"And I don't deserve it."

"Oh, don't you! Well, never mind about that."

"No; never mind about that," said Syd, carelessly. "I say, where are we
going?"

"Don't know. Nobody does. Sealed orders to be opened somewhere. I can
guess where."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; at Barbadoes."

"Is that a nice place?"

"Middling. I like Jamaica better."

"And shall we go there?"

"Wait, and you'll see, like the rest of us."

"But do you think we shall have to fight?"

"If we meet any of the enemy's ships, we shall have to fight or run
away."

"We shall never run away," said Syd, hotly. "My father would never do
that."

Almost as he spoke, the man at the mast-head shouted "Sail ho!" and
there was a commotion aboard. Glasses were levelled, and before long a
second ship was made out; and before long two more appeared, and by the
cut of the sails it was decided that it was a little squadron of the
French.

Syd, to whom all this was wonderfully fresh, was eagerly scanning the
distant sails, which showed up clearly now in the bright sunshine, when
a voice behind him said--

"Of course. How cowardly!"

"What would you do then?" said another familiar voice.

"Face them as a king's ship should."

"One frigate against four--one of which seems to be a two-decker, eh?
Well, I say, the skipper's right to cut and run."

"Cut and run from the presence of the enemy--his father going to flee?"
Syd felt the blood come into his face, as he listened to the rapid
orders that were given, as the ship's course was altered, and in a short
time the _Sirius_ was rushing through the sea at a tremendous rate.

Syd bit his lip, and felt cold with shame and mortification. It seemed
to him that he would not be able to face his messmates down below that
evening; and seizing the opportunity he made his way to where the bo'sun
was standing, silver pipe in hand, ready for the next order that might
come.

"Barney," he whispered, "we're running away."

"Not us, my lad," said the old sailor, gruffly. "Four to one means
having our top gear knocked about our deck, and then boarding. Skipper
knows what he's about, and strikes me he'll 'stonish some o' them
Mounseers afore they know where they are."

"Then, why don't we go and fight them?"

"Good sword-play don't mean going and blunder-headed chopping at a man
like one goes at a tree, but fencing a bit till you get your chance.
We're fencing, lad. What we've got to do is to take or si