Volume 93 — DIFFICULT NAVIGATION;

The Government Yacht (with a rather mixed crew) Sing hey, sing ho, and a capful of wind! Sets sail to crack on with a will till all's blue. Ho! the breeze blows brisk o'er the billow! The Skipper is stout, if his looks are a clue (But you mustn't trust them, you may err if you do), And the smart second officer carries the blue Like an amateur yachtsman at Margate. Woohoo! The sea is as soft as a pillow. The Government Yacht it sets sail in full state, Sing hey, sing ho and a well-caulked deck! And what do you think of that canny first mate? Ho! the sky is as bright as a beryl. That canny first Mate is a smart Volunteer, And to look at his jib and to list to his cheer, You would think as a hero he hadn't a peer, Superior wholly to flurry or fear In the tryingest moment of peril. With a Skipper so stout and a Mate so astute, Sing hey, sing ho, and an even keel! The course of that yacht can't be hard to compute, Ho! the sky shines fair in the offing! Salisbury dauntless, and Smith debonair, And Goschen a Nautical Ajax who'll dare All the lightnings on hand—at least so he'll declare!— How finely with such a fine crew they should fare, In spite of the land-lubbers scoffing. Hooray!—Humph! By Jove that's a suddenish squall, Sing hey, sing ho, and a spinnaker boom! The Skipper, he doesn't look steady at all, Ho! there's something amiss with the compass! Whilst Smith, the first Luff, looks a little less smart, And Goschen—by Jove, can he be losing heart? He swears there's some blessed mistake in the Chart, Is his not the cool imperturbable part? Then why should he kick up a rumpus? It's hard navigation midst quicksands and rocks; Sing hey, sing ho, and a chopping sea! The hull has been strained by some smart little shocks, Ho! the sky looks black in the offing! Is this the plain-sailing you promised, my Lord? Why the rival Skipper will swear he has scored. What say you, Chief Mate? It won't do to be floored, Don't you think we had best take a pilot aboard, In spite of piratical scoffing?

There's a smart Cockney Tar with his glass to his eye, Sing hey, sing ho, and a Brummagem salt! And what does the trim longshore yachtsman descry? Ho! he's spying like Robinson Crusoe! The Pilot in pose imperturbable stands, With slouching Sou'wester and pocketed hands, But his eye's on the Yacht and he quite understands, The fix of the Skipper—poor chap!—who commands, Or at least is imagined to do so. "Hillo!" cries the Cockney; "they're signalling now, Sing hey, sing ho, and a flag to the peak! If the Yacht runs aground, Mate, there will be a row. Ho! the Pilot is peacefully winking. I've an interest in her myself; can't afford She should seek Davy Jones, not at least till I've scored. How is it, my Harty—beg pardon!—my Lord! They signal a pilot; shall you go aboard To save 'em from striking or sinking?"