The Treasure Train

by Bob Young

  “Thank you, mayor.” Molineux is aware of the town meeting but has made it a practice not to intrude in the local debate, preferring to let Mayor May and the other local politicians be their own representatives.

  Patrick knows about the political meeting, too, but till now was unaware of the concert. Hearing about it reminds him of just how much help a previous concert was when it came to getting into Roads’ buildings. Maybe it could work one more time. Patrick will again arrange for tickets to be sent to Roads to get his employees out of their buildings and into the theatre. If they fall for it, Patrick might have a chance to locate Elisabeth and Jimmy.

  * * *

  Roads is in his office earlier than usual, having skipped his morning appearance at the Office Restaurant. More pressing matters face him than how to have his eggs prepared. He paces the stretch of floor in front of his desk. Two lieutenants are taking in each measured word from his scowling mouth. One is seated in the chair next to the desk; the other is standing in the doorway.

  “I’ve heard from our guys in Washington. They’ve had no luck at all, and I’m not surprised. Who’s willing to give up a treasure of that magnitude because some goon with a gun asks him? These people are hard and cold.”

  “Boss,” one of them says, “you’re right about that. I don’t think we’re going to see any of that gold and silver.”

  Roads continues, “So we made a bad business deal on the treasure train, but let’s not be so careless with our guests.”

  “We’ve got double guard on them at all times. They’re not going to get away, and no one is going to get to them until you say so, Mr. Roads.”

  “I want everything set to go at the warehouse tomorrow night. No mistakes. None of them are to leave alive.” The men nod their tense, aching heads in agreement. “We’re going to stop that so-called cotton salesman. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m not willing to wait any longer to find out.”

  “What about your minister?” one asks.

  “We’ll deal with him, too. Those two men spend too much time together for my comfort. More importantly, how is the printing coming along?”

  “The men have been putting in overtime, and we’ll be finished tonight,” the other says. “Do you want to break it down and ship it out right when it’s done?”

  “No. Just leave it at the print shop, and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. I want to be sure that all of our agents are ready to receive their portion.” He turns to the fellow in the chair. “Wire them all today for a status report.”

  The clerk from the store sticks his head into the office, interrupting:

  “Mr. Roads?”

  “Yes? This is important, I trust.”

  “Sir, that fellow from Fraser, Trenholm, and Company sent over thirty tickets to the program tonight at the Concert Hall. He said to thank you for your hospitality and to treat your employees to a night out.”

  Roads has a puzzled look on his face. He knows that something isn’t right about this, but just the same he wonders what exactly Patrick is up to. Is it a distraction of some kind? A peace offering, perhaps? In any case, the rare chance for Roads to look generous in front of his men overrides any thoughts of caution for the moment.

  “All right, spread them around to the boys and their wives. It’s supposed to be a pretty good show, anyway.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “And you can start with these boys right here,” says Roads, pointing to his two henchmen.

  * * *

  At the restaurant General Molineux has dispatched the mayor and is now fielding questions and concerns from the local merchants gathered around his table.

  “What’s this new colored school all about, general?” one asks.

  Patiently, the general explains that the Colored Free School was opened by the colored churches in the old shoe factory at the corner of Ellis and Campbell streets. Reverend W.P. Russell, a graduate of Oberlin University, is superintendent.

  “He’s had extensive experience as an educator,” assures the general.

  Another businessman comments, “I hear the school is well attended.”

  “That it is,” confirms Molineux. “Nearly five hundred boys and girls. About fifty can read tolerably well. At present, though, the room is too small, and they’ll probably expand to a room on another floor. Reverend Russell also told me he will soon establish a second school in Hamburg.”

  “Who’s doing the teaching?” another merchant asks.

  “The freedmen and women. They come well spoken of.”

  The general continues, “School opens every day at eight o’clock with a song from the children. Closes at one o’clock.” The general looks at each businessman as he speaks, as he knows some still cling to the belief that the negro should not be educated. “It is astonishing to me to witness the perfection in discipline among these children. They are very obedient, and it seems one and all vie with each other to see who gets ahead the fastest in their studies. This school is a fine institution.”

  The now-tense conversation is abruptly interrupted by a small, distinguished-looking one-armed man, who approaches the general in a most direct manner.

  “Excuse me, general, but I am from the Freedmen’s Bureau and am pressed for time,” the stranger says.

  “And you would be?” Molineux asks.

  “I, sir, am Brigadier General William Henry Wild, late of the Massachusetts Volunteers and commissioner of the Freedmen’s Bureau in Georgia. You, sir, I presume, are the garrison commander, General Molineux?”

  “You presume correctly, General Wild. Please have a seat.”

  He turns to the businessmen and dismisses them.

  After getting situated, Wild says, “I have been sent here by General Saxon to be of assistance to Captain Bryant and Reverend French. In fact, the preacher and I will be leaving shortly on the train to Washington to deal with some matters up there—thus the need for my urgency this morning.”

  “General Wild, I appreciate you stopping by to pay your respects. Is there anything I can do for you? I’ve already explained to Mister Bryant about the manpower shortages I face.”

  “That’s where I think we can help you.”

  “How so? I thought the bureau needed the military’s help.”

  “Sir, as you know, the bureau has jurisdiction in all matters involving contracts between the coloreds and the whites. Plus, we are charged with the disposal of all seized property.”

  “Yes, General Wild, I’m well aware of that,” replies Molineux.

  “Since your Provost Court is of limited duration, I have directed the establishment of a Freedmen Court of Claims.”

  “Interesting.”

  “The court, with the bureau agent sitting as judge, will follow any case where a negro is involved.”

  “I think that should prove very popular with the white people,” Molineux says factiously. He has no love for the bureau, and even less respect for Wild, who by all accounts should be in the brig, not in a high-government office, especially in an agency that can do so much harm to the good order the soldiers are working so hard to restore.

  “I really don’t think the white people have much to say about this,” responds Wild. For his own part, he is now in a perfect position to be the heavy hand against any whites who would deny blacks their new freedom, and in a perfect position to enforce his own retaliation against those who supported the institution of slavery.

  “General Wild, I’ll tell you what: You take care of your contracts, and we’ll take care of the peace. And as long as that’s what we do, we should have no problem.”

  Wild rises from his chair, indicating a departure just as swift as his arrival. “I fully understand. Good day, sir.”

  And he takes his leave.

  Patrick, who stepped back in for some dessert after buying the tickets, took in every word of the conversation, including General Molineux’s muttered closing remark: “Who the hell does that bastard think he is?”

  * * *

/>   The General Superintendent of the Freedmen’s Bureau has been a busy man today, as evidenced by the notices Patrick sees posted on the common board in his hotel lobby. According to the edicts from Captain Bryant:

  All persons who desire to employ mechanics, house servants, field hands and laborers of all kinds will be assisted in doing so at this office. Mechanics, house servants, field hands, good laborers of all kinds, will be aided in securing work by applying at this office.

  In another notice, he establishes the wages for work:

  Wages set by the Freedmen’s Bureau.. field hands—male, $7 per month, female, $6 per month. Male servants $10 per month, female servants $8 per month. Mechanics and persons having trades will be allowed and encouraged to make their own contracts.

  And then Bryant puts himself squarely in the middle of disputes between landlords and tenants:

  It having come to the knowledge of the Gen Supt of Freedmen that certain persons who rent houses and rooms to freedmen in this city and vicinity charge exorbitant rates, it is hereby ordered that no person shall be allowed to collect from any freedman a higher rate of rent than was received for the same tenement before the war. If the freedman pay their rents they shall in no instance be removed without authority from these headquarters.

  Bryant is certainly making a name for himself among the blacks and the whites alike, but not for the same reasons, Patrick observes. He knows that mere edicts from the government cannot force a change in attitude or business practices. General Molineux faces that fact every day, while trying to keep civil order. And Bryant’s dictates in no way enhance the military’s position.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Even though Patrick and Jacob arrive early, they find that the Masonic Hall is already packed. The white people of Augusta have taken up the mayor’s invitation to attend the first town meeting under the federal government. Since not everyone present is supportive of the new administration, many in attendance are openly hostile.

  Those arriving early have already begun some pointed political discussions.

  This very day, James Johnson of Columbus was appointed the new governor of Georgia, much to the disappointment of the people in Augusta and elsewhere in the state’s eastern region. The local people had lobbied for the appointment of Judge John P. King of Augusta. Likewise, the citizens of Washington made a push for their Superior Court Judge Garnett Andrews, who was well known for his Union sentiments during the war. But in the end, President Johnson went to the Western part of the state for his choice.

  As Mayor May steps up to the rostrum, the chatter begins to die down. He knows he is about to face a hall full of diverse political opinions, from the ardent Unionist who views secession as a crime to the Whig believer in states’ rights. This is just the group the Union Club and other organizers are looking for.

  The mayor speaks at his highest volume: “We’ve called this meeting this afternoon for the purpose of considering and adopting measures to help reestablish civil rule by a return to the Union.”

  A man in the middle of the room shouts, “Recognize the Confederate States of America. That’ll take care of it!”

  The crowd erupts into applause, not so much due to the substance of what he said, but to acknowledge and demonstrate the event’s emotional nature. No one in the hall truly believes that the Confederacy will ever reappear.

  The mayor gavels the hall back to order.

  “Today, the provost marshal’s office issued a new circular,” he states.

  “What do they want now?” someone yells.

  Another responds, “Give everything you own to the coloreds!”

  Laughter ripples through the hall as the mayor regains control:

  “Number one: All white or colored persons found loitering or idling about the streets, market places, bridges, wharves, or any place within the city limits will be promptly arrested as vagrants, and if found without any employment or visible means of support, will be put to work on the public streets.”

  Then the grumbling starts, its volume on a rapid incline.

  “Order, order!” shouts the mayor. “You may not like them, but these are the rules.”

  “That’s right! We don’t like ‘em!” someone yells back.

  Once again, the crowd breaks into laughter and applause, and the mayor is forced to gavel them down.

  “Number two. All soldiers found upon the streets after nine p.m. without a pass signed by the commanding officer of the regiment will be arrested by the provost guard.”

  “Best thing that could happen to a Yankee,” someone shouts.

  Then from the back of the room: “Lock them all up!”

  The mayor’s gavel strikes the wood.

  “And number three: All colored persons found upon the streets after nine p.m. will be arrested by the provost guard and the city police.”

  Now this is one that the crowd seems to like. The response is not hostile, and why should it be? Negros and soldiers are under a curfew and whites are not. “Yes!” someone shouts. “There must surely be a God!”

  Jacob turns to Patrick with a wink, saying, “Amen.”

  Mayor May tells the audience that the provost marshal is serious about enforcing his orders, and there is nothing the city government can do to countermand them. “So a word to the wise,” he warns.

  The mayor then nominates Judge Charles Jenkins to chair the business portion of the meeting. He is swiftly and unanimously elected.

  Captain George Burnes then nominates two men for vice president—Colonel John Milledge and attorney George Schley— and they, too, are unanimously elected at great speed.

  Patrick comments to Jacob that the presiding officers could well be the only thing the group will unanimously agree on at this moment.

  Then Captain M.J. O’Brien nominates D.B. Plumb and attorney W.C. Jones as secretaries. Both are elected.

  A committee of fifteen is then named to draft resolutions. The committee members retire from the general meeting at once to accomplish their work.

  While the committee deliberates, the audience is kept occupied with patriotic speeches from Chairman Jenkins and Judge Henry Hilliard, who both receive strong rounds of applause. When the two men finish, the committee of fifteen returns to the hall and presents a long list of resolutions, all of which are unanimously adopted. They express loyalty to the new government, horror at Lincoln’s assassination, and thanks to General Molineux for his commitment to upholding good relations.

  But before the body acts on the resolutions, the committee chairman, Judge Starnes, has some things to say.

  “This ought to be good,” whispers Patrick.

  And it is. Starnes laments the disastrous results of the war and does so with such emotion and eloquence that the hall erupts into clapping many times.

  At the conclusion of the business session, General Wright takes the floor to compliment the speakers, and Judge Gould makes a motion to direct that the resolutions be published in the newspapers for all to see. Mr. Dutcher follows with a motion to send the resolutions to General Molineux for transmittal to Washington City.

  Promptly when the clock strikes six o’clock, Captain George Barnes makes the motion to adjourn the meeting.

  * * *

  While out on the veranda to enjoy a pre-concert dinner, Jacob and Patrick reflect on the current state of affairs. Although Patrick’s mind is swimming with fear, he finds himself relieved by the momentary distraction of the conversation.

  “I’m really concerned about the lawlessness that pervades our city,” says Jacob. “The provost Court is dishing out some tough justice.”

  “What have you heard?” asks Patrick.

  “Major Allen gave me a list of court cases from during the past few days. Look at this,” Jacob says, holding the paper in question up for Patrick to see. Jacob’s finger points to each entry as he reads it:

  “Pinckney Scott, striking his sister. Three days in jail or five dollars. F. B. DeMedicis, whipping a negro woman. Thirty da
ys in jail. Patrick Bruman, striking his wife. Five dollars. Jerry, a negro, charged with striking his wife. Ten days in jail on bread and water.”

  Patrick reacts with brows raised high: “You sure don’t want to go before that judge for hitting a woman!”

  Jacob reads on, “And then, Patrick, there’s the case involving James C. Wilson and four negroes. You recall that Maud and Wright’s store at the corner of Broad and Campbell was broken into last weekend. They got in by boring holes through one of the shutters on the store’s side. Well, a negro woman on the premises heard the noise and sounded the alarm, but the men got away with eighty-five bolts of calicoes and muslins. The police found the cloth in Wilson’s shanty over there in the marble yard, across the street here from the Planters. He and the four coloreds are in the lockup.”

  Jaw atop his fist, Patrick asks, “Have they been to court?”

  “That’s an understatement. Alex Price, Amos Edwards, King Stokes, Rans Miller—all four of them colored men—were found guilty and sentenced to be marched through the town for two days properly placarded as ‘Burglars,’ and then to be imprisoned for up to two years at hard labor. Wilson was charged with receiving goods from the four negroes and knowing the goods to be stolen. He was sentenced to be placarded ‘Receiver of Stolen Goods,’ marched through the town for two days, then to be imprisoned for three years at hard labor.”

  “Did they actually parade through the city?” asks Patrick. “I don’t recall seeing that.”

  “They did march. Happened while we were up in Washington. They were taken to the Lower Market House and lifted onto the tops of barrels to stand for twelve hours for two days. One of the negroes had a placard on his front stating ‘I am a thief.’ The one next to him had one upon which was written ‘So am I.’ The other two negroes had similar placards, one stating ‘I will steal’ and the other ‘So will I.’ And all four had placards on their backs with the word ‘Thief’ on them. The white man’s placard read ‘I received stolen goods.’ But he was taken with a fit shortly after his arrival at the Market House and was not able to stand the punishment, despite the efforts of bystanders to assist him. Major Allen said there was a large crowd in attendance that seemed to be greatly pleased by the punishment’s novelty.”