by Stan Mason
Of all the people who knew him, perhaps the best authority was Consul Sprague. The American reported to the Assistant Secretary of State in Washington on the fourth of March, 1885, adding the following comment:
“In conclusion, I would beg to state confidentially, that Mr. Flood is an Irish gentleman. Although Reported as being over eighty years of age, he has always been considered as an individual of very vivid imagination, and to have survived, to some extent at least, the judicious application of his mental faculties. Such is, I believe, the general opinion of the community at large, even among his most intimate and personal friends.”
There is little doubt that he was absolutely right, but who could blame the Irishman for his suspicions in the matter of the Mary Celeste? And why shouldn’t he have tried to keep the case alive in an endeavour to find the culprits? The frustration experienced by the Queen’s Advocate was exceptional in this matter, and no one would dare suggest that his sentiments and beliefs were anything less than honest.
The Simple Truth
The mystery of the Mary Celeste was born in a district of New York a short time before the vessel sailed. Some distance away from the main Broadway, which at that time boasted fine streets and spacious houses, lay Five Points, a district renowned for its poverty, wretchedness and vice.
Five Points was a slum of the worst kind, and featured as an open rabbit-warren of diverse narrow alleys, reeking everywhere of the stench of dirt and filth. There were a number of disreputable run-down taverns at strategic places surrounded by a multitude of gloomy rat-infested residential properties..... dilapidated hulks sporting patched and broken windows, and rotten timbers and beams. It was an area frequently visited by sea-faring men. Five Points was a law unto itself.....even though it was famous for a prison in the heart of the area which carried with it a horrendous reputation. Any unwary visitors who unwittingly strayed too far into its environs found themselves quickly relieved of both money and valuables. On many occasions they were fortunate to get away with their lives.
Most houses were attainable only by narrow wooden stairways, and a rough stench permeated the district as though it was the natural atmosphere. Disease was no stranger either in such deplorable conditions and it was common to contract fever in addition to many other maladies and diseases which affected human-beings in that miserable place. The lanes and alleys were paved with mud which reached knee-deep high when it rained. It seeped through the walls of underground chambers, where people danced, drank, slept off the effects of opium, and spent most of their time gambling. Outside the houses, open to the street, stood multitudes of prostitutes, many of them ugly worn hags with nothing but ancient femininity to sell. It was their role to endeavour to crudely capture the attention of a drunken sailor or an over-lusty male for the price of a single meal. Through the wide cracks in the walls of the buildings, the world of vice and misery had little else to show. All that was loathsome, corrupt and decayed existed there.
Oliver Deveau had been a regular visitor to Five Points for many years. He could handle himself well in case of a fight and indulged in certain forms of entertainment which were often provided cheaply. He frequented an inn commonly known as Fat Martha’s Whorehouse which, although disreputable, was better run than most places, and his presence there meant that he would not be pestered by the female sirens in the street. Deveau had often visited Fat Martha’s with Charles Lund and Augustus Anderson in the 1860s. He had managed to find a command at that time when his Captain had fallen ill, and there was no immediate replacement. He first met the other two sailors then but few sea passages contained the names of all three seamen and, towards the fall of 1872 they had been separated for over six months. Without a ship of his own, Deveau had been whiling away his time at Fat Martha’s until one evening in October, 1872, when Lund and Anderson returned to New York. The three men spent time together well into the early hours of the morning in that infamous place and, in their inebriated state, agreed to seek a new passage together. A few days later, they found themselves in the office of the owners of the Dei Gratia and were hired for the next trip of that vessel to Gibraltar.
Deveau was less than pleased with his situation. As always, he was extremely low in cash, realising that without substantial funds there could be no possibility of purchasing his own command. He had tried to obtain finance but his credit rating was not regarded less than adequate. Indeed, without his own command, or the hope of any funds or partners in support his ambition, it seemed he would have to continue as First Mate on board other owners’ vessels for the rest of his life. The thought embittered him deeply. On the evening before the Mary Celeste sailed.....the fourth of November, 1872.....the First Mate of the Dei Gratia went into the Five Points district with Lund and Anderson for another drinking session although, by that time, most of the money advanced to them by the owners of the Dei Gratia had already been spent. It was during that particular evening when an itinerant sailor, by the name of John McCormack, entered Fat Martha’s place. Unwittingly, McCormack became the key to their future. Six feet six inches tall, he had been employed as a lumberjack in the north for a number of years, repeatedly finding himself in serious trouble with the police. The final incident related to the death of another lumberjack by means of an axe and the Irishman decided that his best course would be to go to sea and stay there for a long time, until the police grew tired of the case and closed their files. But even that course of action proved troublesome because of his hasty temper and considerable strength. On his last passage, he had struck another sailor in a fight so hard that the man was knocked over the side of the vessel and drowned. McCormack was prone to disaster; it was just one more unfortunate episode in his life. However, the Captain of the vessel told him in no mean terms that he would report the incident to the police on their arrival back in New York, adding that there were a number of sailors on board who witnessed the incident. Ultimately, once back on land McCormack would have to pay for his actions. The Irishman decided it was in his best interests not to wait for the law. As the ship pulled into New York harbour, he dived overboard and swam for the shore. Now, wanted by the police for two murders, he was literally ‘on the run’.
Deveau and McCormack had served together in 1864 on a three-masted brig. The former had been First Mate and both men had developed a rapport. When they hailed each other at Fat Martha’s that evening, far away from the clutches of the New York police who avoided Five Points like the plague.....except for their duties at the jail....the forging of a new criminal contract took place. Ironically, at that moment, Captain Briggs of the Mary Celeste and Captain Morehouse of the Dei Gratia were dining together at Astor House in the city of New York. They had no idea of the plot being hatched against them. Even less did they realise that one of them would die as a result of it, the other would have his name attached to a mystery for the rest of his life, and that one of the ships would be the subject of that mystery. McCormack explained his predicament to Deveau concerning the two murders for which he was being hunted by the police. Suddenly, Deveau saw the opportunity of using the Irishman’s dilemma for his own ends. A command cost money. His current prospects to secure his own command was extremely bleak. In fact he recognised them to be totally remote. As a First Mate, with a wife to support, he would never earn enough to put aside for his own command. Therefore, the only way to achieve the funds required was by means of salvage money. He had to find a derelict ship and tow it back to port. The salvage awards were enormous.....often far more than the value of the derelict. Even better still was the fact that the Dei Gratia only had a handful of men to share the booty. But how was it possible to achieve that aim? The odds of finding a salvage ship was a very rare occurrence. Ultimately, the only way to be sure was to plan for it to happen. Such seeds of aspiration fuelled by greed existed in the minds of many evil sailors but no one had the wherewithal to plan such a deed or carry it out successfully to its conclusion. In normal circumstances, the whim remained
an idea.....unless released by a trigger mechanism. That mechanism existed in the form of John McCormack. Once the Irishman had related his tale of woe, the First Mate of the Dei Gratia began to conceive a marvellous idea. It developed further during the ensuing discussion, especially when they became aware that the two Captains were dining together at Astor House. The key to any plan was the need for McCormack to “disappear” for a while to avoid arrest. That task was urgent if he was to stay out of prison and save himself from being hanged. Deveau needed to obtain as much information as possible about the ships preparing to leave New York imminently. The Irishman suddenly started talking about the Mary Celeste because, knowing it was leaving shortly, he had tried unsuccessfully to obtain a passage on the vessel. It was his ardent hope to sign on as a member of the crew and get out of New York to head for some distant shore to retain his freedom. If he could do that, he would be able to find another vessel going to the Orient, thereby avoiding the United States authorities for many years. The Mary Celeste was leaving on the following morning. McCormack mentioned she was berthed in the East River dock, bound for Genoa. In a semi-inebriated state, Deveau dwelt on the idea for a while, drinking some more of Fat Martha’s brew, and then related his plan. At first, he set the scene carefully in an effort not to scare the others with his audacious idea in case they became too scared to go along with it. Lund was drawn into it by the suggestion that it would be fun to try to race the Celeste to Gibraltar, although there was not much hope for that as the Dei Gratia would be leaving some days later. Anderson reasoned that while the Dei Gratia was the faster vessel it would not be a race unless the Mary Celeste was delayed for four or five days. The conversation began to generate enthusiasm as the four men found a common ground of interest until Lund pointed out that it was all a waste of time. Although racing might be a game for sailors, it would be the owners who profited from it. Yet it was the hard-working sailors who were sitting in the heart of Five Points with hardly the price of a few drinks between them.
Eventually, Deveau considered it was time to develop the theme that if the Mary Celeste could be stalled in some way, she might be a suitable salvage ship, found by the Dei Gratia, which could then provide them al with some bounty. Then the mariners would benefit at the expense of the owners! Lund and Anderson were at a loss to understand how this could happen, but McCormack realised that Deveau was giving him the opportunity to escape and supported him wholeheartedly. Deveau explained that the Celeste would be bound for the Straits of Gibraltar on practically the same course as the Dei Gratia and that if the crew of the Celeste were put off near the Azores Islands, the vessel could be held until the Dei Gratia arrived at that spot. The ship would be derelict..... there would be no one aboard.....and the crew of the Dei Gratia could claim the salvage money. McCormack became euphoric and applauded the idea, expressing the view that if the crew were put off a fair distance from the Azores it would take them a considerable time to get to the islands, and maybe two months before they reached the mainland. Even so, whatever story they offered would not affect the payment of the salvage money which was likely to amount to many thousands of dollars. For Deveau, it meant he would be able to purchase his own command or, if the reward was high enough, even retire somewhere in modest comfort with his wife.
Deveau suggested to McCormack that he should board the Mary Celeste that night and hide himself in the hold, where he would stay until the ship had reached the Azores. No one would notice him if he took food and water aboard and hid behind some of the barrels of alcohol in the darkness below. He explained that the Irishman would put off the Captain and the crew at a reasonable distance from the island of Santa Maria or thereabouts and handle the ship on his own so that it made no headway. Anderson became concerned about the crew and asked of their fate if they resisted. McCormack assured him there would be no resistance in view of his size and strength but he declared that if attacked he would defend himself, which was not unreasonable for anyone to do. The Irishman continued that there had to be some kind of assurance that when the Celeste was found only Deveau, Lund and Anderson should come aboard, and that they must be the only crew left to take the vessel to Gibraltar where the salvage claim would be made. In that way, he would be granted a safe passage and simply disappear at Gibraltar, surfacing briefly to secure his share of the bounty.
For the next few hours the four men discussed the plan, its operation, and the money, dwelling mainly on the latter which they divided in their minds by percentage. Their greed continued unabated for a while until Deveau left the table together with the Irishman to continue discussing some elements of their plan secretly. Deveau expected the Captain and the crew to resist and doubted McCormack’s ability to handle half-a-dozen men when they became aware of his presence. The latter disclosed, however, that he had no intention of finding himself at such a disadvantage at sea and made it clear that if everything went according to plan there would be no witnesses left on board the Mary Celeste when the salvage ship was found. The Captain and crew would be disposed of, whether they resisted or not. It was the only way. In reality, the Irishman intended to use the element of surprise at the appropriate time, tackling them one by one before they realised what was happening. He intended to dispose of the watch and, when the next person came to relieve him, he would be thrown overboard too.....and so would anyone else coming to look for him. He reckoned he would be able to ‘dispose’ of at least three or four crew members before anyone realised there was a stowaway on board. Deveau advised him strongly not to divulge his plan to Lund and Anderson as the knowledge that murder might be committed might cause them to change their minds. In view of the imminent of the departure of the Mary Celeste there was no time for hesitancy. He reminded the Irishman that if the crew disappeared it would be vital to remember to put an axe through the life-boats and scuttle them in the Atlantic ocean. Then, if no one ever turned up, it would be believed that they had taken to the life-boats and were lost in a storm. He also advised the Irishman to work hard at the sails, according to the wind, and to split the mast after seven days to make it look as though the ship was in difficulties. McCormack was puzzled why he had to wait seven days but Deveau went on to explain that he needed the mast to keep the vessel in the right position until the Dei Gratia was able to reach her. Lastly, he advised that the bows should be smashed as well to make it look as though a collision might have taken place.
When they returned to the others, the four men ran through the plan again. Lund and Anderson were totally unaware they had become involved in a murder plot, and they continued to work out distances, dates, times, meeting places, and the final instructions for the Irishman in complete innocence. From their point of view, in their inebriated state, they were conspiring to earn themselves a salvage claim and no one was going to get hurt. Before leaving Fat Martha’s, McCormack bought some food and victuals from the kitchen to take on board the Mary Celeste and found a sharp axe to take with him. Then he walked the distance to Pier 50 in the night and slid aboard the vessel quietly. The Captain, his wife and child were asleep in their cabin on board at the time; the crew were staying at 19, Thames Street, New York, where Martens, the Lorenzens and Goodshall were staying.
Meanwhile, Deveau was delighted with the plan. From his point of view, not only would he come into a substantial amount of money if the plan succeeded but there was no personal danger in it for him at all. If the plan failed and McCormack was caught, no one would believe anything he said to implicate them. Lund and Anderson and himself would deny they had even met the Irishman, let alone conspired with him. Deveau reflected that he was now thirty-five years of age and only a First Mate, yet there were pip-squeaks of twenty-two years of age and thereabouts who were taking command of vessels. If he failed to force destiny along a bit faster by himself, he would remain a nonentity and poor for the whole of his life, ending up as an old sea-dog in a downtown bar with nothing to show for a lifetime of hard work. The sudden unexpected appearance of McCormack
was most fortuitous and could change all that. They had agreed on a plan which, in a short while, would become an irrevocable part of history. It was already too late for anyone to change his mind because the Irishman had disappeared into the night and was already on board the Mary Celeste.
After boarding the vessel, McCormack re-arranged some of the barrels of alcohol to provide a comfortable space which would afford him a high degree of secrecy and protection. He knew that, providing the cargo did not shift, the crew would have little interest in examining the hold and he probably would not be disturbed at all. At worst, the Captain would check that everything was in order before they sailed but that would be only a cursory inspection. It was dark and evil-smelling in the hold but, for a bounty of thousands of dollars and his freedom, he was willing to undergo some degree of discomfort. Early on the fifth of November, 1872, the vessel left the dock but she remained anchored off Staten Island for two days as a result of bad weather. McCormack was grateful for the delay. It meant two days less for the Dei Gratia to catch up with him. The voyage then continued and it was not until the twenty-fifth of November that the Irishman decided to strike. He had heard one of the crew commenting that they were approaching the Azores. It was time to prepare himself for action. However, the voyage had not gone well with him. Having spent some seventeen days in the hold - with the exception of some clandestine excursions on deck in the very small hours of the morning when it was pitch dark - he had suffered from the fumes of the alcohol, being cramped in a relatively small area and, even more importantly, had run out of food and water. Apart from that, he had been tossed about in that small space during some voilent storms. Consequently, he became quite sick and rather weak. Whether it was the effect of the alcohol fumes is not certain but his strength was well below normal.