istence? We are fine fellows--Sir Joseph has
just told us so."

"Yes--we may aspire to anything--" Ralph interpolates excitedly. He
had begun to think that Josephine may not be so unattainable after
all.

"The devil you can," responds Dick. "Only I wouldn't let myself get
a-going if I were you. What if ye got going and couldn't stop?" the
one-eyed gentleman inquires solicitously.

"Oh, stow it!" the crew shouts. "If we hadn't more self-respect 'n
you've got, we'd put out both our eyes," the estimable crew declares,
and then retires to compliment itself,--that is, all but Ralph. He
leans upon the bulwark and looks pensive; and at intervals he sighs.
While he is sighing his very loudest, Josephine enters. Sir Joseph has
been making love to her, and she is telling herself and everybody who
happens to be leaning against the bulwark sighing pensively, that the
Admiral's attentions oppress her. This is Ralph's opportunity. He
immediately tells her that he loves her, and she tells him to
"refrain, audacious tar," but he does not refrain in the least. In
short he decides upon the spot to blow out his brains. He pipes all
hands on deck to see him do it, and they come gladly.

Now Ralph gets out his pistol, he sings a beautiful farewell, the
Chorus turns away weeping--the sailors have just cleaned up and they
cannot bear the sight of the deck all spoiled with a British sailor's
brains so soon after scrubbing! Ralph lifts the pistol, takes aim--and
Josephine rushes on.

"Oh, stay your hand--I love you," she cries, and in less than a minute
everybody is dancing a hornpipe, except Deadeye. Deadeye is no
socialist. He really thinks this equality business which makes it
possible for a common sailor to marry the Captain's daughter is most
reprehensible. But nobody notices Dick. Everybody is quite happy and
satisfied now, and they plan for the wedding. Dick plans for revenge.

He goes apart to think matters over. The situation quite shocks his
sense of propriety.

Meantime the crew and Ralph and Josephine decide that:

This very night,
With bated breath
And muffled oar,
Without a light,
As still as death,
We'll steal ashore.
A clergyman
Shall make us one
At half-past ten,
And then we can
Return, for none
Can part us then.

Thus the matter is disposed of.

ACT II

It is about half-past ten, and everything ready for the elopement. The
Captain is on deck p