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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7ee4ad --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52591 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52591) diff --git a/old/52591-0.txt b/old/52591-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f39a801..0000000 --- a/old/52591-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11301 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gunroom, by Charles Langbridge Morgan - -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 Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. 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. - - - -Title: The Gunroom - -Author: Charles Langbridge Morgan - -Release Date: July 17, 2016 [EBook #52591] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GUNROOM *** - - - - -Produced by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -THE IMMORTAL GAMBLE - -AND THE PART PLAYED IN IT BY H.M.S. “CORNWALLIS” - -By A. T. STEWART, ACTING-COMMANDER, R.N. - -AND THE - -REV. C. J. E. PESHALL, CHAPLAIN, R.N. - -_Post 8vo. Containing 32 page Illustrations from photographs, and a Map_ - -PRICE 6/- NET. (Post free 6/5) - - -This book, written by two officers of the battleship from whose -fore-turret was fired the first shot of the bombardment, gives an -account of happenings of vital interest and importance. It is absorbing -because the truth shines out everywhere, and you feel that for once -you are really getting first-hand information as to what did happen. -It bridges the gap between February 19th and April 25th (the date of -the Great Landing), and of this period we have hitherto heard hardly -anything. Besides the valuable nature of the material, this chronicle -of great events is written with considerable literary skill. The -authors have succeeded in making their “log” intimate. It is before -all things a man’s book, and unless the publishers are much mistaken, -this originally conceived Saga of the Straits will attract attention -everywhere. - - -PUBLISHED BY - -A. AND C. BLACK, LTD., 4, 5 AND 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1 - - - - - THE GUNROOM - - - BY - CHARLES LANGBRIDGE MORGAN - - - “We are carried so far out to sea that we lose sight of the quiet - haven whence we set forth.” - - --_Dialogus beati Gregorii Papæ ejusque diaconi Petri_, - translation 1608 and ROBERT BRIDGES. - - - A. & C. BLACK, LTD. - 4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1 - 1919 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. THE SHORE RECEDES 1 - II. SEEN THROUGH STEEL 25 - III. A CHAPTER WITHOUT NAME 36 - IV. WAR, CARPETS, AND CANDLES 62 - V. TWO WORLDS 85 - VI. STRAIN AND RELIEF 101 - VII. MARGARET 113 - VIII. THE NET 143 - IX. QUARTERED ON THE KINGDOM 149 - X. EASTERN SEAS 162 - XI. AWAY FROM THE SHIP 169 - XII. THE CAPTAIN IN CONFIDENCE 177 - XIII. LOOKING BEYOND 196 - XIV. WASTE AND WONDER 212 - XV. TRAFALGAR AND THE RED LAMP 227 - XVI. THE ENGINES 236 - XVII. DECISION 263 - XVIII. IN THE CROSS-PASSAGE 276 - XIX. CRISIS 287 - XX. WINGFIELD ALTER 305 - XXI. THE CURRENCY 311 - XXII. MARGARET IN THE NET 320 - XXIII. AN INSTANT FREE 334 - XXIV. ONE YEAR LATER: THE WORLD IN THE NET 347 - - - - -THE GUNROOM - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE SHORE RECEDES - - -I - -Late on an afternoon in September a boy, wearing a naval mackintosh -and a felt hat, came out of Torquay railway-station and hailed a cab. -His figure, his voice, and his manner, which was nervous and a little -self-conscious, suggested that his age was about eighteen. He took a -handful of change out of his pocket, and, when he had selected from -it, with momentary hesitation, a sixpence to give the porter who had -brought his luggage, he cast over the few bystanders a look almost of -resentment, as if he thought they had been watching and criticizing -him. If an older man had intercepted this glance its character might -have puzzled him. He would have asked himself how, in eighteen years, -a boy, who had obviously known nothing of the poverty and hard usage -that age the street urchin, could have made the discoveries about life -which were reflected in the face he saw. Not that a man’s experience -lay in this boy’s features; rather did he seem to have lost too early -the swifter wisdom of a child. He had developed a faculty of suspicion -before the years had taught him what he should suspect. He had faced -sorrow before he had learned to distinguish clearly between sorrow -and bitterness. A child’s pride and the humility that springs from -discipline; a love of freedom and an acquaintance with restriction; a -hatred of cruelty and a knowledge of its refinements--all these had -been mingled in him to the destruction of simplicity. He stood there, -on the outskirts of the strange naval world into which this cab was to -bear him, a boy whose premature manhood might have caused a perceptive -woman to fear for him. She would have seen that he was not physically -delicate, and have been glad that his body, at any rate, had power -to endure; but she would have noticed, too, and trembled for her -discovery, that the boy’s lips and eyes suggested an imagination which -could throw ugliness as well as beauty into relief. - -The cabman, his face screwed up and his cheeks blown out as a protest -against the driving rain, looked queerly at the luggage he was hoisting -on to his roof. It consisted of a green canvas trunk, bound with wooden -splines and leather, and an oblong tin case. Their pattern, which the -cabman recognized as uniform, betrayed at once their owner’s calling, -for they differed in nothing but the name they bore from the boxes that -were invariably brought with them by midshipmen joining their ships. On -them was printed in white letters: - - JOHN LYNWOOD, R.N. - -“You’ll be goin’ to the ’otel, sir, same as the others, I expec’?” - -“Yes; you recognize the luggage?” Lynwood answered. - -“Ay, sir. It ain’t often the young officers joins their ships ’ere in -Torquay, but I knows that tin box an’ the green one, sir, as if they -was my own. There’s no mistakin’ ’em.” - -“No, I suppose not.” - -“I’d just done with three other young gentlemen,” the cabman went on, -“when I came back to the stand to catch more of ’em off this train.” - -“Well, you’ve caught one,” Lynwood said, with a smile at the phrase. - -“The mare, she’s bin servin’ ’is Majesty to-day, she ’as. Old army -pensioner, she is.” He shook a stream of water from his oilskin cape -and ran his hand over his dripping beard. “Old sailor meself, sir,” he -remarked, as he picked up the reins. - -Lynwood settled himself among the thin cushions as the cab’s loose -wheels rattled into the street. This, in his childhood’s dreams, was -to have been the beginning of adventure--this “going to sea.” It was -not thus he had imagined it. The books he had read had conjured up -pictures of bright sunshine and blue water, of admirals who welcomed -the new-comer in a fatherly manner, of petty officers whose ambition -it was to teach him knots, splices, and cutlass drill. All this was to -have been but a prelude to a life among friends, who would share with -him glories, perils, and promotion, and whose kindliness would make -all things pleasant for him in strange and gaily coloured lands. And -now, looking forward, he saw none of these delights. His experience -at Osborne and Dartmouth and, above all, in the training cruiser had -taught him what he might reasonably expect. He had done well as a -cadet. He had taken firsts in his passing-out examinations, and--for -what it was worth--had been a Cadet Captain in both colleges. There -was no reason why his promotion should not be as rapid as that of -any of his contemporaries. But the element of romance had to be -excluded--unless there were a war. Those who had lived through it -had given him to understand, with a clearness that could permit of -no further disillusionment, that the naval officer’s life was as -mechanical and monotonous as that of a book-keeping clerk. There -were drills and watches, tactical exercises and coaling. There was a -discipline of iron, and a requirement, equally inelastic, of absolute -efficiency. Faults were not pardoned nor weaknesses forgotten. Motive -was a matter of small account, for only success and failure appeared on -the final balance-sheet. - -This, Lynwood had come to recognize, was inevitable in a service -conducted with one object alone, the object of victory in battle. -Never, even in the bitterest of criticisms, had he heard one word -against the Navy’s efficiency. It was a perfect machine, as inhuman -as a machine, as pitiless as perfection. The object of its training -was the production of a war personnel, and this implied the production -of human beings who possessed certain definite qualities and in whom -certain qualities were not found. If a required quality were lacking -it had to be instilled; if a surplus quality were present it had to -be removed. The process was often painful. Not infrequently men were -broken by it, and went; or rebelled against it in their hearts, and -went likewise. Many, though broken, were forced by circumstances to -remain. - -Lynwood remembered having asked the officer who had given him this -summary of the naval system how it was, then, that so many of the -officers he had met at the colleges had been visibly happy, and, -within certain limits, contented. “To start with,” his informant had -replied, “the officers who are appointed to Osborne and Dartmouth are -picked men--men who, because they were born with most of the required -qualities, haven’t had their natures badly damaged. The colleges are -star billets. You don’t meet there--or, for that matter, in the society -from which most civilians draw their conclusions--the two and a half -stripe salt-horses who will never become commanders or the engineers -who have sweated their souls out for the sake of a family which attains -the ultimate glory of a Portsmouth suburb--in short, the underworld of -H.M.S. And you don’t meet the drunks. But there’s another reason. The -Service does its training young, on the principle of flog a dog while -it’s a puppy. And if you get through that stage--well, you’re probably -shaped to the mould like the Chinese women’s feet, and you forget, and -it doesn’t do you any fresh hurt. But if you break while the pressure -is being applied, you break--that’s all. A good thing you broke so -soon. If you can’t afford to leave it, the Service has your measure. -It knows you broke, and your promotion is not rapid.... Of course,” he -added, “there are a few who are neither broken nor shaped. They go on -in the Navy, successful up to a point, dabbling in something else they -might have been masters of. Or else they go--often too late.” - -And now Lynwood looked forward to the inevitable pressure of the -mould. It was applied, he knew, to junior officers for the Service’s -and their own good. The customary phrase was: “Junior snotties must be -shaken.” The system was unofficial; indeed, its more obvious extremes -had been expressly forbidden; but it was a recognized system, of whose -existence the whole Navy was aware. No protest against it--and this -had been particularly impressed on cadets--would gain any sympathy -from any rank. So the Navy had been created, and so it must continue. -Conditions, said the senior officers, were much better than in Nelson’s -time--much better, indeed, than in their own days as midshipmen. -Comparatively, modern midshipmen were wrapped up in cotton-wool. The -senior officers, in their Wardroom armchairs, didn’t know what the -Service was coming to! - -Some captains, it was rumoured, made a stand against the system in -their own ships, on the ground that it was not, in fact, essential -to the efficiency of the Service. Some sub-lieutenants, too--and -they had more control in this matter than any captain--stood out -against the system in their own Mess, simply because cruelty disgusted -them. But these well-intentioned people dared not proselytize. They -resisted the system quietly within their own domain, and, lest they -should be considered old women, said as little as possible about -their resistance. Their number was said to be increasing. Whether -a junior midshipman did or did not experience the extremes of the -system depended nowadays on the ship to which he was appointed and the -sub-lieutenant who ruled his Gunroom. The system, to the accompaniment -of the shaking of many conservative heads, was said to be dying. - -But it was by no means dead. Lynwood had decided that, if he was -subjected to it, the system should not break him. After all, its -greatest violence was unlikely to last more than a year. In his second -year he would be partly exempt from it; in his third, he would be in a -position to enforce it, if he wished, upon others. - -The cab drew up at the hotel door. As he stood on the pavement fumbling -for money he looked out across the harbour. The railings were jewelled -with raindrops. Beyond them a sea of dull green tossed itself into -livid foam and spray. Further from shore all colour was lost. No -horizon was distinguishable from the opaque sky. Once he thought there -became visible the ghostly form of a warship, infinitely lonely and -apart, but a moment later he could see nothing. - -“Good luck t’ee, sir,” said the old sailor, and, as the boy turned -towards the hotel, he added under his breath: “And Gawd ’elp ’ee.” - -Lynwood heard, and looked over his shoulder. Then he pulled himself -together, gave his instructions to the hall-porter and walked quickly -into a ground-floor sitting-room, to the door of which was attached a -temporary notice written in blue chalk: - - REEVE & CO. - -Mr. Reeve, though he had never held a commission, was one of the -great personalities of the Navy. He described himself as a tailor -and outfitter, but he was more than that. He had taken charge of -Lynwood--as of almost all cadets--from the beginning of his career. -From Mr. Reeve’s descriptive pamphlet Lynwood and his father had drawn -their first ideas of life at Osborne, at Dartmouth, and at sea. A -telegram signed Reeve had told of success in the entrance examination -long before any official intimation had been received. Reeve had -advised as to equipment, and had provided it. Reeve had been on the -Portsmouth jetty to explain the intricacies of a strange uniform on -that great day when seventy new cadets were inspected by an admiral -before they crossed the Solent to Osborne and their destiny. Nothing -seemed outside Mr. Reeve’s scope. He had made himself responsible for -the transport of the great sea-chests from Osborne to Dartmouth, and -from Dartmouth to the training cruiser. He had laboured exceedingly -in things large and small, and had prospered exceedingly. And now, -here was his representative, again in charge of the sea-chests and the -luggage, prepared to aid his charges as they entered upon the next -great stage of their careers. A room had been taken and a placard -attached to the door. Within was Mr. Binney, “Reeve’s man,” helping -the midshipmen to change the plain clothes in which they had travelled -for the Number One uniform, with dirks, in which they were to join -their ship. Mr. Binney unpacked and repacked their bags for them. He -undertook the sending of telegrams for things forgotten. He answered -innumerable questions, and, with an odd sympathy which showed he knew -they had cares enough, promised to have their luggage taken to the -landing stage at which the _King Arthur’s_ boat would call. Certainly, -sir, the luggage would be there in plenty of time. Where were the -sea-chests? Already, as if by a miracle, they were at the head of the -steps. In the rain? Yes, but they would come to no harm. Had all the -young gentlemen got the keys of their sea-chests? It would be awkward -to arrive on board and not be able to open them. In case any young -gentleman had forgotten or should lose his key, he had a skeleton which -would open any chest. Perhaps they would not mind sharing it?... Yes, -he had heard that the _King Arthur’s_ captain was a very good captain; -and the rear-admiral--of course, everyone knew that he was one of -the coming men: not that the captain or the admiral would make much -difference to them.... Before long they would have to coal ship.... - -Mr. Binney had remarkable information. Moreover, he talked and made -discreet jokes to such effect that silences, in which there might -have been time to think, were pleasantly avoided.... Was it true that -Mr. Reeve had a son who was going to enter the Service? Ah! that he -didn’t know. Was the sub of the _King Arthur_ a good fellow? That he -couldn’t say. Mr. Binney knew exactly what things he ought to know and -say. Personalities--save in a complimentary context--were to him an -abomination. - -Lynwood found that he was absurdly sorry for Mr. Binney--so eager, so -capable, so warm-hearted a man and yet a tailor’s assistant! What, in -the terms of this world, was his reward for all these excellencies? -Lynwood pictured the little man’s family, the boy for whose education -he had saved, the girl for whose happy marriage he was already laying -plans. What were Mr. Binney’s castles in the air? He was too good a man -to have none.... Then Lynwood’s thoughts shifted abruptly. He became -envious of Mr. Binney, who would not have to go into that bleak ship, -who would return comfortably to London--though it were in a third-class -compartment--who would dine that evening among friends, who would -sleep that night, not in a strange hammock, but in a familiar bed. Mr. -Binney’s future was at least certain. Lynwood glanced at his kindly -eyes. He saw the beads of perspiration which much stooping had produced -upon his red forehead. Mr. Binney was tired, very tired. - -Three other midshipmen--Sentley, Cunwell, and Fane-Herbert--were in the -room when Lynwood arrived. He knew them all intimately, for they had -served their training as cadets in his term. Sentley was small, dark, -and a little pompous in manner. An unimaginative conscientiousness was -written plainly on his face. Cunwell was of a heavier type, square -headed, square bodied, and coarse skinned. He had loose lips that were -usually wet, and self-assurance that was aggressive. He possessed, -however, a certain force, not of intellect--for his flat, almost -concave, forehead proclaimed his stupidity--but of personality, a -personality impervious to satire. It was not his habit to think more -deeply than mere physical action demanded. He was neither an observer -of himself nor an analyst of others. To him nothing was a symbol, -everything a fact. He treated the mind with suspicious hostility, as if -it derived its strength from witchcraft and the evil powers. Mental -capacity seemed to him no more than an unfair advantage over himself -exercised by others in examination-rooms, and he did not allow himself -to be troubled by his own deficiency in this respect. He brushed it -aside characteristically. “You brainy fellows will soon learn that -exams don’t count for much.” - -In Fane-Herbert the effect of good breeding was conspicuous. When he -smiled, his small white teeth and dancing eyes could not fail to cast -a spell. In anger he became cold and aloof, refusing the easy relief -of passion. He faced injustice and humiliation with an air of scornful -pride which served him ill by irritating his oppressors. Intellectually -he was unremarkable; but he was expert in all physical exercises that -required quickness of eye and subtlety of wrist rather than force and -speed. His whole manner was slow, almost languid. His reserve was not -easily pierced, and only to his most intimate friends would he speak of -himself. Upon the rest of the world he looked calmly, seeming scarcely -to expect that others would be interested in him. Lynwood knew him -well, liked him well, admired him for a dozen qualities; but he felt -that in Fane-Herbert there was an element, not deliberately concealed, -which was, however, never fully in the light of day, and therefore not -entirely comprehensible. - -“How did you get here?” Sentley asked. “You weren’t in our train, -Lynwood?” - -“No, I came across country--not from London.” - -“Did any of the others come with you--Driss, or Dyce, or any of the -senior snotties?” - -“No, I came alone.” - -“They’ll come by a later train,” Cunwell declared. “They can go off by -the seven o’clock officers’ boat. You bet the senior snotties anyhow -won’t go on board before they must. I shouldn’t have come so early -myself, but----” - -“Aren’t the senior snotties on board already?” Fane-Herbert asked. - -“No, of course not,” explained Cunwell, who knew everything. “The five -senior snotties are also joining the _King Arthur_ to-day. Didn’t -you know? They’ve been doing their destroyer time, and things like -that. Now they are coming back to a big ship for a year before their -lieutenant’s exams. But I believe there are four intermediate snotties -there already--second year people, one year senior to us.” - -“I expect they won’t be too pleased with the seniors’ coming,” Sentley -remarked. - -“Oh, they’ll take it out of us,” Fane-Herbert said. - -Lynwood was talking to Mr. Binney, and beginning to undress preparatory -to getting into uniform. His round-jacket was lying on the table. -Cunwell picked it up, and ostentatiously examined its sleeves. - -“I say, Lynwood,” he said, “I can see the marks where your Cadet -Captain’s stripe has been.” - -“Can you? I can’t help it.” - -“Well, I shouldn’t let the senior snotties see it, if I were you. My -brother told me that when he went to sea for the first time, one of the -snotties who were with him had the marks of his stripes showing, and -he got a dozen cuts once a week till they disappeared--just to teach -him that Cadet Captains at Dartmouth have got to learn their place when -they go to sea.” - -Lynwood, who was well aware that Cunwell had been bitterly -disappointed because he had never been made a Cadet Captain himself, -knew what triumph lay beneath the friendly appearance of his warning. -Cunwell delighted to impress upon him the indisputable fact that he had -fallen from relatively high estate. - -“Well, I expect you are glad now, Cunwell,” he said, “that you were -never made a Cadet Captain? You won’t get beaten once a week--not for -that reason, at any rate.” - -“All right,” Cunwell exclaimed angrily, “you needn’t be sarcastic -about nothing. I thought you would like to know; and then you lose -your temper because I warn you. You are an extraordinary fellow! My -brother----” - -“Oh!” Fane-Herbert interrupted. “For four years and a half we’ve heard -about your brother. You told me all about him the first night we were -at Osborne.” - -“You’re another of the Cadet Captains. Are the marks of your stripes -showing?... At any rate, my brother is one of the best officers in the -Service. The men love him.” - -“I dare say.” - -Sentley, as did all save Cunwell, resented this wrangling. To him it -was as if prisoners insulted one another on their way to the scaffold. -Moreover, youthfully conscious of his dignity as a naval officer, he -felt that such disputes were not for the ears of Mr. Binney. - -“It doesn’t really matter now,” he said mildly. And then, determined to -be cheerful at all costs, he added: “Do you think we shall get leave -at Christmas?” and Fane-Herbert echoed him: “It doesn’t really matter -now.” - -But the question set Lynwood looking across the months. “It’s a long -way off,” he said. - -“Not longer than a Dartmouth term.” - -“No.” - -“But you won’t get four weeks’ leave, as you did at Dartmouth,” Cunwell -said. “Of course, snotties sometimes get both watches of leave, but I -shouldn’t count on it.” - -“Don’t you want leave?” Lynwood asked. - -“Of course I do; but I’m not so damned homesick already as you are.” - -There seemed to be no reply to this, so silence fell for a moment. Mr. -Binney interposed quickly: - -“The _King Arthur’s_ pretty good about leave, I think.” - -“Is she?” Cunwell turned on the others. “One might think you fellows -weren’t keen on the Service. Don’t you want to go to sea?” - -“Why not wait till you get there?” Fane-Herbert said coldly. - -“Yes, you just wait!” Cunwell warned them. “I can tell you, -Fane-Herbert, your smiles and your cricket won’t help you there; nor -your English and _x_-chasing, Lynwood. That isn’t the kind of thing -Commanders look for.” - -Even Cunwell’s voice became less strident when at last they had left -Mr. Binney with their luggage, and, under his directions, had gone into -the street. Their best uniform, in which they were bound to report -themselves on board, added to the discomfort caused by wind and rain. -Soon their trousers were wet to the knee. - -“I say,” said the careful Sentley, “do you think the Commander will -mind our trousers being like this?” - -“I can’t help the Commander’s troubles,” Fane-Herbert answered. “What -makes me swear is that our cap badges will get spoilt.” - -“What do our cap badges matter? You should see my brother’s cap, and he -says----” Derisive applause checked him. - -“Do you hear the water from the gutter roaring below that grating?” -Lynwood said.... “Those must be the steps. Yes, I can see our chests -standing there.” - -Sentley stopped suddenly outside a Chemist’s shop. “I say, hold on a -minute. I want some shaving soap.” - -They turned to look at him. “Oh, Sentley, do you have to shave now?” -and they laughed good-humouredly till the colour rose to his cheeks. - -“I shall have to very soon--at any rate, for Sunday Divisions. Will you -wait for me while I get it, Lynwood?” - -“Don’t stand about in this deluge,” Cunwell put in. “The messman will -keep shaving soap. Most messmen do. You can get it in the ship if you -want it.” - -They left the chemist unvisited, and pressed on to the head of the -landing-steps. Here they wrapped their mackintoshes round them and sat -down on the wet lids of their chests. Someone began to drum his heels -against the painted wood. - -“If you kick off all the paint,” said Cunwell promptly, “you’ll be in -the soup at Captain’s inspection.” - -The heels stopped, and silence fell. Presently their luggage was -brought on a barrow chartered by Mr. Binney. The sea was splashing and -hissing on the stone steps. In a little time, out of the mist of rain, -the bows and funnel of a picket-boat became visible. - -“That’s our boat,” said Cunwell at once. “She has a sailing pinnace in -tow--that’s for our chests.” - -A bell rang clearly four times; the engines slowed. It rang once, and -the throb of machinery ceased; the tow-rope slackened. - -“Cast off the pinnace! Take the pinnace inside, coxswain. I’ll come -outside you.” - -“Aye, aye, sir!... Get them fenders out, Micky.” - -The picket-boat’s engines roared astern as the midshipman brought her -bows round in readiness to come alongside the pinnace. In a couple of -minutes both boats were in position. - -“Are you the snotties for the _King Arthur_?” - -“Go on, Sentley, you are senior--you answer.” - -“Yes,” shouted Sentley. - -“Down into the boat, then.... No, not in the pinnace. Get into the -picket-boat’s cabin.” - -They clambered across as they were bid. - -“This must be one of the intermediate snotties,” Lynwood said to -Fane-Herbert. - -“Yes. Don’t you remember him at Dartmouth? Ollenor?” - -“Ollenor, is it? I haven’t seen his face yet under his sou’wester.” - -The picket-boat’s cabin was divided into two parts--an outer section, -comfortable, light, and clean, which in fair weather was adorned no -doubt with white-covered cushions with blue crests; and an inner -section, dark and ill-ventilated, wherein were kept signal lamps and -all manner of spare fittings. They seated themselves in the outer -section because they came to it first. - -“Do you think we ought to sit here? Suppose some officers come down?” -Sentley suggested. In the training cruiser it had been the custom for -cadets to sit on the cabin’s roof. - -“Well, so long as there is room for them it’s all right,” Fane-Herbert -said; “and if there isn’t room, then we can go into that inner cabin. -I’m not going out on to the roof in this weather and these clothes.” - -“Yes.... I know that sounds reasonable enough, but don’t you think -that, as we are junior snotties just joining the ship, it would be -better to move off into the inner cabin _anyhow_ if any officers -come--whether there is room for them or not. You see, there isn’t much -space where we are, and it might get us a bad name to start off with, -and----” - -“And you are the senior of us,” Lynwood laughed. “Poor Sentley! The -sins of us all will be visited on you as well as on ourselves.... Let’s -move in if any officers come. It’s as well to be on the safe side.” - -While they spoke the boat’s crew were getting their sea-chests down -into the sailing pinnace. - -“Any more to come?” Ollenor shouted. - -“All on board, sir.” - -“The luggage too?” - -“All on board, sir.” - -“All right. Jump in.... Pinnace, get your painter aft, and shove your -bows out.” - -At this moment a thin, pale man, wearing a bowler hat, appeared at -the top of the steps and began to descend them with what speed their -slipperiness would permit. - -“Hold on,” said Ollenor. - -The man came across the pinnace and jumped into the picket-boat’s -cabin. Sentley glanced at him, hesitated a moment, and then retired -into the inner cabin, whither the others followed him. - -“Who do you think that is?” - -“An engineer, probably.” - -“But does even an engineer officer go ashore in a bowler hat?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“I don’t believe it’s an officer at all.” - -“It must be. He’s wearing plain clothes.” - -“At any rate, we are on the safe side--coming in here,” said Sentley. - -The atmosphere was vile. The little fixed windows were flush with the -upper deck. Through them could be seen, now the grey sky, now the -brown, hardened feet of one of the crew. Ollenor’s voice repeated his -former orders; the bell rang, and the engines turned slowly. Then the -tow-rope grew taut, the pinnace swung out abruptly, and both boats -circled towards the open sea. Land and the old life receded. Through -the narrow stern door of the inner cabin, beyond the pale face and -the bowler hat and the tiller vibrating above the propellor, beyond -the tow-rope and the sailing pinnace, which came sometimes into sight -as the helm swung over, Lynwood could see the hazy outlines of the -roofs of Torquay. Soon a change of course banished even these from -view. Lynwood found himself longing for respite, for a break in this -dream that brought them nearer and nearer to the ship. He wanted the -tow-rope to part! His eyes travelled to it as if there were a chance -of its doing so. But no god intervened.... No word was spoken. They -sat still, avoiding each other’s eyes. Soon Ollenor’s voice was heard -once more shouting instructions to the sailing pinnace. The engine-room -bell rang, and rang again. The propellor cast up new foam, and the -picket-boat quivered as they went astern. And now they rocked at the -foot of the _King Arthur’s_ port after gangway. - -The pale man stood aside that they might be the first to leave the -boat, but they had no eyes for that. As they reached the quarter-deck -they saluted as they had been taught, and looked round for the officer -of the watch to whom they should report themselves. His childish -pictures of a shining sunlit quarter-deck flashed irresistibly across -Lynwood’s mind. Here the planks were stained to dark patches by the -rain. The turret, with its unbroken surface of flat grey, wore a hard -blank expression, which was somehow similar to that of an intolerant -and dull-minded human being. Ropes, cheesed down into neat spirals on -the deck, were black and sodden with wet. Over all, casting its shadowy -gloom on brass and steel, lay the sloped awning, from whose edges the -rain dripped and splashed with miserable monotony. The quarter-deck was -like a vast gymnasium, bare, and cold, and sombre. - -Ollenor had followed them up the gangway, and stood now in conversation -with the midshipman of the watch. - -“Can the picket-boat make fast and go to tea?” - -“Yes; you have nothing, so far as I know, till the seven o’clock trip.” - -“Come on, you fellows,” said Ollenor; “you’d better come and report -yourselves to the Commander. Then come along to the Mess.... There’s -the Commander’s cabin.” - -Sentley knocked. - -“Yes?” - -Sentley took off his cap, drew back the curtain, and went in. The -others were following him when the Commander broke out: “Who are you?” - -“We’ve come on board to join, sir.” - -“Speak for yourself.... And you in the rear there, stand at attention! -What do you mean by lolling about in my cabin?” No answer was expected -or given. “Who told you to come into my cabin? Get out of it. When I -say ‘Come in,’ come in--not before.” - -They withdrew, and Sentley knocked again. - -“Come in.... Well? Don’t stand there like a dumb thing! What do you -want, boy?” - -“We’ve come on board to join, sir.” - -“Will you speak for yourself? Now, report yourselves properly, one by -one. What’s your name?” - -“Sentley, sir.” - -“Are you the senior?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Are these all the junior midshipmen? I thought we were to have six of -you.” - -“Two haven’t come off yet, sir.” - -“Send them to me when they do. And see they know how to behave -themselves before they come into my cabin. Understand?” The others then -gave their names in turn. “Very well,” the Commander went on, “clear -out now. I dare say I shall learn your names as soon as you care for. -Go on--out of it!” - -The last command was shouted at them. It rang in their ears as they -walked towards the Gunroom. - -“I wonder if he’s always like that?” - -“Lots of Commanders are half mad with over-work,” Cunwell said. “They -chase everyone--lower deck, snotties, Wardroom--everyone.” - -“But have you ever heard anything so absolutely without cause?” asked -Lynwood; “a screaming rage all about nothing.” - -“It’s part of the system, I suppose,” said Fane-Herbert, “and all for -the good of the Service. It’s no good to take it too seriously.” - - -II - -When the midshipmen had left his cabin the Commander picked up his pen -and stooped once more over the letter he was writing to his wife. - -“... Means more drive,” he wrote. “All one’s life is an amazing drive. -The R.A. never tires. He must be made of iron. It is his affectation--” -The Commander crossed out the sentence and wrote: “He considers it -necessary to be entirely unsparing of himself and others. It’s like -running a mile race at a hundred yards’ pace. He acts as if there were -going to be a war to-morrow. Of course, we all act similarly--and that -means a smart ship. But if you knew how I should like to relax the -pressure on the men--even for one day! But what the R.A. does we must -all do. I have that promotion to think of that you and I are waiting -for. - -“When you met the R.A. you thought him charming, didn’t you? And so -he was. You should see him in the ship. And I hope you think me even -more charming than the R.A.? You should see me in the ship. I wonder -if the men think I am always like this. I’m sure the snotties do. I’ve -just cursed some new ones till they fled, and I suppose they think--and -I don’t wonder--that I’m an inhuman beast. What’s more, I’m afraid -they won’t ever have much cause to think otherwise. I shall curse them -and drive them whenever I see them--just as the Admiral, a bit more -politely, drives me. (It doesn’t hurt me, because I can see _through_ -it all.) It must be done. It really is necessary. Probably the R.A. -excuses himself to _his_ wife on the grounds that the Vice-Admiral -drives him, and so on up to My Lords Commissioners at Whitehall, who -would put the responsibility on the Germans, and they return it. It is -a circle! - -“I’m sorry. I oughtn’t to fill all my letter to you with grousing. -The Service is a fine service, and Peter shall go into it if you’ll -trust him to Commanders even fiercer than myself. But we shall have to -talk it over about Peter. I’m not quite sure that the Navy is the best -place. Your father was an artist, and if any of that has come through -to Peter--well, we eat artists. I know you want it--but then you know -the Navy ashore, and you have a husband who is going to be an admiral, -haven’t you? Do you know anything of the Jesuits of old time and their -methods? I feel rather like them sometimes. But then, of course, the -Service is a really fine ‘end’--that makes all the difference. - -“When I come home....” - -The midshipman of the watch tapped at the door. “Eight bells, sir.” - -“Sound off!” - -The bugle sounded. The pen worked quicker now. The last four words were -crossed out. - -“... I’ll write again. I want to get this letter ashore. I’m sending in -an extra boat after Quarters. Quarters is sounding off now. I must go.” - -He thrust on his cap and walked out on to the quarter-deck. Here the -Marines and the Quarter-deck Division were falling in. - -“Where’s the midshipman of the Quarter-deck Division?... Mr. Ollenor, -in future you will come up from the Gunroom in time to see that your -Division falls in smartly to the bugle. Look at them! They’re a damned -disgrace!--all talking when I came.... Don’t answer me. Go to them.” - -The Commander was shouting. He swung round on his heel to cover a queer -smile. The sergeant-major, who missed nothing, wondered what joke there -was; but he knew nothing of the Commander’s letter. - -At that moment the Rear-Admiral emerged from his quarters. With his -hands clasped behind him he walked to the after-rails and looked over -the stern. - -“Commander!” - -“Sir!” - -The Rear-Admiral pointed upwards to where the white ensign had become -entangled with its staff. “Your ensign’s foul. It looks bad for the -rest of the squadron.” Then he strolled away. - -The Commander’s lips tightened. “Midshipman of the Watch!” - -“Sir!” The midshipman came running, stopped and saluted. - -“Look at that ensign--disgusting! The Admiral noticed it. Why can’t you -keep your eyes open instead of standing about doing nothing? What do -you think you are here for?” - -“It was cleared a little time ago, sir. The wind----” - -“Damn it! Don’t argue. It’s your job to see that it’s always clear. -Don’t let me find it like that again, or your leave will suffer.” - -He dashed for’ard, swinging a telescope. The midshipman knew his cue. - -“Sideboy!” And the sideboy, a wizened little creature as yet too young -to be an ordinary seaman, came running in his turn. “Look at that -ensign! The Commander noticed it.” - -The sideboy looked; and gulped while he summoned his excuse. “I cleared -it just afore quarters, sir,” he said. “The rain an’ the wind----” - -“It’s your job to see that it’s always clear. Understand?” - -“Yessir.” - -“And put your cap on straight.” - -“Yessir.” - -“Now go and clear the ensign. Get a move on!” - -The midshipman tucked his telescope under his arm and watched for the -Commander’s return. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -SEEN THROUGH STEEL - - -Before they reached the Gunroom after their interview with the -Commander, Lynwood and his companions met a tall midshipman, whom they -immediately recognized. - -“Hullo, are you the new snotties?” he asked. “I’m Reedham, three terms -senior to you--probably you remember me at Dartmouth? You are Lynwood, -aren’t you? Weren’t you the fellow that was made a Cadet Captain first -shot?” - -“Yes,” said Lynwood, and added quickly: “We’ve just come from the -Commander.” - -“Oh have you? Did he bite your heads off?” - -“We seemed to do something wrong.” - -“You always will seem to do something wrong whenever the Bloke’s -about.... But where are you going now?” - -“The Gunroom. Ollenor told us to go there when we had reported -ourselves.” - -“Well, I shouldn’t, if I were you. Quarters will be sounding off in -a minute or two. You had better come up for them. Ten to one, if you -don’t, the Bloke will jump on you for shirking. He’s bound to be on -the look out. Really you ought to have twenty-four hours to sling your -’ammicks in--standing off all duties; but that theory is a back number -with our people.... Are your chests on board yet?” - -“No; they have only just come off in the sailing pinnace.” - -“Then you’ll have to go to Quarters in the rig you have on. You ought -really to change into monkey-jackets, of course. Anyway, I should -unship those dirks. Chuck them down behind somebody’s chest for the -time being--out of sight, though.” - -When they had followed his advice they trailed behind Reedham on to the -upper deck. - -“Of course, you haven’t been told off for Divisions yet,” he said. “It -won’t matter where you go this afternoon so long as the Bloke sees -you somewhere. You come to the Foretopmen with me, Lynwood, and the -remainder had better take a Division each.” - -Under this friendly guidance they went through Quarters without mishap, -and, immediately afterwards, went below with Reedham. On their way -to the Gunroom they passed through the Chest Flat, an ill-lighted -section of the main deck, flanked on the port side by cabins and on the -starboard side by the Gunroom and the Gunroom pantry. The whole of the -centre of the flat was occupied by the Engine-room casing, on either -side of which passages led, for’ard to the men’s quarters, and aft to -the half-deck. Through a door in the starboard passage they entered -their new home. - -The Gunroom was a long, very narrow room, about seven feet high, built -almost entirely of steel. Its outboard wall was the curving side of -the ship, and was pierced at intervals by scuttles, which visitors -referred to as windows. Its inboard wall, which it had in common with -the Chest Flat, contained the doors. The after-bulkhead was unbroken, -and for’ard were the pantry hatch and the serving slab. The furniture, -though not elaborate, occupied most of the floor space. A long, narrow, -leather-cushioned seat, always called the settee, was attached to -the ship’s side. Parallel to this a table was screwed to the deck. -Between the doors stood a sideboard, covered with innumerable weekly -and daily papers; and overhead, screwed to the walls, was a series of -small wooden lockers, between which and the beams above were kept such -sextants as were not for the moment in pawn. A stove, a few chairs, and -a piano completed the Gunroom’s regular equipment. - -The place had an air of hard usage, and bore witness in a thousand -ways to the manner of its occupants’ lives. The only decorations were -a few cheap prints, some of Transatlantic and some, perhaps, of German -inspiration, representing ladies who were not merely insufficiently -clothed, but who seemed, oddly enough, to have definitely completed -their toilette when they had donned a pair of silk stockings or a -diminutive undergarment. In their eyes invitation was conveyed by means -of a formula, having no connection with art or life, which seldom fails -to produce commercial profit. They hung there, eternally grinning, -eternally brandishing their insistent legs, the remarkable substitute -for womanhood which our generation has learned to recognize and accept. -Near them, as if to throw them into overpowering contrast with reality, -oilskins, which smelt strongly, hung with dirks and belts from pegs -on the wall. The deck, the stove, and the settee were littered with -papers, books, pipes, tobacco-tins and cigarette-ash. At the end of the -table, on which cards, a dice-thrower, and a couple of empty glasses -were grouped incongruously with teacups, the Sub was sitting. - -“Hullo, Reedham,” he exclaimed, “who are your young friends?” Then he -pointed a finger at Sentley. “You with the innocent face, are you the -new warts?” - -Not yet accustomed to this usual description of very junior midshipmen, -Sentley hesitated before he answered: “Yes, sir!” - -“Lord Almighty!” the Sub cried, smiling despite himself, “don’t call me -‘sir.’ Who the deuce taught you to call subs ‘sir’?” - -“No one.” - -“I should hope not.... Well, don’t do it again.” - -“No; I’m sorry.” - -“And don’t be so bloody polite. This isn’t a dame’s school.... Had some -tea?” - -The Sub pressed a bell that swung from a cord above his head. The -pantry-hatch opened with a click, and a pale face appeared--the face -of the man in the bowler hat to whom they had yielded place in the -picket-boat. - -“Tea for these officers, messman,” said the Sub. - -Lynwood and Fane-Herbert exchanged glances, but they were careful to -say nothing. They knew that they would be wise to keep the knowledge of -their mistake locked away in their own hearts. But Cunwell perceived -that he might score a point. - -“I told you so, Lynwood,” he said, so that all might hear. - -“What did you tell him?” the Sub asked, wondering if they had been -betting against the Sub’s offering them tea. - -“When we were coming off in the picket-boat,” Cunwell began, “the -messman came down at the last moment, and”--Sentley kicked him -vigorously, but he continued, nevertheless--“and Sentley and Lynwood -and Fane-Herbert thought he was a Wardroom officer, and cleared out for -him.” - -Ollenor, Reedham, and Norgate, the midshipman who had kept the -afternoon watch, roared with laughter at this. - -“That’s good!” the Sub exclaimed. “The Wardroom would rejoice to know -that Wickham was mistaken for one of themselves. And you--what’s your -name?” - -“Cunwell.” - -“And you, Cunwell, what did you do?” - -“Oh, I went with the rest of them; but, of course, I knew----” - -“Of course you did. I see we have a smart young officer here, Ollenor, -competing for a medal.” - -The dog-watches passed without event. The Sub having gone to his cabin -and the others on to the upper deck, Lynwood was left in the Gunroom -with Reedham and Fane-Herbert. They fell at once to a discussion of -personalities and prospects, and Reedham, wearing the quiet smile that -was habitual to him, answered questions, volunteered information, and -gasped at examples of ingenuousness. The Sub, it appeared, was named -Winton-Black. Reedham described him as a good enough fellow if ever he -did anything--which happened infrequently. He was to leave the ship in -a few months’ time, and was careless of what happened in the interval. -Almost all his spare time was spent in his cabin, so that he seldom -appeared in the Gunroom except for meals. - -“Then we ought to be all right,” said Fane-Herbert. - -“Oh, don’t you believe it. You would be much better off, I assure you, -if Winton-Black _did_ put in an appearance. He’s an easygoing old -thing, as lazy as they are made, and it would be too much effort for -him to chase you much. But his being away leaves the senior snotties’ -hands free, and the five seniors we are going to have include some -pretty tough customers. I believe Krame, the senior of the lot, who -will arrange all our duties and dispose our lives, is--well, Ollenor -knows more of him than I do, and _he_ says he’s as bad as we could hope -for. Howdray has a name through the fleet--Bull Howdray. He’s usually -tight, and pretty violent. Tintern is musical--a bit of an artist, but -untrained, of course--quite a decent sort in a mild way; but he sozzles -to console himself for the might-have-beens. The other two, Elstone and -Banford-Smith, I don’t know much about.” - -“But how will you intermediate fellows come off, Reedham?” - -“We?--oh, we shall be all right, I dare say. We’ve had our share of -the worst of it. You see, there are four of us: Ollenor and Norgate -you’ve met, and then there’s Tommy Hambling, who is keeping the first -dog-watch at the moment. If we went quietly we shouldn’t come to much -harm, but Norgate and Hambling are always making asses of themselves. -They came off to the ship absolutely blind to the world the other -night. We thought we had got them down safely, but the silly fools -showed the effects next morning. Hambling went bright green in the -middle of School, and had to retreat and be sick, which angered the -priest; and Norgate--much about the same colour--went off to sleep in -the middle of Baring’s Seamanship Lecture. The whole story came out, of -course. It seems that Baring saw they were tight the evening before, -but didn’t know how bad it was. At any rate, he decided to say nothing -about it if they were fit for duty the next morning; but then, when -they collapsed during his own lecture there was hell to pay. He told -Winton-Black to give them a dozen cuts each, and has stopped all their -leave, wine bills and extra bills till further orders. Now they talk -about breaking out of the ship when they get to Portland. Norgate says -he has an amateur there, though Heaven knows where he finds her. And -so it goes on.... Of course, that gets everybody’s back up against us -four, and will give Krame an excellent opportunity to make himself -objectionable if he is so minded.” - -“But who is the officer in charge of midshipmen?” Lynwood asked. - -“The Snotty Walloper? Baring.” - -“Won’t he see that Krame and the others don’t go too far?” - -Reedham grinned at them while he lighted his pipe. - -“You people _are_ fresh from Dartmouth, you know! A Snotty Walloper -doesn’t look after snotties as a Term Lieutenant at the colleges looks -after cadets. Baring’s job is to see we keep our watches, run our -boats, work out our yearly sights, and do our instruction. He signs the -Leave Book, and occasionally he invites one of us to dine with him in -the Wardroom. That’s all. You don’t go to him with your troubles. When -you come to sea you have to look out for yourself and square your own -yard-arm. No one interferes except in matters affecting discipline. -Your private life is your own so long as you don’t make a public -exhibition of yourself when you go ashore.... Oh no, don’t imagine -that Baring would trouble his head about what Krame does to you. It’s -none of his business. And what’s more, nobody wants the Wardroom -to interfere in what the Gunroom does. You don’t want it yourself. -Etiquette about that sort of thing is very strong.” - -For some time the conversation drifted away to Dartmouth days, but -Lynwood’s thoughts ran on. The prospect of independence, of complete -emancipation from leading-strings, attracted him. He compared his -life with that of boys of his own age at public schools, and found, -almost to his surprise, that he would be unwilling to accept their -comfort and security in exchange for the privileges of responsibility. -All midshipmen regard schoolboys with a certain contempt. They are -launched into the world while their brothers are but preparing for -it. They command, not a football fifteen, but a boat’s crew. They -have experience of men and women whose very existence is not yet, -and perhaps never will be a reality to the shore-going folk of their -own class. And daily, in the ordinary course of routine, they -carry--though it does not strike them in this way--their own lives and -the lives of others in their hands. All this begets a rare pride, the -pride of one who for the first time signs his own cheque and rejoices -silently in the possession of his own banking account. - -Lynwood awoke from a day-dream to find himself staring at one of the -pictures above Reedham’s head. - -“Those pictures,” he said suddenly, “aren’t they appalling?” - -“They are pretty vile,” Reedham agreed. “But they are a Gunroom custom. -I don’t see what other pictures you could have. Really good ones would -look horribly out of place. Besides, the kind we have is what most -people like.” - -“Well, if ever I’m Sub of a Gunroom,” said Lynwood, “I’ll have good -pictures or none at all.” - -“Probably you will think differently then,” Reedham answered, with a -smile of experience. “One’s ideas change at sea. One gets accustomed, -you know.” - -Later in the evening the five senior midshipmen arrived and burst into -the Gunroom, followed by the two remaining juniors, Driss and Dyce. The -place was soon full of the noise of greetings, the ringing of bells, -and the ordering of drinks. When dinner was over, Krame made out a -preliminary list of the duties of each midshipman, in which it was laid -down who were to run the boats, who were to keep watch together, and -to what station each was to go for the ship’s evolutions. Then began a -series of questions. Krame, a dark, large-eyed youth, whose good looks -dissipation had been powerless to destroy, seated himself on the table. - -“Now then, Warts, how many of you are teetotallers? Prove!” - -They proved by bending their arms at the elbow and holding out their -hands in drill-book fashion. Krame counted. - -“One, two, three, four.... Driss, aren’t you a T.T.?” - -“No.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because I don’t want to be.” - -“I’m not going to ask you to sign the pledge, you know. You can drink -yourselves dead when you go ashore for all I care. All I want to know -is, how many of you are not going to use your wine bills on board. Then -we can use them--see? What about you, Cunwell? Aren’t you T.T.?” - -“I don’t want to sell my whole wine bill,” said Cunwell. “I may have to -stand a boat’s crew a drink or something.” - -“Thoughtful and righteous youth!” laughed Howdray. - -It was decided that the ten shillings’ worth of drink, which each -junior midshipman was allowed to consume in a month, was to be -transferred, in four cases out of six, to the seniors. Driss was -allowed to keep his because he insisted upon doing so with an Irish -vigour that amused them, and Cunwell surrendered only two-thirds of his -share. - -This preliminary having been settled to Krame’s satisfaction, many -drinks were called for with which to celebrate it. The musical Tintern -was urged to the piano, and an impromptu sing-song, which was one vast -chorus, was begun. It started in decorous fashion with the original -version of _Riding down from Bangor_, followed with much greater -enthusiasm by its parody. The standard then fell, and the enthusiasm -rose until, when the time came to close the Gunroom, a dozen and more -young gentlemen were gathered round Tintern, shouting, between pulls at -drinks and puffs at pipes, songs that their sisters--but their sisters -have nothing to do with the Gunroom. And Tintern, with a glass at his -right hand from which he complained he had not time to drink, played -and smiled and sozzled, as Reedham had remarked, to console himself for -the might-have-beens. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A CHAPTER WITHOUT NAME - - -I - -On the morning of his first full day in the _King Arthur_ John Lynwood -enjoyed the luxury of a lie-in until a quarter-past seven. In the -course of ordinary routine, he and all midshipmen not engaged in other -duties would by this time have done half an hour’s physical drill on -the quarter-deck; but Krame, trusting that the Snotty Walloper would be -unobservant on this occasion, had sent a messenger for’ard the previous -evening to tell the Physical Training Instructor that the midshipmen -would not require him in the morning. Therefore, when he turned out of -his hammock, John went immediately to his chest, took off his pyjamas, -wrapped a towel round his middle, and pattered barefoot down to the -bathroom. - -Here the senior midshipmen, who had already secured the shallow -hip-baths, were sliding them over the tiled floor towards the cold -water tap, disputing with vigour as to whose servants had brought the -cans of hot water, shouting for soap, and calling down curses upon the -heads of those who had presumably stolen their sponges. - -“Damn that marine,” Ollenor’s lazy voice was saying, “he has taken -my soap again. I hid it in the corner of this locker yesterday.... -Shouldn’t mind so much if he ever looked as if he used it.” - -John waited his turn, bathed, dressed, and went into the Gunroom for -breakfast. The senior midshipmen seemed to be in good humour, the sun -was shining, the coffee was hot, and John, in obedience to one of those -moods of his of which it was always difficult to discover the cause, -was a thousand times more cheerful than he had been on the previous -night. When Prayers and Divisions were over, the Chaplain, who was -also a naval instructor, came into the Gunroom to conduct School. John -learned much of him before his arrival. He had hoped that the Chaplain -would be a scholar, a little precious, it might be, but possessed of an -ununiformed mind, more pliant than routine, simpler than discipline. -He had met one Chaplain of such a kind, and had been grateful for the -relief that his contrast afforded. But this man, it seemed, was above -all a Wardroom officer. Ollenor summed him up: “He is always trying to -bowl you out,” he said. Only Reedham, who had a good word to say for -everybody, spoke in his defence. “I dare say he means well. We don’t -give him much chance. We’re not exactly Padre’s blue-eyed boys, are we?” - -John saw at once that the Padre, when he entered, looked round him in -expectation of hostility. - -“There you are,” said Hambling, in an aside that was intentionally -audible, “he hasn’t even the decency to knock.” - -“Will you young gentlemen please keep silence when School has begun?” -said the Padre. He looked round him. “No duster, no chalk; blackboard -not in position. Who is the Senior Midshipman?” - -“I am, sir,” said Krame. - -“Then you will in future see that the Gunroom is properly rigged for -School _before_ I come in.” - -“That will be your job, Cunwell,” said Krame abruptly. - -The Padre continued in his even tone. “And you will give your -instructions at a proper time, please, and not interrupt me when I am -speaking.” - -By this time the Gunroom, which, in the manner of Gunrooms, resented -nothing so much as cold superiority, was determinedly hostile. If the -Padre had ever hoped to win the midshipmen he had set about his task -wrongly, and had definitely failed. Of all soil the Gunroom is to a -chaplain the most stubborn. Few attempt to cultivate it; fewer succeed -in such an attempt. - -The navigation lecture became a mere occupation of time, the teacher -being as mechanical as the pupils. When he talked, they let him talk, -asking no questions. When he drew on the board, they watched him, -for he had a habit of turning quickly to discover the direction of -their eyes. For this amount of attention, because it was a part of -discipline, he made a rigid demand, but so long as their answers to his -questions were not flagrantly irrelevant, he seemed to care not at all -for the direction of their minds. His manner was a strange contrast -to that of the masters at Dartmouth. And here--from the pupils’ point -of view--there were no marks to be won, there was no competition, no -incentive but the fear of the examinations for the rank of lieutenant, -which were yet comfortably far off. - -When the lecture was over, the Padre interrupted the thud of books -thrown ostentatiously aside to say he wished every new midshipman to -come in turn to his cabin. He would see the most junior first. “And -I hope,” he added, “that the Gunroom will learn to behave itself at -an early date. If ordinary persuasions, which ought to be sufficient, -fail, there is always the Leave Book. You understand me, Krame?” - -“Quite, sir.” - -In his own cabin the Padre was more tolerant. John found him sitting at -his desk with a heap of papers before him. - -“With regard to Voluntary Subjects for your lieutenant’s exams, -Lynwood--what are your tastes? You can choose three or less of the -following: Higher Mathematics, Naval History, Mechanics, German, -French, and Electricity.” John examined the paper that was handed to -him, while the Padre went on: “Most midshipmen, when they come to sea, -regard it as an opportunity to abandon all their study. I admit that -the ordinary circumstances of their lives--boat running, watch-keeping, -crowded quarters, and--er--so on--do not make book work easy. Commonly, -the work that should have engaged them for three years is left to the -last three months. That is not necessary. It is merely a question of -character and concentration. I want you junior midshipmen to choose -your Voluntary Subjects at once, and to work at them and at the -compulsory subjects consistently from the beginning.” - -In this speech it was easy to recognize the intonation of a formula. -The man spoke without enthusiasm, apparently without the least hope -that his advice would be followed. He was doing his duty, that was -all. John chose as his three subjects, Higher Mathematics, French, and -Naval History; the first because it was necessary in Gunnery, and the -last because it was a subject after his own heart. The examination -consisted in the writing of an essay with the aid of books. There were -three years in which to write it. He intended, as he said ambitiously -in a letter home, to “write a big essay in chapters, and if possible to -publish it later as a book.” When he suggested this to the Padre, the -Padre smiled. - -“I am afraid you have literary tendencies,” he said. - -“I like books,” John answered. - -The Padre looked away from him and talked to the open scuttle. -“It would be better from the Service point of view if you liked -mechanics. They promise very rapid promotion to those who specialize in -Engineering.” - -“I don’t think I should do well as an engineer, sir.” - -“Perhaps not. Make your own choice.... Do you care for poetry?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -The Padre looked at him sharply, an odd expression in his eyes, as if -memories were pressing on him. - -“I have a few books there,” he said, pointing to his cabin shelves. -“Borrow them if you like, but don’t leave them sculling about the -Gunroom--they wouldn’t like volumes of verse. And don’t give too much -thought to them, old man. They won’t make you happier here.” - -“Why not, sir,” asked John, “if I like them?” - -“Because--oh, never mind why not.... Think over the question of -Voluntary Subjects, Lynwood, and send in the next midshipman, will you -please?” - - -II - -The next two days were spent in sailing to Portland and in coaling -ship. On their first evening in Portland the junior midshipmen had -their earliest experience of Gunroom Evolutions. In this instance the -Evolutions were comparatively mild, being in a manner introductory to -the more serious business which was begun when the _King Arthur_ put to -sea. But these preludes, which began on a Thursday and were repeated -on the following Saturday and Monday, were enough to provide for the -junior midshipmen an engrossing subject of conversation whenever they -were beyond the hearing of their seniors. John and Fane-Herbert landed -together on Tuesday afternoon. - -“Thank God,” said Fane-Herbert, “we are out of that for a few hours.” - -“Do you think it will happen again this evening?” - -“I don’t know. It can’t happen every evening.... I shouldn’t mind so -much if it were a punishment of some kind--if they even pretended that -we had done something wrong. As it is, they chase us for an hour, and -then offer us drinks, and then chase us again.” - -“I think I would rather that,” John answered, “than that they should be -avowed enemies. One feels, at any rate, that they are not doing it out -of any personal spite against us. They seem to do it largely because -they feel they must.” - -“But why must they?” - -“It’s the tradition, I suppose.” - -Fane-Herbert, who had uttered no word of protest while the Evolutions -were going on, and who, when they were over, had quietly washed the -dust and blood from him and had turned in, broke out now. He was -talking to his friend. He could afford to let the mask drop. - -“I’m keen on the Service,” he said, “keener than most people, I think. -I don’t expect a soft life. I don’t care how much I am chased on duty -by commanders and officers of the watch. Probably that makes you do -your job better--at any rate, it’s all in the day’s work. Every junior -is chased by his seniors in one way or another.... But I swear one has -a right to a certain part of one’s life. The Gunroom is our Mess. It -is the only place we can go to, or write or read in, or do any of the -things we want to do when we are off duty; and it isn’t as if the day -was slack. Heaven knows, what with School, and watches, and boats, and -signals, and divisional work, and sketches, we have enough ordinary -work to do. But then at the end of the day our own Mess is made hell -for us.” - -“I know. It’s no good thinking about it.” - -“I suppose when you and I are Subs there won’t be any of it in our -Gunrooms.” - -“No.” - -“And what about the other fellows--Dyce, Cunwell, Driss--do you think -they will carry it on?” - -“Probably. Possibly we shall when the time comes. It’s the Service -custom. It has come down through generations. It’s the devil of a job -for any Sub to stand out against it. It might mean his quarrelling with -all his senior snotties, and probably the Wardroom would be up against -him. Every time a junior snotty did something wrong the Sub would be -blamed because the Warts weren’t properly shaken in the Gunroom.” - -Fane-Herbert reverted to the personal consideration. “Reedham told me -we haven’t had a proper dose of it yet. He said we had better stand by -for the first night at sea. Krame is planning great things.” - -John thrust the thought from him. “Don’t let’s talk about it,” he said. -“We shall have to go back to the ship presently. We shall have enough -of it then.... What are you going to do when we get leave? Didn’t you -say your people were leaving England?” - -“It’s rather in the air at present,” Fane-Herbert answered, “but -there’s some talk of my father’s going to Japan to represent his -armament firm out there. My mother may go too, and take Margaret with -her.... Do you remember Margaret, when my people came down to Osborne -years ago? She must have been about fourteen then.” - -“Of course I remember her. She stood on the canteen steps with a huge -basket of strawberries over her arm. And as everyone passed she looked -at them and, if she liked them, she said: ‘Are you in Fane-Herbert’s -term, please?’ and if the astonished cadet said he was, she went on: -‘then will you take some strawberries, please?’” - -Fane-Herbert laughed. “I never knew about that. It was a good idea of -hers only to be generous to our term. She’s a wonderful person.” - -“Yes; I remember coming out to lunch with you and going to Carisbrooke -for tea. She talked to me the whole time. It was a windy day. Her hair -was blowing about.” - -“She has good hair,” said her brother shortly. “She has put it up -now.... When we get leave you must come home and see my people. I think -you would find it interesting. My mother was a Stardyke before she -married, so we have dozens of political and literary people about the -place. That is in your line, isn’t it?” - -John said it was; but he was chiefly interested in Margaret, whose -hair had made so strong an impression on his boy’s mind. He loved -hair--the colour, the line, the scent, the touch of it. He saw the -wind blowing through Margaret’s, though he had forgotten her features. -And, from searching in the past, his mind went out suddenly towards -the future. His sense of beauty, so acute, so creative, must not be -allowed to develop. It had power to arrest and overwhelm him, to -transform some swift manifestation of loveliness into an essential of -tremendous importance, capable of dwarfing all the other realities of -the world. And then, when the world insistently broke in upon him, he -would be haunted by that flash of appreciation as by the ghost of one -beloved. A moment would light the years, laying them bare, exposing -aspects of existence that he had been happier not to recognize. The -movement of a beautiful hand, for instance, once seen and realized -by him, would become a light in which to consider the movements of -all hands. A phrase of poetry that had once captured his mind would -dwell in it and gather significance from his experience. Margaret’s -hair--though he had forgotten Margaret--had become for him a symbol; -and yet, not her hair as a whole, but her hair as he had seen it at a -certain instant. In his memory the association of colour and light and -movement never varied. He had no recollection of the appearance of her -hair at any time but at this moment which his imagination had endowed -with permanency.... John realized that it was necessary for him to -blunt this sense, which was for ever creating within his imagination a -background to the immediate circumstance. He put it to himself in this -way: - -“Seeing that I am to be a naval officer, the sooner I shape myself to -Service conditions the better.” Then he added aloud: “It’s better not -to think too much about those other things.” - -Fane-Herbert looked up in surprise. “What other things?” - -“The things outside your job that you can’t ever reach. If I were to -have a painter’s training and could ever paint that hair, or a writer’s -and could ever describe it, then----” - -“Are you still thinking about Margaret?” - -This renewed association of personality with his symbol startled John. -“No,” he said, “I wasn’t thinking about your sister. It might have been -anyone’s hair for that matter.” - -As they turned into a shop to have tea, John said suddenly: “You -remember that I told you how the Padre offered to lend me poetry -and then said I should be happier if I didn’t read it?... I’ve just -understood what he was driving at.” - - -III - -If the conditions of John’s life are to be understood, Gunroom -Evolutions must be once described. The detail of this part of his and -his companions’ training need not be referred to a second time. - -The Evolution evening of which an account is to be given was not an -isolated or exceptional incident in the junior midshipmen’s lives. It -was part of a persistent treatment to which they were subjected, with -fluctuating vigour, so long as they remained in the _King Arthur_. It -was not applied every night. Sometimes there was an interval of over a -week between two successive applications, and, indeed, towards the end -of their service in the _King Arthur_ there were intervals even greater -than this. The length of the intervals depended upon the leisure and -the inclination of the senior midshipmen. But the treatment, though -not regular, was never definitely suspended. It was seldom possible -to say with certainty on any afternoon, “There will be no Evolutions -to-night.” They were always likely to occur, and when they did there -was no way of escape. The junior midshipmen grew to expect them, -to remember suddenly in the happiest moment of an afternoon leave -what the evening might have in store. The dread of these Evolutions -permeated their waking life, entering their minds when on or off duty, -interrupting their work in School, colouring their speech, inspiring -their manner with furtiveness and bitterness, with resentment and fear. -Only from the letters they wrote home were the Evolutions excluded, -for they did their utmost to make their people believe that they were -happy. - -The _King Arthur_ sailed for Gibraltar early in October. During the -day the midshipmen carried out sea routine, keeping their watches on -deck or in the Engine-room. Krame made his arrangements for the evening -with so much success that, as a result of careful interchange, the -midshipmen who, from eight to midnight, kept the first watch below and -on the bridge were three of intermediate seniority, Norgate, Hambling, -and Ollenor. Reedham, the only one remaining of the intermediate group, -left the Gunroom after dinner at the same time as Winton-Black, and -purposely did not return. So it happened that, when mess was over, -and when the midshipmen of the Last Dog had finished their later -watch-dinner, the five senior and the six junior midshipmen were left -in the Gunroom together. - -“Warts, fall in! Howdray, you are the mate of the ship’s biscuits. -Elstone, you might look out for the water.” - -“Water? What the hell do you want water for?” - -Krame pointed to where the junior midshipmen stood in single rank. -“These six young gentlemen,” he said “have not yet been christened. -They are--what’s the word?--unregenerate. As I, being Senior Midshipman -in this ’ere Gunroom, am responsible for the young gentlemen’s -spiritual, bodily, and moral welfare, I propose to christen them. -Therefore water, Elstone.” - -“I knew all about that,” said Elstone, “but what I mean is, why not -christen them in crême de menthe? It’s stickier.” - -Howdray’s great voice shouted in protest. “And whose wine bill is to go -down the young gentlemen’s necks?” - -“Besides,” said Tintern solemnly, “it would ruin their shirts, you -know.” - -“Damn their shirts!” Krame answered. “They can buy new ones, can’t -they? They ought to be rich enough. They don’t spend their money on -anything, so far as I can see--no women, no card bill, no extra extras, -no wine bill to speak of.... But I’m with you, Howdray. We won’t waste -crême de menthe on them.” - -“It might go down to themselves,” Banford-Smith kindly suggested. - -“Lot of good that would be,” Howdray grumbled, “seeing that we have -their wine bills.” - -“Water be it,” said Krame. “The jug’s on the slab, Elstone. Howdray, -the biscuits are in my locker, just above your head.” - -From his place in the line John watched Howdray climb on to the settee -and fetch the material for the christening. Krame and Elstone sat at -the end of the table, Elstone next the pantry hatch and Krame nearer -the ship’s side. On Krame’s left was Howdray, now sliding back into -his place and arranging the huge ship’s biscuits on the table in -front of him. Further for’ard, sprawling on the settee, and engaged -in a competition of blowing smoke-rings at their liqueur glasses, -were Tintern and Banford-Smith, who seemed less interested than the -others in the business of the evening. Elstone regarded it, perhaps -thoughtlessly, as a tremendous joke; Howdray was frankly a bully of -the old fashion, great in bulk but not in strength, good-humoured on -occasions, happy-go-lucky, for ever at war with authority, a creature -of vast appetites and weak control. Only Krame seemed to derive genuine -pleasure from the proceedings. He possessed a quick, almost brilliant -mind. He was handsome, popular in polite shore-going circles, an -efficient officer, admired, on account of his easy manner and soft, -smiling lips, by women and by men whose acquaintance with him was -but superficial. He enjoyed Gunroom Evolutions. He used to tell his -dance partners about them. It pleased him to play the autocrat in -Oriental style, to see human beings--no matter at what cost in pain to -themselves--subjected to his will. Even as John watched him, he called -the junior midshipmen to attention and stood them at ease again half a -dozen times in quick succession, not because by doing so he served any -purpose, but because he liked to hear his own voice giving orders. He -smiled complacently to see them spring to attention at his behest. He -pretended that they had not moved smartly enough, and turned down the -corners of his mouth in an absurd grimace of disapproval. - -Over the table the electric lights beneath their yellow shades swung -with the slow motion of the ship. The air was swirling and blue with -tobacco smoke that clung in long wreaths to the nap of the red and -black tablecloth. The temperature was high, and the atmosphere foul -with the odour of food, for a threatening sea had caused the scuttles -to be shut, and no one had troubled to open them again. - -Krame left his place and seated himself regally on a chair between the -table and the door. On his right stood Elstone with a jug of water, on -his left Howdray, clutching an armful of ship’s biscuits. - -“Now, first Wart forward. At the run!” - -Sentley, who was on the right of the line, hurried from his place and -stood at attention before Krame. - -“On the knee!... ’Shun!... On the knee!” The spectators roared to see -Sentley clambering from one position to the other. Howdray picked up a -thick cane from the sideboard and hit Sentley as he knelt. - -“Come on,” he said, “get a move on. ’Shun! Now, at the order ‘Kneeling -position--place,’ you’ll drop on your knees--understand?--drop, not let -yourself down like an old woman.... Kneeling position--place!” - -Sentley went down. His knees brought up hard against the deck. He kept -his body and head erect, his hands to his sides. Banford-Smith and -Tintern climbed out of their places on the settee; one perched himself -on the edge of the table behind Howdray, the other found a convenient -seat by the piano. - -“The child,” said Krame, after the manner of a gunnery instructor, -“will incline the ’ead forward in a reverent attitood and assoom a -mournful aspect. ’E will now repeat the Warts’ Creed.” - -Sentley repeated that parody of the Apostles’ Creed which had been -given to each junior midshipman earlier in the day. “I believe in the -Sub Almighty, master of every Wart, and in Peter Krame, ’is noble ’elp, -our Lord ...” and so on to the end. No senior midshipman protested -against this Creed, no junior midshipman refused to repeat it. - -When he was silent, a ship’s biscuit, thick and tough, was beaten and -beaten on Sentley’s head until the biscuit broke. Howdray was about to -pour water from the jug when Banford-Smith restrained him. “Cut out the -water,” he said, “it will make such a damned mess on the deck.” - -Each junior midshipman came forward in turn, dropped on his knees, was -struck with Howdray’s stick if he dropped not fast enough, bowed his -head, repeated the Creed, and had a biscuit broken upon him. John, -because he stood on the left of the line, came last. When the ceremony -was over, Krame glanced behind him. - -“Now let’s have a hymn,” he said to Tintern. - -“What hymn?” - -“Any old hymn--something to celebrate the young gentlemen’s -regeneration. Lynwood will lead the singing. All Warts will support -him.” - -Tintern emptied a glass of port, squared himself to the piano, and beat -out the first chords of No. 165. Not only the Warts sang it; the senior -midshipmen, tired of the many repetitions of the christening ceremony, -were glad of a chance to make a noise. - -“_O Gawd, our ’elp in ages pa-ha-hast._” This prolongation was in -response to Tintern’s improvised chords and runs. “_Our ’ope for years -to come._” The voices swelled to a roar, and paused for breath. In the -momentary silence the ship rolled deeply; the sea came surging over a -scuttle and receded, leaving wisps of luminous foam. “_Our shelter from -the stormy bla-ha-hast, And our eternal_----” - -Tintern was beating the keyboard with his doubled fists as a kind -of desperate finale. The wild discords screamed under the steel -bars overhead. A locker flew open, and by a lurch of the ship all -it contained was shot across the Gunroom. A Manual of Seamanship, -a “Child’s Guide,” a writing-case, a Gunnery Drill-Book, and a box -of instruments, lay scattered on the table amid a pile of crumpled -letters. An Oxford Bible was open and face downwards on the deck. Near -it a bottle of ink, streaming its contents, rolled to and fro. Finally, -there fell from the locker a photograph of Driss’s mother. He started -forward to gather up his possessions. - -“Fall in, damn you!” Krame shouted. “Who told you to fall out?” - -Driss went on. - -Krame stood up. “Come here, Driss. Did you hear me tell you to fall in?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well?” - -“I am going to pick up my things before they are spoilt.” - -“Why don’t you keep your locker properly shut? Look at the ink on the -deck. I’ve a damned good mind--by God, you shall lick it up!” - -Driss’s face was pale, his Irish eyes dangerous. Tintern leaned -sideways in his seat and took Krame by the arm. - -“Dry up, you fool!” he said in an undertone, and turned back to the -piano. He had tact, moreover. - -“_O Gawd, our ’elp in ages pa-ha-hast...._” Before the chorus was ended -Driss had secured his locker and quietly fallen in again. - -The next Evolution was known alternatively by two names--one, “The -Angostura Hunt”; the other, which was sometimes attached in other -Gunrooms to an Evolution slightly different, “Creeping for Jesus.” -John was the first taken. Thrust on his knees near the serving slab, -he was blindfolded with two handkerchiefs. He could hear the senior -midshipmen’s voices. “Lay it here.... No, not under the table. We -can’t get at him under the table.... There, that will do. Replace the -bitters, Elstone.” - -“Can you see?” asked Krame. - -“No.” - -“Can you smell?” - -“Yes.” - -“Can you feel?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, that’s what is wanted--a good scent, and probably a bit of -feeling before you’re through with it.” He cleared his throat. “Now, -Lynwood, somewhere in the Gunroom is a piece of bread on the deck. -Between you and the bread is a trail of Angostura bitters--pungent, so -as to make it easy. You’ve got to find the bread by scent and pick it -up with your mouth. No feeling with your hands, mind you. Put his nose -on the trail, someone.” - -Hands seized John’s head and thrust it downwards. “Got it? Smell it?” - -“Not yet.” - -“Give him a sniff at the bottle.... Got it now?” - -“Yes.” - -“Right. Wait for the order to commence.... Stand by. Go!” - -John began to crawl along the floor. They were shouting at him to go -faster. “Get a move on. Good dog. Good dog. ---- ----! the beggar isn’t -trying. Let him have it, Howdray.” - -A cane sang through the air and fell upon John’s legs, sang and fell -again. The blood ran to his head. The smell of corticine and dust -sickened him. The blows were falling rapidly now. Someone other than -Howdray seized a stick and sent the pain shooting through John’s body. -He saw now the reason for this creeping position--the excellence of the -target it provided. If he could but regain the scent and get to the end -of it! But the scent was gone, and he could not steady himself. The -weight of his body on his hands was making his wrists ache. The noise -was deafening. On his palms the dust seemed inches thick. When he tried -to rise, they thrust him down again.... - -Behind the bandage on his eyes was scarlet blindness, and he was -visited by a sense of the desperate impotence of the blind. The words -of those shouting above him conveyed no clear meaning to him now. They -were giving him guidance, he thought. There was a medley of cries: -“Port! Starboard!... He doesn’t know his port from his starboard hand.” -A stick fell again. - -“Give him a chance, Howdray. Still a moment; I’ll put him on the -trail.” This was Tintern’s voice. - -But help was unavailing. Perhaps some foot had extinguished the trail; -at any rate, even with Tintern’s guidance, John could not detect the -scent. He groped forward to no purpose. Banford-Smith, sliding from -the table, stood unintentionally on his fingers, causing him so much -pain that, though he was now too bitter to cry out, he reeled from his -track. A moment later his hand touched something wet--perhaps the blood -from beneath his crushed finger-nail, perhaps no more than Driss’s -ink. He neither knew nor cared. In his head, which he dared not raise -from the ground, it seemed that fire was burning. His temples and his -eyes were throbbing as if they would burst. He paused bewildered, and -instantly sticks fell on him again.... It would never, never end. -Perhaps he was going to faint. He wished he might. That might end it -for the evening at least. That might end it all. - -Shouts, forcing themselves upon his consciousness, suggested that he -was near the bread he was seeking. He groped in the dust with his teeth -and tongue, hoping he might end his quest. The grit was about his lips -and in his nostrils. - -Then the bandage shifted, and he saw the bread. He did not dare to -seize it immediately lest they should guess that he could see, but he -worked slowly towards it and picked it up between his teeth. A great -burst of cheering followed, vague cheering, such as he remembered -having heard when, down and out in a boxing competition, he had been -dragged by his seconds to his corner. Presently he found himself -leaning against the table, the bandage having been pulled away. The -sweat was dripping from his forehead and stinging in his eyes. His -whole body ached. He stooped, brushed the dust mechanically from the -knees of his trousers, and tried to smile to show that he was “taking -it well.” And there was Fane-Herbert’s face, indistinct as though seen -through a heat wave, wearing that proud, resentful, unforgiving look. - -“Have a drink,” said Howdray, his stick still in his hand. “Dry work on -the deck, eh?” He rang the bell. “You did it in pretty good time, too.” - -“Pretty--good--time?” said John slowly, as if he did not understand. -“Pretty good time? I thought it was ages.” - -Soon he was taking a glass off the tray that the steward held out to -him. - -“Cheer-oh!” said Howdray. - -“Cheer-oh!” John answered, and drank thirstily. He sat on the extreme -edge of the table, watching, with set eyes, how the others repeated his -performance. The shouts and the crashes of the canes came up to him as -from a dream. Soon Cunwell was beside him, drinking too. Fane-Herbert -refused to drink. Sentley came last of all. - -“Fall in again,” Krame was saying. “Fall in!” - -They stood in line, awaiting the resumption. It seemed as though -more would be unendurable; but John’s glance at the clock, combined -with his knowledge that the Evolutions would continue until the -Mess was compulsorily closed, showed him that as yet they had but -began. Hitherto they had been called upon only to act singly, and the -Gunroom’s limited space had added nothing to their troubles, but now -an obstacle race was being planned. Of this John had had previous -experience. He knew that it meant fighting with his own friends in an -attempt not to be last. - -The course, as designed by Krame, was long and difficult. They were to -go out of the Gunroom, aft through the Chest Flat, through a watertight -door on the bulkhead, on to the half-deck, into the Smoking Casemate, -round the pedestal of the gun, out of the Casemate, for’ard through the -Chest Flat and into the Gunroom again by the after door. Arrived there, -they were to pass between the stove and the wall, over the table from -port to starboard, between the settee and the table’s edge, under the -table from starboard to port, along the deck to the Gunroom’s after -end, under the table from aft for’ard, over it from for’ard aft, and -out of the Gunroom once more. They had then to go by way of the Chest -Flat ladder on to the upper deck and to the after twelve-pounder gun in -the port battery. Here they would find a signal pad, from which each -was to detach a sheet. With this prize they were to run to the Gunroom, -and, as Krame remarked, the Lord help the hindmost.... - -The six of them started together. They fought at the narrow door of the -Gunroom. They sped through the dim light of the Chest Flat, doubled -up and with knees bent that they might pass below the hammocks slung -there by the marines. In the Casemate it was impossible for more than -one at a time to pass between the pedestal and the armour beneath the -gun-port. Elstone stood above them as they wriggled through the narrow -space, thrusting each other aside, tearing their clothes, hitting their -heads and knees and elbows against the projections of brass and steel. -They reeled out of the Casemate, not now packed close, but divided by -the intervals that the delay at the gun-pedestal had created. John -was the second to reach the Gunroom. When, having passed behind the -stove, he was about to go over the table, he heard them shouting at -Fane-Herbert, who had entered last. But none dared pause. Over the -table they went, and headforemost on to the deck beneath it; under and -aft, under the table again, canes urging on those in rear, and falling -haphazard across knuckles and arms. Already John was spent; all were -spent. Their legs trembled beneath them. They coughed amid the dust. -Under a hail of blows they battled at the Gunroom door, swept beyond it -through the Chest Flat for the third time, and rattled up the ladder -into the cool, sweet air of the upper deck. At the battery gun, during -the few moments he had to wait before he could tear his sheet from -the signal pad, John caught sight of the great phosphorescence of the -sea. Above him the masts tapered to a dark, clear sky. Smoke drove -ghost-like from the funnels. For’ard the lamps were gleaming in the -charthouse windows, and near at hand, in the uncertain light of the -battery, seamen stood smoking round their spitkids, gazing with an -expression of amusement and contempt at their officers being licked -into shape. - -As John raced away with his sheet of paper he heard Fane-Herbert -muttering to himself: “Oh be damned to them! I’m last, any way. I’m not -going to hurry any more.” - -They burst into the Gunroom, thrust their sheets of paper into Krame’s -hands, and stood there trembling with exhaustion and pain. Dyce seemed -to be on the verge of losing control. His face was working. They had -fear that his nerves would yield, that he would break, as can even -the strongest men, into ungovernable tears. The atmosphere was charged -with a strange emotion--the emotion that, as it were a sudden fever, -sometimes grips a mob, cutting it free from the restraints men impose -upon themselves, casting it back into the primitive conditions of -self-defence and self-assertion. If Dyce had given way, his collapse -might well have been a signal for forgetfulness of the difference -between senior and junior midshipmen, for a complete abandonment of -control. Near him John could hear Driss--of all of them the youngest in -appearance, the most clearly a simple-minded, high-spirited boy--saying -over and over again to himself: “My God, I want to kill! I want to -kill!” His fingers were twined among the tablecloth, as if thereby -he held them in check. Now he was making odd, inarticulate sounds in -his throat. John saw his face, and turned quickly from the flaming -bitterness he read there. There were passions streaming through Driss, -passions utterly foreign to his apparent nature, fierce desires, called -up from God knew what animal depths, upon which it was not good to look. - -Last by thirty seconds, Fane-Herbert entered without signs of haste. -And they put him over the table, and pulled out his shirt, and tried -to flog the pride out of him. He did not move through it all, and when -it was over, with his fine mouth set, he turned away from the faces -grinning above the canes. - -“Fall in again!” Krame said. “Fall in, I say!” - -Evolution followed Evolution: the obstacle race in reverse order; -an affair called Torpedoes, that consisted essentially in hurling -the junior midshipmen’s bodies along the table against the for’ard -bulkhead; and half a dozen others, the product of Krame’s ingenuity. -Even the flame in Driss died down. There comes a time when resistance, -even mental resistance, disappears. The limbs move as they are told. - -At ten o’clock a ship’s corporal tapped at the door and announced that -it was time to close the Gunroom. - -“Last drinks,” said Krame, and rang the bell. “Warts fall out!” - -Somehow they opened their sea-chests, got out of their clothes, -scrambled aft, and swung themselves into their hammocks. Once in his, -John lay as he was, not caring even to creep between the blankets. He -lay staring at the white-painted T-bar within a few inches of his face, -listening to the rifles, which were stored near by, clicking to and fro -in their racks with each roll of the ship. The half-deck sentry passed -him now and then. Somewhere a pump groaned continually. From the open -door of the Wardroom came the sound of voices and laughter and snatches -of song. - -John did not sleep. He lay inert, capable of no consecutive thought. -He went on repeating catchwords to himself, counting the groans of the -pump, counting the sentry’s footsteps, sucking his damaged finger, -running his hand over the rough surface of the canvas hammock. Despite -his efforts to banish so tormenting a vision, again and again he saw -himself crouched in the window-seat of a sun-strewn library, now -looking out to the hills, now turning the pages of a book. He saw the -excellence of open print; almost he heard a clock ticking.... In less -than two hours, Ollenor, who had been keeping the first watch, shook -his hammock. - -“Lynwood!” - -“Yes, I’m awake.” - -“About ten minutes to eight bells. Your middle watch.” - -“All right; thanks.” - -He swung out on to the deck, went to his chest, and put on -watch-keeping clothes. - -On the bridge Ollenor turned over to him such information as he would -need for his watch. When Ollenor had gone, John glanced at the dim -figure of the officer of the watch on the upper bridge. Then, passing -the Quartermaster at the wheel, he stood by the semaphore and looked -aft, beyond the funnels and the boat deck, at the lights of the next -astern. Presently he turned his face for’ard and took off his cap, and -let the wind blow among his hair. Soon he must take a sextant on to -the upper bridge and help the officer of the watch keep station; but -now he stood inactive, one hand on the cool steel of a searchlight. -The incomparable peace of the wide sky; the throb of the main engines; -the rising and dipping lights of the fleet--there was sweet, timeless -monotony in these things. Far below him the cut foam was hissing -against the bows. Behind him the pipe of the boatswain’s mate was -shrilling and shrilling again. - -And Krame was asleep, and the hand of God over the sea. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -WAR, CARPETS, AND CANDLES - - -I - -The fleet put in to Arosa Bay, and, in less than twelve hours, sailed -thence without regret. On the day following their departure an event -occurred which, for the time being, changed the lives of every member -of the _King Arthur’s_ company. Late in the forenoon watch a wireless -signal was received and immediately submitted to the Rear-Admiral. This -much of its contents became public: that the Admiralty had ordered the -Cruiser Squadron, which at the time was making common speed with the -battleships, to proceed independently to Gibraltar at sixteen knots. -This speed, unusual and uneconomical enough to suggest that there was -serious reason for it, combined with the tension already created in -men’s minds by the happenings at Agadir, gave wonderful import to the -news, which spread with almost magical rapidity from the bridge to -the officers’ messes, from the fo’c’s’le to the boiler-room depths. -Speculation as to the meaning of the order was anxious and eager. -Rumours of war had in times past been so frequent as to colour all -prophecies with scepticism, but hope remained--hope that now at length -the consummation was at hand. The Rear-Admiral unbent so far as to -jest with the officer of the watch. The Yeoman of Signals overheard -him, and repeated his words on the lower bridge. The lower bridge -handed on the tale to the boatswain’s mate, who, having embellished -it, shared its marvel with the lower deck. In a quarter of an hour -the Rear-Admiral’s good-humour had permeated the ship. A Paymaster -celebrated it in the Wardroom Casemate by paying for a round of drinks. -The Senior Engineer put on clean overalls and went smiling below. -The stokers grumbled no more, but fired their boilers and slammed -their furnace-doors with vigorous enthusiasm. They were not going to -Gibraltar now to carry out gun-practice in Catalan Bay, gun-practice -in Tetuan, gun-practice in Catalan again. “Sixteen knots!” remarked a -Chief Stoker, with emphasis that made explanation unnecessary. “Sixteen -knots!” said one of the carpenter’s crew. “Looks as if we shan’t need -them targets wi’ the little red sails.” - -Even in the Gunroom, comradeship displaced boredom. The Chaplain -relaxed discipline during School. Baring came in to drink a glass of -sherry and to share Wardroom opinion with Winton-Black. Midshipmen, -senior, intermediate, and junior, looked towards the future from a -common standpoint. The Clerk saw his ledger shrouded in the mists -of the past. His action-station, he said a dozen times, was with -the Dumaresq. “You won’t see much of the show from the Dumaresq,” -said Banford-Smith, and the Clerk replied humbly, but with complete -happiness: “No, but it’s better than the Ship’s Office.” - -There was, too, a wonderful moment in which Krame seemed to forget -that John was a Wart whose duty it was to tidy up the Gunroom, to -polish the stove-pipes, and to do scuttle-drill when the sea ran high -and ventilation became necessary. - -“Come on deck, Lynwood,” he said. “We had better have a glance round -our guns for minor defects.” - -They strolled on deck together and visited every casemate in their -group. In that time they were friends, officers charged with a common -responsibility. The great game was about to begin, the game for which -the whole Service had been training for many weary years. All routine, -all hardness, all drudgery had become suddenly worth while. Spirit had -entered into the flesh. - -At no time while he served in the _King Arthur_ was John happier. He -and Fane-Herbert, knowing nothing of war, congratulated themselves -upon the fact that it had come to them so early in their careers. “And -isn’t it amazing what a difference it makes?” said Fane-Herbert. “The -Gunroom is changed. All the senior snotties act as though we were their -friends.” - -“I expect they would be better in the ordinary course,” John answered, -“if they got more leave clear away from the ship, and weren’t so -infernally bored by unbroken routine.” - -But the excitement and its excellent effect endured not long. When they -arrived at Gibraltar nothing happened. The next day, while they coaled -ship, hope waned. “Come on, lads,” cried a petty officer to encourage -the grimy workers, “that’s about where Agadir lies.” He pointed a -finger towards Africa. But they laughed at him and glanced at the -coaling flags that told them how their work progressed. “Six ’undred -more to come,” they said; “six ’undred more ton....” - -And when they sailed from Gibraltar, their destination was Catalan Bay, -their prospect gun-practice. The ship’s company added another memory to -their list of war scares, and suffered from the inevitable reaction. - - -II - -The essential element in gun-practice and range keeping exercises is -waiting with nothing to do--waiting till the target is ready, waiting -till the ship’s turn comes, waiting while a passing merchant ship fouls -the range, waiting while the important people in the controls make -abstruse calculations with which the men at the guns have no concern. -The monotony is varied by gun-drill, but even gun-drill palls. The -hours pass slowly. The eyes stare at the expressionless breech of -the gun until, tiring of that, they stare at the red wheel above the -ammunition hoist. Often they stare at the bugler as he passes the open -door of the casemate, and prayers go up that ultimately he may sound -the “Secure.” The captain of the gun, sick of the limited topics which -can be discussed within the hearing of the officer whose head is in -the sighting-hood, produces rags and a tin, and proceeds to polish -bright work already immaculate. Then he puts away his rags and tin, and -watches the bugler again. - -Coming into Gibraltar for a week-end, John played in a cricket -match, in which, for lack of training, the batting was poor and the -bowling without sting. Gunroom Evolutions had long begun again. Krame -had forgotten the incident of the “minor defects,” and the junior -midshipmen were Warts without cease. In Tetuan Bay the natives ashore -appeared, to those who watched them through telescopes, to be carrying -on warfare. There were rifle flashes and smoke, and bodies of men -moving hastily hither and thither. No one cared very much. To the -midshipmen it meant something to record in the personal log-books they -submitted each Sunday morning to the Captain.... - -It was in Tetuan Bay, too, perhaps during the warfare, perhaps during -some other similar week after peace had been declared, that the ship’s -company bathed--the officers from the starboard after gangway, the -men for’ard from the port lower boom. John, as midshipman of the -watch, was on the quarter-deck, watching the clock for the time at -which he should recall the men from the water by ordering the bugler -to sound the “Retire.” Suddenly, on the port quarter, he caught sight -of the unmistakable fin. Sharks were not then to be expected in that -part of the world. He looked again, this time through a telescope. -“Quartermaster, what do you make of that?” - -The Quartermaster borrowed the telescope. “Yessir. Shark, sir.” - -John wheeled round. “Bugler! Sound the ‘Retire’ and sound the ‘Double.’ -Go on sounding it until you are sure that all men in the water have -heard. Sound it first to the officers on the starboard side.... -Boatswain’s-mate! Go and pipe by the lower boom: ‘Shark on the port -quarter. All hands return to the ship.’ Warn the boat.” - -John called for a megaphone and summoned courage to address the -Commander, who, in the water, was very much like the rest of mankind. -It was bad enough to have sounded the “Retire” at him. - -“Commander, sir!” - -The Commander, much to John’s surprise, held up his hand to show he had -heard, just as John himself, had he been away in a boat, would have -held up his hand to indicate attention to the Commander’s orders. - -“Shark on the port quarter, sir!” - -The Commander raised himself an instant from the water and made a -funnel of his hands. “Get the men out,” he shouted, and swam towards -the ship. The other officers followed him. He met John on the top of -the gangway. - -“Like shouting at the Commander?” he demanded. - -John had not liked it. He had thought twice about doing it, but it had -seemed inevitable. Apparently he had done wrong. “I thought, sir----” -he began. - -The Commander grinned and shook the drops from him. “Go on, boy. I’m -not an ogre. You did quite right. Very smartly, too.” - - -III - -Early in November, when the day of joining the _King Arthur_ seemed -to be separated from the present by a lifetime, instead of by little -more than a month, of experience, and when the prospect of Christmas -leave, not infinitely remote, coloured even the present with hope, -John had an adventure in night boat work. For him the day had been -more than usually strenuous. The _King Arthur_ had been at sea for -Commander-in-Chief’s firing. From half-past eight in the morning until -half-past seven at night, John had been almost continuously on duty. -It had happened, as sometimes it must happen, that when he was not on -watch he was required in a duty boat, and when neither in a boat nor on -the bridge, he had had to go to his gun. At dinner he thought his day -was over, and, Krame having chosen a sing-song that night in preference -to Gunroom Evolutions, he settled down to read as best he could among -the choruses. But soon after nine a cutter was called away again. -Banford-Smith, whose duty it should have been, had advanced too far -into a cheerful evening to venture out into the night. Some midshipman -must run the boat, and the choice fell upon John. - -Fortunately the evening was fine, for the trip seemed likely to be -long. It appeared that the _Vera_ was bringing or had brought into -harbour a target of which the _King Arthur_ stood in need. This target -required repairs and a new sail. “And first of all,” added the officer -of the watch, “you’ve got to find the thing.” - -“Where is the _Vera_ lying, sir?” John asked. - -“The Lord knows! The bridge seems to have lost her. She hasn’t come to -her buoy yet. But go to the dockyard wall first. The target is probably -there already. If it isn’t, you’ll have to look round till you find the -_Vera_, and make enquiries.” - -John ran down the gangway into his cutter, seated himself on the -“dicky,” and gave orders to shove off. The oars dropped into the water -and the boat drew away from the ship. On one hand, the many lights -of the Fleet winked at their reflections in the smooth water; on the -other, the great rock, magnified by the night, and speckled with the -illumination of innumerable windows, rose, dark and gigantic, against -the sky. When the wall was reached they searched in vain for the -target, and turned to cruise the harbour in quest of the _Vera_. - -Although he was tired and needed sleep before the morrow’s coaling, -he was glad that he had come. The click of the oars’ looms and the -hiss of their blades, the spring at the beginning and the slackening -at the end of each stroke, the ripple and suck about the stern, the -regular breathing of the crew and the synchronous creaking of their -stretchers, bespoke a romance that was not the romance of steel ships. -The coxswain sat motionless, his hand on the tiller, as rugged as a -statue rough-hewn in wood. Clustered in the stern sheets, with their -bags of glistening tools, the carpenter’s party lent emphasis to man’s -silence by their occasional whispering. John’s gaze strayed for’ard: -the white gleaming of the crew’s faces and of their hands curved over -the ears grew more and more indistinct towards the bows, and the line -of gunwale shrank to a delicate thread. - -Swing, catch, and an easy stroke; the gleam, the dip, and the swirl -of blades; the hidden faces and the arms outstretched, the arms drawn -in and the faces raised. And he, above them, commanding them, passed -among the shadows of great ships into the darkness. On either hand the -little bow-wave ran out lapping, and flattened itself wide of the stern. - -“Don’t see no _Vera_, sir,” said the coxswain. - -“Not yet.” - -“’Adn’t we better arst, sir?” - -“Ask? Where?” - -“Report at the ship for orders, sir.” - -“The orders were to find the _Vera_.” John had no intention of -returning to the _King Arthur_ and confessing himself defeated. - -“Don’t think we’ll find ’er, pullin’ round the ’arbour, sir--not -to-night, anyway.” - -John had made up his mind. He would seek information elsewhere. The -helm was put over a little. At no great distance from him, lay the -_London_. At first he thought of going alongside her and asking her -officer of the watch for the position of the _Vera_, but he dismissed -this idea when he realized that this was no polite hour for midshipmen -to pay calls. Moreover, a story of his being lost might easily become -a jest in the Wardrooms of the Fleet. - -“Goin’ alongside the _London_, sir?” - -“No. When she hails, answer ‘passing.’ I’m going to stop under her -bridge.” - -Came the hail: “Boat ahoy!” - -“Passing!” - -Judging the amount of way necessary to carry his boat to the -forebridge, John very quietly gave the order: “Oars!” The rowing -ceased, and the water licked at the sides. Presently the cutter was -still. - -“Hail the bridge,” John said, “and ask the signalman of the watch for -the _Vera_. Hail quietly, so that they can’t hear you aft.” - -The coxswain stood up. “_London_”--a thick sound, for it is no -easy thing to hail quietly. Then a little louder, in a tone almost -melodramatic: “_London_ ... _London_ ... _London_--bridge!” - -The bowman could not resist it. “Change at the Elephant an’ Castle!” - -The crew heard. The crew choked down a laugh hurtful to the coxswain’s -dignity. He turned on them. - -“Knock orf chawin’ yer fat there,” he said angrily, and silence fell. -Someone peered over the bridge rails. - -“D’you know where the _Vera_ ’angs out?” the coxswain asked quickly, -before the other had time to hail him. - -“Lyin’ outside at anchor. Comin’ to ’er buoy to-morrer.” - -“Outside the ruddy ’arbour?” - -“Yes.” - -“Gawd!” The coxswain sat down disconsolately. “We shall ’ave a night of -it,” he observed. - -The music of the oars began again. They pulled slowly between the -ships, beyond the ships, out of the harbour. Soon the _Vera_, an -outpost of twinkling lights, beyond which lay the open sea, was hailing -them. Much to his surprise, John was welcomed by the officer of the -watch. - -“That infernal target?” he said. “It _is_ alongside the wall--right at -the far end. What an hour to send you out after it! I’m afraid you have -a long job of repairs; it was knocked about a bit. Come down into the -Wardroom before you start.” - -John went below and accepted whisky and soda, an illegal proceeding, -for by regulation he was too young to drink spirits. They offered -cigarettes, and when he refused to smoke one because his crew was -waiting, they gave him a handful to take away with him. - -“You’ll have time to smoke them all before you get home to-night,” said -the Gunnery Lieutenant. “Well, so long. You will have luck if you are -turned in before the end of the middle watch. Sorry you have had so far -to come.” - -A long pull shoreward brought the cutter at last to the target. John -turned out the carpenter’s party and all the boat’s crew save one, whom -he kept with him as a boat-keeper. John soon found that in the man he -had retained he was to have a remarkable companion. He came aft, seated -himself in the stern sheets, and looked up expectantly. - -“’Ave a smoke, sir?” - -“Yes; carry on smoking.” - -“’Ave a cigar, sir?” - -John hesitated. He would have felt safer with one of the _Vera’s_ -cigarettes. He was not inured to cigars, but for company’s sake he took -one and lighted it. - -“Funny thing, sir,” the man said, “these night trips always make me -feel mysterious-like. You feel more powerful some’ow in the dark. Do it -take you that way, sir?” - -“Powerful?” John asked, wondering how much this had in common with his -own sensation. - -“Same as you feel, sir, when you’re alone, an’ there ain’t no one to -see ’ow small you are. I always thinks then o’ the things I might do -if I liked--but it don’t seem a fair advantage to take o’ folk what -aren’t made the same way.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“It’s this way, sir. You see, I can make people do things--anything. -I don’t rightly know what the name of it is--’ypnotism, or mesmerism, -or the like. It don’t make much odds what they call it. But I can make -people do things all right, I can, an’ ’ere they are makin’ me do -things all day. I’m a proper bad ’at, I am--always on the carpet. I get -to feel angry like, knowin’ the power I ’ave. I did a turn at a ship’s -concert once--afore you young gen’lemen joined--an’ the Commander, ’e -won’t ’ave me doin’ it no more.” - -“Could you make me do things now?” - -The man held up a finger. “I could make you ’op into the water, sir.” -John looked over the side, and the voice went on. “An’ if I went up -close to ’em, I could make the ruddy carpenter’s party stand on their -ruddy ’eads an’ stop there. An’ if I stepped out in front of ’em, an’ -the ship’s police kep’ their ’ands off, I could make the Captain an’ -the Commander do a cake-walk at Sunday Divisions, I could.” - -“Why on earth don’t you?” said John. - -“Oh, it wouldn’t never do, sir. That ain’t Service, sir--the orficers -cake-walkin’. I should be doin’ detention for the rest o’ me mortal.... -Besides, that ain’t what I likes doin’--sing-song turns, an’ funny -stunts, an’ the like.” He looked away, and his words drifted into -vagueness, being no longer addressed to an audience. “I likes talkin’ -to a crowd an’ seein’ ’em all comin’ round, comin’ round gradual-like, -not knowin’ ’ow or why, all of ’em comin’ round to my way o’ thinkin’. -They don’t agree to start off, but soon I sees ’em noddin’ their ’eads, -an’ smilin’ an’ smilin’, an’ sayin’ ‘Aye, aye,’ an’ ‘’Ere, ’ere.’ An’ -their faces looks strange some’ow till they douse the glim.” He paused, -shot out both hands in an expansive gesture, and let them fall again -to his sides. “’Ere I be, Able Seaman, ’undredth class for conduck, -’undredth class for leaf, an’, Gawd Almighty! I might ’a bin Prime -Minister of All England, wi’ the Albert ’All risin’ up to me, jus’ as -if I ’ad ’em on strings....” - -Together they sat there, dreaming vast dreams. Above them the -carpenter’s party was driving in nails. John held his cigar close to -the water, and watched the diffused red of its reflection. When he -dropped it, as if by accident, it fizzled sharply. - -“Dropped yer cigar, sir?” - -“Yes.” - -“’Ave another, sir?” - -“No, thanks.” - -Silence again.... The work on the target was at last completed. Tired -men climbed back into the boat. Oars were got out lazily. It was five -in the morning when they reached the _King Arthur_. A bugle was calling -the hands to coal ship. - - -IV - -The year dragged towards its end. The novelty of night firing wore off. -John was soon to cease watchkeeping on the upper deck and to join the -engineering staff for a period of training. He wrote to his mother, -asking her to send him a pipe, for among the boilers even midshipmen -under eighteen can console themselves with tobacco. Once, with Gunroom -Evolutions in his mind, he wrote: “I think we may have had the worst of -our time in this ship. For a whole week now we have been left pretty -well alone.” But the next evening his hopes were shattered, and the -old business began again. The need of leave, of an interval, however -brief, in which there would be no Krame and no Commander, became -imperative. When they went ashore the junior midshipmen found a place -of refuge in the Garrison Library. There, having paid a small monthly -subscription, they could read the newspapers without fear that Krame -would enter suddenly, and, because one of them was reading _The Times_, -exclaim: “Who has _The Times_? I want _The Times_.” There they could -sit in comfortable chairs, and enjoy teas marvellously inexpensive, -certain--quite certain--that, until the clock told them they must go, -their time was their own. No one would shout at them to pick up paper. -Howdray would not make them put away their letters and write out his -Division List for him. Elstone would not tell them that he wanted a -sketch for his log-book done immediately. In the Garrison Library there -was peace. They could talk without continually glancing over their -shoulders lest someone should enter by the Gunroom door. - -They did talk to their great relief. It was good to plan rebellion, -though they knew nothing could ever spring from their plans. It was -satisfactory to hear, from midshipmen of other ships, that these things -went on not in the _King Arthur_ alone. It was amusing to compare -method and detail, and to congratulate themselves because certain -Evolutions usual in H.M.S ---- and H.M.S. ---- had not yet been devised -by Krame’s inventive mind. - -One afternoon someone brought in news that what was happening in a Home -Fleet ship had leaked out. A complaint had been made to the Admiralty. -A Court of Enquiry had been ordered. Great things were expected to -result from this--perhaps a general reformation. - -“No,” said Fane-Herbert. “Probably they will keep it out of the -papers. And anyhow, people will say: ‘Oh, it’s all an exceptional -case. How terrible! but it’s just an exceptional case.’ There may be a -court-martial. The Sub or someone may get dipped. And then it will blow -over and be forgotten. It won’t make any difference to us.” - -The great day came at last. “This time to-morrow we shall be on our way -home.” - -“They will give us hell going across the Bay. It’s always worse at sea. -No one is away on late leave.” - -“Oh, what does it matter now? Next week we shall be out of it. Think, -sleeping in a bed, and people who don’t shout, and no tidying up the -Gunroom, and no Krame for days on end!” - -“And London....” - -“And pictures, and carpets, and flowers....” - -“And think of meeting a lady again!” said Fane-Herbert. - -They laughed at him for that. “Aren’t there ladies at Gib.?” - -“Yes; but they know the difference between a Lieutenant and a Wart. I -mean a--a _civilian_ lady.... By the way, Lynwood, you must come round -and see my mother and sister. Why not stay with us in Town the first -night of leave, and go down to your own home the next day?” - -John nodded. “Thanks, I should like to.... Think of a day with no -routine!” - -And they laughed again. - - -V - -On that first night of leave for which they had been laying innumerable -and contradictory plans, Fane-Herbert came into John’s room while he -was dressing. He sat down on the bed. - -“Do you know we are to have a great man to dinner to-night?” - -“I thought you insisted that there should be no dinner-party?” - -“So I did. This isn’t a party. He’s the only guest. My mother knows him -very well, and, strangely enough, he appears to be an old friend of -your mother’s. He heard you were going to be here to-night, and invited -himself.” - -“Who is he?” - -“A novelist, a poet, a writer of biography; a very important person -indeed. Can you guess? He has the Order of Merit, the only literary one -except Thomas Hardy’s.” - -“Wingfield Alter, of course. That’s rather terrifying. What is he like?” - -“I haven’t met him for a long time. He used to give me shillings when -I was a small boy, and tell me stories. But that was ten years ago; he -may have changed since then. Margaret likes him, though, so I expect -he is all right.” Fane-Herbert went to the door. “Shall I tell him you -write poetry?” he asked laughingly as he went out. - -“No; for the Lord’s sake don’t be a fool!” - -On his way downstairs John met Margaret. - -“Have you heard of our guest?” she asked. - -“Alter? Yes. Is it an ordeal?” - -“Oh no. He is really a delightful person--tremendously interested in -everything. The only people he can’t endure are old ladies with salons -who pat the lion. Mr. Alter won’t be patted.” - -“Of course he is pleasant to you,” said John. “But, if he knows -anything of the Navy, he won’t have much use for junior midshipmen.” - -“Why not?” - -John did not wish to explain. “Oh,” he said vaguely, “junior midshipmen -are rather looked down on in the Service.” - -“Only by senior midshipmen or their equivalent,” she answered. “You -will find that Mr. Alter doesn’t take much notice of rank--rank of any -kind, I mean, except that of ability.” - -At the foot of the stairs John’s attention was arrested by a portrait -in oils that hung there. - -“Who is that?” he asked. - -“My great-grandmother--on my mother’s side.” - -“She is extraordinarily like you. Is there a portrait of her when she -was your age?” - -“No, I’m afraid not. That was done some time after her marriage. She -was about twenty-six, I believe.” - -The subject of the portrait looked younger. She had Margaret’s wide-set -grey eyes, her dark hair, her clear skin, to which colour flowed richly -only in emotion. And the resemblance went further than the physical, -for John saw above him that expression, so remarkable for its vitality -and yet so comforting in its repose, with which, when he turned his -head, he found Margaret regarding him. In her eyes, though, was the -brightness of laughter, and her great-grandmother had been a grave -sitter. - -“Is it so astonishing?” - -“It is a wonderful portrait. You are sound evidence for the artist.” - -“I had her hung there,” Margaret said, the light of laughter flickering -out--“I had her hung there, at the foot of the stairs, so that I might -see her whenever I came down to a dance or a dinner, and each morning -before the day began. She looks so extraordinarily alive--so interested -in all the world. And now--well, now, so far as the world is concerned, -she’s a picture on the wall and a name in a genealogical table.” - -“And so you use her as a text?” - -“Not that. I don’t attempt to weave philosophies around her. I suppose -it’s an odd form of superstition--at any rate, you can call it that, -if you like. She seems to keep a certain balance----” Margaret paused -suddenly. - -“Isn’t that morbid?” Not till the question was out did he realize that -he had spoken to test her. - -“Morbid?” she repeated. “That’s an easy word with which to dismiss -the things you are afraid of. I’m not in the least afraid of -great-grandmother.... Besides, I don’t think of her as dead. She is the -best of great-grandmothers--extremely practical. She makes compliments -transparent--on her stairs, at any rate.” Margaret laid her hand on the -panels. “And she makes me glad I can _feel_ the grain in this oak.” She -turned away and walked to the bottom of the flight. Then she glanced -up at John with a quick smile. “And sometimes, when I have been lazy, -she sends me up to my room again to change my dress.” - -She took him to admire a lacquer cabinet that stood in the hall. - -“I expect you like looking at and touching these things? I know I -should, if I had been long in a warship.” - -John rejoiced in her understanding. “Carpets,” he said, “are the -unceasing wonders; and the sound of dresses, and candles!” - -“Candles? Do you remember that phrase in a poem of yours--‘the -spear-head flames’?” - -“Yes. How did you see it?” - -“Hugh sent home the copy you gave him. And--do you mind?--I showed it -and other poems of yours, without your name, of course, to a friend of -ours, a man whose judgment people believe in.” - -“I’m very glad. What did he say?” - -“Good things. I’ll tell you when there is more time.” - -“Who was he?” - -“I’ll get you to meet him some day--if you are not for ever out of -England.... Why didn’t you ask me what I thought of the poems myself?” - -“I thought you would tell me.” - -“I’m scarcely a year older than you.” - -“Does that matter? It depends on what you were born and what you have -read.” - -“I have read----” She broke off suddenly. “But no; I am sure poetry -depends very much on what you have been through.” - -There was a pause. - -“Mr. Alter, if he heard us, would say we were very young,” John said. - -Margaret looked back over their conversation and laughed. - -“Have we been taking ourselves so seriously? Look at my -great-grandmother. She is telling us to get along with us into the -drawing-room.” - -There they found Wingfield Alter and Mrs. Fane-Herbert. Hugh came in a -moment later. Alter had his back to the door as they entered, a square, -broad back, full of determination. When he turned his head there were -legible in the deeply lined face, with its high forehead and proudly -carried chin, a self-confidence and directness of purpose which made -it almost unnoticeable that Alter was a short, ungainly man. He wore a -spare moustache and a pointed beard which began so far down his chin -that his lips were unobscured by it. He waited for no introduction, -but took John’s hands at once, welcoming him as his mother’s son, and -looking at him closely. - -Even at dinner John felt those deep-set eyes turned continually upon -him, searching, he supposed, for points of resemblance to his mother. -Mrs. Fane-Herbert, tall and slim at the end of the table, was a clever -woman and Alter an eager listener. She turned the conversation to -the Navy, and for long he was a willing and appreciative pupil. Hugh -instructed him with great zest. - -“How long is it, sir, since you were in a warship?” - -“It must be four or five years. I have been in Russia since, and have -lost touch. I see I must renew my acquaintance. I want to see what I -can of the officers produced by the New Scheme--all my friends were -_Britannia_ cadets. Your education has been broader, less rigidly -specialized than theirs. What is the effect on efficiency?” - -“There must be a danger,” said Mrs. Fane-Herbert, “of encouraging ideas -and tastes, good in themselves, but ill-suited to the naval officer as -such.” - -“I often wonder about that,” Alter answered. “The Service is very -exacting, very highly specialized, narrow in a sense. And boys enter it -very early, knowing nothing of what they are or what they will become. -They enter it in much the same spirit as that in which they choose the -career of an engine-driver. Tendencies undreamed of then are bound to -develop later--diverse tendencies, probably opposed in a thousand ways -to Service requirements. Am I right?” - -“Every word,” said John, leaning forward a little. - -“For example,” Alter continued, “what on earth would have become of -that young man whose work you showed me, Margaret, if he had committed -himself to the Navy at the age of thirteen? Of course, any critic would -say those poems were immature. So they were; the technique of the -sonnet was awry; the scansion was often loose; here and there they were -too sonorous, too strained for the sake of effect. But so many of the -essentials of poetry were there--real feeling, real imagination, and -observation of the kind that’s worth having. Never an adjective that he -had not thought out with his eyes tight shut or wide open. If he can -write like that before he is twenty--why, given a chance to develop, -he might do anything. But if he were shut up in the Navy, burdened -with the sameness of routine, brought into contact only with men whose -minds are highly specialized for one purpose, war----” He interrupted -himself with a gesture. “And there must be people of that kind in the -Fleet--not poets necessarily, but men who, for one reason or another, -need--need desperately--intellectual space. Most of us need it, unless -our minds are very limited--that’s the worst of the tragedy, _most_ of -us need it. And in the Navy, so far as I can judge, it must be almost -impossible to obtain--at any rate, it is probably to be purchased only -at the price of resignation or professional failure.” - -John did not hear the conversation that followed. His thoughts were -proceeding by strange paths, now of pride and gladness, now so steep -and dark that he could neither see nor imagine any end to them. Later -in the evening Alter spoke to him alone. - -“I’m unspeakably sorry,” he said. “It was stupid of me not to have -guessed; but Margaret ought to have warned me--she, with her mysterious -poet whose name she would conceal in order to tantalize me. It’s of no -use to ask you not to let my words unsettle you; they are said, and I -meant them, and there’s an end of it. But I shall feel responsible now. -Will you let me help you, if I can? I don’t mean with master-keys to -editors’ rooms--you must win them for yourself. But I can give advice -and criticism for what they are worth. I should want to help in any -case now, but the more because you are my old friend’s son. Will you -remember?” - -John thanked him as well as he could. When Alter had gone Margaret came -to him. - -“I never guessed that he might talk of it to-night,” she said. “But you -have heard his opinion yourself, and I am glad of that. Was the rest of -what he said true?” - -“Yes--in a way. I never thought of it in those terms before.” - -“And now you will go on thinking of it. You mustn’t, you mustn’t--but -I know you will. And if it hurts, I am the cause of every hurt. I made -you see clearly.” She looked straight into his eyes, her own eyes -glistening. “Whatever comes of it all, will you try to forgive me?” - -“Perhaps I shall thank you some day,” he answered. “After all, it is -better to see clearly, isn’t it?” - -“Great-grandmother would say so. But it’s the bravest thing of all.” - -She gave him her hand and said good-night. Presently he was sitting in -the smoking-room with Hugh, still conscious of her touch and hearing -her voice, still seeing her dress flicker between the banisters as she -went upstairs. - -The next morning he went into the country to his own home. He told his -mother that he had met Wingfield Alter. - -“He is a very dear friend of mine,” she said. “I knew him before I -met your father. He was married then, and poor, with no literary -reputation. I saw him last soon after your father’s death.” - -“But you never mentioned him?” - -“London is so far away.” - -With a little sigh, she returned to her embroidery. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -TWO WORLDS - - -A few days after John had rejoined his ship at Portsmouth, Mr. Baring, -who was keeping the first dog watch, turned his telescope on to a -shore-boat of shabby appearance which seemed to be approaching the -_King Arthur_. Reedham, who was midshipman of the watch, likewise -inspected the craft, which seemed to have the impudent intention of -boarding the ship, not by the port gangway, which was, as it were, a -back-door for the use of all and sundry, but by the starboard gangway, -which, with its elaborate handrail of mahogany and brass, was the -front-door of the exalted. - -Though an officer less reserved might have said, “Who the devil is -this?” Mr. Baring contented himself with looking from Reedham to the -shore-boat and from the shore-boat to Reedham, for all the world as if -Reedham were responsible for the incursion and for the unseamanlike -appearance of the boat itself. And Reedham looked at the Quartermaster -as if to say, “Well, what are _you_ going to do about it?” And the -Quartermaster did nothing but finger his boatswain’s pipe. - -There was, in truth, nothing to be done. It is possible to shout -at a Service boat that is committing a breach of etiquette, but a -shore-boat, though it lack varnish and leave lanyards and fenders -hanging over the stern, cannot be so readily reproved. If it is known -to contain a tradesman or some other dependent of the ship, then the -megaphone may be called into use, but where a doubt exists caution is -advisable. Who knows that it is not an admiral’s guest who approaches? -Admirals have queer guests. - -This boat, as it drew near, was seen to contain, in addition to the -oarsman, a small person wearing a bowler hat and a grey overcoat. There -was no attempt at smartness. The hat was old and the coat older, though -both were neat and respectable--so neat and so respectable, in fact, -that Mr. Baring dismissed the idea that this might be an eccentric, and -yet worthy, visitor. - -“You had better lie off for the time being,” said the small person -to his boatman, when the craft had reached the gangway, and he, with -a small bag in his hand, had disembarked. “I may need you to take me -back. More probably I shall return in a ship’s boat. If so, I will call -you alongside and pay you.” - -“Return in a ship’s boat, will he?” thought Mr. Baring. “We’ll see -about that.... Some commercial, I suppose.” - -The small person climbed the ladder slowly. As he stepped on to the -quarter-deck he raised his hat in obedience to a Service custom -well known to him. Mr. Baring, incredulous of such knowledge in a -“commercial,” accepted the salute as if it had been addressed to -himself. - -“Well,” he said, “what can we do for you?” - -“My name is Alter,” said the small person, “and----” - -“Indeed!” Mr. Baring interrupted, determined to enliven an uneventful -watch at the expense of this innocent. “And what is your line?” - -A few moments passed before Mr. Alter understood this question. Then, -as he realized that he was a “commercial,” his eyes twinkled. - -“Books,” he replied. - -“Oh, what kind?” - -“Various kinds--novels, biography, poetry.” - -“I’m afraid there won’t be much sale for them on the Lower Deck. Have -you a card?” - -“Yes.... But it wasn’t the Lower Deck that I was seeking.” - -“The Wardroom? The Gunroom?” - -“The Gunroom, as a matter of fact. I wanted to see----” - -“But the Gunroom officers, as well as the Lower Deck, use the Ship’s -Library. We _have_ a Ship’s Library, you know.” - -“Yes, I know. I’m very glad of it.” - -Mr. Baring extended his telescope in the direction of Mr. Alter’s bag. -“Where is your stock? Not in that little bag?” - -“No; as a matter of fact some of my stock is already in the Ship’s -Library.” - -“Come, come,” Mr. Baring exclaimed, “that won’t do; that won’t wash at -all. The Ship’s Library isn’t bought from casual booksellers, you know; -it is a Service issue.” - -“Dear me,” answered Mr. Alter, putting down his bag on the deck, and -selecting a visiting-card from his case, “but I don’t think I have made -a mistake.” - -“Then I must have made a mistake,” Mr. Baring remarked with sarcasm. -This was a persistent little fellow, he thought. - -“Well,” said Mr. Alter, “perhaps we have both made mistakes. I should -have told you my full name and my business at once--in truth, I -intended to do so, but you didn’t give me much chance. I haven’t come -to sell. I should like to pay a call, if you will allow me. There -are friends of mine in the Gunroom--Fane-Herbert and Lynwood. I am -Wingfield Alter. I write books, you know. That’s the card you asked -for.” - -It was as if some visitor, unknown by the name of Bennett, had added, -“Arnold Bennett; I write books, you know.” Mr. Baring knew now only -too well. So this odd creature, with a bowler hat and a hand-bag and -a pointed beard, was Wingfield Alter, the friend of many admirals, an -honoured guest in times past at combined manœuvres. Mr. Baring had -an unpleasant vision of great men telling this tale to one another -in the corridors at Whitehall. “And Baring took him for a commercial -traveller. Baring must be an ass!” - -“I am very sorry, Mr. Alter,” he said quickly, still feeling that it -was Mr. Alter’s fault--as perhaps it was. “It was your little bag that -deceived me. However, it will make a good tale for you to tell.” - -“But I never tell tales against myself,” Mr. Alter answered. - -At this moment, Reedham, who had disappeared quickly and discreetly -when Mr. Alter handed his card to the officer of the watch, and who had -been engaged meanwhile in awakening a somnolent Gunroom, and urging -its occupants to “clear up some of the mess and stow away the _Winning -Post_” before the arrival of a literary Order of Merit--Reedham -returned panting to the quarter-deck, and gazed over the side while -he attempted to regain his breath and to look as if he had never been -absent. His face was still pink as a result of his exertion when he -was ordered, as he had known he would be, to escort Mr. Alter to the -Gunroom. - -But they had not gone far together when Mr. Baring called him back. - -“Reedham!... One moment. Excuse me, Mr. Alter.... Look here Reedham,” -Mr. Baring continued, while Mr. Alter waited out of earshot in the -starboard tunnel, “have you warned the snotties down below?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Gunroom tidy? Look decent?” - -“Pretty tidy, sir. Hadn’t much time, sir.” - -“That’s all right. The best way with the British Public is to let them -see what’s good for them, you know.... And, Reedham, just drop a hint -to some of the snotties to--er--moderate their language a bit, and not -to offer him too many drinks. It might create a bad impression. You can -never tell with these writing chaps--even the most respectable of them.” - -“I imagine,” said Mr. Alter slowly, as he and Reedham went down into -the Chest Flat, “that the officer of the watch is also the officer in -charge of midshipmen?” - -“Yes,” Reedham answered, “he is. But what made you think so?” - -The Gunroom had been transformed to greet the Almighty Pen and the -gold-laced visitors who might be expected to accompany it. No one was -asleep. There were no glasses on the table. Howdray was reading, -in the second volume of a Manual of Seamanship, the eighty-seventh -page--the page at which he had happened to open it. Elstone was working -industriously, with a pen which he dipped from time to time into an -empty Indian ink bottle, at a log-sketch which Dyce had completed for -him a week ago. - -The seemliness of the place was the seemliness of a schoolboy, who, -being dressed for a midnight escapade, jumps into bed boots and all as -he hears the master’s step near the dormitory door. The newspapers and -magazines were thrust together into a pile, from which, as specimens -of the whole, the title-pieces of _Punch_ and the _Morning Post_ had -been made to protrude. The _Winning Post_, which was not hidden even -for the Captain’s Sunday inspections, and _La Vie Parisienne_ and _Le -Rire_, which were decently covered on such occasions, were now not to -be seen--unless the inquisitive eye perceived one of them poking out -its thumbed edges from beneath the leather cushions of the settee. And -on the pile’s summit, chosen to occupy so conspicuous a position by -Krame’s quick spirit, lay the _Hibbert Journal_ that Elstone had long -ago received from a kinswoman who “thought, my dear, you might care to -pass your long watches with some magazines,” and a copy of the _Daily -Chronicle_, which had been hastily borrowed from Wickham, the messman, -in case, as Krame remarked, old Alter had Radical tendencies. - -“This is Mr. Wingfield Alter,” said Reedham. “He has come to see -Lynwood and Fane-Herbert.” - -“How d’you do?” said the senior midshipman. “My name is Krame. This is -Elstone--Howdray--Driss. I’m afraid Fane-Herbert is ashore on leave, -and won’t be back till dinner. Lynwood is in the Dockyard with the -Engineer Commander. They were expected back before Quarters. They may -be here at any moment now.... Will you sit down and wait?” - -“Thanks.... There’s one thing, though.” He turned to Reedham. “Perhaps -you would manage it for me? Would you ask the officer of the watch if -I may go ashore in the officers’ boat, and if he says I may, will you -pay off my boatman with this?” - -Reedham took the money. After a moment’s hesitation, seeing no -opportunity to convey Mr. Baring’s warning, and, indeed, feeling no -inclination to do so, he went out of the Gunroom, not a little envious -of those who might remain. It is exciting to see the Name that for -years has stared at you from advertisements, and has twinkled at you -from the gilt-lettered backs of books, come suddenly to life, take off -its hat, put down its bag, and seat itself in your chair. The Name, by -coming to life, assumes responsibility for many illusions. - -But Mr. Alter, seated in the chair Krame had offered him, and -explaining that he had had tea and would not have a whisky-and-soda -just at present, was not conscious of being an idol, good or bad, or -of being responsible, however indirectly, for another’s self-respect. -He wondered, with a puckering of his eyes, whether he were wiser to -apologize for having disturbed his hosts, or to pretend that, within -his experience at any rate, midshipmen had always sat, during the dog -watches, in Gunrooms tidy almost to primness, reading Manuals of -Seamanship. It would be pleasant if they would all go to sleep again -and not worry about him. He was an old man, he thought, forgetting -to count his three-and-fifty years, an old man and a restraining -presence. He had broken in upon an hour peculiarly their own. He felt -a nuisance, in fact, as age so often feels in the presence of youth, -and did not realize that youth, in this instance, was tremendously -interested in him. And so, while he hesitated, and while their tongues -were momentarily paralyzed by the thought of his great works and of the -thousands of words they contained--all wiser, no doubt, than any they -could speak--a little wall of silence grew up, over which, so soon as -he perceived it, Mr. Alter leaped at a venture. - -“Wondering about that bag of mine?” he demanded. “Others have wondered. -Feel its weight--books and papers. I brought them here for Lynwood, who -is a friend of mine, and they shall revert to the Gunroom when he has -done with them. Do you read much?” - -“Nothing very solid, I’m afraid,” said Krame. - -“But these aren’t solid--at least, I hope not. Some of them are my own. -Now, I wonder if you could find time to read one or two of them--the -naval ones, for instance?” - -“I think we have all read those time and again,” said Krame. - -Mr. Alter smiled--pleased as he could never now be pleased by a column -in a newspaper. “I’d dearly love to have your criticism, if ever you -care to go over any of them again. My publisher’s address will always -find me. Look, here’s _The Lower Deck_. That was an early effort.” - -Howdray turned it over. - -“Are you going to write another book about the Service, sir--the -Service as it is now?” - -“I don’t know. It attracts me as the impossible always attracts. -I shall never get the essence of it though. Of course, it is not -necessary as a general rule to live a life in order to describe it. But -still....” - -“The Service doesn’t like being described,” said Krame. - -“The Service is like no community on earth. Its members have two -distinct natures, one when they are inside the naval boundary, the -other when they are outside it; one when they are in contact with -Service people, the other when they are in contact with Non-Service -people. Very, very seldom, for all my watchfulness, have I gained any -real insight into the essentials of the Navy from words addressed to me -by any officer ashore or afloat.” - -“But,” Krame remarked, with a smile that confirmed Mr. Alter’s -declaration, “you have lived in ships?” - -“As a visitor.” - -“Even as a visitor you must be able to see--well, how we live, what -work we do, and things of that kind.” - -“But not how you think, and not how you would act if there were no -spectators from the world outside. That’s what any writer has to -discover about the persons of his drama--not what they do before the -footlights, but what they were thinking before the curtain went up. -Otherwise he can’t make them live.” - -All the world loves to hear itself discussed as a mystery, and Mr. -Alter’s mysteriousness produced at least a part of the result for which -he had hoped. Howdray and Elstone were awake now; Krame was delighted -to find a whetstone on which to sharpen his wits; and Driss--Mr. Alter -felt the glow of his personality for the first time, saw him lean -forward and listen intently, though, in the presence of his seniors, he -hesitated to speak. Mr. Alter wanted him to speak, wanted them all to -come out of their shells; but he saw that as yet they were not ready. -He, by talking himself, must give them material they might afterwards -care to pull to pieces. - -“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “how Portsmouth and other naval ports -differ from the rest of the world?” - -“Lord Almighty! have we not!” Howdray exclaimed in his great voice. -“Pompey, Queensferry, Gib., Sheerness--they are all the same, curse -them.” - -“And even Arosa Bay and Vigo?” - -“Just the same.” - -“Although they are south of the Bay and Pompey north of it? Doesn’t -that strike you as strange?” - -“I believe,” said Driss, “that if you could drop the Fleet into the -middle of County Carlow it would bring its own atmosphere with it.” - -“That’s what I mean,” Mr. Alter exclaimed, pulling out a pipe. “Its -own atmosphere--it has a definite atmosphere of its own, enveloping -it, hiding it from outsiders. And the atmosphere they breathe changes -naval officers only so long as they breathe it. Once outside it--once -in the train from Portsmouth to London, for instance--they are so much -like the ordinary civilian that he fails to recognize them as visitors -from another world. He notices something a little strange about -them--something he can’t define, something that, in nine cases out of -ten, he dismisses with the catchword ‘breezy.’” - -“Breezy!” groaned Elstone. “Don’t we look breezy?” - -“No, you don’t--not here and now, because you are within the -atmosphere, though my presence disturbs it somewhat, I dare say. But -if you went ashore to-night, outside Portsmouth, away from naval -people--what then?” - -“Ask Krame. He is the poodle-faker.” - -“Poodle-faker?” - -“A payer of polite calls,” Howdray explained. “A balancer of teacups. -An opener of doors. An eater of small morsels. A maker of small -talk--in short, a specialist in drawing-room duties.” - -“But poodle-faking is quite different,” said Krame. - -“That’s the whole point,” cried Mr. Alter, encouraged by this -admission. “A man who works in an office all the morning and goes into -polite society in the afternoon preserves the same nature throughout -the day. He may alter his manners a bit, just as he puts on a clean -shirt, but he doesn’t change essentially. You people do. And why? Isn’t -it because in the Service circle, within the Service atmosphere, you -have standards of life that are unrecognized elsewhere?” - -Krame smiled. “I suppose we do see things differently from other -people. But doesn’t that apply to almost any profession?” - -“No; take the Bar--as distinctive and self-contained as any civilian -profession, surely. You hear men talk of the Legal Mind as if it were a -thing apart. What does it mean, after all? A little added precision of -thought, a yearning after precedent, a reluctance to change--certainly -nothing necessarily foreign to unlegal minds. But the naval officer’s -attitude towards the essentials of life--so long as he remains within -the atmosphere--is altogether different from the attitude of other -human beings. Isn’t that so? In a ship and in a naval port, don’t you -think of women, for instance, in one way, and when you are at home, -don’t you think of them in a way quite different?” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” said Krame. “Of course, one meets here a different -kind of woman. One treats her differently. She doesn’t fill the same -part of the horizon as the women one meets at home.” - -“You are side-tracking,” Mr. Alter objected. He let the pages of a -book run through his fingers. “I am not comparing your treatment of -harlots with your treatment of women who are not harlots. That contrast -is obvious among men in every path of life. Put it this way: A naval -officer in London; his mother, his sisters, all his womenfolk in -Scotland--out of the way; he spends an evening with an old and intimate -friend--a Cambridge man, let us say. Then--for the contrast--the same -naval officer spends an evening in London with a naval friend. He goes -to the same places, let’s imagine, sees the same people, speaks to -the same women as when with his Cambridge friend. Now, isn’t it true -that, though the outside circumstances are the same in each case, the -naval officer’s outlook upon them changes completely? In one instance, -his companion is another naval officer, and the Service atmosphere is -undisturbed; in the other, he is with a civilian, and the atmosphere -is entirely altered. Not only his action or his speech concerning -women, but his inmost thought of them, his whole attitude towards them, -undergoes a change. And it’s the same with Religion, with Charity, with -Ambition--with all the constituent parts of life itself.” - -“I suppose that’s true,” Krame answered. “We go out of one world into -another.” - -“And all the rules and customs of citizenship change.” - -“Yes. You see, in ships we are in a strange position--monks with no -vows.” - -“The rigours of a severe Order and none of its spiritual support?” - -Krame thought over this in silence. Then, from behind him, Driss broke -in suddenly: “Isn’t that rather like prison? Don’t men deteriorate in -prison?” - -Mr. Alter brushed aside a suggestion so dangerous, though it revealed -to him much that had hitherto been obscure. “At any rate,” he said, -“it is not a natural condition, and is bound to produce phenomena of -which we outside have no knowledge, no understanding. Men speak of -the Silent Service because they cannot understand the language it -speaks.... And there’s one fact more amazing than any other in this -connection--that men who are living the Service life, who ought to be -able to tell the truth of it, when they sit down to write, write--not -the truth as it appears to their naval minds--but the truth as it -appears to their minds adapted to civilian conditions. They feel they -are talking to civilians. The atmosphere is disturbed. They write what -the civilians expect to hear--‘breezy’ stories. Their sailors are, -figuratively speaking, for ever hitching up their trousers by the back, -in accordance with the civilian music-hall tradition. Have you ever -seen a sailor hitch up his trousers by the back? Usually what they do -with regard to these particular garments is to curse them because they -are so tight and uncomfortable. Why don’t the naval writers say so?” - -“Well,” said Howdray, “I was shipmates with one of the fellows that -write these magazine yarns, and he said----” - -“Yes? What _did_ he say?” - -“I remember he had just finished one of them, and chucked it across -the table for me to read. When I had read it, I said, ‘Yes, I think -that ought to go down well. But why are all your Lieuts. R.N. of the -kind that sings at breakfast and plays the banjo in its bath? And why, -when your snotties have their leave stopped, are they such infernally -cheery devils that they regard it as a joke? In fact,’ I said, ‘why do -you lay on the pretty colours so blazing thick?’ ‘My dear old thing,’ -he answered, ‘the people who read me like the banjo-playing. You have -just said yourself that the tale ought to go down well. That’s the main -point, seeing it is going to pay my mess-bill this month. Besides, the -public has been taught to picture indomitably cheery “middies” with -blue eyes and pink cheeks. It’s no good to tell them about bleary eyes -and safety-razors. It doesn’t pay to foist one thing on to them when -they are expecting another.’” - -“But why shouldn’t the public be asked to admire what is really -admirable in the Service? Heaven knows, there’s enough of it,” Mr. -Alter said. “Your friend’s attitude, if I may say so, was the attitude -of the young journalist who despises art, and he is a man even more -intolerable than the young artist who despises journalism. Moreover, -being confessedly a journalist, he appears to have despised the -public--which is absurd. I’m afraid I shouldn’t like your friend.... -There’s fineness in the Service that would amaze the world if it were -known. Englishmen are eager about the Service, it’s a part of their -national life, it’s their proudest tradition--incidentally, they -pay for it. They are entitled to know about it. But they will never -discover the real good in it so long as you people blind them with the -magazine tradition. You must destroy that first. You must stop putting -sugar into the wine if you want the vintage to be appreciated.” - -“You mustn’t blame us, sir,” said Krame, laughing at Mr. Alter’s -vehemence. “We don’t write stories; that’s your job.” - -“Yes; but I live outside the atmosphere. I am no good. But, to be sure, -as you say, you don’t write stories, and here am I attacking my hosts. -It reminds me of how----” - -And the conversation drifted into stories of East and West, of land -and sea, Mr. Alter being carefully silent when any midshipman showed a -disposition to talk. Darkness fell, lights were switched on, and near -the time of gin and bitters and the departure of the officers’ boat, -John returned. He explained that the Engineer Commander had kept him in -the Dockyard. - -“So I shan’t have a chance to talk to you,” said Mr. Alter. “I must go -to London to-night. I have been staying with some Hampshire friends, -and thought I would look you up on my way home.” - -They went out on to the after shelter-deck. - -“What do you think of the Gunroom, sir?” John asked; “and of the people -you met there?” - -“As for the Gunroom,” Mr. Alter replied, “I have lived in worse -quarters--but of my own free will, which makes a difference. The -_Hibbert_ lends it dignity and repose.... And I liked Krame and the -rest.” - -“I knew you would.” - -“Because I’m a civilian?” - -“For a variety of reasons. I like them myself, oddly enough.... How are -Hugh’s people?” - -“They are going East. I believe that’s fixed.” - -“And is----” - -Mr. Alter took no notice of the interruption. “Margaret is going with -her mother,” he said. - -“Oh--I see.... There’s your boat called away. You will have to be going -soon. Thanks for coming, and thanks for the books. I wanted them--very -badly.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -STRAIN AND RELIEF - - -I - -In a ship there is neither bud nor fallen leaf. There is no ploughing -of furrows, no scattering of seed. The winds are never sweet with the -fragrance of broken earth. Fingers of sunshine touch no grass to vivid -green when a shower is over and the clouds have blown away. Rain does -not whisper among trees or press the dust of long, white roads into -little pits of darkness; it lashes at grey steel, hangs in beads on -the metal rims of scuttles, envelops topmasts in an unsteady mist. The -seasons are marked by the Navigator’s instruments and by variation in -the colour of the waves. On a fixed date white cap-covers are taken -out, on a fixed date they are put away again; and thus does summer -begin and end. When snow falls the Watch for Exercise banishes it with -squeegees. Christmas Day comes when the December wine bills are nearly -exhausted. Nothing flowers and goes to rest; nothing is ever born again. - -Spring, when the calendar bids her come, comes obediently, but to ships -of war she brings few gifts. Even that essence of her which makes men -ashore lift their heads and say that spring is in the air, reaches -ships changed by the tang of salt, or often, in port, corrupted by the -smell of harbour scum. By no visible or tangible promise of her future -glory does she give to seamen credit with which they may tide over the -lean, harsh months of the early year. - -Through January and part of February John struggled hard and honestly -to settle down, to convert the inevitable into the desired. Long -years ago he himself had chosen to enter the Navy, and now, though he -wondered at the decision, he knew he must abide by it. His mother’s -means, he felt sure, were too small to re-educate him as he would need -to be re-educated if he left the Service. He must put away from him -the thought of change. He must make the best of things as he found -them. He must work, work and forget, work at naval subjects, and awaken -somehow new ambitions, new enthusiasms, new desires, which should stand -between him and the old. He would put no pen to paper save the pen of -a naval officer. He would banish poetry from him as men banished a -drug. Rosebery’s _Pitt_, Morley’s _Gladstone_ and _Walpole_, Lecky’s -_Democracy and Liberty_, all should go back to the Chaplain’s cabin; -for were not the lives and dreams of statesmen a part of that old -world which was to be left behind? Keats, too, should go; and Blake, -and Milton’s prose, and Burke’s speeches. One afternoon of resolution -he piled them together and carried them off. Still Mr. Alter’s books -remained, and these he lent, urging the borrowers to keep them as long -as they wished. From his sea-chest he disinterred battered notebooks on -Mechanics and Heat and Steam. From the Gunroom shelf he dragged down -Sennett and Oram’s standard work on the Marine Steam Engine. This was, -indeed, to be a grand burning of boats. - -But the boats would not burn; the memory of the abandoned country -would not perish; the new enthusiasms, like a constitution hastily -formulated, never broke the bonds that their own artificiality imposed -upon them. The strength of materials and their curves of elasticity; -the names and properties of lubricants; the hundred and one “little -dodges” by which the Engineer Commander hoped to save a few pounds -of coal--none of these things interested John. He did his utmost to -interest himself in them. He even reached a point at which he could -say that he liked engineering and believe that this was true. Nor was -it altogether untrue. Engine-room watches were less troublous than -those on deck. The Commander was out of the way. But these advantages -were powerless to awaken in him the saving enthusiasm he desired. The -engineer officers for the most part treated New Scheme midshipmen with -good-humoured tolerance, convinced that, as they had not received -the old-fashioned training, they could not be made into efficient -engineers. “I don’t know what the hell’s the good of those Upper Deck -snotties wasting their time down here,” they would say. “As soon as -they’re beginning to learn something they are whisked away to their -seamanship again.” No one except the Engineer Commander himself--and he -was too busy to see much of them--took any interest in the engineering -midshipmen, and their work resolved itself, partly through their own -fault, into a wearisome keeping of watches, a writing-up of notebooks, -an uninspired observance of rules. Sennett and Oram returned whence -they came. - -Then John made a second attempt to sever himself from the past and to -engross himself in a naval future; but this, partly because it was -a compromise and partly for other reasons, failed as the first had -done. He turned to Voluntary Subjects, to French and Naval History. -He tried to persuade himself that he was carrying out his original -intention to devote himself to Service subjects. If French and Naval -History were subjects for a Service examination, surely they were -within the limits he had prescribed? That they were also, by reason of -the literary aspect they presented, without those limits, John would -not allow himself to recognize. He shirked that issue. He quieted his -conscience by telling himself that French and Naval History appeared -in the official syllabus. He would not admit, what was indeed the -truth, that he read Balzac, not because the reading would help him to -pass the examinations for the rank of lieutenant, but because Balzac -was an artist. He concealed from himself the fact that his love of -Naval History centred in the noun rather than in the adjective, and he -refused to acknowledge, even to himself, that he cared more for the -prose than for the substance of his essay on the Dutch Wars, more for -the writing of it than for the examination marks which were to be his -ostensible reward. - -The result of this, as of all self-deception and confusion of motives, -was disaster. As it were a stimulant, it strengthened John for a time, -but left him weaker than it had found him. Balzac, Corbett, and Mahan -temporarily filled the gap which, by denying himself all but Service -books, he had created. Then the Home Fleet came south to carry out -combined manœuvres. The _King Arthur_ was much at sea. The pressure -of Engine-room watches became so great that French and Naval History -had to be abandoned. The drug was taken away. The whole deception was -suddenly exposed. During the long hours in the Engine-room John stared -at the pounding piston-rods, or at the greasy steel floor on which he -was standing, or at the iron bars of the gratings that lay tier upon -tier above his head. He listened to the talk of stokers, and to the -unending tales of drink and harlots with which the artificer-engineers -tried to lessen the tedium of the watch. He liked the stokers; he -liked the artificer-engineers who were, he knew, doing their utmost -to be pleasant and entertaining. But he grew very tired of steel and -oil, and drink and harlots. He revolted against them, not in anger or -contempt, or anything like a spirit of righteousness, but because they -were unavoidable, because they were ever at hand, because those sights -and that conversation were _all_ that, for hours at a time, life had to -offer him. And in the intervals there were Gunroom Evolutions and Krame. - -Of all the junior midshipmen Sentley alone had settled down. He was not -happy, but he looked forward to the satisfaction promotion would bring -him. He lived by rules, and was tempted neither by strong emotions nor -by a strong imagination to break them. They were too well suited to his -placid, dogged temperament. He would never be a great naval officer, -but he had no desire to be great. If very reasonable expectations -were fulfilled by his becoming a captain he would not be disappointed -by failure to fly his admiral’s flag. He was by nature contented, -hard-working, moderate in his somewhat formal religion, moderate in his -vanity, moderate in all things. His life in the Gunroom was unpleasant; -but when he was flogged, it was the pain that troubled him--not the -humiliation, and his resentment vanished with the pain. In speaking, -even in thinking of his superiors in rank, he never used the expression -“ought not.” He seldom used it at all except in a formally religious -sense, and then his condemnation ended when his conscience had been -stilled by a mild utterance of protest. It was not in keeping with his -policy, nor was it within his power, to stand out in opposition to -anything. He drifted easily with the tide. - -Driss was very calm. It was impossible to pierce his reserve or to -tell what course his mind had taken. Dyce was frittering away his -soul, now resisting, now yielding, now seeking the easy consolations, -now dragging himself away from them, knowing that very soon he must -return. He laid no plans, and deliberately avoided looking into the -future. His duties were performed perfunctorily, and to no one’s -satisfaction, least of all to his own. Sometimes a chance remark, a -flash of wit in his conversation, would display the true worth of a -mind that was fast becoming dulled. He was a generous friend, a bitter -but ineffectual enemy, and an amusing companion. If he had had money, -and leisure, and independence he would have ended his days at the head -of a country-house dinner-table, passing port to numerous and frequent -guests. - -The senior midshipmen had absorbed Cunwell. He did his best to please -them. On Sunday mornings he produced a polishing pad, which he had -bought ashore for this very purpose, and offered to give Krame’s boots -“just a rub over before Divisions, as I am doing my own, you know.” -Then, when he had finished rubbing and breathing from a broad mouth, -he would look round apprehensively to see what the junior midshipmen -had been thinking of him. As a reward for these attentions Krame spared -him a little and patronized him much. Sometimes he would say at dinner, -“My old friend Cunwell will have a glass of port with me?” and Cunwell, -glowing in the joys of privileged familiarity, would shout back, -“Thanks, old Krame, don’t mind if I do.” Krame would keep his lip from -curling, but his eyes flickered his laughing contempt. - -Cunwell did not like Krame, who, he said, sneered because he thought -himself clever. As a model he chose Howdray, whose doings were -chronicled and laughed over throughout the Fleet. But the imitation -was not successful. It was as a ragtime played laboriously, for -Howdray imparted to his vice a certain glitter that Cunwell could not -reproduce. Cunwell, when he drank, became immediately dull and sick. -He had no pleasure in risk, no spirit of adventure. His dealings with -women were usually ridiculous, so that the women themselves sniggered -at him behind his back. Soiled collars and a dimness of eye were the -outward signs of the change in him. - -Manœuvres, contact with the Home Fleet, and a rumour that the _King -Arthur_ might not return to England to refit, depressed the spirits of -the whole ship’s company. The Commander was impossible to please. The -defaulters were numerous. The relations between Wardroom and Gunroom, -never cordial, became more than usually strained. The Chaplain preached -a bitter sermon on the virtue of contentment. The Captain, who was a -kindly man, regretfully sent more prisoners to cells in a fortnight -than he had condemned to that punishment in the previous two months. -Gunroom Evolutions and floggings became more frequent and severe. When -the men went to physical drill after Divisions, and were commanded, in -accordance with custom, to double round the batteries and quarter-deck, -they ran, not eagerly and good-humouredly as when paying-off time -is near, but at a Service double such as discipline demanded. And -the speed and spirit of this morning procession is generally a good -indication of the temper of a ship’s company. The Commander wrote to -his wife that the commission was stale. The men needed general leave, -he said. And Tintern paused suddenly one night in his playing of the -Alphabet-- - - “_With a Glory Allelujah in the morning, - In the morning by the gaslight, - See_----” - -“I’m not going to play any more,” he wailed, in imitation of a spoilt -child. - -“Oh, come on, Tintern; there’s no one else to play but you. You’ll stop -the whole sing-song. Why won’t you play?” - -“Why? Because the poor old Konk”--he was referring to the monarch after -whom the ship was named--“because the poor old Konk is bloody-minded, -and so am I.” - -It was when affairs had reached this stage that, to the junior -midshipmen, relief came, sudden and unexpected. - - -II - -One forenoon the Captain’s messenger came to the Gunroom to say that -the Captain wished to see Mr. Sentley. After an absence of ten minutes, -Sentley returned. They read in his face that he had good news. In his -hand he carried a sheet from a signal pad. - -“We are all to return to England immediately,” he said. “We shall have -about a fortnight or three weeks of leave. Then we are to join the -_Colonsay_ for passage to Colombo, where we are to recommission the -_Pathshire_, China Station.” - -“All of us?” said Howdray. “What do you mean?” - -“We junior snotties.” - -“Not the others?” - -“No.” - -“Oh, damn! You lucky, lucky little devils!” - -That night the Mess dined the junior midshipmen. As the Gunroom had -been drawn together once before by the hope of battle, so was it now -united by the prospect of parting. Wrongs were forgiven, enmities -forgotten. Soon they would be saying of one another: “I was shipmates -with him _once_.” If an association is to end, let it end sweetly. - -Speeches were made. Tintern said, “I’ve always thought it odd that the -Service should have a special name for a ship that isn’t mouldy and at -cross-purposes. It sounds as if such ships were rare. And so they are -nowadays, west of Suez. But the China Birds say that there are still -Happy Ships on the China Station. A Happy Ship is a ship in which -all the Messes get on with one another--a ship in which, among other -things, there isn’t bad blood between Wardroom and Gunroom. And I hope -the young gentlemen will get one. I ask you to drink to the health of -the _Pathshire_, and may she be a Happy Ship!” - -When the toast had been honoured and the wine passed once more, the -Mess shouted at Krame for a speech. He rose slowly, and looked round -him. - -“As Tintern has been talking about a Happy Ship in the future,” he -said, “I suppose the young gentlemen think it’s up to me to say -something about their somewhat lurid past. There’s not much to be -said--no excuses, or apologies, or that kind of thing. But there is -this: a Happy Ship is a happy ship right through, and contrariwise. -Nothing that has happened here has happened because of personal -ill-will. It has happened because--because--Lynwood, what was that line -I picked out of some stuff you were reading? I remember now. It has -happened because we are ‘in the fell clutch of circumstance.’ I hope -that in the better land to which they are going the young gentlemen -will have more leave--not a few hours at a time, pub-loafing at Pompey -or Gib., but real leave, clear away from the ship, and long enough to -give them a chance not to be bloody-minded. Long leave is what the -Service wants, gentlemen, says I, beatin’ the tub! Long leave is what -we wishes the young gen’lemen, says us, liftin’ our glasses.” - -Krame sits down amid a roar of applause. Presently Tintern goes to the -piano and plays all the familiar songs. To-morrow this sing-song party -will break up, never to reassemble again. Every tune is made richer by -wine and sentiment--the _Alphabet_, _Napoleon_, _Farewell and Adieu_, -_Screw-Guns_. - - “_If a man doesn’t work, why, we drills ’im and teaches ’im - ’ow to behave; - If a beggar can’t march, why, we kills ’im an’ rattles ’im - into ’is grave. - You’ve got to stand up to our business an’ spring without - snatchin’ or fuss. - D’you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must - lather with us. ’Tss! ’Tss! - For you all love the screw-guns...._” - -Thus Mr. Kipling to the tune of the _Eton Boating Song_. And now a -round of drinks, and song again--a song whose immortal words are -unpublished, whose tunes are various, whose name is the _Barrack-Gate_. - - “_... Then the wily Gym. Instructor ... - Just outside the Barrack-Gate._” - -There follows a swift catalogue of the merits of a certain Princess -whose home is in a few manuscripts of an Opera, rhymed wonderfully -by the hand of a master, and sung to music by Sullivan. From this -obscurity a swift return is made to the simplicity of _The Wives_, in -which it is told how the Parson’s wife, strangely clad, decorated her -hat with the midshipmen’s astronomical observations-- - - “_And in one corner of her hat - She carried the Yearly Sights. - She carried the Yearly Sights, my boys, - And every one was there; - And in the other corner - Was the Book of Common Prayer._” - -The evening wears on. _Mandalay_ is sung as a tribute to the East. The -room is heavy with smoke. The yellow lamp-shades that swung to and fro -on those nights of Evolution seem to be swinging now, though the ship -does not roll. The ship seems to roll though the sea is calm. The past -is receding. Voices are loud. The rosy flush of wine takes all the -sadness from farewell.... - -The Gunroom is being closed. The group that was leaning over Tintern’s -shoulder has scattered. In the Chest Flat Ollenor’s voice is heard -repeating the last chorus, and at the piano Tintern, almost alone now, -is singing to himself a song that is not a Gunroom song: - - “_Home is the sailor, home from sea, - And the hunter home from the hill._” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MARGARET - - -I - -During their passage to England, John and Hugh heard many golden -legends of the East, but, apart from these, they had a reason of their -own for looking eagerly towards the future. Mr. Alter had said that -Mrs. Fane-Herbert and Margaret were going to China. This news, which, -while he himself expected to remain west of the Straits, had promised -Hugh nothing but that he would spend in strangers’ houses what little -leave he might obtain, now made his good fortune seem more fortunate. -It meant that his own people would be often accessible to him. And -into John’s imaginings of the East Margaret persistently entered. -Though his acquaintance with her was so short, he never thought of -her as of a stranger. The very brevity of their contact made vivid -his memory of her. Her personality appeared to him as a thing apart, -strangely complete, and significant on account of its completeness -and its independence of the rest of his life. The impression she had -made upon him was an impression of contrast. His own existence was set -about with a wall of steel. A door had opened for a moment, and he had -seen her. When the door was closed, still he saw her, an occupant of -another world, the citizenship of which was denied him. For all the -interdicts he had laid upon himself in his attempt to settle down where -Fate had cast him, he made from time to time dream-sorties into that -other world, and on these occasions of secret adventure it was Margaret -whom he encountered. But the country in which he found her was strange -to him. He was conscious always of having overstepped his boundaries. -To stray, even in dreams, beyond his steel wall was to expose himself -to forces outside his experience, and now life seemed indefinably -dangerous as it had never seemed before. - -It is this sense of danger, experienced by all natures neither utterly -animal nor merely trivial, that gives to love both its dignity and its -finest colour. It is never more acute than in minds that have been -isolated or confined, for to these the new world is new indeed. John -was so much a stranger to the perilous country that as yet he did not -call it by any name. In childhood his shy reserve had withheld him from -close friendship. His mother had been an invalid--“too frail to be -hugged”--and it was not until circumstances had placed her beyond his -reach that her strength had in some measure returned to her. His nurse, -unusually free from a mistress’s supervision, had been too occupied -with her own affairs to accept the devotion which John would have given -so eagerly. He had no sister upon whom to expend his affection. For -lack of outlet, emotion had accumulated within him until its force -could no longer be resisted. - -Margaret had seemed so inaccessible, by reason of her own position and -of the distances which must always divide him from her, that John had -never regarded her as a prize he might hope to win. The thought of her -was as a clear bugle awakening the finest legions of his mind--thoughts -which had slept long, and, being aroused, were masters of the evil in -him, masters of sorrow and loneliness and pain, as faith is master of -us all while faith endures. - -And now, though the difficulty of her position remained, the miles -between them were to be swept away. For on the China Station ships -remained long in one port, and leave was more generously given than -elsewhere. John listened gladly to the tales that were told of Yokohama -and Tokio, of Hong Kong and Shanghai, but repeated to himself, happy -in the possession of his secret, “She will be there, and there will -be no London to absorb her.” It was almost incredible that the news -which, when it was given, had seemed disastrous should have become the -substance of his happiness. - -Then doubt arose. The first letters Margaret wrote to Hugh on the -subject had confirmed Mr. Alter’s tale; both her father and mother had -been in favour of her going. Then her tone had become less assured. - -“_I don’t know whether I shall go to China after all_,” she wrote. -“_Father is discovering difficulties--or, rather, Mr. Ordith, who has -been to China, is discovering them for him; and now he talks of taking -mother with him, and leaving me in the charge of some aunt--I don’t -know which aunt._” - -And in a later letter: - -“_Father seems to have decided now that I am to stay in England. -I am horribly disappointed. It may be the only chance I shall ever -have of seeing the East--and the East is changing so fast. Mother is -still on my side, I think, though she doesn’t like to say very much. -It is so difficult for her and for me to argue, because neither of us -knows anything about China, and Mr. Ordith, who has been staying with -us again, is full of facts and figures. I wonder why he is so much -against my going? He is always pointing out difficulties. He has a -mind like a blue-book, all tabulated and accurate. You can almost hear -him saying, ‘Section Two, Sub-section Four--so-and-so; Sub-section -Five--so-and-so.’ What can an ordinary human being do in face of -that? Of course, father is tremendously impressed. He says it is so -refreshing to meet a young man with an orderly mind. There’s no doubt -that Mr. Ordith is clever, and very attractive--in a way. I dare say he -is right about the Chinese horrors, but, even if he is, there’s no need -to tell the truth so often. But I still have hopes. Nothing is definite -yet. Perhaps if I light enough of father’s cigarettes and warm his_ -Times _for him every morning, he may relent. Or perhaps all the aunts -will refuse to have me, if I get my word in first._” - -When these letters arrived Hugh paid little attention to them. He had -made up his mind that his family was leaving England, and he refused -to be deluded by false hopes. But now, when his attitude towards -the matter had been changed, he read over with real anxiety such of -Margaret’s letters as he had not destroyed. - -“This fellow Ordith,” he said to John, when the extracts had been read -aloud, “seems likely to be an infernal nuisance. He is a Gunnery -Lieut. R.N.--a star-turn at Whaley, an inventor and that kind of thing. -My father’s firm, Ibble and Company, has a lot of Admiralty contracts. -I suppose that’s how they met.” - -“What has your sister said about it since?” - -“I tore up the letters before we left the _King Arthur_. I kept -these only by chance--mixed up with some books. But, so far as I can -remember, she hasn’t said anything--certainly nothing definite. And she -hasn’t mentioned Ordith, I’m sure. It’s odd, isn’t it?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Do you think she has had a row with him?” - -“No; but---- Anyway, we shan’t know anything until we get home to -England.” - -Hugh laughed. “I believe you are just as keen as I am that my--that my -people should go to China.” - -John answered quickly: “You see, I am counting on your invitations to -give me an excuse for leave.” - - -II - -After spending nearly a week at home, John came up to London on the -first Friday of his leave. He was to stay with the Fane-Herberts, who -were giving a dance on the following day, and before he returned to the -country he and Hugh were to go together to Mr. Reeve’s London branch -and order the clothes they would need in China. - -“I am afraid it is no good,” Hugh told him. “It seems to be definitely -fixed that Margaret is to remain in England.” - -But at dinner that night they were thrown once more into perplexity. -Mr. Fane-Herbert was away in the North, and was not expected home until -Saturday afternoon, when he would bring Mr. Ordith with him. - -“I believe Mr. Ordith is a wonderful dancer,” Mrs. Fane-Herbert said. - -“From all accounts,” Hugh replied, “he must be wonderful at everything.” - -“My dear Hugh, you speak as if you disliked him already, without ever -having seen him.” - -“I don’t dislike him, but I can’t see what he has to do with our -affairs.” - -“Our affairs?” - -“Margaret’s going to China. It was all fixed up before Ordith came on -the scene.” - -Mrs. Fane-Herbert smiled. This was a chance better than she had hoped -for. “Now,” she said, “shall I show you how wrong you are? I had a -letter from father this afternoon, and, so far as I can judge, for he -is not at all definite, he has been thinking it all over, and has come -to the conclusion----” - -“That I am to go after all, mother?” Margaret interrupted. “Do say I am -to go!” - -“Well, dear, I don’t want you to be disappointed again, but I must -say that father seems to incline more towards taking you.... So you -see, Hugh, how little Mr. Ordith had to do with the matter. It is very -foolish to make rash judgments.” - -“But why has father changed his mind?” - -“It doesn’t matter why,” said Margaret. “The point is that he has -changed it.” - -Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “It beats me, I confess.” - -His mother allowed Hugh’s suspicion to fade into silence. To have -attempted to remove it would have been to emphasize it, and this she -wished to avoid. Her husband’s letter had given her two pieces of -information, the last of which explained the first. “_I think_,” he -had written, “_that, after all, Margaret had better come with us when -we leave England. Edith might not wish to be burdened with her. I know -you would like to have her with you, and that she herself is anxious -to come. There are many obstacles, but, if you have really set your -heart on taking her, none that I am not prepared to overcome if I can. -We will talk it over when I reach home_.” Mrs. Fane-Herbert, when she -read this, was as astonished as Hugh had been when he heard of it; -but at the end of the letter, separated from her husband’s decision -by more pages than he usually troubled to write to her, was a brief -announcement which made all clear: “_Ordith has been appointed to the_ -Pathshire _as an additional Gunnery Lieutenant. Isn’t it a strange -coincidence in connection with Hugh?_” To Mrs. Fane-Herbert it was an -illumination uncomfortably brilliant. - -She established at once the connection between her husband’s change of -mind and Mr. Ordith’s change of plan. But would Margaret establish it? -If possible, that must be prevented. Mrs. Fane-Herbert was tempted to -say nothing of the contents of her letter, to leave her husband to make -the best of it on his return. But his best, in this instance, would, -she knew, be bad indeed. He thought of Margaret as of a child without -perception. He would not trouble to deceive her. - -Mrs. Fane-Herbert realized that she herself must give these two pieces -of information to Margaret in such a manner as might prevent their -being connected with each other. The responsibility and the chance of -failure made her nervous and troubled. Dinner was to be an ordeal. She -wished that her husband was not so successful a man--at any rate, that -success had not blinded him to so many things she would have liked him -to see and value. She wished that Mr. Ordith had not so much ability -and charm; that she could bring herself to dislike him frankly, and so -to form a clear policy with regard to him. He might make an admirable -husband. She did not think so. But what was there against him? Nothing -but her instinct and Mr. Alter’s saying that the young man had a -systematized soul. Her husband wanted him in Ibble and Company. She -had seen, scribbled on a blotting-pad in the writing that, years ago, -had filled her love-letters, the words “Ibble and Ordith--Ordith and -Ibble,” as if the amalgamation was already accomplished and a dispute -about the nomenclature had begun. Mr. Ordith would leave the Service -and succeed his father, Sir George Ordith, as head of Ordith and Co. -The plan was cut and dried, as were all Mr. Fane-Herbert’s plans. But -she hated the whole project. Even if the result were excellent, she -hated this involving of Margaret in the affairs of Ibble and Co., for -Ibble and Co. had already robbed her husband of the qualities she had -loved best in him. She disliked it the more because her husband had -never dared speak openly of it, and because _she_ had never dared -mention it to him. She knew how he would answer. Was he trying to force -the girl? Absurd! He was trying to give a fair chance to a young -man whom he liked--surely a reasonable and proper course? Oh yes, -reasonable and proper! Mrs. Fane-Herbert thought helplessly. But wrong, -she felt--wrong in motive and bad in effect. If it were not wrong, why -did it already compel her to fence with her own children? - -Hugh had helped her at the beginning of dinner. The first piece of -information had been naturally given, she thought. Now for the second, -which was the test. She led the conversation into new channels, and -talked much and well--just as Mr. Fane-Herbert had written those -intermediate pages in his letter. But too long a delay would draw -attention to itself. Margaret would wonder why she had put off speaking -of Mr. Ordith. When should she speak? - -She waited until dinner was ended. Then she paused in the open doorway. - -“Oh, and Hugh, father said in his letter something of Mr. Ordith’s -being appointed as additional Gunnery Lieutenant to the _Pathshire_. -Isn’t that an odd chance?” - -“Ordith, _too_, going to China?” - -“I suppose so.” - -Mrs. Fane-Herbert made her way towards the drawing-room. She knew -Margaret was watching her. Why, oh why, had Hugh said, “Ordith _too_?” -Or was it her imagination and not his voice that had so laid the -emphasis? She did not look round to search Margaret’s face, though her -desire to do so was almost too strong for her. In a moment Margaret -would speak, and her tone, even more clearly than her words, would -indicate how much she had guessed. - -But as they entered the drawing-room Margaret said: “If I am to go -East, mother, I shall want dozens of new frocks, shan’t I?” - -And Mrs. Fane-Herbert was left without enlightenment. - - -III - -Mr. George Ordith, later a baronet, and head of the great armament -firm honoured by the serious jealousy of Ibble and Co., had trained -his son Nicholas with extraordinary care and consistency. He had been -terrified lest Nick, who was to inherit all that a life’s toil had -accumulated, should value it little and dissipate it rashly. Therefore, -almost as soon as Nick’s fingers were able to close about the coin, a -penny had been thrust into his palm, and, when he had held it a little -while, been taken from him and dropped loudly into a money-box bearing -his name. Nick enjoyed the tinkle, and crowed in accompaniment. The -process was repeated every Saturday morning, until at last, because he -was never allowed to play with them, Nick came to have a respect for -pence. The money-box was cleared annually, its contents supplemented by -a sovereign, which was George Ordith’s Christmas gift to his baby (for -it was left to womenfolk to present what were described as “baubles and -gewgaws”), and the whole was added to Nick’s deposit in the Post Office -Savings Bank. By the time he was out of dresses he was a capitalist. -Only Mrs. Ordith’s earnest entreaties saved her son from being taught -to read from the financial columns of the newspapers. At school, -Stocks and Shares were to Nick an exciting reality, and, at the age of -fifteen, he withdrew from the Post Office all his money except half a -crown, gave it to his father in return for a cheque drawn in favour of -the parental broker, and instructed this gentleman to purchase on his -behalf certain Meat Shares in the Argentine. - -From this it must not be deduced either that George Ordith was a miser -or that he wished his son to become one. He said a thousand times that -money was not everything; that it could not purchase happiness; that, -though it was a blessing to wise men, it was a curse to fools. And -Nick said, “Yes, father,” and asked, as other children might ask for a -coveted toy, when he might have some of those coupons that were cut off -with scissors. George Ordith had acted upon a theory that the sons of -hard-working, careful men are often wasters. He had wished to nip in -the bud any natural tendency in Nick to become a waster. And he erred -in this, that Nick had been so made that waste would in any case have -been repugnant to him. If George had not provided a money-box, Nick -would have been impelled by instinct to manufacture one out of the -first empty tobacco-tin whose lid he could pierce. If George had not -built up the firm of Ordith, Nick would probably have established it. - -Thus had nature and training, instead of counteracting each other’s -effects, as Sir George Ordith had intended, been allies in the -production of the young Gunnery Lieutenant in whom Mr. Fane-Herbert -found so much to admire. He had taken firsts in every examination in -which it had been possible for him to take firsts; he had created a -reputation for himself at Whale Island; he had played cricket and -Rugby football for the Navy; he had smiled and danced himself into -the favour of innumerable hostesses; he had a nice taste in wines, -a beautiful touch in billiards, a safe seat on any horse, and an -inexhaustible supply of words, which flowed like oil from his lips. -He was tall, dark, and technically handsome. Moreover, he had a level -head--a head so level that business men, while they admired him, looked -back sometimes to the days of their own youth, and reflected that, -after all, young Ordith must be missing a great deal. They would have -liked an opportunity to raise their eyebrows now and then, and to say, -“Ah well, boys will be boys!” - -But Nick never gave them a chance. He condescended so far as to appear -gallant and rash in the presence of women who he thought would like -that kind of thing; but in the presence of men from whom something -might be expected he gave no judgment which was not a considered -judgment, offered no opinion without quoting his authority for the -facts upon which it was based, relapsed into thoughtful silence when he -had no opinion to offer, and added little by little to his reputation -for soundness. - -In a book to which he made frequent reference he wrote down such -details concerning his friends’ habits and tastes as might aid him in -his dealings with them. A glance into this volume reveals much of the -writer. - -“FANE-HERBERT, WALTER.--_Proud of cellar. Always offers to pay for -things--don’t let him. Likes to be taken aside from large company as if -conversation private and important. Sharp business man--try no tricks. -Wants me in Ibble’s--obviously with view to amalgamation. Be dense -about this. Probably fond of daughter when it comes to the pinch. -Personalty (authority, K.S.K.), over 700 thou. One son in addition to -daughter. Pleased with his feet--ask size of boots occasionally. Eton -best school in the world. Expectancy of life, 15 yrs._ - -“FANE-HERBERT, MRS.--_Avoid cynicism. Ask her advice often. Points for -flattery: upbringing of children; fineness of bed and table linen; -acquaintance with Parnell--touch this carefully; Irish descent, rather -remote. Keep off subject of husband’s success. Keep business in the -background. Money not mentioned--except in connection charitable -purposes. Acute woman. Guesses about Ibble and Ordith, and about -daughter. Private income probably small. Ought to die well first._ - -“FANE-HERBERT, MARGARET.--_Exceptional, requiring exceptional -treatment. Flattery must be restrained and veiled. Probable points -for flattery: shape of fingers; piano; knowledge of books; power to -see through pretences. Certain points for flattery: imperviousness -to it--and ability to keep secret. Necessary to cultivate literary -conversation. (Literature Primers, Edited by J. H. Green, and English -Lit. by Stopford Brooke, Macmillan and Co.; for contemporary lit. -try Bookman--? something more advanced.) Be careful not to split -infinitives; also use singular after none--e.g., ‘none of them_ is....’ -_Introduce ideals into all talk of the future. Might talk of improving -the conditions of Ordith’s workpeople, and thus establish_ secret -_between her and me--but make quite sure bunkum of that kind doesn’t -spread and make things awkward at Ordith’s. Probably make good hostess. -Not extravagant, but might develop philanthropic tendencies. To me very -attractive: keep this clear in mind, as it may be dangerous. Don’t -touch her too much; guard eyes. Go slow. Impulsiveness would probably -be effective, but I am not good at this, so better act judiciously._” - -Nick Ordith clearly perceived his own weakness. He wished that -Margaret, the girl, were less important to him, and that he could -regard her as no more than a link with Ibble’s and a beneficiary under -her father’s will. This amalgamation was to be a big affair, and he -would have preferred to approach it with a cool head--with a head, that -is, not inflamed by any passion that disputed his customarily perfect -control. But, though you bind the Devil hand and foot, he will lash you -with his tail. All Nick’s care to restrict every tendency in him that -might interfere with his material success could not prevent him from -losing command a little in Margaret’s presence, and he knew that some -day, at a moment when he least expected it, that command might break -down altogether. He thrilled at her touch; he thought of her at night -when he ought to have been thinking of fire-control instruments. And he -knew he stood in danger of revealing all this. Women, a few women, had -so twisted him before. He had no confidence in his ability to handle -Margaret as if she were built of the cool ivory of a chess-piece. She -was young--ten years his junior, and she was unspoiled. Youth and -the unspoiled had for him an attraction more powerful than his will. -There might come a time when he would lose the game as a result of his -reluctance to sacrifice his Queen. Certainly she would exercise an -undue influence upon his strategy. - -He determined to dance with her that Saturday night as often as he -dared neglect more urgent business, and at dinner primed himself -for brilliance. Mr. Hartfeld of the Foreign Office and Mr. Street -of the Admiralty were present, and treated him with more deference -than the ordinary naval officer has a right to expect from Government -Departments. Mr. Fane-Herbert established himself with his back to the -smoking-room fire when dinner was over, smiling at Street, Hartfeld, -and Ordith, and glaring at Hugh until he suggested that he and John -should go and play billiards. At last the four great men were left -alone to discuss the prospects of the Empire overseas. - -The detail of their conversation is not for the ears of the less -fortunate who hold no stock in armament firms, but the spirit of it may -be revealed in its conclusion. - -“Of course,” said Mr. Fane-Herbert, “it is understood that we shall -act with the greatest reserve. Ordith’s presence out there will appear -accidental--or at any rate, whatever they may think, no one will -dare to say that it is otherwise. He will be my friend and personal -adviser--in no way personally interested.” - -“The Foreign Office has nothing to do with it,” said Hartfeld. - -“Nor the Admiralty,” Street echoed. - -Street flicked the ash from his cigarette. “It is of the utmost -importance that we should be committed to nothing.” - -“But we can rely upon your support?” - -Hartfeld nodded. “Speaking for myself alone; I can’t answer for others.” - -“Isn’t that a little nebulous?” Ordith asked. - -“We can do no more than promise to do our utmost,” said Street, in the -pained voice of one whose offer of his life’s blood has been scorned. - -“We shall be grateful,” said Ordith. - -“Most grateful,” Mr. Fane-Herbert added solemnly. He knew how foolish -it was to ruffle officials. “Another brandy, Street? A cigar?” - -“But, apart from the question of gratitude and the gentlemanly -preamble,” Ordith continued, “let’s see exactly how we stand. As I see -it----” - -“My dear fellow,” Hartfeld exclaimed, flourishing a delicate hand, -“why this passion for black and white? Everything depends upon the -fluctuations of circumstance----” - -“Lord help us! Why not say of ‘Change’?” - -Mr. Fane-Herbert gave him a glance which advised that, since these -were not business men, they should not be treated as such. They must -be allowed to talk if they wanted to. “You were saying, Hartfeld--the -fluctuations of circumstance?” - -“Upon the fluctuations of circumstance and the--er--signs of the times. -Definite commitments in affairs of this kind are always dangerous, and -are only to be obtained at the price of elasticity.” - -“In other words,” said Street, “we want to give you the freest possible -hand.” - -Three of them nodded wisely. Ordith’s fingers moved lightly on the arms -of his chair. He had not wanted these people brought into it. “They -can’t help,” he had said. But Mr. Fane-Herbert had taken him by the -shoulder; “No, they can’t help--granted. But they can hinder. Look on -their talk as the price you pay for a retainer, see?” - -“Then what it comes to,” Ordith said, “is that you are concerned in -these contracts that we hope to obtain simply from the point of view -of the national interest, eh?” So far as he knew the question was -meaningless, but he felt that it would please them. - -“Exactly,” they answered together. - -“And you afford facilities?--a diplomatic phrase, surely?” - -“Every facility.” - -Mr. Fane-Herbert’s approving eye was upon him. “Then success ought to -be assured so long as there are no competitors.” That was the point. - -“Competitors?” said Hartfeld. “We can’t answer for foreign competition.” - -“No; I was thinking of competition from home. Ibble’s is not the only -firm in the British Isles.” - -“By no means,” said Street gracefully. - -“Oh, I can answer for Ordith’s; we have arranged that. There are -others.” - -“I’m afraid we couldn’t possibly interfere with legitimate commercial -competition.” - -“No one would ask it of you. But your attitude towards us will be at -least benevolent?” Ordith said. - -“Certainly,” Hartfeld answered. - -“Good.” - -“It will be a brilliant success!” Street exclaimed. - -“Success,” said Ordith, “depends less upon genius than upon an adequate -appreciation of the platitudes.” - -This faith, so authoritatively expressed by a successful young man, -was put to the test soon after the dance had begun. He saw Margaret -dancing with John--her eyes shining with happiness in a manner that -might have caused another lover a little uneasiness. But Ordith did not -for a moment feel insecure. He could see that John had gained ground, -that the first ramparts of reserve had been overpassed; but he had no -fear. “Unlike poles attract,” he repeated, choosing his platitude, and -confident of his power to carry attack upon that line to a successful -issue. So, before seeking out the important lady he had seen among -the crowd and had chosen for his immediate favour, he stood gazing at -Margaret’s neck and shoulders and admiring her movement with the eye of -an anatomist. - -He did not know that John had advanced farther than the first ramparts. -In the morning, when he and Hugh had gone together to buy their China -equipment, Margaret had come to offer feminine advice on materials. She -had watched them turning over shirts, and hesitating, and retracting -decisions in the manner of men at the counter. Women and their -shopping? Oh, but men were infinitely worse! They had so small a field -of choice, and yet they got lost in it. She laughed at this and a -thousand trifles, and laughter is the truest ranging-arrow in love’s -quiver. London, too, with its bright sun and sky, and the cool wind -that stirred up the sweet scent of her furs, had conspired to bring -them together. Hugh joined the conspiracy by accepting an invitation -to lunch with an old friend whom he met in Mr. Reeve’s shop. John and -Margaret came home by way of Marble Arch and a diagonal cut through the -Park. The dying winter was old and weak--so weak that he could not -gather up and hide away in his dark box the coins of gold scattered -beneath the trees by the sunshine or the strands woven among the -grasses. And, as they went, they talked of all the things on earth they -held most dear--their nurseries and old toys, terra-cotta flower-pots, -the summer sound of lawns being mown, firelight in mirrors, books, -the silky touch of dogs’ ears--each as the centre of some tale which -seemed peculiar to their own autobiographies, though, at that moment, -it was being remembered afresh, in one form or another, by every young -creature--and every old one, too, who wasn’t too stupid to value such -things--from Kensington Palace to the western pavement of Park Lane. - -John and Margaret, like all the other young creatures, had no idea of -this. They felt as if they were telling each other secrets--which is -the best known of love’s tricks. In truth, they were but beginning to -discover the secrets of themselves, and had not yet had time to become -so confused as the rest of us in life’s attempt to draw a boundary -between the soul and the body. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes! There was -no dust, there were no ashes, their hearts argued; therefore all--her -lips and the colour the wind had whipped into her cheeks, his frank -eyes, and brown, fine-cut hands--all must have something of the soul -in them. What reason had they to doubt? They were not afraid, and fear -goes hand in hand with the Devil. Their happiness was of the clean kind -they would have liked to sing about to all the world. - -So it happened that they danced together that evening with all the -memories of daylight and keen air to lend magic to the flowers and the -sparkling lamps and the murmur of stringed instruments. - -“I love the little pointed shadows under everybody’s feet,” she said, -“and the vague pools of light in the polished floor. It’s better than -fairies on the village green.” - -“That’s not an absolute opinion,” he answered, laughing. “Shouldn’t we -be on the side of the fairies if we were dancing on green grass now?” - -To him it mattered only that they were dancing together, and her -silence acquiesced in his mood. - -“There’s any number of people,” he exclaimed, “who are wishing the -music would stop. It’s strange to think of other people being tired and -bored.” - -“Perhaps this isn’t the music they care for.” - -“The old people?” - -“Yes; probably they remember other tunes. Shall I ask the orchestra -to play something that was heard all over London thirty--forty--fifty -years ago? Shall I?” - -They are for ever asking each other questions. - -“Do you think anyone would dance to it?” - -“I don’t know. Would we dance to _this_--fifty years on?” - -He brushed aside the unimaginable future. At this moment she was his, -her voice speaking close to him, the curve of her cheek and forehead -clear beneath his eyes. He imagined suddenly that he would remember -this instant, that his future would be full of it; and it took to -itself already some of the glamour of history. - -“Oh,” said she, “there’s Mr. Ordith watching us!” - -The charm was lifted. He could not endure that another should peer over -his shoulder into the history-book of fancy, or that a stranger’s eye -should witness the building of this magic temple in which the moment -was to be preserved against the assaults of all time. Soon the music -faded into silence. A few feet slid on, and then stopped. The room -filled with human voices. - -“That’s the end,” she said softly, and he did not find the remark -unnecessary. They sat down somewhere and talked little, each aware -of anticlimax. John was almost glad when Ordith, graceful and -self-confident, came up and took her away. - -Perhaps her own emotion was communicated to Ordith; perhaps he, -perceiving it in her, realizing--as she did not--from what source it -flowed, and trying to take advantage of it, was himself entrapped. He -pursued a policy of what he described to himself as “talking big”; he -played upon an imagination already excited. - -“I can’t bear to leave London,” he said. “And you are actually eager to -go! Life centres here. The people in this room have their fingers on -the pulse of the world.” - -“The politicians?” - -He smiled over her shoulder. “Yes. I know it is a middle-class fashion -to despise them. I can’t despise men with power and knowledge. And not -the politicians only. Everybody is here--the artists who matter, the -thinkers who are in touch. And at this moment, a crisis in the history -of the world, I am to go away.” - -He made it sound a tragedy. - -He knew that to Twenty Years the present is always the opportunity of -mankind--and an unpromising Twenty Years it would be if it thought -otherwise. He knew, too--for his shrewdness went deeper than the -surface--that Twenty Years has an understanding of many truths that -Disappointment, not Philosophy, describes subsequently as illusions. -But, so far as his immediate purpose was concerned, it mattered nothing -whether the ideas that dominated Margaret were illusory or not. Only -the fact of their domination was of importance to him, for they were to -be a means to his own dominion. He spun a web of dreams that he might -entangle her in it. His voice, which he could tune to the very ring of -sincerity, told her how the future was to be glorious. There was to be -battle against all the powers of evil--a new political outlook, new -relations between state and state, and between governors and governed. -That was the mission of their generation. - -“We must grip the essentials,” he said. “We must permit no compromise. -And, above all, we mustn’t lose ourselves in mere talk--we must act -temperately, and according to a clearly-conceived plan.... And women!” -he exclaimed. “What a tremendous chance! Your influence is growing -every day; soon it will be direct as well as indirect. And then the -best of you will not be content to manipulate the party strings at -dinner-tables. You will be cutting them where they are obstructive. You -will come with free hands--no stale tradition--no fear of precedent--no -corruption of ideals.” - -He felt proud when he had delivered himself of this. It would win -him laurels, he thought, among the forward young men, with their -pamphlets and loose collars, their carpet-slippers and their political -ikons. And Margaret was in a mood to question little. Cynicism and -doubt had small influence over her that night. Was not Mr. Ordith her -father’s friend?--and, Heaven knew! he was no vague idealist. And had -not Mr. Ordith a reputation for soundness and level-headedness where -such a reputation was most difficult to win? She paused neither to -doubt nor to believe. It was enough that his enthusiasm awakened in -her a sensation of warmth and brilliance, of assurance and power. -And, though she danced with him a second and a third time, and though -intervals elapsed between the dances, the sensation endured, and grew -in intensity, grew until--so inflammatory are wine, ideals, and the -contact of dancing--Ordith, too, became aware of its heat, and flamed -amazingly, so that he was cool-headed no more. The conflagration, he -found, gave him greater power over her--though power of a new kind. He -was too wise to speak personal endearments to her, even the lightest, -but his voice assumed a lower, more intimate tone, and vibrated now -with a passion that was not artificial. He spoke of the foolishness and -selfishness of other women, their blindness to ideals--how he loved -that word!--their fear of sacrifice, their failure to understand the -_real needs_ of the world. It was implied that she was wonderfully -different from them all. How many and far-reaching were the victories -within the scope of a mind inspired by her motives! Somehow he was to -be her ally in these victories. “We,” he said, and “I,” but never -“You,” thereby binding her to him without emphasizing her submission to -the bond. The reality of triumph is in an opponent’s ignorance of his -own defeat. - -But control was slipping from Ordith. After a brief struggle he let -it go, and rejoiced in his freedom. His eyes, looking down on her, -lost their breadth of vision, and saw none of her surroundings. Her -proximity obscured all else; his touch on her overwhelmed every other -sensation. His muscles tightened his grip, but it seemed to him only -that her body was laying a heavier and heavier weight upon his arm. He -danced faster, but was aware only of greater rapidity of movement and -breathing close to his heart. - -Slowly this extraordinary concentration of his mind produced its -effect upon her. First she became conscious of having, in his view, -lost individuality, of having been relegated somehow to the position -of an instrument. Her will was to revolt against that, but revolt -was contrary to her inclination. She found a certain pleasure in the -strength of the current that was bearing her away, even while she -feared it. She said something; he did not answer. She repeated it; and -from his silence understood that his mind would not receive her words. -It was as if a wave, sweeping over her head and robbing her voice of -its effect, had roused her to resistance. His arm had grown firmer -about her. Her feet were scarce touching the ground. She wanted breath -and foothold. She became frightened, active, determined to break free. - -“Why are you dancing so fast?” was all she contrived to say. - -But he heard, and looked down to drink in her powerlessness, to exult -in his own power, to strengthen his grip again. He could not talk. His -imagination was running on and on, dragging him with it. His thoughts, -which had no traceable sequence, were presenting to him pictures of -such vividness that he screwed up his eyes as if he might physically -see them. - -“I am tired,” Margaret said, shrinking into the conventional. “Shall -we stop?” Then, a moment later, with a flash of determination that -compelled his attention: “I want to stop.” - -He let her go suddenly--too suddenly. Her eyes were raised -questioningly for an instant, and, as he met them, were abruptly turned -away. He took her out of the crowd. He wanted to get beyond the range -of the many eyes that he imagined were turned upon him. She sat down -where he told her to sit. - -“Listen,” he said. “I told you just now that I was sorry to leave -England. I want to tell you why. There’s so much to do here--so -much danger to be warded off. And this going away is”--he paused -feelingly--“is somehow shirking the fight. My father and I don’t agree -on all points. I should like to see Ordith’s run differently--the -position of our labour improved. I am on their side.... They know -it.... Further, the whole attitude of armament firms must be changed. -As matters stand their ambitions are warlike; their influence on -political action is--well, you can understand that. And my chance to -change all this is unique. No other young man has my opportunities. But -I stand alone, absolutely alone. I----” - -“But why are you telling this to me?” - -“Because--oh, don’t you feel as I do? Don’t you----” - -“But why are you telling it to me _now_?” - -He was seized by an impulse to put away even this rattling imitation -of reason, to make his spring now. All the world was moving so swiftly -about him that he felt only force and sensation could keep pace with -it. It pleased him to see that her eyes were frightened, and that, -though she wanted to go away, she could not move. This was power; but -he would not use it yet; he must not use it for months to come. Now he -would go on saying something while he watched her. - -“Can’t you understand why I am telling it to you?” - -“You talk so fast,” she said, her hand travelling to her forehead. - -“Then I’ll talk slower.” - -“No,” she said, under her breath; but he paid no attention. His voice -continued--to her ears as inexplicit as music. - -“Between us we will lay great plans,” she heard him say presently, -and her protest against being thus included was never uttered. “Out -in the East--the home of all philosophy--we shall have time to think. -Margaret, you will help me to get all this clear in my mind?” - -All what? He didn’t know or care. It sufficed that he had bound her -to him by some tie, the more difficult to break because it was so -vague. Moreover, his use of her name had been resisted only by a quick -intaking of breath. - -“You will help me?” he repeated. “You must--you must.” Then, too -confident, he stooped over her and reached with his hands for hers. -By his lightest touch the spell he had laid upon her was broken. She -started up, the blood tingling in her. She knew that she had acquiesced -in something she had not considered, as if she had spoken in her sleep. -His ascendancy was revealed as menacing--a cloud that overshadowed her, -and, while it held her attention, warned her to take shelter. - -“I can hear the music again.” - -“But the next dance is ours.” - -“No.” - -“You promised. Look--your name.” He offered his programme, sure that -she would not examine it or remember the number of the dance. - -And she said without looking, “I can’t dance now.” - -He answered as if he were stroking her. “Ah, you are trembling. What is -the matter? Have I frightened you?” - -“Frightened?” The sound of her own laugh restored her calmness. “What -is there to be frightened of? But see,” she went on, holding out her -programme, “I am sure you have made a mistake. This dance is Mr. -Lynwood’s.” - -John was coming up the stairs towards them. “Then I will find you again -a little later,” said Ordith, and disappeared. - -“What has happened?” John asked, looking into her face, which had now -grown pale. - -“Happened? Nothing--oh, nothing. I was a little tired, that’s all.” - -And, in truth, Margaret knew of no cause for an effect so overwhelming. -Looking back, she wondered how so strong an emotion had taken hold of -her. Why had she been afraid? and why now was she conscious of having -escaped, of having awakened--of having lost something, too? - -“Let’s go and dance,” she said. - -“No, not now,” John answered, “not if you are tired.” He led her away, -and stopped opposite two chairs. “There,” he said, “sit there for a -little while where it is cool. Don’t talk or worry.” - -When she was seated he moved away a few yards, wishing to give her the -time she needed. Gradually she realized that the cloud charged with -so much power over her was indeed gone. The atmosphere seemed less -stifling. Freedom of thought and action was returning. Presently she -remembered John and was grateful because he had taken her away from -the place where she had been with Ordith; and grateful, with warmth of -gratitude, because he had known how to be silent. Her look summoned him. - -“You don’t know how good you have been,” she said. - -“I hated to see you hurt, to-night of all nights.” - -“To-night?” - -“Because everything seemed so good. I was looking forward to China and -seeing you there. To-night seemed a kind of celebration of the future.” - -“But that remains,” she said, as if the recollection of the fact -surprised her. She could not forget Ordith’s power, or, for the time, -think of any part of her existence as being altogether free from his -influence. Where was he now? Was he near her? Involuntarily her hand -went out to John’s sleeve. - -She tried to thank him for what he had done. Her sense of relief, of -safety after danger, made his chance intervention seem the result -of his kindness of heart; and every word she spoke, hesitating and -tremulous, between tears and laughter, was marvellous to him. - -“Tell me,” he said, “what can I do? You haven’t told me the facts. Do -you trust me a little?” - -“There are no facts.” - -“But he----” - -“Oh, leave him!” she exclaimed. “Let’s go down to where all the people -are. What time is it?” she added suddenly, as if awaking from a wild -dream to the surer business of the day. - -He told her, but was certain she did not hear, her thoughts having fled -great distances by then. As he followed her, he realized dimly with -how great a force he had to contend, but he did not understand how -indirectly this force could act. He felt sure that Ordith must have -been in some manner definitely violent--have tried to kiss her, he -angrily imagined. Then her “Oh, leave him!” echoed in his ears. - -“Margaret,” he said, “I haven’t been trying--to find things out. I -wanted to help if I could.” - -She turned to him with a little movement of confidence which was a full -reward. “I know. Don’t think I am ungrateful. I shan’t ever forget. -Your coming made everything different--and secure again. I would -tell you about it if I could--if there was anything to tell; I think -telling would help. But there’s nothing--nothing tangible, at least.” -She shivered, as if something cold and flat had touched her. “Only a -feeling of having been caught and of having broken free again.” - -Together they went into the ball-room, where faces, still smiling their -response to some jest spoken a moment earlier, seemed out of touch with -reality. This colour, this light on chin and throat, this flash of -jewels and gleaming of shirt-fronts, was as a picture in oils that had -hung unnoticed while life pursued its course swiftly, and to which, now -there was breathing space, attention had reluctantly returned. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE NET - - -On Sunday, John and Ordith were much with Margaret, and even when she -contrived to be alone she found she could not exclude them from her -mind. To think of either was disquieting, and she needed peace. She -felt that John was watching her. He knew how she needed help and was -eager to render it would she but indicate a means. Her failure to -indicate it was being interpreted by him as a lack of trust for which -he blamed himself. He could not understand, his eyes said continually, -what he had done or left undone that repelled her confidence. And that -he should attribute her silence to a fault in himself added to her -uneasiness. She could not speak her mind to him; she could not ask him -to help her with a problem the terms of which were not yet clear to -herself. She felt that he was waiting for her to speak, and reproaching -himself with some dullness or hardness that, as he imagined, was -sealing her lips. Several times she tried to speak--if only to tell him -that she was aware of his sympathy; but words would not come. - -Moreover--and this itself was an element in her difficulty--was not -John weak with her own weakness? Together they were set about by forces -stronger, infinitely stronger, than themselves. There was comradeship -in that, but not help. It was as if they were two children side by side -in a darkness that contained a menace, of which both were in different -measures conscious, but which neither was able to grapple or even to -define. - -For a time, while she was in church, her trouble had been less. The -air of security, of permanence, of prosperity about the place, and the -absence of any kind of tumult within it had lulled and comforted. “The -peace of God which passeth all understanding....” She had bowed her -head with the rest, mistaking the decorous silence for peace indeed. -But, as she rose from her knees, her eyes encountered Ordith’s which -seemed half-laughingly to search and accuse her; and, as if following -a suggestion of his, she began to think that the support she had -received from the service had been based, not upon faith, but upon the -extraordinary beauty of its prose. The hymns, with their redundancies -and bad rhymes, had meant nothing to her, despite their devotion, -and to the modern prayers on contemporary subjects she had given no -heed. The balance and completeness of the Litany, the Lessons’ direct -beauty, the Collects’ vigorous restraint--upon these her attention had -been concentrated. Though the matter of the Benediction had remained -unchanged, it would have brought no comfort to her if it had been -expressed differently--by the Archbishops, for example. - -“Hadn’t old man Cranmer a wonderful ear for words?” Ordith said -lightly, cutting Margaret to the quick. She felt that he read her -thoughts, or--and this with a pang of fear that was reflected in the -eyes she suddenly raised--that he had imposed his thoughts upon her. - -“You don’t like my saying that?” he asked, looking into her face. And -even as she moved her lips to reply, to express somehow the resentment -that was burning in her, his power asserted itself and drove her back -to say, scarcely of her own will: - -“Yes; it’s quite true.” - -Like a pleasing, habitual vice, Ordith frightened and controlled -her. Her father had chosen him as her husband, and her mother seemed -to acquiesce in the choice. She pictured herself saying “No” to -Ordith, and “No” to her father and mother. She would be very calm, -very determined, and then all would be over, the battle fought and -won. Surely it would be easy to say “No.” One word to be spoken, one -definite resolve to be kept--that was all. Nowadays coercion was -impossible; the time of starvation, and imprisonment, and whips was -long past. What she had to do was to look Ordith in the face, say “No,” -and stand by her decision. It sounded easy. - -And, on the other side, was the tradition of obedience to her father, -hard to break she knew, for she had failed often to break it, but not -unbreakable; and there was one thing more. Of this she thought, as men -think of all things that are too vast for their imagination’s canvas, -in a concrete, limited manner: so are we compelled to picture God in -the form of man. She thought of it as Ibble’s works and yards as she -had seen them when she had gone with her mother to the launching of -ships--bare tracts of granite setts, buildings in common stock brick -that had the motley appearance of disease, sheds of corrugated iron, -cranes that groped above her head, railway-lines that tripped her feet, -cables coiled up like gigantic snakes, flames from darkness, the mutter -of machinery and the creaking of belts, the glass roofs through which -the light came blurred and thin. The foundries, where the molten metal -grumbled and spat and threw up scum on the runner-cups, had been her -childhood’s conception of hell. The whole place filled her with terror. -She had seen the workmen, with their sullen, yellow faces streaked -with machine-oil, and eyes dulled by labour into which imagination -had never entered. Her life had been overshadowed by Ibble’s, and -not her life only, but her father’s and mother’s lives. Her parents -had been omnipotent in her nursery. What power was this, then, that -stood behind _them_ and dominated _them_? She learned to think of -Ibble’s as a tyrant inexorable because unapproachable; an immovable -background against which alone the movements of life were visible, and -in contrast to whose darkness life’s colours shone out. As she grew -older she discovered that Ibble’s did not stand alone, but was a unit -in a complex system, a string in a universal net. The nature and extent -of the net itself were not clear. These facts stood out: that nearly -all the world was in its meshes; that somehow inclusion in it was -profitable; that those who thought to break it were fools and dreamers; -that at any rate, though it was delicate and fragile so that the winds -of fate blew it hither and thither, it was impossible to break. That -was the first article in a traditional faith--impossible to break. -Margaret had seen her own mother fight to get out of it, and seen her -fail. This acquiescence in the matter of Ordith was the seal upon her -failure. - -This intangible, this invincible force, that swayed all she knew, -swayed Margaret also. Though she denied it to herself, saying that she -was young and her life her own, she believed it in her heart. All her -experience contributed to this belief--the house with the wonderful -attics and passages which she and her mother had wanted to buy, but -which her father had rejected because its reception-rooms were not -magnificent enough to receive the guests of Ibble and Co.; the sending -of Hugh into the Navy because, since his intellect seemed unlikely to -qualify him for inclusion in the firm, it would be as well to have a -representative among the customers of Ibble and Co. Ibble’s was their -God. Even her father, who was said to have the controlling interest, -was himself controlled, working in sickness and health, growing tired -and hollow-eyed and nervous, all for the sake of Ibble and Co. Once he -had been seriously ill. - -“I wish you would retire, Walter,” her mother had said. “Surely we -have money enough? Haven’t we every material thing we want? Couldn’t -you come out of it now? Couldn’t we go back to the old days before -Ibble’s----” - -“Come out of it!” her father had answered. “My dear, I can’t give in -yet. Besides, I have my duty to do by Ibble and Co.” - -They had thought Margaret too young to understand, but she had -understood something of the tragedy, for already Ibble’s foundries -were her Hell; and now she remembered it. And she was to play it out -with Nick Ordith. Some day he would be, not Ordith the individual, -but Ordith’s, the firm and the tradition. Ibble and Ordith, Ordith -and Ibble.... She had read in her mother’s mind concerning the -amalgamation, and knew what was planned but not spoken of. Her marriage -likewise was planned but not spoken of. - -After all, she asked herself, making a little kick within the mesh, -what had her marriage to do with Ibble’s? But what, too, had the attics -and passages in which she would have liked to play had to do with -Ibble’s? She had but to say “No” to Ordith, she repeated--one word, one -resolve. Often, when her thoughts returned to this point, she would -laugh at herself as we laugh when we know we have uttered an empty -boast; and sometimes while she laughed there were tears in her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -QUARTERED ON THE KINGDOM - - -I - -After leave which extended longer than any of them had hoped, the -junior midshipmen, who had parted at the _King Arthur’s_ gangway, -joined the _Colonsay_. In the sense that in their new ship there was -none senior to them they were junior midshipmen no longer. The Gunroom -would still have to be tidied by them, but, instead of Clearing-up -Stations at Krame’s command, there would be organization based upon -common consent. When the atmosphere became foul at sea, they would have -to open and shut the scuttles if they wanted fresh air, but this would -not be Scuttle Drill. Between them and an emancipation essential to -what happiness they might find in the _Colonsay_ and _Pathshire_ there -stood only one doubt. Of the Sub-Lieutenant they knew nothing but that -his name was Hartington. He was not on board when they joined, and all -the questions concerning him that they put to one another remained -unanswered. - -“Anyhow,” said Cunwell, “if he kicks up a dust it will be easy enough -for us--there are six of us--to keep him steady.” - -It sounded easy; but the Service tradition was against it. - -“That’s bluff,” John answered. “We might be able to stave off obstacle -races and Angostura hunts if we were prepared to make a Gunroom -Revolution of it, but, as a matter of fact, we shouldn’t try. You know -we shouldn’t when it came to the point. If Hartington wants to make it -Hell for us, he can, though he is alone. But if he wants to live in -love and charity with his neighbours, we ought to have the best time of -any snotties in the Service.” - -Hartington came on board late that evening, and, after an appearance -in the Gunroom too brief to give any indication of his character, -disappeared into his cabin. On his way thither he had passed John and -Hugh in the Chest Flat. - -“I wonder if he realizes what an immense difference he can make to us -all,” John said. “Think, a two years’ commission in China, with no one -in the Gunroom but ourselves and a Sub we get on with! I don’t believe -he could spoil it all, if he knew.” - -“I dare say we shall shake along, anyway,” Hugh answered. “But it would -be good--even if he were just neutral and didn’t go out of his way to -worry us.” - -The anxiety was universal. All the midshipmen were discussing him in -whose hands their future lay. Then came Driss. - -“I think Hartington’s going to be all right,” he said. “You know that, -for some reason, they have put my chest down outside his cabin--it will -have to be moved in the morning. Well, Sentley was standing by my chest -while I was looking to see if I had some pyjamas there--I came later -than the rest of you, so my trunk and tin case are still on deck. I -left them there, thinking I had in my hand-bag all I should want for -to-night. And, while I was cursing because I couldn’t find my pyjamas, -Hartington put his head out of his cabin. I had clean forgotten he -was inside, and I thought he was going to let me have it for making a -noise. But he just asked what was the matter--quite civilly, you know.” - -Driss paused to allow the others to be sufficiently impressed by the -fact that the Sub in such circumstances had been quite civil. - -“So I told him I should have to go up on deck and get my trunk down. -‘What do you want?’ he said. ‘Pyjamas? Come in here and choose a pair -of mine. Blue silk or white silk? They are rather attractive, don’t you -think?’” - -“He lent you some?” - -“So might dozens of Subs!” Cunwell exclaimed scornfully. - -“Yes,” said Driss eagerly, “so they might; but not in that way. I swear -he treated me as--as, an ordinary human being in a country house might -treat another ordinary human being who was short of a pair of pyjamas. -None of the being-generous-to-junior-snotties touch. You wouldn’t have -thought there was such a thing as seniority. I believe he must come -from the South of Ireland--though I’ve never heard the name there,” he -added solemnly. - -“That sounds promising,” Hugh said. “I wonder.... Oh, wouldn’t it be -great, Driss, if Hartington were like that all through!” - -“I believe he will be,” Driss answered. “I’m almost sure he will be. -He didn’t even give me the pyjamas and have done with it. We talked -for quite a long time--about where we should put his photographs, -and pictures, and writing-desk--he has an old writing-desk that he’s -very keen on, and an odd taste in pictures. And we talked about other -things as well, all off the ordinary track, just as if there wasn’t any -Service at all.” - -But even then they could not believe that nothing aggressive lay -beneath this apparently pleasing exterior. Driss, who had seen and -heard, found it impossible to carry conviction in face of the others’ -deep-rooted scepticism. The next day routine was irregular. Hartington -went ashore soon after breakfast and did not return until the dog -watches, when he took over the duties of the officer who had been -keeping the Day On with John as his midshipman. - -“Have you been keeping watch all day?” Hartington asked. - -“Yes, sir, on and off. I’ve been below a good deal when there was -nothing doing on deck.” - -“Tired?” - -“No, not very; I’d much rather keep Days On than the regular four-hour -watches.” - -“Is anyone coming up to take over from you?” - -“I don’t think so.” - -“Well, you may as well go below. I’ll look out up here. I’ll send down -a side-boy if I want you.” - -In the Gunroom John found everyone busy appropriating lockers and -bringing in their books and papers from their chests. - -“There’s enough room for two lockers each, and three for Hartington,” -Dyce said. “Those are your two, Lynwood, in the corner--the worst -billet of the lot.... No, we didn’t just push you into them because -you were away. We cut round--someone cut for you--and you were lurked.” - -“I don’t mind,” John said. “Two lockers anywhere are luxury. I’ll -get my books in. By the way, Driss, I think you were right about -Hartington. He took over the watch just now; asked if I was tired, and -sent me down.” - -“Of course I was right,” Driss answered, smiling. “Did you happen to -discover where he lives?” - -“No; we aren’t on a personal footing yet. I called him ‘sir,’ being on -watch.” - -They unpacked slowly, pausing often to sit on the table and discuss -the most suitable stowage places for sextants and Inman’s Tables and -Seamanship Manuals. They had a feeling of spaciousness and independence -that was altogether delightful--so glorious did it seem to dispose -their own dwelling-place in their own way, instead of availing -themselves of whatever odd corners were left over by Krame and Howdray. -On the table was a pile of John’s possessions--books, instruments, and -innumerable manuscripts which, though he had no hope of being able to -shake them into publishable form, he had not the heart to destroy. -There was a foolscap book with marble covers into which he had copied -such poems as he had completed; there were penny exercise-books in -which novels had been sketched and begun; there were bundles of papers -tied together with tape; and sheets of all colours and sizes, some of -them but half covered with writing, upon which he had set down pieces -of description, scraps of narrative and dialogue, and sentences -from imaginary political speeches--fragmentary records of fiery and -ambitious dreams. How little his best friends in that Gunroom knew of -the things that were written there! How they would laugh if they read -them, for many were evidence of absurd imaginings! John turned them -over. Here was the peroration by which the _King Arthur’s_ able seaman, -“’undredth class for conduck, ’undredth class for leave,” was to bring -the Albert Hall to its feet--“jes’ as if I ’ad ’em on strings.” And -here was John’s own speech to the House of Commons on Home Rule; here -his reply to the Foreign Secretary’s pronouncement on the imminence of -war with Germany--and in the corner of the manuscript he had written -the great sentence from John Bright’s speech on the Crimean War. On -the back of an old Torpedo Sketchbook he found his notes on Lawrence’s -_Principles of International Law_--part of the equipment of a Foreign -Secretary’s critic, he remembered with a smile, and among the notes was -a passionately eulogistic review of Mrs. Lynn Lynton’s _True History -of Joshua Davidson_. Some of his essays had progressed no further than -their motto--perhaps the fire within him had dried up his pen, perhaps -a boat had been called away.... - -“Midshipman o’ the Watch ’ere, sir?” said the voice of an invisible -side-boy. - -“Yes.” - -“Orficer o’ the Watch wants you on deck, sir.” - -“All right.” - -“I’m going down to have a cigarette,” Hartington said when John reached -him. “Let me know if there’s a panic.” - -For an uneventful hour John walked up and down at the top of the -gangway. A hand touched his arm, and he turned to find Hugh beside him. - -“John, what do you think has happened?” - -“What? Something to do with Hartington?” - -“Hartington has been reading some of your stuff.” - -“Lord Almighty! How did he get hold of it?” - -“Found it on the deck in the Gunroom. He picked it up to see what it -was. Then he asked if it was private. Cunwell said No, you often let -people read it.” - -“Some of it,” said John, “and some people.” - -“I know. But we couldn’t do anything. Hartington smiled, and said -that, seeing it wasn’t letters and was sculling about the deck of his -Gunroom, he thought he had a right. We couldn’t do anything,” Hugh -repeated. “But I thought I’d better come and tell you.” - -John thought for a moment. - -“What was he reading?” he asked. - -“I don’t know--verse, I think.” - -“In a marble-covered book?” - -“Yes, he had that. He said it looked more like a formal volume for the -public service than the odd bits of paper.” - -“Well, I’d rather he read the volume than the odd bits.... But isn’t -it perfectly damnable--the Sub’s getting hold of that right at the -beginning! What comments?--the usual remarks about long hair?” - -“He hasn’t spoken a word.” - -“Oh well,” John said, “it can’t be helped now. It was my own -fault--leaving it on the table. I suppose I shall hear about it from -Hartington for ever and ever, Amen. I wonder why it is regarded as an -almost criminal offence to try to write verse?” - -Left alone, John tried to think out smooth answers to the remarks the -Sub would make when he came on deck. So far as the Sub himself was -concerned, the damage was done, but it might still be possible to -prevent him from sharing his intelligence with the Wardroom. Of course, -the news was certain to spread sooner or later. If Hartington had not -made his discovery now, he would have made it in a week’s time, and if -the fact of there being a poet in the ship were not laughed over in the -Wardroom to-day it would be laughed over to-morrow. But John knew it -was important to gain time. If the _Colonsay’s_ officers learned first -to think of him as an ordinary midshipman who discharged his duties -with reasonable efficiency, they would tolerate his writing of poetry -as a superficial eccentricity. If, on the other hand, he was made known -to them primarily as a poet, it would be extraordinarily difficult to -rid himself of the stigma and to win back his good name. - -When at last Hartington reappeared he spoke only of Service matters. -John wondered what was coming. Perhaps he had not realized that his -midshipman of the watch was the author of the verse he had been -reading. Perhaps he thought the whole affair so unimportant that he -would not trouble to refer to it. John clung to this last possibility -as long as he could, but from time to time he noticed that Hartington -regarded him curiously, with eyes that seemed to laugh at his -apprehension and discomfiture. - -“Lynwood,” he said suddenly, “I shouldn’t leave my manuscript sculling -about the deck, if I were you.” - -“It was all on the table,” John answered quickly. “I hadn’t time to put -it away when you sent for me. I’m sorry it made a litter. If I may go -down for a moment, I’ll get Fane-Herbert to put it into my locker for -me--I should be back almost at once. Then everything will be tidy----” -He stopped helplessly. - -“I wasn’t objecting to the untidiness,” Hartington said. - -The silence seemed unending. John had never felt so uncomfortable, -so utterly at a loss. He knew the contemptuous thoughts that must be -passing through Hartington’s mind. He tried haltingly to minimize his -error. - -“I do it only--only in my spare time,” he said, “just as other people -do--do other things.” He wanted to explain that he meant no harm by his -poetry, but he could find no words. The poetry itself was the harm, -he knew. There was no explaining it away. “Do you mind very much?” he -asked nervously. - -Hartington smiled. “Mind?” he said. And then he added, “Why should -I mind? Is it contrary to the King’s Regulations and Admiralty -Instructions to write verse?” - -“No, but----” - -“The point is, that most Subs would have made you read it to the Mess -after dinner, and very probably beaten you at the end of it--if not on -that pretext, then on some other. So it wasn’t very discreet of you to -leave it about, do you think?” - -“No.” - -“And there must be a penalty,” said Hartington, taking John by the arm. -“I suppose I must be a very bad Sub in some respects--at any rate, not -in accordance with pattern: you’ll find that out, I expect. But there -must be a penalty. So after dinner, when we have turned over to the -Officer of the Night, you will report yourself in my cabin with the -manuscript you are going to read to me, and two whiskies-and-sodas.... -Do you mind reading to me?” - -“Of course not,” said John, amazed. “I should like to.” - -“And I want to hear more of it. So that’s settled.” - - -II - -That evening John went to Hartington’s cabin for the first of many -times; but the first, because it was so unexpected and so full of -promise for the future, was perhaps the most marvellous evening of -all. It did not end until long after the Gunroom had been closed and -the other midshipmen were turned in. By then the ship had become very -silent and peaceful. As he climbed into his hammock, after a glance at -the curtain behind which Hartington’s cabin-light was still shining, -John’s thoughts returned to the _King Arthur_, and to the nights when -he had turned in bruised, bleeding, and covered with the filth of the -Gunroom deck. He remembered the hopelessness of his outlook then, the -sense he had had of confinement worse than physical confinement, of -being surrounded and shut in by a wall which he could never, never -break. And now--he thrust his face deep into his pillow--now he had -found at last one living soul in and of the profession to which he -was bound, in whose eyes the things he cared for were not all dust and -ashes. - -Upon youth the mass of men’s opinion lies heavily. He who stands alone -in faith doubts at last; but two in faith are a sufficient army. And -John had begun to doubt. His central beliefs were these: firstly, he -believed that Art was a fine thing, a major force in life, not merely -a slave to fan merchants or naval officers when they came, hot and -tired, from their business in the City or on the bridge; secondly, -he believed--to use a term as unrestrictive as his own opinion upon -this matter--in political unselfishness. He had found the phrase -once when driven into a corner during a trivial Gunroom argument -about a newspaper article. Do you believe this? do you believe that? -they had shouted at him; and he, because he could not accept all the -implications of unqualified assent, and because he knew they would not -listen to qualifications, had answered “No” and “No” and “No” again. -Are you a Unionist? Are you a Liberal? No. Are you a _Socialist_? How -could he tell them when he had never read Marx or opened one book -written by a Russian. They hurled all the old arguments at him. If they -sent ashore a naval landing-party, that would soon settle the strikers. -Surely a man like the Duke of Westminster, with a real _stake in the -country_, was entitled to more votes than his butler, who had no stake -at all? If women were given votes, soon they would sit in Parliament, -soon they would be running battleships. Once give way and you always -gave way. What was wanted was a firm hand. - -“I don’t believe it,” John said. - -“Then what on earth do you believe in?” - -The question was more searching than they knew--extraordinarily -difficult to answer. Yet it had to be answered. Then John had struck -upon his phrase. “I believe,” he had said, “in a certain political -unselfishness at home and abroad. At least, that’s the spirit of the -thing. I can’t explain it any better. It’s of no use to ask me what -I should do if I were Prime Minister. I haven’t his experience. I -don’t know how he is placed. But I don’t believe in your firm hand and -landing-parties. All the blind destroyers have worshipped them.... I -can’t go any further than that now--just political unselfishness.” - -“That’s all very well as talk, but what would you _do_?” asked Cunwell, -the man of action. - -“I don’t know. I admit I don’t know. When I’ve had a chance--if -ever--to read History and Economics, and--oh a dozen things I never -shall read, then perhaps I shall have a more definite creed.” - -And as to the other part of his belief: they didn’t laugh at -Shakespeare--he had been a school subject, and was a tradition. They -didn’t laugh at him any more than at the crests on their family -note-paper. But, they asked, where would Shakespeare have been without -Drake and Howard of Effingham? It was a question of values. To them, -Art was the camp-follower of Action; to John it was Action’s equal -and honourable ally. They thought of books as ministers to the tired -warrior in his leisure hours, worthy only if they soothed him. And they -liked poetry whose rhythm they could mark with their feet. - -The effect of unanimous opposition had been to make John doubt himself. -People so far divided by circumstance and experience as Cunwell and -Mr. Fane-Herbert agreed on these points at least--that political -unselfishness was the talk of ignorant agitators, and that Art was an -handmaiden. Were they right after all? They said: “Wherever you look -in the world to-day Physical Force rules us. Can you reject universal -Evidence? Isn’t it just stubborn and foolish to refuse to do homage -to a Force which, if you don’t bow your head, will cut it off? Isn’t -it wiser to support the side that has already won?” John had begun to -think that this victory must indeed be final. All his friends acclaimed -it; scarcely a book he had read, except the New Testament, seemed to -challenge it. Many of the poets sang it: not Blake--but Blake was -accounted mad. - -And now, though they had spent the evening in all the happiness of -vigorous disagreement, John had found in Hartington one who denied the -finality of this victory. He had been introduced, moreover, to authors -who denied it uncompromisingly. Hitherto, such authors had been, within -his experience, few, and these few had failed and were dead. They had -seemed to have no heirs. That night he discovered that their flame was -still guarded and honoured and fed. He had turned over pages, written -by living men, that were lit with it. In France, in England, in Germany -there were eyes that saw by it. In Russia the sky was red--perhaps with -its light. - -So, after all, the whole world did not believe that an Army of -Occupation must be quartered for ever on the Kingdom of God. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -EASTERN SEAS - - -It was not long after they sailed from England that the midshipmen -decided that many of their dreams were coming true. The _Colonsay_, -though she was a poor ship to look at, passed the great lowering -battleships of the Home Fleet proudly, almost with a little toss of her -head. They might frown contemptuously at her, but soon they would be -buried in the Northern mists, ploughing up and down eternally, keeping -station on the Flag, the bondservants of the wireless at Whitehall; and -she would be away for a holiday. True, the wireless could reach her -too, but it would not take the trouble. To Colombo and back she would -be her own mistress, bound to drop a curtesy only now and then to other -people’s admirals whom she might meet at ports of call. - -And those who sailed in her might look further than Colombo. There -they would take over the _Pathshire_ from her homeward bound crew, -and depart towards the freedom of the East. A small ship with its -implied intimacy and informality; long cruises independent of even -the ladylike China Squadron flagship; few fleet exercises; coaling -with shore-labour; new countries, new faces, new interests--this was -their prospect. It changed them all, and put new life and hope into -them. For two years they were to be outside the vice whose jaws were -Gibraltar Straits and the Shetland Isles. It was the release of their -lives, a visit of slum children to the open fields. From the Home Fleet -they came, and to the Home Fleet they would return, and they were all -determined to make the best of the time that was to intervene. - -“It’s extraordinary,” John wrote to his mother, “the contrast between -this ship and the _King Arthur_. Ordith is odd to me--but nothing on -earth to complain of; and the other two-stripers treat the Gunroom -almost as equals off duty. Even on duty they are always polite, except -when they let fly in moments of justifiable excitement, and that does -no harm. And often they yield points of strict etiquette in a way that -makes four hours on the bridge pass like two. I don’t know how long -all this will last. I dare say that as the end of good things draws -near, the good things themselves will deteriorate. But now everyone -is so pleased with life that all goes well. Hartington, the Sub, I -like immensely. You don’t know how much happier I am. There’s always -something to which to look forward. I think the absence of that was the -trouble of the _King Arthur_, and the trouble of all the unfortunates -in home waters.” - -The _Colonsay_ put in to Arosa Bay to drop ratings who were taking -passage to other ships, and of these the ship’s company took farewell -with the air of schoolboys who, going out into the playing-fields, -leave comrades to do impositions in class-rooms. At Gibraltar they -did not tarry long. Soon after the Rock had gone down over the -western horizon they were overtaken by a storm, which continued with -extraordinary violence until they were within a few hours of Valetta. -To reach the bridge was a formidable task. In the batteries, where the -fo’c’sle gave shelter against the head wind, progress was comparatively -easy, but, once over the break of the fo’c’sle, the trouble began. -There was a space of several yards between the head of the battery -ladder and the foot of the ladder that led to the bridge. Across this -space had been stretched a rope, by clinging to which it was possible -to avoid being whisked off the deck and blown, but for the friendly -intervention of a davit or a sighting-hood, into the mountainous sea. -John, heavy with sea-boots, and with skirts of oilskins clinging to his -legs, held this rope and tried to advance, but the combined strength of -legs and arms could not move him. While the boatswain’s-mate, secure -under the lee of the bridge ladder, smiled at his attempts, John pulled -and pulled but went forward not an inch. Then, suddenly realizing how -ridiculous he must look, he burst out laughing, and swiftly choked -because he had opened his mouth to the gale. And it was not until the -boatswain’s-mate--himself securely lashed to a stanchion--came to his -assistance, that John could move at all. - -“Is this an official hurricane?” he said to Dyce, whom he was relieving. - -“No, not yet. We are logging the wind as eleven. A hurricane is -twelve.” He turned over the details of his watch. “Which battery did -you come up?” - -“Port.” - -“Is that the driest to go down?” - -John laughed. “There’s devilish little to choose. I think the port’s -the better.” - -Dyce ran his fingers over his face. “I’m sticky all over with it,” he -said. “I feel as if I should crack if I grinned. It stings after a -time. All the same, it’s exciting on watch. You never know when the -foretopmast will go over the side.... Well, d’you know everything you -want to know? Will you take over now? I’m going to the Gunroom to fug.” - -“We’ve just had a green sea in there,” said John, “so the fug is -considerable.” - -The _Colonsay_ entered Valetta white with salt. Ashore there, after -coaling, John met Reedham and Ollenor, whose joy in having got so far -East was overshadowed by the thought that, when their old shipmates had -sailed for Port Said, they themselves would go westward again. “I’d -give a year’s seniority to be coming out with you,” said Reedham. “Come -and have a drink.” - -An ankle twisted while playing grommet hockey on the quarter-deck -prevented John from going ashore at Port Said, Suez, or Aden, and his -knowledge of these places extended no further than the tales told by -other midshipmen of the marvellous things they saw there. Already they -had entered the atmosphere of the East. Colours had grown brighter, -near outlines more distinct. In the Canal they went into half-whites, -and as they entered the Red Sea blue monkey-jackets were discarded -altogether, and for the first time they wore white tunics as well -as white trousers and boots. The heat made the outboard wall of the -Gunroom too hot to lean against. The midshipmen who were working in the -Engine-room came up from the watches, not red with heat, but white and -trembling with exhaustion. - -“This ship,” said Hugh, “may have a thousand advantages, but its -engines are not among them. The Tiffeys say they are the hottest they -have ever served with--and the Lord defend them from hotter!” - -“What watches do you have to keep?” John asked. - -“Now only one four-hour watch each day. It doesn’t sound much. You try -it. The indicator diagrams are the worst business--one set to be taken -every watch. I suppose I’m slow, but I can’t take a set--allowing for -mishaps--in much less than half an hour; and the temperature up there, -on the top of the cylinders, is anything from 135° to 160°. It’s a real -relief to get away into the boiler-rooms for a spell. And the more warm -and sooty lime-juice you drink the faster you sweat, so that’s no good. -But, barring odd jobs, we have to ourselves twenty hours out of the -twenty-four, which is a recompense for most evils.” - -There were tales, too, of the stokers on duty on the evaporators, of -how they worked in a temperature of 126°, and how they had fainted at -their posts within three-quarters of an hour. - -From Aden across the Indian Ocean the way was calm and blue. The sea -was an enormous, flat, highly-polished sapphire, and its surface was -so still by day and so luminous by night that it seemed hard like -a jewel. Astern, the wake was thin and regular, and visible almost -to the horizon. The ship, and all life in the ship, seemed to John -somehow theatrical. The brilliance of colour, the flash of white -uniforms in the sun, the absence of most of those Service activities -that ordinarily distinguish a warship from a yacht, contributed to -this effect. Superficially this life corresponded closely to that -led by puppet naval officers on the civilian stage. Here were sea -and blue sky, white ducks still new, the gleam of sun on gold-laced -shoulder-straps and gilded buttons. It was all pleasant and unreal. - -“This,” said Hartington, “is very like a poster advertising for naval -recruits. It catches the eye but doesn’t convince the mind.” - -“It gives one the idea of the stage, or of toys,” John answered. “The -ship goes through the water like a toy boat that you pull by a string -across a bath--nothing to interrupt quite regular bow-waves that go -oiling on and on to the very edge.” - -Hartington leaned across his bunk towards his cabin scuttle. “Listen, -now,” he said. “Down there--by the water-line--not a muffled swish of -waves, but, clear and distinct, the touch of particles of water on -steel. Almost you can hear each bubble split and scatter.... You seem, -as you go East, to be able to look at everything very close, every -detail like a minutely accurate miniature--or, as you said, a toy that -you can pick up and hold under your eye. I remember, when I was a -small boy, I loved to pick up a toy horse and cart, or an engine or a -house--just for the fun of feeling like a god. I was Destiny brooding -over the nursery! I could throw a divine boot at my sister’s dolls’ -tea-party--but I didn’t, because of the crockery. But often, when one -of her dolls was ill, and the doctor had failed, and the bottles were -empty of physic, I used to remove the roof of the house--my dramatic -mode of entry--and take the patient from her bed, and cure her, and -put her out in the garden. Nine times out of ten my sister approved -the miracle; but now and then, when she had had ideas of her own about -that cure--probably a journey round the world from the night-nursery -to the school-room--she used to weep because I had spoilt everything. -I remember her nurse asked me what I meant by interfering, and I said -solemnly that I had meant well--which was quite true--but that I had -been ‘playing at God.’ I shall never forget the effect of that remark.” - -“And here and now,” John said, “one has a feeling of being in the -doll’s house one’s self.” - -“And a horrible idea that someone is ‘playing at God’ not very far -off--Someone whose Hand might come suddenly out of nothing and pick -the painted ship up out of the painted ocean and--and drop it into the -nursery fire. I used to send tin soldiers to Hell that way.” - -John smiled. “Is that the ‘fatalism of the East?’” - -“No: it’s a Cockney picking up an idea of Time and Space and the other -capital letters. ‘_O Time and Change they range and range From sunshine -round to thunder_.’... Have you written more verse?” - -“No.” - -“What have you written?” - -“Nothing. It’s too hot.” - -They sipped Irish whisky and lemon beneath the electric fan whizzing -and vibrating in its cage. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -AWAY FROM THE SHIP - - -At Colombo the exchange of crews between _Pathshire_ and _Colonsay_ was -effected as an evolution. With the exception of a few hands left behind -for indispensable duties, both ships were simultaneously emptied into -their boats. As they met and passed the men tried to cheer, but silence -was immediately restored. There would be time for cheering, perhaps, -when, with her new freight, the _Colonsay_ left for home. - -To John, who was too junior to have seen anything of the traditional -“spit and polish” in the old Channel Fleet, the _Pathshire_ was a -revelation. In China, where time was less precious than in the North -Sea, and where the menace of Wilhelmshaven was more remote, Gunnery, -Torpedo Practice, and Fleet Exercises had not made good their claim to -undivided attention. The _Pathshire_ was full of bright work, which in -home waters would have been obscured by Service grey. Her paint and -enamel glistened in the sunlight so that her after-turret was a mirror; -her stanchions were burnished like a knight’s armour; her dull metal -was overlaid with silver gilt; everywhere were decorative turk’s-heads -and whitened lanyards; her upper deck was spotless as a yacht’s. - -“Think of Cleaning Stations in this packet!” said Sentley. “It must -have cost her Commander and Number One about a third of their pay to -provide all the paint and enamel in excess of the Service allowance.” - -The Gunroom, they discovered, was but half a Gunroom, their quarters -having been cut into two parts by a temporary bulkhead. One part -was given over to the Warrant Officers, but, in compensation for -this, Hartington obtained permission from the Commander to use as -a smoking-room the after main-deck casemate on the starboard side. -There had been no midshipmen in the previous commission, so that all -furniture other than the scanty Service fittings had to be bought with -the Mess Fund. A few wicker armchairs, a couple of cheap card-tables, -and several ash-trays--these things being regarded as essentials--were -obtained at Colombo, and all else was left, at Hartington’s suggestion, -until they should reach the wider market of Hong Kong. - -Nearly a week was to pass before they sailed again, and the midshipmen -were given leave. John and Hugh went together to Kandi. They avoided -the obvious hotel which other officers were likely to visit, and chose -a place that consisted of three small bungalows, almost hidden among -the trees that covered the hill on the less popular side of the lake. -Here came men whose experience of the “best hotels” in the East did -not tempt them to strain their finances--quiet folk, who were chiefly -remarkable, in John’s eyes, for the matter-of-fact way in which they -regarded what to him was novel and amazing. And the hotel itself, save -when a breath of wind stirred the branches that overhung it or the -sound of gong or bell came up from the lake below, was deeply silent. - -After dinner on the evening of their arrival, sitting together in the -verandah that ran the whole length of the three bungalows, and watching -their cigarette smoke twist and disappear against a sky of so heavy a -purple that the stars seemed to be embedded in it, they discussed their -plans for the morrow--discussed them happily and at leisure, knowing -that their time was their own, and that any decision made to-night -might be freely reversed in the morning. As they were on the point of -leaving the _Pathshire_ an English mail--the first to reach them since -they left home--had been distributed, and each had brought his share -to Kandi unread. “Let’s keep them,” John had suggested, “until after -dinner to-night, when we shall be alone and quiet, and clear away from -the ship.” And now they brought out their letters from their pockets -and began the reading they had so long postponed. Soon there was little -sound but that of pages being turned. From far down the verandah came -the murmur of indistinguishable voices, and from time to time the hiss -of a match or the sharp tinkle of a liqueur glass. - -Among John’s letters was one from Margaret, which he did not open until -all the others had been returned to their envelopes. Then he read it -slowly. When he began he was content with the moment. This evening’s -beauty and quietness, so wonderful a contrast to the nights he had -spent in the _King Arthur_, seemed a satisfaction of all his desires. -For two days he was independent of routine--free to control his own -movements, to read, to sleep, to go in and out according to his will. -He and Hugh were filled with the spirit of content that visits all men -at the beginning of their holiday. There had seemed no need to look -further, to question motives or consequences. The night was pleasant; -this letter of Margaret’s would add pleasure to the night. - -But, as he read, he began to remember many things which the freedom of -his new life from persecution had caused him to forget. She spoke of -London, of political plots and rumours, of the strength or weakness -of new movements, of the expansion of new ideas. New books, new -expressions of opinion; the words of men who had been her father’s -guests; fears of a strike at Ibble’s--her letter was extraordinarily -suggestive of keenness and activity. Much had happened, more was about -to happen--and this in a London many weeks away. What, Margaret asked, -had he been doing? What had he written? He looked back over weeks -of inactivity. He had done nothing but talk to Hartington. Days had -slipped by--precious days. Since he left England he had read little, -had created nothing, had not tried to create. The storm of the _King -Arthur_ being over he had relapsed into lazy content. Time had sped. - -To youth, consciousness of the passage of time comes seldom, but -coming, it brings with it pain by which age is not affected--pain -unsoftened by any acceptance of the inevitable. Still the chance; still -the opportunity to make good; still the feverish casting about for -means! And middle-age growing nearer--a vision of the insignificant man -going to and fro between his home and office, of the two-and-a-half -stripe lieutenant many, many times passed over! John saw that he had -been wasting his life. - -Then he saw, in a flash that left him blind, that, unless its whole -course were changed, he would continue to waste his life. Waste--and -at the end old age, looking back upon years empty of achievement. “If -only I had my time again! If I were but eighteen once more!” It was as -if this foreseen wish had been uttered and fulfilled. He was eighteen -now. The future was still his. - -The letter fell with his hand on to his knees. - -“Finished?” Hugh asked. John looked up to encounter his laughing eyes. -“I have been watching your face,” he went on. “It seems to have been a -disturbing letter.” - -“It was,” John answered. “It reminds me how far we are out of the world -and how infernally slack I have been.” - -He held out the envelope that the writing might be seen. - -“Margaret!” Hugh exclaimed. “What has she been saying?” - -“She has made me think, thrown me back on things I had forgotten. It -was so good to be free of the _King Arthur_ that, during the whole -passage out, the world has seemed the best of all possible worlds. It -isn’t--or it won’t be long. Oh, Hugh, it’s all very well--a happy ship, -a good Wardroom, a good Sub, and no Gunroom persecution; but what does -it all lead to? I want to do other things--things I shall never be able -to do--and to meet other people.” - -Hugh, believing that John was thinking particularly of Margaret, said: -“At any rate, some of the ‘other people’ will be out East before long.” - -“You dear old fool!” John exclaimed. “That isn’t what I meant.... No; -it’s just restlessness, I suppose. I feel that all the work we do is so -like a housemaid’s--to-day’s routine the same as to-morrow’s. We never -build or make anything. For all our work we leave nothing behind.” - -“I don’t see your trouble,” Hugh said. “So long as life is pleasant I -don’t want to leave anything behind.” - -“We are missing so much. We get out of touch. In whatever progress -there is we have no part.” - -“I know we are missing a great deal. Every letter I get from outside -makes me jealous of the people at home. They can go about and see -things, and we are shut up day in and day out.” - -“How they would shout if they heard you say that!” John broke in. -“Mostly they imagine that it is they who are shut in and we who go -about--as they say--seeing the world. It’s all wrong. The world doesn’t -consist in places but in people. And the only boundaries are boundaries -of thought. Think of the people your sister listens to, the books she -reads, the opinions that count--coming to her first hand. Men and -women from abroad--Germans, French, Americans--she is beginning to be -in touch with them all. But the Service boundaries are desperately -close-drawn.” - -Hugh leaned back in his chair and yawned. “I suppose we are all much -the same,” he said. “We all feel shut in--or shut out, rather--though -perhaps for reasons different from yours. Sentley wants plants and -birds--being a naturalist; and there’s not a plant or a bird in H.M.’s -ships. Driss wants Ireland; Driss is almost sick for Ireland sometimes -and he can’t go there. And do you remember Tintern?--he was starved for -music. He said to me once--dead serious--that if he could get music -he would never get drunk. He used to dream about going to Germany -and being educated--‘start life all over again with the five-finger -exercise,’ he used to say.... And the strange thing is that officers -of the Old Navy didn’t feel like that. I suppose they were made of -harder stuff. Last leave I asked an old retired Admiral about his -snotty days, and he said, ‘No, we didn’t hanker after shore life as you -young fellows do. Of course, we were keen enough to get ashore when we -could--better food and beds--but I think we were all of us glad in a -way to get back to the ship.’” - -“But the Navy was smaller then, and more independent of the outside -world,” John said. “I dare say your old Admiral felt an almost personal -affection for it. But you can’t have affection for a vast machine that -is itself only a unit in a greater system of machinery; you can feel -loyalty, perhaps, but not affection. It’s like trying to fall in love -with a Board of Directors. The Service is too big and impersonal to -love. Moreover, it isn’t a free agent. You know as well as anyone what -lies behind it.” - -“Ibble’s?” - -“And more.” - -“And Ordith’s?” - -“More than Ibble and Ordith’s, more even than the whole armament ring. -Behind the armament firms are the mines, behind the mines is shipping, -behind shipping--oh, it goes on for ever expanding and expanding. It -goes out in every direction, and drags in every individual in the -world--shareholders, banks, the financial houses at home, international -finance--there it is, fully expanded again. Your sister, viewing it -from her own angle, sums it up as a Net. We are all shut up inside it, -and everyone who thinks is swimming round and round trying to find a -way out. Discontented devils--so we are! Every novel that says anything -is full of protest, and every speech--public or private. The papers -call it Industrial Unrest, the Foreign Correspondents European Unrest. -The whole world’s affected as it was not in your Admiral’s time.... And -in the Service we are shut up in a corner pocket of the Net; we haven’t -the chance even to swim round and round.” - -“Margaret will never accept anything,” Hugh commented. “Father is -always telling her that if only she would watch the world as it is -instead of thinking of the world as it might be she would get on much -better.” - -“You wouldn’t care much for a sister who sat down placidly to watch the -world as it is,” John observed. - -“No--it wouldn’t be attractive. I don’t mind so long as she doesn’t go -to hopeless extremes,” added her cautious brother. “But she won’t do -any good. The net is there, and the net will remain.” - -“Until it breaks,” John said. - -Two men and a woman with a shrivelled face passed along the verandah -into the hotel. One of the men was chinking the coins in his pocket. A -dog rose sleepily from under the table by which they had been sitting, -stretched himself, sniffed the warm air, and pattered after his master. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE CAPTAIN IN CONFIDENCE - - -I - -On the afternoon of the first Sunday after the _Pathshire_ sailed from -Colombo for Singapore, Hartington was sitting alone in his cabin when -a double knock sounded at the door and the curtains were drawn aside. -A pale face, with thin lips, watery, protuberant eyes, and a pitted -forehead fringed with straight, clipped hair, was thrust into the cabin. - -“Hullo, Aggett! Come in.” - -Aggett smiled, exposing the gaps in his teeth, and entered awkwardly. -He was an Engineer-Lieutenant of the older, rougher school. Round his -neck, instead of a collar, he wore a white scarf that was not clean. -The creases in his fingers and the thick cuticles which grew high on -his nails were stained with oil and dirt. But that scarred forehead and -those strange eyes which had the extraordinary opaque appearance of -great age--almost as if they had done service once before to some other -being now dead--proclaimed their owner’s intelligence. A flabby vicious -little man, but no fool, this Aggett appeared. And, to one who cared to -seek further, to contrast the darting movements of his hands with the -cumbrousness of his feet, or to remark how strong and decided a voice -proceeded from that poor body, Aggett seemed more than intelligent. -He possessed force and wariness, a rare power to stake all at need, -combined with a distrust of his fellows, which was valuable because it -was discriminating. He was a man whom it was impossible to imagine as a -child. No lasting affection of wife or mother could be easily thought -of as connected with him. He could have no home, no ties. He passed, -surely, from ship to hotel, from hotel to ship, making hundreds of -acquaintances but not a friend, despising and using all he met, never -introspective or lonely, sufficient unto himself. - -He threw over the cabin a quick glance of disapproval. It irritated -him that anyone should take trouble to decorate his habitation; and he -was the more irritated in this instance because Hartington’s taste, -unlike that of many officers who tried to make their cabins “tiddley,” -could not be easily scorned as effeminate. The few photographs, in the -simplest of wooden or silver frames; the books, with their appearance -of dignity and quietness; the pictures--here a Medici reproduction of -a Dürer drawing, there a water-colour landscape of the hills about -Fiesole--were such as no woman was likely to have chosen. Aggett wanted -to say what he said usually to officers whose walls were not so bare as -his own, “This place is like a whore’s boudoir;” but his sense of the -appropriate overcame him, and he said: - -“Well, Hartington-me-lad, sittin’ in your country residence, eh? Let’s -ring for the family butler.” - -“Which means you want a cocktail? Put your head out and ask one of the -snotties in the casemate to send for Ah Foo.” - -Aggett did as he was bid, sat down on the edge of a chair, and took a -cigarette from a paper packet concealed in his breast-pocket. - -“Ordith wants you to come in to supper to-night in the Wardroom. Can -do?” - -“Yes. I shall have to leave you early, though. I’ve got the Middle. I -shall want some sleep first.” - -“Right.... Ordith asked me to come with the invite. He’s -workin’--always workin’.” - -“Gunnery?” - -“Yes. Fellows in the Wardroom don’t know how much work he puts in. I -know him better than most. I _do_ know. They think he’s slack ’cause -he only takes a watch now and then. But I give you my word”--he leaned -forward and smacked Hartington’s knee--“I give you my word there’s not -a man in this ship or any other damned ship who does more work than -Ordith.” - -“I believe it. And he has brains.” - -“Brains!” Aggett exclaimed. “I should jus’ say he has. One o’ the -smartest men alive. And no slop or sentiment. On and on like a -well-lubricated engine. And an eye to the main chance--why, I’ll tell -you.” He hitched up his chair closer to Hartington’s, and continued -with slow emphasis: “Ordith’s a man worth watchin’. Head an’ shoulders -above the Service truck. All the powers have an eye on him. Ordith and -Co.? Why, you mark my words, Ordith’s goin’ to control more ’n that -some day.... Good fellow, too. Think so?” - -“I like him,” Hartington answered, “though I don’t know him well. None -of us knows him well, so far as I can see. He keeps to himself.” - -“He keeps to himself where the blamed fools are concerned. An’ he looks -round slow, an’ takes his pick o’ the best.” - -Hartington laughed. “So it’s a particular compliment to be asked to -supper?” - -“Well,” said Aggett slowly, “I wasn’t thinkin’ o’ that. But I dare say -you’re right. He’s not a friend to be sniffed at.” - -Ah Foo, light-footed and blue-clad, came in with cocktails. - -“Rum crowd of snotties in your Gunroom,” Aggett said, when he had -sipped his drink and thrown a slice of lemon-peel into the wastepaper -basket. “They want shakin’, I think.” - -“Why? What have they done wrong?” - -“Oh, nothing in particular; but they seem to take life too easy to my -way of thinkin’. Got a nice, thick stick? A taste o’ that would do ’em -good.” - -“Well, you look after them in the Engine-room,” Hartington said, “and -I’ll see about the Gunroom; then we shan’t quarrel.” - -Aggett emptied his glass and rose. “Don’t think I’m tryin’ to poke -my finger into your pie. You can mollycoddle the young gents to your -heart’s content, for all I care. But you’ll find it doesn’t pay in the -long run. You mark my words.” - -And he went out of the cabin, leaving Hartington to wonder what lay -behind this visit and this invitation. He had noticed that Aggett was -much in Ordith’s company, and had marvelled that one so uncouth should -be so well received in that quarter. What was now afoot? What reason -had Ordith to cultivate the acquaintance of the Sub of the Gunroom? And -why had Aggett been sent--for it was plain that he had been sent--to -sing Ordith’s abilities and importance. - -When he left Hartington, Aggett went immediately to Ordith’s cabin. He -found Nick in white trousers and a singlet, mopping his forehead so -that sweat should not run down on to the drawings over which he was -bending. At Aggett’s entry Nick looked up, a pair of dividers held -between his fingers. - -“Well?” he said. - -“O.K. He’ll come.” - -“Get a drink?” - -“One cocktail.” - -“Seem well disposed?” - -“Fair to moderate. Likes you; doesn’t like me. Thinks I’m a coarse -brute.” - -Nick smiled. “Well, you’re not a fairy, Aggett. He’s a delicately -nurtured young man, you must remember. Old county family, and God knows -what!” - -“I know about that,” Aggett answered. “I don’t go much by the fruit -that grows on the family tree.” - -“That’s where you are at fault.” - -“Fault be damned. Then is that what you are at--makin’ the most of the -Hartington family connection?” - -Nick laid down his dividers and turned to face Aggett. “No,” he said. -“That particular connection doesn’t happen to be of any use to me.” - -“Well, what is it then? Look here, Ordith, I’m in with you in all your -pretty little schemes--or am I wrong? No? Very good, then. I give you -expert engineering advice--and you won’t find a better combination of -theory and practice than there is in me. I help you all I can. Probably -I get nothing out of it. I’m prepared to risk that. I’ll chance your -caring to remember me when you are Ordith and Co. But I want to know -right now what you are up to. Why are you bringing in this Sub? What -the hell use is he to be? Tell me straight.” - -“I will tell you straight, although, so far as you are concerned, it’s -a side issue. Haven’t you observed that Hartington’s popular with the -snotties? Haven’t you seen young Lynwood go into Hartington’s cabin -evening after evening?” - -“I dare say. Well?” - -“Lynwood’s friend is Fane-Herbert. I foresee that when old Fane-Herbert -and his wife and daughter come out East we shall see much of Lynwood, -Hartington, and, of course, the son himself. Now Hartington may not -appeal too strongly to old Fane-Herbert, but unless I’m much mistaken -the women will take to him. He talks well. He may be persuasive and -have influence. And I’d rather have him a friend than--the other thing. -That’s the long and short of it.” - -Aggett shot out a glance of suspicion; then covered it with a smile. He -felt that even the cautious Ordith was looking uncommonly far ahead. -Hartington to Fane-Herbert the snotty; the snotty to the women; the -women to Fane-Herbert the father--it was a circuitous approach. He -did not know that Ordith was now thinking, not of contracts but of -personalities, not of the father but of the daughter. Aggett knew -nothing of Margaret. His partnership with Ordith was a business -partnership--loose and informal at that. - -“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Anyhow, I leave it to you.” - -Nick turned to his drawings when Aggett had gone, but did not -immediately begin to work. Aggett--what a dirty little man he was! -But full of knowledge and energy which was useful now, which might be -even more useful some day. It went against the grain that he should -be even remotely connected with Margaret. He didn’t know; he should -never know. And yet--those searching eyes would see, that alert brain -form its conclusions. Probably Aggett would come and make his oily -jokes about love and women and masculine weakness. They would be hard -to endure. Nick thought for a moment that he would banish Aggett from -his confidence, do without him. He was a mean creature; why not break -with him? Then Aggett’s virtues rose up in his defence. He was a -wonderful fellow to pick holes in an idea, to expose the impracticable -in a theory--a destructive critic of great ability. And Nick knew how -much he stood in need of informed destructive criticism. At night he -would discover some improvement in breech mechanism, or a perfected -driving-band or a brilliant new system of fire-control. When he rose -in the morning he would be blind with enthusiasm, aware only of the -excellence of his own idea. But the thing would need to be threshed -out. Talk was the only method, so poor a critic was he of himself. And -Aggett could talk admirably. He could put his finger instantly on a -weak spot.... Yes, Aggett was indispensable. Sly jokes and indecencies, -those unpleasant teeth, that grating laugh--they must be borne. -Margaret or no Margaret, Aggett was necessary. - -“Don’t be a fool,” Nick said aloud. “Don’t give way to your prejudices.” - -He dipped his head into cold water and dried himself vigorously -with a rough towel. Then he picked up his dividers, and, commanding -concentration as others switch on an electric light, began to work -quickly. - - -II - -After supper, in a corner of the Wardroom Casemate, Nick and Hartington -sat drinking whisky-and-soda. In front of them was a vacant chair, from -which Aggett, ten minutes earlier, had been summoned to the Engineer’s -Office. Now he returned. - -“Just had a star-turn in Number Four stoke-hold,” he remarked. “Stoker -off his chump.” - -“Mad?” Nick said. - -“Fightin’ mad. Up with his shovel and started layin’ about him. But -they brought him down all right--no damage, except to him. He’s -unconscious. They’ve got him in the Sick Bay, but they can’t bring him -round. All over with him, I’m told. Only a question of hours now.” - -“That means a funeral,” said Nick gloomily. “Burials at sea are -depressing affairs.” - -“Don’t wonder he went mad. The heat’s fierce, an’ four hours in every -twelve isn’t a kid’s job. Hope it don’t take the others the same way. -We’re short enough o’ stokers as it is, without ’em dyin’ off.” - -“You can hardly blame them for dying, Aggett,” the Commander put in -from his distant seat. - -“You stand rebuked,” Nick said. - -Aggett drained his glass. “The Commander hasn’t got to run the -boiler-rooms,” he observed. “It would be different, wouldn’t it, sir, -if the Chief Boatswain’s-mate kicked the bucket?” - -“Nothing to jest about.” - -“No, indeed.” - -“No, indeed,” the Commander repeated, and, picking up an illustrated -paper, rattled his shirt-cuffs as he turned its pages angrily. - -A man appeared at the Casemate door. - -“Mr. Hartington ’ere, sir?” - -“Yes.” - -“Captain wishes to speak to you, sir, in the after-cabin.” - -Hartington rose. “Sorry, Ordith.” - -“All right, my dear fellow.” - -The Commander threw aside his paper. “Hold on a minute Hartington.... -You say this stoker is going to die, Aggett?” - -“Probable.” - -“What’s his name?” - -“Hammond, Zachariah Peter, Stoker First Class.” - -“Right. I’ll just go in and tell the Captain, Hartington, before you -begin your pow-wow. I shan’t be a second. Come along with me.” - -They went aft together, and, while Hartington waited, the Commander -passed into the Captain’s quarters, and presently reappeared. - -“All right, Hartington. He’s waiting for you.” - -Hartington entered. The Captain, a tall, grave man, who, but for his -beard and moustache, might well have been taken for a judge, was -leaning back in an armchair, his feet thrown up on to the fender that -surrounded the empty fireplace. - -“Ah, come in, Hartington, and sit down. You will find cigarettes on the -small table.” - -Hartington offered him the silver box. - -“Will you have one, sir?” - -“Thanks, no; I never smoke. You light up, though. I want a few words -with you.” - -An uncomfortable silence followed while Hartington lighted his -cigarette, took an ashtray from the mantelpiece, and sat down. - -“Now,” the Captain said, “I want to talk to you about the Gunroom. I -don’t know what your own views may be upon the treatment of midshipmen. -I hope you have views. I hope you have thought the matter out. The Sub -of a Gunroom, you know, holds a position of responsibility.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Well, what is your policy?” - -“Put shortly, sir, my idea is to make the Gunroom tolerable.” - -“You think it likely to be intolerable?” - -Hartington paused before he answered. He had no knowledge of the -Captain’s own views on this matter. Was he of opinion that midshipmen -should be shaken? Was this interview to be an intimation that the -_Pathshire’s_ midshipmen were not being shaken enough? It would be -dangerous to cross him. The Old School was strong, wonderfully -tenacious, intolerant of heresy. It would be easy not to commit himself -until the Captain’s attitude was made plain. - -Then he saw the Captain’s eyes watching him, but their expression -conveyed nothing save enquiry and interest. He decided to take the -risk. Many and many a time he had wanted to test his views by laying -them before a man with long experience of the Service. He said: - -“A Gunroom can easily be an intolerable place, sir.” - -“Still? I suppose the Service doesn’t change very fast.” - -“There was a case before a Court of Enquiry only a few months ago, sir. -I have heard that was pretty bad. The junior snotties in that ship were -in the same Term as ours, so I have heard a good deal of it indirectly.” - -“But perhaps that was an isolated case.” - -“I don’t think so, sir. The Home and Atlantic Fleets----” - -“Stop a minute.” The Captain took his feet from the fender, and raised -himself in his chair. “That’s what I want to get at. I want to be quite -frank, and I expect frankness from you. I know--of course I know--that -this chasing of midshipmen goes on. But it is very difficult for one -in my position--a Captain of a ship is more isolated than, perhaps, -many of you imagine--it’s difficult to find out the exact extent of -the evil. How much of it is genuine? How much exaggeration? And, more -difficult still, what is the cause of it? Young officers nowadays are -different from the old--differently educated. Osborne and Dartmouth -aren’t the mill that the old _Britannia_ was. They come to sea less -prepared for--for whatever harsh treatment they may receive. You -mentioned the Home and Atlantic Fleets. I’m afraid I interrupted you, -but I think you were going to limit the system--to a certain extent, -at least--to those fleets. Isn’t that so? Well--now, what’s the cause -of it all? What is there behind it? Is it the drive at home, or is it -something--something more fundamental, something in the very veins and -arteries of the Service.” - -“You are better able to judge of that than I am, sir.” - -The Captain leaned back. “I want your opinion.” - -“I think it goes on for three reasons, sir. First, it’s the Service -tradition. There are hundreds of officers who believe--honestly -believe--that it is necessary to chase snotties in order to bring them -to a right frame of mind, in order to produce efficiency. Second--the -reason you suggested, sir--the pressure of work, the feeling one has -of living from day to day until--until something happens to break the -tension--that makes us not quite ourselves. We never trouble about the -effect on the snotty. A long view is impossible--there isn’t time. And -so we do without thinking what we should never do if we thought.” - -“And the third cause?” - -“It’s rather complicated, sir.” - -“Never mind.” - -“And I’m afraid you may think it fantastic--not quite a practical view -to take.” - -“Let me have it, all the same. You seem to have thought out this -matter, Hartington?” - -“Yes, sir; I have. It struck me as important--even of first-rate -importance. And the present state of affairs is so bad that there’s -bound to be an end to it soon, one way or another. It’s better that the -change should come from inside the Service than from outside.” - -“You think it’s as bad as that? But no one outside knows anything about -it.” - -“They will, sir. It is so bad that one day someone will wake up to it. -The Press may get hold of it.” - -“We don’t want the Press in the Service.” - -“No, sir. That’s why I think this business ought to be stopped from -inside.” - -“There are regulations on flogging.... However, what is your third -cause? I think that is the right way to tackle the problem--see the -causes, then root them out.” - -“The third cause, so far as I can see, sir, is that the Service is so -isolated and so specialized. Put briefly, it’s a government without -opposition, with the usual result of tyranny. And in the Service we -have no contact with any interests but our own--no books or pictures, -no women, if you see what I mean, sir.” - -“No women?” - -“Only the physical.” - -“Ah! you mean we lack the refining influence!” The Captain smiled. - -“I shouldn’t have put it that way, sir. I mean that if men are left too -long with men they are liable to become beasts.” An illustration of -his point flashed across Hartington’s mind. “You know what it is, sir, -after dinner in England, when the ladies are gone. It begins in talk -almost at once. And, left together long enough, men become cruel.” - -“That’s true.” The Captain ran his tongue across his lips. “But you -spoke of books and pictures.” - -“And plays and music, sir, and walks in the country, and games, and -riding--but chiefly books and pictures, plays and music. They are the -best products of civilization.” - -“And we live among the worst--guns, torpedoes? Is that the idea? But -you can have books and pictures in the Service?” - -“You can have a few of your own, sir; but that’s not the same thing -as meeting them at every turn, in every house. We are outside the -atmosphere of----” Hartington broke off suddenly. This was a senior -naval officer to whom he was speaking. Almost he had forgotten that. - -“Go on,” the Captain said. “The atmosphere of----”? - -“Outside the atmosphere of beauty,” Hartington said reluctantly. One -does not wisely speak of the atmosphere of beauty to post-captains. - -But the Captain did not smile until he said: “You put it strangely, but -I think I understand you. We are brutalized, in fact?” - -“No, sir, I don’t think so. If we were brutalized we should be brutes -ashore and brutes consistently on board. We are neither one nor the -other. It’s this--that one branch of us is starved, stunted, so that it -can’t grow, and consequently the other branch develops abnormally.” - -“And I can see no cure for that. We have our job to do. There is very -little time for anything else. Of course,” the Captain added, his -words coming slowly, “when you come to think of it, our job itself is -ethically indefensible.” - -They pondered that overwhelming statement in silence, each momently -unconscious of the other’s presence. When at last Hartington met the -Captain’s eyes he saw in them a strange expression, half guilty, half -amused. - -“I’m afraid that’s true. We have probably struck bed-rock,” the Captain -said, with a smile. Then, suddenly serious, he added: “That goes no -further, Hartington.” - -“No, sir.” - -The Captain laughed--nervously, Hartington thought. “And since we -can’t abolish the Service, Hartington, or the forces behind that make -it necessary, let us return to practical politics. Taking your causes -in reverse order: We can but nibble at the third. You recommend that -the Gunroom should be made tolerable. That’s something. A decent place -to live in, so far as its size permits--some of the amenities of life -preserved--not utterly a bear-garden. Further, I propose to help, if -I can, by having the snotties to dine in here, and talking books, -or games, or travel, or the theory of cruiser screens--anything, in -short, but everyday shop and everyday women, the Gunroom topics. A -clean napkin, a smooth shirt-front, and bright glass and silver have -an extraordinarily civilizing effect. Besides, to a snotty’s mind, -these quarters of mine seem spacious, and room to move is room to -think. And your job consists in making your own personality felt; stop -them talking and thinking filth eternally. But you are up against it, -Hartington; the China Station, the naval officer’s Mecca, because on -the surface it seems slack and pleasant, is a test--but more of that -later on. Your second cause--the pressure of work, the sense of war, -and a break-up of all our lives being so close that the ‘long view’ -is unattainable. Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die; be -cruel, brutal, at any rate, unheeding, for to-morrow--God knows what -may happen! That’s the attitude. Frankly, I don’t know how to change -it. Religion, any kind of religion, any quick sense of worlds outside -our own and of time beyond our time, might change it. But that’s -hopeless in a Gunroom. There can be no God where there’s no privacy. Do -you realize that there is no place in this ship where midshipmen can -pray? By their chests, in a public passage, with marines in hammocks -blaspheming above their heads? Or they could pray on their backs in -their own hammocks if they remembered. But they are tired and sleepy, -and they forget--so the fact stands. I dare say they could do without -formal prayers. But no one can do without occasional seclusion. They -are for ever rubbing shoulders with their own sordidness, until at -last they come to think they are all sordid, and care to be nothing -else. That’s the root of the snotty’s tragedy, Hartington. I’m sure of -it. He’s never alone--never, from the moment he comes on board to the -moment he gets ashore. His mind hasn’t a chance to expand--to stray out -into the vague purposelessness from which, if you can trace them back -far enough, all right purposes spring.” - -“I’ve given two of them--Lynwood and Fane-Herbert--leave to use my -cabin whenever I’m not there. There isn’t room for more, sir.” - -“No, there isn’t room for more,” the Captain said. “I dare say some -of the Wardroom would do likewise if I dropped a hint, but, though it -is some gain, there’s no real seclusion in another man’s cabin. That -problem’s insoluble, Hartington, while ships are built as they are, -and so they must be built if they are to be efficient fighting units. -It brings us back again to the essential immorality of our calling, -and--and to the _forces behind_ that make our calling inevitable. -Doesn’t it?” - -He broke off, smiling. - -“There’s the solution of leave, sir,” Hartington said boldly. - -“I know,” the Captain answered. “I’ve thought of that. And I agree: the -snotties must have all the leave we can manage to give them. But there -are two difficulties. First, officers often stop snotties’ leave--it’s -the recognized Service punishment, and the alternative is flogging. -Second----You’ve never been on the China Station before, Hartington?” - -“No, sir.” - -“I have; and I’m not sure that short leave is much better than no -leave at all. I can give them four or five days now and then, but you -know what happens--Hong-Kong, Shanghai, they are Hell. Japan’s better; -but even there unless by chance they go into the country, there’s -Yokohama and Number Nine, or Tokio and the Yoshiwara. The East’s a -bad atmosphere through which to see life for the first time. Let -loose from the ship’s confinement into a strange land with an unknown -language--not even a comprehensible theatre--what is there but bars and -women? What’s needed is long leave among their own people, their own -women--sisters, mothers. In the Home Fleet where distance makes that -possible the drive of work makes it impossible. What do they get--an -average of fourteen days a year, or a bit more if they are lucky. And -out here, England, Home, and Beauty are thousands of miles away.” - -The Captain stood up. “But, as for your first cause,” he said, “as -for the Service tradition and the chasing of midshipmen to produce -efficiency, I can do something about that in my own ship. Fortunately -all our snotties are of the same seniority, so that there can be no -seniors trampling on juniors ‘to get a bit of their own back.’ And so -far as you yourself are concerned--well, I know your somewhat unusual -views. But other Subs may join us later on, or even the Wardroom may -demand that the snotties be shaken. And I want you to understand that, -no matter what may come--even if you get orders from the Commander -himself, you are to stand out against anything that follows the -principle of ‘the young gentlemen must be broken.’ The fact that these -things were done in Nelson’s day doesn’t weigh with me. I will have -none of it in my ship. Is that understood?” - -“Quite, sir.” - -“I shall hold you personally responsible.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And, apart from any order of mine considered as an order, I want your -promise. You know as well as I do that the order is one I can’t enforce -from day to day. The Service etiquette keeps the Captain well aft. I -can’t see what goes on.” - -“I’m as strongly against the system as you are, sir.” - -“That settles the matter, then, for one ship among hundreds. -Good-night.” - -“Good-night, sir.” - -Hartington walked towards the door. Because a question in his mind -remained unanswered he hesitated visibly. - -“What is it?” the Captain asked. “Another ‘cause’ to baffle us?” - -“There was a question, sir.” - -“Yes?” - -“You spoke--twice--of the forces behind the Service. I was wondering, -sir----” - -The Captain shook his head. “No, Hartington; we haven’t time to try to -unravel that mesh. Besides, it savours of politics, which are not for -naval officers. I have said enough already this evening--perhaps too -much unless you are discreet. Good-night, again.” - -“Good-night, sir.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -LOOKING BEYOND - - -I - -Those streets at Singapore where the harlots of East and West sit at -their doors and in their verandahs, stretching out their whitened arms -towards the passers-by, were investigated and discussed by the Gunroom. -They are investigated and discussed by most Europeans who pass through -Singapore, and they remain and will remain. Cunwell thought them funny; -Dyce was curious, and desired information; Sentley, who had entered -them inadvertently, left them in haste, fearful and embarrassed. John -and Hugh, who drove through them together in rickshaws, were glad when -they were clear of them. - -“My God!” John said, “isn’t it amazing how beastliness spreads?” - -“The women?” Hugh asked. - -“No; at the moment I was thinking of Krame. But the women, too, if you -like.” - -“Oh, be damned to Krame! We are free of him.” - -“Yes, we are, but others are not.” - -“I’d forgotten them.” - -“One does forget.” - -Hugh looked at him. “Cheer up, John,” he said, “the sight of the women -has made you miserable. It’s no good being miserable about them. -There’s nothing to be done.” - -“I’m not miserable about them only. I’m angry because they are -helpless, and we are helpless. I’m angry for all helpless things. They -would probably tell you that they would never have come to this if they -had had plenty of money. Sweated labour would tell you that what it -wants is higher wages. And--though my reason tells me it’s all a lie--I -myself think that if only I had more money I could do the work I want -to do and be happy. We all look to money for help--that’s why we are -helpless.” - -“Then it’s our own fault.” - -“Oh, it starts higher than that. It’s older than we are. The Golden -Calf is the established creed. Put it wider than just money; call -it gain--any material gain: temporal power, private land, national -territory, influence; and those nights we had in the _King Arthur_, and -what other snotties are going through now, and the streets with their -harlots--they are just fragments of the result.... I’m looking forward -to seeing your sister again. She is the only person I have met who, in -her heart of hearts, seems not to care for wealth.” - -“But she has always had everything she wants,” Hugh said. - - -II - -Later in April they made Hong-Kong, where they joined the squadron. -Being in time for the Japanese summer cruise, they sailed a fortnight -later for Yokohama, whither the squadron had preceded them. Throughout -the voyage the _Pathshire_ was active in preparation for the time -when she would be called upon to compete with other ships in Fleet -Evolutions; and General Quarters, Fire and Collision Stations, and -other exercises were continually practised. - -The whole of May was spent out of China. In Tokio a party from the -fleet was officially received and entertained. Each British officer was -assigned to a Japanese officer of corresponding rank who remained close -to him always, providing him with food, drink, and information. The -arrangements were perfect, and mathematically precise. The motor-cars -were filled but not crowded. Much was shown, but not too much. The -programme, of which every officer was given a copy typed in English, -was accurately followed. Not a moment was lost. Dinner was taken -between the acts at the Imperial Theatre. - -Though, after the official reception, John went often to Tokio, and -found that the Japanese citizen was peaceful enough, he could never -shake off his first impression of a nation essentially military, -encouraged by its recent victories over Russia, ready for further -wars should they come. Far inland such an impression might have -been contradicted; but in Tokio, the centre of official life, it -was continually reinforced. It was remarkable and terrible that the -Japanese military mind was not even choked, as were the minds of -Western nations, by official pomposity. It seemed faultless. Salaries -were small, offices unpretentious. The nation was as an athlete -stripped. - -“Just as well these fellows are our allies,” said Aggett in the -Wardroom. - -Nick Ordith had much leave in Japan; indeed, from the day of the ship’s -arrival to the day of her departure his messmates saw little of him, -save when he came on board for a few hours to deposit one bag of -papers and to carry off another. Sometimes Aggett accompanied him; but -Aggett, not being supernumerary, and having ship’s duties, could not -take all the leave he desired. Nick called at many important offices, -and in all of them was amicably received. It was to be understood, of -course, that he represented no one; but, nevertheless, the Japanese -were aware of the existence of Ibble’s and of Ordith’s. In those days, -Mr. Fane-Herbert being as yet far away, perhaps Nick allowed Ordith’s -to eclipse Ibble’s, telling himself that, the understanding between the -two firms being so cordial and complete, he could do so with an easy -conscience. Further, he had prospects, sprung from his own inventive -mind, which were but indirectly connected with either firm. He wanted -experiments made, but these must be unofficial. He had ideas to sell, -but, realizing the prior claims of his own nation’s firms, he could not -part with them unreservedly. All his negotiations, which involved so -many conflicting interests, were complicated and slow, but before the -_Pathshire_ put to sea he felt that he had made preliminary progress, -some of which he would report to Mr. Fane-Herbert. - - -III - -Sailing by way of Nagasaki, the squadron reached Wei-hai-wei on the -first morning of June. The Fane-Herberts, who had travelled overland, -were already established there, having taken a small house and equipped -it with Chinese servants. Mr. Fane-Herbert had urged his wife not to -settle down in a place so deserted. In the absence of the squadron, -he told her, there would be little company but that of the somewhat -distant regiment. But she had made up her mind, and was not to be -dissuaded. The squadron would be at Wei-hai during a part of the -summer at least, and, if rumour spoke truly, the _Pathshire_ was to -winter there alone. Both she and Margaret wanted to be near Hugh, and -taking into consideration the probabilities of the squadron’s ever -uncertain movements, they seemed likely to see more of him at Wei-hai -than elsewhere.... But he couldn’t do his business at Wei-hai, Mr. -Fane-Herbert remonstrated; the boy was quite capable of looking after -himself. - -“You are quite free,” Mrs. Fane-Herbert had said, “to move about -independently of us. If the _Pathshire_ leaves Wei-hai for long we will -come anywhere you like, and return when the _Pathshire_ returns. We -shall have enough time in her absence to see Japan, and Hong-Kong, and -Shanghai, or any other places you feel we ought to see. At present I -want to see my son. Wild horses shall not move me.” - -She had had enough of travelling. She liked to be settled in a home, -and did not intend to trail about the seas at her husband’s heels. - -Nick invited himself to dine, and John and Hugh, who would not ask for -late leave that night, went ashore in the afternoon. - -“Mr. Alter is always talking of you,” Margaret told him when, after -tea, he had her alone. “He wants more of your work, and he has given me -this letter for you.” - -“I have done no more work,” he confessed. - -“None?” - -“None.” - -“Didn’t you get my letter. I addressed it to Colombo.” - -“Yes, I got that. I took it up to Kandi with me to read. I made -wonderful resolutions that night.” - -“And haven’t kept them?” - -“No.” - -“John, you are hopeless.” - -He defended himself as best he could. “I can’t help it,” he said; -“I have tried to write and I have tried to read. I have read -spasmodically. But it seems useless. I started this naval business -too early. My education has been a naval education, and--what is more -important--my life is a naval life. If you can’t be alone you can’t -think; if you can’t think you are a fool to try to write. Besides, -to write you must read and read and read. You must see life from a -thousand angles--not from one professional standpoint. And you must -feel that, for better or for worse, you are master of yourself--not -necessarily of your actions, but of your thinking.” - -“But you have written in these very circumstances. Why can’t you write -more?” - -“For the same reason that a man who chances upon an occasional phrase -can’t write an epic. Literature isn’t luck; it’s the result of -substantial effort.” - -“Others have written who had other things to do than write.” - -He wondered if, after all, he was overrating difficulties in order to -shield a lack of courage. “Yes,” he said, “but out of their office, -or shop, or factory, their life was their own. They went home--to some -kind of home. At any rate, it was theirs. A snotty’s life is never his -own. He lives in his office the whole twenty-four hours. He never ‘goes -home.’” - -“Then what are you going to do?” - -“Nothing.” - -“So you give up?” she asked. - -“Yes. What can I do?” - -“And you are not nineteen yet. What’s your life going to be?” - -“I may get to like it. Perhaps in the senior ranks it will be better.” - -“It won’t.” - -“I know. Of course it won’t.” - -She was tempted to be angry because he had so early abandoned hope, -because he was not putting up a fight; but she saw that he was opposed -to forces so much stronger than any he could command that by no courage -could he unaided stand against them. Then she remembered a source -whence help might come. - -“John,” she said, “I want you to fight this out.” - -“Fight?” - -“Because I believe it’s worth the fighting. You feel hopeless now, -partly, I dare say, because your other work prevents your writing, but -chiefly--isn’t that true?--chiefly because you don’t feel sure that you -could ever write.... You can write, you know.” - -“What guarantee have you of that?” he asked, in a tone that was -unusually hard, because he did not feel hard. Her presence, her voice, -her repose above all, affected his uneasy mind profoundly. It was -amazing that anyone should care two damns whether he wasted his life or -not. - -“I think I had better tell you,” she said. “I didn’t intend to. There’s -a sort of convention that you mustn’t tell people good of themselves, -but I shall tell you this now. I have Mr. Alter’s guarantee.” - -“Because he said he liked my work? It’s so easy to say that.” - -“No--more than that. He said you were an example of godless waste.” - -“Good heavens!” John exclaimed with a laugh. - -“And he said,” she went on, “that he believed you could, if you would, -be a great man. I asked him at once what reasons he had for saying -that. He gave me certain points in your work: I shan’t repeat them or -you will strain after them and exaggerate them. But he thought them -decisive. He showed your work to other men whose opinions confirmed his -own.... What now?” - -“It’s wonderfully good to hear,” John said unsteadily. “Margaret, tell -me the special points he hit on. I don’t see how it is possible to be -sure at this stage.” - -“I’ll tell you one point--too general for you to exaggerate and spoil. -He said that you wrote naturally, established a curious intimacy with -your audience, and that yet what you said was momentous--the rarest -of combinations. And he repeated what you heard him say that night at -dinner--that your images were chosen with the eyes tight shut or wide -open--the full vision, inward or outward. He gave instances.” - -“What instances?” - -“Those I can’t tell you. If I did you would be bound to imitate them.” - -He thought over this in silence. “Margaret,” he said, “may not this be -mere talk? You know how great men love an occasional enthusiasm. Mr. -Alter is in no way bound by what he says.” - -“He acts on it, at any rate. He went to see your mother about it.” - -“She wrote that he had called.” - -“He has called often,” Margaret said. She smiled as she remembered his -words, spoken after one of those expeditions to the country. “Mrs. -Lynwood is delightful,” he had said. “She understands everything except -her son. She wishes he would settle down to the Navy--a fixed income -and an open-air life. She smiles at his poetry, and says, ‘Yes, I dare -say it is good, Wing, and I’m glad he does it so well; but there’s no -money in it. And we are dreadfully poor, you know.’” - -Margaret told John nothing of this. If Mrs. Lynwood did not see fit to -mention to her son that she had known Wingfield Alter long enough and -intimately enough to call him “Wing,” she had probably good reasons for -concealing the fact. - -“I must think over all this,” John said. “I want to tell Hartington -about it. Hartington is the Sub.” - -“The Sub?” she said in surprise. “Does the Sub listen kindly to poetry?” - -“Yes, thank Heaven. You must meet him soon.... And I’ll try to write -to-night, Margaret.” - -“No; don’t _try_.” - -“But I want to write now. I am so suddenly happy. I have been longing -and longing to see you. And when you come you bring this wonderful -news.” - -Near at hand the gulls were crying, and sampan men crooning to -themselves as they rocked their bodies over their stern oars. - -“Come and tell me about England,” he said; “the Thames, the bridges, -the lights, the trains; and pictures and music, and books and plays, -and carpets and rugs; and little narrow country lanes, and hills, and -being free, and----” - -“But I can’t tell you everything at once!” - -“Oh, splendid!” he exclaimed. “I guessed you would say that. I have -guessed it every night for weeks and weeks. ‘But I can’t tell you -everything at once!’ Now it’s coming true. You see,” he explained, “I -have been looking forward to this.” - -A tremor of joy passed through her because she had made him happy. She -began to talk eagerly, so that, for a time at least, he might forget -the ship, and might not remember, what she understood now, that “for -weeks and weeks” there had been nothing but this meeting to which he -might look forward. - -From the bridge of the _Pathshire_ Nick Ordith was surveying the shore -through a telescope. - -“Dull spot, Yeoman,” he said. - -The Yeoman of Signals rubbed his hands. “Precious cold in the winter, -sir.” - - -IV - -John returned to the ship in a spirit of exultation, intoxicated, not -so much by the heady wine of praise as by the discovery that he was not -altogether alone in his difficult world. Margaret cared what became of -him; apparently Mr. Alter also cared. But it was Margaret’s interest -and her personality that filled his thoughts to the exclusion of the -colder critic. He sought out Hartington, and laid the matter before -him, reading aloud Mr. Alter’s letter, and repeating the passages in it -which seemed to him unusually important. - - “DEAR LYNWOOD, - - “_I am sending this letter by Margaret lest it follow you from sea to - sea. If she does not meet you at once, she can at least discover your - whereabouts. - - “I have shown your work to several friends--all creative artists, - not critics only. Their opinions support my own. Probably in your - present situation you have no one to whom you can go for counsel, - so I have taken upon myself the duties of adviser. You must read. I - don’t care about the quantity, but your reading must be regular and - sound. The modern men are excellent when you have found your own - feet, but before you are twenty you are prone to imitation of their - extremes--probably the worst of them. So go back to men whom you will - not be tempted to imitate. Read the_ Actes and Monuments, _Swift, - Addison, Walton, Goldsmith. Burton’s_ Anatomy of Melancholy _has been - an inexhaustible quarry for later essayists. If you must have the - living, try Mrs. Meynell for her prose. Go to De Quincey for speed - and amazement, Poe for short stories, Fielding for action--Fielding, - in fact, for most things. In poetry, take Shakespeare--enough, - believe me, for your present needs._ - - “_As for a method of writing--whatever I tell you, a thousand others - will tell you I am wrong. Fast or slow? Rough-hewn or polished? That - you must find out for yourself. I believe_ le mot juste _is well - worth long seeking in chilly, critical moments. But if you feel - excited about what you are writing it’s best to use a slack rein. - Never be afraid of the whip--it’s very good to write a ‘portion’ - every day, if you have the courage to destroy it when necessary in - the evening. The wastepaper-basket is a good, silent friend whom it - is folly to despise. - - “Write to me whenever you care to, and send me the little that the - wastepaper-basket does not swallow up. I have been seeing much of - your mother lately, talking of old times and of you._ - - “_Yours_, - - “WINGFIELD ALTER. - - “_P.S.--If you can find a place to do it in, read your work aloud - to yourself--especially verse. I should have told you to read the - Bible and Thomas Hardy and Murray’s translations of the Greek. - Robert Bridges will teach you much of metre. Try Clutton Brock for - scholarly prose. Margaret is taking out a supply of my books for - you. Talk to her when you can, but don’t believe all she tells you - about literature--and don’t accept what I tell you as anything but a - foundation upon which to build up your own tastes. I think you might - read Conrad, too, if you will promise to stop when Marlow begins to - dominate you completely.--W.A._” - -Hartington who thought that by this time he had a fairly accurate -understanding of the working of John’s mind, was at first astonished by -the extraordinary elation of which this letter was the only apparent -cause. It was natural that John should be pleased by the approval -and interest of a man of Alter’s standing, but his changed mood, the -laughter, the quickened speech, the heightened colour, called for an -explanation more personal. John spoke of Margaret as “Fane-Herbert’s -sister” when he spoke of her at all. - -“So Alter advises you to talk to Miss Fane-Herbert when you can?” -Hartington said. “What’s the exact meaning of that?” - -“She knows a good deal of books,” said John easily. - -“But he doesn’t suggest that you should be tutored by her?” - -“Oh, no.” - -“Then it’s her talk that’s to do you good?” - -“Yes.” - -“Because it is _her_ talk--not for the sake of her knowledge?” - -“I suppose so.” - -Hartington smiled. Between them as they sat in the small cabin hung -a large red-paper lantern, lighted by an electric lead. Hartington -touched it with his foot, and set the light and shadows chasing each -other round the Fiesole paintings and Dürer’s _Hare_. - -“Do you think I might ask you an extremely rude question?” he said. -“It’s important. I think it’s relevant.” - -“I know what you are going to ask,” John answered. “About -Fane-Herbert’s sister? I suppose you think I am a fool to be in love -with her.” - -“It makes the whole business more complicated. It means that half the -time when you think you are wanting one thing you are really wanting -another. Now any consideration of the future will be hopelessly -entangled with consideration of her.” - -John explained that, in truth, Margaret simplified the issue, because, -as he said, her own ideas were so very like his own. He elaborated this -theory until he could elaborate it no more. Then he stopped suddenly. - -“It’s so exciting,” he said, after a pause. “Everything is so exciting.” - -The excitement of it took his breath away. He steadied the red lamp, -and watched its light glow through the tips of his fingers. Obviously -he had forgotten that his life did not consist entirely in Margaret -and literature. Of what use was it to remind him now that he was a -midshipman, very young and altogether unknown, who earned one shilling -and ninepence a day? of what use to speak of Ibble’s and Ibble’s -wealth? Hartington decided not to trouble him that night, to leave -unshattered so long as they would endure his vain, happy dreams. - -“Do you think,” John said, “that Mr. Alter would put in a word with a -publisher about a novel?” - -“Probably. Have you written one? Have you a great work stored away -secretly underneath your private till?” - -“No,” said John seriously; “but I could write one. A hundred thousand -words. Suppose I did a thousand a day--or even five hundred--a couple -of quarto pages.... There might be money in that.” - -He turned into his hammock that night to lie long awake, dreaming of -title pages, bindings, and press-cuttings, and calculating royalties. -He was generous to himself in the matter of royalties, for so much -money would be needed before--perhaps a play would be better, after -all.... Very carefully, mindful of Hartington’s warning, he excluded -Margaret from his consideration of these practical matters. But when -at last he fell asleep and could no longer deceive himself, he dreamed -of Margaret only. He dreamed that she kissed him, not that he kissed -her; of a hundred tendernesses of word and deed that were outside his -experience. They had a house in Westminster.... She looked down from -behind the grille on to the floor of the House of Commons. - - -V - -Margaret sat very still on the edge of her bed. The last word she had -heard her father speak that evening came back to her like a tawdry tune. - -“The most steel-like mind I know.” - -That was Mr. Ordith’s. Steel-like: strong, supple, elastic, highly -finished. He had, too, some of the splendour, even the poetry, of -machinery: accurate, clean, with no uncertain edges, without misgiving. -And he had power. - -He was a man to whom one might go confidently in any worldly -difficulty. He would know what ought to be done, and would do it at -once. He would see quite clearly one side of every question. In a way, -she supposed, it was a compliment that one who had so wide a field of -choice should have chosen her. - -Then she remembered how he had watched her. She saw again, as if they -were watching her now, those large dark eyes, with their lower lids -slightly raised and puckered. It gave one a sense of being a specimen, -of being exposed. She shivered, stood up, walked to the window and -closed it. The night was hot, so she opened the window again. - -“Anyhow,” she said, “_he_ doesn’t want help from anyone.” She blew -out the candle and got into bed. There were so many people who wanted -help--John among them; so many, that one might as well give up trying -to help them. With Ordith it would be an easy passage in a comfortable -ship that he would steer. - -The bedclothes were tucked into place with a little jerk. She pushed -back a wisp of hair from her face as if she were angry with it. Then -she shut her eyes--tight. No need to think. No need to worry yet. Sleep. - -But she opened her eyes again, and stared at the little white mountain -of her pillow. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -WASTE AND WONDER - - -There is something in physical drill before breakfast that dissolves -the fabric of dreams. This John had discovered long ago, turning out -of a hammock in whose warm comfort all things had been possible, and -becoming, in the twinkling of an eye, a bare-footed, sleepy midshipman, -in dirty flannels; and this he realized afresh on that June morning -when his meeting Margaret, his letter from Mr. Alter, and his lamp-lit -talk with Hartington had become affairs of yesterday. He went into the -Gunroom, drank cocoa, smoked as much of a cigarette as time allowed -him, and went with the others on to the Upper Deck. Here all was -hosepipes and holystone--gritty to the foot. Ordith, in new sea-boots, -was walking up and down the quarter-deck sniffing the morning air. When -the midshipmen began their drill, he watched them for a moment, and -then turned away. - -“Stoop-fallin’--place!” commanded the Instructor. “Feet placin’ -forwards and backwards. One--two! One--two! One--two!” The midshipmen, -on all fours, moved their legs in and out lazily, reflecting that -their anatomy was remarkably unlike that of a frog. In any case--and -this, perhaps, was one of the more subtle reasons which inspired the -authorities to order physical drill--it was impossible while so engaged -to imagine one’s self addressing the House of Commons, or falling in -love, or writing a book, or, indeed, doing anything but sprawl on the -deck to the accompaniment of the Instructor’s unceasing “One--two! -One--two!” At Osborne and Dartmouth, of course, where physical drill -had been properly done, it had not been unattractive; moreover, they -were healthier in those days. But now drink, tobacco, and lack of -exercise had made drill an uncomfortable process. It was useless, too, -for they “sloped” through it, and none cared so long as the young -gentlemen obeyed regulations by being on the quarter-deck in flannels -for a stated number of minutes every morning. The fact that they -“sloped” was the young gentlemen’s fault; but not theirs alone. - -None cared. The senior officers had other things to do than dry-nurse -the young gentlemen. If they eluded the regulations concerning wine -bills, whose fault was it? Whose fault if they were so bored and had so -lost interest in themselves that in their spare hours they nipped, and -smoked “chains,” and talked women? At Osborne and Dartmouth they had -been educated. At the age of seventeen and a half they had come to sea, -and their education had ceased. The senior officers had other things -to do than worry about the young gentlemen’s education. From time to -time the Gunnery-Lieutenant would dictate obscure notes about guns -that the midshipmen had never seen; or the Torpedo-Lieutenant would -mumble over again lectures on Balance Chamber Mechanism and War Heads, -of just such a kind as had been given in the training cruiser. There -was no system, no syllabus, no timetable, no programme. Sometimes, -to the active irritation of all concerned, there was a lecture; more -often there was not. There were the yearly sights to be worked out; -but these were accomplished on the communal system, and were usually -worked backwards, for reasons that will be clear to seamen. Life was -a haphazard business, in which the only regular intellectual process -was deterioration. One day John discovered that he had forgotten how -to integrate, and that all his mathematics was slipping from him. -Mechanics, too, was a thing of the past; even the elementary formulæ -were forgotten now. Electricity had gone; German had gone utterly; -French was going; Chemistry was no more than a vague recollection of -apparatus and of the red tie worn by the master who had taught him. - -“I’ve forgotten everything we ever learnt at Dartmouth,” he confessed. - -“So have we all,” Dyce answered. - -Borne in the flagship was one Naval Instructor, who was responsible for -all the midshipmen in the squadron. Perhaps he taught the flagship’s -midshipmen; but his visits to the other ships were so rare that he -was unexpectedly popular. Because it was impossible for him to be in -two places at once, it happened that, when the flagship was in one -port of the Station and the _Pathshire_ in another, the _Pathshire’s_ -midshipmen were delightfully free from his ministrations. Outwardly -they rejoiced at this emancipation, complaining only that threepence -a day was deducted from the pay of each one of them in order that, in -accordance with regulation, the Naval Instructor might be fittingly -rewarded for being at Hong-Kong while his paying pupils were at -Nagasaki. This seemed unjust. - -“Our pay from a grateful Admiralty is twenty-one pence a day,” Dyce -remarked, “on which, apart from what our people provide, we live like -officers and gentlemen. And out of the twenty-one pence three go every -day to the upkeep of this N.I., who comes near us about one morning in -three months. Now, why the hell should I pay one-seventh of my total -income for an education I never receive?” - -“Lord Almighty!” Cunwell exclaimed; “you don’t want the damned N.I., do -you?” - -“No. But threepence nearly buys a glass of port.” - -“Well, let’s put in a moan,” Fane-Herbert said. - -“Moan!” Dyce laughed. “We shan’t get much change.” - -However, after further discussion, their complaint seemed so -justifiable that they laid it before the powers. The powers considered -it, and decided that midshipmen in ships other than the flagship should -pay the Naval Instructor only when they were in company with the Flag. -This change was certainly an improvement; but still, when the squadron -was at sea, John paid threepence a day for the education he did not -receive from a man who sailed in a ship one-fifth of a mile away. - -The apparent charm of the China Station was that there was nothing to -do; its disadvantage, discovered by experience, was that the whole day -was spent doing nothing. Occasionally there occurred “spasms”--periods -of remarkable gunnery activity, when the midshipmen spent hour after -hour on watch or at their guns, waiting for the watch to end or for the -deliverance of the next meal. One of these “spasms” took place soon -after the _Pathshire’s_ arrival at Wei-hai-wei. The ship cruised all -the week in the neighbourhood of Waterwitch and Four Funnel Bays, and -returned to Wei-hai-wei on Friday nights. But even this activity was -powerless to check the growth of the conviction which was finding a -place in John’s mind that all his preparation at Dartmouth was to be -wasted, and that, so far as the Service was concerned, his intellectual -development had come to an end. And from this conviction proceeded a -feeling that his youth and all the energies of youth were purposeless -and useless. Day after day went by and he was never called upon to use -his brains. There was routine to be followed--so many hours on duty, -so many hours standing about, so many hours of waiting. And in the -intervals there was the Gunroom, where one slept, or threw dice for -sixpences, or listened to lurid tales. - -As time went on the aspect of the Gunroom became more strange and -more terrible. Usually John was not aware that anything was wrong. -Life seemed slack and easy, and he did not complain. But there were -moments when he realized suddenly that young men not yet twenty do not -naturally sleep through the daylight hours. Dice for sixpences became -poor sport; poker began; the stakes rose; a card-book was started in -which were recorded debts a midshipman’s income could not discharge. -The defaulters satisfied their creditors by keeping their watches and -running their boats for them. - -Conversation became incredibly filthy. Even the elements of wit -disappeared from its indecency. The intelligence of the midshipmen was -applied to the invention of new blasphemies, the foulness of which was -the measure of the audience’s applause. There came moments when even -that Gunroom was stricken to silence; and, for a day or two, certain -expressions had to be paid for by a democratically imposed fine. - -“I’m sick of it all,” Hugh said. “There’s no earthly point in it.” - -“This isn’t a Mess of women,” Cunwell protested, though that was not -the expression he used. - -“I dare say it isn’t. But the fact is that our pretty language wouldn’t -pass muster in a room full of men. We are miles outside any possible -limit.” - -Driss opened sleepy eyes. “There’s nothing else to talk about,” he -observed, “so we talk like this. We are all sick of it--the same as -you, Fane-Herbert. But we shan’t stop. We can’t stop. It’s a habit -now.” And he rang the bell for cigarettes. - -Hartington was powerless; the causes of change in the Gunroom were such -as his influence could not affect. A hot climate, monotony of labour, -and the absence of any kind of intellectual exercise or stimulus -brought the midshipmen to such a pass that first they described their -own minds as being “like cesspools”--stagnant and foul--and then ceased -to care whether their minds were like cesspools or not. From this it -was a short step to carelessness about those things for which in other -circumstances, they would have been greatly concerned--their hair, -their hands, the linen they wore, and the sheets in their hammocks. -Their health suffered, and they did not care. In body and mind they -became flabby and slack; and still they did not care. Rapidly they were -losing their self-respect. - -When they were ashore the deterioration seemed to have gone not so far, -and yet far enough. There were in those parts no women with whom they -could go, but at the Club were armchairs, and a bar where cocktails -had nothing to do with their wine bills. When John went to see the -Fane-Herberts the change in him was remarkable. He would wash, shave, -and dress himself more carefully. For a couple of hours, perhaps, his -speech would be clean. But consciousness of the ship’s life never left -him, and he felt in Margaret’s presence always at a disadvantage, as if -he had entered a drawing-room in dirty boots. Self-respect is not to be -laid aside and instantly reassumed, and John was for ever sensible of -a kind of inferiority to which he could not believe others were blind. -As a result he became abnormally sensitive, interpreting a momentary -silence as purposeful neglect of himself, and imagining deliberate -coldness whenever Margaret was less responsive than he desired. - -When Ordith, too, was there, John found it impossible to meet him on -even ground. Ordith was a Wardroom officer, and aware of the conditions -of life in the _Pathshire’s_ Gunroom. No doubt he looked upon the -midshipmen with contempt, and smiled to think that one of them presumed -to be his rival. Little by little John fell into the background. -Margaret, wondering at his lack of enterprise, and not understanding -its true cause, was led to imagine that he had ceased to care. His -conversation with her became colourless, his manner nervous and -embarrassed. As the weeks passed they fell further and further apart. - -To this estrangement between himself and Margaret John ascribed a -false cause. He regarded it as a consequence of his own insignificant -position as a midshipman without money. He was not cynical and foolish -enough to imagine that Margaret deliberately excluded him from her -consideration because he was poor. Rather, it seemed, the practical -hopelessness of any love for him prevented its growth as naturally -as darkness stifles a flower. How should she learn to love him when -every circumstance of her own life and of his association with her was -evidence that such love must be vain? The sight of Mr. Fane-Herbert was -enough to shatter any dreams. Never was a man a more loyal citizen of -the “world as it is.” To look at his gold watch-chain was to remember -your poverty; to hear him speak of success, of the men who “got there,” -of the “youths who were likely to do something in the world,” was to -become vividly aware that you had neither succeeded, nor got there, -nor were likely to do anything in the world. When Mr. Fane-Herbert’s -business gave him a short respite, which he spent at Wei-hai-wei, -Margaret seemed more than ever unapproachable and Ordith’s position -more than ever assured. - -Confronted for the first time by the problem of a woman’s mind, and -having no woman to whom he could go for counsel, John was guilty of an -error in judgment almost as often as he and Margaret met. To him, in -his present mood, every sign seemed a sign of ill-omen. If she went out -of the room when he was there he thought she wished to avoid him. If -she was not at home when he called he imagined that she had foreseen -his coming. To his ears she seemed never to speak of Ordith save with -approval. - -In the meantime, Ordith made regular, methodical, and carefully -recorded progress. Margaret could not understand John. At a time -when she had been most eager to help him he had become suddenly -uncommunicative, and lately, without any kind of explanation, he had -ceased to come to the house more often than mere politeness demanded. -Her father regarded him “as one of those snotties,” no more and no -less. And Ordith never missed an opportunity. - -He would come continually to the house. He would talk to Margaret -throughout the long summer afternoons, talk about himself, his future, -his ambitions--just such talk as, modestly spoken, flatters any woman -into interest. He would ask her advice, making her feel that her -decision was indeed of importance to him. He had an air of letting her -share his secrets, and a power, that amounted almost to genius, of -making his secrets not only important but amusing. - -At the dance which the Admiral gave in his flagship he took entire -charge of her. She could not help noticing that in the flagship the -personality of Ordith had made itself felt. And he was in excellent -form that night, laughing, dancing with extraordinary swing and rhythm, -awakening in her an excitement that brightened her eyes and brought a -hot flush to her cheeks. Through many of the long hours in which she -danced John was in charge of the _Pathshire’s_ picket-boat, lying -alongside the flagship, waiting until, the guests being ready to leave, -the boats should be called to the gangway. He had undertaken this duty, -which was not properly his own, in order that he might avoid a direct -decision as to whether he should attend the dance or deliberately -absent himself from it. He had lacked courage either to compete with -Ordith, or, without some excuse of “duty,” to leave the field clear for -him. - -“Not going to the dance?” Hartington had said. - -“No.” - -“Why on earth not? You are a dancing man, aren’t you?” - -“I am running the picket-boat,” John had answered. - -But Hartington had seen deeper than this poor excuse. - -“Couldn’t you have got someone to run it for you--if you want to go to -the dance?” - -“I am taking it for someone else.” - -“Oh! Not your own job?” - -“No.” - -“You are an uncourageous fellow.” - -For a moment John had remained silent. Then he had burst out: “Oh, it’s -no good. You don’t know Ordith. You don’t know old Fane-Herbert. The -odds are too big.” - -Hartington had shrugged his shoulders. - -“That’s for you to decide.” - -So John waited in the darkness at the flagship’s side. Above him the -quarter-deck was gay with red and white bunting, and brilliant with -electric lights. John wondered if coachmen and chauffeurs felt as -he did. The colour and music were close to him, but he had no part -in them. He saw shadows move to and fro on the decorative flags, -and wondered if that shadow were Margaret’s, and what she was saying -and doing at that instant. Certainly, he reflected, he could not -be entering into her thoughts; and yet it seemed strange, almost -incredible, that she, of whom he thought so insistently, should occupy -her mind with other things--an experiment in a new dance-step, perhaps, -or the effect of her dress, or the excellence of supper. This thought, -as it were an arm that thrust him back into the darkness from which -he desired to issue, quickened his sense of remoteness. He saw all -his hopes and desires objectively, as if he looked down from a barred -window on to a world he could not enter. There, on the quarter-deck, -within a few yards of him, was Margaret; he could not attain to her, -he could not make her hear; she was dancing and laughing, eating and -drinking, unconscious of his proximity, forgetful of his existence. - -He did not see her until the dance ended with an abruptness peculiar -to entertainments on board His Majesty’s ships. At once the sea, -which through the hours had lapped quietly against the steel plates, -was thrashed to foam by the propellers of the waiting steamboats. It -happened, as John had scarcely doubted it would happen, that Margaret -and her mother went ashore in the _Pathshire’s_ picket-boat. John, who -stood where the light fell on him, watched Ordith escort them down -the gangway. He saw that Margaret’s eyes were tired, as if she had -undergone some strain, but this appearance he attributed to physical -weariness. She said nothing to Ordith but a short “Good-night” scarcely -audible. Then, as she stepped on to the deck of John’s boat, she -looked directly at him where he stood beside the engine-room casing. -She looked at and beyond him as if he were not there, and disappeared -into the cabin. - -He drove the boat angrily, using too much helm, and brought up by the -landing-stage, not by slowing and then stopping his engines, but by a -sudden stoppage and immediate reversal at full speed. All went well, as -if the Devil were directing his judgment. The stem swung inaccurately, -the engines stopped, and the boat came to rest with the foam boiling -around her. The passengers clambered out with the extraordinary nervous -clumsiness of landfolk in boats. - -For a moment John was tempted to draw attention to himself by saying -good-night to Mrs. Fane-Herbert and Margaret. Then he changed his -mind, and kept his place by the wheel, where the brass funnel hid him. -Margaret had seen him alongside the flagship. She must have recognized -him, and she had given no sign of recognition. He would not press the -matter further. - -He had other boat-trips that night, but he remembered nothing of them -afterwards except a vague irritation because he could not shout at -the shrill, silly women in his cabin to keep silence in the boat. -When he returned finally to the _Pathshire_ he was conscious of that -odd despair and misery that sometimes attacked him with irresistible -force if he awoke in his hammock in the dark of the early morning. He -seemed to have no reserve of will with which to combat it. The Gunroom -was closed, and he went into the Smoking Casemate, where he sat down -on an upright wooden chair. The room was dirty with the litter of -the day. Cards and newspapers lay on the deck and on the chairs. -Cigarette-ends exuded their juice among the dregs at the bottom of -wine-glasses. From the half-deck, where the midshipmen’s hammocks were -slung, came the sound of regular breathing, and once the cry--almost -the cry of a child, John fancied--of one who dreamed unhappily. He sat -staring at the six-inch gun that gleamed beneath the yellow beam of an -imperfect police-light. What, in God’s name, was this leading to? From -the cruelty and degradation of the _King Arthur_ he seemed now to be -degraded through his own fault. No need to sink into slackness of mind -and body; no need to drink rot-gut liqueurs in the forenoon; no need to -gamble for stakes he could not afford, or to let his thought and speech -be filled with beastliness. His own fault, he supposed; his own fault, -he tried to confess in his eagerness to avoid the finding of excuses -for himself. And yet--he glanced through the half-curtained door beyond -which the others were sleeping--were not they similarly affected? In -other ships were the same Gunroom conditions. There must be a reason -for it, outside and beyond them all; a force greater than their wills, -bearing them down, stifling and slowly destroying the instincts for -cleanness and energy which had once been lively within them. - -And suddenly John perceived that his stream of life had become stagnant -and foul because it was dammed, having no outlet in hope. His care -for Margaret, his desire for poetry, his longing for progressive -intellectual work which had been allowed to develop at the training -colleges, were checked now. In his present life, and, so far as he -could see, in the future life the Service promised him, there could -be no spiritual or intellectual expansion. Day after day routine would -repeat itself. The end towards which all effort was directed was war. -War--and what then? - -He could not face the questions that were crying unanswered through the -passages of his mind. He began to reckon his gains and losses at cards, -and frowned because the card-book, into which he would have liked to -look, was inaccessible within the locked Gunroom. And presently he -began to ask himself what offence of his had caused Margaret wilfully -to disregard him that night. - -Perhaps for ten minutes, perhaps for an hour or more, he had sat thus, -thinking with desperate rapidity, when he looked up to find Hugh, -bare-footed, and clothed in torn pyjamas, standing at the Casemate door. - -“I saw you from my hammock,” Hugh said. “You look pretty miserable, -sitting there.” - -“I’ve been running the picket-boat,” John answered, as if this were -sufficient explanation. “You were at the dance, weren’t you?” - -“Yes. I had to go because my people were going. A flagship dance is no -place for a snotty--too much gold lace and aiglettes.” - -“I took your people ashore.” - -“I know. I saw them go down into the _Pathshire’s_ boat.” - -“Did you notice anything?” - -“Notice anything?” - -“About Margaret?” - -“No. What of her?” - -“Merely that she looked straight at me, saw me, and wouldn’t recognize -me.” John laughed shortly. “I wonder what crime I’ve committed.” - -“I think she was excited to-night. Sometimes when I spoke to her she -answered me in that vague way of hers, as if her thoughts were far -away. Do you remember how strange she was that Sunday after our dance -in town? It was the same thing to-night.” - -“Ordith?” - -“Perhaps. She danced with him. I remember, as they passed me, I heard -her laugh--higher pitched than usual.” And Hugh added, with a touch of -embarrassment: “Almost as if she was afraid.” - -John paused to consider. He saw her in Ordith’s arms, moving to the -music, her head thrown back a little, laughing. Then, with directness -that surprised himself, he asked suddenly the question he had long -desired and never dared to ask: - -“Hugh, do you think she is in love with Ordith?” - -“He is with her.” - -“I know. That wasn’t my question, though. You know why I ask it.” - -“She has never said a word to me about it.” - -“She’s not likely to.... But what is your opinion, based on what you’ve -seen and heard?” - -“My dear old fellow, how should I know? It does no good to make -yourself wretched.” - -“But you think there’s cause?” - -“Well, there’s a kind of glamour about Ordith, you know. And Margaret -is very young as yet. I don’t suppose her mind is made up in any way.” - -John rose and shivered. “We had better turn in,” he said. “The -half-deck sentry thinks we are mad. I saw him look round the edge of -the curtain just now.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -TRAFALGAR AND THE RED LAMP - - -Though assuredly not with fear, nor with any sense of impending -dissolution, the officers and men of the _Pathshire_--and, perhaps, of -the whole Navy--regarded war with Germany, in more than one respect, -as they regarded death, and assumed that the same certitude existed in -their shipmates’ minds; so that the end of peace was no more questioned -than the end of life, but only the manner of that end and the hour -of its coming. Moreover, as from men’s ordinary speech speculation -concerning the after-life is excluded, so these seamen did not speak, -and seldom thought, of the time that would come when the war was over. -The tale that German officers toasted “The Day” produced in the British -Navy sentiments altogether different from those with which it inspired -British civilians. In Service messes they smiled the national smile -at this effusiveness of foreigners, just as they would have smiled -at the gesticulations of Frenchmen or the exceeding politeness of -Japanese. To them it seemed pompous and laughable to drink solemnly to -War; they would as soon have been ceremonious concerning a Gunlayers’ -Test. But this German proceeding aroused in them neither fear nor the -resentment that springs from fear. They regarded the Germans who were -said to drink this toast, not as wicked men rejoicing in the prospect -of wickedness, but as professional men who overstepped somewhat the -boundaries of “good form” in their too dramatic attitude towards their -profession. - -So long as they remained in or near their ships--that is, within the -atmosphere of which Mr. Alter had spoken, and beyond the influence of -their civilian friends--naval officers saw the coming war with such -concentration on its professional aspect that observant visitors were -amazed and sometimes shocked. War would come; Germany would be the -enemy and the aggressor; but the certainty of this aggression seemed no -better reason for bitterness than a chess opponent’s initial move of -his King’s Pawn. It was attractive to wonder whether the King’s Pawn -would be moved or whether some other opening would be selected. It -was delightful to suggest the defence that Jellicoe and Prince Louis -would adopt. But, just as chess players are careful for the game’s -intricacies and not for stakes, so naval officers thought of the war -in terms of manœuvred battle squadrons and destroyer flotillas -rather than of the destinies of nations. And they assumed that German -officers, being likewise professional men, were no more interested than -they were in those aspects of war that were not strictly professional. -They imputed to the Ober-Leutnant as he stood, wine-glass in hand, no -motive more sinister than a desire to prove professional superiority; -and, being themselves convinced that they could outmanœuvre and -out-gun him, they were unperturbed that he should drink to his -sentimental heart’s content. - -On the China Station the naval officer’s concern with war was, perhaps, -more exclusively technical than elsewhere. In home waters the Germans -were as unfamiliar as bogey-men, and the English newspapers were near -at hand. A speech or leading article was potent to awake, even in the -naval mind, some of those vague misgivings concerning Wilhelmshaven -upon which vulgar opinion on foreign affairs was at that time based. -But the newspapers that reached China were stale and little read; -and--most powerful antidote for political animosity--the German Fleet -was a familiar sight, and its officers were frequent guests. - -The field of thought concerning war was thus circumscribed. When -the time came, the China Squadron would fight its own independent -battle in its own waters. The chess-board was set. The opposing force -was known and visible. Many a time in Wardroom and Gunroom were the -_Scharnhorst_, _Gneisenau_, _Leipzig_, and _Nürnberg_ compared, -knot for knot, gun for gun, armour for armour, torpedo-tube for -torpedo-tube, with the _Pathshire_ and her comrade ships. No doubt the -Germans made similar calculations; no doubt they, too, cast their eyes -sometimes towards Japan. But, in a subtle manner, the very closeness -of the association of those who were ultimately to be enemies robbed -that association of bitterness. The Germans were excellent seamen, and -pleasant companions at dinner. They danced well, drank well, laughed -well, and could sing a good song. When Fate ended both dance and song -the ensuing duel would be a gentlemanly trial of skill, intensely -interesting, a settling of knotty arguments, a test, for instance, -of what the Engineer-Commander could do with his main engines. The -gun-fire silent at last, the survivors would be picked up and given -whisky, or, if the weather was cold, sloe gin. The battle, important -to civilians for its effects upon trade-routes, Eastern prestige, and -a vast complexity of political issues, would be to those who took part -in it a thrilling conclusion to a technical work which for many weary -years had been hard reading. - -It would be a conclusion, an end of a book to which no sequel had been -planned. After it, as after death, would be but that blank fly-leaf -whose whiteness is more emphatic than the written word FINIS. A man -whose whole life has been devoted to one object scarce dares to look -beyond its attainment. The business man speaks uneasily of the years -that are to follow his retirement; the historian wonders how he will -occupy his time when his great work has gone to press; the mother turns -from contemplation of the hour in which her child, made man by her pain -and endeavour, goes from her into the world. And the naval officer -looked infrequently and with reluctance beyond the crowning of his work. - -But there were moments when it was difficult so conveniently to -restrict the vision of the future. Rumours of war were continual -reminders of war’s imminence, and, therefore, pointers towards the -years of undefined purpose that would succeed it. As each rumour was -proved false, it was impossible, in the days of reaction, to avoid some -speculation as to the results which would have ensued had the rumour -been well-founded; just as it is impossible for a man who has survived -an attack of that disease by which he knows his end must come not to -look a little wistfully beyond the gates of death. And soon after that -night on which John had, for other reasons, asked himself to what end -his present life was directed, there came whisperings of war to make -the question more insistent. Once again the rumour was seen to lack -foundation; a leaf in the great technical volume was turned excitedly; -but not yet had that page been reached upon which was written CHAPTER -THE LAST. But John knew, as did they all, that they were near the end -now--very near the end. - -“I hope it comes,” he said to Hartington, “before we leave China. Out -here it will be on a smaller scale. We shall be able to see the whole -battle at once, and it will be _our_ battle. It will be simpler, more -clearly cut than that vast affair in the North Sea.” - -“Do you look forward to war?” - -“What else is there to which we can look forward? It’s our training. -It’s what we are here for.” - -“It means untold suffering--mourning, poverty, bitterness for years to -come.” - -“That may be,” said John, “but it’s our job.” - -“You are a queer fellow--an idealist one moment and a shouting -militarist the next.” - -“No, I’m not a militarist, though I do say I want war. I shouldn’t want -war if there was anything else on God’s earth that I could want with -a reasonable hope of obtaining it. I should take no pleasure in war -itself apart from the momentary excitement of the thing; and certainly -I’m not dreaming of political gains through war, which is the part of -the genuine militarist. I want it just as one wants a thunderstorm to -break quickly that one knows must break some time. I’m sick of the -tension, of wasting precious years in preparing and waiting. If the -end of all our work is to be ‘mourning, poverty, and bitterness for -years to come,’ if that’s what we are living for, I want an end of it. -I don’t know what is beyond. I don’t care. But, at any rate, it will -be a clean sheet--a clean sheet to spoil may be, but a chance to make -a fresh start.” - -“A chance for you to make a fresh start?” - -“I mean--I mean the world in general.” - -“But you?” - -“Oh, I’m a naval officer for good and all. It’s different for me.” - -“Our trade’s going to be an odd one after the war. It may become more -or less superfluous. There may be a great pensioning-off.” - -“I’ve thought about that--‘after the war.’ But I dare say there’ll be -work for us to do.” - -“Yes,” said Hartington, “but work with what object? Think of it: the -work we do from day to day gives precious little satisfaction in -itself. I suppose everyone--no matter in what line of business--has -one supreme ambition that overshadows all other ambitions. But in most -lives, while a man waits for his Great Attainment he is kept going by -smaller successes, intermediate achievements that have at least some -of the qualities of permanence. The statesman waiting to pass his -Great Reform passes smaller measures that are _something_--something -that stands. Or the novelist writing his intermediate novels, or the -architect designing the houses that are to precede his Great Design, or -the shopkeeper, even, opening a new branch here and a new branch there, -stepping-stones to the Great Store of his dream, but each a substantial -achievement in itself; all these people know that, even if the Great -Dream comes to naught, they have constructed something more durable -than themselves. But the naval officer accomplishes nothing by the way. -I suppose Guns is glad if a battle practice goes well, but it all ends -in a round of drinks; no one is the happier for it. No one is a whit -the happier for anything we do.” - -“The practical economists would tell you that we are indirectly -constructive because we protect commerce,” John said. - -“The boy who frightens birds with his clacker is constructive in -that sense. So is the hangman with his rope. No, that’s too shallow -a foundation on which to build comfort. All our eggs are in one -basket. War is everything to us. And when the war is over and we can -say there will not be another war for fifty years, perhaps a hundred -years--certainly not in our time, what then? How are we going to live -through routine? What heart shall we put into preparation for a remote -possibility?” - -“And we shall still be young men.” - -“We shall have all our lives before us.” - -John rested his head on his hand as if he were tired. “And even now,” -he said, “when at least this wonderful achievement of ours is in the -future and not in the past, it seems a poor thing to me. I may be -a Sub when it comes, or I may be a Lieutenant--anyhow, a cog in the -machine.” - -“The Lord knows when it’s coming. We may be Admirals by then.” - -John thought. He was perceiving a revealing truth. “I don’t want to be -an Admiral,” he said. - -“But that, in a naval officer, is heresy and disaster,” Hartington -answered, with a hidden smile. “You ought to want to be an Admiral. At -the age of twelve you promised, as it were, to love, honour, and obey.” - -“I did want to be an Admiral--then.” - -“But you must want it now. You must make yourself want it.” - -“Because there’s nothing else to want?” - -“Just that.” Hartington was determined that, for his own sake, John -must be made to see his position with perfect clearness. “But in time -of war,” he went on, “an Admiral’s position is different from his -position now.” - -“The chances are heavily against his having a command.” - -“Oh, for that matter, the chances are heavily against success in -anything. To reckon on that basis is hopeless. It’s no good to count -on failure.... Imagine you have absolute success, and reckon backwards -from that, if you like. Imagine that there is war. You are the Admiral -commanding the Home Fleet. You have--you have the destinies of the -world in your hands: it would be little less than that. Doesn’t there -seem something fine----” - -“Assuming, for the sake of comparison, an equivalent success elsewhere, -I’d rather shape destiny with other tools.” - -“As Prime Minister?” - -John smiled for a moment. Then he said seriously: “Or write a great -book. Or--oh, there are dozens of better implements.” - -“But suppose--and this is the ultimate test--suppose you won a -Trafalgar?” - -John looked up quickly, realizing whither he had been led. Their eyes -met. “I don’t think Trafalgar would make me happy,” he said. - -He picked up the red lamp that was swinging within a few inches of the -cabin floor and placed it on his knees. Hartington settled himself -deeply in his great wicker chair. - -“If that’s so,” he said, “you ought not to be in the Service. You ought -to get out of it, and try to write that great book.” - -John put the lantern from him hurriedly and rose. “Do you think I don’t -know that?” he demanded, with a tremor in his voice. - -“You didn’t know it sixty seconds ago.” - -“I did. Good-night.” - -“Good-night.” - -John paused with one foot outside the cabin door. - -“Do you want to be an Admiral yourself?” he challenged. - -“That question does not arise,” Hartington answered. - -Because he could not trust himself to speak again John went out, his -eyes aching as before a storm of tears. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE ENGINES - - -I - -About the middle of July the squadron left Wei-hai-wei to visit -Chemulpo and Seoul. John was now attached to the Engine-room staff. -He kept no more watches on the Upper Deck, attended no lectures, and -ran no boats. His connection with the executive branch was limited -to the writing up of his log-book, the taking and working out of -sights, and to certain gunnery duties of which more shall be said. -The executive officers, who objected strongly to the system under -which midshipmen were withdrawn periodically from the Upper Deck, and -by which they were thus deprived of a full complement of messengers, -boat-runners, cocoa-makers, and general assistants, had contrived on -this occasion that no more than two, John and Driss, should go below. -This arrangement, which John had at first welcomed, was soon found to -be less advantageous than he had supposed. - -The control of engineering midshipmen had passed into the hands of -Aggett. He disliked all midshipmen trained under the New Scheme with -the instinctive dislike of a small-minded man for those who, in -their education and upbringing, have been more fortunate than he. He -objected to these “young gentlemen”--the phrase sounded unusually -venomous and scornful as he pronounced it--he objected to their very -presence in his Engine-room. They were intruders. At heart they were -executive officers. Their interest--if, indeed, this Lynwood had -interest in anything but his stuffy books--was in Gunnery, Torpedo, -and Seamanship. It was more than likely that, in their own Mess, -they referred to engineers as “greasers.” Damned insolence! he -thought. Damned insolence! He’d teach them.... To them, of course, -the Engine-room was attractive only as a shelter from the fury of the -Commander, a place in which they might smoke on duty. Aggett was under -no delusion on that point. They thought they could loaf while they were -engineers, and get ashore more often in harbour because they would have -no boats to run. Not one in twenty of the New Scheme midshipmen was -keen on engineering. They looked down upon it, they dared to turn up -their noses at _his_ profession. Aggett had an uncomfortable feeling -that they despised him--that they gave him salutes which were somehow -less respectful than those they accorded to officers of his rank on the -Upper Deck. - -Moreover, Hartington pampered the little pigs. Midshipmen ought to be -flogged; flogging, sound and frequent, was the only way to break them. -This, in Aggett, was not mere brutality but an article of faith. He saw -in the _Pathshire’s_ midshipmen, several of whom seemed likely in any -case to be strangely hindered by temperament from conforming easily -to his ideal, young men handicapped by faulty training. He did not -believe that a sound officer could be produced unless in his days of -apprenticeship he was broken in. - -He remembered how he had asked Hartington, early in the commission, -for an introduction to Little Benjamin, this being the name given -to the stick kept by most Subs for the flogging of midshipmen. -Little Benjamin, our Ruler, it was customarily called by midshipmen -themselves, or, with familiar affection, Benjy. Within Aggett’s -experience Subs had been proud of this implement. They chose it with -care, fed it with oil, put whipping on its end to prevent it from -splitting, and exhibited to all comers its balance, flexibility, and -other attributes. Aggett had seen a tea-party of lady visitors excited -to gurgling laughter by one Sub’s scientific application of Benjy -to a dusty armchair, and by the historical anecdotes with which he -had coloured his performance. One lady had collaborated by providing -with her own shrill voice the cries of the imaginary victim. And the -other ladies, somewhat shocked perhaps by this uproariousness, had -smiled, nevertheless, behind the teacups above the handles of which -they crooked such genteel white fingers. It had amused them to think -that the young men, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty, who came -into the Gunroom now and then and went out quickly that they might not -interrupt the Sub’s party, were treated as the dusty armchair was being -treated then. They had seemed to think it right, Aggett reflected, and -they were thoroughly respectable women. - -Aggett had asked to see Hartington’s Benjy, intending only to -offer advice as to its treatment and care. Besides, as a point of -politeness, one asked to see a Sub’s Benjy just as one asked to see a -woman’s last-born babe. And Hartington had said curtly: “I haven’t got -one.” - -“Then what do you beat the young gents with?” - -“I don’t beat them.” - -“Never?” - -“Never yet.” - -“Why not?” - -Hartington had wanted to say, “Because it makes me feel sick,” but, -realizing in time how odd Aggett could make such an answer seem in the -Wardroom, he substituted, “Because I have seen no need for it.” - -“Easy enough to _find_ a need, ain’t it?” - -“Perhaps.” - -“Well, why don’t you? It does ’em good. You’re not doin’ your duty by -them.” - -“Thanks.” - -“But,” Aggett had persisted, unable to restrain the curiosity which the -discovery of so eccentric a Sub had aroused in him, “but suppose the -officer of the watch or the Commander sends a snotty down to you to -have a dozen--what then?” - -“It hasn’t happened yet.” - -“But it licks ’em into shape,” Aggett had suggested good-humouredly, -believing what he said. “Spare the rod and spoil the child, you know.” - -“I disagree absolutely.... Besides, they are not children. They are out -in the world. My help is scarcely needed in the hurting of them.” - -Once again, in a scene that has already been recorded, Aggett had -returned to the attack, frankly amazed that any attack should be -needed. Couldn’t this fellow Hartington see for himself that what -midshipmen needed was firm treatment? It seemed so obvious.... -And now the engineering midshipmen had been placed under Aggett’s -control. Lynwood, Hartington’s friend, and Driss--that chin-tilting -Irishman--were his to train. He’d train ’em! He’d show ’em! And if they -weren’t more tractable when he’d done with ’em, well---- - -So John and Driss were ordered, while at sea, “to keep watch and watch, -the Afternoon kept”--that is, they were to be on duty in alternate -watches day and night, with this relief, that in the afternoon, from -noon to 4 p.m., neither went below. In these circumstances, to suit -their own convenience, and to vary the rotation of labour, they -regarded the two Dog Watches as a single watch of four hours. By -Service custom they were excused early morning physical drill, one -being on watch at the time and the other not having come off watch -until 4 a.m. - -They made out a table of their watches for forty-eight hours thus -obtaining a graphic representation of a routine which, while they were -at sea, repeated itself every two days. - - _Date_ - 14th Forenoon Watch 8 a.m. to Noon Lynwood. - Afternoon Watch Noon to 4 p.m. No Midshipman. - Dog Watches 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Driss. - First Watch 8 p.m. to Midnight Lynwood. - 15th Middle Watch Midnight to 4 a.m. Driss. - Morning Watch 4 a.m. to 8 a.m. Lynwood. - Forenoon Watch 8 a.m. to Noon Driss. - Afternoon Watch Noon to 4 p.m. No Midshipman. - Dog Watches 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Lynwood. - First Watch 8 p.m. to Midnight Driss. - 16th Middle Watch Midnight to 4 a.m. Lynwood. - Morning Watch 4 a.m. to 8 a.m Driss. - -“Keeping the First _and_ Morning,” said Driss, “will be hell.” - -“After all,” John said, to encourage himself, “it means only twenty -hours on duty in forty-eight. Average of ten in twenty-four. Not so -bad.” - -Driss smiled. “Now let’s make a summary. First, how many hours are -we going to get in our hammocks? Don’t forget that one has to have a -bath to get the filth off after every watch. Follow through your case -on the timetable from 8 a.m. on the 14th. After your first watch you -come off at midnight, turn in at twelve-thirty, and sleep till you are -called at ten-to-four--_three hours and twenty minutes_. On the 15th -you finish the Dogs at eight p.m.; dinner at eight-thirty; asleep, -with luck, at ten-thirty; sleep till ten minutes before midnight--_one -hour and twenty minutes_. On the 16th you finish your Middle at four -a.m.; asleep by four-thirty; sleep till hammocks are made up at -seven-fifteen--_two hours and forty-five minutes_.” - -They added together the three periods of sleep, and wrote down as a -beginning of their summary: - - _Time in hammock during 48 hours = 7 hrs. 25 mins._ - -They stared at that. - -Then John said, rather hopelessly, “Oh, well, it’s getting on for four -hours’ sleep a day. I believe some K.C.’s, when the House and the -Courts are sitting, do with less than that.” - -“But when they are on duty they are not in an engine-room or a -boiler-room--not in that temperature--not standing all the time.” - -“No.... I dare say we shall get some sleep in between--in the Smoking -Casemate or on the Gunroom settee. I can sleep through any noise.” - -Ten hours of watch-keeping in twenty-four seems not terrible, but two -facts throw light upon its meaning. First: the Service, which does -not pamper, allotted eight hours in twenty-four to stokers--trained -men, inured to the task. Second: “Watch and watch”--twelve hours in -twenty-four--was ordered as a severe punishment to midshipmen on the -Upper Deck in harbour, not in the Engine-room depths at sea. - -Moreover, ten hours of watch-keeping did not mean only ten hours of -work. The engineering midshipman not on watch at the time attended -Divisions and Quarters. He took charge of the stokers during Dog Watch -Evolutions. He wrote up his log-book, a slight task; worked sights from -time to time; and each week completed an Engineering sketch. - -Aggett was careful that the sketches should not be too easy. He -demanded scale-drawings of machines in pen and ink, coloured, and with -dimensions. Perfect accuracy was essential. It was necessary to know -every detail of construction and working, and to be prepared to support -Aggett’s searching cross-examination. John’s first weekly sketch -occupied thirty-two of his spare hours. - -They found, too, that in addition to their engineering duties they -were required to attend the guns. The four midshipmen remaining on -the Upper Deck were not enough, the executive officers declared. So, -whenever “General Quarters” was sounded--and at that time it was -sounded once and sometimes twice a day--John or Driss, whichever -was not in the Engine-room, went to a gun for the long hours of the -gun-practices. Time after time the hours which were theirs for rest or -sketching were occupied in this manner; they standing--and they seemed -now always to be standing--not in the Engine-room but on the sighting -platform. - -In the Engine-room from breakfast to lunch; at his gun from lunch to -tea; Quarters and Evolution from four to nearly five; Engineering -sketch from five to seven; dinner from seven to seven forty-five, when -he put on dirty clothes; in the Engine-room from eight to midnight, and -again from four to eight--that was an example of such a day as came to -John three days in six while the ship was at sea. On the alternate days -he was less below and more at his gun. There was little difference in -effect. - -The effect was dull, unspeaking misery; eyelids that closed, and, -being forced open, closed again; limbs gnawed by weariness; a weakness -of control that brought hysterical tears and laughter very near. The -mind strayed back to childhood and leapt out in jagged flashes towards -licentiousness. Aggett could do what he liked with them. No insult -could provoke now any desire to protest. They obeyed like whipped curs. -“Yes, sir.... No, sir.... I’m sorry, sir.” - -“It’s taming ’em,” said Aggett. - -Nervous exhaustion, so potent to produce obsessions, urged John to the -reading of books in snatches and Driss to interminable calculations -of minutes. Driss analyzed his day with pitiless accuracy. He would -confront John with pieces of paper on which he had written in his neat -round-hand the number of minutes he spent in sleep, in watch-keeping, -in standing by his gun, in drawing his sketch, in eating his meals. -And John, seeing from these tables that there was no time for reading, -became, for that reason, the more determined to read. He read at meals -until Hartington, who, when he was present, insisted that the Gunroom -should observe at least some of the conventions, told him to put his -book away. - -“It’s the only time I can read,” John exclaimed. “You know it is the -only time I have.” - -“I’m sorry,” Hartington answered; “but I’m not responsible for your -routine. I can’t have reading at Mess.” - -And John, made unreasonably angry by this excellent rule, read at odd -moments for five or ten minutes at a time, crouching on his sea-chest -when he came off watch at midnight, wasting the precious interval -before he went below again at 4 a.m. He read, too, between breakfast -and Divisions, between tea and Quarters, between Sunday Divisions and -Church. He turned to his book with almost fierce devotion on occasions -when no one else would have thought it worth while to open covers that -would so soon have to be closed again. And he wrote--wild blank verse. -The scansion missed sometimes, but he did not care. He would write no -lyrics now; his indignation would not pause for rhymes. Never had his -mind been so full of themes demanding expression; never had words come -to him like this unsummoned. Tremendous phrases woke him in the night, -so that he lay in his hammock, his head a little raised, listening. -He heard nothing but the engine’s throbbing and the far-away clashing -of the revolution-telegraph. And he would lie down again and hide his -face, wondering how, even for a moment, he had been amazed and excited -by a phrase which, as he considered it, he saw to be without shape or -meaning. - -It was not safe, he knew, to take any book he was reading into the -Engine-room. Its cover would betray him to the Warrant Officer who -kept the watch, to the stokers who worked near him, and to Aggett -should he enter suddenly. It was impossible to read on watch.... But -he found that he could write with impunity. He took with him a small, -marble-covered notebook of the pattern customarily used by midshipmen -for rough engineering sketches--diagrams of the lead of pipes, plans of -the boiler-rooms showing the feed system, and the like. To make these -sketches during the idle stretches of a watch was regarded, not as an -offence, but as a sign of laudable enthusiasm. So long as the usual -pattern of notebook was used everyone assumed that only professional -matter was entered in it; and John encouraged this belief when he was -writing by moving his position from time to time, by stooping with an -air of curiosity and interest over auxiliary engines that his eyes -scarcely saw, and by gazing upward occasionally in the direction of the -pipes that he might have been sketching. - -Everyone was not deceived. After the performance had been repeated -through many watches a Warrant Officer said suddenly: - -“You’ll be gettin’ the hang o’ them pipes before long, Mr. Lynwood?” - -“Yes,” said John. “Just a few sketches in case Aggett asks questions.” - -“But always the same pipes?” - -“Oh no.” - -The Warrant Officer seemed to smile. “Makin’ a speciality like o’ the -condenser connections?” - -“No. Why?” - -“You’ve been payin’ ’em partickler attention these last watches you’ve -had with me.” - -John wondered how much was known. He went away to feel the crank-head -bearings, leaning far over the guard-rail, his hand stretched out so -that the warm, revolving brasses swept against his fingers. As his eyes -stared down into the crank-pit, where a dark liquid slushed to and -fro with the rolling of the ship, he wondered how many men, engaged -as he now was, had slipped, lost their hold on the guard-rail, and -fallen below the crank to be mashed instantly to death. Would a man -so falling have time to cry out? The engines would be stopped, not -because the stopping of them was of any use, but because some drastic -unusual action is demanded by the sudden entry of death. There would -be momentary commotion. Stokers would stare, their shiny, sweating -faces lurid beneath the electric light; and, as they recovered from -stupefaction, a wave of pity would pass over them all as they stood -transfixed among the steel. The auxiliary engines would rattle more -loudly in the main engines’ silence. Water would trickle down the -gleaming rods from the piston glands. And presently the engines, with a -little hiss and groan, would start again, and the blood be pumped out -with the bilge. - -Overpowered by this dreadful vision, John screwed up his eyes as if to -shut it out. He walked towards the Warrant Officer, intending to ask if -ever in his experience this thing had happened. - -“Have you ever----” he began; but the roar of engines drowned his -words, so that the Warrant Officer did not know he had spoken. - -“How’s the poitry progressin’, Mr. Lynwood?” - -“Poetry?” - -“That you writes down here.” - -With a queer wrench John established the connection with their previous -conversation, but his mind was now so full of what he had seen in the -crank-pit that he cared not how much had been discovered. - -“Yes,” he said simply. “I do write poetry down here. What are you going -to do about it?” - -“Do?” The Warrant Officer regarded the defiance in the weary, drawn -face raised to his--a face, he reflected, almost comically like those -of the half-starved urchins in the back streets of Portsmouth who had -looked up at him often enough with just this expression of defiance -that was a thin cloak for a spirit near to breaking. “Do? What d’you -think I’m goin’ to do? Go to Aggett and give him another chance to -have at you?” His voice dropped to as confidential a tone as the noise -allowed. John felt his breath upon his cheek. “I served my time on the -Lower Deck as a youngster, Mr. Lynwood, an’ I knows how it is with -midshipmen. The Lower Deck sees a lot that the Gold Lace don’t care to -see. And it ain’t against midshipmen. Them that suffer ain’t against -them that suffer. And--if I may say so, by the way--don’t you forget -_that_ when you get to the Wardroom. It’s the men who don’t forget that -the hands’ll run for.... And as for our Mr. Aggett,” he went on, “as -good an engineer he is as I’ve ever known--smart as they make ’em--but -not a nice man, not a gentlemanly man, to my way o’ thinkin’. I -wouldn’t deliver a midshipman into ’is ’ands, nor any human bein’--not -a puppy, even. No, Mr. Lynwood, you needn’t have fear o’ me. You write -your poitry and so long as your job’s done an’ you enters up the log at -the end o’ the watch there won’t be no complaints from me. But don’t -let the stokers catch on. An’ don’t you let Mr. Aggett find you at it.” - -John gave indistinct thanks. - -“Are you feelin’ poorly?” the Warrant Officer asked. - -“N--no.” - -“Well you looks precious bad, an’ Mr. Driss too. It’s a shame this -watch an’ watch. We in the Warrant Officers’ Mess wouldn’t stand -it--unless the Service had special need. The stokers wouldn’t stand -it; they’d be fallin’ in before the Captain in two ranks. Only the -midshipmen stand it. He wouldn’t try it on with no one else. Last night -we was sayin’ at Mess we wondered the midshipmen didn’t take it before -the Captain.” - -“We couldn’t.” - -“Couldn’t?” said the Warrant Officer, not realizing that John had meant -“wouldn’t.” “Why there’s not a man or boy in this ship that hasn’t a -legal right to take his complaints to the Captain. Couldn’t? How d’you -mean?” - -“It can’t be done in our case.” - -“Well, I agree in part; I don’t hold with officers comin’ up with -complaints. It’s bad for discipline.... But there is a limit to what -any man can stand. This very mornin’, when I came down here at 4 a.m., -I found Mr. Driss goin’ to keep the watch with me. ‘When did you -come off your _last_ watch?’ I asks. ‘I kept the First,’ says he. ‘I -turned in at twenty-five minutes after midnight. I’ve been asleep for -three hours and twenty-five minutes’--all spoken cold and thin, like -someone sleep-walkin’. It ain’t natural, Mr. Lynwood. I don’t like to -see him--or you--white as ghosts, ready to drop, stumblin’ half blind -round an’ round my Engine-room. It makes me feel a brute for keepin’ -you here. But if I sent you up, the first thing Aggett would say, if he -came down, would be, ‘Where’s the midshipman o’ the watch?’” - -He paused dramatically. - -“It’s too much,” he said, “to keep eight hours below between eight in -the evenin’ and eight in the mornin’. An’ you at your guns when you -_are_ off watch. The Captain wouldn’t have it, if he knew.” - -Looking at John’s hollow cheeks, he thought, “There’ll be an end to it -soon.” - -But before the end came disaster. Two days later, John, in a corner by -the evaporators, was writing in that marble-covered book. The mood -in which he wrote held him captive. He was conscious neither of the -engines’ beat nor of the ringing of the telegraph. He saw with intense -vision, only the scene he described. - -“Makin’ notes?” - -Aggett, with low waistcoat and bulging shirt-front, stood there, his -hands thrust in his pockets, his chin pushed forward over a choker -collar. He must have come down as soon as dinner was finished and the -wine passed. - -“Gettin’ keen on engineerin’? Let’s see.” - -He held out a hand into which, without hesitation, John put his book. -There was a long pause. - -“Often write this balderdash on watch?” - -“Two books full, sir, and what you see.” - -“Why?” - -“I get an idea and I write it down, sir.” - -This was Aggett’s chance. At last he had caught one of them committing -a really serious offence. Officers were required when on watch to give -continuous attention to duty. Hartington could not get out of this, -Aggett reflected. He tore out a blank sheet from the notebook. - -“Pencil,” he said, stretching out his hand. - -He wrote on, and folded, the paper. - -“Take this to Hartington. When he’s finished with you, report down here -again. I’ll wait.” - -John climbed the steel-runged ladder and, passing through the great -heat above the cylinders, scrambled on to the grating which the windows -of the Engineers’ Office overlooked. In the Chest Flat he found Driss -beginning to undress before turning in. - -“Do you know where Hartington is?” - -“In his cabin, I think. Aggett’s below, isn’t he?” - -“Yes. He has just bowled me out writing verse on watch. Sent me up with -this chit for Hartington.” - -“To be beaten?” - -“I suppose so. Good-night.” - -“Good-night.... I say, Lynwood, it’s rotten luck. Come to my hammock -before you go below again and tell me what happens. Will you?” - -“All right. Personally, I don’t care very much what happens.” - -John went to his chest, changed his boiler suit and dirty shoes for -a monkey-jacket, a scarf, and pumps. While he was thus engaged Driss -reappeared. - -“Hartington hasn’t beaten any of us yet,” he said hopefully. - -“No; but he must this time.” - -“I suppose so. I should put some padding in, if I were you, Lynwood.” - -John smiled. “It isn’t the pain I care for,” he said. “Besides, I’ve -made up my mind.” - -“Made up your mind?” - -But John offered no explanation. With a towel thrown over his arm he -was already on his way to the bathroom to wash his hands. Presently he -was tapping at Hartington’s door. - -“Hullo! I thought you were keeping the First below?” - -“I am. Aggett has sent me up with this message for you.” - -Hartington unfolded the paper and read: - - “_I have just found Mr. Lynwood neglecting his watch-keeping duties. - He has been writing verse in an engineering notebook, obviously for - the purpose of deception. He tells me that he has two more books - stowed away somewhere, so this writing on watch is a practice of his. - I do not wish to harm him by making an official report. A dozen cuts - would meet the case._ - - “_W. AGGETT._” - -“Why did you give him this chance?” Hartington asked. “It’s what he has -been waiting for, you know.” - -“I’m sorry,” John said. - -“But why did you do it? Why did you take the risk?” - -Feeling dizzy, as if he were about to fall, John said: “Do you mind -if I sit down?” and, without waiting for an answer, fell heavily into -a chair. Leaning across the table, he let his head fall on his arms. -Then, fearful lest Hartington should think he was acting in order to -win sympathy, he overcame his exhaustion with an effort that sent a -tremor through his body, and sat up. “I don’t think I can argue it. -I’d rather you got it over. We can talk about it some time--some time -later.” - -“May I see the book?” - -John fetched it from his chest, where it lay in the pocket of his -boiler suit, and, having handed it over, waited listlessly. The emotion -of the last quarter of an hour had so added to his fatigue that, -as if a high fever were upon him, he desired nothing now but to be -alone where he could lie down and sleep. He was not thinking of the -flogging; it would be a flogging in dream. He was altogether careless -of consequences, of the future that seemed so far away, to-morrow -morning--beyond the infinite reaches of that night. There were yet two -hours of his watch. Twice the slow hand of the Engine-room clock must -creep round the dial.... - -“What is the sequence of this?” Hartington asked. - -“There are different tales, jumbled up. A bit of one and a bit of -another. I dare say they could be pieced together. But there are gaps -in all of them. I write down any scene--just as I see it.” - -“Some of it is bad--incoherent.” - -“Yes.” - -“And some of it is filthy.” - -“You needn’t read that. One writes anything--anything that’s vivid -enough to swamp the moment.” - -“And some of it is----Lynwood, why didn’t you tell me you wrote this? -Why haven’t you read it to me? I judged you only by the gentler stuff. -And now, here are passages flaming with vision: the speed and pause, -the song and shock of blank verse. Do you realize----” - -“Yes--yes; I realize.” - -“And you didn’t show it me?” - -“It was my own; a kind of sanctuary. Peace there ... everyone shut out -by flames.” - -John was huddled in his chair, his feet drawn up, his eyes gazing out -above his knees. Hartington looked at the lines the writing of which -had been interrupted by Aggett’s arrival. - -“Could you go on from here?” he asked, and read them aloud. - -“No; not now. But don’t read them. Aggett’s waiting.” - -Hartington stooped over the table and picked up a pen. - - “_I am afraid it is inevitable that you should make an official - report,_” he wrote. - -“Take that to Aggett.” - -“You are not going to beat me?” - -“No.” - -John delivered this reply, and Aggett immediately left the Engine-room. -He jerked back the curtain of Hartington’s cabin so that the rings -clashed on the rod. - -“What’s the meaning of this?” - -“Surely the meaning is clear.” - -“You won’t beat him?” - -“No.” - -“Why?” - -“My reasons are my own.” - -“You’ll be made to give them.” - -“Oh!” - -“By the Commander.” - -“You intended to take this to the Commander?” - -“Certainly I do; and a pretty fool you’ll look, young man. This -obviously is an offence that can’t be passed over. There’s nothing for -it but beatin’. The Commander will send you his orders.... Wouldn’t it -be easier to give way now than then?” - -“I shall not give way then.” - -“Refuse to obey the Commander’s orders?” - -“In this case--yes.” - -“On what grounds?” - -“That depends. If it is to be in any way a personal matter I have my -explanation. If the Commander makes it a Service point--strictly a -question of discipline--his definite orders refused: well then, Aggett, -I take it to the Captain.” - -“A real sea-lawyer, eh?” said Aggett. “It’s pig-headed drivel. And, you -mark my words--it won’t do any good. If you take that stand you may -avoid this beatin’, but the Commander won’t forget it, and the Captain -won’t forget it.” - -“As a point of fact,” Hartington said, “this is all heroics. The -contingency won’t arise. This matter will not be taken to the -Commander.” - -Aggett grinned. “Then I send Lynwood to you again?” - -“No. That isn’t what I meant. I am not giving way. But I think it’s as -well we should understand each other. Sit down, will you?” - -“I prefer to stand. And no sort of compromise’ll do for me--see?” - -“All right.... Now this is not going to the Commander because you won’t -take it to him.” - -“That’s all you know!” - -“You won’t take it to him because you know that, if you do, I force it -to the Captain. And that brings me to the other point. I don’t pretend -to minimize Lynwood’s offence. He is altogether wrong to do what he -has done on watch. And I don’t wish to argue with you about the life -snotties lead under your orders: that’s your affair, not mine. But I do -refuse definitely to be your accomplice in producing their misery. They -are ill; they are overworked to a degree you dare not make public; it -is preying on their minds. If they don’t collapse physically and go on -the sick list they will go mad.” - -“It’s not for you to interfere in my routine.” - -“I know. That is why--although I think it’s an open question whether a -Sub, who is in some measure responsible for the snotties, ought not to -interfere in these circumstances--that is why I have kept my mouth shut -hitherto. But beating is within my province----” - -“I’ve a damned good mind to beat him myself.” - -“If you try that I go straight to the Captain.” - -Aggett shrugged his shoulders. “You’re an obstinate mule, aren’t you?” -Then he allowed his anger to take charge of him. “You’re an obstinate -mule, aren’t you?” he shouted. “Don’t you see that what I’m doin’ is -bein’ done for the boy’s good?” - -“That’s for you to judge. I judge about beating. If you take this -matter to the Commander, I take everything--_everything_, remember--to -the Captain. If the snotties were being treated reasonably I should -have beaten Lynwood for this--much as I dislike beating my friends.” - -“You admit the crime, and you won’t punish it. I didn’t think you were -a fool.” - -Hartington drew his finger across his chin. “Why don’t you mete out a -Service punishment yourself?” - -“Beatin’ is the proper punishment for this kind of trash.” - -“Trash? The poetry? It’s not that, Aggett.” - -“That be as it may. I don’t care if he’s writin’ bloody Keats. What I -care about is that a snotty should be a scribbler at all. The sooner -he’s broken o’ _that_, the better for himself and everyone else.” - -“You and I seem likely to disagree on every subject,” Hartington said. -“But you haven’t answered my question: why not a Service punishment?” - -“What?” - -“Well, on the Upper Deck we give more watch-keeping.” - -“They are keepin’ watch and watch already, as near as may be; you know -that.” - -“Yes,” said Hartington, “I knew that. It is difficult to punish them -more than they are being punished already.” - -“If I chose that they should keep watch and watch,” Aggett cried, -perceiving that Hartington was amused, “it’s none o’ your business. -This goes to the Commander.” And he went out of the cabin, purposely -leaving the curtain undrawn. - -Hartington rose and drew it quietly. He undressed, curled himself up in -his wicker chair, and began to read the marble-covered notebook. - -The Commander heard nothing officially of John’s behaviour. Ordith’s -advice was sought. - -“My dear Aggett.” Ordith said, when the situation had been explained to -him, “you will forgive my saying that you have made an ass of yourself.” - -“I asked you what I should do.” - -“You seem to be somewhat disarmed. Why not stop his shore leave?” - -“Then he’ll sit on board and write more drivel. Besides, the punishment -is inadequate.” - -Ordith spread out his hands. “It is all you have left.” - -So the leave which John might have had when the ship reached harbour -was stopped indefinitely. Ordith promised himself that he would make a -pretty story of the occasion of the stoppage when next he met Margaret. -It would be good to make Lynwood and his poetry appear ridiculous. - -Then, partly in generosity, and partly with a desire to irritate -Aggett, Ordith said one day to John: - -“If you want a quiet place to write in, and Hartington is using his -cabin, you can sit in mine, Lynwood, any time I’m not there.” - - -II - -The end to Aggett’s persecution, which the Warrant Officer had said -must soon come, came unexpectedly. The ship was out of sight of land. -Divisions and Prayers were over, and, there being no Gunnery that day, -the hands had been told off for their forenoon duties. Driss, who had -kept the First Watch and the Morning, came up from the Gunroom at -about ten o’clock. He stood on the quarter-deck, drinking in the fresh -air, and wondering how many minutes he might thus spend away from the -Engineering drawing which he had deserted. Because he was very tired -and thought himself unobserved he was unseamanlike enough to lean on -the quarter-deck rails. - -“Mr. Driss!” - -He turned to see the Captain standing a few yards away from him. He -sprang to attention, and saluted. - -“Have you nothing to do this forenoon except lean on the quarter-deck -rails?” - -But Driss was not afraid of the Captain. “I have nothing to do this -forenoon, sir, except an Engineering sketch. I came up for a minute to -get some air.” - -“No lecture?” - -“No, sir. Midshipmen engineering don’t do School. We do the sketch in -our own time, sir, working it in as we like.” - -“So you came up to get some air?” the Captain said, looking steadily -into Driss’s face. “Don’t you feel well?” - -But one does not betray anyone to the Captain--not even Aggett. - -“Yes, sir,” said Driss in such a tone of surprise as he might have used -had his cheeks been rosy. - -“Quite well?” - -“Quite, sir.” - -“Sure?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“When did you come off watch?” - -“Eight bells, sir.” - -“You kept the Morning?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And your watch previous to that?” - -“The First, sir.” - -“First and Morning? Are you making no mistake?” - -“No mistake, sir.” - -“How many midshipmen are doing Engineering duties?” - -“Two, sir.” - -“And you keep watch and watch?” - -“We both stand off the Afternoon, sir.” - -“But haven’t I seen you at a gun in the Afternoon?” - -“Yes, sir. The midshipman not on watch attends his gun when there is -Gunnery.” - -“I see.... Are you undergoing any kind of--er--punishment at present, -or is this the customary routine?” - -“We are not under punishment, sir.” - -“And you feel fit?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And happy?” - -Driss, genuinely surprised, looked up at him, and after an instant’s -pause answered, “Yes, sir,” in a voice which was somehow not so steady -as he could have wished. - -“I see. That will do.” - -The Captain swung round on his heel and went below to his cabin. - -“Messenger!... Tell the Engineer-Commander to speak to me.” - -The messenger fled like the wind. He knew the Captain, but failed to -recognize this mood. Ordinarily the Captain would have said, “Ask the -Engineer-Commander....” - -The Engineer-Commander, stirred to unwonted activity by the boy’s -breathlessness, came quickly. - -“You sent for me, sir?” - -“Engineer-Commander, are you personally responsible for the routine of -midshipmen performing Engine-room duties?” - -“Mr. Aggett is directly responsible, sir--under me, of course.” - -“They are keeping watch and watch night and day. Are you aware of that?” - -“The Afternoon is regarded as kept, sir.” - -“So I am told.... In addition to their watch-keeping they do an -Engineering sketch each week?” - -“Almost inconsiderable, sir.” - -“You forget that they come to me for initials every week. They are -elaborate drawings.” - -“A few hours, sir....” - -“Let that pass.... They attend Divisions and Quarters. They are in -charge of the stokers at Upper Deck Evolutions. And they attend their -guns. All this in their watch off.” - -“I am not responsible for their Upper Deck duties, sir.” - -The Captain’s eyes flashed. “That was unnecessary, Engineer-Commander. -It is your duty to make your orders conform to circumstances. Have you -realized that these young officers get less than eight hours sleep in -forty-eight?” - -“Surely, sir----” - -“I worked it out while I waited. There are the figures.” - -“I didn’t think, sir----” - -“It is extraordinarily necessary to think when you have young lives in -your hands.” - -“I will instruct Mr. Aggett at once to make some modification, sir.” - -The Captain took back the paper on which his figures were written. -“These officers are ill,” he said. “I may as well tell you that I was -led to make enquiries entirely by the astonishing appearance of a -midshipman I found standing on the quarter-deck. He was whiter than I -care to see my midshipmen.” - -“I will make a change, sir.” - -“Yes.... In future, midshipmen will do duty in three watches, and they -will not be below after 10 p.m. or before 5 a.m. That will ensure that -they get a night’s sleep every other night.” - -“I will give your instructions, sir.” - -“And take the control of midshipmen entirely out of Mr. Aggett’s hands. -Take charge of them yourself.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“That is all then, Engineer-Commander.” - -The Engineer-Commander hesitated. Then he gathered courage. “If I might -make a suggestion, sir: in the circumstances, you having spoken to a -midshipman--probably the Gunroom is talking about it--would it be wise -to make this change at once? And from the disciplinary point of view, -sir, to take the midshipmen so suddenly out of Mr. Aggett’s hands might -look like--like an aspersion, in the circumstances. A little delay, -sir?” - -The Captain shook his head. - -“In the circumstances, Engineer-Commander--no delay.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -DECISION - - -I - -When John said to Driss that he had made up his mind, he thought that -the decision at which he had arrived was unalterable. If it were -possible, he would leave the Service. The resentment he felt against -Aggett coloured his dreams of an impossible future, in which he was -to be free to learn and to write, free to build, free to love, free -to fight at no permanent disadvantage for the possession of whom and -what he loved--free as no one of his generation could ever be. But even -before relief came by the Captain’s orders he had begun to reconsider -his decision, determined that a step so momentous and irretrievable -should not be taken in hot blood. By the rules of the Service he, a -midshipman, was unable to resign. Midshipmen must be withdrawn by their -parents, and this implied that John could act only through his mother. -If the responsibility had been his own he would have accepted it at -once; for his own needs, and, he thought, the price he would have to -pay for their satisfaction, were indeed clear to him. A price, however, -would be demanded not of him only. His mother was glad that he was in -the Navy, settled in a profession that would provide him with shelter -and clothing, food and drink; and now so far advanced in it that in -less than two years she would cease to pay the annual fifty pounds -demanded by the Admiralty of the parents of midshipmen, and John, -receiving the daily five shillings that was the pay of sub-lieutenants, -would be able to keep himself. His mother had been so generous to him, -had given him so much of the little she possessed, that John could not -bear to demand more of her. The education received by him at Osborne -and Dartmouth had cost the State more than his mother had paid. If he -left the Service before the Service had had time to reap in his labour -an interest on its outlay, the Admiralty would justly require of his -mother that she should make good at least some part of its loss. She -would be forced at last to draw upon that small capital which, for all -her need, she had never touched. John knew that the Admiralty, a stern, -and yet on occasion a strangely generous department, was sometimes -disposed to waive its rights; but he could not imagine his proud mother -in the part of the suppliant widow. She would make no appeal for -sympathy or exceptional treatment. “They have a right to this money,” -she would say, “and they shall have it in full.” And she would add: -“I’m glad to pay it, John, if it makes for your happiness.” John could -hear her saying that. It gave him pause. - -This preliminary cost of freedom it would, however, be possible, -though inconvenient, to pay. Beyond it lay a problem not easily -soluble--perhaps impossible to solve. By leaving the Service he would -cut himself off from the only profession for which his specialized -training had fitted him. He would have to be educated again, -apprenticed again. At a time when he might have been earning enough -money for his own support more money would have to be invested in his -career. It was probable that, for all his mother’s good-will, the money -could not be produced. The meshes of the net were close and strong. - -So John fought to reverse his decision and succeeded at least in -postponing the letter by which his mother should be made aware of -it. Delay was easy, almost pleasant; for he dreaded above all else -the answer, which despite his hopes he felt was inevitable, that her -financial position made his second apprenticeship, and therefore his -withdrawal, impracticable. Such an answer would shatter in a moment -the dreams by which he now lived. Until it came hope would endure; by -its arrival hope would be definitely banished. He dared not think of -his life after that. He must leave the Service soon or not at all, -for every year would make a fresh start more difficult. If he was -forced to realize that he could not be withdrawn as a midshipman it -would be made plain to him--so plain that he would not be able to -deceive himself--that he must be a naval officer so long as he lived. -His visions of Oxford, of the House, of miraculous literary success, -extravagant though he knew them to be, were yet based upon possibility. -This possibility once removed, as it would be by his mother’s negative, -the visions themselves must perish and their consolation pass away. - -Not till August was nearly over did the time come when action could -no longer be delayed. An incident entirely unconnected with John’s -desire to leave the Service impelled him to write the letter in -which his desire was expressed. The squadron had been carrying out -Commander-in-Chief’s firing. It had fallen to an elevation party from -the _Pathshire_ to board the tug which towed the target, and to spot -the fall of the flagship’s shot. John and Cunwell had gone with Ordith. -It was their duty to sit aft in the tug so that they were in line -with the target, and to record by means of a stop-watch and the Rake -instrument the time and effect of each salvo. Ordith was to observe, -calling to John, who would write them down, the errors over or short -in yards. Cunwell was to keep his eyes on the flagship, and, as the -guns flashed, say “Fire,” John pressing the knob of the stop-watch and -entering the time on his sheet. - -Rain fell so fast during the forenoon that it had the effect of fog and -made firing impossible. The elevation party went to the _Pathshire_ for -lunch, and, the rain having by then ceased, returned in the afternoon -to the tug. The target was towed by a wire hawser, which was intended -to ride from side to side over the great hoop-shaped girders with -which the tug was fitted. It had been found, however, that if the wire -were given free play, instead of passing evenly over the riding-hoops -as the tug altered course and the target shifted from one quarter to -the other, it held up momentarily in the centre, swung across at high -speed, and was thus subjected continually to sudden stresses that -threatened to break it. To prevent this, the wire was secured by port -and starboard steadying-lines, and, no longer free to travel over the -riding-hoops, was kept rigidly amidships. This arrangement was itself -dangerous, and the tug’s crew were warned that in no circumstances were -they to go aft of the point of attachment of the steadying lines. - -When the elevation party reached the tug there was still some time -before the firing was due to begin and they spent it with the -lieutenant in command--whom Ordith knew as Toby--sitting in deck-chairs -and smoking cigarettes. The sun had broken through a stormy sky, so -that there was golden lace on the rim of each dark hollow in the sea, -and the rigging was fringed with glistening drops that, as the vessel -rolled, fell in showers on to the deck. - -Presently the “Preparative” was hoisted by the flagship. - -“Time to begin,” said Ordith, and stretched himself. “Everything ready, -Lynwood--paper, pencil, stop-watch? We’d better be moving aft.” - -“There’s plenty of time,” said Toby, “time to finish your cigarettes.” - -Ordith drew slowly at his, and watched the smoke swept aft on the wind. -Like a cat he lay contented in the sun. - -“I’m not keen on you fellows sitting aft of those steadying lines,” -Toby said. “If one of them parts, the wire will move like--like the -blade of a guillotine.” - -“I confess the position is not one I should have chosen,” Ordith -answered. “But where else can we work the Rake? I don’t want my -valuable head removed.” - -“I think it might be possible--God! there goes the tow!” - -Toby sprang up as a tremor passed through the tug. No sound had been -audible. John, who had caught a glimpse of Toby’s suddenly white face, -moved to follow him. Cunwell, too, was on his feet. - -“Unnecessary panic,” said Ordith. “It’s only one of his damned -steadying lines.” - -The Engine-room telegraph had clanged, and, the engines being stopped, -the tug rolled heavily. Through the silence came a voice that contained -a suggestion of doubt: “Man overboard!” Then a moment later, loud and -clear: - -“Man overboard!” - -Toby, whom they could not see, shouted: “Away lifeboat’s crew--no, not -all of you--blast your eyes!... Make a signal to Flag for boats and -doctor. Keep a look-out from the bridge.... Find out who’s missing, -Hogge.” - -Ordith, moved at last, went aft, followed by John and Cunwell. Toby, -standing near a blood-soaked body that lay on the deck, was questioning -a seaman whose nerves had gone. - -“You shouted ‘Man overboard!’ didn’t you?” - -“Yessir.” - -“Did you see him go over?” - -“Not _see ’im_, sir, as you might say. Thought I saw a splash, sir.” - -“Splash--in this sea?” - -“Well, sir--seemed a splash like.” - -Toby resisted a desire to stamp his foot and shake his fist. - -“Did you hear anything?” - -“Wouldn’t ’ear no splash in this sea, sir.” - -“No,” said Toby, “quite right; you wouldn’t.” Then, taking breath, he -continued more calmly. “There’s nothing more to be done--the boat’s -away; this man’s dead; take your time: I want to find out if there’s -a man overboard or not. What made you think there was? What made you -shout ‘Man overboard’?” - -“Well, sir, there was two standin’ there talkin’. I seed ’em on’y a few -minutes gone. An’ when the accid’nt ’appened, sir, ’an I looked again, -there was on’y one”--he glanced at the body, and finished lamely--“on’y -one, as you might say, sir.” - -“Then one’s gone, unless he moved away. Did you see who they were?” - -“There was Skidd, sir--that’s Skidd, lyin’ there.” - -“I know. The other?” - -“Didn’t see no face, sir. Didn’t notice.” - -Toby ran a handkerchief over his forehead. Hogge had come up. - -“Well? Mustered the hands?” - -“Owlett’s gone, sir.” - -“Owlett? Sure he’s not away in the boat?” - -“No, sir; ’e’s not in the boat, sir.” - -“Right.... Was every man warned not to go aft of the steadying lines?” - -“Yes, sir. Accordin’ to your orders, sir.” - -“You could swear to that, if need be?” - -“Swear’t on the Bible, sir. Warned this Owlett meself, sir. Never was -one to take ’eed.” - -“Very good.” Toby saw Ordith, and greeted him as if almost surprised by -his presence. “Hullo Ordith.... Poor fellow! gone down like a stone. -They’ll never find him.... Fool to stand there--damned fool! Oh well!” - -“Head off?” said Ordith, pointing to the now covered body. - -“Nearly.... Good seaman, that. Wife and three children.” - -Ordith turned for’ard as Toby left him on his way to the bridge. “Five -minutes later, might have been me.... This valuable head,” he added, a -little shaken. “And Aggett rummaging my cabin.” He patted his pockets. -“By Jove! left the keys, too.” Then, suddenly perceiving Cunwell, he -gripped his arm. “Don’t care for Aggett,” he said confidentially; “do -you?” - -He returned to his deck-chair. - -“Wonder if we can help Toby at all?... No.” - -He moved his shoulders as if adjusting the set of a coat, opened his -cigarette-case and shut it again with a snap. - -“Oh well!” He sighed, leaned back, interlaced his fingers behind his -valuable head, and, because the sun was strong, tilted his cap over his -eyes. - - -II - -That evening two Wardroom Officers came into the Gunroom to play poker. -At the end of the table which the game left free, John sat down to -write his letter. He had been too near to death that afternoon to waste -more time. - -He wrote the date and - - “_H.M.S. ‘Pathshire.’ - “China Station, - “At Wei-hai-wei_. - - “_DEAR MOTHER_,--” - - (Then he paused. Usually he wrote “Darling Mother,” but after - consideration he decided not to change what he had written.) - - “_I have just had your letter telling me of your work, and your - holiday, and your talks with Mr. Alter. It was such a plain, - interesting letter full of news that I hate myself for writing any - other kind_.” - - (That was a poor sentence--but let it stand.) - - “_But I don’t honestly think it would be fair either to you or to - myself to postpone writing about what I have to say this evening. - The facts are plainly these, and I suppose I may as well come to the - point at once_.” - - (It was time to turn a page, and John saw his mother’s face as she - turned it.) - - “_I am writing to ask you if I may take the very serious step of - leaving the Service. My reasons for asking this are chiefly these: I - am not keen on the Navy. I don’t want to succeed in it--that is to - say, the prospect of becoming an admiral doesn’t attract me. If I - became an admiral I shouldn’t be very glad or very happy. If I won - a Trafalgar I shouldn’t be very proud. And I think the sooner one - leaves a profession one doesn’t want to rise in, the better_. - - “_It is not a case of sudden impulse--I have felt very much the same - about it, though I haven’t always been quite so explicit with myself, - ever since I came to sea, or, at least, ever since I began to realize - what this job leads to. If I have stood it so long, why not longer? - I have tried to fight it down. But, although I might make myself do a - great deal of work, I can’t make myself care for it, and, after very - long and careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that - the end must inevitably come._ - - “_The great problem is that of money. I have always realized how - much trouble you have taken, and how much money you have spent, in - starting me in a profession, and I know that throwing it over now - means a great sacrifice for you. First, there’s the cost of getting - me out--the Admiralty will want something; then, if I am to enter - almost any formal profession, the cost of training and educating me - all over again; and lastly, there’s the uncertainty--instead of the - present certainty--as to how much money I shall ultimately earn, and - when I shall begin to earn it. It seems all money_. - - _“Of course, what I want to do is to write--you have known of - that fatal desire ever since I could hold a pen. And I want to be - free--but let that pass now, since this is almost a business letter. - I should like to go to Oxford, but I’m afraid that’s impossible. So I - think the best thing is to get out first--that’s the essential. And - then, with a little help from you as a start, I could take rooms in a - far corner of London and start in journalism. The future would take - care of itself. I think Mr. Alter would help with advice as regards - journalism_. - - “_I am very, very sorry for all this. I know the trouble and worry - I must be causing you. If I tried to explain in detail what has led - up to this I should never end: the causes go back further than I can - trace them. It may be quite impossible for reasons of money that I - should leave. If so, tell me, and I shall manage to settle down as I - am. But I had to ask in case, just for lack of asking, I was letting - slip the one chance of another start._ - - “_I will send some little news very soon._ - - “_J. L._” - -“Jack Pots!” cried a poker player. The chips rattled into a saucer. -“What about some drinks?... Drink for you, Lynwood?” - -“No, thanks very much.” - -He put his letter into an envelope, stamped and addressed it, and -scribbled “Via Siberia” across its corner. Then, having dropped it into -a hollow-voiced letter-box, he left the Gunroom. The decision being now -inevitable, he dared discuss it with Hartington. - -“Can I come in, Hartington? or--or are you reading?” - -“I was. But come in and talk. Move those things from your chair on to -the bunk.” - -After a short silence, John said: “I’ve written to my mother, asking -her to take me out.” - -Hartington moved suddenly, his eyes shining. “Oh, splendid!” he cried. -“I am glad. I wondered if you’d ever have the guts to do that. Which is -it to be--Balliol or Univ.?” - -Never had John felt more gratitude than he did for this enthusiasm. - -“You think I’m right?” he asked, for the pleasure of hearing Hartington -answer: “Yes, of course you are right. Go and order some drinks, and -then come back and tell me what you are going to do--all your plans. -And we’ll drink to Oxford and the Great Work. We’ll drink to all our -dreams--yours, coming true--and mine, very like yours once.” - -The drinks were ordered, and John returned. - -“Probably my mother won’t take me out,” he said. - -“Yes, she will. She’s bound to if you’ve made her understand--she -wouldn’t be your mother otherwise.” - -“It’s a question of money.” - -“Oh!...” - -“Oxford’s impossible, anyhow.” - -“Then, damn Oxford!... Lynwood, you _must_ get out. I didn’t. Something -interfered--never mind what. And now I know.... You must escape -somehow.” - -Then slowly John explained much that, even to Hartington, he had never -spoken of before--how little money there was, and how little influence. -He talked of his mother and of Mr. Alter. - -“I believe Alter would help but I don’t like to ask him.” - -“Why not--if you’re going into journalism?” - -“I know; but, you see,” John said, with hesitation, “I think Alter was -in love with my mother at one time. I’m not sure he doesn’t love her -still. One can’t ask favours.” - -They talked until near midnight, when John rose to go. - -“Even if I do get out soon,” he said, “I have a horrible feeling that -one doesn’t escape very far.” And, blind to Hartington’s questioning -eyes, he went on, speaking a part of his thought. “The powers that -encompass us are devilish strong: the Service, Fane-Herbert’s father, -Ordith--all the ring. One doesn’t defy them easily. One gets caught -again ... in the net.” - -Hartington dragged from his shelf a book that John had never before -seen in his hands. He opened it where an envelope marked a place. - -“Read that--from the second verse--‘_They all lie in wait._’” - -“‘_They all lie in wait for blood; they hunt every man his brother with -a net. That they may do evil with both hands earnestly, the prince -asketh, and the judge asketh for a reward; and the great man, he -uttereth his mischievous desire: so they wrap it up._’” - -“Go on, it’s most important to go on.” - -“‘_The best of them is as a brier: the most upright is sharper than a -thorn hedge: the day of thy watchmen and thy visitation cometh; now -shall be their perplexity._’” - -“That’s where you stop,” said Hartington. “And you are going to get -out, Lynwood. Good luck!--and dreams of Oxford.” - -When John had left him, Hartington sat down by his writing-table, and, -in his capacity as “Lynwood’s Sub,” wrote a long letter to a man he had -never seen. - -“I’m probably making a fool of myself,” he thought; “but it’s a -chance--and the need’s pretty desperate.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -IN THE CROSS-PASSAGE - - -I - -There was no Gunnery after the first days of September, and on the -fifth the squadron sailed for Yokohama in order that it might send -representatives to the Mikado’s funeral. The Gunroom was cheered by -the prospect, though the enthusiasm of the midshipmen who were then -attached to the Engine-room staff was somewhat damped by the thought of -so many days continuously at sea. John, however, had by now returned to -the Upper Deck, and to him watch-keeping on the fore-bridge had ever -been the most attractive of his duties. By night it was even pleasanter -than by day; for then the bridge’s isolation was accentuated; there -was no routine, no hurrying to and fro of the hands; no Commander, no -Captain, no Navigator, save in exceptional circumstances. The Gold -Lace, together with all that the Gold Lace implied, was securely packed -away. The officer of the watch and his midshipman drew closer together, -the barriers of Service were dissolved, and personality lived again. -Sipping the cocoa that John had made, he and his officer would stoop -over charts of strange regions and weave tales of the places whose -names they found; or, together on monkey’s island, they would exchange -reminiscences of Dartmouth and the _Britannia_; or discuss books, -women, politics, or spiritualism, according to the officer’s taste. - -In the _Pathshire_ the relations between Wardroom and Gunroom were -excellent--a circumstance which, as had been said at that last dinner -in the _King Arthur_, went far towards the making of a Happy Ship. -There was not one watch-keeping Lieutenant with whom John was reluctant -to spend four hours on the bridge. It was necessary, when the watch -began, to make a swift estimate of his officer’s mood, and to regulate -his conduct accordingly. Sometimes the four hours were allowed to pass -almost in silence, and, in any case, it was not the midshipman’s part -to begin anything but a strictly Service conversation. Often it was -cocoa that loosened the officer’s tongue. - -“Well, young fellah-me-lad,” Dendy, the ship’s rake, would begin. “I’m -damned bored. I don’t know about you?” This would open the way for -tales of Dendy’s invariably triumphant loves--tales which John had -found he was required, not to comment upon, but to believe. Dendy had -his moments of seriousness, too, when he would take hold of John’s arm -and explain that love could not always be lightly regarded.... - -Lanfell, a stolid salt-horse, was a less amusing companion. At times -when other officers were more carefully dressed, Lanfell had a habit -of appearing in a sweater and scarf, an incredibly old monkey-jacket -and trousers, and a pair of sea-boots. When at sea he would ask his -midshipman how he would moor ship, or rig sheers, or lay out a bower -anchor, and the watch was liable to degenerate into a peripatetic -seamanship lecture. If he could think of no more questions he would -sometimes consent to be diverted into lighter paths; but even then his -imagination led him with painful regularity to a football field. He -was never tired of explaining that he was neither a mathematician nor -a theorist. - -“I can’t chase _X_--never could,” he would say. “And in a destroyer -with a sea running I’d rather have a drop o’ rough seamanship than all -your ballistics.” - -“Then you don’t believe in specializing, sir?” - -“Specializing? Oh, I don’t know. I suppose the specialists have the -pull. But there’s still room for the seaman--more room than most -fellows think.” - -There were times when Lanfell’s faith failed him, and he saw himself -as a salt-horse eternally waiting for promotion; but such misgivings -he drowned quietly. His skin would become pasty and opaque, his eyes -heavy, his movement cumbrous. Then, by taking violent exercise and cold -baths, he would restore his health and hope. The Service suited him, -and, save in those periods when his wine bill mounted prodigiously, he -was happy. - -The most exciting watch-keeping partner was undoubtedly the First -Lieutenant; but his visits to the bridge were voluntary, and -unfortunately few. He would appear at odd hours--usually at night -when he had been unable to sleep. At first he would take no notice -of anyone, but stand at the end of the bridge, staring down upon the -chains. Then, rousing himself jerkily--every movement of his was a -jerk--he would do breathing exercises, a performance so strange -that the Quartermasters shook their heads and sometimes tapped their -foreheads significantly. - -When the breathing exercises were finished the First Lieutenant would -turn swiftly, his cap over his eyes, and rattle up to monkey’s island, -where the officer of the watch and his midshipman were standing by the -compass. - -“Ee!” he began. This was a strange sound, peculiar to himself, which -was forced from his throat--apparently in spite of some physical -obstruction. “Ee! Finish your watch for you. You go below. Anything to -turn over?” - -“Can’t you sleep, Number One?” - -“No. Ee. Yes, I mean. You push off. Mm?” - -One night, after such preliminaries, the First Lieutenant being left on -watch, he rapped out at John: - -“Ever seen a sea-monster?... Ought to see a sea-monster.... No, boy, -don’t look mazed. This isn’t a Peter-Piper-Picked-a-Peck exercise. -Common sense. Ought to see a sea-monster. Good for snotties. Mm?” - -After a pause. “Seamen’s fairies. Believe in fairies. Believe in -fairies, believe in God. Look for sea-monster and you have your eye on -the Devil. Catch sea-monster; catch Devil by tail.” - -Other midshipmen had been known to laugh, as they thought, politely; -but John knew the First Lieutenant too well. Left alone he would -presently become comprehensible and interesting. Interruption would -drive him into silence. - -Soon he began a rambling disquisition upon the probable anatomy, -functions, and habits of sea-monsters. His talk was full of the -technicalities of doctors and zoologists. The longer a word the more -rapid his pronunciation of it.... From sea-monsters to prehistoric -beasts, and thence to were-wolves and vampires was an easy progress. -Of the supernatural he spoke with none of the nervous suggestion of -one who visits séances. He did not persuade or argue, and his tales, -frankly imaginary, seemed to be told to himself rather than to John. -They were wonderful tales. - -“D’you read Algernon Blackwood?... Ee.... More fun to spin the yarns -yourself. Mm? Now, if ever you get writing, don’t lose a sense of -Eternity. That’s what the modern people lack. Brilliant enough: dozens -of women--acid mostly; brilliant like chandeliers, though--not stars. -So taken up with their own few years they forget the rest. Scramble -for the nuts; forget the tree; forget the forest; forget the hawk -overhead. That’s why Hardy sits in the inner parlour with the giants -and all the others rattle their mugs in the taproom. Know Hardy? Every -word a new link in chain from Adam; every kiss taught by Eve. Sense of -Eternity.... Sense of Eternity makes a watch pass quicker. Read Gibbon, -boy, when the Commander curses----” - -“Light on the port bow, sir!” sang the look-out in the foretop. - -“Aye, aye.... Take a bearing, boy.” He took off his cap and flung it on -to the bridge below. “Ee.... Signalman o’ the Watch--my cap. Dropped -it. Bring it.” And when the Signalman had come and gone he added to -John: “Must keep them awake. Must remind ’em I’m here. They like it. -Bad for morals to stare too long at the sea. Breaks the morbid current -if you bash things about. That’s why Cabinet Ministers ought to have -Jesters with balloons. Smack on the head with a balloon restores sense -of proportion. Mm?... What was the bearing?... Take the Corporal of the -Watch with you and go the Rounds.” - -Almost any occasion--especially the solemn and pompous--might be -enlivened by the flight of the First Lieutenant’s cap. Once he had -hurled it, without explanatory comment, into the midst of the ship’s -company when they were engaged in prayer during quarter-deck Church. - -“Sorry, padre,” he said afterwards. “Forgot about you. Fellow talking. -Had to stop him. No other means of communication.” - - -II - -After the Mikado’s funeral the _Pathshire_ visited Vladivostok and -Nagasaki before returning to Wei-hai-wei. The way of life ran smooth, -and seemed to John to run the smoother because for him its direction -might so soon be changed. His hope, at first so weak, of a favourable -answer from his mother, had fed upon itself, until at last it had -become almost a conviction. He had ceased to think of his future as -that of a naval officer. - -This sense of approaching emancipation and the thoughts of independence -by which it was accompanied changed his attitude towards Margaret. -His hope had so grown that now once more it included her. From a -midshipman, from an officer who throughout his life would be dependent -upon the pay of his rank, she was separated by impassable barriers of -wealth, influence, and competition. But now, in the light of his new -hope, the barriers between him and her seemed no longer impassable. -He would at least have the chance to construct ladders of fame and -money before it was too late. He would be able, too, to bring those -ladders near. The Service etiquette and tradition would bind him no -more. Ordith, for instance, would cease to be his superior officer. He -would not be borne away to sea, nor would his shore leave be stopped -at the moment when he most wanted to see Margaret. Mr. Fane-Herbert, -whom it was impossible not to regard as some kind of naval chief -with additional advantages of wealth and civilian freedom, could not -continue to treat him as a junior officer of no account. The blind -alley would open into a clear field. Opportunity would increase. - -Or, at any rate, this is how John’s sudden optimism led him to regard -his future. - -Margaret was one of a small party that came on board to tea with -Hartington early in October. It was a Gunroom party, to which Ordith -was not invited. Its beginning had been difficult because civilians -seem always to require so much space that a warship cannot provide. -The chairs, which had been comfortable enough until it was necessary -to invite ladies to sit in them, appeared suddenly to be in a shocking -state of disrepair. Never had Gunroom china seemed so thick or Gunroom -fare, for all the preparations that had been made, so brutally -masculine. The corticene, scarred with burnings of cigarette-ends, -cried out for rugs to hide it. - -The ladies, however, were tactfully blind to these deficiencies. The -tea had been a success. At Hartington’s suggestion the party broke up -so that the guests might “see over the ship,” he having conveniently -forgotten that they had “seen over” it many times before. He himself -took charge of Mrs. Fane-Herbert. Margaret was left to John. - -Having examined the Upper Deck twelve-pounders in the view of all the -world, he took her into the ammunition and cross-passages, where he -knew none other would be. The electric lights flared from polished -metal and white enamel; the atmosphere was heavy; their lightest -footsteps clattered and resounded. But John was oblivious to all this. - -“I’ve never seen you in such good spirits,” she said. “Tell me why.” - -“Because I am going to leave the Service.” - -“Leave it--for good?” She drew in her breath. - -“Yes. I’ve never told you. I haven’t had a chance to tell you. My leave -was stopped for a time, and I never seemed to be able to get near you. -You know why my leave was stopped?” - -“Yes. Nick told me.” - -Nick! So it had gone thus far. “What did he say?” John asked. - -“He said that what you did was a serious offence--technically.” - -“Technically?” - -“I mean he seemed to sympathize in the circumstances. He told me about -Mr. Aggett and the watches you were keeping. He told me everything.” - -“And he sympathized?” - -“Yes. You needn’t say it like that, John. I believe it was he who -persuaded Mr. Aggett to stop your leave instead of taking it further.” - -“Did he tell you that too?” - -“No; but I read between the lines.” - -“Ah!” - -“And father said he thought you had been lucky.” - -“So Nick told _him_?” - -“I don’t know who told him. Nick may have done. It’s been the talk of -the fleet.” - -John winced under that. - -“I’m sorry,” she said. “We oughtn’t to have talked about it. I’ve made -you wretched.” - -“No. I don’t care now--now I’m going to get out.” - -“When is it to be?” - -“I wrote home at the end of August. The mail takes just over a -fortnight each way. I might get an answer--to-morrow.” - -She said after a moment’s thought: “Oh, I am glad, tremendously glad -... for you.” - -The thought of John’s leaving China, of his returning home, troubled -her. It brought Ordith and the inevitable decision nearer. Somehow -John’s absence--though lately his presence had meant so little to -her--would weaken her own defences. Now that he was breaking free of -his net, his company and the likeness of his situation to her own as -she conceived it had become suddenly more valuable to her. A safeguard, -she told herself.... And yet, more than a safeguard.... She looked at -him nervously. She wanted him not to go. She would be alone when he had -gone. - -“You know,” she said, “this--all this life--doesn’t suit me better than -you. We’re together in that. And you are escaping.” - -“It’s no good without you.” - -He had spoken on the instant. There was no going back. He said, before -she could interrupt him: - -“Margaret, you must listen. One can’t go on alone. I can’t. I don’t -believe you can. We are both caught the same way. I’m getting free. You -must, too. Oh, you must, Margaret!” - -“It’s impossible.” - -“Now, yes. But couldn’t we come to an understanding now? And later----” - -He was stricken by doubt for the meaning of her word “impossible.” He -tried and failed to read her face. - -“Or did you mean----” - -“You are not out of the Service yet, John,” she said. - -He was sure now that she had intended to check him. That reminder of -the Service--which she had spoken partly to gain time, partly to drag -back her own thoughts to realities--seemed to him a deliberate thrust, -well aimed. He was still in the Service, still a snotty--powerless. -It became a source of embarrassment that she was beautiful and wore -beautiful things. His imagination drew for him a picture of her -dressing-table, spread with silver; of her furs; of her soft dresses, -orderly and exquisite; of her maid brushing that wonderful hair--and -of the vast house in London, with its stone steps for ever in the -twilight of a frowning porch, and its stern door, of which the handle -was but an ornament not made to turn. In contrast were his barbarous -sea-chest and hammock, his own small home tucked away in the country, -and his one shilling and ninepence a day. - -He had been a fool to think that she--oh, a thousand times a fool! - -Feeling that the moment and, above all, her cruel thrust had given -him the right to say what for long years--until he was more than a -snotty--he might not say again, he flashed out: - -“Come what may, Margaret, you’re the best I have on earth.” - -And he turned away, leaving her to follow him out of the ammunition -passage. She, not knowing how she had wounded him, not realizing -how her one word “impossible” had been misinterpreted, moved her -lips to speak. His last phrase--a direct statement rather than an -exclamation--thrilled her. He had meant every word of it. It was -the finest tribute a woman could hear spoken; and he had given it -finely--every syllable swift and clear-cut like sharp-edged flames. And -yet---- - -She did not speak. She stood without moving. Already he was a few paces -away--the nozzle of a fire-hose glinted between them: and he did not -turn round. There would have been no need for speech had he turned. She -would have run to him. They would have made great plans, too brave to -be impossible. - -But he did not turn, and in a moment she began to follow him. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -CRISIS - - -I - -Mr. Fane-Herbert had recently returned to Wei-hai-wei after what his -household was led to believe had been a prosperous absence. He bullied -the Chinese boys with cheerful energy; he patted Margaret’s hand, and -chuckled at the jokes which he gave her to understand he would have -made but for her innocent presence; he allowed his moustache to rest a -little longer than usual on the forehead his wife raised to him each -morning when, after entering the breakfast-room, he exclaimed, rubbing -his hands, “Ah, nice hot coffee! Nice crinkly bacon! What more can a -man want?... Well, well--good-morning, everyone. Morning, my dear”--all -these being signs that the world was revolving as he wished it to -revolve. - -Ordith had immediately been in attendance. One morning soon after the -Gunroom tea-party he and Mr. Fane-Herbert were shut up together for -three hours. - -“That dreadful business!” said Mrs. Fane-Herbert. “Why can’t your -father take a rest, I wonder?” - -“He likes it, mother.” - -“Yes, dear, I’m afraid he does. It seems odd--looking back. Times -change. Things take a grip on one as one gets old.” - -“Not only when you get old, mother.” - -“No?... Oh, Margaret, darling, are you happy? I do so want you to -be happy. If you let anything spoil your life it will be as if mine -were spoiled a----” She dared not say, “a second time”; but she went -on quaveringly, determined to say now what she had in her heart lest -afterwards she had not the courage to say it. “I’m not very strong, you -know. I may not be able to do all I should wish for you.” - -“But, mother, you were strong enough in refusing to follow father from -place to place when he came here. You put your foot down then, didn’t -you? And you won.” - -“Ah, yes. But that’s like choosing furniture, or moving from place -to place, or any of the small things. I can win because your father -yields. He doesn’t really mind. He is very kind about such things. -But on _matters of essential principle_”--how often and often had she -heard that ugly phrase, spoken as if by a dictatorial Chairman to a -subservient Board?--“on matters of essential principle I don’t oppose -very firmly, not now. It only makes trouble, and does no good in the -end.... He always makes me feel that perhaps I’m wrong, after all. He’s -a very clever man, you know, dear--your father; clever, and strong. He -knows more than I do of the world.” - -“Dear mother!” - -“So, Margaret,” Mrs. Fane-Herbert went on, “you must fight your own -battles. And be strong. And whatever I say afterwards--for I’m not -often like this ... now--remember what I think.... And that I do love -you.... And that compromise with truth is no good--ever. Once beaten, -always beaten.” - -She rustled into a chair, her white fingers clasped on her lap. - -“Fear is--oh, dreadful! like a foot in the door. You can never shut -it out. You never seem to be--to be quite alone again.” Then, with an -expression of appeal and warning in her eyes, she added: “That’s all I -can say--I think that is all I can say.” - -There was more finality in her tone than was warranted by the closing -of a conversation. When the door had shut softly on its latch and -Margaret stood alone, she realized that her mother had spoken to her as -she was not likely to speak again. - -With a sensation of sadness creeping over her she went out into the -garden--its cool air, its pale sunshine. As she passed the window of -the room in which Ordith and her father were discussing business she -thought she heard her own name--“Margaret.” Why were they speaking of -her? Perhaps her imagination had cheated her. Chance anyway! - -With a little toss of her head she walked down the gritty path and -paused, turning her face into the wind, which blew cool on her forehead -and throat. The clouds were like great tigers springing up from behind -the hills. The water was flecked. The ships’ white ensigns were driven -out on the wind so that they seemed stiff, like toy flags painted on -tin. - - -II - -When, after many congratulatory farewells and an exchange of confident -good wishes for the future, Ordith had parted from Mr. Fane-Herbert, he -saw Margaret in the garden. He paused with his hand on the outer door, -which he forebore to close lest the sound of its catch should make her -aware of his presence. Her right shoulder was turned to him, and she -was looking seaward. He threw over the slim form, slightly inclined -against the wind, a glance both critical and passionate; for it was a -peculiarity of his mind that, unless he were in wine, its faculty of -criticism was little affected by desire. Yet, even as he thought calmly -of her beauty and the amazing excellence of her body’s pose against -that pale, tawny sky, the idea of possession--or, rather, an impulse -towards such an idea, for there was nothing deliberate, no defined -imagining in this--came to him, and passed over him like a cool hand, -infinitely light of touch, causing him to shiver imperceptibly and -his eyes to narrow as if they were about to close. His throat opened -slightly to receive a breath quick drawn through the mouth. He became -conscious of the solidity of the brass knob against his palm, and, as -his fingers moved a little, of the chill of the metal they had not -previously touched. Then he closed the door, and went forward. - -“You, Nick! How long have you been standing there?” - -“Standing?” - -“I--I had an idea that you had been.” - -“No, this moment I shut the door. What made you think that?” - -She moved her shoulders and smiled, dismissing the idea. - -“You’re not staying to lunch?” - -“No, I’m lunching at the Club. I’m coming again in the afternoon.” - - -III - -He summoned Aggett by signal to share the meal, and when he arrived -gave him cocktails and a carefully censored account of the business -negotiations with Mr. Fane-Herbert. For several days, well aware that -negotiations were in progress, Aggett had pressed for information, only -to be met by a shaking of Ordith’s head. - -“Not yet, my dear fellow. Honestly, I don’t know how we stand. I’m not -clear in my own mind how far Fane-Herbert has advanced. All in good -time. As soon as I have anything definite to tell you, I shall let you -know at once.” - -Aggett had waited impatiently, but with a show of patience. Upon -Ordith’s good-will depended his chances of leaving the Service and -of obtaining a position on the technical staff of that imaginary -firm, Ibble and Ordith. He had, therefore, a personal interest in the -foreshadowed amalgamation. He knew, too, that until these arrangements -for amalgamation reached their final stage Ordith and Mr. Fane-Herbert, -though they were ostensibly allies with regard to the Eastern -Contracts, would continue to provide for the competing interests of -their respective firms, strengthening each one his own position in -preparation for the ultimate settlement. - -Aggett feared that this rivalry, conducted under the cloak of friendly -co-operation, might cause a rupture. Ordith, confident of his own -powers, might snap his fingers at Ibble’s; or Mr. Fane-Herbert, -relying upon Ibble’s weightier establishment, might decide to remain -independent of the younger firm. Amalgamation was almost certainly -to the interests of both parties; without doubt it was to Aggett’s -interest. Breakdown now would be disastrous, and Ordith, he knew, was -prepared to go far to prevent it. But could he be trusted? - -Aggett was not without misgivings. A disagreement in detail, a slight -on Ordith’s pride, an angry word--Aggett imagined his friend gathering -up his papers and walking out of Mr. Fane-Herbert’s room, never to -return. Moreover, Aggett perceived clearly by what personal, as -distinct from commercial, motive Mr. Fane-Herbert was urged towards -the amalgamation. He had no son worthy to receive his vast bequest of -influence and wealth--for Hugh’s powers were obviously inadequate. And -the firm of Ibble was to him more than a business. It was his life’s -work. For its sake he had sacrificed many things that when he was young -he would have sworn never to sacrifice. In it he had invested not only -money, but an unrealizable capital of labour and affection, and his -sentiment insisted that, when he was gone, Ibble’s should continue to -be identified with one of his own blood. Yet, if none of his own blood -possessed the necessary ability, outside help must be accepted. There -was but one way to compromise. His daughter must carry on the personal -tradition; her husband must provide the administrative capacity. Also, -because Mr. Fane-Herbert had learnt not to give without receiving, he -was determined that the husband must bring with him more than brains. -He must add like to like, possession to possession. And the choice had -fallen on Ordith, who was qualified in youth, ability, and endowment. - -But Mr. Fane-Herbert’s view of the world led him to believe that the -amalgamation without the marriage ought to be opposed. If she were not -tied to Ordith, Margaret might marry any fool, and cease to exercise -the influence on policy which her immense holding would place at her -command. She might even sell out, and devote the proceeds to God knew -what ridiculous frippery. The Fane-Herbert tradition might come to an -end. He might lose his immortality.... The projects of marriage and -amalgamation were therefore inseparable in Mr. Fane-Herbert’s mind. -This was the fact upon which Aggett dwelt. Ordith must act, must -act immediately. Every moment of delay was dangerous, pregnant with -discord. The marriage once effected, the settlement once made--the -settlement was the point--there could be no retreat from amalgamation. - -As Aggett came ashore he had decided, at the risk of unpleasantness, to -draw Ordith’s attention to this aspect of the matter; but he was soon -to discover that the risk was unnecessary. Lunch was a tedious meal, at -which conversation on engrossing topics was debarred by the presence of -others, but when it was over, and the patron saints of armament firms -had been invoked, in silence but with perfect understanding, over many -a glass of wine, the two men returned to their quiet corner and were -again at ease. - -“It amounts to this,” said Ordith presently. “Point one, the Eastern -Contracts: he has been doing good work, so have I. There’s much yet to -be done, but the outlook is excellent.” - -“Does he know that you have been squaring your own yard-arm when he -wasn’t looking?” - -“He does. I know as much of him. That cancels out.” - -“Right. I don’t like it--I’ll tell ye why in a shake. But go on.” - -“Point Two, the Amalgamation: we have both agreed to support it--I, -of course, on my father’s behalf--but on one condition. Point Three, -Yourself: your billet is fixed. You go on the permanent staff. Start at -fifteen hundred--I’ll get seventeen-fifty for you when it comes to the -point. Rises after that by agreement. As for those plans and gadgets -in my cabin, there’s nothing said yet. Nothing can safely be said of -them till the amalgamation’s completed. But you stand in with me there. -You’ll have to trust me.... Satisfied?” - -“Yes,” said Aggett, “though I fancied two thousand.... But what about -Point Two and that condition? You skidded over that, sonny.” - -Ordith laughed--perhaps with embarrassment. “Simply a--er--personal -matter,” he said, and stopped. - -Aggett glanced sidelong without moving his head, and winked. “What’s -up with ye, Ordith? Think I don’t know? Stammering lover, eh? The part -don’t suit ye.... Bo-oy! Couple o’ cocktails.... Yes, you son of a -----, two piece, two peecee! Chop chop!” He held up two fingers at the -blinking Chinese waiter. Then to Ordith: “That’s to celebrate.” - -Ordith smiled. It wasn’t worth while to get angry with Aggett. “It -was rather odd,” he said, “I didn’t care to be too direct about -the--about my personal point. It’s devilish difficult to introduce -your own marriage into a business discussion without making it sound -too business-like. Oh yes, you may grin. It’s damned easy for you to -be cynical at long range.... But to me, although you may choose to -think otherwise, and although I may at times have given you reason to -think otherwise, to me this marriage is something more than a business -proposition. I nearly left it out for decency’s sake; very nearly -decided to take my chance without preliminary safeguards.” - -“But you didn’t leave it out, after all,” said Aggett drily. - -“No, Aggett; as you observe, with such sympathetic understanding of my -character, I didn’t, after all. You never know; the most callous father -may be touched by sentiment and drive a hellish hard bargain at the -last moment. Then I should have looked a pretty fool. Besides----” - -“Besides, I’ve always read in the pretty story-books that all the best -brought up young gents approached the parents first. So you’re in good -company.” Aggett drained his glass and shouted for more cocktails. -“Drink up, ol’ man, and come to the point.” - -“Well, I was infinitely tactful--screwed up my courage and shied off -again half a dozen times. Then, thank Heaven! Fane-Herbert opened -the subject himself. I thought he had been keeping something back. -‘Ordith,’ he said, ‘you must pardon my questioning you on a side-issue. -I shouldn’t venture to do so if I was not reasonably certain of being -able correctly to anticipate your answer.’” - -“Sounds like a lecture,” said Aggett. - -“Probably he had thought it out. He was talking at the picture above my -head. ‘I think we’d better be frank,’ he went on. ‘I think you ought to -know that I regard your marriage with Margaret as an essential adjunct -to any scheme of amalgamation.’ Then he explained why. He as good as -told me--but polite as the Devil himself, mind you--that he wouldn’t -associate Ibble’s with Ordith’s unless he had guarantees that I should -look after the Fane-Herbert interest. And, where I am concerned, he -regards a husband’s self-interest as the only reliable guarantee.” - -“D’ye blame him?” - -“No,” said Ordith, with faint irritation. - -“Then the thing’s fixed.” - -“You think so? There’s another person concerned, you know.” - -“The girl? She’s as keen as mustard. Besides, she’ll do as she’s told.” - -“The last statement may be true,” Ordith said, with his trick of -formality. “The first is, unfortunately, a lie.” - -“I’ve watched her dance with ye.” - -“But dancing is not marriage.” - -Aggett exposed his teeth. “Less difference than ye think,” he rapped -out. - -Having reached a stage of mental development at which virginity seemed -an unjustifiable defiance of manhood, he delighted in the marriage of -any woman he had known unmarried. He was satisfied by it as numberless -people, who had no interest in legislation or in the constitution, -were satisfied when the House of Lords had its wings clipped. He never -refused an invitation to a wedding unless it was that of a widow. - -Margaret was a girl the prospect of whose taming particularly pleased -him. - -“You mark my words,” he said. “She may jib the first time. But you -stick to it--it won’t last long. If she tries to stand out, she’s got -no one to talk to, not a soul to plot her little rebellion with. Ye -soon get fed with rebellin’ alone. The girl don’t stand a chance.” - -“Very pleasantly put to the prospective husband.... Incidentally, the -father isn’t a brute.” - -“How d’ye mean? Surely he’s fixed? You said he was fixed.” - -“He might conceivably unfix. He can’t exert pressure beyond a certain -point. What’s more, Aggett, I don’t want him to.” - -“Now that’s generous of ye, that is--not ‘beyond a certain point.’ God! -Ordith, old man, that’s you all over. But don’t ye see that there’s no -goin’ back for Fane-Herbert now? It ain’t jus’ a pers’nal question. -He’s got Ibble’s behind him.” - -Ordith nodded. He reflected that he himself might have conducted -this affair differently if Ordith’s had not been behind him.... And -yet--well, it was no damned good to sentimentalize now. He called -for more drink as a set-off to Aggett’s frequent generosity, settled -himself in his chair, and, banishing misgiving as only the greatly -successful men of this world can banish misgiving, allowed Aggett to -talk. - -Aggett liked to generalize on this his favourite subject. His aids to -the imagination and the care he took that his friend’s glass should -not long remain empty produced in Ordith a brightening of the eyes and -a certain fixity of smile. From the state of mind of which these were -the outward signs Aggett drew vicarious pleasure. He explained, with -careful avoidance of personalities which Ordith might have resented, -his theory of the advantages to be obtained by impetuous attack upon -girls of the difficult kind. - -“No good hummin’ and hawin’ from t’other end of the room. They can -hum and haw better than any of us. ‘Engage the enemy more closely.’ -That’s the signal. I always have a feelin’ with the villain in the -story-books. I like the breakin’ of these proud young things.” - -Never a word of Margaret herself. - -Ordith was scarcely listening now, but, as the speaker intended, -his thoughts followed Aggett’s, though with change of phrase and -manner--followed them through the succeeding talk until at last he rose -to go. - -“Go an’ prosper, sonny,” Aggett said; “an’ Ibble an’ Ordith’s and all -thy gods go with thee.” - -Ordith started on his way to the Fane-Herbert’s. It was irritating to -one on his quest to be reminded of the assistance of these gods. He -didn’t like to think of Margaret in their net--compelled. “She’s got no -one to talk to,” Aggett had said. “It ain’t jus’ a pers’nal question. -He’s got Ibble’s behind him.... The girl don’t stand a chance.” Poor -little Margaret! Poor little---- - -But Ordith dragged himself out of that slough. - -“Ass!” he said. “No good whining that drivel. Too many cocktails.” - -He took off his hat, stood still, and gathered self-control. Then, -looking at his hat, he thought it a pity that he was not in uniform. -Even upon Margaret, used to it as she was, the blue and gold would have -produced effect. As he approached the house his mind was clear and calm. - - -IV - -Margaret knew in an instant for what purpose he was come. As he crossed -the room and placed himself on the hearthrug she knew that the crisis -she had so long expected was upon her at last. Though he spoke of a -dozen trivial things of which he had spoken many times before, there -was no doubt in her mind that this speech was but preparative to -attack. There was a stiffness in his pose like that of an actor who -is ill at ease. His feet were apart; his body was inclined slightly -towards her; his hands were behind his back. She found that, despite -herself, she acted and thought defensively--and in the bottom of her -heart was a feeling that even her defence must ultimately prove of no -avail. - -She heard him telling her calmly that he loved her and wished to -marry her. Then she heard him giving reasons, outlining the future, -speaking at last as if she had given her consent. His eyes were fixed -on her and held her; but, with an effort that was a physical shock, -she broke free of his gaze. At least he should not assume consent. She -would not be edged by this slow process into compliance. She would say -something--anything to break the intolerable evenness of his speech. -She let go of the back of the chair by which she had been standing. - -“No.... Wait, Nick.... I----” - -He waited not an instant, knowing that he must give her no opportunity -to recover herself or to reorganize her defence. He put his arms -outside hers, and swept her to him. Mind and body, she seemed -enveloped, borne down. The strength, the impetus of him overwhelmed her -as flames and smoke, bursting suddenly forth, overwhelm the opener of -a door in a burning house. She was too sick and faint to do more than -force her head a little backwards, and, catching sight of the black and -white notes of the piano, attach to them the strange significance which -belongs to things far, far distant from us--the significance that the -cool frosty stars possess in the mind of one who perceives them from -the window of a room in which fire has trapped him. In the same second -Ordith was aware that her body, become limp, reposed almost its whole -weight on his arms. - -And she heard him urging her with words that seemed to grow more and -more musical until at last she was listening pleasurably to them. His -nearness, his strength, his tenderness even--for where there was no -struggle there seemed now no kind of brutality--were becoming sweet to -her--just as the snow becomes warm and comforting to the wanderer who, -sunk by the roadside, is about to cross the line of sleep and death -beyond which is no waking, no resisting, no troubling any more. It was -so good to yield, so easy to say the one word he was demanding with -murmured reiteration. - -But she did not say it. She knew she must hold out, as the lier in the -snow knows he must keep awake. “Keep awake!” The words themselves -seemed part of a dream. She tried to put up her hands to thrust him -away, but the impulse led to no more than a faint movement of her -fingers. Then, as she opened her lips and no sound came his kisses -fell on her mouth and throat, and her poor little struggle flickered -out. She had said no word, but the thought came to her, as of a thing -accomplished, “That’s over.... Of course ... I knew.... His wife--his -wife. Always.” Whereupon the consciousness that he was still holding -her reasserted itself and filled her with sudden horror and fear. - -Then miraculously--for she remembered nothing of the movement that -released her--she found herself standing clear of Ordith. He had let -her go. In the open doorway, upon which Ordith’s eyes were turned, -stood Hugh, an amazed, embarrassed Hugh, who was saying, “Heavens! I’m -sorry. I didn’t know ...” and hastily shutting the door. - -For the first time Ordith was at a loss. - -“Well?” he said. - -She sank down in a chair. - -“Please go away.” - -At his least movement towards her she sprang up, white and trembling, -but calm of voice. - -“No.... I can’t bear it.... And please never come back--never.” - -“But you said----” - -“I said nothing.” - -“No--not said, but----” - -“Oh!” she exclaimed quickly; “I may have been wrong outwardly. But -don’t blame me for having deceived you. You were never deceived.” - -He smiled at her as at a child momentarily in a foolish mood, and went -out of the room. On the stairs he met Hugh. - -“I’m awfully sorry, sir. I had no idea.” - -Ordith laughed. “Nothing,” he said, “nothing at all.... By the way, -there’s nothing official--no definite engagement as yet, so don’t go -and worry her about it. Better act as if you hadn’t seen, unless she -speaks to you of it.... You weren’t meant to see.” - -So Hugh was bound. Ordith went on his way to report to Mr. Fane-Herbert -the development of the campaign. Together they considered the position -and reassembled their forces after the not unexpected reverse. - -“The difficulty,” said Ordith, “is that she forbade me to see her -again. Having regard to the standard of honour by which we live, that’s -something of a tail-twister.” - -“You will, of course, continue to come to my house on my business. The -rest follows in time.” - -Ordith turned the pages of a magazine. “The sad thing is that in five -minutes or less she would have consented.” - -“You’re a queer fellow, Ordith. But there, I suppose you are in love -with her; I’m sure I hope so. Five minutes or five months, what does it -matter? Obviously she doesn’t know her own mind. I’ll talk to her this -evening.” - -Ordith, his head bent over an illustration, looked up under his -eyebrows. The most amazing trait in Fane-Herbert’s character was his -complacency. There he stood, unruffled, speaking of Margaret as of a -baby who had been naughty but who would in time learn to distinguish -between right and wrong. - -“I’ll talk to her this evening.” - -“Oh well,” Ordith thought in excuse for himself, “she’s got to live -either with you or with me.” - - -V - -Margaret said nothing to Hugh of what he had seen, nor did he question -her. She made no attempt to argue with her father, for there was -no arguing against what he called his “plain statement of facts, -spoken for her own good.” By this she was given to understand that, -in rejecting Ordith, she had acted with rash impetuosity which, on -account of her youth, her father was ready to pardon. Next time--and -she smiled at the authoritative tone in which he spoke of this second -opportunity--next time, of course, she would revise her decision. As -for her having forbidden Ordith to see her again--that was ridiculous, -childish. - -“In any case,” Mr. Fane-Herbert said, “you understand that he -is a friend of mine, and the business we are conducting is most -important--of the utmost importance. Therefore he must come to my -house. You do not intend to shut yourself in your room, I suppose?” - -The incident of that afternoon was not afterwards mentioned. Mr. -Fane-Herbert would neither himself remember that Margaret had refused -Ordith nor would he allow others to take the fact into account. After a -decent interval Ordith began to visit the house again. He met Margaret -so often, and with such smiling tact, that some kind of reconciliation -became inevitable. She met him first in her father’s presence. The -encounter was unexpected; there was no retreat; and it was impossible -to pretend that she was unaware of Ordith’s presence. Her choice was -between a scene, in which her father’s intervention was probable, and -a recognition friendly enough to make complete estrangement impossible -in future. And she shrank instinctively from such a scene. - -The absence of any apparent breach in his sister’s relations with -Ordith caused Hugh to assume that, though some difficulty might have -arisen, the incident he had witnessed was at least a prelude to the -engagement of which Ordith had spoken. For long he said nothing of this -to John, but at last the rumour which Aggett had put into circulation -made an explanation inevitable. - -“They say Ordith is engaged to Margaret,” John said. “Is that true?” - -“She has told me nothing of it,” Hugh answered. - -“But you know----?” - -“I saw----” - -“What? Tell me. There’s no harm in telling me now. The whole ship’s -talking of it.” - -“So far as I know there’s nothing definite. I haven’t heard Margaret or -my father or my mother say one word about it. All I have to go on is -that I saw him kiss her, and he still comes to the house, and they seem -friendly enough. There may be a hitch. Ordith said it was unofficial; -and it’s not for me to question Margaret. There it stands. You know all -I can tell you, John. These good people may be beforehand with their -rumour, but I’m afraid they’re on the right track.” - -“Thanks,” said John, after a pause; “now I know, anyhow.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -WINGFIELD ALTER - - -John’s request to leave the Service did not find his mother wholly -unprepared. Her realization of the mistake he had made had been -earlier than his own, and for many months now she had considered -the possibility of obtaining his release should he demand it. The -difficulties were, as John knew, wholly financial. She could afford -to pay the sum which the Admiralty would require as the price of his -liberty, but she could not re-educate him as she felt it was essential -he should be re-educated. If he abandoned the Service he would have -to earn his living as an unqualified man. Journalism? She had heard -enough from Wingfield Alter to teach her the meaning of life in the -lower ranks of provincial journalism. And the alternatives for the -unqualified were a clerkship in a City office or manual labour. - -To Wingfield Alter, from whom she might have sought the advice and -assistance she so badly needed, she would not go. On the evening after -the arrival of John’s letter her resolution on this point nearly gave -way. The need was imperative. It was her son’s need, not her own. -And Wingfield Alter would help abundantly and willingly--she knew -that. Yet, it was impossible to approach him. If it had been no more -than advice she needed she might not have hesitated; but it was -money--money. No fair words, no tact of his or hers could disguise that -fact. And before he helped her son he would ask her to marry him. She -foresaw that quite clearly. Her request for help would, in effect, be -a request for a proposal. - -She closed her eyes, pressing the lids tightly together. - -When she opened them her mind was made up. Years ago, when it was -impossible that they should marry, she and Alter had cared for each -other too well and with too much silent restraint for her to spoil -it all now. Because she had been married no word of love had passed -between them. When the strain became unendurable, he had gone away with -his wife, leaving her to dream through a few months, and then to marry -John’s father. And now, John’s father being dead and Alter’s wife too, -they met again. She knew he loved her still, but he had said nothing. -Why she could not imagine. He must _know_; he must have seen. She had -no doubt of him--why should he have doubt of her? Why? Heaven knew! She -would do no more. She would not go to him. - -She could not go to him. - -Meanwhile, Alter was waiting for signs and failing to recognize them. -He was not, he told himself, the man he had once been, and to his eye -she seemed to have changed very little in all the years. Moreover, the -fact that there had been real affection between her and her husband -made her seem difficult to approach. He was by no means convinced -that her old love for himself had survived. It was natural that their -present friendship should have taken its place, and any attempt on his -part to insist upon love might sever the friendship for which now he -chiefly lived. - -Then came Hartington’s letter. John needed help. It gave Alter his -chance, his opening. But he could not be blind to the fact that, if he -offered to help the son, the mother, in accepting, would feel that she -had placed herself under some obligation; and, whether the offer of -marriage were coincident with or subsequent to the offer of assistance, -the acceptance of one would at least be a powerful argument for the -acceptance of the other. And he wanted her choice to be free. He wanted -her to accept him for his own sake, not for that of her son. Yet, apart -from all other considerations, he was eager to help John because he -felt that John was worth assistance. Alter had reached the point in the -lives of successful men at which the highest good and the most intense -personal satisfaction seem to spring from the help it is possible to -give to others. - -Far into the night he sat with Hartington’s letter on his knee, -considering how best to help, and cursing the impossibility of -frankness in this instance. It would have been so easy could he have -gone to John’s mother and have said: “You can count on me. Have -the boy out. I’ll see him through Oxford. I’ll give him the start -which, as I understand him, is all he needs. And all this you will -please regard as a side issue. It has nothing whatever to do with our -relations with each other. There’s no kind of obligation on you.” But -that was impossible. This, by the evil decree of Fate, was a question -of money, and money set up an obligation which, where man and woman -were concerned, no good-will or friendship could nullify. Hartington -said that John had written home. The letter must have arrived. If he -went straight to her now, making no mention of his knowledge, she -would inevitably look upon him as the man who was able to solve the -problem with which her son had confronted her. Her decision would be -influenced one way or the other. And, what was more, she would tell him -about John; she would feel bound to tell him. He would have to confess -foreknowledge, and unending complications would ensue. - -No; there was one thing to be done, one thing only. He went to his -table and wrote to Hartington. - - “_His mother cannot possibly afford to re-educate him. Therefore, she - will certainly refuse to apply for his withdrawal from the Service, - and she will persist in this refusal unless extreme pressure from him - forces her to act at last against her better judgment. You and I, Mr. - Hartington, must pull together in this matter. I am interested in - Lynwood; I am sure he has real ability; and I am willing and eager - to take full responsibility for giving him a fresh start. But, for - reasons of my own, I cannot at present approach his mother on the - subject. Before I go to her it is necessary that the prospect of her - son’s leaving the Service should be banished from her mind. She must - feel that a decision has been taken in which Lynwood himself has - acquiesced, and that the whole matter is over and done with. Then, - and not till then, I can go to her_. - - “_Your job is to obtain Lynwood’s complete acquiescence. You must say - nothing of my intent to help him. You must persuade him to bow to - the inevitable with the best grace possible. In other words, when his - mother’s refusal arrives--and it should reach the ship in the same - mail with this letter of mine--he must write again to her, accepting - her decision, and--for the sake of her peace of mind--accepting it - willingly...._ - - “_It is not necessary for me to give in detail my reasons for - requiring this of you. I suspect that you have already guessed them. - It is enough for me to say that I wish Mrs. Lynwood to be under - no obligation to me. Also, when I go to her, I want her not to be - thinking of her son’s future. She must feel that that is settled, - and that young Lynwood himself is satisfied with the settlement. - Then, knowing her to be a free agent, I shall be able to act more - easily...._ - - “_Write to me at once and tell me what Lynwood does. Give me, - too, your considered opinion upon the question of his leaving the - Service. It may be a little difficult, when the time comes, to - persuade Mrs. Lynwood that her son’s acquiescence was not indeed the - result of a change of mind. Like most women, she thinks the Navy - an ideal profession for men. A letter from you, telling me of the - circumstances in which Lynwood was persuaded to accept his mother’s - decision, and giving a definite assurance--supported, if possible, by - his own words spoken privately to you--as to his real inclination, - might be needed to persuade her that, for all his apparent consent, - he is still at heart eager to break free...._” - -Having finished his letter, Wingfield Alter returned to those words -he had written, “break free.” They implied more than he had meant to -imply; but, as he considered them, he had no desire to weaken his -phrase. - -“My God!” he said aloud, “the younger generation is in a hell of a -mess!” - -He picked up an envelope and laid it face downwards on the mantelpiece. -On its back he wrote: - - “_Children of Capital; Children of Labour. They suffer in the - transition. They pay for the bitter triumphs. They are weighed down - by the pride. If the young men could but learn that gain is without - profit they would know that force is barren. When all the world has - that knowledge_”.... - -He tore up the envelope. - -“But that’s the coming of the Kingdom,” he thought. Did he himself -believe, with absolute belief, that force was barren? It was easier to -compromise, to risk nothing, to wait; safer to go slowly. Everything -would right itself in time. That was a comfortable thought--but a lie. - -He shifted his feet on the carpet, and, turning, peered beyond the soft -blur of his reading-lamp into the dark room. And a phrase came upon -him suddenly, like galloping hoofs ringing close in the dark against a -frost-bit road. Its strange rhythm startled him as if it had been the -clatter of horses riding him down. - -“... Finally to beat down Satan under our feet ... finally to beat down -Satan under our feet....” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -THE CURRENCY - - -I - -It happened that his mother’s reply, reaching the _Pathshire_ in the -middle of October, came to John soon after he had learnt of what he -believed to be his irretrievable loss of Margaret. With her loss his -need for her became more instant. While she had belonged to none other, -and his own future had been at least not closed to dreams, he had -hesitated to admit, even to himself, that he loved her. The lesson of -the complete insignificance of midshipmen, which the Service teaches -with such energy and eagerness, had been so deeply impressed upon him -that, even in a matter so personal as this, he had been unable to -forget it. “For drill purposes,” as the Service says, snotties did not -love--they had women; and it was indeed ridiculous in one whose pay -was twelve-and-threepence a week to contemplate any love that might -lead to marriage. Moreover, John had felt that Time was on his side, -and Chance as yet not a declared enemy. He had dreamed of a swift end -to his snotty days, of expanding fortune, of reinforced hope. He had -wished to justify his claim to Margaret before making it. - -It had seemed enough that she should stand for the imaginative, the -creative, the permanent--a contrast to that professional side of his -life which he took to be destructive and ephemeral. But now all these -things were changed. By his mother’s letter it had been made clear -that there would be no expansion of fortune, no reinforcement of hope, -no breaking free into a new world. Margaret ceased to represent the -possibly attainable. - -The outlines of his vision of her were thus sharpened. Now that she and -his hopes for the future were at once taken away from him he saw her as -he had never seen her before. Her personality stood out more clearly. -A new fierceness and impatience entered into his thoughts of her. That -the worldly difficulties in the way of his claiming her were as great -as ever mattered no longer. That he was still a midshipman mattered not -at all. There was no denying now that he loved her--that fact dominated -all others, sweeping aside doubts, and arguments, and misgivings. - -For a time this singleness of purpose was a source of happiness, a -stimulant, the effects of which rapidly passed away. At last John went -to Hartington, and showed him the fateful letter. - -“Well,” Hartington said, “what are you going to do?” - -“It’s definitely the end,” John answered. “It’s no good to go on hoping -to leave the Service. I’d better settle down to it, I suppose.” - -“What are you going to say to your mother?” - -“Oh, some lie. I don’t want her to worry her soul out. Better make -her believe I’ve changed my mind. How does one change one’s mind -convincingly?” - -Together they planned his reply. - -“It’s all very well for me to say I will settle down,” John said, “but -there’s no incentive in this job. I shall always look outside it. And -yet, God knows, I shall take it lying down like the rest of them: -grumble and grouse, but never break free, never rebel. Isn’t it odd -how one submits and submits, until at last the average N.O. begins to -believe, ‘Oh well, it isn’t so bad, after all’?” - -“Even the cabhorse gets accustomed to his cab--perhaps gets to like it -in the end.” - -John answered: “I begin to see the wisdom of breaking snotties while -they are young. I suppose it’s kinder in the long run.” - - -II - -As autumn drew on to winter, the cold of Northern China closed down -on Wei-hai-wei, and, after a short cruise to Ching-Wang-Tao, the -_Pathshire_ lay in harbour until Christmas-time. John saw little of -Margaret, and never saw her alone. To meet her now was an exquisite -agony, for her beauty, of which he seemed never before to have been -fully aware, had that amazing power to baffle and astonish which is -the attribute of ghosts. For him the former Margaret still existed, -but under a cloak of unreality. Her friendly smile, her deep, quiet -eyes, that reflected laughter as a great lake reflects the lamps -swinging on the boats of _fête_, her manner of giving him her hand, of -inclining her body a little backwards as she spoke, these things were -familiar with the familiarity of a persistent memory--in the light of -circumstance they were no more substantial than this. - -The cold became intense; there were enormous stoves in every part of -the ship; the ice made the scrubbing of decks impossible; officers -kept watch in hoods and gauntlets of fur, and the men were shrouded -in wool. In such weather there could be little activity. The Gunroom -found nothing better to do than smoke, and gamble, and drink, and -tell stories of women who were now inaccessible. And with Christmas -Day came an opportunity for outbreak. To-morrow they were to sail -for Woo-Sung--that is, for Shanghai. Christmas was their last day in -harbour, a climax, an end to many months. - -In accordance with Service custom the men had decorated their messes, -and the Captain, followed by all the officers in order of seniority, -inspected them. The mess-tables were covered with good things--cakes, -jam, cigarettes, tobacco. At the end of every table stood a man with a -plate containing samples of the mess’s Christmas fare, and from every -plate each officer as he passed by was compelled to take a morsel. They -ate what they could, and carried the rest in their caps. - -When Captain’s rounds and Church and Divisions were completed, the -Gunroom was entertained by the Wardroom. John drank cocktails with -everyone, drank so many that he lost accurate count of them, and -emerged with nothing but a vague consciousness of the figure eleven. He -refused to believe he had drunk so many, for he was strangely sober. -His speech was a little quickened, but his legs were steady and his -brain was clear. Oh yes, his brain was clear. And he wasn’t making as -much noise as those other fellows. They were further gone than he; the -Wardroom was further gone than he.... And the Wardroom was drifting -into the Gunroom; hospitality was being returned: cocktails were -circulating again.... What about wine bills? Would they run their wine -bills over?... Wine bills be damned! All these cocktails were going -down to the Mess. Hartington had said so. They would be charged on the -Mess share. And anyhow, seeing it was Christmas, the Captain---- - -“Thank God we’re going to Shanghai to-morrow!” Dendy exclaimed. “Then -to Hong-Kong. Life moves again. Here’s to the pretty ladies what takes -pity on the lone, lorn N.O.!” - -John had another cocktail from the tray presented to him by the Chinese -boy. He must go steady with those cocktails. Three since he came to the -Gunroom; the third must be made to last. - -“What about putting in for leave together at Shanghai?” said Dyce’s -voice. “What about night leave?” - -“Could we get it?” - -“I have friends there--genuine friends. We could say we were going to -stay with them.” - -“Commander’d see through that.” - -“Commander doesn’t want to.... Commander knows snotties’ human -beings--animals, like the rest.” Dyce put down his glass on the table. -“Anyhow, means getting out of the ship for a night....” - -“D’you know where to go?” - -“Find out from Dendy--he knows the ropes.” - -“I----” - -John drank, that none might read in his face the workings of his mind. - -“That fixed?” said Dyce. - -“Yes.” - -A great shout went up at some joke. Heads were thrown back, slack -mouths were opened. Someone slapped his thigh to show his appreciation -of the current wit. - -“That’s good ... hellish good!... D’you know the one about the Irish -girl who----” - -John’s glass slipped from his fingers and broke with a clean, tinkling -sound. A heel ground the fragments.... - -The Wardroom officers went their way. The Gunroom sat down to lunch. -There was a basket of champagne, brought by the Captain’s steward.... - -Through the long afternoon the Wardroom and the Gunroom slept. Through -the dog watches they slept. A few stirred for supper. - - -III - -Night leave was granted at Shanghai. As many midshipmen as could be -spared from ship’s duties accepted it and went ashore. They went with -a light conscience, for this affair of women had long ceased in their -eyes to have any connection with right or wrong. They regarded it -neither from the social nor from the moral standpoint. They did not -consider it more seriously than a civilian considers a visit to a -theatre. To them it was a break in routine, an escape from sameness, an -obtaining, in the only accessible form, of that change of association -which is as necessary to the mind as is change of diet to the body. - -“In the only accessible form”--in that phrase was the essence of the -truth. When first they went to sea they had no taste for drink, no -habit of women. What relief they needed from the inevitable hardness of -work and discipline they found as other men find it, in the company of -those whose interests differed from their own professional interests. -According to their tastes they read, or played games, or danced, or -flirted. They talked to their mothers or their sisters, and forgot; -they went to a theatre and forgot; they saw colour, silk, pictures, -furniture, and forgot; they hunted, or read some poem, or walked -on high hills, and they forgot with the saving and strengthening -forgetfulness of sleep. So men live; such is the meaning of recreation. - -In Gunrooms these things, which have in common that their appeal is -imaginative, do not exist; and the inhabitants of Gunrooms--and not -of Gunrooms only--because the imagination must needs be fed somehow, -seek relief where they may. The _Pathshire’s_ midshipmen were not -naturally drunkards or gamblers, nor were they naturally corrupt. When -they had gone home on leave from the _King Arthur_ they had not drunk -or womanized; when they returned from leave they had found the tone of -the whole Gunroom temporarily changed. Leave, a chance to break free, -an opportunity to meet women other than harlots, had cleared their -minds as the opening of a window clears a foul atmosphere. For a time -blasphemy had been unpopular, foul language infrequent. But by the -pressure of circumstance they had been driven back into the old ways. -Now they thought lightly of drinking in excess and of going with women. - -“You R.N. snotties,” a merchant service officer had told John, “have -the filthiest minds I know.” - -That night on which leave was given Hartington dined with the Captain. - -“Well,” he said, “what of your snotties now? I suppose they are off -with the women. One can’t blame them. There’s nothing to be done -out here. They can’t be given home leave.... But the devil of it -is, Hartington, that even in home waters they don’t get leave worth -speaking of.... The fact of their having women doesn’t worry me. -The trouble is that snotties’ minds, their whole manner of life, -their outlook--it’s like a gradual debasing of a currency.... They -are strange people, the Powers-that-Be. Give them an invention or a -strategical idea and they’ll work on it untiringly, develop it with -amazing ingenuity and care. Give them boys, as fine human material -as is to be found in the world, and for four and a half years they -educate them magnificently. Then, before they are eighteen, when their -minds are in a most impressionable stage, these boys are sent to sea. -They are subjected to persecution; they are flogged continually for -no specific wrong-doing; they are deprived of all opportunity for -solitude or thought; they are put in a crowded mess where they are cut -off from intimate association with men older than themselves, from -women of their own kind, from art and culture, from trees and hills, -from all legitimate amusement. And the Powers know it. They have -absolute authority in the Service, but the evil continues. Wine bills -are limited on board, and there is a free issue of prophylactics, but -the evil continues. I know the difficulties--the inevitable conditions -of sea-service, the need there is that snotties should be taught -discipline by a short method. But it’s an odd thing, Hartington, that -men with ability and power, who have the interests of the Service at -heart, should be unable to find any means of preventing that waste and -wrong.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -MARGARET IN THE NET - - -I - -In the early days of the New Year, when the _Pathshire_, after her -voyage to Woo-Sung, had proceeded to Hong Kong to refit, Margaret -found herself singularly alone at Wei-hai. Her mother and father were -with her, but their presence accentuated rather than lessened her -sense of isolation. She could never shake off her consciousness of -the opposition of their wishes to her own. They did not argue with -her or seek to persuade her. They gave her no opportunity to state -her case. Instead, by their kindness, by their consideration of all -her inessential interests, they made her understand that if she would -repent and make reparation they were ready to forgive and forget. - -Forgive!... There were moments when she rebelled in her heart against -the idea that she stood in need of forgiveness. But her rebellion -lacked support and objective. If her mother had sought to persuade, -she too could have persuaded. But this tacit assumption that she had -done wrong and foolishly, this treatment of her as a child with whom -it were idle to negotiate, this slow pressure of silence and unwelcome -generosity--there was no fighting against these things. - -She began to understand the secret of her father’s power over men. He -did not threaten, he gave no opening for retaliation; but he impressed -upon her continually and with infinite patience a sense of the extent -of his own resources and of her lack of resource. It was as if she -fought one possessed of unlimited reserves. She might hold out a month, -she might hold out a year, but the time would come when she would fail -and yield, and abandon all she had defended. - -Why, then, struggle?... Was that the question that all the opponents -of her father were at last persuaded to ask themselves?... It would be -easier to yield. She had only to accept Ordith in order to escape for -ever from the intolerable atmosphere of coercion which filled her own -home. As Ordith’s wife she would be, in many respects, independent. -If she could but overcome her increasing fear of him, her instinctive -shrinking from his touch, her dread of his presence, she might be -happy.... And what was the alternative? So long as she was unmarried -she could never escape from her home. Her thoughts went out to John, -but there was no help in him. He was caught as she was caught. Through -different channels the power of Ibble’s was exercised over them both. - -“Some day,” she said suddenly to her mother, “some day the young men -will break free.” - -“As one gets older one learns the meaning of compromise. I have learnt -it myself,” Mrs. Fane-Herbert answered. - -“That may have been true of the last generation.” - -“It’s true for all time.” - -“But don’t you feel, mother, that everything is going to change? -There’s going to be a catastrophe, a great breaking-up. And at first -it will be a tragedy--flat tragedy. We shall pay for all that’s gone -by--the young men will pay. And out of it will come----” - -“Nothing will come of it. Revolution, chaos, a military dictatorship, -and then slowly back to a system essentially the same as the old.” - -“I’m not speaking of a political revolution--only. Not a change of -means, but a change of motive.” - -Mrs. Fane-Herbert smiled at her. “You strike truth, Margaret.” Then, -swiftly serious, she touched her daughter’s hand. “You know what you -are asking for--a revolution for Christ?” - -“Yes.” - -“Do you believe that possible?” - -“I----” For a moment Margaret could not speak. “It must be made -possible. It can’t go on like this. We must substitute the motive -of Sharing for the motive of Gain. It’s the only way out. It’s the -only way to stop the cruelty everywhere--in slums or in the Congo or -in Gunrooms--that horrible kind of cruelty which is half-excused by -a plea of the necessities of competition.... I suppose it does mean -a revolution for Christ.... Mother, why do you make it all seem so -difficult?” - -“Because I didn’t want your father’s daughter to starve for a dream. -There is no leader for such a revolution.” - -“But if Christ came again?” - -“To end the world?” - -“No; if He came now--as a man.” - -The elder woman’s eyes filled with fear. Her white fingers trembled on -the necklace she wore. - -“Did I ever give you that idea--that hope? Is it your own?” - -“Yes, it is my own. Why do you ask? Why do you look like that, mother -dear? Are you afraid? What have I done wrong? Tell me.” - -“I had that hope when I was a child. It is like knowledge of sunshine -in a darkened room. But you are tied down, Margaret. You can’t move. -You can’t pull back the curtains. It is terrible to be aware of one’s -own captivity.” - -“‘_As the fishes that are snared in an evil net_,’” Margaret said. -“Mother, I don’t believe--I believe there _is_ a breaking free. I -believe----” - -“Ah!” - -It was like a cry, soft, from a great distance, almost inaudible. - - -II - -For several weeks Margaret would lie awake through the early hours -of the night. At first she strove to think connectedly, to lay plans -and make resolves; but always she would fall to wondering whether her -mother, whose girlhood must have been strangely like her own, had made -these very decisions, and, when the test came, had failed to give them -effect. And by this wonder her mind was carried towards acceptance -of the inevitable. There would come blank periods in her thought -when, oppressed by what seemed a clear perception of the futility of -effort, she would see her own life as a cockleshell adrift upon the -seas of Time. She had no recollection of a Departure, no sure hope of -a Landfall. God had closed His eyes, was sleeping; and she was alone, -unguarded, unperceived. - -Unperceived. This thought clung to her through the night on which -her father told her that Ordith was coming on the morrow. It made -easy the acceptance of ease. She lived in the moment, noticing with -unprecedented pleasure certain details of her room’s appearance--the -soft roughness of the blankets, the beading on the brass handles of her -dressing-table, the pale lights of blue and gold that mingled in the -bevel of her mirror. She undressed slowly. Once, with her hands and -arms raised above her head and her chin thrown back, she watched the -light and shadow move over her bosom and throat as she drew breath.... -A sudden weakness overcame her; her arms dropped; she was surprised by -the strange, wild expression in her reflected eyes. Her face seemed -thinner, her eyes more deeply set; upon her lips pallor had fallen. -This would be her appearance when she was older; this, a little -accentuated, would be her appearance as she lay dead.... Something she -wore brushed and hissed against the eiderdown. She turned quickly and -laid her outspread hand upon the bed, so that light billows of satin -rose between her white fingers. She touched her arm with a slow caress. -With her nail she caused a long, shrill sound to issue from the silk. - -Frightened by the unknown spirit that possessed her, she stood in -the middle of the room, swaying from her feet, her lips parted, her -eyes wide. The intolerable stillness within, the lifeless folds of -the flowered curtains, that would hang in just those folds though she -slept, though she died, laid some spell upon her, and she strained her -ears for the low murmuring of the sea. A board creaked beneath her. -There, close to her, in her own room, were evil presences--or was it -that a Presence was withdrawn and the room empty, and she alone? - -Unperceived.... She crouched beside her bed because as a child she had -thus knelt to pray. The scent of linen, the pressure of her finger-tips -upon her forehead, the fragrance of her own hair--why did these -memories of Childhood’s bedtimes come back to her now with mockery and -sadness? Their significance was changed, and their sweetness gone from -them. - -“O God, make me pray. Take away this insistence of touch and sound and -sight. Make me believe the Spirit is powerful still, and can prevail -... and shall prevail; and that life is not just living in the body and -the hour. And give me----” - -It was as if she had been speaking to one who, unperceived, had gone -from the room. She had not been heard. Throughout the prayer she had -been thinking how the pile of the carpet was pressed down by her knees. - -For long she remained kneeling, her face hidden, her hair dark over her -hands. She knew what she would do: she would take Ordith. She might be -afraid at first, but soon he would win her, soothe her. Of course she -would take him; that had been planned, preordained. - -She was almost asleep. Her weight pressed the edge of the bed.... -Ordith would teach her, hold her. She would give herself----“God, -why am I so hedged round--forsaking what is lovely, though I see its -loveliness--like all the young, because I must. Jesus, pull me out of -this even now--so late--even now.” - -Her lashes moved against her palms. The light came through the pink -edges of her fingers.... Was that only hypocrisy? Was she willing, -after all? A tremor of excitement ran over her, and she pressed her -elbows into the bed and shut her eyes again.... Anyhow, in fifty years -it wouldn’t matter.... And Christ would not come again. It was foolish -to--to starve for a dream. - -The room was cold. Her shoulders were bare, and her feet. This physical -consciousness was like the touch of a hand. - - -III - -Throughout the morning Margaret looked forward to her encounter -with Ordith with that mixture of passivity and restlessness which -alternately lulls and excites the sensitive boy who, something of a -hero among his schoolmates, awaits his flogging. After breakfast Ordith -and her father disappeared; after lunch they disappeared again. She and -her mother, possessed by a common thought which neither would express, -faced each other in a silence that was half-nervous, half-determined. - -Early in the afternoon her mother complained of a headache, and went to -her room. - -“You might have my tea brought up to me, Margaret.” - -“Poor mother!” Margaret thought. “She’s hoping that I am going to be -sensible. Ought I to tell her I am going to be sensible--just to set -her mind at rest?” - -But she did not move. She let the silence of the room close round her. -Presently, after many hours it seemed, the door of her father’s room -opened and shut, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Ordith entered. - -“Alone?” he said. - -It was strange that she felt so calm, so decided, so completely -mistress of herself. A twist of annoyance because he asked so -unnecessary a question--that was all. - -“Are you ready for tea?” she asked. - -“Indeed I am.” - -“So you lay aside the burdens of state. Is father coming?” - -“I expect he is.” - -“I don’t,” she said, under her breath. Then, aloud: “I’ll go and ask -him. You might ring.” - -She looked into her father’s room. He was sitting by his desk, a spiral -of blue smoke rising from the ash-tray at his side. - -“Tea, father?” - -“Yes, you might send in a cup to me. No milk, no sugar, and strong, -_doushka_. I’m dead tired.” - -He had used the Russian word which had been his pet name for her in the -nursery, which she could not remember his having used since she was a -child. She went to him and stood by his chair, wishing she could love -him. - -“You are not ill, father?” - -“No--no.” - -“I think you ought not to work so much. Surely you have earned a rest?” - -“I couldn’t retire, darling. You don’t understand.” - -“I’m beginning to understand--how it holds you. Couldn’t--wouldn’t it -be possible, father, for you to throw your mind back to the old days -and what seemed worth while then?” - -“We are not young twice,” he said, trying to laugh. - -“No ... but that’s true of the young as well as of the old.” - -He would not understand her. She withdrew a pace from him and steeled -herself. - -“You want me to marry Nick,” she said, and went on: “You know what it -means, and that he doesn’t love me. And you know what that means.” - -“I think he does love you.” - -“Physically.... I’m going to say it, father. I’m going to be straight -this once.... A girl can tell what a man’s thinking about her. And if -it’s ... what Nick thinks ... it’s like being stripped--there--in the -middle of the room.” When her breath came more evenly, she said: “And -when you think that the girl was once a little child extraordinarily -in touch with Christ, made for sunshine and flowers, and warm -affection--almost a part of Him, wondering for the first time about -stars and distances, and so--without fear--about death, and love, and -time----” She broke off. “That’s the chance, the raw material of the -spirit. And then fear creeps in, and the craving for power--they creep -into the nursery. We start compromising because others compromise; we -are cruel in self-defence, evil for the sake of good--and our motives -are confused until we don’t know what’s right or wrong. Our seeing of -Christ is out of focus, and we talk--honestly as honesty goes--of a -man’s being ‘too Christian,’ of ‘adapting Christianity to the needs of -the day.’ And so at last I don’t think badly of you for wanting me to -go--in there.” She made a gesture towards the room where Ordith was. “I -make excuses for you. It seems quite reasonable. And, more amazing, you -don’t think badly of me for consenting.... Yes,” she added, meeting his -quick glance, “I do consent. You needn’t worry.” - - -IV - -She returned to Ordith with high confidence. The Chinese boy who had -laid the table was sent to her father with tea, and she gave orders -that a tray should be taken to her mother’s room. When the boy had -gone, she leaned over the fire with hands outstretched. - -“Cold?” Ordith said. “Sit by the fire, then--there, on that long thing. -I’ll manage tea.” - -From his chair he could look down upon her. For a time they scarcely -spoke. He was content to watch her; she to submit. His empty cup -tinkled on the saucer as he set it down. - -“Do smoke.” - -He leaned forward. - -“Have you forgiven me?” - -“Yes.” She would not give him the pleasure of a fight. - -“Quite?” - -“Quite.” - -Unprepared for this acquiescence, he was disconcerted. She smiled as, -without looking at him, she became aware that he was ill at ease. For -the last time, perhaps, he was suppliant now. Soon no mysteries would -divide him from her. Soon---- - -But she liked him for being afraid, for his embarrassment, his -momentary helplessness. - -“You old fool, Nick!” - -“For doubting? Then--Margaret, I’m ghastly afraid of frightening you. -But I do love you. I do love you, Margaret. You’re different from -me--on a different plane--that’s what makes it difficult. But I love -you, body and soul. Margaret----” - -“And soul!” - -The implication stung. “You mean----” - -“Never mind what I mean. I’m not quite sure myself. I don’t care.” - -He could not wait to think it out. Perhaps she had meant nothing. He -said: - -“You know what I am asking.” - -“I don’t love you,” she said, before he could speak, “nor you me.” - -She faced him suddenly. - -“There’s one question I want to ask you, Nick,” she said evenly. -“Whatever your answer may be it will not affect my answer. So the -truth.... If I consented to be your mistress, would that be enough? -Would it?” - -“Good God, Margaret! what a question! No, a thousand times, no!” - -“Put aside the business aspect of this marriage. Think of the personal -only. What is it you want in me?” - -“All of you.” - -“Body and soul?” - -“Yes.” - -She bowed her head. “I wonder if you believe that. I think you -do.” Then, in a flash, “Oh, Nick, we do lie to ourselves! I was -wrong in a way. It’s possession you want, isn’t it?--abstract -possession--ownership--gain!” - -“Is that wrong?” - -“You’re a man,” she said simply, and, with caught breath, “Thank God -for that!” - -He was careful, in the light of his experience, not to approach her, -not to touch her. This time she should come to him. - -“Come, Margaret,” he said; “don’t let us be fools.” - -She looked across at him. So she was to move towards his chair, and sit -at his feet--and sit at his feet. He would touch her hair, her hands, -her shoulders. That would be yielding. That would be, very quietly, the -end.... - -That would be extraordinarily like an oleograph--“in the firelight.” - -She thrilled to laughter, and slowly, like recognition of an unfamiliar -acquaintance, laughter came. It was as if she had wakened from some -ridiculous nightmare; as if a shaft of light had fallen across a dim -room, revealing countless absurdities that the dark had concealed. And -laughter fled suddenly--stifled her a moment, and was gone. - -In the stillness, she remembered--as something long passed--the sharp -sound of her merriment. Looking round the room, she saw the piano -standing open, and beneath its polished lid the black keys and the -white. First it was their sharp contrast that seemed to interest her; -then, as her attention dwelt on them, they assumed a certain power of -reminiscence, of suggestion, as if they were symbolic of something -outside themselves, something in the past peculiarly significant to -her. With a mental process similar to that by aid of which dream and -reality are separated until they stand recognizably on either side -of the line between sleep and waking, with the laborious thought of -one struggling against the last influence of a drug, she remembered -how those black and white notes had imprinted themselves on her -consciousness when, on that other occasion, Ordith had so nearly -mastered her. The days intervening between that time and the present -ran before her in swift procession. She saw herself as she was then; -as she was now--then, fighting, determined, clear in mind; now, with -even her will gone. By subtle process she had been changed, for the -circumstances were unaltered. Slowly, day by day, by patience, by -silence, by implied menace, by the bluff on which her father’s power -depended, her fortress, unknown to her, had been undermined. Her father -had come very near to winning, very near. - -He should not win! - -If she had not seen herself as a figure in an oleograph and laughed.... -The ways of salvation! - -She laughed again. Ordith, with the first laugh still ringing in his -ears, moved as if to come to her. But, on the instant, the tension that -had held her failed. With the sob, not of a woman but of a little girl, -she drooped and trembled and hid her face in her hands. She was crying -like a child who, having come through some great fear, breaks down -under confidence restored: tears of relief, of sanity snatched back, -held--just held. - -“Margaret!” - -She dropped her hands, raised her head. Her eyes were swimming and -glistening with tears, her cheeks flushed as if with happy excitement. - -“Oh, leave me alone, Nick--please--please! Nick--please. Promise you -will leave me alone always.... I’m frightened. You could get anything -you wanted at last. But you don’t want me--not really. It’s so much to -me; so little to you. Please, Nick, is this the end?” - -“If you wish it.” - -She seized his hands between hers. “Even if he persuades?” - -“Yes.” - -“Your word? He’s so strong....” - -“My word.... Margaret--oh, you child!--I do care for you now more than -ever.” - -Suddenly he kissed her. - -“There.... Have your own way. I’m not a devil, Margaret dear. But your -seeing is different from mine--and your gods, I think. They won’t have -us together.” - -“No.” She looked up with sudden curiosity. “Nick, you are superstitious -like all great men? You--you wouldn’t have me now if I asked you? Would -you? Would you?” - -He smiled at her with understanding, and admitted, “No.” - -“Something--inside you--says ‘No’?” - -He nodded. - -“Then I’m safe--quite safe.” - -This amazing childlikeness! - -“As your gods keep you,” he said. - -And she, with the embarrassment of one who returns a formal -congratulation, answered: “And yours ... and yours, Nick. You’ve been -good.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -AN INSTANT FREE - - -I - -Mr. Fane-Herbert decided to be in London with the spring. Ibble’s and -Ordith’s were to remain independent, an arrangement of which both he -and Nick Ordith saw the advantages, and which Aggett alone regretted -wholeheartedly. Three weeks in Japan would complete Mr. Fane-Herbert’s -work in the East, and to Tokio he went, with Margaret and her mother, -at the end of February. - -Soon afterwards the _Pathshire_, having finished her refitting, sailed -for Yokohama, and on the first Friday in March, John and Hugh, who had -obtained week-end leave, arrived at Kamakura. That evening, when the -hotel dinner was over, they sat together in the verandah of John’s -bedroom. Below them stretched the lawn, its size exaggerated by the -semi-darkness, its nearer edge, gloomy under the hotel’s shadow, -slashed, where the gleam of windows fell upon it, with parallelograms -of yellow light. - -“They come to-morrow,” Hugh said. - -“This will be the last that you’ll see of them before they leave for -home.” - -Hugh nodded. “Margaret will be glad to go.” - -“Because Ordith stays?” - -“Partly--though I think she has cast off Ordith and the thought of -him.... But she’ll be glad to be rid of the place and its associations. -London will give her something else to think about.” - -“It’s almost incredible,” John said slowly, “that anyone out here now -should be able to reach London within seventeen days. It seems further -away than that.” - -“But I like the East,” Hugh protested. - -John laughed. “Good God!” he exclaimed, “so do I; but that has nothing -to do with it.” He knocked out his pipe against the verandah rails. -“Anyhow,” he said, “it’s a long lie-in to-morrow. Throw us a cigarette, -Hugh.” - -He looked out across the lawn, across the broad belt of trees that -stood between the garden and the beach. The sea was near--not that -sea into which steel ships vomited their bilge, but the quiet sea of -kissing sands and straight horizon which had been his first love. -To-morrow did not matter; that darkness, those stars unsnared by -sextants, that sea undivided into ranges, were suggestive of too many -to-morrows, too many yesterdays. From an open window came voices and -laughter, and the tinkle of a curtain being drawn. - -“Women,” Hugh said. - -John leaned over the rail. - -“That curtain has cut a patch of light out of the lawn. They’ll all go -out one by one.” - -“Ours won’t--not yet. I’m not going to turn in for hours.” - -“I know,” John said, reading his thought. “I hate wasting leave in -sleep. Even if I turn out late, I like to wake early, and imagine -the Reveille sounding and the calling of ‘Guard an’ steerage.’ -‘Show-a-leg, show-a-leg, lash up and sto-ow!’--and you lying in bed, -with the whole day before you--away from the ship.” - -“This being Friday,” Hugh observed, “we have to-night, and Saturday -night, and Sunday night--two clear days.” - -“I wonder what would happen if we didn’t go back--if we hid somewhere -and never went back--if we started on our own. Why should we go back?” -John said, for the sake of saying it. - -“If we didn’t, we’d be caught. If we weren’t caught, we’d starve.... -The extraordinary thing is,” Hugh went on, in a puzzled voice, “that we -can’t stay as we are. I’m happy as can be sitting here; yet I shall get -up presently and put an end to this evening by going to bed. I don’t -want to move. It’s glorious here in the dark.... Look at the lawn--like -a great pool.” - -“You want to lay hold on the instant,” John said. “You can’t any more -than you can lay hold on eternity. They are the two infinities that -meet somewhere. Probably from some point of view--if only you could -reach it--the instantaneous and the eternal appear as one and the -same. But the proofs we have of that are pretty vague: there’s that -extraordinary consciousness--coming for no apparent reason--that a -given instant is of tremendous importance, that it is going to be -remembered, that somehow it’s a source of unknown events to come; then, -at the other end of the scale, there’s the recollection of certain -instants--more than mere memory, a kind of preservation. An instant -years-old by the measure of time, remains intact, perfect; and you -know that it’s never going to perish or fade. Usually the occasion was -trivial....” - -“I wish,” said Hugh out of the silence, “the Commander could hear his -young gentlemen talking like this.” - -John laughed uneasily. “I had managed to forget the ship.” - -“All the same,” Hugh went on, “I like vague talk. I like listening to -you--even though I don’t understand too much of it. Vague talk gives me -what I imagine you were driving at, what you spoke of before--a sense -of eternity.” - -A watchman’s bell rang faintly in the distant village. When it could be -heard no longer, John said: - -“A sense of eternity--what a phrase that is!” - -Light, quick footsteps sounded on the path; then the heavier tread of a -man. The girl stopped suddenly, touched her companion’s arm, and, when -he looked down, laughed breathlessly--an odd laugh, half-confidential, -half-embarrassed. - -“Oh, Torwood,” she exclaimed, “I do so _love_ this East!” - -He threw his arm round her, and, with a tremendous air of -proprietorship, almost dragged her indoors. Little gasps of excitement -were her show of protest. As they passed through the room below the -man could be heard speaking quick words to her, in a voice unevenly -controlled; speaking with strange disregard for the public room’s -bleak emptiness and for the nearness of those who were sleeping, for -the stare of electric bulbs, which, when they shine singly over places -deserted till the morning, have so intent an air of watchfulness and -curiosity. - - -II - -On Saturday evening Margaret and Mrs. Fane-Herbert reached the hotel. -After dinner, Mrs. Fane-Herbert said to John: - -“I hear you changed your mind about leaving the Navy.” - -“It was scarcely a question of my changing my mind. It didn’t get as -far as that. You see----” He looked aside and saw that Margaret was -watching him. “At any rate, I am settled down to it now,” he said. - -Hugh broke in with talk of Kamakura. - -“When does your leave end?” Margaret asked. - -“Monday.” - -“You must go back to your ship, then?” - -“Yes, by noon.” - -She turned to John. “And you, too?” - -Something in her intonation caught his attention, and he looked swiftly -at her. - -“Yes,” he said. “You must send us news of London as our share in your -home-coming.... I want to hear of your great-grandmother’s welcome.” - -“Her great-grandmother?” Mrs. Fane-Herbert put in. - -“The portrait, mother--the one over the stairs.” Then to John: “She’ll -give me comments with her welcome, a lecture for her runaway.” - -There was a hint of bitterness in that; but John’s remembering that -conversation on the first evening she had known him stung her with -the sting--half-pleasant, half-painful--of childhood days recalled in -dark moments. For now she was easily stung to sorrow or to a kind of -fierce joy. She had wanted desperately to talk, to tell someone how -free she was--Ordith being gone. Untold, her freedom seemed incomplete. -But neither her father nor her mother had spoken. They had learnt the -facts, accepted them; she had attempted no explanation; not one word -had been said. This silence had a hardening quality. Her experience, -the vivid remembrance of which might have flowed easily away, was -somehow frozen in her mind, like a sin unconfessed. There was no one to -whom she could go. Warmth of heart, comradeship, the simplest affection -she starved for. But this being left alone, this frigidness of spirit, -this intolerable independence.... - -John had known, at least, that her heart was full. It was as if she -had seen a friendly face in the midst of a vast unnoticing crowd. When -she said good-night to him she gave him her hand with new confidence. -Then, out of his sight, she was suddenly angry with herself as for a -foolishness, a weakness for the first time realized. An instant she -stood unmoving outside her bedroom door--her mind tripped somehow, -taken unawares. - -And in the morning she settled at once to a book, glad of an occupation -so isolating. - -“You’re very deep in that book, Margaret,” Hugh said, as he passed her. -“Aren’t you coming out?” - -“I want to finish it before lunch. Do you mind?” - -“I see the last of you and mother to-morrow.” - -“I’ll come this afternoon, ... or shall I come now?” - -He looked into her upturned face. Her hand was on the arm of her chair -to raise herself. - -“No, you odd sister.... No; you’re not to come--of course not.” - -She went late to lunch, and was surprised to find Hartington at her -mother’s table, with John and Hugh. He said that his leave lasted only -till that evening. - -“Can’t you stay and go back with us to-morrow?” Hugh asked. - -“No.” He shook his head. “But I wanted to see the homeward goers before -they went. That’s really all I came for.” - -The meal over, he had no difficulty in seeing Margaret alone, for she -felt that it was to see her he had come. - -“Well,” she said, “secret emissary, what is it?” - -“You know there’s something?” - -“You are full of suppressed news.” - -“Yes; good news--oh, such good news!” - -“Thank God for that!” she breathed. - -“You expected bad?” - -“I fear it always. There’s nothing definite that I expect. But -somehow----” - -“No,” he said quickly. “This is good, anyhow. Lynwood is free--through -Wingfield Alter.” - -She gave no sign of pleasure so eager was she. “How? Really free?” - -“Really free,” he smiled. “Are you beginning to disbelieve in -freedom?... The mail came in after Lynwood left the ship. A letter for -him from his mother, and a letter for me from Alter. I have them both -here. Alter is to marry Mrs. Lynwood. He has taken the first definite -step towards getting Lynwood out of the Service.” - -“When will he be free? Will he come home with us?” - -“Not possible. It takes time. But now it is only a question of time--a -couple of months, perhaps.” - -“You haven’t given him his mother’s letter?” - -“No.” - -“You haven’t told him?” - -“No; I came to you first. I want you to tell him.” - -Something stifled her inclination to ask “Why?” - -Hartington went on hesitatingly: “It means so much to him, you see. -It’s such tremendous news, because he has no hope or expectation of it. -So ... Miss Fane-Herbert, I want you to tell him.” - -Her eyes widened for a moment. They looked out beyond Hartington. Then, -with abrupt decision, she said, with a fluttering, pleading gesture -towards him: “No; you. You must tell him. It’s your right. You brought -it about.” - -“I wrote to Alter--that’s all.” - -“It came about through you. Oh, long before the writing of that -letter, you helped him--didn’t you?--perhaps not deliberately. You -don’t realize how much you have done for him. Certainly you don’t -realize what he feels for you--the strangest mixture of affection, and -admiration, and respect--but overwhelming. You are all that’s best in -men for him! And he’d like you to bring this news. He’ll be glad, years -on, that it was you who brought it. Friendship between men is so much -more substantial, more secure. You must tell him,” she concluded. “It’s -your right.” - -“Why do you insist so much on right? I waive it if it exists. That’s -why I came here.” - -“Oh,” she cried, with a smile in acknowledgment of his unveiling of her -half-pretence, “I want it to be you!” - -He laughed back at her, so that her colour came.... - -He took John away into the country roads, where the cherry-trees were -in blossom and the sun lay flat on the long, low, irregular branches, -reminding them of illustrations in Japanese fairy-books. There, as they -walked, the news was given, the two letters read. - -“You’ve done all this,” John said, and remained speechless. - -“I can’t help wondering what it is exactly that I have done or helped -to do. What’s it going to lead to?” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I mean that this--the breaking free--is a beginning, not an end.” - -“I know.... But there’s time enough to think of what’s to come. I won’t -think of it now.... Hartington, couldn’t you come too?” - -“No; we shape different courses now.” - -“But we three shall see each other often--in London. I’ve never seen -you in London. And at Oxford, you must stay with me there.” - -Hartington looked wistfully at him. “Oh yes,” he said, “we shall see -each other often.” - -They found on their return that the others had finished tea. Only Hugh -remained by the empty cups. He sprang up to meet them. - -“I am glad, you civilian! Margaret told me.” - -“She knows?” - -“I told her,” Hartington said. Then, “Have I stolen your news?” - -“There is no one left to tell,” John answered, laughing. “I want to -tell thousands of people.” - -Later, he asked: “Where is Margaret?” - -“I don’t know. She disappeared after tea.” - -They sat smoking. Everything was pleasant to John now: the click of -a cigarette-case being shut, the tapping of the cigarette, the long -silences in which none of them had need of speech. The afternoon had -begun to fail. The sun slanted yellow across the window-panes and fell -in rippling beams of light and shadow upon the pale matting. Outside, -the lawn and distant trees had taken on those soft golden tones which, -at the approach of summer’s dusk, flow across English fields, investing -them with kindly magic. Then the church tower seems more than ever -still; the churchyard silent, but not terrible. The bird rustles in -the hedgerow; you imagine his bright eyes. The cricket stumps yellow -against the green; the shadows flicker on the pitch; the bat sounds -clearer, sweeter; the ball runs smoothly, and with peculiar ease; the -players and the umpires in their white coats grow nebulous and vague. - -“‘And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,’” John said. - -“Back in England already?” - -“This summer in England!” - -He went bareheaded into the cool air, across the lawn, springy under -his feet, down the path among the trees where the white sand lay -heavy, on to the shore. There was Margaret, near the waves’ edge. He -approached her, and, because she was so still, touched the billowing -muslin she wore. - -“You know?” - -“Yes. John, how happy you must be! Always you’ll remember to-day. It’s -your hour--one of the three or four. They go by so soon.” - -“And you? Are you not happy?... You are free, too.” He faltered as he -spoke of this, of which she had never spoken. - -She shivered, as if a cold breeze had struck her. - -“Yes.... I understand.... I, too, am free. I know.” - -She turned to him eyes full of light. - -“Oh, Margaret,” he cried, his arms outstretched, “don’t look towards -the future. To-day’s enough, Margaret. What is it you are afraid of?” - -She said, trembling under his touch, close to him so that her dress -brushed lightly against his coat, “What is it we’re both afraid of? We -are both afraid.” - -For answer, in his primitive wisdom, he swept her to him, overwhelming -her thought. Lip to lip they clung, she imprisoned, silenced, caught up -from fear. His arms about her in fierce pressure were a whole armour -against doubt--more than armour, a charm, for the arrows themselves -were diverted and flew wide of her, forgotten. Flames ran down her as -his mouth burned against her throat, and her lips, opened now, were -full of the sharp sea-wind. - -She fell from him a little, still held. - -“That once,” she said, with caught breath, “that instant lives. That -stands. Nothing can touch it or steal it.... Don’t let me go--not yet, -my darling--don’t let me go!” - -He drew her close again, but more gently. And she said: - -“It’s our victory.” - -“Nothing reverses it.” - -“Tell me----” - -He told her his love again and again, her arm drawing him down so that -the fresh scent of her hair was over him. - -“Nothing takes those words back”--his kiss fell on her--“or the touch.” - -“But here we begin,” he protested, wondering at the jealous terror that -possessed her. “We shall go on from this for ever. Nothing is taken -away. We build and build. In a few years, when I----” - -“Oh!” she cried, “in a few years--who knows? We don’t break free -so easily as this, John. The net sweeps wider than we know. It -yields--that’s its strength. And presently it draws us in again. So -it will go on--till the breaking.... You see, even you and I go on -strengthening it, making new meshes despite ourselves. If ever we are -to stand together in the world, first you have to gain money and power. -You have to fight. Then--it’s inevitable--we would have to teach our -children to fight--equip them for ‘the battle of life!’ And they would -look round to find themselves in _our_ net. - -“But it’s going to end. The world will change its motive when this -motive of gain has made it suffer so terribly, so obviously, that it -realizes the cause of its suffering. We have to suffer--we or our -children. It’s near now. The whole system may smash--the good with the -bad--perhaps that’s the only way; and we may slip back into the Dark -Ages again. I don’t know....” - -“But now----” John said. - -“Now? Yes--that’s ours.... Oh, for God’s sake! touch me and hold me as -if you would never, never let me go....” - -And presently, standing away from him, she was saying with composure: -“Let’s go back. It’s getting dark. Look how the colour is fading from -the sea.” - -They went up the beach to the edge of the tree belt. There she checked -him. Turning, they looked down upon their tracks to where, in the -instant now gone by, the sand had been roughed and broken by their -feet. Soon the water, which from the gathering darkness had drawn its -first gleams of phosphorescence, would smooth their footprints away. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -ONE YEAR LATER: THE WORLD IN THE NET - -“_Our fathers understood not thy wonders...._”--PSALM cvi. - -“_Our fathers have trespassed ... our fathers have fallen by the sword, -and our sons and our daughters and our wives are in captivity for -this._”--2 CHRON. xxix. - -“_We have sinned with our fathers...._”--PSALM cvi. - - -Under the hot sun of an early August day in 1914 John walked from -Parliament Square towards Whitehall. More than a fortnight earlier he -had gone to the Admiralty and offered his services for the war. His -name had been added to a long list of applicants for whom employment -could not immediately be found. The same morning he had offered himself -as an infantryman to a corps which was awaiting permission to form new -battalions, and his name had been taken again. Now an official telegram -had brought him to London. - -In the forecourt of the Admiralty he met Tintern, who had entered at -the corner nearer to Trafalgar Square. - -“You, Lynwood--I thought you were at Oxford.” - -“Not yet. I’ve done the exams. I was waiting for the term to begin in -October.” - -“What are you doing now? Volunteering?” - -“Yes.” - -“I nearly chucked the Service myself a few months back. Glad I didn’t -now. War breaks the monotony of routine. It’s what we, who stayed in -the Service, have been preparing for. And even you, who made up your -mind to break clear away--you have been roped in again. It comes to the -same thing in the end.... They’ve emptied the college at Dartmouth, you -know--all the cadets going to sea.” - -Together they went up the steps into the great building, through the -many passages of which, after enquiries made of a messenger, they began -uncertainly to thread their way. - - -PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY BILLING AND SONS, LTD., GUILDFORD - - - - -Transcriber's Note - - -A half-title page has been removed from the text. - - -The following apparent errors have been corrected: - -p. 33 "class" changed to "class." - -p. 39 "running" changed to "running," - -p. 40 "heart," changed to "heart" - -p. 166 "brillance" changed to "brilliance" - -p. 168 "written?" changed to "written?”" - -p. 189 "‘Yes," changed to "“Yes," - -p. 193 "snotties" changed to "snotties’" - -p. 322 "come----’" changed to "come----”" - -p. 322 "old.’" changed to "old.”" - -p. 322 "Christ?’" changed to "Christ?”" - -p. 323 "afraid." changed to "afraid?" - -p. 337 "went on" changed to "went on," - -p. 341 "him?’" changed to "him?”" - - -The following are used inconsistently in the text: - -ashtray and ash-tray - -forebridge and fore-bridge - -sideboy and side-boy - -watchkeeping and watch-keeping - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Gunroom, by Charles Langbridge Morgan - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GUNROOM *** - -***** This file should be named 52591-0.txt or 52591-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/5/9/52591/ - -Produced by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. 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. - - - -Title: The Gunroom - -Author: Charles Langbridge Morgan - -Release Date: July 17, 2016 [EBook #52591] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GUNROOM *** - - - - -Produced by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<p class="x-large center">THE IMMORTAL GAMBLE</p> - -<p class="center">AND THE PART PLAYED IN IT BY -H.M.S. “CORNWALLIS”</p> - -<p class="center">By A. T. STEWART, <span class="smcap">Acting-Commander</span>, R.N.<br /> - -<span class="smcap lowercase">AND THE</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">Rev.</span> C. J. E. PESHALL, <span class="smcap">Chaplain</span>, R.N.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Post 8vo. Containing 32 page Illustrations from -photographs, and a Map</i></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Price 6/- net.</span> (Post free 6/5)</p> - -<hr /> - -<p>This book, written by two officers of the battleship from whose -fore-turret was fired the first shot of the bombardment, gives an -account of happenings of vital interest and importance. It is -absorbing because the truth shines out everywhere, and you feel -that for once you are really getting first-hand information as to -what did happen. It bridges the gap between February 19th -and April 25th (the date of the Great Landing), and of this -period we have hitherto heard hardly anything. Besides the -valuable nature of the material, this chronicle of great events is -written with considerable literary skill. The authors have -succeeded in making their “log” intimate. It is before all things -a man’s book, and unless the publishers are much mistaken, this -originally conceived Saga of the Straits will attract attention -everywhere.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center">PUBLISHED BY<br /> - -A. AND C. BLACK, LTD., 4, 5 AND 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h1> -THE GUNROOM</h1> -<p class="center p2"> -BY<br /> -CHARLES LANGBRIDGE MORGAN</p> - -<p class="center p2"> -“We are carried so far out to sea that we lose sight of the quiet haven whence -we set forth.”<br /> -<span class="indent8"> -—<i>Dialogus beati Gregorii Papæ ejusque diaconi Petri</i>,<br /> -translation 1608 and <span class="smcap">Robert Bridges</span>.</span></p> - -<p class="center p2"> -A. & C. BLACK, LTD.<br /> -4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1<br /> -1919 -</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - - - - -<div class="center"> -<table class="toc" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td class="right"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></td><td></td><td align="left"><span class="small">PAGE</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">I.</td><td>THE SHORE RECEDES</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">II.</td><td>SEEN THROUGH STEEL</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">III.</td><td>A CHAPTER WITHOUT NAME</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">IV.</td><td>WAR, CARPETS, AND CANDLES</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">V.</td><td>TWO WORLDS</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">VI.</td><td>STRAIN AND RELIEF</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">VII.</td><td>MARGARET</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">VIII.</td><td>THE NET</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">IX.</td><td>QUARTERED ON THE KINGDOM</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">X.</td><td>EASTERN SEAS</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XI.</td><td>AWAY FROM THE SHIP</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XII.</td><td>THE CAPTAIN IN CONFIDENCE</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XIII.</td><td>LOOKING BEYOND</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XIV.</td><td>WASTE AND WONDER</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XV.</td><td>TRAFALGAR AND THE RED LAMP</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XVI.</td><td>THE ENGINES</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XVII.</td><td>DECISION</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XVIII.</td><td>IN THE CROSS-PASSAGE</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>XIX.</td><td>CRISIS</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XX.</td><td>WINGFIELD ALTER</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XXI.</td><td>THE CURRENCY</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XXII.</td><td>MARGARET IN THE NET</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XXIII.</td><td>AN INSTANT FREE</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="right">XXIV.</td><td>ONE YEAR LATER: THE WORLD IN THE NET</td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center p4 x-large">THE GUNROOM</p> - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br /> - -<span class="smaller">THE SHORE RECEDES</span></h2> - - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Late on an afternoon in September a boy, wearing -a naval mackintosh and a felt hat, came out of -Torquay railway-station and hailed a cab. His -figure, his voice, and his manner, which was -nervous and a little self-conscious, suggested that -his age was about eighteen. He took a handful -of change out of his pocket, and, when he had -selected from it, with momentary hesitation, a -sixpence to give the porter who had brought his -luggage, he cast over the few bystanders a look -almost of resentment, as if he thought they had -been watching and criticizing him. If an older -man had intercepted this glance its character might -have puzzled him. He would have asked himself -how, in eighteen years, a boy, who had obviously -known nothing of the poverty and hard usage -that age the street urchin, could have made the -discoveries about life which were reflected in the -face he saw. Not that a man’s experience lay in -this boy’s features; rather did he seem to have -lost too early the swifter wisdom of a child. He -had developed a faculty of suspicion before the -years had taught him what he should suspect.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -He had faced sorrow before he had learned to -distinguish clearly between sorrow and bitterness. -A child’s pride and the humility that springs from -discipline; a love of freedom and an acquaintance -with restriction; a hatred of cruelty and a knowledge -of its refinements—all these had been mingled -in him to the destruction of simplicity. He stood -there, on the outskirts of the strange naval world -into which this cab was to bear him, a boy whose -premature manhood might have caused a perceptive -woman to fear for him. She would have -seen that he was not physically delicate, and have -been glad that his body, at any rate, had power -to endure; but she would have noticed, too, and -trembled for her discovery, that the boy’s lips -and eyes suggested an imagination which could -throw ugliness as well as beauty into relief.</p> - -<p>The cabman, his face screwed up and his cheeks -blown out as a protest against the driving rain, -looked queerly at the luggage he was hoisting on -to his roof. It consisted of a green canvas trunk, -bound with wooden splines and leather, and an -oblong tin case. Their pattern, which the cabman -recognized as uniform, betrayed at once -their owner’s calling, for they differed in nothing -but the name they bore from the boxes that were -invariably brought with them by midshipmen -joining their ships. On them was printed in -white letters:</p> - - - -<p class="center">JOHN LYNWOOD, R.N.</p> - -<p>“You’ll be goin’ to the ’otel, sir, same as the -others, I expec’?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; you recognize the luggage?” Lynwood -answered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ay, sir. It ain’t often the young officers joins -their ships ’ere in Torquay, but I knows that tin -box an’ the green one, sir, as if they was my own. -There’s no mistakin’ ’em.”</p> - -<p>“No, I suppose not.”</p> - -<p>“I’d just done with three other young gentlemen,” -the cabman went on, “when I came -back to the stand to catch more of ’em off this -train.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you’ve caught one,” Lynwood said, with -a smile at the phrase.</p> - -<p>“The mare, she’s bin servin’ ’is Majesty to-day, -she ’as. Old army pensioner, she is.” He shook -a stream of water from his oilskin cape and ran -his hand over his dripping beard. “Old sailor -meself, sir,” he remarked, as he picked up the -reins.</p> - -<p>Lynwood settled himself among the thin cushions -as the cab’s loose wheels rattled into the street. -This, in his childhood’s dreams, was to have been -the beginning of adventure—this “going to sea.” -It was not thus he had imagined it. The books -he had read had conjured up pictures of bright -sunshine and blue water, of admirals who welcomed -the new-comer in a fatherly manner, of -petty officers whose ambition it was to teach him -knots, splices, and cutlass drill. All this was to -have been but a prelude to a life among friends, -who would share with him glories, perils, and -promotion, and whose kindliness would make all -things pleasant for him in strange and gaily -coloured lands. And now, looking forward, he -saw none of these delights. His experience at -Osborne and Dartmouth and, above all, in the -training cruiser had taught him what he might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -reasonably expect. He had done well as a cadet. -He had taken firsts in his passing-out examinations, -and—for what it was worth—had been a -Cadet Captain in both colleges. There was no -reason why his promotion should not be as rapid as -that of any of his contemporaries. But the element -of romance had to be excluded—unless there were -a war. Those who had lived through it had given -him to understand, with a clearness that could -permit of no further disillusionment, that the -naval officer’s life was as mechanical and monotonous -as that of a book-keeping clerk. There -were drills and watches, tactical exercises and -coaling. There was a discipline of iron, and a -requirement, equally inelastic, of absolute efficiency. -Faults were not pardoned nor weaknesses -forgotten. Motive was a matter of small -account, for only success and failure appeared on -the final balance-sheet.</p> - -<p>This, Lynwood had come to recognize, was inevitable -in a service conducted with one object -alone, the object of victory in battle. Never, -even in the bitterest of criticisms, had he heard -one word against the Navy’s efficiency. It was -a perfect machine, as inhuman as a machine, as -pitiless as perfection. The object of its training -was the production of a war personnel, and this -implied the production of human beings who -possessed certain definite qualities and in whom -certain qualities were not found. If a required -quality were lacking it had to be instilled; if a -surplus quality were present it had to be removed. -The process was often painful. Not infrequently -men were broken by it, and went; or rebelled -against it in their hearts, and went likewise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -Many, though broken, were forced by circumstances -to remain.</p> - -<p>Lynwood remembered having asked the officer -who had given him this summary of the naval -system how it was, then, that so many of the -officers he had met at the colleges had been -visibly happy, and, within certain limits, contented. -“To start with,” his informant had -replied, “the officers who are appointed to Osborne -and Dartmouth are picked men—men who, because -they were born with most of the required qualities, -haven’t had their natures badly damaged. The -colleges are star billets. You don’t meet there—or, -for that matter, in the society from which -most civilians draw their conclusions—the two -and a half stripe salt-horses who will never become -commanders or the engineers who have sweated -their souls out for the sake of a family which -attains the ultimate glory of a Portsmouth suburb—in -short, the underworld of H.M.S. And you -don’t meet the drunks. But there’s another -reason. The Service does its training young, on -the principle of flog a dog while it’s a puppy. -And if you get through that stage—well, you’re -probably shaped to the mould like the Chinese -women’s feet, and you forget, and it doesn’t do -you any fresh hurt. But if you break while the -pressure is being applied, you break—that’s all. -A good thing you broke so soon. If you can’t -afford to leave it, the Service has your measure. -It knows you broke, and your promotion is not -rapid.... Of course,” he added, “there are a -few who are neither broken nor shaped. They -go on in the Navy, successful up to a point, -dabbling in something else they might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -been masters of. Or else they go—often too -late.”</p> - -<p>And now Lynwood looked forward to the inevitable -pressure of the mould. It was applied, -he knew, to junior officers for the Service’s and -their own good. The customary phrase was: -“Junior snotties must be shaken.” The system -was unofficial; indeed, its more obvious extremes -had been expressly forbidden; but it was a recognized -system, of whose existence the whole Navy -was aware. No protest against it—and this had -been particularly impressed on cadets—would -gain any sympathy from any rank. So the Navy -had been created, and so it must continue. Conditions, -said the senior officers, were much better -than in Nelson’s time—much better, indeed, than -in their own days as midshipmen. Comparatively, -modern midshipmen were wrapped up in cotton-wool. -The senior officers, in their Wardroom -armchairs, didn’t know what the Service was -coming to!</p> - -<p>Some captains, it was rumoured, made a stand -against the system in their own ships, on the -ground that it was not, in fact, essential to the -efficiency of the Service. Some sub-lieutenants, -too—and they had more control in this matter -than any captain—stood out against the system -in their own Mess, simply because cruelty disgusted -them. But these well-intentioned people -dared not proselytize. They resisted the system -quietly within their own domain, and, lest they -should be considered old women, said as little as -possible about their resistance. Their number -was said to be increasing. Whether a junior -midshipman did or did not experience the ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>tremes -of the system depended nowadays on the -ship to which he was appointed and the sub-lieutenant -who ruled his Gunroom. The system, -to the accompaniment of the shaking of many -conservative heads, was said to be dying.</p> - -<p>But it was by no means dead. Lynwood had -decided that, if he was subjected to it, the system -should not break him. After all, its greatest -violence was unlikely to last more than a year. -In his second year he would be partly exempt -from it; in his third, he would be in a position to -enforce it, if he wished, upon others.</p> - -<p>The cab drew up at the hotel door. As he stood -on the pavement fumbling for money he looked -out across the harbour. The railings were jewelled -with raindrops. Beyond them a sea of dull green -tossed itself into livid foam and spray. Further -from shore all colour was lost. No horizon was -distinguishable from the opaque sky. Once he -thought there became visible the ghostly form of -a warship, infinitely lonely and apart, but a -moment later he could see nothing.</p> - -<p>“Good luck t’ee, sir,” said the old sailor, and, -as the boy turned towards the hotel, he added -under his breath: “And Gawd ’elp ’ee.”</p> - -<p>Lynwood heard, and looked over his shoulder. -Then he pulled himself together, gave his instructions -to the hall-porter and walked quickly into -a ground-floor sitting-room, to the door of which -was attached a temporary notice written in blue -chalk:</p> - -<p class="center"> -REEVE & CO.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Mr. Reeve, though he had never held a commission, -was one of the great personalities of the -Navy. He described himself as a tailor and outfitter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -but he was more than that. He had taken -charge of Lynwood—as of almost all cadets—from -the beginning of his career. From Mr. -Reeve’s descriptive pamphlet Lynwood and his -father had drawn their first ideas of life at -Osborne, at Dartmouth, and at sea. A telegram -signed Reeve had told of success in the entrance -examination long before any official intimation -had been received. Reeve had advised as to -equipment, and had provided it. Reeve had -been on the Portsmouth jetty to explain the -intricacies of a strange uniform on that great day -when seventy new cadets were inspected by an -admiral before they crossed the Solent to Osborne -and their destiny. Nothing seemed outside Mr. -Reeve’s scope. He had made himself responsible -for the transport of the great sea-chests from -Osborne to Dartmouth, and from Dartmouth to -the training cruiser. He had laboured exceedingly -in things large and small, and had prospered exceedingly. -And now, here was his representative, -again in charge of the sea-chests and the luggage, -prepared to aid his charges as they entered upon -the next great stage of their careers. A room had -been taken and a placard attached to the door. -Within was Mr. Binney, “Reeve’s man,” helping -the midshipmen to change the plain clothes in -which they had travelled for the Number One -uniform, with dirks, in which they were to join -their ship. Mr. Binney unpacked and repacked -their bags for them. He undertook the sending -of telegrams for things forgotten. He answered -innumerable questions, and, with an odd sympathy -which showed he knew they had cares enough, -promised to have their luggage taken to the landing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -stage at which the <i>King Arthur’s</i> boat would call. -Certainly, sir, the luggage would be there in plenty -of time. Where were the sea-chests? Already, -as if by a miracle, they were at the head of the -steps. In the rain? Yes, but they would come -to no harm. Had all the young gentlemen got -the keys of their sea-chests? It would be awkward -to arrive on board and not be able to open them. -In case any young gentleman had forgotten or -should lose his key, he had a skeleton which would -open any chest. Perhaps they would not mind -sharing it?... Yes, he had heard that the -<i>King Arthur’s</i> captain was a very good captain; -and the rear-admiral—of course, everyone knew -that he was one of the coming men: not that the -captain or the admiral would make much difference -to them.... Before long they would have to -coal ship....</p> - -<p>Mr. Binney had remarkable information. Moreover, -he talked and made discreet jokes to such -effect that silences, in which there might have -been time to think, were pleasantly avoided.... -Was it true that Mr. Reeve had a son who was -going to enter the Service? Ah! that he didn’t -know. Was the sub of the <i>King Arthur</i> a good -fellow? That he couldn’t say. Mr. Binney knew -exactly what things he ought to know and say. -Personalities—save in a complimentary context—were -to him an abomination.</p> - -<p>Lynwood found that he was absurdly sorry for -Mr. Binney—so eager, so capable, so warm-hearted -a man and yet a tailor’s assistant! What, in the -terms of this world, was his reward for all these -excellencies? Lynwood pictured the little man’s -family, the boy for whose education he had saved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -the girl for whose happy marriage he was already -laying plans. What were Mr. Binney’s castles in -the air? He was too good a man to have none.... -Then Lynwood’s thoughts shifted abruptly. -He became envious of Mr. Binney, who would not -have to go into that bleak ship, who would return -comfortably to London—though it were in a -third-class compartment—who would dine that -evening among friends, who would sleep that -night, not in a strange hammock, but in a familiar -bed. Mr. Binney’s future was at least certain. -Lynwood glanced at his kindly eyes. He saw the -beads of perspiration which much stooping had -produced upon his red forehead. Mr. Binney was -tired, very tired.</p> - -<p>Three other midshipmen—Sentley, Cunwell, and -Fane-Herbert—were in the room when Lynwood -arrived. He knew them all intimately, for they -had served their training as cadets in his term. -Sentley was small, dark, and a little pompous -in manner. An unimaginative conscientiousness -was written plainly on his face. Cunwell was of a -heavier type, square headed, square bodied, and -coarse skinned. He had loose lips that were usually -wet, and self-assurance that was aggressive. He -possessed, however, a certain force, not of intellect—for -his flat, almost concave, forehead proclaimed -his stupidity—but of personality, a personality -impervious to satire. It was not his habit to -think more deeply than mere physical action -demanded. He was neither an observer of himself -nor an analyst of others. To him nothing was a -symbol, everything a fact. He treated the mind -with suspicious hostility, as if it derived its strength -from witchcraft and the evil powers. Mental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -capacity seemed to him no more than an unfair -advantage over himself exercised by others in -examination-rooms, and he did not allow himself -to be troubled by his own deficiency in this respect. -He brushed it aside characteristically. “You -brainy fellows will soon learn that exams don’t -count for much.”</p> - -<p>In Fane-Herbert the effect of good breeding was -conspicuous. When he smiled, his small white -teeth and dancing eyes could not fail to cast a -spell. In anger he became cold and aloof, refusing -the easy relief of passion. He faced injustice and -humiliation with an air of scornful pride which -served him ill by irritating his oppressors. Intellectually -he was unremarkable; but he was -expert in all physical exercises that required -quickness of eye and subtlety of wrist rather than -force and speed. His whole manner was slow, -almost languid. His reserve was not easily -pierced, and only to his most intimate friends -would he speak of himself. Upon the rest of the -world he looked calmly, seeming scarcely to expect -that others would be interested in him. Lynwood -knew him well, liked him well, admired him for a -dozen qualities; but he felt that in Fane-Herbert -there was an element, not deliberately concealed, -which was, however, never fully in the light of -day, and therefore not entirely comprehensible.</p> - -<p>“How did you get here?” Sentley asked. -“You weren’t in our train, Lynwood?”</p> - -<p>“No, I came across country—not from London.”</p> - -<p>“Did any of the others come with you—Driss, -or Dyce, or any of the senior snotties?”</p> - -<p>“No, I came alone.”</p> - -<p>“They’ll come by a later train,” Cunwell de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>clared. -“They can go off by the seven o’clock -officers’ boat. You bet the senior snotties anyhow -won’t go on board before they must. I shouldn’t -have come so early myself, but——”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t the senior snotties on board already?” -Fane-Herbert asked.</p> - -<p>“No, of course not,” explained Cunwell, who -knew everything. “The five senior snotties are -also joining the <i>King Arthur</i> to-day. Didn’t -you know? They’ve been doing their destroyer -time, and things like that. Now they are coming -back to a big ship for a year before their lieutenant’s -exams. But I believe there are four -intermediate snotties there already—second year -people, one year senior to us.”</p> - -<p>“I expect they won’t be too pleased with the -seniors’ coming,” Sentley remarked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, they’ll take it out of us,” Fane-Herbert said.</p> - -<p>Lynwood was talking to Mr. Binney, and -beginning to undress preparatory to getting into -uniform. His round-jacket was lying on the -table. Cunwell picked it up, and ostentatiously -examined its sleeves.</p> - -<p>“I say, Lynwood,” he said, “I can see the marks -where your Cadet Captain’s stripe has been.”</p> - -<p>“Can you? I can’t help it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I shouldn’t let the senior snotties see -it, if I were you. My brother told me that -when he went to sea for the first time, one of the -snotties who were with him had the marks of his -stripes showing, and he got a dozen cuts once a -week till they disappeared—just to teach him -that Cadet Captains at Dartmouth have got to -learn their place when they go to sea.”</p> - -<p>Lynwood, who was well aware that Cunwell had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -been bitterly disappointed because he had never -been made a Cadet Captain himself, knew what -triumph lay beneath the friendly appearance of -his warning. Cunwell delighted to impress upon -him the indisputable fact that he had fallen from -relatively high estate.</p> - -<p>“Well, I expect you are glad now, Cunwell,” -he said, “that you were never made a Cadet -Captain? You won’t get beaten once a week—not -for that reason, at any rate.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” Cunwell exclaimed angrily, “you -needn’t be sarcastic about nothing. I thought -you would like to know; and then you lose your -temper because I warn you. You are an extraordinary -fellow! My brother——”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” Fane-Herbert interrupted. “For four -years and a half we’ve heard about your brother. -You told me all about him the first night we were -at Osborne.”</p> - -<p>“You’re another of the Cadet Captains. Are -the marks of your stripes showing?... At any -rate, my brother is one of the best officers in the -Service. The men love him.”</p> - -<p>“I dare say.”</p> - -<p>Sentley, as did all save Cunwell, resented this -wrangling. To him it was as if prisoners insulted -one another on their way to the scaffold. Moreover, -youthfully conscious of his dignity as a -naval officer, he felt that such disputes were not -for the ears of Mr. Binney.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t really matter now,” he said mildly. -And then, determined to be cheerful at all costs, -he added: “Do you think we shall get leave at -Christmas?” and Fane-Herbert echoed him: “It -doesn’t really matter now.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> - -<p>But the question set Lynwood looking across -the months. “It’s a long way off,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Not longer than a Dartmouth term.”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“But you won’t get four weeks’ leave, as you -did at Dartmouth,” Cunwell said. “Of course, -snotties sometimes get both watches of leave, but -I shouldn’t count on it.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want leave?” Lynwood asked.</p> - -<p>“Of course I do; but I’m not so damned homesick -already as you are.”</p> - -<p>There seemed to be no reply to this, so silence -fell for a moment. Mr. Binney interposed quickly:</p> - -<p>“The <i>King Arthur’s</i> pretty good about leave, -I think.”</p> - -<p>“Is she?” Cunwell turned on the others. “One -might think you fellows weren’t keen on the -Service. Don’t you want to go to sea?”</p> - -<p>“Why not wait till you get there?” Fane-Herbert -said coldly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you just wait!” Cunwell warned them. -“I can tell you, Fane-Herbert, your smiles and -your cricket won’t help you there; nor your -English and <i>x</i>-chasing, Lynwood. That isn’t the -kind of thing Commanders look for.”</p> - -<p>Even Cunwell’s voice became less strident when -at last they had left Mr. Binney with their luggage, -and, under his directions, had gone into the street. -Their best uniform, in which they were bound to -report themselves on board, added to the discomfort -caused by wind and rain. Soon their -trousers were wet to the knee.</p> - -<p>“I say,” said the careful Sentley, “do you -think the Commander will mind our trousers -being like this?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I can’t help the Commander’s troubles,” Fane-Herbert -answered. “What makes me swear is -that our cap badges will get spoilt.”</p> - -<p>“What do our cap badges matter? You should -see my brother’s cap, and he says——” Derisive -applause checked him.</p> - -<p>“Do you hear the water from the gutter roaring -below that grating?” Lynwood said.... “Those -must be the steps. Yes, I can see our chests -standing there.”</p> - -<p>Sentley stopped suddenly outside a Chemist’s -shop. “I say, hold on a minute. I want some -shaving soap.”</p> - -<p>They turned to look at him. “Oh, Sentley, do -you have to shave now?” and they laughed good-humouredly -till the colour rose to his cheeks.</p> - -<p>“I shall have to very soon—at any rate, for -Sunday Divisions. Will you wait for me while I -get it, Lynwood?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t stand about in this deluge,” Cunwell -put in. “The messman will keep shaving soap. -Most messmen do. You can get it in the ship if -you want it.”</p> - -<p>They left the chemist unvisited, and pressed on -to the head of the landing-steps. Here they -wrapped their mackintoshes round them and sat -down on the wet lids of their chests. Someone -began to drum his heels against the painted wood.</p> - -<p>“If you kick off all the paint,” said Cunwell -promptly, “you’ll be in the soup at Captain’s -inspection.”</p> - -<p>The heels stopped, and silence fell. Presently -their luggage was brought on a barrow chartered -by Mr. Binney. The sea was splashing and hissing -on the stone steps. In a little time, out of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -mist of rain, the bows and funnel of a picket-boat -became visible.</p> - -<p>“That’s our boat,” said Cunwell at once. “She -has a sailing pinnace in tow—that’s for our chests.”</p> - -<p>A bell rang clearly four times; the engines -slowed. It rang once, and the throb of machinery -ceased; the tow-rope slackened.</p> - -<p>“Cast off the pinnace! Take the pinnace -inside, coxswain. I’ll come outside you.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye, sir!... Get them fenders out, -Micky.”</p> - -<p>The picket-boat’s engines roared astern as the -midshipman brought her bows round in readiness -to come alongside the pinnace. In a couple of -minutes both boats were in position.</p> - -<p>“Are you the snotties for the <i>King Arthur</i>?”</p> - -<p>“Go on, Sentley, you are senior—you answer.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” shouted Sentley.</p> - -<p>“Down into the boat, then.... No, not in the -pinnace. Get into the picket-boat’s cabin.”</p> - -<p>They clambered across as they were bid.</p> - -<p>“This must be one of the intermediate snotties,” -Lynwood said to Fane-Herbert.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Don’t you remember him at Dartmouth? -Ollenor?”</p> - -<p>“Ollenor, is it? I haven’t seen his face yet -under his sou’wester.”</p> - -<p>The picket-boat’s cabin was divided into two -parts—an outer section, comfortable, light, and -clean, which in fair weather was adorned no doubt -with white-covered cushions with blue crests; -and an inner section, dark and ill-ventilated, -wherein were kept signal lamps and all manner of -spare fittings. They seated themselves in the -outer section because they came to it first.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Do you think we ought to sit here? Suppose -some officers come down?” Sentley suggested. -In the training cruiser it had been the custom for -cadets to sit on the cabin’s roof.</p> - -<p>“Well, so long as there is room for them it’s all -right,” Fane-Herbert said; “and if there isn’t -room, then we can go into that inner cabin. I’m -not going out on to the roof in this weather and -these clothes.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.... I know that sounds reasonable -enough, but don’t you think that, as we are junior -snotties just joining the ship, it would be better -to move off into the inner cabin <i>anyhow</i> if any -officers come—whether there is room for them or -not. You see, there isn’t much space where we -are, and it might get us a bad name to start off -with, and——”</p> - -<p>“And you are the senior of us,” Lynwood -laughed. “Poor Sentley! The sins of us all -will be visited on you as well as on ourselves.... -Let’s move in if any officers come. It’s as well -to be on the safe side.”</p> - -<p>While they spoke the boat’s crew were getting -their sea-chests down into the sailing pinnace.</p> - -<p>“Any more to come?” Ollenor shouted.</p> - -<p>“All on board, sir.”</p> - -<p>“The luggage too?”</p> - -<p>“All on board, sir.”</p> - -<p>“All right. Jump in.... Pinnace, get your -painter aft, and shove your bows out.”</p> - -<p>At this moment a thin, pale man, wearing a -bowler hat, appeared at the top of the steps and -began to descend them with what speed their -slipperiness would permit.</p> - -<p>“Hold on,” said Ollenor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>The man came across the pinnace and jumped -into the picket-boat’s cabin. Sentley glanced at -him, hesitated a moment, and then retired into -the inner cabin, whither the others followed -him.</p> - -<p>“Who do you think that is?”</p> - -<p>“An engineer, probably.”</p> - -<p>“But does even an engineer officer go ashore -in a bowler hat?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it’s an officer at all.”</p> - -<p>“It must be. He’s wearing plain clothes.”</p> - -<p>“At any rate, we are on the safe side—coming -in here,” said Sentley.</p> - -<p>The atmosphere was vile. The little fixed -windows were flush with the upper deck. Through -them could be seen, now the grey sky, now the -brown, hardened feet of one of the crew. Ollenor’s -voice repeated his former orders; the bell rang, -and the engines turned slowly. Then the tow-rope -grew taut, the pinnace swung out abruptly, -and both boats circled towards the open sea. -Land and the old life receded. Through the narrow -stern door of the inner cabin, beyond the pale face -and the bowler hat and the tiller vibrating above -the propellor, beyond the tow-rope and the sailing -pinnace, which came sometimes into sight as the -helm swung over, Lynwood could see the hazy -outlines of the roofs of Torquay. Soon a change -of course banished even these from view. Lynwood -found himself longing for respite, for a break -in this dream that brought them nearer and nearer -to the ship. He wanted the tow-rope to part! -His eyes travelled to it as if there were a chance -of its doing so. But no god intervened....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -No word was spoken. They sat still, avoiding -each other’s eyes. Soon Ollenor’s voice was -heard once more shouting instructions to the -sailing pinnace. The engine-room bell rang, and -rang again. The propellor cast up new foam, and -the picket-boat quivered as they went astern. -And now they rocked at the foot of the <i>King -Arthur’s</i> port after gangway.</p> - -<p>The pale man stood aside that they might be -the first to leave the boat, but they had no eyes -for that. As they reached the quarter-deck they -saluted as they had been taught, and looked -round for the officer of the watch to whom they -should report themselves. His childish pictures -of a shining sunlit quarter-deck flashed irresistibly -across Lynwood’s mind. Here the planks -were stained to dark patches by the rain. The -turret, with its unbroken surface of flat grey, wore -a hard blank expression, which was somehow -similar to that of an intolerant and dull-minded -human being. Ropes, cheesed down into neat -spirals on the deck, were black and sodden with -wet. Over all, casting its shadowy gloom on -brass and steel, lay the sloped awning, from whose -edges the rain dripped and splashed with miserable -monotony. The quarter-deck was like a vast -gymnasium, bare, and cold, and sombre.</p> - -<p>Ollenor had followed them up the gangway, and -stood now in conversation with the midshipman -of the watch.</p> - -<p>“Can the picket-boat make fast and go to tea?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; you have nothing, so far as I know, till -the seven o’clock trip.”</p> - -<p>“Come on, you fellows,” said Ollenor; “you’d -better come and report yourselves to the Com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>mander. -Then come along to the Mess.... -There’s the Commander’s cabin.”</p> - -<p>Sentley knocked.</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>Sentley took off his cap, drew back the curtain, -and went in. The others were following him -when the Commander broke out: “Who are you?”</p> - -<p>“We’ve come on board to join, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Speak for yourself.... And you in the -rear there, stand at attention! What do you -mean by lolling about in my cabin?” No answer -was expected or given. “Who told you to come -into my cabin? Get out of it. When I say -‘Come in,’ come in—not before.”</p> - -<p>They withdrew, and Sentley knocked again.</p> - -<p>“Come in.... Well? Don’t stand there -like a dumb thing! What do you want, boy?”</p> - -<p>“We’ve come on board to join, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Will you speak for yourself? Now, report -yourselves properly, one by one. What’s your -name?”</p> - -<p>“Sentley, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Are you the senior?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Are these all the junior midshipmen? I -thought we were to have six of you.”</p> - -<p>“Two haven’t come off yet, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Send them to me when they do. And see -they know how to behave themselves before they -come into my cabin. Understand?” The others -then gave their names in turn. “Very well,” the -Commander went on, “clear out now. I dare say -I shall learn your names as soon as you care for. -Go on—out of it!”</p> - -<p>The last command was shouted at them. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -rang in their ears as they walked towards the -Gunroom.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he’s always like that?”</p> - -<p>“Lots of Commanders are half mad with over-work,” -Cunwell said. “They chase everyone—lower -deck, snotties, Wardroom—everyone.”</p> - -<p>“But have you ever heard anything so absolutely -without cause?” asked Lynwood; “a -screaming rage all about nothing.”</p> - -<p>“It’s part of the system, I suppose,” said Fane-Herbert, -“and all for the good of the Service. -It’s no good to take it too seriously.”</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>When the midshipmen had left his cabin the -Commander picked up his pen and stooped once -more over the letter he was writing to his wife.</p> - -<p>“... Means more drive,” he wrote. “All -one’s life is an amazing drive. The R.A. never -tires. He must be made of iron. It is his affectation—” -The Commander crossed out the sentence -and wrote: “He considers it necessary to be entirely -unsparing of himself and others. It’s like -running a mile race at a hundred yards’ pace. He -acts as if there were going to be a war to-morrow. -Of course, we all act similarly—and that means -a smart ship. But if you knew how I should like -to relax the pressure on the men—even for one -day! But what the R.A. does we must all do. -I have that promotion to think of that you and I -are waiting for.</p> - -<p>“When you met the R.A. you thought him -charming, didn’t you? And so he was. You -should see him in the ship. And I hope you think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -me even more charming than the R.A.? You -should see me in the ship. I wonder if the men -think I am always like this. I’m sure the snotties -do. I’ve just cursed some new ones till they -fled, and I suppose they think—and I don’t -wonder—that I’m an inhuman beast. What’s -more, I’m afraid they won’t ever have much -cause to think otherwise. I shall curse them and -drive them whenever I see them—just as the -Admiral, a bit more politely, drives me. (It -doesn’t hurt me, because I can see <i>through</i> it all.) -It must be done. It really is necessary. Probably -the R.A. excuses himself to <i>his</i> wife on the -grounds that the Vice-Admiral drives him, and -so on up to My Lords Commissioners at Whitehall, -who would put the responsibility on the Germans, -and they return it. It is a circle!</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry. I oughtn’t to fill all my letter to -you with grousing. The Service is a fine service, -and Peter shall go into it if you’ll trust him to -Commanders even fiercer than myself. But we -shall have to talk it over about Peter. I’m not -quite sure that the Navy is the best place. Your -father was an artist, and if any of that has come -through to Peter—well, we eat artists. I know -you want it—but then you know the Navy -ashore, and you have a husband who is going to -be an admiral, haven’t you? Do you know anything -of the Jesuits of old time and their methods? -I feel rather like them sometimes. But then, of -course, the Service is a really fine ‘end’—that -makes all the difference.</p> - -<p>“When I come home....”</p> - -<p>The midshipman of the watch tapped at the -door. “Eight bells, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sound off!”</p> - -<p>The bugle sounded. The pen worked quicker -now. The last four words were crossed out.</p> - -<p>“... I’ll write again. I want to get this -letter ashore. I’m sending in an extra boat after -Quarters. Quarters is sounding off now. I must -go.”</p> - -<p>He thrust on his cap and walked out on to the -quarter-deck. Here the Marines and the Quarter-deck -Division were falling in.</p> - -<p>“Where’s the midshipman of the Quarter-deck -Division?... Mr. Ollenor, in future you will -come up from the Gunroom in time to see that -your Division falls in smartly to the bugle. Look -at them! They’re a damned disgrace!—all talking -when I came.... Don’t answer me. Go -to them.”</p> - -<p>The Commander was shouting. He swung -round on his heel to cover a queer smile. The -sergeant-major, who missed nothing, wondered -what joke there was; but he knew nothing of the -Commander’s letter.</p> - -<p>At that moment the Rear-Admiral emerged -from his quarters. With his hands clasped behind -him he walked to the after-rails and looked over -the stern.</p> - -<p>“Commander!”</p> - -<p>“Sir!”</p> - -<p>The Rear-Admiral pointed upwards to where -the white ensign had become entangled with its -staff. “Your ensign’s foul. It looks bad for -the rest of the squadron.” Then he strolled -away.</p> - -<p>The Commander’s lips tightened. “Midshipman -of the Watch!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sir!” The midshipman came running, -stopped and saluted.</p> - -<p>“Look at that ensign—disgusting! The -Admiral noticed it. Why can’t you keep your -eyes open instead of standing about doing nothing? -What do you think you are here for?”</p> - -<p>“It was cleared a little time ago, sir. The -wind——”</p> - -<p>“Damn it! Don’t argue. It’s your job to -see that it’s always clear. Don’t let me find it -like that again, or your leave will suffer.”</p> - -<p>He dashed for’ard, swinging a telescope. The -midshipman knew his cue.</p> - -<p>“Sideboy!” And the sideboy, a wizened little -creature as yet too young to be an ordinary seaman, -came running in his turn. “Look at that -ensign! The Commander noticed it.”</p> - -<p>The sideboy looked; and gulped while he summoned -his excuse. “I cleared it just afore -quarters, sir,” he said. “The rain an’ the -wind——”</p> - -<p>“It’s your job to see that it’s always clear. -Understand?”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>“And put your cap on straight.”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>“Now go and clear the ensign. Get a move -on!”</p> - -<p>The midshipman tucked his telescope under his -arm and watched for the Commander’s return.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br /> - -<span class="smaller">SEEN THROUGH STEEL</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Before they reached the Gunroom after their -interview with the Commander, Lynwood and his -companions met a tall midshipman, whom they -immediately recognized.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, are you the new snotties?” he asked. -“I’m Reedham, three terms senior to you—probably -you remember me at Dartmouth? You are -Lynwood, aren’t you? Weren’t you the fellow -that was made a Cadet Captain first shot?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Lynwood, and added quickly: -“We’ve just come from the Commander.”</p> - -<p>“Oh have you? Did he bite your heads off?”</p> - -<p>“We seemed to do something wrong.”</p> - -<p>“You always will seem to do something wrong -whenever the Bloke’s about.... But where are -you going now?”</p> - -<p>“The Gunroom. Ollenor told us to go there -when we had reported ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I shouldn’t, if I were you. Quarters -will be sounding off in a minute or two. You had -better come up for them. Ten to one, if you -don’t, the Bloke will jump on you for shirking. -He’s bound to be on the look out. Really you -ought to have twenty-four hours to sling your -’ammicks in—standing off all duties; but that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -theory is a back number with our people.... -Are your chests on board yet?”</p> - -<p>“No; they have only just come off in the sailing -pinnace.”</p> - -<p>“Then you’ll have to go to Quarters in the rig -you have on. You ought really to change into -monkey-jackets, of course. Anyway, I should -unship those dirks. Chuck them down behind -somebody’s chest for the time being—out of -sight, though.”</p> - -<p>When they had followed his advice they trailed -behind Reedham on to the upper deck.</p> - -<p>“Of course, you haven’t been told off for -Divisions yet,” he said. “It won’t matter where -you go this afternoon so long as the Bloke sees -you somewhere. You come to the Foretopmen -with me, Lynwood, and the remainder had better -take a Division each.”</p> - -<p>Under this friendly guidance they went through -Quarters without mishap, and, immediately afterwards, -went below with Reedham. On their way -to the Gunroom they passed through the Chest -Flat, an ill-lighted section of the main deck, flanked -on the port side by cabins and on the starboard -side by the Gunroom and the Gunroom pantry. -The whole of the centre of the flat was occupied -by the Engine-room casing, on either side of -which passages led, for’ard to the men’s quarters, -and aft to the half-deck. Through a door in the -starboard passage they entered their new home.</p> - -<p>The Gunroom was a long, very narrow room, -about seven feet high, built almost entirely of -steel. Its outboard wall was the curving side of -the ship, and was pierced at intervals by scuttles, -which visitors referred to as windows. Its inboard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -wall, which it had in common with the -Chest Flat, contained the doors. The after-bulkhead -was unbroken, and for’ard were the -pantry hatch and the serving slab. The furniture, -though not elaborate, occupied most of the floor -space. A long, narrow, leather-cushioned seat, -always called the settee, was attached to the ship’s -side. Parallel to this a table was screwed to the -deck. Between the doors stood a sideboard, -covered with innumerable weekly and daily papers; -and overhead, screwed to the walls, was a series -of small wooden lockers, between which and the -beams above were kept such sextants as were not -for the moment in pawn. A stove, a few chairs, -and a piano completed the Gunroom’s regular -equipment.</p> - -<p>The place had an air of hard usage, and bore -witness in a thousand ways to the manner of its -occupants’ lives. The only decorations were a -few cheap prints, some of Transatlantic and some, -perhaps, of German inspiration, representing ladies -who were not merely insufficiently clothed, but -who seemed, oddly enough, to have definitely -completed their toilette when they had donned a -pair of silk stockings or a diminutive undergarment. -In their eyes invitation was conveyed by -means of a formula, having no connection with -art or life, which seldom fails to produce commercial -profit. They hung there, eternally grinning, -eternally brandishing their insistent legs, the -remarkable substitute for womanhood which our -generation has learned to recognize and accept. -Near them, as if to throw them into overpowering -contrast with reality, oilskins, which smelt strongly, -hung with dirks and belts from pegs on the wall.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -The deck, the stove, and the settee were littered -with papers, books, pipes, tobacco-tins and -cigarette-ash. At the end of the table, on which -cards, a dice-thrower, and a couple of empty -glasses were grouped incongruously with teacups, -the Sub was sitting.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Reedham,” he exclaimed, “who are -your young friends?” Then he pointed a finger -at Sentley. “You with the innocent face, are -you the new warts?”</p> - -<p>Not yet accustomed to this usual description of -very junior midshipmen, Sentley hesitated before -he answered: “Yes, sir!”</p> - -<p>“Lord Almighty!” the Sub cried, smiling -despite himself, “don’t call me ‘sir.’ Who the -deuce taught you to call subs ‘sir’?”</p> - -<p>“No one.”</p> - -<p>“I should hope not.... Well, don’t do it -again.”</p> - -<p>“No; I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p>“And don’t be so bloody polite. This isn’t a -dame’s school.... Had some tea?”</p> - -<p>The Sub pressed a bell that swung from a cord -above his head. The pantry-hatch opened with -a click, and a pale face appeared—the face of the -man in the bowler hat to whom they had yielded -place in the picket-boat.</p> - -<p>“Tea for these officers, messman,” said the -Sub.</p> - -<p>Lynwood and Fane-Herbert exchanged glances, -but they were careful to say nothing. They knew -that they would be wise to keep the knowledge -of their mistake locked away in their own hearts. -But Cunwell perceived that he might score a -point.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I told you so, Lynwood,” he said, so that all -might hear.</p> - -<p>“What did you tell him?” the Sub asked, -wondering if they had been betting against the -Sub’s offering them tea.</p> - -<p>“When we were coming off in the picket-boat,” -Cunwell began, “the messman came down at the -last moment, and”—Sentley kicked him vigorously, -but he continued, nevertheless—“and -Sentley and Lynwood and Fane-Herbert thought -he was a Wardroom officer, and cleared out for -him.”</p> - -<p>Ollenor, Reedham, and Norgate, the midshipman -who had kept the afternoon watch, roared -with laughter at this.</p> - -<p>“That’s good!” the Sub exclaimed. “The -Wardroom would rejoice to know that Wickham -was mistaken for one of themselves. And you—what’s -your name?”</p> - -<p>“Cunwell.”</p> - -<p>“And you, Cunwell, what did you do?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I went with the rest of them; but, of -course, I knew——”</p> - -<p>“Of course you did. I see we have a smart -young officer here, Ollenor, competing for a -medal.”</p> - -<p>The dog-watches passed without event. The -Sub having gone to his cabin and the others on to -the upper deck, Lynwood was left in the Gunroom -with Reedham and Fane-Herbert. They fell at -once to a discussion of personalities and prospects, -and Reedham, wearing the quiet smile that was -habitual to him, answered questions, volunteered -information, and gasped at examples of ingenuousness. -The Sub, it appeared, was named<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -Winton-Black. Reedham described him as a -good enough fellow if ever he did anything—which -happened infrequently. He was to leave -the ship in a few months’ time, and was careless -of what happened in the interval. Almost all his -spare time was spent in his cabin, so that he -seldom appeared in the Gunroom except for meals.</p> - -<p>“Then we ought to be all right,” said Fane-Herbert.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t you believe it. You would be much -better off, I assure you, if Winton-Black <i>did</i> put -in an appearance. He’s an easygoing old thing, -as lazy as they are made, and it would be too -much effort for him to chase you much. But his -being away leaves the senior snotties’ hands free, -and the five seniors we are going to have include -some pretty tough customers. I believe Krame, -the senior of the lot, who will arrange all our -duties and dispose our lives, is—well, Ollenor -knows more of him than I do, and <i>he</i> says he’s as -bad as we could hope for. Howdray has a name -through the fleet—Bull Howdray. He’s usually -tight, and pretty violent. Tintern is musical—a -bit of an artist, but untrained, of course—quite -a decent sort in a mild way; but he sozzles to -console himself for the might-have-beens. The -other two, Elstone and Banford-Smith, I don’t -know much about.”</p> - -<p>“But how will you intermediate fellows come -off, Reedham?”</p> - -<p>“We?—oh, we shall be all right, I dare say. -We’ve had our share of the worst of it. You see, -there are four of us: Ollenor and Norgate you’ve -met, and then there’s Tommy Hambling, who is -keeping the first dog-watch at the moment. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -we went quietly we shouldn’t come to much harm, -but Norgate and Hambling are always making -asses of themselves. They came off to the ship -absolutely blind to the world the other night. -We thought we had got them down safely, but -the silly fools showed the effects next morning. -Hambling went bright green in the middle of -School, and had to retreat and be sick, which -angered the priest; and Norgate—much about the -same colour—went off to sleep in the middle of -Baring’s Seamanship Lecture. The whole story -came out, of course. It seems that Baring saw -they were tight the evening before, but didn’t -know how bad it was. At any rate, he decided -to say nothing about it if they were fit for duty -the next morning; but then, when they collapsed -during his own lecture there was hell to pay. He -told Winton-Black to give them a dozen cuts each, -and has stopped all their leave, wine bills and -extra bills till further orders. Now they talk -about breaking out of the ship when they get to -Portland. Norgate says he has an amateur -there, though Heaven knows where he finds her. -And so it goes on.... Of course, that gets -everybody’s back up against us four, and will -give Krame an excellent opportunity to make -himself objectionable if he is so minded.”</p> - -<p>“But who is the officer in charge of midshipmen?” -Lynwood asked.</p> - -<p>“The Snotty Walloper? Baring.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t he see that Krame and the others don’t -go too far?”</p> - -<p>Reedham grinned at them while he lighted his -pipe.</p> - -<p>“You people <i>are</i> fresh from Dartmouth, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -know! A Snotty Walloper doesn’t look after -snotties as a Term Lieutenant at the colleges -looks after cadets. Baring’s job is to see we keep -our watches, run our boats, work out our yearly -sights, and do our instruction. He signs the -Leave Book, and occasionally he invites one of -us to dine with him in the Wardroom. That’s all. -You don’t go to him with your troubles. When -you come to sea you have to look out for yourself -and square your own yard-arm. No one interferes -except in matters affecting discipline. Your -private life is your own so long as you don’t make -a public exhibition of yourself when you go -ashore.... Oh no, don’t imagine that Baring -would trouble his head about what Krame does to -you. It’s none of his business. And what’s more, -nobody wants the Wardroom to interfere in what -the Gunroom does. You don’t want it yourself. -Etiquette about that sort of thing is very strong.”</p> - -<p>For some time the conversation drifted away -to Dartmouth days, but Lynwood’s thoughts ran -on. The prospect of independence, of complete -emancipation from leading-strings, attracted him. -He compared his life with that of boys of his own -age at public schools, and found, almost to his -surprise, that he would be unwilling to accept -their comfort and security in exchange for the -privileges of responsibility. All midshipmen regard -schoolboys with a certain contempt. They are -launched into the world while their brothers are -but preparing for it. They command, not a -football fifteen, but a boat’s crew. They have -experience of men and women whose very existence -is not yet, and perhaps never will be a -reality to the shore-going folk of their own class<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>. -And daily, in the ordinary course of routine, they -carry—though it does not strike them in this -way—their own lives and the lives of others in -their hands. All this begets a rare pride, the -pride of one who for the first time signs his own -cheque and rejoices silently in the possession of -his own banking account.</p> - -<p>Lynwood awoke from a day-dream to find -himself staring at one of the pictures above -Reedham’s head.</p> - -<p>“Those pictures,” he said suddenly, “aren’t -they appalling?”</p> - -<p>“They are pretty vile,” Reedham agreed. “But -they are a Gunroom custom. I don’t see what -other pictures you could have. Really good ones -would look horribly out of place. Besides, the -kind we have is what most people like.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if ever I’m Sub of a Gunroom,” said -Lynwood, “I’ll have good pictures or none at all.”</p> - -<p>“Probably you will think differently then,” -Reedham answered, with a smile of experience. -“One’s ideas change at sea. One gets accustomed, -you know.”</p> - -<p>Later in the evening the five senior midshipmen -arrived and burst into the Gunroom, followed by -the two remaining juniors, Driss and Dyce. The -place was soon full of the noise of greetings, the -ringing of bells, and the ordering of drinks. When -dinner was over, Krame made out a preliminary -list of the duties of each midshipman, in which it -was laid down who were to run the boats, who -were to keep watch together, and to what station -each was to go for the ship’s evolutions. Then -began a series of questions. Krame, a dark, -large-eyed youth, whose good looks dissipation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -had been powerless to destroy, seated himself on -the table.</p> - -<p>“Now then, Warts, how many of you are -teetotallers? Prove!”</p> - -<p>They proved by bending their arms at the elbow -and holding out their hands in drill-book fashion. -Krame counted.</p> - -<p>“One, two, three, four.... Driss, aren’t you -a T.T.?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Because I don’t want to be.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to ask you to sign the pledge, -you know. You can drink yourselves dead when -you go ashore for all I care. All I want to know -is, how many of you are not going to use your -wine bills on board. Then we can use them—see? -What about you, Cunwell? Aren’t you T.T.?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to sell my whole wine bill,” said -Cunwell. “I may have to stand a boat’s crew -a drink or something.”</p> - -<p>“Thoughtful and righteous youth!” laughed -Howdray.</p> - -<p>It was decided that the ten shillings’ worth of -drink, which each junior midshipman was allowed -to consume in a month, was to be transferred, in -four cases out of six, to the seniors. Driss was -allowed to keep his because he insisted upon doing -so with an Irish vigour that amused them, and -Cunwell surrendered only two-thirds of his share.</p> - -<p>This preliminary having been settled to Krame’s -satisfaction, many drinks were called for with -which to celebrate it. The musical Tintern was -urged to the piano, and an impromptu sing-song, -which was one vast chorus, was begun. It started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -in decorous fashion with the original version of -<i>Riding down from Bangor</i>, followed with much -greater enthusiasm by its parody. The standard -then fell, and the enthusiasm rose until, when the -time came to close the Gunroom, a dozen and more -young gentlemen were gathered round Tintern, -shouting, between pulls at drinks and puffs at -pipes, songs that their sisters—but their sisters -have nothing to do with the Gunroom. And -Tintern, with a glass at his right hand from which -he complained he had not time to drink, played -and smiled and sozzled, as Reedham had remarked, -to console himself for the might-have-beens.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br /> - -<span class="smaller">A CHAPTER WITHOUT NAME</span></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>On the morning of his first full day in the <i>King -Arthur</i> John Lynwood enjoyed the luxury of a -lie-in until a quarter-past seven. In the course -of ordinary routine, he and all midshipmen not -engaged in other duties would by this time have -done half an hour’s physical drill on the quarter-deck; -but Krame, trusting that the Snotty -Walloper would be unobservant on this occasion, -had sent a messenger for’ard the previous evening -to tell the Physical Training Instructor that the -midshipmen would not require him in the morning. -Therefore, when he turned out of his hammock, -John went immediately to his chest, took -off his pyjamas, wrapped a towel round his middle, -and pattered barefoot down to the bathroom.</p> - -<p>Here the senior midshipmen, who had already -secured the shallow hip-baths, were sliding them -over the tiled floor towards the cold water tap, -disputing with vigour as to whose servants had -brought the cans of hot water, shouting for soap, -and calling down curses upon the heads of those -who had presumably stolen their sponges.</p> - -<p>“Damn that marine,” Ollenor’s lazy voice was -saying, “he has taken my soap again. I hid it in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -the corner of this locker yesterday.... Shouldn’t -mind so much if he ever looked as if he used it.”</p> - -<p>John waited his turn, bathed, dressed, and went -into the Gunroom for breakfast. The senior midshipmen -seemed to be in good humour, the sun -was shining, the coffee was hot, and John, in -obedience to one of those moods of his of which -it was always difficult to discover the cause, was -a thousand times more cheerful than he had been -on the previous night. When Prayers and Divisions -were over, the Chaplain, who was also a naval -instructor, came into the Gunroom to conduct -School. John learned much of him before his -arrival. He had hoped that the Chaplain would -be a scholar, a little precious, it might be, but -possessed of an ununiformed mind, more pliant -than routine, simpler than discipline. He had -met one Chaplain of such a kind, and had been -grateful for the relief that his contrast afforded. -But this man, it seemed, was above all a Wardroom -officer. Ollenor summed him up: “He is -always trying to bowl you out,” he said. Only -Reedham, who had a good word to say for everybody, -spoke in his defence. “I dare say he means -well. We don’t give him much chance. We’re -not exactly Padre’s blue-eyed boys, are we?”</p> - -<p>John saw at once that the Padre, when he -entered, looked round him in expectation of hostility.</p> - -<p>“There you are,” said Hambling, in an aside -that was intentionally audible, “he hasn’t even -the decency to knock.”</p> - -<p>“Will you young gentlemen please keep silence -when School has begun?” said the Padre. He -looked round him. “No duster, no chalk; blackboard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -not in position. Who is the Senior Midshipman?”</p> - -<p>“I am, sir,” said Krame.</p> - -<p>“Then you will in future see that the Gunroom -is properly rigged for School <i>before</i> I come in.”</p> - -<p>“That will be your job, Cunwell,” said Krame -abruptly.</p> - -<p>The Padre continued in his even tone. “And -you will give your instructions at a proper time, -please, and not interrupt me when I am speaking.”</p> - -<p>By this time the Gunroom, which, in the manner -of Gunrooms, resented nothing so much as cold -superiority, was determinedly hostile. If the -Padre had ever hoped to win the midshipmen he -had set about his task wrongly, and had definitely -failed. Of all soil the Gunroom is to a chaplain -the most stubborn. Few attempt to cultivate it; -fewer succeed in such an attempt.</p> - -<p>The navigation lecture became a mere occupation -of time, the teacher being as mechanical as -the pupils. When he talked, they let him talk, -asking no questions. When he drew on the -board, they watched him, for he had a habit of -turning quickly to discover the direction of their -eyes. For this amount of attention, because it -was a part of discipline, he made a rigid demand, -but so long as their answers to his questions were -not flagrantly irrelevant, he seemed to care not at -all for the direction of their minds. His manner -was a strange contrast to that of the masters at -Dartmouth. And here—from the pupils’ point -of view—there were no marks to be won, there -was no competition, no incentive but the fear of -the examinations for the rank of lieutenant, -which were yet comfortably far off.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> - -<p>When the lecture was over, the Padre interrupted -the thud of books thrown ostentatiously -aside to say he wished every new midshipman to -come in turn to his cabin. He would see the most -junior first. “And I hope,” he added, “that the -Gunroom will learn to behave itself at an early -date. If ordinary persuasions, which ought to be -sufficient, fail, there is always the Leave Book. -You understand me, Krame?”</p> - -<p>“Quite, sir.”</p> - -<p>In his own cabin the Padre was more tolerant. -John found him sitting at his desk with a heap of -papers before him.</p> - -<p>“With regard to Voluntary Subjects for your -lieutenant’s exams, Lynwood—what are your -tastes? You can choose three or less of the -following: Higher Mathematics, Naval History, -Mechanics, German, French, and Electricity.” -John examined the paper that was handed to him, -while the Padre went on: “Most midshipmen, -when they come to sea, regard it as an opportunity -to abandon all their study. I admit that the -ordinary circumstances of their lives—boat running, -watch-keeping, crowded quarters, and—er—so -on—do not make book work easy. Commonly, -the work that should have engaged them for three -years is left to the last three months. That is not -necessary. It is merely a question of character -and concentration. I want you junior midshipmen -to choose your Voluntary Subjects at once, -and to work at them and at the compulsory -subjects consistently from the beginning.”</p> - -<p>In this speech it was easy to recognize the intonation -of a formula. The man spoke without -enthusiasm, apparently without the least hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -that his advice would be followed. He was doing -his duty, that was all. John chose as his three -subjects, Higher Mathematics, French, and Naval -History; the first because it was necessary in -Gunnery, and the last because it was a subject -after his own heart. The examination consisted -in the writing of an essay with the aid of books. -There were three years in which to write it. He -intended, as he said ambitiously in a letter home, -to “write a big essay in chapters, and if possible -to publish it later as a book.” When he suggested -this to the Padre, the Padre smiled.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid you have literary tendencies,” he -said.</p> - -<p>“I like books,” John answered.</p> - -<p>The Padre looked away from him and talked -to the open scuttle. “It would be better from -the Service point of view if you liked mechanics. -They promise very rapid promotion to those who -specialize in Engineering.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think I should do well as an engineer, -sir.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not. Make your own choice.... -Do you care for poetry?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>The Padre looked at him sharply, an odd expression -in his eyes, as if memories were pressing -on him.</p> - -<p>“I have a few books there,” he said, pointing -to his cabin shelves. “Borrow them if you like, -but don’t leave them sculling about the Gunroom—they -wouldn’t like volumes of verse. And don’t -give too much thought to them, old man. They -won’t make you happier here.”</p> - -<p>“Why not, sir,” asked John, “if I like them?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Because—oh, never mind why not.... -Think over the question of Voluntary Subjects, -Lynwood, and send in the next midshipman, will -you please?”</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>The next two days were spent in sailing to -Portland and in coaling ship. On their first -evening in Portland the junior midshipmen had -their earliest experience of Gunroom Evolutions. -In this instance the Evolutions were comparatively -mild, being in a manner introductory to the more -serious business which was begun when the <i>King -Arthur</i> put to sea. But these preludes, which -began on a Thursday and were repeated on the -following Saturday and Monday, were enough to -provide for the junior midshipmen an engrossing -subject of conversation whenever they were beyond -the hearing of their seniors. John and Fane-Herbert -landed together on Tuesday afternoon.</p> - -<p>“Thank God,” said Fane-Herbert, “we are -out of that for a few hours.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think it will happen again this -evening?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. It can’t happen every evening.... -I shouldn’t mind so much if it were a punishment -of some kind—if they even pretended that -we had done something wrong. As it is, they -chase us for an hour, and then offer us drinks, and -then chase us again.”</p> - -<p>“I think I would rather that,” John answered, -“than that they should be avowed enemies. One -feels, at any rate, that they are not doing it out -of any personal spite against us. They seem to -do it largely because they feel they must.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But why must they?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the tradition, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>Fane-Herbert, who had uttered no word of -protest while the Evolutions were going on, and -who, when they were over, had quietly washed -the dust and blood from him and had turned in, -broke out now. He was talking to his friend. -He could afford to let the mask drop.</p> - -<p>“I’m keen on the Service,” he said, “keener -than most people, I think. I don’t expect a soft -life. I don’t care how much I am chased on duty -by commanders and officers of the watch. Probably -that makes you do your job better—at any -rate, it’s all in the day’s work. Every junior is -chased by his seniors in one way or another.... -But I swear one has a right to a certain part of -one’s life. The Gunroom is our Mess. It is the -only place we can go to, or write or read in, or -do any of the things we want to do when we are -off duty; and it isn’t as if the day was slack. -Heaven knows, what with School, and watches, -and boats, and signals, and divisional work, and -sketches, we have enough ordinary work to do. -But then at the end of the day our own Mess is -made hell for us.”</p> - -<p>“I know. It’s no good thinking about it.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose when you and I are Subs there -won’t be any of it in our Gunrooms.”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“And what about the other fellows—Dyce, -Cunwell, Driss—do you think they will carry it -on?”</p> - -<p>“Probably. Possibly we shall when the time -comes. It’s the Service custom. It has come -down through generations. It’s the devil of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -job for any Sub to stand out against it. It might -mean his quarrelling with all his senior snotties, -and probably the Wardroom would be up against -him. Every time a junior snotty did something -wrong the Sub would be blamed because the Warts -weren’t properly shaken in the Gunroom.”</p> - -<p>Fane-Herbert reverted to the personal consideration. -“Reedham told me we haven’t had a -proper dose of it yet. He said we had better -stand by for the first night at sea. Krame is -planning great things.”</p> - -<p>John thrust the thought from him. “Don’t -let’s talk about it,” he said. “We shall have to -go back to the ship presently. We shall have -enough of it then.... What are you going to -do when we get leave? Didn’t you say your -people were leaving England?”</p> - -<p>“It’s rather in the air at present,” Fane-Herbert -answered, “but there’s some talk of my father’s -going to Japan to represent his armament firm -out there. My mother may go too, and take -Margaret with her.... Do you remember -Margaret, when my people came down to Osborne -years ago? She must have been about fourteen -then.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I remember her. She stood on the -canteen steps with a huge basket of strawberries -over her arm. And as everyone passed she -looked at them and, if she liked them, she said: -‘Are you in Fane-Herbert’s term, please?’ and if -the astonished cadet said he was, she went on: -‘then will you take some strawberries, please?’”</p> - -<p>Fane-Herbert laughed. “I never knew about -that. It was a good idea of hers only to be -generous to our term. She’s a wonderful person.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes; I remember coming out to lunch with -you and going to Carisbrooke for tea. She talked -to me the whole time. It was a windy day. Her -hair was blowing about.”</p> - -<p>“She has good hair,” said her brother shortly. -“She has put it up now.... When we get -leave you must come home and see my people. -I think you would find it interesting. My mother -was a Stardyke before she married, so we have -dozens of political and literary people about the -place. That is in your line, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>John said it was; but he was chiefly interested -in Margaret, whose hair had made so strong an -impression on his boy’s mind. He loved hair—the -colour, the line, the scent, the touch of it. He -saw the wind blowing through Margaret’s, though -he had forgotten her features. And, from searching -in the past, his mind went out suddenly -towards the future. His sense of beauty, so -acute, so creative, must not be allowed to develop. -It had power to arrest and overwhelm him, to -transform some swift manifestation of loveliness -into an essential of tremendous importance, -capable of dwarfing all the other realities of the -world. And then, when the world insistently -broke in upon him, he would be haunted by that -flash of appreciation as by the ghost of one beloved. -A moment would light the years, laying -them bare, exposing aspects of existence that he -had been happier not to recognize. The movement -of a beautiful hand, for instance, once seen -and realized by him, would become a light in -which to consider the movements of all hands. -A phrase of poetry that had once captured his -mind would dwell in it and gather significance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -from his experience. Margaret’s hair—though he -had forgotten Margaret—had become for him a -symbol; and yet, not her hair as a whole, but her -hair as he had seen it at a certain instant. In -his memory the association of colour and light -and movement never varied. He had no recollection -of the appearance of her hair at any time but -at this moment which his imagination had endowed -with permanency.... John realized that -it was necessary for him to blunt this sense, which -was for ever creating within his imagination a -background to the immediate circumstance. He -put it to himself in this way:</p> - -<p>“Seeing that I am to be a naval officer, the -sooner I shape myself to Service conditions the -better.” Then he added aloud: “It’s better not -to think too much about those other things.”</p> - -<p>Fane-Herbert looked up in surprise. “What -other things?”</p> - -<p>“The things outside your job that you can’t -ever reach. If I were to have a painter’s training -and could ever paint that hair, or a writer’s and -could ever describe it, then——”</p> - -<p>“Are you still thinking about Margaret?”</p> - -<p>This renewed association of personality with his -symbol startled John. “No,” he said, “I wasn’t -thinking about your sister. It might have been -anyone’s hair for that matter.”</p> - -<p>As they turned into a shop to have tea, John -said suddenly: “You remember that I told you -how the Padre offered to lend me poetry and then -said I should be happier if I didn’t read it?... -I’ve just understood what he was driving at.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>If the conditions of John’s life are to be understood, -Gunroom Evolutions must be once described. -The detail of this part of his and his -companions’ training need not be referred to a -second time.</p> - -<p>The Evolution evening of which an account is -to be given was not an isolated or exceptional -incident in the junior midshipmen’s lives. It was -part of a persistent treatment to which they were -subjected, with fluctuating vigour, so long as they -remained in the <i>King Arthur</i>. It was not applied -every night. Sometimes there was an interval of -over a week between two successive applications, -and, indeed, towards the end of their service in -the <i>King Arthur</i> there were intervals even greater -than this. The length of the intervals depended -upon the leisure and the inclination of the senior -midshipmen. But the treatment, though not -regular, was never definitely suspended. It was -seldom possible to say with certainty on any -afternoon, “There will be no Evolutions to-night.” -They were always likely to occur, and when they -did there was no way of escape. The junior -midshipmen grew to expect them, to remember -suddenly in the happiest moment of an afternoon -leave what the evening might have in store. The -dread of these Evolutions permeated their waking -life, entering their minds when on or off duty, -interrupting their work in School, colouring their -speech, inspiring their manner with furtiveness -and bitterness, with resentment and fear. Only -from the letters they wrote home were the Evolu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>tions -excluded, for they did their utmost to make -their people believe that they were happy.</p> - -<p>The <i>King Arthur</i> sailed for Gibraltar early in -October. During the day the midshipmen carried -out sea routine, keeping their watches on deck or -in the Engine-room. Krame made his arrangements -for the evening with so much success that, -as a result of careful interchange, the midshipmen -who, from eight to midnight, kept the first watch -below and on the bridge were three of intermediate -seniority, Norgate, Hambling, and Ollenor. Reedham, -the only one remaining of the intermediate -group, left the Gunroom after dinner at the same -time as Winton-Black, and purposely did not -return. So it happened that, when mess was -over, and when the midshipmen of the Last Dog -had finished their later watch-dinner, the five -senior and the six junior midshipmen were left in -the Gunroom together.</p> - -<p>“Warts, fall in! Howdray, you are the mate -of the ship’s biscuits. Elstone, you might look -out for the water.”</p> - -<p>“Water? What the hell do you want water -for?”</p> - -<p>Krame pointed to where the junior midshipmen -stood in single rank. “These six young gentlemen,” -he said “have not yet been christened. -They are—what’s the word?—unregenerate. As -I, being Senior Midshipman in this ’ere Gunroom, -am responsible for the young gentlemen’s spiritual, -bodily, and moral welfare, I propose to christen -them. Therefore water, Elstone.”</p> - -<p>“I knew all about that,” said Elstone, “but -what I mean is, why not christen them in crême -de menthe? It’s stickier.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> - -<p>Howdray’s great voice shouted in protest. “And -whose wine bill is to go down the young gentlemen’s -necks?”</p> - -<p>“Besides,” said Tintern solemnly, “it would -ruin their shirts, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Damn their shirts!” Krame answered. “They -can buy new ones, can’t they? They ought to -be rich enough. They don’t spend their money -on anything, so far as I can see—no women, no -card bill, no extra extras, no wine bill to speak -of.... But I’m with you, Howdray. We won’t -waste crême de menthe on them.”</p> - -<p>“It might go down to themselves,” Banford-Smith -kindly suggested.</p> - -<p>“Lot of good that would be,” Howdray -grumbled, “seeing that we have their wine -bills.”</p> - -<p>“Water be it,” said Krame. “The jug’s on -the slab, Elstone. Howdray, the biscuits are in -my locker, just above your head.”</p> - -<p>From his place in the line John watched Howdray -climb on to the settee and fetch the material -for the christening. Krame and Elstone sat at -the end of the table, Elstone next the pantry -hatch and Krame nearer the ship’s side. On -Krame’s left was Howdray, now sliding back into -his place and arranging the huge ship’s biscuits -on the table in front of him. Further for’ard, -sprawling on the settee, and engaged in a competition -of blowing smoke-rings at their liqueur -glasses, were Tintern and Banford-Smith, who -seemed less interested than the others in the -business of the evening. Elstone regarded it, -perhaps thoughtlessly, as a tremendous joke; -Howdray was frankly a bully of the old fashion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -great in bulk but not in strength, good-humoured -on occasions, happy-go-lucky, for ever at war -with authority, a creature of vast appetites and -weak control. Only Krame seemed to derive -genuine pleasure from the proceedings. He possessed -a quick, almost brilliant mind. He was -handsome, popular in polite shore-going circles, -an efficient officer, admired, on account of his easy -manner and soft, smiling lips, by women and by -men whose acquaintance with him was but superficial. -He enjoyed Gunroom Evolutions. He -used to tell his dance partners about them. It -pleased him to play the autocrat in Oriental style, -to see human beings—no matter at what cost in -pain to themselves—subjected to his will. Even -as John watched him, he called the junior midshipmen -to attention and stood them at ease again half -a dozen times in quick succession, not because by -doing so he served any purpose, but because he -liked to hear his own voice giving orders. He -smiled complacently to see them spring to attention -at his behest. He pretended that they had -not moved smartly enough, and turned down the -corners of his mouth in an absurd grimace of -disapproval.</p> - -<p>Over the table the electric lights beneath their -yellow shades swung with the slow motion of the -ship. The air was swirling and blue with tobacco -smoke that clung in long wreaths to the nap of the -red and black tablecloth. The temperature was -high, and the atmosphere foul with the odour of -food, for a threatening sea had caused the scuttles -to be shut, and no one had troubled to open them -again.</p> - -<p>Krame left his place and seated himself regally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -on a chair between the table and the door. On -his right stood Elstone with a jug of water, on -his left Howdray, clutching an armful of ship’s -biscuits.</p> - -<p>“Now, first Wart forward. At the run!”</p> - -<p>Sentley, who was on the right of the line, hurried -from his place and stood at attention before Krame.</p> - -<p>“On the knee!... ’Shun!... On the -knee!” The spectators roared to see Sentley -clambering from one position to the other. Howdray -picked up a thick cane from the sideboard -and hit Sentley as he knelt.</p> - -<p>“Come on,” he said, “get a move on. ’Shun! -Now, at the order ‘Kneeling position—place,’ -you’ll drop on your knees—understand?—drop, -not let yourself down like an old woman.... -Kneeling position—place!”</p> - -<p>Sentley went down. His knees brought up -hard against the deck. He kept his body and -head erect, his hands to his sides. Banford-Smith -and Tintern climbed out of their places on -the settee; one perched himself on the edge of -the table behind Howdray, the other found a -convenient seat by the piano.</p> - -<p>“The child,” said Krame, after the manner of -a gunnery instructor, “will incline the ’ead -forward in a reverent attitood and assoom a -mournful aspect. ’E will now repeat the Warts’ -Creed.”</p> - -<p>Sentley repeated that parody of the Apostles’ -Creed which had been given to each junior midshipman -earlier in the day. “I believe in the -Sub Almighty, master of every Wart, and in Peter -Krame, ’is noble ’elp, our Lord ...” and so on -to the end. No senior midshipman protested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -against this Creed, no junior midshipman refused -to repeat it.</p> - -<p>When he was silent, a ship’s biscuit, thick and -tough, was beaten and beaten on Sentley’s head -until the biscuit broke. Howdray was about to -pour water from the jug when Banford-Smith -restrained him. “Cut out the water,” he said, -“it will make such a damned mess on the deck.”</p> - -<p>Each junior midshipman came forward in turn, -dropped on his knees, was struck with Howdray’s -stick if he dropped not fast enough, bowed his -head, repeated the Creed, and had a biscuit broken -upon him. John, because he stood on the left of -the line, came last. When the ceremony was -over, Krame glanced behind him.</p> - -<p>“Now let’s have a hymn,” he said to Tintern.</p> - -<p>“What hymn?”</p> - -<p>“Any old hymn—something to celebrate the -young gentlemen’s regeneration. Lynwood will -lead the singing. All Warts will support him.”</p> - -<p>Tintern emptied a glass of port, squared himself -to the piano, and beat out the first chords of -No. 165. Not only the Warts sang it; the senior -midshipmen, tired of the many repetitions of the -christening ceremony, were glad of a chance to -make a noise.</p> - -<p>“<i>O Gawd, our ’elp in ages pa-ha-hast.</i>” This -prolongation was in response to Tintern’s improvised -chords and runs. “<i>Our ’ope for years -to come.</i>” The voices swelled to a roar, and paused -for breath. In the momentary silence the ship -rolled deeply; the sea came surging over a scuttle -and receded, leaving wisps of luminous foam. -“<i>Our shelter from the stormy bla-ha-hast, And our -eternal</i>——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> - -<p>Tintern was beating the keyboard with his -doubled fists as a kind of desperate finale. The -wild discords screamed under the steel bars overhead. -A locker flew open, and by a lurch of the -ship all it contained was shot across the Gunroom. -A Manual of Seamanship, a “Child’s Guide,” a -writing-case, a Gunnery Drill-Book, and a box of -instruments, lay scattered on the table amid a -pile of crumpled letters. An Oxford Bible was -open and face downwards on the deck. Near it -a bottle of ink, streaming its contents, rolled to -and fro. Finally, there fell from the locker a -photograph of Driss’s mother. He started forward -to gather up his possessions.</p> - -<p>“Fall in, damn you!” Krame shouted. “Who -told you to fall out?”</p> - -<p>Driss went on.</p> - -<p>Krame stood up. “Come here, Driss. Did you -hear me tell you to fall in?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“I am going to pick up my things before they -are spoilt.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you keep your locker properly shut? -Look at the ink on the deck. I’ve a damned good -mind—by God, you shall lick it up!”</p> - -<p>Driss’s face was pale, his Irish eyes dangerous. -Tintern leaned sideways in his seat and took -Krame by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Dry up, you fool!” he said in an undertone, -and turned back to the piano. He had tact, -moreover.</p> - -<p>“<i>O Gawd, our ’elp in ages pa-ha-hast....</i>” -Before the chorus was ended Driss had secured -his locker and quietly fallen in again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<p>The next Evolution was known alternatively -by two names—one, “The Angostura Hunt”; -the other, which was sometimes attached in other -Gunrooms to an Evolution slightly different, -“Creeping for Jesus.” John was the first taken. -Thrust on his knees near the serving slab, he was -blindfolded with two handkerchiefs. He could -hear the senior midshipmen’s voices. “Lay it -here.... No, not under the table. We can’t -get at him under the table.... There, that will -do. Replace the bitters, Elstone.”</p> - -<p>“Can you see?” asked Krame.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Can you smell?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Can you feel?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s what is wanted—a good scent, -and probably a bit of feeling before you’re through -with it.” He cleared his throat. “Now, Lynwood, -somewhere in the Gunroom is a piece of bread on -the deck. Between you and the bread is a trail -of Angostura bitters—pungent, so as to make it -easy. You’ve got to find the bread by scent and -pick it up with your mouth. No feeling with -your hands, mind you. Put his nose on the trail, -someone.”</p> - -<p>Hands seized John’s head and thrust it downwards. -“Got it? Smell it?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet.”</p> - -<p>“Give him a sniff at the bottle.... Got it -now?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Right. Wait for the order to commence.... -Stand by. Go!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - -<p>John began to crawl along the floor. They -were shouting at him to go faster. “Get a move -on. Good dog. Good dog. —— ——! the -beggar isn’t trying. Let him have it, Howdray.”</p> - -<p>A cane sang through the air and fell upon John’s -legs, sang and fell again. The blood ran to his -head. The smell of corticine and dust sickened -him. The blows were falling rapidly now. Someone -other than Howdray seized a stick and sent -the pain shooting through John’s body. He saw -now the reason for this creeping position—the -excellence of the target it provided. If he could -but regain the scent and get to the end of it! -But the scent was gone, and he could not steady -himself. The weight of his body on his hands -was making his wrists ache. The noise was -deafening. On his palms the dust seemed inches -thick. When he tried to rise, they thrust him -down again....</p> - -<p>Behind the bandage on his eyes was scarlet -blindness, and he was visited by a sense of the -desperate impotence of the blind. The words of -those shouting above him conveyed no clear -meaning to him now. They were giving him -guidance, he thought. There was a medley of -cries: “Port! Starboard!... He doesn’t -know his port from his starboard hand.” A -stick fell again.</p> - -<p>“Give him a chance, Howdray. Still a -moment; I’ll put him on the trail.” This was -Tintern’s voice.</p> - -<p>But help was unavailing. Perhaps some foot -had extinguished the trail; at any rate, even with -Tintern’s guidance, John could not detect the -scent. He groped forward to no purpose. Ban<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>ford-Smith, -sliding from the table, stood unintentionally -on his fingers, causing him so much pain -that, though he was now too bitter to cry out, he -reeled from his track. A moment later his hand -touched something wet—perhaps the blood from -beneath his crushed finger-nail, perhaps no more -than Driss’s ink. He neither knew nor cared. -In his head, which he dared not raise from the -ground, it seemed that fire was burning. His -temples and his eyes were throbbing as if they -would burst. He paused bewildered, and instantly -sticks fell on him again.... It would never, -never end. Perhaps he was going to faint. He -wished he might. That might end it for the -evening at least. That might end it all.</p> - -<p>Shouts, forcing themselves upon his consciousness, -suggested that he was near the bread he was -seeking. He groped in the dust with his teeth -and tongue, hoping he might end his quest. The -grit was about his lips and in his nostrils.</p> - -<p>Then the bandage shifted, and he saw the -bread. He did not dare to seize it immediately -lest they should guess that he could see, but he -worked slowly towards it and picked it up between -his teeth. A great burst of cheering followed, -vague cheering, such as he remembered having -heard when, down and out in a boxing competition, -he had been dragged by his seconds to his -corner. Presently he found himself leaning -against the table, the bandage having been pulled -away. The sweat was dripping from his forehead -and stinging in his eyes. His whole body ached. -He stooped, brushed the dust mechanically from -the knees of his trousers, and tried to smile to -show that he was “taking it well.” And there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -was Fane-Herbert’s face, indistinct as though -seen through a heat wave, wearing that proud, -resentful, unforgiving look.</p> - -<p>“Have a drink,” said Howdray, his stick still -in his hand. “Dry work on the deck, eh?” He -rang the bell. “You did it in pretty good time, -too.”</p> - -<p>“Pretty—good—time?” said John slowly, as -if he did not understand. “Pretty good time? -I thought it was ages.”</p> - -<p>Soon he was taking a glass off the tray that the -steward held out to him.</p> - -<p>“Cheer-oh!” said Howdray.</p> - -<p>“Cheer-oh!” John answered, and drank -thirstily. He sat on the extreme edge of the -table, watching, with set eyes, how the others -repeated his performance. The shouts and the -crashes of the canes came up to him as from a -dream. Soon Cunwell was beside him, drinking -too. Fane-Herbert refused to drink. Sentley -came last of all.</p> - -<p>“Fall in again,” Krame was saying. “Fall -in!”</p> - -<p>They stood in line, awaiting the resumption. -It seemed as though more would be unendurable; -but John’s glance at the clock, combined with his -knowledge that the Evolutions would continue -until the Mess was compulsorily closed, showed -him that as yet they had but began. Hitherto -they had been called upon only to act singly, and -the Gunroom’s limited space had added nothing -to their troubles, but now an obstacle race was -being planned. Of this John had had previous -experience. He knew that it meant fighting with -his own friends in an attempt not to be last.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> - -<p>The course, as designed by Krame, was long and -difficult. They were to go out of the Gunroom, -aft through the Chest Flat, through a watertight -door on the bulkhead, on to the half-deck, into the -Smoking Casemate, round the pedestal of the gun, -out of the Casemate, for’ard through the Chest -Flat and into the Gunroom again by the after -door. Arrived there, they were to pass between -the stove and the wall, over the table from port -to starboard, between the settee and the table’s -edge, under the table from starboard to port, -along the deck to the Gunroom’s after end, under -the table from aft for’ard, over it from for’ard -aft, and out of the Gunroom once more. They -had then to go by way of the Chest Flat ladder on -to the upper deck and to the after twelve-pounder -gun in the port battery. Here they would find -a signal pad, from which each was to detach a -sheet. With this prize they were to run to the -Gunroom, and, as Krame remarked, the Lord -help the hindmost....</p> - -<p>The six of them started together. They fought -at the narrow door of the Gunroom. They sped -through the dim light of the Chest Flat, doubled -up and with knees bent that they might pass -below the hammocks slung there by the marines. -In the Casemate it was impossible for more than -one at a time to pass between the pedestal and -the armour beneath the gun-port. Elstone stood -above them as they wriggled through the narrow -space, thrusting each other aside, tearing their -clothes, hitting their heads and knees and elbows -against the projections of brass and steel. They -reeled out of the Casemate, not now packed close, -but divided by the intervals that the delay at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -gun-pedestal had created. John was the second -to reach the Gunroom. When, having passed -behind the stove, he was about to go over the -table, he heard them shouting at Fane-Herbert, -who had entered last. But none dared pause. -Over the table they went, and headforemost on to -the deck beneath it; under and aft, under the table -again, canes urging on those in rear, and falling -haphazard across knuckles and arms. Already -John was spent; all were spent. Their legs -trembled beneath them. They coughed amid -the dust. Under a hail of blows they battled at -the Gunroom door, swept beyond it through the -Chest Flat for the third time, and rattled up the -ladder into the cool, sweet air of the upper deck. -At the battery gun, during the few moments he -had to wait before he could tear his sheet from -the signal pad, John caught sight of the great -phosphorescence of the sea. Above him the -masts tapered to a dark, clear sky. Smoke drove -ghost-like from the funnels. For’ard the lamps -were gleaming in the charthouse windows, and -near at hand, in the uncertain light of the battery, -seamen stood smoking round their spitkids, gazing -with an expression of amusement and contempt -at their officers being licked into shape.</p> - -<p>As John raced away with his sheet of paper he -heard Fane-Herbert muttering to himself: “Oh -be damned to them! I’m last, any way. I’m -not going to hurry any more.”</p> - -<p>They burst into the Gunroom, thrust their -sheets of paper into Krame’s hands, and stood -there trembling with exhaustion and pain. Dyce -seemed to be on the verge of losing control. His -face was working. They had fear that his nerves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -would yield, that he would break, as can even the -strongest men, into ungovernable tears. The -atmosphere was charged with a strange emotion—the -emotion that, as it were a sudden fever, sometimes -grips a mob, cutting it free from the restraints -men impose upon themselves, casting it -back into the primitive conditions of self-defence -and self-assertion. If Dyce had given way, his -collapse might well have been a signal for forgetfulness -of the difference between senior and junior -midshipmen, for a complete abandonment of -control. Near him John could hear Driss—of all -of them the youngest in appearance, the most -clearly a simple-minded, high-spirited boy—saying -over and over again to himself: “My God, I want -to kill! I want to kill!” His fingers were -twined among the tablecloth, as if thereby he -held them in check. Now he was making odd, -inarticulate sounds in his throat. John saw his -face, and turned quickly from the flaming bitterness -he read there. There were passions streaming -through Driss, passions utterly foreign to his -apparent nature, fierce desires, called up from -God knew what animal depths, upon which it was -not good to look.</p> - -<p>Last by thirty seconds, Fane-Herbert entered -without signs of haste. And they put him over -the table, and pulled out his shirt, and tried to -flog the pride out of him. He did not move -through it all, and when it was over, with his fine -mouth set, he turned away from the faces grinning -above the canes.</p> - -<p>“Fall in again!” Krame said. “Fall in, I say!”</p> - -<p>Evolution followed Evolution: the obstacle race -in reverse order; an affair called Torpedoes, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -consisted essentially in hurling the junior midshipmen’s -bodies along the table against the -for’ard bulkhead; and half a dozen others, the -product of Krame’s ingenuity. Even the flame -in Driss died down. There comes a time when -resistance, even mental resistance, disappears. -The limbs move as they are told.</p> - -<p>At ten o’clock a ship’s corporal tapped at the -door and announced that it was time to close the -Gunroom.</p> - -<p>“Last drinks,” said Krame, and rang the bell. -“Warts fall out!”</p> - -<p>Somehow they opened their sea-chests, got out -of their clothes, scrambled aft, and swung themselves -into their hammocks. Once in his, John -lay as he was, not caring even to creep between -the blankets. He lay staring at the white-painted -T-bar within a few inches of his face, listening to -the rifles, which were stored near by, clicking to -and fro in their racks with each roll of the ship. -The half-deck sentry passed him now and then. -Somewhere a pump groaned continually. From -the open door of the Wardroom came the sound -of voices and laughter and snatches of song.</p> - -<p>John did not sleep. He lay inert, capable of no -consecutive thought. He went on repeating catchwords -to himself, counting the groans of the pump, -counting the sentry’s footsteps, sucking his -damaged finger, running his hand over the rough -surface of the canvas hammock. Despite his -efforts to banish so tormenting a vision, again and -again he saw himself crouched in the window-seat -of a sun-strewn library, now looking out to the -hills, now turning the pages of a book. He saw the -excellence of open print; almost he heard a clock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -ticking.... In less than two hours, Ollenor, -who had been keeping the first watch, shook his -hammock.</p> - -<p>“Lynwood!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m awake.”</p> - -<p>“About ten minutes to eight bells. Your -middle watch.”</p> - -<p>“All right; thanks.”</p> - -<p>He swung out on to the deck, went to his chest, -and put on watch-keeping clothes.</p> - -<p>On the bridge Ollenor turned over to him such -information as he would need for his watch. -When Ollenor had gone, John glanced at the dim -figure of the officer of the watch on the upper -bridge. Then, passing the Quartermaster at the -wheel, he stood by the semaphore and looked aft, -beyond the funnels and the boat deck, at the lights -of the next astern. Presently he turned his face -for’ard and took off his cap, and let the wind -blow among his hair. Soon he must take a -sextant on to the upper bridge and help the -officer of the watch keep station; but now he -stood inactive, one hand on the cool steel of a -searchlight. The incomparable peace of the wide -sky; the throb of the main engines; the rising and -dipping lights of the fleet—there was sweet, timeless -monotony in these things. Far below him -the cut foam was hissing against the bows. Behind -him the pipe of the boatswain’s mate was -shrilling and shrilling again.</p> - -<p>And Krame was asleep, and the hand of God -over the sea.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<span class="smaller">WAR, CARPETS, AND CANDLES</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>The fleet put in to Arosa Bay, and, in less than -twelve hours, sailed thence without regret. On -the day following their departure an event -occurred which, for the time being, changed the -lives of every member of the <i>King Arthur’s</i> -company. Late in the forenoon watch a wireless -signal was received and immediately submitted to -the Rear-Admiral. This much of its contents -became public: that the Admiralty had ordered -the Cruiser Squadron, which at the time was -making common speed with the battleships, to proceed -independently to Gibraltar at sixteen knots. -This speed, unusual and uneconomical enough to -suggest that there was serious reason for it, combined -with the tension already created in men’s -minds by the happenings at Agadir, gave wonderful -import to the news, which spread with almost -magical rapidity from the bridge to the officers’ -messes, from the fo’c’s’le to the boiler-room -depths. Speculation as to the meaning of the -order was anxious and eager. Rumours of war -had in times past been so frequent as to colour all -prophecies with scepticism, but hope remained—hope -that now at length the consummation was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -at hand. The Rear-Admiral unbent so far as to -jest with the officer of the watch. The Yeoman -of Signals overheard him, and repeated his words -on the lower bridge. The lower bridge handed on -the tale to the boatswain’s mate, who, having -embellished it, shared its marvel with the lower -deck. In a quarter of an hour the Rear-Admiral’s -good-humour had permeated the ship. A Paymaster -celebrated it in the Wardroom Casemate -by paying for a round of drinks. The Senior -Engineer put on clean overalls and went smiling -below. The stokers grumbled no more, but fired -their boilers and slammed their furnace-doors -with vigorous enthusiasm. They were not going -to Gibraltar now to carry out gun-practice in -Catalan Bay, gun-practice in Tetuan, gun-practice -in Catalan again. “Sixteen knots!” -remarked a Chief Stoker, with emphasis that made -explanation unnecessary. “Sixteen knots!” said -one of the carpenter’s crew. “Looks as if we -shan’t need them targets wi’ the little red sails.”</p> - -<p>Even in the Gunroom, comradeship displaced -boredom. The Chaplain relaxed discipline during -School. Baring came in to drink a glass of sherry -and to share Wardroom opinion with Winton-Black. -Midshipmen, senior, intermediate, and -junior, looked towards the future from a common -standpoint. The Clerk saw his ledger shrouded -in the mists of the past. His action-station, he -said a dozen times, was with the Dumaresq. -“You won’t see much of the show from the -Dumaresq,” said Banford-Smith, and the Clerk -replied humbly, but with complete happiness: -“No, but it’s better than the Ship’s Office.”</p> - -<p>There was, too, a wonderful moment in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -Krame seemed to forget that John was a Wart -whose duty it was to tidy up the Gunroom, to -polish the stove-pipes, and to do scuttle-drill -when the sea ran high and ventilation became -necessary.</p> - -<p>“Come on deck, Lynwood,” he said. “We -had better have a glance round our guns for minor -defects.”</p> - -<p>They strolled on deck together and visited every -casemate in their group. In that time they were -friends, officers charged with a common responsibility. -The great game was about to begin, the -game for which the whole Service had been training -for many weary years. All routine, all hardness, -all drudgery had become suddenly worth while. -Spirit had entered into the flesh.</p> - -<p>At no time while he served in the <i>King Arthur</i> -was John happier. He and Fane-Herbert, knowing -nothing of war, congratulated themselves upon -the fact that it had come to them so early in their -careers. “And isn’t it amazing what a difference -it makes?” said Fane-Herbert. “The Gunroom -is changed. All the senior snotties act as though -we were their friends.”</p> - -<p>“I expect they would be better in the ordinary -course,” John answered, “if they got more leave -clear away from the ship, and weren’t so infernally -bored by unbroken routine.”</p> - -<p>But the excitement and its excellent effect endured -not long. When they arrived at Gibraltar -nothing happened. The next day, while they -coaled ship, hope waned. “Come on, lads,” cried -a petty officer to encourage the grimy workers, -“that’s about where Agadir lies.” He pointed a -finger towards Africa. But they laughed at him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -and glanced at the coaling flags that told them -how their work progressed. “Six ’undred more -to come,” they said; “six ’undred more ton....”</p> - -<p>And when they sailed from Gibraltar, their -destination was Catalan Bay, their prospect gun-practice. -The ship’s company added another -memory to their list of war scares, and suffered -from the inevitable reaction.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>The essential element in gun-practice and range -keeping exercises is waiting with nothing to do—waiting -till the target is ready, waiting till the -ship’s turn comes, waiting while a passing merchant -ship fouls the range, waiting while the important -people in the controls make abstruse -calculations with which the men at the guns have -no concern. The monotony is varied by gun-drill, -but even gun-drill palls. The hours pass -slowly. The eyes stare at the expressionless -breech of the gun until, tiring of that, they stare -at the red wheel above the ammunition hoist. -Often they stare at the bugler as he passes the -open door of the casemate, and prayers go up -that ultimately he may sound the “Secure.” The -captain of the gun, sick of the limited topics which -can be discussed within the hearing of the officer -whose head is in the sighting-hood, produces rags -and a tin, and proceeds to polish bright work -already immaculate. Then he puts away his rags -and tin, and watches the bugler again.</p> - -<p>Coming into Gibraltar for a week-end, John -played in a cricket match, in which, for lack of -training, the batting was poor and the bowling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -without sting. Gunroom Evolutions had long -begun again. Krame had forgotten the incident -of the “minor defects,” and the junior midshipmen -were Warts without cease. In Tetuan Bay -the natives ashore appeared, to those who watched -them through telescopes, to be carrying on warfare. -There were rifle flashes and smoke, and -bodies of men moving hastily hither and thither. -No one cared very much. To the midshipmen it -meant something to record in the personal log-books -they submitted each Sunday morning to the -Captain....</p> - -<p>It was in Tetuan Bay, too, perhaps during the -warfare, perhaps during some other similar week -after peace had been declared, that the ship’s -company bathed—the officers from the starboard -after gangway, the men for’ard from the port -lower boom. John, as midshipman of the watch, -was on the quarter-deck, watching the clock for -the time at which he should recall the men from -the water by ordering the bugler to sound the -“Retire.” Suddenly, on the port quarter, he -caught sight of the unmistakable fin. Sharks -were not then to be expected in that part of the -world. He looked again, this time through a -telescope. “Quartermaster, what do you make -of that?”</p> - -<p>The Quartermaster borrowed the telescope. -“Yessir. Shark, sir.”</p> - -<p>John wheeled round. “Bugler! Sound the -‘Retire’ and sound the ‘Double.’ Go on sounding -it until you are sure that all men in the water -have heard. Sound it first to the officers on the -starboard side.... Boatswain’s-mate! Go and -pipe by the lower boom: ‘Shark on the port<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -quarter. All hands return to the ship.’ Warn the -boat.”</p> - -<p>John called for a megaphone and summoned -courage to address the Commander, who, in the -water, was very much like the rest of mankind. -It was bad enough to have sounded the “Retire” -at him.</p> - -<p>“Commander, sir!”</p> - -<p>The Commander, much to John’s surprise, held -up his hand to show he had heard, just as John -himself, had he been away in a boat, would have -held up his hand to indicate attention to the -Commander’s orders.</p> - -<p>“Shark on the port quarter, sir!”</p> - -<p>The Commander raised himself an instant from -the water and made a funnel of his hands. “Get -the men out,” he shouted, and swam towards the -ship. The other officers followed him. He met -John on the top of the gangway.</p> - -<p>“Like shouting at the Commander?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>John had not liked it. He had thought twice -about doing it, but it had seemed inevitable. -Apparently he had done wrong. “I thought, -sir——” he began.</p> - -<p>The Commander grinned and shook the drops -from him. “Go on, boy. I’m not an ogre. -You did quite right. Very smartly, too.”</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Early in November, when the day of joining -the <i>King Arthur</i> seemed to be separated from the -present by a lifetime, instead of by little more -than a month, of experience, and when the pros<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>pect -of Christmas leave, not infinitely remote, -coloured even the present with hope, John had an -adventure in night boat work. For him the day -had been more than usually strenuous. The <i>King -Arthur</i> had been at sea for Commander-in-Chief’s -firing. From half-past eight in the morning until -half-past seven at night, John had been almost -continuously on duty. It had happened, as sometimes -it must happen, that when he was not on -watch he was required in a duty boat, and when -neither in a boat nor on the bridge, he had had to -go to his gun. At dinner he thought his day was -over, and, Krame having chosen a sing-song that -night in preference to Gunroom Evolutions, he -settled down to read as best he could among the -choruses. But soon after nine a cutter was called -away again. Banford-Smith, whose duty it should -have been, had advanced too far into a cheerful -evening to venture out into the night. Some -midshipman must run the boat, and the choice -fell upon John.</p> - -<p>Fortunately the evening was fine, for the trip -seemed likely to be long. It appeared that the -<i>Vera</i> was bringing or had brought into harbour a -target of which the <i>King Arthur</i> stood in need. -This target required repairs and a new sail. “And -first of all,” added the officer of the watch, “you’ve -got to find the thing.”</p> - -<p>“Where is the <i>Vera</i> lying, sir?” John asked.</p> - -<p>“The Lord knows! The bridge seems to have -lost her. She hasn’t come to her buoy yet. But -go to the dockyard wall first. The target is -probably there already. If it isn’t, you’ll have to -look round till you find the <i>Vera</i>, and make enquiries.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<p>John ran down the gangway into his cutter, -seated himself on the “dicky,” and gave orders -to shove off. The oars dropped into the water -and the boat drew away from the ship. On one -hand, the many lights of the Fleet winked at their -reflections in the smooth water; on the other, the -great rock, magnified by the night, and speckled -with the illumination of innumerable windows, -rose, dark and gigantic, against the sky. When the -wall was reached they searched in vain for the -target, and turned to cruise the harbour in quest -of the <i>Vera</i>.</p> - -<p>Although he was tired and needed sleep before -the morrow’s coaling, he was glad that he had -come. The click of the oars’ looms and the hiss -of their blades, the spring at the beginning and -the slackening at the end of each stroke, the -ripple and suck about the stern, the regular -breathing of the crew and the synchronous creaking -of their stretchers, bespoke a romance that -was not the romance of steel ships. The coxswain -sat motionless, his hand on the tiller, as -rugged as a statue rough-hewn in wood. Clustered -in the stern sheets, with their bags of -glistening tools, the carpenter’s party lent emphasis -to man’s silence by their occasional whispering. -John’s gaze strayed for’ard: the white gleaming -of the crew’s faces and of their hands curved over -the ears grew more and more indistinct towards -the bows, and the line of gunwale shrank to a -delicate thread.</p> - -<p>Swing, catch, and an easy stroke; the gleam, the -dip, and the swirl of blades; the hidden faces and -the arms outstretched, the arms drawn in and the -faces raised. And he, above them, commanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -them, passed among the shadows of great ships -into the darkness. On either hand the little -bow-wave ran out lapping, and flattened itself -wide of the stern.</p> - -<p>“Don’t see no <i>Vera</i>, sir,” said the coxswain.</p> - -<p>“Not yet.”</p> - -<p>“’Adn’t we better arst, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Ask? Where?”</p> - -<p>“Report at the ship for orders, sir.”</p> - -<p>“The orders were to find the <i>Vera</i>.” John had -no intention of returning to the <i>King Arthur</i> and -confessing himself defeated.</p> - -<p>“Don’t think we’ll find ’er, pullin’ round the -’arbour, sir—not to-night, anyway.”</p> - -<p>John had made up his mind. He would seek -information elsewhere. The helm was put over a -little. At no great distance from him, lay the -<i>London</i>. At first he thought of going alongside -her and asking her officer of the watch for the -position of the <i>Vera</i>, but he dismissed this idea -when he realized that this was no polite hour for -midshipmen to pay calls. Moreover, a story of -his being lost might easily become a jest in the -Wardrooms of the Fleet.</p> - -<p>“Goin’ alongside the <i>London</i>, sir?”</p> - -<p>“No. When she hails, answer ‘passing.’ I’m -going to stop under her bridge.”</p> - -<p>Came the hail: “Boat ahoy!”</p> - -<p>“Passing!”</p> - -<p>Judging the amount of way necessary to carry -his boat to the forebridge, John very quietly gave -the order: “Oars!” The rowing ceased, and the -water licked at the sides. Presently the cutter -was still.</p> - -<p>“Hail the bridge,” John said, “and ask the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -signalman of the watch for the <i>Vera</i>. Hail -quietly, so that they can’t hear you aft.”</p> - -<p>The coxswain stood up. “<i>London</i>”—a thick -sound, for it is no easy thing to hail quietly. -Then a little louder, in a tone almost melodramatic: -“<i>London</i> ... <i>London</i> ... <i>London</i>—bridge!”</p> - -<p>The bowman could not resist it. “Change at -the Elephant an’ Castle!”</p> - -<p>The crew heard. The crew choked down a -laugh hurtful to the coxswain’s dignity. He -turned on them.</p> - -<p>“Knock orf chawin’ yer fat there,” he said -angrily, and silence fell. Someone peered over -the bridge rails.</p> - -<p>“D’you know where the <i>Vera</i> ’angs out?” the -coxswain asked quickly, before the other had time -to hail him.</p> - -<p>“Lyin’ outside at anchor. Comin’ to ’er buoy -to-morrer.”</p> - -<p>“Outside the ruddy ’arbour?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Gawd!” The coxswain sat down disconsolately. -“We shall ’ave a night of it,” he observed.</p> - -<p>The music of the oars began again. They -pulled slowly between the ships, beyond the ships, -out of the harbour. Soon the <i>Vera</i>, an outpost -of twinkling lights, beyond which lay the open sea, -was hailing them. Much to his surprise, John -was welcomed by the officer of the watch.</p> - -<p>“That infernal target?” he said. “It <i>is</i> -alongside the wall—right at the far end. What an -hour to send you out after it! I’m afraid you -have a long job of repairs; it was knocked about -a bit. Come down into the Wardroom before you -start.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<p>John went below and accepted whisky and -soda, an illegal proceeding, for by regulation he -was too young to drink spirits. They offered -cigarettes, and when he refused to smoke one -because his crew was waiting, they gave him a -handful to take away with him.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have time to smoke them all before -you get home to-night,” said the Gunnery Lieutenant. -“Well, so long. You will have luck if -you are turned in before the end of the middle -watch. Sorry you have had so far to come.”</p> - -<p>A long pull shoreward brought the cutter at -last to the target. John turned out the carpenter’s -party and all the boat’s crew save one, -whom he kept with him as a boat-keeper. John -soon found that in the man he had retained he -was to have a remarkable companion. He came -aft, seated himself in the stern sheets, and looked -up expectantly.</p> - -<p>“’Ave a smoke, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; carry on smoking.”</p> - -<p>“’Ave a cigar, sir?”</p> - -<p>John hesitated. He would have felt safer with -one of the <i>Vera’s</i> cigarettes. He was not inured -to cigars, but for company’s sake he took one and -lighted it.</p> - -<p>“Funny thing, sir,” the man said, “these night -trips always make me feel mysterious-like. You -feel more powerful some’ow in the dark. Do it -take you that way, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Powerful?” John asked, wondering how much -this had in common with his own sensation.</p> - -<p>“Same as you feel, sir, when you’re alone, an’ -there ain’t no one to see ’ow small you are. I -always thinks then o’ the things I might do if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -I liked—but it don’t seem a fair advantage to take -o’ folk what aren’t made the same way.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“It’s this way, sir. You see, I can make people -do things—anything. I don’t rightly know what -the name of it is—’ypnotism, or mesmerism, or -the like. It don’t make much odds what they call -it. But I can make people do things all right, -I can, an’ ’ere they are makin’ me do things all day. -I’m a proper bad ’at, I am—always on the carpet. -I get to feel angry like, knowin’ the power I ’ave. -I did a turn at a ship’s concert once—afore you -young gen’lemen joined—an’ the Commander, ’e -won’t ’ave me doin’ it no more.”</p> - -<p>“Could you make me do things now?”</p> - -<p>The man held up a finger. “I could make you -’op into the water, sir.” John looked over the side, -and the voice went on. “An’ if I went up close -to ’em, I could make the ruddy carpenter’s party -stand on their ruddy ’eads an’ stop there. An’ if -I stepped out in front of ’em, an’ the ship’s police -kep’ their ’ands off, I could make the Captain an’ -the Commander do a cake-walk at Sunday Divisions, -I could.”</p> - -<p>“Why on earth don’t you?” said John.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it wouldn’t never do, sir. That ain’t -Service, sir—the orficers cake-walkin’. I should -be doin’ detention for the rest o’ me mortal.... -Besides, that ain’t what I likes doin’—sing-song -turns, an’ funny stunts, an’ the like.” He looked -away, and his words drifted into vagueness, being -no longer addressed to an audience. “I likes -talkin’ to a crowd an’ seein’ ’em all comin’ round, -comin’ round gradual-like, not knowin’ ’ow or -why, all of ’em comin’ round to my way o’ thinkin’.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -They don’t agree to start off, but soon I sees ’em -noddin’ their ’eads, an’ smilin’ an’ smilin’, an’ -sayin’ ‘Aye, aye,’ an’ ‘’Ere, ’ere.’ An’ their -faces looks strange some’ow till they douse the -glim.” He paused, shot out both hands in an -expansive gesture, and let them fall again to his -sides. “’Ere I be, Able Seaman, ’undredth class -for conduck, ’undredth class for leaf, an’, Gawd -Almighty! I might ’a bin Prime Minister of All -England, wi’ the Albert ’All risin’ up to me, jus’ -as if I ’ad ’em on strings....”</p> - -<p>Together they sat there, dreaming vast dreams. -Above them the carpenter’s party was driving in -nails. John held his cigar close to the water, and -watched the diffused red of its reflection. When -he dropped it, as if by accident, it fizzled sharply.</p> - -<p>“Dropped yer cigar, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“’Ave another, sir?”</p> - -<p>“No, thanks.”</p> - -<p>Silence again.... The work on the target -was at last completed. Tired men climbed back -into the boat. Oars were got out lazily. It was -five in the morning when they reached the <i>King -Arthur</i>. A bugle was calling the hands to coal ship.</p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>The year dragged towards its end. The novelty -of night firing wore off. John was soon to cease -watchkeeping on the upper deck and to join the -engineering staff for a period of training. He -wrote to his mother, asking her to send him a pipe, -for among the boilers even midshipmen under -eighteen can console themselves with tobacco.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -Once, with Gunroom Evolutions in his mind, -he wrote: “I think we may have had the worst -of our time in this ship. For a whole week now -we have been left pretty well alone.” But the -next evening his hopes were shattered, and the -old business began again. The need of leave, -of an interval, however brief, in which there -would be no Krame and no Commander, became -imperative. When they went ashore the junior -midshipmen found a place of refuge in the Garrison -Library. There, having paid a small monthly -subscription, they could read the newspapers without -fear that Krame would enter suddenly, and, -because one of them was reading <i>The Times</i>, -exclaim: “Who has <i>The Times</i>? I want <i>The -Times</i>.” There they could sit in comfortable -chairs, and enjoy teas marvellously inexpensive, -certain—quite certain—that, until the clock told -them they must go, their time was their own. -No one would shout at them to pick up paper. -Howdray would not make them put away their -letters and write out his Division List for him. -Elstone would not tell them that he wanted a -sketch for his log-book done immediately. In the -Garrison Library there was peace. They could -talk without continually glancing over their -shoulders lest someone should enter by the Gunroom -door.</p> - -<p>They did talk to their great relief. It was good -to plan rebellion, though they knew nothing could -ever spring from their plans. It was satisfactory -to hear, from midshipmen of other ships, that these -things went on not in the <i>King Arthur</i> alone. -It was amusing to compare method and detail, -and to congratulate themselves because certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -Evolutions usual in H.M.S —— and H.M.S. —— -had not yet been devised by Krame’s inventive -mind.</p> - -<p>One afternoon someone brought in news that -what was happening in a Home Fleet ship had -leaked out. A complaint had been made to the -Admiralty. A Court of Enquiry had been ordered. -Great things were expected to result from this—perhaps -a general reformation.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Fane-Herbert. “Probably they will -keep it out of the papers. And anyhow, people -will say: ‘Oh, it’s all an exceptional case. How -terrible! but it’s just an exceptional case.’ There -may be a court-martial. The Sub or someone -may get dipped. And then it will blow over and be -forgotten. It won’t make any difference to us.”</p> - -<p>The great day came at last. “This time to-morrow -we shall be on our way home.”</p> - -<p>“They will give us hell going across the Bay. -It’s always worse at sea. No one is away on -late leave.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what does it matter now? Next week -we shall be out of it. Think, sleeping in a bed, and -people who don’t shout, and no tidying up the -Gunroom, and no Krame for days on end!”</p> - -<p>“And London....”</p> - -<p>“And pictures, and carpets, and flowers....”</p> - -<p>“And think of meeting a lady again!” said -Fane-Herbert.</p> - -<p>They laughed at him for that. “Aren’t there -ladies at Gib.?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but they know the difference between a -Lieutenant and a Wart. I mean a—a <i>civilian</i> -lady.... By the way, Lynwood, you must come -round and see my mother and sister. Why not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -stay with us in Town the first night of leave, and -go down to your own home the next day?”</p> - -<p>John nodded. “Thanks, I should like to.... -Think of a day with no routine!”</p> - -<p>And they laughed again.</p> - - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>On that first night of leave for which they had -been laying innumerable and contradictory plans, -Fane-Herbert came into John’s room while he was -dressing. He sat down on the bed.</p> - -<p>“Do you know we are to have a great man to -dinner to-night?”</p> - -<p>“I thought you insisted that there should be no -dinner-party?”</p> - -<p>“So I did. This isn’t a party. He’s the only -guest. My mother knows him very well, and, -strangely enough, he appears to be an old friend -of your mother’s. He heard you were going to be -here to-night, and invited himself.”</p> - -<p>“Who is he?”</p> - -<p>“A novelist, a poet, a writer of biography; a -very important person indeed. Can you guess? -He has the Order of Merit, the only literary one -except Thomas Hardy’s.”</p> - -<p>“Wingfield Alter, of course. That’s rather -terrifying. What is he like?”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t met him for a long time. He used -to give me shillings when I was a small boy, and -tell me stories. But that was ten years ago; he may -have changed since then. Margaret likes him, -though, so I expect he is all right.” Fane-Herbert -went to the door. “Shall I tell him you write -poetry?” he asked laughingly as he went out.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No; for the Lord’s sake don’t be a fool!”</p> - -<p>On his way downstairs John met Margaret.</p> - -<p>“Have you heard of our guest?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Alter? Yes. Is it an ordeal?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no. He is really a delightful person—tremendously -interested in everything. The only -people he can’t endure are old ladies with salons -who pat the lion. Mr. Alter won’t be patted.”</p> - -<p>“Of course he is pleasant to you,” said John. -“But, if he knows anything of the Navy, he -won’t have much use for junior midshipmen.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>John did not wish to explain. “Oh,” he said -vaguely, “junior midshipmen are rather looked -down on in the Service.”</p> - -<p>“Only by senior midshipmen or their equivalent,” -she answered. “You will find that Mr. Alter -doesn’t take much notice of rank—rank of any -kind, I mean, except that of ability.”</p> - -<p>At the foot of the stairs John’s attention was -arrested by a portrait in oils that hung there.</p> - -<p>“Who is that?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“My great-grandmother—on my mother’s side.”</p> - -<p>“She is extraordinarily like you. Is there a -portrait of her when she was your age?”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m afraid not. That was done some time -after her marriage. She was about twenty-six, -I believe.”</p> - -<p>The subject of the portrait looked younger. -She had Margaret’s wide-set grey eyes, her dark -hair, her clear skin, to which colour flowed richly -only in emotion. And the resemblance went -further than the physical, for John saw above him -that expression, so remarkable for its vitality and -yet so comforting in its repose, with which, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -he turned his head, he found Margaret regarding -him. In her eyes, though, was the brightness of -laughter, and her great-grandmother had been a -grave sitter.</p> - -<p>“Is it so astonishing?”</p> - -<p>“It is a wonderful portrait. You are sound -evidence for the artist.”</p> - -<p>“I had her hung there,” Margaret said, the -light of laughter flickering out—“I had her hung -there, at the foot of the stairs, so that I might -see her whenever I came down to a dance or a -dinner, and each morning before the day began. -She looks so extraordinarily alive—so interested in -all the world. And now—well, now, so far as the -world is concerned, she’s a picture on the wall and -a name in a genealogical table.”</p> - -<p>“And so you use her as a text?”</p> - -<p>“Not that. I don’t attempt to weave philosophies -around her. I suppose it’s an odd form -of superstition—at any rate, you can call it -that, if you like. She seems to keep a certain -balance——” Margaret paused suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t that morbid?” Not till the question -was out did he realize that he had spoken to test -her.</p> - -<p>“Morbid?” she repeated. “That’s an easy -word with which to dismiss the things you are -afraid of. I’m not in the least afraid of great-grandmother.... -Besides, I don’t think of her -as dead. She is the best of great-grandmothers—extremely -practical. She makes compliments -transparent—on her stairs, at any rate.” Margaret -laid her hand on the panels. “And she -makes me glad I can <i>feel</i> the grain in this oak.” -She turned away and walked to the bottom of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -flight. Then she glanced up at John with a -quick smile. “And sometimes, when I have been -lazy, she sends me up to my room again to change -my dress.”</p> - -<p>She took him to admire a lacquer cabinet that -stood in the hall.</p> - -<p>“I expect you like looking at and touching -these things? I know I should, if I had been -long in a warship.”</p> - -<p>John rejoiced in her understanding. “Carpets,” -he said, “are the unceasing wonders; and -the sound of dresses, and candles!”</p> - -<p>“Candles? Do you remember that phrase in a -poem of yours—‘the spear-head flames’?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. How did you see it?”</p> - -<p>“Hugh sent home the copy you gave him. -And—do you mind?—I showed it and other -poems of yours, without your name, of course, to -a friend of ours, a man whose judgment people -believe in.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very glad. What did he say?”</p> - -<p>“Good things. I’ll tell you when there is more -time.”</p> - -<p>“Who was he?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll get you to meet him some day—if you -are not for ever out of England.... Why didn’t -you ask me what I thought of the poems myself?”</p> - -<p>“I thought you would tell me.”</p> - -<p>“I’m scarcely a year older than you.”</p> - -<p>“Does that matter? It depends on what you -were born and what you have read.”</p> - -<p>“I have read——” She broke off suddenly. -“But no; I am sure poetry depends very much -on what you have been through.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mr. Alter, if he heard us, would say we were -very young,” John said.</p> - -<p>Margaret looked back over their conversation -and laughed.</p> - -<p>“Have we been taking ourselves so seriously? -Look at my great-grandmother. She is telling -us to get along with us into the drawing-room.”</p> - -<p>There they found Wingfield Alter and Mrs. -Fane-Herbert. Hugh came in a moment later. -Alter had his back to the door as they entered, a -square, broad back, full of determination. When -he turned his head there were legible in the deeply -lined face, with its high forehead and proudly -carried chin, a self-confidence and directness of -purpose which made it almost unnoticeable that -Alter was a short, ungainly man. He wore a -spare moustache and a pointed beard which -began so far down his chin that his lips were unobscured -by it. He waited for no introduction, -but took John’s hands at once, welcoming him as -his mother’s son, and looking at him closely.</p> - -<p>Even at dinner John felt those deep-set eyes -turned continually upon him, searching, he supposed, -for points of resemblance to his mother. -Mrs. Fane-Herbert, tall and slim at the end of the -table, was a clever woman and Alter an eager -listener. She turned the conversation to the -Navy, and for long he was a willing and appreciative -pupil. Hugh instructed him with great -zest.</p> - -<p>“How long is it, sir, since you were in a warship?”</p> - -<p>“It must be four or five years. I have been -in Russia since, and have lost touch. I see I -must renew my acquaintance. I want to see what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -I can of the officers produced by the New Scheme—all -my friends were <i>Britannia</i> cadets. Your -education has been broader, less rigidly specialized -than theirs. What is the effect on efficiency?”</p> - -<p>“There must be a danger,” said Mrs. Fane-Herbert, -“of encouraging ideas and tastes, good -in themselves, but ill-suited to the naval officer -as such.”</p> - -<p>“I often wonder about that,” Alter answered. -“The Service is very exacting, very highly -specialized, narrow in a sense. And boys enter -it very early, knowing nothing of what they are -or what they will become. They enter it in much -the same spirit as that in which they choose the -career of an engine-driver. Tendencies undreamed -of then are bound to develop later—diverse tendencies, -probably opposed in a thousand ways to -Service requirements. Am I right?”</p> - -<p>“Every word,” said John, leaning forward a -little.</p> - -<p>“For example,” Alter continued, “what on -earth would have become of that young man whose -work you showed me, Margaret, if he had committed -himself to the Navy at the age of thirteen? -Of course, any critic would say those poems were -immature. So they were; the technique of the -sonnet was awry; the scansion was often loose; -here and there they were too sonorous, too strained -for the sake of effect. But so many of the essentials -of poetry were there—real feeling, real -imagination, and observation of the kind that’s -worth having. Never an adjective that he had -not thought out with his eyes tight shut or wide -open. If he can write like that before he is -twenty—why, given a chance to develop, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -might do anything. But if he were shut up in -the Navy, burdened with the sameness of routine, -brought into contact only with men whose minds -are highly specialized for one purpose, war——” -He interrupted himself with a gesture. “And -there must be people of that kind in the Fleet—not -poets necessarily, but men who, for one reason -or another, need—need desperately—intellectual -space. Most of us need it, unless our minds are -very limited—that’s the worst of the tragedy, -<i>most</i> of us need it. And in the Navy, so far as -I can judge, it must be almost impossible to -obtain—at any rate, it is probably to be purchased -only at the price of resignation or professional -failure.”</p> - -<p>John did not hear the conversation that followed. -His thoughts were proceeding by strange -paths, now of pride and gladness, now so steep -and dark that he could neither see nor imagine -any end to them. Later in the evening Alter -spoke to him alone.</p> - -<p>“I’m unspeakably sorry,” he said. “It was -stupid of me not to have guessed; but Margaret -ought to have warned me—she, with her mysterious -poet whose name she would conceal in order -to tantalize me. It’s of no use to ask you not to -let my words unsettle you; they are said, and I -meant them, and there’s an end of it. But I -shall feel responsible now. Will you let me help -you, if I can? I don’t mean with master-keys -to editors’ rooms—you must win them for yourself. -But I can give advice and criticism for -what they are worth. I should want to help in -any case now, but the more because you are my -old friend’s son. Will you remember?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> - -<p>John thanked him as well as he could. When -Alter had gone Margaret came to him.</p> - -<p>“I never guessed that he might talk of it -to-night,” she said. “But you have heard his -opinion yourself, and I am glad of that. Was the -rest of what he said true?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—in a way. I never thought of it in those -terms before.”</p> - -<p>“And now you will go on thinking of it. You -mustn’t, you mustn’t—but I know you will. -And if it hurts, I am the cause of every hurt. -I made you see clearly.” She looked straight -into his eyes, her own eyes glistening. “Whatever -comes of it all, will you try to forgive me?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I shall thank you some day,” he -answered. “After all, it is better to see clearly, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Great-grandmother would say so. But it’s -the bravest thing of all.”</p> - -<p>She gave him her hand and said good-night. -Presently he was sitting in the smoking-room with -Hugh, still conscious of her touch and hearing her -voice, still seeing her dress flicker between the -banisters as she went upstairs.</p> - -<p>The next morning he went into the country to -his own home. He told his mother that he had -met Wingfield Alter.</p> - -<p>“He is a very dear friend of mine,” she said. -“I knew him before I met your father. He was -married then, and poor, with no literary reputation. -I saw him last soon after your father’s -death.”</p> - -<p>“But you never mentioned him?”</p> - -<p>“London is so far away.”</p> - -<p>With a little sigh, she returned to her embroidery.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br /> - -<span class="smaller">TWO WORLDS</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>A few days after John had rejoined his ship at -Portsmouth, Mr. Baring, who was keeping the -first dog watch, turned his telescope on to a shore-boat -of shabby appearance which seemed to be -approaching the <i>King Arthur</i>. Reedham, who -was midshipman of the watch, likewise inspected -the craft, which seemed to have the impudent -intention of boarding the ship, not by the port -gangway, which was, as it were, a back-door for -the use of all and sundry, but by the starboard -gangway, which, with its elaborate handrail of -mahogany and brass, was the front-door of the -exalted.</p> - -<p>Though an officer less reserved might have said, -“Who the devil is this?” Mr. Baring contented -himself with looking from Reedham to the shore-boat -and from the shore-boat to Reedham, for -all the world as if Reedham were responsible for -the incursion and for the unseamanlike appearance -of the boat itself. And Reedham looked at the -Quartermaster as if to say, “Well, what are <i>you</i> -going to do about it?” And the Quartermaster -did nothing but finger his boatswain’s pipe.</p> - -<p>There was, in truth, nothing to be done. It is -possible to shout at a Service boat that is committing -a breach of etiquette, but a shore-boat, -though it lack varnish and leave lanyards and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -fenders hanging over the stern, cannot be so -readily reproved. If it is known to contain -a tradesman or some other dependent of the -ship, then the megaphone may be called into use, -but where a doubt exists caution is advisable. -Who knows that it is not an admiral’s guest who -approaches? Admirals have queer guests.</p> - -<p>This boat, as it drew near, was seen to contain, -in addition to the oarsman, a small person wearing -a bowler hat and a grey overcoat. There was -no attempt at smartness. The hat was old and -the coat older, though both were neat and respectable—so -neat and so respectable, in fact, that -Mr. Baring dismissed the idea that this might be -an eccentric, and yet worthy, visitor.</p> - -<p>“You had better lie off for the time being,” -said the small person to his boatman, when the -craft had reached the gangway, and he, with a -small bag in his hand, had disembarked. “I may -need you to take me back. More probably I shall -return in a ship’s boat. If so, I will call you -alongside and pay you.”</p> - -<p>“Return in a ship’s boat, will he?” thought -Mr. Baring. “We’ll see about that.... Some -commercial, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>The small person climbed the ladder slowly. -As he stepped on to the quarter-deck he raised -his hat in obedience to a Service custom well -known to him. Mr. Baring, incredulous of such -knowledge in a “commercial,” accepted the -salute as if it had been addressed to himself.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “what can we do for you?”</p> - -<p>“My name is Alter,” said the small person, -“and——”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” Mr. Baring interrupted, determined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -to enliven an uneventful watch at the expense of -this innocent. “And what is your line?”</p> - -<p>A few moments passed before Mr. Alter understood -this question. Then, as he realized that -he was a “commercial,” his eyes twinkled.</p> - -<p>“Books,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what kind?”</p> - -<p>“Various kinds—novels, biography, poetry.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid there won’t be much sale for them -on the Lower Deck. Have you a card?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.... But it wasn’t the Lower Deck -that I was seeking.”</p> - -<p>“The Wardroom? The Gunroom?”</p> - -<p>“The Gunroom, as a matter of fact. I wanted -to see——”</p> - -<p>“But the Gunroom officers, as well as the -Lower Deck, use the Ship’s Library. We <i>have</i> a -Ship’s Library, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know. I’m very glad of it.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Baring extended his telescope in the direction -of Mr. Alter’s bag. “Where is your stock? -Not in that little bag?”</p> - -<p>“No; as a matter of fact some of my stock is -already in the Ship’s Library.”</p> - -<p>“Come, come,” Mr. Baring exclaimed, “that -won’t do; that won’t wash at all. The Ship’s -Library isn’t bought from casual booksellers, you -know; it is a Service issue.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me,” answered Mr. Alter, putting down -his bag on the deck, and selecting a visiting-card -from his case, “but I don’t think I have made a -mistake.”</p> - -<p>“Then I must have made a mistake,” Mr. -Baring remarked with sarcasm. This was a -persistent little fellow, he thought.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mr. Alter, “perhaps we have -both made mistakes. I should have told you -my full name and my business at once—in truth, -I intended to do so, but you didn’t give me much -chance. I haven’t come to sell. I should like to -pay a call, if you will allow me. There are friends -of mine in the Gunroom—Fane-Herbert and -Lynwood. I am Wingfield Alter. I write books, -you know. That’s the card you asked for.”</p> - -<p>It was as if some visitor, unknown by the name -of Bennett, had added, “Arnold Bennett; I write -books, you know.” Mr. Baring knew now only -too well. So this odd creature, with a bowler -hat and a hand-bag and a pointed beard, was -Wingfield Alter, the friend of many admirals, an -honoured guest in times past at combined -manœuvres. Mr. Baring had an unpleasant -vision of great men telling this tale to one another -in the corridors at Whitehall. “And Baring -took him for a commercial traveller. Baring -must be an ass!”</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry, Mr. Alter,” he said quickly, -still feeling that it was Mr. Alter’s fault—as perhaps -it was. “It was your little bag that deceived -me. However, it will make a good tale -for you to tell.”</p> - -<p>“But I never tell tales against myself,” Mr. -Alter answered.</p> - -<p>At this moment, Reedham, who had disappeared -quickly and discreetly when Mr. Alter -handed his card to the officer of the watch, and -who had been engaged meanwhile in awakening -a somnolent Gunroom, and urging its occupants -to “clear up some of the mess and stow away the -<i>Winning Post</i>” before the arrival of a literary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -Order of Merit—Reedham returned panting to the -quarter-deck, and gazed over the side while he -attempted to regain his breath and to look as if -he had never been absent. His face was still pink -as a result of his exertion when he was ordered, -as he had known he would be, to escort Mr. Alter -to the Gunroom.</p> - -<p>But they had not gone far together when Mr. -Baring called him back.</p> - -<p>“Reedham!... One moment. Excuse me, -Mr. Alter.... Look here Reedham,” Mr. Baring -continued, while Mr. Alter waited out of earshot -in the starboard tunnel, “have you warned the -snotties down below?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Gunroom tidy? Look decent?”</p> - -<p>“Pretty tidy, sir. Hadn’t much time, sir.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right. The best way with the -British Public is to let them see what’s good for -them, you know.... And, Reedham, just drop -a hint to some of the snotties to—er—moderate -their language a bit, and not to offer him too -many drinks. It might create a bad impression. -You can never tell with these writing chaps—even -the most respectable of them.”</p> - -<p>“I imagine,” said Mr. Alter slowly, as he and -Reedham went down into the Chest Flat, “that -the officer of the watch is also the officer in charge -of midshipmen?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Reedham answered, “he is. But what -made you think so?”</p> - -<p>The Gunroom had been transformed to greet -the Almighty Pen and the gold-laced visitors -who might be expected to accompany it. No -one was asleep. There were no glasses on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -table. Howdray was reading, in the second -volume of a Manual of Seamanship, the eighty-seventh -page—the page at which he had happened -to open it. Elstone was working industriously, -with a pen which he dipped from time to time -into an empty Indian ink bottle, at a log-sketch -which Dyce had completed for him a week ago.</p> - -<p>The seemliness of the place was the seemliness -of a schoolboy, who, being dressed for a midnight -escapade, jumps into bed boots and all as he -hears the master’s step near the dormitory door. -The newspapers and magazines were thrust -together into a pile, from which, as specimens of -the whole, the title-pieces of <i>Punch</i> and the -<i>Morning Post</i> had been made to protrude. The -<i>Winning Post</i>, which was not hidden even for the -Captain’s Sunday inspections, and <i>La Vie Parisienne</i> -and <i>Le Rire</i>, which were decently covered -on such occasions, were now not to be seen—unless -the inquisitive eye perceived one of them poking -out its thumbed edges from beneath the leather -cushions of the settee. And on the pile’s summit, -chosen to occupy so conspicuous a position by -Krame’s quick spirit, lay the <i>Hibbert Journal</i> that -Elstone had long ago received from a kinswoman -who “thought, my dear, you might care to pass -your long watches with some magazines,” and a -copy of the <i>Daily Chronicle</i>, which had been -hastily borrowed from Wickham, the messman, -in case, as Krame remarked, old Alter had Radical -tendencies.</p> - -<p>“This is Mr. Wingfield Alter,” said Reedham. -“He has come to see Lynwood and Fane-Herbert.”</p> - -<p>“How d’you do?” said the senior midshipman. -“My name is Krame. This is Elstone—Howdray—Driss.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -I’m afraid Fane-Herbert is ashore on -leave, and won’t be back till dinner. Lynwood -is in the Dockyard with the Engineer Commander. -They were expected back before Quarters. They -may be here at any moment now.... Will you -sit down and wait?”</p> - -<p>“Thanks.... There’s one thing, though.” -He turned to Reedham. “Perhaps you would -manage it for me? Would you ask the officer of -the watch if I may go ashore in the officers’ boat, -and if he says I may, will you pay off my boatman -with this?”</p> - -<p>Reedham took the money. After a moment’s -hesitation, seeing no opportunity to convey Mr. -Baring’s warning, and, indeed, feeling no inclination -to do so, he went out of the Gunroom, not -a little envious of those who might remain. It -is exciting to see the Name that for years has -stared at you from advertisements, and has -twinkled at you from the gilt-lettered backs of -books, come suddenly to life, take off its hat, put -down its bag, and seat itself in your chair. The -Name, by coming to life, assumes responsibility -for many illusions.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Alter, seated in the chair Krame had -offered him, and explaining that he had had tea -and would not have a whisky-and-soda just at -present, was not conscious of being an idol, good -or bad, or of being responsible, however indirectly, -for another’s self-respect. He wondered, -with a puckering of his eyes, whether he were -wiser to apologize for having disturbed his hosts, -or to pretend that, within his experience at any -rate, midshipmen had always sat, during the dog -watches, in Gunrooms tidy almost to primness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -reading Manuals of Seamanship. It would be -pleasant if they would all go to sleep again and -not worry about him. He was an old man, he -thought, forgetting to count his three-and-fifty -years, an old man and a restraining presence. -He had broken in upon an hour peculiarly their -own. He felt a nuisance, in fact, as age so often -feels in the presence of youth, and did not realize -that youth, in this instance, was tremendously -interested in him. And so, while he hesitated, -and while their tongues were momentarily paralyzed -by the thought of his great works and of -the thousands of words they contained—all wiser, -no doubt, than any they could speak—a little -wall of silence grew up, over which, so soon as he -perceived it, Mr. Alter leaped at a venture.</p> - -<p>“Wondering about that bag of mine?” he -demanded. “Others have wondered. Feel its -weight—books and papers. I brought them here -for Lynwood, who is a friend of mine, and they -shall revert to the Gunroom when he has done -with them. Do you read much?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing very solid, I’m afraid,” said Krame.</p> - -<p>“But these aren’t solid—at least, I hope not. -Some of them are my own. Now, I wonder if -you could find time to read one or two of them—the -naval ones, for instance?”</p> - -<p>“I think we have all read those time and again,” -said Krame.</p> - -<p>Mr. Alter smiled—pleased as he could never -now be pleased by a column in a newspaper. -“I’d dearly love to have your criticism, if ever -you care to go over any of them again. My -publisher’s address will always find me. Look, -here’s <i>The Lower Deck</i>. That was an early effort.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> - -<p>Howdray turned it over.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to write another book about -the Service, sir—the Service as it is now?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. It attracts me as the impossible -always attracts. I shall never get the -essence of it though. Of course, it is not necessary -as a general rule to live a life in order to -describe it. But still....”</p> - -<p>“The Service doesn’t like being described,” -said Krame.</p> - -<p>“The Service is like no community on earth. -Its members have two distinct natures, one when -they are inside the naval boundary, the other -when they are outside it; one when they are in -contact with Service people, the other when they -are in contact with Non-Service people. Very, -very seldom, for all my watchfulness, have I -gained any real insight into the essentials of the -Navy from words addressed to me by any officer -ashore or afloat.”</p> - -<p>“But,” Krame remarked, with a smile that -confirmed Mr. Alter’s declaration, “you have -lived in ships?”</p> - -<p>“As a visitor.”</p> - -<p>“Even as a visitor you must be able to see—well, -how we live, what work we do, and things -of that kind.”</p> - -<p>“But not how you think, and not how you -would act if there were no spectators from the -world outside. That’s what any writer has to -discover about the persons of his drama—not -what they do before the footlights, but what they -were thinking before the curtain went up. Otherwise -he can’t make them live.”</p> - -<p>All the world loves to hear itself discussed as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -mystery, and Mr. Alter’s mysteriousness produced -at least a part of the result for which he had -hoped. Howdray and Elstone were awake now; -Krame was delighted to find a whetstone on -which to sharpen his wits; and Driss—Mr. Alter -felt the glow of his personality for the first time, -saw him lean forward and listen intently, though, -in the presence of his seniors, he hesitated to -speak. Mr. Alter wanted him to speak, wanted -them all to come out of their shells; but he saw -that as yet they were not ready. He, by talking -himself, must give them material they might -afterwards care to pull to pieces.</p> - -<p>“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “how -Portsmouth and other naval ports differ from the -rest of the world?”</p> - -<p>“Lord Almighty! have we not!” Howdray -exclaimed in his great voice. “Pompey, Queensferry, -Gib., Sheerness—they are all the same, -curse them.”</p> - -<p>“And even Arosa Bay and Vigo?”</p> - -<p>“Just the same.”</p> - -<p>“Although they are south of the Bay and -Pompey north of it? Doesn’t that strike you as -strange?”</p> - -<p>“I believe,” said Driss, “that if you could drop -the Fleet into the middle of County Carlow it -would bring its own atmosphere with it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I mean,” Mr. Alter exclaimed, -pulling out a pipe. “Its own atmosphere—it has -a definite atmosphere of its own, enveloping it, -hiding it from outsiders. And the atmosphere -they breathe changes naval officers only so long -as they breathe it. Once outside it—once in the -train from Portsmouth to London, for instance—they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -are so much like the ordinary civilian that -he fails to recognize them as visitors from another -world. He notices something a little strange -about them—something he can’t define, something -that, in nine cases out of ten, he dismisses with -the catchword ‘breezy.’”</p> - -<p>“Breezy!” groaned Elstone. “Don’t we look -breezy?”</p> - -<p>“No, you don’t—not here and now, because -you are within the atmosphere, though my -presence disturbs it somewhat, I dare say. But -if you went ashore to-night, outside Portsmouth, -away from naval people—what then?”</p> - -<p>“Ask Krame. He is the poodle-faker.”</p> - -<p>“Poodle-faker?”</p> - -<p>“A payer of polite calls,” Howdray explained. -“A balancer of teacups. An opener of doors. -An eater of small morsels. A maker of small talk—in -short, a specialist in drawing-room duties.”</p> - -<p>“But poodle-faking is quite different,” said -Krame.</p> - -<p>“That’s the whole point,” cried Mr. Alter, -encouraged by this admission. “A man who -works in an office all the morning and goes into -polite society in the afternoon preserves the same -nature throughout the day. He may alter his -manners a bit, just as he puts on a clean shirt, -but he doesn’t change essentially. You people -do. And why? Isn’t it because in the Service -circle, within the Service atmosphere, you have -standards of life that are unrecognized elsewhere?”</p> - -<p>Krame smiled. “I suppose we do see things -differently from other people. But doesn’t that -apply to almost any profession?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No; take the Bar—as distinctive and self-contained -as any civilian profession, surely. You -hear men talk of the Legal Mind as if it were a -thing apart. What does it mean, after all? A -little added precision of thought, a yearning after -precedent, a reluctance to change—certainly nothing -necessarily foreign to unlegal minds. But the -naval officer’s attitude towards the essentials of -life—so long as he remains within the atmosphere—is -altogether different from the attitude of other -human beings. Isn’t that so? In a ship and in -a naval port, don’t you think of women, for -instance, in one way, and when you are at home, -don’t you think of them in a way quite different?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” said Krame. “Of course, -one meets here a different kind of woman. One -treats her differently. She doesn’t fill the same -part of the horizon as the women one meets at -home.”</p> - -<p>“You are side-tracking,” Mr. Alter objected. -He let the pages of a book run through his fingers. -“I am not comparing your treatment of harlots -with your treatment of women who are not harlots. -That contrast is obvious among men in every -path of life. Put it this way: A naval officer in -London; his mother, his sisters, all his womenfolk -in Scotland—out of the way; he spends an evening -with an old and intimate friend—a Cambridge -man, let us say. Then—for the contrast—the -same naval officer spends an evening in London -with a naval friend. He goes to the same places, -let’s imagine, sees the same people, speaks to the -same women as when with his Cambridge friend. -Now, isn’t it true that, though the outside circumstances -are the same in each case, the naval<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -officer’s outlook upon them changes completely? -In one instance, his companion is another naval -officer, and the Service atmosphere is undisturbed; -in the other, he is with a civilian, and the -atmosphere is entirely altered. Not only his -action or his speech concerning women, but his -inmost thought of them, his whole attitude towards -them, undergoes a change. And it’s the -same with Religion, with Charity, with Ambition—with -all the constituent parts of life itself.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose that’s true,” Krame answered. -“We go out of one world into another.”</p> - -<p>“And all the rules and customs of citizenship -change.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. You see, in ships we are in a strange -position—monks with no vows.”</p> - -<p>“The rigours of a severe Order and none of its -spiritual support?”</p> - -<p>Krame thought over this in silence. Then, -from behind him, Driss broke in suddenly: “Isn’t -that rather like prison? Don’t men deteriorate -in prison?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alter brushed aside a suggestion so dangerous, -though it revealed to him much that had -hitherto been obscure. “At any rate,” he said, -“it is not a natural condition, and is bound to -produce phenomena of which we outside have -no knowledge, no understanding. Men speak of -the Silent Service because they cannot understand -the language it speaks.... And there’s one -fact more amazing than any other in this connection—that -men who are living the Service life, -who ought to be able to tell the truth of it, when -they sit down to write, write—not the truth as -it appears to their naval minds—but the truth as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -it appears to their minds adapted to civilian -conditions. They feel they are talking to civilians. -The atmosphere is disturbed. They write what -the civilians expect to hear—‘breezy’ stories. -Their sailors are, figuratively speaking, for ever -hitching up their trousers by the back, in accordance -with the civilian music-hall tradition. Have -you ever seen a sailor hitch up his trousers by the -back? Usually what they do with regard to -these particular garments is to curse them because -they are so tight and uncomfortable. Why don’t -the naval writers say so?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Howdray, “I was shipmates with -one of the fellows that write these magazine yarns, -and he said——”</p> - -<p>“Yes? What <i>did</i> he say?”</p> - -<p>“I remember he had just finished one of them, -and chucked it across the table for me to read. -When I had read it, I said, ‘Yes, I think that -ought to go down well. But why are all your -Lieuts. R.N. of the kind that sings at breakfast -and plays the banjo in its bath? And why, when -your snotties have their leave stopped, are they -such infernally cheery devils that they regard it -as a joke? In fact,’ I said, ‘why do you lay on -the pretty colours so blazing thick?’ ‘My dear -old thing,’ he answered, ‘the people who read me -like the banjo-playing. You have just said yourself -that the tale ought to go down well. That’s -the main point, seeing it is going to pay my mess-bill -this month. Besides, the public has been -taught to picture indomitably cheery “middies” -with blue eyes and pink cheeks. It’s no good to -tell them about bleary eyes and safety-razors. It -doesn’t pay to foist one thing on to them when -they are expecting another.’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But why shouldn’t the public be asked to -admire what is really admirable in the Service? -Heaven knows, there’s enough of it,” Mr. Alter -said. “Your friend’s attitude, if I may say so, -was the attitude of the young journalist who -despises art, and he is a man even more intolerable -than the young artist who despises journalism. -Moreover, being confessedly a journalist, he appears -to have despised the public—which is -absurd. I’m afraid I shouldn’t like your friend.... -There’s fineness in the Service that would -amaze the world if it were known. Englishmen -are eager about the Service, it’s a part of their -national life, it’s their proudest tradition—incidentally, -they pay for it. They are entitled to -know about it. But they will never discover the -real good in it so long as you people blind them -with the magazine tradition. You must destroy -that first. You must stop putting sugar into the -wine if you want the vintage to be appreciated.”</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t blame us, sir,” said Krame, -laughing at Mr. Alter’s vehemence. “We don’t -write stories; that’s your job.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but I live outside the atmosphere. I -am no good. But, to be sure, as you say, you -don’t write stories, and here am I attacking my -hosts. It reminds me of how——”</p> - -<p>And the conversation drifted into stories of -East and West, of land and sea, Mr. Alter being -carefully silent when any midshipman showed a -disposition to talk. Darkness fell, lights were -switched on, and near the time of gin and bitters -and the departure of the officers’ boat, John -returned. He explained that the Engineer Commander -had kept him in the Dockyard.</p> - -<p>“So I shan’t have a chance to talk to you,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -said Mr. Alter. “I must go to London to-night. -I have been staying with some Hampshire friends, -and thought I would look you up on my way -home.”</p> - -<p>They went out on to the after shelter-deck.</p> - -<p>“What do you think of the Gunroom, sir?” -John asked; “and of the people you met there?”</p> - -<p>“As for the Gunroom,” Mr. Alter replied, “I -have lived in worse quarters—but of my own free -will, which makes a difference. The <i>Hibbert</i> lends -it dignity and repose.... And I liked Krame -and the rest.”</p> - -<p>“I knew you would.”</p> - -<p>“Because I’m a civilian?”</p> - -<p>“For a variety of reasons. I like them myself, -oddly enough.... How are Hugh’s people?”</p> - -<p>“They are going East. I believe that’s fixed.”</p> - -<p>“And is——”</p> - -<p>Mr. Alter took no notice of the interruption. -“Margaret is going with her mother,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Oh—I see.... There’s your boat called -away. You will have to be going soon. Thanks -for coming, and thanks for the books. I wanted -them—very badly.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<span class="smaller">STRAIN AND RELIEF</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>In a ship there is neither bud nor fallen leaf. -There is no ploughing of furrows, no scattering of -seed. The winds are never sweet with the fragrance -of broken earth. Fingers of sunshine touch -no grass to vivid green when a shower is over and -the clouds have blown away. Rain does not -whisper among trees or press the dust of long, -white roads into little pits of darkness; it lashes -at grey steel, hangs in beads on the metal rims -of scuttles, envelops topmasts in an unsteady -mist. The seasons are marked by the Navigator’s -instruments and by variation in the colour of the -waves. On a fixed date white cap-covers are -taken out, on a fixed date they are put away -again; and thus does summer begin and end. -When snow falls the Watch for Exercise banishes -it with squeegees. Christmas Day comes when -the December wine bills are nearly exhausted. -Nothing flowers and goes to rest; nothing is ever -born again.</p> - -<p>Spring, when the calendar bids her come, comes -obediently, but to ships of war she brings few -gifts. Even that essence of her which makes -men ashore lift their heads and say that spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -is in the air, reaches ships changed by the tang -of salt, or often, in port, corrupted by the smell -of harbour scum. By no visible or tangible -promise of her future glory does she give to seamen -credit with which they may tide over the -lean, harsh months of the early year.</p> - -<p>Through January and part of February John -struggled hard and honestly to settle down, to -convert the inevitable into the desired. Long -years ago he himself had chosen to enter the -Navy, and now, though he wondered at the decision, -he knew he must abide by it. His mother’s -means, he felt sure, were too small to re-educate -him as he would need to be re-educated if he left -the Service. He must put away from him the -thought of change. He must make the best of -things as he found them. He must work, work -and forget, work at naval subjects, and awaken -somehow new ambitions, new enthusiasms, new -desires, which should stand between him and the -old. He would put no pen to paper save the pen -of a naval officer. He would banish poetry from -him as men banished a drug. Rosebery’s <i>Pitt</i>, -Morley’s <i>Gladstone</i> and <i>Walpole</i>, Lecky’s <i>Democracy -and Liberty</i>, all should go back to the -Chaplain’s cabin; for were not the lives and -dreams of statesmen a part of that old world -which was to be left behind? Keats, too, should -go; and Blake, and Milton’s prose, and Burke’s -speeches. One afternoon of resolution he piled -them together and carried them off. Still Mr. -Alter’s books remained, and these he lent, urging -the borrowers to keep them as long as they -wished. From his sea-chest he disinterred battered -notebooks on Mechanics and Heat and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -Steam. From the Gunroom shelf he dragged -down Sennett and Oram’s standard work on the -Marine Steam Engine. This was, indeed, to be a -grand burning of boats.</p> - -<p>But the boats would not burn; the memory of -the abandoned country would not perish; the new -enthusiasms, like a constitution hastily formulated, -never broke the bonds that their own -artificiality imposed upon them. The strength of -materials and their curves of elasticity; the names -and properties of lubricants; the hundred and one -“little dodges” by which the Engineer Commander -hoped to save a few pounds of coal—none -of these things interested John. He did his -utmost to interest himself in them. He even -reached a point at which he could say that he -liked engineering and believe that this was true. -Nor was it altogether untrue. Engine-room -watches were less troublous than those on deck. -The Commander was out of the way. But these -advantages were powerless to awaken in him the -saving enthusiasm he desired. The engineer -officers for the most part treated New Scheme -midshipmen with good-humoured tolerance, convinced -that, as they had not received the old-fashioned -training, they could not be made into -efficient engineers. “I don’t know what the -hell’s the good of those Upper Deck snotties -wasting their time down here,” they would say. -“As soon as they’re beginning to learn something -they are whisked away to their seamanship again.” -No one except the Engineer Commander himself—and -he was too busy to see much of them—took -any interest in the engineering midshipmen, and -their work resolved itself, partly through their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -own fault, into a wearisome keeping of watches, -a writing-up of notebooks, an uninspired observance -of rules. Sennett and Oram returned -whence they came.</p> - -<p>Then John made a second attempt to sever -himself from the past and to engross himself in -a naval future; but this, partly because it was -a compromise and partly for other reasons, failed -as the first had done. He turned to Voluntary -Subjects, to French and Naval History. He tried -to persuade himself that he was carrying out his -original intention to devote himself to Service -subjects. If French and Naval History were -subjects for a Service examination, surely they -were within the limits he had prescribed? That -they were also, by reason of the literary aspect -they presented, without those limits, John would -not allow himself to recognize. He shirked that -issue. He quieted his conscience by telling himself -that French and Naval History appeared in -the official syllabus. He would not admit, what -was indeed the truth, that he read Balzac, not -because the reading would help him to pass the -examinations for the rank of lieutenant, but -because Balzac was an artist. He concealed from -himself the fact that his love of Naval History -centred in the noun rather than in the adjective, -and he refused to acknowledge, even to himself, -that he cared more for the prose than for the -substance of his essay on the Dutch Wars, more -for the writing of it than for the examination -marks which were to be his ostensible reward.</p> - -<p>The result of this, as of all self-deception and -confusion of motives, was disaster. As it were -a stimulant, it strengthened John for a time, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -left him weaker than it had found him. Balzac, -Corbett, and Mahan temporarily filled the gap -which, by denying himself all but Service books, -he had created. Then the Home Fleet came -south to carry out combined manœuvres. The -<i>King Arthur</i> was much at sea. The pressure of -Engine-room watches became so great that French -and Naval History had to be abandoned. The -drug was taken away. The whole deception was -suddenly exposed. During the long hours in the -Engine-room John stared at the pounding piston-rods, -or at the greasy steel floor on which he was -standing, or at the iron bars of the gratings that -lay tier upon tier above his head. He listened to -the talk of stokers, and to the unending tales of -drink and harlots with which the artificer-engineers -tried to lessen the tedium of the watch. He liked -the stokers; he liked the artificer-engineers who -were, he knew, doing their utmost to be pleasant -and entertaining. But he grew very tired of steel -and oil, and drink and harlots. He revolted -against them, not in anger or contempt, or anything -like a spirit of righteousness, but because -they were unavoidable, because they were ever -at hand, because those sights and that conversation -were <i>all</i> that, for hours at a time, life had to offer -him. And in the intervals there were Gunroom -Evolutions and Krame.</p> - -<p>Of all the junior midshipmen Sentley alone had -settled down. He was not happy, but he looked -forward to the satisfaction promotion would bring -him. He lived by rules, and was tempted neither -by strong emotions nor by a strong imagination -to break them. They were too well suited to his -placid, dogged temperament. He would never be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -a great naval officer, but he had no desire to be -great. If very reasonable expectations were fulfilled -by his becoming a captain he would not be -disappointed by failure to fly his admiral’s flag. He -was by nature contented, hard-working, moderate -in his somewhat formal religion, moderate in his -vanity, moderate in all things. His life in the -Gunroom was unpleasant; but when he was -flogged, it was the pain that troubled him—not the -humiliation, and his resentment vanished with the -pain. In speaking, even in thinking of his -superiors in rank, he never used the expression -“ought not.” He seldom used it at all except -in a formally religious sense, and then his condemnation -ended when his conscience had been -stilled by a mild utterance of protest. It was -not in keeping with his policy, nor was it within -his power, to stand out in opposition to anything. -He drifted easily with the tide.</p> - -<p>Driss was very calm. It was impossible to -pierce his reserve or to tell what course his mind -had taken. Dyce was frittering away his soul, -now resisting, now yielding, now seeking the easy -consolations, now dragging himself away from -them, knowing that very soon he must return. -He laid no plans, and deliberately avoided looking -into the future. His duties were performed perfunctorily, -and to no one’s satisfaction, least of -all to his own. Sometimes a chance remark, a -flash of wit in his conversation, would display -the true worth of a mind that was fast becoming -dulled. He was a generous friend, a bitter but -ineffectual enemy, and an amusing companion. -If he had had money, and leisure, and independence -he would have ended his days at the head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -of a country-house dinner-table, passing port to -numerous and frequent guests.</p> - -<p>The senior midshipmen had absorbed Cunwell. -He did his best to please them. On Sunday -mornings he produced a polishing pad, which he -had bought ashore for this very purpose, and -offered to give Krame’s boots “just a rub over -before Divisions, as I am doing my own, you -know.” Then, when he had finished rubbing and -breathing from a broad mouth, he would look -round apprehensively to see what the junior -midshipmen had been thinking of him. As a -reward for these attentions Krame spared him a -little and patronized him much. Sometimes he -would say at dinner, “My old friend Cunwell will -have a glass of port with me?” and Cunwell, -glowing in the joys of privileged familiarity, -would shout back, “Thanks, old Krame, don’t -mind if I do.” Krame would keep his lip from -curling, but his eyes flickered his laughing contempt.</p> - -<p>Cunwell did not like Krame, who, he said, sneered -because he thought himself clever. As a model -he chose Howdray, whose doings were chronicled -and laughed over throughout the Fleet. But the -imitation was not successful. It was as a ragtime -played laboriously, for Howdray imparted -to his vice a certain glitter that Cunwell could -not reproduce. Cunwell, when he drank, became -immediately dull and sick. He had no pleasure -in risk, no spirit of adventure. His dealings with -women were usually ridiculous, so that the women -themselves sniggered at him behind his back. -Soiled collars and a dimness of eye were the -outward signs of the change in him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> - -<p>Manœuvres, contact with the Home Fleet, and -a rumour that the <i>King Arthur</i> might not return -to England to refit, depressed the spirits of the -whole ship’s company. The Commander was -impossible to please. The defaulters were numerous. -The relations between Wardroom and Gunroom, -never cordial, became more than usually -strained. The Chaplain preached a bitter sermon -on the virtue of contentment. The Captain, who -was a kindly man, regretfully sent more prisoners -to cells in a fortnight than he had condemned to -that punishment in the previous two months. -Gunroom Evolutions and floggings became more -frequent and severe. When the men went to -physical drill after Divisions, and were commanded, -in accordance with custom, to double -round the batteries and quarter-deck, they ran, -not eagerly and good-humouredly as when paying-off -time is near, but at a Service double such as -discipline demanded. And the speed and spirit -of this morning procession is generally a good -indication of the temper of a ship’s company. -The Commander wrote to his wife that the commission -was stale. The men needed general leave, -he said. And Tintern paused suddenly one night -in his playing of the <span class="lock">Alphabet—</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“<i>With a Glory Allelujah in the morning,</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>In the morning by the gaslight,</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>See</i>——”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>“I’m not going to play any more,” he wailed, -in imitation of a spoilt child.</p> - -<p>“Oh, come on, Tintern; there’s no one else to -play but you. You’ll stop the whole sing-song. -Why won’t you play?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why? Because the poor old Konk”—he -was referring to the monarch after whom the ship -was named—“because the poor old Konk is -bloody-minded, and so am I.”</p> - -<p>It was when affairs had reached this stage that, -to the junior midshipmen, relief came, sudden and -unexpected.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>One forenoon the Captain’s messenger came to -the Gunroom to say that the Captain wished to -see Mr. Sentley. After an absence of ten minutes, -Sentley returned. They read in his face that he -had good news. In his hand he carried a sheet -from a signal pad.</p> - -<p>“We are all to return to England immediately,” -he said. “We shall have about a fortnight or -three weeks of leave. Then we are to join the -<i>Colonsay</i> for passage to Colombo, where we are -to recommission the <i>Pathshire</i>, China Station.”</p> - -<p>“All of us?” said Howdray. “What do you -mean?”</p> - -<p>“We junior snotties.”</p> - -<p>“Not the others?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, damn! You lucky, lucky little devils!”</p> - -<p>That night the Mess dined the junior midshipmen. -As the Gunroom had been drawn together -once before by the hope of battle, so was it now -united by the prospect of parting. Wrongs were -forgiven, enmities forgotten. Soon they would -be saying of one another: “I was shipmates with -him <i>once</i>.” If an association is to end, let it end -sweetly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> - -<p>Speeches were made. Tintern said, “I’ve always -thought it odd that the Service should have -a special name for a ship that isn’t mouldy and at -cross-purposes. It sounds as if such ships were -rare. And so they are nowadays, west of Suez. -But the China Birds say that there are still Happy -Ships on the China Station. A Happy Ship is a -ship in which all the Messes get on with one -another—a ship in which, among other things, -there isn’t bad blood between Wardroom and -Gunroom. And I hope the young gentlemen will -get one. I ask you to drink to the health of the -<i>Pathshire</i>, and may she be a Happy Ship!”</p> - -<p>When the toast had been honoured and the -wine passed once more, the Mess shouted at -Krame for a speech. He rose slowly, and looked -round him.</p> - -<p>“As Tintern has been talking about a Happy -Ship in the future,” he said, “I suppose the -young gentlemen think it’s up to me to say something -about their somewhat lurid past. There’s -not much to be said—no excuses, or apologies, or -that kind of thing. But there is this: a Happy -Ship is a happy ship right through, and contrariwise. -Nothing that has happened here has happened -because of personal ill-will. It has happened -because—because—Lynwood, what was -that line I picked out of some stuff you were reading? -I remember now. It has happened because -we are ‘in the fell clutch of circumstance.’ I -hope that in the better land to which they are -going the young gentlemen will have more leave—not -a few hours at a time, pub-loafing at -Pompey or Gib., but real leave, clear away from -the ship, and long enough to give them a chance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -not to be bloody-minded. Long leave is what the -Service wants, gentlemen, says I, beatin’ the tub! -Long leave is what we wishes the young gen’lemen, -says us, liftin’ our glasses.”</p> - -<p>Krame sits down amid a roar of applause. -Presently Tintern goes to the piano and plays all -the familiar songs. To-morrow this sing-song -party will break up, never to reassemble again. -Every tune is made richer by wine and sentiment—the -<i>Alphabet</i>, <i>Napoleon</i>, <i>Farewell and Adieu</i>, -<i>Screw-Guns</i>.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“<i>If a man doesn’t work, why, we drills ’im and teaches ’im ’ow to behave;</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>If a beggar can’t march, why, we kills ’im an’ rattles ’im into ’is grave.</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>You’ve got to stand up to our business an’ spring without snatchin’ or fuss.</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>D’you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us. ’Tss! ’Tss!</i></div> - <div class="verse indent8"><i>For you all love the screw-guns....</i>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Thus Mr. Kipling to the tune of the <i>Eton -Boating Song</i>. And now a round of drinks, and -song again—a song whose immortal words are -unpublished, whose tunes are various, whose -name is the <i>Barrack-Gate</i>.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“<i>... Then the wily Gym. Instructor ...</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>Just outside the Barrack-Gate.</i>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>There follows a swift catalogue of the merits of -a certain Princess whose home is in a few manuscripts -of an Opera, rhymed wonderfully by the -hand of a master, and sung to music by Sullivan. -From this obscurity a swift return is made to -the simplicity of <i>The Wives</i>, in which it is told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -how the Parson’s wife, strangely clad, decorated -her hat with the midshipmen’s astronomical <span class="lock">observations—</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“<i>And in one corner of her hat</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>She carried the Yearly Sights.</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>She carried the Yearly Sights, my boys,</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>And every one was there;</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>And in the other corner</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>Was the Book of Common Prayer.</i>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The evening wears on. <i>Mandalay</i> is sung as -a tribute to the East. The room is heavy with -smoke. The yellow lamp-shades that swung to -and fro on those nights of Evolution seem to -be swinging now, though the ship does not roll. -The ship seems to roll though the sea is calm. -The past is receding. Voices are loud. The -rosy flush of wine takes all the sadness from -farewell....</p> - -<p>The Gunroom is being closed. The group that -was leaning over Tintern’s shoulder has scattered. -In the Chest Flat Ollenor’s voice is heard repeating -the last chorus, and at the piano Tintern, almost -alone now, is singing to himself a song that is not -a Gunroom song:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“<i>Home is the sailor, home from sea,</i></div> - <div class="verse"><i>And the hunter home from the hill.</i>”</div> -</div></div></div> - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">MARGARET</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>During their passage to England, John and Hugh -heard many golden legends of the East, but, apart -from these, they had a reason of their own for -looking eagerly towards the future. Mr. Alter -had said that Mrs. Fane-Herbert and Margaret -were going to China. This news, which, while he -himself expected to remain west of the Straits, -had promised Hugh nothing but that he would -spend in strangers’ houses what little leave he -might obtain, now made his good fortune seem -more fortunate. It meant that his own people -would be often accessible to him. And into -John’s imaginings of the East Margaret persistently -entered. Though his acquaintance with -her was so short, he never thought of her as of a -stranger. The very brevity of their contact made -vivid his memory of her. Her personality appeared -to him as a thing apart, strangely complete, -and significant on account of its completeness -and its independence of the rest of his life. -The impression she had made upon him was an -impression of contrast. His own existence was -set about with a wall of steel. A door had opened -for a moment, and he had seen her. When the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -door was closed, still he saw her, an occupant of -another world, the citizenship of which was denied -him. For all the interdicts he had laid upon himself -in his attempt to settle down where Fate had -cast him, he made from time to time dream-sorties -into that other world, and on these occasions -of secret adventure it was Margaret whom -he encountered. But the country in which he -found her was strange to him. He was conscious -always of having overstepped his boundaries. -To stray, even in dreams, beyond his steel wall -was to expose himself to forces outside his experience, -and now life seemed indefinably dangerous -as it had never seemed before.</p> - -<p>It is this sense of danger, experienced by all -natures neither utterly animal nor merely trivial, -that gives to love both its dignity and its finest -colour. It is never more acute than in minds -that have been isolated or confined, for to these -the new world is new indeed. John was so much -a stranger to the perilous country that as yet he -did not call it by any name. In childhood his -shy reserve had withheld him from close friendship. -His mother had been an invalid—“too frail to be -hugged”—and it was not until circumstances -had placed her beyond his reach that her strength -had in some measure returned to her. His nurse, -unusually free from a mistress’s supervision, had -been too occupied with her own affairs to accept -the devotion which John would have given so -eagerly. He had no sister upon whom to expend -his affection. For lack of outlet, emotion had -accumulated within him until its force could no -longer be resisted.</p> - -<p>Margaret had seemed so inaccessible, by reason<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -of her own position and of the distances which -must always divide him from her, that John had -never regarded her as a prize he might hope to win. -The thought of her was as a clear bugle awakening -the finest legions of his mind—thoughts which -had slept long, and, being aroused, were masters -of the evil in him, masters of sorrow and loneliness -and pain, as faith is master of us all while faith -endures.</p> - -<p>And now, though the difficulty of her position -remained, the miles between them were to be -swept away. For on the China Station ships -remained long in one port, and leave was more -generously given than elsewhere. John listened -gladly to the tales that were told of Yokohama -and Tokio, of Hong Kong and Shanghai, but -repeated to himself, happy in the possession of -his secret, “She will be there, and there will be -no London to absorb her.” It was almost incredible -that the news which, when it was given, -had seemed disastrous should have become the -substance of his happiness.</p> - -<p>Then doubt arose. The first letters Margaret -wrote to Hugh on the subject had confirmed Mr. -Alter’s tale; both her father and mother had been -in favour of her going. Then her tone had become -less assured.</p> - -<p>“<i>I don’t know whether I shall go to China after -all</i>,” she wrote. “<i>Father is discovering difficulties—or, -rather, Mr. Ordith, who has been to China, -is discovering them for him; and now he talks of -taking mother with him, and leaving me in the -charge of some aunt—I don’t know which aunt.</i>”</p> - -<p>And in a later letter:</p> - -<p>“<i>Father seems to have decided now that I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -to stay in England. I am horribly disappointed. -It may be the only chance I shall ever have of seeing -the East—and the East is changing so fast. Mother -is still on my side, I think, though she doesn’t like -to say very much. It is so difficult for her and for -me to argue, because neither of us knows anything -about China, and Mr. Ordith, who has been staying -with us again, is full of facts and figures. I wonder -why he is so much against my going? He is -always pointing out difficulties. He has a mind -like a blue-book, all tabulated and accurate. You -can almost hear him saying, ‘Section Two, Sub-section -Four—so-and-so; Sub-section Five—so-and-so.’ -What can an ordinary human being do in -face of that? Of course, father is tremendously -impressed. He says it is so refreshing to meet a -young man with an orderly mind. There’s no -doubt that Mr. Ordith is clever, and very attractive—in -a way. I dare say he is right about the Chinese -horrors, but, even if he is, there’s no need to tell the -truth so often. But I still have hopes. Nothing is -definite yet. Perhaps if I light enough of father’s -cigarettes and warm his</i> Times <i>for him every morning, -he may relent. Or perhaps all the aunts will refuse -to have me, if I get my word in first.</i>”</p> - -<p>When these letters arrived Hugh paid little -attention to them. He had made up his mind -that his family was leaving England, and he -refused to be deluded by false hopes. But now, -when his attitude towards the matter had been -changed, he read over with real anxiety such of -Margaret’s letters as he had not destroyed.</p> - -<p>“This fellow Ordith,” he said to John, when -the extracts had been read aloud, “seems likely -to be an infernal nuisance. He is a Gunnery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -Lieut. R.N.—a star-turn at Whaley, an inventor -and that kind of thing. My father’s firm, Ibble -and Company, has a lot of Admiralty contracts. -I suppose that’s how they met.”</p> - -<p>“What has your sister said about it since?”</p> - -<p>“I tore up the letters before we left the <i>King -Arthur</i>. I kept these only by chance—mixed up -with some books. But, so far as I can remember, -she hasn’t said anything—certainly nothing definite. -And she hasn’t mentioned Ordith, I’m -sure. It’s odd, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think she has had a row with him?”</p> - -<p>“No; but—— Anyway, we shan’t know anything -until we get home to England.”</p> - -<p>Hugh laughed. “I believe you are just as -keen as I am that my—that my people should go -to China.”</p> - -<p>John answered quickly: “You see, I am counting -on your invitations to give me an excuse for -leave.”</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>After spending nearly a week at home, John -came up to London on the first Friday of his -leave. He was to stay with the Fane-Herberts, -who were giving a dance on the following day, -and before he returned to the country he and -Hugh were to go together to Mr. Reeve’s London -branch and order the clothes they would need -in China.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid it is no good,” Hugh told him. -“It seems to be definitely fixed that Margaret is -to remain in England.”</p> - -<p>But at dinner that night they were thrown once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -more into perplexity. Mr. Fane-Herbert was -away in the North, and was not expected home -until Saturday afternoon, when he would bring -Mr. Ordith with him.</p> - -<p>“I believe Mr. Ordith is a wonderful dancer,” -Mrs. Fane-Herbert said.</p> - -<p>“From all accounts,” Hugh replied, “he must -be wonderful at everything.”</p> - -<p>“My dear Hugh, you speak as if you disliked -him already, without ever having seen him.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t dislike him, but I can’t see what he -has to do with our affairs.”</p> - -<p>“Our affairs?”</p> - -<p>“Margaret’s going to China. It was all fixed -up before Ordith came on the scene.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Fane-Herbert smiled. This was a chance -better than she had hoped for. “Now,” she said, -“shall I show you how wrong you are? I had -a letter from father this afternoon, and, so far as -I can judge, for he is not at all definite, he has -been thinking it all over, and has come to the -conclusion——”</p> - -<p>“That I am to go after all, mother?” Margaret -interrupted. “Do say I am to go!”</p> - -<p>“Well, dear, I don’t want you to be disappointed -again, but I must say that father seems -to incline more towards taking you.... So you -see, Hugh, how little Mr. Ordith had to do with -the matter. It is very foolish to make rash -judgments.”</p> - -<p>“But why has father changed his mind?”</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t matter why,” said Margaret. “The -point is that he has changed it.”</p> - -<p>Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “It beats me, -I confess.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>His mother allowed Hugh’s suspicion to fade -into silence. To have attempted to remove it -would have been to emphasize it, and this she -wished to avoid. Her husband’s letter had given -her two pieces of information, the last of which -explained the first. “<i>I think</i>,” he had written, -“<i>that, after all, Margaret had better come with us -when we leave England. Edith might not wish to -be burdened with her. I know you would like to -have her with you, and that she herself is anxious -to come. There are many obstacles, but, if you -have really set your heart on taking her, none that -I am not prepared to overcome if I can. We will -talk it over when I reach home</i>.” Mrs. Fane-Herbert, -when she read this, was as astonished -as Hugh had been when he heard of it; but at the -end of the letter, separated from her husband’s -decision by more pages than he usually troubled -to write to her, was a brief announcement which -made all clear: “<i>Ordith has been appointed to -the</i> Pathshire <i>as an additional Gunnery Lieutenant. -Isn’t it a strange coincidence in connection with -Hugh?</i>” To Mrs. Fane-Herbert it was an illumination -uncomfortably brilliant.</p> - -<p>She established at once the connection between -her husband’s change of mind and Mr. Ordith’s -change of plan. But would Margaret establish -it? If possible, that must be prevented. Mrs. -Fane-Herbert was tempted to say nothing of the -contents of her letter, to leave her husband to -make the best of it on his return. But his best, -in this instance, would, she knew, be bad indeed. -He thought of Margaret as of a child without -perception. He would not trouble to deceive her.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Fane-Herbert realized that she herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -must give these two pieces of information to -Margaret in such a manner as might prevent their -being connected with each other. The responsibility -and the chance of failure made her nervous -and troubled. Dinner was to be an ordeal. She -wished that her husband was not so successful -a man—at any rate, that success had not blinded -him to so many things she would have liked him -to see and value. She wished that Mr. Ordith -had not so much ability and charm; that she -could bring herself to dislike him frankly, and so -to form a clear policy with regard to him. He -might make an admirable husband. She did not -think so. But what was there against him? -Nothing but her instinct and Mr. Alter’s saying -that the young man had a systematized soul. -Her husband wanted him in Ibble and Company. -She had seen, scribbled on a blotting-pad in the -writing that, years ago, had filled her love-letters, -the words “Ibble and Ordith—Ordith and Ibble,” -as if the amalgamation was already accomplished -and a dispute about the nomenclature had begun. -Mr. Ordith would leave the Service and succeed -his father, Sir George Ordith, as head of Ordith -and Co. The plan was cut and dried, as were all -Mr. Fane-Herbert’s plans. But she hated the -whole project. Even if the result were excellent, -she hated this involving of Margaret in the affairs -of Ibble and Co., for Ibble and Co. had already -robbed her husband of the qualities she had loved -best in him. She disliked it the more because her -husband had never dared speak openly of it, and -because <i>she</i> had never dared mention it to him. -She knew how he would answer. Was he trying -to force the girl? Absurd! He was trying to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -give a fair chance to a young man whom he liked—surely -a reasonable and proper course? Oh -yes, reasonable and proper! Mrs. Fane-Herbert -thought helplessly. But wrong, she felt—wrong -in motive and bad in effect. If it were not wrong, -why did it already compel her to fence with her -own children?</p> - -<p>Hugh had helped her at the beginning of dinner. -The first piece of information had been naturally -given, she thought. Now for the second, which -was the test. She led the conversation into new -channels, and talked much and well—just as Mr. -Fane-Herbert had written those intermediate -pages in his letter. But too long a delay would -draw attention to itself. Margaret would wonder -why she had put off speaking of Mr. Ordith. -When should she speak?</p> - -<p>She waited until dinner was ended. Then she -paused in the open doorway.</p> - -<p>“Oh, and Hugh, father said in his letter something -of Mr. Ordith’s being appointed as additional -Gunnery Lieutenant to the <i>Pathshire</i>. Isn’t -that an odd chance?”</p> - -<p>“Ordith, <i>too</i>, going to China?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Fane-Herbert made her way towards the -drawing-room. She knew Margaret was watching -her. Why, oh why, had Hugh said, “Ordith -<i>too</i>?” Or was it her imagination and not his -voice that had so laid the emphasis? She did -not look round to search Margaret’s face, though -her desire to do so was almost too strong for her. -In a moment Margaret would speak, and her tone, -even more clearly than her words, would indicate -how much she had guessed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> - -<p>But as they entered the drawing-room Margaret -said: “If I am to go East, mother, I shall want -dozens of new frocks, shan’t I?”</p> - -<p>And Mrs. Fane-Herbert was left without enlightenment.</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Mr. George Ordith, later a baronet, and head -of the great armament firm honoured by the -serious jealousy of Ibble and Co., had trained his -son Nicholas with extraordinary care and consistency. -He had been terrified lest Nick, who -was to inherit all that a life’s toil had accumulated, -should value it little and dissipate it rashly. -Therefore, almost as soon as Nick’s fingers were -able to close about the coin, a penny had been -thrust into his palm, and, when he had held it a little -while, been taken from him and dropped loudly -into a money-box bearing his name. Nick enjoyed -the tinkle, and crowed in accompaniment. -The process was repeated every Saturday morning, -until at last, because he was never allowed to -play with them, Nick came to have a respect for -pence. The money-box was cleared annually, its -contents supplemented by a sovereign, which was -George Ordith’s Christmas gift to his baby (for -it was left to womenfolk to present what were -described as “baubles and gewgaws”), and the -whole was added to Nick’s deposit in the Post -Office Savings Bank. By the time he was out -of dresses he was a capitalist. Only Mrs. Ordith’s -earnest entreaties saved her son from being taught -to read from the financial columns of the newspapers. -At school, Stocks and Shares were to -Nick an exciting reality, and, at the age of fifteen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -he withdrew from the Post Office all his money -except half a crown, gave it to his father in return -for a cheque drawn in favour of the parental -broker, and instructed this gentleman to purchase -on his behalf certain Meat Shares in the Argentine.</p> - -<p>From this it must not be deduced either that -George Ordith was a miser or that he wished his -son to become one. He said a thousand times -that money was not everything; that it could not -purchase happiness; that, though it was a blessing -to wise men, it was a curse to fools. And Nick -said, “Yes, father,” and asked, as other children -might ask for a coveted toy, when he might have -some of those coupons that were cut off with -scissors. George Ordith had acted upon a theory -that the sons of hard-working, careful men are -often wasters. He had wished to nip in the bud -any natural tendency in Nick to become a waster. -And he erred in this, that Nick had been so made -that waste would in any case have been repugnant -to him. If George had not provided a money-box, -Nick would have been impelled by instinct -to manufacture one out of the first empty tobacco-tin -whose lid he could pierce. If George had not -built up the firm of Ordith, Nick would probably -have established it.</p> - -<p>Thus had nature and training, instead of counteracting -each other’s effects, as Sir George Ordith -had intended, been allies in the production of the -young Gunnery Lieutenant in whom Mr. Fane-Herbert -found so much to admire. He had taken -firsts in every examination in which it had been -possible for him to take firsts; he had created a -reputation for himself at Whale Island; he had -played cricket and Rugby football for the Navy;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -he had smiled and danced himself into the favour -of innumerable hostesses; he had a nice taste in -wines, a beautiful touch in billiards, a safe seat on -any horse, and an inexhaustible supply of words, -which flowed like oil from his lips. He was tall, -dark, and technically handsome. Moreover, he -had a level head—a head so level that business -men, while they admired him, looked back sometimes -to the days of their own youth, and reflected -that, after all, young Ordith must be missing a -great deal. They would have liked an opportunity -to raise their eyebrows now and then, and -to say, “Ah well, boys will be boys!”</p> - -<p>But Nick never gave them a chance. He condescended -so far as to appear gallant and rash -in the presence of women who he thought would -like that kind of thing; but in the presence of -men from whom something might be expected he -gave no judgment which was not a considered -judgment, offered no opinion without quoting his -authority for the facts upon which it was based, -relapsed into thoughtful silence when he had no -opinion to offer, and added little by little to his -reputation for soundness.</p> - -<p>In a book to which he made frequent reference -he wrote down such details concerning his friends’ -habits and tastes as might aid him in his dealings -with them. A glance into this volume reveals -much of the writer.</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Fane-Herbert, Walter.</span>—<i>Proud of cellar. -Always offers to pay for things—don’t let him. -Likes to be taken aside from large company as if -conversation private and important. Sharp business -man—try no tricks. Wants me in Ibble’s—obviously -with view to amalgamation. Be dense about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -this. Probably fond of daughter when it comes to -the pinch. Personalty (authority, K.S.K.), over -700 thou. One son in addition to daughter. Pleased -with his feet—ask size of boots occasionally. Eton -best school in the world. Expectancy of life, 15 yrs.</i></p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Fane-Herbert, Mrs.</span>—<i>Avoid cynicism. Ask -her advice often. Points for flattery: upbringing -of children; fineness of bed and table linen; acquaintance -with Parnell—touch this carefully; Irish -descent, rather remote. Keep off subject of husband’s -success. Keep business in the background. -Money not mentioned—except in connection charitable -purposes. Acute woman. Guesses about Ibble -and Ordith, and about daughter. Private income -probably small. Ought to die well first.</i></p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Fane-Herbert, Margaret.</span>—<i>Exceptional, requiring -exceptional treatment. Flattery must be -restrained and veiled. Probable points for flattery: -shape of fingers; piano; knowledge of books; -power to see through pretences. Certain points for -flattery: imperviousness to it—and ability to keep -secret. Necessary to cultivate literary conversation. -(Literature Primers, Edited by J. H. Green, and -English Lit. by Stopford Brooke, Macmillan and -Co.; for contemporary lit. try Bookman—? something -more advanced.) Be careful not to split infinitives; -also use singular after none—e.g., ‘none -of them</i> is....’ <i>Introduce ideals into all talk of -the future. Might talk of improving the conditions -of Ordith’s workpeople, and thus establish</i> secret -<i>between her and me—but make quite sure bunkum -of that kind doesn’t spread and make things awkward -at Ordith’s. Probably make good hostess. -Not extravagant, but might develop philanthropic -tendencies. To me very attractive: keep this clear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -in mind, as it may be dangerous. Don’t touch her -too much; guard eyes. Go slow. Impulsiveness -would probably be effective, but I am not good at -this, so better act judiciously.</i>”</p> - -<p>Nick Ordith clearly perceived his own weakness. -He wished that Margaret, the girl, were less important -to him, and that he could regard her as -no more than a link with Ibble’s and a beneficiary -under her father’s will. This amalgamation -was to be a big affair, and he would have -preferred to approach it with a cool head—with -a head, that is, not inflamed by any passion that -disputed his customarily perfect control. But, -though you bind the Devil hand and foot, he will -lash you with his tail. All Nick’s care to restrict -every tendency in him that might interfere with -his material success could not prevent him from -losing command a little in Margaret’s presence, -and he knew that some day, at a moment when -he least expected it, that command might break -down altogether. He thrilled at her touch; he -thought of her at night when he ought to have -been thinking of fire-control instruments. And -he knew he stood in danger of revealing all this. -Women, a few women, had so twisted him before. -He had no confidence in his ability to handle -Margaret as if she were built of the cool ivory of -a chess-piece. She was young—ten years his -junior, and she was unspoiled. Youth and the -unspoiled had for him an attraction more powerful -than his will. There might come a time when -he would lose the game as a result of his reluctance -to sacrifice his Queen. Certainly she would exercise -an undue influence upon his strategy.</p> - -<p>He determined to dance with her that Saturday<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -night as often as he dared neglect more urgent -business, and at dinner primed himself for brilliance. -Mr. Hartfeld of the Foreign Office and -Mr. Street of the Admiralty were present, and -treated him with more deference than the ordinary -naval officer has a right to expect from Government -Departments. Mr. Fane-Herbert established -himself with his back to the smoking-room -fire when dinner was over, smiling at Street, -Hartfeld, and Ordith, and glaring at Hugh until -he suggested that he and John should go and -play billiards. At last the four great men were -left alone to discuss the prospects of the Empire -overseas.</p> - -<p>The detail of their conversation is not for the -ears of the less fortunate who hold no stock in -armament firms, but the spirit of it may be -revealed in its conclusion.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Mr. Fane-Herbert, “it is -understood that we shall act with the greatest -reserve. Ordith’s presence out there will appear -accidental—or at any rate, whatever they may -think, no one will dare to say that it is otherwise. -He will be my friend and personal adviser—in no -way personally interested.”</p> - -<p>“The Foreign Office has nothing to do with it,” -said Hartfeld.</p> - -<p>“Nor the Admiralty,” Street echoed.</p> - -<p>Street flicked the ash from his cigarette. “It -is of the utmost importance that we should be -committed to nothing.”</p> - -<p>“But we can rely upon your support?”</p> - -<p>Hartfeld nodded. “Speaking for myself alone; -I can’t answer for others.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t that a little nebulous?” Ordith asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We can do no more than promise to do our -utmost,” said Street, in the pained voice of one -whose offer of his life’s blood has been scorned.</p> - -<p>“We shall be grateful,” said Ordith.</p> - -<p>“Most grateful,” Mr. Fane-Herbert added -solemnly. He knew how foolish it was to ruffle -officials. “Another brandy, Street? A cigar?”</p> - -<p>“But, apart from the question of gratitude and -the gentlemanly preamble,” Ordith continued, -“let’s see exactly how we stand. As I see it——”</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow,” Hartfeld exclaimed, flourishing -a delicate hand, “why this passion for black -and white? Everything depends upon the fluctuations -of circumstance——”</p> - -<p>“Lord help us! Why not say of ‘Change’?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Fane-Herbert gave him a glance which -advised that, since these were not business men, -they should not be treated as such. They must -be allowed to talk if they wanted to. “You were -saying, Hartfeld—the fluctuations of circumstance?”</p> - -<p>“Upon the fluctuations of circumstance and the—er—signs -of the times. Definite commitments -in affairs of this kind are always dangerous, and -are only to be obtained at the price of elasticity.”</p> - -<p>“In other words,” said Street, “we want to -give you the freest possible hand.”</p> - -<p>Three of them nodded wisely. Ordith’s fingers -moved lightly on the arms of his chair. He had -not wanted these people brought into it. “They -can’t help,” he had said. But Mr. Fane-Herbert -had taken him by the shoulder; “No, they can’t -help—granted. But they can hinder. Look on -their talk as the price you pay for a retainer, -see?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then what it comes to,” Ordith said, “is -that you are concerned in these contracts that we -hope to obtain simply from the point of view of -the national interest, eh?” So far as he knew -the question was meaningless, but he felt that it -would please them.</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” they answered together.</p> - -<p>“And you afford facilities?—a diplomatic -phrase, surely?”</p> - -<p>“Every facility.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Fane-Herbert’s approving eye was upon -him. “Then success ought to be assured so long -as there are no competitors.” That was the -point.</p> - -<p>“Competitors?” said Hartfeld. “We can’t -answer for foreign competition.”</p> - -<p>“No; I was thinking of competition from home. -Ibble’s is not the only firm in the British Isles.”</p> - -<p>“By no means,” said Street gracefully.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I can answer for Ordith’s; we have -arranged that. There are others.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid we couldn’t possibly interfere with -legitimate commercial competition.”</p> - -<p>“No one would ask it of you. But your attitude -towards us will be at least benevolent?” -Ordith said.</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” Hartfeld answered.</p> - -<p>“Good.”</p> - -<p>“It will be a brilliant success!” Street exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Success,” said Ordith, “depends less upon -genius than upon an adequate appreciation of the -platitudes.”</p> - -<p>This faith, so authoritatively expressed by a -successful young man, was put to the test soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -after the dance had begun. He saw Margaret -dancing with John—her eyes shining with happiness -in a manner that might have caused another -lover a little uneasiness. But Ordith did not for -a moment feel insecure. He could see that John -had gained ground, that the first ramparts of -reserve had been overpassed; but he had no fear. -“Unlike poles attract,” he repeated, choosing his -platitude, and confident of his power to carry -attack upon that line to a successful issue. So, -before seeking out the important lady he had seen -among the crowd and had chosen for his immediate -favour, he stood gazing at Margaret’s neck and -shoulders and admiring her movement with the -eye of an anatomist.</p> - -<p>He did not know that John had advanced -farther than the first ramparts. In the morning, -when he and Hugh had gone together to buy their -China equipment, Margaret had come to offer -feminine advice on materials. She had watched -them turning over shirts, and hesitating, and -retracting decisions in the manner of men at the -counter. Women and their shopping? Oh, but -men were infinitely worse! They had so small -a field of choice, and yet they got lost in it. She -laughed at this and a thousand trifles, and laughter -is the truest ranging-arrow in love’s quiver. -London, too, with its bright sun and sky, and -the cool wind that stirred up the sweet scent of -her furs, had conspired to bring them together. -Hugh joined the conspiracy by accepting an invitation -to lunch with an old friend whom he met -in Mr. Reeve’s shop. John and Margaret came -home by way of Marble Arch and a diagonal cut -through the Park. The dying winter was old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -and weak—so weak that he could not gather up -and hide away in his dark box the coins of gold -scattered beneath the trees by the sunshine or -the strands woven among the grasses. And, as they -went, they talked of all the things on earth they -held most dear—their nurseries and old toys, -terra-cotta flower-pots, the summer sound of lawns -being mown, firelight in mirrors, books, the silky -touch of dogs’ ears—each as the centre of some -tale which seemed peculiar to their own autobiographies, -though, at that moment, it was being -remembered afresh, in one form or another, by -every young creature—and every old one, too, -who wasn’t too stupid to value such things—from -Kensington Palace to the western pavement -of Park Lane.</p> - -<p>John and Margaret, like all the other young -creatures, had no idea of this. They felt as if -they were telling each other secrets—which is the -best known of love’s tricks. In truth, they were -but beginning to discover the secrets of themselves, -and had not yet had time to become so -confused as the rest of us in life’s attempt to draw -a boundary between the soul and the body. Dust -to dust, ashes to ashes! There was no dust, -there were no ashes, their hearts argued; therefore -all—her lips and the colour the wind had whipped -into her cheeks, his frank eyes, and brown, fine-cut -hands—all must have something of the soul -in them. What reason had they to doubt? They -were not afraid, and fear goes hand in hand with -the Devil. Their happiness was of the clean kind -they would have liked to sing about to all the -world.</p> - -<p>So it happened that they danced together<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -that evening with all the memories of daylight -and keen air to lend magic to the flowers and the -sparkling lamps and the murmur of stringed -instruments.</p> - -<p>“I love the little pointed shadows under everybody’s -feet,” she said, “and the vague pools of -light in the polished floor. It’s better than fairies -on the village green.”</p> - -<p>“That’s not an absolute opinion,” he answered, -laughing. “Shouldn’t we be on the side of the -fairies if we were dancing on green grass now?”</p> - -<p>To him it mattered only that they were dancing -together, and her silence acquiesced in his -mood.</p> - -<p>“There’s any number of people,” he exclaimed, -“who are wishing the music would stop. It’s -strange to think of other people being tired and -bored.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps this isn’t the music they care for.”</p> - -<p>“The old people?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; probably they remember other tunes. -Shall I ask the orchestra to play something that -was heard all over London thirty—forty—fifty -years ago? Shall I?”</p> - -<p>They are for ever asking each other questions.</p> - -<p>“Do you think anyone would dance to it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. Would we dance to <i>this</i>—fifty -years on?”</p> - -<p>He brushed aside the unimaginable future. At -this moment she was his, her voice speaking close -to him, the curve of her cheek and forehead clear -beneath his eyes. He imagined suddenly that he -would remember this instant, that his future -would be full of it; and it took to itself already -some of the glamour of history.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh,” said she, “there’s Mr. Ordith watching -us!”</p> - -<p>The charm was lifted. He could not endure -that another should peer over his shoulder into -the history-book of fancy, or that a stranger’s eye -should witness the building of this magic temple -in which the moment was to be preserved against -the assaults of all time. Soon the music faded -into silence. A few feet slid on, and then stopped. -The room filled with human voices.</p> - -<p>“That’s the end,” she said softly, and he did -not find the remark unnecessary. They sat down -somewhere and talked little, each aware of anticlimax. -John was almost glad when Ordith, graceful -and self-confident, came up and took her away.</p> - -<p>Perhaps her own emotion was communicated to -Ordith; perhaps he, perceiving it in her, realizing—as -she did not—from what source it flowed, and -trying to take advantage of it, was himself entrapped. -He pursued a policy of what he described -to himself as “talking big”; he played -upon an imagination already excited.</p> - -<p>“I can’t bear to leave London,” he said. -“And you are actually eager to go! Life centres -here. The people in this room have their fingers -on the pulse of the world.”</p> - -<p>“The politicians?”</p> - -<p>He smiled over her shoulder. “Yes. I know -it is a middle-class fashion to despise them. I -can’t despise men with power and knowledge. -And not the politicians only. Everybody is here—the -artists who matter, the thinkers who are in -touch. And at this moment, a crisis in the history -of the world, I am to go away.”</p> - -<p>He made it sound a tragedy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> - -<p>He knew that to Twenty Years the present is -always the opportunity of mankind—and an unpromising -Twenty Years it would be if it thought -otherwise. He knew, too—for his shrewdness -went deeper than the surface—that Twenty Years -has an understanding of many truths that Disappointment, -not Philosophy, describes subsequently -as illusions. But, so far as his immediate -purpose was concerned, it mattered nothing -whether the ideas that dominated Margaret were -illusory or not. Only the fact of their domination -was of importance to him, for they were to be a -means to his own dominion. He spun a web of -dreams that he might entangle her in it. His -voice, which he could tune to the very ring of -sincerity, told her how the future was to be -glorious. There was to be battle against all the -powers of evil—a new political outlook, new -relations between state and state, and between -governors and governed. That was the mission -of their generation.</p> - -<p>“We must grip the essentials,” he said. “We -must permit no compromise. And, above all, we -mustn’t lose ourselves in mere talk—we must act -temperately, and according to a clearly-conceived -plan.... And women!” he exclaimed. “What -a tremendous chance! Your influence is growing -every day; soon it will be direct as well as indirect. -And then the best of you will not be -content to manipulate the party strings at dinner-tables. -You will be cutting them where they are -obstructive. You will come with free hands—no -stale tradition—no fear of precedent—no corruption -of ideals.”</p> - -<p>He felt proud when he had delivered himself of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -this. It would win him laurels, he thought, -among the forward young men, with their pamphlets -and loose collars, their carpet-slippers and -their political ikons. And Margaret was in a -mood to question little. Cynicism and doubt had -small influence over her that night. Was not -Mr. Ordith her father’s friend?—and, Heaven -knew! he was no vague idealist. And had not -Mr. Ordith a reputation for soundness and level-headedness -where such a reputation was most -difficult to win? She paused neither to doubt -nor to believe. It was enough that his enthusiasm -awakened in her a sensation of warmth and -brilliance, of assurance and power. And, though -she danced with him a second and a third time, -and though intervals elapsed between the dances, -the sensation endured, and grew in intensity, grew -until—so inflammatory are wine, ideals, and the -contact of dancing—Ordith, too, became aware of -its heat, and flamed amazingly, so that he -was cool-headed no more. The conflagration, he -found, gave him greater power over her—though -power of a new kind. He was too wise to speak -personal endearments to her, even the lightest, -but his voice assumed a lower, more intimate tone, -and vibrated now with a passion that was not -artificial. He spoke of the foolishness and selfishness -of other women, their blindness to ideals—how -he loved that word!—their fear of sacrifice, -their failure to understand the <i>real needs</i> of the -world. It was implied that she was wonderfully -different from them all. How many and far-reaching -were the victories within the scope of a -mind inspired by her motives! Somehow he was -to be her ally in these victories. “We,” he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -and “I,” but never “You,” thereby binding her -to him without emphasizing her submission to the -bond. The reality of triumph is in an opponent’s -ignorance of his own defeat.</p> - -<p>But control was slipping from Ordith. After a -brief struggle he let it go, and rejoiced in his -freedom. His eyes, looking down on her, lost -their breadth of vision, and saw none of her surroundings. -Her proximity obscured all else; his -touch on her overwhelmed every other sensation. -His muscles tightened his grip, but it seemed to -him only that her body was laying a heavier and -heavier weight upon his arm. He danced faster, -but was aware only of greater rapidity of movement -and breathing close to his heart.</p> - -<p>Slowly this extraordinary concentration of his -mind produced its effect upon her. First she -became conscious of having, in his view, lost -individuality, of having been relegated somehow -to the position of an instrument. Her will was -to revolt against that, but revolt was contrary to -her inclination. She found a certain pleasure in -the strength of the current that was bearing her -away, even while she feared it. She said something; -he did not answer. She repeated it; and -from his silence understood that his mind would -not receive her words. It was as if a wave, -sweeping over her head and robbing her voice of -its effect, had roused her to resistance. His arm -had grown firmer about her. Her feet were scarce -touching the ground. She wanted breath and -foothold. She became frightened, active, determined -to break free.</p> - -<p>“Why are you dancing so fast?” was all she -contrived to say.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<p>But he heard, and looked down to drink in her -powerlessness, to exult in his own power, to -strengthen his grip again. He could not talk. -His imagination was running on and on, dragging -him with it. His thoughts, which had no traceable -sequence, were presenting to him pictures of -such vividness that he screwed up his eyes as if -he might physically see them.</p> - -<p>“I am tired,” Margaret said, shrinking into the -conventional. “Shall we stop?” Then, a moment -later, with a flash of determination that -compelled his attention: “I want to stop.”</p> - -<p>He let her go suddenly—too suddenly. Her -eyes were raised questioningly for an instant, and, -as he met them, were abruptly turned away. He -took her out of the crowd. He wanted to get -beyond the range of the many eyes that he -imagined were turned upon him. She sat down -where he told her to sit.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” he said. “I told you just now that -I was sorry to leave England. I want to tell you -why. There’s so much to do here—so much -danger to be warded off. And this going away -is”—he paused feelingly—“is somehow shirking -the fight. My father and I don’t agree on all -points. I should like to see Ordith’s run differently—the -position of our labour improved. I -am on their side.... They know it.... -Further, the whole attitude of armament firms -must be changed. As matters stand their ambitions -are warlike; their influence on political -action is—well, you can understand that. And -my chance to change all this is unique. No other -young man has my opportunities. But I stand -alone, absolutely alone. I——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But why are you telling this to me?”</p> - -<p>“Because—oh, don’t you feel as I do? Don’t -you——”</p> - -<p>“But why are you telling it to me <i>now</i>?”</p> - -<p>He was seized by an impulse to put away even -this rattling imitation of reason, to make his -spring now. All the world was moving so swiftly -about him that he felt only force and sensation -could keep pace with it. It pleased him to see -that her eyes were frightened, and that, though -she wanted to go away, she could not move. -This was power; but he would not use it yet; he -must not use it for months to come. Now he -would go on saying something while he watched -her.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you understand why I am telling it to -you?”</p> - -<p>“You talk so fast,” she said, her hand travelling -to her forehead.</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll talk slower.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, under her breath; but he paid -no attention. His voice continued—to her ears -as inexplicit as music.</p> - -<p>“Between us we will lay great plans,” she -heard him say presently, and her protest against -being thus included was never uttered. “Out -in the East—the home of all philosophy—we shall -have time to think. Margaret, you will help me -to get all this clear in my mind?”</p> - -<p>All what? He didn’t know or care. It sufficed -that he had bound her to him by some tie, the -more difficult to break because it was so vague. -Moreover, his use of her name had been resisted -only by a quick intaking of breath.</p> - -<p>“You will help me?” he repeated. “You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -must—you must.” Then, too confident, he -stooped over her and reached with his hands for -hers. By his lightest touch the spell he had laid -upon her was broken. She started up, the blood -tingling in her. She knew that she had acquiesced -in something she had not considered, as if she -had spoken in her sleep. His ascendancy was -revealed as menacing—a cloud that overshadowed -her, and, while it held her attention, warned her -to take shelter.</p> - -<p>“I can hear the music again.”</p> - -<p>“But the next dance is ours.”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“You promised. Look—your name.” He -offered his programme, sure that she would not -examine it or remember the number of the dance.</p> - -<p>And she said without looking, “I can’t dance -now.”</p> - -<p>He answered as if he were stroking her. “Ah, -you are trembling. What is the matter? Have -I frightened you?”</p> - -<p>“Frightened?” The sound of her own laugh -restored her calmness. “What is there to be -frightened of? But see,” she went on, holding -out her programme, “I am sure you have made -a mistake. This dance is Mr. Lynwood’s.”</p> - -<p>John was coming up the stairs towards them. -“Then I will find you again a little later,” said -Ordith, and disappeared.</p> - -<p>“What has happened?” John asked, looking -into her face, which had now grown pale.</p> - -<p>“Happened? Nothing—oh, nothing. I was a -little tired, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>And, in truth, Margaret knew of no cause for -an effect so overwhelming. Looking back, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -wondered how so strong an emotion had taken -hold of her. Why had she been afraid? and -why now was she conscious of having escaped, -of having awakened—of having lost something, -too?</p> - -<p>“Let’s go and dance,” she said.</p> - -<p>“No, not now,” John answered, “not if you -are tired.” He led her away, and stopped opposite -two chairs. “There,” he said, “sit there for -a little while where it is cool. Don’t talk or -worry.”</p> - -<p>When she was seated he moved away a few -yards, wishing to give her the time she needed. -Gradually she realized that the cloud charged -with so much power over her was indeed gone. -The atmosphere seemed less stifling. Freedom of -thought and action was returning. Presently she -remembered John and was grateful because he -had taken her away from the place where she -had been with Ordith; and grateful, with warmth -of gratitude, because he had known how to be -silent. Her look summoned him.</p> - -<p>“You don’t know how good you have been,” -she said.</p> - -<p>“I hated to see you hurt, to-night of all nights.”</p> - -<p>“To-night?”</p> - -<p>“Because everything seemed so good. I was -looking forward to China and seeing you there. -To-night seemed a kind of celebration of the -future.”</p> - -<p>“But that remains,” she said, as if the recollection -of the fact surprised her. She could not -forget Ordith’s power, or, for the time, think of -any part of her existence as being altogether free -from his influence. Where was he now? Was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -he near her? Involuntarily her hand went out -to John’s sleeve.</p> - -<p>She tried to thank him for what he had done. -Her sense of relief, of safety after danger, made -his chance intervention seem the result of his -kindness of heart; and every word she spoke, -hesitating and tremulous, between tears and -laughter, was marvellous to him.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” he said, “what can I do? You -haven’t told me the facts. Do you trust me a -little?”</p> - -<p>“There are no facts.”</p> - -<p>“But he——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, leave him!” she exclaimed. “Let’s go -down to where all the people are. What time is -it?” she added suddenly, as if awaking from a -wild dream to the surer business of the day.</p> - -<p>He told her, but was certain she did not hear, -her thoughts having fled great distances by then. -As he followed her, he realized dimly with how -great a force he had to contend, but he did not -understand how indirectly this force could act. -He felt sure that Ordith must have been in some -manner definitely violent—have tried to kiss her, -he angrily imagined. Then her “Oh, leave him!” -echoed in his ears.</p> - -<p>“Margaret,” he said, “I haven’t been trying—to -find things out. I wanted to help if I could.”</p> - -<p>She turned to him with a little movement of -confidence which was a full reward. “I know. -Don’t think I am ungrateful. I shan’t ever forget. -Your coming made everything different—and -secure again. I would tell you about it if I -could—if there was anything to tell; I think -telling would help. But there’s nothing—nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -tangible, at least.” She shivered, as if something -cold and flat had touched her. “Only a feeling -of having been caught and of having broken free -again.”</p> - -<p>Together they went into the ball-room, where -faces, still smiling their response to some jest -spoken a moment earlier, seemed out of touch -with reality. This colour, this light on chin and -throat, this flash of jewels and gleaming of shirt-fronts, -was as a picture in oils that had hung -unnoticed while life pursued its course swiftly, -and to which, now there was breathing space, -attention had reluctantly returned.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">THE NET</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>On Sunday, John and Ordith were much with -Margaret, and even when she contrived to be -alone she found she could not exclude them from -her mind. To think of either was disquieting, and -she needed peace. She felt that John was watching -her. He knew how she needed help and was -eager to render it would she but indicate a means. -Her failure to indicate it was being interpreted -by him as a lack of trust for which he blamed -himself. He could not understand, his eyes said -continually, what he had done or left undone that -repelled her confidence. And that he should -attribute her silence to a fault in himself added -to her uneasiness. She could not speak her mind -to him; she could not ask him to help her with -a problem the terms of which were not yet clear -to herself. She felt that he was waiting for her -to speak, and reproaching himself with some dullness -or hardness that, as he imagined, was sealing -her lips. Several times she tried to speak—if only -to tell him that she was aware of his sympathy; -but words would not come.</p> - -<p>Moreover—and this itself was an element in her -difficulty—was not John weak with her own -weakness? Together they were set about by -forces stronger, infinitely stronger, than them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>selves. -There was comradeship in that, but not -help. It was as if they were two children side -by side in a darkness that contained a menace, -of which both were in different measures conscious, -but which neither was able to grapple or -even to define.</p> - -<p>For a time, while she was in church, her trouble -had been less. The air of security, of permanence, -of prosperity about the place, and the absence of -any kind of tumult within it had lulled and -comforted. “The peace of God which passeth all -understanding....” She had bowed her head -with the rest, mistaking the decorous silence for -peace indeed. But, as she rose from her knees, -her eyes encountered Ordith’s which seemed half-laughingly -to search and accuse her; and, as if -following a suggestion of his, she began to think -that the support she had received from the service -had been based, not upon faith, but upon the -extraordinary beauty of its prose. The hymns, -with their redundancies and bad rhymes, had -meant nothing to her, despite their devotion, and -to the modern prayers on contemporary subjects -she had given no heed. The balance and completeness -of the Litany, the Lessons’ direct beauty, -the Collects’ vigorous restraint—upon these her -attention had been concentrated. Though the -matter of the Benediction had remained unchanged, -it would have brought no comfort to -her if it had been expressed differently—by the -Archbishops, for example.</p> - -<p>“Hadn’t old man Cranmer a wonderful ear for -words?” Ordith said lightly, cutting Margaret to -the quick. She felt that he read her thoughts, -or—and this with a pang of fear that was reflected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -in the eyes she suddenly raised—that he had -imposed his thoughts upon her.</p> - -<p>“You don’t like my saying that?” he asked, -looking into her face. And even as she moved -her lips to reply, to express somehow the resentment -that was burning in her, his power asserted -itself and drove her back to say, scarcely of her -own will:</p> - -<p>“Yes; it’s quite true.”</p> - -<p>Like a pleasing, habitual vice, Ordith frightened -and controlled her. Her father had chosen him -as her husband, and her mother seemed to acquiesce -in the choice. She pictured herself saying -“No” to Ordith, and “No” to her father and -mother. She would be very calm, very determined, -and then all would be over, the battle -fought and won. Surely it would be easy to say -“No.” One word to be spoken, one definite -resolve to be kept—that was all. Nowadays -coercion was impossible; the time of starvation, -and imprisonment, and whips was long past. -What she had to do was to look Ordith in the -face, say “No,” and stand by her decision. It -sounded easy.</p> - -<p>And, on the other side, was the tradition of -obedience to her father, hard to break she knew, -for she had failed often to break it, but not unbreakable; -and there was one thing more. Of -this she thought, as men think of all things that -are too vast for their imagination’s canvas, in a -concrete, limited manner: so are we compelled to -picture God in the form of man. She thought of -it as Ibble’s works and yards as she had seen -them when she had gone with her mother to the -launching of ships—bare tracts of granite setts,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -buildings in common stock brick that had the -motley appearance of disease, sheds of corrugated -iron, cranes that groped above her head, railway-lines -that tripped her feet, cables coiled up like -gigantic snakes, flames from darkness, the mutter -of machinery and the creaking of belts, the glass -roofs through which the light came blurred and -thin. The foundries, where the molten metal -grumbled and spat and threw up scum on the -runner-cups, had been her childhood’s conception -of hell. The whole place filled her with terror. -She had seen the workmen, with their sullen, -yellow faces streaked with machine-oil, and eyes -dulled by labour into which imagination had never -entered. Her life had been overshadowed by -Ibble’s, and not her life only, but her father’s and -mother’s lives. Her parents had been omnipotent -in her nursery. What power was this, then, that -stood behind <i>them</i> and dominated <i>them</i>? She -learned to think of Ibble’s as a tyrant inexorable -because unapproachable; an immovable background -against which alone the movements of -life were visible, and in contrast to whose darkness -life’s colours shone out. As she grew older she -discovered that Ibble’s did not stand alone, but -was a unit in a complex system, a string in a -universal net. The nature and extent of the net -itself were not clear. These facts stood out: that -nearly all the world was in its meshes; that somehow -inclusion in it was profitable; that those -who thought to break it were fools and dreamers; -that at any rate, though it was delicate and -fragile so that the winds of fate blew it hither -and thither, it was impossible to break. That -was the first article in a traditional faith—im<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>possible -to break. Margaret had seen her own -mother fight to get out of it, and seen her fail. -This acquiescence in the matter of Ordith was the -seal upon her failure.</p> - -<p>This intangible, this invincible force, that -swayed all she knew, swayed Margaret also. -Though she denied it to herself, saying that she -was young and her life her own, she believed it -in her heart. All her experience contributed to -this belief—the house with the wonderful attics -and passages which she and her mother had -wanted to buy, but which her father had rejected -because its reception-rooms were not magnificent -enough to receive the guests of Ibble and Co.; -the sending of Hugh into the Navy because, since -his intellect seemed unlikely to qualify him for -inclusion in the firm, it would be as well to have -a representative among the customers of Ibble -and Co. Ibble’s was their God. Even her father, -who was said to have the controlling interest, -was himself controlled, working in sickness and -health, growing tired and hollow-eyed and nervous, -all for the sake of Ibble and Co. Once he had -been seriously ill.</p> - -<p>“I wish you would retire, Walter,” her mother -had said. “Surely we have money enough? -Haven’t we every material thing we want? -Couldn’t you come out of it now? Couldn’t we -go back to the old days before Ibble’s——”</p> - -<p>“Come out of it!” her father had answered. -“My dear, I can’t give in yet. Besides, I have -my duty to do by Ibble and Co.”</p> - -<p>They had thought Margaret too young to -understand, but she had understood something -of the tragedy, for already Ibble’s foundries were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -her Hell; and now she remembered it. And she -was to play it out with Nick Ordith. Some day -he would be, not Ordith the individual, but -Ordith’s, the firm and the tradition. Ibble and -Ordith, Ordith and Ibble.... She had read in -her mother’s mind concerning the amalgamation, -and knew what was planned but not spoken of. -Her marriage likewise was planned but not -spoken of.</p> - -<p>After all, she asked herself, making a little -kick within the mesh, what had her marriage to -do with Ibble’s? But what, too, had the attics -and passages in which she would have liked to -play had to do with Ibble’s? She had but to -say “No” to Ordith, she repeated—one word, one -resolve. Often, when her thoughts returned to -this point, she would laugh at herself as we laugh -when we know we have uttered an empty boast; -and sometimes while she laughed there were tears -in her eyes.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<span class="smaller">QUARTERED ON THE KINGDOM</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>After leave which extended longer than any of -them had hoped, the junior midshipmen, who had -parted at the <i>King Arthur’s</i> gangway, joined the -<i>Colonsay</i>. In the sense that in their new ship -there was none senior to them they were junior -midshipmen no longer. The Gunroom would still -have to be tidied by them, but, instead of Clearing-up -Stations at Krame’s command, there would -be organization based upon common consent. -When the atmosphere became foul at sea, they -would have to open and shut the scuttles if they -wanted fresh air, but this would not be Scuttle -Drill. Between them and an emancipation essential -to what happiness they might find in the -<i>Colonsay</i> and <i>Pathshire</i> there stood only one doubt. -Of the Sub-Lieutenant they knew nothing but that -his name was Hartington. He was not on board -when they joined, and all the questions concerning -him that they put to one another remained -unanswered.</p> - -<p>“Anyhow,” said Cunwell, “if he kicks up a -dust it will be easy enough for us—there are six -of us—to keep him steady.”</p> - -<p>It sounded easy; but the Service tradition was -against it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’s bluff,” John answered. “We might -be able to stave off obstacle races and Angostura -hunts if we were prepared to make a Gunroom -Revolution of it, but, as a matter of fact, we -shouldn’t try. You know we shouldn’t when it -came to the point. If Hartington wants to make -it Hell for us, he can, though he is alone. But if -he wants to live in love and charity with his -neighbours, we ought to have the best time of any -snotties in the Service.”</p> - -<p>Hartington came on board late that evening, -and, after an appearance in the Gunroom too -brief to give any indication of his character, disappeared -into his cabin. On his way thither he -had passed John and Hugh in the Chest Flat.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he realizes what an immense -difference he can make to us all,” John said. -“Think, a two years’ commission in China, with -no one in the Gunroom but ourselves and a Sub -we get on with! I don’t believe he could spoil it -all, if he knew.”</p> - -<p>“I dare say we shall shake along, anyway,” -Hugh answered. “But it would be good—even -if he were just neutral and didn’t go out of his -way to worry us.”</p> - -<p>The anxiety was universal. All the midshipmen -were discussing him in whose hands their future -lay. Then came Driss.</p> - -<p>“I think Hartington’s going to be all right,” -he said. “You know that, for some reason, they -have put my chest down outside his cabin—it -will have to be moved in the morning. Well, -Sentley was standing by my chest while I was -looking to see if I had some pyjamas there—I -came later than the rest of you, so my trunk and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -tin case are still on deck. I left them there, -thinking I had in my hand-bag all I should want -for to-night. And, while I was cursing because I -couldn’t find my pyjamas, Hartington put his -head out of his cabin. I had clean forgotten he -was inside, and I thought he was going to let me -have it for making a noise. But he just asked -what was the matter—quite civilly, you know.”</p> - -<p>Driss paused to allow the others to be sufficiently -impressed by the fact that the Sub in such -circumstances had been quite civil.</p> - -<p>“So I told him I should have to go up on deck -and get my trunk down. ‘What do you want?’ -he said. ‘Pyjamas? Come in here and choose -a pair of mine. Blue silk or white silk? They -are rather attractive, don’t you think?’”</p> - -<p>“He lent you some?”</p> - -<p>“So might dozens of Subs!” Cunwell exclaimed -scornfully.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Driss eagerly, “so they might; but -not in that way. I swear he treated me as—as, -an ordinary human being in a country house -might treat another ordinary human being who -was short of a pair of pyjamas. None of the -being-generous-to-junior-snotties touch. You -wouldn’t have thought there was such a thing as -seniority. I believe he must come from the -South of Ireland—though I’ve never heard the -name there,” he added solemnly.</p> - -<p>“That sounds promising,” Hugh said. “I -wonder.... Oh, wouldn’t it be great, Driss, if -Hartington were like that all through!”</p> - -<p>“I believe he will be,” Driss answered. “I’m -almost sure he will be. He didn’t even give me -the pyjamas and have done with it. We talked for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -quite a long time—about where we should put -his photographs, and pictures, and writing-desk—he -has an old writing-desk that he’s very keen on, -and an odd taste in pictures. And we talked -about other things as well, all off the ordinary -track, just as if there wasn’t any Service at all.”</p> - -<p>But even then they could not believe that -nothing aggressive lay beneath this apparently -pleasing exterior. Driss, who had seen and heard, -found it impossible to carry conviction in face of -the others’ deep-rooted scepticism. The next day -routine was irregular. Hartington went ashore -soon after breakfast and did not return until the -dog watches, when he took over the duties of the -officer who had been keeping the Day On with -John as his midshipman.</p> - -<p>“Have you been keeping watch all day?” -Hartington asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, on and off. I’ve been below a good -deal when there was nothing doing on deck.”</p> - -<p>“Tired?”</p> - -<p>“No, not very; I’d much rather keep Days On -than the regular four-hour watches.”</p> - -<p>“Is anyone coming up to take over from you?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you may as well go below. I’ll look -out up here. I’ll send down a side-boy if I want -you.”</p> - -<p>In the Gunroom John found everyone busy -appropriating lockers and bringing in their books -and papers from their chests.</p> - -<p>“There’s enough room for two lockers each, -and three for Hartington,” Dyce said. “Those -are your two, Lynwood, in the corner—the worst -billet of the lot.... No, we didn’t just push<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -you into them because you were away. We cut -round—someone cut for you—and you were -lurked.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind,” John said. “Two lockers -anywhere are luxury. I’ll get my books in. By -the way, Driss, I think you were right about -Hartington. He took over the watch just now; -asked if I was tired, and sent me down.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I was right,” Driss answered, -smiling. “Did you happen to discover where -he lives?”</p> - -<p>“No; we aren’t on a personal footing yet. I -called him ‘sir,’ being on watch.”</p> - -<p>They unpacked slowly, pausing often to sit on -the table and discuss the most suitable stowage -places for sextants and Inman’s Tables and Seamanship -Manuals. They had a feeling of spaciousness -and independence that was altogether delightful—so -glorious did it seem to dispose their -own dwelling-place in their own way, instead of -availing themselves of whatever odd corners were -left over by Krame and Howdray. On the table -was a pile of John’s possessions—books, instruments, -and innumerable manuscripts which, -though he had no hope of being able to shake -them into publishable form, he had not the heart -to destroy. There was a foolscap book with -marble covers into which he had copied such -poems as he had completed; there were penny -exercise-books in which novels had been sketched -and begun; there were bundles of papers tied -together with tape; and sheets of all colours and -sizes, some of them but half covered with writing, -upon which he had set down pieces of description, -scraps of narrative and dialogue, and sentences<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -from imaginary political speeches—fragmentary -records of fiery and ambitious dreams. How -little his best friends in that Gunroom knew of the -things that were written there! How they would -laugh if they read them, for many were evidence -of absurd imaginings! John turned them over. -Here was the peroration by which the <i>King -Arthur’s</i> able seaman, “’undredth class for conduck, -’undredth class for leave,” was to bring the -Albert Hall to its feet—“jes’ as if I ’ad ’em on -strings.” And here was John’s own speech to the -House of Commons on Home Rule; here his reply -to the Foreign Secretary’s pronouncement on the -imminence of war with Germany—and in the -corner of the manuscript he had written the great -sentence from John Bright’s speech on the Crimean -War. On the back of an old Torpedo Sketchbook -he found his notes on Lawrence’s <i>Principles -of International Law</i>—part of the equipment of a -Foreign Secretary’s critic, he remembered with a -smile, and among the notes was a passionately -eulogistic review of Mrs. Lynn Lynton’s <i>True -History of Joshua Davidson</i>. Some of his essays -had progressed no further than their motto—perhaps -the fire within him had dried up his pen, -perhaps a boat had been called away....</p> - -<p>“Midshipman o’ the Watch ’ere, sir?” said the -voice of an invisible side-boy.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Orficer o’ the Watch wants you on deck, sir.”</p> - -<p>“All right.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going down to have a cigarette,” Hartington -said when John reached him. “Let me know -if there’s a panic.”</p> - -<p>For an uneventful hour John walked up and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -down at the top of the gangway. A hand touched -his arm, and he turned to find Hugh beside him.</p> - -<p>“John, what do you think has happened?”</p> - -<p>“What? Something to do with Hartington?”</p> - -<p>“Hartington has been reading some of your -stuff.”</p> - -<p>“Lord Almighty! How did he get hold of it?”</p> - -<p>“Found it on the deck in the Gunroom. He -picked it up to see what it was. Then he asked -if it was private. Cunwell said No, you often let -people read it.”</p> - -<p>“Some of it,” said John, “and some people.”</p> - -<p>“I know. But we couldn’t do anything. -Hartington smiled, and said that, seeing it wasn’t -letters and was sculling about the deck of his -Gunroom, he thought he had a right. We couldn’t -do anything,” Hugh repeated. “But I thought -I’d better come and tell you.”</p> - -<p>John thought for a moment.</p> - -<p>“What was he reading?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know—verse, I think.”</p> - -<p>“In a marble-covered book?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he had that. He said it looked more -like a formal volume for the public service than -the odd bits of paper.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’d rather he read the volume than the -odd bits.... But isn’t it perfectly damnable—the -Sub’s getting hold of that right at the beginning! -What comments?—the usual remarks -about long hair?”</p> - -<p>“He hasn’t spoken a word.”</p> - -<p>“Oh well,” John said, “it can’t be helped now. -It was my own fault—leaving it on the table. -I suppose I shall hear about it from Hartington -for ever and ever, Amen. I wonder why it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -regarded as an almost criminal offence to try to -write verse?”</p> - -<p>Left alone, John tried to think out smooth -answers to the remarks the Sub would make when -he came on deck. So far as the Sub himself was -concerned, the damage was done, but it might -still be possible to prevent him from sharing his -intelligence with the Wardroom. Of course, the -news was certain to spread sooner or later. If -Hartington had not made his discovery now, he -would have made it in a week’s time, and if the -fact of there being a poet in the ship were not -laughed over in the Wardroom to-day it would -be laughed over to-morrow. But John knew it -was important to gain time. If the <i>Colonsay’s</i> -officers learned first to think of him as an ordinary -midshipman who discharged his duties with -reasonable efficiency, they would tolerate his -writing of poetry as a superficial eccentricity. -If, on the other hand, he was made known to -them primarily as a poet, it would be extraordinarily -difficult to rid himself of the stigma -and to win back his good name.</p> - -<p>When at last Hartington reappeared he spoke -only of Service matters. John wondered what -was coming. Perhaps he had not realized that -his midshipman of the watch was the author of -the verse he had been reading. Perhaps he -thought the whole affair so unimportant that he -would not trouble to refer to it. John clung to -this last possibility as long as he could, but from -time to time he noticed that Hartington regarded -him curiously, with eyes that seemed to laugh at -his apprehension and discomfiture.</p> - -<p>“Lynwood,” he said suddenly, “I shouldn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -leave my manuscript sculling about the deck, if -I were you.”</p> - -<p>“It was all on the table,” John answered -quickly. “I hadn’t time to put it away when -you sent for me. I’m sorry it made a litter. If -I may go down for a moment, I’ll get Fane-Herbert -to put it into my locker for me—I should -be back almost at once. Then everything will be -tidy——” He stopped helplessly.</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t objecting to the untidiness,” Hartington -said.</p> - -<p>The silence seemed unending. John had never -felt so uncomfortable, so utterly at a loss. He -knew the contemptuous thoughts that must be -passing through Hartington’s mind. He tried -haltingly to minimize his error.</p> - -<p>“I do it only—only in my spare time,” he said, -“just as other people do—do other things.” He -wanted to explain that he meant no harm by his -poetry, but he could find no words. The poetry -itself was the harm, he knew. There was no -explaining it away. “Do you mind very much?” -he asked nervously.</p> - -<p>Hartington smiled. “Mind?” he said. And -then he added, “Why should I mind? Is it -contrary to the King’s Regulations and Admiralty -Instructions to write verse?”</p> - -<p>“No, but——”</p> - -<p>“The point is, that most Subs would have -made you read it to the Mess after dinner, and -very probably beaten you at the end of it—if not -on that pretext, then on some other. So it wasn’t -very discreet of you to leave it about, do you -think?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And there must be a penalty,” said Hartington, -taking John by the arm. “I suppose I -must be a very bad Sub in some respects—at any -rate, not in accordance with pattern: you’ll find -that out, I expect. But there must be a penalty. -So after dinner, when we have turned over to the -Officer of the Night, you will report yourself in -my cabin with the manuscript you are going to -read to me, and two whiskies-and-sodas.... Do -you mind reading to me?”</p> - -<p>“Of course not,” said John, amazed. “I -should like to.”</p> - -<p>“And I want to hear more of it. So that’s -settled.”</p> - - - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>That evening John went to Hartington’s cabin -for the first of many times; but the first, because -it was so unexpected and so full of promise for -the future, was perhaps the most marvellous -evening of all. It did not end until long after -the Gunroom had been closed and the other midshipmen -were turned in. By then the ship had -become very silent and peaceful. As he climbed -into his hammock, after a glance at the curtain -behind which Hartington’s cabin-light was still -shining, John’s thoughts returned to the <i>King -Arthur</i>, and to the nights when he had turned in -bruised, bleeding, and covered with the filth of -the Gunroom deck. He remembered the hopelessness -of his outlook then, the sense he had had -of confinement worse than physical confinement, -of being surrounded and shut in by a wall which -he could never, never break. And now—he thrust -his face deep into his pillow—now he had found -at last one living soul in and of the profession<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -to which he was bound, in whose eyes the things -he cared for were not all dust and ashes.</p> - -<p>Upon youth the mass of men’s opinion lies -heavily. He who stands alone in faith doubts at -last; but two in faith are a sufficient army. And -John had begun to doubt. His central beliefs -were these: firstly, he believed that Art was a -fine thing, a major force in life, not merely a slave -to fan merchants or naval officers when they -came, hot and tired, from their business in the -City or on the bridge; secondly, he believed—to -use a term as unrestrictive as his own opinion -upon this matter—in political unselfishness. He -had found the phrase once when driven into a -corner during a trivial Gunroom argument about -a newspaper article. Do you believe this? do -you believe that? they had shouted at him; and -he, because he could not accept all the implications -of unqualified assent, and because he knew -they would not listen to qualifications, had -answered “No” and “No” and “No” again. -Are you a Unionist? Are you a Liberal? No. -Are you a <i>Socialist</i>? How could he tell them -when he had never read Marx or opened one -book written by a Russian. They hurled all the -old arguments at him. If they sent ashore a -naval landing-party, that would soon settle the -strikers. Surely a man like the Duke of Westminster, -with a real <i>stake in the country</i>, was -entitled to more votes than his butler, who had -no stake at all? If women were given votes, -soon they would sit in Parliament, soon they -would be running battleships. Once give way -and you always gave way. What was wanted -was a firm hand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it,” John said.</p> - -<p>“Then what on earth do you believe in?”</p> - -<p>The question was more searching than they -knew—extraordinarily difficult to answer. Yet -it had to be answered. Then John had struck -upon his phrase. “I believe,” he had said, “in -a certain political unselfishness at home and -abroad. At least, that’s the spirit of the thing. -I can’t explain it any better. It’s of no use to -ask me what I should do if I were Prime Minister. -I haven’t his experience. I don’t know how he -is placed. But I don’t believe in your firm hand -and landing-parties. All the blind destroyers have -worshipped them.... I can’t go any further -than that now—just political unselfishness.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all very well as talk, but what would -you <i>do</i>?” asked Cunwell, the man of action.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. I admit I don’t know. When -I’ve had a chance—if ever—to read History and -Economics, and—oh a dozen things I never shall -read, then perhaps I shall have a more definite -creed.”</p> - -<p>And as to the other part of his belief: they didn’t -laugh at Shakespeare—he had been a school -subject, and was a tradition. They didn’t laugh -at him any more than at the crests on their family -note-paper. But, they asked, where would Shakespeare -have been without Drake and Howard of -Effingham? It was a question of values. To -them, Art was the camp-follower of Action; to -John it was Action’s equal and honourable ally. -They thought of books as ministers to the tired -warrior in his leisure hours, worthy only if they -soothed him. And they liked poetry whose -rhythm they could mark with their feet.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<p>The effect of unanimous opposition had been to -make John doubt himself. People so far divided -by circumstance and experience as Cunwell and -Mr. Fane-Herbert agreed on these points at least—that -political unselfishness was the talk of -ignorant agitators, and that Art was an handmaiden. -Were they right after all? They said: -“Wherever you look in the world to-day Physical -Force rules us. Can you reject universal Evidence? -Isn’t it just stubborn and foolish to -refuse to do homage to a Force which, if you don’t -bow your head, will cut it off? Isn’t it wiser to -support the side that has already won?” John -had begun to think that this victory must indeed -be final. All his friends acclaimed it; scarcely a -book he had read, except the New Testament, -seemed to challenge it. Many of the poets sang -it: not Blake—but Blake was accounted mad.</p> - -<p>And now, though they had spent the evening in -all the happiness of vigorous disagreement, John -had found in Hartington one who denied the -finality of this victory. He had been introduced, -moreover, to authors who denied it uncompromisingly. -Hitherto, such authors had been, -within his experience, few, and these few had -failed and were dead. They had seemed to have -no heirs. That night he discovered that their -flame was still guarded and honoured and fed. -He had turned over pages, written by living men, -that were lit with it. In France, in England, in -Germany there were eyes that saw by it. In -Russia the sky was red—perhaps with its light.</p> - -<p>So, after all, the whole world did not believe -that an Army of Occupation must be quartered -for ever on the Kingdom of God.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br /> - -<span class="smaller">EASTERN SEAS</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>It was not long after they sailed from England -that the midshipmen decided that many of their -dreams were coming true. The <i>Colonsay</i>, though -she was a poor ship to look at, passed the great -lowering battleships of the Home Fleet proudly, -almost with a little toss of her head. They might -frown contemptuously at her, but soon they would -be buried in the Northern mists, ploughing up and -down eternally, keeping station on the Flag, the -bondservants of the wireless at Whitehall; and -she would be away for a holiday. True, the -wireless could reach her too, but it would not take -the trouble. To Colombo and back she would be -her own mistress, bound to drop a curtesy only -now and then to other people’s admirals whom -she might meet at ports of call.</p> - -<p>And those who sailed in her might look further -than Colombo. There they would take over the -<i>Pathshire</i> from her homeward bound crew, and -depart towards the freedom of the East. A -small ship with its implied intimacy and informality; -long cruises independent of even the -ladylike China Squadron flagship; few fleet exercises; -coaling with shore-labour; new countries, -new faces, new interests—this was their prospect. -It changed them all, and put new life and hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -into them. For two years they were to be outside -the vice whose jaws were Gibraltar Straits and the -Shetland Isles. It was the release of their lives, -a visit of slum children to the open fields. From -the Home Fleet they came, and to the Home -Fleet they would return, and they were all determined -to make the best of the time that was to -intervene.</p> - -<p>“It’s extraordinary,” John wrote to his mother, -“the contrast between this ship and the <i>King -Arthur</i>. Ordith is odd to me—but nothing on -earth to complain of; and the other two-stripers -treat the Gunroom almost as equals off duty. -Even on duty they are always polite, except when -they let fly in moments of justifiable excitement, -and that does no harm. And often they yield -points of strict etiquette in a way that makes four -hours on the bridge pass like two. I don’t know -how long all this will last. I dare say that as the -end of good things draws near, the good things -themselves will deteriorate. But now everyone is -so pleased with life that all goes well. Hartington, -the Sub, I like immensely. You don’t know how -much happier I am. There’s always something -to which to look forward. I think the absence of -that was the trouble of the <i>King Arthur</i>, and the -trouble of all the unfortunates in home waters.”</p> - -<p>The <i>Colonsay</i> put in to Arosa Bay to drop -ratings who were taking passage to other ships, -and of these the ship’s company took farewell with -the air of schoolboys who, going out into the -playing-fields, leave comrades to do impositions -in class-rooms. At Gibraltar they did not tarry -long. Soon after the Rock had gone down over -the western horizon they were overtaken by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -storm, which continued with extraordinary violence -until they were within a few hours of -Valetta. To reach the bridge was a formidable -task. In the batteries, where the fo’c’sle gave -shelter against the head wind, progress was comparatively -easy, but, once over the break of the -fo’c’sle, the trouble began. There was a space of -several yards between the head of the battery -ladder and the foot of the ladder that led to the -bridge. Across this space had been stretched a -rope, by clinging to which it was possible to avoid -being whisked off the deck and blown, but for the -friendly intervention of a davit or a sighting-hood, -into the mountainous sea. John, heavy -with sea-boots, and with skirts of oilskins clinging -to his legs, held this rope and tried to advance, -but the combined strength of legs and arms could -not move him. While the boatswain’s-mate, -secure under the lee of the bridge ladder, smiled -at his attempts, John pulled and pulled but went -forward not an inch. Then, suddenly realizing -how ridiculous he must look, he burst out laughing, -and swiftly choked because he had opened his -mouth to the gale. And it was not until the -boatswain’s-mate—himself securely lashed to a -stanchion—came to his assistance, that John -could move at all.</p> - -<p>“Is this an official hurricane?” he said to Dyce, -whom he was relieving.</p> - -<p>“No, not yet. We are logging the wind as -eleven. A hurricane is twelve.” He turned over -the details of his watch. “Which battery did -you come up?”</p> - -<p>“Port.”</p> - -<p>“Is that the driest to go down?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> - -<p>John laughed. “There’s devilish little to -choose. I think the port’s the better.”</p> - -<p>Dyce ran his fingers over his face. “I’m sticky -all over with it,” he said. “I feel as if I should -crack if I grinned. It stings after a time. All the -same, it’s exciting on watch. You never know -when the foretopmast will go over the side.... -Well, d’you know everything you want to know? -Will you take over now? I’m going to the Gunroom -to fug.”</p> - -<p>“We’ve just had a green sea in there,” said -John, “so the fug is considerable.”</p> - -<p>The <i>Colonsay</i> entered Valetta white with salt. -Ashore there, after coaling, John met Reedham -and Ollenor, whose joy in having got so far East -was overshadowed by the thought that, when -their old shipmates had sailed for Port Said, they -themselves would go westward again. “I’d give -a year’s seniority to be coming out with you,” -said Reedham. “Come and have a drink.”</p> - -<p>An ankle twisted while playing grommet hockey -on the quarter-deck prevented John from going -ashore at Port Said, Suez, or Aden, and his knowledge -of these places extended no further than -the tales told by other midshipmen of the marvellous -things they saw there. Already they had -entered the atmosphere of the East. Colours had -grown brighter, near outlines more distinct. In -the Canal they went into half-whites, and as they -entered the Red Sea blue monkey-jackets were -discarded altogether, and for the first time they -wore white tunics as well as white trousers and -boots. The heat made the outboard wall of the -Gunroom too hot to lean against. The midshipmen -who were working in the Engine-room came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -up from the watches, not red with heat, but white -and trembling with exhaustion.</p> - -<p>“This ship,” said Hugh, “may have a thousand -advantages, but its engines are not among them. -The Tiffeys say they are the hottest they have -ever served with—and the Lord defend them from -hotter!”</p> - -<p>“What watches do you have to keep?” John -asked.</p> - -<p>“Now only one four-hour watch each day. It -doesn’t sound much. You try it. The indicator -diagrams are the worst business—one set to be -taken every watch. I suppose I’m slow, but I -can’t take a set—allowing for mishaps—in much -less than half an hour; and the temperature up -there, on the top of the cylinders, is anything -from 135° to 160°. It’s a real relief to get away -into the boiler-rooms for a spell. And the more -warm and sooty lime-juice you drink the faster -you sweat, so that’s no good. But, barring odd -jobs, we have to ourselves twenty hours out of -the twenty-four, which is a recompense for most -evils.”</p> - -<p>There were tales, too, of the stokers on duty on -the evaporators, of how they worked in a temperature -of 126°, and how they had fainted at their -posts within three-quarters of an hour.</p> - -<p>From Aden across the Indian Ocean the way -was calm and blue. The sea was an enormous, -flat, highly-polished sapphire, and its surface was -so still by day and so luminous by night that it -seemed hard like a jewel. Astern, the wake was -thin and regular, and visible almost to the horizon. -The ship, and all life in the ship, seemed to John -somehow theatrical. The brilliance of colour, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -flash of white uniforms in the sun, the absence of -most of those Service activities that ordinarily -distinguish a warship from a yacht, contributed to -this effect. Superficially this life corresponded -closely to that led by puppet naval officers on the -civilian stage. Here were sea and blue sky, white -ducks still new, the gleam of sun on gold-laced -shoulder-straps and gilded buttons. It was all -pleasant and unreal.</p> - -<p>“This,” said Hartington, “is very like a poster -advertising for naval recruits. It catches the eye -but doesn’t convince the mind.”</p> - -<p>“It gives one the idea of the stage, or of toys,” -John answered. “The ship goes through the -water like a toy boat that you pull by a string -across a bath—nothing to interrupt quite regular -bow-waves that go oiling on and on to the very -edge.”</p> - -<p>Hartington leaned across his bunk towards his -cabin scuttle. “Listen, now,” he said. “Down -there—by the water-line—not a muffled swish of -waves, but, clear and distinct, the touch of particles -of water on steel. Almost you can hear each -bubble split and scatter.... You seem, as you -go East, to be able to look at everything very -close, every detail like a minutely accurate -miniature—or, as you said, a toy that you can -pick up and hold under your eye. I remember, -when I was a small boy, I loved to pick up a toy -horse and cart, or an engine or a house—just for -the fun of feeling like a god. I was Destiny -brooding over the nursery! I could throw a -divine boot at my sister’s dolls’ tea-party—but I -didn’t, because of the crockery. But often, when -one of her dolls was ill, and the doctor had failed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -and the bottles were empty of physic, I used to -remove the roof of the house—my dramatic mode -of entry—and take the patient from her bed, and -cure her, and put her out in the garden. Nine -times out of ten my sister approved the miracle; -but now and then, when she had had ideas of her -own about that cure—probably a journey round -the world from the night-nursery to the school-room—she -used to weep because I had spoilt everything. -I remember her nurse asked me what I -meant by interfering, and I said solemnly that I -had meant well—which was quite true—but that -I had been ‘playing at God.’ I shall never forget -the effect of that remark.”</p> - -<p>“And here and now,” John said, “one has a -feeling of being in the doll’s house one’s self.”</p> - -<p>“And a horrible idea that someone is ‘playing -at God’ not very far off—Someone whose Hand -might come suddenly out of nothing and pick the -painted ship up out of the painted ocean and—and -drop it into the nursery fire. I used to send -tin soldiers to Hell that way.”</p> - -<p>John smiled. “Is that the ‘fatalism of the -East?’”</p> - -<p>“No: it’s a Cockney picking up an idea of -Time and Space and the other capital letters. -‘<i>O Time and Change they range and range From -sunshine round to thunder</i>.’... Have you -written more verse?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“What have you written?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. It’s too hot.”</p> - -<p>They sipped Irish whisky and lemon beneath -the electric fan whizzing and vibrating in its cage.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br /> - -<span class="smaller">AWAY FROM THE SHIP</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>At Colombo the exchange of crews between <i>Pathshire</i> -and <i>Colonsay</i> was effected as an evolution. -With the exception of a few hands left behind for -indispensable duties, both ships were simultaneously -emptied into their boats. As they met -and passed the men tried to cheer, but silence -was immediately restored. There would be time -for cheering, perhaps, when, with her new freight, -the <i>Colonsay</i> left for home.</p> - -<p>To John, who was too junior to have seen -anything of the traditional “spit and polish” in -the old Channel Fleet, the <i>Pathshire</i> was a revelation. -In China, where time was less precious -than in the North Sea, and where the menace of -Wilhelmshaven was more remote, Gunnery, Torpedo -Practice, and Fleet Exercises had not made -good their claim to undivided attention. The -<i>Pathshire</i> was full of bright work, which in home -waters would have been obscured by Service grey. -Her paint and enamel glistened in the sunlight so -that her after-turret was a mirror; her stanchions -were burnished like a knight’s armour; her dull -metal was overlaid with silver gilt; everywhere -were decorative turk’s-heads and whitened lanyards; -her upper deck was spotless as a yacht’s.</p> - -<p>“Think of Cleaning Stations in this packet!” -said Sentley. “It must have cost her Commander -and Number One about a third of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -pay to provide all the paint and enamel in excess -of the Service allowance.”</p> - -<p>The Gunroom, they discovered, was but half a -Gunroom, their quarters having been cut into -two parts by a temporary bulkhead. One part -was given over to the Warrant Officers, but, in -compensation for this, Hartington obtained permission -from the Commander to use as a smoking-room -the after main-deck casemate on the starboard -side. There had been no midshipmen in -the previous commission, so that all furniture -other than the scanty Service fittings had to be -bought with the Mess Fund. A few wicker armchairs, -a couple of cheap card-tables, and several -ash-trays—these things being regarded as essentials—were -obtained at Colombo, and all else -was left, at Hartington’s suggestion, until they -should reach the wider market of Hong Kong.</p> - -<p>Nearly a week was to pass before they sailed -again, and the midshipmen were given leave. -John and Hugh went together to Kandi. They -avoided the obvious hotel which other officers -were likely to visit, and chose a place that consisted -of three small bungalows, almost hidden -among the trees that covered the hill on the less -popular side of the lake. Here came men whose -experience of the “best hotels” in the East did -not tempt them to strain their finances—quiet -folk, who were chiefly remarkable, in John’s eyes, -for the matter-of-fact way in which they regarded -what to him was novel and amazing. And the -hotel itself, save when a breath of wind stirred -the branches that overhung it or the sound of -gong or bell came up from the lake below, was -deeply silent.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> - -<p>After dinner on the evening of their arrival, -sitting together in the verandah that ran the -whole length of the three bungalows, and watching -their cigarette smoke twist and disappear against -a sky of so heavy a purple that the stars seemed -to be embedded in it, they discussed their plans -for the morrow—discussed them happily and at -leisure, knowing that their time was their own, -and that any decision made to-night might be -freely reversed in the morning. As they were on -the point of leaving the <i>Pathshire</i> an English mail—the -first to reach them since they left home—had -been distributed, and each had brought his -share to Kandi unread. “Let’s keep them,” -John had suggested, “until after dinner to-night, -when we shall be alone and quiet, and clear away -from the ship.” And now they brought out their -letters from their pockets and began the reading -they had so long postponed. Soon there was little -sound but that of pages being turned. From far -down the verandah came the murmur of indistinguishable -voices, and from time to time the hiss -of a match or the sharp tinkle of a liqueur glass.</p> - -<p>Among John’s letters was one from Margaret, -which he did not open until all the others had -been returned to their envelopes. Then he read -it slowly. When he began he was content with -the moment. This evening’s beauty and quietness, -so wonderful a contrast to the nights he had -spent in the <i>King Arthur</i>, seemed a satisfaction -of all his desires. For two days he was independent -of routine—free to control his own movements, to -read, to sleep, to go in and out according to his -will. He and Hugh were filled with the spirit of -content that visits all men at the beginning of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -their holiday. There had seemed no need to look -further, to question motives or consequences. -The night was pleasant; this letter of Margaret’s -would add pleasure to the night.</p> - -<p>But, as he read, he began to remember many -things which the freedom of his new life from -persecution had caused him to forget. She spoke -of London, of political plots and rumours, of the -strength or weakness of new movements, of the -expansion of new ideas. New books, new expressions -of opinion; the words of men who had -been her father’s guests; fears of a strike at Ibble’s—her -letter was extraordinarily suggestive of -keenness and activity. Much had happened, more -was about to happen—and this in a London -many weeks away. What, Margaret asked, had -he been doing? What had he written? He -looked back over weeks of inactivity. He had -done nothing but talk to Hartington. Days had -slipped by—precious days. Since he left England -he had read little, had created nothing, had not -tried to create. The storm of the <i>King Arthur</i> -being over he had relapsed into lazy content. -Time had sped.</p> - -<p>To youth, consciousness of the passage of time -comes seldom, but coming, it brings with it pain -by which age is not affected—pain unsoftened by -any acceptance of the inevitable. Still the chance; -still the opportunity to make good; still the -feverish casting about for means! And middle-age -growing nearer—a vision of the insignificant -man going to and fro between his home and office, -of the two-and-a-half stripe lieutenant many, -many times passed over! John saw that he had -been wasting his life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then he saw, in a flash that left him blind, -that, unless its whole course were changed, he -would continue to waste his life. Waste—and at -the end old age, looking back upon years empty -of achievement. “If only I had my time again! -If I were but eighteen once more!” It was as -if this foreseen wish had been uttered and fulfilled. -He was eighteen now. The future was -still his.</p> - -<p>The letter fell with his hand on to his knees.</p> - -<p>“Finished?” Hugh asked. John looked up to -encounter his laughing eyes. “I have been -watching your face,” he went on. “It seems to -have been a disturbing letter.”</p> - -<p>“It was,” John answered. “It reminds me -how far we are out of the world and how infernally -slack I have been.”</p> - -<p>He held out the envelope that the writing -might be seen.</p> - -<p>“Margaret!” Hugh exclaimed. “What has -she been saying?”</p> - -<p>“She has made me think, thrown me back on -things I had forgotten. It was so good to be free -of the <i>King Arthur</i> that, during the whole passage -out, the world has seemed the best of all possible -worlds. It isn’t—or it won’t be long. Oh, Hugh, -it’s all very well—a happy ship, a good Wardroom, -a good Sub, and no Gunroom persecution; but -what does it all lead to? I want to do other -things—things I shall never be able to do—and -to meet other people.”</p> - -<p>Hugh, believing that John was thinking particularly -of Margaret, said: “At any rate, some -of the ‘other people’ will be out East before long.”</p> - -<p>“You dear old fool!” John exclaimed. “That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -isn’t what I meant.... No; it’s just restlessness, -I suppose. I feel that all the work we do -is so like a housemaid’s—to-day’s routine the -same as to-morrow’s. We never build or make -anything. For all our work we leave nothing -behind.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see your trouble,” Hugh said. “So -long as life is pleasant I don’t want to leave -anything behind.”</p> - -<p>“We are missing so much. We get out of touch. -In whatever progress there is we have no part.”</p> - -<p>“I know we are missing a great deal. Every -letter I get from outside makes me jealous of the -people at home. They can go about and see -things, and we are shut up day in and day out.”</p> - -<p>“How they would shout if they heard you say -that!” John broke in. “Mostly they imagine -that it is they who are shut in and we who go -about—as they say—seeing the world. It’s all -wrong. The world doesn’t consist in places but -in people. And the only boundaries are boundaries -of thought. Think of the people your -sister listens to, the books she reads, the opinions -that count—coming to her first hand. Men and -women from abroad—Germans, French, Americans—she -is beginning to be in touch with them -all. But the Service boundaries are desperately -close-drawn.”</p> - -<p>Hugh leaned back in his chair and yawned. -“I suppose we are all much the same,” he said. -“We all feel shut in—or shut out, rather—though -perhaps for reasons different from yours. -Sentley wants plants and birds—being a naturalist; -and there’s not a plant or a bird in H.M.’s ships. -Driss wants Ireland; Driss is almost sick for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -Ireland sometimes and he can’t go there. And -do you remember Tintern?—he was starved for -music. He said to me once—dead serious—that -if he could get music he would never get drunk. -He used to dream about going to Germany and -being educated—‘start life all over again with -the five-finger exercise,’ he used to say.... -And the strange thing is that officers of the Old -Navy didn’t feel like that. I suppose they were -made of harder stuff. Last leave I asked an old -retired Admiral about his snotty days, and he -said, ‘No, we didn’t hanker after shore life as -you young fellows do. Of course, we were keen -enough to get ashore when we could—better food -and beds—but I think we were all of us glad in -a way to get back to the ship.’”</p> - -<p>“But the Navy was smaller then, and more -independent of the outside world,” John said. “I -dare say your old Admiral felt an almost personal -affection for it. But you can’t have affection -for a vast machine that is itself only a unit in a -greater system of machinery; you can feel loyalty, -perhaps, but not affection. It’s like trying to fall -in love with a Board of Directors. The Service -is too big and impersonal to love. Moreover, it -isn’t a free agent. You know as well as anyone -what lies behind it.”</p> - -<p>“Ibble’s?”</p> - -<p>“And more.”</p> - -<p>“And Ordith’s?”</p> - -<p>“More than Ibble and Ordith’s, more even -than the whole armament ring. Behind the -armament firms are the mines, behind the mines -is shipping, behind shipping—oh, it goes on for -ever expanding and expanding. It goes out in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -every direction, and drags in every individual in -the world—shareholders, banks, the financial -houses at home, international finance—there it -is, fully expanded again. Your sister, viewing it -from her own angle, sums it up as a Net. We are -all shut up inside it, and everyone who thinks is -swimming round and round trying to find a way -out. Discontented devils—so we are! Every -novel that says anything is full of protest, and -every speech—public or private. The papers call -it Industrial Unrest, the Foreign Correspondents -European Unrest. The whole world’s affected as -it was not in your Admiral’s time.... And in -the Service we are shut up in a corner pocket of -the Net; we haven’t the chance even to swim -round and round.”</p> - -<p>“Margaret will never accept anything,” Hugh -commented. “Father is always telling her that -if only she would watch the world as it is instead -of thinking of the world as it might be she would -get on much better.”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t care much for a sister who sat -down placidly to watch the world as it is,” -John observed.</p> - -<p>“No—it wouldn’t be attractive. I don’t mind -so long as she doesn’t go to hopeless extremes,” -added her cautious brother. “But she won’t do any -good. The net is there, and the net will remain.”</p> - -<p>“Until it breaks,” John said.</p> - -<p>Two men and a woman with a shrivelled face -passed along the verandah into the hotel. One -of the men was chinking the coins in his pocket. -A dog rose sleepily from under the table by which -they had been sitting, stretched himself, sniffed -the warm air, and pattered after his master.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">THE CAPTAIN IN CONFIDENCE</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>On the afternoon of the first Sunday after the -<i>Pathshire</i> sailed from Colombo for Singapore, -Hartington was sitting alone in his cabin when -a double knock sounded at the door and the -curtains were drawn aside. A pale face, with -thin lips, watery, protuberant eyes, and a pitted -forehead fringed with straight, clipped hair, was -thrust into the cabin.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Aggett! Come in.”</p> - -<p>Aggett smiled, exposing the gaps in his teeth, -and entered awkwardly. He was an Engineer-Lieutenant -of the older, rougher school. Round -his neck, instead of a collar, he wore a white scarf -that was not clean. The creases in his fingers -and the thick cuticles which grew high on his -nails were stained with oil and dirt. But that -scarred forehead and those strange eyes which -had the extraordinary opaque appearance of great -age—almost as if they had done service once -before to some other being now dead—proclaimed -their owner’s intelligence. A flabby vicious little -man, but no fool, this Aggett appeared. And, -to one who cared to seek further, to contrast the -darting movements of his hands with the cum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>brousness -of his feet, or to remark how strong and -decided a voice proceeded from that poor body, -Aggett seemed more than intelligent. He possessed -force and wariness, a rare power to stake -all at need, combined with a distrust of his fellows, -which was valuable because it was discriminating. -He was a man whom it was impossible to imagine -as a child. No lasting affection of wife or mother -could be easily thought of as connected with him. -He could have no home, no ties. He passed, -surely, from ship to hotel, from hotel to ship, -making hundreds of acquaintances but not a -friend, despising and using all he met, never -introspective or lonely, sufficient unto himself.</p> - -<p>He threw over the cabin a quick glance of disapproval. -It irritated him that anyone should -take trouble to decorate his habitation; and he -was the more irritated in this instance because -Hartington’s taste, unlike that of many officers -who tried to make their cabins “tiddley,” could -not be easily scorned as effeminate. The few -photographs, in the simplest of wooden or silver -frames; the books, with their appearance of -dignity and quietness; the pictures—here a Medici -reproduction of a Dürer drawing, there a water-colour -landscape of the hills about Fiesole—were -such as no woman was likely to have chosen. -Aggett wanted to say what he said usually to -officers whose walls were not so bare as his own, -“This place is like a whore’s boudoir;” but his -sense of the appropriate overcame him, and he -said:</p> - -<p>“Well, Hartington-me-lad, sittin’ in your country -residence, eh? Let’s ring for the family -butler.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Which means you want a cocktail? Put -your head out and ask one of the snotties in the -casemate to send for Ah Foo.”</p> - -<p>Aggett did as he was bid, sat down on the edge -of a chair, and took a cigarette from a paper -packet concealed in his breast-pocket.</p> - -<p>“Ordith wants you to come in to supper -to-night in the Wardroom. Can do?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I shall have to leave you early, though. -I’ve got the Middle. I shall want some sleep -first.”</p> - -<p>“Right.... Ordith asked me to come with -the invite. He’s workin’—always workin’.”</p> - -<p>“Gunnery?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Fellows in the Wardroom don’t know -how much work he puts in. I know him better -than most. I <i>do</i> know. They think he’s slack -’cause he only takes a watch now and then. But -I give you my word”—he leaned forward and -smacked Hartington’s knee—“I give you my -word there’s not a man in this ship or any other -damned ship who does more work than Ordith.”</p> - -<p>“I believe it. And he has brains.”</p> - -<p>“Brains!” Aggett exclaimed. “I should jus’ -say he has. One o’ the smartest men alive. And -no slop or sentiment. On and on like a well-lubricated -engine. And an eye to the main chance—why, -I’ll tell you.” He hitched up his chair -closer to Hartington’s, and continued with slow -emphasis: “Ordith’s a man worth watchin’. -Head an’ shoulders above the Service truck. All -the powers have an eye on him. Ordith and -Co.? Why, you mark my words, Ordith’s goin’ -to control more ’n that some day.... Good -fellow, too. Think so?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I like him,” Hartington answered, “though -I don’t know him well. None of us knows him -well, so far as I can see. He keeps to himself.”</p> - -<p>“He keeps to himself where the blamed fools -are concerned. An’ he looks round slow, an’ -takes his pick o’ the best.”</p> - -<p>Hartington laughed. “So it’s a particular compliment -to be asked to supper?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Aggett slowly, “I wasn’t thinkin’ -o’ that. But I dare say you’re right. He’s not -a friend to be sniffed at.”</p> - -<p>Ah Foo, light-footed and blue-clad, came in -with cocktails.</p> - -<p>“Rum crowd of snotties in your Gunroom,” -Aggett said, when he had sipped his drink and -thrown a slice of lemon-peel into the wastepaper -basket. “They want shakin’, I think.”</p> - -<p>“Why? What have they done wrong?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing in particular; but they seem to -take life too easy to my way of thinkin’. Got a -nice, thick stick? A taste o’ that would do ’em -good.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you look after them in the Engine-room,” -Hartington said, “and I’ll see about the -Gunroom; then we shan’t quarrel.”</p> - -<p>Aggett emptied his glass and rose. “Don’t -think I’m tryin’ to poke my finger into your pie. -You can mollycoddle the young gents to your -heart’s content, for all I care. But you’ll find -it doesn’t pay in the long run. You mark my -words.”</p> - -<p>And he went out of the cabin, leaving Hartington -to wonder what lay behind this visit and this -invitation. He had noticed that Aggett was -much in Ordith’s company, and had marvelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -that one so uncouth should be so well received -in that quarter. What was now afoot? What -reason had Ordith to cultivate the acquaintance -of the Sub of the Gunroom? And why had -Aggett been sent—for it was plain that he had -been sent—to sing Ordith’s abilities and importance.</p> - -<p>When he left Hartington, Aggett went immediately -to Ordith’s cabin. He found Nick in -white trousers and a singlet, mopping his forehead -so that sweat should not run down on to the -drawings over which he was bending. At Aggett’s -entry Nick looked up, a pair of dividers held -between his fingers.</p> - -<p>“Well?” he said.</p> - -<p>“O.K. He’ll come.”</p> - -<p>“Get a drink?”</p> - -<p>“One cocktail.”</p> - -<p>“Seem well disposed?”</p> - -<p>“Fair to moderate. Likes you; doesn’t like -me. Thinks I’m a coarse brute.”</p> - -<p>Nick smiled. “Well, you’re not a fairy, Aggett. -He’s a delicately nurtured young man, you must -remember. Old county family, and God knows -what!”</p> - -<p>“I know about that,” Aggett answered. “I -don’t go much by the fruit that grows on the -family tree.”</p> - -<p>“That’s where you are at fault.”</p> - -<p>“Fault be damned. Then is that what you are -at—makin’ the most of the Hartington family -connection?”</p> - -<p>Nick laid down his dividers and turned to face -Aggett. “No,” he said. “That particular connection -doesn’t happen to be of any use to me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, what is it then? Look here, Ordith, -I’m in with you in all your pretty little schemes—or -am I wrong? No? Very good, then. I give -you expert engineering advice—and you won’t -find a better combination of theory and practice -than there is in me. I help you all I can. Probably -I get nothing out of it. I’m prepared to -risk that. I’ll chance your caring to remember -me when you are Ordith and Co. But I want -to know right now what you are up to. Why -are you bringing in this Sub? What the hell -use is he to be? Tell me straight.”</p> - -<p>“I will tell you straight, although, so far as -you are concerned, it’s a side issue. Haven’t you -observed that Hartington’s popular with the -snotties? Haven’t you seen young Lynwood go -into Hartington’s cabin evening after evening?”</p> - -<p>“I dare say. Well?”</p> - -<p>“Lynwood’s friend is Fane-Herbert. I foresee -that when old Fane-Herbert and his wife and -daughter come out East we shall see much of -Lynwood, Hartington, and, of course, the son -himself. Now Hartington may not appeal too -strongly to old Fane-Herbert, but unless I’m -much mistaken the women will take to him. He -talks well. He may be persuasive and have -influence. And I’d rather have him a friend -than—the other thing. That’s the long and -short of it.”</p> - -<p>Aggett shot out a glance of suspicion; then -covered it with a smile. He felt that even the -cautious Ordith was looking uncommonly far -ahead. Hartington to Fane-Herbert the snotty; -the snotty to the women; the women to Fane-Herbert -the father—it was a circuitous approach.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -He did not know that Ordith was now thinking, -not of contracts but of personalities, not of the -father but of the daughter. Aggett knew nothing -of Margaret. His partnership with Ordith was a -business partnership—loose and informal at that.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Anyhow, -I leave it to you.”</p> - -<p>Nick turned to his drawings when Aggett had -gone, but did not immediately begin to work. -Aggett—what a dirty little man he was! But -full of knowledge and energy which was useful now, -which might be even more useful some day. It -went against the grain that he should be even -remotely connected with Margaret. He didn’t -know; he should never know. And yet—those -searching eyes would see, that alert brain form -its conclusions. Probably Aggett would come -and make his oily jokes about love and women -and masculine weakness. They would be hard to -endure. Nick thought for a moment that he -would banish Aggett from his confidence, do -without him. He was a mean creature; why not -break with him? Then Aggett’s virtues rose up -in his defence. He was a wonderful fellow to -pick holes in an idea, to expose the impracticable -in a theory—a destructive critic of great ability. -And Nick knew how much he stood in need of -informed destructive criticism. At night he would -discover some improvement in breech mechanism, -or a perfected driving-band or a brilliant new -system of fire-control. When he rose in the -morning he would be blind with enthusiasm, -aware only of the excellence of his own idea. -But the thing would need to be threshed out. -Talk was the only method, so poor a critic was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -he of himself. And Aggett could talk admirably. -He could put his finger instantly on a weak spot.... -Yes, Aggett was indispensable. Sly jokes -and indecencies, those unpleasant teeth, that -grating laugh—they must be borne. Margaret or -no Margaret, Aggett was necessary.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a fool,” Nick said aloud. “Don’t -give way to your prejudices.”</p> - -<p>He dipped his head into cold water and dried -himself vigorously with a rough towel. Then he -picked up his dividers, and, commanding concentration -as others switch on an electric light, began -to work quickly.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>After supper, in a corner of the Wardroom -Casemate, Nick and Hartington sat drinking -whisky-and-soda. In front of them was a vacant -chair, from which Aggett, ten minutes earlier, -had been summoned to the Engineer’s Office. -Now he returned.</p> - -<p>“Just had a star-turn in Number Four stoke-hold,” -he remarked. “Stoker off his chump.”</p> - -<p>“Mad?” Nick said.</p> - -<p>“Fightin’ mad. Up with his shovel and -started layin’ about him. But they brought him -down all right—no damage, except to him. He’s -unconscious. They’ve got him in the Sick Bay, -but they can’t bring him round. All over with -him, I’m told. Only a question of hours now.”</p> - -<p>“That means a funeral,” said Nick gloomily. -“Burials at sea are depressing affairs.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t wonder he went mad. The heat’s -fierce, an’ four hours in every twelve isn’t a kid’s -job. Hope it don’t take the others the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -way. We’re short enough o’ stokers as it is, -without ’em dyin’ off.”</p> - -<p>“You can hardly blame them for dying, -Aggett,” the Commander put in from his distant -seat.</p> - -<p>“You stand rebuked,” Nick said.</p> - -<p>Aggett drained his glass. “The Commander -hasn’t got to run the boiler-rooms,” he observed. -“It would be different, wouldn’t it, sir, if the Chief -Boatswain’s-mate kicked the bucket?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing to jest about.”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed.”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” the Commander repeated, and, -picking up an illustrated paper, rattled his shirt-cuffs -as he turned its pages angrily.</p> - -<p>A man appeared at the Casemate door.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Hartington ’ere, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Captain wishes to speak to you, sir, in the -after-cabin.”</p> - -<p>Hartington rose. “Sorry, Ordith.”</p> - -<p>“All right, my dear fellow.”</p> - -<p>The Commander threw aside his paper. “Hold -on a minute Hartington.... You say this -stoker is going to die, Aggett?”</p> - -<p>“Probable.”</p> - -<p>“What’s his name?”</p> - -<p>“Hammond, Zachariah Peter, Stoker First -Class.”</p> - -<p>“Right. I’ll just go in and tell the Captain, -Hartington, before you begin your pow-wow. I -shan’t be a second. Come along with me.”</p> - -<p>They went aft together, and, while Hartington -waited, the Commander passed into the Captain’s -quarters, and presently reappeared.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<p>“All right, Hartington. He’s waiting for you.”</p> - -<p>Hartington entered. The Captain, a tall, grave -man, who, but for his beard and moustache, -might well have been taken for a judge, was -leaning back in an armchair, his feet thrown up -on to the fender that surrounded the empty -fireplace.</p> - -<p>“Ah, come in, Hartington, and sit down. You -will find cigarettes on the small table.”</p> - -<p>Hartington offered him the silver box.</p> - -<p>“Will you have one, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, no; I never smoke. You light up, -though. I want a few words with you.”</p> - -<p>An uncomfortable silence followed while Hartington -lighted his cigarette, took an ashtray from -the mantelpiece, and sat down.</p> - -<p>“Now,” the Captain said, “I want to talk to -you about the Gunroom. I don’t know what -your own views may be upon the treatment of -midshipmen. I hope you have views. I hope -you have thought the matter out. The Sub of a -Gunroom, you know, holds a position of responsibility.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what is your policy?”</p> - -<p>“Put shortly, sir, my idea is to make the Gunroom -tolerable.”</p> - -<p>“You think it likely to be intolerable?”</p> - -<p>Hartington paused before he answered. He -had no knowledge of the Captain’s own views on -this matter. Was he of opinion that midshipmen -should be shaken? Was this interview to be an -intimation that the <i>Pathshire’s</i> midshipmen were -not being shaken enough? It would be dangerous -to cross him. The Old School was strong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -wonderfully tenacious, intolerant of heresy. It -would be easy not to commit himself until the -Captain’s attitude was made plain.</p> - -<p>Then he saw the Captain’s eyes watching him, -but their expression conveyed nothing save enquiry -and interest. He decided to take the risk. -Many and many a time he had wanted to test his -views by laying them before a man with long -experience of the Service. He said:</p> - -<p>“A Gunroom can easily be an intolerable place, -sir.”</p> - -<p>“Still? I suppose the Service doesn’t change -very fast.”</p> - -<p>“There was a case before a Court of Enquiry -only a few months ago, sir. I have heard that -was pretty bad. The junior snotties in that ship -were in the same Term as ours, so I have heard -a good deal of it indirectly.”</p> - -<p>“But perhaps that was an isolated case.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so, sir. The Home and Atlantic -Fleets——”</p> - -<p>“Stop a minute.” The Captain took his feet -from the fender, and raised himself in his chair. -“That’s what I want to get at. I want to be -quite frank, and I expect frankness from you. I -know—of course I know—that this chasing of -midshipmen goes on. But it is very difficult for -one in my position—a Captain of a ship is more -isolated than, perhaps, many of you imagine—it’s -difficult to find out the exact extent of the -evil. How much of it is genuine? How much -exaggeration? And, more difficult still, what is -the cause of it? Young officers nowadays are -different from the old—differently educated. -Osborne and Dartmouth aren’t the mill that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -old <i>Britannia</i> was. They come to sea less prepared -for—for whatever harsh treatment they -may receive. You mentioned the Home and -Atlantic Fleets. I’m afraid I interrupted you, -but I think you were going to limit the system—to -a certain extent, at least—to those fleets. -Isn’t that so? Well—now, what’s the cause of -it all? What is there behind it? Is it the drive -at home, or is it something—something more -fundamental, something in the very veins and -arteries of the Service.”</p> - -<p>“You are better able to judge of that than I -am, sir.”</p> - -<p>The Captain leaned back. “I want your -opinion.”</p> - -<p>“I think it goes on for three reasons, sir. First, -it’s the Service tradition. There are hundreds of -officers who believe—honestly believe—that it is -necessary to chase snotties in order to bring them -to a right frame of mind, in order to produce -efficiency. Second—the reason you suggested, -sir—the pressure of work, the feeling one has of -living from day to day until—until something -happens to break the tension—that makes us not -quite ourselves. We never trouble about the -effect on the snotty. A long view is impossible—there -isn’t time. And so we do without thinking -what we should never do if we thought.”</p> - -<p>“And the third cause?”</p> - -<p>“It’s rather complicated, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind.”</p> - -<p>“And I’m afraid you may think it fantastic—not -quite a practical view to take.”</p> - -<p>“Let me have it, all the same. You seem to -have thought out this matter, Hartington?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; I have. It struck me as important—even -of first-rate importance. And the present -state of affairs is so bad that there’s bound to be -an end to it soon, one way or another. It’s better -that the change should come from inside the -Service than from outside.”</p> - -<p>“You think it’s as bad as that? But no one -outside knows anything about it.”</p> - -<p>“They will, sir. It is so bad that one day -someone will wake up to it. The Press may get -hold of it.”</p> - -<p>“We don’t want the Press in the Service.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir. That’s why I think this business -ought to be stopped from inside.”</p> - -<p>“There are regulations on flogging.... However, -what is your third cause? I think that is -the right way to tackle the problem—see the -causes, then root them out.”</p> - -<p>“The third cause, so far as I can see, sir, is that -the Service is so isolated and so specialized. Put -briefly, it’s a government without opposition, -with the usual result of tyranny. And in the -Service we have no contact with any interests but -our own—no books or pictures, no women, if you -see what I mean, sir.”</p> - -<p>“No women?”</p> - -<p>“Only the physical.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! you mean we lack the refining influence!” -The Captain smiled.</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t have put it that way, sir. I mean -that if men are left too long with men they are -liable to become beasts.” An illustration of his -point flashed across Hartington’s mind. “You -know what it is, sir, after dinner in England, -when the ladies are gone. It begins in talk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -almost at once. And, left together long enough, -men become cruel.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true.” The Captain ran his tongue -across his lips. “But you spoke of books and -pictures.”</p> - -<p>“And plays and music, sir, and walks in the -country, and games, and riding—but chiefly books -and pictures, plays and music. They are the -best products of civilization.”</p> - -<p>“And we live among the worst—guns, torpedoes? -Is that the idea? But you can have -books and pictures in the Service?”</p> - -<p>“You can have a few of your own, sir; but -that’s not the same thing as meeting them at -every turn, in every house. We are outside the -atmosphere of——” Hartington broke off suddenly. -This was a senior naval officer to whom -he was speaking. Almost he had forgotten that.</p> - -<p>“Go on,” the Captain said. “The atmosphere -of——”?</p> - -<p>“Outside the atmosphere of beauty,” Hartington -said reluctantly. One does not wisely speak -of the atmosphere of beauty to post-captains.</p> - -<p>But the Captain did not smile until he said: -“You put it strangely, but I think I understand -you. We are brutalized, in fact?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, I don’t think so. If we were brutalized -we should be brutes ashore and brutes consistently -on board. We are neither one nor the other. -It’s this—that one branch of us is starved, stunted, -so that it can’t grow, and consequently the other -branch develops abnormally.”</p> - -<p>“And I can see no cure for that. We have -our job to do. There is very little time for anything -else. Of course,” the Captain added, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -words coming slowly, “when you come to think -of it, our job itself is ethically indefensible.”</p> - -<p>They pondered that overwhelming statement in -silence, each momently unconscious of the other’s -presence. When at last Hartington met the -Captain’s eyes he saw in them a strange expression, -half guilty, half amused.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid that’s true. We have probably -struck bed-rock,” the Captain said, with a smile. -Then, suddenly serious, he added: “That goes -no further, Hartington.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>The Captain laughed—nervously, Hartington -thought. “And since we can’t abolish the Service, -Hartington, or the forces behind that make -it necessary, let us return to practical politics. -Taking your causes in reverse order: We can but -nibble at the third. You recommend that the -Gunroom should be made tolerable. That’s something. -A decent place to live in, so far as its -size permits—some of the amenities of life preserved—not -utterly a bear-garden. Further, I -propose to help, if I can, by having the snotties -to dine in here, and talking books, or games, or -travel, or the theory of cruiser screens—anything, -in short, but everyday shop and everyday women, -the Gunroom topics. A clean napkin, a smooth -shirt-front, and bright glass and silver have an -extraordinarily civilizing effect. Besides, to a -snotty’s mind, these quarters of mine seem -spacious, and room to move is room to think. -And your job consists in making your own personality -felt; stop them talking and thinking filth -eternally. But you are up against it, Hartington; -the China Station, the naval officer’s Mecca,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -because on the surface it seems slack and pleasant, -is a test—but more of that later on. Your second -cause—the pressure of work, the sense of war, -and a break-up of all our lives being so close that -the ‘long view’ is unattainable. Eat, drink, and -be merry, for to-morrow we die; be cruel, brutal, -at any rate, unheeding, for to-morrow—God -knows what may happen! That’s the attitude. -Frankly, I don’t know how to change it. Religion, -any kind of religion, any quick sense of worlds -outside our own and of time beyond our time, -might change it. But that’s hopeless in a Gunroom. -There can be no God where there’s no -privacy. Do you realize that there is no place -in this ship where midshipmen can pray? By -their chests, in a public passage, with marines -in hammocks blaspheming above their heads? -Or they could pray on their backs in their own -hammocks if they remembered. But they are -tired and sleepy, and they forget—so the fact -stands. I dare say they could do without formal -prayers. But no one can do without occasional -seclusion. They are for ever rubbing shoulders -with their own sordidness, until at last they come -to think they are all sordid, and care to be nothing -else. That’s the root of the snotty’s tragedy, -Hartington. I’m sure of it. He’s never alone—never, -from the moment he comes on board to the -moment he gets ashore. His mind hasn’t a chance -to expand—to stray out into the vague purposelessness -from which, if you can trace them back -far enough, all right purposes spring.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve given two of them—Lynwood and Fane-Herbert—leave -to use my cabin whenever I’m -not there. There isn’t room for more, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, there isn’t room for more,” the Captain -said. “I dare say some of the Wardroom would -do likewise if I dropped a hint, but, though it is -some gain, there’s no real seclusion in another -man’s cabin. That problem’s insoluble, Hartington, -while ships are built as they are, and so they -must be built if they are to be efficient fighting -units. It brings us back again to the essential -immorality of our calling, and—and to the <i>forces -behind</i> that make our calling inevitable. Doesn’t -it?”</p> - -<p>He broke off, smiling.</p> - -<p>“There’s the solution of leave, sir,” Hartington -said boldly.</p> - -<p>“I know,” the Captain answered. “I’ve -thought of that. And I agree: the snotties must -have all the leave we can manage to give them. -But there are two difficulties. First, officers often -stop snotties’ leave—it’s the recognized Service -punishment, and the alternative is flogging. -Second——You’ve never been on the China -Station before, Hartington?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I have; and I’m not sure that short leave is -much better than no leave at all. I can give -them four or five days now and then, but you -know what happens—Hong-Kong, Shanghai, they -are Hell. Japan’s better; but even there unless -by chance they go into the country, there’s -Yokohama and Number Nine, or Tokio and the -Yoshiwara. The East’s a bad atmosphere through -which to see life for the first time. Let loose from -the ship’s confinement into a strange land with -an unknown language—not even a comprehensible -theatre—what is there but bars and women?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -What’s needed is long leave among their own -people, their own women—sisters, mothers. In -the Home Fleet where distance makes that possible -the drive of work makes it impossible. What -do they get—an average of fourteen days a year, -or a bit more if they are lucky. And out here, -England, Home, and Beauty are thousands of -miles away.”</p> - -<p>The Captain stood up. “But, as for your first -cause,” he said, “as for the Service tradition -and the chasing of midshipmen to produce efficiency, -I can do something about that in my own -ship. Fortunately all our snotties are of the same -seniority, so that there can be no seniors trampling -on juniors ‘to get a bit of their own back.’ And -so far as you yourself are concerned—well, I know -your somewhat unusual views. But other Subs -may join us later on, or even the Wardroom may -demand that the snotties be shaken. And I want -you to understand that, no matter what may -come—even if you get orders from the Commander -himself, you are to stand out against -anything that follows the principle of ‘the young -gentlemen must be broken.’ The fact that these -things were done in Nelson’s day doesn’t weigh -with me. I will have none of it in my ship. Is -that understood?”</p> - -<p>“Quite, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I shall hold you personally responsible.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And, apart from any order of mine considered -as an order, I want your promise. You know as -well as I do that the order is one I can’t enforce -from day to day. The Service etiquette keeps -the Captain well aft. I can’t see what goes on.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m as strongly against the system as you are, -sir.”</p> - -<p>“That settles the matter, then, for one ship -among hundreds. Good-night.”</p> - -<p>“Good-night, sir.”</p> - -<p>Hartington walked towards the door. Because -a question in his mind remained unanswered he -hesitated visibly.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” the Captain asked. “Another -‘cause’ to baffle us?”</p> - -<p>“There was a question, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“You spoke—twice—of the forces behind the -Service. I was wondering, sir——”</p> - -<p>The Captain shook his head. “No, Hartington; -we haven’t time to try to unravel that mesh. -Besides, it savours of politics, which are not for -naval officers. I have said enough already this -evening—perhaps too much unless you are discreet. -Good-night, again.”</p> - -<p>“Good-night, sir.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">LOOKING BEYOND</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Those streets at Singapore where the harlots of -East and West sit at their doors and in their -verandahs, stretching out their whitened arms -towards the passers-by, were investigated and -discussed by the Gunroom. They are investigated -and discussed by most Europeans who pass -through Singapore, and they remain and will -remain. Cunwell thought them funny; Dyce was -curious, and desired information; Sentley, who -had entered them inadvertently, left them in -haste, fearful and embarrassed. John and Hugh, -who drove through them together in rickshaws, -were glad when they were clear of them.</p> - -<p>“My God!” John said, “isn’t it amazing how -beastliness spreads?”</p> - -<p>“The women?” Hugh asked.</p> - -<p>“No; at the moment I was thinking of Krame. -But the women, too, if you like.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, be damned to Krame! We are free of -him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, we are, but others are not.”</p> - -<p>“I’d forgotten them.”</p> - -<p>“One does forget.”</p> - -<p>Hugh looked at him. “Cheer up, John,” he -said, “the sight of the women has made you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -miserable. It’s no good being miserable about -them. There’s nothing to be done.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not miserable about them only. I’m -angry because they are helpless, and we are helpless. -I’m angry for all helpless things. They -would probably tell you that they would never -have come to this if they had had plenty of money. -Sweated labour would tell you that what it wants -is higher wages. And—though my reason tells -me it’s all a lie—I myself think that if only I -had more money I could do the work I want to -do and be happy. We all look to money for -help—that’s why we are helpless.”</p> - -<p>“Then it’s our own fault.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it starts higher than that. It’s older -than we are. The Golden Calf is the established -creed. Put it wider than just money; call it gain—any -material gain: temporal power, private land, -national territory, influence; and those nights we -had in the <i>King Arthur</i>, and what other snotties -are going through now, and the streets with their -harlots—they are just fragments of the result.... -I’m looking forward to seeing your sister again. -She is the only person I have met who, in her -heart of hearts, seems not to care for wealth.”</p> - -<p>“But she has always had everything she wants,” -Hugh said.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Later in April they made Hong-Kong, where -they joined the squadron. Being in time for the -Japanese summer cruise, they sailed a fortnight -later for Yokohama, whither the squadron had -preceded them. Throughout the voyage the <i>Pathshire</i> -was active in preparation for the time when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -she would be called upon to compete with other -ships in Fleet Evolutions; and General Quarters, -Fire and Collision Stations, and other exercises -were continually practised.</p> - -<p>The whole of May was spent out of China. In -Tokio a party from the fleet was officially received -and entertained. Each British officer was assigned -to a Japanese officer of corresponding rank who -remained close to him always, providing him with -food, drink, and information. The arrangements -were perfect, and mathematically precise. The -motor-cars were filled but not crowded. Much -was shown, but not too much. The programme, -of which every officer was given a copy typed in -English, was accurately followed. Not a moment -was lost. Dinner was taken between the acts at -the Imperial Theatre.</p> - -<p>Though, after the official reception, John went -often to Tokio, and found that the Japanese -citizen was peaceful enough, he could never shake -off his first impression of a nation essentially -military, encouraged by its recent victories over -Russia, ready for further wars should they come. -Far inland such an impression might have been -contradicted; but in Tokio, the centre of official -life, it was continually reinforced. It was remarkable -and terrible that the Japanese military -mind was not even choked, as were the minds of -Western nations, by official pomposity. It seemed -faultless. Salaries were small, offices unpretentious. -The nation was as an athlete stripped.</p> - -<p>“Just as well these fellows are our allies,” said -Aggett in the Wardroom.</p> - -<p>Nick Ordith had much leave in Japan; indeed, -from the day of the ship’s arrival to the day of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -her departure his messmates saw little of him, -save when he came on board for a few hours to -deposit one bag of papers and to carry off another. -Sometimes Aggett accompanied him; but Aggett, -not being supernumerary, and having ship’s -duties, could not take all the leave he desired. -Nick called at many important offices, and in all -of them was amicably received. It was to be -understood, of course, that he represented no -one; but, nevertheless, the Japanese were aware -of the existence of Ibble’s and of Ordith’s. In -those days, Mr. Fane-Herbert being as yet far -away, perhaps Nick allowed Ordith’s to eclipse -Ibble’s, telling himself that, the understanding -between the two firms being so cordial and complete, -he could do so with an easy conscience. -Further, he had prospects, sprung from his own -inventive mind, which were but indirectly connected -with either firm. He wanted experiments -made, but these must be unofficial. He had ideas -to sell, but, realizing the prior claims of his own -nation’s firms, he could not part with them unreservedly. -All his negotiations, which involved -so many conflicting interests, were complicated -and slow, but before the <i>Pathshire</i> put to sea he -felt that he had made preliminary progress, some -of which he would report to Mr. Fane-Herbert.</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Sailing by way of Nagasaki, the squadron reached -Wei-hai-wei on the first morning of June. The -Fane-Herberts, who had travelled overland, were -already established there, having taken a small -house and equipped it with Chinese servants.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -Mr. Fane-Herbert had urged his wife not to settle -down in a place so deserted. In the absence of the -squadron, he told her, there would be little company -but that of the somewhat distant regiment. -But she had made up her mind, and was not to -be dissuaded. The squadron would be at Wei-hai -during a part of the summer at least, and, if -rumour spoke truly, the <i>Pathshire</i> was to winter -there alone. Both she and Margaret wanted to be -near Hugh, and taking into consideration the probabilities -of the squadron’s ever uncertain movements, -they seemed likely to see more of him at -Wei-hai than elsewhere.... But he couldn’t -do his business at Wei-hai, Mr. Fane-Herbert -remonstrated; the boy was quite capable of looking -after himself.</p> - -<p>“You are quite free,” Mrs. Fane-Herbert had -said, “to move about independently of us. If -the <i>Pathshire</i> leaves Wei-hai for long we will -come anywhere you like, and return when the -<i>Pathshire</i> returns. We shall have enough time in -her absence to see Japan, and Hong-Kong, and -Shanghai, or any other places you feel we ought -to see. At present I want to see my son. Wild -horses shall not move me.”</p> - -<p>She had had enough of travelling. She liked -to be settled in a home, and did not intend to -trail about the seas at her husband’s heels.</p> - -<p>Nick invited himself to dine, and John and -Hugh, who would not ask for late leave that night, -went ashore in the afternoon.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Alter is always talking of you,” Margaret -told him when, after tea, he had her alone. “He -wants more of your work, and he has given me -this letter for you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have done no more work,” he confessed.</p> - -<p>“None?”</p> - -<p>“None.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you get my letter. I addressed it to -Colombo.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I got that. I took it up to Kandi with -me to read. I made wonderful resolutions that -night.”</p> - -<p>“And haven’t kept them?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“John, you are hopeless.”</p> - -<p>He defended himself as best he could. “I can’t -help it,” he said; “I have tried to write and I -have tried to read. I have read spasmodically. -But it seems useless. I started this naval business -too early. My education has been a naval education, -and—what is more important—my life is a -naval life. If you can’t be alone you can’t think; -if you can’t think you are a fool to try to write. -Besides, to write you must read and read and -read. You must see life from a thousand angles—not -from one professional standpoint. And you -must feel that, for better or for worse, you are -master of yourself—not necessarily of your actions, -but of your thinking.”</p> - -<p>“But you have written in these very circumstances. -Why can’t you write more?”</p> - -<p>“For the same reason that a man who chances -upon an occasional phrase can’t write an epic. -Literature isn’t luck; it’s the result of substantial -effort.”</p> - -<p>“Others have written who had other things to -do than write.”</p> - -<p>He wondered if, after all, he was overrating -difficulties in order to shield a lack of courage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -“Yes,” he said, “but out of their office, or shop, -or factory, their life was their own. They went -home—to some kind of home. At any rate, it -was theirs. A snotty’s life is never his own. He -lives in his office the whole twenty-four hours. -He never ‘goes home.’”</p> - -<p>“Then what are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“So you give up?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes. What can I do?”</p> - -<p>“And you are not nineteen yet. What’s your -life going to be?”</p> - -<p>“I may get to like it. Perhaps in the senior -ranks it will be better.”</p> - -<p>“It won’t.”</p> - -<p>“I know. Of course it won’t.”</p> - -<p>She was tempted to be angry because he had -so early abandoned hope, because he was not -putting up a fight; but she saw that he was opposed -to forces so much stronger than any he could -command that by no courage could he unaided -stand against them. Then she remembered a -source whence help might come.</p> - -<p>“John,” she said, “I want you to fight this -out.”</p> - -<p>“Fight?”</p> - -<p>“Because I believe it’s worth the fighting. -You feel hopeless now, partly, I dare say, because -your other work prevents your writing, but chiefly—isn’t -that true?—chiefly because you don’t feel -sure that you could ever write.... You can -write, you know.”</p> - -<p>“What guarantee have you of that?” he -asked, in a tone that was unusually hard, because -he did not feel hard. Her presence, her voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -her repose above all, affected his uneasy mind -profoundly. It was amazing that anyone should -care two damns whether he wasted his life or not.</p> - -<p>“I think I had better tell you,” she said. “I -didn’t intend to. There’s a sort of convention -that you mustn’t tell people good of themselves, -but I shall tell you this now. I have Mr. Alter’s -guarantee.”</p> - -<p>“Because he said he liked my work? It’s so -easy to say that.”</p> - -<p>“No—more than that. He said you were an -example of godless waste.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens!” John exclaimed with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“And he said,” she went on, “that he believed -you could, if you would, be a great man. I asked -him at once what reasons he had for saying that. -He gave me certain points in your work: I shan’t -repeat them or you will strain after them and -exaggerate them. But he thought them decisive. -He showed your work to other men whose opinions -confirmed his own.... What now?”</p> - -<p>“It’s wonderfully good to hear,” John said -unsteadily. “Margaret, tell me the special points -he hit on. I don’t see how it is possible to be sure -at this stage.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you one point—too general for you -to exaggerate and spoil. He said that you wrote -naturally, established a curious intimacy with -your audience, and that yet what you said was -momentous—the rarest of combinations. And he -repeated what you heard him say that night at -dinner—that your images were chosen with the -eyes tight shut or wide open—the full vision, -inward or outward. He gave instances.”</p> - -<p>“What instances?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Those I can’t tell you. If I did you would -be bound to imitate them.”</p> - -<p>He thought over this in silence. “Margaret,” -he said, “may not this be mere talk? You know -how great men love an occasional enthusiasm. -Mr. Alter is in no way bound by what he says.”</p> - -<p>“He acts on it, at any rate. He went to see -your mother about it.”</p> - -<p>“She wrote that he had called.”</p> - -<p>“He has called often,” Margaret said. She -smiled as she remembered his words, spoken after -one of those expeditions to the country. “Mrs. -Lynwood is delightful,” he had said. “She -understands everything except her son. She -wishes he would settle down to the Navy—a -fixed income and an open-air life. She smiles at -his poetry, and says, ‘Yes, I dare say it is good, -Wing, and I’m glad he does it so well; but there’s -no money in it. And we are dreadfully poor, -you know.’”</p> - -<p>Margaret told John nothing of this. If Mrs. -Lynwood did not see fit to mention to her son -that she had known Wingfield Alter long enough -and intimately enough to call him “Wing,” she -had probably good reasons for concealing the fact.</p> - -<p>“I must think over all this,” John said. “I -want to tell Hartington about it. Hartington is -the Sub.”</p> - -<p>“The Sub?” she said in surprise. “Does the -Sub listen kindly to poetry?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, thank Heaven. You must meet him -soon.... And I’ll try to write to-night, -Margaret.”</p> - -<p>“No; don’t <i>try</i>.”</p> - -<p>“But I want to write now. I am so suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -happy. I have been longing and longing to see -you. And when you come you bring this wonderful -news.”</p> - -<p>Near at hand the gulls were crying, and sampan -men crooning to themselves as they rocked their -bodies over their stern oars.</p> - -<p>“Come and tell me about England,” he said; -“the Thames, the bridges, the lights, the trains; -and pictures and music, and books and plays, -and carpets and rugs; and little narrow country -lanes, and hills, and being free, and——”</p> - -<p>“But I can’t tell you everything at once!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, splendid!” he exclaimed. “I guessed -you would say that. I have guessed it every -night for weeks and weeks. ‘But I can’t tell you -everything at once!’ Now it’s coming true. -You see,” he explained, “I have been looking -forward to this.”</p> - -<p>A tremor of joy passed through her because she -had made him happy. She began to talk eagerly, -so that, for a time at least, he might forget the -ship, and might not remember, what she understood -now, that “for weeks and weeks” there -had been nothing but this meeting to which he -might look forward.</p> - -<p>From the bridge of the <i>Pathshire</i> Nick Ordith -was surveying the shore through a telescope.</p> - -<p>“Dull spot, Yeoman,” he said.</p> - -<p>The Yeoman of Signals rubbed his hands. -“Precious cold in the winter, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>John returned to the ship in a spirit of exultation, -intoxicated, not so much by the heady wine -of praise as by the discovery that he was not -altogether alone in his difficult world. Margaret -cared what became of him; apparently Mr. Alter -also cared. But it was Margaret’s interest and -her personality that filled his thoughts to the -exclusion of the colder critic. He sought out -Hartington, and laid the matter before him, -reading aloud Mr. Alter’s letter, and repeating the -passages in it which seemed to him unusually -important.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Lynwood</span>,</p> - -<p>“<i>I am sending this letter by Margaret lest -it follow you from sea to sea. If she does not meet -you at once, she can at least discover your whereabouts.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>I have shown your work to several friends—all -creative artists, not critics only. Their opinions -support my own. Probably in your present situation -you have no one to whom you can go for counsel, -so I have taken upon myself the duties of adviser. -You must read. I don’t care about the quantity, -but your reading must be regular and sound. The -modern men are excellent when you have found -your own feet, but before you are twenty you are -prone to imitation of their extremes—probably the -worst of them. So go back to men whom you will -not be tempted to imitate. Read the</i> Actes and -Monuments, <i>Swift, Addison, Walton, Goldsmith. -Burton’s</i> Anatomy of Melancholy <i>has been an -inexhaustible quarry for later essayists. If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -must have the living, try Mrs. Meynell for her -prose. Go to De Quincey for speed and amazement, -Poe for short stories, Fielding for action—Fielding, -in fact, for most things. In poetry, take -Shakespeare—enough, believe me, for your present -needs.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>As for a method of writing—whatever I tell -you, a thousand others will tell you I am wrong. -Fast or slow? Rough-hewn or polished? That -you must find out for yourself. I believe</i> le mot -juste <i>is well worth long seeking in chilly, critical -moments. But if you feel excited about what you -are writing it’s best to use a slack rein. Never be -afraid of the whip—it’s very good to write a ‘portion’ -every day, if you have the courage to destroy -it when necessary in the evening. The wastepaper-basket -is a good, silent friend whom it is folly to -despise.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>Write to me whenever you care to, and send me -the little that the wastepaper-basket does not swallow -up. I have been seeing much of your mother lately, -talking of old times and of you.</i></p> - -<p class="sig"> -“<i>Yours</i>,<br /> - -“<span class="smcap">Wingfield Alter</span>. -</p> - -<p>“<i>P.S.—If you can find a place to do it in, read -your work aloud to yourself—especially verse. I -should have told you to read the Bible and Thomas -Hardy and Murray’s translations of the Greek. -Robert Bridges will teach you much of metre. Try -Clutton Brock for scholarly prose. Margaret is -taking out a supply of my books for you. Talk to -her when you can, but don’t believe all she tells you -about literature—and don’t accept what I tell you as -anything but a foundation upon which to build up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -your own tastes. I think you might read Conrad, -too, if you will promise to stop when Marlow begins -to dominate you completely.—W.A.</i>”</p></div> - -<p>Hartington who thought that by this time he -had a fairly accurate understanding of the working -of John’s mind, was at first astonished by the -extraordinary elation of which this letter was the -only apparent cause. It was natural that John -should be pleased by the approval and interest -of a man of Alter’s standing, but his changed -mood, the laughter, the quickened speech, the -heightened colour, called for an explanation more -personal. John spoke of Margaret as “Fane-Herbert’s -sister” when he spoke of her at all.</p> - -<p>“So Alter advises you to talk to Miss Fane-Herbert -when you can?” Hartington said. -“What’s the exact meaning of that?”</p> - -<p>“She knows a good deal of books,” said John -easily.</p> - -<p>“But he doesn’t suggest that you should be -tutored by her?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no.”</p> - -<p>“Then it’s her talk that’s to do you good?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Because it is <i>her</i> talk—not for the sake of her -knowledge?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>Hartington smiled. Between them as they sat -in the small cabin hung a large red-paper lantern, -lighted by an electric lead. Hartington touched -it with his foot, and set the light and shadows -chasing each other round the Fiesole paintings -and Dürer’s <i>Hare</i>.</p> - -<p>“Do you think I might ask you an extremely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -rude question?” he said. “It’s important. I -think it’s relevant.”</p> - -<p>“I know what you are going to ask,” John -answered. “About Fane-Herbert’s sister? I -suppose you think I am a fool to be in love with -her.”</p> - -<p>“It makes the whole business more complicated. -It means that half the time when you think you -are wanting one thing you are really wanting -another. Now any consideration of the future -will be hopelessly entangled with consideration of -her.”</p> - -<p>John explained that, in truth, Margaret simplified -the issue, because, as he said, her own ideas -were so very like his own. He elaborated this -theory until he could elaborate it no more. Then -he stopped suddenly.</p> - -<p>“It’s so exciting,” he said, after a pause. -“Everything is so exciting.”</p> - -<p>The excitement of it took his breath away. He -steadied the red lamp, and watched its light glow -through the tips of his fingers. Obviously he -had forgotten that his life did not consist entirely -in Margaret and literature. Of what use was it -to remind him now that he was a midshipman, -very young and altogether unknown, who earned -one shilling and ninepence a day? of what use to -speak of Ibble’s and Ibble’s wealth? Hartington -decided not to trouble him that night, to leave -unshattered so long as they would endure his vain, -happy dreams.</p> - -<p>“Do you think,” John said, “that Mr. Alter -would put in a word with a publisher about a -novel?”</p> - -<p>“Probably. Have you written one? Have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -you a great work stored away secretly underneath -your private till?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said John seriously; “but I could write -one. A hundred thousand words. Suppose I -did a thousand a day—or even five hundred—a -couple of quarto pages.... There might be -money in that.”</p> - -<p>He turned into his hammock that night to lie -long awake, dreaming of title pages, bindings, and -press-cuttings, and calculating royalties. He was -generous to himself in the matter of royalties, -for so much money would be needed before—perhaps -a play would be better, after all.... -Very carefully, mindful of Hartington’s warning, -he excluded Margaret from his consideration of -these practical matters. But when at last he fell -asleep and could no longer deceive himself, he -dreamed of Margaret only. He dreamed that she -kissed him, not that he kissed her; of a hundred -tendernesses of word and deed that were outside -his experience. They had a house in Westminster.... -She looked down from behind the -grille on to the floor of the House of Commons.</p> - - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Margaret sat very still on the edge of her bed. -The last word she had heard her father speak that -evening came back to her like a tawdry tune.</p> - -<p>“The most steel-like mind I know.”</p> - -<p>That was Mr. Ordith’s. Steel-like: strong, -supple, elastic, highly finished. He had, too, -some of the splendour, even the poetry, of -machinery: accurate, clean, with no uncertain -edges, without misgiving. And he had power.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was a man to whom one might go confidently -in any worldly difficulty. He would -know what ought to be done, and would do it -at once. He would see quite clearly one side of -every question. In a way, she supposed, it was -a compliment that one who had so wide a field of -choice should have chosen her.</p> - -<p>Then she remembered how he had watched her. -She saw again, as if they were watching her now, -those large dark eyes, with their lower lids slightly -raised and puckered. It gave one a sense of -being a specimen, of being exposed. She shivered, -stood up, walked to the window and closed it. -The night was hot, so she opened the window -again.</p> - -<p>“Anyhow,” she said, “<i>he</i> doesn’t want help -from anyone.” She blew out the candle and got -into bed. There were so many people who -wanted help—John among them; so many, that -one might as well give up trying to help them. -With Ordith it would be an easy passage in a -comfortable ship that he would steer.</p> - -<p>The bedclothes were tucked into place with a -little jerk. She pushed back a wisp of hair from -her face as if she were angry with it. Then she -shut her eyes—tight. No need to think. No -need to worry yet. Sleep.</p> - -<p>But she opened her eyes again, and stared at -the little white mountain of her pillow.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - -<span class="smaller">WASTE AND WONDER</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>There is something in physical drill before breakfast -that dissolves the fabric of dreams. This -John had discovered long ago, turning out of a -hammock in whose warm comfort all things had -been possible, and becoming, in the twinkling of -an eye, a bare-footed, sleepy midshipman, in dirty -flannels; and this he realized afresh on that -June morning when his meeting Margaret, his -letter from Mr. Alter, and his lamp-lit talk with -Hartington had become affairs of yesterday. He -went into the Gunroom, drank cocoa, smoked as -much of a cigarette as time allowed him, and -went with the others on to the Upper Deck. -Here all was hosepipes and holystone—gritty to -the foot. Ordith, in new sea-boots, was walking -up and down the quarter-deck sniffing the morning -air. When the midshipmen began their drill, he -watched them for a moment, and then turned away.</p> - -<p>“Stoop-fallin’—place!” commanded the Instructor. -“Feet placin’ forwards and backwards. -One—two! One—two! One—two!” The midshipmen, -on all fours, moved their legs in and out -lazily, reflecting that their anatomy was remarkably -unlike that of a frog. In any case—and this, -perhaps, was one of the more subtle reasons -which inspired the authorities to order physical -drill—it was impossible while so engaged to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -imagine one’s self addressing the House of Commons, -or falling in love, or writing a book, or, -indeed, doing anything but sprawl on the deck -to the accompaniment of the Instructor’s unceasing -“One—two! One—two!” At Osborne -and Dartmouth, of course, where physical drill -had been properly done, it had not been unattractive; -moreover, they were healthier in those days. -But now drink, tobacco, and lack of exercise had -made drill an uncomfortable process. It was useless, -too, for they “sloped” through it, and none -cared so long as the young gentlemen obeyed -regulations by being on the quarter-deck in -flannels for a stated number of minutes every -morning. The fact that they “sloped” was the -young gentlemen’s fault; but not theirs alone.</p> - -<p>None cared. The senior officers had other -things to do than dry-nurse the young gentlemen. -If they eluded the regulations concerning wine -bills, whose fault was it? Whose fault if they -were so bored and had so lost interest in themselves -that in their spare hours they nipped, and -smoked “chains,” and talked women? At Osborne -and Dartmouth they had been educated. -At the age of seventeen and a half they had come -to sea, and their education had ceased. The -senior officers had other things to do than -worry about the young gentlemen’s education. -From time to time the Gunnery-Lieutenant would -dictate obscure notes about guns that the midshipmen -had never seen; or the Torpedo-Lieutenant -would mumble over again lectures on -Balance Chamber Mechanism and War Heads, of -just such a kind as had been given in the training -cruiser. There was no system, no syllabus, no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -timetable, no programme. Sometimes, to the -active irritation of all concerned, there was a -lecture; more often there was not. There were -the yearly sights to be worked out; but these -were accomplished on the communal system, and -were usually worked backwards, for reasons that -will be clear to seamen. Life was a haphazard -business, in which the only regular intellectual -process was deterioration. One day John discovered -that he had forgotten how to integrate, -and that all his mathematics was slipping from -him. Mechanics, too, was a thing of the past; -even the elementary formulæ were forgotten now. -Electricity had gone; German had gone utterly; -French was going; Chemistry was no more than -a vague recollection of apparatus and of the red -tie worn by the master who had taught him.</p> - -<p>“I’ve forgotten everything we ever learnt at -Dartmouth,” he confessed.</p> - -<p>“So have we all,” Dyce answered.</p> - -<p>Borne in the flagship was one Naval Instructor, -who was responsible for all the midshipmen in the -squadron. Perhaps he taught the flagship’s midshipmen; -but his visits to the other ships were so -rare that he was unexpectedly popular. Because -it was impossible for him to be in two places at -once, it happened that, when the flagship was in -one port of the Station and the <i>Pathshire</i> in -another, the <i>Pathshire’s</i> midshipmen were delightfully -free from his ministrations. Outwardly -they rejoiced at this emancipation, complaining -only that threepence a day was deducted from -the pay of each one of them in order that, in -accordance with regulation, the Naval Instructor -might be fittingly rewarded for being at Hong-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>Kong -while his paying pupils were at Nagasaki. -This seemed unjust.</p> - -<p>“Our pay from a grateful Admiralty is twenty-one -pence a day,” Dyce remarked, “on which, -apart from what our people provide, we live like -officers and gentlemen. And out of the twenty-one -pence three go every day to the upkeep of -this N.I., who comes near us about one morning -in three months. Now, why the hell should I -pay one-seventh of my total income for an education -I never receive?”</p> - -<p>“Lord Almighty!” Cunwell exclaimed; “you -don’t want the damned N.I., do you?”</p> - -<p>“No. But threepence nearly buys a glass of -port.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s put in a moan,” Fane-Herbert said.</p> - -<p>“Moan!” Dyce laughed. “We shan’t get -much change.”</p> - -<p>However, after further discussion, their complaint -seemed so justifiable that they laid it -before the powers. The powers considered it, -and decided that midshipmen in ships other than -the flagship should pay the Naval Instructor only -when they were in company with the Flag. This -change was certainly an improvement; but still, -when the squadron was at sea, John paid threepence -a day for the education he did not receive -from a man who sailed in a ship one-fifth of a -mile away.</p> - -<p>The apparent charm of the China Station was -that there was nothing to do; its disadvantage, -discovered by experience, was that the whole day -was spent doing nothing. Occasionally there -occurred “spasms”—periods of remarkable gunnery -activity, when the midshipmen spent hour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -after hour on watch or at their guns, waiting for -the watch to end or for the deliverance of the -next meal. One of these “spasms” took place -soon after the <i>Pathshire’s</i> arrival at Wei-hai-wei. -The ship cruised all the week in the neighbourhood -of Waterwitch and Four Funnel Bays, and -returned to Wei-hai-wei on Friday nights. But -even this activity was powerless to check the -growth of the conviction which was finding a -place in John’s mind that all his preparation at -Dartmouth was to be wasted, and that, so far as -the Service was concerned, his intellectual development -had come to an end. And from this -conviction proceeded a feeling that his youth and -all the energies of youth were purposeless and -useless. Day after day went by and he was -never called upon to use his brains. There was -routine to be followed—so many hours on duty, -so many hours standing about, so many hours of -waiting. And in the intervals there was the -Gunroom, where one slept, or threw dice for sixpences, -or listened to lurid tales.</p> - -<p>As time went on the aspect of the Gunroom -became more strange and more terrible. Usually -John was not aware that anything was wrong. -Life seemed slack and easy, and he did not complain. -But there were moments when he realized -suddenly that young men not yet twenty do not -naturally sleep through the daylight hours. Dice -for sixpences became poor sport; poker began; -the stakes rose; a card-book was started in which -were recorded debts a midshipman’s income could -not discharge. The defaulters satisfied their -creditors by keeping their watches and running -their boats for them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> - -<p>Conversation became incredibly filthy. Even -the elements of wit disappeared from its indecency. -The intelligence of the midshipmen -was applied to the invention of new blasphemies, -the foulness of which was the measure of the -audience’s applause. There came moments when -even that Gunroom was stricken to silence; and, -for a day or two, certain expressions had to be -paid for by a democratically imposed fine.</p> - -<p>“I’m sick of it all,” Hugh said. “There’s no -earthly point in it.”</p> - -<p>“This isn’t a Mess of women,” Cunwell protested, -though that was not the expression he used.</p> - -<p>“I dare say it isn’t. But the fact is that our -pretty language wouldn’t pass muster in a room -full of men. We are miles outside any possible -limit.”</p> - -<p>Driss opened sleepy eyes. “There’s nothing -else to talk about,” he observed, “so we talk like -this. We are all sick of it—the same as you, -Fane-Herbert. But we shan’t stop. We can’t -stop. It’s a habit now.” And he rang the bell -for cigarettes.</p> - -<p>Hartington was powerless; the causes of change -in the Gunroom were such as his influence could not -affect. A hot climate, monotony of labour, and -the absence of any kind of intellectual exercise or -stimulus brought the midshipmen to such a pass -that first they described their own minds as being -“like cesspools”—stagnant and foul—and then -ceased to care whether their minds were like cesspools -or not. From this it was a short step to -carelessness about those things for which in other -circumstances, they would have been greatly -concerned—their hair, their hands, the linen they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -wore, and the sheets in their hammocks. Their -health suffered, and they did not care. In body -and mind they became flabby and slack; and -still they did not care. Rapidly they were losing -their self-respect.</p> - -<p>When they were ashore the deterioration seemed -to have gone not so far, and yet far enough. -There were in those parts no women with whom -they could go, but at the Club were armchairs, -and a bar where cocktails had nothing to do with -their wine bills. When John went to see the -Fane-Herberts the change in him was remarkable. -He would wash, shave, and dress himself more -carefully. For a couple of hours, perhaps, his -speech would be clean. But consciousness of the -ship’s life never left him, and he felt in Margaret’s -presence always at a disadvantage, as if he had -entered a drawing-room in dirty boots. Self-respect -is not to be laid aside and instantly reassumed, -and John was for ever sensible of a -kind of inferiority to which he could not believe -others were blind. As a result he became abnormally -sensitive, interpreting a momentary -silence as purposeful neglect of himself, and -imagining deliberate coldness whenever Margaret -was less responsive than he desired.</p> - -<p>When Ordith, too, was there, John found it -impossible to meet him on even ground. Ordith -was a Wardroom officer, and aware of the conditions -of life in the <i>Pathshire’s</i> Gunroom. No -doubt he looked upon the midshipmen with contempt, -and smiled to think that one of them -presumed to be his rival. Little by little John -fell into the background. Margaret, wondering -at his lack of enterprise, and not understanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -its true cause, was led to imagine that he had -ceased to care. His conversation with her became -colourless, his manner nervous and embarrassed. -As the weeks passed they fell further and further -apart.</p> - -<p>To this estrangement between himself and -Margaret John ascribed a false cause. He regarded -it as a consequence of his own insignificant -position as a midshipman without money. He -was not cynical and foolish enough to imagine -that Margaret deliberately excluded him from her -consideration because he was poor. Rather, it -seemed, the practical hopelessness of any love -for him prevented its growth as naturally as -darkness stifles a flower. How should she learn -to love him when every circumstance of her own -life and of his association with her was evidence -that such love must be vain? The sight of Mr. -Fane-Herbert was enough to shatter any dreams. -Never was a man a more loyal citizen of the -“world as it is.” To look at his gold watch-chain -was to remember your poverty; to hear -him speak of success, of the men who “got there,” -of the “youths who were likely to do something -in the world,” was to become vividly aware that -you had neither succeeded, nor got there, nor -were likely to do anything in the world. When -Mr. Fane-Herbert’s business gave him a short -respite, which he spent at Wei-hai-wei, Margaret -seemed more than ever unapproachable and -Ordith’s position more than ever assured.</p> - -<p>Confronted for the first time by the problem of -a woman’s mind, and having no woman to whom -he could go for counsel, John was guilty of an -error in judgment almost as often as he and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -Margaret met. To him, in his present mood, -every sign seemed a sign of ill-omen. If she went -out of the room when he was there he thought -she wished to avoid him. If she was not at home -when he called he imagined that she had foreseen -his coming. To his ears she seemed never to speak -of Ordith save with approval.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, Ordith made regular, methodical, -and carefully recorded progress. Margaret -could not understand John. At a time when she -had been most eager to help him he had become -suddenly uncommunicative, and lately, without -any kind of explanation, he had ceased to come -to the house more often than mere politeness -demanded. Her father regarded him “as one of -those snotties,” no more and no less. And -Ordith never missed an opportunity.</p> - -<p>He would come continually to the house. He -would talk to Margaret throughout the long -summer afternoons, talk about himself, his future, -his ambitions—just such talk as, modestly spoken, -flatters any woman into interest. He would ask -her advice, making her feel that her decision was -indeed of importance to him. He had an air of -letting her share his secrets, and a power, that -amounted almost to genius, of making his secrets -not only important but amusing.</p> - -<p>At the dance which the Admiral gave in his -flagship he took entire charge of her. She could -not help noticing that in the flagship the personality -of Ordith had made itself felt. And he -was in excellent form that night, laughing, dancing -with extraordinary swing and rhythm, awakening -in her an excitement that brightened her eyes -and brought a hot flush to her cheeks. Through -many of the long hours in which she danced John<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -was in charge of the <i>Pathshire’s</i> picket-boat, -lying alongside the flagship, waiting until, the -guests being ready to leave, the boats should be -called to the gangway. He had undertaken this -duty, which was not properly his own, in order -that he might avoid a direct decision as to whether -he should attend the dance or deliberately absent -himself from it. He had lacked courage either -to compete with Ordith, or, without some excuse -of “duty,” to leave the field clear for him.</p> - -<p>“Not going to the dance?” Hartington had said.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why on earth not? You are a dancing man, -aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I am running the picket-boat,” John had -answered.</p> - -<p>But Hartington had seen deeper than this poor -excuse.</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t you have got someone to run it for -you—if you want to go to the dance?”</p> - -<p>“I am taking it for someone else.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Not your own job?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“You are an uncourageous fellow.”</p> - -<p>For a moment John had remained silent. Then -he had burst out: “Oh, it’s no good. You don’t -know Ordith. You don’t know old Fane-Herbert. -The odds are too big.”</p> - -<p>Hartington had shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“That’s for you to decide.”</p> - -<p>So John waited in the darkness at the flagship’s -side. Above him the quarter-deck was gay with -red and white bunting, and brilliant with electric -lights. John wondered if coachmen and chauffeurs -felt as he did. The colour and music were -close to him, but he had no part in them. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -saw shadows move to and fro on the decorative -flags, and wondered if that shadow were Margaret’s, -and what she was saying and doing at -that instant. Certainly, he reflected, he could -not be entering into her thoughts; and yet it -seemed strange, almost incredible, that she, of -whom he thought so insistently, should occupy -her mind with other things—an experiment in a -new dance-step, perhaps, or the effect of her -dress, or the excellence of supper. This thought, -as it were an arm that thrust him back into the -darkness from which he desired to issue, quickened -his sense of remoteness. He saw all his hopes -and desires objectively, as if he looked down from -a barred window on to a world he could not enter. -There, on the quarter-deck, within a few yards of -him, was Margaret; he could not attain to her, -he could not make her hear; she was dancing and -laughing, eating and drinking, unconscious of his -proximity, forgetful of his existence.</p> - -<p>He did not see her until the dance ended with -an abruptness peculiar to entertainments on -board His Majesty’s ships. At once the sea, -which through the hours had lapped quietly -against the steel plates, was thrashed to foam by -the propellers of the waiting steamboats. It -happened, as John had scarcely doubted it would -happen, that Margaret and her mother went -ashore in the <i>Pathshire’s</i> picket-boat. John, who -stood where the light fell on him, watched Ordith -escort them down the gangway. He saw that -Margaret’s eyes were tired, as if she had undergone -some strain, but this appearance he attributed -to physical weariness. She said nothing to -Ordith but a short “Good-night” scarcely audible. -Then, as she stepped on to the deck of John’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -boat, she looked directly at him where he stood -beside the engine-room casing. She looked at -and beyond him as if he were not there, and disappeared -into the cabin.</p> - -<p>He drove the boat angrily, using too much helm, -and brought up by the landing-stage, not by -slowing and then stopping his engines, but by a -sudden stoppage and immediate reversal at full -speed. All went well, as if the Devil were directing -his judgment. The stem swung inaccurately, -the engines stopped, and the boat came to rest -with the foam boiling around her. The passengers -clambered out with the extraordinary nervous -clumsiness of landfolk in boats.</p> - -<p>For a moment John was tempted to draw -attention to himself by saying good-night to Mrs. -Fane-Herbert and Margaret. Then he changed -his mind, and kept his place by the wheel, where -the brass funnel hid him. Margaret had seen -him alongside the flagship. She must have recognized -him, and she had given no sign of recognition. -He would not press the matter further.</p> - -<p>He had other boat-trips that night, but he -remembered nothing of them afterwards except a -vague irritation because he could not shout at the -shrill, silly women in his cabin to keep silence in -the boat. When he returned finally to the <i>Pathshire</i> -he was conscious of that odd despair and -misery that sometimes attacked him with irresistible -force if he awoke in his hammock in the -dark of the early morning. He seemed to have -no reserve of will with which to combat it. The -Gunroom was closed, and he went into the Smoking -Casemate, where he sat down on an upright -wooden chair. The room was dirty with the -litter of the day. Cards and newspapers lay on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -the deck and on the chairs. Cigarette-ends exuded -their juice among the dregs at the bottom of -wine-glasses. From the half-deck, where the -midshipmen’s hammocks were slung, came the -sound of regular breathing, and once the cry—almost -the cry of a child, John fancied—of one -who dreamed unhappily. He sat staring at the -six-inch gun that gleamed beneath the yellow -beam of an imperfect police-light. What, in -God’s name, was this leading to? From the -cruelty and degradation of the <i>King Arthur</i> he -seemed now to be degraded through his own -fault. No need to sink into slackness of mind -and body; no need to drink rot-gut liqueurs in -the forenoon; no need to gamble for stakes he -could not afford, or to let his thought and speech -be filled with beastliness. His own fault, he -supposed; his own fault, he tried to confess in his -eagerness to avoid the finding of excuses for -himself. And yet—he glanced through the half-curtained -door beyond which the others were -sleeping—were not they similarly affected? In -other ships were the same Gunroom conditions. -There must be a reason for it, outside and beyond -them all; a force greater than their wills, bearing -them down, stifling and slowly destroying the -instincts for cleanness and energy which had once -been lively within them.</p> - -<p>And suddenly John perceived that his stream -of life had become stagnant and foul because it -was dammed, having no outlet in hope. His care -for Margaret, his desire for poetry, his longing -for progressive intellectual work which had been -allowed to develop at the training colleges, were -checked now. In his present life, and, so far as -he could see, in the future life the Service promised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -him, there could be no spiritual or intellectual -expansion. Day after day routine would repeat -itself. The end towards which all effort was -directed was war. War—and what then?</p> - -<p>He could not face the questions that were -crying unanswered through the passages of his -mind. He began to reckon his gains and losses -at cards, and frowned because the card-book, into -which he would have liked to look, was inaccessible -within the locked Gunroom. And presently he -began to ask himself what offence of his had caused -Margaret wilfully to disregard him that night.</p> - -<p>Perhaps for ten minutes, perhaps for an hour -or more, he had sat thus, thinking with desperate -rapidity, when he looked up to find Hugh, bare-footed, -and clothed in torn pyjamas, standing at -the Casemate door.</p> - -<p>“I saw you from my hammock,” Hugh said. -“You look pretty miserable, sitting there.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been running the picket-boat,” John -answered, as if this were sufficient explanation. -“You were at the dance, weren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I had to go because my people were -going. A flagship dance is no place for a snotty—too -much gold lace and aiglettes.”</p> - -<p>“I took your people ashore.”</p> - -<p>“I know. I saw them go down into the <i>Pathshire’s</i> -boat.”</p> - -<p>“Did you notice anything?”</p> - -<p>“Notice anything?”</p> - -<p>“About Margaret?”</p> - -<p>“No. What of her?”</p> - -<p>“Merely that she looked straight at me, saw -me, and wouldn’t recognize me.” John laughed -shortly. “I wonder what crime I’ve committed.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I think she was excited to-night. Sometimes -when I spoke to her she answered me in that vague -way of hers, as if her thoughts were far away. -Do you remember how strange she was that -Sunday after our dance in town? It was the -same thing to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ordith?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps. She danced with him. I remember, -as they passed me, I heard her laugh—higher -pitched than usual.” And Hugh added, -with a touch of embarrassment: “Almost as if -she was afraid.”</p> - -<p>John paused to consider. He saw her in -Ordith’s arms, moving to the music, her head -thrown back a little, laughing. Then, with directness -that surprised himself, he asked suddenly the -question he had long desired and never dared to ask:</p> - -<p>“Hugh, do you think she is in love with -Ordith?”</p> - -<p>“He is with her.”</p> - -<p>“I know. That wasn’t my question, though. -You know why I ask it.”</p> - -<p>“She has never said a word to me about it.”</p> - -<p>“She’s not likely to.... But what is your -opinion, based on what you’ve seen and heard?”</p> - -<p>“My dear old fellow, how should I know? It -does no good to make yourself wretched.”</p> - -<p>“But you think there’s cause?”</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s a kind of glamour about Ordith, -you know. And Margaret is very young as yet. -I don’t suppose her mind is made up in any way.”</p> - -<p>John rose and shivered. “We had better turn -in,” he said. “The half-deck sentry thinks we -are mad. I saw him look round the edge of the -curtain just now.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br /> - -<span class="smaller">TRAFALGAR AND THE RED LAMP</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>Though assuredly not with fear, nor with any -sense of impending dissolution, the officers and -men of the <i>Pathshire</i>—and, perhaps, of the whole -Navy—regarded war with Germany, in more than -one respect, as they regarded death, and assumed -that the same certitude existed in their shipmates’ -minds; so that the end of peace was no -more questioned than the end of life, but only -the manner of that end and the hour of its coming. -Moreover, as from men’s ordinary speech speculation -concerning the after-life is excluded, so these -seamen did not speak, and seldom thought, of the -time that would come when the war was over. -The tale that German officers toasted “The Day” -produced in the British Navy sentiments altogether -different from those with which it inspired -British civilians. In Service messes they smiled -the national smile at this effusiveness of foreigners, -just as they would have smiled at the gesticulations -of Frenchmen or the exceeding politeness -of Japanese. To them it seemed pompous and -laughable to drink solemnly to War; they would -as soon have been ceremonious concerning a -Gunlayers’ Test. But this German proceeding -aroused in them neither fear nor the resentment -that springs from fear. They regarded the Ger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>mans -who were said to drink this toast, not as -wicked men rejoicing in the prospect of wickedness, -but as professional men who overstepped -somewhat the boundaries of “good form” in -their too dramatic attitude towards their profession.</p> - -<p>So long as they remained in or near their ships—that -is, within the atmosphere of which Mr. -Alter had spoken, and beyond the influence of -their civilian friends—naval officers saw the -coming war with such concentration on its professional -aspect that observant visitors were -amazed and sometimes shocked. War would -come; Germany would be the enemy and the -aggressor; but the certainty of this aggression -seemed no better reason for bitterness than a -chess opponent’s initial move of his King’s -Pawn. It was attractive to wonder whether the -King’s Pawn would be moved or whether some -other opening would be selected. It was delightful -to suggest the defence that Jellicoe and -Prince Louis would adopt. But, just as chess -players are careful for the game’s intricacies and -not for stakes, so naval officers thought of the -war in terms of manœuvred battle squadrons and -destroyer flotillas rather than of the destinies of -nations. And they assumed that German officers, -being likewise professional men, were no more -interested than they were in those aspects of war -that were not strictly professional. They imputed -to the Ober-Leutnant as he stood, wine-glass -in hand, no motive more sinister than a -desire to prove professional superiority; and, -being themselves convinced that they could outmanœuvre -and out-gun him, they were unper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>turbed -that he should drink to his sentimental -heart’s content.</p> - -<p>On the China Station the naval officer’s concern -with war was, perhaps, more exclusively technical -than elsewhere. In home waters the Germans -were as unfamiliar as bogey-men, and the English -newspapers were near at hand. A speech or -leading article was potent to awake, even in the -naval mind, some of those vague misgivings concerning -Wilhelmshaven upon which vulgar opinion -on foreign affairs was at that time based. But -the newspapers that reached China were stale and -little read; and—most powerful antidote for -political animosity—the German Fleet was a -familiar sight, and its officers were frequent -guests.</p> - -<p>The field of thought concerning war was thus -circumscribed. When the time came, the China -Squadron would fight its own independent battle -in its own waters. The chess-board was set. The -opposing force was known and visible. Many a -time in Wardroom and Gunroom were the <i>Scharnhorst</i>, -<i>Gneisenau</i>, <i>Leipzig</i>, and <i>Nürnberg</i> compared, -knot for knot, gun for gun, armour for armour, -torpedo-tube for torpedo-tube, with the <i>Pathshire</i> -and her comrade ships. No doubt the Germans -made similar calculations; no doubt they, too, -cast their eyes sometimes towards Japan. But, -in a subtle manner, the very closeness of the association -of those who were ultimately to be enemies -robbed that association of bitterness. The Germans -were excellent seamen, and pleasant companions -at dinner. They danced well, drank well, -laughed well, and could sing a good song. When -Fate ended both dance and song the ensuing duel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -would be a gentlemanly trial of skill, intensely -interesting, a settling of knotty arguments, a test, -for instance, of what the Engineer-Commander -could do with his main engines. The gun-fire -silent at last, the survivors would be picked up -and given whisky, or, if the weather was cold, -sloe gin. The battle, important to civilians for -its effects upon trade-routes, Eastern prestige, -and a vast complexity of political issues, would -be to those who took part in it a thrilling conclusion -to a technical work which for many weary -years had been hard reading.</p> - -<p>It would be a conclusion, an end of a book to -which no sequel had been planned. After it, as -after death, would be but that blank fly-leaf -whose whiteness is more emphatic than the written -word <span class="smcap">Finis</span>. A man whose whole life has been -devoted to one object scarce dares to look beyond -its attainment. The business man speaks uneasily -of the years that are to follow his retirement; -the historian wonders how he will occupy -his time when his great work has gone to press; -the mother turns from contemplation of the hour -in which her child, made man by her pain and -endeavour, goes from her into the world. And -the naval officer looked infrequently and with -reluctance beyond the crowning of his work.</p> - -<p>But there were moments when it was difficult -so conveniently to restrict the vision of the future. -Rumours of war were continual reminders of -war’s imminence, and, therefore, pointers towards -the years of undefined purpose that would succeed -it. As each rumour was proved false, it was -impossible, in the days of reaction, to avoid some -speculation as to the results which would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -ensued had the rumour been well-founded; just -as it is impossible for a man who has survived an -attack of that disease by which he knows his end -must come not to look a little wistfully beyond -the gates of death. And soon after that night -on which John had, for other reasons, asked himself -to what end his present life was directed, -there came whisperings of war to make the -question more insistent. Once again the rumour -was seen to lack foundation; a leaf in the great -technical volume was turned excitedly; but not -yet had that page been reached upon which was -written <span class="smcap">Chapter the Last</span>. But John knew, as -did they all, that they were near the end now—very -near the end.</p> - -<p>“I hope it comes,” he said to Hartington, -“before we leave China. Out here it will be on -a smaller scale. We shall be able to see the whole -battle at once, and it will be <i>our</i> battle. It will -be simpler, more clearly cut than that vast affair -in the North Sea.”</p> - -<p>“Do you look forward to war?”</p> - -<p>“What else is there to which we can look forward? -It’s our training. It’s what we are here -for.”</p> - -<p>“It means untold suffering—mourning, poverty, -bitterness for years to come.”</p> - -<p>“That may be,” said John, “but it’s our job.”</p> - -<p>“You are a queer fellow—an idealist one -moment and a shouting militarist the next.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not a militarist, though I do say I -want war. I shouldn’t want war if there was -anything else on God’s earth that I could want -with a reasonable hope of obtaining it. I should -take no pleasure in war itself apart from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -momentary excitement of the thing; and certainly -I’m not dreaming of political gains through war, -which is the part of the genuine militarist. I -want it just as one wants a thunderstorm to break -quickly that one knows must break some time. -I’m sick of the tension, of wasting precious years -in preparing and waiting. If the end of all our -work is to be ‘mourning, poverty, and bitterness -for years to come,’ if that’s what we are living for, -I want an end of it. I don’t know what is beyond. -I don’t care. But, at any rate, it will be a clean -sheet—a clean sheet to spoil may be, but a chance -to make a fresh start.”</p> - -<p>“A chance for you to make a fresh start?”</p> - -<p>“I mean—I mean the world in general.”</p> - -<p>“But you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m a naval officer for good and all. It’s -different for me.”</p> - -<p>“Our trade’s going to be an odd one after the -war. It may become more or less superfluous. -There may be a great pensioning-off.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve thought about that—‘after the war.’ -But I dare say there’ll be work for us to do.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Hartington, “but work with what -object? Think of it: the work we do from day -to day gives precious little satisfaction in itself. -I suppose everyone—no matter in what line of -business—has one supreme ambition that overshadows -all other ambitions. But in most lives, -while a man waits for his Great Attainment he is -kept going by smaller successes, intermediate -achievements that have at least some of the -qualities of permanence. The statesman waiting -to pass his Great Reform passes smaller measures -that are <i>something</i>—something that stands. Or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -the novelist writing his intermediate novels, or -the architect designing the houses that are to -precede his Great Design, or the shopkeeper, -even, opening a new branch here and a new -branch there, stepping-stones to the Great Store -of his dream, but each a substantial achievement -in itself; all these people know that, -even if the Great Dream comes to naught, -they have constructed something more durable -than themselves. But the naval officer accomplishes -nothing by the way. I suppose Guns -is glad if a battle practice goes well, but it all -ends in a round of drinks; no one is the happier -for it. No one is a whit the happier for anything -we do.”</p> - -<p>“The practical economists would tell you that -we are indirectly constructive because we protect -commerce,” John said.</p> - -<p>“The boy who frightens birds with his clacker -is constructive in that sense. So is the hangman -with his rope. No, that’s too shallow a foundation -on which to build comfort. All our eggs are -in one basket. War is everything to us. And -when the war is over and we can say there will -not be another war for fifty years, perhaps a -hundred years—certainly not in our time, what -then? How are we going to live through routine? -What heart shall we put into preparation for a -remote possibility?”</p> - -<p>“And we shall still be young men.”</p> - -<p>“We shall have all our lives before us.”</p> - -<p>John rested his head on his hand as if he were -tired. “And even now,” he said, “when at least -this wonderful achievement of ours is in the future -and not in the past, it seems a poor thing to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -I may be a Sub when it comes, or I may be a -Lieutenant—anyhow, a cog in the machine.”</p> - -<p>“The Lord knows when it’s coming. We may -be Admirals by then.”</p> - -<p>John thought. He was perceiving a revealing -truth. “I don’t want to be an Admiral,” he said.</p> - -<p>“But that, in a naval officer, is heresy and -disaster,” Hartington answered, with a hidden -smile. “You ought to want to be an Admiral. -At the age of twelve you promised, as it were, to -love, honour, and obey.”</p> - -<p>“I did want to be an Admiral—then.”</p> - -<p>“But you must want it now. You must make -yourself want it.”</p> - -<p>“Because there’s nothing else to want?”</p> - -<p>“Just that.” Hartington was determined that, -for his own sake, John must be made to see his -position with perfect clearness. “But in time of -war,” he went on, “an Admiral’s position is -different from his position now.”</p> - -<p>“The chances are heavily against his having a -command.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, for that matter, the chances are heavily -against success in anything. To reckon on that -basis is hopeless. It’s no good to count on -failure.... Imagine you have absolute success, -and reckon backwards from that, if you like. -Imagine that there is war. You are the Admiral -commanding the Home Fleet. You have—you -have the destinies of the world in your hands: -it would be little less than that. Doesn’t there -seem something fine——”</p> - -<p>“Assuming, for the sake of comparison, an -equivalent success elsewhere, I’d rather shape -destiny with other tools.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> - -<p>“As Prime Minister?”</p> - -<p>John smiled for a moment. Then he said -seriously: “Or write a great book. Or—oh, there -are dozens of better implements.”</p> - -<p>“But suppose—and this is the ultimate test—suppose -you won a Trafalgar?”</p> - -<p>John looked up quickly, realizing whither he -had been led. Their eyes met. “I don’t think -Trafalgar would make me happy,” he said.</p> - -<p>He picked up the red lamp that was swinging -within a few inches of the cabin floor and placed -it on his knees. Hartington settled himself deeply -in his great wicker chair.</p> - -<p>“If that’s so,” he said, “you ought not to be -in the Service. You ought to get out of it, and -try to write that great book.”</p> - -<p>John put the lantern from him hurriedly and -rose. “Do you think I don’t know that?” he -demanded, with a tremor in his voice.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t know it sixty seconds ago.”</p> - -<p>“I did. Good-night.”</p> - -<p>“Good-night.”</p> - -<p>John paused with one foot outside the cabin -door.</p> - -<p>“Do you want to be an Admiral yourself?” he -challenged.</p> - -<p>“That question does not arise,” Hartington -answered.</p> - -<p>Because he could not trust himself to speak -again John went out, his eyes aching as before a -storm of tears.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br /> - -<span class="smaller">THE ENGINES</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>About the middle of July the squadron left Wei-hai-wei -to visit Chemulpo and Seoul. John was -now attached to the Engine-room staff. He kept -no more watches on the Upper Deck, attended no -lectures, and ran no boats. His connection with -the executive branch was limited to the writing -up of his log-book, the taking and working out of -sights, and to certain gunnery duties of which -more shall be said. The executive officers, who -objected strongly to the system under which midshipmen -were withdrawn periodically from the -Upper Deck, and by which they were thus deprived -of a full complement of messengers, boat-runners, -cocoa-makers, and general assistants, -had contrived on this occasion that no more than -two, John and Driss, should go below. This -arrangement, which John had at first welcomed, -was soon found to be less advantageous than he -had supposed.</p> - -<p>The control of engineering midshipmen had -passed into the hands of Aggett. He disliked all -midshipmen trained under the New Scheme with -the instinctive dislike of a small-minded man -for those who, in their education and upbringing, -have been more fortunate than he. He objected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -to these “young gentlemen”—the phrase sounded -unusually venomous and scornful as he pronounced -it—he objected to their very presence in his -Engine-room. They were intruders. At heart -they were executive officers. Their interest—if, -indeed, this Lynwood had interest in anything -but his stuffy books—was in Gunnery, Torpedo, -and Seamanship. It was more than likely that, -in their own Mess, they referred to engineers as -“greasers.” Damned insolence! he thought. -Damned insolence! He’d teach them.... To -them, of course, the Engine-room was attractive -only as a shelter from the fury of the Commander, -a place in which they might smoke on duty. -Aggett was under no delusion on that point. -They thought they could loaf while they were -engineers, and get ashore more often in harbour -because they would have no boats to run. Not -one in twenty of the New Scheme midshipmen -was keen on engineering. They looked down -upon it, they dared to turn up their noses at <i>his</i> -profession. Aggett had an uncomfortable feeling -that they despised him—that they gave him -salutes which were somehow less respectful than -those they accorded to officers of his rank on the -Upper Deck.</p> - -<p>Moreover, Hartington pampered the little pigs. -Midshipmen ought to be flogged; flogging, sound -and frequent, was the only way to break them. -This, in Aggett, was not mere brutality but an -article of faith. He saw in the <i>Pathshire’s</i> midshipmen, -several of whom seemed likely in any -case to be strangely hindered by temperament -from conforming easily to his ideal, young men -handicapped by faulty training. He did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -believe that a sound officer could be produced -unless in his days of apprenticeship he was -broken in.</p> - -<p>He remembered how he had asked Hartington, -early in the commission, for an introduction to -Little Benjamin, this being the name given to -the stick kept by most Subs for the flogging of -midshipmen. Little Benjamin, our Ruler, it was -customarily called by midshipmen themselves, or, -with familiar affection, Benjy. Within Aggett’s -experience Subs had been proud of this implement. -They chose it with care, fed it with oil, -put whipping on its end to prevent it from splitting, -and exhibited to all comers its balance, -flexibility, and other attributes. Aggett had seen -a tea-party of lady visitors excited to gurgling -laughter by one Sub’s scientific application of -Benjy to a dusty armchair, and by the historical -anecdotes with which he had coloured his performance. -One lady had collaborated by providing -with her own shrill voice the cries of the -imaginary victim. And the other ladies, somewhat -shocked perhaps by this uproariousness, had -smiled, nevertheless, behind the teacups above -the handles of which they crooked such genteel -white fingers. It had amused them to think that -the young men, ranging in age from eighteen to -twenty, who came into the Gunroom now and then -and went out quickly that they might not interrupt -the Sub’s party, were treated as the dusty -armchair was being treated then. They had -seemed to think it right, Aggett reflected, and -they were thoroughly respectable women.</p> - -<p>Aggett had asked to see Hartington’s Benjy, -intending only to offer advice as to its treatment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -and care. Besides, as a point of politeness, one -asked to see a Sub’s Benjy just as one asked to -see a woman’s last-born babe. And Hartington -had said curtly: “I haven’t got one.”</p> - -<p>“Then what do you beat the young gents with?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t beat them.”</p> - -<p>“Never?”</p> - -<p>“Never yet.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>Hartington had wanted to say, “Because it -makes me feel sick,” but, realizing in time how -odd Aggett could make such an answer seem in -the Wardroom, he substituted, “Because I have -seen no need for it.”</p> - -<p>“Easy enough to <i>find</i> a need, ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“Well, why don’t you? It does ’em good. -You’re not doin’ your duty by them.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks.”</p> - -<p>“But,” Aggett had persisted, unable to restrain -the curiosity which the discovery of so eccentric -a Sub had aroused in him, “but suppose the officer -of the watch or the Commander sends a snotty -down to you to have a dozen—what then?”</p> - -<p>“It hasn’t happened yet.”</p> - -<p>“But it licks ’em into shape,” Aggett had -suggested good-humouredly, believing what he -said. “Spare the rod and spoil the child, you -know.”</p> - -<p>“I disagree absolutely.... Besides, they are -not children. They are out in the world. My -help is scarcely needed in the hurting of them.”</p> - -<p>Once again, in a scene that has already been -recorded, Aggett had returned to the attack, -frankly amazed that any attack should be needed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -Couldn’t this fellow Hartington see for himself -that what midshipmen needed was firm treatment? -It seemed so obvious.... And now the -engineering midshipmen had been placed under -Aggett’s control. Lynwood, Hartington’s friend, -and Driss—that chin-tilting Irishman—were his -to train. He’d train ’em! He’d show ’em! -And if they weren’t more tractable when he’d -done with ’em, <span class="lock">well——</span></p> - -<p>So John and Driss were ordered, while at sea, -“to keep watch and watch, the Afternoon kept”—that -is, they were to be on duty in alternate -watches day and night, with this relief, that in -the afternoon, from noon to 4 p.m., neither went -below. In these circumstances, to suit their own -convenience, and to vary the rotation of labour, -they regarded the two Dog Watches as a single -watch of four hours. By Service custom they -were excused early morning physical drill, one -being on watch at the time and the other not -having come off watch until 4 a.m.</p> - -<p>They made out a table of their watches for -forty-eight hours thus obtaining a graphic representation -of a routine which, while they were at -sea, repeated itself every two days.</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<table class="left" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td><i>Date</i></td></tr> -<tr><td>14th</td><td>Forenoon Watch</td><td>8 a.m. to Noon</td><td>Lynwood.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>Afternoon Watch</td><td>Noon to 4 p.m.</td><td>No Midshipman.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>Dog Watches</td><td>4 p.m. to 8 p.m.</td><td>Driss.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>First Watch</td><td>8 p.m. to Midnight</td><td>Lynwood.</td></tr> -<tr><td>15th</td><td>Middle Watch</td><td>Midnight to 4 a.m.</td><td>Driss.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>Morning Watch</td><td>4 a.m. to 8 a.m.</td><td>Lynwood.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>Forenoon Watch</td><td>8 a.m. to Noon</td><td>Driss.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>Afternoon Watch</td><td>Noon to 4 p.m.</td><td>No Midshipman.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>Dog Watches</td><td>4 p.m. to 8 p.m.</td><td>Lynwood.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>First Watch</td><td>8 p.m. to Midnight</td><td>Driss.</td></tr> -<tr><td>16th</td><td>Middle Watch</td><td>Midnight to 4 a.m.</td><td>Lynwood.</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td>Morning Watch</td><td>4 a.m. to 8 a.m</td><td>Driss.</td></tr> -</table></div> -<p>“Keeping the First <i>and</i> Morning,” said Driss, -“will be hell.”</p> - -<p>“After all,” John said, to encourage himself, -“it means only twenty hours on duty in forty-eight. -Average of ten in twenty-four. Not so -bad.”</p> - -<p>Driss smiled. “Now let’s make a summary. -First, how many hours are we going to get in -our hammocks? Don’t forget that one has to -have a bath to get the filth off after every -watch. Follow through your case on the timetable -from 8 a.m. on the 14th. After your first -watch you come off at midnight, turn in at twelve-thirty, -and sleep till you are called at ten-to-four—<i>three -hours and twenty minutes</i>. On the 15th -you finish the Dogs at eight p.m.; dinner at eight-thirty; -asleep, with luck, at ten-thirty; sleep till -ten minutes before midnight—<i>one hour and twenty -minutes</i>. On the 16th you finish your Middle at -four a.m.; asleep by four-thirty; sleep till hammocks -are made up at seven-fifteen—<i>two hours -and forty-five minutes</i>.”</p> - -<p>They added together the three periods of sleep, -and wrote down as a beginning of their summary:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><i>Time in hammock during 48 hours = 7 hrs. -25 mins.</i></p></div> - -<p>They stared at that.</p> - -<p>Then John said, rather hopelessly, “Oh, well, -it’s getting on for four hours’ sleep a day. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -believe some K.C.’s, when the House and the -Courts are sitting, do with less than that.”</p> - -<p>“But when they are on duty they are not in -an engine-room or a boiler-room—not in that -temperature—not standing all the time.”</p> - -<p>“No.... I dare say we shall get some sleep -in between—in the Smoking Casemate or on the -Gunroom settee. I can sleep through any noise.”</p> - -<p>Ten hours of watch-keeping in twenty-four -seems not terrible, but two facts throw light upon -its meaning. First: the Service, which does not -pamper, allotted eight hours in twenty-four to -stokers—trained men, inured to the task. Second: -“Watch and watch”—twelve hours in twenty-four—was -ordered as a severe punishment to -midshipmen on the Upper Deck in harbour, not -in the Engine-room depths at sea.</p> - -<p>Moreover, ten hours of watch-keeping did not -mean only ten hours of work. The engineering -midshipman not on watch at the time attended -Divisions and Quarters. He took charge of the -stokers during Dog Watch Evolutions. He wrote -up his log-book, a slight task; worked sights from -time to time; and each week completed an -Engineering sketch.</p> - -<p>Aggett was careful that the sketches should not -be too easy. He demanded scale-drawings of -machines in pen and ink, coloured, and with -dimensions. Perfect accuracy was essential. It -was necessary to know every detail of construction -and working, and to be prepared to support -Aggett’s searching cross-examination. John’s first -weekly sketch occupied thirty-two of his spare -hours.</p> - -<p>They found, too, that in addition to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -engineering duties they were required to attend -the guns. The four midshipmen remaining on -the Upper Deck were not enough, the executive -officers declared. So, whenever “General Quarters” -was sounded—and at that time it was -sounded once and sometimes twice a day—John -or Driss, whichever was not in the Engine-room, -went to a gun for the long hours of the gun-practices. -Time after time the hours which were -theirs for rest or sketching were occupied in this -manner; they standing—and they seemed now -always to be standing—not in the Engine-room -but on the sighting platform.</p> - -<p>In the Engine-room from breakfast to lunch; -at his gun from lunch to tea; Quarters and Evolution -from four to nearly five; Engineering sketch -from five to seven; dinner from seven to seven -forty-five, when he put on dirty clothes; in the -Engine-room from eight to midnight, and again -from four to eight—that was an example of such -a day as came to John three days in six while the -ship was at sea. On the alternate days he was -less below and more at his gun. There was little -difference in effect.</p> - -<p>The effect was dull, unspeaking misery; eyelids -that closed, and, being forced open, closed again; -limbs gnawed by weariness; a weakness of control -that brought hysterical tears and laughter very -near. The mind strayed back to childhood and -leapt out in jagged flashes towards licentiousness. -Aggett could do what he liked with them. No -insult could provoke now any desire to protest. -They obeyed like whipped curs. “Yes, sir.... -No, sir.... I’m sorry, sir.”</p> - -<p>“It’s taming ’em,” said Aggett.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nervous exhaustion, so potent to produce -obsessions, urged John to the reading of books -in snatches and Driss to interminable calculations -of minutes. Driss analyzed his day with pitiless -accuracy. He would confront John with pieces -of paper on which he had written in his neat -round-hand the number of minutes he spent in -sleep, in watch-keeping, in standing by his gun, -in drawing his sketch, in eating his meals. And -John, seeing from these tables that there was -no time for reading, became, for that reason, the -more determined to read. He read at meals until -Hartington, who, when he was present, insisted -that the Gunroom should observe at least some -of the conventions, told him to put his book -away.</p> - -<p>“It’s the only time I can read,” John exclaimed. -“You know it is the only time I have.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” Hartington answered; “but I’m -not responsible for your routine. I can’t have -reading at Mess.”</p> - -<p>And John, made unreasonably angry by this -excellent rule, read at odd moments for five or ten -minutes at a time, crouching on his sea-chest -when he came off watch at midnight, wasting the -precious interval before he went below again at -4 a.m. He read, too, between breakfast and -Divisions, between tea and Quarters, between -Sunday Divisions and Church. He turned to his -book with almost fierce devotion on occasions -when no one else would have thought it worth -while to open covers that would so soon have to -be closed again. And he wrote—wild blank -verse. The scansion missed sometimes, but he -did not care. He would write no lyrics now; his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -indignation would not pause for rhymes. Never -had his mind been so full of themes demanding -expression; never had words come to him like -this unsummoned. Tremendous phrases woke -him in the night, so that he lay in his hammock, -his head a little raised, listening. He heard -nothing but the engine’s throbbing and the far-away -clashing of the revolution-telegraph. And -he would lie down again and hide his face, wondering -how, even for a moment, he had been amazed -and excited by a phrase which, as he considered -it, he saw to be without shape or meaning.</p> - -<p>It was not safe, he knew, to take any book he -was reading into the Engine-room. Its cover -would betray him to the Warrant Officer who -kept the watch, to the stokers who worked near -him, and to Aggett should he enter suddenly. It -was impossible to read on watch.... But he -found that he could write with impunity. He -took with him a small, marble-covered notebook -of the pattern customarily used by midshipmen -for rough engineering sketches—diagrams -of the lead of pipes, plans of the boiler-rooms -showing the feed system, and the like. To make -these sketches during the idle stretches of a watch -was regarded, not as an offence, but as a sign of -laudable enthusiasm. So long as the usual pattern -of notebook was used everyone assumed that only -professional matter was entered in it; and John -encouraged this belief when he was writing by -moving his position from time to time, by stooping -with an air of curiosity and interest over auxiliary -engines that his eyes scarcely saw, and by gazing -upward occasionally in the direction of the pipes -that he might have been sketching.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> - -<p>Everyone was not deceived. After the performance -had been repeated through many watches -a Warrant Officer said suddenly:</p> - -<p>“You’ll be gettin’ the hang o’ them pipes before -long, Mr. Lynwood?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said John. “Just a few sketches in -case Aggett asks questions.”</p> - -<p>“But always the same pipes?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no.”</p> - -<p>The Warrant Officer seemed to smile. “Makin’ -a speciality like o’ the condenser connections?”</p> - -<p>“No. Why?”</p> - -<p>“You’ve been payin’ ’em partickler attention -these last watches you’ve had with me.”</p> - -<p>John wondered how much was known. He -went away to feel the crank-head bearings, leaning -far over the guard-rail, his hand stretched out so -that the warm, revolving brasses swept against -his fingers. As his eyes stared down into the -crank-pit, where a dark liquid slushed to and fro -with the rolling of the ship, he wondered how -many men, engaged as he now was, had slipped, -lost their hold on the guard-rail, and fallen below -the crank to be mashed instantly to death. -Would a man so falling have time to cry out? -The engines would be stopped, not because the -stopping of them was of any use, but because -some drastic unusual action is demanded by the -sudden entry of death. There would be momentary -commotion. Stokers would stare, their shiny, -sweating faces lurid beneath the electric light; -and, as they recovered from stupefaction, a wave -of pity would pass over them all as they stood -transfixed among the steel. The auxiliary engines -would rattle more loudly in the main engines’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -silence. Water would trickle down the gleaming -rods from the piston glands. And presently the -engines, with a little hiss and groan, would start -again, and the blood be pumped out with the -bilge.</p> - -<p>Overpowered by this dreadful vision, John -screwed up his eyes as if to shut it out. He -walked towards the Warrant Officer, intending -to ask if ever in his experience this thing had -happened.</p> - -<p>“Have you ever——” he began; but the roar -of engines drowned his words, so that the Warrant -Officer did not know he had spoken.</p> - -<p>“How’s the poitry progressin’, Mr. Lynwood?”</p> - -<p>“Poetry?”</p> - -<p>“That you writes down here.”</p> - -<p>With a queer wrench John established the -connection with their previous conversation, but -his mind was now so full of what he had seen in -the crank-pit that he cared not how much had -been discovered.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said simply. “I do write poetry -down here. What are you going to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“Do?” The Warrant Officer regarded the -defiance in the weary, drawn face raised to his—a -face, he reflected, almost comically like those of -the half-starved urchins in the back streets of -Portsmouth who had looked up at him often -enough with just this expression of defiance that -was a thin cloak for a spirit near to breaking. -“Do? What d’you think I’m goin’ to do? Go -to Aggett and give him another chance to have -at you?” His voice dropped to as confidential -a tone as the noise allowed. John felt his breath -upon his cheek. “I served my time on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -Lower Deck as a youngster, Mr. Lynwood, an’ -I knows how it is with midshipmen. The Lower -Deck sees a lot that the Gold Lace don’t care to -see. And it ain’t against midshipmen. Them -that suffer ain’t against them that suffer. And—if -I may say so, by the way—don’t you forget -<i>that</i> when you get to the Wardroom. It’s the -men who don’t forget that the hands’ll run for.... -And as for our Mr. Aggett,” he went on, “as -good an engineer he is as I’ve ever known—smart -as they make ’em—but not a nice man, not a -gentlemanly man, to my way o’ thinkin’. I -wouldn’t deliver a midshipman into ’is ’ands, nor -any human bein’—not a puppy, even. No, Mr. -Lynwood, you needn’t have fear o’ me. You -write your poitry and so long as your job’s done -an’ you enters up the log at the end o’ the watch -there won’t be no complaints from me. But -don’t let the stokers catch on. An’ don’t you let -Mr. Aggett find you at it.”</p> - -<p>John gave indistinct thanks.</p> - -<p>“Are you feelin’ poorly?” the Warrant Officer -asked.</p> - -<p>“N—no.”</p> - -<p>“Well you looks precious bad, an’ Mr. Driss -too. It’s a shame this watch an’ watch. We in -the Warrant Officers’ Mess wouldn’t stand it—unless -the Service had special need. The stokers -wouldn’t stand it; they’d be fallin’ in before the -Captain in two ranks. Only the midshipmen -stand it. He wouldn’t try it on with no one -else. Last night we was sayin’ at Mess we wondered -the midshipmen didn’t take it before the -Captain.”</p> - -<p>“We couldn’t.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Couldn’t?” said the Warrant Officer, not -realizing that John had meant “wouldn’t.” -“Why there’s not a man or boy in this ship that -hasn’t a legal right to take his complaints to the -Captain. Couldn’t? How d’you mean?”</p> - -<p>“It can’t be done in our case.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I agree in part; I don’t hold with -officers comin’ up with complaints. It’s bad for -discipline.... But there is a limit to what any -man can stand. This very mornin’, when I came -down here at 4 a.m., I found Mr. Driss goin’ to -keep the watch with me. ‘When did you come -off your <i>last</i> watch?’ I asks. ‘I kept the First,’ -says he. ‘I turned in at twenty-five minutes -after midnight. I’ve been asleep for three hours -and twenty-five minutes’—all spoken cold and -thin, like someone sleep-walkin’. It ain’t natural, -Mr. Lynwood. I don’t like to see him—or you—white -as ghosts, ready to drop, stumblin’ half -blind round an’ round my Engine-room. It -makes me feel a brute for keepin’ you here. But -if I sent you up, the first thing Aggett would say, -if he came down, would be, ‘Where’s the midshipman -o’ the watch?’”</p> - -<p>He paused dramatically.</p> - -<p>“It’s too much,” he said, “to keep eight hours -below between eight in the evenin’ and eight in -the mornin’. An’ you at your guns when you -<i>are</i> off watch. The Captain wouldn’t have it, if -he knew.”</p> - -<p>Looking at John’s hollow cheeks, he thought, -“There’ll be an end to it soon.”</p> - -<p>But before the end came disaster. Two days -later, John, in a corner by the evaporators, was -writing in that marble-covered book. The mood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -in which he wrote held him captive. He was -conscious neither of the engines’ beat nor of the -ringing of the telegraph. He saw with intense -vision, only the scene he described.</p> - -<p>“Makin’ notes?”</p> - -<p>Aggett, with low waistcoat and bulging shirt-front, -stood there, his hands thrust in his pockets, -his chin pushed forward over a choker collar. -He must have come down as soon as dinner was -finished and the wine passed.</p> - -<p>“Gettin’ keen on engineerin’? Let’s see.”</p> - -<p>He held out a hand into which, without hesitation, -John put his book. There was a long pause.</p> - -<p>“Often write this balderdash on watch?”</p> - -<p>“Two books full, sir, and what you see.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“I get an idea and I write it down, sir.”</p> - -<p>This was Aggett’s chance. At last he had -caught one of them committing a really serious -offence. Officers were required when on watch -to give continuous attention to duty. Hartington -could not get out of this, Aggett reflected. He -tore out a blank sheet from the notebook.</p> - -<p>“Pencil,” he said, stretching out his hand.</p> - -<p>He wrote on, and folded, the paper.</p> - -<p>“Take this to Hartington. When he’s finished -with you, report down here again. I’ll wait.”</p> - -<p>John climbed the steel-runged ladder and, -passing through the great heat above the cylinders, -scrambled on to the grating which the windows -of the Engineers’ Office overlooked. In the Chest -Flat he found Driss beginning to undress before -turning in.</p> - -<p>“Do you know where Hartington is?”</p> - -<p>“In his cabin, I think. Aggett’s below, isn’t he?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes. He has just bowled me out writing -verse on watch. Sent me up with this chit for -Hartington.”</p> - -<p>“To be beaten?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so. Good-night.”</p> - -<p>“Good-night.... I say, Lynwood, it’s rotten -luck. Come to my hammock before you go -below again and tell me what happens. Will -you?”</p> - -<p>“All right. Personally, I don’t care very much -what happens.”</p> - -<p>John went to his chest, changed his boiler suit -and dirty shoes for a monkey-jacket, a scarf, and -pumps. While he was thus engaged Driss reappeared.</p> - -<p>“Hartington hasn’t beaten any of us yet,” he -said hopefully.</p> - -<p>“No; but he must this time.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so. I should put some padding in, -if I were you, Lynwood.”</p> - -<p>John smiled. “It isn’t the pain I care for,” -he said. “Besides, I’ve made up my mind.”</p> - -<p>“Made up your mind?”</p> - -<p>But John offered no explanation. With a -towel thrown over his arm he was already on his -way to the bathroom to wash his hands. Presently -he was tapping at Hartington’s door.</p> - -<p>“Hullo! I thought you were keeping the -First below?”</p> - -<p>“I am. Aggett has sent me up with this -message for you.”</p> - -<p>Hartington unfolded the paper and read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>I have just found Mr. Lynwood neglecting his -watch-keeping duties. He has been writing verse in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -an engineering notebook, obviously for the purpose -of deception. He tells me that he has two more -books stowed away somewhere, so this writing on -watch is a practice of his. I do not wish to harm -him by making an official report. A dozen cuts -would meet the case.</i></p> - -<p class="sig"> -“<span class="smcap"><i>W. Aggett.</i></span>” -</p></div> - -<p>“Why did you give him this chance?” Hartington -asked. “It’s what he has been waiting for, -you know.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” John said.</p> - -<p>“But why did you do it? Why did you take -the risk?”</p> - -<p>Feeling dizzy, as if he were about to fall, John -said: “Do you mind if I sit down?” and, without -waiting for an answer, fell heavily into a chair. -Leaning across the table, he let his head fall on -his arms. Then, fearful lest Hartington should -think he was acting in order to win sympathy, -he overcame his exhaustion with an effort that -sent a tremor through his body, and sat up. “I -don’t think I can argue it. I’d rather you got it -over. We can talk about it some time—some -time later.”</p> - -<p>“May I see the book?”</p> - -<p>John fetched it from his chest, where it lay in -the pocket of his boiler suit, and, having handed -it over, waited listlessly. The emotion of the last -quarter of an hour had so added to his fatigue -that, as if a high fever were upon him, he desired -nothing now but to be alone where he could lie -down and sleep. He was not thinking of the -flogging; it would be a flogging in dream. He -was altogether careless of consequences, of the -future that seemed so far away, to-morrow morning—beyond<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -the infinite reaches of that night. -There were yet two hours of his watch. Twice -the slow hand of the Engine-room clock must -creep round the dial....</p> - -<p>“What is the sequence of this?” Hartington -asked.</p> - -<p>“There are different tales, jumbled up. A bit -of one and a bit of another. I dare say they -could be pieced together. But there are gaps in -all of them. I write down any scene—just as I -see it.”</p> - -<p>“Some of it is bad—incoherent.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And some of it is filthy.”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t read that. One writes anything—anything -that’s vivid enough to swamp the -moment.”</p> - -<p>“And some of it is——Lynwood, why didn’t -you tell me you wrote this? Why haven’t you -read it to me? I judged you only by the gentler -stuff. And now, here are passages flaming with -vision: the speed and pause, the song and shock -of blank verse. Do you realize——”</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes; I realize.”</p> - -<p>“And you didn’t show it me?”</p> - -<p>“It was my own; a kind of sanctuary. Peace -there ... everyone shut out by flames.”</p> - -<p>John was huddled in his chair, his feet drawn -up, his eyes gazing out above his knees. Hartington -looked at the lines the writing of which had -been interrupted by Aggett’s arrival.</p> - -<p>“Could you go on from here?” he asked, and -read them aloud.</p> - -<p>“No; not now. But don’t read them. Aggett’s -waiting.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hartington stooped over the table and picked -up a pen.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>I am afraid it is inevitable that you should -make an official report,</i>” he wrote.</p></div> - -<p>“Take that to Aggett.”</p> - -<p>“You are not going to beat me?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>John delivered this reply, and Aggett immediately -left the Engine-room. He jerked back -the curtain of Hartington’s cabin so that the -rings clashed on the rod.</p> - -<p>“What’s the meaning of this?”</p> - -<p>“Surely the meaning is clear.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t beat him?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“My reasons are my own.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be made to give them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>“By the Commander.”</p> - -<p>“You intended to take this to the Commander?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly I do; and a pretty fool you’ll look, -young man. This obviously is an offence that -can’t be passed over. There’s nothing for it but -beatin’. The Commander will send you his -orders.... Wouldn’t it be easier to give way -now than then?”</p> - -<p>“I shall not give way then.”</p> - -<p>“Refuse to obey the Commander’s orders?”</p> - -<p>“In this case—yes.”</p> - -<p>“On what grounds?”</p> - -<p>“That depends. If it is to be in any way a -personal matter I have my explanation. If the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -Commander makes it a Service point—strictly a -question of discipline—his definite orders refused: -well then, Aggett, I take it to the Captain.”</p> - -<p>“A real sea-lawyer, eh?” said Aggett. “It’s -pig-headed drivel. And, you mark my words—it -won’t do any good. If you take that stand you -may avoid this beatin’, but the Commander won’t -forget it, and the Captain won’t forget it.”</p> - -<p>“As a point of fact,” Hartington said, “this -is all heroics. The contingency won’t arise. -This matter will not be taken to the Commander.”</p> - -<p>Aggett grinned. “Then I send Lynwood to -you again?”</p> - -<p>“No. That isn’t what I meant. I am not -giving way. But I think it’s as well we should -understand each other. Sit down, will you?”</p> - -<p>“I prefer to stand. And no sort of compromise’ll -do for me—see?”</p> - -<p>“All right.... Now this is not going to the -Commander because you won’t take it to him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all you know!”</p> - -<p>“You won’t take it to him because you know -that, if you do, I force it to the Captain. And -that brings me to the other point. I don’t pretend -to minimize Lynwood’s offence. He is -altogether wrong to do what he has done on -watch. And I don’t wish to argue with you -about the life snotties lead under your orders: -that’s your affair, not mine. But I do refuse -definitely to be your accomplice in producing -their misery. They are ill; they are overworked -to a degree you dare not make public; it is preying -on their minds. If they don’t collapse physically -and go on the sick list they will go mad.”</p> - -<p>“It’s not for you to interfere in my routine.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know. That is why—although I think it’s -an open question whether a Sub, who is in some -measure responsible for the snotties, ought not -to interfere in these circumstances—that is why -I have kept my mouth shut hitherto. But -beating is within my province——”</p> - -<p>“I’ve a damned good mind to beat him -myself.”</p> - -<p>“If you try that I go straight to the Captain.”</p> - -<p>Aggett shrugged his shoulders. “You’re an -obstinate mule, aren’t you?” Then he allowed his -anger to take charge of him. “You’re an obstinate -mule, aren’t you?” he shouted. “Don’t -you see that what I’m doin’ is bein’ done for the -boy’s good?”</p> - -<p>“That’s for you to judge. I judge about beating. -If you take this matter to the Commander, -I take everything—<i>everything</i>, remember—to the -Captain. If the snotties were being treated -reasonably I should have beaten Lynwood for -this—much as I dislike beating my friends.”</p> - -<p>“You admit the crime, and you won’t punish -it. I didn’t think you were a fool.”</p> - -<p>Hartington drew his finger across his chin. -“Why don’t you mete out a Service punishment -yourself?”</p> - -<p>“Beatin’ is the proper punishment for this kind -of trash.”</p> - -<p>“Trash? The poetry? It’s not that, Aggett.”</p> - -<p>“That be as it may. I don’t care if he’s -writin’ bloody Keats. What I care about is that -a snotty should be a scribbler at all. The sooner -he’s broken o’ <i>that</i>, the better for himself and -everyone else.”</p> - -<p>“You and I seem likely to disagree on every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -subject,” Hartington said. “But you haven’t -answered my question: why not a Service punishment?”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Well, on the Upper Deck we give more -watch-keeping.”</p> - -<p>“They are keepin’ watch and watch already, -as near as may be; you know that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Hartington, “I knew that. It is -difficult to punish them more than they are being -punished already.”</p> - -<p>“If I chose that they should keep watch and -watch,” Aggett cried, perceiving that Hartington -was amused, “it’s none o’ your business. This -goes to the Commander.” And he went out of -the cabin, purposely leaving the curtain undrawn.</p> - -<p>Hartington rose and drew it quietly. He undressed, -curled himself up in his wicker chair, -and began to read the marble-covered notebook.</p> - -<p>The Commander heard nothing officially of -John’s behaviour. Ordith’s advice was sought.</p> - -<p>“My dear Aggett.” Ordith said, when the -situation had been explained to him, “you will -forgive my saying that you have made an ass of -yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I asked you what I should do.”</p> - -<p>“You seem to be somewhat disarmed. Why -not stop his shore leave?”</p> - -<p>“Then he’ll sit on board and write more drivel. -Besides, the punishment is inadequate.”</p> - -<p>Ordith spread out his hands. “It is all you -have left.”</p> - -<p>So the leave which John might have had when -the ship reached harbour was stopped indefinitely. -Ordith promised himself that he would make a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -pretty story of the occasion of the stoppage when -next he met Margaret. It would be good to -make Lynwood and his poetry appear ridiculous.</p> - -<p>Then, partly in generosity, and partly with a -desire to irritate Aggett, Ordith said one day to -John:</p> - -<p>“If you want a quiet place to write in, and -Hartington is using his cabin, you can sit in mine, -Lynwood, any time I’m not there.”</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>The end to Aggett’s persecution, which the -Warrant Officer had said must soon come, came -unexpectedly. The ship was out of sight of -land. Divisions and Prayers were over, and, -there being no Gunnery that day, the hands had -been told off for their forenoon duties. Driss, -who had kept the First Watch and the Morning, -came up from the Gunroom at about ten o’clock. -He stood on the quarter-deck, drinking in the -fresh air, and wondering how many minutes he -might thus spend away from the Engineering -drawing which he had deserted. Because he was -very tired and thought himself unobserved he was -unseamanlike enough to lean on the quarter-deck -rails.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Driss!”</p> - -<p>He turned to see the Captain standing a few -yards away from him. He sprang to attention, -and saluted.</p> - -<p>“Have you nothing to do this forenoon except -lean on the quarter-deck rails?”</p> - -<p>But Driss was not afraid of the Captain. “I -have nothing to do this forenoon, sir, except an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -Engineering sketch. I came up for a minute to -get some air.”</p> - -<p>“No lecture?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir. Midshipmen engineering don’t do -School. We do the sketch in our own time, sir, -working it in as we like.”</p> - -<p>“So you came up to get some air?” the Captain -said, looking steadily into Driss’s face. “Don’t -you feel well?”</p> - -<p>But one does not betray anyone to the Captain—not -even Aggett.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Driss in such a tone of surprise -as he might have used had his cheeks been rosy.</p> - -<p>“Quite well?”</p> - -<p>“Quite, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Sure?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“When did you come off watch?”</p> - -<p>“Eight bells, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You kept the Morning?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And your watch previous to that?”</p> - -<p>“The First, sir.”</p> - -<p>“First and Morning? Are you making no -mistake?”</p> - -<p>“No mistake, sir.”</p> - -<p>“How many midshipmen are doing Engineering -duties?”</p> - -<p>“Two, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And you keep watch and watch?”</p> - -<p>“We both stand off the Afternoon, sir.”</p> - -<p>“But haven’t I seen you at a gun in the Afternoon?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. The midshipman not on watch -attends his gun when there is Gunnery.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I see.... Are you undergoing any kind of—er—punishment -at present, or is this the -customary routine?”</p> - -<p>“We are not under punishment, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And you feel fit?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And happy?”</p> - -<p>Driss, genuinely surprised, looked up at him, -and after an instant’s pause answered, “Yes, -sir,” in a voice which was somehow not so steady -as he could have wished.</p> - -<p>“I see. That will do.”</p> - -<p>The Captain swung round on his heel and went -below to his cabin.</p> - -<p>“Messenger!... Tell the Engineer-Commander -to speak to me.”</p> - -<p>The messenger fled like the wind. He knew -the Captain, but failed to recognize this mood. -Ordinarily the Captain would have said, “Ask -the Engineer-Commander....”</p> - -<p>The Engineer-Commander, stirred to unwonted -activity by the boy’s breathlessness, came quickly.</p> - -<p>“You sent for me, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Engineer-Commander, are you personally responsible -for the routine of midshipmen performing -Engine-room duties?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Aggett is directly responsible, sir—under -me, of course.”</p> - -<p>“They are keeping watch and watch night and -day. Are you aware of that?”</p> - -<p>“The Afternoon is regarded as kept, sir.”</p> - -<p>“So I am told.... In addition to their -watch-keeping they do an Engineering sketch -each week?”</p> - -<p>“Almost inconsiderable, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You forget that they come to me for initials -every week. They are elaborate drawings.”</p> - -<p>“A few hours, sir....”</p> - -<p>“Let that pass.... They attend Divisions -and Quarters. They are in charge of the stokers -at Upper Deck Evolutions. And they attend -their guns. All this in their watch off.”</p> - -<p>“I am not responsible for their Upper Deck -duties, sir.”</p> - -<p>The Captain’s eyes flashed. “That was unnecessary, -Engineer-Commander. It is your duty -to make your orders conform to circumstances. -Have you realized that these young officers get -less than eight hours sleep in forty-eight?”</p> - -<p>“Surely, sir——”</p> - -<p>“I worked it out while I waited. There are -the figures.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t think, sir——”</p> - -<p>“It is extraordinarily necessary to think when -you have young lives in your hands.”</p> - -<p>“I will instruct Mr. Aggett at once to make -some modification, sir.”</p> - -<p>The Captain took back the paper on which his -figures were written. “These officers are ill,” -he said. “I may as well tell you that I was led -to make enquiries entirely by the astonishing -appearance of a midshipman I found standing on -the quarter-deck. He was whiter than I care -to see my midshipmen.”</p> - -<p>“I will make a change, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.... In future, midshipmen will do -duty in three watches, and they will not be below -after 10 p.m. or before 5 a.m. That will ensure -that they get a night’s sleep every other night.”</p> - -<p>“I will give your instructions, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And take the control of midshipmen entirely -out of Mr. Aggett’s hands. Take charge of them -yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“That is all then, Engineer-Commander.”</p> - -<p>The Engineer-Commander hesitated. Then he -gathered courage. “If I might make a suggestion, -sir: in the circumstances, you having spoken -to a midshipman—probably the Gunroom is -talking about it—would it be wise to make this -change at once? And from the disciplinary -point of view, sir, to take the midshipmen so -suddenly out of Mr. Aggett’s hands might look -like—like an aspersion, in the circumstances. A -little delay, sir?”</p> - -<p>The Captain shook his head.</p> - -<p>“In the circumstances, Engineer-Commander—no -delay.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">DECISION</span></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>When John said to Driss that he had made up -his mind, he thought that the decision at which -he had arrived was unalterable. If it were -possible, he would leave the Service. The resentment -he felt against Aggett coloured his dreams -of an impossible future, in which he was to be -free to learn and to write, free to build, free to -love, free to fight at no permanent disadvantage -for the possession of whom and what he loved—free -as no one of his generation could ever be. -But even before relief came by the Captain’s -orders he had begun to reconsider his decision, -determined that a step so momentous and irretrievable -should not be taken in hot blood. By -the rules of the Service he, a midshipman, was -unable to resign. Midshipmen must be withdrawn -by their parents, and this implied that -John could act only through his mother. If the -responsibility had been his own he would have -accepted it at once; for his own needs, and, he -thought, the price he would have to pay for their -satisfaction, were indeed clear to him. A price, -however, would be demanded not of him only. -His mother was glad that he was in the Navy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -settled in a profession that would provide him -with shelter and clothing, food and drink; and -now so far advanced in it that in less than -two years she would cease to pay the annual -fifty pounds demanded by the Admiralty of the -parents of midshipmen, and John, receiving the -daily five shillings that was the pay of sub-lieutenants, -would be able to keep himself. His -mother had been so generous to him, had given -him so much of the little she possessed, that -John could not bear to demand more of her. The -education received by him at Osborne and Dartmouth -had cost the State more than his mother -had paid. If he left the Service before the Service -had had time to reap in his labour an interest -on its outlay, the Admiralty would justly require -of his mother that she should make good at -least some part of its loss. She would be forced -at last to draw upon that small capital which, -for all her need, she had never touched. John -knew that the Admiralty, a stern, and yet on -occasion a strangely generous department, was -sometimes disposed to waive its rights; but he -could not imagine his proud mother in the part -of the suppliant widow. She would make no -appeal for sympathy or exceptional treatment. -“They have a right to this money,” she would -say, “and they shall have it in full.” And she -would add: “I’m glad to pay it, John, if it makes -for your happiness.” John could hear her saying -that. It gave him pause.</p> - -<p>This preliminary cost of freedom it would, -however, be possible, though inconvenient, to -pay. Beyond it lay a problem not easily soluble—perhaps -impossible to solve. By leaving the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -Service he would cut himself off from the only -profession for which his specialized training had -fitted him. He would have to be educated again, -apprenticed again. At a time when he might -have been earning enough money for his own -support more money would have to be invested -in his career. It was probable that, for all his -mother’s good-will, the money could not be -produced. The meshes of the net were close and -strong.</p> - -<p>So John fought to reverse his decision and -succeeded at least in postponing the letter by -which his mother should be made aware of it. -Delay was easy, almost pleasant; for he dreaded -above all else the answer, which despite his hopes -he felt was inevitable, that her financial position -made his second apprenticeship, and therefore his -withdrawal, impracticable. Such an answer would -shatter in a moment the dreams by which he now -lived. Until it came hope would endure; by its -arrival hope would be definitely banished. He -dared not think of his life after that. He must -leave the Service soon or not at all, for every -year would make a fresh start more difficult. If -he was forced to realize that he could not be -withdrawn as a midshipman it would be made -plain to him—so plain that he would not be able -to deceive himself—that he must be a naval officer -so long as he lived. His visions of Oxford, of the -House, of miraculous literary success, extravagant -though he knew them to be, were yet based upon -possibility. This possibility once removed, as it -would be by his mother’s negative, the visions -themselves must perish and their consolation pass -away.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> - -<p>Not till August was nearly over did the time -come when action could no longer be delayed. -An incident entirely unconnected with John’s -desire to leave the Service impelled him to write -the letter in which his desire was expressed. The -squadron had been carrying out Commander-in-Chief’s -firing. It had fallen to an elevation party -from the <i>Pathshire</i> to board the tug which towed -the target, and to spot the fall of the flagship’s -shot. John and Cunwell had gone with Ordith. -It was their duty to sit aft in the tug so that -they were in line with the target, and to record -by means of a stop-watch and the Rake instrument -the time and effect of each salvo. Ordith -was to observe, calling to John, who would write -them down, the errors over or short in yards. -Cunwell was to keep his eyes on the flagship, and, -as the guns flashed, say “Fire,” John pressing -the knob of the stop-watch and entering the time -on his sheet.</p> - -<p>Rain fell so fast during the forenoon that it -had the effect of fog and made firing impossible. -The elevation party went to the <i>Pathshire</i> for -lunch, and, the rain having by then ceased, returned -in the afternoon to the tug. The target -was towed by a wire hawser, which was intended -to ride from side to side over the great hoop-shaped -girders with which the tug was fitted. It had -been found, however, that if the wire were given -free play, instead of passing evenly over the -riding-hoops as the tug altered course and the -target shifted from one quarter to the other, it -held up momentarily in the centre, swung across -at high speed, and was thus subjected continually -to sudden stresses that threatened to break it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -To prevent this, the wire was secured by port and -starboard steadying-lines, and, no longer free to -travel over the riding-hoops, was kept rigidly -amidships. This arrangement was itself dangerous, -and the tug’s crew were warned that in no -circumstances were they to go aft of the point of -attachment of the steadying lines.</p> - -<p>When the elevation party reached the tug there -was still some time before the firing was due to -begin and they spent it with the lieutenant in -command—whom Ordith knew as Toby—sitting -in deck-chairs and smoking cigarettes. The sun -had broken through a stormy sky, so that there -was golden lace on the rim of each dark hollow -in the sea, and the rigging was fringed with -glistening drops that, as the vessel rolled, fell in -showers on to the deck.</p> - -<p>Presently the “Preparative” was hoisted by -the flagship.</p> - -<p>“Time to begin,” said Ordith, and stretched -himself. “Everything ready, Lynwood—paper, -pencil, stop-watch? We’d better be moving aft.”</p> - -<p>“There’s plenty of time,” said Toby, “time -to finish your cigarettes.”</p> - -<p>Ordith drew slowly at his, and watched the -smoke swept aft on the wind. Like a cat he lay -contented in the sun.</p> - -<p>“I’m not keen on you fellows sitting aft of -those steadying lines,” Toby said. “If one of -them parts, the wire will move like—like the blade -of a guillotine.”</p> - -<p>“I confess the position is not one I should have -chosen,” Ordith answered. “But where else can -we work the Rake? I don’t want my valuable -head removed.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I think it might be possible—God! there goes -the tow!”</p> - -<p>Toby sprang up as a tremor passed through the -tug. No sound had been audible. John, who -had caught a glimpse of Toby’s suddenly white -face, moved to follow him. Cunwell, too, was on -his feet.</p> - -<p>“Unnecessary panic,” said Ordith. “It’s only -one of his damned steadying lines.”</p> - -<p>The Engine-room telegraph had clanged, and, -the engines being stopped, the tug rolled heavily. -Through the silence came a voice that contained -a suggestion of doubt: “Man overboard!” Then -a moment later, loud and clear:</p> - -<p>“Man overboard!”</p> - -<p>Toby, whom they could not see, shouted: -“Away lifeboat’s crew—no, not all of you—blast -your eyes!... Make a signal to Flag for boats -and doctor. Keep a look-out from the bridge.... -Find out who’s missing, Hogge.”</p> - -<p>Ordith, moved at last, went aft, followed by -John and Cunwell. Toby, standing near a blood-soaked -body that lay on the deck, was questioning -a seaman whose nerves had gone.</p> - -<p>“You shouted ‘Man overboard!’ didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>“Did you see him go over?”</p> - -<p>“Not <i>see ’im</i>, sir, as you might say. Thought -I saw a splash, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Splash—in this sea?”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir—seemed a splash like.”</p> - -<p>Toby resisted a desire to stamp his foot and -shake his fist.</p> - -<p>“Did you hear anything?”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t ’ear no splash in this sea, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No,” said Toby, “quite right; you wouldn’t.” -Then, taking breath, he continued more calmly. -“There’s nothing more to be done—the boat’s -away; this man’s dead; take your time: I want -to find out if there’s a man overboard or not. -What made you think there was? What made -you shout ‘Man overboard’?”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, there was two standin’ there talkin’. -I seed ’em on’y a few minutes gone. An’ when -the accid’nt ’appened, sir, ’an I looked again, -there was on’y one”—he glanced at the body, -and finished lamely—“on’y one, as you might -say, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Then one’s gone, unless he moved away. Did -you see who they were?”</p> - -<p>“There was Skidd, sir—that’s Skidd, lyin’ -there.”</p> - -<p>“I know. The other?”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t see no face, sir. Didn’t notice.”</p> - -<p>Toby ran a handkerchief over his forehead. -Hogge had come up.</p> - -<p>“Well? Mustered the hands?”</p> - -<p>“Owlett’s gone, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Owlett? Sure he’s not away in the boat?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir; ’e’s not in the boat, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Right.... Was every man warned not to -go aft of the steadying lines?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. Accordin’ to your orders, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You could swear to that, if need be?”</p> - -<p>“Swear’t on the Bible, sir. Warned this -Owlett meself, sir. Never was one to take -’eed.”</p> - -<p>“Very good.” Toby saw Ordith, and greeted -him as if almost surprised by his presence. “Hullo -Ordith.... Poor fellow! gone down like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -stone. They’ll never find him.... Fool to -stand there—damned fool! Oh well!”</p> - -<p>“Head off?” said Ordith, pointing to the now -covered body.</p> - -<p>“Nearly.... Good seaman, that. Wife and -three children.”</p> - -<p>Ordith turned for’ard as Toby left him on his -way to the bridge. “Five minutes later, might -have been me.... This valuable head,” he -added, a little shaken. “And Aggett rummaging -my cabin.” He patted his pockets. “By Jove! -left the keys, too.” Then, suddenly perceiving -Cunwell, he gripped his arm. “Don’t care for -Aggett,” he said confidentially; “do you?”</p> - -<p>He returned to his deck-chair.</p> - -<p>“Wonder if we can help Toby at all?... -No.”</p> - -<p>He moved his shoulders as if adjusting the set -of a coat, opened his cigarette-case and shut it -again with a snap.</p> - -<p>“Oh well!” He sighed, leaned back, interlaced -his fingers behind his valuable head, and, -because the sun was strong, tilted his cap over -his eyes.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>That evening two Wardroom Officers came into -the Gunroom to play poker. At the end of the -table which the game left free, John sat down to -write his letter. He had been too near to death -that afternoon to waste more time.</p> - -<p>He wrote the date and</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="dateline"> - -“<i>H.M.S. ‘Pathshire.’<br /> -“China Station,<br /> -“At Wei-hai-wei</i>. -</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap"><i>Dear Mother</i></span>,—”</p> - -<p>(Then he paused. Usually he wrote “Darling -Mother,” but after consideration he decided not -to change what he had written.)</p> - -<p>“<i>I have just had your letter telling me of your -work, and your holiday, and your talks with Mr. -Alter. It was such a plain, interesting letter full -of news that I hate myself for writing any other -kind</i>.”</p> - -<p>(That was a poor sentence—but let it stand.)</p> - -<p>“<i>But I don’t honestly think it would be fair either -to you or to myself to postpone writing about what -I have to say this evening. The facts are plainly -these, and I suppose I may as well come to the -point at once</i>.”</p> - -<p>(It was time to turn a page, and John saw his -mother’s face as she turned it.)</p> - -<p>“<i>I am writing to ask you if I may take the very -serious step of leaving the Service. My reasons for -asking this are chiefly these: I am not keen on the -Navy. I don’t want to succeed in it—that is to -say, the prospect of becoming an admiral doesn’t -attract me. If I became an admiral I shouldn’t be -very glad or very happy. If I won a Trafalgar I -shouldn’t be very proud. And I think the sooner -one leaves a profession one doesn’t want to rise in, -the better</i>.</p> - -<p>“<i>It is not a case of sudden impulse—I have felt -very much the same about it, though I haven’t always -been quite so explicit with myself, ever since I came -to sea, or, at least, ever since I began to realize what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -this job leads to. If I have stood it so long, why -not longer? I have tried to fight it down. But, -although I might make myself do a great deal of -work, I can’t make myself care for it, and, after -very long and careful consideration, I have come -to the conclusion that the end must inevitably -come.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>The great problem is that of money. I have -always realized how much trouble you have taken, -and how much money you have spent, in starting -me in a profession, and I know that throwing it over -now means a great sacrifice for you. First, there’s -the cost of getting me out—the Admiralty will want -something; then, if I am to enter almost any formal -profession, the cost of training and educating me all -over again; and lastly, there’s the uncertainty—instead -of the present certainty—as to how much -money I shall ultimately earn, and when I shall -begin to earn it. It seems all money</i>.</p> - -<p><i>“Of course, what I want to do is to write—you -have known of that fatal desire ever since I could -hold a pen. And I want to be free—but let that -pass now, since this is almost a business letter. I -should like to go to Oxford, but I’m afraid that’s -impossible. So I think the best thing is to get out -first—that’s the essential. And then, with a little -help from you as a start, I could take rooms in a far -corner of London and start in journalism. The -future would take care of itself. I think Mr. Alter -would help with advice as regards journalism</i>.</p> - -<p>“<i>I am very, very sorry for all this. I know the -trouble and worry I must be causing you. If I tried -to explain in detail what has led up to this I should -never end: the causes go back further than I can -trace them. It may be quite impossible for reasons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -of money that I should leave. If so, tell me, and I -shall manage to settle down as I am. But I had -to ask in case, just for lack of asking, I was letting -slip the one chance of another start.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>I will send some little news very soon.</i></p> - -<p class="sig"> -“<i>J. L.</i>” -</p></div> - -<p>“Jack Pots!” cried a poker player. The chips -rattled into a saucer. “What about some -drinks?... Drink for you, Lynwood?”</p> - -<p>“No, thanks very much.”</p> - -<p>He put his letter into an envelope, stamped and -addressed it, and scribbled “Via Siberia” across -its corner. Then, having dropped it into a -hollow-voiced letter-box, he left the Gunroom. -The decision being now inevitable, he dared discuss -it with Hartington.</p> - -<p>“Can I come in, Hartington? or—or are you -reading?”</p> - -<p>“I was. But come in and talk. Move those -things from your chair on to the bunk.”</p> - -<p>After a short silence, John said: “I’ve written -to my mother, asking her to take me out.”</p> - -<p>Hartington moved suddenly, his eyes shining. -“Oh, splendid!” he cried. “I am glad. I -wondered if you’d ever have the guts to do that. -Which is it to be—Balliol or Univ.?”</p> - -<p>Never had John felt more gratitude than he did -for this enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“You think I’m right?” he asked, for the -pleasure of hearing Hartington answer: “Yes, of -course you are right. Go and order some drinks, -and then come back and tell me what you are -going to do—all your plans. And we’ll drink to -Oxford and the Great Work. We’ll drink to all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -our dreams—yours, coming true—and mine, very -like yours once.”</p> - -<p>The drinks were ordered, and John returned.</p> - -<p>“Probably my mother won’t take me out,” he -said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, she will. She’s bound to if you’ve made -her understand—she wouldn’t be your mother -otherwise.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a question of money.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!...”</p> - -<p>“Oxford’s impossible, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“Then, damn Oxford!... Lynwood, you -<i>must</i> get out. I didn’t. Something interfered—never -mind what. And now I know.... You -must escape somehow.”</p> - -<p>Then slowly John explained much that, even -to Hartington, he had never spoken of before—how -little money there was, and how little influence. -He talked of his mother and of Mr. -Alter.</p> - -<p>“I believe Alter would help but I don’t like -to ask him.”</p> - -<p>“Why not—if you’re going into journalism?”</p> - -<p>“I know; but, you see,” John said, with hesitation, -“I think Alter was in love with my mother -at one time. I’m not sure he doesn’t love her -still. One can’t ask favours.”</p> - -<p>They talked until near midnight, when John -rose to go.</p> - -<p>“Even if I do get out soon,” he said, “I have -a horrible feeling that one doesn’t escape very -far.” And, blind to Hartington’s questioning -eyes, he went on, speaking a part of his thought. -“The powers that encompass us are devilish -strong: the Service, Fane-Herbert’s father, Ordith—all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -the ring. One doesn’t defy them easily. -One gets caught again ... in the net.”</p> - -<p>Hartington dragged from his shelf a book that -John had never before seen in his hands. He -opened it where an envelope marked a place.</p> - -<p>“Read that—from the second verse—‘<i>They all -lie in wait.</i>’”</p> - -<p>“‘<i>They all lie in wait for blood; they hunt every -man his brother with a net. That they may do evil -with both hands earnestly, the prince asketh, and -the judge asketh for a reward; and the great man, -he uttereth his mischievous desire: so they wrap -it up.</i>’”</p> - -<p>“Go on, it’s most important to go on.”</p> - -<p>“‘<i>The best of them is as a brier: the most upright -is sharper than a thorn hedge: the day of thy watchmen -and thy visitation cometh; now shall be their -perplexity.</i>’”</p> - -<p>“That’s where you stop,” said Hartington. -“And you are going to get out, Lynwood. Good -luck!—and dreams of Oxford.”</p> - -<p>When John had left him, Hartington sat down -by his writing-table, and, in his capacity as -“Lynwood’s Sub,” wrote a long letter to a man -he had never seen.</p> - -<p>“I’m probably making a fool of myself,” he -thought; “but it’s a chance—and the need’s -pretty desperate.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">IN THE CROSS-PASSAGE</span></h2> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>There was no Gunnery after the first days of -September, and on the fifth the squadron sailed -for Yokohama in order that it might send representatives -to the Mikado’s funeral. The Gunroom -was cheered by the prospect, though the enthusiasm -of the midshipmen who were then -attached to the Engine-room staff was somewhat -damped by the thought of so many days continuously -at sea. John, however, had by now -returned to the Upper Deck, and to him watch-keeping -on the fore-bridge had ever been the -most attractive of his duties. By night it was -even pleasanter than by day; for then the bridge’s -isolation was accentuated; there was no routine, -no hurrying to and fro of the hands; no Commander, -no Captain, no Navigator, save in exceptional -circumstances. The Gold Lace, together -with all that the Gold Lace implied, was securely -packed away. The officer of the watch and his -midshipman drew closer together, the barriers of -Service were dissolved, and personality lived -again. Sipping the cocoa that John had made, -he and his officer would stoop over charts of -strange regions and weave tales of the places -whose names they found; or, together on monkey’s -island, they would exchange reminiscences of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -Dartmouth and the <i>Britannia</i>; or discuss books, -women, politics, or spiritualism, according to the -officer’s taste.</p> - -<p>In the <i>Pathshire</i> the relations between Wardroom -and Gunroom were excellent—a circumstance -which, as had been said at that last dinner -in the <i>King Arthur</i>, went far towards the making -of a Happy Ship. There was not one watch-keeping -Lieutenant with whom John was reluctant -to spend four hours on the bridge. It -was necessary, when the watch began, to make a -swift estimate of his officer’s mood, and to regulate -his conduct accordingly. Sometimes the -four hours were allowed to pass almost in silence, -and, in any case, it was not the midshipman’s -part to begin anything but a strictly Service -conversation. Often it was cocoa that loosened -the officer’s tongue.</p> - -<p>“Well, young fellah-me-lad,” Dendy, the ship’s -rake, would begin. “I’m damned bored. I don’t -know about you?” This would open the way -for tales of Dendy’s invariably triumphant loves—tales -which John had found he was required, not -to comment upon, but to believe. Dendy had -his moments of seriousness, too, when he would -take hold of John’s arm and explain that love -could not always be lightly regarded....</p> - -<p>Lanfell, a stolid salt-horse, was a less amusing -companion. At times when other officers were -more carefully dressed, Lanfell had a habit of -appearing in a sweater and scarf, an incredibly -old monkey-jacket and trousers, and a pair of -sea-boots. When at sea he would ask his midshipman -how he would moor ship, or rig sheers, -or lay out a bower anchor, and the watch was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -liable to degenerate into a peripatetic seamanship -lecture. If he could think of no more questions -he would sometimes consent to be diverted into -lighter paths; but even then his imagination led -him with painful regularity to a football field. -He was never tired of explaining that he was -neither a mathematician nor a theorist.</p> - -<p>“I can’t chase <i>X</i>—never could,” he would say. -“And in a destroyer with a sea running I’d rather -have a drop o’ rough seamanship than all your -ballistics.”</p> - -<p>“Then you don’t believe in specializing, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Specializing? Oh, I don’t know. I suppose -the specialists have the pull. But there’s still -room for the seaman—more room than most -fellows think.”</p> - -<p>There were times when Lanfell’s faith failed -him, and he saw himself as a salt-horse eternally -waiting for promotion; but such misgivings he -drowned quietly. His skin would become pasty -and opaque, his eyes heavy, his movement -cumbrous. Then, by taking violent exercise and -cold baths, he would restore his health and hope. -The Service suited him, and, save in those periods -when his wine bill mounted prodigiously, he was -happy.</p> - -<p>The most exciting watch-keeping partner was -undoubtedly the First Lieutenant; but his visits -to the bridge were voluntary, and unfortunately -few. He would appear at odd hours—usually at -night when he had been unable to sleep. At first -he would take no notice of anyone, but stand at -the end of the bridge, staring down upon the -chains. Then, rousing himself jerkily—every -movement of his was a jerk—he would do breath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>ing -exercises, a performance so strange that the -Quartermasters shook their heads and sometimes -tapped their foreheads significantly.</p> - -<p>When the breathing exercises were finished the -First Lieutenant would turn swiftly, his cap -over his eyes, and rattle up to monkey’s island, -where the officer of the watch and his midshipman -were standing by the compass.</p> - -<p>“Ee!” he began. This was a strange sound, -peculiar to himself, which was forced from his -throat—apparently in spite of some physical -obstruction. “Ee! Finish your watch for you. -You go below. Anything to turn over?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you sleep, Number One?”</p> - -<p>“No. Ee. Yes, I mean. You push off. -Mm?”</p> - -<p>One night, after such preliminaries, the First -Lieutenant being left on watch, he rapped out at -John:</p> - -<p>“Ever seen a sea-monster?... Ought to see -a sea-monster.... No, boy, don’t look mazed. -This isn’t a Peter-Piper-Picked-a-Peck exercise. -Common sense. Ought to see a sea-monster. -Good for snotties. Mm?”</p> - -<p>After a pause. “Seamen’s fairies. Believe in -fairies. Believe in fairies, believe in God. Look -for sea-monster and you have your eye on the -Devil. Catch sea-monster; catch Devil by tail.”</p> - -<p>Other midshipmen had been known to laugh, -as they thought, politely; but John knew the -First Lieutenant too well. Left alone he would -presently become comprehensible and interesting. -Interruption would drive him into silence.</p> - -<p>Soon he began a rambling disquisition upon -the probable anatomy, functions, and habits of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -sea-monsters. His talk was full of the technicalities -of doctors and zoologists. The longer a -word the more rapid his pronunciation of it.... -From sea-monsters to prehistoric beasts, and -thence to were-wolves and vampires was an easy -progress. Of the supernatural he spoke with none -of the nervous suggestion of one who visits -séances. He did not persuade or argue, and his -tales, frankly imaginary, seemed to be told to -himself rather than to John. They were wonderful -tales.</p> - -<p>“D’you read Algernon Blackwood?... Ee.... -More fun to spin the yarns yourself. Mm? -Now, if ever you get writing, don’t lose a sense -of Eternity. That’s what the modern people lack. -Brilliant enough: dozens of women—acid mostly; -brilliant like chandeliers, though—not stars. So -taken up with their own few years they forget -the rest. Scramble for the nuts; forget the tree; -forget the forest; forget the hawk overhead. -That’s why Hardy sits in the inner parlour with -the giants and all the others rattle their mugs in -the taproom. Know Hardy? Every word a -new link in chain from Adam; every kiss taught -by Eve. Sense of Eternity.... Sense of -Eternity makes a watch pass quicker. Read -Gibbon, boy, when the Commander curses——”</p> - -<p>“Light on the port bow, sir!” sang the look-out -in the foretop.</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye.... Take a bearing, boy.” He -took off his cap and flung it on to the bridge -below. “Ee.... Signalman o’ the Watch—my -cap. Dropped it. Bring it.” And when the -Signalman had come and gone he added to John: -“Must keep them awake. Must remind ’em I’m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -here. They like it. Bad for morals to stare too -long at the sea. Breaks the morbid current if -you bash things about. That’s why Cabinet -Ministers ought to have Jesters with balloons. -Smack on the head with a balloon restores sense -of proportion. Mm?... What was the bearing?... -Take the Corporal of the Watch with -you and go the Rounds.”</p> - -<p>Almost any occasion—especially the solemn -and pompous—might be enlivened by the flight -of the First Lieutenant’s cap. Once he had -hurled it, without explanatory comment, into the -midst of the ship’s company when they were -engaged in prayer during quarter-deck Church.</p> - -<p>“Sorry, padre,” he said afterwards. “Forgot -about you. Fellow talking. Had to stop him. -No other means of communication.”</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>After the Mikado’s funeral the <i>Pathshire</i> visited -Vladivostok and Nagasaki before returning to -Wei-hai-wei. The way of life ran smooth, and -seemed to John to run the smoother because for -him its direction might so soon be changed. His -hope, at first so weak, of a favourable answer -from his mother, had fed upon itself, until at last -it had become almost a conviction. He had -ceased to think of his future as that of a naval -officer.</p> - -<p>This sense of approaching emancipation and -the thoughts of independence by which it was -accompanied changed his attitude towards Margaret. -His hope had so grown that now once -more it included her. From a midshipman, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -an officer who throughout his life would be dependent -upon the pay of his rank, she was -separated by impassable barriers of wealth, influence, -and competition. But now, in the light -of his new hope, the barriers between him and -her seemed no longer impassable. He would at -least have the chance to construct ladders of -fame and money before it was too late. He -would be able, too, to bring those ladders near. -The Service etiquette and tradition would bind -him no more. Ordith, for instance, would cease -to be his superior officer. He would not be borne -away to sea, nor would his shore leave be stopped -at the moment when he most wanted to see -Margaret. Mr. Fane-Herbert, whom it was impossible -not to regard as some kind of naval chief -with additional advantages of wealth and civilian -freedom, could not continue to treat him as a -junior officer of no account. The blind alley -would open into a clear field. Opportunity would -increase.</p> - -<p>Or, at any rate, this is how John’s sudden -optimism led him to regard his future.</p> - -<p>Margaret was one of a small party that came -on board to tea with Hartington early in October. -It was a Gunroom party, to which Ordith was -not invited. Its beginning had been difficult -because civilians seem always to require so much -space that a warship cannot provide. The chairs, -which had been comfortable enough until it was -necessary to invite ladies to sit in them, appeared -suddenly to be in a shocking state of disrepair. -Never had Gunroom china seemed so thick or -Gunroom fare, for all the preparations that had -been made, so brutally masculine. The corticene,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -scarred with burnings of cigarette-ends, cried out -for rugs to hide it.</p> - -<p>The ladies, however, were tactfully blind to -these deficiencies. The tea had been a success. -At Hartington’s suggestion the party broke up -so that the guests might “see over the ship,” he -having conveniently forgotten that they had -“seen over” it many times before. He himself -took charge of Mrs. Fane-Herbert. Margaret was -left to John.</p> - -<p>Having examined the Upper Deck twelve-pounders -in the view of all the world, he took her -into the ammunition and cross-passages, where -he knew none other would be. The electric lights -flared from polished metal and white enamel; the -atmosphere was heavy; their lightest footsteps -clattered and resounded. But John was oblivious -to all this.</p> - -<p>“I’ve never seen you in such good spirits,” she -said. “Tell me why.”</p> - -<p>“Because I am going to leave the Service.”</p> - -<p>“Leave it—for good?” She drew in her -breath.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’ve never told you. I haven’t had a -chance to tell you. My leave was stopped for a -time, and I never seemed to be able to get near -you. You know why my leave was stopped?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Nick told me.”</p> - -<p>Nick! So it had gone thus far. “What did -he say?” John asked.</p> - -<p>“He said that what you did was a serious -offence—technically.”</p> - -<p>“Technically?”</p> - -<p>“I mean he seemed to sympathize in the circumstances. -He told me about Mr. Aggett and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -the watches you were keeping. He told me -everything.”</p> - -<p>“And he sympathized?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. You needn’t say it like that, John. I -believe it was he who persuaded Mr. Aggett to -stop your leave instead of taking it further.”</p> - -<p>“Did he tell you that too?”</p> - -<p>“No; but I read between the lines.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“And father said he thought you had been -lucky.”</p> - -<p>“So Nick told <i>him</i>?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know who told him. Nick may have -done. It’s been the talk of the fleet.”</p> - -<p>John winced under that.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” she said. “We oughtn’t to have -talked about it. I’ve made you wretched.”</p> - -<p>“No. I don’t care now—now I’m going to -get out.”</p> - -<p>“When is it to be?”</p> - -<p>“I wrote home at the end of August. The -mail takes just over a fortnight each way. I -might get an answer—to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>She said after a moment’s thought: “Oh, I am -glad, tremendously glad ... for you.”</p> - -<p>The thought of John’s leaving China, of his -returning home, troubled her. It brought Ordith -and the inevitable decision nearer. Somehow -John’s absence—though lately his presence had -meant so little to her—would weaken her own -defences. Now that he was breaking free of his -net, his company and the likeness of his situation -to her own as she conceived it had become suddenly -more valuable to her. A safeguard, she -told herself.... And yet, more than a safe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>guard.... -She looked at him nervously. She -wanted him not to go. She would be alone when -he had gone.</p> - -<p>“You know,” she said, “this—all this life—doesn’t -suit me better than you. We’re together -in that. And you are escaping.”</p> - -<p>“It’s no good without you.”</p> - -<p>He had spoken on the instant. There was no -going back. He said, before she could interrupt -him:</p> - -<p>“Margaret, you must listen. One can’t go on -alone. I can’t. I don’t believe you can. We -are both caught the same way. I’m getting free. -You must, too. Oh, you must, Margaret!”</p> - -<p>“It’s impossible.”</p> - -<p>“Now, yes. But couldn’t we come to an -understanding now? And later——”</p> - -<p>He was stricken by doubt for the meaning of -her word “impossible.” He tried and failed to -read her face.</p> - -<p>“Or did you mean——”</p> - -<p>“You are not out of the Service yet, John,” -she said.</p> - -<p>He was sure now that she had intended to -check him. That reminder of the Service—which -she had spoken partly to gain time, partly to -drag back her own thoughts to realities—seemed -to him a deliberate thrust, well aimed. He was -still in the Service, still a snotty—powerless. It -became a source of embarrassment that she was -beautiful and wore beautiful things. His imagination -drew for him a picture of her dressing-table, -spread with silver; of her furs; of her soft dresses, -orderly and exquisite; of her maid brushing that -wonderful hair—and of the vast house in London,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -with its stone steps for ever in the twilight of a -frowning porch, and its stern door, of which the -handle was but an ornament not made to turn. -In contrast were his barbarous sea-chest and -hammock, his own small home tucked away in -the country, and his one shilling and ninepence -a day.</p> - -<p>He had been a fool to think that she—oh, a -thousand times a fool!</p> - -<p>Feeling that the moment and, above all, her -cruel thrust had given him the right to say what -for long years—until he was more than a snotty—he -might not say again, he flashed out:</p> - -<p>“Come what may, Margaret, you’re the best I -have on earth.”</p> - -<p>And he turned away, leaving her to follow him -out of the ammunition passage. She, not knowing -how she had wounded him, not realizing how her -one word “impossible” had been misinterpreted, -moved her lips to speak. His last phrase—a -direct statement rather than an exclamation—thrilled -her. He had meant every word of it. -It was the finest tribute a woman could hear -spoken; and he had given it finely—every syllable -swift and clear-cut like sharp-edged flames. And -<span class="lock">yet——</span></p> - -<p>She did not speak. She stood without moving. -Already he was a few paces away—the nozzle of -a fire-hose glinted between them: and he did not -turn round. There would have been no need for -speech had he turned. She would have run to -him. They would have made great plans, too -brave to be impossible.</p> - -<p>But he did not turn, and in a moment she began -to follow him.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br /> - -<span class="smaller">CRISIS</span></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Mr. Fane-Herbert had recently returned to -Wei-hai-wei after what his household was led to -believe had been a prosperous absence. He -bullied the Chinese boys with cheerful energy; -he patted Margaret’s hand, and chuckled at the -jokes which he gave her to understand he would -have made but for her innocent presence; he -allowed his moustache to rest a little longer than -usual on the forehead his wife raised to him each -morning when, after entering the breakfast-room, -he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, “Ah, nice hot -coffee! Nice crinkly bacon! What more can a -man want?... Well, well—good-morning, -everyone. Morning, my dear”—all these being -signs that the world was revolving as he wished -it to revolve.</p> - -<p>Ordith had immediately been in attendance. -One morning soon after the Gunroom tea-party -he and Mr. Fane-Herbert were shut up together -for three hours.</p> - -<p>“That dreadful business!” said Mrs. Fane-Herbert. -“Why can’t your father take a rest, I -wonder?”</p> - -<p>“He likes it, mother.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear, I’m afraid he does. It seems odd—looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -back. Times change. Things take a -grip on one as one gets old.”</p> - -<p>“Not only when you get old, mother.”</p> - -<p>“No?... Oh, Margaret, darling, are you -happy? I do so want you to be happy. If you -let anything spoil your life it will be as if mine -were spoiled a——” She dared not say, “a -second time”; but she went on quaveringly, -determined to say now what she had in her heart -lest afterwards she had not the courage to say it. -“I’m not very strong, you know. I may not be -able to do all I should wish for you.”</p> - -<p>“But, mother, you were strong enough in -refusing to follow father from place to place when -he came here. You put your foot down then, -didn’t you? And you won.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes. But that’s like choosing furniture, -or moving from place to place, or any of the -small things. I can win because your father -yields. He doesn’t really mind. He is very -kind about such things. But on <i>matters of -essential principle</i>”—how often and often had she -heard that ugly phrase, spoken as if by a dictatorial -Chairman to a subservient Board?—“on -matters of essential principle I don’t oppose very -firmly, not now. It only makes trouble, and -does no good in the end.... He always makes -me feel that perhaps I’m wrong, after all. He’s -a very clever man, you know, dear—your father; -clever, and strong. He knows more than I do of -the world.”</p> - -<p>“Dear mother!”</p> - -<p>“So, Margaret,” Mrs. Fane-Herbert went on, -“you must fight your own battles. And be -strong. And whatever I say afterwards—for I’m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -not often like this ... now—remember what I -think.... And that I do love you.... And -that compromise with truth is no good—ever. -Once beaten, always beaten.”</p> - -<p>She rustled into a chair, her white fingers clasped -on her lap.</p> - -<p>“Fear is—oh, dreadful! like a foot in the door. -You can never shut it out. You never seem to -be—to be quite alone again.” Then, with an -expression of appeal and warning in her eyes, she -added: “That’s all I can say—I think that is all -I can say.”</p> - -<p>There was more finality in her tone than was -warranted by the closing of a conversation. -When the door had shut softly on its latch and -Margaret stood alone, she realized that her -mother had spoken to her as she was not likely -to speak again.</p> - -<p>With a sensation of sadness creeping over her -she went out into the garden—its cool air, its pale -sunshine. As she passed the window of the room -in which Ordith and her father were discussing -business she thought she heard her own name—“Margaret.” -Why were they speaking of her? -Perhaps her imagination had cheated her. Chance -anyway!</p> - -<p>With a little toss of her head she walked down -the gritty path and paused, turning her face into -the wind, which blew cool on her forehead and -throat. The clouds were like great tigers springing -up from behind the hills. The water was -flecked. The ships’ white ensigns were driven out -on the wind so that they seemed stiff, like toy -flags painted on tin.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>When, after many congratulatory farewells and -an exchange of confident good wishes for the -future, Ordith had parted from Mr. Fane-Herbert, -he saw Margaret in the garden. He paused with -his hand on the outer door, which he forebore to -close lest the sound of its catch should make her -aware of his presence. Her right shoulder was -turned to him, and she was looking seaward. -He threw over the slim form, slightly inclined -against the wind, a glance both critical and -passionate; for it was a peculiarity of his mind -that, unless he were in wine, its faculty of criticism -was little affected by desire. Yet, even as he -thought calmly of her beauty and the amazing -excellence of her body’s pose against that pale, -tawny sky, the idea of possession—or, rather, an -impulse towards such an idea, for there was nothing -deliberate, no defined imagining in this—came to -him, and passed over him like a cool hand, infinitely -light of touch, causing him to shiver -imperceptibly and his eyes to narrow as if they -were about to close. His throat opened slightly -to receive a breath quick drawn through the -mouth. He became conscious of the solidity of -the brass knob against his palm, and, as his -fingers moved a little, of the chill of the metal -they had not previously touched. Then he closed -the door, and went forward.</p> - -<p>“You, Nick! How long have you been standing -there?”</p> - -<p>“Standing?”</p> - -<p>“I—I had an idea that you had been.”</p> - -<p>“No, this moment I shut the door. What -made you think that?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> - -<p>She moved her shoulders and smiled, dismissing -the idea.</p> - -<p>“You’re not staying to lunch?”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m lunching at the Club. I’m coming -again in the afternoon.”</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>He summoned Aggett by signal to share the -meal, and when he arrived gave him cocktails -and a carefully censored account of the business -negotiations with Mr. Fane-Herbert. For several -days, well aware that negotiations were in progress, -Aggett had pressed for information, only -to be met by a shaking of Ordith’s head.</p> - -<p>“Not yet, my dear fellow. Honestly, I don’t -know how we stand. I’m not clear in my own -mind how far Fane-Herbert has advanced. All -in good time. As soon as I have anything definite -to tell you, I shall let you know at once.”</p> - -<p>Aggett had waited impatiently, but with a show -of patience. Upon Ordith’s good-will depended -his chances of leaving the Service and of obtaining -a position on the technical staff of that imaginary -firm, Ibble and Ordith. He had, therefore, a -personal interest in the foreshadowed amalgamation. -He knew, too, that until these arrangements -for amalgamation reached their final stage -Ordith and Mr. Fane-Herbert, though they were -ostensibly allies with regard to the Eastern Contracts, -would continue to provide for the competing -interests of their respective firms, strengthening -each one his own position in preparation -for the ultimate settlement.</p> - -<p>Aggett feared that this rivalry, conducted under -the cloak of friendly co-operation, might cause a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -rupture. Ordith, confident of his own powers, -might snap his fingers at Ibble’s; or Mr. Fane-Herbert, -relying upon Ibble’s weightier establishment, -might decide to remain independent of the -younger firm. Amalgamation was almost certainly -to the interests of both parties; without -doubt it was to Aggett’s interest. Breakdown -now would be disastrous, and Ordith, he knew, -was prepared to go far to prevent it. But could -he be trusted?</p> - -<p>Aggett was not without misgivings. A disagreement -in detail, a slight on Ordith’s pride, -an angry word—Aggett imagined his friend -gathering up his papers and walking out of Mr. -Fane-Herbert’s room, never to return. Moreover, -Aggett perceived clearly by what personal, -as distinct from commercial, motive Mr. Fane-Herbert -was urged towards the amalgamation. -He had no son worthy to receive his vast bequest -of influence and wealth—for Hugh’s powers were -obviously inadequate. And the firm of Ibble was -to him more than a business. It was his life’s -work. For its sake he had sacrificed many things -that when he was young he would have sworn -never to sacrifice. In it he had invested not -only money, but an unrealizable capital of labour -and affection, and his sentiment insisted that, -when he was gone, Ibble’s should continue to be -identified with one of his own blood. Yet, if -none of his own blood possessed the necessary -ability, outside help must be accepted. There -was but one way to compromise. His daughter -must carry on the personal tradition; her husband -must provide the administrative capacity. Also, -because Mr. Fane-Herbert had learnt not to give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -without receiving, he was determined that the -husband must bring with him more than brains. -He must add like to like, possession to possession. -And the choice had fallen on Ordith, who was -qualified in youth, ability, and endowment.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Fane-Herbert’s view of the world led -him to believe that the amalgamation without the -marriage ought to be opposed. If she were not -tied to Ordith, Margaret might marry any fool, -and cease to exercise the influence on policy which -her immense holding would place at her command. -She might even sell out, and devote the -proceeds to God knew what ridiculous frippery. -The Fane-Herbert tradition might come to an -end. He might lose his immortality.... The -projects of marriage and amalgamation were -therefore inseparable in Mr. Fane-Herbert’s mind. -This was the fact upon which Aggett dwelt. -Ordith must act, must act immediately. Every -moment of delay was dangerous, pregnant with -discord. The marriage once effected, the settlement -once made—the settlement was the point—there -could be no retreat from amalgamation.</p> - -<p>As Aggett came ashore he had decided, at the -risk of unpleasantness, to draw Ordith’s attention -to this aspect of the matter; but he was soon to -discover that the risk was unnecessary. Lunch -was a tedious meal, at which conversation on -engrossing topics was debarred by the presence of -others, but when it was over, and the patron -saints of armament firms had been invoked, in -silence but with perfect understanding, over many -a glass of wine, the two men returned to their -quiet corner and were again at ease.</p> - -<p>“It amounts to this,” said Ordith presently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -“Point one, the Eastern Contracts: he has been -doing good work, so have I. There’s much yet -to be done, but the outlook is excellent.”</p> - -<p>“Does he know that you have been squaring -your own yard-arm when he wasn’t looking?”</p> - -<p>“He does. I know as much of him. That -cancels out.”</p> - -<p>“Right. I don’t like it—I’ll tell ye why in a -shake. But go on.”</p> - -<p>“Point Two, the Amalgamation: we have both -agreed to support it—I, of course, on my father’s -behalf—but on one condition. Point Three, Yourself: -your billet is fixed. You go on the permanent -staff. Start at fifteen hundred—I’ll get -seventeen-fifty for you when it comes to the -point. Rises after that by agreement. As for -those plans and gadgets in my cabin, there’s -nothing said yet. Nothing can safely be said of -them till the amalgamation’s completed. But -you stand in with me there. You’ll have to trust -me.... Satisfied?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Aggett, “though I fancied two -thousand.... But what about Point Two and -that condition? You skidded over that, sonny.”</p> - -<p>Ordith laughed—perhaps with embarrassment. -“Simply a—er—personal matter,” he said, and -stopped.</p> - -<p>Aggett glanced sidelong without moving his -head, and winked. “What’s up with ye, Ordith? -Think I don’t know? Stammering lover, eh? -The part don’t suit ye.... Bo-oy! Couple o’ -cocktails.... Yes, you son of a ——, two piece, -two peecee! Chop chop!” He held up two -fingers at the blinking Chinese waiter. Then to -Ordith: “That’s to celebrate.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ordith smiled. It wasn’t worth while to get -angry with Aggett. “It was rather odd,” he -said, “I didn’t care to be too direct about the—about -my personal point. It’s devilish difficult -to introduce your own marriage into a business -discussion without making it sound too business-like. -Oh yes, you may grin. It’s damned easy -for you to be cynical at long range.... But to -me, although you may choose to think otherwise, -and although I may at times have given you -reason to think otherwise, to me this marriage is -something more than a business proposition. I -nearly left it out for decency’s sake; very nearly -decided to take my chance without preliminary -safeguards.”</p> - -<p>“But you didn’t leave it out, after all,” said -Aggett drily.</p> - -<p>“No, Aggett; as you observe, with such sympathetic -understanding of my character, I didn’t, -after all. You never know; the most callous -father may be touched by sentiment and drive -a hellish hard bargain at the last moment. Then -I should have looked a pretty fool. Besides——”</p> - -<p>“Besides, I’ve always read in the pretty story-books -that all the best brought up young gents -approached the parents first. So you’re in good -company.” Aggett drained his glass and shouted -for more cocktails. “Drink up, ol’ man, and -come to the point.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I was infinitely tactful—screwed up my -courage and shied off again half a dozen times. -Then, thank Heaven! Fane-Herbert opened the -subject himself. I thought he had been keeping -something back. ‘Ordith,’ he said, ‘you must -pardon my questioning you on a side-issue. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -shouldn’t venture to do so if I was not reasonably -certain of being able correctly to anticipate your -answer.’”</p> - -<p>“Sounds like a lecture,” said Aggett.</p> - -<p>“Probably he had thought it out. He was -talking at the picture above my head. ‘I think -we’d better be frank,’ he went on. ‘I think you -ought to know that I regard your marriage with -Margaret as an essential adjunct to any scheme -of amalgamation.’ Then he explained why. He -as good as told me—but polite as the Devil himself, -mind you—that he wouldn’t associate Ibble’s -with Ordith’s unless he had guarantees that I -should look after the Fane-Herbert interest. -And, where I am concerned, he regards a husband’s -self-interest as the only reliable guarantee.”</p> - -<p>“D’ye blame him?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Ordith, with faint irritation.</p> - -<p>“Then the thing’s fixed.”</p> - -<p>“You think so? There’s another person concerned, -you know.”</p> - -<p>“The girl? She’s as keen as mustard. Besides, -she’ll do as she’s told.”</p> - -<p>“The last statement may be true,” Ordith said, -with his trick of formality. “The first is, unfortunately, -a lie.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve watched her dance with ye.”</p> - -<p>“But dancing is not marriage.”</p> - -<p>Aggett exposed his teeth. “Less difference -than ye think,” he rapped out.</p> - -<p>Having reached a stage of mental development -at which virginity seemed an unjustifiable defiance -of manhood, he delighted in the marriage of any -woman he had known unmarried. He was satisfied -by it as numberless people, who had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -interest in legislation or in the constitution, were -satisfied when the House of Lords had its wings -clipped. He never refused an invitation to a -wedding unless it was that of a widow.</p> - -<p>Margaret was a girl the prospect of whose -taming particularly pleased him.</p> - -<p>“You mark my words,” he said. “She may -jib the first time. But you stick to it—it won’t -last long. If she tries to stand out, she’s got no -one to talk to, not a soul to plot her little rebellion -with. Ye soon get fed with rebellin’ alone. The -girl don’t stand a chance.”</p> - -<p>“Very pleasantly put to the prospective husband.... -Incidentally, the father isn’t a brute.”</p> - -<p>“How d’ye mean? Surely he’s fixed? You -said he was fixed.”</p> - -<p>“He might conceivably unfix. He can’t exert -pressure beyond a certain point. What’s more, -Aggett, I don’t want him to.”</p> - -<p>“Now that’s generous of ye, that is—not -‘beyond a certain point.’ God! Ordith, old -man, that’s you all over. But don’t ye see that -there’s no goin’ back for Fane-Herbert now? It -ain’t jus’ a pers’nal question. He’s got Ibble’s -behind him.”</p> - -<p>Ordith nodded. He reflected that he himself -might have conducted this affair differently if -Ordith’s had not been behind him.... And -yet—well, it was no damned good to sentimentalize -now. He called for more drink as a -set-off to Aggett’s frequent generosity, settled -himself in his chair, and, banishing misgiving as -only the greatly successful men of this world can -banish misgiving, allowed Aggett to talk.</p> - -<p>Aggett liked to generalize on this his favourite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -subject. His aids to the imagination and the care -he took that his friend’s glass should not long -remain empty produced in Ordith a brightening -of the eyes and a certain fixity of smile. From -the state of mind of which these were the outward -signs Aggett drew vicarious pleasure. He explained, -with careful avoidance of personalities -which Ordith might have resented, his theory of -the advantages to be obtained by impetuous -attack upon girls of the difficult kind.</p> - -<p>“No good hummin’ and hawin’ from t’other -end of the room. They can hum and haw better -than any of us. ‘Engage the enemy more closely.’ -That’s the signal. I always have a feelin’ with -the villain in the story-books. I like the breakin’ -of these proud young things.”</p> - -<p>Never a word of Margaret herself.</p> - -<p>Ordith was scarcely listening now, but, as the -speaker intended, his thoughts followed Aggett’s, -though with change of phrase and manner—followed -them through the succeeding talk until -at last he rose to go.</p> - -<p>“Go an’ prosper, sonny,” Aggett said; “an’ -Ibble an’ Ordith’s and all thy gods go with thee.”</p> - -<p>Ordith started on his way to the Fane-Herbert’s. -It was irritating to one on his quest to be reminded -of the assistance of these gods. He -didn’t like to think of Margaret in their net—compelled. -“She’s got no one to talk to,” -Aggett had said. “It ain’t jus’ a pers’nal question. -He’s got Ibble’s behind him.... The girl -don’t stand a chance.” Poor little Margaret! -Poor <span class="lock">little——</span></p> - -<p>But Ordith dragged himself out of that slough.</p> - -<p>“Ass!” he said. “No good whining that -drivel. Too many cocktails.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> - -<p>He took off his hat, stood still, and gathered -self-control. Then, looking at his hat, he thought -it a pity that he was not in uniform. Even upon -Margaret, used to it as she was, the blue and gold -would have produced effect. As he approached -the house his mind was clear and calm.</p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Margaret knew in an instant for what purpose -he was come. As he crossed the room and placed -himself on the hearthrug she knew that the crisis -she had so long expected was upon her at last. -Though he spoke of a dozen trivial things of -which he had spoken many times before, there -was no doubt in her mind that this speech was -but preparative to attack. There was a stiffness -in his pose like that of an actor who is ill at ease. -His feet were apart; his body was inclined slightly -towards her; his hands were behind his back. -She found that, despite herself, she acted and -thought defensively—and in the bottom of her -heart was a feeling that even her defence must -ultimately prove of no avail.</p> - -<p>She heard him telling her calmly that he loved -her and wished to marry her. Then she heard -him giving reasons, outlining the future, speaking -at last as if she had given her consent. His eyes -were fixed on her and held her; but, with an -effort that was a physical shock, she broke free -of his gaze. At least he should not assume consent. -She would not be edged by this slow process -into compliance. She would say something—anything -to break the intolerable evenness of his -speech. She let go of the back of the chair by -which she had been standing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No.... Wait, Nick.... I——”</p> - -<p>He waited not an instant, knowing that he must -give her no opportunity to recover herself or to -reorganize her defence. He put his arms outside -hers, and swept her to him. Mind and body, she -seemed enveloped, borne down. The strength, -the impetus of him overwhelmed her as flames and -smoke, bursting suddenly forth, overwhelm the -opener of a door in a burning house. She was -too sick and faint to do more than force her head -a little backwards, and, catching sight of the -black and white notes of the piano, attach to them -the strange significance which belongs to things -far, far distant from us—the significance that the -cool frosty stars possess in the mind of one who -perceives them from the window of a room in -which fire has trapped him. In the same second -Ordith was aware that her body, become limp, -reposed almost its whole weight on his arms.</p> - -<p>And she heard him urging her with words that -seemed to grow more and more musical until at -last she was listening pleasurably to them. His -nearness, his strength, his tenderness even—for -where there was no struggle there seemed now no -kind of brutality—were becoming sweet to her—just -as the snow becomes warm and comforting -to the wanderer who, sunk by the roadside, is about -to cross the line of sleep and death beyond which -is no waking, no resisting, no troubling any more. -It was so good to yield, so easy to say the one -word he was demanding with murmured reiteration.</p> - -<p>But she did not say it. She knew she must -hold out, as the lier in the snow knows he must -keep awake. “Keep awake!” The words them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>selves -seemed part of a dream. She tried to put -up her hands to thrust him away, but the impulse -led to no more than a faint movement of her -fingers. Then, as she opened her lips and no -sound came his kisses fell on her mouth and throat, -and her poor little struggle flickered out. She -had said no word, but the thought came to her, -as of a thing accomplished, “That’s over.... -Of course ... I knew.... His wife—his wife. -Always.” Whereupon the consciousness that he -was still holding her reasserted itself and filled her -with sudden horror and fear.</p> - -<p>Then miraculously—for she remembered nothing -of the movement that released her—she found -herself standing clear of Ordith. He had let her -go. In the open doorway, upon which Ordith’s -eyes were turned, stood Hugh, an amazed, embarrassed -Hugh, who was saying, “Heavens! -I’m sorry. I didn’t know ...” and hastily -shutting the door.</p> - -<p>For the first time Ordith was at a loss.</p> - -<p>“Well?” he said.</p> - -<p>She sank down in a chair.</p> - -<p>“Please go away.”</p> - -<p>At his least movement towards her she sprang -up, white and trembling, but calm of voice.</p> - -<p>“No.... I can’t bear it.... And please -never come back—never.”</p> - -<p>“But you said——”</p> - -<p>“I said nothing.”</p> - -<p>“No—not said, but——”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed quickly; “I may have -been wrong outwardly. But don’t blame me for -having deceived you. You were never deceived.”</p> - -<p>He smiled at her as at a child momentarily in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -a foolish mood, and went out of the room. On -the stairs he met Hugh.</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully sorry, sir. I had no idea.”</p> - -<p>Ordith laughed. “Nothing,” he said, “nothing -at all.... By the way, there’s nothing official—no -definite engagement as yet, so don’t go and -worry her about it. Better act as if you hadn’t -seen, unless she speaks to you of it.... You -weren’t meant to see.”</p> - -<p>So Hugh was bound. Ordith went on his way -to report to Mr. Fane-Herbert the development -of the campaign. Together they considered the -position and reassembled their forces after the not -unexpected reverse.</p> - -<p>“The difficulty,” said Ordith, “is that she -forbade me to see her again. Having regard to -the standard of honour by which we live, that’s -something of a tail-twister.”</p> - -<p>“You will, of course, continue to come to my -house on my business. The rest follows in time.”</p> - -<p>Ordith turned the pages of a magazine. “The -sad thing is that in five minutes or less she would -have consented.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a queer fellow, Ordith. But there, I -suppose you are in love with her; I’m sure I hope -so. Five minutes or five months, what does it -matter? Obviously she doesn’t know her own -mind. I’ll talk to her this evening.”</p> - -<p>Ordith, his head bent over an illustration, -looked up under his eyebrows. The most amazing -trait in Fane-Herbert’s character was his complacency. -There he stood, unruffled, speaking of -Margaret as of a baby who had been naughty -but who would in time learn to distinguish between -right and wrong.</p> - -<p>“I’ll talk to her this evening.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh well,” Ordith thought in excuse for himself, -“she’s got to live either with you or with -me.”</p> - - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Margaret said nothing to Hugh of what he had -seen, nor did he question her. She made no -attempt to argue with her father, for there was -no arguing against what he called his “plain -statement of facts, spoken for her own good.” -By this she was given to understand that, in -rejecting Ordith, she had acted with rash impetuosity -which, on account of her youth, her -father was ready to pardon. Next time—and she -smiled at the authoritative tone in which he -spoke of this second opportunity—next time, of -course, she would revise her decision. As for her -having forbidden Ordith to see her again—that -was ridiculous, childish.</p> - -<p>“In any case,” Mr. Fane-Herbert said, “you -understand that he is a friend of mine, and the -business we are conducting is most important—of -the utmost importance. Therefore he must -come to my house. You do not intend to shut -yourself in your room, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>The incident of that afternoon was not afterwards -mentioned. Mr. Fane-Herbert would -neither himself remember that Margaret had -refused Ordith nor would he allow others to take -the fact into account. After a decent interval -Ordith began to visit the house again. He met -Margaret so often, and with such smiling tact, -that some kind of reconciliation became inevitable. -She met him first in her father’s presence. The -encounter was unexpected; there was no retreat; -and it was impossible to pretend that she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -unaware of Ordith’s presence. Her choice was -between a scene, in which her father’s intervention -was probable, and a recognition friendly -enough to make complete estrangement impossible -in future. And she shrank instinctively from -such a scene.</p> - -<p>The absence of any apparent breach in his -sister’s relations with Ordith caused Hugh to -assume that, though some difficulty might have -arisen, the incident he had witnessed was at least -a prelude to the engagement of which Ordith had -spoken. For long he said nothing of this to John, -but at last the rumour which Aggett had put into -circulation made an explanation inevitable.</p> - -<p>“They say Ordith is engaged to Margaret,” -John said. “Is that true?”</p> - -<p>“She has told me nothing of it,” Hugh answered.</p> - -<p>“But you know——?”</p> - -<p>“I saw——”</p> - -<p>“What? Tell me. There’s no harm in telling -me now. The whole ship’s talking of it.”</p> - -<p>“So far as I know there’s nothing definite. I -haven’t heard Margaret or my father or my mother -say one word about it. All I have to go on is -that I saw him kiss her, and he still comes to the -house, and they seem friendly enough. There -may be a hitch. Ordith said it was unofficial; -and it’s not for me to question Margaret. There -it stands. You know all I can tell you, John. -These good people may be beforehand with their -rumour, but I’m afraid they’re on the right -track.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said John, after a pause; “now I -know, anyhow.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br /> - -<span class="smaller">WINGFIELD ALTER</span></h2> -</div> - - -<p>John’s request to leave the Service did not find -his mother wholly unprepared. Her realization -of the mistake he had made had been earlier than -his own, and for many months now she had -considered the possibility of obtaining his release -should he demand it. The difficulties were, as -John knew, wholly financial. She could afford -to pay the sum which the Admiralty would require -as the price of his liberty, but she could not re-educate -him as she felt it was essential he should -be re-educated. If he abandoned the Service he -would have to earn his living as an unqualified -man. Journalism? She had heard enough from -Wingfield Alter to teach her the meaning of life -in the lower ranks of provincial journalism. And -the alternatives for the unqualified were a clerkship -in a City office or manual labour.</p> - -<p>To Wingfield Alter, from whom she might have -sought the advice and assistance she so badly -needed, she would not go. On the evening after -the arrival of John’s letter her resolution on this -point nearly gave way. The need was imperative. -It was her son’s need, not her own. And Wingfield -Alter would help abundantly and willingly—she -knew that. Yet, it was impossible to approach -him. If it had been no more than advice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -she needed she might not have hesitated; but it -was money—money. No fair words, no tact of -his or hers could disguise that fact. And before -he helped her son he would ask her to marry him. -She foresaw that quite clearly. Her request for -help would, in effect, be a request for a proposal.</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes, pressing the lids tightly -together.</p> - -<p>When she opened them her mind was made up. -Years ago, when it was impossible that they -should marry, she and Alter had cared for each -other too well and with too much silent restraint -for her to spoil it all now. Because she had been -married no word of love had passed between them. -When the strain became unendurable, he had gone -away with his wife, leaving her to dream through -a few months, and then to marry John’s father. -And now, John’s father being dead and Alter’s -wife too, they met again. She knew he loved her -still, but he had said nothing. Why she could -not imagine. He must <i>know</i>; he must have seen. -She had no doubt of him—why should he have -doubt of her? Why? Heaven knew! She -would do no more. She would not go to him.</p> - -<p>She could not go to him.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Alter was waiting for signs and -failing to recognize them. He was not, he told -himself, the man he had once been, and to his -eye she seemed to have changed very little in all -the years. Moreover, the fact that there had -been real affection between her and her husband -made her seem difficult to approach. He was by -no means convinced that her old love for himself -had survived. It was natural that their present -friendship should have taken its place, and any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -attempt on his part to insist upon love might -sever the friendship for which now he chiefly lived.</p> - -<p>Then came Hartington’s letter. John needed -help. It gave Alter his chance, his opening. But -he could not be blind to the fact that, if he offered -to help the son, the mother, in accepting, would -feel that she had placed herself under some -obligation; and, whether the offer of marriage -were coincident with or subsequent to the offer -of assistance, the acceptance of one would at least -be a powerful argument for the acceptance of the -other. And he wanted her choice to be free. -He wanted her to accept him for his own sake, -not for that of her son. Yet, apart from all other -considerations, he was eager to help John because -he felt that John was worth assistance. Alter -had reached the point in the lives of successful -men at which the highest good and the most -intense personal satisfaction seem to spring from -the help it is possible to give to others.</p> - -<p>Far into the night he sat with Hartington’s -letter on his knee, considering how best to help, -and cursing the impossibility of frankness in this -instance. It would have been so easy could he -have gone to John’s mother and have said: -“You can count on me. Have the boy out. -I’ll see him through Oxford. I’ll give him the -start which, as I understand him, is all he needs. -And all this you will please regard as a side issue. -It has nothing whatever to do with our relations -with each other. There’s no kind of obligation -on you.” But that was impossible. This, by the -evil decree of Fate, was a question of money, and -money set up an obligation which, where man -and woman were concerned, no good-will or friend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>ship -could nullify. Hartington said that John -had written home. The letter must have arrived. -If he went straight to her now, making no mention -of his knowledge, she would inevitably look upon -him as the man who was able to solve the problem -with which her son had confronted her. Her -decision would be influenced one way or the -other. And, what was more, she would tell him -about John; she would feel bound to tell him. -He would have to confess foreknowledge, and -unending complications would ensue.</p> - -<p>No; there was one thing to be done, one thing -only. He went to his table and wrote to Hartington.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>His mother cannot possibly afford to re-educate -him. Therefore, she will certainly refuse to apply -for his withdrawal from the Service, and she will -persist in this refusal unless extreme pressure from -him forces her to act at last against her better judgment. -You and I, Mr. Hartington, must pull -together in this matter. I am interested in Lynwood; -I am sure he has real ability; and I am -willing and eager to take full responsibility for -giving him a fresh start. But, for reasons of my -own, I cannot at present approach his mother on -the subject. Before I go to her it is necessary that -the prospect of her son’s leaving the Service should -be banished from her mind. She must feel that a -decision has been taken in which Lynwood himself -has acquiesced, and that the whole matter is over -and done with. Then, and not till then, I can go -to her</i>.</p> - -<p>“<i>Your job is to obtain Lynwood’s complete -acquiescence. You must say nothing of my intent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -to help him. You must persuade him to bow to the -inevitable with the best grace possible. In other -words, when his mother’s refusal arrives—and it -should reach the ship in the same mail with this -letter of mine—he must write again to her, accepting -her decision, and—for the sake of her peace of -mind—accepting it willingly....</i></p> - -<p>“<i>It is not necessary for me to give in detail my -reasons for requiring this of you. I suspect that -you have already guessed them. It is enough for -me to say that I wish Mrs. Lynwood to be under -no obligation to me. Also, when I go to her, I -want her not to be thinking of her son’s future. -She must feel that that is settled, and that young -Lynwood himself is satisfied with the settlement. -Then, knowing her to be a free agent, I shall be -able to act more easily....</i></p> - -<p>“<i>Write to me at once and tell me what Lynwood -does. Give me, too, your considered opinion upon -the question of his leaving the Service. It may be -a little difficult, when the time comes, to persuade -Mrs. Lynwood that her son’s acquiescence was not -indeed the result of a change of mind. Like most -women, she thinks the Navy an ideal profession -for men. A letter from you, telling me of the circumstances -in which Lynwood was persuaded to accept -his mother’s decision, and giving a definite assurance—supported, -if possible, by his own words spoken -privately to you—as to his real inclination, might -be needed to persuade her that, for all his apparent -consent, he is still at heart eager to break free....</i>”</p></div> - -<p>Having finished his letter, Wingfield Alter -returned to those words he had written, “break -free.” They implied more than he had meant to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -imply; but, as he considered them, he had no -desire to weaken his phrase.</p> - -<p>“My God!” he said aloud, “the younger -generation is in a hell of a mess!”</p> - -<p>He picked up an envelope and laid it face -downwards on the mantelpiece. On its back he -wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>Children of Capital; Children of Labour. -They suffer in the transition. They pay for the -bitter triumphs. They are weighed down by the -pride. If the young men could but learn that gain -is without profit they would know that force is -barren. When all the world has that knowledge</i>”....</p></div> - -<p>He tore up the envelope.</p> - -<p>“But that’s the coming of the Kingdom,” he -thought. Did he himself believe, with absolute -belief, that force was barren? It was easier to -compromise, to risk nothing, to wait; safer to go -slowly. Everything would right itself in time. -That was a comfortable thought—but a lie.</p> - -<p>He shifted his feet on the carpet, and, turning, -peered beyond the soft blur of his reading-lamp -into the dark room. And a phrase came upon -him suddenly, like galloping hoofs ringing close -in the dark against a frost-bit road. Its strange -rhythm startled him as if it had been the clatter -of horses riding him down.</p> - -<p>“... Finally to beat down Satan under our -feet ... finally to beat down Satan under our -feet....”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br /> - -<span class="smaller">THE CURRENCY</span></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>It happened that his mother’s reply, reaching the -<i>Pathshire</i> in the middle of October, came to John -soon after he had learnt of what he believed to be -his irretrievable loss of Margaret. With her loss -his need for her became more instant. While she -had belonged to none other, and his own future -had been at least not closed to dreams, he had -hesitated to admit, even to himself, that he loved -her. The lesson of the complete insignificance of -midshipmen, which the Service teaches with such -energy and eagerness, had been so deeply impressed -upon him that, even in a matter so -personal as this, he had been unable to forget it. -“For drill purposes,” as the Service says, snotties -did not love—they had women; and it was indeed -ridiculous in one whose pay was twelve-and-threepence -a week to contemplate any love that -might lead to marriage. Moreover, John had felt -that Time was on his side, and Chance as yet -not a declared enemy. He had dreamed of a swift -end to his snotty days, of expanding fortune, of -reinforced hope. He had wished to justify his -claim to Margaret before making it.</p> - -<p>It had seemed enough that she should stand -for the imaginative, the creative, the permanent—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -contrast to that professional side of his life -which he took to be destructive and ephemeral. -But now all these things were changed. By his -mother’s letter it had been made clear that there -would be no expansion of fortune, no reinforcement -of hope, no breaking free into a new world. -Margaret ceased to represent the possibly attainable.</p> - -<p>The outlines of his vision of her were thus -sharpened. Now that she and his hopes for the -future were at once taken away from him he -saw her as he had never seen her before. Her -personality stood out more clearly. A new fierceness -and impatience entered into his thoughts of -her. That the worldly difficulties in the way of -his claiming her were as great as ever mattered -no longer. That he was still a midshipman -mattered not at all. There was no denying now -that he loved her—that fact dominated all others, -sweeping aside doubts, and arguments, and misgivings.</p> - -<p>For a time this singleness of purpose was a -source of happiness, a stimulant, the effects of -which rapidly passed away. At last John went -to Hartington, and showed him the fateful letter.</p> - -<p>“Well,” Hartington said, “what are you going -to do?”</p> - -<p>“It’s definitely the end,” John answered. -“It’s no good to go on hoping to leave the Service. -I’d better settle down to it, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to say to your mother?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, some lie. I don’t want her to worry her -soul out. Better make her believe I’ve changed -my mind. How does one change one’s mind -convincingly?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> - -<p>Together they planned his reply.</p> - -<p>“It’s all very well for me to say I will settle -down,” John said, “but there’s no incentive in -this job. I shall always look outside it. And -yet, God knows, I shall take it lying down like -the rest of them: grumble and grouse, but never -break free, never rebel. Isn’t it odd how one -submits and submits, until at last the average -N.O. begins to believe, ‘Oh well, it isn’t so bad, -after all’?”</p> - -<p>“Even the cabhorse gets accustomed to his -cab—perhaps gets to like it in the end.”</p> - -<p>John answered: “I begin to see the wisdom of -breaking snotties while they are young. I suppose -it’s kinder in the long run.”</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>As autumn drew on to winter, the cold of -Northern China closed down on Wei-hai-wei, and, -after a short cruise to Ching-Wang-Tao, the -<i>Pathshire</i> lay in harbour until Christmas-time. -John saw little of Margaret, and never saw her -alone. To meet her now was an exquisite agony, -for her beauty, of which he seemed never before -to have been fully aware, had that amazing -power to baffle and astonish which is the attribute -of ghosts. For him the former Margaret still -existed, but under a cloak of unreality. Her -friendly smile, her deep, quiet eyes, that reflected -laughter as a great lake reflects the lamps swinging -on the boats of <i>fête</i>, her manner of giving him -her hand, of inclining her body a little backwards -as she spoke, these things were familiar with the -familiarity of a persistent memory—in the light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -of circumstance they were no more substantial -than this.</p> - -<p>The cold became intense; there were enormous -stoves in every part of the ship; the ice made -the scrubbing of decks impossible; officers kept -watch in hoods and gauntlets of fur, and the men -were shrouded in wool. In such weather there -could be little activity. The Gunroom found -nothing better to do than smoke, and gamble, -and drink, and tell stories of women who were -now inaccessible. And with Christmas Day came -an opportunity for outbreak. To-morrow they -were to sail for Woo-Sung—that is, for Shanghai. -Christmas was their last day in harbour, a climax, -an end to many months.</p> - -<p>In accordance with Service custom the men had -decorated their messes, and the Captain, followed -by all the officers in order of seniority, inspected -them. The mess-tables were covered with good -things—cakes, jam, cigarettes, tobacco. At the -end of every table stood a man with a plate containing -samples of the mess’s Christmas fare, and -from every plate each officer as he passed by was -compelled to take a morsel. They ate what they -could, and carried the rest in their caps.</p> - -<p>When Captain’s rounds and Church and -Divisions were completed, the Gunroom was -entertained by the Wardroom. John drank cocktails -with everyone, drank so many that he lost -accurate count of them, and emerged with nothing -but a vague consciousness of the figure eleven. -He refused to believe he had drunk so many, for -he was strangely sober. His speech was a little -quickened, but his legs were steady and his brain -was clear. Oh yes, his brain was clear. And he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -wasn’t making as much noise as those other fellows. -They were further gone than he; the Wardroom -was further gone than he.... And the Wardroom -was drifting into the Gunroom; hospitality -was being returned: cocktails were circulating -again.... What about wine bills? Would they -run their wine bills over?... Wine bills be -damned! All these cocktails were going down to -the Mess. Hartington had said so. They would -be charged on the Mess share. And anyhow, -seeing it was Christmas, the <span class="lock">Captain——</span></p> - -<p>“Thank God we’re going to Shanghai to-morrow!” -Dendy exclaimed. “Then to Hong-Kong. -Life moves again. Here’s to the pretty -ladies what takes pity on the lone, lorn N.O.!”</p> - -<p>John had another cocktail from the tray presented -to him by the Chinese boy. He must go -steady with those cocktails. Three since he came -to the Gunroom; the third must be made to -last.</p> - -<p>“What about putting in for leave together at -Shanghai?” said Dyce’s voice. “What about -night leave?”</p> - -<p>“Could we get it?”</p> - -<p>“I have friends there—genuine friends. We -could say we were going to stay with them.”</p> - -<p>“Commander’d see through that.”</p> - -<p>“Commander doesn’t want to.... Commander -knows snotties’ human beings—animals, like the -rest.” Dyce put down his glass on the table. -“Anyhow, means getting out of the ship for a -night....”</p> - -<p>“D’you know where to go?”</p> - -<p>“Find out from Dendy—he knows the ropes.”</p> - -<p>“I——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> - -<p>John drank, that none might read in his face -the workings of his mind.</p> - -<p>“That fixed?” said Dyce.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>A great shout went up at some joke. Heads -were thrown back, slack mouths were opened. -Someone slapped his thigh to show his appreciation -of the current wit.</p> - -<p>“That’s good ... hellish good!... D’you -know the one about the Irish girl who——”</p> - -<p>John’s glass slipped from his fingers and broke -with a clean, tinkling sound. A heel ground the -fragments....</p> - -<p>The Wardroom officers went their way. The -Gunroom sat down to lunch. There was a -basket of champagne, brought by the Captain’s -steward....</p> - -<p>Through the long afternoon the Wardroom and -the Gunroom slept. Through the dog watches -they slept. A few stirred for supper.</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Night leave was granted at Shanghai. As -many midshipmen as could be spared from ship’s -duties accepted it and went ashore. They went -with a light conscience, for this affair of women -had long ceased in their eyes to have any -connection with right or wrong. They regarded -it neither from the social nor from the moral -standpoint. They did not consider it more seriously -than a civilian considers a visit to a theatre. -To them it was a break in routine, an escape from -sameness, an obtaining, in the only accessible -form, of that change of association which is as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -necessary to the mind as is change of diet to the -body.</p> - -<p>“In the only accessible form”—in that phrase -was the essence of the truth. When first they -went to sea they had no taste for drink, no habit -of women. What relief they needed from the -inevitable hardness of work and discipline they -found as other men find it, in the company of -those whose interests differed from their own -professional interests. According to their tastes -they read, or played games, or danced, or flirted. -They talked to their mothers or their sisters, and -forgot; they went to a theatre and forgot; they saw -colour, silk, pictures, furniture, and forgot; they -hunted, or read some poem, or walked on high -hills, and they forgot with the saving and -strengthening forgetfulness of sleep. So men -live; such is the meaning of recreation.</p> - -<p>In Gunrooms these things, which have in -common that their appeal is imaginative, do not -exist; and the inhabitants of Gunrooms—and not -of Gunrooms only—because the imagination must -needs be fed somehow, seek relief where they may. -The <i>Pathshire’s</i> midshipmen were not naturally -drunkards or gamblers, nor were they naturally -corrupt. When they had gone home on leave -from the <i>King Arthur</i> they had not drunk or -womanized; when they returned from leave they -had found the tone of the whole Gunroom temporarily -changed. Leave, a chance to break free, -an opportunity to meet women other than harlots, -had cleared their minds as the opening of a window -clears a foul atmosphere. For a time blasphemy -had been unpopular, foul language infrequent. -But by the pressure of circumstance they had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -driven back into the old ways. Now they thought -lightly of drinking in excess and of going with -women.</p> - -<p>“You R.N. snotties,” a merchant service -officer had told John, “have the filthiest minds I -know.”</p> - -<p>That night on which leave was given Hartington -dined with the Captain.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “what of your snotties now? -I suppose they are off with the women. One -can’t blame them. There’s nothing to be done -out here. They can’t be given home leave.... -But the devil of it is, Hartington, that even in -home waters they don’t get leave worth speaking -of.... The fact of their having women doesn’t -worry me. The trouble is that snotties’ minds, -their whole manner of life, their outlook—it’s -like a gradual debasing of a currency.... They -are strange people, the Powers-that-Be. Give -them an invention or a strategical idea and they’ll -work on it untiringly, develop it with amazing -ingenuity and care. Give them boys, as fine -human material as is to be found in the world, -and for four and a half years they educate them -magnificently. Then, before they are eighteen, -when their minds are in a most impressionable -stage, these boys are sent to sea. They are -subjected to persecution; they are flogged continually -for no specific wrong-doing; they are -deprived of all opportunity for solitude or -thought; they are put in a crowded mess where -they are cut off from intimate association with -men older than themselves, from women of their -own kind, from art and culture, from trees and -hills, from all legitimate amusement. And the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -Powers know it. They have absolute authority -in the Service, but the evil continues. Wine bills -are limited on board, and there is a free issue of -prophylactics, but the evil continues. I know -the difficulties—the inevitable conditions of sea-service, -the need there is that snotties should be -taught discipline by a short method. But it’s -an odd thing, Hartington, that men with ability -and power, who have the interests of the Service -at heart, should be unable to find any means of -preventing that waste and wrong.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">MARGARET IN THE NET</span></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>In the early days of the New Year, when the -<i>Pathshire</i>, after her voyage to Woo-Sung, had -proceeded to Hong Kong to refit, Margaret found -herself singularly alone at Wei-hai. Her mother -and father were with her, but their presence -accentuated rather than lessened her sense of -isolation. She could never shake off her consciousness -of the opposition of their wishes to her -own. They did not argue with her or seek to -persuade her. They gave her no opportunity to -state her case. Instead, by their kindness, by -their consideration of all her inessential interests, -they made her understand that if she would repent -and make reparation they were ready to forgive -and forget.</p> - -<p>Forgive!... There were moments when she -rebelled in her heart against the idea that she stood -in need of forgiveness. But her rebellion lacked -support and objective. If her mother had sought -to persuade, she too could have persuaded. But -this tacit assumption that she had done wrong -and foolishly, this treatment of her as a child with -whom it were idle to negotiate, this slow pressure -of silence and unwelcome generosity—there was -no fighting against these things.</p> - -<p>She began to understand the secret of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> -father’s power over men. He did not threaten, -he gave no opening for retaliation; but he impressed -upon her continually and with infinite patience -a sense of the extent of his own resources and of her -lack of resource. It was as if she fought one -possessed of unlimited reserves. She might hold -out a month, she might hold out a year, but the -time would come when she would fail and yield, -and abandon all she had defended.</p> - -<p>Why, then, struggle?... Was that the -question that all the opponents of her father were -at last persuaded to ask themselves?... It -would be easier to yield. She had only to accept -Ordith in order to escape for ever from the intolerable -atmosphere of coercion which filled her -own home. As Ordith’s wife she would be, in -many respects, independent. If she could but -overcome her increasing fear of him, her instinctive -shrinking from his touch, her dread of his presence, -she might be happy.... And what was the -alternative? So long as she was unmarried she -could never escape from her home. Her thoughts -went out to John, but there was no help in him. -He was caught as she was caught. Through -different channels the power of Ibble’s was exercised -over them both.</p> - -<p>“Some day,” she said suddenly to her mother, -“some day the young men will break free.”</p> - -<p>“As one gets older one learns the meaning of -compromise. I have learnt it myself,” Mrs. Fane-Herbert -answered.</p> - -<p>“That may have been true of the last generation.”</p> - -<p>“It’s true for all time.”</p> - -<p>“But don’t you feel, mother, that everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -is going to change? There’s going to be a -catastrophe, a great breaking-up. And at first -it will be a tragedy—flat tragedy. We shall pay -for all that’s gone by—the young men will pay. -And out of it will come——”</p> - -<p>“Nothing will come of it. Revolution, chaos, -a military dictatorship, and then slowly back to a -system essentially the same as the old.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not speaking of a political revolution—only. -Not a change of means, but a change of -motive.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Fane-Herbert smiled at her. “You strike -truth, Margaret.” Then, swiftly serious, she -touched her daughter’s hand. “You know what -you are asking for—a revolution for Christ?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe that possible?”</p> - -<p>“I——” For a moment Margaret could not -speak. “It must be made possible. It can’t -go on like this. We must substitute the motive -of Sharing for the motive of Gain. It’s the only -way out. It’s the only way to stop the cruelty -everywhere—in slums or in the Congo or in -Gunrooms—that horrible kind of cruelty which is -half-excused by a plea of the necessities of competition.... -I suppose it does mean a revolution -for Christ.... Mother, why do you make -it all seem so difficult?”</p> - -<p>“Because I didn’t want your father’s daughter -to starve for a dream. There is no leader for such -a revolution.”</p> - -<p>“But if Christ came again?”</p> - -<p>“To end the world?”</p> - -<p>“No; if He came now—as a man.”</p> - -<p>The elder woman’s eyes filled with fear. Her -white fingers trembled on the necklace she wore.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Did I ever give you that idea—that hope? -Is it your own?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is my own. Why do you ask? Why -do you look like that, mother dear? Are you -afraid? What have I done wrong? Tell me.”</p> - -<p>“I had that hope when I was a child. It is -like knowledge of sunshine in a darkened room. -But you are tied down, Margaret. You can’t -move. You can’t pull back the curtains. It is -terrible to be aware of one’s own captivity.”</p> - -<p>“‘<i>As the fishes that are snared in an evil net</i>,’” -Margaret said. “Mother, I don’t believe—I believe -there <i>is</i> a breaking free. I believe——”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>It was like a cry, soft, from a great distance, -almost inaudible.</p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>For several weeks Margaret would lie awake -through the early hours of the night. At first she -strove to think connectedly, to lay plans and make -resolves; but always she would fall to wondering -whether her mother, whose girlhood must have -been strangely like her own, had made these very -decisions, and, when the test came, had failed to -give them effect. And by this wonder her mind -was carried towards acceptance of the inevitable. -There would come blank periods in her thought -when, oppressed by what seemed a clear perception -of the futility of effort, she would see her own life -as a cockleshell adrift upon the seas of Time. -She had no recollection of a Departure, no sure -hope of a Landfall. God had closed His eyes, was -sleeping; and she was alone, unguarded, unperceived.</p> - -<p>Unperceived. This thought clung to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> -through the night on which her father told her -that Ordith was coming on the morrow. It made -easy the acceptance of ease. She lived in the -moment, noticing with unprecedented pleasure -certain details of her room’s appearance—the -soft roughness of the blankets, the beading on the -brass handles of her dressing-table, the pale -lights of blue and gold that mingled in the bevel -of her mirror. She undressed slowly. Once, -with her hands and arms raised above her head -and her chin thrown back, she watched the light -and shadow move over her bosom and throat as -she drew breath.... A sudden weakness overcame -her; her arms dropped; she was surprised -by the strange, wild expression in her reflected -eyes. Her face seemed thinner, her eyes more -deeply set; upon her lips pallor had fallen. This -would be her appearance when she was older; -this, a little accentuated, would be her appearance -as she lay dead.... Something she wore -brushed and hissed against the eiderdown. She -turned quickly and laid her outspread hand upon -the bed, so that light billows of satin rose between -her white fingers. She touched her arm with a -slow caress. With her nail she caused a long, -shrill sound to issue from the silk.</p> - -<p>Frightened by the unknown spirit that possessed -her, she stood in the middle of the room, swaying -from her feet, her lips parted, her eyes wide. -The intolerable stillness within, the lifeless folds -of the flowered curtains, that would hang in just -those folds though she slept, though she died, -laid some spell upon her, and she strained her ears -for the low murmuring of the sea. A board -creaked beneath her. There, close to her, in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> -own room, were evil presences—or was it that a -Presence was withdrawn and the room empty, -and she alone?</p> - -<p>Unperceived.... She crouched beside her -bed because as a child she had thus knelt to pray. -The scent of linen, the pressure of her finger-tips -upon her forehead, the fragrance of her own hair—why -did these memories of Childhood’s bedtimes -come back to her now with mockery and sadness? -Their significance was changed, and their sweetness -gone from them.</p> - -<p>“O God, make me pray. Take away this -insistence of touch and sound and sight. Make -me believe the Spirit is powerful still, and can -prevail ... and shall prevail; and that life is -not just living in the body and the hour. And -give me——”</p> - -<p>It was as if she had been speaking to one who, -unperceived, had gone from the room. She had -not been heard. Throughout the prayer she had -been thinking how the pile of the carpet was -pressed down by her knees.</p> - -<p>For long she remained kneeling, her face hidden, -her hair dark over her hands. She knew what -she would do: she would take Ordith. She might -be afraid at first, but soon he would win her, -soothe her. Of course she would take him; that -had been planned, preordained.</p> - -<p>She was almost asleep. Her weight pressed the -edge of the bed.... Ordith would teach her, -hold her. She would give herself——“God, -why am I so hedged round—forsaking what is -lovely, though I see its loveliness—like all the -young, because I must. Jesus, pull me out of -this even now—so late—even now.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her lashes moved against her palms. The light -came through the pink edges of her fingers.... -Was that only hypocrisy? Was she willing, after -all? A tremor of excitement ran over her, and -she pressed her elbows into the bed and shut her -eyes again.... Anyhow, in fifty years it -wouldn’t matter.... And Christ would not -come again. It was foolish to—to starve for a -dream.</p> - -<p>The room was cold. Her shoulders were bare, -and her feet. This physical consciousness was -like the touch of a hand.</p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Throughout the morning Margaret looked forward -to her encounter with Ordith with that -mixture of passivity and restlessness which alternately -lulls and excites the sensitive boy who, -something of a hero among his schoolmates, -awaits his flogging. After breakfast Ordith and -her father disappeared; after lunch they disappeared -again. She and her mother, possessed -by a common thought which neither would -express, faced each other in a silence that was -half-nervous, half-determined.</p> - -<p>Early in the afternoon her mother complained -of a headache, and went to her room.</p> - -<p>“You might have my tea brought up to me, -Margaret.”</p> - -<p>“Poor mother!” Margaret thought. “She’s -hoping that I am going to be sensible. Ought I -to tell her I am going to be sensible—just to set -her mind at rest?”</p> - -<p>But she did not move. She let the silence of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> -the room close round her. Presently, after many -hours it seemed, the door of her father’s room -opened and shut, footsteps sounded in the hall, -and Ordith entered.</p> - -<p>“Alone?” he said.</p> - -<p>It was strange that she felt so calm, so decided, -so completely mistress of herself. A twist of -annoyance because he asked so unnecessary a -question—that was all.</p> - -<p>“Are you ready for tea?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Indeed I am.”</p> - -<p>“So you lay aside the burdens of state. Is -father coming?”</p> - -<p>“I expect he is.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t,” she said, under her breath. Then, -aloud: “I’ll go and ask him. You might ring.”</p> - -<p>She looked into her father’s room. He was -sitting by his desk, a spiral of blue smoke rising -from the ash-tray at his side.</p> - -<p>“Tea, father?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you might send in a cup to me. No milk, -no sugar, and strong, <i>doushka</i>. I’m dead tired.”</p> - -<p>He had used the Russian word which had been -his pet name for her in the nursery, which she -could not remember his having used since she -was a child. She went to him and stood by his -chair, wishing she could love him.</p> - -<p>“You are not ill, father?”</p> - -<p>“No—no.”</p> - -<p>“I think you ought not to work so much. -Surely you have earned a rest?”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t retire, darling. You don’t understand.”</p> - -<p>“I’m beginning to understand—how it holds -you. Couldn’t—wouldn’t it be possible, father,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -for you to throw your mind back to the old days -and what seemed worth while then?”</p> - -<p>“We are not young twice,” he said, trying to -laugh.</p> - -<p>“No ... but that’s true of the young as well -as of the old.”</p> - -<p>He would not understand her. She withdrew -a pace from him and steeled herself.</p> - -<p>“You want me to marry Nick,” she said, and -went on: “You know what it means, and that -he doesn’t love me. And you know what that -means.”</p> - -<p>“I think he does love you.”</p> - -<p>“Physically.... I’m going to say it, father. -I’m going to be straight this once.... A girl -can tell what a man’s thinking about her. And -if it’s ... what Nick thinks ... it’s like being -stripped—there—in the middle of the room.” -When her breath came more evenly, she said: -“And when you think that the girl was once a -little child extraordinarily in touch with Christ, -made for sunshine and flowers, and warm affection—almost -a part of Him, wondering for the first -time about stars and distances, and so—without -fear—about death, and love, and time——” She -broke off. “That’s the chance, the raw material -of the spirit. And then fear creeps in, and the -craving for power—they creep into the nursery. -We start compromising because others compromise; -we are cruel in self-defence, evil for the -sake of good—and our motives are confused until -we don’t know what’s right or wrong. Our seeing -of Christ is out of focus, and we talk—honestly -as honesty goes—of a man’s being ‘too Christian,’ -of ‘adapting Christianity to the needs of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> -day.’ And so at last I don’t think badly of you -for wanting me to go—in there.” She made a -gesture towards the room where Ordith was. “I -make excuses for you. It seems quite reasonable. -And, more amazing, you don’t think badly of me -for consenting.... Yes,” she added, meeting -his quick glance, “I do consent. You needn’t -worry.”</p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>She returned to Ordith with high confidence. -The Chinese boy who had laid the table was sent -to her father with tea, and she gave orders that -a tray should be taken to her mother’s room. -When the boy had gone, she leaned over the fire -with hands outstretched.</p> - -<p>“Cold?” Ordith said. “Sit by the fire, then—there, -on that long thing. I’ll manage tea.”</p> - -<p>From his chair he could look down upon her. -For a time they scarcely spoke. He was content -to watch her; she to submit. His empty cup -tinkled on the saucer as he set it down.</p> - -<p>“Do smoke.”</p> - -<p>He leaned forward.</p> - -<p>“Have you forgiven me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” She would not give him the pleasure -of a fight.</p> - -<p>“Quite?”</p> - -<p>“Quite.”</p> - -<p>Unprepared for this acquiescence, he was disconcerted. -She smiled as, without looking at -him, she became aware that he was ill at ease. -For the last time, perhaps, he was suppliant now. -Soon no mysteries would divide him from her. -<span class="lock">Soon——</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> - -<p>But she liked him for being afraid, for his -embarrassment, his momentary helplessness.</p> - -<p>“You old fool, Nick!”</p> - -<p>“For doubting? Then—Margaret, I’m ghastly -afraid of frightening you. But I do love you. -I do love you, Margaret. You’re different from -me—on a different plane—that’s what makes it -difficult. But I love you, body and soul. Margaret——”</p> - -<p>“And soul!”</p> - -<p>The implication stung. “You mean——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind what I mean. I’m not quite -sure myself. I don’t care.”</p> - -<p>He could not wait to think it out. Perhaps she -had meant nothing. He said:</p> - -<p>“You know what I am asking.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t love you,” she said, before he could -speak, “nor you me.”</p> - -<p>She faced him suddenly.</p> - -<p>“There’s one question I want to ask you, -Nick,” she said evenly. “Whatever your answer -may be it will not affect my answer. So the truth.... -If I consented to be your mistress, would -that be enough? Would it?”</p> - -<p>“Good God, Margaret! what a question! No, -a thousand times, no!”</p> - -<p>“Put aside the business aspect of this marriage. -Think of the personal only. What is it you want -in me?”</p> - -<p>“All of you.”</p> - -<p>“Body and soul?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>She bowed her head. “I wonder if you believe -that. I think you do.” Then, in a flash, “Oh, -Nick, we do lie to ourselves! I was wrong in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -way. It’s possession you want, isn’t it?—abstract -possession—ownership—gain!”</p> - -<p>“Is that wrong?”</p> - -<p>“You’re a man,” she said simply, and, with -caught breath, “Thank God for that!”</p> - -<p>He was careful, in the light of his experience, -not to approach her, not to touch her. This -time she should come to him.</p> - -<p>“Come, Margaret,” he said; “don’t let us be -fools.”</p> - -<p>She looked across at him. So she was to move -towards his chair, and sit at his feet—and sit at -his feet. He would touch her hair, her hands, -her shoulders. That would be yielding. That -would be, very quietly, the end....</p> - -<p>That would be extraordinarily like an oleograph—“in -the firelight.”</p> - -<p>She thrilled to laughter, and slowly, like recognition -of an unfamiliar acquaintance, laughter -came. It was as if she had wakened from some -ridiculous nightmare; as if a shaft of light had -fallen across a dim room, revealing countless -absurdities that the dark had concealed. And -laughter fled suddenly—stifled her a moment, and -was gone.</p> - -<p>In the stillness, she remembered—as something -long passed—the sharp sound of her merriment. -Looking round the room, she saw the piano standing -open, and beneath its polished lid the black -keys and the white. First it was their sharp -contrast that seemed to interest her; then, as her -attention dwelt on them, they assumed a certain -power of reminiscence, of suggestion, as if they -were symbolic of something outside themselves, -something in the past peculiarly significant to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> -With a mental process similar to that by aid of -which dream and reality are separated until they -stand recognizably on either side of the line -between sleep and waking, with the laborious -thought of one struggling against the last influence -of a drug, she remembered how those black and -white notes had imprinted themselves on her -consciousness when, on that other occasion, Ordith -had so nearly mastered her. The days intervening -between that time and the present ran -before her in swift procession. She saw herself -as she was then; as she was now—then, fighting, -determined, clear in mind; now, with even her -will gone. By subtle process she had been -changed, for the circumstances were unaltered. -Slowly, day by day, by patience, by silence, by -implied menace, by the bluff on which her father’s -power depended, her fortress, unknown to her, -had been undermined. Her father had come very -near to winning, very near.</p> - -<p>He should not win!</p> - -<p>If she had not seen herself as a figure in an -oleograph and laughed.... The ways of salvation!</p> - -<p>She laughed again. Ordith, with the first laugh -still ringing in his ears, moved as if to come to -her. But, on the instant, the tension that had -held her failed. With the sob, not of a woman -but of a little girl, she drooped and trembled and -hid her face in her hands. She was crying like -a child who, having come through some great -fear, breaks down under confidence restored: -tears of relief, of sanity snatched back, held—just -held.</p> - -<p>“Margaret!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p> - -<p>She dropped her hands, raised her head. Her -eyes were swimming and glistening with tears, -her cheeks flushed as if with happy excitement.</p> - -<p>“Oh, leave me alone, Nick—please—please! -Nick—please. Promise you will leave me alone -always.... I’m frightened. You could get -anything you wanted at last. But you don’t -want me—not really. It’s so much to me; so -little to you. Please, Nick, is this the end?”</p> - -<p>“If you wish it.”</p> - -<p>She seized his hands between hers. “Even if -he persuades?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Your word? He’s so strong....”</p> - -<p>“My word.... Margaret—oh, you child!—I -do care for you now more than ever.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly he kissed her.</p> - -<p>“There.... Have your own way. I’m not -a devil, Margaret dear. But your seeing is -different from mine—and your gods, I think. -They won’t have us together.”</p> - -<p>“No.” She looked up with sudden curiosity. -“Nick, you are superstitious like all great men? -You—you wouldn’t have me now if I asked you? -Would you? Would you?”</p> - -<p>He smiled at her with understanding, and -admitted, “No.”</p> - -<p>“Something—inside you—says ‘No’?”</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>“Then I’m safe—quite safe.”</p> - -<p>This amazing childlikeness!</p> - -<p>“As your gods keep you,” he said.</p> - -<p>And she, with the embarrassment of one who -returns a formal congratulation, answered: “And -yours ... and yours, Nick. You’ve been good.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> - -<span class="smaller">AN INSTANT FREE</span></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -</div> - -<p>Mr. Fane-Herbert decided to be in London with -the spring. Ibble’s and Ordith’s were to remain -independent, an arrangement of which both he -and Nick Ordith saw the advantages, and which -Aggett alone regretted wholeheartedly. Three -weeks in Japan would complete Mr. Fane-Herbert’s -work in the East, and to Tokio he went, with -Margaret and her mother, at the end of February.</p> - -<p>Soon afterwards the <i>Pathshire</i>, having finished -her refitting, sailed for Yokohama, and on the -first Friday in March, John and Hugh, who had -obtained week-end leave, arrived at Kamakura. -That evening, when the hotel dinner was over, -they sat together in the verandah of John’s -bedroom. Below them stretched the lawn, its -size exaggerated by the semi-darkness, its nearer -edge, gloomy under the hotel’s shadow, slashed, -where the gleam of windows fell upon it, with -parallelograms of yellow light.</p> - -<p>“They come to-morrow,” Hugh said.</p> - -<p>“This will be the last that you’ll see of them -before they leave for home.”</p> - -<p>Hugh nodded. “Margaret will be glad to go.”</p> - -<p>“Because Ordith stays?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Partly—though I think she has cast off Ordith -and the thought of him.... But she’ll be glad -to be rid of the place and its associations. London -will give her something else to think about.”</p> - -<p>“It’s almost incredible,” John said slowly, -“that anyone out here now should be able to -reach London within seventeen days. It seems -further away than that.”</p> - -<p>“But I like the East,” Hugh protested.</p> - -<p>John laughed. “Good God!” he exclaimed, -“so do I; but that has nothing to do with it.” -He knocked out his pipe against the verandah -rails. “Anyhow,” he said, “it’s a long lie-in -to-morrow. Throw us a cigarette, Hugh.”</p> - -<p>He looked out across the lawn, across the broad -belt of trees that stood between the garden and -the beach. The sea was near—not that sea into -which steel ships vomited their bilge, but the quiet -sea of kissing sands and straight horizon which -had been his first love. To-morrow did not -matter; that darkness, those stars unsnared by -sextants, that sea undivided into ranges, were -suggestive of too many to-morrows, too many -yesterdays. From an open window came voices -and laughter, and the tinkle of a curtain being -drawn.</p> - -<p>“Women,” Hugh said.</p> - -<p>John leaned over the rail.</p> - -<p>“That curtain has cut a patch of light out of -the lawn. They’ll all go out one by one.”</p> - -<p>“Ours won’t—not yet. I’m not going to turn -in for hours.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” John said, reading his thought. “I -hate wasting leave in sleep. Even if I turn out -late, I like to wake early, and imagine the Reveille<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> -sounding and the calling of ‘Guard an’ steerage.’ -‘Show-a-leg, show-a-leg, lash up and sto-ow!’—and -you lying in bed, with the whole day before -you—away from the ship.”</p> - -<p>“This being Friday,” Hugh observed, “we -have to-night, and Saturday night, and Sunday -night—two clear days.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder what would happen if we didn’t -go back—if we hid somewhere and never went -back—if we started on our own. Why should we -go back?” John said, for the sake of saying it.</p> - -<p>“If we didn’t, we’d be caught. If we weren’t -caught, we’d starve.... The extraordinary -thing is,” Hugh went on, in a puzzled voice, “that -we can’t stay as we are. I’m happy as can be -sitting here; yet I shall get up presently and put -an end to this evening by going to bed. I don’t -want to move. It’s glorious here in the dark.... -Look at the lawn—like a great pool.”</p> - -<p>“You want to lay hold on the instant,” John -said. “You can’t any more than you can lay -hold on eternity. They are the two infinities that -meet somewhere. Probably from some point of -view—if only you could reach it—the instantaneous -and the eternal appear as one and the same. But -the proofs we have of that are pretty vague: -there’s that extraordinary consciousness—coming -for no apparent reason—that a given instant is -of tremendous importance, that it is going to be -remembered, that somehow it’s a source of -unknown events to come; then, at the other end -of the scale, there’s the recollection of certain -instants—more than mere memory, a kind of -preservation. An instant years-old by the measure -of time, remains intact, perfect; and you know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> -that it’s never going to perish or fade. Usually -the occasion was trivial....”</p> - -<p>“I wish,” said Hugh out of the silence, “the -Commander could hear his young gentlemen -talking like this.”</p> - -<p>John laughed uneasily. “I had managed to -forget the ship.”</p> - -<p>“All the same,” Hugh went on, “I like vague -talk. I like listening to you—even though I -don’t understand too much of it. Vague talk -gives me what I imagine you were driving at, -what you spoke of before—a sense of eternity.”</p> - -<p>A watchman’s bell rang faintly in the distant -village. When it could be heard no longer, John -said:</p> - -<p>“A sense of eternity—what a phrase that is!”</p> - -<p>Light, quick footsteps sounded on the path; -then the heavier tread of a man. The girl stopped -suddenly, touched her companion’s arm, and, -when he looked down, laughed breathlessly—an -odd laugh, half-confidential, half-embarrassed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Torwood,” she exclaimed, “I do so <i>love</i> -this East!”</p> - -<p>He threw his arm round her, and, with a tremendous -air of proprietorship, almost dragged her -indoors. Little gasps of excitement were her -show of protest. As they passed through the -room below the man could be heard speaking -quick words to her, in a voice unevenly controlled; -speaking with strange disregard for the public -room’s bleak emptiness and for the nearness of -those who were sleeping, for the stare of electric -bulbs, which, when they shine singly over places -deserted till the morning, have so intent an air -of watchfulness and curiosity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span></p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>On Saturday evening Margaret and Mrs. Fane-Herbert -reached the hotel. After dinner, Mrs. -Fane-Herbert said to John:</p> - -<p>“I hear you changed your mind about leaving -the Navy.”</p> - -<p>“It was scarcely a question of my changing my -mind. It didn’t get as far as that. You see——” -He looked aside and saw that Margaret was -watching him. “At any rate, I am settled down -to it now,” he said.</p> - -<p>Hugh broke in with talk of Kamakura.</p> - -<p>“When does your leave end?” Margaret asked.</p> - -<p>“Monday.”</p> - -<p>“You must go back to your ship, then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, by noon.”</p> - -<p>She turned to John. “And you, too?”</p> - -<p>Something in her intonation caught his attention, -and he looked swiftly at her.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “You must send us news of -London as our share in your home-coming.... -I want to hear of your great-grandmother’s -welcome.”</p> - -<p>“Her great-grandmother?” Mrs. Fane-Herbert -put in.</p> - -<p>“The portrait, mother—the one over the -stairs.” Then to John: “She’ll give me comments -with her welcome, a lecture for her runaway.”</p> - -<p>There was a hint of bitterness in that; but -John’s remembering that conversation on the -first evening she had known him stung her with -the sting—half-pleasant, half-painful—of childhood -days recalled in dark moments. For now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> -she was easily stung to sorrow or to a kind of -fierce joy. She had wanted desperately to talk, -to tell someone how free she was—Ordith being -gone. Untold, her freedom seemed incomplete. -But neither her father nor her mother had spoken. -They had learnt the facts, accepted them; she -had attempted no explanation; not one word had -been said. This silence had a hardening quality. -Her experience, the vivid remembrance of which -might have flowed easily away, was somehow -frozen in her mind, like a sin unconfessed. There -was no one to whom she could go. Warmth of -heart, comradeship, the simplest affection she -starved for. But this being left alone, this frigidness -of spirit, this intolerable independence....</p> - -<p>John had known, at least, that her heart was -full. It was as if she had seen a friendly face in -the midst of a vast unnoticing crowd. When she -said good-night to him she gave him her hand -with new confidence. Then, out of his sight, she -was suddenly angry with herself as for a foolishness, -a weakness for the first time realized. An -instant she stood unmoving outside her bedroom -door—her mind tripped somehow, taken unawares.</p> - -<p>And in the morning she settled at once to a -book, glad of an occupation so isolating.</p> - -<p>“You’re very deep in that book, Margaret,” -Hugh said, as he passed her. “Aren’t you coming -out?”</p> - -<p>“I want to finish it before lunch. Do you -mind?”</p> - -<p>“I see the last of you and mother to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll come this afternoon, ... or shall I come -now?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span></p> - -<p>He looked into her upturned face. Her hand -was on the arm of her chair to raise herself.</p> - -<p>“No, you odd sister.... No; you’re not to -come—of course not.”</p> - -<p>She went late to lunch, and was surprised to -find Hartington at her mother’s table, with John -and Hugh. He said that his leave lasted only -till that evening.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you stay and go back with us to-morrow?” -Hugh asked.</p> - -<p>“No.” He shook his head. “But I wanted -to see the homeward goers before they went. -That’s really all I came for.”</p> - -<p>The meal over, he had no difficulty in seeing -Margaret alone, for she felt that it was to see -her he had come.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, “secret emissary, what is it?”</p> - -<p>“You know there’s something?”</p> - -<p>“You are full of suppressed news.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; good news—oh, such good news!”</p> - -<p>“Thank God for that!” she breathed.</p> - -<p>“You expected bad?”</p> - -<p>“I fear it always. There’s nothing definite -that I expect. But somehow——”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said quickly. “This is good, anyhow. -Lynwood is free—through Wingfield Alter.”</p> - -<p>She gave no sign of pleasure so eager was she. -“How? Really free?”</p> - -<p>“Really free,” he smiled. “Are you beginning -to disbelieve in freedom?... The mail came -in after Lynwood left the ship. A letter for him -from his mother, and a letter for me from Alter. -I have them both here. Alter is to marry Mrs. -Lynwood. He has taken the first definite step -towards getting Lynwood out of the Service.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p> - -<p>“When will he be free? Will he come home -with us?”</p> - -<p>“Not possible. It takes time. But now it is only -a question of time—a couple of months, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t given him his mother’s letter?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t told him?”</p> - -<p>“No; I came to you first. I want you to tell -him.”</p> - -<p>Something stifled her inclination to ask -“Why?”</p> - -<p>Hartington went on hesitatingly: “It means -so much to him, you see. It’s such tremendous -news, because he has no hope or expectation of -it. So ... Miss Fane-Herbert, I want you to -tell him.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes widened for a moment. They looked -out beyond Hartington. Then, with abrupt decision, -she said, with a fluttering, pleading gesture -towards him: “No; you. You must tell him. -It’s your right. You brought it about.”</p> - -<p>“I wrote to Alter—that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“It came about through you. Oh, long before -the writing of that letter, you helped him—didn’t -you?—perhaps not deliberately. You don’t -realize how much you have done for him. Certainly -you don’t realize what he feels for you—the -strangest mixture of affection, and admiration, -and respect—but overwhelming. You are -all that’s best in men for him! And he’d like -you to bring this news. He’ll be glad, years on, -that it was you who brought it. Friendship -between men is so much more substantial, more -secure. You must tell him,” she concluded. -“It’s your right.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why do you insist so much on right? I -waive it if it exists. That’s why I came here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she cried, with a smile in acknowledgment -of his unveiling of her half-pretence, “I -want it to be you!”</p> - -<p>He laughed back at her, so that her colour -came....</p> - -<p>He took John away into the country roads, -where the cherry-trees were in blossom and the -sun lay flat on the long, low, irregular branches, -reminding them of illustrations in Japanese fairy-books. -There, as they walked, the news was -given, the two letters read.</p> - -<p>“You’ve done all this,” John said, and remained -speechless.</p> - -<p>“I can’t help wondering what it is exactly that -I have done or helped to do. What’s it going to -lead to?”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I mean that this—the breaking free—is a -beginning, not an end.”</p> - -<p>“I know.... But there’s time enough to -think of what’s to come. I won’t think of it -now.... Hartington, couldn’t you come too?”</p> - -<p>“No; we shape different courses now.”</p> - -<p>“But we three shall see each other often—in -London. I’ve never seen you in London. And -at Oxford, you must stay with me there.”</p> - -<p>Hartington looked wistfully at him. “Oh -yes,” he said, “we shall see each other often.”</p> - -<p>They found on their return that the others had -finished tea. Only Hugh remained by the empty -cups. He sprang up to meet them.</p> - -<p>“I am glad, you civilian! Margaret told me.”</p> - -<p>“She knows?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I told her,” Hartington said. Then, “Have -I stolen your news?”</p> - -<p>“There is no one left to tell,” John answered, -laughing. “I want to tell thousands of people.”</p> - -<p>Later, he asked: “Where is Margaret?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. She disappeared after tea.”</p> - -<p>They sat smoking. Everything was pleasant -to John now: the click of a cigarette-case being -shut, the tapping of the cigarette, the long silences -in which none of them had need of speech. The -afternoon had begun to fail. The sun slanted -yellow across the window-panes and fell in rippling -beams of light and shadow upon the pale matting. -Outside, the lawn and distant trees had taken on -those soft golden tones which, at the approach -of summer’s dusk, flow across English fields, -investing them with kindly magic. Then the -church tower seems more than ever still; the -churchyard silent, but not terrible. The bird -rustles in the hedgerow; you imagine his bright -eyes. The cricket stumps yellow against the -green; the shadows flicker on the pitch; the bat -sounds clearer, sweeter; the ball runs smoothly, -and with peculiar ease; the players and the umpires -in their white coats grow nebulous and vague.</p> - -<p>“‘And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling -of a ghost,’” John said.</p> - -<p>“Back in England already?”</p> - -<p>“This summer in England!”</p> - -<p>He went bareheaded into the cool air, across -the lawn, springy under his feet, down the path -among the trees where the white sand lay heavy, -on to the shore. There was Margaret, near the -waves’ edge. He approached her, and, because she -was so still, touched the billowing muslin she wore.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You know?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. John, how happy you must be! Always -you’ll remember to-day. It’s your hour—one -of the three or four. They go by so soon.”</p> - -<p>“And you? Are you not happy?... You -are free, too.” He faltered as he spoke of this, of -which she had never spoken.</p> - -<p>She shivered, as if a cold breeze had struck her.</p> - -<p>“Yes.... I understand.... I, too, am -free. I know.”</p> - -<p>She turned to him eyes full of light.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Margaret,” he cried, his arms outstretched, -“don’t look towards the future. To-day’s enough, -Margaret. What is it you are afraid of?”</p> - -<p>She said, trembling under his touch, close to -him so that her dress brushed lightly against his -coat, “What is it we’re both afraid of? We are -both afraid.”</p> - -<p>For answer, in his primitive wisdom, he swept -her to him, overwhelming her thought. Lip to -lip they clung, she imprisoned, silenced, caught -up from fear. His arms about her in fierce -pressure were a whole armour against doubt—more -than armour, a charm, for the arrows themselves -were diverted and flew wide of her, forgotten. -Flames ran down her as his mouth -burned against her throat, and her lips, opened -now, were full of the sharp sea-wind.</p> - -<p>She fell from him a little, still held.</p> - -<p>“That once,” she said, with caught breath, -“that instant lives. That stands. Nothing can -touch it or steal it.... Don’t let me go—not -yet, my darling—don’t let me go!”</p> - -<p>He drew her close again, but more gently. And -she said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s our victory.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing reverses it.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me——”</p> - -<p>He told her his love again and again, her arm -drawing him down so that the fresh scent of her -hair was over him.</p> - -<p>“Nothing takes those words back”—his kiss -fell on her—“or the touch.”</p> - -<p>“But here we begin,” he protested, wondering -at the jealous terror that possessed her. “We -shall go on from this for ever. Nothing is taken -away. We build and build. In a few years, -when I——”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried, “in a few years—who knows? -We don’t break free so easily as this, John. The -net sweeps wider than we know. It yields—that’s -its strength. And presently it draws us in -again. So it will go on—till the breaking.... -You see, even you and I go on strengthening it, -making new meshes despite ourselves. If ever -we are to stand together in the world, first you have -to gain money and power. You have to fight. -Then—it’s inevitable—we would have to teach -our children to fight—equip them for ‘the battle -of life!’ And they would look round to find -themselves in <i>our</i> net.</p> - -<p>“But it’s going to end. The world will change -its motive when this motive of gain has made it -suffer so terribly, so obviously, that it realizes the -cause of its suffering. We have to suffer—we -or our children. It’s near now. The whole -system may smash—the good with the bad—perhaps -that’s the only way; and we may slip back -into the Dark Ages again. I don’t know....”</p> - -<p>“But now——” John said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Now? Yes—that’s ours.... Oh, for God’s -sake! touch me and hold me as if you would never, -never let me go....”</p> - -<p>And presently, standing away from him, she -was saying with composure: “Let’s go back. It’s -getting dark. Look how the colour is fading from -the sea.”</p> - -<p>They went up the beach to the edge of the tree -belt. There she checked him. Turning, they -looked down upon their tracks to where, in the -instant now gone by, the sand had been roughed -and broken by their feet. Soon the water, which -from the gathering darkness had drawn its first -gleams of phosphorescence, would smooth their -footprints away.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> - -<span class="smaller">ONE YEAR LATER: THE WORLD IN THE NET</span></h2> -</div> - - <p>“<i>Our fathers understood not thy wonders....</i>”—<span class="smcap">Psalm</span> -cvi.</p> - -<p>“<i>Our fathers have trespassed ... our fathers have fallen -by the sword, and our sons and our daughters and our -wives are in captivity for this.</i>”—2 <span class="smcap">Chron.</span> xxix.</p> - -<p>“<i>We have sinned with our fathers....</i>”—<span class="smcap">Psalm</span> cvi.</p> - - -<p>Under the hot sun of an early August day in -1914 John walked from Parliament Square -towards Whitehall. More than a fortnight -earlier he had gone to the Admiralty and -offered his services for the war. His name had -been added to a long list of applicants for whom -employment could not immediately be found. -The same morning he had offered himself as an -infantryman to a corps which was awaiting permission -to form new battalions, and his name had -been taken again. Now an official telegram had -brought him to London.</p> - -<p>In the forecourt of the Admiralty he met -Tintern, who had entered at the corner nearer to -Trafalgar Square.</p> - -<p>“You, Lynwood—I thought you were at -Oxford.”</p> - -<p>“Not yet. I’ve done the exams. I was waiting -for the term to begin in October.”</p> - -<p>“What are you doing now? Volunteering?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I nearly chucked the Service myself a few -months back. Glad I didn’t now. War breaks -the monotony of routine. It’s what we, who -stayed in the Service, have been preparing for. -And even you, who made up your mind to break -clear away—you have been roped in again. It -comes to the same thing in the end.... They’ve -emptied the college at Dartmouth, you know—all -the cadets going to sea.”</p> - -<p>Together they went up the steps into the great -building, through the many passages of which, -after enquiries made of a messenger, they began -uncertainly to thread their way.</p> - - -<p class="center x-small p4">PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY BILLING AND SONS, LTD., GUILDFORD</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Transcriber's Note</h2> - -<p>A half-title page has been removed from the text.</p> - - -<p>The following apparent errors have been corrected:</p> - -<ul><li>p. 33 "class" changed to "class."</li> - -<li>p. 39 "running" changed to "running,"</li> - -<li>p. 40 "heart," changed to "heart"</li> - -<li>p. 166 "brillance" changed to "brilliance"</li> - -<li>p. 168 "written?" changed to "written?”"</li> - -<li>p. 189 "‘Yes," changed to "“Yes,"</li> - -<li>p. 193 "snotties" changed to "snotties’"</li> - -<li>p. 322 "come——’" changed to "come——”"</li> - -<li>p. 322 "old.’" changed to "old.”"</li> - -<li>p. 322 "Christ?’" changed to "Christ?”"</li> - -<li>p. 323 "afraid." changed to "afraid?"</li> - -<li>p. 337 "went on" changed to "went on,"</li> - -<li>p. 341 "him?’" changed to "him?”"</li> -</ul> - - -<p>The following are used inconsistently in the text:</p> - -<ul><li>ashtray and ash-tray</li> - -<li>forebridge and fore-bridge</li> - -<li>sideboy and side-boy</li> - -<li>watchkeeping and watch-keeping</li></ul> - - -</div> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Gunroom, by Charles Langbridge Morgan - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GUNROOM *** - -***** This file should be named 52591-h.htm or 52591-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/5/9/52591/ - -Produced by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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. 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