Surgeon at Sea

'Don't we look like it?' I said.

'A not uncommon predicament. Always seafaring gentlemen. A nice watch you have,' he said to Trail. 'Must be worth at least a hundred pesos.'

'It cost me twenty quid in Durban,' Trail said hotly. I stopped him.

'Hand it over,' I said.

He sulkily unstrapped his watch.

'You other gentlemen have equally valuable timepieces,' the manager continued.

'Your turn,' Trail said, brightening a little.

Hornbeam, Archer, and I surrendered ours.

'I think,' the manager continued, 'a Parker 51 would settle it.'

I gave him the pen from my pocket.

'Now get the hell out of here, you bums,' he said, 'or I'll get the cops on you.'

We stood, a forlorn quartet, on the pavement.

'Oh well,' said Hornbeam. 'You know what I told you the other night. The only thing to do with life is to live it. Now let's start walking back to the ship.'

Chapter Fourteen

If you must be broke, there are many conveniences in being broke as a seafarer on ship's articles. The necessities of life, such as food, shelter, cigarettes, and gin, continue to be supplied regularly, either free or on account until the end of the voyage; and the state arouses among one's companions a lively sympathy expressed on land only on occasions of severe illness or other bitter natural misfortune. When the story of our visit to the Saratoga spread round the ship the next morning we were chivvied with offers of help from all hands.

'Had a bit of a night of it, I hear, Doctor,' Easter said jovially.

'I'm afraid so.'

'I don't hold with that there Saratoga,' he continued reflectively. 'Mind you, they has some very posh tarts there, very posh. But they don't 'arf burn up the rhino. Is it worth it? I ask you. Now, me and Chippy goes ashore quiet like, and has a few beers in old Ma Whitehead's. If we feels like indulging, as you might say, we goes round the back to a little place what Chippy reckons he was first taken to by his father when he was sailing as a deckboy. Mind, they ain't no great beauties in there. In fact, Chippy reckons they're the same ones what his father knew. But they come economic like, and that's something these days, ain't it, Doctor?'

'Thank you, Easter. I appreciate your little lecture on thrift.'

'We lives and learns, Doctor. How about a small contribution, if you've run yourself short?' He pulled a bundle of peso notes from his jacket pocket.

'Definitely no!' I held up my hand, 'I insist on suffering justly for my indiscretions. Besides, I am already in debt to you. If you lent me any more you might not have enough left for your own modest pleasures, such as you have just described.'

'That's all right, Doctor. I just flogged some of that there penicillin what was expired. Dr. Flowerday and I used to split it fifty-fifty, but I don't mind taking forty-sixty to oblige. Barmy on penicillin, these Argentinos, I got rid of them there pills we didn't know what they was-them green ones in the back of the locker. Told 'em they was good for virility and charged a peso each. They go in for that sort of stuff a lot down here.'

'It is very kind of you, Easter, but-for reasons which I should be ashamed to confess-I much prefer you to keep the proceeds to yourself.'

'As you say, Doctor. Tip me the wink if you wants anything flogging. Wouldn't like a few tins of beef, would you? I scrounged some when a case bust going into No. 1 hold.'

'No thank you. But I appreciate your generosity. Just get me another pitcher of iced water from the galley.'

I put on my cap and went on deck. It was almost noon. The sun, as coarse and uninhibited as everything else in the region, shone savagely on the white planks and brown steel of the decks; but the river, the ships, and the quay were as peaceful as an English village on a high summer afternoon. The purring electric cranes were still and stood at untidy angles along the wharf with crates of merchandise at their feet, abandoned by the dockers for the midday break. Some of the stevedores lay asleep in the shade that was sharply cut out here and there by corners and eaves; others languidly masticated their lunch inside the doors of the airless sheds. From somewhere downstream came the subdued hoot of a small ship's whistle, and the regular soft thumping of some essential pump. The steers mooed spasmodically in the unseen corrals behind the meat works, and the flies, unaffected by the general langour, buzzed in thick, irritating squadrons everywhere.

I leaned on the hot rail and looked at the grey walls of the Frigorifico Anglo, which was temporarily inactive for lunch. I began to understand the disadvantages of my abrupt poverty: we should be in Buenos Aires for at least a fortnight, and the Frigorifico, though of superb interest as a commercial and technical undertaking and with appreciable merit as an example of functional design, would soon become oppressive as the largest segment of my daily horizon. I hadn't even the bus fare to the City.

While I was examining these bleak thoughts Trail came and leaned next to me. We discussed our condition in a few words.

'There's not much to be done here if you're broke,' he observed. 'We could rustle up enough to go to the pictures, I suppose.'

'I can do that in London.'

'That's true. They've got some nice parks, so they tell me.'

We had adjusted ourselves to a dull stay in one of the world's gayest capitals when a bright ray of entertainment abruptly shone into our lives from an unexpected source. I was lying on my bunk after dinner, reading the first paragraph of _War and Peace_ with the drowsy inattentive righteousness of a good churchgoer sitting through a summer sermon, when Easter pulled aside the curtain across the doorway.

'Father's compliments,' he said. 'And will you come to his cabin, pronto.'

'Oh, lord! What's eating the old boy now?'

'Search me, Doctor. He's getting the Mate up there, and the Hunk.'

'Hunk?'

'Chief Steward, Mr. Whimble.'

'Very well.' I rolled off the bunk and took my cap from the hook over the desk. 'I hope it isn't his stomach again.'

Hornbeam and Whimble were already sitting on the settee in the Captain's cabin. McDougall was in one of the armchairs. On either side of the desk sat Captain Hogg and Mr. Montmorency, the Fathom Line's manager in Buenos Aires. All of them were smoking cigars and drinking liqueurs.

'Ah, Doctor, come in!' Mr. Montmorency called, as I pushed the door curtain away. He got up and seized me by the hand. 'Have a seat. Move over there, Mr. Whimble. Cigar? Real Havana. Won't find them in England, eh? Benedictine, Curaзao, or brandy? Some Kummel, perhaps? Or a flash of the old starboard light?'

'Benedictine will do nicely,' I said. I sat down between Whimble and Hornbeam, while Mr. Montmorency lit my cigar. He was a lean, brown man with a brisk black moustache, dressed in a crisp linen suit. He was an office-wallah, and therefore formally despised; but he was secretly respected as an important and dangerous man in the lives of everyone who depended on the Fathom Line for their pay. Beneath the sunburnt hearty crust was a sharp brain eager to send damning cables to St. Mary Axe, where a few words of code could hold up a man's promotion for ten years or tip him back into the uncertain currents of the shipping pool. Even Captain Hogg was affable to Mr. Montmorency.

'Right, gentlemen,' Mr. Montmorency went on forcefully. 'I have asked you up here to-day for a particular reason, apart from having the pleasure of meeting you. Captain Hogg assures me, I am glad to say, that he thinks highly of your services under his command.'

'A very happy ship,' Captain Hogg declared. He swallowed half a tumbler of Benedictine and glared at the rest of us in defiance of contradiction.

'I am sure it is, Captain. Now, gentlemen, I am going to talk to you on a most serious topic. It is British Prestige.' He took on his smartest Chamber of Commerce manner. 'It is hardly necessary for me to trace the course of events in this bustling sub-continent since the cessation of hostilities-hostilities, gentlemen, in which the Company we represent suffered as grievously as any-but you will, I am sure, all appreciate that the interest of our Motherland in its affairs has increased rather than diminished, though in the face of severe and sometimes to us inexplicable, opposition. Some more Benedictine, Captain?'