Tungee's Gold: The Legend of Ebo Landing

By Tom Barnes

Tungee Cahill deposits gold in San Francisco bank and becomes target for assassination. Shanghaied and put on board a ship bound for Liverpool. The ship is rife with plots from mutiny to piracy. Tungee joins the skipper and they crush the mutiny.

They round Cape Horn and make their way up East Coast of South America to St. Katherines Island. At St. Kat the scurrilous ship owner issues new orders, and sends the ship to West Africa for another slave run.

In West Africa 350 Africans are herded on board. Back at sea a British and American warship give chase. The skipper elects to dodge into a heavy storm where winds and rain batter the ship, but they manage to survive.

After the storm some slaves are allowed to stay on deck. Tungee observes the Africans doing various rituals and incantations. Is it voodoo or witchcraft? Nobody knows, and by the time they find out, its too late. A tribal king called Kumi had inspired scores of his people, to make the ultimate sacrifice for freedom.

Tungee returns to San Francisco and begins his quest to reclaim his fortune. During his search Tungee meets the lovely Laura Du Beck and romance blossoms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781440196478

Tom Barnes

Tom Barnes grew up in the South. He studied English literature, history and drama at Middle Georgia College and the Pasadena Playhouse. His military service was spent in naval aviation as a member of an elite patrol squadron known as the Hurricane Hunters. Following his hitch in the navy Tom went to New York in pursuit of a career in theater and writing. He was hired by PBS as host narrator and writer for the TV Series “Georgia’s Heritage.” During the final episode of that series Tom had his first brush with the Western Legend, Doc Holliday.

Book preview

One

Late August 1851

Road between Marysville and San Francisco

The Cahill brothers broke camp early and were on the road at sunrise. Tungee sat on the left side of the two-horse rig with Davy to his right as he clucked to Dolly and Big Sam to pick up the pace.

Young Davy was in a foul mood and mumbled something under his breath.

What are you grousing about, Davy? Tungee quipped.

I said you never forgave him.

Knowing full well what was coming, Forgave who?

Papa, Davy said adamantly.

Tungee looked at his brother. It’s not the point of forgiving Papa. I forgave him, but I’ll never forget what he did to Mama.

Shit, T you always did put Mama up on a pedestal,

Davy remembered their old man as a hero who fought on the side of the Creek Indians and was killed for his efforts. Tungee didn’t discount his father’s hero status, but he found it impossible to forgive his hard drinking and whoring around. But after a long moment of reflection Tungee rubbed his beard and said, Aw, hell, Davy you never saw Papa up close like I did. You never had to go down and haul him out of a saloon or a whorehouse dead drunk and then have to drag him back home and explain to Mama.

Davy stared straight ahead and said innocently, I didn’t know that, T.

Bullshit, Davy, you just don’t want to admit it.

And that’s the way it always was. Davy would retreat into a kind of sullen silence never admitting any of Papa’s faults. But on the other hand Tungee reasoned, maybe I’ve been too tough on our old man. He held a firm grip on the reins and scanned the area, fully aware of the dry season. The landscape was a light bleached tan and only a few sparse grasses, some brush and a scrub oak here and there had managed to survive the summer sun.

Davy was silent for more than an hour before he came alive, stretched and yawned. He glanced at Tungee and enthused, Be good to get back to Belle Mundy’s place. Then he giggled. Them whores in Sacramento and Marysville are the pits.

Good God, Davy. Is that the way you plan to spend the rest of your life, jumping from one whore to another and judging their performance?

I don’t know, but I do know this, Davy said with a serious tone, I never found a woman yet I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

The chances are you’ve been looking in the wrong places. If you ever expect to find someone to marry, you probably ought to look somewhere outside of a whorehouse.

Oh, I don’t know. I hear Belle Mundy was the mistress to a prince.

What the hell has that got to do with anything.

Davy cocked his head and grinned. It means she’s got good taste.

Tungee looked at his brother disgustedly and flicked the reins. Come on, Dolly. Let’s go, Big Sam.

An hour later the team slowed and the wagon creaked and groaned as they dipped down into the dry wash.

Look out, Tungee! Davy yelled.

All Hell broke loose. A half dozen men jumped out of the brush firing weapons and screaming like banshees. Tungee’s stomach leapt into his throat as he popped the reins and bellowed at the team. Davy got off a shot at the man lunging for Dolly’s bridle and hit his mark. Blood gushed from the bandit’s head as his body bounced off the side of the wagon and dropped into the dry riverbed. The team responded to Tungee’s signal and bolted out of the gulch so fast that the bushwhackers lost their chance for an ambush.

Dolly and Big Sam may have run the fastest mile of their lives. And it was not until they began to tire and slow to a middling pace that Tungee looked around for his brother and realized Davy had fallen over the seat and was laid out on the goods in the back of the wagon. Tungee turned and called, Davy! Then he squinted back along the road and could clearly see the bushwhackers flailing their arms and shaking their fists. He determined from their actions that they had no saddle horses.

He called to his brother a half dozen times but got no answer. Finally Tungee pulled the team up, jumped over the seat, kneeled down and shook Davy. But there was no response. He lifted him out of the wagon and laid him in the dry grass beside the road. Tungee felt Davy’s wrist and neck, searching for a pulse, but couldn’t find any. Then he saw a blood stain on his brother’s vest. And when he pealed the leather back he could see a clean bullet hole in the left side of his chest. Not conceding the worst, he dug among their belongings and found a bottle of whiskey took the cork out and poured some of the liquor over Davy’s lips, but he still felt no pulse.

Tungee finally sat down beside the body and crossed his legs. He stayed in that position for several minutes numbed by the experience and rejecting the reality of the moment. He repeated his efforts, trying to revive his brother, but nothing worked and he had to face a fact. Davy was dead. He took a long moment and then gently lifted his brother’s body into the wagon and covered it with a blanket. Then he stepped forward and put his boot on the hub of the wheel and was about to haul his body into the seat when he became weak and could hardly breathe, as he felt overwhelmed by a kind of suffocating silence. There wasn’t a whisper of a breeze and the horses stood like statues, not moving a muscle.

Tungee eventually began to breathe heavily as he looked back along the road. The bandits could be following on foot. The thought brought his body to life and he jumped into the seat and flicked the reins. The team pressed into their harness and with the squeak of leather and grinding wheels, they moved out in a westerly direction along the road to San Francisco.

Tungee sat watching the high scudding clouds as a knot formed in the pit of his stomach and suddenly he was overcome by a sense of guilt. Had it been his fault? Davy wanted to leave the mine back in the spring to get some rest. But I had stubbornly insisted that we go ahead and work that rich vein at Lost Mountain until November and celebrate Thanksgiving in San Francisco. We had spent a hard year and a half in the California gold fields and Davy said we had earned a rest. And he was probably right, but I didn’t think so at the time. I badgered and cajoled him along until August. Then suddenly one morning, he threw down his pick and declared, ‘Dammit, T I quit. I’m dog-tired.’ Well, I couldn’t come up with a good argument so I agreed with him and we went to work securing our gold. Not many folks trusted the local banks, so we took two large stashes into the mountains and buried them. Then back at the mine we sealed off the rich vein, covered the entrance, blended it into the terrain and headed back to civilization.

The team kept up a quick pace for the rest of the afternoon and they made good time except for a water stop. While the horses drank from the stream, Tungee filled two canteens and topped off the water barrel that hung on the side of the wagon.

The sun was just nesting on the horizon when he spotted a grove of trees and veered off the road in their direction. The horses pulled themselves up as the dry limbs and leaves at the edge of the grove began to crackle beneath their hooves.

He jumped down from his seat and took a few minutes surveying the area. Then he grabbed Dolly’s bridle and led the team into the dull shadows beneath the tree limbs. After removing their harness and gear he picketed them on a patch of grass where they immediately began their evening feed.

His mind was on security and the possibility that the road bandits might follow on foot. So he took out his long knife, cut a branch off a scrub oak and used it as a rake-broom to scratch out the wagon tracks between the road and the wood.

Once he got back to the wagon he retrieved extra weapons and loaded them. Then he spotted each one in a different location. Not wise to make a fire, he thought, so he dug amongst the provisions and retrieved a piece of dried beef and a hard biscuit.

As he chewed on his meager rations he walked the grounds and worked out a strategy in case he was found and attacked before dawn. His hands trembled and he couldn’t seem to shake off that feeling of guilt that began to overshadow reason. Was it his fault? Was he somehow responsible for the ambush and Davy’s death?

He finally settled down on a large mossy area and took the best part of an hour sorting things out. He tossed and turned on his forest bed as night sounds became prominent and apprehension began to distort reason. The crack of a limb, the sound of a cricket, or the hoot of an owl would add to his fear. Then as he began to relax a picture of their house on the hill came to mind. That was his boyhood home and it overlooked the waters of the Ocmulgee River in Central Georgia, Creek Indian country. Papa Cahill was Scots, kilt and all, and Mama Sue a full blood Creek Indian. The schoolyard bullies called him half-breed. Those hateful words and taunting slurs caused most of his boyhood fights. Looking back, he knew that many of those encounters could have been avoided had he chosen to use his first name, Robert, rather than Tungee. But that was not his way. He was proud of his Creek name and wore it like a badge out of respect for his mother. And although thoughts of those early years kept intruding on his conscious mind, his tired body finally relaxed and he fell into a deep sleep.

The sun woke him with a start. Good Lord, I’ve overslept. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Get a move on, Tungee, he muttered. Pick up the weapons and put them aboard the wagon. Then he literally threw the harness on the team. I’ve got to get cracking. Get to a San Francisco bank before they close for the day and if I’m not in time, figure a place to stash the gold, check into a hotel, take care of Davy’s body and find a livery for the horses. Maybe not in that order, but it’s all got to be done.

Dolly and Big Sam eagerly responded to his quick actions and pulled the wagon back to the main road. Tungee sat on the high seat holding the reins and began to think about the future without Davy. He pondered the subject, as the sole survivor of our mining interests; will my life be filled with punishment or reward?

They must have been two hundred yards down the road when he saw the oncoming wagon. He pulled off to the side to let them pass. Another set of bright eyed folks heading out for what they hope will begin their rise to riches.

The man hailed. Howdy, mister. How was your luck?

Like most things, I reckon, some good and some bad.

There’s gold, ain’t there?

Yep, but it takes time, lots of hard work and a bit of luck won’t hurt either.

About what we expected.

Stay alert to road bandits, Tungee warned. And I might add, I’m telling you that from first hand experience ... load your weapons and keep ‘em handy.

The man held up his rifle and said, Thanks, neighbor.

Tungee gave them a high sign as they passed by. Then he clucked the signal for Dolly and Big Sam to move out.

The team might have felt it first, a sudden tinge of excitement in the air. Then as they topped a gentle knoll, Tungee felt a quickening of pace and an added jauntiness in the horses’ stride. Perhaps it was imagined, but he believed he smelled the salt air of the Pacific as it came into view. He breathed deeply and gazed toward the distant horizon and looked at the blue-diamond brilliance of the ocean. Enthused by the sight he stood up in the wagon, stretched and scanned the area from Point Bonita past the Golden Gate and San Francisco Bay. Then he slowly shook his head and frowned as he looked down at the grotesque mass of tall ships that cluttered the shoreline. Many of those ships had been run aground and abandoned, left behind as captains and crews joined with dreamers, drifters and prospectors debarking the vessel and making a headlong dash for the gold fields.

Two

Tungee shook the reins and the team picked up the pace as they moved through the outskirts of San Francisco and onto Third Street. They were passing through a sparsely developed area, which showed no damage from the great fires reported back in the spring. Well, he figured the newspapers might have exaggerated their stories and that gave him second thoughts about something else he had read. That had to do with the growth of San Francisco and the article had pointed out that the city was growing like a giant mushroom and was moving in two different directions. One part of the city was attracting commerce and industry and was gaining a certain amount of respectability. But on the other side of San Francisco a roaring boom-town was growing up with a gaudy red light district known as the Barbary Coast.

Tungee glanced up at the sun and automatically took out his pocket watch to confirm the time. Five minutes past four, too late for the banks. Next best thing would be the Wells Fargo freight office on Montgomery Street.

As they neared Third and Market, he tried to recall, now is Montgomery to the right or to the left? He called out to a produce vendor. Yo there. I’m looking for the Wells Fargo office.

The old gentleman, wearing a derby hat, shouted back. Take a right here and go on past Geary, now that’s a long block, but at the end you’ll see where Post and Montgomery come together at Market. When you get that far along look up to your left, you’ll see their sign.

I’m much obliged to you.

When he turned into Market Street and looked off toward Russian Hill, he could see what the papers had reported, one large section of that area had been completely gutted. As they moved along the street he was struck by the bustled of activity and fire or no, it looked to him like the folks of San Francisco just shook off the tragedy and were going about their business.

Old derby hat was right, for just as he turned into Montgomery Street he saw that familiar Wells Fargo sign. He pulled the team up to the front door and jumped down to the ground, stood for a moment and stretched. Then he walked to the back of the wagon and opened the tailgate.

The Wells Fargo freight agent came out and said, Howdy. Freight?

Yep. Then Tungee picked up the first box, walked it into the office and set it down in a corner where the agent was pointing.

The Wells Fargo man held his pencil poised to write and asked, Where to?

Don’t know yet, could we just call it overnight storage for now.

The agent hesitated for a moment. I reckon that’ll do.

Tungee nodded and continued carrying the boxes into his corner of the office. When he finished stacking them he gave an affable smile toward the agent. Would you just give me a receipt for fifteen boxes and we’ll get to the particulars in the morning?

That’ll work for me, the agent said as he picked up a bill and began to write. What’s your name?

Tungee. Tungee Cahill, and as he said his name, he was going over in his mind what to say if the question of contents came up... It never did and he didn’t volunteer.

The agent finished writing the receipt and handed a copy to his customer.

See you in the morning, Tungee said as he strode out of the office and boarded the wagon.

The agent came out the front door and called, Where you stayin’ tonight?

The Kinsey House, if it’s still standing and they have a room.

It didn’t burn, can’t say if they’ve got a room or not.

Thanks, then he shook the reins and the team moved out into traffic. The horses held their heads high as they trotted along Montgomery in the direction of Telegraph Hill.

He pulled the team to a halt in front of the Kinsey House, tied the reins around the hand brake, jumped down and walked quickly into the lobby. The clerk apparently didn’t recognize him, but with his normal hotel diplomacy said, Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?

You can if you’ve got a room.

The clerk turned the register around and said, We certainly do, sir. Sign here please.

Tungee signed where he was told and then turned it back to the clerk.

Tungee Cahill? Hum. You’ve stayed with us before, I believe. I’m sure I should recognize you. He stared and then laughed. Why it’s the beard. You didn’t have a beard before.

Pay it no mind. It gives me a start now and then when I see my reflection.

The clerk chuckled. They do make a difference.

I’m in kind of a hurry. If I bring some of my things into the lobby, would you mind getting them up to the room.

Of course, we’ll be glad to take care of it. Good to have you back, Mr. Cahill.

Tungee trekked back and forth to the wagon several times before he got all of his personal belongings, clothing, books and weapons into the lobby. When he finished, he removed several pouches of gold from a saddlebag and put them on the desk. I’d like to store these in your safe.

The clerk smiled and put the pouches on a small scale, made out a receipt and handed it across the desk along with the door key. There you are, Mr. Cahill. Your room is number 309.

Tungee said, Thanks, walked back to the wagon and climbed into his seat. The day was getting away fast so he urged the horses to move out. He turned into Broadway and was making his way toward Battery when he spotted a livery which seemed to be a good location to stable the team and park the wagon. He had no more than turned into the wharf area when he saw a familiar face. Charlie Boone was standing on the dock next to his boat, the Molly B. Charlie, Tungee and Davy had made the rounds, drinking in some of San Francisco’s finest as well as some of its raunchiest saloons.

He moved the wagon close to the boat and called out, Charlie Boone!

Charlie looked up and slowly scratched his head. Then after a long moment, he said, Tungee! Tungee Cahill! Gosh, it’s been a coon’s age.

Tungee jumped down from the seat and grabbed the skipper’s hand.

Where’s your brother? Charlie asked.

Tungee pointed to the wagon and explained the ambush. Then he said sadly, Davy always wanted to be buried at sea. Then he hesitated. Now I know this is asking a lot, but could you lend me a hand, Charlie?

Without hesitation the skipper said, Let me stoke up the fire, she’s just about smoldered down to an ember.

Tungee had no idea what that crusty old charter captain’s answer was going to be, but his response sure did make him feel good.

As soon as Charlie got the fire going, he came up to the wagon and they carried Davy’s blanket covered body to the boat. After they lowered the body onto the deck Tungee remembered something he needed to do and looked back toward the team. Charlie, do you mind if I take time to stable the horses?

Not at all, it’s gonna be a spell before I can build up a head of steam.

I just saw a livery around the corner, think it’ll do?

Aw, heck yes, they’ll do you right.

Tungee took Dolly’s bridle and as he walked the horses toward the livery he heard the sound of gunfire in the distance. That jarred his memory and a clear picture began to form in his mind. It was almost a year after they buried their father. Tungee and Davy were riding home from the mill with burlap bags filled with cornmeal strapped to the back of their saddles. When the sound of gunfire rang out in the distance.

Bet somebody just bagged a turkey or maybe a deer, Davy shouted.

Tungee hoped his brother was right, but something deep inside told him otherwise.

They pulled their mounts up near the kitchen and quickly poured the meal into a clean bin.

Davy, in almost a whisper, said, Tungee?

What.

Something ain’t right.

I know.

They called, Mama, a dozen times, but all they got in return was a piece of an echo. The place was still and it seemed the only thing in the world that moved was the river at the bottom of the hill as its muddy waters flowed past the boat dock.

The boys ran through the house and kept calling and opening doors and the doors didn’t even make their proper sound. A muffled quiet was all they heard.

Davy said excitedly, She must be down at the bee-hives.

They ran out the front door, jumped the porch rail, just missing Mama’s flowers, and landed on the run. Tungee and Davy both called out as they crossed the sandy yard and raced for the brush covered trail that led to the hives.

They stopped short of the wood. Horrified at what they saw. Their mother’s lifeless body was sprawled near the trees. She must have died instantly from a single gunshot wound to the head. Her protective bee clothing was still in tact. Her left hand clutched the smoker and her right lay lifeless beside a two-gallon pail of honey.

Davy grabbed one hand and Tungee took the other as they knelt down and called to their mother -- unsure about what to do.

A horseman could be heard thrashing through the brush. The youngsters froze in place, too scared to move. When the rider came into the clear they relaxed. It was their cousin, Ray, one of Mama’s kin.

As soon a he saw the boys he put his finger to his lips, signaling them to be quiet. Riding his sorrel bareback, Ray leaned over the mane nudged his mount closer and whispered, Tungee, you and Davy clear out. Run away. Hide yourself, don’t stay here and don’t take a boat. They’re watchin’ the river.

What’ll you do? Tungee asked.

I’m goin’ West to join Menawa. He’s gonna try and make a stand.

Why can’t we go with you?

Because I say you can’t.

Ray wheeled his horse and kicked him into a trot. Then he called over his shoulder, Now bury your ma and git.

Tungee had no idea how long he had been standing in front of the livery. But he finally became aware of an old wrangler with a bushy white mustache and a wide grin patiently waiting. Are you in charge? Tungee asked.

You got that right, young fellow. What can I do for you?

I need to park this rig, stable and feed the horses.

You betcha, be glad to take care of ‘em.

I don’t have any spending money on me, but I do have some dust, will that be all right?

Be just fine, but it ain’t necessary, tomorrow’ll do.

They swapped names and Tungee told him what he called the two blacks, not that he needed to, but the old wrangler seemed delighted and tipped his hat in a friendly gesture as Tungee turned to leave. He took his time walking back to the boat trying not to think at all, but that didn’t work, he couldn’t get the tragedy of the day before off his mind.

Charlie Boone called out. Steam’s up, Tungee, get a move on.

Charlie went to work on the forward line and Tungee cast off the aft. And in a matter of minutes they pushed away from the dock and got under way. Charlie steered a course straight toward the middle of the Golden Gate.

You best get to work and tie down and ballast Davy’s body, Charlie ordered, as he pointed to a piece of canvas that could be made into a shroud and a rope to secure it with.

Tungee’s concentration was not on the work at hand, but his seaman’s skills took over and he automatically began the process of sewing and tying the canvas that secured Davy’s body inside.

Charlie called over the sounds of the engine, You’ve done a first class job on that shroud, sailor.

A dubious honor, Tungee thought as he shook his head and gave a faint smile to acknowledge the compliment.

They were just breaking outside the Golden Gate when Tungee looked up and began to appreciate the beauty of that night. The light of the stars and moon striking the white caps made quite a setting. And that beauty just seemed to point out his own inadequacy at performing