Cradle Of Solitude. Alex Archer

damned, he told himself. Get the treasury to Charlotte. That’s the goal.

      But Charlotte was a long way off and the chances of meeting the Union cavalry on the main road seemed pretty high. Sticking to the lesser known byways and backcountry roads would decrease his chances of running into the enemy but it would also slow him down.

      Opt for speed and take the main road, praying they didn’t run into anything they couldn’t handle, or take the slower, surer route and chance arriving too late to do any good with the money they had in their care?

      It was a difficult choice and one that needed some thought.

      Concerned that a wagon train full of bulging money sacks and wooden chests stamped with the words Richmond Loan and Trust would be too tempting a target, Parker sent his men out to scavenge for containers they might use to hide the contents of their true cargo. It took well over two hours to make the switch, but when they were finished the treasure was hidden in barrels and crates that had once held sugar, flour, tea and other consumables. With the lids hammered tight, there was nothing to tell the casual observer that the financial future of the Confederation was contained within.

      By the time the wagons were loaded and the men ready to head out, Parker had made his decision.

      The money they carried was needed to keep the regiments in the field equipped with enough food, powder and shot to continue operating, never mind being able to pay the men for their service. They’d take the fast road and hope they arrived in time to do some good with the cargo entrusted to them.

      They were in decent spirits when they left Danville behind, despite the steady rain. Parker, Sykes and one of the midshipmen, Daniels, were in the lead wagon, while the other men were split evenly among the rest. They kept a tight formation and managed to make decent progress for the first hour, covering nearly ten miles, but then the weather took a turn for the worse. What had started as a light drizzle turned into a downpour, soaking the men to the bone and turning the road into little more than a muddy track. It became difficult to see that the horses pulling each wagon were tied to the back of the one before them, ensuring that none of them fell behind and got lost.

      They barely managed another mile during their second hour on the road and Parker was starting to consider where they might find a place to hole up for the rest of the night when they were confronted by several figures who suddenly loomed out of the rain ahead as they rounded a bend in the road.

      “Whoa!” Parker cried, and pulled up quickly on the reins, stopping them a few dozen yards apart.

      At this distance it was hard to see anything for certain, but Parker thought there were at least a dozen men in the party ahead them. Three or four on horseback, it seemed, and another ten or so on foot.

      They weren’t significantly outnumbered, which was good, but given the level of experience of the men under his command, even that wouldn’t be too much of a blessing.

      He glanced at Sykes. The other man held his musket lightly, the muzzle pointed forward. Not enough to be overtly threatening, but ready to be used if things went south.

      Sykes must have sensed his attention, for he turned his head and gave Parker a slight nod, letting him know he was ready for whatever was to come.

      He was a good man, Parker thought.

      Before Parker could do anything, however, one of the riders ahead kicked his horse into motion. Parker let him close half the distance between them and then shouted, “That’s far enough. Identify yourself or my men will open fire!”

      The rider pulled his horse up short.

      “Easy, Captain,” the man called out. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

      Parker knew the voice, but sheer surprise kept him from responding right away, and while he struggled to find his voice the other man unveiled the lantern in his free hand, letting the light fall upon him.

      Even through the downpour Parker recognized the face of their benefactor, secretary of the Treasury, George Trenholm.

      Still, Parker was cautious. “Be ready for anything,” he told Sykes as he handed over the reigns. “If this looks like a trap, get the wagons out of here as best you’re able.”

      Sykes never took his eyes off the men ahead of them. “You can count on me, sir.”

      Parker climbed down from the wagon and walked forward to where Secretary Trenholm was waiting for him. As he drew closer the other man dismounted, as well, which helped put Parker at ease.

      Trenholm extended his hand and the two men shook.

      “Good to see you, Captain. I was starting to think we’d missed you.”

      “The rain, sir. You know how it gets.”

      Parker didn’t know much about Secretary Trenholm’s history, but it seemed a safe bet that the man had never had to lead a wagon train through a torrential downpour. Trenholm came from money, and old money at that.

      But war has a way of leveling social classes, Parker knew, and he found it mildly ironic that the two of them were to meet here, in the midst of a muddy track that could barely be called a road, the rain beating down on both their heads with equal abandon.

      Oblivious to his subordinate’s thoughts, Trenholm went on. “There’s been a change of plans, Captain. I’m to escort you to an important meeting where you will receive your new orders. If you would come with me…”

      Parker frowned. “My men, sir?”

      “About a hundred yards up the road there’s a place where they can get off the main thoroughfare and wait for your return. I’ll leave several of my own men to stand guard with them. On a night like tonight, I doubt they’ll run into any difficulties.”

      Trenholm was probably right, but that didn’t make Parker feel any better about leaving his men in the middle of nowhere, particularly given their level of inexperience. Still, an order was an order.

      “Yes, sir. Give me a moment to explain the situation.”

      He returned to Sykes and let him know what was going on. The young lieutenant wasn’t thrilled with the situation, either, but there was very little that they could do about it. Parker ordered him to keep his eyes open and wait for his return.

      One of Trenholm’s men loaned him a horse and five minutes later they were under way. Trenholm led him a mile or so through the woods on a narrow track that was little better than a game trail really, until they came to a clearing. Parker could see that several campaign tents had been erected there and men in Confederate uniforms were moving about.

      Trenholm took him to a larger tent set slightly off from the others and asked him to wait inside.

      “Someone will be along shortly to give you further instructions.”

      Ever the dutiful soldier, Parker complied.

      He found the tent was sparsely furnished, with just a pair of camp chairs on either side of a makeshift table made from a few scraps of wood and a blanket-covered cot off to one side. It was warm inside, thanks to a camp stove that was burning in the far corner, and Parker soon found himself literally steaming as the heat sucked the moisture out of his clothes.

      He didn’t mind. Being out of the rain, even if only for a few minutes, was a welcome relief.

      When, after fifteen minutes, no one had yet arrived to deliver his new orders, he dragged one of the camp chairs closer to the stove and sat down.

      I’ll take a few minutes of rest, that’s all, he thought.

      He must have dozed off, however, for he came awake with a start when he heard someone enter the tent behind him. He leaped to his feet and spun about.

      He didn’t know who he expected to see waiting there for him, but President Jefferson Davis himself was not on his list of possibilities.

      So surprised was he that for several long moments all he could do was stand and stare. The president didn’t