THE MARTINET by W. S. Gilbert Soome time ago, in simple verse, I sang the story true Of CAPTAIN REECE, The Mantlepiece, And all her happy crew. I showed how any captain may Attach his men to him, If he but heeds their smallest needs, And studies every whim. Now mark how, by Draconic rule And hauteur ill-advised, The noblest crew upon the blue May be demoralised. When his ungrateful country placed Kind REECE upon half-pay, Without much claim SIR BERKELY came, And took command one day. SIR BERKLEY was a martinet-- A stern unyielding soul-- Who ruled his ship by dint of whip And horrible black-hole. A sailor who was overcome From having freely dined, And chanced to reel when at the wheel, He instantly confined! And tars who, when an action raged, Appeared alarmed or scared, And those below who wished to go, He very seldom spared. E'en he who smote his officer For punishment was booked, And mutinies upon the seas He rarely overlooked. In short, the happy Mantelpiece Where all had gone so well, Beneath that fool SIR BERKELY'S rule Became a floating hell. When first SIR BERKELY came aboard He read a speech to all, And told them how he'd made a vow To act on duty's call. Then WILLIAM LEE he up and said (The captain's coxswain he): "We've heard the speech your honour's made, And werry pleased we be. "We won't pretend, my lad, as how We're glad to lose our REECE; Urbane, polite, he suited quite The saucy Mantlepiece. "But if your honour gives your mind To study all our ways, With dance and song we'll jog along As in those happy days. "I like your honour's looks, and feel You're worthly of your sword. Your hand, my lad--I'm doosid glad To welcome you aboard!" SIR BERKELY looked amazed, as though He did not understand. "Don't shake your head," good WILLIAM said, "It is an honest hand. "It's grasped a better hand than yourn-- Come, gov'nor, I insist!" The Captain stared--the coxswain glared-- The hand became a fist! "Down, upstart!" said the hardy salt; But BERKELY dodged his aim, And made him go in chains below: The seamen murmured "Shame!" He stopped all songs at 12 P.M., Stopped hornpipes when at sea, And swore his cot (or bunk) should not Be used by aught than he. He never joined their daily mess, Nor asked them to his own, But chaffed in gay and social way The officers alone. His first Lieutenant, PETER, was As useless as could be, A helpless stick, and always sick When there was any sea. This First Lieutenant proved to be His foster-sister MAY, Who went to sea for love of he, In masculine array. And when he learnt the curious fact, Did he emotion show, Or dry her tears, or end her fears By marrying her? No! Or did he even try to soothe This maiden in her teens? Oh no!--instead he made her wed The Sergeant of Marines! Of course such Spartan discipline Would make an angel fret. They drew a lot, and straightway shot This fearful martinet. The Admiralty saw how ill They'd treated CAPTAIN REECE; He was restored once more aboard The saucy Mantelpiece.