Byng was fifty years ago. And today? Certainly members of the present government were intellectually barely equipped to run some of the stalls he was now passing in the Market Place. Addington, for instance, the prime minister, was a man so weak and vacillating that no one in his right mind would leave him in charge of a greengrocery stall.
Yorke recalled bitterly that Alexis might in fact be calling on the wretched man in three or four days, trying to persuade him to do something. Yorke was far from sure what Alexis had in mind, and he was beginning to realize that Nicholas and his officers were just being polite.
Yes, they were deeply touched that Alexis had impulsively hired a coach and four and was at this very moment hurrying to London; they were very grateful for her spirited appearance in court. They appreciated that Yorke was waiting to give what evidence he could to help.
Yorke now realized that the "but" was that nothing Alexis could do would be in time. She would hardly have arrived in London by the time the court sat again next Monday; by Monday evening, or Tuesday morning at the latest, the court would have returned its verdict and Nicholas would have been found guilty or not guilty. And that would be that.
Yorke had the feeling that they thought Ramage would be found guilty and sentenced to death, but that the Admiralty would order a reprieve. Poor Alexis. Yorke knew by now that his sister loved Ramage but, more important, had during the long voyage home from the West Indies, when she had seen a good deal of him as a guest on board the Emerald or when they were dining on board the Calypso, accepted that she had lost him before she found him, because he was married to another woman. Alexis had come to know that woman through the occasional remarks of Ramage and his officers, and as she had learned of the circumstances of the two of them meeting at some island off Brazil, and the honeymoon cut short by Bonaparte's police, she had come to admire her.
At the moment she was trying to save him because he was a friend of the Yorkes who needed help; but she was also trying to save him for Sarah, whom she had never met. Perhaps - who really ever knew all the details of a person's motives? - she had wild hopes that if anything had happened to Sarah (which seemed highly probable) she could take her place. Whatever Alexis was about now, though, she did not know (fortunately, he thought) that on board the Calypso brave men had in fact finally given up.
And there was the Calypso's cutter, with Jackson standing at the top of the slippery steps ready to help him down. What did Jackson think? And Stafford and Rossi and all those other men who had fought beside Ramage and who never cared whether he was right or wrong, but only that he was their captain?
If their captain was in danger of his life in a French prison, they would be ready to follow Aitken and Southwick and the others in whatever desperate rescue attempt they decided to make. Now their captain was in deadly danger from his own people: from the very senior officers whom these seamen were supposed to respect.
As he said good morning to Jackson, and commented on the fine weather, the sun and the calm sea, he felt he wanted to do something violent: words had failed them all. He realized that he could watch Goddard fall into the sea and flounder around and drown, and his only emotions would be contempt and relief, in that order.
When Yorke arrived on board the Calypso and was met at the entryport by Ramage he was startled to find him grinning and obviously in high spirits, even though today was Sunday and tomorrow the trial was due to open again on board the Salvador del Mundo. There was one thing he had long ago learned about Nicholas, going back to those days when they were together on board the Post Office packet (which was when he first got to know and appreciate men like Southwick and Jackson). When a situation became what most men would regard as desperate, Ramage was likely to become ribald. Danger seemed to rouse him so that he brought zest to even the most routine activities. Loading a pistol, laying a sword blade on the wheel of a grindstone, all these became for Ramage not the prelude to some desperate adventure likely to put a term to his life but the bouquet which would bring a contented smile to a wine connoisseur. His modesty was not false: when he did something brave it genuinely embarrassed him to be congratulated because an action that seemed normal to him would be heroic for most other men.
"You have that contented look, mixed with excitement, of the cat that has stolen all the fish from the pantry and still has some left!" Yorke said.
"If she'll forgive the expression, our cat seems to have arrived!"
Yorke looked puzzled and Ramage led him below to the cabin, sat him down in the battered armchair, and gave him the letter which had been lying opened on the desk.
Yorke saw from the superscription that it was from the commander-in-chief, dated and timed earlier that morning, and telling Ramage:
I have received instructions from my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to postpone your trial for one week, and you are hereby informed that your trial will therefore be resumed seven days later at the same time in the morning . . .
"What do you think that means?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "It could mean that Goddard has been taken ill with the colic, or the commander-in-chief wants to prepare the great cabin of the Salvador del Mundo so that his wife can give a vast first-of-the-season ball in my honour ..."
"It could," Yorke agreed, "or perhaps the dockyard has run out of quills and ink so that Jenkins cannot delete evidence from his minutes, but I think there might be some other explanation. When did you get this?" he asked, waving the letter.
"The provost marshal brought it out an hour ago."
"Well, tell me; I'll never guess what it's all about."
"Alexis," Ramage said. "Obviously she's arrived in London."
"Alexis? What on earth has she got to do with this letter? She'll be in London in a day or so, yes, but this letter was written here in Plymouth."
"Ah, you're probably not the first brother who underestimated his sister. But let me tell you what I know, then we can speculate about the rest. The provost marshal (you met him, that young Lieutenant Hill) has been sitting behind me for the whole trial and he realized what Goddard is trying to do, so although officially he is my jailer, Hill is secretly on my side.
"Early this morning he was ordered by flag signal hoisted on Mount Wise to report to the commander-in-chief. He hurried on shore and was given this letter to deliver to me.
"Being an enterprising young fellow, he had a gossip with the commander-in-chief's secretary, who was somewhat ruffled and only too glad of a chance to describe how he had been called from his bed shortly after dawn - on a Sunday, too! - by a messenger who had ridden with an urgent signal from Portsmouth for the admiral.
"Apparently the Admiralty had sent a signal to Portsmouth by the telegraph - taking a matter of minutes - with orders that a messenger should immediately ride with it to Plymouth and deliver it to the commander-in-chief. The poor fellow has been riding for hours and has had a devil of a job getting fresh horses. Luckily there has been a moon, so that he could keep to the road at night.
"When the secretary - roused out when the messenger arrived - saw the instructions on the outside of the letter, signed and sealed by the port admiral at Portsmouth, he called his lord and master from his bed. The admiral read the signal, expressed his displeasure, and dictated that -" Ramage pointed at the letter, "- to the secretary, giving him precise instructions for getting it delivered to me. They're all the facts I know."
"So now we speculate, eh?" Yorke grinned cheerfully. "You start, because you know more about the bureaucracy than I."