Ramage's Trial r-14

by Dudley Pope

  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.

  "The witness is accusing the court of forcing him to commit perjury. What are the precedents for that, Mr Jenkins, eh? Let's have the precedents for that!"

  Jenkins carefully wiped the tip of his pen and put it down on the table. Then he clasped his hands together, as though in prayer, and said carefully: "Sir, I have looked back over my minutes, and it seems that is not quite what the witness said."

  "What the devil was he saying, then? I'm damned sure I heard him say the court was forcing him to commit perjury."

  "His actual words -" Jenkins lifted the top sheet of his minutes and read down until he found the exact line, "- after asking to be excused, were (in answer to your question): 'Because, sir, the court is trying to force me to commit perjury if I -' "

  "There you are!" Goddard exclaimed triumphantly. "I was right. 'Force me to commit perjury.'"

  Captain Swinford said mildly: "The phrase is that the court is trying to force him to commit perjury, sir."

  "What the devil's the difference? Damned insolent young puppy! I'm -"

  Jenkins interposed smoothly: "Sir, legally there -"

  "Clear the court.'" Goddard suddenly shouted. "Clear the court, I say!"

  This brought Jenkins to his feet. "Sir, if you clear the court this lieutenantwhose protest we are considering will have to leave the court, along with the prisoner and the prosecutor. If I may offer an opinion sir, I think it would be most unwise, most unwise." He shook his head as though more words could no longer help him.

  Goddard sat silent for a full minute, staring at Wagstaffe with an expression about which Ramage was not sure if it revealed hatred or sheer disbelief.

  "All right, the court will remain in session," he said finally. "The witness can be assured the court is not trying to force him to commit perjury. This court," he added, an unctuous note in his voice, "is concerned only with discovering the truth, without fear or favour."

  Wagstaffe gave a slight bow and said politely. "Thank you, sir, I realize that. It was simply that when I described how the smoke of the Jason's broadside made me cough, you -"

  "Wagstaffe, you are under arrest! Jenkins, strike out his remarks! Send for the Marine officer!" Goddard started mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief, and Ramage remembered how, in the tropical heat of a trial in Jamaica, Goddard had a lieutenant sitting close and handing him fresh handkerchiefs from time to time.

  Now Captain Shirley was standing up. He waited for Goddard to notice him and then said: "Sir, I still have several interrogatories to put to this witness."

  Goddard's jaw dropped: he stared at Shirley with the same look of betrayal and disbelief that a man might look at a hitherto loving wife who mentioned casually at the breakfast table that she had been committing adultery with Dr John Moore, the Primate of All England, on Mondays, and Dr John Douglas, the Lord Bishop of Salisbury, on Thursdays, explaining that she could not resist prelates with the Christian name John, but the bishops of Hereford, Chichester and Oxford, although all named John, had so far rebuffed her advances.

  "This officer is under arrest," he said flatly, "and as soon as a Marine officer has taken him away, the court will adjourn for today and convene again tomorrow at the usual time."

  Ramage watched Shirley. The man's expression did not change as he lost what was probably his best witness. Instead he sat absolutely still as the Marine sentry passed the word for his officer, who took Wagstaffe away. He must be, Ramage reflected, one of the most contented prisoners ever to be taken into custody, judging from the expression on his face. Still, Goddard would not allow much of what he had said to appear in the minutes - which, Ramage suddenly realized, Wagstaffe had not signed, so they had no legal standing. As far as this court-martial (and thus the Admiralty) were concerned, Ramage guessed, Wagstaffe had never given evidence . . . And Goddard had known that.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Next morning the court opened in the Salvador del Mundo's great cabin with the precision of a quadrille: the captains filed in, all wearing full uniform with white breeches and swords, and went straight to their seats, ready to sit in descending order of seniority; Jenkins made one neat pile of his reference books and another of the paper on which he would be writing the minutes. He examined the tips of his quills and made sure his pen-knife was close by in case any needed recutting, along with the small square of cloth he used to wipe the ink.

  Goddard strode in last of all, trying to infuse dignity into his carriage, but the effect was marred by the protuberant belly (which no amount of cunning by his tailor could disguise) and by the heavy jowls which jerked up and down with each step with the springiness of geraniums displayed by an itinerant flower seller.

  Goddard nodded an acknowledgement rather than a greeting to the court and sat down. The captains then scraped their chairs and sat down, and Goddard told Jenkins: "Have the prisoner brought in."

  A call to the Marine sentry led to Lieutenant Hill marching in carrying Ramage's sword and followed by his prisoner. While Ramage sat down, Hill replaced the sword on the table and Ramage saw Captain Shirley walking in, holding books and papers but with the remoteness of a monk pacing the cloisters.

  "Ah, Captain Shirley," Goddard said, in his first pleasant word or gesture of the day. "Are you ready to call your next witness?"

  Shirley nodded and said to Jenkins: "Call Lieutenant Aitken."

  Like Wagstaffe, Aitken was a witness for both the prosecution and the defence. He marched in briskly, took the oath, his Scots accent very pronounced.

  Ramage saw Shirley pass several slips of paper to Jenkins, and noted that the usual procedure (not that there was any regulation about it) where the president of the court did most of the questioning was, as in the case of the other witnesses, being abandoned: Goddard was going to leave the questioning to Shirley.

  At a nod from Goddard, Jenkins read out the first question.

  "You are the first lieutenant of the Calypso and you were on July the twenty-first last?"

  "I am, and I was," Aitken said, adding as though making it clear to a child, "on that specific date, too."

  "When the Calypso boarded the Jason on that date, what was your role?"

  Aitken gave a brief chuckle, as though both Jenkins and Shirley had, by asking the question, committed some solecism. "The Calypso did not board the Jason of course, but I ken what you mean. Aye, well, when Captain Ramage laid the Calypso alongside despite the risk of another broadside -"

  "Stop!" Goddard shouted at Aitken and, waving to Jenkins, instructed him: "Strike it out."

  He then swung round in his chair to face Aitken. "Listen, you were not in court yesterday but the second lieutenant of the Calypso is under an arrest for contempt of court from his refusal to answer the court questions properly. You will confine yourself to a direct answer to the question."

  "Of course, sir," Aitken agreed and Ramage watched the polite smile on the Scotsman's face. "But sir," Aitken asked politely, "what part of my answer - or, rather, partial answer - did you find so provoking?"

  Wi
th Aitken's accent the word "provoking" had a soothing quality, long drawn out, and Goddard's eyes rose to the deckhead as though seeking Divine help.

  He was just going to answer when he saw the trap: if he said that he objected to the phrase "another broadside" he would - damnation, he thought: this young puppy Ramage must have spent hours with his officers guessing what Captain Shirley's questions would be and perfecting these double-edged answers. Goddard knew he had been very near the limit of his powers as court president yesterday, and he had arrested that other lieutenant for contempt of court because it seemed the only way of shutting him up. The charge would not hold, of course, and all that he intended was to keep the fellow locked up out of the way until after the verdict on Ramage was given. But two lieutenants cited for contempt in the same trial (in succession, too) would raise eyebrows at the Admiralty and draw attention to what he was trying to do.

  All right, what is the answer to this impudent young puppy's apparently innocent question? Damnation, this cabin is so hot. Ah yes: this should hide the fact that he had not thought of an answer to the question.

  "Lieutenant Aitken, let me remind you of this. The prisoner is accused of -"

  Now this damned fool Swinford is whispering something. He had always considered Swinford as a reliable sort of man but, Goddard thought, he seemed to be adopting a very radical attitude in this trial.

  Goddard nodded impatiently at Swinford and modified his second sentence. "Yes, as Captain Swinford points out, the prisoner is accused by Captain Shirley of removing him from his lawful command of the Jason, and he is charged under six of the Articles of War . . . numbers fifteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-two and twenty-three."

  He gestured to Jenkins and told him to bring up a copy of the Articles of War.

  He opened the black leatherbound volume with the bold gilt lettering on the front cover. "Let me just remind you. Number fifteen, the first in the charge, refers to 'Every person in or belonging to the Fleet' who shall desert (which does not apply here) or, and I emphasize that word, 'or run away with any of His Majesty's ships or vessels of war, in any ordnance, ammunition, stores or provision belonging thereto' ..."

  He tapped the small book. "I think you can see why the Board of Admiralty ordered that Captain Ramage should be tried under that Article. Let us consider the next one, seventeen. I will just quote the relevant parts, as it is long: 'The officers and seamen of all ships, appointed for convoy and guard of merchant ships, or any other, shall diligently attend upon that charge . . . and whosoever shall be faulty therein . . . and submitting the ships in their convoy to peril and hazard. . .' and so on and so forth . . ."

  "Increasing our escort by one more frigate can hardly be hazarding it, sir," Aitken said sourly but, Ramage guessed, by adopting a guileless manner, deliberately trying to provoke Goddard.

  "Damnation, Aitken, don't you understand what a court-martial is all about?"

  "I thought I did, sir," Aitken said, his accent becoming heavier. "I thought I did - until now."

  He is trying to provoke me, Goddard told himself, and stabbed his finger down on the Articles of War.

  "Listen carefully, now: the nineteenth Article . . . 'If any person in or belonging to the Fleet shall make, or endeavour to make, any mutinous assembly ... he shall suffer death . . .' and, in the same Article, '. . . shall utter any words of sedition or mutiny, he shall suffer death . . .'"

  Now the pair of you, Goddard thought grimly, can have a taste of your own medicine. "Might I remind you, Mr Aitken, that plotting against a superior officer, removing him from his command, or even talking of doing so, is a breach of that Article, and no one is disputing that Captain Shirley was the superior of all the officers in the King's service in that convoy."

  And that, you impudent Scot, Goddard thought, reminds you that you are as guilty as your blasted commanding officer: you helped him and if you were brought to trial and found guilty (as you surely would) the noose would go round your neck too.

  "Aye, sir," Aitken said, "but there's a phrase in that Article you didn't read, though - about 'such superior officer being in the execution of his office'. Captain Shirley had no 'office' connected with the convoy."

  "Don't be impudent," Goddard snapped. "He was the superior officer by virtue of his seniority in the Navy List, and that's all that matters." And before Aitken had time to argue that point Goddard said triumphantly: "Now we come to Article twenty - if any person in the Fleet shall conceal any traiterous or mutinous practice or design ... he shall suffer death.' Later the same Article refers to concealing 'words, traiterous or mutinous, spoken to the prejudice of His Majesty or tending to the hindrance of the service . . .'"

  Goddard noted to himself that the whippersnapper had no answer to that and hurriedly went on to the next Article.

  "Article twenty-two says that if any officer, mariner, soldier or other person in the Fleet, shall strike any of his superior officers, or draw, or offer to draw, or lift up any weapon against him . . .' then if found guilty that person shall be sentenced to death, and of course the same article deals with anyone disobeying lawful commands."

  Goddard could not resist turning round and wagging an admonitory finger. "Mr Aitken, firing a gun comes in the same category as 'lift up any weapon', of course."

  "Of course," agreed Aitken, "but in this case the senior officer, fired a broadside at thejunior one."

  Goddard was quick to realize that, having no answer to the slip of his own tongue, it was best to ignore the remark and trust that Jenkins was not putting it in the minutes.

  "Now, Mr Aitken, we come to the final Article to the charge, number twenty-three, which says that 'If any person in the Fleet shall quarrel or fight with any other person in the Fleet, or use reproachful or provoking speeches or gestures . . .' and so on."

  "Thank you for reading them, sir. Of course I know them by heart but it must be very helpful to yourself as the president to be reminded of the precise wording."

  Goddard, brought up in the old school where you were polite and considerate to your superiors, particularly if your promotion depended on them, shut the book with a snap and signalled to Jenkins to carry on with the questioning. In the meantime this wretched fellow Aitken's question about that phrase "another broadside" had been forgotten: he had guessed that nothing would smother it as successfully as reading from the Articles of War.

  Then, to Goddard's horror, Jenkins, instead of going on to the next question, repeated the previous one about Aitken's role when the Calypso boarded the Jason, but the deputy judge advocate looked up in time to see Goddard's glare and tried to recover the situation, saying to Aitken: "You have already told the court how Captain Ramage had laid the Calypso alongside the Jason. Go on from that point."

  "I led a particular boarding party and climbed over at about the mainchains."

  "How were you armed?"

  "Cutlass and pistol."

  "And Captain Ramage?"

  "If you mean 'how was he armed?', I think a cutlass and pistol - little enough when you think we'd just received a broadside."

  Ramage almost laughed at the way that Aitken's quiet voice with its Highland lilt had lulled Goddard so that he could make what sounded as though it was going to be an innocent remark in fact be lethal. Lethal, Ramage amended, in a proper trial, but not in this travesty.

  Goddard waved at Jenkins. He had learned enough now not to rely on using words with the witness. "Strike out all from 'little enough' - the witness has been warned to respond only to matter relevant to the charges."

  Yet as Aitken gave a slight bow in acknowledgement, Goddard felt more than a little uncertainty. They were glib, these young scoundrels, and Jenkins did not seem to understand what was going on.

  Jenkins picked up the next slip of paper. "Did you or your men shoot at or in any way attack any of the Jason's ship's company?"

  "It wasn't necessary -"

  "Answer 'yes' or 'no'," Goddard snapped.

  "No," Aitken said,
and as Jenkins dipped his pen in the ink before writing down the single word, Aitken added: "The Jason's men had left the 12-pounders and surrendered."

  "Out! Out! Strike it out!" Goddard shouted. "Just 'No', that was his answer. Aitken, you've had your last warning."

  Jenkins picked up the next slip of paper and, seeing Goddard nod, asked the question. "Did you see Captain Shirley at about this time? And if so, what was he doing?"

  "I did, and he was standing abreast the mainmast," Aitken said.

  Goddard nodded. The young puppy had at last learned the lesson, although God knows it had taken long enough.

  Reading from the next slip, Jenkins asked: "Was Captain Shirley making any threatening gestures towards you or any of the Calypso's boarding party?"

  "Oh no," Aitken said, as though shocked at the idea. "He was standing quite alone and watching us." He let Jenkins write down the answer and then added: "I also saw that none of his officers were making any threatening gestures." Goddard nodded - this was more like it: evidence was being given in a proper fashion now. Aitken continued: "In fact I was surprised -" he paused a few moments as Goddard continued nodding, "- because there was not an officer on deck: Captain Shirley was alone, apart from a few midshipmen."

  Goddard's brow wrinkled and the six captains sitting with their backs to Aitken swung round and stared. Captain Swinford, without waiting for Goddard's permission, exclaimed: "What do you mean, there were no other officers on deck? You simply mean you did not see them."

  "I did not see any, sir," Aitken agreed, and Swinford seemed contented with the reply until Aitken added quietly: "Within minutes I confirmed none was on deck because I found them all locked in the gunroom guarded by a Marine sentry."

  "Indeed?" said Swinford, and looked at Goddard, whose face had gone white. The silence in the cabin was broken only by the slapping of wavelets under the Salvador del Mundo's stern, the distant mewing of seagulls, and the scraping of Jenkins's pen.