[Illustration]
One of the most important personages in the Government of that day was
Sir Joseph Porter, the First Lord of the Admiralty. You would naturally
think that the person who commanded the entire Navy would be the most
accomplished sailor who could be found, but that is not the way in
which such things are managed in England. Sir Joseph Porter, who had
risen from a very humble position to be a lawyer and then a Member of
Parliament, was, I believe, the only man in England who knew nothing
whatever about ships. Now, as England is a great maritime country, it
is very important that all Englishmen should understand something about
men-of-war. So as soon as it was discovered that his ignorance of a
ship was so complete that he didn’t know one end of it from the other,
some important person said “Let us set this poor ignorant gentleman to
command the British Fleet, and by that means give him an opportunity
of ascertaining what a ship really is.” This was considered to be a
most wise and sensible suggestion, and so Sir Joseph Porter was at once
appointed “First Lord of the Admiralty of Great Britain and Ireland.” I
daresay you think I am joking, but indeed I am quite serious. That is
the way in which things are managed in this great and happy country.
Now Sir Joseph Porter was one of the many people who, having
accidentally seen her without her nose, had fallen a victim to the
extraordinary beauty of Miss Josephine Corcoran. He quite recognized
the fact that his position as First Lord of the Admiralty of this
mighty country rendered it undesirable that he should marry so obscure
a lady as the daughter of a mere captain in the Navy, but Josephine’s
charm was so overpowering that he determined to put his pride in his
pocket and condescend to bestow his hand upon her. So one day he
announced to Captain Corcoran that it was his intention to visit Her
Majesty’s Ship _Pinafore_ in order to propose for his daughter’s
hand.
[Illustration: SIR JOSEPH PORTER WAS ONE OF THE MANY PEOPLE WHO HAD
FALLEN A VICTIM TO THE BEAUTY OF MISS JOSEPHINE CORCORAN]
Now most people would think that Josephine would have gladly accepted
so great a man as Sir Joseph, but it so happened that that young
lady was not at all impressed by the honour which he proposed to
confer upon her. She did not object to him personally (indeed she had
never seen him) but she was a girl of spirit with a will of her own,
and had no idea of being handed over, without her consent, to any
gentleman, however important a person he might be. Moreover (and this
was a profound secret) she had been greatly struck with the many good
qualities of Ralph Rackstraw, who never lost a chance of distinguishing
himself in her eyes. Whenever he saw her looking in his direction, he
assumed a series of the most graceful and captivating attitudes ever
seen, and Josephine was never tired of watching him as he gradually
moved from one beautiful pose to another—each more graceful and more
truly artistic than the last. His lovely tenor voice also charmed her
greatly, and his performances on a penny jews’ harp appeared to her to
excel any music that the most expensive instruments could produce. At
the same time, she was much too proud and too well-behaved to allow
Ralph to know that she admired him. So it was a secret between her and
herself, and neither was so dishonourable as to violate the other’s
confidence.
On the eventful morning of Sir Joseph’s intended visit, Captain
Corcoran came on deck as soon as he had finished his breakfast. Captain
Corcoran had arranged a pretty little musical method of greeting his
crew, and the crew practised it with him until they were perfect. This
was how he greeted his crew every day:
My gallant crew, good morning!
[Illustration: “MY GALLANT CREW, GOOD MORNING!”]
And they would reply:
Sir, good morning!
Then he would say:
I hope you’re all quite well!
And they would answer:
Quite well, and you, Sir?
And he would reply:
I am in reasonable health, and happy
To see you all once more.
And they would sing:
You do us proud, Sir!
Of course, when he was not quite well he would alter the words to suit
his condition, like this:
I have a dreadful toothache, yet I’m happy
To see you all once more!
Or,
I have a housemaid’s knee, yet I am happy
To see you all once more!
And so forth, for Captain Corcoran never intentionally said anything
that was not strictly true.
After this introduction he used to tell them something about himself:
THE CAPTAIN. I am the captain of the _Pinafore_!
THE CREW. And a right good captain too!
THE CAPTAIN (_politely_).
You’re very, very good,
And be it understood,
I command a right good crew!
[Music: By special permission of the publishers, Metzler & Co., Ltd.]
THE CREW (_to each other_).
We’re very, very good,
And be it understood,
He commands a right good crew!
THE CAPTAIN. Though related to a peer[1]
I can hand, reef, and steer,[2]
And ship a selvagee.
I am never known to quail
At the fury of a gale,
And I’m never, never sick at sea!
THE CREW (_who know better_). What, never?
THE CAPTAIN (_mere forgetfulness_). No, never!
THE CREW (_who remember one instance_). What, _never_?
THE CAPTAIN (_who now recollects the occasion they are referring
to_). Hardly ever!
THE CREW (_delighted at having caught him tripping_).
He’s hardly ever sick at sea!
Then give three cheers and one cheer more
For the hardy Captain of the _Pinafore_!
THE CAPTAIN. I do my best to satisfy you all!
THE CREW. And with you we’re quite content.
THE CAPTAIN. You’re exceedingly polite,
And I think it only right,
To return the compliment!
THE CREW (_to each other_).
We’re exceedingly polite
And he thinks it only right
To return the compliment!
THE CAPTAIN. Bad language or abuse
I never, never use,
Whatever the emergency;
“How tiresome!” I may
Occasionally say,
But I never use a big, big B![3]
THE CREW (_who remember a certain occasion_). What, never?
THE CAPTAIN (_the circumstance had slipped his memory_). No,
never!
THE CREW (_who don’t mean to let him off_). What, _never_?
THE CAPTAIN (_the incident suddenly occurring to him_). Hardly
ever!
THE CREW (_who have scored_).
Hardly ever says a big, big B!
Then give three cheers and one cheer more
For the well-bred Captain of the _Pinafore_!
[Footnote 1: I’m afraid this was rather snobbish on Captain Corcoran’s
part But as the least little bit of snobbishness was his only fault
(and I am sorry to say that a great many highly respectable people are
afflicted with it) I think we may forgive him this once. But if he does
it again we shall have to take serious notice of it.]
[Footnote 2: These are various simple nautical operations which your
kind papa will explain to you.]
[Footnote 3: He meant “Bother!”—a vulgar expression that only the
strongest provocation can excuse.]
And they gave three of the heartiest cheers you ever heard. After this
pretty little ceremony (which might with advantage be more generally
adopted throughout the Navy), the officers and sailors employed
themselves with a variety of easy little tasks suited to rather lazy
people on a very fine warm day. Captain Corcoran (who was never idle)
was about to retire to his cabin to arrange the figures of a minuet
which he intended to teach his men to dance, when his attention was
arrested by Josephine, who at that moment came on deck. The poor young
lady was very sad, and sang a remarkably beautiful song of her own
composition.
It ran like this:
Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly!
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When Love is alive and Hope is dead!
The good Captain was distressed to see his dear daughter in this
bilious frame of mind.
[Illustration: THE GOOD CAPTAIN WAS DISTRESSED TO SEE HIS DEAR DAUGHTER
IN THIS BILIOUS FRAME OF MIND]
“My child,” said he, “I grieve to see that you are a prey to
melancholy.”
“There’s another verse, Papa,” said Josephine, who rather resented
interruption.
“Don’t sing it, my child; your music depresses us both. I want you to
look your best to-day, for Sir Joseph Porter will arrive presently to
claim your promised hand.”
“Nay, father,” said Josephine, “I can esteem, reverence, even venerate
Sir Joseph, for I shouldn’t be surprised if he is a great and good man,
but I cannot love him, for, alas! my heart is given!”
“Given!” exclaimed her father, “and to whom? Not to some gilded
lordling?”[4]
[Footnote 4: I should have thought he would have liked a gilded
lordling, but you never can tell.]
“No, Papa,” said she, “the object of my affection is no lordling. Oh,
pity me, for he is but a humble sailor on board your own ship!”
“Impossible!” said Captain Corcoran.
“Yet it is true,” replied Josephine, “too true!”
“A common sailor!” exclaimed the Captain, “oh, fie!”
“I quite feel the ‘fie,’” said she, “but he’s anything but common.”
“Come, my child,” said her father, “let us talk this over. In a matter
of the heart I would not control my daughter. I attach little value to
rank or wealth, but the line must be drawn somewhere. A man in
that lowly station may be brave and worthy, but at every step he would
make dreadful blunders that Society would never pardon. He would drop
his h’s, and eat peas with his knife.”
Captain Corcoran’s sentiments upon this point were so right and just
that one is more sorry than ever that he should have boasted, in his
song, of being related to a peer. It is just one of those unfortunate
little slips that one never can quite get out of one’s mind.
Personally, I hope he did it only because he wanted a rhyme to “steer,”
but, after all, that’s a very poor excuse.
“All that you say is true,” replied Josephine, “but fear not, Papa;
I have a heart, and therefore I love; but I am your daughter, and
therefore I am proud. Though I carry my love with me to the tomb he
shall never, never know it!”
Poor girl, she thought so at the time, but as the result will show, she
sadly over-estimated her strength of mind, and the consequence was a
pretty kettle of fish, I promise you!
At this point a message was brought to the Captain by Lieutenant
Hatchway, that the ship’s barge was approaching with Sir Joseph on
board, accompanied by his two plain sisters, his three ugly aunts,
and ever so many pretty cousins, their daughters. Sir Joseph was a
gentleman of great refinement, who was very easily shocked, and as
he knew that the society of charming ladies had the effect of making
everybody polite and considerate, he never travelled any great distance
without them.
[Illustration]
“Pipe the side and man ship,” said the Captain, which meant that he
wished all the officers to stand in a row to salute the First Lord, and
all the crew to stand upright on the various spars that crossed the
three masts, which is the way in which superior persons were always
received on a man-of-war. The Captain of Marines (who are a kind of
military sailors or nautical soldiers) brought up his men that they
might “present arms” with their rifles at the word of command, and the
ship’s band were ready with all their instruments to play “God save the
Queen” at the proper moment.
All these preparations were ready by the time the ship’s barge (which
is a very large and handsome boat rowed by twelve sailors, seated two
and two) was alongside, and in a few moments Sir Joseph Porter and his
female relations stepped on board. The Officers saluted, the Marines
presented arms, the drums rattled, the band struck up the National
Anthem, and nine-pounder guns were fired from the middle deck.
Sir Joseph, who was quite as fond of music as Captain Corcoran, had
composed these remarkable verses which he always sang whenever he went
on board a man-of-war.
SIR JOSEPH.
I’m the monarch of the sea,
The ruler of the Queen’s Navee,
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chaunts!
And the Ladies sang:
And we are his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
[Music: By special permission of the publishers, Metzler & Co., Ltd.]
SIR JOSEPH.
When at anchor here I ride
My bosom swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers at a foeman’s taunts!
ALL THE LADIES.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
SIR JOSEPH.
But when the breezes blow
I generally go below,
And seek the seclusion that a cabin grants!
ALL THE LADIES.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts.
His sisters and his cousins,
Whom he reckons up by dozens,
And his aunts!
Then Sir Joseph (who was proud of his lowly origin, and who thought
that a short sketch of his career would afford a useful example to
ambitious persons in a humble rank of life) was so good as to sing the
following song:
When I was a lad I served a term
As office-boy in an attorney’s firm;
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
I polished up that handle so successfullee
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee.
[Music: By special permission of the publishers, Metzler & Co., Ltd.]
[Illustration]
As office-boy I made such a mark
That they gave me the post of a junior clerk;
I served the writs with a smile so bland,
And I copied all the letters in a big round hand.
I copied all the letters in a hand so free
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee.
In serving writs I made such a name,
That an articled clerk I soon became;
I wore clean collars and a bran-new suit
For the pass-examination at the Institute.
That pass-examination did so well for me
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee.
Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip,
That they took me into partnership,
And that junior partnership I ween
Was the only ship that I had ever seen.
But that same ship so suited me
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee.
I grew so rich that I was sent
To the House as a Member of Parliament,
I always voted at my party’s call,[5]
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
I thought so little they rewarded me
By making me the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee.
Now landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree—
If your soul isn’t fettered to an office-stool
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule—
Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
And you all may be rulers of the Queen’s Navee.
[Footnote 5: This means that he always did exactly as he was told
by those who knew better than he did. I hope my readers will all
imitate his example, and then, perhaps, when they grow up they will
also be rewarded by being placed at the head of an important Public
Department.]
(Between ourselves, I think this last suggestion was rather silly, for
he was addressing people who had already gone to sea, and consequently
could not possibly act on his advice. But I’m afraid that Sir Joseph,
though a very distinguished man, was, like a good many other very
distinguished men, a bit of a goose.)
“You’ve a remarkably fine crew, Captain Corcoran,” said Sir Joseph when
he had finished his song, and was quite sure that they didn’t want him
to sing it again.
“It _is_ a fine crew,” said Captain Corcoran.
“I hope you treat them kindly, Captain Corcoran?”
“Indeed, I hope so, Sir Joseph.”
“No bullying, I trust; no strong language of any kind?”
“Oh never, Sir Joseph!”
“What, _never_?” said Sir Joseph, who had heard rumours to the
contrary.
The Captain’s eye met those of some of his crew, who shook their
fingers significantly at him.
“Well, hardly ever,” said the Captain, “they are an excellent crew, and
do their work thoroughly without it.”
Sir Joseph was one of those people whom it is extremely difficult to
satisfy, for you never quite knew whether what you said would please
him or make him angry, and it generally did the latter. He was very
fond of popularity, and as there were five hundred sailors on board
the _Pinafore_, and only one Captain, he thought it a good plan
to snub the Captain in order to make friends of the crew. It is true
that he was in love with the Captain’s daughter, but he felt sure that
the Captain was so anxious to have such a great and powerful man as the
First Lord of the Admiralty for a son-in-law, that a few snubs more or
less might be safely indulged in. So when Captain Corcoran praised his
crew so highly, Sir Joseph Porter said to him, very angrily:
“Don’t patronize them, sir. That you are their Captain is a mere
accident of birth. I cannot permit these noble fellows to be patronized
because an accident of birth has placed you above them, and them below
you.”
Poor Captain Corcoran turned very red and felt extremely tingly down
the back at being so publicly rebuked. It is always a mistake to rebuke
people in the presence of those who have to obey them, if it can
possibly be avoided.
“I am the last person to insult a British sailor, Sir Joseph,” said he.
“You are the last person who did,” said Sir Joseph, snappishly.
I feel quite sorry for Captain Corcoran, who really meant as well as
possible. He was a much truer gentleman than Sir Joseph, though I can’t
quite forget that unfortunate remark of his about being related to a
Peer.
During this conversation, Ralph Rackstraw had assumed in succession
several of his choicest attitudes, and these naturally attracted Sir
Joseph’s attention.
“Captain Corcoran,” said he, “desire that splendid seaman to step
forward.”
“Rackstraw,” said the Captain, “three paces to the front, march!”
Sir Joseph pretended to be greatly shocked at this abrupt command.
“If what?” said Sir Joseph very sternly.
The Captain was puzzled.
“I beg your pardon,” said he, “I don’t quite understand.”
“If you _please_,” said Sir Joseph, with a very strong emphasis on
the “please.”
Now it is not usual in the Navy to say “if you please” whenever you
give an order. It would take up too much time. But Captain Corcoran was
bound to obey the great man, though you will observe that the great man
never said “if you please” when he addressed Captain Corcoran.
The Captain, looking as if he had just bitten a pill, said “Oh yes, of
course. If you _please_.”
And accordingly, Ralph Rackstraw took three paces to the front, and
if ever a Captain in the Navy said “Bother” under his breath, Captain
Corcoran was that man.
“You’re a remarkably fine fellow,” said Sir Joseph, addressing Ralph.
“Yes, your honour,” replied Ralph, who was too well acquainted with his
duty to presume to differ from the First Lord of the Admiralty.
“And a first-rate seaman, I’ll be bound.”
“There’s not a smarter sailor in the Navy, your honour,” said Ralph,
“though I say it who shouldn’t.”
This sounds rather conceited of Ralph, but he had learnt from Captain
Corcoran to speak the exact truth on all occasions. Besides, he wanted
to convince Sir Joseph how right he was in the opinion he had formed.
“Now tell me, Ralph—don’t be afraid—how does your Captain treat you?”
“A better Captain don’t walk the deck, your honour!”
And all the rest of the crew said “Hear, hear!”
This was not quite what Sir Joseph wanted. He would rather that
Ralph had said, “Well, he does his best, poor chap,” or something
of that half complimentary kind. However, he managed to conceal his
disappointment.
“Good,” said he, “I like to hear you speak well of your commanding
officer. I dare say he doesn’t deserve it, but it does you credit. Now,
Captain Corcoran, a word with you in private.”
“Certainly, Sir Joseph,” replied the Captain, “Boatswain,” said he,
turning towards Mr. Bobstay, “in commemoration of Sir Joseph’s visit,
see that an extra tub of raspberry jam is served out to the ship’s
company.”
“Beg pardon,” said Mr. Bobstay, who hadn’t forgotten Sir Joseph’s
lesson in politeness, “if _what_, your honour?”
Captain Corcoran could scarcely believe his ears.
“‘If what?’” said he, “I don’t—I really don’t think I understand you!”
“If you _please_, your honour!”
The Captain looked thunderstruck, when Sir Joseph interposed.
“The gentleman is quite right. If you _please_.”
The Captain had almost let out another “Bother!” but he gulped it down
with a great effort.
“If you _please_!” said he, and Sir Joseph entered the cabin
with Captain Corcoran, followed by his two plain sisters, his three
ugly aunts, and all his pretty cousins. Refreshments had thoughtfully
been provided for them in the ward-room, (which is the apartment
assigned to the lieutenants on board a man-o’-war), and they enjoyed
a delightful luncheon in the agreeable society of the junior officers
in gilt buttons and gold epaulettes, who paid even more attention to
Sir Joseph’s plain sisters and ugly aunts than they did to his younger
and more attractive relations; which shows what thoroughly well-bred
gentlemen British naval officers are. Plain elderly people are just
as hungry as young and pretty ones; and nobody ought to make any
distinction between them. While Sir Joseph communicated his matrimonial
intentions at great length to Captain Corcoran in his private cabin,
the crew broke up and withdrew to the forecastle to discuss the events
of the morning.
[Illustration: LUNCHEON IN THE WARD-ROOM]
“Ah!” said Mr. Bobstay, “Sir Joseph’s a true gentleman; courteous and
considerate to the very humblest.”
“Well spoke! Well spoke!” they all cried. (They should have said
“spoken,” and would have done so if their education had been properly
attended to.)
You see, these poor ignorant sailors were not shrewd enough to
understand that Sir Joseph had his reasons for flattering them so
outrageously. He longed for “popularity,” and determined to acquire it
at any price, and it is quite clear that, as far as the crew of the
_Pinafore_ was concerned, he had fully achieved his object.
“Hold hard!” said another of the crew, Bill Bowling by name, “we are
not as humble as all that. Sir Joseph has explained our true position
to us, and if he says that a British sailor is any man’s equal, why
it’s our duty to believe him!”
“That’s right enough!” muttered all the sailors, except Dick Deadeye,
who knew better.
“You’re on the wrong tack,” said he, “and so’s Sir Joseph. He means
well, but he don’t know. When people have to obey other people’s
orders, equality’s out of the question.”
I really believe that if the crew had not been restrained by humane
consideration, they would have pulled Dick Deadeye’s hair.
“Dick Deadeye,” said Mr. Bobstay, “if you go for to infuriate this here
ship’s crew too far, I won’t answer for being able to hold them in. I’m
shocked, that’s what I am, shocked.”
“Messmates,” said Ralph, who had been greatly impressed by what Sir
Joseph had said, “my mind’s made up. I’ll speak to the Captain’s
daughter, and tell her, like an honest man, of the honest love I have
for her!”
The crew cheered loudly.
“Is not my love as good as another’s?” continued Ralph, “Is not my
heart as true as another’s? Have I not hands and eyes and ears and
limbs like another?”
“You’ve got as pretty an outfit of them useful articles as any man on
board,” said Mr. Bobstay.
“True,” said Ralph, rather despondently, “I lack birth.”
Here Bill Bowling interfered with a rather silly joke.
“Not a bit of it,” said Bill, “you’ve got a berth on board this very
ship!”
“Well said,” replied Ralph, who, sailor-like, jumped at any argument,
however ridiculous, that he thought would help his case, “I had
forgotten that. Messmates, don’t you approve my determination?”
There was a general murmur of “Aye, aye,” “we do,” and “right you are.”
“I don’t—no, I do _not_!”
Of course it was Dick Deadeye who said this.
Bill Bobstay was in despair.
“What is to be done with this here hopeless chap?” said he. “Suppose we
sing him the official Admiralty song that Sir Joseph wrote and caused
to be distributed through the Fleet? It may bring this here miserable
creetur to a proper state of mind!”
Ralph gave the key-note on his jews’ harp, and they all struck up in
chorus. Notwithstanding Ralph’s thoughtful precaution, they began on
seven different notes, but by the time they had finished the third line
they had wobbled into something like an agreement as to the key in
which it was to be sung:
A British Tar is a soaring soul
As free as a mountain bird;
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word.
His nose should pant and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.
His eyes should flash with an inborn fire,
His brow with scorn be wrung;
He never should bow down to a domineering frown
Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.
His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl and his face should scowl,
His eyes should flash and his chest protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude.
And as they sang the last line, they all, except Ralph, assumed
fighting attitudes as if they were inviting the whole world to “come
on.” Ralph stood apart in the pose of Ajax defying the lightning, for
it was his strict rule to assume classical attitudes only.