Governor Ramage R. N. (50 page)

He had turned, and Jackson had been standing there alone, with the others waiting a few feet away.

“Your boat is ready, sir,” the American had said, and spontaneously Ramage had shaken him by the hand and only realized he was trembling violently when he found he could put no pressure in his grip.

One by one, Stafford, Appleby, Southwick, Yorke and the Duke had shaken him by the hand, and the Duke had said: “My wife and my daughter also thank you for all you've done, and all you've suffered for us.”

As Ramage sat down on the thwart beside the Duke, Jackson gave the order to shove off. Stafford was rowing stroke, with Rossi behind him, then Maxton and another coloured man, who was a fraction of a second slower than the others. It was Roberto, the former Spanish slave and now rated a landsman in the Royal Navy.

Jackson was not steering towards
La Perla
and Ramage was just going to say something when he remembered that they would have to put the Duke and Yorke on shore.

Southwick leaned across and passed him a letter.

“Delivered this morning, sir.”

It was addressed simply to “Lieutenant Ramage.” Though the court had found him innocent and there was no risk of charges over the loss of the
Triton—
only a routine court of inquiry—he still had no ship. Sir Pilcher Skinner, having seen what Ramage had just done to his second-in-command, would not want to appoint him to command even a hired bumboat. That meant he'd have to return to England as a passenger, report his arrival to the Admiralty, and wait.

He'd go home to Cornwall, and his father and mother would be overjoyed to see him. For a few weeks he'd enjoy the atmosphere of Blazey Hall and he'd walk and ride over the Cornish moors. Gianna would probably be there too … and then he'd begin to feel unsettled, listless, unable to concentrate on what he was doing, unable to get pleasure from the things he had previously enjoyed. He'd long to get back to sea, but the Admiralty would never employ someone who had brought about the ruin of an admiral, however badly that admiral had behaved….

Rear-Admiral Goddard was now professionally ruined, although he was a wealthy man and could return to London society and perhaps be lionized. Certainly with his connections at court almost every door would be open to him. But Goddard, too, was a sailor, albeit—if that Marine corporal's comments and Croucher's behaviour at the trial had been anything to go by—a poor one in a hurricane, but he would never receive another appointment, and Ramage found that despite his recent hatred for the man he was beginning to feel sorry for him.

Southwick was watching him anxiously while he daydreamed. Perhaps the letter was important. He ripped it open, not noticing the seal until the wax was too shattered to recognize, and began reading.

It was from Sir Pilcher's secretary: Lieutenant Ramage was to call on the Commander-in-Chief at four o'clock that afternoon. He took out his watch. It was now just half past nine.

He held the letter out to Southwick but the Master shook his head.

“I took the liberty of questioning the Lieutenant who delivered it,” he said. “The Lieutenant appointed to command
La Perla,
” he added quietly.

Sir Pilcher had wasted no time.

“Your gear has been taken on shore, sir.”

“The ship's company?” Ramage asked.

“The original Tritons are being temporarily transferred to the
Arrogant,
sir. The men from the
Topaz
are still on board. Mr Yorke's seeing about them.”

“Oh, very well,” Ramage said numbly. It had to come, but he was being parted from Southwick and the Tritons. Somehow each and every man had shared so much and now—as always in the naval service after a ship was lost—her company was going to be scattered like spindrift.

The Duke noticed his depression.

“A celebration lunch,” he said. “We have taken the liberty of arranging one in your honour.”

“Cheer up, Ramage,” Yorke said. “Anyone would think the verdict went against you!”

“Where has your Grace chosen for the celebration?” Ramage asked politely, longing to know if Maxine would be there.

“It was not my choice,” the Duke said. “In fact we are all guests: Mr Yorke, Mr Southwick, my family, the Count—who feels quite put out at not being called to give evidence: he has a sharp tongue and wished to unsheath it on your behalf—Mr Bowen and young Mr Appleby.”

“Indeed?” Ramage said more cheerfully. “And to whom are we indebted for this invitation?”

“The Lieutenant Governor. We are on our way now to Government House.”

“I'll be damned!” Ramage exclaimed. “Government House?”

“I have—er, how do you sailors say it: I've ‘slung my hammock' there. The Governor has shown an interest in our recent—ah, excursion—and wishes to hear the details from you. After I had presented my credentials he was kind enough to express his pleasure that we were safe, and insisted we should be his guests. Indeed, I fear I kept him from his bed telling him of our adventures!”

“Your credentials?” Ramage asked, then realizing that he had been thinking aloud, waved his apology.

“I shall tell you later,” the Duke said. “It will serve to explain the Admiral's discomfort when we left his ship for the
Topaz.
Alas, it was a move which brought about all your troubles.”

“Your Grace!” Yorke exclaimed. “You are quite wrong. The privateer affair was only an evening's excitement; the hurricane would still have dismasted us even if you had been on board the
Lion.
My only regret is that the ladies have suffered so much.”

“Suffered?” The Duke did not hide his surprise. “I assure you none of us would have missed a moment of it all. When you get to my age, you envy the exciting lives the young men lead. Now we've experienced it and, thank the good God, we live to tell a tale of almost everything the sea has to offer—a battle, a hurricane, shipwreck on a reef, hunting for treasure, a dangerous voyage in a tiny ship, and a naval court martial. Pray tell me, have I missed any of the other excitements the sea has to offer?”

Yorke pretended to ponder a few moments.

“I think not—do you agree, Ramage?”

“A hanging from the yardarm … flogging round the fleet … No, they're not offered by the sea, so I think His Grace can rest content,” Ramage said, laughing.

“He does, I assure you,” the Duke said, “and I'm grateful to you all for the experience. I have such a story that will out-bore every bore in every salon I shall ever visit!”

Jackson called: “Way enough!”

Ramage noticed, as they came alongside the jetty, that a carriage with four greys was standing close by, and men in livery were waiting.

“Ah,” the Duke said, “how thoughtful of the Governor. And my ladies will be waiting for us, too.”

As one of the Governor's carriages took him from Government House to Admiralty House for his appointment with the Commander-in-Chief, Ramage felt more than half drunk. For the whole of the morning and throughout the meal he had refused to drink anything except a single glass of champagne with which to answer the toasts.

The moment they arrived at Government House, Ramage and Yorke had sensed the Duke's importance to the British Government, but had been startled when the Duke told them that the British government had planned to launch a heavy attack on Guadeloupe and Haiti, the last strongholds of Revolutionary France in the Caribbean. The Duke was to have been the figurehead, the man to whom all the Royalists still left in the islands would have rallied. In effect he would have been the Viceroy of a new French Caribbean empire, comprising Haiti, Guadeloupe and Martinique—an empire captured by the British and handed over to a French government in exile.

The object in sending the Duke out had been to remove the phrase “in exile” by establishing, on French soil in the Caribbean, the seeds of a new French nation.

But, as the future Viceroy told Ramage in his quiet, patient voice, many ships and many troops were needed, and the first news he had received when he met the Governor was that for the time being the attacks on Haiti and Guadeloupe had been postponed: a frigate sailing direct from England to Jamaica had brought a despatch from Lord Grenville, the Foreign Secretary, to this effect. By chance the frigate had arrived only four days ago.

When Ramage and Yorke tried to express their regrets, the Duke had shrugged his shoulders expressively.

“I sometimes feel,” he said, “we are trying to rebuild a new world in the shape of the old; and I have seen too much to ignore the old world's defects. But I am also too old to try and change it. Change is the enemy of age, my young friend, and we old people tend to fight it.”

After that, Ramage had been led away to talk for half an hour to the island's Attorney-General, an amiable and breezy man who wanted to discuss the trial. The warnings he had then given, Ramage felt, had been as a direct result of the Governor's knowledge of the Duke's role in the case.

As the horses clattered towards Sir Pilcher's house, Ramage thought about his summons. It was silly to wonder why the Commander-in-Chief was interesting himself in a mere lieutenant; Goddard had seen to it that Ramage was no longer a “mere lieutenant.” He now had all the notoriety of a queen's lover or a famous highwayman.

Ramage wiped the perspiration from his brow, straightened his hat, tucked his papers under his arm and grasped the scabbard of his sword: the coachman was reining in the horses in front of a large, four-square white house guarded by Marines.

Ten minutes later Ramage was being ushered into Sir Pilcher's office.

The Admiral was plump, shorter than Ramage and with a tendency to waddle. He had several chins and his cheeks were fat and sagging. He had the glistening pink complexion of a man who enjoyed good living.

“Ah, Mr Ramage?”

He gave Ramage a limp handshake.

“Come, let us sit comfortably.”

He led the way to some armchairs set in the middle of the room round a small, low and highly polished table.

He sat in one chair and waved Ramage to one opposite him.

“A cool drink? No? Well now, I trust you are having an enjoyable stay with the Governor.”

“Yes, sir, most enjoyable.”

“Good, good, a delightful man, and so competent. And the Duke—in good health, I trust?”

“Yes, sir,” Ramage said.

“I must congratulate you, Ramage, on bringing the Duke—and his entourage, of course—here safely.”

Ramage nodded politely.

“The Duke has—er, explained his …”

“In great confidence, sir.”

“Quite so, quite so. He told the Governor he wished you to know.”

Sir Pilcher flicked imaginary dust from his lapels, obviously ill at ease.

“Er—I have just read your report to Admiral Goddard on the loss of the
Triton
. . .”

“I have the others here, sir.”

“Oh, excellent; let me have them.”

Ramage took the first one. “This takes up from the time we were wrecked on Snake Island, sir, until we arrived in sight of Jamaica in
La Perla.
”

“Excellent, excellent.”

“And this deals with the period we were on Snake Island.”

“Ah—finding the treasure, eh?”

“Exactly, sir.”

“Splendid business, Ramage, quite splendid. The Admiralty—indeed, the Government—will be delighted. We are having it unloaded now. I went down to look—boxes and boxes! My dear fellow, what a haul!”

“Yes, sir. I wonder who the pirate was?”

“Ah yes, the Attorney-General has been looking up some records. This place has a long history of piracy, as you know—Jamaica I mean. That fellow Morgan was after one particular man back in 1690. Seems they were shipmates at first—Brethren of the Coast—and then they fell out. The Attorney-General seems to think it was most likely his. There's some legend that he and his gang vanished, and after a quarrel with Morgan he went to a lonely island and drank himself to death.”

“A sad end,” Ramage said, since the Admiral seemed to expect some comment.

“Ha, yes! All that gold and nothing to spend it on, what? Well, ‘easy come, easy go' I suppose.”

Ramage waited. The point of all this was bound to emerge soon.

Sir Pilcher stuck his finger inside his stock and gave it a tug, as if it was too tight.

“Sure you won't have a drink, Ramage?”

“Thank you, sir, no.”

“I will, then: ring for a steward, there's a good fellow.”

Ramage walked over to the long, richly embroidered bellpull, gave it a tug, and heard a distant, faint ringing. A few moments later a coloured steward glided in.

“Rum and lemon, Albert. The ‘tenant's not drinking.”

As soon as the steward left the room, Sir Pilcher said: “This court martial business, Ramage …”

Ramage glanced up, his eyebrows raised, and waited.

“Deuced difficult, y'know.”

“In what way, sir?”

“Doubtful if it was in legal form. Napier, the President, was in a damnably difficult position. The deputy judge advocate wasn't much use to him.”

Ramage felt his skin go cold with fright. Had they celebrated too soon? He had forgotten that Sir Pilcher could declare his trial void and order a new one on some technicality. At a new trial, the cowardice charges could be forgotten and Sir Pilcher and Goddard, with the help of the best legal brains available, could draw up new charges … His talk with the Attorney-General took on a new meaning, and he tried to remember the past cases the man had cited so carefully. At the time they had seemed of little significance or relevance.

“In what way was it illegal, sir?”

“Well, not exactly illegal. Fact is, the charges were drawn up without the prosecution knowing all the facts—or about all the witnesses.”

“But that's the prosecution's responsibility, sir,” Ramage protested. “The witnesses arrived in time and the facts eventually emerged!”