Chapter One.

The boy who would not go to sea.

“Here you, Syd, pass the port.”

Sydney Belton took hold of the silver decanter-stand and slid it carefully along the polished mahogany table towards where Admiral Belton sat back in his chair.

“Avast!”

The ruddy-faced old gentleman roared out that adjuration in so thunderous a way that the good-looking boy who was passing the decanter started and nearly turned it over.

“What’s the matter, Tom?” came from the other end of the table, where Captain Belton, a sturdy-looking, grey-haired gentleman nearly as ruddy as his brother, was the admiral’s vis-à-vis.

“He’s passing the decanter without filling his own glass!” cried the admiral. “Fill up, you young dog, and drink the King’s health.”

“No, thank you, uncle,” said the boy, quietly, “I’ve had one glass.”

“Well, sir, so have I. Don’t I tell you I’m going to propose the King’s health?”

“I’ll drink it in water, uncle.”

“What, sir? Drink the health of his most gracious Majesty in raw water! Not if I know it.”

“But port wine makes my face burn, uncle, and Doctor Liss says—”

“Confound Doctor Liss, sir! Hang Doctor Liss, sir! By George, sir, if I were in active service again, and your Doctor Liss were in my squadron, I’d have him triced up and give him twelve dozen, sir.”

“No, you wouldn’t, uncle,” said the boy, cracking a walnut, and glancing at his father, who was watching him furtively.

“What, sir? I wouldn’t? Look here, brother Harry, Liss is corrupting this boy’s mind.”

“I don’t know about corrupting, Tom,” said the captain, smiling, “but he certainly does seem to be putting some queer things into his head.”

“So it seems. Teaches him to drink the King’s health in water.”

“No, he didn’t, uncle,” said the boy, cracking another walnut.

“Yes, he did, sir. How dare you contradict me! Confound you, sir, if I had you aboard ship I’d mast-head you.”

“No, you wouldn’t, uncle,” said the boy, dipping a piece of freshly-peeled walnut in the salt and crunching it between his teeth.

“What, sir?”

“I say you would not,” replied the boy.

“And pray why, you young dog?”

“Because you’d know father wouldn’t like it.”

Captain Belton laughed and sipped his port, and the admiral blew out his cheeks.

“Look here, brother Harry,” he cried; “is this my nephew Sydney, or some confounded young son of a sea-lawyer?”

“Oh, it’s Syd, sure enough,” said the captain.

“Then he’s grown into an insolent, pragmatical young cock-a-hoop upstart; and hang it, I should like to spread-eagle him till he came to his senses.”

The boy, who was peeling a scrap of walnut, gave his uncle a sidelong look and laughed.

“Ah, I would, sir, and no mistake,” cried the admiral, fiercely. “Harry, you don’t half preserve discipline in the ship. Here, Syd, it’s time you were off to sea.”

The boy took another walnut and crushed it, conscious of the fact that his father was watching him intently.

“I don’t want to go to sea, uncle,” said the boy at last, as he picked off the scraps of broken shell from his walnut.

“What?” roared the admiral. “Here you, sir, say that again.”

“I don’t want to go to sea, uncle.”

“You—don’t—want—to go—to sea, sir?”

“No, uncle.”

“Well, I am stunned,” said the old gentleman, rapidly pouring out and tossing off a glass of port. “Brother Harry, what have you to say to this?”

“That it is all nonsense. The boy does not know his own mind.”

“Of course not,” cried the admiral, turning sharply upon Sydney, who went on picking the skin from his walnut. “Do you know, sir, that your family have been sailors as far back as the days of Elizabeth.”

“Yes, uncle,” said the boy, coolly. “I’ve often heard you say so.”

“And that it is your duty, as the last representative of the family, to maintain its honour, sir?”

“No, uncle.”

“What, sir?” cried the old man, fiercely.

“I’m not fit to be a sailor,” continued the boy, quietly enough.

“And pray, why not, Sydney?” said Captain Belton, frowning.

“Because I’m such a coward, father.”

“A Belton!” groaned the admiral, “and says he is a coward.”

“A boy to be a sailor ought to be fond of the sea.”

“Of course, sir,” said the captain.

“And I hate it.”

“And pray why?” said the admiral, fiercely.

“Because it’s so salt,” said Syd, busy helping himself to some more of the condiment he had named.

“Salt?” cried the admiral. “Of course it is, and so it ought to be. Nonsense! He’s laughing at us, Harry—a dog.”

“No, I’m not, uncle; I’m not fit to be a sailor.”

“Then, pray, what are you fit for, sir?” cried Captain Belton, angrily.

“I mean to be a doctor!”

“What!” roared the two officers together.

Crack! crack!

“Put that walnut and those crackers down, sir!” said the captain, sternly. “I am glad your uncle started this subject, for it was time we had an explanation. Do you know that with his interest at the Admiralty and mine you could be entered on board a first-rate man-of-war?”

“Yes, and well looked after, sir,” cried the admiral; “so that when you had properly gone through your term, and been master’s mate long enough, your promotion would have been certain.”

“Yes, uncle, father has often said so,” replied Sydney, reaching for another walnut, and taking up the crackers.

“Put that walnut down, sir,” cried his father.

Sydney obeyed, and to keep his hands under control thrust them in his pockets and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, sir,” said his uncle, “does not that make you feel proud?”

“No, uncle.”

“What! Don’t you know that you would have a uniform and wear a sword—I mean a dirk?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Well, sir? Why, at your time of life I was mad to have my uniform.”

“What for?” said the boy.

“What for, sir? What for? Why, to wear, of course.”

“I don’t want to wear a uniform. You couldn’t climb trees, nor go fishing, nor shrimping, nor riding in a uniform.”

“No, sir,” continued the admiral, after winking and frowning at his brother to leave the boy to him, “of course not. You would be an officer and a gentleman then, and wear a cocked hat.”

“Ha! ha! ha!”

The boy burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and his father frowned.

“Sydney—” he began.

“No, no, Harry, leave him to me,” said the admiral; “I’ll talk to him. Now, sir,” he continued, turning to the boy sternly, “pray what did I say to make you start grinning like a confounded young monkey? I—I—I am not accustomed to be laughed at by impertinent boys.”

“I was not laughing at you, uncle,” said the boy, dragging one hand from his pocket and making a lunge at an apple.

“Leave that fruit alone, sir,” said the admiral, “and don’t tell me a confounded lie, sir. You did laugh at me.”

“I did not,” said the boy; “and that’s not a lie.”

“What!” roared the admiral, turning purple. “How dare you, sir! To the mast-head at once, and stop there till—”

A hearty burst of laughter from his brother and nephew quelled the old man’s anger.

“Ah, you may laugh at that,” he said. “Force of habit. But you’ve got to apologise, you young monkey, for what you