Richardson smiled at the movement.
‘Stinks right enough, sir,’ he said.
‘Going well, Mr Richardson?’
‘We’ll be completed on time tomorrow,’ the first mate assured him.
‘Any problems?’
‘Certainly not in stowage.’
‘What then?’ asked Briggs, detecting the reservation in the man’s voice.
Richardson walked nearer the hoists, taking the captain with him, and gestured down into the hold.
‘Red oak barrels,’ identified Richardson. ‘Leaky stuff.’
‘We’ll have to be mindful of the danger,’ agreed Briggs.
‘Bad time of the year for weather,’ Richardson reminded him. ‘And there have been storms enough as it is.’
‘I’d considered as southerly a course as possible.’
‘Probably best.’
‘How much inboard?’ Briggs gestured into the hold.
‘One thousand, three hundred barrels,’ said Richardson, consulting the consignment board in his hand.
‘Another four hundred to come, then,’ said Briggs. ‘What about the ballast figure?’
‘Thirty tons of stone.’
‘Should be sufficient,’ said Briggs. He indicated the fo’c’sle: ‘What about the crew?’
‘Fine lot,’ judged Richardson. ‘We’ll have no trouble there.’
‘My thinking, too,’ said Briggs, pleased at the other man’s assessment.
‘I gather that the German, Arien Martens, is a qualified mate.’
‘Seems like we’ll have a very expert crew,’ said Briggs.
Richardson obviously appreciated the reference to his recently obtained master’s ticket.
‘Then it should be an easy voyage,’ he said.
‘One of the easiest I’ve undertaken, I hope,’ said Briggs. He moved away from the hold, towards the companion-way leading to the quayside. ‘I’ve to go ashore,’ he said, passing over command. ‘I’m minded it will take me about three hours.’
Because he was on official business and would therefore be reimbursed for the expense, Briggs had ordered a private carriage. Despite the ban on horse-cars, the streets of the city still shifted and heaved with movement; perhaps it was because there were so many immigrants, but Briggs always felt that, instead of being just one port, New York was a mixture of all he had ever visited, a kaleidoscope of cultures and sounds and accents.
To some, he knew, it was confusing, but Briggs always considered it exciting and vibrant, just like the whole land was now that the war was over. Increasingly, since the armistice and from the evidence he had seen from the American ports he visited, comparing them and their business efficiency against those he knew from foreign jetties, Briggs had determined that America would grow into an important country. And he would be a part of that growth. He relaxed easily against the worn leather of the seat, gazing out at the jostled, thronged streets and experiencing again the satisfaction that had first come at the rail of the Mary Celeste. There could be few people in this city or even this country as fortunate as he. Consciously he controlled the emotion, annoyed with himself for permitting it a second time. He’d make the opportunity before the Mary Celeste sailed to visit a church and thank God for his blessings.
They were expecting him at the offices of the United States Shipping Commissioner and the documents were ready. He signed first the articles of agreement, then the list of persons comprising the crew. Within fifteen minutes he was back in the carriage, heading for the offices of J. W. Winchester & Co.
The principal owner was waiting for him, too.
‘We’ve obtained cargo insurance from the Atlantic Mutual covering the freight,’ announced Winchester, after they had shaken hands and Winchester had shown Briggs to a chair bordering his desk. ‘Total of $3,400.’
‘What premium?’ asked Briggs. Commercial alcohol was a more difficult freight than some.
‘Two and a half.’
‘Reasonable enough,’ said Briggs.
‘How’s loading?’
‘Almost complete,’ said Briggs. ‘I’d like to thank you again, incidentally, for that second boat.’
Winchester shrugged dismissively:
‘Still stormy in the Atlantic, by all accounts.’
‘I’ve delayed getting a forecast until nearer the sailing,’ said Briggs.
Winchester glanced across at the barometer which hung against the far wall.
‘The glass is far enough down even here,’ he said. ‘God knows what it’ll be like out at sea.’
‘Sarah is a good sailor,’ said Briggs confidently.
‘What about the young one?’
‘We’ll have to wait and see.’
‘Still happy with the ship?’
‘It would be difficult to be otherwise,’ said Briggs. ‘She’s a fine vessel.’
‘You still haven’t sailed her yet,’ Winchester reminded him.
‘Captain Spates was complimentary enough,’ said Briggs. Spates had been the captain for the vessel’s previous voyage, from Puerto Rico.
‘And he’s an experienced enough man,’ conceded Winchester. He went to a cabinet against the wall and returned with a bottle and two glasses. ‘A toast to the voyage,’ he suggested.
Briggs raised his hand, in a halting movement.
‘I mean no offence,’ he said, ‘but I don’t take alcohol.’
Winchester paused, looking up at his new captain and business partner.
‘Not ever?’ he asked, remembering the previous night’s refusal at dinner.
‘Never.’
The man set the bottle down, whisky in only one glass. ‘Then it’ll be a solitary toast,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘To our partnership and to the successful voyage of the Mary Celeste.’
‘I’ll accept the sentiment, if not the drink,’ said Briggs.
When Briggs returned to the Mary Celeste two hours later, Richardson was waiting for him. During the final loading of the day, the block had slipped, dropping the hoist suddenly. A barrel iron had caught the regular lifeboat, which had been brought from the stern davits on to the deck for the caulking to be checked. The planking had been stoved in for about three feet on the port side, near the stem.
‘We’ll not be able to get that repaired on time,’ said Briggs immediately.
‘What about a replacement?’ asked Richardson. He had been quietened by the incident, regarding it as his fault for attempting two jobs at the same time.
‘I’ll speak to Captain Winchester first thing in the morning,’ promised Briggs. He looked back to the main hatch, over which the second boat Winchester had provided was to be secured on fenders.
‘That might come in handier than we first thought,’ he said.
‘Smaller than this, though,’ pointed out Richardson.
‘Aye,’ agreed Briggs. ‘A proper replacement would obviously be better …’ He paused. ‘Checked the rafts, just in case another longboat isn’t available?’
‘Yes,’ said Richardson. ‘They’re brand new.’
Briggs smiled gratefully at his first mate’s professionalism.
‘If we can’t get another longboat, then with what we’ve already been given by Captain Winchester and with the rafts, we’ll still be able to sail on schedule,’ he said.
‘Right enough,’ accepted Richardson. ‘We’re more than adequately covered on safety regulations.’
Briggs straightened from the damaged longboat, gazing down at the splintered hole. It was beyond repair.
‘Still annoying, though,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Richardson. ‘Damned annoying.’
He registered the grimace from Briggs and remembered too late the captain’s dislike of bad language, even without his wife aboard.
Briggs was immediately aware of the other man’s discomfort and moved to cover it.
‘There were times,’ he said, ‘when something like this would have been regarded as a bad omen.’
Richardson sigh
ed, content that he hadn’t caused any offence.
‘Not with the crew we’ve got aboard,’ he said confidently.
As he moved towards his cabin, Briggs heard the sounds of the melodeon Sarah had brought aboard to accompany her singing. She played as well as she sang, he thought fondly, pausing outside the cabin to listen to the hymn.
He turned, staring back up the companion-way and towards the unseen lifeboat. It was an irritation, he decided. But nothing more. Nevertheless, he would sail happier if he could obtain a replacement.
The Attorney-General sat at his bench, his head lowered, seemingly more interested in the documents before him than in what Captain Winchester was saying. His manner obviously more respectful since his rebuff from the judge, Cornwell had taken his client easily through the formal evidence necessary to enter claim for the vessel and Flood had watched while the New York shipowner had grown more relaxed and confident in the legal surroundings.
Which was exactly how Flood wanted the man: relaxed and confident and completely unsuspecting.
Flood, looking up in apparent surprise when Cornwell muttered his thanks to the witness and sat down, gave the appearance of unreadiness when invited by Cochrane to ask questions, fumbling through the papers on the table. When he finally rose, Winchester was smiling indulgently, imagining incompetence. Flood determined it would not be a smile to last for long.
‘So the Mary Celeste had been rebuilt?’ he said, taking Winchester back to the very beginning of his evidence.
The owner nodded. ‘In 1868 or thereabouts. She had originally been constructed in Nova Scotia with only one deck. But she was wrecked and then rebuilt to have two decks, her length extended to 103 feet and her size brought up to 282 tons.’
‘A new vessel, in fact?’
‘Virtually so, yes.’
‘A valuable ship?’
Winchester hesitated, frowning. ‘Yes,’ he agreed finally.
Flood sorted through some papers in front of him.
‘Insured, I understand, for some $14,000?’
‘Yes,’ said Winchester again.
‘And the present cargo coveted by the owners on the London market for some £6,500?’
Again Winchester paused before agreeing, shortly: ‘Yes.’
‘In addition to which there was your freight insurance of $3,400?’
‘Yes.’ The repetition came almost in a sigh.
Winchester was patronising him, Flood recognised. Which was how he wanted it to be.
‘When did you acquire her?’
‘With a consortium of other men, in October 1869.’
‘Captain Briggs formed part of that consortium?’
‘Not the original group. He purchased his interest in October last year.’
‘Just prior to sailing, in fact?’
‘Yes.’
‘You knew him well?’
‘At first, only by reputation. And that was of an above-average captain. When he joined my company, I came to believe that reputation well founded. I was proud to have him as a partner.’
‘Describe him.’
‘A first-class master and navigator,’ said Winchester immediately. ‘I regarded him as an asset to the company.’
‘A first-class master and navigator,’ repeated Flood slowly. ‘Yet he was to be parted from a ship in which he had so recently purchased part-ownership on his very first voyage.’
Winchester appeared uncertain. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, ‘but I don’t understand if that’s a question.’
‘Not a question, Captain Winchester,’ said Flood. ‘More an observation from which a question can be formulated. What would induce a man of Captain Brigg’s ability and experience, accompanied by his wife and child, to abandon ship without any apparent reason?’
‘That is a question to which I have devoted a great deal of consideration –’ began Winchester, but Flood interrupted, wanting to tilt the man’s composure slightly.
‘– then give us the benefit of that consideration, Captain Winchester.’
‘I have come to no rational, logical conclusion,’ said Winchester, unruffled by the Attorney-General.
‘Sea monsters, perhaps?’ said Flood, anticipating the outburst of laughter and the annoyance it would cause Winchester.
‘It must have been something quite frightening and quite unexpected. It’s been a stormy season and I can only assume it was some manifestation of weather that we shall never know.’
‘You’ve described Captain Briggs as a first-class captain?’
‘Yes.’
‘The sort of man to panic?’
‘Definitely not.’
Winchester was unsettled now, thought Flood. The questioning was proceeding exactly as he had intended.
‘But wouldn’t it indicate panic of the most hysterical kind to abandon with sails apparently set an obviously seaworthy, utterly sound vessel through some manifestation of the weather and commit himself, his family and his crew to a smaller, less seaworthy, less sound lifeboat?’
Winchester did not respond.
‘Wouldn’t it?’ insisted the Attorney-General.
‘That could be an interpretation,’ admitted Winchester reluctantly.
‘The only interpretation?’ pressed Flood.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Yet Captain Briggs was an experienced, first-class mariner unlikely to panic whatever the circumstances.’
‘That is my belief,’ said Winchester.
‘Then if that’s the case, your theory about the weather cannot be valid, can it?’
‘Before going ashore to run my company I spent many years at sea,’ said Winchester. ‘There can arise upon an ocean freak conditions the like of which no man who is not a sailor can ever imagine … conditions that would cause the unlikeliest reaction from the most experienced master.’
‘Are you inviting this enquiry to believe that somewhere near the Azores group of islands there was such a bizarre occurrence … so bizarre that a sane man committed his wife and baby to the perils of a lifeboat …’
‘I don’t ask this enquiry to be persuaded into any conclusion,’ said Winchester. ‘I am merely trying to assist in answering your questions to the best of my ability.’
The Attorney-General allowed the surprise to register at the defiance, the silence building up for effect. Finally he said: ‘Surely you are willing to persuade the court into one conclusion?’
‘Again I lose your drift, sir,’ protested Winchester.
‘You have not, if my recollection of your evidence-in-chief is correct, disputed the fact that the Mary Celeste was found abandoned?’
‘But how can I?’ said Winchester.
Ignoring the question, Flood continued: ‘And therefore you do not oppose the salvage claim?’
Winchester looked towards Captain Morehouse in the well of the court, then towards the judge, as if seeking guidance.
‘Can you see any reason why salvage should not be granted to those making the claim before this enquiry today?’ persisted the Attorney-General.
‘I am not conducting this enquiry,’ said Winchester adroitly. ‘That is a decision for the judge, after considering all of the evidence.’
The Attorney-General concealed completely his annoyance at the other man’s avoidance of the question. He had imagined he had sufficiently unsettled Captain Winchester to make him blurt out some unconsidered denial, from which he could have moved further to dislodge the man.
‘Were you aware that Captain Briggs sailed armed?’ he suddenly demanded.
‘Armed?’ echoed Winchester, face open with astonishment.
‘A sword was found concealed beneath the bunk of his cabin,’ said Flood. He hesitated, reaching beneath a cloth covering the exhibits and held it up. ‘This sword,’ he announced.
Winchester smiled, patronising again. ‘A souvenir from some earlier voyage, surely?’ he said, looking out into the court at the scattered sound of amusement.
‘The thought amuses you, Cap
tain Winchester?’
‘The thought of Captain Briggs arming himself with a cutlass amuses me,’ said the owner.
‘I do not consider this a cutlass.’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Winchester, more openly patronising. ‘A sword of any kind.’
Flood became aware of Cochrane’s attention upon him and realised that the judge imagined he had lost control of the questioning.
‘Would your amusement remain if I told you that there was evidence of that sword being hastily wiped to do away with the traces of blood which stained the blade?’ he demanded.
The attitude of condescension fell away from the witness. Winchester became immediately serious, looking towards the lawyer representing him and then back to Flood.
‘Of course I would not be amused,’ he said. ‘I know nothing of any bloodstains.’
‘There were more upon the decking,’ continued Flood. ‘Tell me, Captain Winchester, what freak weather conditions put bloodstains upon sword blades and ships’ decking?’
Winchester shrugged, but did not reply.
‘Do you persist in your view that the weather is the root of this apparent tragedy?’ said Flood.
‘I was trying to assist the enquiry,’ repeated Winchester irritably. ‘I was not insisting that it was the weather. How can I? No one will ever know.’
‘Perhaps we might come to learn the truth,’ Flood said quickly. ‘This enquiry has hardly begun, after all.’
He went back to his papers, seeking nothing but wanting a pause for the remark to be assimilated by everyone in the room.
‘Was Captain Briggs an abstemious man?’ he asked.
‘A teetotaller,’ replied Winchester.
‘And the crew?’
‘I know the first mate, Richardson, to be a non-drinker,’ said the owner.
‘How so?’
‘He was recently married to a relation of mine, a niece.’
‘And the remainder of the crew?’
‘Predominantly German,’ said Winchester. ‘There was no indication of any drunkenness among them prior to the sailing. Captain Briggs went to particular trouble to ensure he had as good a crew as he could muster and before he sailed he expressed himself well pleased with the men he’d got.’
The Mary Celeste Page 3
