Ramage

by Pope, Dudley

  ‘I said “very dazed”,’ said Brown belligerently. ‘Don’t you go taking words out of my mouth!’

  ‘Wait a moment, then,’ said Barrow, picking up his pen.

  When he continued reading, Brown said, ‘You read over that last bit again and make sure you’ve set it to rights!’

  The implication startled Barrow, but he slid his spectacles back up his nose and read it.

  ‘That’s right: proceed, Mr Purser,’ said Brown, making it clear that pursers should know they could not be trusted.

  When Barrow finished reading Brown was allowed to leave the court, and the next witness was called.

  Matthew Lloyd, the Carpenter’s Mate, marched in and stood precisely where the Deputy Judge Advocate’s pointing finger indicated. He was as thin as the planks he so often sawed, adzed and chiselled; his face was long and tanned, as if carefully carved from a narrow piece of close-grained mahogany.

  When Lloyd answered Barrow’s routine questions about his name, rating and where he had been on the evening of the action, his voice was staccato, each word rapped out as if he was hammering in a row of flat-headed scupper nails. When he related what he knew about damage received during the action, he did it as precisely as if he had been marking out a piece of wood before starting to make some delicate cabinet work for the Captain. His answers were equally precise. No, he did not know exactly how many shot hit the hull because as soon as they plugged one hole another would appear. No, he wasn’t sure which broadside it was that killed the captain but he thought it was the fifth; yes, he had been sounding the well up to then and at the time Captain Letts was killed there were three feet of water. Soon after that the ship seemed to be making nearly an inch of water a minute. No, he had not timed it with a watch, he told Captain Croucher, but it was a foot in less than fifteen minutes.

  There was no chance of keeping the ship afloat, he told Captain Blackman, because several shot had opened up the hull planking in way of the futtocks, and it was impossible to fit shot plugs from inside the ship. No, he had not reported to Captain Letts that the pumps could not keep up with the leaks because by that time Captain Letts had been killed, but he had reported to the Master.

  Yes, he told Captain Ferris, there had been a great deal of damage in addition to shot hitting the ship on the waterline; but he’d only mentioned those ’twixt wind and water because there were so many and they were his special concern.

  The first he knew of Mr Ramage being in command, he told Captain Blackman, was when Mr Ramage sent for him and asked the extent of the damage. What were Mr Ramage’s exact questions? It was difficult to recall precisely but he remembered being very surprised that the Junior Lieutenant – if Mr Ramage would excuse him saying so – should be so thorough; and as soon as he was told the depth of water in the well Mr Ramage had worked out how many tons had flooded into the ship, roughly how much buoyancy remained, and how long – allowing for the fact that the lower the ship sank the faster the water would come in through the shotholes because the pressure increased with depth – the ship could stay afloat.

  ‘Yes, I know you know all about that, sir,’ he said to Captain Blackman, ‘but I’m giving my evidence and I’m describing what Mr Ramage said and did, and he was speaking out loud because – as far as I could see – he’d only just recovered from being knocked unconscious. Marvel to me,’ he added, ‘that he could work it out in his own head, anyway.’

  ‘Mr Ramage had worked out roughly how long it would be before the ship sank?’ asked Ferris.

  ‘Yes – between sixty and seventy-five minutes.’

  Ramage noticed Croucher was becoming increasingly restless: Ferris’ questions were clearly annoying him, although Ramage knew that Ferris was only concerned with getting at the truth; while Blackman was, from Croucher’s point of view, asking the wrong sort of questions: the Carpenter’s Mate was a steady man with a good memory, not at all intimidated by Blackman’s hectoring manner. Blackman’s blatant attempts to discredit Ramage were in fact only drawing attention to his thoroughness.

  Finally Captain Croucher’s restlessness became obvious even to the willing Blackman, who stopped questioning Lloyd.

  ‘Has the court anything else to ask this witness?’ asked Croucher. ‘Very well, the prisoner may cross-examine.’

  There were only two points to make – purely for the record.

  ‘You definitely remember my estimate of the length of time before the ship sank, with the damage there then was and the pumps out of action?’

  ‘Yes, sir, quite clearly: particularly as you said it in minutes, and not “between an hour and an hour and a quarter”.’

  ‘How long, in your estimation, passed between my making that estimate and the French setting the ship on fire after we had left?’

  ‘More than half an hour, sir.’

  ‘Why do you think they set her on fire?’

  Captain Croucher interrupted: ‘Opinion is not evidence, Mr Ramage.’

  ‘If you’ll forgive me, sir, I am questioning the beliefs of a professional man about his own subject, not asking his opinion.’

  ‘Don’t argue with the court.’

  Ramage bowed and turned back to the Carpenter’s Mate: the question was perfectly in order, but it was unnecessary to argue with Croucher since it could be asked in another way.

  ‘If I had ordered you to lay a fuse to blow up the ship at that time after I made the estimate, could you have obeyed?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The magazine and powder room would have been under water, sir.’

  ‘But if instead I had given you orders to destroy the ship, what would you have done?’

  ‘I could only have set her on fire, sir, like the French did.’

  ‘Now, given that you had an unlimited number of men to help with repairs and that the pumps were working, could you, from the time I took over command, have saved the ship from sinking?’

  ‘No, sir, most definitely not.’

  ‘I have no more questions to put to this witness, sir,’ he said to Croucher.

  ‘Very well. The court has nothing else to ask, so call the next witness.’

  ‘Call Count Pisano,’ said the Deputy Judge Advocate.

  Ramage had been waiting for this moment: so far the trial seemed to be going his way: he’d bluffed Croucher into leaving Gianna’s speech in the trial minutes; thwarted his attempt to drop the whole case once the interruption was made; and the Bosun and Carpenter’s Mate had given favourable evidence. Now all he had to do was prevent Croucher bringing in Pisano as a witness.

  Ramage said to Captain Croucher: ‘Would you wait a moment, sir: this gentleman’s name does not appear on the list of witnesses in support of the charge which the Deputy Judge Advocate sent to me.’

  Croucher gave such a disarming smile that Ramage knew he’d made a mistake: he was not sure what it was, but Croucher was about to checkmate him.

  ‘The Deputy Judge Advocate,’ Croucher said politely, ‘will explain the position to you.’

  Ramage needed time, so he quickly stood up. ‘Perhaps the court should be cleared while the point is argued.’

  ‘There is nothing to argue about,’ Croucher said sharply. ‘Carry on,’ he told Barrow.

  The man stood up and adjusted his spectacles.

  ‘A similar circumstance arose in a court martial in January of last year,’ he said pompously. ‘A court martial held, incidentally, here in Bastia. The court referred the question to the authorities in London. The Judge Advocate General gave his opinion on it, in a letter dated May 22, 1795, of which I have an attested copy here, saying: “If any person at hand, and who can without delay be called upon, is supposed to be capable of giving material testimony, I have not a doubt that the court may require his attendance and examine him”.’

  Ramage leapt to his feet just as Ferris was about to speak.

  ‘Judge Advocate General, did you say?’

  ‘Yes,’ Barrow said smugly.<
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  ‘What has he got to do with it?’

  ‘I do not understand you,’ interrupted Croucher.

  ‘The Judge Advocate General, sir,’ said Ramage, ‘is concerned only with Army affairs. I hardly need remind you that legal matters concerning the Navy would be the responsibility of the Judge Advocate to the Fleet. Am I to conclude the opinion was given on an Army court martial?’

  Croucher glanced at the Deputy Judge Advocate, and Barrow said sheepishly, ‘Well yes, sir; but we have no reason to suppose the Judge Advocate to the Fleet would differ in opinion.’

  ‘That is a matter of opinion, and opinion is not evidence,’ said Ramage. ‘However, my point is that it’s the custom of our Service to notify an accused person of the witnesses being called against him.’

  But he knew they’d overrule him, so he decided to forestall Croucher’s little victory.

  ‘However, I’m not objecting to any particular witness, because I am sure the court’ – Ramage could not keep the irony out of his voice – ‘is anxious to arrive at the truth.’

  ‘Very well,’ Croucher said impatiently, and told Barrow to call Pisano, who strode in through the door with an expression on his face as if he regarded himself as the most important guest arriving at a gala ball. He ducked under each beam, although his head would have cleared it by a couple of inches – clearly he had banged himself so much in the smaller Lively that he was taking no chances – but, thought Ramage, instead of making an entrance da grande signore, he looked more like a puffed-up pigeon strutting jerkily across a piazza.

  ‘Would you stand here, please,’ Barrow said deferentially. ‘You are Luigi Vittorio Umberto Giacomo, Count Pisano?’

  ‘I have several other names, but they will be sufficient to identify me.’

  Croucher interrupted: ‘You feel sufficiently recovered to give evidence?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Pisano replied stiffly, clearly wishing to forget the episode.

  ‘You will forgive me for certain questions I have to ask you,’ said Barrow. ‘You are of the Roman Catholic faith?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And you are – eh – not under excommunication?’

  ‘Indeed not!’

  Barrow put the Crucifix on the Bible and placed them nearer Pisano.

  ‘Would you please place your right hand on the Crucifix and repeat the following oath after me.’

  Pisano repeated each phrase, eyes uplifted in what he must have thought was a reverent attitude, and sat down.

  ‘Your English is so good I have no need to offer you the services of an interpreter!’ Croucher remarked with an ingratiating smile.

  Ramage knew exactly how Pisano would react.

  ‘Interpreter? Interpreter? Am I entitled to one?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Croucher proudly, ‘anyone whose native language is not English is entitled to an interpreter in a British court of law.’

  ‘Then I wish to have an interpreter,’ announced Pisano, crossing his legs and folding his arms, as if to indicate he would not speak another word until an interpreter was produced.

  ‘Oh – ah – well, certainly,’ said Croucher lamely. ‘Send for an interpreter, Barrow.’

  The Deputy Judge Advocate gave Captain Croucher what Ramage took to be a warning look, but said: ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Send for my clerk,’ said Croucher. ‘He can find one.’

  The clerk was brought into the court, instructed to find a translator, told to shut up and look when he began to make some protest, and hurried out again, pursued by Croucher’s ‘And get a move on!’

  Croucher sat back, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Barrow looked wretched – obviously he sensed a squall just over the horizon. Croucher’s smile began to dissolve when Captain Blackman whispered something, and he turned and spoke to Captain Herbert, sitting on his left. Herbert shook his head and in turn questioned the captain next to him. He, too, shook his head, while Blackman had in the meantime been whispering to the captain on his right, who shrugged his shoulders and spoke to Ferris, who also shook his head.

  Croucher reached out for one of the Sibella’s logs and began reading, trying hard to appear unconcerned. Pisano, probably piqued at not holding the centre of the stage, indicated his boredom by picking pieces of fluff from his sky-blue breeches (where on earth did he find them? Ramage wondered) and then inspected his fingernails with more concentration, it seemed to Ramage, than he could ever muster for more serious matters.

  And, he thought grimly, matters could not be more serious. Croucher was obviously pinning everything on Pisano’s testimony, and he must be the last witness they could produce: then he’d make his defence. Should he call the Bosun and Carpenter’s Mate? No – there was nothing they could add to their earlier evidence. So there was only Jackson. He would only corroborate what had been said about the Sibella, but he might be useful for the Tower affair and the visit to Argentario.

  Yet what could Jackson say? All the deference that Croucher was showing Pisano indicated that, despite Gianna’s intervention, he was going to make sure the court believed every word he said.

  In that case the verdict was a foregone conclusion. Ramage felt his previous elation evaporate: all those fine resolutions about fighting back, he thought bitterly… You can’t fight without weapons. And that’s what his father had found.

  But – if Pisano’s word counted for so much, then so would Gianna’s! Perhaps not with the court, but if she gave evidence it would be recorded and appear in the minutes which Sir John Jervis and the Admiralty would read. And – he could kick himself for only just thinking of it – the court had just ruled someone could be called as a witness without previous warning.

  At that moment the clerk returned to the cabin and handed a note to Captain Croucher, who read it, looked at Pisano, and said apologetically, ‘I am afraid that owing to some oversight there is at the moment in the squadron only one person versed in the Italian language and he’s not available to act as an interpreter.’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Pisano insolently.

  ‘I – ah – well…’ Croucher looked round, as if expecting to see a suitable explanation written on a bulkhead. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to accept my word for it that he is not available.’

  ‘But if I am entitled to an interpreter I want an interpreter,’ insisted Pisano. ‘I have a right – you said so yourself: I demand my rights!’

  ‘I regret,’ Croucher answered heavily, ‘that the only interpreter available is Lieutenant Ramage.’

  Pisano’s manner had clearly nettled him; Ramage thought he might even be having some regrets at having to use such an unpleasant man as a weapon: even Croucher must have scruples, and probably shared the average British naval officer’s distrust of all foreigners.

  ‘Very well,’ said Pisano. ‘But I make a formal complaint that I have been deprived of my rights.’

  ‘Sir–’ Barrow said apologetically to Croucher. ‘Would you allow me to express an opinion? If the Count simply wishes the court to note that he had not had the services of an interpreter, all would be well. But if he is rushing a formal complaint, then it might well cause Their Lordships to declare the trial irregular, and quash the proceedings…’

  Croucher looked at Pisano. ‘Would you agree to it simply being noted in the minutes that an interpreter was not available?’

  ‘What minutes? What are these minutes? Seconds, minutes, hours?’

  ‘No, no!’ Croucher said hastily. ‘Minutes in this sense is – are, rather – the written record of the trial.’

  ‘Oh. All right then: anything to finish this. I am a busy man,’ Pisano added. ‘I have a lot to do.’

  Croucher said hurriedly, anxious to take advantage of Pisano’s agreement, ‘Yes, quite, we will proceed at once. The Deputy Judge Advocate will hand you a document’ – he waited while Barrow found it and passed it – ‘which I would like you to look at. Do you recognize it?’

  ‘Yes, of course: a letter I wrote.’


  ‘To whom did you address it?’

  ‘That fellow, what is his name? Prodding, Probing… Probus…anyway the man who commands the little ship.’

  ‘Would you be good enough to read to the court the contents of the document?’

  Very neatly done, thought Ramage. But we might as well make it difficult for Pisano. Just give him a minute or two to get into his stride.

  ‘I wrote this report on the disgraceful behaviour of Lieutenant Ramage–’

  ‘The witness is requested only to read the document, I believe,’ remarked Captain Ferris.

  ‘Er – yes, pray read the document without any prefatory remarks,’ said Croucher.

  ‘All right. I read: “Dear Lord Probus, I demand that Lieutenant Ramage be accused of abandoning my cousin Count Pitti to the enemy after he was wounded on the beach at Torre di Burranaccio and I demand that he further be accused of causing my cousin the Marchesa di Volterra to be wounded by his rashness, negligence and cowardice…’

  Ramage stood up and asked politely, ‘Has it been stated if the witness is reading from the original document, or from a copy? If a copy, it should be sworn to.’

  ‘Mio Dio!’ exclaimed Pisano.

  ‘The point is a valid one, sir,’ interposed Barrow.

  ‘It is the letter I wrote: my own calligraphy – I recognize that well enough,’ said Pisano heatedly. ‘It is not a copy – what an outrageous suggestion!’

  ‘The fault is mine,’ Barrow admitted wearily. ‘I should have questioned the witness about its validity before he began reading.’

  ‘Please continue,’ Croucher said hurriedly.

  Pisano raised his voice, as if determined to shut out any further interruptions. Ramage noticed that the letter seemed even more hysterical and unbalanced when read aloud by Pisano than when he’d seen it in Probus’ cabin.

  Pisano was now behaving like an actor playing to the gallery – heavy emphasis here, a significant pause there, and the whole narration accompanied by meaningful gestures with his left hand. He thumped his chest when referring to Pitti being wounded (not his head, Ramage noted); he thumped his right shoulder as he mentioned the Marchesa’s wound.