Naval Occasions, and Some Traits of the Sailor-man

by Bartimeus

  *XXIII.*

  *THE GREATER LOVE.*

  The sun was setting behind a lurid bank of cloud above the hills ofSpain, and, as is usual at Gibraltar about that hour, a light breezesprang up. It eddied round the Rock and scurried across the harbour,leaving dark cat's-paws in its trail: finally it reached the inner mole,alongside which a cruiser was lying.

  A long pendant of white bunting, that all day had hung listlessly fromthe main top-mast, stirred, wavered, and finally bellied out astern, thegilded bladder at the tail bobbing uneasily over the surface of thewater.

  The Officer of the Watch leaned over the rail and watched the antics ofthe bladder, round which a flock of querulous gulls circled andscreeched. "The paying-off pendant[#] looks as if it were impatient,"he said laughingly to an Engineer Lieutenant standing at his side.

  [#] A pendant, one-and-a-quarter times the length of the ship, flown byships homeward bound under orders to pay off.

  The other smiled in his slow way and turned seaward, nodding across thebay towards Algeciras. "Not much longer to wait--there's the steamerwith the mail coming across now." He took a couple of steps across thedeck and turned. "Only another 1200 miles. Isn't it ripping to thinkof, after three years...?" He rubbed his hands with boyishsatisfaction. "All the coal in and stowed--boats turned in, funnelssmoking--that's what I like to see! Only the mail to wait for now: andthe gauges down below"--he waggled his forefinger in the air,laughing,--"like that...!"

  The Lieutenant nodded and hitched his glass under his arm. "Your middlewatch, Shortie? Mine too: we start working up for our passage trialthen, don't we? Whack her up, lad--for England, Home, and Beauty!"

  The Engineer Lieutenant walked towards the hatchway. "What do youthink!" and went below humming--

  "From Ushant to Scilly...

  The Lieutenant on watch turned and looked up at the Rock, towering overthe harbour. Above the green-shuttered, pink and yellow houses, anddusty, sun-dried vegetation, the grim pile was flushing rose-colouragainst the pure sky. How familiar it was, he thought, this greatmilestone on the road to the East, and mused awhile, wondering how manydawns he had lain under its shadow: how many more sunsets he would watchand marvel at across the purple Bay.

  "British as Brixton!" He had read the phrase in a book once, describingGibraltar. So it was, when you were homeward bound. He resumed hismeasured pacing to and fro. The ferry steamer had finished her shortvoyage and had gone alongside the wharf, out of sight behind an arm ofthe mole. Not much longer to wait now. He glanced at his wrist-watch."Postie" wouldn't waste much time getting back. Not all the beer inWaterport Street nor all the glamour of the "Ramps" would lure himastray to-night. The Lieutenant paused in his measured stride andbeckoned a side-boy. "Tell the signalman to let me know directly thepostman is sighted coming along the mole."

  He resumed his leisurely promenade, wondering how many letters therewould be for him, and who would write. His mother, of course, ... andTed at Charterhouse. His speculations roamed afield. Any one else?Then he suddenly remembered the Engineer Lieutenant imitating thetwitching gauge-needle with his forefinger. Lucky beggar he was. Therewas some one waiting for him who mattered more than all the Teds in theworld. More even than a Mother--at least, he supposed.... His thoughtsbecame abruptly sentimental and tender.

  A signalman, coming helter-skelter down the ladder, interrupted them, asthe Commander stepped out of his cabin on to the quarter-deck.

  "Postman comin' with the mail, sir."

  A few minutes later a hoist of flags, whirled hurriedly to the masthead,asking permission to proceed "in execution of previous orders." Whatthose orders were, even the paying-off pendant knew, trailing aft overthe stern-walk in the light wind.

  * * * * *

  The Rock lay far astern like a tinted shadow, an opal set in a blue-greysea. Once beyond the Straits the wind freshened, and the cruiser beganto lift her lean bows to the swell, flinging the spray aft along theforecastle in silver rain. The Marine bugler steered an unsteady courseto the quarterdeck hatchway and sounded the Officers' Dinner Call.

  "Officers' wives eat puddings and pies, But sailors' wives eat skilly..."

  chanted the Lieutenant of the impending first watch, swaying to the rollof the ship as he adjusted his tie before the mirror. He thumped thebulkhead between his cabin and the adjoining one.

  "Buck up, Shortie!" he shouted; "it's Saturday Night at Sea! Your nightfor a glass of port."

  "Sweethearts and wives!" called another voice across the flat. "You'llget drunk to-night, Snatcher, if you try to drink to all----" the voicedied away and rose again in expostulation with a Marine servant. "...Well, does it _look_ like a clean shirt...!"

  "Give it a shake, Pay, and put it on like a man!" Some one else hadjoined in from across the flat. The Engineer Lieutenant pushed his headinside his neighbour's cabin: "Come along--come along! You'll be latefor dinner. Fresh grub to-night: no more 'Russian Kromeskis' and 'FannyAdams'!"

  "One second.... Right!" They linked arms and entered the Wardroom asthe President tapped the table for grace. The Surgeon scanned the menuwith interest. "Jasus! Phwat diet!" he ejaculated, quoting from an oldService story. "Listen!" and read out--

  "Soup: Clear."

  "That's boiled swabs," interposed the Junior Watch-keeper.

  "Mr President, sir, I object--this Officer's unladylike conversation."

  "Round of port--fine him!" interrupted several laughing voices.

  "Go on, Doc.; what next?"

  "Fish: 'Mullets.'"

  "Main drain loungers," from the Junior Watch-keeper. "Isn't he a littleLord Fauntleroy--two rounds of port!"

  "_Entree_: Russian Kromeskis----" A roar of protest.

  "And----?"

  "Mutton cutlets."

  "Goat, he means. What an orgie! Go on; fain would we hear the worst,fair chirurgeon," blathered the Paymaster. "Joint?"

  "Joint; mutton or----"

  "Princely munificence," murmured the First Lieutenant. "He's not amessman: he's a--a--what's the word?"

  "Philanthropist. What's the awful alternative?"

  "There isn't any; it's scratched out." The A.P. and the JuniorWatch-keeper clung to each other. "The originality of the creature! Andthe duff?"

  "Rice-pudding."

  "Ah me! alack-a-day! alas!" The Paymaster tore his hair. "I mustprophesy ... _must_ prophesy,--shut up, every one! Shut up!" He closedhis eyes and pawed the air feebly. "I'm a medium. I'm going toprophesy. I feel it coming.... The savoury is ... the savouryis"--there was a moment's tense silence--"sardines on toast." He openedhis eyes. "Am I right, sir? Thank you."

  The Surgeon leaned forward, and picking up the massive silver shootingtrophy that occupied the centre of the table, handed it to a waiter.

  "Take that to the Paymaster, please. First prize for divination andsecond sight. And you, Snatcher--you'll go down for another round ofport if you keep on laughing with your mouth full."

  So the meal progressed. The "mullets" were disentangled from theirpaper jackets amid a rustling silence of interrogation. The Worcestersauce aided and abetted the disappearance of the Russian Kromeskis, asit had so often done before. The mutton was voted the limit, and therice-pudding held evidences that the cook's hair wanted cutting. TheJunior Watch-keeper--proud officer of that functionary's division--vowedhe'd have it cut in a manner which calls for no description in thesepages. There weren't any sardines on toast. The Philanthropistappeared in person, with dusky, upturned palms, to deplore the omission.

  "Ow! signor--olla fineesh! I maka mistake! No have got sardines,signor...!"

  "Dear old Ah Ying!" sighed the Engineer Lieutenant, "I never reallyloved him till this minute. Why did we leave him at Hong-Kong andembark this snake-in-the-grass.... No sardines...!"

  But for all that every one seemed to have made an admirable meal, andthe Chaplain
's "For what we have received, thank God!" brought it to aclose. The table was cleared, the wine decanters passed round, and onceagain the President tapped with his ivory mallet. There was a littlesilence--

  "Mr Vice--the King!"

  The First Lieutenant raised his glass. "Gentlemen--the King!"

  "The King!" murmured the Mess, with faces grown suddenly decorous andgrave. At that moment the Corporal of the Watch entered; he glanced downthe table, and approaching the Junior Watch-keeper's chair saluted andsaid something in an undertone. The Junior Watch-keeper nodded, finishedhis port, and rose, folding his napkin. His neighbour, the EngineerLieutenant, leaned back in his chair, speaking over his shoulder--

  "Your First Watch, James?"

  The other nodded.

  "Then," with mock solemnity, "may I remind you that our lives are inyour hands till twelve o'clock? Don't forget that, will you?"

  The Junior Watch-keeper laughed. "I'll bear it in mind." At thedoorway he turned with a smile: "It won't be the first time yourvaluable life has been there."

  "Or the last, we'll hope."

  "We'll hope not, Shortie."

  The buzz of talk and chaff had again begun to ebb and flow round thelong table. The First Lieutenant lit a cigarette and began collectingnapkin-rings, placing them eventually in a row, after the manner ofhorses at the starting-post. "Seven to one on the field, barone--Chief, your ring's disqualified. It would go through the ship'sside. Now, wait for the next roll--stand by! Clear that flower-pot----"

  "Disqualified be blowed! Why, I turned it myself when I was a student,out of a bit of brass I stole----"

  "Can't help that; it weighs a ton--scratched at the post!"

  The Commander tapped the table with his little hammer--

  "May I remind you all that it's Saturday Night at Sea?" and gave thedecanters a little push towards his left-hand neighbour. The FirstLieutenant brushed the starters into a heap at his side; the faintestshadow passed across his brow.

  "So it is!" echoed several voices.

  "Now, Shortie, fill up! Snatcher, you'd better have a bucket....'There's a Burmah girl a-settin' an' I know she thinks,'--port, NumberOne?" The First Lieutenant signed an imperceptible negation and pushedthe decanter round, murmuring something about hereditary gout.

  It was ten years since he had drunk that toast: since a certain tragicdawn, stealing into the bedroom of a Southsea lodging, found him on hisknees at a bedside.... They all knew the story, as men in Naval Messesafloat generally do know each other's tragedies and joys. And yet hisright-hand neighbour invariably murmured the same formula as he passedthe wine on Saturday nights at sea. In its way it was considered arather subtle intimation that no one wanted to pry into his sorrow--evento the extent of presuming that he would never drink that health again.

  In the same way they all knew that it was the one occasion on which thelittle Engineer Lieutenant permitted himself the extravagance of wine.He was saving up to get married; and perhaps for the reason that he hadnever mentioned the fact, every one not only knew it, but loved andchaffed him for it.

  The decanters travelled round, and the First Lieutenant leaned across tothe Engineer Lieutenant, who was contemplatively watching the smoke ofhis cigarette. There was a whimsical smile in the grave, level eyes.

  "I suppose we shall have to think about rigging a garland[#] beforelong, eh?"

  [#] A garland of evergreens is triced up to the triatic stay between themasts on the occasion of an officer's marriage.

  The other laughed half-shyly. "Yes, before long, I hope, Number One."

  Down came the ivory hammer--

  "Gentlemen--Sweethearts and Wives!"

  "And may they never meet!" added the Engineer Commander. In reality themost domesticated and blameless of husbands, it was the ambition of hislife to be esteemed a sad dog, and that, men should shake their headsover him crying "Fie!"

  The First Lieutenant gathered together his silver rings. "Now then,clear the table. She's rolling like a good 'un. Seven to one on thefield, bar----"

  "Speech!" broke in the Paymaster. "Speech, Shortie! Few words by ayoung officer about to embark on the troubled sea of matrimony. Hintson the Home----"

  The prospective bridegroom shook his head, laughing, and coloured in away rather pleasant to see. He rose, pushing in his chair. In theinside pocket of his mess-jacket was an unopened letter, saved up-toread over a pipe in peace,

  "My advice to you all is----"

  "'Don't,'" from the Engineer Commander.

  "Mind your own business," and the Engineer Lieutenant fled from the Messamid derisive shouts of "Coward!" The voice of the First Lieutenantrose above the hubbub--

  "Seven to one on the field--and what about a jump or two? Chuck up themenu-card, Pay. Now, boys, roll, bowl, or pitch ... 'Every time ablood-orange or a good see-gar'...!"

  * * * * *

  The Officer of the First Watch leaned out over the bridge rails, peeringinto the darkness that enveloped the forecastle, and listening intently.The breeze had freshened, and the cruiser slammed her way into a risingsea, labouring with the peculiar motion known as a "cork-screw roll":the night was very dark. Presently he turned and walked to thechart-house door: inside, the Navigation Officer was leaning over thechart, wrinkling his brows as he pencilled a faint line.

  "Pilot," said the other, "just step out here a second."

  The Navigator looked up, pushing his cap from his forehead. "What'sup?"

  "I think the starboard anchor is 'talking.' I wish you'd come andlisten a moment." The Navigator stepped out on to the bridge, closingthe chart-house door after him, and paused a moment to accustom his eyesto the darkness. "Dark night, isn't it? Wind's getting up, too...."He walked to the end of the bridge and leaned out. The ship plungedinto a hollow with a little shudder and then flung her bows upwardsinto, a cascade of spray. A dull metallic sound detached itself fromthe sibilant rushing of water and the beat of waves against the ship'sside, repeating faintly with each roll of the ship from theneighbourhood of the anchor-bed. The Navigator nodded: "Yes, ... one ofthe securing chains wants tautening, I should say. 'Saltash Luck'[#]for some one!" He moved back into the chart-house and picked up theparallel-rulers again.

  [#] A thorough wetting.

  The Lieutenant of the Watch went to the head of the ladder and calledthe Boatswain's Mate, who was standing in the lee of the conning-toweryarning with the Corporal of the Watch--

  "Pipe the duty sub. of the watch to fall in with oilskins on; whenthey're present, take them on to the forecastle and set up the securingchain of the starboard bower-anchor. Something's worked loose. See thatany one who goes outside the rail has a bowline on."

  "Aye, aye, sir." The Boatswain's Mate descended the ladder, giving afew preliminary "cheeps" with his pipe before delivering himself of histidings of "Saltash Luck" to the duty sub. of the port watch.

  The Officer of the Watch gave an order to the telegraph-man on thebridge, and far below in the Engine-room they heard the clang of thetelegraph gongs. He turned into the chart-house and opened the ship'slog, glancing at the clock as he did so. Then he wrote with a stumpy bitof pencil--

  "9.18. Decreased speed to 6 knots. Duty Sub. secured starboardbower-anchor."

  He returned to the bridge and leaned over the rail, straining his eyesinto the darkness and driving spray towards the indistinct group of menworking on the streaming forecastle. In the light of a swaying lanternhe could make out a figure getting out on to the anchor-bed; another wasturning up with a rope's end; he heard the faint click of a hammer onmetal. The ship lurched and plunged abruptly into the trough of a sea.An oath, clear-cut and distinct, tossed aft on the wind, and a quickshout.

  He turned aft and rushed to the top of the ladder, bawling down betweencurved palms with all the strength of his lungs.

  * * * * *

  The Engineer Lieutenant who left the Wardroom after din
ner did notimmediately go on deck. He went first to his cabin, where he filled andlit a pipe, and changed his mess-jacket for a comfortable, loose-fittingmonkey-jacket. Then he settled down in his armchair, wedged his feetagainst the bunk to steady himself against the roll of the ship, andread his letter. Often as he read he smiled, and once he blinked alittle, misty-eyed. The last sheet he re-read several times.

  "... Oh, isn't it good to think of! It was almost worth the pain ofseparation to have this happiness now--to know that every minute isbringing you nearer. I wake up in the morning with that happy sort offeeling that something nice is going to happen soon--and then I realise:you are coming Home! I jump out of bed and tear another leaf off thecalendar,--there are only nine left now, and then comes one marked witha big cross.... Do you know the kind of happiness that hurts? Or is itonly a girl who can feel it? ... I pray every night that the days maypass quickly, and that you may come safely."

  It was a very ordinary little love-letter, with its shy admixture oflove and faith and piety: the sort so few men ever earn, and so many (inHeaven's mercy) are suffered to receive. The recipient folded itcarefully, replaced it in its envelope, and put it in his pocket. Thenhe lifted his head suddenly, listening....

  Down below, the Engine-room telegraph gong had clanged, and the steadybeat of the engines slowed. With an eye on his wrist-watch he countedthe muffled strokes of the piston.... Decreased to 6 knots. What wasthe matter? Fog? He rose and leaned over his bunk, peering through thescuttle. Quite clear. He decided to light a pipe and go on deck for a"breather" before turning in, and glanced at the little clock ticking onthe bulkhead. Twenty past nine; ten minutes walk on the quarter-deckand then to bed. It was his middle watch.

  As he left his cabin some one in the Wardroom began softly playing thepiano, and the Paymaster's clear baritone joined in, singing a songabout somebody's grey eyes watching for somebody else. The Mess wassoaking in sentiment to-night: must be the effect of Saturday Night atSea he reflected.

  He reached the quarter-deck and stood looking round, swaying easily withthe motion of the ship. The sea was getting up, and the wind blew astream of tiny sparks from his pipe. Farther aft the sentry on thelife-buoys was mechanically walking his beat, now toiling laboriously upa steep incline, now trying to check a too precipitous descent. TheEngineer Lieutenant watched him for a moment, listening to the notes ofthe piano tinkling up through the open skylight from the Wardroom.

  "I know of two white arms Waiting for me ..."

  The singer had started another verse; the Engineer Lieutenant smiledfaintly, and walked to the ship's side to stare out into the darkness.Why on earth had they slowed down? A sudden impatience filled him.Every minute was precious now. Why----

  "MAN OVERBOARD. AWAY LIFEBOAT'S CREW!" Not for nothing had the Officerof the Watch received a "Masts and Yards" upbringing; the wind forwardcaught the stentorian shout and hurled it along the booms and battery,aft to the quarter-deck where the little Engineer Lieutenant wasstanding, one hand closed over the glowing bowl of his pipe, the otherthrust into his trousers pocket.

  The Engine-room telegraph began clanging furiously, the sound passing upthe casings and ventilators into the night; then the Boatswain's Matesent his ear-piercing pipe along the decks, calling away the lifeboat'screw. The sentry on the life-buoys wrenched at the releasing knob ofone of his charges and ran across to the other.

  The leaden seconds passed, and the Engineer Lieutenant still stoodbeside the rail, mechanically knocking the ashes from his pipe.... Thensomething went past on the crest of a wave: something white that mighthave been a man's face, or broken water showing up in the glare of ascuttle.... A sound out of the darkness that might have been the cry ofa low-flying gull.

  Now it may be argued that the Engineer Lieutenant ought to have stayedwhere he was. Going overboard on such a night was too risky for a manwhose one idea was to get home as quickly as possible--who, a momentbefore, had chafed at the delay of reduced speed. Furthermore, he hadin his pocket a letter bidding him come home safely; and for three yearshe had denied himself his little luxuries for love of her who wroteit....

  All the same--would she have him stand and wonder if that was a gull hehad heard...?

  Love of women, Love of life....! Mighty factors--almost supreme. Yet amortal has stayed in a wrecked stokehold, amid the scalding steam, tofind and shut a valve; Leper Settlements have their doctors and pastor;and "A very gallant Gentleman" walks unhesitatingly into an Antarcticblizzard, to show there is a love stronger and higher even than these.

  The Engineer Lieutenant was concerned with none of these fine thoughts.For one second he did pause, looking about as if for somewhere to puthis pipe. Then he tossed it on to the deck, scrambled over the rail,took a deep breath, and dived.

  The Marine sentry ran to the side of the ship.

  "_Christ!_" he gasped, and forsook his post, to cry the tale aloud alongthe seething battery.

  The ship shuddered as the engines were reversed, and the water under thestern began to seethe and churn. The Commander had left his cabin, andwas racing up to the bridge, as the Captain reached the quarterdeck. Aknot of officers gathered on the after-bridge.

  "Pin's out, sir!" shouted the Coxswain of the sea-boat, and added underhis breath, "Oars all ready, lads! Stan' by to pull like bloody'ell--there's two of 'em in the ditch...." The boat was hanging a fewfeet above the tumbling water.

  "Slip!" shouted a voice from the invisible fore-bridge. An instant'spause, and the boat dropped with a crash on to a rising wave, There wasa clatter and thud of oars in row-locks; the clanking of thechain-slings, and the boat, with her motley-clad[#] life-belted crew,slid off down the slant of a wave. For a moment the glare of an electriclight lit the faces of the men, tugging and straining grimly at theiroars; then she vanished, to reappear a moment later on the crest of asea, and disappeared again into the darkness.

  [#] Any one near the boat responds to the call "Away Life-boat's crew!"

  The Commander on the fore-bridge snatched up a megaphone, shoutingdown-wind--

  "Pull to starboard, cutter! Make for the life-buoy light!"

  The watchers on the after-bridge were peering into the night withbinoculars and glasses. The A.P. extended an arm and forefinger:"There's the life-buoy--there! ... Now--there! D'you see it? You canjust see the flare when it lifts on a wave.... Ah! That's better!"

  The dazzling white beam from a search-light on the fore-bridge leapedsuddenly into the night. "Now we can see the cutter--" the beam wavereda moment and finally steadied. "Yes, there they are.... I say, there'sa devil of a sea running."

  "Ripping sea-boats our Service cutters are," said another, staringthrough his glasses. "They'll live in almost anything; but this isn't adangerous sea. The skipper 'll turn in a minute and make a lee forthem."

  "Think old Shortie reached the buoy?"

  "Probably swimming about looking for the other fellow, if I knowanything of him; who did he go in after?"

  "One of the duty sub.--they were securing the anchor or somethingforward, and the bowline slipped----"

  "By gad! He's got him! There's the buoy--yes, two of them. _Good_ oldShortie.... My God! _Good_ old Shortie!" The speaker executed a sortof war-dance and trod on the Paymaster's toes.

  "When you've quite finished, Snatcher.... By the way, what abouthot-water bottles--blankets--stimulants.... First aid: come along!'Assure the patient in a loud voice that he is safe.' ... 'Aspectcheerful but subdued.' ... I learned the whole rigmarole once!"

  From the fore upper bridge the Captain was handling his ship like apicket-boat.

  "'Midships--steady! Stop both!" He raised his mouth from thevoice-pipe to the helmsman, and nodded to the Officer of the Watch."She'll do now.... The wind 'll take her down."

  The Commander leaned over the rail and called the Boatswain's Mate--

  "Clear lower deck! Man the falls!"

  The ranks of men along the ship's side turned inboard, and
passed theropes aft, in readiness to hoist the boat. There were three hundred menon the falls, standing by to whisk the cutter to the davit-heads like acockle-shell.

  "They've got 'em--got 'em both!" murmured the deep voices: they spatimpatiently. "What say, lads? Stamp an' go with 'er?"

  "Silence in the battery! _Marry_!"

  The Commander was leaning over the bridge rails; the Surgeon and twoSick-berth Stewards were waiting by the davits. Alongside the cutterwas rising and falling on the waves....

  "All right, sir!" The voice of the Coxswain came up as if from thedeep. They had hooked the plunging boat on somehow, and his thumb-nailwas a pulp....

  Three hundred pairs of eyes turned towards the fore-bridge.

  "_Hoist away!_"

  No need for the Boatswain's Mate to echo the order; no need for thePetty Officers' "With a will, then, lads!" They rushed aft in a wildstampede, hauling with every ounce of beef and strength in their bodies.The cutter, dripping and swaying, her crew fending her off the rollingship with their stretchers, shot up to the davits.

  "High 'nough!"

  The rush stopped like one man. Another pull on the after-fall--enough.She was hoisted. "_Walk back! ... Lie to!_"

  A tense silence fell upon the crowded battery: the only sound that ofmen breathing hard. A limp figure was seen descending the Jacob'sladder out of the boat, assisted by two of the crew. Heady hands wereoutstretched to help, and the next moment Willie Sparling, OrdinarySeaman, Official Number 13728, was once more on the deck of aman-of-war--a place he never expected to see again.

  "Ow!" He winced, "Min' my shoulder--it's 'urted...." He looked round atthe familiar faces lit by the electric lights, and jerked his head backat the boat hanging from her davits. "_'E_ saved my life--look after'im. 'E's a ... e's a--bleedin' 'ero, ..." and Willie Sparling, with abroken collar-bone, collapsed dramatically enough.

  The Engineer Lieutenant swung himself down on to the upper deck andstooped to wring the water from his trousers. The Surgeon seized him bythe arm---

  "Come along, Shortie--in between the blankets with you!"

  The hero of the moment disengaged his arm and shook himself like aterrier. "Blankets be blowed--it's my Middle Watch."

  The Surgeon laughed. "Plenty of time for that: it's only just afterhalf-past nine. What about a hot toddy?"

  "Lord! I thought I'd been in the water for hours.... Yes, by Jove! ahot toddy----" He paused and looked round, his face suddenly anxious."By the way, ... 'any one seen a pipe sculling about...?"

  Down below the telegraph gongs clanged, and the ship's bows swung roundon to her course, heading once more for England, Home, and Beauty.