The Treasure Train

by Bob Young

  Once the treasury funds are securely back in the wagons, Patrick joins General Breckinridge for the ride to Washington. The drizzle and cold pack a brutal bite. On the upside, both men agree that the weather will help to suppress any ambitions the Union cavalry might fall prey to on this night.

  It doesn’t take long to reach Ferguson at the river. His men, focused and committed, will fall in as the rear guard.

  Under the ever-watchful eyes of about four thousand mounted cavalry and two odd-looking hoodlums from Augusta, the wagon train of specie, gold, and silver achieves its crossing over the Savannah River by way of the pontoon bridge near Vienna landing. The cavalry goes into camp near the Lincoln County farmhouse of J.D. Moss, about three miles into Georgia. The two strangers, as usual, remain mere specks in the distance.

  Patrick feels a rush of concern when he learns that word is rapidly spreading among the troops about the status of the war, the collapse of the government, and the flight of the political leadership. The men, as one might expect, begin to become quite agitated and boisterous, and commence talking about the treasury funds they are guarding. That’s the last topic Patrick wants them to converse about. The regulars have not been paid, and what little money is in their pockets consists of worthless Confederate notes. Accordingly, they feel an entitlement to the gold and silver they are escorting, and what’s more, they know that if the Federals get their hands on it, they’ll never get their due. Some even go as far as to tell Patrick that they are prepared to take the money on their own initiative.

  Patrick sees where the men are coming from but has no notion of keeping what he’s heard to himself. He reports the men’s concerns to General Breckinridge, who rides his horse into the middle of the torch-lit crowd to make a personal appeal to all the men. “You are still Confederate soldiers,” he says, keeping his words brief in light of the night’s aggressive cold. “It’s your responsibility to act the part.”

  Moreover, he makes a promise that they will all be paid when they arrive in Washington tomorrow.

  “Not good enough,” a few of them counter.

  “What if we don’t make it to Washington?” asks one man.

  Within a matter of moments, the soldiers become more belligerent and threatening. Indeed, Breckinridge knows he has no authority to disburse the funds, so he dispatches Major E.C. White to Washington to get permission from the President to pay what he has promised.

  Beaten, cold, and wet, the soldiers are without a grip on their patience. Time goes by. Tempers do not subside; the tension mounts. Breckinridge sees no way out. Without waiting for his messenger to return, he tells the men, “If you want me to make good on my promise immediately, then I’ll do it.”

  Patrick’s body tenses. It’s an honorable move, but it will prove to be a disastrous one if White cannot secure success in Washington.

  Regardless, the general authorizes payments of twenty-six dollars to each man and officer. He turns to his onetime trusted aid, Patrick, and tells him to “Get it done!” before maneuvering his horse around and galloping into the darkness. Although Patrick cannot see his face, he has no doubt that the older man is filled with enormous anxiety.

  Patrick is to oversee the off-loading of gold and silver from the wagons. He orders it carried straight into the Moss home. The soldiers move in close to watch the guards’ every step as they transport the treasure.

  Before Patrick knows it, the boxes and barrels take up an entire room in the farmhouse. Despite the increasing lack of space, the chest of jewelry collected from the women of the Confederacy is also taken into the house for safekeeping.

  At Patrick’s direction, the paymasters stand inside the house and, using the parlor windows as teller windows, dispense the appropriate amount as each soldier rides up on his horse. The process is marked by no small amount of distrust and double-checking of amounts, and it takes the rest of the night.

  So much for my schedule getting back on track, Patrick thinks.

  In the end, paying the men doesn’t completely ease the situation at hand. Many of the men are discarding their weapons and talking about heading home. Some are even discussing going home without discarding their weapons. Even Breckinridge acknowledges, “Nothing can be done with the bulk of this command.”

  Generals Vaughn and Dibrell choose to remain in place at the Moss house and surrender when the Union cavalry approaches. Duke, Ferguson, and W.C.P. Breckinridge tell the Secretary they will follow him to Mexico, if he so wishes.

  When the payroll is finished, Patrick has the remaining specie loaded into one of the wagons to resume its trip to Washington. Ferguson’s brigade leads the way, with the Secretary, Patrick, Colonel Breckinridge, and Duke’s command following.

  By the time they arrive in Washington, it is late afternoon, and the President’s party has already vanished like a specter.

  Duke’s cavalry, complete with the party of guards and wagon of treasure, takes up camp about a mile outside of Washington. The city has become quite a cramped place with visiting parties outnumbering the local residents at a substantial ratio. Soldiers are coming through to get their parole, at which point they’ll board the train for Atlanta and Augusta or proceed on foot to Athens. In a noteworthy phenomenon, freed slaves are beginning to congregate on the city streets, setting up tent-like shelters right on the sidewalks.

  Patrick has no doubt whatsoever that the safest place for the treasure is outside of town.

  Charles rides out to Duke’s camp to locate Patrick. They meet by a campfire for a cup of coffee, the strain of the past two days and nights written all over their faces.

  With a grave look on his face, Charles reports that the President left a few hours earlier. He shed much of his escort, preferring to travel lighter and faster, because he is on his way deep into Georgia to catch up with Mrs. Davis and the children. In the meantime, Charles reports, Secretary Mallory resigned his office just when the party crossed into Georgia. He had offered to continue to escort President Davis, but the President told him to go look after his own family. And, in keeping with the pattern, before Davis left Washington this evening, he also accepted Secretary Benjamin’s resignation. The only cabinet officers left now are Reagan, who is here to deal with the treasury, and Breckinridge.

  “So in case there was any lingering doubt,” says Charles, “It has ended.”

  “What about the treasury?” Patrick asks.

  “For starters, the deposits of the Richmond banks are still safe in a vault in the Bank of Georgia in Washington. Parker left them there on his first pass through the town.”

  “Are they our responsibility?” asks Patrick.

  “Not anymore,” says Charles with a smile. “That specie is in the custody of the loyal clerks of the banks of Richmond, who have been travelling with it for the past month. Those good people are on their own. I’m sure they’ll be having some discussion with the local Federal commander about taking it back to Richmond at the appropriate time.”

  Patrick cocks a thumb over his left shoulder. “And what about what’s left on that wagon over there?”

  Charles nods his understanding. “That wagon is now the responsibility of Captain M.H. Clark. You know him? Davis’s chief clerk. Secretary Reagan no longer wanted the direct responsibility over the treasure, so Davis made Clark the Acting Treasurer. Reagan is lingering here to make sure it’s properly disposed of, after which he’ll catch up with the President’s party.”

  Pleased with the quickly-forming sense of stability, Patrick changes the subject. “You know our two visitors from Augusta are still with us? They shadowed us from Abbeville, far enough to be out of the way, but not displaying a mastery of concealment.”

  “Parker told me about them when we met in Abbeville. I don’t suppose you know who they are?”

  “Don’t know them by name, thank heavens, but they’re with Roads’ Augusta organization. Saw them ride out of Augusta with the train last week. I’m sure they’re keeping their boss informed about the train’
s movements, but unless I’m missing something, I just don’t see how they can do anything against the armed cavalry.”

  “Roads is a classic opportunist. He’s probably waiting for a weak moment,” Charles observes, “but he won’t find one. Our guys are too sharp, and as you said, too plentiful. Those fellows are wasting their time.”

  Captain Clark arrives in the camp in General Breckinridge’s personal ambulance. He’s been given liberal use of the wagon to transit between the treasury and the town, as necessary.

  “Captain, good evening,” says Charles, his expression softening as he greets the man who is now in charge of the reserves of the entire Confederacy. “I want you to meet Patrick Graham, one of our fine treasury agents.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Agent Graham,” he replies with a tip of his hat. “And always good to see you, Charles.”

  “Getting started now?” Charles asks.

  “That I am. I have a lot to do and want to return to the President as quickly as I can.” He turns to an aide, tells him to set up the folding table under a nearby tree. “My, my, what a sight—the new office of the Treasury of the Confederate States of America. We’ve spared no expense!”

  They all share a laugh. “Ironic given all the money nearby,” Charles remarks.

  Speaking of which, Clark must attend to the treasure. His instructions are as clear as they come, and he sets about his work by keeping meticulous records of every ounce of gold and silver he disburses. In fact, Patrick notes that prior to arriving, Clark had already written himself a receipt for one hundred eight thousand, three hundred twenty-two dollars and ninety cents, the amount that Breckinridge disbursed to the cavalry at the Moss house.

  Patrick can only watch in amazement as Clark goes about his work. He is attentive to even the most minute detail, for the sake of tracking every dollar in his care. Numbers have never been Patrick’s strong suit, though he does not hesitate to admire a man with talents that he does not possess.

  Per the dictates of a general order, all unattached officers and men are to receive a month’s pay. For members of the President’s guard, that totals fourteen hundred fifty four dollars. Disbursing those funds calls for several separate receipts, individually signed by quartermaster general A.R. Lawton, quartermaster Captain John Garnett, acting Secretary of the Treasury Reagan, Lieutenant commanding the Guard C.H.C. Brown, and a few other men of importance.

  As Clark sits under the tree at his table, Assistant Paymaster J.F. Wheless, late of the Naval Academy, presents himself with a message from Captain Parker, who is still in Abbeville. Parker has dispatched Wheless to find Reagan and collect the month’s pay due his midshipmen for their service in guarding the treasure. Reagan tells Clark to give him fifteen hundred dollars in silver that will be split among the young sailors for their journeys back home. With a terse nod, Clark sees that it is so.

  By the time that sunset has revealed itself, its orange tones so mighty as to humble a gifted painter, Clark has disbursed tens of thousands of dollars in settlements to the troops and has personally burned hundreds of thousands of dollars in now worthless Confederate currency and bonds. The fire reaches high into the sky, carrying with it the remnants of a system that was never meant to mature beyond this point.

  His face not showing an ounce of tiredness, Clark stands up, ready to leave the camp and head into Washington. The plan is for Patrick to ride with him to town and catch the railroad to Augusta in the morning.

  Clark goes back to town with his ambulance and two wagons containing coins and bullion, under an escort of thirty men provided by General Duke. During the course of the ride, Patrick can hear the silver coins jingling in their saddlebags. The sound inspires an almost musical kind of pleasure, marked by weight and crispness.

  On their way into town, Major R.J. Moses personally stops the train. It’s a rare, strange sight, to see a man of such authority being so hands-on. Very quickly, however, his objective becomes clear. Moses presents Clark with directions from President Davis to turn over some of the funds for the Commissary Department to use to feed paroled soldiers and stragglers who are passing through Washington. Nodding and not remotely perturbed, Clark goes through the wagons and removes the gold coin and bullion to his ambulance. He then gives Moses the wagons and the silver, which, all told, amount to about forty thousand dollars.

  Before long, the orange in the sky fades to black. It is well after dark when Patrick and Captain Clark make it into Washington. Clark’s work isn’t finished, however. He turns over eighty-six thousand dollars in gold coins and bullion to a trusted naval officer, James A. Semple, and Semple’s associate, Edward Tidball. They are to take the money to the government’s fiscal agent in Liverpool, England, at the house of Fraser, Trenholm, and Company, where it will be available for whatever future use the surviving elements of the Confederate government might have.

  A slight smile about his lips, Semple says he has a plan to hide the bullion in the false bottom of a carriage, just in case they are challenged while crossing federal lines. Nobody responds to this admission, even though all within earshot have heard it.

  The guard detail loads the wagon as instructed, after which Semple and Tidball ride off into the night.

  * * *

  The scene on the streets of Washington stands out in stark contrast against the heightened reports of rioting just a couple of days earlier. Still, some townsfolk fear confusion and panic. Clark, his solid nature intact, is all too eager to report otherwise: “Though the town is filled with men under no command, the fears of the citizens over undisciplined conduct are simply not warranted,” he says.

  “You’re right,” Patrick responds, taking a look around. “The city is certainly crowded, but eerily calm.”

  “In the hearts of the educated and the thinking, there is a gush of deep emotion, and it seems to me as if a gloomy pall hangs in the atmosphere, repressing all forms of active expression. Patrick, between you and me, I feel tonight as though I am heading out into the darkness from a death-bed.”

  Clark and Secretary Reagan ride out at about eleven o’clock to catch up with President Davis’ party. Patrick, a little saddened about bidding Clark farewell, goes over to the Stagecoach Inn to rest for the night.

  As for Colonel Liston, that topic is an even deeper source of sadness, even melancholy because the man is no longer to be a part of Patrick’s life. Charles rode off with Davis’ party earlier in the day, and onward to whatever destiny awaits him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Adolphus Roads is sitting at his breakfast table in the Office Restaurant when the clerk from the Express Office brings him a telegram. Roads thanks him for it, just barely, and gestures quite overtly for the lad to go on his way.

  He tears open the envelope and reads the missive. It’s from his men in Washington, the ones who have been following the treasure train since its departure from Augusta.

  The Confederate treasury exists no more. All paid out by the authorities. The Richmond bank deposits remain in the Washington vault. Expect them to move back to Virginia soon. Will advise.

  His blood running hot, Roads crumples the paper up in his fist. He feels something rare for him: the sensation of being a loser. He is far from pleased that everyone got a payday from the treasury except him. Moreover, he regrets not testing the security when the train was in Augusta. Has he lost his nerve? Less than a barrel of whiskey would have disabled the guards, he figures now.

  The good news is he’ll have a second chance with the money from the Richmond banks. And you can bet he’ll get it right this time.

  A victory from a couple of years ago lights up his mind. He recalls the success his men had in heisting a previous shipment of Confederate gold from the mint in Dahlonega.

  The mint had been a tempting target for decades. The Federal government established it in the gold-rich north Georgia mountains in 1838 and used it to turn out more than six million dollars in coins. Early in the war, the Confederates consolidated the operation wi
th the mint in New Orleans, but within a year, when the port city was threatened by the Yankees, they moved everything to Dahlonega.

  Then-Treasury Secretary Memminger directed the assayer, Lewis Quillian, to melt down all of the assets into bars. The dutiful civil servant spent the entire summer of 1862 doing so—melting, assaying, and casting ingots of gold and silver. According to his records, he had nine hundred ounces of gold and seventeen thousand ounces of silver. The value of the lot was more than thirty-eight thousand dollars.

  When the bars were ready, the Secretary instructed Quillian to crate them up and ship them to Augusta for deposit with Thomas Metcalfe in the Confederate Depositary. The assayer planned to use a military escort to take the gold and silver by wagon to Atlanta, and then by train to Augusta.

  What he had not counted on was the presence of Adolphus Roads.

  Roads of course got wind of the shipment. He wasted no time in assembling a smart-looking guard of deserters and drifters, who themselves wasted no time in taking charge of the wagons and bringing them directly to him. Quillian was never the wiser until he received a frantic message from Memminger a couple of months later, asking when he would be shipping the ingots! Quillian’s reply set off many alarm bells: “I already have!”

  The Treasury and the army conducted as thorough a search as possible, but never turned up a trace of the treasure. And chances are they never will.

  The question is, could he pull off another clever heist like the one in Dahlonega two and a half years ago? Certainly Roads himself is capable, but what about his current stable of henchmen? It’s one thing to deliver the brains, but another thing entirely to deliver the brawn.

  On the present morning, Roads is meeting with his accountant at the restaurant. He’s troubled by the fact that the Federal authorities found counterfeit greenbacks on the bodies of Lindsay and Charlie after they were killed in the aborted attack on Elisabeth outside Savannah. It won’t be long before some Federal provost marshal shows up and starts asking questions.