Neil Hanson - The Custom of the Sea

‘Did Dudley appear surprised when apprehended?’

‘Yes.’

‘And was he evidently up to that time of the impression he could return home that night?’

Cheesman mopped the sweat from his brow. ‘Yes, he was. It was an impression I shared.’

Tom was unsure if he was telling the truth, or merely trying to appease his local audience. He had no time to ponder the question further, for he was then called into the witness box, to be cross-examined by Danckwerts on one aspect of his statement. ‘Captain Dudley, when you were discussing killing the boy, did not Brooks say he would not have anything to do with it?’

Tom’s gaze was level and his firm voice carried to the back of the court. ‘No, he did not say that.’

Danckwerts frowned. He began to frame another question, then thought better of it and shook his head.

Those six words were the only ones that either Tom or Stephens were to be permitted to utter throughout the entire legal process. Under procedures that had ruled English courts since medieval times, no defendant was permitted to give sworn testimony on his own behalf. It was for the prosecution to prove the case and the defendant’s evidence was regarded as irrelevant since, guilty or not, he would be bound to deny that he had committed the crime.

Earlier in the Victorian era, a Bill was put before the House of Commons to allow a defendant to testify, but it had provoked such a furious parliamentary battle that the proposal was dropped. The law was finally amended when the Criminal Evidence Act was passed in 1898, allowing a defendant either to give an unsworn statement and not be cross-examined, or speak under oath but be subject to cross-examination.

The next witness to be called was Brooks. There was a buzz of excitement around the courtroom as he made his way to the stand at the right-hand end of the bench, at a diagonal from the dock in the centre of the court.

Brooks remained in the box for well over an hour and in all that time, he never once met Tom’s eye, staring straight ahead of him, down the side of the courtroom, looking neither at the bench, nor at Danckwerts as the lawyer led him through his testimony.

He spoke in a low voice, scarcely audible even to the reporters next to the witness box, and Liddicoat was obliged to intervene more than once. ‘We understand that this is painful for you, but please make an effort to speak more distinctly.’

To one of the reporters on the press bench, ‘The impression created by his manner was that he assumed the role of the witness rather reluctantly and that the recital of the sad scenes to which he had been to some extent a participant was painful and repugnant.’

Danckwerts took great care to confirm that impression. ‘This morning when you came here, did you know you were going to be discharged?’

‘No, sir, I did not.’ He shook his head for emphasis.

‘With the exception of the statements you have made to the collector of customs, or the newspapers, or your solicitor, have you made any statement to anyone connected with the prosecution?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did you know you would be called here as a witness this morning?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Not until you were discharged?’

‘Not then, sir.’

‘Oh, not then,’ Danckwerts said, as if sharing Brooks’s surprise.

‘No, not until just before I was called.’

Danckwerts nodded to himself. ‘Now, while you were adrift in the dinghy, when was the subject of casting lots discussed?’

‘Dudley mentioned it on several occasions, the first soon after we ate the last of the turtle.’

As if to confirm his desertion of his crewmates, Brooks was now calling Tom ‘Dudley’ rather than ‘Captain’.

‘We had nothing to eat for eight days after that,’ Brooks said. ‘It was not agreed to, though. I said, “Let us all die together.”’ He glanced towards Danckwerts as if seeking approval, then reverted to his fixed stare ahead of him.

‘What did the boy say about it?’

‘He didn’t join in the conversation. He was pretty well at the time, but on the fifteenth day he got ill.’

‘Now, turning to the nineteenth day, the day before Richard Parker died, can you remember any conversation which took place about lots that day?’

‘Yes, Dudley said that there would have to be something done. I did not make any answer then. There was not much said that day, we were looking very black at each other.’

‘Who first started the talk about killing Parker the next morning?’

Brooks hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before replying. ‘We all three were saying that there would have to be something done. We never talked about killing the boy, but I understood what would have to be done by Stephens nodding to the boy and then to me.’

‘What happened next?’ Danckwerts said.

‘The boy was lying in the bottom of the boat. I went and lay down in the bow with my head right forward and my feet under the thwarts. I had an oilskin coat over my head. I — I heard no words, just a little noise. I looked around and saw the boy’s neck was cut. I could not tell how, I did not look enough.

‘I fainted away just after then for a minute or two. When I looked round again I saw Dudley and Stephens drinking the blood. The boy’s eyes were quite white. I asked Dudley for some.’

He fell silent and Danckwerts prompted him. ‘And he did so?’

‘Yes, quite congealed, but I sucked it down as well as I could. I saw the knife soon after. There was blood on it.’ Again he hesitated.

‘What happened next?’

‘I went aft to steer the boat and Stephens and Dudley cut the boy’s clothes off. We ate his heart and liver between us and lived on the body for a few days afterwards.’

Danckwerts allowed a silence to build as his gaze travelled along the faces of the magistrates, measuring the impact of Brooks’s words. ‘I thank you, Mr Brooks,’ he said. ‘I am grateful for your courage and honesty in recounting such a terrible tale.’

Tilly rose to begin his cross-examination. ‘You were all in a terribly bad state when you were in the dinghy, thin and weak? You were getting sore in your bodies by sitting and your feet and hands were very much swollen?’

‘Yes,’ Brooks said, keeping his face averted.

‘And the lad was in a great deal worse condition than any of you. He appeared to be dying?’

‘To the best of my judgement. He was lying with his face on his arm, not speaking or taking any notice of anything for a great many hours.’

Tilly broke off and paced to and fro in front of the witness box, the sound of his boots on the worn wooden floor echoing through the courtroom. He waited until Brooks darted a nervous glance towards him, before speaking again. ‘Did you really object to casting lots?’

‘Y-yes, at all times.’

‘And why did you object?’

‘I thought it would be better for us to die all together.’

‘Now, let me ask you as a sailor, assuming one has to die, is not the casting of lots the fairest way?’

Brooks hesitated. ‘I would rather die than cast lots. I should not like to kill a man nor for anyone to kill me.’

‘Did you not give as your reason at the time that you had a wife and family and the boy had none?’

‘I did not.’

‘Are you sure? You are on your oath.’

‘I did not.’

‘But you had conversations together that something would have to be done and you understood that to mean that someone — the lad — would have to die.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘There was some conversation with you as to who should kill the boy, wasn’t there?’ the lawyer said, fixing him with his gaze. ‘I remind you again that you are on your oath.’

Brooks looked away and muttered something.