Brian Freemantle - The Mary Celeste

‘There’s been no one around the ship for days,’ said Winchester. ‘I’ve had Captain Blatchford standing by, ever since he arrived from New York.’

‘Another examination of the facts, perhaps,’ suggested Pisani, unwilling to give up his idea.

‘Criminal?’ took up Stokes.

Pisani shrugged, letting the speculation grow.

‘It would please the Attorney-General right enough,’ said Cornwell. ‘He’s been conducting a trial for days now.’

‘Do you seriously consider there would be grounds for any investigation?’ said Stokes, moving against the idea. ‘It doesn’t seem logical to me.’

‘There has been precious little logic at the hearing for a long time,’ pointed out Pisani. He looked sadly at the New York owner: ‘I’m afraid they’re going to keep you on a string for days yet.’

It was a further hour before the meeting broke up. Captain Winchester was the last person to leave the Consul’s house.

‘As there is a weekend intervening, I thought I’d take a trip to Cadiz to obtain the bail-bond money,’ he said. He looked directly at Sprague, intent upon any reaction.

‘Probably a good idea,’ accepted the American official immediately. ‘The court seems minded to inflict upon you whatever delay it can.’

‘Is it a lengthy journey?’

‘Some seventy-five miles or thereabouts,’ said Sprague. ‘It’s a fair road.’

‘Then I’ll set out at first light,’ said the owner.

He ordered a carriage for six but was awake long before dawn. By the time the transport had arrived, he had already packed. He supervised the loading, ensuring that his luggage was out of sight, then sat back in his seat for the slow, winding descent to the peninsula. As they crossed towards the border with the mainland, he looked to his left, trying to isolate the spars and masts of the Mary Celeste. He thought he could detect them, but was unsure among so many craft.

The formalities were very brief and Winchester had cleared the colony long before most people were awake. As he began the journey through the gradually widening landscape of Spain, he felt the sense of claustrophobia lift from him; imprisonment must be terrifying, he decided.

The road was better than he had expected and they reached Cadiz by nightfall, Winchester having allowed only the minimum of rest at midday and then paying for an extra set of horses so that they could drive on through the heat.

The brig Daisy Boynton was berthed at a sailing jetty, having discharged her cargo. Captain Appleby was aboard, waiting, when Winchester arrived.

‘I expected you earlier,’ said the younger man.

‘I’d have welcomed it being earlier, believe me,’ said Winchester.

Appleby put a bottle of local wine at hand for Winchester to replenish his glass when he wanted to, listening without interruption as the owner outlined the enquiry he had been attending.

‘Arraign you?’ queried the captain, when the older man had come to the end of his account and explained his fears.

‘I’ve little doubt of it.’

‘But for what reason?’

‘The authorities here are convinced of crime. And seem determined to find a culprit.’

‘That’s monstrous.’

‘It’s all of that,’ agreed the ship-owner. ‘But there appears no appeal.’

‘What’s your intention?’

‘To seek a favour from you,’ said Winchester immediately. ‘I remembered your destination and hoped you would have discharged. You know me well enough to accept my word as a gentleman, against my paper. I’m asking you to lend me your freight money, so that I can post bond in Gibraltar against the Mary Celeste being released. I intend returning it to my agent in the colony by messenger and making my own way to Lisbon, for passage back to America.’

‘You’re not returning for the conclusion of the hearing?’ asked Appleby. The question went beyond surprise, to astonishment.

‘I’m convinced they intend to arrest me,’ he said. ‘There are no grounds, but it will take months to obtain a fair hearing and by that time God knows what will have happened to the business in New York. I’m well aware of how bad it will look, but I feel the slur upon my name is a lesser evil than false imprisonment.’

The young man shook his head, doubtfully. Winchester knew he was asking a lot from one so young: Appleby could be little more than twenty-two years of age.

‘If you’re not inclined to assist, which I shall completely understand, I shall journey on to London and seek protection from the American Ambassador there. It’ll need someone in authority to break through the walls they’ve built for themselves in Gibraltar.’

‘You’ll provide a Note against the loan?’

‘This instant,’ said Winchester eagerly. ‘Our families have been acquainted for many years. You know well enough there’s no risk of my word not being kept.’

Appleby rose and went to a small safe against the bulkhead, near his desk. From it he took a cash box and put it unopened on the table at which Winchester was sitting.

‘You’re welcome to whatever is there,’ he said. ‘I’ll not sit idly by while a fellow American is hounded by petty officials.’

Winchester counted out the bail-bond money, then wrote out a formal letter of debt and signed it, not putting it into the box but handing it to Appleby. The young man glanced briefly at it, then put it in with the cash that remained.

‘You’re welcome to passage home aboard the Daisy Boynton,’ said Appleby.

‘It’s a generous offer,’ said Winchester gratefully. ‘But you’ll have occasion in the future to call at Gibraltar and ‘I’ll do nothing further to involve you with the authorities there. Before I left Gibraltar I took a note of available steamers from the Maritime Journal. The Caledonia sails from Lisbon on the 6th.’

‘Will you raise the matter with Washington when you return?’

‘I’ll raise it right enough,’ vowed the owner. ‘And I’ll make damned sure there’s action taken.’

Winchester dined with Appleby before quitting the Daisy Boynton. At the hotel he wrote a long letter to Sprague, informing him of his decision not to return and the following morning had the bail-bond money and the letter put under the seal of the American Consul in Cadiz for transfer to Gibraltar.

By noon he had already taken carriage for the overland route to Portugal. Appleby had been right to be astonished that he was running rather than returning to the colony, reflected Winchester. But only someone who had actually sat in at the hearing day after day and felt the atmosphere build up could appreciate how proper the decision was. Once the ownership certificates arrived it could not affect the eventual release of the Mary Celeste. It would cause annoyance, of course, particularly coming so soon after the Dei Gratia ’s trip to Genoa. But Winchester decided that he couldn’t give a damn about annoying Sir James Cochrane or Attorney-General Frederick Solly Flood. He’d asked Consul Sprague to make the contents of his letter dear to both of them, setting out his annoyance at the unfounded accusations and his fear of wrongful arrest. He wanted that to be a warning, an indication that, once back in America, he intended taking every offidal course open to him to prove them both incompetents and bigots.

He closed his eyes, letting his body move with the motion of the carriage and trying to doze away the fatigue of the previous thirty-six hours.

The enquiry had been a frightening experience, he decided. It would undoubtedly find in favour of the Dei Gratia’s salvage claim. But it had failed in the other purpose it had set itself. Despite all the evidence and all the supposition, they were still no nearer learning what had happened to Briggs, his family and crew.