As Francis had checked on Vane, some of the others already started to spread out in the woods around the train in the event Union troops were preparing to attack them. They had done this even before they were given the order to do so. The Virginia sergeants, who had already seen enough fighting in the war, had learned what to do from listening to stories told back home. They were stories which had been handed down through the generations regarding the fighting done during the Revolutionary War. They now reacted to what had to be done without being told. When Francis saw the steps they had taken to protect the others, he gave them each a nod of approval for what they had done.
Out of fear that Union troops might still be in the woods around the wrecked train, Francis kept his four Virginia sergeants on alert in the woods. They would be his eyes and ears, sounding the alarm if they saw any suspicious activity. He then ordered the others to start off-loading the train. He now had to move over land until he could find the next train station.
It took over three hours to fell the trees needed to make ramps so the wagons and horses could be carefully off-loaded from the train, but they did so without any further problems and without any signs of Union troops. As the train was being off-loaded, Francis silently wondered about the damage that had been done to the railroad tracks. “Was this done because they wanted to just disrupt the railroad from being able to move supplies along the lines or do they already know about the gold and silver we are moving? The Union has spies everywhere. Could they have been at the Richmond train station? If they do know what we have, why have they not attacked us when we were so unprepared to repel such an attack?” These thoughts and many others like them would race through his mind for the rest of the night.
There was no time to bury Vane and the other two men, but Francis saw to it their bodies were wrapped in blankets and then placed inside one of the rail cars. He identified Vane’s body with a brief note he left in one of his shirt pockets. After saying a quick prayer for Vane and the other men, Francis gave the order to move the wagons south and away from the wrecked train. As they moved out, he hoped somewhere close was a doctor they could find so the injuries sustained by Hatfield could be treated properly. For now he would have to endure the pain he was experiencing with his broken leg. While he was concerned about Hatfield’s injuries, Francis’ main concern now was putting distance between them and the wrecked train. As they moved south, each bump the wagon hit that carried the injured Sgt. Hatfield caused him to cry out in pain.
As soon as Francis knew they seemed to be no longer in immediate danger, he deployed Sgt. Stine and Sgt. Griffin to be his eyes and ears out in front of the wagons. He also deployed Sgt. George James, a Louisiana lumberman by trade, to do the same in the rear of the wagon train. It was one which had been formed out of necessity. Knowing the wagon train was being protected somewhat by the three scouts he had sent out, Francis then sent Sgt. Micah Steele, a twenty-one year old Mississippi fisherman before the war, to ride out in front of the others, instructing him to find a doctor or a plantation where they might find some medical care for Hatfield. “If you find help, I want you to report back to me immediately. Do not approach anyone about Hatfield’s injuries without me being there.”
“Yes, sir!” Steele was quickly out of sight as he rode off into the darkness of the Virginia night.
Riding his horse in front of the lead wagon, Francis decided he had to get word back to Memminger to tell him about the train wreck and the change to his plans. Locating Sgt. Davis, he instructed him to ride back to Richmond and to personally tell Memminger what had happened. “Make sure you tell him we are moving south over land for now. Most importantly, assure him the gold and silver is safe, but tell him about Vane and the others. Tell him I would consider it a personal favor if he would see to it that Vane was buried properly. After you tell him what has happened, get back to me as fast as possible. I am relying on you Virginia men to help me complete this mission.”
“Sir, I will be back as soon as I can. I promise I will find you. Make no mistake about that. Them Yankees got me upset now for what they did to that Georgia boy back there. I’m afixin’ to get even with them.” With that, Davis rode off to Richmond to tell Memminger what had happened.
It was close to midnight as the wagons moved south under a bright full moon. As they did, each man reacted to the noises they heard in the woods, fully expecting the noises to be made by Union troops riding out to attack them. It took some time, but finally these country boys who made up Francis’ unit settled down and their years of living in the woods back home allowed them to easily identify the noises emanating in the night.
They moved south for another hour, moving slowly along a narrow country road at times and at other times through open fields before Francis had them stop to rest. As the men rested, he tried to get his bearings from a map he had been given back in Richmond. They had only been stopped for about ten minutes when the alarm was spread that riders were heard approaching from the south. As they took up defensive positions around the wagons, a voice they recognized as belonging to Sgt. Steele could be heard. “Boys, don’t do no shootin’! It’s just me, Micah! We’re coming in!” Sgt. Griffin had returned with him.
Dismounting from his horse, Steele advised Francis he had located a small plantation with several outbuildings and three barns about four miles southeast of where they now were stopped. “I was real quiet like, no one heard me. I got so close to the house I could even see a candle burning in one of the upstairs windows.” The news pleased Francis as now something positive had happened. He hoped Hatfield would soon be treated for his injuries as he knew it had been a tough ride for him to have endured with a bone protruding from his broken leg.
******
Francis signaled the wagons to come to a halt when they had gotten to about three hundred yards away from the small home. It was obviously the home of the plantation owner. As he approached the home on foot, accompanied by Sgt. Steele and Sgt. Gerald Rickert, Francis saw through an open window that a candle softly illuminated one of the upstairs bedrooms. The house was quiet and they could see no movement from within as they approached near the front door.
Instead of trying to wake the occupants by knocking on what appeared to be the main door of the house, Francis elected to call out to them instead. He did so as he thought it was likely safer to wake them up from a distance than to be standing on the plantation’s front porch and being shot at by a startled homeowner, woken in the middle of the night by strangers. He woke them after only two loud calls to the house.
After getting the attention of the sleeping occupants, Francis identified himself to them and told them of the injuries sustained by one of his men. In a few moments the front door opened and he was greeted by a woman who appeared to be in her late forties. “Ma’am, thank you for helping us. One of my men is hurt real bad and needs more help than we can give him. Is there a doctor nearby?”
Mary Charles was a widow and the owner of the small plantation. She lived there now with just her young daughter. She had become a fierce supporter of the Confederate cause over the past two years. Her husband had died a few years earlier and now she carried the pain of only recently learning of the death of one of her three sons. He had been killed fighting for the South during the Battle of Funkstown, during Lee’s retreat south from Gettysburg. Her other two boys were serving in the Army of Northern Virginia, but she did not know where they currently were. As Francis talked to her, he brought a smile to her worn face when he told her that he and four of his men were native Virginians.
“Captain, you bring that boy in the house. I will have the parlor table cleaned off. No sense carrying him upstairs, him being hurt and all. If the damn Yankees did this to him I want to help!” Seeing the late night commotion had woken a couple of her slaves, who were now standing in the yard near the front door, Mary quickly barked orders to ‘Big Richard’ and his wife Tika. “Big Richard, come in her
e and help me move the parlor furniture. Tika, get some water boiling and get some bandages ready. Rip those old sheets up that we got stored in the closet.” As Mary turned to walk back into the house, Francis heard her mutter three words. “Damn Blue Bellies!”
After Hatfield had been carried into the house and placed on the parlor table, Francis again asked Mary about a doctor. “Captain, I’ve worked this plantation with my dear departed husband, with my three boys, and now with just my daughter, for many a year. With the help of our slaves, I’ve done so for over twenty years, started it from nothing. At one time or another they all have had broken legs, arms, fingers, and, Lord knows, much worse. With Tika’s help, and with the help of the good Lord, I have always got them back on their feet somehow. Didn’t need a damn doctor then and I don’t need one now. Now listen here young fella, I’m sure you are an important man and all, but right now you and your men are in our way. Y’all need to get out of our way so we can take care of this boy. Now scat!” As he turned to leave, Francis could not help but smile. They had found the help they needed in Mary Charles.
With Hatfield being tended to by Mary, Francis focused on his other men and the sleep they needed. After Big Richard showed him the insides of each barn, Francis had the wagons brought into the barns as by now the sky had clouded over. Off in the distance lighting could be seen in the sky. After the wagons had been secured inside the barns, and the horses secured within two adjoining fenced in corrals, Francis went back to check on Hatfield.
Keeping his distance from Mary, Francis saw Hatfield’s broken leg had already been placed in a crude splint. She was just finishing tending to his broken left wrist. As she continued to treat Hatfield’s injuries, Francis spoke to her. “Mrs. Charles, my men need a meal and some sleep. They are likely not going to be enjoying a good hot meal for several days. We have the rations and provisions to make a fine meal with, which we are pleased to share with you, but we need to use your kitchen. If we . . .” He was cut off in mid-sentence by her.
“What kind of a host do y’all think I am?” She did not wait for him to reply. “I already have Tika and my daughter in the kitchen starting to cook. Give her whatever food y’all can spare and they will get it cooked for you. I ain’t having our boys leave my home without getting a good home cooked meal. Lord only knows when their next one will be.” Directing her attention to two of Francis’ men, she barked her next orders at them, “Now you boys do what you can to set up a place to eat in the backroom off of the kitchen. I ain’t having y’all eat in the barn, but mind my clean floors, ya hear?”
Francis again smiled as he knew Mary was more than likely a lot less gruff than what she showed to them. Her feelings for his men gave away what she felt in her heart for the strangers who were soldiers just like her sons.
When the meal was finally ready, Francis had his men rotate in from guard duty in the barn so they could eat. As they enjoyed their meal, they could now see the rain and lighting that was moving into the area, cooling the night off as it did. After they had eaten, they took turns sleeping on the floors within Mary’s home. Later as they slept, the rain grew harder and harder.
Sgt. Mark Foster, who had been a teacher in the hills of Tennessee prior to the war, was woken up by Francis around four in the morning so he could relieve Sgt. Steele. He had been on guard duty in the barns while the others slept. After putting his boots back on, Foster grudgingly walked the short distance to the barn through the rain, leaving behind the comfort of the warm dry place he had found in Mary’s parlor. In minutes he was running back to the house.
“Captain! Captain Francis, the wagon, one of the wagons is gone, and Steele he’s hurt right bad!” Waking up from the alarm Foster had sounded, Francis and his men were out the door and into the barn in no time.
Inside the biggest of the three barns they found the wooden slat they had secured the large double barn doors with now lying on the ground. Nearby they found Steele unconscious and lying in a pool of his own blood. The back of his head had been partially caved in by a piece of wrought iron which now lay on the ground next to his almost lifeless body. It was a horrible injury for the others to see. It was one Steele never saw coming. By now, Mary had come into the barn and she knelt down to look at the injury to Steele’s head. Seeing the extent of the injury, she could not help but cry as it was obvious to her how bad the injury was. Her tears confirmed to the others the seriousness of Steele’s injury.
“Captain, look here!” Sgt. Banks, who was standing outside of the now opened barn doors, was the first to see them. “Look here! There are at least four, maybe five sets of footprints in the mud.” Pointing to the muddy ground, he showed the others what he also saw left in the mud. “See here, there’s the tracks left by the wagon.”
Francis was trying to determine what was in the stolen wagon, but his mind had trouble focusing on anything except for the terrible injury that had been inflicted upon Steele. Looking around, he saw the Conestoga wagon with the stars painted on it was still in the barn. He quickly realized whoever had stolen one of the other wagons had likely done so for the food provisions stored within it. The stolen wagon had gold and silver coins secreted within it, but not as much as the wagon Francis knew was the most important one. He breathed a sigh of relief that the wagon with the stars painted on it had not been the one stolen.
“Captain, we’s going after them, ain’t we?”
The question brought Francis’ mind back to full attention and he soon had Steele carried into Mary’s parlor so she could do whatever she could for him. After posting a guard on the barns, he had the others saddle up their horses to go after the stolen wagon. He kept a guard on the buildings as he did not know if whoever had stolen the wagon would be greedy enough to come back for another one. “If they come back, don’t kill them unless you have to. I want to speak to them first!” The look his men now saw in his face caused them to realize that whoever had stolen the wagon would soon wish they had not.
They were forced to address this new problem from the deep sleep they had all been enjoying and they were now somewhat slow in getting their horses saddled. The exception had been Sgt. Stine who had his horse saddled and ready to go in moments. When Francis saw he was already mounted, he instructed him to follow the tracks of the wagon through the mud. He also told him he and the others would be right behind him. “Wait for us before you do anything!”
As Stine raced off, Francis quickly checked on the conditions of both Hatfield and Steele. Hatfield was peacefully asleep and unaware of what had happened to Steele, who now lay unconscious next to him while being tended to by Mary. As she looked up to see Francis enter her parlor, the tears in her eyes told him Steele would likely not make it to daylight.
It did not take long for Francis and the others to locate Stine as he had been riding back to find them after locating the stolen wagon. “Captain, I ain’t sure of what to make of it, but I think there are five men out there. They is just sitting around the wagon in the rain, just talking and laughing, almost as if they did not have a care in the world. It don’t make sense, does it, captain? Why you gonna steal a wagon and then stop and sit around talking so close to where you stole the wagon from? It’s like them boys don’t care if they is caught.”
After tying their horses up to some trees a short distance away from where Stine had found the stolen wagon, Francis and the others walked the remaining distance. As they made their way closer to where the stolen wagon sat, the rain that had been falling for the past couple of hours came to a stop. As they got closer, they saw the men who had stolen it were sitting around a small campfire, laughing and joking with each other just as Stine had described. As he watched them, Francis wondered if they were Confederate deserters or Yankee soldiers who had been probing the area before the main body of the Union army proceeded south. It really did not make a difference to him about who had stolen the wagon as he knew he was going to get it back no matter w
ho had taken it. As they stood in a small group of pine trees less than one hundred yards from the stolen wagon, Francis pointed to a stone wall sitting between them and the men who had stolen it. In a low whisper he spoke to his men. “Maybe they needed the provisions that were in the wagon, but whoever they are they have something that belongs to us and we’re getting it back. I don’t take kindly to folks stealing from me!”
As he looked back towards the wagon, Sgt. Roy McKinney, a twenty-three year old cooper’s apprentice from New Bern, North Carolina, softly told Francis what he needed to know. “Captain, I count five men over yonder and there are only four of us. Looks like the odds are in our favor.” Even though the night was still partially overcast, Francis could not help but notice that McKinney was grinning at him. He knew McKinney and his fellow sergeants were looking to settle the score with the men who had stolen the wagon; more importantly they were looking to settle the score with those who had nearly killed a fellow soldier of theirs. Despite having one less man than the group of men who stolen the wagon, McKinney and the others did not care that they were outnumbered. His men were fired up over what had happened and they were now ready to exploit the advantage they had. It was an advantage of taking the fight to a group of soldiers who were unaware of what was about to descend upon them. As he looked back at the stolen wagon, Francis had one more thought. “McKinney’s right, the odds are in our favor.”
Confederate Gold and Silver Page 13