Brown’s face became beet red, and he flew into an even more intense rage, wheeling and turning on Hiram like a wild animal, growling and snarling. He had Hiram by the throat with his head up against the helm. He was strangling him when the captain, dressed in his silk pajamas with his head still bandaged, emerged from the companionway wielding his two pistols.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Champlin shouted as he rushed into the melee. His eyes fell on Morgan and he demanded an explanation.
“Is this a mutiny, Mr. Morgan?”
“No, Cap’n, there is no mutiny. Just a difference of opinion with the second officer.”
“What might that be, Mr. Morgan?” the captain asked sharply.
“There are certain of us who believe that Mr. Brown had something to do with the scuffle hunters that boarded us.”
The captain looked around at some of the other sailors from Connecticut whom he trusted, Horace Nyles and Ezra Pratt, two of the more experienced seamen from the river. They were nodding at him, acknowledging that they agreed with Morgan. He turned to his second mate and addressed him directly.
“Mr. Brown, what explanation is there for these libelous statements?”
Brown had by now released his hold on Hiram’s throat and was standing over him like a cat with a mouse, his explosive anger still red hot.
“It’s nothing but malicious gossip, Captain,” the mate said with an authoritative voice, his restless eyes moving about the deck. “Pure tattle and obloquy.” He gestured angrily toward Hiram and Morgan saying, “These sailors should be cobbed and then manacled below decks. They deserve a proper floggin’, sir.”
Morgan held his breath. It looked like the plan had failed.
Champlin paused, his two pistols still at the ready. He’d heard all the accusations through the hollow tube into his cabin, but it was very difficult for a captain to rebuke one of his own mates in front of the men, and these accusations were severe. At that point, he might have backed down if it hadn’t been for the sudden surprise appearance of Dalrymple. The new cabin boy stepped into the light of the lantern at the helm, immediately drawing the eyes of all the others. The boy’s pasty-white face was stricken with fear. A silence suddenly fell on the quarterdeck. No one expected what happened next. Dalrymple spoke clearly and in a straightforward fashion.
“All of that is true, Cap’n.”
“What’s that, boy?” Champlin asked with astonishment.
“It is true,” the boy repeated in a quiet, restrained voice. “I was made to be an accomplice to Mr. Brown. When the ship was off of Ramsgate on that last night before we sailed into the Thames, Mr. Brown ordered me back aft to send a signal with the lantern on the port side of the ship. He told me to tell no one, but some men would board the ship in the morning and they would take care of things.”
Champlin pulled on his earlobe, rubbed his nose, and then fired off a question to his second mate.
“Mr. Brown, why did you have the boy send a signal, and who were you sending it to anyway?”
Clearly flustered, his face reddening, Brown stammered a response as he stepped away from Hiram.
“I was just signaling other ships in the area, Cap’n,” he stammered. “The fog was so thick. I was just trying to avoid a collision.”
Champlin’s eyes passed from the smooth, hairless face of this blond-haired boy to the scruffy, weather-beaten face of his second mate. He looked at the silent faces of his crewmembers. Justice was never easy to determine on board a ship, where truth was a frequent casualty. As a veteran shipmaster, he couldn’t always tell when a man was lying, but he had learned to sense fear and guilt in a man. He saw both of those emotions in the weaselly black eyes of his second mate. He turned to Nyles and Pratt.
“Put Mr. Brown in irons and bring him down below.”
Brown tried to make a run for it, but a dozen tattooed arms restrained him and forced him facedown onto the deck. Icelander and the Spaniard helped manacle the second mate and bring the enraged man down below.
“Put him in one of the passengers’ suites for now,” Champlin said. “Mr. Morgan, you and Mr. Smith will stay here on the quarterdeck. I think we have some matters to discuss.”
The next morning the American consul came on board with a number of soldiers and, after a long conversation with Captain Champlin, a manacled Jack Brown was led off the ship for the last time. The crew was told later that Brown would be shipped back to New York, where he would stand trial for mutiny and attempted murder. No mention was ever made of the rum barrel incident. That was one of the secrets that stayed on board ship. Champlin did not want to run the risk of a scandalous story like that becoming known. His ship’s reputation was at stake.