The Cabin Passenger

"The Cabin Passenger" by W. W. Jacobs is a short story that blends humor and maritime adventure. Set aboard a passenger ship, the narrative revolves around a series of encounters and misadventures involving the quirky characters who inhabit the vessel. The story highlights Jacobs's knack for wit and character-driven storytelling, as misunderstandings and comedic situations unfold amidst the backdrop of sea travel. With its charming prose and engaging plot, the story captures both the spirit of adventure and the quirks of human nature.

• Fiction

								
The captain of the Fearless came on to the wharf in a manner more
suggestive of deer-stalking than that of a prosaic shipmaster returning
to his craft. He dodged round an empty van, lurked behind an empty
barrel, flitted from that to a post, and finally from the interior of a
steam crane peeped melodramatically on to the deck of his craft.

To the ordinary observer there was no cause for alarm. The decks were a
bit slippery but not dangerous except to a novice; the hatches were on,
and in the lighted galley the cook might be discovered moving about in
a manner indicative of quiet security and an untroubled conscience.

With a last glance behind him the skipper descended from the crane and
stepped lightly aboard.

“Hist,” said the cook, coming out quietly. “I’ve been watching for you
to come.”

“Damned fine idea of watching you’ve got,” said the skipper irritably.
“What is it?”

The cook jerked his thumb towards the cabin.

“He’s down there,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“The mate said when you came aboard you was just to go and stand near
the companion and whistle ‘God Save the Queen’ and he’ll come up to you
to see what’s to be done.”

“Whistle!” said the skipper, trying to moisten his parched lips with
his tongue. “I couldn’t whistle just now to save my life.”

“The mate don’t know what to do, and that was to be the signal,” said
the cook. “He’s down there with him givin’ ’im drink and amoosin’ im.

“Well, you go and whistle it,” said the skipper.

The cook wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Ow does it go?” he
inquired anxiously, “I never could remember toones.”

“Oh, go and tell Bill to do it?” said the skipper impatiently.

Summoned noiselessly by the cook, Bill came up from the forecastle, and
on learning what was required of him pursed up his lips and started our
noble anthem with a whistle of such richness and volume that the
horrified skipper was almost deafened with it. It acted on the mate
like a charm, and he came from below and closed Bill’s mouth, none too
gently, with a hand which shook with excitement. Then, as quietly as
possible, he closed the companion and secured the fastenings.

“He’s all right,” he said to the skipper breathlessly. “He’s a
prisoner. He’s ’ad four goes o’ whisky, an’ he seems inclined to
sleep.”

“Who let him go down the cabin,” demanded the skipper angrily. “It’s a
fine thing I can’t leave the ship for an hour or so but what I come
back and find people sitting all round my cabin.”

“He let hisself darn,” said the cook, who saw a slight opening
advantageous to himself in connection with a dish smashed the day
before, “an’ I was that surprised, not to say alarmed, that I dropped
the large dish and smashed it.”

“What did he say?” inquired the skipper.

“The blue one, I mean,” said the cook, who wanted that matter settled
for good, “the one with the place at the end for the gravy to run
into.”

“What did he say?” vociferated the skipper.

“’E ses,’ ’ullo,’ he ses, ‘you’ve done it now, old man,’” replied the
truthful cook.

The skipper turned a furious face to the mate.

“When the cook come up and told me,” said the mate, in answer, “I see
at once what was up, so I went down and just talked to him clever
like.”

“I should like to know what you said,” muttered the skipper.

“Well, if you think you can do better than I did you’d better go down
and see him,” retorted the mate hotly. “After all, it’s you what ’e
come to see. He’s your visitor.”

“No offence, Bob,” said the skipper. “I didn’t mean nothing.”

“I don’t know nothin’ o’ horse racin’,” continued the mate, with an
insufferable air, “and I never ’ad no money troubles in my life, bein’
always brought up proper at ’ome and warned of what would ’appen, but I
know a sheriff’s officer when I see ’im.”

“What am I to do?” groaned the skipper, too depressed even to resent
his subordinate’s manner, “it’s a judgment summons. It’s ruin if he
gets me.”

“Well, so far as I can see, the only thing for you to do is to miss the
ship this trip,” said the mate, without looking at him. “I can take her
out all right.”

“I won’t,” said the skipper, interrupting fiercely.

“Very well, you’ll be nabbed,” said the mate.

“You’ve been wanting to handle this craft a long time,” said the
skipper fiercely. “You could ha’ got rid of him if you’d wanted to.
He’s no business down my cabin.”

“I tried everything I could think of,” asseverated the mate.

“Well, he’s come down on my ship without being asked,” said the skipper
fiercely, “and damme he can stay there. Cast off.”

“But,” said the mate, “s’pose——”

“Cast off,” repeated the skipper. “He’s come on my ship, and I’ll give
him a trip free.”

“And where are you and the mate to sleep?” Inquired the cook, who was a
man of pessimistic turn of mind and given to forebodings.

“In your bunks,” said the skipper brutally. “Cast off there.”

The men obeyed, grinning, and the schooner was soon threading her way
in the darkness down the river, the skipper listening somewhat
nervously for the first intimation of his captive’s awakening.

He listened in vain that night, for the prisoner made no sign, but at
six o’clock in the morning, when the Fearless, coming within sight of
the Nore, began to dance like a cork upon the waters, the mate reported
hollow groans from the cabin.

“Let him groan,” said the skipper briefly, “as holler as he likes.”

“Well, I’ll just go down and see how he is,” said the mate.

“You stay where you are,” said the skipper sharply.

“Well, but you ain’t going to starve the man?”

“Nothing to do with me,” said the skipper ferociously; “if a man likes
to come down and stay in my cabin that’s his business. I’m not supposed
to know he’s there, and if I like to lock my cabin up and sleep in a
fo’s’c’le what’s got more fleas in than ten other fo’c’s’les put
together, and what smells worse than ten fo’c’s’les rolled into one,
that’s my business.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to berth for’ard too,” grumbled the other. “He
can’t touch me. I can go and sleep in my berth.”

“You’ll do what I wish, my lad,” said the skipper.

“I’m the mate,” said the other darkly.

“And I’m the master,” said the other; “if the master of a ship can stay
down the fo’c’s’le, I’m sure a tuppeny-ha’penny mate can.”

“The men don’t like it,” objected the mate.

“Damn the men,” said the skipper politely, “and as to starving the
chap, there’s a water-bottle full o’ water in my state-room, to say
nothing of a jug, and a bag o’ biscuits under the table.”

The mate walked off whistling, and the skipper, by no means so easy in
his mind as he pretended to be, began to consider ways and means out of
the difficulty which he foresaw must occur when they reached port.

“What sort o’ looking chap is he?” he inquired of the cook.

“Big, strong-looking chap,” was the reply.

“Look as though he’d make a fuss if I sent you and Bill down below to
gag him when we get to the other end?” suggested the skipper.

The cook said that judging by appearances “fuss” would be no word for
it.

“I can’t understand him keeping so quiet,” said the skipper, “that’s

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