Doctor at Sea

my Chief Officer, Mr Hornbeam...my Doctor...my Chief Engineer...my Chief Steward.’ Captain Beamish received these presentations in silence. Before we had finished the soup it appeared that he was a man sparing of words, for the only conversation he permitted himself was to interrupt his host’s remarks every few minutes with the expression ’‘Strordinary!’ When we reached the treacle roll he cut into Captain Hogg’s description of how he once docked in Liverpool without tugs, by glaring at me and snapping,’ Doctor!’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Which hospital d’y’come from?’
    ‘St Swithin’s, sir.’
    ‘‘Strordinary!Must know Dr Jenkins.’
    ‘Jenkins? No, I’m afraid I don’t, sir.’
    ‘Jenkins was a very well-known man in the Line.’
    I shook my head solemnly, without making any comment. I had gathered that doctors became well known in seafaring life only through the originality with which they left it.
    ‘You look very young, Doctor,’ he continued.’ Fully qualified, I suppose?’
    ‘Of course I am!’ I said angrily.
    ‘‘Strordinary. Looks very young indeed,’ he added in a slightly softer voice to Captain Hogg, who immediately began looking at me with suspicion.
    ‘Lost my damned Bos’n this trip,’ Captain Beamish went on.’ Blast him.’
    ‘What was up?’ Captain Hogg asked, piling the last fragments of suet roll on to his spoon.
    ‘Had to put him over the wall off Pernam.Dead, y’know.’
    ‘Goon! What of?’
    ‘‘Strordinary thing altogether.Meant to ask your Doctor. Had a turn of the shakes and died before sunset.’
    ‘Very likely smallpox,’ I said firmly.’ Your ship will have to be fumigated for three weeks and all hands isolated in the fever hospital. The one in Santos is extremely unpleasant, but they will probably take you up to São Paulo as you’re certain to get it, anyway.’
    I sat and sulked over the cheese-dish.
    ‘Bad about the Bos’n,’ Captain Beamish said. ‘Don’t get his type any more. Respectful. Knew my ways. I may not be in command of a big ship, but I’ll have her run decently. Eh, Captain?’
    Captain Hogg had his mouth full of cheese, but he nodded violently enough to spill pieces on to the tablecloth.
    ‘Don’t know what things are coming to. The Third wore the same uniform three days running last week. D’ y’know what happened yesterday? Steward brought me a glass of water without a tray. Communism, that’s what it is.’
    Captain Beamish then said nothing else for the rest of the meal.
    The Violet ’s officers came aboard before supper and noisily packed themselves into Hornbeam’s cabin. I found it startling to see the familiar Fathom Line uniforms and badges with different faces over them. They sat and drank gin, enjoying the fragmentary friendship of the sea that had been established by a few hours or a day or two in a dozen years at ports all over the world.
    ‘Here’s our Doc,’ Hornbeam said, as I squeezed through the door. ‘Meet Mr Molony, Chief Officer from that old barge down aft.’
    ‘Hello, Doc,’ he said, shaking hands.’ Enjoying the sea?’
    ‘I am rather, thank you.’
    ‘How did you get on with our Old Man at dinner?’
    ‘I must say he was pretty rude.’
    Molony laughed loudly, while Hornbeam filled up his glass.
    ‘He takes some getting used to. Do you know what?’ he asked Hornbeam. ’He chased me up for eating peas off a knife the other day. Can you imagine it? Now, there’s bugling, too. We signed on a Yankee galley-boy in New York who brought a trumpet with him, so we get bugle calls to meals. Anyone would think we were a ruddy battleship.’
    ‘All skippers are the same,’ Hornbeam said wearily.
    ‘Do you remember old Jack Andrews in the Buttercup ? What happened to him?’
    ‘Didn’t you hear? He got put ashore in Cape Town last year.’
    They began to talk earnestly of men and ships I had never heard of, and their conversation took on an odd parochialism extending across the face of the earth.
    As the Violet was due to sail again at midnight our guests left early. I leant on the rail and watched her float slowly into the river, her portholes drawing yellow streaks across the greasy water. She blew three hoots of farewell to us and followed her tug towards the sea. Captain Hogg stood outside his cabin staring after her, and no doubt Captain Beamish was on the bridge glaring astern at us. I wondered if I should meet any more Fathom Line captains, and if they would be any less