The Thackery Journal

by John Holt

  “Pablo, Anton, come here quickly, there’s somebody coming.”

  There was no response. He called again, louder this time. Still there was no response. Where can they be?

  The sound of the approaching riders grew louder. He couldn’t tell how many there were, but from the sound he judged that there were several, a dozen perhaps, or maybe more. He called once more to his colleagues. Still there was no response. He stared in the direction of the riders, straining to see, without success. He lifted his lantern higher, hoping that it would improve his visibility. As he did so, a single shot rang out from his right hand side. He turned slightly towards the right, and then fell to the ground, dead. Pablo emerged from the shadows and walked over to where Felipe lay. He looked down at the body, as he returned his gun, the barrel still smoking, into the holster.

  Moments later the main gates to the Depository slowly opened, and Anton came out. He was holding a lantern high above his head, swinging it from side to side. An answering signal came out of the darkness where ten riders had stopped at the sound of the gunfire. At the sight of the signal they continued moving forward.

  “Alright Anton, we may as well get started bringing the gold out,” said Pablo, looking down the road at the oncoming riders. “The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”

  He turned around and he and his companion walked back inside the building. Shortly afterwards they re-emerged pulling a handcart, on which were loaded three timber crates. The crates were then unloaded, and stacked. The two men then returned back inside, returning a short time later with another three crates. As they brought out the third consignment the riders arrived. Three wagons rolled into the front of the Depository and stopped close to the growing pile of crates.

  The riders dismounted and immediately started to load the crates on to the wagons. One hour later all three wagons were fully loaded, and the Depository had lost fifteen crates, amounting to $300,000 dollars. The two guards stood by, smiling. They had done a good job for the Confederacy. They were to be well paid. Now, according to the plan, they would simply collect their money, and then disappear. They would make their way across the border, into Texas, to a new life.

  The leader of the group of riders slowly rode forward, and stopped a few yards in front of the men. They raised their hands in salute. Captain Dixon thought for a few moments, remembering his orders.

  * * *

  “Captain, there is one more thing before you go,” said the General holding his hand up.

  “Yes sir,” said the Captain.

  “There will be two men at the Depository,” the General explained. “They will fetch the gold for you, and help you load it on to the wagons.”

  “Yes sir, I understand.”

  The General said nothing for a few moments. “Once you have the gold safely loaded on the wagons, it will be necessary for those two men to be …” He paused once again. “Disposed of.”

  The Captain looked puzzled. “Disposed of, sir? I don’t understand.”

  “Captain, they are to be eliminated,” the General explained. “They are to be killed.”

  The Captain was puzzled more than ever. “But sir, I understood that these men were helping us,” he replied.

  “Captain this whole operation is meant to look like a robbery,” the General replied. “These people cannot be left alive to say otherwise. Understand?”

  The Captain made no reply.

  “Captain, do you understand?”

  No the Captain did not understand, but he knew that he was meant to obey orders. “Yes sir,” he replied almost in a whisper.

  “Captain, I didn’t hear you,” said the General.

  The Captain took a deep breath, and stood to attention. “Yes sir, I understand.”

  “Good. Now go and make the necessary arrangements, and pick your men,” said the General. “You leave first thing tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “Don’t forget Captain,” the General had said. “It is to look like a robbery has taken place, a simple robbery, nothing more.” Dixon slowly withdrew his pistol, took careful aim, and quickly fired two shots. Both men fell to the ground.

  Dixon looked at the two bodies lying on the ground. He shivered, and pulled his cape tightly around his shoulders. Although the rain had eased slightly, it was still cold. But it wasn’t the cold that had made him shiver. He looked at the bodies once again. He had never killed anyone like that before. Oh yes he had killed in the height of battle, where it was kill or be killed, but never face to face like that, so cold bloodedly.

  “Sir,” a voice called behind him. “We best be going sir, it’s getting late.”

  Dixon continued to stare at the two men. He hadn’t understood the order when it had originally been given by the General. He didn’t understand it now. It didn’t make any sense to him. Two complete strangers who one minute had been helping him, and the next moment they lay dead on the ground.

  “Sir,” the voice called once again. “We need to go now, sir.”

  Dixon turned to face the voice. “Did you say something, Corporal?”

  “I did indeed, sir,” the Corporal replied. “It’s time we were on our way, sir.”

  “Alright Corporal, let’s go.”

  Dixon turned his horse, and quickly rode back to where the others were waiting. “Troop,” he ordered. “Mount up.”

  The riders mounted their horses, waiting for the order to go. Dixon took one last look at the bodies lying on the ground. There would be three families missing a husband tomorrow morning; children missing three fathers.

  He turned away and took out his watch. It was a quarter past three. The day shift reported for duty at eight in the morning. Then they would discover the missing gold, and the three dead guards. It would look exactly like a robbery, just as the General had instructed. He had followed his orders to the letter.

  Dixon had a little less than five hours in which to get as far away as possible. It would take at least three or four hours to reach the border, assuming there was no trouble along the way. He would position two men forward, with instructions to keep an eye open.

  * * *

  Dixon’s orders were to proceed to the north east, avoiding the main towns, and cross the border into Texas. Then the convoy would turn east and head towards the rail depot at Bernadine, situated some forty miles into Texas. There would be a train waiting to take him, his men, and the gold to the rail head at Stanway some five hundred miles further north. There the shipment would be met by his old friend Jacob Thackery who would then take the gold on a short trip to the coast, and deliver it to the French Navy.

  Dixon calculated that it would take at least four days to get to Stanway and from there probably another two days to the coast. The ships would be there on the twenty-ninth. They would return each day over the following three days. Then they would be gone. It was cutting it fine, he thought, but it could be done. He looked back at his troop, and held his arm high, and gave the signal to move out. Slowly the convoy moved forward, Dixon taking the lead, with two troopers close by. Then the three wagons that made up the convoy, with troopers at either side and to the rear, followed.

  Phase one of the operation had been completed successfully.

  * * *

  The Gold Wagon

  The convoy proceeded without incident. The rain had finally stopped and it was beginning to get light. Captain Robert Dixon slowed down, and pulled over, allowing the column to ride by. As the last of the troopers rode by he looked back along the trail they had taken. He judged that they had covered about thirty or forty miles, and were now safely across the border.

  He looked at his fob watch. “Half past six,” he murmured. Another one and a half hours before the robbery would be discovered. He would have liked to have taken a break, but he still wanted to be a lot further on. He decided to press on for the time being.

  Two hours later the column reached a bend in the river. To one side was a steep bank rising up to the limestone slopes of the mountai
n range. On the other side the land sloped gently down to the valley floor. He called for the troop to halt. He took out his field glasses and looked down into the valley. There, just a short distance away was Bernadine, and waiting on the track, as expected, was the train for Stanway.

  Phase two of the operation had been completed successfully.

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Gold Shipment

  The railroad had come to Stanway just six years previously. And with it the town had grown. Located in the centre of prairie land it developed as a major centre for wheat and other crops. A number of settlers began farming around the junction of the Stannard River and Cedar Creek. After a few years of farming along the rivers, some of these pioneer farmers began dryland farming on the slopes surrounding the valley and started to produce significant quantities of wheat. Flour mills were established along the river. A Land Office opened, which was soon followed by a branch of the Mid-West savings and Loan. More settlers moved in, farmers, and homesteaders. With them came the stores, and the businesses, required to serve them. A Southern town, in favor of ceding from the Union, Stanway began to flourish.

  * * *

  “Twenty-fifth … Stanway, Texas, arrived a little over two hours ago. With me are Sergeant Trelor and twenty others. All good men, but they are all tired and hungry, and a long way from home. They are weary of this war. I have been ordered to meet a gold shipment due today. Gold that is to be taken to the French Navy berthed at St. Lawrence Bay, gold which will prolong the war. A war that is already lost. A war that has cost far too many lives, so why prolong it? There will only be more deaths, more injured, and no hope of victory. I am told that a total of three hundred thousand dollars in gold bullion is due; two hundred thousand is to go to the French, and one hundred thousand is to go to General Franklin in Vicksburg.”

  * * *

  Captain Jacob Thackery closed his journal, and returned it to his saddlebag. He walked over to the track side, and took up a position at the end of the platform. He was looking almost due south, down the track. He looked up at the sky. The sun shone down causing him to shade his eyes. He tried to estimate the time by the sun’s position in the sky.

  “About ten o’clock, I would guess”, he murmured. He reached inside his tunic and took out his silver fob watch. “Twenty-two minutes after ten.” Without turning he called out to his Sergeant. “What time do you have Sergeant?”

  Sergeant Trelor smiled, as he opened his watch. It was always the same routine. The Captain would look at his watch, and then ask what time he had. “It’s twenty-four minutes after ten, sir,” he replied snapping the cover on the watch closed.

  That watch was always slow for some reason. No matter what Thackery did with it, it made no difference. He would shake it, and tap the glass. He would check the winder, to make sure that it was fully wound. He put it to his ear. It was ticking perfectly, so why?

  “Thank you Sergeant, twenty-four minutes past ten it is.”

  The train was late, and he was going to be delayed. It should have arrived just after nine. Of course it could have broken down, that was certainly not uncommon. And then there was always the possibility that it had been attacked by Indians, or train robbers. Or maybe the Yankees had struck, and maybe they already have the gold. It could have been a hundred and one things. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway. He just had to wait.

  He returned the watch to his inside pocket. He took off his hat and brushed his forehead with his sleeve. It was going to be a hot one today, he thought. He bent down, squatting on one knee, bouncing gently. He looked around him. Behind him, to his left, and in line with the platform were twelve mounted troopers, still formally at attention. To one side was a covered wagon. Seated impassively at the front were the driver and a guard armed with a repeating rifle.

  He stood up and looked at the line of troopers. “Troop,” he called out. “At ease.” The troopers relaxed, but remained mounted.

  Thackery looked to his left hand side. Across the street a small crowd of townspeople had started to gather, wondering what was going on. A second detachment of troopers stood in front of them, keeping them back from the rail depot.

  Thackery continued to stare along the track. His mind began to wander. It had all been so different back then when he had volunteered. How long ago was that anyway? He started to calculate. “Three years, and five months, and …” He was thinking hard. “Sixteen, no, seventeen days”, he said quietly. It was in April 1861 that he had enlisted just a few days after Confederate forces had attacked the Federal military installation at Fort Sumter.

  He had marched down to the courthouse, along with several of his friends, anxious to do his part. The next day he rode away at the head of his command. He had been so proud then, to fight for his beloved South. It was a just cause, or so they believed. Not the slavery issue, oh no. That part of it he agreed with. For as long as he could remember he had been opposed to slavery. His father had a small farmstead, growing fruit trees, apricots mainly, but also blueberries, and apples. He had a couple of Negroes working for him. But they weren’t slaves. They were paid a wage. They had a place to sleep, and three good meals a day. No they weren’t slaves. They knew that they could leave anytime they wanted to. No it wasn’t the slave issue. On that score he was in complete agreement with the northerners.

  It was more to do with a way of life. It was all about standards, and honor. Call it what you will. It was a cause that he had been bound to defend. It was all going to be over by Christmas anyway, the New Year at the latest. But it hadn’t been over by that Christmas, or indeed the Christmas after, or the one after that. Things had not worked out the way they had planned. It had been a long hard road that he had travelled. Where were those others now, he wondered? He knew that at least two of them were dead. They had been killed in a small town, Philippi, just to the north. It had been a minor skirmish, just a few short months after joining up. He couldn’t even remember their names now.

  He looked at the troopers behind him. Their black shiny boots were now all scuffed, and faded. Their uniforms were in tatters. Just like the dreams the South had all of those years past. He looked down at his own boots. They were just the same. His light grey tunic was torn, and frayed. His white hat was no longer white, and he no longer had the gloves. He had probably left them in some mud hole in Corinth. The silver blue sash had also gone. So much for honor and glory, so much for principle, Miles had been right all along. The South had no chance of winning the struggle, never had a chance.

  Thackery looked down at the ground. What good would all that gold do anyway? The war would be over quite soon now, it had to be, a few weeks maybe. Perhaps a month or two, certainly no more than another year, then it would all be over. And then what, what lay in store for him and his men? What did the future hold? Certainly there was no possibility of just returning home and things being the same as before. Those days had gone, gone forever. Things would never be the same again.

  “Captain, Captain,” a voice called from behind him.

  “Captain, Captain,” the voice called again. Thackery turned and looked back along the platform. A face was peering through the open window of the telegraph office. Thackery stood up and hurried over.

  “The train has just gone through the junction beyond the river crossing, Captain,” the man said. He looked at the clock on the wall. “She’ll be here in twenty, twenty-five minutes.”

  “Good,” Thackery said, as he turned and walked back to where his men were waiting. “Twenty minutes,” he said as he passed the troop. He walked back along the platform until he reached the end, and squatted down once again.

  * * *

  There was a sudden shrill whistle sounding in the distance. Thackery stood up, turned to face the troopers and waved a signal. “Get ready, men,” he called out. “Here she comes.”

  He looked back along the track, as the train came into view, smoke billowing from the tall black chimney, and steam hissing fr
om the pistons at either side. There was another shrill blast on the whistle, as the train rattled along the track towards the depot.

  The towns-people, anticipating the arrival of someone important, started to move forward, trying to get closer to the platform.

  “What’s going on?” a voice called out from the crowd.

  “I hear’d that Jefferson Davis was a’ coming,” somebody replied.

  “Well you hear’d wrong,” a third voice said. “He ain’t coming. I hear’d that it was General Lee.”

  “And I suppose he’s coming all this way just to visit with you,” said the first voice.

  “Well I recon we should ask these here soldier boys,” said the second voice. “They ought to know.”

  “That’s right,” somebody called. “So Soldier boys, who is it that’s a’ coming?”

  The soldiers made no reply, but merely raised their rifles, and ordered the crowd to stay back.

  * * *

  The train slowly pulled into the depot, and came to a stop. Behind the locomotive was a flat bed truck, with a number of troopers on board. More troopers were positioned on the roof of the covered car which came next. Lastly there was another flat bed, with even more troopers, together with two Gatlin guns positioned on either side.

  As the train came to a stop Captain Robert Dixon jumped down from the locomotive. He looked around and seeing Thackery he quickly walked over to where his friend was waiting.

  “Jacob,” he yelled excitedly, as he saluted. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  “It’s been a long time Robert,” said Thackery returning the salute and then holding out his hand. Dixon grasped it warmly. They had not seen each other for some time. Not since Pittsburg Landing in fact. “So how was the trip?”