tragic.” The pause called for some reaction. “Authentic Gone With the Wind stuff, Senator. But—”
“But that’s not the full story, son. Colonel James Alexander—James the Third—he was a Republican and a Scotsman at heart, even though he did fight for the Sovereign State of Georgia when it came to the war. So he kept a sizeable part of his fortune in gold, in a bank in Atlanta, and didn’t give it all to ‘The Cause’. And in ’64, when Sherman got close to Atlanta, he had it moved to Sion Crossing for safety.”
Latimer nodded, remembering from both the book and the film what had happened to Atlanta in 1864. “Very prudent.”
“Marie-Louise was running the plantation.” Cookridge looked at his watch. “She had the strong-box buried in the garden. She reckoned, if Sherman’s men came, they’d plunder the house from top to bottom—she didn’t reckon on them burning it.”
“But they did—?” Latimer couldn’t see where the story was going.
“When it came to burning, she couldn’t bear the thought, Mister Latimer. So she offered to buy them off—the gold in exchange for the house.”
Latimer frowned. “They chose the house?”
Cookridge shook his head. “They chose the gold. But she’d also sent off one of the house-slaves—one of the few who hadn’t run away … Because there was a company of Confederate militia camped just down the road. And they turned up just as the Yankess were diggin up the strong-box. So then there was a fight—a skirmish through the woods more like, as the Yankees tried to get back across the river, where their regiment was.” He shook his head. “Maybe they thought she’d delayed them deliberately … maybe they fired the house to delay pursuit—maybe it was just an accident … Nobody knows for sure.”
“But the gold?” It had to be the gold.
“They couldn’t carry the strong-box and fight the Johnny Rebs—it was too heavy. So they shot open the lock and divided up what was inside—each man took what he thought he could carry, apparently. And then they fought their way through the woods, and the survivors swam the creek.”
“The survivors?”
“The Rebs killed some of them.” Cookridge nodded. “That’s how the whole story of the gold came out… . And … and they reckon some of ’em drowned—the ones who’d taken the most gold, maybe …”
“So it’s mostly at the bottom of the river?” It was odd how gold fired the imagination.
“Some of it is, sure. But with what they recovered—and Marie-Louise gave that to the Confederacy, mostly—and what the Yankees got away with …” The Senator shook his head “… there wasn’t one hell of a lot to start with, son. Just one man’s nest-egg in common coin and nuggets … No …”
No? But, of course, the Senator was probably a rich man. But then … if treasure was not his objective—?
The door opened and the young man entered, flushed with conflicting priorities.
“Sir— sir … We do have to go now—with respect, sir.” The priorities resolved themselves. “It’s protocol, sir.”
“Protocol?” The Senator turned the full weight of his displeasure on the young man. “Hogwash!”
“No, sir! HRH and the Ambassador— and the Foreign Secretary—I have to insist, sir!” The young man rallied bravely.
The Senator stared at him, then softened before such courage. “Okay boy—one minute—” He swung back to Latimer.
“I could meet you later, sir,” said Latimer.
“There won’t be any later.” The grey head shook regretfully. “It’s like this, Mister Latimer—I have acquired some papers—some original papers, but mostly some original research by a man who is now deceased.” Now he nodded. “He was researching the history of one of Billy Sherman’s regiments, all the way from when they mustered in Iowa, down through Chattanooga to Atlanta, and from Atlanta to the sea, and then to Virginia. And they were the boys who were at Sion Crossing.” The
Reshonda Tate Billingsley