Ramage

by Pope, Dudley

  And, thought Ramage wryly, his name might well turn out to be Captain Aloysius Croucher. The more he thought about it – and his brain seemed to be working at enormous speed – the angrier Ramage became: although all six captains and Barrow were soaking with perspiration, he began to feel cold – the icy coldness of rage.

  He knew he was blinking rapidly and he guessed his face was white; but he felt a violent revulsion against the Pisanos, the Goddards, the Crouchers: he was sick of these men who would go to any lengths – or depths – to satisfy their pride or jealousy. None of them was any better than a Neapolitan hired assassin, who, for a few centesimi, would knife anyone in the back. In fact each was worse, because the assassin made no pretence at being any better than he was.

  Suddenly Ramage understood something which had puzzled him for years: why, at the trial, his father had eventually refused to make any further defence. His enemies claimed he’d finally admitted his guilt; his friends, for the lack of any other explanation, assumed he was just worn out.

  But now Ramage knew his father had decided his accusers were too despicable to warrant him continuing to defend himself against their charges; charges which were so gross that if he was to clear himself he would have to use the same crude and dishonourable weapons.

  But why not use them? Why, Ramage thought, should the despicable always win against the honourable? Why should men like Goddard and Croucher, lurking in the shadows, using assassins – whether assassins destroying a man’s life with lies in a court of law or with a stiletto in a dark alley – why should such men always escape? They always did: the Duke of Newcastle, Fox, Anson, the Earl of Hardwicke for instance – they’d engineered Admiral Byng’s execution and escaped; and less than thirty years later their successors had ruined his own father, although mercifully they hadn’t stooped to judicial murder.

  The tactics, Ramage realized, were not to waste time with the assassins, but instead go straight for the men who employed them: the men in the shadows.

  Ramage suddenly knew he didn’t give a damn if his own career was wrecked: that was little enough to gamble if it meant squaring Goddard’s yards…

  Croucher was saying something.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

  ‘I was announcing, for the second time,’ Croucher said acidly, ‘that the court feels since the prosecution has not offered any evidence in support of the charge, the court should record the fact and dismiss the charge.’

  How blatant can you be, thought Ramage.

  ‘The prosecution has only been interrupted, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Croucher said testily, ‘but–’

  ‘I assume the prosecution actually possesses evidence, sir, so with respect I feel the trial ought to continue.’

  Croucher looked wary: he could see many traps ahead. But he had several advisers, apart from the legal books on the table in front of the Deputy Judge Advocate.

  ‘Very well, then, you and the Marchesa will leave the court while the members discuss the situation. You will not, of course, have any conversation together. Tell the sentry to pass the word for the Provost Marshal.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fifteen minutes later a sentry came into the Captain’s clerk’s cabin, where Ramage was waiting with Blenkinsop, to tell them the court had reopened. When Ramage walked back into the great cabin he saw the seats behind his chair were now full: every officer not on duty in the ship had come in to watch, hoping for more excitement.

  Captain Croucher looked up at Ramage.

  ‘The court has decided that no reference to the recent interruption shall be recorded in the minutes, and the trial will continue. Do you agree?’

  ‘It is not for me to agree or disagree, sir,’ Ramage said coldly. ‘With the greatest respect, you are the President of the court. If the court is in error, no doubt the Commander-in-Chief or the Admiralty will take the appropriate steps.’

  He wasn’t going to fall into that trap; if he agreed, Croucher was cleared of any possible charge of misconduct over the trial. Croucher had set a trap and – thanks to Gianna – was now in danger of himself being caught in it; but that was the risk people took when they set traps. Croucher was a fool anyway, because Gianna wasn’t on oath; none of the court seemed to have realized the minutes should record only evidence given on oath: if a ship blew up alongside, there would be no need to record it – unless to explain the court’s adjournment. Ramage decided to bluff.

  ‘I think,’ Croucher said uncertainly, ‘the court has the power to order anything to be omitted from the record.’

  His voice did not carry much conviction; clearly he wanted to lure Ramage into a discussion, so that he could suggest in a friendly way that he was causing a lot of unnecessary bother.

  Ramage stood up.

  ‘With respect, sir, and admittedly with no knowledge of legal procedure, surely a court can’t ignore and thus virtually destroy evidence already given? Otherwise minutes could always be edited or censored, like some penny broadsheet, to prove a guilty man innocent – or an innocent man guilty.’

  ‘Good God, young man, no one’s suggesting the minutes should be censored: the court just feels it would be the wisest way of disposing of a very disagreeable situation.’

  ‘By disagreeable, sir,’ said Ramage politely, ‘I assume you are concerned that it is disagreeable for me; but the court must ignore my feelings and get at the truth, however disagreeable it may be…’

  ‘Very well, then,’ Croucher said, obviously admitting defeat, ‘call the first witness.’

  Ramage interrupted: ‘Can we follow the normal procedure, sir, and have the Deputy Judge Advocate read over the minutes from the time the first witness was originally called?’

  ‘My dear boy,’ Croucher replied, ‘we can’t spend all the week on this trial: let’s get on with hearing the evidence.’

  Ramage rubbed the scar over his right eyebrow and blinked rapidly: excitement and anger were mounting: he must keep calm: once these men found their victim showed signs of fighting back, they became nervous, and he had to watch for every opportunity to attack: he must continue the bluff.

  ‘With respect, sir, it is only fair to me to have it read.’

  ‘Oh, very well, then.’

  Everyone looked at Barrow, who gripped his spectacles in both hands and almost giggled with nervousness.

  ‘I made no note, sir…’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Ramage interrupted smoothly: ‘Then perhaps we can agree on a paraphrased version, sir?’

  It only needed someone to point out that Gianna had not been on oath and he’d lost the gamble; but it was worth it. To his relief Croucher finally agreed, and for the next five minutes he and Ramage argued over the wording. Ramage insisted that the Marchesa’s remarks should be put in word for word, and when Croucher declared that it was impossible to remember what she said, Ramage suggested she should be called in to repeat her remarks. Croucher, alarmed at the idea, eventually agreed on a short version and asked sarcastically: ‘Are you satisfied now?’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  ‘Thank God for that. Barrow, make a note of that and recall the first witness!’

  The Bosun walked straight to the witness chair, and since there was no need for him to take the oath again, Barrow began the questioning.

  ‘You were formerly Boatswain of His Majesty’s late ship Sibella on Thursday the eighth of September, when you fell in with the French warship?’

  ‘Aye, I was that!’ replied Brown.

  ‘Kindly answer, “yes’ or “no”,’ Barrow said acidly. ‘Relate to the court every particular you know concerning the action from the time Captain Letts was killed.’

  Ramage was just going to protest that Brown should begin his story earlier, since the court was investigating the loss of the ship as well as trying him, when Captain Ferris interrupted.

  ‘From the wording of the order for the trial, I think the witness should tell what h
e knows from the time the French ship came in sight. Captain Letts’ activities are of equal interest to the court.’

  ‘Since Captain Letts is dead he can hardly be a witness,’ said Captain Croucher, trying to avoid openly rejecting Ferris’ demand.

  ‘Had the prisoner been killed he would not be on trial either,’ retorted Ferris. ‘But it would be unfair to blame the prisoner for anything which was Captain Letts’ responsibility.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Croucher. ‘Strike the last part of the question from the record and substitute “from the time the French ship was sighted”.’

  Brown was a simple man but although nervous at facing so many senior officers he obviously knew that this was no ordinary trial. And since Brown was a simple man, he told his story simply. He had just said he had heard some of the men say they’d been told several of the officers were killed, when Captain Blackman, sitting next to Captain Croucher, interrupted: ‘What you heard other people say is not evidence: speak the facts.’

  ‘Them’s the facts!’ said Brown, taking little trouble to hide his contempt for anyone so stupid as not to understand. ‘The orficers were killed. Couldn’t see it with me own glims ’cos I couldn’t be everywhere at once. But they was dead all right.’

  ‘Carry on,’ said Croucher, ‘but try and remember that what someone said to you is evidence, but what you were told someone said to someone else isn’t – that’s just hearsay.’

  Clearly Brown neither understood nor cared, but launched off again on his narrative, bringing it up to the time that all the officers appeared to have been killed and the Master had taken command. The Master had just given orders for knotting some torn rigging when he was himself cut in two by a shot.

  ‘I thought to meself, “Allo, won’t be long afore I’m dragging me anchors fer the next world too”, and I didn’t fancy taking command of that lot.’

  ‘What “lot”?’ asked Croucher icily.

  ‘Well, sir, the ship as she was. A complete wreck by then. Anyway, sir, since I was apparently the senior man alive I sends men to make a tally of ’ow many was dead and ’ow many was winged. They came back and reports there aren’t no more’n a third of us left on our pins.’

  ‘Exactly how many were killed and how many wounded?’ asked Captain Ferris, indicating to Captain Croucher that he wished to see the ship’s muster book.

  ‘Forty-eight dead, sir, and sixty-three wounded – a dozen or so o’ them mortually.’

  ‘Mortally,’ corrected the Deputy Judge Advocate.

  ‘That’s what I said. Mortually. Means they died later.’

  ‘Out of a ship’s company of one hundred and sixty-four,’ commented Ferris, closing the muster book.

  ‘Wouldn’t be knowing, sir.’

  ‘That was the total at the last muster,’ Ferris said. ‘Note it in the minutes, Barrow. Carry on with your evidence, Brown.’

  ‘Well,’ said Brown, ‘I was just wishing I could lash up me ’ammick, stow me bag and go ’ome when the bleeding Master-at-Arms mentions, ever so casual, that he thought one of the orficers on the main deck wasn’t dead, sir, only wounded. I sent a lad down to make sure and I heard he found Mr Ramage unconcherous–’

  ‘Unconscious,’ said Barrow.

  ‘Hearsay evidence,’ Captain Blackman interrupted triumphantly.

  ‘Nor it wasn’t!’ retorted Brown. ‘In a minute the boy came back and told me with ’is own lips as ’e’d found Mr Ramage breathin’ but wounded and unconcherous–’

  ‘Unconscious,’ said Barrow.

  ‘Unconchirous, then,’ said Brown, determined to ram home the point. ‘I sent ’im down again to tell Mr Ramage he was in command, and the lad came back and said–’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said Barrow, ‘you’re talking much too fast.’

  Brown could not resist a chance of a dig at a purser – for he had recognized Barrow’s trade – and sniffed, ‘First time I met a pusser slow with ’is pen!’

  ‘Steady there!’ warned Captain Croucher. ‘Confine your remarks to the case in hand.’

  ‘Well, as soon as Mr Ramage came on deck I reported the state of the ship and the butcher’s bill and told ’im that ’e was in command.’

  Captain Ferris asked, ‘What condition was Mr Ramage in?’

  ‘He looked as though ’e’d tripped over the standing part o’ the fore sheet and bin hauled back on board just in time!’ said Brown, and Ramage almost laughed at the simile, since ‘Going over the standing part of the fore sheet’ was slang for dying, or being killed.

  ‘Be more specific,’ said Ferris.

  ‘Well, ’e was groggy on ’is pins: he’d ’ad a terrible bash on the ’ead.’

  Why, thought Ramage, can the man tackle one aitch and miss the next? He was just making a mental note to ask Brown a question when it was his turn to cross-examine as Ferris asked: ‘Did he appear dazed?’

  ‘Looked like a grampus that’d been luffed into a brick wall, sir.’

  Several people in the court laughed, including Ramage: it was an apt description, since, like a grampus, he’d been soaking wet after ducking his head in the water tub; and the picture of a grampus swimming head first into a brick wall seemed to describe how he’d felt at that moment. Ferris seemed satisfied, but Croucher said to Barrow: ‘With the witness’ consent, you’d better put that down as “Yes, he appeared dazed”. Is that correct, Brown?’

  ‘Better make it “very dazed”, sir.’

  ‘Carry on, then.’

  ‘Well, there aren’t much more to it. Mr Ramage got a round turn on ’iself in a moment or two and took command.’

  Brown obviously thought that was all the evidence he needed to give, but Croucher said, ‘Well, go on to describe the surrender of the ship.’

  Briefly Brown told how by cleverly wearing round the Sibella at the last moment so that her foremast collapsed over the side and acted as an anchor, Mr Ramage had given the unwounded men a chance to get into the boats and escape in the darkness, and left the wounded to surrender the ship.

  ‘Thus the wounded were abandoned to the French?’ asked Captain Blackman.

  ‘You could put it like that, sir,’ said Brown, making it clear that anyone who did would be a fool or a rogue. ‘But we was mustered in three divisions: the dead – and they didn’t care; the wounded, who couldn’t get a mite o’ medical attention ’cos our surgeon and his mate was already dead; and them of us who weren’t wounded and didn’t want to be prisoners of the Frenchies.

  ‘Apart from that,’ he added, ‘there’s the Harticles of War. Number Ten, last bit, about “if any Person in the Fleet shall treacherously or cowardly yield or cry for quarter”, so it wouldn’t ‘ave been right for us who wasn’t wounded to let ourselves be taken prisoner. And it stands to reason our chaps’d get properly treated by the Frenchies, who mightn’t be much in a scrap but at least they don’t murder the wounded. But even if we’d been able to get the wounded away in the boats – and we couldn’t, mind you – we’d ’ave as good as murdered ’em. Christ!’ he exclaimed at the thought of it, ‘it nearly did for us that trip to Bastia in the boiling ’ot sun, and we wasn’t even scratched.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Captain Blackman, who had been trying to stop the Bosun’s excited speech, partly because he realized the reason behind his question was now blatantly obvious, and partly because the Deputy Judge Advocate was waving desperately with one hand and scribbling away with the other.

  ‘Quite!’ he repeated. ‘Please pause after each sentence – the Judge Advocate simply cannot write at that speed.’

  Clearly Brown thought that at last he had completed his part in the trial, but Captain Croucher said: ‘Continue your narrative until the time you arrived in Bastia.’

  The look of surprise on Brown’s face could hardly be lost on the members of the court, Ramage thought, but if it was, Brown’s next remark drew attention to it.

  ‘I hope as ’ow I’m not incrimuanating meself – or anyone else – by going on like this, ’cos t
hat’s got nothin’ to do with surrendering the ship.’

  ‘You are not charged with anything so you cannot incriminate yourself,’ said the Deputy Judge Advocate.

  ‘No, I’m not charged with anything yet,’ he retorted, ‘but that’s not to say the trip to Bastia’s got anything to do with sinking the Sibella or why Mr Ramage is on trial. Nor’s it to say I won’t be charged later on.’

  ‘Get on with your evidence, man,’ said Captain Croucher impatiently, ‘you’ve nothing to fear if you tell the truth.’

  After Brown had described the voyage to Bastia, he declared: ‘Well, that’s all I’ve got to say.’

  Captain Croucher glanced up. ‘That is for us to decide. As it happens I have no questions. Have any of the members of the court anything to ask this witness?’

  ‘Where was Mr Ramage standing when he gave the order to wear ship?’ asked Ferris.

  ‘On the nettings by the starboard mizen shrouds,’ said Brown. ‘He shouted at the Frenchies from there. I thought he was mad to stand up exposed like that, if you’ll forgive me saying so, sir, ’cos apart from anything else if ’e got shot it meant I was in command again!’

  Ramage realized that Ferris would not be one of Captain Croucher’s favourites by the time the trial ended: clearly Ferris wanted to underline the fact that Ramage had not been skulking somewhere out of the way of shot.

  ‘No more questions?’ asked Croucher, in a voice that defied anyone to speak. ‘Well, the prisoner may cross-examine the witness.’

  Anything Ramage said now could only be an anticlimax after Brown’s bluff, honest and forthright narrative.

  ‘I have no questions, sir.’

  ‘Oh – oh well, read back the evidence, Mr Barrow.’

  Only once did Brown interrupt, to make a correction, and that was because Barrow had written that Ramage ‘appeared dazed’.