Rebel Rebellion

By Larry McClellan

A 19th century true historical account of the life and times of a young man born and raised in the rural mountains of western North Carolina. It tells of his youthful family relations, his struggles with adolescence, his first love and his growth into manhood.

It's based on a combination of documented facts and family accounts from the young man's early years. It illustrates his documented Civil War experiences from the time of his enlistment and training in the Confederate Army Infantry to his survival in battle and imprisonment in one of the Union Army's toughest and most notorious prisoner of war camps.

The main character of the story is the author's great-great Grandfather and his Civil War experiences are based on the documented history of the 16th North Carolina Confederate Infantry Regiment. While there are some fictional characters and events depicted in the story, most of them are of actual people and events associated with the main character prior to, during and after the war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry McClellan
• Release date: Sep 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301375325

Larry McClellan

First time author publishing genealogical research of great-great grandfather's life and experiences in the Civil War.

Book preview

Rebel

Rebellion

A Civil War Story

By Larry W. McClellan

Copyright 2010

Larry W. McClellan

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review, without permission in writing from the author/publisher.

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Table of Contents

Preface

The Earliest Days

A Time To Grow

Becoming A Man

Burdened With Sadness

Hell On Earth

Freedom

Rebellion

After the War

Epilogue

Preface

This is a story of fact and fiction from the early years and documented Civil War experiences of the author’s great-great grandfather, William Armstrong McLelland.

It is based on the documented history of the Confederate States of America’s 16th North Carolina Infantry Regiment. The movements and activities of the 16th Regiment during the War Between the States is illustrated in George Miller’s History of the 16th N. C. Regiment in the Civil War(1)

While there are fictional characters and situations incorporated into the story, many of the events and names of individuals are of actual events and people, associated with the history of the author’s great-great grandfather’s experiences, prior to and during the war.

(1) Excerpts from this publication are included in this book with permission from the publishers: Edmonston Publishing, Inc. of Hamilton NY.

The Earliest Days

My name is William Armstrong McLelland. Most People know me as Willie. When I was only six years old and my brother James was just four, we stood in a steady rain at the muddy graveside of our Pa. We were not fully aware of the consequences of his death at that time. I just remember me and James, clinging to the skirt of Ma’s long black dress.

The Preacher read from a Bible, as some men lowered Pa’s wooden coffin, suspended on ropes, down into the grave. The coffin settled at the bottom of the grave, and the men pulled the ropes out. Then they started shoveling dirt into the grave. The sound of that heavy, wet, red clay dirt, landing on the coffin with a thud, startled me. I looked around and saw several friends of the family, and strangers, gathered under some nearby trees for protection from the rain. They were softly humming hymns I remember hearing in church. The Preacher read some more from his Bible and offered prayers for Pa and our family. The Preacher ended the services, and everyone started to leave.

Ma, no longer able to fight back the swelling emotions and the tears that the untimely death of Pa brought, dropped to her knees and lay across the now fully covered muddy grave, and cried the most sorrowful cry I had ever heard. For what seemed the longest time, James and me stood there frozen in a frightened embrace in the soaked red clay mud that surrounded the grave, as it continued to rain.

Ma’s mournful crying suddenly stopped. She rose up, wiped the tears from her face and tried to brush away the mud stuck to her dress. Then she took James and me by the hand to lead us away. Walking away, I looked back over my shoulder. The rains stopped briefly and a ray of sunlight slipped through the clouds, casting a light down on the mound of dirt that was Pa’s grave. In that moment a bright red cardinal softly landed on the grave.

I was reminded of Pa’s love for animals and how he had taught James and me to love and respect all animals. I imagined for a moment that the cardinal, which I thought did not usually fly in rainy weather, was here as a representative of all the wildlife of the forest, paying tribute, and saying goodbye to Pa.

Ma and Pa had worked hard in the short seven years they had been married. They were doing their best to build a secure future for me, James and the baby Ma was now carrying. We were a very happy family until consumption took Pa’s life that winter of 1848. He was only 28 years old at the time, but I guess death knows no time or place, and does not take into account the goodness of a person or his value to his family. Ma said God must have needed Pa in heaven, more than we did here on earth.

Night began to fall and the rains grew heavier as everyone was leaving the graveyard. Ma’s Pa, Grandpa Anderson, helped us into the covered wagon that would take us from what was our home in Greeneville, Tennessee to his plantation home in Knoxville. We were to live with him for a while. The wagon had been loaded that morning with provisions and what little belongings Ma and Pa had. Our old horse and cow were tied on to follow behind the wagon. We began the long trip to Knoxville right from the cemetery.

We traveled deep, rutted and rain soaked muddy roads south to Knoxville. This was no simple task, but James and me did what our young bodies would allow to help Grandpa along the way. Often I drove the team of horses, while Grandpa pried the wagon wheels from deep ruts in the road. I also helped push stuck wheels of the wagon through the mud.

Aside from the heavy rainstorms, each day and night of the trip presented different problems. We traveled hard by day and camped out in the woods at night. We survived and arrived at grandpa’s farm after five days.

The rains had stopped and the sun had peeked out of the clouds, as the wagon made its way up a stone covered lane. We rode through a shaded tunnel of large, arched oak trees to grandpa’s large plantation home. It was a house like none I had ever seen. It was a white two-story house with a covered porch that shaded tall windows along the full width of the house. Banister rails stretched along the entire front of the house and back along both sides. Atop the porch in the front was another smaller square of banister rails on the second floor.

Four brick chimneys, two on each side of the house, stretched skyward from the slate roof. To the right of the house was the biggest barn I had ever seen, with three or four smaller buildings around it. Several smaller buildings were built to the left of the house too. Beyond these buildings stretched farmland as far as you could see. I noticed a boy about my size curiously watching our arrival. He glided back and forth slowly on a rope swing that hung from one of the big oak trees that provided shade off to the left of the house.

Grandpa drove the wagon up to the front of the house. A man he called Jerry, who we later learned was Jerome Parrott his farm manager, was there to greet us and steady the team of horses as the wagon came to a stop in front of the house. Mr. Parrott welcomed grandpa back, and extended a welcome smile and a tip of his hat to Ma, James and me. James and me jumped down from the wagon and headed up the long flight of stairs to the front porch of the big house. Grandpa Anderson stopped us short of entering the house with our muddy shoes. He told us to come down off the porch. Grandpa then told Mr. Parrott to move the wagon around to one of the cabins, off to the left of the main house, where me, James and Ma would be staying.

Ma didn’t seem too mind us not staying in the main house. I thought it kind of strange, since grandpa lived alone in such a big house. It was big enough for all of us. I guess he had his reasons, and Ma didn’t seem to mind, so I didn’t concern myself with the matter either. Mr. Parrot led the horses and wagon around to one of the cabins. James and me went over to speak to the boy on the swing. He was Mr. Parrot’s son, Lorenzo, and was very friendly to us. Ma got down from the wagon at the cabin. She yelled at me and James to corral, set out some hay and fill a watering trough for our horse and cow. When that chore was finished, James and me returned to the cabin to find Ma and Mr. Parrott busy cleaning and straightening up the cabin.

It was at that time, although it had no meaning to me then, that Ma and Mr. Parrott seemed to be very friendly. Mr. Parrott was telling Ma that his wife had died a few years back from consumption too. He had been left with their two children. He had worked for grandpa for several years, and lived there on the farm in one of the cabins, near ours. His two children helped him work the farm. His daughter, Elizabeth Ann, was a little older than me, and his son Lorenzo, was about my age. They were both good children, and James and me quickly became friends with them.

Ma couldn’t help in the fields since she was in the last months of her pregnancy. She did all the cooking and most of the cleaning around the cabins, that we children couldn’t do. It was about mid July when Ma, with grandpa’s housekeeper’s help, gave birth to our new baby sister, Sarah. From then on, Ma had a lot of help with the baby from Mr. Parrott’s daughter Elizabeth, and was able to keep up with her chores and cooking around the cabin.

Time passed, and Ma and Mr. Parrott became more and more friendly to the point that they decided to get married. We had been on the farm for about two years. Grandpa arranged for the local preacher to come out and marry them one Saturday. Afterwards, Ma and Mr. Parrott moved into our cabin, while me and James moved in with Mr. Parrott’s children in his cabin.

Mr. Parrott built some bunk beds, so us boys could sleep in the same room. The girls had their separate room. While it wasn’t the best living conditions, we all got along pretty good. But, when we all got older and the girls needed more privacy, it became less than a comfortable situation.

The winter of 1850 was probably the worst winter we had in our short lives. Several heavy snows and freezing weather killed off a lot of the livestock and most of the seedlings for spring crops. Grandpa Anderson suffered some kind of sickness over the winter. He decided, in the spring, to sell his big house, the land and most of his slaves. He moved into a boarding house in Knoxville. Unfortunately for us, the man who bought

Grandpa’s house brought his own farm hands and didn’t want us to stay. Our large family had to find a new place to live.

Fortunately Ma and our Pa had been given a plat of land by his Pa at Georges Fork Creek near Burnsville North Carolina. He gave the land not long before Pa died. Ma and Pa had planned to build a cabin there. The cabin was planned to more easily accommodate our growing family. We were lucky that Ma had never got rid of that piece of land.

Everything we owned was loaded up in two wagons that grandpa gave us, and we all headed to Burnsville. The trip from Knoxville to Burnsville over the Smoky Mountains was a long and treacherous journey. Two wagons could barely pass on the narrow wagon trails. Fallen trees often blocked the way, and rapid mountain stream crossings threatened to