'It was 'is fault! I saw 'im stick 'is foot out!'
'It was 'is fault! I saw 'im stick 'is foot out!'
Page 115.
'It was 'is fault!' shrilled Jane Crawley, pointing an accusing finger at Martin. 'I saw 'im stick 'is foot out!'
'No, I didn't,' Pincher protested. 'Never see'd yer comin'!'
'Course he didn't,' Emmeline corroborated. 'How could he see you if you were behind him?'
'I tell you 'e did!' shouted Jane, becoming excited.
'I didn't,' Martin expostulated.
The crowd peered over each other's shoulders and laughed, for there seemed every prospect of a fight on skates between Emmeline Figgins and Jane Crawley, and another between Pincher Martin and Wilfrid Parkin. The situation was most exciting.
'You'll 'ave to pay for my trousers, any'ow!' Wilfrid blustered, looking down at his torn garments.
The onlookers tittered. 'That's it,' some one said jocularly; 'you 'ave the law on 'im, my son.'
'Sha'n't pay a penny!' Pincher said.
'That's right, little un!' came a voice from the crowd; 'don't you be put upon!'
'I'll bloomin' well make you!' shouted Parkin, squaring up. 'I'll give you a thick ear if you don't!'
'I ain't afraid o' you!' Pincher retorted, glaring at him. 'You 'it me an' see wot you gits!'
'Go on, Will. Give 'im one,' advised the pugnacious Jane.
'You'll do nothing of the sort,' said Emmeline quietly, stepping between the two men. 'If you want to kick up a shindy, Mister Parkin, you'd best do it outside.'
'I say it was the sailor's fault!' reiterated the other lady shrilly. 'I saw 'im'——
'Now then, what's all the fuss about?' asked the rink manager severely, pushing his way through the throng. 'We can't 'ave these sort of goings-on 'ere. You've 'eld up the 'ole proceedings. Somebody fallen down—what?'
''E tried ter knock me down a purpose,' said Pincher, indicating his adversary.
'You're a liar!' retorted Parkin. 'It's like this,' he went on, trying to explain the situation. 'I was skatin' parst this man, w'en all of a sudden 'e puts out 'is foot an''——
'He did nothing of the kind,' Emmeline interrupted. 'It's him who's telling lies, and well he knows it.'
'Well, I can't 'ave these goings-on 'ere,' the manager returned, glaring at them all in turn. 'I must ask the ladies and gentlemen concerned to step outside and settle their differences elsewhere. Come on, please.'
'Come on, Mister Martin. We'd best go. I hate all this fuss,' Emmeline whispered. She moved off.
Pincher, nothing loath, unstrapped his other skate—one had already come off in his tumble—and followed her, but not before Parkin had hurled a final remark.
'Orl right, Mister Martin!' he said very venomously. 'I'll be even wi' you over this 'ere!'
'I'll take you on any day you likes!' Pincher threw back. 'I ain't afraid o' you, you great skinny lamplighter!'
'And I'll never speak to you again, Wilfrid Parkin,' Emmeline put in, 'Call yourself a gentleman! I don't think!' She snorted loudly to show her contempt.
'Come on, come on! Don't let's 'ave any more o' this, please!' from the manager.
'Orl right, old puddin'-face. Keep yer 'air on!' Pincher observed with a smile.
The lookers-on laughed loudly, for the manager was rather unpopular, and his face really was too fat to be pleasant.
'Pudding-face!' he gasped. 'Who are you calling pudding-face?'
But Pincher was out of earshot.
'Request-men an' defaulters—'shun!' bawled the master-at-arms, as the commander passed aft along the quarterdeck and took his stand behind a small scrubbed table upon which were a pile of papers and several ponderous-looking books.
'Petty Officer Weatherley!'
The petty officer left the line, stepped smartly forward to the table, clicked his heels, and saluted.
'Petty Officer William Weatherley,' the M.A.A.[20]went on, 'requests hextension o' leaf till twoP.M.on Monday.'
The commander looked up. 'Can he be spared?' was his first question.
'Request's signed by the torpedo lootenant, sir,' the M.A.A. explained; for Weatherley, being a torpedo gunner's mate by calling, was one of Hatherley's myrmidons.
'Why d'you want this extension?' the commander asked, playing with a pencil.
'Urgent private affairs, sir.'
'Yes, quite so. But what are the private affairs, and why are they urgent? Week-end leave expires at nine o'clock on Monday, you know.'
'I can't very well say, sir,' the petty officer said, glancing at the crowd of ship's corporals round the table. 'My reasons are rather private, sir.'
'Oh, I see. Can you tell me?'
'Yes, sir.'
The commander left the table, beckoned the man to follow him, and walked aft out of earshot of every one else. For quite a minute they talked together, and then the officer nodded, and Weatherley, with a pleased grin, saluted and marched off.
'Request granted, master-at-arms,' the commander observed, coming back to the table. 'Next man.'
The M.A.A. made a note in his book. 'Able Seaman Billings!' he called.
Joshua ambled aft at a jog-trot, halted in front of the table, and, from sheer force of habit, removed his cap.
'Keep yer 'at on!' growled one of the ship's corporals in an undertone. 'You ain't a defaulter!'
The commander turned his face away to hide a smile, and Billings, covered with confusion and rather redder in the face than usual, resumed his headgear.
'Able Seaman Joshua Billings. Requests a turn o' week-end leaf out o' watch.'
'Has he got a substitute?'
'Yessir.'
'Why d' you want leave out of your turn?' the commander asked, eyeing the A.B. with a half-smile hovering round his mouth. 'You've been ashore a good bit lately, haven't you?'
'Yessir, I 'as,' Joshua answered, fidgeting. 'But ye see, sir, it's like this 'ere. I've got werry himportant business ashore 'ere, sir, an' I wants to git it fixed up.'
'What sort of business? Money, or something of that kind?'
'No, sir. 'Ardly that. It's ter do wi' a lady, sir—lady wot lives ashore 'ere an' keeps a sweet an' bacca shop wot sells noospapers. I'm—I'm'—— Joshua paused, licked his lips, and shifted his feet nervously.
The commander smiled. 'Are you—er—in love with the lady?' he asked.
The master-at-arms and one of the ship's corporals cleared their throats noisily.
'Yessir, that's abart it. Yer see, sir,' Billings went on, in a sudden burst of confidence, 'I sez ter meself that it's abart time I started lookin' round fur somethin' ter do w'en I leaves the service, seein' as 'ow I'm close on me pension, an' I sez ter meself'——
'Yes. I quite understand,' the commander interposed kindly. 'Time is short, and you needn't go into details as to how it happened. You've behaved yourself well for the last couple of months, so I'll grant your request. You mustn't make a habit of it, that's all. Look out, too, you don't get into trouble, and, above all'—he looked up with a smile—'beware of evil companions. I wish you luck in your affair, Billings.'
'Thank you, sir. Same to you, sir.'
'Request granted. 'Bout turn, double march!' broke in the M.A.A.
Joshua saluted and trotted off, very much pleased with himself.
Several other requests were dealt with, and then came the turn of the defaulters.
'Ord'nary Seaman Martin!' shouted the M.A.A.
Pincher, arrayed in his best serge suit, in the hope that his smart appearance might mitigate his offence, ran nervously forward and halted in front of the table.
'Orf cap! Ord'nary Seaman William Martin. First, did remain habsent over leaf two an' a narf hours, an' was happrehended an' brought aboard by the naval patrol. Second, did create a disturbance in St John's Street, Weymouth, at 'arf-parst nineP.M.hon th' night o' the eleventh hinstant.'
The commander rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gazed at the buff charge-sheet on the table in front of him. 'Where's the petty officer of the patrol?' he asked, without looking up.
'Petty Officer Bartlett!'
The petty officer hurried forward, and halted with a salute.
'Make your report,' said the commander.
'The night before last, sir, at 'arf-parst nine, I was in St John's Street with the patrol, w'en I sees a bit o' a crowd collected, an' some one tells me that two sailors was fightin'. I 'urries forward, sir, disperses the people with the hassistance o' a policeman, an' finds this 'ere man, sir'—he indicated Martin with his thumb—'fightin' with hanother man.'
'Who was the other man?'
'Ship's stooard's hassistant from the flagship, sir. I've forgot 'is exac' name.'
'Well, go on.'
'Well, sir, I happrehends 'em both, an' takes 'em off an' keeps 'em under harrest, at the same time hinformin' the orficer o' the picket wot I done.'
'Who was the officer of the picket?'
'I was, sir,' said Lieutenant English, coming forward.
'Did you see those men fighting?' asked the commander.
'No, sir, not actually fighting. I saw them both immediately afterwards.'
'Were they drunk?'
'No, sir. They were excited, and the ship's steward's assistant's nose was bleeding badly.' There was no necessity for the officer to describe Pincher's injuries, for that youth had a remarkably fine specimen of a black eye.
'Did they resist the patrol?' the commander asked, turning to Petty Officer Bartlett.
'Not this man, sir. 'E came along quite quiet. The other man kicked up a bit o' a dust.'
'H'm! I see,' the commander observed with his lips twitching.—'What have you got to say?' he added, addressing Martin. 'First, why did you break your leave?'
'Please, sir,' Pincher explained with the air of an injured innocent, 'I 'adn't no intention o' doin' it. I comes down ter th' pier at seven o'clock an' finds the boat jest shoved orf. The clocks wus all wrong, sir. I sez ter meself I'll come orf by the late orficers' boat at 'arf-parst ten; so I goes back, sir, 'as a bit o' supper, an' then, at 'bout 'arf-parst nine, I meets Parkin'——
'Who's Parkin?'
''Im wot I was fightin' wi', sir.'
'Go on.'
'I meets 'im in the street, sir. We ain't the best o' friends, 'cos me an' 'im 'ad a bit o' a shimozzle'——
'Shimozzle!' echoed the commander, looking rather puzzled. 'What on earth's that?'
'Bit o' a dust-up, sir,' Pincher explained.
'Well, go on.'
'Well, sir,' the culprit resumed, 'we 'ad a bit o' a hargument at th' skatin'-rink abart a week ago. 'E was walkin' in the street along o' a lady, sir; but as soon as 'e sees me 'e leaves 'er an' comes across ter me. "You dirty little 'ound!" 'e sez, usin' 'orrible langwidge, "I've got yer now!" "You keep a civil tongue in yer 'ead, Mister Parkin," I sez, polite like. 'E don't wait fur no more, sir, but ups an' 'its me on th' 'ead. I couldn't stand that, sir, so I 'its 'im back. We 'adn't bin at it no more 'n five minutes,' he added regretfully, 'w'en the patrol comes along, sir.' Martin, who had been carefully drilled as to what he had to say by Billings, himself a past-master at the art of inventing excuses, reeled off his tale glibly enough, and then paused for breath.
The commander seemed rather perplexed. 'Why is it that Parkin and yourself are such bitter enemies?' he asked, looking up with a frown. 'Why can't you behave yourselves like ordinary people?'
'It's like this 'ere, sir,' Pincher said, going off into a long-winded and very complicated explanation, which brought in Emmeline, the affair at the skating-rink, and how it had all happened.
'Oh, I see,' the commander observed. 'A girl's really at the bottom of it—what?'
Martin hung his head and made no reply.
'You've got a very good black eye, I see, and a swollen mouth. Did you do him any other damage besides making his nose bleed?'
'Yessir,' said Pincher hopefully, looking up with the ghost of a smile. 'I thinks one o' 'is eyes is bunged up too.'
'Indeed! Well, so far as I can see, it's a question of six of one and half-a-dozen of the other.—Where's his record?' the commander asked, turning to a ship's corporal, who was holding an enormous conduct-book open against his bosom. 'H'm! No entries. Clean sheet. What division's he in?'
'Mine, sir,' said Lieutenant Tickle, coming forward.
'What sort of a man is he? Had any trouble with him?'
'None at all, sir. Does his work quite well.'
The commander turned to the misdemeanant. 'Well,' he said, speaking quite kindly and quietly, 'you haven't been in the service very long, my lad; but the sooner you realise we can't have this sort of thing going on the better. I don't object to fighting—we're all paid to do that when the time comes; but if you want to take on one of your squadron-mates, you'd better do it somewhere where you won't be seen. Brawling in the streets only gets the navy into disrepute, so bear it in mind.' He paused.
Pincher hung his head.
'I can't say which of you was to blame,' the commander went on, 'but I can't overlook your offence. However, it's the first time you've been up before me, so I'll let you off lightly. You'll have seven days No. 10;[21]and next time you want to fight anybody, or anybody wants to fight you, you let me know, and we'll provide you with boxing-gloves, and let you hammer each other on board during the dog watches. This man was bigger than you, eh?'
'Yessir.'
'Well, I'm glad to see you've got pluck, and that you gave him more than he gave you. That's all. Don't come up before me again, mind.'
'Seven days No. 10! 'Bout turn! Double march!' ordered the master-at-arms.
Pincher ran off, rather pleased with himself. It was the first time he had been a defaulter, and he had dreaded the ordeal; but he found the commander was quite human, after all. Moreover, he had expected to be punished far more severely for the affray; while the leave-breaking offence, for which he was liable to a mulet of one day's pay and stoppage of one day's leave, had been completely ignored. The fact of the matter was that the commander, though he took good care not to say so, sympathised with Pincher in his heart of hearts. He liked a man who stood up for himself, and when he had interviewed the other defaulters he called Tickle to his side.
'That fellow Martin of yours,' he said; 'he seems a plucky young devil for his age?'
'He is, sir,' the lieutenant agreed; 'quite a promising lad. I've had my eye on him for some time. He's got plenty of—er—guts too, sir. English tells me that fellow who went for him was double his size.'
'So much the better,' the senior officer grinned. 'I wish he had knocked him out.'
For the next week Pincher was undergoing the rigours of No. 10 punishment. He didn't like it at all. To start with, he had to turn out of his warm hammock at four-thirtyA.M., had his meal-times cut down to the barest minimum, while all his spare time was taken up in rifle exercise, physical drill, or extra work of some kind. It was far too strenuous to be pleasant, particularly as his leave was stopped, and he could not go ashore. However, with Billings's assistance, he found time to write a letter to Emmeline, which the A.B. delivered.
'Dere Miss Figgins'—it ran—'i am in trubble, having got in the rattle for fighting Mister Parkin larst thursday night in Weymouth. i made his nose bleed agen, and bunged up one of his eyes. i got a black eye and a swollen mouth, and seven days No. 10 for my trubble; but i hopes to come ashore agen next sunday. i'm glad he got the wurst of it. Hoping this finds You as it leaves me—[It is to be hoped that Emmeline, also, had not got a black eye and a swollen mouth]—I remains, miss, your obedient servant,'Wm. Martin.'
'Dere Miss Figgins'—it ran—'i am in trubble, having got in the rattle for fighting Mister Parkin larst thursday night in Weymouth. i made his nose bleed agen, and bunged up one of his eyes. i got a black eye and a swollen mouth, and seven days No. 10 for my trubble; but i hopes to come ashore agen next sunday. i'm glad he got the wurst of it. Hoping this finds You as it leaves me—[It is to be hoped that Emmeline, also, had not got a black eye and a swollen mouth]—I remains, miss, your obedient servant,
'Wm. Martin.'
The missive elicited a reply.
'Dear Mr Martin'—it said—'I am sorry to hear that you have been punished, but Mr Billings says it is not serious. I am glad to hear that Mr Parkin got the worst of it. I do not like him. The shindy at the skating-rink was all of his making, and he deserves what he got and more. Mother will be pleased if you will come to tea next Sunday at five o'clockP.M.I will be in, and you can tell us all about it. I hope your face will soon be all right. My Mother says Zambuk ointment cured Father's face when he fell off a cab once, and I have asked Mr Billings to get you some. With compliments, I am yours sincerely,Emmeline Figgins.'
'Dear Mr Martin'—it said—'I am sorry to hear that you have been punished, but Mr Billings says it is not serious. I am glad to hear that Mr Parkin got the worst of it. I do not like him. The shindy at the skating-rink was all of his making, and he deserves what he got and more. Mother will be pleased if you will come to tea next Sunday at five o'clockP.M.I will be in, and you can tell us all about it. I hope your face will soon be all right. My Mother says Zambuk ointment cured Father's face when he fell off a cab once, and I have asked Mr Billings to get you some. With compliments, I am yours sincerely,
Emmeline Figgins.'
For several nights Pincher slept with Emmeline's note beneath his pillow.
'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 threepenceper 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.'
'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.
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;∴ 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.
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.'
'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.
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-fortyP.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 aBelligerentcap-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'——
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 somewhatretroussénose 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!'
Soon afterwards, when the bleak and stormy winter was nearly over, theBelligerentand 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,toujoursgunnery—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.
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.
TheBelligerentwas 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. Thepadreretired 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 vinegaryvino blancoin 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 themattiche. 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.'
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 isesprit de corps.
On this occasion, however, theBelligerent'sguns were possessed of a devil. She did very well, it is true, and came out second in the squadron, but was just beaten by theTremendous. 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 theBelligerent'smess-deck and found its way to the flagship. It was carried off in triumph by the winners; but theBelligerent'sgunlayers 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.