Life, 1913-11-27 · page 25 of 40
Life — November 27, 1913 — page 25: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**"The Stage Sailor"** satirizes theatrical portrayals of naval life as wildly inaccurate. The poem contrasts real sailors' behavior with romanticized stage versions—actors sing elaborate sea shanties and wear pristine uniforms, whereas actual sailors use crude language, wear practical clothes, and endure harsh conditions (salt pork, cat-o'-nine-tails whippings). The title references judges 15:16, suggesting satire uses crude weapons against theatrical pretension. **"The Cradle Snatch"** cartoon below depicts a new dance craze where a man swings a woman in an arc. An Englishman mistakes her limp posture for fainting; a New Yorker explains it's simply the latest dance move. This gently mocks both British prudishness (assuming distress) and American enthusiasm for avant-garde fads, likely from the 1910s-1920s jazz age. Both pieces target gap between appearance and reality—one in naval tradition, one in modern social behavior.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
WITH THE JAWBONE OF AN ASS The Stage Sailor E'VE visited the men o’ war at anchor in the bay, Have seen the Jackies skin the mast and heard them at their play. To all the gallant boys in blue we blow a patriot kiss, But oh—to mect a sailor chap who sings like this: The bo’sun pipes the watch belo—o—o—ow Yo ho, me lads; yo ho—yo ho! We know about the dogs of war and listened to them roar, Deceivers with one foot at sea and one upon the shore. Shiver our timbers if we ever came across the lad Who hitches at his trousers as he lilts this measure glad: With a long, long pull and a strong, strong pull, Gaily—boys, now let her go! We've trotted in the ward room and we've picnicked with the mess, We've carried off their cap ribbons and buttons, more or less ; We've joined in many a chorus that made the welkin ring But never in our memory can we recall them sing: Jack’s the boy aftoat Jack's the boy ashore! They do not wear their white duck clothes laced neatly up the back, There is no cat o’ nine tails, no salt pork and no hard tack, And should we ever meet the stagy bluejacket on land We'd cry—Here comes a sailor boy—oh, please strike up the band! Beg pardon, sir, but I have the honor to report That the ship is sinking’ Kate Masterson. THE CRADLE SWATCH Englishman: By Jove! WAS SHE FAINTED? New Yorker: ov, No. 11's A NEW DANCE—THE CRADLE SNATCH.