Free Ramage's Mutiny by Dudley Pope Page A

judge advocate.
    It was not the stare of defiance, Ramage was certain of that. The other three now seemed to be shrinking, as though fear was slowly wilting them, but the fourth man appeared to be gaining confidence as the others were losing it.
    Gowers began reading out the charge. It was brief. After naming the four men and saying they had been part of the
Jocasta
’s ship’s company on the day of the mutiny, it first accused them of taking part in the mutiny and “aiding and assisting” in the murder of Captain Wallis, four lieutenants, Master, midshipman, Surgeon and the Lieutenant of Marines. It then went on to accuse them of “aiding and assisting” in running away with the ship and handing her over to the enemy, deserting, “holding intelligence with the enemy,” and “concealing mutinous designs.” All, the charge concluded, in breach of the third, fifteenth, sixteenth, nineteenth, twenty-eighth and thirty-sixth Articles of War.
    That death was the penalty in all but one case the men well knew, having heard the Articles read to them at least once a month. Ramage had watched the four closely while Gowers was reading, and the deputy judge advocate had, probably without realizing it, given a slight emphasis to each key word—mutiny, murder, deserting—like a carpenter hammering home the nails of a box. Three men had gone pale; perspiration was now running down their faces. The fourth man was calm, as though his conscience was clear or, perhaps, because he knew he had a cast-iron defence.
    It was getting hot in the great cabin: the ship being moored with her stern towards the beach presented her broad transom to the east, and the sun was beating through the sternlights on to their backs. As soon as Gowers finished reading the charges, Captain Edwards signalled the provost marshal to have the curtains drawn. The material was thick—it had to stop light escaping at night when the Admiral was at sea and wanted lanterns in his cabin—and the cabin was soon only dimly lit by sunlight sparkling on the water and reflecting through the four gun ports.
    Captain Edwards tapped the table with his gavel: “All witnesses save the first will withdraw.” He said it with a curious intonation which made Ramage glance up: as far as he knew Aitken was the only witness, yet three officers rose from the chairs behind the prisoners and left the cabin. They left noisily, scraping the chairs, and all the prisoners glanced behind them, alarmed and curious, obviously puzzled over who they could be.
    Captain Edwards was obviously going to be a good president of the court: his voice was authoritative but not abrupt, his orders brief without being curt. “Call the first witness,” he said.
    â€œLieutenant James Aitken,” Gowers said, picking up the Bible and selecting a card, which he handed Aitken. “Place your right hand on the Bible and make the oath written here.”
    Aitken took the oath and then went to the chair facing the president and only six or eight feet from Ramage.
    â€œYou are James Aitken, a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, and formerly the acting commanding officer of the
Juno
frigate on the fifth of June this year?”
    â€œI am,” Aitken replied, only the broadness of his Scottish burr betraying his nervousness.
    Edwards leaned forward, indicating that he was about to take over the questioning: “Relate to the court what happened on the fifth day of June.”
    â€œThe
Juno
was on passage from off Martinique to Antigua and we were four leagues west of the north-western tip of Guadeloupe. We sighted a brig to the east of us and gave chase.”
    â€œWhat colours was she flying?”
    â€œNone at first, but she soon hoisted an American flag.”
    â€œDid she try to avoid you?”
    â€œNo, sir. We came up to her and I ordered her to heave-to.”
    â€œWhat was your purpose in doing that?”
    â€œI wanted to see if