“Could Mr. Singleton have been on deck without
you seeing him?”
“Yes, if he did not move around or smoke.
I could see his pipe lighted.”
“Did you see his pipe that night?”
“No, sir.”
“If you were sick, would you be likely to smoke?”
This question, I believe, was ruled out.
“In case the wheel of the vessel were lashed
for a short time, what would happen?”
“Depends on the weather. She’d be
likely to come to or fall off considerable.”
“Would the lookout know it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How?”
“The sails would show it, sir.”
That closed the proceedings for the day. The
crowd seemed reluctant to disperse. Turner’s
lawyers were in troubled consultation with him.
Singleton was markedly more cheerful, and I thought
the prosecution looked perturbed and uneasy.
I went back to jail that night, and dreamed of Elsa—not
as I had seen her that day, bending forward, watching
every point of the evidence, but as I had seen her
so often on the yacht, facing into the salt breeze
as if she loved it, her hands in the pockets of her
short white jacket, her hair blowing back from her
forehead in damp, close-curling rings.
“A bad woman”
Charlie Jones was called first, on the second day
of the trial. He gave his place of birth as
Pennsylvania, and his present shore address as a Sailors’
Christian Home in New York. He offered, without
solicitation, the information that he had been twenty-eight
years in the Turner service, and could have been “up
at the top,” but preferred the forecastle, so
that he could be an influence to the men.
His rolling gait, twinkling blue eyes, and huge mustache,
as well as the plug of tobacco which he sliced with
a huge knife, put the crowd in good humor, and relieved
somewhat the somberness of the proceedings.
“Where were you between midnight and 4 A.M.
on the morning of August 12?”
“At the wheel.”
“You did not leave the wheel during that time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When was that?”
“After they found the captain’s body.
I went to the forward companion and looked down.”
“Is a helmsman permitted to leave his post?”
“With the captain lying dead down in a pool
of blood, I should think-”
“Never mind thinking. Is he?”
“No.”
“What did you do with the wheel when you left
it?”
“Lashed it. There are two rope-ends, with
loops, to lash it with. When I was on the Sarah
Winters—”
“Stick to the question. Did you see the
mate, Mr. Singleton, during your watch?”
“Every half-hour from 12.30 to 1.30. He
struck the bells. After that he said he was
sick. He thought he’d been poisoned.
He said he was going forward to lie down, and for
me to strike them.”
