The Ironclad Covenant (Sam Reilly Book 10)

by Christopher Cartwright

  David stumbled to the top, bent over to catch his breath. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “We found the wrong shipwreck.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s what I said.” Virginia turned toward Sam. “Now what?”

  Just down in this gorge lay the unexplored remains of a ship. Good humor abruptly restored, Sam and Tom glanced at each other, excitement in their eyes. Together, they both replied, “Let’s go check it out!”

  “Have you two forgotten that we’re on the clock here? If we don’t find that gold, a lot of good people are going to die.” David turned to Virginia. “You told me that we’ve got four days to find the Confederate treasury if you want your dad back alive.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “But it won’t take long to reach the paddle steamer and find out how it got here. Maybe the captain’s left his pilot logbook.”

  “What difference is that going to make?” David asked.

  “Look around you. The Missouri River is miles and miles away. There are no tributaries anywhere near here.”

  “So?”

  “If the steamboat managed to be blown here, where it’s remained all this time, there’s a good chance the ironclad might be nearby, too.”

  David nodded, as though he were mentally considering the logic of that. Then, reluctantly, he replied, “All right. But let’s make it quick. If we’re not in the right place, I want to get back to the aircraft. There might be still time to refuel and make another run before nightfall.”

  “Agreed.”

  Sam led the group down the shallow ravine into the flat field. The sky darkened beneath the canopy of thick vegetation. The ground was soft, a silty mixture of sand and gravel. He made his way through the forest toward the portside of the ship. Surrounding the hull was a six-foot skirt of dilapidated iron, slanted outward at thirty degrees.

  He grasped the side of it to see if he could climb up, but the rusty metal broke free, crumbling away in his hand. With a bit of time they could probably hammer through a chunk to climb up, but the thicker main section was unrelenting.

  “What is this stuff?” Virginia asked.

  “No idea,” Sam replied, breaking another section off in an attempt to climb. “Maybe they used it as a defensive barrier to protect the ship from various rocky shoals along the sections of rapids spread throughout the unmapped river?”

  “That’s not its purpose,” David said, with defiant certainty.

  Tom smiled. “Go on. Enlighten us, what was it used for?”

  “It’s obvious,” David said, matter-of-factly. “They were used for defense. You have to remember this paddle steamer sailed in a time when only the bravest adventurers would travel the Upper Missouri River. Fur traders, trappers, and gold prospectors. It probably dates back before the Great Sioux War of 1876.”

  Sam grinned. “Of course. Attack from Sioux Indians would have been a real threat. One of the few means of defense to a riverboat captain at the time would have been to stay in the deep water of the middle of the river, and make sure none of the attackers could climb up on board.” To David, he said, “Good thinking. Come on, we’ll head to the stern-wheel and see if we can climb up from there.”

  He followed the starboard side of the hull, walking all the way around, to the stern-wheel.

  Once there, he turned to face the rest of the group, a broad grin plastered across his face. “Can you believe it? We’ve been wrong about everything all this time.”

  David stared, his eyes wide and his mouth open. “I don’t believe it!”

  Breathing fast with excitement, Sam felt his heart hammering in his throat.

  For just behind the paddle-wheel, he saw two eight-foot bronze propeller screws.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Sam climbed the false stern-wheel up to the main deck.

  Virginia, Tom, and David followed immediately afterward.

  “So now we know the truth,” Sam said, his eyes raking the ship with a new light.

  David touched the side wall. It was made of cheap wood and crumbled in his hand. “This is why there were never any local reports of having seen an ironclad once steam up past this section of the river. They must have stopped somewhere earlier on one of the rivers, even as far back as the Mississippi. There they erected a cheap, wooden façade.”

  “It wasn’t all that uncommon during the Civil War,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We should have considered that.”

  “Really?” Virginia asked.

  “Sure. There were a number of carpenters and shipbuilders along the Mississippi in the early 1860s who could apparently construct a disguise like this. That was the point, to change the shape and appearance of anything from a barge to a battleship.”

  Virginia stroked an old railing, her full lips curled with curiosity. “Whatever for?”

  “Mostly for defense to scare away invading ships.”

  “With cardboard-like cutouts?”

  “Yes.” Sam took pleasure in seeing her astonishment. “There are even reports of farmers transforming barges into ironclad battleships to chase away attacking Union warships.”

  Virginia studied what she could see of the ship. “And these men transformed an ironclad into a paddle steamer.”

  “Come on,” Sam said. “Let’s see if we can find the logbook.”

  It took them five minutes to walk a full circuit around the perimeter of the mighty warship come paddle-wheeler.

  Once inside her outer façade, it became easy to see the ship’s original purpose.

  Even though the hull was rusted through in several sections, she was still a grotesque and powerful monument to the brutality of the era that spawned her. The whole design reeked of death. Every surface was engineered to withstand attack, and issue destruction.

  The main turret stood proudly on the deck with the rusted remains of the smoothbore cannon still jutting from its fore-most side. They could see where the hull had been smashed by cannon shot in several places, and the thick armor that had survived the rust still bore the deep dents from solid shot strikes sustained during battle.

  The outer holds below deck had been compromised by decay, but the main structure of the ghastly ship was intact due to the sheer thickness of the armor plating. It took several smashing blows from Tom’s lump hammer to break the rusted seal on the main hatchway before the trio could gain access to the internal ship.

  Climbing below decks the atmosphere was stifling. Eerily quiet, it felt entirely undisturbed. They all knew immediately that nobody had set foot in this ship since its original occupants left all those years ago. A tingle of excitement ran through Sam. He glanced at Tom, wide-eyed and eager. He looked like a child in a candy store who found a fifty-dollar bill, and now needed to decide what to spend it on.

  Sam knew exactly how he felt.

  They worked their way forward, through the boiler room and upstairs to the wheelhouse. The ship was littered with the remnants from the sailors. It was a time capsule to the civil war. A treasure-trove for a collector. Sam and Tom however, were of one mind. They sought the contents of the keep-safe on the bridge.

  The bridge was badly damaged from a canon-strike, which had rent the iron skin from the frame in one corner. This had opened that part of the ship to the elements, and as a result most of the wheelhouse was rusted and rotted away. On his hands and knees, Sam instinctively dug down into the silt, which now lay where the bridge floor would have sat. He scooped up handfuls of thick, heavy dirt and methodically tossed each handful aside.

  It must be here.

  Without a word Tom shoved down beside his friend in the cramped space, and shoulder-to-shoulder they dug. After about five minutes they were rewarded when Sam dusted the dirt off the waterproof-wrapped parcel. He smiled broadly as the oilskin literally fell away in his hands, revealing the embossed leather cover: C.S.S MISSISSIPPI CAPTAINS LOG – REGISTRY OF PRISONERS.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Sam ran his eyes across the nearly 160-year-old docume
nt.

  The first few sections included detailed ship movement reports, including weather and any maintenance issues. He skimmed through the document quickly, until the date May 17, 1863. There the captain had made a note about a series of prisoners, mostly deserters, who had been picked up at Natchez, Mississippi, and were being transferred to Vicksburg to hang.

  This was nothing unusual at the time, Sam mused. Deserters would hang at cities soon to be under siege, as a means of deterring other would-be deserters.

  What he did find interesting was the note regarding the last prisoner, a Mr. William Chestnut. It noted that Chestnut was previously ranked simply as a Major. There was no information regarding his Service Branch, which ordinarily would have been one of five areas: infantry, cavalry, artillery, engineers, or ordinance. Instead, there was a single, handwritten scrawl, underlined by the captain: This man is extremely dangerous. He is highly intelligent. Deceptive. Manipulative. Not to be allowed speech with anyone.

  Sam felt his heart race and his chest tighten as he flicked through to the prisoner register. The apple rarely falls far from the tree. Were all members of Perry’s family line cunning, duplicitous, and dangerous?

  He placed his finger along the list of names, running down each until he reached the arrest document beneath the name of William Chestnut. While Virginia, Tom, and David continued searching the rest of the ship for any sign of the treasure, Sam read the full report.

  Regarding prisoner William Chestnut –

  Prior to the war, Major William Chestnut was a wealthy tobacco landowner and a well-respected shipping engineer with contracts from New York through to New Orleans. He was approached, personally, by President Jefferson Davis in 1861 for his assistance as a spy, due to his unique, wide-spanning network of engineering connections spread throughout the Union. For twelve months, it is believed he served his duty in this admirably, feeding the Confederacy useful information.

  Something happened in 62 and William Chestnut changed his allegiance, becoming a double agent, working tirelessly to produce a secret list of wealthy Southern landowners and senior soldiers who could be enticed to consolidate into the Union on assurances that no financial or physical repudiation would occur.

  By the time he was captured it is believed that he had secured enough powerful signatures to end the Confederacy. This Covenant has not yet been located, but as of this moment, it is considered the most dangerous document ever written. If it’s allowed to reach Washington, it will spell the end of the Confederate States of America.

  William Chestnut is intelligent, dangerous, and manipulative. I hereby sentence him to hang at Vicksburg, without delay.

  It was then signed by the Senator of Texas, William Simpson Oldham.

  Sam secured the leather binder and quickly tucked it in his backpack.

  I wonder why David Perry never mentioned anything about a Covenant?

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Sam sat down and ran his fingers across his forehead and through his hair. Fascinating as the ship was, there was nothing else of value discovered on board the CSS Mississippi. That she held historical interest was not in doubt. Yet for assisting his group to locate the treasure? Not so much.

  Temporarily stumped, he unfolded the map David photocopied of the Confederate Treasury. On a digital tablet he opened up a Geographic Information System, which utilized both satellite images and detailed topographical maps, to view geological, forestry, and topographical information of their surrounding area.

  He placed the photocopied map beside the digital topographical map. Then, he studied the two images.

  The hand drawn map gave no reference to distance or direction. Whether it was designed like that because its maker was far from a cartographer, or because William Chestnut intended it that way so only he could make sense of it, Sam didn’t know.

  At its center was an unnamed boat – presumably the CSS Mississippi. From there, the path led across two small creeks to a large river that split into two. At the fork, a large anvil had been drawn and next to that, a pickaxe and a shovel. His guess was that the anvil indicated some sort of topographical or geological structure that could be used as a point of reference. As for the pickaxe and shovel, perhaps they signified a mine shaft, at the end of which, he hoped to find Confederate gold buried.

  Sam glanced at the digital topographical map. There were no creeks nearby and only one large river nearly four miles away. He switched the digital version to geological formations. It depicted depth of the ground in different colors. Similar to a three-dimensional bathymetric map of the ocean floor, this portrayed the deeper depths in a color spectrum, ranging from blues to red, with blue the deepest and red the highest points.

  Sam brightened, as suddenly the map looked very much like the one William Chestnut had drawn.

  Two otherwise barely noticeable indents on the maps in light blue, indicated the shallow creeks from Chestnut’s 1863 journey. Closer to the mine shaft, in which the Confederate treasure was supposed to have been buried, he spotted two deep ravines, indicating there had once been a conflux of two decent sized rivers.

  “That’s definitely our place,” Sam said.

  “Well done,” David said. “I knew there would be a reason my father hired you. You’re damned good. Thank you.”

  Sam smiled, modestly. “I haven’t found the gold yet.”

  “You will though, you will!”

  Standing on the ironclad’s deck, Sam set a marker on his hand-held GPS. The last thing he wanted was to lose a ship that could prove to be responsible for some of the major historical events within the Civil War.

  Tom turned up, dirty and ruffled. “Look what I found,” he said with a grin. In his hands he was carrying an old revolver. “It’s a Walch Navy 12 Shot Revolver. Walch only ever released 200 of the revolvers, and its design never really took off, but it was a remarkable bit of engineering for its age.”

  Sam made a thin-lipped smile. “Was it really?”

  “Yes! It was a cap and ball revolver, with six-cylinder chambers, two hammers, two triggers and fires twelve shots!” Tom’s hazel eyes were wide with excitement. “Can I keep it?”

  “It’s yours,” Sam said. “You’d better pack it up, we’re leaving.”

  Afterward, he, Tom, Virginia, and David started their long trek east. The trail on the map headed due east from the ship, and continued until it reached the western shore of the main river. They were following the lay of the land as it descended gently down what would have been a watercourse. In the past, it may have been the kettle which had trapped the ironclad.

  Half a mile out, Sam could hear the river – not the flow, but the chatter of birds by the thousand. The hikers broke through a thicket of dense trees. The moment they did, a cloud of waterfowl burst into the air from the bank nearest them.

  From there, the crew followed the river north for about half a mile until the river forked in two, splitting along the base of two valleys. On the map, the image of an anvil was marked on the tip of the spur that separated the watercourses.

  Standing on the western shore of the river, they stood staring at the landscape, waiting to make sense of the image on the map.

  It was Virginia who saw it first, pointing north. “There!”

  Sam followed her indication to a black igneous rock that sat just above the waterline and appeared oddly out of place. The sedimentary rocks around it had been eroded by the river over thousands of years, but the jet-black lump of hard stone had stood almost impervious – only ever being polished by the river’s passing flow. The rock was shaped like a giant anvil, tall and proud, extending below the surface of the water.

  “So according to Chestnut’s map, the entrance to the mineshaft should be exactly where we are. I don’t get it, everything lines up perfectly, the rock, the rivers,” Virginia said. “The map shows the tunnel entrance right here, but there’s nothing. Anyone got any ideas?”

  Sam pulled out his tablet and started to zoom in on an image using the to
uch-screen. He looked at a topographical map of the region that Elise had found him after they checked in the exact location of the wreck.

  Sam examined the map for a minute, glanced up at the rock formations, and then pointed to the side of the valley. “Assuming William Chestnut and Robert Murphy had some idea about how to draw a map, I’d say right there.”

  Virginia shrugged. “Okay mister treasure hunter, you got me, I can’t see a mineshaft entrance. There is nothing there.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t,” Sam replied.

  “Why not?” Virginia’s eyes focused on the valley’s wall. Sandstone and quartz lined the edge of the river and there were only a few trees nearby. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  Sam grinned. “That’s because the entrance is about thirty feet below us.”

  David met Sam’s wild declaration with incredulity. “Below us?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes. I assumed you knew. This river was dammed in the early 1930s as part of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Public Works Administration Deal. Created by the National Industrial Recovery Act in June 1933 in response to the Great Depression, most of North Dakota started to dam its major rivers for irrigation and, in this case, raising the river’s height by thirty-five feet.”

  “You said it was only thirty feet below us?” Virginia pointed out.

  “Sure, but I checked. After a series of unusual weather events, the dam’s reported water level is five feet lower than average for this time of year.”

  “All right. So that’s great, really great. It’s thirty feet down. Now how are we going to retrieve the treasure?”

  “Simple. We simply need to dive for it.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  It wasn’t until the following morning that the four of them managed to fly into Minot in North Dakota and hire all the diving equipment required to retrieve the Confederate gold. The Cessna Centurion was replaced with David’s de Havilland DHC Sea Otter. In doing so, they were able to now land on the dammed river, where the Confederate treasure was supposed to have been hidden.