VICE VERSÂ.
"TELEGRAM for you, mum."
Mrs. Aubyn put down her newspaper and took the orange-coloured
envelope which her sister's maid had just brought in on a tray.
Telegrams were rather unusual at "Anchor Cottage," and the freckled,
red-haired girl, with eyes and mouth wide open, stood consumed with
ill-concealed curiosity.
But she was disappointed. Deftly Mrs. Aubyn tore the envelope and
scanned the contents.
"No answer, Jane," she announced, in a steady voice.
Not until the maid had closed the door did the old lady betray the
anguish that the telegram had caused.
"God grant that he is not blinded or crippled for life," she
exclaimed, in low, earnest tones; then she re-read the momentous
words of the telegram in the vain hope that she had not rightly
grasped its significance, and that on second reading the message
might not appear so terribly grim:--
"Regret to have to inform you that Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn,
R.N.R., is lying here seriously wounded."
The telegram was dispatched from Shotley Naval Hospital and bore the
signature of one of the medical officers.
"Seriously wounded," she repeated. "An accident, perhaps. I must go
to my boy."
She had read all the important news in the morning paper. There had
been no mention of a naval engagement, so there could be no other
explanation of how Terence received his injuries. She was thankful
indeed that she had not gone to Portsmouth for the day with her
sister. Thankful, also, that the said relative was not in the house,
for in contrast to the presence of mind displayed by Mrs. Aubyn, Miss
Wilson possessed a highly-strung temperament that frequently
expressed itself in hysterical outbursts.
Mrs. Aubyn consulted a time-table and then rang the bell.
"Jane," said the old lady in even tones, "I want you to run across to
Smith's and order a taxi to take me to the station at once, to catch
the 9.15 train."
Quickly Terence's mother made her simple preparations. After dressing
for the journey she sat down and wrote a note to her sister,
explaining the reason for her hasty departure, and stating that she
would write the same evening and give full details. Upon second
thoughts she did not enclose the telegram, but placed it in her
handbag. Then, closing the envelope and sealing it with wax, she gave
it to the maid to hand to her mistress on her return.
It was close on four in the afternoon when the train steamed into
Harwich station. Making her way through crowds of bluejackets who
formed the bulk of the passengers, Mrs. Aubyn called a cab and bade
the man drive her to Shotley as quickly as possible.
The cabby looked curiously at her.
"Shotley?" he repeated. "'Tis a long way. It'll cost you a quid,
mum--a sovereign. Couldn't do it for less."
"A sovereign!" repeated Mrs. Aubyn aghast.
"Not a penny less, mum," declared the man, stolidly. The old lady's
hand tightened on her purse. Her means were strictly limited. A
sovereign was to her a large sum. Yet, for her boy's sake----
"Excuse me, madam," exclaimed a deep, pleasant voice.
Mrs. Aubyn turned. The cabby gave vent to an exclamation that,
although inaudible, clearly expressed his views upon "fussy toffs who
interfered with an honest chap's living."
"Do I understand that you want to go to Shotley?" continued the
stranger, a tall, bearded gentleman in the uniform of a naval
captain.
"Yes, to the hospital. My son, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, is lying there
seriously wounded."
She spoke bravely, laying emphasis upon her boy's rank. She felt
certain she could enlist the entire sympathy and aid of a
brother-officer, notwithstanding he was a post-captain.
"If you will allow me I will give you a passage in my gig," said the
naval officer. "It is only a short distance by water, but quite
twenty miles from here by land. I fancy that cabby knew you were a
stranger here. My name is O'Rourke--Captain O'Rourke."
Outside the station boys were selling the early evening papers.
Catching sight of the naval officer three or four of them made a rush
towards him.
"Evening paper, sir. H.M.S. 'Terrier' torpedoed and sunk."
He bought a copy, and without attempting to read it thrust it into
his coat pocket.
"When a ship is torpedoed, Captain O'Rourke, are the crew severely
injured?" inquired Mrs. Aubyn.
"A strange question to ask," thought the naval man. He glanced
swiftly at his companion, trying to read an unexpressed thought that
might have prompted her query. Her face betrayed no sign whatever.
"Well, it depends," he answered guardedly. "Unless there are men
below, close to the point of impact, there is generally very little
damage to personnel. The men would undoubtedly feel the effect of the
concussion. When the 'Hogue' and her consorts were torpedoed the loss
of life due to the actual explosion was absurdly small in comparison
to the number of men drowned. Of course, if the torpedo strikes the
magazine and caused an internal explosion, that is quite another
matter. But excuse me, what made you ask that question?"
"My son was on the 'Terrier,'" she replied simply.
"I hope----" he began; then he stopped and pulled out the newspaper.
"There are no details," he continued. "In fact, I know far more
about the disaster and how it occurred than is stated in the Press.
The number of casualties is given but no names."
Assisting Mrs. Aubyn into the waiting gig, Captain O'Rourke gave
orders to the coxswain to make for Shotley Pier. Then, having acted
the part of glorified ferryman, and handed the old lady into the
charge of a petty-officer with instructions to escort her to the
Sick-Quarters, Captain O'Rourke returned to his ship.
The short winter's afternoon had now given place to night. Well it
was that Terence's mother had a stalwart seaman to show her the way,
for, owing to possible air-raids, both sides of Harwich Harbour were
shrouded in darkness.
"Officers' wing, ma'am," announced the petty-officer. "If you'll
write particulars in the visitors' book you'll soon be attended to by
that chap--he's one of the assistant ward-masters."
After a few moments' delay Mrs. Aubyn was ushered into a fairly large
room in which were half a dozen occupied beds. Eagerly she scanned
the faces of the patients. None of the five who on hearing the
visitor turned in her direction bore the slightest resemblance to her
son. The sixth bed--ominous sign--had a screen drawn round it.
A nursing sister walked silently up to the assistant ward-master and
asked a question in an undertone, then turning to the visitor:--
"Mrs. Aubyn, I believe. You have come to see your son?"
"I have; is he dangerously hurt?" she asked.
The nurse inclined her head.
"I am afraid so," she replied gently. "The surgeons are holding
another consultation tomorrow. It may mean amputation of the right
leg, but I think he'll get over it."
"Amputation of the right leg ... he'll get over it."
Mrs. Aubyn mechanically repeated the words as she followed the
nursing sister towards the screened bed. After all, it might have
been worse. Throughout the tedious journey the idea that persistently
occupied her mind was that her only son had been deprived of his
sight. She felt almost inclined to weep with relief. Compared with a
life-long existence deprived of the light of day, the lot of a maimed
hero--whose sacrifice had been for King and Country--was light
indeed. And, besides, he would be invalided out of the Service. She,
his devoted mother, would spend no more sleepless nights endeavouring
to picture her son somewhere on the wild North Sea, beset by perils
that had never, before the present war, threatened the gallant men
who defended our shores.
She gave no sign of the emotions that surged within her. Outwardly
she was calm and self-possessed--a pattern of a modern Spartan
mother.
The nurse moved aside the screen.
On the bed, his forehead swathed in surgical bandages, and with a
rest over his injured limb, was an unconscious man. His face was
pallid, his closed eyes rimmed with red. His massive features, short
turned-up nose, long upper lip and square jaw unmistakably stamped
him as a son of the Emerald Isle.
"But this is not my son," said Mrs. Aubyn calmly.
"Not your son?" repeated the nurse. "Why, this is Sub-Lieutenant
Terence Aubyn."
"He is some other poor mother's son," declared Mrs. Aubyn; then, with
unwonted eagerness she asked, "Were any of the other officers
missing?"
"I think not," replied the nursing sister. "If you will take a chair
for a few minutes I will make inquiries. Perhaps you would like a cup
of tea in my room," she added, noticing the visitor's langour.
"Thank you," was the grateful reply. "I would."
While Mrs. Aubyn was drinking her tea the nurse held a hurried
consultation with the ward-master and one of the doctors.
"Now you mention it," remarked the latter, "I did notice that the
patient looked a bit tough for a commissioned officer. A sub., even
though he be a reserve man, does not as a rule decorate his chest
with fanciful tattoo designs. Have you any of the 'Terrier's' ship's
company who can identify the patient?"
The result of the consultation was that an able seaman, suffering
from slight shock, was brought into the officer's ward.
The man's weather-beaten face relaxed into a broad grin when he saw
the supposed sub-lieutenant.
"Strike me pink!" he ejaculated in undisguised astonishment, and
heedless of the fact that he was in the presence of a superior
officer. "Mike O'Milligan will have the time of his life when he
wakes up to find himself in with the officers."
"Mike O'Milligan?" repeated the surgeon.
"Ay; first-class stoker--that's what he is," declared the seaman,
with the air of a man who is instrumental in denouncing an impostor.
He seemed to imagine that it was a piece of audacity on the part of
the luckless O'Milligan, in spite of the fact that he was unconscious
when brought into the hospital.
"Did you see Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn after the explosion?" asked the
nurse.
"Ay, ma'am. He was all right. Saw him with my own eyes on the
quarter-deck when the hands mustered aft. Don't remember seeing him
after that, though."
"I think there has been a mistake, Mrs. Aubyn," said the nurse on
returning to her private sitting-room, where Terence's mother was
striving to forget doubts and fears in a cup of tea. "A stoker was
admitted to the ward under the inexplicable error that he was your
son. Dr. Hardiman is making inquiries, and we hope to clear the
matter up satisfactorily. You need not worry about finding a hotel;
we can put you up for the night."
The nurse remained in conversation with the old lady for some
minutes, then, excusing herself, returned to her duty.
Left to herself Mrs. Aubyn remembered that she promised to write to
her sister. The news she was able to give was far from satisfactory;
in fact, the position of affairs was very vague. Nevertheless, she
sat down to write an account of what had occurred up to the present
time, in the hope that before she had finished the letter Dr.
Hardiman's investigations might produce definite and satisfactory
results.
Suddenly the door opened. In the subdued gleam cast by the electric
table-lamp Mrs. Aubyn saw the figure of a man dressed in a long, pale
blue coat with broad red collar and cuffs. His face was darkened by
the shade of the lamp.
Thinking the intruder was one of the hospital orderlies, the old lady
turned to her work, only to feel a pair of hands grasping her
shoulders.
"Hullo, mother! What brings you here?" asked Terence.
It was all because of the fact that Terence gave his great-coat to
the unconscious man he had rescued from the mess-deck of the sinking
"Terrier" that the sub. and the stoker had changed places.
Upon Aubyn losing consciousness Captain Holloway feared that the sub.
had been wounded, and that he had kept the knowledge to himself. A
hasty examination by the naval surgeon resulted in the satisfactory
report that the young officer was not hurt beyond suffering from the
shock of the explosion.
Captain Holloway, of course, could not stay with his subordinate. He
had plenty of work to do, looking after the survivors of the ship's
company, sending telegraphic reports to the Admiralty, and tackling
fifty other problems to which the sudden catastrophe had contributed.
Owing to the limited room at the Sick-Quarters of the little village,
orders were received to send the wounded members of the crew to
Shotley. A fleet of motor-cars, lent by the well-to-do residents in
the district, was quickly organized and the work of transporting the
sufferers was put in hand.
A message had already been received at Shotley warning the medical
authorities to prepare for the reception of one officer and so many
lower-deck patients. The latter were to be distributed amongst the
various wards.
A small crowd of sick-berth attendants were in waiting when the
motor-cars arrived. The worst cases were taken into the building on
stretchers. Amongst these were Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, clad in cloth
trousers and sweater, and Stoker O'Milligan decked in borrowed
plumage--to wit, a naval officer's great-coat. Both men were still
unconscious.
Consequently it was excusable that the sick-bay staff made a slight
mistake. O'Milligan, after his leg was properly set in splints, was
put to bed in the officer's ward, while Terence was dumped into the
only vacant cot in one of the men's wards.
He was a puzzle to the sick-berth attendants. They knew that the one
officer mentioned in the telegram had arrived. They could find no
mark of identification on the clothing of the supposed seaman. Being
particularly busy they let the matter of identification slide,
thinking that on the patient's return to consciousness he would be
able to give the necessary information as to his name and rating.
When the doctor went his rounds he gave directions for a sleeping
draught to be administered to the patient as soon as he regained his
senses.
Ten minutes after the medico's departure Terence opened his eyes.
Instantly the alert attendant pounced down, and, without giving the
patient a chance to speak, made him swallow the draught. Consequently
it was not until six o'clock in the evening that the sub. awoke,
feeling little the worse for his prolonged rest.
He sat up and looked round the room. His surroundings were strangely
unfamiliar. The very bareness of the place had a lower-deck
atmosphere.
He beckoned to the sick-bay attendant.
"What's up now, mate?" asked that worthy. "Feeling better?"
Somewhat taken aback by the familiarity of the man, Terence asked
where he was, and was informed that he was in "B" block of Shotley
Sick-Quarters.
"What's your name and rating, chum?" asked the man, producing a book
and fingering a stump of indelible pencil.
Like a flash the situation became apparent to the sub. He remembered
his great-coat--he seemed particularly unfortunate in the matter of
great-coats, he thought. He had lent it to the stoker, and as a
penalty he had been mistaken for the man he had rescued. The
ludicrous side of the affair tickled him.
"A sub-lootenant?" queried the man incredulously. "Seems likely, eh?
Either you're barmy, or else you're trying some little game on. Won't
work, chum. Who's your raggie?"
"Raggie," in lower-deck parlance, is a term used to denote a man's
particular pal. It was the sick-berth attendant's idea to get one of
the ship's company whom the patient named to identify the fellow who
was under the hallucination that he was one of the officers.
"Try Captain Holloway," suggested Terence. The man shook his head
more in sorrow than in anger.
"It would go hard with you, chum, if I did," he remarked. "Your
skipper wouldn't care to be bothered at this time o' night. 'Sides,
he isn't here."
The patient in the next cot--of the crew of a destroyer that had been
in some minor action--began to grow interested.
"Bill," he whispered in a stage aside, "'umour 'im. He's dotty. I
knowed a chap once who looked just like 'im. He was as mad as a
'atter. He would 'ave it he was the Right 'Onerable Somebody. Got
fair violent if you didn't believe 'im. So, 'umour 'im, says I."
Terence, overhearing these remarks, laughed.
"I don't claim to be anything so grand as a Right Honourable, my
man," he said.
"Maybe, then, you're not so bad as the chap wot I was talking to the
poultice-slapper about. 'E was sent to Yarmouth Loonatic Asylum, pore
chap; maybe you won't need to be if you pulls yourself together,"
retorted the seaman, with brutal candour.
"Look here, my man," said Terence authoritatively, addressing the
"poultice-slapper," otherwise the sick-berth attendant, "you'll
please fetch the surgeon on duty--and be quick about it."
There was something in Aubyn's tone that caused the man to wonder
whether, after all, there had been a mistake. He was one who was
disinclined to take any risks in the matter. He hurried off, striving
to recollect, as he went, what he had said to the unknown patient,
and whether he had used indiscreet language to one who might really
be a commissioned officer.
The doctor arrived, tardily. Although the circumstances had been
explained to him, he, too, had his doubts. Patients suffering from
shock were apt to be light-headed upon recovering consciousness.
He was a little, round-faced man, with a shiny pate surmounted by a
tonsure-like ring of jet black hair. War had dealt kindly with him.
Formerly a country medical practitioner in a poor district, having
great difficulty in making both ends meet, he had taken advantage of
the Admiralty regulations for the entry of Temporary Surgeons. With
free quarters, a home billet, and a comfortable rate of pay, he was
now "having the time of his life."
He lacked the general brusqueness of naval doctors when dealing with
men. He was eminently a doctor; as a naval officer he made an
indifferent show.
He was sympathetic as he questioned Aubyn, and although he observed
him narrowly he saw no sign that would be bound to betray to a
medical man any symptoms of lunacy.
"You are well enough to get up," he said at length. "Get your things
on."
Somewhat disdainfully Terence clothed himself in the garments
provided--rough underclothing and an ugly dressing-gown, arrangements
that My Lords think fit to provide for the lower-deck patients.
"Fit as a fiddle," remarked the doctor.
"Fit for a good dinner, anyhow," added Terence, who was feeling
desperately hungry--the craving for food accentuated by the fact that
one of the patients had just been given some roast chicken.
"Ordinary seamen don't talk about having dinner in the evening,"
thought the surgeon. "Perhaps there's some truth in his assertion
after all. I'll get him into the next ward; there are two of the
'Terrier' men there."
Nor was the doctor greatly astonished when, as the quaintly-garbed
patient followed him into the ward, the men recognized their officer,
stood up and smartly saluted.
"Well, Smith," said Terence, addressing a seaman-gunner by name, "how
goes it?"
"Can't complain, sir. Got a proper whack in the ribs. 'Tain't much to
grouse about. And how's yourself, sir, if I may make so bold as to
ask? I seed the cap'n catch you as you pitched to starboard."
In a few minutes Terence was taken to the officers' ward. Here he was
informed that his mother was waiting to see him. He wondered why. His
condition was hardly serious enough for the medical authorities to
send for her, so he settled the matter by going, just as he was, to
the room where Mrs. Aubyn was waiting.