Hornblower studied Cobb’s expression intently. The man was speaking the truth, at least as far as the truth was apparent to him. He was not wilfully distorting facts because of personal prejudice or as a result of some old feud. If his action, and his report on it, had been influenced by jealousy or natural cruelty, he was unaware of it. A court martial would be impressed by his reliability as a witness. And he remained unperturbed under Hornblower’s steady stare.
“Thank you, Mr Cobb,” said Hornblower at last. “I am glad to have had such a clear statement of the facts. That will be all for the present.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” answered Cobb, shooting his great bulk up out of the chair with an astonishing mixture of agility and military rigidity. His heels clashed as his hand swept up in the salute; he turned about with parade precision, and marched out of the room with resounding steps as precise as if timed by his own metronome.
Gerard and Spendlove came back into the room to find Hornblower staring at nothing, but Hornblower shook off his preoccupation instantly. It would never do for his subordinates to guess that he was moved by human feelings over a mere administrative matter.
“Draft an answer to Sir Thomas for my signature, if you please, Mr Spendlove. It can be a mere acknowledgement, but then add that there is no possibility of immediate action, because I cannot assemble the necessary number of captains at: present with so many ships detached.”
Except in emergency a court where sentence of death might be passed could not be convened unless there were seven captains and commanders at least available as judges. That gave him time to consider what action he should take.
“This man’s in the dockyard prison, I suppose,” went on Hornblower. “Remind me to take a look at him on my way through the dockyard today.”
“Aye aye, My Lord,” said Gerard, careful to betray no surprise at an Admiral allotting time to visit a mutinous marine.
Yet it was not far out of Hornblower’s way. When the time came he strolled slowly down through the beautiful garden of Admiralty House, and Evans, the disabled sailor who was head gardener, came in a jerky hurry to open the wicket gate in the fifteen-foot palisade that protected the dockyard from thieves, in this portion of its course dividing the Admiralty garden from the dockyard. Evans took off his hat and stood bobbing by the gate, his pigtail bobbing at his back, and his swarthy face split by a beaming smile.
“Thank you, Evans,” said Hornblower, passing through.
The prison stood isolated at the edge of the dockyard, a small cubical building of mahogany logs, set diagonally in a curious fashion, possibly – probably – more than one layer. It was roofed with palm thatch a yard or more thick, which might at least help to keep it cool under the glaring sun. Gerard had run on ahead from the gate – with Hornblower grinning at the thought of the healthful sweat the exercise would produce – to find the officer-in-charge and obtain the key to the prison, and Hornblower stood by while the padlock was unfastened and he could look into the darkness within. Hudnutt had risen to his feet at the sound of the key, and when he stepped forward into the light he was revealed as a painfully young man, his cheeks hardly showing a trace of his one-day’s beard. He was naked except for a waistcloth, and the officer-in-charge clucked with annoyance.
“Get some clothes on and be decent,” he growled, but Hornblower checked him.
“No matter. I’ve very little time. I want this man to tell me why he is under charges. You others keep out of earshot.”
Hudnutt had been taken by surprise by this sudden visit, but he was a bewildered person in any case, obviously. He blinked big blue eyes in the sunlight and wriggled his gangling form with embarrassment.
“What happened? Tell me,” said Hornblower.
“Well, sir -”
Hornblower had to coax the story out of him, but bit by bit it confirmed all that Cobb had said.