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.