Hidden Memories

By Michael D. Smith

James M. Dean was just a normal American citizen until the outbreak of the Civil War. He is then thrown into the unfamiliar world of battle and must defend his honor and his country. James spends four years battling other soldiers and his own demons, but he soon finds that nothing is clear in a battle between brother and brother. Young James finds himself in the midst of the most tumultuous time in American history. He grows to become a man on the battlefield, schooled by older soldiers who teach him compassion along with cynicism. In the midst of the bloodshed, James finds romance but also death and the daily struggle to stay alive. Rich with accurate historical detail, Hidden Memories is one man’s journey to find his purpose and discover how much he can endure. There is more to James’s war than north versus south; there is bravery versus cowardice and honor versus deprivation. In the end, James must question his place in society. Can he rejoin a world at peace after the horrors he has seen?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483417004

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SMITH

Copyright © 2014 Michael D. Smith.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1701-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1699-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1700-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014914827

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 09/02/2014

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1    Lost Innocence

Chapter 2    The Hardened Veteran

Chapter 3    Baptism In Blood

Chapter 4    Taking The Fight North

Chapter 5    A New Kind Of Hell

Chapter 6    I Saw The Beast

Chapter 7    Becoming Recivilized

Chapter 8    On The Defensive

Chapter 9    Under Siege

Chapter 10    Rustling For The Confederacy

Chapter 11    Surviving

Chapter 12    Last Breath

Chapter 13    Final Chapter

INTRODUCTION

S ince early childhood I have had a passion for the American Civil War, which lasted from 1861 to 1865. I did not write this book in an attempt to justify the South’s struggle for independence, and if slavery was the primary factor of that war, I would be first to say that it was a most shameful institution and had to be abolished one way or the other. However, I feel that the majority of the men and women involved in this great struggle believed that the cause for which they fought was just. I believe their idea of having an independent Southern nation and their desire to defend their homes and states were their primary motivations.

I have visited numerous battlefield sites that triggered déjà vu for me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I have been unable to bear documentaries, books, or movies that are biased. As a result, I have compiled a very complete library over the years, and amazingly, I have occasionally come across information that I definitely had prior knowledge of from the deepest recesses of my subconscious. Admittedly, I tend to have a Southern slant on things and even become teary eyed at the sight of gray uniforms and the Confederate national flag. Dixie, The Bonnie Blue Flag, and many other tunes stir in me unbelievable emotion as well. It occurred to me years ago that my interest was more than just being a Civil War nut, as my children say. Reincarnation? I don’t know, but I do know that I have a bizarre kinship with the men and women that died for the Southern cause. This book is primarily made up of deep-seated memories that dwell deep within my subconscious. This is not a biography, but a mixture of facts with occasionally fictionalized names and places as well as several embellishments. The main character of this historically based story is James Martin Dean. Mr. Dean participated in the American Civil War and died many years before I was born, but in an uncanny way he left some of his memories within me over a hundred years later.

CHAPTER 1

LOST INNOCENCE

M y family immigrated to America from Scotland in the 1830s and following several moves settled in North Mississippi. The Deans left the old country in search of a better life. There was something inherent in our family bloodline that my old pappy called wanderlust. Most of the men in my family, including me, tended to always be looking for new ventures and new places to see. Relocating was common for us. The experiences that follow began in January 1861, when I was a young man of nineteen years and living on a small farm with my four younger brothers, two sisters, and widowed mother. The Dean family history was not one of wealth in material things, but my proud ancestors had been involved in wars before and were known as tenacious fighters when the cause was just. My ancestors had been involved in feuds with the English back in the old country and had earned a reputation as a family not to be trifled with. What wealth we had was in pride and integrity. I’d spent most of my life in Mississippi, and I knew little else, but I was well read due to my mother’s urging and the ample library she had acquired. The Dean clan had been farming in rural Mississippi for about fifteen years and had established strong ties and loyalties to the agricultural South. At the time we did not fully understand all the ramifications, but we resented the Northern states’ government interfering with our business and felt a split would be to our best interest, not unlike what had occurred in 1776. The rest, as they say, is history. What is really disturbing to me is that over a century following the South’s battle for independence my comrades in arms and I would be accused of fighting to preserve the institution of slavery. This institution was definitely abhorrent, and my family never participated in it. I cannot justify the righteousness of anyone that participated in that institution. I do feel, however, that slavery would have been abolished with or without a war. Enough said. What I am basically going to relate are war experiences that resulted from my commitment to states’ rights and to what I perceived to be my duty to protect my home, country, and family from an invading belligerent. When I refer to my home and country, I refer to Mississippi. We considered the federal government to be a loosely knit cooperative of various independent states.

With the secession of our sister state of South Carolina in late 1860 and more state conventions being held to consider secession, excitement was in the air. Several of the local boys and I felt it our duty to organize a home guard unit in the event of war. Actually, we thought at the time that the Northern states would let us go in peace and that our leaders would simply set up a new constitution and government. Even if war came, we naively thought that most surely an army of rural Southern boys could whip any contingent of Yankees the North could come up with. How innocent and untested we were. Had we known just half of the hardships we and our loved ones were to endure over the next four years, we would have been crying loudly to our leaders to extend their efforts for peace.

We named our home guard unit the Mississippi Rifles and elected officers and leaders. The boys attempted to elect me as an officer, but I declined. I had little formal education but could write and speak exceptionally well due to my mother’s tutoring. Militarily, though, I was not particularly adept and, therefore, chose not to lead at this point. Secondly, I wanted to fight, not be an officer. At first we met weekly to drill and to discuss politics. As issues began heating up, particularly following Mississippi’s ordinance of secession in early 1861, our meetings became more regular. In a peculiar way some of us actually hoped for some sort of conflict. The stories of older folks in our area and the books some of us had read had glamorized war. We visualized handsome uniforms, polished sabers, beautiful horses, and gallant men being admired by women.

Our chance for the adventure we sought came in the summer of ’61 when news finally reached us of the firing on Fort Sumter. We unanimously decided to tender our services to the young Southern states of America. Within a few months we were to become the Confederate States of America. To enlist meant a ten-day march to Jackson, Mississippi. We organized the trip as best we could and set a date for our 120-mile trek. We had about three days to put our affairs in order and say our good-byes. My aged, semi-invalid mother cried almost continuously the day I left. I wondered at the time if I would ever see her again. She looked so pitiful that day that her image plagued me for years. My younger brothers and sisters were full of patriotic pride, but Mother saw it for what it was: men looking for adventure.

My last good-bye was to a girl that lived on a farm some three miles from ours. She was the beautiful fifteen-year-old Lorena McCarter. I had never really expressed my interest in her, nor had she expressed her interest in me, but we both knew that we had feelings for each other. Her family was from the Highlands in the old country, so she was well liked by my mother, who felt that the Scot bloodline should not be diluted. I dreamed of Miss Lorena often, and it seemed the longer I was away the more unrealistic my memories of her beauty became. In hindsight I see that my opinion of Miss Lorena was unrealistic. A song that was very popular at that time started with the lyrics The years creep slowly by, Lorena, which invoked poignant feelings in me. I pictured us one day sharing a romance that was right out of a storybook. She agreed to write, and I pledged to do likewise. Of the letters we would write, only a handful would actually reach their intended destination. As I looked back at Lorena standing on her porch that day amid the beautiful azaleas, I remember having an eerie feeling. Would I survive to see her again?

On to Jackson to defend our beloved South. Looking at the trip now, I must laugh. Several of the boys complained of the walk and sleeping on the hard ground. In reality it was a leisurely stroll considering that in the next few years we would walk the same distance on many occasions in our bare feet, with nothing to eat and in less than half the time. I never heard the likes of the complaints among those strong, young farm boys.

Following our arrival in Jackson we were mustered into Confederate service and issued what arms, weapons, and accoutrements were available. We became Company C of the Twenty-First Mississippi Regiment. Most of what we had in arms and uniforms we had brought from home. At that time we did not have a national uniform or color, so we were a conglomeration of dress. Later, as gray became the color of a Southern soldier, we developed ways of dyeing uniforms. One such method was soaking our garments in water with metal rust in it, turning the uniforms more of a brown than gray. My comrades and I eventually began being referred to as butternuts. Another method was soaking our clothes in a mixture of water and crushed acorns.

We now began drilling in earnest every day. Camp life was dull, the food was horrible, medical facilities were scant, and dysentery was rampant, but we developed a brotherhood of purpose and a devotion to duty that is hard to understand unless you have experienced it. Our unit generally could only muster about 80 percent fit for duty at any one time due to various ailments, but we became tougher and more resistant to disease and hardship by the day.

News reached us of a great victory at Manassas in Virginia. We were elated, and even though homesick, we were anxious to get into the fight. With the whipping our brethren had put on the Yankees at Manassas we were very much afraid that the war would be over before we would get our chance to earn reputations of valor. In fact, the boys and I spent many hours practicing our marksmanship with our old smooth bore muzzle loaders. We were very accurate considering our outdated weapons and the fact that many times we were left to our own means as far as melting down lead and making minié balls. Sometimes we used small rocks or pieces of glass instead of lead. We were spoiling for a fight and near mutinous with our leaders when they would call us out each day to drill. Daily, we asked, When can we do something to help defend our homes? Our entry into a time that is nearly too awful to remember was about to begin.

This was actually the last time that I had regular contact with my family back home. I had received some packages of tea cakes and other luxuries along with letters, but this would soon stop. The time would come when I would relish a bland soda cracker with the same enthusiasm I had for Mama’s tea cakes. I wrote many letters expressing my belief in our cause and complaining of the boredom of camp life. As the Confederacy became more and more desperate over the years and with the constant moving I was to experience, mail and luxuries from home became rare. In actuality necessities became rare not only for the army but for our loved ones back home as well. Pay was seldom to nonexistent, but my comrades and I accepted this reluctantly because we looked to a brighter day when our freedom would be won and we would have a nation of free Southerners without the ideas and philosophies of the backstabbing, double-dealing Yankees being imposed on us. One reason our needs became so difficult to meet was the cowardly blockade that the Yanks put around Southern ports, thus cutting us off from foreign imports. In our romantic visions of what war would be like we thought a blockade to be quite inappropriate and underhanded.

From our camp we were allowed to vote in the first and, as it turned out, only Confederate presidential election during the fall of ’61. The boys and I all voted for Mr. Jeff Davis and his running mate Mr. Alexander Stephens. We were proud to boast of Mr. Davis being a Mississippi boy. His war experiences in Mexico and political experience made him perfect for the job, and at that time confidence in him was high throughout the South. His election to a six-year term was unanimous. About this same time news reached us that the Yankees had named a new commander in chief of their armies, a man named Irvin McDowell. We knew that no one they could come up with could equal the great military leaders we had in Pierre Beauregard, Joe Johnston, and Albert Johnston.

By the end of 1861 most of the boys in our camp had been dispersed to various theaters of war. Many were assigned to Vicksburg and other forts along the Mississippi River. Others were sent to Louisiana and Arkansas. Some of the older and less firm