'Who was the officer of the picket?'
'I was, sir,' said Lieutenant English, coming forward.
'Did you see those men fighting?' asked the commander.
'No, sir, not actually fighting. I saw them both immediately afterwards.'
'Were they drunk?'
'No, sir. They were excited, and the ship's steward's assistant's nose was bleeding badly.' There was no necessity for the officer to describe Pincher's injuries, for that youth had a remarkably fine specimen of a black eye.
'Did they resist the patrol?' the commander asked, turning to Petty Officer Bartlett.
'Not this man, sir. 'E came along quite quiet. The other man kicked up a bit o' a dust.'
'H'm! I see,' the commander observed with his lips twitching.—'What have you got to say?' he added, addressing Martin. 'First, why did you break your leave?'
'Please, sir,' Pincher explained with the air of an injured innocent, 'I 'adn't no intention o' doin' it. I comes down ter th' pier at seven o'clock an' finds the boat jest shoved orf. The clocks wus all wrong, sir. I sez ter meself I'll come orf by the late orficers' boat at 'arf-parst ten; so I goes back, sir, 'as a bit o' supper, an' then, at 'bout 'arf-parst nine, I meets Parkin'——