In the month of December in the year 1873, the British ship _Dei Gratia_
steered into Gibraltar, having in tow the derelict brigantine _Marie
Celeste_, which had been picked up in latitude 38 deg. 40', longitude 17 deg.
15' W. There were several circumstances in connection with the condition
and appearance of this abandoned vessel which excited considerable
comment at the time, and aroused a curiosity which has never been
satisfied. What these circumstances were was summed up in an able
article which appeared in the _Gibraltar Gazette_. The curious can find
it in the issue for January 4, 1874, unless my memory deceives me. For
the benefit of those, however, who may be unable to refer to the paper
in question, I shall subjoin a few extracts which touch upon the leading
features of the case.
"We have ourselves," says the anonymous writer in the _Gazette_, "been
over the derelict _Marie Celeste_, and have closely questioned the
officers of the _Dei Gratia_ on every point which might throw light on
the affair. They are of opinion that she had been abandoned several
days, or perhaps weeks, before being picked up. The official log, which
was found in the cabin, states that the vessel sailed from Boston to
Lisbon, starting upon October 16. It is, however, most imperfectly kept,
and affords little information. There is no reference to rough weather,
and, indeed, the state of the vessel's paint and rigging excludes the
idea that she was abandoned for any such reason. She is perfectly
watertight. No signs of a struggle or of violence are to be detected,
and there is absolutely nothing to account for the disappearance of the
crew. There are several indications that a lady was present on board, a
sewing-machine being found in the cabin and some articles of female
attire. These probably belonged to the captain's wife, who is mentioned
in the log as having accompanied her husband. As an instance of the
mildness of the weather, it may be remarked that a bobbin of silk was
found standing upon the sewing-machine, though the least roll of the
vessel would have precipitated it to the floor. The boats were intact
and slung upon the davits; and the cargo, consisting of tallow and
American clocks, was untouched. An old-fashioned sword of curious
workmanship was discovered among some lumber in the forecastle, and this
weapon is said to exhibit a longitudinal striation on the steel, as if
it had been recently wiped. It has been placed in the hands of the
police, and submitted to Dr. Monaghan, the analyst, for inspection. The
result of his examination has not yet been published. We may remark, in
conclusion, that Captain Dalton, of the _Dei Gratia_, an able and
intelligent seaman, is of opinion that the _Marie Celeste_ may have been
abandoned a considerable distance from the spot at which she was picked
up, since a powerful current runs up in that latitude from the African
coast. He confesses his inability, however, to advance any hypothesis
which can reconcile all the facts of the case. In the utter absence of a
clue or grain of evidence, it is to be feared that the fate of the crew
of the _Marie Celeste_ will be added to those numerous mysteries of the
deep which will never be solved until the great day when the sea shall
give up its dead. If crime has been committed, as is much to be
suspected, there is little hope of bringing the perpetrators to
justice."
I shall supplement this extract from the _Gibraltar Gazette_ by quoting
a telegram from Boston, which went the round of the English papers, and
represented the total amount of information which had been collected
about the _Marie Celeste_. "She was," it said, "a brigantine of 170 tons
burden, and belonged to White, Russell & White, wine importers, of this
city. Captain J. W. Tibbs was an old servant of the firm, and was a man
of known ability and tried probity. He was accompanied by his wife, aged
thirty-one, and their youngest child, five years old. The crew consisted
of seven hands, including two coloured seamen, and a boy. There were
three passengers, one of whom was the well-known Brooklyn specialist on
consumption, Dr. Habakuk Jephson, who was a distinguished advocate for
Abolition in the early days of the movement, and whose pamphlet,
entitled, 'Where is thy Brother?' exercised a strong influence on public
opinion before the war. The other passengers were Mr. J. Harton, a
writer in the employ of the firm, and Mr. Septimius Goring, a half-caste
gentleman, from New Orleans. All investigations have failed to throw any
light upon the fate of these fourteen human beings. The loss of Dr.
Jephson will be felt both in political and scientific circles."
I have here epitomised, for the benefit of the public, all that has been
hitherto known concerning the _Marie Celeste_ and her crew, for the past
ten years have not in any way helped to elucidate the mystery. I have
now taken up my pen with the intention of telling all that I know of the
ill-fated voyage. I consider that it is a duty which I owe to society,
for symptoms which I am familiar with in others lead me to believe that
before many months my tongue and hand may be alike incapable of
conveying information. Let me remark, as a preface to my narrative,
that I am Joseph Habakuk Jephson, Doctor of Medicine of the University
of Harvard, and ex-Consulting Physician of the Samaritan Hospital of
Brooklyn.
Many will doubtless wonder why I have not proclaimed myself before, and
why I have suffered so many conjectures and surmises to pass
unchallenged. Could the ends of justice have been served in any way by
my revealing the facts in my possession I should unhesitatingly have
done so. It seemed to me, however, that there was no possibility of such
a result; and when I attempted after the occurrence, to state my case to
an English official, I was met with such offensive incredulity that I
determined never again to expose myself to the chance of such an
indignity. I can excuse the discourtesy of the Liverpool magistrate,
however, when I reflect upon the treatment which I received at the hands
of my own relatives, who, though they knew my unimpeachable character,
listened to my statement with an indulgent smile as if humouring the
delusion of a monomaniac. This slur upon my veracity led to a quarrel
between myself and John Vanburger, the brother of my wife, and confirmed
me in my resolution to let the matter sink into oblivion--a
determination which I have only altered through my son's solicitations.
In order to make my narrative intelligible, I must run lightly over one
or two incidents in my former life which throw light upon subsequent
events.
My father, William K. Jephson, was a preacher of the sect called
Plymouth Brethren, and was one of the most respected citizens of
Lowell. Like most of the other Puritans of New England, he was a
determined opponent of slavery, and it was from his lips that I received
those lessons which tinged every action of my life. While I was studying
medicine at Harvard University, I had already made a mark as an advanced
Abolitionist; and when, after taking my degree, I bought a third share
of the practice of Dr. Willis, of Brooklyn, I managed, in spite of my
professional duties, to devote a considerable time to the cause which I
had at heart, my pamphlet, "Where is thy Brother?" (Swarburgh, Lister &
Co., 1849) attracting considerable attention.
When the war broke out I left Brooklyn and accompanied the 113th New
York Regiment through the campaign. I was present at the second battle
of Bull's Run and at the battle of Gettysburg. Finally, I was severely
wounded at Antietam, and would probably have perished on the field had
it not been for the kindness of a gentleman named Murray, who had me
carried to his house and provided me with every comfort. Thanks to his
charity, and to the nursing which I received from his black domestics, I
was soon able to get about the plantation with the help of a stick. It
was during this period of convalescence that an incident occurred which
is closely connected with my story.
Among the most assiduous of the negresses who had watched my couch
during my illness there was one old crone who appeared to exert
considerable authority over the others. She was exceedingly attentive to
me, and I gathered from the few words that passed between us that she
had heard of me, and that she was grateful to me for championing her
oppressed race.
One day as I was sitting alone in the verandah, basking in the sun, and
debating whether I should rejoin Grant's army, I was surprised to see
this old creature hobbling towards me. After looking cautiously around
to see that we were alone, she fumbled in the front of her dress and
produced a small chamois leather bag which was hung round her neck by a
white cord.
"Massa," she said, bending down and croaking the words into my ear, "me
die soon. Me very old woman. Not stay long on Massa Murray's
plantation."
"You may live a long time yet, Martha," I answered. "You know I am a
doctor. If you feel ill let me know about it, and I will try to cure
you."
"No wish to live--wish to die. I'm gwine to join the heavenly host."
Here she relapsed into one of those half-heathenish rhapsodies in which
negroes indulge. "But, massa, me have one thing must leave behind me
when I go. No able to take it with me across the Jordan. That one thing
very precious, more precious and more holy than all thing else in the
world. Me, a poor old black woman, have this because my people, very
great people, 'spose they was back in the old country. But you cannot
understand this same as black folk could. My fader give it me, and his
fader give it him, but now who shall I give it to? Poor Martha hab no
child, no relation, nobody. All round I see black man very bad man.
Black woman very stupid woman. Nobody worthy of the stone. And so I say,
Here is Massa Jephson who write books and fight for coloured folk--he
must be a good man, and he shall have it though he is white man, and
nebber can know what it mean or where it came from." Here the old woman
fumbled in the chamois leather bag and pulled out a flattish black stone
with a hole through the middle of it. "Here, take it," she said,
pressing it into my hand; "take it. No harm nebber come from anything
good. Keep it safe--nebber lose it!" and with a warning gesture the old
crone hobbled away in the same cautious way as she had come, looking
from side to side to see if we had been observed.
I was more amused than impressed by the old woman's earnestness, and was
only prevented from laughing during her oration by the fear of hurting
her feelings. When she was gone I took a good look at the stone which
she had given me. It was intensely black, of extreme hardness, and oval
in shape--just such a flat stone as one would pick up on the seashore if
one wished to throw a long way. It was about three inches long, and an
inch and a half broad at the middle, but rounded off at the extremities.
The most curious part about it was several well-marked ridges which ran
in semicircles over its surface, and gave it exactly the appearance of a
human ear. Altogether I was rather interested in my new possession, and
determined to submit it, as a geological specimen, to my friend
Professor Shroeder of the New York Institute, upon the earliest
opportunity. In the meantime I thrust it into my pocket, and rising from
my chair started off for a short stroll in the shrubbery, dismissing the
incident from my mind.
As my wound had nearly healed by this time, I took my leave of Mr.
Murray shortly afterwards. The Union armies were everywhere victorious
and converging on Richmond, so that my assistance seemed unnecessary,
and I returned to Brooklyn. There I resumed my practice, and married
the second daughter of Josiah Vanburger, the well-known wood engraver.
In the course of a few years I built up a good connection and acquired
considerable reputation in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. I
still kept the old black stone in my pocket, and frequently told the
story of the dramatic way in which I had become possessed of it. I also
kept my resolution of showing it to Professor Shroeder, who was much
interested both by the anecdote and the specimen. He pronounced it to be
a piece of meteoric stone, and drew my attention to the fact that its
resemblance to an ear was not accidental, but that it was most carefully
worked into that shape. A dozen little anatomical points showed that the
worker had been as accurate as he was skilful. "I should not wonder,"
said the Professor, "if it were broken off from some larger statue,
though how such hard material could be so perfectly worked is more than
I can understand. If there is a statue to correspond I should like to
see it!" So I thought at the time, but I have changed my opinion since.
The next seven or eight years of my life were quiet and uneventful.
Summer followed spring, and spring followed winter, without any
variation in my duties. As the practice increased I admitted J. S.
Jackson as partner, he to have one-fourth of the profits. The continued
strain had told upon my constitution, however, and I became at last so
unwell that my wife insisted upon my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, who
was my colleague at the Samaritan Hospital. That gentleman examined me,
and pronounced the apex of my left lung to be in a state of
consolidation, recommending me at the same time to go through a course
of medical treatment and to take a long sea-voyage.
My own disposition, which is naturally restless, predisposed me strongly
in favour of the latter piece of advice, and the matter was clinched by
my meeting young Russell, of the firm of White, Russell & White, who
offered me a passage in one of his father's ships, the _Marie Celeste_,
which was just starting from Boston. "She is a snug little ship," he
said, "and Tibbs, the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothing
like a sailing ship for an invalid." I was very much of the same opinion
myself, so I closed with the offer on the spot.
My original plan was that my wife should accompany me on my travels. She
has always been a very poor sailor, however, and there were strong
family reasons against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, so
we determined that she should remain at home. I am not a religious or an
effusive man; but oh, thank God for that! As to leaving my practice, I
was easily reconciled to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable and
hard-working man.
I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and proceeded immediately to
the office of the firm in order to thank them for their courtesy. As I
was sitting in the counting-house waiting until they should be at
liberty to see me, the words _Marie Celeste_ suddenly attracted my
attention. I looked round and saw a very tall, gaunt man, who was
leaning across the polished mahogany counter asking some questions of
the clerk at the other side. His face was turned half towards me, and I
could see that he had a strong dash of negro blood in him, being
probably a quadroon or even nearer akin to the black. His curved
aquiline nose and straight lank hair showed the white strain; but the
dark, restless eye, sensuous mouth, and gleaming teeth all told of his
African origin. His complexion was of a sickly unhealthy yellow, and as
his face was deeply pitted with small-pox, the general impression was so
unfavourable as to be almost revolting. When he spoke, however, it was
in a soft, melodious voice, and in well-chosen words, and he was
evidently a man of some education.
"I wished to ask a few questions about the _Marie Celeste_," he
repeated, leaning across to the clerk. "She sails the day after
to-morrow, does she not?"
"Yes, sir," said the young clerk, awed into unusual politeness by the
glimmer of a large diamond in the stranger's shirt front.
"Where is she bound for?"
"Lisbon."
"How many of a crew?"
"Seven, sir."
"Passengers?"
"Yes, two. One of our young gentlemen, and a doctor from New York."
"No gentleman from the South?" asked the stranger eagerly.
"No, none, sir."
"Is there room for another passenger?"
"Accommodation for three more," answered the clerk.
"I'll go," said the quadroon decisively; "I'll go, I'll engage my
passage at once. Put it down, will you--Mr. Septimius Goring, of New
Orleans."
The clerk filled up a form and handed it over to the stranger, pointing
to a blank space at the bottom. As Mr. Goring stooped over to sign it I
was horrified to observe that the fingers of his right hand had been
lopped off, and that he was holding the pen between his thumb and the
palm. I have seen thousands slain in battle, and assisted at every
conceivable surgical operation, but I cannot recall any sight which gave
me such a thrill of disgust as that great brown sponge-like hand with
the single member protruding from it. He used it skilfully enough,
however, for dashing off his signature, he nodded to the clerk and
strolled out of the office just as Mr. White sent out word that he was
ready to receive me.
I went down to the _Marie Celeste_ that evening, and looked over my
berth, which was extremely comfortable considering the small size of the
vessel. Mr. Goring, whom I had seen in the morning, was to have the one
next mine. Opposite was the captain's cabin and a small berth for Mr.
John Harton, a gentleman who was going out in the interests of the firm.
These little rooms were arranged on each side of the passage which led
from the main-deck to the saloon. The latter was a comfortable room, the
panelling tastefully done in oak and mahogany, with a rich Brussels
carpet and luxurious settees. I was very much pleased with the
accommodation, and also with Tibbs the captain, a bluff, sailor-like
fellow, with a loud voice and hearty manner, who welcomed me to the ship
with effusion, and insisted upon our splitting a bottle of wine in his
cabin. He told me that he intended to take his wife and youngest child
with him on the voyage, and that he hoped with good luck to make Lisbon
in three weeks. We had a pleasant chat and parted the best of friends,
he warning me to make the last of my preparations next morning, as he
intended to make a start by the midday tide, having now shipped all his
cargo. I went back to my hotel, where I found a letter from my wife
awaiting me, and, after a refreshing night's sleep, returned to the boat
in the morning. From this point I am able to quote from the journal
which I kept in order to vary the monotony of the long sea-voyage. If it
is somewhat bald in places I can at least rely upon its accuracy in
details, as it was written conscientiously from day to day.
_October 16th._--Cast off our warps at half-past two and were towed out
into the bay, where the tug left us, and with all sail set we bowled
along at about nine knots an hour. I stood upon the poop watching the
low land of America sinking gradually upon the horizon until the evening
haze hid it from my sight. A single red light, however, continued to
blaze balefully behind us, throwing a long track like a trail of blood
upon the water, and it is still visible as I write, though reduced to a
mere speck. The Captain is in a bad humour, for two of his hands
disappointed him at the last moment, and he was compelled to ship a
couple of negroes who happened to be on the quay. The missing men were
steady, reliable fellows, who had been with him several voyages, and
their non-appearance puzzled as well as irritated him. Where a crew of
seven men have to work a fair-sized ship the loss of two experienced
seamen is a serious one, for though the negroes may take a spell at the
wheel or swab the decks, they are of little or no use in rough weather.
Our cook is also a black man, and Mr. Septimius Goring has a little
darkie servant, so that we are rather a piebald community. The
accountant, John Harton, promises to be an acquisition, for he is a
cheery, amusing young fellow. Strange how little wealth has to do with
happiness! He has all the world before him and is seeking his fortune in
a far land, yet he is as transparently happy as a man can be. Goring is
rich, if I am not mistaken, and so am I; but I know that I have a lung,
and Goring has some deeper trouble still, to judge by his features. How
poorly do we both contrast with the careless, penniless clerk!
_October 17th._--Mrs. Tibbs appeared upon the deck for the first time
this morning--a cheerful, energetic woman, with a dear little child just
able to walk and prattle. Young Harton pounced on it at once, and
carried it away to his cabin, where no doubt he will lay the seeds of
future dyspepsia in the child's stomach. Thus medicine doth make cynics
of us all! The weather is still all that could be desired, with a fine
fresh breeze from the west-sou'-west. The vessel goes so steadily that
you would hardly know that she was moving were it not for the creaking
of the cordage, the bellying of the sails, and the long white furrow in
our wake. Walked the quarter-deck all morning with the Captain, and I
think the keen fresh air has already done my breathing good, for the
exercise did not fatigue me in any way. Tibbs is a remarkably
intelligent man, and we had an interesting argument about Maury's
observations on ocean currents, which we terminated by going down into
his cabin to consult the original work. There we found Goring, rather to
the Captain's surprise, as it is not usual for passengers to enter that
sanctum unless specially invited. He apologised for his intrusion,
however, pleading his ignorance of the usages of ship life; and the
good-natured sailor simply laughed at the incident, begging him to
remain and favour us with his company. Goring pointed to the
chronometers, the case of which he had opened, and remarked that he had
been admiring them. He has evidently some practical knowledge of
mathematical instruments, as he told at a glance which was the most
trustworthy of the three, and also named their price within a few
dollars. He had a discussion with the Captain too upon the variation of
the compass, and when we came back to the ocean currents he showed a
thorough grasp of the subject. Altogether he rather improves upon
acquaintance, and is a man of decided culture and refinement. His voice
harmonises with his conversation, and both are the very antithesis of
his face and figure.
The noonday observation shows that we have run two hundred and twenty
miles. Towards evening the breeze freshened up, and the first mate
ordered reefs to be taken in the topsails and top-gallant sails in
expectation of a windy night. I observe that the barometer has fallen to
twenty-nine. I trust our voyage will not be a rough one, as I am a poor
sailor, and my health would probably derive more harm than good from a
stormy trip, though I have the greatest confidence in the Captain's
seamanship and in the soundness of the vessel. Played cribbage with Mrs.
Tibbs after supper, and Harton gave us a couple of tunes on the violin.