by John Holt
Dixon smiled. “Fine,” he replied. “No problems.” He slapped Thackery on the back. “Come on, let’s get this lot unloaded shall we; then we’ll get a drink at the saloon and talk over old times.”
“Sounds good to me,” replied Thackery.
The two men walked back along the track to the covered car. Dixon knocked twice in quick succession. He then gave three additional taps slowly. Finally there were three more rapid knocks. A small aperture slid open and a trooper peered out. Then there was the sound of bolts being released, and locks being freed. The door slowly slid open. Two armed troopers came out and took up a position to either side of the door.
Captain Dixon glanced around. Satisfied that everything was alright he gave a signal. Four troopers came out from the car. They were carrying a timber crate, which they loaded on to the wagon. The crate was followed by fourteen others. All fifteen crates contained gold bars. Forty five minutes later the gold was safely loaded on to the buckboard.
Thackery stared at the wagon for a few moments. That gold was to be used for one last desperate effort, one last push against the Yankees. In four days time two French warships were due to drop anchor in St. Lawrence Bay, one hundred and twenty miles to the south west. The two ships would be loaded with ammunition. Ammunition destined for the Confederate Army, in exchange for the gold. The ships would wait at the Bay for two days. Then they would up anchor and sail away.
Thackery looked towards the south east. Four days, he murmured. It should be enough time, but the sooner he got started the better. He looked back at the wagon. All was ready. His men were already waiting.
“Robert,” he called out. “Let’s get that drink shall we, then I best be on my way.”
* * *
An hour later the two men walked out of the saloon, and back to the rail depot. “Well Robert it’s time to go,” said Thackery.
“Guess so Jacob,” Dixon replied. “Let’s hope it’s not another three years before we meet again.”
Jacob smiled. “You take good care of yourself, Robert. I’ll see you shortly, in Richmond. Then we’ll really celebrate winning this here war.”
They shook hands, and he walked towards his horse. He looked back at his friend and saluted. Deep in his heart he knew that there would be no celebration in Richmond, or indeed anywhere else.
“Goodbye Robert,” he called, as he mounted his horse. He looked towards his men. “Troop,” he called out. He then raised his arm, and then brought it down and forward. “Forward.”
As the column moved forward the men started to whistle Dixie, accompanied by the sound of hooves hitting the sun baked ground, their harnesses jangling loudly. Thackery turned around in his saddle and looked back towards the depot. As he did so he noticed two men run towards the telegraph office. He knew who they were. He was sure that they were agents of the French Government, and their task was to ensure that the gold reached its destination.
The column moved away slowly, making its way out from the town, following the trail to the north-east. Thackery now had just four days to get to St. Lawrence Bay, where the French ships would be waiting.
Chapter Eighteen
St. Lawrence Bay
The waters of the bay were calm, with barely a ripple, the waves gently lapping at the shore. The dark waters glistened, as the early morning fog began to lift, and the still weak sunlight hit the surface.
Around the bay were tall conifer trees. Slender, and majestic, they grew, stretching high into the air, competing with each other for the available natural light. Sandy, gravely, banks of earth, extended down to the water’s edge. Beyond, the land rose up, the slope gradually growing steeper and steeper, climbing up high along the limestone face to the side of the hill. In the early morning light the white limestone glowed eerily, contrasting with the blackness of the shadows of the trees.
A figure peered out from the trees, looking down at the bay. A dark hat, pulled down over his forehead, covered his thick, dark brown hair. Five-foot-seven tall and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds, the man had been standing there for more than three hours. One hundred and twenty feet below him was the object of his interest.
There, lying at anchor, were two warships one hundred yards from the shoreline. The larger of the two, the Phillipe, was a ninety gunner steam ship. Fifty yards beyond was the Louis, another steam ship although slightly smaller, with eighty guns. On their prow both ships flew the French tricolour. But it wasn’t the ships that held his interest. It was the longboat that could be seen coming from behind the smaller of the two ships.
* * *
The ships had arrived two days before, having steamed over six hundred miles from the port of Veracruz in the Republic of Mexico, and avoiding the blockade imposed by the United States Navy.
Admiral Marcel Deshommes knew that if they were discovered their presence would be considered an act of war and the Union army would act accordingly. But he also knew that he was there on the express orders of his Emperor Napoleon III. He was there to accept a consignment of gold bullion in exchange for weapons and ammunition currently stored in the holds of both ships. That consignment had left Stanway two days previously and was now no more than ten miles away according to his sources.
“Captain, our cargo should be here quite soon,” he explained. “I suggest you post lookouts to watch to landward.”
“Yes sir,” replied the Captain saluting.
“Advise me the minute you see anything.”
“Certainly, sir,” the Captain replied.
The Admiral continued staring towards the land. He wanted this business dealt with, and quickly. He was anxious to be on his way. Although there had been nothing definite, he was sure that he was being watched. He had doubled the watch. The overnight rain had stopped and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. A gentle breeze was blowing through the trees. It showed all the indications of a hot day to come. He would have much preferred the rain, or the fog. At least that would have kept the Union navy in port, and not out on patrol. The thought of being trapped inside the bay did not appeal.
“Quartermaster,” he called out.
“Aye sir”
“Is all ready below?
“It is sir, ready and waiting for your order,” the Quartermaster replied.
The Admiral thought for a few moments, and looked up at the sky once again. “Start bringing it up now,” he ordered. That would save some time. “Once this business has been completed I shall want to get underway as quickly as possible.”
“We’ll start right away, sir,” replied the Quartermaster.
“Signal to the Louis, instruct them to do likewise.”
“Aye aye sir,” said the Quartermaster.
* * *
High above the deck Francois Dupree was beginning to get cold stuck up in the crows-nest. He looked down at the deck below. They should have relieved him an hour ago, but obviously they had forgotten about him. Alright so he was only a lowly seaman; but he had his rights same as anybody else. He would speak to the Captain and air his grievances. The Captain was a fair man, he would see the injustice.
“Look alive aloft,” somebody yelled.
Dupree looked down. “Keep your eyes open,” the voice continued. It was Ensign Delon, he was anything but a fair man.
“Aye aye sir,” Dupree replied, all thought of complaint pushed to one side. He quickly glanced all around. A long boat came from just behind the Louis. Dupree thought nothing of it. A party of his ship mates going ashore that was all. He wished that he could join them.
He wrapped his coat tightly around him. At least it wasn’t raining, but how much longer would he have to stay up here. A drink would be good, a rum toddy maybe. Maybe he should say something, maybe to Midshipman Rousseau, he would listen and do something. He looked down trying to see him. There was no sign of him anywhere. Dupree looked over to the shore, as the long boat was being dragged on to the beach. He shook his head. They weren’t any shipmates that he knew. So who were they? And more to
the point, why were they here?
The questions were never answered. Suddenly there was a muffled explosion from the S.S. Louis, fifty yards to starboard. Then there was another, and another. Timbers ripped apart, masts came crashing down, there was smoke everywhere, flames rising high into the rigging. The ship began to list, and then another violent explosion split the ship asunder.
Dupree continued to stare at the sight in horror, when there was another explosion, closer to home this time. He felt the mast shudder, and then there was a loud rending sound as it snapped. The crows-nest swung forward catching the rigging, and tearing at the mizzen mast. There was another violent explosion as more powder kegs erupted, the deck disintegrated and flames erupted from the hold. Dupree grabbed for a hand hold on the rigging, but was thrown violently backwards. Another explosion and the crows-nest was torn from the damaged mast, and hurtled downwards. Dupree was thrown outward and into gun number twelve on the port side. He died instantly.
The two great warships had erupted into a thousand pieces. Huge masts had toppled, and were now nothing but splinters. Burning debris was thrown high into the air. The ships lay on their sides, their shattered hulls slowly sinking. Several other explosions followed. Then there was the crackle of ammunition discharging.
There was the sound of men screaming, calling for help, help that would never come. Men were running, trying to escape the inferno. One or two managed to jump overboard. Almost instantly shots rang out from the shore. The men had no chance. It was all over in a matter of minutes. There was a further muffled explosion and the remains of the last ship lifted high above the water almost into a vertical position. It then slowly sank beneath the surface, the water bubbling up as the ship went down.
* * *
Two hours later Captain Jacob Thackery and his men reached the top of the hill just above the bay. Thackery raised his arm and signaled the column to halt. “Dismount,” he commanded.
It had been a long tiring ride, and he and his men were in need of a rest. He turned and looked behind him for a moment. His men had dismounted, and were now lying on the ground. He looked away, and rode forward a short distance. He stopped at the brow of the hill. Just below was the bay where two ships would be waiting. Inside those ships were weapons and ammunition. Weapons and ammunition much needed by the Confederacy. On the wagon behind him were fifteen crates of gold bullion, three hundred thousand dollars of gold bullion. He turned back and looked at the wagon. The weapons would help certainly, he thought. Nonetheless he knew that the end was now very close and that the South was facing inevitable defeat. The weapons would only delay that inevitability. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. Perhaps it only meant further needless killing. Maybe it would strengthen the South’s position at any peace talks. He did not know. He wasn’t a politician. He was a soldier, just doing his duty, obeying orders. He would keep fighting until he was ordered to stop. He looked at his men lying on the ground. He knew that they all thought the same way.
He moved closer to the edge and looked down. There were no ships to be seen. Now there was nothing but a pile of charred timber, and wreckage floating on the water. Shredded sailcloth lay like a shroud where the ships had been
Thackery looked at the scene of devastation, staring in disbelief. He was looking for signs of survivors. There were none. How many had died he wondered. Each ship must have had a crew of a hundred or more, plus a detachment of soldiers all gone in the blink of an eye. He rubbed his eyes, trying to remove the sight.
He turned as his Sergeant came over to join him. “There are no ships,” said Thackery. “Take a look.”
The Sergeant looked down into the bay. “What do you think happened, Captain?” he asked. “Looks like a dreadful accident?”
Thackery shook his head. “An accident to one ship is possible,” he replied. “But I don’t think two.”
“Maybe there was a fire, and it just spread from one to the other,” suggested the Sergeant.
“I don’t think so, I doubt if they would have been that close together,” said Thackery. “This was a deliberate act. Somebody planned this. They obviously knew what was on board, and why.”
The Sergeant looked puzzled. “So why didn’t whoever it was just take the weapons?”
“I imagine because they were outnumbered, simple as that,” replied Thackery. “There would have been a large armed force on board, so it would have been difficult to take the weapons. No it would have been far easier just to destroy them.”
“I guess that makes sense,” the Sergeant agreed. “One thing though sir. If they knew about the weapons maybe they know about us as well, and the gold.”
The Sergeant was right, Thackery thought. They obviously knew that he and his men were close by. They knew about the weapons, and they knew about the gold. He wondered if he had a spy amongst his men, or was it just good intelligence on the part of the Yankees. Either way he was in great danger of being captured. He had to get away as quickly as possible.
“You’re right Sergeant,” he said.
“So what do we do now captain?” the Sergeant asked. “About the gold I mean?”
“Take it to Richmond,” Corporal Davis suggested. “Or to the Confederate Mint in Vicksburg, maybe.”
“That’s over two hundred miles away, we would never make it,” replied Thackery. “And clearly Union soldiers are very close by.”
“Well then we keep it,” the Corporal continued.
“Keep it,” repeated Thackery. “Go on I’m listening.”
“We hide it somewhere, and we come back for it after the war.”
“Sounds good to me sir,” offered the Sergeant. From the murmurings in the background it was clear that the rest of the men were in agreement.
“We simply hide it?” said Thackery puzzled.
“Yes sir, we find a cave or something and hide it,” said the Corporal making it sound so easy.
“And what about us, what do we do?” Thackery asked.
“Sir, the war is over,” said the Sergeant. “You know it, I know it and the men, well, they know it too.”
“That’s right enough, sir,” said the Corporal.
“We’ve done our duty sir,” the Sergeant continued. “We’ve fought long and hard, but it wasn’t to be. We have lost, sir. The South has lost. There’s nothing to be gained by continuing the fight. It will only mean more deaths, and more misery.”
“The men just want to go home, sir,” said the Corporal
Home, repeated Thackery, it sounded inviting and it sounded so easy. But home was many miles away, and Union patrols were everywhere. The chances of getting through were slight, if not totally impossible. It was more than likely that they would be captured, and sent to a Union prison camp for the rest of the war, and beyond.
The thought of seeing home once again was certainly appealing. It had been too long. Would there still be a home to go there? His mother and father, how would they be? What kind of a life would be waiting for him and his men?
He looked at the Sergeant. He was right of course there was nothing to be gained by prolonging the fight. Then he looked at the rest of the men. He couldn’t have wished for a better group of men.
“Mount up, men,” he suddenly ordered. As soon as his men were ready, he took one last look around and then waved a signal to move out.
* * *
PART THREE
_______________________
CONSPIRACY
Chapter Nineteen
Murmurings of Rebellion
Billows of dark grey smoke curled upwards, and disappeared into the night sky. Sparks, and fiery embers, flew from the campfires as the wind stirred through the trees. Around the fires some men slept fitfully. Others sat and talked. Their talk centered on the battle they had fought that day, and of the battle that they knew was to come with the sunrise. Over on the far side could be heard the pitiful cries of the wounded as the effects of the morphine wore off. The rain had stopped some while ago, but the sound of water dripping throug
h the leaves could still be heard. As the wind strength increased, the clouds moved away, and the moonlight once again cast its faint rays.
Two armed soldiers could be seen standing to attention outside a large tent at the edge of the clearing. Inside four men were huddled around a small table.
A single oil lamp cast its light upon the scene. A man was writing something on to a sheet of paper. As he finished he slowly read through what had been written. As he did so he would stop to make a slight amendment here, and a correction there. Satisfied, he then sat back and looked at the others seated around him.
“Gentlemen as you know this war will shortly be over,” he said. “The South will have been defeated. Crushed you might say. And we have to think to the future.”
He paused for a moment, hesitant, un-sure. Would they support him, General Thomas Jarvis wondered? Really support him. Not just pay lip service. Half hearted, without any real substance. They had to be fully committed, one hundred and ten per cent. They had to be behind him all the way. There was no room for half measures. No room for doubters. This was a serious step to take, and everyone needed to be fully aware of the possible outcome. Everyone needed to be aware of what they were getting into. Grant required absolute loyalty, without question. He demanded it. Would they show that loyalty, that commitment? That support?
Certainly they had intimated as much when the idea was originally put forward to them some weeks earlier. But now that they had time to think about it, had they changed their minds? Now that there had been time to consider everything, would the risks be judged too great? Would the chances of success be judged too little? Was it nonsense to even consider such a plan? Was there absolutely no chance of success? Was the plan doomed to failure anyway? Would the others turn against him, and turn him in? Certainly they would be well rewarded for such an action. Was he taking a risk even mentioning the idea again? To even think about replacing Lincoln was fraught with danger.