Ramage's Trial r-14

by Dudley Pope

  A clattering on the companion ladder heralded Aitken, followed by Rennick, Southwick (his great sword in hand), Sergeant Ferris and several Marines. Ramage moved back a few steps to make room for them all, and to avoid explanation and any more delay, pulled both pistols from his belt, cocked them and then kicked open the flimsy door of the gunroom, striding in with the shout: "No one move!"

  No one moved because the gunroom itself was empty: the table in the centre was bare, there was a form at each of the long sides and a chair at either end, and all round were the doors of the officers' cabins. Hats hung on hooks over several of them, and there were empty racks which normally held swords, telescopes and pistols. But in view of the heat, it was significant that all the doors were shut. Ramage stood by the table until the men behind him had come into the gunroom, pistols and cutlasses at the ready.

  Rennick's whole stance showed that he considered this was a job for the Marines, and remembering how there had been no work for them as sharpshooters, Ramage told him: "All right, look into the cabins one at a time, starting at that end."

  Rennick did not wait for Ferris or one of the Marines: instead he stepped forward quickly, pistol in his left hand, and flung the door open. Inside a man crouched on a small, folding stool that took up the space left by the cot and small chest of drawers.

  "Out!" Rennick snarled, "slowly, with your hands clasped in front of you."

  The deckhead was too low for a man to hold up his arms: everyone in the gunroom was having to crouch, and Ramage pulled round a chair and sat down. Whatever was going on, there would be no violence. The officer now coming out of the cabin which was neatly labelled "1st Lt" looked as if he had not slept for a month nor changed his clothes.

  "Sit here," Ramage said, pointing to the form on his left. "If you are the Jason's first lieutenant, tell me your name and explain why you are skulking in your cabin."

  "Ridley, sir."

  "That answers my first question ..."

  The man ran a finger along the grain of the deal table but avoided looking up at Ramage, who examined the man's pale and unshaven face closely.

  "Ridley," he said quietly, "you haven't been up on deck for two or three weeks." He recalled the man's stiff gait. "And I doubt if you've been out of your cabin, either. Why?"

  "My duties kept me down here," the man said sheepishly, his eyes still fixed on the table.

  Ramage pointed to the next door.

  Rennick flung it open and another man came out. Ramage glanced up at the lettering over the door and waved the man to sit next to Ridley.

  "Are you the third lieutenant?"

  "Yes, sir. Owens. Henry Owens."

  "And what are you doing in your cabin at a time like this?"

  "Captain's orders, same as Mr Ridley."

  "When were you last on deck?"

  "I... er, I'm not sure, sir. Within the last two or three weeks, I think."

  Ramage sighed and looked up at Southwick. "Is everything all right on deck?" When the master nodded, Ramage signalled to Rennick, who opened the door over which was written "Master".

  The Jason's master was, Ramage noted in amusement, the opposite to Southwick in just about every way: he was tall, thin to the point of being cadaverous, completely bald - his head seemed to be polished like the ivory top of a Malacca cane - and his nose was not just long but tilted up, as though something should be hung on it.

  "If you're the master, tell me your name and the date of your warrant," Ramage said wearily, and then felt a finger poking into his side. He looked up to find Southwick signalling that he wanted to whisper something

  "I know this fellow," the master whispered. "A good man."

  Ramage looked at the man questioningly. "Well?"

  "Price, sir. Warrant dated August 1793."

  "Very well, go with Southwick - I believe you know him. Take your hat, the sun's still bright."

  As Price collected his hat and then followed Southwick out of the gunroom, Ramage said impatiently: "All right, Mr Rennick, winkle out the rest of 'em - the second lieutenant, surgeon and purser, I believe." He raised his voice, so that they could all hear. "I'm getting tired of all this play-acting. None of you seem to realize you're probably going to spend the next few weeks in irons."

  The first lieutenant's head jerked up. "But sir!"

  "But sir, whatl" Ramage demanded, hoping to provoke him into revealing some details. "Do I need to remind you of the Articles of War? Numbers 12, 13, 14, 15 and 16 come immediately to mind, but no doubt 19, 20 and 22 could apply. You'll recall that most of them end up with the phrase 'shall suffer death'."

  "But. . . but well, it's not like that, sir," Ridley wailed.

  "What is it like, then?"

  "Oh, I can't say!" the man said and, collapsing on the table with his arms clasped over his head, he burst into uncontrolled tears.

  Ramage stood up, feeling completely helpless, and said formally to Rennick: "All these officers are under arrest and confined to the gunroom."

  "The captain, sir?"

  Ramage tried to look stern, although he felt more sympathy for the sobbing Ridley than it would have been proper to admit. "I'll decide about him later, after I've had a chance to talk with him."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Back on board the Calypso, with the Jason abeam as the two ships beat back towards the convoy, Ramage tried to make up his mind. There was a choice: although he had by no means finished questioning the Jason's officers and ship's company, he was still just near enough to take the Jason back to Barbados and hand over the whole wretched and puzzling business to Admiral Tewtin. Or he could keep the Jason with him, carry on with the convoy, and hope to get it all settled in England.

  If there were six reasons why he should do one thing, there were half a dozen why he should do the other - and that was only choosing between returning to Barbados or going on to England.

  There were plenty of variations lurking around to distract him. He could escort the Jason back to Barbados with the Calypso, leaving La Robuste and L'Espoir to carry on with the convoy and arranging a rendezvous for, say, a week's time. (But what hope was there of clearing up this business in a week? Tewtin would want dozens of depositions: Shirley, if he had any sense, would want even more. Very well, forget that choice.)

  What about sending the Jason back to Barbados with, say, La Robuste, giving her captain a written report for Rear-Admiral Tewtin? How the devil could he describe all this in a written report that was not as long as the Regulations and Instructions, the largest volume a King's ship carried? And what yarn was Shirley (and his officers, whatever their role was) likely to tell, if Ramage and the Calypsos were out of sight and sound, even if not out of mind? Shirley could have the Calypso raking the Jason, and those officers of his would probably back him up, judging from the story Southwick brought back after his talk with the Jason's master.

  Yet if he was honest, his main concern was that the Jason business was so unusual and complex that Rear-Admiral Tewtin was not the man to deal with it: this was something for Their Lordships at the Admiralty, and the Judge Advocate's department.

  And he was involved in it only because he - well, first he had got married, then he and Sarah had had to escape from Bonaparte, and all that had led to him crossing the Atlantic to Devil's Island, to rescue Jean-Jacques, the Count of Rennes. In turn he had brought two French prizes into Barbados . . . and been stuck with the job of escorting this convoy back to England. But why - why, why - had the Jason chosen to interfere with his convoy? Why could she not have gone on to Britain, where her orders sent her?

  He answered the Marine sentry's call and Southwick came into the cabin. Ramage waved him to a chair, and the master threw his hat on to the settee.

  "I've been reading the Articles of War again, sir."

  "They don't help," Ramage said, "unless you want to get into more of a muddle."

  "But there must be something we can do, sir."

  "There isn't," Ramage said shortly. "Not so long ago
, while I was escaping from the French at Brest, none of you could do anything about a drunken captain sent to the Calypso. Their Lordships in their wisdom have drawn up the Articles of War on the assumption that a captain can do no wrong."

  "A surgeon can have him replaced on medical grounds," Southwick offered hopefully but without much conviction.

  "Oh yes. What do you suggest Bowen diagnoses in Captain Shirley's case? That the black coat proves he has a poor tailor? That a bulge in his right shoe shows he has a bunion? The fellow doesn't drink, doesn't smoke (or even chew tobacco in secret), he doesn't swear or keep a mistress on board. He seems identical with dozens of other post-captains, except perhaps he reads his Bible more frequently."

  "Those officers," Southwick said. "Apart from Price . . ."

  "Apart from the master they seem a weak-kneed crowd," Ramage said. "I wouldn't want to go into action with them, especially Ridley, who is a fool as well. But apart from keeping their mouths tight shut, they haven't done anything to harm us. Indeed, keeping their mouths shut isn't harming us; it's just puzzling."

  "It's not my place to say this, sir, and I'm presuming on the years -"

  "Oh, for God's sake," Ramage said impatiently, "out with it!"

  "Well, sir, are you sure of your ground in putting Captain Shirley under an arrest? You were just saying about the Articles of War."

  "What gave you the impression that Captain Shirley is under an arrest?" Ramage asked innocently. "I've no grounds for arresting him. No authority, rather. I may have, but I can't find any backing in the Articles of War or the Admiralty Instructions."

  Southwick frowned, the wrinkles on his brow like a much folded leather pouch. "But when you spoke to him in his cabin and left Wagstaffe there, I thought you said ..."

  "I know you did, and so did Aitken and so did Wagstaffe. More important, so did Captain Shirley. You all expected me to arrest him - and so you heard words I didn't actually say."

  Southwick was by now grinning broadly. "Well, as long as Captain Shirley and that sorry collection of commission and warrant officers accepted it, and continue to do so until we reach Plymouth, we'll have no complaint."

  "No, we just have to hope for an understanding port admiral at Plymouth. Once we have the convoy safely dispersed, everything should be all right."

  "But if he talks to the wrong people in Plymouth?" Southwick asked.

  "Half-pay for my officers, if they are lucky."

  "But what about you, sir?"

  "Best for you not to think about it."

  Southwick shook his head and picked up his hat. "You said the Jason's station is a cable off our larboard beam?"

  "She'd better stay a cable to leeward of us, unless she gets a signal to the contrary. Wagstaffe understands."

  "Yes, I had a word with him before he went across. It was a good idea putting him in command. It'd be risky with Aitken."

  "Yes, Aitken is too near being made post: if there's trouble, it could count against him."

  "If there's trouble it'll count against you," Southwick said gloomily.

  Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "If I am dismissed the Service, I've plenty to keep me occupied, but it's Aitken's whole life. Though thanks to prize money, I doubt if he depends on his pay."

  "Pay! Thanks to you no one in the Calypso now depends on his pay, even allowing for the villainy of the prize agents."

  Ramage grinned at Southwick's forthright statement. "Still, I expect Aitken would like to get his flag eventually, so that when he retires to his estate in the Highlands, it'll be as Rear-Admiral Aitken. Perhaps even Vice-Admiral, with a knighthood."

  "Could be," Southwick agreed. "He would if it just depended on merit. This stepping into dead men's shoes is no good. Promotion by seniority is just an insurance policy for the dullards. If you live long enough you're bound to end up the most senior admiral in the Navy."

  "Providing you make that first jump on to the Post List," Ramage pointed out. "Unless he is a post-captain, he doesn't even put a foot on the bottom rung ..."

  "That's understood, sir. Don't forget he's already refused one chance. Admittedly that was because he reckoned he wasn't ready, and would learn a lot more by staying with you."

  "Yes, but now he's learned all he can from me. He's ready for the Post List, and I don't want anything like this -" he gestured in the direction of the Jason, "- getting in the way. Now, leave me to write up my journal. Between now and the time we reach the Chops of the Channel, I have to write a full report on all this business ..."

  "Aye, and if you'll allow me to stick an oar in, sir, you'd be well advised to get signed reports from the Calypso's officers, and perhaps some of the senior petty officers."

  "You are gloomy," Ramage commented.

  "I just wonder who this Captain Shirley has for friends. As I see it, his friends are going to be our enemies, if all this business comes to trial."

  Southwick was right, of course: whatever happened, it was all bound to come to a trial which would clear or condemn Shirley. It could even turn into a situation where clearing Shirley meant condemning Ramage . . . All the Calypsos were certain that Shirley was mad. Perhaps not permanently, but at least temporarily. Touched by the sun, perhaps. Anyway, Bowen was going to examine him tomorrow and would write a report, but all that would not stop Shirley getting a fair trial.

  It was more likely, Ramage thought ironically, to bring odium and attacks down on the head of Captain Ramage, if Shirley had friends in high places and money to pay off the press and get lampoons and pamphlets sold in the streets. Ramage knew how vicious were the attacks made on his own father, when the Earl of Blazey was made the government's scapegoat for sending a fleet too weak and too late to deal with a French attack on the West Indies. And most shameful of all (perhaps the most shameful episode in recent British political history) there was the Byng affair: there a not-very-bright but honourable admiral had been accused of cowardice and shot to disguise the vacillating weakness and stupidity of the First Lord, Anson, and the prime minister, the Duke of Newcastle.

  Stupidity? No, it was the very essence of politics: viciousness, self-interest, hunger for power and cowardice. In.the case of Admiral Byng the whole crowd of them, the Duke of Newcastle, the Earl of Hardwicke (and his son-in-law Anson) and most of the rest of the party were trying to cling to power in Parliament, and they were quite prepared to murder Byng (judicially, of course: why use a stiletto when you have the law to do it?). Byng was executed and they kept power. Byng, Ramage reflected, lost his life, but the government under Newcastle and the Admiralty under Anson lost their honour (without realizing what it was).

  Ramage knew he should talk again to Shirley and his officers before drafting his report. Yet after talking to any of them he came away with the feeling that he had been dreaming; their answers were so incoherent or remote from reality that recalling them later was like trying to remember how you had behaved while drunk at a party.

  Captain Shirley had never seen such grim-faced men sitting round his dining table, and he seemed more puzzled than alarmed. Both Wagstaffe and Aitken held pens and had to share the same inkwell as they wrote down the questions, and Shirley's answers, making him slow down or repeat an answer. The demands for repetition were frequent because many of Shirley's answers were difficult to credit.

  The Jason was rolling her way along, astern of the convoy, in good weather. Wagstaffe had the big awning stretched over the quarterdeck and the captain's coach, cabin and sleeping place were cool. Ramage had thought deeply about making Shirley move down into one of the officer's cabins in the gunroom but had finally decided to leave him in his quarters and instead put Wagstaffe in the first lieutenant's cabin, making all the lieutenants shift round one.

  As soon as Ramage had come on board and Wagstaffe had the frigate under way again (at the speed the convoy was making good, nothing was lost by heaving-to the frigate to avoid getting soaked by spray which would be thrown up if the ship had to tow the Calypso's boat alongside), Shirley -
still in his long black coat - had walked over and greeted Ramage.

  "Ah, my dear Ramage, how thoughtful of you to pay us a call," he had said in a completely sincere voice, rubbing his hands as though washing them. "Can I persuade you to dine with me this time? No - then a cup of green tea, or a glass of something stronger?"

  The man had been genuinely upset when Ramage refused, and again Ramage was reminded of an anxious parson who felt he was being rebuffed by his patron.

  Even now, sitting round the dining table, Ramage at the head, Shirley to his left and with Aitken and Wagstaffe on his right, facing Shirley, the man exuded sincerity. Sincerity? Well, again and again Ramage was reminded of the last occasion he had met the Archbishop of Canterbury, who proved to be a most unctuous individual exuding the secretive bonhomie expected of the doorman at one of the better houses of pleasure in Westminster.

  Ramage tapped the table to emphasize what he was going to say.

  "Captain Shirley, for the eleventh time I must ask you why you raked the Calypso although she was displaying British colours and her pendant numbers, and was flying the correct challenge?"

  "My dear Ramage, why should the Jason fire at the Calypso?"

  "Don't dodge the question," Ramage snapped. "I am asking you."

  "On what authority, pray?"

  Ramage waited until Aitken and Wagstaffe had finished writing. It gave him time to think, although God knew he had already given the subject enough thought.

  "On the authority of a captain of one of the King's ships trying to discover the reason for a traitorous and treasonable attack by another of the King's ships."

  "But no one attacked you, treasonably or traitorously. Ask my officers. Ask my men. You have done so once already, but you have my permission to ask them again."