Doctor at Sea

of celebrating on December 25th to be overcome by his satisfaction of getting a free drink out of his enemy.
    The Captain had already been setting himself in the mood for Christmas, and welcomed us with guarded geniality. We were all cleanly dressed and sober, except the Wireless Operator, who had already been having a party in his cabin with his own friends.
    ‘Good morning, gentlemen, good morning!’ Captain Hogg said, giving us a cold smile.’ Compliments of the season, gentlemen, on behalf of myself and the Company.’
    ‘It was Christmas Day in the workhouse ...’ the Sparks began. Hornbeam clapped a hand over his mouth.
    ‘Help me with the drinks, Mr Whimble, will you? That’s right. Pink gins all round, I suppose? Help yourselves to iced water, gentlemen. Here’s to a Merry Christmas.’
    ‘Same, to you, sir!’ everyone said, respectfully raising their glasses.
    ‘... the Master called down the halls,’ the Sparks continued.’ Did you like your Christmas dinner? And the inmates answered ...’
    Hornbeam shut him up again.
    ‘I propose,’ Captain Hogg said, glancing sternly round the company, ‘on this solemn day in our year to make a short speech.’
    There were murmurs of assent all round: he had as much risk of objection as Hitler ever had.
    ‘This is my ship,’ Captain Hogg went on. ’My ship. She is in my care, and so are the lives of all of you in her.’ he took a swallow of gin. ’My ambition,’ he continued, ’is to have a happy ship. Do you understand? That means that every damn one of you’s got to knuckle under. This ship - my ship’- he waved his glass expansively - ’is a floating village. We have our butcher, our baker, and our lamptrimmer. We have our own storekeeper - even our own doctor.’ This brought a roar of laughter and a round of applause. ’But I’ - he hit his chest – ‘I am the squire of the village. Get that straight. Give me another gin, Mr Whimble.’
    ‘On this occasion,’ he resumed, ’I look upon you all with a fatherly eye. All of you. I am proud of you. You are the best crew I’ve ever sailed with. You are -’
    He stopped. He glared out of the porthole. His face twisted alarmingly. The Lotus had stopped.
    ‘Mr McDougall,’ he hissed, ’the ship’s stopped.’ McDougall didn’t move.
    ‘Aye,’ he said.
    ‘What is it?’ Captain Hogg asked heavily. ’Are you celebrating Christmas so much down below that you have let the boilers go out?’
    McDougall carefully drained his gin.
    ‘We no celebrate these cissy festivals in my department. We save it up for Hogmanay.’
    ‘So! You come up here and take my liquor. And listen to an old windbag like you -’
    ‘How dare you sir! I have never been insulted like that in all my years at sea!’
    ‘All your years! I was on watch below when you were flying yellow at the mizzen.’
    Captain Hogg shook a fist at him.
    ‘I was in sail, sir!’
    ‘You ought to have stayed there. You’d make a good barge skipper.’
    ‘We didn’t need engineers in those days,’ Captain Hogg shouted.
    ‘And in ten years’time we won’t need captains.’
    ‘Damn you, sir! I won’t be talked to like this! I’ll have you logged. I will. I mean it. I -’
    ‘It was Christmas Day in the workhouse,’ the Sparks began.
    ‘Aw, go to hell!’ McDougall said.
    ‘Please, please!’ cried Whimble.
    ‘I’ve had enough of this, Mr McDougall -!’
    ‘And I’ve had more than enough -!’
    ‘Steady the Buffs!’ said Hornbeam jovially.
    At that moment the Second Steward arrived and announced that dinner was served.
    The saloon was decorated with dusty streamers that were produced every year, like the dinner menu, irrespective of the latitude in which the Lotus found herself. The English are the greatest colonizing race in the world, but they show a reluctance to part with their native habits in climates that render them highly unsuitable or even unhealthy. Wherever two Englishmen are together at Christmas the accustomed dinner must be eaten, in its full carbohydrate glory. The weather demanded a little salad and an ice cream, but we sat down and dutifully faced the full gastronomic trappings of the season - roast turkey, sausages, cold pork, roast beef, boiled cabbage, roast potatoes, mince pies, and Christmas pudding.
    ‘We’ve got a nice veal and ham pie on as well, if you want any,’ Whimble whispered in my ear as we went in.
    All the officers off watch were crammed round the saloon table. Captain Hogg sat