Ramage (24 page)

Already the first of the bumboats was putting off from the quays laden with women, fruit and wine: the first two no doubt overripe and all three too expensive. Dawlish saw them coming and told some Marines the boats were not to approach within twenty-five yards.

‘Can’t trust these Corsicans,’ he commented to Ramage. ‘Half are sympathetic to the French and waiting for them to arrive; the other half are so scared we’ll be thrown out that they daren’t help us for fear of reprisals later. But they’re all united in one thing – cheating us.’

‘Corsican bumboatmen aren’t unique in that.’

‘No, I mean the people generally. I wouldn’t like to be the Viceroy: old Sir Gilbert must have a deal of patience to handle them. And the Army – you know, we’ve only about 1,500 soldiers to defend this place.’

‘Probably enough to defend the port itself.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. How the devil did we ever get landed with Corsica in the first place?’ asked Dawlish.

‘Well,’ said Ramage, ‘about three years ago this fellow Paoli led the Corsicans in revolt against the French, threw them out, and asked for British protection. The Government sent out a Viceroy – Sir Gilbert. But I don’t think it’s much of a success: Paoli and Sir Gilbert don’t agree now, and Paoli’s quarrelled with his own people. If you’ve got two Corsicans, you’ve got two parties on your hands. And Paoli’s an old and sick man.’

‘I don’t see how Bonaparte can possibly invade,’ said Dawlish. ‘We’ve searched for transports in every anchorage from Elba to Argentario, and captured or sunk the few we found. They do say, though, that all manner of privateers are sneaking over at night from the mainland with Corsican revolutionaries – on a cash basis, a couple of dozen or so at a time. Some of the prisoners we took in the brig said the French were so sick and tired of the Corsicans in Leghorn they’re giving them arms and cash and encouraging ’em to go and liberate Corsica just to get rid of ’em. The French reckon they’ve nothing to lose: if we capture ’em at sea it means fewer causing trouble in Leghorn, and if they manage to land – well, it’s trouble for us.’

Dawlish suddenly put his telescope to his eye. ‘Midshipman! Look alive there! The
Trumpeter’
s hoisting a signal.’

A boy scurried to the bulwarks, steadying his telescope against one of the shrouds.

‘Four-oh-six,’ he called out. ‘That’s us, sir!’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, boy!’

‘Two-one-four – that’s for a lieutenant from ships of the fleet, or ships pointed out, to come on board. Then – Christ! That’s funny!’

‘What’s funny, boy?’

‘Next hoist is number eight-oh-eight, sir: a ship, but I don’t know her. I’ll look in the list.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Ramage, ‘that was the
Sibella
’s number. They want me. Acknowledge it, Jack, and let me have a boat, please. By the way, who commands the
Trumpeter
now?’

‘Croucher, I’m afraid; one of Goddard’s pets.’

‘And I can see more than five post captains.’ Ramage waved a hand to indicate the warships at anchor.

Dawlish looked puzzled.

‘You’ve forgotten the Courts Martial Statutes,’ said Ramage. ‘Remember – “If any five or more of His Majesty’s ships or vessels of war shall happen to meet together in foreign parts…it shall be lawful for the senior officer…to hold courts martial and preside thereat…”’

‘Oh – of course; so Croucher can…’

‘Exactly – and will, no doubt. Can you lend me a hat and sword?’

The 74-gun
Trumpeter
was very large compared with the
Lively
, and her shiny paintwork and gilding showed Captain Croucher was rich enough to dip deeply into his own purse to keep her looking smart, since the Navy Board’s issue of paint was meagre – so meagre, Ramage recalled, as the boat’s bowman hooked on and waited for him to climb on board, that one captain was reputed to have asked the Board which side of his ship he should paint with it.

Ramage scrambled up the thick battens forming narrow steps on the ship’s side and, saluting the quarter-deck, asked the neatly-dressed lieutenant at the gangway to be taken to the captain.

‘Ramage, isn’t it?’ the lieutenant asked disdainfully.

Ramage glanced at the spotty face and then slowly looked him up and down. A few months over twenty years old – the minimum age for a lieutenant – with very little brain but a great deal of influence to ensure rapid promotion. The spotty face blushed, and Ramage knew its owner guessed his thoughts.

‘This way,’ he said hurriedly, ‘Captain Croucher and Lord Probus are waiting for you.’

Captain Croucher’s quarters were vaster than Lord Probus’: more headroom, so that it was possible to stand upright in the great cabin, and more furniture. Too much, in fact, and too much silverware on display.

Croucher was painfully thin. His uniform was elegantly cut and immaculately pressed, but all his tailor’s skill could not disguise the fact that Nature had sold him short; as far as flesh was concerned, Croucher had been given ‘Purser’s measure’, in other words only fourteen ounces to the pound.

‘Come in, Ramage,’ he said as the lieutenant announced him.

Ramage, who had never met Croucher before, almost laughed when he saw the truth in the man’s punning nickname, ‘The Rake’. The eyes were sunk deep in the skull while the bone of the forehead protruded above them so that each eye looked like some evil serpent glaring out from under a ledge in a rock. The man’s mouth was a label which revealed meanness, weakness and viciousness – three constant bed-fellows, thought Ramage. The hands were like claws, attached to the body by wrists as thin as broom handles.

Probus was standing with his back to the stern lights so that his face was in shadow and he looked uncomfortable, as if dragged into something which he could not avoid but which embarrassed him.

‘Now, Ramage, I want an account of your proceedings,’ said Croucher. His voice was high-pitched and querulous, exactly suited to the mouth.

‘In writing, sir, or verbally?’

‘Verbally, man, verbally: I’ve a copy of your report.’

‘There’s nothing more to say than that, sir.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, then, what about this?’ asked Croucher, picking up several sheets of paper from his desk. ‘What about this, eh?’

‘He can hardly know what that is,’ Probus interposed quickly.

‘Well, I can soon enlighten him; this, young man, is a complaint, an accusation – a charge, in fact – by Count Pisano, that you are a coward: that you deliberately abandoned his wounded cousin to the French. What have you to say to that?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘Nothing? Nothing? You admit you are a coward?’

‘No, sir: I meant I’ve nothing to say about Count Pisano’s accusations. Does he say he knows for certain his cousin was wounded and not dead?’

‘Well – hmm…’ Croucher glanced over the pages. ‘Well, he doesn’t say so in as many words.’

‘I see, sir.’

‘Don’t be so deuced offhand, Ramage,’ Croucher snapped, and added with a sneer, ‘it’s not the first time one of your family’s been involved over the Fifteenth Article, and now perhaps even the Tenth…’

The Fifteenth Article of War laid down the punishment for ‘every person in or belonging to the Fleet’ who might surrender one of the King’s ships ‘cowardly or treacherously to the enemy’; while the Tenth dealt with anyone who ‘shall treacherously or cowardly yield or cry for quarter’.

Croucher’s remark was so insulting that Probus stiffened, but Ramage said quietly: ‘You’ll forgive me for saying the Twenty-second Article prevents me from replying, sir.’

Croucher flushed: the Twenty-second Article, among other things, forbade anyone from drawing, or offering to draw, a weapon against a superior officer: one that prevented a disgruntled junior officer from challenging a senior officer to a duel.

‘You’re too glib, young man; much too glib. Now, are you not the senior surviving officer of the
Sibella
?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then the day after tomorrow, Thursday, you will be brought to trial in the normal way so we can inquire into the cause and circumstances of her loss.’

‘Aye aye, sir.’

As the boat took Ramage back to the
Lively
, he was surprised to find he felt reasonably cheerful. Now the trial was imminent, now he’d seen the enemy himself, the prospect seemed less frightening. Obviously Admiral Goddard had received a report from the
Sibella’
s Bosun when the three boats arrived in Bastia, and had left instructions with Croucher telling him what to do when Ramage arrived. Little did Goddard dream that Croucher would have such an easy task…

Next morning, Wednesday, as a prisoner at large, Ramage had no duties in the ship, which seemed curiously empty now the girl and her cousin had been taken on shore to lodge at the Viceroy’s house. No doubt, Ramage thought bitterly, Sir Gilbert and Lady Elliot were hearing for the tenth time Pisano’s wretched story. Well, Sir Gilbert was a hard-headed Scot who’d known the Ramage family for years. Would he be shocked?

Late that afternoon a boat from the
Trumpeter
arrived alongside the
Lively
and a lieutenant delivered several sealed documents, and after the receipts had been signed went on to visit each of the other ships in the harbour. A few minutes later Lord Probus’ clerk brought Ramage a bulky letter addressed to him.

Written on board the
Trumpeter
, dated a day earlier, and signed by someone calling himself ‘Deputy Judge Advocate upon the occasion’ (presumably her purser) the letter said:

‘Captain Aloysius Croucher, commanding officer of His Majesty’s ship
Trumpeter
and senior officer of His Majesty’s ships and vessels present at Bastia, having directed the assembly of a court martial to inquire into the cause and circumstances of the loss of His Majesty’s late frigate
Sibella
, lately under your command, and try yourself as the sole surviving officer for your conduct so far as it may relate to the loss of the said ship; and it being intended that I shall act as deputy judge advocate at the said court martial, which is to be held on board the
Trumpeter
, Thursday, the 15th instant, at eight o’clock in the morning; I send you herewith a copy of the order…also copies of the papers referred to in the order, and am to desire you will be pleased to transmit me a list of such persons as you may think proper to call to give evidence in your favour, that they may be summoned to attend accordingly.’

The letter was signed ‘Horace Barrow’. Ramage glanced at the enclosed documents. One was a copy of Croucher’s order appointing Barrow the Deputy Judge Advocate; the second was the order for the trial; the third a copy of Pisano’s letter to Lord Probus; the fourth a copy of Ramage’s own report, and the last told him that the
Sibella’
s Boatswain and Carpenter’s Mate would be called as witnesses in support of the charge.

Ramage sensed that something strange was going on: why was Pisano’s letter, which had nothing to do with the loss of the
Sibella
, enclosed among the ‘papers referred to’ in Croucher’s order? Ramage guessed Croucher wanted to get the letter written into the minutes of the trial so that the Admiralty would read it, and this was the only way of doing it. The legality was doubtful; but Ramage guessed the letter was bound to come out in the open some time, so it might as well be now.

He pulled out his watch: he had just eighteen hours to find witnesses and draw up his defence…

He’d need the Bosun, who was next in seniority and the best man to give evidence about the
Sibella’
s casualties; the Carpenter’s Mate for her condition at the time he abandoned her; and Jackson, since he was with Ramage for most of the brief period of his command. And the boy who brought the message telling him that he was in command. And the two seamen who helped him up to the quarter-deck: he couldn’t remember their names, but Jackson would.

Ramage walked over to the master’s mate, who was acting as officer of the watch now that the
Lively
was at anchor – Probus was not one of the fussy captains who insisted lieutenants stood watches while in harbour – and asked him to pass the word for Jackson, but before the master’s mate had time to open his mouth Ramage heard Lord Probus’ cox’n yelling down the forehatch for him. What did Probus want with Jackson?

‘Belay that,’ Ramage said. ‘I’ll wait till the Captain’s seen him.’

He did not have to wait long: within three or four minutes of Jackson going down to the Captain’s cabin, he came up again, looking for Ramage. He hurried over, saluted and said in an aggrieved voice, ‘I’ve just received orders from the Captain, sir.’

‘Well, he’s every right to give you orders.’

‘I know, sir; but I’m to take our lads over to the
Topaze
, sir: we’re all being transferred to her at once, on Captain Croucher’s orders.’

Ramage glanced over at the little black-hulled
Topaze
. As a sloop she was small enough to be commanded by a lieutenant or a commander – an officer too junior to sit at his court martial. He saw that the boat from the
Trumpeter
had just left her, having presumably delivered orders from Croucher to her commanding officer.