Ramage

by Pope, Dudley

  The exception among the captains was the one sitting at the end next to the Deputy Judge Advocate: he wore only one epaulet, on his right shoulder, indicating he had less than three years’ seniority.

  The one captain who did not look up when Ramage marched in was Croucher, the president of the court: he was staring down at some papers on the table, and Ramage noticed he also had the Sibella’s two logs and muster book in front of him. The other captains were sitting on Croucher’s right and left according to seniority. The man on his right – Ramage remembered him from an earlier commission – was Captain Blackman and must be next senior to Croucher, while Captain Herbert, whom he knew by sight, came next and sat on his left. There were two captains Ramage did not recognize, but the most junior, wearing the single epaulet, was Ferris, who commanded a frigate. Was he one of Goddard’s clique? Surely not: Ramage remembered him as one of Sir John Jervis’ protégés.

  Since Ramage was facing aft, the captains were silhouetted against the bright glare of the sunlight reflecting up from the sea through the stern lights. On his right, so close he could almost reach out and pat the breech, was an 18-pounder cannon – the last one in the larboard row that began at the forward end of the quarter-deck and continued through the captain’s accommodation which, since the Trumpeter was a two-decker and almost twice the size of a frigate, was one deck higher than in the Lively. On the other side of the cabin was another cannon, also polished black and resting solidly on its buff-colour carriage, secured by the rope breeching and side tackles, the last of those on the starboard side. They were solid reminders that the Trumpeter was first and foremost a fighting ship: when she was in action the furniture would be stowed below and the wooden bulkheads forming the captain’s quarters would be hinged up out of the way, so that no enemy shot should shatter them into splinters.

  Ramage watched the Deputy Judge Advocate shuffle through his papers and then polish his spectacles. Presumably he had already read to the court Probus’ letter asking to be excused on the grounds of illness, and the Lively’s surgeon would have been called in to attest on oath his Captain’s incapacity. Either Probus had given a realistic impression of a sick man or the surgeon was willing to perjure himself.

  After Ramage had been marched in, the court was declared open and everyone else concerned or interested entered, among them Pisano. The names of the captains had been read out by Barrow, who then administered the oath. After each of the six men, with his hand on the Bible, had sworn he would ‘duly administer justice according to my conscience, the best of my understanding, and the custom of the Navy in like cases…’ Croucher, as president of the court, then administered the oath to Barrow.

  The preliminaries are over, Ramage thought to himself; now for the opening gambit…

  Barrow stood up and read out the charge, like a priest mechanically reciting a mass, his spectacles sliding down his nose from time to time and interrupting the proceedings while he readjusted them.

  The witnesses were ordered out of the court and Ramage turned to watch them go: they scarcely make a crowd, he noted sourly – just the Bosun, the Carpenter’s Mate and Jackson. Suddenly he saw someone at the doorway beckoning to Pisano, indicating that he too should leave the court. So Pisano is to be a witness! But he’s not on Barrow’s list of witnesses…

  Well, that’ll be a difficult move to counter. Ramage was surprised to find himself using chess similes, since he was an appalling player. He’d always found the game too slow, and had a bad memory. In fact his complete inability to remember the cards already played at those interminable games of whist in the Superb used to drive that fellow Hornblower mad. Yet, Ramage remembered with amusement, he sometimes won simply because he was such a bad player: even if Hornblower guessed the cards he held it was no help since his play was completely unpredictable. Nor, when Ramage won, did Hornblower like being reminded that surprise was the vital element in tactics…

  After Pisano disappeared through the door Croucher rapped the table. ‘The prisoner’s report on the surrender of His Majesty’s frigate Sibella will now be read to the court.’

  Ramage was shocked to find himself being referred to as ‘the prisoner’; but of course it was correct.

  Barrow wrote down the president’s words – it was his job to keep the minutes – and then shuffled among his pile of papers to extract Ramage’s report to Probus. It was hardly an impressive-sounding document when read by Barrow, who had an irritating habit of letting his voice drop as he reached the end of a line, and put the page down on the table each time his spectacles slipped, so that he could use both hands to readjust them.

  To Ramage’s surprise, Barrow continued reading after completing the passage describing the surrender. He was leaning forward, undecided whether or not to protest that the rest of the report had nothing to do with the ship’s loss when Captain Ferris, the junior captain, interrupted.

  ‘Surely this has no relevance for the court?’

  ‘Pray allow me to be judge of that,’ said Captain Croucher.

  ‘But we are only inquiring into the loss of the ship,’ insisted Ferris.

  ‘We are trying the accused for his conduct upon the occasion,’ said Croucher, sounding like a parson chiding a wayward parishioner. ‘In fairness to the accused, we must satisfy ourselves as to the whole of his conduct during this lamentable episode,’ he added, barely able to keep the hypocrisy from his voice.

  ‘But–’

  ‘Captain Ferris,’ Croucher said sharply, ‘if you wish to argue the point we must clear the court.’

  Ferris looked round at the other captains, who stared woodenly in front of them, and then glanced at Ramage as if to indicate it was hopeless for either of them to protest any further.

  ‘Very well,’ Croucher told Barrow, ‘you may proceed.’

  Finally Barrow finished reading, and sat down.

  ‘Since this is an inquiry into the loss of the ship and an examination of the prisoner’s conduct,’ said Croucher, ‘has the prisoner any further facts not contained in his report which he wishes to lay before the court?’

  You clever swine, thought Ramage: now you’ve really trapped me. You want me to introduce the Pisano business so it’s set down in the minutes and you can take it further; but if I don’t say anything it’ll look as though I’m hiding it.

  He replied, ‘Any facts I may have overlooked in my report will no doubt emerge during the examination of the witnesses, sir,’ and was startled by his own smoothness.

  ‘Have you overlooked any facts?’ demanded Croucher.

  ‘No relevant facts that I can remember, sir.’

  To hell with you, Ramage thought: it’s vital to remember that intonation and emphasis are not important; what matters is how the words will be read by Sir John Jervis and the Admiralty in the minutes of the trial.

  Poor Barrow – his pen was trying to keep pace with the rapid dialogue; any minute now, just as soon as he dared, the perspiring little purser would ask for a pause to give him time to catch up.

  ‘Very well,’ said Croucher. ‘The Deputy Judge Advocate will now read out a second report to Captain Lord Probus.’

  A second report? Ramage glanced at Barrow. Was this another gambit?

  ‘This report is dated September 12th, addressed to Lord Probus, and signed by Count Pisano,’ said Barrow. ‘It begins–’

  Just as Ramage was going to protest, Captain Ferris interrupted.

  ‘Is this relevant to the case? The court has no official knowledge of Count Pisano’s existence, nor his connection with the loss of the Sibella.’

  Captain Croucher put his hands palms downwards on the table and, looking at a point in space about two feet in front of his nose, said silkily, ‘It is perhaps relevant that I am President of this court and you are its junior member…’

  Ramage sensed Croucher was not really bothered by Ferris’ protests; he had another trick ready.

  ‘…However, before introducing the document the court will wait until later in t
he proceedings, when its relevance will be made clear.’

  He looked across at Barrow and said: ‘Call the first witness.’

  While the word was being passed for the Bosun, Barrow hurriedly scribbled away, darting his pen into the ink pot from time to time with the rapidity of a snake striking.

  Ramage could guess what he was writing: the page would be headed ‘Minutes of Proceedings at a Court Martial held on board His Majesty’s ship Trumpeter in Bastia on Thursday the 15th day of September, 1796.’ Then would come, under the heading ‘Present’, the names of the six captains, beginning with Croucher as president, ‘being all the captains of post ships according to seniority except Captain Lord Probus who certified the President his inability to attend through ill health.’

  He would then scribble ‘Insert order for trial’ – the wording would be written into the fair copy of the minutes, as well as a record of his own appointment and the administration of oaths. Then there would be a discreet outline of the earlier exchanges with Captain Croucher, and now he would be scribbling a new heading ‘Evidence in support of the charge’.

  The Sibella’s Bosun came into the cabin, pausing just inside the door, obviously bewildered by the array of senior officers looking up at him, and dazzled by the sunlight.

  Barrow looked up, motioned him to the table and gave him the Bible. The Bosun straightened his shoulders – he usually walked with a slight stoop – and repeated the Oath.

  Captain Croucher told him: ‘Don’t answer a question until the Deputy Judge Advocate has had time to write it down, and don’t speak too quickly.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  For several seconds Ramage had been listening to several men having a violent argument outside the cabin door and, just as Captain Croucher glanced up, thought he could distinguish a woman’s voice speaking rapid Italian. Surely – no, he must be day-dreaming. Barrow, busy with his papers, had not noticed anything and began the questioning.

  ‘You are Edward Brown, and were Boatswain of–’

  The door was flung open with a violent crash that made everyone jump, and Gianna, her face white and drawn, emphasizing the fine chiselling of her high cheekbones, swept into the cabin. Her eyes blazed with anger and her whole bearing was that of a proud, impulsive young woman accustomed to being obeyed. Her dress, pale blue embroid-ered in gold, was partly hidden by a black silk cape which had been flung back carelessly over her shoulders.

  A Marine sentry stumbled into the cabin after her, musket in his hands, crying out, ‘Come back, ye crazy bitch!’ and then one of the Trumpeter’s lieutenants, pushing the sentry out of the way, grasped her arm.

  ‘Madam, please! I’ve told you the court is in session!’

  But her beauty, her magnificent anger, was too much for him: he dare not hold her tightly and she waved off his restraining hand as if a fly had settled on her fan. Ramage saw Pisano follow them into the cabin flushed and angry.

  Gianna walked straight up to the big table and looked coolly at the six captains, who were so startled and overawed that to Ramage it seemed they shrank in size, ceasing to exist as flesh and blood and becoming six figures painted on canvas, transfixed at a certain moment in time by an artist’s brush.

  ‘Who,’ demanded Gianna, ‘is in charge here?’

  Oh, how he loved that voice when it became imperious! He didn’t know whether to watch Pisano, the six captains, Gianna, the lieutenant who stood uncertainly a yard or so behind her, Barrow, whose spectacles had slid so far down his nose that it was difficult to know why they did not fall off altogether, or the Marine sentry, who clearly thought the cabin had been invaded by some bumboat woman.

  Croucher reacted first but, completely under her magnetic spell, stood and bowed. ‘I – er… I am the President of the court, Madam.’

  ‘I am the Marchesa di Volterra.’

  Her voice and compelling, patrician beauty combined to silence everyone except the Marine sentry, who gasped, ‘Gawd- orlmighty!’

  Ramage doubted if Croucher had ever waited for an admiral to speak with more apprehension than he waited for the girl.

  ‘I have no legal right to appear in a court martial trying Lieutenant Ramage for the loss of his ship,’ she said in a tone indicating quite clearly she regarded this as a trifling matter, ‘but I have a moral right to appear in a court trying him for cowardice if it is based upon the accusations of my cousin.’

  Several people gasped, and Ramage glanced at the white-faced Pisano who made no reaction: he’d obviously already heard all this a minute or two earlier, outside the cabin door.

  ‘I believe my cousin has in writing accused Lieutenant Ramage of cowardice; I believe my cousin accuses Lieutenant Ramage of abandoning my cousin Count Pitti; I believe–’

  ‘How can you possibly know of this, Madam?’ exclaimed Croucher.

  ‘But it is true, is it not?’

  The sharp and authoritative note in her voice flashed the question at Croucher like the swift, clean riposte of an expert fencer, and he was slow to parry.

  ‘Well – er, yes, in a way: Count Pisano has made certain charges–’

  ‘Accusations, not charges,’ she corrected him. ‘These accusations are without basis. I cannot let loyalty to my family prevent me from making certain that justice is done, so this court must know firstly that Count Pisano does not know Count Pitti was wounded: it was dark and although he says he heard him call out, he has admitted to me he does not know what it was he said.

  ‘Secondly, Lieutenant Ramage carried me to the boat because I was wounded, and put me in it. Count Pisano – who came to the boat by a different route – was already sitting in it. So if he had heard Count Pitti call out, he should have gone back himself.

  ‘Thirdly, after Count Pisano and I were safely in the boat, Lieutenant Ramage went up to the dunes again – I saw him – and called for Mr Jackson. Several minutes passed before he returned, and during that time Count Pisano was impatient because he wanted the boat to leave.

  ‘Fourthly, when Lieutenant Ramage finally returned to the boat and we waited a few seconds for Mr Jackson to arrive – we could see him coming towards us – Count Pisano was urging the Lieutenant to leave: in other words, he was urging the Lieutenant to abandon Mr Jackson, who had a few minutes earlier attacked four French cavalrymen and saved my life and that of Lieutenant–’

  At that moment Pisano ran forward screaming, ‘Tu sei una squaldrina!’ and hit her across the face; then there was a heavy, dull thud and a rattle, and Pisano collapsed to the deck at the girl’s feet. The stolid Marine sentry, who had lunged forward and hit Pisano on the side of the head with the butt of his musket, took a pace backwards and stood stiffly to attention, a look of doubt beginning to grow on his face.

  Ramage leapt forward, realizing the Marine’s musket blow had been the unthinking reaction of a person horrified that anyone should strike a woman.

  ‘Good man!’ Ramage exclaimed and in a moment Gianna was in his arms. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes – yes.’ She lapsed into Italian. ‘Have I done the correct thing? Have I made a terrible mistake?’

  ‘No! You were magnificent. I–’

  ‘Is the Marchesa all right?’

  Ramage realized that Croucher, trapped behind the table and unable to understand what they were saying, was now so agitated that he was shouting the question, probably for the third or fourth time.

  ‘Yes sir, she says she is.’

  ‘Right. You–’ Croucher said to the Marine, ‘and you, you blithering idiot’ – (this to Lieutenant Blenkinsop, who was still standing beside his chair, open-mouthed and sword in hand) – ‘take that man down to the Surgeon.’

  The Marine put his musket down on the deck, eagerly seized Pisano by the hair and dragged him a couple of yards across the deck before Blenkinsop hurriedly told him to hoist Pisano by the arms while he took the legs.

  Ramage sat the girl in the witness’ chair. Barrow, whose spectacles had finally fallen on to
the table, subsided into his seat. This was the signal for all the captains, except the President, to settle down again. Croucher obviously felt he had to do something to regain control of the situation.

  ‘Clear the court!’ he ordered. ‘But you stay,’ he said to Ramage, ‘and you too, Madam, if you please.’

  The Bosun, and the few officers who had been sitting in the row of seats behind Ramage, filed out, while Croucher ordered the lieutenant who had followed Gianna into the cabin to put another sentry on the door.

  Within two minutes the cabin was quiet again. Gianna quickly composed herself and, womanlike, turned slightly so that the captains saw her left profile, and not the right, which was red from Pisano’s blow.

  Ramage sat down again in his own chair. Except for the sentry’s musket still lying diagonally across the white and black squares of the deck – from butt to muzzle it had made the knight’s move, he noticed – there was nothing to indicate what had happened. The chessboard had been swept clean of the pawns…who was going to make the next move?

  ‘Well,’ said Croucher lamely, ‘well…’

  Ramage promptly put himself in Croucher’s position, ran through the courses open to him, and was ready when Croucher said: ‘…Frankly I don’t know how we should proceed now.’

  ‘I am still on trial, sir…’

  The perplexity showed in Croucher’s thin, foxy face: Ramage sensed the man knew he was standing on a powder barrel and was afraid Ramage was lighting the fuse.

  Five minutes ago, the trial was just going as Croucher had planned; but now the Marchesa di Volterra had been assaulted in his own court by his most important witness.

  Ramage watched Croucher’s face closely and thought he could detect one unpleasant realization after another galloping through the man’s mind: the Marchesa must have a great deal of influence in high places… What would Rear-Admiral Goddard say and, more important, Sir John Jervis, the Commander-in-Chief… Did her influence spread to St James’ Palace…? Goddard would wash his hands of the whole affair – there might have to be a scapegoat…