‘There’ll be sight of land soon,’ he said. ‘The Azores.’
‘Will we make port there?’
Briggs shook his head.
‘We’ve lost enough time as it is,’ he said. ‘I’ll continue for Gibraltar.’
‘I wonder if the Dei Gratia will be there,’ said Sarah.
Briggs remembered his wife’s reservations about Captain Morehouse.
‘You’ll not forget my invitation?’ he said.
She looked up from her sewing, faintly annoyed at the reminder.
‘I’ve promised you he’ll be welcome at our table,’ she said.
In the galley, where the crew had taken their meal, speculation about the identity and cause of the wreck had continued unabated for two hours.
Volkert Lorensen thrust his cup aside during a break in the conversation and said, ‘It might have seemed a fair reservation in New York, but after the sort of crossing we’re enduring, I’d welcome something a little stronger than coffee.’
Goodschall waved his hand in the direction of the bulkhead. ‘There’s drink enough in the holds,’ he said. ‘Gallons of it.’
‘Commercial alcohol!’ laughed Richardson. ‘Have you smelt it?’
‘Impossible not to,’ complained Gilling.
‘Believe me,’ said the first mate, ‘it tastes worse than it smells. Commercial alcohol is undrinkable.’
Frederick Flood liked bullfights.
He did not see them, as they were frequently dismissed by fainthearted tourists, as gory, orgiastic spectacles. Or even as the simplistic illustrations of courage, man against primitive beast, of which the Spanish aficionados spoke. He liked to sit in an arena and imagine the emotions of the matador, conjuring in his own mind the fear the man would know in the early moments of confrontation, when one mistake could mean death, and then the other feeling, the sensation of which he was even more convinced, the almost sensuous euphoria that must come at the fighter’s realisation that he was going to win. It must be very similar to the feeling he knew now, thought the Attorney-General, as he watched the swearing-in of his first witness.
Even the fact that Sir James had not that morning summoned him, as the Attorney-General had anticipated, to tell him of the previous night’s discussions in chambers, failed to affect his humour. He was quite convinced that his view of Pisani’s integrity was correct and that some indication would come during the course of the day’s hearing.
From his bench, Cochrane looked invitingly at Flood, who rose to begin his examination. John Austin, the colony’s surveyor of shipping, regarded him expectantly. It took only moments to establish the man’s qualifications as an expert witness.
‘Did you, on December 23 of last year, accompany myself and Mr Vecchio, the marshal of this court, aboard a half-brig known as the Mary Celeste?’ opened Flood. The time for nuance was over. Now it was to be the straight presentation of unarguable facts.
‘Yes,’ said Austin.
‘For what purpose?’
‘To carry out as thorough an examination as was practicable and from that examination conclude the reason for the ship’s supposed abandonment.’
‘Was such an examination possible?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long were you so occupied?’
‘Five hours.’
‘What was the first thing you found?’
‘On approaching the vessel I discovered damage to the bow between two and three feet above the waterline on the port side. A long, narrow strip at the edge of one of her outer planks under the cathead was cut away to a depth of about three-eighths of an inch and about one inch and a quarter wide for a length of six to seven feet.’
‘Could it have been caused by the adverse weather conditions we are all aware have recently been affecting the Atlantic?’ broke in Flood, anxious that the point should be established.
‘In my opinion, no,’ asserted Austin. ‘It was recently sustained and was apparently done by a sharp cutting instrument continuously applied through the whole length of the injury. On the starboard bow a little farther from the stem I discovered a precisely similar injury, but perhaps an eighth or a tenth of an inch wider.’
‘Could this have been caused by the weather?’ repeated the Attorney-General.
‘No,’ said Austin. ‘In my opinion, it had been caused at the same time as the damage to the starboard side. And by the same sharp cutting instrument.’
‘There has been much conjecture during the course of this enquiry,’ said Flood. ‘The most frequent is that some bizarre weather condition caused the inexplicable abandonment of the Mary Celeste by its crew. Would you assist the court by giving your judgment upon such a possibility?’
Austin turned to the judge, knowing the importance the Attorney-General placed upon the question and wanting Cochrane to misunderstand nothing:
‘I do not think that the Mary Celeste ever encountered weather severe enough for her crew to have considered abandoning her in favour of a ship’s boat.’
Flood was aware of the stir at the lawyers’ bench and then of the movement in the court, where the earlier witnesses were sitting. Pisani’s unhappiness would be increasing with every moment that passed.
‘You have no doubt about that?’ Flood pressed.
‘Absolutely none.’
‘That view is obviously supported by evidence?’
‘Of course,’ said Austin.
‘Then taking as much time as you feel necessary, Mr Austin, perhaps you could provide that evidence.’
There was more movement from where the lawyers sat as they prepared to take notes.
‘The Mary Celeste has no bulwarks, but a top-gallant rail supported by stanchions,’ began the surveyor. ‘The whole of this rail, apart from one section, was uninjured. Nor was a single stanchion misplaced. Upon the deck were water barrels, in their proper places and secured. Had the vessel ever been thrown on her beam ends or encountered a very serious gale, the barrels would have gone adrift, carrying away some of the top-gallant stanchions.’
‘That is your only evidence?’
‘By no means. There is a for’ard deckhouse, made of thick planking and painted white, the seam between it and the deck being filled with pitch. A very violent sea would have swept the deckhouse away. A sea of less than very great violence would have cracked the panelling or the pitch. It had not suffered the slightest injury; there was not even cracking in the paint. I examined the windows and shutters of this deckhouse. None was damaged in the slightest degree, as they would have been had bad weather been encountered.’
‘What else?’
‘On the starboard side of the main cabin was the chief mate’s quarters. On a little bracket in this cabin I found a small phial of oil for a sewing machine, in an upright, perpendicular position, a reel of cotton and a thimble. Such light articles would have been cast down in any serious gale. In a lower drawer beneath the bedspace was a quantity of glass and some loose pieces of iron, stored together. I would have expected this iron to shatter the glass, had the Mary Celeste been thrown about. The glass was intact. Throughout the vessel, there were windows the glass of which was not of the reinforced, porthole type. Unless covered or shuttered in bad weather – and none of it was covered when I boarded the vessel – then this glass would have been stove in by heavy seas.’
‘Would you help the court about what you found upon descending through the lazarette hatch?’
‘As the court knows, this is the storage area of the vessel,’ responded Austin. ‘I located here several barrels of assorted stores and also a barrel of Stockholm tar, the head of which had been removed. Neither the provisions nor the tar had been upset by weather, as would have undoubtedly happened if it had been bad.’
‘Will you now talk about your findings in the master’s cabin?’
During his evidence, Austin had turned slightly away from Cochrane, towards the court. He went back now, knowing it was another important piece of evidence.
‘There was a s
word there, of a somewhat ornate design –’ began Austin.
‘This sword?’ queried Flood, offering the exhibit.
The marshal carried it to Austin, who nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This was the weapon. I examined it minutely. I did not consider it affected by the water which had wetted, although not to an appreciable degree, other sections of the vessel. Upon withdrawing the blade from its scabbard, I saw upon the blade marks which I believed to be blood. Attempts had been made to wipe them away –’
‘A moment, Mr Austin,’ interrupted the Attorney-General. ‘Let us establish a fact here without question of challenge. Although not substantial, is it your view that there were areas of the ship which had been wetted by the sea and this cabin was one of them, apparently having had an open fanlight when the salvage crew boarded?’
‘That was my information.’
‘That being so, do you consider that the marks upon this sword could have been in any way those of rust, caused by that wetting?’
‘As I have already said, no, I do not.’
‘You have no doubt whatsoever that the stains were blood?’
‘None. There had been some attempts to wipe the blade, but it was still clearly blood.’
The Attorney-General paused, glancing to his right. All three lawyers sat hunched over their pads, writing hurriedly.
‘Did you discover any wine, beer or spirits aboard?’
‘No, sir, none.’
‘You have told us that, in your opinion, no weather conditions could have caused the abandonment of the Mary Celeste. During the five hours you spent conducting your minute, expert examination did you come upon any other logical explanation of why Captain Briggs should have taken his wife, baby and crew off in the ship’s boat?’
‘Absolutely none. I studied every part of the ship to which I had access in an effort to discover whether there had been any explosion or whether there had been any fires or any accident calculated to create an alarm of an explosion or fire. I did not discover the slightest trace of such a thing.’
‘The vessel was sound and not shipping water to any appreciable extent?’
‘Absolutely sound.’
‘You had a diver, Mr Ricardo Portunato, conduct an external examination of the hull?’
‘I did.’
‘What were his findings?’
‘The hull was intact, in excellent condition and with no visible signs of damage other than the two cut marks about which I have already spoken.’
‘What conclusions do you, an expert, draw from all this, Mr Austin?’
‘From my examination of the Mary Celeste, I did not discover any evidence indicating weather conditions or any other logical explanation for the disappearance of the crew.’
‘Continuing that assessment to its logical end, can there only be a sinister conclusion as to the fate of Captain Briggs, his wife, their child, and perhaps some of the crew?’
‘I fear so,’ said Austin.
The Attorney-General sat down, flushed with contentment. Returning to his reflections at the beginning of the day, he decided that had he been performing in the bullring and not in a court, he would surely have been awarded not just the ears, but the tail as well.
He relaxed in his seat, watching first Pisani and then Cornwell attempt to obtain from the surveyor some qualification of the dogmatic evidence he had given. Austin remained absolutely unshakeable, repeating again and again that there had been no evidence aboard the ship to support the theory that the vessel had been beset by gales.
For a lawyer who could no longer have any belief in his brief, Pisani was questioning with remarkable tenacity. Flood regarded the man admiringly. Pisani did have integrity. But it was proving to little avail. The more Pisani tried, the worse he made it sound for the crew of the Dei Gratia.
The Attorney-General decided he would invoke the request with which he had ended each day’s examination and have Oliver Deveau recalled. John Austin’s evidence would make a damaging contrast to that of the first mate, and Flood judged Deveau more likely to collapse under positive challenge than either Morehouse or Winchester. The Attorney-General felt he could afford to wait, savouring their eventual capitulation to truth at some later time.
He looked casually around, unable to locate Deveau. Obviously the man had absented himself for a few moments; Flood had been passingly aware of how accustomed these men had become to court proceedings, leaving and entering during the course of the hearing, no longer sniggering like nervous schoolboys, as they had that first day. It was true, of course, that even the most obtuse must recognise which way the hearing was going and realise that there was little cause for laughter any more.
It was a further hour before Pisani conceded defeat, sitting down and leaving the surveyor with every statement absolutely intact.
Flood was on his feet as soon as the surveyor had been released.
‘I seek the recall of Oliver Deveau,’ he announced.
The response came not from the court registrar, as he had anticipated, but from Pisani.
‘I regret that will not be possible,’ said the crew lawyer, standing.
Cochrane looked up enquiringly.
‘Why not?’ he demanded
‘You will recall, sir, that I made application to you last night in chambers for the formal release from custody of the Dei Gratia’ reminded the lawyer.
‘Yes,’ agreed Cochrane doubtfully.
Bird-like, Flood sat with his head to one side, the attitude of a sparrow which has had the worm snatched from it by a crow. Outrage engulfed him, fleeting anger at his misconception of the purpose of Pisani’s private interview and then at the judge’s stupidity in releasing the salvage vessel. With difficulty, he controlled any outward sign of emotion, remembering from Cochrane’s clashes with the other lawyers how quick the man was to respond to criticism.
‘It was thought best that Captain Morehouse, as the senior officer, should remain here to give continuing assistance to the court, and that Deveau should take the Dei Gratia on to Genoa to unload,’ said Pisani, uncomfortably aware of the judge’s impending reaction.
‘What!’ demanded Cochrane. ‘Thought better by whom?’
‘Myself, Captain Morehouse … and we sought the advice of Captain Winchester,’ stumbled the lawyer.
‘Did I not make it clear that the release was subject to its creating no inconvenience whatsoever to this enquiry?’
‘Yes, My Lord, you did,’ conceded Pisani.
What a cabal, thought Flood. They had reached the same conclusion as he, that Deveau might be the first to collapse. And tried to shift him away to where he could cause least harm.
‘But Captain Morehouse never boarded the Mary Celeste,’ protested the judge, his indignation matching that which Flood had felt minutes before. ‘What possible purpose could there be in his staying in preference to a witness as vital as the man who commanded the vessel throughout its days of salvage?’
Cochrane was stressing his annoyance, anxious to recover from what he must now recognise to be a mistake, decided the Attorney-General. First the analyst. Now the judge. Thank God he was sending his reports to London where they could be assessed without interference from fools.
‘It would seem that a miscalculation has been made,’ admitted Pisani.
‘Indeed there has, sir,’ said Cochrane. ‘I am adjourning this hearing today, to enable you and Captain Morehouse to communicate with the ship-owners and with the consul in Genoa, ordering Deveau back to the precincts and jurisdiction of this court by the fastest means at his disposal. And let me make it quite clear to you and everyone else in this chamber, Mr Pisani: I will not have the authority of this court impugned or endangered again, sir! Is that understood?’
‘It was never the intention of anyone to impugn your authority,’ attempted Pisani humbly.
‘Of that, sir, I remain to be convinced,’ said Cochrane, jerking to his feet to end the confrontation.
This time the request t
o visit the chambers came almost as soon as the Attorney-General had disrobed. There was no invitation to sherry as Flood settled himself.
Closer than he had been to the man in court, Flood saw that Cochrane was flushed with anger, a nerve in his eyelid tugging in annoyance and creating the ludicrous impression that the man was winking conspiratorially.
‘What do you make of it?’ demanded Cochrane immediately. He put his hand up, to cover his flickering eye.
‘There can be only one conclusion,’ said the Attorney-General. He would be failing in his duty as Admiralty Proctor if he did not include in that night’s report to London an account of the mistake that Sir James had made.
‘Do you think he’ll return?’ said the judge.
‘It’s impossible to say,’ suggested Flood. ‘You could always pass on the request through London for the British Consul in Genoa to urge some action from the American representatives there.’
Cochrane frowned, aware that the request would confirm his error to the Admiralty.
‘I’ve the assurance from Pisani that everything will be done,’ he said awkwardly.
He paused, as if debating whether to continue. Then he said, ‘I have decided to call in the police authorities and make available to them a transcript of everything that has been said at this enquiry.’
‘I had hoped you would,’ said Flood honestly.
‘I’m not hopeful, though.’
‘Hopeful?’
‘Unless there’s an admission of conspiracy from someone … of any criminality, in fact, then I don’t think there’s sufficient evidence for a criminal arrest.’
Winchester’s anger was greater because of his realisation that he had made an error and that it would add to the suspicion already created.
‘I didn’t think of bail-bond money,’ he protested.
‘Unless a surety is lodged with the court against any subsequent claim, you’ll not get the return of the Mary Celeste,’ predicted Cornwell.
‘I should have been advised,’ said the owner.
‘I didn’t think a reminder would be necessary,’ said Cornwell defensively. ‘Isn’t there anyone who will honour a note from you?’
The Mary Celeste Page 13
