"Clear lower deck! Man the falls!"
The ranks of men along the ship's side turned inboard, and passed the
ropes aft, in readiness to hoist the boat. There were three hundred men
on the falls, standing by to whisk the cutter to the davit-heads like a
cockle-shell.
"They've got 'em--got 'em both!" murmured the deep voices: they spat
impatiently. "What say, lads? Stamp an' go with 'er?"
"Silence in the battery! _Marry_!"
The Commander was leaning over the bridge rails; the Surgeon and two
Sick-berth Stewards were waiting by the davits. Alongside the cutter
was rising and falling on the waves....
"All right, sir!" The voice of the Coxswain came up as if from the
deep. They had hooked the plunging boat on somehow, and his thumb-nail
was a pulp....
Three hundred pairs of eyes turned towards the fore-bridge.
"_Hoist away!_"
No need for the Boatswain's Mate to echo the order; no need for the
Petty Officers' "With a will, then, lads!" They rushed aft in a wild
stampede, hauling with every ounce of beef and strength in their bodies.
The cutter, dripping and swaying, her crew fending her off the rolling
ship with their stretchers, shot up to the davits.
"High 'nough!"
The rush stopped like one man. Another pull on the after-fall--enough.
She was hoisted. "_Walk back! ... Lie to!_"
A tense silence fell upon the crowded battery: the only sound that of
men breathing hard. A limp figure was seen descending the Jacob's
ladder out of the boat, assisted by two of the crew. Heady hands were
outstretched to help, and the next moment Willie Sparling, Ordinary
Seaman, Official Number 13728, was once more on the deck of a
man-of-war--a place he never expected to see again.
"Ow!" He winced, "Min' my shoulder--it's 'urted...." He looked round at
the familiar faces lit by the electric lights, and jerked his head back
at the boat hanging from her davits. "_'E_ saved my life--look after
'im. 'E's a ... e's a--bleedin' 'ero, ..." and Willie Sparling, with a
broken collar-bone, collapsed dramatically enough.
The Engineer Lieutenant swung himself down on to the upper deck and
stooped to wring the water from his trousers. The Surgeon seized him by
the arm---
"Come along, Shortie--in between the blankets with you!"
The hero of the moment disengaged his arm and shook himself like a
terrier. "Blankets be blowed--it's my Middle Watch."
The Surgeon laughed. "Plenty of time for that: it's only just after
half-past nine. What about a hot toddy?"
"Lord! I thought I'd been in the water for hours.... Yes, by Jove! a
hot toddy----" He paused and looked round, his face suddenly anxious.
"By the way, ... 'any one seen a pipe sculling about...?"
Down below the telegraph gongs clanged, and the ship's bows swung round
on to her course, heading once more for England, Home, and Beauty.
*XXIV.*
*"A PICTURESQUE CEREMONY."*
"S---- Parish Church was, yesterday afternoon, the scene of a
picturesque ceremony...."--_Local Paper_.
The Torpedo Lieutenant (hereinafter known as "Torps") was awakened by
the June sunlight streaming in through the open scuttle of his cabin.
Overhead the quarterdeck-men were busy scrubbing decks: the grating
murmur of the holystones and swish of water from the hoses, all part of
each day's familiar routine, sent his eyes round to the clock ticking on
the chest of drawers.
For a while he lay musing, watching with thoughtful gaze the disc of
blue sky framed by the circle of the scuttle; then, as if in obedience
to a sudden resolution, he threw back the bed-clothes and hoisted
himself out of his bunk. Slipping his feet into a pair of ragged
sandals, he left his cabin and walked along the flat till he came to
another a few yards away; this he entered, drawing the curtain
noiselessly.
The occupant of the bunk was still asleep, breathing evenly and quietly,
one bare forearm, with the faint outline of a snake tattooed upon it,
lying along the coverlet. For a few moments the new-comer stood
watching the sleeper, the corners of his eyes creased in a little smile.
Men sometimes smile at their friends that way, and at their dogs. The
face on the pillow looked very boyish, somehow, ... he hadn't changed
much since _Britannia_ days, really; and they had been through a good
deal between then and now. Wholesome, lean old face it was; no wonder a
woman...
The sleeper stirred, sighed a little, and opened his eyes. For a moment
they rested, clear and direct as an awakened child's, on Torps' face;
then he laughed a greeting--
"Hullo, Torps!" He yawned and stretched, and rising on one elbow,
thrust his head out of the scuttle. "Thank Heaven for a fine day!
Number One back from leave yet?"
"Yes, he's back: you're quite safe."
The other lay back in the bunk. "Has Phillips brought my tea yet?" He
looked round helplessly. "What an awful pot-mess my cabin is in. Those
are presents that came last night--they've all got to be packed. What's
the time? Why, it's only half-past seven! Torps, you are the limit! I
swear I've always read in books that fellows stayed in bed till lunch on
these occasions, mugging up the marriage-service. I'm not going to get
up in the middle of the night--be blowed if I do!"
Torps lit a cigarette. "That's only in books. We'll have breakfast,
and take your gear up to the hotel, and then we'll play nine holes of
golf--just to take our minds off frivolous subjects."
"Golf! My dear old ass, I couldn't drive a yard!"
"Well, you're going to have a try, anyway. Everything's arranged that
can be: you aren't allowed to drink cocktails; you can't see Her--till
two o'clock. You'd fret yourself into a fever here in bed--what else do
you think you're going to do?"
The prospective bridegroom stirred his tea in silence. "Well, I suppose
there's something in all that; pass me a cigarette--there's a box just
there.... Oh, thanks, old bird; don't quite know why I should be
treated as if I were an irresponsible and feeble-minded invalid, just
because I'm going to be married."