CHAPTER XV.
VICE VERSÂ.
"Telegram for you, mum."
Mrs. Aubyn put down her newspaper and took the orange-coloured envelope which her sister's maid had just brought in on a tray. Telegrams were rather unusual at "Anchor Cottage," and the freckled, red-haired girl, with eyes and mouth wide open, stood consumed with ill-concealed curiosity.
But she was disappointed. Deftly Mrs. Aubyn tore the envelope and scanned the contents.
"No answer, Jane," she announced, in a steady voice.
Not until the maid had closed the door did the old lady betray the anguish that the telegram had caused.
"God grant that he is not blinded or crippled for life," she exclaimed, in low, earnest tones; then she re-read the momentous words of the telegram in the vain hope that she had not rightly grasped its significance, and that on second reading the message might not appear so terribly grim:—
"Regret to have to inform you that Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, R.N.R., is lying here seriously wounded."
The telegram was dispatched from Shotley Naval Hospital and bore the signature of one of the medical officers.
"Seriously wounded," she repeated. "An accident, perhaps. I must go to my boy."
She had read all the important news in the morning paper. There had been no mention of a naval engagement, so there could be no other explanation of how Terence received his injuries. She was thankful indeed that she had not gone to Portsmouth for the day with her sister. Thankful, also, that the said relative was not in the house, for in contrast to the presence of mind displayed by Mrs. Aubyn, Miss Wilson possessed a highly-strung temperament that frequently expressed itself in hysterical outbursts.
Mrs. Aubyn consulted a time-table and then rang the bell.
"Jane," said the old lady in even tones, "I want you to run across to Smith's and order a taxi to take me to the station at once, to catch the 9.15 train."
Quickly Terence's mother made her simple preparations. After dressing for the journey she sat down and wrote a note to her sister, explaining the reason for her hasty departure, and stating that she would write the same evening and give full details. Upon second thoughts she did not enclose the telegram, but placed it in her handbag. Then, closing the envelope and sealing it with wax, she gave it to the maid to hand to her mistress on her return.
It was close on four in the afternoon when the train steamed into Harwich station. Making her way through crowds of bluejackets who formed the bulk of the passengers, Mrs. Aubyn called a cab and bade the man drive her to Shotley as quickly as possible.
The cabby looked curiously at her.
"Shotley?" he repeated. "'Tis a long way. It'll cost you a quid, mum—a sovereign. Couldn't do it for less."
"A sovereign!" repeated Mrs. Aubyn aghast.
"Not a penny less, mum," declared the man, stolidly. The old lady's hand tightened on her purse. Her means were strictly limited. A sovereign was to her a large sum. Yet, for her boy's sake——
"Excuse me, madam," exclaimed a deep, pleasant voice.
Mrs. Aubyn turned. The cabby gave vent to an exclamation that, although inaudible, clearly expressed his views upon "fussy toffs who interfered with an honest chap's living."
"Do I understand that you want to go to Shotley?" continued the stranger, a tall, bearded gentleman in the uniform of a naval captain.
"Yes, to the hospital. My son, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, is lying there seriously wounded."
She spoke bravely, laying emphasis upon her boy's rank. She felt certain she could enlist the entire sympathy and aid of a brother-officer, notwithstanding he was a post-captain.
"If you will allow me I will give you a passage in my gig," said the naval officer. "It is only a short distance by water, but quite twenty miles from here by land. I fancy that cabby knew you were a stranger here. My name is O'Rourke—Captain O'Rourke."
Outside the station boys were selling the early evening papers. Catching sight of the naval officer three or four of them made a rush towards him.
"Evening paper, sir. H.M.S. 'Terrier' torpedoed and sunk."
He bought a copy, and without attempting to read it thrust it into his coat pocket.
"When a ship is torpedoed, Captain O'Rourke, are the crew severely injured?" inquired Mrs. Aubyn.
"A strange question to ask," thought the naval man. He glanced swiftly at his companion, trying to read an unexpressed thought that might have prompted her query. Her face betrayed no sign whatever.
"Well, it depends," he answered guardedly. "Unless there are men below, close to the point of impact, there is generally very little damage to personnel. The men would undoubtedly feel the effect of the concussion. When the 'Hogue' and her consorts were torpedoed the loss of life due to the actual explosion was absurdly small in comparison to the number of men drowned. Of course, if the torpedo strikes the magazine and caused an internal explosion, that is quite another matter. But excuse me, what made you ask that question?"
"My son was on the 'Terrier,'" she replied simply.
"I hope——" he began; then he stopped and pulled out the newspaper.
"There are no details," he continued. "In fact, I know far more about the disaster and how it occurred than is stated in the Press. The number of casualties is given but no names."
Assisting Mrs. Aubyn into the waiting gig, Captain O'Rourke gave orders to the coxswain to make for Shotley Pier. Then, having acted the part of glorified ferryman, and handed the old lady into the charge of a petty-officer with instructions to escort her to the Sick-Quarters, Captain O'Rourke returned to his ship.
The short winter's afternoon had now given place to night. Well it was that Terence's mother had a stalwart seaman to show her the way, for, owing to possible air-raids, both sides of Harwich Harbour were shrouded in darkness.
"Officers' wing, ma'am," announced the petty-officer. "If you'll write particulars in the visitors' book you'll soon be attended to by that chap—he's one of the assistant ward-masters."
After a few moments' delay Mrs. Aubyn was ushered into a fairly large room in which were half a dozen occupied beds. Eagerly she scanned the faces of the patients. None of the five who on hearing the visitor turned in her direction bore the slightest resemblance to her son. The sixth bed—ominous sign—had a screen drawn round it.
A nursing sister walked silently up to the assistant ward-master and asked a question in an undertone, then turning to the visitor:—
"Mrs. Aubyn, I believe. You have come to see your son?"
"I have; is he dangerously hurt?" she asked.
The nurse inclined her head.
"I am afraid so," she replied gently. "The surgeons are holding another consultation tomorrow. It may mean amputation of the right leg, but I think he'll get over it."
"Amputation of the right leg ... he'll get over it."
Mrs. Aubyn mechanically repeated the words as she followed the nursing sister towards the screened bed. After all, it might have been worse. Throughout the tedious journey the idea that persistently occupied her mind was that her only son had been deprived of his sight. She felt almost inclined to weep with relief. Compared with a life-long existence deprived of the light of day, the lot of a maimed hero—whose sacrifice had been for King and Country—was light indeed. And, besides, he would be invalided out of the Service. She, his devoted mother, would spend no more sleepless nights endeavouring to picture her son somewhere on the wild North Sea, beset by perils that had never, before the present war, threatened the gallant men who defended our shores.
She gave no sign of the emotions that surged within her. Outwardly she was calm and self-possessed—a pattern of a modern Spartan mother.
The nurse moved aside the screen.
On the bed, his forehead swathed in surgical bandages, and with a rest over his injured limb, was an unconscious man. His face was pallid, his closed eyes rimmed with red. His massive features, short turned-up nose, long upper lip and square jaw unmistakably stamped him as a son of the Emerald Isle.
"But this is not my son," said Mrs. Aubyn calmly.
"Not your son?" repeated the nurse. "Why, this is Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn."
"He is some other poor mother's son," declared Mrs. Aubyn; then, with unwonted eagerness she asked, "Were any of the other officers missing?"
"I think not," replied the nursing sister. "If you will take a chair for a few minutes I will make inquiries. Perhaps you would like a cup of tea in my room," she added, noticing the visitor's langour.
"Thank you," was the grateful reply. "I would."
While Mrs. Aubyn was drinking her tea the nurse held a hurried consultation with the ward-master and one of the doctors.
"Now you mention it," remarked the latter, "I did notice that the patient looked a bit tough for a commissioned officer. A sub., even though he be a reserve man, does not as a rule decorate his chest with fanciful tattoo designs. Have you any of the 'Terrier's' ship's company who can identify the patient?"
The result of the consultation was that an able seaman, suffering from slight shock, was brought into the officer's ward.
The man's weather-beaten face relaxed into a broad grin when he saw the supposed sub-lieutenant.
"Strike me pink!" he ejaculated in undisguised astonishment, and heedless of the fact that he was in the presence of a superior officer. "Mike O'Milligan will have the time of his life when he wakes up to find himself in with the officers."
"Mike O'Milligan?" repeated the surgeon.
"Ay; first-class stoker—that's what he is," declared the seaman, with the air of a man who is instrumental in denouncing an impostor. He seemed to imagine that it was a piece of audacity on the part of the luckless O'Milligan, in spite of the fact that he was unconscious when brought into the hospital.
"Did you see Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn after the explosion?" asked the nurse.
"Ay, ma'am. He was all right. Saw him with my own eyes on the quarter-deck when the hands mustered aft. Don't remember seeing him after that, though."
"I think there has been a mistake, Mrs. Aubyn," said the nurse on returning to her private sitting-room, where Terence's mother was striving to forget doubts and fears in a cup of tea. "A stoker was admitted to the ward under the inexplicable error that he was your son. Dr. Hardiman is making inquiries, and we hope to clear the matter up satisfactorily. You need not worry about finding a hotel; we can put you up for the night."
The nurse remained in conversation with the old lady for some minutes, then, excusing herself, returned to her duty.
Left to herself Mrs. Aubyn remembered that she promised to write to her sister. The news she was able to give was far from satisfactory; in fact, the position of affairs was very vague. Nevertheless, she sat down to write an account of what had occurred up to the present time, in the hope that before she had finished the letter Dr. Hardiman's investigations might produce definite and satisfactory results.
Suddenly the door opened. In the subdued gleam cast by the electric table-lamp Mrs. Aubyn saw the figure of a man dressed in a long, pale blue coat with broad red collar and cuffs. His face was darkened by the shade of the lamp.
Thinking the intruder was one of the hospital orderlies, the old lady turned to her work, only to feel a pair of hands grasping her shoulders.
"Hullo, mother! What brings you here?" asked Terence.
It was all because of the fact that Terence gave his great-coat to the unconscious man he had rescued from the mess-deck of the sinking "Terrier" that the sub. and the stoker had changed places.
Upon Aubyn losing consciousness Captain Holloway feared that the sub. had been wounded, and that he had kept the knowledge to himself. A hasty examination by the naval surgeon resulted in the satisfactory report that the young officer was not hurt beyond suffering from the shock of the explosion.
Captain Holloway, of course, could not stay with his subordinate. He had plenty of work to do, looking after the survivors of the ship's company, sending telegraphic reports to the Admiralty, and tackling fifty other problems to which the sudden catastrophe had contributed.
Owing to the limited room at the Sick-Quarters of the little village, orders were received to send the wounded members of the crew to Shotley. A fleet of motor-cars, lent by the well-to-do residents in the district, was quickly organized and the work of transporting the sufferers was put in hand.
A message had already been received at Shotley warning the medical authorities to prepare for the reception of one officer and so many lower-deck patients. The latter were to be distributed amongst the various wards.
A small crowd of sick-berth attendants were in waiting when the motor-cars arrived. The worst cases were taken into the building on stretchers. Amongst these were Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, clad in cloth trousers and sweater, and Stoker O'Milligan decked in borrowed plumage—to wit, a naval officer's great-coat. Both men were still unconscious.
Consequently it was excusable that the sick-bay staff made a slight mistake. O'Milligan, after his leg was properly set in splints, was put to bed in the officer's ward, while Terence was dumped into the only vacant cot in one of the men's wards.
He was a puzzle to the sick-berth attendants. They knew that the one officer mentioned in the telegram had arrived. They could find no mark of identification on the clothing of the supposed seaman. Being particularly busy they let the matter of identification slide, thinking that on the patient's return to consciousness he would be able to give the necessary information as to his name and rating.
When the doctor went his rounds he gave directions for a sleeping draught to be administered to the patient as soon as he regained his senses.
Ten minutes after the medico's departure Terence opened his eyes. Instantly the alert attendant pounced down, and, without giving the patient a chance to speak, made him swallow the draught. Consequently it was not until six o'clock in the evening that the sub. awoke, feeling little the worse for his prolonged rest.
He sat up and looked round the room. His surroundings were strangely unfamiliar. The very bareness of the place had a lower-deck atmosphere.
He beckoned to the sick-bay attendant.
"What's up now, mate?" asked that worthy. "Feeling better?"
Somewhat taken aback by the familiarity of the man, Terence asked where he was, and was informed that he was in "B" block of Shotley Sick-Quarters.
"What's your name and rating, chum?" asked the man, producing a book and fingering a stump of indelible pencil.
Like a flash the situation became apparent to the sub. He remembered his great-coat—he seemed particularly unfortunate in the matter of great-coats, he thought. He had lent it to the stoker, and as a penalty he had been mistaken for the man he had rescued. The ludicrous side of the affair tickled him.
"A sub-lootenant?" queried the man incredulously. "Seems likely, eh? Either you're barmy, or else you're trying some little game on. Won't work, chum. Who's your raggie?"
"Raggie," in lower-deck parlance, is a term used to denote a man's particular pal. It was the sick-berth attendant's idea to get one of the ship's company whom the patient named to identify the fellow who was under the hallucination that he was one of the officers.
"Try Captain Holloway," suggested Terence. The man shook his head more in sorrow than in anger.
"It would go hard with you, chum, if I did," he remarked. "Your skipper wouldn't care to be bothered at this time o' night. 'Sides, he isn't here."
The patient in the next cot—of the crew of a destroyer that had been in some minor action—began to grow interested.
"Bill," he whispered in a stage aside, "'umour 'im. He's dotty. I knowed a chap once who looked just like 'im. He was as mad as a 'atter. He would 'ave it he was the Right 'Onerable Somebody. Got fair violent if you didn't believe 'im. So, 'umour 'im, says I."
Terence, overhearing these remarks, laughed.
"I don't claim to be anything so grand as a Right Honourable, my man," he said.
"Maybe, then, you're not so bad as the chap wot I was talking to the poultice-slapper about. 'E was sent to Yarmouth Loonatic Asylum, pore chap; maybe you won't need to be if you pulls yourself together," retorted the seaman, with brutal candour.
"Look here, my man," said Terence authoritatively, addressing the "poultice-slapper," otherwise the sick-berth attendant, "you'll please fetch the surgeon on duty—and be quick about it."
There was something in Aubyn's tone that caused the man to wonder whether, after all, there had been a mistake. He was one who was disinclined to take any risks in the matter. He hurried off, striving to recollect, as he went, what he had said to the unknown patient, and whether he had used indiscreet language to one who might really be a commissioned officer.
The doctor arrived, tardily. Although the circumstances had been explained to him, he, too, had his doubts. Patients suffering from shock were apt to be light-headed upon recovering consciousness.
He was a little, round-faced man, with a shiny pate surmounted by a tonsure-like ring of jet black hair. War had dealt kindly with him. Formerly a country medical practitioner in a poor district, having great difficulty in making both ends meet, he had taken advantage of the Admiralty regulations for the entry of Temporary Surgeons. With free quarters, a home billet, and a comfortable rate of pay, he was now "having the time of his life."
He lacked the general brusqueness of naval doctors when dealing with men. He was eminently a doctor; as a naval officer he made an indifferent show.
He was sympathetic as he questioned Aubyn, and although he observed him narrowly he saw no sign that would be bound to betray to a medical man any symptoms of lunacy.
"You are well enough to get up," he said at length. "Get your things on."
Somewhat disdainfully Terence clothed himself in the garments provided—rough underclothing and an ugly dressing-gown, arrangements that My Lords think fit to provide for the lower-deck patients.
"Fit as a fiddle," remarked the doctor.
"Fit for a good dinner, anyhow," added Terence, who was feeling desperately hungry—the craving for food accentuated by the fact that one of the patients had just been given some roast chicken.
"Ordinary seamen don't talk about having dinner in the evening," thought the surgeon. "Perhaps there's some truth in his assertion after all. I'll get him into the next ward; there are two of the 'Terrier' men there."
Nor was the doctor greatly astonished when, as the quaintly-garbed patient followed him into the ward, the men recognized their officer, stood up and smartly saluted.
"Well, Smith," said Terence, addressing a seaman-gunner by name, "how goes it?"
"Can't complain, sir. Got a proper whack in the ribs. 'Tain't much to grouse about. And how's yourself, sir, if I may make so bold as to ask? I seed the cap'n catch you as you pitched to starboard."
In a few minutes Terence was taken to the officers' ward. Here he was informed that his mother was waiting to see him. He wondered why. His condition was hardly serious enough for the medical authorities to send for her, so he settled the matter by going, just as he was, to the room where Mrs. Aubyn was waiting.