Ramage's Trial r-14

by Dudley Pope

  Yorke stood up and took the backgammon set from a cupboard. "Obviously the Board of Admiralty have something in mind, otherwise they wouldn't have ordered the delay."

  "Don't make any mistake about the Board," Ramage said, helping Yorke set out the backgammon. "The Board of Admiralty and a backgammon board have much in common; both depend on the roll of a die. At least, sometimes I'm sure that's what Their Lordships use."

  "Who exactly are 'the Board'?" Yorke asked.

  "Well, originally there was the Lord High Admiral, but from Queen Anne's time the office has been administered by commissioners - the 'Board of Admiralty', also known as 'My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty', or 'Their Lordships'. I don't think there's a set number, but for the last few years anyway there have been the First Lord, who is usually a politician, and six other members, three of them naval officers and three politicians.

  "It so happens that the present First Lord is an admiral of the white, Earl St Vincent, but he succeeded Earl Spencer, a politician. Lord St Vincent has no patience with politicians, so I imagine the prime minister gives him a free hand. Knowing the admiral, I can't imagine him deferring to Addington."

  "Are the other naval members of the Board all admirals?"

  "Usually, but not always. One of Lord St Vincent's present Board is Captain Markham, whose name must be seventy-five or so from the top of the Post List, while Lord Spencer's had two or three admirals."

  "And the whole Board meet to make major decisions?"

  Ramage shook his head. "No, a 'Board decision' needs only three members present. I think it is three but it may be four. Commissions, appointments, and orders, that sort of thing, usually have three signatures, sometimes four. I know that three or four Board members call in at the Admiralty in the late afternoon each day to sign documents and letters, but certainly with Lord Spencer - and I am dam' sure even more so under Lord St Vincent - the First Lord makes the major decisions and the Board members sign at the bottom of the relevant pages."

  "No discussions, then?"

  "Oh yes, the members usually meet daily in the Boardroom. Not all the members, necessarily, but usually the First Lord and two or three members and the Secretary to the Board, who is an important person with a good deal of influence. He gets paid a thousand pounds a year more than the First Lord! It's his job to keep the minutes of the Board meetings and see that decisions are turned into actions. Letters to the Board are addressed to him, and letters from the Board are usually written and signed by him in its name."

  "What about the letter?" Yorke asked, nodding at the paper now on Ramage's desk. "Did he sign that?"

  "No, because it's from the port admiral here," Ramage explained, "but I expect the original signal to Portsmouth was signed by him."

  Ramage, who had finished setting out the counters, handed a leather dice cup to Yorke. "Shake," he said. "Unless you want to find a gipsy to tell our fortunes, let's concentrate on the roll of the dice."

  The second week passed with numbing slowness. Yorke usually came over to the Calypso for dinner which was served about two o'clock, and Ramage tried to busy himself each morning with the paperwork necessary when the King's ships were at anchor in one of the King's ports.

  Every port admiral had his own quirks as well as his own idea of what information he needed daily from the anchored ships. Most port admirals had their requirements printed in book form: a copy of the Plymouth Port Signals and General Orders was one of the first things Southwick obtained after the Calypso had anchored. Apart from the signals, which ranged from requiring a variety of people "to repair on board the Flag ship, or ship whose number is shown or pointed out by compass signal" to the last one, which was to "Return the Book of Port Signals and Orders to the Flag Ship", the orders were almost bewildering in their attention to detail. And Ramage guessed that in the present situation several people on board the flagship or in the Dockyard were keeping an eye on the Calypso, waiting for her captain to omit sending in even one of the daily returns listed in the book.

  One of the earliest orders in the book, Ramage had noted, laid down that "Admirals, captains and commanders are to attend courts martial in frock uniforms with white breeches, unless otherwise ordered."

  The rest were mostly routine. "A return according to the prescribed form, is to be made daily to the Admiral, of all men impressed the preceding day: and it is to be observed that men are not to be impressed from outwardbound vessels . . ." In order to prevent any person being improperly taken out of His Majesty's ships, "no stranger shall be admitted on board till the real object for which he comes is made known" - a regulation to protect seamen from being seized for actual or alleged debt. Hard on creditors, perhaps; but a tradesman giving a sailor credit was an optimist.

  Ramage, flicking through the pages of the orders, was always surprised by their scope. "Foreign seamen taken into the Service, if found to be married in England, the circumstance to be inserted in the ship's books." And, a page later: "All sick seamen, and Marines, are to be sent to the hospital in the forenoon . . . and are not to be victualled on board for the day they leave the ship" - whereas "Commission and warrant officers (except in the cases of accident or urgent necessity) will not be received at the hospital, unless their tickets are approved by the Commander-in-Chief."

  Not all the instructions concerned a ship swinging at anchor and Ramage wondered if a port admiral had inserted one particular order as the result of his own experience or an Admiralty order: "It being a practice with the enemy, when they made a capture, to keep an Englishman in the Prize, to make answer when hailed by a British ship, particular caution is to be observed that no inconvenience occurs by this deception."

  A ship's boats were not - except in urgent necessity - to be away at mealtimes: that avoided men missing their food. Working parties leaving the ship were "to have their breakfast before they are sent on duty". Well, he noticed, a captain or first lieutenant observing all the reports he had to make might reflect that those same irritating port orders also gave the men several safeguards.

  On Sunday morning, knowing it was his only chance of finishing the remaining paperwork before the trial began again next day, Ramage reached across the desk for the pile of letters, completed forms, reports and surveys placed there the previous evening by his clerk, and started reading through them before adding his signature. He looked at the first one which, with luck, might be the dreariest of them all. "Account of Vouchers for Provisions" it was headed, but the page was divided to allow many more details. "When dated . . . When signed . . . Where signed ... To Whom delivered" were the main questions, but eleven more columns needed precise details of weights and measures - "Bread, pounds . . . Rum, gallons . . . Wine, gallons . . . Beef, pieces . . . Pork, pieces . . . Pease, bushels . . . Oatmeal, bushels . . . Butter, pounds . . . Barley, pounds . . . Molasses, pounds . . . Vinegar, gallons."

  The figures meant nothing to Ramage, although once he signed the voucher he would be responsible for its truth. Well, the purser and the master, Southwick, would have cast them up. He signed at the foot of the page and reached for the next sheet of paper.

  Signing papers was preferable, he supposed, to listening to Admiral Goddard. No, it was not! Crossing verbal swords with that wretched man certainly had won him no victories in the Salvador del Mundo's great cabin, but Ramage was satisfied that he had put up a good fight. Unfortunately, every time that his sword pierced the wretched man and should metaphorically have drawn blood, Goddard refused to allow it to register. Stabbing Goddard was like fighting a duel with a straw-filled sack.

  He signed his name and reached for the third. "Cooper's affidavit to Leakage of Beer" - 120 gallons of small beer had leaked from two casks "as mentioned in the survey hereunto annexed". Ramage checked - yes, the second page was the survey to which the cooper was swearing the affidavit. Ramage signed and reached again.

  "Vouchers for slops purchased" - the Calypso's purser had been restocking: now the frigate was in a cold climate the men wo
uld want to buy warmer clothes. For a year they had been wearing duck and many of them spent most of the day without shirts. Ramage read through the list. "Jackets, one hundred, at 10s. - £50; waistcoats, one hundred at 4s. 3d. - £215s. 0d.; shirts, one hundred, at 5s. 3d. . . ." He noted that trousers were 3s. 2d. a pair now, shoes 5s. l0d. and stockings 3s. ... He signed and wished he did not feel so drowsy. The unaccustomed lack of movement of the ship and the noises of a big anchorage, with guard boats rowing round all night, prevented him from sleeping properly. The noise and, he had to admit, worry about the trial . . .

  Yorke should be along very soon. Ramage had conducted Divine Service an hour earlier and although in port he usually tried to brighten up the morning with a short sermon, today he had fallen back on the Articles of War. By regulation they had to be read aloud to the ship's company once a month, and most captains used them instead of a sermon, or homily. Ramage had been startled by the fervour of the men in singing the hymns. The way the men sang hymns was always regarded as a good yardstick for measuring how contented they were, but Ramage had never had to wonder whether or not he had a contented ship's company. Anyway, today the men bellowed the hymns, and it was clear they were hurling defiance at the port admiral, Rear-Admiral Goddard and anyone else connected with the trial. There was nothing Ramage could do to make them sing in a more restrained fashion and, damnation take it, he did not want to. But this display of loyalty left him worrying about Sarah: feeling empty when he puzzled about her fate, yet thankful she was not sharing the doubts and fears of the trial. He knew he had better not trust either his own voice or choice of words in a brief sermon, and he had ploughed through the Articles of War in a completely neutral voice. Even then he had been startled by the men's low murmuring, little more than the noise the wind made in the rigging, or the faint sawing of a yard when the ship rolled at anchor, as he read the Articles under which he was charged.

  One more page, one more signature. He scribbled a signature and reached for the piece of cloth to wipe the pen. Suddenly, without any call by the Marine sentry, the flimsy door of the cabin was flung open.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  She came into the cabin shyly and closed the door behind her. "Nicholas," she said, "forgive me: I waved to the sentry at the gangway and to Mr Kenton not to announce my arrival, and Mr Kenton came down and told your sentry to stay silent. Was I very naughty?"

  By now he had recovered enough to stand up and move towards her and before either of them knew quite what was happening, Ramage found himself patting her head (she was smaller than he realized: the top of her head was below the top of his shoulder) and she was crying as he murmured: "No, no, of course not; everything will turn out all right; you mustn't upset yourself ..."

  Then she stood back, trying to laugh away her tears while tidying her windswept hair. She smiled uncertainly but the effect was spoiled by her sobs.

  "Alexis . . ." Ramage began tentatively, "you shouldn't have gone off to London like that. . . you upset and tire yourself ..."

  She was pale and the golden tan of the Tropics was now yellowish, because of the obvious weariness, and there were dark smudges under her eyes.

  "We did the journey in well under five days," she said, her voice now becoming excited. "We changed horses many more times than the coachmen said was necessary, but we kept them galloping ... Through the nights as well, and how lucky we were that there was a full moon ... oh, but we were so tired."

  "We" - she kept referring to "we". Not "we" meaning her and the coachmen because she had mentioned them separately.

  "Who are 'we'?"

  "Oh dear, I'm so tired that I'm muddled -"

  Ramage suddenly realized that they were both standing in the middle of the cabin. "Sit down - you know that old armchair. Sidney should be coming on board in half an hour or so for dinner. Do you want to stay and see him here, or shall I send you to the King's Arms in the cutter with Jackson? Is - er, well, I can't come with you because I'm under arrest and have to stay on board -"

  "Oh Nicholas, that's what I'm trying to tell you. It's going to be all right. I have the witness that you want, and a member of the Board is here in Plymouth and will attend the trial tomorrow - but you're not to say anything until the trial begins. I'll explain how ... oh Nicholas, I want to laugh and cry and giggle and faint and explain all at once . . ."

  "So the best thing we can do is to sit here and wait for Sidney to arrive," Ramage said. "That way you won't have to tell the story twice, and you'll be more composed. Brothers like to see their sisters composed," he said, making a weak attempt at a joke.

  She was obviously almost stunned with weariness, but she tried to smooth the creases in her skirt. "I feel so grubby," she said. "I must look a scarecrow - I haven't changed my clothes for two days, and the only wash I've had since breakfast time yesterday, is rubbing my face with a damp cloth."

  "Alexis," he asked gently, "what made you bolt for London like that without telling us?"

  "You thought you were beaten," she said simply, and her directness hit him like a blow. "I thought there was a chance, although I knew if I listened to you and Sidney, I'd be persuaded there was not. So I arranged for the coach, wrote a note to Sidney, and left before the mail coach. I knew Sidney would be late back to the inn and would go straight to his room."

  He watched her as she sat in the low armchair, apparently concentrating on her creased clothes, and he felt ashamed: yes, he had felt defeated, and so had Sidney, and Southwick, Aitken and Wagstaffe, too, for that matter. Anyone thinking about it logically would know he was beaten, but this tiny girl did not bother with logic; she knew instinctively what was wrong and how to put it right. The famous Captain Ramage, he jeered at himself, could slash with a cutlass, or fire a pistol or bring his ship alongside the enemy and board in a cloud of smoke and survive it all, and be called a hero by people who did not know about these things, but he had surrendered at a time when this girl had only just begun to fight.

  "I hadn't realized how far it was to London," she said. "Usually when Sidney and I visit the West Country, we come round in one of our ships. But oh dear, how dusty are those roads. The thudding of hooves and the rumbling of the wheels, too: it gives me such a headache, and it is hard to talk ..."

  Talk? With whom? Was she not travelling alone? Well, apparently not, but, he told himself sternly, it was none of his business.

  He heard Kenton shouting down through the skylight: "Boat bringing Mr Yorke will be alongside in three minutes, sir!"

  Her face was tearstained. "Go through to the bed place," he said, gesturing to the cabin in which he slept. "There's a basin and a jug of fresh water. I'll find you a fresh towel."

  A couple of minutes later, the Marine sentry called: "Mr Yorke, sir!" and a moment after Ramage replied, Yorke came through the door and stopped suddenly as he saw Alexis. "How the devil did -"

  Alexis looked at Ramage. "You see how he greets his loving sister - the next thing is he'll be grumbling about how much money I've spent. Then I remind him it is my own money and -"

  "- he says you waste it. Right," Yorke said, "that takes care of the greetings. What happened?"

  "I had an appointment with my dressmaker," she said coolly. "And my shoemaker. And one or two other people."

  Yorke looked across at Ramage. "She seems to be in one of her skittish moods. Has she told you anything?"

  "No, we were waiting for you, so that she didn't have to tell the story twice."

  "There are really three stories," she began, "but I'll start at the King's Arms."

  Yorke groaned. "Surely we don't have to hear all about your journey to London, at tenpence a mile including turnpike charges and tips."

  "No, but you have to hear about the beginning because that's where I met the young man who escorted me all the way to London - to Palace Street, in fact, to Nicholas's home."

  She looked at the two men with what seemed to Ramage to be an impish grin, as though she was enjoying teasing them. "Yes, I had just arra
nged with the innkeeper for the hire of the coach, and paid half the fare in advance, when this young man burst in, very agitated because all the seats were taken in the London mail coach."

  "So you offered him a seat," Yorke said crossly. "A complete stranger! He could have been a footpad's accomplice!"

  "He could have been, but I only offered him a seat after I'd discovered he was someone we were looking for."

  "Who? An honest politician?" Yorke asked sarcastically.

  "No, a witness for Nicholas."

  "We don't lack for witnesses," Yorke said bitterly. "We just lack witnesses who know what happened on board the Jason."

  Alexis nodded contentedly and smoothed her skirt. "This one does."

  "And we need to be able to get his evidence into the minutes of the court's proceedings."

  "Yes," she said demurely, "that's arranged, too."

  "Look here, Alexis," Yorke exclaimed angrily, "this isn't a joking matter."

  "I'm not joking," Alexis said, "just listen, without interrupting. It's not often I get a chance to talk for a whole minute so -"

  Ramage coughed and Alexis glanced round, smiling.

  Then she told how the young man - in fact, only a youth of seventeen - proved to be a midshipman who was leaving his ship and the Navy. He had seemed overwrought, and did not have enough money to get to London: he wanted the innkeeper to accept a ten-day bill of exchange drawn on his father, who was a Member of Parliament. She had felt sorry for the youth, who was clearly well educated, and then discovered he was leaving the Jason for a reason which seemed to hang over him like a shadow.

  "So I offered him a seat, and I told him his father could pay for his place when we reached London. I warned him that we would be driving day and night, and that he would have to eat and sleep in the coach, and he agreed: he could not get away from Plymouth quickly enough."

  So each of them had climbed up into the coach, the postboys had slammed the doors and swung up the steps with the usual crash, the coachmen had whipped up the horses and they had thundered through the night, both Alexis and the midshipman trying to sleep. When they stopped next morning to change horses they had a hurried breakfast and the midshipman had commented on Alexis's tan, and she had taken a chance and mentioned very casually that she had just arrived in England from the West Indies. As she had intended, this had led to the midshipman exclaiming that his ship had been part of the escort for that convoy.