Ramage bowed towards Goddard and said, speaking every word slowly and with deliberate clarity, and watching Jenkins to make sure he entered it all in the minutes: "In view of what you have just said, sir, there are no other questions I can ask this witness."
Goddard, seeing no ambiguity, said: "Very well, the witness may stand down."
Jenkins waved his pen at Aitken. "Wait, I must read the minutes back to you and then you must sign them."
As Jenkins read in a monotone, Aitken caught Ramage's eye and raised an eyebrow. Ramage gave an imperceptible nod. Aitken had a quick grasp in normal times: in these somewhat unusual circumstances he seemed to be even faster.
Jenkins finished reading and, looking across at Aitken, held up the quill. "Please sign here that the minutes are a true record of the evidence you have given."
"Ahhhh," Aitken shook his head, "now there we have a problem, mister. You know quite well the minutes are by no means a true record of the evidence I've been giving, so thanking you for your trouble, but I'll no be signing the noo."
Shirley continued looking down at the black and white squares painted on the deck canvas, but both Goddard and Jenkins looked at Aitken as though he was a barrel of powder which a fast-burning fuse had only a couple of inches to go.
Goddard smiled reassuringly but his thick lips betrayed his nervousness at this unexpected turn. "My dear Aitken, you must sign the minutes. The regulations, you know."
"That's not my understanding of them, if you'll forgive me, sir. I may be wrong," he added sorrowfully, and Ramage almost laughed aloud as he saw a flicker of hope cross Goddard's face. "Aye, I might be wrong, and for that matter so might you, sir. But of course that's why we have the deputy judge advocate, and why he's paid extra per diem while the court is sitting, to act as our legal adviser. Would you be good enough, sir, to have him consult the court-martial statutes?"
"Look here, Aitken, you'll save everyone a great deal of trouble if you just sign the minutes. It won't do your chances of promotion any good if you get a reputation for fussing about ..."
Ramage was staggered at the barefaced threat and suddenly regretted having been responsible for getting Aitken in this position, and yet curiously thankful that because of the prize money Aitken had earned under his command, he could resign his commission this moment and walk on shore wealthier, in all probability, than any of the twelve captains sitting round the table.
Captain Swinford said unexpectedly but firmly: "I think that the lieutenant has every right to hear what the court-martial statutes have to say on the matter. In all my years, I haven't come across the point before."
Captain Royce, sitting next to him, said: "Personally, I'm quite clear on the point. If the witness isn't satisfied with the minutes, he does not have to sign 'em."
Swinford said: "I must say, if a witness is expected to sign the minutes as 'a true record' of his evidence, then it seems only right that if they aren't 'a true record' he shouldn't sign 'em."
Goddard rapped the table. "Clear the court," he ordered.
"Sir," Jenkins said meekly, standing up, "the witness and the prisoner are involved in this argument, and if you clear the court, they will be removed from . . ."
"Oh very well," Goddard said petulantly, "why don't you cite some references?"
"I have several here, sir."
"Well, damnation, why didn't you mention it? What do they say?"
"They are clear on the point, sir," Jenkins said. "Quite clear."
"There you are," Goddard told Swinford and Royce. "Now I hope you will stop interfering. Sign and leave the court," he told Aitken.
"But sir," Jenkins wailed, "the statutes are clear upon the point that a witness should sign the minutes only if he is satisfied they correctly record his evidence."
Goddard sat with his eyes shut. Clearly, as far as Ramage was concerned, the rear-admiral was trying to recall the earlier part of Aitken's evidence because, of course, if Aitken refused to sign the minutes then none of his evidence would be admissible. Was there anything in that evidence that Shirley wanted? After a minute or two, Ramage decided that Goddard could not clearly remember. This was confirmed by Goddard's next words: "Very well, Lieutenant, if you do not sign the minutes you had better remember my words, and remember that the court can recall you as a witness any time it wishes."
Jenkins glanced down at his list and turned to the Marine sentry at the door. "Call Mr Southwick, master of the Calypso."
Southwick was another of the men warned by both the defence and the prosecution that they would be required as witnesses, and he marched in to the great cabin looking unexpectedly smart, sword by his side, hat tucked under his left arm, freshly shaven, and only his hair the usual unruly white mop which had for many years defied brush and comb and responded only to a fresh wind.
Ramage suddenly realized that although he met Southwick many times a day (and had been doing so for several years) he rarely "saw" him in the sense of assessing his character from his appearance. In fact, watching him now as Jenkins administered the oath, Ramage felt he was looking at a stranger he had known well for years, admittedly a truly absurd contradiction. But Southwick obviously stood four-square, a bluff and kindly man, every inch of him a seaman; a man who spoke his mind and whose honesty no other honest man could possibly doubt. That assessment, Ramage thought wryly, ruled out Goddard, who clearly measured every man by his own standards, thus ensuring he lived in a world apparently peopled only by scoundrels.
As soon as Jenkins was back in his chair, Shirley gave him several slips of paper. The man glided, Ramage realized. Again he had the picture of a sad-faced monk in long robes gliding gloomily along a cloister, head down, hands clasped behind his back - or even clutching a rosary to his breast. Quiet, remote from daily life, little understood by laymen who tried (and failed) to relate remoteness to holiness, and in turn understanding little of laymen.
Jenkins read the first question establishing that Southwick had been master of the Calypso on the relevant day and then, holding one of Shirley's slips of paper, asked: "What was your role in the encounter between the Jason and the Calypso?"
Ramage pictured Shirley sitting in the Jason's great cabin, thinking hard and then scribbling away, thinking again and reaching for another slip of paper. He could not have thought of a more suitable question (from Southwick's point of view) to ask the master.
"Knotting and splicing rigging cut by the Jason's broadside," he said matter-of-factly, in the same tone of voice that one prosperous farmer might use to discuss with another the improving price of wheat.
Goddard turned to look at Southwick. "I can't believe that you personally would be knotting and splicing rigging?"
"Masters of ships don't, sir," Southwick said politely. "You were expected to understand that I was supervising the work."
Ramage saw a cunning glint in Goddard's eyes: he had an ace concealed somewhere. "We can only take notice of what you say, not what you expect us to understand, so strike that answer out, Jenkins," he said. "I think in fact Captain Shirley wishes to withdraw that question."
Shirley nodded once without looking up, and Jenkins ostentatiously screwed up the piece of paper and put it to one side. He took up the next slip. Without reading it out he looked at Shirley and, when the captain did not glance up, walked over to him and whispered something. Ramage saw Shirley nod and Jenkins gave him the slip of paper and returned to his chair. That, Ramage guessed, was another question where Southwick's blunt answer could embarrass the prosecution. He watched as Jenkins picked up the next page.