Missing Witness (15 page)

“Coach, I don't know if I want to keep playing. I'm not doing good.”

“Baloney,” Joppa said with a smile. “You're doing much better. Your fielding has improved. You're starting to hit the ball. I'm proud of you. You keep it up, Ryan.”

The boy's face brightened. “Okay. Does that mean I can start next game?”

Joppa laughed. “Let's take things one step at a time. You keep up the good work. I'll keep my eye on you. You know my philosophy—I try to play everybody—give everybody a chance. Now you go over and join the rest of the guys.”

The red-haired boy smiled and skipped over to a table, then shoved his way in amid his friends.

Melvin Hooper came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his white chef's apron, and meandered over to Joppa's table. “It's going to be a couple more minutes for all the shakes and the burgers. The girls are getting the stuff ready for your team. They'll bring them out in a few minutes.”

Joppa nodded.

“So—what's the team look like?”

“Honestly,” he replied, lowering his head a little and talking in a low whisper, “we're going to have a tough time with the Baptists next weekend. They creamed us last season. They've got a great team again this year. So, we'll see…”

“Well, just for the record, I think you're doing a great job. It's too bad you don't have any help. Is that guy who brought some of the boys helping you out as assistant coach?”

Joppa shook his head. “No, he just picked the boys up after practice. I'm pretty much handling the coaching job myself. That's okay. I love it. I love being with the kids.”

“Just the same, I think you need an assistant coach. Too bad your son can't help you out. He was a pretty good ballplayer in high school. I don't see him around much anymore…”

Jonathan couldn't manage anything more than a slight twitch on the side of his mouth. “He's busy. You know how it is when they start getting older…”

“Yeah. Sure. I know how it goes,” Melvin patted Joppa on the shoulder.

“Hey, thanks for letting me bring Hank in here with the boys. I usually take him to the practices. I know it's probably a violation of the health code or something like that—to let a dog roam around a restaurant…”

“Don't worry about it,” Melvin shot back with a wry smile. “At the rate things are going with my case against the city fathers, they're going to be closing down this restaurant just like they said. Pay me a little bit of money. And then shut me down. I don't think we're going to win our case. They're going to be laying that new highway just about where you're sitting now, in no time flat. It bothers me so much, I can't hardly even think about it…” Melvin's face flushed.

He turned to walk back to the kitchen and then remembered something. “Say—how's that new lawyer working out? How's your case coming?”

“Not bad. Attorney Chambers is just getting started on the case. It's a little too soon to know for sure.”

Then Melvin called, “You want your shake to be chocolate, right?”

Joppa nodded and smiled.

“Keep the faith, Reverend Jonathan.” Melvin gave him the thumbs-up as he disappeared behind the counter.

As Joppa leaned back against the plastic bench in the café booth and watched the rambunctious boys, he thought about Melvin's comment.

He interpreted it as a mere pleasantry—off-the-cuff. Because if Jonathan Joppa took it seriously, he knew he couldn't possibly “keep the faith.” And that was exactly the sticking point. His position as the spiritual shepherd of the Safe Harbor Community Church required the very thing of him he knew he was incapable of.

21

W
ILL SPENT THE DAY MOTORING DOWN
the North Carolina coast along the waters of the Pamlico Sound. He was scheduled to meet with Susan Red Deer Williams at the Center for Indian Studies of the Carolinas, which was located at Bluff Point.

The center consisted of a one-story log cabin—a large, open room filled with displays of miniature Indian villages under glass, and two back offices. An older woman at the counter, with long black hair that reached down to the middle of her back, wearing blue jeans and a beautifully embroidered shirt, led Will back to Williams' office.

Susan Red Deer Williams was tall, almost Will's height, and had a square, thin face with high cheekbones. She had an athletic frame and wore her jet-black hair in braids. Her build was set off by long, dangling earrings made of multicolored beads, a plain blouse, and a spectacularly woven skirt with Indian designs.

As the lawyer entered the room with his briefcase, Williams rose slowly and extended a cautious hand. She did not smile.

Will thanked Williams for taking the time and indicated that he had been led to her by August Longfellow.

“Professor Longfellow and I, while we are cordial, do not always see eye-to-eye on Carolina coastal history—particularly when it concerns the Indian tribal groups and their treatment at the hands of the whites,” Williams said bluntly.

“To be honest, I'm really not interested in starting up a new series of Indian wars down here.”

Will smiled at his attempt at humor but Williams did not respond in kind. She glared at him and then said, “My time is limited, Mr. Chambers.”

“Then let me cut right to the chase. I'm here because of an unusual probate lawsuit. There is a historical issue that has to be resolved in order to determine who gets a certain piece of property—”

But before Will could continue, Williams interrupted.

“After your initial phone call, Mr. Chambers, I did some research on the lawsuit you wanted to talk to me about. I'm well aware, because of all the newspaper accounts, of the litigation involving the last will and testament of Randolph Willowby. I'm also well acquainted with the background—apparently your client, this Christian minister, has hired you to prove that one of his ancestors, Isaac Joppa, was not guilty of piracy. You want us to prove that so he can get a piece of real estate and make a whole lot of money for himself…have I left anything out?”

Will smiled and tried to pour oil on troubled waters.

“I think you have the gist of it. But this isn't just about money. There's also a fascinating and very important historical mystery that needs to be resolved. For several hundred years Isaac Joppa's reputation, here in the Outer Banks, has been that of a fool, a coward, and a willing pirate on Blackbeard's ship. Reverend Joppa and I would like to find out the truth.”

“Just so we're clear,” Williams responded, “I'm not helping you because I want to see some rich white men get richer. So that lawyers can get paid huge amounts of money to represent their clients. Or so that the history books can be rewritten about what happened to Isaac Joppa at the Battle of Ocracoke Inlet. That's not why I'm talking to you.”

“Well, perhaps you can explain it to me,” Will said diplomatically. “Why are you meeting with me?”

“Because—for better or worse—I believe that the fate of Isaac Joppa was connected to the Tuscarora Indians.”

“August Longfellow told me a little about that. There are some legends, among the Indians, that a white English pirate from Blackbeard's crew married an Indian princess.”

Susan Red Deer Williams shook her head dramatically and sighed.

“I'm afraid Longfellow did not get it straight.”

Will tapped his pen on his legal pad. He had traveled several hours for this meeting, entirely at August Longfellow's suggestion. Now, he was beginning to think he was on a wild goose chase.

“Well, perhaps you can straighten out the record for me.” Will was trying to keep his demeanor professional.

“You have to understand,” Williams said solemnly, “that what I'm going to tell you does not link Isaac Joppa to the Tuscarora Indians. Not precisely. And not by name.”

Will leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear the rest of the story.

“First of all, you need to know something about the Tuscarora Indians. Are you familiar with us?”

“I can't say that I am. But I'd love to get some background.”

“Well, the Tuscarora Indians helped the white English settlers here in the Pamlico Sound area in the early 1700s. Around 1710, things along the coastal area here were tough going. There were epidemics, wars, and a lot of mistrust between the English settlers and the indigenous Indian groups. Armed conflict broke out between the whites and the Indians in 1703, again in 1706, and yet again in 1707. The Tuscarora Indians began complaining, around 1710, that their Indian tribes were being subjected to kidnapping and that their lands were being stolen.”

“I haven't heard of the Tuscaroras before,” Will said. “Are they related to other Indian groups?”

“The Tuscaroras were the Sixth Nation of the Iroquois,” Williams said, showing some pleasure in Will's interest in Indian history. “The fact is, they disappeared entirely from the Carolinas by somewhere around the early nineteenth century. By then they had relocated all the way up to upstate New York.”

“Why the move?” Will asked.

“A lot of reasons. But what you need to know is that the Tuscarora Wars broke out between 1711 and around 1715. These were fierce battles. Bloodshed and atrocities on both sides. One of the Indian chiefs, King Bob Blount, was given a reward by the English when a treaty was finally worked out. Apparently he had been cooperative in resolving the wars, and so the English authorities in North Carolina appointed him as king over all the Tuscarora Indians, confining them to a reservation area near Lake Mattamuskeet. Not all the Indians were happy about that, of course.”

“So how does this relate to Isaac Joppa?” Will said, trying to connect the dots.

“Remember, everything back then was oral history, transmitted from one generation to another by recitation. That's how the Indian history was passed down. Isaac Joppa's name never surfaced. But what we do know is, there was a lot of history recorded about an Indian chief named King
Bob
Blount. But you don't find his
brother
mentioned anywhere in the English history of the area. The brother's name was King
Jim
Blount. As the title
king
indicates, he considered himself a chief as well. But he was not given the favor of the English like Bob Blount was. And so, when the treaty was struck and his brother was made king, King Jim took his daughter, Priceless Pearl—that's the name she later used, and we're not sure
what her original Indian name was—and took his warrior son, Great Hawk Blount, and headed off on his own, along with some other Tuscarora dissenters, away from the reservation area. King Jim Blount settled, for a while, with his son and daughter at Bluff Point.”

“And so…” Will said, trying to probe further, “is that where they came in contact with someone you believe may have been Isaac Joppa?”

Williams nodded. “Here is the story as it has been passed down from generation to generation. King Jim, Great Hawk, and Priceless Pearl had set up camp down at Bluff Point. Bluff Point extends out into the Pamlico Sound. It lies directly north by northwest, about fifteen miles or so, from the Ocracoke Inlet, where the battle between the English navy and Blackbeard's pirate crew took place.”

Now Williams had Will's attention. “You think it's possible that Isaac Joppa met King Jim, his daughter, and his son there at Bluff Point?”

“All I know is that there was a white, English-speaking sailor. And he had been part of Blackbeard's pirate crew. And they met him there on the shore of Bluff Point. There was never an actual ceremony of marriage between Priceless Pearl and this sailor. But their encounter was…how do I describe this?” Williams' voice drifted off.

“Tell me about it,” Will said eagerly.

22

“T
HIS IS THE STORY AS IT HAS BEEN PASSED DOWN
,” Susan Red Deer Williams began. “You have to realize how accurate the oral histories of the American Indians are. They were not, by and large, a people of written records. Rather, history was committed to memory. They relied on the ability to orally transmit accurate information about their exploits. Their battles. Their victories. Their defeats. The people that they encountered. And the events that mattered most to them.”

“All right,” Will said. “What you're telling me is that this story has a reasonable degree of credibility because of the fidelity with which the Indians would pass down their oral history…correct?”

“Exactly,” Williams said with a half smile, recognizing Will's appreciation for her culture.

“So…what happened?”

“What I'm about to tell you is a story that has been communicated among the Tuscarora Indian tradition, and specifically those Indians down here along the Pamlico Sound.”

Susan Red Deer Williams paused momentarily, leaned forward on her desk, and folded her hands in front of her. She was about to recite not only a small portion of the history of her people—but also the sketchy and woefully incomplete account of the remarkable occurrence between a Tuscarora Indian chief, his son, his daughter, and someone from Edward Teach's pirate ship.