“Good,” said Bush; he was not quite sure what his torso was, but he was not going to ask Sankey to explain all these anatomical terms.
This morning Sankey had hardly left him before he returned with a visitor.
“Captain Cogshill to inspect you,” he said. “Here he is, sir.”
Cogshill looked down at Bush upon the bed.
“Doctor Sankey gives me the good news that you are recovering rapidly,” he said.
“I think I am, sir.”
“The admiral has ordered a court of inquiry, and I am nominated a member of the court. Naturally your evidence will be required, Mr Bush, and it is my duty to ascertain how soon you will be able to give it.”
Bush felt a little wave of apprehension ripple over him. A court of inquiry was only a shade less terrifying than the court‑martial to which it might lead. Even with a conscience absolutely clear Bush would rather — far rather — handle a ship on a lee shore in a gale than face questions and have to give answers, submit his motives to analysis and misconstruction, and struggle against the entanglements of legal forms. But it was medicine that had to be swallowed, and the sensible thing was to hold his nose and gulp it down, however nauseating.
“I’m ready at any time, sir.”
“Tomorrow I shall take out the sutures, sir,” interposed Sankey. “You will observe that Mr Bush is still weak. He was entirely exsanguinated by his wounds.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean he was drained of his blood. And the ordeal of taking out the sutures —”
“The stitches, do you mean?”
“The stitches, sir. The ordeal of removing them may momentarily retard Mr Bush’s recovery of his strength. But if the court will indulge him with a chair when he gives his evidence —”
“That can certainly be granted.”
“Then in three days from now he can answer any necessary questions.”
“Next Friday, then?”
“Yes, sir. That is the earliest. I could wish it would be later.”
“To assemble a court on this station,” explained Cogshill with his cold courtesy, “is not easy, when every ship is away on necessary duty so much of the time. Next Friday will be convenient.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sankey.
It was some sort of gratification to Bush, who had endured so much of Sankey’s chatter, to see him almost subdued in his manner when addressing someone as eminent as a captain.
“Very well, then,” said Cogshill. He bowed to Bush. “I wish you the quickest of recoveries.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Bush.
Even lying on his back he could not check the instinctive attempt to return the bow, but his wounds hurt him when he started to double up in the middle and prevented him from appearing ridiculous. With Cogshill gone Bush had time to worry about the future; the fear of it haunted him a little even while he ate his dinner, but the lob‑lolly boy who came to take away the remains ushered in another visitor, the sight of whom drove away the black thoughts. It was Hornblower, standing at the door with a basket in his hand, and Bush’s face lit up at the sight of him.
“How are you, sir?” asked Homblower.
They shook hands, each reflecting the pleasure of the others greeting.
“All the better for seeing you,” said Bush, and meant it.
“This is my first chance of coming ashore,” said Hornblower. “You can guess that I’ve been kept busy.”
Bush could guess easily enough; it was no trouble to him to visualise all the duties that had been heaped on Hornblower, the necessity to complete Renown again with powder and shot, food and water, to clean up the ship after the prisoners had been removed, to eradicate the traces of the recent fighting, to attend to the formalities connected with the disposal of the prizes, the wounded, the sick, and the effects of the dead. And Bush was eager to hear the details, as a housewife might be when illness had removed her from the supervision of her household. He plied Hornblower with questions, and the technical discussion that ensued prevented Hornblower for some time from indicating the basket he had brought.