‘You were convinced that there had been some sort of explosion in Number One hold?’ Holland asked.
Patch hesitated. ‘Yes. Yes, I think so.’
‘And the radio shack?’
‘If it was an explosion, then the radio shack had to be put out of action—it was my means of communication with the rest of the world.’
‘I see.’ Holland paused, and then he said, ‘What you are saying, in fact, is that there was somebody on board who was trying to destroy the ship.’
‘Yes.’
‘And when you heard that Number Three hold was on fire—did you immediately think that this was another attempt to destroy the ship?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And is that still your opinion?’
Patch nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You realise that this is a very serious accusation you are making?’
‘Yes, I realise that.’
Holland held the court in utter silence for a moment. And then he said, ‘There were thirty-one men on board the Mary Deare. If the fire were deliberately started, it endangered all those lives. It was tantamount to murder.’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you still say that the fire was started deliberately?’
‘Yes, I do.’
The next question was inevitable. ‘Who did you suspect of starting it?’ Holland asked, and Patch hesitated. To produce the story of Dellimare’s offer now was pointless. Dellimare was dead. He couldn’t have started that fire, and all Patch could say was that he hadn’t had much time for formulating suspicions—he had been too busy trying to save the ship.
‘But you must have thought about it since?’
‘Yes, I have.’ Patch was facing the judge and the assessors. ‘But I think that is a matter for the Court to decide.’
Bowen-Lodge nodded his agreement and Holland then got Patch back to the events following the outbreak of the fire. He and Rice had organised a fire-fighting party. No, Higgins wasn’t there. It was his watch. But the second engineer was there and the radio operator and the bos’n. They ran out hoses and got them playing on to the flames through the inspection hatch whilst they cleared part of the main hatch cover. They also cleared a section of Number Four hatch cover in case it was necessary to play the hoses on the bulkhead between the two holds. He had then gone down into Number Four hold through the inspection hatch.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I wanted to see how hot the bulkhead plates had become. I didn’t want the fire to spread aft. Also, because that hold was only partly filled with cargo, I hoped to be able to tell from the heat of the plates just how serious the fire was—what hold it had got.’
‘And what did you discover?’
‘It had clearly only just broken out. The bulkhead wasn’t even hot. But I didn’t discover that until later.’
‘How do you mean?’
He explained then how he had been knocked unconscious just as he had reached the bottom of the vertical ladder. He told it in the same words that he had told it to me in his cabin on the Mary Deare and when he had finished Holland said ‘You’re sure it wasn’t an accident—that you didn’t slip?’
‘Quite sure,’ Patch answered.
‘Perhaps something fell on you—a loose piece of metal?’
But Patch pointed to his jaw where the scar still showed, maintaining that it was quite impossible for it to have happened accidentally.
‘And when you came to, was there any sort of weapon near you that your assailant might have used?’
‘No, I don’t think so. But I couldn’t be certain. The place was full of smoke and I was dazed, half-asphyxiated.’
‘I put it to you that one of the crew—a man, say, who had a grudge against you—could have followed you down . . . hit you perhaps with his fist?’
‘He would have had to be a very powerful man.’ Patch was looking across at Higgins. And then he went on to describe how, when he had come to, he could still hear the men shouting as they got the boats away. He had crawled back up the vertical ladder to the inspection hatch, but the cover had been closed and clamped down. What saved him was the fact that the main hatch had been cleared at one corner and after a long time he had managed to stack enough bales of cotton up to be able to reach this opening and crawl out on to the deck. He had found Number Three boat hanging from its bow falls, the other davits empty. The engines were still running, the pumps still working and the hoses were still pouring water into Number Three hold. But not a single member of the crew remained on board.
It was an incredible, almost unbelievable story. And he went on to tell how, alone and unaided, he had put the fire out. And then in the morning he had found a complete stranger wandering about the ship.
‘That would be Mr Sands, from the yacht Sea Witch?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you explain why you didn’t accept his offer to take you off?’
‘I saw no reason to abandon ship. She was badly down by the bows, but she wasn’t in imminent danger. I thought he would notify the authorities and that it would help the salvage tug if I were on board to organise the tow.’
He told them then how he had seen me fail to regain my yacht, how he had pulled me on to the deck, and then he was telling them of our efforts to save the ship in the teeth of the rising gale, how we had got the engines going and the pumps working and kept her stern to the wind. But he made no mention of the Minkies. According to him, we had finally abandoned the ship in a rubber dinghy taken from Dellimare’s cabin when she was on the verge of sinking. No, he couldn’t say exactly what the position was, but it was somewhere to the east of the Roches Douvres. No, we hadn’t seen her go down. The rubber dinghy? Well, yes, it did seem to indicate that Dellimare had been nervous, had not trusted the boats or the seaworthiness of the ship.
‘Two final questions,’ Holland said. ‘And they are very important questions for you and for everybody connected with the ship.’ He paused and then said, ‘On reflection, are you quite convinced that it was an explosion that caused the flooding in Number One hold? I put it to you that in the conditions prevailing it was almost impossible to be certain that it wasn’t some submerged object that you hit or a wave breaking against the bows.’
Patch hesitated, glancing round the court. ‘It definitely wasn’t a sea breaking,’ he said quietly. ‘It was afterwards that the next sea broke over the bows. As to whether we hit something or an explosive charge was set off, only an inspection of the actual damage could prove it one way or the other.’
‘Quite. But since the ship is probably lying in at least twenty fathoms of water and we don’t know quite where, inspection of the damage is out of the question. I want your opinion.’
‘I don’t think I can say any more than I have. I can’t be certain.’
‘But you think it was an explosion?’ Holland waited, but getting no reply, he added, ‘Having regard to the fire in the radio shack and, later, the fire in the after hold—taking them all together, you incline to the theory that it was an explosion?’
‘If you put it that way—yes.’
‘Thank you.’ Holland sat down and even then nobody moved. There was no whispering, no shuffling of feet. The whole court was held in the spell of the evidence.
And then Sir Lionel Falcett rose. ‘Mr Learned Chairman, I would be glad if you would put one or two additional questions to the witness.’ He was a small man with thinning hair and a high forehead, a very ordinary-seeming man except for his voice, which had great depth of tone and was vibrant, so that one was conscious of the power of great energy and vitality behind it. It was his voice, not the man, that instantly dominated the court. ‘Witness has made it clear that he is convinced, in his own mind, that some attempt was made to wreck the Mary Deare. And indeed, the incidents he has related to the Court, in the absence of any natural explanation, would appear to support this conclusion. I would, however, point out to the Court, that the value of the ship herself was not such as to justify so
elaborate a plot and that we must, therefore, presume that, if such a plot existed, it was directed towards fraudulently obtaining the insurance value of the cargo. I would respectfully point out to you, Mr Learned Chairman, that there would only be financial gain in such a dastardly and murderous endeavour if, in fact, the cargo had been removed prior to the loss of the ship.’
Bowen-Lodge nodded. ‘I quite understand your argument, Sir Lionel.’ He glanced at the clock at the far end of the court, above the public gallery. ‘What is your question?’
‘It concerns the time the ship was moored alongside the Torre Annunziata in the Rangoon River,’ Sir Lionel said. ‘My information is that the Mary Deare’s crew were given shore leave, and that during that period the Torre Annunziata was a blaze of lights with all her winches in operation.’ He looked across at Holland. ‘I understand that a deposition to this effect will be introduced later and that it states that the official concerned was informed by the Master of the Torre Annunziata that he had been shifting cargo to make room for some steel tubing he was due to load.’ He turned back to face Bowen-Lodge. ‘I should like to know, Mr Learned Chairman, whether the witness heard any of his officers speak of this after he had joined the ship—whether, in fact, it had been the subject of some comment?’
The question was put and Patch answered that he had heard of it from Rice. He hadn’t at the time attached any significance to it.
‘But you do now?’ Sir Lionel suggested.
Patch nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Just one more question, Mr Learned Chairman. Can the witness tell us whether Mr Dellimare at any time made any reference to the cargo?’
The question was put and, when Patch answered no, Sir Lionel said, ‘You had no indication from anyone that the cargo might be other than that stated on the manifest?’
‘No.’
‘I will put it to you another way—a ship is a very tight little company of men, and in any enclosed community like that a thing popularly known as the grapevine operates. Did you hear any rumours about the cargo after you joined the ship?’
‘Some men seemed to think that we had a cargo of explosives on board,’ Patch answered. ‘It was a rumour that persisted despite the fact that I posted a copy of the manifest on the crew’s notice board.’
‘You thought it dangerous that they should think they were sitting on top of a lot of explosives?’
‘I did.’
‘Having regard to the sort of crew you had?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you say that this rumour would be sufficient in itself to cause panic amongst the crew as soon as they knew a fire had broken out?’
‘Probably.’
‘In point of fact Rice reported that they were panicking.’ Sir Lionel leaned forward, staring at Patch. ‘How did this extraordinary rumour get around the ship?’
Patch glanced involuntarily towards the waiting witnesses. ‘I don’t think Mr Higgins was ever convinced that we were carrying the cargo declared on the manifest.’
‘He thought it was a cargo of explosives, eh? What gave him that idea?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you ask him?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘When?’
‘Just after we rounded Ushant.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He refused to answer.’
‘What were his exact words when you put the question to him?’
‘His exact words?’
‘Yes.’
‘He said I could bloody well try and get the answer out of Taggart or Dellimare and stop bothering him. They were both dead, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ Sir Lionel folded himself delicately into his seat. Bowen-Lodge looked at the clock again and adjourned the court. ‘Two o’clock please, gentlemen.’ He rose and the court rose with him, standing whilst he left by the door at the rear of the judge’s chair, followed by his three assessors.
When I turned to leave I found that Mrs Petrie had been sitting right behind me. She gave me a little brief smile of recognition. Her face was puffy and pallid under her make-up and her eyes were red. Gundersen was there, too. He had been sitting beside her, but now he had moved along the row and was talking to Higgins. She went out on her own. ‘Who’s that woman?’ Hal asked me.
‘One of the Dellimare directors,’ I replied, and I told him about my visit to the company’s offices. ‘I rather think she may have been living with Dellimare,’ I told him.
Outside, the sun shone on rain-wet pavements, and it came as something of a shock to discover that there were people—ordinary people who knew nothing of the Mary Deare—hurrying about their everyday affairs. Patch was standing alone on the pavement’s edge. He had been waiting for me and he came straight across. ‘I’d like a word with you, Sands.’ His voice was hoarse with talking and his face looked drained.
Hal said he would go on to the hotel where we had decided to lunch and Patch watched him go, fidgeting with the coins in his pocket. As soon as Hal was out of ear-shot, he said, ‘You told me your boat wouldn’t be ready until the end of the month.’ He said it accusingly, anger and resentment in his voice.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was ready a week earlier than I expected.’
‘Why didn’t you let me know? I went down to the yard last Wednesday and you’d already gone. Why didn’t you tell me?’ And then he suddenly burst out, ‘All I needed was one day. Just one day out there.’ He stared at me, literally grinding his teeth. ‘Don’t you realise—one look at that hole in the ship’s hull and I’d have known. I’d have been able to tell the truth then. As it is—’ his eyes were a little wild, like something brought to bay and not knowing which way to turn. ‘As it is I don’t know what the hell I’m saying, what God-damn pit I’m digging for myself. One day! That was all I wanted.’
‘You didn’t tell me that,’ I said. ‘In any case, you know very well that an inspection of that sort would have to be carried out by the authorities.’ But I could understand how he had wanted to be certain, to prove that his suspicions were justified. ‘It’ll work out,’ I said, patting his arm.
‘I hope you’re right,’ he said between his teeth. ‘I hope to God you’re right.’ He was looking at me and his eyes were bright like coals. ‘All that effort . . . to put her on the Minkies . . . wasted. My God! I could—’ And there he stopped and his eyes, looking past me, widened, and I turned to find Janet Taggart coming straight towards us.
I once saw a painting entitled ‘Vengeance’. I can’t remember the artist’s name and it doesn’t matter now, because I know it wasn’t any good. Vengeance should be painted the way Janet Taggart looked. She was pale as death, and in the pallor of her frozen face her eyes were enormous. She stopped just in front of him and struck out at him blindly.
I don’t remember her words now—they came in a great overwhelming torrent of cutting, lacerating sentences. I saw Patch’s eyes go dead as he flinched before the whip-lash of her tongue, and then I left them, walking quickly, wanting to get the picture of the two of them right out of my mind. I wondered if she knew what power she had to hurt the man.
We had a quick lunch and returned to the court, and on the stroke of two Bowen-Lodge took his place on the judge’s seat There were five men at the Press desk now. They were gathering like vultures at the smell of news. ‘With your permission, Mr Learned Chairman,’ Holland said, rising. ‘I propose to proceed with the other evidence in order that the Court shall have a complete picture.’
Bowen-Lodge nodded. ‘I think that a very proper course, Mr Holland. Your first witness must, however, remain in the court. Those representing the various interested parties will, I know, wish to put further questions to him.’
I had expected Higgins to be the next witness. Instead, Holland called for ‘Harold Lowden’ and I suddenly realised that I still hadn’t made up my mind what I was going to say. Hal stood in the witness box, very erect, very much the soldier, and in short, clipped sentences told of our encou
nter with the Mary Deare and how we had found her abandoned the following morning. And when he stepped down it was my turn and I found myself automatically crossing the court and taking my stand in the witness box. I was in a cold sweat.
I repeated the oath and then Holland was facing me, smooth and urbane, asking me in that soft, bored voice of his whether I was John Henry Sands, my business and background and why I was sailing the yacht Sea Witch in that area of the Channel on the night of March 18th. And as I gave the answers, I could hear the nervousness in my voice. The court was very silent. Bowen-Lodge’s small gimlet eyes watched me and Holland stood there in front of me, waiting to prompt me with questions, to probe if necessary.
Across the court I saw Patch, sitting a little forward, his hands clasped, his body tense and rigid. His eyes were fixed on my face. I was telling them what the Mary Deare had looked like that morning when I boarded her, and suddenly my mind was made up. To tell them that the ship was stranded on the Minkies would prove him a liar. It would cut the ground from under his feet. I couldn’t do it. I think I had known that all along, but the strange thing was that, once I had made the decision, all nervousness left me. I knew what I was going to say and I set out to present Patch to the Court as I had seen him through those desperate hours—a man, staggering with exhaustion, who had put out a fire single-handed and could still go on fighting to save his ship.
I told them about the bruise on his jaw, about the coal dust and the smoke-blackened haggardness of his face. I told them how we’d sweated down there in the stoke-hold to raise steam on that one boiler, how we’d got the pumps going, how we’d used the engines to keep her stern to the wind and how the seas had swept across her submerged bows in thundering cataracts of white water. And I left it at that, simply saying that we had finally abandoned her on the morning of the second day.
The questions started then. Had Patch made any comments to me about the crew having abandoned ship? Could I give the Court any idea of the Mary Deare’s position at the time we had taken to the dinghy? Did I think that, if there had been no gale, the ship could have safely got to some port?
The Wreck of the Mary Deare Page 15
