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Four bells was the time set for the court martial; at nine o’clock Casement sent for Facey and told him he must prepare to defend the prisoner.

“Burder will prosecute for the Queen,” he said. “Pickthorn will act as clerk. Sennett, Roche, and I will compose the court.”

The first lieutenant was overcome. “I don’t think I can, sir,” he said feebly. “I never did such a thing in my life; I wouldn’t know where to begin, or to leave off, for that matter.”

“You can leave off when we hang your prisoner,” Casement returned, with his bull-doggish air. “Of course, it’s all a damned farce,” he went on. “Somebody’s got to act for the nigger; it’s printed that way in the book.”

“I’ll move for an adjournment,” said Facey.

“I’ll be hanged if you will,” said the captain. “It’s a beastly business, and we have got to put it through.”

Facey groaned.

“Well, do you think I like it?” said Casement.

The lieutenant saluted and walked away to find his prisoner.

Billy was clanking his chains in a canvas hutch alongside the sick-bay, where a man lay dying. He looked up as Facey approached, and his face brightened as he recognised his captor. He was a good-looking young negro, and the symmetry of his limbs, and his air of intelligence and capacity, stood out in pleasant contrast with the rest of his comrades in Sunflower Bay.