George Singleton tells of his encounter with two Mobile treasure hunters in August 1993

Old Scotland Presbyterian Church

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Some folks will do anything for buried treasure,” was originally published in the Aug. 26, 1993 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

There is nothing that I enjoy any better than to visit some of the old home places and the forgotten historical spots throughout the area.

I also enjoy showing some of these places to those who are interested in history and want to visit some of these places that have faded with the changing times.

I have spent many hours and have driven many miles trying to help a distant relative of some early family return to where they were told the old home place once was located.

Not too long ago, I received a long-distance telephone call from Mobile, asking me if I would accompany this gentleman into an area where his ancestors were supposed to have lived. Trying to be of help in seeking out the location, I agreed to do what I could in helping to find this old home place.

The date was set for us to journey into the Old Scotland area in search of clues that might be of use to the gentleman that had called. I won’t mention any names, but after the telephone conversation, I began to try and remember if I knew of an early family by this name that lived in that area.

Checking the records on my computer, I failed to come up with any evidence that such a family had once lived in the area. I decided to wait and see if my caller might have some information that he didn’t mention in our conversation as to the location or whereabouts of the old place.

The day arrived for our meeting. Into my driveway came a Lincoln automobile, as large as any that I had ever seen. In our conversation, nothing was mentioned about anyone but the two of us going on this venture. From behind the tinted windows of the large Lincoln stepped another man.

Strapped on his shoulder was a large, strange-looking instrument of some sort. I didn’t say anything because I thought that perhaps it was a camera of some sort. Then, to my surprise, out of the large auto came a folding shovel; one like I had used many many times in the military. I thought this strange. Why would one need a shovel to find an old houseplace? I decided to keep my mouth shut and see what was going to happen.

Due to the size of the large automobile, I decided it was best that we used my transportation, since I had a four-wheel drive, and at this time, I wasn’t sure just where we were going. Asking the two if they knew anything about the area in which we were to seek out the old homestead, they stated that they knew nothing.

They just wanted to visit some of the old homeplaces and look around. My suspicions began to grow when one asked the other if he had installed new batters in the large instrument they referred to as a money needle.

About now, I began to read between the lines and realized I was being used. I knew, too, that I wasn’t born yesterday, and three could play this game.

Pulling up to an old homestead, both jumped out of my vehicle and began to use the money needle. I was told to just stay near the truck and they would let me know if anything was found. After about 30 minutes of this, I decided that it was time for me to play my hand.

Going over to the searching two, I asked them if they were searching for buried money. “Not really,” one stated. “Just checking everything out,” stated the larger of the two.

Lying through my teeth, I stated that I knew an area where a strongbox filled with gold had been thrown off a stagecoach and buried. To sweeten the pie, I stated that it had never been found. Before I could reach my vehicle, both men had gotten in and were ready to go.

Traveling down into the swampy area of Flat Creek, I assured them that I knew the general area where the gold shipment had been buried. As we departed our vehicle, both of the treasure hunters were acting as though they were standing in a bed of ants.

A faint road turned eastward in the wet bottom lands along the creek, and I knew that the wet soil would not support a vehicle. I told the two that up this old road aways, the gold had been buried.

Pretending to occupy myself with checking over my vehicle, I noticed the two drawing a rough map on a piece of paper and at the same time they were speaking to each other in a very low tone. Suddenly, I was told that something had come up and the two had to return to Mobile. I informed them that I was in no hurry. It was only 11 a.m. Again, I was informed that they had to get back to their automobile and be on their way back to the Port City.

As we made our way back toward Old Scotland Church, I noticed the one that was sitting in the back seat of the vehicle continued to work on the rough map that he had drawn. I wanted to laugh out loud but decided against it.

Without so much as to thank me for my time, the long Lincoln backed hurriedly out of my drive. A few days later, I decided that I would ride over that way, just for the fun of it and see if there was any evidence that the two treasure seekers had returned to hunt for the lied-about stagecoach strongbox full of gold.

Turning my trail bike up the faint muddy road where I told the gold seekers the strong box had been thrown off the stage, I almost fell off my bike with laughter. There in the mud, were signs where a large automobile had bogged down to the axles and had had to be dug out. Pieces of broken wood and grass had been used to help in gaining traction in trying to back the large Lincoln out of the soft mud.

Two very muddy pairs of socks and two filthy handkerchiefs were thrown in the tall weeds by the place where the large auto had gone down in the mud. And over in the weeds I found the remains of a broken, much used, folding shovel.

I told myself that I should be ashamed for what I had done.

But then, when one searches for gold, there are certain risks involved. The gain of riches has its price – sometimes good, sometimes not so good.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)