Brian Freemantle: The Mary Celeste

He paused at the obvious indication from the lawyer Cornwell that the man wished to speak.

‘You have an observation?’

Cornwell rose, smiling gratefully:

‘It is, of course, vital that everything considered necessary by this court is done to bring this investigation to a satisfactory conclusion. But I would respectfully remind the court that lying in the holds of the Mary Celeste is an extremely valuable cargo which the owners are still under contract to deliver to Genoa…’

‘What is your point, Mr Cornwell?’

‘That the vessel should be released from Admiralty seizure and restored to Captain Winchester as soon as possible to enable that contract to be fulfilled,’ said Cornwell.

Cochrane lowered his head over his papers and Flood recognised the indication of annoyance. It was several moments before Cochrane looked up.

‘I am aware of the contractual obligations binding Captain Winchester and his associates,’ he said evenly. ‘I am even more aware of the obligations under which this court has been brought into session and which I, as a judge appointed by Her Majesty, the Queen of England, am required to fulfil. This enquiry will continue as long as I deem it necessary. And the vessel in question will remain under Admiralty bond until I decide it shall be released.’

Cornwell hesitated for a moment, then slowly sat down. His ‘Of course, sir,’ was barely audible.

As Cornwell sat, Cochrane looked over to the Attorney-General. There was no expression on the judge’s face, but Flood knew the reason for the look. He was as intrigued as Sir James at the request for speed before an enquiry had even commenced. Since the arrival of the Mary Celeste on December 12, barely a day had passed when something had not arisen to provide fresh grounds for suspicion. He glanced sideways at the American Consul.

It was remarkable that he appeared to be the only one who recognised it, thought Flood. But now the enquiry was about to begin.

It would not take long for them to realise how obtuse they had all been.

Benjamin Briggs had been schooled to conceal pride; certainly in any material achievement or possession.

‘Thy money perish with thee,’ he murmured, remembering. An Act of the Apostles. One of his father’s favourites. His father-in-law’s, too, by strange coincidence. From his wife’s father, it was understandable. Expected, even. The man was a clergyman, after all.

His own father’s devoutness to the Scriptures had surprised Benjamin in his early youth, before he had sailed under the man’s rigid captaincy and come to realise how easy it was to feel the power of God at sea.

His father had been a good teacher, of Scriptures as well as seamanship. A strict man; spartan, by some assessments. But always fair, as Benjamin knew he himself was fair to his men, not by conscious, thinking effort, as if attempting to emulate his father, but naturally because he was imbued with the quality so that he knew no other way to behave.

That was why he felt embarrassment at the realisation of his pride, because he knew his father would have criticised it. He trailed his hand along the top-gallant rail, savouring the texture of the fresh varnish and the new woodwork beneath. Perhaps, on this occasion, the man would have understood. Maybe felt the sensation himself; he had sufficient cause to be proud, after all. Four sons, each a ship’s captain, carrying on the family tradition. And his only daughter married to one.

Now, reflected Briggs, he was even more than a captain. At thirty-seven years of age, part-owner, too. Admittedly only a third share, but enough. Particularly in a newly rebuilt vessel like the Mary Celeste, trim and clean from stem to stern.

‘She’s a beautiful ship, Benjamin.’

Briggs hurriedly pulled his hand away at the sound of his wife’s voice, as if he had been discovered doing something wrong, and turned, smiling, to her.

‘I was just thinking so myself.’

‘I know.’

‘Is it obvious?’ he asked.

She smiled at the concern in his voice. ‘Why ever shouldn’t it be?’ she said.

‘Hardly seemly.’

‘What’s unseemly about appreciating one’s achievements?’

‘False pride,’ he suggested.

‘Where’s the falsity?’ she demanded. ‘You’ve every reason for pride. There’s a difference between that and conceit, surely?’

‘You think it was the right decision, then?’

She shook her head, the irritation taking the smile from her face even though she knew the reason for his doubt. Until Benjamin’s decision to buy a share in the Mary Celeste, she had not fully realised how deeply he had been affected by his father’s near-bankruptcy after the business venture in Wareham, Massachusetts, had failed.

‘You know how I feel about it,’ she said. ‘It was a wise and sensible thing to do. We decided that.’

‘Even though it’s taken so much of our money that we have to think before taking private horse carriages to visit friends here in New York?’

She sighed. Because of the horse disease, the horse-cars were not running on the east side of the city and they had been able to make only one excursion into Central Park with Sophia, when Sarah’s clergyman brother William had paid the $10 for the vehicle to come to collect them.

‘Stop remembering your father’s failure,’ she said. ‘He put his money into a shore venture. You’re putting yours into what you know best, the sea.’

She tiptoed, to raise her face to his, kissing him lightly. ‘And if it hadn’t happened, we probably wouldn’t have married.’

It was a long-established family joke that they had been childhood sweethearts and certainly for as long as she could remember Benjamin had been part of her life. She could still recall his arrival at the age of five, with his near-penniless mother, to live with her pastor father at the manse at Marion. It had been four years before his father had recovered sufficient money to buy a cottage of their own. And then Sippican had been only a mile from Marion, so they continued to see each other every day. All that time, she thought fondly. And never once a moment of boredom or un-happiness with the man. She considered herself a fortunate woman.

He kissed her back.

‘And that would have been the tragedy of my life,’ he said seriously.

‘So let’s count our blessings, not doubt them.’

‘That’s what I was doing,’ said Briggs.

‘After this voyage,’ she said, business-like, nodding towards the quayside from which the cargo was being swung into the holds, ‘we will have gone a long way towards recovering our investment and repaying our loans. We know there’s a return cargo in Messina. Within the year, we could be showing a profit. Don’t fret so.’

Briggs smiled at her encouragement. Sometimes, in his prayers, he thanked God for guiding him to a woman like Sarah. Slight, even giving the misleading impression of being frail, the skin of her face glowing as it always did after her morning toilet and the regulation one hundred splashes of ice-cold water against her cheeks, shown now to its best and healthy advantage by the severe way she had of dressing her hair, parted in the middle and combed straight back from her forehead and gathered into a tight knot beneath the bonnet. A beautiful woman, he decided. And more. No man could have sought a better mother for Arthur or Sophia. Nor a wiser housekeeper for their affairs. When the opportunity had arisen to buy a third share in the Mary Celeste it had been Sarah who itemised immediately the state of their finances, made the calculations about the loan they would have to raise and then presented him with an account record so that he could assess whether they could afford it.

Briggs realised that she was as much a companion as a wife, a special friend to whom he could always turn and from whom he would always receive the correct advice.