Confederate Gold and Silver (59 page)

“What do you think he meant by that reference then?”

“Look here, in the second to last paragraph. The letter refers to
‘the
black
friends’
. Then it says
‘I
could
not
force
them
to
protect
what
they
could
not’.
To me it means the slaves didn’t have the guns needed to protect any money he left with them. If that’s the case and if he did leave them the money, I don’t suspect the slaves of that time would have written down what they would have done with the money, but it sure enough would have been talked about in later years. No one could have kept a secret like that for long, not white nor black folks. He may be talking about slaves in his letter, but I doubt he left the money with them. Hell, you had two bureaucratic governments fighting each other and they didn’t leave us any records of the missing money. You can’t expect regular folks to have done that for us. I’ve been living here my whole life. While I’ve heard a bunch of different stories about this missing money, I ain’t ever heard any rumors or stories coming from black folks or white folks over the years about the money being left with slaves. I can tell you confidently the money was not left with the slaves. I’m not sure what he meant by the term
‘the
black
friends’
, but it sure in hell was not slaves he was referring to. No Confederate officer would have risked leaving the treasury of the Confederacy with slaves. Not in those days they wouldn’t! It’s sure confusing and all, but I’m telling y’all one thing for sure. The money is in Charleston. For sure it is.”

Paul stared blankly at his friend for a few seconds, trying as he did to figure out what Bobby Ray, in his own unique Southern style, had just told them. He had complicated the obvious parts of the Francis letter and minimized the most important parts. Paul was now more confused over the clues in the letter than he was before Bobby Ray had spoken. Politely he responded back to his friend. “I’ll buy some of that logic of yours. What he was describing in his letter is confusing, but I’m very confident he was not talking about slaves.”

They sat in the diner’s booth for another hour talking about the various clues which had been left in the Francis letter and planning what to do next to try and solve them. When they finished talking, Paul assigned each of them one clue to follow up on. Before they broke for the day, they agreed to meet early next Tuesday morning at Paul’s house for their first trip to Charleston. “Who knows, maybe we will get lucky and find something.” They all knew it was too big of a wish to hope for.

******

The following Tuesday, without Bobby Ray and Pete as they had other matters to attend to, Jayne, Chick, and Paul started the leisurely two hour trip down Highway 17 from Murrells Inlet to Charleston. After making a brief stop in Georgetown, they each talked about what they had been able to find out from the clues left in the Francis letter.

“Amazingly, I did find a website which listed our soldier, Captain Judiah Francis, as being a member of the Confederate army. He served in the Army of Northern Virginia, in the Fourth Cavalry Unit’s Company C to be precise. That cavalry unit was one which fell under the command of the well-known General Jeb Stuart. The records on the website, if they are accurate, show Francis appeared to have joined the army in 1861. The same records show he enlisted in Roanoke, Virginia. Any other information, such as promotions, demotions, or even if he had been injured while fighting during the war, is information I could not find as yet. I’ll keep poking for more on him when I can.” Paul knew what he had told them offered little help to what they were trying to find in Charleston.

“The only other news I learned was regarding the injury the minie ball likely caused when it got lodged into Francis’ left femur. I called a doctor friend of mine back in Connecticut and vaguely asked him about what kind of an actual injury would have occurred from that type of a gunshot. He told me while the minie ball being stuck in the bone was serious in itself, the soft tissue injury and possibly the rupturing of one of the blood vessels in his leg would have been the most devastating injuries Francis sustained. That’s especially true since either the loss of blood or blood poisoning, septicemia is what the medical folks call it, coupled with the lack of medical care, could have led to his death very soon after the injury was sustained. Who knows how bad it was for him, but is was obviously bad.”

Chick and Jayne absorbed what Paul had told them for several moments before she told them what she had learned. “My news is not much better, but I did find some information regarding the King Street road. It’s the road Francis talked about in his letter. In fact, it still exists today. The upper part of the road, while still called King Street, is also known as US 78 where it runs through North Charleston down towards Charleston Harbor. It may be the place we want to start our search today. Perhaps the warehouse he spoke about in his letter still exists today in some shape or form.”

Paul nodded at the news he just heard. “It’s as good as any place to start, I guess.”

Jayne also told them she had contacted the Charleston Civil War Historical Group, and the Charleston Slave Museum, to learn what roles slaves had in supporting the Confederate cause during the war. “I wish I had something of substance to tell you, but like Paul said, either the records don’t exist or I need to get down there and do some research on my own. They did tell me that many slaves remained loyal to their owners, but little record was kept of the actual support given to the Confederacy by those slaves.”

******

It was almost noon by the time they reached Charleston. To their surprise, Chick quickly found a parking place along busy Murray Boulevard. They parked adjacent to the harbor and close to where the city of Charleston years ago had built a small park known as White Point Gardens. The view from the park looked directly out over the harbor at Fort Sumter and at nearby Castle Pinckney. While walking through the park they took the time to notice the many historical markers and Civil War era cannons located there. The area around White Point Gardens was bustling with tourists taking advantage of a beautiful sunny afternoon, with joggers dodging the many horse drawn carriages, and with construction workers who were taking their lunch breaks there from the work they were performing on two nearby Civil War era homes. Looking at the homes being worked on, Paul wondered if they had been damaged during the battle over Fort Sumter.

As they walked along on South Battery Road, then onto King Street, and then back onto East Battery and East Bay streets, they noticed the many fine homes and small businesses in the area, but they found nothing closely resembling an old warehouse. Even venturing further up towards where Broad Street and Ashley Avenue intersected on the city’s lower west side produced nothing they could see which resembled an old warehouse. Stopping to chat with several area residents and shopkeepers also produced no one who could remember such a building being present for some time.

Chick then told them something he had not thought of until now. “Perhaps we cannot find this warehouse because it does not exist any longer. A good part of Charleston was destroyed around the time of the war by both accidental and intentionally set fires. Perhaps the warehouse was one of those buildings burnt up during one of those fires. Maybe the Union army had the place torn down for some reason when they occupied Charleston for a period of time.”

Paul thought about what Chick had said for several moments. “Well, so much for finding a warehouse loaded with clues to make the hunt for the rest of the money come easy. All we have here are some fancy homes, a few with a good deal of history to them, but far too many which mean nothing to us. This whole area is nice, especially the areas near King Street and Tradd Street, as these homes, many which date back to the Revolutionary War and before, have been well taken care of. I have to give the city and the owners of these homes a pat on the back for preserving them so well, but it’s a damn shame the other nearby areas have not been preserved better than they have. This part of the city played a big role in shaping our nation’s history. These neighborhoods look directly out at Fort Sumter, but further down this same street, what is it now? It’s nothing but a neighborhood full of yuppies and fancy homes, far too many restaurants, boat clubs, and tourist trap locations, all which look out over the harbor. Hell, half of the people living and working along this one street down likely couldn’t point out Fort Sumter to you even if you showed them where it was. The other half probably doesn’t have any idea of what the historical importance of Fort Sumter, Castle Pinckney and Fort Moultrie are. I don’t like it, not one bit!”

As a Civil War buff, Paul could never understand why so many towns and cities, and corporate greed, had been allowed to encroach on areas of historical significance. He was old school in his thoughts about historical preservation and a strong believer in our country’s history needing to be preserved for future generations of Americans to enjoy. He had been of this opinion for several years. His opinion was that far too many burger joints, gas stations, souvenir shops, and other businesses, as well as too many neighborhoods, had encroached upon our nation’s historic battlefields and other similar sites. “It’s a damn shame we have allowed this to happen. A damn shame!” Silently, Chick and Jayne both agreed with his position about the urban sprawl now threatening far too many of the country’s historical locations along the east coast.

The rest of the day was spent trying to track down answers to the clues they had. While they stopped and read the many historical markers in and around the city, and had stopped at other locations seeking answers to their clues, they still could not break the remaining clues Francis had left in his letter. Even stopping at places like the Charleston Visitor’s Center kiosks, at the main branch of the Charleston Public Library, and at the famous Robert Mills Fireproof Building, which was now the home of the South Carolina Historical Society, did little to help break any of the clues.

Even on their ride home, as they read through the many pamphlets, books, and handouts they had picked up during their various stops, they still were no closer to solving the clues. As he had done countless times before now, Paul read and reread the Francis letter as they drove home. Whether he read it silently or out loud, neither way again proved to be any help to them.

******

Over the course of the next week they spoke to each other on the phone every time they felt they had broken one of the clues, but each phone call always ended with disappointment when someone else quickly dismissed a thought with a logical argument against it. As the week came to a close, the phone calls became fewer in number between them. Paul could sense frustration had entered the picture and he knew the others had temporarily lost some of their focus. To some degree, he knew he had as well.

After a weekend spent doing nothing except for chores around the house, as well as spending parts of those same two afternoons on the beach with Donna at nearby Huntington State Park, Paul knew he had to recapture his focus. After Donna left for work on Monday morning, he spread out on a table in his garage, and nearby on the garage floor, the saddlebags, the old and new maps of Charleston and Georgetown he had, the flour barrel, the gold coins he found with Francis’ remains, and the Francis letters. He hoped spreading these items out would help him find a connection between them. Such a connection would help break down the wall which was keeping him from seeing the obvious connection to at least one clue he held. Sitting at the table as he tried to find a connection to one of the clues Francis had left in his letter, Paul grew even more frustrated than he had been over the past few days. “It’s here, I know it is, but why can’t I work this out?” Even taking a break later in the day to grab something to eat did little to help his efforts in finding the one connection he needed.

Despite his best efforts, including spending several hours poring over what information he had available to him, Paul continued to struggle to make the tiniest connection he needed to get on with the hunt for the rest of the missing Confederate treasury. He was beyond frustrated with his lack of progress. “Am I that blind, or perhaps that stupid, that I cannot figure out what it is he is trying to tell me in the letter he wrote to President Davis. Why can’t I figure this out?” Soon frustrated to no end, he packed the items back up he had been working with and put them away.

Later that same night, still frustrated by the lack of progress he was making, Paul made a spontaneous decision to revisit Charleston the next morning without the others so he could work without any interruptions.

The next morning he was up early preparing to leave when Donna surprised him. “Paul, I’m taking a mental health day and I coming with you. I have not been to Charleston yet, and I promise I won’t get in your way, but I’m coming. Tell me if you need my help when we get there, but otherwise I just want to see the sights while you do whatever it is you have to do.”

“No problem here, I’m glad you are coming. I’m sure I can put you to work once we get there. Who knows, maybe I’ll even bounce a few ideas off you.”

Paul dragged Donna around Charleston at a fast pace later that morning and into the early afternoon as he wanted to seek answers to the clues he had at as many places as possible. Early in the afternoon they grabbed a taxi and he took her with him when he spoke with a few staff members at the Charleston Confederate Museum. He had contacted them the previous day and arranged to meet with two of the museum’s staff members regarding Charleston’s role in the Civil War. Despite his frantic pace, Donna kept up with him. As promised, she did not interfere with his efforts to break any of Francis’ clues. But like the phone calls between Paul and the others, calls which had recently accomplished little, his trip to Charleston was also accomplishing little as well.