Chapter XVIII Conclusion
I
‘Am safe,’ the telegram said tersely, in Billings’s ungrammatical English. ‘Martin wounded, progressing favourable.—Joshua.’
Mrs Billings, drying her eyes with a handkerchief, read it for the third time. ‘Emmeline!’ she called softly, going to the door of the sitting-room at the back of the shop.
‘Yes, mother.’
‘There’s news, my gal!’
‘News!’ cried her daughter, darting forward.
The elder woman sniffed loudly and held out the flimsy paper. ‘Read that, my dear.’
The girl snatched it in her agitation. ‘Martin wounded, progressing favourable,’ she read slowly. ‘My Bill wounded!’ She stood there for a moment wide-eyed and swaying ominously. Then her pent-up feelings overcame her, and, collapsing suddenly on to a chair, she fell forward with her head on the table and her face buried in her hands. Her whole body shook with sobs.
Her mother was at her side in an instant. ‘There, there, my pretty,’ she murmured consolingly, patting her daughter on the shoulder; ‘don’t take on so. Don’t cry, my gal. He’s only wounded.’ She was crying herself.
But Emmeline refused to be comforted. ‘My Bill’s wounded!’ she moaned again and again.
Mrs Billings leant down and put her arms round the girl’s neck. ‘Don’t take on so, dear,’ she said huskily, with the tears streaming down her own face; ‘it’s all right, my pet. There, there,’ as Emmeline shook with another paroxysm of sobbing, ‘don’t fret; it’s all right; he’s only wounded. We’ve—b-both got a—deal to be thankful for.’
Mother and daughter wept together.
For the last forty-eight hours they had both been living in a state of awful suspense. First had come the tidings of the engagement in the North Sea, with the depressing information that the British losses had been very heavy. Then came the news that eight destroyers had been sunk; but no mention of the Mariner. They had no means of finding out whether or not she had even taken part in the battle; but both of them, with dismal forebodings in their hearts, had made up their minds for the worst.
All day and all night the two women had prayed and hoped. The agony of their suspense was almost more than they could bear, and their hearts nearly broke during that frightful period of waiting. Emmeline, pale-faced and red-eyed, went to the railway station twice a day to procure the earliest copies of the morning and evening newspapers. Together they had read them eagerly, trying to piece together some sort of a connected narrative to relieve their tortured minds. But still there was nothing about the Mariner. They read about the desperate destroyer attacks on the German fleet, and of the losses incurred by the British flotillas. They could not bring themselves to believe that ‘no news was good news.’
Emmeline looked up with the tears still trickling down her face, and reaching for her handkerchief, proceeded to dab her eyes. ‘I’m a fool,’ she said, sniffing; ‘I suppose I ought to be thankful he isn’t killed.’
Her mother kissed her gently. ‘There, there, my dear,’ she said softly; ‘that’s better. Be brave. It’s all over now.’
The girl dried her eyes, rose from her chair, and walked slowly across to the mirror over the mantelpiece. ‘Lor’!’ she said bravely, a little smile hovering round the corners of her quivering mouth; ‘I do look a sight, and no mistake!’
II
When the Mariner struggled home to her east coast port after the engagement, Martin was one of the first to be packed off to the local hospital. Then had followed an operation, and a fortnight’s delay before he was sufficiently recovered to be sent to the Royal Naval Hospital at Haslar. It was here that he again saw his mother and father, who came down for the day, called him a brave boy, and inconsiderately wept over him through sheer thankfulness.
Then, at four o’clock on one never-to-be-forgotten afternoon, Joshua Billings suddenly appeared. He was grinning sheepishly, and Pincher noticed at once that he wore the badge of a leading seaman.
‘’Allo, Josh!’ he exclaimed, very much pleased to see him, and shaking his horny hand; ‘’ow goes it?’
‘Orl right, Pinch. ’Ow’s yerself?’
‘Gittin’ along fine, chum. They’re sendin’ me ’ome on leaf in four days. Wot’s th’ noos; an’ wot’s that?’ Pincher pointed to the single anchor which adorned the sleeve of his friend’s jumper.
Joshua looked solemn. ‘I gits rated up ten days ago,’ he explained; ‘death vacancy. Poor ole Byles got laid out, yer remember. I’d sooner ’e wus still wearin’ th’ killick, poor bloke!’ He spoke huskily.
Pincher nodded. ‘Wot are yer doin’ ’ere?’ he asked.
‘The ship’s in dock, an’ they gave us ten days’ leaf,’ answered his friend. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘I suppose you ’eard as ’ow you’d bin rated up.’
‘Wot?’
‘They’ve made yer an A.B.’
‘S’welp me!’ Pincher ejaculated; ‘’ave they?’
‘Yus, they ’ave, Pinch; an’ if yer don’t watch it we’ll see yer a leadin’ seaman afore long.’
‘Yer didn’t come ’ere a purpose ter tell me that, did yer?’ Martin queried suspiciously.
‘’Ow d’yer mean?’
‘’Ow’s Hemmeline an’ Mrs Fig—— yer ole woman? I’ve ’ad a letter from Hemmeline every day ’cept yesterday an’ ter-day, an’ I thought—— ‘Ere!’ Pincher suddenly blurted out, a vague hope dawning in his heart, ‘why ain’t you on leaf at Weymouth?’
‘We come round ’ere ter give yer a chuck up, Pincher.’
‘We! ‘Oo d’yer mean? ’Er an’ ’er mother?’
‘Yus. They’re outside. I come in fu’st to prepare yer like.’
‘W’y couldn’t yer ’ave said so afore?’ Pincher demanded wrathfully. ‘Bring ’er in!’
‘Orl right, ole son; don’t go gittin’ rattled abart it. Me an’ my missis’ll go an’ see Dogo Pearson, wot’s wounded an’ in another ward. I’ll tell Hemmeline as ’ow you’d like ter see ’er, an’ me an’ the missis’ll be back afore long.’ Joshua winked twice and went away.
Two minutes later Emmeline was sitting by Pincher’s bed. Her eyes were full of tears, tears of happiness, and to Pincher she was the most adorable thing in the world.
‘Oh Hemmeline!’ he sighed huskily, his throat working and his fingers clutching her hand. ‘Oh Hemmeline!’
‘Well, Bill, what’s the matter?’ she asked dreamily, turning her head and smiling at him through her long lashes.
‘’Ow I love you!’
‘Silly boy!’ she chided softly.
We will draw a veil over what happened next. The ward was a very public place; but the other patients discreetly turned their heads away and pretended not to see.
Mr and Mrs Joshua Billings were away for fully half-an-hour. To Emmeline and Pincher it seemed more like five minutes.
III
The wedding, a month later, was a very quiet one.
The End
Edinburgh: Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.
Footnotes
1 ‘The Straits’ = the Mediterranean.
2 ‘In the rattle’ = in trouble.
3 O.D. = the slang term for ‘ordinary seaman.’ ‘O.S.’ is one official naval contraction, and ‘Ord.’ another. ‘O.D.’ is derived from the latter, in the same way as an able seaman is known as an ‘A.B.’
4 The term ‘matlo,’ derived from the French for ‘sailor,’ is always used by bluejackets in referring to themselves.
5 E.R.A. = engine-room artificer.
6 A ‘killick’ is an anchor, which is the badge worn by a leading seaman. ‘Dipping the killick’ means that the badge is removed, and that its wearer has been disrated to A.B.
7 ‘Pompey’ is the naval slang term for Portsmouth.
8 Men serving in destroyers receive sixpence a day extra pay. It is known as ‘hard-lying money.’
9 K.H.B. = King’s hard bargain, a term used in connection with a man who is an undesirable character.
10 The commanding officer of a man-of-war is frequently referred to as ‘the owner,’ or ‘the old man.’
11 Weighed anchor.
12 A fraction of a knot.
13 A ‘godown’ is a warehouse.
14 ‘Snotty’ is the naval slang term for midshipman.
15 Assistant-paymaster.
16 Going on the ‘razzle’ = going on the spree.
17 To ‘part brassrags’ is to sever friendly intercourse with a chum. Chums frequently use one another’s rags in polishing the brasswork of the ship; when they quarrel they naturally cease to do this.
18 ‘Tickler’ is a derogatory term for an ordinary seaman.
19 A ship’s steward’s assistant is always known as a ‘dusty boy.’
20 M.A.A., master-at-arms.
21 No. 10 = a particular form of punishment.
22 Paymaster.
23 ‘Chawing the fat’ = spinning a yarn.
24 ‘Tin ‘ats’ = drunk.
25 A ‘killick’ is an anchor, and a petty officer wears crossed anchors as his distinctive badge.
26 ‘P.Z. Exercises’—that is, mock actions, fought between two opposing squadrons; so called from the two-flag signal directing the fleet to carry out these manœuvres.
27 ‘The Bloke’ = the commander. ‘Jimmy the One’ = the first lieutenant.
28 The ship’s company of a ship hailing from Devonport are known as ‘Duffos’ to the men of ships with Portsmouth and Chatham crews. A ‘duff’ is a pudding, and the term probably originated on account of the west-countrymen’s supposed liking for that comestible.
29 Most ships, even those carrying proper musicians, have a home-made band formed by the men themselves. It always goes by the name of the ‘squeegee band,’ though why I cannot say.
30 ‘Fanny,’ the receptacle from which a bluejacket drinks his rum.
31 ‘Lammy coats,’ the name given by the men to the thick duffel coats with hoods served out in cold weather. They are fastened with toggles and beckets instead of buttons and button-holes.
32 When a ship is abandoned a certain amount of water, biscuit, and rum is placed in all the boats.
33 A coast or a shoal is said to be ‘steep to’ when comparatively deep water extends right up to its seaward edge. The lead, therefore, gives little indication of a ship’s proximity to danger.
34 Oil-fuel supply ship.
35 ‘Make and mend’ = an afternoon set apart for making and mending clothes—that is, a half-holiday.
36 ‘Our boss,’ the commodore in command of the force to which the Mariner was attached.
37 A tracer shell for use against aircraft has a small cavity in its base filled with composition which is ignited when the gun fires. It emits a thin trail of smoke in the daytime and a luminous track at night, so that the gunners are able to see where their projectiles are going.
38 That is, those destroyers attached to Sir David Beatty’s squadron.