Sailing an ageing inshore yacht from Southampton to Sydney would not be anyone’s idea of an easy job. But in 1883, Tom Dudley, an experienced yachtsman, took it on, agreeing to sail the Mignonette across the world to its new owner. He could see the danger of it plainly, but the pay was good – enough to set him and his family up in a new Australian life – and so he set about making it happen. He came to bitterly regret the decision: it would soon break his body and set him on a collision course with the full weight of the British legal system. 

There were bad signs from the beginning – the Mignonette needed extensive repairs and finding a crew willing to take on the challenge proved frustratingly difficult – but Dudley was not to be dissuaded, and in May 1884, the yacht left Southampton and began its journey southwards. The crew comprised four men: the captain, Tom Dudley; two seasoned seamen, Edwin Stephens and Edmund Brooks; and a cabin boy, Richard Parker – an orphan, 17 years old and without blue water sailing experience. The untested Parker was enthused about the expedition despite the concerns of his loved ones, and Captain Dudley promised to make it worth his while, offering to teach him how to read and write on the way.

Things started well enough, and they were able to send letters home and resupply the vessel in Madeira. But then, around 1,500 miles from the Cape of Good Hope, they ran into serious difficulties as a gale descended and battered the yacht and its rapidly exhausted crew. The vessel bore the strain of it tolerably well, until a particularly large wave tore away parts of her and she began to sink. The crew had to make a hurried escape into their little dinghy, and in the adrenaline-soaked scramble only managed to grab two tins of parsnips to sustain them.

They did at least have their navigational tools and were able to calculate their location. It was not heartening news, however; it was clear that they had sunk in the worst of locations – the nearest land was the island of St Helena, some 700 miles away, and they were far from any shipping lane. The only real hope of survival lay in aiming for a busier part of the ocean’s expanse and trusting that somebody would find them in time. 

After two days no sails had been sighted, and so the first tin of parsnips was opened and its contents shared out. On day five they managed to haul a turtle into the vessel; they drained its blood to meet their thirst, but an unexpected splash of seawater rendered it mostly undrinkable. The presence of fresh meat still made for a happy moment, and in the joy of it the second tin of parsnips was opened as well. 

And yet the days continued to pass. Scraps of dried turtle meat and an occasional fall of rain offered some relief over the next week, but as time rolled forward their bodies began to fall apart. Their faces hollowed out and their muscles cramped as the sun shone unceasingly, and the hope that a sail would appear before them began to fade away. 

On the 15th day of their ordeal Richard Parker, the cabin boy, drank a large quantity of seawater in a desperate attempt to meet his thirst. The dehydration caused by ingesting the salt means the body needs more water than can be had from the seawater itself, worsening the drinker’s situation rapidly. Parker soon began to feel the consequences, and over the night that followed slipped between consciousness and raving delirium. 

On the next day Captain Dudley wrote a note to his wife, Phillipa, describing what had happened thus far and saying a final goodbye: ‘If ever this note reaches your hands dear you know the last of your Tom and loving husband. I am sorry things are gone against us thus far but hope to meet you and all our dear children in heaven. Do love them for my sake dear bless them and you all.’

Several more days passed, and the incoherent ravings of Parker quietened as he slipped into a coma. Finally, after lengthy discussion, Dudley and Stephens agreed that they should turn to the custom of the sea. One should die, so that the others may live. The facts seem plain: if Parker died naturally his blood would coagulate and be undrinkable, and he was, after all, an orphan, while Dudley and Stephens both had large families of dependents. Brooks abstained from the decision but did not protest as Stephens held down the boy’s legs and Dudley used his penknife to sever the jugular vein. They caught the blood in the case of their chronometer and then worked to butcher the body.

This was of course not the first incident of maritime cannibalism. The custom of the sea had long been known by those that sailed open water, and there are many examples across the centuries of sailors calling upon it amid desperate situations. The custom was meant to refer to an egalitarian lottery – all take lots and the loser accepts their sacrifice – but men often preferred to murder a weaker or more expendable individual than risk their own death. 

The death of Richard Parker almost certainly saved the lives of his crewmates. On 29 July, four days after Parker’s death and 24 days after the sinking of the Mignonette, a sail was sighted. The vessel was a German ship, the Montezuma, which, fortunately, spotted the dinghy and picked up the three survivors. They were nursed over the following weeks, their sores receding and their bodies strengthening, and on 6 September were dropped off in the Cornish town of Falmouth. 

They were taken to the town’s custom house. As witnesses to the sinking of a ship they were legally required to give a statement about the details, which Dudley did, in addition to giving a full description of Parker’s grisly end. He had no fear of any legal consequences; it was the custom of sea, and surely no one could blame them for turning to it in such a moment? The interviewing official seemed to share that perspective, but there was also a harbour policeman present, Sgt Laverty, and he did not see it the same way. The three survivors left the custom house, telegrams were sent home and rest was sought, but they were not to enjoy it for long – they were soon arrested by Sgt Laverty and held in the police station’s cells. 

Landmark legal case
What followed was one of the most important legal cases in British history. At its heart lay a conflict between moral and legal principles. Surely the men’s actions were understandable given the extreme circumstances, but how does that sentiment relate to the fact that a human life was deliberately ended with a knife? This question had almost been answered in 1874 when the sinking of another vessel, the Euxine, resulted in similarly cannibalistic consequences, but certain political sensitivities had prevented a prosecution from going ahead. With the crew of the Mignonette, however, there were no such contextual obstacles. After centuries of hazy legal tolerance, the question of the custom of the sea’s legitimacy was to be asked publicly and answered conclusively.

The accused appeared before magistrates in Falmouth’s courthouse. There a couple of notable surprises awaited them. Firstly, Daniel Parker, eldest brother of the deceased, attended proceedings and publicly shook hands with the men as a demonstration of understanding and support. And then the charges against Edmund Brooks were dropped, and he stood instead as a witness for the prosecution. He may have eaten Parker’s flesh, but he had not slit his throat, and now found that he was able to step out of the legal firing line. 

A further trial was held in Exeter, and then in London. They were strange affairs from a legal perspective, and they occurred, as high-profile trials generally do, within a whirlwind of media focus and popular interest. For every newspaper columnist that voiced their support, there was another who saw Dudley and Stephens through a far harsher lens. In the end it was the latter group who would be satisfied with the outcome: the two men were convicted of murder and sentenced to death, though this was quietly shifted to six months in prison without hard labour. 

The story of the men’s ordeal and the trials that followed became fodder for a Victorian public fascinated with the macabre – the dinghy itself ending up exhibited (with additional bloodstains) for paying audiences, and Edmund Brooks took employment in a travelling sideshow, dressing in rags and eating scraps of raw meat. The story still lingers in pop culture today – in the novel Life of Pi (2001) a Bengal tiger trapped on a lifeboat is named ‘Richard Parker’ – yet it is now law students who are the most likely to come across the tale. For the conviction set in place a legal precedent of great importance: in British law necessity is not a defence for murder. The decision to take a knife to Richard Parker’s throat likely saved the lives of three men, but it also changed our collective relationship with morality, legality and the space in between. {

Further reading
The Custom of the Sea (1999) by Neil Hanson.