Governor Ramage R. N. (46 page)

Captain Innes began laughing until he saw Napier frowning at him and gesturing to Ramage to continue. Ramage took out his watch and looked at the time, then asked: “Was any report made to you or to the Admiral about the behaviour of this ship at any time before she attacked the
Topaz?
”

“Yes,” Croucher said grudgingly.

“Was this report in writing or verbal?”

“In writing.”

“Do you have the report with you?”

“No.”

“Do you recall what it said?”

Napier interrupted. “I'm not too sure whether the court ought not to insist on this report being put in as evidence.”

“It is available, if required,” Goddard said.

“Very well. Continue.”

“It said, to the best of my recollection, that the ship—the
Peacock
was her name—had ranged up abreast her next ahead in the previous night.”

“Did it say any more?”

“Well, it hinted that something might be wrong.”

“Who made that written report?”

“You did.”

“And what was the distance of the
Triton
from the ship ahead of the
Peacock
?”

“Well, the ships were a cable astern of each other. Six cables.”

“So in the darkness the
Triton
's lookouts had spotted a suspicious movement 1,200 yards away.”

“I suppose so.”

“What action was taken over this report?”

“A frigate was sent to investigate,” Croucher exclaimed triumphantly, glad to have some positive evidence to give.

“What did she do?”

“She reported that all was well.”

“I asked what she did, not what she reported.”

“Well, she went close to the other merchantman and hailed her.”

“Do you know now who in fact answered the frigate's hail?”

“Yes, a French prize crew.”

“How did a French prize crew come to be on board her?”

“They had been put on board the previous night by the
Peacock.
”

“Thank you,” Ramage said heavily. “You gave evidence that on the night that the
Peacock
attacked the
Topaz,
the
Triton
engaged her. Do you think the
Triton
's fire drove off the
Peacock,
or contributed to her capture?”

“Not that I know of,” Croucher said. “It was the alertness of the
Topaz
's own officers and the bravery of her own crew with the assistance of the
Greyhound.
”

“How can you be sure?”

“The Captain of the
Topaz
boarded the
Lion
the next day and made a report to the Admiral.”

“In writing?”

“No, verbally, I understand.”

“Do you have my written report on the episode?”

“No,” Croucher said nervously, glancing at Goddard. “You made no such report.”

Ramage's jaw dropped. He looked over at Goddard, who was staring at him, his eyes hate-laden and triumphant. So he had managed to persuade Croucher to condone the deliberate suppression of evidence.

“Did you make any charges or remonstrances when I came on board the
Lion
on the morning after the attack?”

“You know very well that the Admiral did. And I gather that Mr Yorke, the master of the
Topaz,
did so as well.”

Napier was watching Ramage, expecting a protest from him about hearsay evidence, but Ramage rubbed the scar over his brow and could not resist asking: “Did Mr Yorke make any specific accusations of cowardice?”

“I was not there,” Croucher said lamely. “But I gather he was very bitter against you.”

“He accused me of cowardice?”

“So I was told.”

“And anything else?”

“I understand that he said you had nearly been the death of his passengers, and that he was going to complain to the Commander-in-Chief.”

“Did he?”

“No. They were all drowned in the hurricane.”

“Did Mr Yorke make any written accusations of cowardice?”

“The Admiral thought it unnecessary. There was no hint that such a tragedy would overtake them. It could have been done on arrival at Kingston.”

“Did the Captain of the
Greyhound
frigate make any written report about the
Peacock
's attack?”

“He probably did, but it was not delivered to the flagship.” Ramage glanced at his watch again to have time to think. Croucher puzzled him. The man seemed nervous, many of his answers were qualified and the quick glances at Goddard seemed to indicate that he was giving evidence against his will and trying to say the minimum that would gain him Goddard's approval. Had Croucher at last seen the Admiral for what he was? Had his behaviour in the hurricane finally sickened him? Plenty of questions, Ramage thought sourly, and damned few answers.

“I have only two more questions. From what you saw, from your own professional knowledge and experience, do you consider I was guilty of cowardice during the attack by the
Peacock?
”

“I was too far away to see everything.”

“Do you consider the accusation of cowardice made against me by Mr Yorke of the
Topaz
was justified?”

“From what I have heard of the incident, yes.”

“Thank you. I have no more questions.”

The seven captains were looking at Ramage as though he had gone mad. The deputy judge advocate's pen had been flying over the paper and he had been feverishly pushing his spectacles back as they kept sliding down his nose.

Croucher looked uneasy. His earlier doubts about his estimate of distances were of little consequence but Ramage's questions had brought out how little he knew from his own experience and how much he had heard from Goddard.

Syme began reading back the evidence and Ramage sat down and pulled out his watch again. Syme had five minutes to get through it and have Croucher sign it as a correct record of his evidence.

At that moment there was a knock on the door and Ramage realized that he had not decided exactly how to handle the next episode. Napier looked up angrily, signalled to the provost marshal, who went to the door, had a whispered conversation with someone outside, shut the door again and marched over to the President.

He placed a letter before Napier and whispered something. The President waved him away and opened the letter. Three small white cards dropped out, and Napier, obviously puzzled, glanced at them before reading the letter. He then looked up at Ramage, and folded the letter and cards.

Syme finished reading the evidence and Napier glanced at Croucher.

“You may remain in court if you wish,” he said.

He has guessed, Ramage thought to himself; or if he has not guessed, he suspects!

“Mr Ramage,” Napier said, “you mentioned earlier that you might have further witnesses. It appears they have arrived. This has come for you, and the court agrees to your receiving it.”

He held up the letter, and Ramage walked over to collect it.

Goddard was lolling back in his chair, completely satisfied with the way things were going and making little effort to hide his boredom. He began polishing his nails with an ivory-backed strip of chamois leather, and Croucher moved to the back of the cabin and took the chair offered him by a lieutenant.

Ramage went to his place and sat down before reading the letter. Unsigned, it said simply: “Three witnesses of extreme importance to the defence are waiting to give evidence.”

He read the names on the visiting cards. The first said “Sydney Yorke,” the second was larger, and embossed on it was “Le Duc de Bretagne,” the third said, “Le Comte de Chambéry.”

Ramage felt his head spinning. So the man calling himself “St Brieuc” was the Duke of Brittany, one of the most powerful men in France before the Revolution, a close friend of the late French King, and now the leader of the French refugees in London. “Valuable cargo” indeed! Goddard must have known his real identity—which meant that Goddard too was fighting for his professional life!

Sir Pilcher must be wanting to know why the Duke of Brittany had left the
Lion
—which survived the hurricane—and sailed on the
Topaz,
which foundered. Even if Sir Pilcher could be satisfied, the Admiralty—and the Government—would be ruthless. He imagined the Foreign Secretary's angry notes to the Admiralty—”Why did the Duke leave the
Lion?
How was it that a French privateer was allowed to attack the
Topaz?
With a hurricane coming, why was the Duke not made to return to the
Lion?
” Goddard could hardly tell the truth: that it had started because of something offensive he did or said to the Duke's daughter. He needed a scapegoat—and he had chosen the “cowardly” Lieutenant Ramage….

Ramage tried to decide which of the three men to call first. Better start with Yorke, because … he suddenly realized he had made a terrible mistake; a mistake so obvious that, his body rigid with fear, he could hardly believe it.

He had told St Brieuc—the Duke, rather—and Yorke to come at half past ten on the assumption that the prosecution case would be almost over by then. But the case was going so slowly that several prosecution witnesses had still to be called. He would not be able to call the defence witnesses before tomorrow morning, at the earliest. With the Duke, the Count and Yorke already on board the
Arrogant—
and Captain Napier had seen their visiting cards—it would be impossible to keep their existence secret for another ten minutes, let alone 24 hours. Without a surprise confrontation, he was lost … unless—he realized there was just one chance of springing his trap.

He stood up suddenly, with everyone except Goddard watching him.

“If it pleases the court, in view of the evidence given by the last prosecution witness, I feel that one of my witnesses is really more suited to be a prosecution witness.”

Napier sat bolt upright, as though Ramage had suddenly stood on his head.

“A
prosecution
witness?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope you know what you are doing!”

“Yes, sir.”

Goddard stood up suspiciously.

“Who are you proposing as a prosecution witness?”

Ramage passed Yorke's card to Syme who, without glancing at it, walked over to give it to Goddard.

“On second thoughts, sir,” Ramage said to Napier, “the second of my witnesses is also better suited to the prosecution's case—I am assuming of course, the court wishes to get at the truth of the charges.”

Napier raised both hands in a despairing gesture, as if it was all beyond him.

Ramage handed the Duke's card to Syme, who dutifully, gave it to the Admiral.

“Is that all?” Napier asked.

“The prosecution could have the third witness if it wished, sir.”

There was a gasp from several people and Ramage looked round at Goddard. He had collapsed across his chair; his face was grey and he seemed to be panting for breath. The swine is having a fatal convulsion, Ramage thought coldly; he'll escape me yet!

Croucher ran from his seat to help Hobson, who was trying to lift Goddard's bulk squarely on to the chair.

“Send for the Surgeon,” Napier snapped.

Goddard was clutching his chest and fighting for breath and Croucher ripped at the stock, finally untying it. The seven captains watched without leaving their seats and on deck Ramage heard men shouting, passing the word for the Surgeon.

The Admiral was gasping for breath, as though being strangled, and Ramage suddenly pictured himself, a noose round his neck, being hanged from the fore-yardarm. If the sudden jerk did not break his neck, he too would be fighting for breath just like that. He glanced at the captains seated round the table. Their faces were impassive; each had seen death too often to get excited.

At that moment the Surgeon arrived with his assistant and went straight to Goddard, who was by now ashen-faced but conscious, taking great gulping breaths and making an effort to sit upright. Croucher whispered something to the Surgeon who, without bothering to examine the Admiral, went over and spoke quietly to Captain Napier, who nodded.

The Surgeon gave brief instructions and his assistant, Hobson and two other officers who had been sitting at the back of the court, lifted the Admiral and carried him from the cabin.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Napier rapped the table.

“The court stands adjourned until tomorrow at half past eight in the forenoon. The accused will remain in the custody of the provost marshal.”

Ramage stood up wearily as Ransom tapped him on the shoulder. The cabin was hot and his clothes seemed to stick to his body like wet pastry. His sword was still on the table. He'd gambled, and unless Admiral Goddard died between now and this time tomorrow morning, Ramage feared that he might have lost. As he followed Ransom out of the cabin, he admitted to himself that he ought to have followed Yorke's advice.

The little cabin on board the
Lion
was like an oven, although the door was open. Even the canvas stretched over battens to form bulkheads seemed to exude heat. Ramage had stripped off his shirt and sat in his breeches, naked from the waist up.

An hour after Ransom had brought him to the cabin and shut the door, giving loudly-spoken orders to the Marine sentry, he had been surprised when a lieutenant came with a message from Captain Croucher to the effect that he was to be treated as a prisoner at large. It was a pleasant gesture, even if in practice it meant simply having the door open and no sentry outside. If he wanted to he could roam the ship—but that meant having every man on board staring at him, and Ramage preferred to stay in the cabin.

He was just mopping the perspiration from his chest with a towel when one of the ship's lieutenants appeared at the door. “Visitors for you, Ramage.”