'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.