On the other hand, if in some manner Zephary Evans had got possession of those papers—
"There's witnesses," he muttered.
But—who? Maisie was dead, Seth Selden was dead. Waters and Peterson were outlaws, whose testimony, even if obtainable, would count for nothing. John Bond and the boy Rellison and Resolved Forbes, China-bound, might be gone two, three, even four years.
"Jeth Gardner was here then. Nobody in Newport's going to doubt the word of Jeth Gardner."
"Jury won't come from Newport. This ain't colonial, this is admiralty. Only reason Dudley wants to try you in Newport is because he wants to scare us. But he won't take any chances with the jury."
All the same, nobody from anywhere, even Boston, could question Jeth Gardner.
Henry Pearson took a drink. Abe Moore was looking at the deck.
"Adam, I hate to tell you this but Jethro Gardner suffered another stroke last week. He ain't going to testify for or against anybody. He can't write. He can't talk. He can't even recognize you when you put your face right in front of him."
"Oh— I'm sorry to hear that."
"We all were, Adam."
But there had been another one aboard of Goodwill at that time.
Let's see now— Aye! That runty Londoner, the one who whined, the Navy deserter he had rescued from a press gang in Kingston.
"In that case," said Adam, "I would demand that Willis Beach be summoned as a witness in my behalf."
They stared in astonishment.
"Why, man, Beach is a crown witness! Why, he's the whole crown case! He's the man who's bringing the charge of piracy against you!"
In the drizzle of dawn they picked up Sachuest Point, and a little later they could make out Cormorant Rock and Coggeshall's and the whole southern part of the island.
Captain Long had not changed his course by one foot as a result of the news the fishermen brought. Even if Deborah Selden hadn't existed, he would have headed straight for Newport. That was his town, for better or for worse. If the folks there disliked and distrusted him so much that they would believe what was said about him by the little Londoner Willis Beach—who obviously had been threatened with a return to the Navy and was willing to sing any song the Queen's commissioners called for—then that was just too bad. He wasn't going to try to tell himself that he didn't care. He did care. He was heartsick about it. But he kept his course.
They had been seen. Goodwill's rig was unmistakable. They were being watched. Horsemen rode back from the beach and over the folded hills toward -town, rode along the shore, too, and the crowds on foot grew throughout the morning. Past Brenton's Reef, past Graves Point, and all along the east shore of the passage going up into the bay a mass of humanity moved evenly with the schooner.
"Going to be quite a welcome," Captain Long muttered. "Reckon I better put on my red coat."
When they came into sight of the town he used his glass to pick up the Selden house, but he couldn't see Deborah.
Now the crowd was enormous, more people than Adam had supposed to be in the whole danged colony. The town was black with them—and not just along the waterfront but up the hill past the pump, past the new tavern on the road to the tannery, all up Jew Street, too, clear as far as the cemetery.
He put away the glass.
"I'll go ashore first thing," he told Mr. Holyoake. "Aye, aye, sir."
The gig was smart now, varnished. Adam sat in the sternsheets, his hands on his knees, his chin held high. Must have been a thousand pairs of eyes watching him, he reflected. Morbid curiosity? They wanted to witness the arrest of a man who might be hanged? Or was it more personal, so many folks having waited so long for a chance to see the Duchess' brat get his comeuppance.
He kept himself cold. He did not try to pick individuals out of the crowd, for that might suggest that he was nervous. He wouldn't give 'em the satisfaction. The faces were a blur to him.
Nor would he avoid or evade anything. He'd land at the Wharf and make directly for the customs house, as he had always done.
He stepped ashore, straightened, looked up.
The crowd burst into a cheer.
They were wild with enthusiasm. The town, the whole bay, rang with their shouts. Hats were thrown. Barrel tops were beaten. Women waved kerchiefs. There were even a few muskets fired off.
An instant after Adam had straightened himself to glower at his enemies he learned that they were in fact his friends. He was surrounded by men who thumped his shoulders, pummelled his back, sought out his hands, babbled glad greetings. He had all he could do to keep his footing and was nearly congratulated off the end of the Wharf.
The tale was quickly told. The town had never been shocked. What Captain Long did when he was down in the sugar islands was Captain Long's business, the way Newport figured it. But the invasion of Stiff Necks from Boston, the periwigs, the pomposity, were resented. And when it was learned that a warrant had actually been made out—which would mean a trial, probably an expensive one, too—folks began to bubble and boil. It was clear that the whole crown case hung on the story told by Willis Beach, a man not much liked in the first place. So men went to Willis Beach. They got there just before the crown marshals, who had decided to put Beach in jail for safe keeping. They told the little man to move away.
"You mean," cried Adam, "that more than one man did this?"
"More than one! Must've been half the town did it! The Dudley men put him in jail anyway, but he broke out. He headed west, and I don't suppose he hauled up till he hit Hartford, if then. That was three days ago and I shouldn't be surprised if he was running yet."
"All this talking makes me thirsty," somebody said.
At Blake's the rum flowed like water, with everybody waving his jack and shouting a welcome. Nor was Adam expected to pay for these drinks: they wouldn't even let him pay for his own.
The disappearance of Beach blew the case sky-high, of course. The warrant might still exist but it would never be served. The charter was safe. The Dudley forces had been routed. Even Zeph Evans, a stubborn man, had decamped—two days ago, taking his wife and all his goods with him, he had boarded a coaster for New York.
Somehow Obadiah Selden got to Adam and backed him into a corner.
"I'm proud of you, my boy! Proud of you! We all are!"
Adam swallowed.
"I, uh, I sent a letter to Miss Deborah—"
"I know."
"Maybe it's too bad I did that. She'd not be likely to want somebody that's been in a—well, a sort of disgrace like this."
Obadiah laid a hand on his arm. Close though they were, they had to shout at one another in that hubbub.
"Adam, she told me three days ago, when things were at their worst, she told me she wanted you no matter what happened."
"She did? She said that?"
"She did. I warned her it looked mighty black—as it did, right then— and I said she wouldn't want to marry a man who might be hanged right afterward. And you know what she said to that, Adam?"
"What?"
"She said, I'd rather be Adam Long's widow than anybody else's wife.'"
Somebody turned Obadiah around. A few of the men were asking him if he couldn't persuade Captain Long to stand up on the Adventurers' Table and make a speech.
"I'll try," he said, and turned back.
But Adam wasn't there any longer. Adam was outside, running up the hill to the Selden house.
For supper there was to be turkey and brook trout and injun-and-molasses and a pie made out of rhubarb. Obadiah Selden and his favorite skipper had flip beforehand.