Brian Freemantle: The Mary Celeste

They were expecting him at the offices of the United States Shipping Commissioner and the documents were ready. He signed first the articles of agreement, then the list of persons comprising the crew. Within fifteen minutes he was back in the carriage, heading for the offices of J. W. Winchester amp; Co.

The principal owner was waiting for him, too.

‘We’ve obtained cargo insurance from the Atlantic Mutual covering the freight,’ announced Winchester, after they had shaken hands and Winchester had shown Briggs to a chair bordering his desk. ‘Total of $3,400.’

‘What premium?’ asked Briggs. Commercial alcohol was a more difficult freight than some.

‘Two and a half.’

‘Reasonable enough,’ said Briggs.

‘How’s loading?’

‘Almost complete,’ said Briggs. ‘I’d like to thank you again, incidentally, for that second boat.’

Winchester shrugged dismissively:

‘Still stormy in the Atlantic, by all accounts.’

‘I’ve delayed getting a forecast until nearer the sailing,’ said Briggs.

Winchester glanced across at the barometer which hung against the far wall.

‘The glass is far enough down even here,’ he said. ‘God knows what it’ll be like out at sea.’

‘Sarah is a good sailor,’ said Briggs confidently.

‘What about the young one?’

‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

‘Still happy with the ship?’

‘It would be difficult to be otherwise,’ said Briggs. ‘She’s a fine vessel.’

‘You still haven’t sailed her yet,’ Winchester reminded him.

‘Captain Spates was complimentary enough,’ said Briggs. Spates had been the captain for the vessel’s previous voyage, from Puerto Rico.

‘And he’s an experienced enough man,’ conceded Winchester. He went to a cabinet against the wall and returned with a bottle and two glasses. ‘A toast to the voyage,’ he suggested.

Briggs raised his hand, in a halting movement.

‘I mean no offence,’ he said, ‘but I don’t take alcohol.’

Winchester paused, looking up at his new captain and business partner.

‘Not ever?’ he asked, remembering the previous night’s refusal at dinner.

‘Never.’

The man set the bottle down, whisky in only one glass. ‘Then it’ll be a solitary toast,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘To our partnership and to the successful voyage of the Mary Celeste.’

‘I’ll accept the sentiment, if not the drink,’ said Briggs.

When Briggs returned to the Mary Celeste two hours later, Richardson was waiting for him. During the final loading of the day, the block had slipped, dropping the hoist suddenly. A barrel iron had caught the regular lifeboat, which had been brought from the stern davits on to the deck for the caulking to be checked. The planking had been stoved in for about three feet on the port side, near the stem.

‘We’ll not be able to get that repaired on time,’ said Briggs immediately.

‘What about a replacement?’ asked Richardson. He had been quietened by the incident, regarding it as his fault for attempting two jobs at the same time.

‘I’ll speak to Captain Winchester first thing in the morning,’ promised Briggs. He looked back to the main hatch, over which the second boat Winchester had provided was to be secured on fenders.

‘That might come in handier than we first thought,’ he said.

‘Smaller than this, though,’ pointed out Richardson.

‘Aye,’ agreed Briggs. ‘A proper replacement would obviously be better…’ He paused. ‘Checked the rafts, just in case another longboat isn’t available?’

‘Yes,’ said Richardson. ‘They’re brand new.’

Briggs smiled gratefully at his first mate’s professionalism.

‘If we can’t get another longboat, then with what we’ve already been given by Captain Winchester and with the rafts, we’ll still be able to sail on schedule,’ he said.

‘Right enough,’ accepted Richardson. ‘We’re more than adequately covered on safety regulations.’

Briggs straightened from the damaged longboat, gazing down at the splintered hole. It was beyond repair.

‘Still annoying, though,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Richardson. ‘Damned annoying.’

He registered the grimace from Briggs and remembered too late the captain’s dislike of bad language, even without his wife aboard.

Briggs was immediately aware of the other man’s discomfort and moved to cover it.

‘There were times,’ he said, ‘when something like this would have been regarded as a bad omen.’

Richardson sighed, content that he hadn’t caused any offence.

‘Not with the crew we’ve got aboard,’ he said confidently.

As he moved towards his cabin, Briggs heard the sounds of the melodeon Sarah had brought aboard to accompany her singing. She played as well as she sang, he thought fondly, pausing outside the cabin to listen to the hymn.

He turned, staring back up the companion-way and towards the unseen lifeboat. It was an irritation, he decided. But nothing more. Nevertheless, he would sail happier if he could obtain a replacement.

The Attorney-General sat at his bench, his head lowered, seemingly more interested in the documents before him than in what Captain Winchester was saying. His manner obviously more respectful since his rebuff from the judge, Cornwell had taken his client easily through the formal evidence necessary to enter claim for the vessel and Flood had watched while the New York shipowner had grown more relaxed and confident in the legal surroundings.

Which was exactly how Flood wanted the man: relaxed and confident and completely unsuspecting.

Flood, looking up in apparent surprise when Cornwell muttered his thanks to the witness and sat down, gave the appearance of unreadiness when invited by Cochrane to ask questions, fumbling through the papers on the table. When he finally rose, Winchester was smiling indulgently, imagining incompetence. Flood determined it would not be a smile to last for long.

‘So the Mary Celeste had been rebuilt?’ he said, taking Winchester back to the very beginning of his evidence.

The owner nodded. ‘In 1868 or thereabouts. She had originally been constructed in Nova Scotia with only one deck. But she was wrecked and then rebuilt to have two decks, her length extended to 103 feet and her size brought up to 282 tons.’

‘A new vessel, in fact?’

‘Virtually so, yes.’

‘A valuable ship?’

Winchester hesitated, frowning. ‘Yes,’ he agreed finally.

Flood sorted through some papers in front of him.

‘Insured, I understand, for some $14,000?’

‘Yes,’ said Winchester again.

‘And the present cargo coveted by the owners on the London market for some?6,500?’

Again Winchester paused before agreeing, shortly: ‘Yes.’

‘In addition to which there was your freight insurance of $3,400?’

‘Yes.’ The repetition came almost in a sigh.

Winchester was patronising him, Flood recognised. Which was how he wanted it to be.

‘When did you acquire her?’

‘With a consortium of other men, in October 1869.’

‘Captain Briggs formed part of that consortium?’

‘Not the original group. He purchased his interest in October last year.’

‘Just prior to sailing, in fact?’

‘Yes.’

‘You knew him well?’

‘At first, only by reputation. And that was of an above-average captain. When he joined my company, I came to believe that reputation well founded. I was proud to have him as a partner.’

‘Describe him.’

‘A first-class master and navigator,’ said Winchester immediately. ‘I regarded him as an asset to the company.’

‘A first-class master and navigator,’ repeated Flood slowly. ‘Yet he was to be parted from a ship in which he had so recently purchased part-ownership on his very first voyage.’