The Ironclad Covenant

by Christopher Cartwright

  “Sure,” she said, but even in his near-hypothermic state, Sam knew she was lying.

  Virginia motored the small Zodiac to the shore where she’d left a small fire burning on the beach. Sam and Tom pulled the inflatable out of the water. Sam removed his dive equipment, dry suit, and then sat down next to the fire.

  The effects of compressed nitrogen after a deep dive leading to severe fatigue were well documented. Right now, Sam felt as if he could have slept for days.

  Virginia handed him a warm drink. “It’s soup. You’ll feel better.”

  “Thank you.” Sam took it and slowly sipped a mouthful. The warm liquid stirred him alive as it moved down his throat.

  Tom, tough as a full-grown oak, appeared undeterred by the cold or physical hardship. He took a couple sips from his own hot drink, put it down on a nearby rock, and then went in search of some more firewood.

  Virginia smiled. “Does anything faze him?”

  “Not much,” Sam said taking another sip. “But when something does, you don’t want to be on the wrong side of him. He’s an unearthly force, a formidable warrior with the intellect and strength to win any battle.”

  Virginia smiled. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone Tom’s size as a lethal soldier. “How long have you two been friends?”

  “Most of our lives. We grew up less than a block away from each other and went to the same schools. His dad taught us to dive and my dad taught us to sail. We joined the Marines out of school and learned to fly helicopters. After we left the military, I took over the search and recovery arm of my father’s shipping company. I had the good fortune of convincing Tom to come along. We’ve worked together on some of the most unbelievable cases around the world.”

  “I’ve read about your exploits over the past few years. They’re quite impressive.”

  Tom returned with a stack of firewood, sat down, and put another piece of flotsam on the fire. A few minutes later, Sam spotted a stranger approaching their camp. The man could have almost passed as Tom’s twin, except for his height. He was roughly six foot-three inches, with a barrel chest and muscular physique.

  “Afternoon,” Sam said, without standing up.

  “Afternoon.” The stranger dipped his hat, smiled, and glanced down at the diving equipment. “I couldn’t help noticing you were under the surface for a long time. Did you go all the way to the bottom?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, without elaborating.

  The stranger smiled. There was something familiar about him, some facial characteristic Sam couldn’t quite place. “So you came to find Jack Holman’s sunken float plane, did you?”

  Sam gave him a firm nod. There was no point denying it. “Yeah. We had a look at his wreck. Didn’t find anything though.”

  The stranger’s voice suddenly turned icy. “Did my father send you here?”

  “No.”

  “I know he sent you to find me and you got this far, so you must be good at your job… Mr. –?”

  “Sam Reilly.” Sam stood up to greet the man. “This is Tom and Virginia. Who are you?”

  “David Perry.”

  Sam’s heart started to hammer in his throat. “Senator Perry’s son?”

  “Yeah.” David let his big shoulders slump forward. “You found me. Out here trying to track down Jack Holman’s last whereabouts, searching for treasure. The question is, now that you’ve found me, what are we going to tell my father?”

  “You haven’t listened to the news lately?”

  David shrugs. “Too busy, why?”

  Sam sighed. “I’m really sorry to tell you this, Mr. Perry. Your father died a couple days ago.”

  “Really?” Hiding his reaction, David turned to stare at the lake. Sam didn’t feel the young man was surprised by the distressing news, but it was clear he was upset. “Where? How?”

  “In New York. It might have been a heart attack. Or he might have been murdered.”

  Still turned toward the lake, David gave a long, unhappy sigh. “He loved me in his way. We were never close, but I didn’t want him dead.”

  Sam asked, “Can you think of anyone who would have been interested in hurting your dad?”

  “Yes,” David answered without hesitation.

  “Who?”

  “Just about everyone he knows.” David spun back to meet Sam’s scrutinizing gaze. “Look, my father was a powerful man, but that power came at a price. He owed a lot of bad people.”

  “He owed them money?” Sam asked.

  David shrugged. “Money, information, changes to the Senate, deals, you name it and my father owed it. That’s why I came out here.”

  “To get away from it all?”

  “No. Because I needed to find Jefferson Davis’s Confederate Treasury. It was the only way to save my father’s life, and now it’s the only way to save mine.”

  “It looks like a lot of people are after this elusive Confederate gold, but I’m afraid someone beat us both to Jack Holman’s wreck. The aircraft was stripped bare. There was nothing down there that could lead us to the ironclad he spotted back in 1930.”

  David grinned. “Of course, there wouldn’t be. I removed Holman’s journal yesterday.”

  A wry smile of incredulity formed on Sam’s lips. “You did?”

  “Yes. I’ve been reading the journal since yesterday and so far, I haven’t found anything. It was stored in a watertight container, but with time some of the ink has faded. It makes it difficult to read. Besides, Holman’s notes regarding the strange pyramid – which we’re all assuming must be an old Confederate ironclad – are so vague that it would be impossible to locate.”

  Sam nodded. “So, what do you want from us?”

  “If my father hired you to find me based on an old legend regarding the Meskwaki Gold Spring, you must be one of the best. Now I have the journal and I need your help to save my life.”

  “My help to do what?” Sam asked.

  David’s mouth twisted into a cynical smile. “Why, to find Jefferson Davis’s fabled Confederate Treasury, of course.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  They all sat around the fire together, Sam beside David, then Tom and Virginia. Virginia rustled through one of the duffel bags and brought out snack food, mixed nuts, potato chips, and a variety of cookies. With a glad cry, Tom went straight for the chocolate chip.

  Sam tipped his bowl, finishing the last of his soup. “You’d better tell me what you know about this stolen Confederate Treasury, why your life depends on finding it, and how you think I can help you do so.”

  Exhausted, disturbed, or perhaps just on emotional overload, David rubbed his hands over his face. Tom offered him a cookie, which he turned down. “This is going to sound crazy,” David said, “but would you believe me if I told you that the greatest treasure in America’s history has been buried somewhere in the upper Missouri River since the Civil War?”

  Sam’s eyes lit with interest. “You mean could I believe it’s remained a secret all this time?”

  “Could you?”

  “Sure.” Sam nodded. “I’ve known treasure to stay hidden for centuries due to bad luck, or the earth’s simple desire not to release the truth about the past. Tell me what you know about this secret.”

  “In 1863 as the city of Vicksburg was hunkering down,” David began, “Union General Ulysses S. Grant prepared what would soon become a prolonged and arduous siege of Vicksburg. At the same time, Jefferson Davis, having received word from Lt. Gen. John C. Pemberton that it would be impossible to hold Vicksburg indefinitely, ordered a covert mission to retrieve the Confederates’ treasury.”

  “Go on.”

  David took a sip, nodded his approval. “An ironclad, the CSS Mississippi, was inbound to Vicksburg with a bunch of Confederate prisoners. These were mostly deserters who were set to hang to discourage others from getting the same idea during the siege. One of Davis’s most trusted men took the opportunity to load the treasury onto the ironclad. During the process, the river battleship was fire
d upon. The prisoners broke free and took control of the Mississippi.”

  Virginia poured hot chicken soup from a Stainless-Steel Thermos into a cup, and offered it to David. “You want something to warm you while you speak?” she asked. “It’s a ration pack mixture, but it’s not bad.”

  David took it. “Thanks.”

  Tom asked, “Where did the ironclad go?”

  “It headed north. At the time there was a blockade of nine Union vessels to the south, making it impossible to retreat into Confederate waters. They turned the ship north and kept going. It is my belief that the prisoners, having realized they were now running from the Confederacy and the Union, attempted to flee to Canada.”

  “How?”

  David took a sip and smiled. “Not bad. Anyway, they’d have headed north along the Mississippi River, changing to the Missouri at St. Louis, and taking it as far north as possible.”

  “How far do you think that would have been back in 1863?”

  “I’ve done my research. The CSS Mississippi was state of the art at the time with a draft of only nine feet, she was surprisingly light and nimble. She could have outpaced any other ironclad on the rivers and my guess is she did just that, running from anyone who attempted to attack or approach her. With such a shallow draft, it would be difficult, but not impossible for her to reach modern day South Dakota, possibly even North Dakota and on to Montana given enough time. That far north, it would have been unlikely they were still being pursued.”

  Sam thought about that for a moment. The fire was burning down to embers. Tom pushed to his feet, picked up a driftwood log and laid it down gently on the fire. He dropped down cross-legged before the fire, and started picking on the mixed nuts.

  “So you’re saying Holman thinks he spotted the pyramid-shaped pilothouse of a Confederate ironclad in North Dakota?” Tom asked, voicing the question Sam was about to ask.

  “Yes.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “But in the nearly nine decades since he was murdered, no one has spotted any sign of the CSS Mississippi along the Missouri River or any other tributary throughout North Dakota?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How do you explain that, given we’re obviously not the only two people to know about those vast sums of gold?”

  David finished his soup, put the bowl down. “I don’t know.”

  Sam mentally pictured the upper Missouri River. “For that matter, if an ironclad did indeed reach the Dakotas back in 1863, why isn’t there any record of it?”

  “What do you mean? They were escaping. They weren’t trying to publicize their travel destination.”

  “No, but think about it. Heading north along the Mississippi River, from Vicksburg, they would have turned into the Missouri River.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Sam said. “Even back in 1863 the river would have taken them past Jefferson City, Kansas City, Sioux City, and Fort Randal. All of which, would have had permanent lookouts, not to mention lots of surprised citizens, even then. It would be impossible for the sight of a Confederate ironclad to go unnoticed. Any ideas how to explain that?”

  David smiled. “None.”

  “Yet you’re still certain?”

  “Why?”

  David swallowed heavily. “All I can say is I’m a hundred percent certain the ironclad existed, and it carried the bulk of the Confederate treasury north along the Missouri River. That gold is now buried nearby the CSS Mississippi, which became stuck somewhere in the Dakotas. Based on what I’ve read in Jack Holman’s journal. He spotted the pyramid shaped casement or pilothouse of that ironclad to the east of North Dakota.”

  “You know an awful lot about this ship’s secret past.” Sam smiled. “What the hell aren’t you telling me?”

  David crossed his arms, his eyes focusing on the still water of Dog Lake. “I don’t want to say.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  Sam stood up, dusted off his pants, and offered his hand in a friendly gesture. “Okay, we’ll be off, then. Good luck with your treasure hunt. It appears you’ll be all right on your own.”

  Tom pushed to his feet once more. “Yeah, probably best we take off before the wind shifts.”

  David jumped to his feet, ostensibly to stop Sam and his friends from leaving. “Hey, I need your help, I can pay well. I’m willing to split the gold.”

  Sam shook his head. “I’m not interested in the money. I have a rule: never search for treasure with people you can’t trust. I don’t have many rules, but that one I tend to follow. It comes from the old days of pirates and their bounties. Everyone knows you can’t trust a pirate. I don’t trust liars. Period. And I don’t trust you.”

  “All right, all right!” David opened his backpack and removed the firm, leather bound, locked journal. He unlocked it, laying it upon a dry log well-lit from the fire. He flicked through more than a dozen old pages. Some of the dates spanned the 1870s through to 1920s. He found what he was after, removed a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Sam. “I know the gold made it this far north along the Missouri River because of this.”

  Sam took it. His eyes had barely glanced at the page, before he inhaled in surprise. Lips pursed, he shook his head.

  “What is it?” Virginia asked.

  There in front of him was an exact photocopy of the map Virginia had shown him back in New York.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  All four of them settled down around the fire again, prepared to hear the whole story.

  Over the course of the next hour Sam listened as David explained that the surviving prisoners of the CSS Mississippi had indeed tried to flee to the north in a bold attempt to reach Canada.

  Lies and secrets poured like water from a breaking dam. It might take a while for the first one to spill, but once the dam bursts, they flow like a river.

  David said, “There were a number of problems they hadn’t taken into account. The first of which was food and supplies. There were nearly twenty people to feed on board and very few supplies. This meant they would need to make regular stops to hunt for food. Up until Kansas City, this could be successfully achieved by raiding livestock from farms which ran alongside the Missouri River, but from Sioux City onward, the region was still predominantly occupied by Sioux Native American tribes, including the Dakotas, Lakotas, and Nakotas.”

  Sam said, “They were attacked as soon as they left the safety of the river?”

  “Exactly. Even on the river the Sioux Indians could have easily overrun them, but they had no reason to attack. The ironclad appeared formidable, with little to gain from attacking it. The escaping prisoners from the CSS Mississippi were lucky, in the sense that they were simply allowed to pass through their tribal lands.”

  “So why didn’t they make it all the way through to Montana?” Sam asked. “I thought the Upper Missouri River from the Dakotas through to Montana was easily navigable by early paddle steamers?”

  “They were, but you have to remember, no one on board the ironclad had ever been that far north. These were Confederate men – mostly prisoners through desertion – and they had no understanding of the topography of the Missouri River or the lands throughout the Dakotas and Montana.”

  “So where do you think they got to?” Sam asked.

  “Based on Jack Holman’s journal, I believe what remains of the CSS Mississippi is laying somewhere along one of the tributaries of the Missouri River in North Dakota.”

  Realizing that the Perry family must have an intricate history with the ironclad and its treasure, Sam asked, “Why did they stop there?”

  “They had been on the waterway for nearly two months since surviving Vicksburg and they needed to get the ship out of the water to make repairs. They had no idea where they were, or how close they were to reaching Montana, otherwise they would have probably just tried to keep going. As it was, they didn’t. They agreed to enter a small tributary to do the repairs, eventually finding one with a natural oxbow lake, in
which they could partially beach the ironclad.”

  Sam imagined the scene. “And they never got out again?”

  David nodded. “They didn’t, but not for the reason you’d think. You have to understand, the oxbow lake they’d found had recently flooded, sending a shallow course of water over miles of land. It served its purpose and they completed their repairs, but then tragedy struck.”

  Virginia, always interested in the classics, piped up. “It sounds to me like this story has all the elements of a Greek Tragedy. The downfall of someone due to fatal error or misjudgment, suffering and catastrophe, all arousing pity, mystery, and fear on the part of the audience.”

  “Oh, yeah, I see it,” Sam said. “A domino effect of accidents waiting to happen: A bunch of deserters who are supposed to hang, escape with a country’s fortune in gold. Add inherent human greed to the mix. What could possibly go wrong after they beach the iron battleship they’re using to flee?”

  “Like I said, this was the end of June – somewhere within the Dakotas – the very height of tornado season.”

  Laughing, Sam cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Seriously? A tornado struck them, sending them to… to Oz?”

  “It’s not as far-fetched as you would imagine. You see, the entire area was covered in shallow water. The CSS Mississippi’s bow was out of the water…”

  Sam nodded. “And she acted like a giant sail. The tornado ripping her free of where she’d been beached, and sending her skipping across the water?”

  “Exactly. When the storm had passed, the men on the ironclad quickly realized that no amount of trench digging would permit them to return the ship to the main tributary and back into the Missouri River.”

  Sam studied the photocopied map. “They buried the gold nearby?”

  “Yes. Realizing it would be impossible to move that much gold on foot, they buried it, creating the makeshift map that you see here.”