A FAIR SKY.
I.
'Leaf!' sniffed Pincher disconsolately. 'Wot's the good o' seven days'
leaf ter a bloke wot ain't got no money?'
'No money!' exclaimed Billings, rather surprised. 'Why ain't yer got
none? Thought yer wus one o' these 'ere chaps wot counted every penny.'
'I've bin spendin' a good bit lately one way an' another,' Martin
explained, removing a half-used cigarette from the interior of his cap
and lighting it.
Joshua grinned. He knew well enough that an ordinary seaman's pay of
one shilling and threepence _per diem_, less various necessary
personal expenses, did not go far when one was 'walking out' with a
young lady.
Pincher loved his Emmeline very dearly, and Emmeline, she said, had
come to love him; but he was bound to admit she was rather an expensive
luxury. Moreover, he was far too proud to allow her to pay her share of
their amusements when he was with her, which was pretty often. So, what
with picture-palaces and visits to confectioners' shops, his
eight-and-ninepence a week went nowhere. He had even been forced to
borrow from his shipmates--always a difficult matter.
Then there had been the affair of the locket, over which Pincher felt
he had been badly done. He had had his photograph taken, and had had it
mounted in a rolled-gold ornament of chaste design for which he had
paid the sum of seven shillings and sixpence, and this he had presented
to Emmeline to be worn round her neck in place of the one which already
hung there. He had imagined that this nine-carat gold case hid the
features of some other admirer. It did nothing of the kind. Its
interior, when he was allowed to investigate it personally, contained
nothing but a faithful likeness of the girl's father--top-hat,
side-whiskers, and all. Emmeline seemed rather amused. Pincher never
quite got over it.
'Carn't yer get a hadvance o' money from th' paybob?'[22] Joshua
suggested. "E ain't a bad old bloke so long as yer goes ter 'im wi' a
yarn o' bein' desperate 'ard up, an' yer pore ole farther's 'ome bein'
sold up, an' 'im an' yer ma an' the kids goin' ter th' work'ouse.'
[22] Paymaster.
'I've tried that,' Pincher answered glumly. 'Leastways, orl excep' the
yarn wot yer said. 'E simply tells me I'm in debt ter the Crown 'cos o'
clothes an' other gear wot I've bought, an' that 'e carn't do nothink.'
'I calls it a houtrage!' said Billings sympathetically, looking very
solemn. 'The way they bleeds us pore matloes is enuf--enuf--I carn't
think o' wot I wus goin' ter say,' he added lamely; 'but it's abart
time somethin' wus done. S'welp me, it is!'
'An' abart time you pays back that two bob wot you borrowed off me,'
Pincher chipped in, remembering the debt.
'Two bob!' cried Joshua, screwing up his face and trying hard to appear
as if he didn't know what Pincher was driving at. 'Wot two bob?'
'Th' two bob I lends yer the night yer took Missis Figgins along ter
th' pictures. You knows orl abart it.'
'Thought it wus a present ter me,' said the old sinner, unable to feign
further forgetfulness, but affecting to be very grieved. 'A bit o' a
return like fur me trubble in introjoocin' yer to th' gal. That's wot I
thought it wus; strite I did.'
Pincher laughed, for Billings's dissimulation was so very palpable.
'Don't act so barmy,' he observed. 'Yer knows it wasn't. Yer don't 'ave
me on like that.'
'But two bob ain't no good ter yer fur Christmas leaf,' protested the
A.B., veering off on another tack.
'Carn't 'elp that. I wants it back.'
'Well, you shall 'ave it,' Joshua grumbled. 'But I calls it a dirty
sort o' way ter treat a chap wot's done for you wot I 'ave.'
'Garn! don't act so wet, I tell yer.'
'Orl right! orl right! Don't go an' git rattled abart it,' said
Billings resignedly. 'You shall 'ave yer money. You shall 'ave it if I
'as ter go without bacca fur a month; but where'd you be, I should like
ter know, if yer 'adn't got a bloke like me ter look arter yer? Look
wot I done fur yer since yer jined this ship! Bin yer sea-daddy, I
'ave, same as if you were my own son, an' yet yer treats me like this!
Hingratitoode's wot I calls it. 'Orrible hingratitoode! Orl you young
blokes is the same!' He sighed deeply, and regarded Pincher with a
pained expression.
The latter seemed rather concerned. 'If yer looks on it like that,
Billings, o' course I carn't'----
The A.B. waved an arm with a gesture of dissent. 'It's too late ter
start talkin' now,' he observed sadly. 'Th' 'arm's done. You shall 'ave
yer money, but you've gorn back on a pal, an' orl fur the sake o' two
bob. Two bob! Wot is it?'
'Let's 'ave it, then,' said Pincher, holding out a tentative hand.
''Ave it! Yer don't reely want it, do yer?'
'Course I do.'
'I'll give it yer afore I goes on leaf.'
'I wants it now,' Pincher persisted, remembering Joshua's extremely
short memory.
'D' you think I ain't honest?' the latter demanded. ''Cos, if yer do,
jest say th' word, an' see wot yer gits!'
'I never sez you wasn't honest; but I wants me money back!'
Billings saw that further argument was useless, sighed once more,
replaced his pipe in his mouth, fumbled under his jumper, and produced
a leather purse from the money-belt round his waist. Its contents
chinked opulently; but, shielding it from Pincher's wistful gaze, he
extracted a shilling and two sixpenny-pieces and handed them across.
'There ye are!' he grunted. 'Don't git sayin' as 'ow I doesn't pay me
debts.'
'Yer pays 'em a bit be'ind time,' Pincher retorted with some truth,
secreting the coins on his own person.
Joshua laughed in quite a friendly way. 'Tizzy-snatcher!' he growled,
with his eyes twinkling.
But Pincher was bitterly disappointed about the leave. The men were to
be sent away for seven days, one party being at home for Christmas and
the other for the New Year. His watch were to start the following day;
but, beyond the two shillings he had just obtained from Billings, he
literally had not a penny to pay his train fare home. He could get the
usual third-class return ticket from Weymouth to London, and from there
on to his home, for the single fare; but even that would cost him the
best part of a sovereign. He had tried hard to induce the fleet
paymaster to give him an advance of pay, but that harassed officer,
pointing out that Pincher was already in debt to the Crown, firmly
declined to do so. Then Martin had endeavoured to borrow money from his
shipmates; but they, though sympathetic, wanted every penny they could
lay their hands on for their own purposes. He then thought of writing
to his people for the necessary sum, but abandoned the idea, because he
knew well enough that they, on their very limited income, always had
great difficulty in making both ends meet. Christmas, moreover, was
always an expensive time, and there were three younger Martins to be
considered.
It was really rather galling, and he half-regretted having spent all
his money on Emmeline. Since joining the service he had been home on
leave before, of course, but not as an ordinary seaman of a first-class
battleship, and he was well aware that as such he would be a person of
some importance in the village. The blacksmith's son, Tom Sellon, had
left Caxton a mere country yokel to join the army. The winter previous,
as a strapping, full-fledged private of one of his Majesty's line
regiments, he had come home on a few days' furlough resplendent in a
wonderful red tunic. His arrival created no small stir, for Caxton lay
in the heart of the Midlands, and its inhabitants were unused to the
pomp and circumstance of war. Sellon, moreover, thought a great deal of
himself. According to him, Great Britain was inhabited by two classes
of people, those who were in the army and those who were not, and he
treated all 'civvies,' as he called them, with kindly tolerance. He
stood treat in a lordly sort of way at the 'Flying Swan,' and
condescended to drink what beer the village magnates offered him in
return for this hospitality. He was not averse to being friendly with
their pretty daughters either. In short, a scarlet tunic and an air of
self-assurance had worked wonders, for before he donned the red coat
Tom had been a mere nonentity. Now he was a personage, with a capital
P, and had even pretended to be rather diffident about accepting
half-a-sovereign which the squire, who had known him since childhood,
pressed into his palm one Sunday after church.
Now Pincher, who knew little of the army, cordially despised soldiers
in his heart of hearts. He longed to cut out Tom Sellon, but this
cursed lack of money at the critical moment had upset all his plans. He
could have wept from sheer vexation, for there seemed no alternative to
spending Christmas on board.
But it so happened that the railway company wished to know the number
of men proceeding by rail the next morning, and at 'Quarters' that
afternoon Tickle ordered all the men of the starboard watch of his
division to fall in on the right. Pincher went with them.
'Are any of you men not going away by rail to-morrow morning?' the
officer asked.
Four hands went up at once.
'Why aren't you going?' Tickle asked the first man.
'Spendin' the leaf in Weymouth, sir.'
'And you?' to the next.
'I lives in Dorchester, sir. Goin' on by a later train.'
'Ain't takin' th' leaf, sir,' said the third.
'Why not?'
'Nowhere to go, sir.'
'Have you no parents, or relations, or any one else you can go and stay
with?'
'I'm an orphing, sir,' the man rather flummoxed him by replying. 'I'd
rather stay aboard the ship than go an' see me old uncle wot lives in
Peckham, sir. 'E's married agen, sir, an' 'is wife keeps a fried-fish
shop.'
Tickle smiled and passed on. 'And what about you?' he queried, coming
to Martin.
'Ain't got no money, sir.'
'Have you been to the paymaster for an advance?'
'Yessir.'
'What did he say?'
'Said I was in debt, sir.'
'How much does it cost you to get home?'
'Best part of a quid--sovereign, I means, sir.'
Tickle thought for a minute, nodded, numbered those men who were going,
and then dismissed them.
Pincher thought nothing more of the conversation, but that evening he
was told to go to the ship's office.
'Is your name Martin?' asked an assistant-paymaster when he arrived.
'Yessir.'
'You want some money to go on leave with, eh?'
'Yessir, please,' said the ordinary seaman, feeling hopeful.
'We can let you have thirty shillings. Is that enough?'
'Yessir,' Pincher exclaimed, his eyes glistening.
'Are you willing to pay it back at the rate of three shillings a
month?'
'Yessir.'
'All right. Sign that receipt.'
Pincher, astounded at his good fortune, hurriedly scrawled his name,
was handed a golden sovereign and ten shillings in silver, and left the
office with a satisfied grin all over his face and the coins jingling
in his hand. He was so pleased at his good luck that he didn't stop to
consider where the money came from. All he cared about was that he had
got it, and that he could go home and cut out Tom Sellon, after all.
As a matter of fact, it was Tickle himself who had acted the part of a
nautical fairy godmother. He had noticed that Pincher seemed very
unhappy, and had guessed the reason, and at first thought of lending
him the money outright. Thirty shillings more or less meant nothing to
him. But then, remembering that Martin would probably refuse the loan
from feelings of pride, he hit upon a better plan; so he went to the
fleet paymaster, handed him the money, and requested him to pay it over
to Pincher as if it were an official advance.
'My dear Tickle,' protested Cashley, 'you'll never get it back! The
boy's already in debt to the Crown, and his pay's only one-and-three a
day!'
'Let him pay it back at the rate of three bob a month, sir,' suggested
the lieutenant. 'I'm not particular. He looks so damned miserable at
not being able to get away on leave that I must do something. Don't
tell him it comes from me, though. He won't take it if he knows that.'
'All right. I'll see to it,' the fleet paymaster acquiesced, smiling.
'I suppose,' he asked jokingly, 'you wouldn't lend a poor old buffer
like me twenty or thirty pounds to buy the wife a turkey and a
plum-pudding?'
'I'd watch it, sir!' Tickle laughed. 'What about that new car you
bought a fortnight ago?'
'That's why I want to borrow from you,' Cashley grinned. 'However, I'll
fix Martin's money up for you, though I must say I think you're a
tender-hearted fool, Tickle. You'll be badly had one of these days.'
Tickle merely smiled. The prospect did not alarm him.
So the next morning, at seven-thirty, Pincher, arrayed in his best
clothes, left the ship with a sweet smile and a little bundle of
necessaries done up in a blue-striped handkerchief. An hour later he
was sitting in a third-class carriage on his way to London, munching a
doubtful-looking sausage-roll, and listening to a slightly intoxicated
sailor next to him, who insisted on giving the company what he called
'a little moosic.' It consisted of a few fragmentary remarks in a
deep-bass rumble about the perils of a sailor's life, sudden hiccups as
full stops, and frequent gurgling noises and sounds of enjoyment as the
songster upended a quart bottle of Bass's light dinner ale, and applied
the business end to his mouth. He eventually finished the song and the
bottle at the same time, and, shying the latter playfully through the
open window, volunteered to fight the whole carriage. This pleasure
being denied him, he solemnly kissed the company all round, and then
went comfortably off to sleep with his mouth wide open, his head
resting affectionately on Pincher's shoulder, and his feet on the
opposite man's lap. Thus he remained until they arrived at Waterloo,
where, on disembarking, he never noticed that one of his
carriage-mates, by the skilful use of a burnt cork, had decorated his
upper lip with a large black moustache.
History does not relate if he arrived home in this condition, for,
after vainly endeavouring to induce various laughing porters and the
amused guard of the train to 'come an' 'ave a wet, ole dear!' and then,
when they refused, wanting to show there was no ill-feeling by
exchanging headgear, he was last seen proceeding at three and a quarter
knots on rather an erratic course towards the nearest refreshment-room.
But Pincher got home safe and sound without any difficulties of this
kind, and by four o'clock was in the bosom of his admiring family.
II.
The leave was all too short, though Pincher did succeed in attracting
more attention than Tom Sellon, and was, after church on Christmas Day,
the bashful recipient of a congratulatory speech and a golden sovereign
from the squire.
Captain the Hon. James Lawson, J.P., the lord of the manor and a good
many other things besides, was an old naval officer himself. He knew
all the villagers by name, and took more than a passing interest in any
of the boys who joined either the navy or the army. Pincher was aware
of this, and imagined that he had received a pound, as against Tom
Sellon's ten shillings the year before, because he happened to be a
member of the senior service. As a matter of fact, it was due to
nothing of the kind. It so happened that the squire had no smaller
change in his waistcoat pocket.
But, at any rate, the news of Pincher's windfall was blurted far and
wide, and his reputation rose accordingly. It was quite simple. If
Thomas Sellon got ten shillings and William Martin a sovereign,
obviously 1 Martin = 2 Sellons;[Symbol: therefore] the two families
almost came to blows to settle which was the better. Sellon père, in
fact, felt himself so bitterly offended that he nearly went to the
squire to complain. It was lucky for Captain Lawson that he didn't, for
that would have cost the worthy squire another ten shillings to soothe
his injured feelings.
The week flew by, and when Pincher returned to the ship and his
Emmeline he soon settled down into the old routine. The girl, who
seemed to have adopted him as her permanent 'young man,' now took it
upon herself to correct the defects in his speech.
'Billy,' she said one day as they were walking arm-in-arm along the
front at Weymouth, 'I don't like the way you talk.'
'You don't like my talk!' he returned, rather nettled. 'It's orl right,
ain't it? Good enuf ter git on wi' aboard th' ship, any'ow!'
'There you go again!' she pointed out, smiling. 'You say "ain't"
instead of "isn't," and "ter" instead of "to," and you drop your h's
something horrid.'
'Wot's it matter if I do?' he demanded. 'I ain't--'aven't, I mean--'ad
th' hadvantage o' a heddication same as you.'
The girl laughed outright. 'Don't get angry. I'm only telling you for
your own good.'
'Orl right!' he retorted with asperity, disengaging his arm from hers;
'if I ain't good enuf for yer we'd best chuck the 'ole show, an' you
can go back to yer Mister Parkin--'im wot smells o' 'air-oil!'
'Don't be silly, stupid!' she chided, slipping her arm through his
again and squeezing it affectionately. 'You know I don't like him a
little bit.'
'You carn't like me, any'ow,' he remarked, bitterly offended.
'Leastways, if yer did yer wouldn't go talkin' the same as yer do.'
'Oh! don't I, indeed? Think I'd go walking out with you, and let
you--er--behave as you do, if I wasn't fond of you?'
'Let's 'ave a kiss now,' Pincher suggested, drawing a little closer.
Emmeline pulled back. 'Go away, you naughty boy!' she laughed, blushing
becomingly. 'Not in public, anyhow.'
'Yer knows I loves yer, Hemmeline, don't yer?' Pincher asked.
'M'yes,' she answered softly. 'If you didn't I don't suppose you'd
carry on the way you do. But plenty of boys have said the same thing
before, so you're not the only one--no, not by a long chalk.'
'D' you love me, Hemmeline?' Pincher wanted to know.
'Ah,' she said archly, 'now you're asking.'
'Come on, tell us if yer do.'
'Well,' she answered coyly, looking up at him through her long
eyelashes, 'just a little, perhaps, when you're a good boy. That's why
I want to tell you how to talk properly,' she went on to explain. 'I
want you to get on--see?'
'Oh!' said Pincher, slightly mollified, but not knowing in the least
how a correct pronunciation would make him rise in his profession,
'that's the lay, is it?'
Emmeline nodded.
III.
By the end of February Martin had passed his examination in gunnery
without much difficulty, and was half-way through his seamanship
course. Here, under the guidance of Petty Officer Bartlett, he and
several others like him were taught the rudiments of boat-work under
oars and sail, the use of the compass and the helm, the rule of the
road at sea, heaving the lead, knotting and splicing, signalling, and a
hundred and one other things. The practical boat-work Pincher enjoyed,
and soon got into; while the knots and splices, thanks to private
tuition in his spare time from Joshua Billings, were comparatively easy
to master. The more theoretical part of the business, however, was a
little more difficult to absorb.
'The compass,' Petty Officer Bartlett explained to the class, as they
sat round on stools in the foremost bag-flat--'the compass is what we
steers the ship with--see? It's supposed to point to the north pole,
but it don't really. On the cont'ary, it points to wot we calls the
north magnetic pole--see?'
The pupils looked rather puzzled.
''Owever,' the petty officer went on hurriedly, as one youth opened his
mouth to ask what might have been an awkward question, 'we needn't
worry our 'eads about that this arternoon, and you can take it from me
that it does point pretty nearly to the north--see?
'This,' he continued, drawing an irregular circle on the blackboard,
'represents our compass-card, and 'ere we 'ave wot we calls the four
cardinal points--north, south, east, and west.' He divided the circle
into four parts by means of a vertical and a horizontal line, and
labelled their extremities. ''As anybody not got 'old o' that?'
Everybody appeared to have grasped it, for they all sucked their teeth
and remained silent.
The explanation continued, but half-way through his lecture Bartlett
had reason to suppose that certain members of the class were not paying
attention.
''Udson!' he said, pausing, chalk in hand, and addressing a
freckle-faced youth, who had spent the afternoon surreptitiously eating
apples and sticking pins into the most prominent portion of the anatomy
of the man immediately in front of him, 'wot is the hopposite to
west-nor'-west?'
'Sou'-sou'-west,' the youngster replied glibly.
'Look 'ere, my son, you're not payin' hattention; that's wot's the
matter wi' you. D' you think I'm standin' up 'ere 'longside a
blackboard chawin' my fat[23] for the good o' my 'ealth, or wot? Try
agen.'
[23] 'Chawing the fat' = spinning a yarn.
'Sou'-sou'-east,' the ordinary seaman attempted.
'You thick-'eaded galoot!' Bartlett growled. 'Don't you want to learn
nothin'? Cos, if you don't, you're goin' the right way about it.
Didn't you 'ave no teachin' afore you joined the navy? Think it's
a 'ome for lost dogs, or wot? I asked you wot was hopposite to
west-nor'-west--see?'
'East-sou'-east,' said Hudson at last.
'Right! Why couldn't you 'ave said so before, 'stead o' wastin' my time
like this 'ere, you lop-eared, razor-necked son of a sea-cook? You
perishin' O.D.'s don't seem to 'ave no common-sense, some'ow.'
And so, point by point, degree by degree, the petty officer gradually
hammered the subject into their skulls until their brains whirled and
their heads ached. Much of what he told them went in at one ear and out
at the other; but something stuck, and at the end of a fortnight most
of them could box the compass with a fair degree of accuracy, knew that
its circumference was divided into thirty-two points and three hundred
and sixty degrees, and were aware that each point was exactly eleven
degrees fifteen minutes from the next. In short, they came to regard it
as what it really is, an instrument whereby 'the mariner is able to
guide a ship in any required direction,' and not merely as a
complicated invention of the Evil One specially designed to involve the
moribund brains of ordinary seamen in intricate mental gymnastics. What
little wizard inside the compass-needle induced it to keep pointing
towards the magnetic pole, a spot which most of them pictured as a
desolate region of Esquimaux, icebergs, and polar bears, they did not
know. They were quite content to take it for granted that it did so.
The science of terrestrial magnetism, luckily for them, did not enter
into their curriculum.
The learning of the marks and other details of the hand lead-line was
quite a simple matter, and all the class--even Hudson, the fool of the
party--could recite it all, poll-parrot fashion, at the end of the
first day's instruction.
'Th' weight o' th' lead is ten ter fourteen pound, an' at th' bottom of
'im is a 'ole ter take a lump o' taller or soap ter hascertain th'
nature o' th' bottom.' Here the reciter took a deep breath, and gazed
anxiously at the instructor to see if he was correct.
Bartlett nodded encouragingly.
'Th' line is one an' a heighth hinches in circumference, an' is
twenty-five fadum long, an' one end is secured ter an 'ide becket at
th' top o' th' lead by means of a heye-splice. Th' hother end is made
fast to a stanchion in th' chains. Th' line is marked as follers: at
two fadum, two strips o' leather; at three fadum, three strips; five
an' fifteen, a piece o' white buntin'; seven an' seventeen, red
buntin'; thirteen, blue buntin'; ten, a piece o' leather wi' a 'ole in
'im; twenty, two knots. These is orl known as marks, cos they are
marked, an' orl them fadums wot ain't marked is called deeps.'
Even Hudson knew all about the theoretical part of the business, so we
need go no further.
But actually heaving the lead was a very different matter, for here the
learner was forced to take up his stand in the chains, a small platform
on a level with the forecastle, projecting perilously out over the
water. The victim rested his middle against the breast-rope, grasped
the line about two fathoms from the lead, and coiled the rest of the
line in his free hand. Then, very nervously, he proceeded to swing the
lead like an ordinary pendulum over the side of the ship to obtain
impetus, until, when the line was horizontal on its forward swing, he
was supposed to--what Bartlett called--'swing it over the 'ead in a
circle by bendin' the harm smartly in at the helbow as the lead is
risin', an' then let the harm go hout agen w'en the lead 'as passed the
perpendicular. Then, arter completin' two circles, slip the line from
orf the 'and, just before the lead comes 'orizontal, let 'im fly
for'ard into the water, release the coil o' line in the other 'and as
'e goes, gather up the slack w'en 'e reaches the bottom, an' call out
the depth o' water w'en the ship passes over the spot w'ere the lead
dropped--see?'
He then proceeded to demonstrate, and, stepping into the chains,
whizzed the lead round his head with such ease and rapidity that his
pupils were gulled into the belief that it was quite simple.
They all tried it in turn, but speedily found that a fourteen-pound
weight on the end of twelve feet of thin line is not really a pleasant
plaything. When they were at it by themselves the lead seemed horribly
unwieldy and dangerous, and, as often as not, through sheer fright,
they forgot to give the line at the right moment the vigorous twitch
which brought the lead circling round in a beautiful curve. The
consequence was that it would either descend perpendicularly from the
air in close proximity to their heads, or else would fall with a jerk
which nearly pulled their arms out of their sockets, neither of which
alternatives was exactly pleasant. But they practised it steadily for
half-an-hour daily, with the ship at sea and in harbour, and,
notwithstanding a few misadventures like heaving the lead on to the
forecastle in the midst of a group of men, or nearly braining
themselves, they improved by degrees.
And so, in course of time, Pincher became rather less of a hobbledehoy
and rather more of a seaman. Fresh air and regular exercise worked
their usual wonders, for his pasty face became ruddy and his flabby
muscles hard; while plenty of good beef, bread, and potatoes caused his
spare figure to swell until he had to have his clothes let out by the
ship's tailors. Moreover, he was no longer the meek and timid Pincher
who had joined the ship a few months before. He was not behind-hand in
using his fists, and had come to find his own level; and many of the
youths who used to amuse themselves at his expense while he was still
in the verdant stage now found their little attentions repaid with
interest. Peter Flannagan, even, still an ordinary seaman, always in
trouble, and rapidly going to the dogs, shunned him like the plague.
But Pincher, whatever his qualities, was no plaster saint. He did not
drink to excess, and never became what is known as 'tin 'ats,'[24] but
was not averse to visiting public-houses when he went ashore. There was
really no reason why he shouldn't, provided he behaved himself.
[24] 'Tin 'ats' = drunk.
Emmeline's influence, moreover, kept him straight in other ways; and on
one occasion she saved him from getting into serious trouble for
breaking his leave. It was rather a long story, involving an evening
entertainment to which the girl had been invited, and to which Pincher
dearly longed to accompany her. He would have done it, too, if he had
been left to his own devices, quite regardless of the fact that all
leave expired at seven o'clock that night, as the ship was due to go to
sea at eight the next morning.
Now, breaking one's leave is a serious offence at all times; but doing
it with the ship under sailing orders is far and away worse, and
Emmeline knew this. So at six-forty P.M. precisely she sallied out with
the unsuspecting Pincher on the pretext of going for a walk, took him
towards the pier, and, before he could stop her, marched him straight
up to a petty officer wearing a _Belligerent_ cap-ribbon.
'D'you mind taking this young man off to the ship with you?' she asked.
'I'm afraid he's going to do something silly.'
''Ere!' Pincher exclaimed angrily, 'wot's up wi' you? Wot's it got ter
do wi' you?'
The P.O. seemed rather surprised at the girl's request. 'Wot's 'e bin
doin', miss?' he asked, touching his forelock.
'It's not what he's been doing,' Emmeline explained; 'it's what he's
going to do. Says he's going to break his leave and get himself into
trouble.'
Pincher looked round with the obvious intention of breaking away; but
the P.O. nodded and grabbed him by the arm. 'You come along o' me, my
son,' he remarked gruffly. 'Come on! Don't git kickin' up a shindy
'ere!'
'Interferin'!' Pincher blustered, wild with rage and struggling hard to
get free. 'Interferin'--that's wot I calls it! Wot's it got ter do wi'
you? Think becos you've got a killick[25] on yer arm yer can do wot yer
likes, I suppose!--Has fur you, Miss Figgins, I'll'----
[25] A 'killick' is an anchor, and a petty officer wears
crossed anchors as his distinctive badge.
But the girl had discreetly turned her back, and was hurrying
homewards.
'Come on!' growled the P.O., dragging him along. 'I reckons you ought
to be jolly thankful to the gal for takin' such a hinterest in you.
None o' that, now!' as Pincher began to struggle again. 'If you don't
come quiet like I'll call the patrol an' have you harrested. S' welp
me, I will! Come on! We've not got too much time on our 'ands!'
Pincher, very chastened, saw that further resistance was useless, and
suffered himself to be conducted on board the boat without more
trouble.
The ship was at sea for only a few days; and a week later, when he went
to see Emmeline again, he arrived in a very repentant mood, carrying a
bunch of violets as a peace-offering.
'Well,' she said severely, as he entered the shop, 'I didn't think
you'd dare to come here again after what happened last Monday night.'
Pincher hung his head and got very red. 'Wouldn't dare!' he repeated.
'Why not?'
'You know very well why not,' she said, eyeing him. 'What's that you've
got in your hand?'
'Wilets,' he said.
'Who for?'
'I got 'em fur you,' he stammered. 'Thought p'r'aps you'd like 'em.'
Emmeline's heart softened. 'Bill,' she said kindly, 'you know I didn't
want to make a fool of you, don't you?'
No answer.
'I only did it to save you getting into trouble,' she continued,
emerging from behind the counter and coming very close to him. 'It's
very kind of you to bring me the violets, dear Bill; I'll wear 'em in
my dress. You're not angry with me, are you?'
Pincher looked up at her with a slow smile hovering round his lips. She
had called him 'dear,' a thing she had never done before, and that
showed he was forgiven.
'Angry!' he said, tucking his offering clumsily into the front of her
blouse. 'Course I ain't. I wus a bit rattled at th' time, but I
shouldn't 'a bin 'ere if I 'ad broke me leaf. I reckons you done me a
good turn, Hemmeline.' He gulped, and gazed wistfully at a little
strand of golden hair which curled tantalisingly behind her left ear.
'Give us a kiss, ole gal?' he pleaded softly. 'I've bin longin' ter see
yer agen.' He put his arm round her waist, drew her towards him, and
touched her face with his lips.
Emmeline squeaked, pushed him away, and darted behind the counter with
a flutter of a white petticoat and a momentary glimpse of a pair of
well-shaped ankles clad in black silk stockings. 'You're a naughty
boy!' she scolded, safe in her refuge--'a very naughty boy, to behave
like that when customers may come in at any minute! You've rumpled my
new blouse, too,' she added, patting herself and rearranging the
violets. 'My, they do smell nice!' She bent her head and buried the tip
of a very fascinating and somewhat _retroussé_ nose in the
flowers.
Pincher laughed happily. He felt he was very lucky.
'You go through into the sitting-room, Mister Martin,' she went on,
with a mischievous wink and a jerk of her thumb. 'I'll be along in a
minute, and--and mother's out!'
IV.
Soon afterwards, when the bleak and stormy winter was nearly over, the
_Belligerent_ and the other vessels of the squadron started off on
their first real cruise since Pincher had joined. They had had plenty
of time at sea before this, of course; for gunnery, gunnery, _toujours_
gunnery--unless it was torpedo-running, steam tactics, or P.Z.
Exercises[26]--was carried on throughout the year, winter, spring,
summer, and autumn alike. They were always at it; and though the
frequent south-westerly gales made the winter work very unpleasant and
trying, though officers and men bemoaned their fate and swore 'twas a
'mug's game,' it did them all the good in the world. So, at the end of
February, the squadron left the short, choppy seas of the Channel and
the familiar hump of Portland behind them, and waddled south, for all
the world like a family of turtles migrating to a sunnier sea. It was
then, for the first time, that Pincher knew what it was to be really
seasick.
[26] 'P.Z. Exercises'--that is, mock actions, fought between
two opposing squadrons; so called from the two-flag signal
directing the fleet to carry out these manoeuvres.
Their first port of call was Arosa Bay, in Spain, just to the southward
of Cape Finisterre, and for once the much maligned Bay of Biscay upheld
its reputation by providing a very fair sample of a south-westerly blow
for Pincher's especial benefit. But he was by no means the only
sufferer, though.
It was a snorter of a gale, a regular snorter, and the short, snappy
little seas of the Channel were nothing to these long, gigantic,
foam-crested mountains of water rolling in with all the might of the
Atlantic behind them. The battleships wallowed and plunged about to
their hearts' content Their movements were slow, deliberate, and very
stately; but how they rolled! One could feel their enormous weight
smashing through the seas instead of riding over them. Water came over
the fore-castle in solid gray-green masses, until the deck was buried
and the fore-turret, with its pair of twelve-inch guns, looked like a
half-tide rock. Sheets of spray drove over the bridges. The
quarterdecks were untenable; and at times gigantic, white-capped
billows would blot out every vestige of the next ship astern--only five
hundred yards away--except her topmasts.
The _Belligerent_ was battened down, but even then a considerable
amount of water found its way below. The atmosphere on the mess-decks,
well impregnated with the mingled odours of cooking, damp clothes, and
crowded humanity, was nauseating. Tables and other fittings had carried
away from their fastenings, and a horrible mixture of sea-water, hats,
caps, boots, food, broken crockery, pickle-jars, tins of condensed
milk, and pots of jam swished to and fro across the deck every time the
ship heeled over. Each roll added something fresh to the collection.
On one particularly heavy lurch the door of the officers' galley shot
open, and the wardroom cook slid gracefully out on to the mess-deck,
accompanied by an avalanche of frying-pans and saucepans, the
stock-pot, and a large receptacle full of Irish stew for the officers'
lunch.
'If this ain't the ruddy limit!' he observed dismally, picking himself
up and gazing at the débris with disgust written on his pea-green face.
'They'll git nothin' 'ot fur lunch ter-day, that I'm bloomin' well
certain!' Nobody listened to what he said; and, after surveying the
scene for another instant, he yawned twice, and then bolted hastily
towards the upper deck. He got there just in time, poor man!
Most of the younger men were past caring whether it was Christmas or
Easter. They merely became as limp and as pale as pocket-handkerchiefs,
wedged themselves in convenient corners, unconscious of the water and
rubbish washing round them, and wished that they might die. Some of
them nearly did. It was only the old stagers like Billings who were not
affected, and they, instead of offering consolation to their suffering
shipmates, went about casting rude gibes at the poor wretches.
''Ullo!' remarked Joshua, strolling aft to his mess at dinner-time, and
coming to a halt opposite a miserable little party sitting with their
backs up against the ship's side. ''Ullo! 'ere we 'ave Mister Pincher
Martin, Rile Navy! 'Ow are we, ole son? Feelin' a bit squeamish--wot?'
The 'ole son,' whose face was a ghastly yellow, whose eyes were closed,
and whose head rested carelessly on the shoulder of his next-door
neighbour, a man whose name he didn't even know, looked up with a
sickly grin, and then relapsed into torpitude.
Billings, swaying easily to the violent rolling of the ship, looked at
him with amusement. ''Ave a bit o' somethin' t' eat?' he suggested,
with horrible cheeriness. 'Nice little bit o' corned beef, or a drop o'
pea-soup? Pea-soup's fine scran fur blokes wot's seasick.' He smacked
his lips appreciatively.
Pincher shook his head.
'Then 'ave a nice bit o' fat 'am?' suggested his tormentor. 'Slips down
nice an' easy like, an' don't rest 'eavy on th' stummick, fat 'am
don't.'
Pincher groaned at the idea.
''Strewth! you ain't 'arf a sailor, you ain't!' the elder man snorted
contemptuously, moving off.
Pincher expressed no emotion at all. The very sight of Billings's
rubicund countenance made him feel worse than ever, while a man who
could mention food at such a time was surely beyond the pale. Moreover,
a sailor's life was the very last thing that he took any interest in at
that particular time.
Even some of the officers were unwell. The _padre_ retired to his
bunk, and was fed by his marine servant on soda-water and Bath Oliver
biscuits; while Cutting, the young surgeon, Hannibal Chance, the
captain of Marines, and the fleet pay-master refused nourishment of any
kind whatsoever. Nearly all the others made some attempt to eat their
meals; but all except the most hardened sea-dogs bolted a few
mouthfuls, and then beat a hasty retreat to their cabins. The only
person who did really enjoy it was Harry Derrick, the Royal Naval
Reserve lieutenant, or 'Cargo Bill,' as his messmates invariably called
him. He always had an insatiable appetite, whatever the weather, and a
'little bit of a sea like this' did not incommode him in the slightest.
It was nothing to what he had experienced off Cape Horn in the
wind-jammer days he never tired of talking about when he could persuade
any one to listen.
But all things come to an end in time; and, after thirty-six hours of
absolute misery, Pincher revived to find the squadron steaming into
Arosa Bay.
So this was Spain! he thought to himself, looking round with interest
as they passed into the sheltered anchorage. He had imagined it to be
rather a wonderful country, but if this was a fair sample, he didn't go
much on it. A large indented bay; a few blue hills in the distance; a
low-lying, arid-looking country, dotted here and there with wooded
clumps and patches of cultivated ground; a few small white houses and a
gray stone church or two; a straggling town and a long pier at the head
of the bay; and many fishing-boats with strangely cut sails. There was
a peculiar tang in the air, the nature of which he could not at first
determine. It was neither the sweet odour of freshly turned earth,
new-mown hay, or heather, nor yet the honest salty smell of the open
sea. It was something far more pungent and overpowering. He found out
afterwards that it emanated from various sardine-preserving factories,
and the discovery put him off canteen 'sharks' for quite a week. There
are sardines and sardines; let us be thankful they are not all Spanish
sardines!
No, Pincher's impressions of the first foreign country he had ever
visited were not exactly enthralling. Spain looked a very ordinary
place from the water, and it did not improve on further acquaintance
when he went ashore with Billings the same afternoon.
The town, Villagarçia, was not a delectable spot. It smelt of garlic
and ancient fish. Its streets, badly paved and odoriferous with heaps
of nameless garbage, seemed to provide a happy hunting-ground for many
lean, fierce dogs, perambulating pigs and goats accompanied by their
families, and prowling poultry. The people, too, looked dirty and
ill-favoured, and the better-class men all smoked cigarettes and wore
long black cloaks and wideawake hats, like clergymen at home in
England. Numbers of barefooted boys and girls of all ages between three
and seventeen followed Pincher and Billings about wherever they went.
'I say! On' penni!' they demanded persistently, holding out their
grubby hands. 'I say, Jack! Damn you! I say, on' penni!' There was no
getting rid of them until the pennies were forthcoming; and their stock
phrases--all the English they knew--seemed to have been handed down
from generation to generation, ever since British men-of-war first
started to visit the place in the year one. It was a paying game, for
the bluejacket is always free with his hard-earned money.
No, Villagarçia was not attractive. There was nothing to do except to
drink vinegary _vino blanco_ in the taverns, and to buy picture
post-cards, silk shawls, paper fans showing fierce and bloodthirsty
bullfights, and hideous tambourines depicting plump, gaily dressed
ladies in short skirts dancing the _mattiche_. On the whole, Pincher
was not sorry to get back to the ship, and he did not trouble to go
ashore again.
A fortnight later they arrived at Gibraltar, where the ships went
alongside the Mole in the inner harbour to take in coal. But here the
operation was quite gentlemanly compared with coaling from a collier,
for the fuel was carried on board in small baskets on the backs of
nondescript, garlic-scented aliens known as 'rock scorpions,' and all
the ship's company had to do was to stow it in the bunkers as it came
on board. There was none of the back-breaking work of shovelling.
Coaling completed, the ships went out almost daily for aiming rifle
practice; and then came the annual 'gunlayers' test' with the
twelve-inch, six-inch, and lighter guns.
'Wot is this 'ere gunlayers' test they talks abart?' Pincher, rather
mystified, asked Billings.
'Gunlayers' test!' the A.B. returned, staring at him very much
surprised. 'You've bin in this 'ere ship nigh on six months, an' yer
don't know wot a gunlayers' test is?'
''Ow can I know wot it is?' Martin sniffed. 'I ain't see'd it, 'ave I?'
'Ain't see'd it, ain't yer?' Joshua snorted. 'Ignerance, that's wot it
is! 'Owever, I'll larn yer. Gunlayers' test is wot we carries art every
year wi' orl th' guns in th' ship--see? Th' ship steams parst a targit
at fairly close range, an' orl th' gunlayers fires in turn. It's a bit
of a competition like, an' they orl 'as a certain number o' rounds ter
fire in a certain time--see? It's just ter see if'----
''Ow fur orf is th' targit?' Pincher wanted to know, for even he could
understand that this was rather a vital point.
'Don't yer git interruptin' w'en I'm spinnin' a yarn!' Joshua
remonstrated. 'I loses th' thread o' wot I'm sayin'.' It was fairly
early in the morning, and he was still feeling cantankerous.
The ordinary seaman apologised. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean no
'arm.'
'Course yer didn't; but if yer gits arskin' stoopid questions, 'ow kin
a bloke remember wot 'e's sayin'? Wot wus it yer wanted ter know?'
''Ow fur orf th' targit wus.'
'Not werry fur,' Joshua explained. 'Leastways, it ain't exac'ly fur,
an' it ain't exac'ly close. You oughter know wot I means; I carn't
remember th' exac' distance. Any'ow, gunlayers' test ain't th' same as
battle practice, 'cos then we fires orl th' guns at once, same as we do
in haction, likewise at long range--see? Gunlayers' test is simply a
competition like, ter see if th' blokes kin shoot strite--see?'
'An' wot 'appens then?' Pincher asked, still rather hazy as to what
really did take place.
'Wot 'appens? Orficers comes aboard from other ships as humpires, an'
they takes th' time each bloke takes ter fire 'is rounds, an' counts
th' number o' rounds 'e gits orf; likewise th' number of 'its an'
misses on th' targit. The results is then packed up an' sent ter th'
Admiralty, an' them blokes wot's done extry well gits medals an' money
prizes, an' them wot ain't 'as a court o' hinquiry on 'em, an' probably
gits disrated from bein' gunlayers--see?'
'An' kin I git a medal fur this 'ere?' Martin eagerly asked, for he,
also, was a humble member of one of the twelve-pounder guns' crews.
Joshua was amused. 'Kin you git a medal?' he laughed. 'A little
cock-sparrer like you! Course yer bloomin' well carn't! They only
whacks 'em art ter them gunlayers wot's done extry well, an' there's
werry few on 'em given. You ain't a gunlayer, an' ain't likely to be
one neither. Gunlayers 'as brains.'
'But 'oo gives these 'ere medals?' Pincher asked, ignoring the insult.
'The admiral?'
'No; th' King gives 'em. Leastways they 'as 'is likeness on 'em, so I
reckons they comes from 'im. Nutty Buttolph, th' gunlayer o' my gun,
'ad one larst year. 'E wears it Sundays wi' 'is No. 1's. I reckons I
oughter got it too, 'cos I'm th' loadin' number wot shoves in th'
projectile, an' each six-inch projectile weighs a 'undred pounds. We
got orf eight rounds an' got eight 'its on th' targit, an' I reckons it
wus me wot done it just as well as 'im.' Billings's chest swelled with
pride at the recollection.
''Ard luck!' Pincher murmured.
''Ard luck?' remarked Joshua. 'Course it wus 'ard luck! 'Owever, I took
ten bob orf my opposite number in th' flagship, an' fifteen bob orf
another bloke wot thought 'is gun could shoot strite. We were top o'
th' 'ole bloomin' squadron larst year,' he added; 'precious near top o'
th' 'ole navy, an' don't yer bloomin' well forgit it. Our ship's
company made a bit of a pay-day over it.'
'Pay-day! 'Ow d' yer mean?'
Joshua grinned and winked one eye. 'Bettin'!' he said in a hoarse
whisper.
'But I thought bettin' wusn't allowed?' Martin remonstrated,
remembering the regulations.
'No more it is, me son; but th' skipper won 'is ten quid from th'
flagship's skipper, 'oo said 'is ship 'u'd beat us; an' w'en 'e won it
'e whacked it art among th' guns' crews, 'e did. Proper gennelman, 'e
is. Th' Bloke, an' Jimmy the One,[27] an' most o' th' other orficers
made a bit too. We're wot we calls 'ot stuff in th' shootin' line, I
kin tell yer.'
[27] 'The Bloke' = the commander. 'Jimmy the One' = the first
lieutenant.
Billings was quite right. There was certainly no lack of rivalry, for
the officers and men of the squadron were as keen on the results
obtained by their respective ships as they possibly could be. The
gunlayers' test was treated in much the same way as a regatta or a
race-meeting, for sweepstakes were got up and bets were freely offered
and taken on the performances of individual gunlayers. Strictly against
the regulations, of course, but nobody seemed to mind, and the
favourites themselves became very important personages for the time
being.
To the ship's company of any man-of-war, 'our ship' is invariably the
best shooting and the smartest ship not only in the whole squadron, but
also in the entire British navy. Disputes as to the merits of two crack
vessels have been known to lead to regrettable incidents ashore. Pewter
beer-mugs are handy missiles, and black eyes and contusions, though
rare, are by no means unheard of. Moreover, if a smart ship which
fancies herself is beaten at gunnery by some dark horse, the obvious
inferences, from her men's point of view, are: (1) that the umpires
have been bribed; (2) that the ammunition was bad, and it therefore
affected the shooting; (3) that the sea was much rougher and the ship
had far more motion than when H.M.S. So-and-so fired; (4) that the sun
was in the wrong place, and that the light was bad; (5) that the
weather was misty; and so on, _ad infinitum_, all the excuses
being equally futile.
But rivalry between ships, despite occasional bickerings ashore when
their respective partisans wax argumentative, does no harm. On the
contrary, it is a good sign. It shows there is _esprit de corps_.
On this occasion, however, the _Belligerent's_ guns were possessed
of a devil. She did very well, it is true, and came out second in the
squadron, but was just beaten by the _Tremendous_. The defeat came
as a severe blow, particularly as a treasured silver challenge cup,
presented by the admiral and awarded annually to the best ship, now
left its resting-place on the _Belligerent's_ mess-deck and found
its way to the flagship. It was carried off in triumph by the winners;
but the _Belligerent's_ gunlayers cursed long and loud, and swore
by all their gods that it had been won by a fluke. So did some of the
officers.
'This 'ere's th' ruddy limit!' Billings muttered fiercely. 'Ter think
o' these 'ere Duffos[28] 'avin' th' imperence ter say they 'ave beaten
us! They ain't done it fair! S' welp me, they ain't! It's enuf ter make
a bloke take ter--ter anythin'!' He was going to say 'beer;' but,
remembering Mrs Figgins and his new-found respectability, he wisely
refrained.
[28] The ship's company of a ship hailing from Devonport are
known as 'Duffos' to the men of ships with Portsmouth and
Chatham crews. A 'duff' is a pudding, and the term probably
originated on account of the west-countrymen's supposed
liking for that comestible.
After spending a month at Gibraltar, they returned to Portland to give
four days' Easter leave, and then sailed off to Berehaven, where they
did more gunnery. Then on to the west coast of Scotland for a cruise,
and finally back to Portland again.
The time passed very rapidly. Spring gave way to summer, and in due
course Pincher found himself passed out of the seamanship
training-class and handed over to the tender mercies of a torpedo
gunner's mate, who crammed his head with an astounding number of facts
pertaining to electricity and torpedo work generally.
One Sunday in the early summer, however, the chaplain rather
electrified his congregation. 'I publish the banns of marriage,' he
read, 'between Able Seaman Joshua Billings, bachelor, of this ship, and
Martha Ann Figgins, widow, of the parish of St Cuthbert's, Weymouth. If
any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should
not be joined together in holy matrimony, you are to declare it. This
is for the first time of asking.'
The commander, and various other officers who knew Joshua intimately,
could hardly restrain their mirth.
'The old devil!' Tickle exclaimed in the smoking-room after the
service. 'To think of any woman wanting to marry him!'
'There are plenty of worse men than Billings,' the commander disagreed.
'He's not very attractive to look at, I'll admit; but, provided he
keeps off beer, he and his Martha'll get on all right. What he wants is
a woman to rule him with a rod of iron.'
'You'd better give the lady a few tips, sir,' Tickle suggested.
'Not I!' laughed the commander. 'I shall merely present them with an
ormolu timepiece--whatever that may be. It shall be suitably inscribed,
too. You see,' he added, 'Billings, in spite of beer, is quite one of
the best seamen in the ship, and I shall be very sorry to lose him when
he takes his pension.'
There is no need to describe Joshua's wedding, or to tell how some of
the officers and a goodly proportion of the ship's company attended the
ceremony, how Pincher performed his duties as 'best man,' and how the
commander himself was prevailed upon to make a speech and to drink the
health of the happy couple in grocers' port wine. It all went off like
a house on fire; but at the tea-party afterwards Pincher seemed rather
distracted.
''Ullo, chum!' the beaming bridegroom asked him, 'wot's up wi' yer?
You've got a face on yer like a sea-boot.'
'I'm just thinkin' somethin',' Pincher explained.
'Thinkin' wot?' Joshua wanted to know. 'Wot an 'appy hoccasion this is,
or wot?'
'No, 'ardly that.'
'Wot is it, then?'
'I wus thinkin' that now you've gorn an' married Missis Figgins you are
Hemmeline's farther, ain't yer?'
'S'pose I am,' Billings assented, scratching his head, for the question
had not occurred to him before. 'Leastways, 'er step-farther.'
'An' s'pose I marries Hemmeline, wot relation are yer to me?'
'You ain't arsked my leaf to court 'er,' Joshua pointed out. 'An'
s'pose yer does, I don't know as 'ow I shall give my consent. These
haffairs is important--see? I'll 'ave ter hinquire as ter yer prospex,
an' suchlike. Supposin' yer wusn't respeccable?'
'Respeccable!' Pincher retorted. 'Don't talk so wet! If I ain't good
enuf ter marry Hemmeline, you ain't good enuf fur Missis Figgins--see?
She's 'er mother, ain't she?'
'Don't go an' git dizzy on this 'appy day,' Joshua went on with mock
gravity. 'Don't go gittin' rattled! Carn't you see w'en a bloke's
'avin' a joke like?'
'It ain't no subjec' ter make fun o',' Pincher answered, rather
mollified. 'But, any'ow, s'posin' I does marry 'er, wot relation would
you be ter me? That's wot I wants ter know.'
'I reckons I'd be yer step-farther-in-lor,' Joshua answered after due
consideration. 'Leastways, that's 'ow I looks at it. I'll arsk th'
missis, though. Come an' 'ave a wet.'
Pincher, nothing loath, acquiesced. They went off arm-in-arm.