Ten minutes before, at two bells, in the middle watch Bush and Roberts had reported to Buckland in his cabin in obedience to the captain’s order. A wink, a gesture, a whisper, and the appointment to meet here was made; it was an utterly fantastic state of affairs that the lieutenants of a King’s ship should have to act in such a fashion for fear of spies and eavesdroppers, but it had been necessary. Then they had dispersed and by devious routes and different hatchways had made their way here. Hornblower, relieved by Smith on watch, had preceded them.
“We mustn’t be here long,” whispered Roberts.
Even by his whisper, even in the dark, one could guess at his nervousness. There could be no doubt about this being a mutinous assembly. They could all hang for what they were doing.
“Suppose we declare him unfit for command?” whispered Buckland. “Suppose we put him in irons?”
“We’d have to do it quick and sharp if we do it at all,” whispered Hornblower. “He’ll call on the hands and they might follow him. And then—”
There was no need for Hornblower to go on with that speech. Everyone who heard it formed a mental picture of corpses swaying at the yardarms.
“Supposing we do it quick and sharp?” agreed Buckland. “Supposing we get him into irons?”
“Then we go on to Antigua,” said Roberts.
“And a courtmartial,” said Bush, thinking as far ahead as that for the first time in this present crisis.
“Yes,” whispered Buckland.