[Illustration: When in doubt, consult the Cap'en.]
_House of Commons, Monday, September 2._--A sight for Lords and
Commons to see Lord High Admiral JOKIM seated between Cap'en TOMMY
BOWLES and ARNOLD-FORSTER, imbibing naval information at the pores, as
_Joey Ladle_, in far-off-days, deep in the recesses of his employer's
cellar, took his spirituous refreshment.
"How happy could I be with either were t'other instructor away," said
JOKIM, rubbing his pleased sides with rapturous content. "Or, happier
still," he added, _sotto voce_, "if both would take themselves off."
In his secret heart the CAP'EN looks upon ARNOLD-FORSTER as a
landlubber.
"He wouldn't," he says, with fine scorn, "know how to belay a sheet
when a ship was stepping fore and aft under a booming north-wester.
I'd lay a rope's end to a bumboat-man's back that he couldn't pass a
spare spar through the man-hole without first pulling up the trysail."
ARNOLD-FORSTER, on his part, suspects the CAP'EN hasn't seen nearly
so much of the wild ocean as casual observations dropped by him may
indicate. He makes much of certain variations in the old salt's story
of how he came to lose his hand in the service of his country. There
is, certainly, some doubt as to whether it was the Prince Consort or
ALBERT Prince of Wales who sent him that famous letter accompanying
the hook which at this day enables the CAP'EN to overhaul the
estimates. But this is due rather to wealth of experience than to
poverty of veracity. When a man has seen everything, gone so far, and
knows so much as TOMMY, he may be forgiven if occasionally he mixes up
a name or two, a date, or an episode.
Some uneasiness in ministerial circles last week upon observation of
MACARTNEY going about his country's business in white ducks. These
are, so to speak, Cap'en TOMMY'S colours. Always ducks them when he
goes on the warpath against the Admiralty. For the Secretary of all
men, he the only man, to follow TOMMY'S example in this respect didn't
look well. Was said to be a hint to whom it might concern that if the
department didn't treat him with more respect, MACARTNEY would carry
over to the enemy his stored wealth of naval knowledge. Since Private
HANBURY got his stripes, and is now referred to in debate as "The
Honourable Corporal," CAP'EN has no party. With MACARTNEY forming the
nucleus of one, who knows what might not happen?
House relieved to-night to find Secretary to Admiralty has hauled down
sign of revolt, and put on ordinary trousers. If there was anything in
the incident, all is well now. That there may have been appears from
the CAP'EN'S unusually embittered tone when the subject is alluded to.
"Call _them_ ducks!" he cried in scorn. "They were only white drawers.
No member of this House should attempt to walk up the floor in ducks
unless he is prepared to keep on his domestic staff a man who has made
the garment a life-long study; who knows how to wash it, starch it,
iron it, and, above all, to fold it up."
_Business done._--Appropriation Bill brought in.
_Tuesday._--One decided advantage of change of position of sections of
parties on formation of new Ministry is to bring SILOMIO within reach
of HEMPRER JOE'S knobstick. In last Parliament, united against common
enemy, SILOMIO was most deferential to "my right hon. friend," while
JOSEPH'S respect for patriotic instinct of Swazi Chief, whose fathers,
having come over with the Conqueror, went out in the _Mayflower_, was
sometimes past expression. Now HEMPRER JOE has come into his kingdom;
his knobstick is exchanged for a sceptre, whilst SILOMIO begins to
realise something of the feelings of the Red Man when harried by his
haughty ancestors. Like him, SILOMIO'S possessions are taken from
him. His Civil Lordship of the Admiralty is given to another, and
that other the son of his former trusted right hon. friend. When,
therefore, to-night SILOMIO, from his arid exile below the gangway,
sings again his old song with its low lament--
Swaziland, my Swaziland!
and when HEMPRER JOE, to the delight of scoffers opposite, rolls him
over and over, pinks his fluffy eloquence with scornful stiletto, no
wonder he turns at bay, and reminds L'HEMPRER of things he said about
HERCULES ROBINSON at a time he sat untrammelled on Opposition benches.
[Illustration: "Swaziland, my Swaziland."]
Shaft goes home. L'HEMPRER very angry. "A statement that ought not
to be made," he says, withering SILOMIO with direful look.
Ministerialists loyally cheer; Opposition lightly laugh; SILOMIO,
buffeted on all sides, comforts himself with thoughts of faithful
friends in far-off Swaziland. There is at least one spot on earth
where he is appreciated. Soon he may shake off from his mocassins the
dust of civilisation, and hie him thither.
_Business done._--Appropriation Bill read second time.
_Wednesday._--Lo! the poor Indian Budget at last. 'Tis the poor
relation of Parliamentary Bills. At commencement of every Session
Members interested in India protest against Budget being postponed
till very last hours, when most people are gone away, and those who
remain are hopelessly weary. SECRETARY OF STATE promises amendment.
Here we are something later than usual. Yesterday's sitting was
solemnly set apart for Indian Budget. Other things--Chitral, Cotton
Duties--crowded it out. Meekly looks in to-day, hoping it doesn't
intrude.
Strange peace fallen over House. GEORGIE HAMILTON'S voice echoes over
spaces desolate as the outlook of the rupee. Not a single Irish
Member left to object to anything. For them the scene of conflict
is transferred to Ireland. There the inoffensive TIM stands at bay,
JUSTIN MCCARTHY having at length dealt him that "good hard knock" the
imminence of which E. R. lately forecast in these prophetic pages.
There WILLIAM O'BRIEN, with wet handkerchief mopping wetter eyes,
tells stories out of school of TIM'S unnatural naughtiness when good
Mr. G. was bringing in his Home-Rule Bill, and upon other enticing
occasions. There patriots bang their brothers in pursuit of peace, and
hate each other for the love of Ireland.
"Did you ever," I in weak moment asked the unsympathetic SARK, "read
_The Dead of Clonmacnois_, a Gaelic lyric of a time immemorial? There
are two verses of the musical English rendering that haunt me when I
listen to an Irish debate.
In a quiet watered land, a land of roses,
Stands Saint Kieran's city fair;
And the warriors of Erin in their famous generations
Slumber there.
Many and many a son of CONN the Hundred Fighter
In the red earth lies at rest;
Many a blue eye of Clan COLMAN the turf covers,
Many a swan-white breast."
"Pretty," said SARK, with quite unexpected approval. "First line
perfection. But, you will observe, the poet studiously refrains from
affirming the final extinction of the family of the estimable CONN.
'Many and many a son,' he says, in the red earth lies at rest. One
at least is left. They in their time had CONN the Hundred Fighter. We
have TIM the Hundred-and-Fifty Fighter."
[Illustration: Exit Toby.]
_Business done._--All.
_Thursday._--Parliament prorogued. World must go round as best it may
till February next.
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