Syd Belton

Syd Belton
or, The Boy who would not go to Sea
by George Manville Fenn.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE BOY WHO WOULD NOT GO TO SEA.
"Here you, Syd, pass the port."
Sydney Belton took hold of the silver decanter-stand and slid it
carefully along the polished mahogany table towards where Admiral
Belton sat back in his chair.
"Avast!"
The ruddy-faced old gentleman roared out that adjuration in so
thunderous a way that the good-looking boy who was passing the
decanter started and nearly turned it over.
"What's the matter, Tom?" came from the other end of the table, where
Captain Belton, a sturdy-looking, grey-haired gentleman nearly as
ruddy as his brother, was the admiral's vis-a-vis.
"He's passing the decanter without filling his own glass!" cried the
admiral. "Fill up, you young dog, and drink the King's health."
"No, thank you, uncle," said the boy, quietly, "I've had one glass."
"Well, sir, so have I. Don't I tell you I'm going to propose the King's
health?"
"I'll drink it in water, uncle."

"What, sir? Drink the health of his most gracious Majesty in raw water!
Not if I know it."
"But port wine makes my face burn, uncle, and Doctor Liss says--"
"Confound Doctor Liss, sir! Hang Doctor Liss, sir! By George, sir, if I
were in active service again, and your Doctor Liss were in my squadron,
I'd have him triced up and give him twelve dozen, sir."
"No, you wouldn't, uncle," said the boy, cracking a walnut, and
glancing at his father, who was watching him furtively.
"What, sir? I wouldn't? Look here, brother Harry, Liss is corrupting this
boy's mind."
"I don't know about corrupting, Tom," said the captain, smiling, "but he
certainly does seem to be putting some queer things into his head."
"So it seems. Teaches him to drink the King's health in water."
"No, he didn't, uncle," said the boy, cracking another walnut.
"Yes, he did, sir. How dare you contradict me! Confound you, sir, if I
had you aboard ship I'd mast-head you."
"No, you wouldn't, uncle," said the boy, dipping a piece of
freshly-peeled walnut in the salt and crunching it between his teeth.
"What, sir?"
"I say you would not," replied the boy.
"And pray why, you young dog?"
"Because you'd know father wouldn't like it."
Captain Belton laughed and sipped his port, and the admiral blew out
his cheeks.

"Look here, brother Harry," he cried; "is this my nephew Sydney, or
some confounded young son of a sea-lawyer?"
"Oh, it's Syd, sure enough," said the captain.
"Then he's grown into an insolent, pragmatical young cock-a-hoop
upstart; and hang it, I should like to spread-eagle him till he came to his
senses."
The boy, who was peeling a scrap of walnut, gave his uncle a sidelong
look and laughed.
"Ah, I would, sir, and no mistake," cried the admiral, fiercely. "Harry,
you don't half preserve discipline in the ship. Here, Syd, it's time you
were off to sea."
The boy took another walnut and crushed it, conscious of the fact that
his father was watching him intently.
"I don't want to go to sea, uncle," said the boy at last, as he picked off
the scraps of broken shell from his walnut.
"What?" roared the admiral. "Here you, sir, say that again."
"I don't want to go to sea, uncle."
"You--don't--want--to go--to sea, sir?"
"No, uncle."
"Well, I am stunned," said the old gentleman, rapidly pouring out and
tossing off a glass of port. "Brother Harry, what have you to say to
this?"
"That it is all nonsense. The boy does not know his own mind."
"Of course not," cried the admiral, turning sharply upon Sydney, who
went on picking the skin from his walnut. "Do you know, sir, that your
family have been sailors as far back as the days of Elizabeth."

"Yes, uncle," said the boy, coolly. "I've often heard you say so."
"And that it is your duty, as the last representative of the family, to
maintain its honour, sir?"
"No, uncle."
"What, sir?" cried the old man, fiercely.
"I'm not fit to be a sailor," continued the boy, quietly enough.
"And pray, why not, Sydney?" said Captain Belton, frowning.
"Because I'm such a coward, father."
"A Belton!" groaned the admiral, "and says he is a coward."
"A boy to be a sailor ought to be fond of the sea."
"Of course, sir," said the captain.
"And I hate it."
"And pray why?" said the admiral, fiercely.
"Because it's so salt," said Syd, busy helping himself to some more of
the condiment he had named.
"Salt?" cried the admiral. "Of course it is, and so it ought to be.
Nonsense! He's laughing at us, Harry--a dog."
"No, I'm not, uncle; I'm not fit to be a sailor."
"Then, pray, what are you