'THE 'ORRIBLE DEN.'
I.
From the quarterdeck one climbed down a steep ladder, walked aft along
the maindeck past the wardroom, descended another ladder, and finally
emerged into a large flat lit by electricity. To starboard was a
bulkhead with rifles in racks, their blued barrels gleaming dully in
the glare of the electric bulbs. Behind the rifle-racks came some of
the officers' cabins, through the open doorways of which one was
vouchsafed an occasional fleeting glimpse of sea and sky framed in the
circular opening of a scuttle in the ship's side.
The small habitations seemed to reflect the personalities and tastes of
their several occupants. Some were gay with pictures, photographs,
brightly coloured bedspreads and curtains, and had easy-chairs,
well-filled bookcases, and a glittering array of silver-backed brushes,
photograph-frames, and ornaments on the chests of drawers serving as
toilet-tables. In others there was little or no attempt at decoration,
and they were furnished with almost Spartan simplicity, with nothing
but what the Admiralty allowed. This consisted of a bunk with drawers
underneath, a solid mahogany chest of drawers, a book-shelf, a folding
washstand, a minute writing-table, a straight-backed cane-bottomed
chair, a small strip of carpet, ugly maroon-coloured scuttle and door
curtains, and, by way of decoration, the inevitable shallow circular
tin bath suspended from the roof.
Amidships in the flat, in ordered rows, came the midshipmen's
sea-chests. They were painted white, with black lids, and bore their
owners' names on small brass plates. Each was exactly three feet six
inches long, one foot eight and a half inches broad, and three feet
seven and three-quarter inches high, neither more nor less. Admiralty
regulations are explicit and precise, even on the subject of
midshipmen's sea-chests. In these receptacles the 'snotties'[14] kept,
or were supposed to keep, all their worldly belongings, and woe betide
them if the first lieutenant discovered their clothes or boots lying
about when he went his rounds twice a day! The garments were promptly
impounded and placed in the scran-bag, which was opened only once a
week. Moreover, one inch of soap--which went toward cleaning the
ship--had to be paid for each article claimed.
[14] 'Snotty' is the naval slang term for midshipman.
On the opposite side of the flat were more rifle-racks and two
curtained doorways. One of these gave access to a pantry, the other to
what the commander called 'the 'Orrible Den,' otherwise the gunroom. It
was the habitat of the junior officers, and provided accommodation for
two sub-lieutenants, an assistant-paymaster, ten midshipmen, and Mr
Hubert Green, the assistant-clerk.
Imagine an apartment about thirty feet long by twenty feet wide, with
plenty of head-room. It ran fore and aft, and on the ship's side
opposite to the door were four circular scuttles. They were about six
feet above the water-line, and could be left open in harbour or in the
calmest weather at sea. If it was blowing at all hard, however, they
had to be kept tight shut to prevent the entry of the water. On these
occasions the atmosphere, well impregnated with the smell of food from
the pantry, could be cut with a knife. The sub-lieutenant, complaining
bitterly of the 'fug' or 'frowst,' sometimes ordered a junior
midshipman to carry out what was known as 'scuttle drill.' This meant
that the unfortunate youth had to open the port gingerly to let in the
air, but that he must bang it to again whenever a sea came rushing
past. If he allowed water or spray to enter he was chastised. He
generally was, but not really hard. Underneath the scuttles, and along
the after bulkhead, were narrow cushioned settees serving as seats.
Then came two long tables, with, outside them again, padded forms.
Altogether there was seating accommodation for about twenty-four people
at meals.
On the inner bulkhead near the door was a stove, and beyond this again
a small piano. This instrument had been quite a good one once upon a
time, but, owing to an accumulation of foreign matter in its interior,
caused no doubt by a youthful officers' steward, who found it a
convenient receptacle for dirty cotton-waste, polishing-paste,
bathbrick, and emery-paper, was long past its palmy days. However, it
still made a noise, and was useful for sing-songs.
On the foremost bulkhead was a small hatch with a sliding door
communicating with the pantry, and underneath it a mahogany sideboard.
The appointments were completed by three wicker arm-chairs, provided by
the occupants themselves, a sofa, a rack for the midshipmen's dirks, a
mahogany letter-rack and notice-board, and rows of small lockers, just
under the ceiling, round two sides over the settees. In these the
'snotties' kept their small personal belongings, books, and pots of jam
or potted meat. But we have forgotten the beer-barrel. It occupied a
conspicuous position near the sideboard.
Pictures and prints hung on the white enamelled walls, rugs were
scattered about the floor, and the two long tables were covered with
crimson cloths of the usual Admiralty pattern, and were adorned with
palms in pots and vases of flowers. So, taking it all round, 'the
'Orrible Den' was not quite so bad as it was painted. In fact, it was
quite a cheerful apartment.
Sub-Lieutenant Archibald Bertrain Cook--commonly known as Alphabetical
Cook--was the senior member of the mess and _ex officio_ president.
He was a lusty, riotous, red-faced fellow of twenty-two, and ruled
the midshipmen with a rod of iron. The other sub was Roger More, six
months junior to him. Wilfrid Shilling, the A.P.,[15] was a tall,
anæmic-looking officer, with an incipient beard and rather long hair.
He wore glasses, and was deeply in love with a young lady at Weymouth.
He went by the name of Blinkers.
[15] Assistant-paymaster.
Next came the senior midshipmen, Antony Charles Trevelyan, Roderick
MacDonald, William Augustus Trevor, and Henry Taut. They varied in age
between eighteen and a half and nineteen and a half; and the first, on
account of his rather blue chin and heavy growth of hair, went by the
elegant name of Whiskers. MacDonald, who was short and had rather a
barrel-like appearance, was nicknamed Shorty or Tubby; while Trevor, a
small youth, sometimes answered to Winkle. Taut, the midshipman of
Martin's division, was the Long Slab. He was tall and very thin, rather
like a lighthouse.
Then came the six junior 'snotties,' whose names do not really matter.
They were all under eighteen, and had only just joined the ship from
the training-cruiser. They were, in consequence, very small beer
indeed--mere excrescences on the face of the earth. Collectively they
were referred to as the Warts, Crabs, or Dogs' Bodies, and had to do
what everybody else chose to tell them.
The Wart of all the Warts was Mr Hubert Green, the assistant-clerk. He
was a small, freckle-faced youth, with a squeaky voice and ginger hair,
and had only just come to sea. He was only seventeen and a half, the
baby of the gunroom, and on account of his youth and general ignorance
of the navy and naval affairs, spent his life having his leg pulled by
the midshipmen.
Both the subs and the A.P. had cabins of their own. The midshipmen
'lived in chests,' as the saying is; slept in hammocks in the gunroom
flat; and performed their ablutions in a small tiled bathroom farther
forward. Publicity was a thing they had no qualms about whatsoever, and
between seven o'clock and seven-forty-five in the morning, when they
were dressing or parading about with or without towels, waiting for
their turns to wash, the flat was no fit place for the general public.
Except on Sundays, when they lay in till seven o'clock, the 'snotties'
turned out at six-fifteen, and from six-forty till seven were on deck
at physical drill. At seven, therefore, came the rush for baths, the
usual exaggerated tin saucers, of which there were only six. The
bandsmen servants procured their respective masters' hot water
beforehand; but it was always a case of first come first served, and
nobody hesitated to use anybody else's belongings if he were big and
strong enough to do so with impunity. Such things as hot water,
sponges, soap, and nail-brushes were regarded as common property unless
their owners chose to retain them by force. Towels and toothbrushes
alone were sacred to the individual.
The subs and the senior midshipmen bathed first, and woe betide any
Crab who was discovered in the bathroom when they arrived! He was
promptly hurled out. Then came the junior 'snotties,' and lastly the
assistant-clerk, who, poor wight, usually had to be content with cold
water. But they were all quite happy, and made a great deal of noise.
Pay of one shilling and ninepence _per diem_, plus a compulsory
allowance of fifty pounds a year from one's people, which was what the
midshipmen received, is not great affluence, even in the navy, where
living is comparatively cheap. It amounts in all to six pounds fifteen
shillings and tenpence per month of thirty days.
Mr Tubbs, the long-suffering gunroom-messman, and a bit of a villain,
undertook to provide breakfast, luncheon, and dinner for the sum of
thirty shillings a month a head from each member; but in addition
to this he also took the ten-pence _per diem_ allowed to each
officer by the Government in lieu of rations. Afternoon tea, cake,
bread-and-butter, tins of biscuits, potted meat, jam, fruit, and other
extraneous edibles were charged for as extras, in which category also
came such things as soap, bootlaces, drawing-paper, pens, ink, pencils,
&c. The sum of ten shillings _per mensem_ was supposed, by Admiralty
regulation, to suffice for the midshipmen's needs in the way of extras;
but the most of them, with the connivance of the messman, ran what they
called 'extra-extra bills.' It was on the profit made on these that Mr
Tubbs was able to make two ends meet at all, for one and tenpence a day
is not much wherewith to satisfy the food capacity of a young and lusty
lad with a healthy appetite.
'Snotties' over eighteen were allowed to expend fifteen shillings a
month on wine, and those under this age five shillings less; but
nobody under twenty was permitted to touch spirits. The mess
fund--for newspapers, breakages, washing, and other small incidental
expenses--came to a nominal five shillings a month, but generally
exceeded it; servant's wages were ten shillings; personal washing,
say, ten shillings; and tobacco--if the officer was over eighteen,
and allowed to smoke--about seven shillings and sixpence or
half-a-sovereign. The monthly balance-sheet, omitting all
extravagances, therefore, worked out somewhat as follows:
RECEIPTS.
1s. 9d. a day for 30 days £2 12 6
One-twelfth of £50 4 3 4
--------
Total £6 15 10
DEBITS.
30 days' messing at 1s. a day £1 10 0
Mess Fund 0 5 0
Wine 0 15 0
Tobacco 0 7 6
Extras 0 10 0
Servant 0 10 0
Washing 0 10 0
-------
Total £4 7 6
This, omitting the 'extra-extra,' left a nominal credit balance of two
pounds eight shillings and fourpence wherewith to last out the month.
Only one or two of the 'snotties' received anything extra in the way of
allowances from their people, though their outfitters' bills for all
necessaries in the way of clothing were usually met by their parents.
But even this did not improve matters to any great extent, and not one
of the young officers was ever known to have much in the way of money
unless parents or relations behaved handsomely on birthdays or at
Christmas. Even then the gift dwindled rapidly, for if one of them did
receive a windfall of an odd pound or two, he took care that his
messmates shared his good fortune. The clothes they had, too, were in a
perpetual state of being lost; and if one of them was asked out to dine
in another ship, everybody contributed something towards his attire.
One provided a shirt, and others handkerchief, collar, tie, and evening
shoes; but in spite of it all they somehow always managed to look smart
and well-dressed.
This state of chronic hardupness is hereditary in midshipmen. History
relates that a youth once came home from China, and landed at
Portsmouth with no soles to his boots, a hole in the crown of his straw
hat--it had been eaten by cockroaches--the seat of his trousers darned
by himself with sail-makers' twine, and no tails to any of his shirts.
With the ready resource of the sailor, he had removed these for use as
pocket-handkerchiefs.
The Royal Navy is essentially a poor man's service, and comparatively
few of its officers have anything considerable in the way of means over
and beyond their pay. It is sometimes difficult to keep out of debt,
for they are expected to go everywhere and do everything, while uniform
is expensive, and the cost of living is always increasing. It seems to
be part of a midshipman's job to be poor, and one would as soon expect
to find a dustman with a gold-mounted shaving-set as a 'snotty' with
more than half-a-crown in his pocket on the 28th of the month.
The 'snotties' of the _Belligerent_ were no exception to the
general rule. They were quite irrepressible, and were as happy and
cheerful as they could be, though sometimes they did complain bitterly
that they were half-starved. On occasions, to the accompaniment of
spoons beaten on the table, they chanted a mournful dirge anent the
iniquities of the messman. It was long and rather ribald, but the last
two lines of the chorus ran:
We're starving! we're starving!
And the messman's name is Mr Tubbs!
They weren't really so famished as they pretended to be, but Tubbs
certainly was an old rogue. One celebrated morning, when the senior
sub-lieutenant was absent, he peered through the pantry hatch at
breakfast-time.
'Now, gennelmen,' he said, 'wot we 'ave for breakfast is 'ot sardines
an' 'am. Sardines is a bit orf, the 'am is tainted, an' fruit is extra.
Wot'll you 'ave?'
The ship was half-way across the Bay of Biscay at the time, and had
been at sea for several days, so perhaps there was some slight excuse
for the inadequacies of the morning meal. But Tubbs had tried this game
before; and, headed by Roger More, the junior sub-lieutenant, the
members of the mess rose _en bloc_ and hastily armed themselves with
dirks.
The messman, scenting trouble, promptly fled from the pantry with his
satellites after him, while the hungry officers rushed in, broke open
various cupboards, and helped themselves liberally to Tubbs's private
store of tinned kippers and haddock. He complained bitterly, but got no
redress.
Another time the members of the mess were sitting round the table
waiting impatiently for lunch. Noon was the proper time for the meal;
but at twelve-ten nothing had appeared on the table except the
vegetables. The hungry officers commenced to bang on the table with
eating implements, and started the inevitable dirge, and in the middle
of it Tubbs's face appeared framed in the pantry hatch.
'I'm sorry, gennelmen,' he said when he could make himself heard in the
uproar. 'The boy's fallen down the 'atch with the joint, an' it ain't
fit be to seen. I've some werry nice corned beef'----
A chorus of groans drowned his utterance. 'Let's see the joint,' some
one demanded.
'It's bin thrown overboard, sir,' the messman explained glibly,
disappearing from view.
Several of the junior midshipmen and the assistant-clerk were
despatched to visit the scene of the alleged accident, and to report on
what traces they found. There were none. There never had been any
joint.
'Tubbs!' they yelled in unison when the spies came back.
The messman's head appeared, and the minute it bobbed up into sight it
was greeted with a volley of vegetables. On the whole the shooting was
good, and Tubbs made an excellent Aunt Sally. Potatoes baked in their
jackets spattered and burst all round the pantry hatch like a
_rafale_ of shrapnel-shell, while some, passing through, exploded
on impact with the messman's head. The _pièce de résistance_ was a
cauliflower. It struck the ledge and detonated like a high-explosive
projectile, and the messman received its disintegrated stickiness full
in the face. He slammed the hatch up with a bang, and rushed into the
mess with his face, beard, and hair dripping with vegetable products;
while the culprits, wildly excited, shrieked with laughter. The
bombardment would have continued, but the available ammunition was
expended.
Tubbs was furious. 'I'll 'ave the law on yer!' he shouted wildly,
waving his fists. 'I'll report yer to the commander, and 'ave yer
court-martialled, see if I don't! It's disgraceful, that's wot it is,
an' wot the navy's comin' to I don't know! Calls yerselves gennelmen,
do yer?'
He went on for quite a long time; but nothing further ever came of it.
He knew well enough that he had brought it on himself, and thereafter
he became rather more particular over the matter of providing meals.
It must not be imagined that the inhabitants of the _Belligerent_'s
gunroom always behaved like this. On the contrary, they were an
unusually well-conducted mess, and they broke out only when they were
really exasperated, and their feelings got the better of them.
The sub, assisted by the senior 'snotties,' had drilled the Crabs into
a high state of discipline and efficiency. He believed in using the
terror of the stick as a deterrent rather than in employing the weapon
itself, and as a consequence the junior midshipmen were never beaten
really hard unless they misbehaved themselves. But as Cook himself once
remarked, 'You can bet your bottom dollar that for every sin they've
been bowled out committing, there are fully fifty more that we haven't
discovered;' and there was some truth in the remark.
One of the methods of smartening up the Crabs was an evolution known as
'fork in the beam.' This was a time-honoured custom which must have
started in the days of wooden sailing-ships, since it is hardly
possible to stick an ordinary table-fork into the steel beams of a
modern vessel. It generally took place during dinner, when the younger
members of the mess had been making too much noise.
The sub, standing up at his place at the end of the table, would
insinuate a fork into the electric wires overhead, and at this signal
all the junior midshipmen and the assistant-clerk had to leave the
mess, scamper twice round the boat-deck, and return in the shortest
possible time. In the old-time evolution itself the 'snotties' used to
run up the rigging and over the masthead, but Cook substituted the race
round the boat-deck as being less dangerous. The last officer back had
to repeat the performance; and, as the loser generally found that
somebody had drunk his beer during his absence, there was always great
competition to be away first. It usually started by a seething mass of
seven Crabs being stuck in the doorway. After much struggling and
pushing, they would eventually fall through into the flat amidst shrill
yelps from the young gentlemen who happened to be underneath, and
remarks of 'Get off my face!' 'Ow! let go my leg, you beast!' Then,
sorting themselves out one by one, they would dart off, to return a few
minutes later flushed and breathless after their exercise.
They were also organised as what were known as the 'dogs of war,' with
the idea, as the sub explained, of instilling them with martial ardour
and making them fierce. On the order, 'Dogs of war out--so and so!'
they were expected to growl viciously, hurl themselves upon the person
named, and cast him forth from the mess. Sometimes the assistant-clerk
was the victim, sometimes one of the 'snotties' themselves; but, to
make things really exciting, the 'dogs' were occasionally divided into
two sides, Red and Blue, and each party endeavoured to expel the other.
It always meant a frantic struggle, for the victim or victims resisted
violently. They were none too gentle either, for clothes were torn,
shirts and collars were destroyed, and bruises were by no means
infrequent. Sometimes people's noses bled, and the fight waxed really
furious; but cases of lost temper were comparatively rare, and the
'dogs' usually enjoyed the fun as much as any one else. Their parents,
had they been present during the strife, might not have been quite so
amused. They paid for the clothes.
The star turn, however, was the Crabs' _corps de ballet_, and it
occasionally disported itself on guest nights for the amusement and
edification of any strangers who happened to be present. Trevelyan, the
senior midshipman, was the stage manager, and what the ballet lost
through lack of histrionic power on the part of the performers it more
than made up for by its originality. Their attire was sketchy, to say
the least of it. It consisted mainly of bath-towels, sea-boots, and
straw hats; and the songs and dances, to the strains of the elderly,
asthmatic piano, and bagpipes played by a Scots midshipman, MacDonald,
usually brought down the house. If by any chance the performance fell
at all flat through a lack of energy on the part of the performers,
they were promptly converted into 'dogs of war,' with the inevitable
result. So, taking it all round, the occupants of 'the 'Orrible Den'
managed to amuse themselves.
But because they sometimes became riotous and irresponsible in the
gunroom, it must not be imagined that the younger officers were not
learning their trade. Far from it; they worked really very hard, on
deck, in the engine-room, and in pursuit of the wily and elusive
_x_. Their day started at six-fifteen, and between six-forty and
seven o'clock they were either away boat-pulling or at physical drill
or rifle exercise. After this came baths, and from seven-forty-five
till eight instruction in signals. Breakfast was at eight; and from
nine till eleven-forty-five, and again in the afternoon from
one-fifteen to three-fifteen, they were at instruction in seamanship,
gunnery, torpedo, navigation, or engineering. Voluntary instruction in
theoretical subjects took place for one and a half hours on three
evenings of the week, and those more backward youths who did not
volunteer were compelled to attend. Two nights a week, from
eight-thirty till nine, there were signal exercises with the Morse
lamp, and these had to be attended by all the midshipmen until they
attained a certain standard of proficiency.
In addition to this, they had their regular watches to keep--day and
night at sea, and from eight-thirty A.M. till eight P.M. in harbour;
while no boat ever left the ship under steam or sail without a 'snotty'
in charge. Their days, therefore, were pretty busy.
They generally managed to get ashore between three-thirty and seven
P.M. about two days out of every four, and on Saturdays and Sundays
from one-thirty; but no late leave was granted save in very exceptional
circumstances. They amused themselves with hockey and football in the
winter, and golf, tennis, and cricket in the summer; and at places
where games could not be played, solaced their feelings by borrowing
one of the ship's boats on Sunday afternoons, stocking her with great
hampers containing provender of all kinds, and then sailing off for a
picnic. There is an irresistible fascination in cooking sausages and
boiling a kettle over a home-made fire on some unfrequented island or
beach which appeals to the most sober-minded of us.
Your modern midshipmen are no longer the rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little
cherubs of fiction. Many of them are over six feet, some of them shave,
and nobody but their aunts and female cousins refer to them as
'middies.' To call them by that diminutive term to their faces would
make them squirm. They refer to themselves as 'snotties,' and
'snotties' they will remain till the end of the chapter. The name,
rather inelegant perhaps, owes its origin to the three buttons on the
cuffs of their full-dress short jackets, which ribald people used to
say were first placed there to prevent their sleeves being put to the
use generally delegated to pocket-handkerchiefs. Any schoolboy will
tell you what a 'snot rag' is; but I have never yet heard of a modern
midshipman being without this rather important article of dress.
'Snotties' are a strange mixture. They possess all the love of fun and
excitement of schoolboys, but once on duty are very much officers. They
have to undertake responsibility very young, and at an age when their
shore-going brothers are still at public schools their careers in the
service have started.
Seamanship is not an exact science; it is an art. It comprises, amongst
other things, experience, sound judgment, good nerve, a vast deal of
common-sense, and a happy knack of knowing when risks are justifiable
and when they are not. It is a subject which cannot be taught by rule
of thumb after the first groundwork of elementary knowledge has been
assimilated, and circumstances alter cases so greatly that no preceptor
on this earth could lay down hard-and-fast rules for each of the
thousand-and-fifty contingencies which may arise at sea, and which may
one day have to be guarded against or overcome. The sea, moreover, is a
fickle mistress. The navy is always on active service, in peace or in
war, for its men and its ships are for ever pitting their skill and
strength against the might of the most merciless of enemies--the
elements. From the very moment that midshipmen join their first ship
they are expected to take part in the great game, and sometimes it is a
game of life and death. They start off by being placed in charge of
boats in all weathers. They may be steamboats, or boats under sail; but
whichever they are, the 'snotties' are learning their trade. If they do
something foolish they may cause great damage to valuable property, may
even be the means of men losing their lives; but they generally succeed
in getting out of scrapes and difficulties with some credit to
themselves.
The strenuous training and habit of early responsibility may convert
them into men before their time; but they still manage to retain their
boyish instincts, and when they are off duty these generally appear
uppermost. At times they are noisy, riotous, and altogether
irrepressible; but when it comes to work they are very much all there.
II.
'Ain't got a fill o' bacca abart yer, 'ave yer?' asked Joshua Billings,
A.B., producing an abbreviated, blackened, and very foul clay pipe
from the lining of his cap and gazing at it pensively. It was
twelve-forty-five P.M., the middle of the dinner-hour, and Joshua,
having just assimilated his tot of navy rum, was at peace with himself
and the world in general.
'Sorry,' Martin answered, 'I ain't got nothin' but fags.'
'Fags!' the able seaman growled. 'Why you young blokes smokes nothin'
but them things I dunno. They tastes like smokin' 'ay. W'en I fu'st
jined I takes up me pun' o' bacca reg'lar, an' I done it ever since.
It's got some taste abart it. Fags! S'welp me, I dunno wot th' blessed
navy's comin' to!'
Martin looked rather sheepish.
Billings grinned. 'Seein' as 'ow you ain't got no bacca, then I s'pose
I've got ter use me own,' he went on, producing a well-filled pouch
from the waistband of his trousers, and proceeding to ram some coarse,
dark tobacco into his pipe. 'I never believes in usin' me own s'long as
I kin git a fill orf another bloke. Got a match?'
The ordinary seaman handed a box across, and his companion lit up.
'Comin' ashore along o' me this arternoon?' Joshua asked, puffing out a
cloud of smoke with a satisfied grunt.
Martin thought for a moment. For an ordinary seaman to be asked to go
ashore with a man of Billings's age was undoubtedly a great honour;
but, at the same time, he was rather doubtful as to what might happen.
Joshua, on his own statement, had an unquenchable thirst for malt
liquor, and always felt 'dizzy like' outside public-houses, and Martin
had no wish to join him in a carouse, with the prospect of ending the
afternoon under the supervision of the local constabulary.
'Goin' on th' razzle?'[16] he asked cautiously.
[16] Going on the 'razzle' = going on the spree.
Billings laughed. 'Razzle!' he exclaimed. 'No, I ain't on that lay.
I'll 'ave jist one pint w'en I gits ashore, but no more'n that. The
fac' o' the matter is, Pincher, I'm in love.' He paused to give his
words time to sink in.
'In love!' Martin echoed with some astonishment.
The A.B. nodded gravely. 'Yus,' he said; 'an' I want some one to come
along an' 'old me 'and like, some bloke wot looks young an' innercent
like you.' He endeavoured to look young and innocent himself, gazed
heavenwards with a rapt expression on his homely face, contorted his
mouth into what he considered was a sweet smile, and sighed deeply. 'I
tell yer,' he added, resuming his normal appearance and winking
solemnly, 'she's a bit o' orl right, an' I reckons she's took a fancy
ter me. Leastways she 'inted that she'd come to th' pictures along o'
me ter-night if I arsked 'er polite like, an' 'ave a bit o' somethin'
t' eat arterwards.'
'You in love!' Martin gasped again, for to him it seemed impossible
that any woman could succumb to the doubtful charms of the hoary-headed
old reprobate. 'Garn! you're 'avin' me on.'
Joshua seemed rather annoyed. 'Oh no, I ain't,' he retorted testily.
'An' if yer gits talkin' like that me an' you'll part brassrags.[17] She
ain't th' sort o' 'ooman ter take a fancy to a young bloke. Wot she
wants is some one ter look arter 'er an' 'er property. A bloke wi'
hexperience, the same as me.'
[17] To 'part brassrags' is to sever friendly intercourse
with a chum. Chums frequently use one another's rags in
polishing the brasswork of the ship; when they quarrel they
naturally cease to do this.
'Property! 'Oo is she, then?'
'You mustn't go tellin' the other blokes if I tells yer,' Billings
said, sinking his voice to a whisper. 'Promise yer won't.'
'Orl right, I won't.'
'She's a widder 'ooman wot keeps a sweet an' bacca shop, an' sells
noospapers. She's makin' a good thing out o' it, too--clearin' 'bout
three pun' a week, she sez she is; an' as my time's comin' along for
pension, it's abart time I started lookin' round fur somethin' ter do
w'en I leaves the navy. She ain't no young an' flighty female neither,
I gives yer my word. Got a growed-up darter, she 'as, seventeen year
old, an' I reckons it's abart time th' poor gal 'ad another father ter
look arter 'er. You see,' he added, 'if I gits married to th' old un
orl the blokes wot knows me'll come to the shop to buy their fags an'
noospapers, so it ain't as if I was bringin' nothin' to th' business.
I'm a bloke wi' inflooence, I am. 'Er larst 'usband drove a cab, 'e
did, an' I reckons she's betterin' 'erself by marryin' a bloke wot's
bin in the navy.'
'An' wot's this 'ere gal o' 'ers like?' Pincher wanted to know. 'Is she
a cosy bit o' fluff too?'
'Cosy bit o' fluff!' exclaimed Joshua with some warmth. 'Wot d'yer
mean, yer lop-eared tickler?[18] She ain't fur the likes o' you,
any'ow.'
[18] 'Tickler' is a derogatory term for an ordinary seaman.
'Oh, ain't she?' Martin retorted. 'Well, I ain't comin' ashore along o'
yer, then!'
''Ere, don't git yer dander up,' Billings interrupted, changing his
tone; 'I didn't mean nothin'.' He was really very anxious that Martin
should accompany him, for he had a vague idea in his head that the
presence of a younger man would lend tone to the proceedings, and to
him a certain air of respectability.
'Don't act so snappy, then,' the ordinary seaman returned. 'I'm as good
as any other bloke.' He remembered that he was a member of the ship's
football team, and this alone made him a person of some importance.
'Well, if yer really wants ter know, th' gal's name's Hemmeline, an'
she's walkin' out wi' a ship's stooard's assistant bloke from the
flagship.'
'Ship's stooards ain't no class!' Pincher snorted, expanding his chest
to its full capacity. 'They ain't fightin' blokes same as me an' you.'
'No, they ain't,' Billings agreed, puffing slowly at his pipe. 'They
ain't got no prospex neither. Look 'ere, Pincher,' he added, 'she's
only bin along wi' 'im fur a week, an' if yer fancies 'er, my
inflooence wi' 'er ma'----
'Meanin' that I can take 'er out?' Martin queried.
Joshua nodded. 'That's the wheeze,' he said, expectorating with deadly
precision into a spit-kid at least eight feet distant.
'But wot's she look like?' Pincher demanded with caution. Up to the
present he had felt rather frightened of women; but to have a proper
sweetheart in tow was one of the things he really longed for. It would
complete his new-found manhood. But he had his own ideas of feminine
beauty, and, whatever happened, the young lady must be pretty.
Billings grinned. 'She's orl right,' he explained. 'She ain't 'xactly
tall, nor yet 'xactly short. Sort o' betwixt an' between like. She
ain't too fat, nor yet too lean; she's sort o' plump. Yaller 'air, she
'as, an' blue eyes, an' plays th' pianner wonderful, 'er ma sez.'
This rather vague description of the fair Emmeline's charms seemed
quite enough for Martin. 'She sounds orl right,' he said. 'I think I'll
come along o' you.'
Joshua seemed rather pleased. 'That's th' ticket,' he said. 'We goes
ashore in th' four o'clock boat, mind. Say, chum,' he added in a hoarse
whisper, 'you ain't got 'arf-a-dollar to lend us, 'ave yer?'
Martin looked rather dubious. ''Arf-a-dollar!' he sniffed.
'Yus,' urged the A.B. 'I've only got three bob o' me own, an' I've got
ter take th' lady to th' pictures, an' give 'er a bit o' supper
arterwards. The show's orf 'less I kin raise some splosh some'ow. W'y
don't yer come along too, an' bring the gal?'
'Carn't do it,' the ordinary seaman murmured. 'Me leaf's up at seven,
an' I don't want to go gittin' in th' rattle fur breakin' it. But I'll
lend yer a couple o' bob if yer promises faithful to pay me back. I'll
give it yer afore we goes ashore.'
'Good on yer, chum,' said Billings effusively. 'I reckons yer knows 'ow
to be'ave to blokes wot takes a hinterest in yer. You take my tip,
though,' he added, wagging an admonitory forefinger. 'Don't yer go
lendin' money to any other blokes wot ain't fit to be trusted.'
'I'll watch it,' Martin laughed.
And so it was arranged, and this was how Pincher Martin embarked on his
first love affair.