SOMETHING'S JAMMED.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3020, 1 March 1881, Page 3

SOMETHING'S JAMMED.

There was sudden commotion aboard the fast and favorite s.s. Napier shortly after she left Blenheim for this port on Friday. She was gently steaming down the river, past the mud flats and the flax bushes, the gallant skipper on the bridge, a trusty A.B. at the helm, the decks thronged with passengers, the vessel gliding smoothly •with the current, when all afc once she began to yaw and veer about in a most eccentric fashion, showing a decided inclination to run her nose into the bank. "Port your helm," roared Captain Fisk. " Port it is, sir," replied the man afc the wheel, " Least ways, as much as I can get her." " What d'ye mean ? God bless you. Starboard!" roared the skipper. "Port! starboard! back her! stop her! Holy snakes, we're going ashore !" " She won't answer, sir, cried the frantic helmsman. " Somethings jammed —the chnins are foul." And still the s.s. Napier yawed and yawed, and let the current run away with her until Captain Fisk thought his vessel bewitched. What was the matter with her? What devilment was in the vessel ? None could tell; passengers and crew alike were perplexed ; all save one, a singularly mild and inoffensive looking individual, who, squatted on the deck, safe preternally still, awaiting with stoical indifference the issue of events. Suddenly the vigilant skipper eyed him, and one glance revealed the mystery. To the amazement of the passengers, the skipper made a dart for the galley, came up "a moment after armed with a meat chopper, seized the offensive-looking passenger by the scruff of the neck, and heeling him over, amid the shrieks of the frightened females and the hurried protestations |of the male passengers, made a desperate blow afc his coat tails, and not one alone, bufc another and another, until the affrighted passenger, suddenly uprising, scudded, afc high-pressure speed, for the saloon, and there, perturbed and scared, ~ sat himself down where the diminishmenfc of his wardrobe would be least observed. Explanation quickly followed ; the tail of his coat had got foul of the rudder chains, and the constant jerk of the latter had wound up the broad cloth inch by inch, until the wearer of the garment could neither get himself free from the chains or free himself from his garment. Through the activity of the crew, ifc should be said, the vessel was kept from going ashore, and soon the order "Full steam ahead," calmed all fears for her safety. The tale of the severed coat tail would be scarce complete unless we mention the name of the chief hero of the adventure. It was Mr Rirby, agent for Mr and Mrs Hart, of " Happy Hours " fame, and who was returning with the company after a most successful season afc Blenheim. Mr Harfc has possession of the dismembered broadcloth, and also of the identical cleaver so deftly wielded by the gallant skipper, and has serious thoughts of dramatising the episode as a new 'feature in the " Happy Hours" entertainment, under the title of " The whisks and fisks of a coat tale, or a nap-py hour on board the Nap-i-er."—N.Z. Times.