Summary

Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.: A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day

Captain Helston himself, gaunt and thin, sat at the head, his long, thin face haggard in the electric light, his right hand nervously fidgeting with some papers in front of him, and his left arm still bandaged to his side, his empty sleeve sewn across his chest.
At the other end of the table sat Hunter of the Strong Arm, a man with a great red face and great red hands, a clumsy-looking giant, more grieved at the loss of his men than elated at the destruction of the pirate cruiser. A typical bluff, good-hearted sailor was he, not devoid of brains, but seldom troubling to use them.
Source: Gutenberg

Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.: A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day

Captain Hunter and the Commander had been all this time walking up and down the plateau as if it were the Laird's quarter-deck, or standing on the edge and watching to see where our big shells were falling. They and Mr. Gibbins, who had to climb up to the sighting-platform each time the gun fired, were the only people much exposed to danger. The Commander did not take shelter, I am sure, because the Captain did not, and to give the men confidence; Captain Hunter because he thoroughly enjoyed the excitement.
Source: Gutenberg

Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.: A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day

Far from exulting in its success, Helston's squadron that night was sunk in gloom darker than the acrid clouds of black smoke sweeping through its rigging, for the names of the killed and wounded had been signalled with flash-lamps from the hill, and posted up on each lower deck was the grim list, the roll of killed beginning with Captain Hunter, idolized by officers and men alike, and ending with Gunner Bolton, the corner man in the Laird's Nigger Minstrel Troupe.
Source: Gutenberg

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