Nat at once hurried off, while Captain Painton went into the office of another of the officials of the dockyard.
"The service is going to the dogs," he said. "Here is a young lieutenant, who from his appearance can't have passed more than a year, pitchforked over the head of heaven knows how many seniors, and placed as acting commander of a thirtysix-gun frigate, French prize, sir. Just look up the records of the lieutenants under him."
"One is a lieutenant of fifteen years' service, the other of twelve."
"It is monstrous, scandalous. This sort of thing is destructive of all discipline, and proves that everything is to go by favouritism. Just at the outbreak of the war it is enough to throw cold water on the spirits of all who are hoping to distinguish themselves."
Ignorant of the storm that had been excited in the mind of the flag-captain, Nat was already on his way, having as soon as he landed sent his coxswain to order a post-chaise to be got ready for starting in a quarter of an hour. It was eight o'clock when he dropped anchor, by nine he was on the road, and by handsomely tipping the post-boys he drew up at the Admiralty at half-past four.
"What name shall I say, sir?" the doorkeeper asked.
"Acting Commander Glover, with despatches from Jamaica."
The admiral looked up with amazement as Nat was announced. The latter had not mounted the second epaulette to which as commander he was entitled, and the admiral on his first glance thought that the attendant must have made a mistake.
"Did I understand, sir, that you are a commander?"
"An acting one only, sir. I have come home in command of the Spartane, a prize mounting thirty-six guns. The admiral was good enough to appoint me to the acting rank in order that I might bring her home with despatches, and the report respecting her capture by the brigantine Agile, of ten guns, which I had the honour to command."