Ramage and the Freebooters by Dudley Pope

Three, for instance: anyone who “shall give, hold or entertain intelligence to or with any Enemy or Rebel…” – punishable by death. Article four: failing to tell a superior officer about any letter or message from an enemy or rebel within twelve hours – death or such punishment as the court awards. Article Five: endeavouring to corrupt – same punishment. Article Nineteen: making a mutinous assembly, contempt to a superior officer – same punishment. Then there are numbers Twenty, concealing “any traitorous or mutinous practice or design”; Twenty-one, any complaints about victuals to be made quietly to a superior officer, not used to create a disturbance; Twenty-two, disobeying the lawful command of a superior officer; Twenty-three, using reproachful or provoking speeches or gestures–’
    ‘But sir, all I–’
    ‘The delegates are rebels, Harris: they are rebels against their officers, captains, admirals and King… You “entertained intelligence” from them: you listened to what they said and obeyed them by joining the mutiny. You didn’t tell a superior officer within twelve hours. By talking about the mutiny with the rest of the men you “took part in a mutinous assembly”. You told the twenty-five men who joined from the Lively that the Triton had mutinied, and you and your shipmates scared them into joining you… Harris you can be hanged under half a dozen of the Articles of War: you’ve done things where the Articles don’t even give a court an option – it would have to condemn you to death…’
    ‘But I only told Mr Southwick–’
    ‘And the men from the Lively .’
    ‘–well, yes, I just sort of told them – they knew already, though.’
    ‘Knew what?’
    ‘That the Fleet had mutinied.’
    ‘They didn’t know the Triton had: you told them. Article Nineteen – you’re guilty under both parts, and death the penalty for each. Twenty, Twenty-one…’
    ‘But I just told ’em, sir. I didn’t make ’em join in. Anyone could have told ’em: it just happened to be me.’
    ‘Harris,’ Ramage said quietly, ‘on the table beside you: the mahogany box.’
    ‘Yes, sir?’
    ‘Open it.’
    Warily the man opened the lid.
    ‘What do you see?’
    ‘Pair o’ pistols, sir. Bag o’ shot, powder flask an’ all that.’
    ‘Take out a pistol and load it.’
    The man was trembling now but fascinated by handling the most beautifully made pistol he’d probably ever seen. He poured a measure of powder down the muzzle, took a wad from a fitted box and rammed it home, then put in a round lead shot and rammed that home.
    ‘The priming powder is in the smaller flask.’
    Harris poured a measure from the flask on to the pan and closed the steel.
    ‘Now load the other one.’
    He’d gained more confidence and loaded it faster. Just as he finished and before he had time to put it down Ramage, still speaking quietly, said: ‘Now pick up the other one.’
    The man stood there, slightly hunched, a pistol in each hand.
    ‘Cock them.’
    A click from the right hand; a click from the left.
    ‘Now, Harris, as you’ve probably guessed, those duelling pistols have hair triggers. The most accurate pistols ever made.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Harris said, bemused and puzzled by what was happening.
    ‘Now raise your right hand – higher – point the pistol at me, Harris. Come on!’
    The man’s hand was shaking so much Ramage hoped he’d remember the warning about the hair triggers.
    ‘Now Harris – you can shoot me, and use the other pistol on Mr Southwick. Then you can take over command of the Triton . You could sail her over to Boulogne or Calais – or Cherbourg, even Havre de Grace. Bonaparte’d pay you prize money for the ship – you’d all get a share: enough to live in comfort in France for the rest of your lives. Providing Bonaparte wins the war, of course.’
    ‘But, sir,’ Harris wailed, the pistols dropping to his side. ‘Sir, none of us want anything like that.’
    ‘But