Chapter II: Part 2

When the Generalissimo came aboard at Marseilles, surveying the fortifications of the harbour as if he intended storming them, his accent suggested that if not of foreign birth, he had lived long in continental courts and camps. Odd to note how, as his physical depression grew, an Irish accent softened his speech, till at length he murmured of misery in the mellifluous brogue of County Cork.

Pretty to see the steward when the flood in the saloon got half a foot deep ladle it out with a dustpan.

_Tunis, Monday_, 1 A.M.--Just limped in here with deck cargo washed overboard, bulwarks stove in, engine broken down, an awesome list to port, galley so clean swept the cook doesn't know it, the cabins flooded, and scarce a whole bit of crockery in the pantry. Twenty-one hours late; not bad on a thirty-six-hours' voyage.

Captain comforts us with assurance that having crossed the Mediterranean man and boy for forty years, he never went through such a storm. Have been at sea a bit myself; only once, coasting in a small steamer off Japan, have I seen--or, since it was in the main pitch dark, felt--anything like it. Generalissimo turned up at dinner last night, his moustache a little draggled, but his port once more martial. His chief lament is, that going down to his berth yesterday morning, having spent Friday night in the security of the saloon floor, he found his boots full of water. This brings out chorus of heartrending experience. Every cabin flooded; boxes and portmanteaus floating about. Sark and I spent a more or less cosy night in the saloon. To us entered occasionally one of the crew ostentatiously girt with a life-belt. Few incidents so soothing on such a night. Fortunately, we did not hear till entering port how in the terror of the night two conscripts, bound for Bizerta, jumped overboard and were seen no more.

"If this is the way they usually get to Tunis," says Sark, "I hope the French will keep it all to themselves. In this particular case, there is more in the Markiss's 'graceful concession' than meets the eye."

* * * * *

RIVER GAMBLING.--"Punting," says the _Daily News_, "has become a very fashionable form of amusement on the Upper Thames." So it is at Monte Carlo. Punting is given up by all who find themselves in hopelessly low water.

* * * * *

LIVE WHILE YOU MAY.--_Timid Passenger_ (_as the gale freshened_). "Is there any danger?" _Tar_ (_ominously_). "Well, them as likes a good dinner had better hev it to-day!"

* * * * *

SATISFACTORY.--We are glad to be able to report that the gentleman who one day last week, while walking on the bank of the Thames near Henley, fell in with a friend, is doing well. His companion is also progressing favourably.

* * * * *

_Skipper._ "Did ye got the proveesions Angus?"

_Angus._ "Ay, ay! A half loaf, an' fouer bottles o' whiskey."

_Skipper._ "An' what in the woarld will ye be doin' wi' aal that bread?"]

* * * * *

_Sympathetic Old Gentleman._ "I'm sorry to see your husband suffer so, ma'am. He seems very----"

_Lady Passenger_ (_faintly_). "Oh dear! He isn't my husband. 'Sure I don't know who the ge'tleman is!"]

* * * * *

_Visitor._ "Good morning: tide's very high this morning, eh?"

_Ancient Mariner._ "Ar, if the sea was all _beer_, there wouldn' be no bloomin' 'igh tides!"]

* * * * *

"Unbidden guests are often welcomest when they are gone."--_Shakespeare._]

* * * * *

_Old Lady._ "Goodness gracious, Mr. Boatman! What's that?"

_Stolid Boatman._ "That, mum! Nuthun, mum. Only the Artillery a prac-_ti_-sin', and that's one o' the cannon balls what's just struck the water!!"]

* * * * *

_Bride._ "I think--George, dear--I should--be better--if we walked about----"

_Husband_ (_one wouldn't have believed it of him_). "You can do as you like, love. I'm very well (!) as I am!!"]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_Doris._ "Oh, Jack, here come those Sellerby girls! Do show them how beautifully you can punt."]

* * * * *

_Miss Grundison, Junior._ "There goes Lucy Holroyd, all alone in a boat with young Snipson, as usual! So imprudent of them!"

_Her Elder Sister._ "Yes; how shocking if they were upset and drowned--without a chaperon, you know!"]

* * * * *

_Captain of Clyde steamer_ (_to stoker, as they sighted their port_). "Slack awee, Donal', slack awee"--(_he was interested in the liquors sold_)--"they're drencken haurd yenoo!!"]

* * * * *

'ARRY ON A 'OUSE-BOAT

Dear Charlie,--It's 'ot, and no error!
Summer on us, at last, with a bust;
Ninety odd in the shade as I write, I've a 'ed, and a thunderin'
thust.
Can't go on the trot at this tempryture, though I'm on 'oliday
still;
So I'll pull out my _eskrytor_, Charlie, and give you a touch of
my quill.

If you find as my fist runs to size, set it down to that quill,
dear old pal;
Correspondents is on to me lately, complains as I write like a gal.
Sixteen words to the page, and slopscrawly, all dashes and blobs.
Well, it's true;
But a quill and big sprawl is the fashion, so wot is a feller to do?

Didn't spot you at 'Enley, old oyster--I did 'ope you'd shove in
your oar.
We 'ad a rare barney, I tell you, although a bit spiled by the pour.

'Ad a invite to 'Opkins's 'ouse-boat, prime pitch, and swell party,
yer know,
Pooty girls, first-class lotion, and music. I tell yer we did let
things go.

Who sez 'Enley ain't up to old form, that Society gives it the slip?
Wish you could 'ave seen us--and heard us--old boy, when aboard of
our ship.
Peonies and poppies ain't in it for colour with our little lot,
And with larfter and banjos permiskus we managed to mix it up 'ot.

My blazer was claret and mustard, my "stror" was a rainbow gone
wrong!
I ain't one who's ashamed of his colours, but likes 'em mixed
midd-lingish strong.
'Emmy 'Opkins, the fluffy-'aired daughter, a dab at a punt or canoe,
Said I looked like a garden of dahlias, and showed up her neat
navy blue.

Fair mashed on yours truly, Miss Emmy; but that's only jest by the
way,
'Arry ain't one to brag of _bong jour tunes_; but wot I wos wanting
to say
Is about this here "spiling the River" which snarlers set down to
our sort.
Bosh! Charlie, extreme Tommy rot! It's these sniffers as want to
spile sport.

Want things all to theirselves, these old jossers, and all on the
strictest Q. T.
Their idea of the Thames being "spiled" by the smallest suggestion
of spree,
Wy, it's right down rediklus, old pal, gives a feller the dithreums
it do.
I mean going for them a rare bat, and I'm game to wire in till
all's blue.

Who are they, these stuckuppy snipsters, as jaw about quiet and
peace,
Who would silence the gay "constant-screamer" and line the Thames
banks with perlice;
Who sneer about "'Arry at 'Enley," and sniff about "cads on the
course,"
As though it meant "Satan in Eden"? I'll 'owl at sich oafs till
I'm 'oarse!

Scrap o' sandwich-greased paper 'll shock 'em, a ginger-beer
bottle or "Bass,"
Wot 'appens to drop 'mong the lilies, or gets chucked aside on
the grass,
Makes 'em gasp like a frog in a frying-pan. Br-r-r-r! Wot old
mivvies they are!
Got nerves like a cobweb, I reckon, a smart banjo-twang makes
'em jar.

I'm toffy, you know, and no flies, Charlie; swim with the swells,
and all that,
But _I_'m blowed if this bunkum don't make me inclined to turn
Radical rat.
"Riparian rights," too! Oh scissors! They'd block the backwaters
and broads,
Because me and my pals likes a lark! Serve 'em right if old Burns
busts their 'oards!

Rum blokes, these here Sosherlist spouters! There's Dannel the
Dosser, old chap,
As you've 'eard me elude to afore. Fair stone-broker, not wuth
'arf a rap--
Knows it's all Cooper's ducks with _him_, Charlie; won't run to
a pint o' four 'arf,
And yet he will slate me like sugar, and give me cold beans with
his charf.

Sez Dannel--and dash his darned cheek, Charlie!--"Monkeys like
you"--meaning _Me_!--
"Give the latter-day Mammon his chance. Your idea of a lark or
a spree
Is all Noise, Noodle-Nonsense, and Nastiness! Dives, who wants
an excuse
For exclusiveness, finds it in _you_, you contemptible
coarse-cackling goose!

"Riparian rights? That's the patter of Ahab to Naboth, of course;
But 'tis pickles like you make it plausible, louts such as you give
it force.
You make sweet Thames reaches Gehennas, the fair Norfolk Broads
you befoul;
You--_you_, who'd make Beulah a hell with your blatant Bank
Holiday howl!

"Decent property-owners abhor you; you spread your coarse feasts
on their lawns,
And 'Arry's a hog when he feeds, and an ugly Yahoo when he yawns;
You litter, and ravage, and cock-sky; you romp like a satyr obscene,
And the noise of you rises to heaven till earth might blush red
through her green.

"You are moneyed, sometimes, and well-tailored; but come you from
Oxford or Bow,
You're a flaring offence when you lounge, and a blundering pest when
you row;
Your 'monkeyings' mar every pageant, your shindyings spoil
every sport,
And there isn't an Eden on earth but's destroyed when it's
'Arry's resort.

"Then monopolist Mammon may chuckle, Riparian Ahabs rejoice;
There's excuse in your Caliban aspect, your hoarse and ear-torturing
voice,
You pitiful Cockney-born Cloten, you slum-bred Silenus, 'tis you
Spoil the silver-streamed Thames for Pan-lovers, and all the
nymph-worshipping crew!"

I've "reported" as near as no matter! I don't hunderstand more
than arf
Of his patter; he's preciously given to potry and classical charf.
But the cheek on it, Charlie! A Stone-broke! I _should_ like to give
him wot for,
Only Dannel the Dosser's a dab orf of whom 'tain't so easy to score.

But it's time that this bunkum was bunnicked, bin fur too much on
it of late--
Us on 'Opkins's 'ouse-boat, I tell yer, cared nix for the
ink-spiller's "slate."
_I_ mean doin' them Broads later on, for free fishing and shooting,
that's flat.
If I don't give them dash'd Norfolk Dumplings a doing, I'll eat my
old 'at.

Rooral quiet, and rest, and refinement? Oh, let 'em go home and
eat coke.
These fussy old footlers whose 'air stands on hend at a row-de-dow
joke,
The song of the skylark sounds pooty, but "skylarking" song's
better fun,
And you carn't do the rooral to-rights on a tract and a tuppenny bun.

As to colour, and kick-up, and sing-song, our party was fair to
the front;
But we wosn't alone; lots of toppers, in 'ouse-boat, or four-oar,
or punt,
Wos a doin' the rorty and rosy as lively as 'Opkins's lot,
Ah! the swells sling it out pooty thick; _they_ ain't stashed by no
ink-spiller's rot.

Bright blazers, and twingle-twang banjoes, and bottles of Bass,
my dear boy,
Lots of dashing, and splashing, and "mashing" are things every man
must enjoy,
And the petticoats ain't fur behind 'em, you bet. While top-ropes
I can carry,
It ain't soap-board slop about "Quiet" will put the clear kibosh
on 'Arry.

* * * * *

"JAM" NON "SATIS."

(_A Lay of Medmenham, by a Broken-hearted Boating Man landing from the Thames, who was informed that, by the rules of the Hotel, visitors were not allowed jam with their tea if served in the garden._)

There's a river hotel that is known very well,
From the turmoil of London withdrawn,
Between Henley and Staines, where this strange rule obtains--
That you must not have jam on the lawn.

In the coffee-room still you may eat what you will,
Such as chicken, beef, mutton, or brawn,
Jam and marmalade too, but, whatever you do,
Don't attempt to eat jam on the lawn.

Young Jones and his bride sought the cool river side,
And she said, as she skipped like a fawn,
"As it _is_, it is nice, but 'twould be paradise,
Could we only have jam on the lawn!"

* * * * *

(Development of the houseboat system)]

* * * * *

Fun at Henley Regatta. Bertie attempts to extricate his punt from the crowd.]

* * * * *

* * * * *

_M.P.'s Bride._ "Oh! William, dear--if you are--a Liberal--do bring in a Bill--next Session--for that underground tunnel!!"]

* * * * *

THE YACHTING SEASON

(_Examination for a Master's Certificate_)

1. Can you dance a hornpipe? If so, which? (_Vivâ voce._) If dancing unaccompanied by fiddle, whistle the first eight bars of College Hornpipe. Also, dance the three first figures of the hornpipe, announcing the distinctive name of each beforehand.

2. Explain the terms "Ahoy!" "Avast!" "Belay!" Whence derived? Also of "Splice my main-brace." Is "main-brace" a part of rigging, or of sailor's costume? Which? If neither, what? Is "Lubber" a term of opprobrium or of endearment? State varieties of "Lubber." Give derivations of the terms "Bum-boat woman," "Marlin' spike," "Son of a sea-cook," "Dash my lee-scuppers!" "Pipe your eye," "Tip us your grapplin' iron."

3. How many mates may a sea captain legally possess at any one time?

4. Is "sextant" the feminine of "sexton"?

5. How often do "the red magnetic pole" and "the blue pole" require repainting? At whose expense is the operation performed?

6. Are only Royal Academicians eligible as "painters" on board?

7. Is it the duty of the surgeon on board ship to attend the "heeling"?

8. In case the needles of the compass get out of order, will pins do as well?

9. At what time in the day, whether previous or subsequent to dinner, is it necessary to "allow for deviations"?

10. Draw a picture of "Three Belles." Give classic illustration from the story of Paris.

11. What rule is there as to showing lights on nearing Liverpool?

12. When in doubt, would you consult "the visible horizon," "the sensible horizon," or "the rational horizon"? Give reason for your selection.

13. Can sailors ever trust "the artificial horizon"? If so, under what circumstances?

14. Is "Azimuth" an idol, or something to eat?

15. Would "mean time" always refer to lowering wages or diminishing rations?

16. Presuming you know all about the "complement of an arc," explain that of Noah's.

17. Who was "Parallax"? Give a brief sketch of his career.

18. Give example of "meridian altitude of a celestial object," by drawing a picture of the Chinese giant who was over here some time ago.

19. Give history of "the Poles." Who was Kosciusko? Is this spelling of his name correct?

20. "Civil time." Illustrate this term from English history.

21. Can a "first mate's ordinary certificate" be granted by Doctors' Commons or the Archbishop of Canterbury?

(_On these questions being satisfactorily answered, the next Examination Paper will be issued._)

* * * * *

Jones says there is only one _really_ safe way of changing places in a skiff!]

* * * * *

_Philosophical Sea-faring Party_ (_who manages our friend's yacht_). "Well, ladies and genelmen, I s'pose this is what _you_ calls _pleasure_, and comes all the way from London for?"

[_Brown, the funny man, with the eye-glass, thinks it an _Idyachtic_ kind
of pleasure, but is actually too far gone to say so._

]

* * * * *

* * * * *

I'M AFLOAT

(_Mr. Punch in the Ocean on the broad of his back, singeth_)

I'm afloat, I'm afloat, what matters it where?
So the devils don't know my address, I don't care.
Of London I'm sick, I've come down to the sea,
And let who will make up next week's number for me!
At my lodgings, I know, I'm done frightfully brown,
And e'en lobsters and shrimps cost me more than in town;
I've B. flats in my bed, and my landlady stern,
Says from London I've brought 'em to give her a turn.
Yet I'm happier far in my dear seaside home,
Than the Queen on Dee side, or Art-traveller in Rome;
A Cab-horse at grass would be nothing to me,

On the broad of my back floating free, floating free!
On the broad of my back floating free, floating free!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!

With the lodging-house-keepers all day on the bite,
And the insects I spoke of as hungry at night,
With the organs "_Dog-traying_" and "_Bobbing Around_,"
And extra-size Crinolines sweeping the ground,
You may think _Mr. Punch_ might be apt to complain
That the seaside's but Regent Street over again:
But from devils and copy and proof-sheets set free,
I've a week to do nothing but bathe in the sea.
In steamers and yachts I've been rocked on its breast,
And didn't much like it, it must be confessed;
But a cosy machine and shoal water give me,
And there let me float--let me float and be free!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!
(1858)

* * * * *

THAMES WEATHER

Come, George, give your clubs and your Haskells a rest, man:
You can't spend the whole of your lifetime in golf;
If it pleases your pride I'll admit you're the best man
That ever wore scarlet or teed a ball off;
I'll allow they can't match you in swinging or driving,
That your shots are as long as they always are true,
And I'll grant that what others effect after striving
For years on the green comes by nature to you.

But the sun's in the sky, and the leaves are a-shiver
With a soft bit of breeze that is cool to the brow;
And I seem to remember a jolly old river
Which is smiling all over--I think you know how.
There are whispers of welcome from rushes and sedge there,
There's a blaze of laburnum and lilac and may;
There are lawns of close grass sloping down to the edge there;
You can lie there and lounge there and dream there to-day.

There are great spreading chestnuts all ranged in their arches
With their pinnacled blossoms so pink and so white;
There are rugged old oaks, there are tender young larches,
There are willows, cool willows, to chequer the light.
Each tree seems to ask you to come and be shaded--
It's a way they all have, these adorable trees--
And the leaves all invite you to float down unaided
In your broad-bottomed punt and to rest at your ease.

And then, when we're tired of the _dolce far niente_,
We'll remember our skill in the grandest of sports,
Imagine we're back at the great age of twenty,
And change our long clothes for a zephyr and shorts.
And so, with a zest that no time can diminish,
We will sit in our boat and get forward and dare,
As we grip the beginning and hold out the finish,
To smite the Thames furrows afloat in a pair.

* * * * *

* * * * *

It is quite a mistake to suppose that Henley Regatta was not anticipated in earliest times.]

* * * * *

ON THE RIVER

I sat in a punt at Twickenham,
I've sat at Hampton Wick in 'em.
I hate sea boats, I'm sick in 'em--
The man, I, Tom, and Dick in 'em.
Oh, gentles! I've been pickin 'em.
For bait, the man's been stickin 'em
(Cruel!) on hooks with kick in 'em
The small fish have been lickin 'em.
And when the hook was quick in 'em,
I with my rod was nickin 'em,
Up in the air was flickin 'em.
My feet so cold, kept kickin 'em.
We'd hampers, with _aspic_ in 'em,
Sandwiches made of chicken, 'em
We ate, we'd stone jars thick, in 'em
Good liquor; we pic-nic-ing 'em
Sat: till our necks a rick in 'em
We turned again t'wards Twickenham.
And paid our punts, for tickin 'em
They don't quite see at Twickenham.

* * * * *

_British Tourist_ (_to fellow-passenger, in mid-Channel_). "Going across, I suppose?"

_Fellow-Passenger._ "Yaas. Are you?"]

* * * * *

THE CHANNEL BAROMETER

_Very fair._--Really delightful. Nothing could be pleasanter. Sunshine. Ozone. Does everyone a world of good. Would not miss such a passage for worlds.

_Fair._--Yes; it is decidedly an improvement upon a railway carriage. Room to move about. I don't in the least mind the eighty odd minutes. If cold, you can put on a wrap, and there you are.

_Change._--Always thought there was something to be said in favour of the Channel Tunnel. Of course, one likes to be patriotic, but the movement in a choppy sea is the reverse of invigorating.

_Wind._--There should be a notice when a bad passage is expected. It's all very well to describe this as "moderate," but that doesn't prevent the beastly waves from running mountains high.

_Stormy._--It is simply disgraceful. Would not have come if I had known. Too depressed to say anything. Where is the steward?

_Gale._--Why--was--I--ever--born?

* * * * *

_Man in Boat._ "Come along, old chap, and let's pull up to Marlow."

_Man on Shore._ "I think I'll get you to excuse me, old man. I don't like sculling--it--er--hurts the back of my head so!"]

* * * * *

_His Better and Stouter Half._ "Oh, Charley, if we're upset, you mean to say you expect me to get into _this_?"

[_Horror-stricken husband has no answer ready._

]

* * * * *

LOVE ON THE OCEAN

They met, 'twas in a storm,
On the deck of a steamer;
She spoke in language warm,
Like a sentimental dreamer.

He spoke--at least he tried;
His position he altered;
Then turn'd his face aside,
And his deep-ton'd voice falter'd.

She gazed upon the wave,
Sublime she declared it;
But no reply he gave--
He could not have dared it.

A breeze came from the south,
Across the billows sweeping;
His heart was in his mouth,
And out he thought 'twas leaping.

"O, then, Steward," he cried,
With the deepest emotion;
Then tottered to the side,
And leant o'er the ocean.

The world may think him cold,
But they'll pardon him with quickness,
When the fact they shall be told,
That he suffer'd from sea-sickness.

* * * * *

"_Richmond_ is on the seas."

_Richard III., Act iv., Scene 4._]

* * * * *

LECTURES ON YACHTING

_By_ PROFESSOR AQUARIUS BRICK

We were present when the accomplished Professor Brick recently delivered a series of lectures on yachting, which were very well attended. By his kind permission, we have preserved bits of the discourses here and there. We extract, _à discrétion_:--

"I come now," went on the Professor, "to your most important yachters--your genuine swells. Their cutters are in every harbour; you trace their wake by empty champagne bottles on every sea. To such dandy sea-kings I would now say one word.

"About your choice of cruising ground you cannot have much difficulty. The Mediterranean is your proper spot. It is true that we will not tolerate its being made a French lake--its proper vocation is that of English pond!

"I would advise you all to be very particular in not letting your 'skipper' have too much authority. Remember always, that _you are the owner_--high-spirited gentlemen do. Surely a man may sail his own yacht, if anybody may! It is as much his property as his horse is. To be sure, when the weather is very bad, I would let the fellow take charge then. There is a very odd difference between the Bay of Biscay and the water inside the Isle of Wight, when it blows. And a skipper _too much snubbed_ gets rusty at awkward times.

"Your conduct in harbour will be regulated by circumstances--which means, dinners. Generally speaking, the fact of having a yacht will carry you everywhere. As every aëronaut is 'intrepid' by courtesy, so every yachtsman is a 'fashionable arrival.' This great truth is scarcely enough appreciated in England. I have known very worthy men spend in trying to get into great society in London, sums which, judiciously invested _in a yacht_, would have taken them to dozens of great people's houses abroad. You will get asked to dinner; you will be feasted well, generally. Anything in the way of excitement--particularly good, rich, hospitable excitement--is heartily welcome in our colonial settlements and stations.

"But I am not now speaking only to those who yacht, because to have a yacht is a fine thing. I recognise also an imperial class of yachtsmen--the swans of the flock of geese. I have seen a coronet on a binnacle, before now. I have seen a large stately schooner sail into a Mediterranean port--as into a drawing-room--splendid and serene. The harbour-master's boat is on the alert these mornings. The men-of-war send their boats to tow; the dandiest lieutenant goes in the barge; the senior captain offers his services. When such a yacht as that goes into the Golden Horn, the Sultan is shown to these yachters--like any curiosity in his capital--like any odd thing in his town! They are presented to him, as it is called, that _he_ may be looked at.

"To this magnificent class I have not much to say. They don't snub their skipper--they are far too fine to do that. They are scarcely distinctive as travellers, for they are the same abroad as at home. In them, England is represented. England floats in a lump through the sea, like Delos used to do. As they say and do just the same as they have always said and done at home--see and mix with the same kind of people--I often wonder what they learn by it. When they go to visit Thermopylæ or Marathon, it is with a lot of tents, donkeys, camp-stools, travelling-cases, guides, and servants--such as Xerxes might have had. They encumber the ruins of temples with the multitude of their baggage. The position seems so unnatural, that I can't fancy their getting any moral or intellectual profit from it. They are too well off for that--like a fellow who cannot see for fat. Depend on it, you cannot see much through a painted window, however fine it is."

Professor Brick concluded his first sketch amidst much applause.

* * * * *

_Old Lady._ "Are you not afraid of getting drown'd when you have the boat so full?"

_Boatman._ "Oh, dear, no, mum. I always wears a life-belt, so I'm safe enough."]

* * * * *

_Complaisant Uncle_ (_who has remembered his nephew in his will, and is up to his ankles in water_). "I say, John, do you know your boat leaks?"

_Nephew_ (_high and dry on the thwarts_). "Like old boots!"

_Uncle._ "But I---- What's to be done?"

_Nephew._ "Wait till she fills, and then put on a spurt for the shore!!"]

* * * * *

_Mr. Punch._ "Why, Johnny, what's the matter?"

_Johnny._ "If you please, sir, there's a nasty ugly American been beating me."]

* * * * *

_Mrs. T._ (_to T._) "Feel a little more comfortable, dear? Can I get anything else for you? Would you like your cigar case now? (_Aside._) I'll teach him to go out to Greenwich and Richmond without me, and sit up half the night at his club!"]

* * * * *

TO A COUPLE OF THAMES NAIADS

Row, ladies, row! It will do you good:
Pleasant the stream under Cliefden Wood:
When our skiff with the river drops down again,
Glad you will be of some iced champagne.
O, a boat on the river is doubly dear
When you've nothing to do but adore and steer.

Row, darlings, row! Whether stroke or bow
Is sweeter to look at, better to row,
Is a question that plagues not me, as I laze,
And on their graceful movement gaze.
'Tis the happiest hour of the sultry year:
The swift oars twinkle; I smoke and steer.

Row, beauties, row! 'Tis uncommon hot:
I _can_ row stroke, but I'd rather not.
As we meet the sunset's afterglow,
Two absolute angels seem to row;
Wingless they are, so of flight no fear--
Home to dinner I mean to steer.

* * * * *

["The G. W. R. Company must have known that their contemplated line
from Marlow to Henley would raise a storm of opposition against any
interference with the Thames at spots so sacred to all
oarsmen."--_Vide "A Correspondent" in "Times."_]

]

* * * * *

ON THE RIVER

(_Page from the Diary of a Sweet Girl Clubbist_)

_Monday._--Very pleased I have been chosen for the boat. So glad to have been taken before Amy and Blanche. I am sure I shall look better than either of them. They needn't have been so disagreeable about it. Amy asking for her racquet back, and Blanche refusing to lend me her cloak with the feather trimmings. Fanny should make a first-rate stroke, and Kate a model coach.

_Tuesday._--We were to have practice to-day, but postponed it to decide on our colours. Blouses are to be left optional, but we are all to wear the same caps. We had a terrible fight over it. Fanny, Rose and I are blonde, so naturally we want light blue. Henrietta is a brunette, and (selfish thing!) stood out for yellow! However, we settled it amicably at last by choosing--as a compromise--pink. Then I made a capital suggestion, which pleased everybody immensely. Instead of caps we are to wear picture-hats.

_Wednesday._--Went out in our boat for the first time. Such a fight for places! I managed to secure bow, which is a long way the best seat, as you lead the procession. Everybody sees you first, and it is most important that the crew should create a good impression. Henrietta wanted the position, and said that her brother had told her that the lightest girl should always be bow. I replied "quite right, and as I had lighter hair than hers, and my eyes were blue and hers brown, of course it should be me." Fanny and Rose agreed with me, and Kate (who was annoyed at not being consulted enough) placed her five. Henrietta was in such a rage!

_Thursday._--We are in training! Think it rather nonsense. Why should we give up _meringues_ and sponge-cakes? And as to cigarettes, that isn't really a privation, as none of us really like them. A mile's run isn't bad, but it wears out one's shoes terribly. Kate wanted us all to drink stout, but we refused. We have compromised it by taking _fleur d'orange_ mixed with soda-water instead. The Turkish bath is rather long, but you can read a novel after the douche. Take it altogether, perhaps training is rather fun. Still, I think it, as I have already said, nonsense, especially in regard to sponge-cakes and _meringues_.

_Friday._--Spent the whole of the morning in practising starts. Everybody disagreeable--Kate absolutely rude. Fancy wanting me to put down my parasol! And then Henrietta (spiteful creature!) declaring that I didn't keep my eye on the steering (we have lost our coxswain--had to pay a visit to some people in the country) because I _would_ look at the people on the banks! And Kate backing her up! I was very angry indeed. So I didn't come to practice in the afternoon, saying I had a bad headache, and went instead to Flora's five o'clock tea.

_Saturday._--The day of the race! Everybody in great spirits, and looking their best. Even Henrietta was nice. Our picture-hats were perfectly beautiful. Fanny came out with additional feathers, which wasn't quite fair. But she said, as she was "stroke" she ought to be different from the rest. And as it was too late to have the hat altered we submitted. We started, and got on beautifully. I saw lots of people I knew on the towing-path, and waved to them. And just because I dropped hold of my oar as we got within ten yards of the winning-post they all said it was _my_ fault we lost! Who ever heard the like? The crew are a spiteful set of ugly frumps, and on my solemn word I won't row any more. Yes, it's no use asking me, as I say I won't, and I will stick to it. There!

* * * * *

(_Specially engaged for the Cross-Channel Service_)

["Dr. Paul Farez asserts that he has found in hypnotism an absolutely infallible remedy for sea-sickness and similar discomforts."--_Daily Paper._]

]

* * * * *

Squeamish accepts Stunsel's invitation for a month's cruise in his 10-ton yawl. He suffers much.

_Stunsel._ "Come, come, Squeamish, old fellow, cheer up! You'll be all right in a week or so!!"]

* * * * *

_She_ (_reading a scientific work_). "Isn't it wonderful, Charley dear, that the sun is supposed to be millions of miles away!"

_Charley Dear_ (_suffering from the heat_). "Millions of miles, darling? Good thing for all of us that it isn't any nearer."]

* * * * *

* * * * *

"Poor soul, 'e do look lonely all by 'isself! Ain't you glad you've got us with you, 'Enry?"]

* * * * *

HERE AND THERE

If you were only here, George,
I think--in fact, I know,
We'd get a girl to steer, George,
And take a boat and row;
And, striking mighty bubbles
From each propulsive blade,
Forget that life had troubles
At ninety in the shade.

We'd swing along together,
And cheerily defy
This toasting, roasting weather,
This sunshine of July.
Our feather might be dirty,
Our style might not be great;
But style for men of thirty
(And more) is out of date.

You'd note with high elation--
I think I see you now--
The beaded perspiration
That gathered on your brow.
Oh, by that brow impearled, George,
And by that zephyr wet,
I vow in all the world, George,
There's nothing like a "sweat."

To row as if it mattered,
Just think of what it means:
All cares and worries shattered
To silly smithereens.
To row on such a day, George,
And feel the sluggish brain,
Its cobwebs brushed away, George,
Clear for its work again!

But you at Henley linger,
While I am at Bourne-End.
You will not stir a finger
To come and join your friend.
This much at least is clear, George:
We cannot row a pair
So long as I am here, George,
And you remain up there.

* * * * *

"PERILS OF THE DEEP."--_Unprotected Female_ (_awaking old Gent, who is not very well_). "Oh, mister, would you find the captain? I'm sure we're in danger! I've been watching the man at the wheel; he keeps turning it round first one way and then the other, and evidently doesn't know his own mind!!"

* * * * *

_Ernest_ (_faintly_). "Vera, darling, I do believe I'm the worst sailor on earth!"

_Vera_ (_ditto_). "I wouldn't mind _that_ so much, if _I_ wasn't so bad on the water!"]

* * * * *

_Steward._ "Will either of you, gentlemen, dine on board? There's a capital hot dinner at three o'clock."]

* * * * *

A QUIET DAY ON THE THAMES

(_Dedicated to the Thames Conservancy_)

9 A.M.--Got out my boat, and made immediately for the centre of the stream.

10 A.M.--Spent some three-quarters of an hour in attempting to avoid the swell of the City steamboats. Within an ace of being swamped by one of them.

11 A.M.--Run into by a sailing-barge. Only saved by holding on to a rope, and pushing my boat aground.

12 NOON.--Aground.

1 P.M.--After getting into deep water again, was immediately run into by a coal-barge. Exchange of compliments with the crew thereof.

2 P.M.--Pursued by swans and other savage birds. Pelted with stones thrown from the shore by ragged urchins out of reach of my vengeance.

3 P.M.--Amongst the fishing-punts. Lively communication of opinions by the angry fishermen. Attempted piracy.

4 P.M.--Busily engaged in extricating my boat from the weeds.

5 P.M.--Disaster caused by a rope coming from the towing-path.

6 P.M.--Lock-keeper not to be found. Daring and partially successful attempt to shoot the rapids.

7 P.M.--Run down by a steam-launch travelling at express-rate speed.

8 P.M.--Just recovering from the effects of drowning.

9 P.M.--Going home to bed!

* * * * *

_Energetic Male_ (_reclining_). "Now then, girls, work away! Nothing like taking real exercise!"]

* * * * *

OR, EVERY ONE HIS OWN BESSEMER!]

* * * * *

AT HENLEY AS IT IS

(_By Isaac Walton Minimus_)

There used to be buttercups once on these meads,
There used to be reeds by the bank,
But now these same meadows have not even weeds,
And the water's decidedly rank.
The pastures are crowded with mannerless shows,
And the river with refuse is blocked;
There isn't a corner for quiet repose,
While the nose is most constantly shocked!
The houseboats and tents may with rich colour glow,
And the course be more bright than before,
But there isn't the thought for the men who will row,
As there was in the brave days of yore!
How Willan and Warre and stout "Johnny" Moss
Must recurrence of past time re-wish,
And the sight be to them and to rowing a loss,
But _I_ only can think of the fish
Who are poisoned by garbage and bloated with food,
And oppressed with the bottles o'erthrown!
My sentiments, though by the many pooh-poohed,
By the few will be met with a moan!

* * * * *

_The Victim._ "Why, that's just what I've done!"]

* * * * *

THE TOURIST'S BAROMETER

(_Read on the Channel_)

Splendid Weather. I never mind the sea myself.
The rougher for me the
better. Have a cigar?

Very Fine. One certainly does feel that
only Englishmen can be
sailors. Somehow or other
they take naturally to the
sea--now, don't they?

Fine. Yes. I always come by
Folkestone. I never _could_
see the use of the _Castalia_.
We are not foreigners, you
know. Most of us have our
sea-legs. Eh?

Moderate. Yes. Perhaps a little
brandy-and-water _would_
be a good thing.

Sea slight. The _very_ roughest passage
I remember. But I am
an excellent sailor. Still,
would you mind putting
out that cigar?

Rather Rough. It's simply disgraceful. The
_Castalia_ ought to be established
by Act of Parliament.
Shall write to the _Times_.
I shall go down below--to
think about it!

Rough Oh! Here, somebody! Will
it be more--than five
minutes? Oh! oh! oh!

Very Rough. (_Far too dreadful for
description._)

* * * * *

_Enthusiastic Skipper_ (_to friend_). "Ah, my boy! this is what you wanted. In a short time you'll feel yourself a different man!"]

* * * * *

RIVERSIDE SUNDAY

Unnumbered are the trees that fling
O'er Pangbourne Reach their shade,
Unnumbered there the birds that sing
Melodious serenade;
But as the leaves upon the boughs
Or feathers on the birds,
So are the trippers who carouse
Along the banks in herds.

Punt, centre-board, launch, skiff, canoe,
Lunch-laden hither hie,
Each bearing her expectant crew
To veal and chicken-pie;
And from the woods around Hart's Lock
Reports ring loud and clear,
As trippers draw the festive hock
Or democratic beer.

From one to three, below, above,
Is heard the crisp, clear crunch
Of salad, as gay Damons love
To linger over lunch.
From three to six a kettle sings
'Neath every sheltering tree
As afternoon to Phyllis brings
The magic hour of tea.

Well may the Cockney fly the Strand
For this remoter nest,
Where buses cease from rumbling and
The motors are at rest.
But would you shun your fellows--if
To quiet you incline--
Oh, rather scull your shilling skiff
Upon the Serpentine.

* * * * *

_Brown (passenger by the Glasgow steamer, 8.30 a.m.)._ "I beg pardon, sir, but I think you've made a mistake. That is my tooth-brush!"

_McGrubbie (ditto)._ "Ah beag years, mun, ah'm sure. Ah thoght 't belanged to the sheip!!"]

* * * * *

NEW SAILING ORDERS

(_To be in force on or after the next Ultimo instant_)

_The Darkest Night._--Any man not knowing when the darkest night is will be discharged.

Inquiries can be made any day at the Admiralty from 10 till 4, excepting from 1 till 2, when all hands are piped to luncheon.

_The Rule of the Rowed_ at sea is similar to the rule of the sailed.

No ship must come into collision with another.

If two steamers are on the starboard tack, they must return to the harbour and begin again.

Any steamship likely to meet another steamship must reverse and go somewhere else.

Any admiral out after 12 o'clock will be locked up wherever he is.

Nobody, however high in command, can be permitted to sit on a buoy out at sea for the purpose of frightening vessels.

All complaints to be made to the Admiralty, or to one of the mounted sentries at the Horse Guards.

An admiral is on duty all night to receive complaints.

Every mounted marine on joining must bring his own fork, spoon and towel horse.

If two vessels are meeting end on, take one end off. The other loses and forfeits sixpence.

Any infringement or infraction of the above rules and regulations will be reported by the head winds to the deputy toastmaster for the current year at Colwell-Hatchney.

N.B.--On hand a second-hand pair of gloves for boxing the compass. Remember the 26th of December is near, when they may be wanted. The equivalent of a chaplain-general to the forces has been appointed. He is to be called chaplain-admiral to the fleet. The cockpits are being turned into pulpits. If not ready by next Sunday he will deliver his first sermon from the main-top gallant jibboom mizen. The Colney-Hatches will be crowded.

* * * * *

The eldest Miss Blossom thinks that the part of double gooseberry is rather monotonous.]

* * * * *

_Madge._ "My dear George, there you've been sitting with your camera since breakfast, and you haven't taken anything."

_George (intent on his own feelings)._ "Don't ask me to, darling, I couldn't touch it!"]

* * * * *

A REGATTA RHYME

_On Board the "Athena," Henley-on-Thames_

I like, it is true, in a basswood canoe
To lounge, with a weed incandescent:
To paddle about, there is not a doubt,
I find it uncommonly pleasant!
I love the fresh air, the lunch here and there,
To see pretty toilettes and faces;
But one thing I hate--allow me to state--
The fuss they make over the Races!
_I don't care a rap for the Races!_--
_Mid all the Regatta embraces_--
_I'm that sort of chap, I don't care a rap,_
_A rap or a snap for the Races!_

I don't care, you know, a bit how they row,
Nor mind about smartness of feather;
If steering is bad, I'm not at all sad,
Nor care if they all swing together!
Oh why do they shout and make such a rout,
When one boat another one chases?
'Tis really too hot to bawl, is it not?
Or bore oneself over the Races!
_I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c._

Then the Umpire's boat a nuisance we vote,
It interrupts calm contemplation;
Its discordant tone, and horrid steam moan,
Is death to serene meditation!
The roar of the crowd should not be allowed;
The gun with its fierce fulmination,
Abolish it, pray--'tis fatal, they say,
To pleasant and quiet flirtation!
_I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c._

If athletes must pant--I don't say they shan't--
But give them some decent employment;
And let it be clear, they don't interfere
With other folks' quiet enjoyment!
When luncheon you're o'er, tis really a bore--
And I think it a very hard case is--
To have to look up, from _páté_ or cup,
And gaze on those tiresome Races!
_I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c._

The Races, to me, seem to strike a wrong key,
Mid dreamy delightful diversion;
There isn't much fun seeing men in the sun,
Who suffer from over-exertion!
In sweet idle days, when all love to laze,
Such violent work a disgrace is!
Let's hope we shall see, with me they'll agree,
And next year abolish the Races!
_I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c._

* * * * *

_Miss Featherweight._ "I tell you what, Alfred, if you took me for a row in a thing like that I'd scream all the time. Why, he isn't more than half out of the water!"]

* * * * *

HENLEY REGATTA

_By Jingle Junior on the Jaunt_

All right -- here we are -- quite the waterman -- jolly -- young -- white flannels -- straw hat -- canvas shoes -- umbrella -- mackintosh -- provide against a rainy day! Finest reach for rowing in England -- best regatta in the Eastern Hemisphere -- finest pic-nic in the world! Gorgeous barges -- palatial houseboats -- superb steam-launches -- skiffs -- randans -- punts -- wherries -- sailing-boats -- dinghies -- canoes! Red Lion crammed from cellar to garret -- not a bed to be had in the town -- comfortable trees all booked a fortnight in advance -- well-aired meadows at a premium! Lion Gardens crammed with gay toilettes -- Grand Stand like a flower-show -- band inspiriting -- church-bells distracting -- sober grey old bridge crammed with carriages -- towing-path blocked up with spectators -- meadows alive with pic-nic parties! Flags flying everywhere -- music -- singers -- niggers -- conjurers -- fortune-tellers! Brilliant liveries of rowing clubs -- red -- blue -- yellow -- green -- purple -- black -- white -- all jumbled up together -- rainbow gone mad -- kaleidoscope with _delirium tremens_. Henley hospitality proverbial -- invitation to sixteen luncheons -- accept 'em all -- go to none! Find myself at luncheon where I've not been asked -- good plan -- others in reserve! Wet or fine -- rain or shine -- must be at Henley! If fine, row about all day -- pretty girls -- bright dresses -- gay sunshades. If wet, drop in at hospitable houseboat just for a call -- delightful damsels -- mackintoshes -- umbrellas! Houseboat like Ark -- all in couples -- Joan of Ark in corner with Darby -- Who is she? -- Don't No-ah -- pun effect of cup. Luncheons going on all day -- cups various continually circulating -- fine view -- lots of fun -- delightful, very! People roaring -- rowists howling along bank -- lot of young men with red oars in boat over-exerting themselves -- lot more in boat with blue oars, also over-exerting themselves -- bravo! -- pick her up! -- let her have it! -- well pulled -- everybody gone raving mad! Bang! young men leave off over-exerting themselves -- somebody says somebody has won something. Seems to have been a race about something -- why can't they row quietly? Pass the claret-cup, please -- Why do they want to interrupt our luncheon? -- Eh?

* * * * *

(A sketch at a regatta. A warning to "the cloth" when up the river)]

* * * * *

_Angelina (to Edwin, whose only chance is perfect tranquillity)._ "Edwin, dear! If you love me, go down into the cabin, and fetch me my scent bottle and another shawl to put over my feet!"

[_Edwin's sensations are more easily imagined than described._

]

* * * * *

THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAIDS

And have you not read of eight jolly young watermaids,
Lately at Cookham accustomed to ply
And feather their oars with a deal of dexterity,
Pleasing the critical masculine eye?
They swing so truly and pull so steadily,
Multitudes flock to the river-side readily;--
It's not the eighth wonder that all the world's there,
But this watermaid eight, ne'er in want of a stare.

What sights of white costumes! What ties and what hatbands,
"Leander cerise!" We don't wish to offend,
But are these first thoughts with the dashing young women
Who don't dash too much in a spurt off Bourne End?
Mere nonsense, of course! There's no "giggling and leering"--
Complete ruination to rowing and steering;--
"All eyes in the boat" is their coach's first care,
And "a spin of twelve miles" is as naught to the fair.

* * * * *

_Blenkinsop (on a friend's Yacht) soliloquises._ "I know one thing, if ever I'm rich enough to keep a yacht, I shall spend the money in horses."]

* * * * *

ECHOES FROM THE THAMES

SCENE--_Houseboat in a good position._ TIME--_Evening during "the Regatta week._" PRESENT (_on deck in cozy chairs_)--_He and She._

_She._ Very pretty, the lights, are they not?

_He._ Perfectly charming. So nice after the heat.

_She._ Yes, and really, everything has been delightful.

_He._ Couldn't possibly be better. Wonderful how well it can be done.

_She._ Yes. But, of course, it wants management. You know a lot comes down from town.

_He._ Will the stores send so far?

_She._ Yes, and if they won't others will. And then the local tradespeople are very obliging.

_He._ But don't the servants rather kick at it?

_She._ No, because they are comfortable enough. Put them up in the neighbourhood.

_He._ Ah, to be sure. And your brother looks after the cellar so well.

_She._ Yes, he is quite a genius in that line.

_He._ And it's awfully nice chatting all day.

_She._ Yes, when one doesn't go to sleep.

_He._ And, of course, we can fall back upon the circulating libraries and the newspapers.

_She._ And so much better than town. It must be absolutely ghastly in Piccadilly.

_He._ Yes, so I hear. And then there's the racing!

_She._ Ah, to be sure. To tell the truth, I didn't notice that very much. Was there any winning?

_He._ Oh, yes, a lot. But I really quite forget what----

_She._ Oh, never mind. We can read all about it in to-morrow's papers, and that will be better than bothering about it now.

[_Scene closes in to soft music on the banjo._

* * * * *

["For a mile and a half the river was covered with elegant craft, in which youth was always at the prow and pleasure always at the helm."--_Daily Paper._]

]

* * * * *

"THE SAILORMAN'S MENOO"

(_To a Shipowner. By a Shell-back_)

It's mighty fine, yer talkin', but you never done no trips
In the bloomin' leaky foc'sle of yer leaky, rotten ships;
And though you gulls the public with a sham Menoo for _us_,
It isn't printed lies as makes provisions worth a cuss;
And even silly emigrants will tell you straight and true
That the test of grub is grubbin', not the advertised Menoo.

I'm talkin' now, not beggin' for a chance to starve and work
In an undermanned old tanker with a skipper like a Turk;
With a cook as larnt 'is cookin' when 'e 'ad to cook or beg,
Or go into an 'orspital to nurse a cranky leg;
And what I says I means it, and my words is plain and true,
Which is more than any sailorman will say for yer Menoo.

I'll allow that in the look of it, the print of it I mean,
That all you say is sarved to us; but is it good or clean?
And wot's wet 'ash, or porridge, or any other stuff,
When at the very best of it there's 'ardly 'arf enough?
Not even with the cockroaches that's given with the stew,
Though I notice they nor maggots wasn't down in yer Menoo.

There's the tea and corfee talked of, but folks ashore ain't told
That the swine as bought it for you winked 'is eye at them as sold.
For sailormen's best Mocha was never further East
Than a bloomin' Essex bean-field; and the tea ain't tea--at least
It's on'y "finest sweepin's" from the docks, and wot a brew
It makes when sarved in buckets to drink to yer Menoo!

The pork and beef on paper, or a tin dish, makes a show,
But you'd want yer front teeth sharpened if you tackled it, my bo'!
For the beef is still the ancient 'orse wot worked on Portland Pier,
And the pork is rotten reasty, that was inwoiced twice too dear
If they charged you 'arf a thick 'un for the whack you gives the crew,
With the pickles and the butter set out fine in yer Menoo.

I'd like to take you jossers, as thinks as sailormen
Is a grumblin' lot of skulkers, just one trip and 'ome agen;
For when yer 'ands was achin' with sea cuts to the bone,
And the Baltic talked north-easters, you'd be alterin' of yer tone,
And might'nt think wot's wrote in print is necessary true,
And perhaps when you was safe agen you'd alter our Menoo.

* * * * *

_Bertie (at intervals)._ "I used to---- What the---- do a lot of---- Conf---- rowing, one time!"]

* * * * *

_Boatman (spelling)._ "P-s-y-c-h-e. Well, that's the rummest way I ever see o' spellin' _fish_!"]

* * * * *

HENLEY REGATTA

(_By Mr. Punch's Own Oarsman_)