“You dear old fool!” John exclaimed. “That isn’t what I meant.... No; it’s just restlessness, I suppose. I feel that all the work we do is so like a housemaid’s—to-day’s routine the same as to-morrow’s. We never build or make anything. For all our work we leave nothing behind.”
“I don’t see your trouble,” Hugh said. “So long as life is pleasant I don’t want to leave anything behind.”
“We are missing so much. We get out of touch. In whatever progress there is we have no part.”
“I know we are missing a great deal. Every letter I get from outside makes me jealous of the people at home. They can go about and see things, and we are shut up day in and day out.”
“How they would shout if they heard you say that!” John broke in. “Mostly they imagine that it is they who are shut in and we who go about—as they say—seeing the world. It’s all wrong. The world doesn’t consist in places but in people. And the only boundaries are boundaries of thought. Think of the people your sister listens to, the books she reads, the opinions that count—coming to her first hand. Men and women from abroad—Germans, French, Americans—she is beginning to be in touch with them all. But the Service boundaries are desperately close-drawn.”
Hugh leaned back in his chair and yawned. “I suppose we are all much the same,” he said. “We all feel shut in—or shut out, rather—though perhaps for reasons different from yours. Sentley wants plants and birds—being a naturalist; and there’s not a plant or a bird in H.M.’s ships. Driss wants Ireland; Driss is almost sick for Ireland sometimes and he can’t go there. And do you remember Tintern?—he was starved for music. He said to me once—dead serious—that if he could get music he would never get drunk. He used to dream about going to Germany and being educated—‘start life all over again with the five-finger exercise,’ he used to say.... And the strange thing is that officers of the Old Navy didn’t feel like that. I suppose they were made of harder stuff. Last leave I asked an old retired Admiral about his snotty days, and he said, ‘No, we didn’t hanker after shore life as you young fellows do. Of course, we were keen enough to get ashore when we could—better food and beds—but I think we were all of us glad in a way to get back to the ship.’”
“But the Navy was smaller then, and more independent of the outside world,” John said. “I dare say your old Admiral felt an almost personal affection for it. But you can’t have affection for a vast machine that is itself only a unit in a greater system of machinery; you can feel loyalty, perhaps, but not affection. It’s like trying to fall in love with a Board of Directors. The Service is too big and impersonal to love. Moreover, it isn’t a free agent. You know as well as anyone what lies behind it.”
“Ibble’s?”
“And more.”
“And Ordith’s?”