"Father, I esteem, I reverence Sir Joseph but alas I do not love him.

I have the bad taste instead to love a lowly sailor on board your own ship. But I shall stifle my love. He shall never know it though I carry it to the tomb."

"That is precisely the spirit I should expect to behold in my daughter, my dear, and now take Sir Joseph's picture and study it well. I see his barge approaching. If you gaze upon the pictured n.o.ble brow of the Admiral, I think it quite likely that you will have time to fall madly in love with him before he can throw a leg over the rail, my darling. Anyway, do your best at it."

"My own, thoughtful father," Josephine murmurs while a song of Sir Joseph's sailors is heard approaching nearer and nearer. Then the crew of H.M.S. _Pinafore_ take up the shout, and sing a rousing welcome to Sir Joseph and all his party. Almost immediately Sir Joseph and his numerous company of sisters and cousins and aunts prance upon the shining deck. They have a gorgeous time of it.

"Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" the Captain and his crew cry, and then Sir Joseph informs everybody of his greatness in this song:

[Music:

I am the monarch of the sea, The ruler of the Queen's Navee, Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants;

COUSIN HEBE.

And we are his Sisters and his Cousins and his Aunts; His Sisters and his Cousins and his Aunts!]

When at anchor here I ride, My bosom swells with pride, And I snap my fingers at the foeman's taunts--

The chorus a.s.sures everybody that

So do his sisters and his cousins and his aunts.

In short, while we learn from Sir Joseph that he is a tremendous fellow, we also learn, from his sisters and his cousins and his aunts, that they are whatever he is. Among other things he tells precisely how he came to be so great, and gives what is presumably a recipe for similar greatness:

When I was a lad I served a term As office boy to an attorney's firm.

I cleaned the window and I swept the floor, And I polished up the handle of the big front door.

I polished up the handle so carefullee, That now I am the ruler of the Queen's Navee.

As office boy I made such a mark That they gave me the post of a junior clerk.

I served the wits 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 brand new suit For the pa.s.s examination at the Inst.i.tute.

And that pa.s.s examination did so well for me That now I am the ruler of the Queen's Navee.

This was only a part of the recipe, but the rest of it was just as profound. After he is through exploiting himself, he bullies the Captain a little, and then his eye alights on Ralph Rackstraw.

"You are a remarkably fine fellow, my lad," he says to Ralph quite patronizingly.

"I am the very finest fellow in the navy," Ralph returns, honouring the spirit of the day by showing how entirely satisfied with himself he is.

"How does your Captain behave himself?" Sir Joseph asks.

"Very well, indeed, thank you. I am willing to commend him," Ralph returns.

"Ah--that is delightful--and so, with your permission, Captain, I will have a word with you in private on a very sentimental subject--in short, upon an affair of the heart."

"With joy, Sir Joseph--and, Boatswain, in honour of this occasion, see that extra grog is served to the crew at seven bells."

"I will condescend to do so," the Boatswain a.s.sures the Captain, whereupon the Captain, Sir Joseph, and his sisters and his cousins and his aunts leave the deck.

"You all seem to think a deal on yourselves," d.i.c.k Deadeye growls, as he watches these performances.

"We do, we do--aren't we British sailors? Doesn't the entire universe depend on us for its existence? We are fine fellows--Sir Joseph has just told us so."

"Yes--we may aspire to anything--" Ralph interpolates excitedly. He had begun to think that Josephine may not be so unattainable after all.

"The devil you can," responds d.i.c.k. "Only I wouldn't let myself get a-going if I were you. What if ye got going and couldn't stop?" the one-eyed gentleman inquires solicitously.

"Oh, stow it!" the crew shouts. "If we hadn't more self-respect 'n you've got, we'd put out both our eyes," the estimable crew declares, and then retires to compliment itself,--that is, all but Ralph. He leans upon the bulwark and looks pensive; and at intervals he sighs.

While he is sighing his very loudest, Josephine enters. Sir Joseph has been making love to her, and she is telling herself and everybody who happens to be leaning against the bulwark sighing pensively, that the Admiral's attentions oppress her. This is Ralph's opportunity. He immediately tells her that he loves her, and she tells him to "refrain, audacious tar," but he does not refrain in the least. In short he decides upon the spot to blow out his brains. He pipes all hands on deck to see him do it, and they come gladly.

Now Ralph gets out his pistol, he sings a beautiful farewell, the Chorus turns away weeping--the sailors have just cleaned up and they cannot bear the sight of the deck all spoiled with a British sailor's brains so soon after scrubbing! Ralph lifts the pistol, takes aim--and Josephine rushes on.

"Oh, stay your hand--I love you," she cries, and in less than a minute everybody is dancing a hornpipe, except Deadeye. Deadeye is no socialist. He really thinks this equality business which makes it possible for a common sailor to marry the Captain's daughter is most reprehensible. But n.o.body notices d.i.c.k. Everybody is quite happy and satisfied now, and they plan for the wedding. d.i.c.k plans for revenge.

He goes apart to think matters over. The situation quite shocks his sense of propriety.

Meantime the crew and Ralph and Josephine decide that:

This very night, With bated breath And m.u.f.fled oar, Without a light, As still as death, We'll steal ash.o.r.e.

A clergyman Shall make us one At half-past ten, And then we can Return, for none Can part us then.

Thus the matter is disposed of.

ACT II

It is about half-past ten, and everything ready for the elopement. The Captain is on deck playing a mandolin while holding a most beautiful pose (because Little b.u.t.tercup is also "on deck," and looking sentimentally at him). The Captain sings to the moon, quite as if there were no one there to admire him; because while this "levelling"

business is going on in the Navy there seems no good reason why b.u.t.tercup or any other thrifty b.u.mboat lady shouldn't do a little levelling herself. Now to marry the Captain--but just now, even though it is moonlight and a very propitious moment, there is other work on hand than marrying the Captain. She can do that almost any time! But at this moment she has some very mysterious and profound things to say to him. She tells him that:

Things are seldom what they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream.

High-lows pa.s.s as patent leathers, Jackdaws strut in peac.o.c.k feathers.

And the Captain acquiesces.

Black-sheep dwell in every fold.

All that glitters is not gold.

Storks turn out to be but logs.

Bulls are but inflated frogs.

And again the Captain wisely acquiesces.

Drops the wind and stops the mill.