Slowly sliding down the river bank, Francis again made his way back to the tree limb and to the saddlebags he had left by the side of the river. It took him several attempts, but finally he was able to free the limb from the main trunk of the tree. Lying on the river bank nearby was another dead tree limb, longer and skinner in size than the first one. Using his bayonet, he cleaned away the small dead starter shoots on the limb. “Hopefully I can use this to help me keep my balance and to help push me across the river.”
Straddling the large dead tree limb, Francis placed his saddlebags and blanket over his left shoulder. Then he adjusted his weight on the limb to allow for the weight of the heavy saddlebags. At first, the cool river water actually made his injured leg feel better for a moment, but then the brackish water began to sting as it entered his wound. “I need to get across the river quickly,” Francis thought, “this muddy water cannot be doing my leg any good.” He then secured his empty pistol by pushing it further down into his waistband.
Using the small tree limb as a pole to push away from the shore, Francis took a moment to make sure no one was watching him from the banks of the river or from any small boats that might be nearby. Sensing he was alone, outside of the several hawks and egrets that watched him as they hunted for their breakfast, he pushed himself further out into the fairly calm river until the pole could no longer feel the bottom of the riverbed. The relief he had first felt from the river water now caused him to feel sick to his stomach, the nausea almost causing him to lose his balance. “Stay focused and keep your balance, don’t let the river get the best of you!” He made himself talk out loud as it forced him to concentrate on maintaining his balance as he slowly moved across the river. Focused on maintaining his balance, he also kept reminding himself to use both his good leg and the pole to make his way to the other side of the river.
The river showed its mercy to him as it soon allowed him to make it to the eastern side without incident. Out of sheer luck he had reached a section of the river with both a sandy bottom and a long but gradual grade to the top of the river bank. Reaching the top of the grade was a struggle due to the pain he now felt in his leg; Francis was utterly exhausted by the time he got there. Despite the hunger pains he also felt, he was far too exhausted to eat any of the peaches hanging from several well kept peach trees. Fatigue had won out over hunger.
Lying there for several minutes as he caught his breath, Francis rested with his head propped up by his saddlebags. As he rested, he could smell a fire burning nearby. The smell came from the chimney of a nearby rice plantation whose peach trees he now lay under. Nearby he could hear singing, likely from slaves as they sang in the rice fields while they worked. He had seen the rice fields along the river earlier in the morning. Now too tired and too injured to care about eating or being found, he quickly fell asleep in the shade provided by the peach trees.
Francis had been asleep for almost about two hours when he was woken by the sounds of children’s voices. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see five young children staring down at him. The children, both white and black, were two young boys and three slightly older girls. They had been playing in the peach orchard when they found him asleep. Now as he woke, one of the young girls, a white girl, ran off screaming to her father. “Papa, papa, come see what we all have found!” Her voice trailing off the further away she got from where he still rested on the ground.
“Hey, mista, is you a soldier man?” Francis looked at the young black boy who had asked him the question. “Yes, I am. I, I need some water. Can you help me?” None of the children moved to help him. He was the first real soldier they had ever seen up close.
Francis soon heard the voice of the young girl who had run off to find her father. Her voice was coming closer to him now. “Over here, papa, he is over here!” He saw her first and then saw her father following her to where she now stood next to the other children. Francis’ first impression was he was too old to be the young girl’s father as his hair was very grey, but then he saw the man’s facial features were still those of a fairly young man. It was not the age of this man which concerned him, it was the rifle he was carrying that now concerned him. Behind the girl’s father followed two black men.
“Scoot you kids, move out of the way!”
Francis was defenseless as he lay on the ground. He was entirely at the mercy of this stranger who now had his rifle pointed somewhat in his direction. “You a Confederate soldier?”
Weak and extremely thirsty, Francis answered him. “Yes, sir. My name is Captain Judiah Francis, I’m from Virginia. The Yankees shot me last night, got a Yankee minie ball stuck here in my left leg. I’m hurt pretty bad. Sir, I need some water, I’m darn thirsty. Can you please have someone get me some water?”
“Whatcha all doing down in these parts if ya are from Virginia as ya say ya are? Don’t sound right to me.”
“Sir, President Davis and General Lee, well they both assigned my men and me to take care of something for them. It’s something kind of important for the entire Confederacy. That’s why I am down here. My men are all dead, killed by Union soldiers or by accidents. I’m the only one left.”
Hearing General Lee’s name being mentioned excited the girl’s father, but he still stared hard at Francis. “You know General Lee, personal like I mean?”
Francis struggled to raise himself partway off the ground, finally making it to a sitting position. “Yes, sir, I know the general fairly well. He is a fine general and an even better person. I know he would express his appreciation personally to you if he knew you had taken care of me. I sure could use some water. Please, sir, may I have some?”
Thomas Daly stood silent for the next few moments as he stared down at the injured soldier helplessly lying on the ground before him. Sizing the situation up, he saw the pistol tucked into Francis’ pants. He also saw his saber nearby on the ground. Standing there, he nodded his head as he pondered what Francis had just told him. After thinking over what now confronted him in his peach orchard, Daly glanced over his left shoulder at one of the two slaves who had stood behind him. “Moses, get on up to the well. Bring this here soldier some cool water to drink. Be quick about it!”
“Yes, suh, Mr. Tom.”
Daly then knelt down next to Francis and looked at his wounded leg. “We ain’t got no doctor in these parts now, the two we had are both off doctoring you soldier boys someplace. Closest doctor is down in Charleston. My wife and Big Ned’s wife are both real good at doctoring things back together. We’ll get you up there to see them after you have some water.”
“Thank you, sir! Bless you. May I ask you your name?”
“My name is Thomas Daly. My family and I own this plantation, got over two thousand acres now. We named this place Rice Fields, named it after one of the crops we grow here. My family came here from Ireland many years ago. Right proud to be in this fine country, it’s our home now.” Daly turned to the other male slave who had stood quietly off to the side, one who had never taken his eyes off of Francis. “Big Ned, get up to the barn and fetch the buckboard down here. Tell Miss Diana we got a man hurt real bad down here. You best tell Josalee the same news as Miss Diana is gonna be needing her help. Tell them to be ready to do some doctoring on this soldier. Hurry now!”
“Yes, suh, I’ll tell them about this soldier man!”
Francis collapsed back onto the ground; relieved help was on the way for him. “Thank you, Mr. Daly. Thank you!”
Soon Francis found himself lying on a large wooden table in what appeared to be a room off the plantation’s kitchen. The room was mostly bare except for a few plates and glassware sitting on a small table on one side of the room. Nearby on a wall hung a likeness of George Washington, resplendent looking in his uniform. Even from the starkness of the room he could sense it was the home of a wealthy plantation owner.
Diana Daly had introduced herself to Francis when she first
saw him being carried into the room by Moses and Big Ned. Soon she was telling him to prepare for the pain he was going to feel when she removed the boot from his injured leg. She had already tried to comfort him by cleaning his dirty face with a cool wet towel and by giving him two small glasses of bourbon to help dull the pain, but Francis writhed in pain when she took his boot off. The pain was one he had never experienced in life before.
As his pain momentarily subsided, Big Ned’s wife, Josalee, a large woman with a warm friendly face, entered the room carrying a large white ceramic bowl filled with hot water and rags torn from old bed sheets. She never looked at him, but rather directed all of her attention to the wound in his leg. By this time Diana had removed his boots, his left sock, and had ripped most of his left pant leg up past his knee. Doing so allowed the small round hole in his leg to be easily seen against his otherwise almost pale white leg. From the looks he soon saw in the faces of Diana and Josalee, Francis could tell the wound was bad.
“Mrs. Daly, I can tell from your expressions the wound must be bad. If you cannot get the minie ball out, then all I can ask of you is to clean the wound as best you can. Whatever you can do for me is most appreciated, but please do your best as I must get back to Charleston, both to see a doctor and to complete what is expected of me. Please know I am most grateful for your kindness.”
Diana then gave Francis a larger glass of bourbon to drink. With Josalee’s help, she went to work on his leg while Big Ned and Moses held him down on the table. The sting of the bourbon that she poured directly into the leg wound was in itself almost too much pain for him to bear, but as she poked around in his leg with a large pair of tweezers trying to find the minie ball, the pain he felt was now unbearable. “Please, I beg of you, please stop!” Diana ignored his cries as she had finally found the minie ball, but despite her best efforts over the next few minutes she could not free it from where it had lodged in his leg. After Francis passed out from the pain he felt, she again attempted to free the stubborn minie ball. Her efforts again failed to free the stubborn ball from his leg.
When Francis finally came to, Diana was again cleansing his face with a cool towel. It did little to help dull the pain he still felt. “Son, we tried our best, but we could not get the minie ball out. You need to see a doctor as soon as possible if you want to save your leg. I’m afraid if you don’t that soon an infection will set in and you will likely lose your leg. I’m sorry I could not do more for you.”
Still groggy from the bourbon and the pain, Francis patted Diana on the left hand, thanking her for her help. Then he fell asleep again.
******
Waking up three hours later, Francis found himself alone in the same room and still lying on the table. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked for his saddlebags, hoping they had not disappeared. He soon saw they had been placed in a corner of the room. Next to the saddlebags sat his still wet boots, his pistol and his saber. Looking down at his injured leg, he saw his wound had been bandaged with clean white pieces of cloth. The pain was still intense, but it was far more manageable than it was when Diana had been poking around inside of it earlier.
As he sat propped up on the table, Diana entered the room carrying a small tray of food. Josalee soon followed her into the room carrying a large glass of warm cider. She quietly walked to where Diana now stood. “We don’t have nearly as much food as we had before the war started, but we have enough to be thankful for and to share with you. We probably would do the same for a Yankee soldier who was hurt just like you are. It makes no sense not to be compassionate when someone is hurt.”
Francis quickly ate the meal that had been prepared for him, realizing as he finished how fast he had eaten everything which had been set in front of him. The warm cider had been his first real treat in several weeks. He was now somewhat embarrassed by how fast he had eaten his meal. “Sorry, Mrs. Daly, I guess my table manners are a bit rusty these days.”
“Nothing to apologize for, my boy use to eat like that also. He was a big eater, just like you. At least I know you like our cooking. I’ll get you some more food later, you just rest for now.” As they left the room, Thomas Daly came into the room to check on Francis.
“Mr. Daly, I am most appreciative of the hospitality your family has shown me. I shall never forget how kindly I was treated. I hope I can someday repay the kindness to your family.”
Francis then told Daly of his plan to soon leave so he could try and make his way back to Charleston. “Mr. Daly, I need to borrow a horse to finish what General Lee has assigned me to do. I fear I am going to fail him, but I must try to complete what is expected of me. For me to do so I must have a horse, but as an honest man I must tell you I do not know when, or if, I can ever return your horse to you. Sir, I must again ask you for your help. Can you lend me a horse so I can at least try to finish what my men have already died for?”
Thomas Daly was silent for a few moments as he thought about what Francis had just asked of him. “Captain, I am not a born Southerner like you and like many of my neighbors are. Perhaps it is for that reason I cannot make sense of this terrible war. This is a war where men from the same country, who just a few short years ago fought side by side to defeat the Red Coats, now fight and kill each other. All of this, especially the killing, just makes no sense to me.”
“Mr. Daly, I also have difficulty understanding it at times myself. I do not know if that gives you any comfort, but many of us share your concerns as well. I agree with the senselessness of this war and that it needs to end before we are all dead, but like my fellow Virginians I will continue to defend my home from those who want to tell us how to live. All we want is to be free and independent—free from any type of government which tries to tell us how to live our lives. But I do agree with you, there is no reason we cannot live in peace amongst each other.”
“Judiah, you appear to be a bright young man, a dedicated idealist perhaps, but a fine man. I will be happy to lend you the horse you need and I hope whatever it is you need to do that you can finish it. I can sense it is important for you to do so. Whether I get the horse back or not is of little concern to me. What is of concern to me is I fear what you are trying to finish is soon going to kill you. That, my friend, will cause me great sorrow. I will not try to dissuade you from your responsibilities, but I am afraid I shall never see you again.”
Daly excused himself, coming back several minutes later when Francis had just finished putting his boots back on. Making sure the cork was tight on the bottle, he handed Francis a small bottle of bourbon. He also handed him an envelope containing several sheets of writing paper, a quill, and a small bottle of ink. “Judiah, the bourbon is for the pain. The pen and paper is because I would like to hear from you so I know you are safe. When I receive your letter, I hope it will tell me you have seen a doctor and your leg is healing. Please, I beg of you, get to a doctor soon!” Tears soon welled in the eyes of both men as in their own hearts they both knew Daly’s prediction of Francis dying was a strong likelihood.
Soon climbing onto the horse Daly had lent him, Francis expressed his appreciation to both Thomas and Diana for their kindness. “Remember not to worry about the horse, Judiah, consider him a gift.” Sitting on the borrowed horse, he smiled at them as he patted the satchel of food they had prepared for him. He promised he would see them again, but as he rode away he knew that would likely not happen in this lifetime. Diana now had tears in her eyes as she watched him ride away. They had just met a few short hours ago, but she had already lost one son to the war and now she feared she would lose their new friend to the war as well.
******
It was dusk by the time Francis finally reached the Allston cemetery. Nearing the cemetery, he took time to briefly scout the surrounding area, making sure he was alone. Reaching the back wall of the cemetery, he carefully dismounted from his horse. His leg was now throbbing from both the minie ball still inside it
and from enduring the ride back to the cemetery from the Daly plantation. “Whatever good they had done to my leg, I now fear I have set that good deed back because of this painful ride. I must get this money buried and be on my way to Charleston.”
Being careful to protect his injured leg, Francis was forced to drag the heavy saddlebags behind him for most of the way. He was exhausted from the ride and from the leg wound which had sapped his strength. Tired and confused, he struggled to find the location where they had previously buried some of the gold and silver. It took him several minutes to get his bearings, but finally he was convinced he was close to the original location. Using just his hands at first and then using a broken brick which had once been part of the cemetery’s wall, he scraped away at the soft sandy soil. Soon he had dug a shallow hole, one slightly deeper than he needed to bury his saddlebags.
Confederate Gold and Silver Page 55