AND LAST
A WEEK later found Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft a patient in a
large Naval Hospital somewhere on the East Coast. His case was an
interesting one as far as the medical officers were concerned, but
far from it from a strictly personal point of view. The medicos,
expressing their belief in their ability to restore the young
officer's powers of speech and hearing, were unremitting in their
attentions, so far without success.
Billy, after the first fit of despondency had passed, was still far
from sanguine as to the result of the numerous operations and
experiments performed by the hospital staff. Unable to communicate
with any one except by means of paper and pencil, he had already
come to the conclusion that his flying days were over. He might hope
for a partial restoration of his lost senses, but nothing more.
There was one thought to console him. He had not been rendered blind
by the terrific glare as his gigantic victim was blown sky high. The
blessing of sight was still his.
It irritated him beyond measure to see other patients conversing, to
watch their lips move, their expressive gestures of understanding,
and yet to live in an atmosphere of profound silence. It was
humiliating to have to approach a fellow-creature and laboriously
commit to paper a request for a most trivial thing; exasperating to
follow the comparatively tedious pencil as the person addressed in
this manner wrote his reply.
Still living in hopes Barcroft had studiously concealed the news of
his affliction from his parents and from Betty. His letters to them
were as light and cheerful as of yore, yet he felt that they were a
sham. Sooner or later, unless medical science was able to conquer
the baffling case, he would be compelled to have to admit that he
was--a useless encumbrance: those were his thoughts.
Almost every one of his brother airmen had visited him since his
arrival at the hospital, for the "Hippodrome," having returned to
her base, was lying in harbour almost within sight of the huge
building. Some tried, rather dismally, to be funny, hoping to cheer
their luckless comrade; others were so sympathetic that they
depressed Billy almost to a state of desperation. It was difficult
to appear at ease in the presence of a deaf and dumb man--and
Barcroft knew it.
One afternoon John Fuller came to see him. It was the second visit
that day. The lieutenant was practical even when in the presence of
his afflicted shipmate, for instead of sitting down and laboriously
writing out the preliminaries to a long-drawn-out conversation he
drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to his chum. And this is
what Barcroft read:--
"Congrats, old man. Just heard from 'topsides,' absolutely official:
the battleship you strafed was the 'Schlesien,' complement 660. Our
skipper has put in a claim on your behalf at 5 pounds a head. Unless
the judge decides that the prize money is to be divided between the
'Hippo's' ships-company, which is unlikely, Kirkwood and you split
3,300 pounds between you. You are also promoted to Flight-lieutenant
and have been awarded the V.C. and Kirkwood the D.S.O. You'll see
that in to-morrow's _Gazette_."
For a full half-minute Barcroft looked with strained inquiry at his
chum. His head seemed whirling round and round, then like a roar
from a cannon something seemed to beat upon his ear-drums.
"It's too good to be true," he said.
"Absolute fact," replied Fuller. "Bless my soul, Billy, you can
speak!"
"And hear, too," almost shouted the delighted newly-fledged
lieutenant. "Come along, John; I'm off to the telegraph office. Keep
on speaking, old bird. It's a delight. I hardly expected to hear you
again."
The hospital post-office was at the far end of the building.
Entering the somewhat crowded room, Billy, with a trembling hand,
filled in a form and gave it to a girl clerk.
The girl took the form, counted the words and scribbled something on
a piece of paper and offered it to the flight-lieutenant.
"Thank you," said Billy smiling. "But it isn't necessary now, thank
Heaven. I can both speak and hear."
"I am glad, Mr. Barcroft," replied the girl, who knew all about the
circumstances under which he had received his injuries. "Reply paid?
That will be eighteen-pence. You may get a reply in an hour."
The telegram that Billy had dispatched was to Miss Betty Deringhame.
It was:
"Am applying for leave. Will you fulfil your promise?"
After a seemingly interminable wait Billy's reply was received.
His message consisted of nine words; hers of one only: "Yes."
It was all that Flight-lieutenant Barcroft, V.C., desired. His cup
of happiness was filled to overflowing.
THE END
PRINTED BY PURNELL AND SONS,
PAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON
End of Project Gutenberg's Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S., by Percy F. Westerman