Ramage recalled his allusion to a wooden cathedral when he followed Hill into the great cabin, which ran the width of the ship. It was more than fifty feet from one side to the other, and the whole after end - or so it seemed because the sun now shining through was dazzling - comprised sternlights: windows that if the ground glass was coloured and set in leaded shapes, would in size be more suitable for a cathedral.
He was walking on canvas painted in large black and white squares which covered the cabin sole like an enormous carpet (and reminded him of the mosaic floors in some Italian cathedrals). For a moment he felt he should be jinking from one square to another in a particular chess move - two ahead and one to the right or left, in the knight's move, or else he would startle everyone by walking diagonally, announcing he was a bishop. In fact, he told himself grimly, he was a pawn . . .
Apart from a Marine sentry at the door, a couple of seamen arranging chairs round a long table, and a couple more giving the top a final polish, with another man perfunctorily cleaning some panes of glass in the sternlights, occasionally using a little energy on a fly speck, the Salvador's great cabin was as peaceful as the nave of St Paul's between services.
The long mahogany table, big enough to seat a couple of dozen for dinner, was set athwartships, so that those captains sitting along one side would have their backs to the sternlights and face into the darker cabin, while the other half would look at the sternlights.
The chair at one end of the table had arms, so that must be the head, while the chair at the other end was straight-backed and armless. There were more chairs down the sides, and in front of each place was a pad of paper, inkwell, quill and sandbox.
As Ramage faced the sternlights with the table in front of him, there were a couple of rows of chairs behind him in the darker part of the cabin with two rows of forms behind them.
Hill coughed to attract his attention. He pointed to two other chairs, placed at an angle to the table in a position so that anyone sitting at the head of the table (it would be the president of the court) had only to look half-left to see and talk. "We sit there, sir. You nearest to the president and me behind."
"So that you can spit me with your sword if I make a bolt for it."
Hill had learnt enough by now to answer gravely: "Exactly, sir. Pistols make such a noise."
At that moment the door was flung open and a fussy-looking little man wearing tiny spectacles and (almost startling, these days) a short wig bustled into the cabin, followed first by a thin and lugubrious seaman carrying an arm full of books, and by a boy laden with a large pewter inkwell, a bunch of quills, and some large pads of paper.
"Ah, Mr Hill and the prisoner, eh?"
"Don't introduce me," Ramage murmured, guessing the man, looking like a startled hedgehog, must be the deputy judge advocate. No one had yet decided where deputy judge advocates fitted into the naval hierarchy but in Ramage's experience so far they knew little of law and always wrote very slowly, making them little more than clerks.
The little man sat at the chair at the end of the table and looked up at the seaman, now standing beside him. "Ah yes, the Holy Evangelist - I want that right in front of me." He reached up and took it. "Now, the Crucifix, for those of the Catholic faith: that goes there. The books - in two piles here, with the titles facing me."
He dismissed the seaman and turned to the boy. "Now be careful of that ink. Place it there -" he pointed to a precise spot. "Now the quills - examine each one to make sure it is sharp. You have a pen-knife?"
When the boy looked sulky he was told sharply: "You forgot it last time!"
"Will this be a long trial?" the little lawyer suddenly asked Ramage.
Ramage glanced at the pile of books, the inkwell and the quills, and deliberately misunderstood the purpose of the question.
"Ah yes, you are paid by the day. Well, I'll spin it out as long as I can, and you can dawdle as you write down the evidence. And always read the minutes in a slow and deliberate voice. But come now, you must know all the tricks!"
The boy sniggered but hurried out when the red-faced lawyer pointed to the door.
"I asked you a perfectly civil question, Captain," the lawyer said crossly.
"And I gave you a perfectly civil answer," Ramage said.
At that moment three captains came into the cabin, nodded to the three men, and stood near the rows of chairs. Each man had a small roll of parchment in his hand, and as they continued their conversation several more captains came in and joined them.
Ramage said to Hill: "It's time we went outside and waited - the court convenes in five minutes."
Hill led the way out of the cabin and went on to a small cabin which was probably used originally by the Spanish admiral's secretary - it was still pleasantly painted in pale blue and white, with a built-in table at one end which served as a desk.
"Damn," Hill exclaimed unexpectedly, "I forgot to tell the Marine sentry where to find us."
Ramage had just looked at his watch and noted that the court should have assembled fifteen minutes earlier when the sentry knocked on the door. "The admiral is just coming on board, sir."
Hill looked at Ramage and said: "I suppose the provost marshal isn't allowed to say anything, but George Hill would like to wish you the best, sir. The more I think about this trial, the less I understand what it's all about."
Ramage smiled and nodded. "Thank you. And if you are puzzled now, remember to pinch yourself halfway through!"
Hill opened the door and led the way back to a point where he could just see the big door into the great cabin and the Marine sentry outside it. "We can see the admiral when he goes in, sir: there's no need for you to be waiting outside."
Waiting outside and a target for any unpleasantness Goddard wanted to hand out in passing: this young man Hill was thoughtful . . . and in addition to the extra four shillings a day he would receive for acting as provost marshal, he was learning a lot about both people and the Navy.
The sentry (Ramage realized that Hill must have given him instructions) waved to Hill, who asked Ramage to follow him. "They've just ordered the prisoner to be brought in, sir," the sentry said.
Hill looked round at Ramage and inspected him. "Excuse me, sir," he said and gave Ramage's stock a gentle tug. He removed a tiny piece of fluff from the shoulder and then, adjusting his own sword and making sure that Ramage's sword was tucked firmly under his left arm, murmured: "If you'll follow me, sir . . ."
The great cabin was full of men: six post-captains sat along one side of the table and six more the other, their backs to the sternlights. The fussy and bewigged deputy judge advocate sat at one end while Goddard sat at the other. Crouched, Ramage corrected himself: the fat, grey-faced man was hunched in the chair, holding the arms and looking like an aged toad preparing to leap. Except that now he was staring down at a pile of papers in front of him, deliberately ignoring Ramage's arrival. But all dozen members of the court were watching: the six facing the sternlights were twisted round on their chairs. Ramage did not recognize a single face. Every one of them wore epaulettes on both shoulders, indicating more than three years' seniority. Ramage realized that he was the only post-captain in the cabin wearing a single epaulette, on the right shoulder.
The rows of chairs and forms were filled with people - spectators and witnesses. He caught a glimpse of Yorke and wondered why he was sitting on a form, and he was just trying to think why Alexis was not with him when he saw her sitting on a chair in the front row, apparently on her own, the only woman in the cabin.
"The prisoner should be seated," the deputy judge advocate said pompously, pointing to a chair, but Hill ignored him. Walking up to Goddard and placing Ramage's sword on the table in front of him, he reported quietly: "The prisoner is delivered to the court, sir."
Goddard growled an acknowledgement and said brusquely to the deputy judge advocate: "Carry on, Mr Jenkins."
Ramage sat down and crossed his legs. Yes, there was Captain William Shirley, sitting in a chair close to Jenkins. He had been bent over earlier, adjusting his shoe, and Ramage had missed seeing him.
Jenkins's face was shiny and he looked harassed. Already he would have been busy, first checking the seniority of the captains by examining their commissions, and seating them so that the most senior were nearer to the president and the two men at Jenkins' own end were the most junior.
Now he searched through the papers in front of him, found a particular one and, tilting it slightly towards the sternlights, began by reading the letter from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, a copy of which Ramage had already received, ordering the trial following the request by Captain Shirley.
Putting that page to one side, Jenkins searched for another, scattering the bunch of quills as he shuffled through several sheets. Finally he began reading, in an even more lugubrious voice, the commander-in-chief's warrant appointing him the deputy judge advocate for the trial of Captain the Lord Ramage. As he finished he stood looking round the court as though anticipating applause, and Goddard snapped: "Well, get on with it, man!"
Ramage, glancing at the row of spectators and witnesses, caught Alexis's eye and at the same time realized that all the officers in the cabin were glancing at her surreptitiously: she was dressed elegantly in a long dress of dark olive-green with a matching hat obviously inspired by the military shako. Her long-handled parasol was a lighter green - and it was looking at it that made Ramage realize that the hat was a slightly lighter colour too. And although he had not really noticed it on board the Emerald or the Calypso, but it made a contrast with the pinks and whites here, she was very suntanned: unfashionably so, he could hear the admirals' wives saying disapprovingly: that was why one carried a parasol. But these scrawny old harpies never went to sea, or if they did they never came up on deck. They had never learned that one could sit under an awning and never for a moment be in the sun, but after a few days would have a tan: the sun reflecting up unnoticed from the sea was almost as merciless as the direct rays.
Then Ramage realized why Alexis was sitting in the front row and on the larboard side while her brother sat on a form on the other side. Goddard had met Sidney years ago in Jamaica and might well remember him (probably would, since it was not a pleasant meeting for Goddard), but he had never before seen Alexis and could never guess they were brother and sister. Had Sidney thought up some trick? Ramage decided that was impossible: their evidence could be only about what they had seen. No, Sidney had probably decided there was no need for them to be associated on the off-chance that - well. Ramage could not think, but he found her nearness curiously comforting.
Now Jenkins was getting ready to administer the oath to each of the captains sitting at the table, and the president. He started with Goddard, who stood up, put his hand on the Bible held out by Jenkins, and read from a card which the deputy judge advocate held discreetly to one side:
"I, Jebediah Goddard, do hereby swear that I will duly administer justice, according to the Articles and Orders established by an Act passed in the twenty-second year of the reign of His Majesty, King George III, for amending, explaining and reducing into one Act of Parliament, the laws relating to the Government of His Majesty's ships, vessels and forces by sea, without partiality, favour or affection; and if any case shall arise which is not particularly mentioned in the said Articles and orders, I will duly administer justice according to my conscience, the best of my understanding, and the custom of the Navy in like cases; and I do further swear that I will not upon any account, at any time whatsoever, disclose or discover the vote or opinion of any particular member of this court martial unless required by Act of Parliament, so help me God!"
Goddard had ended with his voice ringing through the cabin in what he assumed was an assured and righteous tone, and again Alexis caught Ramage's eye and by an almost imperceptible lifting of her eyebrows asked: "Do we have to listen to that another twelve times?"
An equally almost imperceptible nod of his head assured her and, as if that was the signal, Jenkins turned to the captain on Goddard's right, the most senior.
Holding out the Bible for him to rest his hand on, Jenkins showed the card and the captain, giving his name as John Swinford, repeated the oath. A stocky but lean-faced man, blue-eyed and speaking in a clear but not fussily precise voice, Swinford seemed shrewd - but he was at the right hand of a man who could do him harm by telling tales to the commander-in-chief although that was true for all the captains, Ramage reminded himself.
Jenkins was about to move round to take the next most senior captain, sitting on Goddard's left, when the rear-admiral said: "Carry on down that side of the table - I'm sure that God doesn't recognize the seniority in the Navy List."
Several of the captains gave appreciative smiles but Ramage sensed that had Goddard been a popular man there would have been outright laughs where now there were almost wary grins.
As Jenkins went on to the next captain, James Royce, Ramage sat back and watched Captain Shirley. The man was sitting perfectly still. On the deck under his chair he had several books, one of which Ramage recognized as being the master's log and another, from its shape and size, a captain's journal. He held a pile of several papers on his lap and two or three of them had seals.
What was curious, Ramage thought, was the fact that the man remained absolutely motionless: he did not move his head to follow Jenkins's progress round the table with the Bible, he did not glance at Goddard, and the cabin might well have been empty instead of crowded with witnesses and spectators. He never glanced at Alexis; he did not appear to see the knot of officers whom Ramage recognized as from the Jason. In fact Shirley did not seem to be in any way connected to the present proceedings. It was as though they were all in the front seats in church, but a man sat alone in a pew at the back, ignoring the preacher and never joining in the responses, and completely oblivious of the stirring notes of the organ.
Remote. That word alone described Shirley, and Ramage realized that when he had seen him on board the Jason the man was probably not ignoring what went on round him, he was just detached from it. Most men with papers in their lap shuffled through them at tedious times like these, when Jenkins or one of the captains droned on, going through their own part of the trial ritual. Any other man might look down at the pile of books to reassure himself that he had not forgotten one. But not Shirley. Remote, yes but, Ramage now realized, the remoteness of carved marble or - he could picture one without effort - a scavenging bird waiting on a tree stump.
Jenkins finally administered the oath to the last captain, sitting on Goddard's left, and this brought him into position for the last part of the trial ritual. Goddard stood up and said to the deputy judge advocate: "Give me the Holy Evangelist - now, with your hand on it, make your oath."
Jenkins took a deep breath and with a sanctimonious expression on his face intoned: "I, Hubert Jenkins, do swear that I will not, upon any account, at any time whatsoever, disclose or discover the vote or opinion of any particular member of this court martial, unless thereunto required by Act of Parliament, so help me God."
Taking the Bible from Goddard, Jenkins strode back to his chair with all the self-importance of a bishop's wife. He shuffled through his papers again and, still standing, announced: "It is now my duty to read the letter of accusation against the prisoner."
He gave the paper a brisk shake, as though removing an unsightly crease. "The letter is addressed to the commander-in-chief at Plymouth and is dated on board His Majesty's frigate the Jason at sea. It begins: 'Sir, I beg leave to acquaint you that this day, Captain Nicholas Ramage, the commanding officer of His Majesty's ship Calypso, frigate, did board my ship with a party of his men and did remove me from command, putting in my place one of his own lieutenants, in breach of the spirit of the Articles of War. I request that you will be pleased to apply to the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty for a Court Martial to be held upon the said Captain Nicholas Ramage for the said offence, I am, etcetera and etcetera, William Shirley.' "
Jenkins then sat down with the smug look of a man who considered the important part of his task had been done. The captains had been assembled and ranged round the table in order of seniority; they had all taken the oath; and (unknown to Ramage) because this was now regarded as an important trial, Jenkins had taken affidavits from the witnesses who would be supporting the charges against Captain Ramage and, in accordance with the regulations, had given copies to the commander-in-chief and to Rear-Admiral Goddard as president of the court-martial, "but no other members of the court". The court-martial statutes, as Jenkins knew well enough, made no provisions for copies to be given to the accused. For the time being the affidavits, like grenades, waited in the pile of papers in front of him for the appropriate moment for them to be lobbed into the proceedings.
Goddard looked round the cabin and said abruptly: "All witnesses are to withdraw, except for the first witness in support of the charge."
The scraping of chairs and forms made Ramage realize that several of the men who had been sitting on the chairs and forms and who he had assumed were merely spectators were in fact Shirley's witnesses. He guessed there were two or three dozen, perhaps more. Ramage saw Southwick, Aitken, Bowen, Wagstaffe, the other junior officers and Jackson with three more seamen heading for the door, followed by Sidney Yorke. Ramage was suddenly conscious of a curious hush in the cabin and glanced round to see that Goddard and most of the captains at the table were watching Alexis. If she remained seated, she was simply a spectator, perhaps the wife or daughter of some important person that no one knew; if she left the cabin she must be a witness.
Although she knew none of this, Alexis unwittingly added to the tension. Anxious not to be associated with her brother and wanting to avoid getting caught up in the crowd of men at the door, she waited until the last moment, and then slowly stood up and walked out of the cabin, every man's eyes on her. She knew it and enjoyed it, but had only one of those men been watching, the man sitting in the chair with the provost marshal behind him and the only captain not wearing a sword, she would have walked with the same elegance.
As the Marine sentry now standing guard just inside the cabin shut the door and then stood to attention, Goddard looked across at Shirley (for the first time, Ramage realized) and asked: "Your first witness is ready?"
Shirley slowly stood up. "Yes, indeed, sir."
"Call him, then," Goddard said, already showing signs of impatience.
Shirley beckoned the lieutenant sitting at the end of the front row of chairs who walked across the cabin uncertainly, as though treading on ice. Shirley pointed to a spot a yard or so from Jenkins's chair, where the deputy judge advocate was already waiting with the Bible and a piece of card.
"Put your right hand on the Holy Evangelist and recite this oath." He held up the card and the lieutenant, every movement uncertain and his brow shiny with perspiration, read in a monotone and at great speed: "The evidence I shall give before this court respecting the charge against the prisoner shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."
Jenkins sat down, dipped a quill in the inkwell, and glared up at the lieutenant. "Your name, rank and ship - and," he admonished before the man had time to say a word, "speak slowly: I have to write down everything you say. And that," he added, looking at Shirley and then Ramage, "goes for the interrogatories, too."
The lieutenant was silenced by Jenkins's manner, mistaking the deputy judge advocate's fussy briskness for hostility.
Jenkins turned to Shirley: "Sir, will you instruct this officer to tell us who he is?"
"Ridley, sir," the man said, "Jasper Ridley, first lieutenant of the Jason frigate."
Jenkins's pen squeaked as he wrote, repeating each word after the lieutenant. Finally he stopped and looked up at Goddard.
Ramage saw that Shirley was now holding a handful of slips of paper, the first of which he handed to Jenkins, who read it. Shirley, as prosecutor, had adopted a method which helped the deputy judge advocate and speeded up the proceedings. Jenkins had to record all the evidence - the questions asked and the answers given. If the prosecutor, for instance, had his questions written down on separate slips of paper, Jenkins had only to number each one, writing the number in the minutes and the answer given. Later, after the day's evidence when he was preparing the final copy of the minutes from his rough draft, he could write the questions out in full in place of the numbers.
As president, Goddard started the proceedings with what was the usual first question: "Tell the court all you know about the charge against the prisoner."
As the man stood, apparently struck dumb, Ramage remembered questioning him on board the Jason, where he and the rest of the ship's officers were being held prisoner by Shirley, a Marine guard at the door.
"Come on, come on!" Goddard exclaimed.
"I don't know where to begin, sir."
"Begin when the ship left Barbados."
"Very well, sir. We left Barbados bound, as I understood it from the captain, for Spithead. After two or three days we sighted a sail on our larboard bow. The lookouts reported that she had hauled her wind and was beating up towards us. I understand the captain gave the order to bear away and run down towards her. Soon after this, various other sail were sighted and it seemed the ship might be a frigate escorting a convoy to England. We knew one had sailed recently from Barbados."
"What happened then?" Goddard asked.
"I understand we hoisted the challenge and also our pendant numbers."
While Jenkins's pen scratched away, Ramage pencilled in some single-word queries on a pad he now had in his lap and, realizing that both Shirley and Goddard were watching him, made sure that he wrote a minute or two after Ridley had spoken the phrase he wanted to question him about later.
"Carry on, then," Goddard said.
"Well, the two ships approached but - well, I understand that because the Calypso had not answered the challenge and was French-built, Captain Shirley was about to give the order to beat to quarters when the Calypso suddenly wore round and came alongside us, throwing out boarding grapnels and securing herself alongside. Boarding parties came over and Captain Ramage took command of the ship."
"Did anyone on board the Jason try to repel the boarders or open fire?" Goddard asked.
"We had no reason to expect an attack, sir," Ridley said in a monotone. "We expected the usual visit from the captain of the Calypso, or his first lieutenant."
"So the officers and men of the Jason offered no resistance to the Calypso's attack?"
Ramage thought for a moment whether to protest at the word "attack" but decided not to start an argument with Goddard over words which would probably end up simply antagonizing the other members of the court.
"No resistance at all, that I know of, sir."
"Where was Captain Ramage?"
"He was leading the first boarding party, I believe: then Captain Shirley spoke to him on the quarterdeck and they went down to the cabin."
"Where was the officer waiting that Captain Ramage put in command?"
Ramage stared at Goddard. The whole object of the trial was to decide whether or not Captain Ramage had superseded Shirley and put one of his own officers "in command": it was up to the court to decide whether or not he did after hearing the evidence for the prosecution and the defence. But here was Goddard, the president of the court (supposed not only to be neutral but the guardian of the court's neutrality), asking the whereabouts of the officer the prisoner "put in command".
Goddard glanced at him, obviously expecting an objection, but Ramage kept silent: he guessed Goddard was trying to provoke him, but he knew a full broadside was always more effective than the same number of guns fired singly.
"I don't know," Ridley said. "I wasn't on deck at the time."
Ramage made another note.
"You have some questions?" Goddard asked Shirley.
"I have, sir, and the deputy judge advocate already has the first, so if you will give permission . . ."
Goddard nodded and Jenkins read from the slip of paper.
"When was the first time you knew that Captain Ramage had removed Captain Shirley from command of the ship?"
"He came down to my cabin with some of his officers and so informed me."
Shirley handed across another sheet of paper, and Jenkins read: "What reason did he give for such an action?"
"He claimed that the Jason had fired on his ship."
"Had she?" Goddard asked, obviously not wanting to lose the drama of the moment, which had provoked the captains round the table into sudden movement: some turned to look at Ramage, others were now watching Shirley.
"No, sir," Ridley said in a voice hardly above a whisper.
The captain on Goddard's right leaned over and whispered something. The admiral nodded and said: "Captain Swinford has a question to ask."
"What can possibly have led Captain Ramage to say such a thing to you?"
"I do not know, sir," Ridley said woodenly, and then looked back at Jenkins as he read from another of Shirley's slips of paper.
"Did the prisoner make any other allegations against Captain Shirley?"
"Yes, sir," Ridley took out a handkerchief and mopped his face, and Ramage noted he was the only man in the room who was perspiring at all. "Yes, sir: he asked me if I thought that Captain Shirley was mad."
"What was your answer?"
"Well, first I protested that it was a very improper question for someone of Captain Ramage's position to ask, and gave it as my opinion that Captain Shirley was not mad."
That answer clearly did not satisfy Goddard. "In your view, as a naval officer and first lieutenant of the Jason frigate, was there any circumstance which could lead Captain Ramage suddenly to ask you such an extraordinary question?"
Ridley shook his head. "No, none sir."
Ridley's whole attitude, Ramage felt, was that he wanted to run away: not because he was frightened of the court or overawed by being called as a witness. Rather - and that was it, he realized with a shock but was unable to think of the explanation - that Ridley was being blackmailed, and the questions Goddard was asking were coming close to the subject about which he was being blackmailed and about which he dare not talk.
Jenkins was holding another piece of paper and, when Goddard nodded, began reading: "Lieutenant Wagstaffe, the officer whom Captain Ramage left in command -" Jenkins paused for a moment, as if anticipating a protest from Ramage, who decided to continue his policy of making none at this stage, "- gave certain orders after Captain Ramage returned on board his own ship. What were they?"
"I understand they were to do with the Jason's course and her future position in relation to the Calypso."
"Can't you be more specific?" grumbled Goddard.
"No, sir, I wasn't present at the conversations."
Jenkins received another slip of paper from Shirley. "What did the Jason do from then on until she arrived in the Channel?"
"She helped escort the West India convoy."
Obviously Goddard expected more. " 'Helped escort'? What did the ship do? Did Captain Ramage make signals, send messages over?"
"I understand the Jason's orders - which meant, I suppose, the orders given to Lieutenant Wagstaffe - were to keep a cable to leeward of the Calypso and this was generally astern of the convoy."
"Captain Ramage did not send you off investigating strange sail, or anything like that?" Goddard inquired.
"Not to my knowledge, sir."
"He made no signals to the Jason and gave no orders?" Goddard asked incredulously.
"I believe that on several occasions we were sent to chase merchant ships back into position, although by and large they kept pretty much in position."
"Did this Lieutenant Wagstaffe have much to do with the running of the ship?" Goddard asked.
"To the best of my knowledge he took no part in the day-to-day running of the ship, sir: he was almost entirely concerned with keeping the ship in position."
Captain Swinford, after whispering to Goddard and apparently getting his approval, asked: "Did this lieutenant give any orders to Captain Shirley, or attempt to - er, usurp, Captain Shirley's position?"
Ramage leaned forward slightly. This could be one of the key questions in the trial, but Ridley still had that blackmailed look. Blackmailed? He could also be a timid husband nagged by an overbearing wife - or even a lieutenant, serving a port admiral, who was terrified of the admiral's wife. In fact, much of the time Ridley's face was a happy hunting ground for most of the timid expressions available to man.
"Not to my knowledge, sir. As far as I know," he said with a rush verging on garrulity, "he did not stand a watch, but he was on deck much of the time, and the only orders he gave were those that an officer of the deck would normally give to keep the ship in position."
Without asking Goddard's approval, Captain Swinford then asked: "During all this time, from the Jason meeting the Calypso until the convoy arrived in the Channel, was Captain Shirley prevented in any way from doing whatever he wanted?"
"I did not see any restraint being applied, sir," Ridley said cautiously. "He was on deck whenever he wanted to be."
The captain sitting next to Swinford - Ramage thought he had given his name as Royce - suddenly asked without reference to Admiral Goddard: "What in your opinion would have happened if Captain Shirley had ordered a couple of his officers to seize this Lieutenant Wagstaffe, and then sailed the ship away from the convoy?"
"There were never any -"
Ridley had no chance to finish his sentence because Goddard said harshly: "That question is disallowed. The opinion of a lieutenant upon what a senior post-captain might or might not have done in a hypothetical situation does not concern this court."
"But what the first lieutenant of a ship considers his captain might or might not have been able to do most certainly is, sir," Royce protested. "The witness has just said Captain Shirley was free to move about the ship."
"And I have just disallowed the question," Goddard said abruptly. "Next question, Mr Jenkins."
Jenkins had been writing quickly and took the opportunity of changing pens, carefully wiping the tip of the old quill with a cloth before putting it down so that ink should not stain the polished mahogany table. Trained by his wife, Ramage thought.
Jenkins licked the tip of the new quill so that the ink would flow freely, dipped into the inkwell and then looked inquiringly at Shirley, who shook his head. "I've no more questions to ask this witness."
"You may sit down over there," Jenkins said, "but listen carefully while I read back the questions and your answers: you will then be required to sign the minutes as a correct record."
As the deputy judge advocate read his minutes in a listless monotone, Ramage listened carefully and checked the evidence against the very brief notes he had made. There was no doubt that even when another man spoke his replies, Ridley sounded just like the man being blackmailed, but although Ramage could not escape the feeling he still could not account for it. Tone of voice, actual words, look on his face, stance ... an impression which had been conceived in Ridley's cabin on board the Jason but was only just born? It was like trying to remember all the details of a dream: the complete story was ephemeral, but now and then brief episodes came to mind: not enough to give any cohesion; just enough to tantalize.
Ridley walked back to the table and Ramage realized that Jenkins had stopped reading and Ridley was now signing his name. He was just turning away again when Goddard snapped: "Stay there in case the prisoner has any questions."
Jenkins had made his first mistake in forgetting Ramage's right to question the witness.
Ramage stood up. "I have had no opportunity to write down my questions -"
"Very well, but speak slowly," Goddard said.
"Mr Ridley, in your evidence, the minutes of which you have just signed, you use the word 'I understood' very frequently. Is this just a habit of speech or were you not present at the events you describe?"
"What events have you in mind, sir?" Ridley asked carefully.
"When you refer to the Calypso coming alongside, for instance, you use the phrase 'I understand'. I would have thought that if the ship of which you are the first lieutenant (and thus the second-in-command) was being boarded by another frigate, however unexpectedly, then you would be on deck."
"I was not on deck at the time," Ridley said woodenly. As though, Ramage decided, he was repeating something by rote.
"Why were you not on deck?"
"I had other duties."
And, thought Ramage, there is no point in questioning you further about that. "Mr Ridley, you said early in your evidence that you understood the Calypso did not answer the challenge. Who told the seamen in the Jason what the challenge for the day was, and checked that they had bent the correct flags on to the halyards?"
"I assume the captain, because he had the copy of the private signals giving the challenge for the day."
"And Captain Shirley would have checked the flags?"
Before Ridley could reply, Goddard interrupted. "Mr Ramage, the question of the challenge for the day and who bent flags on to halyards has nothing to do with the charges you are facing, so please go on to your next questions or allow the witness to stand down."
Here we go, Ramage told himself. As far as Goddard is concerned, nothing helpful to the prisoner is going to be allowed. The question of the challenge has been disallowed - yet it is of vital importance leading directly to the next question. Very well . . .
"Mr Ridley, why was the Jason flying the wrong challenge for that day?"
"I did not see -"
"Mr Ramage, I have just disallowed any further questions about the challenge."
Ramage bowed ironically: Goddard's face was growing redder; his jowls beginning to quiver. Another half a dozen questions, Ramage estimated, and he would be unable to control his temper and then, with some luck, at least a few of the captains will have been insulted and start feeling sympathetic towards the prisoner ...
"With respect, sir," Ramage said politely, "my next question is of considerable importance but the beginning must refer to the challenge."
"Ask it and I will decide whether or not to allow it."
Ramage looked squarely at Ridley, whose eyes dropped. "The question is: You say that the Calypso did not answer the challenge and she was recognized as French-built. Why did not the Jason beat to quarters on the approach of what might be a hostile ship?"
"Disallowed," Goddard said firmly. "Has nothing to do with the charges. Don't answer," he told Ridley.
Captain Swinford leaned over and whispered something to the rear-admiral, but Goddard shook his head vigorously.
Damnation, Ramage thought: as far as these dozen captains are concerned, there is the Jason, sailing along quite peacefully, and along comes the nasty Calypso. How does one explain to the court that in fact the innocent Jason was flying the wrong challenge, had all her guns loaded, and was steering down to attempt to ram and certainly rake one of the King's ships?
Very well, try surprise: even if Goddard rules the question out of order, a seed of doubt will be planted in the heads of the members of the court - damnation, it should be hammered home!
"Mr Ridley," Ramage said politely, "I want you just to cast your mind back: where were you when Captain Shirley ordered his men to fire a broadside into the Calypso?"
"Don't answer - question disallowed - has nothing to do with the charges!" Goddard shouted, his voice rising in a crescendo.
Ramage decided to fire another barrel before Goddard recovered. "Sir, since that broadside was the reason that -"
"Silence! Strike that from the record! No, I mean don't note that down, Jenkins. Now look, Ramage, any more questions like that and you will be in contempt of court."
"Very well, sir," Ramage said contritely, "I thought that as I stand charged with removing Captain Shirley from his command, that my reasons for doing so would be -"
"Ramage!" Goddard shouted. "You know what the charges are and unless you limit your questions to the circumstances of the charges you will be in contempt of court. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir, 1 do now," Ramage said politely, and turned to Ridley.
"The lieutenant that I left on board, Mr Wagstaffe. Was he - in your opinion - a competent officer?"
"I understand so."
"Don't you know from your own observations?"
Ridley paused for a full minute, during which time Ramage reminded him he was on oath, and then said, reluctantly it seemed to Ramage: "Yes, I do; he was a competent officer."
"Did you see him giving any orders to Captain Shirley, or disobeying any orders that Captain Shirley gave him?"
Ramage glanced at Shirley. The man had moved; he had swung his head round to stare at Ridley. Was that anxiety, even fear, in his eyes: fear that Ridley might fall into the trap set by Ramage?
"I did not see him give any orders, but I was rarely on deck. I understand Captain Shirley gave him no orders."
Ramage saw from the expression on Shirley's face that the questions had been anticipated. Ridley's slow answers were due to the wretched man trying to remember what he had been told to say.
"I have no more questions to ask this witness, sir," Ramage said. Once Ridley again signed the minutes, Goddard waved him away and told Shirley to call his next witness.