“Yes.”
“I know. It’s because you didn’t touch your hat to him the other day,” said another of the boys.
Sydney was going to speak, but he caught sight of Terry lounging towards them, and that made him reticent.
Time glided on, and then came the cry, “Land ho!” with everybody ready to gaze eagerly at the low-looking cloud lying far away on the water where sea and sky met. This cloud gradually assumed the appearance of land, and Sydney gazed wonderingly at the island of Barbadoes, and began to ask himself whether he would be able to get leave to go ashore.
But there was no landing allowed. The stay was too brief, and before long they were sailing away toward the wonderful chain of islands that lie in the intensely blue Caribbean Sea.
Jamaica at last, after a long calm, a name associated in Sydney’s mind with sugar, molasses, and rum. But to the great disappointment of all on board, there was to be no landing; even there the middies having to be content to buy cocoa-nuts, oranges, and sweetmeats off the black women whose boats hovered about the anchored frigate.
There was a sister ship lying here, the Orion, just fresh in from a cruise round the islands, and the two captains were in constant communication, for here it proved to be, and not at Barbadoes, that Captain Belton was to open his sealed orders and learn definitely what were to be his next steps.
What they were to be troubled the midshipmen very little, for there they were at anchor at what seemed to be a paradise—all waving grass, blue mountain, rivulet, and sunshine. An island of beauty set in an amethyst sea.
“And we can’t go ashore,” cried Jenkins. “I’ve a good mind to swim for it.”
“One mouthful for the first shark,” said Roylance.