EXTRACTS FROM THE LOG OF THE “RITA”
BEING A DISCONNECTED ACCOUNT OF THE DOINGS OF SOME ARTISTS ON A SUMMER CRUISE....
“First day out. We can scarcely realize we have left behind the heat, the noise, and the dust of the city for three weeks. Far to the north, overhung by clouds of noisome smoke, our late prison is gradually sinking from sight. Only the tallest spires and houses can be seen. As the distance grows greater our hearts grow lighter, and dance in unison with the leaping waves. The day is a miracle of light and color,—
and
we’re
a happy
crew!”
“Came
very
near
being
wrecked
last night. Even the moon was full—but that fact saved the lives of all on board. Spike made a sketch this morning that will explain better than words.”
“The fashionable portrait painter’s man and girl flirting on the shore turned out to be rather clever devices for frightening crows. He has been advised to consult an oculist.”
“Fuzzie-Wuzzie and the Languid Aquarellist got together in the forecastle to hatch a scheme to get possession of the champagne. Nick, the Nipper, woke up and heard the conversation. He called to Mock-a-Hi. Hi took in the situation at a glance, and skewered Fuzzie and the Aquarellist with his prize finger-nail (with which he does his etchings), and thus the villains were balked. The conspirators had been eating Anti-Puncture, so that when Hi withdrew his nail, none of the wind came out of their tires. There was little blood and much wine spilled over this affair. The Skipper instantly had the schemers put in irons, and Nick, the Nipper, was allowed to torture them in their helpless condition with a few of his songs and imitations, as a reward for his vigilance.”
“To-day we took on board a small party of guests, several ladies being among the number. The finished style in which our fashionable portrait painter received the latter excited general admiration. There is very little doubt but that he will be promoted to be Assistant Skipper, with a cook’s pay.”
“The Skipper complained this evening of “feeling queer in the head,” and the Duke made unkindly reference to the moon (which is known to have a peculiar influence in certain cases), but got “sat on” for his inopportune display of wit. Fuzzie’s allusion to the banquet in the cabin last night was perhaps more truly explanatory.”
“Sailing
close to
shore,
—and enjoying the
beautiful glimpses of
field and wood seen
through the golden
haze of a summer
afternoon.
What a
glorious
land!”
“The Languid Aquarellist is singing the national anthem. Perhaps he is being unconsciously stirred by all these
wondrous
beauties of
nature.”
“Here
Truthful
Freddie
—sits by the hour, in
the golden evening
glow, dreaming of—what?”
“Salad
day.
Before seven o’clock this morning Curly and the Duke had caught enough crabs to supply the mess of a man-of-war. The salad—prepared by the Duke, of course—was pronounced excellent in technique, although somewhat after the manner of Bouguereau, being extremely smooth and delicate.
But this
can be
forgiven
in a
salad.”
“Late this afternoon we passed a sailing party homeward-bound. As they passed, quite close, Spike, with his ever-ready pencil, transferred several of the most conspicuous members to paper.”
“For his marvelous success in mixing salads, the Duke, who studied the culinary art in Paris and Rome, has been made Second Mate.”
“Three days out. The Languid Aquarellist insisted this morning on going ashore and shooting ducks—wild ones. After he had almost decimated a farmer’s prize flock of pekins (without noticing their barnyard confidence in man)—he was promoted by the Captain for excellent gunnery, and the addition to the yacht’s stores.”
“Tomson, (of the Barber’s-Own School), spent the entire afternoon trying to convince Miss ⸺ that his own peculiar method of painting is the acme of art. Miss ⸺ seemed delighted with his efforts, and thinks his pictures are “just lovely.” She wants him to attempt an imaginary portrait of the sea serpent.
Owing to the ceaseless motion of the boat, Tomson’s pictures are decidedly impressionistic.”
—“And then Bill Weatherbones gave us his version of the great naval combat at Santiago, in which he took a very prominent part. ‘I tole yer how it wuz,’ Bill began; ‘it wuz dis way, sur. I wuz a-settin’ on de aft hatch a-smokin’ a cigar Bill Sampson giv’ me, an’ Bill an’ Winnie Schley wuz a-workin’ out a little game wid de cards. Bill t’rowed down his papes an’ sed,—
“I
aint
got
no
luck,
I got to shake yuse fellers. Mc. he’s sent me de wire to go over an’ chin dat man Shafter, wot’s runnin’ de army push, an’ make him git a move on hisself.” “Don’t go, Bill,” sez I, “send one o’ de gang, it’s too hot fer yer, wot’s de good yer workin’?” “Dem aint me orders,” sez Bill, den turnin’ to Winnie Schley, he giv’ him de stern look, an’ sed, “Winnie, yer do de stunts here till I gets back wid meself, an’ if de Spaniels tries ter get out de bottle squirt de guns on ’em.” “I’m on,” sez Winnie, an’ he giv’ me de wink, “if de farmers shows up I shoots.” Den de Admiral he gits in his little ya’t an’ sails off. Winnie den piped up de grog all eround, an’ de game went on ag’in. I aint much stuck on de game de navy push puts up, it’s on de squar’, an’ so I set dere gappin’ an’ feedin’ me face, while de boys plays. All of a sudding I seen over dere where de guy Hobson sinked de Merrymac some smoke. I wunk t’ meself, but didden say nothin’ to break de boys up, but soon Winnie Schley looked up an’ seen it. “Hully gee!” he yelled, “de blokes is a-chasin’ out,” an’ he grabbed a bunch o’ flags an’ did de signal act o’ his life. He worked dose flags till he looked like a skirt dancer. De udder ships looked like a back yard wid de clothes-line full of red-flannel shirts from de wavin’ de guys put up. “Git dem guns loaded,” yelled Schley, “yuse blokes look lively, dere.” Boom! busted out one o’ de big guns, an’ de noise it knock de win’ outten me works. It hit de Spaniel an’ turned him bottom upwards; when he come up ag’in he shot his gun at us, but it wuz half a mile too high. Schley he rung out de joyous laugh. “Dere optics aint no good,” sez he, den he lets anudder ball go at him dat went clean t’rough him an’ hit anudder ship two miles off an’ sunk it in a minnit. Den up comes anudder Spaniel, an’ I seen⸺’”
“The steering gear is a little rattled: a puff of wind blew a lock of Mate Fuzzie-Wuzzie’s hair into the wheels, and instantly the vessel swung round. The engine was stopped, and in the excitement that ensued, a case of champagne was almost lost overboard. We had to run backward for a mile and a-half to disengage Fuzzie’s hair from the machinery. Fuzzie has been reduced.”
“Spike’s interest in the war has grown to be a matter of serious inconvenience to all on board. He has literally covered the yacht with
Military
and
Naval
cartoons.
The boat will certainly have to be re-painted. This morning he came on deck with a drawing he did sometime during the night, which represents Uncle Sam admonishing Spain to stop kicking the “yaller dorg”—Cuba. It’s not half bad, but his claim of it’s being the best yet made on the war is a little strong. He has been so busy admiring it all day he has not thought to make any others—and we have had time to breathe.”
“We
came
to
anchor
this evening near the wreck of the “Two Sisters,” in the vicinity of which—on the shore—was situated a dog-pound, containing some two hundred canines awaiting execution.... We enjoyed a night of delightful rest.”
“The Skipper went out on his bicycle gig to take a survey of the harbor, but the roadway was running so high he found it difficult to make any headway, and had to return to the yacht.”
“Curly has been pronounced unfit for the duties of an able-bodied seaman, and has been handed over to the Duke for treatment. It is suspected he is afflicted with some curious, and hitherto unknown, form of love. Yesterday the Duke administered a very carefully prepared shrimp salad, but it failed utterly to bring about the desired results. He’s still very pensive, and seems to wish to be alone. Grave symptoms indeed. Ever since our last visit ashore, when he was seen walking through the fields with a tall, willowy creature of undeniable attractiveness, he has been very dejected and apathetic.
We shall
try
keel-hauling
as a
last resort,
—but trust it will not be necessary.”
“The last glimpse of the glorious old Bay, and the last day afloat. The cruise has been one of continuous delight, but we can not but regret the end has come, and we must tread the bricks of uninteresting streets instead of the swaying deck of the Rita. But, as Bill Weatherbones would say, “Wot’s de use? Man aint born to be happy,
—an’
dats
straight.”
THE END