The Cook of the “gannet” Page #2

"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

								

back?”

“Go on with your work,” repeated the skipper, with pale lips.

“Whose uncle Benjamin had three weeks?” demanded Mrs. Blossom darkly.
“Whose uncle Joseph had to go abroad without stopping to pack up?”

The skipper made no reply, but the anxiety of the crew to have these
vital problems solved was so manifest that he turned his back on the
virago and went towards the mate, who at that moment dipped hurriedly
to escape a wet dish-clout. The two men regarded each other, pale with
anxiety.

“Now, you just move off,” said Mrs. Blossom, shaking another clout at
them. “I won’t have you hanging about my galley. Keep to your own end
of the ship.”

The skipper drew himself up haughtily, but the effect was somewhat
marred by one eye, which dwelt persistently on the clout, and after a
short inward struggle he moved off, accompanied by the mate. Wellington
himself would have been nonplussed by a wet cloth in the hands of a
fearless woman.

“She’ll just have to have her own way till we get to Llanelly,” said
the indignant skipper, “and then I’ll send her home by train and ship
another cook. I knew she’d got a temper, but I didn’t know it was like
this. She’s the last woman that sets foot on my ship—that’s all she’s
done for her sex.”

In happy ignorance of her impending doom Mrs. Blossom went blithely
about her duties, assisted by a crew whose admiration for her increased
by leaps and bounds; and the only thing which ventured to interfere
with her was a stiff Atlantic roll, which they encountered upon
rounding the Land’s End.

The first intimation Mrs. Blossom had of it was the falling of small
utensils in the galley. After she had picked them up and replaced them
several times, she went out to investigate, and discovered that the
schooner was dipping her bows to big green waves, and rolling, with
much straining and creaking, from side to side. A fine spray, which
broke over the bows and flew over the vessel, drove her back into the
galley, which had suddenly developed an unaccountable stuffiness; but,
though the crew to a man advised her to lie down and have a cup of tea,
she repelled them with scorn, and with pale face and compressed lips
stuck to her post.

Two days later they made fast to the quay at Llanelly, and half-an-hour
later the skipper called the mate down to the cabin, and, handing him
some money, told him to pay the cook off and ship another. The mate
declined.

“You obey orders,” said the skipper fiercely, “else you an’ me’ll
quarrel.”

“I’ve got a wife an’ family,” urged the mate.

“Pooh!” said the skipper. “Rubbish!”

“And uncles,” added the mate rebelliously.

“Very good,” said the skipper, glaring. “We’ll ship the other cook
first and let him settle it. After all, I don’t see why we should fight
his battles for him.”

The mate, being agreeable, went off at once; and when Mrs. Blossom,
after a little shopping ashore, returned to the Gannet_ she found the
galley in the possession of one of the fattest cooks that ever broke
ship’s biscuit.

“Hullo!” said she, realising the situation at a glance, “what are you
doing here?”

“Cooking,” said the other gruffly. Then, catching sight of his
questioner, he smiled amorously and winked at her.

“Don’t you wink at me,” said Mrs. Blossom wrathfully. “Come out of that
galley.”

“There’s room for both,” said the new cook persuasively. “Come in an’
put your ’ed on my shoulder.”

Utterly unprepared for this mode of attack, Mrs. Blossom lost her
nerve, and, instead of storming the galley, as she had fully intended,
drew back and retired to the cabin, where she found a short note from
the skipper, enclosing her pay, and requesting her to take the train
home. After reading this she went ashore again, returning presently
with a big bundle, which she placed on the cabin table in front of
Harris and the mate, who had just begun tea.

“I’m not going home by train,” said she, opening the bundle, which
contained a spirit kettle and provisions. “I’m going back with you; but
I am not going to be beholden to you for anything—I’m going to board
myself.”

After this declaration she made herself tea and sat down. The meal
proceeded in silence, though occasionally she astonished her companions
by little mysterious laughs, which caused them slight uneasiness. As
she made no hostile demonstration, however, they became reassured, and
congratulated themselves upon the success of their manœuvre.

“How long shall we be getting back to London, do you think?” inquired
Mrs. Blossom at last.

“We shall probably sail Tuesday night, and it may be anything from six
days upwards,” answered the skipper. “If this wind holds it’ll probably
be upwards.”

To his great concern Mrs. Blossom put her handkerchief over her face,
and, shaking with suppressed laughter, rose from the table and left the
cabin.

The couple left eyed each other wonderingly.

“Did I say anything pertickler funny, George?” inquired the skipper,
after some deliberation.

“Didn’t strike me so,” said the mate carelessly; “I expect she’s
thought o’ something else to say about your family. She wouldn’t be so
good-tempered as all that for nothing. I feel cur’ous to know what it
is.”

“If you paid more attention to your own business,” said the skipper,
his choler rising, “you’d get on better. A mate who was a good seaman
wouldn’t ha’ let a cook go on like this—it’s not discipline.”

He went off in dudgeon, and a coolness sprang up between them, which
lasted until the bustle of starting in the small hours of Wednesday
morning.

Once under way the day passed uneventfully, the schooner crawling
sluggishly down the coast of Wales, and, when the skipper turned in
that night, it was with the pleasant conviction that Mrs. Blossom had
shot her last bolt, and, like a sensible woman, was going to accept her
defeat. From this pleasing idea he was aroused suddenly by the watch
stamping heavily on the deck overhead.

“What’s up?” cried the skipper, darting up the companion-ladder,
jostled by the mate.

“I dunno,” said Bill, who was at the wheel, shakily. “Mrs. Blossom come
up on deck a little while ago, and since then there’s been three or
four heavy splashes.”

“She can’t have gone overboard,” said the skipper, in tones to which he
manfully strove to impart a semblance of anxiety. “No, here she is.
Anything wrong, Mrs. Blossom?”

“Not so far as I’m concerned,” replied the lady, passing him and going
below.

“You’ve been dreaming, Bill,” said the skipper sharply.

“I ain’t,” said Bill stoutly. “I tell you I heard splashes. It’s my
belief she coaxed the cook up on deck, and then shoved him overboard. A
woman could do anything with a man like that cook.”

“I’ll soon see,” said the mate, and walking forward he put his head
down the fore-scuttle and yelled for the cook.

“Aye, aye, sir,” answered a voice sleepily, while the other men started
up in their bunks. “Do you want me?”

“Bill thinks somebody has gone overboard,” said the mate. “Are you all
here?”

In answer to this the mystified men turned out all standing, and came
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