Of course. Of course.
“Silo. Would thee help me with another errand?” She handed him the small brass key to the shipbox, retrieved from the bottom of her drawstring purse. “This one, I hope and pray, will be the one that will hold the key to set Matthew Macy free.”
The jury for Matthew’s trial had been selected, all men of Nantucket, varied ages and occupations. All men whose hearts belonged to the sea. The lawyer for the island of Nantucket was Josiah Swain, a humorless man whose sister had married Captain Phineas Foulger’s second cousin. The entire town crowded into the courtroom, as a criminal trial on Nantucket was exceedingly rare and provided a unique entertainment.
Early this morning, Zacchaeus had brought in a bathing tub and filled it with hot water for Matthew to bathe. He even brought a small mirror and razor to give Matthew a shave. Matthew dressed carefully, taking great care to tighten the knot in his tie, adjust his cuffs, unbutton and rebutton his jacket. He paced, cracked his knuckles, checked his reflection in the mirror once more. Again he ran his knuckles over his jaw, worried that Zacchaeus’s shaky hand didn’t give him enough of a clean shave—not for a jury, but for Phoebe. And then the door opened and Zacchaeus appeared again.
“’Tis time, my friend.” The constable’s eyes seemed unusually watery and his deep voice was preciously shaky.
Matthew stuck out his hand to offer his cousin a handshake. “Whatever happens today,” he said, his heart in his throat, “know that I will always be grateful for how kind you’ve been to me.”
He lifted his eyes as he entered the courtroom and his collar felt suddenly tight. Phoebe sat in the first row, sandwiched between his mother and Barnabas. Gratitude swamped him but again. When Phoebe’s eyes met his, he felt his heart leap.
“Have a chair,” Ezra Barnard told him, holding out the chair next to him.
Matthew hardly recognized his youthful attorney for his ill-fitting, powdered white wig. Powder was sprinkled on his shoulders. He leaned close to Ezra and whispered, “So how does the case look?”
“Depends on the witnesses. Criminal cases always do.”
“So it’s entirely dependent on the prosecution’s witnesses?”
“The defense has witnesses too. We go last.”
“How did you find witnesses? Who would talk?”
“Henry Coffin, Silo Foulger.”
Matthew’s heart dropped into his shoes. An old man with an axe to grind, a mute cabin boy. “That’s it? That’s your entire list of witnesses?”
“There’s more. One more, anyway. Phoebe Starbuck.”
Nay. “I don’t want Phoebe to have to testify.”
“She seems competent. I did not detect any muddled thinking.”
Matthew shifted in his chair slightly so that he could see Phoebe. “She’s more than competent.”
“Then, is she an atheist? The court won’t permit testimony from an atheist.”
“She’s devout. I just . . . don’t want her put under that kind of scrutiny. She’s been through enough.”
Ezra’s thin eyebrows lifted. “Ah, I see. So the rumors are true.”
“What do you see?”
“Thee is in love with her.”
Matthew sighed. This wasn’t going at all well. “Ezra, I want you to put me on the stand.”
“Nay. Absolutely not. Thee will end up convicting thyself.”
Matthew was appalled. “May I remind you that you are my attorney?”
“True. And may I remind thee that I was hired by Phoebe Starbuck and thy own mother, not by thee? To save thy sorry hide, I believe Aunt Libby said.”
“All rise,” the bailiff called dryly.
The judge entered, garbed in black robes, white wig neatly tucked in place. His eyes scanned the courtroom, paused on Matthew and moved on. Matthew had one thought: by whatever miracle, thank God, the judge was not a Foulger.
“All be seated,” the judge ordered.
And the trial of Matthew Macy began.
Mary Coffin
22 November 1661
The weather has turned bitter cold. Winter has come early.
James returned from the Cape with tobacco for Father and men’s unmentionables for those unmentionable men.
All is well.
25 November 1661
Eleazer arrived at the house today with a pair of peacocks. He was given them by an Indian, traded for a pair of shoes. The peacocks screech like howling babies, but he said it’s worth the racket for the quill feathers. He thought a feather might fetch a shilling or two in the store. “After all,” he said, “how many fine establishments on Nantucket Island boast that they keep peacock feather quills in stock?”
None, I said, nor do I want those screechy-sounding birds anywhere near Capaum Harbour, for they would scare away my customers.
“Hardly,” he said. “I believe they would flock to the store, curious about which cruel person was pinching a baby to cry in such a horrible manner.”
I said he was crazy. He laughed and said he was. Crazy in love.
I stilled. No one has ever told me he loved me before.
I am more confused than ever.
27 November 1661
A mere look from Nathaniel touches something deep inside me. When he is close, my heart pounds and I can scarcely draw breath. Eleazer is kind and sweet and treats me like I’m a precious pearl . . . and yet I feel nothing at all in return.
30 November 1661
Eleazer Foulger asked me to marry him. I am thinking on it.
23
20th day of the twelfth month in the year 1767
Judge Samuel Coffin, despite his discomfiting name, was round and roly-poly, with a face half framed by several chins. Matthew had stood before him many times, and the man’s eyebrows rose in recognition, but he said naught. As the judge settled himself into his chair on the dais, he nodded to the two attorneys. Opening statements were given by both men, Josiah Swain went first for the island of Nantucket, then Ezra Barnard presented the defense. Listening to the two men, Matthew sat tensely. He couldn’t help but think his chance for acquittal was hopeless. In his sixties, Josiah Swain had an abundance of courtroom experience, flourished by a deeply authoritative voice and an intense gaze that swept back and forth over each jury member. Novice Ezra Barnard stammered, lost his train of thought, and apologized to the jury, before stumbling over a chair leg as he returned to the defense table.
“The prosecution calls Constable Zacchaeus Coleman.”
From the very ill-at-ease constable, the jury heard of Matthew’s excessive time in gaol since he returned from the disastrous Pearl voyage, his drinking and brawling, and the confession to Zacchaeus Coleman on the dock as he arrived with Phoebe Starbuck Foulger last month, that he had, indeed, interacted with Captain Phineas Foulger in his cabin before the Fortuna set sail from Abacos.
When Ezra Barnard rose to his feet for a cross-examination of the constable, his coat sleeve swept papers on the floor. Snickers and chuckles broke out in the courtroom and the judge banged his gavel to restore order. Ezra spent so much time pondering each question before he delivered it that the jury exchanged curious glances with each other. Matthew shifted nervously in his seat. Ezra’s cross-examination of the constable revealed that Matthew had served his sentence compliantly, been a cooperative prisoner and released by recommendation of Captain Phineas Foulger, who trusted him implicitly and implored him to sign on the Fortuna, offering him a substantial lay. Before Zacchaeus stepped down, he looked at Matthew, eyes brimming with tears. “He didn’t do it. I know he’s innocent.”
“Objection!” shouted Josiah Swain. “The constable is a distant relation to the defendant.”
“Overruled.” Judge Coffin rapped his gavel once, then twice. “So is everyone on this island.”
From the ever bad-tempered cook, Matthew learned that the captain’s body was discovered sometime between six and seven o’clock, when Cook brought in his evening meal because he couldn’t find Silo to deliver it. �
��That boy is unreliable,” Cook volunteered. “I don’t know why the captain kept him on.” He would have continued on his rant, but the judge reminded him that Silo was not on trial.
First mate Hiram Hoyt was called next. With stooped shoulders and a crackly voice, he described the cause of death of the captain—a mortal blow to the head—and from the back of the courtroom, Sarah Foulger started to weep. Loudly. Matthew saw the look on each juror’s face, heartstrings tugged by Sarah’s sorrow. This wasn’t going well.
From Hiram came critical evidence. He had seen Matthew arrive sometime before six that evening, had seen him go into the captain’s cabin and shut the door. And then came condemning facts, ones Matthew could not deny, for they were true. “I heard them arguing, the captain and the cooper,” Hiram Hoyt said. “Everyone on the upper deck heard, thee can ask them all.”
Josiah stood, facing the jury with his hands clasped behind his back. “Did thee hear what the argument was about?”
“Something about how the captain had treated his wife, Phoebe.” Hiram Hoyt leaned forward and said, apologetically but right to the jury’s ears, “The cooper and the captain’s wife, they spent quite a bit of time together on the ship. Quite a bit.”
It was all testimony that Matthew had expected, yet he felt shaken at how incriminating it sounded when stated by witnesses under affirmation—a solemn declaration to tell the truth. Legally binding, accommodated for the Quakers’ refusal to swear oaths.
He could feel the noose tighten.
Then the tide changed. Ezra Barnard cross-examined Hiram Hoyt and detoured from the present case. “The Fortuna’s voyage, just prior to this broken voyage, the ship came in with an astounding amount of whale oil. A full belly of barrels.”
“Aye. A greasy voyage.”
“Indeed. What I don’t quite understand is how the Fortuna was able to strike such good fortune in scarcely—what was it—two years’ time?”
The first mate lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I suppose that’s why she’s called Fortuna. Good fortune.” His shoulders lifted again in a sigh. “Until now.”
“And how many barrels of sperm oil?”
Hiram hesitated. “I don’t recall.”
“How many sperm whales did the Fortuna capture?”
Again Hiram hesitated. He scratched his skin and dropped his gaze to his hands on his lap.
“First mates usually know that kind of information, do they not?”
“Aye, but the last few months . . . there’s been such tumult . . . the captain’s murder, then the storm . . . ” He sighed a grievous sigh. “I could get the information from the countinghouse.”
“That will be all for now, Mr. Hoyt.” He turned to the bailiff. “The defense calls Silence Foulger, cabin boy for Captain Foulger. Goes by the name of Silo.”
Josiah Swain jumped to his feet. “Objection! He’s a half-breed.”
Ezra looked calmly at the judge. “The captain gave him his name. In the British colonies, to have a surname means an individual is a full citizen of the Crown.”
“Objection overruled.”
“But he’s deaf and dumb!” The prosecutor was indignant.
Ezra kept his attention on the judge. “Silo might be unable to speak, but he is not deaf, nor is his intelligence diminished in any way. He speaks in a different way than thee and me, but he does have a voice.”
Judge Coffin looked a little uncertain but allowed Ezra Barnard to carry on.
The bailiff repeated the affirmation for Silo, who nodded when asked a question. “Silo,” Ezra said, “how were you treated on the ship?”
The boy’s eyes swerved nervously around the courtroom, then his dark eyes landed on Phoebe, and she gave him an encouraging smile. Slowly, he unbuttoned his thin shirt, peeled it off his shoulders, and turned around. His skinny back was ribboned with red scars.
“The whippings this boy received were from a tool like this one. It’s called a cat-o’-nine-tails. There are nine knotted lines in it.” Ezra Barnard set the whip in front of the jurors and turned to Silo. “Did this happen often, Silo?”
Silo nodded.
“Silo, why did the captain order those punishments for you?”
Cook interrupted from the back of the courtroom. “I told y’! He’s lazy and unreliable. Stole food from m’ galley!”
The judge rapped on his gavel and told Cook to be quiet. “Is this at all relevant, Mr. Barnard?”
Ezra seemed to grow in stature before Matthew’s eyes. “Aye, ’tis very relevant, sir. I do not believe Silo was punished regularly for small infractions such as stealing a loaf of bread. I believe he had information. These punishments were reminders to keep silent.” He turned to Silo with a smile. “There are other ways to tell one’s story beside talking, are there not? Would thee show us thy voice, Silo?”
Silo reached into his leather bag and brought out a large scrimshaw whale tooth, carved with etchings.
Ezra Barnard held it up for all to see before handing it to the judge. “Silo Foulger is a skilled artist of scrimshaw. This is a scene of two Nantucket whaling ships. One ship is in the background, its bow tilted as if it hit a sandbar. Sailors are unloading barrels from the ship into a whaleboat. The ship in the forefront is sitting low in the water. Sailors are hoisting barrels up to the deck.” He turned to the judge. “Would thee read the name of the ship’s quarterboard in the foreground?”
The judge squinted his eyes, took out a magnifying glass, and peered at the scrimshaw. “Fortuna.”
“And now would thee read the name of the damaged ship?” The courtroom hushed. “The quarterboard says . . . ,” the judge paused, and the entire jury leaned forward in their chairs, “. . . the Pearl.”
There was a gasp in the courtroom, then a murmuring. The judge sounded his gavel.
“Silo, did thee see this occur on the Fortuna?”
Silo nodded.
“And did the captain return to Nantucket with the Pearl’s contents in the belly of the Fortuna?”
Again, he gave a firm nod.
Matthew leaped to his feet. “Foulger absconded with two years’ worth of whaling! The ambergris—that belonged to the Pearl! Captain Foulger went after right whales. He’d never even seen a sperm whale! He stole it all . . . and let the Pearl go under. He could have saved my father’s life and he did not!”
Ezra hurried to his side and pressed him back into the chair. “Sit down and be quiet!” he said. “Thee is making a case against thyself!”
“I won’t be quiet! There was something amiss with the Fortuna’s return. The ship was unloaded during the night. The warehouse was kept locked.” He spun around and pointed to Henry Coffin. “Henry was fired from his job as Foulger’s warehouse guard, for no reason.”
“’Tis true,” Henry shouted, waving his cane. “No reason at all.”
“Barnabas Starbuck overheard the accountant at the countinghouse say what the weight of the ambergris was. It was the same weight! That was too much of a coincidence. I tried to see the ambergris. I would know it belonged to the Pearl if I could only lay eyes on it. But each time I went to the warehouse, I was turned away. It was kept locked. Guarded twenty-four hours a day.”
The judge rapped for order with his gavel. “May I remind everyone that this is not the case on the docket!”
Matthew ignored the judge, ignored the tugging of Ezra on his sleeve. He pointed to the first mate, seated in the back next to Sarah Foulger. “The Pearl foundered after hitting a coral reef near the tip of the Bahamas. My father sent the crew off in the whaling boats to the nearby island to seek out help. He refused to abandon the ship. When we returned, the ship had gone under. All that was left was the top of the masts.” He choked up. “We were too late. Too late returning.” He pointed at Hiram Hoyt. “The crew of the Fortuna stole everything from the Pearl, and did not have the decency to even save my father’s life! May God smite you for what you did!”
The courtroom exploded with murmurs and gasps. Hiram Hoyt’s face
turned a dark shade of red.
“Get a warrant!” Matthew said, his voice cracking. “Get a warrant and send Zacchaeus to the countinghouse. Find out the weight of the ambergris! Twenty-nine pounds, three ounces. High quality, white in color.” He pleaded with the judge. “Your honor, please! See if I’m wrong!”
The judge rapped and rapped on his gavel. It took nearly a minute for the din to die down. “Mr. Macy! Sit down! Sit down now or I will add contempt of court!”
Ezra pressed Matthew back into his chair and whispered to him to be quiet, that he was only incriminating himself to have sufficient cause to kill the captain.
The judge did motion to Zacchaeus, Ezra, and Obadiah to approach the bench, spoke to them all, and then the constable hurried out the side door.
“What did he say?” Matthew whispered.
“He sent the constable to the countinghouse to look at the Fortuna’s books.” He gave Matthew a look. “Let’s just hope that ambergris matches the weight that thee said it did.”
“What if it does? Then what?”
“The question thee should be concerned with is: what if it doesn’t?” Ezra waited for the judge to give a slow nod to begin again, then he took a deep breath and stood. “Silo, ’tis no small thing to keep a secret on an island like Nantucket. How did Captain Foulger keep the crew from talking about the Pearl?”
Josiah objected. “There is no proof to this story other than a piece of scrimshaw! Carved by a mute boy!”
The judge gave him a look, but acquiesced. “Mr. Barnard, keep the prosecution’s remarks in mind. The looting of the Pearl is a theory. Nothing has been proven.”
“A man’s life is at stake here, thy honor. If thee will allow me to finish questioning Silo.” When the judge nodded, Ezra repeated the question to Silo. “How did the captain persuade his crew to not tell others about the Pearl?”
Phoebe's Light Page 23
