“In the circumstances, Engineer-Commander—no delay.”
CHAPTER XVII
DECISION
I
When John said to Driss that he had made up his mind, he thought that the decision at which he had arrived was unalterable. If it were possible, he would leave the Service. The resentment he felt against Aggett coloured his dreams of an impossible future, in which he was to be free to learn and to write, free to build, free to love, free to fight at no permanent disadvantage for the possession of whom and what he loved—free as no one of his generation could ever be. But even before relief came by the Captain’s orders he had begun to reconsider his decision, determined that a step so momentous and irretrievable should not be taken in hot blood. By the rules of the Service he, a midshipman, was unable to resign. Midshipmen must be withdrawn by their parents, and this implied that John could act only through his mother. If the responsibility had been his own he would have accepted it at once; for his own needs, and, he thought, the price he would have to pay for their satisfaction, were indeed clear to him. A price, however, would be demanded not of him only. His mother was glad that he was in the Navy, settled in a profession that would provide him with shelter and clothing, food and drink; and now so far advanced in it that in less than two years she would cease to pay the annual fifty pounds demanded by the Admiralty of the parents of midshipmen, and John, receiving the daily five shillings that was the pay of sub-lieutenants, would be able to keep himself. His mother had been so generous to him, had given him so much of the little she possessed, that John could not bear to demand more of her. The education received by him at Osborne and Dartmouth had cost the State more than his mother had paid. If he left the Service before the Service had had time to reap in his labour an interest on its outlay, the Admiralty would justly require of his mother that she should make good at least some part of its loss. She would be forced at last to draw upon that small capital which, for all her need, she had never touched. John knew that the Admiralty, a stern, and yet on occasion a strangely generous department, was sometimes disposed to waive its rights; but he could not imagine his proud mother in the part of the suppliant widow. She would make no appeal for sympathy or exceptional treatment. “They have a right to this money,” she would say, “and they shall have it in full.” And she would add: “I’m glad to pay it, John, if it makes for your happiness.” John could hear her saying that. It gave him pause.
This preliminary cost of freedom it would, however, be possible, though inconvenient, to pay. Beyond it lay a problem not easily soluble—perhaps impossible to solve. By leaving the Service he would cut himself off from the only profession for which his specialized training had fitted him. He would have to be educated again, apprenticed again. At a time when he might have been earning enough money for his own support more money would have to be invested in his career. It was probable that, for all his mother’s good-will, the money could not be produced. The meshes of the net were close and strong.
So John fought to reverse his decision and succeeded at least in postponing the letter by which his mother should be made aware of it. Delay was easy, almost pleasant; for he dreaded above all else the answer, which despite his hopes he felt was inevitable, that her financial position made his second apprenticeship, and therefore his withdrawal, impracticable. Such an answer would shatter in a moment the dreams by which he now lived. Until it came hope would endure; by its arrival hope would be definitely banished. He dared not think of his life after that. He must leave the Service soon or not at all, for every year would make a fresh start more difficult. If he was forced to realize that he could not be withdrawn as a midshipman it would be made plain to him—so plain that he would not be able to deceive himself—that he must be a naval officer so long as he lived. His visions of Oxford, of the House, of miraculous literary success, extravagant though he knew them to be, were yet based upon possibility. This possibility once removed, as it would be by his mother’s negative, the visions themselves must perish and their consolation pass away.
Not till August was nearly over did the time come when action could no longer be delayed. An incident entirely unconnected with John’s desire to leave the Service impelled him to write the letter in which his desire was expressed. The squadron had been carrying out Commander-in-Chief’s firing. It had fallen to an elevation party from the Pathshire to board the tug which towed the target, and to spot the fall of the flagship’s shot. John and Cunwell had gone with Ordith. It was their duty to sit aft in the tug so that they were in line with the target, and to record by means of a stop-watch and the Rake instrument the time and effect of each salvo. Ordith was to observe, calling to John, who would write them down, the errors over or short in yards. Cunwell was to keep his eyes on the flagship, and, as the guns flashed, say “Fire,” John pressing the knob of the stop-watch and entering the time on his sheet.
Rain fell so fast during the forenoon that it had the effect of fog and made firing impossible. The elevation party went to the Pathshire for lunch, and, the rain having by then ceased, returned in the afternoon to the tug. The target was towed by a wire hawser, which was intended to ride from side to side over the great hoop-shaped girders with which the tug was fitted. It had been found, however, that if the wire were given free play, instead of passing evenly over the riding-hoops as the tug altered course and the target shifted from one quarter to the other, it held up momentarily in the centre, swung across at high speed, and was thus subjected continually to sudden stresses that threatened to break it. To prevent this, the wire was secured by port and starboard steadying-lines, and, no longer free to travel over the riding-hoops, was kept rigidly amidships. This arrangement was itself dangerous, and the tug’s crew were warned that in no circumstances were they to go aft of the point of attachment of the steadying lines.