The Skipper of the “osprey”

"The Skipper of the 'Osprey'" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous novella that follows the misadventures of the titular skipper, a cocky and somewhat inept boat captain. Set against a backdrop of maritime life, the story blends comedy and nautical themes as the skipper navigates various challenges, including eccentric crew members and unpredictable waters. Jacobs’ witty prose and knack for character development highlight the absurdities of life at sea, making for an entertaining read that captures the spirit of adventure and the quirks of human nature.

• Fiction

								
It was a quarter to six in the morning as the mate of the sailing-barge
Osprey came on deck and looked round for the master, who had been
sleeping ashore and was somewhat overdue. Ten minutes passed before he
appeared on the wharf, and the mate saw with surprise that he was
leaning on the arm of a pretty girl of twenty, as he hobbled painfully
down to the barge.

“Here you are then,” said the mate, his face clearing. “I began to
think you weren’t coming.”

“I’m not,” said the skipper; “I’ve got the gout crool bad. My darter
here’s going to take my place, an’ I’m going to take it easy in bed for
a bit.”

“I’ll go an’ make it for you,” said the mate.

“I mean my bed at home,” said the skipper sharply. “I want good nursing
an’ attention.”

The mate looked puzzled.

“But you don’t really mean to say this young lady is coming aboard
instead of you?” he said.

“That’s just what I do mean,” said the skipper. “She knows as much
about it as I do. She lived aboard with me until she was quite a big
girl. You’ll take your orders from her. What are you whistling about?
Can’t I do as I like about my own ship?”

“O’ course you can,” said the mate drily; “an’ I s’pose I can whistle
if I like—I never heard no orders against it.”

“Gimme a kiss, Meg, an’ git aboard,” said the skipper, leaning on his
stick and turning his cheek to his daughter, who obediently gave him a
perfunctory kiss on the left eyebrow, and sprang lightly aboard the
barge.

“Cast off,” said she, in a business-like manner, as she seized a
boat-hook and pushed off from the jetty. “Ta ta, Dad, and go straight
home, mind; the cab’s waiting.”

“Ay, ay, my dear,” said the proud father, his eye moistening with
paternal pride as his daughter, throwing off her jacket, ran and
assisted the mate with the sail. “Lord, what a fine boy she would have
made!”

He watched the barge until she was well under way, and then, waving his
hand to his daughter, crawled slowly back to the cab; and, being to a
certain extent a believer in homeopathy, treated his complaint with a
glass of rum.

“I’m sorry your father’s so bad, miss,” said the mate, who was still
somewhat dazed by the recent proceedings, as the girl came up and took
the wheel from him. “He was complaining a goodish bit all the way up.”

“A wilful man must have his way,” said Miss Cringle, with a shake of
her head. “It’s no good me saying anything, because directly my back’s
turned he has his own way again.”

The mate shook his head despondently.

“You’d better get your bedding up and make your arrangements forward,”
said the new skipper presently. There was a look of indulgent
admiration in the mate’s eye, and she thought it necessary to check it.

“All right,” said the other, “plenty of time for that; the river’s a
little bit thick just now.”

“What do you mean?” inquired the girl hastily.

“Some o’ these things are not so careful as they might be,” said the
mate, noting the ominous sparkle of her eye, “an’ they might scrape the
paint off.”

“Look here, my lad,” said the new skipper grimly, “if you think you can
steer better than me, you’d better keep it to yourself, that’s all. Now
suppose you see about your bedding, as I said.”

The mate went, albeit he was rather surprised at himself for doing so,
and hid his annoyance and confusion beneath the mattress which he
brought up on his head. His job completed, he came aft again, and,
sitting on the hatches, lit his pipe.

“This is just the weather for a pleasant cruise,” he said amiably,
after a few whiffs. “You’ve chose a nice time for it.”

“I don’t mind the weather,” said the girl, who fancied that there was a
little latent sarcasm somewhere. “I think you’d better wash the decks
now.”

“Washed ’em last night,” said the mate, without moving.

“Ah, after dark, perhaps,” said the girl. “Well, I think I’ll have them
done again.”

The mate sat pondering rebelliously for a few minutes, then he removed
his jacket, put on in honour of the new skipper, and, fetching the
bucket and mop, silently obeyed orders.

“You seem to be very fond of sitting down,” remarked the girl, after he
had finished; “can’t you find something else to do?”

“I don’t know,” replied the mate slowly; “I thought you were looking
after that.”

The girl bit her lip, and was looking carefully round her, when they
were both disturbed by the unseemly behaviour of the master of a
passing craft.

“Jack!” he yelled in a tone of strong amazement, “Jack!”

“Halloa!” cried the mate.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” yelled the other reproachfully.

“Tell you what?” roared the mystified mate.

The master of the other craft, holding on to the stays with one hand,
jerked his thumb expressively towards Miss Cringle, and waited.

“When was it?” he screamed anxiously, as he realised that his craft was
rapidly carrying him out of earshot.

The mate smiled feebly, and glanced uneasily at the girl, who, with a
fine colour and an air of vast unconcern, was looking straight in front
of her; and it was a relief to both of them when they found themselves
hesitating and dodging in front of a schooner which was coming up.

“Do you want all the river?” demanded the exasperated master of the
latter vessel, running to the side as they passed. “Why don’t you drop
anchor if you want to spoon?”

“Perhaps you’d better let me take the wheel a bit,” said the mate, not
without a little malice in his voice.

“No; you can go an’ keep a look-out in the bows,” said the girl
serenely. “It’ll prevent misunderstandings, too. Better take the
potatoes with you and peel them for dinner.”

The mate complied, and the voyage proceeded in silence, the steering
being rendered a little nicer than usual by various nautical sparks
bringing their boats a bit closer than was necessary in order to obtain
a good view of the fair steersman.

After dinner, the tide having turned and a stiff head-wind blowing,
they brought up off Sheppey. It began to rain hard, and the crew of the
Osprey, having made all snug above, retired to the cabin to resume
their quarrel.

“Don’t mind me,” said Miss Cringle scathingly, as the mate lit his
pipe.

“Well, I didn’t think you minded,” replied the mate; “the old man”—

“Who?” interrupted Miss Cringle, in a tone of polite inquiry.

“Captain Cringle,” said the mate, correcting himself, “smokes a great
deal, and I’ve heard him say that you liked the smell of it.”

“There’s pipes and pipes,” said Miss Cringle oracularly.

The mate flung his on the floor and crunched it beneath his heel, then
he thrust his hands in his pockets, and, leaning back, scowled darkly
up at the rain as it crackled on the skylight.

“If you are going to show off your nasty temper,” said the girl
severely, “you’d better go forward. It’s not quite the thing after all
for you to be down here—not that I study appearances much.”

“I shouldn’t think you did,” retorted the mate, whose temper was
rapidly getting the better of him. “I can’t think what your father was
thinking of to let a pret—to let a girl like you come away like this.”

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