Punch (95.1888)

124

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAKIVARI. [September 15, 1888.

DUE NORTH.

Tower—Obstruction—Bertlis—Problem—Information—Weather—
Passengers—Steward—Picturesque—Uncertainties,

To the Tower—in a cab! Visions of Cktjikshaot, Habkison
Aktswoeth, Maugher of the Axe, Xit, the Giants, the Torture-
room, Cicely "being dragged down-stairs, and Mephistophelian Simon
Menard. Suppose a shell or two would knock the old place all to
smithereens,—to W. H. Smithereens,—d propos of Harbison Ains-

" "We 're going to have a very fine Passage !"

wokth:. The Tower is not a Tour de force. Down a dirty lane
occupied by vans, carts, and crowds of men,—dockyard labourers
waiting for work towards St. Katherine's wharf. Glad to know
that I have arrived half an hour before the boat starts, as, if an
intending passenger were at all late, and if there were but one
waggon more in this dirty narrow lane, and one cab coming up the
street when mine is going down, to reach the wharf itself in time to
catch the boat would be simply impossible. Not a policeman visible,
no official of any sort at hand to regulate the traffic and clear a way
to and from the point of departure. How the exports and imports
ever get out of these narrow thoroughfares without smashing and
jamming, and loss of life, or damage to limb, and how the passengers
—especially the female passengers—for the various steamboats ever
reach their destination in safety is a marvel to me.

Happy Thought.—Yet this stoppage of traffic is appropriate to
the locality. The Tower and '' the Mock !''

I meet Hobsoi? at the entrance to the wharf. He assures me,
as his dear friend, that he is as annoyed as I am about the obstruc-
tion, and especially annoyed on my account. "But look here! " he
exclaims abruptly, adroitly changing the subject, "we've got the
best berths in the ship! " and he leads the way to the steamer,
almost skipping with delight at his own craftiness in securing these
exceptional berths.

Happy Thought.—The Skipper and his craft.

VV e nave: so much is evident: but two other passengers are to

00(ifW v.he tw£ other "berths in tte same cabin.

Perhaps they won't come," I say, with a glimmer of hope, and
relying on the probable obstacles in the narrow approach.

' ±™7, re 4er_? already," says Hobsoit, with an air of genial
hospitality, pointing out their overcoats and bags, which I thought
were his own.

" I've taken the two upper berths," continues Hobson, still con-
gratulating himself on his acuteness. " Plenty of air, you see "—
here he opens the port-hole—" and the other chaps are very quiet
fellows. I've seen them. It will be all right. I'm sure you'11 like it."

" Shall I?" I return, doubtfully looking at my berth, which is as

high up and about as roomy as the top shelf of the linen-cupboard
in an old-fashioned housekeeper's room.

Problem. How to get there ? Not being a bird, I can't fly up. Not
being a gymnast, I can't jump up. If there's no ladder, I must evidently
climb up. I mention " ladder " to one of the officials of the steamer
who looks in at the cabin casually,—ship's officers I think they're
called,—and ship's officer only laughs and goes away again. Clearly
a ladder is out of the question; it certainly was out of the answer, as
far as the merry but uncommunicative ship's officer is concerned.
Consequently, as I put it to Hobson (who can get into his own berth
as easily as possible by merely stepping on to the top of the fixed
washing-stand when closed, and crawling in at the foot of the bed),
the problem developes itself into two parts. First: How to climb
without grazing my knees and doing myself some serious internal
injury from the effects of which I may never recover. Secondly :
How to climb up without considerably inconveniencing the man on
the shelf below, by kicking him on the head, stamping on his nose,
putting my foot on his mouth, or otherwise so alarming him, that,
if asleep, he may wake suddenly, forget where he is, think that I am
a burglar, and incontinently seize me by the leg and bring me down
to the floor, when, unless I am stunned and with both arms and legs
broken, there must ensue a combat of two in which the other couple
must inevitably join.

"You'll find'itvery comfortable," says Hobson; "the ship is
lighted by electricity,"—as if this would help me to climb up into my
jam-cupboard shelf, or send me to sleep when I get there,—"and
the whole place is deliriously clean and comfortable.^ Let's go on
deck," he says, in a persuasive voice, and I follow him as he skips
up the companion.

We come upon a communicative passenger, who seems to be an
acquaintance of Hobsojt's. He informs us that, "This isn't the
Company's new boat. The new boat's much better than this."
" This is a very good boat," protests Hobsos", as if it were his own.
"Oh, she's good enough, and fast enough," says the communi-
cative acquaintance'; "but she's old. She's fast, though," he repeats,
as if being " old and fast" were a recommendation to anybody.

"Ah! she's a first-rate vessel," says Hobsojt, standing to his
guns, on my account, I am sure, otherwise, I fancy, he would agree
with his communicative acquaintance.

The latter continues, "She's still a good seagoing boat," resumes
the communicative acquaintance, "but she's no breadth of beam.
She '11 roll "—[will she, 0 dear !]—" she '11 roll, if there's any sea on,"
he repeats, emphatically, as if he were drawing our attention to an
inspired prophecy, " she'11 roll."

Hobson" observes with equal certainty, '' But there will be no sea
on." All on my account, I'm sure. I'm afraid his forecast would
honestly be in favour of there being " a sea on."

" You should have gone by the new boat," says his acquaintance.
I cannot help asking him how it is that if the new boat is so perfect,
he, himself, didn't go by it P

"I am going by it, next Saturday," he replies, " I'm only here to
see a friend off." And time being up, he bids us good-bye, and in
another ten minutes he is on the quay, waving his hat, and pitying us.

Observing me somewhat depressed by this information, Hobson" is
careful to assure me that, in his opinion, we shall have a capital
passage. True, we are beginning well; but then this is only the
river; dirty, but interesting. We have a considerable number of
passengers. There are three horse-artillerymen, with swords and
spurs, who seem rather out of place on board. There are a few
persons, young men and young women, with sticks, rugs, water-
proofs, umbrellas, maps, guide-books, and hand-bags; a reserved
person in an ulster, with opera-glasses; and_three awkward youths
of the superior' Arry type, two of whom are in a state of perpetual
admiration of the third, who is a repulsively larky young fellow, in
a yachting cap, a dirty-looking flannel shirt, false collars, and
probably false cuffs, with a crimson tie, evidently their leader and
model in waggery; a staid and very stout old Darby and Joan, who
seem glued to their seats, and nudge one another from time to time
when they are passing anything that seems to either of them worthy
of notice; these, with a few more middle-aged quiet couples, a
very English-looking person deeply interested in a French novel
with the familiar yellow cover, and a High Church clergyman with a
moustache, represent the tourist element. All the others, both fore
and aft, seem to be attired, in the ordinary top-hat and black coat
of London respectability, as if they had strolled down to the wharf,
come on board by merest accident, and been carried off before they
knew where they were.

Most of these persons at once contract with the Steward for their
meals at so much a head for the voyage, and, should the weather
prove favourable, they take twice of everything on principle. On a
rough passage I suppose the Steward has the best of the bargain.
And he certainly plays his cards well, as the time fixed for the
dinner on board is two o'clock, just as the ship is off Southend, when
bidding farewell to the river, we enter on the real sea-passage.

Happy Thought.—If you want to know what sort of passage it is
going to be, ascertain the number of passengers contracting at so