"When you were on board the Jason, did Captain Shirley make any threatening gesture towards you, or employ any threatening words?"
"No, he seemed to be sleepwalking."
Goddard tapped the table with his signet ring. "The witness's answer to the question is 'No'."
Captain Swinford said quickly without reference to Goddard: "Mr Southwick, why do you use the word 'sleepwalking'?"
Southwick grinned. "You remember when I was serving with you in the Canopus, sir, back in - must be '92? We had that first lieutenant who from time to time would appear on the quarterdeck in his nightshirt, and a midshipman had to be told off to lead him back to his cabin without waking him? Well, he looked like that."
Goddard said sarcastically: "Reminiscing over old times is quite fascinating, but this is hardly the time for it. The reference to sleepwalking was struck from the minutes so your question, Captain Swinford, apart from not being asked through me as president of the court, is quite out of order."
"He was killed at Camperdown, sir," Southwick said, as though Goddard did not exist. "Had he lived, he'd have gone far."
"Quite," Swinford agreed, also ignoring Goddard. "That was why I'd picked him as my first lieutenant."
"Have you any more questions to ask this witness, Captain Shirley?" Goddard asked ominously.
Again Shirley did not look up. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and after Ramage said he had no questions, Jenkins cautioned Southwick to listen while the minutes of his evidence were read aloud to him.
"Aye, that won't take long," commented Southwick. Then he walked down to the end of the table to where Jenkins sat, signed his name with a flourish and, giving Jenkins a broad smile as he thanked him for the trouble he had taken, put the quill back in the inkwell with just enough force to make sure the quill split slightly and ruined the point.
As Southwick walked out of the cabin - because he was to be called again, next time as a defence witness, he had to leave the court and join Aitken - Goddard said: "Your next witness, Captain Shirley."
Shirley stood up. "Mr Southwick was my last witness, sir. The prosecution's case is concluded."
"Very well. Mr Ramage, are you ready to present your defence?"
Yes, he was ready; but was there any point in making a defence? Goddard had blocked nearly all the answers referring to the Jason firing a broadside into the Calypso; he had blocked any hint that Captain Shirley might be mad. He had done all this very skilfully; anyone (particularly Their Lordships at the Admiralty) reading the minutes could not guess what had been struck out; indeed, might never suspect that even a comma was missing.
Yet upon those two facts, the Jason's broadside and Shirley's madness, rested Ramage's entire defence: they were the two reasons why he took the step - which put his life in legal jeopardy - of removing a captain from his command.
How the devil then, could he defend himself against these charges, brought by Shirley himself, if the president of the court ruled out of order any reference to the broadside or madness? Oh yes, Ramage knew he could go to the commander-in-chief and complain, but the commander-in-chief (and the Admiralty too for that matter) would never accept his word against Rear-Admiral Goddard's, not because they particularly favoured Goddard but because the whole edifice on which the Navy was built depended on strict obedience to one's superior, whether an able seaman jumping when the bosun said jump or a lieutenant doing promptly what the captain said, or the captain carrying out his admiral's orders, or the admiral carrying out the Board of Admiralty's orders - and, finally, the Admiralty carrying out orders from its superior, which was the government of the day in the shape of His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Foreign Department. Who, come to think of it, received his instructions from the Cabinet or the prime minister.
If any one of those men or bodies refused to obey, then the whole edifice would collapse or give a tiny shiver, depending on the level of the disobedience. The link between the Cabinet issuing orders to the Secretary of State and an ordinary seaman being harried by a surly bosun's mate might seem tenuous, but it was there and, Ramage had to agree, everyone from the prime minister to the bosun's mate was concerned with upholding authority.
The only problem arose when some unusual circumstance did not fit into the intricate structure of obedience which had been built up over the centuries. The structure had been modified by various Acts of Parliament from time to time; it was the best that men could contrive - up to now, anyway. As far as the Navy was concerned, it had one defect which either no one had noticed or (more likely) no one in authority would admit existed, yet that defect although small could eventually threaten the whole structure.
It was this defect, or flaw, which had trapped Ramage, and it was, quite simply, that there was no way that a captain of a ship of war could lawfully be removed from his command at sea by his officers if he went mad, lapsed into alcoholism, broke his back and could not leave his bunk or in some other way became unfit to command unless the surgeon was prepared to give his opinion in writing that the captain was unfit to command. Few surgeons would risk the consequences, and anyway the Jason's surgeon was dead by the time his opinion was wanted. So the defect or flaw in the Admiralty's command structure became a gaping hole in the case of the Jason on that July day.
Still, there was only one question now remaining in Ramage's mind, and that was why none of the Jason's officers or seamen would admit that she had fired a broadside at the Calypso. Goddard would block the question which, he recalled, led to another: why would none of the officers discuss the reason or even admit they were locked in the gunroom when the Calypsos boarded? Which brought a third question: why would none of the officers discuss the possibility of Shirley being mad with the very captain who was rescuing them from a madman?
So why the hell prolong the trial and give Goddard any more satisfaction? It was not Shirley's fault - he was mad and not responsible for his actions. The captains forming the court did not realize what they faced and could not be told enough - except by the very evidence that Goddard had prevented being given.
Come to think of it, those captains (like Ramage himself) must wonder why the Jason's officers stayed stubbornly silent if they honestly thought Shirley was really mad. Yet that silence alone could be enough reason for them finding Captain Ramage guilty as charged ...
How and why had he become involved in all this, he asked himself bitterly. Why had he removed Shirley from his command - because he would be back commanding the Jason as soon as the trial was over. Why had he freed the Jason's lieutenants - because now not one of them would speak a word even to help their rescuer.
Ramage looked at Goddard and the man's weak, sagging face made him angry. So did the thought of Shirley, and the Jason's lieutenants, who were behaving like sycophantic poltroons.
"Yes, sir, I am ready to present my case," he heard himself saying. "Could the first witness on my list be called?"
The first witness was Aitken, who strode into the cabin to be reminded by Jenkins that he was still on oath and therefore need not be sworn again.
The deputy judge advocate looked questioningly at Ramage, who shook his head. "I do not have my questions written out."
"In that case," Goddard said quickly, having seen that Ramage was not holding any sheets of paper, "you will write them out and ask them through me."
Oh no. Ramage decided: he had put up with enough in the trial so far and he was making a defence only because Goddard, Shirley and the wretched lieutenants had irritated him. "If you'll pardon me, sir, that is not required in the court-martial statutes; writing down questions has simply become a habit in some courts to save time."