The replica of a 16th-century Spanish ship moored at City Pier this summer seems a strange sight in a New England port, but as I learned while researching the origins of Colman Street, this isn’t the first Spanish galleon to visit New London.

Several readers have asked me how Colman Street got its name. An 1898 map (graciously found for me by New London Landmarks) shows the street as having been cut from the Cutler family farm, but city records don’t document the origin of the name itself. Looking for the answer has been futile but entertaining, because in the process I discovered a big surprise — a pot of Spanish gold!

Before striking gold I found the Rev. Benjamin Colman whose colleague, Eliphalet Adams, was hired in the 1700s to preach in New London. Colman was a well-known Boston minister, but I don’t think he ever came to New London, so I’ve ruled him out as the street name honoree.

The trail got warmer when I found a 1757 property transaction at the New London County Historical Society. It described a house, still standing on the corner of Truman and Blinman streets, which was conveyed to Joshua Hempstead after being “taken in execution from Judah Colman.”

So who was Judah and what led to the seizure of his property? “The History of New London, Connecticut” by Frances Caulkins and “A Useful Friend” by Patricia Schaefer, both available at the NLCHS, tell the colorful story.

In 1752 a distressed Spanish ship came into New London harbor, plunging residents into a frenzy of excitement. The St. Joseph & St. Helena was returning to Spain with a cargo of silver and gold when she began taking on water. While heading for port to make repairs she ran aground on Bartlett’s Reef, damaging the vessel so severely she had to be condemned.

Relations between Britain and Spain were chilly. Colonial authorities wanted to charter another ship for the Spaniards and send them on their way as quickly as possible, but the Spanish officer responsible for their cargo wouldn’t be rushed. He contested the salvage charge, the cost of the charter, and refused to pay for the men guarding the treasure which had been temporarily offloaded into Gurdon Saltonstall’s basement.

This strange affair dragged on for two years, causing international tension and local headaches. Idle Spanish sailors roamed city streets, frequently brawling with town rowdies. Meantime in Saltonstall’s cellar, Judah Colman and the other men protecting the gold passed the time drinking beer and hatching a scheme.

One night they dug down under a basement partition, hauled out a box of gold, and buried the contents in Cedar Swamp, planning to divvy it up later. They refilled the box with rocks and returned it to the basement. The theft was discovered, of course, and the culprits were apprehended. Some escaped, but Judah was fined, flogged and relieved of his property.

The Spanish eventually sailed away with most, but perhaps not all, of their cargo. Afterwards, rumors persisted of unrecovered hidden treasure, fueling suspicion of anyone who was suddenly affluent for no discernible reason. It was said that gold was found in many locations, including today’s Jefferson Avenue where two slaves stumbled on it while hunting rabbits. They reportedly used the windfall to purchase their freedom.

I wish I knew something substantive about Judah. One genealogy website lists a Judah Coleman who died in Tolland in 1759 at age 73. If this is the same man (spelling variations were common), he wasn’t a kid whose actions could be excused as youthful folly. Still, Judah isn’t the only man who ever made a terrible decision while bored and drunk.

I think it would have taken a city official with a mischievous sense of humor to honor Judah with his very own road, so the mystery’s unsolved — at least for now.

Carol Sommer of Waterford is a self-proclaimed history nut. She writes a monthly history column inspired by local street signs.