Ramage always found Jamaica one of the most exciting of tropical landfalls, with the peaks of the aptly named Blue Mountains showing up fifty miles away. They were sighted low on the western horizon just before sunset on the fifth day.
Responsibility for the safety of a small schooner with important passengers and laden with a king's ransom in treasure meant that Ramage, Southwick and Yorke did not have more than two hours' uninterrupted sleep after leaving Snake Island. Once across the Mona Passage, with Hispaniola a few miles on the starboard beam, the lookouts had done little else than hail "Deck there!" and report a sail in sight.
Each time Ramage had to thrust aside his training as a naval officer and try to think with the mind of the fictitious Spanish captain that he had become. If anyone boarded them he had to remember that he was ostensibly on passage from Puerto Rico to Havana, Cuba, with provisions for Havana's garrison and seamen intended for a frigate being commissioned there. It sounded likely, and only four ships had inquired - one Spanish and two French privateers, and a French national sloop. Ramage was thankful not to have sighted a British frigate; he was in no mood to be delayed while he tried to persuade some sceptical post captain of the truth of his improbable story.
He had ordered Southwick to reduce sail for the rest of the night to ensure that they arrived off Morant Point, at the eastern end of Jamaica, soon after dawn.
The St Brieucs were on deck at sunrise, eager for their first good look at the island they had many times despaired of ever seeing, and Maxine's excitement was catching. "It is so green - and so mountainous!" she exclaimed to Ramage.
"When Columbus was describing it to Queen Isabella, he crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it on the table."
"Where is Port Royal?" she asked.
"Just to the right of the highest peak. But there's not much of it left after an earthquake and a hurricane. Kingston is the main harbour now."
By nine o'clock, Southwick came down to Ramage's cabin to report that he could just distinguish the eastern end of the Palisadoes, and Ramage went on deck to find Yorke helping Maxine with a telescope and trying to tell her what to look for.
"You see how the land runs east and then curves south?" Ramage said. "Well, Kingston is in the elbow. The Palisadoes is a long spit running parallel with the land like a trigger, with Port Royal and the entrance to Kingston Harbour at the tip."
"Towns!" Maxine said contemptuously. "You talk of towns, with all this to look at? Just look at those mountains! And the mist in the valleys. It's magical!"
Yorke grimaced at Ramage as Maxine moved the telescope to range over the rest of the island.
"Just look!" Maxine said excitedly. "All the little ships - and canoes close to the beach."
"Local fishermen," Yorke murmured.
"All the houses with pointed roofs!"
"Cattle mills," Ramage said. "They use cattle to work the machinery to make sugar."
"And tall chimneys with smoke coming out of them!"
"The chimneys of the boiling houses," Ramage said.
"What are they boiling?"
"The sugar cane. Extracting the molasses."
"Tell me how they make sugar," she demanded.
"I don't know," Ramage said firmly. "All I do know is it makes a terrible smell."
"Excuse me, sir," said Southwick, "but I can't make out the pilot schooner - permission to fire a gun?"
Ramage nodded: both inshore and ahead of La Perla there were now a dozen or more vessels, ranging from small droggers bringing cargoes of sugar, molasses and rum into Kingston from a dozen coves and bays round the coast, to large schooners arriving from many different countries.
As soon as the gun boomed out, they saw a schooner close inshore suddenly making sail and then heading towards them.
"Ha! They take their time," Southwick grumbled.
"Don't forget La Perla isn't one of the King's ships," Ramage said. "As far as they're concerned she's just another little schooner with heavily-patched sails."
"Wait till they see that!" Southwick said, gesturing to the British flag that now streamed out above the Spanish, indicating that she was a prize.
"The pilot won't be impressed," Ramage said. "He'll have seen too many captured ships of the line brought in."
Ten minutes later both La Perla and the pilot schooner were lying hove-to as a small canoe brought the pilot on board. As he watched, Ramage thought for the first time in many hours of the problems that probably awaited him in Kingston.
First, the hunt for the treasure, then the reception of La Perla, and finally the voyage itself, had given him other things to think about. Now he had to face the fact that Rear-Admiral Goddard was probably in Kingston. A ship of the line like the Lion, if properly handled, should survive a hurricane. By now, though, the Admiral might well have given up hope that Ramage had survived to face whatever had been prepared for him.
The pilot scrambling nimbly on board was a muscular young Negro dressed in white canvas trousers, a gaudy blue and yellow shirt and a narrow-brimmed straw hat which many coats of black varnish had made as a rigid as a cast-iron cooking pot.
He stared at the British flag over the Spanish ensign and looked slowly round La Perla.
"Come on, Blackie!" Southwick said impatiently.
"Harry Wilson, if you please, sah."
The Master sniffed. "Very well, Harry Wilson, as soon as your canoe is clear of our bow we're getting under way again."
The man sniffed in turn, implying that his talents were wasted on such a small vessel.
"A nice little ship," he said conversationally to Ramage, who had not yet changed back into uniform. He caught sight of Maxine, raised his hat and gave a deep bow. He then turned back to Southwick. "A sound little ship. You must have a nice captain to send you off in command of the prize crew."
Ramage looked steadily at Southwick, defying him to squash the pilot.
Getting no reaction from Southwick, Wilson turned to Ramage. "Who is she prize to?"
"The Triton brig."
"No trouble finding a buyer here; she's a nice size. A schooner like this sold a month ago for fifteen hundred pounds."
"Good, we can do with the money," Ramage said as Southwick relieved his annoyance by bellowing the orders that got La Perla under way again.
Yorke had been standing by the taffrail. He was no stranger toKingston and was finding it pleasant watching and knowing the navigation of the ship was no responsibility of his.
The pilot glanced at both Ramage and Yorke once or twice, obviously puzzled. He recognized the bearing of an officer, but the only man on deck wearing a uniform was Southwick.
"You know Kingston?" the pilot asked Ramage.
"No."
He had been in and out several times when he was a young midshipman, but did anyone really know Kingston? The life in the big houses was considerably more luxurious than that in the great houses in London, since few people in England could afford such an army of servants. But what was life like in the tiny shacks in the mountains, where the thumping of voodoo drums was as commonplace as the sound of tree frogs?
"These batteries," the pilot said, pointing to the harbour entrance. "Blow you out of the water! Boom boom - then no more of your little ship."
"You're safe enough here," Ramage said in a suitably awed voice.
"We need them!" the pilot said, peering over the side at the shoal only twenty yards to windward. "Privateers ... the Spanish at Cuba ... just pirates. Channel narrow here - you wouldn't get far without a pilot, mister."
He pointed to the land on the starboard side and the dozens of cays and reefs on the larboard bow. Apart from an occasional almost casual direction to Southwick, Wilson then lapsed into a sulky silence and Ramage walked back to join Yorke at the taffrail.
The Palisadoes, with the harbour and town of Kingston behind it, was now abeam as La Perla sailed along parallel with the shore and a mile off. Half an hour later as the pilot gave directions for the schooner to turn north to anchor off Port Royal, Ramage signalled to Southwick that he would take the conn. At the same time, Yorke began to point out various sights to Maxine.
"The remains of Port Royal," he said, pointing to the western end of the Palisadoes. "You see the hill on the side? The big battery up there is called the Twelve Apostles. Now - it's just coming clear of the point - you can see Fort Charles: the low, red brick walls are all that's left. And beyond - Gallows Point!"
Maxine shuddered.
"You'll see the bodies still hanging from the gallows - mutineers from the Hermione frigate!"
"Mon Dieu! How long have they been there?"
"A year or two. They're wrapped in chains, a warning to other seamen..."
Southwick was on the foredeck making sure everything was ready for anchoring, and Yorke excused himself and walked over to Ramage.
"Everyone with a telescope is watching us by now," he said quietly.
Ramage nodded. "And they won't make head or tail of it!"
"Just another prize sent in by a frigate?"
"Yes - the only interest will be in guessing how much she'll fetch."
By now the pilot was standing by the main chains, apparently in a huff, so no one could hear them talk.
"M'sieur St Brieuc was right," Yorke said quietly. "You are going to take his advice, aren't you?"
"I suppose so," Ramage said reluctantly. "I haven't really made up my mind."
"You're leaving it rather late!"
"I know," Ramage said glumly. "I hate getting them involved in this sort of nonsense."
"Involved? See here, Ramage!" Ramage was startled by the harsh note in Yorke's voice, "They owe their lives to you." He held up a hand to silence Ramage's protest. "That's a fact. Certainly once, with the Peacock attack, and probably twice, getting us all ashore at Snake Island and then to Jamaica!"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders, but Yorke persisted.
"Anyway, he's going to involve himself, whether you agree or not. If you were simply a lieutenant with no problems he'd be grateful and want to show it. He's doing no more because it's you."
"All right!" Ramage said wearily, "I'll do as he says. I appreciate his suggestion."
"Is your report all ready?"
"Dozens of reports," Ramage said sourly. "I seem to have been scribbling ever since we passed Puerto Rico. There's a lot to be said for losing your ship and escaping in an open boat - you don't have pen and paper, then."
Yorke laughed. "The Navy floats in ink, and ships are built of paper."
"And their guns fire broadsides of pens," Ramage added.
"So M'sieur St Brieuc will keep out of sight until tomorrow," Yorke said as a statement of fact.
"I suppose that's all right," Ramage said doubtfully. "This damned protocol. Who does he report to, anyway?"
"The Lieutenant Governor. His letters are addressed to him."
Ramage gave a sigh of relief. "That's a help. I should have guessed that."
"What do you do now?" Yorke asked.
"As soon as we anchor and clear Customs here at Port Royal - the manifest won't mention the bullion - we'll shift into Kingston and I'll go on shore and report to the Commander-in-Chief if Goddard isn't there."
The two men stood looking round them as La Perla completed the last few hundred yards into the anchorage, and then Ramage saw Jackson running aft along the deck towards him.
"The Lion's here, sir!"
Ramage looked in the direction the American was pointing.
She was little more than a hulk in Kingston harbour, and partly hidden by merchantmen. There was a lighter each side of her, and only her mainmast was standing.
Ramage put his telescope to his eye and the circular magnified picture revealed the story. "Foremast and mizen gone by the board," Ramage said loudly, knowing that every man on board was curious. "Mainmast fished in two places. Bulwarks stove in on both sides. Jibboom gone, and the bowsprit fished. Several port lids torn off."
Yorke grunted. "We weren't the only ones in trouble, then!"
Then Ramage saw the stream of water frothing across the deck and over the side.
"And leaking badly; they're pumping."
"Flag, sir?" Jackson asked.
"No - the Admiral must be on shore."
"No sign of the others, sir," Jackson said quietly.
Ramage swung the telescope round the anchorage to confirm that there was no sign of the three frigates and the Lark lugger that had formed the escort.
Ramage shut the telescope. He'd never recognize the merchantmen and he would know soon enough how many had survived when he went on shore.
At least he didn't have to alter the address on his reports. He had made them to Rear-Admiral Goddard, but he'd hoped ... Anyway, instead of reporting to the Commander-in-Chief, he had to report to the Rear-Admiral, the new "second-in-command of His Majesty's ships and vessels ... at and about Jamaica".
After the customs officers cleared La Perla at Port Royal, Ramage took the schooner round Gallows Point, at the end of the Palisadoes, and beat up through the ships anchored in Kingston Harbour.
"One thing about coming in with a ship like this," Southwick commented. "You can choose where to anchor, instead of being ordered to a particular berth!"
Ramage nodded. He was anxious to anchor abreast of the town of Kingston, since La Perla's boat was too small to make a two-mile row anything less than a test of endurance.
Yorke examined the Lion carefully through a telescope as the schooner tacked across her stern.
"She was lucky to get in," he commented. "I'll bet there are ten men at the pumps night and day."
As soon as La Perla luffed up and anchored, she was surrounded by bumboats, each improbably named and gaudily painted with sails made of sacking and pieces of canvas crudely sewn to shape. Each was manned by an energetic and flamboyant Negro shouting at the top of his voice, anxious to carry the captain on shore or bring out supplies. While the schooner's sails were being furled, the bumboatmen were yelling to Southwick - apparently assuming that because of his bulk he was the purser - and giving him a string of prices for everything a ship and her crew could possibly need, from fresh fruit to women.
When they saw La Perla's boat being hoisted out they groaned with pretended dismay and then began describing the superior speed, safety and comfort of their respective craft.
Ramage went below to the tiny cuddy he shared with Yorke and changed into one of his best uniforms. By the time he had dressed he was soaked with perspiration - there was barely room to crouch in the cuddy, let alone stand up. Giving his stock a last twitch to straighten it, he picked up his sword, his best hat and the heavily-stitched canvas pouch containing his reports.
Before going on deck he went to the St Brieucs' cabin. None of them had come to watch the ship coming into Kingston and he was disappointed. He knocked, called out his name, and heard St Cast telling him to enter. Maxine had been weeping. Her eyes were red and as Ramage looked at her, too startled to look tactfully away, she gave a dry sob.
St Brieuc said quickly: "Don't worry, my lord. My daughter is both sad and happy and so is my wife." Ramage saw that she too had been crying.
St Brieuc went on quickly to avoid an embarrassing silence, "We are sad at the prospect of leaving you, even though it will probably not be for a day or two."
Ramage was too dumbfounded to do anything more than stand there, holding his sword and hat.
"And a little worried too until you return to tell us how the Admiral receives you. Sir Pilcher, I mean."
"Goddard," Ramage said without thinking.
"He is here?"
Ramage pulled himself together, unable to take his eyes off Maxine.
"The Lion is. She's badly damaged, but safe."
"And the others?" Maxine asked.
"I don't know about the merchantmen, but none of the escorts are here." Hastily he added: "If they weren't damaged, they might have sailed again already."
She did not believe him and began sobbing again. So Ramage bowed helplessly and left.
Jackson was waiting in the boat and within five minutes the men at the oars were pulling clear of the schooner and heading for the shore.
Ramage saw none of the local boats, which had given up hope of passengers from the schooner and were speeding back to the shore, nor did he notice the curious eyes watching from nearby merchantmen. He did not notice the heat, the dust, the noise or the smell as they arrived at the jetty. He was thinking about Goddard, who had survived but could not know that Ramage had done so as well. The moment the Admiral discovered that Ramage was alive, something unpleasant would happen. Ramage could not think exactly what it would be because there was such a wide choice.
The heat and noise hit Ramage like a blow as he reached the top of the stone steps of the jetty and began walking to Rear-Admiral Goddard's house. The streets were crowded. Goods landed from the merchant ships were being carried to the stores and warehouses in heavy drays, light carts and on the backs of stubborn donkeys. Cheerful Negroes pulled and pushed, shouting and singing at the top of their voices and good-naturedly jostling each other; coloured women walked with grace and elegance, many of them carrying large baskets balanced on their heads with as much dignity as a dowager arriving at a court ball in a tiara.
Rear-Admiral Goddard's house was some distance from the jetty, a big and cool stone building with a red roof and whitewashed walls, standing in the centre of a walled garden. Wide, covered balconies ran all round the ground and upper floors, reminding Ramage of a square, two-tiered wedding cake.
An old coloured man with grey hair was sweeping leaves from the withered apology for a lawn. The heat of the sun had scorched the grass brown, and in places the hard ground showed enormous bald patches, criss-crossed where the earth was cracked, as though wrinkled by age.
The Marine sentry saluted, but the coloured butler who came to the door when Ramage jerked the brass bell handle left him standing on the top step while he went back into the building. The Admiral seemed to have given standing orders about how to deal with young lieutenants who called at the second-in-command's residence without orders or invitation.
At last the pimply young lieutenant he had last seen at the convoy conference on board the Lion at Barbados came to the door.
"Good afternoon," Ramage said coolly. "Have you got any spare handkerchiefs?"
The lieutenant looked blank and Ramage could not be bothered to explain.
"Admiral Goddard, please. Lieutenant Ramage to see him."
"I - er, we thought you'd ... Yes, well, he'll be busy for about fifteen minutes. Come this way."
Nervously he led Ramage to a waiting-room, ushered him in like a doctor's assistant, and left.
A cool room in a cool house, and somewhere to sit down. The door was slatted like a large, partly-opened Venetian blind. The roof over the outside balcony shaded the room. The legs of a small, round mahogany table stood in shallow metal trays of water as part of the ceaseless war against ants that had to be waged in the Tropics.
Ramage put his hat and sword on the table and opened the canvas pouch to check over the documents he'd written using his knee as a desk while crouched in the cuddy on board La Perla. On the top of the pile was his report to the Admiral describing the loss of the Triton. He made that a separate report since he would have to face a routine court of inquiry which always followed the loss of one of the King's ships. He had been careful to cover the period from the onset of the hurricane up to the dismasted Triton running on the reef at Snake Island. It described building the rafts and using them to ferry men and provisions on shore, and it stopped there.
The second report covered the capture of La Perla and the voyage from Snake Island to Jamaica. It was a brief three pages of writing. Every word was true, yet it did not tell the whole story. It did not mention that he had fallen in love with Maxine, for instance, nor that Sydney Yorke, who had become a good friend, was ruefully envious of her attitude to him.
The third report, marked "secret" and sealed with wax, dealt with the treasure. With it was a complete inventory, "Treasure Log", a detailed list of the contents of the crates, a stowage list and a diagram - recently amended by Southwick after he shifted some to trim the schooner - describing in which holds the crates were stowed in La Perla.
As he put them back in the pouch, carefully keeping them in the same order, he thought about how little of an episode an official report really described. The report on the treasure was probably the most detailed and complicated he'd ever written, but it told nothing of the days and nights when he thought he'd never work out the meaning of the poem, the misery and disappointment they had felt when they found the first bones; the ghoulish effect of digging up skeletons by lantern light, or the excitement when Jackson leapt out of the trench with the first coins...
He heard voices outside the front door and heavy boots clumping up the carriageway from the gate. Impatient at the long wait for the Admiral, he walked to the window and looked out. Five Marines armed with muskets, one of them a corporal, were standing sweltering in the sun, and the pimply lieutenant was whispering to the corporal.
Ramage sat down again, and a moment later the lieutenant, perspiring freely, came in to say abruptly: "Follow me: the Admiral will see you now."
The room was large and heavily shaded by partly closed shutters. A large desk stood in front of the windows and beyond it, where the breeze cooled him, the Admiral was lounging back on a settee.
He looked as hot, uncomfortable and petulant as he had when Ramage first saw him at the convoy conference with the pimply Lieutenant passing him fresh handkerchiefs. Now his face was slack and drawn, as though heat and worry were making it difficult for him to sleep through the sweltering Jamaica nights. He looked, Ramage thought, like a rich nabob fearful that someone is about to tell him he is bankrupt, that his wife has cuckolded him, or perhaps both.
Ramage stood stiffly, holding his sword scabbard with his left hand, hat tucked under his left arm, and grasping the canvas pouch in his right hand.
"Good afternoon, sir."
Goddard just stared at him.
The room was silent except for the distant high-pitched laughter of Negroes and a faint ticking somewhere, showing that a death watch beetle was at work. The settee creaked as Goddard moved slightly, and in spite of the open door and window, the room smelled musty, like a family vault.
Ramage stared at a point a foot above Goddard's head and listened to his heavy breathing; the man was far too fat for the Tropics.
"Where have you been?" the Admiral inquired finally, in a tone of voice that suggested that he would have preferred to ask: "Why have you come back from the dead?"
"The Triton went on a reef, sir."
"I'm not surprised. Some strange and unexpected current, no doubt, that swept you onto a reef not shown on any charts? The standard excuse."
"Yes, sir."
"You admit it, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"By God!"
The Admiral was dumbfounded. His questions had been hopes put into words. This was what he hoped to prove against Ramage and now Ramage was admitting it.
"You're under close arrest, Ramage."
"Yes, sir."
"Damnation, is that all you have to say? A bloody parrot!"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you being insolent?"
"Oh no, sir!"
"Don't you want to know the charges?"
"If you wish, sir."
Of course he wanted to know the charges but he would be damned if he'd give Goddard the satisfaction of knowing it.
Not attempting to keep the note of triumph out of his voice the Admiral said: "Articles ten, twelve and seventeen. To which will now be added number twenty-six."
"Ten, twelve, seventeen and now twenty-six, sir," Ramage repeated calmly.
"So far. There may be more after I've read your report. You have it ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Give it to Hobson as you go out."
Ramage flushed. "Yes, sir. May I send a message out to the former master of the Triton on board the little schooner we came here in?"
Goddard was not interested. "Of course," he said, and waved his hand in dismissal.
Lieutenant Hobson was outside the door.
"Your escort is waiting," he said triumphantly.
Ramage put his hat down on a chair and opened the pouch. He looked through his reports and took out the top one.
"For the Admiral."
Hobson took it as though snatching a hot chestnut out of the fire.
Ramage undipped the scabbard of his sword and handed it to Hobson. "You'd better have this. And pass the word that the Admiral's given permission for me to send a message out to my ship." With that he picked up his hat and walked swiftly to the front door. "Come, corporal, let's not hang about in the sun!"
Ramage strode down towards the gate, squinting in the bright sun, and it was several moments before he heard shouted orders and the hurried thumping of boots, and then the corporal's voice pleading: " 'Old 'ard, sir! Yer'll get us inter trouble if the h'Admiral sees!"
Ramage slowed down to let the Marines form up round him. "Step out, corporal, it's a lovely day."
The corporal was clutching Ramage's sword.
Ramage put the pen down and screwed the cap on the inkwell. He folded the sheet of paper and cursed himself for not asking for wax. He decided to enclose it in another blank sheet folded into an envelope and trust that if whoever delivered it was nosy he wouldn't understand the significance of what was written.
Although addressed to Southwick, the letter was meant for Yorke, and knowing he wouldn't seal it Ramage had written with deliberate ambiguity:
"I have been put under close arrest on charges presumably arising from the Peacock's attack on the Topaz - Articles ten, twelve and seventeen. More charges are likely, relating to the loss of the Triton. I have not yet received the precise charges nor been told the date of the trial. Unless it is necessary I'd prefer nothing went on shore yet from La Perla, particularly talk, but if you happen to call on me at the Marine barracks, bring my razor and fresh clothing."
Yorke and St Brieuc would realize that Ramage wanted them to stay out of sight. Southwick would understand that the treasure must stay on board under guard and under conditions of secrecy.
Ramage got up from the table in his small and hot room - the quarters intended for a Marine subaltern - and banged on the door.
The Marine corporal, a red-faced, plump and cheerful Londoner, unlocked it and came in.
"Can you see this is delivered to La Perla schooner - the Spanish prize that came in earlier today?"
"Yes, sir! Saw you come in, sir!"
"What ship?"
"Lion, sir."
"You came in with the convoy?"
"Yessir!"
"How was the hurricane?"
"Cor!" The corporal rolled his eyes and kicked the door shut with his heel. "Confidenshurally, sir, it was 'orrible."
"Windy, eh?"
"The wind warn't too bad," the corporal said ambiguously, dropping his voice. "T'was storm aft, sir."
Ramage looked puzzled and the corporal winked, repeating "Aft, sir."
"Two hands at the wheel?"
It was the best Ramage could do on the spur of the moment. The corporal, for reasons Ramage could not guess, was friendly, and the way gossip spread he probably knew even more than Ramage himself about the circumstances leading up to the arrest. If the corporal wanted to pass on information, it was up to Ramage to make it easy for him.
"Two hands at the wheel?" The corporal thought a moment and then nodded his head vigorously. "And hauling in different directions, sir!"
Ramage nodded sympathetically. "That's how masts go by the board."
"Indeed they do! Killed eleven men. The mizen mast did for the master, two midshipmen and eight of the afterguard."
"The Captain wasn't hurt?"
"No, thank Gawd! We'd have drarnded if 'e'd gorn. 'Mazing sir, 'ow it took 'im."
"What took him?"
"Losin' the masts. He was a noo man. Ordered -" he broke off, paused and then plunged on, using emphasis to make his meaning clear. "Ordered everyone off the quarterdeck who wasn't on watch. Everyone," he repeated. That included the Rear-Admiral. "Then 'e did what 'e wanted, an' that's 'ow we got 'ere. Later we met a frigate orf the Morant Cays an' she towed us in."
The corporal looked at Ramage.
"You don't remember me, do you, sir?"
"I thought your face was familiar."
"The Belette, sir. 'Afore I got promoted. When you was wounded. My proudest day, sir. You was wonderful, sir; I'll never forget 'ow you took command. Cor, yer looked dreffel wiv that cut on yer 'ead!"
The corporal's eyes widened. "Why, sir, yer got two scars there nar!"
"St Vincent," Ramage said briefly. "The French seem to like my head!"
Satisfying though it was to know the corporal was friendly, and grateful as he was for the information about Captain Croucher's troubles with the Admiral, he wanted his letter delivered to La Perla.
The corporal took it. "Mr Hobson passed the word, sir. I'll send my best man out wiv it. Oh - it ain't sealed, sir."
"I've no wax. Can you get any?"
"Aye, sir, no trouble at all."
"Just seal it and give it to your man."
"Leave it ter me, sir," the corporal said, flattered at Ramage's trust in him. He returned in a few minutes to report the letter sealed and on its way to La Perla, and apologizing for having to shut and lock the door.
An hour later there was a peremptory rap on the door which flew open to admit a shrivelled little man who strutted like a bantam cock and wore tiny, steel-rimmed spectacles that stuck on his nose like a price label.
"The deputy judge advocate!" he announced in a high-pitched voice that fitted the body like a squeak would a rusty hinge.
Ramage remained seated, eyed the man and said: "What about him?"
"I am the deputy judge advocate."
"Your manners are certainly familiar; what's your name?"
"Harold Syme," he said, oblivious of Ramage's snub. "I have come to serve you with the charges."
Ramage held out his hand for the papers. Puzzled at Ramage's silence, he began fumbling in the leather bag which had been tucked under his arm.
"The charges are exhibited by Rear-Admiral Goddard. They are capital charges."
Ramage gestured impatiently with his hand.
"Deliver any documents necessary, please. I am busy."
"Busy? Why-"
"I will let you have the names of my witnesses in due course," Ramage said. "The documents?"
The man burrowed into his case, took out several papers and handed them to Ramage as if they were delicate, breakable objects. Ramage tossed them carelessly on the table.
"I have to read the 'Letter to the prisoner' to you."
"I can read," Ramage said. "Please have some wax sent in."
"What do you want wax for?"
Ramage gestured to the writing materials on the table. "To seal my letters from prying eyes."
"Really! Do you suppose I would-"
"The thought occurred to you, not me. Good day to you, sir," Ramage said, and began unscrewing the inkwell.
"Mr Ramage, how-"
"I'm preparing my defence. Do you want it said you deliberately hindered me?"
After a pause the man strutted from the room, calling loudly to the corporal that he was leaving.
As the door slammed, Ramage opened one of the letters. It was Rear-Admiral Goddard's report to Sir Pilcher, dated two weeks earlier, soon after the Lion arrived. He began reading, underlining with his pen the words which were taken directly from the various Articles of War.
"I beg leave to inform you that Lieutenant Nicholas Ramage, commanding officer of His Majesty's brig Triton while escorting ships of a convoy under my command, on the occasion of one of the ships being attacked on the night of the 18th of July last, by a French privateer, did not make the necessary preparations for fight, and did not in his own person, and according to his place, encourage the inferior officers and men to fight courageously; and furthermore the said Lt Ramage upon the same occasion did withdraw or keep back and did not do his utmost to take or destroythe enemy ship which it was his duty to engage; and furthermore the said Lt Ramage upon the same occasion, being the commanding officer of the ship appointed for convoy and guard of merchant ships, did not diligently attend upon that charge according to his instructions to defend the ships in the convoy, and did neglect to fight in their defence: in consequence of which I am to request you will apply for a court martial on the said Lt Ramage for the said crimes,
I am,&c,"
By the time he finished reading Ramage felt coldly angry. The moment Admiral Goddard had mentioned the numbers of the Articles of War he'd guessed the charges would revolve round the Peacock attack. It hadn't been clear - since the Articles ranged widely - that he was in fact accused of one thing only: cowardice in the face of the enemy. Charges arising from the loss of the Triton were presumably being kept in reserve.
Ramage gave a bitter laugh. At least once a month, on a Sunday, during the whole of the time he had been at sea, he had heard the Articles of War read to the ship's company. For the past year or two, as commanding officer, he had read them out himself, noting the fact in the log to show that the regulations had been carried out. In his imagination he could hear himself reading loudly, trying to make his voice heard above the noise of wind and sea...
"Article ten ... shall not encourage ... officers and men to fight courageously ... shall suffer death ... Article twelve ... Every person in the Fleet who through cowardice, negligence or disaffection, shall in time of action ... not do his utmost to take or destroy every ship ... shall suffer death ... Article seventeen ... running away cowardly, and submitting the ships in their convoy to peril ... be punished ... by pains of death, or other punishment, according as shall be adjudged by the court martial..."
There was a devilish skill about it all. As far as Admiral Goddard knew, the Topaz, and presumably the Greyhound frigate, had been sunk in the hurricane, so the only surviving witnesses to the Peacock's attack were the Lion's officers and Ramage's own men. It wouldn't be hard to guess which a court would believe.
It was difficult to guess precisely what Goddard was going to accuse him of doing to constitute the actual act of cowardice. Yet the limits were solely the limits of Goddard's imagination and ingenuity, since as far as he knew Ramage was the only person who could challenge him. Few courts would believe a young lieutenant's pleas of innocence against the charges of a Rear-Admiral who was also second in-command on the station, especially when the charges were ones of cowardice.
Well if the heat of Jamaica made him feel drowsy, or he began to get bored with the trial, he had something to make him concentrate. All he need remember was that if the court did find him guilty under either of the first two Articles, it had no alternative but to sentence him to death. Articles ten and twelve were among the few which presented a court with a nice, simple equation: guilt equals a sentence of death. The third one, Article seventeen, gave a "death or" choice.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and the cheerful voice of the Marine corporal.
"Mr Southwick to see you, sir, with your lawyer."
"Bring them in."
Thoughtful of Southwick to find a lawyer, but at a court martial one was better off without one. The "five or more" captains forming the court usually knew little or nothing of the law, and were often antagonized by lawyers.
It was Yorke who came in with Southwick. He was dressed in a drab black suit, had his shoulders hunched and was carrying a stove-pipe hat and a large leather briefcase. His hair was combed diagonally across his brow and the whole effect was to age him ten years and make him look convincingly like an attorney.
Southwick grinned and said, "I've brought you a lawyer, sir; he says he'll be happy to conduct your defence for one hundred guineas!"
"Too much!" Ramage said, "offer him fifty!" By then the door was shut and locked again.
Ramage waved the two men to the chairs round the tiny table, and Southwick said: "What are they trying to prove against you, sir?"
"I don't know the details, but cowardice is the main charge."
"Cowardice..." Yorke repeated quietly. "It's a wicked charge. Cowardice is one of those words that - well, you can be found not guilty of murder and that's the end of it; but if you're found not guilty of cowardice there's always a - well, a stigma. Cowardice over what?"
"The Peacock business."
"The Peacock?" Yorke was genuinely dumbfounded. "But how can they?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Probably blaming me for the attack on the Topaz."
"But you prevented it! No harm was done to the St Brieucs! Everyone knows what happened. You gave the Admiral a written report, didn't you?"
Ramage decided that the time had come to tell Yorke the facts of life where people like Goddard were concerned. He tapped the table with the quill pen.
"The court reminds you, sir, that your claim that no harm was done to the St Brieucs can't be substantiated. As far as this court is aware, they were drowned in a hurricane. The Topaz was lost in the hurricane, with no survivors. The three frigates and the Lark lugger were lost too. The Admiral has given evidence on oath that he received no written report from the accused. The Admiral has produced evidence from among his own officers that the Triton held back because the accused was safeguarding his own skin."
"It's wicked!" Yorke said.
"It's almost as ruthless as business," Southwick said unexpectedly. "All this gammon goes on because men are struggling to get power, which means struggling for promotion and interest. To a serving officer, promotion means profit, more pay and more opportunity. It's the same for a businessman," he continued as patiently as a vicar talking to his flock. "A businessman's profit isn't promotion and interest, it's money. But he's often just as ruthless in trying to get it."
"I suppose you're right," Yorke finally admitted. "It's just that business seems more subtle and less cruel - less blatant!"
"It might seem like that to a businessman," Ramage said, "but not to a naval officer! Southwick was just comparing the two so that you'd understand. He's crediting you with sharp business instincts and thinks that if you can see how getting promotion in the Service and making a profit in business are alike, you'll be better able to look into the Admiral's mind. It's the same - perhaps worse - in politics."
Yorke nodded "I do understand. But Goddard can't really hope to prove any of this."
"Why not?" Ramage asked.
"My evidence alone would ..."
Ramage shook his head, knowing it was absolutely vital that Yorke fully understood the significance of what he was about to say. "Your evidence might never be given! That's why Goddard is in an almost perfect position. He has the rope all ready to drop round my neck!"
The harshness in Ramage's voice left Yorke looking dumbfounded. "But surely he can't stop me giving evidence?"
"If he discovers you and St Brieuc are still alive, he'll immediately drop these charges."
"But how could he discover that in time to make any difference?"
"You have to get on board the Arrogant to give your evidence. From the moment he spots you in court, he needs only a couple of minutes to announce that the prosecution is withdrawing the charges."
"What if he does?" Yorke demanded. "Surely that means you're safe!"
"No, it doesn't," Ramage said impatiently. "It means that he withdraws the charges on which your evidence has any bearing, then substitutes something else."
"Oh, come now," Yorke protested. "You're getting overwrought. What can he substitute?"
"Losing, the ship," Southwick growled. "That could put a rope round Mr Ramage's neck!"
When Yorke glanced at him for confirmation, Ramage said : "He'd forget all about the Peacock attacking the Topaz - that means dropping the charges under Articles ten and twelve. He might well chance leaving the 'running away cowardly' to show I deserted the convoy - you couldn't disprove that. He'd then concentrate on my losing the Triton - Article twenty-six,'... no ships be stranded, or run upon any rocks or sands, or split or hazarded ... upon pain that such as shall be found guilty therein be punished by death, or such other punishment as the offence... shall be judged to deserve.'"
"But they can hardly hang you for losing the ship in the circumstances."
"Possibly not," Ramage said, "but if you add that to a charge of 'running away cowardly' I think you'll see the noose tightening round my neck."
Yorke sat deep in thought, rubbing his knuckles against his forehead. Finally he looked up and said carefully: "I want to make sure I understand the situation correctly. First, at the moment you are charged with cowardice over the Peacock and Topaz, and Goddard thinks he can prove it - and get you hanged - because he doesn't know St Brieuc and I survived. But you know you can prove you're innocent because you have our evidence."
When Ramage nodded, Yorke continued, still speaking slowly: "Proving yourself innocent - with our evidence - means you prove Goddard to be a liar who has perjured himself to try to get you hanged. That would be enough to ruin his career - and end his vendetta against you once and for all, I imagine?"
Again Ramage nodded.
"But we're agreed that Goddard would drop the cowardice charges - the main ones, anyway - if he knew St Brieuc and I were alive and going to give evidence. You've said it would take him only a couple of minutes to do that, once he sighted us. Is that an exaggeration?"
"I doubt it. Depends how quick-witted he is."
"Can he withdraw the charges just like that? I mean, would the court allow it?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "He can certainly withdraw the charges, but I can't say for certain that the court would agree. After all, the court is simply a group of captains."
"You're taking a devilish risk, Ramage. After all, our evidence will come after the prosecution's case. Suppose he has time to withdraw the charges, and the court agrees? You still face another trial on the charge of losing the Triton. Why take such a chance on the Peacock affair? Why let Goddard bring up the main cowardice charges? Why not let him know we're alive, so that he drops the Peacock affair and goes for you on the loss of the Triton - and perhaps 'running away cowardly’? After all, you can fight him on both those charges without taking any risk on Goddard or what the court might decide?"
Southwick was nodding his head in agreement with Yorke.
"I have to take the chance," Ramage said flatly. "It's the only way of ending this vendetta. If I don't, it'll drag on for years. Anyway, he'd get me on losing the Triton. Maybe I'd dodge the noose, but I'd be finished in the Service."
"You'd be finished even if the court found you not guilty," Southwick said as if thinking aloud.
"Would you?" Yorke asked sharply.
"Yes. Don't forget there are never enough ships to go round. That means no one gets a command if there's the slightest doubt about him."
"And favouritism," Southwick murmured.
"True enough. If you're out of favour with the local admiral - or the Admiralty - you'll be left to rot on half pay for the rest of your life."
"I still think you're mad," Yorke said doggedly. "You're staking everything - including your life - on slipping me and St Brieuc into court and getting one or both of us giving evidence before Goddard has time to withdraw the charges. What's to stop him withdrawing the charges after we've started giving evidence? Or even after we've both told everything we know? Have you thought of that?"
Ramage nodded wearily. "Yes, I've thought about it until my head spins." Yorke was trying to be helpful, and he deserved an explanation; but Ramage already knew he was taking an enormous risk, and having decided to take it he didn't want to discuss it because further talk only mirrored and enlarged his fears.
"I'm counting on several things. The main one is the natural curiosity of the court. By the time you and St Brieuc arrive, all the prosecution evidence will have been given on the assumption that you are both dead. I'm hoping that whatever Goddard tries, the court will want to hear what you have to say. It may lead to them deciding against allowing Goddard to withdraw the charges, and that means the court is bound to find me not guilty.
"Almost as important," Ramage continued, "are the minutes of the trial. Don't forget that as far as the Admiralty is concerned, all that happens in a trial is what is recorded in the minutes. Even if the charges are withdrawn, the minutes have to go to the Admiralty. With a little luck, those minutes might say enough."
"If only we knew who St Brieuc really is," Yorke mused. "I wonder if there's any need for secrecy now ... The point is, if he's really influential, would Goddard be forced to carry on? Be too frightened - or too flustered - to withdraw the charges?"
"I've thought of that, too. All I know is that Goddard is scared of him."
Southwick coughed politely. "Supposing the gentleman is important, sir. Suppose the Admiral does withdraw the charges. Would the French gentleman be sufficiently important to write to the Admiralty - or the Commander-in-Chief - and tell them what he knows?"
Both Yorke and Ramage stared at the Master.
"He might be!" Yorke exclaimed.
"What matters," Ramage said, "is whether or not Goddard - and the court - thinks he is! Well, you've earned your tot for today, Mr Southwick!"
But a moment later Yorke was again looking gloomy.
"It's still a fantastic risk, Ramage. Listen, why don't you take advantage of what Southwick's just suggested, only modify it. First, let it be known that St Brieuc and I are still alive, so that the Peacock cowardice charges are dropped. Let Goddard bring up a charge over the loss of the Triton. And ask St Brieuc to write a report for the Admiralty?"
Ramage shook his head. "For a start, anything St Brieuc wrote would then seem vindictive: in effect he'd be denying charges which Goddard hasn't made -"
"But he has - dammit, you have the wording in front of you!"
"- which Goddard hasn't made in court. Until they're made in court they don't exist, at least, not in this sense. All St Brieuc could write is that Lieutenant Ramage didn't behave in a cowardly fashion over the Peacock attack, and My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty would reply, 'Who the devil said he did?'"
"That sounds likely enough," Yorke admitted. "It's just that it's almost as though you're staking everything on the turn of a card."
"I am," Ramage said. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. If I can't completely smash Goddard on the Peacock charges, I'm finished. He'll keep hammering away at me. If not this week, then next. If not this year, then in a couple of years' time. Don't forget, this isn't the first time he's tried."
"We'll all do our best," Yorke said soberly. "We'll keep out of sight in La Perla, even though she's like an oven in this sun."
Ramage nodded gratefully. "I'll try and get the trial brought on quickly. I don't think there'll be much delay."
After Yorke and Southwick had gone, Ramage went through the rest of the documents left by the deputy judge advocate. The second in the pile was from the man himself, a routine letter to the prisoner.
"Sir Pilcher Skinner, Vice-Admiral of the Blue and Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty's Ships and Vessels employed at or about to be employed upon the Jamaica Station, having directed a court martial to be held on you for cowardice in action, tomorrow morning at half past eight o'clock on board His Majesty's ship Arrogant. I am to acquaint you therewith, and enclose for your information Rear-Admiral Goddard's complaints against you.
"You are therefore desired to prepare yourself for the same, and if you have any persons to appear as witnesses in your behalf, you will send me a list of their names that they may be duly and speedily warned to attend the said court martial."
A corresponding letter would have been sent to the Rear-Admiral by the deputy judge advocate asking for the list of prosecution witnesses Goddard wanted to call "in support of the charges".
Half past eight o'clock tomorrow morning! Ramage snatched up the pen and quickly scribbled a letter to the deputy judge advocate saying he wished to call the former Master of the Triton, Edward Southwick, and the Master's mate, George Appleby. He was just going to sign it when he decided to include Jackson and Stafford. He would not call them, in fact, but it would give them a day or two on board another ship, and they deserved a change. He added a postscript: "In view of the fact that I have been notified that the trial starts in sixteen hours' time this is my first list of witnesses: a second list will follow later."
He called the corporal, sent off the letter, and was told he was being transferred to the Lion in half an hour. Before that the corporal had to hand over responsibility for his prisoner to the Lion's Marine lieutenant, who would act as provost marshal. "'E'll be glad o' the four bob a day," the corporal said. "'E's got four nippers."
A good thing some deserving soul was gaining by his arrest, Ramage thought sourly, as he wrote a quick note to Southwick.
"My trial fixed for half past eight tomorrow morning on board the Arrogant. Assume haste is due to the fact captains now available have to sail soon. I have asked for you, Appleby, Jackson and Stafford as witnesses. Please bring my journal, your log, the Triton's muster book, La Perla's log, particularly for the period under my command. Also bring with you personally a dozen circular samples of the ballast. Ask our friends to come on board the Arrogant at exactly half past ten tomorrow morning. They should insist on seeing me and if necessary send in visiting cards."
Early that evening Ramage was taken out to the Lion. Captain Croucher, presumably on orders from the Admiral, had given instructions to the Lieutenant of Marines acting as provost marshal to take a large escort which would have been more suitable for bringing a wild elephant on board.
He had been led from his room by the corporal, whose sheepish manner showed his own view, to find the lieutenant with a dozen Marines. He read Ramage his warrant in a loud voice, with a crowd of gaping seamen for an audience.
Amid much stamping of feet, thumping of muskets and clouds of pipeclay they had marched to the jetty, where the Lion's yawl waited: Her masts were not stepped, so Goddard intended that she should be rowed through the anchored ships. No one was to be deprived of the sight of Lieutenant Lord Ramage sitting in the stern-sheets, with the citizens of Kingston protected from robbery, rape or arson by a dozen alert Marines with bayonets fixed while the provost marshal held Ramage's surrendered sword across his knees.
The Arrogant, where the court martial would be held in the morning, was a seventy-four anchored half a mile to windward of the Lion. Her yards were perfectly square - her master would have made sure of that within a few minutes of anchoring. The enormous fore- and main-yards projected several feet over the side of the ship.
There, within an area of a few square feet, his immediate future would be decided, for the trial would be held in the great cabin. If the five or so captains at a court martial decided on a death sentence it would be carried out just under the foreyard on the starboard side.
First, a yellow flag would be hoisted at the Arrogant's mizen peak and a gun fired, signalling that an execution was to take place. A rope would be rove from a block near the outboard end of the yard. The end of the rope with a noose in it would come down vertically to where the prisoner was standing. The noose would be slipped round his neck, and they would be thoughtful enough to arrange the knot so it was comfortable - he had heard that executioners tended to be apologetic and excessively polite as they set about the preliminaries of their trade. A black hood would be put over the prisoner's head, and there he would wait in the darkness and it would seem a lifetime before he reached eternity.
The other end of the rope would lead down at an angle from that block to a point almost abreast the mainmast. Twenty or so seamen would be holding onto the rope and facing aft. On the deck immediately below where the prisoner was standing a gun would be loaded with a blank charge. Finally the word would be passed to the captain of the Arrogant that all was ready: the noose would be in position round the prisoner's neck, and so would the hood. The seamen would have tailed on to the other end of the rope.
When the Arrogant's captain gave the word, the gunner would apply a steady pull to the trigger line of the gun; the flint would fly down to strike a spark which would ignite the fine powder in the pan. The intense flame would spurt through the touch-hole and in turn ignite the powder in the breech of the gun. In a fraction of a second two pounds of exploding gunpowder would vomit flame, smoke and noise from the muzzle.
At the same instant someone would signal to the men at the rope and they would suddenly run aft. In a moment the prisoner's body would be jerked many feet up into the air by its neck, and it would all be over.
Hanging ... It was better known to seamen as being "stabbed with a Bridport dagger", a reference to the Devon town's fame for the quality of rope it made. A great leveller. Many men had probably been hanged from the larboard fore yardarm of the Arrogant, but probably none from the starboard yardarm. Seamen were traditionally hanged on the larboard side; the starboard side was reserved for officers. Ramage shuddered. He was glad the trial was unlikely to develop quite as Goddard planned.
"Ramage!"
He looked up and realized that the yawl was alongside the Lion. He had been so lost in thought that he had not heard the orders to the men at the oars. Now the lieutenant acting as provost marshal waited impatiently.
As Ramage moved across the boat to climb up the ship's side he was reminded of a farmyard at home. If one of the hens had a cut or a sore, all the other hens pecked it. Human beings often behaved in the same way. As far as the Marine lieutenant was concerned, Ramage was the hen with the wound. Peck, peck, peck.
He was taken directly to a cabin - some wretched lieutenant had been displaced on his behalf. The Marine officer reminded him pompously that he had been appointed provost marshal and was responsible for guarding him.
"Make a good job of it," Ramage said, irritated by the man's patronizing manner. "It's worth four shillings a day to you."
"I have my duty!"
"Then guard me well: I'm a desperate man. Any moment I might jump over the side and elope with a mermaid."
The lieutenant looked at him blankly and left hurriedly. For a moment Ramage felt guilty about teasing him, but did the hen that pecked deserve any sympathy if the pecked hen suddenly pecked back?
An hour later Southwick arrived.
He had brought a uniform, fresh underwear, several pairs of silk stockings, a pair of highly polished boots and some carefully ironed stocks.
"If there's anything else you want, sir, tell me. Your steward reckons that will do for a couple of days."
"The trial will only last a day, and after that..."
"After that you'll get a new ship, sir," Southwick said stoutly.
"I hope so," Ramage said, realizing that the old Master was more in need of comfort than he was himself.
"I received your note, sir, and it's all arranged. The timing is important, I take it?"
"To the minute."
"Jackson's timed the boat from La Perla to the Arrogant by a route with no prying eyes to spoil the effect!"
"Good."
"I was worrying about the ballast, sir. Nothing laid down in the regulations, sir, Admiralty or Customs," Southwick said euphemistically, looking round and frowning, to indicate he was worrying about eavesdroppers and pointing to the pocket of one of the jackets he had brought with him.
"Exactly, so we needn't worry. With the charges I face, forgetting to fill in a form won't matter!"
"I suppose not," the Master said. "Will the 'ballast' help, sir?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. This was something he hoped he would be able to decide tonight, lying in his cot. Most of the time so far he had been receiving Admiral Goddard's broadsides; he needed the peace and quiet of his cot to decide where his own salvoes would be aimed. Did anyone get a share of the treasure trove, or did it all go to the Crown automatically? He could not find out without giving the game away.
Southwick said goodnight and Ramage sat at the tiny table to draft some headings for his defence. The trial was being brought on so quickly that he could demand a postponement to have more time. Obviously the charges against him had been prepared many days ago, when there seemed a chance that the Triton would limp in after the hurricane. That accounted for the speed with which the deputy judge advocate had produced the documents. A postponement would not help him, however, since it only increased the chances of Goddard discovering that Yorke and the French party were still alive. If he did, the charges would be changed.
He decided that he needed no notes, wiped the pen, folded the single sheet of paper and put it in his pocket, undressed and flopped down on the cot. He had eaten nothing since lunch, but felt too weary to try to get anything now. A moment later he was asleep.