THE ABOVE-BRIDGE NAVY.
AN ARTICLE INTENDED FOR THE “QUARTERLY REVIEW,” BUT FALLEN INTO THE HANDS OF “PUNCH.”
- —Hours of the Starting of the Boats of the Iron Steam Boat Company. London: 1841.
- —Notes of a Passenger on Board the Bachelor, during a Voyage from Old Swan Pier, London Bridge, to the Red House, Battersea. CATNACH: 1840.
- —Rule Britannia, a Song. London: 1694.
- —Two Years before the Mast. CUNNINGHAM. London.
- —Checks issued by the London and Westminster Steam Boat Company. CATTARNS AND FRY.
At a time when the glory of England stands—like a door shutting or opening either way—entirely upon a pivot; when the hostile attitude of enemies abroad threatens not more, nor perhaps less, than the antagonistic posture of foes at home—at such a time there is at least a yet undug and hitherto unexplored mine of satisfaction in the refreshing fact, that the Thames is fostering in his bosom an entirely new navy, calculated to bid defiance to the foe—should he ever come—in the very heart and lungs, the very bowels and vitals, the very liver and lungs, or, in one emphatic word, the very pluck of the metropolis. There is not a more striking instance of the remarkable connexion between little—very little—causes, and great—undeniably great—effects, than the extraordinary origin, rise, progress, germ, development, and maturity, of the above-bridge navy, the bringing of which prominently before the public, who may owe to that navy at some future—we hope so incalculably distant as never to have a chance of arriving—day, the salvation of their lives, the protection of their hearths, the inviolability of their street-doors, and the security of their properties. Sprung from a little knot of (we wish we could say “jolly young,” though truth compels us to proclaim) far from jolly, and decidedly old, “watermen,” the above-bridge navy, whose shattered and unfrequented wherries were always “in want of a fare,” may now boast of covering the bosom of the Thames with its fleet of steamers; thus, as it were, bringing the substantial piers of London Bridge within a stone’s throw—if we may be allowed to pitch it so remarkably strong—of the once remote regions of the Beach33. Chelsea., and annihilating, as it were, the distance between sombre southwark and bloom-breathing Battersea.
The establishment of this little fleet may well be a proud reflection to those shareholders who, if they have no dividend in specie, have another species of dividend in the swelling gratification with which the heart of every one must be inflated, as, on seeing one of the noble craft dart with the tide through the arches—supposing, of course, it does not strike against them—of Westminster Bridge, he is enabled mentally to exclaim, “There goes some of my capital!” But if the pride of the proprietor—if he can be called a proprietor who derives nothing from his property—be great, what must be the feelings of the captain to whose guidance the bark is committed! We can scarcely conceive a nobler subject of contemplation than one of those once indigent—not to say absolutely done up—watermen, perched proudly on the summit of a paddle-box, and thinking—as he very likely does, particularly when the vessel swags and sways from side to side—of the height he stands upon.
It may be, and has been, urged by some, that the Thames is not exactly the place to form the naval character; that a habit of braving the “dangers of the deep” is hardly to be acquired where one may walk across at low tide, on account of the water being so confoundedly shallow: but these are cavillings which the lofty and truly patriotic mind will at once and indignantly repudiate. The humble urchin, whose sole duty consists in throwing out a rope to each pier, and holding hard by it while the vessel stops, may one day be destined for some higher service: and where is the English bosom that will not beat at the thought, that the dirty lad below, whose exclamation of “Ease her!—stop her!—one turn ahead!”—may one day be destined to give the word of command on the quarterdeck, and receive, in the shape of a cannon-ball, a glorious full-stop to his honourable services!
Looking as we do at the above-bridge navy, in a large and national light, we are not inclined to go into critical details, such as are to be met with, passim, in the shrewd and amusing work of “The Passenger on board the Bachelor.” There may be something in the objection, that there is no getting comfortably into one of these boats when one desires to go by it. It may be true, that a boy’s neglecting “to hold” sufficiently “hard,” may keep the steamer vibrating and Sliding about, within a yard of the pier, without approaching it. But these are small considerations, and we are not sure that the necessity of keeping a sharp look out, and jumping aboard at precisely the right time, does not keep up that national ingenuity which is not the least valuable part of the English character. In the same light are we disposed to regard the occasional running aground of these boats, which, at all events, is a fine practical lesson of patience to the passengers. The collisions are not so much to our taste, and these, we think, though useful to a certain extent for inculcating caution, should be resorted to as rarely as possible.
We have not gone into the system of signals and “hand motions,” if we may be allowed to use a legal term, by which the whole of this navy is regulated; but these, and other details, may, perhaps, be the subject of some future article for we are partial to
TAKING IT EASY.
CORRESPONDENCE.
Newcastle-street, July —, 1841.
MR. PUNCH,—Little did I think wen i’ve bin a gaping and starin’ at you in the streats, that i shud ever happli to you for gustice. Isntet a shame that peeple puts advurtusmints in the papers for a howsmaid for a lark, as it puts all the poor survents out of plaice into a dredfool situashun.
As i alwuss gets a peep at the paper on the landin’ as i takes it up for breckfus, i was unfoughtunite enuf to see a para—thingem-me-bob—for a howsmaid, wanted in a nobbleman’s fameli. On course, a young woman has a rite to better hursef if she can; so I makes up my mind at wunce—has i oney has sicks pouns a ear, and finds my own t and shuggar—i makes up my mind to arsk for a day out; which, has the cold mutting was jest enuf for mastur and missus without me, was grarnted me. I soon clears up the kitshun, and goes up stares to clean mysef. I puts on my silk gronin-napple gownd, and my lase pillowrin, likewise my himitashun vermin tippit, (give me by my cussen Harry, who keeps kumpany with me on hot-dinner days), also my tuskin bonnit, parrersole, and blacbag; and i takes mysef orf to South-street, but what was my felines, wen, on wringing the belle, a boy anser’d the daw, with two roes of brarse beeds down his jacket.
“Can i speek a word with the futman?” says i, in my ingaugingist manner.
“i’m futman,” says he.
“Then the cook,” says i.
“We arn’t no cook,” says he.
“No cook!” says i, almose putrifide with surprise; “you must be jokin’”—
“Jokin’,” says he; “do you no who lives here?”
“Not exacly,” says i.
“Lord Milburn,” says he.
i thort i shud have dropt on the step, as a glimmerin’ of the doo shot aX my mine.
“Then you don’t want no howsmaid?” says i.
“Howsmaid!” says the boy; “go to blazes: (What could he mean by
GOING TO BLAZES?)
“No; i’ve toled fifty on ye so this mornin’—it’s a oaks.”
“Then more shame of Lord Milborn to do it,” says i; “he may want a place hissef some day or other,” sayin’ of which i bounsed off the doorstep, with all tho dignity i could command.
Now, what i wants to no is, wether i can’t summons his lordship for my day out. Harry sais, should i ever come in contract with Lord Milborn, i’m to trete him with the silent kontempt of
Yours truly,
AN INDIGNANT HOUSEMAID.
A MOVING SCENE.
The present occupants of the government premises in Downing-street, whose leases will expire in a few days, are busily employed packing up their small affairs before the new tenants come into possession. It is a pitiful sight to behold these poor people taking leave of their softly-stuffed seats, their rocking-chairs, their footstools, slippers, cushions, and all those little official comforts of which they nave been so cruelly deprived. That man must, indeed, be hard-hearted who would refuse to sympathise with their sorrows, or to uplift his voice in the doleful Whig chorus, when he hears—
THE PACK IN FULL CRY.