" THE SNOTTY."
TF ever a youngster has been misrepresented in literature and 1 popular imagination, it is the Midshipman of to-day, alias "The Snotty," never " The Middy," plesse nolo. A howl of mingled pain and derision wont round the Gun Room only the other day when, blazoned on the top of a popular daily paper, appeared these heart-breaking words " The Heroic Middy." Call hint anything you like, from the Senior Sub's " that young swine Jonas " to the Captain's formal "Mr. Jones, 013 of our Midship- men " ; but if you value the feelings of the Senior Service, don't call him a Middy. This term is only used in musical comedy, and generally applies to a lady with an overflowing figure, a pseudo- naval uniform, and an enormous head of auburn hair crowned by a cap.
I've lived in clam companionship with the Midehilimen for Many years, and know him pretty well, and love him, but he', not the Midshipman of fiction. He's not the willowy, six foot of fashion-plate beloved of short-story magazines. He's all sizes, but whatever size he is, he is always growing out of his trousers, for hard work, plentiful exorcise, and good food don't give them a chance to fit for very long, and the mat of his clothes nowadays would not be accepted by the vicar for the village rummage sale. He looks a pirate and a tough this war time, but he doss the work of a man (sometimes two) and does it uncommonly well. Peren- nially cheerful, even in the most depressing surroundings, he'll smile as he takes you in the picket-boat across three miles of lumpy sea and deposits you on the beach while he aids for your informatioa that he has two more trips of that nature to do that night and hopes—still with a smile—that you'll have a good forty-eight hours' leave. He's a tonic now when the monotony of the waiting life of the Navy oats into one's bones. Rave an evening is the Gun
Room and the green mould falls off you; but if you are wise, don't drink all they offer you there, as their ideas of hospitality are princely.
I like looking back to peace days, whet hefty great Two-Stripers whom I recognize as my Snotties of the Mediterranean come on boardnow tosee me. Looking at one such,I sea again the chest flat of the —at Alexandria, with a nervous Arab gentleman fluttering a sheaf of papers and bleating: "I come thing the wash-bills." Two minutes later, with shrieks and scurrying feet, our Arab runs round the flat pursued by hordes of Gun Room toughs each armed with a bayonet from the arms rack, and his trail is marked like a paper-chase with washing-bills. In my staid visitor with the two stripes I recognize the leader of the band.
My friend the Snotty is never at a loss ; it takes a lot to beat him. He's brought up in a school where he's trained to think for himself, and it's a very tight corner that he can't get out of. I have been away in desolate places for two or three days in the cutter picnicking with him, but I was young then. Never was there a dull minute, for one never knew what the next turn would be. Out of sight of the ship, on one memorable picnic, I was curtly informed that the boat was under pirate law, and a flag decorated with the pirate's insignia, laboriously fashioned in the Gun Room with a se.ilinaker's needle, was hauled from under the thwarts and hoisted. Alas ! I only too truly knew what the next turn would be, for as we neared the cove where we were to spend our first night 4plank was pushed out over the bow and a moment later I, a sadder and a wetter man, was slowly swimming to shore, having been the first sentenced under the new law to walk the plank. Later, as darkness fell, we discovered we had brought no lamp, that we had no money, that the island we were encamped on was semi-barbarous. This, how- ever, did not disturb my friends one whit, for three of them, striding off into the darkness of the unknown night, traded an old sweater for a candle-lamp at a village emporium two miles away. Yet people wonder at the coolness with which our Midshipmen ran their picket-boats at Gallipoli !
Their inventiveness does not, however, only shine forth in desolate places. I call to mind the ease of the four tired Mid- el.ipmen at 31— who were chosen by lot, to their infinite disgust, to accept the box at the Opera offered by the Commander-in-Chief to the Gun Room. Such is the nature of an invitation from so high a potentate that it must of necessity be accepted by some one. Accordingly they repaired to the theatre, and two of them sat stiffly on the chairs, graciously applauded the' efforts of the stout soprano, while the other two spread their boat cloaks on the deck of the box and enjoyed their hard-earned slumber. At half-time the latter were called by their friends to take " watch on deck" and give up their beds to the two who were coming off watch.
There I wake up and find I have been reminiscencing, but it ie only a fragment of the memories one has. One can't write in cold blood of these youngsters. That mixture of man and super-boy is too elusive to write of, but not to love. Boon.
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