Crown of Serpents (8 page)

“I’m going into a meeting with Dr. Jacobson to see how far we can stretch our acquisitions budget. I’ll let you know. The discovery is still being kept confidential at this point. It hasn’t been broken to the media. There’s a gag order in place at Old Fort Niagara. I’ll shoot you a copy of the e-mail, there’s more specifics in there.”

“Wait, I’ve got a question,” said Jake. “Why does Fort Niagara want to sell? I know they have a really nice museum there. Why wouldn’t they keep this for their own collection?”

In a barely discernible response, Ashland explained how the fort was in a severe financial bind due to their former director embezzling most of their operating funds. “They either have to sell to raise money or face closure.”

“Face closure?”

“Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll send you that e-mail. Drive safe and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Goodbye,” Jake terminated the connection and gunned his SUV’s engine. “Looks like my tank is still on track. Sorry Murphy.”

6

Approaching Old Fort Niagara.

H
AVING BEEN LISTENING to jazz music for most of the ride west to Old Fort Niagara, Jake switched to news talk radio. He soon became irritated at a local college professor’s ramblings on how effective the United Nations had performed in the last decade. Jake knew from first-hand experience how impotent, bloated, and corrupt that organization had become, and if it only had a backbone to all of its rhetoric then maybe a lot of bloodshed would have been avoided. Instead of getting himself all worked up he simply changed the station, catching the tail end of a newsbreak segment.

“…and finally an odd story out of the Finger Lakes that is once again spurring rumors of a subterranean waterway connecting Seneca and Cayuga Lakes. Apparently, a dead lake trout was discovered in Cayuga Lake bearing the tag of Geneva’s Hobart and William Smith Colleges biology department. The fish was found by a man walking his dog near Sheldrake Point. He immediately informed college officials who took possession of the fish. According to HWS spokesman Mitch Sanford, this particular specimen, along with fifty others, was tagged and released two days ago in Seneca Lake as part of a student research project on board the school’s aquatic research vessel. Sanford claims the rumor of a direct underground river connection between the two lakes was an absurd scientific impossibility based on geological fallacy and persistent pranks. He said the college would be conducting toxicology tests and a dissection of the fish to determine its cause of death.”

Jake rubbed his chin. He clearly remembered his Uncle Joe Tununda telling him a similar story when they had gone fishing once on Seneca Lake, back when he was around ten years old. They were just off from Sampson State Park on the eastern shoreline when Joe told the story of a woman riding in a delivery wagon, losing control of her horse, and plunging off a cliff into the lake. Her body was never found. But several days later her horse’s body washed up on the shore of Cayuga Lake — eight miles overland to the east. They knew it was her horse because a piece of wood with her delivery company’s name on it was still attached to the reigns wrapped around the carcass. The speculation was that the horse’s body must have traveled underground in some type of river. Joe then said there were many more stories like that dating back to ancient pre-Confederacy times, but there had never been any real hard evidence of the subterranean river’s existence.

Uncle Joe had always been full of old-time Indian legends, some of which were hardly believable. Most of his tall tales revolved around Seneca Lake and the heartland of the Iroquois empire. One was the famous story of the Seneca Drums, as they were called. His uncle described them as low distant rumbling sounds of the ancestors’ evil spirits. He said many of the locals along the lake claimed to have heard them over the years — referring to them as cannon blasts of a distant naval battle. Later, as a Cornell student, Jake read an article that attempted to explain this booming sound in more scientific terms. It noted that the sound came from natural gas escaping from fissures deep on the bottom of the lake, bubbling up, and hitting the surface with thunderous burps. Upon hearing of the academic explanation Jake’s uncle merely had a hearty laugh.

But the most colorful legend of all that Jake had never forgotten was that of the spirit boatman paddling the southern end of the lake on moonlit nights. This boatman was a fallen Seneca warrior who sacrificed himself to a vanguard of General Sullivan’s Continental troops so others in his war party could escape. While he fought off the Americans, his fellow warriors climbed down sheer cliffs to waiting canoes. Located near Hector on the south end of Seneca Lake, these beetling cliffs were later painted with strange symbols to commemorate the bravery of that great warrior. The cliffs were afterward named the Painted Rocks. Jake and his uncle had even boated by the symbols while fishing. The tale certainly churned imaginary thoughts of a distant skirmish in a young boy’s mind. It was the seed of a scene that had spurred Jake on to seek more knowledge in his later years.

What Jake had found was more than just another romantic Indian legend. During his master degree studies on the Sullivan campaign, several of the existing soldier’s journals alluded to a pair of American scouts discovering something much more valuable in that cliff ambush.

Gold.

British Paymaster gold.

Apparently, it was the bankroll funding for the entire British and Indian wilderness campaign and it never made it out of Catherine’s Town in time. In fact, there was so much of it that General John Sullivan himself allegedly had his officers fill an entire cannon full. It was stated in one soldier’s journal that Sullivan then deliberately plugged and sunk the cannon in the lake. The big mystery however, after all of these years, was why? Why sink the gold? And where exactly was the cannon sunk? These two questions had persisted in Jake’s mind for years upon years.

And now a lost journal of one of those Continental scouts appears out of the blue, Jake thought to himself. Maybe it would shed some more light on what truly happened. He was always up for a good adventure. And this was definitely a good one in the making.

Little did he know, however, that some history was best left hidden in the past.

7

Old Fort Niagara. Youngstown, N.Y.

J
AKE PARKED HIS truck in the main lot outside of Old Fort Niagara. Excitement had ruled the day already and he hoped this new assignment would be the icing on the cake. He took a deep breath. The Sullivan-Clinton campaign, and more specifically the fate of Thomas Boyd and his scouts, were his areas of expertise. The thought of reading Boyd’s lost journal caused his arm wound to tingle again. He scratched the sensation then reached for his cell phone. He fired off a quick text message to Dr. Ashland announcing he was on site and entering the assessment. He stowed the phone in his tote briefcase which contained his laptop computer and digital camera. He then exited his SUV.

Standing tall in his full dress uniform, he grabbed his black beret and cocked it at an angle on his head. Pinned on the left chest of his dress coat was a rainbow of colored service ribbons and medals showing military campaigns in which he had participated, specialized skills achieved, and awards for bravery. They included a Silver Star, and a Purple Heart with an Oak Leaf Cluster for two wounds sustained in combat. High on his right shoulder sleeve was the Ranger tab denoting advanced intelligence and warfare training. Below that hung his past unit patch of the 10th Mountain Division. On his left shoulder sleeve was his current unit patch of the MHI and pinned on top of each shoulder was the single gold oak leaf insignia of his officer ranking of Major. But on his collar was a tiny unofficial pin that went unnoticed to most. It bore the letter G surrounded by the symbols of a builder’s square and measuring compasses. Jake looked impressively crisp, official, and definitely had an aura of confidence around him.

Next to the parking lot, in the partially renovated administrative offices, he met the elderly executive director of the Old Fort Niagara Association — Marge Hibbard. After a formal greeting, she informed him they would be viewing the Boyd items in a private room at the original castle fortress across the main parade ground so that he could experience the full flavor of the fort complex. What a sell, Jake thought. He played along, mentioning he hadn’t visited the fort since his youth. She was pleased at his interest and guided him ahead toward the main South Redoubt gatehouse entrance.

As they strolled past spiked-top log perimeter fencing, Jake looked up at the fortified gatehouse structure. It was designed with classical Roman arched doorways in its formidable stone wall. Several narrow windows doubling as musket ports lined the face of the wall. A low profile log roof capped the open-air top floor. Several tourists hung over the top ledge snapping pictures.

Under the British coat of arms and past the ticket taker’s counter, where Hibbard nodded to the attendant, the two emerged upon a faded grass parade ground. At the end of the main gravel walkway in the far north end of the fort, sat the dominating French Castle. Proceeding toward the castle Jake asked Hibbard about her organization’s mission and the severity of their funding situation.

In short prepared statements, she explained that the Old Fort Niagara Association was responsible for preserving, restoring, and maintaining the site and its structures, which comprised about ten acres of land at the mouth of the Niagara River. Included in the site were the main castle fortification and six 18th-century buildings, the outer walls, cannons and fencing, archaeological remains, and even an old cemetery. Hibbard explained that even though it was a registered state historic site, they did not receive any taxpayer funding whatsoever. All of monies necessary to operate the site fell under the association’s umbrella with about ninety percent of their revenue coming from admission ticket sales.

As they walked past an old cannon and stack of cannon balls marking the main pathway intersection in the middle of the drill-yard, Hibbard’s expression turned sour. She told him of the association’s funds being completely wiped out by an embezzlement scandal two years ago by the former director. He had cleaned them out of millions of dollars through an elaborate scheme. She said he was now in jail serving a long sentence, but that the money had disappeared.

“What a dirty, rotten—,” said Jake, shaking his head, deliberately not finishing his sentence.

“Tell me about it, we had to lay off half our staff because of him,” Hibbard replied. “It had taken us four years to come up with the funding for the new museum and visitors’ center and now that whole capital expansion is on hold. And our main collection cannot even be displayed. It’s all under lock and key because of lack of security funding.”

They walked past two young male re-enactors dressed in 18th century British red coats and white britches, each cradling muskets. A group of tourists had gathered around as the soldiers explained the various attributes of their uniform.

“I remember years ago an incredible display of relics on the top floor of that fortress,” said Jake, pointing. “Is it no longer up there?”

Hibbard’s jaw tightened. “It’s completely empty now. The public was stealing our pieces. It was despicable. Priceless silverware, even a Brown Bess British musket like that soldier is holding.” She motioned to the weapon as the re-enactor explained to a tourist the significance of the royal blue regimental lacing on the front of his coat. “An original Brown Bess was valued at over sixty thousand dollars. We only use replicas now. The originals are in a vault. We didn’t have the proper security measures or the personnel to monitor the displays. Let alone pay for it all.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Jake.

Hibbard nodded. Leading him on, she elaborated that with her successful financial background in fundraising she was appointed by the association’s board and given emergency authority to save the site by any means possible. She was authorized to sell current relics in their museum and even freshly unearthed items of value. She was not happy about giving up any of the fort’s property, but as she said, she wasn’t hired to make friends. Instead, her role was to save the fort.

Her biggest loss to date was the selling of the enormous oversized American flag that flew over the fort during the War of 1812. The association had purchased the flag from a private collector a few years back for over nine hundred thousand dollars. Although she sold it off for a profit, she took no pride in the act. She had no choice.

Just in front of the French Castle, Hibbard stopped and showed Jake the rectangular excavation dig site where the SUNY Buffalo archaeology team had unearthed the Boyd Box, as she dubbed it. She explained that this was the foundation of an old soldier’s barracks used by Seneca Indian warriors during the brutal winter of 1779-1780. The box was hidden in the stone wall behind a large boulder. Obviously forgotten. Perhaps the original owner had died, she speculated, as many did that winter.

Upon discovery she personally took possession of the box and conducted a quick overview of the contents determining she could fetch a considerable amount of money on the market. She admitted that she had not had time to read the journal contents in its entirety. Unsure of the true value of the items, she decided to send out an exclusive RFA to determine its worth.

She told Jake that the Military History Institute’s appointment was the first one of only two that day with six major organizations competing in all. She divulged to him that the parties included two Ivy-League universities and three wealthy personal collectors. She had chosen MHI because her late husband had served with Director Paul Jacobson during the Korean War. She then asked him to follow her into the main castle. Jake took off his beret upon entering.

She explained the castle’s history as they entered. The castle, the oldest building in the eastern interior of North America, was the lone permanent structure of the original strategic promontory at the outlet of the river into Lake Ontario. Built in 1726 by the French to resemble a large trading post — to calm the hostile Iroquois fears — the stone structure was in fact an imposing citadel capable of resisting enemy assault. She said it sat three floors tall with an attic level that provided defensive positions for muskets and light cannons through its machicolated or overhanging dormers. Hibbard led Jake into the main vestibule and up a set of worn wooden stairs to the second floor.