Solomon Key

Chapter 11

The streets of Colonial Williamsburg were crowded with tourists, gawking at the colonial-era buildings and snapping photographs of the costumed staff members. Occasionally, someone would stop what they were doing and slowly turn to gape at Bones.

“You know what they’re thinking, don’t you?” Maddock asked.

“That I’m one of the tools who work here,” Bones said. “The first person who asks me to put on a war bonnet and do the tomahawk chop is going to get a throat punch.”

“Relax,” Maddock said. “They don’t mean anything by it.”

“I can’t relax. It’s like a comic con for history nerds.”

Maddock laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He was a bit of a history buff, particularly when it came to Colonial America. Consequently, Colonial Williamsburg was one of his favorite tourist destinations. He’d visited a few times with his dad and once with his late wife, Melissa. Neither of his subsequent serious girlfriends had been interested, so it had been several years since he’d paid this place a visit. He was pleased to see that little had changed.

Located in the historic district of Williamsburg, Virginia, the living history museum preserved the buildings and culture of eighteenth-century Williamsburg, as well as Colonial Revival structures from the seventeenth and nineteenth century. Here, visitors could enjoy a slice of colonial life and educate themselves about the era leading up to the American Revolutionary War.

“Is there anything here for me to do?” Bones asked.

“You mean besides the four taverns?”

“Now you’re talking!” Bones looked around, as if one of the aforementioned establishments were hiding somewhere nearby. “What’s the chick situation?”

“Thin on the ground,” Maddock replied. In fact, The College of William and Mary was located nearby, but Bones didn’t need anything to distract him. They had work to do.

Off to their left, the sun shone down on the capitol building. The sturdy, brick structure was constructed in an H shape, with two large chambers connected by a central, open arcade. The steep roof of the two-and-a-half story structure was surmounted by a tall, white clock tower.

“Awesome!” Bones said.

“It is cool, isn’t it?” Maddock agreed. “This is where Patrick Henry made his famous ‘Give me liberty or give me death’ speech. It’s actually a reconstruction of the original capitol building. Some people think it’s not quite accurate, but it captures the spirit.”

“What are you talking about?” Bones asked. “Other side of the road, bro.”

To their right, on the other side of the road, a brick sidewalk led the way to a two-story house. A covered front porch ran along its length. The sign out front read Christiana Campbell’s Tavern.

“I’ve been there,” Maddock said. “It was George Washington’s favorite place to eat. Amazing crab cakes.”

“What’s the beer situation?”

“I don’t remember. But they don’t open until evening.”

“Of course, they don’t,” Bones grumbled. “This is the lamest vacation you’ve ever taken me on.”

Of course, they weren’t on vacation, but Maddock saw no point in correcting his friend.

They rounded the corner and soon found themselves standing before the Williamsburg Public Gaol. They purchased tickets for the tour and joined the crowd queuing up in front of the sturdy, pitched roof brick structure.

“Why do they call it a gaol?” Bones asked.

“It’s pronounced ‘jail.’ It’s from a French word derived from a Latin word that means ‘cage.’” Maddock explained.

“I thought maybe it’s because dudes who stay locked up together sometimes…”

“Just don’t,” Maddock said, holding up a hand.

“Not judging. Just wondering.”

Thankfully, a costumed docent chose that moment to appear at the front door and begin the tour. Bones dropped his line of questioning and directed his attention toward the man in the tricorn hat.

“The so-called ‘strong sweet prison’ was constructed in 1701 and remained in use until after the Civil War,” the docent began. “The original jail measured twenty by thirty feet with two cells, an exercise yard, and lodgings for the jailer. A reinforced floor prevented prisoners from digging their way out. The facility expanded over time. Most of it was destroyed during the Civil War. It was restored in 1936. In years past, thieves, debtors, political prisoners, runaway slaves, and sometimes the mentally ill were detained in this jail. During the revolution, Tories, or loyalists, along with spies, traitors, deserters, and military prisoners were confined here. Some of the more notorious prisoners who passed through these doors include Henry ‘Hair Buyer’ Hamilton, a British Lieutenant Governor accused of buying pioneer scalps from the Indians.” Bones’ shoulders bobbed in silent laughter. “And fifteen pirates who served on the crew of the legendary captain Edward Teach, also known as Blackbeard, were held here prior to execution.”

Maddock and Bones exchanged knowing looks as they and the other guests followed their guide up the steps and into the gaol. The tour first took them through the jailer’s living quarters. Their guide gave a little background on the gaol and the life of Peter Pelham, the jailer who lived here during the time period the living history museum replicated. Next, he led them along a lantern-lit corridor into a jail cell where he handed them off to another docent. This man, though apparently in his sixties, was sturdily built, with powerful arms and a broad chest. Maddock thought the fellow the very picture of a Colonial Era jailer.

The cell in which they stood was large and fairly comfortable, with a fireplace, pit toilet, and space to hold several inmates. Light streamed through a double-barred window, illuminating the dark wood walls and floor. This, the guide explained, was where debtors were held, usually under limited supervision. Outside, he added, were the more secure cells, which housed the more serious criminals, including Blackbeard’s pirates.

Conditions in the outdoor cells were Spartan. Solid wood from floor to ceiling, heavy doors, no heat source, and only a pair of small, barred windows to admit light. Maddock winced at the thought of prisoners passing the winter months here.

“I think this is a dead end, Maddock,” Bones said. “So much of this place has been reconstructed, I don’t think we’re going to find a ring hidden here.”

“We’re here for information, clues.” Maddock approached the guide and asked a couple of simple questions about the construction of the facility and eventual disposition of the prisoners. Next, he broached the subject of archaeology.

“I know the site has been destroyed and reconstructed. Have there been any excavations?”

The guide nodded eagerly. “Extensive. Lots of artifacts recovered.”

Maddock tensed. He knew from research that there had been digs on the site, but could not find specifics of what had been unearthed. “What sorts of things did they find?”

“What you’d expect. Leg irons, chains, broken tools, bits of crockery. Nothing remarkable, but interesting to those who are passionate about the period.”

“Any jewelry?” Bones asked. “Rings, necklaces, personal effects?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. Those sorts of things would likely have been confiscated from the prisoner upon incarceration. As far as the living quarters are concerned, a jailer would have taken his personal effects with him when he left his post, or his family would take his effects if he died.”

“What happened to the artifacts that were recovered on the site?” Maddock asked, though he held out scant hope that the ring would have been among the items uncovered.

“A few are on display in the museums on site. The rest are in storage, I assume. As I said, nothing remarkable there.”

Maddock nodded thoughtfully. “You mentioned pirates. Any stories about Black Caesar?”

The guide’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of the name. “You’re a historian, I take it?”

“My dad was interested in pirate lore.”

“Everyone asks about Blackbeard but no one asks about Black Caesar. He was an interesting character.”

“What can you tell us about him?” Bones asked.

“Not much, but I know someone you can ask. Kendra Gill. She’s one of our ghost tour guides.”

“Ghost tours?” Bones blurted. “Seriously?”

“Williamsburg is one of the most haunted places in all of Virginia. Even the jail is haunted.”

“Awesome!” Bones turned to Maddock. “Dude, you’ve been holding out on me.”

Maddock grimaced. He’d known it was only a matter of time before Bones learned of the legends of so-called haunted Williamsburg.

“I can give you Ms. Gill’s number,” the guide said. “I’m sure she’d love to meet with you. She’s quite passionate about her job.”

“How does she know so much about Black Caesar?” Maddock asked.”

When the man replied, Maddock thought he was joking, but his expression was sincere.

“She’s spoken with him.”