*V.*
*THE ARGONAUTS.*
"... Lest perchance them grow weary In the uttermost parts of the Sea, Pray for leave, for the good of the Service, As much and as oft as may be." --_The Laws of the Navy_.
Life on board a man-of-war in the tropics, especially Gunroom life, isattended by discomforts peculiarly its own. To begin with, a trip atsea heats the ship like a steel-walled Inferno, and on reaching harbourshe swings at her anchor, bows-on to what breeze there may be; thechances of getting a cool draught through scuttles and gun-ports arethus reduced to a minimum. There is, furthermore, an Affliction knownas "prickly heat," beside which chastisement with scorpions is futileand ineffectual; moreover, you must meet the same faces day after day,month after month, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, till Junior Officersof His Majesty's Navy have been known to revile one another over eachother's style of masticating food. From these conditions of lifespring, indeed, a candid and illuminating intimacy; but they are also attimes responsible for a weariness of the soul that passes utterly allboredom.
* * * * *
The trouble began in the bathroom, an apartment 12 feet long by 8 feetbroad, and occupied at the time by six people in various stages of theirablutions. It concerned the ownership of a piece of soap, which mayseem a trivial enough matter--as indeed it was; but when you have lainsweating under the awnings all through a breathless night, when, havingwatched another aching dawn creep over the sea, you descend to splashsulkily in three inches of lukewarm water, the tired brain lacks a finesense of the proportion of things.
It finished as suddenly as it flared up, and both combatants realisedthe childishness of it all ere the blood had time to dry on theirdamaged knuckles. But beyond a peevish request that they should nothold their dripping noses over the basins, no one present appearedinterested or dismayed--which was a very bad sign indeed.
* * * * *
The Senior Midshipman burst into the Gunroom with a whoop of joy andflung the leave-book on the table.
"What did he say?" chorussed the inmates anxiously.
"Said we could take the third cutter, an' go to Blazes in her," repliedthe delegate breathlessly, grovelling under the table for his gun-case."We can clear out till Sunday night, an' if there's a scratch on the newpaint when we come back"--the flushed face appeared for aninstant--"we'll all be crucified!"
Whereupon ensued swift and awful pandemonium. Three blissful days ofuntrammelled freedom ashore, in which to eat, bathe, and sleep at will!The Mess rose with one accord and blessed the name of the Commander inornate phraseology of the Sea. Four navigating experts flung themselvesupon a large-scale Admiralty Chart: guns and cartridges appeared as ifby magic. A self-appointed Committee of Supply, wrangling amicably,invaded the pantry; blankets were hurriedly dragged from thehammock-nettings, while willing hands lowered the cutter from herdavits. In crises such as these there is no need to detail workers forany particular duty. Each one realises his own particular metier and isa law unto himself.
"Hoist foresail!" The boat sheered off lazily from the gangway, and thebowmen tugged and strained at the halliards. "Set mainsail!" A lightbreeze whispered in from the open sea, and the rippled water clucked andgurgled along the clinker-built sides. Perched on a bundle of rugs inthe stern sat the Coxswain, one hand on the tiller, the other shadinghis eyes from the afternoon sun. The remainder of the crew disposedthemselves in more or less inelegant attitudes of ease in the bottom ofthe boat. She had been rigged and provisioned in silence--not lightlydoes one imperil one's emancipation by making a noise alongside; butonce clear of the ship, the youth tending the main-sheet lifted up hisvoice in song, a babble of spontaneous nonsense set to a half-rememberedtune--
"Isn't this a bit of all-right! Oh, _isn't_ this a bit of all-right!"
he chanted joyously, eyes half closed under the brim of his tiltedhelmet. Forgotten the weary monotony of ship routine, with itswatch-keeping and school, squabbling and recrimination, and theceaseless adjustment of the scales of discipline. Forward in the bowsone of the bowmen hove the lead, chanting imaginary soundings withultra-professional intonation: "A-a-and a ha' five..." Clinging to theweather shroud, another, a slim, white-clad figure against the blue ofsea and sky, declaimed "The Ancient Mariner"--or as much of it as hecould remember.
The islands, that half an hour earlier had been but vague outlinesquivering in the heat-haze, took form and substance. Rock-guardedinlets crept up to beaches of white sand where the kelp and drift-woodof ages formed a barrier at high-water mark, and overhanging palms threwshadows deep and delectably mysterious. As the water shoaled, seaweedstretched purple tentacles upward out of the gloom, swaying andundulating towards the swirl beneath the rudder. A half-clad figure inthe bows, trailing naked toes over the side, shattered the sleepysilence with shouts that sent the echoes rioting among the rocks.Overhead a startled gull wheeled inquisitively.
"Hard a-port! Now, steady as you go!" With lowered sails and oarsrising and dipping lazily, the boat headed towards an inlet whoseshelving beach promised good camping-ground. Presently came the order--
"Way enough!" The oars clattered down on to the thwarts, the anchorsplashed overside, and a moment later a dozen figures were swimminglustily for thrice-blessed terra firma.
A tent was pitched and the precious guns ferried ashore. An intrepidparty of explorers headed off into the jungle in search of pigeon.Others played desultory Rugby football in the shallows, chased lizards,rent the air with song. The long day passed all too quickly. Swiftlythe tropic night swept in over painted sky and tree-top. Ghost-likefigures came splashing from pools, sliding down from trees, floatingshoreward on improvised rafts, to gather round the fire and fizzlingfrying-pans. Tinned sausages ("Bangers") and bacon, jam, sardines andbananas, cocoa, beer, and sloe-gin: the Argonauts guzzled shamelessly.
When it was over and pipes and cigarettes were lit, some one rose andflung an armful of dry kelp into the white heart of the fire. Itspluttered angrily and then flared, throwing an arc of crimson light onthe beach, deepening the obscurity that ringed the seated group.
The Argonaut nearest the fire picked up a pebble and pitched it lazilyat a neighbour. "What about a song, you slacker! Something with achorus." The other removed his pipe from his mouth, wriggled into asitting posture and, hugging the corners of his blanket over hisshoulders, started a song. It was from a comic opera two years old, butit was the last thing they heard before leaving England, and the refrainwent ringing across the star-lit bay. The firelight waned, and a yellowmoon crept up out of the sea, setting a shimmering pathway to the edgeof the world.
"Hai-yah!" yawned one. "So sleepy." He hollowed out the sand beneathhis hip-bone, drew his blanket closer round him, and was asleep. One byone the singers were silent, and as the moon, full sail upon the face ofheaven, flooded the islands with solemn light, the last Argonaut rolledover and began to snore. The waves lapped drowsily along the beach;tiny crabs crept out in scurrying, sidelong rushes to investigate thedisturbers of their peace; the dying embers of the fire clinked andwhispered in the silence.
* * * * *
The Commander, smoking on the after sponson, smiled as the sound of oarscame faintly across the water. Out of the darkness drifted the hum ofvoices, and presently he heard a clear laugh, mirthful and carefree.Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he nodded sagely, as though inanswer to an unspoken question.