by Bartimeus
*II.*
*CAPTAIN'S DEFAULTERS.*
At the last stroke of six bells in the Forenoon Watch the Marine buglerdrew himself up stiffly, as one on whom great issues hung, and raisinghis bugle sent the imperious summons echoing along the upper deck.Clattering forward along the battery he halted at the break of theforecastle and repeated the blast; then, shaking the moisture from theinstrument, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and strutted aft.He had sounded "Captain's Defaulters."
An Able Seaman burnishing a search-light on the boat-deck heard thestrident bugle-call and winced. Hurriedly he replaced his cleaningrags, and with a moistened forefinger and thumb adjusted a dank curlthat peeped beneath his cap. He shared the belief, not uncommon amongsailor-men, that the Captain's judgment at the defaulter-table is dulyswayed by the personal appearance of the delinquent. Eyeing hisinverted reflection in the big concave mirror, he screwed his face intoan expression of piteous appeal, and, cap in hand, repeated severaltimes in varying notes of regretful surprise: "I 'adn't 'ad no more'n adrop, sir, w'en I come over all dizzy." The rehearsal concluded, heflung himself pell-mell down the ladder. On the way he met a messmateascending, who remonstrated in the brusque parlance of the tar.
"In the bloomin' rattle, I am," explained the disturber of traffic.
"Wha's up, then?"
The other made a little upward gesture with his elbow and gave a laughof pleasant retrospection. "'Strewth!" he supplemented. "Wasn't 'arfblind, neither," implying that when last ashore he had looked upon thecup when it was very ruddy indeed.
At the screen door to the quarter-deck he overtook a companion inmisfortune _en route_ to "toe pitch." This was a frightenedSecond-class Stoker, harried aft by one of the Ship's Police at theshambling gait officially recognised as the "steady double." Togetherthey saluted and stepped on to the quarter-deck, where, already standingbetween his escort, a sullen-eyed deserter, captured the previous day,scowled into vacancy. The new-comers took their places in themelancholy line, stood easy, and commenced to preen themselvesfurtively, after the manner of sailors about to come under the directeye of authority. Then the Captain's Clerk arrived with a bundle ofpapers in his hand.
"All ready, Master-at-Arms?"
"All ready, sir." The iron-visaged Chief of Police saluted and went toreport to the Commander. The Commander ran his eye over thedefaulter-sheet and, entering the Captain's cabin, disappeared fromview. For a minute a hush settled over the group as silently theyawaited the coming of the man who, to them, represented all that wasOmnipotent upon earth. The breeze led the shadow of the White Ensign afantastic dance across the spotless planking, and rustled the papers onthe baize-covered table. Overhead a gull soared, screaming atintervals, and then swooped suddenly to the water. The owner of thecherished curl, who was what is technically known in the Service as a"bird," sucked his teeth thoughtfully and speculated as to the probableextent of his punishment. The Second-class Stoker fallen-in beside him,who had broken his leave twenty-four hours, and apparently expected tobe executed, suddenly sniffled and was reproved in an undertone by theMaster-at-Arms. "'_Old_ yer row!" said that dignitary. Then, raisinghis voice, he shouted, "'Faulters, 'Shun!"
The Captain's Clerk, who had been abstractedly watching the sea-gull'santics and thinking about trout-fishing, came to earth with a start: thewaiting group stiffened to attention and saluted. The Captain walked tothe table and picked up the charge-sheet.
'"Erbert 'Awkins!" snapped the Master-at-Arms. "Off cap. Absenoverleave twenty-four hours, sir."
The Second-class Stoker stepped forward; it was his first offence in theService, and the Adam's-apple in his throat worked like a piston.Suddenly recollecting, he snatched off his cap and stood, moistening drylips.
"How long has this man been in the Service?" asked the Captain, graveeyes on the delinquent's face.
"Four months, sir," replied his Clerk.
Then to the culprit: "Why did you break your leave?" The lad shook hishead in obstinate silence. As a matter of fact, he had broken itbecause a glib-tongued slut ashore kept him too drunk to return till hewas penniless. But what was the use of telling all that to a Being withfour gold rings on his sleeve, and grey eyes like gimlets in the shadowof the cap-peak. He wouldn't understand how desperately bad the liquorhad been, and the way the women talked...
"Why did you break your leave?" The voice was neither harsh norimpatient. Its tone merely implied that the speaker not only wanted ananswer but meant to have one. Rather a kind voice for a Captain. Queerlittle wrinkles he had round the corners of his mouth and eyes ... madea bloke look wise-like ... as though after all ... Lord! How his headached.... Steady eyes those were...
"It's like this 'ere, sir----" The gates of sulky reserve openedsuddenly and without warning: in a flood of words came the sorryexplanation, sordid, incoherent, clothed in half-learned _patois_ of thelower deck. But the figure in the gold-peaked cap seemed to accept it,such as it was, for presently he nodded dismissal.
"Cautioned," he said curtly.
With a click of the heels, the escort and their prisoner wheeled beforethe table. The Commander made a brief report, and the Captain scanned afew papers. The charge was desertion.
"Anything to say?"
"No, sir."
"Why did you desert?"
"I'm fed up with the Navy."
The Captain's eyes grew stern, and he nodded as one who comprehends.There had been moments in his own career when he too had been "fed upwith the Navy." But life holds other things than obedience toinclinations.
Now this deserter represented a type that is to be met with in bothServices, these days of "piping peace." Recruited from the slums of agreat city, bone-lazy and vicious as a weasel, small wonder he found alife wherein men worked hard and cleanly little to his taste. Theimmaculate cleanliness and clock-work regularity around him were badenough, but far worse was the discipline. It astonished him at first;then, half-awed, he hated it with all the sullen savagery of his warpednature. The so-called Socialism of black-garbed orators, idly listenedto on Sunday afternoons in bygone days, had hinted at suchpossibilities--but here he met it face to face at every turn.
For a while--a very little while--he defied it, as he had defiedimpassive policemen in guttersnipe days, with shrill, meaninglessobscenities. Then he strove to elude it, and was clouted grievously byO'Leary, the brawny Chief Stoker, in that he had skulked from hislawfully appointed task. He had meant to drop a fire-bar on O'Leary'shead for that, but hadn't the courage requisite for murder. Because ofhis dirty habits and an innate habit for acquiring other men's gear, hewas not beloved of his messmates; and to be unpopular on the mess-deckof a man-of-war means that the sooner you seek another walk of life thebetter. He strove to seek it, accordingly, burrowing back into theteeming slum-life of yore, until one night, in the flare of a hawker'sbarrow, a policeman's hand closed upon his collar.
"... I think there's time. I believe we'll make a man of you yet. I'lldeal with you by warrant."
The escort swung him on his heel.
The Captain glanced again at the charge-sheet and thence to the thirdculprit before him.
"You were drunk on leave?"
"No, sir."
"But the Officer of the Patrol and the Officer of the Watch and theSurgeon all say you were drunk."
The "bird" sighed deeply. "I 'adn't 'ad no more'n a drop, sir----" hebegan.
"Deprived of one day's pay," interrupted the Captain; "and get your haircut."
"'Air cut--forfeit one day's pay," echoed the Master-at-Arms. "_Hon_cap; 'bout turn, quick march!"
* * * * *
The day passed as most days do in harbour. In the afternoon the Captainplayed a game of golf, and in the evening dined with a brother Captain.During the meal they discussed submarine signalling and a new putter.The Commander, who contemplated matrimony, was in a conservatorycondu
cting himself in a manner calculated to reduce his ship'scompany--had they been present--to babbling delirium. In the twilight,the Captain's Clerk, with rod and fly-book, meandered beside a streamtwenty miles away. The Master-at-Arms, who had a taste for melodrama,witnessed from a plush-lined box "The Body-Snatcher's Revenge" in thecompany of Mrs and Miss Master-at-Arms and a quart of stout. On board,in the foremost cell, sat a recovered deserter under sentence of ninetydays' detention.
"Gawd!" he whined--and in his voice was an exceedingbitterness--"Wotcher want to 'ate me for?"
Now these things were happening at about the same time, so you see thedrift of his argument with his Maker.