Ramage's Trial (31 page)

Hill took one more look at Ramage's deep-set eyes, which seemed to be boring into him, saw that Aitken, the Marine lieutenant and the two Marines were now marching towards him, gave a hasty salute and bolted for the quarterdeck ladder, having the presence of mind to grab his sword scabbard so that it should not trip him up.

As Aitken reached him, Ramage smiled. “Your bird has flown, but you timed it well. Mind you, we might have a file of Marines coming on board in an hour, but…”

“I have my doubts, sir: I think we've made the point!”

 

Promptly at seven o'clock on Monday morning Ramage followed Aitken, Wagstaffe, Bowen and Southwick down into the cutter. A cloudless sky and a light wind from the northeast left the Sound calm and the row to the great
Salvador del Mundo
, anchored half a mile away, would have been a pleasant outing, but for its purpose.

Jackson climbed from thwart to thwart, draping a piece of tarpaulin over the officers. The routine letter from Goddard to the officers who would form the court and those due to give evidence ended with the sentence, “and it is expected you will attend in your uniform frocks.” This set stewards busy pressing their masters' frock coats and white breeches. Aitken, Wagstaffe and Southwick found their best stockings had been the dining-room for moths so they were now wearing spare pairs belonging to Ramage. All four men had their swords, but Ramage alone had been careful to make sure that the two clips on the scabbard worked freely.

The boys who looked after the officers, and Ramage's steward Silkin, had been busy shining shoes and sword scabbards, and all of them had taken care in tying their stocks.

The result was interesting, Ramage thought, and as they sat in the sternsheets, being draped with Jackson's tarpaulins, Southwick looked (if one ignored the uniform) like a very prosperous farmer setting off on Lady Day to settle up some accounts; Aitken, from his serious expression and rather long face, could be a clever young surgeon not long ago qualified at Edinburgh. Wagstaffe looked just like a naval officer. Bowen, dressed in a pearl-grey coat with matching breeches, had the vaguely debauched air of a portly landowner come up to town either for a few days' gaming or to spend a night or two with his mistress.

Jackson looked at them all carefully as he placed the tarpaulins, watching for missing buttons, creased stocks, grease spots that might have been missed, and his memory went back several years, as though slipping back the pages of a book. He realized with a shock that all four men had aged: for years he had seen them every day and, he supposed, never really saw them, instead seeing only what he expected to see. But Mr Ramage was no longer the deceptive-looking young lieutenant: of course he was still taller than he looked, his shoulders were still wider than one expected. Those brown eyes were still deep-sunk under eyebrows that if anything were bushier. Hair still black and even with his hat on there was no sign of grey hair, except for that tiny circle of white that grew where the pistol ball caught him down in Curaçao. High cheekbones, slightly curved nose, face still tanned from the Tropics, a small web of wrinkles at the outer corners of the eyes caused by having them half closed against the bright sun. Yes, he had matured rather than aged; now he looked what he was, the heir to one of the oldest earldoms in the kingdom, and one of the most famous frigate captains in the Navy. But all that was not helping him now. He was about to be court-martialled, Jackson knew without a moment's doubt, because the vendetta against his father, Admiral the Earl of Blazey, was still being waged by old men with long memories and younger men like Rear-Admiral Goddard who were trying to advance themselves by pandering to them. How long would all this go on? Jackson was far from sure. When the old Admiral retired, the vendetta had already passed on to people like Rear-Admiral Goddard, so the old grudge against the father was already born again and carried on as a vendetta against Mr Ramage, who had been a child when it all started.

Jackson pictured Rear-Admiral Goddard and for a moment felt sorry for him: the American knew instinctively that Goddard was one of the men who could only win by cheating. Jackson had long ago learned that certain men were so devious that it would never occur to them that it was possible (or indeed desirable) to be straightforward. They were the men who, asked the time of day, consulted their watches and gave a wrong answer in case the correct one gave the other person some advantage.

And Mr Aitken. Like whisky, he had matured and although he looked more dour each month, he had in fact long ago relaxed as he gained confidence. Mr Southwick
–
he had aged but only because his hair was whiter. But Mr Bowen had not changed much. Yes, he looked a lot better than the day he joined the
Triton
brig (that showed how long ago it was) a drunken sot who within weeks did not drink a drop, except water. What a time and a cure that had been! Dragons all over the deckhead, screams that made the men's blood run cold. But the cure, devised by Mr Ramage and Mr Southwick, had worked and to look at Mr Bowen now, no one could guess that drink had ever been a problem. And Jackson doubted if the Navy had a better or more popular surgeon.

Jackson scrambled back aft and took the tiller. At least the officers would now arrive on board the
Salvador del Mundo
with their uniforms unmarked by splashes of water thrown up when one of the men caught a crab. No matter what, someone always caught a crab…

Ramage looked across at the
Salvador del Mundo
as Jackson gave the orders to start the cutter spurting through the water. “Saviour of the World”
–
well, until she was captured by Sir John Jervis (as he then was: now an earl with his title taken from his victory) at the battle on Valentine's day off Cape St Vincent in 1797. Then she flew the flag of Spain, carried 112 guns, and was one of the largest ships in the world. Not as big as the
Commerce de Marseille
, of course, taken by Lord Hood at Toulon.

For a few moments Ramage recalled his own role in that St Valentine's day battle when he had lost the
Kathleen
cutter but had prevented the Spanish fleet escaping. Southwick, Jackson, Stafford, Rossi
–
they were all there and saw the great
Salvador
captured; they had all escaped death from drowning by a miracle as the little
Kathleen
had been rolled over. What were they thinking now?

Ramage's thoughts went on to the
Commerce
. It was ironic that the biggest ship in the Royal Navy should have been captured from the French and was now usually commanded by a lowly lieutenant because she was being used as a prison ship.

Ramage recalled that after being captured she was first taken to Portsmouth, where the dockyard authorities found that there was not a dock in Portsmouth big enough to take her, so she had to be sailed round to Plymouth. A pity such a great ship could not be sent to sea against her former owners: it was a sad thing that she would end her days in the Hamoaze, where she was now anchored and still home to French seamen, although as a prison.

Idle thoughts but they helped keep his mind occupied. His life seemed to be hedged round with signs saying “
Do Not
”. But his brain ignored the signs with the wilfulness of a confirmed trespasser
–
or poacher, rather. Do not think about Sarah. Yes, that was all very well, but what if he was thinking about her thinking about him? Was she alive to think about him? What had happened to the
Murex
? Why had no news come through from France? Normally the French agent for prisoners, stationed in London, received the names so that negotiations for exchanges could be started, but in the case of the
Murex
there had been nothing. Perhaps the system working before the Treaty of Amiens was taking some time to get going again…it was a possibility; no more than that.

Now the damned trial. To be fair (not that he wanted to be) this was not Goddard's fault or responsibility: sheer chance had placed him as the rear-admiral at Plymouth at the time Shirley had seen fit to go off his head and accuse the captain of the
Calypso
. Damn, damn, damn the man: Ramage felt murderous towards Shirley because of the effect the coming trial could have on the future of Aitken and the other lieutenants. The master was old enough to retire if the case went against him, and probably would, and Bowen could (and probably would) go back to private practice, but the rest of them, even if they did not give evidence, Martin, Kenton and young Orsini, would for ever be known as having been associated with the “
Calypso
Affair” (although perhaps it would become known as the “
Jason
Affair”). The Byng affair had affected (disastrously) the behaviour of senior officers in battle for fifty years, because of that “did keep back” phrase in the Articles of War. Would the Ramage verdict (as it was bound to become known) merely emphasize that unfit captains could not be replaced at sea except on cast-iron medical grounds? In fact none of them could even remember such a case: if only they could, they would have a precedent to cite at the coming trial.

They
–
which meant he, Aitken, Wagstaffe and Southwick
–
had spent almost a whole afternoon discussing the merits of hiring a counsel. It was allowed, but was it wise? The court would comprise no more than thirteen and no fewer than five of the senior officers available in the port, and they would be ordinary naval officers, captains and perhaps flag officers, with no legal training. How would they view an accused officer who was represented by a lawyer? Would they consider that the lawyer was an indication that he had something to hide? Would they be prejudiced against the lawyer who would (or should) know the law
–
and who might, in fact, trip them or the deputy judge advocate on points of the law?

Aitken, who had not yet been involved in a court-martial either as a witness or defendant (or, for that matter, prosecutor, even of a refractory seaman), had wanted him to get a lawyer, but Southwick had argued against, saying he was sure it would antagonize the court. Ramage had listened to all their arguments, added several of his own which had provoked more discussion, and then pointed out that even if they had decided to engage a counsel there was no time to find one in London and get him down here to Plymouth.

And already the cutter was going alongside the
San Joseph
, another of Lord St Vincent's prizes from the same battle as the
Salvador del Mundo
, to collect Lieutenant Hill, the “provost marshal upon the occasion”. The day after the fellow had fled from the
Calypso
without his prisoner under arrest, a letter had arrived for Ramage from the commander-in-chief, written as though Hill had never been on board the
Calypso
and Aitken had never called for Rennick. It said that Lieutenant Hill of the
San Joseph
had been appointed provost marshal “upon the occasion” and would be responsible for taking Captain Ramage into custody and delivering him “in due time” for his trial, but in view of Captain Ramage's duties as the commanding officer of His Majesty's ship the
Calypso
, it had been thought fit that Captain Ramage should remain a prisoner at large on board the
Calypso
but should surrender himself to the provost marshal at least an hour before the time appointed for the trial.

Even as the cutter came alongside the
San Joseph
, Ramage could guess that petty minds were at work, and that none of them was going to miss an opportunity to try to humiliate Captain Ramage. The trouble with petty minds, Ramage had long ago decided, was that they contained only petty thoughts.

As the cutter came alongside and painter and sternfast were secured, a voice bellowed down from on deck: “Captain Ramage come on board.”

Ramage leaned over and after a slight wink said to Southwick: “Just react to whatever I say; we'll have some sport with these fellows. Now,” he said, raising his voice, “I've just remembered that I've left some documents on board the
Calypso
that I need for the trial.”

Southwick slapped his knee. “Well, I'm blessed, sir: we'll have to go back and fetch them.”

“We shall indeed, and we'll have to hurry or we'll be late.”

By now Hill had appeared at an open gunport and he said, with as much sternness as he dare muster; “Captain Ramage
–
you're being hailed from on deck.”

“Am I? Well, whatever they want, it must wait: I'm under an arrest and the provost marshal has to deliver me–” he stopped and dug into his pocket for his watch. He flipped open the front, then closed it down again and put it back in his pocket. “–to the court on board the
Salvador del Mundo
in half an hour. I've forgotten some papers so I have to return to the
Calypso
. Boarding the
San
Joseph
will only waste time and I've no wish to get the provost marshal into trouble.”

“But you can't go back to the
Calypso
,” Hill yelped, “that–”

“Then you'll have to explain to the court why you prevented Captain Ramage making any interrogatories or presenting his defence, apart from explaining that you kept the court waiting because you insisted on Captain Ramage being taken on board the
San Joseph
.”

“Ordering you on board is not my idea, sir,” Hill protested. “I had–”

“Well, you'd better run along and explain your problems to whoever had the idea and owns the voice up there on the maindeck. I'd like to know the names and ranks, too, so that I can report them to the president of the court.”

Hill vanished and, in what seemed only a few seconds, was scrambling down into the boat. “If you are ready, sir,” he said nervously, “we can go back to the
Calypso
.”