But theirs was to be no pleasure trip, as Syd soon realised upon seeing the many preparations that were being made for war.
In his old days of command, Captain Harry Belton’s was considered the smartest manned ship in the squadron in which he served, and it was his ambition now to make up for the many deficiencies he discovered on board the frigate. Consequently gun and small-arm drill was almost as frequent as the practice of making and shortening sail. The crew grumbled and grew weary, but all the same they felt an increasing respect for the officer who was determined to have everything done in the best way possible, and when the captain did say a few words of praise for some smart bit of seamanship, the men felt that it was praise worth having.
It seemed rather hard to Syd at times that his father should be so cold and distant. Roylance, who had become great friends with the new middy, noticed it too.
“Were you bad friends at home?” he said to Syd, one day, as they were leaning over the taffrail gazing down at the clear blue sea.
“Oh no, the best of friends; and I always dined with him and Uncle Tom when he was there, and sat with them at dessert.”
“Oh, I say, don’t talk about it,” said Roylance; “late dinners and dessert. Different to our rough berth, eh?”
“Ye–es,” said Syd: “but one gets to like this more now.”
“Does seem strange though about the captain.”
“Takes more notice of the others than he does of me.”
“I don’t know about more,” said Roylance. “Treats us all the same, I think. Well, when you come to think of it, you are one of us, and it wouldn’t be fair if he favoured you.”