Adam nodded but really couldn’t think of anything else to say.
There was another awkward silence. Then with seemingly perfect timing, Jackson showed up and delivered Adam’s supper. After Adam bowed his head to quietly say grace, Toby and Ben both stood to excuse themselves.
“I reckon we’ll let you enjoy your supper,” said Toby. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you fellas as well,” said Adam.
“Hey, one thing,” said Ben. “I’m always on the lookout for odd jobs. With you working so late and all, your boss might need an extra hand. Let me know if he’s looking for anybody to take on—even temporarily.”
Adam gave him a nod. “Will do.”
Ben and Toby excused themselves and went back over to join James to play more music.
Of course Adam knew that Emmanuel wasn’t one for hiring strangers, so it was unlikely he’d take on a traveling musician for even a temporary job at the warehouse.
Finally, much relieved, Adam would be able to enjoy his supper in quiet. He dug right in, and everything tasted so good to him. Nothing like exhaustion and hunger to make food taste even better. Just then Jackson sat down to visit with his former coworker and friend. The two chatted for a little while—or rather, Jackson did most of the talking—but Adam realized when he left the tavern that he must not’ve been paying close attention, because he couldn’t remember most of what the boy had said.
He was so tired. He dreaded the long walk back to the warehouse. Just before he left, he asked Valentine if he was done with the paper that had arrived earlier that same day. Valentine said he was—at least the parts that interested him—and he gave it to him. Adam thanked him and asked him to say hello to his mother for him.
He bristled when he stepped out into the cold night from the warmth of the tavern. He buttoned up his overcoat and pulled the collar up around his ears, tucked the paper under his arm, and trudged back to the warehouse, the wind beating against his face the whole way.
He would sleep hard tonight.
Chapter Nine
AS ADAM WALKED BACK TO the warehouse, he thought about the warm spell of the previous week, and he was grateful for it. He couldn’t imagine taking Laney and Aunt Celie to New Bern in this weather, and certainly not by sail. He hoped a good time was being had by all in the Martin household, but not so fine a time as that Laney might choose to not come back to Beaufort.
When he finally made it back to the living quarters at the warehouse, he did his best to quietly tiptoe across the squeaky floor through the sitting room and into the kitchen, where he lit a short candle to take into his room.
He had to pass through Boaz’s room first, but fortunately the middle-aged cooper was a deep sleeper, so Adam didn’t have to worry about waking him as he passed through the room and into his own.
Adam had the newspaper tucked under his arm and the candle in his hand as he carefully turned the knob on the door handle and closed the door. He crossed the room and used the stubby candle to ignite the lantern that he kept on the nightstand, and he placed the newspaper there next to it. He removed his hat, coat, and waistcoat, then sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his shoes before turning down the blankets and crawling under the covers. He loosed the cord that had been holding his dark hair out of his face and closed his eyes as he massaged the back of his neck and head where it had gotten sore from craning forward counting odds and ends all day. He also really hated wearing his hair back—it gave him headaches—but it was more practical when he was working to keep the hair out his face.
Once he’d eased the pain a bit, he took the Gazette in hand. He’d been looking forward to reading that paper ever since he’d seen it at the tavern. Knowing he’d just been in James Davis’s print shop several days earlier, where this very paper was being printed, fascinated him.
He skipped quickly past the front page. It rarely featured anything of local interest. Instead, the front page was usually occupied either with official public notices of new laws, or else long serials that would run in several issues – things like “The Life and Times of Marcus Antonius”, or an essay on the political and civil rights of British colonists. More often than not, regional news items were relegated to the last page.
Sprinkled among the local items were advertisements from local merchants, real estate listings, and legal notices. There was one item from a poor man called Nicholas Sims that read, “Whereas my wife Henrietta Sims has left my bed and board; I forewarn all persons from trusting her on my account, as I will pay no debt of her contracting.”
Adam shook his head. Poor fella, he thought. It’s bad enough his wife has run out on him, but to have to put it in the paper…
As he scanned through the advertisements to see if there was anything else that looked interesting, a news item caught his eye. Mr. Davis did not typically use larger letters above local news items. He seemed to reserve those for notices and advertisements. But in spite of the words not being any bigger on the page than any other, they still jumped out at Adam: “highwaymen,” “knocked in the head,” and “murder.” This news item was accompanied by its own notice at the bottom of its column, as though it had likely been inserted at the last minute. It was a warning that said, “It is believed these two violent criminals were heading north and are possibly on their way to Williamsburg; however, it is also possible that they are in the vicinity of New Bern or Swift Creek, and the greatest caution should be exercised in apprehending them, as they are armed and dangerous. Any person with information leading to their capture will receive a reward. TEN POUNDS.”
This is that attack we heard about in New Bern. The attack had happened about a week earlier. Adam figured whoever these highwaymen were, it was unlikely that they would have stayed around New Bern. They were probably long gone by now. Furthermore, they could have ultimately gone in any direction. Adam couldn’t imagine why the paper would have said that they were possibly on their way to Williamsburg. How could anyone know where they were headed if no one even knew who they were?
To make matters more difficult, the surviving victim wasn’t even found until late in the day—several hours after they were attacked. Mr. Davis had not been informed of all of the details, or at the very least, if he had he had chosen not to print them in his paper. But from what Adam had learned from Will, the story went like this:
A woman and her husband were traveling home in their horse cart after visiting relatives in the territory between Handcock and Slocomb Creeks. The first night of the journey, they made camp about seven miles south of New Bern. Shortly before daybreak the two highwaymen descended upon their camp. One of the men demanded that they hand over all of their valuables and planned to steal their horse, but the other man didn’t think that was enough and decided he wanted a go at the woman as well.
He urged his partner to restrain the husband while he had his turn at the wife. The husband lunged at the man and attacked him for making the suggestion, at which point the would-be rapist knocked him in side of the head with the butt of his pistol, causing him to fall immediately unconscious.
The other highwayman balked at the idea and said he didn’t mind stealing but wouldn’t go along with assaulting the poor woman, who was apparently crouched down on her knees in fear at the feet of the man who intended to rape her. He held her in place by the hair of her head so that she could not get away.
The men argued, and apparently the more compassionate one convinced the other that, with the sun coming up, they should hurry and take what they need and be on their way. They attempted to take the horse, but she reared up in defiance and ran away into the surrounding marsh as soon as she was untied. The two men, frustrated by their failed efforts to secure a speedy escape, then took off running in a northerly direction.
The woman tried unsuccessfully to revive her husband, so she decided to go in search of help on foot. She walked for a couple of hours but ultimately was overcome with worry and exhaustion and began
to feel confused about where she was going, so she sat down to rest and fell asleep.
Thankfully, the horse that escaped made its way to a farm a few miles away, nearer to New Bern. The owner of the farm recognized the very distinctive white markings on the black horse and knew the family to whom it belonged. Considering the horse had come from the road to the south, he smartly thought to take one of his slaves and his own horse cart and head down that road in case there was someone in trouble. He found the woman a few miles down the road and she led him to the camp, where her husband still lay motionless.
Sadly, by the time they arrived the man’s body was stiff. He must have suffered a bleed in his brain from the blow to his temple and died.
The farmer and his slave loaded the man’s body into the cart and took it and the woman back to their estate on the south side of the Neuse River. The constable in that territory was able to get some local men together to search for clues near the camp but found nothing remarkable and therefore had little to go on beyond the woman’s testimony.
At this point the only way the local authorities could hope to make a break in the case would be if a good citizen came forward with information. And of course that wouldn’t likely happen without the promise of a financial reward.
Adam shook his head in disbelief as he recalled the details he had heard about the crime. He hadn’t given it much thought since they had talked about it that night around the supper table, but seeing it in the paper reminded him of it. He couldn’t help but think about Laney, and even Will’s wife, Catherine, being at risk of such an attack if the two men were hanging around New Bern.
Since no physical descriptions had been provided in the paper, there wasn’t much to go on in terms of identifying the culprits. Apparently, because of the poor lighting at the time of the attack the female victim was unable to describe the men other than to say that one was a bit taller than the other, but both were of average weight and height. She couldn’t see their hair, since the taller one was wearing a dark-colored Monmouth cap, and the shorter man wore a tricorn. She also said that she couldn’t guess how old they were, but she thought they were older than her. She was only twenty-two, though, so that wasn’t especially helpful.
He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind about Laney being at risk with those men at large. He knew there was little likelihood of anything happening to her while she was there visiting with her brother and sister-in-law. He also knew that with his experiences of the last year, he tended to feel heightened anxiety about any potentially risky situation. Emmanuel had warned him to be ever vigilant in life but to not succumb to looking for a devil behind every bush. He determined there was no cause for concern without a clear reason to believe the men were in New Bern, and that with any luck they were either already apprehended and in custody, or far beyond the borders of the colony.
At that he continued reading through the paper’s other announcements, then finally blew out his lantern and went to sleep.
Chapter Ten
“THANK THE LORD!” ADAM EXCLAIMED.
He was relieved that the crates he had to inventory today were not filled with as many small items as the ones from yesterday. One of today’s crates held blankets and small rugs, while the other contained an assortment of hats for men and women.
Poor Martin, on the other hand, was stuck inventorying a crate of sewing supplies, including buttons and thimbles—many of which had spilled out of the boxes that were meant to keep them sorted.
“Serves you right,” said Adam. “You wouldn’t help me yesterday. You were mocking me for having to go through all of those ladies’ knickknacks. Looks like you’re reaping what you’ve sown.”
Martin rolled his eyes at Adam. “Oh, be quiet.” He squinted his eyes and went back to sorting thimbles and putting them back into their little boxes.
Each box was meant to hold a certain number of a particular design. Martin had to pick up each thimble and look at the markings on the side and separate them into their own little piles. Then he had to count them out into the specified number for each box set.
“Headache, Martin?”
He didn’t need to ask. Adam already knew his friend was struggling thanks to another hard night of drinking.
Martin didn’t respond. He just gave Adam an annoyed look and went back to sorting thimbles.
“You keep on drinking like you been doing lately, you’re gonna end up dead in a ditch.”
Boaz sat quietly making inventory of a group of small crates of iron cookware, but he couldn’t help but say something when he heard that.
“I think the boy’s got a point there, Smith. You trying to pickle yourself or somethin?”
“I have no idea what y’all are talking about. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep worth nothin last night—froze my tail off.”
“What’s the problem? You out of firewood?” Adam jokingly asked.
“Maybe he just couldn’t find a woman to keep him warm,” suggested Boaz.
The two of them laughed, and Martin nodded and feigned amusement as they joked at his expense.
Finally, Adam said, “Didn’t you say you were going over to Jones’s house last night to play cards with him and Canady?”
Martin nodded unexpressively. “Yep.”
“Oh,” said Adam. “You lost your purse, didn’t you?”
“You’ve got to learn to quit when you’re ahead, Smith,” said Boaz.
Adam shook his head. “I hate it for you, Martin. I really do. Seems like things have just been downhill for you lately.”
“You’re damned right,” said Martin. “Ever since we got to Cuba, in fact, it’s like the Fates are conspiring against me.”
Just then Emmanuel slowly and stiffly made his way across the warehouse to speak to his workers. “What’s all this Fates nonsense, Smith?”
Martin exchanged a sheepish grin with Adam and Boaz. Adam imagined Martin must’ve been thinking that it was bad luck that Emmanuel had come in when he did. Everyone knew he didn’t have much patience for superstitions, or what he called “pagan colloquialisms,” like talking about bad luck or the Fates, a frequent source of joking behind Emmanuel’s back, since sailors were among the most superstitious of all men, and his industry was full of them.
They were all thankful when Emmanuel quickly changed the subject rather than going into a speech about Fate versus Providence.
“I just got done talking to Faulkner Baldwin.” He had his hand on his back, rubbing it as if it was hurting him terribly. “We’re having a citizen’s meeting on Friday to discuss the business of the new canal. Adam will be going to get a pig tomorrow morning, and I want you boys to be ready to butcher and roast it so we can enjoy a nice barbecue after the meeting.”
“We’re having a party?” asked Martin with a mischievous grin.
Emmanuel sighed and gave a curt nod. “A barbecue, Mr. Smith, not a bacchanalia. I’ll be inviting all of the gentlemen who attend the meeting, as well as their families. This’ll be no time for you to lose your inhibitions. Furthermore, this cold weather has angered my old bones, and it certainly doesn’t help my patience levels, so don’t push me.”
“Don’t worry, Emmanuel,” said Boaz. “We’ll keep him in line.” He looked at Adam and grinned. “Right, Fletcher?”
“I’m sure he’ll behave himself,” Adam agreed.
“Hmm…” Emmanuel seemed like he wanted to say something but stopped short.
After a second or two he said, “I should tell you, Smith, if you come to work in this condition again I’ll relieve you of your employment until you can see fit to dry yourself out.” He started to hobble back towards the stairs, then turned back to say one more thing. “And you tell Jones I said the same thing if he’s in a state as bad as you.”
Martin nodded and gave an embarrassed half smile. “Yes, sir.”
Adam and Boaz tried hard not to even smile, but Adam, at least, was laughing on the inside.
Emmanuel slowly climbed the stairs to the living quarters.
“You know, Fletcher, it’s a good thing Emmanuel don’t let you come with us to play cards,” said Martin. “We’re real bad influences.”
Adam could tell Martin was being facetious, so he rolled his eyes at him.
“Of course Emmanuel don’t want him hangin around with you over at Jones’s place,” said Boaz. “He wants better for his grandson than to turn out like either of you rascals.”
“Emmanuel’s been a rascal in his day, and I reckon he’s turned out alright,” Martin countered.
“That was different,” said Adam. “He was running around with pirates, after all. I’d say a little bit of wild living goes with the territory, doesn’t it? You and Jones, on the other hand, y’all just like to drown yourselves in the bottle. And you’ve gotten far worse since we’ve gotten back from Havana.”
“I have not,” said Martin.
“You have! You absolutely have. Now I can see why Emmanuel probably never sent you and Jones out on the same voyages before. He knew y’all would bring out the worst in each other.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Boaz agreed.
Adam felt a little guilty for giving his friend a hard time, but the truth was Martin had seemed to be going downhill ever since they returned from Havana. Something had changed him. He seemed intent on engaging in increasingly self-destructive behaviors. He’d liked to have a good time and drink a little more than the next fellow for as long as Adam had known him, but now it was almost as if his goal was to stay drunk as much as possible and practice whatever vices he could conjure up at every available opportunity. He’d disappear for days at a time and no one knew where he’d gone, then turn up again for work like nothing had happened.
Murder in the Marsh Page 6
