Punch (93.1887)

52

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 6, 1887.

A REMINISCENCE OF THE NAVAL REVIEW.

I had never seen a Naval Review. It was to come off on the
Saturday, and this was the Thursday previous. "When therefore in
answer to a modest inquiry, I received
a wire from Mr. Richard Rosshek,
Chairman of the Great M. & N. Steam-
ship Company, saying, '' Come aboard
our new boat, Regina, to-morrow,
Friday • tickets and instructions by
post," I made up my mind on the spot
to acoept, if I could return on the
Saturday night, as business of the
utmost importance demanded my pre-
sence in London on Sunday morning.

"I don't see your name on the list," says Sir Peter, scanning a
large card through his glasses.

" What list P " I ask, somewhat disturbed.
" List of guests," replies Sir Thomas, examining his card.
Weather-beaten Man hasn't got a list; he asks to be allowed to
examine Sir Petee's. Aha! the Weather-beaten Man's name is
not there. Sir Thomas and Sir Peter eye him with suspicion now.
He explains and tells his story. If my name had been on the list I
should have disbelieved him; but as it isn't, I only think that his
account of being here at all is not so plausible and clear as my own.

" You've got the number of your berth ? " asks Sir Thomas, look-
ing round at me doubtfully, as if he were giving me a last chance.

"Berth!" I exclaim. "No, I haven't. You see I only tele-
graphed--" and here I am about to repeat my entire explanation,

when Sir Peter and Sir Thomas cut it short by shaking their heads
ominously. "I'm going away on Saturday night," I say, as if the

What that business was is nobody's - ;>i^^^^^S\;iNv prospect of my leaving them soon would soften them a bit

business but mine, so I need not explain.
Suffice it to say that to miss a certain
appointment on Sunday morning, would
have been fraught with most disastrous
consequences to myself and others.

I answered Rossher's telegram,
"Yes, with pleasure, if you can land
me Saturday night." To which the
reply was, " Think it can be managed; try to come." To this I
wired, " Instructions "and tickets received. Am coming." Within
two hours I got a message from a Clerk in the M. & N. Office,
City, " Rossher on board at Southampton. Too late to wire."

What this was meant to convey I did not understand, but my mind
was made up, and very soon my bag was packed, and I was ready for
the start. At all events, there was the utter novelty to me of being
a guest on board one of the largest vessels afloat in the Indian
Merchant Service (I believe it is the Indian Merchant Service, or, as
Ollendorff would put it, " the Service of the Indian Merchant,")
with a select party, limited, I supposed, to about a dozen "jolly
companions every one," and in being taken in and done for en prince,
en prince indien.

" Immensely kind of Rossher." I said to myself (and subsequently
said it to him) as I alighted at the Waterloo Station, and proceeded
at once to the wrong platform. I do not remember ever having
been to Waterloo Station without having been to the wrong platform
to begin with.

Bag in hand, and'coat over arm—the wary sea-dog provides against
probable squalls—I strode to another platform—wrong again. '' The
M. & N. Special," I panted to a porter, who was so taken aback by
being appealed to suddenly, that for a few seconds he could only mop
his heated brow and stare at me vaguely. Then after repeating my
question twice, once to me and once to himself, he shook his head as
if he were giving up a conundrum, whereupon to interest him per-
sonally in my proceedings I handed him my bag to carry. This look-
ing like real business, he showed himself a man of vast resources by
stopping an official in a buttoned-up uniform and a tall chimney-pot
hat, and obtaining the information from him. Across the bridge and
then second on the left. Off we go. Here we are. Board up labelled
" M. & N. Special. Segina." A. crowd is pouring in at the wicket-
gate. Can they all be going by the M. & N. Special ? Yes. I hear
the question put, and those not possessing the proper tickets are
sternly rejected. Some are sent off to another platform where there
is another "IT. & N. Special" for the Italia.

I present my ticket. It is examined, clipped, and I am passed in.
Seeing a number of people ahead and an empty smoking-carriage
close at hand, I jump into this, stow away my bag, and find myself
with a quarter of an hour to the good. I get out to look about me.
Enter Sir Peter Portland (looking younger than ever, as he always
does whenever I meet him) in decidedly fashionable yachting-
costume, cap and all (he once owned a yacht), carrying a brown-
paper parcel. Delighted to see one another. He secures a seat in
my carriage. So does another fellow, name unknown, but evidently
a gallant seaman with a weather-beaten countenance. At the last
moment hurries up Sir Thomas Quircke, also in full yachting-
costume, cap and all, only not so bright and gay as Sir Peter, who
I observe has on an evening white waistcoat and. patent leather shoes,
which combination gives a light and airy and hornpipy appearance
to the wearer, which mere navy blue serge can never convey.

We, including the unknown man in the corner, with the weather-
beaten face—the Knight of the Bronzed Features—congratulate our-
selves on being the guests of the M. & N. Sir Peter produces his
card of invitation. So does Sir Thomas; so does the Weather-beaten
One. I feel in all my pockets. No. I've left it behind me. Sir
Petee, Sir Thomas, and the Weather-beaten Stranger eye me sus-
piciously. There is a lull in the conversation. I tell my story, and
try to interest them. It strikes me that they don't belitve it; but
my railway ticket proves my veracity. They brighten up again,
but are evidently still far from clear that they are not travelling
with an impostor.

" Saturday! " returns Sir Peter, with a chuckle. " 'Pon my soul
[ don't see how you 're going to do that." And he smiles derisively.

"No one goes on shore till Monday," observes Sir Thomas, with
decision. Certainly not," says the Weather-beaten Man, who is
not on the list, turning against me; " and, for my part, I don't care
how long I stay in such good quarters."

After this there is an uncomfortable silence. Sir Thomas says
there are two hundred and fifty guests. Heavens ! and I had
thought it was a small and select party of genial bachelors! We
read our papers, the Weather-beaten Man in his corner, I in mine.
Sir Peter and Sir Thomas smoke, and then both fall asleep. Wak-
ing up, they fall to conversing about a trip they have already had on
the Segina. comparing notes of comfort and so forth. I'm out of it.
So is the Weather-beaten Stranger. I begin to wish I hadn't come,
or, at all events, that I had brought my invitation card as proof of
my identity, and a verification of my statement. Wish, too, I'd
brought Rossher's telegram. No good wishing. I haven't. I'm
not there yet; but what frightens me is, that as there are two
hundred and fifty passengers, if I am the only one who wants to go
on shore on Saturday night, they will never upset all the arrange-
ments for the sake of sending me off in a launch or a gig, or what-
ever they have in use. And if I can't return Saturday-However,

here I am, and I '11 go through, with it.

Southampton, directly alongside of the Segina. Magnificent
vessel. _ Crowd trooping in out of train. Men in uniform at gang-
way, directing everyone to go below and get billeted. I join the
crowd descending the companion. As everyone comes to a table
where certain M. & N. officials are standing, each person shows his
or her invitation-card, and receives a number. Then they disappear,
some singly, some in couples, as if it were the Ark, and Rossher
were Noah settling it all. Evidently the first thing necessary is the
invitation-card. Ha! there is Rossher in the distance, at the far
corner of the table. I wave my hand to him in the heartiest manner,
expressive of my delight at seeing him, and I am sincerely grateful,
for I feel at this moment that Rossher is the only friend I have in
this strange world, from which I am liable at any moment to be
summarily ejected, being unable to show my raison d'etre in the
shape of the invitation-card.

"Name?" says a sharp man in ordinary civilian's dress, from
whom, judging by his tone and business-like manner, I feel confi-
dent I can expect no mercy. "I haven't got one," I reply, whereat
he frowns as if he didn't mean to stand any nonsense, and I apolo-
gise humbly for having mistaken his question. / thought he was
asking for my card. " No," he says, eying me suspiciously. "Name!
Where is it ? Down here ? " And he hands me the confounded list,
at which I make no pretence of looking, but cast an appealing look
towards Rossher, who at that moment, most fortunately for me,
comes up, having finished shaking hands with two hundred out of
the two hundred and fifty arrivals.

(( "Ah! you here!" he exclaims, with an air of cheery surprise.
" That's capital. Didn't know you were coming."

I am considerably staggered. " Why," I say to him, protesting,
" I telegraphed-"

" Ah !" says Rossher in an off-hand way, "then I didn't receive
it. You wait quietly here, and we '11 see what can be done for you."

I catch Weather-beaten Stranger's eye. He is waiting, also, with
his back against a cabin-door, most patiently. I meet several
friends. I explain to them all, over and over again, my melancholy
story, and while I do so I stand as near the table as possible, so that
the sad tale may reach some of the officials, and excite them to pity
and immediate action on my behalf. My friends nod at me pleasantly,
hope it will come all right, and leave me, to see after their own
comforts. What a selfish, unsympathetic world this is!

" Hallo ! " says a young man, not in naval costume, but evidently
an official of some sort, blithely turning towards me and mentioning
my name inquiringly, which I immediately acknowledge, whereupon
he continues, "I'm delighted to meet you. My name's Crick."
I smile, and shake his hand warmly, as if congratulating him on his
appellation. "Where's your berth?" Then I have to explain it