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“Kill me,” he said to the brothers quietly.
Boz looked at his brother and nodded. They were trained not to question orders from their captain. Volkert took one stiff wooden paddle, his brother another. Then, with what little strength they had left, they complied.
Two hours passed before enough strength returned to put Briggs over the side.
They died within minutes of each other the following morning.
December 4, 1872, was a su
“Hand me the spyglass,” Moorhouse said to Second Officer Wright.
Wright reached into a drawer and handed Moorhouse the telescoping spyglass.
With a flick of the wrist, Moorhouse opened the telescope and stared at the vessel. The main sails were furled, and no one was visible on deck. Strange, but not overly so.
“She seems to be laden, but just plodding along,” Moorhouse noted.
“Our course will converge with her shortly,” Wright noted. “Should I signal her and find out the sea conditions?”
“All right,” Moorhouse said easily.
But the first and all subsequent signals went unanswered.
A few hundred yards ahead, the ghost ship continued west at a speed of one and a half to two knots. Moorhouse had yet to see anyone come on deck, and he was begi
He stared at the vessel through the spyglass, then made a decision.
“Down with the mainsails,” he shouted to Seamen Anderson and Johnson.
Dei Gratia slowed until she was barely bobbing on the water.
“What should we do?” Deveau, who had now come on deck, asked.
“Ready the boat,” Moorhouse ordered. “I want you and Wright to board. Take Johnson with you to man the boat.”
“Ahoy,” he shouted over a megaphone to Mary Celeste.
There was no answer.
Once in the shore boat with Johnson at the oars, the trio of men watched the hull of the ship as they rowed closer. Not a single sailor was on deck; not a single sound could be heard save the slap of water against the hull. The men felt an eerie gloom, a sense of foreboding. They read the name on the stem as they approached: Mary Celeste.
“Stay here,” Deveau said to Johnson, as the shore boat came alongside. “Mr. Wright and I will investigate.”
Tossing a hooked ladder over the gunwale, Deveau and Wright climbed aboard.
“Ahoy,” Deveau shouted once he was on the main deck.
No answer.
He and Wright walked forward. The main and lazeret hatches were lying on deck, the forward one upside down — a bad sign. Sailors are superstitious, and an upside-down hatch spelled trouble. The main staysail lay across the forward hatch across the chimney for the galley cookstove. No sailor in his right mind would allow that. The jib and the fore topmast staysail were set on a starboard tack, while the foresail and upper foretopsail had been blown away. The lower foretopsail was hanging by threads at four comers. No shore boat was visible on deck.