“Almost a pity the old captain was not in command, isn’t it?” said Syd, bitterly.
“He says it is. He thinks it’s downright cowardly to run for it like this. Why, he says even he, young as he is, could have done it.”
A sudden snap close at hand made the two lads start and look round, to see a tall dark figure a few yards away in the act of closing a night-glass.
“And pray who is the brave and experienced young officer who would have done all this?” said a cold sarcastic voice, which Syd recognised directly. “No: stop. Don’t tell me, but tell him that it is a great mistake for young gentlemen in the midshipmen’s berth to criticise the actions of their superior officers, who may be entirely wrong, but whether or no, their critics are more in error.”
“It was—”
“I told you not to name him, sir. I don’t wish to know. That will do.”
The two boys felt that this was a dismissal, and they hurried away.
“Oh, I say, Belt,” whispered Jenkins, “did you hear your father come up?”
“No; I think he must have been standing there, using his glass, when you came.”
“I did think I saw something black. Oh, I say, Belt, your dad is a Tartar.”