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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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