Two horses and their riders stopped in the front of the Mississippi Governor’s Mansion. The rain had turned Capitol Street into a quagmire, and the two men in gray coats carefully tried to avoid slipping and falling. The news was bad enough. They didn’t need to break their necks in the mud while trying to deliver it.
Confederate Brig. Gen. John Gregg and Gen. Joseph E. Johnson stood in the front room of the Mississippi’s Governor’s Mansion. Governor John J. Pettus faced them and the bad news with a very grim look on his face.
“Raymond fell? That drunk Grant is at Jackson’s doorstep? Surely you jest. And please tell me that devil Sherman isn’t with him.”
General Johnson nodded solemnly.
The Governor sighed. Sherman had a reputation of not only being crazy, but also a vicious pyromaniac. “He’ll burn this town to the ground.”
“I’m afraid you’re correct, sir.”
All three men knew what Grant wanted. A distant train whistle answered anyway. The governor continued, “He gets the Pittsburg and Jackson railroad, angels had better be with General Pemberton and his men in Vicksburg. Are you ready to defend Jackson?
Both Generals nodded. But then Gen. Johnson said, “Tell the mayor we need to evacuate the town. Preferably toward Canton and away from battle. ”
You could have heard a mouse sneeze in the Mansion. The Governor sat down in a chair, rubbed his temples and began to write a coded message on a piece of stationary. He then finished and handed it to Gen. Johnson. “Since you’re headed to the State Capitol, drop this off to State Treasurer Haynes. The Colonel will know what to do with it. It seems that we’re about to have company and I’m in no mood to be a good host. I’d rather eat fire than sit down with Yankees.”
General Johnson looked at the Governor and said, “Looks like you might just get your wish, Governor. You might just get your wish.”
Johnson put the paper in his pocket and quickly turned on his heel. The Battle of Jackson was about to begin and he had to get his men ready. As the two Generals walked to their horses, they looked around at a town that was about to be changed forever. “God help Jackson,” Gregg said.
“And us.” Johnson replied.
Mississippi Old Capitol Building
The State Capitol building of Mississippi stood at the intersection of the two main roads in town. High on a bluff overlooking the floodplain of the ever-temperamental Pearl River, the building was designed by famed architect William Nichols and would become one of the country’s premier examples of Greek Revival public architecture. In it’s 24-year history the building had already witnessed a historic secession vote. Now it was about to watch the town around it burn.
Colonel M.D. Haynes looked at the note and shook his head. The world had gone mad. The state was already in a deficit, its economy in ruins, its men dying and now this. He called his two assistants and locked the door behind them. “The time has come, men, for us to do the unthinkable. We’re going to have to hide the state’s gold. ”
Operation Magnolia, the secret plan to move the state’s gold, had begun.
The two men looked at each other. Jacob and Isaac Bullock were brothers from a massive cotton plantation near Port Gibson. The third and fourth son of a wealthily planter, they knew they were far enough down the will that they’d have to go seek their fortune another way. They had chosen government. They worked as assistants to the Treasurer and had been hand selected as guards of the state’s reserves.
“Get the wagon and load the boxes aboard. Take it up Canton Road and head to the northeast. ”
“What about Meridian? Should we go that way?”
“No guarantee Sherman won’t go burn Meridian, too. Too many railroad interests that way. Lay low and I’ll give you the signal when it’s safe to return. Protect this gold with your life, men. Now — dismissed.”
Both men snapped to attention and said their goodbyes to the Treasurer. Thunder rumbled off to the Southwest. Little did they know it was man-made.
The clock of the nearby Baptist church struck midnight as the wagon slipped out of sight of the Capitol. Flashes of artillery and lightning illuminated the night sky as they men headed out of town. Even at the late hour, several panicked citizens were on the road trying to escape the impending invasion. A steady rain began to fall and the thunder increased in intensity. All Hell was about to break loose in Northeast Jackson.
As they reached the outskirts of town, Jacob began to speak,”Mean storm tonight, isn’t it brother?” Issac listened to his brother and didn’t comment. His mind was being consumed by the darkness of his thoughts.
Isaac looked at his brother and said, “pull over. Now.”
“What?” Jacob looked down to see the muzzle of a pistol pointing at his ribs.
“WHAT ARE DOING, BROTHER?
“Look behind us, Jacob. We have enough gold to buy half of Mississippi. We can head to Mexico and buy some land. Texas is for the picking. Let’s escape this foolish war. You and I, the wealthiest planters in the Southwest. Think of how many slaves we can buy with this?
Jacob was stunned. “But our job. We swore on an oath to protect this. For the State of Mississippi. For the Confederacy.”
Isaac hissed, “Damn the Confederacy. It has killed our father and brothers. Our plantation has been burned flat. This is our chance to escape and get our revenge.”
Thunder shook the ground beneath them.
“I can’t let you do that brother. ” Jacob pulled a knife.
A loud clap of thunder masked the sound of a single gunshot. Jacob looked at his brother, started to say “But Mother,” but blood gurgled out of his mouth. He fell off the wagon.
Isaac knew that he’d never get through the retreating Confederate troops or even get the gold past the Yankees. He looked at his dead brother and then at the treasure. He took a shovel and began to bury both in the wet Yazoo clay.
When he had finished and covered both graves with brush, Isaac stood in the pouring rain and outstretched his hands. He held the shovel and began to laugh a sinister laugh. “HAAAHAHAHAHA! I’m RICH!”
Out of the low-hanging clouds, a single lightning bolt struck the worst brother since Cain, dispatching him to Hell and hiding the gold for nearly 150 years.
After many years of planning, the Fortification Street project had begun. One of the main arteries from the Interstate into Jackson, the road that runs that divides Belhaven and Belhaven Heights was aptly named. No invading army could travel on its rough pavement without breaking an axle. The politicians and community members had turned over the first shovelfuls of dirt. Now it was up to the professionals. Nick and Sam Bryant leaned against their shovels, resting. Thunder faintly rumbled off in the distance.
Their supervisor walked up to the two men. “OK, you two. It’s 45 minutes until quitting time. That storm will be here within 25 minutes. You have that time to finish digging around where that sewer line is. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
Both men began digging. And both men were thankful to have a job. The Great Recession had cost them their construction jobs, sending both to the streets for over a year. This project was a Godsend. “With all this Yazoo Clay, it’s no wonder this street was so rough.” Yazoo Clay, an extremely expansive clay, had destroyed more buildings in this town than Sherman ever could.
Both brothers thrust their shovels into the clay one more time and hit something solid. They tried it again. Thunk.
“That sounded like wood.”
They picked up their pace and began to dig out what seemed to be a fairly good-sized box. The letters “CSA” were stamped on the preserved box.
“Should be call the boss?”
“No.” Nick answered his brother as he stuck his shovel into the box to pry off the lid. What he saw next left him speechless.
There, inside the old box, were gold bars.
“We’re rich!” Sam excitedly yelled.
“Shuddup.” Nick scolded him. “Do you want to attract attention?”
Sam said, “I know what we should do with it. Let’s go to the casino in Vicksburg. I can buy a new car, a new house. Some drugs and booze. A Rolex. Women. ” Sam’s list became more ludicrous with every new item.
“No, we need to do something else with it. ”
The storm had arrived. A heavy rain began to fall, sending all but two workers scurrying for cover. Sam yelled at his brother, “No, we need to keep it. It’s ours. Finders keepers. Remember?”
Nick said, “No. This isn’t our gold. I have a bad feeling about it. It must be either returned to its owner or donated to a good cause.”
Sam, panicked that he would make and lose a fortune in less than three minutes, lunged at his brother. Both fell into the muddy ditch. Sam pushed his brother’s face into a mud-puddle, nearly drowning him. He then picked up a rock and was going to crush his skull.
A bolt of lightning hit the transformer above the two men, knocking power out for all of Belhaven and showering the ground around them with sparks.
Sam, shaken, stood up and dropped the rock. He stood there silently looked at the gold and at his brother.”OK, God has spoken.” Nick, wet, muddy and equally as shaken just nodded his head.
At 5 a.m. the next morning, three miles west of the Old Capitol Building, a man walked up to the back door of the city’s biggest soup kitchen. There he found an old box with a note attached. He bent over, opened up the envelope and read these words:
“Dear sir. You helped us when we were unemployed and on the street. Now we’re going to help you. Please accept this small donation of $35 million on behalf of our gratitude.”
When he finished, he opened the box and saw 22 gold bars (with two missing). He reread the note one more time, looked to the sky and then fainted.
Operation Magnolia had finally come to an end.
