"The Officers and Seamen of all ships, appointed for Convoy and Guard of Merchant Ships, or of any other, shall diligently attend to that Charge ... and whosoever shall be faulty therein, and shall not faithfully perform their Duty, and defend the Ships and Goods in their Convoy, without diverting to other Parts or Occasions, or refusing or neglecting to fight in their Defence, if they be assailed, or running away cowardly, and submitting the Ships of their Convoy to Peril and Hazard ... be punished criminally according to the Quality of their Offences, be it by Pains of Death, or other punishment, according as shall be adjudged fit by the Court martial."
Having written the three Articles, Ramage took a fresh sheet, once again wrote "Defence" across the top and once again found himself staring at the single word on the page several minutes later.
He needed a walk round the deck in the fresh air. Perhaps a look up at the Arrogant''s starboard fore yardarm would sharpen his wits. He banged on the door, called the sentry and told him to pass the word for the marshal.
The Marine lieutenant was there, opening the door, before the man had time to call.
"What do you want?"
"Good morning," Ramage said politely.
"Oh - good morning. You..."
"Want some exercise."
"You can't-"
"Then send for the surgeon."
"Why, you're not ill - are you?"
"I'll want a certificate to postpone the trial."
"What on earth are-"
"I have a splitting headache and I can't work on my defence."
"Your defence!" the man sneered. "It shouldn't take very long to write that out!"
"The surgeon," Ramage said and sat down abruptly.
"Oh, very well! Half an hour's walk, then."
Up on deck it promised to be a fine day; with luck the Trade winds would set in early and keep a breeze blowing through the great cabin. As Ramage paced up and down, with the marshal following a few steps behind, he looked round at the anchored ships.
At least five captains would be cursing at the thought of having to spend the day sitting at his trial - a minimum of five were necessary to form a court martial - but the thought gave him no satisfaction and he paced up and down. He watched seamen go to the flag locker, secure two sequences of flags to the signal halyards, and then hoist them smartly after tying them into neat bundles.
Ramage watched idly as the first bundle reached the block and one of the seamen gave a sharp tug on the halyard to break it out
Automatically Ramage read the signal. Number 223. He couldn't remember the exact wording, but it was to the effect that flag officers, captains, commanders and anyone else concerned in the court martial that had been ordered were to report on board the ship whose name would be pointed out. A few minutes later the signal was hauled down and another one run up. The flags breaking out gave the Arrogant's pendant number.
Then, showing they had been ready, the Union flag streamed out from the Arrogant’s mizen peak, indicating that a court martial was to be held on board.
His own court martial! It seemed unreal, remote and so distant from its cause, that wild night when the Triton's carronades were cutting swathes through the boarders covering the Peacock's deck, and Jackson was blazing away at her helmsmen with a musketoon. In reality the court-martial flag now flying from the Arrogant had its origins in the trial of his father. Linking that trial and this was one man, Jebediah Arbuthnot Goddard, then a captain and now Rear-Admiral of the White.
He pulled out his watch. A minute past seven. The trial began in an hour and a half.
Ransom, the provost marshal, who had been standing against the taffrail, came up to Ramage.
"Come on, back to your cell."
"Cell?"
"Cabin, then."
"Do you have to be so obviously crude and unpleasant? I've not been found guilty yet."
"You will be," Ransom sneered.
"If I'm not, you'd better watch yourself," Ramage said angrily. "You're behaving more like a jackal than a gentleman. Just make sure the body's dead before you get to work."
"Carrion," Ransom said viciously, "all carrion!"
At that moment someone called Ransom's name. The voice was contemptuous, and it sounded familiar. Ramage looked round to see Captain Croucher standing watching, his eyes glittering like a lizard's under the jutting eyebrows. He looked angry and Ramage turned away so that neither man should think he was trying to eavesdrop. Croucher made no particular attempt to keep his voice low, however, and Ramage heard a few words here and there.
"... think you're doing? ... you can at least try ... gentleman ... only accused ... even if condemned ... might ... your turn one day..."
A chastened Ransom came back. Croucher had frightened him.
"My lord," he said, "we'd better go below."
"I don't use my title," Ramage snapped. "You know that!"
"Er - yes, as you please."
Ramage went down to the cabin puzzled by Croucher's behaviour. Clearly the man had overheard Ramage's exchange with Ransom, but why was Croucher, of all people, concerned about the way Ramage was being treated by the acting provost marshal? He was not a man to do another a good turn unless he had a reason. Had Goddard's behaviour in the hurricane brought about a change of heart?
An hour later the Lion's yawl was alongside the Arrogant and Ramage climbed up the side and stood watching as Ransom scrambled after him, carrying both their swords. When he finally managed to get on board without falling, Ramage could not resist saying: "Next time you're appointed a provost marshal, don't let the prisoner surrender his sword until you're both on board the ship where the trial's being held. You might drop it and find yourself being sued for a hundred guineas for a new one."
The Marine lieutenant flushed, and one of the Arrogant’s lieutenants, obviously the officer of the day, said unsympathetically, "He's right, you know; only a fool goes up a ship's side with two swords, and you seem to be clumsier than most!"
He turned to Ramage.
"The presence of our military friend here makes me think you are probably the unfortunate fellow inscribed on my list as Lieutenant Ramage, the prisoner'."
Ramage grinned and gave a mock bow. " 'Lieutenant Ramage-the-Prisoner' at your service."
The lieutenant marked his list and turned to the provost marshal.
"And you, my nimble friend, are probably the King's bad bargain herein listed as 'Lieutenant Ransom, acting provost marshal upon the occasion', and if you'll but nod your head, I'll bestow a tick against the name as a slight token of my approval."
Ransom nodded dumbly, overwhelmed by the lieutenant's bantering manner.
"Well," the lieutenant continued, "you have committed the ultimate social solecism by arriving too early for the ball. Numerous brave and distinguished post captains must first board us, not to mention an admiral named God Ard, or should it be 'ard God?, and dance the opening minuet before you'll be allowed to blunder on to the floor and fall flat on your face because you've got your sword caught between your legs. Ah me," he said, with a delicate yawn, "what pitfalls face an acting provost marshal. You'll have earned your four shillings a day by the time the sun sets."
He turned to Ramage: "If you're planning to escape, be pleased to wait until after the end of my watch: t'would be a pity if my remarkably promising career was brought to an untimely end for failing to stop you. The Navy can't afford to lose brilliant young men like me."
"How could you possibly think I'd be so thoughtless?" Ramage said. "Only a bounder would escape before the forenoon watch."
"I'm glad you see things my way," the lieutenant said, "such a pleasure to deal with a gentleman: we seem to be getting such a poor class of fellow these days, don't you agree?"