Hollow Sea (49 page)

Well, I'm blowed. Hang me! Oh hell! Look at this.'

It was Mr. Hump, wearing a top hat. He stood on the top stairway, smiling, hat at an awkward angle on his head. Stood there looking as though he had just woke up after a very bad night, wearing a tail-coat, though beneath it one could discern his dirty white jacket. He took off the top-hat and, bowing low, exclaimed, 'Gentlemen. Gentlemen. I am now going to sing you a bloody song myself.'

HA
!
HA
!
HA
!
HA
!
HA
! The crowd roared. Men were standing up. Vesuvius and Williams were clapping. Mr. Walters's face turned a deep red, Mr. Tyrer gave a yell. It was too funny, they thought, one and all, seeing Mr. Hump standing there wearing a top-hat. All eyes were fixed on him now. What on earth had happened to the man? Well, one thing seemed certain, Mr. Hump was drunk. And he could have only got drunk in one way, and Mr. Walters saw everything crystal-dear now. Mr. Hump was not only drunk, but staggeringly, hopelessly so, as was evident from the many attempts he now made to step off the top step of the grand stairway. Vesuvius and Williams were forgotten. In fact, the concert was only just beginning.

Mr. Hump made yet another attempt to propel himself forward, stumbled, went down on one knee, called, 'Gentlemen. I— Gentlemen I—'

'Oh, hell! Oh holy bloody smoke. This takes the cake.'

'Well, I'm damned. Good old Hump. Good old bloody Hump. Three cheers for Hump. Yes – No?'

'Hip-pip—'

'
HIP
-
PIP
-
A
-
BLOODY
-
RAH
.
HA
!
HA
!
HA
! Go it Hump, you old cod, go it man. You're a hero. God bless you, sir, you're marvellous. Hump! Three cheers for Mr. Hump.'

Mr. Hump stood there, looking from one to another, smiling, spluttered and stammered.

'I – er – Gentle – Genii – Genilmen I—'

Then he staggered on, caught hold of the nearest tea-chest and hung on, spluttered again, gave a queer little laugh, and then moved on.

It was obvious to all that Mr. Hump was intent on giving a turn himself, and he did not lack encouragement. There was clapping and cheers from all sides, even Williams and Vesuvius had decided to step down and go back to their places. To see Hump getting on to that platform was better than all the other turns they had had, and moreover, it was certain that Mr. Hump would be the big hit and the triumph of the evening.

Even those men sprawled about in every conceivable position at the for'ard end of the saloon were now completely forgotten. They were part of the audience it is true, but they were somehow different. And once or twice a man gave a low moan, but these were drowned by the flow of sound amidships. There was coughing too, but this was not audible enough to make anybody turn a head in their direction.

Yet Mr. Walters alone of all of them, saw them, and realized that something ought to be done. So he decided to go up for'ard and see how the soldiers were enjoying themselves. He felt like rushing forward and felling Mr. Hump with one blow, but caution held his hand. Did he do that heaven knows what might happen afterwards. And he was not too secure even now. This was the kind of evening and the kind of gathering that might, quixotically enough, turn out to be the worst for him, for there were old scores unpaid, and he, Mr. Walter Walters, realized it.

Being a sensible man he now stepped down from the platform and began thrusting his way forward, his fat body brooking no obstacle in his endeavour to get for'ard to those men. He felt a little guilty in this matter. After all, he might at least have had two men up that end, to attend to any little things like pans or water, but somehow it seemed to have escaped him. He heard loud laughter all the way for'ard and suddenly he stopped and turned round.

There was Mr. Hump endeavouring for the third time to climb on to the tea-chest. Twice he had fallen down to the accompaniment of laughter and cheers, and now he was trying again. This was excellent. Real good. Why, even the whole crazy voyage was worth it. And men looked at one another and grinned and smiled, and the agreement was general.

'It's a pity, a bloody pity I say,' said O'Grady to Williams; 'it's a great pity that the old man hisself isn't down here to see Mr. Hump. I don't think I seen old Dunford laugh since I joined this ship, but he'd laugh if he saw that feller now.'

'Go it, Hump. Go it, lad. You're doing fine. Mind your backside on the nails there.'

Again Mr. Hump took a hold and again attempted to get on to the platform with the same results as before. Suddenly Williams got up, dashed across and lifted Mr. Hump bodily to the platform, saying:

There you bloody well are, sir. Now let's have that funny song.'

'God bless us and save us,' cried O'Grady, 'I believe the man's going to be sick.'

'Ha! Hal Ha! And so he bloody well is.'

Mr. Hump neither heard nor saw. His body was bent almost to a hoop, he seemed to be focusing all attention on his brown boots, and then he was suddenly erect again, though unsteady on his feet, one hand seeming to paw the air, the other holding on his hat as though it were the only real thing he could hang on to with any degree of safety.

'N – now genil – men. I – I gonna sing. Gonna sing a song. Lil song 'bout corsets. Corsets, Issa funny lil song, I – er – er – ahem! I – oh issa funny lil song. Ma – Magic pair of cor – yes, corsets. Lemme see. I – oh yes. "There was—"
 
'

He stopped now, forgetting for the moment that he meant to sing and not recite about the magic pair of corsets, and then, blushing, and smiling towards his audience, he began again.

He began slowly, hesitant, in a low voice; he seemed to have to force the words out one by one. The top-hat remained on his head in spite of the swaying movements he continued to make.

There – was 'n old lady of Battersea. Yes – thas it, Batter – Batters – I – lemme see. Yes. There was 'n old lady of Battersea. A very old lady and – and – and – fat, y'see. 'N – she put on her corset, a present from Dorset and – lemme see. I – lemme see. Issa—'

'And went off on the Battersea,' cried a voice from the back.

'I— There was an old lady of Battersea— I – wait – I oh yes, 'n this old lady from Battersea—'

The unexpected happened. Mr. Hump collapsed. Lay in a heap on the platform. Williams went out again and picked him up. He held him to an erect position for a moment or two, and then returned to his place.

'What about a song now, Mr. Hump?'

'Sure. Give us a song. By hell, you're fine. You're the best of the whole damn lot of them.'

'Yes. That accordionist put his instrument in his pocket. What say, Mr. Hump? Good old Hump, I never knew you were a comedian. You're wasting your time, man. Wasting your time. Ought to be on the stage.'

'Shurr up. Let the man get on with his turn. Hey there, bosun, at the back. What you think of Mr. Hump?'

'Oh, he's fine. Fine. Come now, Mr. Hump. What about "Let me like a soldier fall," eh? I hear you got a good tenor voice and the song'd suit you proper.'

'Hip-hip—'

'Hurrah! Go to it, man. Let me like a bloody soldier fall. Fine. Fine.'

Mr. Hump listened, he grinned, he trembled, he swayed this way and that, the deck-head seemed to be dancing towards him now, and funny men with dunces' caps on were coming forward too. Mr. Hump began clapping his hands.

'All quiet now, mates. He's going to begin.'

'Aye. It was about nine-thirty. I reckon. Chap named Sloane found him.'

'Christ! Who told you?'

'Shurr up there, will you, you noisy lot of bastards. Come on, Hump.'

'Hanged all right.'

'Will you shut it or d'you want to be flung out on your neck?'

'Ssh! Ssh! Can't you see him taking a breath?'

'Hanged in the glory-hole. Chap name of Marvel.'

'Damn you.'

O'Grady swung round and shot out his fist. 'Damn you.'

'Quiet there. Quiet there. Noisy lot of swine you are.'

'All right. Shut your mouth yourself. I'm only trying to get fellers quiet meself. What the hell.'

'Cheese it, will you? '

'Order there, you men. Like a bunch of children,' cried Walters.

'You're not in on this concert, Mr. Walters. You go and sing "Victuals Victuals" in your storeroom. What opera is that from, Mr. Walters?'

'Ssh! For Christ's sake. Listen.'

Mr. Hump opened his mouth and the first word of 'Let me like a soldier' made its way out. And he got no farther.

It wasn't that Mr. Hump had forgotten the words this time, the words were there all right, on the tip of his tongue in fact, but somehow or other nothing would now make them come out. Beyond the word 'Let' he could not go.

He looked so funny now that no man in that saloon could keep his feet any longer, nor keep his control. Everybody was standing, all seemed to be making their way to the platform, to the discomfort of those in front; indeed half a dozen men had now jumped on the platform and were standing in a ring round the second steward.

The rickety platform creaked ominously, but they took no notice of that.

The six men, who included Vesuvius, O'Grady and Turner, now joined hands so that Mr. Hump was completely encircled by them.

They began to sing. They sang the bosun's favourite song, and, hearing it, Mr. Walters thought, 'Thank God! It does seem as if it's coming to an end at last,' for his long experience of ships' concerts told him that 'Sweet Adeline' was invariably the closing number of the show.

He looked at his second steward and anybody could see at once how deeply Mr. Walters was disgusted. And he stood there as though in a sort of trance whilst the six men now began dancing round his second-in-command. That was bad enough, he was thinking, but when somebody grabbed him round the fat waist and hugged him, and spoke into his ear, 'My dear, a waltz. Yes. A nice little waltz, Mr. Walters,' he could scarcely believe that anybody in that assembly wasn't mad. Protests seemed useless. He was pulled and dragged and pushed, the two bodies milling in amongst the crowd and the men on the platform singing 'Sweet Adeline' at the top of their voices.

'Everybody happy. Everybody cheer! Three cheers for this old rip of a ship, and three cheers for Mr. Walters and Mr. Hump. Nicest gentlemen in the world. Three cheers for the nice tots of rum to come. And—'

'My dear,' said the man dragging Mr. Walters round the saloon, 'you dance divinely.'

And then everybody had taken a partner and, dancing up and down, round and round to the cheers and singing of the assembly on the platform, were oblivious of the fact that the door had opened, that Sloane the steward was standing there, white-faced, shaking.

'Shut that goddam door. Don't you know enough about danger zones, keeping it open like that? Shut it this instant, you bloody fool.'

'Come and have a dance you bloody mutt you. Come on. Come on.'

But Sloane stood, just staring. He had closed the door now. He stood watching Mr. Walters being swung round and round, watched six big men with joined hands dancing round Mr. Hump, and he wondered if every man in that saloon wasn't either dead drunk or else stark staring mad.

He was trying to get to Mr. Walters. O'Grady was dancing with Turner now, and they came down from the tea-chests and went crowding into the others.

'Found hanged about half-past nine. Aye. Outside his bunk.'

'What time is it?'

'Christmas, you ass. Christmas time.'

'Marvel, oh aye. I knew that chap. He owed me a couple of bob.'

'Hanged.'

'Let's all go down the Strand. Let's all go down the Strand.'

'About nine.'

'Shut that door.'

'Bloody ass doing a thing like that.'

'Hanged.'

'Roll his clothes up.'

'Beggar, isn't it? Poor sod. Got fed up, maybe.'

'Now, Mr. Walters, let's have a bloody good old polka. And what the hell, let the subs come and the mines glide and the aeryplanes fly and the guns toot toot and all the rest of it. A nice polka, Mr. Walters, sir.'

'Move him aft, I reckon.'

'Over and the shouting done.'

'Shut the door.'

'Half-past nine.'

'Shut the door.'

'Sloane cut him down.'

'Hip-hip—'

'Hurrah! Well, by the lord Harry, this has been a real good concert. Three cheers for Mr. Walter Walters, kindest-hearted man in all the wide bloody world.'

'Hip-pip—'

'He looked hellish. I won't forget it.'

'Mr. Walters, sir.'

'Can't you see Mr. Walters is busy doing the polka-polka stuff? Ha! Ha! Ha!'

'Ssh!
Ssh!'

'Shush my backside. On with the game. On with the bloody dance.'

'Hanged by his braces.'

'About half-past nine.'

The door was open.'

'Dance. Dance. And shut that goddam door. Want us all blown to bloody smithereens? Cheer boys, cheer. That's what the sods said at the last landing. Cheer boys, cheer.'

'Money for bloody dirt, mates.'

'They took him aft.'

'The door was open.'

'Roll his clothes up.'

'Marvel his name was.'

'Decent feller too.'

'Damn fool.'

'Over and there you are. One push friends. Only one push.'

'Now fellers all together, three cheers for every son of a gun and then with all your bloody hearts, "Sweet Adeline."
 
'

So the improvised concert came to a close. Men were now descending the ladders, everybody talked, one or two still hummed 'Sweet Adeline.' Mr. Walters stood at the stairtop watching them go. Hump had been carried below to his bunk, having finally collapsed at Vesuvius's feet.

'What a concert,' thought Walters.
'
What
a concert. What a sight for sore eyes. Phew!'

He put a handkerchief to his forehead and wiped it. The accordionist was standing behind him, only waiting to be taken down for that tot of rum, the tot of rum he had not really earned. He had been the one failure of the evening, and he still wondered why scores of men should sing and yet leave him standing in the cold and that accordion hanging round his neck. But there it was, and it couldn't be helped. But he would see that he got the same as anybody else, and he was determined to stand right alongside the chief steward. Soon the saloon would be empty. Mr. Walters was telling himself that he must have Crilly, and Devine, Sloane and Marvel up here as soon as possible to clean the mess. And what a mess! Why hadn't he thought about those spittoons? A fatal mistake, indeed. Well, it would have to be cleaned up right away. That was that. And when the last man was down the ladder, Mr. Walters turned and touched the accordionist on the arm, saying, 'Go below now and wait for me by the storeroom.'