ON BOARD THE “AMARINTHA.”
Stilt, in harbour. Why? Because “the Captain says,” &c., &c. As yet I have not seen the Captain. He is to me, up to this time, a sort of Madame Benoiton, as whenever I say insinuatingly to IIailsher that I should like to have a talk to the Captain, Hailsheu replies that he hasn’t seen him to-day, and the Steward, who is the intermediary between Hailkhkh and everybody in the foc’sle (this, I believe, is the correct way of spelling and pronouncing Fore
castle—where the Captain resides when at home, and where he is not to be disturbed by anybody—
Happy Thought.—Nautical Proverb: an English Skipper’s houso is his Fore-castle. N.B. Get up a new edition of Nautical Proverbs, and publish them at every Marine Library in the kingdom)—and the Steward, after going through the very evident farce of disappearing for a few seconds, and hiding himself behind a door, returns with the answer that the Captain has just gone on shore.
I can’t make out when he comes back. I never see him come back ; so I presume he must choose an opportune moment, either when we are at dinner or at one of our meals—which are not few and far between—and, as it were, quietly “board” us, take his rations— [Nautical phrase “rations” —“a sailor is a ration-al being.”
This will go to my Collection of Rough Material for Nautical Proverbs, to be subsequently worked up under the motto, “Let who will make the songs, but let me do their Nautical Pro
verbs.” But the Composer can make the songs—will suggest it to him when he’s in a good temper. 1—and then quietly slip ofi again in the “ Dingy,”—[Name of little boat—why “ Dingy ? ” Origin of nautical terms and phrases would make an Appendix, or as Mjlburd
would say, an Up-on-dcchs to my Handy Volume of Nautical Proverbs; only Milburd would spoil the whole thing by calling them “ Naughty-gal Proverbs, —! know him—anything senseless as long as it’s a jeu de mot]—while we are siesta-ing, and then
back again and into his berth or bunk—[Why “Bunk?” Is it Dutch? “Mynheer van Bunk”—no, that was “Dunk”]—when we are carousing in the saloon, or when we’ve retired for the night.
So that we are governed by an Invisible Captain. “A good subject this,” I say toCuixtns, the Composer, “for you. Like the Flying Hollander. The ‘ Invisible Captain,’eh ? ”
“Don’t see it,” replies Cuixtns, curtly. Haixsher pleasantly adapts the well-known line from Thu Critic by way of softening down the Composer’s asperity, and says,_ “The Invisible Captain he cannot see, because he is not yet in sight.” Whereat the Dean roars heartily, and then looks about the breakfast-table to see what more he can devour, finally settling on everything the Composer had thoughtfully selected for his own consumption.
But wo are tired of doing nothing, lying at anchor in Loch Ryan, while according to the Invisible Captain tho stormy winds do blow
outside. We begin to feel mutinous. The three guests, after darkly talking the matter over “aft,” determine to represent the case to Hailsher, whom the sailors speak of as “ the Governor.” They call the Captain “the Skipper.” [Why “Skipper?” Sounds like a playful name for a flea.]
Haiiktter conceals his annoyance under an appearance of listlessness. Except the Dean,—who makes believe he is taking violent exercise by dressing in flannels, walking up and down the deck, then going below, putting on a shooting coat and deer-stalker hat to play at going out shooting, which he does with his rook-rifle at bottles tied to the stern,—wo are all becoming depressed, and pining for movement at all hazards. Now, for the first time, I can appreciate the full force of a passage at tho opening of some chapter in our National History which (if my school memory serves me right) began—
“ The fleet had now boon inactive for some months, imd both officers and men began to express the very generally felt opinion that they ought to be doing something if they were to attack the enemy at all before the advent of the winter season rendered all operations at sea impossible, or at least, highly dangerous for the ships, and disastrous to the English prestige.”
That’s just our case: specially mine. I want to be off : somewhere, anywhere. “Anywhere, anywhere, out of the Loch!” To be tip and doing: something, anything! And so say all of us. Wc begin
to murmur : we murmur to the Governor in the hope that he will bawl to the Captain, the Invisible Captain. “And when the Captain comes for to hear of it”—it is to be hoped he ’ll give the word to pipe all hands, hoist sails, and put out to sea.
Afternoon in Harbour.—Shooting bottles becomes monotonoiis. The Dean and myself congratulate ono another on our excellent aim —and when we succeed in knocking one over, which we do on an average about once in twenty-five times, one of us says to the other with a knowing sportsmanlike air, “ Ah, I don’t think a rabbit, sitting, would have much chance with us now ? ” Privately, I don’t
think he would, if he only sat long enough. [Happy Thought.— what chances an animal painter must have with a rabbit sitting!]
We both agree, however, that bottle-shooting is “ excellent practice,” and, as we go on, we tell each other stories arrangedon a gradually
ascending scale of thrilling interest, about what we have individually done in the way of rabbits, hares, grouse, and game generally._ I
never knew till this afternoon, when I am backing myself against the Dean, what a first-rate sportsman I have been up to now, and what a vast experience I suddenly seem to have got. _ Where does it come from ? I’ve only been out really shooting twice in my life, and I can’t have done it all then. Yet I am not conscious of absolutely telling untruths: I am perhaps embellishing, and am dividing the twice I went out (which being for two days was, say, altogether sixteen hours’ shooting) by eight, so that I can give a varied experience. Wonder if the Dean is doing the same ? I don’t think so, lecause he bas got a gun of his own and I haven’t.
I notice there is one sort of shooting we both avoid mentioning, and that is the only one we’re likely to get on our yacht; wild fowl, and sea-birds. With this exception we draw the line at Deer ; that is before we come to Deer. Neither of us risk any anecdotes about Deer.
The Dean’s biggest success on land appears to have been with “ Rabbits sitting.” Mine I know has been so, with my gun wellrested over a gate, and about five minutes to take steady aim, when
such was the destructive character of my shot, that, by the time the smoke had cleared away, nothing was left of the unfortunate rabbit but two front teeth, some scattered remains, and a lot of fluffy fur.
Of this I make no mention to the Dean, but express (what I really feel) my opinion, that “to shoot rabbits sitting is cruelty, or at all events unsportsmanlike.” Whereupon the Dean says, apologetically,
that he has only done it once or twice as a pot-shot with a rifle, but that as a rule he always shoots them runnin g. I say “ So do I ’ ’—hut I mean shoot at them running, which is all the difference—to them.
About fifteen bottles fall to an expenditure of three hundred cartridges, and Hailsher, who privately confides to me that his head
acbes with the perpetual poppmg, most pleasantly and with great apparent consideration for the Dean’s future amusement, advises him to “ cease firing,” as perhaps he won’t be able to get any more cartridges, and be may want them for sea-fowl.
Dinner.—Joy! joy! the Captain has been seen at last. He has been interviewed by the Governor, and has made up his mind, come what come may, to sail to-morrow morning. We drink his health in a bumper of Pommery. Hailsher offers a prize of an extra glass for a rbyme to Pommery. Here it is—
Ono glass of Pommery
Makes little Tom merry.
The prize is mine, and once more I drink the Captain’s health.
“ I hope we shan’t start till after breakfast,” says the Composer, who observes that “ he hasn’t yet got his sea-legs ”—as if he were expecting them to be sent home the first thing to-morrow, so that he may try them on while dressing to see how they fit.
The Evening.—Wo pass it hopefully, cheerfully, gleefully. Tho Composer, who till now has held aloof from the piano with a sort of “ don’t-know-you ” and “ never-seen-you-before ” sort of air, now seats bimself, gives a few preliminary flourishes, and begins, as I observe, to warble. “ Wobble, not warble, you mean,” he says, for the first time pleasantly, “ for the notes seem going up and down.”
“ The piano hasn’t got its sea-legs on,” says the Dean, who is just recovering from a short fit of despondency, consequent on his not having been able to find a rbyme to Pommery. We are all specially polite to tbe Composer. The reason of this oozes out later. Each one of us bas a song he wants to sing (for his own personal and peculiar delectation) and each one of us will be disappointed should Cutxtns refuse to accompany on the piano.
Happy Thought.—Sweeten the Composer. Keep him sweet. Shades of evening gather round us as the sounds of harmony ascend from our saloon on board the Amarmtha. To-morrow we sail—with tbo gale, from the Loch of Ryan, oh !
I make the following notes :—Rough Material to ho worked up into a new collection of Nautical Proverbs:—
“ An English Skipper’s house is his Fore-castle.”
“One Skipper doesn’t make a-----” (what ?—word wanted here.) “ Cry Hammock and unslip the cords ” — (From the Nautical Shah spear e).
“The Early Fish catches the Worm,” or “Tho Early Worm catches the Fish.” N.B. Aro worms used at sea for bait ? If not, substitute whatever is used. A bit of tin is used as bait for Mackerel. So—“The early bit of tin catches, &c.” ; or—Happy Thought.—“ All that glitters catches the Mackerel.” This will be a valuable work.
Mrs. Ramsbotttam says she is sorrv she can’t attend the Economical Methodist Conference, as she could give them several hints ou Economy and Method.
Stilt, in harbour. Why? Because “the Captain says,” &c., &c. As yet I have not seen the Captain. He is to me, up to this time, a sort of Madame Benoiton, as whenever I say insinuatingly to IIailsher that I should like to have a talk to the Captain, Hailsheu replies that he hasn’t seen him to-day, and the Steward, who is the intermediary between Hailkhkh and everybody in the foc’sle (this, I believe, is the correct way of spelling and pronouncing Fore
castle—where the Captain resides when at home, and where he is not to be disturbed by anybody—
Happy Thought.—Nautical Proverb: an English Skipper’s houso is his Fore-castle. N.B. Get up a new edition of Nautical Proverbs, and publish them at every Marine Library in the kingdom)—and the Steward, after going through the very evident farce of disappearing for a few seconds, and hiding himself behind a door, returns with the answer that the Captain has just gone on shore.
I can’t make out when he comes back. I never see him come back ; so I presume he must choose an opportune moment, either when we are at dinner or at one of our meals—which are not few and far between—and, as it were, quietly “board” us, take his rations— [Nautical phrase “rations” —“a sailor is a ration-al being.”
This will go to my Collection of Rough Material for Nautical Proverbs, to be subsequently worked up under the motto, “Let who will make the songs, but let me do their Nautical Pro
verbs.” But the Composer can make the songs—will suggest it to him when he’s in a good temper. 1—and then quietly slip ofi again in the “ Dingy,”—[Name of little boat—why “ Dingy ? ” Origin of nautical terms and phrases would make an Appendix, or as Mjlburd
would say, an Up-on-dcchs to my Handy Volume of Nautical Proverbs; only Milburd would spoil the whole thing by calling them “ Naughty-gal Proverbs, —! know him—anything senseless as long as it’s a jeu de mot]—while we are siesta-ing, and then
back again and into his berth or bunk—[Why “Bunk?” Is it Dutch? “Mynheer van Bunk”—no, that was “Dunk”]—when we are carousing in the saloon, or when we’ve retired for the night.
So that we are governed by an Invisible Captain. “A good subject this,” I say toCuixtns, the Composer, “for you. Like the Flying Hollander. The ‘ Invisible Captain,’eh ? ”
“Don’t see it,” replies Cuixtns, curtly. Haixsher pleasantly adapts the well-known line from Thu Critic by way of softening down the Composer’s asperity, and says,_ “The Invisible Captain he cannot see, because he is not yet in sight.” Whereat the Dean roars heartily, and then looks about the breakfast-table to see what more he can devour, finally settling on everything the Composer had thoughtfully selected for his own consumption.
But wo are tired of doing nothing, lying at anchor in Loch Ryan, while according to the Invisible Captain tho stormy winds do blow
outside. We begin to feel mutinous. The three guests, after darkly talking the matter over “aft,” determine to represent the case to Hailsher, whom the sailors speak of as “ the Governor.” They call the Captain “the Skipper.” [Why “Skipper?” Sounds like a playful name for a flea.]
Haiiktter conceals his annoyance under an appearance of listlessness. Except the Dean,—who makes believe he is taking violent exercise by dressing in flannels, walking up and down the deck, then going below, putting on a shooting coat and deer-stalker hat to play at going out shooting, which he does with his rook-rifle at bottles tied to the stern,—wo are all becoming depressed, and pining for movement at all hazards. Now, for the first time, I can appreciate the full force of a passage at tho opening of some chapter in our National History which (if my school memory serves me right) began—
“ The fleet had now boon inactive for some months, imd both officers and men began to express the very generally felt opinion that they ought to be doing something if they were to attack the enemy at all before the advent of the winter season rendered all operations at sea impossible, or at least, highly dangerous for the ships, and disastrous to the English prestige.”
That’s just our case: specially mine. I want to be off : somewhere, anywhere. “Anywhere, anywhere, out of the Loch!” To be tip and doing: something, anything! And so say all of us. Wc begin
to murmur : we murmur to the Governor in the hope that he will bawl to the Captain, the Invisible Captain. “And when the Captain comes for to hear of it”—it is to be hoped he ’ll give the word to pipe all hands, hoist sails, and put out to sea.
Afternoon in Harbour.—Shooting bottles becomes monotonoiis. The Dean and myself congratulate ono another on our excellent aim —and when we succeed in knocking one over, which we do on an average about once in twenty-five times, one of us says to the other with a knowing sportsmanlike air, “ Ah, I don’t think a rabbit, sitting, would have much chance with us now ? ” Privately, I don’t
think he would, if he only sat long enough. [Happy Thought.— what chances an animal painter must have with a rabbit sitting!]
We both agree, however, that bottle-shooting is “ excellent practice,” and, as we go on, we tell each other stories arrangedon a gradually
ascending scale of thrilling interest, about what we have individually done in the way of rabbits, hares, grouse, and game generally._ I
never knew till this afternoon, when I am backing myself against the Dean, what a first-rate sportsman I have been up to now, and what a vast experience I suddenly seem to have got. _ Where does it come from ? I’ve only been out really shooting twice in my life, and I can’t have done it all then. Yet I am not conscious of absolutely telling untruths: I am perhaps embellishing, and am dividing the twice I went out (which being for two days was, say, altogether sixteen hours’ shooting) by eight, so that I can give a varied experience. Wonder if the Dean is doing the same ? I don’t think so, lecause he bas got a gun of his own and I haven’t.
I notice there is one sort of shooting we both avoid mentioning, and that is the only one we’re likely to get on our yacht; wild fowl, and sea-birds. With this exception we draw the line at Deer ; that is before we come to Deer. Neither of us risk any anecdotes about Deer.
The Dean’s biggest success on land appears to have been with “ Rabbits sitting.” Mine I know has been so, with my gun wellrested over a gate, and about five minutes to take steady aim, when
such was the destructive character of my shot, that, by the time the smoke had cleared away, nothing was left of the unfortunate rabbit but two front teeth, some scattered remains, and a lot of fluffy fur.
Of this I make no mention to the Dean, but express (what I really feel) my opinion, that “to shoot rabbits sitting is cruelty, or at all events unsportsmanlike.” Whereupon the Dean says, apologetically,
that he has only done it once or twice as a pot-shot with a rifle, but that as a rule he always shoots them runnin g. I say “ So do I ’ ’—hut I mean shoot at them running, which is all the difference—to them.
About fifteen bottles fall to an expenditure of three hundred cartridges, and Hailsher, who privately confides to me that his head
acbes with the perpetual poppmg, most pleasantly and with great apparent consideration for the Dean’s future amusement, advises him to “ cease firing,” as perhaps he won’t be able to get any more cartridges, and be may want them for sea-fowl.
Dinner.—Joy! joy! the Captain has been seen at last. He has been interviewed by the Governor, and has made up his mind, come what come may, to sail to-morrow morning. We drink his health in a bumper of Pommery. Hailsher offers a prize of an extra glass for a rbyme to Pommery. Here it is—
Ono glass of Pommery
Makes little Tom merry.
The prize is mine, and once more I drink the Captain’s health.
“ I hope we shan’t start till after breakfast,” says the Composer, who observes that “ he hasn’t yet got his sea-legs ”—as if he were expecting them to be sent home the first thing to-morrow, so that he may try them on while dressing to see how they fit.
The Evening.—Wo pass it hopefully, cheerfully, gleefully. Tho Composer, who till now has held aloof from the piano with a sort of “ don’t-know-you ” and “ never-seen-you-before ” sort of air, now seats bimself, gives a few preliminary flourishes, and begins, as I observe, to warble. “ Wobble, not warble, you mean,” he says, for the first time pleasantly, “ for the notes seem going up and down.”
“ The piano hasn’t got its sea-legs on,” says the Dean, who is just recovering from a short fit of despondency, consequent on his not having been able to find a rbyme to Pommery. We are all specially polite to tbe Composer. The reason of this oozes out later. Each one of us bas a song he wants to sing (for his own personal and peculiar delectation) and each one of us will be disappointed should Cutxtns refuse to accompany on the piano.
Happy Thought.—Sweeten the Composer. Keep him sweet. Shades of evening gather round us as the sounds of harmony ascend from our saloon on board the Amarmtha. To-morrow we sail—with tbo gale, from the Loch of Ryan, oh !
I make the following notes :—Rough Material to ho worked up into a new collection of Nautical Proverbs:—
“ An English Skipper’s house is his Fore-castle.”
“One Skipper doesn’t make a-----” (what ?—word wanted here.) “ Cry Hammock and unslip the cords ” — (From the Nautical Shah spear e).
“The Early Fish catches the Worm,” or “Tho Early Worm catches the Fish.” N.B. Aro worms used at sea for bait ? If not, substitute whatever is used. A bit of tin is used as bait for Mackerel. So—“The early bit of tin catches, &c.” ; or—Happy Thought.—“ All that glitters catches the Mackerel.” This will be a valuable work.
Mrs. Ramsbotttam says she is sorrv she can’t attend the Economical Methodist Conference, as she could give them several hints ou Economy and Method.