AN AFTERNOON SAIL.
SCENE—A Landing Stage under Margate Pier. Excursionists discovered embarking in two rival sailing-boats, the "Daisy" and the "Buttercup," whose respective Mates are exchanging repartees.
Mate of the "Daisy". This gangway, Marm—(to a Stout Lady)—not that one, if you want to enjoy yourself. That one'll take you aboard the "Buttercup," Marm!
[The Stout Lady patronises the "Daisy."
Mate of the "Buttercup." You may 'ave that little lot! Don't you go overloadin' that 'ere old tub o' yourn, that's all!
M. of the D. No fear o' you bein' crowded, anyhow. Folks ha' got more sense!
M. of the B. Why, we can outsail you any day. Spoke you off the Tongue light, we did, close in to ye, we were—and back ten minutes afore ye—come! The "Buttercup"'ll answer any way we put her—a'most speak to us, she will!
M. of the D. Ah, it's lucky for you she can't quite speak—you'd 'ear some plain langwidge if she did!
M. of the B. Our boat ain't never mis-stayed with us, 't all events; ye can't deny that!
M. of the D. We don't go out for sailing, we don't—we go out for pleasure! (As the "Daisy," having received her complement of passengers, puts off.) Tralla! we'll resoom this conversation later on; you won't ha' got off afore we're back, I dessay!
[The Mate of the "Buttercup" is reduced to profanity.
On Board the "Daisy," during the Trip.
The Stout Lady. Very 'an'some they fit these yachts up—garding-seats all across the deck, and all the cushings in red plush. It do give you sech a sense of security!
A Lugubrious Man. Oh, we shall be all right, so long as this squall that's coming up don't catch us before we're in again. Else we shall take our tea down at the bottom, along with the lobsters!
A Chirpy Little Man with a red chin-tuft (to a female acquaintance). Well, how are you feelin', eh?
The Acquaintance. Oh, all right, thenks—so long as I keep still. There's more waves than it looked from the Pier.
The Chirpy Man. Waves? These ain't on'y ripples. When we're off the Foreland, now, you may talk!
The Acq. If it's worse than it is now, I shan't.
The Chirpy Man. Why, you ain't afraid o' being queer already? I'm reg'lar enjoyin' it, I am. You don't object to me samplin' a cigar? You enjoy the flavour of a smoke more when you're on the water, yer know.
First Girl. I can see our lodgings; and there's Ma out on the balcony—see? Let's wave our handkerchiefs to her.
Second Girl. Ma, indeed! Did you ever know Ma stir off the sofa after her dinner? I wouldn't make myself ridiklous waving to somebody else's Ma, if I was you!
First Girl (unconvinced). I'm sure it is Ma—it's just her figger.
Second Girl. You are such an obstinate girl! If it's Ma, what's become of the verander?
First Girl (conquered by this unanswerable argument). I forgot we had a verander—it's one of those old cats next door!
The Stout Lady (to the Captain who is steering). Shall we be out long, Captain?
The Captain. I hope not, Marm, because I'm dining at the tabbly dote at the Cliftonville this evenin', and I've got to be home in time to dress.
[The passengers regard him with increased respect.
The Mate (familiarly to the Captain). Yes, dear; you don't want to die in here, do you? (explanatorily) "die in"—dine—you'll excuse me, but the ocean always makes me feel so facetious. Captain, dear, if you'll pardon a common sailor like myself for making the suggestion, I beg to call upon you for a song. (The Captain obligingly bellows "The Stormy Nore—The Jolly old Nore," to the general satisfaction). Ah, they didn't know what a canary-bird you were, Captain! Here's a lady asking you to drink at her expense.
[The Captain is prevailed upon to accept a tumbler of "the usual;" the Stout Lady says "Captin, your 'elth!" and pledges him in a whiskey-and-soda.
First Female Friend (to Second Do. Do.). That's Mrs. EDLING, all over, puttin' herself so forward! Look at her now, 'anding him up two cigars in a paper-bag. I call it sickenin'!
Second Do. Do. I'm not surprised. She's a woman that 'ud do anythink for notoriety. I've always noticed that in her.
Captain (to Mate). Ease the brails!
Mate (frivolously, after obeying). They're feeling better now, darlin'! If no one else'll sing a song, I'll give you "The Midshipmite."
The Stout Lady. I do like the way those two go on together; it's as good as a play. I shall begin laughin' presently; it takes a deal to set me off, but when I once am off, I can't stop myself. (The Mate sings.) A sweet singer he is, too. Lor! it's like goin' for a sail in a Music-'All!
The Chirpy Man. Yes, I'm comin' to set down a bit. Not so much motion 'ere, yer know. No use trying to smoke in this breeze. No, I was on'y yawning. Makes yer sleepy, this see-saw does. Don't you find it so?
Mate (to Sailor). Now, WILLIAM, it's your turn—you're goin' to sing us something?
William (gruffly). No, I ain't. But there's a gen'lman 'ere as says he'll recite.
[After some persuasion, a Mild Young Man is induced to step forward on the foredeck, and recite as follows:—
The Mild Young Man (balancing himself with some difficulty).
"Pirate, that's what I was, Sir. Talk about Captain KIDD—
His cruellest acts were kindness, compared with the deeds I did!
Never a pitying pang felt I for youth, sex, age, or rank—
All who fell into my clutches were doomed to pace a protruded plank!
Yet the desperate demon of those days is now a Churchwarden mild,
Holding the bag at Collections—and all through a golden-haired child!"
[Here the Mate suppresses a groan, and is understood to remark that he "knows that golden-haired child;" the Stout Lady sighs, and inwardly reflects that you can never go by appearances; the Chirpy Man becomes solemn and attentive.
The Ex-Pirate (who meanwhile has sighted an East-Indiaman, and given chase).
"Well, soon as we'd overhauled her, our 'Jolly Roger' we flew,
We opened our dummy deadlights, and the guns gleamed grinning through.
And, panther-like, we were crouching—"
[Here he attempts to suit the action to the word; the boat heels over—and the Pirate's crouch becomes a sprawl.
I—I beg your pardon.—(Picking himself up.)
"Under the Indiaman's side;
When—a baby-face from her bulwarks, looked down on us open-eyed:
I can see him now—with his fluttering curls, and his cheeks so chubby and round,
Which a cherub might have been proud of, in snowiest linen bound!
Then—he hailed us, in infant accents, so innocent, fresh, and blithe—
That our nest of human snakes was stirred to a conscience-stricken writhe!
(In soft falsetto, as Child). Dear Pirates, I am so sorry—I did want to see you so.
I'm afraid you'll be disappointed—but you mustn't come near, you know!
I wish I could ask you on board to tea, for I feel so down in the dumps,
But I can't invite you—for, if you came, you'd be certain to catch my Mumps!
I've given it all of the passengers, and the Captain, and Mate, and Crew,
And it would be a dreadful pity if you were to catch it too!"
[Pause. The Chirpy Man hides his face.
We looked at each other; our utterance choked by irrepressible lumps,
Though we feared neither man nor devil—we all had a horror of Mumps!
And, but for this Cherub's candour, ere many mere days had sped—
[Here the Pirate is stopped by uncontrollable emotion, and his audience, from the Captain downwards, express sympathy.
The Reciter (huskily, after wiping his eyes). I'm very sorry—it's foolish, I know, but I always do break down just here. I—I think I can go on now.
