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'I'll be on deck again in ten minutes, Mr Young,' he said.

The chart-room was a minute compartment beside his cabin--cabin, chart-room, and the captain's pantry and head occupied the whole space of the Hotspur's tiny poop. Hornblower squeezed himself into the chair at the little table.

'Sir,' said Grimes. 'You didn't come when breakfast was ready.'

Here were the eggs. The rim of the whites was black; the yolks were obviously hard.

'Very well,' growled Hornblower. He could not blame Grimes for that.

'Coffee, sir?' said Grimes. With the chart-room door shut he was wedged against it hardly able to move. He poured from a jug into a cup, and Hornblower sipped. It was only just hot enough to drink, which meant that it was not hot enough, and it was muddy.

'See that it's hotter than this another time,' said Hornblower. 'And you'll have to strain it better than this.'

'Yes, sir.' Grimes voice seemed to come from a great distance. The man could hardly whisper. 'Sir--'

Hornblower looked up at him; Grimes was cold with fright.