Naval Occasions, and Some Traits of the Sailor-man Read online

  *IV.*

  *"NOEL!"*

  "'Arf-pas' seven, sir!" A private of Marines rapped heavy knucklesagainst the chest of drawers, and, seeing the occupant of the bunk stirslightly, withdrew from the cabin. For a little while longer the figureunder the blankets lay motionless; then a tousled head appeared,followed by shoulders and arms.

  "Gr-r-r!" said their owner. He blinked at the electric light a moment,then reached out a lean, tatooed arm for his tea. He drank itthoughtfully, and, lighting a cigarette, lay back again. His gazetravelled from the rack overhead that contained his gun and golf-clubs,down over the chest of drawers with its freight of battered silver cups,photographs, and Japanese curios, to the deck where a can of hot watersteamed beside the shallow bath; finally it lit on the chair, on theback of which hung his frock-coat. Why had his servant put out hisfrock-coat? Was it Sunday? For a while he considered the problem.

  Then he remembered.

  With a grunt he hoisted himself on to one elbow and looked out of thescuttle into the gloom. It was snowing, and the reflected lights of theships blinked at him across the water.

  "Oh Lord!" he ejaculated, and buried himself anew among the blankets.Twenty minutes later, as he was sitting in his bath, the curtain acrossthe door was unceremoniously jerked aside and a ruddy face appeared inthe opening.

  "No-o-el-l-l! N-o-el!" chanted the apparition. A sponge full of watercut the caroller short, and the sounds of strife and expostulationdrifting from adjacent cabins marked the trail of Yuletide greetings.

  In the Wardroom the fire was smoking fitfully, each outpour beingregarded with philosophic resignation by the Marine duty-servant. Himthe First Lieutenant, entering at that moment, drove wrathfully on deck."Go up an' trim the cowl to the wind: don't stand there trying tomesmerise the infernal thing."

  One by one the members of the Mess struggled in and seated themselves ingloomy silence. There were many gaps in the long row of chairs, forevery one "spared by the exigencies of the Service" was on leave, theheads of departments being represented by their juniors, and a couple ofWatch-keeping Lieutenants completing the complement.

  The Young Doctor alone preserved a cheerful mien. "Boy, you're asyellow as a guinea!" was his greeting to the Junior Watch-keeper(recently a sojourner on the West Coast, with a constitution to match)."How's the fever?"

  The Junior Watch-keeper ascribed to the malady a quality hithertounrecognised by the most advanced medical science, and scanned the_menu_ indifferently.

  The belated arrival of the postman as the table was being cleared didmuch to brighten matters. A rustling silence, interspersed by anoccasional chuckle (hurriedly repressed), presently gave way to generalconversation. Pipes were lit, and the fire coaxed into a more urbaneframe of mind. The Junior Watch-keeper was seen to transfer stealthilyfrom a letter to his pocket something that crackled crisply. The YoungDoctor and the Assistant Paymaster (hereinafter known as the A.P.) satcomplacently on his chest while they explored his pockets.

  "Let me--it's years since I touched a fiver.... _And_ a dun fromIkey--well, I'm blessed! _And_ a Christmas card from Aunt Selina todear Gussie--oh, Gussie, look at the pretty angels! He hides it in hispocket----"

  "He stands fizz all round at seven bells," announced the FirstLieutenant in a calm, judicial voice.

  The Junior Watch-keeper didn't stand it, but fizz all round there was.The First Lieutenant read prayers on the snow-powdered quarterdeck, andthen, following the immemorial custom of the Service, the Wardroom madea tour of the garland-hung mess-deck, halting at each mess to exchangethe compliments of the season and to sample the plum-duff.

  Properly observed, this ritual would put the normal stomach out ofaction for the remainder of the day. But there are discreet methods ofsampling. The Day-on flopped exhaustedly on to a Wardroom settee, andproceeded to empty his cap of lumps of "figgy-duff," cigarettes, andwalnuts. "Bless their hearts," he murmured, "I love them and I lovetheir figgy-duff, but there are limits--here, Jess!" He whistledgently, and a fox-terrier asleep by the fire rose and delicatelyaccepted the tribute. "Number One," continued the speaker, "you lookedquite coy when they cheered you, going rounds just now." Then raisinghis voice he sang--

  "For he's a jolly good fe-ello-o-O!"

  The First Lieutenant's grave face relaxed. "Less of it, young fellow,"he replied, smiling. He had lost a wife and child as a young lieutenant,and something of his life's tragedy still lingered in the level greyeyes.

  Then followed the popping of corks and the tinkle of glass. Even thefever-stricken one brightened. "Now then," he shouted truculently tothe Young Doctor, "I don't mind if you do wish me a happy Christmas, youbenighted body-snatcher." But the Surgeon was opening the piano, and ashe fingered the opening bars of "Good King Wenceslas," some one turnedand smote the fire into a blaze.

  * * * * *

  The short day was fading into dusk, and the Mess sat eyeing one anothersorrowfully over the tea-table. You can't drink champagne, sing "GoodKing Wenceslas," and beat the fire all day.

  "What price being at home now?" said the Engineer-Lieutenant, gloomilybuttering a piece of bread and smearing it with treacle.

  "Yes, and charades, and kids, and snapdragon," added the A.P. He musedawhile reminiscently. "Christmas is rotten without kids to buck thingsup."

  The Day-on looked up from a book. "You're right. I don't feel as if itwere Christmas day--except for my head," he added reflectively.

  The First Lieutenant entered, holding a note in his hand. "Look here,the Skipper wants us to have him and his missus to supper. He'll motorin, and"--he referred again to the note--"he's bringing the fouryoungsters--and a Christmas-tree. Wants to know if we can put up a turnfor them."

  In the annals of the Service had such a thing ever happened before? TheMess stared wild-eyed at one another. "Crackers," gasped the Day-on,visions of childhood fleeting through his mind. "Santa Claus!" murmuredthe Young Doctor, already mentally reviewing his store of cotton-wool."Holly and mistletoe," supplemented the Engineer-Lieutenant, eyeing thebare walls of the Mess.

  There was much to be done, but they did it somehow. The A.P. salliedforth and stole crackers from a Mission schoolroom. The FirstLieutenant and Young Doctor between them fashioned a wondrous wig andbeard for Santa Claus. The Junior Watch-keeper is rumoured to haveuprooted (under cover of darkness) an entire holly bush from the AdmiralSuperintendent's garden, and their guests arrived to find the Messtransformed. No sooner was supper over than the First Lieutenantvanished, and they entered the smoking-room to find a genuine SantaClaus, with snowy beard and gruff voice, dispensing gifts from the magictree. There were miraculous presents for all: Zeiss binoculars for one(had he not been bemoaning the want of a pair on the bridge a fortnightbefore?): a wrist-watch for another (it replaced one smashed whileworking targets not long ago), a fountain-pen for another, acigarette-holder for a fourth, whose tobacco-stained fingers had longbeen a subject of reproach from his Captain's wife.

  And when the tree was denuded at last, what an ambush for lurkingdragons! They were slain ultimately with a sword-scabbard by a flushedKnight astride the champing Junior Watch-keeper. It figured further inthe tiger-shoot conducted from the howdah of an elephant--a noble beastin whose identity no one would have recognised the grey-painted canvascover of a 3-pdr. gun, much less the Engineer-Lieutenant inside it.

  For the matter of that, had you seen the tiger who died, roaringterribly almost within reach of its tethered quarry (Jess, the bored anddisgusted terrier), you would never have known the A.P.--especially ashe had broken his glasses in the throes of realistic dissolution.

  When it was all over, the "Skipper's Missus" sat down at the piano, andtogether they sang the old, memory-haunted Christmas hymns, the woman'scontralto and children's trebles blending with the voices of men who atheart were ever children themselves.

  The First Lieutenant didn't sing
. The fire needed so much attending to.