“Do we go?” asked McCool.

“Yes.”

“Then I can leave this delicious food without any breach of good manners.”

Up the ladders to the main deck, two marines leading, McCool following them, Hornblower following him, and two ship’s corporals bringing up the rear.

“I have frequently traversed these decks,” said McCool, looking round him, “with less ceremonial.”

Hornblower was watching carefully lest he should break away and throw himself into the sea.

The court martial. Gold lace and curt efficient routine, as the Renown swung to her anchors and the timbers of the ship transmitted the sound of the rigging vibrating in the gale. Evidence of identification. Curt questions.

“Nothing I could say would be listened to amid these emblems of tyranny,” said McCool in reply to the President of the Court.

It needed no more than fifteen minutes to condemn a man to death: “The sentence of this Court is that you, Barry Ignatius McCool, be hanged by the neck—”

The storeroom to which Hornblower escorted McCool back was now a condemned cell. A hurrying midshipman asked for Hornblower almost as soon as they arrived there.

“Captain’s compliments, sir, and he’d like to speak to you.”

“Very good,” said Hornblower.

“The admiral’s with him, sir,” added the midshipman in a burst of confidence.

RearAdmiral the Honourable Sir William Cornwallis was indeed in the captain’s cabin, along with Payne and Captain Sawyer. He started to go straight to the point the moment Hornblower had been presented to him.

“You’re the officer charged with carrying out the execution?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now look’ee here, young sir—”

Cornwallis was a popular admiral, strict but kindly, and of unflinching courage and towering professional ability. Under his nickname of ‘Billy Blue’ he was the hero of uncounted anecdotes and ballads. But having got so far in what he was intending to say, he betrayed a hesitation alien to his character. Hornblower waited for him to continue.