A VERY HOT PRESS.
The performance of _Love Between Decks_ had reached its famous fourth
act, in which Tom Taffrail, to protect his sweetheart (who has
followed him to sea in man's attire), strikes the infamous First
Lieutenant and is marched off between two marines for punishment.
This scene, as everyone knows, is laid on the upper deck of his
Majesty's ship _Poseidon_ (of seventy-four guns), and the management,
as a condition of engaging Mr. Orlando B. Sturge (who was exacting in
details), had mounted it, at great expense, with a couple of lifelike
guns, R. and L., and for background the overhang of the quarter-deck,
with rails and a mizzen-mast of real timber against a painted cloth
representing the rise of the poop.
At the moment when our Major entered the gallery, the heated
atmosphere of which well nigh robbed him of breath, Tom Taffrail had
taken up his position on the prompt side, close down by the
footlights, and thrown himself into attitude to deliver the speech of
manly defiance which provokes the Wicked Lieutenant to descend into
the waist of the ship and receive the well-merited weight of the
hero's fist. The hero, with one foot planted on a coil of real rope
and one arm supporting the half-inanimate form of his Susan, in
deference to stage convention faced the audience, while with his
other arm uplifted he invoked vengeance upon the oppressor, who
scowled down from the quarterdeck rail.
"Hear me, kyind Heaven!" declaimed Tom Taffrail, "for Heaven at least
is my witness, that beneath the tar-stained shirt of a British sailor
there may beat the heart of a _Man_!"--
As a matter of fact, Mr. Sturge was clothed in a clean blue and white
striped shirt, with socks to match, white duck trousers no less
immaculate, with a huge glittering brass buckle on the front of his
belt, two buckles of smaller size but similar pattern on his polished
dancing shoes, and wore his hair in a natty pigtail tied with
cherry-coloured ribbon.
--"Hear and judge betwixt me and yonder tyrant! Let the storm off
Pernambuco declare who first sprang to the foretop and thence aloft
to strike t'gallant yards while the good ship _Poseidon_ careened
before its hurricane rage! Ay, and when the main topm'st went
smack-smooth by the board, who was it slid like lightning to the deck
and, with hands yet glowing from the halliards, plucked forth axe and
hewed the wreckage clear? But a truce to these reminders! 'Twas my
duty, and, as a seaman, I did it!"
Here, having laid his tender burden so that her back rested against
the coil of real rope, Mr. Sturge executed the opening steps of a
hornpipe, and advancing to the footlights, stood swaying with crossed
arms while the orchestra performed the prelude to his most celebrated
song.
At this point Mr. Jope, who for some seconds had been breathing hard
at the back of the Major's neck, clutched his comrade by the arm.
"You 'eard that, Bill?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Ay," answered Bill Adams. "He slipped down from the t'gallant yards
by the halliards."
"Would ye mind pinchin' me?"
"Where?"
"Anywhere; in the fleshy part of the ham for choice; not too
vigorous, but just to make sure. He come down by the halliards.
_Which_ halliards?"
"Signal halliards, belike. Damme, why not? Aboard a vessel with the
decks laid ath'artships--"
"An' the maintopm'st went smack-smooth--you _'eard_ him? What sort
o' spar--"
"Dunno"--Bill paused and audibly shifted his quid--"unless 'twas a
parsnip. The mizz'n-m'st seems to have stood it, though her stays
_do_ lead to a brass-headed nail in the scuppers."
"In a gale off Pernambuco . . . 'twas his duty, and as a seaman he
did it," quoted Mr. Jope in a low voice thrilled with awe. "Bill, we
must 'ave him. If he did but 'alf of it, we must 'ave him. In them
togs, aboard the _Vesuvius_ now . . . Lord love me, he's dancin'!"
"Ay, and he's going to sing."
"_Sing!_"
"Mark my word, he's going to sing," repeated Bill Adams with
confidence; and, sure enough, Mr. Sturge stepped forward and with a
reproachful glance at the empty Royal box uplifted his voice:
"When honest Jack across the foam
Puts forth to meet the Gallic foe,
His tributary tear for home
He wipes away with a Yow-heave-ho!
Man the braces,
Take your places,
Fill the tot and push the can;
He's a lubber
That would blubber
When Britannia needs a _Man_!"
"S'help us, Bill, what are they doing _now_?" gasped Ben Jope, as two
groups of seamen, one at either wing, took up the chorus; tailing on
to a cable and heaving while they sang.
"Fishin' the anchor," said Bill pensively; "_that's_ what they're
doin'. She carries her catheads amidships. The ship's all right,
once you get the hang of her."
"Bill, we _must_ 'ave him!"
"Hush it, you swab! He's beginning again."
"But when among the heaving clouds,
Aloft, alone, with folded arms,
He hangs _her_ portrait in the shrouds
And feeds on Susan's glowing charms,
To th' horizon
Soft his sighs on
Angel wings the zephyrs fan,
While his feelings,
Deep revealings,
Prove that Jack remains a _Man_!"
"'Ear that, Bill?"
"O' course I 'ears it. Why not? I _knew_ there was something funny
wi' them shrouds. They carries the family portraits on 'em--it's all
right, I tell you."
"But 'feeds,' he said."
"Meanin' the picter; though maybe they sling the meat-safe there as
well. They _ought_ to."
"They _couldn't_!"
"Why not? Well, then, p'raps they strikes it now and then _in_ a
gale--off Pernambuco--along wi' the t'gallant yards. Stow yer talk,
Ben Jope, and let a man listen."
The audience encored Mr. Sturge's song vociferously; and twice he had
to repeat it before they would suffer him to turn again and defy the
still scowling Lieutenant.
"Ay, sir; the British seaman, before whose collective valour the
crowned tyrants of Yurope shrink with diminished heads, dares to
proclaim himself a _Man_, and in despite of any petty tyrant of the
quarter-deck. Humble his lot, his station, may be. Callous he
himself may be to the thund'ring of the elements or the guns of his
country's foemen; but never will he be found irresponsive to female
distress in any shape or form. Leftenant Vandeloor, you have
upraised your hand against A Woman; you have struck her a Blow.
In your teeth I defy you!" (Frantic applause.)
"My word, Bill, the Duke ought to been here to 'ear that!"
"But why isn't he here?" asked the Major.
"Well," answered Ben Jope slowly, with a glance along the crowded
gallery and a wink at Bill Adams (but the Major saw neither the
glance nor the wink), "to-night, d'ye see, 'twouldn't ha' been
altogether the thing. He's not like you and me, the Duke isn't.
He has to study appearances."
"I should have thought that, if his Royal Highness studied
popularity, he could scarcely have found a better occasion."
"Look here," put in Mr. Jope sharply, "if the Duke chooses to be
drunk to-night, you may lay to it he knows his business. And look
here again; I took you for a victim o' misfortun', but if so be as
you're startin' to teach the R'yal family tact, w'y, I changes my
opinion."
"If I could only find my friend Basket, or get a message taken to
him," ingeminated the Major, whose teeth were chattering despite the
tropical atmosphere of the gallery.
"Eh? What's that you're sayin'?" the seaman demanded in a sudden
sharp tone of suspicion. "If there's a friend o' your'n in the
gallery, you keep by me and point him out when the time comes.
I ain't a-makin' no promise, mind; no more than to say it may be the
better for him; but contrariwise I don't allow no messages, and you
may belay to that!"
"But my friend is not in the gallery. He has a reserved seat
somewhere."
"Then you may take it he don't _require_ no message, bein' toler'bly
safe. As for yourself, you stick to me. Understand? Whatever
happens, you stick to me."
The Major did not understand in the least; but their conversation at
this moment was interrupted by a roar of applause from all quarters
of the house as Tom Taffrail, with a realistic blow from the
shoulder, laid his persecutor prostrate on the deck.
"Brayvo!" grunted Bill Adams. "The lad's nimble enough with his
fives, I will say, for all his sea-lawyerin'."
"We must 'ave him, Bill; if I take him myself we must 'ave him!"
cried Ben Jope, dancing with admiration. '"Tis no more than a mercy,
neither, after the trouble he's been and laid up for hisself."
Into what precise degree of mental confusion Mr. Jope had worked
himself the Major could never afterwards determine; though he soon
had every opportunity to think it out at leisure.
For the moment, as a boatswain's whistle shrilled close behind his
ear, he was merely bewildered. He did not even know that the mouth
sounding it was Mr. Jope's. It _ought_ to have sounded on board
H.M.S. _Poseidon_.
As the crowd to right and left of him surged to its feet, he saw at
intervals along the gallery, sailor after sailor leap up with drawn
cutlass. He saw some forcing their way to the exits; and as the
packed throng, swaying backwards, bore him to the giddy edge of the
gallery rails, he saw the whole audience rise from their seats with
white upturned faces.
"The Press!" called someone. Half a dozen, then twenty, then a
hundred voices took up the cry:
"The Press! The Press!"
He turned. What had become of Mr. Jope?
What, indeed? Cutlass between teeth, Mr. Jope had heaved himself
over the gallery rail, caught a pillar between his dangling feet, and
slid down it to the Upper Circle; from the Upper Circle to the Dress
Circle; from the Dress Circle to the Pit. A dozen seamen hurrahed
and followed him. To the audience screaming, scattering before them,
they paid no heed at all. Their eyes were on their leader, and in
silence, breathing hard, each man's teeth clenched upon his cutlass,
they hounded after him and across the Pit at his heels.
It may be that this vivid reproduction of his alleged exploit off
Pernambuco for the moment held Mr. Orlando B. Sturge paralysed.
At any rate, he stood by the footlights staring, with a face on which
resentment faded into amaze, amaze into stupefaction.
It is improbable that he dreamed of any personal danger until the
moment when Mr. Jope, leaping the orchestra and crashing, on his way,
through an abandoned violoncello, landed across the footlights and
clapped him on the shoulder.
"Never you mind, lad!" cried Mr. Jope cheerfully, taking the cutlass
from between his teeth and waving it. "You'll get better treatment
along o' we."
"What mean you? Unhand me--Off, I say, minion!"
"It'll blow over, lad; it'll blow over. You take my advice and come
quiet--Oh, but we _want_ you!--an' if you hear another word about
this evening's work I'll forfeit my mess."
"Hands off, ruffian! Help, I say, there--Help!"
"Shame! Shame!" cried a dozen voices. But nine-tenths of the
audience were already pressing around the doors to escape.
At a nod from Mr. Jope, two seamen ran and cut the cords supporting
the drop-scene.
"Heads, there! Heads!"
The great roller fell upon the stage with a resounding bang.
With the thud of it, a hand descended and smote upon the Major's
shoulder.
"Come along o' me. _You'll_ give no trouble, anyway."
"Eh?" said the Major. "My good man, I assure you that I have not the
slightest disposition to interfere. These scenes are regrettable, of
course. I have heard of them, but never actually assisted at one
before; still, I quite see the necessity of the realm demands it, and
the realm's necessity is--or should be--the supreme law with all of
us."
"And you can _swim_. You'd be surprised, now, how few of 'em could
take a stroke to save their lives. Leastways," Mr. Adams confessed,
"that's _my_ experience."
"I beg your pardon."
"Ben's impulsive. I over'eard him tellin' you to stick fast to him;
but, all things considered, that's pretty difficult, ain't it?
Never you mind; _I'll_ see you aboard the tender."
"Aboard the tender?"
The Major stepped back a pace as the fellow's absurd mistake dawned
on him. "Why, you impudent scoundrel, I'm a Justice of the Peace!"
But here a rush of the driven crowd lifted and bore him against the
gallery rail. A hand close by shattered the nearest lamp into
darkness, and the flat of a cutlass (not Bill Adams's) descending
upon our hero's head, put an end for the while to speech and
consciousness.