Winchester had spoken with urgent seriousness, still anxious to help the enquiry, so that he was breathless when he concluded. For several moments the Attorney-General remained absolutely motionless, giving no reaction whatsoever to the statement. From across the courtroom the owner regarded him defiantly.
Flood waited until his clerk handed him the notes before making any response. As he spoke, the hand holding the papers moved in a vaguely enticing fashion, in the way that the matador lures the exhausted animal on to his sword-point with the flickering of the cape.
‘… cannot believe she was abandoned through stress of weather only,’ he paraphrased. ‘Nor through perils of the sea …’
Winchester waited suspiciously.
Flood took great care to select another page of notes, moving it in the same fashion as he had the first.
‘… “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” …’
Flood looked up from his clerk’s notes.
‘Is that familiar to you, Captain Winchester?’ he said.
‘I said –’ attempted the witness, but Flood interrupted him.
‘Is that familiar to you, Captain Winchester?’
‘I know that’s what I said …’
‘Then what has caused you to alter that statement since you first gave evidence at this enquiry?’
‘I have not altered it.’
‘To my mind, you have qualified it considerably.’
‘I said something quite frightening and unexpected,’ tried Winchester.
‘And accounted for whatever it was by some unknown weather condition,’ the Attorney-General reminded him.
‘All I meant to convey was that there was something in addition to the weather.’
‘And that addition – something so terrifying that it caused such experienced men to leap overboard – I have been attempting to identify for many days past,’ said Flood. ‘Having tried once to be be more helpful, perhaps you can offer this enquiry the further benefit of your considerable experience. What, beyond stress of weather or known perils of the sea, could have caused such a reaction among such men?’
Wearily Captain Winchester shook his head. There was always such a moment, thought Flood, just before the bull slumped, exposing the fatal point of entry between the shoulder blades.
‘If you have the transcript of my earlier evidence before you,’ said the ship-owner, ‘then I believe you will see that I also stated my belief that no one would ever know … that it would always remain a mystery.’
‘And you may recall my response to that,’ replied Flood. ‘That before the conclusion of this enquiry, the real truth might be found.’
‘I remember the remark well enough,’ said Winchester. ‘I am unaware of your having succeeded.’
‘Then let us proceed and perhaps I might,’ said Flood. ‘What, in addition to weather or perils of the sea, would cause the abandonment?’
‘I don’t know!’ protested Winchester desperately. ‘How many times do we have to have the same question to which I can only make the same answer!’
‘We will have the question as many times as it takes me to obtain the proper answer,’ said Flood. He took up another piece of paper.
‘Have you arranged for the Mary Celeste to load fruit in Messina, for passage back to New York?’ he asked unexpectedly. It had been a wise precaution to have the last three months’ editions of the New York Journal of Commerce shipped from America, from which he had been able to learn of the contract.
‘It was a shipment agreed before I even knew of the disaster that had befallen the vessel,’ said the owner.
‘If you fail to fulfil that contract, do you stand to lose financially?’
‘Of course,’ said Winchester. ‘I am responsible for my company’s bond.’
‘Can you afford such loss?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So you are not a rich man … you are someone who would welcome money, in fact?’
Until the error with Deveau, that was the sort of question that would have brought Cornwell to his feet in protest. Now the lawyer remained at his bench, hunched in apparent concentration over his papers.
‘I am not a rich man,’ responded Winchester slowly, as if he were anxious that the judge should be aware of what he was saying. ‘For my income I depend upon the workings of my ships. But I am not so short of funds that I am driven to the sort of criminality that has been suggested on numerous occasions at this hearing. I am not involved in any nefarious scheme to benefit from the disappearance and subsequent recovery or the Mary Celeste, its crew or any salvage award that this court may feel inclined to make.’
‘An assurance, like those that preceded it, which I know this court welcomes,’ said Flood, smoothly. He picked up the piece of deck railing, holding it above his head.
‘You were aboard the Mary Celeste before it sailed from New York?’
‘On several occasions.’
Flood gestured to the court marshal for the exhibit to be carried to the owner.
‘Do you imagine you would have noticed such an injury on the railing, had it occurred there?’
‘Yes, I do. Prior to Captain Briggs’s buying into my company, we thoroughly examined the vessel together. There was also a purchaser’s survey conducted. It said nothing about any such injury.’
‘So it occurred during the voyage?’
‘Obviously.’
‘How?’
‘There are a hundred ways that such damage could have been caused.’
‘Would you say it was an axe mark?’
‘It is certainly a blow from something heavy.’
‘What does that suggest to you?’
Winchester sighed. ‘That perhaps there was an incident of the sort that can happen on any ship for a dozen different reasons and that somehow the top-gallant rail became marked.’
‘A violent incident?’
The owner looked steadily at the Attorney-General.
‘That is your belief,’ he said. ‘Not mine.’
‘Then what is your belief, Captain Winchester?’
‘I believe that there occurred aboard the Mary Celeste something very extreme but which, were we to know, would be quite understandable to experienced mariners. Whatever it was, it was of sufficient severity to cause two excellent seamen like Captain Briggs and first mate Richardson to quit their ship, something neither of them would have done unless in fear of their lives.’
‘And what, this enquiry wonders, would that have been?’ said Flood.
‘I wish to God I knew, so that I could enlighten you and end this inquisition,’ blurted Winchester, unable any longer to hold his anger.
Cochrane came up from his notes and the Attorney-General stood smiling at the reaction he had achieved from the witness.
‘Perhaps, when he is returned from the place to which he went upon your advice, first mate Deveau can help us further,’ said Flood. ‘Since your previous evidence, we have come a long way towards changing your opinion. After the benefit of additional examination of Deveau, it could be that we can achieve more progress.’
Winchester stood regarding the Attorney-General balefully, aware that the outburst of annoyance would be misconstrued in the bias of the hearing.
‘You heard the evidence about the sword from the expert witness, surveyor Austin?’
‘Yes.’
‘And his positive evidence that the stains upon the blade were blood?’
‘His belief that the stains were blood.’
Flood ignored the qualification.
‘Already, Captain Winchester, you have offered the hearing a little more than you did during your first period of evidence,’ said the Attorney-General. ‘Can you, in advance of anything else we might hear, offer us any further assistance on that staining?’
‘How can I?’ said Winchester tightly.
�
�Or on why a supposedly abandoned ship came to be on course?’
‘No.’
‘Almost as if it had been sailing to a rendezvous?’
‘No.’
Perhaps he had moved prematurely for the kill, thought Flood. The witness was proving more resistant than he had anticipated.
‘What is your intention, once this enquiry is concluded?’ he demanded.
‘To retrieve my ship, appoint a new captain and then return to New York to continue my business.’
‘What captain?’
‘The command has been given to Captain George Blatchford, of Wrentham, Massachusetts.’
The reply appeared momentarily to surprise the Attorney-General.
‘What about Captain Morehouse?’ he said.
‘It is my understanding that Captain Morehouse already has a captaincy, that of the Dei Gratia.’
He was losing ground, decided Flood.
‘Is it beyond possibility that Captain Morehouse might be offered a position within your company?’ he persisted.
‘Captain Morehouse and I have the briefest of acquaintanceships,’ said the witness. ‘As I have already attempted to make clear to this enquiry, no question of any appointment has been discussed between us.’
‘Not for anything Captain Morehouse has done for you?’ chanced Flood, heavily.
Pisani moved, as if to stand, but Winchester spoke ahead of any intervention.
‘Captain Morehouse returned intact a ship of mine which might otherwise have been lost,’ he said. ‘For that I am grateful. That is the only service that Captain Morehouse has performed from which I might be regarded as having benefited.’
‘Was any suggestion made otherwise?’ said Flood.
‘Sir,’ said Winchester, ‘throughout the course of this enquiry suggestions have constantly been made in exaggeration of any evidence to support them.’
‘As I have had occasion to remark earlier in the proceedings,’ said the Attorney-General, ‘the assessment of the evidence and the conclusion to be drawn from it is entirely that of the learned judge.’
‘And as I have had occasion to remark,’ came back Winchester, ‘civil findings in a civil court.’
Flood wondered if he could upset this complacement man’s composure by the revelation that the case was now being studied by the police department. Reluctantly he decided against it. The disclosure would be premature and he did not want to provide any opportunity for guilty people to escape.
And Winchester had escaped him again, he accepted. But only temporarily. Despite every setback, Frederick Flood’s determination to bring guilty men to justice had not wavered for a moment.
For the first time during their after-court gatherings, Captain Winchester did not dominate the discussion. Instead, he sat quietly listening to Consul Sprague recount the success they had had in contacting Deveau in Genoa and speeding him back. There was every hope that he would be in Gibraltar in time to give evidence the following day.
‘Then perhaps this charade can end,’ said Pisani. ‘There must be a limit to what Cochrane will permit the Attorney-General.’
‘I’d like to believe so,’ said the other lawyer, Cornwell.
‘For some days now I’ve been regretting that I ever saw the confounded ship and decided to salvage her,’ said Morehouse. ‘I wish I’d just let her drift on, after assuring myself there was no one on board.’
Aware of how bad that would sound to its owner, the Dei Gratia captain looked apologetically towards Captain Winchester.
‘I didn’t really mean that,’ he said hurriedly.
‘After the treatment we’ve received here, it’s a natural enough reaction,’ said Winchester, unoffended. ‘I almost wish you’d let her go myself.’
‘Flood seems to be aware of the great interest the finding of this vessel has created in America and England,’ said Sprague. ‘I think he likes the notoriety he’s getting.’
Unaware of the Attorney-General’s thoughts in the chamber that day, Winchester said, ‘Damned man seems to regard his function to be that of bear-baiting.’
He paused, then looked directly at the consul:
‘When I get back to New York I intend filing an official complaint to Washington on the conduct of this enquiry,’ he said. ‘It’s monstrous that these people can behave as they are doing without any apparent check.’
Sprague gestured, indicating the helplessness of his position.
‘This is a small colony, a thousand miles from England,’ he said. ‘Strange though it may seem, I know that Flood and Sir James Cochrane are highly regarded in London.’
‘It’ll be a short-lived reputation, if I have my way,’ vowed the owner.
‘The very real problem,’ said Pisani seriously, ‘is that under the current conditions, there’s very little likelihood of your doing so.’
‘Given any thought to raising the bail-bond?’ Cornwell asked the New York owner suddenly.
‘A lot,’ admitted Winchester. ‘I’m in correspondence with a ship’s captain in Cadiz with whom I’m acquainted.’
‘Let’s hope it will work,’ said the lawyer.
‘I think it will,’ said Winchester.
There had been little improvement in the weather, even though they were moving closer to the islands from which they hoped to get shelter. The sea had lessened slightly but the wind stayed near gale force and the first watch took down the royal and topgallant sails at Briggs’s orders; the memory of an over-canvassed ship in a storm was perhaps more vivid in his mind than anyone else’s.
Because of the squall, they slept fitfully, always conscious of the pitching of the vessel and the need to adjust their bodies to it, without fully waking.
Only occasionally did Sophia stir, whimpering, and once Sarah got up to her, smiling when she realised the child was only dreaming. For several minutes the woman stood ga2ing down at her younger child, braced against the ship’s movement with her hand against the edge of the tiny cot.
She heard a rumble, seemingly very close, and frowned at the prospect of yet another thunderstorm. Sophia had been remarkably good, decided Sarah, only complaining when she had been sick, which any child would have done. Once her stomach had settled, she had recognised almost without protest that she had to remain within the confines of the cabin, with the few toys they had brought. It was fortunate that his schooling had kept Arthur in Massachusetts. It would have been far more difficult occupying an active seven-year-old than it had been entertaining the baby.
She would be glad to get some sun upon Sophia’s face. And feed her up, not just on the fresh meat and fish which would be available in Gibraltar and along the Mediterranean ports, but upon the fruit that she remembered from her previous trips heaped in profusion in every market place.
There was another rumble, more muffled than before, but Sarah was only half aware of the sound, an idea forming in her mind. After such a crossing, the child would benefit from a brief vacation ashore. It would be very easy for them to be set down in one of the French ports on the way to Genoa and then be picked up as the Mary Celeste returned. If there were any delays with the return cargo, it would be easy enough for them to make their way overland to rejoin the vessel in port. Monte Carlo or Menton would be pleasant. Or maybe San Remo. If the Mary Celeste were detained, it would be quite simple to get to Genoa from any of them.
A spell ashore, no matter how brief, would mean Sophia could get the exercise that hadn’t been possible on the cramped, storm-battered ship. They would be able to explore inland villages. And paddle and splash in the sea that had been so cruel to them.
Sarah went slowly back to her bunk, pausing to stare down at her sleeping husband, feeling the warmth of affection. She regarded herself as a fortunate woman; Benjamin Briggs was a good man. And a fine, practising Christian, too. She remembered fondly his discomfort at her recognition of his pride in the Mary Celeste that day in New York, the expression on her face similar to that minutes before as she had gazed down at the baby
. There was every reason for the feeling, yet her husband would always remain modest, she knew.
She was careful climbing back into her sleeping area, not wanting to disturb him. She was sure he would accept her idea of a holiday as a good one. And, as the pursekeeper, she knew they could afford it easily enough. She would mention it at breakfast.
Briggs had been aware of his wife standing over him, just as he had been aware of her getting up from her bunk and going to the child, but had purposely feigned sleep, not wanting the whispered conversation he knew would ensue if she realised he was awake.
His thoughts were entirely upon the ship. Sarah couldn’t help him with that and, adept as she was in recognising his feelings, she would discern his anxiety if they talked. And he did not want to frighten her.
Like her, he had heard the thunder apparently very near and his worry that he might have changed course too late had increased at the prospect of continuing bad weather. Regardless of the conditions at daybreak, he would open the holds, he decided. The barrels were securely enough stowed, even if they shipped heavy seas. And the pumps would be adequate, providing they kept a careful check.
Despite the decision, the fear that he had waited too long kept intruding itself into his mind. He attempted to recall a long-ago conversation with his father about a shipment of commercial alcohol. He was sure the man had told him there were warning signs before the cargo became volatile, but no matter how he concentrated, he could not bring the recollection to mind.
There was the sound of more thunder and Briggs shifted in his sleeping space, irritated at the memory lapse. Perhaps Richardson would know of it; he would have to ask the first mate early in the morning.
He turned his face towards his wife in the darkness, hearing the deepening breathing and happy that she was getting some rest. Half-sleep came to him at last, while a part of his consciousness lingered over the danger of the ship’s cargo and the severity of the weather, so that he was almost immediately aware of the change.
On deck the dropping of the wind which was later to result in a becalming was noticed first around dawn. The sky was streaked with yellow and red when they made the island of Santa Maria, on an east-by-south-easterly bearing. First mate Richardson was actually awakened by the lack of motion in the vessel and got on deck around six. Goodschall, at the helm, gestured ahead and Richardson looked towards the island, jutting up blackly from the water. From his knowledge of the charts, he knew the sighting to be Ponta Cabrastente, on the north-western extremity of Santa Maria.
The Mary Celeste Page 15
