'Damn,' Hill exclaimed unexpectedly, 'I forgot to tell the Marine sentry where to find us.'
Ramage had just looked at his watch and noted that the court should have assembled fifteen minutes earlier when the sentry knocked on the door. 'The admiral is just coming on board, sir.'
Hill looked at Ramage and said: 'I suppose the provost marshal isn't allowed to say anything, but George Hill would like to wish you the best, sir. The more I think about this trial, the less I understand what it's all about.'
Ramage smiled and nodded. 'Thank you. And if you are puzzled now, remember to pinch yourself halfway through!'
Hill opened the door and led the way back to a point where he could just see the big door into the great cabin and the Marine sentry outside it. 'We can see the admiral when he goes in, sir: there's no need for you to be waiting outside.'
Waiting outside and a target for any unpleasantness Goddard wanted to hand out in passing: this young man Hill was thoughtful . . . and in addition to the extra four shillings a day he would receive for acting as provost marshal, he was learning a lot about both people and the Navy.
The sentry (Ramage realized that Hill must have given him instructions) waved to Hill, who asked Ramage to follow him. 'They've just ordered the prisoner to be brought in, sir,' the sentry said.
Hill looked round at Ramage and inspected him. 'Excuse me, sir,' he said and gave Ramage's stock a gentle tug. He removed a tiny piece of fluff from the shoulder and then, adjusting his own sword and making sure that Ramage's sword was tucked firmly under his left arm, murmured: 'If you'll follow me, sir . . .'
The great cabin was full of men: six post-captains sat along one side of the table and six more the other, their backs to the sternlights. The fussy and bewigged deputy judge advocate sat at one end while Goddard sat at the other. Crouched, Ramage corrected himself: the fat, grey-faced man was hunched in the chair, holding the arms and looking like an aged toad preparing to leap. Except that now he was staring down at a pile of papers in front of him, deliberately ignoring Ramage's arrival. But all dozen members of the court were watching: the six facing the sternlights were twisted round on their chairs. Ramage did not recognize a single face. Every one of them wore epaulettes on both shoulders, indicating more than three years' seniority. Ramage realized that he was the only post-captain in the cabin wearing a single epaulette, on the right shoulder.
The rows of chairs and forms were filled with people - spectators and witnesses. He caught a glimpse of Yorke and wondered why he was sitting on a form, and he was just trying to think why Alexis was not with him when he saw her sitting on a chair in the front row, apparently on her own, the only woman in the cabin.
'The prisoner should be seated,' the deputy judge advocate said pompously, pointing to a chair, but Hill ignored him. Walking up to Goddard and placing Ramage's sword on the table in front of him, he reported quietly: 'The prisoner is delivered to the court, sir.'
Goddard growled an acknowledgement and said brusquely to the deputy judge advocate: 'Carry on, Mr Jenkins.'
Ramage sat down and crossed his legs. Yes, there was Captain William Shirley, sitting in a chair close to Jenkins. He had been bent over earlier, adjusting his shoe, and Ramage had missed seeing him.
Jenkins's face was shiny and he looked harassed. Already he would have been busy, first checking the seniority of the captains by examining their commissions, and seating them so that the most senior were nearer to the president and the two men at Jenkins' own end were the most junior.
Now he searched through the papers in front of him, found a particular one and, tilting it slightly towards the sternlights, began by reading the letter from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, a copy of which Ramage had already received, ordering the trial following the request by Captain Shirley.
Putting that page to one side, Jenkins searched for another, scattering the bunch of quills as he shuffled through several sheets. Finally he began reading, in an even more lugubrious voice, the commander-in-chief's warrant appointing him the deputy judge advocate for the trial of Captain the Lord Ramage. As he finished he stood looking round the court as though anticipating applause, and Goddard snapped: 'Well, get on with it, man!'
Ramage, glancing at the row of spectators and witnesses, caught Alexis's eye and at the same time realized that all the officers in the cabin were glancing at her surreptitiously: she was dressed elegantly in a long dress of dark olive-green with a matching hat obviously inspired by the military shako. Her long-handled parasol was a lighter green - and it was looking at it that made Ramage realize that the hat was a slightly lighter colour too. And although he had not really noticed it on board the Emerald or the Calypso, but it made a contrast with the pinks and whites here, she was very suntanned: unfashionably so, he could hear the admirals' wives saying disapprovingly: that was why one carried a parasol. But these scrawny old harpies never went to sea, or if they did they never came up on deck. They had never learned that one could sit under an awning and never for a moment be in the sun, but after a few days would have a tan: the sun reflecting up unnoticed from the sea was almost as merciless as the direct rays.
Then Ramage realized why Alexis was sitting in the front row and on the larboard side while her brother sat on a form on the other side. Goddard had met Sidney years ago in Jamaica and might well remember him (probably would, since it was not a pleasant meeting for Goddard), but he had never before seen Alexis and could never guess they were brother and sister. Had Sidney thought up some trick? Ramage decided that was impossible: their evidence could be only about what they had seen. No, Sidney had probably decided there was no need for them to be associated on the off-chance that - well. Ramage could not think, but he found her nearness curiously comforting.
Now Jenkins was getting ready to administer the oath to each of the captains sitting at the table, and the president. He started with Goddard, who stood up, put his hand on the Bible held out by Jenkins, and read from a card which the deputy judge advocate held discreetly to one side:
'I, Jebediah Goddard, do hereby swear that I will duly administer justice, according to the Articles and Orders established by an Act passed in the twenty-second year of the reign of His Majesty, King George III, for amending, explaining and reducing into one Act of Parliament, the laws relating to the Government of His Majesty's ships, vessels and forces by sea, without partiality, favour or affection; and if any case shall arise which is not particularly mentioned in the said Articles and orders, I will duly administer justice according to my conscience, the best of my understanding, and the custom of the Navy in like cases; and I do further swear that I will not upon any account, at any time whatsoever, disclose or discover the vote or opinion of any particular member of this court martial unless required by Act of Parliament, so help me God!'
Goddard had ended with his voice ringing through the cabin in what he assumed was an assured and righteous tone, and again Alexis caught Ramage's eye and by an almost imperceptible lifting of her eyebrows asked: 'Do we have to listen to that another twelve times?'
An equally almost imperceptible nod of his head assured her and, as if that was the signal, Jenkins turned to the captain on Goddard's right, the most senior.
Holding out the Bible for him to rest his hand on, Jenkins showed the card and the captain, giving his name as John Swinford, repeated the oath. A stocky but lean-faced man, blue-eyed and speaking in a clear but not fussily precise voice, Swinford seemed shrewd - but he was at the right hand of a man who could do him harm by telling tales to the commander-in-chief although that was true for all the captains, Ramage reminded himself.
Jenkins was about to move round to take the next most senior captain, sitting on Goddard's left, when the rear-admiral said: 'Carry on down that side of the table - I'm sure that God doesn't recognize the seniority in the Navy List.'
Several of the captains gave appreciative smiles but Ramage sensed that had Goddard been a popular man there would have been outright laughs where now there were almost wary grins.
As Jenkins went on to the next captain, James Royce, Ramage sat back and watched Captain Shirley. The man was sitting perfectly still. On the deck under his chair he had several books, one of which Ramage recognized as being the master's log and another, from its shape and size, a captain's journal. He held a pile of several papers on his lap and two or three of them had seals.
What was curious, Ramage thought, was the fact that the man remained absolutely motionless: he did not move his head to follow Jenkins's progress round the table with the Bible, he did not glance at Goddard, and the cabin might well have been empty instead of crowded with witnesses and spectators. He never glanced at Alexis; he did not appear to see the knot of officers whom Ramage recognized as from the Jason. In fact Shirley did not seem to be in any way connected to the present proceedings. It was as though they were all in the front seats in church, but a man sat alone in a pew at the back, ignoring the preacher and never joining in the responses, and completely oblivious of the stirring notes of the organ.
Remote. That word alone described Shirley, and Ramage realized that when he had seen him on board the Jason the man was probably not ignoring what went on round him, he was just detached from it. Most men with papers in their lap shuffled through them at tedious times like these, when Jenkins or one of the captains droned on, going through their own part of the trial ritual. Any other man might look down at the pile of books to reassure himself that he had not forgotten one. But not Shirley. Remote, yes but, Ramage now realized, the remoteness of carved marble or - he could picture one without effort - a scavenging bird waiting on a tree stump.
Jenkins finally administered the oath to the last captain, sitting on Goddard's left, and this brought him into position for the last part of the trial ritual. Goddard stood up and said to the deputy judge advocate: 'Give me the Holy Evangelist - now, with your hand on it, make your oath.'
Jenkins took a deep breath and with a sanctimonious expression on his face intoned: 'I, Hubert Jenkins, do swear that I will not, upon any account, at any time whatsoever, disclose or discover the vote or opinion of any particular member of this court martial, unless thereunto required by Act of Parliament, so help me God.'
Taking the Bible from Goddard, Jenkins strode back to his chair with all the self-importance of a bishop's wife. He shuffled through his papers again and, still standing, announced: 'It is now my duty to read the letter of accusation against the prisoner.'
He gave the paper a brisk shake, as though removing an unsightly crease. 'The letter is addressed to the commander-in-chief at Plymouth and is dated on board His Majesty's frigate the Jason at sea. It begins: 'Sir, I beg leave to acquaint you that this day, Captain Nicholas Ramage, the commanding officer of His Majesty's ship Calypso, frigate, did board my ship with a party of his men and did remove me from command, putting in my place one of his own lieutenants, in breach of the spirit of the Articles of War. I request that you will be pleased to apply to the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty for a Court Martial to be held upon the said Captain Nicholas Ramage for the said offence, I am, etcetera and etcetera, William Shirley.' '
Jenkins then sat down with the smug look of a man who considered the important part of his task had been done. The captains had been assembled and ranged round the table in order of seniority; they had all taken the oath; and (unknown to Ramage) because this was now regarded as an important trial, Jenkins had taken affidavits from the witnesses who would be supporting the charges against Captain Ramage and, in accordance with the regulations, had given copies to the commander-in-chief and to Rear-Admiral Goddard as president of the court-martial, 'but no other members of the court'. The court-martial statutes, as Jenkins knew well enough, made no provisions for copies to be given to the accused. For the time being the affidavits, like grenades, waited in the pile of papers in front of him for the appropriate moment for them to be lobbed into the proceedings.
Goddard looked round the cabin and said abruptly: 'All witnesses are to withdraw, except for the first witness in support of the charge.'
The scraping of chairs and forms made Ramage realize that several of the men who had been sitting on the chairs and forms and who he had assumed were merely spectators were in fact Shirley's witnesses. He guessed there were two or three dozen, perhaps more. Ramage saw Southwick, Aitken, Bowen, Wagstaffe, the other junior officers and Jackson with three more seamen heading for the door, followed by Sidney Yorke. Ramage was suddenly conscious of a curious hush in the
