The midshipman turned a wan face towards him, gazed at him with red and swollen eyes, and shrank back.
"Queer!" murmured Lieutenant Ingoldsby in perplexity. "I'm almost certain I've seen that boy before, somewhere!"
He went below to plan how the additions to his ship's company could be accommodated and to send up provisions for the boats. The British sailors were brought on board.
"The admiral will share my cabin," he said. "Bring him down, Desmond."
"He refuses to come, sir," declared Lieutenant Desmond, "or, rather, the middy refuses for him. The middy speaks wonderfully good English."
Ingoldsby, still more puzzled, went back on deck. The admiral was now sitting up in the stern sheets of the boat, blinking his inflamed eyes, and looking exceedingly miserable.
"Won't you come on board, sir?" Ingoldsby invited, speaking in the best German he could muster.
It was the midshipman who answered.
"No," he said. "We will not be indebted to our enemies. It would be better for us to die here and now."
Lieutenant Ingoldsby gave a curious start of recognition and stood staring into the youth's haggard face.