Lines To Mr. Hodgson

Written On Board The Lisbon Packet

43

 

Cast

Lord Byron

Joe Murray

Bob Rushton

Fletcher

J.C. Hobhouse

Captain

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 SCENE 1

 

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

 

B (delirious with the scent of the wide, open ocean): Huzza! 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 – I must check my luggage – is there a stationers perchance nearby – I feel haven’t half enough notebooks

B: Very well – I shall inspect the locals and epistle-ise back to the Methodist Matthews in our coded Latin babble – I suspect he will be greatly interested in the Botanics of the place – he’s quite the vaudevillian, in truth (sits on a sack of wool – feels his familial Naval blood stirring) – must write to the Anglican Hodgson

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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 – I’ll need my energy to keep my stomach in order ship-wise

 

Hobhouse runs over to B – weighed down with stationery and anti-seasick meds

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H: Have you written to Matthews and Hodgson? – I say there’s 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 dingy isle

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Ships 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 – get moving – you have overpacked somewhat Hobby

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 – looking 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

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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: They’re in the Hogs Head – they seem reluctant to leave their native shore – you know Murray doesn't like water

B: Neither does Hobby  - but we must make haste!

 

Fletcher 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 – 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 Bob! – (the sea-breeze lifts his spirits) – Bob – Murray – we are off to places and foodstuffs unknown – perchance as well to unsafe and unhygienic premises – 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!

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H leaps over the gang-plank

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

B: Lo! the captain, Gallant Kidd, commands the crew – we have priority boarding – shove those discounted fare-dodgers out of  the way Bob – some Passengers their berths are already clapt in

H: Humph! Some to grumble, some to spew

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 my soul would not be damned once I left England

B (to M): Murray stop frightening the stripling – your soul will not be damned – but we may 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

M: My lord how can you mention food while we’re purging violently

B(quite tired of the land-lubbers nonsense a this stage): Breezes foul and tempests murky may unship us in a crack

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: Quaffing?

B: Yes, my worthies – Cap - 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