‘She’s still pale,’ he said.
‘The sun will soon cure that.’
‘No more sickness?’
‘Two eggs for supper. And some bread.’
‘In New York, she was eating hash and meat,’ he remembered.
‘Give her time,’ said Sarah.
Briggs drew the baby close to him.
‘The first mate is carving her a Yuletide present,’ he said.
‘It would have been nice to be home before Christmas,’ said Sarah.
Briggs sat on the couch, still holding the child. She began groping into an accustomed pocket, seeking his silver watch. He pulled it out and held it to her ear. She smiled at the ticking, moving her head in time to the sound.
‘I’ll not enjoy the festival without Arthur,’ continued the woman. ‘He’s at an age when these things are important.’
‘Richardson is making a gift: for him, too.’
‘I can’t clear my mind of what happened today,’ said Sarah.
‘She was badly rigged,’ said Briggs, trying to reassure her. ‘It could never have happened with the sort of crew we’ve got.’
‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking?’
‘What?’
Tired of the watch, Sophia clambered from her father’s lap and went to where she had left a rag doll, beside the desk. ‘I wonder if there were any children aboard, like Sophia.
‘You mustn’t dwell upon it,’ said Briggs gently. ‘It might have been an old ship… unseaworthy. There’s more danger from a horse-drawn buggy in Marion’s Main Street than there is crossing the Atlantic in the Mary Celeste ’
She smiled thinly, trying to respond to his lightness.
‘I know we’re secure enough,’ she said. ‘I thought that, too, looking down at that torn sail today. Poor people, whoever they were.’
‘There must have been some good reason for them ignoring the rigging like that.’
‘How horrible,’ said the woman. ‘Imagine being too sick to do anything, feeling your ship being thrown about and knowing disaster was about to happen.’
Although it was unlikely that everyone could have perished in the same way, there was always the possibility that the crew of the unknown vessel had been swept overboard before they had even sighted her. Briggs decided not to mention the thought to his wife. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to prolong.
‘There’ll be sight of land soon,’ he said. ‘The Azores.’
‘Will we make port there?’
Briggs shook his head.
‘We’ve lost enough time as it is,’ he said. ‘I’ll continue for Gibraltar.’
‘I wonder if the Dei Gratia will be there,’ said Sarah.
Briggs remembered his wife’s reservations about Captain Morehouse.
‘You’ll not forget my invitation?’ he said.
She looked up from her sewing, faintly annoyed at the reminder.
‘I’ve promised you he’ll be welcome at our table,’ she said.
In the galley, where the crew had taken their meal, speculation about the identity and cause of the wreck had continued unabated for two hours.
Volkert Lorensen thrust his cup aside during a break in the conversation and said, ‘It might have seemed a fair reservation in New York, but after the sort of crossing we’re enduring, I’d welcome something a little stronger than coffee.’
Goodschall waved his hand in the direction of the bulkhead. ‘There’s drink enough in the holds,’ he said. ‘Gallons of it.’
‘Commercial alcohol!’ laughed Richardson. ‘Have you smelt it?’
‘Impossible not to,’ complained Gilling.
‘Believe me,’ said the first mate, ‘it tastes worse than it smells. Commercial alcohol is undrinkable.’
Frederick Flood liked bullfights.
He did not see them, as they were frequently dismissed by fainthearted tourists, as gory, orgiastic spectacles. Or even as the simplistic illustrations of courage, man against primitive beast, of which the Spanish aficionados spoke. He liked to sit in an arena and imagine the emotions of the matador, conjuring in his own mind the fear the man would know in the early moments of confrontation, when one mistake could mean death, and then the other feeling, the sensation of which he was even more convinced, the almost sensuous euphoria that must come at the fighter’s realisation that he was going to win. It must be very similar to the feeling he knew now, thought the Attorney-General, as he watched the swearing-in of his first witness.
Even the fact that Sir James had not that morning summoned him, as the Attorney-General had anticipated, to tell him of the previous night’s discussions in chambers, failed to affect his humour. He was quite convinced that his view of Pisani’s integrity was correct and that some indication would come during the course of the day’s hearing.
From his bench, Cochrane looked invitingly at Flood, who rose to begin his examination. John Austin, the colony’s surveyor of shipping, regarded him expectantly. It took only moments to establish the man’s qualifications as an expert witness.
‘Did you, on December 23 of last year, accompany myself and Mr Vecchio, the marshal of this court, aboard a half-brig known as the Mary Celeste?’ opened Flood. The time for nuance was over. Now it was to be the straight presentation of unarguable facts.
‘Yes,’ said Austin.
‘For what purpose?’
‘To carry out as thorough an examination as was practicable and from that examination conclude the reason for the ship’s supposed abandonment.’
‘Was such an examination possible?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long were you so occupied?’
‘Five hours.’
‘What was the first thing you found?’
‘On approaching the vessel I discovered damage to the bow between two and three feet above the waterline on the port side. A long, narrow strip at the edge of one of her outer planks under the cathead was cut away to a depth of about three-eighths of an inch and about one inch and a quarter wide for a length of six to seven feet.’
‘Could it have been caused by the adverse weather conditions we are all aware have recently been affecting the Atlantic?’ broke in Flood, anxious that the point should be established.
‘In my opinion, no,’ asserted Austin. ‘It was recently sustained and was apparently done by a sharp cutting instrument continuously applied through the whole length of the injury. On the starboard bow a little farther from the stem I discovered a precisely similar injury, but perhaps an eighth or a tenth of an inch wider.’
‘Could this have been caused by the weather?’ repeated the Attorney-General.
‘No,’ said Austin. ‘In my opinion, it had been caused at the same time as the damage to the starboard side. And by the same sharp cutting instrument.’
‘There has been much conjecture during the course of this enquiry,’ said Flood. ‘The most frequent is that some bizarre weather condition caused the inexplicable abandonment of the Mary Celeste by its crew. Would you assist the court by giving your judgment upon such a possibility?’
Austin turned to the judge, knowing the importance the Attorney-General placed upon the question and wanting Cochrane to misunderstand nothing:
‘I do not think that the Mary Celeste ever encountered weather severe enough for her crew to have considered abandoning her in favour of a ship’s boat.’
