CHAPTER XXVThe "Achates" Returns to MaltaAt nine o'clock on Sunday morning, the 9th January, a general "wireless" signal was made by the Naval Commander-in-Chief—"Helles evacuated successfully"; and every battleship, scout, sloop, and destroyer scattered widely over the Eastern Mediterranean received the welcome news at the same moment.The greatest enthusiasm prevailed among the whole fleet, for everyone realized that though the evacuation was actually a retreat, yet it had been a wonderful achievement in the face of difficulties which had at one time seemed insuperable; moreover, it set free a large and seasoned army for employment elsewhere.When, later on in the day, the officers and men who had taken part in the evacuation returned to their own ships at Mudros with yarns of last night's adventures, everyone marvelled how it had been possible to hoodwink the wily Turk a second time so completely, and to do so in the teeth of that south-west gale.In the gun-room of theAchatesthat night, the Sub, Bubbles, and the Orphan tried to answer questions and eat at the same time."It was that south-west wind that sprang up," the Lamp-post said. "Directly it started blowing, the Turks thought to themselves, 'Well, they won't try to slip away to-night, at any rate', got out their hubble-bubble pipes, and began playing 'patience'.""You must have been there, old Lampy," Uncle Podger laughed. "Was it pretty to watch? What kind of patience did they play?""You know what I mean," the Lamp-post said. "Don't try to be funny.""I believe he's right," the Sub said, with his mouth full. "My jumping Jimmies, didn't we have luck?"The China Doll sat listening, with his eyes opening and shutting, and his mouth wide open, fearfully excited, especially when the Orphan, in the interval of "Another helping, please, Barnes!" told them all about the shells coming into the "dug-outs", and the third one which just missed Bubbles outside the kitchen door.In the middle of all this, the Pimple rushed in, shouting: "We're off to Malta! Off to Malta to refit! The signal has just come through! As soon as ever we get back all our men, off we go! You can't say I don't bring you news, can you?"In a moment the evacuation, and the bursting shells, and all the thrilling adventures—even the two macintoshes and electric torches looted by Plunky Bill—had been entirely forgotten. They all yelled with joy, and wondered how long theAchateswould remain at Malta, where she would go afterwards, and what ships would be there for them to challenge at cricket or hockey."You'll have to give me that dinner there, Rawlins, old chap," grinned the Lamp-post, referring to the "race" in their "water-beetles"."Ra-ther!" said Rawlins. "We'll have a regular slap-up 'eat-till-you-burst' show at the Club, won't we?"Dr. Gordon put his head into the gun-room to see whether Bubbles and the Orphan had finished "feeding" and were ready to come for'ard to the sick-bay and have their slight wounds properly dressed. But no one could worry about little things like that—now."Come in, sir! Come in!" they shouted. "Isn't it grand about Malta? Where do you think we'll go afterwards?""I don't know; I haven't the faintest idea," Dr. Gordon answered in his nervous way."Hadn't we better have a bath first, sir?" the two wounded warriors asked him. "We want one frightfully badly.""All right," Dr. Gordon smiled. "I'll get the bandages and things into my cabin. Come along there, afterwards."They had their baths, they had their scratches dressed; and then it was simply no use to try—they could not keep awake any longer, and they turned into their hammocks—on the half-deck—and slept like logs; though not before the Pimple, shaking Bubbles, told him that he must keep the forenoon watch next day. "I've been keeping double watches ever since you went skylarking over at Helles," he complained."Oh, bother you!" Bubbles groaned, and went to sleep.Next morning, as Bubbles kept his "forenoon", the Orphan came to talk to him. He had a great idea of doing something for "Kaiser Bill", "so that he should always remember how he'd brought luck wherever he went, and all the righting and things he'd been through". They had a very long and secret conversation, and then the Orphan, saying: "I'm certain I can get it made on board—there's a stoker petty officer who says he can do it—I'll go and see him now," went away again.Three days later, just before sunset, theAchatessteamed out through the "gate" in the double row of submarine nets, left Mudros for the last time, and commenced to zigzag her way to Malta.In the ward-room that night the Sub dined with Mr. Meredith, and the Orphan dined with the War Baby, sitting next to Dr. O'Neill, the Fleet-Surgeon, who was so delighted at getting away from the Dardanelles that he actually made himself quite agreeable."Not so much of the 'rats-in-a-trap' now, Doc," the cheery Fleet-Paymaster called across the table. "More of the 'bird-in-a-gilded-cage', eh? Don't cheer up too soon; we shall be right in the thick of the submarines to-night and to-morrow. You'd better blow up your safety waistcoat.""That's all right, Pay. It's hanging up in my cabin, blown up tight.""Good! I'll know where to steal it," grinned the Fleet-Paymaster.After dinner the other gun-room officers were invited to come along and start a "sing-song". They came in, and the Lamp-post, itching to get at the piano, was stuck down in front of it and told to play.As his fingers drew music from the battered, uncared-for old instrument, he lost himself in another world altogether. He didn't hear the Navigator asking why the China Doll had not come; or the Pimple and Rawlins say: "Oh, we forgot him; we left him in the gun-room"; nor notice them rush away with the Orphan, Bubbles, and the War Baby, and bring back the Assistant Clerk lashed in a bamboo stretcher, with a big cardboard label—pointing the wrong way—"This side up. Fragile—with care."They rushed him through the ward-room door, his squeals drowned by their shouts and the Lamp-posts music, and stood him upside down on his head, against the table."He's frightfully fragile! Listen how he cracks if you touch him!" And the Pimple nipped his ankle, the poor China Doll giving a squeak of pain."That's hardly comfortable, is it?" Dr. Gordon suggested."Well, look at the label, sir. 'This side up', so it must be right," they laughed. But Dr. Gordon made them unbuckle the stretcher and take it away, whilst the China Doll was "stood up" the right way, blinking his eyes, and opening and shutting his mouth. "Look at his lovely pink socks!" they cried, pulling up his trouser legs. "Aren't they pretty?" But the Assistant Clerk, with a frightened look at the Sub, who had forbidden him to wear them in uniform, tried to hide them.The Lamp-post stopped playing and "came to earth" again."It's simply marvellous how you do it, old Lampy," said Uncle Podger, who had listened to every note. "That right hand of yours gave those black notes the time of their life; your left hand simply wasn't in it—never had a look in. You ought to give it a good start next time.""Don't be an ass!" the Lamp-post smiled.Then Mr. Meredith had to sing, and everyone joined in the chorus. After that the China Doll, pretending to be very shy, was pulled forward, and bleated some song like "Put me among the Girls", and received such an ovation for his silly performance, and became so highly delighted with himself and his popularity, that he thought he'd brave the Sub's displeasure, and not creep away and change those pink socks as he had intended to do.The Commander went off to bed very soon; but just as the last chorus of "The Midshipmite" came to a tremendous end, the door opened, and in came Captain Macfarlane, smoking a cigar.Everyone stood up."Have a whisky and soda, sir?" the Fleet-Paymaster and Navigator asked him. "We're having a sing-song.""I thought I heard a slight noise," smiled the Captain tugging at his pointed, yellow beard. "May I ask whatyouare doing, Mr. Chaplain?" The little Padre happened to be taking lessons from the Sub as to how best to crawl through the back of one of the ward-room chairs, and had just got himself firmly wedged in, unable to move the chair up or down."I cannearlydo it, sir," he said, standing up with the back of the chair round his chest, and his usually pale face almost purple."Nearly do it, Mr. Chaplain! nearly do it! How long have you been in the Service? I'll show you how to do it properly;" and throwing off his mess-jacket, and placing his cigar in safety, Captain Macfarlane wriggled his head and shoulders through the back of another chair, and slipped it down to his feet in half a minute."It's very easily done, Mr. Chaplain," he said, just a little out of breath, as he resumed his cigar."It's all very well for you, sir. You are thin all the way down—the Padre's only thin 'up topsides'." the Navigator laughed.The Captain sang a song, and joined in the choruses of others till the time came for his usual visit to the bridge. Then he put on his mess-jacket and wished them all "good night"."Good night, sir!" everyone said, standing up as he went away.After this the sing-song became a little more boisterous, until finally the climax came when the Fleet-Paymaster, bursting in with a cushion he had borrowed from the Padre's cabin, endeavoured to score a "try" between the legs of the piano. He was forced into touch, banged against the ship's side, the cushion seized, and a most delightful game of Rugby football followed.Dr. Gordon had a little work to do—mending people—afterwards, whilst the sing-song gradually broke up, the clamour subsided, and one after the other all went away to turn in, and peace and quietness reigned once more.On the way back to the gun-room the Sub asked Uncle Podger to come into his cabin."Look here, Uncle, that youngster of yours took advantage of my dining in the ward-room to-night to wear those pink socks. I don't care a tinker's curse if he wears all the colours of the rainbowoutof uniform, but I had told him not to do soinuniform. It's just this: the snotties—all of us—are spoiling him, treating him like a plaything or a little girl. He can't even talk sensibly now, or make an ordinary remark without saying something silly to try and make us laugh at him. He wore those socks to-night to make the snotties laugh at him and "rag" him; and that silly song he sang, and that silly blinking of his eyes when the ward-room officers clapped him—well, it's got to be stopped. What a horrible time he will have, when he goes to another ship and tries his baby tricks there! and what will he be like when he grows up? He's a good little chap, really, and as plucky as paint at sports. Wemustdo something.""I don't know," Uncle Podger reflected. "I feel just as you do. He's being absolutely spoiled. He's absolutely useless in the office; I do believe he spends his time thinking of what he can do next to make them laugh at him. They were talking at dinner to-night of getting up a gun-room court martial and trying him one night before we get to Malta. The snotties knew you had ordered him not to wear those socks, and thought of trying him for that. The China Doll thinks he's going to have the time of his life.""Right," said the Sub, "and I'll take 'President'; heshallhave the time of his life.""You won't be too hard on him?" Uncle Podger asked, a little anxiously."Right-o, old chap! Good night! I won't break him."By the next morning theAchateshad passed through the narrow Doro channel, where so many ships had been attacked by submarines, and zigzagged her way along the coast of Greece. In the gun-room, great preparations were made for the China Doll's court martial, which would be really done "top-hole" fashion now that the Sub had offered to be "President". All details were settled that afternoon. The Orphan must be "Prisoner's Friend", and Uncle Podger "Judge-Advocate". The War Baby had been asked to dine as the guest of the Honourable Mess, and afterwards to act as "Provost-Marshal", "Master-at-Arms", "Second Executioner", and "Prisoner's Escort". The Pimple appointed himself "First Executioner", and Rawlins and the Hun appointed themselves "Comic Jailers". But the Hun, who had not been well for some days, had again to be put on the sick-list and be slung in a cot on the half-deck, so that Bubbles took his place as "Second Jailer". The Lamp-post, of course, would be the "Prosecutor", and make up a really funny speech.Before dinner they shifted the Hun in his cot, and slung him just outside the gun-room door so that he could look in and see the fun. "You'll have to be the 'crowd'," they told him, "and groan and hoot when the 'Prisoner' is dragged in or out—that is, if you feel well enough, old Hun."They had a grand, cheery dinner, the most cheery and noisy since the ship had left Ieros; they entirely forgot Cape Helles or Suvla, the shells or the submarines. The China Doll simply giggled with excitement all the time. He longed for the trial to begin, and for himself to be the central figure and be able to "answer back" so cheekily.When the meal was at last finished and everything cleared away, he helped to carry in the Master-at-Arms' table, and stood it across the top of the Mess, in front of the sideboard, for the Sub to sit behind as "Judge" and "President"; he helped bring in the Padre's reading-desk to make the witness-box, and he cleared all the litter of coats and boots from the brass "beading", or fender, which surrounded the place where the stove had stood in the old days. This was to be the Bar, and he would have to stand in the middle of it, facing the witness-box, with a "Jailer" on each side of him, and the War Baby, with his very long sword, behind him.He himself had no sword, and would not be entitled to one until he reached the exalted rank of Clerk, so he was ordered to provide himself with a pen from the ship's office to take its place.Directly after "Commander's rounds" at nine o'clock, the "Court" was "cleared", and the China Doll, trembling with excitement, was sent to stand by his sea-chest until the "Jailers" and the "Master-at-Arms" came for him.Punctually at ten past nine the War Baby, in helmet, tunic, and those beautiful scarlet-striped trousers of his, his long sword at the "carry", did the "goose step" solemnly along the half-deck, followed by Bubbles and Rawlins, their helmets on, the wrong way round, their monkey-jackets stuffed out with swimming-belts to make them look more "funny", and their drawn dirks in their hands. They dragged behind them the chain from one of the hatchway ladders, and having snapped a pair of handcuffs round the China Doll's wrists, lashed his arms to his side with the chain.Then they escorted him solemnly back to the gun-room, amidst derisive shouts of "Go it, pickpocket! Wearer of Pink Socks! Booh! Pooh! Booh!" from the "crowd"—the Hun in his cot outside the gun-room door.Behind the little table sat the Sub, smoking his pipe—that office pen, which represented the "Prisoner's" sword, and the gun-room cane in front of him. On his left, at the end of the little table, sat Uncle Podger with his "cocked" hat on, his sword between his knees, and a roll of papers in his hands. In front and on the right of the "Judge" was the stove fender for the "Prisoner at the Bar", and in front and on the left, the Padre's reading-desk, laden with a pile of volumes of Chambers'sEncyclopædia, borrowed from the ward-room. The Lamp-post, as "Prosecutor", leant "gracefully" against it.Behind the "Judge" stood the Pimple—a black mask hiding most of his face—brandishing a huge meat-chopper, kindly lent by the marine butcher.The Orphan had vanished.The China Doll was now marched to the Bar."Attention! Silence in Court!" shouted the War Baby in a shrill falsetto; and the two "Jailers", standing on each side of the China Doll, repeated it after him, trying to make funny faces, and jerking the ends of the chain coiled round the "Prisoner's" chest, whilst that luckless youth opened and shut his eyes, and kept saying: "Shut up! you're hurting!"Silence, or comparative silence, having been obtained, Uncle Podger gravely read, from a long roll of paper, the horrible charge: "Whereas, Mr. Charles Stokes, commonly known as the China Doll, did, after being duly warned and cautioned not to wear pink socks"—(loud "booing" from the "crowd", and a request from the "crowd" for his cot to be shifted a little farther for'ard, so that he could see better).After this interruption, and the Court had settled down again, the "Judge-Advocate" resumed: "pink socks, not in accordance with the Uniform Regulations of His Majesty's Navy, and also infringing the customs of the Honourable Mess, and being distasteful to the Honourable Members thereof, and did indulge this noxious habit on sundry and divers occasions, to wit, notably at dinner on the thirteenth day of the first month of the year nineteen hundred and sixteen; therefore, the aforesaid Mr. Charles Stokes be now brought before a Court Martial, duly assembled, and his crime diligently, and with all due formality, examined into, and death or other such punishment as be deemed necessary, awarded.""Prisoner at the Bar," the "Judge-Advocate" began sternly—("Tremble, China Doll," Rawlins implored in a whisper. "Shake the chain and the handcuffs.")—"having heard the grave charge, do you plead guilty or not guilty?""Guilty, my Lord," squeaked the "Prisoner", knowing that this was just what no one would want him to say."The 'Prisoner at the Bar' pleads 'Not guilty'—not guilty, my Lord!'" shrieked the "Provost-Marshal", "Master-at-Arms", "Second Executioner", and "Prisoner's Escort", all rolled in one, waving his long sword; the two comic "Jailers" joined in to drown the "Prisoner's" voice.There was now heard, from the deck outside, shouts of "Justice! Justice!" and a rather mild "booing" from the "crowd"; in rushed the Orphan and struck an attitude. "Am I too late to save my young friend's life?" he cried tragically, holding one hand against the front of his monkey-jacket, beneath which something bulged out. "The prisoner pleads 'Not guilty, my Lord!' and I am here to prove his innocence. Fleeing from the Dardanelles, flying from the post of danger, I—I—I—— Oh, hang it all; I can't remember any more!"So down the Orphan sat, amidst groans from the "Jailers", the "First and Second Executioners", and the "crowd" outside."The 'Prisoner at the Bar' having pleaded 'Not guilty, my Lord!'" continued the "Judge-Advocate", "I will now request my honourable friend, 'Mr. Prosecutor', to proceed."So the Lamp-post, having cleared his throat several times, and fixed the "Prisoner" with an "eagle glance", before which the China Doll's knees shook in the most realistic manner, proceeded: "My Lord, in my researches among my legal books" (here he rested his hand on the Encyclopædia) "I find but little mention of socks, and none of pink socks, which is sufficient proof that the crime, of which the 'Prisoner at the Bar' is charged, is one of a unique and most dangerous character. But" (and he banged the reading-desk) "in the article on 'Dyes' I find this: 'Pink dye is produced from coal-tar'"—(great sensation in Court; Bubbles pretended to faint against the bulkhead; the Pimple waved the meat-chopper so close to the "Judge's" head that he was told to put it down in the corner; and there was prolonged hissing from the "crowd").Then the "Prosecutor", lightly touching on coal-tar soap, tarred roads—their advantage to motors and disadvantage to the fish in the streams which ran alongside them, briefly mentioned the good old custom of "tar and feathering", which he trusted the Court would inflict on the wretched "Prisoner at the Bar". "These," he said, suddenly holding aloft the two incriminating socks, "are the abominated vestments or 'what-nots' owned and worn by that trembling, terrified tadpole, that cringing criminal in the dock. I will now, my Lord, proceed to call my witnesses.""You're doing it spiffingly!" whispered Rawlins to the China Doll. "If you could only wink up a tear, and shake the chains a bit more!"One by one, Uncle Podger, the "Jailers", and Barnes (in his shirt-sleeves) were called to the reading-desk, sworn on the office copy of the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions, and each identified those socks as having been worn by the "Prisoner" on the occasion in question. The War Baby further gave evidence that he had found them that night concealed in the "Prisoner's" chest.The Orphan, with some hazy idea of judicial procedure, tried unsuccessfully to obtain a hearing. At last he was heard to say: "That the 'Prisoner at the Bar' denied ever having seen them before; that having been brought up from the tenderest age on 'Pink Pills for Pale Piccaninnies', he so abominated that colour that he invariably fainted on seeing it". Here, with his free hand (for the other hand still clasped the bulge beneath his monkey-jacket), he seized the pink socks from the "Prosecutor" and held them in front of the "Prisoner's" face.[image]THE GUN-ROOM COURT MARTIAL ON THE CHINA DOLL.The China Doll promptly fell back into the arms of the "Jailers" and "Provost-Marshal"."See, my Lord!" and the Orphan pointed triumphantly (as Rawlins whispered, "Keep on fainting—I'll tell you when to stop"); "can the Court require further proof of his innocence?"("Yes! Yes! Booh! Booh! Yah!" from the "crowd" and the Pimple.)"Then I will produce the real criminal, the owner of those hateful socks;" and putting his hand inside his monkey-jacket, the Orphan drew out "Kaiser Bill", with his head out and legs dangling from his shell."There he is! Come to save the innocent life of that young officer—at the risk of his own shell!" (Tremendous sensation in Court; the "Jailers" flung their arms round each other and wept loudly—even the "Judge" smiled as he refilled his pipe.)"I will now confront him with those socks, and the Court will see him recognize them," went on the Orphan, and dangled a sock in front of "Kaiser Bill". Unfortunately, just at that moment the Pimple dropped the meat-chopper, and "Kaiser Bill", thinking, probably, that "Asiatic Annie" was getting busy again, promptly "ducked" inside his shell, and nothing would induce him to come out again.The Lamp-post banged the reading-desk. "My Lord, you have seen for yourself that the Witness for the Defence refuses to perjure himself: the case is clear; I submit that the charge is proved."In the general clamour and booing which followed, the China Doll endeavoured to make himself heard; but every time he opened his mouth, Rawlins or Bubbles slapped a wet sponge (thoughtfully provided by the Pimple) over his mouth, and the War Baby sawed gently at his neck with his sword.Amid the general uproar, the Orphan was understood to be pleading for the clemency of the Court. "The 'Prisoner at the Bar'," he was heard to say, "resolved, at a tender age, to devote his life to his King and Country, and, leaving several disconsolate, doting wives and children to mourn his loss, had come to sea to make toast for the Honourable Mess.""But he doesn't make it now; he never did! He always ate it himself!" yelled the "Jailers", the "First Executioner", and the "crowd"."I look to the justice of the Court to acquit the miserable little worm—I mean, this gallant and impetuous officer—of the foul charge which—which—which—— Oh, hang it all! I've forgotten what comes next," the Orphan said, and, amidst "loud and prolonged cheering" from the Hun in his cot outside, sat down on the gun-room table with "Kaiser Bill" on his knees.The Sub banged the table. "Has the 'Prisoner at the Bar' anything to say in his defence?"The China Doll, thinking that at last the time had come for him to make the funny remarks he expected everyone to laugh at, began, in his most squeaky voice, his eyes opening and shutting: "My Lord, old Lampy is——""The Prosecutor! the Prosecutor!" they all shouted, whilst the "Jailers" clapped the sponge over his mouth."Is an ass!" shrieked the China Doll, struggling free."Muzzle the 'Prisoner'! Shove the sponge in his mouth! Cut his head off!" shouted the "Jailers", the "Provost-Marshal", the "First Executioner", and the "crowd".The Sub banged the table for silence, and roared: "'Provost-Marshal', remove the 'Prisoner', and send back the 'Jailers'!" Whereupon the China Doll was lifted up, kicking and squeaking, and taken out into the half-deck, the War Baby keeping guard whilst the two "Comic Jailers" came back."Now look here," began the Sub, "we've had too much of this fooling of the Assistant Clerk. He's not a bad little chap, and we're simply spoiling him. He thinks of nothing but how he can make us laugh at him. When he goes to another ship he'll have a rotten time, and grow up to be a 'rotter'. He wore those pink socks after I had told him not to do so, and to make you laugh at him all the more. Now all this 'rot' has to stop—from this very moment. He is not to be called China Doll any longer—the name will stick to him, and sooner or later spoil him. Stokes is his name, and Stokes—and nothing else—nothing else, do you understand?—you will call him in future. You can 'scrap' with him as much as you like, but you are to talk sensibly to him—and you are never again to call him China Doll. Go and fetch the 'Prisoner'."The snotties never expected any ending like this, and, rather bewildered, brought back the excited Mr. Stokes."Take off those handcuffs and foolhardy chains," the Sub called out, "and bring Mr. Stokes over here."The Assistant Clerk stood opposite the Sub, wondering why the others didn't giggle at the abject look of silly fright he tried to show."Stand up when I speak to you!" growled the Sub, and the Assistant Clerk straightened himself and looked frightened—naturally; he didn't know what was the matter."I have taken 'President of the Court' to-night, Mr. Stokes," the Sub began sternly, "and let you have your fun out of it, but I am going to say a few things to you which you are to remember. If you intend to become a credit to yourself and the Navy you must learn to obey orders—that is the first thing. Then you must learn to be manly, which you are not trying to do here. If you hadn't been just a silly, little puppy I should have beaten you; but from now on, you are to be called by your proper name—Stokes—and by nothing else—and—and—dash it all—come with me to my cabin and talk it over."Ten minutes later they both came back, the Assistant Clerk looking as if he had shed tears.The Sub put his hand on his shoulder. "Have a drink, Stokes?" and Mr. Stokes looking up, with a suspicion of a tremble on his lips, said: "Thank you, sir, I should like a ginger beer.""Barnes!" called the Sub; "bring me a whisky and soda, and a ginger beer for Mr. Stokes."The others kept very quiet.The evening after that court martial had taken place, and just before dinner, Bubbles and the Orphan, vastly excited, knocked at the door of the Sub's cabin."We've had this made for 'Kaiser Bill'," they both began saying, bursting in. "Could we get Fletcher and the tortoise down to the gun-room after dinner, and present it to him—properly?" and they pulled out a brass cross, shaped like a German "Iron Cross", suspended on a piece of coloured ribbon with a proper brooch and four "clasps".The Sub examined it, smiling as he read on one side of the cross "Kaiser Bill—the Tortoise", on the other "Good Luck"; and on the clasps: "Achates, 1915-16"—"Smyrna"—"'W' beach"—and on the fourth—a very broad one: "Evacuation, Suvla—Helles"."We got it made on board," they said. "Haven't they done it well?""Where did you get the ribbon?" he asked."Off the War Baby's straw hat. He'll never want it. Can we tell Fletcher to come down after dinner, and will you give 'Kaiser Bill' the medal? It would be best to come from you.""All right; tell him to come to the gun-room after 'rounds'."So off they rushed.Just after nine o'clock old Fletcher came aft with the tortoise. They all met him outside, escorted him into the gun-room, and made him sit down in the one easy-chair, with the tortoise on his knees.Then the Sub said: "We've had a medal made for 'Kaiser Bill', Fletcher; we thought you'd like to have it, just to remember what he had been through, and remind you about it later on."The old stoker took the medal and its clasps, pulled his gold spectacles out of their case from inside his "jumper", fixed them on his nose, and beamed when he read the inscriptions. "Thank you very much, gentlemen! Thank you all, very much! I'll take it home with me, and I hope I'll take 'Kaiser Bill' home too. He did bring luck, didn't he? If we'd only had him with us, that last time in the picket-boat, we shouldn't have lost her. Should we, sir?"Then Stokes, very nervous because this was his first public appearance under his real name, stuttered: "And, Fletcher, the Sub wants me to give you this box of cigars; he thinks 'Kaiser Bill' likes the smell of cigar smoke!""It's very kind of you all; thank you very much, gentlemen;" and the old stoker, beaming at them through his gold spectacles, added, artlessly: "If 'Kaiser Bill' doesn't enjoy the smell of them, I know someone who does. Thank you all, very much indeed!"Next morning, just after daybreak, every one of the midshipmen (except the Hun in his cot) came on deck to see the old walls of Malta standing up out of the glittering sea, ahead of the ship.As they watched, and chaffed Rawlins about the dinner he had to "stand" the Lamp-post at the Club, the messenger-boy from the "wireless" room brought aft the usual morning "Wireless Press News"."Beg pardon, sir, but there's something about you this morning," he said, coming up to the Orphan."About me! What d'you mean?""There, sir," and the messenger-boy pointed to the end of the last page.They all crowded round the Orphan, who read: "The following additional Naval honours appeared in last night'sGazette", and at the end of the list came—and the Orphan's head buzzed—"Distinguished Service Cross—Midshipman Vincent Orpen".For a minute he wondered whether it was possible that there could be another midshipman of the same name; but whilst the others thumped him on the back and congratulated him, another messenger came flying down from the bridge: "The Captain wants you, sir, at once."Not knowing whether he was on his head or his heels, the Orphan flew up to the fore bridge.Captain Macfarlane smiled at him and tugged his beard."Is it really true, sir?""I imagine so; I sent your name in.""What's it for, sir?""I think, Mr. Orpen, for working that maxim in your picket-boat, at Ajano.""Thank you awfully, sir! but Plunky Bill was wounded twice, sir.""Was he the seaman who fired it before you 'took on'?" asked the Captain."Yes, sir; he was hit twice before he gave up.""I think, Mr. Orpen, you'll find that he has not been forgotten.""Thank you, sir, awfully! I—I—must go and tell the Hun and the Sub—won't they be pleased?"The Orphan thereupon dashed down the bridge ladder.PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAINAt the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland[image]Sketch map of Gallipoli and The Dardanelles* * * * * * * *BY FLEET SURGEON T. T. JEANS, R.N."The manifold excellences of Fleet Surgeon Jeans' work—its freshness,its originality, and above all its abiding humour."—Outlook.Large crown 8vo, cloth extra. IllustratedGunboat and Gun-runner: A Tale of the Persian Gulf."That boy must be a dullard whose pulse does not quicken, or his imagination begin to glow, when he reads this exciting tale."—Bookman.John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N.: A Tale of the Atlantic Fleet."A real workaday narrative of midshipmen's life as seen through the eyes of a young gunroom officer. We cannot imagine a better book for the mature boy."—Evening Standard.On Foreign Service: or, The Santa Cruz Revolution."His book is among the very first we would recommend."— Glasgow Herald.Ford of H.M.S. Vigilant: A Tale of the Chusan Archipelago."A distinctly good story."—Naval and Military Record.Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.: A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day."A really first-class book of naval adventure."—Literary World.LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKA NAVAL VENTURE***
CHAPTER XXV
The "Achates" Returns to Malta
At nine o'clock on Sunday morning, the 9th January, a general "wireless" signal was made by the Naval Commander-in-Chief—"Helles evacuated successfully"; and every battleship, scout, sloop, and destroyer scattered widely over the Eastern Mediterranean received the welcome news at the same moment.
The greatest enthusiasm prevailed among the whole fleet, for everyone realized that though the evacuation was actually a retreat, yet it had been a wonderful achievement in the face of difficulties which had at one time seemed insuperable; moreover, it set free a large and seasoned army for employment elsewhere.
When, later on in the day, the officers and men who had taken part in the evacuation returned to their own ships at Mudros with yarns of last night's adventures, everyone marvelled how it had been possible to hoodwink the wily Turk a second time so completely, and to do so in the teeth of that south-west gale.
In the gun-room of theAchatesthat night, the Sub, Bubbles, and the Orphan tried to answer questions and eat at the same time.
"It was that south-west wind that sprang up," the Lamp-post said. "Directly it started blowing, the Turks thought to themselves, 'Well, they won't try to slip away to-night, at any rate', got out their hubble-bubble pipes, and began playing 'patience'."
"You must have been there, old Lampy," Uncle Podger laughed. "Was it pretty to watch? What kind of patience did they play?"
"You know what I mean," the Lamp-post said. "Don't try to be funny."
"I believe he's right," the Sub said, with his mouth full. "My jumping Jimmies, didn't we have luck?"
The China Doll sat listening, with his eyes opening and shutting, and his mouth wide open, fearfully excited, especially when the Orphan, in the interval of "Another helping, please, Barnes!" told them all about the shells coming into the "dug-outs", and the third one which just missed Bubbles outside the kitchen door.
In the middle of all this, the Pimple rushed in, shouting: "We're off to Malta! Off to Malta to refit! The signal has just come through! As soon as ever we get back all our men, off we go! You can't say I don't bring you news, can you?"
In a moment the evacuation, and the bursting shells, and all the thrilling adventures—even the two macintoshes and electric torches looted by Plunky Bill—had been entirely forgotten. They all yelled with joy, and wondered how long theAchateswould remain at Malta, where she would go afterwards, and what ships would be there for them to challenge at cricket or hockey.
"You'll have to give me that dinner there, Rawlins, old chap," grinned the Lamp-post, referring to the "race" in their "water-beetles".
"Ra-ther!" said Rawlins. "We'll have a regular slap-up 'eat-till-you-burst' show at the Club, won't we?"
Dr. Gordon put his head into the gun-room to see whether Bubbles and the Orphan had finished "feeding" and were ready to come for'ard to the sick-bay and have their slight wounds properly dressed. But no one could worry about little things like that—now.
"Come in, sir! Come in!" they shouted. "Isn't it grand about Malta? Where do you think we'll go afterwards?"
"I don't know; I haven't the faintest idea," Dr. Gordon answered in his nervous way.
"Hadn't we better have a bath first, sir?" the two wounded warriors asked him. "We want one frightfully badly."
"All right," Dr. Gordon smiled. "I'll get the bandages and things into my cabin. Come along there, afterwards."
They had their baths, they had their scratches dressed; and then it was simply no use to try—they could not keep awake any longer, and they turned into their hammocks—on the half-deck—and slept like logs; though not before the Pimple, shaking Bubbles, told him that he must keep the forenoon watch next day. "I've been keeping double watches ever since you went skylarking over at Helles," he complained.
"Oh, bother you!" Bubbles groaned, and went to sleep.
Next morning, as Bubbles kept his "forenoon", the Orphan came to talk to him. He had a great idea of doing something for "Kaiser Bill", "so that he should always remember how he'd brought luck wherever he went, and all the righting and things he'd been through". They had a very long and secret conversation, and then the Orphan, saying: "I'm certain I can get it made on board—there's a stoker petty officer who says he can do it—I'll go and see him now," went away again.
Three days later, just before sunset, theAchatessteamed out through the "gate" in the double row of submarine nets, left Mudros for the last time, and commenced to zigzag her way to Malta.
In the ward-room that night the Sub dined with Mr. Meredith, and the Orphan dined with the War Baby, sitting next to Dr. O'Neill, the Fleet-Surgeon, who was so delighted at getting away from the Dardanelles that he actually made himself quite agreeable.
"Not so much of the 'rats-in-a-trap' now, Doc," the cheery Fleet-Paymaster called across the table. "More of the 'bird-in-a-gilded-cage', eh? Don't cheer up too soon; we shall be right in the thick of the submarines to-night and to-morrow. You'd better blow up your safety waistcoat."
"That's all right, Pay. It's hanging up in my cabin, blown up tight."
"Good! I'll know where to steal it," grinned the Fleet-Paymaster.
After dinner the other gun-room officers were invited to come along and start a "sing-song". They came in, and the Lamp-post, itching to get at the piano, was stuck down in front of it and told to play.
As his fingers drew music from the battered, uncared-for old instrument, he lost himself in another world altogether. He didn't hear the Navigator asking why the China Doll had not come; or the Pimple and Rawlins say: "Oh, we forgot him; we left him in the gun-room"; nor notice them rush away with the Orphan, Bubbles, and the War Baby, and bring back the Assistant Clerk lashed in a bamboo stretcher, with a big cardboard label—pointing the wrong way—"This side up. Fragile—with care."
They rushed him through the ward-room door, his squeals drowned by their shouts and the Lamp-posts music, and stood him upside down on his head, against the table.
"He's frightfully fragile! Listen how he cracks if you touch him!" And the Pimple nipped his ankle, the poor China Doll giving a squeak of pain.
"That's hardly comfortable, is it?" Dr. Gordon suggested.
"Well, look at the label, sir. 'This side up', so it must be right," they laughed. But Dr. Gordon made them unbuckle the stretcher and take it away, whilst the China Doll was "stood up" the right way, blinking his eyes, and opening and shutting his mouth. "Look at his lovely pink socks!" they cried, pulling up his trouser legs. "Aren't they pretty?" But the Assistant Clerk, with a frightened look at the Sub, who had forbidden him to wear them in uniform, tried to hide them.
The Lamp-post stopped playing and "came to earth" again.
"It's simply marvellous how you do it, old Lampy," said Uncle Podger, who had listened to every note. "That right hand of yours gave those black notes the time of their life; your left hand simply wasn't in it—never had a look in. You ought to give it a good start next time."
"Don't be an ass!" the Lamp-post smiled.
Then Mr. Meredith had to sing, and everyone joined in the chorus. After that the China Doll, pretending to be very shy, was pulled forward, and bleated some song like "Put me among the Girls", and received such an ovation for his silly performance, and became so highly delighted with himself and his popularity, that he thought he'd brave the Sub's displeasure, and not creep away and change those pink socks as he had intended to do.
The Commander went off to bed very soon; but just as the last chorus of "The Midshipmite" came to a tremendous end, the door opened, and in came Captain Macfarlane, smoking a cigar.
Everyone stood up.
"Have a whisky and soda, sir?" the Fleet-Paymaster and Navigator asked him. "We're having a sing-song."
"I thought I heard a slight noise," smiled the Captain tugging at his pointed, yellow beard. "May I ask whatyouare doing, Mr. Chaplain?" The little Padre happened to be taking lessons from the Sub as to how best to crawl through the back of one of the ward-room chairs, and had just got himself firmly wedged in, unable to move the chair up or down.
"I cannearlydo it, sir," he said, standing up with the back of the chair round his chest, and his usually pale face almost purple.
"Nearly do it, Mr. Chaplain! nearly do it! How long have you been in the Service? I'll show you how to do it properly;" and throwing off his mess-jacket, and placing his cigar in safety, Captain Macfarlane wriggled his head and shoulders through the back of another chair, and slipped it down to his feet in half a minute.
"It's very easily done, Mr. Chaplain," he said, just a little out of breath, as he resumed his cigar.
"It's all very well for you, sir. You are thin all the way down—the Padre's only thin 'up topsides'." the Navigator laughed.
The Captain sang a song, and joined in the choruses of others till the time came for his usual visit to the bridge. Then he put on his mess-jacket and wished them all "good night".
"Good night, sir!" everyone said, standing up as he went away.
After this the sing-song became a little more boisterous, until finally the climax came when the Fleet-Paymaster, bursting in with a cushion he had borrowed from the Padre's cabin, endeavoured to score a "try" between the legs of the piano. He was forced into touch, banged against the ship's side, the cushion seized, and a most delightful game of Rugby football followed.
Dr. Gordon had a little work to do—mending people—afterwards, whilst the sing-song gradually broke up, the clamour subsided, and one after the other all went away to turn in, and peace and quietness reigned once more.
On the way back to the gun-room the Sub asked Uncle Podger to come into his cabin.
"Look here, Uncle, that youngster of yours took advantage of my dining in the ward-room to-night to wear those pink socks. I don't care a tinker's curse if he wears all the colours of the rainbowoutof uniform, but I had told him not to do soinuniform. It's just this: the snotties—all of us—are spoiling him, treating him like a plaything or a little girl. He can't even talk sensibly now, or make an ordinary remark without saying something silly to try and make us laugh at him. He wore those socks to-night to make the snotties laugh at him and "rag" him; and that silly song he sang, and that silly blinking of his eyes when the ward-room officers clapped him—well, it's got to be stopped. What a horrible time he will have, when he goes to another ship and tries his baby tricks there! and what will he be like when he grows up? He's a good little chap, really, and as plucky as paint at sports. Wemustdo something."
"I don't know," Uncle Podger reflected. "I feel just as you do. He's being absolutely spoiled. He's absolutely useless in the office; I do believe he spends his time thinking of what he can do next to make them laugh at him. They were talking at dinner to-night of getting up a gun-room court martial and trying him one night before we get to Malta. The snotties knew you had ordered him not to wear those socks, and thought of trying him for that. The China Doll thinks he's going to have the time of his life."
"Right," said the Sub, "and I'll take 'President'; heshallhave the time of his life."
"You won't be too hard on him?" Uncle Podger asked, a little anxiously.
"Right-o, old chap! Good night! I won't break him."
By the next morning theAchateshad passed through the narrow Doro channel, where so many ships had been attacked by submarines, and zigzagged her way along the coast of Greece. In the gun-room, great preparations were made for the China Doll's court martial, which would be really done "top-hole" fashion now that the Sub had offered to be "President". All details were settled that afternoon. The Orphan must be "Prisoner's Friend", and Uncle Podger "Judge-Advocate". The War Baby had been asked to dine as the guest of the Honourable Mess, and afterwards to act as "Provost-Marshal", "Master-at-Arms", "Second Executioner", and "Prisoner's Escort". The Pimple appointed himself "First Executioner", and Rawlins and the Hun appointed themselves "Comic Jailers". But the Hun, who had not been well for some days, had again to be put on the sick-list and be slung in a cot on the half-deck, so that Bubbles took his place as "Second Jailer". The Lamp-post, of course, would be the "Prosecutor", and make up a really funny speech.
Before dinner they shifted the Hun in his cot, and slung him just outside the gun-room door so that he could look in and see the fun. "You'll have to be the 'crowd'," they told him, "and groan and hoot when the 'Prisoner' is dragged in or out—that is, if you feel well enough, old Hun."
They had a grand, cheery dinner, the most cheery and noisy since the ship had left Ieros; they entirely forgot Cape Helles or Suvla, the shells or the submarines. The China Doll simply giggled with excitement all the time. He longed for the trial to begin, and for himself to be the central figure and be able to "answer back" so cheekily.
When the meal was at last finished and everything cleared away, he helped to carry in the Master-at-Arms' table, and stood it across the top of the Mess, in front of the sideboard, for the Sub to sit behind as "Judge" and "President"; he helped bring in the Padre's reading-desk to make the witness-box, and he cleared all the litter of coats and boots from the brass "beading", or fender, which surrounded the place where the stove had stood in the old days. This was to be the Bar, and he would have to stand in the middle of it, facing the witness-box, with a "Jailer" on each side of him, and the War Baby, with his very long sword, behind him.
He himself had no sword, and would not be entitled to one until he reached the exalted rank of Clerk, so he was ordered to provide himself with a pen from the ship's office to take its place.
Directly after "Commander's rounds" at nine o'clock, the "Court" was "cleared", and the China Doll, trembling with excitement, was sent to stand by his sea-chest until the "Jailers" and the "Master-at-Arms" came for him.
Punctually at ten past nine the War Baby, in helmet, tunic, and those beautiful scarlet-striped trousers of his, his long sword at the "carry", did the "goose step" solemnly along the half-deck, followed by Bubbles and Rawlins, their helmets on, the wrong way round, their monkey-jackets stuffed out with swimming-belts to make them look more "funny", and their drawn dirks in their hands. They dragged behind them the chain from one of the hatchway ladders, and having snapped a pair of handcuffs round the China Doll's wrists, lashed his arms to his side with the chain.
Then they escorted him solemnly back to the gun-room, amidst derisive shouts of "Go it, pickpocket! Wearer of Pink Socks! Booh! Pooh! Booh!" from the "crowd"—the Hun in his cot outside the gun-room door.
Behind the little table sat the Sub, smoking his pipe—that office pen, which represented the "Prisoner's" sword, and the gun-room cane in front of him. On his left, at the end of the little table, sat Uncle Podger with his "cocked" hat on, his sword between his knees, and a roll of papers in his hands. In front and on the right of the "Judge" was the stove fender for the "Prisoner at the Bar", and in front and on the left, the Padre's reading-desk, laden with a pile of volumes of Chambers'sEncyclopædia, borrowed from the ward-room. The Lamp-post, as "Prosecutor", leant "gracefully" against it.
Behind the "Judge" stood the Pimple—a black mask hiding most of his face—brandishing a huge meat-chopper, kindly lent by the marine butcher.
The Orphan had vanished.
The China Doll was now marched to the Bar.
"Attention! Silence in Court!" shouted the War Baby in a shrill falsetto; and the two "Jailers", standing on each side of the China Doll, repeated it after him, trying to make funny faces, and jerking the ends of the chain coiled round the "Prisoner's" chest, whilst that luckless youth opened and shut his eyes, and kept saying: "Shut up! you're hurting!"
Silence, or comparative silence, having been obtained, Uncle Podger gravely read, from a long roll of paper, the horrible charge: "Whereas, Mr. Charles Stokes, commonly known as the China Doll, did, after being duly warned and cautioned not to wear pink socks"—(loud "booing" from the "crowd", and a request from the "crowd" for his cot to be shifted a little farther for'ard, so that he could see better).
After this interruption, and the Court had settled down again, the "Judge-Advocate" resumed: "pink socks, not in accordance with the Uniform Regulations of His Majesty's Navy, and also infringing the customs of the Honourable Mess, and being distasteful to the Honourable Members thereof, and did indulge this noxious habit on sundry and divers occasions, to wit, notably at dinner on the thirteenth day of the first month of the year nineteen hundred and sixteen; therefore, the aforesaid Mr. Charles Stokes be now brought before a Court Martial, duly assembled, and his crime diligently, and with all due formality, examined into, and death or other such punishment as be deemed necessary, awarded."
"Prisoner at the Bar," the "Judge-Advocate" began sternly—("Tremble, China Doll," Rawlins implored in a whisper. "Shake the chain and the handcuffs.")—"having heard the grave charge, do you plead guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty, my Lord," squeaked the "Prisoner", knowing that this was just what no one would want him to say.
"The 'Prisoner at the Bar' pleads 'Not guilty'—not guilty, my Lord!'" shrieked the "Provost-Marshal", "Master-at-Arms", "Second Executioner", and "Prisoner's Escort", all rolled in one, waving his long sword; the two comic "Jailers" joined in to drown the "Prisoner's" voice.
There was now heard, from the deck outside, shouts of "Justice! Justice!" and a rather mild "booing" from the "crowd"; in rushed the Orphan and struck an attitude. "Am I too late to save my young friend's life?" he cried tragically, holding one hand against the front of his monkey-jacket, beneath which something bulged out. "The prisoner pleads 'Not guilty, my Lord!' and I am here to prove his innocence. Fleeing from the Dardanelles, flying from the post of danger, I—I—I—— Oh, hang it all; I can't remember any more!"
So down the Orphan sat, amidst groans from the "Jailers", the "First and Second Executioners", and the "crowd" outside.
"The 'Prisoner at the Bar' having pleaded 'Not guilty, my Lord!'" continued the "Judge-Advocate", "I will now request my honourable friend, 'Mr. Prosecutor', to proceed."
So the Lamp-post, having cleared his throat several times, and fixed the "Prisoner" with an "eagle glance", before which the China Doll's knees shook in the most realistic manner, proceeded: "My Lord, in my researches among my legal books" (here he rested his hand on the Encyclopædia) "I find but little mention of socks, and none of pink socks, which is sufficient proof that the crime, of which the 'Prisoner at the Bar' is charged, is one of a unique and most dangerous character. But" (and he banged the reading-desk) "in the article on 'Dyes' I find this: 'Pink dye is produced from coal-tar'"—(great sensation in Court; Bubbles pretended to faint against the bulkhead; the Pimple waved the meat-chopper so close to the "Judge's" head that he was told to put it down in the corner; and there was prolonged hissing from the "crowd").
Then the "Prosecutor", lightly touching on coal-tar soap, tarred roads—their advantage to motors and disadvantage to the fish in the streams which ran alongside them, briefly mentioned the good old custom of "tar and feathering", which he trusted the Court would inflict on the wretched "Prisoner at the Bar". "These," he said, suddenly holding aloft the two incriminating socks, "are the abominated vestments or 'what-nots' owned and worn by that trembling, terrified tadpole, that cringing criminal in the dock. I will now, my Lord, proceed to call my witnesses."
"You're doing it spiffingly!" whispered Rawlins to the China Doll. "If you could only wink up a tear, and shake the chains a bit more!"
One by one, Uncle Podger, the "Jailers", and Barnes (in his shirt-sleeves) were called to the reading-desk, sworn on the office copy of the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions, and each identified those socks as having been worn by the "Prisoner" on the occasion in question. The War Baby further gave evidence that he had found them that night concealed in the "Prisoner's" chest.
The Orphan, with some hazy idea of judicial procedure, tried unsuccessfully to obtain a hearing. At last he was heard to say: "That the 'Prisoner at the Bar' denied ever having seen them before; that having been brought up from the tenderest age on 'Pink Pills for Pale Piccaninnies', he so abominated that colour that he invariably fainted on seeing it". Here, with his free hand (for the other hand still clasped the bulge beneath his monkey-jacket), he seized the pink socks from the "Prosecutor" and held them in front of the "Prisoner's" face.
[image]THE GUN-ROOM COURT MARTIAL ON THE CHINA DOLL.
[image]
[image]
THE GUN-ROOM COURT MARTIAL ON THE CHINA DOLL.
The China Doll promptly fell back into the arms of the "Jailers" and "Provost-Marshal".
"See, my Lord!" and the Orphan pointed triumphantly (as Rawlins whispered, "Keep on fainting—I'll tell you when to stop"); "can the Court require further proof of his innocence?"
("Yes! Yes! Booh! Booh! Yah!" from the "crowd" and the Pimple.)
"Then I will produce the real criminal, the owner of those hateful socks;" and putting his hand inside his monkey-jacket, the Orphan drew out "Kaiser Bill", with his head out and legs dangling from his shell.
"There he is! Come to save the innocent life of that young officer—at the risk of his own shell!" (Tremendous sensation in Court; the "Jailers" flung their arms round each other and wept loudly—even the "Judge" smiled as he refilled his pipe.)
"I will now confront him with those socks, and the Court will see him recognize them," went on the Orphan, and dangled a sock in front of "Kaiser Bill". Unfortunately, just at that moment the Pimple dropped the meat-chopper, and "Kaiser Bill", thinking, probably, that "Asiatic Annie" was getting busy again, promptly "ducked" inside his shell, and nothing would induce him to come out again.
The Lamp-post banged the reading-desk. "My Lord, you have seen for yourself that the Witness for the Defence refuses to perjure himself: the case is clear; I submit that the charge is proved."
In the general clamour and booing which followed, the China Doll endeavoured to make himself heard; but every time he opened his mouth, Rawlins or Bubbles slapped a wet sponge (thoughtfully provided by the Pimple) over his mouth, and the War Baby sawed gently at his neck with his sword.
Amid the general uproar, the Orphan was understood to be pleading for the clemency of the Court. "The 'Prisoner at the Bar'," he was heard to say, "resolved, at a tender age, to devote his life to his King and Country, and, leaving several disconsolate, doting wives and children to mourn his loss, had come to sea to make toast for the Honourable Mess."
"But he doesn't make it now; he never did! He always ate it himself!" yelled the "Jailers", the "First Executioner", and the "crowd".
"I look to the justice of the Court to acquit the miserable little worm—I mean, this gallant and impetuous officer—of the foul charge which—which—which—— Oh, hang it all! I've forgotten what comes next," the Orphan said, and, amidst "loud and prolonged cheering" from the Hun in his cot outside, sat down on the gun-room table with "Kaiser Bill" on his knees.
The Sub banged the table. "Has the 'Prisoner at the Bar' anything to say in his defence?"
The China Doll, thinking that at last the time had come for him to make the funny remarks he expected everyone to laugh at, began, in his most squeaky voice, his eyes opening and shutting: "My Lord, old Lampy is——"
"The Prosecutor! the Prosecutor!" they all shouted, whilst the "Jailers" clapped the sponge over his mouth.
"Is an ass!" shrieked the China Doll, struggling free.
"Muzzle the 'Prisoner'! Shove the sponge in his mouth! Cut his head off!" shouted the "Jailers", the "Provost-Marshal", the "First Executioner", and the "crowd".
The Sub banged the table for silence, and roared: "'Provost-Marshal', remove the 'Prisoner', and send back the 'Jailers'!" Whereupon the China Doll was lifted up, kicking and squeaking, and taken out into the half-deck, the War Baby keeping guard whilst the two "Comic Jailers" came back.
"Now look here," began the Sub, "we've had too much of this fooling of the Assistant Clerk. He's not a bad little chap, and we're simply spoiling him. He thinks of nothing but how he can make us laugh at him. When he goes to another ship he'll have a rotten time, and grow up to be a 'rotter'. He wore those pink socks after I had told him not to do so, and to make you laugh at him all the more. Now all this 'rot' has to stop—from this very moment. He is not to be called China Doll any longer—the name will stick to him, and sooner or later spoil him. Stokes is his name, and Stokes—and nothing else—nothing else, do you understand?—you will call him in future. You can 'scrap' with him as much as you like, but you are to talk sensibly to him—and you are never again to call him China Doll. Go and fetch the 'Prisoner'."
The snotties never expected any ending like this, and, rather bewildered, brought back the excited Mr. Stokes.
"Take off those handcuffs and foolhardy chains," the Sub called out, "and bring Mr. Stokes over here."
The Assistant Clerk stood opposite the Sub, wondering why the others didn't giggle at the abject look of silly fright he tried to show.
"Stand up when I speak to you!" growled the Sub, and the Assistant Clerk straightened himself and looked frightened—naturally; he didn't know what was the matter.
"I have taken 'President of the Court' to-night, Mr. Stokes," the Sub began sternly, "and let you have your fun out of it, but I am going to say a few things to you which you are to remember. If you intend to become a credit to yourself and the Navy you must learn to obey orders—that is the first thing. Then you must learn to be manly, which you are not trying to do here. If you hadn't been just a silly, little puppy I should have beaten you; but from now on, you are to be called by your proper name—Stokes—and by nothing else—and—and—dash it all—come with me to my cabin and talk it over."
Ten minutes later they both came back, the Assistant Clerk looking as if he had shed tears.
The Sub put his hand on his shoulder. "Have a drink, Stokes?" and Mr. Stokes looking up, with a suspicion of a tremble on his lips, said: "Thank you, sir, I should like a ginger beer."
"Barnes!" called the Sub; "bring me a whisky and soda, and a ginger beer for Mr. Stokes."
The others kept very quiet.
The evening after that court martial had taken place, and just before dinner, Bubbles and the Orphan, vastly excited, knocked at the door of the Sub's cabin.
"We've had this made for 'Kaiser Bill'," they both began saying, bursting in. "Could we get Fletcher and the tortoise down to the gun-room after dinner, and present it to him—properly?" and they pulled out a brass cross, shaped like a German "Iron Cross", suspended on a piece of coloured ribbon with a proper brooch and four "clasps".
The Sub examined it, smiling as he read on one side of the cross "Kaiser Bill—the Tortoise", on the other "Good Luck"; and on the clasps: "Achates, 1915-16"—"Smyrna"—"'W' beach"—and on the fourth—a very broad one: "Evacuation, Suvla—Helles".
"We got it made on board," they said. "Haven't they done it well?"
"Where did you get the ribbon?" he asked.
"Off the War Baby's straw hat. He'll never want it. Can we tell Fletcher to come down after dinner, and will you give 'Kaiser Bill' the medal? It would be best to come from you."
"All right; tell him to come to the gun-room after 'rounds'."
So off they rushed.
Just after nine o'clock old Fletcher came aft with the tortoise. They all met him outside, escorted him into the gun-room, and made him sit down in the one easy-chair, with the tortoise on his knees.
Then the Sub said: "We've had a medal made for 'Kaiser Bill', Fletcher; we thought you'd like to have it, just to remember what he had been through, and remind you about it later on."
The old stoker took the medal and its clasps, pulled his gold spectacles out of their case from inside his "jumper", fixed them on his nose, and beamed when he read the inscriptions. "Thank you very much, gentlemen! Thank you all, very much! I'll take it home with me, and I hope I'll take 'Kaiser Bill' home too. He did bring luck, didn't he? If we'd only had him with us, that last time in the picket-boat, we shouldn't have lost her. Should we, sir?"
Then Stokes, very nervous because this was his first public appearance under his real name, stuttered: "And, Fletcher, the Sub wants me to give you this box of cigars; he thinks 'Kaiser Bill' likes the smell of cigar smoke!"
"It's very kind of you all; thank you very much, gentlemen;" and the old stoker, beaming at them through his gold spectacles, added, artlessly: "If 'Kaiser Bill' doesn't enjoy the smell of them, I know someone who does. Thank you all, very much indeed!"
Next morning, just after daybreak, every one of the midshipmen (except the Hun in his cot) came on deck to see the old walls of Malta standing up out of the glittering sea, ahead of the ship.
As they watched, and chaffed Rawlins about the dinner he had to "stand" the Lamp-post at the Club, the messenger-boy from the "wireless" room brought aft the usual morning "Wireless Press News".
"Beg pardon, sir, but there's something about you this morning," he said, coming up to the Orphan.
"About me! What d'you mean?"
"There, sir," and the messenger-boy pointed to the end of the last page.
They all crowded round the Orphan, who read: "The following additional Naval honours appeared in last night'sGazette", and at the end of the list came—and the Orphan's head buzzed—"Distinguished Service Cross—Midshipman Vincent Orpen".
For a minute he wondered whether it was possible that there could be another midshipman of the same name; but whilst the others thumped him on the back and congratulated him, another messenger came flying down from the bridge: "The Captain wants you, sir, at once."
Not knowing whether he was on his head or his heels, the Orphan flew up to the fore bridge.
Captain Macfarlane smiled at him and tugged his beard.
"Is it really true, sir?"
"I imagine so; I sent your name in."
"What's it for, sir?"
"I think, Mr. Orpen, for working that maxim in your picket-boat, at Ajano."
"Thank you awfully, sir! but Plunky Bill was wounded twice, sir."
"Was he the seaman who fired it before you 'took on'?" asked the Captain.
"Yes, sir; he was hit twice before he gave up."
"I think, Mr. Orpen, you'll find that he has not been forgotten."
"Thank you, sir, awfully! I—I—must go and tell the Hun and the Sub—won't they be pleased?"
The Orphan thereupon dashed down the bridge ladder.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAINAt the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland
[image]Sketch map of Gallipoli and The Dardanelles
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[image]
Sketch map of Gallipoli and The Dardanelles
* * * * * * * *
BY FLEET SURGEON T. T. JEANS, R.N.
"The manifold excellences of Fleet Surgeon Jeans' work—its freshness,its originality, and above all its abiding humour."—Outlook.
Large crown 8vo, cloth extra. Illustrated
Gunboat and Gun-runner: A Tale of the Persian Gulf.
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John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N.: A Tale of the Atlantic Fleet.
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On Foreign Service: or, The Santa Cruz Revolution.
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Ford of H.M.S. Vigilant: A Tale of the Chusan Archipelago.
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Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.: A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day.
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*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKA NAVAL VENTURE***