Ramage and the Freebooters

The American nodded gloomily.

'And so does Harris, because I reminded him. In fact I repeated the precise wording.'

'Does that mean all three have to swing, sir?'

'Of course, if they were brought to trial.'

'But...'

Both Jackson and Southwick said the word together and stopped.

'Go on, Mr Southwick,' Ramage said.

'I was only going to say that although the Articles of War have to be observed, sir, I can't help feeling that Harris is— well, a special case.'

'Any more than Dyson, who has a wife and several children starving on his wretched pay which hasn't been increased for one and a half centuries? And what about Brookland— has he a family? Neither can read or write; but Harris can.'

Ramage's voice was cold and both Jackson and Southwick could not hide their dismay. Finally Jackson said:

'I'm presuming a lot when I shouldn't, sir, and I know that things like being with you when you rescued the Marchesa don't------'

Curious to know what Jackson was going to say, Ramage eased the atmosphere by interjecting, "When we rescued the Marchesa. But spit it out, Jackson, without all this backing and filling!'

'Thank you, sir. Well, sir, I can't help thinking that whatever the legal rights and wrongs of what Harris did, he meant well and the Tritons respect him.'

'What's that got to do with it?'

'Well sir, we've still got a divided ship's company. The Kathleens are sticking together and so are the Tritons. You can tell the Kathleens they're Tritons now and they'll accept it because it comes from you. But without Harris there won't be anyone the Tritons trust that can persuade them.' 'Since when do seamen need to be persuaded, Jackson? Discipline, Jackson, backed up by the cat and the Articles of War.'

Southwick looked up as though he was hearing ghostly voices; Jackson looked away as if ashamed to hear Ramage speak so brutally. Then both men looked sheepish as Ramage laughed.

'The trouble is, neither of you listen. You asked me if they'd be hanged and I said—I remember the exact words— "Of course, if they were brought to trial".'

'Ah, "if'," Southwick said, making an attempt to hide his relief: for a few moments he thought the captain had been so frightened of the near-mutiny that he was going to react viciously. He'd seen it in other captains and it was understandable but unforgivable because, Southwick reasoned, you were punishing other men for your own shortcomings. Even a twinge of fear, let alone a touch of cowardice, was a grave shortcoming in Southwick's code.

'Exactly. But, Jackson, as the spokesman for the non-mutinous half of the ship's company, tell me this: are you suggesting that these two men who actually planned to mutiny tonight and take the ship back to Spithead should escape punishment? That Harris, who failed to report it to me, should escape punishment?"

'Oh no, sir!' Jackson exclaimed, realizing there'd be no hanging. 'No sir—that'd wreck discipline. No sir, just that hanging's—well. ..' 'A bit final. But obviously you have another idea.' Jackson looked startled. 'How did you guess, sir?' 'Because I'm paying for the rum. Two bottles, remember?

Plus whatever the surgeon drank.' Ramage described Jackson's idea and then asked: 'Am I far wrong?'

'No—that's about it, sir,' the American grinned ruefully. 'But afterwards,' Ramage added, 'Dyson and Brookland will be kept under an arrest and put on board the next homeward-bound ship we meet.'

'That's wise, sir,' Southwick said. 'But you'll keep Harris?'

'Yes, I'll keep Harris; but what good he'll be after a flogging I don't know. He's intelligent and sensitive. If I flog him I ruin him. If I don't flog him, I ruin the discipline in the ship and if the Admiralty heard of it, I'd be put on the beach for the rest of my life. I'm damned if I do and twice damned if I don't.'

Jackson began to understand why the Captain appeared to have lost some of his usual zest. It'd be the first flogging he'd ever ordered, and Jackson understood him well enough to know that although it'd scar a seaman's back it'd scar the Captain's soul.

'Sir,' said Jackson cautiously, 'I think if you'd let me talk to Harris before he—well, before he gets his "medicine", I'd make him understand. And perhaps he could be given a dozen or so less?'

'How, without making the rest of the ship's company suspicious—or sympathetic towards Dyson and Brookland?'

'Well, perhaps Dyson and Brookland could sort of aggravate their offences. Like fighting, sir. They're both blacked up a bit.'

' "Blacked up"?'

'Got black eyes—look as though they've been fighting. We could improve that by the morning, too, and dean up Harris a bit.'

'Jackson, obviously you believe in justice, but you like to have a thumb pressed down on one side of the scales.'

The three men were standing before him The corporal of Marines was to his right and six Marines, muskets on their shoulders, stood behind the prisoners, who were frightened, the fear showing through their bleary, drink-filmed eyes.

As the sun broke through a cloud he noticed all three men had to squint: their heads were throbbing from the effect of the rum, and the bright light following much violent movement as they were hustled up on deck from the total darkness of the breadroom must be agonizing.

He looked at them slowly and then, glancing round the ship, noted that most of the seamen on deck were Tritons.

Jackson and his men were out of sight.

Southwick walked from behind him with the cook, who had a plaster covering a cut on his head and stood to the left of the prisoners.

'Well, Mr Southwick, what have you to report?'

'I was going to the breadroom with the cook to survey the bread, sir. I opened the door and when the cook went in he found these three men inside, almost insensible from drink. The whole place stank of rum. Two empty bottles there.'

Ramage suddenly realized he'd made a mistake. The bread-room door had been locked from the outside. Had the cook realized the significance or even noticed it? Southwick obviously had from the way he'd phrased his description.

'How did they get the rum?'

'Can't say, sir. They won't say either.'

Why are those two men'—he pointed at Dyson and Brook-land—'so bloodstained? Have they been fighting? And all of them are soaking wet.'

'Yes, sir. From all accounts they had a fight when they got drunk. Then when I called for some seamen to get 'em up en deck to sober 'em up under the wash-deck pump, they started fighting the seamen. Dyson and Brookland, that is.'

Ramage knew too much to ask how and why the fighting started. It wasn't justice; but it wasn't injustice either. Whatever was done to these men wasn't as bad as having them tried by court martial, knowing they'd be hanged.

'Harris, what have you got to say for yourself?'

Ramage sensed a sudden tension round him, then realized every Triton was straining to hear Harris's reply. They must all know he was against the mutiny; they knew he and Dyson and Brookland had been missing for most of the night. And now they must be mightily puzzled to find that Harris and the two men supposed to be leading them to mutiny had spent the night swilling rum in the breadroom.

'Nothing, sir: I'm sorry sir, I was just drinking.' 'Just drinking...' Ramage mustered a convincing sneer. CA dozen lashes for you, my lad: that'll clear the rum out of your system. Take him away!'

The corporal—who acted as the ship's master-at-arms, a tide which a century before meant just that but now indicated he was the ship's policeman—barked at two Marines and Harris was marched below.

Dyson and Brookland remained standing in an ever widening pool of water. Southwick had made a reasonably good job of sobering them up. They weren't still completely drunk, yet they weren't quite sober.

'Brookland, you're the senior man. What were you doing?'