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} - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>NAVAL OCCASIONS</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="46730" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Naval Occasions and Some Traits of the Sailor-man" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Naval Occasions" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1916" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2014-08-29" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Bartimeus" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="Naval Occasions and Some Traits of the Sailor-man" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/naval/naval.rst" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" content="en" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" content="2014-08-29T20:34:35.668442+00:00" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46730" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="Bartimeus" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" content="2014-08-29" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a2 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="naval-occasions"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">NAVAL OCCASIONS</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Naval Occasions -<br /> and Some Traits of the Sailor-man -<br /> -<br />Author: Bartimeus -<br /> -<br />Release Date: August 29, 2014 [EBook #46730] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>NAVAL OCCASIONS</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="xx-large">Naval Occasions</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">and</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="x-large">Some Traits of the Sailor-man</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">"BARTIMEUS"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<!-- class noindent small --> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>"... Relating to ... the Navy, whereon, under -<br />the good Providence of God, the wealth, safety, and -<br />strength of the kingdom chiefly depend."—</span><em class="italics">Articles of War</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- class noindent small --> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>"... A safeguard unto our most gracious Sovereign -<br />Lord ... and his Dominions, and a security for such -<br />as pass on the seas upon their lawful occasions."—</span><em class="italics">The -<br />Book of Common Prayer</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">FOURTEENTH IMPRESSION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">William Blackwood and Sons -<br />Edinburgh and London -<br />1916</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">TO -<br />MY MOTHER</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">PREFACE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I reckon that's proper 'New Navy,'" -said the coxswain of a duty cutter to the -midshipman perched on the "dickey" seat -beside him in the stern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was 6 A.M.: the boat was returning -from the early morning beef trip, and the -midshipman in charge of her had seen fit -to discuss with his coxswain the subject -which at most hours, and particularly at -this one, lay nearest to his heart—the -subject of Food.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Proper 'New Navy,'" repeated the -petty officer with contempt. He referred -to the recent introduction of marmalade -into his scale of rations. He spoke bitterly, -yet his quarrel was not with the marmalade, -which, in its way, was all that -marmalade should have been. His regret -was for the "dear dead days" before -marmalade was thought of on the Lower-deck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was ten years ago, but fondness for -the ancient order of things is still a feature -of this Navy of ours. There was never a -ship like our last ship: no commission like -the one before this one. Gipsies all: yet we -would fain linger a little by the ashes of -our camp-fire while the caravans move on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The most indifferent observer of naval -affairs during the last decade will admit -that it has been one of immense transition. -Changes, more momentous even than this -business of the marmalade, have followed -in the wake of a great wave of progress. -"Up and onward" is the accepted order, -but at the bottom of the Sailor-man's -conservative heart a certain reluctance still -remains. The talk of smoking-room and -forecastle concerns the doings of -yesterday; the ties that link us in a "common -brotherhood" were for the most part forged -in the "Old" Navy, so fast yielding place -to new.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In 'Naval Occasions' the Author has -strung together a few sketches of naval -life afloat in the past ten years. They -relate to ships mainly of the "pre-Dreadnought" -era, and officers (those of the -Military branch at least) who owe their -early training to the old </span><em class="italics">Britannia</em><span>. At -the same time, for all the outward changes, -the inner work-a-day life of the Fleet -remains unaltered. With this, and not in -criticism of things old or new, these Sketches -are concerned. Pathos and humour continue -to rub elbows on either side of us much as -they always have, and there still remains -more to laugh about than sigh over when -the day's work is done.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>DEVONPORT, 1914</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">NOTE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>With the exception of "A Committee of Supply," -"That which Remained," "A Galley's Day," "C/o -G.P.O.," "Watch there, Watch!" "A One-Gun -Salute," "The Greater Love," "A Picturesque -Ceremony," and "Why the Gunner went Ashore," the -following Naval Sketches were published originally -in 'The Pall Mall Gazette.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The first three exceptions appeared in 'The -Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News,' 'The Magpie,' -and 'The Naval and Military Record' respectively. -The remainder have not before appeared in print.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Author's best thanks are due to the Editors -of the above Journal and Periodicals for their ready -permission to reproduce these Sketches.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#d-s-b">"D. S. B."</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#captain-s-defaulters">CAPTAIN'S DEFAULTERS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-galley-s-day">A GALLEY'S DAY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#noel">"NOEL!"</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-argonauts">THE ARGONAUTS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-gunroom-smoking-circle">A GUNROOM SMOKING CIRCLE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-ship-visitors">THE SHIP-VISITORS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-legion-on-the-wall">THE LEGION ON THE WALL</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-tithe-of-admiralty">A TITHE OF ADMIRALTY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-chosen-four">THE CHOSEN FOUR</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-committee-of-supply">A COMMITTEE OF SUPPLY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#that-which-remained">THAT WHICH REMAINED</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-tizzy-snatcher">THE TIZZY-SNATCHER</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#c-o-g-p-o">"C/O G.P.O."</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-look-see">THE "LOOK-SEE"</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#watch-there-watch">"WATCH THERE, WATCH!"</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#farewell-and-adieu">"FAREWELL AND ADIEU!"</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-seventh-day">THE SEVENTH DAY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-parricide">THE PARRICIDE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-night-watches">THE NIGHT-WATCHES</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-one-gun-salute">A ONE-GUN SALUTE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#concerning-the-sailor-man">CONCERNING THE SAILOR-MAN</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-greater-love">THE GREATER LOVE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-picturesque-ceremony">"A PICTURESQUE CEREMONY"</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#why-the-gunner-went-ashore">WHY THE GUNNER WENT ASHORE</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="d-s-b"><span class="bold x-large">NAVAL OCCASIONS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"D. S. B."[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Duty Steam Boat.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"The songs of Greece, the pomp of Rome,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Were clean forgot at seventeen.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Oh Lord! At seventeen!"</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—G. STEWART BOWLES.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Midshipman of the Second Picket Boat—that -is to say, the boat with the bell-mouthed -funnel of burnished brass and vermilion paint -inside her cowls—was standing under the -electric light at the battery door reading the -Commander's night order-book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Second Picket Boat to have steam by -5 A.M., and will perform duties of D.S.B. for -the Second Division." He closed the book -and stood meditatively looking out into the -darkness beyond the quarter-deck rails. It -was blowing fitfully, gusts of wind shaking -the awning in a manner that threatened dirty -weather on the morrow. "Why the deuce -couldn't the other Picket boat...? But -she hadn't got a brass funnel—only a skimpy -painted affair. Decidedly it was the fatal -beauty of his boat that had influenced -the Commander's decision. Still..." He -yawned drearily, and opening the deck log, -ran his finger down the barometer readings. -"Glass low—beastly low—and steady. Wind -4-5, o.c.q.r. H'm'm." The cryptic -quotations did not appear to add joy to the -outlook. Ten o'clock had struck, and forward -in the waist the boatswain's mate was "piping -down," the shrill cadence of his pipe floating -aft on the wind. Sorrowfully the Midshipman -descended to the steerage flat, and crouching -beneath the hammocks that hung from the -overhead beams, reached his chest and -noiselessly undressed,—noiselessly, because the -sleeping occupant of the adjacent hammock -had the morning watch, and was prone to -be unreasonable when accidentally awakened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In rather less than a minute he had -undressed and donned his pyjamas; then, -delving amid the mysterious contents of his -sea-chest, produced a pair of sea-boots, an -oilskin and sou'wester and a sweater. He -made his preparations mechanically, propping -the sea-boots where they would be handiest -when he turned out. Lastly, he hung his -cap over a police-light, because he knew from -experience that the light caught his eyes -when he was in his hammock, locked his -chest, and, choosing a spot where two -mess-mates (who were scuffling for the possession -of a hammock-stretcher) would not fall over -his feet, he unconcernedly knelt down and -said his prayers. The corporal of the watch -passed on his rounds: the sentry clicked to -attention an instant, and resumed his beat: -above his head the ward-room door opened -to admit a new-comer, and the jangle of a -piano drifted down the hatchway; then the -door closed again, shutting out the sound, -and the kneeling figure, in rather dilapidated -pyjamas, rose to his feet. Steadying himself -by a ringbolt overhead, he swung lightly into -his hammock and wriggled down between the -blankets. From the other side of the flat -came a voice—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Freckles, you're D.S.B. to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Midshipman of the Second Picket Boat -grunted in reply and pulled the blanket close -under his chin. Presently the voice sounded -again—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Freckles, dear, aren't you glad you sold -your little farm and came to sea?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he who had sold a farm only snuggled -his face against the pillow, sighed once, and -was asleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had you seen the sleeper in waking hours, -nursing a cutter close-reefed through a squall, -or handling a launch-load of uproarious -liberty-men, you might, passing by at this moment, -have found food for meditation. For the -vibration of the dynamo a deck below -presently caused the cap to fall from the -police-light it had shielded, and the glare shone -full in a face which (for all the valiant razor -locked away in its owner's chest) was that of -a very tired child.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Orders for the Picket Boat, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Officer of the Morning Watch, who -was staring through his binoculars into the -darkness, turned and glanced at the small -figure muffled in oilskins at his side. Many -people would have smiled in something -between amusement and compassion at the -earnest tone of inquiry. But this is a trade -in which men get out of the way of smiling -at 5 A.M.—besides, he'd been through it all -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flagship's signalled some empty -coal-lighters broken adrift up to windward—cruisin' -independently. Go an' round 'em -up before they drift down on the Fleet. -Better man your boat from the boom and -shove straight off. Smack it about!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The small figure in oilskins—who, as a -matter of fact, was none other than the -Midshipman of the Second Picket Boat, brass -funnel, vermilion-painted cowls and -all—turned and scampered forward. It was pitch -dark, and the wind that swept in rainy gusts -along the battery caught the flaps of his -oilskins and buffeted the sleep out of him. -Overside the lights of the Fleet blinked in -an indeterminate confusion through the rain, -and for an instant a feeling of utter schoolboy -woe, of longing for the security of his snug -hammock, filled his being. Then the short -years of his training told. Somewhere ahead, -in that welter of rain and darkness, there was -work to be done—to be accomplished, -moreover, swiftly and well. It was an order.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stumbling on to the forecastle, he slipped -a life-belt over his shoulders, climbed the rail, -and descended the ship's side by a steel -ladder, until he reached the lower boom. It -jutted out into the darkness, a round, -dimly-discerned spar, and secured to it by a -boat-rope at the farthest point of his vision, he -saw his boat. The circular funnel-mouth -ringed a smoky glow, and in the green glare -of a side-light one of the bowmen was -reaching for the ladder that hung from the boom. -Very cautiously he felt his way out along it -steadied by a man-rope, breast high. Looking -downward, he saw the steamboat fretting like -a dog in leash; the next instant she was -lurching forward on the crest of a wave -and as suddenly dropped away again in a -shower of spray. Releasing his grip with -one hand he slipped astride of the boom, -wriggled on his stomach till his feet touched -rungs of a Jacob's ladder, and so hung -in a few feet above the tumbling water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Arf a mo', sir," said a deep voice behind -him. The boat's bows were plunging just -below ... the ladder tautened with a jerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, sir!" said the voice. He relaxed -his hold and dropped nimbly on to the -triangular space in the bows. As he landed, the -Jacob's ladder shot upwards into the darkness, -as though snatched by an unseen hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Steadying himself by the rail along the -engine-room casing he hurried to the wheel. -A bearded petty officer moved aside as he -came aft. This was his Coxswain, a morose -man about the age of his father, who obeyed -orders like an automaton, and had once -(mellowed by strong waters) been known to -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cast off forward!" The engine-room -bell rang twice, and the Midshipman gave a -quick turn to the wheel. For an instant -the boat plunged as if in uncertainty, then -swung round on the slope of a slate-grey -wave and slid off on her quest. Forward -in the bows the bowmen were crouched, -peering through the rain. Presently one of -them hailed hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Port a bit, sir," supplemented the -Coxswain. "That's them, there!" He pointed -ahead to where indistinct shapes showed -black against the troubled waters. The bell -rang again in the tiny engine-room, and the -Leading Stoker, scenting adventures, threw -up the hatch and thrust a head and hairy -chest into the cold air. His interest in the -proceedings apparently soon waned, however, -for he shut the hatch down again and busied -himself mysteriously—always within reach of -the throttle and reversing-lever—with an -oil-can.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Going very slow, the boat crept alongside -the foremost lighter, a huge derelict that, -when loaded, carried fifty tons of coal. They -had been moored alongside one another to -the wharf, but, rocking in the swell, had -chafed through their moorings and broken -adrift.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now to take in tow an unwieldy lighter -in the dark with a heavy swell running, and -to moor it safely in the spot whence it came, -is a piece of work that requires no small -judgment. However, one by one, the three -truants were captured and secured, and then, -with the grey dawn of a winter morning -breaking overhead, the picket boat swung -round on her return journey. On the way -she passed another boat racing shoreward for -the mails. The Midshipman at the wheel -raised his hand with a little gesture of -salutation, and she went by in a shower of spray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later the Midshipman of the -Second Picket Boat, garbed in the "rig of -the day," was ladling sugar over his porridge -with the abandon of one who is seventeen -and master of his fate. A messenger -appeared at the gunroom door—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Duty Steam Boat's called away, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her Midshipman locked away his pet -marmalade-pot (for there are limits even to the -communism of a gunroom) and reached for -his cap and dirk. "We ain't got much -money," he observed grimly, "but we </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> see -life!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="captain-s-defaulters"><span class="bold large">II.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CAPTAIN'S DEFAULTERS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At the last stroke of six bells in the -Forenoon Watch the Marine bugler drew himself -up stiffly, as one on whom great issues hung, -and raising his bugle sent the imperious -summons echoing along the upper deck. Clattering -forward along the battery he halted at -the break of the forecastle and repeated the -blast; then, shaking the moisture from the -instrument, he wiped his mouth on the back -of his hand and strutted aft. He had -sounded "Captain's Defaulters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An Able Seaman burnishing a search-light -on the boat-deck heard the strident -bugle-call and winced. Hurriedly he replaced his -cleaning rags, and with a moistened forefinger -and thumb adjusted a dank curl that peeped -beneath his cap. He shared the belief, not -uncommon among sailor-men, that the Captain's -judgment at the defaulter-table is duly -swayed by the personal appearance of the -delinquent. Eyeing his inverted reflection -in the big concave mirror, he screwed his -face into an expression of piteous appeal, and, -cap in hand, repeated several times in varying -notes of regretful surprise: "I 'adn't 'ad no -more'n a drop, sir, w'en I come over all -dizzy." The rehearsal concluded, he flung -himself pell-mell down the ladder. On the -way he met a messmate ascending, who -remonstrated in the brusque parlance of the tar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the bloomin' rattle, I am," explained -the disturber of traffic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wha's up, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other made a little upward gesture -with his elbow and gave a laugh of pleasant -retrospection. "'Strewth!" he supplemented. -"Wasn't 'arf blind, neither," implying that -when last ashore he had looked upon the -cup when it was very ruddy indeed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the screen door to the quarter-deck he -overtook a companion in misfortune </span><em class="italics">en route</em><span> -to "toe pitch." This was a frightened -Second-class Stoker, harried aft by one of -the Ship's Police at the shambling gait -officially recognised as the "steady -double." Together they saluted and stepped on to the -quarter-deck, where, already standing between -his escort, a sullen-eyed deserter, captured -the previous day, scowled into vacancy. The -new-comers took their places in the melancholy -line, stood easy, and commenced to preen -themselves furtively, after the manner of -sailors about to come under the direct eye -of authority. Then the Captain's Clerk -arrived with a bundle of papers in his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All ready, Master-at-Arms?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All ready, sir." The iron-visaged Chief -of Police saluted and went to report to the -Commander. The Commander ran his eye -over the defaulter-sheet and, entering the -Captain's cabin, disappeared from view. For -a minute a hush settled over the group as -silently they awaited the coming of the man -who, to them, represented all that was -Omnipotent upon earth. The breeze led the -shadow of the White Ensign a fantastic dance -across the spotless planking, and rustled the -papers on the baize-covered table. Overhead -a gull soared, screaming at intervals, and then -swooped suddenly to the water. The owner -of the cherished curl, who was what is -technically known in the Service as a "bird," -sucked his teeth thoughtfully and speculated -as to the probable extent of his punishment. -The Second-class Stoker fallen-in beside him, -who had broken his leave twenty-four hours, -and apparently expected to be executed, -suddenly sniffled and was reproved in an -undertone by the Master-at-Arms. "'</span><em class="italics">Old</em><span> yer -row!" said that dignitary. Then, raising his -voice, he shouted, "'Faulters, 'Shun!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain's Clerk, who had been -abstractedly watching the sea-gull's antics and -thinking about trout-fishing, came to earth -with a start: the waiting group stiffened to -attention and saluted. The Captain walked -to the table and picked up the charge-sheet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'"Erbert 'Awkins!" snapped the Master-at-Arms. -"Off cap. Absenover leave twenty-four hours, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Second-class Stoker stepped forward; -it was his first offence in the Service, and -the Adam's-apple in his throat worked like -a piston. Suddenly recollecting, he snatched -off his cap and stood, moistening dry lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long has this man been in the Service?" -asked the Captain, grave eyes on the -delinquent's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four months, sir," replied his Clerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then to the culprit: "Why did you break -your leave?" The lad shook his head in -obstinate silence. As a matter of fact, he -had broken it because a glib-tongued slut -ashore kept him too drunk to return till he -was penniless. But what was the use of -telling all that to a Being with four gold -rings on his sleeve, and grey eyes like -gimlets in the shadow of the cap-peak. He -wouldn't understand how desperately bad -the liquor had been, and the way the -women talked...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you break your leave?" The -voice was neither harsh nor impatient. Its -tone merely implied that the speaker not only -wanted an answer but meant to have one. -Rather a kind voice for a Captain. Queer -little wrinkles he had round the corners of -his mouth and eyes ... made a bloke look -wise-like ... as though after all ... -Lord! How his head ached.... Steady -eyes those were...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's like this 'ere, sir——" The gates of -sulky reserve opened suddenly and without -warning: in a flood of words came the sorry -explanation, sordid, incoherent, clothed in -half-learned </span><em class="italics">patois</em><span> of the lower deck. But -the figure in the gold-peaked cap seemed to -accept it, such as it was, for presently he -nodded dismissal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cautioned," he said curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a click of the heels, the escort and -their prisoner wheeled before the table. The -Commander made a brief report, and the -Captain scanned a few papers. The charge -was desertion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything to say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you desert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm fed up with the Navy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain's eyes grew stern, and he -nodded as one who comprehends. There -had been moments in his own career when -he too had been "fed up with the Navy." But -life holds other things than obedience -to inclinations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now this deserter represented a type that -is to be met with in both Services, these days -of "piping peace." Recruited from the slums -of a great city, bone-lazy and vicious as a -weasel, small wonder he found a life wherein -men worked hard and cleanly little to his -taste. The immaculate cleanliness and -clock-work regularity around him were bad enough, -but far worse was the discipline. It -astonished him at first; then, half-awed, he -hated it with all the sullen savagery of his -warped nature. The so-called Socialism of -black-garbed orators, idly listened to on -Sunday afternoons in bygone days, had hinted -at such possibilities—but here he met it face -to face at every turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a while—a very little while—he defied -it, as he had defied impassive policemen in -guttersnipe days, with shrill, meaningless -obscenities. Then he strove to elude it, and -was clouted grievously by O'Leary, the -brawny Chief Stoker, in that he had skulked -from his lawfully appointed task. He had -meant to drop a fire-bar on O'Leary's head -for that, but hadn't the courage requisite for -murder. Because of his dirty habits and -an innate habit for acquiring other men's gear, -he was not beloved of his messmates; and to -be unpopular on the mess-deck of a man-of-war -means that the sooner you seek another -walk of life the better. He strove to seek it, -accordingly, burrowing back into the teeming -slum-life of yore, until one night, in the -flare of a hawker's barrow, a policeman's hand -closed upon his collar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... I think there's time. I believe we'll -make a man of you yet. I'll deal with -you by warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The escort swung him on his heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain glanced again at the charge-sheet -and thence to the third culprit before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were drunk on leave?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the Officer of the Patrol and the -Officer of the Watch and the Surgeon all say -you were drunk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "bird" sighed deeply. "I 'adn't 'ad -no more'n a drop, sir——" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Deprived of one day's pay," interrupted -the Captain; "and get your hair cut."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Air cut—forfeit one day's pay," echoed -the Master-at-Arms. "</span><em class="italics">Hon</em><span> cap; 'bout turn, -quick march!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The day passed as most days do in harbour. -In the afternoon the Captain played a game -of golf, and in the evening dined with a -brother Captain. During the meal they -discussed submarine signalling and a new -putter. The Commander, who contemplated -matrimony, was in a conservatory conducting -himself in a manner calculated to reduce his -ship's company—had they been present—to -babbling delirium. In the twilight, the -Captain's Clerk, with rod and fly-book, -meandered beside a stream twenty miles -away. The Master-at-Arms, who had a taste -for melodrama, witnessed from a plush-lined -box "The Body-Snatcher's Revenge" in the -company of Mrs and Miss Master-at-Arms and -a quart of stout. On board, in the foremost -cell, sat a recovered deserter under sentence -of ninety days' detention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gawd!" he whined—and in his voice was -an exceeding bitterness—"Wotcher want to -'ate me for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now these things were happening at about -the same time, so you see the drift of his -argument with his Maker.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-galley-s-day"><span class="bold large">III.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A GALLEY'S DAY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Boom! On board the Flagship a puff of -smoke rose and dissolved in the breeze; the -cluster of whalers and gigs that had been -hovering about the starting-line sped away -before the wind. The bay to windward -resembled the shallows near the nesting-ground -of white-winged gulls as the remaining gigs, -whalers, and cutters zigzagged tentatively -to and fro, and a couple of belated 25-feet -whalers, caught napping, went tearing down -among them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The launches and pinnaces do not start for -another hour, and are for the most part still -at the booms of their respective ships. There -are three more classes before us, and it only -remains to keep out of the way and an eye on the -stop-watch. The breeze is freshening, and it -looks like a "Galley's day." A 32-feet cutter -(handiest and sweetest of all Service boats to -sail) goes skimming past on a trial run. Her -gilded badge gleams in the spray, and there is -a sheen of brasswork and enamel about her -that proclaims the pampered darling of a ship. -The Midshipman at the helm—to show a mere -galley what he can do—chooses a squall in -which he put her about; she spins round like -a top, and is off on her new tack in the -twinkling of an eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Casey, Petty Officer and Captain's -Coxswain, is busy forward with the awning and -an additional halliard rove through a block at -the foremast head. This, steadied by the -boat-hook, will serve us as a spinnaker during -the three-mile run down-wind; and, in a -Service rig race, is the only additional fitting -allowed beyond what is defined as "the rig -the boat uses on service, made of service -canvas by service labour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only half a minute now.... Check away -the sheets. Spinnaker halliards in hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boom! We are off! Hoist spinnaker!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As we cross the line the 32-ft. cutter and a -couple of gigs slip over abreast of us; astern -a host of white sails come bellying in our -wake; up to windward the pinnaces and -launches are manoeuvring for positions. The -cutter has "goose-winged" her dipping-lug -and is running dead before the wind. In a -narrow boat like a galley this is dangerous -and does not pay. Luffing a little, we get the -wind on our quarter, and the gigs follow suit. -Presently the cutter gybes and loses ground; -the gigs, too, have dropped astern a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our galley's crew settle down in the bottom -of the boat, and producing pipes and cigarettes -from inside their caps, speculate on the -chances of the day. Far ahead the smaller -fry are negotiating the mark-buoy. Imperceptibly -the breeze freshens, till the wind is -whipping a wet smoke off the tops of the -waves. Casey, tending the main-sheet, removes -his pipe and spits overside. "I reckons we'll -want our weather-boards before we'm done, -sir," he prophesies. We have shown the rest -of our class a clean pair of heels by now, and -are fast overhauling the whalers. At last the -mark-buoy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Down spinnaker!" and round we go, close -hauled. Now the work starts. A white -squall tearing down the bay blinds us with -spray and fine desert sand. The water pours -over the gunwale as we luff and luff again. -There's nothing for it: we must reef, and -while we do so, round come the remainder, -some reefed and labouring, others lying up in -the wind with flapping sails. A nasty short -sea has set in, and at the snub of each wave, -the galley, for all the careful nursing she -receives, quivers like a sensitive being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She can't abear that reef in her foresail," -says Casey; "it do make her that sluggish." As -he spoke, our rival, the 32-ft. cutter, went -thrashing past under full sail, her crew -crouched to windward. It was going to be -neck or nothing with them. Then, by James—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Got anything to bail with, forward there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir!" replied seven voices as one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand-by to shake out that reef!" We -luffed for a second while two gigs and a -pinnace crept up on our quarter, and then off -we went in the seething wake of the cutter. -Even Casey's big toe curled convulsively as he -braced himself against the thwart and spat on -his hands to get a fresh grip on the main-sheet. -The spray hissed over us like rain, and, under -cover of his oilskin, I believe No. 5, perched -on the weather gunwale, was sorrowfully -unlacing his boots.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it don't get no worse," says Casey, -"we'll do all right." With his bull-dog chin -above the gunwale he commenced a running -commentary on the proceedings. "... 'Strewth! -There's 'is foremast gorn!" He -gazed astern enraptured. "Commander's -weather-shroud carried away, sir, an' 'im -a-drifting 'elpless.... Them whalers is bailin' -like loo-natics—" he gave a hoarse chuckle, -"like proper loo-natics, sir.... That there -launch precious near fouled the mark-buoy.... -'E'll run down that gig if 'e don't watch -it. Their owner sailing 'er too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the squalls died away and the breeze -steadied. I could hear the surge of a launch -as she came crashing along on our quarter, -but once round the second mark-buoy and -on the port tack no one could touch us—at -least so Casey vowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, the half-drowned bowman gave -the first sign of animation that he had -displayed since the green seas began to break -over him. "She's missed stays," he -announced with gruff relish, peering under -the lip of the foresail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Oo? Not that cutter...?" Casey so -far forgot himself as to squirt tobacco juice -into the sacred bottom of his own boat. -"Yessir, an' so help me," he added in -confirmation, "she's in Hirons!"[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A boat is said to be "in irons" when she lies -dead head-to-wind and cannot pay off on either tack.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The next minute we passed to windward -of our rival, as with flapping sheets and -reversed helm she drifted slowly astern. -Her Midshipman avoided our eyes as we -passed, but his expression of incredulous -exasperation I have seen matched only on -the face of one whose loved and trusted -hunter has refused a familiar jump. Above -the noise of the wind and waves I heard -his angry wail—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O-o-oh! Isn't she a cow!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind held fair and true, and, as Casey -prophesied, it proved a Galley's day after all. -A launch and two pinnaces raced us for the -Flagship's ram, and our rudder missed the -cable by inches as we wore to bring us on -to the finishing line. Even then the launch -nearly had it; but I think that the -observations exchanged, as we slipped round side -by side (</span><em class="italics">sotto voce</em><span> and perfectly audible to -every one in both boats), between Casey -and the launch's Coxswain, did much to spoil -the nerve of the First Lieutenant who was -sailing her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Much of that day I have forgotten. But -the sheen of white sails sprinkled along the -triangular nine-mile course, the grey hulls -of the Fleet against the blue of sea and -sky, the tremor of the boat's frame as -the water raced hissing past her clinker-built -sides, the bucket and shrug, the -lurch and reel and plunge as she fought -her way to windward,—all these things have -combined to make a blur of infinitely pleasant -memories.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Casey gave a sigh of contentment and -handed back an empty glass through the -pantry door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir," he said, "I reckon that was -a proper caper!" Then, as if realising -that his summing up of the race required -adequate embellishment, and less formal -surroundings in which to do the occasion -justice, he wiped his mouth on the back of -a huge paw and moved forward out of sight -along the mess-deck.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="noel"><span class="bold large">IV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"NOEL!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"'Arf-pas' seven, sir!" A private of Marines -rapped heavy knuckles against the chest of -drawers, and, seeing the occupant of the -bunk stir slightly, withdrew from the cabin. -For a little while longer the figure under -the blankets lay motionless; then a tousled -head appeared, followed by shoulders and arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gr-r-r!" said their owner. He blinked -at the electric light a moment, then reached -out a lean, tatooed arm for his tea. He -drank it thoughtfully, and, lighting a -cigarette, lay back again. His gaze -travelled from the rack overhead that -contained his gun and golf-clubs, down over -the chest of drawers with its freight of -battered silver cups, photographs, and Japanese -curios, to the deck where a can of hot -water steamed beside the shallow bath; -finally it lit on the chair, on the back of -which hung his frock-coat. Why had his -servant put out his frock-coat? Was it Sunday? -For a while he considered the problem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he remembered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a grunt he hoisted himself on to -one elbow and looked out of the scuttle into -the gloom. It was snowing, and the -reflected lights of the ships blinked at him -across the water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh Lord!" he ejaculated, and buried -himself anew among the blankets. Twenty -minutes later, as he was sitting in his -bath, the curtain across the door was -unceremoniously jerked aside and a ruddy face -appeared in the opening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No-o-el-l-l! N-o-el!" chanted the apparition. -A sponge full of water cut the caroller -short, and the sounds of strife and expostulation -drifting from adjacent cabins marked -the trail of Yuletide greetings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the Wardroom the fire was smoking -fitfully, each outpour being regarded with -philosophic resignation by the Marine -duty-servant. Him the First Lieutenant, -entering at that moment, drove wrathfully on -deck. "Go up an' trim the cowl to the -wind: don't stand there trying to mesmerise -the infernal thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One by one the members of the Mess -struggled in and seated themselves in gloomy -silence. There were many gaps in the long -row of chairs, for every one "spared by the -exigencies of the Service" was on leave, the -heads of departments being represented by -their juniors, and a couple of Watch-keeping -Lieutenants completing the complement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Young Doctor alone preserved a -cheerful mien. "Boy, you're as yellow as a -guinea!" was his greeting to the Junior -Watch-keeper (recently a sojourner on the -West Coast, with a constitution to match). -"How's the fever?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper ascribed to the -malady a quality hitherto unrecognised by -the most advanced medical science, and -scanned the </span><em class="italics">menu</em><span> indifferently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The belated arrival of the postman as the -table was being cleared did much to brighten -matters. A rustling silence, interspersed by -an occasional chuckle (hurriedly repressed), -presently gave way to general conversation. -Pipes were lit, and the fire coaxed into a -more urbane frame of mind. The Junior -Watch-keeper was seen to transfer stealthily -from a letter to his pocket something that -crackled crisply. The Young Doctor and -the Assistant Paymaster (hereinafter known -as the A.P.) sat complacently on his chest -while they explored his pockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me—it's years since I touched a -fiver.... </span><em class="italics">And</em><span> a dun from Ikey—well, -I'm blessed! </span><em class="italics">And</em><span> a Christmas card from -Aunt Selina to dear Gussie—oh, Gussie, -look at the pretty angels! He hides it in -his pocket——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He stands fizz all round at seven bells," -announced the First Lieutenant in a calm, -judicial voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper didn't stand it, but -fizz all round there was. The First Lieutenant -read prayers on the snow-powdered -quarterdeck, and then, following the immemorial -custom of the Service, the Wardroom made -a tour of the garland-hung mess-deck, -halting at each mess to exchange the compliments -of the season and to sample the plum-duff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Properly observed, this ritual would put -the normal stomach out of action for the -remainder of the day. But there are -discreet methods of sampling. The Day-on -flopped exhaustedly on to a Wardroom -settee, and proceeded to empty his cap of -lumps of "figgy-duff," cigarettes, and -walnuts. "Bless their hearts," he murmured, -"I love them and I love their figgy-duff, -but there are limits—here, Jess!" He -whistled gently, and a fox-terrier asleep by -the fire rose and delicately accepted the -tribute. "Number One," continued the -speaker, "you looked quite coy when they -cheered you, going rounds just now." Then -raising his voice he sang—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"For he's a jolly good fe-ello-o-O!"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The First Lieutenant's grave face relaxed. -"Less of it, young fellow," he replied, smiling. -He had lost a wife and child as a young -lieutenant, and something of his life's tragedy -still lingered in the level grey eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then followed the popping of corks and -the tinkle of glass. Even the fever-stricken -one brightened. "Now then," he shouted -truculently to the Young Doctor, "I don't mind -if you do wish me a happy Christmas, you -benighted body-snatcher." But the Surgeon -was opening the piano, and as he fingered the -opening bars of "Good King Wenceslas," some -one turned and smote the fire into a blaze.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The short day was fading into dusk, and -the Mess sat eyeing one another sorrowfully -over the tea-table. You can't drink -champagne, sing "Good King Wenceslas," and -beat the fire all day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What price being at home now?" said -the Engineer-Lieutenant, gloomily buttering -a piece of bread and smearing it with treacle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and charades, and kids, and -snapdragon," added the A.P. He mused awhile -reminiscently. "Christmas is rotten without -kids to buck things up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Day-on looked up from a book. -"You're right. I don't feel as if it were -Christmas day—except for my head," he -added reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The First Lieutenant entered, holding a -note in his hand. "Look here, the Skipper -wants us to have him and his missus to -supper. He'll motor in, and"—he referred -again to the note—"he's bringing the four -youngsters—and a Christmas-tree. Wants -to know if we can put up a turn for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the annals of the Service had such a -thing ever happened before? The Mess -stared wild-eyed at one another. "Crackers," -gasped the Day-on, visions of childhood -fleeting through his mind. "Santa Claus!" -murmured the Young Doctor, already mentally -reviewing his store of cotton-wool. "Holly -and mistletoe," supplemented the Engineer-Lieutenant, -eyeing the bare walls of the Mess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was much to be done, but they did -it somehow. The A.P. sallied forth and stole -crackers from a Mission schoolroom. The -First Lieutenant and Young Doctor between -them fashioned a wondrous wig and beard for -Santa Claus. The Junior Watch-keeper is -rumoured to have uprooted (under cover of -darkness) an entire holly bush from the -Admiral Superintendent's garden, and their -guests arrived to find the Mess transformed. -No sooner was supper over than the First -Lieutenant vanished, and they entered the -smoking-room to find a genuine Santa Claus, -with snowy beard and gruff voice, dispensing -gifts from the magic tree. There were -miraculous presents for all: Zeiss binoculars -for one (had he not been bemoaning the -want of a pair on the bridge a fortnight -before?): a wrist-watch for another (it -replaced one smashed while working targets -not long ago), a fountain-pen for another, a -cigarette-holder for a fourth, whose -tobacco-stained fingers had long been a subject of -reproach from his Captain's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when the tree was denuded at -last, what an ambush for lurking dragons! -They were slain ultimately with a -sword-scabbard by a flushed Knight astride the -champing Junior Watch-keeper. It figured -further in the tiger-shoot conducted from the -howdah of an elephant—a noble beast in -whose identity no one would have recognised -the grey-painted canvas cover of a 3-pdr. gun, -much less the Engineer-Lieutenant inside it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the matter of that, had you seen the -tiger who died, roaring terribly almost within -reach of its tethered quarry (Jess, the bored -and disgusted terrier), you would never have -known the A.P.—especially as he had broken -his glasses in the throes of realistic dissolution.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When it was all over, the "Skipper's -Missus" sat down at the piano, and together -they sang the old, memory-haunted Christmas -hymns, the woman's contralto and children's -trebles blending with the voices of men who -at heart were ever children themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The First Lieutenant didn't sing. The fire -needed so much attending to.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-argonauts"><span class="bold large">V.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE ARGONAUTS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"... Lest perchance them grow weary</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In the uttermost parts of the Sea,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Pray for leave, for the good of the Service,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>As much and as oft as may be."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>—</span><em class="italics">The Laws of the Navy</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Life on board a man-of-war in the tropics, -especially Gunroom life, is attended by -discomforts peculiarly its own. To begin with, -a trip at sea heats the ship like a steel-walled -Inferno, and on reaching harbour she swings -at her anchor, bows-on to what breeze there -may be; the chances of getting a cool draught -through scuttles and gun-ports are thus -reduced to a minimum. There is, furthermore, -an Affliction known as "prickly heat," beside -which chastisement with scorpions is futile -and ineffectual; moreover, you must meet -the same faces day after day, month after -month, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, till -Junior Officers of His Majesty's Navy have -been known to revile one another over each -other's style of masticating food. From these -conditions of life spring, indeed, a candid and -illuminating intimacy; but they are also at -times responsible for a weariness of the soul -that passes utterly all boredom.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The trouble began in the bathroom, an -apartment 12 feet long by 8 feet broad, and -occupied at the time by six people in various -stages of their ablutions. It concerned the -ownership of a piece of soap, which may seem -a trivial enough matter—as indeed it was; -but when you have lain sweating under the -awnings all through a breathless night, when, -having watched another aching dawn creep -over the sea, you descend to splash sulkily -in three inches of lukewarm water, the -tired brain lacks a fine sense of the -proportion of things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It finished as suddenly as it flared up, and -both combatants realised the childishness of -it all ere the blood had time to dry on their -damaged knuckles. But beyond a peevish -request that they should not hold their -dripping noses over the basins, no one present -appeared interested or dismayed—which was -a very bad sign indeed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Senior Midshipman burst into the -Gunroom with a whoop of joy and flung the -leave-book on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he say?" chorussed the inmates -anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Said we could take the third cutter, an' -go to Blazes in her," replied the delegate -breathlessly, grovelling under the table for -his gun-case. "We can clear out till Sunday -night, an' if there's a scratch on the -new paint when we come back"—the flushed -face appeared for an instant—"we'll all be -crucified!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whereupon ensued swift and awful pandemonium. -Three blissful days of untrammelled -freedom ashore, in which to eat, bathe, and -sleep at will! The Mess rose with one accord -and blessed the name of the Commander in -ornate phraseology of the Sea. Four -navigating experts flung themselves upon a -large-scale Admiralty Chart: guns and cartridges -appeared as if by magic. A self-appointed -Committee of Supply, wrangling amicably, -invaded the pantry; blankets were hurriedly -dragged from the hammock-nettings, while -willing hands lowered the cutter from her -davits. In crises such as these there is no -need to detail workers for any particular -duty. Each one realises his own particular -metier and is a law unto himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hoist foresail!" The boat sheered off -lazily from the gangway, and the bowmen -tugged and strained at the halliards. "Set -mainsail!" A light breeze whispered in from -the open sea, and the rippled water clucked -and gurgled along the clinker-built sides. -Perched on a bundle of rugs in the stern sat -the Coxswain, one hand on the tiller, the other -shading his eyes from the afternoon sun. The -remainder of the crew disposed themselves in -more or less inelegant attitudes of ease in the -bottom of the boat. She had been rigged and -provisioned in silence—not lightly does one -imperil one's emancipation by making a noise -alongside; but once clear of the ship, the -youth tending the main-sheet lifted up his -voice in song, a babble of spontaneous -nonsense set to a half-remembered tune—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Isn't this a bit of all-right!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Oh, </span><em class="italics">isn't</em><span> this a bit of all-right!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>he chanted joyously, eyes half closed under -the brim of his tilted helmet. Forgotten -the weary monotony of ship routine, with -its watch-keeping and school, squabbling and -recrimination, and the ceaseless adjustment -of the scales of discipline. Forward in the -bows one of the bowmen hove the lead, -chanting imaginary soundings with -ultra-professional intonation: "A-a-and a ha' -five..." Clinging to the weather shroud, -another, a slim, white-clad figure against the -blue of sea and sky, declaimed "The Ancient -Mariner"—or as much of it as he could -remember.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The islands, that half an hour earlier had -been but vague outlines quivering in the -heat-haze, took form and substance. Rock-guarded -inlets crept up to beaches of white sand where -the kelp and drift-wood of ages formed a -barrier at high-water mark, and overhanging -palms threw shadows deep and delectably -mysterious. As the water shoaled, seaweed -stretched purple tentacles upward out of the -gloom, swaying and undulating towards the -swirl beneath the rudder. A half-clad figure -in the bows, trailing naked toes over the -side, shattered the sleepy silence with shouts -that sent the echoes rioting among the -rocks. Overhead a startled gull wheeled -inquisitively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hard a-port! Now, steady as you go!" With -lowered sails and oars rising and -dipping lazily, the boat headed towards an -inlet whose shelving beach promised good -camping-ground. Presently came the order—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Way enough!" The oars clattered down -on to the thwarts, the anchor splashed -overside, and a moment later a dozen figures were -swimming lustily for thrice-blessed terra firma.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tent was pitched and the precious guns -ferried ashore. An intrepid party of -explorers headed off into the jungle in search -of pigeon. Others played desultory Rugby -football in the shallows, chased lizards, rent -the air with song. The long day passed all -too quickly. Swiftly the tropic night swept -in over painted sky and tree-top. Ghost-like -figures came splashing from pools, sliding -down from trees, floating shoreward on -improvised rafts, to gather round the fire -and fizzling frying-pans. Tinned sausages -("Bangers") and bacon, jam, sardines and -bananas, cocoa, beer, and sloe-gin: the -Argonauts guzzled shamelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When it was over and pipes and cigarettes -were lit, some one rose and flung an armful of -dry kelp into the white heart of the fire. It -spluttered angrily and then flared, throwing -an arc of crimson light on the beach, deepening -the obscurity that ringed the seated group.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Argonaut nearest the fire picked up a -pebble and pitched it lazily at a neighbour. -"What about a song, you slacker! Something -with a chorus." The other removed his -pipe from his mouth, wriggled into a sitting -posture and, hugging the corners of his -blanket over his shoulders, started a song. -It was from a comic opera two years old, but -it was the last thing they heard before -leaving England, and the refrain went -ringing across the star-lit bay. The firelight -waned, and a yellow moon crept up out of -the sea, setting a shimmering pathway to -the edge of the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hai-yah!" yawned one. "So sleepy." He -hollowed out the sand beneath his hip-bone, -drew his blanket closer round him, and -was asleep. One by one the singers were -silent, and as the moon, full sail upon the -face of heaven, flooded the islands with -solemn light, the last Argonaut rolled over -and began to snore. The waves lapped -drowsily along the beach; tiny crabs crept -out in scurrying, sidelong rushes to investigate -the disturbers of their peace; the dying -embers of the fire clinked and whispered in -the silence.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Commander, smoking on the after -sponson, smiled as the sound of oars came -faintly across the water. Out of the darkness -drifted the hum of voices, and presently -he heard a clear laugh, mirthful and carefree. -Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he -nodded sagely, as though in answer to an -unspoken question.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-gunroom-smoking-circle"><span class="bold large">VI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A GUNROOM SMOKING CIRCLE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Be it understood that Gunroom Officers do -not usually talk at breakfast. The -right-minded entrench themselves behind -newspapers, and deal in all seriousness and silence -with such fare as it has pleased the Messman -to provide. In harbour, those favoured of the -gods make a great business of opening and -reading letters, pausing between mouthfuls to -smirk in an irritating and unseemly manner. -But it is not until one reaches the marmalade -stage, and the goal of repletion is nigh, that -speech is pardonable, and is then usually -confined to observations on the incompetency of -the cook in the matter of scrambling eggs -and the like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Abreast the screen-door, which opened from -the battery to the quarter-deck, the ship's -side curved suddenly into a semicircular -bastion. It was thus designed to give the -main-deck gun a larger arc of fire, but had -other advantages—affording a glimpse ahead -of splayed-out seas racing aft from the bow, -and in fine weather a sunny space sheltered -from the wind by casemate and superstructure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here, one morning after breakfast, came -the Gunroom Smokers, pipe and tobacco-pouches -in hand. Cigarettes were all very -well in their way: "two draws and a spit" -snatched during stand-easy in the forenoon. -A cigar was a satisfying enough smoke after -dinner when one's finances permitted it; but -while the day of infinite possibilities still lay -ahead, and the raw, new sunlight flushed the -world with promise, then was the time for -briar or clay: black, well seasoned, and of a -pungent sweetness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Each smoker settled into his favourite -nook, and, cap tilted over his nose, with -feet drawn up and hand-clasped knees, -prepared to sit in kindly judgment on the -Universe. The Sub-Lieutenant blew a mighty -cloud of smoke and gave a sigh of -contentment. He had kept the Middle Watch. -From midnight till four that morning he -had been on the bridge, moving between the -faint glow of the binnacle and the -chart-house, busying himself with a ruler and -dividers, and faint lines on the surface of -the chart. He was clear-eyed and serene -of brow, as befitted a man who had seen the -dawning. For a like reason he had neglected -to shave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the news?" inquired the Assistant -Paymaster between puffs. The ship had -been three days at sea, and was even then -a hundred and fifty miles from her destination. -But very early in the morning a tired-eyed -Operator in the Wireless-house had sat, -measuring in dots and dashes the beating of -the world's pulse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A disastrous earthquake—" began a Midshipman, -reading from the closely-written sheet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, hang you and your earthquake!" -said the Sub. "I'm sick of earthquakes—who -won the Test Match?" Which, when -you consider the matter, is no bad attitude -towards life in which to start the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A new aeroplane—" resumed the reader.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Talkin' of aeroplanes," interrupted some -one, "I once knew a girl——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't they have Snotties in the Flying -Corps?" chimed in a third. "Why, if I -were in the Government, I'd——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the reader continued in tranquil -indifference. Quite a number of years had -passed since he first learned that in -Gunroom communities to stop speaking on account -of interruptions meant spending your days in -the silence of a Trappist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... at the point of the bayonet, the -enemy retreating in disorder." Silence on -the group at last. This was of more account -than cricket or aeroplanes, for this was War, -their trade in theory, and, perchance—and -the Fates were wondrous kind—the ultimate -destiny of each. The Censor of Governments -gave a delighted blast from his pipe—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The bayonet!" he breathed. "That's the -game...!" In all his short life he had -never seen a blow delivered in hate—the -hate that strikes to kill. Yet a queer light -smouldered in his eyes as half-dreamily he -watched the waves scurrying to join the -smother of the wake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Clerk by the muzzle of the 6-in. gun -took his pipe out of his mouth and turned -towards the speaker. "I've got a brother -on the Frontier—lucky blighter, I bet he's in -it!" He removed his glasses, as he always -did in moments of excitement, and blinked -short-sightedly in the morning sunlight. He -came of a fighting strain, but had been doomed -by bad sight to exchange the sword, that was -his heritage, for pen and ledger. "Does it -say anything else—let me see, Billy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no details; only a few casualties; -they killed a Subalt—" he stopped abruptly; -the wind caught the sheet and whisked it -from his fingers. His face had grown white -beneath its tan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you ass!" chorussed the group. The -piece of paper whirled high in the air and -settled into the water astern. A shadow fell -athwart the seated group, and the -Sub. looked up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo! Good-morning, Padre!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-morning," replied the sturdy figure -in the mortar-board. A genial priest this, -who combined parochial duties with those of -Naval Instructor, and spent the dog-watches -in flannels on the forecastle, shepherding a -section of his flock with the aid of -boxing-gloves. "Discussing the affairs of your -betters, and the Universe, as usual, I suppose! -I came over to observe that there is a very -fine horizon, and if any of ye feel an -uncontrollable desire to take a sight——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, sir!" protested a clear tenor -chorus. "Morning-watch, sir," added a voice; -then, mimicking the grumbling whine of a -discontented Ordinary Seaman: "Ain't 'ad -no stand-easy—besides, sir, the index-error -of my sextant——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somewhere forward in the battery the notes -of a bugle sang out. The members of the -Gunroom smoking circle mechanically knocked -out their pipes against the rim of the -white-washed spitkid, and rose one by one to their -feet, straightening their caps. In a minute -the sponson was deserted, save for the Clerk -who lingered, blinking at the sunlit sea. A -moment later he turned, encountering the -kindly, level eyes of the Chaplain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The name," he said, with a little inclination -of his head to where, far astern, a gull -was circling curiously, "was it—the same, sir, -as—as mine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the Chaplain gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy nodded and turned again to the -sea. His young face had hardened, and the -colour had gone out of his lips. The other, -thrice blessed in the knowledge of how -much sympathy unmans, and how much -strengthens to endure, laid a steadying hand -on the square shoulder presented to him. -"He died fighting, remember," said this man -of peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Clerk nodded again, and gripped the -hand-rail harder. "He always was the lucky -one, sir." He adjusted his glasses -thoughtfully, and went below to where, in the -electric-lit office, the ship's Ledger was -awaiting him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-ship-visitors"><span class="bold large">VII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE SHIP-VISITORS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"There's the boat!" exclaimed the younger -girl excitedly. Her sister nodded with -dancing eyes, and half turned to squeeze her -mother's arm. Half a mile away a picket-boat -detached itself from one of the anchored -battleships and came speeding across the -harbour. Breathless, they watched it -approach, saw bow and stern-sheet men stoop -for their boat-hooks, heard the warning clang -of the engine-room bell, and the next moment -the Midshipman in charge swung her deftly -alongside the landing-stage with a smother -of foam under the stern. A figure in uniform -frock-coat jumped out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo, mother! Sorry I'm late: have you -been waiting long? ... Mind the step!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The descent into a picket-boat's stern-sheets, -especially if you are encumbered by a -skirt, is no easy matter. Perhaps the -Midshipman of the boat realised it too, for he -abandoned the wheel and assisted in the -embarkation with the ready hand and averted -eye that told of no small experience in such -matters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then they heard a clear-cut order, the bell -rang again, and the return journey -commenced; but they did not hear the hoarse -whisper conveyed down the voice-pipe to the -Leading Stoker to "Whack her up!" And -so they failed to realise that they were -throbbing through the water at a speed -which, though causing the Midshipmen of -passing boats to gnash their teeth with envy, -was exceedingly bad for the engines and -wholly illegal. But then one does not bring -a messmate's sisters off to the ship every day -of the week.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the bell rang again, and a grey -steel wall, dotted with scuttles and -surmounted by a rail, towered above them. The -boat stopped palpitating beside a snowy ladder -that reached to the water's edge. The -occupant of the stockhold threw up the hatch of -his miniature Inferno and thrust a perspiring -head into view; but it is to be feared that no -one noticed him, though he had contributed -in no small degree to the passengers' -entertainment. The Mother looked at the -mahogany-railed ladder and sighed -thankfully. "I always thought you climbed up -by rope-ladders, dear," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ascent accomplished, followed introductions -to smiling and somewhat bashful youths, -who relieved the visitors of parasols and -handbags, and led the way to a deck below, where -racks of rifles were ranged along -white-enamelled bulkheads, and a Marine sentry -clicked to attention as they passed. Down a -narrow passage, lit by electric lights, past a -cage-like kitchen and rows of black-topped -chests, and, as the guide paused before a -curtained door, a glimpse forward of crowded -mess-decks. Then, a little bewildered, they -found themselves in a narrow apartment, lit -by four brass-bound scuttles. A long table -ran the length of the room, with tea things -laid at one end; overhead were racks of -golf-clubs and hockey-sticks, cricket-bats and -racquets. A row of dirks hung above the -tiled stove, and a baize-covered notice-board, -letter-racks, and a miscellaneous collection of -pictures adorned the rivet-studded walls. A -somewhat battered piano, topped by a dejected -palm, occupied one end of the Mess, and -beneath the sideboard a strip of baize made -an ineffectual attempt to cover the end of a -beer barrel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This," said the host, with a tinge of pride -in his voice, "is the Gunroom—where we -live," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very nice," murmured the visitors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not a bad one, as Gunrooms go," -admitted another of the escort. He did not -add that under his personal supervision a -harassed throng of junior Midshipmen had -pent a lurid half-hour "squaring off" before -their arrival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After tea came a tour of the ship, and to -those who inspect one for the first time the -interior of a man-of-war is not without -interest. They emerged from a hatchway on -to the Quarter-deck, beneath the wicked -muzzles of the after 12-inch guns: they -crossed the immaculate planking and looked -down to the level waters of the harbour, -thirty feet below. They admired the -neatly-coiled boat's falls, the trim and slightly -self-conscious figure of the Officer of the Watch, -and as they turned to mount the ladder that -led over the turret a Signalman came on to -the Quarter-deck, raising his hand to the -salute as he passed through the screen-door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who did that sailor salute?" inquired the -Mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," replied her escort vaguely, "only -salutin' the Quarter-deck. We all do, you -know." So much for his summary of a -custom that has survived from days when a -crucifix overshadowing the poop required the -doffing of a sailor's cap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then they were taken forward, past the -orderly confusion of the "booms," to a round -pill-box, described as the Conning Tower. -with twelve-inch walls of Krupp steel, and -introduced to an assortment of levers and -voice-pipes, mysterious dials, and a -brass-studded steering-wheel. Then up a ladder to -the signal-bridge, where barefooted men, with -skins tanned brick-red and telescopes under -their arms, swung ceaselessly to and fro. -They examined the flag-lockers—each flag -rolled neatly in a bundle and stowed in a -docketed compartment—the black-and-white -semaphores, and the key of the mast-head -flashing lamp that at night winked messages -across five miles of darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From then onwards that afternoon -became a series of blurred impression of -things mysterious and delightfully bewildering. -They carried away with them memories -of the swarming forecastle and batteries, -where they saw the sailor-man enjoying his -leisure in his own peculiar fashion. Of the -six-inch breech-block that opened with a clang -to show the spiral grooved bore—rifled to -prevent the projectile from turning -somersaults.... The younger girl wiped a foot -of wet paint off the coaming of a hatch and -said sweetly it didn't matter in the least. -They invaded the sanctity of the wireless -room, with its crackling spark and network -of wires, and listened, all uncomprehending, -to the petty officer in charge, as, delighted -with a lay audience, he plunged into a whirl -of technical explanations. And, lastly, the -Mother was handed the receivers, and heard -a faint intermittent buzzing that was a -ship calling querulously three hundred miles -away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After that they descended to electric-lit -depths, and were invited into cabins; they -visited the "Slop-room" (impossible name), -where they fingered serge and duck with -feminine appreciation. They saw the -nettings where the hammocks were stowed, -and the overhead slinging space—eighteen -inches to a man! And so back to the upper -deck, to find the picket-boat again at the -bottom of the ladder.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Hasn't it been lovely!" gasped the elder -girl, as they walked back to their hotel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scrumptious!" assented her sister. "And -</span><em class="italics">did</em><span> you notice the boy who steered the boat -that brought us back?—he had a face like -a cherub looked at through a magnifying-glass!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, he of the magnified cherubic -countenance was rattling dice with a friend -preparatory to indulging in a well-earned -glass of Marsala. Outside the gunroom -pantry the grimy gentleman whose sphere -of duty lay in the picket-boat's stockhold -sought recognition of his services in an -upturned quart jug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Which is also illegal, and contrary to -the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-legion-on-the-wall"><span class="bold large">VIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE LEGION ON THE WALL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Not now. Not now. Not yet."</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>—</span><em class="italics">Sea Law and Sea Power</em><span>.</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The last of the Battle Squadrons filed -majestically to its appointed anchorage. A -snake-like flotilla of Destroyers slid in under -the lee of the land and joined the parent -ship; wisps of smoke east and west heralded -the arrival of far-flung scouts. The great -annual War-game was at an end, and the -Fleet had met, with rime-crusted funnels and -rust-streaked sides, to talk it over and snatch -a breathing space ere returning to their wide -sea-beats and patrols. Evening drew on, and -the semaphores were busy waving invitations -to dinner from ship to ship. Opportunities -of meeting friends are none too frequent, -and when they occur, are often of the -briefest. So no time was lost, and a sort -of "General Post" ensued among Wardrooms -and Gunrooms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the Flagship's Wardroom dinner was -over, and a haze of tobacco smoke spread -among the shaded lights and glinting plate. -Conversation that began with technical -discussion had become personal and reminiscent. -"Do you remember that time..." commenced -one. His immediate listeners nodded -delightedly, and sat with narrowed eyes and -retrospective smiles as the narrator continued, -twirling the stem of his wine-glass. Well -did they recall the story, but it had to be -told again for the joy of the telling, while -they supplemented with a forgotten name or -incident, harking back to the golden -yesterday, when the world went very well indeed. -The talk swung north to the Bering Sea -and south to Table Bay, forging swift links -with the past as it went. It would have -seemed to a stranger as if the members of -a club had met to discuss a common -experience. And yet these men were here -haphazard from a dozen ships—their club -the Seven Seas, and their common experience, -life, as it is to be met in the seaports -of the world. As chairs were pushed from -the table and the evening wore on, fresh -greetings sounded on all sides: "Hullo! -Old Tubby, as I live! Good Lord! How -long is it since—seven—nine—my dear soul! -It's ten weary years..." and so on. They -were all young men, too: almost boys, some -of them, with eager, excited faces, lean -with hard work—worthy sons of the same -grey, hard Mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the skylight came the opening -bars of the "Lancers," and there was a -general move on deck. The Gunroom was -there already, and, two sets being formed, -the dance began. Much it left in point of -elegance, it is to be feared, but it was fine -strenuous exercise. The last figure was -reached, and on completion of the -Grand-Chain, the two sets linked arms, dashed -whooping across the deck, and met in an -inextricable heap of arms, legs, crumpled -shirt-fronts and mess-jackets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my aunt!" gasped an ex-International, -crawling from beneath a mound of -assailants, and vainly striving to adjust -collar and tie. "My last boiled shirt—and -it's got to last another week!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently every one repaired to the -Wardroom, where corks were popping from -soda-water bottles, and an amateur humourist of -renown sat down to the piano as the -laughing crowd gathered round. A couple of -bridge-tables were made up, and the players -settled down with that complacent indifference -to outside distraction peculiar to men -who live habitually in crowded surroundings. -Seated astride the chairs at one end of the -mess, two teams of would-be polo-players -were soon locked in conflict, table-spoons and -an orange being accessories to the game.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The singer of comic songs had finished his -repertoire, and the Mess turned in search of -fresh distraction. "Come on, old Mouldy, -what about putting up your little turn?" -called out one, addressing a grave-faced -officer who sat smoking on the settee. -"Yes," chorussed half a dozen voices, "go -on, do!" The officer addressed as "Mouldy" -sat down at the piano, fingered the keys -contemplatively for a moment, and then in -a deep baritone voice began—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"God of our fathers, known of old,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Lord of our far-flung battle line,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and so on to the end of the first verse. The -polo-players ceased their horseplay, and -leaned panting over the backs of their -wooden steeds to listen. The second verse -drew to a close—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"An humble and a contrite heart,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and then the group round the singer joined -in the refrain—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Lest we forget, lest we forget!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At the fourth verse the Mess clustered round -the piano. The bridge-players had laid their -hands down, and at the skylight overhead -appeared faces and the glint of uniforms. The -Gunroom started the last verse, and the rest -joined—men's voices, bass and tenor, lifting the -stately words in a great volume of harmony -up through the skylight into the night—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"All valiant dust that builds on dust,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And guarding calls not thee to guard,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>For frantic boast and foolish word</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Amen!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The last solemn chord died away, and a -sudden silence fell upon the Mess: it was -some moments before the conversation once -more became general. By twos and threes -the guests departed. Groups clustered at -the gangways; the night was full of farewells -and the hooting of picket-boats' syrens. -Gradually the Mess emptied, and in the flat -where the midshipmen slept silence reigned -among the chests and hammocks. The -Admiral's guests had also departed, but on -the silent quarter-deck two tall figures -walked up and down, pipes in mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder why they sang that thing," said -one musingly. His companion paused and -stared across the water at the lights of the -town. From there his gaze travelled round -to the silent Fleet, line after line of twinkling -anchor-lights and huge hulls looming through -the darkness. "Somehow, it seemed extraordinarily -appropriate, with things as they are -ashore just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean all these strikes and -rioting—class-hatred—this futile discussion about -armaments—brawling in Parliament.... -'Lesser breeds without the law' gradually -assuming control....?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other nodded and turned again to the -sea; as he moved, a row of miniature -decorations on his jacket made a tiny clink. "Yes. -And meanwhile we go on just the same, talking -as little as they will let us—just working -on our appointed task: holding to our -tradition of 'Ready, Aye Ready!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our tradition—yes." His companion gave -a little grim laugh. "D'you know the story -of the last Legion left on the Wall—?" he -jerked his head towards where the Pole Star -hung in the starry heavens. "How Rome, -sliding into Chaos, withdrew her Legions till -only one was left to garrison the Wall. And -it was forgotten. Rumours must have reached -the fellows in that Legion of what was going -on at Home: of blind folly in high -places—corruption: defeat. The draggle-tailed Roman -Eagle must have been a jest in the -market-places of the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, puffing thoughtfully. "You -can imagine them," he continued, "falling -back, tower by tower, on the centre: attacked -in front and behind and on both flanks by an -enemy they despised as barbarians, but who, -by sheer force of numbers, must annihilate -them in the end—unless Rome rallied, -suppose they could have retreated—or -compromised,—haggled for their skins. No one -would have thought less of them for it in -those days. But they had been brought up -in all the brave traditions of their Empire.... -When you think of it, there wasn't much -left to fight for, except their proud traditions. -And yet they fought to the last ... while -the Roman Empire went fiddling into ruin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Far away down the line a mast-head lamp -flickered a message out of the darkness. The -Fleet was resting like a tired giant; but the -pin-point of light, and another that answered -it on the instant a mile away, showed that its -sleep was light. "But the end is not yet," -concluded the speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied his companion. He made a -little gesture with his pipe-stem, embracing -the silent battle-array stretching away into -the night. "Not yet."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-tithe-of-admiralty"><span class="bold large">IX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A TITHE OF ADMIRALTY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was the hour preceding dinner, and a small -boy in the uniform of a Naval Cadet stood on -the balcony of an hotel at Dartmouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Earlier in the day a tremendous -self-importance had possessed his soul; it was -begotten primarily of brass buttons and a -peaked cap, and its outward manifestation at -Paddington Station had influenced a -short-sighted old lady in her decision that he was a -railway official of vast, if premature, -responsibilities. He leaned over the balustrade and -looked up harbour; beyond the scattered -yachts and coal-hulks, black against the path -of the sunset, lay the old </span><em class="italics">Britannia</em><span>. She -was moored, this cradle of a generation's -Naval destiny, where the Dart commenced to -wind among green hills crowned by woods and -red-brown plough lands; and as he stared, -the smaller vanities of the morning passed -from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was barely fifteen, and his ideas were -jumbled and immature, but in a confused -sort of way he thought of the thousands of -other boys those wooden walls had sheltered, -and who, at the bidding of unknown powers, -had gone down to the sea in ships.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pictured them working their pinnaces -and cutters—as he would some day—soaked -and chilled by winter gales. Others departed -for the Mediterranean, where, if the testimony -of an aunt (who had once spent a winter at -Malta) was to be accepted, life was all picnics -and dances. He saw them yet farther afield, -chasing slavers, patrolling pirate-infested -creeks, fighting through jungle and swamp, -lying stark beneath desert stars, ... and -ever fresh ones came to fill the vacant places, -bred for the work—even as he was to be—on -the placid waters of the Dart, amid Devon -coombes. It was all a little vainglorious, -perhaps; and if his imagination was coloured -by the periodicals and literature of boyhood, -who is to blame him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why it was necessary for these things to be -he understood vaguely, if at all. But in some -dim way he realised it was part of his new -heritage, a sort of brotherhood of self-immolation -and hardship into which he was going to -be initiated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His thoughts went back along the path of -the last few years that had followed his -father's death. With a tightening of the -heart-strings he saw how an Empire demands -other sacrifices. How, in order that men -might die to martial music, must sometimes -come first an even greater heroism of -self-denial. Years of thrift and contrivance, new -clothes foresworn, a thousand renunciations—this -had been his mother's part, that her son -might in time bear his share of the Empire's -burden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came out on to the balcony as the sun -dipped behind the hills, and the woods were -turning sombre, and slipped a thin arm inside -his. It is rarely given to men to live worthy -of the mothers that bore them; a few—a -very few—are permitted to die worthy of -them. Perhaps it was some dim foreknowledge -of the end that thrilled him as he drew -her closer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had dinner, and with it, because it was -such a great occasion, a bottle of "Sparkling -Cider," drunk out of wine-glasses to the -inscrutable Future. Another boy was dining -with his parents at a distant table, and at -intervals throughout the meal the embryo -admirals glanced at one another with furtive -interest. After dinner the mother and son -sat on the balcony watching the lights of the -yachts twinkling across the water, and talked -in low voices scarcely raised above the sound -of the waves lapping along the quay. At -times their heads were very close together, -and, since in the star-powdered darkness there -were none to see, their hands met and clung.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She accompanied him on board the following -day, to be led by a grave-faced Petty Officer -along spotless decks that smelt of tar and -resin. She saw the chest-deck, where servants -were slinging hammocks above the -black-and-white painted chests—the chest-deck -with its wide casement ports and rows of -enamelled basins, and everywhere that smell -of hemp and scrubbed woodwork.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Number 32, you are, sir," said the Petty -Officer; and as he spoke she knew the time -had come when her boy was no longer hers -alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They bade farewell by the gangway, under -the indifferent eyes of a sentry, and Number -32 watched the frail figure in the waterman's -boat till it was out of sight. Then he turned -with a desperate longing for privacy—anywhere -where he could go and blubber like a -kid. But from that time onwards (with the -rare exceptions of leave at home) he was -never to know privacy again.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The old </span><em class="italics">Britannia</em><span> training consisted of -four terms, each of three months' duration, -during which a boy fresh from the hands -of a tutor or crammer had many things to -learn. He was taught to "drop everything -and nip!" when called; how, when, and -whom to salute. To pull an oar and sail a -boat; to knot, splice, and run aloft; how to -use a sextant. He learned that trigonometry -and algebra were not really meaningless -mental gymnastics, but a purposeful science -that guided men upon trackless seas. In -short, at an age when other schoolboys see -their education nearing its end, he had to -begin all over again, to be moulded afresh for -a higher purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The path of the "New" in those days was -by no means strewn with roses. Jerry had to -submit to strange indignities and stranger -torments at the hands of Olympian "Niners" -(Fourth-term Cadets). He had to accustom -himself to bathe, dress and undress, to sleep -and to pray, surrounded by a hundred others. -There was also the business of the hammock, -in and out of which he was learning to turn -without dishonour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the conclusion of the first breathless -three months found him amazingly fit and -happy. His mind was stored with -newly-acquired and vastly interesting knowledge. -The beagles and football sweated the "callow -suet" off him and gave him the endurance of -a lean hound. He was fitting into the new -life as a hand into a well-worn glove.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The end of his second term brought the -coveted triangular badge on the right cuff -that marks the Cadet Captain among his -fellows. The duties (which are much the -same as those of monitor or prefect) offered -him his first introduction to the peculiar -essence we call tact, necessary in dealing with -contemporaries. About this time began his -friendship with Jubbs. This young gentleman's -real name was as unlike his sobriquet -as anything could be; among a community of -Naval Cadets this was perhaps a sufficient -</span><em class="italics">raison d'être</em><span>: anyhow none other was ever -forthcoming. They earned their "Rugger" -colours together as scrum and stand-off halves, -and as time went on a slow friendship matured -and knit between them. Their first sight of -each other had been in the hotel the evening -before joining. Thenceforward it pleased -the power that is called Destiny to run the -brief threads of their lives together to the end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the close of their third term they became -Chief Cadet Captains, and Jubbs' papa, a long, -lean baronet with a beak-like nose, came down -to attend the prize-giving. At the conclusion -of the ceremony he was piloted to the Canteen, -where the Cadet Captains were pleased to -"stodge" at his expense, while he—as one -who sits at meat among the gods—trumpeted -his satisfaction into a flaring bandana handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of the fourth and last term -Jerry's mother came down to see the last -prize-giving, and thus was present when her -son received the King's Medal. For one -never-to-be-forgotten moment she watched him turn -from the dais and come towards her, erect and -rather pale, with compressed lips. But the -cheering broke from the throats of three -hundred inveterate hero-worshippers like a -tempest, and then a mist hid him from her sight.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A P. & O. liner, a few months later, -carried Jerry and Jubbs to China. During the -voyage they came in contact with a hitherto -unrecognised factor in life, and found -themselves faced with unforeseen perplexities. One -evening, as they leaned over the rail -experimenting gingerly with two cigars, Jubbs -unburdened himself. "... Besides, they -jaw such awful rot," was his final summary -of feminine allurements. Jerry nodded, -tranquil-eyed. "I know. I told Mrs -What's-her-name—that woman with the ear-rings—that -I'd got one mother already; and as I'm going -to China, and she's going to India, I didn't -see the use of being tremendous friends. -'Sides, she's as old as the hills."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jerry! Jerry! The lady in question was -barely thirty, even if she had an unaccountable -partiality for taking him into the bows -to watch the moon rise over the Indian -Ocean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They joined their ship at Hong-Kong, and -found themselves members of a crowded, -cockroach-haunted gunroom, where every one was -on the best of terms with every one else, and -there reigned a communism undreamed of in -their philosophy. It is said that in those -days of stress and novelty, among -unknown faces and unfamiliar surroundings, -their friendship bound them in ever-closer -ties. The Sub-Lieutenant, when occasion -arose for the chastisement of one, thrashed -the other out of sheer pity. They kept -watch, took in signal exercise, went ashore, -shot snipe, picnicked and went through their -multifarious duties generally within hail of -one another. Till at length Jerry's call of -"Jubbs!" and Jubbs' unfailing "Coming!" -brought half-wistful smiles to older eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boxer rising broke out like a sudden -flame, and their letters home, those voluminous -and ill-spelt missives that meant so much -to the recipients, announced the momentous -tidings. Jerry was landing in charge of a -maxim gun; Jubbs was to be aide-de-camp -to the Commander. Their whites were being -dyed a warlike tint of khaki, and they were -being sent up to take part in the defence of -Tientsin. For a while silence, then at last -a letter scrawled in pencil on some provision -wrappers. Jerry boasted a three-weeks' -growth of stubble, and had killed several -peculiarly ferocious Boxer bravos. They were -looking forward to being moved up to -Peking for the relief of the Legations, and -there was practically no danger as long as -a fellow took reasonable precautions. He had -not seen Jubbs for some time, but expected -to meet him before long.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As a matter of fact, they came together -the next afternoon, and their meeting-place -was a Joss-house that had been converted into -a temporary field-hospital. Jerry was the first -to arrive, "in the bight of a canvas trough"—Jerry, -very white and quiet, a purple-brown -stain spreading over his dusty tunic and a -bullet lodged somewhere near the base of -the spine. Towards sunset he became -conscious, and the Red Cross nursing sister -supported his head while he drank tepid -water from a tin mug. "'Sparkling Cider,'" -he whispered weakly, "for luck, ... thank -you, mummie darling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The firing outside was becoming intermittent -and gradually growing more distant, -when the patch of dusty sunlight in the -doorway was darkened by a fresh arrival. -The stretcher party laid him on the bed next -to Jerry and departed. The Surgeon made -a brief examination, and as he straightened -up, met the pitying eyes of the Red Cross -sister. He shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The poor children," she whispered. -Outside there came a sudden renewal of firing -and the spiteful stammer of a maxim. It -died away, and there was silence, broken by -the buzzing of flies in the doorway and the -sound of some one fighting for his breath. -In the heavy air the sickly smell of iodoform -mingled with the odours of departed -joss-sticks and sun-baked earth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, from a bed in the shadows, a -weak voice spoke—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jubbs!" said Jerry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A moment's pause, while the motionless -figure in the next bed gathered energy for -a last effort of speech. Then—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coming!" said Jubbs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-chosen-four"><span class="bold large">X.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CHOSEN FOUR.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Admiral, it was rumoured, had said, -"Let there be Signal Midshipmen." Wherefore -the Flag-Lieutenant communed with the -Commander, who sent for the Senior Midshipman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Senior Midshipman responded to the -summons with an alacrity that hinted at a -conscience not wholly void of offence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let there be Signal Midshipmen," said the -Commander, or words to that effect, "in four -watches."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, sir," said the Senior Midshipman. -He emerged from the Commander's -cabin and breathed deeply, as one who had -passed unscathed through a grave crisis. -Apparently that small matter of the -picket-boat's damaged stem-piece had been -overlooked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ere he was out of earshot, however, the -Commander spoke again. "By the way," -added the Arbiter of his little destinies, "I -don't want to see your name in the leave-book -again until the picket-boat is repaired."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, sir," repeated the Senior -Midshipman. He descended to the Gunroom, -where, it being "make-and-mend" afternoon, -his brethren were wrapped in guileless -slumber. An 'Inman's Nautical Tables,' -lying handy on the table, described a -parabola through the air, and, striking a -prominent portion of the nearest sleeper's anatomy, -ricochetted into his neighbour's face. The -two sat up, glowered suspiciously at each -other for an instant, and joined battle. The -shock of their conflict overturned a form, -and two more recumbent figures awoke -wrathfully to "life and power and thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You four," announced the Senior Midshipman -calmly, when the uproar had subsided, -"will take on signal duty from to-morrow -morning." Then, having satisfactorily -discharged the duty imposed upon him, he -settled himself to slumber on the settee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three of the four, to whom this announcement -was made gasped and were silent. -</span><em class="italics">Signals</em><span>! Under the very eye of the Admiral! -Each one saw himself an embryo Flag-Lieutenant.... -One even made a little prophetic -motion with his left arm, as though irked by -the aiguilette that in fancy already encircled -it. The fourth alone spoke—-</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Crikey!" he muttered, "an' my only decent -pair of breeches are in the scran-bag"[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The "scran-bag" is the receptacle -for articles of clothing, -&c., left lying about at -First Lieutenant's rounds in the -morning. Gear thus impounded can be redeemed -once a week by -payment of a bar of soap.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Men say that with the passing of "Masts -and Yards" the romance of the Naval Service -died. This is for those to judge who have -seen a fleet of modern battleships flung -plunging from one complex formation to -another at the dip of a "wisp of coloured -bunting," and have watched the stutter of a -speck of light, as unseen ships talk across -leagues of darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fascination of a game only partly -understood, yet ever hinting vast possibilities, -seized upon the minds of the Chosen Four. -Morse and semaphore of course they knew, -and the crude translations of the flags were -also familiar enough. But the inner mysteries -of the science (and in these days it is a very -science) had not as yet unfolded themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At intervals the Flag-Lieutenant would -summon them to his cabin, where, with the -aid of the Signal Books and little oblong -pieces of brass, he demonstrated the working -of a Fleet from the signal point of view, and -how a mistake in the position of a flag in the -hoist might result in chaos—and worse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Chosen Four sat wide-eyed at his feet -amid cigarette ash and the shattered fragments -of the Third Commandment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harbour watch-keeping perfected their -semaphore and Morse, till by ceaseless practice -they could read general signals flashed at a -speed that to the untrained eye is merely -a bewildering flicker. As time wore on they -began to acquire the almost uncanny powers -of observation common to the lynx-eyed men -around them on the bridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Each ship in a Fleet is addressed by hoisting -that ship's numeral pendants. The ship thus -addressed hoists an answering pendant in -reply. At intervals all through the day the -Signal Yeoman of the Watch would suddenly -snap his glass to his eye, pause an instant as -the wind unfurled a distant flutter of bunting -at some ship's yard-arm, and then jump for -the halyard that hoisted the answering -pendant. The smartness of a ship's -signal-bridge is the smartness of that ship, and in -consequence this is a game into which the -stimulus of competition enters, Signal -Boatswain, Midshipmen, and Yeomen vying with -each other to be the first to give the shout, -"Up Answer!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One night at the Junior Officers' Club one -of the Chosen Four encountered another of his -ilk from a different ship: and, since at eighteen -(if you are ever to become anything) shop is a -right and necessary topic of conversation, they -fell to discussing their respective bridges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently said he of the other ship, waxing -pot-valiant by reason of Marsala, "I'll bet you -a dinner ashore we'll show your pendants -before the week's up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now should a ship fail to see a signal made -to her, other ships present can be very offensive -by hoisting the pendants of the ship addressed -at mast-head and yard-arms. This is to hold -the delinquent up as an object of scorn and -derision to the Fleet, and is a fate more -dreaded by right-minded signalmen than the -Plagues of Egypt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' I'll give you fifteen seconds' grace," -added the speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The challenge was accepted, and for five -sweltering days—it was summer at Malta—the -two ships watched each other from sunrise -till dark, the pendants "bent" to the halyards -in readiness. On the evening of the sixth -day a thunderstorm that had been brewing -all the afternoon burst in a torrential -downpour over the harbour. At that instant a -signal crept to the flagship's yard-arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On board the ship addressed the Midshipman -had dashed for the shelter of the bridge-house, -the Yeoman was struggling into an oilskin, -and the Second Hand had stepped into -the lee of a search-light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand by—thirteen, fourteen..." -counted the small figure standing in the -driving rain on the flagship's bridge, watch in -hand: "fifteen, Hoist!" Then for the first -time in his short career he deserted his post. -Clattering pell-mell down the ladders to the -Gunroom, where the remainder of the Chosen -Four were playing cut-throat whist, he flung -back the drab-coloured curtain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Got him!" he shouted triumphantly. -"By the aching stomach, I had him </span><em class="italics">cold</em><span>!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have said that of the Chosen Four—three -saw visions, while the other bewailed the -inaccessibility till the end of the week of his best -trousers. Now of the four he alone came to -wear the aiguilettes of a Flag-Lieutenant, and -to-day the mysteries of Tactics, Fleet -Organisation and Formation, are to him as an open -book. A Baker Street photographer once had -the temerity to display his photograph in the -window, in uniform, tinted. Passing by, I -heard a woman gush foolishly to her -companion, "Oh, isn't he a darling!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The relevancy of this anon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another forsook the bunting-draped path of -Signals to climb to fame through the smoke -of many battle practices. He now adds after -his rank the cryptic initial (G). The third -married an heiress and her relations, and -retired. He has several children and is -reported to have lost interest in the Service.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The remaining one, when I saw him last, -had also lost interest in the Service. He was -lying in a curiously crumpled heap across the -stakes of a jungle stockade, his empty revolver -dangling by the lanyard round his neck. A -handful of his men fought like demons to -recover possession of the mutilated body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure," said a bearded Petty Officer, half -apologetically, wiping his cutlass with a -tussock of grass, "we couldn't lave him -there—an' himself somewan's darlin', likely..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sailors are inveterate sentimentalists.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-committee-of-supply"><span class="bold large">XI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A COMMITTEE OF SUPPLY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper entered the Wardroom -and rang the bell with an air of gloomy -mystery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Russians are coming," he announced. -"Cocktail, please, waiter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Young Doctor looked up from the -year-old 'Bradshaw' with which he was wont to -enliven moments of depression by arranging -mythical week-ends at friends' houses in -various parts of England. It was a dreary -amusement, and, conducted off the coast of -Russian Tartary, stamped him as the possessor -of no small imaginative powers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who said so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Skipper: three Russian Destroyers, an' -we're to invite them to dinner, an' there's -nothing to eat." The Junior Watch-keeper -managed the affairs of the Mess for that -quarter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those chaps feed like fighting-cocks," -observed the Assistant Paymaster. "Let's -send for the Messman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper applied himself -to his cocktail in silence, and the Celestial -bandit who, in consideration of a monthly levy -of thirty dollars per head, starved or poisoned -them according to his whim, appeared in the -doorway. The Mess broached the subject -with quailing hearts; it was proposed to dine -the representatives of a foreign Power. Could -he for once rise to the occasion and produce -a suitable repast?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Oriental summed up the situation with -impassive brevity—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, rot!" said the Junior Watch-keeper, -who up to this juncture had been gracefully -pursuing the olive at the bottom of his glass -with the tip of his tongue. "Pull your socks -up, Ah Chee, an' think of something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Messman brooded darkly. "S'pose -you go shore-side, catchee salmon, catchee -snipe, pl'aps can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jove, yes," said the A.P., rising and -walking to the scuttle. "We never thought -of that. But it's a God-forsaken place—look -at it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ship was anchored in a little bay off -the mouth of a shallow river. On one side -the ground rose abruptly to a bleak -promontory, and on the other stretched a -waste of sand-dunes. Inland not a tree or -vestige of human habitation broke the dreary -expanse of plain, which was covered with -stunted bushes and rolled away to a range -of low hills in the distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All very fine to talk about salmon," said -the Young Doctor, "but there isn't a rod in -the ship, and no one could use it if there was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Make one," suggested the Junior Watchkeeper, -with cheerful resource begotten of -cocktails.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But flies—? A rod's no good without -flies and things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll make a spinner. They won't take a -fly in these parts, a fellow told me at -Shanghai. 'Sides, we can't chuck a fly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Carpenter was summoned to the -conclave, and the result of his labours was a -formidable spar, resembling more closely a -hop-pole than a salmon-rod, some fourteen -feet in length.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not take the lower boom and have -done with it?" inquired the Young Doctor, -who had abandoned 'Bradshaw' in favour of -his gun-case, and was dabbling with awful -joy in oil and cotton-waste.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper vouched no reply. -His was the spirit of the "Compleat Angler," -and armed with a nippers and clasp-knife he -wrestled grimly with the lid of a tobacco-tin. -Half an hour's toil, conducted in profane -silence, resulted in a triangular object which, -embellished with red bunting and bristling -with hooks, he passed round for the startled -consideration of the Mess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," admitted the Young Doctor, with -the air of one generously conceding a -debatable point, "you </span><em class="italics">might</em><span> catch the bottom, -with a certain amount of luck, but—" a well-flung -cushion cut short further criticism, and -the Committee of Supplies adjourned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rising sun next morning beheld three -depressed-looking figures disembarking on the -sandy beach. The Junior Watch-keeper had -fashioned a wondrous reel out of pieces of a -cigar-box, and the Boatswain had provided -about thirty fathoms of mackrel-line and some -thin wire. The A.P. essayed a joke about -using the rod as a flagstaff to commemorate -their landing, but it lacked savour—as indeed -jests do in the pale light of dawn. Wreaths -of mist hung over the river, swirling between -sandy banks, leaden-grey and noiseless. A -few gulls wheeled overhead, protesting at the -invasion with dismal cries, and the waves -broke whispering along the beach in an arc of foam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three adventurers gazed despondently -at the sand-dunes, the receding stern of the -boat, and finally each other's sleepy, -unshaven faces. The Young Doctor broke -suddenly into a feeble cackle of laughter. An -unfamiliar chord of memory vibrated, and -with it came a vision of a certain coffee-stall -outside Charing Cross Station and the Junior -Watch-keeper's wan face surmounted by a -battered opera-hat. "Jove!" he murmured. -"... Reminds me ... Covent Garden Ball...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The A.P. had toiled to the top of an -adjacent mound, from which, like Moses of old, -he "surveyed the landscape o'er." "Come -on," he shouted valiantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said the Junior Watch-keeper, -"</span><em class="italics">Vive le sport</em><span>! If there were no fools -there'd be no fun." He shouldered his -strange impedimenta and joined the A.P.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Away to their left a glint of water showed -intermittently as the river wound between -clumps of low bushes and hillocks. Patches -of level ground covered with reeds and coarse -grass fought with the sand-dunes, and -stretched away in dreary perspective to the -hills. Briefly they arranged their plan of -campaign: the Junior Watch-keeper was to -fish up-stream, the other two meeting him -about five miles inland in a couple of hours' -time. They separated, and the Junior Watchkeeper -dipped behind a rise and was lost to view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is not recorded what exactly the snipe -were doing that day. The Young Doctor had -it that they were "taking a day off," the -A.P. that they had struck the wrong part -of the country. But the melancholy fact -remains that two hours later they sat down to -share their sandwiches with empty bags and -clean barrels. A faint shout from out of the -distance started them again into activity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's fallen in," suggested the Young -Doctor with cheerful promptitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sat on the hook, more likely." There -was grim relish in the A.P.'s tone. Neither -was prepared for the spectacle that met their -astonished eyes when they reached the river.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Standing on a partly submerged sand-bank, -in the middle of the stream, dripping wet and -"full of strange oaths," was the Junior -Watchkeeper. The point of his rod was agitated -like the staff of a Morse signaller's flag, while -a smother of foam and occasional glimpses of -a silver belly twenty yards up-stream testified -that the age of miracles had not yet passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Play him, you fool!" yelled the A.P.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't," wailed the Junior Watch-keeper, -battling with the rod. "The reel's jammed!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look out, then!" shouted the Young -Doctor, and the safety-catch of his gun -snapped. "Let me have a shot——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Junior Watch-keeper had abandoned -his rod. Seizing the stout line in his -fingers, his feet braced in the yielding sand, -shamelessly he hauled the lordly fish, fighting, -to his feet. "Come on," he spluttered, "bear -a hand, you blokes!" The "blokes" rushed -into the shallows, and together they floundered -amid a tangle of line and showers of spray, -grabbing for its gills. Eventually it was -flung ashore, and the </span><em class="italics">coup de grâce</em><span> -administered with the butt-end of the A.P.'s gun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thirty pounds, if it's an ounce," gasped -the Junior Watch-keeper, wringing the water -out of his trousers. They stood and surveyed -it in amazed silence, struck dumb with the -wonder of the thing. Contrasted with the -salmon as they knew it—decorated with -sprigs of fennel on a fishmonger's slab—it -looked an uncouth creature, with an -underhung jaw and a curiously arched back. The -A.P. prodded it suspiciously with the toe of -his boot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'S'pose it's all right—eh? Clean run, an' -all the rest of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Course it is," replied the Junior -Watchkeeper indignantly. He knew no more about -its condition than the other two, but his was -all the pride of capture. He relieved the -tedium of the return journey with tales of -wondrous salmon that lurked in pools beneath -the bank; unmoved they listened to -outrageous yarns of still larger salmon that -swam in open-mouthed pursuit of the -home-made spinner, jostling each other by reason -of their numbers. The Junior Watch-keeper -had set out that morning an honourable man, -who had never angled for anything larger -than a stickleback in his life. He returned -at noon hugging a thirty-pound salmon, his -mouth speaking vanity and lies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' I nearly shot the damn thing," sighed -the Young Doctor at the close of the recital.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> you shoot, by the way?" asked -the Junior Watch-keeper loftily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," was the curt reply, and his cup -of happiness ran over.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The principal guest of the evening eyed a -generous helping of salmon that was placed in -front of him, and turned to his neighbour. -"Pardon me," he said courteously, "but does -this fish happen to have been caught in any of -the local rivers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All eyes turned to the Junior Watchkeeper, -who, prevented by a mouthful from -replying, sat breathing heavily through his -nose. "Because if it was," went on the -Russian, "I think I ought to warn you—at -the risk of giving you offence—that local -salmon are poisonous. That is, unfit for -human consumption."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Followed an awful silence. The Young -Doctor broke it. "How interesting," he -observed feebly; "but why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Russian shook his head. "I don't -really know. And I hope you will forgive -me for assuring you that they are dangerous -to the health."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the captor faintly, "I've eaten -my whack!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The remainder of the dinner was not, -gastronomically speaking, a success. The Mess -and their guests eyed one another at intervals -with furtive apprehension, much as Cleopatra's -poisoned slaves must have awaited the -appearance of each other's symptoms. But it was -not until some hours later that the Young -Doctor was awakened by some one calling his -name aloud. He sat up in his bunk and -listened, and presently it was borne upon him -that somewhere, in the stillness of the night, -watches, the Junior Watch-keeper was dreeing -his weird.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="that-which-remained"><span class="bold large">XII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THAT WHICH REMAINED.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Oddly enough, no record exists of the origin -of his nickname. "Periwinkle" he had been -all through crammer and </span><em class="italics">Britannia</em><span> days. As -senior Signal Midshipman of the -Mediterranean Flagship, he was still "The -Periwinkle," small for his years, skinny as a -weasel, with straight black hair, and grey -eyes set wide apart in a brown face; the -eyelashes, black and short, grew very close -together, which gave him the perpetual -appearance of having recently coaled ship and -neglected to clean the dust from his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Signal Midshipmen of a fleet, especially -the Mediterranean Fleet of those days, -were essentially keen on their "job." The -nature of the work and inter-ship rivalry -provided for that. But with the Periwinkle, -Signals were more than a mere "job." They -formed his creed and recreation: the -flag-lockers were tarpaulin-covered shrines; the -semaphores spoke oracles by day as did the -flashing lamps by night. And the high priest -of these mysteries was the Flag-Lieutenant, a -Rugby International and right good fellow -withal, but, to the Periwinkle, a very god -who walked among men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To understand something of his -hero-worship you would need to have been on -the bridge when the Fleet put out to sea -for tactics. It was sufficient for the -Periwinkle to watch this immaculate, imperturbable -being snap out a string of signals -apparently from memory, as he so often did, -while hoist after hoist of flags leaped from -the lockers and sped skywards, and the -bridge was a whirl of bunting. Even the -Admiral, who spoke so little and saw so -much, was in danger of becoming a mere -puppet in the boy's sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there was more than this to encourage -his ardour. The Flag-Lieutenant, -recognising the material of a signalman of unusual -promise, would invite the Periwinkle to his -cabin after dinner and unfold, with the aid -of printed diagrams and little brass oblongs -representing ships, the tactical and strategical -mysteries of his craft. There was one -unforgettable evening, too, when the Periwinkle -was bidden to dinner ashore at the Malta -Club. The dinner was followed by a dance, -whereat, in further token of esteem, the -Flag-Lieutenant introduced him to a lady of -surpassing loveliness—The Fairest (the -Periwinkle was given to understand) of All the -Pippins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The spring gave place to summer, and the -island became a glaring wilderness of -sun-baked rock. For obscure reasons of policy -the Fleet remained at Malta instead of -departing on its usual cruise, and week after -week the sun blazed pitilessly down on the -awnings of the anchored ships. Week by -week the Periwinkle grew more brown and -angular, and lost a little more of his wiry -activity. The frequent stampedes up and -down ladders with signals for the Admiral -sent him into a lather like a nervous horse; -at the end of a watch his hair was wet -with perspiration and his whites hung -clammily on his meagre limbs. After a while, -too, he began to find the glare tell, and to -ease the aching of his eyes, had sometimes -to shift the telescope from one eye to the -other in the middle of a signal. As a matter -of fact, there was no necessity for him to -read signals at all: that was part of the -signalman's duty. And if he had chosen to -be more leisurely in his ascent and descent -of ladders, no one would have called him to -account. But his zeal was a flame within -him, and terror lest he earned a rebuke from -the Flag-Lieutenant for lack of smartness, lent -wings to his tired heels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was August when the Flag-Lieutenant -sought out the Fleet Surgeon in the Wardroom -after dinner, and broached the subject -of the Periwinkle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"P.M.O., I wish you'd have a look at -that shrimp; he's knocking himself up in -this heat. He swears he's all right, but he -looks fit for nothing but hospital."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the Periwinkle was summoned to the -Fleet Surgeon's cabin. Vehemently he -asserted that he had never felt better in his -life, and the most the fatherly old Irishman -could extort from him was the admission that -he had not been sleeping particularly well. -As a matter of fact he had not slept for -three nights past; but fear lest he should -be "put on the list" forbade his admitting -either this or the shooting pain behind his -eyes, which by now was almost continual. -The outcome of the interview, however, was -an order to turn in forthwith. Next morning -the Periwinkle was ignominiously hoisted -over the side in a cot—loudly protesting at -the indignity of not even being allowed to -walk—en route for Bighi Hospital as a fever -patient.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The news of the world is transmitted to -Naval Stations abroad by cable, and -promulgated by means of Wireless Telegraphy to -ships cruising or out of reach of visual -signalling. At Malta the news is distributed -to ships present in harbour by semaphore -from the Castile, an eminence above the -town of Valletta, commanding the Grand -Harbour and nearly opposite the Naval -Hospital.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One morning a group of convalescents -were sunning themselves on the balcony of -the hospital, and one, watching the life of -the harbour through a telescope, suddenly -exclaimed, "Stand by! They're going to -make the Reuter Telegram. I wonder how -the Navy got on at Lords."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's hopeless trying to read it," said -another, "they make it at such a beastly rate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Periwinkle, fuming in bed in an -adjacent ward, overheard the speaker. In a -second he was on his feet and at the open -window, a tousled-haired object in striped -pyjamas, crinkling his eyes in the glare. "I -can read it, sir; lend me the glass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to be in bed, my son. Haven't -you got Malta Fever?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very slight," replied the Periwinkle—as -indeed it was,—"and I'm quite as warm -out here as in bed. May I borrow your glass?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took the telescope and steadied it -against a pillar. The distant semaphore -began waving, and the group of convalescents -settled down to listen. But no sound -came from the boy. He was standing with -the eye-piece held to his right eye, motionless -as a statue. A light wind fluttered the -gaudy pyjamas, and their owner lowered the -glass with a little frown, half-puzzled, -half-irritated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—it's—there's something wrong—" he -began, and abruptly put the glass to his -left eye. "Ah, that's better...." He -commenced reading, but in a minute or -two his voice faltered and trailed off into -silence. He changed the glass to his right, -and back to his left eye. Then, lowering -it, turned a white scared face to the seated -group. "I'm afraid I can't read any more," -he said in a curiously dry voice; "I—it hurts -my eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He returned the glass to its owner and -hopped back into bed, where he sat with -the clothes drawn up under his chin, sweating -lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a while he closed his left eye and -looked cautiously round the room. The tops -of objects appeared indistinctly out of a grey -mist. It was like looking at a partly fogged -negative. He closed his right eye and -repeated the process with the other. His field -of vision was clear then, except for a speck -of grey fog that hung threateningly in the -upper left-hand corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By dinner-time he could see nothing with -the right eye, and the fog had closed on half -the left eye's vision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At tea-time he called the Sister on duty—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My eyes—hurt ... frightfully." Thus the -Periwinkle, striving to hedge with Destiny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do they?" sympathised the Sister. "I'll -tell the Surgeon when he comes round -to-night, and he'll give you something for them. -I shouldn't read for the present if I were -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Periwinkle smiled grimly, as if she -had made a joke, and lay back, every nerve -in his body strung to breaking-point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't see, eh?" The visiting Surgeon -who leaned over his bed a few hours later -looked at him from under puzzled brows. -"Can't see—d'you mean...." He picked -up an illustrated paper, holding it about a -yard away, and pointed to a word in block -type: "What's this word?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Periwinkle stared past him with a face -like a flint. "I can't see the paper. I can't -see you ... or the room, or—or—anything.... -I'm blind." His voice trembled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the terror by night that followed was -added physical pain past anything he had -experienced or imagined in his short life. It -almost amazed him that anything could hurt -so much and not rob him of consciousness. -The next room held a sufferer who raved in -delirium: cursing, praying, and shrieking -alternately. The tortured voice rose in the -stillness of the night to a howl, and the -Periwinkle set his teeth grimly. He was -not alone in torment, but his was still the -power to meet it like a man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the end of a week the pain had left -him. At intervals during this period he was -guided to a dark room—for the matter of -that, all rooms were dark to him—and -unseen beings bandied strange technicalities -about his ears. "Optic neuritis ... retrobulbar -... atrophy." The words meant -nothing to the boy, and their meaning -mattered less. For nothing, they told him, -could give him back his sight. After that -they left him alone, to wait with what -patience he might until the next P. & O. steamer -passed through.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His first visitor was the Chaplain, the most -well-meaning of men, whose voice quavered -with pity as he spoke at some length of -resignation and the beauty of cheerfulness in -affliction. On his departure, the Periwinkle -caught the rustle of the Sister's dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sister," said the boy, "will you please go -away for a few minutes. I'm afraid I have to -swear—out loud."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you mustn't," she expostulated, -slightly taken aback. "It's—it's very wicked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't help that," replied the Periwinkle -austerely. "Please go at once; I'm going to -begin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Scandalised and offended—as well she -might be—she left the Periwinkle to his -godless self, and he swore aloud—satisfying, -unintelligible, senseless lower-deckese. But -when she brought him his tea an hour later -she found he had the grace to look ashamed -of himself, and forgave him. They -subsequently became great friends, and at the -Periwinkle's dictation she wrote long cheerful -letters that began: "My dear Mother," and -generally ended in suspicious-looking smudges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every one visited the Periwinkle. His -brethren from the Fleet arrived, bearing as -gifts strange and awful delicacies that usually -had to be confiscated, sympathising with the -queer, clumsy tenderness of boyhood. The -Flag-Lieutenant came often, always cheerful -and optimistic, forbearing to voice a word of -pity: for this the Periwinkle was inexpressibly -grateful. He even brought the Fairest of All -the Pippins, but the boy shrank a little from -the tell-tale tremor she could never quite -keep out of her voice. Her parting gift was -an armful of roses, and on leaving she bent -over till he could smell the faint scent of her -hair. "Good-bye," she whispered; "go on -being brave," and, to his wrathful astonishment, -kissed him lightly on the mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was the Admiral's wife too—childless -herself—who, from long dealings with men, -had acquired a brusque, almost masculine -manner. As soon as he had satisfied -himself that she evinced no outward desire to -"slobber," the Periwinkle admitted her to -his friendship. He subsequently confessed to -the Sister that, for a woman, she read aloud -extremely well. "Well, I must be goin'," -she said one day at parting. "I'll bring John -up to see you to-morrow." When she had -gone, the Periwinkle smote his pillow. -"John!" he gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John" was the Admiral.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even the crew of his cutter—just the -ordinary rapscallion duty-crew of the boat he -had commanded—trudged up one sweltering -Sunday afternoon, and were ushered with -creaking boots and moist, shiny faces into -his ward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bein' as we 'ad an arfternoon orf, sir," -began the spokesman, who was also the -Coxswain of the boat. But at the sight of the -wavering, sightless eyes, although prompted -by nudges and husky whispers, he forgot his -carefully-prepared sentences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We reckoned we'd come an' give you a -chuck-up, like, sir," concluded another, and -instead of the elaborate speech they had -deemed the occasion demanded, they told him -of their victory in a three-mile race over a -rival cutter. How afterwards they had -generously fraternised with the vanquished -crew,—so generously that the port stroke—"'im -as we calls 'Nobby' Clark, sir, if you -remembers"—was at that moment languishing -in a cell, as a result of the lavish hospitality -that had prevailed. Finally, the Periwinkle -extended a thin hand to the darkness, to be -gripped in turn by fourteen leathery fists, ere -their owners tiptoed out of the room and out -of his life.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Periwinkle found blindness an easier -matter to bear in the ward of a hospital than -on board the P. & O. Liner by which he was -invalided home. A Naval Sick-berth Steward -attended to his wants, helped him to dress, -and looked after him generally. But every -familiar smell and sound of ship-life awoke -poignant memories of the ship-life of former -days, and filled him with bitter woe. He was -morbidly sensitive of his blindness, too, and -for days moped in his cabin alone, fiercely -repelling any attempt at sympathy or -companionship. Then, by degrees, the ship's -doctor coaxed him up into a deck-chair, and -sat beside him, warding off intruders and -telling stories with the inimitable drollery -that is the heritage of the surgeons of P. & -O. Liners. And at night, when the decks were -clear, and every throb of the propellers was -a reminder of the home they were drawing -near to, he would link his arm loosely within -the boy's and together they would walk to -and fro. During these promenades he -invariably treated the Periwinkle as a man of -advanced years and experience, whereby was -no little balm in Gilead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many people tried to make a fuss of the boy -with the sullen mouth, whose cheek-bones -looked as if they were coming through the -skin, and who had such a sad story. Wealthy -globe-trotters, Anglo-Indians, missionaries, -and ladies of singular charm and beauty, all -strove according to their lights to comfort -him. But by degrees they realised he never -wanted to play cat's-cradle or even discuss -his mother, and so left him in peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the boy had a friend beside the doctor, -a grizzled major from an Indian Frontier -regiment, returning home on furlough with a -V.C. tacked on to his unpretentious name. -At first the Periwinkle rather shrank from a -fresh acquaintance—it is a terrible thing to -have to shake hands with an unknown voice. -But he was an incorrigible little -hero-worshipper, and this man with the deep -steady voice had done and seen wonderful -things. Further, he didn't mind talking -about them—to the Periwinkle; so that the -boy, as he sat clasping his ankles and staring -out to sea with sightless eyes, was told stories -which, a week later, the newspaper reporters -of the Kingdom desired to hear in vain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a philosopher too, this bronzed, -grey-haired, warrior with the sun-puckered -eyes: teaching how, if you only take the -trouble to look for it, a golden thread of -humour runs through all the sombre warp -and woof of life; and of "Hope which -... outwears the accidents of life and reaches -with tremulous hand beyond the grave and -death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is the nicest sort of philosophy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But for all that it was a weary voyage, -and the Periwinkle was a brown-faced ghost, -all knees and elbows and angularities by the -time Tilbury was reached. The first to board -the ship was a lady, pale and sweetly dignified, -whom the doctor met at the gangway and -piloted to the Periwinkle's cabin. He opened -the door before he turned and fled, and so -heard, in her greeting of the Periwinkle, the -infinite love and compassion that can thrill a -woman's voice.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In a corner of the railway carriage that -carried them home, the Periwinkle—that -maimed and battered knight—still clung to -the haft of his broken sword. "I meant to do -so jolly well. Oh, mother, I meant you to be -so jolly proud of me. The Flag-Lieutenant -said I might have been ... if only it had -been an arm or a leg—deaf or dumb ... but -there's nothing left in all the world ... it's -empty—nothing remains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waited till the storms of self-pity and -rebellion passed, leaving him biting his fingers -and breathing hard. Then little by little, -with mysterious tenderness, she drew out the -iron that had entered the boyish soul. And, -at the last, he turned to her with a little -fluttering sigh, as a very tired child abandons -a puzzle. She bent her head low—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This remains," she whispered.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-tizzy-snatcher"><span class="bold large">XIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE TIZZY-SNATCHER.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the beginning he was an Assistant -Clerk—which is a very small potato indeed; his -attainments in this lowly rank were limited -to an extensive and intimate knowledge of -the various flavours of gum employed in the -composition of envelopes. Passing straight -from a private school, he began life in the -Gunroom of a sea-going ship, and was afraid -with a great amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The new conditions amid which in future -he was to have his being unfolded themselves -in a succession of crude disillusionments. He -found himself surrounded by Midshipmen: -contemporaries, but, as they took care to -remind him, men in authority—beings with -vast, dimly conceived responsibilities: -barbarous in their manners, incomprehensive of -speech. To the pain of countless indignities -was added the fear of personal chastisement -(had he not read of such things?), and, having -been delicately nurtured, it is to be feared -that the days of his earlier service were not -without unhappiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the experience of a commission -abroad, however, things began to assume -their proper perspective. He became a -Clerk, R.N., and blossomed into the dignity -of a frock-coat and sword at Sunday -morning Divisions, whereby was no small balm -in Gilead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Your Midshipman differs but little in point -of thoughtless cruelty from his brethren of -"Quad" and school bench. But the -mess-mates who (obedient to the boyish dictates -of inhumanity, and for the good of his -immortal soul) had chaffed and snubbed him -into maturity, now appreciated him for the -even temper and dry sense of humour he -acquired in the process.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having mastered the queer sea-oaths and -jargon of a Gunroom, he learned to handle -an oar and sail a boat without discredit. -The Sub. took him on deck in the -dog-watches, and punched into him the -rudiments of the art of self-defence; and, lastly, -under the tutorship of a kindly Paymaster, -he came to understand dimly the inner -workings of that vast and complex organisation -that has its seat in Whitehall, by whose -mouths speak the Lords of Admiralty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His twenty-first birthday confronted him -with the ordeal of an examination, which, -successfully passed, entitled him to a -commission in His Majesty's Fleet with the rank -of Assistant Paymaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the next four years he continued to -live in the Gunroom, where, by reason of an -alleged unholy intimacy with the King's -Regulations and Admiralty Instructions, his -advice was commonly sought on questions -pertaining to the Service. His mode of -speech had become precise—as befitted a -wielder of the pen in life's battle, and one -versed in the mysteries of Naval Correspondence. -The ship's Office was his kingdom, -where he was Lord of the Ledgers, with a -lack of tan on face and hands that told of a -sedentary life in confined spaces: not -infrequently he wore glasses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some day he will become a Paymaster, -warden of the money-chest, and answerable -for the pay, victualling, and clothing of -every man on board. The years will bring -three gold rings to his cuff, a Fleet -Paymaster's grey hairs, and a nice perception -between the digestible and otherwise in -matters of diet.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The A.P. leaned back in his chair and -threw down his pen: in the glare of the -electric light his face looked white and tired. -Beside him the Chief Writer sat totalling a -column of figures: on deck a bell struck -midnight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you make it?" asked the A.P. wearily. -The Writer named a sum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Penny out," replied the A.P. laconically, -picking up his pen again. Outside the Office -door, where the hammocks of the guard -were slung, a Marine muttered in his sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two great ledgers that lay open on -the desk contained the names of every man -on board. They were duplicates, worked -independently, and by a comparison of the -two mistakes could be detected and -rectified. Opposite the names were noted the -credits of pay and allowances, adjusted for -different charges, the period borne, and all -particulars affecting the victualling of each man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" The missing penny had been -found. "It's in the account of that -confounded Ordinary Seaman who broke his -leave and got seven days cells," said the -A.P. "No. 215." He gave a sigh of relief -and closed the ledger. Perhaps he experienced -something of the satisfaction an author -might feel on writing the magic word "Finis." It -was his creation, every word and figure -of it, working as irrevocably as Destiny -towards its appointed end: and on the morrow -eight hundred men would file past the pay -tables, and in less than twenty minutes have -received, in coin or postal orders, the balance -of pay due to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to turn in now," said the A.P. -"We'll coin to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now the coins on a Paymaster's charge are -of certain denominations—usually sovereigns, -half-sovereigns, florins, shillings, and sixpenny -bits. Each man is paid, as a rule, to the -nearest shilling, and the odd pence, if any, -are carried forward to the succeeding quarter. -Thus the pay due to a man is, say, £3, 19s. 4d. -He receives three sovereigns, a half-sovereign, -four florins, and a shilling; the four pence -are brought on to the next ledger. A -Paymaster is thus enabled to foretell with some -degree of accuracy the number of coins that -he must demand from time to time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having coined the total amount to be paid -out in wages, and ascertained the number of -coins of each denomination required, the -pay-trays were laid on the desk in the Office. -Each tray was made up of compartments -large enough to hold a man's pay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Paymaster divested himself of his coat, -lit a pipe, and arranged side by side the two -bags containing sovereigns and half-sovereigns. -The A.P. similarly disposed of the florins and -shillings, so that he could reach them easily. -They contained the exact total amount -required for the payment in the requisite -coins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ready, sir?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right," said the Paymaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Chief Writer read out the amount due -to the first man. Quick as a flash the amount -had clinked into the first division of the tray, -both officers making mental calculations as -to the coins required. For the next -half-hour the only sounds in the Office were the -voice of the Chief Writer and the tinkle of -the coins as each one was slipped into its -compartment. In an incredibly short time -the piles of gold and silver had melted away; -as a tray was filled it was placed in a box -and locked up in readiness for the payment. -The three faces grew anxious as the piles -dwindled and the number of empty -compartments lessened.... The last total was -reached: the Paymaster threw down two -sovereigns; the A.P. added a florin and a -shilling. The bags were empty: would it -"pan out"?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two pounds three," read out the Chief -Writer, craning his neck to see the result.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank the Lord," murmured the A.P.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On the quarter-deck, facing aft, the ship's -company were mustered: seamen, stokers, -artisans, cooks, and police, one after -another, as their names were called by the -A.P., stepped briskly up to the pay table, -where the Captain and the Commander -stood, scooped their wages into their caps -and hurried away. The Marines followed, -receiving their pay in their hands, with a -click of the heels and a swinging salute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the break of the forecastle an Ordinary -Seaman stood regarding a few silver coins in -his grimy palm. Having broken his leave -during the month and been awarded cells in -consequence, he had received considerably -less pay than usual—a penalty he had not -foreseen and did not understand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bloomin' tizzy-snatcher," he muttered, -slipping the coins into his trousers-pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He referred to the A.P.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="c-o-g-p-o"><span class="bold large">XIV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"C/O G.P.O."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The bell above the door of the village -post-office tinkled and the Postmistress looked up -over her spectacles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it yourself, Biddy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A barefooted country girl with a shawl -over her head entered and shyly tendered an -envelope across the counter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you tell me how much it will be, -Mrs Malone?" she queried. There was anxiety -in the dark-blue eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Postmistress glanced at the address. -"Sure, it'll go for a penny," she said -reassuringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a terrible long way for a penny," -said the girl. "Sure, it's a terrible long way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From under her shawl she produced a coin -and stamped the envelope. It took some -time to do this, because a good deal -depended on the exact angle at which the -stamp was affixed. In itself it carried a -message to the recipient.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's grand writin' ye've got," said the -Postmistress, her Celtic sympathy aroused. -"An' himself will be houldin' it in his hands -a month from now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl blushed. "Father Denis is after -learnin' me; an' please for a bit o' stamp-paper, -Mrs Malone," she pleaded softly, "the -way no one will be after opening it an' readin' -it in them outlandish parts." It was the -seal of the poor, a small square of -stamp-paper gummed over the flap of the envelope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she was concluding this final rite the -bell tinkled again. A fair-haired girl in -tweeds, carrying a walking-stick, entered -with a spaniel at her heels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled a greeting to both women. -"A penny stamp, please, Mrs Malone." She -stamped a letter she carried in her hand, -and turned the face of the envelope towards -the Postmistress. "How long is this going -to take getting to its destination?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Postmistress beamed. "Sure, himself—" -she began, and recollected herself. -"A month, me lady—no more." Outside, the -girl with the shawl over her head was standing -before the slit of the post-box; the other -girl came out the next moment, and the two -letters started on their long journey side by side. -As the two women turned to go, their eyes -met for an instant: the country girl blushed. -They went their way, each with a little smile -on her lips.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Destroyer, that for three hours had -been slamming through a head sea, rounded -the headland and came in sight of the -anchored Fleet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Yeoman of Signals on the Flagship's -bridge closed his glass with a snap. "She's -got mails for the Fleet," he called to the -Leading Signalman. "I'll report to the -Flag-Lieutenant." As he descended to the -quarterdeck he met the Officer of the Watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Destroyer coming in with mails, sir." The -Lieutenant's face brightened; he called -an order to the Boatswain's Mate, who ran -forward piping shrilly. "A-wa-a-ay -picket-boat!" he bawled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Flag-Lieutenant was reading in his -cabin when the Yeoman made his report. -Snatching up his cap, he hastened in to the -Admiral's apartments. "Destroyer arriving -with mails for the Fleet, sir." The Admiral -glanced at the calendar. "Ah! Eight days -since we had the last. Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Flag-Lieutenant poked his head inside -the Secretary's Office. "Now you fellows -will have something to do—the mail's coming in!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," replied the Secretary's Clerk. -"But, Flags, </span><em class="italics">try</em><span> not to look quite so inanely -pleased about it. She's probably forgotten -all about you by now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Destroyer with rime-crusted funnels -drew near, and men working on the upper -decks of the Fleet ceased their labours to -watch her approach. One of the side-party, -working over the side in a bowline, jerked -his paint-brush in her direction. "If I don't -get no letter this mail—so 'elp me I stops me -'arf pay," he confided grimly to a "Raggie," -and spat sententiously. In the Wardroom -the married officers awoke from their -afternoon siesta and began to harass the Officer -of the Watch with inquiries. The news -spread even to the Midshipmen's Schoolplace, -and the Naval Instructor found -straightway that to all intents and purposes -he was lecturing on Spherical Trigonometry -to deaf adders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the eyes of the Fleet upon her, the -Destroyer anchored at last, and the Flagship's -picket-boat slid alongside to embark -the piles of bloated mail-bags. As she swung -round on her return journey the Yeoman on -the Flagship's bridge glanced down at a -signal-boy standing beside the flag-lockers, -and nodded. Two flags leaped from the -lockers and sped to the masthead. Instantly -an answering flutter of bunting appeared on -each ship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Send boats for mails." The Flagship had spoken.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In Wardroom and Gunroom a rustling -silence prevailed. Each new-comer as he -entered rushed to the letter-rack and -hurriedly grabbed his pile of letters: there is -a poignant joy in seeing one's name on an -envelope twelve thousand watery miles away -from home, no matter whose hand penned -the address. In some cases, though, it mattered -a good deal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Flag-Lieutenant retired to his cabin -like a dog with a bone, and became engrossed -with closely-written sheets that enclosed -several amateur snapshots. One or two -portrayed a slim, fair-haired girl in tweeds; -others a black spaniel. The Flag-Lieutenant -studied them through a magnifying-glass, -smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Admiral, busy over his private -correspondence, was also smiling. He had been -offered another group of letters to tack after -his name (he had five already). The agent of -his estate at home had a lot to say about the -pheasants.... His wife sprawled an account -of life at Aix across eight pages. He had -been invited to be the executor of one man's -will and godfather to another's child. But a -series of impressionist sketches by his youngest -daughter (</span><em class="italics">ætat.</em><span> 5), inspired by a visit to the -Zoo, was what he was actually smiling over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up on the after-bridge the Yeoman of the -Watch leaned over the rail and whistled to -the signal-boy. "Nip down to my mess an' -see if there's a letter for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy fled down the ladder and presently -returned with a letter. The Yeoman took it -from him and turned it over in his hands, -scanning it almost hungrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stamp was cryptically askew and the -flap of the envelope ornamented by a -fragment of stamp-paper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' what the 'ell are </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> grinnin' at?" -he began. The boy turned and scampered -down the ladder into safety. The Yeoman -of Signals stood looking after him, the letter -held in his hand, when a bell rang outside the -signal-house. He put his ear to the -voice-pipe. The Flag-Lieutenant was speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Make the following signal to the Destroyer -that brought our mails—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Commanding Officer. Admiral -requests the pleasure of your company to -dinner to-night at eight o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, sir." He turned away from -the voice-pipe. "</span><em class="italics">An'</em><span> 'e could 'ave my tot on -top o' that for the askin'."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-look-see"><span class="bold large">XV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE "LOOK-SEE."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">SOUTHEND, AUGUST 1909.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A bunting-draped paddle-steamer, listed over -with a dense crowd of trippers, thrashed her -leisurely way down the lines. On the -quarterdeck of one of the Battleships the Midshipman -of the Afternoon Watch rubbed the lense -of his telescope with his jacket cuff, adjusted -the focus against a stanchion, and prepared -to make the most of this heaven-sent -diversion. Over the water came a hoarse roar of -cheering, and, as she drew near, handkerchiefs -and flags fluttered along the steamer's rail. -The Lieutenant of the Watch, in frock-coat -and sword-belt, paused beside the Midshipman -and raised his glass, a dry smile creasing the -corners of his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's up with them all, sir?" murmured -the boy delightedly. "My Aunt! What a -Banzai!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ever seen kids cheer a passing train? -Same sort of thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But look at the girl in white; she's half -off her chump—look at her waving her arms.... -Friend of yours, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—only hysterical. The man with her -is trying to make her stop." The sailor -laughed. "He's given it up ... now he's -waving too—what at?" He closed his glass. -"Curious, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The steamer passed on, and a confused burr -of cheering announced that she had reached -the next silent warship. "It's all-same -'Maffick,'" he continued presently, -"Entente—Banzai—anything you like to call it. An' -when we've gone they'll come to their senses -and feel hot all over—like a fellow who wakes -up and finds his hat on the gas-bracket and -his boots in the water-jug!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Midshipman nodded: "I saw some -kids dancing round a policeman once. Made -the bobby look rather an ass—though as a -matter of fact I believe he rather liked it. -Bad for discipline, though," he added with -the austere judgment of eighteen summers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A launch bumped alongside, and a stout -man in the stern-sheets shouted for permission -to come on board.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do," said the Lieutenant gravely. The -stout man took a valedictory pull at a black -bottle in the stern-locker, pocketed a handful -of shrimps for future consumption, and, -accompanied by three feminine acquaintances, -laboriously ascended the ladder. They gazed -stolidly and all uncomprehending at the sleek -barbette guns, the snowy planking underfoot, -over which flickered the shadow of the White -Ensign, and finally wandered forward through -the screen-doors, where they were lost to view -among the throngs of sightseers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The afternoon wore on; every few minutes -a launch or steamer swirled past, gay with -bunting and parasols. Many carried bands, -and in the lulls of cheering the light breeze -bore the notes of martial, if not strictly -appropriate, music across the line. An Able -Seaman paused in his occupation of burnishing -the top of the after-capstan, and passed the -back of his hand across his forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Proper dizzy, ain't they?" he remarked -in an undertone to a companion. "Wot's the toon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sons of the Muvverland," replied the -other. He sucked his teeth appreciatively, -after the manner of sailor-men, and added, -"Gawd! Look at them women!..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A launch with a crimson banner, bearing -the name of a widely-circulated halfpenny -paper, fussed under the stern. A man in a -dingy white waistcoat hailed the quarter-deck -in the vernacular through a megaphone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you," came the clear-cut reply; -"we have to-day's papers." The Lieutenant -hitched his glass under his arm and resumed -his measured walk. "I'm no snob, Lord -knows," he confided to the other, "but it -bores me stiff to be patted on the head by -the halfpenny press— Sideboy! pick up -those shrimps' heads that gentleman dropped."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By degrees the more adventurous spirits -found their way down between decks, where, -in a short time, the doorway of each officer's -cabin framed a cluster of inquisitive heads. -In one or two cases daring sightseers had -invaded the interiors, and were examining -with naïve interest the photographs, Rugby -caps, dented cups, and all the </span><em class="italics">lares atque -penates</em><span> of a Naval Officer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere, Florrie!" called a flushed maiden -of Hebraic mien, obtruding her head into the -flat, "come an' look!" She extended a silver -photograph frame,—"Phyllis Dare—signed -an' all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other sighed rapturously and examined -it with round-eyed interest. Then she gazed -round the tiny apartment. "</span><em class="italics">Ain't</em><span> 'e a one! -Look at 'is barf 'anging on the roof!..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harassed sentry evicted them with -difficulty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better'n Earl's Court, this is," opined a -stout lady, who, accompanied by a -meek-looking husband and three children, had -subsided on to a Midshipman's sea-chest. -She opened the mouth of a string-bag. -"Come on, 'Orace—you just set down this -minute, an' you shall 'ave 'arf a banana."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A very small Midshipman approached the -chest. "I hate disturbing you, and Horace," -he ventured, "but I want to go ashore, and -all my things are in that box you're sitting -on—would you mind...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ma!" shrilled a small boy, indicating the -modest brass plate on the lid of the chest -they had vacated. "Look—" he extended -a small, grubby forefinger, "'e's a Viscount!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Garn," snapped his father, "that's swank, -that is. Viscounts don' go sailorin'—they -stops ashore an' grinds the faces of the poor, -an' don' forget what I'm tellin' of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marine Sentry overheard. "Pity they -don' wash 'em as well," he observed -witheringly. His duties included that of servant -to the Midshipman in question, and he -resented the scepticism of a stranger who sat -on the lid of his master's chest eating cold -currant pudding out of a string-bag.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On the pier-head a dense perspiring crowd -surged through gates and barriers, swarmed -outward into all the available space, and -slowly congested into a packed throng of -over-heated, over-tired humanity. Those -nearest the rails levelled cheap opera-glasses -at the distant line of men-of-war stretching -away into the haze, each ship with her -attendant steamer circling round her. An -excursion steamer alongside hooted -deafeningly, and a man in a peaked cap on her -bridge raised his voice above the babel, -bellowing hoarse incoherencies. A gaitered -Lieutenant clanked through the crowd, four -patrol-men at his heels, moving as men do -who are accustomed to cramped surroundings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the landing-stages, where the crowd -surged thickest, the picket-boats from the -Fleet swung hooting alongside, rocking in the -swell. As each went astern and checked her -way, the front of the excited throng of -sightseers bellied outward, broke, and poured -across the boats in a wild stampede for seats. -They swayed on the edge of the gunwales, -floundered hobnailed over enamelled casings, -were clutched and steadied on the heaving -decks by barefooted, half-contemptuous men. -The Midshipmen raised their voices in -indignant protest: drunk and riotous liberty-men -they understood: one "swung-off" at -them in unfettered language of the sea, or -employed the butt-end of a tiller to back an -ignored command on which their safety -depended. But here was a people that had -never known discipline—had scorned the -necessity for it in their own unordered lives. -The Midshipman of the inside pinnace -jerked the lanyard of the syren savagely. -"Look at my priceless paintwork! look at—</span><em class="italics">That's</em><span> -enough—no more in this boat—it's not -safe! Please stand back, it's—oh, d——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A man, in utter disregard of the request, had -picked up a child in his arms and jumped -on board, steadying himself by the funnel guys. -"Orl right, my son, don't bust yerself," he -replied pleasantly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>An old woman forced her way through the -crush towards the Lieutenant of the Patrol, -who with knotted brows was trying to grasp -the gist of a signal handed to him by a -coastguard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to see my 'usband's nephew," she -explained breathlessly; "'e's in 39 Mess." The -Lieutenant smiled gravely. "What -ship?" She named the ship, and stood expectant, -a look of confidence on her heated -features, as if awaiting some sleight-of-hand -trick. There was something dimly prophetic -in the simple faith with which she voiced her -need.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see. Will you excuse me a minute while -I answer this signal, and I'll send some one to -help you find the right boat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A Petty Officer guided her eventually to the -landing-place and saw her safely embarked; -he returned to find his Lieutenant comforting -with clumsy tenderness a small and lacrymose -boy who had lost his parents, turning from -him to receive the reproaches of a lady whose -purse had been stolen. The two men exchanged -a little smile, and the Petty Officer -edged a little nearer—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Arf an hour on the parade-ground at -Whale Island,[#] sir, I'd like to 'ave with some -of 'em," he confided behind a horny palm. -The jostling throng surged round him, calling -high heaven to witness the might of its possessions.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The hotbed of Naval Discipline.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I'd</em><span> make 'em 'op..." he murmured dreamily.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="watch-there-watch"><span class="bold large">XVI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"WATCH THERE, WATCH!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dinner in the long, antler-hung mess-room -of the Naval Barracks had come to an end. -Here and there along the table, where the -shaded lights glinted on silver loving-cups -and trophies, a few officers lingered in pairs -over their coffee. Presently the band moved -down from the gallery that overlooked one -end of the Mess, and began playing in the -hall. This was the signal for a general move -to the smoking-room, where a score of figures -in mess undress uniform were grouped round -the fire, lighting pipes and cigars and -exchanging mild, after-dinner chaff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few couples of dancing enthusiasts were -solemnly revolving in the hall. Others made -their way up the broad staircase to the -billiard-room, or settled down at the bridge -tables.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on," shouted a tall Commander -seated on the "club" fender in the -smoking-room, "what about a game of skill or -chance? Come up to the billiard-room, and -bring your pennies!" He stirred a form -recumbent in an arm-chair with the toe of -his boot. "What about you, young feller? -Are you going to play pool?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young Lieutenant shook his head. -"Not to-night, sir, thanks. I'm going to -bed early: I've got the Night Guard trip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gradually the room emptied. The figure -in the arm-chair finished the paper he was -reading, glanced at the clock and rose, -knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "Call -me at 1.15," he said to the hall porter as -he passed him on his way to his room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An officer, immaculate in evening dress, -who was putting his overcoat in the hall, -overheard the speaker, and laughed. "That's -the spirit! Early to bed, early to rise, -makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More'n you'll ever be, my sprig o' -fashion," grumbled the Lieutenant, and -passed on.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lieutenant of the Night Guard went -cautiously down the wooden steps of the -Barracks' Pier that led to the landing-place. -Cautiously, because the tide was low, and -experience had taught him that the steps -would be slippery with weed. Also the -night was very dark, and the lights of the -steamboat alongside showed but indistinctly -through the surrounding fog. At the bottom -of the steps one of the boat's crew was -waiting with a lantern. Its rays lit for -a minute the faces of the two men, and -gleamed on the steel guard of the cutlass -at the bearer's hip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Infernal night!" said the Lieutenant from -the depths of his overcoat collar. He had -just turned out, and there was an exceeding -bitterness in his voice. The lantern-bearer -also had views on the night—possibly -stronger views—but refrained from any reply. -Perhaps he realised that none was expected. -The other swung himself down into the -sternsheets of the boat, and, as he did so, the -Coxswain came aft, blowing on his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Carry on, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please. Usual rounds: go alongside a -Destroyer and any ship that doesn't hail. -Fog's very thick: got a compass?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a compass in the boat, sir." The -Coxswain moved forward again to the wheel, -wearing a slightly ruffled expression which, -owing to the darkness and the fact that -there was no one to see it, was rather -wasted. For thirty years he'd known that -harbour, man and boy, fair or foul, and his -father a waterman before him.... He -jerked the telegraph bell twice, gave a -half-contemptuous turn to the wheel, and -spat overside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Compass!" he observed to the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boat slid away on its mission, and -the shore lights glimmered wan and -vanished in the fog astern. A clock ashore -struck the hour, and from all sides came the -answering ships' bells—some near, some far, -all muffled by the moisture in the heavy -atmosphere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ding-ding! Ding! Half-past one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He who had borne the lantern deposited -it in the tiny cabin aft, and with a thoughtful -expression removed a frayed halfpenny paper -from the inside of the breast of his jumper. -To carry simultaneously a cutlass and a comic -paper did not apparently accord with his -views on the fitness of things, for he -carefully refolded the latter and placed it under -the cushions of the locker. Then he -unhooked a small megaphone from the -bulkhead, and came out, closing the sliding-door -behind him. Finally he passed forward into -the bows of the boat, where he remained -visible in the glare of the steaming light, -his arms crossed on his chest, hands tucked -for warmth one under each arm-pit, peering -stolidly into the blackness ahead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once in mid-stream the fog lessened. -Sickly patches of light waxed out of -indistinctness and gleamed yellow. Anon as -they brightened, a human voice, thin and -lonely as a wraith's, came abruptly out of -the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Boat ahoy!" The voice from nowhere -sounded like an alarm. It was as if the -darkness were suddenly suspicious of this -swiftly-moving, palpitating thing from across -the water. The figure in the bows removed -his hands from his arm-pits, picked up the -megaphone, and sent a reassuring bellow in -the direction of the hail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guard Boat!" he answered, and as he -did so a vast towering shape had loomed -up over them. "Answer's, 'Guard Boat!' -sir," said the faint voice somewhere above -their heads, addressing an unseen third -person. A dark wall appeared, surmounted by -a shadowy superstructure and a giant tripod -mast that was swallowed, long before the -eye could reach its apex, in vapour and -darkness. The sleek flanks of guns at rest -showed for an instant.... A sleeping -"Super-Dreadnought." It faded into the -darkness astern; then nothing but the mist -again, and the throb of the boat's engines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another, and another, and yet another -watchful Presence loomed up out of the -night, hailed suspiciously, and, at the -megaphone's answering bellow, merged again into -the silent darkness. A figure stepped aft -in the Guard Boat and adjusted the tarpaulin -that covered the rifles lying on top of the -cabin: moisture had collected among the -folds in little pools. Then the engine-room -gong rang, and a voice quite near hailed -them. A long black shadow appeared -abreast, and the Guard Boat slid alongside a -Destroyer at anchor. The dark water -between the two hulls churned into foam as -the boat reversed her engines. A tall -figure holding a lantern leaned over the -Destroyer's rail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Night Guard," said the Lieutenant curtly. -As he came forward, three men climbed -silently up from below and stood awaiting -orders at his side. The lantern shone -unsteadily on their impassive faces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you the Quartermaster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir." The tall man in oilskins leaning -over the Destroyer's rail lowered his lantern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, I won't come inboard. All correct?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All correct, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right. Put it in the log that I've -visited you. Good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gong clanged, and the Guard Boat -slid away into the mist again. The -figure in the bows was relieved by a -comrade, and together with the remaining two -vanished down the foremost hatch. The -faint reek of Navy tobacco drifted aft to -the stern-sheets, where the Lieutenant of -the Night Guard had resumed his position, -leaning against an angle of the cabin with -his hands deep in the pockets of his -overcoat. He was reflecting on the strangeness -of a profession that dragged a man from his -bed at one o'clock in the morning, to steam -round a foggy harbour in the company of -armed men, these times of piping peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once a night throughout the year, in every -Dockyard Port in the kingdom, a launch slid -away from the Depot jetty, slipped in and -out among the anchored ships, and -returned to her moorings when the patrol -was completed. Why? Some grim significance -surely lay in the duty, in the abrupt -hails that stabbed the stillness, greeting the -throb of her engines: in the figure of the -armed man in the bows with the -megaphone, ready to fling back the reassuring -answer....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shifted his position and glanced -forward. The bowman was chewing tobacco, -and every now and again turned his head -to spit overside. Each time he did so -the port bow-light lit his features with a -ruddy glare. It was a stolid countenance, -slightly bored.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant smiled gravely. Did the -figure wonder why he wore a cutlass in -peace time? Did he realise the warning it -embodied—the message they conveyed night -by night to the anchored ships? His -thoughts took a more sombre turn. Would -the night ever come—just such a night as -this—and under the fog a Menace glide in -among the blindfold Fleet? To the first hail -of alarm answer with a lever released, a -silvery shadow that left a trail of bubbles -on the surface.... And then—the fog -and silence riven to the dark vault of -heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his head. "All right, Coxswain, -enough for to-night. Carry on back." Over -went the helm: the boat swung round on a -new course, heading whence she had come -an hour before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carry on back! It was so easy to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His thoughts reverted to the grim picture -his imagination had created. How would -that shadowy Terror, her mission fulfilled, -"carry on back"? Wheel wrenched over, -funnels spouting flame, desperate men -clinging to the rail as she reeled under the -concussion, racing blindly through the outraged -night for safety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus had a warring Nation written a -lesson across the map of Manchuria for -all the world to read—and, if they might, -remember.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Where did he come in, then—this figure -leaning thoughtfully against the angle of -the steamboat's cabin? What was his -mission, and that of the steamboat with its -armed crew, night after night, in fog and -by starlight, winter and summer...?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A chord of memory vibrated faintly in -his mind. There was a phrase that summed -it up, learned long ago.... He was a -cadet again on the seamanship-deck of the -old </span><em class="italics">Britannia</em><span>, at instruction in a now -obsolete method of sounding with the -Deep-Sea Lead and Line. They were shown how, -in order to obtain a sounding, a number -of men were stationed along the ship's side, -each holding a coil of the long line. As -the heavy lead sank and the line tautened -from hand to hand, each man flung his coil -overboard. As he did so he called to warn -the next—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Watch there, watch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The steamboat, slowed as she passed close -under the stern of a battleship. The fog had -lifted, and the Officer of the Middle Watch -was leaning over the quarter-deck rail. The -Lieutenant of the Night Guard raised his -head, and in the gleam of the ship's stern -light the two officers recognised each other. -They had been in the </span><em class="italics">Britannia</em><span>, together. -The former laughed a greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back to bed, you noisy blighter!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cloaked figure in the boat chuckled. -"That's where I am going," he called back.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="farewell-and-adieu"><span class="bold large">XVII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"FAREWELL AND ADIEU!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper paused at the -corner of the street and smote the pavement -with the ferrule of his stick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord!" he ejaculated, "to think this is -the last night! Look at it all...." Dusk -had fallen, and with it a wet mist closed -down on the town. The lights from the -shop windows threw out a warm orange glow -that was reflected off the wet pavements -and puddles in the street. The shrill voice -of a paper-boy, hawking the evening paper, -dominated all other sounds for a moment. -"Eve ... nin' Er-r-rald!" he called. Then, -seeing the two figures standing irresolute on -the kerb, ran towards them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evenin' 'Erald! sir? Naval 'Pointments, -sir ... To-night's Naval 'Point——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant shook his head half impatiently, -then added as if speaking to himself, -"No—not yet." It was such a familiar -evening feature of life ashore in a -Dockyard Port, that hoarse, "jodelling" cry. -One bought the paper and glanced through -the columns over a gin-and-bitters at the -Club. But this was the last night: every -familiar sensation and experience should be -flavoured in their turn—ere they two went -hence and were no more seen!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Young Doctor at his elbow gave a -curt laugh: "We shan't be very interested -in the Appointments to-morrow night, Jerry!" An -itinerant seller of violets drifted down -the pavement and thrust his fragrant -merchandise upon them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall we do first?" asked the -Junior Watch-keeper. "Let's go and have -our hair cut and a shampoo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hate having my hair cut," pleaded the -Surgeon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind: it's all part of the show. -You won't get another chance of talking -football to a barber for years.... And that -awful green stuff that he rubs in with a bit -of sponge—oh, come on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Together they drifted up the familiar -street, pausing to stare into shop windows -with a sudden renewal of interest that was -half pathetic. A jeweller's shop, throwing -a glittering white arc of light across the -pavement arrested their progress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never realised before," mused the -Surgeon, "how these fellows cater for the -love-lorn Naval Officer. Look at those brooches: -naval crowns; hat-pins made of uniform -buttons, bracelets with flags done in -enamel—D-E-A-R-E-S—" he spelt out, and broke off -abruptly, "Pouf! What tosh!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other was fumbling with the door-latch. -"Half a minute, Peter, there's something I've -just remembered..." and vanished inside -muttering. The Young Doctor caught the -words "some little thing," and waited outside. -The traffic of the street, a fashionable -shopping street in a Dockyard town at -6 P.M., streamed past him as he stood there -waiting. Girls in furs, with trim ankles, -carrying parcels or Badminton raquets, -hurried along, pausing every now and again -to glance into an attractive shop window. -Several tweed-clad figures, shouldering golf -clubs, passed in the direction of the railway -station; one or two nodded a salutation as -they recognised him. Little pigtailed girls -with tight skirts enclosing immature figures, -of a class known technically as the "Flapper," -drifted by with lingering, precocious stares. -The horns of the motors that whizzed along -the muddy street sounded far and near. They, -together with the clang and rumble of -tram-cars a few streets away, and the voices of the -paper-boys, dominated in turn all other sounds -in the mirky night air. The man with the -basket of violets shuffled past again, and -left a faint trail of fragrance lingering. -Long after that night, in the uttermost parts -of the earth he remembered it, and the -half-caught scent of violets, drifting from a -perfume shop in Saigon, was destined to -conjure up for the Surgeon a vision of that -glittering street, with its greasy pavement -and hurrying passers-by, and of a pair of -grey eyes that glanced back for an instant -over their owner's furs....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper reappeared, -buttoning up his coat. "Sorry to have kept -you waiting, Peter," and fell into step beside -his companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later they emerged from -the hairdresser's establishment, clipped and -anointed as to the head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," breathed the Lieutenant, "where to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sawdust Club!" said the Surgeon. They -crossed the road and turned up a narrow -passage-way. As they quitted the street, a -diminutive boy, with an old, wizened face -and an unnaturally husky voice, wormed his -way in under the Young Doctor's elbow, "'Erald, -sir? Latest, sir! Naval—" The Surgeon -slipped a sixpenny bit into his hand and -took the proffered paper, still damp from -the press. They entered a long vault-like -apartment, its floor strewn with sawdust -and long counters and a row of wooden -stools extending down each side. Behind -the counters rose tiers of barrels, and in -one corner was a sandwich buffet, with -innumerable neat piles of sandwiches in a -glass case. The place was crowded with -customers: a bull-dog sauntered about the -floor, nosing among the sawdust for pieces -of biscuit. As the new-comers entered several -of the inmates, perched on their wooden stools, -looked round and smiled a greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah-ha! Last night in England, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the Junior Watch-keeper, -"the last night." He sniffed the mingled -aroma of sawdust, tobacco-smoke, and the -faint pungent smell of alcohol. "Good old -pot-house! Good old Sawdust Club! Dear, -dear, curried egg sandwiches! ... </span><em class="italics">And</em><span> a -drop of sherry white-wine 'what the orficers -drinks'—yes, in a dock-glass, and may the -Lord ha' mercy on us!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"And now," said the Young Doctor, "a -'chop-and-chips,' I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A mixed-grill," substituted the other. -"Kidney and sausage and tomato and all -the rest of it. Oh yes, a 'mixed-grill.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They entered swing-doors, past a -massive Commissionaire, who saluted with -a broad smile. "They're askin' for you -inside, sir," he whispered jocularly to the -Junior Watch-keeper. "Wonderin' when you -was comin' along.... Sailin' to-morrow, ain't -you, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Together the "last-nighters" descended a -flight of carpeted stairs and entered a -subterranean, electric-lit lounge bar. A dozen -or more of Naval men were standing -about the fireplace and sitting in more or -less graceful attitudes in big saddle-bag -arm-chairs. The majority were conducting a -lively badinage with a pretty, fair-haired -girl who leaned over the bar at one end of -the room. She smiled a greeting as the -new-comers entered, and emerged from her -retreat. The Junior Watch-keeper doffed his -hat with a low bow and hung it on the -stand. Then he bent down, swung her into -his arms, and handed her like a doll to the -Young Doctor, who in turn deposited her on -the lap of a seated Officer reading the -evening paper. "Look what I've found."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a squeal she twisted herself to her -feet and retreated behind the bar again, her -hands busy with the mysteries of hair-pins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo! hullo!" Greetings sounded on -all sides. A tall broad-shouldered figure -with a brown beard elbowed his way through -the crush and smote the Junior Watch-keeper -on the breast-bone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear sakes! Where have you sprung -from? I just come from the Persian Gulf, -and it's a treat to see a familiar face!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're off to China again to-morrow," said -the other, a half-suppressed note of -exultation in his voice—"China-side again! Do -you remember...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bearded one nodded wistfully. "Do I -not! ... You lucky devils.... Oh, you -lucky devils! Here, Molly——"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The waiter sought them presently with the -time-honoured formula: "Your grill's spoilin', -gentlemen, please," and they took their places -in the mirror-walled grill-room, where the -violins were whimpering some pizzicato -melody. A girl with dark eyes set a shade -obliquely in a pale face, seated at the grand -piano, looked across as they entered and -smiled a faint greeting to the Young Doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we're entitled to a voluntary from -the pianist to-night," said the other -presently, his mouth full of mixed-grill. "What -shall we ask for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other thought for a moment. "There's -a thing ... I don't know what it's called -... it's like wind in the leaves—</span><em class="italics">she</em><span> knows." He -beckoned a waiter and whispered. The -girl with the pale face looked across the room -and for an instant met the eyes of the Young -Doctor; then she ran her fingers lightly -over the keys and drifted into Sinding's -</span><em class="italics">Frühlingsrauschen</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Surgeon nodded delightedly. "That's -the thing.... Good girl. I don't know -what it's called, but it reminds me of -things." He munched cheerfully, pausing anon -to bury his face in a tankard of beer, and they -fell to discussing prospects of sport up the -Yangtse. Once or twice as she played, the -girl behind the piano allowed her dark eyes -to travel across the crowded grill-room over -the heads of the diners, and her glance -lingered a moment at the table where the two -"last-nighters" were seated. The first violin, -who was also a musician, sat with a rapt -expression, holding his fiddle across his knees. -When the piece was over he started abruptly—so -abruptly it was evident that for him a -spell had broken. He looked up at the pianist -with a queer, puzzled expression, as if -half-resentful of something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Young Doctor was arranging forks and -a cruet-stand in a diagram on the table-cloth. -"There was a joss-house here, if you -remember, and the guns were here ... the -pigeon came over that clump of bamboo...." The -other, leaning across the table, nodded -with absorbed interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>/TB</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant glanced at his watch. -"Come along; we must be moving if we're -going to the 'Palace.'" They paid their bill, -tipped the waiter in a manner that appeared -to threaten him with instant dislocation of -the spine, and walked up the tiled passage -that led past the open door of the lounge. -From her vantage behind the bar inside, the -girl some one had addressed as "Molly" -caught a glimpse of their retreating figures. -She slipped out through the throng of -customers, most of whom had dined, and -were talking to each other over their port -and liqueurs, into the quiet of the corridor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jerry!" she called; "Mr——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord!" ejaculated the Junior Watch-keeper, -"I'd forgotten—" He turned quickly -on his heel. "Hullo, Molly! We're coming -back presently. But that reminds me..." -he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and the -Surgeon strolled slowly on up the steps, -round a bend, and was lost to view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl gave a little breathless laugh. -"That's what you all say, you boys. And -you never do come back.... </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> weren't going -without saying good-bye to me, were you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Molly, of course I wasn't: and -look here, old lady, here's a gadget I got -for you—" he fumbled with the tissue paper -enclosing a little leather case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl stood with one hand on the lapel -of his coat, twisted a button backwards, and -forwards. "Jerry, I—I wanted to thank you -... you were a real brick to me, that time. -It saved my life, goin' to the Sanatorium, -an' I couldn't never have afforded it...." Her -careful grammar became a shade confused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man gave a little, deep laugh of -embarrassment. "Rot! Molly, that's all -over and forgotten. No more nasty coughs -now, eh?" He patted her shoulder clumsily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' mind you drop me a line when that -fathom of trouble of yours comes up to the -scratch, and send me a bit of wedding-cake—here, -hang on to this thing.... No, it's -nothing; only a little brooch.... Good-bye, -old lady—good-bye. Good luck to you, and -don't forget to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl raised her pretty, flushed face -and gave a quick glance up and down the -deserted corridor. "Ain't you—aren't you -going to—say good-bye ... properly—Jerry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper bent down. -"'Course ... and another for luck...! -Good-bye, dear; good-bye...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Young Doctor was waiting with his -nose flattened against the darkened window -of a gunsmith's opposite when the Lieutenant -joined him. His silence held a vague hint -of disapproval as they fell into step. "That -girl," he ventured presently, "isn't she a -bit fond of you, old thing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper paused to light -a pipe. "I—I don't think so, Peter. Not -more than she is of a dozen others." He -glanced at his companion: "You don't think -I've been up to any rotten games, do you?" The -other shook his head with quick protest. -"But I like her awfully, and she's a jolly -good little sport. They all are, taking them all -round, in a Naval Port. It's a rotten life -when you think of it ... cooped up there in -that beastly atmosphere, year in, year out, -listening to everlasting Service shop, or being -made love to by half-tight fools. Their only -refuge from it is in marriage—if they care -to take advantage of some young ass. Who -else do they meet...? The marvel of it -is not that a few come to grief, but that so -many are so jolly straight. That girl -to-night—Molly—I suppose she has refused half a -dozen N.O.'s. Prefers to wait till some -scallywag in her own class can afford to take -her away out of it. And I've heard her -talking like a Mother to a rorty Midshipman—a -silly young ass who was drinking like a -fish and wasting his money and health -pub-crawling. She shook him to the core. Lord -knows, I don't want to idealise barmaids—p'raps -I'd be a better man if I'd seen less -of them myself—but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Surgeon gripped his elbow soothingly. -"I know—</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know, old son. Don't get in a -stew! And as for seeing less of them -... it's hard to say. Unless a man knows -people ashore, and is prepared to put on his -'superfine suitings' and pay asinine calls -when he might be playing golf or cricket, -where else is he to speak to a woman all -the days of his life? Dances...? I can't -dance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had turned into the main thoroughfare, -and the traffic that thronged the pavements -and roadway made conversation difficult. The -liberty men from scores of ships in the port -streamed to and fro: some arm-in-arm with -quietly-dressed servant girls and shop girls; -others uproarious in the company of -befeathered women. At short intervals along -the street a flaring gin-palace or -cinema-theatre flung smudges of apricot-coloured -light on to the greasy pavements and the -faces of passers-by. Trams clanged past, and -every now and again a blue-jacket or military -foot-patrol, belted and gaitered, moved with -watchful eyes and measured gait along the kerb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the music-hall the throng -grew denser. On all sides the West Country -burr filled the night, softening even the -half-caught oath with its broad, kindly inflection. -Men from the garrison regiments mingled -with the stream of blue-clad sailors. A -woman hawking oranges from the kerb -raised her shrill voice, thrusting the cheap -fruit under the noses of passers-by. A group -of young Stokers, lounging round a vendor -of hot chestnuts, were skylarking with two -brazen-voiced girls. At the doorway of the -music-hall, a few yards away, a huge man in -livery began to bawl into the night, hoarsely -incoherent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two officers mounted the steps together, -and, as one obtained tickets from -the booking-office, the other turned with a -little smile to look down the mile-long vista -of lights and roaring humanity. The -scintillant tram-cars came swaying up the street -from the direction of the Dockyard: on either -side the gleaming windows of the shops that -still remained open—the tattooists, the -barbers, tobacconists, the fried-fish and faggot -shops, and the host of humbler tradesmen -who plied most of their trade at this hour—grew -fainter and duller, until they dwindled -away to a point under the dark converging -house-tops. A girl, shouting some shameless -jest, broke away from the horse-play round -the chestnut-oven, and thrust herself, reeling -with laughter, through the passing crowd. -A burly Marine caught her by the waist as -she wriggled past, and kissed her dexterously -without stopping in his stride. His -companion smirked appreciation of the feat, and -glanced back over his shoulder....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The watcher on the steps turned and -followed the other up the broad stairway.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A man with a red nose and baggy trousers -was singing a song about his mother-in-law -and a lodger. His accents were harshly -North Country, and out of the paint-streaked -countenance, his eyes—pathetic, brown -monkey-eyes—roamed anxiously over the -audience, as if even he had little enough -confidence in the humour of his song.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant leaned back in his seat and -refilled his pipe. "Isn't it wonderful to think -that when we come home again in three years' -time that chap with the baggy trousers and -red nose—or his twin-brother, anyhow—will -still be singing about the same old mother-in-law!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently a stout, under-clad woman skipped -before the footlights and commenced some -broadly suggestive patter. The audience, -composed for the most part of blue-jackets -and Tommies, roared delight at each doubtful -sally. She ended with a song that had a -catchy, popular refrain, and the house took -it up with a great burst of song.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hark at 'em!" whispered the Surgeon. -"Don't they love it all! Yet her voice is -nothing short of awful, her song means -nothing on earth, and her anatomy—every line -of it—ought to be in the museum of the -Royal College of Surgeons.... Let's go -and have a drink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They ascended the stairway to the promenade, -and passed under a curtain-hung -archway into a long bar. The atmosphere was -clouded with tobacco smoke, and reeked of -spirits and cheap, clinging scent. From a -recess in one corner a gramophone blared -forth a modern rag-time, and a few women, -clasped by very callow-looking youths, were -swaying to a "One-step" in the middle of the -carpeted space. Behind the bar two tired-looking -girls scurried to and fro, jerking beer -handles as if for a wager, and mechanically -repeating orders. Settees ran the length of -the walls under rows of sporting prints, and -here more women, with painted lips and -over-bright, watchful eyes, were seated at little -tables. Most of them were accompanied by -young men in lounge or tweed suits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Phew," grunted the Junior Watch-keeper, -"what an atmosphere! Look at those young -asses.... Kümmel at this time of night.... -And we did it once, Peter! Lord! it -makes me feel a hundred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A panting woman disengaged herself from -her youthful partner, and linked her arm -within that of the Young Doctor. "Ouf!" -she gasped, "I'm that 'ot, dearie. Stand -us a drop of wot killed auntie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a gallant bow the Young Doctor led -her to the bar. "My dear madam," he -murmured—"a privilege! And if you will allow -me to prescribe for you—as a Medical -Man—I suggest——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Port an' lemon," prompted the lady. She -fanned herself with a sickly-scented and not -over-clean scrap of lace. "Ain't it 'ot, -Doctor! ... Glad I lef me furs at 'ome. -Ain't you goin' to have nothin'...?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper drew a deep -breath as they reached the open street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God for fresh air again!" He -filled and refilled his lungs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'And so to bed,'" quoted the other. The -taverns and places of amusement were -emptying their patrons into the murky street. -Raucous laughter and farewells filled the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." The Junior Watch-keeper yawned, -and they walked on in silence, each busy with -his own long thoughts. By degrees the traffic -lessened, until, nearing the Dockyard, the -two were alone in deserted thoroughfares -with no sound but the echo of their steps. -They were threading the maze of dimly-lit, -cobbled streets that still lay before them, -when a draggle-skirted girl, standing in the -shelter of a doorway, plucked at their sleeves. -They walked on almost unheeding, when -suddenly the Young Doctor hesitated and -stopped. The woman paused irresolute for -a moment, and then came towards them, with -the light from a gas-lamp playing round her -tawdry garments. She murmured something -in a mechanical tone, and smiled terribly. -The Young Doctor emptied his pockets of the -loose silver and coppers they contained, and -thrust the coins into her palm: with his -disengaged hand he tilted her face up to the -light. It was a pathetically young, pathetically -painted face. "Wish me good luck," he -said, and turned abruptly to overtake his -companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman stood staring after them, her -hand clenched upon her suddenly acquired -riches. An itinerant fried-fish and potato -merchant, homeward bound, trundled his -barrow suddenly round a distant corner. -The girl wheeled in the direction of the -sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere!" she called imperiously, "</span><em class="italics">'ere!</em><span>..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The echo of her voice died away, and the -Young Doctor linked his arm within the -other's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is a poem by some one[#] I read -the other day—d'you know it?—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.'"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] John Masefield.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He mused for a moment in silence as they -strode along. "I forget how it goes on: -something about a 'vagrant gypsy life,' and -the wind 'like a whetted knife'—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"That's how it ends, I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper nodded soberly. -"Yes.... But it's the star we need the -most, Peter—you and I."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was early in the morning, and thin -columns of smoke were rising from the funnels -of a cruiser lying alongside one of the -Dockyard jetties. On her decks there was a bustle -of preparation: steaming covers were being -laced to yards and topmasts: the Boatswain, -"full of strange oaths" and of apoplectic -countenance, moved forward in the wake of -a depressed part of the watch. On the booms -the Carpenter was superintending the -stowage of some baulks of timber. Packing-cases -were coming in at the gangway; barefooted -messengers darted to and fro. There was a -frequent shrilling of pipes, and the hoarse -voice of the Boatswain's Mate bellowing orders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently there came a lull, and the ship's -company were mustered aft as a bell began -to toll. Then over the bared heads the -familiar words of the Navy Prayer drifted -outward into space.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... That we may return to enjoy ... the -fruits of our labours." In the course of -the next three years, the words, by reason -of their frequent repetition, would come to -mean to them no more than the droning of -the Chaplain's voice; yet that morning their -significance was plain enough to the ranks -of silent men. A minute later, with the -notes of a bugle, the ship boiled into activity -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out on the straw-littered jetty a gradually-increasing -crowd had gathered. It was composed -for the most part of women, poorly -clad, with pinched, anxious faces. Some had -babies in their arms; others carried little -newspaper parcels tucked under their shawls: -parting gifts for some one. A thin drizzle -swept in from the sea, as a recovered deserter, -slightly intoxicated, was brought down -between an escort and vanished over the -gangway amid sympathetic murmurs from the -onlookers. A telegram boy pushed his way -through the crowd, delivered his message of -God-speed in its orange-coloured envelope, -and departed again, whistling jauntily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men drifted out into the jetty to bid -farewell, with forced nonchalance and -frequent expectoration. Each man was the -centre of a little group of relatives, -discussing trivialities with laughter that did not -ring quite true. Here and there a woman -had broken down, crying quietly; but for -the most part they stood dry-eyed and -smiling, as befitted the women of a Nation that -must be ever bidding "Vale" to its sons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All aboard!" The voices of the Ship's -Police rose above the murmur of the crowd. -Farewells were over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A hoist of flags crept to the masthead, and -an answering speck of colour appeared at the -signal halliards over Admiralty House.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Askin' permission to proceed," said some -one. The gang-planks rattled on to the jetty, -and a knot of workmen began casting off -wires from the bollards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand clear!" shouted a warning voice. -The ropes slid across the tarred planking -and fell with a sullen splash. Beneath the -stern the water began to churn and boil. -The ship was under way at last, gliding -farther every minute from the watching -crowd. The jetty was a sea of faces and -waving handkerchiefs: the band on board -struck up a popular tune.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a few minutes she was too far off to -distinguish faces. On the fore bridge the -Captain raised his cap by the peak and -waved it. Somewhere near the turf-scarped -fort ashore an answering gleam of white -appeared and fluttered for a moment. The -lines of men along the upper deck, the guard -paraded aft, the cluster of officers on the -bridge, slowly faded into an indistinct blur -as the mist closed round them. For a while -longer the band was still audible, very far off -and faint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a while the watchers turned and -straggled slowly towards the Dockyard Gates.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-seventh-day"><span class="bold large">XVIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE SEVENTH DAY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Sub-Lieutenant clanked into the -Gunroom and surveyed the apartment critically. -The Junior Midshipmen stationed at each -scuttle fell to burnishing the brass butterfly -nuts with sudden and anxious renewal of -energy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stinks of beer a bit," observed the Sub., -"but otherwise it's all right. Hide that -'Pink 'Un' under the table-cloth, one of -you." As he spoke the notes of a bugle -drifted down the hatchway. "There you -are! Officers' Call! Clear out of it, -sharp!" Hastily they tucked away the possible cause -of offence to their Captain, bundled their -cleaning-rags into a cupboard, snatched their -dirks off the rack, and hurried on deck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the quarter-deck the remainder of the -Officers were assembling in answer to the -summons of the bugle. Frock-coated figures -clanked to and fro, struggling with refractory -white gloves. Under the supervision of a -bearded Petty Officer the Quarter-deck men -were hurriedly putting the finishing touches -to neatly coiled boats' falls and already -gleaming metal-work. It was 9 A.M. on a -Sunday forenoon, and the ship was without -stain or blemish from her gilded truck to her -freshly painted water-line. All the working -hours of the previous day—what time the -citizen ashore donned "pearlies" or -broadcloth and shut up shop—the blue-jacket had -been burnishing and scrubbing,—a lick of -paint here, there a scrap of gold-leaf or a -pound of elbow-grease. And pervading the -ship was the comfortless atmosphere of an -organisation, normally in a high state of -adjustment, strained yet a point higher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Commander came suddenly out of the -Captain's cabin and nodded to the Officer of -the Watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sound off with the bell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The buglers, drawn up in line at the -entrance to the battery, moistened their lips -in anticipation and raised their bugles. The -Corporal of the Watch stepped to the bell -and jerked the clapper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ding-ding!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Simultaneously the four bugles blared out, -and the hundreds of men forward in the waist -of the ship and on the forecastle formed up -into their different divisions and stood easy. -The divisions were ranged along both sides -of the ship—Forecastle, Foretop, Maintop, -Quarter-deck men on one side, Stokers, -Day-men, and Marines on the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "Rig of the Day" was "Number -Ones," which was attended by certain obligations -in the matter of polished boots, carefully -brushed hair, and shaven faces. To any one -unversed in the mysteries of the sailors' garb, -the men appeared to be dressed merely in -loose, comfortably-fitting blue clothes. But -a hundred subtleties in that apparently simple -dress received the wearer's attention before -he submitted himself to the lynx-eyed -inspection of his Divisional Lieutenant that -morning. The sit of the blue-jean collar, the -spotless flannel, the easy play of the jumper -round the hips, the immaculate lines of the -bell-bottomed trousers (harder to fit properly -than any tail-coat or riding-breeches) all came -in for a more critical overhaul than did ever -a young girl before her first ball. And the -result, in all its pleasing simplicity, was the -sailor's unconscious tribute to that one day of -the seven wherein his luckier brethren ashore -do no manner of work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain stepped out of his cabin, and -the waiting group of officers saluted. The -Heads of Departments made their reports, -and then, with an attendant retinue of -Midshipmen, Aides-de-Camp, messengers, and -buglers, followed the Captain down the -hatchway for the Rounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Along the mess-decks, deserted save for an -occasional sweeper or Ship's Corporal standing -at attention, swept the procession; halting at -a galley or casemate as the Captain paused to -ask a question or pass a white-gloved hand -along a beam in search of dust. Then aft -again, past Gunroom and Wardroom—with a -stoppage outside the former. The Captain -elevated his nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think the beer-barrel must be leaking, -sir," said the Sub-Lieutenant, "standing the -rounds" in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See to it," was the reply, and the cortége -swept on, with swords clanking and lanterns -throwing arcs of light into dark corners -suspected of harbouring a hastily concealed -deck-cloth or of being the pet </span><em class="italics">cache</em><span> for somebody's -coaling-suit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up in the sunlight of the outer world the -band was softly playing selections from "The -Pirates of Penzance." The ship's goat, having -discovered a white kid glove dropped by the -Midshipman of the Maintop, retired with it -to the shelter of the boat-hoist engine for a -hurried cannibalistic feast. The Officers of -Divisions had concluded the preliminary -inspection, and were pacing thoughtfully to -and fro in front of their men. Suddenly -the Captain's head appeared above the after -hatchway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant of the Quarter-deck Division, -in the midst of receiving a whispered account -of an overnight dance from his Midshipman, -wheeled abruptly and called his Division to -attention. Then—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Off hats!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As if actuated by a single lever each man -raised his left hand, whipped off his hat and -brought it to his side. The Captain -acknowledged the Lieutenant's salute and passed -quickly down the ranks, his keen eyes travelling -rapidly from each man's face to his boots. -Once or twice he paused to ask a question -and then passed on to the next waiting -Division.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the bugler sounded the "Disperse"; -the Divisions turned forward, stepped -outward, and broke up. Here and there the -Midshipman of a Division remained standing, -scribbling hurriedly in his note-book such -criticisms as it had pleased his Captain to -make. One man's hair had wanted cutting; -it was time another had passed for Leading -Seaman.... A third had elected to attend -Divisions—on this the Sabbath of the Lord -his God—without the knife attached to his -lanyard.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Half an hour later the normal aspect of the -Quarter-deck had changed. Rows of plank -benches, resting on capstan bars supported by -buckets, filled the available space on each side -of the barbette. Chairs for the Officers had -been placed further aft, facing the men who -were to occupy the benches. In front of the -burnished muzzles of the two great 12-inch -guns a lectern had been draped with a white -flag, and between the guns a 'cello, flute, and -violin prepared to augment the strains of a -rather wheezy harmonium. Then the bell -began to toll, and a flag crept to the peak -to inform the rest of the Fleet that the ship -was about to commence Divine Service.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men hurried aft, seamen and marines -pouring in a continuous stream through the -open doors from the batteries. No sooner had -the last man squeezed hurriedly into his place -with the slightly hang-dog air seamen assume -in the full glare of the public eye, than the -Master-at-Arms appeared at the battery door -and reported every one aft to the Commander. -The Captain took his chair, facing the Ship's -Company, and a little in advance of the -remainder of the Officers; the Chaplain walked -up the hatchway, stepped briskly to the -lectern and gave out a hymn. The orchestra -played the opening bars, five hundred men -swung themselves to their feet, and the -service began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the Captain crossed to the lectern -and read the lesson for the day. It dealt with -warfare and bloodshed, and there was a -suddenly awakened interest in the rows of intent -faces opposite—for this was the consummation -each man present believed would ultimately -come to some day's work, although it might -not be amid the welter and crash of shattered -chariot and struggling horses, nor the twang -of released bow-strings.... And the stern, -level voice went on to tell of the establishment -of laws, wise and austere as those which -regulated the reader's paths and those of his -listeners; while under the stern-walk a flock -of gulls screeched and quarrelled, and the -water lapped with a drowsy, soothing sound -against the side of the ship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a while the Chaplain gave out the -number of another hymn. The Bluejacket's -most enthusiastic admirer would hesitate to -describe him as a devout man; but when the -words and tune are familiar—it may be -reminiscent of happier surroundings—the -sailor-man will sing a hymn with the fervour of -inspiration. And if only for the sake of the -half-effaced memories it recalled, the volume -of bass harmony that rolled across the sunlit -harbour doubtless travelled as far as the -thunder of organ and chant from many a -cathedral choir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, standing very upright, his fingers -linked behind his back, the Chaplain -commenced his sermon. He spoke very simply, -adorning his periods with no flowery phrase -or ornate quotation, suiting the manner of his -delivery to the least intelligent of his hearers. -There was no fierce denunciation, no sudden -gestures nor change in the grave, even voice. -He touched on matters not commonly spoken -of in pulpits, and his speech was wondrous -plain, as indeed was meet for a congregation -such as his. And they were no clay under -the potter's thumb. Composed for the most -part of men indifferent to religion, almost -fiercely resentful of interference with their -affairs; living on crowded mess-decks afloat, -fair game for every crimp and land-shark -ashore. But there was that in the sane, -temperate discourse that passed beyond creed -or dogma, and a tatooed fist suddenly clenched -on its owner's hat-brim, or the restless shifting -of a foot, told where a shaft passed home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here and there, screened by his fellows, a -tired man's head nodded drowsily. But the -"Padre" had learned twenty years before -that it took more than a sermon to keep -awake a seated man who had perhaps kept -the middle watch, and turned out for the day -at 6.15 A.M.; in the five hundred odd pairs of -eyes that remained fixed on his face he doubtless -read a measure of compensation.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The short-cropped heads bowed as in clear -tones the Benediction was pronounced—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... and remain with you ... always." An -instant's pause, and then, Officers and -men standing upright and rigid, they sang -the National Anthem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain turned and nodded to the -Commander, who was putting on his cap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pipe down."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-parricide"><span class="bold large">XIX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE PARRICIDE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"'Ark!" said the hedger, his can of cold tea -arrested half-way to his lips. But Sal, the -lurcher bitch curled up under the hedge, had -heard some seconds before. With twitching -nose and ears alert, she jumped out of the -ditch and trotted up the road. A far-off -sound was coming over the downs—a faint -drone as of a clustering swarm of bees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of them motor-bikes——" murmured -the man and paused. Away in the west, -approaching the coast-line and flying high, -was a dark object like the framework of a -box suspended in mid-air. It drew near, -rising and falling on the unseen swell of the -ocean of ether, and the droning sound grew -louder. "Aeri-o-plane," continued the hedger, -again speaking aloud, after the manner of -those who live much alone in the open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As a matter of fact it was a Hydro-Aeroplane, -and after it had passed overhead -the watchers saw it wheel and swoop towards -the harbour hidden from them by the shoulder -of the downs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man stood looking after it, his shadow -sprawling across the dusty road before him. -"Lawks!" he ejaculated, "'ere's goin's-on!" A -ripple from the Naval Manoeuvre Area had -passed across the placid surface of his life. -He resumed his interrupted tea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A stone breakwater stretched a -half-encircling arm round the little harbour. -Within its shelter a huddle of coasting craft -and trawlers lay at anchor, with the red -roofs of the town banked up as a background -for their tangled spars. Behind them again -the tall chimney of an electric power station -lifted a slender head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the open water of the harbour a flotilla -of Submarines were moored alongside one -another: figures moved about the tiny railed -platforms, and in the stillness of the summer -afternoon the harbour held only the sound of -their voices, the muffled clink of a hammer, -and, from an unseen siding ashore, the noise -of shunting railway trucks made musical by -distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The seaplane drew near and circled gracefully -overhead; then it volplaned down and -settled lightly on the water at the harbour -mouth: a Submarine moved from her moorings -to meet it. The pilot of the seaplane -pulled off his gauntlets, pushed his goggles -up on to his forehead, and lit a cigarette. -The Submarine ranged alongside and her -Captain leaned over the rail with a smile -of greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Any news?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Flying Corps Officer raised his hands to -his mouth: "Enemy's Battleship and eight -Destroyers, eighteen miles to the Sou'-East," -he shouted. "Steering about Nor'-Nor'-West -at 12 knots. Battleship's got troops or -Marines on board in marching order.... -No, nothing, thanks—I'm going north to -warn them. So-long..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Five minutes later he was a black speck in -the sky above the headland where the tall -masts of a Wireless Station and a cluster -of whitewashed cottages showed up white -against the turf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Submarine slid back into the harbour -and approached the Senior Officer's boat. -The Senior Officer, in flannels, was swinging -Indian clubs on the miniature deck of his -craft. The Lieutenant who had communicated -with the Seaplane made his report; his Senior -Officer nodded and put down his clubs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guessed as much. They're coming to -raid this place. Come inboard for a minute, -and tell Forbes and Lawrence and Peters to -come too. We'll have a Council of War—Wow, wow!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sun set in a great glory of light; then -a faint haze, blue-grey, like a pigeon's wing, -veiled the indeterminate meeting of sea and -sky. It crept nearer, stealing along the -horizon, stretching leaden fingers across the -smooth sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A fishing smack, becalmed a league from the -harbour mouth, faded suddenly like a wraith -into nothingness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Six Destroyers came out of the mist, -heading towards the breakwater. They were -about a mile away when the leading boat -altered course abruptly towards the North, -and the others followed close in her wake, -leaving a smear of smoke in the still air. -Before their wake had ceased to trouble the -surface—before, almost, the rearmost boat had -vanished into the fog—the periscope of a -Submarine slid round the corner of the -breakwater, paused a moment as if in uncertainty, -and then headed, like a swimming snake, in -swift pursuit. Another followed; another, -and another.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A Battleship came slowly out of the haze. -She moved with a certain deliberate sureness, -a grey, majestic citadel afloat. A jet of steam -from an escape and the Ensign at her peak -showed up with startling whiteness against -the sombre sea. An attendant Destroyer -hovered on each quarter, but as they neared -the land these darted ahead, obedient to the -tangle of flags at the masthead of the -Battleship. Off the mouth of the harbour they -swung round: the semaphore of one signalled -that the harbour was clear, and they separated, -to commence a slow patrol North and South -on the fringe of the mist. A moment later -the Battleship anchored with a thunder and -rattle of cable. Pipes twittered shrilly, and -boats began to sink from her davits into the -water. Ladders were lowered, and armed -men streamed down the ship's side. They -were disembarking troops for a raid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a sudden swirl in the water at -the harbour entrance. Unseen, a slender, -upright stick, surmounted by a little oblong -disc, crept along in the shadow of the breakwater, -indistinguishable in the floating debris -awash there on the flood tide. It turned -seaward and sank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A minute passed; a cutter full of men was -pulling under the stern to join the other boats -waiting alongside. The steel derrick, raised -like a huge warning finger, swung slowly -round, lifting a steamboat out into the water! -From the boats afloat came the plash of oars, -an occasional curt order, and the rattle of -sidearms as the men took their places.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then a signalman, high up on the forebridge, -rushed to the rail, bawling hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A couple of hundred yards away the dark -stick had reappeared. Almost simultaneously -two trails of bubbles sped side by side towards -the flank of the Battleship. There was a -sudden tense silence. The Destroyer to the -Northward sighted the menace and opened -fire with blank on the periscope from her -12-pounders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bang! ... Bang! Bang!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men in the boats alongside craned their -necks to watch the path of the approaching -torpedoes. The Commander standing at the -gangway shrugged his shoulders and turned -with a grim smile to the Captain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They've bagged us, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A dull concussion shook the after part of -the ship, and the pungent smell of calcium -drifted up off the water on to the quarterdeck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the Captain. He stepped to -the rail, and stood looking down at the -spluttering torpedoes with the noses of their -copper collision heads telescoped flat, as they -rolled drunkenly under the stern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Submarine thrust her conning-tower -above the surface, and from the hatchway -appeared a figure in the uniform of a -Lieutenant. He climbed on to the platform -with a pair of handflags, and commenced to -signal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Post-Captain on the quarter-deck of -the Battleship raised his glass, made an -inaudible observation, and lowered it again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Claim-to-have-put-you-out-of-action," -spelt the handflags. The Captain smiled dryly -and lifted his cap by the peak with a little -gesture of greeting; there was answering -gleam of teeth in the sunburnt face of the -Lieutenant across the water. The Captain -turned to his Commander. "But he needn't -have torpedoed his own father," he said, as -if in continuation of his last remark. "The -penalty for marrying young, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Submarine recovered her torpedoes -and returned to harbour. Her Commanding -Officer summoned his Sub-Lieutenant, and -together they delved in a cupboard; followed -the explosion of a champagne cork. Glasses -clinked, and there was a gurgling silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not bad work," said the Sub-Lieutenant, -"bagging your Old Man's ship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so dusty," replied the Lieutenant in -command of the Submarine, modestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was a brand-new Battleship, and had -cost a million and three-quarters. It was his -twenty-fourth birthday.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-night-watches"><span class="bold large">XX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE NIGHT-WATCHES.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Out pipes! Clear up the upper deck!" The -Boatswain Mate moved forward along -the lee side of the battery repeating the -hoarse call. Slowly the knots of tired men -broke up, knocking the ashes out of their -pipes, or pinching their cigarette-ends with -horny fingers before economically tucking the -remnants into their caps. A part of the -Watch came aft, sweeping down the deck, -coiling down ropes for the night. Then, as -the bell struck, the shrill wail of the pipe rose -again above the sound of the wind and waves. -It grew louder and shriller, and died away: -then, rising again, changed to another key -and ended abruptly. It was the sailor's -Curfew—"Pipe down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the crowded mess-decks, where scrubbed -canvas hammocks swung with the roll of the -ship above the mess-tables, the ship's company -was turning in. A struggle with a tight-fitting -jumper, which, rolled up in company -with a pair of trousers, was tucked under the -tiny horse-hair pillow; a pat to the mysterious -pockets lining the "cholera-belt," to -reassure a man that his last month's pay was -still intact, and then, with a steadying hand -on the steel beam overhead, one after another -they swung themselves into their hammocks -and fell a-snoring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Aft in the Gunroom an extra half-hour's -lights had been granted in honour of -somebody's birthday, and the inmates of the Mess -were still gathered round the piano. It was -a war-scarred instrument: but it served its -purpose, albeit the hero of the evening—in -celebration of his advance into the sere and -yellow leaf—had emptied a whisky-and-soda -into its long-suffering interior. The musician, -his features ornamented by a burnt-cork -moustache, thumped valiantly at the keys.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"And then there came the Boatswain's Wife,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>roared the young voices. It was an old, -old song, familiar to men who were no -longer even memories with the singers and -their generation. But its unnumbered verses -and quaint, old-world jingle had survived -unchanged the passing of "Masts and Yards," -and were even then being handed on into the -era of the hydroplane and submarine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten o'clock, gentlemen!" said the voice -of the Ship's Corporal at the door. The -Sub. eyed him sternly. "You may get yourself a -glass of beer, Corporal," and thereby won a -five-minutes' respite. Then——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out lights, please, gentlemen," again broke -in upon the revels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Corporal, will you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man shook his head with a grim smile. -"Come along, please, gentlemen, or you'll get -me 'ung."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reluctantly the singers withdrew, drifting -by twos and threes to the steerage flat where -their hammocks swung. The Ship's Corporal -switched off the lights and locked the -gun-room door. "I likes to see 'igh sperits -meself," he admitted to the yawning Steward -who accompanied him out of the Mess. The -Gunroom Steward's reply was to the effect -that you could have too much even of a good -thing, and he retired gloomily to the pantry, -where, in company with a vast ham and the -gunroom crockery, he spent most of his waking hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the nearly deserted Wardroom a rubber -of bridge was still in lingering progress; a -sea raced frothing past the thick glass of a -scuttle, and one of the players raised his eyes -from his hand. "Blowing up for a dirty -night," he observed. A Lieutenant deep in -an arm-chair by the fire lifted his head. "It's -sure to—my middle watch." He closed the -book he was reading and stood up, stretching -himself. Then with a glance at the clock he -moved towards the door. As he opened it -the Senior Engineer came into the Mess. -His face was drawn with tiredness, and -there were traces of dust round his eyes. -He pulled off a pair of engine-room gloves, -and, ordering a drink, thoughtfully rolled a -cigarette. At the sound of his voice the -Engineer Commander looked up from the -game and raised his eyebrows in an unspoken -question to his subordinate. The Senior -Engineer nodded. "Yes, sir, she's all right -now; I don't think she'll give any more -trouble to-night." He finished his drink and -sought his cabin. He had had three hours' -sleep in the last forty-eight hours, and hoped, -as he undressed, that the infernal scrap-heap -would hold together till he'd had a bit more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night wore on, and one by one the -inmates of the Wardroom drifted to their -respective cabins. Outside the Captain's cabin -the sentry beguiled the tedium of the vigil by -polishing the buckle of his belt. Every now -and again he glanced at the clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last the hands pointed to a quarter to -twelve. In fifteen minutes his watch would -be over. He buckled on his belt and resumed -his noiseless beat. Occasionally from some -cabin or hammock the snore of a tired sleeper -reached his ears. The rifles, stowed upright -round the aft-deck, moved in their racks to -the measured roll of the ship, with a -long-drawn, monotonous rattle, like a boy's stick -drawn lightly across area railings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tread sounded overhead, and a figure -carrying a lantern came lightly down the -hatchway. It was the Midshipman of the -First Watch, calling the reliefs. He descended -to the steerage flat, and bending down under -the hammocks of his sleeping brethren, -knocked at the door of one of the cabins. -There was a lull in the stertorous breathing, -in the warm, dim interior.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten minutes to twelve, sir!" The inmate -grunted and switched on his light. "All -right," he growled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy moved off till he came to a -hammock slung by the armoured door. He ranged -up beside it and blew lightly into the face of -the sleeper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jimmy! Ten to twelve!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The occupant of the hammock opened one eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ll right," he murmured sleepily, and -closed it again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Midshipman of the First Watch eyed -him suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No you don't!" He shook the hammock. -"Wake up, you fat-headed blighter, or I'll -slip you." Then, changing his tone to a -wheedling one: "Come on, Jimmy, it's a -lovely night—much more healthy on the -bridge than fugging in your beastly -hammock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His relief said something under his breath, -and emerged shivering from the blankets, -blinking in the light of the lantern. Once -his feet were fairly on the deck, the other -turned and scampered up the ladder again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bell struck eight times as the Lieutenant -and Midshipman of the Middle Watch climbed -the ladder to the fore bridge. The Fleet was -steaming in two divisions, with a flotilla of -destroyers stationed on the beam. Beyond -them the silhouette of an island was just -visible in the pale moonlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the last stroke of the bell the pipe of -the Boatswain's Mate shrilled out, calling the -Middle Watch. "A-a-all the starboard -watch! Seaboats, crews, and reliefs fall in!" -Fore and aft the ship the mantle of -responsibility changed wearers. Sentries, seamen, -stokers, signalmen, their tale of bricks -complete for a few hours, turned over to their -reliefs and hurried to their hammocks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the bridge the two Lieutenants walked -up and down for a few minutes, while the -newcomer received details of the course and -speed of the Fleet and the Captain's orders -for the night. Then the Officer of the Watch -that was ended unslung his binoculars and -turned towards the ladder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think that's all.... She's keeping -station very well now, but they had a bit of -trouble in the Engine-room earlier in the -Watch. Captain wants to be called at -daybreak. Good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Midshipman of the Watch was already -in position on the upper bridge, settling down -to his four hours' vigil with a sextant on the -lights of the next ship ahead. From the -battery below came the voice of the Corporal -of the Watch mustering the hands. Overhead -the wind thrummed in the shrouds and -halliards: the steady throb of the engines -beat out an accompaniment—a deep </span><em class="italics">pizzicato</em><span> -accompaniment as if from some mighty -bass-viol floating up through the open -casings—and, somehow dominating all other sounds, -the ceaseless swish and murmur of the waves -breaking along the ship's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Officer of the Watch crossed over to -the Midshipman's side. "Are we in station -all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy lowered the sextant: "Yes, sir, -quite steady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right: give me the sextant and go and -brew some cocoa in the chart-house. There's -a spirit-lamp there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Midshipman vanished and reappeared a -few minutes later with two cups of steaming -beverage. They drank together, gulping it -hastily to warm themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A-ah!" sighed the Lieutenant gratefully. -"That's better. Now put the cups back, and -come and show me Arcturus—if you have -shaken off your fat head!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A couple of hours passed. The Midshipman -of the Watch, accompanied by the Corporal -with a lantern, had gone his rounds of the -mess-decks and cell-flat. The seaboat's crew -had gone through an undress rehearsal of -"Man overboard!" and were huddled yarning -in the lee of the forecastle screen. Twice -the ship had crept a shade out of her -appointed station in the line, and, when the -telegraph had rung the trouble to the -Engine-room below, stolen back to her appointed -bearing. Once the Fleet altered course -majestically to avoid a fishing-fleet as it lay spread -over the waters, a confusion of flares and -bobbing lights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bridge was in darkness, save for the -faint glow of the binnacle that threw into -relief the rugged features of the Quartermaster -at the wheel. The face might have -been that of a bronze statue, but for a slight -movement of the jaws as he thoughtfully -chewed his quid. Suddenly a light at the -masthead of the Flagship began to blink -hurriedly. A signalman stepped out of the -lee of the chart-house and rattled the key -of the masthead flashing lamp. On all sides -the other ships began blinking in answer to -the Admiral's call. Presently the Yeoman -spoke: a rocket soared up into the night -ahead of them. The Lieutenant put his -mouth to the voice-pipe and gave a clear -spoken order, which the telegraph-man -repeated: somewhere overhead a bell rang in -answer from the engine-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Fleet had increased speed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The breeze freshened, and the men on the -bridge ducked their heads as from time to -time a shower of spray drifted over the -weather-screens. The Midshipman of the -Watch lowered his sextant and sniffed -longingly, his nose in the air; the off-shore wind -had brought with it a hint of heather and -moist earth. Then, with a little sigh, he -steadied his sextant again on the lights of -the next ahead.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sky was turning pale in the East, and -the chilly dawn crept over a grey sea. The -faces of the men on the bridge slowly became -distinguishable. They were the faces of the -Morning Watch, wan in the growing light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant rubbed the stubble on his -chin and turned his glasses on a school of -porpoises chasing each other through the -waves. The sky astern changed gradually -from grey to lilac. Low down on the horizon -a little belt of cloud became slowly tinged -with pink. Out of a hen-coop on the booms -the shrill crow of a newly-awakened cockerel -greeted another day. Then from the -mess-deck, drifting up hatchway and ventilating -cowl, came the hoarse bellow—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Eave out, 'eave out, 'eave out! Show a -leg there, show a leg! 'Sun's a-scorching -your eyes out!..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The look-out in the foretop watched the -antics of a small land-bird balancing itself -on the forestay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor little bloke," he muttered, blowing -on his benumbed fingers, "'spect's you wants -yer breakfus'—same's me!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-one-gun-salute"><span class="bold large">XXI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A ONE-GUN SALUTE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Every person subject to this Act who shall strike -... or lift up -any weapon against his superior officer -in the execution of his office, -shall be punished with Death -or such other punishment as is hereinafter -mentioned."—Sec. 16, </span><em class="italics">Naval Discipline Act</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In Official eyes—even in eyes anxious to -condone—illicit rum and the unreasoning -passion of a Celtic temperament were the -sole causes of the trouble. Yet a man may -fight Destiny in the shape of these evils -and still make a very fair show of it. It -was the addition of the third factor that in -this case overtipped the scales.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her red, untidy hair was usually screwed -into wisps of last night's 'Football Herald.' She -had green, provocative eyes that slanted -upwards ever so slightly at the corners, and -coarse, chapped hands—useful hands, as many -an overbold Ordinary Seaman had discovered -to his fuddled amazement, but in no wise -ornamental. Her speech was partly -Lower-deck, partly Barrack-room, softened withal -by the broad West Country burr; her home -was an alehouse in an obscure back street -near Devonport Dockyard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was in no sense of the word a "nice" -girl; but she was tall, deep-bosomed, and -broad of hip, and appealed inordinately to -Ivor Jenkins, Stoker 1st Class of His -Majesty's Navy, who was dark and -undersized, and had lately developed a -troublesome cough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The recreations of a man who, on a daily -rate of pay of 2s. 1d., contrives to support -a bed-ridden mother and a consumptive sister, -cannot perforce partake of the elaborate. Ivor, -denied a wider choice, was therefore content -to spend as much of his watch ashore as a -jealously eked-out pint would allow, at the -"Crossed Killicks." For many weeks past, -alternate nights had found the little man -perched on a three-legged stool in a corner -of the bar, raging inwardly at an unnumbered -host of rivals, dumbly grateful for such crumbs -of recognition as Arabella, from behind the -beer handles, was pleased to fling him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sailor-man a-wooing usually conducts -his financial affairs with an open-handed -generosity calculated to make a ministering -angel pensive. In consequence, Ivor, who -could not afford to back his protestations -by invitations to the Hippodrome, -whelk-suppers, and the like, dropped by degrees -more and more out of the running. At first -the girl gave him encouragement—not the -vague, nebulous coquetry Mayfair recognises -as such, but an intimate familiarity extended -to slaps on the nose (boko), and once a dash -of swipes down the back of his neck as Ivor -stooped to recover a broken pipe. But -nothing came of it—not even a penn'orth -of fish-and-chips. Accustomed to tribute -tendered with a lavish hand, Arabella decided -that this must be a "proper stinge,"—one, -moreover, niggardly in his consumption of -beer, and (since there was the good of the -house to be considered) to be dealt a lesson -in due season.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bella! ... Give us a kiss!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Save for Ivor and the girl, the squalid -bar was deserted. She paused in the act -of replacing a bottle on the shelf behind -her, and looked over her shoulder, -half-surprised, half-contemptuous. A beam of -afternoon sunlight slanted through the dusty -panes and caught the greenish feline eyes -and ruddy hair, innocent for once of curl-papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot? ... Me—kiss—yu!" She spoke -slowly, and flung each word like a whip-lash -at the soul of Ivor Jenkins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yus, Bella—jest one. There ain't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mai dear laife! Yu ain't 'arf got no neck!" She -turned with her hands on her hips and -regarded him with a smile on her thin lips, -measuring his undersized stature with her -eyes. "I only kisses men—yu don' even -drink laike no man, yu don'. 'Sides, wot've -'ee done for us tu kiss 'ee? Us laikes men -wot does things, yu know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ivor winced, but never took his smouldering -eyes from the girl. "I'd do anything -for you," he said tensely, "so I would," and -coughed abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed and fell to wiping the sloppy -counter. "Them as wants mai kisses earns -un. Same's Pete Worley: broke out of uns -ship, un did, tu take I tu theatre. An' w'en -th' escort commed tu fetch un back, Pete un -laid un out laike nine-pins! Proper man, -un was!" She surveyed Ivor, perched -smoking on his stool, and a sudden gleam came -into her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yeer!—us knows of a kiss goin' beggin' -tu-morrow afternoon." She leaned across the -counter with a dangerous tenderness in her -rather hoarse voice, "If so be as a man (she -laid a slight intonation on the word) as't leave -tu go tu Dockyard Bank for'n hour, an' slipped -out, laike...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was his watch on board, as she knew; -but she had also noted the red Good Conduct -Badge on his arm, and chose it instead of the -accustomed tribute he had denied her. Then -her eyes hardened like agates. "Simly yu -ain't got no money tu bank, though?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye," said Ivor slowly; "aye, indeed I -have. Three poun'." It was his sheet-anchor, -saved (how Heaven and he alone knew) that -his mother might eventually be buried with -that circumstance which is dearer to the -hearts of the Welsh than life itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl nodded, and laid her hand caressingly -on his sleeve. "Tha's right, mai dear. -Yu get leave tu go tu bank, an' slip along -'ere. Tu-morrow afternoon 'bout five—will -'ee now?" She looked at him from beneath -tawny lashes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ivor finished his beer and wiped his mouth -musingly on the back of his hand. The girl -thought he was considering the Good Conduct -Badge: as a matter of fact Ivor was -wondering how the Police at the Dockyard Gate -might be circumvented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Course," she said indifferently, turning -away, "ef yu'm 'feered——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man flushed darkly and stood up. -"You'll see," he replied, and went out -through the swing-doors in a gust of -coughing. It had been worrying him a good deal -lately, that cough.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The short November afternoon was drawing -to a close as Ivor left the Dockyard Bank -with a shining sovereign gripped tightly in -his trousers pocket. Dusk was settling down -on the lines of store-houses, and from the -Hamoaze below came the hoot of syrens that -told of a fog sweeping in from the Channel. -Ivor strolled across the cobbles to where the -figurehead of a bygone frigate lifted an -impassive countenance, and from the shelter of -its plinth he surveyed the gateway. The -main entrance was closed, and the narrow -door, that only admitted the passage of one -person at a time, was guarded by a watchful -policeman. It seemed as if nothing short of -a miracle would get a man in uniform through -without a pass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently a bell in some neighbouring tower -struck the hour, and the waiting man turned -in the direction of the sound. The ships in -the lower yard were invisible, only their -top-masts appeared out of a fog that came slowly -swirling in from the sea. Higher and higher -it crept; then suddenly the policeman at the -gate was blotted out, and the wall became -a towering blackness that loomed up through -the vapour. Still Ivor waited, holding his -sovereign tightly, and wrestling with a cough -that threatened every minute to betray him. -Some parties of liberty-men going on leave -tramped past: he heard the gates open and -saw for a moment the glare of the streets -beyond. A couple of officers in plain clothes -appeared suddenly into the blurred circle of -his vision and were swallowed again by the -blackness. "What a fog!" he heard one -say. The other laughed, and grumbled -something about being glad he was not Channel -groping. Their voices died away, and Ivor -emerged to reconnoitre, only to scurry back -into shelter as a telegraph boy on a bicycle -steered a devious course past him across the -cobbles. The little disc of light from his -lamp zigzagged to and fro for a minute and -was gone. Then Ivor heard the rumble of -wheels and the clatter of a horse's hoofs: -the lights of a four-wheeler passed him and -stopped. The policeman was unbolting the gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Ivor's chance, and, realising it, he -slipped up beside the cab. Inside was a -figure muffled in a greatcoat, above which -he caught a glimpse of a clean-shaven, -impatient face. Presently the inmate lowered -the further window and leant out, effectually -interposing his body as a screen between -Ivor and the guardian of the gate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurry up," he called; "I've got a train -to catch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gates swung slowly back, the cab -rumbled through, and with it passed Ivor -Jenkins. Then for the first time he -relinquished his grip on his sovereign, and -permitted himself the luxury of a fit of -unchecked coughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bilked 'im," he gasped when he got his -breath again, half-awed at the ease with -which he found himself in the strangely -unfamiliar streets. At the corner of the -side-street he turned and looked back at -the grim wall. In the signal-tower that -loomed above it into the murky sky the -yeoman on watch had just tapped the key -of the flashing lamp to test the circuit. To -Ivor it seemed as if Fate had winked at him, -solemnly and portentously.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Ivor pushed through the swing-doors of -the "Crossed Killicks" and looked hastily -round the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ullo!...." he ejaculated blankly. -"W'ere's Bella?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl behind the counter, a short, stout -woman in a purple plush bodice, tossed her -head. "'Er a'ternoon orf," she explained tartly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, but—w'ere's she gorn?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Walkin' out with a Blue Marine. 'Ippodrome, -I think, they was goin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ivor sat down and fumbled blindly in the -lining of his cap for his pipe. Save for a -spot of colour on either cheek-bone, his face -was an ugly grey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine upstanding feller, 'e was too," added -the barmaid, weighing Ivor in the balance of -comparison, and finding him somewhat -wanting. Ivor nodded dully, and for a while -examined with apparently absorbed interest -an advertisement on the wall opposite. -Passion surged through him in waves that -made the skin of his forehead tingle. So -she'd bilked him after all: given him the go-by -for a Blue Marine! Ivor knew him too, -... had once even stood him a drink.... The -Adam's-apple in his throat worked like a piston.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently the girl behind the bar looked -up from her occupation of drying glasses and -eyed him curiously; but all she saw was a -small dark man, who sucked hard at an -empty pipe, one fist clenched tightly in his -trousers pocket, staring hard at an advertisement -for somebody's whisky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At length, out of the chaos of his thoughts, -two courses of action took shape and -presented themselves for consideration. One -was to bash the Blue Marine into irrecognition; -the other was to get mercifully drunk -as soon as possible. The Blue Marine, Ivor -remembered, scaled a matter of fourteen stone, -so he chose the latter alternative, and for -thirty-six hours Oblivion, as understood by -men of His Majesty's Forces, received him -into her arms.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Did remain absen' over leave thirty-six -tours, under haggravated circumstances," -declaimed the Master-at-Arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the first time Ivor had broken his -leave for three years. His head ached -intolerably: he felt sick, too, and heard as -from an infinite distance the cool, crisp -tones of the Commander, who spoke sternly -of the penalties attached to "not playing -the game." Ivor listened sullenly. It was -another and an older game he had tried to -play,—a game in which Fate seemed to hold -most of the trumps. There was a good deal -more in the same strain about the abuse of -privileges, and it all ended in his being -placed in the Captain's Report, to stand -over till next day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At dinner his resentment against the -Universe in general swelled into an excited -flood of lower-deck jargon. In particular, -he poured out invective on the perfidy of -Woman, and 43 Mess, with the peculiar -understanding vouched in the matter to men -who go down to the sea in ships, sucked its -teeth in sympathetic encouragement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd serve 'er to rights," said a youthful -Second-Class Stoker darkly. He removed -the point of his clasp-knife from his mouth, -whither it had conveyed a potato, and -illustrated with a gesture an argument certain -of his feminine acquaintances in the Mile End -Road were supposed to have found conclusive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you take on, Taff," said another, -pushing over his pannikin of rum. "'Ave -a rub at this lot." Ivor finished his -sympathiser's tot, and several others that were -furtively offered him—for he was a popular -little man among his messmates. But -spirit—even "three-water" rum—is not the -soundest remedy for an alcoholic head. It -set him coughing, and deepened the sense -of injury that rankled within him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot you wants," said a Leading Stoker, -"is to run about an' bite things, like. You -go on deck an' 'ave a smoke." He knew -the danger-signals of a mess-deck with the -intimacy of seventeen years' experience, and -Ivor went sullenly. But it was a dangerous -man that stopped at the break of the -forecastle to light his pipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said presently, "what d'you -reckon I'll get whateffer?" His "Raggie" -considered the situation. "Couldn't rightly -say; there's the Jauntie[#] over by the -'atchway—go 'long an' ask 'im." Ivor smoked in -silence for a moment, then nodded, and -stepping through the wreaths of tobacco smoke, -touched the Master-at-Arms on the shoulder. -The latter, who was listening to a story -related by the Ship's Steward, was a small -man, with a grim vinegary face. He turned -sharply—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>[#] Master-at-Arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he said curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now Ivor had stepped across the deck, -honestly intending to ask the probable -extent of the punishment the Captain would -award him for breaking his leave. The -suddenness with which the Master-at-Arms -turned jarred his jangled nerves; the sour -face opposite him was the face of the man -who, on the Lower Deck, represented Law, -Order, and Justice, things Ivor knew to be -perverse and monstrous mockeries. His brain -swam with the fumes of the thirty-six hours' -debauch, reawakened by his messmate's rum. -A sudden insane rage closed down on him -like a mist, leaving him conscious only of -the Master-at-Arms' face, as in the centre -of a partly fogged negative, very distinct, -and for an instant imperturbable and -maddening.... Yet, as Ivor struck, fair and -true between the eyes, he somehow realised -that not even now had he got level with Fate.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">IV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A man seated in the foremost cell raised -an unshaven face from his hands as the sullen -report of a gun reached him through the open -scuttle. For a while he speculated dully what -it was for; then with curious disinterestedness -remembered that it was the court-martial -gun, and that he, Ivor Jenkins, was -that day to be tried for an offence the -extreme penalty for which is Death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They said he'd slogged the Jauntie. For -a while he had been, dazed and incredulous, -but as the testimony of innumerable -witnesses seemed to leave no doubt about the -matter, Ivor accepted the intelligence with -stoical unconcern. Personally he had no -recollection of anything save a great uproar -and a sea of excited faces appearing suddenly -on all sides out of a red mist.... However, -there were the witnesses, and, moreover, there -was still an unexplained tenderness about his -knuckles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I pleads guilty," was all the prisoner's -friend (a puzzled and genuinely sympathetic -Engineer Lieutenant) could get out of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I should have thought you were -the last man to have done such a thing -in the whole of the ship's company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Same 'ere, sir," said Ivor, and fell a-coughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Subsequent proceedings bewildered and -finally bored him. They thrust documents -upon him, wherein he found his name coupled -to the incomprehensible prefix "For that he," -and his misdemeanour described in a style -worthy of the 'Police Budget.' The -Chaplain visited him and spoke words of reproof -in a kindly and mechanical tone. For the -rest, he was left to himself throughout the -long days; to cough and cough again, to -watch the light grow and fade, to count -the stars in the barred circle of the scuttle, -and to the recollection of green, slanting -eyes vexed by dusty sunlight in their -depths....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Have you any objection to any members -of this Court?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ivor started at the question and looked -round the cabin. Till then he had not -noticed his surroundings much. A Captain -and several Commanders in frock-coats and -epaulettes were seated round a baize-covered -table; they were enclosed by a rope covered -with green cloth, secured breast-high to -wooden pillars, also covered with green cloth. -It was the Captain's fore-cabin, and the -bulkheads were covered with paintings of ships. -One of these in particular—a corvette -close-hauled—arrested Ivor's attention. The -Deputy Judge-Advocate, a Paymaster with -a preternaturally grave face and slightly -nervous manner, repeated his question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you object to being tried by any of -the Officers present on the Court?" Ivor -moistened his lips; why on earth should -they expect him to object to them? An -unknown Master-at-Arms standing beside -him with a drawn sword nudged him in the -ribs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captains and Commanders then rose -with a clank of swords, and swore to -administer justice without partiality, favour, or -affection, in tones that for a moment brought -Ivor visions of a stuffy chapel (Ebenezer, they -called it) in far away Glamorganshire. Then -the Judge-Advocate turned to him again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not plead either 'Guilty' or -'Not Guilty.' But if you wish to plead -'Guilty' you may do so now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last: "Guilty," said Ivor Jenkins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For an instant there was utter silence. -The junior Commander stirred slightly and -glanced at the clock: he would have time -for that round of golf after all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Prisoner's Friend then gave evidence, -and Ivor experienced his first sensation of -interest at hearing himself described as an -excellent working hand, who had never given -anything but satisfaction to his superiors. A -perspiring and obviously embarrassed Chief -Stoker followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The last man in the ship I'd 'a' thought -'ud do such a thing," he maintained. Ivor -glanced at him indulgently, as one who -hears an oft-repeated platitude, and resumed -his study of the corvette close-hauled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clear the Court," said the President -briskly. Ivor found himself once more in -the lobby, sitting between his escort. One, -a kindly man, pressed a small, hard object -into his hand. Ivor nodded imperceptible -thanks, and under cover of a cough, -conveyed it to his mouth. It was a plug of -Navy tobacco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bell rang overhead, and the prisoner -was marched back into Court.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... to be imprisoned with hard labour -for the term of twelve calendar months." It -was over.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Now say 'Ah!' ... Again! ... Raise -your arms ... H'm." The Surgeon -disentangled himself from his stethoscope and -looked Ivor in the eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My lad," he said bluntly, "it's Hospital -for you—and too late at that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the Wardroom later on he met the -Engineer Lieutenant. "I'd make a better -Prisoner's Friend than ever you will," he -remarked. Pressed for an explanation, he -tapped the stethoscope-case in his pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Consumption—galloping," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps Ivor had held the Ace of Trumps -after all.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="concerning-the-sailor-man"><span class="bold large">XXII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CONCERNING THE SAILOR-MAN.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Able Seaman, Seaman Gunner, one Good -Conduct Badge." Thus, with a click of -unaccustomed boot-heels, he might describe -himself at the monthly "Muster by -open-list." In less formal surroundings, however, -he is wont to refer to himself as a "matlow," -a designation not infrequently accompanied -by fervid embellishments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Occasionally he serves to adorn the moral -of a temperance tract: a reporter, hard pressed -for police court news, may record one of his -momentary lapses from the paths of convention -ashore. Otherwise Literature knows him not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Generally speaking, his appearance is -familiar enough, though it is to be feared -that the world—the unfamiliar world of -streets and a shod people, of garish "pubs" -and pitfalls innumerable—does not invariably -see him at his best. The influence of the -Naval Discipline Act relaxes ashore, and not -unnatural reaction inspires him with a desire -to tilt his cap on the back of his head and -a fine indiscrimination in the matter of liquid -refreshment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But to be appreciated he must be seen in -his proper sphere. On board ship he is not -required to play up to any romantic </span><em class="italics">rôle</em><span>: no -one regards him with curiosity or even -interest, and he is in consequence normal. -Ashore, aware of observation, he becomes -as unnatural as a self-conscious child. A -very genuine pride in his appearance is -partly the outcome of tradition and partly -fostered by a jealous supervision of his -Divisional Lieutenant. A score of subtleties -go to make up his rig, and never was tide -bound by more unswerving laws than those -that set a span to the width of his -bell-bottomed trousers or the depth of his collar. -This collar was instituted by his forebears -to protect their jackets from the grease on -their queues. The queue has passed away, -but the collar remains, and its width is 16 -inches, no more, no less. The triple row of -tape that adorns its edge commemorates (so -runs the legend) the three victories that won -for him his heritage; in perpetual mourning -for the hero of Trafalgar, the tar of to-day -knots a black silk handkerchief beneath it. -It is doubtful whether he is aware of the -portent of these emblems, for he is not -commonly of an inquiring turn of mind, but they -are as they were in the beginning, they must -be "just so," and that for him suffices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A number of factors go to make his speech -the obscure jargon it has been represented. -Recruited from the North, South, East, and -West, he brings with him the dialect he -spoke in childhood. And it were easier to -change the colour of a man's eyes than to -take out of his mouth the brogue he lisped -in his cradle. A succession of commissions -abroad enriches his vocabulary with a -smattering of half the tongues of Earth—Arabic, -Chinese, Malay, Hindustanee, and Japanese: -smatterings truly, and rightly untranslatable, -but Pentecostal in their variety. Lastly, and -proclaiming his vocation most surely of all, are -the undying sea phrases and terms without -which no sailor can express himself. Even -the objects of everyday life need translation. -The floor becomes a deck, stairs a hatchway, -the window a scuttle or gun-port. There are -others, smacking of masts and yards, and the -"Tar-and-Spunyarn" of a bygone Navy; they -are obsolete to-day, yet current speech among -men who at heart remain unchanged, in spite -of Higher Education and the introduction of -marmalade and pickles into their scale of -rations. The tendency to emphasis that all -vigorous forms of life demand, finds outlet -in the meaningless oaths that mar the sailor's -speech. Lack of culture denies him a wider -choice of adjectives: the absence of privacy -or refinements in his mode of life, and a great -familiarity from earliest youth, would seem -an explanation of, if not an excuse for, a -habit which remains irradicable in spite of -well-meaning efforts to counteract it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The conditions of Naval Service sever his -home ties very soon in life. The isolation -from feminine and gentler influences that it -demands is responsible for the curiously -intimate friendships and loyalty that exist on -the mess-deck of a man-of-war. With a -friend the blue-jacket is willing to share all -his worldly possessions—even to the contents -of the mysterious little bag that holds his -cleaning-rags, brick, and emery paper. Since -the work of polishing a piece of brass make -no great demand on his mental activity, the -sailor chooses this time to "spin a yarn," and, -from the fact that the recipient of these -low-voiced quaintly-worded confidences usually -shares his cleaning-rags, the tar describes his -friend as his "Raggie." To the uninitiated the -word signifies little, but to the sailor it -represents all in his hard life that "suffereth long -and is kind." His love for animals, which is -proverbial, affords but another outlet for the -springs of affection that exist in all hearts, -and, in his case, being barred wider scope, are -intensified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside events have for him but little -interest. So long as he is not called upon -to bear a hand by his divinely appointed -superior, while his ration of rum and stand-easy -time are not interfered with, the rise and -fall of dynasties, battle, murder, and sudden -death, leave him imperturbable and unmoved. -Only when these are accompanied by -sufficiently gruesome pictorial representations in -the section of the press he patronises can -they be said to be of much import to him. -But he dearly loves a funeral.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His attitude towards his officers is -commonly that demanded by an austere discipline, -and accompanied more often than not by real -affection and loyalty. He accepts punishment -at the hands of his Superior in the -spirit that he accepts rain or toothache. Its -justice may be beyond his reasoning, but -administered by the Power that rules his -paths, it is the Law, as irrevocable as Fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morally he has been portrayed in two -lights. Idealists claim for him a guilelessness -of soul that would insult an Arcadian -shepherd. To his detractors he is merely a -godless scoffer, rudely antagonistic to -Religion, a brand not even worth snatching -from the burning. Somewhere midway -between these two extremes is to be found the -man as he really is, to whom Religion -presents itself (when he considers the matter -at all) a form of celestial Naval Discipline -tempered by sentimentality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But these are generalities, and may not -apply to even a fraction of the men in the -Fleet to-day. Conditions of life and modes -of thought on the Lower Deck are even now -changing as the desert sand, and those who -live among sailor-men would hesitate the -most to unite their traits in one comprehensive -summary. It is only by glimpses here and -there of individuals who represent types that -one may glean knowledge of the whole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the Ship's Office of a man-of-war are -rows of neat brass-bound boxes, and here -are stowed the certificates of the Ship's -Company, those of each Class—seamen, -engine-room ratings, marines, &c., being kept -separately. At the first sight there is little -enough about these prosaic documents to -suggest romance or even human interest -to the ordinary individual. Yet if you read -between the lines a little, picking out an -entry here and there among the hundreds -of different handwritings, you can weave with -the aid of a little imagination all manner -of whimsical fancies. And if, at the end, -the study of them leaves you little wiser, -it will be with a quickened interest in the -inner life of the barefooted, incomprehensible -being on whose shoulders will some -day perchance fall the burden of your destiny -and mine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The King's Regulations and Admiralty -Instructions, with a flourish of unwonted -metaphor, refer to the document as "a man's -passport through life." The sailor himself, -ever prone to generalities, describes his -Certificate as his "Discharge." In Accountant -circles in which the thing circulates it is -known as a "Parchment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A Service Certificate—to give its official -title—is a double sheet of parchment with -printed headings, foolscap size, which is -prepared for every man on first entry into the -Service. At the outset it is inscribed with -his name, previous occupation and description, -his religion, the name and address of his next -of kin, and the period of service for which he -engages.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In due course, when he completes his -training and is drafted to sea, his Certificate -accompanies him. As he goes from ship to -ship, on pages 2 and 3 are entered the -records of his service, his rating, the names -of his ships, and the period he served in each.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On 31st December in each year his Captain -assesses in his own handwriting, on page 4, -the character and ability of each man in the -ship. These fluctuate between various stages -from "Very Good" to "Indifferent" in the -former case; "Exceptional" to "Inferior" in -the latter. Here, too, appear the history of -award and deprivation of Good Conduct Badges; -the more severe penalties of wrong-doing, such -as cells and imprisonment. Here, too, they -must remain (for parchment cannot be -tampered with, and an alteration must be -sanctioned by the Admiralty) in perpetual -appraisement or reproach until the man -completes his Engagement and his Certificate -becomes his own property.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The heading PREVIOUS OCCUPATION shows -plainly enough the trades and classes from -which the Navy is recruited, and is interesting, -if only for the incongruity of the entries. -They are most varied among the Stokers' -Certificates, as these men entered the Service -later in life than the Seamen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Labourer</em><span> suggests little save perhaps a -vision of the Thames Embankment at night, -and the evidence that some one at least found -a solution of the Unemployment problem. -But we may be wronging him. Doubtless -he had employment enough. Yet I still -connect him with the Embankment. At the -bidding of the L.C.C. it was here he wielded -pick and crowbar until the sudden distant -hoot of a syren stirred something dormant -within him: the barges sliding down-stream -out of a smoky sunset into the Unknown -suggested a wider world. So he laid down -his tools, and his pay is now 2s. 1d. per diem: -from his NEXT OF KIN notation he apparently -supports a wife on it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Farm Hand</em><span>. Can you say what led him -from kine-scented surroundings and the -swishing milk-pails to the stokehold of a -man-of-war? Did the clatter of the -threshing-machine wake an echo of</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"... the bucket and clang of the brasses</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Working together by perfect degree"?</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Perhaps it was the ruddy glow of the -hop-ovens by night that he exchanged for the -hell-glare of a battleship's furnaces. Or, as -a final solution, was it the later product of -these same ovens, in liquid form, that helped -the Recruiting Officer?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Newspaper Vendor</em><span>. A pretty conceit, that -Vendor! He has changed vastly since he -dodged about the Strand, hawking the world's -news and exchanging shrill obscenities with -the rebuke of policemen and cab-drivers. -But the gutter-patois clings to him yet: and -of nights you may see him forward, seated on -an upturned bucket, wringing discords of -unutterable melancholy from a mouth-organ.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Merchant Seaman—Golf Caddie</em><span>. He spat -in the sand-box before making your tee, and -looked the other way when you miss your -drive, if he was as loyal as caddie as he is a -sailor. </span><em class="italics">Errand Boy—Circus Artiste</em><span>. Of a -surety he was the clown, this last. His -inability to forget his early training has on -more than one occasion introduced him to a -cell and the bitter waters of affliction. But -he is much in demand at sing-songs and -during stand-easy time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now here is one with a heavy black line -ruled across his record on page 2, and in the -margin appears the single letter "K" He -is a recovered deserter. He "ran," after eight -years' service and stainless record. Was it -some red-lipped, tousle-haired siren who lured -him from the paths of rectitude? Did the -galling monotony and austere discipline -suddenly prove too much for him? Was it a -meeting with a Yankee tar in some foreign -grog-shop that tempted him with tales of a -higher pay and greater independence? Hardly -the latter, I think, because they caught him, -and on page 4 of the tell-tale parchment -appears the penalty—90 days' Detention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lastly: </span><em class="italics">Porter</em><span>. Where on earth did he -shoulder trunks and bawl "By y'r leave"? Was -it amid the echoing vastness of a London -terminus, with its smoke and gloom? -Or—and this I think the more probable—was it -on some sleepy branch-line that he rang a -bell or waved a flag, collected tickets, and -clattered to and fro with fine effect in -enormous hobnail boots? Then one fine day -... but imagination falters here, leaving us -no nearer the reason why he exchanged his -green corduroys for the jumper and collar. -And if we asked him (which we cannot very -well), I doubt if he could tell himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They make a motley collection, these tinkers -and tailors and candlestick-makers, but in -time they filter through the same mould, and -emerge, as a rule, vastly improved. You may -sometimes encounter them, in railway stations -or tram-cars, returning on leave to visit a home -that has become no more than an amiable -memory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And some day, maybe, you will advertise -for a caretaker, or one to do odd jobs about -the house and garden, whose wife can do plain -cooking. Look out then for the man with -tattooed wrists, and eyes that meet yours -unflinching from a weather-beaten face. He -will come to apply in person for the job—being -no great scribe or believer in the power -of the pen. He will arrange his visit so as to -arrive towards evening,—this being, he -concludes, your "stand-easy time." He wastes -few words, but from the breast-pocket of an -obviously ready-made jacket he will produce -a creased and soiled sheet of parchment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is the record of his life: and after -two-and-twenty years through which the frayed -passport has brought him, at forty years of -age, he turns to you for employment and a -life wherein (it is his one stipulation) "there -shall be no more sea."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-greater-love"><span class="bold large">XXIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE GREATER LOVE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sun was setting behind a lurid bank of -cloud above the hills of Spain, and, as is usual -at Gibraltar about that hour, a light breeze -sprang up. It eddied round the Rock and -scurried across the harbour, leaving dark -cat's-paws in its trail: finally it reached the -inner mole, alongside which a cruiser was lying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long pendant of white bunting, that all -day had hung listlessly from the main top-mast, -stirred, wavered, and finally bellied out -astern, the gilded bladder at the tail bobbing -uneasily over the surface of the water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Officer of the Watch leaned over the -rail and watched the antics of the bladder, -round which a flock of querulous gulls circled -and screeched. "The paying-off pendant[#] -looks as if it were impatient," he said -laughingly to an Engineer Lieutenant standing at -his side.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A pendant, one-and-a-quarter times the length of the ship, -flown by ships homeward bound under orders to pay off.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The other smiled in his slow way and turned -seaward, nodding across the bay towards -Algeciras. "Not much longer to wait—there's -the steamer with the mail coming across now." He -took a couple of steps across the deck and -turned. "Only another 1200 miles. Isn't it -ripping to think of, after three years...?" He -rubbed his hands with boyish satisfaction. -"All the coal in and stowed—boats turned in, -funnels smoking—that's what I like to see! -Only the mail to wait for now: and the -gauges down below"—he waggled his forefinger -in the air, laughing,—"like that...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant nodded and hitched his -glass under his arm. "Your middle watch, -Shortie? Mine too: we start working up -for our passage trial then, don't we? Whack -her up, lad—for England, Home, and Beauty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Engineer Lieutenant walked towards -the hatchway. "What do you think!" and -went below humming—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"From Ushant to Scilly...</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lieutenant on watch turned and looked -up at the Rock, towering over the harbour. -Above the green-shuttered, pink and yellow -houses, and dusty, sun-dried vegetation, the -grim pile was flushing rose-colour against the -pure sky. How familiar it was, he thought, -this great milestone on the road to the East, -and mused awhile, wondering how many -dawns he had lain under its shadow: how -many more sunsets he would watch and -marvel at across the purple Bay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"British as Brixton!" He had read the -phrase in a book once, describing Gibraltar. -So it was, when you were homeward bound. -He resumed his measured pacing to and fro. -The ferry steamer had finished her short -voyage and had gone alongside the wharf, -out of sight behind an arm of the mole. Not -much longer to wait now. He glanced at his -wrist-watch. "Postie" wouldn't waste much -time getting back. Not all the beer in -Waterport Street nor all the glamour of the -"Ramps" would lure him astray to-night. -The Lieutenant paused in his measured stride -and beckoned a side-boy. "Tell the signalman -to let me know directly the postman is sighted -coming along the mole."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He resumed his leisurely promenade, -wondering how many letters there would be -for him, and who would write. His mother, -of course, ... and Ted at Charterhouse. -His speculations roamed afield. Any one -else? Then he suddenly remembered the -Engineer Lieutenant imitating the twitching -gauge-needle with his forefinger. Lucky -beggar he was. There was some one waiting -for him who mattered more than all the Teds -in the world. More even than a Mother—at -least, he supposed.... His thoughts -became abruptly sentimental and tender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A signalman, coming helter-skelter down -the ladder, interrupted them, as the -Commander stepped out of his cabin on to the -quarter-deck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Postman comin' with the mail, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few minutes later a hoist of flags, whirled -hurriedly to the masthead, asking permission -to proceed "in execution of previous orders." What -those orders were, even the paying-off -pendant knew, trailing aft over the -stern-walk in the light wind.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Rock lay far astern like a tinted -shadow, an opal set in a blue-grey sea. Once -beyond the Straits the wind freshened, and -the cruiser began to lift her lean bows to the -swell, flinging the spray aft along the -forecastle in silver rain. The Marine bugler -steered an unsteady course to the quarterdeck -hatchway and sounded the Officers' -Dinner Call.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Officers' wives eat puddings and pies,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>But sailors' wives eat skilly..."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>chanted the Lieutenant of the impending first -watch, swaying to the roll of the ship as he -adjusted his tie before the mirror. He -thumped the bulkhead between his cabin and -the adjoining one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buck up, Shortie!" he shouted; "it's -Saturday Night at Sea! Your night for a -glass of port."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sweethearts and wives!" called another -voice across the flat. "You'll get drunk -to-night, Snatcher, if you try to drink to -all——" the voice died away and rose again -in expostulation with a Marine servant. -"... Well, does it </span><em class="italics">look</em><span> like a clean shirt...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give it a shake, Pay, and put it on like a -man!" Some one else had joined in from -across the flat. The Engineer Lieutenant -pushed his head inside his neighbour's cabin: -"Come along—come along! You'll be late -for dinner. Fresh grub to-night: no more -'Russian Kromeskis' and 'Fanny Adams'!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One second.... Right!" They linked -arms and entered the Wardroom as the -President tapped the table for grace. The Surgeon -scanned the menu with interest. "Jasus! -Phwat diet!" he ejaculated, quoting from an -old Service story. "Listen!" and read out—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Soup: Clear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's boiled swabs," interposed the Junior -Watch-keeper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr President, sir, I object—this Officer's -unladylike conversation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Round of port—fine him!" interrupted -several laughing voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Doc.; what next?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fish: 'Mullets.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Main drain loungers," from the Junior -Watch-keeper. "Isn't he a little Lord -Fauntleroy—two rounds of port!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Entree</em><span>: Russian Kromeskis——" A roar -of protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mutton cutlets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goat, he means. What an orgie! Go on; -fain would we hear the worst, fair chirurgeon," -blathered the Paymaster. "Joint?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Joint; mutton or——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Princely munificence," murmured the First -Lieutenant. "He's not a messman: he's -a—a—what's the word?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Philanthropist. What's the awful alternative?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There isn't any; it's scratched out." The -A.P. and the Junior Watch-keeper clung to -each other. "The originality of the creature! -And the duff?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rice-pudding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah me! alack-a-day! alas!" The Paymaster -tore his hair. "I must prophesy ... </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> -prophesy,—shut up, every one! Shut -up!" He closed his eyes and pawed the -air feebly. "I'm a medium. I'm going to -prophesy. I feel it coming.... The -savoury is ... the savoury is"—there was -a moment's tense silence—"sardines on -toast." He opened his eyes. "Am I right, -sir? Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Surgeon leaned forward, and picking -up the massive silver shooting trophy that -occupied the centre of the table, handed it -to a waiter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take that to the Paymaster, please. First -prize for divination and second sight. And -you, Snatcher—you'll go down for another -round of port if you keep on laughing with -your mouth full."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the meal progressed. The "mullets" -were disentangled from their paper jackets -amid a rustling silence of interrogation. The -Worcester sauce aided and abetted the -disappearance of the Russian Kromeskis, as it had -so often done before. The mutton was voted -the limit, and the rice-pudding held evidences -that the cook's hair wanted cutting. The -Junior Watch-keeper—proud officer of that -functionary's division—vowed he'd have it -cut in a manner which calls for no -description in these pages. There weren't any -sardines on toast. The Philanthropist -appeared in person, with dusky, upturned -palms, to deplore the omission.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ow! signor—olla fineesh! I maka -mistake! No have got sardines, signor...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear old Ah Ying!" sighed the Engineer -Lieutenant, "I never really loved him till -this minute. Why did we leave him at -Hong-Kong and embark this snake-in-the-grass.... -No sardines...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But for all that every one seemed to have -made an admirable meal, and the Chaplain's -"For what we have received, thank God!" -brought it to a close. The table was cleared, -the wine decanters passed round, and once -again the President tapped with his ivory -mallet. There was a little silence—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr Vice—the King!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The First Lieutenant raised his glass. -"Gentlemen—the King!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The King!" murmured the Mess, with -faces grown suddenly decorous and grave. -At that moment the Corporal of the Watch -entered; he glanced down the table, and -approaching the Junior Watch-keeper's chair -saluted and said something in an undertone. -The Junior Watch-keeper nodded, finished his -port, and rose, folding his napkin. His -neighbour, the Engineer Lieutenant, leaned -back in his chair, speaking over his -shoulder—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your First Watch, James?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," with mock solemnity, "may I -remind you that our lives are in your hands -till twelve o'clock? Don't forget that, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Junior Watch-keeper laughed. "I'll -bear it in mind." At the doorway he -turned with a smile: "It won't be the -first time your valuable life has been -there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or the last, we'll hope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll hope not, Shortie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The buzz of talk and chaff had again begun -to ebb and flow round the long table. The -First Lieutenant lit a cigarette and began -collecting napkin-rings, placing them -eventually in a row, after the manner of horses -at the starting-post. "Seven to one on the -field, bar one—Chief, your ring's disqualified. -It would go through the ship's side. -Now, wait for the next roll—stand by! -Clear that flower-pot——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disqualified be blowed! Why, I turned -it myself when I was a student, out of a bit -of brass I stole——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't help that; it weighs a ton—scratched -at the post!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Commander tapped the table with his -little hammer—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I remind you all that it's Saturday -Night at Sea?" and gave the decanters a -little push towards his left-hand neighbour. -The First Lieutenant brushed the starters -into a heap at his side; the faintest shadow -passed across his brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it is!" echoed several voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Shortie, fill up! Snatcher, you'd -better have a bucket.... 'There's a Burmah -girl a-settin' an' I know she thinks,'—port, -Number One?" The First Lieutenant signed -an imperceptible negation and pushed the -decanter round, murmuring something about -hereditary gout.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was ten years since he had drunk that -toast: since a certain tragic dawn, stealing -into the bedroom of a Southsea lodging, found -him on his knees at a bedside.... They -all knew the story, as men in Naval Messes -afloat generally do know each other's tragedies -and joys. And yet his right-hand neighbour -invariably murmured the same formula as -he passed the wine on Saturday nights at -sea. In its way it was considered a rather -subtle intimation that no one wanted to pry -into his sorrow—even to the extent of -presuming that he would never drink that -health again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the same way they all knew that it -was the one occasion on which the little -Engineer Lieutenant permitted himself the -extravagance of wine. He was saving up -to get married; and perhaps for the reason -that he had never mentioned the fact, -every one not only knew it, but loved and -chaffed him for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The decanters travelled round, and the -First Lieutenant leaned across to the -Engineer Lieutenant, who was contemplatively -watching the smoke of his cigarette. There -was a whimsical smile in the grave, level eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose we shall have to think about -rigging a garland[#] before long, eh?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A garland of evergreens is triced up to the -triatic stay between the masts -on the occasion of an officer's marriage.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The other laughed half-shyly. "Yes, before -long, I hope, Number One."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down came the ivory hammer—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen—Sweethearts and Wives!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And may they never meet!" added the -Engineer Commander. In reality the most -domesticated and blameless of husbands, it -was the ambition of his life to be esteemed -a sad dog, and that, men should shake their -heads over him crying "Fie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The First Lieutenant gathered together his -silver rings. "Now then, clear the table. -She's rolling like a good 'un. Seven to one -on the field, bar——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speech!" broke in the Paymaster. -"Speech, Shortie! Few words by a young -officer about to embark on the troubled sea -of matrimony. Hints on the Home——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The prospective bridegroom shook his head, -laughing, and coloured in a way rather pleasant -to see. He rose, pushing in his chair. In -the inside pocket of his mess-jacket was an -unopened letter, saved up-to read over a pipe -in peace,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My advice to you all is——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Don't,'" from the Engineer Commander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mind your own business," and the Engineer -Lieutenant fled from the Mess amid derisive -shouts of "Coward!" The voice of the First -Lieutenant rose above the hubbub—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seven to one on the field—and what about -a jump or two? Chuck up the menu-card, -Pay. Now, boys, roll, bowl, or pitch -... 'Every time a blood-orange or a good -see-gar'...!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Officer of the First Watch leaned out -over the bridge rails, peering into the -darkness that enveloped the forecastle, and -listening intently. The breeze had freshened, and -the cruiser slammed her way into a rising -sea, labouring with the peculiar motion known -as a "cork-screw roll": the night was very -dark. Presently he turned and walked to the -chart-house door: inside, the Navigation -Officer was leaning over the chart, wrinkling -his brows as he pencilled a faint line.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pilot," said the other, "just step out here -a second."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Navigator looked up, pushing his cap -from his forehead. "What's up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think the starboard anchor is 'talking.' I -wish you'd come and listen a moment." The -Navigator stepped out on to the bridge, -closing the chart-house door after him, and -paused a moment to accustom his eyes to the -darkness. "Dark night, isn't it? Wind's -getting up, too...." He walked to the -end of the bridge and leaned out. The ship -plunged into a hollow with a little shudder and -then flung her bows upwards into, a cascade -of spray. A dull metallic sound detached -itself from the sibilant rushing of water and -the beat of waves against the ship's side, -repeating faintly with each roll of the ship -from the neighbourhood of the anchor-bed. -The Navigator nodded: "Yes, ... one of -the securing chains wants tautening, I should -say. 'Saltash Luck'[#] for some one!" He -moved back into the chart-house and picked -up the parallel-rulers again.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A thorough wetting.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lieutenant of the Watch went to the -head of the ladder and called the Boatswain's -Mate, who was standing in the lee of the -conning-tower yarning with the Corporal of -the Watch—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pipe the duty sub. of the watch to fall in -with oilskins on; when they're present, take -them on to the forecastle and set up the -securing chain of the starboard bower-anchor. -Something's worked loose. See that any one -who goes outside the rail has a bowline on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, sir." The Boatswain's Mate -descended the ladder, giving a few -preliminary "cheeps" with his pipe before -delivering himself of his tidings of "Saltash Luck" -to the duty sub. of the port watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Officer of the Watch gave an order to -the telegraph-man on the bridge, and far -below in the Engine-room they heard the -clang of the telegraph gongs. He turned -into the chart-house and opened the ship's -log, glancing at the clock as he did so. -Then he wrote with a stumpy bit of pencil—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"9.18. Decreased speed to 6 knots. Duty -Sub. secured starboard bower-anchor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He returned to the bridge and leaned over -the rail, straining his eyes into the darkness -and driving spray towards the indistinct -group of men working on the streaming -forecastle. In the light of a swaying lantern -he could make out a figure getting out on to -the anchor-bed; another was turning up with -a rope's end; he heard the faint click of a -hammer on metal. The ship lurched and -plunged abruptly into the trough of a sea. -An oath, clear-cut and distinct, tossed aft -on the wind, and a quick shout.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned aft and rushed to the top of the -ladder, bawling down between curved palms -with all the strength of his lungs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Engineer Lieutenant who left the -Wardroom after dinner did not immediately -go on deck. He went first to his cabin, where -he filled and lit a pipe, and changed his -mess-jacket for a comfortable, loose-fitting -monkey-jacket. Then he settled down in his -armchair, wedged his feet against the bunk to -steady himself against the roll of the ship, -and read his letter. Often as he read he -smiled, and once he blinked a little, -misty-eyed. The last sheet he re-read several -times.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... Oh, isn't it good to think of! It was -almost worth the pain of separation to have -this happiness now—to know that every -minute is bringing you nearer. I wake up -in the morning with that happy sort of -feeling that something nice is going to happen -soon—and then I realise: you are coming -Home! I jump out of bed and tear another -leaf off the calendar,—there are only nine left -now, and then comes one marked with a big -cross.... Do you know the kind of happiness -that hurts? Or is it only a girl who can -feel it? ... I pray every night that the days -may pass quickly, and that you may come -safely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a very ordinary little love-letter, -with its shy admixture of love and faith and -piety: the sort so few men ever earn, and so -many (in Heaven's mercy) are suffered to -receive. The recipient folded it carefully, -replaced it in its envelope, and put it in his -pocket. Then he lifted his head suddenly, -listening....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down below, the Engine-room telegraph -gong had clanged, and the steady beat of -the engines slowed. With an eye on his -wrist-watch he counted the muffled strokes -of the piston.... Decreased to 6 knots. -What was the matter? Fog? He rose -and leaned over his bunk, peering through -the scuttle. Quite clear. He decided to -light a pipe and go on deck for a "breather" -before turning in, and glanced at the little -clock ticking on the bulkhead. Twenty past -nine; ten minutes walk on the quarter-deck -and then to bed. It was his middle watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he left his cabin some one in the -Wardroom began softly playing the piano, and the -Paymaster's clear baritone joined in, singing a -song about somebody's grey eyes watching for -somebody else. The Mess was soaking in -sentiment to-night: must be the effect of -Saturday Night at Sea he reflected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reached the quarter-deck and stood -looking round, swaying easily with the -motion of the ship. The sea was getting up, -and the wind blew a stream of tiny sparks -from his pipe. Farther aft the sentry on the -life-buoys was mechanically walking his beat, -now toiling laboriously up a steep incline, -now trying to check a too precipitous -descent. The Engineer Lieutenant watched -him for a moment, listening to the notes of -the piano tinkling up through the open -skylight from the Wardroom.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"I know of two white arms</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Waiting for me ..."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The singer had started another verse; the -Engineer Lieutenant smiled faintly, and -walked to the ship's side to stare out into -the darkness. Why on earth had they -slowed down? A sudden impatience filled -him. Every minute was precious now. Why——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"MAN OVERBOARD. AWAY LIFEBOAT'S -CREW!" Not for nothing had the Officer -of the Watch received a "Masts and Yards" -upbringing; the wind forward caught the -stentorian shout and hurled it along the -booms and battery, aft to the quarter-deck -where the little Engineer Lieutenant was -standing, one hand closed over the glowing -bowl of his pipe, the other thrust into his -trousers pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Engine-room telegraph began clanging -furiously, the sound passing up the casings -and ventilators into the night; then the -Boatswain's Mate sent his ear-piercing pipe -along the decks, calling away the lifeboat's -crew. The sentry on the life-buoys wrenched -at the releasing knob of one of his charges -and ran across to the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The leaden seconds passed, and the -Engineer Lieutenant still stood beside the -rail, mechanically knocking the ashes from -his pipe.... Then something went past on -the crest of a wave: something white that -might have been a man's face, or broken -water showing up in the glare of a scuttle.... -A sound out of the darkness that might -have been the cry of a low-flying gull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now it may be argued that the Engineer -Lieutenant ought to have stayed where he -was. Going overboard on such a night was -too risky for a man whose one idea was to get -home as quickly as possible—who, a moment -before, had chafed at the delay of reduced -speed. Furthermore, he had in his pocket a -letter bidding him come home safely; and for -three years he had denied himself his little -luxuries for love of her who wrote it....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the same—would she have him stand -and wonder if that was a gull he had heard...?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Love of women, Love of life....! Mighty -factors—almost supreme. Yet a mortal has -stayed in a wrecked stokehold, amid the -scalding steam, to find and shut a valve; -Leper Settlements have their doctors and -pastor; and "A very gallant Gentleman" -walks unhesitatingly into an Antarctic -blizzard, to show there is a love stronger and -higher even than these.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Engineer Lieutenant was concerned -with none of these fine thoughts. For one -second he did pause, looking about as if for -somewhere to put his pipe. Then he tossed -it on to the deck, scrambled over the rail, -took a deep breath, and dived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Marine sentry ran to the side of the -ship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Christ!</em><span>" he gasped, and forsook his post, -to cry the tale aloud along the seething -battery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ship shuddered as the engines were -reversed, and the water under the stern -began to seethe and churn. The Commander -had left his cabin, and was racing up to the -bridge, as the Captain reached the quarterdeck. -A knot of officers gathered on the -after-bridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pin's out, sir!" shouted the Coxswain of -the sea-boat, and added under his breath, -"Oars all ready, lads! Stan' by to pull -like bloody 'ell—there's two of 'em in the -ditch...." The boat was hanging a few -feet above the tumbling water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Slip!" shouted a voice from the invisible -fore-bridge. An instant's pause, and the boat -dropped with a crash on to a rising wave, -There was a clatter and thud of oars in -row-locks; the clanking of the chain-slings, and -the boat, with her motley-clad[#] life-belted -crew, slid off down the slant of a wave. -For a moment the glare of an electric light -lit the faces of the men, tugging and straining -grimly at their oars; then she vanished, to -reappear a moment later on the crest of -a sea, and disappeared again into the -darkness.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Any one near the boat responds to the call -"Away Life-boat's crew!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Commander on the fore-bridge snatched -up a megaphone, shouting down-wind—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pull to starboard, cutter! Make for the -life-buoy light!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The watchers on the after-bridge were peering -into the night with binoculars and glasses. -The A.P. extended an arm and forefinger: -"There's the life-buoy—there! ... Now—there! -D'you see it? You can just see the -flare when it lifts on a wave.... Ah! -That's better!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dazzling white beam from a search-light -on the fore-bridge leaped suddenly into the -night. "Now we can see the cutter—" the -beam wavered a moment and finally steadied. -"Yes, there they are.... I say, there's a -devil of a sea running."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ripping sea-boats our Service cutters -are," said another, staring through his glasses. -"They'll live in almost anything; but this -isn't a dangerous sea. The skipper 'll turn -in a minute and make a lee for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think old Shortie reached the buoy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Probably swimming about looking for the -other fellow, if I know anything of him; who -did he go in after?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the duty sub.—they were securing -the anchor or something forward, and the -bowline slipped——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By gad! He's got him! There's the -buoy—yes, two of them. </span><em class="italics">Good</em><span> old Shortie.... -My God! </span><em class="italics">Good</em><span> old Shortie!" The -speaker executed a sort of war-dance and -trod on the Paymaster's toes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you've quite finished, Snatcher.... -By the way, what about hot-water -bottles—blankets—stimulants.... First aid: -come along! 'Assure the patient in a loud -voice that he is safe.' ... 'Aspect cheerful -but subdued.' ... I learned the whole -rigmarole once!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the fore upper bridge the Captain -was handling his ship like a picket-boat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Midships—steady! Stop both!" He -raised his mouth from the voice-pipe to the -helmsman, and nodded to the Officer of the -Watch. "She'll do now.... The wind 'll -take her down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Commander leaned over the rail and -called the Boatswain's Mate—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clear lower deck! Man the falls!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ranks of men along the ship's side -turned inboard, and passed the ropes aft, in -readiness to hoist the boat. There were -three hundred men on the falls, standing by -to whisk the cutter to the davit-heads like a -cockle-shell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They've got 'em—got 'em both!" murmured -the deep voices: they spat impatiently. -"What say, lads? Stamp an' go with 'er?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence in the battery! </span><em class="italics">Marry</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Commander was leaning over the -bridge rails; the Surgeon and two Sick-berth -Stewards were waiting by the davits. Alongside -the cutter was rising and falling on the -waves....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, sir!" The voice of the -Coxswain came up as if from the deep. They -had hooked the plunging boat on somehow, -and his thumb-nail was a pulp....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three hundred pairs of eyes turned towards -the fore-bridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Hoist away!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No need for the Boatswain's Mate to echo -the order; no need for the Petty Officers' -"With a will, then, lads!" They rushed aft -in a wild stampede, hauling with every ounce -of beef and strength in their bodies. The -cutter, dripping and swaying, her crew -fending her off the rolling ship with their -stretchers, shot up to the davits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"High 'nough!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rush stopped like one man. Another -pull on the after-fall—enough. She was -hoisted. "</span><em class="italics">Walk back! ... Lie to!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tense silence fell upon the crowded -battery: the only sound that of men breathing -hard. A limp figure was seen descending -the Jacob's ladder out of the boat, assisted -by two of the crew. Heady hands were -outstretched to help, and the next moment -Willie Sparling, Ordinary Seaman, Official -Number 13728, was once more on the deck -of a man-of-war—a place he never expected -to see again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ow!" He winced, "Min' my shoulder—it's -'urted...." He looked round at the -familiar faces lit by the electric lights, and -jerked his head back at the boat hanging -from her davits. "</span><em class="italics">'E</em><span> saved my life—look -after 'im. 'E's a ... e's a—bleedin' -'ero, ..." and Willie Sparling, with a -broken collar-bone, collapsed dramatically -enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Engineer Lieutenant swung himself -down on to the upper deck and stooped to -wring the water from his trousers. The -Surgeon seized him by the arm—-</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come along, Shortie—in between the -blankets with you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hero of the moment disengaged his -arm and shook himself like a terrier. -"Blankets be blowed—it's my Middle Watch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Surgeon laughed. "Plenty of time -for that: it's only just after half-past nine. -What about a hot toddy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord! I thought I'd been in the water -for hours.... Yes, by Jove! a hot toddy——" He -paused and looked round, his face -suddenly anxious. "By the way, ... 'any -one seen a pipe sculling about...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down below the telegraph gongs clanged, -and the ship's bows swung round on to her -course, heading once more for England, Home, -and Beauty.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-picturesque-ceremony"><span class="bold large">XXIV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"A PICTURESQUE CEREMONY."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">"S—— Parish Church was, yesterday afternoon, -the scene of a -picturesque ceremony...."—</span><em class="italics small">Local Paper</em><span class="small">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Torpedo Lieutenant (hereinafter known -as "Torps") was awakened by the June -sunlight streaming in through the open -scuttle of his cabin. Overhead the -quarterdeck-men were busy scrubbing decks: the -grating murmur of the holystones and swish -of water from the hoses, all part of each day's -familiar routine, sent his eyes round to the -clock ticking on the chest of drawers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a while he lay musing, watching with -thoughtful gaze the disc of blue sky framed -by the circle of the scuttle; then, as if in -obedience to a sudden resolution, he threw -back the bed-clothes and hoisted himself out -of his bunk. Slipping his feet into a pair of -ragged sandals, he left his cabin and walked -along the flat till he came to another a few -yards away; this he entered, drawing the -curtain noiselessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The occupant of the bunk was still asleep, -breathing evenly and quietly, one bare -forearm, with the faint outline of a snake tattooed -upon it, lying along the coverlet. For a few -moments the new-comer stood watching the -sleeper, the corners of his eyes creased in a -little smile. Men sometimes smile at their -friends that way, and at their dogs. The -face on the pillow looked very boyish, -somehow, ... he hadn't changed much since -</span><em class="italics">Britannia</em><span> days, really; and they had been -through a good deal between then and now. -Wholesome, lean old face it was; no wonder -a woman...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sleeper stirred, sighed a little, and -opened his eyes. For a moment they rested, -clear and direct as an awakened child's, on -Torps' face; then he laughed a greeting—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo, Torps!" He yawned and stretched, -and rising on one elbow, thrust his head out -of the scuttle. "Thank Heaven for a fine day! -Number One back from leave yet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he's back: you're quite safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other lay back in the bunk. "Has -Phillips brought my tea yet?" He looked -round helplessly. "What an awful pot-mess -my cabin is in. Those are presents that came -last night—they've all got to be packed. -What's the time? Why, it's only half-past -seven! Torps, you are the limit! I swear -I've always read in books that fellows stayed -in bed till lunch on these occasions, mugging -up the marriage-service. I'm not going to -get up in the middle of the night—be blowed -if I do!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Torps lit a cigarette. "That's only in -books. We'll have breakfast, and take your -gear up to the hotel, and then we'll play -nine holes of golf—just to take our minds -off frivolous subjects."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Golf! My dear old ass, I couldn't drive a yard!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you're going to have a try, -anyway. Everything's arranged that can be: -you aren't allowed to drink cocktails; you -can't see Her—till two o'clock. You'd fret -yourself into a fever here in bed—what else -do you think you're going to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The prospective bridegroom stirred his tea -in silence. "Well, I suppose there's -something in all that; pass me a cigarette—there's -a box just there.... Oh, thanks, -old bird; don't quite know why I should be -treated as if I were an irresponsible and -feeble-minded invalid, just because I'm going -to be married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Best Man laughed. "How d'you feel -about it yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'm.... D'you remember one morning -at Kao-chu—was that the name of the -place? It began to dawn, and we saw those -yellow devils coming up, a thousand or so of -the blighters: we had a half-company and no -maxim, d'you remember? It was dev'lish -cold, and we wanted our breakfasts, ... and -we were about sixteen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Torps smiled recollection. "Bad's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very nearly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember—what they call in the quack -advertisements 'That Sickish Feeling'! Never -mind, turn out and scrape your -face; you'll feel much better after your -bath——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside in the flat the voice of some one -carolling drew near—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">For</em><span> ... it is ... my </span><em class="italics">wed</em><span>—ding -</span><em class="italics">MOR-</em><span> ... ning....!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The victim groaned. "Oh Lord! Now -they're going to start being comic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right; it's only the Indiarubber Man."[#] The -curtain was drawn back and a smiling -face, surmounted by a shock of ruddy hair, -thrust into the cabin—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Lieutenant for Physical Training Duties.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"'Morning, Guns! Many happy returns of -the day, and all that sort of thing. Merry -and bright?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Gunnery Lieutenant forced a wan -smile. "Quite—thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right! And our Torps in attendance -with smelling salts.... Condemned -man suffered Billington to pinion him without -Resistance——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bridegroom sat up, searching for a -missile. "Look here, for goodness' sake.... -That 'Condemned man' business 's been done -before. All the people who tell funny stories -about fellows being married——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut! Tuts in two places! A pretty -business, forsooth! Sense of humour going. -Beginning of the end. Fractious. Tongue -furred, for all we know.... Where's the -Young Doc.? I suggest a thorough medical -examination before it's too late——" Another -face appeared grinning in the doorway. -"Why, here he is! Doc., don't you think -a stringent medical examination——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Gunnery Lieutenant crawled reluctantly -out of his bunk. "You two needn't come -scrapping in here. I'm going to shave, and -I don't want to cut my face off!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The visitors helped themselves to cigarettes. -"We don't want to scrap: we want to see -you shave, Guns. Watch him lathering -himself with aspen hand!" They explored the -cardboard-boxes and parcels that littered all -available space. "Did you ever see such -prodigal generosity as the man's friends -display! Toast-rack—no home complete -without one—Card-case!"—they probed among -the tissue wrappings. "Case of pipes.... -Handsome ormulu timepiece, suitably -inscribed. My Ghost! Guns—almost thou -persuadest me ..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, those things came last night: people -are awfully kind——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Torpedo Lieutenant intervened. "Come -on, give him a chance—I'll never get him -dressed with you two messing about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Gunnery Lieutenant grinned above the -lather at his reflection in the mirror. "D'you -hear that! That's the way he's been going -on ever since I woke up. One would think -I had G.P.I.!" The visitors prepared to -depart. "You have my profound sympathy, -Torps," said the Surgeon. "I was Best Man -to a fellow once—faith, I kept him under -morphia till it was all over. He was -practically no trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now I'm going to get my bath," said the -Torpedo Lieutenant when the well-wishers -had taken their departure. "Shove on any -old clothes: we'll send your full-dress up to -the hotel, and your boxes to the house; and -you needn't worry your old head about -anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Torps left the cabin; there was a tap at -the door and a private of Marines entered, -surveying the Gunnery Lieutenant with -affectionate regard. "I just come in to see if we -was turnin' out, sir. Razor all right? Better -'ave a 'ot bath this mornin', sir!" His master's -unaccountable predilection for immersing his -body in cold water every morning was a -custom that not even twelve years of familiarity -had robbed of its awfulness. "I strip -right down an' 'ad a bath meself, sir, mornin' -I was spliced," he admitted, as one who -condones generously an inexplicable weakness, -"but it were a 'ot one. You'd best 'ave it -'ot, sir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His master laughed. "No, thanks, Phillips; -it's all right as it is. Will you be up at the -house this afternoon and lend a hand, after -the ceremony?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Private of Marines nodded sorrowfully. -"I understands, sir. I bin married meself—I -knows all the routine, as you might say." He -departed with a sigh that left a faint -reminiscence of rum in the morning air, and -the Gunnery Lieutenant proceeded with his -toilet, humming a little tune under his breath. -Half an hour later he entered the Wardroom -clad in comfortable grey flannels and -an old shooting-coat. The Mess, breakfasting, -received him with a queer mixture of -chaff and solicitude. The First Lieutenant -grinned over a boiled egg: "Guns, sorry I -couldn't get back earlier to relieve you, but -'urgent private affairs,' you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Number One! As long as you -got back before two o'clock this afternoon, -that's all I cared about." He helped himself -to bacon and poured out a cup of coffee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marvellous!" The Indiarubber Man -opposite feigned breathless interest in his -actions, and murmured something into his -cup about condemned men partaking of -hearty breakfasts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, that's enough of the -'Condemned man'! You'd better find out -something about a Groomsman's duties," said -the Best Man, coming to the rescue of his -principal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I a Groomsman? So I am—I'd -forgotten. What do I do? Show people to -their seats: 'this way please, madam, second -shop through on the right.' ... Have you -any rich aunts, Guns? 'Pon my word, I -might get off this afternoon—you never -know. 'Every nice girl loves a sailor....' Which -of the lucky bridesmaids falls to my -lot? Do I kiss the bride...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You try it on," retorted the prospective -husband grimly.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't I kiss anybody," inquired the -Indiarubber Man plaintively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if they see you coming, I shouldn't -think," cut in the Paymaster from behind his -paper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then the head waiter and I will retire -behind a screen and get quietly drunk—I -don't suppose anybody will want to kiss him -either: they never do, somehow. We shall -drift together, blighted misogamists...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Engineer Commander glowered at the -speaker. "Suppose ye reserve a little of this -unpar-r-ralleled wit——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, Chief—beg pardon. But there's -something about a wedding morning—don't -you know? Screams-of-fun-and-roars-of-laughter -sort of atmosphere." He looked -round the silent table. "Now I've annoyed -everybody. Ah, me! What it is to have -to live with mouldy messmates, ..." and -the Indiarubber Man drifted away to the -smoking-room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He ought to keep your little show from -getting dull this afternoon," said the First -Lieutenant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Gunnery Lieutenant laughed. "Yes, -it's pleasant to find some one who does regard -it as a joke. The only trouble is that his -bridesmaid is my young sister, a flapper from -school, and I know he'll make her giggle in -the middle of the service. She doesn't want -much encouragement at any time." The -speaker finished a leisurely breakfast and -filled his pipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now then, Torps, I'm ready for you and -your nine holes...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Gunnery Lieutenant sat down and -began laboriously dragging on his -Wellington boots. His Best Man stood in front -of the glass adjusting the medals on the -breast of his full-dress coat. This -concluded to his satisfaction, he picked up a -prayer-book from the dressing-table—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, then, Guns, a 'dummy-run,'" and -read; "N. Wilt thou have this woman——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why 'N'?" objected the prospective -bridegroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dunno, It says 'N' here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've never heard a parson say 'N,'" -ventured the other, "but it's years since I saw -a wedding—chuck me my braces—Well, go -on." The Best Man continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that part. That's the 'I will' -business,—by the way, where's the ring? -Don't, for Heaven's sake, let it out of your -sight—are my trousers hitched up too -high...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, they're all right. Then you say: -'I, N, take thee, N——'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More N's. We can't both be N—must -be a misprint...." He seized the book. "Have -I got to learn all that by heart? -Why don't they have a Short Course at -Greenwich, or Whaley, or somewhere, about -these things. "I, 'N,' take thee, 'N'"—he -began reading the words feverishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—that's all right. You repeat it after -the parson. And you say, 'I, John Willie,' -or whatever your various names might be, -'take thee, Millicent'—d'you see? Here, -let me fix that epaulette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me a cigarette, for Heaven's sake." He -hurriedly scanned the pages. "Ass I -was to leave it so late.... What awful -things they talk about.... Why didn't I -insist on a Registry Office? Or can't you -get married over a pair of tongs -somewhere—what religion's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't know—Gretna Green, or something. -It's too late now. Do stand still.... Right! -Where's your sword.... Gloves?" He -stepped back and surveyed his handiwork, -smiling his whimsical, half-grave smile. For -a few seconds the two men stood looking at -each other, and the thoughts that passed -through their minds were long, long thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do," said the Torpedo Lieutenant -at length, but there was an absent look in -his eyes, as though his thoughts had gone -a long way beyond the spare, upright figure -in blue and gold. In truth they had: back -fifteen years or more to a moonlit night in -the club garden at Malta. Two midshipmen -had finished dinner (roast chicken, -rum-omelette, "Scotch-woodcock," and all the rest -of it), and were experimenting desperately -with two cigars. It was Ladies' Night, and -down on the terrace a few officers' wives were -dining with their husbands; the Flagship's -band was playing softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fellow must make up his mind, Bill," -one of the midshipmen had said. "It's either -one thing or the other—either the Service or -Women. You can't serve both; and it seems -to me that the Service ought to come first." And -there and then they had vowed eternal -celibacy for the benefit of the Navy, upon -which, under the good providence of God, -the Honour, Safety, and Welfare of the -Nation do most chiefly depend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fifteen years ago...!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do," repeated the Torpedo Lieutenant -in a matter-of-fact tone, and rang -the bell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Private Phillips of the Royal Marine Light -Infantry entered with a gold-necked bottle -and two tumblers. The cork popped and -the two officers raised their glasses—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Happy days!" said Torps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Salue!" replied the other, and for a -moment his eyes rested on his Best Man -with something half-wistful in their regard. -"D'you remember Aldershot...? The -Middles: you seconded me, and we split a -bottle afterwards...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Torps nodded, smiling. "But this is 'Just -before the battle, mother!'" They moved -towards the door, and for a moment he -rested his hand on the heavy epaulette -beside his. "An' if you make as good a -show of this as you did that afternoon, you -won't come to no 'arm, old son."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>They were greeted at the church door by -the beaming Indiarubber Man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come along in—spot or plain?—I mean -Bride or Bridegroom? Bride's friends on the -left and Bridegroom's on the right—or is it -the other way about? I'm getting so rattled.... -I've just put the old caretaker in a -front pew under the impression that it was -your rich aunt, Guns! What a day, what -a day! Got the ring, Torps? Here come -the Bridesmaids, bless 'em! Go on, you two, -get up into your proper billets.... 'The -condemned man walked with unfaltering -step'—oh, sorry, I forgot...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Groomsmen slid into their pew with -much rattling of sword-scabbards and nodding -of heads and whispering. On their gilded -shoulders appeared to lie the responsibility -of the whole affair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bridegroom took up his appointed -place and stood, his hands linked behind his -back, looking down the aisle to where the -choir was gathering. The church seemed a -sea of faces, glinting uniforms, and women's -finery. Who on earth were they all? He -had no idea he knew so many people.... -Quite sure Millicent didn't.... How awful -it must be to have to preach a sermon.... -The faint scent of lilies drifted up to where -he was standing. At his side Torps shifted -his feet, and the ferrule of his scabbard clinked -on the aisle. Dear old Torps! ... How he -must be hating it all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a faint stir at the entrance. The -Bridesmaids' black velvet hats and white -feathers were bobbing agitatedly. He caught -a glimpse of a white-veiled figure. People -were turning round, staring and whispering. -Dash it all! It wasn't a circus.... What -did they think they were here for?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There she is," murmured Torps. "Not -much longer now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clergyman was giving out the number -of a hymn from the back of the church -somewhere, and the deep, sweet notes of the organ -poured out over their heads: then the voices -of the choir-boys swelled up, drawing nearer.... -Again the scent of lilies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand by," from Torps, tensely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The choir-boys filed past, singing; one had -on a red tie that peeped above his cassock. -They glanced at him indifferently as they -went by, their heads on a level with his -belt-buckle.... Then the white-veiled figure on -the Colonel's arm—Millicent: his, in a few -short minutes, for ever and aye.... He -drew a deep breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Dearly beloved, we are gathered together -here in the sight of God....</em><span>" Torps -touched him lightly on the elbow.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I, John Mainprice Edgar...</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, John Mainprice Edgar:"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Take thee, Millicent...</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take thee, Millicent:"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">To have and to hold...</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was simple enough—"To have and to hold:"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"And thereto I plight thee my troth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How warm and steady the small hand was, -lying in his: then gently withdrawn. Torps -was trying to attract attention—What was -his trouble? The ring—Of course, the ring....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Those whom, God hath joined together let -no man put asunder.</em><span>"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Life's haven at last! Or had all life been -a cruise within the harbour: and this the -beat to open sea ... The Brave Adventure?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">The peace of God which passeth all -understanding ... remain with you now and for -evermore.</em><span>"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There was a whisper of silken petticoats, -and the clink of swords seems to fill the -church: then, dominating all other sounds -for a moment, the old Colonel blowing his -nose vehemently....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down the aisle again, the organ thundering -familiar strains—familiar, yet suddenly imbued -with a personal and intimate message,—Millicent's -arm resting on his, trembling ever so -lightly....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the warm, bouquet-scented gloom of the -vestry they gathered, and Torps wrung the -Bridegroom's hand in a hard, unaccustomed -grip—Torps with his winning, half-sad smile, -and the hair over his temples showing the -first trace of grey.... The bride finished -signing the register, and rose smiling, with -the veil thrown back from her fair face. In -later years he found himself recalling a little -sadly (as the happiest of bachelors may do at -times) the queer, shining gladness in her eyes. -He bent and touched the warm cheek with -his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then for a minute every one seemed to fall -a-kissing. Father and daughter, Mother and -son, newly-made brothers- and sisters-in-law -sought each other in turn. The Bridegroom's -Lady Mother kissed the Indiarubber Man -because no one else seemed to want to, and -they were such old friends. The Clergyman -kissed two of the Bridesmaids because he was -their uncle, and the Colonel (who had stopped -blowing his nose and was cheering up) kissed -the other two because he wasn't. In the -middle of all this pleasant exercise Torps, -who had vanished for a minute, reappeared to -announce that the Arch of Swords was ready -and the carriages were alongside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the procession formed up once more: -Bride and Bridegroom, the Colonel and the -Bridegroom's Lady Mother: Torps leading -the Bridegroom's new sister-in-law (and a -very pretty sister-in-law she was), the Flapper -and the Indiarubber Man, a girl called Etta -Someone on the Junior Watch-keeper's arm, -and another called Doris Somebody Else -under the escort of the A.P. They all passed -beneath the arch of naked blades held up by -the Bridegroom's messmates and friends, to -receive a running fire of chaff and laughing -congratulation; to find outside in the golden -afternoon sunshine that the horses had been -taken from the carriage-traces, and a team of -lusty blue-jackets, all very perspiring and -serious of mien, waiting to do duty instead.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">IV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Private Phillips, R.M.L.I., in all subsequent -narrations of the events of the day—and they -were many and varied—was wont to preface -each reminiscence with "Me an' the Torpedo -Lootenant..." And indeed he did both -indefatigable workers bare justice. Whether -it was opening carriage doors or bottles of -champagne, fetching fresh supplies of glasses -or labelling and strapping portmanteaux, -Private Phillips laboured with the same -indomitable stertorous energy. He accepted -orders with an omniscient and vehement nod -of the head; usurped the duties of enraptured -maid-servants with, "You leave me do it, -Miss—I bin married meself. I knows the routine, -as you might say...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Torps, superintending the distribution -of beer to panting blue-jackets (whose panting, -in some cases, was almost alarming in its -realism); fetching cups of tea for stout -dowagers, and ices for giggling schoolgirls; -begging a sprig from the bridesmaids' -bouquets; tipping policemen; opening -telegrams; yet always with an attention ready -for the Bridegroom's aunt who remembered -Guns as such a </span><em class="italics">little</em><span> boy.... Helpful even to -the ubiquitous reporter of the local paper....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A picturesque ceremony—if I may say so. -A </span><em class="italics">most</em><span> picturesque ceremony." The reporter -would feel for his notebook. "Might I ask -who that tall Officer is with the medals...? -My Paper——" And Torps, with his gentle -manners and quiet smile, would supply the -information to the best of his ability, conscious -that at a wedding there are harder lots even -than the Best Man's....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Indiarubber Man drifted disconsolately -about in the crush, finally coming to a momentary -anchorage in a corner beside his Bridesmaid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Betty, no one loves me, and I'm -going into the garden"—he dropped his voice -to a confidential undertone—"to eat worms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl giggled weakly. "Please don't -make me laugh any more! Won't you stay -here and have an ice instead? I'm sure it -would be much better for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would it, d'you think? I've been watching -the sailors drinking beer. Have you ever -seen a sailor drink beer, Miss Betty? It's -a grim sight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head, and there was both -laughter and reproach in the young eyes -considering him over the bouquet. "You forsook -me—and a nice Midshipman had pity on my -loneliness and brought me an ice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Indiarubber Man eyed her sorrowfully. -"I turn my back for a moment to watch -sailors drink beer—I am a man of few -recreations—and return to find you sighing -over the memory of another and making -shocking bad puns. Really, Miss Betty—Ah! -</span><em class="italics">Now</em><span> I can understand...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A small and pink-faced Midshipman -approached with two brimming glasses of -champagne. The Indiarubber Man faded discreetly -away, leaving his charge and her new-found -knight pledging each other with sparkling eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bride touched her husband's sleeve in a -lull in the handshaking and congratulations. -"Isn't it rather nice to see people enjoying -themselves! Don't you feel as if you wanted -everybody to be as happy as we?—</span><em class="italics">Look</em><span> at -Betty and that boy.... Champagne, if you -please! How ill the child will be; and she's -got to go back to school to-morrow...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her husband laughed softly. "Pretty -little witch.... Torps has taken it away -from her and given her some lemonade -instead. Where's Mother?—Oh, I see: -hobnobbing with the Colonel over a cup of tea. -What a crush! Dear, can't we escape soon....?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very soon now—poor boy, are you very -hot in those things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not very. The worst part's coming—the -rice and slippers and good-byes. Are you -very tired, darling...?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Good-bye—Good-bye! Good-bye, Daddie.... -Yes, yes.... I will.... Good-bye, -Betty darling.... Good-bye——"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Good-bye, Mother mine.... Torps, -you've been a brick..... So-long! -Good-bye! ... Not down my neck, Betty! ... Yes, -I've got the tickets—— Good-bye, -Good-bye!——"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The lights of Dover were twinkling far -astern. Two people, a man and a woman, -walked to the stern of the steamer and stood -close together, leaning over the rail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a lot of Good-byes we've said -to-day," murmured the woman, watching the -pin-points of light that vanished and -reappeared. She fell silent, as if following a -train of thought, "And after all, we're only -going to Paris!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're going further than that——" The -man took possession of her slim, ungloved -hands, and the star-powdered heavens alone -were witness to the act. "All the way to El -Dorado, darling!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him back the pressure of his -fingers, and presently sighed a little, happily, -as a child sighs in its sleep. "And we haven't -any return tickets...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">V.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The members of the wedding party returned -to the ship and straggled into the Mess. Each -one as he entered unbuckled his sword-belt, -loosened his collar, and called for strong -waters. A gloom lay upon the gathering: -possibly the shadow of an angel's wing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel as if I'd been to a funeral," growled -the Paymaster. "Awful shows these weddings are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor old Guns!" said the A.P. lugubriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's a jolly nice girl, any way," maintained -the Young Doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," sighed the Junior Watch-keeper, -"but still.... He </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a good chap...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Indiarubber Man was the last to enter. -He added his sword to the heap already on -the table, glanced at the solemn countenances -of his messmates, and lit a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sunt rerum lachrimæ</em><span>. I am reminded -of a harrowing story," he began, leaning -against the tiled stove, "recounted to me by -a—a lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We met in London, at a place of popular -entertainment, and our acquaintance was, -judged by the standards of conventionality, -perhaps slender." The Indiarubber Man -paused and looked gravely from face to face. -"However," he continued, "encouraged by -my frank open countenance and sympathetic -manner, she was constrained to tell the story -of how she once loved and lost...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The narrator broke off and appeared to have -forgotten how the story went on, in dreamy -contemplation of his cigarette. The mess -waited in silence: at length the Junior -Watch-keeper could bear it no longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> she tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Indiarubber Man thoughtfully exhaled -a cloud of smoke. "She said: 'Pa shot 'im.... -Sniff!—</span><em class="italics">'Ow</em><span> I loved 'im.... Sniff!—Lor', -'ow 'e did bleed.' ..."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="why-the-gunner-went-ashore"><span class="bold large">XXV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">WHY THE GUNNER WENT ASHORE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The evening mail had come, and Selby sat -alone in his cabin mechanically reading and -re-reading a letter. Finally he tore it up -into very small pieces and held them clenched -in his hand, staring very hard at nothing in -particular.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was engaged to be married: or to be -more precise, he had been engaged. The -letter that had come by the evening mail -said that this was not so any longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl who wrote it was a very -straight-forward person who hated concealment of -facts because they were unpleasant. It -had become necessary to tell Selby that she -couldn't love him any longer, and, faith, she -had told him. Further, by her creed, it was -only right that she should tell him about -Someone Else as well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was all very painful, and the necessity -for thus putting things to Selby in their -proper light, had cost her sleepless nights, -red eyes, and much expensive notepaper, -before the letter was finally posted. But -she did hope he would realise it was For the -Best, ... and some day he would be so -thankful.... It had all been a Big Mistake, -because she wasn't a bit what he thought, -... and so forth. A very distressing letter -to have to write, and, from Selby's point of -view, even more distressing to have to read.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Few men enjoy being brought up against -their limitations thus abruptly, especially -where Women and Love are concerned. In -Selby's case was added the knowledge that -another had been given what he couldn't -hold. He had made a woman love him, but -he couldn't make her go on loving him.... -He was insufficient unto the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Critics with less biassed judgment might -have taken a different point of view: might -have said she was a jilt, or held she acted -a little cruelly: gone further, even, and -opined he was well out of it. But Selby -was one of those who walk the earth under -a ban of idealism and had never been -seriously in love before. She was the Queen -who could do no wrong. It was he who had -been weighed and found wanting. If only -he had acted differently on such and such -an occasion. If, in short, instead of being -himself he had been somebody quite different -all along....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Succeeding days and nights provided enough -matches and sulphur of this sort to enable -him to fashion a sufficiently effective -purgatory, in which his mind revolved round its -hurt like a cockchafer on a pin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When a man depends for the efficient -performance of his duties upon getting his -just amount of sleep (Selby was a -watch-keeping Lieutenant in a battleship of the -line), affairs of this sort are apt to end in -disaster. But his ship went into Dockyard -hands to refit, and Selby, who was really a -sensible enough sort of fellow, though an -idealist, realised that for his own welfare -and that of the Service it were "better to -forget and smile than remember and be -sad." Accordingly he applied for and obtained a -week's leave, bought a map of the -surrounding district, packed a few necessaries -into a light knapsack, and set off to walk -away his troubles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a day he followed the coast—it was -high summer—along a path that skirted the -cliffs. The breeze blew softly off the level -</span><em class="italics">lapis-lazuli</em><span> of the Channel, sea-gulls wheeled -overhead for company, and following the -curve of each ragged headland in succession, -the creamy edge of the breakers lured him -on towards the West. He walked thirty -miles that day and slept dreamlessly in a -fishing village hung about with nets and -populated by philosophers with patched -breeches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He struck inland the second day, to plunge -into a confusion of lanes that led him -blindfold for a while between ten-foot hedges. -These opened later into red coombes, steeped to -their sunny depths with the scent of fern -and may, and all along the road bees held high -carnival above the hedgerows. Then green -tunnels of foliage, murmurous with -wood-pigeon, dappled him at each step with -alternate sunlight and shadow, and passed -him on to villages whose inns had cool, -flagged parlours, and cider in blue-and-white -mugs. An ambient trout-stream held him -company most of the long afternoon, with -at times a kingfisher darting along its -tortuous course like a streak from the -rainbow that each tiny waterfall had caught -and held.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He supped early in a farm kitchen off -new-made pasties, apple tart and yellow-crusted -cream, and walked on till the bats -began wheeling overhead in the violet dusk. -His ship was sixty miles away when he -crept into the shelter of a hayrick and laid -his tired head on his knapsack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The third day found him up on the ragged -moors, steering north. The exercise and -strong salt wind had driven the sad humours -from him, and the affairs of life were -beginning to resume their right perspective; so -much so that when, about noon, a sore heel -began abruptly to make itself felt (in the -irrational way sore heels have), Selby sat down -and pulled out his map. The day before -yesterday he would have pushed on -doggedly, almost welcoming the counter-irritant -of physical discomfort. To-day, however, he -accepted the inevitable and searched the map -for some neighbouring village where he could -rest a day or so until the chafed foot was -healed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a while he turned east, and, leaving -the high moorland, discerned the smoke of -chimneys among some trees in the valley. -He descended a steep road that seemed to -lead in the right direction, and presently -caught a glimpse of a square church tower -among some elms; later on the breeze bore -the faint cawing of rooks up the hillside. -A stream divided the valley: the few cottages -clustered on the opposite side huddled close -together as if reluctant to venture far beyond -the shadow of the grey church. The green -of the hillside behind them was gashed in -one place by an old quarry; but the work -had long been abandoned, and Nature had -already begun to repair the red scar with -impatient furz and whinberry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So much Selby took in as he descended -past the grey church and cawing rooks; -once at the bottom and across the quaint, -square-arched bridge, he found there was a -small inn amongst the huddled cottages, -where they would receive him for a night or -two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lunched, did what he could to the -blistered heel with a darning needle and -worsted (after the fashion of blistered -sailormen), and took a light siesta in the -lavender-smelling bedroom under the roof until it -was time for tea. Tea over, he lit a pipe, -borrowed his host's little 9 ft. trout rod that -hung in the passage, and limped down to -the meadows skirting the stream beyond the -village.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The light occupation gave him something -to think about; and, held by the peace of -running water, he lingered by the stream till -evening. Then something of his old sadness -came back with the dimpsey light,—a gentle -melancholy that only resembled sorrow "as -the mist resembles the rain." He wanted his -supper, too, and so walked slowly back to -the village with the rod on his shoulder. -The inn-keeper met him at the door: "Well -done, sir! Well done! Yu'm a fisherman, for -sure! Missus, she fry 'un for supper for -'ee now.... Yes, 'tis nice li'l rod—cut un -meself: li'l hickory rod, 'tis.... Where -did 'ee have that half-pounder, sir? There's -many a good fish tu that li'l pool...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby had finished supper and repaired to -a bench outside in the gloaming with his -pipe and a mug of beer. The old stained -chancel windows of the church beyond the -river were lit up and choir practice appeared -to be in progress. The drone of the organ -and voices uplifted in familiar harmonies -drifted across to him out of the dusk. The -pool below the bridge still mirrored the last -gleams of day in the sky: a few old men -were leaning over the low parapet smoking, -and down the street one or two villagers -stood gossiping at their doorsteps. A dog -came out of the shadows and sniffed Selby's -hands: then he flopped down in the warm -dust and sighed to himself. The strains of -the organ on the other side of the valley -swelled louder:—</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"... Holy Ghost the Infinite,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Comforter Divine..."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>sang the unseen choir. How warm and -peaceful the evening was, reflected Selby, -puffing at his pipe, one hand caressing the -dog's ear. Extraordinarily peaceful, in fact.... -He wondered what sort of a man the -vicar was, in this tiny backwater of life, and -whether he found it dull....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he wondered, the vicar came down -the road and stopped abreast of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evening," he said, half hesitating, -and came nearer. "Please don't get up.... -I don't want to disturb you, but I—they -told me this afternoon that a stranger was -staying here. I thought I would make -myself known to you: I am the rector of -this little parish." He smiled and named -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby responded to the introduction. -"Won't you sit down for a few minutes? -I was listening to your choir——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are practising—yes: I have just -come down from the church and," he -hesitated. "I hoped I should find you -in—to have the opportunity of making your -acquaintance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was most kind of you." Selby wondered -if all parsons in this fair country were -as attentive to the stranger within their -gates. "Most kind," he repeated. "I—I -was on a walking tour, and"—he indicated a -slipper of his host's that adorned his left -foot—"one of my heels began to chafe—only -a blister, you know; but I thought I'd take -things easy for a day or two....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so, quite so. An enforced rest is -sometimes very pleasant. I remember once, -my throat.... However, that was not what -I came to see you about. I believe, Mr -Selby, er—am I right in supposing that you -are in the Navy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." A note of chilliness had crept into -Selby's voice. After all, his clerical -acquaintance was only an inquisitive old busybody, -agog to pry into other people's affairs. "Yes," -he repeated, "I'm a Lieutenant," and he -named his ship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rector made a little deprecatory -gesture. "Please don't think I am trying -to acquire the materials for gossip; and I -am not asking out of inquisitiveness. The -good people here told me this afternoon—this -is an out-of-the-way place, and strangers, -distinguished ones, if I may say so," he made -a little inclination of the head, "do not -come here very frequently: they mentioned -it to me as I was passing on my way to -hold a confirmation class...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby hastened to put him at his ease. -After all, why shouldn't he ask? And then -he remembered offering the inn-keeper a fill -of hard, Navy plug tobacco. He carried a bit -in his knapsack with a view to just such -small courtesies. "That's the stuff, sir," the -man had said, loading his pipe. "We -wondered, me an' the missus, was you a Naval -gentleman...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But while his mind busied itself over these -recollections his companion was talking on -in his, gentle way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... He is not a very old man: but the -Doctor tells me he has lived a life of many -hardships, and not, I fear, always a temperate -one. However, 'Never a sinner, never a -saint,' ... and now he is fast—to use one -of his own seafaring expressions—'slipping -his cable.' He retired from the Navy as a -Gunner, I think. That would be a Warrant -Officer's rank, would it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby nodded. "Yes. Has he been -retired long, this person you speak of?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he retired a good many years ago, -and has a small pension quite sufficient for -his needs. He settled here because he liked -the quiet——" The speaker made a little -gesture, embracing the hollow in the hills, -sombre now in the gathering darkness. "He -lives a very lonely life in a cottage some little -distance along the road. An eccentric old -man, with curious ideas of beautifying a home.... -However, I am digressing. As far as -I know he has no relatives alive, and no -friends ever visit him. He has been -bed-ridden for some time, and the wife of one -of my parishioners, a most kindly woman, -looks in several times a day, and sees he -has all he wants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now I come to the part of my story that -affects you. Lately, in fact since he took to -his bed and the Doctor was compelled to -warn him of his approaching end, he has been -very anxious to meet some one in the Navy. -He so often begs me, if I hear of any one -connected with the Service being in the -vicinity, to bring him to the cottage. And -this afternoon, hearing quite by accident that -a Naval Officer was in our midst,"—again -the rector made his courteous little inclination -of the head—"it seemed an opportunity -of gratifying the old fellow's wish—if you -could spare a few moments some time to-morrow...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be only too glad to be of any -service," said Selby. "Perhaps you would -call for me some time to-morrow morning, -and we could go round together——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rector rose. "You are most kind. I -was sure when I saw you—I knew I should -not appeal in vain...." He extended his -hand. "And now I will say good-night. -Forgive me for taking up so much of your -time with an old man's concerns. One can -do so little in this life to bring happiness -to others that when the opportunity -arises..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">rather</em><span>——!" said Selby a little -awkwardly, and shook hands, conscious of more -than a slight compunction for his hastiness -in judgment of this mild divine. "Good-night, -sir," and stood looking after him till -he disappeared along the road into the -luminous summer night.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Selby had finished breakfast, and was -leaning over the pig-sty wall watching his host -ministering to the fat sow and her squealing -litter, when his acquaintance of the previous -night appeared. Seen in the broad daylight -he was an elderly man, short and spare, with -placid blue eyes, and a singularly winning -smile. A bachelor, so the inn-keeper had -instructed Selby; a man of learning and of -no small wealth, who, moreover, dressed and -threw as pretty a fly as any in the county.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saluted Selby with a little gesture of -his ash-plant, inquired after the blistered -heel, and then after an ailing member of -the fat sow's litter. "And now, if you are -ready and still of the same mind, shall we -be strolling along?" he inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby fetched his stick, and together they -set out along a road made aromatic in the -morning sunlight by the scents of dust and -flowering hedgerow. Half a mile beyond -the village the rector stopped before a -gate-way. A dogcart and cob stood at the -roadside, and a small boy in charge touched -his cap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Doctor is here, I see," said the -clergyman, and opened the gate in the hedge. -Selby caught a glimpse of a flagged path -leading through an orchard to a whitewashed -cottage. But his attention from the outset -had been arrested by a most extraordinary -assortment of crockery, glass and earthenware -vases, busts, statuettes, and odds and ends -of ironwork that occupied every available -inch of space round the gateway, bordering -the path, and were even cemented on to the -front of the house itself. Above the gateway -a defaced lion faced an equally mutilated -unicorn across the Royal Arms of England. -Arranged beneath, cemented into the pillars -of the arch, were busts of Napoleon, Irving, -Stanley, and George Washington; an -earthenware jar bearing the inscription, "HOT POT"; -a little group representing Leda and the -Swan in white marble; and a grinning -soapstone joss, such as is sold to tourists and -sailors at ports on the China coast. -Interspersed with these were cups without handles, -segments of soup-plates, china dolls'-heads, -lead soldiers, and a miscellaneous collection -of tea-pot spouts, ... all firmly plastered -into the ironwork of the pillars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On each side of the path, banked up to -the height of about three feet, was a further -indescribable conglomeration of bric-à-brac, -cemented together into a sort of hedge. The -general effect was as if the knock-about -comedians of a music-hall stage (who break -plates and domestic crockery out of sheer -joy of living) had combined with demented -graveyard masons, bulls in china shops, and -all the craftsmen of Murano, to produce a -nightmare. A light summer breeze strayed -down the valley, and scores of slips of coloured -glass, hanging in groups from the apple-trees, -responded with a musical tinkling. The -sound brought recollections of a Japanese -temple garden, and Selby paused to look -about him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What an extraordinary place!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The vicar, leading the way up the tiled -walk, seemed suddenly to become aware of -the strangeness of their surroundings. Long -familiarity with the house had perhaps robbed -the fantastic decorations of their incongruity. -He stopped and smiled. "To be sure.... -Yes, I had forgotten; to a stranger all this -must seem very peculiar. I think I hinted -that the old man had very curious ideas of -beautifying the home. This was about his -only hobby—and yet, oddly enough, he rarely -spoke of it to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that moment the cottage door opened -and a tall florid man came out. The vicar -turned. "Ah, Doctor Williams—that was -his trap at the gate—let me introduce -you...." The introduction accomplished, he -inquired after the patient. The medical -man shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't last much longer, I'm afraid: a -day or so at the most. No organic disease, -y'know, but just"—he made a little -gesture—"like a clock that's run down. -Not an old man either, as men go. But -these Navy men age so quickly.... Well, -I must get along. I shall look in again this -evening, but there is nothing one can do, -really. He's quite comfortable.... -Good-morning," and the Doctor passed down the -path to his trap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The vicar opened the cottage door, and -stood aside to allow Selby to enter. The -room was partly a kitchen, partly a -bedroom; occupying the bed, with a patchwork -quilt drawn up under his chin, was a shrunken -little old man, with a square beard nearly -white, and projecting craggy eyebrows. He -turned his head to the door as they entered; -in spite of the commanding brows they were -dull, tired old eyes, without interest or hope, -or curiosity in them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've brought you a visitor, Mr Tyelake," -said the vicar. "Some one you'll be glad to -see: an Officer in the Navy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man considered Selby with the -same vacant, passionless gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you ever ate Navy beef?" he asked -abruptly. It was a thin colourless voice, -almost the falsetto of the very old. Selby -smiled. "Oh yes, sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Navy beef—that's what brought me here—an' -the rheumatics. I'm dyin'." He made -the statement with the simple pride of one -who has at last achieved a modest distinction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The vicar asked a few questions touching -the old man's comfort, and opened the little -oriel window to admit the morning air. -"Lieutenant Selby was most interested in -your unique collection of curios outside, Mr -Tyelake. Perhaps you would like to tell him -something about them." He looked at his -watch, addressing Selby. "I have a meeting, -I'm afraid.... I don't know if you'd care -to stay a few minutes longer and chat?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Selby, and drew a chair -near the bed. "If Mr Tyelake doesn't mind, -I'd like to stay a little while...." He sat -down, and the vicar took his departure, closing -the door behind him. In a corner by the -dresser a tall grandfather clock ticked out the -deliberate seconds; a bluebottle sailed in -through the open window and skirmished -round the low ceiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man lay staring at his hands as -they lay on the patchwork quilt; twisted, -nubbly hands they were, with something -pathetic about their toilworn helplessness. -Every now and again the wind brought into -the little room the tinkle of the glass -ornaments pendent in the apple-trees outside: the -faint sound seemed to rouse the occupant of -the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've seen a mort of religions," he said in a -low voice, as if speaking to himself. "Heaps -of 'em. An' some said one thing an' some -said the other." His old blank eyes followed -the gyrations of the fly upon the ceiling. -"An' I dunno.... Buddhas an' Me-'ommets, -Salvation Armies, an' Bush Baptists, ... an' -some says one thing an' some says the other. -I dunno..." He shook his head wearily. -"But many's the pot of galvanised paint I -used up outside there ... an' goldleaf, in -the dog-watches a-Saturdays."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This, then, was the explanation of the -fantastic decorations outside. Altars to the -unknown God! The old man turned his head -towards his visitor. "But don't you tell the -parson. He wouldn't hold with it.... I -tell you because you're in the Navy, an' p'r'aps -you'd understand. I was in the Navy—Mr -Tyelake's my name. Thirty year a Gunner; -an' Navy beef——" For a while the old man -rambled on, seemingly unconscious of his -visitor's presence, of ships long passed through -the breakers' yards, of forgotten commissions -all up and down the world, of beef and -rheumatism and Buddha, while Selby sat -listening, half moved by pity, half amused at -himself for staying on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About noon a woman came in and fed the -old man with a spoon out of a cup. Selby rose -to go. "I'll come again," he said, touching -the passive hands covered with faint blue -tattooing. "I'll come and see you again this -evening." The old man roused himself from -his reveries. "Come again," he repeated, -"that's right, come again—soon. When -she's gone—she an' her fussin' about," and -for the first time an expression came into his -eyes, as he watched the woman with the cup, -an expression of malevolence. "I don't hold -with women ... fussin' round. An' I've -got something to tell you: something pressin'. -You must come soon; I'm slippin' my cable.... -Navy beef </span><em class="italics">an'</em><span> the rheumatics—an' it's -to your advantage...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadows of the alders by the river were -lengthening when Selby again walked up the -bricked path leading to the cottage. The old -man was still lying in contemplation of his -hands: the grandfather clock had stopped, -and there was a great stillness in the little room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His gaze was so vacant and the silence -remained unbroken so long that Selby doubted -if the old man recognised him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've come back, you see. I've come to see -you again." Still the figure in the bed said -nothing, staring dully at his visitor. "I've -come to see you again," Selby repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's to your advantage," said the old man. -His voice was weaker, and it was evident that -he was, as he said, slipping his cable fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me that there ditty-box," continued -the thin, toneless voice. Selby looked round -the room, and espied on a corner of the chest -of drawers the scrubbed wooden "ditty-box" -in which sailors keep their more intimate and -personal possessions: he fetched it and placed -it on the patchwork quilt; the old man -fumbled ineffectually with the lid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tip 'em out," he said at length, and Selby -inverted the box to allow a heap of papers -and odds and ends to slide on to the old man's -hands. It was a pathetic collection, the -flotsam and jetsam of a sailor's life: faded -photographs, certificates from Captains scarcely -memories with the present generation, a frayed -parchment, letters tied up with an old -knife-lanyard, a lock of hair from which the curl -had not quite departed ... ghost of a day -when perhaps the old man did "hold with" -women. At length he found what he wanted, -a soiled sheet of paper that had been folded -and refolded many times.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here!" he said, and extended it to Selby. -It was a printed form, discoloured with age, -printed in old-fashioned type, and appeared -to relate to details of prison routine and the -number of prisoners victualled. Selby turned -it over: on the back, drawn in ink that was -now faded and rusty, was a clumsy arrow -showing the points of the compass; beneath -that a number of oblong figures arranged -haphazard and enclosed by a line. One of -the figures was marked with a cross.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a cemetery," said the old man; -"cemetery at a place called Port des Reines." He -lay silent for a while, as if trying to -arrange his scattered ideas; presently the -weak voice started again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a prison at Trinidad, and my -father was a warder there ... long time -ago: time the old </span><em class="italics">Calypso</em><span> was out on the -station...." He talked slowly, with long -pauses. "They was sent to catch a murderer -who was hidin' among the islands—a -half-breed: pirate he must ha' been ... murderer -an' I don't know what not.... They caught -him an' they brought him to Trinidad where -my father was warder in the prison ... when -I was little...." The old man broke -off into disconnected, rambling whispers, and -the shadows began gathering in the corners -of the room. A thrush in the orchard outside -sang a few long, sweet notes of its Angelus -and was silent. Selby waited with his chin -resting in his hand. The old man suddenly -turned his head: "She ain't comin'——? She -an' her fussin'...? I've got something -important——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," said Selby soothingly, "there's -no one here but me. And you wanted to tell -me about your father——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Warder in the prison at Trinidad," said -the old man, "my father was, an' a -kind-hearted man. There was a prisoner there, a -pirate an' murderer he was, what the </span><em class="italics">Calypso</em><span> -caught ... an' father was kind to him -before he was hanged ... I can't say what -he did, but bein' kind-hearted naturally, it -might have been anything ... not takin' -into account of him being a pirate an' -murderer. Jewels he had, an' rings an' such -things hidden away somewhere; an' before he -was hanged he told my father where they was -buried, 'cos father was kind to him before he -was hanged.... Port des Reines cemetery -... in the grave what's marked on that -chart, he'd buried the whole lot. Seventy -thousand pounds, he said...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long silence. "Father caught -the prison fever an' died just afterwards. My -mother, she gave me the paper ... joined -the Navy: an' I never went to -des Reines but the once ... then I went to -the wrong cemetery to dig: ship was under -sailin' orders—I hadn't time. Afterwards -I heard there was two cemeteries: priest at -Martinique told me. I was never there but -the once.... Seventy thousand pounds: -an' me slippin' me cable...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby sat by the bed in the darkening room -holding the soiled sheet of paper in his hand, -piecing together bit by bit the fragments of -this remarkable narrative, until he had a fairly -connected story in his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Summed up, it appeared to amount to this: -A pirate or murderer had been captured by -a man-of-war, taken to Trinidad prison to -be tried, and there sentenced to death. -"Time the old </span><em class="italics">Calypso</em><span> was out on the -Station." ... That would be in the 'forties -or thereabouts. The old man's father had -been a warder in Trinidad prison at the time, -and had performed some service or kindness -to the prisoner, in exchange for which the -condemned felon had given him a clue to -the whereabouts of his plunder. It was -apparently buried in a grave in Port des -Reines cemetery, but the warder had died -before he could verify this valuable piece of -information. His son, the ex-Gunner, had -actually been to a cemetery at Port des -Reines, but had gone to the wrong one, and did -not find out his mistake till after the ship -had sailed. The plunder was valued at £70,000.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby turned the paper over and folded it -up. "What do you wish me to do with this, -Mr Tyelake? Have you any relations or -next-of-kin? It seems to me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man shook his head faintly. "I've -got no relatives alive—nor friends. They're -all dead ... an' I'm dyin'. That's for you, -that there bit of paper. Keep it, it's to your -advantage.... Some day, maybe, you'll go -to Port des Reines, an' it's the old cemetery -furthest from the sea. I went to the wrong -one time I was there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Selby, half-amused, half-incredulous, -"I—I'm a total stranger to you.... -If all this was true——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You keep it," said the old man. His -voice was very spent and scarcely raised -above a whisper. "I meant it for the first -Navy-man that came along. You came, an' -you were kind to me. It's yours—an' to your -advantage...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was silence again in the little room, -and Selby sat on in the dusk, wondering how -much of the story was true, or whether it -was all the hallucination of a failing mind; -but the old man had given him the paper, -and he would keep it as a memento, ... and -the fact of its being a prison-form seemed to -bear out some of the details; anyhow, the -story was very interesting. He rose and lit -the lamp; the old man had slipped off into -an easy doze, with his pathetic collection of -treasures still lying in a heap on the quilt; -Selby replaced them in the ditty-box, and -put the box back where he had found it; -the piece of paper that had been a prison-form -he put in his pocket-book. As he was -leaving, the woman who had been there earlier -in the day made her appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby wished her good evening, told her -the old man was dozing, and passed down -the path. "I'll come again to-morrow," he -added at the gate. But that night the old -man died, and the next morning, having -ascertained from the vicar that there was -nothing he could do to help, Selby shouldered -his knapsack and struck out once more along -the road that led up on to the moor.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold medium">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was tea-time, and the Mess had gathered -round the Wardroom table; a signalman came -down from the upper deck and pinned a signal -on the baize-covered notice-board.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo," said some one, "signal from the -Flagship! What's the news?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Assistant Paymaster, who was sitting -with his back to the notice-board, relinquished -the jam-pot, and tilting up his chair, -scrutinised the paper over his shoulder. -"Flag-General: Let fires die out. Usual leave may -be granted to Officers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Major of Marines, who had finished his -tea, rose from the table and tucked the novel -he had been reading under his arm. "Thanks -very much," he said, "now we're all happy." He -stared out through the rain-smeared -scuttle at an angry grey sea and lowering sky. -"I can see a faint blur on the horizon—would -that be the delectable beach we're -invited to repair to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it," said the First Lieutenant, -stirring the leaves in his tea-pot with the spoon. -He had just spent three-quarters of an hour -on the forecastle, mooring ship in a cold, -driving rain. "It's not more than three -miles away, and it's only blowing about half -a gale—there's a cutter to go ashore in; time -some of you young bloods were climbing into -your 'civvy'[#] suits."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Lowerdeckese = Civilian.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"So much for the joys of a big Fleet in the -North Sea. I'd like to bring some of these -fellows, who are always writing to the papers -about it, for a little yachting trip," grumbled -the Fleet Surgeon, who had just returned -from two successively placid commissions in -the West Indies. "Never anchor in sight of -land—always blowing, always raining; never -get ashore, and when you do, you wish you -were on board again.... It's the limit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, thank Heaven for a fire and an -arm-chair, anyway," said the Paymaster, and -drifted towards the smoking-room, filling his -pipe as he went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who'll make a four at Bridge?" asked -the Major. "Come on, Number One," and -so the Mess dispersed, some to arm-chairs -round the fire, others to the Bridge-table, -others again to write letters in their cabins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About half an hour before dinner, as was -his wont, the Captain came down from his -cabin and joined the group round the smoking-room -fire. The occupants of the arm-chairs -made room and smiled greetings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo," said the Captain, "none of you -ashore! Thought you all came into the -Navy to see life!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Commander laughed. "We're beginning -to forget there is such a thing as the beach."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain lit a cigarette. "Not a bad -principle either—saves your plain-clothes -from wearing out." He settled down in an -arm-chair somebody had vacated. "Like an -old Gunner of a small ship I was in once -in the West Indies; he only went ashore -three times during the commission—once at -Trinidad, and once at Bermuda, and each -time when he returned he had to be hoisted -on board in a bowline." There was a general -laugh. "What about the third time, sir?" -asked the Engineer Commander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Third time—ah, that was rather -mysterious. We never discovered why he did go -ashore that day. I don't know now." The -Mess scented a yarn; thrice-blessed was their -Captain in that he could tell a yarn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We were cruising round that fringe of -islands, part of the Windward Group, -showing the Flag, and the Skipper decided to -look in at a place called ... h'm'm. Can't -remember what it's called—Port des -something ... Port des Reines, that's it,—what -did you say, Selby?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, sir, go on..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The last place ever made, this Port des -Reines, and it's not finished yet—just a -mountain and the remains of an old French -settlement. Well, we anchored off this -God-forsaken hole, and as soon as the Skipper -had had a look at it he decided to up killick -and out of it; as far as I can remember he -had to go and lunch with the Consul, but he -was to come off in a couple of hours' time; -so we banked fires, and off went the Captain -in the galley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No sooner had he gone than the Gunner—this -funny old boy I've been telling you -about—came to my cabin (I was by way of -being First Lieutenant of that ship—we'd no -Commander) and asked for leave to go ashore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was rather startled: couldn't imagine -what on earth he wanted to do. I told him -we were under sailing orders, and only -staying a couple of hours, and that it was an -awful hole: had he any friends staying there, -I asked him. No, he said, he had no friends -there, but he particularly wanted to land -there for an hour or so on urgent private -affairs, as he called it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he seemed in rather a stew about -something, so I gave him leave and lowered -a boat. Off he went in his old bowler hat -(he always went ashore in a bowler hat and -a blue suit) armed with something wrapped -up in paper; this turned out afterwards to be -a sort of pick or jemmy he had got the -blacksmith to make for him a couple of days -before; that must have been when he heard -the ship was going to Port des Reines; it was -the only clue we ever had.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two hours later, at the expiration of his -leave, he returned, looking very dusty and -dejected, and reported himself. I chaffed -him a bit about going ashore, but nothing -could I get out of him, and he never -volunteered an explanation to any one, as far as -I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A Lieutenant who had finished playing -Bridge and had joined the group of listeners -round the fire leaned forward suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'you remember his name, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the Captain, "can't say I do. -Never can remember names."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a Mr Tyelake by any chance, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain threw away the end of his -cigarette and turned towards the speaker. -"Good Lord! Yes, that was it—Tyelake. -But look here, Selby,——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant rose and walked towards -the door. "If you'll wait a second, sir, I'll -show you why he went ashore." He left -the mess and returned with a soiled sheet -of paper in his hand; it was creased by much -folding and discoloured with age.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain turned it over and examined -it. "But this doesn't explain much, does it? -And how do you come to know old Tyelake? -All this happened twelve—fifteen—nearly -twenty years ago, and he was pensioned -soon after. And anyhow, what's this -got to do with it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," Selby turned the paper over, -"that's the cemetery at Port des Reines, -sir,"—and then he told them of a walking tour -in the West Country (omitting the reason for -it and other superfluous details) some two -years before, and of the old man who had -since solved, it is to be hoped to his -satisfaction, his religious perplexities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Assistant Paymaster removed his -glasses and blinked excitedly, as was his -habit when much moved. "But ... why -couldn't he find it when he went ashore? -And why didn't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because he went to the wrong cemetery; -there were two, d'you see, and he dug up the -wrong one and didn't find out there was -another one till after they'd sailed. He never -went there again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the Captain. "That's right, we -didn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The First Lieutenant laughed. "But just -imagine him in that climate, tearing off the -tombstones in his bowler hat and serge suit, -with one eye on his watch all the time, and -only finding coffins...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then hearing when it was too late -that he'd backed the wrong horse," added the -Major of Marines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But...." began the A.P. again, "</span><em class="italics">How</em><span> -much did you say? Seventy thousand pounds! -My Aunt! Selby, have </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> been there yet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Selby smiled and shook his head. "I? -No, I've been 'Channel-groping' ever since; -in fact, I'd forgotten all about it until the -Captain mentioned Port des Reines. He -was a very old man, and his wits were -failing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Engineer Commander examined the -plan. "But there may be something in -the yarn, Selby. It seems almost worth -while——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A treasure hunt!" broke in the A.P. -"Let's all put in for a couple of months' -half-pay, and go out there! Hire a schooner, like -they do in books."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Schooner!" ejaculated the Major. "I can -see myself setting sail for the Antilles in a -schooner! Ugh! It makes me feel queer to -think of it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd look fine in a red smuggler's cap -and thigh-boots, Major," said the First -Lieutenant. "That's what treasure-hunters always -wear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With a black patch over one eye, and -the skull and cross-bones embroidered on your -brisket," supplemented an imaginative -Watch-keeper. "'Yo! ho! and a bottle of -rum!'—can't you see yourself, Major? Only you -ought to have a wooden leg."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has anybody in the Mess ever been -there?" inquired the Commander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, the P.M.O.'s just come home from -the West Indies; where is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that moment the Fleet Surgeon entered, -to be assailed by a volley of questions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"P.M.O.! You're just the man! Where's -Porte des Reines?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're all going treasure-hunting in a -schooner with the Major!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With the Jolly Roger at the fore!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"P.M.O., have you ever been to Porte des Reines?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How many cemeteries are there there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the law about digging up graves -in the West Indies?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"——And treasure trove?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Fleet Surgeon looked a little -bewildered. "What are you all talking about? -Porte des Reines? Yes, I've been there. -I don't know about the cemeteries, but I've -got some photographs of the place, if you're -all so anxious to see it—they're in my cabin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left the Mess, and the storm of conjecture -and speculation broke out afresh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall chuck the Service and buy a farm," -said the First Lieutenant, "with my share."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"S-sh! Don't make such a row! One of -the Servants will hear, and we don't want -it to get all over the ship! These things are -much better kept quiet. If there's anything -in it, the fewer——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The A.P.'s voice rose above the turmoil: -"An' I shall buy a cycle-car ... and a -split-cane, steel-centred grilse-rod ... </span><em class="italics">and</em><span> go to -Switzerland next winter—I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Fleet Surgeon reappeared with a bulky -album under his arm; he laid it on the -card-table and turned the pages. "Now—there's -Port des Reines: what's left of it after the -earthquake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Earthquake!" The Mess gathered round -and leaned breathlessly over the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; two years ago they had that awful -earthquake, and the mountain shifted almost -bodily; there's a million tons of rock on top -of—well, you can see!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They scanned the scene of desolation in -silence. "It swallowed the whole town," said -some one in awestruck tones. The magnitude -of a calamity had somehow never come home -to them before quite so forcibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the Fleet Surgeon calmly. -"Town, such as it was, and church and -cemeteries, mountain toppled down on top of -them!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long, tense silence. "But——" -began the A.P., still clinging to his dreams of -a split-cane grilse-rod with a steel centre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Dry</em><span> up!" snapped the First Lieutenant irritably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh Death, where is thy sting!" -murmured the Major of Marines. "Seventy -thousand pounds buried under a mountain!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain rang the bell and ordered a -sherry and bitters. "Well," he said, "thank -Heaven I know at last why the Gunner went -ashore!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">BLACKWOODS' POPULAR SHILLING NOVELS.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold small">Bound in Cloth. With Coloured Illustration on Wrapper.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>A SAFETY MATCH. IAN HAY -<br />A MAN'S MAN. IAN HAY -<br />"PIP": A ROMANCE OF YOUTH. IAN HAY -<br />THE RIGHT STUFF. IAN HAY -<br />HAPPY-GO-LUCKY. IAN HAY -<br />THE MOON OF BATH. BETH ELLIS -<br />FANCY FARM. NEIL MUNRO -<br />THE DAFT DAYS. NEIL MUNRO -<br />CAPTAIN DESMOND, V.C. (</span><em class="italics">Revised Edition.</em><span>) MAUD DIVER -<br />THE GREAT AMULET. MAUD DIVER -<br />CANDLES IN THE WIND. MAUD DIVER -<br />THE GREEN CURVE. OLE LUK-OIE -<br />PARA HANDY. HUGH FOULIS -<br />THE VITAL SPARK. (</span><em class="italics">Illustrated. Paper Cover.</em><span>) HUGH FOULIS -<br />THE RED NEIGHBOUR. W. J. ECCOTT -<br />THE WATCHER BY THE THRESHOLD. JOHN BUCHAN -<br />THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS. JOHN BUCHAN -<br />NAVAL OCCASIONS. "BARTIMEUS" -<br />JOHN CHILCOTE, M.P. MRS THURSTON -<br />LORD JIM. JOSEPH CONRAD -<br />"No. 101." WYMOND CAREY -<br />THE POWER OF THE KEYS. SYDNEY C. GRIER -<br />THE ADVANCED-GUARD. SYDNEY C. GRIER -<br />THE PATH TO HONOUR. SYDNEY C. GRIER -<br />THE LUNATIC AT LARGE. J. STORER CLOUSTON -<br />SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT. BEATRICE HARRADEN -<br />THE ALIAS. ALEXANDER CRAWFORD -<br />SARACINESCA. F. MARION CRAWFORD -<br />PRIVATE SPUD TAMSON. CAPT. R. W. CAMPBELL -<br />HOCKEN AND HUNKEN. "Q" (Sir A. T. QUILLER-COUCH)</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>WM. BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>NAVAL OCCASIONS</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46730"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46730</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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