by Bob Young
Patrick and Jacob give each other a look.
“Let’s hit the road to Washington,” says Patrick. “I’ve heard enough of the government’s language for one night.”
And quickly, they leave the Masonic Hall for their overnight ride.
* * *
The Washington that greets Patrick and Jacob is a new world entirely, and certainly a far cry from the one that Patrick left a couple weeks earlier. The streets are positively swarming with citizens, displaced negroes, and paroled soldiers. Washington is a red-hot crossroads for those searching for a train to take them to a bigger city, or perhaps deeper into Georgia or westward. The two men leave their horses at the livery stable and head for the Stagecoach Inn.
It is there that they met Reverend Henry Allen Tupper, the local Baptist minister. He spots the clerical collar around Jacob’s neck and introduces himself as a fellow man of the cloth. The three of them need not a moment before deciding to share a table together.
Tapper is at no loss for words. He is quite agitated about the whole state of affairs in Washington, especially because the Provost Marshal, Captain Abraham, and the garrison left town on the very same day that the train carrying the deposits of the Richmond banks was set upon and robbed.
“This is not the kind of place where you want to raise an eleven-year-old boy,” proclaims the preacher, frustration oozing from him. “If this is to be the future of the South under the Federal government, God help us all.”
“Do you really think it’s going to be that bad?” asks Patrick.
“Sir,” he responds, “the Union is unnatural in that the difference in pursuits, and interests, and institutions, and education, and manners, and political and social views has made us virtually two people—as much as any two people could be while still remaining of the same language and color.”
“But we really don’t have a choice, now, do we?” Jacob asks, his words lean and loaded with practicality.
“Unfortunately, no, we don’t. Before our President left here, I held him up long enough to pray with him for safe travel and for our Confederacy. We put it in the Lord’s hands, where it remains.”
Tupper was born into a family of merchants in Charleston and educated in New York, where he graduated from seminary. After three years attending to a church in Graniteville, South Carolina, in 1853 he became pastor of Washington’s Baptist church.
Reverend Tupper also serves as the chaplain of the Ninth Georgia Regiment of the Confederate Army. He holds the distinction of having preached the first sermon of the war. He was regaling the troops at Morris Island on the Sunday preceding the ninth of January 1861, when the steamer Star of the West was fired on by a battery on the island. That action prevented the reinforcement of Fort Sumter.
Today, however, those events are a distant memory, as Reverend Tupper is quite distressed over the raid on the treasure train.
“The clerks from the Richmond banks had been negotiating with the Federal authorities about getting their deposits back to Virginia. And they’d finally convinced the authorities that the gold and silver was not the property of the Confederate government or the state, but actually owned by private individuals and businesses. So arrangements were made yesterday for the transfer to take place.”
“There had to have been security,” Patrick speculates.
“Oh, of course. They loaded the gold and silver into five wagons and hired a guard of about twenty men to escort the train to Abbeville, where they would connect with the railroad for the ride north. This was all supposed to be done very quietly, but how do you keep a secret in an environment like this?”
“You don’t,” says Jacob.
“So they headed out of town on the Danville road without any problem. But the talk was all over town, especially among the paroled soldiers, who believed the money belonged to the government, so of course they ought to get their share. It was odd, though.”
“What do you mean ‘odd,’ pastor?” inquires Jacob.
“There seemed to be two guys in particular who were stirring the pot in a spirited way. They kept referring to Augusta and a Mr. Roads…” Patrick and Jacob shot looks at each other. “And they were inciting the men to do more than just talk. They were actually signing men up to go with them to catch the train. They were offering to pay them, too. One hundred dollars each in crisp new greenbacks. Quite a group signed on, as you could imagine.”
“And you saw them ride out?” asks Patrick.
“You couldn’t miss it,” replies the reverend. “The men had been outfitted in new Confederate uniforms and provided fresh mounts.”
“And did they find the train?” Jacob wants to know.
“You bet they did. The train stopped for the night at Chenault Plantation, just on the other side of Danville. They were going to make their river crossing in the morning, but wouldn’t you just know it: In the dead of the night, these raiders overpowered the guards—not a shot was fired—and they helped themselves to the gold and silver. It was a regular free-for-all, from what the folks were saying this morning. The men filled their saddlebags, pants pockets, sacks—anything they could find. Some rode off with tens of thousands of dollars. Left a lot behind, too, because they didn’t have a way to carry all of it.”
“How much money are we talking about?” Patrick asks.
“The wagons came back into town this morning with a little more than a hundred thousand, so that makes the loss about two hundred fifty thousand.”
“Probably never see that again,” speculates Patrick, his lips right on the verge of whistling.
“Believe you’re right on that account,” adds Jacob.
“Everyone is out looking for the money today. General E. Porter Alexander took out some veterans of the old Irvin Artillery first thing this morning. He found a few suspects and recovered some of the booty—left the thieves in Danville for the authorities, but the folks there helped them escape. I think you’re right, Mr. Graham, that we won’t see any of this money ever again.”
“Reverend Tupper, sir, you’ve been most kind to share the news of the day with us,” says Patrick, knowing himself to be engaging in a vast act of understatement.
“Oh, think nothing of it. I’ve enjoyed our visit, and perhaps we’ll visit again before you leave,” offers the preacher as he gets up from his seat. His mood and manner have calmed quite noticeably.
“That would be very nice,” says Jacob. “God bless you, pastor.”
Tupper no sooner walks away than Jacob and Patrick begin planning their next move. It’s clear that Roads orchestrated the raid on the train, but it sounds like his operation didn’t turn out the way he planned.
“I think I’ve got a way we can put the final nail into the coffin, but we’re going to need a wagon and a diversion,” said Patrick.
“What are you talking about, Patrick?” Jacob’s brows are knit close together.
“Come on, I’ll brief you on the way back to Augusta.”
* * *
Of late, life has not been as good as usual to Adolphus Roads. And tonight, he has entered into a high state of agitation. He’s got his two chief lieutenants standing straight as boards before his desk. He is also standing, bent over the desk and pounding it till his fists go red.
“What happened? What happened?” he demands.
“They just took off,” says one.
“Everyone in a different direction,” adds the other.
“I know that!” he shouts. “But why? What happened?”
“The men were out of control, and why not? They were stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars in gold and silver,” says the one.
“They got greedy, in other words,” chimes in the other.
Roads looks straight at the men. “And you let them do it?”
“Boss, there are only two of us,” says the first.
“After tonight, maybe zero of you,” mutters Roads. “I’m out the money we paid those goons. I’m out the money I paid for their new uniforms. I’m
out the money I paid for the horses to mount them. And the only thing I have to show for all of this is you two nitwits standing here in front of me.”
“Wait just a moment. We’ve got everyone’s name, and know where they live,” offers the first one.
“Yeah?” Roads asks sarcastically. “Maybe we’ll go to each house and ask, ‘May I please have my gold back?’ Brilliant move.”
“We can take some muscle and not have to ask,” the first one continues.
Huffing, Roads says, “Well, why don’t you go do that, because if you don’t come back with my money, you don’t need to come back ever.”
The two turn and leave. Roads sits back down.
“Billy, come in here,” he yells through the doorway, and a tall, husky fellow appears.
“Billy, I don’t know what’s going on here, but things don’t seem right.”
“How’s that, boss?” the other man asks.
“Too many people are messing with my business. Stupid employees, a waitress, a cotton salesman, and a minister. Get my carriage, Billy. We’re going to pay some folks a visit tonight. Clean up some messes.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Roads.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The scene that greets Patrick and Jacob when they ride back into Augusta is beyond the limits of their imaginations. A mass meeting of freedmen has been called right on the parade ground! The gathering is huge—five thousand negroes from Augusta and beyond—men, women, and children, some with packed lunches, others with the one bag that holds all their belongings in the world. Must be an important meeting, Patrick thinks to himself.
The efforts of a military band can barely be heard over the animated conversations that are unfolding all across the expanse. The speakers’ stand, looking beyond official, is decorated with flags and bunting. Seated on the platform among the military and civilian guests are Bryant and French from the Freedmen’s Bureau, Mayor May, and Bishop George F. Pierce of the Methodist Episcopal Church South.
Jacob eyes Bishop Pierce, knowing that having him involved raises the credibility of the whole affair. Pierce is a native of Greene County, and, like Jacob, a graduate of Franklin College in Athens. He embraces the radical view that a college education should be open to women and backed that up by serving as president of Georgia Female College in Macon. In a historic meeting of the denomination in 1844, Pierce sought to be a moderating influence in the slavery debate, but in the end he could not keep the Methodist Episcopal Church from splitting into North and South factions. Ten years later, he was elected bishop—on the Southern side.
Pierce, a slave owner himself, argued for the repeal of Georgia’s slave laws. Oddly, though, he contradicted himself when he went before the state legislature, voicing his support for secession:
… the triumph of our arms is the triumph of right and truth and justice. The defeat of our enemies is the defeat of wrong and malice and outrage. Our Confederacy has committed herself to no iniquitous policy, no unholy alliances, no unwarrantable plans….
Whatever his internal conflicts, Reverend Pierce is well-known for his preaching and debating skills. Always on display are a winning smile and friendly laugh, and to the best of his observable ability, he holds true to the teachings of the gospel. Indeed, the fact that Bishop Pierce would have a prominent place on the grandstand says a lot about this meeting’s importance.
The meeting begins just after Patrick and Jacob arrive, with a prayer by Reverend Robert Drayton, a local colored minister.
Following the prayer, Reverend French is the first speaker, addressing the freedmen on their new relations to society and government. Unlike at the mayor’s meeting the other night, this time the Frenchman’s comments are frequently interrupted by sharp rounds of hearty applause.
Most overtly, French seeks to impress upon the negroes the necessity of supporting themselves through honest work and not through petty pilfering or even more flagrant violations of the law.
“It is preferable,” he says, “that in all cases where you were not treated with cruelty or manifest injustice, that you should remain with your former masters. I beg you for your own sakes, no less than for the country’s welfare, that you should be cheerful, contented, and do more work and better work for your employers as freedmen than you had done formerly as slaves.”
There is applause, as before, but it’s laced throughout with puzzled expressions and assorted grumbles.
“I urge you to still respect and love your former masters, who had provided for you in childhood and adulthood, and under no circumstances cherish malice or uncharitableness toward them or their families.”
This remark, too, meets with a mixed reception. Pressing on, he next speaks of their status. They are free citizens of the United States, and no power on Earth can take away from them the enjoyment of their freedom. This said, their political and social rights as citizens of Georgia are still undefined. Patience, therefore, is needed. Patience and understanding.
“You ought not to be in haste to claim privileges of this kind,” he admonishes the throng.
Again lots of grumbling. It’s understandable, as the negroes have endured generations of abuse and are anxious to begin their new lives as full citizens. By the same token, the meeting exists to underscore the gradual nature of even a major transition.
Reverend French then goes personal, drawing on his own experiences in the Sea Islands to put the negro culture into context. “You should strive to improve every manly virtue and every womanly excellence. I rebuke your passion for finery and display in matters of dress. It would better suit your condition to spend your money in the purchase of a homestead.”
He handily sweeps up a round of applause for that one.
One colored man shouts: “What about my forty acres?”
But French is shrewd enough to skip the question to speak next as their spiritual advisor: “You are now freed by the Providence of God, and you should lay aside your vices, as you would cast off a filthy garment. The marriage relation especially is to be esteemed sacred amongst you. The adulterers and the fornicators should be discountenanced as enemies to the peace and good order of society.”
Another crisp round of applause and French returns to his seat. Still, he knows full well that he has a lot of work to do to break down the slave culture amongst these people.
Bryant is the next to speak. To begin with, he says the just-concluded war was not fought to abolish slavery. “But while man proposes, God disposes. Contrary to all human expectation, the events of the contest had been so shaped by Divine Providence that slavery had been subverted. You are now free by the decision of the United States government, but it is for you to demonstrate by your good conduct that you are not unworthy of the boon conferred on you.”
The negroes rise to the challenge right away by responding with rousing applause.
“I concur in the advice given you by the reverend gentleman who has just addressed you. Under ordinary circumstances you should be willing to enter into contracts for wages with your late masters. And when these contracts are made, abide by them in good faith. Don’t form habits of vagabondism for this will not be permitted.”
The applause is a bit lighter here, and the grumbling once again begins. The pattern is beginning to take on clarity. No matter the precise context, these former slaves are restless when you talk about sending them back to their former masters.
“And I wish to say further,” says Bryant, “that where you will be shielded from oppression and injury, you shall be punished for your evil deed. Discord has reigned long enough in this sunny land. Go forth then in the spirit of freedmen to perform your parts nobly in the Dream of Life. In this way you shall shame your enemies and justify the confidence of your friends both North and South.”
With unhidden eagerness, the crowd picks up on the promise of a new life and offers thunderous applause. All the men on the podium stand to wave their arms and take quite fitting bows. The band strikes up another patriotic song as barely aud
ible as all the others.
When the cheering finally dies down, Bishop Pierce rises to the podium to lead everyone in the singing of the doxology:
Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him all creatures here below,
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts,
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Amen
Bishop Pierce then ends the meeting with a final prayer, calling upon the Almighty to instill in each person present the timely advice and admonitions delivered by the Freedmen’s Bureau.
Patrick and Jacob shake hands before parting.
“I’m going to head over to Saint Paul’s to take care of some of the work I’ve neglected this week.”
“That’s good, Jacob. I want to check on Elisabeth and Jimmy. Let’s plan to meet later this evening in the cemetery.”
“I’ll see you then.”
* * *
Since Elisabeth’s house is not far from the parade ground, it takes Patrick only a few minutes to ride over. As he dismounts his horse and ties it to the porch railing, he notices something odd about the front door. He climbs the pair of steps to the porch, at which point then it becomes evident. The door sash is splintered, and he sees a big gash in the door itself. The signs are clear. Someone has kicked it in!
Patrick’s heart begins to thunder. He draws his pistol and dashes inside, calling out: “Elisabeth! Jimmy!” His heart is racing. The main room looks like it has been hit by a storm. Furniture overturned. Glasses and plates are broken on the floor. Pictures knocked from the table, All of the lamps are shattered and broken. “Elisabeth! Elisabeth!!” Only silence hangs in the air, pierced by the sound of Patrick’s shoes stepping over broken glass.
Perspiration building upon his face, Patrick then stops at the bedroom door. This room, too, has been ransacked. The bed is positioned vertically against a wall, and where it once was is a pool of blood. Patrick fears the worst.
