Treachery or only spite, which could it be? Syd felt a sensation of cold running through him as he raised the glass again and watched the frigate, for he felt that perhaps after all he might have been mistaken, and the sailor lying by him too. Terry was an officer and a gentleman. He had a horrible temper; he was as jealous and overweening as could be, but it seemed impossible that he could so degrade himself as to be guilty of an act that was like a betrayal of his brother officers and the men.
But it was no mistake as far as the frigate was concerned. She had rounded to, her sails were beginning to flap, and amidst the scene of bustle on deck a boat was lowered, and the next minute it was seen gliding away from the vessel’s side, filled by a smart crew whose oars seemed to be splashing up golden water as the sun sank and got more round. There were two officers in the stern, and now and then something flashed which looked like weapons, and a second glance showed that they were the swords of the officers and the guns of the marines.
“We are seen, sure enough,” said Syd. “Be ready with the colours, Rogers,” he added aloud. “Hoist them the moment you hear me shout.”
“Ay, ay, sir. But it may only be a bit o’ parley voo, and no fighting arter all.”
“I hope not,” thought Syd, as he hurried down the rift, avoiding Terry’s work, and making straight for the lieutenant’s quarters, where he flinched from telling of Terry’s actions, and contented himself by saying what he had seen.
“Well, Mr Belton,” said the lieutenant, with a slight flush coming into his pale face, “you are a King’s officer in command, but you know the captain’s wishes; and, boy as you are, sir, you must do what we all do under such trying circumstances—act like a man.”
“And—”
Syd ceased speaking, and asked the remainder of his question with his eyes.
“Yes, sir, fire upon them, if necessary. If that boat is from a French man-of-war, her men must not land.”
Syd drew in a long breath, nodded shortly, and was going out without a word.