The Boatswain’s Watch Page #3

"The Boatswain’s Watch" by W. W. Jacobs is a classic collection of humorous short stories that feature the exploits of a group of sailors and their whimsical adventures. Through Jacobs' witty narrative and vivid characterizations, readers are drawn into the nautical life, experiencing the mishaps and misadventures that come with life at sea. The stories often blend comedy with a touch of human insight, reflecting the camaraderie and quirks of seafaring folk. Jacobs' distinctive style captures the charm and camaraderie of maritime life, making it an engaging read for fans of maritime literature and light-hearted storytelling.

• Fiction

								

Them blamed gals are all alike. Always knows what’s best. Miss Polson!
Miss Polson!”

He shook her roughly, but to no purpose, and then running to the door,
shouted eagerly for Susan. No reply forthcoming he ran to the window,
but there was nobody in sight, and he came back and stood in front of
the girl, wringing his huge hands helplessly. It was a great question
for a poor sailor-man. If he went for the doctor he deserted his post;
if he didn’t go his charge might die. He made one more attempt to
awaken her, and, seizing a flower-glass, splashed her freely with cold
water. She did not even wince.

“It’s no use fooling with it,” murmured Tucker; “I must get the doctor,
that’s all.”

He quitted the room, and, dashing hastily downstairs, had already
opened the hall door when a thought struck him, and he came back again.
Chrissie was still asleep in the chair, and, with a smile at the clever
way in which he had solved a difficulty, he stooped down, and, raising
her in his strong arms, bore her from the room and downstairs. Then a
hitch occurred. The triumphant progress was marred by the behaviour of
the hall door, which, despite his efforts, refused to be opened, and,
encumbered by his fair burden, he could not for some time ascertain the
reason. Then, full of shame that so much deceit could exist in so fair
and frail a habitation, he discovered that Miss Polson’s foot was
pressing firmly against it. Her eyes were still closed and her head
heavy, but the fact remained that one foot was acting in a manner that
was full of intelligence and guile, and when he took it away from the
door the other one took its place. By a sudden manœuvre the wily Tucker
turned his back on the door, and opened it, and, at the same moment, a
hand came to life again and dealt him a stinging slap on the face.

“Idiot!” said the indignant Chrissie, slipping from his arms and
confronting him. “How dare you take such a liberty?”

The astonished boatswain felt his face, and regarded her open-mouthed.

“Don’t you ever dare to speak to me again,” said the offended maiden,
drawing herself up with irreproachable dignity. “I am disgusted with
your conduct. Most unbearable!”

“I was carrying you off to the doctor,” said the boatswain. “How was I
to know you was only shamming?”

“Shamming?” said Chrissie, in tones of incredulous horror. “I was
asleep. I often go to sleep in the afternoon.”

The boatswain made no reply, except to grin with great intelligence as
he followed his charge upstairs again. He grinned at intervals until
the return of Susan and Miss Polson, who, trying to look unconcerned,
came in later on, both apparently suffering from temper, Susan
especially. Amid the sympathetic interruptions of these listeners
Chrissie recounted her experiences, while the boatswain, despite his
better sense, felt like the greatest scoundrel unhung, a feeling which
was fostered by the remarks of Susan and the chilling regards of Miss
Poison.

“I shall inform the captain,” said Miss Polson, bridling. “It’s my
duty.”

“Oh, I shall tell him,” said Chrissie. “I shall tell him the moment he
comes in at the door.”

“So shall I,” said Susan; “the idea of taking such liberties!”

Having fired this broadside, the trio watched the enemy narrowly and
anxiously.

“If I’ve done anything wrong, ladies,” said the unhappy boatswain, “I
am sorry for it. I can’t say anything fairer than that, and I’ll tell
the cap’n myself exactly how I came to do it when he comes in.”

“Pah! tell-tale!” said Susan.

“Of course, if you are here to fetch and carry,” said Miss Polson, with
withering emphasis.

“The idea of a grown man telling tales,” said Chrissie scornfully.
“Baby!”

“Why, just now you were all going to tell him yourselves,” said the
bewildered boatswain.

The two elder women rose and regarded him with looks of pitying
disdain. Miss Polson’s glance said “Fool!” plainly; Susan, a simple
child of nature, given to expressing her mind freely, said “Blockhead!”
with conviction.

“I see ’ow it is,” said the boatswain, after ruminating deeply. “Well,
I won’t split, ladies. I can see now you was all in it, and it was a
little job to get me out of the house.”

“What a head he has got,” said the irritated Susan; “isn’t it wonderful
how he thinks of it all! Nobody would think he was so clever to look at
him.”

“Still waters run deep,” said the boatswain, who was beginning to have
a high opinion of himself.

“And pride goes before a fall,” said Chrissie; “remember that, Mr.
Tucker.”

Mr. Tucker grinned, but, remembering the fable of the pitcher and the
well, pressed his superior officer that evening to relieve him from his
duties. He stated that the strain was slowly undermining a constitution
which was not so strong as appearances would warrant, and that his
knowledge of female nature was lamentably deficient on many important
points. “You’re doing very well,” said the captain, who had no
intention of attending any more Dorcases, “very well indeed; I am proud
of you.”

“It isn’t a man’s work,” objected the boatswain. “Besides, if anything
happens you’ll blame me for it.”

“Nothing can happen,” declared the captain confidently. “We shall make
a start in about four days now. You’re the only man I can trust with
such a difficult job, Tucker, and I shan’t forget you.”

“Very good,” said the other dejectedly. “I obey orders, then.”

The next day passed quietly, the members of the household making a
great fuss of Tucker, and thereby filling him with forebodings of the
worst possible nature. On the day after, when the captain, having
business at a neighbouring town, left him in sole charge, his
uneasiness could not be concealed.

“I’m going for a walk,” said Chrissie, as he sat by himself, working
out dangerous moves and the best means of checking them; “would you
care to come with me, Tucker?”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way, miss,” said the boatswain, as he
reached for his hat.

“I want exercise,” said Chrissie; “I’ve been cooped up long enough.”

She set off at a good pace up the High Street, attended by her faithful
follower, and passing through the small suburbs, struck out into the
country beyond. After four miles the boatswain, who was no walker,
reminded her that they had got to go back.

“Plenty of time,” said Chrissie, “we have got the day before us. Isn’t
it glorious? Do you see that milestone, Tucker? I’ll race you to it;
come along.”

She was off on the instant, with the boatswain, who suspected
treachery, after her.

“You CAN run,” she panted, thoughtfully, as she came in second; “we’ll
have another one presently. You don’t know how good it is for you,
Tucker.”

The boatswain grinned sourly and looked at her from the corner of his
eye. The next three miles passed like a horrible nightmare; his charge
making a race for every milestone, in which the labouring boatswain,
despite his want of practice, came in the winner. The fourth ended
disastrously, Chrissie limping the last ten yards, and seating herself
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