Ramage's Mutiny

by Dudley Pope

  “Very well, let’s consider the activities of these other prisoners. What do you know of Summers?”

  “He was one of the leaders, sir. He was the one that threatened to cut me throat if I warned the officers.”

  “Did he take part in any of the murders?”

  “The Captain, sir. I was just getting up after the sentry knocked me out—this was after they’d finished in the cabin—and Summers came out and kicked me in the side, an’ he said: ‘I’ve just done in your bloody Captain.’”

  “You are sure of the words?”

  “Yes, sir, but Perry—’im that’s standing there next to ‘im—said: ‘No, I gave ‘im the cut that did for ‘im,’ and the two of them started quarrelling about it.”

  “Why should they quarrel about it?”

  “They was all in liquor, sir, and later on, when they was trying to get the votes, each of them said they should be the leader because they’d killed the Captain.”

  “And who was—er, elected captain?”

  “Summers, sir, because Perry stood down.”

  “Why did Perry stand down?”

  “Because of Summers and that knife of his. He suddenly grabbed Perry and knocked him down and held a knife at ‘is throat and said he would kill him too, rather than let him command the ship.”

  “And Perry agreed?”

  “Yes, sir, he didn’t ‘ave no choice, really, but they elected him mate. Summers captain and Perry mate, just like a merchant ship.”

  “What about the other people necessary to work the ship—were they elected too?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Harris, the third prisoner there,” Edwards said, “what do you know of him?”

  “He wasn’t a ringleader, not at first, sir. But after the mutiny he finished off some of them.”

  Edwards was so puzzled he could only repeat Weaver’s words: “Finished off some of them?”

  “The wounded officers—the First and Third Lieutenants and the Lieutenant of Marines: they was still alive after the ship was taken.”

  “How was Harris concerned in their murder?”

  “The mutineers were voting on everything, and they were told to make a show of hands whether the living officers should be put to death or kept alive and handed over to the Dons, but Harris swore they should all die.”

  “He simply made that statement?” Edwards demanded.

  “Oh no, sir: he shouted that as he ran below, and he stabbed them where they was lying.”

  “What did the mutineers think of that, then?”

  “Most of them abused him when he came back to the quarterdeck and said what he had done, but that was all.”

  Ramage leaned forward to catch the president’s eye and received a nod of approval.

  “Were you the only man who did not take part in the mutiny?”

  “No, sir, there was forty or fifty of us.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “We was given all the unpleasant work until we got to La Guaira. Swabbing the blood off the decks, and things like that, sir.”

  “So there were about 125 mutineers?”

  “About that, sir. I think there was 182 in the ship’s company.”

  “So the prisoner Summers was elected leader by more than 125 mutineers, and Perry the second-in-command, that is correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Harris—what did he do?”

  “Well, sir, he was always in liquor, and not many of the mutineers would have anything to do with him after he killed the wounded. He used to stay close to Summers and run errands for him: fetch him a mug of rum or a chaw of tobacco,” Weaver said contemptuously. “He was trying to make up for being a Johnnie-come-lately, that’s what the rest of us reckoned.”

  Ramage made a mental note that Weaver’s evidence had so far condemned the other three prisoners for conspiracy, concealing mutinous designs, mutiny and murder. It remained to cover running away with the ship, deserting and “holding intelligence with the enemy.” Yet every question that was asked merely underlined the other question that none of them would ever ask out loud: what private hell had Wallis established on board the Jocasta that made more than five score seamen rise against him? Ramage was certain the mutiny had been directed entirely at Wallis: the murder of the officers had been incidental. Indeed, the fact that most of the mutineers later wanted to keep alive the wounded survivors bore that out.

  More than twenty seamen had been put in irons ready for a flogging next day for—at best—some frivolous charge contrived by Wallis. Part of the mutiny had been to free those men. Part? It was probably the whole reason, but releasing the men meant disposing of the officers and the Captain. Would the men have spared Wallis and the officers if they could have freed the prisoners without bloodshed? Idle speculation: no one would ever know …

  Beside him Captain Teal cleared his throat. “After the mutiny was over and the new captain had been elected, how did the men decide where to take the ship?”

  “They argued almost the whole day, sir. Some was for taking her back to Jamaica, and some was for the Main.”

  “Jamaica?” Teal asked incredulously.

  “Aye, sir. They wanted to draw up a document which everyone on board signed, a round robin, they said, and give it to the Commander-in-Chief when they arrived there.”

  Edwards lifted his hand to stop Teal. “This document,” he said brusquely, “what would it have said?”

  “Well, sir, they all agreed what it would say; what they didn’t agree about was whether it would do any good. Them as thought it wouldn’t eventually won on a show of hands.”

  “But what would it have said? What did they want to tell the Commander-in-Chief?”

  “Why, sir,” Weaver said, as though it should have been obvious to everyone, “to tell the Admiral that they meant no harm by what they’d done, that they was loyal to the King but was in mortal fear that Captain Wallis would flog ‘em all to death. An’ give the Admiral the figures, of course.”

  “What figures?” Edwards was obviously fascinated, but Ramage had already guessed what was coming.

  “The figures for the floggings, sir: the Captain had flogged 109 men in seven weeks, a total of 2616 lashes …”

  “That’s your story!” Edwards exclaimed, clearly shocked.

  “No, sir,” Weaver said firmly, “they was the figures taken from the Captain’s journal. Summers showed it to the Spanish officers when they came on board at La Guaira. Captain’s own figures, they was.”

  There was a complete silence for two or three minutes. Ramage did some hurried sums. That averaged fifteen floggings a week with each man getting two dozen lashes. Captain Marden then asked: “The mutineers finally voted to take the ship to the Main?”

  “Yes, sir. Summers and a few of the others made speeches and said if they went to Jamaica they’d all be hanged, signed letter or not, because the Admiral wouldn’t listen to them, Captain Wallis being his favourite, so they voted for La Guaira.”

  “Summers made such a speech,” said Captain Teal. “What of the other prisoners, Harris and Perry?”

  “Perry followed Summers and spoke for La Guaira. Some of the others said the same thing, and then Harris made a long speech. He just repeated what Summers said and the men soon got tired of listening to him and called for a vote.”

  “What happened when the ship arrived off La Guaira?”

  “The Spanish came out. One of the officers spoke English.” Ramage gave Teal a nudge to indicate he had some questions and asked: “Did you anchor off the entrance or what?”

  “No, sir. Summers hoisted white flags—flags of truce, he called ‘em—front the fore, main and mizen, and then hove-to off the anchorage. After about an hour a Spanish boat came out full of soldiers. And lots of officers, of course.”

  “Who did the negotiating?”

  “Summers, sir, but there was a committee of six mutineers he had to report to. They had to agree to everything.”

  “Had t
he committee decided on the terms—on the price they were going to ask the Spanish for handing over the ship?”

  “Price, sir?” Weaver was genuinely shocked. “Oh no, sir, they weren’t a selling of her! No, all the terms they asked was to be allowed to live on the Main and start a new life.”

  “That was for the mutineers. What about those of you who did not mutiny?”

  “That depended on Summers, sir. He had three lists. One was the men to be handed over to the Spanish as prisoners; the second was men who should be allowed to go free; the third them as should get rewards.”

  “Were those to be handed over to the Spanish, the men in the first list, those who had not taken part in the mutiny?”

  “Not all of them, sir. There was about 25. The cook, some seamen and myself.”

  “What about the second list? Were they men who had not been in the mutiny?”

  “Yes, sir. You see some of us had upset Summers or Perry, and as a sort of punishment we were put on the first list. They used to go round threatening people. As bad as Captain Wallis, they was. Them as hadn’t took part in the mutiny and hadn’t fallen foul of Summers went on the second list.”

  “The Spanish authorities agreed to all this?”

  “They did eventually, sir, but at first they thought it was some sort of trap. They insisted on taking nearly everyone on shore in the boat, twenty at a time. They brought out more Spanish seamen each time they came back. Then they tried to sail her into the anchorage.”

  “Tried?”

  “Yes, sir; they got her in irons, and eventually Summers took the conn and brought her in.”

  “How do you know that—surely you had been taken off as prisoners?”

  “No, sir, the prisoners were put in irons with a guard of Spaniards. We got worried once when the ship touched a rock and we was all trussed up, but she came off all right.”

  Edwards tapped with his gavel. “The court will adjourn until eight o’clock tomorrow.” Only then did Ramage, glancing at his watch, realize they had been listening to evidence for more than five hours.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHEN THE court sat again next morning Weaver was back at the end of the line of prisoners while Gowers read aloud the minutes of the previous day’s hearing. Although all five captains had avoided discussing the trial, either when the previous day’s session ended or before today’s began, they knew that the pile of papers covered with Gowers’s spidery writing formed the worst condemnation of a captain in the history of the Navy.

  “Breadfruit Bligh” had been sent off the Bounty by her mutineers, but he was still alive—indeed, the last Ramage heard of him he was commanding a 74, as unpopular with the Admiralty as with his ship’s company. Bligh had been too free with the cato’-nine-tails in the Bounty but compared with Wallis—Ramage did not doubt Weaver’s story and knew that his fellow captains agreed—Bligh was no more violent than one of Mr Wesley’s preachers.

  Gowers’s voice droned on, but he had made a good job of the minutes: it must be hard to concentrate for hours on end. Finally he finished and told Weaver: “You are still on oath: take up your position again as a witness.”

  Captain Edwards had several slips of paper in front of him, and Ramage realized that on each was written a question. It made it easier for the deputy judge advocate if he was given a written question immediately it was asked: he simply numbered it and wrote down the number and corresponding reply in his rough copy of the minutes.

  “You described yesterday how the Jocasta arrived at La Guaira. Relate what happened to you after the ship came to an anchor.”

  “We prisoners was kept on board two days and then taken on shore under guard and lodged in the town jail. Five days later we were told we would have to work for our keep, and if we didn’t we’d starve.”

  “What work was this?”

  “Helping build fortifications at La Guaira, sir. Breaking up rocks and carrying them to the masons.”

  “For how long did you do this work?”

  “Until the fortresses was completed. Fourteen months, sir.”

  Breaking up rocks under a scorching tropical sun: for weeks the sun would be directly overhead at noon. It said much for Weaver that he had survived.

  “You received pay?”

  “They called it subsistence money, sir, and we never actually received it. They used to set up a table every Saturday evening, at the end of the week’s work, count out the money due to each man and call out ‘is name and tell ‘im ‘ow much it was. Then they tipped all the money back in the bag and said it was being taken to buy our food. I s’pose the paymaster took it; they’re a sticky-fingered lot, those Dons.”

  “When the fortifications were finished, at the end of the fourteen months, what happened to you then?”

  “They freed us all. Them that survived, anyway: eight had died. They said we could live in La Guaira or we could leave if we wished.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ‘ad to go into the ‘ospital for four months. I ‘ad such sores on me ‘ands from ‘andling the rocks, and they spread over me back when the sun burned cracks into the skin. After that I tried to find work but there weren’t none. I tried to find some of the others what was in the prison with me, but by then they’d all gorn to other places to look for work.”

  “What about the mutineers?”

  “Some of them was still in La Guaira with jobs. A few of the committee was still there, and these three,” he pointed to the prisoners. “The Spanish had paid them a reward so they didn’t have to work, but by the time I saw them they’d just about spent all their money.”

  “Did you stay in La Guaira?”

  “No, sir. I signed on in a Spanish coasting vessel what was going to Barcelona, down the coast. Just that one voyage. I was still there in Barcelona when the Sarasota Pride came in, and I met one of her men who got me signed on. Then I found out that Summers, Perry and Harris was on board. They’d joined at La Guaira. But I was desperate to get away, so I just swallowed all their insults.”

  “What happened to the Jocasta?”

  “They kept her at La Guaira for several weeks—I don’t recall exactly how long, sir. Then they took her along the coast to a place called Santa Cruz, leastways that’s what Summers told me. They gave her some Spanish name.”

  “Is there anything else concerning this affair that you should tell the court?”

  “I don’t believe so, sir.”

  “Very well,” Edwards said. He looked across at Summers. “Do you have any questions to ask the witness?”

  Summers shook his head but Edwards snapped: “Say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; it has to be recorded in the minutes.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you have any questions to ask the previous witness, Lieutenant Aitken?”

  “No, sir.”

  Edwards asked the other two men the same questions, but neither had anything to say.

  “You may stand down, Weaver. The court has some questions to ask the other prisoners.”

  He pointed to Summers: “Do you deny you were a ringleader in the mutiny, and later elected captain of the ship?”

  “No, sir,” Summers mumbled. He had his hands clasped tightly and he lifted them from time to time, as if in an obeisance, to wipe away the perspiration streaming down his forehead and into his eyes, making him blink as though surprised by a bright light.

  “You were the man who suggested it and planned it,” Edwards said. “Do you deny that?”

  “No, sir.” He suddenly straightened himself up and said simply: “T’was my idea and my plan, sir.”

  The confession—though Ramage sensed that the man was in fact making a claim—took Edwards by surprise. “You alone?”

  “At first, sir. Then I persuaded some of the others. Soon there was forty or fifty—more than Weaver knew about.”

  “Why did you want to murder all the officers and run away with one of the King’s ships and hand her over to the enemy?” Edwards asked the quest
ion quietly, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Now, think carefully before you answer.”

  “I did all the thinking two years ago, sir. You see, sir, he had us trapped, the Captain did. He weren’t quite right in the head. He reckoned every man’s hand was against him, officers and seamen and Marines, all in a big conspiracy. Conspiracy, that’s what he always called it. If a tiny bit of grease dripped out of the sheave of a block—it’s bound to ‘appen in the ‘eat of the sun—and made a spot on the deck, he reckoned someone did it a’purpose to upset him.”

  Summers was speaking slowly, watching Gowers to make sure he wrote down his words. Ramage saw the man was changing as he told his story; he was like a wilting plant recovering after a refreshing shower of rain. The shifty look was going; the narrow face was flushed and Ramage wondered if in fact the man was normally plumper, reduced now to a skinny wreck by two years of living in the shadow of a noose.

  “He was doing us all in, one after the other: we was livin’ like animals in a trap, sir. Nothing pleased ‘im; he attended all sail-handling with a watch in ‘is ‘and. Officers were punished, too. Many a time one of the lieutenants was put on eight-hour watches—eight on and four off, so half the time there’d be two of ‘em on watch, ‘cos the rest stood their normal watches. They was like ghosts from being so short of sleep.”

  Edwards held up his hand: clearly he regarded this as having nothing to do with Summers’s guilt—that had already been established by Weaver’s evidence—and despite his earlier determination that no one, captain or admiral, would be whitewashed, he was alarmed by Summers’s revelations. But the seaman would not be silenced; he was reliving those months—Ramage realized it might have been years—on board the Jocasta, and this was the first time he could tell the story to someone he regarded as “authority.”

  “He had us trapped, sir—you’ve got to understand that. We was always ready an’ willing to fight the French and the Dons—he knew that. But when the last man fell and was killed because the Captain always said he’d flog the last man down, we knew we had to kill him or he’d kill us. T’wasn’t the first time a man had died like that, sir; he’d been doin’ it for six months and three men had already fallen. We dreaded seeing a squall come up, sir: putting in a reef, letting fall or furling sail—every time it meant a flogging for someone. You know how many times a day there’s sail-handling of some sort.