Confederate Gold and Silver (29 page)

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 advance 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 prayer 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.

Francis had ridden around the northern perimeter of the camp for the second time, keeping a sharp eye out for any movements which would cause him to sound the alarm to wake his men, but the night had been a peaceful one. As he stopped his horse for a few moments, he pulled out his pocket watch. From the light the full moon displayed on this beautiful summer evening, he could see it was just past three in the morning. As he placed his watch back into his uniform blouse, he could see the silhouette of one of his men riding out to meet him. Sgt. Roy McKinney, the short stocky North Carolinian, who had been such a big help during their mission by always being ready to care for the horses and their needs, rode up to where Francis had stopped his horse near a small stand of pine trees.

“Morning, captain. I thought you could use some sleep. I’ll stay out here until we get moving in the morning.”

“Thanks, Roy. I could use some sleep. I appreciate the consideration.”

“Captain, I am sorry to tell you this when you are so tired, but I checked on Sturges before I rode out here. He’s dead, likely been so for about an hour. I think he bled to death as I could see his shirt and bandages were soaked in blood. I had checked on him earlier and I knew Odom had did so also. He was fine both of those times, but he must have bled to death from his wounds as he slept. I liked that boy, he’s one I’m gonna miss.” McKinney turned his head away so Francis would not see him wiping away the tears starting to form in his eyes.

As tired as Francis was from being up all day, and for most of the night, upon hearing Sturges had succumbed to his wounds, he now felt exhausted. He knew he had to get some sleep, but as he rode back to where the others now slept he also knew without Sturges he would have to figure out how to finish his mission with only six healthy soldiers, one injured soldier, and a slave.

Before attempting to fall sleep, Francis knelt down and pulled back the blanket covering the face of the now deceased Sgt. Sturges. He had been the quiet one of the group. While he had fit in well with the others, especially when they had played card games by the campfires at night, perhaps because he was older and more mature, Sturges had kept his distance at times. As he looked down on Sturges’ still youthful face, a face his parents would never see again, he bowed his head and prayed for him. After he finished his prayer, and despite knowing Sturges was dead, Francis softly spoke to him, not knowing if he was comforting himself or Sturges’ spirit, a spirit he believed was still present. “Later this morning we shall bury you near your friends, Sgts. Foster and Rickert. You have each served our cause so well together and now you shall sleep near each other for eternity. I shall miss each of you.” Pulling the blanket back over Sturges’ face, he then went to lie down. He knew it would likely prove to be a wasted effort as he could not possibly fall asleep after three of his men had just died.