Sherlock Holmes and the Nefarious Seafarers

by C J Lutton

  “And what of the sea monster?”

  21

  Darkness descended upon Holmes’ pale features, “Hmm, that question elicited a most peculiar reaction, when I myself posed it. It was clear my query placed both my brother and Our Queen in an uncomfortable predicament, and they chose not to answer it at all. In fact, their response was so evasive and convoluted, that I’m surprised they didn’t hurt themselves with their verbal acrobatics. All that I could obtain from them was the promise of complete disclosure should I, on my own, uncover the truth.”

  “Ridiculous!”

  “We shall see. As to the facts surrounding the Elvira Stockton, though I’m loath to admit it, most of what I had believed was a complete sham and erroneous. It was the First Mate, Ponsonby, as you may recall, who was charged with the murders of the crew and subsequently hanged for his crimes.”

  “Yes, we’ve covered all that. We’ve determined that the wrong man was hanged.”

  “Ah, but suppose he wasn’t?”

  “You mean he was the right man, after all?”

  “No. What I mean—suppose he wasn’t hanged?”

  “Wasn’t hanged? What the devil are you saying? There was a trial! Posonby was found guilty and hanged. It was in all the papers.”

  “But that’s just it—it wasn’t in all the papers! A case of this magnitude should have generated an avalanche of horrific articles in The Daily Gazette, The Telegraph, The Globe and the other rags. Curiously, all of the articles regarding the hanging appeared in only one newspaper, The Times. Furthermore the hanging did not take place at the Tower or Tyburn or any of the usual spots. Instead, it was supposedly held at St. Thomas-a-Watering on the way to Canterbury.”

  “But that hasn’t been used for more than a hundred years!” I said.

  “I know,” Holmes agreed. “Exactly so.”

  “I don’t understand what you are saying, Holmes. Obviously, you’re in possession of facts that I do not have. Speak plainly, if I’m to understand this at all.”

  His exasperation was evident, as he tried to coax a glimmer of understanding from my dull brain. “Oh, very well,” he said, obviously disappointed that I was not up to the challenge. “The press at times seems to exist for one purpose only, and that is to annoy the government at every opportunity. But suppose the press becomes a willing partner with agencies within the government, if not the very government itself?”

  Noting my skeptical expression, he pressed on patiently. “Explaining this conspiratorial relationship between the press and the government will be put off for another day. Suffice it to say that I was informed that such a relationship did exist, regarding the Elvira Stockton. Some of what’s been printed in the press, as far as it went, was factual. But all of the information originated from the back rooms of some unknown, obscure department of the government. When the first facts filtered through this office, they realised that they had a traitor on board the ship. Their first reaction was to deny that any such event had occurred at all, but it was too late. Some of the facts began to leak out. It was my brother’s idea to sacrifice Ponsonby.”

  “Do you mean that Ponsonby wasn’t the actual traitor?” Aghast at the implications, I was reluctant to pose the obvious question. “Ponsonby was, what? He was made a scapegoat? Holmes, that’s barbaric! That means your brother is a murderer!”

  “Wrong again, Watson. Ponsonby was an agent for our government. He was investigating the stolen arms shipment. That’s how he came to be aboard the Elvira Stockton. He had followed the goods there. Unfortunately, he was found out and tortured for information.”

  “The keelhauling?”

  “Yes, but he revealed nothing. Ponsonby didn’t know that a large contingent of the crew were active and willing participants and in league with the traitors. That’s how the rest of the crew was murdered so easily. They were outnumbered! The truth is that the crew had been killed prior to Ponsonby’s torture.”

  “They didn’t stand a chance.”

  “No, they didn’t.” His gaunt features went cold.

  “But the hanging? The trial? If the government knew all of this, why did Ponsonby have to die?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “I am aware that he didn’t!” I snapped. “But he died, nonetheless!”

  “I’m sorry, Watson, you misunderstand. I mean that Ponsonby is not dead. Don’t you see? The stories in the press, the trial, the verdict and the hanging, were all a sham! The reports were bogus.”

  “Allowing that what you’re saying is true, why would the press permit itself to be used in such a way? Why, it’s unheard of!”

  “Not at all, Watson. There’ve been many cases in which the press allowed itself to be used. Have you forgotten the matter of the suicide of Lord Hume?”

  “Yes, of course,” I answered, snapping my fingers. “That was an inspired bit of sleuthing on your part, I must say. How you deduced that it was the coffin maker who was the murderer and the spy, I still don’t understand. But, yes, I remember it was at your suggestion that the government agreed to plant the news article that Lord Hume’s body was to be exhumed the following day. It was that very evening that the coffin maker dug up the body and was caught red-handed with the schematics of a mysterious ship that was being designed. The plans were in a hidden compartment in the coffin. What was the name of that ship? It had something to do with an exotic sea shell or something. I can’t recall.”

  Holmes smiled, appreciative of my memory. “Very good, Watson. The coffin maker’s plan was simple. After a proper amount of time, a long-lost relative would come to claim the body and request that Lord Hume be buried at the family’s estate. During the disinterment, the papers would be removed and sold to the highest bidder. It was the fault of the coffin maker that he panicked so badly.”

  “Still,” I interrupted, “if it hadn’t been for you, the plans would have never been found.”

  “Very well,” Holmes accepted graciously. “But getting back to the Elvira Stockton, the Ponsonby trial was a sham. Upon finding Ponsonby still alive on the ship, this was a golden opportunity for our government to capitalize on an obviously serious mistake by the pirates. Ponsonby should have been killed, but that task was overlooked by something that had panicked the crew.”

  “And what was that? What panicked them?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Holmes glumly. “But I will say this, when I attempted to address the matter with Mycroft and Her Majesty, they were clearly very worried that I would find out. I’ll tell you one more thing: I will!”

  I shook my head. “It’s impossible to investigate under these circumstances, Holmes. Just drop the matter and be done with it. I can see no winners regarding this cursed case.”

  Holmes growled. “If this was simply a case to extricate the government from an embarrassment, then it might be worthy of that particular consideration. However, since that is not the situation before us, we shall pursue the matter with all intensity.”

  “Very well, Holmes,” I responded, “but it would serve them right if we just washed our hands of the matter.”

  “Perhaps. Then I would be under your feet all day, until another case could be found. No, it’s better for you that I continue with this case. I don’t think your fragile nerves could suffer me for long.” Sherlock Holmes chuckled softly.

  “Hmm,” I replied, falling in with the spirit of the moment. “I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, you’re right. This is a case that begs for your expertise. You must pursue this, no matter how long it takes. I’ll muddle through, somehow.”

  The playful jousting acted as a medicinal elixir, and we reluctantly turned our attentions back to the Elvira Stockton.

  Holmes groaned wearily. “Ohhh…I feel as if this case has been my life’s work, yet it’s barely a few days old. Watson, you’re my anchor. It is your lot in life to keep my feet firmly on the ground. Now, where was I? Oh. Yes. Ponsonby was rescued from the ship, and he informed the authorities what had happened. After an untold a
mount of conferences and debates, an idea was formulated. They decided that Ponsonby might be of some further use to the government, and the sham trial was set in motion. The editor of The Times was approached and, under the threat of releasing information about a past indiscretion, acquiesced to Queen Victoria’s entreaties. The editor, feeling that he had no choice, agreed to accept and publish articles written by the government about the Elvira Stockton and the trial.”

  “You mean the editor was being blackmailed by our government?” I asked. “But why? You yourself said earlier that cooperation between the press and our government is an everyday occurrence.”

  “Ah, yes, but what if The Times was already working on the true story regarding the Elvira Stockton? Remember that some time had elapsed, and some of the facts had filtered through channels. Somehow, the other papers had not yet caught wind of the story. It was only through chance that The Times had stumbled upon it. Queen Victoria, in Her wisdom, seized the opportunity and quashed the real story, whilst at the same time, She granted the editor an exclusive story should the truth ever be told.”

  “This is insane!” I was indignant.

  “Not really. But suppose you tell me what’s going through your mind?”

  “Well, now that you’ve asked, why was it necessary to perpetrate this hoax? I mean, why the trial and the mock hanging? Why didn’t they just report one survivor and be done with it? Was it necessary to fabricate this preposterous story about sea monsters? Or, for that matter, why didn’t they just say there were no survivors and let the lad live in peace?”

  “Why? Why, indeed? Because, my dear fellow, if they reported him alive and did nothing, he would have been killed by the pirates. If they reported no survivors, they couldn’t be sure if the truth wouldn’t surface—again, placing his life in further jeopardy. Queen Victoria did what She felt she had to. No one would search for a man who had supped at the gallows. He is now living a quiet and comfortable life abroad.”

  “But the sea monster—what of that?” I demanded.

  “That, Watson, is a part of the story that will not surrender its secrets willingly. To this very day, as far-fetched as it may seem, there are still reported sightings of this mysterious leviathan from the deep.”

  “But surely, Holmes, you can’t put much stock into these ridiculous fables! Why, in this very room, just a short while ago, you made me the fool for even mentioning it. It’s twaddle—that’s what it is!”

  “It would be folly to dismiss these sightings out of hand. There are too many similarities. Each witness describes, almost in the very same language, what he or she had seen. The descriptions are identical.”

  “Exactly,” I exclaimed, triumphantly. “That proves my case. These supposed witnesses are merely repeating what they had already heard or read. I need not remind you of some of the incredible stories we have dealt with over the years, much less the more sensational cases we have worked on. By all that’s holy, there were times when we had more confessions than we had crimes. These stories are nothing more than people seeking recognition and ill-gotten fame. If one person starts a rumour, you can bet a crown that another will swear to it.”

  “Normally, I would agree,” Holmes said, “but you’ve failed to take note of one very important fact.”

  “Oh, and what is that?”

  “The witnesses had one other thing in common, besides their testimony.”

  “Precisely!” I cried, pouncing on his observation. “Holmes, my head is dizzy. On whose side are you arguing? How can you be contrary to my point, when you’ve just stated that these so-called witnesses share commonalities?”

  “Be quiet for a moment, and I will continue, because I still think we are talking past each other. The strand, the single ribbon of commonality these witnesses all share, is that they have nothing in common, save the sightings. In other words, they do not know one another, have never met one another, nor in any way whatsoever have they come in contact with one another. They were on different ships and sailed from different ports at different times, months, and even years apart. No, Watson, the singular aspect of these sightings is not the familiarity of the witnesses with one another, but rather the incalculable odds of having this many people, unknown to one another, describing the exact same thing.”

  “Suppose that I accept what you’ve just said. Then are you telling me there really is a sea monster?”

  “No,” replied Holmes, as he stared vacantly. “But there is something out there.”

  “Poppycock! I’ve read the reports. A giant serpent with glowing eyes, indeed! Holmes, if I didn’t know any better, I would swear that you’re toying with me.”

  “We shall see, old chum. We shall see. As I have often said, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ In this particular case, there is a truth out there. We have yet to discover it. To be plain, I need only to quote Cicero: Not to know what has been transacted in former times is to be always a child. If no use is made of the labours of past ages, the world must remain always in the infancy of knowledge.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that the Celestial is merely a reenactment of a specific history—the travails that plagued the Elvira Stockton and perhaps also the John Sebastian! Since it would seem that our government has learned nothing from the Elvira Stockton affair, perhaps the Celestial was a cunning and deadly variation of a tried-and-true scheme to steal arms,” Holmes said as he got to his feet and paced the room. “Again, why would Mrs. Morel set us out on a course of action and then disappear? What we have here is an ouroboros, the mythical snake eating its own tail.”

  I could not hide my confusion and so I felt relief when Holmes added, “The ouroboros is a symbol for infinity. There is no beginning and no end, so one is condemned to going ‘round and ‘round. This is a senseless circle designed to be trod in perpetuity.”

  After a pause he spoke again. “They underestimated me. I shall prevail.”

  22

  At that moment, there came a knock at our door. I opened it to find Mrs. Hudson, holding a message. “For Mr. Holmes,” she said. “I’m almost ready to bring up a tray with your supper, but the courier insisted you have this immediately.” After passing him the note, she went back down the stairs.

  The text reads:

  To Sherlock Holmes,

  See the Bard, he knows!

  Mrs. Morel

  A loud banging on our door startled us to action. The sound came from the lower door panel, and therefore, it was easy to distinguish it from Mrs. Hudson’s higher placed and ladylike knock. This was a full-throated slam of a fist. Holmes crept towards the entrance and gestured me to follow him with my revolver drawn. I stood to the left, behind the wall, as Holmes placed his hand on the knob, and yanked it open. My pistol was aimed at a very startled young boy, whose eyes bulged in fear. Slowly, he raised a dirty little hand in which was held a rolled-up piece of paper. Without uttering a word, the boy dropped the message on the floor and fled down the stairs, never looking back.

  “Not one of your Irregulars,” I noted.

  “No,” Holmes answered, as he stooped and retrieved the item before slamming the door shut. Before opening the missive, Holmes eyed the rolled-up paper and felt its texture. Inspecting the ribbon that held the parchment closed, he slipped it off and placed it in his pocket. He unfurled the note and read its contents aloud.

  “Never was there Queen so mightily betrayed! Yet, at the first I saw the treasons planted.”

  Holmes smiled, shaking his head from side to side. “I think, Watson, we have just heard from the Bard. A quotation from Cleopatra, I would think.” He tossed the paper at me.

  As I perused the note, Holmes asked me. “Well? What do you make of this?”

  “You must take this to your brother,” I said, handing him back the note. “Mycroft may well know who this Bard character is. In any event, you need Mycroft’s benediction and his assistance. This is a plot as
twisted and convoluted as any we’ve ever come up against. I shall say this once, and only to you: It is possible Our Queen has acted in ways that are nothing short of treasonous. I fear that after the death of Her dear husband, Albert, She lost Her will to govern and with it Her will to oversee the day-to-day workings of Parliament and those entrusted with power. In short, I find it possible that these deeds are not done despite Her but for Her! What if She has decided to divert the gold and use it for a purpose totally unbecoming of Her rank? Remember, She has been spending more and more time with that Indian man who seems to have a strange hold over Her.”

  Satisfied that I had spoken with enthusiasm and elegance in my reasoning, I waited for Holmes to put on his coat and leave the flat.

  He, however, had other ideas. “I shall do no such thing. I refuse to take this up with my brother. I cannot count on his probity. He has long since decided that those with brown skin are a race of inferiors.”

  “You are joking!” I said. This was an aspect of Mycroft’s personality that I had never had any reason to examine. As I’d said to Berthold, war had taught me to value each and every man for his character and not for the color of his skin or the place of his birth. On the battlefield and in the heat of the moment, I had found highborn men who were lacking in courage and lowborn men who were more virtuous than any of the saints in the Bible. You could not tell me that because a man was brown that he didn’t deserve the same protections and comforts as any of the rest of us.

  Holmes went on to say, “Rather than assist me in the search for the truth, Mycroft would use a rumour such as this as a way to run Munshi out of the palace. Mark my words, my brother would turn this slander into a weapon.”

  “Holmes, are you delirious?”

  “Not at all. I must say, Mary has left very little mark on you.”

  I was wounded to the quick. “How dare you speak like that of Mary!”