“So you’ve heard of it,” Sean said, ignoring the sarcastic comment and the look.
“Of course I’ve heard of it,” Porter exclaimed. The girl brought his coffee over and set it in front of him. He thanked her and she went back to wiping down the other, unoccupied tables. “Lots of people have looked for that boat for the last hundred and fifty years. But no one’s ever found a thing. All they ever find is rumors and pictures, like that one.” He jabbed a ruddy finger at the drawing on the table.
Sean wasn’t deterred. “Tell me what you know about this boat,” he said.
Porter sighed deeply. “Very well. And it’s a ship,” he corrected. Sean snorted a quick laugh and leaned in closer.
“The Oconee was a side-wheel steamer built in 1856, I think in New York. Originally, it was called The Everglade. When it was purchased by the state of Georgia in 1861 and redesigned to become a warship, the name was changed to Savannah. Its charge was to defend the coastal waters around Georgia and South Carolina.”
Porter stopped for a moment and took a draught of his coffee before continuing. “The ship was part of a small fleet of vessels that sailed under Flag Officer Josiah Tattnall. There were only three other ships under his command, so he called the little group The Mosquito Fleet. The four ships were no match for Union war ships in the open sea. But with a shallow draft of the ships made them a lot more agile in coastal waters.”
“You said the name was originally Everglade,” Sean interrupted. “Then it was changed to The Savannah. Why does this picture say Oconee?”
Porter nodded, acknowledging the question. He set down his mug and went on. “After a series of lost engagements, the south started using more ironclads. They had to have stronger fighting vessels so ships like Savannah were decommissioned for combat and used for shipping. The name was given to a new ironclad and the old boat was renamed Oconee.”
Sean processed the information silently.
“I suppose, though, you really want to know what happened to it on its final voyage,” Porter said.
“It would be good to know, yes,” Sean agreed.
The older man grinned. “Fine. In the summer of 1863 it sailed for England. It supposedly sunk in August. No one’s really sure where.”
“England?” Sean wondered. “What was it taking to England?”
Porter sighed again. “Cotton. The ship carried a load of cotton to trade for ammunition and other supplies. Story suggests the ship never made it.”
“But you’ve heard something else, haven’t you Porter,” Sean pressed.
“Everyone has heard that tale, Sean. There are all kinds of stories about Confederate gold on boats, trains, stagecoaches. Nobody ever finds anything.”
Sean listened patiently. Then he grinned and said, “I definitely want to hear about the trains and stage coaches at some point. But right now, just tell me about the boat.”
Porter laughed loudly. “Great! I’ll also sell you my beachfront property out in Arizona if you’re interested!” Sean laughed at the comment. Then the older man continued. “But, I suppose if you’re intent on seeing this through until the dead end you will inevitably reach, I may as well help as best I can.”
“Thank you,” Sean said genuinely.
“You’re welcome,” Porter said as he raised his mug and took another sip of the coffee. He looked down at the cup, savoring the liquid. “This is really good, by the way.”
“I know, Porter. Stop delaying.”
“Okay, fine,” he said, still holding the mug. “There’s a guy I know around here who runs a pub called The Raven’s Nest. Goes by the name of Earl Forrester. Nice guy, extremely knowledgeable.”
“I thought you were extremely knowledgeable,” Sean interjected with a sly grin, emphasizing the word you.
“Oh, I am. But my specialties lie in other areas. Earl doesn’t study much other than southern history. He knows about stuff from before Columbus.”
“And he runs a pub?” Sean sounded dubious.
“There are two things that people will always be willing to pay for, Kid: booze, and food. They already had enough grocery stores around here so he went with the first route.”
Sean laughed again. “I miss talking with you, Porter. You need to get up to Atlanta more often.”
“I know. I know,” he agreed. “I will one of these days.” Porter stood up to leave and Sean joined him. “Let me know if you want to borrow the beach house in Hilton Head sometime. You’re always welcome to it. Maybe we could hit the Robert Trent Jones course while you’re there.”
“Sounds good, buddy. Wish you didn’t have to leave,” Sean said, firmly shaking hands with his old friend.
“Well, I have to make my tee time. They don’t like it when you’re late at these nicer golf courses.” Porter turned to leave then stopped. “Oh, by the way Sean. Be careful. You never know what kind of other people are looking for Confederate gold. Some of them are just hobbyists. But there are others with more sinister hearts out there.”
“I’ll be sure to watch my back,” he said. Porter gave a quick nod of the head and walked out of the shop.
Sean looked down at the picture of The Oconee, then at his phone to check the time. It was still early, too early for a pub to be open. He would have to kill a little time before heading over there. He decided to walk back to the hotel first. His laptop was there and he wanted to look over his notes before going to meet Forrester.
He’d chosen to stay at a cheaper hotel, even though Savannah had several luxurious options. Sometimes, he thought it better to be a little low key despite the fact that Tommy allowed him to spare no expense when it came to company travel.
He entered the hotel room and noticed the maid had been by. The bed was made, topped with chocolates on the pillows. It was nice for a lower priced hotel. Sean traveled constantly, ever since he had graduated from college. So, he’d seen his share of rental rooms. One thing he had noticed over the years was how the lower-end places had started to renovate their properties to look more like the high-end joints.
The late-morning sun poured into the room as he made his way over to the workstation and flipped open his laptop. After twenty minutes of killing time on the computer, he closed the device and headed for the door. Sean wasn’t one to spend a lot of time on social media sites or reading headlines. When he opened the door, though, he was greeted by three men. One of them was the guy from the previous day, without the ball cap this time.
It wasn’t him, or the other grunt that stood next to him that Sean focused on, though. In between them, a woman wearing a white suit coat and matching skirt with a tight, black shirt stared at him with steel blue eyes. Her long, blonde hair, cascaded off of her shoulders, framing a thin, strong face.
“Hello, Mr. Wyatt,” she said. Her accent was strange, but he figured it was Dutch. It had always been hard for him to place people from The Netherlands.
“And who are you,” he asked. “I met your friend, here, yesterday,” he pointed at the man to her right. The guy seemed angry but held back.
“May we come in?” she asked in a polite tone.
“Actually, I was just about to head out for a beer. So, if you could come back another time that would be better.”
Both of the men pulled back matching black jackets to reveal their guns.
Sean shrugged. “Now that you mention it, you’re probably right. It’s too early for a beer. Come on in,” he said, extending a hand out dramatically as if he were a host.
The woman strutted into the room, and at the urging of the two bodyguards, Sean followed. She looked around the space for a moment before helping herself to a seat on the bed. The scent of a flowery perfume lingered in the air behind her.