Confederate Gold and Silver

by Peter F. Warren

  After finishing a rather unremarkable round of golf, they sat in the shade on the clubhouse porch enjoying a couple of afternoon cocktails. Each of them had struggled not to break their promise, but it was Chick who finally started talking about what they had found.

  “I know we promised not to talk about this, but where do we go from here?”

  “Home, I guess.” Bobby Ray never passed up the opportunity to fit a joke into a conversation.

  Chick gave Bobby Ray a frown as they each relaxed in oversized green wicker rocking chairs on the side porch of the clubhouse. “You know what I mean, Bobby Ray. What’s the next part of this adventure for us?”

  Setting down his half empty glass of Jack and Coke, Paul looked over at his friend who was working at adding up their golf scores. “Bobby Ray, anyone asking questions about this down at the Sheriff’s Office?”

  “No, not really. They all know you and I are buddies, but no one is asking me any questions and I ain’t been asking any either. I’m trying to fly below the radar if you catch my drift.”

  “Good idea, Bobby Ray.”

  After they each had one more Jack and Coke, they walked to their cars and prepared to head for home, agreeing to meet for lunch the following day at the diner. Carrying his Nike golf bag as he walked back to his truck, Paul made a mental note that he had to give Steve a call. “Gosh, it’s been over two weeks since I spoke to him. I need to call him.”

  Opening the door to his truck, Paul turned to see Chick was changing his shoes in the parking lot. “Chick, it’s up to you about Pete, but try and get Jayne down to lunch tomorrow. I want her opinion on where we go from here.”

  ******

  The following morning Chick phoned two of his friends who taught United States history at two different colleges in North Carolina. Like him, they also had a passion about the Civil War. They were both far more versed in certain areas about the war than he was. He called to ask them what they each knew about the legend of the missing Confederate treasury.

  To his surprise, Chick found both of them believed the treasury had actually been moved out of Richmond during the war. Perhaps even more to his surprise, and independent of each other, he learned neither of them believed in any conspiracy theories about the money being stolen by Union troops, crooked Southern politicians, or by those charged with moving it. Each of them was of the opinion the money was still out there, probably buried for some unknown reason by those who were charged to get it to Atlanta, Mississippi, or to wherever.

  Professor Jeffrey Brandau had attended college with Chick and had become a well respected Civil War author, lecturer, and researcher, prior to joining the staff at the University of North Carolina. Over the phone he told Chick his opinions. Brandau believed the treasury was still likely buried somewhere between lower North Carolina and Georgia. “I know for a fact from my research the money did exist and that it had been moved out of Richmond before the Union army advanced on the city. From what I’ve learned, it was comprised mostly of gold and silver coins. It may have also included some crudely made gold and silver bars, and perhaps even some Mexican currency, but I’m not positive on all of that. I do know the South had been selling cotton to Mexico during that period of time so it would be safe to bet the treasury included some type of Mexican currency.” Brandau pressed him on why he was calling about the Confederate treasury, but Chick easily avoided answering the question by moving on with the conversation.

  Professor Timothy Baughman, of the University of Wilmington, had met Chick through a series of Civil War lectures they both had attended a few years back. Through their mutual interests in the Civil War and in the game of golf they had become good friends. While speaking with Baughman, Chick learned he had some similar thoughts as Brandau had regarding the treasury. The only difference was Baughman was of the opinion those who had been charged with moving the money south from Richmond had hidden the money for a certain reason. “They probably buried it because they were being chased by others, perhaps it was even by Union or Confederate soldiers who wanted to steal the gold and silver.” He told Chick his thinking was whoever had buried the money could not find it when they went back to retrieve it. Baughman was also of the opinion that whoever had buried the money perhaps had been killed during the war before they could get back to where they had buried it. “Chick, we likely will never know the whole story, but I do know I’d like to be there when the money is found.” He also told Chick he felt the money had been buried or hidden somewhere north of Georgia. “That would have been a tough trip to make and I doubt the money ever made it as far south as Georgia. While I know the Confederacy was afraid of Union troops capturing it, I’m quite sure that never happened. I’ve always felt it never made it to Georgia. My guess is it’s in your neck of the woods, likely the Charleston area, but who knows where it might be. Somebody is going to find it by accident some day I suspect.” As they talked, Chick mentioned to him what Brandau’s opinions were regarding the missing treasury. Baughman ended their conversation by telling him he felt his theory about the missing treasury was the more likely scenario than the one their mutual friend had previously shared with him. “Unfortunately for Jeff, his golf game is as bad as his knowledge of the Civil War is!” Chick laughed when he heard this as he knew Baughman was joking with him regarding their friend’s opinion of the missing money.

  Later, as they ate lunch at the diner, Chick told the others about the conversations he had with his two friends. “They both felt something likely happened along the way and the money had been buried for one reason or another. In fact, they both still think it’s out there someplace.”

  Paul had listened as Chick summarized what his two friends had told him. Halfway through his BLT, Paul told him what he thought about his friends read on the missing Confederate treasury. “Chick, you know some pretty smart guys, especially that Baughman guy. The money was out there just like they said. Perhaps your buddy is correct. Maybe the rest of the missing gold and silver is in Charleston. Who knows though?”

  As they ate their lunch, Paul handed each of them copies of the letter Francis had written to President Davis. “Look at the wording in his letter. It’s obvious he was trying to give Davis some clues about where he left the money. We just have to figure out the clues no one else has ever had. It’s simple really. All we need to do is figure out what he was trying to tell President Davis and then we go and find the rest of the treasury.”

  Chick smirked at Paul’s attempt to minimize the difficulty of the problem they were now facing. “If only it was going to be that easy.”

  Several minutes later, and after a few more bites of her turkey club sandwich, Jayne pointed out one of the obvious clues the letter contained. “The letter, if it’s real, was apparently written in Charleston as it shows the date and the location at the top of the page. But then it confusingly speaks of him trying to get back to Charleston. Which is it? I think we need to focus our efforts in Charleston as the letter also speaks of a warehouse there, one on the King Street road. I think we need to hit those clues hard.” She was soon pleased to hear Chick agreed with her.

  “I agree, I think we need to start there also. Besides what my friends told me on the phone this morning, I think, as Jayne has already pointed out, that Charleston is the place we should start. It was a Confederate stronghold and it had a busy harbor. Perhaps he was trying to get the rest of the money there so he could ship it further south. But let me ask you one question. If the letter was written in Charleston, why does he say they are going to ride north into South Carolina if he is already there?”

  “That’s a good point, Chick. I think it’s just one of several clues he has left for someone to figure out. But I think we already know what he meant by that one clue. I believe he was trying to tell President Davis or whoever read the letter that he had buried some of the money north of Charleston, probably the money we have just found in the cemetery.�
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  Chick thought for a moment about the clue and about Paul’s response to his point. “Yeah, you are probably right. I missed that one. That’s what he was doing, especially when he also talks about leaving the money with the Allston children. I totally missed that one.”

  Paul then told them which clue had him stumped. “I am with both of you that Charleston needs to be the next place we start looking. What I cannot figure out from the letter is when he talks about the ‘battered and broken, these strong, solid black friends of ours, who have served us so well since Fort Sumter.’ The obvious thought is that he was talking about black slaves, but I’m not so sure the slaves served the South well enough for him to have trusted them with the treasury, at least what was left of it. I’m not convinced he was referring to slaves. What do you think he means by this section of his letter?”

  Jayne had not been able to get past thinking Francis was talking about slaves with that one reference. “Paul, I think he is referring to slaves in his letter. Many slaves remained loyal to their owners during the war, even after Lincoln emancipated them. Remember, not every slave owner was a bastard as it is often portrayed these days. But I have to admit, this section of the letter has got me also.”

  Paul looked at Bobby Ray who was sitting in the corner of the booth eating his lunch, but adding very little to the conversation. “How about you, Bobby Ray? I’m dying to hear your thoughts on this.”

  Putting down his bacon double cheeseburger, Bobby Ray paused a moment to wipe his face with his napkin before answering the question. “I’m with y’all so far, but I’m totally convinced the money is in Charleston myself. We’ve got us some work to do down there, but it’s there, I’m telling y’all that right now. That one clue y’all been talking about ain’t yet convinced me he was talking about leaving the money with slaves.”

  “What do you think he meant by that reference then?”

  “Look here, in the second to last paragraph. The letter refers to ‘the black friends’. Then it says ‘I could not force them to protect what they could not’. To me it means the slaves didn’t have the guns needed to protect any money he left with them. If that’s the case and if he did leave them the money, I don’t suspect the slaves of that time would have written down what they would have done with the money, but it sure enough would have been talked about in later years. No one could have kept a secret like that for long, not white nor black folks. He may be talking about slaves in his letter, but I doubt he left the money with them. Hell, you had two bureaucratic governments fighting each other and they didn’t leave us any records of the missing money. You can’t expect regular folks to have done that for us. I’ve been living here my whole life. While I’ve heard a bunch of different stories about this missing money, I ain’t ever heard any rumors or stories coming from black folks or white folks over the years about the money being left with slaves. I can tell you confidently the money was not left with the slaves. I’m not sure what he meant by the term ‘the black friends’, but it sure in hell was not slaves he was referring to. No Confederate officer would have risked leaving the treasury of the Confederacy with slaves. Not in those days they wouldn’t! It’s sure confusing and all, but I’m telling y’all one thing for sure. The money is in Charleston. For sure it is.”

  Paul stared blankly at his friend for a few seconds, trying as he did to figure out what Bobby Ray, in his own unique Southern style, had just told them. He had complicated the obvious parts of the Francis letter and minimized the most important parts. Paul was now more confused over the clues in the letter than he was before Bobby Ray had spoken. Politely he responded back to his friend. “I’ll buy some of that logic of yours. What he was describing in his letter is confusing, but I’m very confident he was not talking about slaves.”

  They sat in the diner’s booth for another hour talking about the various clues which had been left in the Francis letter and planning what to do next to try and solve them. When they finished talking, Paul assigned each of them one clue to follow up on. Before they broke for the day, they agreed to meet early next Tuesday morning at Paul’s house for their first trip to Charleston. “Who knows, maybe we will get lucky and find something.” They all knew it was too big of a wish to hope for.

  ******

  The following Tuesday, without Bobby Ray and Pete as they had other matters to attend to, Jayne, Chick, and Paul started the leisurely two hour trip down Highway 17 from Murrells Inlet to Charleston. After making a brief stop in Georgetown, they each talked about what they had been able to find out from the clues left in the Francis letter.

  “Amazingly, I did find a website which listed our soldier, Captain Judiah Francis, as being a member of the Confederate army. He served in the Army of Northern Virginia, in the Fourth Cavalry Unit’s Company C to be precise. That cavalry unit was one which fell under the command of the well-known General Jeb Stuart. The records on the website, if they are accurate, show Francis appeared to have joined the army in 1861. The same records show he enlisted in Roanoke, Virginia. Any other information, such as promotions, demotions, or even if he had been injured while fighting during the war, is information I could not find as yet. I’ll keep poking for more on him when I can.” Paul knew what he had told them offered little help to what they were trying to find in Charleston.

  “The only other news I learned was regarding the injury the minie ball likely caused when it got lodged into Francis’ left femur. I called a doctor friend of mine back in Connecticut and vaguely asked him about what kind of an actual injury would have occurred from that type of a gunshot. He told me while the minie ball being stuck in the bone was serious in itself, the soft tissue injury and possibly the rupturing of one of the blood vessels in his leg would have been the most devastating injuries Francis sustained. That’s especially true since either the loss of blood or blood poisoning, septicemia is what the medical folks call it, coupled with the lack of medical care, could have led to his death very soon after the injury was sustained. Who knows how bad it was for him, but is was obviously bad.”

  Chick and Jayne absorbed what Paul had told them for several moments before she told them what she had learned. “My news is not much better, but I did find some information regarding the King Street road. It’s the road Francis talked about in his letter. In fact, it still exists today. The upper part of the road, while still called King Street, is also known as US 78 where it runs through North Charleston down towards Charleston Harbor. It may be the place we want to start our search today. Perhaps the warehouse he spoke about in his letter still exists today in some shape or form.”

  Paul nodded at the news he just heard. “It’s as good as any place to start, I guess.”

  Jayne also told them she had contacted the Charleston Civil War Historical Group, and the Charleston Slave Museum, to learn what roles slaves had in supporting the Confederate cause during the war. “I wish I had something of substance to tell you, but like Paul said, either the records don’t exist or I need to get down there and do some research on my own. They did tell me that many slaves remained loyal to their owners, but little record was kept of the actual support given to the Confederacy by those slaves.”

  ******

  It was almost noon by the time they reached Charleston. To their surprise, Chick quickly found a parking place along busy Murray Boulevard. They parked adjacent to the harbor and close to where the city of Charleston years ago had built a small park known as White Point Gardens. The view from the park looked directly out over the harbor at Fort Sumter and at nearby Castle Pinckney. While walking through the park they took the time to notice the many historical markers and Civil War era cannons located there. The area around White Point Gardens was bustling with tourists taking advantage of a beautiful sunny afternoon, with joggers dodging the many horse drawn carriages, and with construction workers who were taking their lunch breaks there from the work they were performing on two nearby Civil
War era homes. Looking at the homes being worked on, Paul wondered if they had been damaged during the battle over Fort Sumter.

  As they walked along on South Battery Road, then onto King Street, and then back onto East Battery and East Bay streets, they noticed the many fine homes and small businesses in the area, but they found nothing closely resembling an old warehouse. Even venturing further up towards where Broad Street and Ashley Avenue intersected on the city’s lower west side produced nothing they could see which resembled an old warehouse. Stopping to chat with several area residents and shopkeepers also produced no one who could remember such a building being present for some time.

  Chick then told them something he had not thought of until now. “Perhaps we cannot find this warehouse because it does not exist any longer. A good part of Charleston was destroyed around the time of the war by both accidental and intentionally set fires. Perhaps the warehouse was one of those buildings burnt up during one of those fires. Maybe the Union army had the place torn down for some reason when they occupied Charleston for a period of time.”

  Paul thought about what Chick had said for several moments. “Well, so much for finding a warehouse loaded with clues to make the hunt for the rest of the money come easy. All we have here are some fancy homes, a few with a good deal of history to them, but far too many which mean nothing to us. This whole area is nice, especially the areas near King Street and Tradd Street, as these homes, many which date back to the Revolutionary War and before, have been well taken care of. I have to give the city and the owners of these homes a pat on the back for preserving them so well, but it’s a damn shame the other nearby areas have not been preserved better than they have. This part of the city played a big role in shaping our nation’s history. These neighborhoods look directly out at Fort Sumter, but further down this same street, what is it now? It’s nothing but a neighborhood full of yuppies and fancy homes, far too many restaurants, boat clubs, and tourist trap locations, all which look out over the harbor. Hell, half of the people living and working along this one street down likely couldn’t point out Fort Sumter to you even if you showed them where it was. The other half probably doesn’t have any idea of what the historical importance of Fort Sumter, Castle Pinckney and Fort Moultrie are. I don’t like it, not one bit!”