The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

I looked across at Patch, but he was still just a silhouette framed in the window. ‘I can’t say, monsieur,’ I replied. ‘I wasn’t there.’

‘Of course. I understand that. But in your opinion.

I want your opinion, monsieur. You must know what had happened. He must have talked about it with you. You were on that ship through many desperate hours. It must have occurred to you both that you might die. Did he not say anything that would enable you to form some opinion as to what really happened?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘We didn’t talk very much. There wasn’t time.’ And then, because it must seem extraordinary to him that we hadn’t had time to talk in all the hours we had been on board together, I explained exactly what we had had to do.

He kept on nodding his small head whilst I was talking, a little impatiently as though he weren’t listening. And as soon as I had finished, he said, ‘And now, monsieur, your opinion. That is what I want.’

By then I had had time to make up my mind. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I am quite convinced that Captain Patch never ordered his crew to abandon ship.’ And I went on to explain that it was impossible to believe that he had done so since he himself had remained on board and, single-handed, had put out the fire in the after hold. Ail the time I was talking the steel pen scratched across the surface of the paper, and when I had finished the official read it through carefully and then turned the sheet towards me. ‘You read French, monsieur?’ I nodded. ‘Then please to read what is written there and sign the deposition.’ He handed me the pen.

‘You understand,’ I said, when I had read it through and signed it, ‘that I wasn’t there. I do not know what happened.’

‘Of course.’ He was looking across at Patch. ‘You wish to add anything to the statement you have made?’ he asked him. And when Patch merely shook his head, he leaned forward. ‘You understand, Monsieur le Capitaine, that it is a very serious charge that you make against your crew — your officers also. Monsieur ‘Iggins has sworn that you gave the order to him, and the man at the wheel — Yules — has confirmed that he heard you give the order.’ Patch made no comment. ‘I think perhaps it will be best if we have Monsieur ‘Iggins and the other man in here so that I can-’

‘No!’ Patch’s voice trembled with sudden violence.

‘But, monsieur.’ The official’s voice was mild. ‘I must understand what-’

‘By Christ! I tell you, no!’ Patch had come forward to the desk in two strides, was leaning down over it. ‘I won’t have my statement queried in front of those two.’

‘But there must be some reason-’

‘No, I tell you!’ Patch’s fist crashed down on the desk. ‘You have my statement and that’s that. In due course there will be an Enquiry. Until then neither you nor anybody else is going to cross-examine me in front of the crew.’

‘But, Monsieur le Capitaine, do you understand what it is you accuse them of?’

‘Of course, I do.’

‘Then I must ask you-’

‘No. Do you hear me? No!’ His fist slammed the desk again. And then he turned abruptly to me. ‘For God’s sake, let’s go and have a drink. I’ve been in this wretched little office…’ He caught hold of my arm. ‘Come on. I need a drink.’

I glanced at the official. He merely shrugged his shoulders, spreading his hands out palm upwards in a little gesture of despair. Patch pulled open the door and strode through the outer office, not glancing to left or right, walking straight through the men gathered there as though they didn’t exist. But when I started to follow him, the big man blocked my path. ‘Well, wot did you tell ‘em?’ he demanded in a throaty voice that was like steam wheezing up from the great pot of his belly. ‘I suppose you told ‘em that he never ordered us to abandon ship. Is that wot you said?’

I tried to push past him, but one of his great paws shot out and gripped me by the arm. ‘Come on. Let’s have it. Is that wot you told ‘em?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

He let go of me then. ‘God Almighty!’ he growled. ‘Wot the hell do you know about it, eh? You were there I s’pose when we took to the boats?’ He was grinning, truculent, and the stubble mat of his face, thrust close to mine, was still grey with salt and dirt. For a man who had been shipwrecked he looked oddly pleased with himself. He oozed self-confidence like a barrel oozes lard and his small, blood-shot eyes glittered moistly, like a pair of oysters, as he said again, ‘You were there, eh?’ And he guffawed at his own heavy humour.

‘No,’ I told him. ‘Of course I wasn’t there. But I don’t-’

‘Well, we was there.’ His voice was raised and his small eyes darted to the half-open door behind me. ‘We was there an’ we know damn’ well wot orders were given.’ He was saying it for the benefit of the French official in the inner office. ‘It was the right order, too, with the ship half full of explosives and a fire on board. That’s wot we felt at the time — me and Rice and the old Chief… everybody.’

‘If it was the right order,’ I said, ‘how was it possible for Captain Patch to put the fire out on his own?’