Monday, December 17, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Ruggles Brothers Gold
One of the most famous gold heists made the new town of Redding famous throughout the state. It occurred in May 1892. The Ruggles Brothers held up the stage to Weaverville just west of Redding, and made off with the strong box loaded with gold. Just past a sharp bend on what is known as Middle Creek Road today. As soon as the stage headed round the turn the younger brother Charles jumped out of the manzanita chapparal with his shotgun aimed, ordering a halt. The driver complied, but unbeknownst to the Ruggles, the stage had an armed escort, Buck Montgomery of the Hayfork Montgomery clan.
Montgomery began firing, and Charles Ruggles fell. His brother John fired back, while the stage raced away to get help in Old Shasta. John Ruggles thought his brother dead, cached the strong box off the trail and hid is somewhere close by. That loot was never recovered, but the Ruggles Brothers were subsequently lynched by Redding vigilantes.
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As the legend goes, both Ruggles boys were young, charming and handsome. Numerous of the local ladies began to pamper them with gifts of food and even marriage proposals. For some reason there was an aura about the boys that girls and women found extremely appealing, perhaps their "bad boy" persona, or their good looks. Redding was still a preponderantly male town in those years. The locals already had it in for the two for the murder of the popular Buck Montgomery and they sure were not going to tolerate pampering of murderers, and secretly concocted a sheme for lynching them. The question exists as to how much help the Redding lawmen gave the "citizens." With no pretence for due process or the rights of the accused, the two boys were lynched in Redding July 24, 1892 --the mob took the two from jail, led them to a tree on the northwest corner (Redding Blacksmith shop at the time) where Shasta Street met the railroad tracks, the 'backyard' of the current Paul Stowers Garage business of today. Even on the improvised gallows, John Ruggles refused to divulge where he stashed the loot.
Authorities went back and scoured the area, and even found the express bag pouch (with letters intact) in the Lower Springs area, but the of $5,000 in gold coins still remains unfound, though over a century of seekers have tried. In recent days, our own local Brad Garbutt has rallied the historical interest, and given pointers to the curious. The place to begin, he says, is along the unpaved section of Middle Creek Road between Iron Mountain Road and the Shasta Transfer Station in Old Shasta.
So there's the challenge: find that hastily-buried gold loot!
Montgomery began firing, and Charles Ruggles fell. His brother John fired back, while the stage raced away to get help in Old Shasta. John Ruggles thought his brother dead, cached the strong box off the trail and hid is somewhere close by. That loot was never recovered, but the Ruggles Brothers were subsequently lynched by Redding vigilantes.
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| John and Charles Ruggles lynched: gold loot never found |
As the legend goes, both Ruggles boys were young, charming and handsome. Numerous of the local ladies began to pamper them with gifts of food and even marriage proposals. For some reason there was an aura about the boys that girls and women found extremely appealing, perhaps their "bad boy" persona, or their good looks. Redding was still a preponderantly male town in those years. The locals already had it in for the two for the murder of the popular Buck Montgomery and they sure were not going to tolerate pampering of murderers, and secretly concocted a sheme for lynching them. The question exists as to how much help the Redding lawmen gave the "citizens." With no pretence for due process or the rights of the accused, the two boys were lynched in Redding July 24, 1892 --the mob took the two from jail, led them to a tree on the northwest corner (Redding Blacksmith shop at the time) where Shasta Street met the railroad tracks, the 'backyard' of the current Paul Stowers Garage business of today. Even on the improvised gallows, John Ruggles refused to divulge where he stashed the loot.
Authorities went back and scoured the area, and even found the express bag pouch (with letters intact) in the Lower Springs area, but the of $5,000 in gold coins still remains unfound, though over a century of seekers have tried. In recent days, our own local Brad Garbutt has rallied the historical interest, and given pointers to the curious. The place to begin, he says, is along the unpaved section of Middle Creek Road between Iron Mountain Road and the Shasta Transfer Station in Old Shasta.
So there's the challenge: find that hastily-buried gold loot!
WHO THE HECK WAS ALF BOLIN? FORSYTH REMEMBERS AN OUTLAW by Vickie Hooper Photography by Lisa Goss
There was absolutely nothing good about Alf Bolin. During the Civil War in Taney and Ozark Counties in southern Missouri, he was the cruelest man alive. He robbed and killed without mercy, anybody that got near him or stood in his way. Old timers said he was the meanest, ugliest looking man south of the north pole. The only good thing about him was his death.
When his death occurred, people rejoiced by dancing in the streets of Forsyth and Ozark. It was one of the happiest days of their lives, one that they would never forget. They celebrated with all their hearts for they no longer had to fear the bushwhacker, Alf Bolin.
Nor have the people in Forsyth forgotten the great rejoicing at his death even today. The legend of Alf Bolin's atrocities lives on in the hill country around the White River. Once again in May 1982 the people thronged to the little county seat town to celebrate the end of his terror. Rather than the impromptu gathering of tremendous relief of the first time, this Alf Bolin day was carefully planned. In addition to the square dancing in the streets, there was country music groups all day, a chicken and dumpling dinner, cake walks, and to climax the day, a wedding.
Where Alf Bolin spelled death and the destruction of normal home life, the modern celebration of Alf Bolin's death was to emphasize a beginning with a wedding in the streets.
"Who the heck was Alf Bolin?" These words were printed on buttons and signs around the square. For visitors who did not know the legend and history of Alf Bolin, there were people and literature ready to explain. Doug Mahnkey had collected most of the stories about him.
Alf Bolin was born near Spokane, Missouri, in Christian County. No one would ever have guessed he would one day be the most notorious bushwhacker of all times. Not much is known about him, but he seemed to be an average boy trying to make the best of what he had.
It was believed that he and his sister were orphans later and lived at Old Man Bilyeu's place. The Bilyeus saw that he got plenty of food and brought him up as they did their own.
In school he was a good student. Tales have it that he was the spelling champion. He was 'a good woodsman and skillful hunter. All this pointed to a normal life. But being from the border regions of a border state, he was soon to be one of the many victims of the Civil War.
During the early period of the conflict, a Union soldier shot from ambush at Alf. This incident just may have started his wild career of vengeance and murder, for his victims were often relatives of Union soldiers. Alf searched for other men like himself who could be some use for his revenge. He became the leader of a gang of about twenty men who went on raids against inhabitants from northern Arkansas, throughout Taney County and into southern Ozark County.
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Unfortunately the Civil War in Missouri caused more misery than in most states because about half of the Missourians were Union sympathizers and half had Southern inclinations. This led to many problems. Men had to pick which side they would support, causing brothers to fight against each other. More or less it was neighbor against neighbor--a time that breeds outlaws.
Another condition which permitted outlaws to exist is that during the war the able men were away fighting either because they volunteered or were forced. Whichever army came through would conscript any men they could find. The women and children and old men were left to live as they could to raise the food for themselves and what stock the maurad-ing armies or outlaws spared them. With law enforcement systems broken down, with alternate periods of Union or Confederate Army occupation, men like Alf Bolin and his gang had free sway. The inhabitants lived in constant terror, hiding any older boys or men as well as any livestock from the armies and outlaws.
Alf Bolin took advantage of these hard times. He and his gang robbed, raped and killed without mercy with no one to stop him.
One of the victims of Alf's raids was Dave Titsworth, a sixteen-year-old boy from Walnut Shade. Dave was taking a few letters to the Day Post Office which his family had written to his sick father in the Union Army when Alf deliberately brought his pistol from his holster with his dirty hand, aimed at Dave, and shot him in the chest.
Some old women, who had seen the shooting, asked Alf if he was not ashamed. Alf replied, "Get into the house and shut your mouths if you want to save your scalps. That makes nineteen I've killed."
Though he was seriously wounded, Dave did not die. Betsey May and Susan Keithley cared for and nursed him until he was well.
Alf even went back to old Dad Bilyeu's place and threatened to kill his former benefactor although Bilyeu had probably been the closest thing to a father he'd ever known. Mrs. Bilyeu got the best thing she could find for Alf, a huge batch of maple sugar and watched him gulp it down while he counted his bag of money. When he left, he took Dad Bilyeau's best saddle horse.
Hosea Bilyeu and Big Ike Lewis were teenagers during the war. They had been digging a grave for a relative and were on their way home when Alf's band rose from behind rocks and started after them. The boys ran to safety.
These were a few of the lucky ones. Most of the people Alf ran into didn't live long. On Camp Creek he murdered James Johnson, the uncle of Wood Johnson, the Presiding Judge of Christian County. He killed Bob Edwards near Bluff in Taney County. At Murder Rocks, a place where many travelers were killed, he shot in the back two Union soldiers home on leave and returning to their duties with the army.
A twelve year old boy, Bill Willis, climbed a rail fence with corn in his arms to feed a horse on Roark Creek just north of Garber. Bolin shot him dead. Sad faced women buried him in a shallow grave under a mulberry tree on Roark Creek.
One of the saddest stories was of Mr. Budd. He was an eighty-year-old man who drove a yoke of oxen into Taney County from Christian County to get a small amount of corn from someone living along White River. Not much corn was raised during this time, so any was precious. He needed the sparse amount of corn to make meal for the bread for the needy women and children in his neighborhood. On his way back across the river, Alf and his band stopped him. They forced him to wade into the water and stand there as they shot several rifle bullets into his body. When the last shot finally killed him, the flow of the water carried away his body.
Through this time, the Union Army had tried unsuccessfully to track him down. Alf and his men, all experienced woodsmen, were hard riders and knew all the trails, mountain passes, caves, and fords on White River. In spite of this, the army decided to try to capture the shrewd woodsman in South Missouri in his own hills.
[16]
To help them with their plan, the army got a smart lady, Mrs. Foster, the wife of a southern officer who was being held prisoner in Springfield, Missouri, and was in danger of execution. Though her husband wore gray, Mrs. Foster was a Union sympathizer.
Mrs. Foster lived near the Arkansas line where Alf and his gang camped at the time. Alf had gone to her house many times for his meals while her husband was gone. So, in exchange for the freedom of her husband, she decided to help.
Because of his coolness and bravery the Union officers also got the help of Zack Thomas, a native of Missouri who had enlisted in the Union Army in Iowa. Thomas made his way unarmed and slowly to Mrs. Foster's house disguised as a very sick and weak Southern soldier who had been captured but had escaped, trying to make his way back home.
He stayed upstairs at Mrs. Foster's house for many days pretending to be sick. On February 2, of 1863, Bolin came to dinner, so Thomas made a small noise. Bolin heard him and ordered him to come down, threatening to kill him. Mrs. Foster explained that the man was sick and was on his way home.
The sly Mrs. Foster set the dinner table close to the fireplace, "because of the chill," with the "sick" Thomas nearest it. By the fireplace she had placed a coulter, a long, sharp, steel blade used on a plow. Seeing it, Bolin immediately became suspicious, but Mrs. Foster allayed his fears by explaining that it was to be made into horseshoes and that she used it as a poker. Bolin lay his pistol on the table.
After the big meal of ham, potatoes and green beans, Bolin leaned over the open fire to rake a live coal into his pipe. Thomas seized the coulter and struck him in the back. They drug him into a back room thinking he was dead, but when they heard him moan and struggle, Thomas stabbed him many times until he was sure dead. They could not use a pistol because the ready-to-kill band that was always near would hear.
This picture illustrates the final living moment of the murderer, Alf Bolin. He was killed by Zack Thomas, a United States army soldier.
[17]Thomas sneaked out in the darkness and went to a Union camp to send officers for Bolin's body and Mrs. Foster.
The soldiers stopped at every house along the way to Forsyth telling everyone that the killer Alf Bolin was finally dead. There was great relief. Bells rang. To claim the reward, someone had to take his body to the United States Army Post at Ozark, about thirty-five miles north.
But by the time the body reached Forsyth, it was rotting with the odor unbearable. The soldiers decided to carry just the head for the rest of the way for the proof he was dead. Colbert Hays enjoyed slicing the clotted face with blood-matted hair from the rest of the stenchy body with his sharp, two-headed axe. In Ozark, willing hands placed the head on a pole in the public square for people to see, children to throw rocks at and women to spit on. The rest of the body was buried on Swan Creek Road.
People danced all around the pole and in Forsyth and other settlements in rejoicement of his death. They no longer had to fear him and no more fourteen year old boys like Hosea Bilyeu would have to join the army to get away from him. Those whose husbands were away at war no longer feared to sleep at night. Old men could walk along the trails once again without jumping at every noise, fearing an ambush. Even though the war was not yet over, the families in the sparsely settled hill areas along the Arkansas border of Missouri could resume normal activities without the continual dread of the Bolin gang.
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At the celebration of Alf Bolin Day in Forsyth, Uncle Sam visits with another local resident about Civil War days. Men and women both dressed in colorful period costumes to enjoy the festivities. Others paraded in the streets, joined music groups, helped prepare special foods and conduct other activities all for fun.
[18]The merriment continued long into the night--a rejoicing of great relief from years of constant fear, and hope that the war would soon be over.
Some one hundred and nineteen years later on May 15, 1982, the celebration of Alf Bolin's death was resumed in Forsyth. Now in the peaceful pretty little town on the banks of the dammed-up White River, which is now Bull Shoal's Lake, the citizens, remembering the time of terror, celebrated its end once again. This time it was all pleasant and enjoyable. In the midst of the fun of dressing in costume, the music, the food and the many activities, this celebration, as the first celebration, also had a serious purpose. Climaxing everything was the wedding of Holly Renee Sun and Johnny Lee Chambers in a beautiful wedding ceremony on the streets of Forsyth.
Where Alf Bolin represented hate and death, this couple promised love and life.
"...Unto you both," said Reverend Maxine Price, the minister, "I would say, let not your voices lose the tender tone of affection nor your eyes forget the tender ray with which they shone in courtship day, and greatest of all, let God be in the throne above all else at all times."
The only good thing about Alf Bolin was his death.
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On the parking lot of the bank for all to enjoy, Reverend Maxine Price performs the wedding ceremony for Johnny Lee Chambers and Holly Renee Sun. With fun and seriousness, the modern people of Forsyth celebrate, many years later, the end of an era of lawlessness and death with love and new beginnings. Above photograph by Deidra Morgan.
Nana Sehab
It
is perhaps one of the most intriguing questions of 1857. Nana Saheb,
regarded as one of the main leaders of the 1857 war of independence
disappeared soon after his defeat at the hands of the British. Ever
since, his fate has been a mystery. Was he found and killed by the
British, or did he manage to escape? Also, what happened to his fabled
treasure which, today, would be worth billions?
Historians are still unclear about most of these questions. As Professor N Q Pankaj, head of the department of History at Banaras Hindu University (BHU), points out, "There are many loose threads in Nana Saheb's story, to which no concrete answers are still available."
Historians are still unclear about most of these questions. As Professor N Q Pankaj, head of the department of History at Banaras Hindu University (BHU), points out, "There are many loose threads in Nana Saheb's story, to which no concrete answers are still available."
But
first, a little background on what happened in 1857. When the revolt
broke out, Nana Saheb initially sided with the British — offering
assistance to General Wheeler, the commanding officer of the Kanpur
garrison. However, when General Wheeler, along with his soldiers and
their families, was escaping by boat from the Sati Chaura ghat in Kanpur
for Allahabad, Nana Saheb's men attacked them, killing almost all the
British men, women and children. This incident has gone down in history
as the Sati Chaura massacre.
The British retaliated soon by attacking Nana's stronghold, Bithoor, a small principality near Kanpur, which they captured and razed to the ground. Nana Saheb, however, managed to escape. What happened to him thereafter remains a subject of conjecture and much speculation.
While some believe that he was captured by the British and later hanged, the general consensus among historians now, says Professor Pankaj, is that he was never captured. In fact, most historians believe that he made good his escape and went across to Nepal, although no concrete historical evidence of that exists. Over the years, there have been many sightings of Nana Saheb, with numerous people claiming that they saw him alive, till as late as the early 20th century.
Another mystery has been regarding Nana Saheb's treasure. Amongst the British forces that attacked Nana Saheb's palace, there were three companies of the Connaught Rangers, a company of the Royal Engineers and half a battery of artillery. One of their objectives was to search for treasure in the ruined palace of Nana Saheb. With the help of an Indian spy, the British soldiers managed to locate the hiding place of the treasure — which was hidden inside one of the seven deep wells within the palace.
According to British accounts of the time, the British soldiers led by Lt Malcolm of the Royal Engineers drained out the well and began the process of extracting the treasure. One of the first items to be brought out was a gold plate, that was later described as being "made of pure, solid gold, although not having any artistic importance."
The other items in the treasure were a lot of silverware, including Nana Saheb's silver howdah, a number of silver plates as well as gold and silver coins, which were tightly packed in ammunition boxes. The total worth of the coins alone was estimated to be over Rs 2 lakh. Although the British found a great deal of the treasure, it is believed that Nana Saheb also managed to take a significant part of his treasure with him when he escaped. Conjecture has surrounded the location of this missing treasure ever since.
Kanpur resident K K Dwivedi, who has extensively researched the events of the time, says that much of the speculation has revolved around the treasure being somewhere in Nepal, since that was where Nana Saheb is believed to have fled.
The British retaliated soon by attacking Nana's stronghold, Bithoor, a small principality near Kanpur, which they captured and razed to the ground. Nana Saheb, however, managed to escape. What happened to him thereafter remains a subject of conjecture and much speculation.
While some believe that he was captured by the British and later hanged, the general consensus among historians now, says Professor Pankaj, is that he was never captured. In fact, most historians believe that he made good his escape and went across to Nepal, although no concrete historical evidence of that exists. Over the years, there have been many sightings of Nana Saheb, with numerous people claiming that they saw him alive, till as late as the early 20th century.
Another mystery has been regarding Nana Saheb's treasure. Amongst the British forces that attacked Nana Saheb's palace, there were three companies of the Connaught Rangers, a company of the Royal Engineers and half a battery of artillery. One of their objectives was to search for treasure in the ruined palace of Nana Saheb. With the help of an Indian spy, the British soldiers managed to locate the hiding place of the treasure — which was hidden inside one of the seven deep wells within the palace.
According to British accounts of the time, the British soldiers led by Lt Malcolm of the Royal Engineers drained out the well and began the process of extracting the treasure. One of the first items to be brought out was a gold plate, that was later described as being "made of pure, solid gold, although not having any artistic importance."
The other items in the treasure were a lot of silverware, including Nana Saheb's silver howdah, a number of silver plates as well as gold and silver coins, which were tightly packed in ammunition boxes. The total worth of the coins alone was estimated to be over Rs 2 lakh. Although the British found a great deal of the treasure, it is believed that Nana Saheb also managed to take a significant part of his treasure with him when he escaped. Conjecture has surrounded the location of this missing treasure ever since.
Kanpur resident K K Dwivedi, who has extensively researched the events of the time, says that much of the speculation has revolved around the treasure being somewhere in Nepal, since that was where Nana Saheb is believed to have fled.
[1]
This
theory got a boost, when, in 1957, exactly 100 years after the Mutiny,
the Nepal government launched a treasure hunt in the thickly wooded
Nagarjuna hill area, some distance away from Kathmandu.
A newspaper report dated March 27, 1957 mentions that "the Nepal government has engaged five diggers for turning over the earth in the area in the hope of recovering large hoards of wealth in gold, silver and valuable jewellery, commonly believed to have been buried in this area by the widow of Nana Saheb and Nana Saheb's followers when they took refuge here in 1857." Whether anything was found in this dig was never ascertained.
However, according to Dwivedi, there is ample evidence that Nana Saheb took the prime pieces of his treasure along with him. For instance, he says that while crossing the Ganga, Nana Saheb had to immerse in the river a few select pieces, which were too heavy for him to carry. Among these was a gold idol of Ganesha that weighed 20 kg. Almost 60 years later, this idol was recovered by a fisherman, who sold it to a copper merchant of Kanpur, whose family, says Dwivedi, still has the idol and worships it at home as their family deity.
Historians, however, are not convinced that Nana Saheb would have taken much of his treasure along with him. According to Shireen Moosvi, professor of history at Aligarh Muslim University, "The urgency of the situation combined with the circumstances in which Nana Saheb had to flee Bithoor would suggest that he took just whatever he could lay his hands on, at the moment."
While that might be true, the question of Nana Saheb's treasure and its whereabouts is one that continues to fascinate people and even after 150 years, it remains one of the most enduring mysteries of the 1857 era.
A newspaper report dated March 27, 1957 mentions that "the Nepal government has engaged five diggers for turning over the earth in the area in the hope of recovering large hoards of wealth in gold, silver and valuable jewellery, commonly believed to have been buried in this area by the widow of Nana Saheb and Nana Saheb's followers when they took refuge here in 1857." Whether anything was found in this dig was never ascertained.
However, according to Dwivedi, there is ample evidence that Nana Saheb took the prime pieces of his treasure along with him. For instance, he says that while crossing the Ganga, Nana Saheb had to immerse in the river a few select pieces, which were too heavy for him to carry. Among these was a gold idol of Ganesha that weighed 20 kg. Almost 60 years later, this idol was recovered by a fisherman, who sold it to a copper merchant of Kanpur, whose family, says Dwivedi, still has the idol and worships it at home as their family deity.
Historians, however, are not convinced that Nana Saheb would have taken much of his treasure along with him. According to Shireen Moosvi, professor of history at Aligarh Muslim University, "The urgency of the situation combined with the circumstances in which Nana Saheb had to flee Bithoor would suggest that he took just whatever he could lay his hands on, at the moment."
While that might be true, the question of Nana Saheb's treasure and its whereabouts is one that continues to fascinate people and even after 150 years, it remains one of the most enduring mysteries of the 1857 era.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
ALF BOLIN’S BURIED TREASURE
Some years ago a stranger came to a farm home on Highway JJ South of
Kirbyville in Taney County, Missouri. The stranger asked the farmer to
board him for a few days. It was agreed and the stranger promised to be
"no bother" to anyone. He was a very quiet turned person and gave no
reason for wanting to live with the family for a spell. The farmer and
his wife surmised that the old fellow might be looking for land or
prospecting for lead or zinc in the hills.
Each morning the stranger left the house, carrying a lunch the farm wife had fixed for him. He carried no gun or tools on these trips in the hills. Late in the afternoon he would return, tired and worn from climbing the pine-clad hills. After two weeks of exploring in the pinery country the old man paid his board and keep and departed, still a mystery. He gave no name or any information of any kind, just bade them good-bye and was gone.
For several summers he returned and lived with this family. Always the same secretive hikes over the hills with never a word as to his quest. One evening, very late, he returned from one of these day-long hikes. After supper he told them he was leaving on the morrow and would not return again. "I am getting too old to make these long hikes, so I will have to give up." He then took a well-worn little map from his shirt pocket. "I have been searching for All Bolin’s buried treasure," he said. He then related that one of Alf Bolin’s gang had told the story that Bolin had buried the gold, silver and other valuables taken in his many robberies, and that the hidden treasure was somewhere in those Fox Creek Hills. The old man was looking for a cave in the Fox Creek country. The treasure was supposed to be near this cave. The cave he was looking for is farther east than he had searched. The cave is located in the vicinity of Section 20, Township 22, Range 20 in Taney County, Missouri. Most any native hill man could have guided the old man to the cave. It is about two miles Southwest of the Old Mincy Store and Mill site which is at the end of Highway J.
The old man related to the farmer that the treasure was not buried in the cave but according to legend, nearby, using the cave as a landmark.
It is highly probable that Bolin’s loot is buried in those hills. The activities of the Bolin gang centered around the "Murder Rocks" on Pine Mountain south of Kirbyville, Missouri. The "Murder Rocks", also known as the "Alf Bolin Rocks", are located on Highway JJ about 10 miles south of Forsyth, Missouri, the county seat of Taney County, Missouri. This is a rugged section of the Ozark Mountains in southwest Missouri. The present highway up the mountain is about 60 feet east of the old road. The old road passed within a few feet of these great limestone rocks. The location is near the south line of Section 25, in Township 22, Range 21, Taney County, Missouri.
The great limestone rocks stood beside the Springfield-Harrison Road near the top of the mountain. The outlaws hid behind these rocks with a perfect view of the road to the north and the south. Many travelers were held up and robbed here. Many were murdered by the
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gang. Two of the victims are buried on the farm later owned by my grandfather, Charles Mahnkey (now the Junior Strahan place about one mile south of Kirbyville, Missouri on Highway J). Legend has it that Bolin killed fourteen persons, mostly old men and boys.
Joel Dunlap recently related a story given him by his great grandfather, John Plez Dunlap. John Plez Dunlap and another family were moving to the Ozarks in covered wagons and had camped for the night at Coal Pit Hollow Spring at the foot of Pine Mountain.
About dark a man came to the camp on foot. He was the U.S. mail carrier from Harrison to Forsyth and had just been robbed by Bolin at Murder Rocks, about a mile away. Bolin took the mail pouch and the horse. The poor mail carrier spent the night at the camp and no doubt all spent a restless night for fear of Bolin.
Alf Bolin grew to manhood near Spokane, Missouri, in Christian County. He was a great hunter and very skillful with guns and traps and as a woodsman.
Claude and Clarence Bilyeu told me some interesting things about Alf Bolin that I had never before heard. John Bilyeu, a merchant in the days before the Civil War, kept Alf Bolin and his sister in his home when they were young children. The Bilyeu boys recalled the story being handed down in their family from the days of old John Bilyeu who was known as Old Dad Bilyeu. Alf Bolin attended the school in the neighborhood and was the champion speller of the neighborhood. It seems that about the time the war broke out someone shot at Alf from ambush and this incident may have started him out on his wild career of vengeance and murder. It seems the two Bolin children were orphans.
There is little more known of his life until the Civil War opened. During the war he led a band of about 20 men on raids that extended from the northern part of Arkansas northward through Taney County and the southern part of Christian County, Missouri. During this time there were no men at the homes to defend the people from the band. Only old men, boys, and women and children were left. Alf Bolin seemed to wish to take vengeance against the relatives of Union soldiers. He killed and robbed without mercy. Times were very hard and food scarce. He kept women and children in constant fear with threats and wild rides through the country in the night.
There were many victims of his ruthless warfare. One was Dave Titsworth, a lad of sixteen years, living at what is now Walnut Shade in Taney County. He was shot in the breast by Alf Bolin near Day Past Office on Bear Creek. After he had shot the lad some women asked him if he was not ashamed, killing such a young boy. He replied, "Get into the house and shut your mouths if you want to save your scalps. That makes 19 I’ve killed." He rode away. The women then attended to the boy’s wounds. Bettsey May and Susan Keithley bound up his wound and cared for him until he was well again.
Another to fall before Bolin’s wrath was Bill Willis, only 12 years old. The Willis lad was carrying corn from the field to feed a horse. This was on Roark Creek, just north of Garber, Missouri. As the boy climbed the rail fence with the corn in his arms Bolin shot him down. Those brave, sad-faced mountain women came and buried the poor boy in a shallow grave under a mulberry tree on Roark Creek. Several old timers can show the grave to this day.
James Johnson, uncle of Wood Johnson, the Presiding Judge of Christian County (W. T. Johnson) and a brother of Jep Johnson, one of the first settlers of Taney County, was killed on Camp Creek in Christian County by Alf Balm. Bob Edwards was killed near Bluff in Taney County.
One of the saddest stories of all is of an old man by the name of Budd who was about 80 years old. Mr. Budd drove a yoke of oxen into Taney County from Christian County to get a small amount of corn from someone on White River. The corn was to be used for making bread for the women and children of his neighborhood.
He got the load of corn and started back to his home. He reached White River and crossed it near the place that was later known as Hensley’s Ferry. Just as he crossed the river and started on his way Bolin and his band halted him. They forced him to leave his wagon and wade back into the river. There he was shot down and fell into the water, his body being carried away by the stream.
Two Union soldiers had been to visit their homes on a furlough. As they returned to their
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duties with the Army they were ambushed and killed at the Alf Bolin Rocks on Pine Mountain in Taney County on the old Springfield-Harrison Road. Uncle Joe McGill, then a young man, and two women of his family brought the bodies to a point about three miles south of Kirbyville where they buried them. This point is marked now by a cluster of timber in an open field on what is known as the Charley Mahnkey place.
After Alf became an outlaw he came to Old Dad Bilyeu’s place with his gang and demanded money and threatened to kill his former benefactor. The gang was about to kill Mr. Bilyeu. Mrs. Bilyeu went up into the loft of the house and brought down a big batch of maple sugar they had made and kept hidden for family use during the hard times of the War. She laid this out on the kitchen table and the gang and Alf ate all they wanted and took the remainder. Alf Bolin, while at the Bilyeu home, had a meal sack full of money and poured it all out and counted it. After counting the money and eating the maple candy, Alf took Bilyeu’s best saddle horse and they all rode away.
Clarence and Claude related this story of their grandfather, Hosea Bilyeu. Hosea and Big Ike Lewis were teenage boys at the time of the Civil War and the period of Alf Bolin’s raids. Hosea was only 14 and he and Ike Lewis had been digging a grave at Meadows Cemetery for old lady Lewallen. On their way home, bushwhackers rose from behind some big rocks along the creek. The boys ran for their lives. The bush-whackers were no doubt a part of Bolin’s gang and knew these lads both belonged to Union families. Hosea, although only 14, made his way to Springfield and joined the Union Army. This was about the only way a man or boy had any chance of survival so vicious were the bush-whackers such as Alf Bolin.
There are many other instances of Alf Bolin’s cruelty and raids but this is enough to show the character of the man. Old settlers tell us that he was the meanest looking man they ever had seen. (We can find no one alive now who saw him and can described him.)
Alf Bolin eluded the Union soldiers sent to capture him. He and his band were hard riders and good woodsmen. He knew all the trails, all the mountain passes or gaps, all the caves, every ford on White River. He knew how to elude the best of the cavalry sent to search for him. The officers, knowing that they could never surround him, decided to try to trap him. What a daring plan! Trapping the smartest woodsman of the South. Trapping him in his own hills.
A Southern soldier by the name of Foster was captured by the Union men and held prisoner in Springfield, Missouri. He was in danger of execution, so the story goes, for some offense. Foster’s wife was a Union sympathizer, even though her husband wore the Gray. Mrs. Foster lived near the Arkansas-Missouri state line about three miles south of the Alf Bolin Rocks, near what is known as the Old Layton Mill. Alf Bolin and his band were camped near her home. The chief came to her home many times for his meals.
The Union officers made a plan with her whereby she was to help them capture Bolin dead or alive. If she would help them in this they would release her husband from the charge against him and set him free. To this the brave Mrs. Foster agreed and the plan was laid. She realized one small mistake and her life would be taken. One small error, one little suspicious move and the plan would fail. But with a great love for her husband and a desire to rid the county of this terrible raider, she agreed to the plan.
The Union officers, knowing the cunning of the man Bolin, realized what a task they had before them. They selected a man by the name of Thomas, a Union soldier who was a native of Missouri, and had enlisted in the army in Iowa. He was selected because of his coolness and bravery. Detailed to his difficult work he made his way southward (from it is supposed Springfield) disguised as a Southern soldier who had been captured and had either escaped or been discharged and was making his way homeward again. He made believe he was sick and very weak. Slowly he made his way through Christian and Taney County, going unarmed, knowing that if Bolin caught him armed he would kill him. Finally he reached his destination - the home of Mrs. Foster. Here he stayed for a few days, pretending to be sick and staying upstairs.
One day his chance came. Bolin camped near and came alone for his dinner: Thomas made a slight noise from his place in the attic. Bolin asked who it was. He made him come down and threatened to kill him; Mrs. Foster
[3]
explained that he was a poor Southern soldier making his way back home. (The story goes that Thomas wore an old Southern uniform.) Thomas appeared very weak and hardly able to move about. Mrs. Foster set the table for the meal. The table was placed near the fireplace. Balm and Thomas sat down to eat. Thomas sat next to the fireplace. There had been placed on this side of the fireplace a colter (a long steel blade, homemade, used to fasten to a beam of a plow to run ahead of the plow to cut the roots in breaking new ground.) Bolin saw this and became suspicious. Mrs. Foster explained that this was brought there by a fellow sometime before to be made into horse shoes, and that he had never come for it. She had been using it as a fire poker.
This seemed to satisfy Balm to some extent, but he was still suspicious and laid his pistol on the table by his hand as he ate his meal. No chance came during the meal. Thomas dared not have any arms so he must resort to some other trick. The meal was finished and Balm, growing less suspicous, leaned over the fire to rake a live coal into his pipe. As he leaned over, Thomas, like a flash seized the colter and struck Bolin. He fell, apparently dead. Mrs. Foster and Thomas dragged him into the back room.
In a few minutes they heard him struggling, and Thomas finished him with the colter. They could not use the pistol as Bolin’s band was near and a shot would bring them on the run. Mrs. Foster and Thomas, realizing the great danger they were now in, made the following plan. She would stay at the house and satisfy the curiosity of any of Bolin’s band that might come in search of him. Thomas would go to the Union camp and let them know what had taken place. The soldiers came and Mrs. Foster was conducted in safety to Ozark, Missouri. There, we learn, she lived after the death of her husband until the early 1900’s.
Bolin’s body was brought to Forsyth, Missouri. His head was cut off with an ax by Colbert Hays and then taken to Ozark where it was placed on a pole. People tell me that there was a great rejoicing over the death of Alf Bolin. As the soldiers went to escort Mrs. Foster to the North they stopped at a house near Forsyth and told the people that Alf Bolin was dead.
The gruesome task of delivering the head to Ozark, in Christian County, was necessary in order to prove the death of Bolin so as to collect the reward.
Sam Boswell, one of the pioneers of the Forsyth area, and whose people had a trading post at the mouth of Swan Creek before the county was established, told me much of this story. After he was an old man and had almost lost his sight, he accompanied me to the spot where Alf Bolin’s body was interred. He could not locate the exact place. However, it is on the right hand side of the old Swan Creek Road, north and east of Old Forsyth about one mile. Mr. Boswell was about 12 years old at the time of Bolin’s death and remembered all the details.
The secret of Alf Bolin’s buried treasure died with him. There is no doubt that the outlaw had amassed a considerable fortune in gold, silver and other valuables. The scene of his many robberies was along the main road from Harrison, Arkansas to Springfield, Missouri. There were no railroads within several hundred miles, so all freight and the United States mail had to use the route between the two frontier cities. Bolin trusted no one. He dared not go to a bank to deposit his loot for safekeeping for there was a price on his head. So he buried his ill-gotten gold, silver, jewelry, watches, and other valuable near the cave on Fox Creek near the Missouri and Arkansas border and there it remains after nearly one hundred years.
[4]
Each morning the stranger left the house, carrying a lunch the farm wife had fixed for him. He carried no gun or tools on these trips in the hills. Late in the afternoon he would return, tired and worn from climbing the pine-clad hills. After two weeks of exploring in the pinery country the old man paid his board and keep and departed, still a mystery. He gave no name or any information of any kind, just bade them good-bye and was gone.
For several summers he returned and lived with this family. Always the same secretive hikes over the hills with never a word as to his quest. One evening, very late, he returned from one of these day-long hikes. After supper he told them he was leaving on the morrow and would not return again. "I am getting too old to make these long hikes, so I will have to give up." He then took a well-worn little map from his shirt pocket. "I have been searching for All Bolin’s buried treasure," he said. He then related that one of Alf Bolin’s gang had told the story that Bolin had buried the gold, silver and other valuables taken in his many robberies, and that the hidden treasure was somewhere in those Fox Creek Hills. The old man was looking for a cave in the Fox Creek country. The treasure was supposed to be near this cave. The cave he was looking for is farther east than he had searched. The cave is located in the vicinity of Section 20, Township 22, Range 20 in Taney County, Missouri. Most any native hill man could have guided the old man to the cave. It is about two miles Southwest of the Old Mincy Store and Mill site which is at the end of Highway J.
The old man related to the farmer that the treasure was not buried in the cave but according to legend, nearby, using the cave as a landmark.
It is highly probable that Bolin’s loot is buried in those hills. The activities of the Bolin gang centered around the "Murder Rocks" on Pine Mountain south of Kirbyville, Missouri. The "Murder Rocks", also known as the "Alf Bolin Rocks", are located on Highway JJ about 10 miles south of Forsyth, Missouri, the county seat of Taney County, Missouri. This is a rugged section of the Ozark Mountains in southwest Missouri. The present highway up the mountain is about 60 feet east of the old road. The old road passed within a few feet of these great limestone rocks. The location is near the south line of Section 25, in Township 22, Range 21, Taney County, Missouri.
The great limestone rocks stood beside the Springfield-Harrison Road near the top of the mountain. The outlaws hid behind these rocks with a perfect view of the road to the north and the south. Many travelers were held up and robbed here. Many were murdered by the
[1]
gang. Two of the victims are buried on the farm later owned by my grandfather, Charles Mahnkey (now the Junior Strahan place about one mile south of Kirbyville, Missouri on Highway J). Legend has it that Bolin killed fourteen persons, mostly old men and boys.
Joel Dunlap recently related a story given him by his great grandfather, John Plez Dunlap. John Plez Dunlap and another family were moving to the Ozarks in covered wagons and had camped for the night at Coal Pit Hollow Spring at the foot of Pine Mountain.
About dark a man came to the camp on foot. He was the U.S. mail carrier from Harrison to Forsyth and had just been robbed by Bolin at Murder Rocks, about a mile away. Bolin took the mail pouch and the horse. The poor mail carrier spent the night at the camp and no doubt all spent a restless night for fear of Bolin.
Alf Bolin grew to manhood near Spokane, Missouri, in Christian County. He was a great hunter and very skillful with guns and traps and as a woodsman.
Claude and Clarence Bilyeu told me some interesting things about Alf Bolin that I had never before heard. John Bilyeu, a merchant in the days before the Civil War, kept Alf Bolin and his sister in his home when they were young children. The Bilyeu boys recalled the story being handed down in their family from the days of old John Bilyeu who was known as Old Dad Bilyeu. Alf Bolin attended the school in the neighborhood and was the champion speller of the neighborhood. It seems that about the time the war broke out someone shot at Alf from ambush and this incident may have started him out on his wild career of vengeance and murder. It seems the two Bolin children were orphans.
There is little more known of his life until the Civil War opened. During the war he led a band of about 20 men on raids that extended from the northern part of Arkansas northward through Taney County and the southern part of Christian County, Missouri. During this time there were no men at the homes to defend the people from the band. Only old men, boys, and women and children were left. Alf Bolin seemed to wish to take vengeance against the relatives of Union soldiers. He killed and robbed without mercy. Times were very hard and food scarce. He kept women and children in constant fear with threats and wild rides through the country in the night.
There were many victims of his ruthless warfare. One was Dave Titsworth, a lad of sixteen years, living at what is now Walnut Shade in Taney County. He was shot in the breast by Alf Bolin near Day Past Office on Bear Creek. After he had shot the lad some women asked him if he was not ashamed, killing such a young boy. He replied, "Get into the house and shut your mouths if you want to save your scalps. That makes 19 I’ve killed." He rode away. The women then attended to the boy’s wounds. Bettsey May and Susan Keithley bound up his wound and cared for him until he was well again.
Another to fall before Bolin’s wrath was Bill Willis, only 12 years old. The Willis lad was carrying corn from the field to feed a horse. This was on Roark Creek, just north of Garber, Missouri. As the boy climbed the rail fence with the corn in his arms Bolin shot him down. Those brave, sad-faced mountain women came and buried the poor boy in a shallow grave under a mulberry tree on Roark Creek. Several old timers can show the grave to this day.
James Johnson, uncle of Wood Johnson, the Presiding Judge of Christian County (W. T. Johnson) and a brother of Jep Johnson, one of the first settlers of Taney County, was killed on Camp Creek in Christian County by Alf Balm. Bob Edwards was killed near Bluff in Taney County.
One of the saddest stories of all is of an old man by the name of Budd who was about 80 years old. Mr. Budd drove a yoke of oxen into Taney County from Christian County to get a small amount of corn from someone on White River. The corn was to be used for making bread for the women and children of his neighborhood.
He got the load of corn and started back to his home. He reached White River and crossed it near the place that was later known as Hensley’s Ferry. Just as he crossed the river and started on his way Bolin and his band halted him. They forced him to leave his wagon and wade back into the river. There he was shot down and fell into the water, his body being carried away by the stream.
Two Union soldiers had been to visit their homes on a furlough. As they returned to their
[2]
duties with the Army they were ambushed and killed at the Alf Bolin Rocks on Pine Mountain in Taney County on the old Springfield-Harrison Road. Uncle Joe McGill, then a young man, and two women of his family brought the bodies to a point about three miles south of Kirbyville where they buried them. This point is marked now by a cluster of timber in an open field on what is known as the Charley Mahnkey place.
After Alf became an outlaw he came to Old Dad Bilyeu’s place with his gang and demanded money and threatened to kill his former benefactor. The gang was about to kill Mr. Bilyeu. Mrs. Bilyeu went up into the loft of the house and brought down a big batch of maple sugar they had made and kept hidden for family use during the hard times of the War. She laid this out on the kitchen table and the gang and Alf ate all they wanted and took the remainder. Alf Bolin, while at the Bilyeu home, had a meal sack full of money and poured it all out and counted it. After counting the money and eating the maple candy, Alf took Bilyeu’s best saddle horse and they all rode away.
Clarence and Claude related this story of their grandfather, Hosea Bilyeu. Hosea and Big Ike Lewis were teenage boys at the time of the Civil War and the period of Alf Bolin’s raids. Hosea was only 14 and he and Ike Lewis had been digging a grave at Meadows Cemetery for old lady Lewallen. On their way home, bushwhackers rose from behind some big rocks along the creek. The boys ran for their lives. The bush-whackers were no doubt a part of Bolin’s gang and knew these lads both belonged to Union families. Hosea, although only 14, made his way to Springfield and joined the Union Army. This was about the only way a man or boy had any chance of survival so vicious were the bush-whackers such as Alf Bolin.
There are many other instances of Alf Bolin’s cruelty and raids but this is enough to show the character of the man. Old settlers tell us that he was the meanest looking man they ever had seen. (We can find no one alive now who saw him and can described him.)
Alf Bolin eluded the Union soldiers sent to capture him. He and his band were hard riders and good woodsmen. He knew all the trails, all the mountain passes or gaps, all the caves, every ford on White River. He knew how to elude the best of the cavalry sent to search for him. The officers, knowing that they could never surround him, decided to try to trap him. What a daring plan! Trapping the smartest woodsman of the South. Trapping him in his own hills.
A Southern soldier by the name of Foster was captured by the Union men and held prisoner in Springfield, Missouri. He was in danger of execution, so the story goes, for some offense. Foster’s wife was a Union sympathizer, even though her husband wore the Gray. Mrs. Foster lived near the Arkansas-Missouri state line about three miles south of the Alf Bolin Rocks, near what is known as the Old Layton Mill. Alf Bolin and his band were camped near her home. The chief came to her home many times for his meals.
The Union officers made a plan with her whereby she was to help them capture Bolin dead or alive. If she would help them in this they would release her husband from the charge against him and set him free. To this the brave Mrs. Foster agreed and the plan was laid. She realized one small mistake and her life would be taken. One small error, one little suspicious move and the plan would fail. But with a great love for her husband and a desire to rid the county of this terrible raider, she agreed to the plan.
The Union officers, knowing the cunning of the man Bolin, realized what a task they had before them. They selected a man by the name of Thomas, a Union soldier who was a native of Missouri, and had enlisted in the army in Iowa. He was selected because of his coolness and bravery. Detailed to his difficult work he made his way southward (from it is supposed Springfield) disguised as a Southern soldier who had been captured and had either escaped or been discharged and was making his way homeward again. He made believe he was sick and very weak. Slowly he made his way through Christian and Taney County, going unarmed, knowing that if Bolin caught him armed he would kill him. Finally he reached his destination - the home of Mrs. Foster. Here he stayed for a few days, pretending to be sick and staying upstairs.
One day his chance came. Bolin camped near and came alone for his dinner: Thomas made a slight noise from his place in the attic. Bolin asked who it was. He made him come down and threatened to kill him; Mrs. Foster
[3]
explained that he was a poor Southern soldier making his way back home. (The story goes that Thomas wore an old Southern uniform.) Thomas appeared very weak and hardly able to move about. Mrs. Foster set the table for the meal. The table was placed near the fireplace. Balm and Thomas sat down to eat. Thomas sat next to the fireplace. There had been placed on this side of the fireplace a colter (a long steel blade, homemade, used to fasten to a beam of a plow to run ahead of the plow to cut the roots in breaking new ground.) Bolin saw this and became suspicious. Mrs. Foster explained that this was brought there by a fellow sometime before to be made into horse shoes, and that he had never come for it. She had been using it as a fire poker.
This seemed to satisfy Balm to some extent, but he was still suspicious and laid his pistol on the table by his hand as he ate his meal. No chance came during the meal. Thomas dared not have any arms so he must resort to some other trick. The meal was finished and Balm, growing less suspicous, leaned over the fire to rake a live coal into his pipe. As he leaned over, Thomas, like a flash seized the colter and struck Bolin. He fell, apparently dead. Mrs. Foster and Thomas dragged him into the back room.
In a few minutes they heard him struggling, and Thomas finished him with the colter. They could not use the pistol as Bolin’s band was near and a shot would bring them on the run. Mrs. Foster and Thomas, realizing the great danger they were now in, made the following plan. She would stay at the house and satisfy the curiosity of any of Bolin’s band that might come in search of him. Thomas would go to the Union camp and let them know what had taken place. The soldiers came and Mrs. Foster was conducted in safety to Ozark, Missouri. There, we learn, she lived after the death of her husband until the early 1900’s.
Bolin’s body was brought to Forsyth, Missouri. His head was cut off with an ax by Colbert Hays and then taken to Ozark where it was placed on a pole. People tell me that there was a great rejoicing over the death of Alf Bolin. As the soldiers went to escort Mrs. Foster to the North they stopped at a house near Forsyth and told the people that Alf Bolin was dead.
The gruesome task of delivering the head to Ozark, in Christian County, was necessary in order to prove the death of Bolin so as to collect the reward.
Sam Boswell, one of the pioneers of the Forsyth area, and whose people had a trading post at the mouth of Swan Creek before the county was established, told me much of this story. After he was an old man and had almost lost his sight, he accompanied me to the spot where Alf Bolin’s body was interred. He could not locate the exact place. However, it is on the right hand side of the old Swan Creek Road, north and east of Old Forsyth about one mile. Mr. Boswell was about 12 years old at the time of Bolin’s death and remembered all the details.
The secret of Alf Bolin’s buried treasure died with him. There is no doubt that the outlaw had amassed a considerable fortune in gold, silver and other valuables. The scene of his many robberies was along the main road from Harrison, Arkansas to Springfield, Missouri. There were no railroads within several hundred miles, so all freight and the United States mail had to use the route between the two frontier cities. Bolin trusted no one. He dared not go to a bank to deposit his loot for safekeeping for there was a price on his head. So he buried his ill-gotten gold, silver, jewelry, watches, and other valuable near the cave on Fox Creek near the Missouri and Arkansas border and there it remains after nearly one hundred years.
[4]
Spanish Silver In A Kentucky Sinkhole
This story is a personal Adventure by the Author
W.C. Jameson
April, 1993 True Treasure
One of the best known and most widely related lost mine tales is that of the Jonathan Swift Silver Mines located somewhere near the point where Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia joing borders. What is not as well known is that, according to evidence, long before silver was taken from this area by Swift and his company, it was mined extensively by Spaniards, perhaps as much as a century or more earlier. Research has also indicated that the Spaniards, after accumulating about twenty burro loads of ingots at a time, journeyed westward to the Mississippi River where they rafted the silver to the Gulf of Mexico.
Here they loaded the ingots onto a Spanish frigate which, in turn carried them across the ocean to Spain. Research has also indicated that at least one such pack train never made it to the Mississippi River, and the twenty or so burro loads of silver being transported were hidden at a location in western Kentucky and never reclaimed. I, with the help of three friends sought to identify the site where the silver was cached and, with luck, recover it.
An old, musty journal found in a trunk in a monastery in Seville, Spain, tells the story of the ill-fated pack train. As a party of approximately twenty Spaniards led the slow-moving silver-laden burros across western Kentucky toward the Mississippi River, they were set upon by a band of nearly fifty indians. Initially, the commander of the Spanish contingent attempted to outrun the attackers, but the burros were slow and difficult to handle. Finally, after entering a large meadow, they circled the animals and attempted to defend themselves against the marauding Indians. One by one, according to the journal, the Spaniards fell to the Indian arrows fired unceasingly into their midst.
Captain Juan de la Garza, the commander of the guard given the responsibility of delivering the silver to the gulf, decided he and the few remaining soldiers should try to escape. Before doing so, he determined, he would hide the silver. As de la Garza looked around for a suitable place to cache the ingots, one of his soldiers called his attention to a nearby "well." Believing the silver would be safe in the well until such time as he could mount an expedition to return for it, de la Garza and three of his men unloaded the pack animals and tossed the wodden crates filled with silver ingots into the depths of the shaft. Minutes later, de la Garza was killed, and only two men escaped, a priest and a soldier. It was the priest's journal that was discovered in the monastery in Seville from which the elements of this story was derived.
After spending several wekks translating the Spanish writing in the old journal and obtaining what amounted to rather vague directions, I, along with three companions-Will Sexton, Aaron Wingo, and Ed Maddox-traveled to western Kentucky to try to locate the well described by the priest.
Western Kentucky has changed dramatically since it was visited by the Spaniards centuries ago, and retracing a three hundred year old route was difficult. Matching certain landmarks with descriptions found in the journal, we finally arrived in the town of Munfordville on Interstate 65. Traveling southwest from Munfordville, we entered a region underlain bt eons-old limestone and replete with caves. After spending three days in this area, we selected a location that best matched the description contained in the priest's journal. And here we encountered our next obstacle-the site was on private property.
After pouring over courthouse records, we identified the owner of the land, looked him up, and recieved permission to enter and search his property. Completely honest about our intentions, we offered him an even split if the silver was recovered. When we asked him about an old well on his acreage, the land owner said he had never heard of one being located out there. In fact, he said, in his memory no one had ever lived in that area. The next morning, Sexton steered his Land Rover onto the land owner's pasture and we commenced our search. Nearly everything in the area matched up with the descriptions from the journal and we felt confident that it was only a matter of time before we discovered the old well.
For a full day we searched the pasture but found nothing. As we considered returning to town for the evening, Maddox called us over to a point about mid-feild where he stood staring at something on the ground. There, at his feet approximately three feet in diameter. Here, proclaimed Maddox, was the well!
But it was not a well at all, it was the opening to an incredibly deep sinkhole, and we realized at that moment that the priest, probably not even knowing what a sinkhole was, actually believed the soldiers had thrown the silver in a well. We dropped several rocks into the abyss but could never hear them hit bottom. Darkness was encroaching on the pasture and we thought it prudent to quit for the day and get a fresh start in the morning. Excited with the anticipation of discovery, none of us could get sleep that night, and by 5:00 A.M. we were heading back out to the pasture.
Probing the interior of the deep sinkhole with flashlights, we could see nothing. As the vast hole deepened it also widened considerably, and even the sides could not be seen beyond the first twenty to thirty feet. We flipped a coin to see who would make the descent and I won. Wingo was elected to remain at the top.After tying one end of a 150 foot rope to the bumper of the Land Rover which Sexton backed up next to the fittings on the repelling harness I wore. Maddox suggested the hole might be deeper than 150 feet, so I threw a coiled rope of equal length over my shoulder and lowered myself through the opening. Each of us was an accomplished mountain climber and cave explorer with hundreds of expeditions to our credit, but none of us were prepared for what followed.
The eerie silence of the sinkhole was broken only by the occasional chirp of bats. Forty feet down, the walls of the shaft had widened so much that they were barely visible in the light of my helmet-mounted carbide lamp. As I descended, the opening appeared as a tiny circle of light above my head, gradually growing smaller. My breathing echoed in the darkening abyss. Deeper and deeper into the sinkhole I lowered myself, dangling freely while slowly rotating on the twisting rope. After I had droped about 120 feet, I became concerned about running out of line before reaching the bottom. A few seconds later, I saw the end of the rope dangling a short distance below my feet, but there was still no sign of solid ground in the glare of my light.
Halting my descent by wrapping a portion of the dangling rope around one leg, I pulled up the end and tied it to the rope coiled around my shoulder. Very slowly and carefully, I let out the spare line, careful to keep it from getting tangled. Now for the dangerous part. It was necessary to remove the rapelling gear from the first rope and reattach it to the second one below the knot. Securing myself to the top rope with a prussic loop, I managed the transfer. To my delight and relief, the knot held and I continued downward.
After repelling another twenty feet, I began to hear the gentle trickle of a small stream somewhere below. A few more feet, and my light illuminated a portion of the bottom of the sinkhole. scattered about were hundreds of larger and small boulders, remnants of some long ago collapse of the ceiling, and among this jumble of rocks, almost directly below the opening, flowed a clear, narrow stream along a ten to twelve feet wide stream bed.
After untying myself from the rope, I signaled for the others to descend, and I began to explore the bottom of the hole. Large rocks lay all around, but over the millennia, the stream had carved a sinuous path through this maze of boulders. Because the streambed was so much wider than the narrow current trickling down it's center, it was clear that the flow had been much wider and deeper in the past. stepping onto the streambed, I sunk nearly a foot into the soft muck.
By the time Maddox joined me, I had explored about 100 feet of the streambed, but found no silver. Several minutes later sexton arrived, and together we searhed the area for some kind of evidence that this might be the so-called well in which the Spaniards dropped their silver. About forty-five minutes later, Sexton whistled for us to join him. When we arrived at a point almost directly under the opening, he pointed to a piece of wood sticking out of the streambed. He pulled the wood from the mud, and we saw that it was a hand-hewn piece of limber. Sexton immediately identified it as a portion of one of the mule crates in which the silver was transported.
Encouraged, we searched more diligently about the area and were rewarded with the discovery of several more pieces of aged, broken lumber and rusted metal fittings. Finally, Maddox held up another piece of wood he pulled from behind a rock which bore a portion of a branded inscription on one side. One of the words was weathered and difficult to read, but the other was clearly "Espana." We found Captain de la Garza's well! After another two hours of searching, nothing more was found. While scrambling over a slippery boulder, sexton severly sprained his right ankle and was unable to walk.
While I was assisting him, maddox found an eight foot long tree limb that had long ago fallen into the sinkhole and plunged it into the streambed. As Sexton and I watched, Maddox forced the limb deeper into the muck and, to our surprise, the entire length of it disappeared! Next, Maddox tossed a twenty pound rock onot the streambed and, as the three of us watched, it slowly sank out of sight. Portions of the streambed were apparently a highly water-saturated type of quicksand. Any objects of sufficient weight landing on the soft sands would immediately sink into the muck for some distance. To what depth we could not ascertain, but it was obvious that Captain de la Garz's twenty burro loads of silver had sunk into the soft streambed to some indeterminable depth.
We are convinced the silver still lies within the soft mud and sand of the streambed. Powerful metal detectors will likely verify this theory, but shovels and a great deal of physical labor will be required to recover the ingots. Since we were poorly equipped for such a recovery operation at the time, and as we felt it necessary to obtain treatment for Sexton's injured ankle, we emerged from the sinkhole after over an hour of grueling ascent.
With the blessing of the land owner, we are currently formulating
plans for a return trip to the Spanish "well." On the next expedition,
we intend to recover twenty burro loads worth of silver ingots and bring
them to the surface
April, 1993 True Treasure
One of the best known and most widely related lost mine tales is that of the Jonathan Swift Silver Mines located somewhere near the point where Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia joing borders. What is not as well known is that, according to evidence, long before silver was taken from this area by Swift and his company, it was mined extensively by Spaniards, perhaps as much as a century or more earlier. Research has also indicated that the Spaniards, after accumulating about twenty burro loads of ingots at a time, journeyed westward to the Mississippi River where they rafted the silver to the Gulf of Mexico.
Here they loaded the ingots onto a Spanish frigate which, in turn carried them across the ocean to Spain. Research has also indicated that at least one such pack train never made it to the Mississippi River, and the twenty or so burro loads of silver being transported were hidden at a location in western Kentucky and never reclaimed. I, with the help of three friends sought to identify the site where the silver was cached and, with luck, recover it.
An old, musty journal found in a trunk in a monastery in Seville, Spain, tells the story of the ill-fated pack train. As a party of approximately twenty Spaniards led the slow-moving silver-laden burros across western Kentucky toward the Mississippi River, they were set upon by a band of nearly fifty indians. Initially, the commander of the Spanish contingent attempted to outrun the attackers, but the burros were slow and difficult to handle. Finally, after entering a large meadow, they circled the animals and attempted to defend themselves against the marauding Indians. One by one, according to the journal, the Spaniards fell to the Indian arrows fired unceasingly into their midst.
Captain Juan de la Garza, the commander of the guard given the responsibility of delivering the silver to the gulf, decided he and the few remaining soldiers should try to escape. Before doing so, he determined, he would hide the silver. As de la Garza looked around for a suitable place to cache the ingots, one of his soldiers called his attention to a nearby "well." Believing the silver would be safe in the well until such time as he could mount an expedition to return for it, de la Garza and three of his men unloaded the pack animals and tossed the wodden crates filled with silver ingots into the depths of the shaft. Minutes later, de la Garza was killed, and only two men escaped, a priest and a soldier. It was the priest's journal that was discovered in the monastery in Seville from which the elements of this story was derived.
After spending several wekks translating the Spanish writing in the old journal and obtaining what amounted to rather vague directions, I, along with three companions-Will Sexton, Aaron Wingo, and Ed Maddox-traveled to western Kentucky to try to locate the well described by the priest.
Western Kentucky has changed dramatically since it was visited by the Spaniards centuries ago, and retracing a three hundred year old route was difficult. Matching certain landmarks with descriptions found in the journal, we finally arrived in the town of Munfordville on Interstate 65. Traveling southwest from Munfordville, we entered a region underlain bt eons-old limestone and replete with caves. After spending three days in this area, we selected a location that best matched the description contained in the priest's journal. And here we encountered our next obstacle-the site was on private property.
After pouring over courthouse records, we identified the owner of the land, looked him up, and recieved permission to enter and search his property. Completely honest about our intentions, we offered him an even split if the silver was recovered. When we asked him about an old well on his acreage, the land owner said he had never heard of one being located out there. In fact, he said, in his memory no one had ever lived in that area. The next morning, Sexton steered his Land Rover onto the land owner's pasture and we commenced our search. Nearly everything in the area matched up with the descriptions from the journal and we felt confident that it was only a matter of time before we discovered the old well.
For a full day we searched the pasture but found nothing. As we considered returning to town for the evening, Maddox called us over to a point about mid-feild where he stood staring at something on the ground. There, at his feet approximately three feet in diameter. Here, proclaimed Maddox, was the well!
But it was not a well at all, it was the opening to an incredibly deep sinkhole, and we realized at that moment that the priest, probably not even knowing what a sinkhole was, actually believed the soldiers had thrown the silver in a well. We dropped several rocks into the abyss but could never hear them hit bottom. Darkness was encroaching on the pasture and we thought it prudent to quit for the day and get a fresh start in the morning. Excited with the anticipation of discovery, none of us could get sleep that night, and by 5:00 A.M. we were heading back out to the pasture.
Probing the interior of the deep sinkhole with flashlights, we could see nothing. As the vast hole deepened it also widened considerably, and even the sides could not be seen beyond the first twenty to thirty feet. We flipped a coin to see who would make the descent and I won. Wingo was elected to remain at the top.After tying one end of a 150 foot rope to the bumper of the Land Rover which Sexton backed up next to the fittings on the repelling harness I wore. Maddox suggested the hole might be deeper than 150 feet, so I threw a coiled rope of equal length over my shoulder and lowered myself through the opening. Each of us was an accomplished mountain climber and cave explorer with hundreds of expeditions to our credit, but none of us were prepared for what followed.
The eerie silence of the sinkhole was broken only by the occasional chirp of bats. Forty feet down, the walls of the shaft had widened so much that they were barely visible in the light of my helmet-mounted carbide lamp. As I descended, the opening appeared as a tiny circle of light above my head, gradually growing smaller. My breathing echoed in the darkening abyss. Deeper and deeper into the sinkhole I lowered myself, dangling freely while slowly rotating on the twisting rope. After I had droped about 120 feet, I became concerned about running out of line before reaching the bottom. A few seconds later, I saw the end of the rope dangling a short distance below my feet, but there was still no sign of solid ground in the glare of my light.
Halting my descent by wrapping a portion of the dangling rope around one leg, I pulled up the end and tied it to the rope coiled around my shoulder. Very slowly and carefully, I let out the spare line, careful to keep it from getting tangled. Now for the dangerous part. It was necessary to remove the rapelling gear from the first rope and reattach it to the second one below the knot. Securing myself to the top rope with a prussic loop, I managed the transfer. To my delight and relief, the knot held and I continued downward.
After repelling another twenty feet, I began to hear the gentle trickle of a small stream somewhere below. A few more feet, and my light illuminated a portion of the bottom of the sinkhole. scattered about were hundreds of larger and small boulders, remnants of some long ago collapse of the ceiling, and among this jumble of rocks, almost directly below the opening, flowed a clear, narrow stream along a ten to twelve feet wide stream bed.
After untying myself from the rope, I signaled for the others to descend, and I began to explore the bottom of the hole. Large rocks lay all around, but over the millennia, the stream had carved a sinuous path through this maze of boulders. Because the streambed was so much wider than the narrow current trickling down it's center, it was clear that the flow had been much wider and deeper in the past. stepping onto the streambed, I sunk nearly a foot into the soft muck.
By the time Maddox joined me, I had explored about 100 feet of the streambed, but found no silver. Several minutes later sexton arrived, and together we searhed the area for some kind of evidence that this might be the so-called well in which the Spaniards dropped their silver. About forty-five minutes later, Sexton whistled for us to join him. When we arrived at a point almost directly under the opening, he pointed to a piece of wood sticking out of the streambed. He pulled the wood from the mud, and we saw that it was a hand-hewn piece of limber. Sexton immediately identified it as a portion of one of the mule crates in which the silver was transported.
Encouraged, we searched more diligently about the area and were rewarded with the discovery of several more pieces of aged, broken lumber and rusted metal fittings. Finally, Maddox held up another piece of wood he pulled from behind a rock which bore a portion of a branded inscription on one side. One of the words was weathered and difficult to read, but the other was clearly "Espana." We found Captain de la Garza's well! After another two hours of searching, nothing more was found. While scrambling over a slippery boulder, sexton severly sprained his right ankle and was unable to walk.
While I was assisting him, maddox found an eight foot long tree limb that had long ago fallen into the sinkhole and plunged it into the streambed. As Sexton and I watched, Maddox forced the limb deeper into the muck and, to our surprise, the entire length of it disappeared! Next, Maddox tossed a twenty pound rock onot the streambed and, as the three of us watched, it slowly sank out of sight. Portions of the streambed were apparently a highly water-saturated type of quicksand. Any objects of sufficient weight landing on the soft sands would immediately sink into the muck for some distance. To what depth we could not ascertain, but it was obvious that Captain de la Garz's twenty burro loads of silver had sunk into the soft streambed to some indeterminable depth.
We are convinced the silver still lies within the soft mud and sand of the streambed. Powerful metal detectors will likely verify this theory, but shovels and a great deal of physical labor will be required to recover the ingots. Since we were poorly equipped for such a recovery operation at the time, and as we felt it necessary to obtain treatment for Sexton's injured ankle, we emerged from the sinkhole after over an hour of grueling ascent.
Treasure found by a man named Stepphen Shouppe
This is a story that appeared in the April 1993 issue of Lost Treasure about. He is founder and President of the Galleon Explorers Club.
For years the strand of beach twelve miles south of Ft. Pierce inlet had been hunted by a pair of determined treasure seekers armed with hopped up, home brooded metal detectors, both of which had turned up many unique and very old finds. Understandably so, a tight lip was the rule on the location of the site. A well-kept secret guarded the finds from all but the two, who regularly came away with rare and valuable gold and emerald rings, gold lockets, golden earrings, beautiful porcelain shards and silver pieces of eight dating no later than 1620.
The wreck site appeared to be older than the Atocha which sank in 1622 of Key West, Fl, and was discovered by Mel Fisher in 1985. As these were made, rumors began to drift about in the treasure hunting community along the treasure coast of some secret site that was yielding up great and wonderful treasure finds. I, myself, at the time was actively involved in the salvage of a circa 1715 wreck which I had found the year before six miles south of Sebastion Inlet. The wreck turned out to be a small patachi privateer of approximately 100tons carrying fourteen six-pound iron guns. It was during this salvage operation by Galleon Research Inc., my salvage company, that I met Steve, unknown to me at the time as one of the two who knew of the 1600 treasure beach site. After awile, a strong bond was established between us.
One day I invited Steve out on the salvage site of the privateer to view the operations. From the deck of the Tequesta, my forty-foot research and salvage vessel anchored over the site, we could see the divers on the bottom as their expended air bubbles charged to the surface, scattering schools of pogie fish, causing them to flash silver bellies in the bright sunlight. Eventually, Steve opened the subject of his recent finds on the beach. In our conversation I learned from Steve, much to his dismay, that the other person who knew of the 1600 site was negotiating with a salvage company to sell the location of the wreck. As Steve stressed that there was no agreement, verbal or written, between the two of them, I asked him if he would be interested in a contract giving him a percentage of the finds, if any, from the wreck site offshore. He agreed and a deal was made and signed by Steve and myself. The next rough weather day when we could not go to sea, we headed for the Emerald beach site as Steve affectionately named the productive strand of sand which was a half mile or so long.
Walking slowly with our detectors, Steve pointed out each spot where some item of importance was found, which he had marked by tying ribbons to the trees along the bluff line. One Day, while Steve was working for his father, two of my crew members charged up the detectors and headed to the Emerald Beach site. With great expectations, we set out heading south following the two to three foot cut along the bluff. Working our way slowly trying to stay far enough apart so our detectors wouldn't attract each other, we would leap frog around when the one in front was busy digging a signal. This left spaces in our work pattern that we would miss.
After a mile or so of swinging a 15" loop one tends to get a little tired, so we stopped for a rest under some trees criticallt hanging over the bluff with roots exposed. While resting, we talked of the possibilities of what lay just offshore in the frothing, restless sea. Our mind's were attuned to one thing and one thing alone, "Treasure!" On our feet again we head-ed back north towards our entry point. Our only significant finds were some spikes, ship fillings and small ballast stones, not much value in dollars, but extremely exciting to us, reconfirming the fact of a wreck offshore.
As we made our way now with quickened steps, Richard, one of my crew members had turned his detector off and carried it across his shoulder. Davy, the other crew member, was bringing up the rear, carrying a full length shovel the same way. I had moved up the bluff, poking my 15" coil under the tangled roots of undermined trees that had fallen in storms. The detector I used was a deep-seeking powerful unit from Europe called an Aquapulse 1a Deepscan, the best I had run across in my twenty-five years of treasure hunting. So powerful that after 99 beer cans, you just don't feel like digging two to tree feet for another one. Jamming the loop under some overhanging tree roots, I caught a faint signal. I could hardly pick it up. At first I thought it must be a small piece of foil(this detector does not discriminate). Taking my foot andscraping away 8"-10" of the soft sand from the surface, I checked the spot again, this time more carefully-the signal was stronger. I motioned for Davy to come with the shovel, "Probably just another beer can,"I said as he started to dig.
Every foot or so I would check the hole and the tone increased with each try. Nearly four feet down and the signal was blasting my earphones off. By now we had dug below the strata where all the trash had been coming from. Richard and a beach walker had joind us to see what all the digging was about, and to tell you the truth, I was getting very interested myself. But I knew better than to get my hopes up, for we had dug spikes and keel pins from this depth, but not this far up the beach. Then the shovel struck metal, it would have to be a large target to have picked it up at this depth. The sand was caving in as fast as we could throw it out. I took the shovel and cleared away as much as I could without caving it more in. Then I told Davy, "be ready to get a hand on it, when and if I can expose it enough!"
I learned years ago not to jam and chop on a target with the shovel, for once, I cut a perfect Spanish bronze crucifix in half by digging to energeticlly. So ever so carefully, I cleared the sand in the bottom of the hole, holding my breath each time a shovel full would come to the surface and was discarded. Davy was standing ready as close as he dared to the edge of the hole when I heard the shovel scrape metal again. We couldn't see the target, but knew it was only inches away, when the entire side of the hole began to give way. I yelled for Davy to "dive for it" as I pulled the shovel it's entire length from the 5' hole and Davy went inhead first. All we could see was his two legs and the back side of his pink "baggies." He was buried alive, up side down, from the waist up. Richard and I frantically each pulled on a leg as a beach walker stood with gapping mouth, wondering what the heck was going to happen next.
It was as though Davy were anchored to the earth. It seemed the more he wiggled, the tighter the sand got around him. What Richard and I didn't know was that Davy, in his determination, had latched on to the target and would not let it go. But slowly we began to gain on the battle. The beach walker was nervously looking all around as though to callfor help. But this is a desolete, remote stretch of sand and rarely is used in winter months, and there was no one in sight. Finally, Davy, desperately needing some relief, broke the surface with a shout, and in his right hand was the most beautiful piace of 16th century history one could ever imagine-a fourteen inch gold and bronze signal cannon.
We all started jumping and dancing, shouting and singing, even the beach walker joined in our jubilation, by now realizing the signifigance of our great find. Needless to say, there was celebration and congradulating the rest of the day. Currently, the cannon is being replicated by a limited edition of only 1,000 pieces in bronze, silver and gold. What a way to celebrate the 500th Anniversary of the discovery of America by Columbus, a collector's dream come true. This Circa 1500's signal gun was used to communicate with other ships in the fleet or for announcing arrivals in foriegn ports. Nomally a very functional part of a ship, but due to the softness of the metal, our gun has the touch hole blown out.
Upon closer inspection, it is apparent the gun was used as a tool in place of a hammer, probly to drive spikes, we surmise, to erect temporary shelter for the survivors of the shipwreck, using the ship's timbers to fashion crude forts to shield themselves against the elements, and savage Indians who frequented these coasts in that day. Having no tools, one would use what was at hand-with the cannon powder all wet or lost and the gun useless as a weapon, it would naturally serve as a club or hammer, eventually to be lost for centuries in the golden sands on the site of a forgotton lost Galleon. Because we believe this ship was on it's way back to Spain, we suspect this to be just another way of smuggling devised by the clever men of the day to beat the King out of his Royal fifth, a tax imposed on all wealth brought back from the rich Colonies of the new World
For years the strand of beach twelve miles south of Ft. Pierce inlet had been hunted by a pair of determined treasure seekers armed with hopped up, home brooded metal detectors, both of which had turned up many unique and very old finds. Understandably so, a tight lip was the rule on the location of the site. A well-kept secret guarded the finds from all but the two, who regularly came away with rare and valuable gold and emerald rings, gold lockets, golden earrings, beautiful porcelain shards and silver pieces of eight dating no later than 1620.
The wreck site appeared to be older than the Atocha which sank in 1622 of Key West, Fl, and was discovered by Mel Fisher in 1985. As these were made, rumors began to drift about in the treasure hunting community along the treasure coast of some secret site that was yielding up great and wonderful treasure finds. I, myself, at the time was actively involved in the salvage of a circa 1715 wreck which I had found the year before six miles south of Sebastion Inlet. The wreck turned out to be a small patachi privateer of approximately 100tons carrying fourteen six-pound iron guns. It was during this salvage operation by Galleon Research Inc., my salvage company, that I met Steve, unknown to me at the time as one of the two who knew of the 1600 treasure beach site. After awile, a strong bond was established between us.
One day I invited Steve out on the salvage site of the privateer to view the operations. From the deck of the Tequesta, my forty-foot research and salvage vessel anchored over the site, we could see the divers on the bottom as their expended air bubbles charged to the surface, scattering schools of pogie fish, causing them to flash silver bellies in the bright sunlight. Eventually, Steve opened the subject of his recent finds on the beach. In our conversation I learned from Steve, much to his dismay, that the other person who knew of the 1600 site was negotiating with a salvage company to sell the location of the wreck. As Steve stressed that there was no agreement, verbal or written, between the two of them, I asked him if he would be interested in a contract giving him a percentage of the finds, if any, from the wreck site offshore. He agreed and a deal was made and signed by Steve and myself. The next rough weather day when we could not go to sea, we headed for the Emerald beach site as Steve affectionately named the productive strand of sand which was a half mile or so long.
Walking slowly with our detectors, Steve pointed out each spot where some item of importance was found, which he had marked by tying ribbons to the trees along the bluff line. One Day, while Steve was working for his father, two of my crew members charged up the detectors and headed to the Emerald Beach site. With great expectations, we set out heading south following the two to three foot cut along the bluff. Working our way slowly trying to stay far enough apart so our detectors wouldn't attract each other, we would leap frog around when the one in front was busy digging a signal. This left spaces in our work pattern that we would miss.
After a mile or so of swinging a 15" loop one tends to get a little tired, so we stopped for a rest under some trees criticallt hanging over the bluff with roots exposed. While resting, we talked of the possibilities of what lay just offshore in the frothing, restless sea. Our mind's were attuned to one thing and one thing alone, "Treasure!" On our feet again we head-ed back north towards our entry point. Our only significant finds were some spikes, ship fillings and small ballast stones, not much value in dollars, but extremely exciting to us, reconfirming the fact of a wreck offshore.
As we made our way now with quickened steps, Richard, one of my crew members had turned his detector off and carried it across his shoulder. Davy, the other crew member, was bringing up the rear, carrying a full length shovel the same way. I had moved up the bluff, poking my 15" coil under the tangled roots of undermined trees that had fallen in storms. The detector I used was a deep-seeking powerful unit from Europe called an Aquapulse 1a Deepscan, the best I had run across in my twenty-five years of treasure hunting. So powerful that after 99 beer cans, you just don't feel like digging two to tree feet for another one. Jamming the loop under some overhanging tree roots, I caught a faint signal. I could hardly pick it up. At first I thought it must be a small piece of foil(this detector does not discriminate). Taking my foot andscraping away 8"-10" of the soft sand from the surface, I checked the spot again, this time more carefully-the signal was stronger. I motioned for Davy to come with the shovel, "Probably just another beer can,"I said as he started to dig.
Every foot or so I would check the hole and the tone increased with each try. Nearly four feet down and the signal was blasting my earphones off. By now we had dug below the strata where all the trash had been coming from. Richard and a beach walker had joind us to see what all the digging was about, and to tell you the truth, I was getting very interested myself. But I knew better than to get my hopes up, for we had dug spikes and keel pins from this depth, but not this far up the beach. Then the shovel struck metal, it would have to be a large target to have picked it up at this depth. The sand was caving in as fast as we could throw it out. I took the shovel and cleared away as much as I could without caving it more in. Then I told Davy, "be ready to get a hand on it, when and if I can expose it enough!"
I learned years ago not to jam and chop on a target with the shovel, for once, I cut a perfect Spanish bronze crucifix in half by digging to energeticlly. So ever so carefully, I cleared the sand in the bottom of the hole, holding my breath each time a shovel full would come to the surface and was discarded. Davy was standing ready as close as he dared to the edge of the hole when I heard the shovel scrape metal again. We couldn't see the target, but knew it was only inches away, when the entire side of the hole began to give way. I yelled for Davy to "dive for it" as I pulled the shovel it's entire length from the 5' hole and Davy went inhead first. All we could see was his two legs and the back side of his pink "baggies." He was buried alive, up side down, from the waist up. Richard and I frantically each pulled on a leg as a beach walker stood with gapping mouth, wondering what the heck was going to happen next.
It was as though Davy were anchored to the earth. It seemed the more he wiggled, the tighter the sand got around him. What Richard and I didn't know was that Davy, in his determination, had latched on to the target and would not let it go. But slowly we began to gain on the battle. The beach walker was nervously looking all around as though to callfor help. But this is a desolete, remote stretch of sand and rarely is used in winter months, and there was no one in sight. Finally, Davy, desperately needing some relief, broke the surface with a shout, and in his right hand was the most beautiful piace of 16th century history one could ever imagine-a fourteen inch gold and bronze signal cannon.
We all started jumping and dancing, shouting and singing, even the beach walker joined in our jubilation, by now realizing the signifigance of our great find. Needless to say, there was celebration and congradulating the rest of the day. Currently, the cannon is being replicated by a limited edition of only 1,000 pieces in bronze, silver and gold. What a way to celebrate the 500th Anniversary of the discovery of America by Columbus, a collector's dream come true. This Circa 1500's signal gun was used to communicate with other ships in the fleet or for announcing arrivals in foriegn ports. Nomally a very functional part of a ship, but due to the softness of the metal, our gun has the touch hole blown out.
Upon closer inspection, it is apparent the gun was used as a tool in place of a hammer, probly to drive spikes, we surmise, to erect temporary shelter for the survivors of the shipwreck, using the ship's timbers to fashion crude forts to shield themselves against the elements, and savage Indians who frequented these coasts in that day. Having no tools, one would use what was at hand-with the cannon powder all wet or lost and the gun useless as a weapon, it would naturally serve as a club or hammer, eventually to be lost for centuries in the golden sands on the site of a forgotton lost Galleon. Because we believe this ship was on it's way back to Spain, we suspect this to be just another way of smuggling devised by the clever men of the day to beat the King out of his Royal fifth, a tax imposed on all wealth brought back from the rich Colonies of the new World
Kiowa Creek Gold
One of the most robbed areas of Colorado was around Colorado Springs
during the 1850s-1860s. At least twenty-five robberies of stagecoaches
took place during this period. This is a short story of $20,000 in gold
which was buried by 2 outlaws of this time period.
In 1862, Colorado Springs was known as Colorado City. Manny Preston, Sy Samuels and six other outlaws rode into the village on an August afternoon an hour before the stage was to depart, then rode north out of town and set up an ambush. After the shotgun guard was killed, the driver wounded, and the strongbox taken, the gang rode on north
The outlaws thought they had plenty of time. That was a mistake. A patrol of volunteer cavalry came upon the stage a few minutes after the robbery. They overtook the outlaws and after two hours of fighting, six were killed . Preston and Samuels escaped with the gold
They found an abandoned prospector's shack in the timber later that night. On a flat stone they carved Manny Preston's name and the date, 1862, and placed it at the head of a grave so it would look like the real thing and go untouched. The gold was put inside the grave. This site was on the left side of Kiowa Creek, about three miles south of what is now Elbert County.
Preston and Samuels made their way to Kansas and obtained work in Wichita. Samuels died from injuries recieved in a runaway team accident. In 1868, Preston returned to Colorado to get the gold but he could not find the mock grave or cabin. After telling his story to a local rancher Preston left.
An interested treasure hunter should check out the area along the left side of Kiowa Creek, three miles south of Elbert, for any evidence of a miner's cabin. Somewhere nearby is a cache of gold. Early records of stage companies in Colorado Springs could help on this site.
In 1862, Colorado Springs was known as Colorado City. Manny Preston, Sy Samuels and six other outlaws rode into the village on an August afternoon an hour before the stage was to depart, then rode north out of town and set up an ambush. After the shotgun guard was killed, the driver wounded, and the strongbox taken, the gang rode on north
The outlaws thought they had plenty of time. That was a mistake. A patrol of volunteer cavalry came upon the stage a few minutes after the robbery. They overtook the outlaws and after two hours of fighting, six were killed . Preston and Samuels escaped with the gold
They found an abandoned prospector's shack in the timber later that night. On a flat stone they carved Manny Preston's name and the date, 1862, and placed it at the head of a grave so it would look like the real thing and go untouched. The gold was put inside the grave. This site was on the left side of Kiowa Creek, about three miles south of what is now Elbert County.
Preston and Samuels made their way to Kansas and obtained work in Wichita. Samuels died from injuries recieved in a runaway team accident. In 1868, Preston returned to Colorado to get the gold but he could not find the mock grave or cabin. After telling his story to a local rancher Preston left.
An interested treasure hunter should check out the area along the left side of Kiowa Creek, three miles south of Elbert, for any evidence of a miner's cabin. Somewhere nearby is a cache of gold. Early records of stage companies in Colorado Springs could help on this site.
Homer Ludwig's Florida Treasure
Ever hear of Homer Ludwig? He was a shabby appearing handyman who
lived on Key Largo at the turn of the century. This island is about 30
miles south of Miami, Florida. One day in the early 1890s Ludwig bought a
small sailboat with the announced intention of going treasure hunting.
Folks in the area laughed at this, figuring that the old fellow was
becoming a bit senile.
Ludwig claimed to have knowledge of how a captain of a wrecked ship had buried money and valuables on a sandy beach for safekeeping, intending to return later with another vessel to reclaim the hoard of gold and silver coins. The handyman told his friends that the captain died before he could recover his treasure. Being kind kind to the old fellow, his friends merely smiled and wished him good luck.
Months went by without Ludwig's being seen about his old haunts. Fisherman, however, reported that they had seen him build a shack of driftwood and palm fronds on a deserted beach at Key largo.
Word got around eventually that the old fellow had found some treasure, and soon local beachcombers were following him to discover the source of his money-but without success. Friends reported that on some occasions, ragged old Homer woild only have a dollar in his pocket, then, a few days later, he might haul out a roll of bills that would choke an alligator-all this in spite of the fact that he had ceased doing odd jobs.
One remarkable eccentricity - with all the fresh fish available in Florida Bay, Homer lived on canned sardines and soda crackers which he bought in case lots. It now developed that he was selling ancient gold and silver coins to a coin dealer in Miami - only disposing of perhaps a hundred dollars worth at a time. Just enough to buy overalls, sardines and crackers.
Apparently Ludwig had discovered shipwreck treasure. It is assumed that he had found treasure from the El PinqueorPopulo, one of the ships of the 1733 Spanish plate fleet which sank on the reefs at the north end of Key Largo.
One day in September, 1909, Ludwig was seen by fisherman while hoisting the sail on his small craft.A couple hours later a violent storm struck the area, and Ludwig was never heard of again. A man of simple habits and simple wants, he had no desire to be rich, no desire for the niceties of life. All he wanted was peace and quiet - and a constant supply of sardines and olive oil. His abandoned treasure can now serve a lucky finder
Ludwig claimed to have knowledge of how a captain of a wrecked ship had buried money and valuables on a sandy beach for safekeeping, intending to return later with another vessel to reclaim the hoard of gold and silver coins. The handyman told his friends that the captain died before he could recover his treasure. Being kind kind to the old fellow, his friends merely smiled and wished him good luck.
Months went by without Ludwig's being seen about his old haunts. Fisherman, however, reported that they had seen him build a shack of driftwood and palm fronds on a deserted beach at Key largo.
Word got around eventually that the old fellow had found some treasure, and soon local beachcombers were following him to discover the source of his money-but without success. Friends reported that on some occasions, ragged old Homer woild only have a dollar in his pocket, then, a few days later, he might haul out a roll of bills that would choke an alligator-all this in spite of the fact that he had ceased doing odd jobs.
One remarkable eccentricity - with all the fresh fish available in Florida Bay, Homer lived on canned sardines and soda crackers which he bought in case lots. It now developed that he was selling ancient gold and silver coins to a coin dealer in Miami - only disposing of perhaps a hundred dollars worth at a time. Just enough to buy overalls, sardines and crackers.
Apparently Ludwig had discovered shipwreck treasure. It is assumed that he had found treasure from the El PinqueorPopulo, one of the ships of the 1733 Spanish plate fleet which sank on the reefs at the north end of Key Largo.
One day in September, 1909, Ludwig was seen by fisherman while hoisting the sail on his small craft.A couple hours later a violent storm struck the area, and Ludwig was never heard of again. A man of simple habits and simple wants, he had no desire to be rich, no desire for the niceties of life. All he wanted was peace and quiet - and a constant supply of sardines and olive oil. His abandoned treasure can now serve a lucky finder
A few specs from an Infinium 10x5 Eliptical Power DD coil.
Top left exposed pin is Green
Top right exposed pin is red
Lower left pin socket is Black,with screen an Foil wrap to this.
Lower right pin socket is White.
Yes the 5 core coil cable is foil wrapped in the sheath an cable has polycore twine reinforcing for added strenght an stretch resistance.
The Metal of the plug housing an knurled ring is not connected to anyscreen wire or other.
Rov
a few spec from an Infinium 10x5 Eliptical Power DD coil.
5 core cable
White to Brown of coil half one
Green to Brown of coil half one
Red to Black of coil half two
Black to Black of coil halve two
Screen wire connected to the two halves of coil shell (two halves of coil shell are Electrodag coated/painted)
the Brown coil is 26T light duty tin plated multistrand hook up style wire pvc coated
the resistance of this coil 0.9ohms
the black coil is 40T light single strand Kynar wire.
the resistance of this coil is 7.4 ohms (with no resistor across)
internally across this black coil wired in parallel is a 1/4w resistor 680
color code,blue,gray,brown,gold.
At this time i do not have the inductance values for these individual coils,but these few spec gives you the essential towards this DD infinium coil
Note the coils are wound bundle style an heavy hot melt glue bonded to a foam eliptical dd shape former.in an original.this foam former is not electrodag coated only the two coil shells.
there is no epoxy in these coil shells ,only great quantity of hot melt glue bonding.
hope this helps those that may have an interest towards built their own?
as time allows will try to post some photos of the actual coil shells an windings exposed.an you will see no high science here?for the Infinium coils.
regards Rov
Punic coins retrieved from the Mediterranean sea near Pantelleria, Sicily. Photo: courtesy of Pantelleria Ricerche.
Italian archaeologists have retrieved a sunken treasure of 3,422 ancient bronze coins in the small Sicilian island of Pantelleria, they announced today.
Discovered by chance during a survey to create an underwater archaeological itinerary,the coins have been dated between 264 and 241 BC.
BLOG: 2,000-Year-Old Shipwreck Creates Deep Sea Mystery
At that time, Pantelleria, which lies about 70 miles southwest of Sicily, in the middle of the Sicily Strait, became a bone of contention between the Romans and Carthaginians.
Rome captured the small Mediterranean island in the First Punic War in 255 BC, but lost it a year later.
In 217 BC, in the Second Punic War, Rome finally regained the island, and even celebrated the event with commemorative coins and a holiday.
The coins were found in relatively low waters. Photo: courtesy of Pantelleria Ricerche.
Lying at depth of about 68 feet, the coins most likely represent an episode of the Romans and Carthaginians struggle.
Amazingly, all 3,422 coins feature the same iconography.
On one side, they show Kore/Tanit, the ancient goddess of fertility, whom Carthaginians worshipped on the island around 550 BC.
NEWS: Roman Ship Carried Live Fish Tank
On the other, the coins display the head of a horse, surrounded by symbols such as stars, letters and a caduceus. A staff often surmounted by two wings and entwined with two snakes, the caduceus was the symbol of Hermes, the messenger of the gods in Greek mythology.
All 3,422 coins feature the same iconography. Photo: courtesy of Pantelleria Ricerche.
"Since all coins feature the same iconography, we believe that the money served for an institutional payment. Indeed, ordinary commercial transactions contain different kind of coins," archaeologist Leonardo Abelli, director of the excavation, told Discovery News.
According to Abelli, the money, carried on a Carthaginian ship headed to Sicily, was destined to an anti-Roman movement.
But something might have gone wrong during the navigation.
"They decided to hide the treasure on the bottom of the sea, in relatively low waters, in the hope to recover it later. Indeed, near the coins we found a large stone anchor," Abelli said.
BLOG: Roman Ship Emerges Near Ancient Port
Analysis of the coins, which will be shown tomorrow at a conference in Pantelleria, will tell whether they date to the first or second Punic War.
Underwater excavation is set to continue in September. The project is founded by ARCUS Spa and realized by Pantelleria Ricerche with the Sicily Region Sea Superintendency, the University of Sassari and Messina Coast Guard.
Italian archaeologists have retrieved a sunken treasure of 3,422 ancient bronze coins in the small Sicilian island of Pantelleria, they announced today.
Discovered by chance during a survey to create an underwater archaeological itinerary,the coins have been dated between 264 and 241 BC.
BLOG: 2,000-Year-Old Shipwreck Creates Deep Sea Mystery
At that time, Pantelleria, which lies about 70 miles southwest of Sicily, in the middle of the Sicily Strait, became a bone of contention between the Romans and Carthaginians.
Rome captured the small Mediterranean island in the First Punic War in 255 BC, but lost it a year later.
In 217 BC, in the Second Punic War, Rome finally regained the island, and even celebrated the event with commemorative coins and a holiday.
The coins were found in relatively low waters. Photo: courtesy of Pantelleria Ricerche.
Lying at depth of about 68 feet, the coins most likely represent an episode of the Romans and Carthaginians struggle.
Amazingly, all 3,422 coins feature the same iconography.
On one side, they show Kore/Tanit, the ancient goddess of fertility, whom Carthaginians worshipped on the island around 550 BC.
NEWS: Roman Ship Carried Live Fish Tank
On the other, the coins display the head of a horse, surrounded by symbols such as stars, letters and a caduceus. A staff often surmounted by two wings and entwined with two snakes, the caduceus was the symbol of Hermes, the messenger of the gods in Greek mythology.
All 3,422 coins feature the same iconography. Photo: courtesy of Pantelleria Ricerche.
"Since all coins feature the same iconography, we believe that the money served for an institutional payment. Indeed, ordinary commercial transactions contain different kind of coins," archaeologist Leonardo Abelli, director of the excavation, told Discovery News.
According to Abelli, the money, carried on a Carthaginian ship headed to Sicily, was destined to an anti-Roman movement.
But something might have gone wrong during the navigation.
"They decided to hide the treasure on the bottom of the sea, in relatively low waters, in the hope to recover it later. Indeed, near the coins we found a large stone anchor," Abelli said.
BLOG: Roman Ship Emerges Near Ancient Port
Analysis of the coins, which will be shown tomorrow at a conference in Pantelleria, will tell whether they date to the first or second Punic War.
Underwater excavation is set to continue in September. The project is founded by ARCUS Spa and realized by Pantelleria Ricerche with the Sicily Region Sea Superintendency, the University of Sassari and Messina Coast Guard.
PENNSYLVANIA’S LOST SILVER TREASURE
PENNSYLVANIA’S LOST
SILVER TREASURE
By Francis X. Scully
At the time it was lost, it was valued at one and a half million dollars, but with the increasing value of pure silver the lost bars could conceivably be worth double that amount. Supposedly buried near the mini-village of Gardeau in McKean County, northern Pennsylvania, the lost treasure has been part of the folklore of the Keystone State’s oilfields for over a century. What is more, if you go after this one, you will be within fifty miles of four other lost treasures valued at five million dollars or more—-a rare opportunity for an enterprising treasure hunter.
In 1811, a Captain Blackbeard (not to be confused with Edward Teach) received a commission from the British Admiralty to raise the wreckage of a Spanish galleon, which had gone down off the Bahamas during a raging tropical hurricane in the early fall of 1680. Plainly visible in less than 20 fathoms of water, the hulk posed no difficulties for the astute Blackbeard, one of the greatest marine salvage experts of his day. In less than a month, the canny Englishman raised the hulk, and by surrounding it with pontoons, made ready to tow his prize and its cargo to the safety of an American port; England then being at war with Napoleonic France.
Escaping a furious storm by a matter of hours, Blackbeard landed his wreck at Baltimore, where he immediately made arrangements to have a warship tow it and the loot it contained to the safety of an English port.
In June of 1812, while tipping a few tankards of ale in a Baltimore tavern, Blackbeard met Peter Abelhard Karthaus of the privateer Comet. Blackbeard’s heart almost stopped beating when Karthaus very subtly informed him that he was aware that the English sailor had successfully brought to the Maryland city a Spanish galleon and its $1,500,000 worth of silver bars.
Running the gauntlet with French warships was one thing, but trying to escape the relentless privateer, the rogue of his day, was another thing. Then, too, the possibility of war with America was growing stronger with each passing day. To attempt to take the treasure across the sea was an impossibility, reasoned Blackbeard. The land route to Canada and safety was only four hundred miles, most of which was through uninhabited wilderness and it could be accomplished in a few weeks reasoned the now-thoroughly alarmed Englishman.
That night Captain Blackbeard studied the route he would take. He would follow the Susquehanna due north to about what is now Williamsport, Pennsylvania and from there to the Sinnemahoning River northwestward until he reached what is now Emporium, Pennsylvania. Then there would be a twenty-three mile portage over Keating Summit to the headwaters of the Allegheny River near Port Allegany. This was known as Canoe Place at the time, and had been used by traders, trappers, and warring Redmen for over three centuries. Then all he had to do was follow the Allegheny to the mouth of the Conewango Creek near present-day Warren, and then up to Chautauqua Lake (Jamestown). From the head of Chautauqua, he could practically roll down the hill to the blue waters of lake Erie. Britain controlled Lake Erie, Blackbeard mused, and the treasure would be home safe, and he would claim his reward and perhaps a knighthood from a grateful king. This was the plan to follow, and so the Englishman made ready.
The silver bars were loaded into wagons, all of which had a false bottom, covered with hay and straw. Each wagon was drawn by six oxen, accompanied by a handful of guards supposedly loyal to Britain, now almost on the verge of war with their cousins in North America for the second time in forty years.
Blackbeard never dreamed of the difficulties the land route through Pennsylvania’s trackless wilderness could pose until he reached what is now Lycoming County. Twice, the Englishman had to build rafts, in order to ascend the turbulent Susquehanna, and twice the bulky log platforms had capsized dumping the bellowing oxen and wagons into the icy river. By the time the expedition reached Clinton County and present-day Renovo, Blackbeard was coming apart at the seams. War had finally broken out between America and England, and the Englishman became almost obsessive in his efforts to avoid contact with any wandering trapper, whom he felt almost certain would have to be American. Then, the gnawing suspicion that one or two of his guards had betrayed some suspicious attitudes, brought Blackbeard to the brink.
That night, the English captain made up his mind that he would get the silver over the twenty-three mile portage, and then bury it for safekeeping. Word had slipped through that Fort Niagara had been blockaded, and Lake Erie was swarming with American boats, perhaps influenced his decision, but his mind was made up. He would bury the loot until after the war. After the British had trounced the upstart Yankees, he would have no trouble in reclaiming and finding the silver. It was perfectly safe in this primeval forest, reasoned Blackbeard.
And so, late in the summer of 1812, in the southeast corner of McKean County near the tiny village of Keating Summit, and not far from either Smethport or Port Allegany on CW 1198 and CW 1199, the huge treasure was buried near an old saltlick. During the digging, at least two dozen elk watched the strange behavior of the sweating humans, as they lowered box after box to the bottom of narrow trenches. Legends of McKean County indicate that bison at one time congregated at the lick, and early records state that over 300 elk were counted at one time around that spring and its salt deposits.
So Blackbeard made it safely back to Canada and eventually to Britain, where he reported to an exasperated Admiralty that the tremendous treasure was buried someplace in the wolf-infested forests of northern Pennsylvania, back in Yankeeland. Returning to America, Blackbeard sent Colonel Noah Parker to the treasure site. Perhaps this was like sending a fox to guard a henhouse. While Parker kept intruders away, he also managed to keep Blackbeard from finding out anything about the silver hoard.
Within a few years, the frustrated Englishman went to his reward and the treasure was forgotten by all—save Parker. From time to time he showed sudden affluence, but always denied that he had ever found any of the silver.
After the Civil War, Parker opened one of the first spas in northern Pennsylvania, claiming that the curative powers of the spring waters would move the Iron Virgin. Hundreds flocked to the little hotel, and Parker never failed to regale them with the story of the lost treasure. Thousands searched for the treasure and never found it, and if Parker knew of its whereabouts he went to his grave without telling anyone.
It is now part of the folklore of the people of the rugged hills of Pennsylvania, and Captain Blackbeard’s fabulous treasure—or at least that portion not expended by the shrewd Colonel Parker—is still awaiting a finder.
SILVER TREASURE
By Francis X. Scully
At the time it was lost, it was valued at one and a half million dollars, but with the increasing value of pure silver the lost bars could conceivably be worth double that amount. Supposedly buried near the mini-village of Gardeau in McKean County, northern Pennsylvania, the lost treasure has been part of the folklore of the Keystone State’s oilfields for over a century. What is more, if you go after this one, you will be within fifty miles of four other lost treasures valued at five million dollars or more—-a rare opportunity for an enterprising treasure hunter.
In 1811, a Captain Blackbeard (not to be confused with Edward Teach) received a commission from the British Admiralty to raise the wreckage of a Spanish galleon, which had gone down off the Bahamas during a raging tropical hurricane in the early fall of 1680. Plainly visible in less than 20 fathoms of water, the hulk posed no difficulties for the astute Blackbeard, one of the greatest marine salvage experts of his day. In less than a month, the canny Englishman raised the hulk, and by surrounding it with pontoons, made ready to tow his prize and its cargo to the safety of an American port; England then being at war with Napoleonic France.
Escaping a furious storm by a matter of hours, Blackbeard landed his wreck at Baltimore, where he immediately made arrangements to have a warship tow it and the loot it contained to the safety of an English port.
In June of 1812, while tipping a few tankards of ale in a Baltimore tavern, Blackbeard met Peter Abelhard Karthaus of the privateer Comet. Blackbeard’s heart almost stopped beating when Karthaus very subtly informed him that he was aware that the English sailor had successfully brought to the Maryland city a Spanish galleon and its $1,500,000 worth of silver bars.
Running the gauntlet with French warships was one thing, but trying to escape the relentless privateer, the rogue of his day, was another thing. Then, too, the possibility of war with America was growing stronger with each passing day. To attempt to take the treasure across the sea was an impossibility, reasoned Blackbeard. The land route to Canada and safety was only four hundred miles, most of which was through uninhabited wilderness and it could be accomplished in a few weeks reasoned the now-thoroughly alarmed Englishman.
That night Captain Blackbeard studied the route he would take. He would follow the Susquehanna due north to about what is now Williamsport, Pennsylvania and from there to the Sinnemahoning River northwestward until he reached what is now Emporium, Pennsylvania. Then there would be a twenty-three mile portage over Keating Summit to the headwaters of the Allegheny River near Port Allegany. This was known as Canoe Place at the time, and had been used by traders, trappers, and warring Redmen for over three centuries. Then all he had to do was follow the Allegheny to the mouth of the Conewango Creek near present-day Warren, and then up to Chautauqua Lake (Jamestown). From the head of Chautauqua, he could practically roll down the hill to the blue waters of lake Erie. Britain controlled Lake Erie, Blackbeard mused, and the treasure would be home safe, and he would claim his reward and perhaps a knighthood from a grateful king. This was the plan to follow, and so the Englishman made ready.
The silver bars were loaded into wagons, all of which had a false bottom, covered with hay and straw. Each wagon was drawn by six oxen, accompanied by a handful of guards supposedly loyal to Britain, now almost on the verge of war with their cousins in North America for the second time in forty years.
Blackbeard never dreamed of the difficulties the land route through Pennsylvania’s trackless wilderness could pose until he reached what is now Lycoming County. Twice, the Englishman had to build rafts, in order to ascend the turbulent Susquehanna, and twice the bulky log platforms had capsized dumping the bellowing oxen and wagons into the icy river. By the time the expedition reached Clinton County and present-day Renovo, Blackbeard was coming apart at the seams. War had finally broken out between America and England, and the Englishman became almost obsessive in his efforts to avoid contact with any wandering trapper, whom he felt almost certain would have to be American. Then, the gnawing suspicion that one or two of his guards had betrayed some suspicious attitudes, brought Blackbeard to the brink.
That night, the English captain made up his mind that he would get the silver over the twenty-three mile portage, and then bury it for safekeeping. Word had slipped through that Fort Niagara had been blockaded, and Lake Erie was swarming with American boats, perhaps influenced his decision, but his mind was made up. He would bury the loot until after the war. After the British had trounced the upstart Yankees, he would have no trouble in reclaiming and finding the silver. It was perfectly safe in this primeval forest, reasoned Blackbeard.
And so, late in the summer of 1812, in the southeast corner of McKean County near the tiny village of Keating Summit, and not far from either Smethport or Port Allegany on CW 1198 and CW 1199, the huge treasure was buried near an old saltlick. During the digging, at least two dozen elk watched the strange behavior of the sweating humans, as they lowered box after box to the bottom of narrow trenches. Legends of McKean County indicate that bison at one time congregated at the lick, and early records state that over 300 elk were counted at one time around that spring and its salt deposits.
So Blackbeard made it safely back to Canada and eventually to Britain, where he reported to an exasperated Admiralty that the tremendous treasure was buried someplace in the wolf-infested forests of northern Pennsylvania, back in Yankeeland. Returning to America, Blackbeard sent Colonel Noah Parker to the treasure site. Perhaps this was like sending a fox to guard a henhouse. While Parker kept intruders away, he also managed to keep Blackbeard from finding out anything about the silver hoard.
Within a few years, the frustrated Englishman went to his reward and the treasure was forgotten by all—save Parker. From time to time he showed sudden affluence, but always denied that he had ever found any of the silver.
After the Civil War, Parker opened one of the first spas in northern Pennsylvania, claiming that the curative powers of the spring waters would move the Iron Virgin. Hundreds flocked to the little hotel, and Parker never failed to regale them with the story of the lost treasure. Thousands searched for the treasure and never found it, and if Parker knew of its whereabouts he went to his grave without telling anyone.
It is now part of the folklore of the people of the rugged hills of Pennsylvania, and Captain Blackbeard’s fabulous treasure—or at least that portion not expended by the shrewd Colonel Parker—is still awaiting a finder.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
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