Pincher Martin, O.D.: A Story of the Inner Life of the Royal Navy

II

Wilfrid Parkin, the ship's steward's assistant from the Tremendous, was a gay young dog. He was a tall youth of about Pincher's own age, with sleek, well-greased black hair. His clothes were always immaculate and well brushed; he affected a crease down the legs of his trousers; and, when he was ashore, the odour of scent and pomatum generally emanated from his person. With his peaked cap set jauntily on the side of his head, a cigarette pendulous from his lower lip, and his double-breasted coat, white linen collar, and black tie, he imagined himself to be vastly superior in breeding and deportment to any man clad in the uniform of a bluejacket. Sometimes he even wore brown kid gloves, hoping that this would cause ignorant people to take him for an officer.

He was not beautiful to gaze upon, but downright ugly, in fact, for his putty-coloured face was covered with pimples, which he vainly endeavoured to eradicate with somebody's patent ointment. But in spite of this, and other blemishes, he had female admirers by the score; and even the level-headed Emmeline, for some inscrutable reason, had fallen a victim to his charms. She would not have admitted it if she had been asked, of course; but the giddy Wilfrid had shown a preference for her society, and Emmeline had not objected.

Men disliked Parkin for his affectation and conceit. On board his ship he had a very poor time; but ashore he was absolutely it, so far as the ladies were concerned. He was a shining light at the local skating-rink, where, in company with one or other of his girl friends, he waltzed and two-stepped to his heart's content. When he could obtain the necessary leave he always attended dances – 'Entrance fee, one shilling; evening dress optional' – and was never averse to singing 'They all love Jack,' or some other very nautical song, at a tea-party at which ladies were present.

It came to pass that one wet afternoon, when there was no football, Pincher, feeling the want of exercise, was forced to take refuge in the skating-rink, and almost the first person he saw was Emmeline Figgins gliding round with the immaculate Wilfrid. They both skated well; but whereas the girl did it with a really natural grace, her companion, desperately anxious to create an impression, put in sundry little kicks and twirls of his own invention which made his performance border on the ridiculous. He was showing off, in fact.

Now Pincher could barely skate at all, much less dance, pirouette on one leg, or hurtle round backwards; and, seeing Emmeline, he became rather nervous, and wished to seek safety in flight. But he had paid sixpence to come in, and could not very well demand his money back; so, with a pair of skates in his hand, he stood sheepishly by the edge of the rink watching the others. Emmeline spotted him the next time she came round, smiled cheerily over her shoulder, and said something to her companion, who shook his head. She was evidently in a good temper, and Martin smiled back at her.

The next time she drew near, it was more slowly. Checking her speed, she came gracefully to rest by the padded balustrade immediately opposite where Pincher stood. She was flushed with the exercise, and looked quite adorable. Parkin hovered in the background.

'Well,' she asked gaily, extending her hand, 'aren't you going to say, "How d' you do?" Mister Martin?'

'How d'ye do, miss?' said Pincher, shaking it, but half-suspecting she was about to make a fool of him.

'This is Mister Parkin,' Emmeline went on, presenting the spotty-faced one. 'Mister Parkin – Mister Martin of the Belligerent.'

''Ow do, Parkin?' remarked Pincher with a nod.

'Pleased to meet yer,' murmured the other, with a low bow and a lofty expression. 'What terrible weather we are 'avin' for the time of year, are we not?'

The ordinary seaman stared at him in astonishment; while Emmeline, unable to restrain herself, burst out into a little chuckle of amusement.

'What's the matter now, Miss Figgins?' Parkin asked, rather aggrieved.

'I'm amused at your polite talk,' she said, laughing openly. 'You do put on such airs sometimes, Mister Parkin. I can't help laughing.'

'Oh, can't you?' retorted the pimply gentleman. 'You needn't go saying them things in front of – er' – he was going to say 'ordinary seamen,' but noticed Martin was looking at him, and substituted 'other people.'

'I'll say exactly what I please, Mister Parkin,' she returned with asperity, deliberately turning her back upon him. – 'Can you skate well?' she asked Martin.

'I kin jest git round, miss, but can do none o' them there fancy touches.'

'Well, be quick, and get your skates on,' she said. 'I'll help you. Mister Parkin is tired of my company, I think. – You'd better go and look for some one else to skate with,' she added to Wilfrid over her shoulder.

'You said you was going to skate with me the 'ole afternoon,' he protested angrily.

'Can't help what I said,' Emmeline retorted, tossing her head. 'I've changed my mind. Run away, like a good boy, or I shall get angry with you.'

Parkin, after further useless expostulation, eventually skated off, greatly annoyed. To think that Emmeline, his Emmeline, as he chose to consider her, should dare to throw herself at the head of an ordinary seaman, while he, Wilfrid Parkin, admittedly one of the best skaters in the place, should be sent packing! It was insufferable – absolutely insufferable! Assuredly he must teach this young woman that it was an honour for her to be seen in his company at all.

Martin himself hardly knew what to make of it. The last time he had met the girl she had been deliberately rude, and had done her best to hurt his feelings and to make him feel awkward. But now she was all smiles, and was looking at him in quite a friendly way. He half-suspected a trap of some kind, and that she intended to make a fool of him, after all; but, murmuring his thanks, he strapped on his skates, removed his cap, and stepped gingerly on to the floor. He got on better than he expected, though he took good care not to try any rash experiments, and rather enjoyed it. He was skating with quite the prettiest girl on the rink, for one thing, and he was pleased to see Parkin's sullen scowl of jealousy every time he flashed by with another lady on his arm.

'Look at that horrid little thing, Jane Crawley!' Emmeline whispered in Martin's ear. 'Stuck-up little minx! Giggling and laughing with Mister Parkin, she is. Thinks it'll annoy me, I suppose.'

'She don't look up ter much,' Pincher agreed, glancing at Wilfrid's companion as they went past.

Emmeline sniffed. 'She's not. She's in Skeets the draper's. Early closing day to-day; that's why she's out. Never could stand them shoppies; they give themselves such airs. Can't think what he sees in her.'

'Carn't think why you likes Mister Parkin,' murmured Pincher, blurting out his thoughts without really meaning to.

To his great surprise, Emmeline laughed. 'I don't like him,' she said. 'I thought I did at first, but I'm beginning to find him out now. He's that conceited, you've no idea. Thinks he can order me about, too; and I won't stick that.'

'I don't think 'e's much class,' Martin observed, holding her hand tighter. 'Puts on a lot o' swank fur a bloomin' dusty boy.'¹⁹

Emmeline nodded. 'I'm fair sick of him. He's – Hallo! Hold up!' But it was too late, for Pincher stumbled heavily and sat down with a thump. His partner released him just in time to save herself.

Parkin, passing with Jane Crawley, had just touched Pincher's outer skate. Whether it had been done intentionally or by accident Martin never really knew; but if it was deliberate, the result far exceeded Wilfrid's expectations. Pincher merely sat down on the floor rather too hard to be pleasant; but Parkin, letting go his partner, pitched forward, and came into violent contact with the wooden flooring with a resounding bump.

The two girls went to the rescue of their respective men, and a crowd soon collected. Pincher, little damaged, picked himself up with a laugh; but Parkin's injuries, though not really serious, were far more spectacular. The front of his coat was thick with dirt, both the knees of his trousers were badly torn, and he applied a handkerchief to his dirty face to stanch a copious flow of blood from his damaged nose.

'Look 'ere!' he exclaimed, quivering with passion and advancing on Pincher with his fists clenched; 'you did that a purpose!'

'He did nothing of the kind!' Emmeline burst out. 'And well you know it. It was your own fault. You and your showing off!'

'It was 'is fault!' shrilled Jane Crawley, pointing an accusing finger at Martin. 'I saw 'im stick 'is foot out!'

'No, I didn't,' Pincher protested. 'Never see'd yer comin'!'

'Course he didn't,' Emmeline corroborated. 'How could he see you if you were behind him?'

'I tell you 'e did!' shouted Jane, becoming excited.

'I didn't,' Martin expostulated.

The crowd peered over each other's shoulders and laughed, for there seemed every prospect of a fight on skates between Emmeline Figgins and Jane Crawley, and another between Pincher Martin and Wilfrid Parkin. The situation was most exciting.

'You'll 'ave to pay for my trousers, any'ow!' Wilfrid blustered, looking down at his torn garments.

The onlookers tittered. 'That's it,' some one said jocularly; 'you 'ave the law on 'im, my son.'

'Sha'n't pay a penny!' Pincher said.

'That's right, little un!' came a voice from the crowd; 'don't you be put upon!'

'I'll bloomin' well make you!' shouted Parkin, squaring up. 'I'll give you a thick ear if you don't!'

'I ain't afraid o' you!' Pincher retorted, glaring at him. 'You 'it me an' see wot you gits!'

'Go on, Will. Give 'im one,' advised the pugnacious Jane.

'You'll do nothing of the sort,' said Emmeline quietly, stepping between the two men. 'If you want to kick up a shindy, Mister Parkin, you'd best do it outside.'

'I say it was the sailor's fault!' reiterated the other lady shrilly. 'I saw 'im' —

'Now then, what's all the fuss about?' asked the rink manager severely, pushing his way through the throng. 'We can't 'ave these sort of goings-on 'ere. You've 'eld up the 'ole proceedings. Somebody fallen down – what?'

''E tried ter knock me down a purpose,' said Pincher, indicating his adversary.

'You're a liar!' retorted Parkin. 'It's like this,' he went on, trying to explain the situation. 'I was skatin' parst this man, w'en all of a sudden 'e puts out 'is foot an'' —

'He did nothing of the kind,' Emmeline interrupted. 'It's him who's telling lies, and well he knows it.'

'Well, I can't 'ave these goings-on 'ere,' the manager returned, glaring at them all in turn. 'I must ask the ladies and gentlemen concerned to step outside and settle their differences elsewhere. Come on, please.'

'Come on, Mister Martin. We'd best go. I hate all this fuss,' Emmeline whispered. She moved off.

Pincher, nothing loath, unstrapped his other skate – one had already come off in his tumble – and followed her, but not before Parkin had hurled a final remark.

'Orl right, Mister Martin!' he said very venomously. 'I'll be even wi' you over this 'ere!'

'I'll take you on any day you likes!' Pincher threw back. 'I ain't afraid o' you, you great skinny lamplighter!'

'And I'll never speak to you again, Wilfrid Parkin,' Emmeline put in, 'Call yourself a gentleman! I don't think!' She snorted loudly to show her contempt.

'Come on, come on! Don't let's 'ave any more o' this, please!' from the manager.

'Orl right, old puddin'-face. Keep yer 'air on!' Pincher observed with a smile.

The lookers-on laughed loudly, for the manager was rather unpopular, and his face really was too fat to be pleasant.

'Pudding-face!' he gasped. 'Who are you calling pudding-face?'

But Pincher was out of earshot.

III

'Request-men an' defaulters – 'shun!' bawled the master-at-arms, as the commander passed aft along the quarterdeck and took his stand behind a small scrubbed table upon which were a pile of papers and several ponderous-looking books.

'Petty Officer Weatherley!'

The petty officer left the line, stepped smartly forward to the table, clicked his heels, and saluted.

'Petty Officer William Weatherley,' the M.A.A.²⁰ went on, 'requests hextension o' leaf till two P.M. on Monday.'

The commander looked up. 'Can he be spared?' was his first question.

'Request's signed by the torpedo lootenant, sir,' the M.A.A. explained; for Weatherley, being a torpedo gunner's mate by calling, was one of Hatherley's myrmidons.

'Why d'you want this extension?' the commander asked, playing with a pencil.

'Urgent private affairs, sir.'

'Yes, quite so. But what are the private affairs, and why are they urgent? Week-end leave expires at nine o'clock on Monday, you know.'

'I can't very well say, sir,' the petty officer said, glancing at the crowd of ship's corporals round the table. 'My reasons are rather private, sir.'

'Oh, I see. Can you tell me?'

'Yes, sir.'

The commander left the table, beckoned the man to follow him, and walked aft out of earshot of every one else. For quite a minute they talked together, and then the officer nodded, and Weatherley, with a pleased grin, saluted and marched off.

'Request granted, master-at-arms,' the commander observed, coming back to the table. 'Next man.'

The M.A.A. made a note in his book. 'Able Seaman Billings!' he called.

Joshua ambled aft at a jog-trot, halted in front of the table, and, from sheer force of habit, removed his cap.

'Keep yer 'at on!' growled one of the ship's corporals in an undertone. 'You ain't a defaulter!'

The commander turned his face away to hide a smile, and Billings, covered with confusion and rather redder in the face than usual, resumed his headgear.

'Able Seaman Joshua Billings. Requests a turn o' week-end leaf out o' watch.'

'Has he got a substitute?'

'Yessir.'

'Why d' you want leave out of your turn?' the commander asked, eyeing the A.B. with a half-smile hovering round his mouth. 'You've been ashore a good bit lately, haven't you?'

'Yessir, I 'as,' Joshua answered, fidgeting. 'But ye see, sir, it's like this 'ere. I've got werry himportant business ashore 'ere, sir, an' I wants to git it fixed up.'

'What sort of business? Money, or something of that kind?'

'No, sir. 'Ardly that. It's ter do wi' a lady, sir – lady wot lives ashore 'ere an' keeps a sweet an' bacca shop wot sells noospapers. I'm – I'm' – Joshua paused, licked his lips, and shifted his feet nervously.

The commander smiled. 'Are you – er – in love with the lady?' he asked.

The master-at-arms and one of the ship's corporals cleared their throats noisily.

'Yessir, that's abart it. Yer see, sir,' Billings went on, in a sudden burst of confidence, 'I sez ter meself that it's abart time I started lookin' round fur somethin' ter do w'en I leaves the service, seein' as 'ow I'm close on me pension, an' I sez ter meself' —

'Yes. I quite understand,' the commander interposed kindly. 'Time is short, and you needn't go into details as to how it happened. You've behaved yourself well for the last couple of months, so I'll grant your request. You mustn't make a habit of it, that's all. Look out, too, you don't get into trouble, and, above all' – he looked up with a smile – 'beware of evil companions. I wish you luck in your affair, Billings.'

'Thank you, sir. Same to you, sir.'

'Request granted. 'Bout turn, double march!' broke in the M.A.A.

Joshua saluted and trotted off, very much pleased with himself.

Several other requests were dealt with, and then came the turn of the defaulters.

'Ord'nary Seaman Martin!' shouted the M.A.A.

Pincher, arrayed in his best serge suit, in the hope that his smart appearance might mitigate his offence, ran nervously forward and halted in front of the table.

'Orf cap! Ord'nary Seaman William Martin. First, did remain habsent over leaf two an' a narf hours, an' was happrehended an' brought aboard by the naval patrol. Second, did create a disturbance in St John's Street, Weymouth, at 'arf-parst nine P.M. hon th' night o' the eleventh hinstant.'

The commander rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gazed at the buff charge-sheet on the table in front of him. 'Where's the petty officer of the patrol?' he asked, without looking up.

'Petty Officer Bartlett!'

The petty officer hurried forward, and halted with a salute.

'Make your report,' said the commander.

'The night before last, sir, at 'arf-parst nine, I was in St John's Street with the patrol, w'en I sees a bit o' a crowd collected, an' some one tells me that two sailors was fightin'. I 'urries forward, sir, disperses the people with the hassistance o' a policeman, an' finds this 'ere man, sir' – he indicated Martin with his thumb – 'fightin' with hanother man.'

'Who was the other man?'

'Ship's stooard's hassistant from the flagship, sir. I've forgot 'is exac' name.'

'Well, go on.'

'Well, sir, I happrehends 'em both, an' takes 'em off an' keeps 'em under harrest, at the same time hinformin' the orficer o' the picket wot I done.'

'Who was the officer of the picket?'

'I was, sir,' said Lieutenant English, coming forward.

'Did you see those men fighting?' asked the commander.

'No, sir, not actually fighting. I saw them both immediately afterwards.'

'Were they drunk?'

'No, sir. They were excited, and the ship's steward's assistant's nose was bleeding badly.' There was no necessity for the officer to describe Pincher's injuries, for that youth had a remarkably fine specimen of a black eye.

'Did they resist the patrol?' the commander asked, turning to Petty Officer Bartlett.

'Not this man, sir. 'E came along quite quiet. The other man kicked up a bit o' a dust.'

'H'm! I see,' the commander observed with his lips twitching. – 'What have you got to say?' he added, addressing Martin. 'First, why did you break your leave?'

'Please, sir,' Pincher explained with the air of an injured innocent, 'I 'adn't no intention o' doin' it. I comes down ter th' pier at seven o'clock an' finds the boat jest shoved orf. The clocks wus all wrong, sir. I sez ter meself I'll come orf by the late orficers' boat at 'arf-parst ten; so I goes back, sir, 'as a bit o' supper, an' then, at 'bout 'arf-parst nine, I meets Parkin' —

'Who's Parkin?'

''Im wot I was fightin' wi', sir.'

'Go on.'

'I meets 'im in the street, sir. We ain't the best o' friends, 'cos me an' 'im 'ad a bit o' a shimozzle' —

'Shimozzle!' echoed the commander, looking rather puzzled. 'What on earth's that?'

'Bit o' a dust-up, sir,' Pincher explained.

'Well, go on.'

'Well, sir,' the culprit resumed, 'we 'ad a bit o' a hargument at th' skatin'-rink abart a week ago. 'E was walkin' in the street along o' a lady, sir; but as soon as 'e sees me 'e leaves 'er an' comes across ter me. "You dirty little 'ound!" 'e sez, usin' 'orrible langwidge, "I've got yer now!" "You keep a civil tongue in yer 'ead, Mister Parkin," I sez, polite like. 'E don't wait fur no more, sir, but ups an' 'its me on th' 'ead. I couldn't stand that, sir, so I 'its 'im back. We 'adn't bin at it no more 'n five minutes,' he added regretfully, 'w'en the patrol comes along, sir.' Martin, who had been carefully drilled as to what he had to say by Billings, himself a past-master at the art of inventing excuses, reeled off his tale glibly enough, and then paused for breath.

The commander seemed rather perplexed. 'Why is it that Parkin and yourself are such bitter enemies?' he asked, looking up with a frown. 'Why can't you behave yourselves like ordinary people?'

'It's like this 'ere, sir,' Pincher said, going off into a long-winded and very complicated explanation, which brought in Emmeline, the affair at the skating-rink, and how it had all happened.

'Oh, I see,' the commander observed. 'A girl's really at the bottom of it – what?'

Martin hung his head and made no reply.

'You've got a very good black eye, I see, and a swollen mouth. Did you do him any other damage besides making his nose bleed?'

'Yessir,' said Pincher hopefully, looking up with the ghost of a smile. 'I thinks one o' 'is eyes is bunged up too.'

'Indeed! Well, so far as I can see, it's a question of six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. – Where's his record?' the commander asked, turning to a ship's corporal, who was holding an enormous conduct-book open against his bosom. 'H'm! No entries. Clean sheet. What division's he in?'

'Mine, sir,' said Lieutenant Tickle, coming forward.

'What sort of a man is he? Had any trouble with him?'

'None at all, sir. Does his work quite well.'

The commander turned to the misdemeanant. 'Well,' he said, speaking quite kindly and quietly, 'you haven't been in the service very long, my lad; but the sooner you realise we can't have this sort of thing going on the better. I don't object to fighting – we're all paid to do that when the time comes; but if you want to take on one of your squadron-mates, you'd better do it somewhere where you won't be seen. Brawling in the streets only gets the navy into disrepute, so bear it in mind.' He paused.

Pincher hung his head.

'I can't say which of you was to blame,' the commander went on, 'but I can't overlook your offence. However, it's the first time you've been up before me, so I'll let you off lightly. You'll have seven days No. 10;²¹ and next time you want to fight anybody, or anybody wants to fight you, you let me know, and we'll provide you with boxing-gloves, and let you hammer each other on board during the dog watches. This man was bigger than you, eh?'

'Yessir.'

'Well, I'm glad to see you've got pluck, and that you gave him more than he gave you. That's all. Don't come up before me again, mind.'

'Seven days No. 10! 'Bout turn! Double march!' ordered the master-at-arms.

Pincher ran off, rather pleased with himself. It was the first time he had been a defaulter, and he had dreaded the ordeal; but he found the commander was quite human, after all. Moreover, he had expected to be punished far more severely for the affray; while the leave-breaking offence, for which he was liable to a mulet of one day's pay and stoppage of one day's leave, had been completely ignored. The fact of the matter was that the commander, though he took good care not to say so, sympathised with Pincher in his heart of hearts. He liked a man who stood up for himself, and when he had interviewed the other defaulters he called Tickle to his side.

'That fellow Martin of yours,' he said; 'he seems a plucky young devil for his age?'

'He is, sir,' the lieutenant agreed; 'quite a promising lad. I've had my eye on him for some time. He's got plenty of – er – guts too, sir. English tells me that fellow who went for him was double his size.'

'So much the better,' the senior officer grinned. 'I wish he had knocked him out.'

For the next week Pincher was undergoing the rigours of No. 10 punishment. He didn't like it at all. To start with, he had to turn out of his warm hammock at four-thirty A.M., had his meal-times cut down to the barest minimum, while all his spare time was taken up in rifle exercise, physical drill, or extra work of some kind. It was far too strenuous to be pleasant, particularly as his leave was stopped, and he could not go ashore. However, with Billings's assistance, he found time to write a letter to Emmeline, which the A.B. delivered.

'Dere Miss Figgins' – it ran – 'i am in trubble, having got in the rattle for fighting Mister Parkin larst thursday night in Weymouth. i made his nose bleed agen, and bunged up one of his eyes. i got a black eye and a swollen mouth, and seven days No. 10 for my trubble; but i hopes to come ashore agen next sunday. i'm glad he got the wurst of it. Hoping this finds You as it leaves me – [It is to be hoped that Emmeline, also, had not got a black eye and a swollen mouth] – I remains, miss, your obedient servant,

'Wm. Martin.'

The missive elicited a reply.

'Dear Mr Martin' – it said – 'I am sorry to hear that you have been punished, but Mr Billings says it is not serious. I am glad to hear that Mr Parkin got the worst of it. I do not like him. The shindy at the skating-rink was all of his making, and he deserves what he got and more. Mother will be pleased if you will come to tea next Sunday at five o'clock P.M. I will be in, and you can tell us all about it. I hope your face will soon be all right. My Mother says Zambuk ointment cured Father's face when he fell off a cab once, and I have asked Mr Billings to get you some. With compliments, I am yours sincerely,

Emmeline Figgins.'

For several nights Pincher slept with Emmeline's note beneath his pillow.