he had so recently censured.
‘That was a wise course, Mr Richardson.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the mate.
‘Looks black,’ said Briggs, indicating the direction of the unseen islands.
‘Just checked the barometer,’ said Richardson.
‘What’s the reading?’
Before the man could reply, a wave larger than the others that morning slid encroachingly over the deck, sweeping the baby’s feet from beneath her. She would have fallen had not Sarah been immediately behind to scoop her up. Goodschall moved immediately from the halyard coiling, supporting mother and baby back along the line to where they were nearest to the deck-house and then walking with them to the companion-way. The child was crying, holding her legs bunched beneath her chin to avoid being soaked again.
‘It’s dropping,’ said Richardson miserably.
‘So we’re in for more storms?’
‘Within an hour or so,’ said the first mate. ‘Isn’t there ever going to be a respite?’
Briggs did not reply immediately. He had already been caught unawares with the crew and it had irritated him, even though the incident was a trivial one. And not twenty-four hours earlier had seen the far from trivial effect of a captain exercising insufficient care.
At the last reading, he was at latitude 36.56 N. by longitude 27.20 W., which put almost all the Azores group astern. San Miguel was about 100 miles away, Santa Maria a little farther.
‘There’ll be protection in the lee of the islands,’ he said, turning to include the helmsman in the remark. Briggs paused, making the decision. Then he said, ‘We’ll set course for Santa Maria. I want calm within the next twenty-four hours, so that we can ventilate.’
‘Aye,’ accepted Richardson, walking with Briggs towards the cabin where the captain would chart the course alteration.
It was a decision of sensible seamanship, thought Briggs, as he hunched over the mid-Atlantic charts. Just as taking the protection of Staten Island, at the very commencement of the voyage, had been good seamanship. It was a simple plot, taking only minutes to complete. There would be an added advantage, he decided, as Richardson went back to the conn. Now they would be close enough to the island for Sophia to get a clear view.
He returned to the charts, making another calculation. The impending weather would keep them back to seven or eight knots. It would still be some time before they made landfall.
He looked in the direction of the adjoining cabin, from which emerged the sounds of Sarah quietening the distressed child.
If they made Santa Maria’s protection by breakfast, they could be ventilated by noon. He pulled from his pocket the silver watch with which Sophia was so fond of playing.
Less than twenty-four hours before the guarantee of absolute safety. He frowned at the thought, finding it theatrical. There had not been the slightest indication that the cargo was entering a dangerous state. Just as it was sensible not to become careless or complacent, so it was important not to imagine problems before they arose. Hadn’t he told Sarah that morning that he couldn’t allow his judgment to become affected by external influences?
Sarah and Sophia entered from the next cabin, the baby quite recovered.
Briggs picked her up, holding her at arm’s-length as he normally did.
‘A surprise for you,’ he declared, to the child.
‘What?’ asked Sarah, over the baby’s shoulder.
‘I’ve changed course, to get some protection from the islands. She’ll be able to see land some time tomorrow.’
‘Is it necessary?’ asked the woman.
‘Yes,’ said Briggs. ‘Very necessary.’
Looking at Captain Winchester as he rose to begin his re-examination, the Attorney-General was again reminded of his bullfighting analogy. Just as he had earlier felt the euphoria of knowing he was sure to win, so there was about the New York owner that ambience of defeat that rises from the bull as the matador positions himself for the kill, an attitude of defiance that fails to conceal the beast’s awareness that it is confronting a superior opponent.
Flood decided the changed circumstances demanded a different approach from that upon which he had originally determined for this third session.
‘Your advice was sought before Oliver Deveau was despatched to Genoa, while Captain Morehouse remained here?’ he said.
‘It is the custom at sea for the superior officer to be held responsible for any action or statement of those whom he commands,’ said Winchester. He had removed his pince-nez and stood leaning slightly forward in the witness box, as if he had difficulty in focusing upon his interrogator.
Very much like the corrida, thought Flood. Bulls were shortsighted.
‘Just as it is the custom in a court of law for those responsible for malfeasance to be held guilty of their actions,’ said the Attorney-General. ‘But I’m sure the court is grateful for your definition.’
‘I was unaware,’ fought back Winchester, ‘that this was a court considering a crime. I believed it to be civil proceedings, adjudging a civil claim.’
Often, at the very point of death, the bull put up the most spirited defence, reflected Flood.
‘Indeed it is,’ he agreed. ‘But a legally constituted tribunal would be failing in its function if it failed to respond to the evidence before it.’
‘Just as this hearing would be failing in its function if it failed to respond to the evidence before it,’ concurred Winchester. ‘Having sat in this room for so many days, I still wonder what evidence has been established.’
‘A responsibility of decision resting upon neither of us,’ said Flood. ‘But on Mr Justice Cochrane.’ And that of the Gibraltar constabulary, he thought. It would be interesting to know what an unbiased observer such as the chief of police would conclude from the statements, affidavits and evidence now before him. Flood had no doubt of the decision.
‘Let us move on from the polemics of the judiciary and concentrate upon the statements made since you first stood where you stand today,’ he continued. ‘If my notation is correct, you asserted during your initial evidence that some manifestation of the weather caused the abandonment of the Mary Celeste by Captain Briggs and his crew.’
‘Captain Briggs bore a high character, that of a courageous officer and good seaman who would not, I think, desert his ship except to save his life,’ said Winchester. ‘I also knew the mate, Richardson. I had done so for two years. He was an experienced and courageous officer in whom I had great confidence. I believe he had presence of mind. His three previous captains spoke of him as fit to command any ship and I believe he would not leave his ship except for a matter of life or death. From what I have seen of the state and conditions of the vessel, I cannot believe that she was abandoned by her master, officers and crew by stress of weather only. I had plenty of time to examine her thoroughly and feel very certain that she was not abandoned through perils of the sea.’
Winchester had spoken with urgent seriousness, still anxious to help the enquiry, so that he was breathless when he concluded. For several moments the Attorney-General remained absolutely motionless, giving no reaction whatsoever to the statement. From across the courtroom the owner regarded him defiantly.
Flood waited until his clerk handed him the notes before making any response. As he spoke, the hand holding the papers moved in a vaguely enticing fashion, in the way that the matador lures the exhausted animal on to his sword-point with the flickering of the cape.
‘… cannot believe she was abandoned through stress of weather only,’ he paraphrased. ‘Nor through perils of the sea…’
Winchester waited suspiciously.
Flood took great care to select another page of notes, moving it in the same fashion as he had the first.
‘… “It must have been something quite frightening and quite unexpected. It’s been a stormy season and I can only assume it was some manifestation of weather that we shall never know”…’
Flood looked up from his clerk’s notes.
‘Is that familiar to you, Captain Winchester?’ he said.
‘I said — ’ attempted the witness, but Flood interrupted him.
