Punch: Punch (81.1881)

160 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [October 8, 1881.

ON BOARD THE " AMARINTHA."

We have hauled up our peak, we have squared our halliards, we
have taken in taykel, we have hauled up the stay-sail. We fly
along, we don't use the spinnaker, the hatches are battened down,
the tiller is tied with a rope, and the man at the tiller holds on by
another rope. Haiesher, wrapped up in patent leggings, mackintosh,
and with a sou' wester tied over his ears, is curled up on the taffrail
examining the waves through his eyeglass. Boeby, in an entirely
fresh suit, consisting of a rough pilot coat, an oilskin hat, and a pair
of seven-leagued boots reaching up over his knees, reminds me of
the theatrical portrait of " Mr. So-and-So as Will Watch, the Bold
Smuggler,'' only without the belt and pistols, though he might have
easily stowed these away under his capacious pilot-jacket; while
Cullens, whose complexion at this moment has assumed the faint
tint of a Spanish olive that has been some time out of bottle, might,
on account of his limp and dejected appearance, be taken for a prisoner,
whom the Bold Buccaneer, sailing under the burgee of the Death's-
head and Cross-bones, is conveying to a secret cavern in some distant
Pirate's Isle, with a view to a subsequent ransom being offered by the
Composer's " friends at a distance," who under these circumstances
would be "requested to take notice," and stump up. Were this really
the case, I fancy the Buccaneer's speculation would be a bad one.

With every button of my Ulster doing its duty, my collar turned
up, and my deerstalker pressed tightly down, I defy the elements,
stand by a bulwark, and keep a firm grip on the rigging.

Here's a wave coming—up we go—down we go. Here's another
bigger than the first—bang—and though we dodge, and though,
without daring to let go of my rope, I get as much as I possibly can
of myself hidden for a second behind the bulwark, it bursts over us
with the force of a small waterspout, and we are shaking ourselves
like Newfoundland dogs after a bath, and laughing, to show what
careless, hardy, daring, devil-may-care Rovers we all are—all except
the Composer, who takes what he gets of his ducking with the utterly
resigned air of a man who has given up all hope, and to whom I quote
the Shakspearian line, "Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The"-when he stops me with a sad reproachful look, which

lasts but the space of a flash of summer lightning, and then his eyes
resume the fixed, vacant stare of one of Madame Tttssaud's life-like
effigies in wax, to which, on the whole, in colour and rigidity of
position, he bears a striking resemblance.

Waves come at us from every direction. There are a lot of waves
going, as it were, the wrong way ; these, coming into sharp collision
with others going the right way, jump up, flood the deck, wet the
Composer's shoes—(he has twice tried to tuck his feet in under the
chair, but the water "made for them" with malice aforethought, run-
ning in at them each time as a cat might after a mouse, and so he
has given up even this slight attempt at making himself comfortable),
—and then rush out tumultuously at the open scuppers.

Personally, I am glad of the wind and wetting ; it keeps me
fresh—and well. I think I 'm well. The excitement of this ocean
steeple-chase—the ship being the sea-horse, and taking all its fences
magnificently—prevents my experiencing any decided qualmishness,
and I exclaim aloud, " Ah ! this is indeed enjoyable ! "

" Isn't it ? " cries the Dean.

"Delightful!'' says Hailsher,_ politely nodding his approval of
the sea's proceedings up to,this point.

'' Capital fun!'' seems
to 'shout, by way of re-
turning our compli-
ments, the biggest wave
we 've yet had,—a wave
that staggers us all,
causing me to lose my
rope, when I am swung
forcibly round, and find
myself sprawling over
the top of the state-cabin
skylight.

The Steward has crept
up the Companion, and
the _ Steward's head,
coming out, announces
" Luncheon!"
Shall I ? or shan't I ?
Diagram showing relative positions of Yacht, Can I ? or can't IP I

Table, and Ourselves. (Tacht looks a little too am all riaht on deck_

like a tee-to-lum, but the intention is clear.) couldn't be better But
A.A. Yacht. B IS Ourselves and swing-table, to go below—is it'not as
UO.C. Evident. _ it were to tempt Provi-

dence ? Will not the cabin be stuffy ? It has been shut up all the
morning ; and won't everything be see-sawing.

"I shan't come down," the Composer says, shortly and decisively,
in answer to the Dean's hearty invitation.

" Shall I send you a sandwich and a glass of brandy-and-water on
deck? " asks Haiesher, very cautiously descending the Companion,

and guarding his head as if expecting some practical joke from an
exuberant wave. The Composer nods assent.

I am hungry, and a yacht's cabin is not like a steamboat's
saloon. I will risk it; and, after a cheerful nod to Cellins,
intended in a charitable spirit to impress him with the notion of
how very well I am, I watch my opportunity, make a fairly good
shot for the opening, and descend backwards.- My sea-conscience
says, " Are you doing the right thing ? " I have my doubts. I fall
against two wrong doors, and then reel into the cabin.

The Steward is there, all sideways, with a tray, apparently making
a violent but vain effort to walk up a hill; the Dean is there, slant-
ing in a totally different direction; Haiesher is standing up at
what was a sober, sensible table, but which is now only an intoxicated
eccentricity, sloping downwards, and doing its best to shake every-
thing off on to the cabin floor.

The piano is going up in the air, the chairs are dancing—I don't
know which way to go—I grasp at nothing in the air like an after-
dinner Macbeth seeing several daggers—and, worst of all, there's the
whole scene before me repeated in the looking-glass, where the muddle
seems to be made twenty times worse. Oh, dear! now there are two
Haieshers_ struggling with ham, and two Stewards going up hills
with brandies and sodas on trays, and two Deans rolling about with
loaves of bread, and an awful figure, with staring eyes, yellow face,
and rough hair, bearing a strong family likeness to myself, but
startlingly suggestive of what my appearance might be after a few
years of life as a bushranger,—and before I have recovered from
the shock which the mirror's reflection of myself has given me, some-
one or something—I fancy at the moment it's a chair—hands me
a plateful of ham and some bread, when, all at once, I am seized

< -

In a Gale.—Tacking for Mustard.

with an uncontrollable yearning for mustard, and I say," I '11 come
for it," meaning the mustard-pot,—when, in making one step to the
right towards the table, I find myself shot off by some invisible force
in exactly the opposite direction, where I arrive, in an attitude of
supplication, clutching the edge of the sofa with one hand and saving
my plate with the other. Then I pause for breathing time, and all I
notice is that the Steward is still vainly toiling up hill with the same
brandy and soda on a tray, which he is vainly trying to deliver to
Haiesher, who seems as far off as ever.

I get on to my knees, and collect my food. I am still determined
as to mustard. The Dean's voice—I only see a shadowy form of
him, with an uncertain outline, in the glass—says, " Hereof is! "
and on all fours I make for the direction whence the voice pro-
ceeded, leaving my plate on the floor. Somehow, Haiesher hands
me the mustard—that is, I am suddenly thrown forward with a
lurch to receive it, and find myself on a level with Haiesher's hand
in which is the mustard-pot. The Steward is slanting backwards
on his heels, engaged, apparently, in a frantic struggle with a cup-
board. A minute more of this topsy-turveydom, and it will be all
over with me. Happy Thought.—Champagne ! One glass !

The Dean, who seems to be roiling about the place, gives me the
champagne,—I think it' s the Dean who does this, though the Steward's
legs are mixed up with it somehow,—but anyhow I know it isn't
Haiesher, as he appears to be " setting," as they say in quadrilles,
to the ham, and he and his vis-d-vis are doing an eccentric dance
from side to side. I just see this, as I drink off my champagne,
which I take kneeling, as though I were a Jacobite pledging ' the
king over the water," and then feeling that one second more
below will settle, or rather unsettle me effectually, I make a wild
dash for where I think the door is, bump up against the side, jerk
to the right, stagger to the left, fall sideways into a recess where the
water-proofs ought to be, stagger out of this, go head foremost against
a side cabin-door which doesn't yield to pressure (thank goodness !)
then fall back on the second step of the companion,—seize the com-
panion-rail, dash up the stairs—bang my head against the cover
which has been shut down, ejaculate forcibly, struggle to remove