by Dudley Pope
“Had she?” Goddard asked, obviously not wanting to lose the drama of the moment, which had provoked the captains round the table into sudden movement: some turned to look at Ramage, others were now watching Shirley.
“No, sir,” Ridley said in a voice hardly above a whisper.
The captain on Goddard’s right leaned over and whispered something. The admiral nodded and said: “Captain Swinford has a question to ask.”
“What can possibly have led Captain Ramage to say such a thing to you?”
“I do not know, sir,” Ridley said woodenly, and then looked back at Jenkins as he read from another of Shirley’s slips of paper.
“Did the prisoner make any other allegations against Captain Shirley?”
“Yes, sir,” Ridley took out a handkerchief and mopped his face, and Ramage noted he was the only man in the room who was perspiring at all. “Yes, sir: he asked me if I thought that Captain Shirley was mad.”
“What was your answer?”
“Well, first I protested that it was a very improper question for someone of Captain Ramage’s position to ask, and gave it as my opinion that Captain Shirley was not mad.”
That answer clearly did not satisfy Goddard. “In your view, as a naval officer and first lieutenant of the Jason frigate, was there any circumstance which could lead Captain Ramage suddenly to ask you such an extraordinary question?”
Ridley shook his head. “No, none sir.”
Ridley’s whole attitude, Ramage felt, was that he wanted to run away: not because he was frightened of the court or overawed by being called as a witness. Rather – and that was it, he realized with a shock but was unable to think of the explanation – that Ridley was being blackmailed, and the questions Goddard was asking were coming close to the subject about which he was being blackmailed and about which he dare not talk.
Jenkins was holding another piece of paper and, when Goddard nodded, began reading: “Lieutenant Wagstaffe, the officer whom Captain Ramage left in command–” Jenkins paused for a moment, as if anticipating a protest from Ramage, who decided to continue his policy of making none at this stage, “–gave certain orders after Captain Ramage returned on board his own ship. What were they?”
“I understand they were to do with the Jason’s course and her future position in relation to the Calypso.”
“Can’t you be more specific?” grumbled Goddard.
“No, sir, I wasn’t present at the conversations.”
Jenkins received another slip of paper from Shirley. “What did the Jason do from then on until she arrived in the Channel?”
“She helped escort the West India convoy.”
Obviously Goddard expected more. “‘Helped escort’? What did the ship do? Did Captain Ramage make signals, send messages over?”
“I understand the Jason’s orders – which meant, I suppose, the orders given to Lieutenant Wagstaffe – were to keep a cable to leeward of the Calypso and this was generally astern of the convoy.”
“Captain Ramage did not send you off investigating strange sail, or anything like that?” Goddard inquired.
“Not to my knowledge, sir.”
“He made no signals to the Jason and gave no orders?” Goddard asked incredulously.
“I believe that on several occasions we were sent to chase merchant ships back into position, although by and large they kept pretty much in position.”
“Did this Lieutenant Wagstaffe have much to do with the running of the ship?” Goddard asked.
“To the best of my knowledge he took no part in the day-to-day running of the ship, sir: he was almost entirely concerned with keeping the ship in position.”
Captain Swinford, after whispering to Goddard and apparently getting his approval, asked: “Did this lieutenant give any orders to Captain Shirley, or attempt to – er, usurp, Captain Shirley’s position?”
Ramage leaned forward slightly. This could be one of the key questions in the trial, but Ridley still had that blackmailed look. Blackmailed? He could also be a timid husband nagged by an overbearing wife – or even a lieutenant, serving a port admiral, who was terrified of the admiral’s wife. In fact, much of the time Ridley’s face was a happy hunting ground for most of the timid expressions available to man.
“Not to my knowledge, sir. As far as I know,” he said with a rush verging on garrulity, “he did not stand a watch, but he was on deck much of the time, and the only orders he gave were those that an officer of the deck would normally give to keep the ship in position.”
Without asking Goddard’s approval, Captain Swinford then asked: “During all this time, from the Jason meeting the Calypso until the convoy arrived in the Channel, was Captain Shirley prevented in any way from doing whatever he wanted?”
“I did not see any restraint being applied, sir,” Ridley said cautiously. “He was on deck whenever he wanted to be.”
The captain sitting next to Swinford – Ramage thought he had given his name as Royce – suddenly asked without reference to Admiral Goddard: “What in your opinion would have happened if Captain Shirley had ordered a couple of his officers to seize this Lieutenant Wagstaffe, and then sailed the ship away from the convoy?”
“There were never any–”
Ridley had no chance to finish his sentence because Goddard said harshly: “That question is disallowed. The opinion of a lieutenant upon what a senior post-captain might or might not have done in a hypothetical situation does not concern this court.”
“But what the first lieutenant of a ship considers his captain might or might not have been able to do most certainly is, sir,” Royce protested. “The witness has just said Captain Shirley was free to move about the ship.”
“And I have just disallowed the question,” Goddard said abruptly. “Next question, Mr Jenkins.”
Jenkins had been writing quickly and took the opportunity of changing pens, carefully wiping the tip of the old quill with a cloth before putting it down so that ink should not stain the polished mahogany table. Trained by his wife, Ramage thought.
Jenkins licked the tip of the new quill so that the ink would flow freely, dipped into the inkwell and then looked inquiringly at Shirley, who shook his head. “I’ve no more questions to ask this witness.”
“You may sit down over there,” Jenkins said, “but listen carefully while I read back the questions and your answers: you will then be required to sign the minutes as a correct record.”
As the deputy judge advocate read his minutes in a listless monotone, Ramage listened carefully and checked the evidence against the very brief notes he had made. There was no doubt that even when another man spoke his replies, Ridley sounded just like the man being blackmailed, but although Ramage could not escape the feeling he still could not account for it. Tone of voice, actual words, look on his face, stance…an impression which had been conceived in Ridley’s cabin on board the Jason but was only just born? It was like trying to remember all the details of a dream: the complete story was ephemeral, but now and then brief episodes came to mind: not enough to give any cohesion; just enough to tantalize.
Ridley walked back to the table and Ramage realized that Jenkins had stopped reading and Ridley was now signing his name. He was just turning away again when Goddard snapped: “Stay there in case the prisoner has any questions.”
Jenkins had made his first mistake in forgetting Ramage’s right to question the witness.
Ramage stood up. “I have had no opportunity to write down my questions–”
“Very well, but speak slowly,” Goddard said.
“Mr Ridley, in your evidence, the minutes of which you have just signed, you use the word ‘I understood’ very frequently. Is this just a habit of speech or were you not present at the events you describe?”
“What events have you in mind, sir?” Ridley asked carefully.
“When you refer to the Calypso coming alongside, for instance, you use the phrase ‘I understand’. I would have thought that if the ship of which y
ou are the first lieutenant (and thus the second-in-command) was being boarded by another frigate, however unexpectedly, then you would be on deck.”
“I was not on deck at the time,” Ridley said woodenly. As though, Ramage decided, he was repeating something by rote.
“Why were you not on deck?”
“I had other duties.”
And, thought Ramage, there is no point in questioning you further about that. “Mr Ridley, you said early in your evidence that you understood the Calypso did not answer the challenge. Who told the seamen in the Jason what the challenge for the day was, and checked that they had bent the correct flags on to the halyards?”
“I assume the captain, because he had the copy of the private signals giving the challenge for the day.”
“And Captain Shirley would have checked the flags?”
Before Ridley could reply, Goddard interrupted. “Mr Ramage, the question of the challenge for the day and who bent flags on to halyards has nothing to do with the charges you are facing, so please go on to your next questions or allow the witness to stand down.”
Here we go, Ramage told himself. As far as Goddard is concerned, nothing helpful to the prisoner is going to be allowed. The question of the challenge has been disallowed – yet it is of vital importance leading directly to the next question. Very well…
“Mr Ridley, why was the Jason flying the wrong challenge for that day?”
“I did not see–”
“Mr Ramage, I have just disallowed any further questions about the challenge.”
Ramage bowed ironically: Goddard’s face was growing redder; his jowls beginning to quiver. Another half a dozen questions, Ramage estimated, and he would be unable to control his temper and then, with some luck, at least a few of the captains will have been insulted and start feeling sympathetic towards the prisoner…
“With respect, sir,” Ramage said politely, “my next question is of considerable importance but the beginning must refer to the challenge.”
“Ask it and I will decide whether or not to allow it.”
Ramage looked squarely at Ridley, whose eyes dropped. “The question is: You say that the Calypso did not answer the challenge and she was recognized as French-built. Why did not the Jason beat to quarters on the approach of what might be a hostile ship?”
“Disallowed,” Goddard said firmly. “Has nothing to do with the charges. Don’t answer,” he told Ridley.
Captain Swinford leaned over and whispered something to the rear-admiral, but Goddard shook his head vigorously.
Damnation, Ramage thought: as far as these dozen captains are concerned, there is the Jason, sailing along quite peacefully, and along comes the nasty Calypso. How does one explain to the court that in fact the innocent Jason was flying the wrong challenge, had all her guns loaded, and was steering down to attempt to ram and certainly rake one of the King’s ships?
Very well, try surprise: even if Goddard rules the question out of order, a seed of doubt will be planted in the heads of the members of the court – damnation, it should be hammered home!
“Mr Ridley,” Ramage said politely, “I want you just to cast your mind back: where were you when Captain Shirley ordered his men to fire a broadside into the Calypso?”
“Don’t answer – question disallowed – has nothing to do with the charges!” Goddard shouted, his voice rising in a crescendo.
Ramage decided to fire another barrel before Goddard recovered. “Sir, since that broadside was the reason that–”
“Silence! Strike that from the record! No, I mean don’t note that down, Jenkins. Now look, Ramage, any more questions like that and you will be in contempt of court.”
“Very well, sir,” Ramage said contritely, “I thought that as I stand charged with removing Captain Shirley from his command, that my reasons for doing so would be–”
“Ramage!” Goddard shouted. “You know what the charges are and unless you limit your questions to the circumstances of the charges you will be in contempt of court. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I do now,” Ramage said politely, and turned to Ridley.
“The lieutenant that I left on board, Mr Wagstaffe. Was he – in your opinion – a competent officer?”
“I understand so.”
“Don’t you know from your own observations?”
Ridley paused for a full minute, during which time Ramage reminded him he was on oath, and then said, reluctantly it seemed to Ramage: “Yes, I do; he was a competent officer.”
“Did you see him giving any orders to Captain Shirley, or disobeying any orders that Captain Shirley gave him?”
Ramage glanced at Shirley. The man had moved; he had swung his head round to stare at Ridley. Was that anxiety, even fear, in his eyes: fear that Ridley might fall into the trap set by Ramage?
“I did not see him give any orders, but I was rarely on deck. I understand Captain Shirley gave him no orders.”
Ramage saw from the expression on Shirley’s face that the questions had been anticipated. Ridley’s slow answers were due to the wretched man trying to remember what he had been told to say.
“I have no more questions to ask this witness, sir,” Ramage said. Once Ridley again signed the minutes, Goddard waved him away and told Shirley to call his next witness.
Chapter Sixteen
The next witness was the Jason’s second lieutenant, and Shirley asked him the same questions that he had asked Ridley, and received the same replies. To Ramage it seemed that the lieutenant, an older man than Ridley, was merely repeating answers which he had learned; as though a tutor had carefully drilled a boy in anticipation of questioning by the father. And he too had the same manner as Ridley, as though he was being blackmailed. Because it must be blackmail and not bribery. These men were frightened: they did not have the confident look of men who had been bribed, either with promises of promotion or sums of money.
The next two witnesses were the Jason’s third and fourth lieutenants, and as Shirley started asking them the same questions again, Ramage saw Captain Swinford whisper another question to Goddard, who once again shook his head.
Captain Shirley’s fifth witness was the one that Ramage was dreading, not because of any damage he might do to the defence but because Ramage did not want him involved.
“Call Lieutenant Wagstaffe,” Shirley said, and for a moment his eyes flickered across the few feet to where Ramage was sitting. Was there a look of triumph in them? Or just the flat look of a madman playing some elaborate game of which only he knew the rules? Obviously Shirley would call Wagstaffe as a prosecution witness, and Ramage had made it very clear to Wagstaffe that he was to answer the questions completely and openly, whether or not he thought they might hurt Ramage’s case. When Wagstaffe had protested, asking to be given some latitude, Ramage had told him: “We have nothing to hide. I put you on board the Jason because I thought Shirley was mad, and that’s all there is to it.”
But since Ramage had spoken to Wagstaffe, Rear-Admiral Goddard was so juggling the evidence by restricting the questions, that Ramage was now sure he was not going to be able to make a proper defence. Goddard (and perhaps the commander-in-chief and the Admiralty) must know that Shirley was mad, but apart from Goddard getting his own back on Ramage, neither the commander-in-chief nor the Admiralty would want it confirmed in open court (or even alleged in open court, let alone being confirmed by a verdict) that one of the Navy’s captains was mad and had to be removed from his command not by some unknown commanding officer or flag officer of whom few had heard but by one of the country’s most famous young frigate captains…
Wagstaffe took the oath and faced Goddard, assuming that the president of the court would ask the familiar question: “Tell us what you know…” but instead Jenkins started reading from one of Shirley’s slips of paper.
“When did you board the Jason?”
“At eleven forty-three in the forenoon of July the twenty-first last,” Wagstaffe said.
“What
were the circumstances?”
“The Jason had nearly rammed–”
“Silence!” Goddard bellowed. “Confine yourself to the questions you are asked and to the substance of the charges against the prisoner.”
“I am on oath, sir Wagstaffe waited until he was sure that Jenkins had written that down and then continued: “…and I shall not perjure myself, either by wrong statements or by omissions, sir.”
“Nobody is suggesting you perjure yourself,” Goddard said huffily, startled by Wagstaffe’s statement and realizing the significance of his use of the word “omissions”. “Just confine yourself to the questions and the charges,” Goddard said,
Jenkins read: “Having boarded the Jason with Captain Ramage and various other people, what did you do?”
“I had a severe coughing fit,” Wagstaffe said innocently, and before Goddard realized what was coming next added: “There was still a lot of smoke about from the broadside the Jason had just fired.”
“Strike that from the record,” Goddard shouted. “You have been warned once,” he told Wagstaffe. “The next time you will be confined for contempt of court.”
“Yes, sir,” Wagstaffe said contritely, and added quietly: “May I be excused now, sir?”
Goddard, obviously wanting to make some amends for the shouting, had been looking amiably in Wagstaffe’s direction, but now he looked first startled and then wary.
“The prosecutor – Captain Shirley – has more questions to ask you. And the defence, too,” he added hurriedly. “Why are you asking to be excused?”
“Because, Sir, the court is trying to force me to commit perjury, and if I do that I shall myself be liable to be tried by court-martial.”
Very neatly done, Ramage thought. Wagstaffe had not said a word earlier about how he would try to trap Goddard. Well, Ramage’s only regret was that none of his other witnesses could see Goddard’s face: the glowing red of a few minutes ago was replaced now with a whiteness verging on grey, and the flesh of his face, never taut at the best of times, now hung slack like a spaniel bitch’s teats. He was having a whispered conversation with Swinford on his right, and then he turned to Captain Huggins on his left. Then he looked down the table at Jenkins.