Governor Ramage R. N. (49 page)

“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.

“Please call your next witness, then.”

“I … the prosecution has no more witnesses to call.”

“Very well, the defence will present its case.”

Normally Ramage should have read out his defence against the charges, while Syme copied it down, then called his witnesses to prove the points of his defence. Instead he stood up.

“If it pleases the court, I wish to waive my right to state a defence … I'm prepared to rest my case on the evidence the court has already heard and what it will hear from the remaining witnesses.”

“Very well,” Napier said. “Note that in your minutes, Syme.”

After Syme finished writing, Napier told Ramage: “You may call your first witness.” Officially he was still on trial for his life and the minutes of the trial would be read in the Admiralty by men who knew none of the background.

“Call Edward Southwick.”

The Master was sworn and Ramage questioned him so that the
Peacock
's curious behaviour the night before the attack on the
Topaz
was described in detail and he was able to show why the written report on the episode was made to the Admiral and delivered on board the
Lion.

Then, answering questions, Southwick described, simply but graphically, how the
Peacock
had been sighted in the darkness coming up the line of merchantmen, and how the
Triton
had been manoeuvred to save the
Topaz.

Southwick's description of Ramage's handling of the
Triton
during and after the attack left no doubt in anyone's mind of his admiration for his Captain.

Ramage's questions had touched only lightly on their stay on Snake Island, but the capture of
La Perla
and the voyage to Jamaica rounded off the evidence, except for a few last questions which Ramage could not resist, since it would make Southwick's name famous in the Navy.

“When
La Perla
left Snake Island, did she have a defect in her sailing qualities?”

“Yes, she was down by the head and griped a lot.”

“Tell the court what orders you received concerning this.”

“I was told to shift some cargo aft.”

“How much did you shift, and what was it?”

“About two tons of gold and silver coins.”

“I have no more questions to ask of this witness,” Ramage said.

Napier turned to Goddard.

“Your witness.”

“I have no questions.”

Syme read the evidence aloud, and after Southwick signed it he was told to stand down.

“Your next witness?” Syme asked, as if at last deciding to take a more active part in the proceedings.

“Call the Duke of Brittany.”

The Duke walked in and bowed deeply. Napier, uncertain what to do, stood up and bowed back.

“Your Grace,” he said hesitantly, “I—er, is your Grace familiar with the English language?”

“Perfectly, thank you.”

Napier went red. “You understand that I am duty bound to ask the question.”

“Of course,” the Duke said. “But I have no need of an interpreter.”

“The oath,” Napier said, motioning to Syme.

The Duke took the oath, using the Crucifix, and Napier said apologetically, “The deputy judge advocate has first to write down the question, and then your answer, so….”

“I understand perfectly,” the Duke said.

“You travelled to Jamaica in a ship called the
Topaz?
” Ramage asked, hoping the Duke would realize the significance of the question.

“I travelled part of the way in the
Topaz,
” he said, and before anyone could stop him, added, “I and my suite transferred to her from the
Lion
because of the behaviour of Admiral Goddard.”

In the silence that followed Ramage heard his own heart thumping. Would Napier rule the answer out of order? Would Goddard protest? Quickly he asked the next question.

“What happened on the night of the eighteenth of July last?”

“The
Topaz
was attacked by a French privateer.”

“Was the attack successful?”

“No, it was foiled completely because of the foresight and daring of the
Triton
brig.”

“Did you make any complaints to the Admiral following the attack?”

“Yes, because he had been criminally negligent in allowing this privateer to sail in the convoy for several days.”

Still no one challenged the legality of the reply and, hardly believing his good luck, Ramage plunged on, rubbing the scar on his forehead.

“Evidence has been given in this court that you sent the Captain of the
Topaz
on board the
Lion
to accuse myself of cowardice in not coming to the defence of the
Topaz.
On what grounds did you make that accusation?”

“I made no such accusation,” the Duke said quietly. “It is not for me to speculate about the motives of any man who makes such a claim.”

Napier interrupted: “The court desires to know if the Captain of the
Topaz
carried any message from you to the Admiral, and if so, the nature of the message.”

“Mr Yorke certainly did carry a message. It was in writing. It praised Mr Ramage and said I was writing to His Britannic Majesty drawing his attention to Mr Ramage's bravery in ensuring my safety and allowing me to carry out the mission with which His Majesty had entrusted me.”

“Thank you,” Napier said.

“Have you any complaint of your treatment at my hands while on Snake Island, or on board
La Perla?
” Ramage asked.

“Yes,” the Duke said gravely, his eyes hard, his face set and his lips squeezed tightly together. Goddard sat up and the members of the court leaned forward expectantly. Ramage looked dumbfounded.

“Would you please tell the court the nature of that complaint?” said Napier.

The Duke's face dissolved into a smile.

“Mr Ramage refused my request to sign on as one of his crew.”

The members of the court bellowed with laughter and the noise they made drowned Ramage's own laugh, which had begun to sound slightly hysterical.

“Thank you, your Grace. I have no more questions to ask this witness.”

Syme read back the evidence, and once again Napier turned to the Admiral.

“Have you any questions to ask this witness?”

Goddard shook his head, and Ramage said: “That was my last witness.”

Napier picked up his watch. Ramage's sword was still lying across the table in front of him.

“The court will adjourn until 8:30 tomorrow morning, when it will announce its verdict. The prisoner will, of course, remain in custody.”

N
EXT morning, as Ramage stepped from the
Arrogant
into
La Perla
's dingy boat, with its peeling paint and heavy balanced oars, he was conscious only of smiling, welcoming faces. At the tiller stood Jackson, smartly dressed, freshly shaven, hair tied in a neat queue. In the stern sheets was Southwick, flowing white hair sticking out from under his hat, holding the scabbard of his sword close to his side. Next to him was Yorke, his grin no longer sardonic but exuberant, as though he had just won heavily while playing faro for high stakes. Beyond him was the Duke, whose face had the contented look of a man welcoming home a prodigal son.

Southwick reached out a hand.

“I'll take your sword, sir.”

In this, his moment of triumph, shared by the friends who had helped bring it about, Ramage was close to tears. That one gesture by Southwick summed it up.

An officer brought before a court martial surrendered his sword—in effect his badge of office—to the provost marshal, who handed it to the court. Throughout the trial his sword had been lying on the green baize of the table in front of the captains. Round it was piled, almost symbolically, the paraphernalia needed for the administration of justice—the law books required for reference, ships' logs and muster books which had become numbered exhibits, and their entries, often made in a hurry, or later when memory could be at fault—capable of having an enormous significance in the legal re-creation of some long-past event.

Then, with all examination of witnesses over, the minutes of evidence read aloud for the last time, the seven captains having deliberated, the court had at last been ready to announce its verdict.

Ramage—”the prisoner”—had been summoned and the door into the great cabin was flung open in front of him. As he walked in, head erect, shoulders back, heart racing, he had tried to glimpse the sword on the table. But Syme and the three nearest captains obscured it. Knowing that everyone in the cabin was watching him, he went straight to his chair and stood in front of it, turning slightly to bow to the members of the court.

As he did so, he glimpsed the sword in its scabbard. It was lying on the table with its hilt towards him, indicating that the court's verdict was not guilty. Quite involuntarily, he had glanced at Goddard. The Admiral, too, was staring at the sword. By chance, as it was lying in its scabbard on the table, the blade was pointing towards the Admiral.

Napier had spoken the court's verdict and Ramage had accepted his sword from him. He had muttered his thanks to the court and stumbled from the cabin into the sunlight. He had gone to the bulwarks and stared over the side at the wavelets, and a swarm of small, minnow-like fish had leapt out of the water, frantically trying to escape from some hidden predator. Beyond, anchored at random, were the
Lion
and eleven merchantmen; the only survivors of the hurricane.