Flood was regarding Oliver Deveau as the judge spoke. Fleetingly, a smile flickered over the first mate’s face.
‘Counsel acting for the claimants in this case have argued eloquently of the difficulty of the Dei Gratia, with a cargo of petroleum, reducing its crew from eight to five to bring a derelict six hundred miles from where it was found to port here, in Gibraltar.’
He stopped, preparing them for something of importance:
‘That there were hazards out there, off the Azores, has been argued equally eloquently by the Attorney- General.’
Deveau’s smile had gone now, replaced by an even deeper frown than before.
‘It is my intention to award to the captain and crew of the Dei Gratia the sum of?1,700, which, translated into American currency for the sake of comparison against aggregate value, is $8,300.’
Cochrane stopped again, this time for the smallness of the amount to be assimilated by those in court. Pisani had twisted to his client, abruptly shaking his head to some point that Captain Morehouse had leaned forward to make. The Dei Gratia’s master’s face was flushed and his always staring eyes seemed even more prominent in his head.
‘I further order that the costs of this case should be paid out of the property salved…’
Cochrane paused, looking over to the American Consul: ‘A fact which I entrust you to bring not only to Captain Winchester’s attention, but also to that of the American authorities to whom you are going to express my displeasure — ’
Sprague half rose, nodding.
‘It is also my intention,’ resumed the judge, ‘to make an order that the cost of expert witnesses’ examination and analysis of the decking, hull and other articles aboard the Mary Celeste shall be charged against the $8,300 I have awarded to the salvors.’
Cochrane concluded his judgment and the court was suddenly hushed, no one immediately realising that he had finished. The awareness came as he rose to leave the chamber. Before he had got out of the room, Captain Morehouse was at the lawyers’ bench angrily pulling Pisani around.
The Attorney-General knew there were some formalities to be completed in his chambers with the court registrar and was not surprised that the summons to join the judge took longer than usual.
This time Cochrane poured sherry, handing Flood a glass as he entered: ‘Pisani has told Baumgartner he intends to appeal,’ he said.
‘He can’t,’ said Flood.
‘I know. That’s what Baumgartner told him.’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘Called it a travesty of justice.’
‘If there’s been a travesty of justice, it’s not from this quarter,’ said Flood positively.
‘It was the best I could do, in the circumstances,’ said Cochrane.
‘It was far more than I expected you to do,’ said Flood. ‘No one can be left in any doubt, after a judgment like that.’
‘I didn’t intend them to be.’
‘It will be virtually impossible to arrest them, if a member of the Mary Celeste crew ever does reappear,’ said Flood bitterly.
‘I know.’
‘So this will be the end of it?’
‘I would expect so.’
‘So we’ll never know.’
‘Know?’
‘What really happened on the Mary Celeste.’
For more than an hour they had remained in the boat, their hopes rising and falling almost as frequently as the tiny vessel lifted and fell upon the gentle swell. Once, about thirty minutes after they had abandoned her, the sounds had died almost completely from inside the Mary Celeste and Captain Briggs had been upon the point of ordering a return to the ship when there was that sudden train-into-the-station sound and then more dunnage was spewed from the for’ard hold as a fresh build-up of gas and fumes was expelled.
There was virtually no wind now, so that what movement there was came from the current. Briggs had deputed Gilling to watch their drift and twice the second mate had had to put the Lorensen brothers to the oars, to maintain the distance between the lighter, more easily carried boat and the heavier ship.
As unashamedly as he prayed before and after each meal in whatever company he might find himself, Briggs had led a prayer meeting in the becalmed craft. There was eagerness in the way the men had joined in, sitting with heads bowed, following him loudly in common prayer and then remaining in the attitude of devotion, their lips moving slightly as each begged silently for the danger to pass.
The baby recovered from her fright towards the end of the prayers, curious as to why everyone was behaving so oddly. The period of enjoyment of a new experience in such a small craft soon passed and then she became fractious at the restrictions upon her movement. Arien Martens had very early tried to shift position, ironically to give the boat a better balance, and water had shipped in even though the movement had been very slight. Briggs briefly thought of putting some men aboard one of the rafts, deciding almost immediately against it. Instead he ordered that everyone remain where they sat.
By nine-thirty it had become almost oppressively hot, reminiscent of the thunderstorms of which they had first thought they were victims, before realising it was the cargo sounding. The cook had ladled from his ample supply of water, handing the cup first to the woman and child, next to the captain and then down through order of seniority. Sophia had complained of hunger and grimaced at the ship’s biscuit that was handed to her. She started to whimper, but Sarah quietened her and eventually she sat gnawing upon it, the activity taking her mind off having to be cramped constantly upon her mother’s lap.
‘The drift is away from land,’ Gilling reported. Towlines to the rafts were submerged beneath the water.
‘I know,’ said Briggs.
The sound from the vessel was taking a long time to clear, but increasingly Briggs was beginning to feel Richardson’s optimism. Had he kept them aboard for only a few minutes longer, to release the main hatch, the ship would have been safe by now, he realised. But there was no way he could have known that. So the decision to abandon had been the correct one.
‘Don’t reckon we’ll be needing a landfall,’ said Richardson.
‘I hope we don’t have to attempt that one,’ said Briggs, jerking over his shoulder. He stayed twisted around, looking at his wife. She smiled at him, a hopeful expression. She was still very frightened, he recognised. But not so much as when they had first had to leave the ship. He smiled back.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ he mouthed.
‘I know,’ she said back, silently.
‘Make a story to tell,’ said Richardson.
‘One I’d have gladly avoided,’ said Briggs, with feeling, turning back to stare at his empty ship.
The boat lifted suddenly, higher than it had been, and Briggs looked outboard curiously, wondering at the change of current.
‘Binnacle won’t take a moment to repair,’ said Richardson, who had seen the gaff knock it off its mountings. ‘The cleats have gone adrift, that’s all.’
‘Galley chimney might take a little longer,’ said Gilling.
Briggs knew that beneath the matter-of-factness of the conversation there was the need for them to convince themselves that they would soon be returning to the ship.
‘Work of an hour or more, that’s all,’ he said briskly. Hadn’t one of his father’s early teachings been the importance of instilling confidence?
‘Known this happen before, with a cargo of alcohol,’ said Martens. ‘Coaster I piloted in Hamburg. There’d been some rumbling, but they hadn’t realised what it was. When the explosion came, it blew the hatch right off, breaking the mate’s arm. There was so much dust and debris that they thought they were on fire and almost abandoned ship before they realised what had happened.’
‘They stayed aboard?’ demanded Volkert Lorensen.
