DOCTOR AT SEA

It was a fortnight before we sailed. A quiver of excitement ran through the ship with the fresh vibrations of the engines. The deckhands ambled about their work singing-not sea-shanties, because they heard those only occasionally, on the pictures, but anything they knew from 'She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain,' to 'Rock of Ages.'

'All hands seem to be pretty happy,' I observed to Easter as a man sauntered past chanting 'Every turn of the screw brings me nearer to you.'

'Well, we're going home, Doctor!'

'But we've only been away a couple of months.'

'Still, it's always like this, whether you've been away two years or a fortnight. You gets a bit slap-happy when you leaves your final port.'

'I think I can understand it. For most of them I suppose it's only an attic in Liverpool or a dirty old house in the East End.'

'Still, it's home, sir.'

'You're right. Where do you live, Easter?'

'Down in Cheltenham.'

'Do you indeed?'

'I lives with the old lady,' he continued. 'She keeps a sweetshop down there. Getting a bit past it now, though. Well over seventy.'

The idea of Easter having a mother was disturbing. I had thought of him vaguely as climbing out of the sea on the heels of Venus.

'Are you coming back next trip, Easter?'

'I suppose so,' he replied. 'I've tried it ashore. Done all sorts of jobs. Apart from the halls and the races, I've worked in pubs, laundries, hotels, fish-and-chip shops. Even done a bit of navvying. Sometimes I gets settled into something steady, but…well, you know how it is. I goes round to the public library and has a look at Lloyd's List on a Saturday afternoon, and I'm finished. I think how nice it would be getting away somewhere instead of standing in a queue in the rain.'

'I'm afraid I see your point, Easter. But perhaps you'll get married?'

'What, at my time of life? And after what I've seen of women? Cor! I've had 'em all, I have-black, white, brown, and yellow. They're all the same underneath.'

'Do you read Kipling, Easter?' I asked with interest.

'Kipling? He's dead now, ain't he?'

'He doesn't seem to be dead at sea.'

'No, I don't read much, Doctor. No time for books. Takes you all your life to keep going these days, don't it?'

We detached ourselves from the meat works and steamed slowly down the long buoyed channel along the shallow River Plate towards Montevideo and the Atlantic. From there we had a straight run home, broken only at the Canary Islands for oil. The sea was calm and the sky unbroken. Off Montevideo we left the last persevering seagull behind us and were again alone, ourselves and the sea.

'About another three weeks,' Hornbeam said, 'and you'll be having a pint at the Carradoc.'

'I hope it turns out cheaper than the last drink I had with you.'

He laughed.

'Remind me to get you a new pen, Doc. Anyhow, we ought to have a pretty quiet voyage till we reach the Bay.'

And so we did. Two days out Captain Hogg became more morose than usual, then took to keeping to himself. For a few days he came down to meals, which he consumed without passing a word or giving any indication that he sensed our presence at the table at all. As no one else dared to speak this meant that lunch and supper were eaten in a silence that amplified such noises as chewing a stick of celery to the volume of a Tropical thunderstorm. After that he took his meals in his cabin, and appeared only occasionally on the deck. He would stand outside his door for a few minutes, scratch his head, blow his nose, and disappear for the day. Everyone was delighted.

'The Old Man's got a proper cob on about something,' Hornbeam said. 'Never pokes his nose on the bridge. When I go to his cabin he just grunts and says he's left the running of the ship to me. Suits me fine. Life's nice and quiet, isn't it?'

'Yes, it's wonderful. I wonder how long it'll last?'

It lasted until the night of the shipwreck.

When we were two days away from the Canaries the weather broke suddenly, within a few hours. The sun was intercepted by heavy English-looking clouds, and a cold wind came down from the north and threw handfuls of rain across our decks. I lay in my bunk, rocking contentedly and confidently in the swing of the ocean. It was shortly after midnight, and I was suspended in the pleasant arcade between sleep and wakefulness, enjoying the best of both. Then the alarm bells rang.

I sat up and switched on the light. Seven short rings, meaning 'Boat Stations.' Someone on the bridge had obviously leant on the alarm button. I was wondering what to do when the whistle blew 'Abandon Ship.'

'Christ!' I said. I jumped from my bunk like a sprinter off the mark. I fell over the hot-water can, picked myself up, and threw open the cabin door. Trail lived opposite me, and had just come off watch. He was looking disturbed.

'What's up?' I asked anxiously.

'It's abandon ship.'

'I know! But why?'

'Search me, Doc. She was all right when I came off the bridge. We'd better get up top.'

I hitched up my pyjama trousers and started for the companionway.

'Your life-jacket, you fool!' Trail shouted at me.

'Oh lord! I forgot.'

I ran back to my cabin, pulled on my lifejacket, and started tying it. It occurred to me I should make an attempt to save some of my possessions, so I picked up my empty sponge-bag and stuffed one or two handy articles into it. I later discovered I had preserved from the deep a shoehorn, two empty cigarette tins, a roll of film, and a copy of _Teach Yourself Spanish._ Grabbing a tin of morphine from the locker, I hurried towards the boatdeck.

The crew of the Lotus had boat drill at four-thirty every Friday afternoon, as prescribed by the Ministry of Transport, and this was always carried out efficiently, with calmness, and in an atmosphere of polite cooperation. There are, however, certain factors that complicate boat drill in earnest which are not operative during its harmless rehearsals. In the first place, it is usually night-time, there is a cold wind blowing, and it is raining. A strong sea is running, which makes it difficult to swing the boats out without smashing them. Everyone has been woken up from a deep sleep and is bad tempered. The Bos'n has forgotten where he put the handle to one of the davits. The Third has lost the roll-call. All hands are perplexed and naturally worried about saving themselves as well as giving wholehearted enthusiasm to preserving their shipmates. Also, all the lights are out.

I slipped over the wet deck, now alive with hurrying sailors, and found my way to the huddle of men round my own boat. They were cutting away the strings holding the canvas cover, under the directions of the Third.

'My God, what a lash-up!' the Third said.

'All right, Bos'n. Stand-by to swing.'

'Swing out all boats!' Captain Hogg's voice came through the loud hailer.

'Swing out!' the Third repeated.

Three men swung on each davit handle with an energy usually shown at sea only when arriving in port ten minutes before the pubs shut.

'Swing out, there!' Captain Hogg repeated. 'The ship is going down!'

A rocket flew into the air and exploded into gently falling coloured stars.

'Get a move on, you men!' he shouted.

'Come on, come on!' Trail ordered impatiently. 'Stand-by the falls, there!'

'Excuse my interrupting,' I said. 'But if we're sinking we don't seem to have much of a list on.'

'Cut it out, Doc! Right, lower away there! Steady forrard!'