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H.M.S. “PINAFORE”
* * * * * *
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
_Second Edition. Crown 4to. 5s. net_
THE PETER PAN
PICTURE BOOK
THE STORY OF PETER PAN
RETOLD BY DANIEL O’CONNOR
FROM THE PLAY BY J. M. BARRIE
WITH 28 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY
ALICE B. WOODWARD
“Miss Woodward’s pictures are really delightful. The whimsical
flavour of the fairy play is faithfully reflected, while for rich and
harmonious colouring and decorative quality of design they would be
difficult to surpass.”—_Athenaeum._
“It would be difficult to imagine anything more dainty. The pictures
are exquisitely beautiful, and to follow the story in Mr. Daniel
O’Connor’s version is almost as fascinating as it was to see Mr.
Barrie’s quaint creation on the stage.”—_Glasgow Herald._
LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS
* * * * * *
H.M.S. “PINAFORE”
LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS
PORTUGAL ST. LINCOLNS INN, W.C.
CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL & CO.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
BOMBAY: A.H. WHEELER & CO.
[Illustration: RALPH RACKSTRAW IN THE RIGGING
(See p. 16)]
THE PINAFORE PICTURE BOOK
THE STORY OF
H·M·S·PINAFORE
Told by
SIR W. S. GILBERT
and
Illustrated by Alice B. Woodward
[Illustration]
London
George Bell & Sons
1908
Chiswick Press: Charles Whittingham and Co.
Tooks Court, Chancery Lane, London.
TO MY YOUNG READERS
I have been asked to explain to you how it comes to pass that this, the
story of a well-known Play, is now placed before you in the form of
a Tale. In the first place, many very young ladies and gentlemen are
never taken to the Theatre at all. It is supposed by certain careful
Papas and Mamas that very young ladies and gentlemen should go to bed
at an early hour, and that it is very bad for them to sit up as late as
half past eleven or twelve o’clock at night. Of course, this difficulty
could be overcome by taking them to Morning Performances, which are so
called because they invariably take place in the afternoon; but there
are drawbacks even to Morning Performances. Unless you are seated in
the front row of the stalls (where the band is sure to be too loud),
or in the front row of the dress circle (which is a long way off), the
enjoyment of very young ladies and gentlemen is pretty nearly sure to
be interfered with by the gigantic cart-wheel hats, decorated with huge
bunches of wobbling feathers that ill-bred and selfish ladies clap upon
their heads, nowadays, whenever they go to a theatre in the daytime.
A third reason (and perhaps the best of them all) is that very young
ladies and gentlemen find it rather difficult to follow the story of a
play, much of which is told in songs set to beautiful music, and all
of which is written in language which is better suited to their Papas
and Mamas than to themselves. A fourth reason (but this is not such a
good one as the other three) is that the Opera upon which this book
is founded is, unhappily, not played in every town every night of the
year. It should be, of course, but it is not, and it may very well
happen that some poor people have to go so long as two or three years
without having any opportunity of improving their minds by seeing it
performed. When we get a National Theatre, at which all the best plays
will be produced at the expense of the Public (who will also enjoy
the privilege of paying to see the Plays after they have defrayed
the cost of producing them), “Her Majesty’s Ship Pinafore” will, no
doubt, be played once or twice in every fortnight for ever; but as some
years must elapse before this happy state of things can come to pass,
and as those who are very young ladies and gentlemen now may be very
middle-aged ladies and gentlemen then, it was thought that it would be
a kind and considerate action to supply them at once with a story of
the Play, so as not to subject them to the tantalizing annoyance of
having to wait (possibly) many years before they have an opportunity of
learning what it is all about.
As I would not for the world deceive my young readers, I think it right
to state that this story is entirely imaginary. It might very well have
happened but, in point of fact, it never did.
[Signature: W. S. Gilbert.]
_The extracts from Sir Arthur Sullivan’s music to “H.M.S. Pinafore”
are reproduced by permission of the publishers, Messrs. Metzler and
Co., Ltd._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I 1
II 22
III 57
IV 70
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
COLOUR PLATES
PAGE
RALPH RACKSTRAW IN THE RIGGING _Frontispiece_
IN SHORT, HE DID EVERYTHING POSSIBLE TO MAKE EVERYBODY
ON BOARD THOROUGHLY ILL AND HAPPY 2
“I KNOW WHO TAKES SUGAR-PLUMS TO BED WITH HIM” 14
SIR JOSEPH PORTER WAS ONE OF THE MANY PEOPLE WHO
HAD FALLEN A VICTIM TO THE BEAUTY OF MISS
JOSEPHINE CORCORAN 24
“MY GALLANT CREW, GOOD MORNING!” 28
THE GOOD CAPTAIN WAS DISTRESSED TO SEE HIS DEAR
DAUGHTER IN THIS BILIOUS FRAME OF MIND 34
LUNCHEON IN THE WARDROOM 50
SO SHE CAME ON DECK TO INDULGE IN A _RÊVERIE_ ALL
ALONE 58
SO SAYING, WITH TELL-TALE TEARS STREAMING DOWN
HER FACE, SHE STRODE MAGNIFICENTLY TO HER
CABIN 64
HER SHORT AND SNAPPISH REPLIES TO SIR JOSEPH’S
PRETTY SPEECHES AT DINNER 72
LITTLE BUTTERCUP AND THE CAPTAIN 80
“WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?” SAID SIR JOSEPH 90
“DEADEYE!” SAID THE CAPTAIN, “_YOU_ HERE? DON’T!” 100
A COUPLE OF MARINES MARCHED HIM OFF UNDER THE
COMMAND OF THE SMALLEST MIDSHIPMAN IN THE
SHIP 112
“I MIXED THOSE CHILDREN UP” 118
CORCORAN PRESENTED BLUSHING LITTLE BUTTERCUP TO
SIR JOSEPH, WHO GAVE HER SIXPENCE ON THE SPOT 126
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
HEADPIECE TO CHAPTER I 1
LITTLE BUTTERCUP 9
HEADPIECE TO CHAPTER II 22
SIR JOSEPH PORTER AND HIS FEMALE RELATIONS 38
“I POLISHED UP THE HANDLE OF THE BIG FRONT DOOR” 42
HEADPIECE TO CHAPTER III 57
DICK DEADEYE DIPPED INTO THE FLOUR-BIN 67
HEADPIECE TO CHAPTER IV 70
“MADAM, IT HAS BEEN REPRESENTED TO ME THAT YOU
ARE APPALLED AT MY EXALTED RANK” 97
“NAUGHTY DAUGHTER OF MINE, I INSIST UPON KNOWING” 107
CAPTAIN RACKSTRAW TRIES TO CATCH SIGHT OF HIS
EPAULETTES 122
THE END 131
HER MAJESTY’S SHIP PINAFORE
[Illustration]
Great Britain is (at present) the most powerful maritime country in the
world; she possesses a magnificent Fleet, superb officers and splendid
seamen, and one and all are actuated by an intense desire to maintain
their country’s reputation in its highest glory.
One of the finest and most perfectly manned ships in that magnificent
Fleet was Her Majesty’s Ship _Pinafore_, and I call the ship
“Her Majesty’s” because she belonged to good Queen Victoria’s time,
when men-of-war were beautiful objects to look at, with tall tapering
masts, broad white sails, and gracefully designed hulls; and not huge
slate-coloured iron tanks without masts and sails as they are to-day.
She was commanded by Captain Corcoran, R.N., a very humane, gallant,
and distinguished officer, who did everything in his power to make
his crew happy and comfortable. He had a sweet light baritone voice,
and an excellent ear for music, of which he was extremely fond, and
this led him to sing to his crew pretty songs of his own composition,
and to teach them to sing to him. To encourage this taste among his
crew, he made it a rule on board that nobody should ever _say_
anything to him that could possibly be _sung_—a rule that was
only relaxed when a heavy gale was blowing, or when he had a bilious
headache. Harmless improving books were provided for the crew to read,
and vanilla ices, sugar-plums, hardbake and raspberry jam were served
out every day with a liberal hand. In short, he did everything possible
(consistently with his duty to Her Majesty) to make everybody on board
thoroughly ill and happy.
[Illustration: IN SHORT, HE DID EVERYTHING POSSIBLE TO MAKE EVERYBODY
ON BOARD THOROUGHLY ILL AND HAPPY]
Captain Corcoran was a widower with one daughter, named Josephine, a
beautiful young lady with whom every single gentleman who saw her fell
head-over-ears in love. She was tall, exquisitely graceful, with the
loveliest blue eyes and barley-sugar coloured hair ever seen out of
a Pantomime, but her most attractive feature was, perhaps, her nose,
which was neither too long nor too short, nor too narrow nor too broad,
nor too straight. It had the slightest possible touch of sauciness
in it, but only just enough to let people know that though she could be
funny if she pleased, her fun was always gentle and refined, and never
under any circumstances tended in the direction of unfeeling practical
jokes. It was such a maddening little nose, and had so extraordinary
an effect on the world at large that, whenever she went into Society,
she found it necessary to wear a large pasteboard artificial nose of so
unbecoming and ridiculous a description that people passed her without
taking the smallest notice of her. This alone is enough to show what
a kind-hearted and self-sacrificing girl was the beautiful Josephine
Corcoran.
One of the smartest sailors on board Her Majesty’s Ship _Pinafore_
was a young fellow called Ralph Rackstraw, though, as will be seen
presently, that was not his real name. He was extremely good-looking,
and, considering that he had had very little education, remarkably
well-spoken. Unhappily he had got it into his silly head that a
British man-of-war’s man was a much finer fellow than he really is.
He is, no doubt, a very fine fellow indeed, but perhaps not quite so
fine a fellow as Ralph Rackstraw thought he was. He had heard a great
many songs and sentiments in which a British Tar was described as a
person who possessed every good quality that could be packed into one
individual, whereas there is generally room for a great many more good
qualities than are usually found inside any sailor. A good packer never
packs anything too tight; it is always judicious to leave room for
unexpected odds and ends, and British Tars are very good packers and
leave plenty of room for any newly acquired virtues that may be coming
along. So, although Ralph had gathered up many excellent qualities,
there were still some that he had not yet added to his collection, and
among these was a proper appreciation of the fact that he hadn’t got
them all. In short, his only fault was a belief that he hadn’t any.
Ralph Rackstraw was one of the many who loved Josephine to distraction.
Nearly all the unmarried members of the crew also loved Josephine, but
they were older and more sensible than Ralph, and clearly understood
that they could never be accepted as suitable husbands for a beautiful
young lady of position, who was, moreover, their own Captain’s
daughter. They knew that their manners were quite unsuited to polite
dining and drawing-rooms, and indeed they would have been very
uncomfortable if they had been required to sit at table with gentlemen
in gold epaulettes, and ladies in feathers and long trains; so they
very wisely reasoned themselves into a conviction that the sooner they
put Josephine out of their heads the better it would be for their peace
of mind.
There is a time, between four and six in the afternoon, when the
men-of-war sailors are allowed to cease their work and amuse themselves
with cheerful songs and rational conversation. It is called the
“dog-watch” (why, I can’t imagine), and at that time all who are not
engaged upon any special duty meet on the forecastle (which is the
front part of the upper deck) to sing pretty songs and tell each other
those harmless but surprising anecdotes which are known in the Royal
Navy as “yarns.” One of the most popular subjects of conversation
during the dog-watch on board the _Pinafore_ was the kindness
and consideration shown by their good Captain Corcoran towards the
men under his command, and another was the agreeable fact that the
_Pinafore_ was one of those jolly ships that never pitched and
rolled, and consequently never made any of the sailors sea-sick. The
crew, who had been carefully trained by Captain Corcoran to sing more
or less in tune, always opened the dog-watch with this chorus:
We sail the ocean blue,
And our saucy ship’s a beauty!
We’re sober men and true
And attentive to our duty.
When the balls whistle free o’er the bright blue sea,
We stand to our guns all day;
When at anchor we ride on the Portsmouth tide
We’ve plenty of time to play!
[Music: By special permission of the publishers, Metzler & Co., Ltd.]
This they used to sing as they sipped their ices, and ate their
rout-cakes and almond toffee. The song might strike you at first as
rather too complimentary to themselves, but it was not really so, as
each man who sang it was alluding to all the others, and left himself
out of the question, and so it came to pass that every man paid a
pretty compliment to his neighbours, and received one in return, which
was quite fair and led to no quarrelling.
As the sailors sat and talked they were joined by a rather stout but
very interesting elderly woman of striking personal appearance. She
was what is called a “bum-boat woman,” that is to say, a person who
supplied the officers and crew with little luxuries not included in the
ship’s bill of fare. Her real name was Poll Pineapple, but the crew
nick-named her “Little Buttercup,” partly because it is a pretty name,
but principally because she was not at all like a buttercup, or indeed
anything else than a stout, quick-tempered, and rather mysterious lady,
with a red face and black eyebrows like leeches, and who seemed to
know something unpleasant about everybody on board. She had a habit of
making quite nice people uncomfortable by hinting things in a vague
way, and at the same time with so much meaning (by skilful use of her
heavy black eyebrows), that they began to wonder whether they hadn’t
done something dreadful, at some time or other, and forgotten all about
it. So Little Buttercup was not really popular with the crew, but they
were much too kind-hearted to let her know it.
[Illustration]
Little Buttercup had a song of her own which she always sang when she
came on board. Here it is:
I’m called Little Buttercup—dear Little Buttercup,
Though I could never tell why,
But still I’m called Buttercup—poor Little Buttercup,
Sweet Little Buttercup, I.
[Music: By special permission of the publishers, Metzler & Co., Ltd.]
I’ve snuff and tobaccy and excellent “jacky,”
I’ve scissors and watches and knives,
I’ve ribbons and laces to set off the faces
Of pretty young sweethearts and wives.
I’ve treacle and toffee and very good coffee,
“Soft Tommy” and nice mutton chops,
I’ve chickens and conies and dainty polonies
And excellent peppermint drops.
Then buy of your Buttercup—dear Little Buttercup,
Sailors should never be shy—
So, buy of your Buttercup—poor Little Buttercup—
Come, of your Buttercup buy!
“Thank goodness, _that’s_ over!” whispered the sailors to each
other with an air of relief. You see, Little Buttercup always sang
that song whenever she came on board, and after a few months people
got tired of it. Besides not being really popular on account of her
aggravating tongue, she sold for the most part things that the liberal
Captain provided freely for his crew out of his own pocket-money. They
had soup, fish, an _entrée_, a joint, an apple pudding, or a jam
tart every day, besides eggs and ham for breakfast, muffins for tea,
and as many scissors, pocket-knives, and cigars as they chose to ask
for. So Little Buttercup was not even useful to them, and they only
tolerated her because they were gallant British Tars who couldn’t be
rude to a lady if they tried. In point of fact they _had_ tried
on several occasions to say rude and unpleasant things to ladies, but
as they had invariably failed in the attempt they at last gave it up
as hopeless, and determined to be quietly polite under all possible
circumstances. So they asked her to sit down, and take a strawberry ice
and a wafer, which she did rather sulkily as no one seemed to want any
of the things she had to sell.
“Tell us a story, Little Buttercup,” said Bill Bobstay. Bill was a
boatswain’s mate, who, besides being busily occupied in embroidering
his name in red worsted on a canvas “nighty case,” generally took the
lead in all the amusements of the dog-watch. “You can if you try, I’m
sure, Miss.”
“You’re quite right,” said Little Buttercup; “I could tell you stories
about yourselves which would make you all wish you had never been born.
_I_ know who takes sugar-plums to bed with him” (looking at one),
“and who doesn’t say his prayers” (looking at another), “and who sucks
his thumb in his hammock” (looking at the third), “and who makes ugly
faces at his Captain when his back’s turned” (looking at a fourth),
“and who does his front hair with patent curlers” (looking at a fifth),
“and who puts raspberry jam into his messmates’ boots” (looking at a
sixth).
[Illustration: “I KNOW WHO TAKES SUGAR-PLUMS TO BED WITH HIM”]
All the sailors referred to looked very hot and uncomfortable, for
their consciences told them that Little Buttercup had hit off their
various weaknesses with surprising accuracy.
“Let’s change the subject,” said Bill Bobstay (he was the one who ate
sugar-plums in bed), “we all have our faults. But, after all, we’re not
so bad as poor Dick Deadeye—that’s one comfort!”
Now this was very unjust on the part of Mr. Bobstay. Dick Deadeye, who
sat apart from the others, busy manicuring his nails, was one of the
ugliest persons who ever entered the Navy. His face had been so knocked
about and burnt and scarred in various battles and from falling down
from aloft, that not one feature was in its proper place. The wags
among the crew pretended that his two eyes, his nose, and his mouth,
had been playing “Puss in the Corner,” and that his left eye, having
been unable to find a corner that was unoccupied, was consequently
left in the middle. Of course this was only their nonsense, but it
shows what a very plain man he must have been. He was hump-backed, and
bandy-legged, and round-shouldered, and hollow-chested, and severely
pitted with small-pox marks. He had broken both his arms, both his
legs, his two collar-bones, and all his ribs, and looked just as if
he had been crumpled up in the hand of some enormous giant. He
ought properly to have been made a Greenwich Pensioner long ago, but
Captain Corcoran was too kind-hearted to hint that Dick Deadeye was
deformed, and so he was allowed to continue to serve his country as
a man-o’-war’s man as best he could. Now Dick Deadeye was generally
disliked because he was so unpleasant to look at, but he was really
one of the best and kindest and most sensible men on board the
_Pinafore_, and this shows how wrong and unjust it is to judge
unfavourably of a man because he is ugly and deformed. I myself am
one of the plainest men I have ever met, and at the same time I don’t
know a more agreeable old gentleman. But so strong was the prejudice
against poor Dick Deadeye, that nothing he could say or do appeared
to be right. The worst construction was placed upon his most innocent
remarks, and his noblest sentiments were always attributed to some
unworthy motive. They had no idea what the motive was, but they felt
sure there _was_ a motive, and that he ought to be ashamed of it.
Dick Deadeye sighed sadly when Mr. Bobstay spoke so disparagingly of
him. He wiped a tear from his eye (as soon as he had found that organ),
and then continued to manicure his poor old cracked and broken nails
in silence.
“What’s the matter with the man?” said Little Buttercup; “isn’t he
well?”
“Aye, aye, lady,” said Dick, “I’m as well as ever I shall be. But I
_am_ ugly, ain’t I?”
“Well,” said little Buttercup, “you are certainly plain.”
“And I’m three-cornered, ain’t I?” said he.
“You _are_ rather triangular.”
“Ha! ha!” said Dick, laughing bitterly. “That’s it. I’m ugly, and they
hate me for it!”
Bill Bobstay was sorry he had spoken so unkindly.
“Well, Dick,” said he, putting down his embroidery, “we wouldn’t go to
hurt any fellow creature’s feelings, but, setting personal appearance
on one side, you can’t expect a person with such a name as ‘Dick
Deadeye’ to be a popular character—now, can you?”
“No,” said Dick, sadly, “it’s asking too much. It’s human nature, and I
don’t complain!”
At this moment, a beautiful tenor voice was heard singing up in the
rigging:
The Nightingale
Loved the pale moon’s bright ray
And told his tale
In his own melodious way,
He sang, “Ah, Well-a-day!”
The lowly vale
For the mountain vainly sighed;
To his humble wail
The echoing hills replied,
They sang, “Ah, Well-a-day!”
“Who is the silly cuckoo who is tweetling up aloft?” asked Little
Buttercup, rather rudely, as she scooped up the last drops of her ice.
“That?” said Bobstay, “Why, that’s only poor Ralph Rackstraw who’s in
love with Miss Josephine.”
“Ralph Rackstraw!” exclaimed little Buttercup, “Ha! I could tell you a
good deal about _him_ if I chose. But I won’t—not yet!”
At this point Ralph descended the rigging and joined his messmates on
deck.
“Ah, my lad,” said one of them, “you’re quite right to come down—for
you’ve climbed too high. Our worthy Captain’s child won’t have nothing
to say to a poor chap like you.”
All the sailors said “Hear, hear,” and nodded their heads
simultaneously, like so many china mandarins in a tea-shop.
“No, no,” said Dick Deadeye, “Captains’ daughters don’t marry common
sailors.”
Now this was a very sensible remark, but coming from ugly Dick Deadeye
it was considered to be in the worst possible taste. All the sailors
muttered, “Shame, shame!”
“Dick Deadeye,” said Bobstay, “those sentiments of yours are a disgrace
to our common nature.”
Dick shrugged his left eyebrow. He would have shrugged his shoulders
if he could, but they wouldn’t work that way; so, always anxious to
please, he did the best he could with his left eyebrow, but even that
didn’t succeed in conciliating his messmates.
“It’s very strange,” said Ralph, “that the daughter of a man who
hails from the quarter-deck may not love another who lays out on the
fore-yard arm. For a man is but a man, whether he hoists his flag at
the main-truck, or his slacks on the main deck.”
This speech of Ralph’s calls for a little explanation, for he expressed
himself in terms which an ordinary landsman would not understand. The
quarter-deck is the part of the ship reserved for officers, and the
fore-yard arm is a horizontal spar with a sail attached to it, and
which crosses the front mast of a ship, and sailors are said to “lay
out” on it when they get on to it for the purpose of increasing or
reducing sail. Then again, the main-truck is the very highest point of
the middle mast, and it is from that point that the Captain flies his
flag, while a sailor is said to “hoist his slacks” when he hitches up
the waist-band of his trousers to keep them in their proper place. Now
you know all about _that_.
“Ah,” said Dick Deadeye, “it’s a queer world!”
“Dick Deadeye,” said Mr. Bobstay, “I have no desire to press hardly
on any human being, but such a wicked sentiment is enough to make an
honest sailor shudder.”
And all his messmates began to shudder violently to show what honest
sailors they were and how truly Bobstay had spoken; but at that moment
the ship’s bell sounding four strokes gave them notice that the
dog-watch had come to an end. So the crew put away their manicure boxes
and embroidered “nighty cases” and dispersed to their several duties.