Doctor at Sea

‘I’ll build up a diagnosis in a couple of days and send in a report to the Company.’
    ‘Mind he doesn’t bite you,’ Trail said.
    I had a chance to try my new technique of fragmented diagnosis at dinner. Captain Hogg appeared for the first time since his retirement, and seemed in capital spirits. He sat down next to me at the head of the table, tucked his serviette in with a flourish, and fell upon the roast mutton.
    ‘Good mutton, this, Mr Whimble,’ he said through a mouthful of potatoes.’ Don’t get much like it these days. Where did you buy it?’
    ‘London, sir.’
    ‘It’s kept well. By the way, Mr Hornbeam. Get the hatch covers off number three by tonight, if the weather holds. We may be filling that twenty feet in Teneriffe.’
    ‘Very good, sir.’
    ‘I’m pleased to find the weather’s cleared, sir,’ I said brightly.’ This fresh breeze makes you feel you’re walking on cotton-wool.’
    He said nothing.
    ‘Do you ever feel you are walking on cotton-wool, sir?’ I asked.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’
    He swallowed another mouthful of greens and mutton. I was keenly disappointed.
    ‘The weather ought to hold,’ he said. ‘The glass is going up.’
    ‘I had an aunt,’ I remarked.’ Every time the glass went up she had stabbing pains in her legs.’
    ‘Did she?’
    ‘Do you get stabbing pains in your legs, sir?’
    ‘What the devil are you talking about, Doctor?’
    ‘Oh, nothing of importance, sir.’
    I miserably fiddled with a piece of roast potato. It seemed that my means of eliciting the patient’s symptoms was not going to meet with clinical success. I decided I would go ahead and examine for the physical signs. I dropped my serviette on the deck. As I bent down to pick it up I pinched Captain Hogg hard behind the ankle.
    ‘Ouch!’ he said.
    ‘I’m dreadfully sorry, sir ..
    ‘What the hell are you playing at?’
    ‘I thought...I thought it was the Mate’s foot.’
    ‘Well, what difference does that make?’
    ‘We were having a little game.’
    ‘I don’t like games,’ Captain Hogg said. ‘Not in my ship.’
    ‘Very good, sir.’
    I jabbed moodily at my treacle sponge for the rest of the meal, despair freezing my heart.
    ‘Find anything out?’ Hornbeam said in my cabin afterwards.
    ‘Not much. Couldn’t you see?’
    ‘Yes, you were making a bit of a mess of it. Supposing he’s not potty at all, but just acting his own sweet self?’
    ‘I’m sure he’s insane,’ I said heatedly. ’Certain of it. If they put him in the final examinations every student would get through. He’s a classic case. The only trouble is I can’t get near enough to prove it.’
    ‘We’ll have to be pretty certain before we say anything to the Company, Doc. I always believe in clearing my own yardarm.’
    I banged the desk with my fist.
    ‘Damn it! Here’s this man - certifiably insane - with every one of us at his mercy. Why, any time he might break out again like last night! Supposing he goes and puts us aground at the Canaries? Or rams the Queen Mary or something off Bishop Rock? He’s capable of absolutely anything. What would we do then?’
    Hornbeam scratched his cheek with the lip of his pipe. ’It’s a teaser, Doc. We’ll have to think out some other scheme.’ he looked at his watch. ’I must, go and tell the Bos’n to take the covers off number three. If I think of anything, I’ll let you know. Meantime, I’ll keep a sharp watch on Father myself.’
    ‘Thanks. I’ll try and work something out. See you for a peg before supper.’
    I passed the rest of the day sorting ingenious schemes for diagnosis in my mind. Nothing seemed workable. I thought of confessing frankly to the port doctor in Teneriffe that we had a madman loose on board and asking him to send for a couple of assistants and a strait-jacket; but I felt that the port doctor, who was used to ship’s captains, might find Captain Hogg not in the least abnormal. I wished sincerely that he would foam at the mouth or do something equally spectacular when we got in.
    When Easter brought my tea I admitted my difficulties to him.
    ‘I think the Captain is insane,’ I told him.
    ‘Ho, yes,’ he said. ‘He’s as mad as a fiddler’s bitch.’
    ‘You’ve noticed it too, have you?’
    ‘Dr Flowerday always reckoned he was.’
    ‘Did he do anything about it?’
    ‘Used to slip the cook half a dollar to lace his tea with a Mickey when he was real bad.’
    ‘I hadn’t thought of that.