The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

Hal said he would go ‘on to the hotel where we had decided to lunch and Patch watched him go, fidgeting with the coins in his pocket. As soon as Hal was out of ear-shot, he said, ‘You told me your boat wouldn’t be ready until the end of the month.’ He said it accusingly, anger and resentment in his voice.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was ready a week earlier than I expected.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know? I went down to the yard last Wednesday and you’d already gone. Why didn’t you tell me?’ And then he suddenly burst out, ‘All I needed was one day. Just one day out there.’ He stared at me, literally grinding his teeth. ‘Don’t you realise — one look at that hole in the ship’s hull and I’d have known. I’d have been able to tell the truth then. As it is-’ his eyes were a little wild, like something brought to bay and not knowing which way to turn. ‘As it is I don’t know what the hell I’m saying, what God-damn pit I’m digging for myself. One day! That was all I wanted.’

‘You didn’t tell me that,’ I said. ‘In any case, you know very well that an inspection of that sort would have to be carried out by the authorities.’ But I could understand how he had wanted to be certain, to prove that his suspicions were justified. ‘It’ll work out,’ I said, patting his arm.

‘I hope you’re right,’ he said between his teeth. ‘I hope to God you’re right.’ He was looking at me and his eyes were bright like coals. ‘All that effort… to put her on the Minkies… wasted. My God! I could-’ And there he stopped and his eyes, looking past me, widened, and I turned to find Janet Taggart coming straight towards us.

I once saw a painting entitled ‘Vengeance’. I can’t remember the artist’s name and it doesn’t matter now, because I know it wasn’t any good. Vengeance should be painted the way Janet Taggart looked. She was pale as death, and in the pallor of her frozen face her eyes were enormous. She stopped just in front of him and struck out at him blindly.

I don’t remember her words now — they came in a great overwhelming torrent of cutting, lacerating sentences. I saw Patch’s eyes go dead as he flinched before the whiplash of her tongue, and then I left them, walking quickly, wanting to get the picture of the two of them right out of my mind. I wondered if she knew what power she had to hurt the man.

We had a quick lunch and returned to the court, and on the stroke of two Bowen-Lodge took his place on the judge’s seat. There were five men at the Press desk now. They were gathering like vultures at the smell of news. ‘With your permission, Mr Learned Chairman,’ Holland said, rising. ‘I propose to proceed with the other evidence in order that the Court shall have a complete picture.’

Bowen-Lodge nodded. ‘I think that a very proper course, Mr Holland. Your first witness must, however, remain in the court. Those representing the various interested parties will, I know, wish to put further questions to him.’

I had expected Higgins to be the next witness. Instead, Holland called for ‘Harold Lowden’ and I suddenly realised that I still hadn’t made up my mind what I was going to say. Hal stood in the witness box, very erect, very much the soldier, and in short, clipped sentences told of our encounter with the Mary Deare and how we had found her abandoned the following morning. And when he stepped down it was my turn and I found myself automatically crossing the court and taking my stand in the witness box. I was in a cold sweat.

I repeated the oath and then Holland was facing me, smooth and urbane, asking me in that soft, bored voice of his whether I was John Henry Sands, my business and background and why I was sailing the yacht Sea Witch in that area of the Channel on the night of March 18th. And as I gave the answers, I could hear the nervousness in my voice. The court was very silent. Bowen-Lodge’s small gimlet eyes watched me and Holland stood there in front of me, waiting to prompt me with questions, to probe if necessary.

Across the court I saw Patch, sitting a little forward, his hands clasped, his body tense and rigid. His eyes were fixed on my face. I was telling them what the Mary Deare had looked like that morning when I boarded her, and suddenly my mind was made up. To tell them that the ship was stranded on the Minkies would prove him a liar. It would cut the ground from under his feet. I couldn’t do it. I think I had known that all along, but the strange thing was that, once I had made the decision, all nervousness left me. I knew what I was going to say and I set out to present Patch to the Court as I had seen him through those desperate hours — a man, staggering with exhaustion, who had put out a fire single-handed and could still go on fighting to save his ship.