Punch (61.1871)

August 19, 1871. ■ PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 73

MY HEALTH.

ondxr to myself
where we are go-
ing to for a cruise ?
Wetherby rings
a bell hurriedly.
Robert appears.
Wetherby asks
Robert where
Kill is. [Bill.
This sounds nau-
tically rough. Per-
haps the Pilot. If
a Pilot, this pro-
mises well for a
lengthened cruise.
Icebergs, North
Pole in view. Also
Esquimaux. Won-
der how my Aunt
would like to be

among the Esquimaux. How an Esquimaux seen for the first time, would make her
jump.] Bill, it appears, is in the passage, and being told to come in, does so. He too is
in nautical dress of a roughish character. [Just what I expected, but looking too young
for a Pilot.] Wetheeby is brisk and sharp in his questions. " Has Bill seen to the
boat ? Was she painted ? " He has seen to her, and yes she was. Whereupon Robeet is sum-
moned suddenly. Being only outside the door, [Note. I find that Wetheeby's servants, as
a rule, never go much farther than outside the door, being liable to be summoned at any
moment, sharply, and it being as much as their place is worth to be out of the way when
called. On the whole, quite right; reminding one, however, of the Arabian Nights, where
somebody Eastern claps his hands and a hundred ebon slaves instantly appear. By the
way, how large the doors must have been] he reappears instantly. "Send for The Boy,"
is the order he receives. Bill remains, silent, and evidently waiting orders. Wetheeby
looks out of window. " Wind, S. by S.E.," says Wetheeby, after a while, to which Bill
wisely assents. Is the boat ready ? Yes, it is. " Hey, what ? " says Wetheeby, and Bill
repeats his information. " I shall want both the boats," says Wetheeby. [Mental
Observation. Both boats. Then putting this and that together, and considering that
Robeet has told the Captain, and that we shall want two boats, it does look like a
cruise. Perhaps to the Coast of France or Spain. So glad. To either for nothing.]
"Is Bunter there ?" asks Wetheeby, quickly. Yes, Buntee had just come in. " Tell
Bunter, then, I want him." Bill is going, but stopped by Wetheeby continuing,
" And don't you go "—hurriedly again to him—" don't you go," as if he's still got some-
thing of the last importance to say to Bill, which he must not come out with before
Bunter, or perhaps before me. Wetheeby walks up the room — I'm breakfasting
quietly—and then walks down the room. Then he looks out of window ; then he pulls
his head in, and asks, always sharply and brusquely, if I'm a good sailor.

That's just what I asked myself when I first thought of accepting his invitation. If I
say I am, it may turn out I'm not (for I haven't been to sea in a sailing-vessel for years,
and forget the effect), and if I say I'm not, it mayn't be true, and perhaps he won't take me.

Safe to reply, " Well, I'm not quite certain. It depends."

Wetheeby looks at me, and says, inquiringly, "Hey? What?" and I repeat,
smilingly, "Well, it depends." Upon which he repeats, "Hey? What?" again, as if
my answer had slightly irritated him ; and at this juncture enters Bunter. Buntee is a
biggish, broadish man, also in nautical costume, but of a rougher description than Bill's,
who has returned, and is now standing behind him. Buntee has a shy way of looking at
you, as if he was intensely enjoying some private joke of his own which he won't tell, and
is apparently always restraining himself by a great effort from winking at you, to intimate
that he knows all about it whatever it is, and sees through it with half an eye. At first
sight I like Buntee, and wouldn't mind going with him to the North Pole. Buntee, I feel
sure, wouldn't speak, but he'd bring you safely out somewhere. If ever a First Lord of
the Admiralty is wanted as a practical man, My Lords have only got to come down to the
Sylphide, and select Buntee.

Note of Observation.—Wetheeby must have a quantity of retainers. I've seen
Robeet, Bill, Bunter, and heard of "The Boy " and " The Captain " up to the present
moment.

" 0 Buntee—ah—yes," says Wetheeby, disjointedly, as if he hadn't expected his
arrival, and was, on the whole, rather taken aback by it. Bunter's right eye is on me,
as much as to say, "Ain't this fun ? Ain't this here a good lark ? " but not a wink, not
a sign from this admirable sailor. " Yes—let me see "—Wetheeby considers for half a
minute or so, and then asks, " Wind S. by S.E., eh ? " Buntee replies humorously, at least
one can't help feeling that everything he says is humorous, "Yes, he should think there
was some east in it." Whereupon Wetheeby returns " Hey, what ? " and Buntee, after
repeating his observation, looks at me, as much as to say, always with a strong sense of
the humour of the situation, "Have I committed myself, eh? Ain't this a real good
joke ?" but he doesn't go into convulsions of laughter over it, in fact, he scarcely
smiles, except with his eye, and I notice that it's the right eye he generally uses for the
purpose. On considering this by myself, I find that the right eye is easier to wink, and
therefore there's more credit to Buntee in keeping it so well under control. Give
Buntee a holiday and he 'd wink for six weeks. Some men have the habit of talking to
themselves without knowing it. Buntee's habit must be winking to himself, knowingly,
and thoroughly enjoying it. Up to this moment I am unable to see what particular
object has been gained by this review of nautical strength, and I can't make out to what
departments they each severally belong. Buntee has something of a man-at-the-wheelish
or stokerish air about him. If it's a steam yacht I'm finished off at once. Robeet
returns. With the Boy. The Boy is about eighteen (I should say), and each comes in

looking very serious, as if he expected to
receive his instant dismissal. The Boy is not
in nautical dress, being in top-boots. Buntee's
left eye takes in the top-boots, and his right
is simply in ecstasies of laughter (directed
towards me) as if Buntee was shouting out,
"Ha! ha! ha! Top-boots at sea! Ha! ha!
0, ain't this a real prime joke! " but not a
word, not a movement from Buntee.

The introduction of this new element, i. e.
the top-boots, seems to change the current of
Wetheeby's thoughts. " Bring the trap
round," says Wetheeby. Exit Boy, respited.
This almost looks as if we are going out
driving, not yachting! I haven't come three
hundred miles to take a drive, in a trap, with
a boy ! He is called back sharply by Wethee-
by. He returns.

" In half an hour," says Wetheeby to the
Boy. "Yes, Sir," says the Boy, going.
"Hey, what?" shouts WETHEEBy. Boy
returns and replies that he understands per-
fectly, and will have the trap round in half an
hour. Pause after the departure of the Boy.
Wetheeby impulsively hails a sailorly-
looking man from the window. "Jim!"
Jim, in reply to questions rapidly put, informs
him that he has got the mutton and the ducks,
and that altogether he has enough to last.
Bunter's right eye catches mine (for I can't
help looking at him with an implied confidence
in his opinion) at the mention of Ducks, and
says as plainly as an eye can say anything,
'' Capital! good cook on board ! Ducks and
green peas! Ain't this a game! Hooray for
Wetheeby!" For myself, I now see before
me exactly what my Health requires— a good
sea-voyage. Wetheeby suddenly asks Robeet,
"Where's Ranger?" And being informed
that he is up-stairs, orders Robeet to order
Rangee to bring his (Wetheeby's) cigar-case.

Buntee now requests to know if he 's wanted
anymore. No, not now, but will be. "What
time, Sir ?" asks Bunter, respectfully (but
always humorously). Wetheeby doesn't
know—will send. Bill is to have the boat
ready, and to tell Robeet something which
Robeet is to tell Rangee. So the retainers
leave us. Wetheeby lights a cigar. A fresh-
coloured person, with light hair and a straw
hat of the same colour as his hair, looks in at
the open window. The new-comer observes
that he is going out in the Atalanta, and
wants to know what we are going to do.
Wetherby replies, briefly, " Trawl," and
introduces me. (It sounds like, " You see, my
dear Sir, he (myself) is here, and thai's why
I'm going to trawl.")

Mental Note.—Trawl ? Something in the
fishing line, I think. But if so, then we are
not going for a cruise. If not, why all these
preparations ? why this summoning of re-
tainers ? why the boats ? why the mutton and
the ducks ?

Conversation continued at window. " You'll
have a little breeze for that," light-haired
man opines. He has the word Atalanta on
his hat-riband, and is evidently an authority.

"Not much," says Wetherby, shortly;
then adds, " south by sou' east."

" Yes," replies the Atalanta man, promptly
but vaguely, and evidently intending to give
the subject his consideration, " there is some
east in it."

Note. This appears to be quite a regular
nautical phrase. It's safe, as an opinion,
committing you to very little, and quite con-
sistent with an entire change of weather.

The Atalanta man looks out to sea, looks in
at the window, then observes, "There's a
fairish lop outside."

Flash of Thought. A lop. By this expres-
sion I am, as it were, brought for the first time
really face to face with the sea practically. I
almost feel inclined to say, "If there's a lop,
Wetherby, we'd better not go." But I
remember that I have come down for my

Vol. 61.

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