He had not the fame which enabled some captains to fill their ships with enthusiastic volunteers, and he was devoid of the personality which might have made enthusiasts out of the sullen pressed men whom the press gangs were bringing in from day to day to complete the ship's complement. His officers saw little of him, and did not love what they saw. Hornblower, summoned to his cabin for his first interview, was not impressed—a middle‑aged man at a table covered with papers, with the hollow and yellow cheeks of prolonged illness.

'Mr Hornblower,' he said formally, 'I am glad to have this opportunity of welcoming you on board my ship.'

'Yes, sir,' said Hornblower—that seemed more appropriate to the occasion than 'Aye aye, sir', and a junior midshipman seemed to be expected to say one or the other on all occasions.

'You are—let me see—seventeen?' Captain Keene picked up the paper which apparently covered Hornblower's brief official career.

'Yes, sir.'

'July 4th, 1776,' mused Keene, reading Hornblower's date of birth to himself. 'Five years to the day before I was posted as captain. I had been six years as lieutenant before you were born.'

'Yes, sir,' agreed Hornblower—it did not seem the occasion for any further comment.

'A doctor's son—you should have chosen a lord for your father if you wanted to make a career for yourself.'

'Yes, sir.'

'How far did your education go?'

'I was a Grecian at school, sir.'

'So you can construe Xenophon as well as Cicero?'

'Yes, sir. But not very well, sir.'

'Better if you knew something about sines and cosines. Better if you could foresee a squall in time to get t'gallants in. We have no use for ablative absolutes in the Navy.'

'Yes, sir,' said Hornblower.