Many Cargoes

“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 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 manoeuvre.

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