The Cook of the “gannet”

"The Cook of the 'Gannet'" by W.W. Jacobs is a humorous tale set aboard a fishing boat named the Gannet. The story revolves around the quirky dynamics between the crew, particularly the character of the cook, who is often embroiled in comical situations due to his culinary mishaps and interactions with the other sailors. Jacobs expertly blends wit and observational humor, capturing the essence of maritime life and the camaraderie among seafarers. Through lively characters and engaging dialogue, the novella explores themes of friendship, rivalry, and the everyday absurdities of life at sea.

• Fiction

								
All ready for sea, and no cook,” said the mate of the schooner
Gannet, gloomily. “What’s become of all the cooks I can’t think.”

“They most on ’em ship as mates now,” said the skipper, grinning. “But
you needn’t worry about that; I’ve got one coming aboard to-night. I’m
trying a new experiment, George.”

“I once knew a chemist who tried one,” said George, “an’ it blew him
out of the winder; but I never heard o’ shipmasters trying ’em.”

“There’s all kinds of experiments,” rejoined the other, “What do you
say to a lady cook, George?”

“A what?” asked the mate in tones of strong amazement. “What, aboard
a schooner?”

“Why not?” inquired the skipper warmly; “why not? There’s plenty of ’em
ashore—why not aboard ship?”

“’Tain’t proper, for one thing,” said the mate virtuously.

“I shouldn’t have expected you to have thought o’ that,” said the other
unkindly. “Besides, they have stewardesses on big ships, an’ what’s the
difference? She’s a sort o’ relation o’ mine, too—cousin o’ my wife’s,
a widder woman, and a good sensible age, an’ as the doctor told her to
take a sea voyage for the benefit of her ’elth, she’s coming with me
for six months as cook. She’ll take her meals with us; but, o’ course,
the men are not to know of the relationship.”

“What about sleeping accommodation?” inquired the mate, with the air of
a man putting a poser.

“I’ve thought o’ that,” replied the other; “it’s all arranged.”

The mate, with an uncompromising air, waited for information.

“She—she’s to have your berth, George,” continued the skipper, without
looking at him. “You can have that nice, large, airy locker.”

“One what the biscuit and onions kep’ in?” inquired George.

The skipper nodded.

“I think, if it’s all the same to you,” said the mate, with laboured
politeness, “I’ll wait till the butter keg’s empty, and crowd into
that.”

“It’s no use your making yourself unpleasant about it,” said the
skipper, “not a bit. The arrangements are made now, and here she
comes.”

Following his gaze, the mate looked up as a stout, comely-looking woman
of middle age came along the jetty, followed by the watchman staggering
under a box of enormous proportions.

“Jim!” cried the lady.

“Halloa!” cried the skipper, starting uneasily at the title. “We’ve
been expecting you for some time.”

“There’s a row on with the cabman,” said the lady calmly. “This silly
old man”—the watchman snorted fiercely—“let the box go through the
window getting it off the top, and the cabman wants me to pay. He’s
out there using language, and he keeps calling me grandma—I want you to
have him locked up.”

“Come down below now,” said the skipper; “we’ll see about the cab. Mrs.
Blossom—my mate. George, go and send that cab away.”

Mrs. Blossom, briefly acknowledging the introduction, followed the
skipper to the cabin, while the mate, growling under his breath, went
out to enter into a verbal contest in which he was from the first
hopelessly overmatched.

The new cook, being somewhat fatigued with her journey, withdrew at an
early hour, and the sun was well up when she appeared on deck next
morning. The wharves and warehouses of the night before had
disappeared, and the schooner, under a fine spread of canvas, was just
passing Tilbury.

“There’s one thing I must put a stop to,” said the skipper, as he and
the mate, after an admirably-cooked breakfast, stood together talking.
“The men seem to be hanging round that galley too much.”

“What can you expect?” demanded the mate. “They’ve all got their Sunday
clothes on too, pretty dears.”

“Hi, you Bill!” cried the skipper. “What are you doing there?”

“Lending cook a hand with the saucepans, sir,” said Bill, an
oakum-bearded man of sixty.

“There ain’t no call for ’im to come ’ere at all, sir,” shouted another
seaman, putting his head out of the galley. “Me an’ cook’s lifting ’em
beautiful.”

“Come out, both of you, or I’ll start you with a rope!” roared the
irritated commander.

“What’s the matter?” inquired Mrs. Blossom. “They’re not doing any
harm.”

“I can’t have ’em there,” said the skipper gruffly. “They’ve got other
things to do.”

“I must have some assistance with that boiler and the saucepans,” said
Mrs. Blossom decidedly, “so don’t you interfere with what don’t concern
you, Jimmy.”

“That’s mutiny,” whispered the horrified mate. “Sheer, rank mutiny.”

“She don’t know no better,” whispered the other back. “Cook, you
mustn’t talk like that to the cap’n—what me and the mate tell you you
must do. You don’t understand yet, but it’ll come easier by-and-bye.”

“Will it,” demanded Mrs. Blossom loudly; “will it? I don’t think it
will. How dare you talk to me like that, Jim Harris? You ought to be
ashamed of yourself!”

“My name’s Cap’n Harris,” said the skipper stiffly.

“Well, Captain Harris,” said Mrs. Blossom scornfully; “and what’ll
happen if I don’t do as you and that other shamefaced-looking man tell
me?”

“We hope it won’t come to that,” said Harris, with quiet dignity, as he
paused at the companion. “But the mate’s in charge just now, and I warn
you he’s a very severe man. Don’t stand no nonsense, George.”

With these brave words the skipper disappeared below, and the mate,
after one glance at the dauntless and imposing attitude of Mrs.
Blossom, walked to the side and became engrossed in a passing steamer.
A hum of wondering admiration arose from the crew, and the cook,
thoroughly satisfied with her victory, returned to the scene of her
labours.

For the next twenty-four hours Mrs. Blossom reigned supreme, and
performed the cooking for the vessel, assisted by five ministering
seamen. The weather was fine, and the wind light, and the two officers
were at their wits’ end to find jobs for the men.

“Why don’t you put your foot down,” grumbled the mate, as a burst of
happy laughter came from the direction of the galley. “The idea of men
laughing like that aboard ship; they’re carrying on just as though we
wasn’t here.”

“Will you stand by me?” demanded the skipper, pale but determined.

“Of course I will,” said the other indignantly.

“Now, my lads,” said Harris, stepping forward, “I can’t have you chaps
hanging round the galley all day; you’re getting in cook’s way and
hindering her. Just get your knives out; I’ll have the masts scraped.”

“You just stay where you are,” said Mrs. Blossom. “When they’re in my
way, I’ll soon let ’em know.”

“Did you hear what I said?” thundered the skipper, as the men
hesitated.

“Aye, aye, sir,” muttered the crew, moving off.

“How dare you interfere with me?” said Mrs. Blossom hotly, as she
realised the defeat. “Ever since I’ve been on this ship you’ve been
trying to aggravate me. I wonder the men don’t hit you, you nasty,
ginger-whiskered little man.”

“Go on with your work,” said the skipper, fondly stroking the maligned
whiskers.

“Don’t you talk to me, Jim Harris,” said Mrs. Blossom, quivering with
wrath. “Don’t you give me none of your airs. _Who borrowed five
pounds from my poor dead husband just before he died, and never paid it

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