*XVII.*
*"FAREWELL AND ADIEU!"*
The Junior Watch-keeper paused at the corner of the street and smote thepavement with the ferrule of his stick.
"Lord!" he ejaculated, "to think this is the last night! Look at itall...." Dusk had fallen, and with it a wet mist closed down on thetown. The lights from the shop windows threw out a warm orange glowthat was reflected off the wet pavements and puddles in the street. Theshrill voice of a paper-boy, hawking the evening paper, dominated allother sounds for a moment. "Eve ... nin' Er-r-rald!" he called. Then,seeing the two figures standing irresolute on the kerb, ran towardsthem.
"Evenin' 'Erald! sir? Naval 'Pointments, sir ... To-night's Naval'Point----"
The Lieutenant shook his head half impatiently, then added as ifspeaking to himself, "No--not yet." It was such a familiar eveningfeature of life ashore in a Dockyard Port, that hoarse, "jodelling" cry.One bought the paper and glanced through the columns over agin-and-bitters at the Club. But this was the last night: everyfamiliar sensation and experience should be flavoured in their turn--erethey two went hence and were no more seen!
The Young Doctor at his elbow gave a curt laugh: "We shan't be veryinterested in the Appointments to-morrow night, Jerry!" An itinerantseller of violets drifted down the pavement and thrust his fragrantmerchandise upon them.
"What shall we do first?" asked the Junior Watch-keeper. "Let's go andhave our hair cut and a shampoo."
"I hate having my hair cut," pleaded the Surgeon.
"Never mind: it's all part of the show. You won't get another chance oftalking football to a barber for years.... And that awful green stuffthat he rubs in with a bit of sponge--oh, come on!"
Together they drifted up the familiar street, pausing to stare into shopwindows with a sudden renewal of interest that was half pathetic. Ajeweller's shop, throwing a glittering white arc of light across thepavement arrested their progress.
"I never realised before," mused the Surgeon, "how these fellows caterfor the love-lorn Naval Officer. Look at those brooches: naval crowns;hat-pins made of uniform buttons, bracelets with flags done inenamel--D-E-A-R-E-S--" he spelt out, and broke off abruptly, "Pouf!What tosh!"
The other was fumbling with the door-latch. "Half a minute, Peter,there's something I've just remembered..." and vanished insidemuttering. The Young Doctor caught the words "some little thing," andwaited outside. The traffic of the street, a fashionable shopping streetin a Dockyard town at 6 P.M., streamed past him as he stood therewaiting. Girls in furs, with trim ankles, carrying parcels or Badmintonraquets, hurried along, pausing every now and again to glance into anattractive shop window. Several tweed-clad figures, shouldering golfclubs, passed in the direction of the railway station; one or two noddeda salutation as they recognised him. Little pigtailed girls with tightskirts enclosing immature figures, of a class known technically as the"Flapper," drifted by with lingering, precocious stares. The horns ofthe motors that whizzed along the muddy street sounded far and near.They, together with the clang and rumble of tram-cars a few streetsaway, and the voices of the paper-boys, dominated in turn all othersounds in the mirky night air. The man with the basket of violetsshuffled past again, and left a faint trail of fragrance lingering. Longafter that night, in the uttermost parts of the earth he remembered it,and the half-caught scent of violets, drifting from a perfume shop inSaigon, was destined to conjure up for the Surgeon a vision of thatglittering street, with its greasy pavement and hurrying passers-by, andof a pair of grey eyes that glanced back for an instant over theirowner's furs....
The Junior Watch-keeper reappeared, buttoning up his coat. "Sorry tohave kept you waiting, Peter," and fell into step beside his companion.
Half an hour later they emerged from the hairdresser's establishment,clipped and anointed as to the head.
"Now," breathed the Lieutenant, "where to?"
"Sawdust Club!" said the Surgeon. They crossed the road and turned up anarrow passage-way. As they quitted the street, a diminutive boy, withan old, wizened face and an unnaturally husky voice, wormed his way inunder the Young Doctor's elbow, "'Erald, sir? Latest, sir! Naval--"The Surgeon slipped a sixpenny bit into his hand and took the profferedpaper, still damp from the press. They entered a long vault-likeapartment, its floor strewn with sawdust and long counters and a row ofwooden stools extending down each side. Behind the counters rose tiersof barrels, and in one corner was a sandwich buffet, with innumerableneat piles of sandwiches in a glass case. The place was crowded withcustomers: a bull-dog sauntered about the floor, nosing among thesawdust for pieces of biscuit. As the new-comers entered several of theinmates, perched on their wooden stools, looked round and smiled agreeting.
"Ah-ha! Last night in England, eh?"
"Yes," replied the Junior Watch-keeper, "the last night." He sniffedthe mingled aroma of sawdust, tobacco-smoke, and the faint pungent smellof alcohol. "Good old pot-house! Good old Sawdust Club! Dear, dear,curried egg sandwiches! ... _And_ a drop of sherry white-wine 'what theorficers drinks'--yes, in a dock-glass, and may the Lord ha' mercy onus!"
* * * * *
"And now," said the Young Doctor, "a 'chop-and-chips,' I think."
"A mixed-grill," substituted the other. "Kidney and sausage and tomatoand all the rest of it. Oh yes, a 'mixed-grill.'"
They entered swing-doors, past a massive Commissionaire, who salutedwith a broad smile. "They're askin' for you inside, sir," he whisperedjocularly to the Junior Watch-keeper. "Wonderin' when you was comin'along.... Sailin' to-morrow, ain't you, sir?"
Together the "last-nighters" descended a flight of carpeted stairs andentered a subterranean, electric-lit lounge bar. A dozen or more ofNaval men were standing about the fireplace and sitting in more or lessgraceful attitudes in big saddle-bag arm-chairs. The majority wereconducting a lively badinage with a pretty, fair-haired girl who leanedover the bar at one end of the room. She smiled a greeting as thenew-comers entered, and emerged from her retreat. The JuniorWatch-keeper doffed his hat with a low bow and hung it on the stand.Then he bent down, swung her into his arms, and handed her like a dollto the Young Doctor, who in turn deposited her on the lap of a seatedOfficer reading the evening paper. "Look what I've found."
With a squeal she twisted herself to her feet and retreated behind thebar again, her hands busy with the mysteries of hair-pins.
"Hullo! hullo!" Greetings sounded on all sides. A tallbroad-shouldered figure with a brown beard elbowed his way through thecrush and smote the Junior Watch-keeper on the breast-bone.
"Dear sakes! Where have you sprung from? I just come from the PersianGulf, and it's a treat to see a familiar face!"
"We're off to China again to-morrow," said the other, a half-suppressednote of exultation in his voice--"China-side again! Do youremember...?"
The bearded one nodded wistfully. "Do I not! ... You lucky devils....Oh, you lucky devils! Here, Molly----"
* * * * *
The waiter sought them presently with the time-honoured formula: "Yourgrill's spoilin', gentlemen, please," and they took their places in themirror-walled grill-room, where the violins were whimpering somepizzicato melody. A girl with dark eyes set a shade obliquely in a paleface, seated at the grand piano, looked across as they entered andsmiled a faint greeting to the Young Doctor.
"I think we're entitled to a voluntary from the pianist to-night," saidthe other presently, his mouth full of mixed-grill. "What shall we askfor?"
The other thought for a moment. "There's a thing ... I don't know whatit's called ... it's like wind in the leaves--_she_ knows." He beckoneda waiter and whispered. The girl with the pale face looked across theroom and for an instant met the eyes of the Young Doctor; then she ranher fingers lightly over the keys and drifted into Sinding's_Fruehlingsrauschen_.
The Surgeon nodded delightedly. "That's the thing.
... Good girl. Idon't know what it's called, but it reminds me of things." He munchedcheerfully, pausing anon to bury his face in a tankard of beer, and theyfell to discussing prospects of sport up the Yangtse. Once or twice asshe played, the girl behind the piano allowed her dark eyes to travelacross the crowded grill-room over the heads of the diners, and herglance lingered a moment at the table where the two "last-nighters" wereseated. The first violin, who was also a musician, sat with a raptexpression, holding his fiddle across his knees. When the piece was overhe started abruptly--so abruptly it was evident that for him a spell hadbroken. He looked up at the pianist with a queer, puzzled expression,as if half-resentful of something.
The Young Doctor was arranging forks and a cruet-stand in a diagram onthe table-cloth. "There was a joss-house here, if you remember, and theguns were here ... the pigeon came over that clump of bamboo...." Theother, leaning across the table, nodded with absorbed interest.
/TB
The Lieutenant glanced at his watch. "Come along; we must be moving ifwe're going to the 'Palace.'" They paid their bill, tipped the waiterin a manner that appeared to threaten him with instant dislocation ofthe spine, and walked up the tiled passage that led past the open doorof the lounge. From her vantage behind the bar inside, the girl some onehad addressed as "Molly" caught a glimpse of their retreating figures.She slipped out through the throng of customers, most of whom had dined,and were talking to each other over their port and liqueurs, into thequiet of the corridor.
"Jerry!" she called; "Mr----"
"Lord!" ejaculated the Junior Watch-keeper, "I'd forgotten--" He turnedquickly on his heel. "Hullo, Molly! We're coming back presently. Butthat reminds me..." he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and the Surgeonstrolled slowly on up the steps, round a bend, and was lost to view.
The girl gave a little breathless laugh. "That's what you all say, youboys. And you never do come back.... _You_ weren't going withoutsaying good-bye to me, were you?"
"No, no, Molly, of course I wasn't: and look here, old lady, here's agadget I got for you--" he fumbled with the tissue paper enclosing alittle leather case.
The girl stood with one hand on the lapel of his coat, twisted a buttonbackwards, and forwards. "Jerry, I--I wanted to thank you ... you werea real brick to me, that time. It saved my life, goin' to theSanatorium, an' I couldn't never have afforded it...." Her carefulgrammar became a shade confused.
The man gave a little, deep laugh of embarrassment. "Rot! Molly,that's all over and forgotten. No more nasty coughs now, eh?" Hepatted her shoulder clumsily.
"An' mind you drop me a line when that fathom of trouble of yours comesup to the scratch, and send me a bit of wedding-cake--here, hang on tothis thing.... No, it's nothing; only a little brooch.... Good-bye,old lady--good-bye. Good luck to you, and don't forget to----"
The girl raised her pretty, flushed face and gave a quick glance up anddown the deserted corridor. "Ain't you--aren't you going to--saygood-bye ... properly--Jerry?"
The Junior Watch-keeper bent down. "'Course ... and another for luck...!Good-bye, dear; good-bye...!"
The Young Doctor was waiting with his nose flattened against thedarkened window of a gunsmith's opposite when the Lieutenant joined him.His silence held a vague hint of disapproval as they fell into step."That girl," he ventured presently, "isn't she a bit fond of you, oldthing?"
The Junior Watch-keeper paused to light a pipe. "I--I don't think so,Peter. Not more than she is of a dozen others." He glanced at hiscompanion: "You don't think I've been up to any rotten games, do you?"The other shook his head with quick protest. "But I like her awfully,and she's a jolly good little sport. They all are, taking them allround, in a Naval Port. It's a rotten life when you think of it ...cooped up there in that beastly atmosphere, year in, year out, listeningto everlasting Service shop, or being made love to by half-tight fools.Their only refuge from it is in marriage--if they care to take advantageof some young ass. Who else do they meet...? The marvel of it is notthat a few come to grief, but that so many are so jolly straight. Thatgirl to-night--Molly--I suppose she has refused half a dozen N.O.'s.Prefers to wait till some scallywag in her own class can afford to takeher away out of it. And I've heard her talking like a Mother to a rortyMidshipman--a silly young ass who was drinking like a fish and wastinghis money and health pub-crawling. She shook him to the core. Lordknows, I don't want to idealise barmaids--p'raps I'd be a better man ifI'd seen less of them myself--but----"
The Surgeon gripped his elbow soothingly. "I know--_I_ know, old son.Don't get in a stew! And as for seeing less of them ... it's hard tosay. Unless a man knows people ashore, and is prepared to put on his'superfine suitings' and pay asinine calls when he might be playing golfor cricket, where else is he to speak to a woman all the days of hislife? Dances...? I can't dance."
They had turned into the main thoroughfare, and the traffic thatthronged the pavements and roadway made conversation difficult. Theliberty men from scores of ships in the port streamed to and fro: somearm-in-arm with quietly-dressed servant girls and shop girls; othersuproarious in the company of befeathered women. At short intervalsalong the street a flaring gin-palace or cinema-theatre flung smudges ofapricot-coloured light on to the greasy pavements and the faces ofpassers-by. Trams clanged past, and every now and again a blue-jacketor military foot-patrol, belted and gaitered, moved with watchful eyesand measured gait along the kerb.
As they neared the music-hall the throng grew denser. On all sides theWest Country burr filled the night, softening even the half-caught oathwith its broad, kindly inflection. Men from the garrison regimentsmingled with the stream of blue-clad sailors. A woman hawking orangesfrom the kerb raised her shrill voice, thrusting the cheap fruit underthe noses of passers-by. A group of young Stokers, lounging round avendor of hot chestnuts, were skylarking with two brazen-voiced girls.At the doorway of the music-hall, a few yards away, a huge man in liverybegan to bawl into the night, hoarsely incoherent.
The two officers mounted the steps together, and, as one obtainedtickets from the booking-office, the other turned with a little smile tolook down the mile-long vista of lights and roaring humanity. Thescintillant tram-cars came swaying up the street from the direction ofthe Dockyard: on either side the gleaming windows of the shops thatstill remained open--the tattooists, the barbers, tobacconists, thefried-fish and faggot shops, and the host of humbler tradesmen who pliedmost of their trade at this hour--grew fainter and duller, until theydwindled away to a point under the dark converging house-tops. A girl,shouting some shameless jest, broke away from the horse-play round thechestnut-oven, and thrust herself, reeling with laughter, through thepassing crowd. A burly Marine caught her by the waist as she wriggledpast, and kissed her dexterously without stopping in his stride. Hiscompanion smirked appreciation of the feat, and glanced back over hisshoulder....
The watcher on the steps turned and followed the other up the broadstairway.
* * * * *
A man with a red nose and baggy trousers was singing a song about hismother-in-law and a lodger. His accents were harshly North Country, andout of the paint-streaked countenance, his eyes--pathetic, brownmonkey-eyes--roamed anxiously over the audience, as if even he hadlittle enough confidence in the humour of his song.
The Lieutenant leaned back in his seat and refilled his pipe. "Isn't itwonderful to think that when we come home again in three years' timethat chap with the baggy trousers and red nose--or his twin-brother,anyhow--will still be singing about the same old mother-in-law!"
Presently a stout, under-clad woman skipped before the footlights andcommenced some broadly suggestive patter. The audience, composed forthe most part of blue-jackets and Tommies, roared delight at eachdoubtful sally. She ended with a song that had a catchy, popularrefrain, and the house took it up with a great burst of song.
"Hark at 'em!" whispered the Surgeon. "Don't they love it all! Yet hervoice is nothing short of
awful, her song means nothing on earth, andher anatomy--every line of it--ought to be in the museum of the RoyalCollege of Surgeons.... Let's go and have a drink."
They ascended the stairway to the promenade, and passed under acurtain-hung archway into a long bar. The atmosphere was clouded withtobacco smoke, and reeked of spirits and cheap, clinging scent. From arecess in one corner a gramophone blared forth a modern rag-time, and afew women, clasped by very callow-looking youths, were swaying to a"One-step" in the middle of the carpeted space. Behind the bar twotired-looking girls scurried to and fro, jerking beer handles as if fora wager, and mechanically repeating orders. Settees ran the length ofthe walls under rows of sporting prints, and here more women, withpainted lips and over-bright, watchful eyes, were seated at littletables. Most of them were accompanied by young men in lounge or tweedsuits.
"Phew," grunted the Junior Watch-keeper, "what an atmosphere! Look atthose young asses.... Kuemmel at this time of night.... And we did itonce, Peter! Lord! it makes me feel a hundred."
A panting woman disengaged herself from her youthful partner, and linkedher arm within that of the Young Doctor. "Ouf!" she gasped, "I'm that'ot, dearie. Stand us a drop of wot killed auntie!"
With a gallant bow the Young Doctor led her to the bar. "My dearmadam," he murmured--"a privilege! And if you will allow me toprescribe for you--as a Medical Man--I suggest----"
"Port an' lemon," prompted the lady. She fanned herself with asickly-scented and not over-clean scrap of lace. "Ain't it 'ot, Doctor!... Glad I lef me furs at 'ome. Ain't you goin' to have nothin'...?"
* * * * *
The Junior Watch-keeper drew a deep breath as they reached the openstreet.
"Thank God for fresh air again!" He filled and refilled his lungs.
"'And so to bed,'" quoted the other. The taverns and places ofamusement were emptying their patrons into the murky street. Raucouslaughter and farewells filled the night.
"Yes." The Junior Watch-keeper yawned, and they walked on in silence,each busy with his own long thoughts. By degrees the traffic lessened,until, nearing the Dockyard, the two were alone in desertedthoroughfares with no sound but the echo of their steps. They werethreading the maze of dimly-lit, cobbled streets that still lay beforethem, when a draggle-skirted girl, standing in the shelter of a doorway,plucked at their sleeves. They walked on almost unheeding, when suddenlythe Young Doctor hesitated and stopped. The woman paused irresolute fora moment, and then came towards them, with the light from a gas-lampplaying round her tawdry garments. She murmured something in amechanical tone, and smiled terribly. The Young Doctor emptied hispockets of the loose silver and coppers they contained, and thrust thecoins into her palm: with his disengaged hand he tilted her face up tothe light. It was a pathetically young, pathetically painted face."Wish me good luck," he said, and turned abruptly to overtake hiscompanion.
The woman stood staring after them, her hand clenched upon her suddenlyacquired riches. An itinerant fried-fish and potato merchant, homewardbound, trundled his barrow suddenly round a distant corner. The girlwheeled in the direction of the sound.
"'Ere!" she called imperiously, "_'ere!_..."
The echo of her voice died away, and the Young Doctor linked his armwithin the other's.
"There is a poem by some one[#] I read the other day--d'you know it?--
"'I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.'"
[#] John Masefield.
He mused for a moment in silence as they strode along. "I forget how itgoes on: something about a 'vagrant gypsy life,' and the wind 'like awhetted knife'--
"'And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.'
"That's how it ends, I know."
The Junior Watch-keeper nodded soberly. "Yes.... But it's the star weneed the most, Peter--you and I."
* * * * *
It was early in the morning, and thin columns of smoke were rising fromthe funnels of a cruiser lying alongside one of the Dockyard jetties.On her decks there was a bustle of preparation: steaming covers werebeing laced to yards and topmasts: the Boatswain, "full of strangeoaths" and of apoplectic countenance, moved forward in the wake of adepressed part of the watch. On the booms the Carpenter wassuperintending the stowage of some baulks of timber. Packing-cases werecoming in at the gangway; barefooted messengers darted to and fro.There was a frequent shrilling of pipes, and the hoarse voice of theBoatswain's Mate bellowing orders.
Presently there came a lull, and the ship's company were mustered aft asa bell began to toll. Then over the bared heads the familiar words ofthe Navy Prayer drifted outward into space.
"... That we may return to enjoy ... the fruits of our labours." In thecourse of the next three years, the words, by reason of their frequentrepetition, would come to mean to them no more than the droning of theChaplain's voice; yet that morning their significance was plain enoughto the ranks of silent men. A minute later, with the notes of a bugle,the ship boiled into activity again.
Out on the straw-littered jetty a gradually-increasing crowd hadgathered. It was composed for the most part of women, poorly clad, withpinched, anxious faces. Some had babies in their arms; others carriedlittle newspaper parcels tucked under their shawls: parting gifts forsome one. A thin drizzle swept in from the sea, as a recovereddeserter, slightly intoxicated, was brought down between an escort andvanished over the gangway amid sympathetic murmurs from the onlookers.A telegram boy pushed his way through the crowd, delivered his messageof God-speed in its orange-coloured envelope, and departed again,whistling jauntily.
The men drifted out into the jetty to bid farewell, with forcednonchalance and frequent expectoration. Each man was the centre of alittle group of relatives, discussing trivialities with laughter thatdid not ring quite true. Here and there a woman had broken down, cryingquietly; but for the most part they stood dry-eyed and smiling, asbefitted the women of a Nation that must be ever bidding "Vale" to itssons.
"All aboard!" The voices of the Ship's Police rose above the murmur ofthe crowd. Farewells were over.
A hoist of flags crept to the masthead, and an answering speck of colourappeared at the signal halliards over Admiralty House.
"Askin' permission to proceed," said some one. The gang-planks rattledon to the jetty, and a knot of workmen began casting off wires from thebollards.
"Stand clear!" shouted a warning voice. The ropes slid across the tarredplanking and fell with a sullen splash. Beneath the stern the waterbegan to churn and boil. The ship was under way at last, gliding fartherevery minute from the watching crowd. The jetty was a sea of faces andwaving handkerchiefs: the band on board struck up a popular tune.
In a few minutes she was too far off to distinguish faces. On the forebridge the Captain raised his cap by the peak and waved it. Somewherenear the turf-scarped fort ashore an answering gleam of white appearedand fluttered for a moment. The lines of men along the upper deck, theguard paraded aft, the cluster of officers on the bridge, slowly fadedinto an indistinct blur as the mist closed round them. For a whilelonger the band was still audible, very far off and faint.
After a while the watchers turned and straggled slowly towards theDockyard Gates.