After removing the folded papers from the second bottle in the same manner as he did with the ones in the first bottle, Paul gently unrolled the papers on the towel laying on top of the folding table. As with the first set of papers, he noticed they again comprised two separate letters. They were letters like the first two they had just read; ones once written on white paper which had faded over time. Another smaller piece of paper was folded up between the two letters. As he compared the two letters to each other, Paul noticed the penmanship appeared to be from the same person. He also noticed the writing on one of the letters appeared to be much neater. His first thought after seeing the difference between the neatness of the penmanship was a logical one. “It’s almost as if the writer was not as rushed, or as hurried as he possibly had been when he had written the second letter.”
Paul first read the letter with the neater penmanship of the two. He saw the letter had been written on November 10, 1863. It appeared to have been written in Charleston, South Carolina.
Dear President Davis,
It is with great regret that I must advise you that I have failed in my mission. It is my hope to tell you the details of our struggle in person, but in the event of my death, I have instructed my men, of which only three are still alive with me, to deliver this letter to you. Please know we have tried our best to fulfill the orders you personally gave me.
My men have died defending our assets and they have died both tragically and heroically. I am very proud of their gallant efforts to help further our cause. Be proud of their sacrifices as I have been.
It is due to attacks from Union forces upon us since we left Richmond, as well as a couple of other unfortunate accidents, which have resulted in the deaths of some of my men, as well as problems with our railroads, and with the wagons we hauled our assets in, that I have been forced to bury some of our assets in a shallow grave outside of a farm near Maple Hill, North Carolina. My men who survive with me, and I, know where that location is. I have marked the location with a large cross that we made from wood from one of our wagons. I have had one of those boards inscribed with the initials C.S.A. on it. The assets lay close by to that cross, in a shallow grave that contains the remains of three of my men. Four large rocks mark the location of the grave.
Now, pursued by superior Union forces I have attempted to get the remains of our assets to Charleston, South Carolina, so they could be moved further south by our boats, but the Union naval blockade has prevented this from occurring. With dwindling resources, I have secured the remains of our assets within one of our army warehouses along the King Street Road. I am told our assets will never leave from here, and while battered and broken, these strong solid black friends of ours, who have served us well since Fort Sumter, while even in number, remain loyal protectors of our ‘C.S.A.’ assets. I am confident you will find them in excellent shape, even in years to come.
We are now forced to ride north into South Carolina with my saddlebags filled. Our black friends, while strong and solid, are limited to twelve and I could not force them to protect what they could not. What we have left with our strong black friends is similar to what we have already left in South Carolina with the resting children of Governor R.F.W. Allston. Those assets were secured within their compound for safe protection. They rest comfortably (NW) with the money. It is my hope to retrieve that money and to move it here to Charleston if the Yankees do not threaten us again.
It is also my hope to soon obtain more men so that we can complete our mission to some degree.
Respectfully, Your Servant,
Captain Judiah Francis
With still one more letter to read, Paul took a moment to digest the letter he had just read. He could not believe what he had just read in the first three letters. Silently he wondered why he had been the one to find them after all of these years. “Did I really find these letters or are they part of a dream I am having?” He also could not help but to replay in his mind everything that had happened to him since he changed the flat tire for Steve a few days ago. “This is tantamount to finding the buried treasure chests that everyone thinks pirates like Blackbeard and Stede Bonnett left hidden along the North and South Carolina coasts years ago.”
While Paul had read the letter written from Francis to President Davis, Donna had read the other letter that had been with it. As she did, the tears which formed in her eyes now turned to soft sobs. Still focused on the letter he was reading, Paul had been blind to her tears and now was confused when he saw her crying. It took him a couple of minutes to finally calm her down so she could speak. “You read the letter and you will see why I am crying. The letter confirms who the soldier was and how alone he must have felt when he died horribly in that tree, all alone by himself in the woods.”
As his eyes fixed on the letter that had upset his wife so much, Paul hoped it would fill in some of the pieces of the puzzle which were still missing. On the stained and faded yellowish paper, he again saw the handwriting was not as neat as it was in the first letter. Now he concentrated on reading the letter.
Dear Father,
Please know I have done my best to serve my country, and my family, as well as I could. I am afraid my best was not good enough.
Despite my best efforts, and those of my men, to complete an assignment that both President Davis and General Lee selected me for, I have failed. While the assets of our united Confederate states have been protected, the vicious, and unrelenting Union attacks upon us will likely stop me from ever seeing you, mother, Patricia, and Rita Margaret again.
Two days ago I was struck in the left leg by a Yankee minie ball and I fear that I shall not see another day as I have not the strength, or means, to seek assistance for my wound.
Please know I have done my best. Please also give my warmest regards to mother and to my dear sister. In my final hours you are all here with me. The watch you gave me as a gift brings back fond memories of my family and of you. It is my hope that my last conscious thought will be of all of you.
Do not cry for me as I shall always be with you.
Affectionately, Your Loving Son,
Judiah
Paul did his best to hold back his tears as he read the letter twice. Hugging his still upset wife as they stood in the garage, the soft whirl of the still running Sony camcorder was all that could be heard. Shutting off the camcorder, they sat down on two lawn chairs in the garage, each quietly sipping a glass of wine as their minds processed what they had just found in the two bottles. After a few minutes, Paul broke the silence as he wanted to see his still upset wife smile again after she had cried so hard while reading Judiah’s letter. “So what do you want to do tomorrow night for excitement?” His comment made Donna laugh briefly, but tears still filled her eyes.
Waiting a few more minutes, Paul turned the camcorder back on and unfolded the small piece of paper which had been with the two letters in the second bottle. As he did, he saw it was a roughly drawn map. “Donna, look at this. This looks like a map that someone has drawn. It makes reference to a spot on the map as being a wooden cross. It also has a spot marked with some stones, but it doesn’t give us any clue as to where the location actually is or who is buried in what I assume to be a grave.”
Donna finished drying her eyes as she looked at the small map for the first time. “Well, someone drew it for some reason. Could it be one of the locations he mentions in his letter?”
“Could be, could be just that, but who knows right now.”
As they silently stood in the garage looking at the map, something clicked inside of Paul’s head. He realized dinner with Bobby Ray was still on the schedule for tomorrow evening, as was dinner with Steve. “With all that’s been going on, I screwed up and scheduled two different dinners on the same night. How did I do that?” Donna was busy reading for the second time the letter Francis had written to his father. She barely acknowledged what Paul
had said about tomorrow’s dinner plans. She was simply too engrossed in the letter she was reading.
Grabbing his cell phone, Paul made a quick phone call to Bobby Ray. He had just gotten home after finishing a very long day at work. After a few moments of small talk, Paul begged him to change their dinner plans to Saturday night.
“Yeah, no problem. Everything OK?”
“Oh, yeah, no problems at all. Donna and I are just enjoying another boring and quiet night here at home with a couple of glasses of wine. Not much of anything happening here.”
“That’s good. OK, we will see y’all on Saturday night, say around 7 pm? See y’all then. Bye!”
After Paul had rearranged their dinner plans for the following evening, they tried to figure out how they could use the newly found letters to help clear up some of the missing pieces of the puzzle they knew still existed. The big piece of the puzzle that still needed to be figured out was trying to determine what Captain Francis had been sent to do by General Lee and President Davis. “Of all the letters we just read, I have to think the one Francis wrote to President Davis definitely has some hidden clues within it. We figure some of those clues out and we will know the whole story about what he was sent to do.” Then they decided Donna would hit the computer and try to answer some of their questions by researching certain points the letters brought up. As they were putting their camera equipment away, Paul told her he would have working copies of the letters made the following morning and then would place the originals in their safety deposit box for safekeeping until they decided what to do with them.
The next day would be one of many interesting days Paul would soon experience. The upcoming days would take him back in time so he could solve one of the greatest mysteries of the Civil War.
Summer, 1863
12
Tough Decisions.
“Bully for old K! Give it to them, boys!”
Major General James Ewell Brown ‘JEB’ Stuart, CSA
Battle of Yellow Tavern, 11 May 1864
After saying goodbye to Captain Kirschner, Francis returned to his men at the Petersburg train station. They had waited for him at the far end of the platform while he had talked with Kirschner. He was greeted with the news that the Confederate officer in charge of all train movements in and out of the station had changed his mind about allowing them to move south on the train. This officer now refused to empty three rail cars of cotton which was being shipped south. While his men had been able to secure some space on the train for their needs, they needed the other three rail cars for the rest of the wagons and horses.
With Sgts. Griffin and Davis in tow, Francis walked to the station master’s office to seek the space he needed on the train. As he walked into the small office, Captain Arthur Bevens, of the Confederate Army Quartermaster’s Office, was busy with the train’s engineer. They were finalizing the tasks needed to get the departure of the southbound train underway. He barely raised his eyes from the paperwork he was looking at on his desk when Francis and his men entered the office.
Somewhat distastefully, Bevens now advised Francis he had no room on the train for their needs. “Captain, as I have told your men I cannot make anymore room for you on this train. I have my orders, and my priorities, and right now you are not a priority for me. The next train is scheduled to depart from here sometime around eleven tomorrow morning. You will simply have to wait until then.”
“Captain, what you are telling me is unacceptable. We have to have those rail cars off-loaded so my men and I can move out when the train is ready to leave. You are going to have to change your priorities, not mine. We must get moving south.”
Sensing tempers were about to start flaring, the train’s engineer, Walter Worden, a short and rather skinny man who wore thick glasses on the tip of his nose, tried to leave the office, but found his path blocked by the two Virginia sergeants. Not looking to add to the problem that was already occurring, Worden quietly moved off to a corner of the office.
After a moment or two of tension and stares between the two officers, Bevens again tried to state his position. He had barely started to speak when Francis quickly cut him off.
“Bevens, my men and I have personally been assigned a mission by both General Lee and President Davis, a mission of the utmost importance to our cause. We must move south immediately and without delay. I have already lost time, and I have already lost some of my men, I will not be delayed any longer. Are you going to clear the rail cars for my men and me or should I have my men just burn the cotton where it sits?” Francis had tried to keep his temper under control, but he now found himself dealing with a bureaucratic idiot who would rather move cotton than men assigned to a specific mission.
“Captain, I resent the tone you have taken here with me. I shall warn you that if you persist with your threats, I shall report you to the Quartermaster’s Office, who will then contact your commanding officer. I sincerely doubt that General Lee or President Davis, or anyone else in command of our armies, has ever even heard of you, yet alone assigned you to a mission for them.”
Francis saw Sgt. Davis take a step towards the still seated Bevens, likely to reinforce to him whose authority they were really acting under, but he stopped him before he could reach the desk. Reaching inside his uniform blouse, Francis threw the envelope containing the letters that had been written for him by President Davis and Secretary Memminger down on the desk for Bevens to read. “Captain, after you read the two letters feel free to walk over to the telegraph office with me. You can telegraph President Davis to make sure the letters are authentic. Be my guest!” Francis had lost his patience with Bevens and now he dared him to send a telegram to Richmond.
Bevens opened the envelope and quickly read the two letters. After noticing whose signatures were at the end of the letters, he placed them back into the envelope, stood up from the chair he had been sitting in and handed the envelope back to Francis. “Captain, I apologize for doubting you. Please accept my sincere apologies for not believing you. Please excuse me so I can make arrangements to have the rail cars emptied so you and your men will have the room you need.”
Francis had gotten what he needed, but now he had one more point to make with Bevens. “Captain Bevens, before you leave I must tell you what you have just read is not to be spoken about with anyone. This mission is of particular importance to President Davis and to the entire Confederacy. I am giving you an order, the same one that was given to me by the President. You are not to speak about what you have read to anyone, for if you do, you will have to answer to President Davis directly. Do you understand?” Nervous and now sweating profusely, Bevens simply nodded his head to show Francis he understood what he had been told.
After Bevens left the office to clear room in the rail cars for Francis, the train’s engineer, who had chuckled out loud as Bevens had left the office, finally got up the courage to speak. “Was that letter really from Ol’ Jeff himself?” The wink he received from Francis let him know that it had been.
“Well, I’ll be! Captain, this here train ride is gonna be the best one ya ever had. Tell me what y’all need and I’ll get it for ya. I like that Ol’ Jeff, he’s a good man.”
It took over two hours to change out the rail cars, but shortly after it was done, and under a hot summer sun, the train moved south out of Petersburg towards North Carolina. As the train moved along the tracks, the heat and humidity were quickly forgotten by most of Francis’ men as they had fallen asleep wherever they could find a comfortable spot.
They had been travelling for only three hours when trouble struck again, but this time it was not caused by the Yankees. Shortly after crossing into North Carolina, one of the steel bars connecting the two sets of the engine’s wheels to each other cracked and the train soon lost traction on the rails. It soon came to a slow stop. After the problem had been identified, Francis learned it would likely take days to repair the damag
e. The repairs would shut down the rail line until the repairs could be made.
Out of concern that his men, and the precious cargo they were transporting, could fall easy prey to any Union troops who might come upon the stalled train, Francis ordered his men, and Samuel, to unload the wagons from the train and to prepare to move south over land. Looking at a map Worden had on the train, Francis now hoped to move south to Hillsboro, North Carolina. “Hopefully we can link up with the North Carolina Railroad which runs through there.”
******
Outside of Hillsboro they encountered a small group of Confederate replacement troops who were headed northeast towards Richmond. From them, Francis learned Union troops had recently probed the area northeast of Raleigh and that another small Union cavalry unit had also been seen off to the southeast. He also learned other Union troops had conducted a few small raids near Lincolnton, North Carolina, mostly damaging crops and setting fire to a few small buildings. As an experienced cavalry officer he knew if these Union troops moved to join up with each other, and possibly with others in the area, they would likely target the rail lines first. Getting back on another train was a risk Francis knew was not worth taking. They would have to move over land for now.
Gathering his men, Francis told them what he had learned about Union troops being seen in the area. He also told them of his concern about using the railroad to move further south towards Atlanta. “If we can push south over land and get close to Lexington then I believe we will have a better chance of completing our mission and staying alive. Once there we can put the Yadkin River between us and any Yankee troops that might be in the area.”
Confederate Gold and Silver Page 18