Ramage's Trial (34 page)

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' 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' 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' 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' 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' 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?”