Missing Witness (35 page)

Isaac Joppa, standing in the witness dock in the cavernous Justice Hall in the Old Bailey Courthouse of London's Central Criminal Court, was thinking about something else.

His mind was not on the scarlet-robed judge, Mr. Justice Dormer, who sat presiding on the looming, high bench. Nor was it on the dozens of black-robed clerks and wigged barristers milling in and out of the huge hall, nor on the six jurors in the box on one side of him, and the other six jurors on the other, eyeing him closely. Nor, in fact, was Joppa's attention focused on his own lawyer, Oliver Newhouse, Esquire, who had just posed a question to him and was patiently waiting for an answer.

Isaac was thinking back to his arrival in London after leaving the Tuscarora Indians—penniless, his physical appearance and clothing in shambles. He had managed to stow away on a sloop from Charleston, South Carolina. And he remembered his arrival in the great, bustling, ugly, noisy, confusing metropolis of London.

After sneaking off the ship, he made a wide berth around the customs house, where a large force of officers milled about in their war against illegal smugglers.

He cautiously walked along Leadenhall Street, past the offices of the great East India Company and, a few streets later, past the South Sea and Royal African Companies as well. He continued up along the Thames River, along the Billingsgate Dock, where seamen and boatmen were repairing ships in the noisy, blackened yards. Then among the dismal warehouses of the harbor area, he spotted the Boar's Head Tavern. There he hoped to find some work—enough, at least, to pay for a meal and a night's lodging. And he would figure out what else he would do later.

He knew he must eventually face up to the criminal charges lodged against him back in the American colonies. But beyond even that, he had, these many months, lived with a desperate longing to see the face of the woman he loved. He needed, first and foremost, to find his way back to Bristol. To show himself to his beloved Abigail Merriwether. What must she have thought in this past year? That he was dead? That he had fallen out of love with her?

He trudged into the Boar's Head after evening had fallen. He begged the proprietor for some form of work…if only he could have a meal and a bed for the night. The owner eyed him suspiciously. But to his surprise, he was shown to a room that he would share with three other sailors. At least he would have his own straw mat on the ground to lie upon.

What Isaac did not know then but would soon discover was that the proprietor had made a fine business of turning over wayward and deserting sailors to the British Crown. He was usually given a small bounty from the government per head. He was regularly supplied with a list of every
English sailor charged with desertion, abandonment of his post of duty, or other miscellaneous offenses. Isaac Joppa's name was on the list—charged with desertion from the
Intrepid
.

So, shortly after his arrest at the Boar's Head, it was learned that he had also been charged, by the grand jury back in Bath, with piracy…

“Sir, I put the question to you again,” Barrister Newhouse said sympathetically to Isaac. “You do admit you have entered a plea of guilty here in London, in the admiralty court, to charges of desertion from the ship
Intrepid,
which was captained by Zebulun Boughton of His Majesty's Royal Navy, is that correct?”

Isaac, steadying himself on the rail, nodded and then answered. “I admit I deserted the ship. I do not deny those things of which I am guilty, sir. But the truth is…I was a young and impressionable sailor, much inexperienced, I regret to say. I was assigned to the
Intrepid
under Captain Boughton.”

“And without belaboring the point, sir,” Newhouse continued, “did any barbarous or inhuman acts take place on the
Intrepid
while you were serving as a nonconscripted sailor?”

“Yes,” Isaac replied, his voice slightly unsteady. “I remember one instance—it was most shocking to me. One of the crew had stolen a potato from the store in the hold. Captain Boughton ordered him to be beaten with thirty lashes. Then he was stripped bare and lashed to the foresail. It was a calm day, no wind, and the sun was quite hot. He was left there for two days without food or water. No one tended to his injuries, sir. At the end of two days, the man died.”

Then Isaac Joppa gazed up and turned to Justice Dormer. “Rockdale, Your Honor. James Rockdale. That was the name of the sailor who died.”

Oliver Newhouse had led his client, delicately and expertly, through his life from leaving Bath, North Carolina, to his romantic encounter with Abigail Merriwether in England, to his joining the English navy, through his desertion from the
Intrepid,
then his voyage out of Dublin on the ship
Good Intent,
and ultimately to his capture by Edward Teach. But now Newhouse was going to conclude his examination with the key facts surrounding the alleged acts of piracy against the
Marguerite
.

“Mr. Newhouse,” Justice Dormer intoned from the high judicial bench, “This court has been most lenient, and with extraordinary patience has allowed you to participate far beyond the usual and customary procedure of the Central Criminal Court. As you know, Mr. Newhouse, it is routine for this court to exclude all defense counsel in felony cases…It has long
been felt that the presence of defense lawyers in such cases does nothing to expedite justice. And such cases involving serious criminal accusations are thought the most forthright in their defense when they have the least encumbrance with the finer points of the law. You have persuaded me, perhaps against my better judgment, to allow you to appear as counsel for the accused…”

Newhouse smiled and restored an errant hair to his painstakingly powdered wig.

“I am, Your Honor, most appreciative of the wisdom, not to mention the patience, of the court. But, of course, you shall remember I am thoroughly convinced of my point to the court—that a charge of piracy is tantamount, in all respects, to a charge of treason against the Crown itself. And in such cases, this court has permitted defense counsel to aid in the administration of the justice of the cause.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Justice Dormer said with a sigh, waving his hand vaguely in Newhouse's direction. “Just…get on with it, sir. About your business now, and conclude your examination.”

“Isaac Joppa, you stand accused of acts of piracy, specifically as to the sloop
Marguerite,
at a point some one hundred miles off the coast of Martinique. What do you say, sir? Did you participate knowingly and willfully in any acts of piracy by Captain Edward Teach and his piratical conspirators?”

“No, sir, I did not,” Joppa said firmly.

“But you were seen, sir, roaming about the upper deck of Teach's ship, without chains or manacles. Free to come and go. Would you explain that to the jury, sir, so as to provide a truthful accounting of that?”

“I'd been permitted some fresh air by a man who had befriended me. Indeed he was a member of Teach's pirate crew…that I truthfully admit. He was called only Caesar. I do not know his full Christian name…if any Christian name he had. He was a former slave. But he had become a trusted member of Captain Teach's assembly of men. Yet he, I think, had much affection for me. And showed kindness to me.”

“And why is that, sir?” Newhouse said, his voice rising in intensity. “What did you do to earn the respect of such a piratical character?”

“Master Teach, in his continued acts of villainy, had attacked a ship called the
Concorde
. I had been, for some time, manacled down in the hold of one of his ships. I had spent many months chained and manacled with irons to a barrel of china and silverplate within the hold of the ship. Such barrels Mr. Teach had obtained by acts of thievery against another ship.
Teach had captured me and taken me as prisoner because he learned I had taken some medical instruction during my time in His Majesty's Navy. On one occasion, Teach unmanacled me and asked that I attend to the injuries of a group of slaves from the coast of Africa. Several had been injured during the taking of the
Concorde
. I asked Teach if he intended to release them. He threw his head back and roared out a laugh that sounded like the devil himself.
No!
He wanted them to be in prime condition to gain him a price most advantageous. There were, in total, some one hundred and twenty-five of these unfortunate fellows. I begged Captain Teach to allow some to go free. Then he grabbed me by the throat with both hands, and told me he would break my neck like a chicken's and toss me overboard if I raised the matter in his presence again.”

“What was the response from this Caesar fellow?”

“From then after, at almost all times when it was just Mr. Caesar and I, he was most gentle with me, practically as a brother. And would unshackle me and allow me to have fresh air from time to time. When the sloop
Marguerite
was being plundered by Captain Teach, that was one of those occasions.”

“And as for the accusation that you were on deck, waving your hands so as to give orders to the pirate crew of Teach…so that they would hoist the jib and let fall the foresail of the
Marguerite
after boarding her—what say you, sir?”

“I was waving my arms and moving my hands—it is a truth,” Joppa answered quietly. “But I was not giving instructions, nor orders…how could I? I was, in truth, moving my arms as I had been in much pain and stiffness, being chained to the barrel for weeks and weeks. And I was rubbing my wrists out of the pain inflicted on them by the manacles.”

For a moment the great Justice Hall was quiet. Justice Dormer cleared his throat.

Then Isaac Joppa caught sight of a figure entering at the back of the tall chambers. When he caught sight of the person, his eyes filled with tears and his shoulders began shaking with grief. He could no longer control himself. He placed his face in his hands and wept. He wept bitterly, sobbing as he leaned against the mahogany rail of the witness dock.

As Isaac Joppa's sobs echoed throughout the great hall, Abigail Merriwether, in a bright yellow silken dress, stood in the doorway.

52

V
IRGIL
M
AC
P
HERSON STRODE CASUALLY
to the podium while August Longfellow stretched slightly in the witness chair.

“Dr. Longfellow, I listened with great interest during your direct examination. As you described the trial of the surviving members of the Edward Teach pirate gang. The trial in Williamsburg, Virginia. In admiralty court. And I made careful notes. And here's what my notes indicate—that you said, ‘All of the surviving pirates of Teach's crew were found guilty and hanged.' Now that is what you said, is it not, Dr. Longfellow?”

Longfellow nodded confidently. “Yes, sir. That's exactly what I testified to.”

“And you're here as a so-called historical expert. You're not a professor of history, you're a professor of cultural affairs—whatever that is. But you claim to be a historian of Carolina coastal matters, is that correct?”

“I consider myself a regional historian, that's correct.”

“And if you're a historian, you'd better get your historical facts right, isn't that correct?”

“If you're a historian, then you'd better be historically accurate.”

“Exactly,” MacPherson said enthusiastically. “I couldn't have said it better myself. Which is why I'm a little confused…because you recited some bad history here today.”

“How so?” Longfellow asked, growing slightly uncomfortable.

“You said that all the pirates who survived and who were tried in Williamsburg were found guilty and hanged. That's not correct, is it?”

Longfellow took a minute to reflect. The fingers of both of his hands were beginning to drum on the railing in front of him.

“On further reflection, I would amend my statement slightly. It is correct that all of the pirates were found guilty. But now that I think about it, there was one who was not hanged…”

“And can you remember that pirate's name?” MacPherson asked, his voice rising with just a tinge of ridicule.

“No, I'm sorry, I can't…”

“Does the name ‘Israel Hands' ring a bell?” MacPherson's voice rose even more.

“Yes. That's right. He was found guilty, but not hanged. I don't remember the details…”

“He was not hanged because he was given a pardon at the last moment. You didn't remember that? As a historian—a so-called historian—of local matters of piracy along the Carolina coast, you didn't recall that?”

Longfellow shrugged. Will could see that his expert witness's resolve was beginning to disintegrate.

“And Dr. Longfellow, in addition to being a so-called historical expert, and a professor of philosophy, and a professor in cultural affairs, you have also written some books of poetry?”

“Yes. Two rather slim volumes of poetry, that's correct.”

“Dr. Longfellow, I'm very impressed. You are, truly, a man of many talents.”

Longfellow smiled and nodded, and then added, “Thank you.”

“No, truly,” MacPherson continued, pressing the point, “You are more than that. You are a Renaissance man.”