Ramage's Trial

by Dudley Pope

  Aitken and Southwick looked at Ramage, waiting for his answer, and the first lieutenant still held the list from which he had been reading.

  “Wagstaffe – yes, I can’t see how I can avoid calling him – he’ll be called by the prosecution anyway. But I need only one of the Calypso’s officers – he can give evidence about the challenge, lack of reply and being fired on.”

  “Yes, well, that’s why I put my name at the top of the list,” Aitken said. “But all the rest can and will substantiate that.”

  “Look,” Ramage said firmly, “whoever gives evidence on my behalf will be a marked man in the Service from then on, so I want only one person.”

  Southwick sniffed: it was his “I don’t care what you say, I’m going my way” sniff and Ramage tried to look at him sternly, but the old master simply grinned. “It’ll be all or none, sir. No one is going to be left out. Or if you try to make do with just one of us, then that person’ll be like the Jasons. Saw nothing, heard nothing.”

  “But there’s no need,” Ramage said. “Aitken, don’t you see that giving evidence on my behalf will probably mean you’ll never be made post?”

  Aitken shrugged his shoulders. “Sir, thanks to you by way of prize money, I’d pass for a wealthy man in the Highlands. If what you say is true, I’ll find myself a bonny bride and a middling sized estate, and if I never go to sea again I’ve tales enough to tell a dozen grandchildren – aye, and never the same tale twice!”

  “That’s how everyone feels, sir,” Southwick said. “You’ve looked after them in the smoke of battle, and they’re going to look after you–” he paused searching for the right phrase, failed to find it and ended lamely, “–well, at a time like now. They see you’re in more danger from our own folk than the French, and that’s enough for them.”

  “How do they know?”

  “Too late to complain sir,” Southwick chuckled, “but every man on board knows the six Articles of War that Captain Shirley is citing, and even now there’s a copy of the Articles of War being passed hand to hand on the lowerdeck. The men were complaining that they only ever heard the Articles read out to them on the quarterdeck, and they wanted – those that can read – a chance to study ’em.”

  Ramage knew he was helpless to protect his officers from the price they would pay for their loyalty. Aitken, Wagstaffe, Kenton, Martin and Orsini: he had let them down. Southwick and Bowen were different – Bowen only continued serving in the Navy as a surgeon in order to stay with Southwick and Ramage himself: Southwick, like Aitken, had plenty in the Funds from prize money and had reached the age when retirement might seem welcome.

  It had all started with a lookout sighting a sail on the horizon and he had decided to investigate it. If only he had ignored it – they had seen several others that day. At least he had not sent off L’Espoir or La Robuste: he shivered at the thought of the problems that would have arisen if the Jason had raked one of them.

  Anyway, Aitken had the list of witnesses, and that was that! Then he remembered: “There are two more names to add to your list.”

  Aitken got up and sat at the desk, reached for a quill and taking the cap off the inkwell, said: “Yes, sir?”

  “Mr Sidney Yorke, who will be staying at the King’s Arms, in Britonside, and Miss Yorke, at the same address.”

  “Ah,” said Southwick, “They’re with us all right, then?”

  “Yes. The Emerald sails for London with the convoy tomorrow, but they’re staying for the trial. What evidence they can give, I don’t know, but Miss Yorke should make an impression on the court!”

  “She certainly makes an impression on me!” Southwick said. “And I’d sooner have her brother on our side than against us.”

  Ramage said: “I’ve been thinking about the masters of the merchant ships. I don’t think we need any as witnesses. The captain of L’Espoir – he won’t have seen what happened. The Jason’s first lieutenant, gunner and the cook’s mate–”

  “Cook’s mate, sir?” Aitken could not believe his ears.

  “Who better? Cook’s mates are usually the most stupid men in any ship, and he has nothing to lose. More important, he probably has little understanding. But he will know if the ship fired a broadside or not.”

  “Shirley’s fellows will get to him before the trial and tell him what to say,” Southwick declared gruffly.

  “Perhaps – in fact no doubt will. But if the man gets muddled enough in court, we might get some truth out of him.”

  “Truth isn’t going to get a look in,” Southwick said.

  “No,” Ramage agreed, “I doubt it. So we’ll be as brief as we can. Few witnesses, few questions…The briefer the trial, the less time the other side have to gloat.”

  Aitken looked worried and he shook his head. “You don’t seem to consider the question of being acquitted, sir.”

  “I’ve considered it,” Ramage said, his voice neutral. “I’d like to be cleared, if only for my father’s sake. But over there–” he gestured vaguely to the northwest, towards Cornwall, “–lies my home, with enough land to keep me occupied for the rest of my life. And over there–” he gestured seaward, “–is the answer to the question of whether I am a widower or a married man. Those are the two most important things in my life, and what lies in between – a trial on board the Salvador del Mundo next Monday – doesn’t seem of so much consequence at the moment.”

  “Even tho’ it could result in a sentence of death,” Southwick said sharply.

  “Right now I haven’t a devil of a lot to live for,” Ramage said bitterly. “My mother and father can’t live forever, and I don’t fancy wandering round St Kew Hall without Sarah for the rest of my life. It’s a dam’ big house and there are plenty of tenants on the land, and whoever runs it should have – well, some zest, and a wife, and that’s what I lack now.”

  “Sir,” said Southwick, “I’m going to presume on the length of my service with you and unless you order me not to, I’m going to speak my mind freely. I’ve talked it over with Mr Aitken, and to be honest, sir, you’re worrying us, so what I have to say – if you’ll allow me to say it – goes for both of us.”

  Ramage smiled and nodded. “I’ve never known you to ask permission before, but go on…”

  “Well, sir, you’ve done more for King and country than most men, but apart from some of your despatches being published in the London Gazette, you’ve had no recognition and there are a lot of senior officers jealous of you. All that’s normal. It took long enough for Their Lordships to give Lord Nelson his first real chance: those dam’d Antigua merchants nearly did for his career right at the start, when he went for ’em in the last war.”

  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 wi
th 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).

  Chapter Fourteen

  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 te
lescope. “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.