Governor Ramage R. N.

by Dudley Pope

  “Hmm, most interesting,” Napier commented. “This court, in ruling on the prosecution’s application, must be careful not to cast doubt on anyone’s reputation. Well, the court will now deliberate. The prosecutor and prisoner will wait outside.”

  Goddard strode out of the cabin, followed by Ramage. Ransom was waiting just outside the door and moved over ostentatiously to stand beside Ramage.

  Ramage rubbed the scar over his brow. He felt dazed, as though someone had flashed a bright light in his eyes. As he tried to recall everything that had been said in the past few minutes, he could only remember Napier’s comment when Syme finished reading the reference to perjury—“… must be careful not to cast doubt on anyone’s reputation …”

  That, he realized, could mean that Goddard’s reputation—or, to be fair, the reputation of the second-in-command on the Jamaica Station—must be safeguarded. So the court would probably decide in Goddard’s favour: the prosecution would be allowed to withdraw the case.

  What would happen to the minutes? He had told Yorke that whatever happened they had to be sent to the Admiralty, but now he was far from sure. After all, withdrawing the charges presumably meant there had never been a trial in the legal sense, so no minutes would be required. In fact, he suddenly realized, Goddard must be sure that withdrawing the charges meant that all records of the whole business vanished automatically.

  Ransom was pulling his arm. “The court is in session again,” he hissed. “Come on!”

  Napier’s face was expressionless, and when Ramage glanced at the other captains they were all staring at the table in front of them or looking round the cabin. Their faces revealed nothing; there was no indication of whether they would toss the victor’s laurel crown to the prosecutor or to the prisoner.

  He glanced at Goddard. The plump cheeks, thick lips and folding chins were placid and smug; for once the eyes were looking up at the deckhead, fixed and not flickering back and forth. He was almost smiling. Somehow Goddard was sure he had won …

  Fear soaked through Ramage like fog forming in a forest; slow and almost imperceptible, yet irresistible. It was the creeping fear that dissolved energy and left the victim lethargic, accepting his fate. It was quite different from the fear of the moments before battle which sharpened the senses and strengthened the muscles.

  Once again Napier rapped the table. “The court is now in session,” he announced.

  He looked at Syme, who was waiting with pen poised to take down his words.

  “The court has considered the prosecution’s application to withdraw the charges against Lieutenant Ramage, and it has considered the prisoner’s application that the trial should be continued to give him an opportunity of making a defence.”

  He paused and glanced round the court. His voice was neutral. He’d make a good judge, Ramage thought.

  “The court can find no precedent for accepting either application.”

  Again the pause to allow Syme to write. It’ll go on for days, Ramage thought; I’ll just sit here and wait and wait….

  “Whatever the court decides will thus set a precedent for the future.”

  Go on, for God’s sake, Ramage said to himself; you can’t set a precedent for the past.

  “The court has considered whether or not the prosecution, in making the charges in court, has started a judicial process which can logically and legally end only when the court, having heard all the evidence in support of the charges and all the evidence of the defence against them, has returned a verdict.”

  Ramage leaned forward slightly. Was there a slight chance?

  “On the other hand, it has had to consider the position of the prisoner. He is charged with capital offences, and he has a defence against them. A defence which he no doubt considers will result in a verdict of not guilty. Yet the court has to decide whether the prosecution’s withdrawal of the charges is not tantamount to a clear verdict of not guilty. The prosecution is saying, in fact, that at first it thought the prisoner was guilty of certain charges, but has now decided he is not.”

  There’s not the slightest chance now, Ramage thought. Those captains must know of the vendetta—it’s been common knowledge for several years—but they’re ignoring it. Or perhaps they genuinely believe what Napier has just said. But they are forgetting the stigma and the gossip; they’re forgetting the new charges that will follow. They’re taking the safe course—and who could blame them?

  Still speaking in the same tone, Napier said: “After mature consideration, the court rejects the prosecution’s application. The trial will continue and the prosecution will call its next witness.”

  It took Ramage several seconds to appreciate what Napier had said. He glanced at Goddard. The Admiral was staring at Napier, his features frozen. Then slowly the muscles of his face went slack and the flesh sagged. Ramage realized that Goddard was staring not at Napier but at the prospect of complete professional ruin.

  Napier and the other six captains had obviously tried to reach a just decision. Although they knew Goddard would be their senior officer again the moment the trial was over, and able to ruin each and every one of them in pure revenge, they had made a decision which would stand the scrutiny of the Lord Chief Justice of England.

  Napier turned to Goddard and said crisply: “Everyone is still on oath; call your next witness, please.”

  Goddard lurched to his feet. “Call Sydney Yorke,” he whispered.

  Yorke walked in, as debonair and nonchalant as the day Ramage first saw him on board the Lion at Barbados, and as he took the oath Ramage wondered what questions Goddard could ask him that would back up any part of Croucher’s evidence.

  Ramage guessed that Yorke’s attitude would be offhand and flippant. This always angered Goddard, and making the Admiral lose his temper was the best way of provoking him into some damaging admission, or throwing him off his stride.

  He looked at Goddard curiously. There was something strange about the man now that he was standing: his movements, such as they were, seemed jerky, like a wooden soldier. His eyes were remote, almost glassy, as though staring at alarming sights beyond the confines of this stuffy cabin. He looked like a man paralysed by fear.

  Napier asked patiently: “The prosecution is ready?” When Goddard remained silent, he went on: “The court has some questions to ask. We might take those first.”

  Yorke bowed, unaware of what had happened, but obviously puzzled by Goddard’s behaviour.

  “You were the master of the Topaz merchantman?”

  “Master and owner.”

  “You were commanding her in a convoy escorted by the Lion and the Triton brig on the eighteenth of July last?”

  “I was.”

  “Tell the court what happened that night.”

  “My ship was attacked by a French privateer, the Peacock, which was sailing in the convoy and masquerading as a merchant ship. Fortunately Lieutenant Ramage had suspected this ship because of something she had done the previous night. The result was that he was able to board the French ship before she could capture us.”

  “Where was the Peacock at this time?”

  “Almost alongside the Topaz. Or, rather, the Triton ran aboard her a few moments before she ran aboard the Topaz.”

  “Could you have beaten off the attack without assistance?”

  “Indeed not!” Yorke exclaimed. “The Peacock had more than a hundred men on board—quite apart from a hundred or so on another ship she had captured the night before. We had no warning, so there was only the usual watch on deck.”

  “We haven’t questioned you about the other ship: please confine your answers to the questions asked.”

  Yorke bowed.

  “You went on board the flagship the next day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell the court the purpose of the visit.”

  “To protest to the Admiral about his carelessness in allowing a French privateer to join the convoy openly; to protest that this privateer had been allowed to capture
another merchant ship and, while she was still in the convoy, turn her into another privateer; to tell—”

  Syme was waving frantically, “Give me time to write!”

  Yorke waited until he saw the man’s pen stop.

  “—to tell the Admiral that in the view of the Duc de Bretagne, whose care was his special responsibility—”

  “Do you know that for a fact?”

  “I suppose that’s hearsay,” Yorke said cheerfully, “but it’s easy enough to check.”

  “Confine yourself to fact, please.”

  “Very well. To convey M. le Duc’s protest to the Admiral and to inform the Admiral that it was M. le Duc’s intention to make sure that Lieutenant Ramage’s gallantry was given the highest reward—by writing to the King. That letter is written, incidentally, and ready for the post.”

  “Tell the court how you came to be here,” Goddard had found his voice at last.

  Yorke shrugged his shoulders. “The Topaz was dismasted in the hurricane at the same time as the Triton. By good fortune, the two ships managed to stay together. Eventually they drifted onto a reef.”

  “And then?” Napier prompted.

  “Lieutenant Ramage managed to get everyone on shore by rafts.”

  “What land was this?”

  “Snake Island, at the eastern end of Puerto Rico.”

  “What happened to the ships?” Goddard asked harshly.

  “They were abandoned.”

  “Badly damaged?”

  “Dismasted, certainly, and stranded. But not badly damaged.”

  “You saw the wreck of the Triton with your own eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the accused destroy her to prevent her falling into Spanish hands?”

  “No,” Yorke said cheerfully. “In fact he decided not to set fire to either ship.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “He didn’t want to alarm any Spanish garrison there might be on Snake Island.”

  “Was there such a garrison?”

  “Oh yes, a dozen men, and a lieutenant.”

  “And the brig wasn’t destroyed for fear of a dozen Spanish soldiers?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Yorke said vaguely. “We captured the soldiers. But the smoke might have been seen from Puerto Rico where I assume there are a few thousand soldiers. It was the treasure as much as anything else that made us think the Spanish would be vigilant.”

  “The treasure?”

  “Yes, you see, the garrison was digging these holes all over the place.”

  “Holes?”

  “Well, trenches, really,” Yorke said in an offhand voice. “They looked like graves. There was one big grave, too. Lots of skeletons.”

  “Skeletons, Mr Yorke?”

  “Yes. Dead people. They’d been murdered, you know. I found it all most depressing—you would have too, I’m sure. All shot in the back of the head. A bullet makes a frightful mess of the cranium, you know.”

  “But who were they?” Goddard stammered.

  “No idea, I’m afraid. All in a circle, like signs of the zodiac. Pirates … slaves … who knows? Their hands had been tied together. Perhaps to stop them dipping into the treasure.”

  “The treasure!” Goddard exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering it after being diverted by the skeletons. “What is this nonsense about treasure?”

  Napier interrupted: “Pray, what has all this to do with the charges against the accused?”

  “Dunno!” Yorke said blithely. “The accused went off on a treasure hunt, and I thought Admiral Goddard seemed interested.”

  Napier looked at Goddard. “Do you think this forms part of the prosecution’s case?”

  “How do I know!” Goddard said angrily. “If it pleases the court, I think the matter should be investigated.”

  “Very well … the court will inquire. Mr Yorke, what led you to think there was treasure on the island?”

  “Not me, Mr Ramage.”

  “Describe the events in your own words.”

  Yorke glanced at Ramage, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “The Spanish soldiers were guarding slaves who were digging trenches all over the island. Lieutenant Ramage, who speaks Spanish, discovered they were looking for treasure.”

  “Did they have some sort of chart showing where it might be?”

  “No, there was just a poem, a sort of riddle, which was supposed to give clues to its whereabouts.”

  “Did you manage to solve the riddle?”

  “Mr Ramage did.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “We set the men to work digging.”

  “With no success, it would seem?”

  “Oh no,” Yorke said languidly, “I think it was quite productive really. We found various boxes of treasure: old Spanish coins, metal ornaments and plates—that sort of thing.”

  “Of no great value, then?”

  “They seemed valuable to me, but then I’m a poor man! It weighs very many hundredweights and was mostly gold.”

  There was a silence in the cabin until Napier asked, in an awed voice: “Where is it now?”

  “On board La Perla, a Spanish schooner.”

  “I assumed you had removed it from Snake Island,” Napier said.

  “Lieutenant Ramage did.”

  “But you said it was on board La Perla.”

  “La Perla is at anchor half a mile from here: Lieutenant Ramage captured her and sailed her here as a prize.”

  “Clear the court,” Napier snapped. “The court stands adjourned. The prisoner will remain behind.”

  When everyone but Ramage, Syme and the seven captains had left the cabin, Napier said harshly: “See here, Ramage, the court doesn’t take kindly to you turning the proceedings into a circus.”

  “I’m on trial for my life, sir.”

  “I know that, dammit; but this treasure business. Is it as much as this fellow makes out?”

  “More, sir. About five tons. With gold at three pounds, seventeen and sixpence a fine ounce, I estimate it as worth well over a million pounds.”

  Napier held his hands palm upwards. “You don’t help your own case, doing this sort of thing. Good God!” he exclaimed, “We must get a Marine guard on it!”

  “There are a hundred seamen and Marines guarding it now, sir.”

  “But—who’s in command of La Perla? Your Master is on board here as a witness.”

  “The master’s mate, sir.”

  “Tons of gold and silver, and a master’s mate in charge! You’re mad, Ramage! The whole damn ship’s company could rise on him and sail out of the anchorage!”

  “With respect, sir, these men helped find the treasure, dug it up, crated it, captured La Perla, loaded the treasure on board, and sailed the ship several hundred miles to here. They could have killed myself, the Master, master’s mate, Yorke and the Duke and his entourage at any point along the route and got away with it more easily than they could now.”

  “All right, don’t be so blasted touchy. Why didn’t you report this before now?”

  “I have my reports here, sir.” He waved the papers he was holding.

  “Why didn’t you deliver them when you first arrived?”

  “I went at once to Admiral Goddard. I gave him the report on the loss of the Triton, sir, and was put under close arrest, before I had the chance to deliver the others, and was marched off with a Marine escort.”

  “You could have still delivered the report on the treasure.”

  “I could have done, sir,” Ramage said flatly.

  “But you were going to use the treasure to bargain with, eh?”

  “Indeed not!” Ramage said angrily. “How could I bargain with it, sir, even if I’d wanted to?”

  “Why didn’t you put in the report, then?”

  “Because without even reading my first report and without asking me one question, the Admiral told me he was bringing me to a trial under Articles ten, twelve and seventeen. That could only mean charges of
cowardice, sir.”

  “Damnation!” Napier exclaimed. “Why am I appointed President of such a court! What have these gentlemen done”—he waved towards the other captains—”that they should be mixed up in all this?”

  “With respect, sir,” Ramage said, blinking rapidly, “what have I done to be accused of cowardice?”

  Captain Robinson said: “Boy’s got a point, Napier; nasty business, the whole thing. Wash our hands of it, I say; special report to Sir Pilcher. You prepare it; all the court sign it. Minutes of the trial so far can go with it. Ought to vote on it: damn silly of us to do anything else. That’s my view.”

  “Mine, too,” said Innes, and the others nodded in agreement.

  “See here, young Ramage,” Napier said suddenly, “you’re not supposed to be hearing any of this. Go and give your escort a hail and take a turn on deck. Keep away from everyone else.”

  As Ramage walked to the door he heard an exasperated Napier growl: “Syme, you are the most bloody useless deputy judge advocate I’ve ever seen!”

  Half an hour later the court was thrown open and Ramage and Goddard were called in. Syme was flushed and jumpy; Ramage guessed he had had an unpleasant time trying to provide precedents, laws, rules and regulations for the morning’s events. The small pile of legal volumes that had been stacked in front of him were now an untidy heap, with many slips of paper marking various pages.

  Napier looked up at Goddard.

  “The court has decided that all the previous witness’s evidence concerning finding the treasure shall be removed from the record.”

  Removed? Ramage felt the word had been spoken deliberately: “struck” or “deleted” would have been more usual. Removed in toto, to be sent to the Commander-in-Chief? It was all evidence given on oath …

  “However, in view of the gravity of the charges,” Napier went on, “the court has decided that the trial shall continue. Has the prosecution any more questions to put to the last witness?”

  “No,” Goddard said in a half whisper. The man seemed to be shrivelling; the usual haughty stance had given way to hunched shoulders; the broad chest and jutting belly had merged into a sagging paunch. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken. He looked like a guilty man on trial for his life, and maybe he was. Perhaps Goddard knew he had gambled with high stakes, and lost the gamble.