‘I don’t know,’ said Morehouse abruptly.
‘You don’t know!’ demanded Flood, pushing the incredulity into his voice.
‘How can I?’ protested the man.
‘A point we might later attempt to elucidate,’ said the Attorney-General, and before Morehouse could respond, added: ‘Have you ever before heard of an unmanned vessel, with sails set for the prevailing weather, cover nearly four hundred miles and remain on course?’
‘No.’
Flood bent over his papers, for his own benefit on this occasion. Whatever the faults of the previous day’s examination, he had recovered now, he decided. With the major — and in his view the most devastating — part of his cross-examination still to come he had already proved Morehouse’s evidence illogical to the point of falsity. The satisfaction warmed through him.
‘I seek further assistance, Captain Morehouse,’ he started again, smiling up. ‘The prevailing currents in this part of the Atlantic, to my amateur eye, appear to be southwards.’
‘That is so,’ agreed Morehouse uncomfortably.
‘Cast your mind back to your recent crossing, if you will,’ Flood invited him. ‘What was the prevailing wind?’
‘Predominantly from the north,’ conceded Morehouse, frowning in his awareness of the point of Flood’s questioning.
‘So the mystery deepens,’ gloated Flood. ‘Not only does the unmanned Mary Celeste remain on course for ten days, but she does so against the prevailing currents and winds.’
‘I made allowances for that in calculating the distance she might have covered,’ said Morehouse. ‘And it is not necessarily surprising that such a thing could have happened.’
‘Ah,’ exclaimed the Attorney-General, completely sure of his control, ‘you have an answer to this conundrum!’
‘Not an answer,’ conceded Morehouse. ‘A possible explanation.’
‘Then let’s have it, Captain Morehouse. Let’s have it.’
‘Dismasted, a vessel might expect to be carried in the direction of the tide and the wind,’ said Morehouse. ‘But, as I have already given evidence, some of the Mary Celeste’s sails were still set.’
‘So?’ prompted Flood.
‘When I came upon her,’ said Morehouse, ‘she was yawing as she came into the wind and then falling off again. It is a recognised fact that whether there is anyone at the helm or not, a sailing ship, under some sail, will hold up into the wind and not drift with the wind or current. The setting of the fore-topmast staysail and jib would have had the effect of preventing her coming into the wind, keeping her more steadily on course.’
‘Are you seriously inviting this enquiry to accept that, almost by some divine intervention, the setting of the sails was such that they actually kept the Mary Celeste against prevailing wind and sea conditions!’ said Flood, turning as he asked the question from the judge to the court, as if inviting them to share his amazement.
‘It has been known,’ insisted Morehouse doggedly.
‘You can give the court an example?’
‘Sir?’
‘You can quote to Sir James and the rest of this enquiry an actual stated case of an abandoned, rigged vessel completing the manoeuvre you suggest in this part of the Atlantic?’
‘No,’ admitted Morehouse, face burning with discomfort. ‘I was speaking in the most general terms about conditions that have been experienced by sailors.’
‘This enquiry, Captain Morehouse, is not interested in the most general terms about what might or might not have befallen unnamed ships on unnamed oceans. It is concerned about what befell the Mary Celeste when she was but six miles from the island of Santa Maria on the morning of November 25.’
‘I am aware of that, sir,’ said Morehouse, attempting to regain his dignity.
‘Then let us apply ourselves a little more diligently to uncovering the truth of the matter,’ said the Attorney-General. He had discredited Morehouse, he decided confidently. He could more or less dictate the responses now, just as the British soldiers trained the apes to perform for the tourists high above on the mist-shrouded Peak.
‘Let us cast ourselves back to the meal you enjoyed with Captain Briggs the night before his sailing,’ said Flood. ‘It was a convivial evening between two old friends?’
‘That’s how I think of it,’ said Morehouse.
‘There was no point for the meeting, apart from that of conviviality?’
‘No,’ said Morehouse. ‘We had been friends for many years. Whenever we were in port together, we always attempted a meeting. At that dinner in New York, we arranged a meal here.’
‘So you have already informed us. Be more forthcoming, if you would. What else was discussed that night?’
Morehouse did not immediately respond, head cast down in the effort of recall.
‘As I remember,’ he said, ‘a great deal of the talk was of Captain Briggs becoming part-owner of the Mary Celeste.’
‘He was rightfully proud?’
‘He was. I owned that I envied him his success.’
‘Envied him!’ snatched Flood. Here it was, he thought. The first slip.
Imagining a mistake, Morehouse looked to his counsel, who stared back curiously.
‘He asked me if I sought to be in the same position as he was. And I admitted I did.’
‘Tell me, Captain Morehouse,’ said the Attorney-General, spacing his words so that they would be recognised as an important part of the evidence, while trying at the same time to remove any indication of the satisfaction he felt, ‘what prevents you from doing what Captain Briggs did and becoming a part-owner?’
Part-owner, remembered Morehouse. Benjamin’s constant qualification, determined as the man had always been against self-aggrandisement. Why was it, wondered Morehouse, that an innocent gathering between friends was capable of the sinister interpretations upon which this tiny, hurried little man seemed intent?
‘Capital,’ he said, aware before he spoke of how his questioner would turn the answer. ‘One has to buy one’s way into ownership.’
‘And you had no money?’
‘No.’
‘What was Captain Briggs’s response to that?’
‘He provided me with a letter of introduction to Captain Winchester.’
The Attorney-General slowly twisted, encompassing first the witness and then the New York owner who had given evidence the previous day and who sat today leaning forward in his seat, note pad upon his knee. The Attorney-General thought Captain Winchester looked worried. With every reason, he decided: he had uncovered the link between the two men.
‘So he brought you and Captain Winchester together?’
‘Yes.’
‘To what purpose?’
Morehouse shrugged. ‘Little more than establishing contact between us. Captain Briggs said Captain Winchester was always ready to meet reliable masters and that he might know of a way that I could raise capital sufficient for my needs.’
‘… “capital sufficient for my needs”,’ quoted Flood. He stopped, letting the inference settle. Then he said, ‘Tell me, Captain Morehouse, what do you consider would be capital sufficient for your needs?’
‘That’s a hypothetical question’ said the captain, in vain protest.
‘Just as a rigged fore-topmast staysail and jib keeping an unmanned vessel against tide and wind is a hypothetical solution to this mystery,’ said the Attorney-General. ‘What do you consider would be capital sufficient for your needs?’
‘No figure was ever discussed at my meeting with Captain Winchester,’ said Morehouse. He was shifting from foot to foot, like a child seeking a teacher’s permission to leave the classroom.
‘What do you consider would be capital sufficient for your needs?’ persisted Flood.
‘Perhaps $5,000. Perhaps more…’
‘Perhaps $5,000. Perhaps more,’ echoed Flood. ‘Are you an ambitious man?’