Brian Freemantle: The Mary Celeste

‘I assure this court that I will communicate its views to the appropriate department in Washington,’ undertook Sprague.

Cochrane nodded, dismissing both consul and lawyer, then straightened at the bench. Briefly his gaze met that of the Attorney-General, but Flood kept his face free of any expression of approval at the man’s outspokenness. The congratulations could come later. Swingeing though the comments had been, the fact remained that the matter was beginning and ending as a civil matter, while they well knew a crime was involved.

‘It is now my function,’ began the judge, ‘to turn to the purpose for which this court was convened, to adjudicate upon the claim for salvage entered by the captain and crew of the British brigantine Dei Gratia.’ As was the normal custom, Cochrane had written out his formal judgment and every few moments his eyes dropped to his prepared statement.

‘Within the last few minutes, you have heard me express the court’s strongest disapprobation of the behaviour of Captain Winchester.’

He stopped, looking to see if Sprague were taking a note of what he was saying. A notebook lay open upon the table in front of the American Consul.

‘It is my intention to continue to express displeasure, this time with people who at least showed sufficient responsibility to remain in court for the adjudication. This enquiry takes the gravest view of the action of the Dei Gratia master, Captain David Reed Morehouse, in despatching from the jurisdiction of this court his first mate, whose continued presence was considered vital to a satisfactory conclusion of this case, being as he was the person most concerned with the salvage of the Mary Celeste…’ Briefly his eyes dropped to his judgment: ‘… it is the feeling of this court that despite every attempt and effort on the part of counsel present, there remain a large number of unanswered questions regarding this matter. Whether those questions will ever be satisfactorily explained can only be a matter of conjecture. I consider I would be failing in my duties as adjudicator of these events if, however, I ignored those unanswered questions and the suspicions to which they give rise in any enquiring, investigative mind.’

Coming to the vital section of his pronouncement, Cochrane was staring directly at the Dei Gratia captain and mate. The men looked strangely similar, beards spread before them, hands held against their knees, both frowning slightly in their anxiety fully to comprehend what the man was saying.

‘Early in this hearing,’ Cochrane continued, ‘it was established that the aggregate value of the cargo and hull of the Mary Celeste was in the region of $51,000. It was further established, I believe in a reply to a question from the Attorney-General, that although every case has to be judged upon its individual merits, as this case is certainly being judged, there is in maritime circles an anticipation of salvage awards. Sometimes, bearing in mind the hazards to which salvors go to bring an empty vessel safely to port, that award can be as high as 40 per cent…’

Flood was regarding Oliver Deveau as the judge spoke. Fleetingly, a smile flickered over the first mate’s face.

‘Counsel acting for the claimants in this case have argued eloquently of the difficulty of the Dei Gratia, with a cargo of petroleum, reducing its crew from eight to five to bring a derelict six hundred miles from where it was found to port here, in Gibraltar.’

He stopped, preparing them for something of importance:

‘That there were hazards out there, off the Azores, has been argued equally eloquently by the Attorney-General.’

Deveau’s smile had gone now, replaced by an even deeper frown than before.

‘It is my intention to award to the captain and crew of the Dei Gratia the sum of?1,700, which, translated into American currency for the sake of comparison against aggregate value, is $8,300.’

Cochrane stopped again, this time for the smallness of the amount to be assimilated by those in court. Pisani had twisted to his client, abruptly shaking his head to some point that Captain Morehouse had leaned forward to make. The Dei Gratia’s master’s face was flushed and his always staring eyes seemed even more prominent in his head.

‘I further order that the costs of this case should be paid out of the property salved…’

Cochrane paused, looking over to the American Consul: ‘A fact which I entrust you to bring not only to Captain Winchester’s attention, but also to that of the American authorities to whom you are going to express my displeasure — ’

Sprague half rose, nodding.

‘It is also my intention,’ resumed the judge, ‘to make an order that the cost of expert witnesses’ examination and analysis of the decking, hull and other articles aboard the Mary Celeste shall be charged against the $8,300 I have awarded to the salvors.’

Cochrane concluded his judgment and the court was suddenly hushed, no one immediately realising that he had finished. The awareness came as he rose to leave the chamber. Before he had got out of the room, Captain Morehouse was at the lawyers’ bench angrily pulling Pisani around.

The Attorney-General knew there were some formalities to be completed in his chambers with the court registrar and was not surprised that the summons to join the judge took longer than usual.

This time Cochrane poured sherry, handing Flood a glass as he entered: ‘Pisani has told Baumgartner he intends to appeal,’ he said.

‘He can’t,’ said Flood.

‘I know. That’s what Baumgartner told him.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘Called it a travesty of justice.’

‘If there’s been a travesty of justice, it’s not from this quarter,’ said Flood positively.

‘It was the best I could do, in the circumstances,’ said Cochrane.

‘It was far more than I expected you to do,’ said Flood. ‘No one can be left in any doubt, after a judgment like that.’

‘I didn’t intend them to be.’

‘It will be virtually impossible to arrest them, if a member of the Mary Celeste crew ever does reappear,’ said Flood bitterly.

‘I know.’

‘So this will be the end of it?’

‘I would expect so.’

‘So we’ll never know.’

‘Know?’

‘What really happened on the Mary Celeste.’

For more than an hour they had remained in the boat, their hopes rising and falling almost as frequently as the tiny vessel lifted and fell upon the gentle swell. Once, about thirty minutes after they had abandoned her, the sounds had died almost completely from inside the Mary Celeste and Captain Briggs had been upon the point of ordering a return to the ship when there was that sudden train-into-the-station sound and then more dunnage was spewed from the for’ard hold as a fresh build-up of gas and fumes was expelled.

There was virtually no wind now, so that what movement there was came from the current. Briggs had deputed Gilling to watch their drift and twice the second mate had had to put the Lorensen brothers to the oars, to maintain the distance between the lighter, more easily carried boat and the heavier ship.

As unashamedly as he prayed before and after each meal in whatever company he might find himself, Briggs had led a prayer meeting in the becalmed craft. There was eagerness in the way the men had joined in, sitting with heads bowed, following him loudly in common prayer and then remaining in the attitude of devotion, their lips moving slightly as each begged silently for the danger to pass.

The baby recovered from her fright towards the end of the prayers, curious as to why everyone was behaving so oddly. The period of enjoyment of a new experience in such a small craft soon passed and then she became fractious at the restrictions upon her movement. Arien Martens had very early tried to shift position, ironically to give the boat a better balance, and water had shipped in even though the movement had been very slight. Briggs briefly thought of putting some men aboard one of the rafts, deciding almost immediately against it. Instead he ordered that everyone remain where they sat.