All told, it was nearly midday by the time the DHC Otter had gracefully skimmed the slow-moving water, taxied to the beach, and was anchored along the dark bank of the river.
Sam surveyed the area. The sky was a pale, washed out blue, with a few puffy white clouds. A cold, northerly breeze was enough to make the river ripple. Once this entire area had run with cooling molten magma, creating the common extrusive igneous rock -- basalt. Over time, silt and clay were compacted into sedimentary rock. Today the riverbank was comprised of hard granite, basalt, and lose black shale.
On shore, Sam, Tom and David donned their dry suits and dive gear, while Virginia began laying out the ropes, pulleys, and inflatable lift bags that would most likely be required to bring up the treasure chest. They were using a set of standard air tanks fitted to SCUBA equipment and a single pony bottle containing a small amount of oxygen for emergencies. There would be no need for the larger, and more complicated rebreather systems, because the depth was shallow. Submersion times would be kept comfortably short.
Frowning with concern, Virginia gave Sam a thin-lipped smile. “You’re going to do this, aren’t you?”
He squeezed her hand affectionately. “I told you we’d find it and we’d get your father back. We still have three days to retrieve the gold and to make a deal.”
She squeezed his hand back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Sam said with a carefree boyish grin. Nodding to Tom and David, he put his dive regulator into his mouth, shuffled off the ledge of the rocky shore to the river, and into the icy waters below.
Sam gently released air from his buoyancy control device until he started to sink. He followed the natural slope of the bank, with Tom and David following right behind. Bright crepuscular rays penetrated the crystal-clear waters all the way to the bottom of the river nearly seventy feet below. He swallowed, allowing his ears to equalize as he descended.
Sam checked his depth gauge.
It read: 35 feet. A couple feet above one atmosphere.
He turned to face the river bank. With the visibility excellent, he had a good 270-degree view of the surrounding submerged slopes, but no sign of any entrance to a mine. For a moment he worried that the entire mine had been flooded with silt. It was a possibility, but he hoped the dark shale and quartz which lined the slope would have prevented that.
Sam turned to Tom, his palms raised in a confused gesture.
Tom shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time something wasn’t where they’d expected it to be.
On his dive slate, Sam wrote: LET’S SPLIT UP. SEARCH NORTH AND SOUTH.
David shook his head. Wiped the slate clean and wrote: NO. WE STICK TOGETHER!
Sam nodded. He gathered that David had been crossed by his family so many times before that he would never truly trust anyone. That suited Sam fine. They could stick together. Three pairs of eyes instead of one, would have a good chance of finding the opening if it was still down there.
He swam north along the sloping bank of the river at a depth of thirty feet. After swimming nearly two hundred feet, Sam turned around. They three divers returned to the starting point and then headed south until they reached the fork where the river split into two. Keeping the bank to their left, Sam continued round the point, heading up the second river.
Thirty feet past this point, he spotted what they were after.
An eddy swirled in front of them – marking the entrance to the abandoned mineshaft. As expected, it was partially buried in silt, rock, and river debris. A series of jet-black shale lined the entrance, blocking two thirds of the tunnel. Rotten railway sleepers that had once formed the framework for the mine’s adit had collapsed.
Sam switched on his flashlight and shined it inside.
The beam shot through the still water, to the shelf of a dark basalt boulder. A pair of wooden slats ran along the ground in the shape of a narrow-gauge mine rail. In its original form, gold is found in igneous volcanic hydrothermal veins where it is deposited along with quartz, amethyst, and other metal ores.
Several feet within, an old wooden mine wagon leaned on its left side, where a pile of quartz fell from its bucket. Sam guessed the original prospector who mined the shaft had used the cart, because it had been too difficult to bring metal rails to the rugged, Sioux occupied land.
Tom studied the adit’s rotten framework.
Sam pointed to his dive slate, which read: WHAT DO YOU THINK?
Tom wiped the slate and replied: IT’S LOOSE, BUT I’M GAME.
Sam handed the slate to David, who simply nodded that he was keen to keep going. It would be dangerous, but it wasn’t like any of them had much of a choice.
They needed to retrieve the Confederate treasury.
Lives depended on their success.
Tom and David switched on their headlights and hand flashlights. The remaining portion of the opening still clear was roughly three feet wide by two and a half high. It was going to be tight – especially for Tom – but the dimensions made the opening navigable.
To make it easier, Sam unclipped and removed his single air tank and fed it through first, before effortlessly swimming through the gap.
About ten feet inside, the tunnel opened up to a horizontal antechamber. Here the shaft was closer to four feet wide and five feet high. Small, but large enough to dive without fear of being unable to turn around if needed. Sam reattached his dive tank and waited for Tom and David to swim through.
When they were ready, he continued deeper into the shaft.
It ran approximately a hundred feet in a horizontal line. At the end of which, it took a ninety degree turn – straight down. Above them, a huge hardwood beam was still dug deeply into the sides of the tunnel to form a gantry from which objects were once craned down in the past.
Sam flashed his light down the vertical shaft.
It reached the bottom some twenty feet below. The width was fine to swim through, but it didn’t leave sufficient space. Anyone swimming forward couldn’t abruptly change direction. They would be forced to swim backwards.
Sam didn’t need to explain that to Tom or David, who both realized the problem the second they glanced into the narrow, confining space.
Sam removed his dive cable, running it over the old wooden beam and attaching the end to his dive belt with a carabiner. It ran off a spool that was thick enough to be used both as a guidewire and for lifting purposes. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only back up possible, given their space and time constraints.
Lips pressed tightly together, Tom gripped the opposite end of the guidewire and said nothing. Sam knew his friend would move hell and high water to ensure he could be dragged back out if he got stuck.
Without any further discussion, Sam started his descent headfirst down the vertical shaft into the darkness below.
The bottom of the narrow shaft opened into a small chamber. It was big enough for a single diver to turn around, but not much larger. Sam swept his flashlight in a gentle arc. The walls were scarred with multiple two to three feet gashes, where prospectors must have once tested various quartz seams for gold. To the north, a new tunnel headed in a downward slope, before breaking off into two more tunnels.
Sam swallowed hard. If the shaft went much deeper, they were going to need a lot more equipment. He was about to turn around to tell Tom and David just that, when he spotted a large pile of black shale lining a hole in the ground below. The jet-black shale was out of place, at geologic odds with the pink or white of quartz.
He emptied the last of the air from his buoyancy control device until he was significantly negatively buoyant, with his knees firm on the ground. Sam set his flashlight down on the side of the tunnel. Once light was shining on the pile of shale, he removed the first flat, stratified rock with his hands, followed by the second. They were loose, light and easy to remove. Within ten minutes, he’d cleared away most of the stones.
Beneath the remaining pieces of dark shale, a rich blue emanated, glistening like jewels
under the beam of the flashlight. It encouraged him to work faster, clearing away the last of the stones.
Mouth dry with anticipation and excitement, Sam worked to keep his breathing slow and even. There, laying in a bed of sedimentary rock, was an honest to God, treasure chest.
A treasure chest! This was it. This was what they had come all this way to find!
Heart pounding, Sam picked up the flashlight, focusing its beam on his discovery.
The strongbox was metal-bound, likely made of oak. Painted in a decorative blue, it had the Confederate seal stamped into a raised badge on top. A hinged clasp hung on the front with a finely crafted thick brass padlock through its eye and thick, ornate handle rails ran along each end.
Sam thought he had rarely seen anything as beautiful in his life.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Discovering the strongbox was just the beginning. The harder part of their task was now to retrieve the heavy object from within the narrow confines of the mine shaft. Returning to his friends with the good news, they surfaced together. There, they created an intricate series of dead man anchors, pulleys systems, and buoyancy devices. The largest pulley was connected to the structural joist above the first vertical shaft.
Sam made the last dive to the Confederate chest. He secured it using a cradle of nylon mesh, connecting each of the four ends with a single carabiner. To this, he attached the first of four lifting devices – shaped like miniature hot-air balloons – the bags were then filled with air from his secondary regulator octopus, the small plastic mouthpiece the diver uses to breath out of.
He depressed the release valve and a burst of air dispersed out of the regulator octopus, filling the first of his lifting balloons. He followed with a second balloon, and on the third, the treasure chest started to lift. It didn’t race toward the ceiling of the mineshaft, but it broke free of its bed of rock where it had been housed for nearly 160 years.
Sam tugged on the lifting rope, and a moment later, the line started to move.
Once the strongbox was level with the horizontal tunnel, Sam unhooked the rope from the ceiling. His job was to manage the buoyancy of the lifting bags so that the Confederate chest could be maneuvered easily.
There was one tricky little problem. As the box began to ascend, the volume of air within the lifting bags would expand, eventually causing the entire thing to rocket to the surface.
To counteract this, the lift bags had an inbuilt bleeder system in place, which Sam could control to blow off excess air volume. Throughout this slow process, the lateral movement of the chest was controlled by the pulley system, into which Tom and David exerted their strength.
Each of them worked quickly, in a controlled and coordinated discipline that would have made Sam’s drill Sergeant proud.
Within ten minutes the treasure reached the main horizontal tunnel. Sam could see the fine light from the opening of the old mine shaft. On Tom and David’s faces, he could see the unique mixture of manifest relief, excitement, and exhilaration.
Sam adjusted the buoyancy, until the chest became neutral once more. Tom then returned to the surface, where Virginia had set up a heavy block and tackle on a truss between trees on the water’s edge in readiness for the final lift. David, true to his original word, was determined to stay with the chest the entire time, in case someone tried to steal its contents.
The cradle for the treasure chest was then attached to the end of a final rope by a carabiner, which reached all the way to the surface.
Sam waited, and within a few minutes, the rope started to move.
He and David followed the chest slowly along the tunnel until they reached the narrow entrance. There, they gradually helped ease it downward to fit beneath the partially collapsed opening to the mine shaft.
It slipped through seamlessly.
Sam and David followed afterward, then, each holding it with both hands for stability – they ascended. The last thing they wanted now was for the old Confederate chest to slip out of the harness, sending the entire contents to spread throughout the bottom of the river.
To make matters more difficult, the current flowed in a constant southerly direction. Sam carefully further inflated one of the lifting bags until the load slowly surfaced.
Once there, he filled each of the bags to their full amount, making certain that the chest wouldn’t accidentally sink. Sam and David held the side of the chest, while Tom and Virginia quickly hauled the heavy barge downstream to the western side of the river and up onto the bank.
Sam and David slowly climbed out of the river, each one removing their dive tanks and equipment. All four of them then dragged the heavy chest another seven or so feet up the bank, letting it come to rest in a bed of black shale. Water drained from the heavy box through a series of small rust fractures. They all stood around the treasure, staring in an exhausted sort of awe and triumph.
David started to laugh.
Sam looked up, gave him a wry smile. “What is it?”
“Nearly a hundred and sixty years ago my great ancestor buried this here. Since then, so many generations of Chestnuts and Murphy’s have searched for this place with no luck! I can’t believe we really did it.”
Virginia grinned. “Yeah, we did.”
Tom said, “Well, let’s open this thing up and see what all the hype was about!”
Sam contemplated the heavy box in silence.
Though corroded in places, it was still a beautiful work of sturdy, practical craftsmanship. The blue paint was worn through, but the workmanship was clearly of a high standard for its day. It looked exactly like what Sam had imagined for a Civil War era treasure chest
The sides were cut together seamlessly and the only sign of the copper lugs that were hidden on the joints was the paint corrosion that had resulted from the electrolysis in the water. The seal of the Confederate Army sat proudly raised on a mini dais on the lid of the chest, while decorative handrails ran along the sides.
A hook and clasp on the front were locked with a heavy brass padlock, which was green and black from its years submerged underwater.
The water finally ceased draining from inside.
A tingle of adrenaline in the base of Sam’s spine and gooseflesh on his forearms reminded him of how excited he was at this moment. He watched as Tom moved to the pile of gear and ceremoniously handed him a brick chisel and his lump hammer. Sam lined up the chisel on the inside edge of the non-hinged side of the lock and raised his right hand with the lump hammer held tightly.
For effect at such a moment, he paused, and smiled widely at the team gathered around. Then he brought the hammer down a mighty blow, which instantly shattered the weathered lock into pieces.
Sam opened the heavy lid. All eyes fixed on the contents inside.
It was empty.
Not entirely empty, but not full of treasure – it had perhaps five large rocks in it. That was all.
“What the hell?” Tom growled.
Virginia made a high, feminine gasp – a cross between a scream and a sigh.
David kicked the box and began to swear volubly under his breath.
Sam felt his heart hammer in his throat with disappointment. Crouching down, he pulled out each rock. Under them was one item, a single octagonal glass mason jar with a locking latch and a cork seal inverted on the bottom – its heavy glass lid overcoming its natural buoyancy, and a single gold coin. The coin weighed down a hand-written note.
He picked it up, and ran his eyes across it.
Sorry, Chestnut. I beat you to it. Nothing personal, but gold talks and I never cared about the Covenant – R.M.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The heaviness of exhaustion sank Sam into the rocky bank by the river as he sat down with Tom, Virginia, and David. He laid back and looked up at the sky, exhaling deeply, searching for inspiration.
Eventually, he stood up and strolled to the edge of the river. There, he rinsed the single gold coin – the sole reward for their efforts.
Wandering back to the others, he sat down to examine the coin. Despite its age, the precious metal had lost none of its luster. He didn’t have latex gloves to protect the old coin from the natural oils and salts on his hands. At this stage, he didn’t care. They’d lost everything anyway. It was never about the gold or the money.
It was about finding the Senator’s son and saving Virginia’s dad.
The head of the coin, also known as the obverse side, was that of Jefferson Davis. Superimposed were the number 20, followed by the word, dollars. A fine indent marred the top edge of the coin with another name, one he hadn’t heard of before, C. Bechtker. At the base of the coin was the date it was minted, 1863. On the reverse side of the coin was an image of an ironclad warship, followed by the Latin words, Deo Vindice – With God as our Protector.
Sam turned the gold coin around in his hand, like a gambler might play with a $5,000 high roller casino chip. A slight grin formed on his lips. “There’s something I don’t get about any of this.”
Sitting cross legged, David said sullenly, “Like who stole our damned treasure?”
“No. We know it was R.M. That’s Robert Murphy, right?” Sam turned to Virginia. “Or, Rachel Murphy, but I can’t see her apologizing to William Chestnut.”
“No. It has to be Robert Murphy,” David agreed. His curiosity abruptly triggered, he asked, “So what don’t you get?”
Sam said, “If Jack Holman retrieved this gold in 1930 or 31 with Robert Murphy, that would have made Murphy…”
“Nearly ninety years old!”
Sam smiled. “I don’t suppose he lived that long?”
David shook his head. “No. He died in 1928.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “So, who came here in 1931 and took the gold?”
“Couldn’t Murphy have returned for the gold years earlier?” Tom suggested. “Anywhere since 1863, he could have conceivably made it back here with a small army of laborers and dug up the treasure.”
Sam shook his head. “Not possible.”
“Why not?” Tom asked.
The Ironclad Covenant (Sam Reilly Book 10) Page 22
