Smoked Skipper Page #3

"Smoked Skipper" is a humorous short story by W. W. Jacobs that captures the essence of British humor and wit. It revolves around the entertaining misadventures of a group of fishing enthusiasts who encounter various comical dilemmas as they navigate their fishing trip. The story showcases Jacobs' skill in character development and his ability to weave amusing situations with engaging dialogue, making it a delightful read for fans of classic literature. Through his vivid storytelling, Jacobs also highlights themes of camaraderie and the unpredictability of outdoor adventures.

• Fiction

								

better, read steadily through a serial in the first three numbers. The
third instalment left Rudolph swimming in a race with three sharks and
a boat-load of cannibals; and the joint efforts of both men failed to
discover the other numbers.

“Just wot I should ’ave expected of ’im,” said the skipper, as the mate
returned from a fruitless search in the boy’s chest. “I’ll make him a
bit more orderly on this ship. Go an’ lock them other things up in your
drawer, George. He’s not to ’ave ’em again.”

The schooner was getting into open water now, and began to feel it. In
front of them was the blue sea, dotted with white sails and funnels
belching smoke, speeding from England to worlds of romance and
adventure. Something of the kind the cook said to Ralph, and urged him
to get up and look for himself. He also, with the best intentions,
discussed the restorative properties of fat pork from a medical point
of view.

The next few days the boy divided between seasickness and work, the
latter being the skipper’s great remedy for piratical yearnings. Three
or four times he received a mild drubbing, and what was worse than the
drubbing, had to give an answer in the affirmative to the skipper’s
inquiry as to whether he felt in a more wholesome frame of mind. On the
fifth morning they stood in towards Fairhaven, and to his great joy he
saw treess and houses again.

They stayed at Fairhaven just long enough to put out a small portion of
their cargo. Ralph, stripped to his shirt and trousers, having to work
in the hold with the rest, and proceeded to Lowport, a little place
some thirty miles distant, to put out their powder.

It was evening before they arrived, and, the tide being out, anchored
in the mouth of the river on which the town stands.

“Git in about four o’clock,” said the skipper to the mate, as he looked
over the side towards the little cluster of houses on the shore. “Do
you feel better now I’ve knocked some o’ that nonsense out o’ you,
boy?”

“Much better, sir,” said Ralph respectfully.

“Be a good boy,” said the skipper, pausing on the companion-ladder,
“and you can stay with us if you like. Better turn in now, as you’ll
have to make yourself useful again in the morning working out the
cargo.”

He went below, leaving the boy on deck. The crew were in the forecastle
smoking, with the exception of the cook, who was in the galley over a
little private business of his own.

An hour later the cook went below to prepare for sleep. The other two
men were already in bed, and he was about to get into his when he
noticed that Ralph’s bunk, which was under his own, was empty. He went
upon deck and looked round, and returning below, scratched his nose in
thought.

“Where’s the boy?” he demanded, taking Jem by the arm and shaking him.

“Eh?” said Jem, rousing, “Whose boy?”

“Our boy, Ralph,” said the cook. “I can’t see ’im nowhere, I ’ope ’e
ain’t gone overboard, poor little chap.”

Jem refusing to discuss the matter, the cook awoke Dobbs. Dobbs swore
at him peacefully, and resumed his slumbers. The cook went up again and
prowled round the deck, looking in all sorts of unlikely places for the
boy. He even climbed a little way into the rigging, and, finding no
traces of him, was reluctantly forced to the conclusion that he had
gone overboard.

“Pore little chap,” he said solemnly, looking over the ship’s side at
the still waters.

He walked slowly aft, shaking his head, and looking over the stern,
brought up suddenly with a cry of dismay and rubbed his eyes. The
ship’s boat had also disappeared.

“Wot?” said the two seamen as he ran below and communicated the news.
“Well, if it’s gorn, it’s gorn.”

“Hadn’t I better go an’ tell the skipper?” said the cook.

“Let ’im find it out ’isself,” said Jem purring contentedly in the
blankets, “It’s ’is boat. Go’night.”

“Time we ’ad a noo ’un too,” said Dobbs, yawning. “Don’t you worry your
’ed, cook, about what don’t consarn you.”

The cook took the advice, and, having made his few simple preparations
for the night, blew out the lamp and sprang into his bunk. Then he
uttered a sharp exclamation, and getting out again fumbled for the
matches and relit the lamp. A minute later he awoke his exasperated
friends for the third time.

“S’elp me, cook,” began Jem fiercely.

“If you don’t I will,” said Dobbs, sitting up and trying to reach the
cook with his clenched fist.

“It’s a letter pinned to my pillow,” said the cook in trembling tones,
as he held it to the lamp.

“Well, we don’t want to ’ear it,” said Jem. “Shut up, d’ye hear?”

But there was that in the cook’s manner which awed him.

“Dear cook,” he read feverishly, “I have made an infernal machine with
clock-work, and hid it in the hold near the gunpowder when we were at
Fairhaven. I think it will go off between ten and eleven to-night, but
I am not quite sure about the time. Don’t tell those other beasts, but
jump overboard and swim ashore. I have taken the boat. I would have
taken you too, but you told me you swam seven miles once, so you can
eas——”

The reading came to an abrupt termination as his listeners sprang out
of their bunks, and bolting on deck, burst wildly into the cabin, and
breathlessly reeled off the heads of the letter to its astonished
occupants.

“Stuck a wot in the hold?” gasped the skipper.

“Infernal machine,” said the mate; “one of them things wot you blow up
the ’Ouses of Parliament with.”

“Wot’s the time now?” interrogated Jem anxiously.

“’Bout ha’-past ten,” said the cook trembling. “Let’s give ’em a hail
ashore.”

They leaned over the side, and sent a mighty shout across the water.
Most of Lowport had gone to bed, but the windows in the inn were
bright, and lights showed in the upper windows of two or three of the
cottages.

Again they shouted in deafening chorus, casting fearful looks behind
them, and in the silence a faint answering hail came from the shore.
They shouted again like madmen, and then listening intently heard a
boat’s keel grate on the beach, and then the welcome click of oars in
the rowlocks.

“Make haste,” bawled Dobbs vociferously, as the boat came creeping out
of the darkness. “W’y don’t you make ’aste?”

“Wot’s the row?” cried a voice from the boat.

“Gunpowder!” yelled the cook frantically: “there’s ten tons of it
aboard just going to explode. Hurry up.”

The sound of the oars ceased and a startled murmur was heard from the
boat; then an oar was pulled jerkily.

“They’re putting back,” said Jem suddenly. “I’m going to swim for it.
Stand by to pick me up, mates,” he shouted, and lowering himself with a
splash into the water struck out strongly towards them. Dobbs, a poor
swimmer, after a moment’s hesitation, followed his example.

“I can’t swim a stroke,” cried the cook, his teeth chattering.

The others, who were in the same predicament, leaned over the side,
listening. The swimmers were invisible in the darkness, but their
progress was easily followed by the noise they made. Jem was the first
to be hauled on board, and a minute or two later the listeners on the
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes