  THE captain of the Cuckoo took His glasses from the starboard hook; He gazed across the raging main, Then put his glasses back again. The Cuckoo’s mate remarked, “I guess You saw a signal of distress?” “I did, but it must be ignored; You see, we’ve got the mails aboard.” This was the captain’s curt reply; The first mate heard it with a sigh. But all the Cuckoo’s captain said Was “Steady!” then “Full steam ahead!” He crossed the sinking vessel’s bows, As close as seamanship allows. “Can’t stop!” he through his trumpet roared, “Because I have the mails aboard.” The passengers and all the crew Replied, “Oh, please to save us—do!” And, plunging in the raging sea, Declined the captain’s R.I.P. Till swimming made their stomachs ache; Their lot the captain much deplored, But waved them off with “Mails aboard!” The storm to fiercest tempest grew, But straight ahead the Cuckoo flew; Till once again the captain took His glasses from the starboard hook; “Hullo!” he cried; “if I am not Mistaken, there’s the royal yacht; A hidden rock her side has bored, She signals! Answer, ‘Mails aboard!’” The yacht replied with haughty mien, “Stop, by the order of the Queen, Who, braving equinoctial gales, Now in this sinking vessel sails.” “Alas!” the Cuckoo’s captain cried, “To save my Queen would be my pride” (Here he saluted with his sword), “But tell her I’ve the mails aboard.” “Ha!” cried the Queen, “for this I will Cut off his head on Tower Hill, The knave shall see the House of Guelph Respected still can make itself.” She sent a man to ev’ry gun, And, just to stop the captain’s fun, Into his ship a broadside poured, Although he had the mails aboard. The Cuckoo’s captain cried, “The deuce!” And straight ran up a flag of truce; And then he sent a boat to save His sovereign from a watery grave. The Queen stepped nimbly on the deck, And left the royal yacht a wreck; But flung, though mercy he implored, The Cuckoo’s captain overboard. When he recovered from the shock, He lay upon a lonely rock; And there ships’ captains as they pass Survey him sternly through the glass, And by Victoria’s orders scoff At all his cries of “Take me off!” And say, “By us your fate’s deplored, But we can’t stop—we’ve mails aboard.” |
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