“Nope, we’re still coming. Would not miss it for the world! How are you and my girlfriend both doing?”
Laughing at Paul’s joke, Bobby Ray followed up with a sarcastic comment of his own. “OK, whatcha bothering me for then?” After hearing Paul laugh, Bobby Ray told him where he was. “I’m southbound on Highway 17, just leaving Little River. I’m headed back to my office as we speak. Where y’all at?”
“Bobby Ray, I’m down near the Inlet. I need some help. Can you meet me down here?”
“Sure, you bet I can. Paul, you OK?” Bobby Ray could sense some anxiety in his friend’s voice.
“Yeah, thanks, I’m fine. But you are not gonna believe what I have found. I don’t want to talk about this on the phone though. Meet me at the boat launch at Wacca Wache Landing, OK?”
“Be there in less than thirty-five, that quick enough?”
“Sounds perfect, it will give me just enough time to get back there. See you then.”
Bobby Ray disconnected the call as he entered the southbound on-ramp for Highway 31 towards Georgetown. He was confused about the tone in his friend’s voice and wondered what was so important for Paul to call him about. Entering the highway’s southbound lanes, he punched the accelerator down on his black Dodge Charger and quickly had it up to 95 mph. Bobby Ray did not do anything in life slow, especially when a friend called and needed some help.
******
Paul had just finished tying up his boat to the dock when he saw Bobby Ray drive into the marina’s parking lot. “Hey, Johnny Reb, over here!” Paul waved to him as he climbed out of his unmarked police car. As Paul had an interest in the Civil War, so did Bobby Ray, and they had spent many hours talking about whose side had been right and whose had been wrong. Despite their differences, they both shared an appreciation for those who had served in the War of Northern Aggression. That had been a term Bobby Ray, and many other Southerners, like their mutual friend Roy Harris, had often referred to the war as. Paul never had argued with them on that point.
Carrying his assigned Motorola portable radio, Bobby Ray walked the short distance from the parking lot to Paul’s boat. He playfully smirked as he stood on the dock staring at his friend’s boat for a few seconds. Bobby Ray was someone who could never pass up an opportunity to jab someone; this time it was his buddy’s turn. “Partner, forgive me for asking, but that thing y’all got tied up there to the dock, does that piece of junk float?” Paul laughed as he nodded back at him. He had learned over the years on most occasions Bobby Ray always started their conversations with an insult. When he had not, Paul knew he was mad at someone or something.
After a few more moments of good natured insults between the two of them, Bobby Ray got them back to the reason why they were meeting at the marina. “OK, Yankee boy, what’s this here mysterious phone call all about? What did y’all do, find a dead body or something?”
“Yep.”
At first, Bobby Ray laughed at Paul’s answer, but as he did he immediately could tell that his friend was serious. “What are you telling me, partner? Did you really find a dead body?”
“I would not have called you if I had found a live one. You would not have shown up. Hop on and I tell you more. You will not believe this.”
While Paul drove the boat back to where he had made his discovery, he filled Bobby Ray in with what he had found. As soon as he tied the boat up for the third time in the same spot in two days, he showed Bobby Ray the digital photos he had taken. Paul had given a lot of thought as to whether he should tell his friend about the items he had kept, but decided for now he would keep that a secret from him. He hoped after Bobby Ray had seen the actual site that he would not challenge him on whether or not he had kept any items for himself.
Bobby Ray still had not been totally convinced Paul was not playing a joke on him until he saw the remains of the dead soldier inside the base of the tree. “Damn, boy, what have you found? I don’t believe this?”
“So what happens now?”
Bobby Ray thought about Paul’s question for a minute and then raised his Motorola radio to call into the Georgetown County Sheriff’s Dispatch Center. Just as quickly as he had raised the portable radio to speak into it, he lowered it. “You know what’s gonna happen if I call this in on the radio, right? We’re gonna have every damn television station’s mobile news van, and every damn newspaper reporter, and every other dang fool who listens to the police and fire scanners, at the marina before we even get back there. We don’t need that problem to deal with right now. No, sir, I ain’t having that happen. Get me back there and I will call this in on a land line. I ain’t even gonna use my damn cell phone to call this in. Now I understand why you did not want to tell me about this when y’all first called me.”
On the boat ride back to the marina, Paul asked Bobby Ray how the investigation would unfold. He carefully reminded Bobby Ray that all of the indications seemed to point to the remains belonging to someone who had been dead for almost one hundred and fifty years. “You need to tell your folks this appears to be someone who had been killed in an act of war and not murdered during a crime. I hope they don’t come flying up here with their lights flashing and with their sirens wailing as there is no need for all of that.”
“When I call this in I’ll make sure that does not happen. One thing for sure though, I bet this is gonna get a whole bunch of attention in the news. Dead Confederate soldiers don’t turn up too often anymore, even in these parts. Another thing you can bet the ranch on is I’m guessing my boss will play this up for sure. He’s someone has who never met a television camera he did not like. I believe he thinks every time his face is on the damn television it gets him more votes in the next election.”
“Bobby Ray, what I’m trying to get you to see is you, or I, we need to make sure folks know this is an historical find of great significance. We need to make sure the South Carolina Historical Society, or the Sons of the Confederacy, or whoever it is, know about this. This soldier needs to be properly buried and the artifacts found with him need to be preserved for others to see. Don’t let it get pushed to the side. Make sure the right thing gets done here.”
Bobby Ray, whose interest in the Civil War was as great as Paul’s was, thought for a moment about what his friend had just said. “You’re right, partner. I’ll make a couple of calls after I call the office and we will see the right folks find out about this. I don’t care if my boss gets upset over this or not. Anyone stuck in a tree for that long deserves a proper burial. I’m on it, don’t worry.”
Planting another seed in Bobby Ray’s head, Paul then suggested it would be a good idea for the area to be looked over by someone using a metal detector. “Hey, who knows, maybe you will find something I missed. Perhaps some old minie balls or some gold coins.”
Bobby Ray jumped off Paul’s boat onto the dock next to the wooden walkway as his friend eased the boat up against the marina’s day dock so it could be tied up there for now. As he shut the engine off, Paul saw Bobby Ray entering the marina’s office door.
After notifying his office of what Paul had found, Bobby Ray walked back to where his friend now sat on a wooden bench. The bench sat under a badly painted wooden canopy which protected it from the hot sun. Handing Paul one of the two Cokes he had purchased at the marina’s restaurant, Bobby Ray advised him the Georgetown County Sheriff’s Crime Scene Processing Unit and a local coroner would soon be arriving to process the scene. After he had taken a long sip on his cold soda, a smiling Bobby Ray gave his friend a wink. “I would not be surprised to see a couple of folks from the Georgetown Historical Society show up here also. Funny how those folks find out about these things so fast.”
Without even looking up at his friend, Paul smiled as he knew Bobby Ray had dropped a dime to the historical folks. “Yeah, that is funny. I wonder how they found out about this so fast?”
Then Bobby Ray told
Paul his boss was also en route to the marina. “The three-ring circus, with Sheriff Leroy William Renda as the ring master, will soon flood this parking lot, bringing with it a total loss of dignity for the soldier whose remains you have found. Sheriff Renda likely has zero interest in what you have just found. All he cares about are television cameras and votes. As I have already told you, for him those two things go hand in hand.”
As Bobby Ray predicted, the marina’s parking lot soon filled up with satellite trucks from several local television stations, newspaper reporters and their requisite photographers, and other media types. Soon more cops, curious onlookers, and as Bobby Ray had correctly predicted, the sheriff of Georgetown County, jammed the parking lot full. Soon the various media representatives all clamored for ten minutes of Paul’s time; it was time he reluctantly gave them. Within the next few days news of the discovery of the Confederate soldier’s remains would spread across the country. Those stories would all credit Paul for the discovery he had accidently made. The only good news was the promises he heard made by the governor of South Carolina and by the president of the South Carolina chapter of the Sons of the Confederacy. Both promised they would see to it that Paul’s soldier would receive a proper military burial.
Over the course of the next two weeks, the media attention given to the discovery of the Confederate soldier would temporarily renew interest in the Civil War in many parts of the country, especially in the South. For Paul, his interest in this story would intensify after he finally opened the two bottles he had found with the soldier.
Summer, 1863
10
Troubles Continue.
“Major, tell my father I died with my face to the enemy.”
Colonel Isaac E. Avery, CSA, at Gettysburg, 2 July 1863
On the ride back to the Charles plantation, Captain Francis knew the chances of Sgt. Steele still being alive were going to be slim as the blow to his skull had been severe. Upon entering the front parlor of the Charles home he saw a sheet was now draped over the lifeless body lying on the table in the parlor. Francis had lost another of his men.
As the sun began to make its presence known, Francis had his men prepare to move out. Having lost two men already he knew he could not afford to lose any more, so despite the risk involved he decided to bring the injured Sgt. Hatfield with him, broken leg and all. He also told Samuel he was coming with them as well. Francis prayed Sgt. Davis would rejoin them soon.
Thanking Mary for her help, Francis now moved his wagons towards Petersburg, Virginia, hoping to get back to the railroad so they could move south at a faster pace. As they moved along that afternoon they met up with Confederate cavalry troops who had been tasked with attacking Union troops who had been creating havoc with the railroads in southern Virginia. From them, Francis learned Union troops had recently blown up two other trains. They had also damaged several nearby sections of railroad track in their attempts to disrupt the flow of supplies to the Confederate army in northern Virginia. From what he now knew, Francis decided he would continue to move south by land, but would do so as close as possible to the rail lines in the event they could locate a still functioning train.
They had been on the move for three days since leaving the Charles plantation and during this time Sgt. Davis had returned from Richmond. He had been shocked by the news of Steele’s death. “I hope you boys gave them Union boys what they deserved and then some for killing Micah.” When he heard Francis had ordered the deserters hung, Davis knew they had gotten what they deserved.
Despite the return of Davis, problems continued to occur as Hatfield’s leg injury grew worse from enduring long hours riding over bumpy roads and fields. On their fourth day of travelling one of the wagons sustained a broken axle, but Samuel showed his ability to repair things and he soon had the axle fixed. To everyone’s surprise, he had also proved to be a fine cook as well.
Then the small problems got bigger fast. On the sixth morning since leaving the Charles plantation, and with little warning, they were attacked by a small Union cavalry unit of twenty-five soldiers. This small cavalry unit was part of the larger compliment of Union troops who had been charged with destroying the railroads in southern Virginia. Hidden from view in a large grove of pine trees, and patiently waiting until Francis’ wagons had passed their location, the Union cavalry attacked the wagon train from the west, first firing their rifles as they moved closer to the slow moving wagons. They then charged through Francis’ men with their sabers drawn. As Francis and his men turned to address the attacking Union troops, Sgt. George James immediately fell from his horse, dead from a minie ball striking his right temple. Sgt. Gerald Rickert, an Arkansas Razorback, and a two year veteran of the war, also fell to the ground as a result of being shot in his right leg by the advancing Union cavalry. His wound would prove to be far less serious than the fatal wound James had sustained.
After the Union cavalry’s first pass through them, Francis attempted a daring dash into a clearing in the woods he saw off to his left. As he urged his men towards the clearing, the wagon Sgt. James had been driving overturned as it now had no one controlling the team of horses pulling it. The wagon had run through a small ditch just before it overturned. Seeing the rest of the wagons would make it safely into the woods before the next Union charge at them, Francis gathered Sgts. Davis, ‘Big Ed’ Odom, and Foster to protect the contents of the overturned wagon.
Despite being caught off-guard, and despite the loss of another man, his men reacted well to the Union attack. While outmanned and outmaneuvered by the swift moving cavalry unit, they beat off the next charge at them, killing two Union soldiers who had tried to capture the injured Sgt. Rickert.
To Francis’ surprise the Union cavalry then rode off to a clearing east of where some of his men now readied themselves in the woods. Even though they had the protection of the woods, they were at a clear disadvantage to the swifter and stronger Union cavalry. Francis knew the cavalry unit could easily finish his men off with a coordinated attack, but for now no attack came. Seizing the opportunity the stalled Union attack gave him, he had his men utilize two teams of horses to right the overturned and damaged wagon. Quickly they moved it into the woods near the rest of the wagons. As they did this, Francis waited and waited for the Union cavalry to attack, yet they did not.
With his men and wagons safely in the woods, Francis prepared them for another attack. He deployed Stine and McKinney, the two self-proclaimed ‘best here shots in Bobby Lee’s army’, forward of the others. He told them their sole purpose was to shoot the officer in charge of the Union attack, an officer displaying the insignia of a lieutenant. “He likely will be the one leading the attack. Shoot him and their attack will quickly fall apart!”
Sgts. Stine and McKinney had both honed their skills with a rifle prior to the war, but now the war had given them the opportunity to become even better shots than they already were. In their respective units, Stine with the 12th Virginia Volunteer Cavalry Regiment, and McKinney with the Army of Northern Virginia’s 10th Volunteer Infantry Regiment, they had routinely awed many of their officers and fellow soldiers with their marksmanship skills. Each of their units had often bragged about having the best shot in the army serving with them.
Soon news of each others marksmanship abilities had become well-known. During a period of rest for both of their regiments a few months back, their commanders had arranged for a friendly shooting match to take place between the two of them to decide who the best shot was. Stine and McKinney had matched shot after shot during their friendly competition that spring afternoon in 1862, but Sgt. McKinney had been declared the eventual winner. His last shot had struck dead center in a wooden canteen being used as a target at almost four hundred feet away. Stine’s last shot had hit the target, but it had only grazed the right side of the canteen.
The two sergeants had become friends that day, but had not seen each other since the shooting contest
until they both showed up to meet Francis in Richmond when the mission began. Now they stood side to side with each other, each partially shielded behind a pine tree, Stine with his Springfield rifle and McKinney with his Richmond rifle. Raising their rifles they now took careful aim at the Union cavalry officer advancing upon their somewhat protected position, his horse kicking up dust from the dry field as it led the charge towards them.
The two shots they fired hit next to each other as they struck the lieutenant’s upper chest. Later both men would lay claim to having fired the shot which soon caused the lieutenant’s death. It did not really matter who had fired what shot as either of the two shots would have caused his death to quickly occur. The two well placed shots would later cement their reputations as being amongst the finest sharpshooters within the Confederate army. In the heat of the moment, Francis was just pleased they had hit the target he identified for them.
Just as he had positioned his other men, the Union cavalry attacked again, splitting into two groups in an attempt to cause confusion within the ranks of Francis’ men. That move, coupled by McKinney’s and Stine’s well placed shots which knocked the lieutenant out of his saddle, failed miserably for the Union. The men Francis now commanded had been veterans of several battles before they had been assigned to him. They had learned long ago that staying calm while under fire often had proven key to staying alive.
During the attack Sgt. Daniel Sturges, the South Carolinian who had been the last to report to Francis in Richmond, and who at twenty-five was the oldest sergeant in the group, had received a minor gunshot wound to his left forearm. Sgt. Odom had sustained a minor slash across his back from a Union saber, but he and Sturges would survive. The Union cavalry unit lost six more men senselessly attacking a somewhat fortified position and an experienced group of soldiers. Francis still was at a loss as to why the Union cavalry had not attacked them when they had been out in the open, but his thoughts quickly turned to the welfare of his men. As he did, he saw Banks and Stine were now dragging the seriously injured Union lieutenant back into their line. Francis knew they likely would not be attacked while they held him as a prisoner. The capture of the Union lieutenant at first drew much hooping and hollering from his men as they celebrated the capture of their first prisoner, but now they taunted the Union soldiers over the loss of their commanding officer. They had gotten the best of the Yankees in this skirmish.
Confederate Gold and Silver Page 15