CHAPTER XV.
VICE VERSÂ.
"TELEGRAM for you, mum."
Mrs. Aubyn put down her newspaper and took the orange-colouredenvelope which her sister's maid had just brought in on a tray.Telegrams were rather unusual at "Anchor Cottage," and the freckled,red-haired girl, with eyes and mouth wide open, stood consumed withill-concealed curiosity.
But she was disappointed. Deftly Mrs. Aubyn tore the envelope andscanned the contents.
"No answer, Jane," she announced, in a steady voice.
Not until the maid had closed the door did the old lady betray theanguish that the telegram had caused.
"God grant that he is not blinded or crippled for life," sheexclaimed, in low, earnest tones; then she re-read the momentouswords of the telegram in the vain hope that she had not rightlygrasped its significance, and that on second reading the messagemight not appear so terribly grim:--
"Regret to have to inform you that Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn,R.N.R., is lying here seriously wounded."
The telegram was dispatched from Shotley Naval Hospital and bore thesignature of one of the medical officers.
"Seriously wounded," she repeated. "An accident, perhaps. I must goto my boy."
She had read all the important news in the morning paper. There hadbeen no mention of a naval engagement, so there could be no otherexplanation of how Terence received his injuries. She was thankfulindeed that she had not gone to Portsmouth for the day with hersister. Thankful, also, that the said relative was not in the house,for in contrast to the presence of mind displayed by Mrs. Aubyn, MissWilson possessed a highly-strung temperament that frequentlyexpressed itself in hysterical outbursts.
Mrs. Aubyn consulted a time-table and then rang the bell.
"Jane," said the old lady in even tones, "I want you to run across toSmith's and order a taxi to take me to the station at once, to catchthe 9.15 train."
Quickly Terence's mother made her simple preparations. After dressingfor the journey she sat down and wrote a note to her sister,explaining the reason for her hasty departure, and stating that shewould write the same evening and give full details. Upon secondthoughts she did not enclose the telegram, but placed it in herhandbag. Then, closing the envelope and sealing it with wax, she gaveit to the maid to hand to her mistress on her return.
It was close on four in the afternoon when the train steamed intoHarwich station. Making her way through crowds of bluejackets whoformed the bulk of the passengers, Mrs. Aubyn called a cab and badethe man drive her to Shotley as quickly as possible.
The cabby looked curiously at her.
"Shotley?" he repeated. "'Tis a long way. It'll cost you a quid,mum--a sovereign. Couldn't do it for less."
"A sovereign!" repeated Mrs. Aubyn aghast.
"Not a penny less, mum," declared the man, stolidly. The old lady'shand tightened on her purse. Her means were strictly limited. Asovereign was to her a large sum. Yet, for her boy's sake----
"Excuse me, madam," exclaimed a deep, pleasant voice.
Mrs. Aubyn turned. The cabby gave vent to an exclamation that,although inaudible, clearly expressed his views upon "fussy toffs whointerfered with an honest chap's living."
"Do I understand that you want to go to Shotley?" continued thestranger, a tall, bearded gentleman in the uniform of a navalcaptain.
"Yes, to the hospital. My son, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, is lying thereseriously wounded."
She spoke bravely, laying emphasis upon her boy's rank. She feltcertain she could enlist the entire sympathy and aid of abrother-officer, notwithstanding he was a post-captain.
"If you will allow me I will give you a passage in my gig," said thenaval officer. "It is only a short distance by water, but quitetwenty miles from here by land. I fancy that cabby knew you were astranger here. My name is O'Rourke--Captain O'Rourke."
Outside the station boys were selling the early evening papers.Catching sight of the naval officer three or four of them made a rushtowards him.
"Evening paper, sir. H.M.S. 'Terrier' torpedoed and sunk."
He bought a copy, and without attempting to read it thrust it intohis coat pocket.
"When a ship is torpedoed, Captain O'Rourke, are the crew severelyinjured?" inquired Mrs. Aubyn.
"A strange question to ask," thought the naval man. He glancedswiftly at his companion, trying to read an unexpressed thought thatmight have prompted her query. Her face betrayed no sign whatever.
"Well, it depends," he answered guardedly. "Unless there are menbelow, close to the point of impact, there is generally very littledamage to personnel. The men would undoubtedly feel the effect of theconcussion. When the 'Hogue' and her consorts were torpedoed the lossof life due to the actual explosion was absurdly small in comparisonto the number of men drowned. Of course, if the torpedo strikes themagazine and caused an internal explosion, that is quite anothermatter. But excuse me, what made you ask that question?"
"My son was on the 'Terrier,'" she replied simply.
"I hope----" he began; then he stopped and pulled out the newspaper.
"There are no details," he continued. "In fact, I know far moreabout the disaster and how it occurred than is stated in the Press.The number of casualties is given but no names."
Assisting Mrs. Aubyn into the waiting gig, Captain O'Rourke gaveorders to the coxswain to make for Shotley Pier. Then, having actedthe part of glorified ferryman, and handed the old lady into thecharge of a petty-officer with instructions to escort her to theSick-Quarters, Captain O'Rourke returned to his ship.
The short winter's afternoon had now given place to night. Well itwas that Terence's mother had a stalwart seaman to show her the way,for, owing to possible air-raids, both sides of Harwich Harbour wereshrouded in darkness.
"Officers' wing, ma'am," announced the petty-officer. "If you'llwrite particulars in the visitors' book you'll soon be attended to bythat chap--he's one of the assistant ward-masters."
After a few moments' delay Mrs. Aubyn was ushered into a fairly largeroom in which were half a dozen occupied beds. Eagerly she scannedthe faces of the patients. None of the five who on hearing thevisitor turned in her direction bore the slightest resemblance to herson. The sixth bed--ominous sign--had a screen drawn round it.
A nursing sister walked silently up to the assistant ward-master andasked a question in an undertone, then turning to the visitor:--
"Mrs. Aubyn, I believe. You have come to see your son?"
"I have; is he dangerously hurt?" she asked.
The nurse inclined her head.
"I am afraid so," she replied gently. "The surgeons are holdinganother consultation tomorrow. It may mean amputation of the rightleg, but I think he'll get over it."
"Amputation of the right leg ... he'll get over it."
Mrs. Aubyn mechanically repeated the words as she followed thenursing sister towards the screened bed. After all, it might havebeen worse. Throughout the tedious journey the idea that persistentlyoccupied her mind was that her only son had been deprived of hissight. She felt almost inclined to weep with relief. Compared with alife-long existence deprived of the light of day, the lot of a maimedhero--whose sacrifice had been for King and Country--was lightindeed. And, besides, he would be invalided out of the Service. She,his devoted mother, would spend no more sleepless nights endeavouringto picture her son somewhere on the wild North Sea, beset by perilsthat had never, before the present war, threatened the gallant menwho defended our shores.
She gave no sign of the emotions that surged within her. Outwardlyshe was calm and self-possessed--a pattern of a modern Spartanmother.
The nurse moved aside the screen.
On the bed, his forehead swathed in surgical bandages, and with arest over his injured limb, was an unconscious man. His face waspallid, his closed eyes rimmed with red. His massive features, shortturned-up nose, long upper lip and square jaw unmistakably stampedhim as a son of the Emerald Isle.
"But this is not my son," said Mrs. Aubyn calmly.
 
; "Not your son?" repeated the nurse. "Why, this is Sub-LieutenantTerence Aubyn."
"He is some other poor mother's son," declared Mrs. Aubyn; then, withunwonted eagerness she asked, "Were any of the other officersmissing?"
"I think not," replied the nursing sister. "If you will take a chairfor a few minutes I will make inquiries. Perhaps you would like a cupof tea in my room," she added, noticing the visitor's langour.
"Thank you," was the grateful reply. "I would."
While Mrs. Aubyn was drinking her tea the nurse held a hurriedconsultation with the ward-master and one of the doctors.
"Now you mention it," remarked the latter, "I did notice that thepatient looked a bit tough for a commissioned officer. A sub., eventhough he be a reserve man, does not as a rule decorate his chestwith fanciful tattoo designs. Have you any of the 'Terrier's' ship'scompany who can identify the patient?"
The result of the consultation was that an able seaman, sufferingfrom slight shock, was brought into the officer's ward.
The man's weather-beaten face relaxed into a broad grin when he sawthe supposed sub-lieutenant.
"Strike me pink!" he ejaculated in undisguised astonishment, andheedless of the fact that he was in the presence of a superiorofficer. "Mike O'Milligan will have the time of his life when hewakes up to find himself in with the officers."
"Mike O'Milligan?" repeated the surgeon.
"Ay; first-class stoker--that's what he is," declared the seaman,with the air of a man who is instrumental in denouncing an impostor.He seemed to imagine that it was a piece of audacity on the part ofthe luckless O'Milligan, in spite of the fact that he was unconsciouswhen brought into the hospital.
"Did you see Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn after the explosion?" asked thenurse.
"Ay, ma'am. He was all right. Saw him with my own eyes on thequarter-deck when the hands mustered aft. Don't remember seeing himafter that, though."
"I think there has been a mistake, Mrs. Aubyn," said the nurse onreturning to her private sitting-room, where Terence's mother wasstriving to forget doubts and fears in a cup of tea. "A stoker wasadmitted to the ward under the inexplicable error that he was yourson. Dr. Hardiman is making inquiries, and we hope to clear thematter up satisfactorily. You need not worry about finding a hotel;we can put you up for the night."
The nurse remained in conversation with the old lady for someminutes, then, excusing herself, returned to her duty.
Left to herself Mrs. Aubyn remembered that she promised to write toher sister. The news she was able to give was far from satisfactory;in fact, the position of affairs was very vague. Nevertheless, shesat down to write an account of what had occurred up to the presenttime, in the hope that before she had finished the letter Dr.Hardiman's investigations might produce definite and satisfactoryresults.
Suddenly the door opened. In the subdued gleam cast by the electrictable-lamp Mrs. Aubyn saw the figure of a man dressed in a long, paleblue coat with broad red collar and cuffs. His face was darkened bythe shade of the lamp.
Thinking the intruder was one of the hospital orderlies, the old ladyturned to her work, only to feel a pair of hands grasping hershoulders.
"Hullo, mother! What brings you here?" asked Terence.
It was all because of the fact that Terence gave his great-coat tothe unconscious man he had rescued from the mess-deck of the sinking"Terrier" that the sub. and the stoker had changed places.
Upon Aubyn losing consciousness Captain Holloway feared that the sub.had been wounded, and that he had kept the knowledge to himself. Ahasty examination by the naval surgeon resulted in the satisfactoryreport that the young officer was not hurt beyond suffering from theshock of the explosion.
Captain Holloway, of course, could not stay with his subordinate. Hehad plenty of work to do, looking after the survivors of the ship'scompany, sending telegraphic reports to the Admiralty, and tacklingfifty other problems to which the sudden catastrophe had contributed.
Owing to the limited room at the Sick-Quarters of the little village,orders were received to send the wounded members of the crew toShotley. A fleet of motor-cars, lent by the well-to-do residents inthe district, was quickly organized and the work of transporting thesufferers was put in hand.
A message had already been received at Shotley warning the medicalauthorities to prepare for the reception of one officer and so manylower-deck patients. The latter were to be distributed amongst thevarious wards.
A small crowd of sick-berth attendants were in waiting when themotor-cars arrived. The worst cases were taken into the building onstretchers. Amongst these were Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, clad in clothtrousers and sweater, and Stoker O'Milligan decked in borrowedplumage--to wit, a naval officer's great-coat. Both men were stillunconscious.
Consequently it was excusable that the sick-bay staff made a slightmistake. O'Milligan, after his leg was properly set in splints, wasput to bed in the officer's ward, while Terence was dumped into theonly vacant cot in one of the men's wards.
He was a puzzle to the sick-berth attendants. They knew that the oneofficer mentioned in the telegram had arrived. They could find nomark of identification on the clothing of the supposed seaman. Beingparticularly busy they let the matter of identification slide,thinking that on the patient's return to consciousness he would beable to give the necessary information as to his name and rating.
When the doctor went his rounds he gave directions for a sleepingdraught to be administered to the patient as soon as he regained hissenses.
Ten minutes after the medico's departure Terence opened his eyes.Instantly the alert attendant pounced down, and, without giving thepatient a chance to speak, made him swallow the draught. Consequentlyit was not until six o'clock in the evening that the sub. awoke,feeling little the worse for his prolonged rest.
He sat up and looked round the room. His surroundings were strangelyunfamiliar. The very bareness of the place had a lower-deckatmosphere.
He beckoned to the sick-bay attendant.
"What's up now, mate?" asked that worthy. "Feeling better?"
Somewhat taken aback by the familiarity of the man, Terence askedwhere he was, and was informed that he was in "B" block of ShotleySick-Quarters.
"What's your name and rating, chum?" asked the man, producing a bookand fingering a stump of indelible pencil.
Like a flash the situation became apparent to the sub. He rememberedhis great-coat--he seemed particularly unfortunate in the matter ofgreat-coats, he thought. He had lent it to the stoker, and as apenalty he had been mistaken for the man he had rescued. Theludicrous side of the affair tickled him.
"A sub-lootenant?" queried the man incredulously. "Seems likely, eh?Either you're barmy, or else you're trying some little game on. Won'twork, chum. Who's your raggie?"
"Raggie," in lower-deck parlance, is a term used to denote a man'sparticular pal. It was the sick-berth attendant's idea to get one ofthe ship's company whom the patient named to identify the fellow whowas under the hallucination that he was one of the officers.
"Try Captain Holloway," suggested Terence. The man shook his headmore in sorrow than in anger.
"It would go hard with you, chum, if I did," he remarked. "Yourskipper wouldn't care to be bothered at this time o' night. 'Sides,he isn't here."
The patient in the next cot--of the crew of a destroyer that had beenin some minor action--began to grow interested.
"Bill," he whispered in a stage aside, "'umour 'im. He's dotty. Iknowed a chap once who looked just like 'im. He was as mad as a'atter. He would 'ave it he was the Right 'Onerable Somebody. Gotfair violent if you didn't believe 'im. So, 'umour 'im, says I."
Terence, overhearing these remarks, laughed.
"I don't claim to be anything so grand as a Right Honourable, myman," he said.
"Maybe, then, you're not so bad as the chap wot I was talking to thepoultice-slapper about. 'E was sent to Yarmouth Loonatic Asylum, porechap; maybe you won't need to be if you pulls yourself together,"retorted the seaman, with brutal cando
ur.
"Look here, my man," said Terence authoritatively, addressing the"poultice-slapper," otherwise the sick-berth attendant, "you'llplease fetch the surgeon on duty--and be quick about it."
There was something in Aubyn's tone that caused the man to wonderwhether, after all, there had been a mistake. He was one who wasdisinclined to take any risks in the matter. He hurried off, strivingto recollect, as he went, what he had said to the unknown patient,and whether he had used indiscreet language to one who might reallybe a commissioned officer.
The doctor arrived, tardily. Although the circumstances had beenexplained to him, he, too, had his doubts. Patients suffering fromshock were apt to be light-headed upon recovering consciousness.
He was a little, round-faced man, with a shiny pate surmounted by atonsure-like ring of jet black hair. War had dealt kindly with him.Formerly a country medical practitioner in a poor district, havinggreat difficulty in making both ends meet, he had taken advantage ofthe Admiralty regulations for the entry of Temporary Surgeons. Withfree quarters, a home billet, and a comfortable rate of pay, he wasnow "having the time of his life."
He lacked the general brusqueness of naval doctors when dealing withmen. He was eminently a doctor; as a naval officer he made anindifferent show.
He was sympathetic as he questioned Aubyn, and although he observedhim narrowly he saw no sign that would be bound to betray to amedical man any symptoms of lunacy.
"You are well enough to get up," he said at length. "Get your thingson."
Somewhat disdainfully Terence clothed himself in the garmentsprovided--rough underclothing and an ugly dressing-gown, arrangementsthat My Lords think fit to provide for the lower-deck patients.
"Fit as a fiddle," remarked the doctor.
"Fit for a good dinner, anyhow," added Terence, who was feelingdesperately hungry--the craving for food accentuated by the fact thatone of the patients had just been given some roast chicken.
"Ordinary seamen don't talk about having dinner in the evening,"thought the surgeon. "Perhaps there's some truth in his assertionafter all. I'll get him into the next ward; there are two of the'Terrier' men there."
Nor was the doctor greatly astonished when, as the quaintly-garbedpatient followed him into the ward, the men recognized their officer,stood up and smartly saluted.
"Well, Smith," said Terence, addressing a seaman-gunner by name, "howgoes it?"
"Can't complain, sir. Got a proper whack in the ribs. 'Tain't much togrouse about. And how's yourself, sir, if I may make so bold as toask? I seed the cap'n catch you as you pitched to starboard."
In a few minutes Terence was taken to the officers' ward. Here he wasinformed that his mother was waiting to see him. He wondered why. Hiscondition was hardly serious enough for the medical authorities tosend for her, so he settled the matter by going, just as he was, tothe room where Mrs. Aubyn was waiting.