The Rime Of The Betsy Jane

(A manuscript found in a bottle)


IT was the good ship Betsy Jane,
    That sailed in a spanking breeze,
With a bunch of militant Suffs on board,
Condemned to an island unexplored
    In far off southern seas.

The Suffs they went on a hunger strike,
    And nothing eat would they,
So the skipper, a conscientious man,
Was forced to the forcible feeding plan,
    In the genteel British way.

A squall came up and the ship went down,
    And we of the Betsy Jane
Were left on a raft in a dreadful plight,
With never a friendly sail in sight,
    On the well-known raging main.

Our skipper, a conscientious man,
    Divided the grub with care.
Says he:  "It's share and share alike,
You dames can eat or stay on strike,
    But damme! there's your share."

The waves ran high, the grub ran low,
    And never a sail we saw.
The Suffs they scorned the pork and bread,
And "Votes for wimmen!" was all they said,
    And never a chaw they'd chaw.

The starving crew of the Betsy Jane
    They watched their end draw near,
Till, "Blast my eyes!" said Bosun Bill,
"If they won't eat their chuck I will!"
    And the rest of us give a cheer.

But the skipper, a conscientious man,
    A pistol huge drew he.
"Who touches a hunk of yonder bread
Dies like a dog!  Back up!" he said,
    And-
            .    .    .    .    .    .

Right here the tale in the bottle stopped,
    And left me on tiptoe;
For how they straightened the matter out,
Or whether their fate is still in doubt,
I'd jolly well like to know.