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.'
And that was when the devil came to tempt Hornblower, as he took another sip of hot rum-and-water. The joy of being in a King's ship again was so keen as to be almost painful. To taste salt beef and biscuit again, and never again to taste beans and garbanzos. To have a ship's deck under his feet, to talk English. To be free to be free! There was precious little chance of ever falling again into Spanish hands. Hornblower remembered with agonizing clarity the flat depression of captivity. All he had to do was not to say a word. He had only to keep silence for a day or two. But the devil did not tempt him long, only until he had taken his next sip of rumand-water. Then he thrust the devil behind him and met Crome's eyes again.
'I'm sorry, sir,' he said.
'What for?'
'I am here on parole. I gave my word before I left the beach.'
'You did? That alters the case. You were within your rights, of course.'
The giving of parole by captive British officers was so usual as to excite no comment.
'It was in the usual form, I suppose?' went on Crome. 'That you would make no attempt to escape?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then what do you decide as a result?'
Of course Crome could not attempt to influence a gentleman's decision on a matter as personal as a parole.
'I must go back, sir,' said Hornblower, 'at the first opportunity.'
He felt the sway of the ship, he looked round the homely cabin, and his heart was breaking.
'You can at least dine and sleep on board to-night,' said Crome. 'I'll not venture inshore again until the wind moderates. I'll send you to Corunna under a flag of truce when I can. And I'll see what the Instructions say about those prisoners.'
It was a sunny morning when the sentry at Fort San Anton, in the harbour of Corunna, called his officer's attention to the fact that the British cruiser off the headland had hove-to out of gunshot and was lowering a boat. The sentry's responsibility ended there, and he could watch idly as his officer observed that the cutter, running smartly in under sail, was flying a white flag. She hove-to within musket shot, and it was a mild surprise to the sentry when in reply to the officer's hail someone rose up in the boat and replied in unmistakable Gallego dialect. Summoned alongside the landing slip, the cutter put ashore ten men and then headed out again to the frigate. Nine men were laughing and shouting; the tenth, the youngest, walked with a fixed expression on his face with never a sign of emotion his expression did not change even when the others, with obvious affection, put their arms round his shoulders. No one ever troubled to explain to the sentry who the imperturbable young man was, and he was not