III.
'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 two P.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 nine P.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-thirty A.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.'
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'clock P.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.