“So where do you think they got to?” Sam asked.
“Based on Jack Holman’s journal, I believe what remains of the CSS Mississippi is laying somewhere along one of the tributaries of the Missouri River in North Dakota.”
Realizing that the Perry family must have an intricate history with the ironclad and its treasure, Sam asked, “Why did they stop there?”
“They had been on the waterway for nearly two months since surviving Vicksburg and they needed to get the ship out of the water to make repairs. They had no idea where they were, or how close they were to reaching Montana, otherwise they would have probably just tried to keep going. As it was, they didn’t. They agreed to enter a small tributary to do the repairs, eventually finding one with a natural oxbow lake, in which they could partially beach the ironclad.”
Sam imagined the scene. “And they never got out again?”
David nodded. “They didn’t, but not for the reason you’d think. You have to understand, the oxbow lake they’d found had recently flooded, sending a shallow course of water over miles of land. It served its purpose and they completed their repairs, but then tragedy struck.”
Virginia, always interested in the classics, piped up. “It sounds to me like this story has all the elements of a Greek Tragedy. The downfall of someone due to fatal error or misjudgment, suffering and catastrophe, all arousing pity, mystery, and fear on the part of the audience.”
“Oh, yeah, I see it,” Sam said. “A domino effect of accidents waiting to happen: A bunch of deserters who are supposed to hang, escape with a country’s fortune in gold. Add inherent human greed to the mix. What could possibly go wrong after they beach the iron battleship they’re using to flee?”
“Like I said, this was the end of June — somewhere within the Dakotas — the very height of tornado season.”
Laughing, Sam cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Seriously? A tornado struck them, sending them to… to Oz?”
“It’s not as far-fetched as you would imagine. You see, the entire area was covered in shallow water. The CSS Mississippi’s bow was out of the water…”
Sam nodded. “And she acted like a giant sail. The tornado ripping her free of where she’d been beached, and sending her skipping across the water?”
“Exactly. When the storm had passed, the men on the ironclad quickly realized that no amount of trench digging would permit them to return the ship to the main tributary and back into the Missouri River.”
Sam studied the photocopied map. “They buried the gold nearby?”
“Yes. Realizing it would be impossible to move that much gold on foot, they buried it, creating the makeshift map that you see here.”
Sam looked at the map in a new light. Suddenly everything made more sense. The unnamed ship marked on the map was the CSS Mississippi and all the topographical locations were noted in relation to the ship. “Find the ship and we find the gold.”
“Right.”
“But no one’s been able to find the ship. Maybe they burned it?”
“No. After they buried the gold, they headed north into Saskatchewan. But the environment was lethal to the unprepared men of the ironclad — almost all of whom were Southerners, used to the warm weather of the Southern States. It was the end of summer.
“As winter approached, the temperature dropped quickly. The bulk were killed off quickly from an attack by a local Sioux tribe. Those few who escaped, later died from a mixture of starvation, hypothermia, bear attacks, and rattle snakes.”
“But someone survived as you know this story?” Sam said.
“Yes. Two people. An Irishman named Robert Murphy and a Southern landowner named William Chestnut. They agreed to split the gold between them. The Great Sioux War finally ended in 1877.”
“But neither could find the gold?” Sam asked.
“No. They had the map, but never saw the CSS Mississippi again.”
Sam smiled, staring at the map. “Are you going to tell us how you know all this?”
David grinned. “Because, for more than a century my family has searched for the wealth of the Confederate treasury. The gold that my great, great, grandfather, William Chestnut, helped bury.”
Chapter Fifty
Sam watched what had to be a ten-pound walleye jump out of the lake, silver flashing, making a splash in the still water. He turned back to the fire and asked, “If this treasure has been buried since 1863 and Jack Holman spotted it back in the 1930s, what’s everyone been doing for the past nine decades?”
“Why didn’t my grandfather find it?”
“Yeah.”
David said, “Because he didn’t have Holman’s journal.”
“Sure, but neither did you until yesterday. So, what changed three weeks ago, that sent everything into catastrophic motion?”
David’s thick brow narrowed in a way similar to his father’s. “You’ve already dived the J.F. Johnson, so I’m assuming you know about the Meskwaki Gold Spring and my family’s dark past?”
“Yeah. Your grandfather, Stanford stole the tunnel from the previous group of rumrunners after Al Capone was indicted.”
“Yeah, my father became a lawyer and went on to become the legal arm of the family business. Bright and motivated, he was appointed District Attorney in Minnesota by the time he was thirty-five. He then ruthlessly targeted any other organized crime enterprises throughout the region, getting a name for himself as an honest man, making the State safe for families, business, and the lives of its citizens.”
“Taking off from the perfect runway into politics, he became a senator.”
“Right.”
“Did you enter the family business?”
“No. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no angel. It was simply a case that by the time I came along, the Perry family were already wealthy and powerful in their own right. There was no need for me to enter the illegitimate part of the business.”
“So you got to… what? Enjoy your life?”
“Something like that.” David smiled. “That much you know. William Chestnut’s son, Stanford, moved to Minnesota and entered the bootlegging business, later turning to full-blown organized crime, shipping various forms of contraband. Robert Murphy’s family remained in Saskatchewan. There, the Murphy’s started a small crime empire. By the time Prohibition came into effect in the US, Murphy’s son, Rory, had set up a distillery and was mass producing rum.
“By the time Stanford entered the game, Rory was already the head of a dangerous and powerful family. Through their mutual fatherly connections, the two men became business partners. Stanford grew jealous, as the Murphy family always seemed to be more successful.”
Sam tilted his head. “A bitter feud erupted between the families?”
“Yes, but not only that, Stanford became obsessed with the buried Confederate gold and determined to beat Rory to it.”
Sam took that in. “Stanford died years ago, and Rory must have, too. So who is your family still quarrelling with?”
“The head of the Murphy’s family is now a woman named Rachel. Three weeks ago, she came to my father, certain that he knew where the gold was. The Murphy scion threatened to reveal everything about our family’s dark past unless he handed over the location of Jack Holman’s wreck.”
“Why would she think your father would know that?”
“Because my grandfather, Stanford, murdered Jack Holman. Stanford knew that Holman worked for the Murphy’s, and if he wanted to steal the operation running out of the Meskwaki Gold Spring, he would need to remove Holman from the equation. After sinking the aircraft into Dog Lake to hide the evidence, he realized that in doing so, he buried the only link to the Confederate treasury. To protect my father and myself — not to mention to end this century old feud — I set about trying to locate the damned treasure before Rachel Murphy reveals everything.”