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!”