Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlotte took the North Ferry from Battery Wharf, and upon disembarking on Eastie’s Border Street, she easily found Kelly’s shipyard after a short walk.
Entering through the main gate, she asked a young man walking hurriedly with a planer in his hand for directions to the owner’s office.
“What’s this about, miss?”
“It’s missus, to be precise, and I would like to speak either to Mr. Kelly or to the yard’s overseer about the Garrard.”
The young builder nodded solemnly. “I wasn’t around when it went down, but the pall of it still hangs over the yard at the mention of her name. Sad business.”
“Agreed, sir. And all hands lost?”
“Yes, missus. Mr. Kelly isn’t here, hardly ever is anymore. You might have luck speaking with Mr. Walsh, our overseer. If you come this way, I’ll find out if he’s is in his office. A busy man, as you might expect.”
“Naturally. I won’t take up much of his time. Was he the overseer when the Garrard went down?”
“Yes, ma’am. The very same.”
Ten minutes later, Charlotte found herself seated before a weathered desk, having to peer past a large decorative glass bottle with a three-master inside of it in order to see the overseer. Mr. Walsh was seated on the other side, his black eyes taking her measure. Did she imagine that he seemed none too pleased? His tone, however, was polite when he spoke.
“What can I do for you, ma’am? Something about the Garrard?”
“Yes, precisely,” she turned slightly to find the young man still standing by the door clutching his planer with both hands.
At her inspection, Walsh said, “Back to work, Murphy.”
When he left, the overseer muttered, “These apprentices. They don’t know what hard work is!” Then he focused on Charlotte once again. “Now then, ma’am, what is this about?”
She scooted her chair a few inches to the left to better see him. “How do you choose who goes out upon a test sail?” Charlotte asked.
The man’s eyebrows rose high. “That depends.”
“Upon?”
“Upon the vessel’s size, the newness of design, how far out the test will take her. For the most part, the master builder doesn’t go unless requested by the owner. That is, the one who commissioned the ship — not the yard owner. A few riggers and carpenters go, and a skeleton crew mans every position — sometimes we provide ’em, sometimes the ship’s owner does. Sometimes the owner himself goes.”
“I see.” Charlotte glanced at her notes. “Did the vessel’s owner go out on the Garrard on her fateful maiden voyage? There was none such listed in the paper.”
The overseer wrinkled up his forehead. “No,” he said with surety.
“Nor the master builder, Mr. Gilbert?”
“Why, no,” Walsh said.
“Also, none of the crew were from the owner’s company? They all came from the yard. Why was that?”
Walsh’s face reddened. “I can’t say for certain. Maybe they had none available for this particular ship until it would go into service.”
“I see. So only men from the yard died. Mostly young ones, it seems.” She scanned her notes. “A large number of apprentices, too. Is that normal?”
“No,” he started. “I mean, I don’t know why that would be the case.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Charlotte interjected. “You are the overseer, you were here at the time. Don’t the manifests go through you.”
“Sometimes,” he said, “and some go through our master builder. As it happens, this was Mr. Gilbert’s project. He could put on board whomever he liked.”
“And take off, as well, I suppose.”
