Naval Occasions, and Some Traits of the Sailor-man

  *XII.*

  *THAT WHICH REMAINED.*

  Oddly enough, no record exists of the origin of his nickname."Periwinkle" he had been all through crammer and _Britannia_ days. Assenior Signal Midshipman of the Mediterranean Flagship, he was still"The Periwinkle," small for his years, skinny as a weasel, with straightblack hair, and grey eyes set wide apart in a brown face; the eyelashes,black and short, grew very close together, which gave him the perpetualappearance of having recently coaled ship and neglected to clean thedust from his eyes.

  The Signal Midshipmen of a fleet, especially the Mediterranean Fleet ofthose days, were essentially keen on their "job." The nature of thework and inter-ship rivalry provided for that. But with the Periwinkle,Signals were more than a mere "job." They formed his creed andrecreation: the flag-lockers were tarpaulin-covered shrines; thesemaphores spoke oracles by day as did the flashing lamps by night. Andthe high priest of these mysteries was the Flag-Lieutenant, a RugbyInternational and right good fellow withal, but, to the Periwinkle, avery god who walked among men.

  To understand something of his hero-worship you would need to have beenon the bridge when the Fleet put out to sea for tactics. It wassufficient for the Periwinkle to watch this immaculate, imperturbablebeing snap out a string of signals apparently from memory, as he sooften did, while hoist after hoist of flags leaped from the lockers andsped skywards, and the bridge was a whirl of bunting. Even the Admiral,who spoke so little and saw so much, was in danger of becoming a merepuppet in the boy's sight.

  But there was more than this to encourage his ardour. TheFlag-Lieutenant, recognising the material of a signalman of unusualpromise, would invite the Periwinkle to his cabin after dinner andunfold, with the aid of printed diagrams and little brass oblongsrepresenting ships, the tactical and strategical mysteries of his craft.There was one unforgettable evening, too, when the Periwinkle was biddento dinner ashore at the Malta Club. The dinner was followed by a dance,whereat, in further token of esteem, the Flag-Lieutenant introduced himto a lady of surpassing loveliness--The Fairest (the Periwinkle wasgiven to understand) of All the Pippins.

  The spring gave place to summer, and the island became a glaringwilderness of sun-baked rock. For obscure reasons of policy the Fleetremained at Malta instead of departing on its usual cruise, and weekafter week the sun blazed pitilessly down on the awnings of the anchoredships. Week by week the Periwinkle grew more brown and angular, andlost a little more of his wiry activity. The frequent stampedes up anddown ladders with signals for the Admiral sent him into a lather like anervous horse; at the end of a watch his hair was wet with perspirationand his whites hung clammily on his meagre limbs. After a while, too,he began to find the glare tell, and to ease the aching of his eyes, hadsometimes to shift the telescope from one eye to the other in the middleof a signal. As a matter of fact, there was no necessity for him toread signals at all: that was part of the signalman's duty. And if hehad chosen to be more leisurely in his ascent and descent of ladders, noone would have called him to account. But his zeal was a flame withinhim, and terror lest he earned a rebuke from the Flag-Lieutenant forlack of smartness, lent wings to his tired heels.

  It was August when the Flag-Lieutenant sought out the Fleet Surgeon inthe Wardroom after dinner, and broached the subject of the Periwinkle.

  "P.M.O., I wish you'd have a look at that shrimp; he's knocking himselfup in this heat. He swears he's all right, but he looks fit for nothingbut hospital."

  So the Periwinkle was summoned to the Fleet Surgeon's cabin. Vehementlyhe asserted that he had never felt better in his life, and the most thefatherly old Irishman could extort from him was the admission that hehad not been sleeping particularly well. As a matter of fact he had notslept for three nights past; but fear lest he should be "put on thelist" forbade his admitting either this or the shooting pain behind hiseyes, which by now was almost continual. The outcome of the interview,however, was an order to turn in forthwith. Next morning the Periwinklewas ignominiously hoisted over the side in a cot--loudly protesting atthe indignity of not even being allowed to walk--en route for BighiHospital as a fever patient.