"Never mind," he said; "by the time I am able to go on deck again I
shall look fit to be seen."
It was about a couple of hours later, when the frigate had got beyond a
great point which jutted out into the sea, and began to stretch away for
the ocean, that Syd awakened to the fact that the vessel seemed to be
having a game with him. She glided up and up, bearing him tenderly and
gently as it were up to the top of a hill of water, and then, after
holding him there for a moment, she dived down and left him, with a
horrible sensation of falling that grew worse as the wind increased, and
the _Sirius_ heeled over.
"I wonder whether, if I made a good brave effort, I could master this
giddy weak sensation," thought the boy. "I'll try."
He made his effort--a good, bold, brave effort--and then he lay down and
did not try to make any more efforts for a week, when after passing
through what seemed to be endless misery, during which he lay helplessly
in his hammock, listening to the creaking of the ship's timbers and the
rumble that went on overhead, and often thinking that the ship was
diving down into the sea never to come up again, he was aroused by a
gruff voice, which sounded like Barney Strake's. It was very dark, and
he felt too ill to open his eyes, but he spoke and said--
"Is that you, bo'sun?"
"Ay, ay, my lad; me it is. Come, rouse and bit."
"I couldn't, Barney," said Syd, feebly. "The very thought of a bit of
anything makes me feel worse."
"Yah! not it; and I didn't mean eat; I meant turn out, have a good wash,
and dress, and come on deck."
"I should die if I tried."
"Die, lad? What, you? Any one would think you was ill."
"I am, horribly."
"Yah! nonsense! On'y squirmy. Weather's calming down now, and you'll
be all right."
"No, Barney; never any more," sighed Syd. "I say."
"Ay, my lad. What is it?"
"Will they bury me at sea, Barney?"
"Haw--haw--haw!" laughed the bo'sun. "He thinks he's going to die!
Why, Master Syd, I did think you had a better heart."
"You don't know how ill I am," said the boy, feebly.
"Yes I do, zackly. I've seen lots bad like you, on'y it arn't bad, but
doing you good."
"No, Barney; you don't know," said Syd, a little more forcibly.
"Why, you haven't been so bad as my Pan-y-mar was till I cured him."
"Did you cure him?" said Syd, beginning to take more interest in the
bo'sun's words.
"Ay, my lad, in quarter of an hour."
"Do you think you could cure me, Barney? I don't want to die just yet."
"On'y hark at him."
"But do you think you could cure me?"
"Course I could, my lad; but I mustn't. You've get the doctor to see
you. Don't he do you no good?"
"No, Barney; he only laughed at me--like you did."
"'Nough to make him, lad. You're not bad."
"I tell you I am," cried Syd, angrily. "What did you give Pan?"
"I didn't give him nothin', sir. I only showed him a rope's-end, and I
says to him, `Now look ye here, Pan-y-mar,' I says, `if you aren't
dressed and up and doing in quarter hour, here's your dose.'"
"Oh!" moaned Syd.
"And he never wanted to take it, Master Syd, for he was up on deck 'fore
I said, and he haven't been bad since."
"How could you be such a brute, Barney?"
"Brute, lad? Why, it was a kindness. If I might serve you the same--"
"It would kill me," said Syd, angrily; and somehow his voice grew
stronger.
"Kill yer! You'd take a deal more killing than you think for."
"No, I shouldn't. I'm nearly dead now."
"Nay, lad; you're as lively as a heel in fresh water. Capen sent me
down to see how you was."
"He hasn't been to see me, Barney."
"Course he arn't, lad. Had enough to do looking arter the ship, for
we've had a reg'lar snorer these last few days. Don't know when I've
seen a rougher sea. Been quite a treat to a man who has been ashore so
long. See how the frigate behaved?"
"Did she, Barney?"
"Loverly. There, get up; and I'll go and tell the skipper you're all
right again."
"But I tell you I'm not. I'm very, very bad."
"Not you, Master Syd."
"I am, I tell you."
"Not you, lad. Nothing the matter with you;" and Barney winked to
himself.
"Look here," cried Syd, passionately, as he jumped up in his hammock,
"you're a stupid, obstinate old fool, so be off with you."
"And you're a midshipman, that's what you are, Master Syd, as thinks
he's got the mumble-dumbles horrid bad, when it's fancy all the time."
"Do you want me to hit you, Barney?" cried Syd, angrily.
"Hit me? I should like you to do it, sir. Do you know I'm bo'sun of
this here ship?"
"I don't care what you are," cried Syd. "You're an unfeeling brute. An
ugly old idiot, that's what you are."
"Oh! am I, sir? Well, what do you call yerself--all yaller and huddled
up like a sick monkey in a hurricane. Why, I'd make a better boy out of
a ship's paddy and a worn-out swab."
Syd hit out at him with all his might, striking the bo'sun in the chest,
but overbalancing himself so that he rolled out of the hammock, and
would have fallen had not Barney caught him in his arms and planted him
on the deck.
"Hoorray! Well done, Master Syd; now then, on with these here
stockings, and jump into your breeches. I'll help you. On'y want a
good wash and a breath o' fresh air, and then--look here, I'll get the
cook to let you have a basin o' soup, and you'll be as right as a
marlin-spike in a ball o' tow."
Syd was too weak to make much opposition. He had awakened to the fact
after his fit of passion that he really was not so bad as he thought.
The ship was not dancing about, and there was a bright ray of sunshine
cutting the darkness outside the place where he lay, and once or twice
he had inhaled a breath of sweet, balmy, summer-like air. Then, too,
his head did not swim so much in an erect position, and he let Barney go
on talking in his rough, good-humoured fashion, and help him on with
some clothes; bring him a bowl of water in which he had a good wash; and
when at last he was dressed and sitting back weak and helpless on the
locker, the bo'sun said--
"Now, I was going to say have a whiff o' fresh air first, my lad; but
you are a bit pulled down for want o' wittals. I'll speak to the cook
now, and seeing who you are, I dessay he'll rig you up a mess of slops
as 'll do you no end o' good."
"I couldn't touch anything, Barney."
"Yah, lad! you dunno. Said you couldn't get up, and here you are.
Think I can't manage you. Here, have another hit out at me."
"Oh, Barney, I am so sorry."
"Sorry be hanged, lad! I'm glad. You won't know yourself another
hour."
"But--but I'm going to be sick again, Barney," gasped the invalid.
"That's a moral impossibility, my lad, as I werry well know. You sit
still while I fetch you something to put in your empty locker. Didn't
know I was such a doctor, did yer?"
Barney stepped out of the door, and went straight for the galley,
leaving Syd leaning back in a corner feeling deathly sick, the
perspiration standing cold upon his brow, and with an intense longing to
lie down once more, and in profound ignorance of what will can do for a
sea-sick patient after a certain amount of succumbing.
The threat of the rope's-end had finished Pan's bout. Something else
was going to act as a specific for Syd's.
He had been seated there a few minutes when there was a light step, and
a little figure appeared surmounted by the comically withered
countenance of Jenkins.
"Hallo, Belton!" he cried. "Up again. Better?"
"No; I feel very ill."
"Never mind. You do look mouldy, though. Can I get you anything?"
"No; I couldn't touch a bit."
"Couldn't you? Keep your head to the wind, lad, and get well. Old Mike
Terry's getting horrid saucy again, so look sharp and bung him up."
The little fellow popped up on deck, and took the news, with the effect
that Bolton came and said a word of congratulation, and he was followed
by Roylance.
"Oh, I am glad, old fellow," cried the latter. "You've had a nasty
bout. But, I say, your eyes are all right again, and the swelling's
gone from your lip."
"Has it?" said Syd, feebly, as if nothing mattered now.
"Yes; you'll very soon come round. We've run down with a rush before
that nor'-easter, and we're getting into lovely summer weather. Coming
on deck?"
"Too weak."
"Not you. Do you good. But I must go back on deck. Regular drill on."
He hurried away, and Syd was leaning back utterly prostrated, when there
was another step, and he opened his eyes to see that the figure which
darkened the door was that of Terry, who came into the low dark place,
and stood looking down at his late antagonist with a sneering
contemptuous smile which was increased to a laugh.
"What a poor miserable beggar!" he said, as if talking to himself.
"Talk about the sailor's sick parrot. Ha, ha, ha!"
A faint tinge of colour began to dawn in Syd's face. "Well," said
Terry; "what are you staring at?"
Syd made no reply, only kept his eyes fixed on his enemy, and panted
slightly.
"Hadn't you better go and ask your father to put you ashore somewhere,
miss?" sneered Terry. "You ought to be sent home in a Bath chair."
Syd made no reply, and Terry, who under his assumed nonchalant sneering
aspect was simmering with rage at the sight of his conqueror, went on
glorying in the chance to trample on a fallen enemy, and trying to work
him up to do something which would give him an excuse for delivering a
blow.
"_I_ can't think what officers are about to bring such miserable sickly
objects on board the King's ships to upset and annoy everybody with
their miserable long-shore ways. It's a scandal to the service."
Still Syd made no answer, and emboldened by the silence Terry went on.
"If I had my way I'd just take every contemptible sick monkey who laid
up, haul him on deck, make fast a rope to his ankle, and souse him
overboard a few times. That would cure them."
Syd closed his eyes, for he was giddy; but his breast rose and fell as
if he were suffering from some emotion.
"Filling the ship up with a pack of swabs who, because they are sons of
captains, are indulged and nursed, and the whole place is turned into a
hospital. Why don't you go into the cabin?"
"Because I don't choose," cried Syd, suddenly starting up with his face
flushing, his eyes bright, and the passion that was in him sending the
blood coursing through his veins.
Terry started back in astonishment.
"I'm not going into the cabin, because I am going to stop here in the
midshipmen's berth to teach the bully of the mess how to behave himself
like a gentleman."
"What?"
"And not like the domineering cur and coward he is."
"Coward?"
"Yes, to come and talk to me like this; you know I'm weak and ill."
"What? Why, you miserable contemptible cub, say another word and I'll
rub your nose on the planks till you beg my pardon."
"Another word, and a dozen other words, Bully Terry. Touch me, coward!
I can't help myself now; but if you lay a finger on me, I'll get well
and give you such a thrashing as the last shall be like nothing to it.
You've got one of my marks still on your ugly nose. Now, touch me if
you dare."
"Why, hullo, Master Syd; that you?" said Barney, in his loudest voice,
as he entered the place with a basin full of some steaming compound.
"Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Terry. "Here's the nurse come with the baby's
pap. Did you put some sugar in it, old woman?"
"Nay, sir; no sugar," said Barney, touching his hat; "but there's plenty
of good solid beef-stock in it, the cook says; stuff as 'll rouse up Mr
Belton's muscles, and make 'em 'tiff as hemp-rope. Like to try 'em
again in a fortnight's time?"
"You insolent scoundrel! how dare you! Do you forget that you are
speaking to your officer?"
"No, sir. Beg pardon, sir."
"It is not granted. Leave this place, sir, and go on deck."
"Don't do anything of the kind, Strake," cried Syd, who was calming
down. "You are waiting on me."
"Do you hear me, sir?" roared Terry again.
"I can," said Syd, coolly, "and a wretchedly unpleasant voice it is. Go
and bray somewhere else, donkey. Let's see, it was the ass that tried
to kick the sick--"
"Lion," interrupted Terry, with a sneer. "Are you a sick lion?"
"It would be precious vain to say yes," said Syd; "but I'll own to being
the sick lion if you'll own to being the beast who hoisted his heels."
"Bah!" ejaculated Terry, and he turned and stalked out of the place.
"Felt as if I should have liked to go at him again," cried Syd,
fiercely.
Barney winked to himself.
"He'll give me one for that, sir. Now then, just you try a spoonful o'
this; 'tain't too hot. Not a nyste sort o' young gen'leman, is he?"
"No, Barney," said Syd, taking the spoon.
"His pap was a bit sour p'raps when he was young, eh, Master Syd?"
"An overbearing bully!" cried Syd. "Only wait till I get strong again."
"And then you'll give it to him again, sir?"
"I don't want to quarrel or fight with anybody," said Syd, speaking
quickly and excitedly, between the spoonfuls of strong soup he was
swallowing.
"Course you don't, sir; you never was a quarrelsome young gent."
"But he is beyond bearing."
"That's true, sir; so he is. Only I mustn't say so. Lor', how I have
seen young gents fight afore now; but when it's been all over, they've
shook hands as if they'd found out who was strongest, and there's been
an end on it."
"Yes, Barney."
"But this young gen'leman, sir, don't seem to take his beating kindly.
Hauls down his colours, and you sends your orficer aboard to take
possession--puts, as you may say, your right hand in, but he wouldn't
take it."
"No, Barney," said Syd, as the bo'sun winked again to himself, "he
wouldn't shake hands."
"No, sir; he wouldn't. I see it all, and thought I ought to stop it,
but I knowed from the first you'd lick him; and it strikes me werry
hard, Mr Syd, sir, that you'll have to do all that there bit o' work
over again."
"But I'm weak now, and he may lick me, Barney," said Syd, who was making
a peculiar noise now with the spoon he held--a noise which sounded like
the word _soup_.
"Weak? not you, sir. Feels a bit down, but you'll soon forget that. I
wouldn't try to bring it on again, sir," said Barney, watching his young
master all the while.
"Bring it on? No," cried Sydney. "I tell you I hate fighting. I don't
like being hurt."
"Course not, sir."
"And I don't like hurting any one."
"Well, sir, strikes me that's foolish, 'cause there's no harm in hurtin'
a thing like him. Do him good, I say. You see, Master Syd, there's
young gents as grows into good skippers, and there's young gents as
grows into tyrants, and worries the men till they mutinies, and there's
hangings and court-martials--leastwise, court-martials comes first.
Now, Mr Terry, sir, unless he's tamed down and taught better, 's one o'
the sort as makes bad skippers, and the more he's licked the better
he'll be."
"I shall never like him," said Syd, whose spoon was scraping the bottom
of the basin now.
"No, sir; I s'pose not," said Barney, with a dry grin beginning to
spread over his countenance. "Nobody could; but I dare say his mother
thinks he's a werry nyste boy, and kisses and cuddles him, and calls him
dear."
"Yes, I suppose so, Barney."
"And a pretty dear too; eh, Master Syd?"
"Yes, Barney. What are you laughing at?"
"You, sir," cried the bos'un. "Hooray! he's took it all, and said he
couldn't touch a drop."
"Well, I thought I couldn't, Barney; but Mr Terry roused me up, and I
feel better now."
"Nay, sir; play fair."
"What do you mean?"
"Give a man his doo. It was me roused you up."
"So it was, Barney. I'm a deal better."
"You're quite well, says Doctor Barney Strake, and that's me. Say,
Master Syd, what do they call that they gives a doctor wrorped up in
paper?"
"His fee."
"Then, sir, that's just what you owes me, who says to you now--just you
go on deck and breathe the fresh wind, for this here place would a'most
stuffocate a goose."
"Yes, I'll try and get on deck now," said Syd.
"And try means do. Hooray, sir, I'm going to tell the captain as you're
quite well, thankye, now, Amen."
"Not quite well, Barney."
"Ay, but you are, sir. But I say, Master Syd."
"What?"
"You never said your grace."