising that men of sixty can't fall so lightly as those who are forty
years younger.
"But never mind, I'll make him pay for the lot. He shan't play tricks
with me. Lor', I wish I was going to sea again, and had that boy under
me; I'd make him--Oh, murder! he's a'most broke my back."