Mr. Punch Afloat: The Humours of Boating and Sailing, Hammerton and Tenniel [ebook reader .txt] 📗
- Author: Hammerton and Tenniel
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NO. I.—IT BLEW GREAT GUNS
It blew great guns when Sammy Snooks
Mounted the rolling paddles;
He met the mate with fearful looks—
They shook each other's daddles.
The word was given to let go,
The funnel gave a screamer,
The stoker whistled from below,
And off she goes, blow high, blow low,
The Atalanta steamer.[Pg 54]
His native Hungerford he leaves,
His Poll of Pedlar's Acre,
Who now ashore in silence grieves
Because he did not take her.
There's a collision fore and aft;
Against the pier they squeeze her.
"Up boys, and save the precious craft,
We from the station shall be chaff'd—
Ho—back her—stop her—ease her."
Aha! the gallant vessel rights,
She goes just where they want her;
She nears at last the Lambeth lights,
The trim-built Atalantar.
Sam Snooks his messmates calls around;
He speaks of Poll and beauty:
When suddenly a grating sound
Tells them the vessel's run aground
While they forgot their duty.
NO. II.—BEN BOUNCE.My name's Ben Bounce, d'ye see,
A tar from top to toe, sirs.
I'm merry, blithe and free,
A marling-spike I know, sirs.
In friendship or in love,
I climb the top-sail's pinnacle,
But in a storm I always prove
My heart's abaft the binnacle.
I fear no foreign foe,
But cruise about the river;
As up and down I go
My timbers never shiver.[Pg 55]
When off life's end I get,
I'll make no useless rumpus;
But off my steam I'll let,
And box my mortal compass.
NO. III.—THE CAPTAIN'S ROUNDELAY.Away, away, we gaily glide
Far from the wooden pier;
And down into the gushing tide
We drop the sailor's tear.
On—with the strong and hissing steam,
And seize the pliant wheel;
Of days gone by I fondly dream,
For oh! the tar must feel![Pg 56]
Quick, let the sturdy painter go,
And put the helm a-port;
Lay, lay the lofty funnel low,
And keep the rigging taut.
'Tis true, my tongue decision shows,
I act the captain's part;
But oh! there's none on board that knows
The captain's aching heart.
Upon the paddle-box all day
I've stood, and brav'd the gale,
While the light vessel made her way
Without a bit of sail.
And as upon its onward flight
The steamer cut the wave,
My crew I've order'd left and right,
My stout—my few—my brave!
NO. IV.—TO MARY.Afloat, ashore, ahead, astern,
With winds propitious or contrary.
(I do not spin an idle yarn.)
No—no, belay! I love thee, Mary.
Amidships—on the Bentinck shrouds,
Athwart the hawse, astride the mizen,
Watching at night the fleecy clouds,
Your Harry wishes you were his'n.
Then let us heave the nuptial lead,
In Hymen's port our anchors weighing;
Thy face shall be the figure-head
Our ship shall always be displaying.
But when old age shall bid us luff,
Our honest tack will never vary,
But I'll continue Harry Bluff,
And thou my little light-built Mary.
[Pg 53]
CUMULATIVE!
Tourist (on Scotch steamer). "I say, steward, how do you expect anybody to dry their hands on this towel? It's as wet as if it had been dipped in the sea!"
Steward. "Aweel—depped or no depped, there's a hundred fouk hae used the toowl, and ye're the furrst that's grummelt!"
The Margate excursion boat arrives at 2.30 p.m., after a rather boisterous passage.
Ticket Collector (without any feeling). "Ticket, sir! Thankye, sir! Boat returns at 3!"
[Pg 57]
Mothers Pet.
"Oh, there's ma on the beach, looking at us, Alfred; let's make the boat lean over tremendously on one side!"
[Pg 58]
WATER-PARTIES (By Mr. Punch's Vagrant)Take four pretty girls
And four tidy young men;
Add papa and mamma,
And your number is ten.
Having ten in your party
You'll mostly be eight,
For you'll find you can count
Upon two to be late.
In the packing of hampers
'Tis voted a fault
To be rashly forgetful
Of corkscrew and salt.
Take a mayonnaised lobster,
A tasty terrine,
A salmon, some lamb
And a gay galantine.
Take fizz for the lads,
Claret-cup for the popsies,
And some tartlets with jam
So attractive to woppses.
Let the men do the rowing,
And all acquire blisters;
While the boats go zigzag,
Being steered by their sisters.
Then eat and pack up
And return as you came.
Though your comfort was nil,
You had fun all the same.
[Pg 59]
THOSE BROWNS AND THEIR LUMINOUS PAINT AGAIN
[Pg 60]
"SIC TRANSIT——"Just starting down Southampton Water in jolly old Bigheart's yacht, The Collarbone—or Columbine? I wonder which it is? Dear old Bigheart, the best fellow in the world, and enthusiastic about yachting. So am I (theoretically, and whilst in smooth water). Try to act as nautically as possible, and ask skipper at frequent intervals "How does she bear?" Don't know what it means; but, after all, what does that matter? Skipper stares at me rather helplessly, and mutters something about "Nothe-nor-east-by-sou-sou-west." Feel that, with this lucid explanation, I ought to be satisfied, so turn away, assume cheery aspect and with a rolling gait seize the topsail-main-gaff-mizen sheet and pull it lustily, with a "Yo, heave ho!"
The pull, unfortunately, releases heavy block, which, falling on Bigheart's head, seems to quite annoy him for the minute. We plunge into Solent, and then bear away for West Channel. Skipper[Pg 62] remarks that we shall make a long "retch" of it (absit omen). He then adds that we could "bring up"—why these unpleasantly suggestive nautical expressions?—off Yarmouth. Not wishing to appear ignorant, I ask Bigheart, "Why not make a course S.S. by E.?" He replies, "Because it would take us ashore into the R. V. Yacht Club garden," and I retire somewhat abashed.
Out in West Channel we get into what skipper calls "a bit of a bobble." Don't think I care quite so much for yachting in "bobbles." Bigheart shows me all the varied beauties of the coast, but now they fail to interest me. He says, "I say, we'll keep sailing until quite late this evening, eh? That'll be jolly!" Reply, "Yes, that'll be jolly," but somehow my voice lacks heartiness.
An hour later I was lying down—I felt tired—when Bigheart came up, and with a ring of joy in his manly tones exclaimed, "I tell you what, old man; we'll carry right on, now, through the night. We're not in a hurry, so we'll get as much sailing as we can." ... Then, with my last ounce of failing strength, I sat up and denounced him as an assassin.
[Pg 63]
After passing a night indescribable, lying on the shelf—I mean berth—I was put ashore at Portland next morning. Should like to have procured dear old Bigheart a government appointment there for seven years, as a due reward for what he had been making me suffer.
Suitable Song for Boating Men.—The last rows of summer.
SAD RESULTS OF PERSISTENT BRIDGE PLAYING AT SEA
Owner. "I'll 'eave it to you, partner!"
[Pg 61]
Mr. Dibbles (at Balham). "Ah, the old Channel
Tunnel scheme knocked on the head at last!
Good job too! Mad-headed project—beastly unpatriotic too!"
Mr. Dibbles (en route for Paris. Sea choppy.)
"Channel Tunnel not a bad idea. Entire journey
to Paris by train. Grand scheme! English people
backward in these kind of things. Steward!"
[Goes below.
[Pg 64]
MY YOT (A Confidential Carol, by a Cockney Owner, who inwardly feels that he is not exactly "in it," after all)What makes me deem I'm of Viking blood
(Though a wee bit queer when the pace grows hot),
A briny slip of the British brood?
My Yot!
What makes me rig me in curious guise?
Like a kind of a sort of—I don't know what,
And talk sea-slang, to the world's surprise?
My Yot!
What makes me settle my innermost soul
On winning a purposeless silver pot,
And walk with a (very much) nautical roll?
My Yot!
What makes me learned in cutters and yawls,
And time-allowance—which others must tot—,
And awfully nervous in sudden squalls?
My Yot!
What makes me sprawl on the deck all day,
And at night play "Nap" till I lose a lot,
And grub in a catch-who-can sort of a way?
My Yot!
What makes me qualmish, timorous, pale,
(Though rather than own it I'd just be shot)
When the Fay in the wave-crests dips her sail?
My Yot![Pg 66]
What makes me "patter" to skipper and crew
In a kibosh style that a child might spot,
And tug hard ropes till my knuckles go blue?
My Yot!
What makes me snooze in a narrow, close bunk,
Till the cramp my limbs doth twist and knot,
And brave discomfort, and face blue-funk?
My Yot!
What makes me gammon my chummiest friends
To "try the fun"—which I know's all rot—
And earn the dead-cut in which all this ends?
My Yot!
What makes me, in short, an egregious ass,
A bore, a butt, who, not caring a jot
For the sea, as a sea-king am seeking to pass?
My Yot!
At Whitby.—Visitor (to Ancient Mariner, who has been relating his experiences to crowd of admirers). "Then do you mean to tell us that you actually reached the North Pole?"
Ancient Mariner. "No, sir; that would be a perwersion of the truth. But I seed it a-stickin' up among the ice just as plain as you can this spar, which I plants in the sand. It makes me thirsty to think of that marvellous sight, we being as it were parched wi' cold."
[A. M.'s distress promptly relieved by audience.
[Pg 65]
THE DANGERS OF HENLEY
Voice from the bridge above. "Oh, lor, Sarah, I've bin and dropped the strawberries and cream!"
[Pg 67]
His Fair Companion (drowsily). "I think a Canadian is the best river craft, after all, as it's less like work than the others!"
THE RULE OF THE RIVER(As Deduced from a late Collision) The rule of the river's a mystery quite, Other craft when you're steering among, If you starboard your helm, you ain't sure you are right, If you port, you may prove to be wrong.
[Pg 68]
"THE USUAL CHANNEL"To what snug refuge do I fly
When glass is low, and billows high,
And goodness knows what fate is nigh?—
My Cabin!
Who soothes me when in sickness' grip,
Brings a consolatory "nip,"
And earns my blessing, and his tip?—
The Steward!
When persons blessed with fancy rich
Declare "she" does not roll, or pitch.
What say—"The case is hardly sich"?—
My Senses!
What makes me long for real Free Trade,
When no Douaniers could invade.
Nor keys, when wanted, be mislaid?—
My Luggage!
What force myself, perhaps another,
To think (such thoughts we try to smother)
"The donkey-engine is our brother"?—
Our Feelings!
And what, besides a wobbling funnel,
Screw-throb, oil-smell, unstable gunwale,
Converts me to a
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