Naval Occasions, and Some Traits of the Sailor-man

by Bartimeus

  *II.*

  The news of the world is transmitted to Naval Stations abroad by cable,and promulgated by means of Wireless Telegraphy to ships cruising or outof reach of visual signalling. At Malta the news is distributed toships present in harbour by semaphore from the Castile, an eminenceabove the town of Valletta, commanding the Grand Harbour and nearlyopposite the Naval Hospital.

  One morning a group of convalescents were sunning themselves on thebalcony of the hospital, and one, watching the life of the harbourthrough a telescope, suddenly exclaimed, "Stand by! They're going tomake the Reuter Telegram. I wonder how the Navy got on at Lords."

  "It's hopeless trying to read it," said another, "they make it at such abeastly rate."

  The Periwinkle, fuming in bed in an adjacent ward, overheard thespeaker. In a second he was on his feet and at the open window, atousled-haired object in striped pyjamas, crinkling his eyes in theglare. "I can read it, sir; lend me the glass."

  "You ought to be in bed, my son. Haven't you got Malta Fever?"

  "It's very slight," replied the Periwinkle--as indeed it was,--"and I'mquite as warm out here as in bed. May I borrow your glass?"

  He took the telescope and steadied it against a pillar. The distantsemaphore began waving, and the group of convalescents settled down tolisten. But no sound came from the boy. He was standing with theeye-piece held to his right eye, motionless as a statue. A light windfluttered the gaudy pyjamas, and their owner lowered the glass with alittle frown, half-puzzled, half-irritated.

  "I--it's--there's something wrong--" he began, and abruptly put theglass to his left eye. "Ah, that's better...." He commenced reading,but in a minute or two his voice faltered and trailed off into silence.He changed the glass to his right, and back to his left eye. Then,lowering it, turned a white scared face to the seated group. "I'mafraid I can't read any more," he said in a curiously dry voice; "I--ithurts my eyes."

  He returned the glass to its owner and hopped back into bed, where hesat with the clothes drawn up under his chin, sweating lightly.

  After a while he closed his left eye and looked cautiously round theroom. The tops of objects appeared indistinctly out of a grey mist. Itwas like looking at a partly fogged negative. He closed his right eyeand repeated the process with the other. His field of vision was clearthen, except for a speck of grey fog that hung threateningly in theupper left-hand corner.

  By dinner-time he could see nothing with the right eye, and the fog hadclosed on half the left eye's vision.

  At tea-time he called the Sister on duty--

  "My eyes--hurt ... frightfully." Thus the Periwinkle, striving to hedgewith Destiny.

  "Do they?" sympathised the Sister. "I'll tell the Surgeon when he comesround to-night, and he'll give you something for them. I shouldn't readfor the present if I were you."

  The Periwinkle smiled grimly, as if she had made a joke, and lay back,every nerve in his body strung to breaking-point.

  "Can't see, eh?" The visiting Surgeon who leaned over his bed a fewhours later looked at him from under puzzled brows. "Can't see--d'youmean...." He picked up an illustrated paper, holding it about a yardaway, and pointed to a word in block type: "What's this word?"

  The Periwinkle stared past him with a face like a flint. "I can't seethe paper. I can't see you ... or the room, or--or--anything.... I'mblind." His voice trembled.

  To the terror by night that followed was added physical pain pastanything he had experienced or imagined in his short life. It almostamazed him that anything could hurt so much and not rob him ofconsciousness. The next room held a sufferer who raved in delirium:cursing, praying, and shrieking alternately. The tortured voice rose inthe stillness of the night to a howl, and the Periwinkle set his teethgrimly. He was not alone in torment, but his was still the power tomeet it like a man.

  By the end of a week the pain had left him. At intervals during thisperiod he was guided to a dark room--for the matter of that, all roomswere dark to him--and unseen beings bandied strange technicalities abouthis ears. "Optic neuritis ... retrobulbar ... atrophy." The wordsmeant nothing to the boy, and their meaning mattered less. For nothing,they told him, could give him back his sight. After that they left himalone, to wait with what patience he might until the next P. & O.steamer passed through.

  His first visitor was the Chaplain, the most well-meaning of men, whosevoice quavered with pity as he spoke at some length of resignation andthe beauty of cheerfulness in affliction. On his departure, thePeriwinkle caught the rustle of the Sister's dress.

  "Sister," said the boy, "will you please go away for a few minutes. I'mafraid I have to swear--out loud."

  "But you mustn't," she expostulated, slightly taken aback. "It's--it'svery wicked."

  "Can't help that," replied the Periwinkle austerely. "Please go atonce; I'm going to begin."

  Scandalised and offended--as well she might be--she left the Periwinkleto his godless self, and he swore aloud--satisfying, unintelligible,senseless lower-deckese. But when she brought him his tea an hour latershe found he had the grace to look ashamed of himself, and forgave him.They subsequently became great friends, and at the Periwinkle'sdictation she wrote long cheerful letters that began: "My dear Mother,"and generally ended in suspicious-looking smudges.

  Every one visited the Periwinkle. His brethren from the Fleet arrived,bearing as gifts strange and awful delicacies that usually had to beconfiscated, sympathising with the queer, clumsy tenderness of boyhood.The Flag-Lieutenant came often, always cheerful and optimistic,forbearing to voice a word of pity: for this the Periwinkle wasinexpressibly grateful. He even brought the Fairest of All the Pippins,but the boy shrank a little from the tell-tale tremor she could neverquite keep out of her voice. Her parting gift was an armful of roses,and on leaving she bent over till he could smell the faint scent of herhair. "Good-bye," she whispered; "go on being brave," and, to hiswrathful astonishment, kissed him lightly on the mouth.

  There was the Admiral's wife too--childless herself--who, from longdealings with men, had acquired a brusque, almost masculine manner. Assoon as he had satisfied himself that she evinced no outward desire to"slobber," the Periwinkle admitted her to his friendship. Hesubsequently confessed to the Sister that, for a woman, she read aloudextremely well. "Well, I must be goin'," she said one day at parting."I'll bring John up to see you to-morrow." When she had gone, thePeriwinkle smote his pillow. "John!" he gasped.

  "John" was the Admiral.

  Even the crew of his cutter--just the ordinary rapscallion duty-crew ofthe boat he had commanded--trudged up one sweltering Sunday afternoon,and were ushered with creaking boots and moist, shiny faces into hisward.

  "Bein' as we 'ad an arfternoon orf, sir," began the spokesman, who wasalso the Coxswain of the boat. But at the sight of the wavering,sightless eyes, although prompted by nudges and husky whispers, heforgot his carefully-prepared sentences.

  "We reckoned we'd come an' give you a chuck-up, like, sir," concludedanother, and instead of the elaborate speech they had deemed theoccasion demanded, they told him of their victory in a three-mile raceover a rival cutter. How afterwards they had generously fraternisedwith the vanquished crew,--so generously that the port stroke--"'im aswe calls 'Nobby' Clark, sir, if you remembers"--was at that momentlanguishing in a cell, as a result of the lavish hospitality that hadprevailed. Finally, the Periwinkle extended a thin hand to thedarkness, to be gripped in turn by fourteen leathery fists, ere theirowners tiptoed out of the room and out of his life.