He was so troubled that he could sleep no more, and dressed and went on deck very early. As soon as the regular routine was gone through, the admiral sent for him into the cabin, where he asked an exact account of everything, especially in regard to Black’s attack on him.
Brydell at once told him that he felt convinced Black was Esdaile. This troubled Admiral Beaumont as it had troubled Brydell. He had sincerely respected poor Grubb, and the spectacle of his boy’s downfall was a painful one.
“I have issued an order this morning for a court-martial, and you will probably be the first witness called,” said he.
“Admiral,” said Brydell after a moment, “I would like your permission to see Black; I don’t care anything for him, but I promised my poor old friend to do what I could for his son, and I’d like to tell him that I haven’t any animosity toward him.”
The admiral gave his permission and Brydell went below to the dark place where Black was in irons. He was sitting up with a scowl on his face, and even in the dim light of the gruesome place Brydell saw that it was Esdaile.
“I’m sorry to see you here,” said he when the marine on guard had turned his back. “The more so that I believe your father was a man I loved very much.”
“I’m Esdaile, if that is what you mean,” answered the supposed Black coolly. “Of course I’ve gone to the dogs, driven to it by being driven out of my class. My money went a long time ago, and as I knew no way of making a living but by shipping before the mast, here I am.”
Brydell said not a word, but the thought of poor Grubb, his simple honesty, his mistaken indulgence to his boy, his enduring poverty, and privation all his life for this boy almost overcame him. Esdaile, watching Brydell’s face, saw he was deeply moved, and so touching is the sight of magnanimity and sympathy that few hearts can withstand it. Esdaile’s could not.
After a few moments he broke the painful pause, saying hesitatingly and with something like a sob between his words, “And when I saw you standing there last night, an officer, and with such a chance for distinction, I couldn’t help hating you; and when you spoke to me sharply about my duty, I went crazy, I believe, and struck you. Now I suppose I’ll have five or ten years in prison and after that I’ll take my choice between the workhouse and the jail.”
Brydell, like most courageous and upright men, had a tender heart, and the words of the man before him, scarcely a year older than himself, gave him a powerful shock.