“Cut his comb, sir. Good, gentlemanly-looking fellow, who understands his duty, but a sad bully, I fear.”
“Oh! And you will punish—er—them both?”
“Punish, sir?” said the lieutenant; “oh dear, no. I don’t mean to hear anything about it, sir. But I congratulate you upon the stuff of which your son is made.”
“Thank you, Mr Bracy,” said the captain, as they touched their hats to each other most ceremoniously, and the captain went back to his cabin.
For the next week all was confusion on deck, alow and aloft. The captain stayed at the hotel ashore so as to be handy, and the first lieutenant ruled supreme.
The riggers were still busy, and the crew hard at work getting in stores, water, and provisions, including fresh meat and vegetables. Coops and pens were stowed forward, and chaos was the order of the day.
Syd became thoroughly well accustomed to the middies’ berth, for he was obliged to keep down all day, mostly in company with Terry, but they kept apart as much as possible, and Syd was old enough to feel that it was a very hollow truce between them.
But as soon as it was dark he was up on deck, where it was not long before he found out that he was the object of attention of the men, who were not slow to show their admiration for the young fellow who had so soon displayed his mettle by thrashing the bully of the mess.
The bo’sun was to answer for a good deal of this, and so it was, that go where he would there was a smile for him, and an eagerness on the part of the crew to answer questions or perform any little bit of service.
This was all very pleasant, and life on board began to look less black, although it really was life in the dark.