Ramage's Trial (30 page)

Ramage said impatiently: “I am not another Lord Nelson, Mr Southwick.”

“No sir, but hear me out. There are some admirals who listen to what you say
–
Admiral Clinton off Brest let you go to Devil's Island on what must to him have seemed a flimsy story. Lord Spencer when he was First Lord gave you opportunities, and now Lord St Vincent has not signed that court-martial order from the Board, even though he is First Lord.”

“He was attending a levee at letter-signing time,” Ramage said. “Four other members of the Board had their pens ready
–
three is a quorum.”

Southwick shook his head but said: “Have it your own way, sir. You can say you haven't had recognition for what you've done–”

“But I don't,” Ramage interrupted. “I've had
Gazettes
, I'm on the Post List: I don't need anything else.”

“Very well, sir, I'm wrong in that particular. But think of this: supposing you quit now, are found guilty but are not sentenced to death; dismissed from the Service, say. You go back and watch your tenants, course hares, milk the cows and make butter and cheese at St Kew, and smile at the young maids and kiss the hands of the wives of the local gentry
–
and then you find that Lady Sarah is alive and (because by then the war has ended) is about to be released and come home. Now you think what she'll find. A disgraced husband with no fight in him. The bottle, that'll be your mistress by then, sir, the bottle and not even bothering with a glass.

“Sorry, sir. Overstood the mark, I have, but I'm not sorry, but you haven't been yourself for many weeks, and we all know how you were waiting for news of Lady Sarah when you got to Plymouth, and instead you had this crash on your head. But right now those of us who've picked you up for dead several times in the past can't see any wound or blood, and we wonder why you've given up fighting. Don't seem like you, sir. Lady Sarah'd be ashamed.”

Ramage flushed but said nothing. There was nothing to say except to agree with Southwick, because the old man knew he was right and did not need Ramage to tell him so; in fact would be heartily embarrassed if he did.

Both Southwick and Aitken picked up their hats. Aitken put the list of witnesses on the desk while Southwick led the way to the door, muttering that they would be back later.

As the door closed behind them and Ramage noticed for the first time the whine of a high wind in the masts and riggings
–
it sounded as though a squall was sweeping down on them, and he saw rain running down the glass of the skylights
–
he realized that apart from the reference to recognition, there was nothing that Southwick had said that he disagreed with or could deny. It was a shameful admission to have to make, and he was ashamed that Southwick and Aitken had been forced into such a position. Then, thinking of their embarrassment
–
trying to put some backbone into their captain
–
he remembered phrases spoken by the Yorkes which had not, at the time, made much sense. Yes, and glances between Sidney and Alexis which he had intercepted and assumed were something that happened between brother and sister (not having a sister he did not know) but which he now recognized were glances of despair or silent pleas for help or support for something one of them had said.

He felt hot and ashamed: hot from the embarrassment that four people, one of them Alexis, had inspected him and found him weak, and ashamed that he had in fact mentally given up without openly admitting it. Given up, he told himself bitterly, because of the threat of being beaten by a madman, or the fear that, with Sarah probably dead, he had no purpose left.

No, he protested to himself, that was not the whole problem. A major part of it was the Articles of War. Anything reduced to paragraphs invariably ended up as nonsense when applied to a living situation. Admirals and captains, since the Byng court-martial and execution, had to fight any odds in battle, however stupid it might be and however much wiser it would be to wait for reinforcements or even decline action, because of a phrase in Article XII, the phrase that did for poor old Admiral Byng
–
“
shall not do his utmost
”. This could find a man guilty whether he was an admiral or a cook's mate. What was a man's “utmost” and who, not there at the time, could determine the circumstances?

It was curious how Southwick could read his mind. Ramage had sensed that the old man knew Ramage was not more frightened of the death sentence than he was of being killed in action against the French. Death was death, a big black curtain. But Southwick (and almost certainly Aitken too) knew that the man who accepted death in battle would be ashamed of dying at the hands of a firing squad carrying out the sentence of a court-martial
–
the fate of Admiral Byng, who had been outraged at the government's original intention, which was to hang him. All governments were capable of the vindictiveness that went with brutish stupidity (the treatment of Byng showed that).

 

The convoy sailed from the Sound next day and as Ramage and Southwick watched the ships weighing, shepherded by a frigate and two sloops, Southwick commented: “Admiral Goddard must be sure of himself…”

Ramage, thinking of the brief letter from the deputy judge advocate which was now locked in his drawer, nodded in agreement. “Still, they haven't realized yet who the Yorkes are. As a shipowner, Mr Yorke's word will carry some weight.”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” Southwick said. “But don't let's anticipate too much unhappiness. Have you heard from your father, sir?”

“Not yet: there hasn't been time. But I want him to stay out of sight. The Press will eventually make a great song and dance, although the
Morning Post
is likely to be on my side. It has never liked the Prince of Wales and perhaps it doesn't like Admiral Goddard either! Anyway, don't forget it takes about a week for news to reach London from here.”

Southwick gave one of his famous sniffs, this time clearly indicating contempt, and after looking round to make sure no one else was within earshot, said respectfully but firmly: “Never lose sight of one thing, sir: it's what happens at the trial on board the
Salvador del Mundo
that matters.

“The Press can say what it likes, mobs can throw half-bricks through the windows of the Admiralty (and I reckon they will, once they hear about it: you're a hero to them) and Parliament can debate it all when it sits again
–
too late to do us any good: just our luck that this happens during the recess
–
but once the court gives its verdict, it's all over.

“Once that verdict is pronounced, then it becomes a matter of pride: the court will never admit it made a mistake, nor will the Admiralty, nor will the government. The law officers of the Crown can turn themselves into murderers
–
judicial o' course
–
without a moment's thought. Look at the Earl of Hardwicke in the Byng affair. He was Lord Chancellor and planned the murder.”

“All three were newly created titles,” Ramage said jokingly. “His Grace the Duke's title dates from Byng's trial, 1756, and the Hardwicke earldom came a couple of years earlier. I can't remember when Anson had his barony
–
probably owed it to his wife's father, after he sailed round the world.”

“Well, my point is that once there's a verdict,” Southwick said doggedly, “no one in authority is ever going to change his mind. Poor Admiral Byng was a good example. The court itself later said they never intended that he should be executed, but just the same he was led out and shot on the quarterdeck of the
Monarch
.”

“I shall insist on the
Calypso
,” Ramage said lightly, “even though you'll have to get the quarterdeck holystoned afterwards.”

“Don't even joke about it, sir. Might I ask what that last letter was about?”

“Just a brief note from the deputy judge advocate telling me that several of the people I wanted to call as witnesses are no longer here and so won't be available for the trial.”

Southwick's bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Who are they?”

“A couple of the masters of merchant ships. They're not vital. The Yorkes have been notified
–
that other boat from the shore brought a note from them saying they'd each received a letter from the deputy judge advocate ‘desiring' them to attend to give evidence. I listed them by their surname and initials, so the deputy judge advocate assumed they were both men.”

“If he's like most deputy judge advocates I've ever seen,” Southwick said sourly, “he could look at Miss Yorke and still not know the difference! But did the idea of giving evidence for you make her feel nervous, sir?”

Ramage shook his head, laughing at the memory. “On the contrary. From what she said and the look in her eye, I almost felt sorry for Admiral Goddard.”

“They'll find a way, sir,” Southwick said crossly. “They'll find a way to prevent the Yorkes giving evidence, you'll see. The admiral will remember Mr Yorke from that business in Port Royal.”

“I know, but they want to help and I'm not going to disappoint them, so I put them on my list. They'll be able to see the trial, anyway.”

“No they won't, sir,” Southwick said. “They'll see the court assembling and the swearing in, but after that, as listed witnesses, they'll have to withdraw. You can't stay and listen to what's going on if you're going to give evidence later!”

Southwick pointed to another boat heading for the
Calypso
and about to be challenged by one of the Marine sentries. “Anyone would think we're the only ship in the Sound!”

Ramage looked at the boat through his telescope. “As far as Rear-Admiral Goddard is concerned, I expect we are! Another lieutenant
–
in his best uniform, too, complete with tarpaulin to keep off the spray. As the fishermen say: ‘I think we have a live one here!'”

As the boat came alongside, Southwick growled that he would go down and meet it to keep Aitken company, commenting: “It's one of those lieutenants that never go to sea: they dance attendance on the port admiral's wife and her dog, and any daughters and nieces…”

The lieutenant was tall and willowy: he stood up in the boat swaying like a slender plant in a gentle breeze. He had that foppish air that Ramage knew always infuriated Southwick and aroused the contempt of Aitken.

Five minutes later, Aitken brought the lieutenant up to the quarterdeck, saluted Ramage and said, making no attempt to disguise his voice: “This individual claims to be Lieutenant Hill, or Hillock, and he says he has business with you, sir.”

The lieutenant gave a languid salute and asked: “Captain Ramage?”

Aitken immediately said, his Scots accent very pronounced, always a sign that he was losing his temper: “You insert the word ‘sir' between the name and the question mark.”

The young man nodded graciously. “I do beg your pardon. You are Captain Ramage, sir?” When Ramage nodded, he held out the letter he had been carrying. “It is my duty to deliver this.”

Ramage took it and thanked the man, who continued standing there. “You may go,” Ramage said.

“Oh, I shall: but you come with me.” The lieutenant was smirking and Aitken, without a moment's hesitation, walked to the quarterdeck rail, looked down at the Marine sentry and shouted: “Pass the word for Mr Rennick.”

He continued waiting at the rail, obviously not intending to move until the Marine lieutenant arrived.

“I am Lieutenant Hill, sir,” the lieutenant said nervously.

“Are you, by Jove,” Ramage said. “Luck of the draw, I suppose.”

“Er, who is your first lieutenant summoning, sir?”

Ramage thought, anyone else would have used the word “calling” but this fellow would also use “prior to” instead of “before” and “decimate” when he meant almost destroyed, quite unaware that it meant one in ten, from the Latin
decimus
, a tenth.

“He's calling for the Marine lieutenant. He may be going to arrest you for insolence, but I think he suspects you're an impostor.”

“An impostor? Why, sir, I have just received my orders direct from Rear-Admiral Goddard and the deputy judge advocate. I, sir, am the provost marshal.”

“‘Upon the occasion',” Ramage said.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Hill said uncertainly.

“Someone has been rash enough to appoint you ‘Provost Marshal
upon the occasion'
. I was just correcting your temporary title.”

“Oh, yes indeed, and thank you, sir.”

“Not at all,” Ramage said politely, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Rennick and two Marines had arrived on the quarterdeck and Aitken was clearly bringing him up to date. Hill then noticed them and said even more nervously: “I do wish you would read the letter, sir: it explains everything.”

“I know what it says,” Ramage said. “My first lieutenant and I are trying to save you and your admiral some embarrassment.”

“Me, sir? And Admiral Goddard?” Hill hitched the scabbard of his sword round and stood stiffly. “My orders are to take you into custody and deliver you to the court on the appropriate day at the appropriate time.”

“Yes, indeed,” Ramage said agreeably, “but if either you or any senior officer–” Ramage was careful not to identify Goddard, “–think that you will take me from my own ship,
which I still
lawfully command
, and shut me up in a cell or cabin, then you had better bring a file of Marines. I shall present myself (in your company, of course) on board the
Salvador del Mundo
in good time for the trial on Monday. So unless you want to find yourself locked up on board this ship, guarded by Marines, under suspicion of being an impostor as neither my officers nor myself can credit that you
really
hold the King's commission, I suggest you leave the ship.”