Confederate Gold and Silver (72 page)

Taking off the bandana he wore around his neck to catch his sweat; he crawled back to the stream and drenched it in the cool running water. Ripping a small piece of cloth off the bandana, Francis gingerly placed it in the wound to stem the flow of blood. It hurt to do, but doing so slowed the flow of blood out of the wound. Then he tied the rest of the bandana over the wound. Using a small piece of a tree branch, he turned and twisted the branch, using it as a tourniquet to further stem the flow of blood. Satisfied after several minutes that he had done what he could do, he again leaned back against the tree and drifted off to sleep. He was alone now, his men all dead. Now he was hurt and being hunted by the Union army. For the moment, he was too tired and too hurt to care.

Francis had only been asleep for about twenty minutes when a flock of ducks flying overhead loudly made their presence known. Their noises startled him awake as he saw them land nearby in the river. Waking up, he was confused at first as he had lost sense of where he was, but the pain from his leg quickly reminded him what had happened and where he was. Reaching for his pocket watch, he saw it was twenty after six in the morning.

Believing his pursuers had to be closing in on him, Francis struggled to get up. He used all of his strength and the support of the Live Oak tree to finally stand up. He tried to keep his weight off of his injured left leg, but when he mounted his horse he had to put some weight on the leg and it quickly caused intense pain to flow throughout his body. Sitting on his horse and waiting for the pain to subside, he looked down at the bandana covering his wound. It had practically stopped the flow of blood from the wound. “Thank goodness for small things!”

Francis realized unless he could find a doctor to remove the minie ball from his leg he was not going to be strong enough to dig up the money he had buried in the cemetery. “That should not be a big task for any person to do on their own, but now with this ball in my leg I do not have the means to do the work alone.” Now his thoughts turned to getting back to the cemetery for another reason. It was no longer to dig up what he had buried there, now it was to bury his saddlebags. They contained the rest of the gold and silver coins that he could not hide in the cannons back in Charleston. “I will bury the saddlebags near the rest of the money until I can return to get all of it at one time. If I can bury the saddlebags there, I will have a better chance of getting back to Charleston for help. I will be able to travel lighter and faster and I will be at peace knowing the money is at least safe for now.”

Besides his wounded leg and the Union soldiers who were pursuing him, Francis faced one other obstacle, crossing the Waccamaw River. Sizing up the river as he rode along its western bank, he knew he had to find the narrowest point to cross due to his wounded leg. He realized he would have to pick a time when the river was quiet. He knew when the river’s tides changed that would be when it was at its calmest. South of where he now was, the river’s brackish water met the Atlantic’s salt water in Winyah Bay, just outside of Georgetown. Looking at the banks of the river, he could tell the depth of the river changed significantly with each change of the ocean’s tides. Finding a spot that he thought offered him the best chance to safely cross the river, Francis waited for the current to slow. As he did, he started to feel both the painful effects of the lodged minie ball in his leg and weakness from not having had much to eat. “I have to cross the river now or I will never be strong enough to do so.”

Nearby Francis spied an oak tree sitting all alone next to the river, a single large tree towering over the chest high river grass. Riding closer to the tree, long since dead from a lighting strike years ago, he could see a section had snapped partway off the tree’s main trunk. It had likely snapped when the tree was either hit by lightning or when it had died shortly afterwards. Arriving at the tree, he quickly saw the large limb as his means of crossing the river. The river was far too deep to risk crossing on his horse and getting stuck in the deep mud on the banks of the river would have panicked his horse. Abandoning his horse was a huge risk, but he had to get back to the cemetery sitting on the other side of the river. It was a risk he knew he had to take. “Hopefully I can find another horse at one of the plantations I come across.” Getting down off of his horse, he saw the large tree limb was almost six feet in length. As it bobbed in the brackish water, he could see it was roughly twenty inches in diameter. It was barely attached to the tree.

Leaning against his horse to keep his weight off of his injured leg, Francis removed his gold pocket watch from his uniform blouse and placed it inside one of his saddlebags. After removing the saddlebags from his horse, he carefully protected them as he slowly slid down the river bank towards the dead tree. Reaching the tree limb, he set the saddlebags down on the bank of the river. “I have to keep the saddlebags dry because of my watch and because of the letters they contain. I cannot allow them to get wet.” After taking a few minutes to inspect the tree limb, he was somewhat confident he could use it as a way to cross the river. Slowly and painfully because of his injury, he crawled and climbed his way back up the bank to where he had left his horse.

Exhausted by the time he got back to his horse, Francis lay on the ground for several minutes trying to muster his strength to finish what had to be done. Finally able to stand again, he made the painful short walk to where his horse stood quietly. His horse watched as its owner made his way over to him. “It’s OK old friend, it’s OK. It’s just time for us to say goodbye to each other, that’s all. You have served me well old friend and I shall miss you.” Patting him on the neck, he then gave his horse a hug. He had owned his horse since before the war had started. Grabbing his bayonet from where he had kept it by his saddle, he now placed it within his right boot. Unbuckling his saddle, but without the strength to lift it off his horse, he gave it a gentle push and allowed it to fall to the ground. Removing the bit from the horse’s mouth, he allowed the bit and the reins to also fall to the ground. Saying his final goodbye to his friend, he gently slapped the horse on its backside, urging the dark brown horse he called
Warrior
to leave him. After walking a short distance away, his horse stopped to eat some of the grass growing on the side of the river, unaware his owner would never ride him again. “I have just lost my last friend from this mission,” Francis thought as he painfully stooped to pick up his blanket. Tears filled his eyes as he looked back at his horse one last time. Struggling because of his injured leg, he placed the reins on top of his saddle in a neat pile. Then he limped away without looking back.

Slowly sliding down the river bank, Francis again made his way back to the tree limb and to the saddlebags he had left by the side of the river. It took him several attempts, but finally he was able to free the limb from the main trunk of the tree. Lying on the river bank nearby was another dead tree limb, longer and skinner in size than the first one. Using his bayonet, he cleaned away the small dead starter shoots on the limb. “Hopefully I can use this to help me keep my balance and to help push me across the river.”

Straddling the large dead tree limb, Francis placed his saddlebags and blanket over his left shoulder. Then he adjusted his weight on the limb to allow for the weight of the heavy saddlebags. At first, the cool river water actually made his injured leg feel better for a moment, but then the brackish water began to sting as it entered his wound. “I need to get across the river quickly,” Francis thought, “this muddy water cannot be doing my leg any good.” He then secured his empty pistol by pushing it further down into his waistband.

Using the small tree limb as a pole to push away from the shore, Francis took a moment to make sure no one was watching him from the banks of the river or from any small boats that might be nearby. Sensing he was alone, outside of the several hawks and egrets that watched him as they hunted for their breakfast, he pushed himself further out into the fairly calm river until the pole could no longer feel the bottom of the riverbed. The relief he had first felt from the river water now caused him to feel sick to his stomach, the nausea almost causing him to lose his balance. “Stay focused and keep your balance, don’t let the river get the best of you!” He made himself talk out loud as it forced him to concentrate on maintaining his balance as he slowly moved across the river. Focused on maintaining his balance, he also kept reminding himself to use both his good leg and the pole to make his way to the other side of the river.

The river showed its mercy to him as it soon allowed him to make it to the eastern side without incident. Out of sheer luck he had reached a section of the river with both a sandy bottom and a long but gradual grade to the top of the river bank. Reaching the top of the grade was a struggle due to the pain he now felt in his leg; Francis was utterly exhausted by the time he got there. Despite the hunger pains he also felt, he was far too exhausted to eat any of the peaches hanging from several well kept peach trees. Fatigue had won out over hunger.

Lying there for several minutes as he caught his breath, Francis rested with his head propped up by his saddlebags. As he rested, he could smell a fire burning nearby. The smell came from the chimney of a nearby rice plantation whose peach trees he now lay under. Nearby he could hear singing, likely from slaves as they sang in the rice fields while they worked. He had seen the rice fields along the river earlier in the morning. Now too tired and too injured to care about eating or being found, he quickly fell asleep in the shade provided by the peach trees.

Francis had been asleep for almost about two hours when he was woken by the sounds of children’s voices. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see five young children staring down at him. The children, both white and black, were two young boys and three slightly older girls. They had been playing in the peach orchard when they found him asleep. Now as he woke, one of the young girls, a white girl, ran off screaming to her father. “Papa, papa, come see what we all have found!” Her voice trailing off the further away she got from where he still rested on the ground.

“Hey, mista, is you a soldier man?” Francis looked at the young black boy who had asked him the question. “Yes, I am. I, I need some water. Can you help me?” None of the children moved to help him. He was the first real soldier they had ever seen up close.

Francis soon heard the voice of the young girl who had run off to find her father. Her voice was coming closer to him now. “Over here, papa, he is over here!” He saw her first and then saw her father following her to where she now stood next to the other children. Francis’ first impression was he was too old to be the young girl’s father as his hair was very grey, but then he saw the man’s facial features were still those of a fairly young man. It was not the age of this man which concerned him, it was the rifle he was carrying that now concerned him. Behind the girl’s father followed two black men.

“Scoot you kids, move out of the way!”

Francis was defenseless as he lay on the ground. He was entirely at the mercy of this stranger who now had his rifle pointed somewhat in his direction. “You a Confederate soldier?”

Weak and extremely thirsty, Francis answered him. “Yes, sir. My name is Captain Judiah Francis, I’m from Virginia. The Yankees shot me last night, got a Yankee minie ball stuck here in my left leg. I’m hurt pretty bad. Sir, I need some water, I’m darn thirsty. Can you please have someone get me some water?”

“Whatcha all doing down in these parts if ya are from Virginia as ya say ya are? Don’t sound right to me.”

“Sir, President Davis and General Lee, well they both assigned my men and me to take care of something for them. It’s something kind of important for the entire Confederacy. That’s why I am down here. My men are all dead, killed by Union soldiers or by accidents. I’m the only one left.”

Hearing General Lee’s name being mentioned excited the girl’s father, but he still stared hard at Francis. “You know General Lee, personal like I mean?”

Francis struggled to raise himself partway off the ground, finally making it to a sitting position. “Yes, sir, I know the general fairly well. He is a fine general and an even better person. I know he would express his appreciation personally to you if he knew you had taken care of me. I sure could use some water. Please, sir, may I have some?”

Thomas Daly stood silent for the next few moments as he stared down at the injured soldier helplessly lying on the ground before him. Sizing the situation up, he saw the pistol tucked into Francis’ pants. He also saw his saber nearby on the ground. Standing there, he nodded his head as he pondered what Francis had just told him. After thinking over what now confronted him in his peach orchard, Daly glanced over his left shoulder at one of the two slaves who had stood behind him. “Moses, get on up to the well. Bring this here soldier some cool water to drink. Be quick about it!”

“Yes, suh, Mr. Tom.”

Daly then knelt down next to Francis and looked at his wounded leg. “We ain’t got no doctor in these parts now, the two we had are both off doctoring you soldier boys someplace. Closest doctor is down in Charleston. My wife and Big Ned’s wife are both real good at doctoring things back together. We’ll get you up there to see them after you have some water.”

“Thank you, sir! Bless you. May I ask you your name?”

“My name is Thomas Daly. My family and I own this plantation, got over two thousand acres now. We named this place Rice Fields, named it after one of the crops we grow here. My family came here from Ireland many years ago. Right proud to be in this fine country, it’s our home now.” Daly turned to the other male slave who had stood quietly off to the side, one who had never taken his eyes off of Francis. “Big Ned, get up to the barn and fetch the buckboard down here. Tell Miss Diana we got a man hurt real bad down here. You best tell Josalee the same news as Miss Diana is gonna be needing her help. Tell them to be ready to do some doctoring on this soldier. Hurry now!”