by Bartimeus
*XV.*
*THE "LOOK-SEE."*
SOUTHEND, AUGUST 1909.
A bunting-draped paddle-steamer, listed over with a dense crowd oftrippers, thrashed her leisurely way down the lines. On the quarterdeckof one of the Battleships the Midshipman of the Afternoon Watch rubbedthe lense of his telescope with his jacket cuff, adjusted the focusagainst a stanchion, and prepared to make the most of this heaven-sentdiversion. Over the water came a hoarse roar of cheering, and, as shedrew near, handkerchiefs and flags fluttered along the steamer's rail.The Lieutenant of the Watch, in frock-coat and sword-belt, paused besidethe Midshipman and raised his glass, a dry smile creasing the corners ofhis eyes.
"What's up with them all, sir?" murmured the boy delightedly. "My Aunt!What a Banzai!"
"Ever seen kids cheer a passing train? Same sort of thing."
"But look at the girl in white; she's half off her chump--look at herwaving her arms.... Friend of yours, sir?"
"No--only hysterical. The man with her is trying to make her stop."The sailor laughed. "He's given it up ... now he's waving too--whatat?" He closed his glass. "Curious, isn't it?"
The steamer passed on, and a confused burr of cheering announced thatshe had reached the next silent warship. "It's all-same 'Maffick,'" hecontinued presently, "Entente--Banzai--anything you like to call it.An' when we've gone they'll come to their senses and feel hot allover--like a fellow who wakes up and finds his hat on the gas-bracketand his boots in the water-jug!"
The Midshipman nodded: "I saw some kids dancing round a policeman once.Made the bobby look rather an ass--though as a matter of fact I believehe rather liked it. Bad for discipline, though," he added with theaustere judgment of eighteen summers.
A launch bumped alongside, and a stout man in the stern-sheets shoutedfor permission to come on board.
"Do," said the Lieutenant gravely. The stout man took a valedictorypull at a black bottle in the stern-locker, pocketed a handful ofshrimps for future consumption, and, accompanied by three feminineacquaintances, laboriously ascended the ladder. They gazed stolidly andall uncomprehending at the sleek barbette guns, the snowy plankingunderfoot, over which flickered the shadow of the White Ensign, andfinally wandered forward through the screen-doors, where they were lostto view among the throngs of sightseers.
The afternoon wore on; every few minutes a launch or steamer swirledpast, gay with bunting and parasols. Many carried bands, and in thelulls of cheering the light breeze bore the notes of martial, if notstrictly appropriate, music across the line. An Able Seaman paused inhis occupation of burnishing the top of the after-capstan, and passedthe back of his hand across his forehead.
"Proper dizzy, ain't they?" he remarked in an undertone to a companion."Wot's the toon?"
"Sons of the Muvverland," replied the other. He sucked his teethappreciatively, after the manner of sailor-men, and added, "Gawd! Lookat them women!..."
A launch with a crimson banner, bearing the name of a widely-circulatedhalfpenny paper, fussed under the stern. A man in a dingy whitewaistcoat hailed the quarter-deck in the vernacular through a megaphone.
"No, thank you," came the clear-cut reply; "we have to-day's papers."The Lieutenant hitched his glass under his arm and resumed his measuredwalk. "I'm no snob, Lord knows," he confided to the other, "but itbores me stiff to be patted on the head by the halfpenny press--Sideboy! pick up those shrimps' heads that gentleman dropped."
By degrees the more adventurous spirits found their way down betweendecks, where, in a short time, the doorway of each officer's cabinframed a cluster of inquisitive heads. In one or two cases daringsightseers had invaded the interiors, and were examining with naiveinterest the photographs, Rugby caps, dented cups, and all the _laresatque penates_ of a Naval Officer.
"'Ere, Florrie!" called a flushed maiden of Hebraic mien, obtruding herhead into the flat, "come an' look!" She extended a silver photographframe,--"Phyllis Dare--signed an' all!"
The other sighed rapturously and examined it with round-eyed interest.Then she gazed round the tiny apartment. "_Ain't_ 'e a one! Look at 'isbarf 'anging on the roof!..."
The harassed sentry evicted them with difficulty.
"Better'n Earl's Court, this is," opined a stout lady, who, accompaniedby a meek-looking husband and three children, had subsided on to aMidshipman's sea-chest. She opened the mouth of a string-bag. "Come on,'Orace--you just set down this minute, an' you shall 'ave 'arf abanana."
A very small Midshipman approached the chest. "I hate disturbing you,and Horace," he ventured, "but I want to go ashore, and all my thingsare in that box you're sitting on--would you mind...?"
"Ma!" shrilled a small boy, indicating the modest brass plate on the lidof the chest they had vacated. "Look--" he extended a small, grubbyforefinger, "'e's a Viscount!"
"Garn," snapped his father, "that's swank, that is. Viscounts don' gosailorin'--they stops ashore an' grinds the faces of the poor, an' don'forget what I'm tellin' of you."
The Marine Sentry overheard. "Pity they don' wash 'em as well," heobserved witheringly. His duties included that of servant to theMidshipman in question, and he resented the scepticism of a stranger whosat on the lid of his master's chest eating cold currant pudding out ofa string-bag.
* * * * *
On the pier-head a dense perspiring crowd surged through gates andbarriers, swarmed outward into all the available space, and slowlycongested into a packed throng of over-heated, over-tired humanity.Those nearest the rails levelled cheap opera-glasses at the distant lineof men-of-war stretching away into the haze, each ship with herattendant steamer circling round her. An excursion steamer alongsidehooted deafeningly, and a man in a peaked cap on her bridge raised hisvoice above the babel, bellowing hoarse incoherencies. A gaiteredLieutenant clanked through the crowd, four patrol-men at his heels,moving as men do who are accustomed to cramped surroundings.
At the landing-stages, where the crowd surged thickest, the picket-boatsfrom the Fleet swung hooting alongside, rocking in the swell. As eachwent astern and checked her way, the front of the excited throng ofsightseers bellied outward, broke, and poured across the boats in a wildstampede for seats. They swayed on the edge of the gunwales, flounderedhobnailed over enamelled casings, were clutched and steadied on theheaving decks by barefooted, half-contemptuous men. The Midshipmenraised their voices in indignant protest: drunk and riotous liberty-menthey understood: one "swung-off" at them in unfettered language of thesea, or employed the butt-end of a tiller to back an ignored command onwhich their safety depended. But here was a people that had never knowndiscipline--had scorned the necessity for it in their own unorderedlives. The Midshipman of the inside pinnace jerked the lanyard of thesyren savagely. "Look at my priceless paintwork! look at--_That's_enough--no more in this boat--it's not safe! Please stand back,it's--oh, d----!"
A man, in utter disregard of the request, had picked up a child in hisarms and jumped on board, steadying himself by the funnel guys. "Orlright, my son, don't bust yerself," he replied pleasantly.
* * * * *
An old woman forced her way through the crush towards the Lieutenant ofthe Patrol, who with knotted brows was trying to grasp the gist of asignal handed to him by a coastguard.
"I want to see my 'usband's nephew," she explained breathlessly; "'e'sin 39 Mess." The Lieutenant smiled gravely. "What ship?" She namedthe ship, and stood expectant, a look of confidence on her heatedfeatures, as if awaiting some sleight-of-hand trick. There wassomething dimly prophetic in the simple faith with which she voiced herneed.
"I see. Will you excuse me a minute while I answer this signal, andI'll send some one to help you find the right boat."
A Petty Officer guided her eventually to the landing-place and saw hersafely embarked; he returned to find his Lieutenant comforting withclumsy tenderness a small a
nd lacrymose boy who had lost his parents,turning from him to receive the reproaches of a lady whose purse hadbeen stolen. The two men exchanged a little smile, and the PettyOfficer edged a little nearer--
"'Arf an hour on the parade-ground at Whale Island,[#] sir, I'd like to'ave with some of 'em," he confided behind a horny palm. The jostlingthrong surged round him, calling high heaven to witness the might of itspossessions.
[#] The hotbed of Naval Discipline.
"_I'd_ make 'em 'op..." he murmured dreamily.
