Ramage's Mutiny (12 page)

Weaver stepped back into the line and Edwards pointed at Perry.

“Do you deny taking part in murdering Captain Wallis?”

“No, sir.” Perry was not defiant nor, as far as Ramage could see, was he frightened. If anything he now seemed relieved that the whole story was out; as if Summers's evidence had been a confession for the three of them.

“Evidence has been given that you argued with Summers as to which of you gave Captain Wallis his death wound.”

“That's what Weaver said, sir, and he's part right. Only he was recovering from the bang on the head, and he didn't understand the meaning behind what I said. What we was arguing about, rather. Not that it matters now,” he added with a shrug.

“What
were
you arguing about?”

“Well, sir, I'd just told Summers I'd saved his life, and he wouldn't admit it. You see, sir, I was carrying the irons we was going to use to secure the Captain: irons in one hand and cutlass in the other. Summers had the lantern and went in first and shouted to the Captain, but he came straight at us with a sword. He'd have done for Summers but I knocked the sword away and that gave Summers a chance to ‘ave a chop at ‘im. Caught his left shoulder, and ‘e staggered, but ‘e came back at us, an' that's ‘ow ‘e got killed.”

Perry had ended up in a rush of words, the aitches dropping in the excitement, and again the cabin was silent but for the squeaking of Gowers's pen, hurrying to catch up.

Then Captain Edwards said: “Summers, does that agree with your recollection?”

“Yes, sir, except that I gave the Captain his death wound. Perry was trying to save me.”

The man was obviously hoping to take all the blame; there was no question of taking credit now.

“Perry, do you question any of Weaver's evidence?”

“No, sir, not now. Not after Summers put you right about not planning to kill the Captain an' officers in cold blood. We was just trying to save our backs—aye, an' our lives, too.”

In a sudden movement he pulled up his shirt and turned his back to the seated officers. “Look!” he said loudly. “More'n two hundred lashes—an' not one of ‘em for a real offence.” He turned again before the sentries had time to move. “I never committed a real offence in all me days at sea. Four ships I served in a'fore the
Jocasta,
an' never a lash. More'n two hundred lashes Cap'n Wallis give me.”

Edwards nodded and pointed to Harris.

“Evidence has been given that you ran below after the ship was taken and murdered the wounded officers. Do you deny it?”

“No, sir. I was beastly drunk at the time. I was mortal ashamed of meself afterwards.”

“Of being drunk or murdering wounded men?” Edwards exclaimed angrily.

“Of the murdering, sir. But by the time I was sober again, t'was too late …”

“Do you disagree with any of the evidence against you?”

“Only that bit about me fetchin' an' carryin' for Summers, sir. I never did none of that. I was ‘is aidy-dee-camp.”

For the next fifteen minutes Edwards questioned the three of them about their activities after the ship had been handed over to the Spanish, and their stories agreed. The Spaniards had given them rewards. Summers, Perry and the six members of the committee received the most, enough money to live on for eighteen months. The rest of the mutineers received enough to last for six months, providing they were careful. Summers estimated that seventy-five or more of the mutineers were trying to make a living at various ports along the Main: most were fishing or serving in coasting vessels. Others had learned some Spanish and managed to find jobs. The rest had signed on neutral ships. Perry had reckoned that he and Summers were the only two ringleaders to leave the Main.

“Why did you try to leave?” Edwards had asked.

“We couldn't stand the Dons no longer,” Perry had said contemptuously. “A lot o' ‘eathens they are, what with all this burning incense and saints' days an' ‘
Caramba
this,' and ‘
Caramba
that.' Got so's we couldn't abide it no longer, an' all the streets like dungheaps. An' the priests always on at us, tryin' to make us into Catholics.”

Finally Edwards had called on each man in turn to make his defence against the charges. None of them had anything more to say. Summers, the first to be asked, had said he was guilty as charged, and that he now realized that no matter how tyrannical Captain Wallis had been, it was no excuse for mutiny and murder, but it was done …

The court was cleared and as the provost marshal shut the door Edwards gave a deep sigh and pushed his chair back. “Well, that's goodbye to me ever getting my flag, but no one can say we haven't given the beggars a fair trial.”

Marden stood up and Ramage watched him pace round the cabin, his hands clasped behind his back and small enough to be able to walk without bending his head to avoid hitting the beams. “How much do we believe?” Marden demanded and, gesturing at Gowers's pile of paper, added: “And how much do we record in the minutes?”

Edwards sighed and said: “I wish I knew. How much to record, that is. I'll have a word with the Admiral before Gowers writes his fair copy.”

The cabin seemed enormous to Ramage now that the prisoners and their escort had left. Its size was exaggerated by the few men left at the table. Five captains, he reflected, who have been looking back two years in time, using the uncertain telescope of men's memories. The minutes should give a detailed picture of the mutiny in the
Jocasta
and its causes—as detailed and true as question and honest answer could make it.

The answers, particularly from Summers, had been honest; he was sure of that, although far from certain why he was so sure. He believed Weaver, too. That use of “us” was very significant: the Jocastas were united in their terror of Wallis even though they disagreed over how to do anything about it.

Now Edwards stood up and walked round to the front of the table, to where he could look at the other captains. He turned the witness's chair and sat down in it, crossing his legs and tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword. He waited until Marden resumed his seat and then asked him flatly: “What do you make of it all?”

Marden said violently: “I will stand trial for saying it, but Sir Hyde Parker ought to be in the dock, not these men. As Commander-in-Chief he should have warned Wallis long ago. Sent him home, in fact.”

“If he knew,” Edwards said.

“He knew all right.” Marden's voice was harsh now and his face drawn by strong emotion. “Most of us who've been out here a few years had heard enough stories about Wallis. Now we know they were true. Not only true, but worse than we suspected. Far worse. And Sir Hyde knew; he's seen Wallis's journals with the figures for flogging. I only wish we had the latest one.”

“Well, everything we say here is secret,” Edwards said, “and just as well. However,” he added quietly, “we should guard our tongues.”

He looked across at Gowers. “We'll consider our verdicts in a moment, but don't write your fair copy of the minutes until I give you the word.” Then he asked the captains: “Have you any questions? Do you want Gowers to read the minutes of today's evidence? How about you, Teal?”

“I wish I was away on a cruise,” Teal muttered, as though the words forced their way from his mouth. “I wish I'd never heard a word of all this. I'll never trust a ship's company again!”

“Steady now!” Marden said. “Do you flog your men like Wallis did?”

“Of course not. A dozen lashes a month at most, and that's the same man who always gets regularly drunk: hoards his tot, knows he'll get a dozen if he's discovered, and regularly swills it down and then sits on the fo'c's'le in the lee of the belfry and sings bawdy songs at the bosun.”

“Nothing wrong with a man who sings bawdy songs at a bosun,” Edwards muttered. “Now, Banks, we haven't heard much from you. Any legal questions?”

Banks, junior of all the captains except for Ramage, shook his head. He was a shy man and not a little overawed by Edwards. “I'm like Teal: it's hard to believe what we've just been hearing.”

“You, Ramage,” Edwards said. “If you'd had any you'd have spoken up, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Some of my questions were aimed at helping me with the next operation.”

“I noticed that. You'll have a copy of the minutes, though, and the Admiral's going to let you see the minutes of the other trials. We thought it wiser not to let you see them until we've reached a verdict on this one. Now, gentlemen, are you all ready to deliver your votes?”

A naval court martial was like the trial of a peer before the House of Lords, or the decision of the Privy Council: the junior voted first, followed by the rest in order of seniority, so that Edwards's vote would come last. The court's verdict would represent the majority of votes, and the system, so long a tradition, was intended to avoid a junior officer being influenced by a senior.

The four captains agreed they were ready.

“Read the charges again, Gowers,” Edwards said.

As soon as the deputy judge advocate had finished, the president said: “I shall first name the accused man and then you give your vote. This will be on all the charges, unless you choose to divide them up. Now, Ramage, I'll start with you. Do you find George Weaver guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty, sir.”

“Do you find Albert Summers guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty on all the charges.” Guilty, Ramage thought, but not entirely responsible. Wallis had murdered himself; he had baited the men beyond endurance. He had killed some; the survivors had killed him. Yet the verdict provided only two choices, guilty or not guilty …

“Henry Perry?”

“Guilty on all the charges.”

“Henry Harris?”

“Guilty on all the charges.”

Gowers noted down Ramage's vote, and the next to be asked was Captain Teal, who hesitated over the first name. “Weaver admits he was guilty of ‘concealing a mutinous design.'”

Edwards shrugged his shoulders. “You are one of the judges,” he said. “Vote as your conscience tells you.”

Ramage had already given a lot of thought to that single charge, but Weaver had turned King's evidence anyway. In a strict court of law the man was guilty of concealment, but he had no choice; Ramage believed him when he said his throat would have been cut if he raised the alarm.

“Not guilty, sir,” Teal said.

“Not guilty on all the charges, you mean.”

“Not guilty on all the charges, sir.”

The other captains voted in the same way—Weaver not guilty and the other three guilty—and after Captain Edwards had cast his vote he said formally: “The sentences for the three guilty men are covered by the Articles of War. They are mandatory and we can't change them. We all know the wording but Gowers had better read them out.” He glanced at a paper in front of him. “They are Articles number Three, Fifteen, Sixteen, Nineteen, Twenty-eight and Thirty-six.”

Gowers picked up a slim volume containing the Articles and began reading: “Article number three. If any officer, Marine, soldier or other person of the Fleet shall give, hold, or entertain intelligence with any enemy or rebel without leave from the King's Majesty … or his commanding officer, every such person … shall be punished with death.

“Article number fifteen. Every person … who shall desert to the enemy, pirate or rebel, or run away with any of His Majesty's ships … or any ordnance, ammunition, stores or provisions … or yield up the same cowardly or treacherously … shall suffer death …

“Sixteen. Every person … who shall desert or entice others so to do, shall suffer death or such other punishment as the circumstances … shall deserve … Nineteen. If any person … shall make … any mutinous assembly … and being convicted … shall suffer death …

“Twenty-eight. All murders committed by any person in the Fleet shall be punished with death … Thirty-six. All other crimes not capital … which are not mentioned in this Act … shall be punished according to the laws and customs in such cases used at sea.”

As Gowers had read the Articles, Ramage had been making some notes. Four of the six Articles gave the court no choice: anyone found guilty had to be sentenced to death. The fifth gave death “or such other punishment;” the sixth, the Captain's Cloak, left it to the court. The five captains had found three of the men guilty; the law said, four times, that the sole penalty was death. There was no alternative.

“Bring in the prisoners,” Edwards said. “We need not prolong things, although all of them, except Weaver, know what to expect.”

N
EXT MORNING Ramage was rowed over to the
Invincible.
He had no stomach for questioning three men who, within a day or two, would be hoisted by the neck to the foreyardarm of the flagship, but it might eventually save lives on board the
Calypso.

He was taken to Captain Edwards and found him gloomy, his face as dark as his cabin was light from the early sun. “Sit down, Ramage. I have the minutes of the other
Jocasta
trials here and you can read ‘em before you talk to the prisoners. Are you feeling all right?” he asked suddenly.

“I don't enjoy this sort of thing very much, sir,” Ramage admitted.

Edwards glanced up, startled. “What do you mean—cutting out the
Jocasta?
”

“No, sir! Courts martial and questioning condemned men.”

“That's reasonable enough. Nastiest trial I've ever seen—although I'd warned the Admiral, he was badly shaken when he read the minutes. Badly shaken,” he repeated. “He's worried in case we might have taken the questioning too far, where Wallis was concerned. I must admit he has a point. It didn't seem so at the time, but when you read the minutes …”