Confederate Gold and Silver

by Peter F. Warren

  Cautiously applying some pressure to the clasp area, Paul was surprised when the watch opened relatively easy. He was again surprised when he found the interior of the watch to be in very good condition. Only a small stain on the bottom of the watch’s interior marred its face. It had likely been caused by moisture getting under the glass face. He was pleased to see the face of the watch was still in excellent condition.

  Paul had hoped to find a picture of someone, perhaps the soldier’s sweetheart or his mother, on the left side of the watch when he opened it, but none were there. Looking at the watch, he saw it had long ago stopped running. It had stopped running at 7:58. “I wonder if it was a.m. or p.m.?”

  Afraid he would harm the watch by trying to wind it with the small key he had found in one of the pockets of the blouse, Paul did not try to wind it. He feared doing so might permanently damage the watch and that he might never get it to run again. As he looked at the time displayed on the watch, he noticed the name Waltham on its face. He made a mental note to Google the name of the watchmaker to see what he could find out about them. Carefully closing the watch, he now focused his attention on the front of it. Gently he cleaned the outside so he could see what had been engraved there. As he did, he saw the initials he had hoped to see, they become clearer once most of the grime had been cleared away. The simple engraving read ‘J.F.’.

  By simple deduction, Paul was fairly confident the initials were likely those of Captain Judiah Francis, whose letters, to both his father and to President Davis, he had found in the bottles. “Another part of the puzzle has come together.”

  After carefully securing the watch back in its hiding place, Paul went to his computer and Googled Waltham watches on his laptop. The Waltham Watch Company had been a fairly large maker of watches for a period of time in the 1800’s and, as the website showed, they had even been the maker of a pocket watch, a Model 1859—a William Ellery pocket watch—which President Abraham Lincoln had been the owner of. Lincoln’s watch had a recorded serial number of 67673. Reading about Lincoln’s watch, he wondered about the specifics of the one he had found. “I don’t dare open it, but I wonder what year it was made in and what the serial number is. I will have to find that out somehow.”

  As he continued to read about the Waltham Watch Company, Paul could not help but to realize the irony that existed regarding a pocket watch which had been made in the North, in Waltham, Massachusetts to be precise. It was a watch that had been carried by an officer of the Confederate Army. He quickly realized it was likely due to the fact the industrial North was further ahead of the South at that time in our country’s history when it came to making items like watches.

  Paul made a few notes about what he had found on the internet regarding the watch and then shut down his computer. As he did, Donna hollered to him that it was almost time to take a shower and to get dressed for the cookout at Bobby Ray’s home. Later, as he started getting dressed, Paul caught himself smiling. He knew he had been looking forward to spending an evening with his good friend. Enjoying the night with good friends, laughing over a few drinks, and sharing a great meal was all he needed. It was what life was supposed to be all about.

  As he finished getting dressed for the evening, Paul pondered whether he should tell Bobby Ray about the gold coins, the watch, and the other items he had found. He wanted to tell him, but soon he realized this was not the right time. He knew he had more leads to follow up on and he did not want any distractions stopping him from learning what he needed to know about his secret collection of items. “I’ll tell him, but not right now. He’s going to be mad at me for not telling him, but I’ll make him understand why I didn’t. At least I hope I can.”

  ******

  In the coming days and weeks, as he worked on the few leads he developed, Paul could never have guessed where those leads would take him. It was a journey that was just beginning to address a Southern legend which had existed for almost one hundred and fifty years. It would be a remarkable journey for him to make.

  Summer, 1863

  14

  The Race to Charleston.

  “That man will fight us every day and every hour till the end of the war.”

  Lt. General James Longstreet, CSA, describing Union General U.S. Grant

  Francis and his men pushed their horses hard to put distance between their precious cargo and the Union troops who would soon be arriving in Charlotte. Forgoing food and rest they pushed on, fearing Union troops would soon begin to pursue them. Francis knew they still had at least six more days of hard travel before they reached Florence and, hopefully, the still operating North Eastern Railroad. But he knew if he pushed the horses too hard they would die and then he would never get his precious cargo to where he needed to get it to. Pushing the horses was a risk he was not willing to take as the chances of finding replacement horses were few. Horses strong enough to pull the heavy wagons were harder and harder to find these days because of the demands of the war. Now he began to slow their pace.

  As he slowed the pace of the wagons so the horses could rest to some degree as they moved south, their pace grew even slower when they were forced to travel over difficult terrain. The ground had been made soft by two days of steady rain and during that time several of the wagons had sunk up to their axles in the mud they had encountered. Still they pushed on, with Francis only allowing them to pause for brief spells so both horses and men could be fed.

  As the horses always did, now his men did the same. The men ate cold meals for several days as Francis, out of fear that a campfire would alert Union troops to their whereabouts, refused to allow the men to cook a hot meal. The men ate what little food they could prepare in a short amount of time and then they pushed forward again. His men grumbled about the meager amount of food they had been given, but they knew Francis had eaten even less than they had. They grumbled like all soldiers do when they are not fed well, but even they knew the risk had been too great to start a fire.

  As they travelled into the early evening hours of their fifth day since leaving Charlotte, Francis sent out scouts in different directions to determine if any Union troops could be seen. When the last of his scouts reported back to him they had found nothing in the way of any pursuing Yankee troops, Francis ordered a halt for the day and the wagons moved into a small clearing within a lightly wooded area. They were now only five miles northwest of Monroe, North Carolina when they stopped for the evening. As a reward for their efforts in pushing hard for the last couple of days during heavy rain and over bad terrain, and because he finally felt they were safe from any Union troops, Francis allowed a fire to be built. That evening the men enjoyed their first hot meal in several days.

  For the next four days the wagons again moved slowly south, with Francis choosing times to push the horses hard when the terrain allowed for a quicker pace. Pushing on, they moved through Wadesboro and Sneedsboro stopping only for water and food for both the men and the horses. Each time they stopped Francis tried to learn news of any Union troop movements in the area, but he learned nothing of any importance. The lack of news worried him. As they moved out towards Darlington, a five day ride from Sneedsboro, he fully expected they would be attacked by Union cavalry at any time. “Where are they? Someone surely told them about us and our wagons? Why have they not attacked us yet?”

  But then, as luck would have it, disaster struck them. This time from the hands of Southern sympathizers and not from Union troops. While the people of Wadesboro and Sneedsboro had yet to hear of any Union troop movements in the area, other citizens west of those two towns had and they had organized themselves to attack any Union troops they saw marching towards Charleston. It had been injured Confederate soldiers, sent home from the front to recuperate, who were joined by old men and young boys, as well as a few ill trained local militiamen, who had gathered their guns and courage to fight the Yankees. This group of misfits was determined to halt the Yankees advan
ce south.

  In the early evening hours of the tenth day of traveling since they had left the rail yard, Francis pushed his men to make a few more miles before they halted for the day. As they moved through a large meadow, Sgt. Gerald Rickert, who was riding out in front of the wagons, was suddenly shot and killed. He had been mistaken for a Union soldier by a member of the group of Southern sympathizers who were determined to fight the Yankees.

  The shot had been heard by both Sgt. Sturges and Sgt. Foster who also were riding away from the wagons. As they arrived to investigate the shot they had heard, they rode into a deadly crossfire and Foster fell dead. He was shot twice by two injured Confederate soldiers who had also mistaken him for a Union cavalry officer. Sturges had also been shot, but his wound was at first not thought to be serious. It had been his screams which caused this ragtag group of men to finally stop firing.

  As soon as Francis saw the carnage that had taken place, he quickly knew his chances of completing a successful mission had just been crippled with the loss of Foster and Rickert. As he sat on his horse looking at the bodies of his two men now dead on the ground, senselessly killed by friendly fire just as General Thomas ‘Stonewall’ Jackson had been killed, he felt a rage boil inside of him. He quickly sought a victim to extract his revenge on. Drawing his saber, he spurred his horse forward, charging directly at a man about his own age so he could punish him for the loss of his two men. But as he did he saw a young boy, a boy too young to be out fighting a war, run to his father, the intended target Francis had sought to seek his vengeance on. Whether it was out of fear for his own safety, or to protect his father, the actions of the young boy caused Francis to pull up on his reins. His horse stopped directly in front of the man and his frightened son. As he glared at the man who had helped kill two of his men, Francis dropped his raised right arm to his side. As he did, his saber harmlessly scrapped the side of his right boot. The anger he had felt, anger which had raised the saber to harm someone, quickly left him.

  As he dismounted from his horse, Francis saw the rest of the wagons had come up to where they were. With the assistance of Sgt. Griffin, Samuel was now tending to the injury Sturges had sustained. Sturges had sustained what appeared to be a through and through minor gunshot wound to the left side of his chest. As he sat on the ground being treated for his injury, he cursed a streak of profanity at those men who had shot him and killed his two friends. Francis was not a person who used profanity much and while he thought the use of it showed one’s shortcomings in life, he did nothing to stop Sturges from cussing out those who had shot him.

  Francis then collected the ragtag group of men who had mistakenly fired upon his men. As he told them their actions had seriously harmed a mission of great importance to the Confederacy, he could feel his anger return and his blood again started to boil. As he berated them for their actions, the man whose son had saved him moments earlier from being on the receiving end of Francis’ saber, dropped to his knees crying, begging for forgiveness. “Sir, I beg you to forgive me for what I have done. I have done a terrible thing, something which shall live with me for the rest of my time here on earth. I have sinned terribly here today. Please forgive me!”

  Rising from where he had knelt, the man walked to a large nearby rock and broke his rifle against the rock, the wooden stock splintering into several pieces. Tossing the broken rifle to the ground, he then removed a cartridge box of ammunition from his belt and dropped it to the ground. Gathering up his still frightened son, he started the long walk home; one arm around his young son and the other wiping tears from his own face. The anger Francis felt in his body again left him. After ordering two of his men to run the Southern sympathizers off towards their homes, Francis walked to where Foster and Rickert lay on the ground. Kneeling down next to them, he began to cry over the loss of his two men. He also wept over what the young boy had witnessed and would carry with him for the rest of his life.

  Soon regaining his composure, Francis realized with the loss of two more men, plus the injury sustained by Sturges, he did not have enough men to drive the wagons and to serve as scouts when he needed them. He now was forced to make a hard decision.

  Still fearing they would soon be attacked by Union cavalry, Francis made the decision to empty the provisions, as well as the gold and silver, from one of the wagons. As this was being done, he had Sgt. Odom and Samuel dig a large hole in the ground. “It needs to be big enough to bury our two friends and a large wooden barrel.” Everyone momentarily stopped working when they heard the order he had given as they now wondered why he was planning to bury a barrel in the grave that would be the final resting place for Foster and Rickert.

  As some of the men worked on moving the provisions from one wagon into another, and while others stacked the gold and silver on the ground from the wagon being unloaded, Francis called to Sgt. Banks. Having shown his ability to whittle during their journey, Banks was directed to make a large wooden cross out of the floor boards from the wagon which was being left behind. “Use whatever you need from the wagon, but make the cross a good size. When you are done I want you to somehow whittle C.S.A. into the cross or into another board you are to attach to the cross. I don’t care how you do it, but make it big enough to be seen from a distance.”

  Francis had a large wooden barrel emptied of its small amount of remaining flour and then had it dragged into the large hole Odom and Samuel finished digging. He then explained his intentions to his men. He told them they were now forced to lighten their load as they did not have enough men to drive all of the wagons. He further explained to them he intended to bury the gold and silver which had been in the wagon they had just emptied. “We are going to bury it inside the barrel. After we cover the barrel with dirt, then we will place the bodies of Foster and Rickert directly over the top of it.”

  Understanding what he wanted to accomplish, the men quickly loaded the barrel with the bags of gold and silver they had unloaded from the wagon. They sealed the end of the barrel as best they could and then covered it with a thick layer of dirt. Then the blanket wrapped bodies of Foster and Rickert were gently laid in the hole directly over the top of the barrel. Then the hole was back filled with dirt. When the grave was finally filled with the rest of the dirt it almost looked as if the ground had never been disturbed. Francis then had his men find four large rocks. The large rocks were then placed directly over the grave which now held the bodies of his two men and the flour barrel filled with gold and silver.

  After he had helped bury Foster and Rickert, Francis inspected the wooden cross Banks had constructed. Using boards from the wagon, as well as nails and bolts he had been able to salvage, Banks constructed a cross almost seven feet in height and roughly five feet in width. In large letters he had whittled C.S.A. into the boards running the width of the cross. Francis was pleased by what he saw and he took the time to pat Banks on the shoulder for what he had put together. “Franklyn, I know our friends would be proud to have this cross displayed over their grave. You have done a fine job!”

  Francis then surprised his men again by having them carry the cross not to the grave, but to a nearby stone wall which stood about fifty feet from the grave. “Put the cross in the ground here. This way we know where the grave is and no one else does. I don’t think anyone is gonna do any digging by the cross, but if they do, we certainly don’t want them to find the gold.” His men quickly realized the cross, as well as the stones on top of the grave, would serve as reference points for them when they could come back and retrieve the gold and silver.

  After they had planted the cross into the soft North Carolina soil, with his remaining men following him, Francis walked back to the grave which now held the bodies of two of his men. Taking off his hat, he dropped to one knee. “Men, let us pray for our two departed friends.” The others, some standing, some kneeling, several with tears now on their faces, took off their hats and joined him around the grave as he offered a pray
er for their two friends. As the sun began to disappear in the sky, no one moved or said a word for several minutes. They were still numb from the events that had occurred during this hot late summer evening.

  After several minutes of silent mourning, Francis told his men to make camp for the night as he knew trying to make up any lost time now would be a wasted effort. His men needed time to grieve, to eat, and to rest after a difficult day. But staying true to his routine, and before he allowed them to rest, the ever cautious Francis ordered two of his men to ride the perimeter around where they were making their camp for the night. He had already lost two men today and he wanted to make sure he did not lose anymore. His two men rode the perimeter together, making sure they were not being watched by Yankees or by anyone else. As this was being done, Francis retrieved a pencil and a small piece of paper from one of his saddlebags. Under the last remaining light of day, he drew a map of where the grave had been placed, of the four stones marking the grave, and of the cross which had been placed a short distance from the grave. As he drew the map, he had but one thought. “I can only hope my two men will guard this money for me until I can come back to get it.” He then prayed his roughly drawn map would someday soon guide him back to where the money had been buried.

  By the time he had finished his map, the men had the campfire already started and Samuel had started cooking them a hot meal. After they had finished their meal, and with their horses already cared for, Francis told them all to sleep. He then climbed on his horse and rode out into the night as his men had done so many nights before. Tonight he would be the sentry on duty so they could sleep. He would stand guard during the night, making sure the Yankees did not disturb their sleep.