The Three Cutters | Page 2

state-rooms and
bed-places. Here is the steward's room and the beaufet: the steward is
squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and
by the side of the pail the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. Now, let
us go forwards: here are, the men's berths, not confined as in a
man-of-war. No! Luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even
at the fore-peak. This is the kitchen; is it not admirably arranged? What
a multum in parvo! And how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup!
At sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out,
give me a yacht. Now that I have shown you round the vessel, I must
introduce the parties on board.
You observe that florid, handsome man, in white trousers and blue
jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of

brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. That is the
owner of the vessel, and a member of the Yacht Club. It is Lord B---:
he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet I have
seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the House of Lords. The
one near to him is Mr Stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. He holds on by
the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all
his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in
them. He is a protege of Lord B---, and is now on board as
sailing-master of the yacht.
That handsome, well-built man, who is standing by the binnacle, is a
Mr Hautaine. He served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did
not like it. He then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not
like it. He then married, and in a much shorter probation found that he
did not like that. But he is very fond of yachts and other men's wives, if
he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome.
That young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves,
bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a Mr Vaughan. He is to be seen
at Almack's, at Crockford's, and everywhere else. Everybody knows
him, and he knows everybody. He is a little in debt, and yachting is
convenient.
The one who sits by the lady is a relation of Lord B---; you see at once
what he is. He apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have
no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because
sailors cannot change every day. He has a cigar in his mouth, which
makes him half sick and annoys his company. He talks of the pleasure
of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below--and then they will
not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. He has the
misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a fool. His name is
Ossulton.
The last of the gentlemen on board whom I have to introduce is Mr
Seagrove. He is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence.
He has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but
application. He has never had a brief, nor has he a chance of one. He is
the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up his chambers and

come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht.
I have yet to describe the ladies--perhaps I should have commenced
with them--I must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the
best to the last. All puppet-showmen do so: and what is this but the first
scene in my puppet-show?
We will describe them according to seniority. That tall, thin,
cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to Lord B---.
She has been persuaded, very much against her will, to come on board;
but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark
under the protection of only her father. She is frightened at everything:
if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, "Oh!" if
on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below,
and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and if it be
perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. She fidgets herself
and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour;
but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr.
She is the Hon. Miss Ossulton.
The lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her