Constable Squires looked at the magistrate. “What would you like me to do, sir? There’ll be some expenses for this.”
Mr. Robins gave a quick nod. “Yes, I should think there would be, but do whatever is necessary to recover that girl’s casket and bring it back to Beaufort. Her family entrusted this town with their little daughter’s earthly remains, and we owe it to them to guard them just as we would those of any citizen of Beaufort.”
“Yes, sir,” said the constable. “We’ll go after ’em.”
The magistrate took out a piece of parchment from his drawer that had writing printed on it, then filled out a few lines with his quill. “Here’s a warrant to search their wagons, boats, whatever they’re using, for the stolen barrel.”
“Do you want me to arrest anyone?” asked the constable.
Mr. Robins contemplated the question for a moment before answering. “I don’t really know that you can unless the group of them gives up whoever is responsible, and I think that is unlikely. I’m not sure we’re equipped to determine the guilty party, or parties, given the circumstances. The best we can hope for is to recover the barrel and return the girl’s remains to their resting place.”
The constable nodded. “Understood, sir.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER CONSTABLE SQUIRES had recruited Adam and Ricky Jones to go with him to track down Madame Endora and company. It was uncertain which group of the gypsies had taken the barrel with the girl’s corpse. The men who’d gone ahead the previous day would be the most logical candidates. Even though Stela’s sister had probably been the one seen in the graveyard, it seemed unlikely that the women would be the ones responsible for carrying the barrel with a corpse in it ahead to the next camp.
There was some discussion as to whether or not they should take the ferry across the Newport River and then travel by land, or whether they should skip the ferry and head out by periauger towards Bogue Sound to try and get to the gypsies’ next camp. Sailing would mean they could likely get to Gales Creek faster to see if the gypsy men had already set up camp there, and if not, they could move on westward towards Broad Creek. On the other hand, going by land meant that they could come up close on the heels of Madame Endora and her daughters, and if need be, accompany them right into the larger camp to find the stolen grave.
They ultimately decided to take the land route. Jones had pointed out they could even act as though they were holding the women as security until the barrel was produced, if it came right down to that.
Circumstances were less than ideal. It was already close to noon. The most likely place for the gypsies to set up camp for the night would be five hours away—one hour for the ferry crossing, and four to travel the rest of the distance on land. Returning in the same night would be nearly impossible. It would be too much on the horses, especially in the heat that was still lingering in late September.
Adam and the others hurried to the ferry, hoping that it was not already in the middle of a crossing. They were relieved to find Mr. Austin was still there with his large ferry, ready to take passengers across. A little less than an hour after that—they were pleasantly surprised to have favorable currents speed them across—they were disembarking on the western bank of the Newport River.
Adam wasn’t very accustomed to the Bridge Road that ran along Bogue Sound, so he was grateful to be making this journey with men who knew the terrain. Adam and Jones went in the horse cart, while the constable rode ahead on horseback.
There were so many unknowns in the search. How would the gypsies react upon being pursued like this? Would they understand that the constable and the others weren’t desiring to attack them or harm them in any way, but rather were only interested in getting the barrel with the girl’s body back? And what would the constable do when they found them? How far was he willing to go to bring that body back to Beaufort if the gypsies resisted?
Even if he had been able to foretell future events, Adam doubted he could’ve predicted the good fortune that he, Jones, and the constable had just an hour past the ferry landing on the western side of the Newport.
Madame Endora’s wagon was moving along at a slow and steady pace, while Stela rode just ahead. It appeared Stela’s sister, Aurora, was riding in the wagon with their mother.
“Thank God,” said Adam. “It’s the women. Maybe we can find out what we need to know from them without too much trouble.”
“Don’t be so sure, mate,” said Jones. “Women can be right dangerous in their own way.”
The constable turned and looked at them, then motioned for Adam and Jones to be ready in case the situation turned into a chase.
As his horse trotted closer to the wagon—close enough that the constable felt confident he could be heard—he shouted, “Halt! You there! In the name of the law!”
Madame Endora turned to look at him, and best Adam could tell, she wrinkled her brow. She made some kind of whistle sound to Stela, and then she stopped the wagon. As she waited for the constable to approach, she suspiciously motioned for her daughter Aurora to cover something in the wagon.
Adam and Jones were close behind in the horse cart. As soon as they thought it wise, they stopped and jumped out and went around to the back of the wagon.
“What is all of this about?” the old woman asked with a wounded expression in that heavy accent.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to stop you like this, but we have reason to believe either you, or your companions who left earlier, may have taken something that belongs in the town of Beaufort.”
Adam made a whistle sound to get the constable’s attention. When the constable looked back at him, Adam pointed to the back of the wagon and mouthed the words, “I think we should search this.”
“Do you mind if we search your wagon?” the constable asked.
“Mama, what is all of this?” Stela asked, her horse dancing back and forth along the other side of her mother’s wagon.
Her mother responded, “This man says we are carrying something that belongs to that little town.”
Stela wrinkled her brow. She looked over at Adam. “You are behind this?” she asked.
Her hurt expression made Adam think he understood what Jones had meant about women being dangerous in their own way. Something about seeing her in such a vulnerable state immediately made Adam, who had been raised to treat women with gentleness and respect, have some hesitation about dealing with her abruptly, even though he knew these women had committed a gruesome crime.
“Stela,” said Adam, “I’m sorry we have to startle you like this, but y’all have done something very, very wrong.”
The constable looked again at Madame Endora. “Ma’am, you haven’t answered my question. Do you mind if we search your wagon?”
She made a confused face at him. “What is it that you seek? What do you say we have taken that belongs to your little town?”
“Listen here, you foul old trot,” said Jones, “you know what we’re here for, so no need to play games. We’re gettin the barrel with the dead girl in it, and we’re takin it back to Beaufort. And if you don’t have it with you, we’ll just follow you to wherever your companions are waiting.”
Adam rolled his eyes at Jones’s lack of subtlety, but then nodded. “He’s right. That’s all we want. Do you have it? Or will we have to follow you to your next camp?”
“I do not understand,” Madame Endora protested. She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “A barrel with a dead girl inside? What would make you say something like this?”
“Listen, ma’am,” said Constable Squires, “those fellas are gonna look in the back of your wagon now.” He motioned for Adam and Jones to go ahead and open the back to search. “I’ve asked you as graciously as I know how to let us proceed with this, but the plain truth is, this document right here”—he held up the warrant the magistrate had issued—“this is a warrant. It gives us permission to search your wagon and anything else belonging to you all, whether
you give us your permission or not. And I can tell you, if you want to make a fuss about it, I’ll put you in irons and stick you in the back of these fellas’ horse cart, and we’ll haul you back to town and handle it there.”
Madame Endora waved her hand. “Go. Search all you like. There is no barrel with a dead girl here.”
Adam climbed up into the back of the wagon. There was so much clutter that it was hard to see all that was in there. He shifted over a table that was probably the one the woman had used for her fortune-telling. Just beside that there was the sign that had been propped up outside the tent. Next he found some long pieces of fabric that were wrapped around something that felt like a small box. He recognized the fabric as the dark, gauzy curtains that were hanging up inside the tent, so he guessed that the small box might have her fortune-telling tools of the trade inside, such as her crystal ball, stones, and tarot cards, but it obviously wasn’t what they were looking for, so he didn’t bother opening it. There were cooking implements, including a Dutch oven and pan, along with bowls and eating and serving utensils.
“What you are doing? This is very wrong. Do you know this? You are doing a terrible thing to us.” Madame Endora appeared exasperated with Adam going through her things. “You unclean boy! You are defiling all of my possessions!”
Ricky Jones patted the side of the wagon. “We wouldn’t be havin to do this if you lot hadn’t gone grave robbin in our cemetery, now would we, old bird? You want to make things easier and tell us where it is?”
As Adam worked his way almost to the very front of the wagon, just behind where Madame Endora was sitting, he found what at first glance looked like a pile of quilts, but when he pulled them back he saw the head of a barrel.
“I think this is it!” he called out.
Jones quickly began removing items from the wagon so that he could help Adam get to it better.
When Adam tried to get a grip on the barrel, his face fell. “Wait… this might not be it!”
“What do you mean?” asked Constable Squires.
“Let’s just get this thing out of here, mate. Then we can know for sure,” said Jones.
The barrel didn’t weigh nearly as much as it should have, given its contents.
Once they were able to set it on the ground beside the wagon, they were immediately able to observe that the barrel appeared to at some point have been buried. The staves looked somewhat clean on the surface, but in between the rings and the wood there was a great deal of dirt. Also, the rings were starting to rust.
The name Smith had been crudely burned into one of the boards on the head—not as a stamp to show the origin of the barrel, but rather as an effort to indicate ownership.
“Come back around here and explain this,” Adam demanded to Madame Endora. “Where’s the girl?” He was referring to the fact that the barrel felt like it was nearly empty.
As the woman climbed down from the driver’s seat of the wagon, Adam was examining the barrel. He couldn’t detect anything to suggest that the barrel had been opened at either end.
Madame Endora smirked. “What girl?”
“This barrel was dug up from our burying ground back in town. A girl’s body was in it. What have you done with it?”
“You stupid man,” said the gypsy woman. “There never was a girl in that barrel.”
“I’ve spoken to the men who helped bury this two years ago,” said Adam. “I want to know what you’ve done.”
“Ma’am,” the constable said, approaching the woman, “you best start talkin, or I’m puttin you in these and we’re takin you right back to town.” He held out a set of irons.
Madame Endora glared at him and inhaled sharply but would not speak.
“Woman,” said the constable, “I’m warnin you for the last time.”
With a heave of her shoulders, she sighed, then waved her hand in surrender.
“Two years ago,” said the woman, “my sister and her children came to America. They brought valuable things and did not want those things to being stolen, so they put them in that barrel. When some men on the first ship started asking her about it, she feared they would steal from her, so she invented the story that she was carrying her dead daughter in there to be buried in America. So when she and her children arrived in Madeira, the sailors from the first ship pitied her, and the barrel was placed on the second ship with the same story. When the storm forced them to come into your port of Beaufort instead of Charleston, where they had intended to go, they had no choice but to have the barrel buried, because she had no money to pay another fare for her and her sons to travel with the barrel by sea, and it would be impossible to find a coach to carry all of them and the barrel overland.”
“Well, something has surely changed about this barrel,” said Adam, tipping it from one side to the other, “because it is far lighter than it would have to be to fool anyone into thinking a girl’s body is inside.”
“Of course it is!” She laughed. “I would not burden my horse to carry more than is necessary. There was rum in this barrel, but it is now all gone.” She dusted her hands together, as if to demonstrate that fact.
“You poured it out?” asked the constable.
Madame Endora whipped around and said to him, “Would you pour out twenty gallons of rum?”
“Twenty gallons?” Adam turned his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “This is a tierce. It holds nearly forty gallons.”
The gypsy woman glared at him. “You think you are so clever.” She said nothing else.
Adam closely inspected the barrel. “Wait a minute.” He squatted down, then tipped the barrel slightly. “Move out of the way. You’re blocking the sun,” he said to Jones.
Jones shifted to the side.
“Huh! I see.” Adam turned the barrel completely over onto its side, bung hole up.
“I’ve heard of these before,” he said, “but I’ve never seen one with my own eyes. I wouldn’t have even noticed it if I weren’t looking so closely. French coopers are supposedly experts at making these.”
Jones and Constable Squires both stepped over to look at what Adam was pointing at.
“What is it?” asked the constable.
“Look here,” said Adam. He fumbled with a stave just between the quarter hoop and the bilge hoop—that is to say, the second and third rings at one end of the barrel. He picked at it with his thumbs and tried to clear some dirt out of the stave joints before revealing a small panel. It was a piece of the stave that had been cut out to serve as the opening of a little compartment. It was barely noticeable, since it was the same width as the whole stave, and the wood grain matched up with what was there. If he hadn’t been looking closely, it’s unlikely he would’ve noticed it.
He looked up at Madame Endora. “How do you open this?”
She raised her eyebrows and lifted her chin, then turned her head away, showing her unwillingness to answer his question.
Adam reached into his pocket and took out his pocketknife. He opened the blade, then began to pry at the edges of the panel. Finally, he was able to get the piece of wood to shift a bit. Apparently, the trick was to push it forward up under the quarter hoop. It moved less than half an inch, but doing that freed the panel from some sort of tongue-and-groove-type arrangement that allowed the piece to lock closely with the lower part of the stave. At the other end of the panel, he saw that it was attached with a couple of lengths of cord under the hoop. When it was disconnected from the stave to which it had been attached, he was able to lift it up and fold it back.
He peered inside but could barely see what was in there. He rolled the barrel just enough for the light of the sun to shine in. First, he pulled out a long scarf, which was apparently buffering the contents inside. That revealed an assortment of items, from expensive-looking jewelry and trinkets to more ordinary items, like a couple of small books, a doll, something that looked as if it could be a sewing kit, and more.
“What is all thi
s about?” asked Adam.
He replaced the panel, then started to examine the other end of the barrel to find the stave that would have the panel. Usually casks like this would have one at each end, with dividers inside that went at a forty-five-degree angle, so that when the customs men plunged their canes into the barrel to ensure its contents were what they were said to be, they would find nothing but whatever liquid was supposedly inside, usually water or sometimes wine, which had a lower duty.
The woman still refused to speak. Stela was standing nearby now and looked nervously at Adam and then her mother.
“Why do you not just tell him? We have done nothing wrong here.”
“Let him see for himself,” said Madame Endora. “He will not be satisfied until he does.”
Just then Adam located the panel at the other end of the barrel. He again used his pocketknife to clean out the stave joints and free up the edges so that he could shift it. When he opened this end, all he could see was a large leather object that seemed to be stretched across the entire opening. When he tried to pull the object out, he realized it was actually some sort of bag. He tugged and pulled, trying to remove it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What is this?” he asked.
Madame Endora would say nothing. She stood stiff-necked with her arms folded across her chest.
“Fine,” said Adam.
He positioned his knife above the bag and was about to thrust it into the leather to learn its contents.
“Wait!” said Stela. “It’s just cards, dice, things like that.”
“Cards and dice?”
Adam looked at her skeptically. He doubted her answer after her strong reaction. Nevertheless, he then looked at Jones and the constable to gauge their expressions.
“The summer of ’65 was when they got to Beaufort,” said the constable. “That Stamp Act had passed in March. I reckon Madame Endora’s sister was just an ol’ bootlegger hoping to profit when the Act went into effect that autumn.”
The Gypsy's Curse Page 19
