Ramage's Trial

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Next morning the court opened in the Salvador del Mundo's great cabin with the precision of a quadrille: the captains filed in, all wearing full uniform with white breeches and swords, and went straight to their seats, ready to sit in descending order of seniority; Jenkins made one neat pile of his reference books and another of the paper on which he would be writing the minutes. He examined the tips of his quills and made sure his pen-knife was close by in case any needed recutting, along with the small square of cloth he used to wipe the ink.

Goddard strode in last of all, trying to infuse dignity into his carriage, but the effect was marred by the protuberant belly (which no amount of cunning by his tailor could disguise) and by the heavy jowls which jerked up and down with each step with the springiness of geraniums displayed by an itinerant flower seller.

Goddard nodded an acknowledgement rather than a greeting to the court and sat down. The captains then scraped their chairs and sat down, and Goddard told Jenkins: "Have the prisoner brought in."

A call to the Marine sentry led to Lieutenant Hill marching in carrying Ramage's sword and followed by his prisoner. While Ramage sat down, Hill replaced the sword on the table and Ramage saw Captain Shirley walking in, holding books and papers but with the remoteness of a monk pacing the cloisters.

"Ah, Captain Shirley," Goddard said, in his first pleasant word or gesture of the day. "Are you ready to call your next witness?"

Shirley nodded and said to Jenkins: "Call Lieutenant Aitken."

Like Wagstaffe, Aitken was a witness for both the prosecution and the defence. He marched in briskly, took the oath, his Scots accent very pronounced.

Ramage saw Shirley pass several slips of paper to Jenkins, and noted that the usual procedure (not that there was any regulation about it) where the president of the court did most of the questioning was, as in the case of the other witnesses, being abandoned: Goddard was going to leave the questioning to Shirley.

At a nod from Goddard, Jenkins read out the first question.

"You are the first lieutenant of the Calypso and you were on July the twenty-first last?"

"I am, and I was," Aitken said, adding as though making it clear to a child, "on that specific date, too."

"When the Calypso boarded the Jason on that date, what was your role?"

Aitken gave a brief chuckle, as though both Jenkins and Shirley had, by asking the question, committed some solecism. "The Calypso did not board the Jason of course, but I ken what you mean. Aye, well, when Captain Ramage laid the Calypso alongside despite the risk of another broadside -"

"Stop!" Goddard shouted at Aitken and, waving to Jenkins, instructed him: "Strike it out."

He then swung round in his chair to face Aitken. "Listen, you were not in court yesterday but the second lieutenant of the Calypso is under an arrest for contempt of court from his refusal to answer the court questions properly. You will confine yourself to a direct answer to the question."

"Of course, sir," Aitken agreed and Ramage watched the polite smile on the Scotsman's face. "But sir," Aitken asked politely, "what part of my answer - or, rather, partial answer - did you find so provoking?"

With Aitken's accent the word "provoking" had a soothing quality, long drawn out, and Goddard's eyes rose to the deckhead as though seeking Divine help.

He was just going to answer when he saw the trap: if he said that he objected to the phrase "another broadside" he would - damnation, he thought: this young puppy Ramage must have spent hours with his officers guessing what Captain Shirley's questions would be and perfecting these double-edged answers. Goddard knew he had been very near the limit of his powers as court president yesterday, and he had arrested that other lieutenant for contempt of court because it seemed the only way of shutting him up. The charge would not hold, of course, and all that he intended was to keep the fellow locked up out of the way until after the verdict on Ramage was given. But two lieutenants cited for contempt in the same trial (in succession, too) would raise eyebrows at the Admiralty and draw attention to what he was trying to do.

All right, what is the answer to this impudent young puppy's apparently innocent question? Damnation, this cabin is so hot. Ah yes: this should hide the fact that he had not thought of an answer to the question.

"Lieutenant Aitken, let me remind you of this. The prisoner is accused of -"

Now this damned fool Swinford is whispering something. He had always considered Swinford as a reliable sort of man but, Goddard thought, he seemed to be adopting a very radical attitude in this trial.

Goddard nodded impatiently at Swinford and modified his second sentence. "Yes, as Captain Swinford points out, the prisoner is accused by Captain Shirley of removing him from his lawful command of the Jason, and he is charged under six of the Articles of War . . . numbers fifteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-two and twenty-three."

He gestured to Jenkins and told him to bring up a copy of the Articles of War.

He opened the black leatherbound volume with the bold gilt lettering on the front cover. "Let me just remind you. Number fifteen, the first in the charge, refers to 'Every person in or belonging to the Fleet' who shall desert (which does not apply here) or, and I emphasize that word, 'or run away with any of His Majesty's ships or vessels of war, in any ordnance, ammunition, stores or provision belonging thereto' ..."

He tapped the small book. "I think you can see why the Board of Admiralty ordered that Captain Ramage should be tried under that Article. Let us consider the next one, seventeen. I will just quote the relevant parts, as it is long: 'The officers and seamen of all ships, appointed for convoy and guard of merchant ships, or any other, shall diligently attend upon that charge . . . and whosoever shall be faulty therein . . . and submitting the ships in their convoy to peril and hazard. . .' and so on and so forth . . ."

"Increasing our escort by one more frigate can hardly be hazarding it, sir," Aitken said sourly but, Ramage guessed, by adopting a guileless manner, deliberately trying to provoke Goddard.

"Damnation, Aitken, don't you understand what a court-martial is all about?"

"I thought I did, sir," Aitken said, his accent becoming heavier. "I thought I did - until now."

He is trying to provoke me, Goddard told himself, and stabbed his finger down on the Articles of War.

"Listen carefully, now: the nineteenth Article . . . 'If any person in or belonging to the Fleet shall make, or endeavour to make, any mutinous assembly ... he shall suffer death . . .' and, in the same Article, '. . . shall utter any words of sedition or mutiny, he shall suffer death . . .'"

Now the pair of you, Goddard thought grimly, can have a taste of your own medicine. "Might I remind you, Mr Aitken, that plotting against a superior officer, removing him from his command, or even talking of doing so, is a breach of that Article, and no one is disputing that Captain Shirley was the superior of all the officers in the King's service in that convoy."

And that, you impudent Scot, Goddard thought, reminds you that you are as guilty as your blasted commanding officer: you helped him and if you were brought to trial and found guilty (as you surely would) the noose would go round your neck too.

"Aye, sir," Aitken said, "but there's a phrase in that Article you didn't read, though - about 'such superior officer being in the execution of his office'. Captain Shirley had no 'office' connected with the convoy."

"Don't be impudent," Goddard snapped. "He was the superior officer by virtue of his seniority in the Navy List, and that's all that matters." And before Aitken had time to argue that point Goddard said triumphantly: "Now we come to Article twenty - if any person in the Fleet shall conceal any traiterous or mutinous practice or design ... he shall suffer death.' Later the same Article refers to concealing 'words, traiterous or mutinous, spoken to the prejudice of His Majesty or tending to the hindrance of the service . . .'"

Goddard noted to himself that the whippersnapper had no answer to that and hurriedly went on to the next Article.

"Article twenty-two says that if any officer, mariner, soldier or other person in the Fleet, shall strike any of his superior officers, or draw, or offer to draw, or lift up any weapon against him . . .' then if found guilty that person shall be sentenced to death, and of course the same article deals with anyone disobeying lawful commands."

Goddard could not resist turning round and wagging an admonitory finger. "Mr Aitken, firing a gun comes in the same category as 'lift up any weapon', of course."

"Of course," agreed Aitken, "but in this case the senior officer, fired a broadside at thejunior one."

Goddard was quick to realize that, having no answer to the slip of his own tongue, it was best to ignore the remark and trust that Jenkins was not putting it in the minutes.

"Now, Mr Aitken, we come to the final Article to the charge, number twenty-three, which says that 'If any person in the Fleet shall quarrel or fight with any other person in the Fleet, or use reproachful or provoking speeches or gestures . . .' and so on."

"Thank you for reading them, sir. Of course I know them by heart but it must be very helpful to yourself as the president to be reminded of the precise wording."

Goddard, brought up in the old school where you were polite and considerate to your superiors, particularly if your promotion depended on them, shut the book with a snap and signalled to Jenkins to carry on with the questioning. In the meantime this wretched fellow Aitken's question about that phrase "another broadside" had been forgotten: he had guessed that nothing would smother it as successfully as reading from the Articles of War.

Then, to Goddard's horror, Jenkins, instead of going on to the next question, repeated the previous one about Aitken's role when the Calypso boarded the Jason, but the deputy judge advocate looked up in time to see Goddard's glare and tried to recover the situation, saying to Aitken: "You have already told the court how Captain Ramage had laid the Calypso alongside the Jason. Go on from that point."

"I led a particular boarding party and climbed over at about the mainchains."

"How were you armed?"

"Cutlass and pistol."

"And Captain Ramage?"

"If you mean 'how was he armed?', I think a cutlass and pistol - little enough when you think we'd just received a broadside."

Ramage almost laughed at the way that Aitken's quiet voice with its Highland lilt had lulled Goddard so that he could make what sounded as though it was going to be an innocent remark in fact be lethal. Lethal, Ramage amended, in a proper trial, but not in this travesty.

Goddard waved at Jenkins. He had learned enough now not to rely on using words with the witness. "Strike out all from 'little enough' - the witness has been warned to respond only to matter relevant to the charges."

Yet as Aitken gave a slight bow in acknowledgement, Goddard felt more than a little uncertainty. They were glib, these young scoundrels, and Jenkins did not seem to understand what was going on.

Jenkins picked up the next slip of paper. "Did you or your men shoot at or in any way attack any of the Jason's ship's company?"

"It wasn't necessary -"

"Answer 'yes' or 'no'," Goddard snapped.

"No," Aitken said, and as Jenkins dipped his pen in the ink before writing down the single word, Aitken added: "The Jason's men had left the 12-pounders and surrendered."

"Out! Out! Strike it out!" Goddard shouted. "Just 'No', that was his answer. Aitken, you've had your last warning."

Jenkins picked up the next slip of paper and, seeing Goddard nod, asked the question. "Did you see Captain Shirley at about this time? And if so, what was he doing?"

"I did, and he was standing abreast the mainmast," Aitken said.

Goddard nodded. The young puppy had at last learned the lesson, although God knows it had taken long enough.

Reading from the next slip, Jenkins asked: "Was Captain Shirley making any threatening gestures towards you or any of the Calypso's boarding party?"

"Oh no," Aitken said, as though shocked at the idea. "He was standing quite alone and watching us." He let Jenkins write down the answer and then added: "I also saw that none of his officers were making any threatening gestures." Goddard nodded - this was more like it: evidence was being given in a proper fashion now. Aitken continued: "In fact I was surprised -" he paused a few moments as Goddard continued nodding, "- because there was not an officer on deck: Captain Shirley was alone, apart from a few midshipmen."

Goddard's brow wrinkled and the six captains sitting with their backs to Aitken swung round and stared. Captain Swinford, without waiting for Goddard's permission, exclaimed: "What do you mean, there were no other officers on deck? You simply mean you did not see them."

"I did not see any, sir," Aitken agreed, and Swinford seemed contented with the reply until Aitken added quietly: "Within minutes I confirmed none was on deck because I found them all locked in the gunroom guarded by a Marine sentry."

"Indeed?" said Swinford, and looked at Goddard, whose face had gone white. The silence in the cabin was broken only by the slapping of wavelets under the Salvador del Mundo's stern, the distant mewing of seagulls, and the scraping of Jenkins's pen.

And that has nailed you, Admiral, Ramage thought. Now Goddard would have to ask questions concerning that evidence, and then there would be a chance of bringing out the details of Shirley's madness.

Goddard rapped the table with his signet ring and a startled Jenkins looked up.

"Read out the question again."

Jenkins again asked whether Shirley had made any threatening gestures.

"Ah yes," Goddard said calmly. "That was the question, and the witness replied that he had not, so the answer is: 'No'. Very well, carry on with Captain Shirley's next question. I have told the witness several times that he must answer the question. The court is not interested in his views on any subject not referred to in the question. We'll be hearing him preaching to us next -" he guffawed at the idea and added, without realizing that the captains were watching him silent and stony-eyed, "- or even giving us his views on naval tactics!" Realizing his joke had fallen flat, he snapped: "Come on, Jenkins, we haven't all night. Next question. But perhaps. Captain Shirley, you have no more questions to ask this witness?"

The question was asked in a persuasive tone and accompanied by what Goddard no doubt regarded as his winning smile.

Shirley raised his head a fraction, as though resting from his survey of every thread in the canvas stretched over the deck. Before answering, he stood up and walked the three or four paces to Jenkins's place at the table, retrieved some slips of paper and returned to his seat. He reached under his chair for a leather pouch, opened it and put away the slips, taking out several more.

Only then did he look up at Goddard and say in a monotone: "I have no more questions to put to this witness."

Goddard sighed and then stared heavy-eyed at Ramage. "Do you have any questions? As he'll be called later as a defence witness, you must restrict your questions to the points raised by the prosecution."

"I have some questions, sir." He turned to Aitken. "The first question asked by the prosecution was to describe your role when the Jason was boarded. You omitted to describe my orders to you before the Calypso went alongside the Jason."

Ramage was conscious that Goddard's great bulk was tense; he could imagine the man's mind working quickly, trying to spot hidden meanings or traps.

"Your orders were brief, sir. I was to lead one of the boarding parties." He waited while Jenkins wrote the sentence and then looked at Ramage, as if waiting for the next question. Then he added: "And I was to help secure the captain."

Goddard neither shouted nor banged the table: he was learning quickly how to deal with questions and answers he did not want in the trial minutes. "Strike out the last part of that reply."

Ramage took a step forward. "May I ask why, sir?"

"Indeed you may; that is your privilege," Goddard said amiably. "The question is not allowed because it has nothing to do with the question asked by the prosecutor. I warned you about that a few moments ago, and your very first question ignored the warning."

"But sir, Captain Shirley asked about Lieutenant Aitken's role. Tell the deputy judge advocate to read out that part of the minutes. If Captain Shirley can ask Lieutenant Aitken about his role, surely I can - I am the one on trial!"

"Your question did not ask Lieutenant Aitken about his role," Goddard said, his voice oozing with reasonableness. "You asked him what orders you gave him."

"But my orders concerned his role!" Ramage protested. "He answered that he was to lead a boarding party -"

"Exactly," snapped Goddard. "That was the answer to the question. If the witness decides that is his answer to the prosecutor's question, that is the end of it. You can only question him on that."

Ramage knew that Goddard held too many aces. The president controlled what Jenkins wrote down in the minutes: he controlled the questions asked; he controlled the answers given because he could always order sentences struck out of the minutes on the grounds of them not being relevant. Who could argue - there was no record of - Ramage's question, the witness's reply or of Goddard's reason for striking anything out. In theory the safeguard for the accused (and the witnesses, for that matter) lay in the members of the court, the captains sitting round the table. But those captains, Ramage understood only too well, were serving officers with careers (and therefore promotion) to think about. The defect in the system was in making the president of the court the senior officer. In ports of the United Kingdom it was usually the second-in-command to the commander-in-chief; abroad a flag officer if available, otherwise the senior captain. It would be a bold and foolhardy captain who argued with a flag officer whose gossip, let alone a written report, would lose him his command and ensure that he would stay on half-pay for the rest of his life ... on the beach drawing half-pay while the other captains round the table, who had kept their mouths shut, went on to find glory and prize money in battle.

Ramage bowed towards Goddard and said, speaking every word slowly and with deliberate clarity, and watching Jenkins to make sure he entered it all in the minutes: "In view of what you have just said, sir, there are no other questions I can ask this witness."

Goddard, seeing no ambiguity, said: "Very well, the witness may stand down."

Jenkins waved his pen at Aitken. "Wait, I must read the minutes back to you and then you must sign them."

As Jenkins read in a monotone, Aitken caught Ramage's eye and raised an eyebrow. Ramage gave an imperceptible nod. Aitken had a quick grasp in normal times: in these somewhat unusual circumstances he seemed to be even faster.

Jenkins finished reading and, looking across at Aitken, held up the quill. "Please sign here that the minutes are a true record of the evidence you have given."

"Ahhhh," Aitken shook his head, "now there we have a problem, mister. You know quite well the minutes are by no means a true record of the evidence I've been giving, so thanking you for your trouble, but I'll no be signing the noo."

Shirley continued looking down at the black and white squares painted on the deck canvas, but both Goddard and Jenkins looked at Aitken as though he was a barrel of powder which a fast-burning fuse had only a couple of inches to go.

Goddard smiled reassuringly but his thick lips betrayed his nervousness at this unexpected turn. "My dear Aitken, you must sign the minutes. The regulations, you know."

"That's not my understanding of them, if you'll forgive me, sir. I may be wrong," he added sorrowfully, and Ramage almost laughed aloud as he saw a flicker of hope cross Goddard's face. "Aye, I might be wrong, and for that matter so might you, sir. But of course that's why we have the deputy judge advocate, and why he's paid extra per diem while the court is sitting, to act as our legal adviser. Would you be good enough, sir, to have him consult the court-martial statutes?"

"Look here, Aitken, you'll save everyone a great deal of trouble if you just sign the minutes. It won't do your chances of promotion any good if you get a reputation for fussing about ..."

Ramage was staggered at the barefaced threat and suddenly regretted having been responsible for getting Aitken in this position, and yet curiously thankful that because of the prize money Aitken had earned under his command, he could resign his commission this moment and walk on shore wealthier, in all probability, than any of the twelve captains sitting round the table.

Captain Swinford said unexpectedly but firmly: "I think that the lieutenant has every right to hear what the court-martial statutes have to say on the matter. In all my years, I haven't come across the point before."

Captain Royce, sitting next to him, said: "Personally, I'm quite clear on the point. If the witness isn't satisfied with the minutes, he does not have to sign 'em."

Swinford said: "I must say, if a witness is expected to sign the minutes as 'a true record' of his evidence, then it seems only right that if they aren't 'a true record' he shouldn't sign 'em."

Goddard rapped the table. "Clear the court," he ordered.

"Sir," Jenkins said meekly, standing up, "the witness and the prisoner are involved in this argument, and if you clear the court, they will be removed from . . ."

"Oh very well," Goddard said petulantly, "why don't you cite some references?"

"I have several here, sir."

"Well, damnation, why didn't you mention it? What do they say?"

"They are clear on the point, sir," Jenkins said. "Quite clear."

"There you are," Goddard told Swinford and Royce. "Now I hope you will stop interfering. Sign and leave the court," he told Aitken.

"But sir," Jenkins wailed, "the statutes are clear upon the point that a witness should sign the minutes only if he is satisfied they correctly record his evidence."

Goddard sat with his eyes shut. Clearly, as far as Ramage was concerned, the rear-admiral was trying to recall the earlier part of Aitken's evidence because, of course, if Aitken refused to sign the minutes then none of his evidence would be admissible. Was there anything in that evidence that Shirley wanted? After a minute or two, Ramage decided that Goddard could not clearly remember. This was confirmed by Goddard's next words: "Very well, Lieutenant, if you do not sign the minutes you had better remember my words, and remember that the court can recall you as a witness any time it wishes."

Jenkins glanced down at his list and turned to the Marine sentry at the door. "Call Mr Southwick, master of the Calypso."

Southwick was another of the men warned by both the defence and the prosecution that they would be required as witnesses, and he marched in to the great cabin looking unexpectedly smart, sword by his side, hat tucked under his left arm, freshly shaven, and only his hair the usual unruly white mop which had for many years defied brush and comb and responded only to a fresh wind.

Ramage suddenly realized that although he met Southwick many times a day (and had been doing so for several years) he rarely "saw" him in the sense of assessing his character from his appearance. In fact, watching him now as Jenkins administered the oath, Ramage felt he was looking at a stranger he had known well for years, admittedly a truly absurd contradiction. But Southwick obviously stood four-square, a bluff and kindly man, every inch of him a seaman; a man who spoke his mind and whose honesty no other honest man could possibly doubt. That assessment, Ramage thought wryly, ruled out Goddard, who clearly measured every man by his own standards, thus ensuring he lived in a world apparently peopled only by scoundrels.

As soon as Jenkins was back in his chair, Shirley gave him several slips of paper. The man glided, Ramage realized. Again he had the picture of a sad-faced monk in long robes gliding gloomily along a cloister, head down, hands clasped behind his back - or even clutching a rosary to his breast. Quiet, remote from daily life, little understood by laymen who tried (and failed) to relate remoteness to holiness, and in turn understanding little of laymen.

Jenkins read the first question establishing that Southwick had been master of the Calypso on the relevant day and then, holding one of Shirley's slips of paper, asked: "What was your role in the encounter between the Jason and the Calypso?"

Ramage pictured Shirley sitting in the Jason's great cabin, thinking hard and then scribbling away, thinking again and reaching for another slip of paper. He could not have thought of a more suitable question (from Southwick's point of view) to ask the master.

"Knotting and splicing rigging cut by the Jason's broadside," he said matter-of-factly, in the same tone of voice that one prosperous farmer might use to discuss with another the improving price of wheat.

Goddard turned to look at Southwick. "I can't believe that you personally would be knotting and splicing rigging?"

"Masters of ships don't, sir," Southwick said politely. "You were expected to understand that I was supervising the work."

Ramage saw a cunning glint in Goddard's eyes: he had an ace concealed somewhere. "We can only take notice of what you say, not what you expect us to understand, so strike that answer out, Jenkins," he said. "I think in fact Captain Shirley wishes to withdraw that question."

Shirley nodded once without looking up, and Jenkins ostentatiously screwed up the piece of paper and put it to one side. He took up the next slip. Without reading it out he looked at Shirley and, when the captain did not glance up, walked over to him and whispered something. Ramage saw Shirley nod and Jenkins gave him the slip of paper and returned to his chair. That, Ramage guessed, was another question where Southwick's blunt answer could embarrass the prosecution. He watched as Jenkins picked up the next page.

"When you were on board the Jason, did Captain Shirley make any threatening gesture towards you, or employ any threatening words?"

"No, he seemed to be sleepwalking."

Goddard tapped the table with his signet ring. "The witness's answer to the question is 'No'."

Captain Swinford said quickly without reference to Goddard: "Mr Southwick, why do you use the word 'sleepwalking'?"

Southwick grinned. "You remember when I was serving with you in the Canopus, sir, back in - must be '92? We had that first lieutenant who from time to time would appear on the quarterdeck in his nightshirt, and a midshipman had to be told off to lead him back to his cabin without waking him? Well, he looked like that."

Goddard said sarcastically: "Reminiscing over old times is quite fascinating, but this is hardly the time for it. The reference to sleepwalking was struck from the minutes so your question, Captain Swinford, apart from not being asked through me as president of the court, is quite out of order."

"He was killed at Camperdown, sir," Southwick said, as though Goddard did not exist. "Had he lived, he'd have gone far."

"Quite," Swinford agreed, also ignoring Goddard. "That was why I'd picked him as my first lieutenant."

"Have you any more questions to ask this witness, Captain Shirley?" Goddard asked ominously.

Again Shirley did not look up. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and after Ramage said he had no questions, Jenkins cautioned Southwick to listen while the minutes of his evidence were read aloud to him.

"Aye, that won't take long," commented Southwick. Then he walked down to the end of the table to where Jenkins sat, signed his name with a flourish and, giving Jenkins a broad smile as he thanked him for the trouble he had taken, put the quill back in the inkwell with just enough force to make sure the quill split slightly and ruined the point.

As Southwick walked out of the cabin - because he was to be called again, next time as a defence witness, he had to leave the court and join Aitken - Goddard said: "Your next witness, Captain Shirley."

Shirley stood up. "Mr Southwick was my last witness, sir. The prosecution's case is concluded."

"Very well. Mr Ramage, are you ready to present your defence?"

Yes, he was ready; but was there any point in making a defence? Goddard had blocked nearly all the answers referring to the Jason firing a broadside into the Calypso; he had blocked any hint that Captain Shirley might be mad. He had done all this very skilfully; anyone (particularly Their Lordships at the Admiralty) reading the minutes could not guess what had been struck out; indeed, might never suspect that even a comma was missing.

Yet upon those two facts, the Jason's broadside and Shirley's madness, rested Ramage's entire defence: they were the two reasons why he took the step - which put his life in legal jeopardy - of removing a captain from his command.

How the devil then, could he defend himself against these charges, brought by Shirley himself, if the president of the court ruled out of order any reference to the broadside or madness? Oh yes, Ramage knew he could go to the commander-in-chief and complain, but the commander-in-chief (and the Admiralty too for that matter) would never accept his word against Rear-Admiral Goddard's, not because they particularly favoured Goddard but because the whole edifice on which the Navy was built depended on strict obedience to one's superior, whether an able seaman jumping when the bosun said jump or a lieutenant doing promptly what the captain said, or the captain carrying out his admiral's orders, or the admiral carrying out the Board of Admiralty's orders - and, finally, the Admiralty carrying out orders from its superior, which was the government of the day in the shape of His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Foreign Department. Who, come to think of it, received his instructions from the Cabinet or the prime minister.

If any one of those men or bodies refused to obey, then the whole edifice would collapse or give a tiny shiver, depending on the level of the disobedience. The link between the Cabinet issuing orders to the Secretary of State and an ordinary seaman being harried by a surly bosun's mate might seem tenuous, but it was there and, Ramage had to agree, everyone from the prime minister to the bosun's mate was concerned with upholding authority.

The only problem arose when some unusual circumstance did not fit into the intricate structure of obedience which had been built up over the centuries. The structure had been modified by various Acts of Parliament from time to time; it was the best that men could contrive - up to now, anyway. As far as the Navy was concerned, it had one defect which either no one had noticed or (more likely) no one in authority would admit existed, yet that defect although small could eventually threaten the whole structure.

It was this defect, or flaw, which had trapped Ramage, and it was, quite simply, that there was no way that a captain of a ship of war could lawfully be removed from his command at sea by his officers if he went mad, lapsed into alcoholism, broke his back and could not leave his bunk or in some other way became unfit to command unless the surgeon was prepared to give his opinion in writing that the captain was unfit to command. Few surgeons would risk the consequences, and anyway the Jason's surgeon was dead by the time his opinion was wanted. So the defect or flaw in the Admiralty's command structure became a gaping hole in the case of the Jason on that July day.

Still, there was only one question now remaining in Ramage's mind, and that was why none of the Jason's officers or seamen would admit that she had fired a broadside at the Calypso. Goddard would block the question which, he recalled, led to another: why would none of the officers discuss the reason or even admit they were locked in the gunroom when the Calypsos boarded? Which brought a third question: why would none of the officers discuss the possibility of Shirley being mad with the very captain who was rescuing them from a madman?

So why the hell prolong the trial and give Goddard any more satisfaction? It was not Shirley's fault - he was mad and not responsible for his actions. The captains forming the court did not realize what they faced and could not be told enough - except by the very evidence that Goddard had prevented being given.

Come to think of it, those captains (like Ramage himself) must wonder why the Jason's officers stayed stubbornly silent if they honestly thought Shirley was really mad. Yet that silence alone could be enough reason for them finding Captain Ramage guilty as charged ...

How and why had he become involved in all this, he asked himself bitterly. Why had he removed Shirley from his command - because he would be back commanding the Jason as soon as the trial was over. Why had he freed the Jason's lieutenants - because now not one of them would speak a word even to help their rescuer.

Ramage looked at Goddard and the man's weak, sagging face made him angry. So did the thought of Shirley, and the Jason's lieutenants, who were behaving like sycophantic poltroons.

"Yes, sir, I am ready to present my case," he heard himself saying. "Could the first witness on my list be called?"

The first witness was Aitken, who strode into the cabin to be reminded by Jenkins that he was still on oath and therefore need not be sworn again.

The deputy judge advocate looked questioningly at Ramage, who shook his head. "I do not have my questions written out."

"In that case," Goddard said quickly, having seen that Ramage was not holding any sheets of paper, "you will write them out and ask them through me."

Oh no. Ramage decided: he had put up with enough in the trial so far and he was making a defence only because Goddard, Shirley and the wretched lieutenants had irritated him. "If you'll pardon me, sir, that is not required in the court-martial statutes; writing down questions has simply become a habit in some courts to save time."

"Nevertheless, you'll write down each question and pass it to me to ask."

Ramage took a deep breath and stared straight at Goddard. "In that case, sir, I have no defence to offer, and I insist that this dialogue be recorded in the minutes."

"You can't insist on anything," Goddard sneered. "You are the prisoner on trial for your life."

Swinford said unexpectedly: "Sir, as the senior of the captains forming this court - of which you are president - I must insist that Captain Ramage's request be granted. He has decided not to offer a defence because you insist on examining his interrogatories and asking them yourself. Your decision and his are both part of the trial and must be recorded. And if you'll forgive me, sir, Captain Ramage is correct about the court-martial statutes. This business of written interrogatories started to help deputy judge advocates write the minutes. In fact, it is bad because it gives a dishonest witness plenty of time to think of a way to prevaricate. We must remember the courts were set up to administer justice, not the comfort and convenience of deputy judge advocates."

Goddard was quick enough to know he was beaten on that point, and with a defensive half-smile at all the captains he said: "Of course, of course. I was simply trying to speed up the proceedings: we are now in our second day and only just beginning the defence." He turned to Ramage, his smile twisted and artificial, like the powder daubed on the face of a raddled old trull.

"Mr Aitken," Ramage said, "you have already deposed that during July last you were the last lieutenant of the Calypso, and now I want you to tell the court what you consider to be the beginning of the series of circumstances which has led to you appearing here as a witness in my trial."

Ramage looked round at Goddard. He had worked very carefully on that question because basically it asked an officer for his professional opinion on a relevant subject. Goddard could not object that the question had nothing to do with the charge or witness. But Ramage could see that as Jenkins wrote down the question, while he waited for the answer Goddard was trying to see what hidden significance might lie behind it.

Aitken saw Jenkins' pen stop moving and said: "Sighting a sail to windward which afterwards proved to be the Jason, sir."

"What in your view was the situation of the Calypso, with a strange sail sighted to windward?"

"Because the Calypso was escorting a large West Indian convoy, sir, she had to take immediate steps to be ready to defend the ships if necessary."

Goddard interrupted. "Pray tell me what has all this to do with the charges against you, Mr Ramage?"

"Only this, sir," Ramage said, not troubling to hide the sarcasm in his voice, "I am charged over matters concerning the Jason frigate and Captain Shirley. It seems relevant to my defence to introduce both of them."

Both Captain Swinford and, sitting opposite him, Captain Huggins, simultaneously coughed. Goddard glanced at each of them and then nodded to Ramage. "Carry on, then."

"Mr Aitken, what steps were taken that immediately concerned you, or which you initiated yourself?"

"Acting on your orders, I had the drummer beat to quarters. I then asked you for the day's challenge, and as soon as you gave it to me, I had the appropriate flags hoisted, along with our pendant numbers."

"You did not order any alteration of course or sail trimming?"

"No, sir. While I was attending to my duties, the master gave the orders which started us stretching up to windward."

So far, so good, Ramage thought. Goddard has at last woken up to the fact that some of the members of the court are concerned that the trial should be conducted according to the court-martial statutes. That did not mean they were on his side, but at least it hinted that they would listen to evidence fairly and give a verdict based on it. Yet, yet, yet. . . Would Goddard suddenly change his aim? No, there was no chance of that.

"What did you do after that?"

"I was concerned first with identifying the strange sail, and having done that, taking the appropriate steps to meet her."

"How did you identify her, and what steps did you take?"

Ramage saw that Goddard was looking worried. There was no way he could rule the questions out of order, in the light of Swinford's and Huggins's discreet coughs, providing Ramage was careful. But let Goddard object to one question and the flood would start . . .

"As we approached we (the officers and several seamen) recognized her as a British-built frigate, and her sails had an English cut. Then we saw she had a challenge hoisted, and read her pendant numbers."

Ramage waited until Jenkins indicated he had copied the answer down and then asked Aitken casually: "It was, of course, the correct challenge?"

"No, sir."

"What," demanded Goddard, "has this to do with the charges?"

"In my view, sir, it has a vital bearing on all the charges."

"In the court's view it has none. Strike it out, Mr Jenkins. Carry on, Mr Ramage."

"Having inspected the flags of the Jason's challenge," Ramage asked, watching Goddard and ready with his protest should the admiral interrupt, "what did you then do?"

"I looked up her pendant numbers in the signal book and saw she was the Jason. As there was no need for the men to remain at quarters, I gave them the orders for them to secure the guns."

"What did you observe about the Jason at this time?"

"She was steering directly for us and I concluded she was going to pass within hail."

Ramage saw that Goddard was now tense, his eyes flickering from Ramage to Aitken and back. He knew that the time was fast approaching when Ramage would be asking about one of the critical parts of the case, the broadside, and knew he had to stifle the questions without being too obvious.

"Did she pass within hail?" Ramage asked again casually.

"No, sir, within gunshot, though."

"Wait," shouted Goddard. "Mr Jenkins, do not write that down. What has this to do with the charge?"

"I was just establishing a distance, sir. Pistol shot, musket shot, gunshot - these are all very well known distances and immediately recognized by seamen."

Goddard glanced at Captain Swinford before nodding: "Very well, carry on."

At once Ramage asked: "How do you know she was within gunshot of the Calypso?"

"She fired a raking broadside at us, sir."

"Stop! Silence, I say!" Goddard shouted. "Strike that out, both question and answer."

"Sir," Ramage said quietly, "if that question and that answer are struck out, clearly the court is being prevented from hearing this witness's evidence, and there is no point in me asking further questions. I request it be recorded in the minutes."

"If you choose to ask no more questions that is your affair," Goddard said bluntly. "As president of the court it is my affair that the proceedings be conducted as laid down in the court-martial statutes."

Ramage stared at him open-mouthed. The man's hypocrisy was unbelievable. "In view of that, I have no more questions to ask this witness," he said.

Aitken signed the minutes and Goddard said in a friendly voice: "You may stay in the court now you are not required again as a witness."

Aitken gave a deep bow. "You are too kind, sir," he said ironically, and walked over to the row of chairs.

"Call the next witness," Goddard said, as though to maintain some sort of initiative, and Jenkins called for Wagstaffe, who had been kept on board overnight in custody.

Ramage asked him preliminary questions establishing his role on board the Calypso up to the time she went alongside the Jason. Goddard did not object to any of the routine questions, then Ramage asked: "When you boarded the Jason with me, what opposition did you meet?"

"Wait!" snapped Goddard, but Ramage immediately interrupted.

"Sir, may I suggest you hear the witness's answer before objecting?"

Realizing that he was leaving himself open by not agreeing, Goddard nodded, but slewed his body round so that he could stare at Wagstaffe.

The young lieutenant said: "There was no opposition at all."

"Where were the officers?"

"I did not see -"

"Stop," Goddard said. "There is no opposition so any further question on that point is irrelevant."

"I want it noted in the minutes that I am not allowed to question this witness properly - sir."

Goddard shrugged. "If you can't frame your questions properly, that's your affair. It might have helped had you first written them down."

That none of the officers were on deck, that all the guns' crews were crouched beside their guns, that Shirley was standing there in a long black coat - Ramage knew there was no hope of getting any evidence about this past Goddard, yet that (and what he saw for the rest of the voyage to England) was what made Wagstaffe's evidence vital. Vital but impossible to have recorded in the minutes of the trial.

Ramage said no more, so that his last request still stood, although Goddard appeared to be ignoring it, impatiently gesturing to Wagstaffe to sign the minutes, having asked Shirley if he had any questions and receiving a dismissive reply.

Southwick was the next witness, but like Aitken he was prevented from giving any evidence about the broadside: Goddard was ready with several objections. Like Wagstaffe, the master was stopped from describing the absence of officers from the Jason's deck. Finally Ramage said: "I have no more questions to ask this witness that would be permitted by the president of the court."

"My dear fellow," Goddard said blandly, "ask what questions you wish; just make sure that, as laid down in the court-martial statutes, they are relevant to the charges - after all, there are enough charges ..."

There was no more point. Ramage decided as Southwick signed the minutes. All the evidence allowed would, like Goddard's manner whenever challenged, be bland. The other lieutenants, Paolo, Jackson, Stafford - whatever they said about the broadside would be disallowed so there was no point in calling them. In fact, that was the end of the defence. There remained only for him to make his defence statement.

Yet, he suddenly remembered, there was one witness who would be very offended if not called to give evidence.

Ramage said: "I wish to change my list of witnesses. May I be allowed to amend it?"

Goddard nodded and Ramage walked down to the end of the table. Jenkins gave him the list and handed him the pen. Ramage scored all through the names except one, added a few letters to it, and returned to his chair.

"Are you ready?" Goddard inquired, and when Ramage nodded he told Jenkins impatiently: "Call the next witness."