“What for?” said Terry, with asinine obstinacy.
“I cannot stop to explain why.”
“But I insist, sir. Am I to play the part of coward without having the privilege of knowing why such a distasteful course is to be adopted? I am sure if Mr Dallas knew—”
“Do as you’re told, sir,” cried Syd, warmly. “Not a man is to be seen. Run that gun in, my lads.”
Then, as the order was obeyed, much to Terry’s disgust, Syd said quietly—
“The men are to keep out of sight, so that the French ship may pass on. You understand?”
“Oh, yes: I understand,” sneered Terry, as Syd went away, and then crept up under the shelter of the side of one of the rifts to the flagstaff, where he lay down beside the watch and opened his glass, so that he was able to examine the coming vessel at his ease.
Twenty-eight guns he counted, and as he kept on watching he could even see the movements of the men on deck. All calm and quiet there; the men in knots, the officers seated, or leaning over the side. There could be no doubt about it; the man-of-war was on a peaceable mission, as far as the rock was concerned, and would pass on.
Once or twice Sydney saw an officer glance in his direction, but only to turn away again. But he made no report to any one else, and the frigate sailed on in the hot evening sunshine.
Syd felt his spirits rise. He had proved himself to be no coward, though he shrank from the awful responsibility of giving orders or committing acts which might cause the shedding of blood. The Frenchman was sailing steadily on, and the lad drew his breath more freely, as he said, almost unconsciously, to the man watching by his side—