Murder in the Marsh

by Sara Whitford

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THEY SAILED STRAIGHT THROUGH THE night and made it to the Pamlico River around three o’clock in the morning. Bath Creek came into view just before the breaking of dawn, and Aunt Celie started to weep.

  Adam was the first to notice she was crying. “What’s wrong, Aunt Celie?”

  She dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes and then wiped her nose. She wrung her hands nervously. Adam was sitting next to the mast, where he had been tending the sheets. Aunt Celie sat on a bench directly across from him, so he reached out his hand and gently patted hers for a second before saying, “Oh, don’t cry. What is it?”

  Tightly clutching her handkerchief, she said, “I ain’t been back here in a many a years.”

  Adam didn’t know what to say, so he just smiled at her and gave her a sympathetic nod.

  After a few minutes, as they entered the mouth of Bath Creek she pointed to a clearing of land along a high bluff on the western bank.

  “See that big ol’ house there?” she said.

  Adam nodded.

  “That’s the first English house my husband ever went in. That’s the first place he ever set foot on Carolina soil.”

  Adam looked over at the impressive estate. “How can you tell?”

  “That there used to be the govna’s house, but it’s changed hands since then.”

  “That was the governor’s house? When was this?”

  Aunt Celie thought about it for a moment. “It won’t even 1720 yet. I’s borned in 1720. I reckon it was 1718—summertime. And they was sixty Negroes they put out on the bank that day.”

  Adam wrinkled his brow in surprise. “Hmph. Did they have a slave market there? I don’t remember hearing anything about that.”

  “No, Fletcher,” Martin called out from his place at the helm. “I think you said your grandfather told you about this.”

  Adam’s eyes grew wide. “Wait… so this—I mean, Old Charles—was one of those slaves?”

  He turned and looked back at Aunt Celie, who was gazing wistfully at the shoreline of the old governor’s estate.

  “Your husband was brought here by Blackbeard? On the sloop Adventure?”

  Aunt Celie nonchalantly looked at him and said, “Of course, Mr. Adam. Where else they be gettin slaves at in this place? This just a little ol’ town.”

  Adam shrugged. He looked back at Martin as if to say, Can you believe this?!

  Once they came alongside the little town and docked, Martin went to the courthouse, which was right on the eastern bank of the creek, to see if anyone was there yet. He and Adam both expressed gratitude that Aunt Celie was with them, as she knew where the major fixtures were in the town.

  While he was gone, Adam learned more from Aunt Celie about hers and Old Charles’s history in Bath. He learned that Old Charles was only around thirteen years old when his village in Africa was attacked by a neighboring tribe and he was forced into slavery. He spent a few years enslaved by fellow Africans, who passed him and others who were captured with him from one tribal chief to another, before he finally was taken to the west coast and sold to European traders. From there he was taken to the Caribbean, and then the French Guineaman he was confined to, La Concorde, was overtaken by the notorious Blackbeard.

  The pirate immediately renamed the vessel Queen Anne’s Revenge and set sail for North Carolina to deliver his treasure of twice-stolen Africans, but before he did he intentionally wrecked the ship to split his company. Then he ended up taking a smaller crew and sixty of the strongest slaves with him on board his other sloop, Adventure, and some weeks later they arrived at that very spot that Aunt Celie had pointed out, where Bath Creek met the Pamlico River.

  Adam was so riveted listening to Aunt Celie tell all of this history that when Martin finally came back from the courthouse, he had nearly forgotten the reason they were there.

  “The clerk was there,” said Martin as he approached the boat. “I explained to him that we’re investigating the crimes in Craven and Carteret Counties on behalf of Constable Lawson Squires and Mrs. Dudley’s attorney, Mr. Pearce. He said we can talk to the sheriff about questioning the prisoner Paxon, but we’ll have to wait a few more minutes, because he’s not in yet.”

  “Did you see a tavern or anything around?” asked Adam.

  Martin shook his head. “No, but I can go back and look for one.”

  “’Scuse me, Mr. Martin,” said Aunt Celie, “but they used to be a place further up that street there.” She motioned down the eastern bank of Bath Creek from where they were presently docked. “I can’t remember they name, but you’ll see the place if it’s still there. They got a sign in the front.”

  “Good. I’ll be right back then,” said Martin.

  Adam decided to ask Celie if she had any family still around Bath.

  “No, sir,” she said. “Least I don’t reckon I do. Nobody who’d remember me anyhow. My mama died a long, long time ago, and I ain’t never knowed my daddy. I heard he came here on that same ship with my husband, but he won’t never no property of the Brights—they the family that Mrs. Alice come from. She’s Laney’s mama. He musta been slave to another family ’round here, or else he got carried off by his owner, but I never knew him, and my mama never did talk about him.”

  “Hmph.” Adam smiled. “We’ve got something in common then. My mama never talked about my daddy when I was growing up either. But I finally did meet him, you know.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Aunt Celie nodded deeply. “I done heard somethin ’bout that from Miss Laney.”

  “Would you like to wait here at the boat while we’re up at the gaol?” Adam asked. “I reckon the sun will warm things up a bit. It won’t be as cold as it was overnight.”

  “I can, Mr. Adam,” she said, “if you wantin me to.”

  Adam could see that while she said she would, she seemed very nervous at the prospect.

  “Of course you don’t have to wait here,” he said. “What would you rather do?”

  Aunt Celie thought for a minute, as if she was deciding whether or not she should say anything at all. Finally, Adam raised his eyebrows as if to say, Well, what do you want to do?

  She twisted her handkerchief around in her hand. “Well, Mr. Adam, if it’s alright with you I’d just as soon go over there to the gaol with y’all and wait up yonder. Prob’ly be safer than just stayin down here by the boat in this town. Ain’t nobody but strangers here now.”

  Adam smiled at her and nodded. “Alright. I understand. That’s just fine.”

  In fact, he did understand. This was exactly the kind of thing Martin had talked about. The fact was Aunt Celie didn’t feel safe waiting out at the boat by herself. She didn’t know anyone in Bath anymore, and since no one knew her, some unscrupulous person might think he could do her wrong in some way and get away with it. She knew that just by being with Adam and Martin, she had some visible sense of protection and safety. It was, of course, sad that things were like that, but hers was a very realistic fear.

  She lowered her eyes and quietly said, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Of course,” said Adam. “As soon as Martin gets back, we’ll all walk over there together.”

  WITHIN A FEW MINUTES MARTIN came back and said there was indeed a tavern further up the main street. They all liked the idea of going there and having something good and warm to eat but also knew they shouldn’t go there with Aunt Celie, since they didn’t know anyone in Bath and were concerned they could run into some problems. It was decided that since the gaol was closer to where their boat was docked than the tavern, they’d take care of that business first. After that, Adam would go to the tavern to see if he could get them something to eat. Aunt Celie would wait in the courthouse while the two of them went to talk to the prisoner.

  The Bath Town gaol was nothing more than a small cabin just a few dozen feet away from the courthouse, which was also a surprisingly small structure. From what Adam could tell, the courthouse and the ga
ol, as well as the pillory and stocks, were all in terrible disrepair. For that matter the very lot the buildings sat on appeared to be sinking and full of mud for being far too close to the water.

  “Goodness gracious,” said Adam as they got nearer to the gaol. “I don’t even see how they can keep prisoners in that thing. I mean, seems like they could bust right out if they wanted to!”

  Martin laughed and nodded in agreement.

  Aunt Celie looked terribly apprehensive about the whole situation. Adam knew she was a worrier, but he also knew that they ought to be done with their business quickly and then be on their way.

  The sheriff must have heard someone was looking for him, because almost as soon as they got near to the gaol, he crossed the lawn from the courthouse to greet the three of them.

  “Good day to ye,” he said. “I’ve been told you’re desiring a word with the prisoner Paxon. What cause would you have, if you mind not me asking?”

  “It’s good to meet you, sir,” said Martin. “We believe he may be able to help confirm for us, or rule out, that a body that was recently discovered in our county belongs to one of the men he claims as accomplices.”

  “Your county? Pray tell, what county would that be?”

  “We’re from the county of Carteret, Sheriff,” said Martin, matching the older man’s serious tone.

  Adam tried not to laugh. He’d never heard Martin put on such airs before.

  “Carteret, ye say?” said the sheriff. “I reckon that’s quite a distance from Bath Town. What cause have ye for thinking that the body you’ve seen has to do with Paxon’s villainy?”

  Adam couldn’t help but be amused at the sheriff’s manner of speaking. It wasn’t wrong at all, only it was unusually formal—and almost archaic, with the ye and the pray tell and the villainy. He couldn’t figure out why the middle-aged lawman chose to talk that way.

  After Martin provided a brief explanation of the situation, the sheriff agreed to let them speak to the prisoner.

  Adam could see that Aunt Celie seemed a little nervous. “Before we go in the gaol, Sheriff, would you mind if I escort Aunt Celie here to wait over in the courthouse?”

  The sheriff seemed surprised at the request, but he consented.

  Adam took Aunt Celie over to the courthouse, which was just a few paces away, and told her he’d be back to get her in just a few minutes. She took a seat on a bench just inside and waited for him there.

  It so happened that Mr. Paxon was Bath Town’s only prisoner—at least he was as soon as the sheriff released a man named Bob Cobb. He was a town indigent who played an old game with the local authorities by getting into some kind of mischief on particularly cold days so that he could spend the night (or several nights) in the town gaol, only to be let out again when they felt he’d served his time.

  When the sheriff let them into the gaol, Adam saw the only prisoner sitting on the floor, back to the wall, and his thoughts briefly drifted back to the crude hut he had been held in at Eduardo’s compound in Havana.

  “Paxon,” said the sheriff in a gruff voice, “these men would like to have a word with ye.”

  The dejected-looking prisoner hardly looked like he could be the architect of a criminal scheme—especially something as elaborate as the one of which he had been accused. He was in his thirties and had a kind-looking face. His light-brown hair was thinning on top, and wispy pieces fell forward in his face from his ponytail. Adam could see that Martin also seemed taken aback by the appearance of this pitiful-looking man. They exchanged similar glances of confusion and surprise.

  The sheriff motioned to the door and said, “I will be waiting here. I cannot leave ye alone with the prisoner, but I will not interfere with your investigation.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Uh… Well, thank you, sir. This shouldn’t take long.”

  “Mr. Paxon,” said Martin, standing a good distance from the man. “Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?”

  “What do you want with me?” he replied.

  He didn’t seem angry or nervous or anything. In fact, he was so calm it was a little unsettling.

  “You claim you had two accomplices,” said Martin. “We think it’s possible that—provided your story is true—one of them was killed over by Harlowe Creek. Would you be able to describe those men you claimed were helpin you, or tell us anything about them other than their names?”

  “Why should I?” said Paxon, again very calm, very matter-of-fact. “I’ve told the constable and the sheriff all that I know. I’ve told that man’s family, too. I didn’t kill him. Yes, I did have a plot to steal the merchandise and money with those other two men, but I would never commit murder.”

  “If you know one of those other men is responsible for the murder,” said Adam, “seems to me you’d want to see them brought in, to see justice done.”

  “I understand why you might think that, but they aren’t what I’d call trustworthy.” He stared blankly at the wall in front of him. “Those men are liars. In fact, one of them is a cold-blooded murderer.” He turned his blank stare to Adam. “And he’s going to get away with it.”

  “It don’t have to be that way, though,” said Martin. “If we’re able to figure out who these fellas are… to figure out if the man we saw is one of them, we can see to it that they’re brought to justice.”

  “That would be a welcome turn of events, but I put no stock in it,” said Paxon. He turned his stare back to the wall in front of him. “Don’t think I expect either of those men to come back here and clear my name from that murder charge. It’s better for them that I’m in here. More likely, they’d come back here and kill me long before they’d ever be caught.”

  Adam felt a chill go through him as he heard the prisoner’s words. He didn’t doubt the veracity of what the man had said. What he did question, however, was how anyone could approach being accused of murder, or counting murderers as your accomplices, as though it were an ordinary everyday thing.

  “They can come back and kill you anyway, Paxon,” said Adam. “If you at least describe them to us, the authorities will know who they need to be looking for.”

  “Foolish boy. I already told the authorities. They think Harmon and Rueben are figments of my imagination. They believe I’ve concocted them to try to ‘get off the hook,’ they say.”

  “Fine,” said Adam. “You’ve already told the authorities all about them. You haven’t told us. All we are asking is for you to describe them physically and any distinguishing characteristics or traits they might have.”

  Paxon was quiet for a minute. Adam and Martin exchanged uncomfortable glances. They weren’t sure if he was trying to decide on whether to answer them, or whether he had decided to stay altogether silent.

  The sheriff could see what was happening and decided to speak up. “Paxon, I tell ye, ye damned crazy devil, that if ye insist on keeping your lips buttoned thus, I’ll take these gentlemen away and I’ll not come back even to bring ye supper this night. Now speak, damn ye, or I’m of a right mind to wring that neck of yours forthwith.”

  Adam’s eyes grew wide at the sheriff’s threat. He looked at Martin. Then they both turned and gave a nod to Paxon to show they agreed with the sheriff.

  Paxon calmly took a deep breath. “Very well, then. The men you are looking for are some years apart in age, and they are brothers. They look nothing alike. I wonder if their mother might not have had them by two different men, yet they insist they have the same father. It’s of no matter to me either way.”

  “How old do you reckon they are?” said Martin.

  “I should think Harmon, the oldest, is about forty-five, but Reuben, he’s likely around thirty years of age.”

  “And how do they look?” Adam asked.

  “The younger one, Reuben, he has light-brown hair, almost golden—real curly—and light-brown eyes. The older one, Harmon, is showing his age. You can see his hair was black once, but it’s strea
ked now with silver. And his eyes are as blue as the sky. The ladies might think he’s a handsome fellow, but they don’t know his heart is as black as coal.”

  “And are they tall, short, average?” asked Adam.

  “They’re both average I’d say, but Harmon is not quite as tall as Reuben.”

  “Any scars, habits, anything else that you can tell us about them?” asked Martin.

  Paxon thought for a moment. “The older brother, Harmon, is a remarkable musician, but I don’t suppose that’ll help you much in identifying a dead body, and truth be told I also doubt he’d play a tune in the commission of a crime, so no, I don’t have anything else useful to tell you about them.” He smiled, then folded his hands over the top of his knees, which he had drawn up close to his body.

  Adam looked at Martin. He could tell they were both thinking the same thing.

  “I have one more question,” said Adam. “Do they have any other brothers or sisters?”

  Paxon shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve only ever known the two of them and have never heard them tell of any other family.”

  “Thank you,” said Martin.

  Paxon bobbed his head in acknowledgement but made no sound to suggest that he was happy to answer their questions.

  “Yes,” said Adam, “thank you. I believe you’ve helped us more than you know.”

  ONCE ADAM, MARTIN, AND THE sheriff were back outside the locked gaol, the sheriff asked them, “I heard ye talking to Paxon there. ’Tis true that he gave ye information that will be of help to ye?”

  Martin gave a deep nod. “Oh yes, sir. He did. We believe the younger brother he described could easily be the one we saw in the marsh at Harlowe Creek, and the older one— well, we suspect we might know who he is, too.”