I have mentioned a scarcely concealed feeling in the saloon against the
omniscience of the wireless operator. That was not all the opposition
to which this youth of the glazed locks was subject. He was understood,
while the ship was at sea, to receive news issued daily, and frequently
when a subject was being discussed by the ship's officers he sat there
in possession of the facts but with serene indifference to the general
interest. In this, he was carrying out the regulations, I imagine; but
his behaviour resembled that of the dog in the manger. To aggravate
this sense of injustice, he rashly told some one that the news might
be taken at three guineas.
This in the first place affected the saloon only. But it happened that
throughout the ship there was a particular desire for information. At
home, the football season was at its zenith. Important matches, in the
Leagues and the Cup competition, were known to be playing; and one
man on the ship when she was out at sea could, and it was believed did,
hear the results. But never a word said he. Looking in at the galley
during the evening to brew my cocoa, I would find animated discussion of
the favourite teams in progress. Kelly, the "Mess-room," would wipe his
fist across his mouth and huskily explain. "It's like this, mister." He
had known other wireless operators who gladly announced the football
results. But this fellow--he was too b---- stuck-up, mister--"The
Marconi," the term which he used for the offending operator, savoured
queerly of the phrase "The Bedlam" in _King Lear_.
Such was the background against which Mead's vision of the unfortunate
Sparks stood out, and with the particular unfriendliness which I must
briefly describe. Earlier in the trip, Sparks had, in Mead's opinion,
adopted a tone of equality and then even of command towards him, in the
course of the ship's routine. Mead had immediately resorted to warlike
acts. Sparks lodged a written complaint with Hosea, who gave both parties
the best advice. But it was a false step in Sparks to send in this
communication, which would if forwarded have cost Mead, perhaps, his
living; and it was made worse by Sparks's glib defence, "I was doing my
duty," since he had been at a safe distance from the war when Mead's
duty lay on the Gallipoli beaches. And he still affected to think of
upholding his letter.
Matters were therefore strained, and the more they were so the more Mead
liked it. "Don't let me catch you ashore," had been his way of passing
Sparks the time of day in port; at sea, he growled abuse at him whenever
he saw him, and if no better occasion offered itself, would suddenly
thrust his face in all the semblance of murderous intention through the
open porthole of the young man's room and utter calm, deliberate, and
unnatural purposes.
In this feud, my position was not comfortable. Unlicked as he was (up to
the present) and devoid of fine points, the Marconi, whose cabin was
neighbour to mine, wished me no harm, and even sought my esteem. Mead,
whom I did esteem, was discontented with any half-measures on my part, and
in any case I felt bound to observe neutrality. But the capers of my
angry friend were often amusing, the declarations of duty conscientiously
executed by his _bete noir_--Mead had a weakness for style--were not. And
it is scarcely necessary to repeat, the general view of Sparks was not a
moral support to Mead even if he had "no case."
On the occasion that I described, Mead had decided to drive his point
well home with the aid of rhyme. I took a copy of his somewhat indecorous
production. It had many "spirited couplets," embodying considerable
observations:
To see you promenade the deck
Gives me a pain in my ruddy neck.
Sparks had been unwise, again, in mentioning his pleasure in the
slaughterer's trade, and past experience. Mead did not miss the
opportunity.
If the blood of sheep could make you glow
Come and dare to make mine flow.
I am no hero out for gore,
I had the wind up in the war.
Names and menaces came fast and furious.
... Flowers there'll be which you won't smell,
You swob, you'll learn a lot in hell.
Had I been called half these things
Some one or I'd be wearing wings.
This effusion, laboriously printed in CAPITALS so that its effect on the
recipient should be the more demoralizing, headed THE ANSWER, and signed
in characteristic fashion NULLI SECUNDUS, was to have been handed to its
theme in the saloon. Eventually, Mead rejected that as perhaps contrary to
tradition, and handed it in at the porthole aforesaid; but its object,
the arranging of "a little bout," was not achieved.