He suddenly realized that Hill had been deliberately walking towards the fo'c'sle, as though to lead him forward, and the familiar squawking of rope rendering through blocks, and then the flopping of cloth in the wind, made him glance up.
A hoist of three flags were now flying - the uppermost was a white flag with a blue diagonal cross on it - number two. The second, triangular and divided white and red, was the substitute, indicating that the upper flag was being repeated, so the signal so far was two two. The lower flag comprised three vertical stripes, blue, white, blue, and was number three. So the whole signal was number 223, and Ramage did not have to look it up in the signal book: The flag officers, captains and commanders, and all other persons summoned to attend a court martial, are to assemble on board the ship whose signal is shown after this has been answered.
An italic note below the signal in the book said: N.B. The ship in which the court martial is to be held, is immediately to hoist a union jack at the mizen peak.
Ramage looked aft and saw the Union Flag being hoisted. Tiresome, he thought, that an official volume like the Signal Book for the Ships of War should make such an elementary mistake as calling the Union Flag a "jack" when it most certainly was not being used as a jack, which was a flag flown on a staff at the bow.
"The Union at the mizen peak" - seamen's jargon for a court-martial, and as well known as being "stabbed with a Bridport dagger", which was another way of saying being hanged, and a tribute to the fine hemp rope made at the town of Bridport.
"Sorry, sir," Hill said apologetically, "I was hoping you would not see or hear any of that."
Ramage grinned amiably. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything," he said. "Just think, a dozen post-captains are now blessing or cursing me because for today, and perhaps several more days, they're going to have to attend my trial, and either be kept away from very important work or escape something very boring. It's not every day that a very junior post-captain gets court-martialled, you know."
"I suppose not, sir," Hill said cautiously, uncertain whether Ramage was serious or not. This fellow, he decided, had the damnedest sense of humour and the most uncertain temper of anyone he had ever met. Captain Ramage could say something with an absolutely straight face and have a hundred men jumping to attention while another hundred, who knew him better, would be roaring with laughter. It was all very odd, though it kept you on your toes - in case you got your foot stamped on! He giggled at his own joke and Ramage glanced round.
"Sorry, sir," Hill said apologetically, "I was just thinking of something."
"You must have a thin time of it if you giggle every time you think," Ramage said with a straight face. "That's the first time I've heard you giggle."
At that moment Hill decided he would pull every string within his reach to serve in the Calypso. Providing, of course, there was an acquittal verdict . . .
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ramage recalled his allusion to a wooden cathedral when he followed Hill into the great cabin, which ran the width of the ship. It was more than fifty feet from one side to the other, and the whole after end - or so it seemed because the sun now shining through was dazzling - comprised sternlights: windows that if the ground glass was coloured and set in leaded shapes, would in size be more suitable for a cathedral.
He was walking on canvas painted in large black and white squares which covered the cabin sole like an enormous carpet (and reminded him of the mosaic floors in some Italian cathedrals). For a moment he felt he should be jinking from one square to another in a particular chess move - two ahead and one to the right or left, in the knight's move, or else he would startle everyone by walking diagonally, announcing he was a bishop. In fact, he told himself grimly, he was a pawn . . .
Apart from a Marine sentry at the door, a couple of seamen arranging chairs round a long table, and a couple more giving the top a final polish, with another man perfunctorily cleaning some panes of glass in the sternlights, occasionally using a little energy on a fly speck, the Salvador's great cabin was as peaceful as the nave of St Paul's between services.
The long mahogany table, big enough to seat a couple of dozen for dinner, was set athwartships, so that those captains sitting along one side would have their backs to the sternlights and face into the darker cabin, while the other half would look at the sternlights.
The chair at one end of the table had arms, so that must be the head, while the chair at the other end was straight-backed and armless. There were more chairs down the sides, and in front of each place was a pad of paper, inkwell, quill and sandbox.
As Ramage faced the sternlights with the table in front of him, there were a couple of rows of chairs behind him in the darker part of the cabin with two rows of forms behind them.
Hill coughed to attract his attention. He pointed to two other chairs, placed at an angle to the table in a position so that anyone sitting at the head of the table (it would be the president of the court) had only to look half-left to see and talk. "We sit there, sir. You nearest to the president and me behind."
"So that you can spit me with your sword if I make a bolt for it."
Hill had learnt enough by now to answer gravely: "Exactly, sir. Pistols make such a noise."
At that moment the door was flung open and a fussy-looking little man wearing tiny spectacles and (almost startling, these days) a short wig bustled into the cabin, followed first by a thin and lugubrious seaman carrying an arm full of books, and by a boy laden with a large pewter inkwell, a bunch of quills, and some large pads of paper.
"Ah, Mr Hill and the prisoner, eh?"
"Don't introduce me," Ramage murmured, guessing the man, looking like a startled hedgehog, must be the deputy judge advocate. No one had yet decided where deputy judge advocates fitted into the naval hierarchy but in Ramage's experience so far they knew little of law and always wrote very slowly, making them little more than clerks.
The little man sat at the chair at the end of the table and looked up at the seaman, now standing beside him. "Ah yes, the Holy Evangelist - I want that right in front of me." He reached up and took it. "Now, the Crucifix, for those of the Catholic faith: that goes there. The books - in two piles here, with the titles facing me."
He dismissed the seaman and turned to the boy. "Now be careful of that ink. Place it there -" he pointed to a precise spot. "Now the quills - examine each one to make sure it is sharp. You have a pen-knife?"
When the boy looked sulky he was told sharply: "You forgot it last time!"
"Will this be a long trial?" the little lawyer suddenly asked Ramage.
Ramage glanced at the pile of books, the inkwell and the quills, and deliberately misunderstood the purpose of the question.