Anderson gazed at him open-mouthed for some seconds, then sat down.
‘You may leave the chair, Mr McGann,’ Renwick said.
‘For God’s sake don’t excite them,’ Rod begged, as Lynch prepared to make his speech. ‘They’re pretty annoyed already.’
‘Because they know they don’t have a leg to stand on,’ Lynch insisted. ‘I’m just going to ram the point home.’ He stood up. ‘Your Honours, Lieutenant Bascom has been charged with hazarding his ship and the lives of his crew by behaving in an improvident, negligent, and irresponsible manner, in taking his ship into waters he knew to be shoal, for which he possessed no charts, and in deteriorating weather conditions. My learned friend,’ he glanced at Anderson, ‘has made much of the point that although the American schoonerMontgomery, under hergallant commander, did not hesitate to lead the way, in pursuance of orders to destroy the pirate, orders which Lieutenant Bascom had also received, this in no way mitigates the charges against Lieutenant Bascom; rather it enhances them, and he has also suggested that were Lieutenant McGann a British naval officer he also would be sitting at this table today. Lieutenant Anderson makes the point that no commander has the right to risk his ship and the lives of his men in such a manner, that is, entering uncharted and clearly hazardous waters, even in pursuit of an enemy. Gentlemen, I would, with respect, like to refute that statement.’
He paused to take a sip of water, while the court waited, the three judges, so far as Rod could estimate from their expressions, not yet the least impressed by what he had to say.
‘May I ask you to cast your memories back just ninety-nine years,’ Lynch continued, ‘to the afternoon of 20 November, 1759, when one of our most distinguished admirals, Edward Hawke, led an entire fleet into the shoals and rocks of Quiberon Bay in Brittany, in pursuit of a French squadron. Admiral Hawke possessed no chart of the area, and no pilot, and a full gale was already blowing, and liable to increase. He reasoned, however, that where the French, fleeing before him, could take their ships, he could take his. He did not question the superior ability of his men to handle their vessels, even in gale force conditions and in such narrow waters, more efficiently than the French. He ventured, and gained the day. Not without loss, however. Two British line-of-battleships struck rocks and were stranded. But Lord Hawke was hailed as a hero for upholding the best traditions of British seamanship.’
‘We are aware of our naval history, Mr Lynch,’ Captain Renwick observed. ‘There is a slight difference, however, between Lord Hawke’s action and that of Lieutenant Bascom: Lord Hawke, as you have said, gained the day.’
‘Well, sir,’ Lynch agreed. ‘He did. But can ultimate success be the sole criterion by which we judge an action, the taking of a decision? I should hate to think we have become so pragmatic in our approach to justice. And I must remind you that Lord Hawke’s victory was only gained at the cost of two ships, sunk not by enemy action, but by stranding on the rocks. I regard Lieutenant Bascom as having behaved in exactly the same manner as did his lordship, but being so unfortunate as to experience the fate of the captains of those two ships.’
‘An interesting speculation, Mr Lynch. Now, if you have finished, may we be allowed to consider our verdict?’
Lynch had not finished. But he looked down at the rest of his speech, realised he was not going to improve the situation, hesitated, and sat down.
‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ Rod told him. ‘I think you’re just rubbing them up the wrong way.’
‘Nonsense,’ Lynch insisted. ‘Facts are facts. And precedents are precedents. That is the whole basis of the law.’
Rod could only pray he was right. As the captains had not withdrawn, but were conferring in low voices, some conversation had broken out in the courtroom. Rod looked around, and saw McGann, who, having given his evidence, had been allowed to remain in the room. The American gave him an encouraging smile, and Rod attempted to indicate his gratitude for his intervention. Then the master-at-arms was calling for silence, and the captains were staring straight ahead of themselves, their decision taken.
Rod and Lynch got up, and stood to attention before the desk.
‘Lieutenant Rodney Bascom,’ said Captain Renwick, his face stern. ‘We have listened to the evidence given for and against your action in losing your ship on a shoal off Cuba on 17 May last. We have noted the American ...’ he spoke disparagingly, ‘decision not to prosecute Lieutenant McGann for a similar serious error of judgement, which could have cost him his ship as well, and we have also noted with interest Lieutenant Lynch’s attempt to compare your action with that of Lord Hawke, of famous renown. However, we cannot admit of any precedent here. In 1759, Great Britain was at war with France, and it was the responsibility of Lord Hawke to prevent a French invasion fleet from sailing for Ireland. Obviously the best way to accomplish this task was the destruction of that French fleet. When he saw an opportunity to do this, he grasped it. It was apparent to him, as to everyone else, that if he lost ship for ship with the French, and had been left with only one ship-of-the line available at the end of the battle, where the French had none, he would have achieved his object. In the event, he destroyed seven of the enemy, for the loss of only two of his own, and Quiberon Bay is rightly acclaimed as one of our greatest naval victories. However, and Lieutenant Lynch may claim that this is pragmatism at its worst, there is no doubt in my mind, nor can there be in anyone else’s mind, that had Lord Hawke taken his fleet into Quiberon Bay, and there had it wrecked, without inflicting a superior amount of damage on the French, he would have been cashiered.’
It was his turn to take a drink of water, while the room was hushed, and Rod’s heart seemed to have entirely ceased beating.
‘There are other points of difference,’ Renwick continued. ‘Here in the Caribbean, we are forced to operate with limited resources in men and ships. Our purpose is to police the seas. Lieutenant Bascom did indeed have orders to apprehend the pirate Delmorde, but not at the risk of his own vessel. There are other pirates out of Cuba, every bit as dangerous as Delmorde. And now, thanks to the loss ofSplendid, we are less able than before to counter them. Far less able. Additionally, Lieutenant Bascom’s orders did not give him the authority to enter Cuban territorial waters. This he chose to do. It did not give him the authority to place his ship in a position of danger, save in so far as some danger could be apprehended in actually engaging the pirate. The court has also noted that Lieutenant Bascomb undertook his action in direct opposition to the opinion, several times expressed, of his first officer, an officer, I may remind you, Mr Bascom, who is every bit as experienced as yourself, and, as the evidence indicates, somewhat more levelheaded. It is the merest chance that no lives were lost in the disaster. It is certain that a good ship was needlessly and wantonly wrecked beyond hope of salvage by an act of total irresponsibility, and that the position of Her Majesty’s Navy in the Caribbean Sea has as a result been seriously compromised. It is therefore the verdict of this court that you, Lieutenant Rodney Bascom, be dismissed the service, sentence to be effected immediately.’ He stood up. ‘Place Mr Bascom under close arrest, master-at-arms.’
Chapter Two: New England — 1858
IT was several seconds before the gentle knocking on the door of the bedroom aroused Rod Bascom. He lay sprawled across his bed, still uncertain whether he was not living an unending nightmare, trying to believe that he was, that in a few minutes he would awaken and find that he was again on the deck of HMSSplendid, reaching before a gentle breeze, sweeping the horizon with his glass in an endeavour to locate the pirate.
The events of the past twenty-four hours had been too enormous to be properly understood, as yet. The severity of the sentence had numbed his mind, left him unable to think. But still able to feel. Like the court martial, his dismissal had been a private affair, but not private enough. It had taken place before his brother officers, and there had undoubtedly been others present as well, the same ghouls who had attended the court itself, watching
from behind the curtained windows of the officers’ mess.
Worse had been having to face Purves, standing opposite him, face and body stiffly composed. Had Purves given him the slightest support ... but there was no sign of regret, or doubt, or even compassion in Purves’ face. And he had once supposed them to be friends.
But he had also had to face men like Armitage and Hope, who he believed had respected his ability and his leadership, but now were separated from him by an enormous gulf of discipline. He was the guilty party; they necessarily had to maintain their innocence.
He thought the crack of his sword being broken would remain seared across his mind for the rest of his life.
And still the true enormity of what had happened could not penetrate his mind, because the true enormity had not yet happened. He had been dismissed from the Navy. There was a sudden end to a career which had seemed, even to him, at least promising, and to which he had devoted his entire life from the age of fifteen. But now he was to be placed on a ship bound for England, to endure five weeks of misery, as everyone else on board the vessel would know who and what he was. And then ... England. And home. His mother was dead. For the first time in his life he thanked God for that. His father, having lived the past twenty years in his West Country vicarage, had built his interest in the world around him on the exploits of his only son. He could never have contemplated that that son would one day be returned to him in utter disgrace.
His sister, married to a confident and socially aspiring solicitor in nearby Bath, would, he knew, offer little sympathy, mainly because her husband would not wish to know a disgraced officer. Besides, he had no desire for sympathy. He was, in addition to the despair which was creeping over him with the greater intensity for every moment’s reflection, too angry to want sympathy. He would have succeeded in saving his ship, and perhaps even in catching Juan Delmorde, but for the failure of the engine. Whether that had been because of negligence or lack of skill on the part of Hope or not, it was too unlucky a mishap to ruin a career.
A life! For there was also the plain matter of where he went from here. How he kept himself from starving. He had first gone to sea at the age of fifteen, ten years before. He knew no other profession. So he would have to go to sea again. But would he be able to obtain a berth as a mate on a merchantman, with the label of having wrecked one of Her Majesty’s Ships hung forever around his neck? Then he would have to ship before the mast. And a merchantman ... he had not been able to avoid imbibing some of the contempt felt by the Navy men for the humble masters and mates who had to step aside whenever a gold braided officer of the Queen came marching by. Now he, above all others, would have to step aside.
The knocking was becoming more insistent. Rod heaved himself off the bed, went to the door, and turned the key. It was his temporary landlady, a large black woman — she was the only person, even in this shady dockside quarter of Kingston, prepared to offer accommodation to the disgraced white man. But he had aroused her mothering instincts, and she inspected his bleary eyes and unshaven face, and looked past him to see how much of the rum bottle he had taken to bed with him remained unconsumed.
‘I know you said you di’n’t want to see nobody, Mr Bascom,’ she said. ‘But dere’s a gentleman down there, two in fac’, who says they got for speak with you.’
Rod sighed. ‘Oh, well ... show them up, Mrs Rupert.’ He drove his fingers through his hair, looked down at his buttonless blue jacket — he had slept in his clothes, too emotionally exhausted to care.
The door opened, and Harry Lynch stepped inside. ‘Rod?’ he asked, cautiously.
Rod sat on the bed.
Lynch closed the door behind himself. ‘I would have come sooner, but nobody knew where you had gone. It was Kidder finally pointed me down here. He’s very upset.’
Rod said nothing.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Lynch confessed. ‘Except to apologise for letting you down.’
‘Rubbish,’ Rod told him. ‘You did the very best you could.’
‘You said maybe I was upsetting them,’ Lynch said. ‘And you were right. But I was right as well, and so were you, in what you did. And therewas a precedent. More than one. God damn it, where would the Navy be today if Nelson had never hazarded his ships? But of course Renwick would have claimed that had Nelson taken his ships out of the line at St Vincent, and not captured two Spanish ships by doing so, he too would have been cashiered.’
‘He could be right,’ Rod pointed out.
‘But anyway, Renwick himself has overstepped the mark. A sentence as severe as dismissal needs to be confirmed by the Admiralty.’
‘So he must be pretty sure they’ll confirm it.’
‘That’s not the point. He acted beyond his authority in having you drummed out so quickly. We’ll appeal, of course.’
‘And have me reinstated?’
‘Well ... even if they let the sentence stand, we should obtain some compensation.’
‘I don’t want their damned compensation.’
‘Ah.’ Lynch sat beside him on the bed. ‘Have you any funds?’
‘Enough to keep body and soul together for a month or two. You know I have never been very attracted by the fleshpots of Kingston. And I gather I’m not required to pay my own way back to England?’
‘No ... but it’ll be steerage. I can let you have some if you are short.’
‘Thanks, old friend. But as there is no prospect of my ever being able to repay you, I have to decline.’
Lynch pulled his nose. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Think. Then find work, I suppose.’
‘In England?’
‘Out of England, anyway. Unless you can think of something better.’
Lynch pulled his nose some more. ‘There’s someone downstairs would like a word with you.’
‘Mrs Rupert did mention two gentlemen. Who’s this, some newspaper hound?’
‘Lieutenant McGann.’
Rod frowned at him. ‘McGann? Well, you tell him how grateful I am for his appearance on my behalf. Even if I have a suspicion that it was that appearance which finally scuppered me. I don’t really want to do that myself.’
‘Well, if you’re right about that, the fault is mine, not his,’ Lynch pointed out.
‘You mean, you asked him to come and testify?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. As you hadn’t mentioned him to me, I couldn’t do that. He wrote and offered. But I was very glad to accept. It was entirely my decision.’
‘And it was the correct one,’ Rod reassured him. ‘Courts martial should not be affected by prejudice. Renwick just happens to have one against Americans.’
‘Yes. The point is, I think you should see McGann. He did try to help.’
Rod hesitated, then nodded. ‘Of course, you’re right. I am just being churlish.’
‘I’ll fetch him up.’ Lynch opened the door and ran down the stairs before Rod could change his mind. Rod ran his hand over his unshaven chin; he must look an absolute tramp.
McGann had to bend his head to enter the room. But he held out his hand. ‘Mr Bascom, my most sincere condolences. I think those captains got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’
‘It’s what they think that matters, Mr McGann.’ Rod allowed his fingers to be crushed by the giant. ‘But I am most grateful for your assistance.’
‘Even if it went awry, eh?’ Jeremiah McGann allowed himself a hasty glance around the somewhat primitive furnishing of the room. ‘Say, were you two guys really in the Crimea?’
‘Off it, to be accurate,’ Lynch said.
‘But engaging the Russian batteries. You know something? When Delmorde opened fire last May that was the first time I’d been under fire. Or my crew. Brother, what I would give to have taken part in a real action ...’
‘Preferably not against shore batteries,’ Rod told him. ‘They have all the odds in their favour.’
‘Yeah, I read about it.’ He hesitated. ‘So now you’re being sent back to E
ngland, they tell me.’
‘Well, they don’t want me hanging about here. And frankly, I have no desire to hang about here either. Jamaican society is just a little limited.’
‘And you want to go back to England?’
Rod frowned at him. ‘I don’t have anywhere else to go, Mr McGann, with any chance of earning a living. It’s the only language I speak.’
‘Well ...’ Once again McGann looked round the room, but there was no chair. Rod gestured him to the end of the bed, which creaked ominously as the large American lowered his weight on to it. ‘I’m sailing for the States this evening.’
‘On your own ship?’
‘Nope. I have leave of absence. But I have to be back in Norfolk, Virginia, by the end of next week. I’ve a berth on a merchantman. And there are spare berths aboard.’
‘To Norfolk, Virginia?’
‘Well, to Charleston, South Carolina. We’ll coast up from there.’
Rod gazed at him. ‘We?’
McGann looked embarrassed. ‘Well, hell, Mr Bascom ... say, do you mind if I call you Rod? The fact is, you risked your career to come to my assistance, and wound up risking your neck as well. Now, I don’t intend to offer you anything more than gratitude for that, because I know you won’t accept it. What I’m trying to do is look at things in a rational way. You’re being sent back to England, I don’t know to what, but I do know it ain’t going to be the Royal Navy. And judging by what I’ve been told, it ain’t going to be all that easy for you to find a berth on a merchantman, either. Certainly not aft. Well, sir, I would like to suggest you try your luck in this new world of ours. We claim the United States is the land of opportunity. We’re more interested in what a man is likely to do next than in what he did last. I can’t offer you a commission in the United States Navy. That would take time. But it could be possible, if you give yourself the time. Meanwhile, I have no doubt at all you could find a suitable berth afloat while you were waiting. And until you do that, why, I know my family would be real happy to have you visit with them. They farm on Long Island. Quite a spread, if I say so myself. And all seafaring people, at one time or another. Grandma in particular would love to know you. She was born in England, too.’
Iron Ships, Iron Men Page 4