An Unexpected Homecoming
After a miraculous rescue, the crew of the Mignonette heads for England, but their ordeal is only just getting started.
ICYMI, we’re serializing Captain’s Dinner by Adam Cohen in four parts. If you missed Part One, start here—you’ll want to read from the beginning to follow the story.
Previously: Captain Thomas Dudley has accepted the assignment to sail the yacht Mignonette from England to Australia. Despite warnings from friends and associates, he assembles a crew of three and sets sail in May 1884. After weeks of mostly smooth sailing, disaster strikes in July when a massive wave destroys the yacht in the South Atlantic. The four men escape in a small lifeboat with almost no food or water—and with 1,700 miles between them and the nearest land, the outlook is grim. After weeks lost at sea and a shocking act of desperation, the men continue to hope for rescue . . .
July 29, 1884, 6:30 a.m. After four days of feasting on Parker’s flesh, which the men preserved by washing it with salt water and keeping it covered, Brooks spotted a glint on the water four or five miles away. It took a moment to make it out, but he could see that it was a mast and a sail.
“Sail, oh!” Brooks cried out. “Oh, my God, here’s a ship coming straight for us.”
Dudley and Stephens stopped eating breakfast and exploded with unrestrained joy. In this moment, the men were “like a lot of lunatics,” Stephens said later. The men tried frantically to make sure the passing ship saw them. Realizing that the wind was blowing them away from their potential rescuers, they raced to take down their improvised sails, made of their shirts, and Dudley and Brooks rowed windward with all their might.
When it was clear that the bark was headed toward them, the men could hardly contain their happiness. The ship was the Moctezuma, a 442-ton, three-masted German bark sailing out of Hamburg. It was returning home from South America with a cargo of fustic, a tropical wood used to make dye. The captain, P. H. Simonsen, had been looking through his telescope when he spotted a speck in the distance. At first, Simonsen had trouble making out what he was seeing. When he realized it was a small boat, he ordered his crew to change course and head toward it.
An hour and a half after Brooks had first spotted its sails, the Moctezuma pulled alongside the dinghy. A sailor on the German boat tossed out a rope, which Dudley grabbed and wrapped around a seat in the lifeboat. Two Moctezuma crewmembers, Julius Erich Martin Wiese and Christopher Drewe, climbed down to the lifeboat and secured it to their ship. In the lifeboat, they saw three weather-beaten, emaciated men, as well as, Wiese later recalled, “some small pieces of flesh and one little piece of a rib.” He could not tell what sort of flesh and bone they were, he later said, and they were “too excited to ascertain.”
Once safely aboard the Moctezuma, the survivors told the German captain their “sad tale,” as Dudley called it, not withholding any important details. This would later turn out to be a pivotal moment. It was when the men first told the outside world what had happened in the lifeboat. Once they did, they would forever be known as killers and cannibals.
It would not have been hard for Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks to tell a different story, and they would not have had to change the facts much. They could have said that Parker had died from drinking seawater and that they had only begun to eat his corpse when he was already dead. In that telling, the men would have been cannibals, but not murderers. There is no way of knowing why they told their rescuers the truth. They might not even have thought about whether to engage in a cover-up. Up until they were saved, the men had been focused on not dying. Then when they found themselves safely on the German boat, they may have simply blurted it all out. Alternatively, there might have been disagreement among the men about how honest to be, and there is some reason to believe there was. Dudley’s wife would later suggest in a letter that one of the men did not believe they should reveal to the world what they had done, while her husband insisted that they should.
Dudley made a request that showed that he, at least, was not interested in putting the events on the lifeboat behind him. He asked Simonsen if they could bring what was left of Parker’s corpse back to England. The German captain refused Dudley’s request, and Wiese later recalled that the crew “threw the flesh and bone overboard.” Dudley also asked to bring the lifeboat back as a grim souvenir of everything that had happened. Simonsen agreed to this, and his men carried the wooden dinghy onto the Moctezuma. Dudley also kept his chronometer, sextant, and compass.
The Moctezuma had rescued the men in a remote part of the South Atlantic, some one thousand miles northeast of Rio de Janeiro. They had been marooned in the dinghy for nearly twenty-four days, from the afternoon of July 5 to the morning of July 29. They had drifted west, roughly along the Tropic of Capricorn, about nine hundred miles. The German crew was shocked by the survivors’ ragged appearance. The men’s feet were very swollen, Wiese later said, and “during the first two or three days they could not lie and could not walk.”
With three very unwell Englishmen onboard, Simonsen decided the ship would make a stop at Falmouth, on the southern coast of England, on the way back to Germany. Sailing at the bark’s rapid clip, it would still take more than a month to get there. The survivors’ spirits were high from the rescue, but they remained physically depleted, painfully sore, and unable to walk.
During the long crossing to Falmouth, Dudley began writing a report on the events of the last three months. He was as forthcoming on the page as he was in his discussions with his rescuers. But even though Dudley did not hold back about how the cabin boy had died, his account was less than accurate in other respects. His deviations from the truth made him look better than the real story would have, and some of the misstatements were substantial. In his written account, Dudley said that on the eighteenth day, “We arranged if nothing was in sight at sunrise + no rain came to put the poor lad Parker out of his misery by killing him.” Dudley’s use of “we” suggested that all three men had agreed to kill Parker—which was emphatically not the case—omitting that it was Dudley’s idea, that Stephens had initially resisted it, and that Brooks had remained opposed until the end.
Dudley’s claim that the killing was done to “put the poor lad Parker out of his misery” was also misleading. That suggested that Dudley had acted out of mercy when the captain had actually made it very clear in his discussions with Stephens and Brooks leading up to the killing that his motive was to provide food and drink for them to consume. Dudley claimed in his account that Parker was “all but lifeless” at the time of the killing, but Brooks would later contradict this in sworn testimony, saying that it was not clear to him which of the four men in the boat would be the first to die.
Dudley was not lying to avoid criminal liability, since he did not consider that to be a possibility. But his account did make him come off as more sympathetic—the noble captain, objective and high minded—than he actually had been. In his first documented telling of the killing, he was acting on behalf of the entire crew, he was putting Parker out of his misery, and he was merely speeding up the death of someone who was already nearly dead. It sounded a lot better than the truth.
When Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks arrived in Falmouth on the morning of Saturday, September 6, their awful ordeal at sea finally came to an end. When they stepped ashore, it was their first time setting foot on English soil since May. They had spent thirty-eight days convalescing on the German ship, and they were doing better, but they were still far from well. All three men still had difficulty walking.
After a hearty meal at the Royal Cornwall Sailors’ Home, the men were taken to the Falmouth Custom House to meet with Robert Gandy Cheesman, the collector of customs and receiver of wrecks for West Cornwall. Cheesman would lead an investigation of the wreck of the Mignonette.
Cheesman had his clerk, Samuel Tresidder, take depositions from all three men, using printed forms designed for the purpose. Tresidder asked how the Mignonette was lost, how the men survived, and how they made it back to England. He questioned each one separately, out of earshot of the others. The men offered up all the grim details. They described the killing and eating of Parker fully and without apology. All three of the men “subsisted on the flesh until the twenty-fourth day,” Dudley said, “when the German Barque Moctezuma bore down and picked up the survivors.”
Dudley stuck closer to the facts than he had in the report he wrote on the Moctezuma. This time, he did not suggest that Parker had been killed to “put an end to his sufferings.” He emphasized, rather, that it was done “to sustain existence of those remaining.” He did not say the cabin boy was “all but lifeless.” He described him only as “very weak.” He also accepted a greater role in instigating the killing. He did not tell Tresidder that he and Stephens and Brooks were all in on the plan. Dudley now said he had done it “with the assistance of the mate Edwin Stephens.”
Dudley was now hewing closer to the truth. One reason for the increased honesty may have been that he was now talking to official investigators, who were hearing from all three of the survivors. If he misstated what had occurred, there would be other accounts to contradict him. Nevertheless, the captain still misstated what happened in one critical respect. He continued to suggest that all three men supported the killing. They “all agreed,” Dudley said, “that the act was absolutely necessary.” He failed to acknowledge that Brooks had consistently opposed killing anyone.
In his own statement, Stephens also described the killing and freely admitted his role in it. He said he agreed with Dudley “that it was absolutely necessary one should be sacrificed to save the rest,” and he pointed out that Dudley “selected . . . Richard Parker . . . as being the weakest.” Unlike Dudley, Stephens did not suggest that Brooks had supported the killing.
Brooks’s statement has been lost to history. Based on what he would later say, it is likely that he was as forthcoming as the other two men, but he would almost certainly have said, as he consistently did later, that he never wanted anyone killed.
When they were finished, Cheesman cosigned the statements to be sent to London for the Board of Trade to use in its investigation of the wreck. After Dudley finished his official statement, he talked one-on-one with Cheesman in the Custom House’s long room, adding more details about the killing and the cannibalism. He told Cheesman he had proposed drawing lots but that Stephens and Brooks would not agree to it. He explained that he then spoke to Stephens about killing Parker without drawing lots. Dudley also told Cheesman that when it seemed to him that Stephens and Brooks did not have the heart to do the killing, he realized he would have to do it himself.
While Cheesman listened intently, Dudley continued his account. In a dramatic flourish, Dudley acted out the killing for Cheesman. “I then put my knife in there,” he said, referring to the side of Parker’s neck. Dudley took the knife out of his pocket and demonstrated on his own neck where he had stabbed the cabin boy. Dudley said Parker’s legs never moved and that it was over in about fifteen seconds. Finally, Dudley provided Cheesman with some more details about the cannibalism. He recounted drinking the blood, as well as stripping Parker’s body, cutting it open, taking out the heart and liver, and eating them while they were still warm.
In a dramatic flourish, Dudley acted out the killing for Cheesman. “I then put my knife in there,” he said, referring to the side of Parker’s neck. Dudley took the knife out of his pocket and demonstrated on his own neck where he had stabbed the cabin boy.
While the two men talked, James Laverty, a Falmouth harbor police sergeant who had been keeping an eye on the three survivors, listened in. When Dudley acted out cutting Parker’s throat, the sharp-eyed Laverty saw possible evidence. He asked Dudley to give him the knife. Dudley handed it over, but he said he wished to eventually get it back, the sergeant recalled, to have it as a “keepsake.” It was another indication that Dudley seemed eager for souvenirs of the events in the lifeboat, much like his taking the dinghy and his navigational instruments back with him. Laverty told Dudley he would return the knife when it was no longer needed as evidence.
It was not clear what Laverty wanted the evidence for. He may have been thinking only of the Board of Trade’s shipwreck investigation and collecting a full record of the loss of the Mignonette. But Dudley’s knife did not have any direct bearing on the shipwreck. If Dudley had been more cautious, he might have wondered why the Falmouth police wanted his knife and whether it meant they had an interest in the killing of Parker. If that was the case, it was now too late for Dudley to avoid incriminating himself. He had already admitted everything that had happened and given a sworn statement.
But Dudley was not thinking that way. None of the men were. They believed that everything was settled and they would now be free to go home.
The officials in Falmouth saw things differently. It was true that people who engaged in survival cannibalism at sea had never been prosecuted in an English court, but the legal landscape was changing in ways that may have escaped the notice of everyday seafarers like Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks.
The change was being driven by wide-ranging reforms at the national level. Old ways of doing things were breaking down, including the long tradition of allowing captains to operate with near-total autonomy outside of the reach of English law. In recent decades, reformers had succeeded in extending the rule of law to the world of sailing in important ways. For one, major new legislation now covered fatalities at sea. Section 269 of the Merchant Shipping Act of 1854 required the Custom House to make serious inquiries when seamen like Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks returned from a voyage on which someone had died. Furthermore, it stipulated if an inquiry suggested that a death had “been caused by Violence or other improper Means,” the shipping master “shall either report the Matter to the Board of Trade, or, if the Emergency of the Case so requires, shall take immediate Steps for bringing the Offender or Offenders to Justice.” When Dudley expected that he and the other men would be able to leave Falmouth after answering Cheesman’s questions, he was apparently not thinking about section 269 of the Merchant Shipping Act.
But the Falmouth authorities were. When the men’s statements were complete, at about 2:50 p.m., Cheesman telegraphed the Board of Trade to ask how he should proceed. He wanted to know whether the men should be detained, an indication that he considered them possible “offenders” under section 269. Within a half hour, the Board of Trade responded that Cheesman should hold all three men.
Sergeant Laverty was also treating Parker’s killing as a possible crime, something that was evident from the moment he took possession of Dudley’s knife. He went to find the mayor of Falmouth, Henry Liddicoat. Laverty explained what he had seen and heard concerning the three men who had arrived by boat in Falmouth that morning. Liddicoat signed arrest warrants for Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks. Laverty brought the warrants back with him to the Custom House, and that afternoon, he placed Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks under arrest on a charge of murder. He took the men to the jail in the Falmouth police station and locked them up.
Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks were stunned to find themselves there. From the moment they first considered killing someone to survive in the lifeboat, they had been secure in the knowledge that England did not prosecute people for cannibalism at sea. But now they found themselves arrested for murder, which carried the death penalty. In almost no time, they had gone from thinking they were on their way home to their families and friends to contemplating the real possibility that they would be hanged.
While the men sat in jail, the news of the Mignonette’s ordeal captivated Britain. The story of three obscure seafarers arriving in an English port town with a shocking story of survival made newspaper headlines from the biggest cities to the smallest towns. The headlines trumpeted the news: “Terrible Sufferings,” “Frightful Privations,” and “Terrible Tale of the Sea.” As supporters of the men launched fundraising drives for their defense, newspapers encouraged their readers to be generous. “Go and see” the lifeboat of the “Yacht Mignonette at Buckingham’s, and leave some coppers for the men,” the Falmouth News Slip urged. The Newcastle Courant kept its readers’ expectations in check by advising them that “there are no marks in it of blood that can easily be seen.”
On September 8, a crowd waited outside the jail to see the survivors of the Mignonette led out to appear before the magistrates for an inquiry to determine whether there was enough evidence of a crime to warrant a full trial. The public showed up in large numbers at Falmouth’s Town Hall to see the famous cannibals with their own eyes. But no charges were levied that day, as the magistrates agreed to adjourn the hearing until the Treasury Solicitor’s office could advise on whether the case should move forward. Three days later, on Thursday, September 11, Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks were taken out of their jail cell and brought back to court. The Treasury Solicitor intended to move forward with the prosecution, but to allow time to prepare, Treasury had requested an adjournment for another week. Bail was set in the amount of £200 for Dudley, and £100 each for Stephens and Brooks. It was ultimately paid by John Burton, the proprietor of the Old Curiosity Shop, who spoke up in open court and agreed to put up the money for all three men.
When the hearing ended, Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks walked out of the Town Hall with an almost giddy feeling. They were free for the first time since their arrest at the Custom House five days earlier, and they were finally headed home.
In the days to follow, the maritime community continued to rally around the men. Many sailors empathized with their plight as shipwreck survivors, enduring circumstances that presented them with few options. Sailors were familiar with cannibalism at sea, and they were beginning to speak out in defense of it. Some of the men’s supporters even sent letters and petitions to the Home Office lobbying for the charges to be dropped.
But not everyone was on the men’s side, and they knew it. There were members of the public who considered them to be murderers and wanted to see them punished severely. Clearly there were influential people who did not want the three men freed—like Mayor Liddicoat, who had ordered them arrested, and the Treasury Solicitor, who was bringing charges against them. The home secretary made clear that he considered the matter serious, and the attorney general favored prosecuting. There were still other sectors of society that had not been heard from much yet, but they were about to start weighing in, and they would see the case differently than the crowds filling the Falmouth courthouse.
On September 18, Dudley, Stephens, and Brooks returned to Falmouth to appear in court. The magistrates would hear more evidence and decide whether the case against the men was strong enough to warrant a full trial before a jury. Now that the Treasury Solicitor was involved, the prosecution was no longer a local matter. Lawyers had arrived in town from London to represent the Crown—including William Danckwerts, junior Treasury counsel and expert on shipwreck cases, who headed the prosecution.
The formal charge was read out. In keeping with English homicide law, it was a murder charge, with no room for a judge or jury to take the extreme conditions in the lifeboat into account and find the defendants guilty of a lesser crime. If they were convicted, the defendants would almost certainly be sentenced to death.
The killing of Parker clearly met the legal definition of murder, Danckwerts said. That was true even though it occurred far from England, since the Maritime Act of 1850 established that the queen’s law prevailed on British ships on the open sea. Then Danckwerts did something unexpected: He dropped the case against Brooks. The prosecutor said he had carefully reviewed the seaman’s actions and decided he should be not a defendant, but rather a witness for the prosecution.
The announcement came as a surprise to Brooks. The authorities had treated the three men identically up until this point, and it was their first recognition that Brooks was not culpable for Parker’s death. Brooks was released from custody, and one news account reported that there was “loud applause” in the courtroom.
The prosecution called several witnesses, including Laverty, Cheesman, and Wiese, all of whom recounted the grisly facts of the case. The final witness was the one the whole courtroom was waiting to hear from: able seaman Brooks. As a prosecution witness, Brooks would be testifying against the men he had sailed with for months. The words he was about to speak could cause his former shipmates to be hanged.
As if that were not enough excitement, Brooks would also be pulling the veil off the dark taboo at the heart of the Mignonette case: the cannibalism. The spectators in the courtroom in Falmouth were about to hear a proper Englishman describe in his own words how he ate another Englishman.
The spectators in the courtroom in Falmouth were about to hear a proper Englishman describe in his own words how he ate another Englishman.
Brooks’s testimony began slowly, with his decision to sign on with the Mignonette. He said the crew worked together well, and he told how the voyage had gotten off to a promising start. That soon changed, Brooks said, and he recounted the sinking of the Mignonette. He described how all four men evacuated in the lifeboat, surviving on two tins of turnips and the turtle they caught. He recalled that Dudley proposed drawing lots and that the first time he did, Parker was not sick. Brooks testified that Dudley continued to propose drawing lots and that he had opposed it, saying, “Let us all die together.” Brooks said that the captain insisted something had to be done.
Finally, Brooks gave up the gritty details of what he had witnessed. He told the magistrates that he was lying down in the front of the boat with his oilskin jacket over his head when he “heard a little noise.” When he looked, he saw that Parker was dead, and he fainted briefly, he said. When he came to, just a minute or two later, he saw Dudley and Stephens drinking the cabin boy’s blood. Brooks said that he asked Dudley for some of the blood, and he received some, but it was congealed, and he had trouble swallowing much of it.
“I did not at any time ask how the boy had been killed,” Brooks said, but “I knew the captain had killed him because he said so himself soon after.”
Brooks did not seem eager to testify against his former captain and mate. He spoke in such a low voice that he could barely be heard. The magistrates had to ask him more than once to speak more clearly. “The impression created by Brooks’s manner was that he assumed the role of a witness rather reluctantly,” a reporter observed, “and that the recital of the sad scenes in which he had been to some extent a participator was a painful and repugnant task.”
When Brooks’s testimony ended, Danckwerts told the magistrates he was done presenting the Crown’s case. After a brief recess among the magistrates, Mayor Liddicoat said the charges were too serious to dismiss. He announced that the case would go to trial before a jury at the upcoming winter court session at Exeter, about eighty miles northeast of Falmouth. He also declared that Dudley and Stephens would remain out on bail. When he made that announcement, the spectators cheered loudly, and the police in the courtroom made little effort to quiet them. Burton continued to provide the bail money for the two prisoners who still needed it. With that, the hearing ended, more than six hours after it began.
The defendants had displayed different demeanors during the proceeding. Stephens was the more emotional of the two, burying his head in his hands at various points. Dudley was more stolid, watching “with keen interest,” The Cornishman reported, and “never blanching even when counsel and witness recalled the crisis of the tragedy and pictured the revolting details.” Dudley’s composure broke, however, when the hearing was over. The captain, who had been “cool and collected” during the testimony, “lost command of himself and burst into tears,” The Cornishman said.
Dudley and Brooks left town early the next morning by train, and Stephens left a little later by boat. All three men were headed home, but now there was a profound difference in their situations. Dudley and Stephens were out on bail, but they were facing a trial that could end in their being hanged for murder. Brooks, who had firmly resisted killing anyone in the lifeboat, was now a free man—and the star witness for the prosecution.
Adapted from CAPTAIN’S DINNER, by Adam Cohen, published by Authors Equity. Copyright © 2025 by Adam Cohen.