‘How long have you been away from Amrun?’ asked the first mate.
‘Maybe nine months,’ said Martens.
‘A long time.’
‘The pay is better than piloting around Hamburg,’ said Martens. ‘But I miss them. I think I’ll sign off in Gibraltar and get passage home.’
Richardson nodded. He expected that most of the Germans would do the same. It would mean selecting a new crew in the British colony and he doubted whether they would be as good as this one. He would have to discuss it with Captain Briggs. With his family aboard, it was natural he should be more than normally concerned at the quality of his crew.
‘You any children?’ asked Martens.
‘Not yet,’ said Richardson. ‘Married less than eight months.’
‘As much a strain being at sea, then,’ said the German, ‘with such a new wife.’
‘Hope to get my own vessel when we get back to America,’ said the first mate. ‘Then she’ll sail with me,’
The Lorensen brothers entered, overhearing the last part of the conversation.
‘I’ll not engage in long trips when I marry,’ said Boz Lorensen.
‘Maybe you’ll come to regard it as a welcome relief,’ joked his brother, who was four years older.
‘Not with Ingrid,’ said Boz confidently.
‘When’s the wedding?’ said Martens.
‘Three months,’ said the other German. ‘If you’re ashore, I’d like you and your wife to come.’
‘I didn’t know you all came from the same town,’ said Richardson.
‘Hardly a town,’ said Martens. ‘It’s a small village called Altersum, on the island of Fohr. I’ve moved to Amrun now, but most of my family remain.’ He turned to Boz: ‘I was just saying that I think I’ll go home after this trip. So I’d like to come; it would be a good homecoming party.’
‘I’m planning to make it so,’ said Boz. ‘By sailing deep-sea I’ve saved nearly $500.’
‘Only by ensuring that I pay all the tobacco and victualling when we’re between ships,’ said Volkert, still joking.
If there were to be discussion with Captain Briggs about the crew, he might as well establish the intention of as many as possible, decided Richardson.
‘You’ll be signing off in Gibraltar then?’ he said, expectantly.
The brothers exchanged looks.
‘Depends how quickly a homeward cargo is found,’ said Volkert, answering for both of them. ‘If there were something immediate, there would still be time to return to New York, then cross to Europe again before Boz’s wedding.’
‘There’s cargo waiting,’ said Richardson.
‘Then we’ll probably stay,’ said the elder brother. Richardson had become aware during the voyage that Volkert made the decisions for both of them.
‘I might even be able to save $600,’ said the younger man.
Richardson smiled, recognising for the first time the man’s feeling for money. It was a welcome parsimony, he thought. It would be far easier replacing only Martens in Gibraltar. And it would mean returning to New York with an excellent crew almost intact. He continued the thought. Captain Winchester had virtually promised him his own ship upon his return. He would set out on his first command a contented man if he could have aboard two men as tried and trusted as these brothers. If money were what they sought, they might welcome a short, well-paid coastal trip before shipping back to Europe.
‘You talk as if you want to become a millionaire,’ Martens said to Boz.
‘I’m determined to be a rich man,’ said the other German. ‘I’ll not let my wife live in poverty.’
‘I wish you luck,’ said Richardson, arrested by the man’s seriousness.
‘Boz believes he can make his own luck,’ said Volkert, smiling to indicate that he didn’t have the same conviction.
The Attorney-General decided he had been wrong in his assessment of the analyst’s mistake. It had been irritating; profoundly so. But that was all. Certainly not disastrous, as he had first feared. By the ability with which he had inflicted doubt upon every testimony so far presented, he had preserved his case from any damage that might have been caused by his not being able to prove positive bloodstaining.
And he still had his own witnesses, whose evidence supported every contention he had so far advanced.
Flood slouched back in his chair, gazing at the witness stand. With the simple seamen who were now being called to support the evidence of the officers who had preceded them, he did not imagine he would have great difficulty in maintaining the court’s suspicion.
John Wright, the second mate from the Dei Gratia, looked apprehensively across the chamber as Flood rose.
‘You boarded the Mary Celeste with Mr Deveau?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And were therefore, with Mr Deveau, the first person aboard after whatever disaster befell the vessel?’
Wright considered his reply, knowing what had happened to the others and wanting to avoid mistakes. At last, he said, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And what do you suppose that disaster to be?’
The man’s throat moved visibly and he seemed to make several attempts to speak.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘As the rest have said… bad weather.’
‘Why as the rest have said? Weren’t you able to form your own assessment? Or are we discussing the general story that seems to have been agreed upon before this enquiry began?’
‘But it must have been something to do with the weather, mustn’t it?’
‘Must it? Would you abandon a perfectly seaworthy vessel for a lifeboat in bad weather?’
‘Of course not,’ said the man, as if his common sense were being impugned.
‘Of course not,’ said Flood. ‘So once again we have disposed of this myth that some strange manifestation of climate caused nine sensible, sober adults to take a baby and cast themselves adrift in a small boat. So I will put the question to you again. What do you suppose happened?’
‘Don’t know,’ said the man, aware that he was being manipulated, but unable to prevent it.
‘You don’t know! Are you telling this enquiry that since boarding a floating derelict in a salvage operation from which you hope to gain some substantial award, you have not put your mind to the question of what might have caused the vessel’s abandonment?’
‘Some panic,’ said Wright. ‘The things we found in the cabin meant they must have gone very quickly.’
‘We’ve already disposed, by the use of simple logic, of the theory that it could have been the weather. So what do you suppose could have caused these experienced people to panic?’
‘They were frightened.’
‘Indeed they must have been frightened, but of what, do you imagine?’
‘How can I say… there was no way of knowing…’
‘So every member of the Dei Gratia crew who has so far given evidence has been quick to assure the enquiry,’ said Flood. He held up the sword.
‘Did you see this?’
‘I was with Mr Deveau when he found it, in the captain’s cabin.’
‘Did you see the bloodstains?’
‘I saw the blade was discoloured.’
‘With bloodstains?’ persisted Hood.
‘I thought it was rust.’
‘Because Mr Deveau said so.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Could the discoloration have been blood?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Let us try to become a little more positive, Mr Wright. Could the marks upon the blade have been blood, just as easily as they could have been rust?’
