Lines To Mr. Hodgson

Written On Board The Lisbon Packet​

43

 Cast

Lord Byron

Joe Murray

Bob Rushton

Fletcher

J.C. Hobhouse

Captain Kidd

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​SCENE 1

 

1809, dockside, Falmouth - after one false start and much ado-ing with luggage and passengers - the ship is about to launch

 

B(giddy with the scent of the open ocean): Huzzah! Hobby, we are going! - our embargo’s off at last - favourable breezes blowing bend the canvass o’er the mast (points) Look yonder! From aloft the signal’s streaming!

H: ‘Tis a fine sight - is there a stationers perchance nearby? I feel haven’t half enough notebooks

B: Make haste (sits on a sack of wool - feels his familial Naval blood stirring) - I shall inspect the locals and epistle-ize back to the Methodist Matthews in our saucy schoolboy babble - I suspect he will be greatly interested in the Botanics of the place (frowns) - he’s quite of the pantomime, in truth 

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B strolls around the lively town, is impressed

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B: Deuced if I never saw so many charming people - women,  men - yea, even the horses - all dashed handsome! Shan’t be doing any culling, mind - I’ll need Homeric stores of energy to keep my stomach in order ship-wise

 

Hobhouse - weighed down with stationery and anti-seasick meds - catches up with B

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H: Have you written to Matthews and Hodgson? I say there is a rake of good-looking denizens - have we time?

B: Yes - and, no Hobby! we shall be boarding soon, and we don’t want any surprises if and when we return to this tight little island

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Ship's warning sounds

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B: Hark! The farewell gun is fir’d  - good lord - there’s women screeching, tars blaspheming, to tell us that our time’s expir’d - good god Hobby, is that a gallon of ink?!

H: Oons! Here’s a rascal come to task all, prying from the custom-house - trunks unpacking, cases cracking, not a corner for a mouse or my Japan ink - will they slap me with a tax?

B: Hide it in your greatcoat - that you are taking one at all to Portugal in June will mark you as a Lunatic of sorts and they will fear contagion

 

H goes about the business - B walks toward the packet - looks back to the town, sighing and wondering if he’ll ever see Blighty again, which, for all its faults - he is quite fond of 

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 SCENE 2

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Although the bustle is catastrophic, the admirable Tars are hoisting great amounts of luggage, Englanders, and horses with speed

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F: My Lord - the boatmen have quit their mooring - all hands must ply the oar, the Baggage from the quay is lowering, they’re very impatient to push from shore

B: Hobby! Dashed cursed fellow -  Fletcher - find him, he’s in a laneway somewhere fiddling with his great-coat - and where are Bob and Murray?

F: Wassailing in the Hogs Head - they're reluctant to leave their native shore, plus Murray is allergic to water - yea, ev'n to bathe

B: Well, he has something in common with Hobby at least - but we must scurry!

 

Fletcher dutifully scurries off , determined to be an asset to his Master

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B(to Tar): Have a care! that case holds liquor!

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Tar doffs cap

 

Fletcher, Murray and Bob are running towards the ship - B relieved but somewhat miffed that his holiday has gotten off to a stressful start

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M: Stop the boat - I’m sick - oh Lord!

B: We are not, as yet, under weigh Murray - you’ll be sicker, ere you’ve been an hour on board (pats M on the back and offers him a dram)

Bob: There be screaming Men and women, Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks - here entangling, all are wrangling, stuck together close as wax! (sighs) how I wish for my quiet life at Newstead, measuring fields and taking tea with my Taffy

B(glares): Don’t mention that deceitful strumpet to me again! (the sea-breeze lifts both his nostrils and his spirits) Bob - Murray - we are off to lands and foodstuffs unknown - perchance as well to unsafe and unhygienic sleeping arrangements - but it is life! Oons - it is life!

 

M and Bob remain unconvinced

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Bob: Lord knows when we shall come back (looks forlornly towards The Hog's Head)

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H leaps over the gang-plank

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H: Phew - made it - my! such a lot of genial noise and racket, on this somewhat crowded Lisbon Packet

B: Lo! the captain, Gallant Kidd, commands the crew - some Passengers their berths are already clapt in! Humph! Fletcher - we have priority boarding, shove those discounted fare-dodgers off the plank

Captain: Lord Byron and servants - this way!

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The party board

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 SCENE 3

 

Chaos and regurgitation abound

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Cap: This, my Lord, is your master suite

B: Hey day! call you that a cabin? Why ‘t is hardly three feet square; Not enough to stow Queen Mab in - Who the deuce can harbour there?

Cap: Who, sir? plenty - Nobles twenty Did at once my vessel fill

B: Did they? Jesus, How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still, then I’d ‘scape the heat and racket of your good ship, this Lisbon Packet (hurls fedora and cane onto his hammock) - Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where the hell are you? Stretch’d along the deck like logs - I don’t doubt

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Hobhouse is muttering fearful curses

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M: Whoops! down the hatchway he rolls, now his breakfast, now his verses, vomits forth and damns our souls

Bob: My Lord - you promised my mother that my soul would not be damned if  I left England

B(to M): Murray stop frightening the stripling! your soul will not be damned, but we may have to re-think the Eastern leg of our holiday vis-à-vis yourself Bob

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Hobhouse re-emerges

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H: Here’s a stanza on Braganza - Help!

B: A couplet?

H: No, a cup of warm water if you please (is yellowing)

B: What’s the matter?

H: Zounds! my liver’s coming up; I shall not survive the racket of this brutal Lisbon Packet

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H succeeds in making the entire party vomit - except B as he has a special relationship with things aquatic

 

B: Now at length we’re off for Turkey!

F: My Lord, how can you mention food while we’re purging so very violently

B: It could be worse, my moaning yeoman - breezes foul and tempests murky may unship us in a crack! - is that not so, Captain Kidd?

Cap: Aye - it’s a distinct possibility

B: You know, Cap - since life at most a jest is, as philosophers allow, still to laugh by far the best is - then laugh on, as I do now

Cap: That’s the spirit my Lord - my first mate has a vast store of Shanties - I’ll fetch him

B(to his prostrated staff): Laugh at all things, Great and small things, Sick or well, at sea or shore; while we’re quaffing, let’s have laughing - who the devil cares for more?

Bob, M and H(looking up from their buckets): Quaffing?

B: Yes, my worthies - you, Tar! - some good wine! and who would lack it - ev’n on board the Lisbon Packet!

 

Spirits revive - Byron of Byzantium and Cam of Constantinople lead the crew and passengers in a queasy rendition of  ‘Here's to Swimming with Bow-Leggéd Women’

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END