Confederate Gold and Silver (42 page)

After a short morning ride, Francis and Odom entered Georgetown. They stopped at Wood’s General Store, on Front Street, to obtain what was available in provisions for their journey towards Charleston the following day. They had already stopped at a small Confederate Quartermaster’s Office in town, but the shelves were bare of provisions.

“Captain, I ain’t got much left, but what I got you certainly can have for a fair price. I know you soldier boys got it tough. I doubt you boys are likely eating too well these days. I got some corn meal, a small amount of flour, some dried beans, a few onions, and some carrots, but that’s about all the food I can spare at a fair price. Will that do?”

“If that’s all you have, then that will do fine. My men and I appreciate your help. As you guessed, we have not had much to eat recently so anything you can spare is a blessing. Write the bill up and I’ll sign for it. You can get reimbursed down at the Quartermaster’s Office. I was able to get a couple of new blankets from them this morning, but what they had left in food had been shipped out in wagons two days ago. Pickings are getting slim, I guess.”

“Yes, sir, that they are. Say, you know we got us a bunch of wild pigs running around on the outskirts of town, folks will show you where they are. Perhaps one of your men can shoot one and you can have a right fine meal tonight. They’s good eating, I hear.”

“OK, thanks.” Francis gave the suggestion about shooting one of the wild pigs a brief thought, but for now his main interest was getting back to his men outside of town.

As Francis turned to leave, James Wood, the proprietor of the store stopped him. “Captain, wait a moment, I’ve got something for you!” Wood then disappeared into the store’s back room. As he returned to where Francis had been waiting for him, he set two bottles of liquor down on his wooden counter. In appreciation for his service to the Confederacy, Wood graciously presented them to Francis. “Captain, I don’t see much money these days, mostly folks trade their goods with me for food or supplies. Fella from town traded me these two bottles of spirits for some things he needed. I’d like you and your men to have them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wood. I am most grateful to you for your kindness.”

As they had spent a few more minutes talking, Francis noticed a change had quickly come over James Wood. He noticed sadness had quickly appeared in Wood’s face.

“Captain, this life we are all leading these days, you know with the threat of war coming further south every day, well that’s no way for decent folks to live. Life has already been too unfair to me personally. I don’t need the war to stop at my doorstep and neither do the folks who live in these parts. I’m already a broken man in life, a sad man really, been that way since my wife passed away. Her name was Susan. Susan Schilling it was before we were married. I always loved the way her name sounded when I spoke it. She’s been dead almost nine years now, she died during a difficult childbirth; so did our infant son. We had chosen Michael for a boy’s name. You know, I have somehow managed to live without them, but the pain of losing them is still with me. I think of them everyday, her especially, and still talk to them each night when I finally put my head down at the end of the day. That likely sounds corny to you, but it helps me stay sane somehow. The pain I still feel is different than the pain I likely would have felt if I had sent a son out to fight against them Yankees and he had gotten killed in some type of fight. Don’t know if I ever could have gotten over that kind of loss. My wife and my son dying like they did, well that I can deal with as I figured the good Lord just brought them home to the Promised Land a little earlier than I expected, but losing a son in a war, well that’s just a damn waste of a life. Too many folks, Northern and Southern families alike, folks just like us, are grieving these days over the loss of a loved one, lost in this terrible war. Personally I don’t care if they are Yankees or Southern folks like us; I just feel for them. I hate to say such a terrible thing, but in some perverse way I am glad my son did not live to see this war. Who knows how long it’s gonna last, but him gone off fighting some place would have scared me to death; news of him being killed would have likely killed me also.”

As he finished speaking, Wood paused for a few moments before he spoke again. As he paused, Francis could see the tears which had welled up in Wood’s eyes, tears clearly caused by the painful memory he lived with every day. As he put his hand on the shoulder of James Wood to comfort him, Francis had no way of knowing this was the first time he had spoken to anyone about the loss of his family in almost five years. He had done so to a total stranger.

“Captain, please forgive me as I should not have put the burden of my loss on your shoulders today. I am sure you have far too much on your mind already. Sir, please forgive me.”

“Mr. Wood, I assure you that you have nothing to apologize for. Sometimes we need to talk about matters like these to others. I am honored you did so with me. I am truly sorry for the loss you have had to carry for these past many years. I am not sure I would have been able to endure such a loss as well as you have.”

Wood shrugged and offered a weak smile to the compliment Francis had given him. “I am not so sure I have coped with my loss very well. I have often felt that I have just carried on as best I could, just as my wife would have wanted me to do.”

An uncomfortable and awkward silence then existed briefly between the two men before Wood broke the silence.

“Captain, your men are likely the type of men I would have hoped my son would have become, so give these bottles to your boys and tell them Georgetown appreciates what they are doing for us. Let them all have a drink on me tonight, ain’t gonna harm nothing. That one bottle there has got a picture of George Washington himself on it. Pretty fancy, don’t you think?” Wood finally smiled again, free of the sadness he had just felt.

Placing the two bottles inside his uniform blouse, Francis shook hands with James Wood, thanking him for his generosity. “Mr. Wood, I know the men will appreciate your kindness. I will make sure they know you were thinking of them. They will indeed enjoy a taste of your spirits tonight with their meal.” Then, as Wood walked with him to the wagon Odom was loading the supplies into, Francis asked him what he knew about any Union troop movements in the area.

“We ain’t seen any Yankees down this way yet, but we heard about some Union cavalry being seen up north in Cherokee County. Heard they burned down a few barns up there also. Best y’all be keeping a sharp lookout though as they likely will be upon us soon enough.”

“What about Charleston? Heard of any problems down there with Union troops or with the Union blockade?”

“Ain’t heard about any Yankee troops there, but we heard a bit back the Union boys were going to try and seal the city off. You know, try to starve them into a surrender and all. Ain’t happened yet, but it might. From what I’ve heard the city gets a few shells thrown at it once in a while from them Union navy boats, but nothing too bad from what I dun been told. I hear our boys fire right back at them. We got the whole harbor surrounded with our guns so I doubt them Union boys are gonna risk having their ships sunk right out from underneath themselves. I know I wouldn’t risk it!”

“How about the railroads? Any still running?”

“Not that I know of. Between train and track problems, as well as sabotage by either the Yankees or their supporters, I dun heard our folks are too afraid to run them out of fear of losing more train engines. Costs too much to fix them and ain’t no one skilled enough to be working on them when they do break down these days. Them regular train people are out fighting the war and working on trains in other places I’ve been told. Heard Chattanooga, you know where a great many of them trains run through there on their way south, heard fighting is fierce up there. Dun disrupted a great many of them trains running through there. Damn shame too, we need them trains to be running. Damn shame, that’s what it is!”

Shaking hands with Wood again, Francis climbed up on his horse and gave him a wave goodbye. He then started riding alongside the wagon which Odom had already turned back towards their camp and to the men who waited for their return.

They had been riding for about twenty minutes outside of town, Francis reflecting upon the sad story James Wood had told him, when Odom, who had been staring down at the ground on the right side of the wagon, turned and looked at Francis. “Captain, you may not be able to see this, but look over here. Some riders been through here recently, looks like maybe four, maybe five sets of fresh horse tracks.” As Francis moved to see the tracks which had been left in the soft soil, he immediately felt an uneasy feeling enter his stomach. The tracks led in the direction of where his men were waiting for them back in camp.

“Sergeant, take the wagon west and into the line of trees up there above the camp. But stay on the backside of the hill so you are less likely to be seen. I’m going to ride up ahead. I’ll meet you in the tree line. Do what you can to keep the horses quiet.”

By the time Odom arrived in the tree line, Francis had confirmed his worst fear. Looking down at where they had been camped, he saw his men had been surprised by four strangers on horseback, strangers who now had his men seated on the ground and away from the wagons. As his men sat on the ground, they each held their hands behind their heads. What Francis and Odom looked down on was not a good sight to see.

“Captain, look over near the campfire, I think that’s Griffin laying face down on the ground.” Francis had been too busy making sure he counted the right number of strangers within the camp to notice Griffin was down on the ground and likely dead. He momentarily bowed his head over what the loss of another man would mean to the success of his mission.

Francis then told Odom what he wanted done. “We need to move off to our left so we can put the wagons between us and those men. After we get closer to the wagons we need to make a run at them before they see us coming. When we reach the wagons you go for the two men on the left and I will go after the two others on the right. Take your time, but make sure you get at least one of them. It looks like they are too concerned about what is going on down there as they have yet to look up here or anywhere else for several minutes. Go quickly as possible, but be as quiet as you can, we need to catch them boys off guard. You ready?”

“As ready as I’ve ever been!” Odom was itching for the fight to start.

Carrying a musket he had retrieved from the wagon and with his Remington revolver stuffed in his waistband for easy access, Francis moved slowly into position. His revolver was a souvenir he had taken from a dead Union officer on the battlefield at Bull’s Bluff. Francis, followed closely by Odom, stepped quietly from the tree line. Moving slowly at first at the pace of a fast walk, they then began to run down the hill as quietly as they could. As they ran they kept the wagons between them and the strangers who had invaded their camp. Reaching the wagons, Francis first, and then Odom, each dropped one of the strangers with well placed shots. As the other two men turned to fire back at them, they were quickly tackled from behind by Sgts. Stine and Banks. In short order they were beaten to a whisker of their lives.

As soon as the threat was extinguished, and with his men now in control of the two severely beaten intruders, Francis ran to the nearly lifeless body of Sgt. Griffin. He had been ambushed by these four men while riding around the perimeter of the camp and had been shot in the right temple when he attempted to fight them off after getting back to warn the others. As he knelt on the ground next to Griffin, Francis soon heard him take his last breath.

“Captain, look at these boys here. On the outside they are wearing Confederate shirts, but under that they is wearing Yankee uniforms; Yankee pants and all. Who are they, our boys or Yankees?”

“Yankee spies more than likely,” Francis quickly answered as he looked at one of the bodies lying dead next to him. “Damn Yankees!”

Francis stood up and walked back to where the two seriously injured Union soldiers lay on the ground. Without saying a word, he drew the revolver which had once been owned by a Union cavalry officer and then shot each of the two men once in the head. He shot them with bullets issued to the Union officer who had once owned the revolver. The revolver was one he now claimed as his. Angrily he yelled to no one in particular. “We still shoot spies, don’t we?”

“Damn right we do,” replied Sgt. Stine, “shoot the bastards again!”

Francis thought about it for a moment, but despite the urge he refrained from doing so. “They are already dead. Shooting them again will not bring Griffin back to us I’m afraid. For if it would, I would surely shoot them many times over to get him back with us.” Of the five men shot and killed that afternoon only one was buried. The others were left lying on the ground under the hot South Carolina sun.

Soon after they had buried Sgt. Griffin, Francis knew he had to move his men away from the area. They moved another ten miles south before he allowed them to make camp for the night. Along the way Sgt. Stine rode up to Francis and kept him company for part of the ride. “Captain, we hope you know we weren’t being lazy when you were gone. We all took turns riding around the camp. Them fellas who bushwhacked Griffin, they just got the jump on him, that’s all. Likely he saw them wearing Confederate uniforms and he thought they was with us. What happened to Frank could have happened to any of us. We all feel bad we kinda let you down.”

Knowing any anger he displayed would have been misplaced, Francis calmly assured Stine he knew they had been doing what was expected of them. He told Stine he did not hold them responsible for Griffin’s death. “We are at war and bad things happen to soldiers who fight in wars. I just wish I had been there to help him. We all likely feel that way. Tell the men I am not angry with any of them.”

In camp that night, as the men quietly ate their dinner, Francis brought out the two bottles of spirits James Wood had given him earlier in the day. They had been intended for the men to have a pleasant evening with, but now they drank to forget what had happened to Griffin earlier in the day. For Francis, the alcohol only served to make the pain he felt feel worse, not better.