Mr Midshipman Hornblower. C. S. Forester

“The English frigate,” he said.

She must have made nearly the same amount of leeway hove‑to as the boat did riding to her sea anchor.

“Signal to her,” said Hornblower, and no one raised any objections.

The only white object available was Hornblower’s shirt, and he took it off, shuddering in the cold, and they tied it to an oar and raised the oar in the maststep. The captain saw Hornblower putting on his dripping coat over his bare ribs and in a single movement peeled off his thick blue jersey and offered it to him.

“Thank you, no,” protested Hornblower, but the captain insisted; with a wide grin he pointed to the stiffened corpse lying in the sternsheets and announced he would replace the jersey with the dead man’s clothing.

The argument was interrupted by a further cry from one of the fishermen. The frigate was coming to the wind; with treble‑reefed fore and maintopsails she was heading for them under the impulse of the lessening gale. Hornblower saw her running down on them; a glance in the other direction showed him the Galician mountains, faint on the southern horizon — warmth, freedom and friendship on the one hand; solitude and captivity on the other. Under the lee of the frigate the boat bobbed and heaved fantastically; many inquisitive faces looked down on them. They were cold and cramped; the frigate dropped a boat and a couple of nimble seamen scrambled on board. A line was flung from the frigate, a whip lowered a breeches ring into the boat, and the English seamen helped the Spaniards one by one into the breeches and held them steady as they were swung up to the frigate’s deck.

“I go last,” said Hornblower when they turned to him. “I am a King’s officer.”

“Good Lor’ lumme,” said the seamen.

“Send the body up, too,” said Hornblower. “It can be given decent burial.”

The stiff corpse was grotesque as it swayed through the air. The Galician captain tried to dispute with Hornblower the honour of going last, but Hornblower would not be argued with. Then finally the seamen helped him put his legs into the breeches, and secured him with a line round his waist. Up he soared, swaying dizzily with the roll of the ship; then they drew him in to the deck, lowering and shortening, until half a dozen strong arms took his weight and laid him gently on the deck.

“There you are, my hearty, safe and sound,” said a bearded seaman.

“I am a King’s officer,” said Hornblower. “Where’s the officer of the watch?”

Wearing marvellous dry clothing, Hornblower found himself soon drinking hot rum‑and‑water in the cabin of Captain George Crome, of His Majesty’s frigate Syrtis. Crome was a thin pale man with a depressed expression, but Hornblower knew of him as a first‑rate officer.

“These Galicians make good seamen,” said Crome. “I can’t press them. But perhaps a few will volunteer sooner than go to a prison hulk.”

“Sir,” said Hornblower, and hesitated. It is ill for a junior lieutenant to argue with a post captain.

“Well?”

“Those men came to sea to save life. They are not liable to capture.”

Crome’s cold grey eyes became actively frosty — Hornblower was right about it being ill for a junior lieutenant to argue with a post captain.

“Are you telling me my duty, sir?” he asked.

“Good heavens no, sir,” said Hornblower hastily. “It’s a long time since I read the Admiralty Instructions and I expect my memory’s at fault.”

“Admiralty Instructions, eh?” said Crome, in a slightly different tone of voice.

“I expect I’m wrong, sir,” said Hornblower, “but I seem to remember the same instruction applied to the other two — the survivors.”

Even a post captain could only contravene Admiralty Instructions at his peril.

“I’ll consider it,” said Crome.

“I had the dead man sent on board, sir,” went on Hornblower, “in the hope that perhaps you might give him proper burial. Those Galicians risked their lives to save him, sir, and I expect they’d be gratified.”

“A Popish burial? I’ll give orders to give ’em a free hand.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hornblower.

“And now as regards yourself. You say you hold a commission as lieutenant. You can do duty in this ship until we meet the admiral again. Then he can decide. I haven’t heard of the Indefatigable paying off, and legally you may still be borne on her books.”

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