Earl’s demeanor changed from casual to curious. He raised an eyebrow as he asked, “Looking for Confederate gold, are ya?”
“Apparently. I’ve been getting that response a lot, lately.”
The barkeeper picked up a hand towel nearby and started wiping down a spot on the counter. “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Wyatt.”
“Please, call me Sean,” he interrupted.
Earl nodded and continued. “What do you know about The Oconee?”
Sean shook his head. “Not much. Mostly just legends. There were a few things on the Internet but not a lot to go on. It was a shipping vessel, turned warship, turned back to shipping vessel. Rumor was that when it was last seen, it was carrying a load of cotton to England to trade for ammunition and supplies. It, apparently, didn’t make its destination.”
“I see you have heard our friend Porter’s explanation,” Earl said with a wry grin.
“You have a better one?”
Earl tossed the rag aside and pulled up a barstool behind the counter. He sat down and placed his elbows on the table before he began. “There are lots of stories, like you said. Most of ‘em are rumors, though, just legends of Confederate gold. Those legends have driven many a treasure hunter mad.”
“That’s what I keep hearing,” Sean sighed.
“It was an interesting story,” Earl went on. “That boat trying to make it across the Atlantic. It wasn’t really designed for a voyage like that.”
“What do you mean?” Sean’s interest returned.
“You see, most ocean vessels have a deeper draft. It makes them faster in the open sea, and more stable. The Oconee was designed for inter-coastal shipping. That meant it was built to stay fairly close to land, traveling from one city to another. The shallow draft made it easier to maneuver in the coastal waterways. I wouldn’t want to try and sail a ship like that to England.”
“You do any sailing?” Sean asked out of curiosity. “You know more than most about ships.”
Earl was silent for a moment, as if considering his answer. “I guess I’ve done a little in my time. When you live in a coastal town for long enough, you pick up a few things.”
Sean seemed satisfied with the answer and went on with the conversation. “So, why did the Confederacy choose to use it to expedite its gold?”
“Exactly,” Earl said. Emphasized the point by raising a finger. “Trying to deliver a payload like that across the ocean would have been very risky. Too risky for my blood. Even if the ship was delivering cotton that would have been a dangerous journey. I’m not surprised the boat was never found.”
“Well,” Sean interjected, “the Confederates were pretty desperate. How much British support could a boatload of gold buy?”
Earl shrugged his shoulders and cocked his neck to the side. “I don’t know. But I’d say a lot. If you believe the legend, they were carrying nearly a billion dollars worth of gold in today’s money.”
The number was one that Sean had heard before. There were a few prosperous gold mines in the mountains of north Georgia. Those mines had funded most of the Confederacy’s operations during the war since people weren’t sure how much the Confederate dollar was actually worth.
The barkeeper seemed deep in thought. He was staring off into a corner of the room. He snapped back to the present, “Was there anything else I could help you with?” he asked, standing up and lifting a box of Budweisers. He set the box on the counter and started placing the bottles of beer in a large ice bin.
“No, I think that was it. Just trying to get as much information as I can before I close the case.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help, Sean,” Earl sounded sincere.
Sean shook his head. “No worries,” he said then changed the subject. “This is a great pub, by the way. How long have you owned it?”
Earl smiled proudly. “I bought it fifteen years ago. I’d always wanted to run my own pub. This place was originally a haven for privateers during the American Revolution. Most of it had been destroyed, the result of time and neglect. Sometime during the early 1900s it fell into disrepair. I bought the building and rebuilt it.”
“Hmm,” Sean nodded, his eyes scanning the walls and ceiling. “Well, have a good day, Earl. Thanks for your time.”
He headed for the door but when Earl stopped him. “Sean,” he said loudly. Wyatt turned around to hear what the man wanted. “There is an old man at a nursing home not far from here. His name is Alfred Dowlings. You should talk to him. Name of the home is Pelican Point.”
He returned the barkeeper’s smile. “Thanks, Earl. I’ll be sure to do that.”
Sean sat quietly, across from the wrinkled, elderly man. It had been easy enough to find the nursing home, and after asking the lady at the information desk for directions, Sean had found his way up to the old man’s room.
The aged, greenish eyes stared at Sean suspiciously. He’d seen a lot of years, something Sean knew would cause the man to be a little hesitant to trust a stranger.
When he spoke, his voice was steady, still strong. “So, you’re looking for Confederate gold, huh?”
Sean couldn’t believe how many times he’d heard that question in a day. “Sort of. It’s actually more about the ship than the gold, sir. We just want to know whether or not the story was true. We aren’t a bunch of treasure hunters.”
Dowlings seemed to contemplate the explanation. “You’re not treasure hunters, eh? Seen my fare share of those types through the years. They come around, asking all sorts of questions, wanting to know if I’ve ever come across an evidence of the ship or any of its’ supposed payload.”
“Well, if the rumors are true, it would be an enormous fortune for whoever found it. Again, that’s not why we’re looking for it. Our agency is already well-funded.”
Dowlings ran a pale, spotted hand through his white hair, scratching his scalp for a moment. He seemed to be considering Sean’s statement. “Lot of people have come looking for that boat,” he said, finally. “They always come around, asking me if I know where it is, where it might be found. None of ‘em ain’t worth spit.” He said the last part with disdain.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Sean interrupted. “Why is it that people come to you for information about The Oconee?”
“You ain’t from around here, are ya?”
Sean shook his head. “No, Sir. I’m from Tennessee, currently live in Atlanta. I’m just trying to piece as much of this together as I can so my agency can either put together an search and excavation plan, or drop the whole thing.”
Dowlings narrowed his eyes before he spoke. “The reason people come to me is because I know more about sea vessels from the 19th century than anyone else around these parts.”
“So, you’re the expert. Makes sense,” Sean said.
The old man nodded. “It also happens that my great grandfather was the captain of The Oconee, though I’m not sure how other people heard that and you didn’t.”
The information smacked Sean in the face almost as hard as that woman’s heel had earlier. “Did you just say that your great grandfather was the captain of that ship?”
Dowlings propped himself further up in his bed. “Son, I’ve been working on boats since I was a little kid. My pappy before me, and his, and his all did the same. The sea is as much a part of my family as blood.”
“So, you know what really happened to The Oconee, don’t you?” Sean pressed.
The old man raised an eyebrow. “Course I know what happened to it. But there ain’t no gold to find in it. I can tell you that for certain.”