Mr Punch Afloat Part 7

AT WHITBY.--_Visitor_ (_to Ancient Mariner, who has been relating his experiences to crowd of admirers_). "Then do you mean to tell us that you actually reached the North Pole?"

_Ancient Mariner._ "No, sir; that would be a perwersion of the truth.

But I seed it a-stickin' up among the ice just as plain as you can this spar, which I plants in the sand. It makes me thirsty to think of that marvellous sight, we being as it were parched wi' cold."

[_A. M.'s distress promptly relieved by audience._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DANGERS OF HENLEY

_Voice from the bridge above._ "Oh, lor, Sarah, I've bin and dropped the strawberries and cream!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _His Fair Companion_ (_drowsily_). "I think a Canadian is the best river craft, after all, as it's less like _work_ than the others!"]

THE RULE OF THE RIVER

(_As Deduced from a late Collision_) The rule of the river's a mystery quite, Other craft when you're steering among, If you starboard your helm, you ain't sure you are right, If you port, you may prove to be wrong.

"THE USUAL CHANNEL"

To what snug refuge do I fly When gla.s.s is low, and billows high, And goodness knows what fate is nigh?-- My Cabin!

Who soothes me when in sickness' grip, Brings a consolatory "nip,"

And earns my blessing, and his tip?-- The Steward!

When persons blessed with fancy rich Declare "she" does not roll, or pitch.

What say--"The case is hardly sich"?-- My Senses!

What makes me long for _real_ Free Trade, When no Douaniers could invade.

Nor keys, when wanted, be mislaid?-- My Luggage!

What force myself, perhaps another, To think (such thoughts we try to smother) "The donkey-engine is our brother"?-- Our Feelings!

And what, besides a wobbling funnel, Screw-throb, oil-smell, unstable gunwale, Converts me to a Channel Tunnel?-- My Crossing!

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'ARRY CATCHES A CRAB]

AT GORING

Where is the sweetest river reach, With nooks well worth exploring, Wild woods of bramble, thorn and beech Their fragrant breath outpouring?

Where does our dear secluded stream Most gaily gleam?

At Goring.

Where sings the thrush amid the fern?

Where trills the lark upsoaring?

Where build the timid coot and hern, The foot of man ignoring?

Where sits secure the water vole Beside her hole?

At Goring.

Where do the stars dramatic shine 'Mid satellites adoring?

And where does fashion lunch and dine _Al fresco_, bored and boring?

Where do we meet confections sweet And toilets neat?

At Goring.

Where are regattas? Where are trains Their noisy crowds outpouring?

And bands discoursing hackneyed strains, And rockets skyward soaring?

Where is this _urbs in rure_?--where This c.o.c.kney Fair?

At Goring.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NOTES FROM COWES

"Call this pleasure? Well, all I say is, give me Staines and a fishing-punt!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

NICE NIGHT AT SEA

(_Extracts from the Travel Diary of Toby, M.P._)

_Gulf of Lyons, Friday._--The casual traveller on Continental railways, especially in France, is familiar with the official att.i.tude towards the hapless wayfarer. The leading idea is to make the journey as difficult and as uncomfortable as possible. The plan is based on treatment of parcels or baggage. The pa.s.senger is bundled about, shunted, locked up in waiting-rooms, and finally delivered in a limp state at whatever hour and whatsoever place may suit the convenience of the railway people.

Discover the same spirit dominant in management and arrangements of the sea service. Steamer from Ma.r.s.eilles to Tunis advertised to sail to-day at noon. On taking tickets, ordered to be on board at ten o'clock.

Why two hours before starting? Gentleman behind counter shrugs his shoulders, hugs his ribs with his elbows, holds out his hands with deprecatory gesture and repeats, "_a dix heures, Monsieur_."

Gestures even more eloquent than speech. Plainly mean that unless we are alongside punctually at ten o'clock our blood, or rather our pa.s.sage, will be on our own heads. Spoils a morning; might have gone about town till eleven o'clock; breakfasted at leisure; sauntered on board a few minutes before noon. However, when in Ma.r.s.eilles chant the "_Ma.r.s.eillaise_."

Down punctually at ten; found boat in course of loading; decks full of dirt and noise, the shouting of men, the creaking of the winch, the rattling of the chains. Best thing to do is to find our cabin, stow away our baggage, and walk on the quay, always keeping our eye on the boat lest she should suddenly slip her moorings and get off to sea without us. Look out for steward. Like the Spanish fleet, steward is not yet in sight. Roaming about below, come upon an elderly lady, with a lame leg, an alarming squint, and a waist like a ship's. (Never saw a ship's waist, but fancy no mortal man could get his arm round it.) The elderly lady, who displayed signs of asthma, tells me she is the stewardess. Ask her where is our cabin. "_Voila_," she says. Following the direction of her glance, I make for a berth close by. Discover I had not made allowance for the squint; she is really looking in another direction.

Carefully taking my bearings by this new light, I make for another pa.s.sage; find it blocked up; stewardess explains that they are loading the ship--apparently through the floor of our cabin. "_Tout a l'heure_,"

she says, with comprehensive wave of the hand.

Nothing to be done but leave our baggage lying about, go on deck, and watch the loading. Better not leave the ship. If the laborious Frenchmen in blouses and perspiration see our trunks, they will certainly pop them into the hold, where all kinds of miscellaneous parcels, cases and bales are being chucked without the slightest attempt at fitting in.

A quarter to twelve; only fifteen minutes now; getting hungry; had coffee and bread and b.u.t.ter early so as not to miss the boat. Watch a man below in the hold trying to fit in a bicycle with a four-hundredweight bale, a quarter-ton case, and a barrel of cement.

Evidently piqued at resistance offered by the apparently frail, defenceless contrivance. Tries to bend the fore wheel so as to accommodate the cask; that failing, endeavours to wind the hind wheel round the case; failing in both efforts, he just lays the bicycle loose on the top of the miscellaneous baggage and the hatch is battened down.