The Mary Celeste

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘You formed the second party to board the Mary Celeste … the salvage crew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And were aboard for some seven to eight days?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Attorney-General looked up from the clerk’s notes, staring directly at the witness.

  ‘Were you frightened?’

  ‘Frightened?’

  ‘Boarding a vessel you had found derelict at sea … laying your head in quarters the last occupants of which had disappeared in such a mysterious way. Had contagion been aboard, for instance, you could have contracted it.’

  ‘I am not a superstitious man,’ said Lund. ‘And I know of no illness that would have caused a complete abandonment of a vessel. There would have been bodies about.’

  ‘There would indeed, sir. Unless the contagion was humanly inflicted. With the advantage you had of spending so much time aboard the Mary Celeste, were you able to discover anything which might assist this enquiry to a conclusion about what befell the people aboard?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Did you see the sword which Mr Deveau found?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Weren’t you interested?’

  ‘Not really. Mr Deveau thought nothing of it. The presence of such a souvenir is not unusual aboard ship.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the Attorney-General, as if suddenly enlightened. ‘Evidence to which we have become so accustomed. You determined it a souvenir, along with all the others?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The rigging was in disarray, we have heard?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Some broken, more lying where the wind had cast it. The peak halyards were broken and gone.’

  ‘Where the wind had cast them,’ repeated Flood, to emphasise the remark. ‘Did you encounter any evidence that something other than the wind might have caused this damage?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘So positive! I must infer from that response that you suspected there might have been something else and that you made a special examination?’

  ‘No. But we had to repair the rigging, before we could right the vessel and make towards Gibraltar. We were involved with the ropes nearly all of one day. Had they been cut, for instance, I’m sure I would have noticed. The others would, also.’

  ‘But you didn’t. And neither did they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How bad was the damage?’

  ‘Considerable. There were sheets and braces hanging over both sides. As I said, the peak halyards were broken and gone.’

  ‘I must put to you a question I have put to every witness so far, although I suspect I already know the answer. Having sailed in the Mary Celeste for the period you did and having come upon her in the condition you did, what conclusion did you reach as to the cause of her abandonment?’

  ‘The weather, sir. It must have been the weather.’

  ‘A response, Mr Lund, delivered with the spontaneity of a child learning its lessons by rote,’ said the Attorney-General, sitting down.

  It had been a good day, he decided. And tomorrow it would be better. Then he could start to introduce his own evidence, to assemble all the suspicions in the testimony of an accredited expert and then call others to support it. It would be interesting to see how Pisani and Cornwell and Stokes took it. And perhaps even more intriguing to witness the reaction of Captain Winchester and the crew of the Dei Gratia.

  The Attorney-General rose obediently at the registrar’s demand, allowed the chamber to empty, and then dawdled to his robing room, in expectation of the nightly invitation from Cochrane. He had come to welcome the sessions.

  After twenty minutes, he emerged, curious. The building seemed empty and deserted. He found Baumgartner in his office, preparing to leave.

  ‘Early night?’ he said casually. It would be ill-fitting to make an open enquiry about the judge.

  ‘Coming to need them,’ said the registrar. ‘These proceedings are taking longer than I anticipated.’

  ‘I warned you I would extend them as long as I thought it would take to come to the truth of the matter.’

  ‘You did that,’ remembered the official. He gathered his papers into his briefcase.

  ‘And I believe we’re uncovering a strange state of affairs,’ added the Attorney-General.

  ‘There are some strange aspects,’ conceded Baumgartner. He seemed to hesitate, waiting for Flood to continue the conversation, then said, ‘I am afraid you must excuse me.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Flood, ‘I’ll walk with you to my carriage.’

  ‘The judge wanted to get away early tonight,’ offered Baumgartner, falling into step. ‘So he won’t be very pleased.’

  ‘Pleased?’ queried Flood.

  ‘By the request from Mr Pisani for an application in chambers.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Flood immediately, perfectly concealing any reaction. ‘I’m sure he won’t.’

  Thirty minutes later he was sitting, as was his custom before dinner, upon the balcony of his home overlooking the Spanish mainland. Tonight he was unaware of the view, immersed in thought. What application was Pisani making in the privacy of the judge’s rooms? And on a day when, for the first time, the objections to cross-examination had remained strangely muted? There could only be one logical explanation, decided the Attorney-General. The man had become unhappy with his clients’ case. And was attempting to preserve his integrity by communicating that unhappiness to the man heading the enquiry. His reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a messenger, carrying the transcripts of the day’s hearing. Flood sat gazing down at them, musing. If his surmise was correct, it made it even more important to send his account as quickly as possible to London, to show the authorities, just how astute he had been from the very beginning in recognising the falsehood. He took up the evidence, hurrying to the study in which, so very recently, he had been confronted by Dr Patron’s stupidity. Now that seemed almost immaterial.

  He had been working for almost an hour when there was movement at the door and he looked up at the housekeeper, who announced that dinner was ready.

  ‘I’m not eating tonight. Too busy,’ he said hurriedly.

  ‘A tray?’ enquired the woman.

  ‘Nothing,’ said the Attorney-General, curtly. He had more important things to attend to than food. Far more important.

  There had been a brief lull, insufficient even to launch the boat to examine the splintering to the hull, and then one of the worst gales they had experienced set in, casting the ship about in such seas that it had been almost impossible to steer. The whole crew had had to turn to, so that it had been impractical to hold their customary Sunday prayer gathering, which Briggs had regretted. He had spared himself for a few moments from the deck just before Sarah had retired and they had prayed together, Briggs not thinking his wife over-dramatic for choosing as their hymn ‘For Those in Peril on the Sea’. He knew how concerned she was about the baby.

  ‘If anything happened, you’d save Sophia, wouldn’t you?’

  He stared at her:

  ‘Happened?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Nothing is going to happen. It’s just a bad voyage, that’s all.’

  The strange conversation had surprised him because he had believed her anxiety was over, now that Sophia had got her sea legs. The sickness had stopped and for the past two days she had been able to extend her diet to eggs and boiled fish. The weather had confined her to the cabin, but she was still weak and had not so far complained. Briggs was sure her health as well as her spirits would improve once they reached the warmth and shelter of the Mediterranean.

  At first light, Sarah’s hymn proved more apposite than Briggs had imagined. Goodschall, who was standing watch, saw the other ship first, more than a mile to the lee and carrying far too much sail for the weather.

  Richardson had summoned the captain, to approve the change of course, and for over an hour they had tacked to get nearer, to give what assistance they could. The seas
were still high, so that their view of the ship was sporadic and they were still some way off when they lost sight of the sail.

  Briggs decided it was too dangerous to send a look-out even part-way up the pitching mast and so they had continued on the course of the last sighting. Unasked, William Head brought from the galley everything disposable and stayed at the stern, casting it adrift at intervals so that they had a rough marker of their passage; when, by ten o’clock, Briggs decided they had crossed the point at which they had last seen the vessel, he was able to turn and retrace his route.

  It was noon when they spotted what remained and then it was hardly enough to decide what sort of vessel she had been. The torn sail lay spread over the water and a shattered spar stuck up, held oddly in position by something unseen beneath the water.

  Because it was impossible to know how much remained hidden underneath the sail, and aware of the potential danger to his own hull, Briggs hove-to some way off, putting out a sea anchor despite the swell. Goodschall volunteered to go up the mast to look for survivors. The Lorensen brothers lashed him into a safety line and remained at the foot of the mast, holding the rope in case he lost his footing.

  After thirty minutes, the young German gestured that there was nothing he could see and Briggs brought him down. Both Richardson and Briggs had been sweeping the sea through glasses and now they concentrated upon the wreckage.

  ‘Could be part of a gaff,’ said Richardson, looking at the spar jutting from the water.

  ‘Might have been a brig, like us.’

  ‘Why was she carrying so much sail?’ wondered Gilling, who had joined them at the rail. ‘Not as if the storm were sudden, after all.’

  ‘Could have been illness aboard, with not enough hands to work her,’ said Richardson.

  ‘Then whoever remained should have short-sailed her,’ pointed out Briggs. He turned, seeing Sarah and recognising immediately her need for comfort. He moved away from the mates, putting his arm around her shoulders. It was a gesture his father would have criticised, in front of the crew.

  ‘Poor souls,’ she said, quietly.

  ‘Goodschall has looked for a long time. There’s no sight of anyone,’ said Briggs.

  ‘I know,’ said Sarah. She shivered. ‘How can it happen, as quickly as that? Not three hours ago it was a ship, with people aboard. We could see it …’

  She threw her arm out.

  ‘… now that’s all there is left.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s very quick,’ said Briggs.

  ‘But so little … just a sail and piece of wood.’ Fear shuddered through her again. ‘I must pray for them,’ she said.

  ‘We all must,’ said Briggs. ‘Go back to the cabin.’

  ‘No,’ refused the woman, knowing that her husband was concerned that they might still come upon some bodies. ‘Sophia is content enough.’

  ‘Shall we put the boat out?’ asked Richardson.

  Briggs shook his head. ‘Little point,’ he said. ‘And in this sea it would be far too easy for that spar to be driven through the hull. We’ll circle.’

  The wind was still strong, so that it was a difficult manoeuvre. The stuck-up spar seemed to follow them around, rocking back and forth with the waves, like a gesturing finger. Occasionally the water broke over other debris clinging to the sail, proof that Briggs’s caution was well founded. Satisfied that no one was caught up or clinging to the wreckage they could see, Briggs continued to work the Mary Celeste in gradually widening circles.

  There was no further trace of what, only a few hours before, had been a vessel as big as theirs.

  After another hour, Briggs said to Richardson: ‘There’s nothing. Resume course.’

  Richardson gave the order to Martens, at the helm, then came back to the captain.

  ‘It’s frightening,’ he said. The sail was some way off now, the spar still beckoning.

  ‘Yes,’ said Briggs. ‘There’ll be a lot of that in the Atlantic this winter, after the weather we’ve been meeting.’

  ‘Hope I’m not the one to come upon it,’ said the first mate.

  The effect of the disaster was immediate. Always a quiet ship, the Mary Celeste became quieter. Beyond orders from Briggs, there was virtually no talk. Men who knew the power of the sea and who therefore had no reason to be embarrassed by their feelings, they still moved about with eyes lowered against contact, each as if his fear were different from the other man’s, a weakness to be hidden.

  They only looked up to stare out at the heaving water, aware that they were many cables distant from where the unknown ship had foundered, but wondering if the same waves which had smashed a ship to oblivion could, by the same capriciousness, cast its crew into their path, to safety.

  They secured lashings extra-tightly and checked the bindings of the furled sails, and the Lorensen brothers found a reason to examine the ship’s boat, ensuring that it could be easily slipped from its fenders and that the water canisters were easily to hand.

  It was not until the evening, and then perhaps because the weather began to improve, that the feeling began to lift from the vessel. Briggs stood aft with Richardson, behind the helmsman, looking out at the slackening water.

  ‘Wonder if it will last this time?’ he said.

  ‘Pray to God it does,’ said the first mate. ‘The earlier improvements have been short enough lived.’

  ‘How’s the splintering?’

  ‘As far as I can see from the decking, there’s been some wood shorn off, but its finished now. There’s still no leakage.’

  A wave swept the deck, fountaining up over the hatch-covers.

  ‘There’s no doubt about the seepage from the barrels,’ added Richardson.

  ‘Any way of knowing how much?’

  ‘Not until we can lift the covers. And even then, it wouldn’t be practical to examine every barrel.’

  Reminded by Martens’s presence at the wheel, Briggs said, ‘I’m gladdened that so many are going to stay with the ship.’

  Richardson nodded. ‘I wish every crew were as good,’ he said. ‘The younger of the Lorensen brothers is after making his fortune before he marries.’

  ‘Whatever the reason for their staying, it’s good news for us.’

  ‘And there won’t be the worry over the return cargo that there is with this,’ said Richardson.

  ‘After this crossing, I wouldn’t object to a little time in port,’ said Briggs. ‘For Sophia’s sake, particularly.’

  ‘May I show you something?’ said Richardson.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘In my cabin.’

  Briggs followed the first mate to his quarters, smiling as he approached at the sound of Sarah’s melodeon. Her feelings were improving along with everyone else’s.

  ‘I didn’t know what plans you had made,’ said Richardson, when they got into his living quarters. ‘But it’s likely that we’ll all be aboard for Christmas. I’m carving this for the baby.’

  Although still roughly shaped, it was clearly a replica of the Mary Celeste. The detail around the bowsprit was perfect.

  ‘A souvenir of her first voyage,’ said the chief mate. The pride was very evident.

  ‘It’s a fine gesture, Mr Richardson,’ said Briggs. ‘I’m grateful. Mrs Briggs will be, too. I can foresee battles between the baby and Arthur when we get home.’

  ‘There’s still a month before Christmas,’ said Richardson. ‘There will be time to do one for him, too.’

  ‘It’ll not only be a reminder for the child,’ said Briggs, ‘it will be a memory for me, my first voyage as owner-captain.’

  Sarah stopped playing as Briggs entered his quarters. He stopped, taking Sophia into his arms but holding her out, so that her face was opposite his.

  ‘She’s still pale,’ he said.

  ‘The sun will soon cure that.’

  ‘No more sickness?’

  ‘Two eggs for supper. And some bread.’

  ‘In New York, she was eating hash and meat,’ he rememb
ered.

  ‘Give her time,’ said Sarah.

  Briggs drew the baby close to him.

  ‘The first mate is carving her a Yuletide present,’ he said.

  ‘It would have been nice to be home before Christmas,’ said Sarah.

  Briggs sat on the couch, still holding the child. She began groping into an accustomed pocket, seeking his silver watch. He pulled it out and held it to her ear. She smiled at the ticking, moving her head in time to the sound.

  ‘I’ll not enjoy the festival without Arthur,’ continued the woman. ‘He’s at an age when these things are important.’

  ‘Richardson is making a gift: for him, too.’

  ‘I can’t clear my mind of what happened today,’ said Sarah.

  ‘She was badly rigged,’ said Briggs, trying to reassure her. ‘It could never have happened with the sort of crew we’ve got.’

  ‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking?’

  ‘What?’

  Tired of the watch, Sophia clambered from her father’s lap and went to where she had left a rag doll, beside the desk. ‘I wonder if there were any children aboard, like Sophia.

  ‘You mustn’t dwell upon it,’ said Briggs gently. ‘It might have been an old ship … unseaworthy. There’s more danger from a horse-drawn buggy in Marion’s Main Street than there is crossing the Atlantic in the Mary Celeste’

  She smiled thinly, trying to respond to his lightness.

  ‘I know we’re secure enough,’ she said. ‘I thought that, too, looking down at that torn sail today. Poor people, whoever they were.’

  ‘There must have been some good reason for them ignoring the rigging like that.’

  ‘How horrible,’ said the woman. ‘Imagine being too sick to do anything, feeling your ship being thrown about and knowing disaster was about to happen.’

  Although it was unlikely that everyone could have perished in the same way, there was always the possibility that the crew of the unknown vessel had been swept overboard before they had even sighted her. Briggs decided not to mention the thought to his wife. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to prolong.