Doctor at Sea

soon,’ he added, sadly.’ I’m getting too old and fat to go running up and down hatch ladders.’
    ‘You’ll get one soon enough.’
    ‘I don’t know. All I want is a command - it doesn’t matter if the ship sinks as soon as we get out of port. As long as I can call myself Captain. That’s what I’ve been at sea for all these years - all the way up, apprentice, third, second, mate. That’s what keeps us sane, most of us. Waiting for a ship of our own. Then I’m going to chuck the sea and raise chickens.’
    ‘I bet you won’t.’
    ‘It’s a mug’s game. When you’ve been at it a couple of years they’ve got you where they want you. There’s nothing for you ashore - what good’s a master’s ticket in the Labour Exchange? The sea’s a positive bitch. You can’t run away from her if you want to.’
    ‘I suppose you’re right there.’
    ‘You staying at sea, Doc?’
    ‘Me? Oh, no. I’m going back to general practice in the provinces, I suppose.’ I saw the grey streets, the grey skies, the grey complexions of the patients; wet winter mornings and acrid summer ones; frightened faces on the doorstep at three in the morning; four o’clock parties with conversation like the weak over-sweetened tea; hedging respectability, the eternal narrowness of the persistent provincial.
    ‘Perhaps,’ I added.
    ‘Well,’ Hornbeam said. ‘The only thing to do with life is to live it, you know. Shall we have a last one?’ I passed him the bottle.’ We’ll be in B.A. tomorrow,’ he added more cheerfully.’ You can have some fun there.’

    *

    ‘Everything’s on the top line here since they had the purity campaign,’ the Third said. ‘Now it’s as clean as Blackpool. Pity.’
    We were lying off the big, white, flat city of Buenos Aires, lines of tall, angular buildings running down to the clean waterfront.
    ‘It’s pretty nice here in the New Port,’ the Third went on.
    ‘Where do we go?’ I asked.
    ‘Down by the meat works.’
    Two hours later the Lotus was coaxed through the narrow entrance of the South Dock, and tied up not far from the big grey refrigerating plant.
    ‘Smells like a farm, don’t it?’ Easter remarked, as we were drawing alongside.’ Don’t ‘arf get a lot of flies down here. Thick as coppers on a racecourse, they are.’
    ‘So this is where the beef comes from?’
    ‘That’s it. They walk in one end and half an hour later they slides out in a tin. Smart, these boys are.’ Our reception was the same as in Santos, except that everyone spoke Spanish. The same functionaries hurried aboard, made for the Mate’s cabin, and drank the Mate’s gin, from which the business of the ship seemed inseparable. But Hornbeam was determined, for once, to go ashore.
    ‘I’ve only had a couple all day,’ he said proudly to me.’ Look at the bottle for yourself. I’m going to take you lads on a treat tonight. See you about ten.’
    ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
    ‘Word of honour, Doc.’
    Hornbeam kept his promise. When Trail, Archer, and myself met him in his cabin he was glowing but not extinguished.
    ‘Just a quick one before we leave,’ he said, unclipping the cap of another gin bottle.’ It’s all on me tonight, boys. I’ve got plenty of pesos.’
    ‘Where did you land them from?’ Archer asked. Hornbeam winked.
    ‘The Mate’s got to have a few perks,’ he explained. ’Small present from the stevedores for giving them the pleasure of our custom. Also a token from the chandlers for the honour of providing us with deck stores. Strictly against Company regs., of course. Oh, I’ve got about’-he pulled some notes from his pocket -’ about a thousand pesos.’
    ‘That’s forty quid,’ Trail said reverently.
    ‘Nothing but the best tonight!’ Hornbeam continued. ’Drink up, and we’ll hit the town.’
    ‘This is the Boca,’ Hornbeam explained, as we walked over the railway tracks towards the gawky German gantry bridge. ‘One of the toughest spots in South America. A bos’n I sailed with once got beaten up about here. Left him only his shoes. He was a big chap, too.’
    ‘I wish they wouldn’t put ships in such insalubrious districts,’ I said. ‘It’s like living in the slums.’
    ‘They reckon the slums are good enough for sailors, I suppose.’
    To reach the town we climbed into a small boat and were rowed across the slimy river towards the Boca’s main street.
    ‘Hard work finding a taxi in B.A. these days,’ Trail said. ‘We’d