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trouble. You can’t tip everything out.’
    ‘I see what you mean.’
    ‘Besides, there’s the trim of the ship to think about. There’s more in cargo than meets the eye.’
    He looked at his plan.’ Nos. 1 and 4 are full, but there’s plenty of room in 2 and 3. We’ll be here a week yet, you can bet on that.’
    But orders, based on some deep calculation in the Fathom Line offices, came for us to sail. Twenty-four hours later, in the morning, the Lotus left.
    An air of excitement spread through the ship before sailing, as everyone began to go about their jobs more briskly. I was greatly stimulated by the promising departure, for I had become thoroughly used to living alongside the wharf in the past few days and occasionally doubted that we would ever sail at all. The dockers who had made free with our decks were turned down the gangway, leaving behind them a litter of newspapers, cigarette packets, and matches trampled into the rusty steel. The wide hatches were covered with heavy slabs of wood, and square tarpaulins lashed over them. At the head of the gangway the quartermaster fixed a blackboard announcing confidently THE S.S. LOTUS WILL SAIL AT 10 O’ CLOCK FOR SANTOS NO SHORE LEAVE, and a thin black stream of smoke shot powerfully upwards from the funnel. Our bleak masts were enlivened with flags: the red ensign trailed over our stern, the Company’s house-flag - a red F topped by an anchor on a white square - was hoisted at the mainmast, and from the foremast the blue-and-white P announced our intentions to the waterside.
    ‘That at least is a flag I recognize,’ I said to Trail.’ The Blue Peter.’
    ‘Yes, we’ll soon be on our way, Doc. It’s a bloody nuisance. I was just getting a nice little piece lined up last night. It’s always the same.’
    ‘I shall be glad to get to sea, I must say. I’ve seen enough of Liverpool.’
    ‘You’ll get your bellyful of sea all right, don’t you worry. Shouldn’t get too excited, though. They may change their minds and send us into Cardiff when we get out in the Irish Sea. Not a bad place, Cardiff, though I prefer Middlesbrough myself. The pubs are better.’
    Shortly afterwards Trail reappeared on deck with his cap on, looking very determined and ten years older.
    ‘Got to do the testing,’ he explained brusquely.’ Tugs’ll be here any minute now.’
    I heard him ring the bridge telegraphs and sound the whistle, which blew a long silent plume of steam into the air for some seconds before it struck its note. The customs officers gave us a final suspicious look and made for the shore, their threatening bags of rummage tools over their shoulders. Men in yellow raincoats and misshapen trilbys hurried aboard with desperate last letters addressed to Captain Hogg, and rushed away again anxiously looking at their watches. A Mr Swithinbank, a pale youth with steel spectacles from the Liverpool office, came breathlessly down the deck after me, with a paper in his hand.
    ‘Here’s the Bill of Health, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Cripes! For a moment I thought I’d lost you! You can’t sail without it.’
    ‘Thank you very much,’ I said, taking the document reverently.
    ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quickly, making for the gangway.’ Medical stores O.K.? Too late now, anyway. Have a good voyage. Cheery-bye!’
    ‘Good-bye,’ I shouted after him helplessly.’ We seem a bit short of sulphonamides.’
    ‘Bring us a ham from Brazil if you remember it,’ he called over his shoulder.’ Don’t forget the poor starving English.’
    He hurried away between the railway waggons and lorries on the quay. It was almost ten. Two sailors, who had somehow managed to drink themselves to a standstill at that hour, staggered up the gangway and collapsed on the deck.
    ‘Take ‘em below,’ Hornbeam shouted to the Bos’n, with the air of a man handling a familiar situation.’ They’ll be logged tomorrow morning. Has Smiley turned up yet?’
    ‘No sign, Mr