Syd was hesitating, for he had a painful duty to perform. Had he been the only holder of the knowledge of his messmate’s treachery, he would have held his tongue: but it was known to all on shore, and he told everything.
“Go now,” said the father, “I am too busy to say more. You can stay on board; I will give orders for a fresh party to occupy the rock.”
Syd thought his father might have forgotten the captain a little more at their encounter, and given him a word of praise; but he smothered his feelings, and joined his messmates in the gun-room, for the middies’ quarters were horribly occupied just then by the doctors.
He had stared aghast at the shattered aspect of the deck and rigging, and seen that the French frigate was no better, and then learned that which he was longing to hear.
It was a simple matter; the gale they had felt on the rock had grown into a hurricane outside, and in the midst of it both the Sirius and her consort were cast ashore on one of the coral islands far out of the regular track of ships.
There they had been ever since, till by clever scheming and indefatigable work, Captain Belton had got his frigate off, literally carving a little canal for her from where she lay to the open water. For his consort was a hopeless wreck, and he had the help of a second crew.
As soon as they were clear, Captain Belton made sail for the rock again, to arrive only just in time.
The wreck had given him one advantage, though: he had the crews of both frigates on board, and several extra guns which he had saved.
It was nearly dark when the boat from the shore arrived with the wounded and the remnant of the brave defenders of the rock, and a warm welcome was accorded them; the two little middies, Bolton and Jenkins, who had nearly gone mad over Syd, seeming to complete the process with Roylance, who got away from them as soon as possible to draw Sydney aside.
“Seen him?” he said, in a low tone.