“I am saying that murder may have been committed, sir.”
There was an awkward silence.
The young midshipman stood defiantly under the close scrutiny of his captain.
When Roscarrock spoke, his voice was quiet. “Murder, Mr. Hart? Murder? That is a most serious accusation.”
Midshipman Hart raised his jaw defensively. “I have considered the implications of my accusation, sir.”
“Then, perhaps, you would be good enough to take me through the facts which would lead me to follow your line of thinking.”
Hart was eager now to demonstrate his arguments. “I have accepted that Lieutenant Jardine was an experienced gunnery officer. His station in any battle was to stand amidships behind guns number six on both port and starboard, a position where he could command the broadsides on both sides of the ship. His usual position was center ship, where no gun could recoil back if properly secured.”
Roscarrock said nothing. All this was common knowledge that was shared by even the young powder monkeys aboard. The boys who carried powder and shot to the cannon learned immediately they came aboard to avoid accidents such as getting caught in gun recoil.
Hart paused, and when his captain made no further comment, he went on quickly. “Each cannon is secured to its position by stay ropes which allow for recoil but control the extent of the recoil. Therefore, a gun can only jump back a yard or so at most.”
Roscarrock was still silent.
“In the case of number-six gun-” Hart turned to where members of the crew had now finished lashing the gun back into its position. “-the gun recoiled back across the deck and struck Lieutenant Jardine without being halted by the stay ropes.”
Roscarrock’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you telling me that the gun was not secured?”
“That is correct, sir. It was not secured. I believe that this was a deliberate act and no accident.”
“Deliberate? It could have been caused by a frayed stay rope which had not been picked up during an inspection.”
Midshipman Hart shook his head vehemently. “Two main ropes secure the gun. Both ropes would have had to be frayed and have snapped asunder at precisely the same moment. A frayed rope breaking on one side would not cause a straight recoil. The gun would have swung at an angle on its side as the stay rope on the other side would have pulled it to a halt there.”
“What are you saying, then?”
Midshipman Hart turned to the gun and picked up a couple of rope’s ends. “These are the ropes that attached the gun to the bulkhead to limit its recoil.” He held them out for Roscarrock’s inspection. “If you will observe, sir, you will see that both ropes were cut almost through by a sharp implement, a knife, to the point where the force of pressure from the first recoil would have snapped the remaining strands.”
Roscarrock examined the rope ends in silence before handing them back to the young midshipman. “Very well, Mr. Hart. Suppose we accept that someone did this in order to kill Lieutenant Jardine; we must then assume that whoever did it knew that in a battle Jardine would be standing behind that gun. His battle station was well known. But how would they been so sure as to the moment the gun was to be fired? They would have had to sever the ropes only when they were certain of an engagement, for tackle is inspected every three days on this ship.”
Midshipman Hart inclined his head thoughtfully. “You are quite right, sir.”
“Exactly so. You will agree that to achieve this purpose, the severing of the ropes had to be done just before we engaged the French. In those seconds during the very call to battle stations. There would surely have been witnesses to the deed.”
“Lieutenant Jardine was not popular with the men, sir.” It was Surgeon Smithers who made the deadpan comment.
There was no argument in that.
Roscarrock turned as if irritated to find Smithers still there, grinning broadly. “Very well, Doctor. I am sure that you have other duties to fulfill. I would ask you not to comment to any other person about this matter until we have cleared it up.”
Thus dismissed, the surgeon left to attend to those injured who needed his skills.
Roscarrock turned back to the young man. “Accepting the stay ropes on the cannon were tampered with in the way you suggest and for the purpose of causing the death of Lieutenant Jardine, and leaving aside the opportunity of that action, the surgeon is right-Lieutenant Jardine was not a popular officer on this ship. Any member of the crew could have done this. Even one of your fellow midshipmen.”
Hart raised his eyebrows in protest.
“Yes,” went on Roscarrock, before he could speak. “I know all about the punishments that Lieutenant Jardine handed out.”
One of the spiteful punishments that Jardine liked to order was having the master-of-arms inflict floggings on midshipmen who fell foul of his temper. They were made to “kiss the gunners daughter”: that was, they were stretched over the barrel of a cannon and beaten with a birch stick. “The gunners daughter” was naval slang for a cannon.
Roscarrock modulated his tone to speak in a friendly, reasonable fashion. “Look, Hart, most of the ship’s company will not shed a tear when Jardine”-he gestured to the body under the tarpaulin-”is tipped over the side. One-fifth of the ship’s company are pressed men. Jardine was commander of the press-gang at Chatham. There’s vengeance in their minds. And, as for the rest…” Roscarrock shrugged. “Better to forget the reason why; his family will rest more comfortably knowing that he died doing his duty.”
Midshipman Hart stood his ground. A look of stubbornness seemed to fill the features of the young midshipman. “Sir, my father is a parson, and I was raised to believe in truth and justice. I cannot agree to such a subterfuge. If a man has been murdered, then his killer must be found.”
Roscarrock sighed wearily. “If you must, pursue this matter, Mr. Hart. I see no purpose in it when there are a dozen other dead and dying to be accounted for in this engagement and probably more of us will die before we reach our home port again.”
“I would like to pursue my inquiry, sir,” the young man insisted stubbornly.
“Who is the gun captain of number six, portside?” Roscarrock demanded ominously after a short pause. “Pass the word for him. Perhaps we can settle the matter now.”
The gun captain was a muscular seaman in his late thirties. He stood nervously before them.
“How do you explain this, Evans?” demanded Roscarrock, a hand encompassing the gun and the body.
Evans shrugged slightly. “Ain’t got no explanation, sir,” he muttered. “The stay ropes jest snapped, and the cannon went straight back into the lieutenant. Broke the rammer’s foot as it jolted over it.”
The rammer was the man who stood by ready to ram wad and shot into the barrel.
“Did anyone notice that the stay ropes were frayed before you put your match to the gun?”
Evans shook his head vehemently. “The Frenchie was upon us and firing, sir. We just loaded with shot and waited for the order to fire.”
“Please, sir…,” Midshipman Hart intervened, indicating that he wished to ask a question.
Roscarrock nodded his assent.
“Where were you when we beat to quarters, Evans?”
The gun captain shifted his weight from one foot to another. “We were already on our way up from the lower deck. We’d heard the first cry that a Frenchie had been sighted, and so we came running for the gun deck, knowing a fight was in the offing. While we were running up, we heard the drum start beating to quarters.”
“And when did Lieutenant Jardine arrive?”
“Why, he was already at his station and cursing us for our slowness, though ‘twas unfair, as we were one of the first guns ready and run out, begging your pardon, sir. However, I do swear he was on the gun deck before we sighted the Frenchie.”
“You are sure about that? There was no time for anyone else to be on the gun deck at your gun between the sighting of the Frenchman and the arrival of Lieutenant Jardine?”
“The master’s mate was with him, sir.”
“Pass the word for the masters mate,” called Roscarrock to a passing seaman. Then he turned back to the
