Ramage wiped the tip of the quill with the cloth, put the cork back in the inkwell, and started to read through his letter to Their Lordships. The report that would accompany it, seven pages in draft form, waited in the drawer. He had spent a couple of weeks on it: not two weeks of solid writing, but every day he had taken it out and read it through, at first changing whole paragraphs and then towards the end just substituting sentences or changing individual words.
The final draft, which his clerk would write out in a fair hand, did not bear much relationship to the first, in which he had let his anger with Shirley distort the narrative (surprisingly, Alexis had been the first to draw his attention to it), so that it read as though Ramage had expected trouble from the moment he sighted theJason, whereas he had hauled his wind and gone up towards her expecting to find a friend and exchange news.
And that had been the problem in writing the report: to explain to Their Lordships the shock of the sudden attack and, much more difficult, to describe Shirley's behaviour without using phrases which, in condemning Shirley, would put Their Lordships immediately on the side of the senior captain.
Also (and perhaps more important) he had to bear in mind that the Board might be reading his report after receiving one from Shirley. Yorke and Aitken reckoned the advantage would rest with the man whose report was read first, but Ramage was not sure. Viewed from the Boardroom of the Admiralty it was a bizarre and utterly unimportant episode; to Their Lordships, discipline was probably the main question. For one British frigate to have fired on another could be an accident - that would be their first reaction. Then from both Shirley and himself they would read stories which (he assumed) flatly contradicted each other. Bowen had already reported, after his visit to the Jason, that Shirley regarded the Calypso's captain as mad, and no one in the Calypso had any doubt about Shirley. But what about all those silent men in the Jason: officers and men who did and saw nothing . . . How would the Board regard them?
The whole story, whether from the point of view of the Jason or the Calypso, sounded mad: that was Alexis's view, and she had argued that Their Lordships would naturally tend to disbelieve the first report they read. So, she said, Ramage must make sure that Shirley's was the first to arrive. Then, with Their Lordships completely puzzled by Shirley's description, along would come Ramage's report which would supply the answer (without saying it in as many words) - that Shirley was mad.
Alexis's argument (with which Southwick agreed) was a good one until one started thinking about other letters that Shirley might be writing: what friends he had who, to be fair to them, might not have any idea of Shirley's lapses into madness.
Well, it would not be long now. With the Lizard in sight and the Liverpool, Dublin and Glasgow ships, eighteen of them, formed up as a small convoy and sent off yesterday for the St George's Channel with L'Espoir, and the ten Bristol ships separated this morning with La Robuste, the Calypso was left with forty-four ships, most of which were bound for London, Hull and Leith, after first anchoring in Plymouth to see if there were any last-minute orders from their owners. Often the shippers of a cargo originally consigned for, say, London had a better offer by the time the ship arrived in England, involving delivery to another port, and Plymouth was well placed if a ship then had to go to, say, Liverpool.
Ramage had quite expected the Jason to leave the convoy and go on ahead to Plymouth or Spithead, and she did so long before the Lizard was in sight. So far (with only a few score more miles to go) it had been a successful voyage for the convoy. Most of the slow ships had responded well to being hurried; only two gales had hit the convoy and although both had scattered the ships, in each case the convoy had re-formed within a day. Then, in a final gesture, as the St George's Channel ships formed up into a small convoy to leave and the Calypso had sailed among them, helping L'Espoir, first one and then the remaining seventeen ships had fired an eleven-gun salute to the Calypso with their men lining the rails and cheering.
This gesture, combining their farewell with a genuine thank you, was not lost on the Bristol ships which this morning had also fired a salute as they were led off by La Robuste.
Now the Calypso frequently sighted other ships. One sloop coming down Channel had reported that a small convoy from the Cape of Good Hope and a larger one from the East Indies were already in the Channel bound for Spithead, and Ramage breathed a sigh of relief that the convoys had not met off the Lizard. There would have been collisions and confusion, Southwick commented, and Aitken added that a gale would probably have arrived as well to act as the spoon that stirred the brew.
They were now for all intents and purposes home: when the Calypso had been hove-to for a cast of the deep sea lead, they had found sixty-eight fathoms and a sandy bottom. Nearly two months had passed from weighing anchor in Carlisle Bay, Barbados, to finding soundings near the Chops of the Channel. He had dined on board the Emerald, either alone or with various of his officers as fellow guests, nine times. Sidney Yorke and Alexis had been his guests on board the Calypso five times and on three other occasions the Calypso's officers had (with his permission) invited them to dine in the gunroom and asked their captain to join them. He had dined on five other of the merchant ships and in each case returned the hospitality, though eating a heavy meal in the middle of the day with wine and having two or three hours' conversation with the master of the ship left him weary and bored, annoyed at wasting an afternoon that could have been spent with the Yorkes.
He put the draft of the letter in the drawer on top of the report. At the most a day or night and they would be anchored in Plymouth. Then he would have to face what he had been driving from his mind for the past couple of months - where was Sarah? Thank goodness there had been plenty to keep him occupied. Commanding a convoy of more than seventy ships meant that all day and every day and often much of the night there was some problem or other with any one of half a dozen of the mules. Someone would furl sails without a signal and the ships astern in the column would be hard put not to collide; another would suddenly sail diagonally out of the convoy (done thrice by the same ship and each time it transpired the master, the man at the wheel and the lookout had drunk themselves into a stupor . . .). Then there was Shirley and the Jason. On the brighter side, the Yorkes had done so much to make the voyage pleasant.
Sidney could be lively and charming but he could also be sober and wise. Alexis was much the same, a woman's instinct leading to conclusions men would never have found by logic.
Soon after dawn when the Calypso led the rest of the convoy into Plymouth Sound, one of the lookouts reported that the Jason was at anchor.
Once the merchant ships had anchored and the Calypso too had an anchor down, with the salute fired for the port admiral, the frigate's cutter was hoisted out. After rowing once round the ship to make sure the yards were square, Southwick went on shore to inquire what time would be most convenient for the port admiral to have the convoy commander call and make his report.
The old master, considerably agitated, returned to the Calypso with news and a large packet from the port admiral. The news was that the rear-admiral in Plymouth - the second-in-command, whose main function was to preside at court-martials - was Rear-Admiral Goddard, a man whose hatred of the Ramage family was longstanding.
The news of Goddard left Ramage strangely cold: for the moment he was more concerned with Sarah and getting the rest of the convoy round to London. He went down to his cabin. The packet obviously contained two or three letters, all inside a single sheet of thick paper folded and sealed with wax: the port admiral would not risk using a wafer, relying on gum. As he sat at his desk holding the packet, Ramage felt it was hardly necessary to break the seal and start reading: he could guess what they would say. This was the moment he stepped on the merry-go-round which was going to revolve for days, if not weeks.
He picked up the paper-knife, slid it under the seal, and opened the outer page which formed the envelope. He had been wrong in one respect: the first letter was a copy of one from the Admiralty to the port admiral, and after the usual opening, "By the Commissioners for executing the office of Lord High Admiral", it went on:
Whereas Sir James Bustard, Vice Admiral of the white and commander-in-chief of His Majesty's ships and vessels at Plymouth, hath transmitted to us a letter of the third of September last, from Captain William Shirley, commander of His Majesty's ship Jason, requesting that you, commander of His Majesty's ship Calypso, might be tried by a court martial for various matters falling under certain of the Articles of War, namely numbers XV, XVII, XIX, XX, XXII, and XXIII.
And whereas we think fit the said Captain Shirley's request should be complied with: we send you herewith his abovementioned letter, and do hereby require and direct you forthwith to assemble a court martial for the trial of the said Captain Lord Ramage, for the offences with which he stands charged, and to try him for the same accordingly.
Given under our hands the seventh day of September . . .
And there were the names of four members of the Board - only three were needed to sign such letters, so he should be flattered that a fourth should have been added. Was it significant that the First Lord, Earl St Vincent, was not among them? No, he was probably out of town that day, or there was a quorum of signatures without having to bother him. But Shirley had acted quickly to get his letter to London. How long did it take to get a letter to London by messenger? A week? Probably less.
He smoothed out the second letter and glanced at it: Admiral Bustard was merely telling him that he had received orders from the Admiralty concerning him (a copy was enclosed) and he had therefore given the requisite orders. He also enclosed a copy of Captain Shirley's letter, referred to by the Board. The deputy judge advocate appointed for the occasion, Admiral Bustard concluded, would be communicating with him.
The third letter had his father's crest on the seal and was brief: on the off-chance that Nicholas would call at Plymouth the Earl was writing to tell him about Sarah. Obviously his father knew that St Vincent had written to Barbados.
"We have no more news," the Earl wrote:
The Murex left the Fleet off Brest, and vanished. My own opinion is that she may have been dismasted or captured, and ended up in a French port to leeward, so Sarah will be a prisoner. Bonaparte regards civilians as combatants, so Sarah is probably a prisoner of war.
Your mother and I, and the Marquis, have done all we can to get news from France; St Vincent has been very understanding and pressure has been brought to bear on the French agent for the exchange of prisoners. I went to see him myself and am convinced he genuinely knows nothing.
Of Gianna - what a sad letter this is - we also have no news. Perhaps that is as well: we must prepare ourselves for the worst. We can be sure Bonaparte's men caught her, and he is a man without mercy.
The letter went on to give family news: Ramage's mother had spent most of the summer down at St Kew; the Marquis spent most of his time now in London, hoping for news of Sarah, and like the rest of the family eagerly awaiting Nicholas's return.
Ramage was just reading the final sentence when the Marine sentry outside the cabin door announced that the first lieutenant wished to see him, and Ramage called briefly: "Send him in."
Aitken, hat tucked under his arm, stood in front of Ramage's desk. "Another boat has come off from the shore and is heading for us, sir," he said, so lugubriously that quite unexpectedly it made Ramage feel cheerful.
"It'll be bringing a lieutenant - maybe even just a midshipman - with another letter for me, this time from the deputy judge advocate."
"The deputy judge advocate?" Aitken repeated, as though he might have misheard: in fact was sure he had.
"Yes - telling me the date of my trial, in which ship it will be held and asking for a list of my witnesses."
Aitken swallowed, and was obviously puzzled by Ramage's jocular manner. "So there's going to be a trial, sir?"
"My goodness yes! A mad captain and Rear-Admiral Goddard together in the same port are (for us) one of those unhappy coincidences, like a spark in a powder magazine. A bag of powder and a spark alone are each harmless, but put them together . . ."
"You don't seem very worried, sir," Aitken said, the relief showing on his face.
"I'm accused under -" he glanced at the Board's letter, "- under six of the Articles of War." He had read them out to his ship's company scores of times, as required by Admiralty Instructions, but he still had to recite them to himself by rote. "Only a few of them carry a mandatory death sentence."
Aitken said bitterly: "There's something wicked afoot when you're in more danger of death on board one of the King's ships than you ever were capturing the French frigates at Devil's Island, or rescuing those people from the renegades at Trinidade, or escaping the guillotine in France, or -"
"Aitken," Ramage said, dropping the usual "Mister" and indicating that the remark was man to man, not captain to first lieutenant, "we've set off on some adventures where our chances of survival were not very great. But I can't recall you ever standing there with a face as long as a yard of cold pump water saying: 'Sir, we're all doomed!'"He tried to give his voice the depth and emphasis of a Scottish cleric. "In fact, I always have the feeling that facing death cheers you up!"
"Ah, but there's a difference," Aitken said. "Then we went off knowing we all shared the risks. This time, you're on your own, sir. Every shot will be aimed at you alone."
There was a shout from on deck, and Aitken said: "If you'll excuse me sir, it sounds as though that boat has arrived."
The lieutenant on board had indeed brought another letter for Ramage and when Aitken brought it in Ramage told him to sit down for a few minutes.
Ramage then opened the letter - sealed this time by a wafer with the glue still wet - and nodded. "Yes, here's the deputy judge advocate. They aren't wasting much time!"
"But why is Captain Shirley charging you? You ought to be bringing him to trial!"
"He's senior, so he gets first whack!" Ramage grinned and then tapped the papers on his desk. "I haven't read his letter yet, but Their Lordships have sent me a copy of his complaint. I'll read it in a moment. Let's first see what the deputy judge advocate has to say."
The deputy judge advocate wrote in the stylized way laid down in the manuals:
The Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty having ordered Vice Admiral Sir James Bustard to assemble a court martial to try Captain the Lord Ramage, and it being intended that I shall officiate as deputy judge advocate upon the occasion at the said court martial, which is to be held on board the Salvador del Mundo at Plymouth on Monday next, at nine o'clock in the morning; I send you herewith a copy of the order for the trial on yourself [Ramage noted that the deputy judge advocate had forgotten to enclose it] and am to desire you will be pleased to transmit me a list of the officers and men belonging to the Calypso who are in this port, and of such persons, as you may think proper to call to give evidence in your favour, that they might be summoned to attend accordingly.
He passed the letter to Aitken. "You've probably never read one of those letters before. Consider it part of your education."
While the Scotsman read the letter, Ramage read Captain Shirley's asking for a court-martial. It was addressed to Sir James Bustard - did they know each other, or did Shirley know Sir James was the port admiral? Anyway, Sir James must have forwarded it to the Admiralty (by one of the special messengers who left for London every evening on horseback, passing on the way similar messengers who left the Admiralty every evening).
Shirley's letter was well written and set out his complaint clearly and Ramage admitted ruefully to himself that both Sir James and the Board, reading the letter, would have no hesitation in ordering a court-martial.
Shirley began by referring to his orders and giving the date he left Barbados. He referred to sighting the Calypso as she bore northwards for England, and then went on to relate how the Calypso had come alongside, using grapnels. Her men, led by an officer later identified as Captain Ramage, had then boarded the Jason and Captain Ramage had taken command . . .
Shirley explained that he had recognized the Calypso and seen that she was escorting a convoy, so he was completely unprepared for such an attack. Captain Ramage had then removed him from his command, giving no reason, put one of his lieutenants on board and ordered the lieutenant, by name Wagstaffe, to keep station astern of the convoy and to leeward of the Calypso. The Jason had been forced to comply with these orders until near the Lizard, when the Jason's, commanding officer (Ramage allowed himself a wry smile at this description: Wagstaffe's version would, no doubt, be quite different) had managed to crowd on sail, ignoring Wagstaffe, and arrived in Plymouth safely. Shirley went on to say that Captain Ramage had given no explanation for his actions, although when he first boarded the Jason he was warned at once that his behaviour was in defiance of certain Articles of War, which were cited.
However, Captain Ramage had only laughed in reply and said he had a large convoy to defend and a long way to go with not enough frigates, so the Jason was needed to help. "I warned him that he would be called to account once the convoy arrived in Britain," Shirley wrote, "but he just laughed like a madman. His behaviour at all times while on board the Jason," Shirley added artfully, "was such as to raise very serious doubts about his sanity, and had the Jason's surgeon not unfortunately died a week or so earlier, the surgeon would have been instructed to examine Captain Ramage to ascertain his fitness for command of the Calypso and advise me what steps were necessary to ensure that the King's Service should be properly carried out."
Ramage sighed because it was a clever letter. No wonder Sir James sent it straight on to the Admiralty, and no wonder Their Lordships promptly ordered a trial. Their Lordships must be shaking their heads and saying, yes, young Ramage has done splendid service in the past, but one of those wounds - perhaps that glancing musket ball that caught his head at Curaçao (and where the hair growing round the scar was always a tiny white tuft) - had finally put him in a position where he was no longer responsible for his actions.
Well, the Board were not at fault: they did not know Shirley was mad. They might not know about the sycophantic Goddard, either. But he and the Yorkes were mistaken in thinking that the advantage would be with the writer of the second letter to reach the Admiralty: Their Lordships must have already ordered his trial before his letter had gone on shore.
"This deputy judge advocate hasn't wasted much time," Aitken commented.
"No, they give me enough time to read the Admiralty's letter and Shirley's complaint, and then the deputy judge advocate's letter arrives with the wafer still wet. Seems more like malice over at the port admiral's office rather than the efficiency of his staff."
"We can anticipate some more pettiness, I expect," Aitken commented. "I must make sure our boats' crews obey all the port regulations when they go on shore. Luckily Southwick brought back a copy of the Plymouth 'Port Orders', so we can carry out flag signals promptly. Thank goodness we are not having any work done in the Dockyards - the 'Daily Report' on progress has twenty-five headings and a 'Remarks' column, so a dockyard commissioner can always find fault somewhere and complain to the admiral."
"Yes, we're all going to have to tread carefully. I'm sorry I've made it difficult for everyone."
"Captain Shirley, not you, sir," Aitken corrected. "Now, sir, can I help you draw up that list of witnesses?"
Ramage thought for a few moments. "I'd prefer you to draw up a separate list, then we can compare them: that way, we're less likely to forget anyone. And listen, Aitken, think about this. They - Shirley and his cronies - seem to be in a hurry. There might be some reason, or it might just be the excitement of the chase. We can't slow up the proceedings (anyway I don't want to prolong all this nonsense), but let's see if we can't find some advantage in it, too."
Aitken nodded his head slowly. "Aye, I take your meaning, sir. They're up to windward of us, but we must try and make that to our advantage."
Ramage saw no reason why he had to be discreet in the present situation. "If you're unarmed and a man suddenly attacks you with a knife, I reckon you're justified in using unorthodox methods to defend yourself. 'Turning the other cheek' doesn't help!"
Aitken grinned for the first time that day. "Aye, I like that word 'unorthodox' - it has a pleasant unorthodox ring about it!"
After Aitken left the cabin, Ramage read through all the letters again. His defence. Well, all he had was the truth, though that might not count for much if Admiral Goddard was president of the court.
Time . . . yes, time was an enemy because he had no time to get his father and the Marquis to work at persuading Lord St Vincent to transfer the trial to, say, Portsmouth, with another president. But the more he thought about that - realizing it would take ten days or a fortnight to get a letter to London and the reply back to Plymouth - the more he understood how they were weighed down with Sarah's disappearance.
His father's letter made it clear that there was no news and how despondent they were. The Marquis must be distraught: he and Sarah were very close.
Now, burdened with worry over Sarah, it would crush them all to find Sarah's husband was in grave danger from the Articles of War. A week or more - the trial should be all over before news reached London. That decided him: no appeal to his father for help - the old man had suffered enough when that past government put him on trial - and no appeal to the Marquis. He would fight with the weapons he had. It did not do to think too much about the calibre of those!
Ramage and Sidney Yorke stood by the entryport as the chair with Alexis in it was hoisted up from the boat, swung inboard and gently lowered until it was just in front of Ramage. As Jackson and Stafford held it steady, Ramage stepped forward to flip back the wooden bar which held her secure, helped her step out on to the deck and, as Jackson swung the chair back out of the way, saluted her gravely. She curtseyed. "Good day, Captain, I trust my brother has already asked if our visit is discommoding you?"
"He has indeed."
"And what was your answer?"
Ramage was still standing close enough to her that by dropping his voice only she could hear his reply. "That your visit was very ill-timed because I was sitting in my cabin so miserable that I was thinking of doing away with myself!"
She laughed and said in a normal tone: "Oh good, as long as we have not interrupted anything of importance!"
With them seated in the cabin, Yorke said as soon as the sentry had shut the door: "We have been hearing a rumour."
"It is probably true. What does it say?"
"Leave the rumour for the moment. We have just heard officially that the convoy sails tomorrow with the London, Hull and Leith ships, and you are not named as the commander of the escort, nor is the Calypso mentioned."
When Ramage nodded, Yorke continued: "The rumour – which I don't mind telling you is upsetting all the masters considerably - is that you are being court-martialled at the instance of the captain of the Jason."
Ramage pointed at the papers on his desk. "That's not a rumour, I'm afraid. The Admiralty has ordered the trial and the date is already fixed - for the beginning of next week."
"But... but what about witnesses?" Alexis said angrily. "All the convoy will have sailed and the masters want to give evidence on your behalf!"
"That rumour-which-is-not-a-rumour is not the only one," Yorke said. "I hear that our old friend Goddard is the rear-admiral here. Does that mean ... ?"
As Ramage nodded, Alexis exclaimed: "Goddard? Who is this Goddard? Why do the pair of you have such long faces? Are you frightened of him?"
"Yes and no," Ramage said, and quietly explained to her how Goddard had entered his life, toadying to the old ministers and currying favour by attacking the Earl of Blazey's son.
"Sidney," Alexis said firmly. "We let the Emerald sailtomorrow with the convoy, and we move on shore to an inn. The King's Arms, I think; I refuse to stay at the Prince George - I dislike Foxhole Street and the place is always full of noisy shipmasters and foreigners."
Yorke agreed but warned that after so many weeks at sea, it would take a few days to find their land legs.
Alexis pointed at the papers on Ramage's desk. "Why are you so sure that this Goddard man will preside at the trial?"
"In Plymouth there is a port admiral," Ramage explained. "He is Vice-Admiral Sir James Bustard. I know nothing about him except he's getting on in years. He has a house - just near Mount Wise and the Telegraph, and just across the Parade from Government House.
"Then there is a rear-admiral, who is the second-in-command. His main purpose in life is to preside at courts-martial. In a big port like Plymouth there are trials almost every day and they're held on board the Salvador del Mundo, an old prize which is well suited for the purpose."
"Trials almost every day?" Alexis exclaimed. "But what for?"
"Don't forget that a 74-gun ship (most of the ships you see here larger than frigates are seventy-fours) has at least seven hundred men on board, and the frigates about two hundred each. So take half a dozen seventy-fours and you have more than four thousand men. If only half a dozen of them desert, get drunk and start a brawl and hit an officer or mutter treasonable phrases in their cups - well, that makes half a dozen courts-martial a day!"
"Not to mention captains who misbehave out in the Atlantic and come in here to be punished," Alexis added mischievously.
"Indeed not," Ramage agreed gravely. "Poor Rear-Admiral Goddard must be a much overworked man."
"It's a pity you have to add to his burden."
Ramage laughed and said wryly: "I am sure he will think he's doing me a favour."
Sidney Yorke, who had remained unsmiling as Ramage and Alexis teased each other, asked quietly: "Am I being indiscreet in asking what you are charged with - and by whom?"
Ramage sorted out the papers on the desk and passed them to Yorke. "They're in order now. When you've read them all, you'll know as much about this as I do."
Alexis look questioningly and Ramage nodded. "Of course you can read them too."
"They'll make a change from the Paston letters which you lent me and which I've nearly finished. Not that I haven't found them fascinating, but I didn't know the Pastons and I do know you!"
She waited a few moments and then said quietly: "Why don't you come with us and stay at the inn? You have not slept on shore since -"
She just prevented herself putting a hand to her mouth, a gesture which in other women always irritated her, but there was no way she could recall the words. Ramage said easily: "Since Bonaparte's men chased us out of Jean-Jacques' château near Brest. No, but a captain may not sleep out of his ship without the port admiral's permission. That is just for a night. For longer, he needs permission from the Admiralty."
"And for the moment you do not want to ask favours of anyone."
Ramage nodded. "Anyway, I have plenty to do - lists of witnesses, draw up my defence, and so on."
"And rally your friends," Alexis added.
"A naval officer on trial for his life in these circumstances has no friends," Ramage said with unintended bitterness, and was startled to see Alexis's eyes beginning to glisten with tears.
"That is not true," she said quietly.
He said gently: "I spoke clumsily. Yes, I have friends. Very few, and of those the Yorkes are the most valued. I thought you meant that I should rally my friends in the Service, and I meant that I have none but in any case at a time like this, with a man like Goddard involved, anyone in the Service is well advised to keep away. In fact I'd tell him to!"
"But what about Aitken, and Southwick, and Bowen -?"
"Oh dear," Ramage said. "I sound ungrateful but I'm simply tactless. I'm conceited enough to assume that all the Calypsos, like the Yorkes, are on my side. When I said I was on my own, I really meant we - the Yorkes and the Calypsos - can't look round for friends."
"But," Alexis said chidingly, "you forget the masters who were in the convoy, and surely the Count of Rennes and your father and father-in-law will help?"
"The Count saw nothing that you didn't, so there's no way he can help, and anyway he's probably on his way to London by coach. My father and the Marquis are stunned by Sarah's disappearance. I'm not going to add to their troubles."
Sidney said suddenly, an impatient note in his voice: "Think, girl! The Count is a friend of the Prince of Wales, and this wretched man Goddard is one of Prinny's favourites. Nicholas wouldn't dream of putting Jean-Jacques in such an awkward position."
"I would," Alexis said stoutly, "and Prinny too, if I thought the Prince of Wales's presence would make sure justice was done."
"You'll be sent to bed without any supper," Yorke said in a mock warning, and then turned to Ramage and said: "These Articles of War that Shirley's charging you under - what penalties do they entail?"
"Some leave it up to the court; guilty verdicts with others call for death, without any option."
There was the hissing of silk against silk and a gentle thump as Alexis fainted and slid out of the chair, and as he jumped up to go to her, Ramage noticed she had the most shapely legs.
"I should have left her on board," Yorke said, "but I'd have had to lock her in. She's taking all this business very seriously."
"So am I," Ramage said drily. "Ah, she's coming round . . ."
"You're on board the Calypso and everything is all right," Yorke said hastily, and Ramage realized the hurried words were in case the dazed girl said something which might cause embarrassment. He asked her if she wanted a drink of water but she shook her head and Ramage was relieved. There was no need for a Marine sentry and his steward Silkin to know that Miss Yorke had fainted. That was the trouble with fainting - it could be caused by anything from a shock to pregnancy, from "vapours", intended to attract attention, to real illness.
Aitken and Southwick looked at Ramage, waiting for his answer, and the first lieutenant still held the list from which he had been reading.
"Wagstaffe - yes, I can't see how I can avoid calling him - he'll be called by the prosecution anyway. But I need only one of the Calypso's officers - he can give evidence about the challenge, lack of reply and being fired on."
"Yes, well, that's why I put my name at the top of the list," Aitken said. "But all the rest can and will substantiate that."
"Look," Ramage said firmly, "whoever gives evidence on my behalf will be a marked man in the Service from then on, so I want only one person."
Southwick sniffed: it was his "I don't care what you say, I'm going my way" sniff and Ramage tried to look at him sternly, but the old master simply grinned. "It'll be all or none, sir. No one is going to be left out. Or if you try to make do with just one of us, then that person'll be like the Jasons. Saw nothing, heard nothing . . ."
"But there's no need," Ramage said. "Aitken, don't you see that giving evidence on my behalf will probably mean you'll never be made post?"
Aitken shrugged his shoulders. "Sir, thanks to you by way of prize money, I'd pass for a wealthy man in the Highlands. If what you say is true, I'll find myself a bonny bride and a middling sized estate, and if I never go to sea again I've tales enough to tell a dozen grandchildren - aye, and never the same tale twice!"
"That's how everyone feels, sir," Southwick said. "You've looked after them in the smoke of battle, and they're going to look after you -" he paused searching for the right phrase, failed to find it and ended lamely, "- well, at a time like now. They see you're in more danger from our own folk than the French, and that's enough for them."
"How do they know?"
"Too late to complain sir," Southwick chuckled, "but every man on board knows the six Articles of War that Captain Shirley is citing, and even now there's a copy of the Articles of War being passed hand to hand on the lowerdeck. The men were complaining that they only ever heard the Articles read out to them on the quarterdeck, and they wanted - those that can read - a chance to study 'em."
Ramage knew he was helpless to protect his officers from the price they would pay for their loyalty. Aitken, Wagstaffe, Kenton, Martin and Orsini: he had let them down. Southwick and Bowen were different - Bowen only continued serving in the Navy as a surgeon in order to stay with Southwick and Ramage himself: Southwick, like Aitken, had plenty in the Funds from prize money and had reached the age when retirement might seem welcome.
It had all started with a lookout sighting a sail on the horizon and he had decided to investigate it. If only he had ignored it - they had seen several others that day. At least he had not sent off L'Espoir or La Robuste: he shivered at the thought of the problems that would have arisen if the Jason had raked one of them.
Anyway, Aitken had the list of witnesses, and that was that! Then he remembered: "There are two more names to add to your list."
Aitken got up and sat at the desk, reached for a quill and taking the cap off the inkwell, said: "Yes, sir?"
"Mr Sidney Yorke, who will be staying at the King's Arms, in Britonside, and Miss Yorke, at the same address."
"Ah," said Southwick, "They're with us all right, then?"
"Yes. The Emerald sails for London with the convoy tomorrow, but they're staying for the trial. What evidence they can give, I don't know, but Miss Yorke should make an impression on the court!"
"She certainly makes an impression on me!" Southwick said. "And I'd sooner have her brother on our side than against us."
Ramage said: "I've been thinking about the masters of the merchant ships. I don't think we need any as witnesses. The captain of L'Espoir - hewon't have seen what happened. The Jason's first lieutenant, gunner and the cook's mate -"
"Cook's mate, sir?" Aitken could not believe his ears.
"Who better? Cook's mates are usually the most stupid men in any ship, and he has nothing to lose. More important, he probably has little understanding. But he will know if the ship fired a broadside or not."
"Shirley's fellows will get to him before the trial and tell him what to say," Southwick declared gruffly.
"Perhaps - in fact no doubt will. But if the man gets muddled enough in court, we might get some truth out of him."
"Truth isn't going to get a look in," Southwick said.
"No," Ramage agreed, "I doubt it. So we'll be as brief as we can. Few witnesses, few questions. . .The briefer the trial, the less time the other side have to gloat."
Aitken looked worried and he shook his head. "You don't seem to consider the question of being acquitted, sir."
"I've considered it," Ramage said, his voice neutral. "I'd like to be cleared, if only for my father's sake. But over there -" he gestured vaguely to the northwest, towards Cornwall, "- lies my home, with enough land to keep me occupied for the rest of my life. And over there -" he gestured seaward, "- is the answer to the question of whether I am a widower or a married man. Those are the two most important things in my life, and what lies in between –a trial on board the Salvador del Mundo next Monday - doesn't seem of so much consequence at the moment."
"Even tho' it could result in a sentence of death," Southwick said sharply.
"Right now I haven't a devil of a lot to live for," Ramage said bitterly. "My mother and father can't live forever, and I don't fancy wandering round St Kew Hall without Sarah for the rest of my life. It's a dam' big house and there are plenty of tenants on the land, and whoever runs it should have - well, some zest, and a wife, and that's what I lack now."
"Sir," said Southwick, "I'm going to presume on the length of my service with you and unless you order me not to, I'm going to speak my mind freely. I've talked it over with Mr Aitken, and to be honest, sir, you're worrying us, so what I have to say - if you'll allow me to say it - goes for both of us."
Ramage smiled and nodded. "I've never known you to ask permission before, but go on . . ."
"Well, sir, you've done more for King and country than most men, but apart from some of your despatches being published in the London Gazette, you've had no recognition and there are a lot of senior officers jealous of you. All that's normal. It took long enough for Their Lordships to give Lord Nelson his first real chance: those dam'd Antigua merchants nearly did for his career right at the start, when he went for 'em in the last war."
Ramage said impatiently: "I am not another Lord Nelson, Mr Southwick."
"No sir, but hear me out. There are some admirals who listen to what you say - Admiral Clinton off Brest let you go to Devil's Island on what must to him have seemed a flimsy story. Lord Spencer when he was First Lord gave you opportunities, and now Lord St Vincent has not signed that court-martial order from the Board, even though he is First Lord."
"He was attending a levee at letter-signing time," Ramage said. "Four other members of the Board had their pens ready - three is a quorum."
Southwick shook his head but said: "Have it your own way, sir. You can say you haven't had recognition for what you've done -"
"But I don't," Ramage interrupted. "I've had Gazettes, I'm on the Post List: I don't need anything else."
"Very well, sir, I'm wrong in that particular. But think of this: supposing you quit now, are found guilty but are not sentenced to death; dismissed the Service, say. You go back and watch your tenants, course hares, milk the cows and make butter and cheese at St Kew, and smile at the young maids and kiss the hands of the wives of the local gentry - and then you find that Lady Sarah is alive and (because by then the war has ended) is about to be released and come home. Now you think what she'll find. A disgraced husband with no fight in him. The bottle, that'll be your mistress by then, sir, the bottle and not even bothering with a glass.
"Sorry, sir. Overstood the mark, I have, but I'm not sorry, but you haven't been yourself for many weeks, and we all know how you were waiting for news of Lady Sarah when you got to Plymouth, and instead you had this crash on your head. But right now those of us who've picked you up for dead several times in the past can't see any wound or blood, and we wonder why you've given up fighting. Don't seem like you, sir. Lady Sarah'd be ashamed."
Ramage flushed but said nothing. There was nothing to say except to agree with Southwick, because the old man knew he was right and did not need Ramage to tell him so; in fact would be heartily embarrassed if he did.
Both Southwick and Aitken picked up their hats. Aitken put the list of witnesses on the desk while Southwick led the way to the door, muttering that they would be back later.
As the door closed behind them and Ramage noticed for the first time the whine of a high wind in the masts and riggings - it sounded as though a squall was sweeping down on them, and he saw rain running down the glass of the skylights - he realized that apart from the reference to recognition, there was nothing that Southwick had said that he disagreed with or could deny. It was a shameful admission to have to make, and he was ashamed that Southwick and Aitken had been forced into such a position. Then, thinking of their embarrassment - trying to put some backbone into their captain - he remembered phrases spoken by the Yorkes which had not, at the time, made much sense. Yes, and glances between Sidney and Alexis which he had intercepted and assumed were something that happened between brother and sister (not having a sister he did not know) but which he now recognized were glances of despair or silent pleas for help or support for something one of them had said.
He felt hot and ashamed: hot from the embarrassment that four people, one of them Alexis, had inspected him and found him weak, and ashamed that he had in fact mentally given up without openly admitting it. Given up, he told himself bitterly, because of the threat of being beaten by a madman, or the fear that, with Sarah probably dead, he had no purpose left.
No, he protested to himself, that was not the whole problem. A major part of it was the Articles of War. Anything reduced to paragraphs invariably ended up as nonsense when applied to a living situation. Admirals and captains, since the Byng court-martial and execution, had to fight any odds in battle, however stupid it might be and however much wiser it would be to wait for reinforcements or even decline action, because of a phrase in Article XII, the phrase that did for poor old Admiral Byng - "shall not do his utmost". This could find a man guilty whether he was an admiral or a cook's mate. What was a man's "utmost" and who, not there at the time, could determine the circumstances?
It was curious how Southwick could read his mind. Ramage had sensed that the old man knew Ramage was not more frightened of the death sentence than he was of being killed in action against the French. Death was death, a big black curtain. But Southwick (and almost certainly Aitken too) knew that the man who accepted death in battle would be ashamed of dying at the hands of a firing squad carrying out the sentence of a court-martial - the fate of Admiral Byng, who had been outraged at the government's original intention, which was to hang him. All governments were capable of the vindictiveness that went with brutish stupidity (the treatment of Byng showed that).