The Forgotten Rebel Treasure

By Albert Nemchek

This captivating story is about Caleb Johnson, who is a young private in the American Civil War. His life was forever changed when the war broke out. While defending his country, he finds out that his father has been captured. This adventure puts your feet into Calebs shoes. The tough decision he will have to make will change the course of his own life. Caleb will also discover a hidden rebel treasure. He will have to decide on whether to free his father or go after the treasure. There are exciting twists and turns as Caleb tells his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524699581

Albert Nemchek

In high school, the author developed an interest in History. He was so interested that in college he immersed himself in History with an emphasis on the American Civil War. After graduating, he married and visits civil war sites several times a year with his four children and his extended family. He has had the good fortune of meeting several authors of the American Civil War non-fiction books. Combining his love of history with his love of a good mystery resulted in the pages of “The Forgotten Rebel Treasure”.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Heat of the March

I N THE SCORCHING heat, our bunched column continued marching steadfast down a dusty dirt road. Our brigade followed a choking gray cloud of smoke from the parched, rugged terrain on which our column trudged. The seemingly endless line of troops twisted around the mountains for miles like a hungry blue serpent looking for its prey. The soldiers in our ranks moved slowly forward with our bodies aching from the weeks of long strenuous marches. Wh en our advance finally halted, men would drop to the ground under the hot summer sun. The year was 1863; the Nation was in the midst of a Civil War. This struggle had lasted for two long grueling years. Our army, referred to as the Yankee Army, had strong, strapping, aggressive veterans that were no strangers to a fight. After several years of being tested in battle, our ranks have diminished, but our hearts never wavered. No man looks for battle, b ut as soldiers we do our duty to the fullest. Many soldiers in our ranks pray that the war will soon be over and put an end to this bloodletting. Our men are demoralized from the prior month of constant disappointments by the commanding generals. The soldiers in our ranks fought valiantly. Everyone here looks to continue the struggle until this horrific contest is decided.

This story is about my journey during this awful time. My name is Caleb Johnson, or CJ as my family and friends refer to me. I was born in Norfolk, VA, with four older sisters and two younger brothers in a house that was always thunderous with mischievous noise. At a young age I was home schooled by our ever lovely, talented, and knowledgeable mother, Jonell Johnson. My father, Thomas Johnson worked as a deckhand on an oyster ship and worked at a local oyster canning factory. The oysters were sold all over the world. My father was saving up his money to buy his own boat one day. However, our family was getting bigger and ma was pregnant with another hungry mouth on the way. My father decided to take us in a new direction. My father’s brother-in-law Henry G. Aquirre, who lived out west, had mentioned the vast land available in Indiana. Henry was married to my father’s sister Annie and they had three children, one girl and two boys. Moving closer to family was always an idea in the back of my father’s mind. Therefore, at a very young age my family moved out west where our father bought fifty acres from his brother-in-law and started a farm. A year later, he bought an additional fifty acres to double the size of the farm. Farm life could be very wearisome with the amount of upkeep. Everyone in the family worked together to make sure that the farm ran efficiently. The family would work together planting corn and wheat. Daily chores included feeding the livestock and keeping the hog pen clean. Our farm consisted of hogs, cows, chickens and a goat named Wilma that was more of a pet. It was slow establishing a farm; however, we were able to barter with our neighbors for things we needed. These daily chores helped to give me an understanding of how hard work pays off. If we do not work, we do not eat. Also, it was a fun time too playing with family in our favorite watering hole on those hot July days.

Our father, brothers and I would work all summer long stock piling firewood, hay, straw, and food for both the family and the animals for the coming winter months. The wood rapidly disappeared each day from the constant need for firewood for keeping warm and cooking. At a young age my brothers and I were taught by my father to hunt and fish. After the morning chores were completed, my brothers, cousins and I would go off into the woods trying to provide another source of food. My father taught us to use a musket. We all looked forward to any meal that included grouse, rabbits or a big fat turkey. As the winter months dragged on it was especially challenging to bring in something new every day for meals. Those were some cold winter days. These skills later on were very useful for me to understand the value of hard work. My father also taught me that increasing my knowledge was the best tool to bring with me. The war originally broke out in 1861; I did not join the struggle right away. When they requested more help, my cousins and I signed up to fight with an Indiana Volunteer Regiment. We said goodbye to our loving family and did not anticipate what was coming next.

When we signed up, we had no experience with military routine. After several months of drilling, learning maneuvers, and more drilling we were ready to test our abilities as soldiers in battle. At first the rigors of marching and carrying cumbersome gear was awkward. I lost ten pounds in the first month of becoming a soldier. Gradually I realized that maintaining my gear and keeping my rifle clean are crucial to becoming a good soldier.

We never considered the prospect of battling members of our family who were fighting for our enemy. Nevertheless, into Virginia we proceeded where some of our family still lived. I wished to avoid seeing any family members fighting on the opposite side during a battle.

Turning into a soldier did not happen overnight. At first we foolishly thought the war might be over very quickly. However, this turned out not to be the case. The first time in battle our lines were all very confused. I could not hear the person next to me, much less the officers trying to shout above the roar of battle. The scene of the horrific carnage of battle, I cannot truly paint an image by pen alone. Nor any of my words describe the scene properly unless seen with your own eyes. I am proud to say that our regiment has fought with great honor. The regiment was raised locally. In the regiment, you can find several sets of brothers or father and sons, school friends, business associates, members of the church and business associates. Needless to say our regiments had a tight bond from being from the same town. When a soldier was killed, it was felt by every individual from that regiment. As I stated before, we are all veterans now and will continue to march until peace is established.

After a difficult march that seemed endless, our men were finally allowed about fifteen minutes to rest. We filled up our nearly empty canteens near a trickling creek. The formation of soldiers circling the hillside sounded like one big beehive of the men talking, joking and enjoying the moment. Not worrying about what the days ahead would bring, but enjoying the moment. A courier on horseback came pounding past our regiment. Our once playful line of men realizing what that courier passing them meant. Before the bugle even sounded, the men started to file back into column, awaiting the dreadful message that only veterans could have anticipated.

Our lighthearted mood was gone. Faces were now running with unnerving sweat. Moments after the courier bounded off like a swift storm suddenly striking then abruptly vanishing, our Colonel John Rollings took a moment to talk with his staff about what had just transpired. John Rollings was a blue-eyed dark haired handsome man with a long wiry beard. He grew up near Crown Point, Indiana. This well-educated man was working as a teacher before the war broke out. He helped raise a group of Indiana volunteers and soon became their elected captain. He led his men bravely at the Battle of Second Bull Run, where he took over as a temporary commander, when the acting Colonel was killed by an artillery shell fragment. In 1863, he was promoted to Colonel and led his experienced veteran regiment north. John Rollings had a booming voice that could be heard from one end of the brigade to the other. He was a very strict disciplinarian when training his men. However, for the most part, the men respected him and the men knew he would not take them anywhere he wouldn’t go. In Colonel Rolling’s deepest voice, the command was given to sound the bugle for the men to get into formation. This time would be different. This time we marched to the eerie drum on the road to our dreaded destiny.

As we marched through the dense woods, the column slowly came to a clearing. This tract of land was on the outskirts of a town, with rolling hills all around it and endless fields of golden wheat and chest high corn. After the men gazed upon this area the silence was broken as the volume of voices increased. This barren field was still smoldering from one hundred fires that were once vibrant across the grassland. This was once the enemy’s camp. An unnerving feeling came over the men. When Colonel Rollings realized this, he stopped his magnificent horse and reminded his men, Move along, my brave men, there is work to be done.

Our long line soon passed through the small town. A couple dozen women, children, and older men gathered in town to watch as we passed through. Some of the children joyfully waved and were filled with exuberance over the great sight of our legions. The General Store in town seemed to be picked over and no livestock seemed to be left in the wake of the Rebel army we were to face at any moment. Our column did not have time to stop to speak with the distressed citizens and moved on through the town in excellent order. The little town disappeared behind our column, as dark clouds approached indicated a developing storm. The once rolling march was now turned into a rush of hard winds that with every gust tried to push our column backwards, like an omen telling us to go back. The rush of rain drenched the once parched road, making each step very wearisome. As we marched several more miles the rain and harsh wind gave up and finally moved on. As darkness fell, we came upon a sizable barn next to the road. Near this barn, our regiment was told to halt and make camp in the rocky field for the evening. The regiment was called over by Captain David Clay. The captain called in our regiment to do one last roll call before finally breaking away from the tiresome day. After roll call, our free time was used to polish up our rifles and fix our well-worn uniforms that were in a constant state of repair. The men also enjoyed playing games, including checkers and cards. I did not excel in either one. I spent most of my time rereading letters or writing a letter home to tell my wife how much she is missed.

In the darkness, we prepared for our evening of long awaited rest. My hungry belly rumbled as I prepared for my evening meal. Several men from our company went off to look for firewood and brought back plenty of wood from the shadowy forest. Our fires soon dotted the landscape. We made an evening meal consisting of tea, hardtack, and salt pork. A special treat that was given to me was some rolls and some high class, over the top, mouth-watering apple butter that was shared by my first cousin Private Kurt Aquirre. A woman from the little town we had passed through earlier gave it to him and he gave some to me. Cousin Kurt, is from our Indiana hometown and is two years younger than me. He made for good company and he was my best friend growing up.

His older brother was not with us at this time, his brother Zach was ill with one of the many diseases that ran rampant through our camps. Zach was left behind at a field hospital before we started our march. My cousins and I have watched out for one another since we joined up. My cousins and I used to get in and out of a lot of trouble together. A good example of this was when we took Mrs. Patterson’s scrumptious homemade apple pie. Our neighbor would put the pies out on the window ledge to cool and they could be smelled from miles away. The height of the kitchen window was too high for us to reach by ourselves. Therefore, with quick thinking I would stand on Kurt’s underdeveloped shoulders. Zach would be the look out. I would grab a pie, very hot to handle, from the ledge while doing a balancing act! I would Jump down and off we would run. Mrs. Patterson would have Mr. Patterson go looking for the missing pie. And there we were, in the barn, our faces covered with the most delicious of all treats! Unfortunately, Mr. Patterson told our fathers. Our fathers disciplined us with their belts and extra chores around the farm like cleaning out the stomach-turning hog pen. Even though we might not be able to sit down on our burning rear ends for a week, the pie was oh so worth it.

I grew up in a small farming community with Zac and Kurt where everyone knew everyone. I had never traveled much outside of my small town. I thought it to be my duty to my country to join up and keep an eye on my cousins. At first, I was very excited to join up with my cousins. However, all this changed once we reached eastern part of Virginia. We were in several battles that made me sick to my stomach to see men fall apart around me that I knew since childhood. I would pray every night this war would end and I could finally return home safely with my friends and family unharmed. This was not to be, as this war would change our lives forever.

Kurt joked, Maybe the next town will have some pies. I reply, Hopefully ones they don’t mind parting with. We bivouac in the open on the soft, comfortable grassland, thinking of home and family. Our men gradually settled down by their campfires. Only the reverberation of the night’s hidden creatures could be heard. Now we could settle quietly and relax.

Chapter 2

No More Nerves

T HE MORNING AIR was refreshing to our bodies as the army slowly woke up from its evening slumber. In the darkness, the whispering of over a hundred men soon broke open to the many clanging noises that indicated soldier’s morning chores. Off in the distance, the sound of boisterous horses with their splendid elegance were being fed, and being made ready for the day’s monumental march. The fires from all distances shine to make the morning coffee. Through the smoke came the splendid ray of sun light that soon started to chase away the gloomy shadows of the night. Some soldiers would take some time to write a few lines to their loved ones back home or re-read letters that would help warm the spirits of the soldiers from the frosty damp evening. We would examine our rifles to make sure all parts are in good working order; this was similar to musicians making sure their instruments were finely tuned before a great concert. There were reports from the night scouts that they had spotted rebel cavalry off in the distance. Our route would be a slow and cautious one. Kurt finished sewing a button onto his shirt as we sat by the fire drinking our warm coffee. In the misty morning we heard the roll call being sounded. It seems we are heading into another fight soon. assumed Kurt. I replied, Yes, it seems that way. We put our tin cups down, grabbed our rifles, and fell into line for roll call. As the Captain finished the roll call, he stated, Not a man missing. It seemed like the whole regiment understood the significance of the approaching battle. Since we started traveling weeks ago, not a man was missing. There was a sense of redemption wanting by these soldiers to give the rebels one good thrashing to rectify all the earlier miscues the Yankee Army has faced. When and where this battle would take place no one seems to know. We were in good spirits as we packed up our camps and started moving along the road again.

The heat did not take long to overwhelm the column again. The cool night turned into a hot muggy morning as the sun started to beat down on our unprotected faces. The wool uniforms again started to fill up with sweat with every step I made. A welcome breeze kept us in line and would give the men at least a moment of relief. On some of the campaigns a few soldiers would fall out from the rigors of marching. Proud to say I have done my best to keep up. One of the officers, Sergeant Rice, came over to us as we continued to move forward. Sergeant Rice mentioned to us about the newspaper he read. Seems the rebel army is making their presence known up North and I bet we will soon collide with it, mentioned Sergeant Rice. Sergeant Rice was a rough looking middle aged man with a white beard and not much hair left on top. He ran his own tailor shop in our small town before the war broke out. The thoughts that were running through our minds after that quote in the article worried us in that the battles could lead to losses of family members and friends. Of course, I thought about my own well-being. Would it be moral to take a life of another person? Rebels or Yankees, we both have family and loved ones back home waiting for our return. These are the things soldiers consider as they march forward. None of the privates to the highest ranking officer show any signs they are afraid of what may lay ahead. For we have hidden away our nerves far away from even ourselves to find.

As we marched for over an hour, our column suddenly came to a halt. One of Colonel Rolling’s staff officers rode up to our Captain. Colonel has ordered for your regiment to send out a company to reconnoiter, ordered the Staff Officer, as he pointed down the left side of the crossing. Captain replied, Right away! Our whole column was told to halt. A company was normally made up of one-hundred soldiers and a regiment was made up of ten companies. However, at this stage of the war our regiment was less than half of that. My company alone only had thirty-five men which were well below half strength. With the luck of the draw our company was called to be sent out. We formed a skirmish line that formed on both sides of the dusty road. We were spaced about twenty paces apart as we started moving slowly forward. My heart started to race as we moved further down the road and the column of blue disappeared behind us. The first two hundred yards were in heavily tangled forests. However, we kept a good formation as we cleared the sizeable forest entering, into an open field with high grass.

We were in groups of two or three. My group was composed of Kurt, Owen and me, about a couple paces from one another. We were told not to load our weapons by Sergeant Rice until we had a clear understanding of what was in front of us. Owen Smith was another dependable young man from our hometown. His family was one of the first to settle in the area. Owen had an outgoing personality and was always good for a laugh. However, at this moment in time he was very stone cold and his once playful personality was sent away to reveal such seriousness. Owen normally would talk when we were on the skirmish line, but not today. As we silently moved steady over the field, the only thing I could hear was the wind blowing through the grass and my anxious heart beat. My uneasy hands soon made my grip on my rifle a tedious one and my sight began to reduce from the pouring river of sweat coming down my face.

Our company started to head down the rolling hills, keeping our eyes fixed in front of us. Off in the distance I could see a rather large farm house with smoke buffing out its chimney. As we approached I began to see small figures running around the building. As my spine tingles with pin prickling anxiousness, I thought to myself is this friend or the enemy? We moved slowly and ever more cautiously towards the house. Most of us were bent over, walking using the waist high grass for cover. We felt that some shelter is better than nothing. Every man was using the paper thin rows of grass as a wall of false protection. As we walked within about two hundred paces of the house, Sergeant Rice told us all to stop and to kneel down. One of the corporals, along with three other men, was told to go and secure the house. Sergeant Rice whispered Be ready for anything. Kurt looked over at me and had a face of determination. We watched as the men slowly crept forward with their guns, gripped in their hands, ready for any surprise. Our own eyes fixed on them as one of the soldiers with a loud clank knocked on the door. The door swung open with a middle aged plump woman answering, Could I help you, sir? I was relieved and my heart finally was back to normal. Owen stated I told you there is nothing to be scared about. Our company moved in around the house and our sergeant spoke with the woman there. She told the sergeant that the rebels marched passed here a week ago. She also went on to tell him that the US Cavalry had just passed her house this morning and she has not seen or heard anything else since. She was here with her sister and five children. She added The rebels paid their farmhouse little attention. Sergeant Rice immediately sent word back of to the Colonel.

Our company was ordered back to the crossroad by Sergeant Rice. We prepared to turn around, and one of the soldiers spotted off in the distance a dusty group of Cavalry heading our way. We could tell from a distance that those were our Cavalry as their flags fluttered in the air. It did not seem like a whole regiment, but more as a small company or scouting party, no more than twenty horsemen. As the out of breath horses galloped up, a cavalry captain asked, Who is in charge here? Sergeant Rice spoke up Sir, I am Sergeant Rice in charge of this detachment. The cavalry captain got off his superb charger and almost looked like he wanted to embrace us in excitement for finally finding Yankees soldiers. I am Captain Staller, and it’s great to finally see some friendly faces, smiled Captain Staller. The Captain shook Sergeant Rice’s hand with enthusiasm. Captain Staller explained to us