“You have no papers,” he said.
He forced his lips into a sneer as he spoke; to the wretched men studying every line in his face his expression appeared quite unnatural, as indeed it was. And Hornblower was gambling a little when he said what he did. If the prizemaster had been able to produce any papers the whole line of attack would have to be altered; but it was not much of a gamble. Hornblower was certain when he spoke that if Lebon had had papers in his pocket he would have already mentioned them, asking someone to dive into his pocket for them. That would be the first reaction of any Frenchman whose identity had been put in question.
“No,” said Lebon, crestfallen. It was hardly likely that he would have, when engaged on an ordinary operation of war.
“Then you hang,” said Hornblower. “All of you. One by one.”
The laugh he forced himself to produce sounded positively inhuman, horrible. Anyone hearing it would be justified in thinking that he was inspired by the anticipated pleasure of watching the death struggles of a dozen men. The white‑haired captain of the Amelia Jane could not bear the prospect, and came forward to enter into the discussion.
“Sir,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
“I am going to attend to my own business, sir,” said Hornblower, striving to throw into his voice all the harshness he had ever heard employed by all the insolent officers he had met during his service. “May I ask you to be kind enough to do the same?”
“But you can’t be meaning to hang the poor devils,” went on the captain.
“But that is what I do mean.”
“But not in my ship, sir — not now — not without trial.”
“In your ship, sir, which you allowed to be captured. And now. Pirates taken red‑handed can be hanged instantly, as you know, sir. And that is what I shall do.”
It was a stroke of good fortune that the captain should have entered into the discussion. His appearance of sick dismay and the tone of his protests were convincingly genuine — they would never have been so if he had been admitted previously to a planned scheme. Hornblower’s attitude towards him was brutal, but it was for the good of the cause.
“Sir,” persisted the captain, “I’m sure they’re only privateersmen —”
“Please refrain from interfering with a King’s officer in the execution of his duty. You two men, there, come here.”
The two of the crew of the gig that he indicated approached obediently. Probably they had seen hangings before, along with every kind of brutality in a brutal service. But the imminent certainty of taking personal part in a hanging obviously impressed them. There was some reluctance visible in their expressions, but the hard discipline of the service would make certain they would obey the orders of this one man, unarmed and outnumbered.
Hornblower looked along the line of faces. Momentarily he felt a horrid sickness in his stomach as it occurred to him to wonder how he would be feeling if he really was selecting a victim.
“I’ll have that one first,” he said, pointing.
The bull‑throated swarthy man whom he indicated paled and shuddered; backing away he tried to shelter himself among his fellows. They were all speaking at once, jerking their arms frantically against the bonds that secured their wrists behind them.
“Sir!” said Lebon. “Please — I beg of you — I implore —”
Hornblower condescended to spare him a glance, and Lebon went on in a wild struggle against the difficulties of language and the handicap of not being free to gesticulate.
“We are privateersmen. We fight for the Empire, for France.” Now he was on his knees, his face lifted. As he could not use his hands he was actually nuzzling with his mouth against the skirts of Hornblower’s pea‑jacket. “We surrendered. We did not fight. We caused no death.”
“Take this man away from me,” said Hornblower, withdrawing out of reach.
But Lebon on his knee followed him over the deck, nuzzling and pleading
“Captain,” said the English captain, interceding once again. “Can’t you at least wait and land ’em for trial? If they’re pirates it’ll be proved quick enough.”