Throughout the inquiry Captain Jack Paul sits in silence, listening and looking on. He puts no questions to either mate or crew. When First Officer Sands is finished, the Honorable Simpson asks:
“Captain, in the killing of the black, Mungo, are you in conscience convinced that you used no more force than was necessary to preserve discipline in your ship?”
“May it please,” returns Captain Jack Paul, who has not been at his books these years for nothing, and is fit to cope with a king’s counsel —“may it please, I would say that it was necessary in the course of duty to strike the mutineer Mungo. This was on the high seas. Whenever it becomes necessary for a commanding officer to strike a seaman, it is necessary to strike with a weapon. Also, the necessity to strike carries with it the necessity to kill or disable the mutineer. I call your attention to the fact that I had loaded pistols in my belt, and could have shot the mutineer Mungo. I struck with a belaying-pin in preference, because I hoped that I might subdue him without killing him. The result proved otherwise. I trust your Honorable Court will take due account that, although armed with pistols throwing ounce balls, weapons surely fatal in my hands, I used a belaying-pin, which, though a dangerous, is not necessarily a fatal weapon.”
Upon this statement, the Honorable Simpson and the Honorable Young confer. As the upcome of their conference, the Honorable Simpson announces judgment, exonerating Captain Jack Paul.
“The sailor Mungo, being at the time on the high seas, was in a state of mutiny.” Thus runs the finding as set forth in the records of the Vice-Admiralty Court of Tobago. “The sailor Mungo was mutinous under circumstances which lodged plenary power in the hands of the master of the vessel. Therefore, the homicide was justifiable, because it had become the only means of maintaining the discipline required for the safety of the ship.”
The court rises, and Captain Jack Paul bows the Honorable Simpson and the Honorable Young over the side. When they are clear, First Officer Sands addresses Captain Jack Paul.
“Are the crew to be set ashore, sir?” he asks.
“What! Mr. Sands, would you discharge the best crew we’ve ever had?” He continues as though replying to his first officer’s look of astonishment. “I grant you they were a trifle uncurried at first. The error of their ways, however, broke upon them with all clearness in the going of Mungo. As matters now are, compared to the Grantully Castle, a dove-cote is a merest theatre of violence and murderous blood. No, Mr. Sands; we will keep our crew if you please. Should there be further mutiny, why then there shall be further belaying-pins, I promise you.”
The Grantully Castle goes finally back to England, the most peaceful creature of oak and cordage that ever breasted the Atlantic. Cargo discharged, the ship is sent into winter overhaul.
“As for you, sir,” remarks owner Donald, of Donald, Currie & Beck, shoving the wine across to Captain Jack Paul, “ye’re just a maister mariner of gold! Ye’ll no wait ashore for the Grantully Castle. We’ve been buildin’ ye a new ship at our Portsmouth yards. She’s off the ways a month, and s’uld be sparred and rigged and ready for the waves by now. We’ve called her The Two Friends.”