Francis Moore: A Musician's Life

By Ellis O. Moore

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 25, 2007
• ISBN: 9781469124018

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Chapter 1

Prelude

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Bitter cold descended suddenly on Sherman, Texas, that Thursday, December 2, 1897. The wind whipped down from Oklahoma and across the Red River, swirling flurries that would turn into the season’s first snowfall by evening.

Widowed and desperately poor, Ann Wilson Moore, one day shy of her 50th birthday, huddled with her 11-year-old son on the depot platform, clutching his hand while they awaited the railroad coach that would take him, alone, on the first leg of a 1,500-mile trip to another world.

The youngster wore his new overcoat, gloves, and stockings just purchased with money sent by his older sister, Kate, from El Paso. In his pockets were candy, cards, and eleven dollars given him by his mother. Uncle Sid had telegraphed the train agent in St. Louis to be sure the lad made the right connection there. And pinned to his ticket was a letter to conductors all along the line alerting them to keep a watchful eye on him.

The distant wail of the engine whistle signaled the approach of the Cotton Belt train. Ann Moore hugged and kissed her child while telling him, Remember, young man, you’re off now to make something of yourself, to make your sister and your mother proud of you.

The train stopped briefly; the boy swung his little trunk up on the coach platform then hopped aboard and waved a final good-bye to his mother below.

Francis Lee Moore was off on a lifetime journey that would take him first to Philadelphia, then Chicago, and on to hundreds of concert halls in Europe, and across the United States—from Berlin, Germany, to Rome, New York; from Portland, Maine, to Los Angeles, California; from Aeolian Hall in New York across Sixth Avenue to Town Hall, and up Seventh Avenue to 57th Street and Carnegie Hall. It was a journey that would see him heralded as one of the preeminent American musicians of the first half of the 20th century—acclaimed as a concert pianist, revered as a teacher, renowned as a composer.

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Chapter 2

Henry Moore and Family

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Emigration from Ireland to the United States was unusually heavy in 1811 as deteriorating economic conditions caused that country and its citizens to sink into ever deeper debt, distress and despair. Prices paid to farmers for their crops were half or less than half of what they had received the previous year. Furthermore, many old land leases were expiring, and landlords were demanding double, triple and even quadruple rates for rental renewals. This squeeze resulted in some three thousand ship passengers from Ireland arriving in the United States in 1811, most of them the better class of tenant farmer who could afford the adult ticket price of eight to twelve guineas.

The passenger ship Africa, commanded by John E. Scott, arrived in New York from Ireland on June 9, 1811, after a voyage of some thirty-five days. Among its passengers was Henry Moore, who had been born in Rathfriland, a small hilltop market town about thirty miles southwest of Belfast, the capital and largest city of Northern Ireland. Rathfriland was, and is, situated in beautiful country with a spectacular view of the Mourne Mountain range that separates it from the Irish Sea some twelve miles to the east.

Upon arrival in this country, Henry Moore, the grandfather of Francis Moore, headed south to join up with Moore relatives who preceded him here and had settled in the Carolinas and Georgia. His travel route undoubtedly was the Great Wagon Trail that originated near York, Pennsylvania, then curved south through the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia and into North Carolina. A horse and buggy superhighway of the early 19th century, the Great Wagon Trail was travelled by thousands of settlers who had disembarked in New York, Philadelphia, or Baltimore and then pushed south in search of land and opportunity.

Henry Moore’s first official record in this country is dated January 11, 1815, when at age 26 he married Mary Lively (Polly) Lewis, just 15 years old, in Elbert County, Georgia. Polly’s grandfather had settled there about 1787 after migrating from North Carolina, which had been home to the Lewis family since the early 1700s. Elbert County is in Northeast Georgia, just across the Savannah River from South Carolina. By 1820, Henry and Polly had pushed a few counties west to Jasper County, located in north central Georgia some 60 miles southeast of Atlanta.

Alabama, just west of Georgia, had been admitted to the Union as a state in December 1819, prompting a surge of settlers seeking land the government made available for purchase there. Henry Moore was among the earliest of those settlers, old records showing he first entered Alabama land bought from the government on November 26, 1820. This land was in Tuscaloosa County (spelled Tuskaloosa in those days) in the western center of the state. It was fertile country. Three streams—the North River on the east, Sipsey River in the center, and Luxapallila Creek on the west—ran north-south through its borders, and, while not navigable, they helped enrich the soil to make it highly productive for the cotton, tobacco, corn, oats, wheat and rye that would be planted there by the new arrivals.

Henry Moore’s first land entry was 80 acres just west of Luxapallila Creek. Over the next 30 years, he would gradually expand his holdings in the surrounding area until they totaled more than 400 acres and his property became known as the Henry Moore Plantation. As noted in the book Annals of Northwest Alabama by Carl Atwood Elliott, A home and over four hundred acres of land must have been a fulfillment of the hopes and dreams of the Irish immigrant, Henry Moore . . . What someone has said of our ancestors might be said of Henry Moore. He most likely came to America with an empty pocket but a heart full of hope.

In December 1824, the northern section of Tuscaloosa County where Henry had settled was spun off and established as Fayette County along with parts of Marion and Pickens Counties. It was the 33rd county organized in Alabama and one of some 60 towns, cities, and counties in the United States that would be named for the Marquis de Lafayette, the French patriot and statesman who fought so gallantly at Washington’s side during the American Revolution.

The home Henry built on his farm property in the early 1820s was one of the first in what would become Fayette County. The house was located just off Winfield Road (now County Highway 51) about five miles north and west of the county seat, first known as Fayette Court House, then Fayetteville, later just Fayette. Situated in a lovely setting on a level rise of ground and near a spring of water, the home was constructed of riven (split) logs, with chimney bricks that were handmade. After it fell into disuse more than 100 years later, timber and bricks from the old house were carried away for other uses, but a member of the Tarwater family that had purchased the property in 1916 from Henry’s granddaughter thoughtfully sent the author one of the chimney bricks. It now rests on the ledge of a Moore family rolltop desk, along with a rusty gun hammer, nail, bullet, and pieces of broken pottery the writer found while poking around the site in the Spring of 1992.

By 1830, the population of Fayette County had grown to about 3,000, including 500 slaves, and Henry Moore was one of its leading citizens. He had acquired some material possessions and, in addition to his farming interests was engaged in the rawhide business.

He and wife Polly also had a growing family. Their first two children, a boy, name unknown, and a girl named Sallie, had been born in Elbert County, Georgia, and died as infants. Then came John C., born in 1818 also in Elbert County. After their move to Alabama, the arrival of Moore children continued in this rapid order: Nancy, born in 1820; Jane Emily in 1822; James Henry in 1824; Robert Luellen in 1826; Thomas in 1828; Mary Lively in 1829; Susannah (Susan) in 1831; Moses in 1833; Martin Van Buren in 1835; Daniel Washington in 1837; and Francis Marion Moore, father of Francis Lee Moore, on February 24, 1839. Francis Marion Moore was named after Francis Marion of South Carolina, the Revolutionary War hero nicknamed the Swamp Fox.

Sadly, as was often the case with child-bearing women in those pioneer days, after giving birth to 14 children in a span of 24 years, Mary Lively (Polly) Moore died on June 26, 1839, four months after the arrival of her youngest child, Francis Marion Moore. She was just 39 years old.

Providing children a proper education in this newly settled land was a primary concern of Henry Moore and to do this he and other early Alabama landowners had to take matters into their own hands, for there were no public schools in rural Alabama until well after 1854. Schools were private and classes were held in homes or in rough-hewn log cabins built on private property for school purposes. So Henry established the Henry Moore School House on his farm property, and there his boys and girls and the children of the Stewart, Collins, Powell, and other neighboring families received their education. Classes were held in the Winter after the Fall harvest and before Spring planting, and usually continued for about three months. The itinerant teacher would sojourn among the school’s patrons, staying for a week with each one. Courses taught included grammar, geography, arithmetic and writing. Special pride was taken in the teaching of penmanship, and the beautiful script displayed in letters written by Francis Marion Moore and preserved to this day is firsthand evidence of his training in this skill.

There were three religious denominations in Fayette County in those early days—Primitive Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians—and it is likely that Henry Moore raised his children as Baptists. His distant relative Luellen Moore, who had followed Henry into Alabama from Georgia, presided as elder over the Hopewell Baptist Church in the county, and the Mt. Lebanon Baptist Church was formed on March 20, 1842, by a group meeting at the Henry Moore School House.

Henry’s oldest son, John, was quick to make his own mark on the Fayette County community, and by 1844, when he was just twenty-six years old, he had been named county treasurer. A year later, he was appointed clerk of county court, and from 1850 to 1856, he served as the county’s first probate judge and was thereafter known in the community as Judge Moore. After the Civil War, John served again as clerk of county court; and in 1874 was appointed postmaster, a position he held for eleven years. In addition to his civic activities, John owned and operated a tanyard and owned the land where the city cemetery is now located and where he was buried after his death in 1899.

The next son, James, became a successful merchant and civic leader, and also served as postmaster in the early 1850s. He operated Moore’s Hotel in a house that was still standing in the 1990s. James and brother John were organizers and charter members of the Charles Baskerville Lodge No. 281 of the Ancient Order of Free Masons in Fayette County.

Apart from Francis Marion Moore, little is known about Henry’s other sons. His third son Robert Luellen died in infancy; there is little record of Thomas; Moses died in the service of the Confederate Army in the Civil War; and Martin and Daniel died in Fayette in early manhood.

By 1850, Henry Moore’s property was valued at $1,000, a not inconsiderable sum in those days. He also had acquired a new wife, whose first name was Rachel and who was sixteen years his junior. This was destined to be a brief and childless union, for on Friday, November 12, 1852, Henry Moore, the pioneer settler of our Moore line, died at his farm in Fayette County. He was sixty-three. His friend, William P. Murray, in writing of Henry’s death, noted that the Masons took charge of his mortal remains and buried them according to the custom of their order. Henry’s probable burial site is the tiny cemetery that lies adjacent to his property, but most of the markers there are of sandstone and are so weatherworn, it is impossible to read the inscriptions.

With Rachel not mentioned in any Henry Moore estate records, it must be assumed that his second wife preceded him in death. Eldest son John was serving as probate judge when his father died and thus, presumably, was ineligible to handle administration of the estate. Second son James, therefore, was appointed administrator on January 13, 1853. He would have a long and tedious chore ahead of him, for it took almost twenty years for the estate to be finally settled, some of this delay undoubtedly caused by the crippling if not actual shutdown of courts during the Civil War.

Francis Marion Moore was just 13 when his father died, so it fell on his two eldest brothers and four sisters to look after him and the three other underage boys—Moses, Martin, and Daniel. By now, the six eldest children of Henry Moore were married and had their own families, so it was no great additional burden for them to take turns housing, training, and educating the younger brothers. Strangely, however, neither John nor James was appointed guardian of their younger siblings. Instead, on March 9, 1855, that task was given to Burrell W. Wilson, a lawyer and family friend whose farm home was on the Sipsey River, some six miles southeast of the Henry Moore property. Francis, by now more frequently called Frank, spent much time with the Wilson family playing with two Wilson boys, Van and William, and getting to know a Wilson daughter, Ann, who was seven years younger than he.

In the Fall of 1857, 18-year-old Frank Moore was attending school and living with other relatives in Marion County, just north of Fayette County. He had his mule, and he also had an increasing interest in members of the opposite sex, that interest evidenced in a letter he wrote brother Daniel about a party attended by several young feminines at which the highlight of the evening was roasting potatoes. That was all I done or attempted to do, Frank assured his brother. You know I told you I was done with the girls; a fellow cannot do good & wait on some girls. Notwithstanding that disclaimer, he closed the letter with the plea that his brother write as soon as possible leaving out nothing including news about my favorite, if she is there.

Back in Fayette County by 1860, Frank worked as a store clerk, quite likely in the general store owned by his former guardian, Burrell Wilson. Just 21 years old, Frank by then owned real estate valued at $300 and other assets worth $100—material possessions which enabled him to enjoy a few of the modest pleasures of young adulthood.

But what enjoyment there was would be short-lived. The nation’s agonized and decades-long fracture over slavery was about to erupt into the horror of Civil War.

By 1860, the Democratic Party, which had held the White House for 40 years, was split over the slavery question. The northern wing nominated Stephen Douglas as its presidential candidate, while Southern Democrats broke away to nominate Senator John C. Breckinridge of Kentucky. Seizing their opportunity, Republicans nominated Abraham Lincoln, a former Illinois congressman with moderate antislavery views. Lincoln felt that the Constitution forbade presidential action against slavery where it already existed, but he pledged to halt its further spread. Such a pledge enraged the Southern states, and South Carolina warned it would secede if Lincoln were elected.

With the Democrats hopelessly divided, Lincoln won the election in November, 1860, with just 40 percent of the popular vote. He carried every free state, but not one slave state. In Virginia, the Richmond Whig newspaper called his election the greatest evil that has ever befallen this country, and in South Carolina, the Charleston Mercury trumpeted, The tea has been thrown overboard; the revolution of 1860 has been initiated.

South Carolina led the way out of the Union on December 20, 1860. Five days later, a handful of Federal troops who had been stationed in Charleston withdrew to Ft. Sumter in Charleston harbor. In early 1861, six Southern states—Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas—followed South Carolina out of the Union, and on February 10, Jefferson Davis received word by telegram at his plantation near Vicksburg, Mississippi, that he had been elected President of the Provisional Government of the Confederate States of America.

Davis was sworn in as Confederate President on the steps of the Alabama State Capitol at Montgomery on February 18. Lincoln took the oath as 16th President of the United States of America in Washington on March 4.

Shortly after midnight, April 12, two Confederate emissaries rowed out to Ft. Sumter in Charleston harbor to deliver an ultimatum to the commander of the besieged garrison: surrender by 4:00 a.m. or South Carolina batteries would open fire. The commander refused, and the Civil War (or War between the States as Southerners then and for generations called it) began at 4:30 a.m., April 12, 1861, when Confederate artillery opened fire on the fort. After the bombardment and Lincoln’s call for troops to quell the rebellion, Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina quickly seceded, and eleven Southern states were united in the new Confederacy. Twenty-three states remained in the Union.

Just before hostilities commenced, a former congressman from Mississippi exclaimed, Thank God, we have a country at last, to live for, to pray for, and, if need be, to die for.

Alabama would send 122,000 of its young men, including Francis Marion (Frank) Moore, off to fight for that country over the next four years. More than 30,000 of them would be killed in action.

There was reason for early optimism in the South during the initial months of the war. The first major battle was fought in July at Bull Run near Manassas, Virginia, some 20 miles southeast and almost within sight of Washington, D.C. Bull Run was a major victory for the Confederate forces who saw the defeated Yankees scatter in panic. It was a costly triumph, however, as the South lost 387 killed, 1,582 wounded, and 13 missing, while the Union Army had 460 killed, 1,124 wounded, and 1,312 missing.

On the battle front west of the Mississippi, Confederate forces won an important victory in August in the Battle of Wilson’s Creek, Missouri, the second major clash between the two enemies. And in October, the Union suffered a devastating defeat at Ball’s Bluff on the Potomac River near Leesburg, Virginia. As they were pushed back by Confederate fire, Union troops retreated in panic and confusion, leaving 49 killed, 158 wounded, and 714 missing and presumed drowned in the Potomac in the attempted withdrawal.

The South was overjoyed, and there was public pressure for the Confederate Army to mount a major offensive in Virginia. President Davis and his top generals, however, decided such a move to attack Union forces would be foolhardy because their Army had neither the manpower nor supplies for such a campaign. The decision was made to wait until Spring of 1862 and in the meantime to watch further developments on all fronts, not just in Virginia.

As it turned out, those developments would gradually swing the tide in favor of the Union Army. In January 1862, Gen. U. S. Grant moved his forces into the Kentucky and Tennessee region, winning a major victory at Mill Springs, Kentucky, that opened a serious gap in the entire Confederate defensive line for the area. Shortly after, Fort Henry on the Tennessee River and Fort Donelson on the Cumberland River fell to the Yankees, putting both these important streams under Union control. The Confederate position in Tennessee was becoming untenable.

Meanwhile, one of the most important Southern positions on the Atlantic Coast fell with the loss of Roanoke Island, North Carolina, and in Arkansas, the Union won a major victory at Pea Ridge, the most significant Civil War battle west of the Mississippi River. And New Orleans, the largest Southern city, would be captured in late April.

In early April, Confederate troops assaulted positions of Grant’s army at Pittsburg Landing on the Tennessee River, in the southern part of that state just 22 miles north of Corinth, Mississippi. The ensuing two-day battle would be the bloodiest of the Civil War. Almost 100,000 men fought, nearly one in four was a casualty; and 3,477 died, more than all the Americans killed in the battles of the Revolution, the War of 1812 and the Mexican War combined. And when the battle smoke cleared, the Union Army was still in possession of all the positions it held before the butchery, while the weary and battered Confederate forces straggled back to Corinth and in so doing evacuated most of their troops from the state of Tennessee.

One bright spot for the South during the Spring of 1862 was the campaigning in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, where for three months Gen. Stonewall Jackson outwitted and outmaneuvered a succession of larger and better equipped Union armies.

But by mid-April, the Confederacy faced a critical shortage of manpower for its armies, and President Davis approved a congressional proposal establishing a military draft in the Confederate states for all men between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.

On May 3, first skirmishes took place near Corinth between Confederate troops who had retreated from Pittsburg Landing and Union forces who had followed them south. That same day in Fayette County, some 90 miles to the southeast, Francis Marion (Frank) Moore, 23 years old and not wishing to wait for the draft call, enlisted in the Confederate Army to fight for his country as a private in Company I of the 41st Alabama Infantry Regiment, then being organized. The enlistment was for three years or war, meaning for the war’s duration.

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Chapter 3

Frank Moore, Confederate Soldier

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Over the next three years, Frank Moore wrote letters periodically back home to his brothers, sisters, and other family members in Fayette County, letters all written in beautiful script but far from flawless in spelling and grammar by today’s standards. Twenty-four of these letters are remarkably preserved to this day, and, together with Confederate military records in the National Archives in Washington and the Alabama Department of Archives and History in Montgomery, they provide a unique insight into his activities in the Civil War. When mentioned in this narrative, they are quoted exactly as written.

What today would be called basic training took place for Frank for about two months in a camp located in an oak grove one mile east of Tuscaloosa, about 40 miles southeast of Fayette. The daily regimen was strict: morning drill from 6:00 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. to 11:30 a.m.; afternoon drill from 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. followed by dress parade—all told, six hours of formal daily training. In addition, there was patrol duty in Tuscaloosa and frequent assignments to guard the commissary and a nearby prison camp holding Yankee captives. We all seem to be learning rapidly, Frank observed in an early letter home.

The men lived in tents with flooring and had plenty to eat: beef, meal, rice, sugar molasses, and occasionally fresh pork. There were 16 men in Frank’s eating mess, and in one letter he noted that all we like (sic, lack) of living well is a good cook. I can cook very well, he continued, but I don’t like the business at all… If my officers will allow us we will impress a negro to cook for us, which will be nothing more than we deserve, for that is what we are fighting for.

The men went to church in Tuscaloosa every Sunday, had a prayer meeting in camp each night, and occasionally engaged in group singing. Frank was especially pleased with his fellow recruits and felt his regiment was composed of the best looking set of men in the Southern Confederacy. He also observed that there were more of the wealthy class than usual in the regiment and called that the best feature I have ever found in the conscript (draft) law… it takes the fine gen’ts. along with the coperas briches boys. But he also noted that a great many men had hired substitutes and had gone home.

Although he wrote home in one letter, I enjoy myself finely, Frank yearned for peace, as have civilian soldiers from time immemorial. There is some talk of peace here but no such reliable news, he wrote. All I have to say is God hasten that happy time, when we can have a just settlement of this affair. Those words were written June 10, 1862, and settlement of the affair was still 34 months away.

In July, Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest raided Murfreesboro, about 40 miles southeast of Nashville, and recaptured this important town for the Confederacy. Shortly thereafter, Frank Moore’s 41st Alabama Infantry regiment was assigned to the area to guard a bridge. Just at this time, the first of many illnesses that would afflict Frank throughout his military service and for the rest of his life laid him low, and he was hospitalized at Murfreesboro for four weeks.

While Frank was in the hospital, his regiment moved to a position on the Tennessee River in Jackson County in the northeast corner of Alabama, just below where the river reenters Tennessee after its arc through northern Alabama. Frank rejoined his outfit about August 25 and two days later was engaged in his first brush with the enemy when he was one of 60 men assigned to support an artillery battery preparing to shell a Yankee fort called Battle Creek.

That was the 2nd day that I had been on duty for nearly four weeks and you must know that I was very easily tired, he wrote later. I managed to keep in sight of my crowd once in a while. As we passed up the river banks I could see the yankees on the other bank. They hollered at us ‘to close up rear rank,’ but I did not pay any attention to them. We got to our place of destination long enough to get good rested before the battery came. I could see the Yanks bustling around as busy as bees, and it was thought by our men that they were fixing and planting their cannon to return the compliment. There was six pieces of our artillery, two 20 pounders and the others were 6 and 12 pounders. About 12 o’clock our batteries opened a brisk fire on their fort and kept it up until about 3½ o’clock. We listened to hear their cannon reply, but they did not return a shot while I stayed. I could see the Yankees ‘skeedaddle’ in double quick time.

Several days later the 41st Regiment again found itself encamped on the south side of the Tennessee River, with Union forces on the north side about two miles away. Our pickets and the Yankee pickets conversed with each other across the river and would swim and meet each other half way and exchange papers, Frank wrote. One of our Southern soldiers went so far as to go over and take supper with the Yankees they having assured him that he should pass back when ever he wished to return. They made good their promise and permitted him to return and gave him a canteen full of coffee also.

In late Summer and early Fall of 1862, Confederate general Braxton Bragg moved his forces north out of Tennessee into Kentucky with the goal of linking up with the troops of General E. Kirby Smith who had occupied Frankfort. There were initial successes with the capture of Mumfordville and Bardstown, and Frank Moore’s 41st Alabama Infantry was ordered to move north to join the Bragg army. From Jackson County, Alabama, they marched to Knoxville, then on to Clinton with a target of crossing the Cumberland Gap into Kentucky to support the Bragg offensive. But the Bragg offensive sputtered. Union forces recaptured Mumfordville and Bardstown, and in a fierce battle October 8-9 at Perryville the Bragg army—outmanned by 36,000 to 16,000 thousand—was defeated and forced to retreat to the southeast.

The 41st Regiment continued its forced march north through mid-October, slogging six to 18 miles a day over rough mountainous terrain. By October 17, the unit was within three miles of Cumberland Gap when the men heard, as Frank Moore wrote, that old Bragg was falling back this way and is now in ten miles of coming through the gap. With this news, the 41st received new orders to reverse course, march 70 miles back to the Knoxville area, and round up stragglers from Bragg’s army.

We have got about one hundred of them already, Frank wrote. They are deserters I expect. Some of them are badly clothed and some have no shoes and they look pale and bad.

About this time, the Confederate Congress passed and President Davis signed an amendment to the conscription law which stirred much controversy in the Southern states. The new regulation exempted anyone owning 20 or more slaves from service in the Confederate Army. Howls of protest greeted its passage, with many viewing this as a flagrant example of the military situation being a rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight.

By October 3, Frank Moore had been promoted to third sergeant, Company I, and, as he wrote a couple of weeks later, I am getting seventeen dollars per month now, or at least that is my wages, maybe I’ll get it and maybe I will not. I am in hopes they will pay me pretty soon.

Another illness—its nature not revealed in any of his letters or in official records—hospitalized Frank in Chattanooga, Tennessee, for almost six weeks in December 1862 and January 1863. And while this undoubtedly was a serious illness, the hospital stay probably was a blessing, for it kept him out of some of the bloodiest fighting of the war.

The 41st Alabama Infantry Regiment had joined Bragg’s army in late 1862 and on the last day of the year participated in a Confederate attack on Union forces at Stone’s River, Tennessee. The three-day fighting—also known as the Battle of Murfreesboro—ended in a standoff, but the casualties were huge with each side losing roughly a third of its men. In Frank Moore’s Company I, seven men were killed and 12 wounded. General Bragg was forced to withdraw south toward Tullahoma and Manchester, Tennessee, and one Confederate soldier penned these dispirited words home after the battle:

I see no prospect of peace for a long time. The Yankees can’t whip us and we can never whip them.

Released from the hospital in mid-January, Frank was granted a furlough to complete his recovery at home in Fayette County. En route back to his unit, he asked for and received a seven-day furlough extension and took advantage of the extra time to look at the country, travelling to Mobile and Montgomery; Dalton in Georgia, and then Chattanooga, before rejoining the 41st Regiment at Manchester, some 30 miles southeast of Murfreesboro, where it was encamped near other forces under General Bragg.

The Union and Confederate armies in the area spent the next five months feinting at one another. For Frank Moore, the routine was tedious and similar to his basic training at Tuscaloosa, and he kept his family up to date on his activities and frustrations in a series of letters in February and March of 1863, excerpts of which follow:

February 17—I am as fat as a killing hog and twice as filthy. Indeed I am so fat that I can’t sit cross-legged with much ease. I reckon I weigh 150 lbs neat weight… They are talking of sending our Reg’t to Vixburg but I do not think we will go.

February 20—We have got chimneys to our tents and straw and plank to sleep on and are pretty comfortably situated. Our guard duty is pretty heavy here at present. Sometimes every other day.

February 26—The constant and heavy rains will prevent the advance of either army for some time yet . . . Our Company dwindled down very fast. We have lost by death, desertion, and missing about forty men, since we came in the service… Three of our reg’t have gone up to Tullahoma to stand their trial. They went to sleep on post. I hope Bragg will not have them shot.

March 14—I am well and a little hungry this morning on account of scanty rations. We are not getting full rations at present but I think we will get plenty next draw day… They are tighter on us now than they have ever been before. They have roll call at morning, noon and nite, besides two drills with roll call at each drill also . . . I think this war is bound to close in the course of eight months, at least I am in hopes that it will stop then anyhow. People may talk what they please about being satisfied in this war, but I know better. I enjoy myself here better than three fourths of them, but then I don’t lie to you when I tell you I want the war to close any how, for I do… Four men have deserted our company since I have come back and others are threatening to go.

March 22—We have the same drill and roll call every day, and the same rotine of picket and camp duties to perform and everything wears such a dull monotonous appearance, that I think sometimes that any change would be an improvement… The Yanks are preparing to flank us, but old Bragg will be apt to watch them.

March 26—We had a general review yesterday. General Joseph E. Johnson (sic, Johnston) reviewed us. He is a very nice looking old man. General Breckenridge was also present.

And in all letters there was a variation on one central them, You must write soon . . . I have got no letters from home… If I do not get a letter from some of you pretty soon I shall believe you are all either lost, strayed or stolen.

The change that Frank yearned for soon came in successive stages that resulted in definite improvement in his situation and, in part, his attitude. On April 20, he was elected a second lieutenant, and simultaneously transferred from Company I of the 41st Alabama Infantry Regiment in Manchester, Tennessee, to Company E of the 13th Alabama Battalion of Partisan Rangers, stationed in Aberdeen, Mississippi, only 50 miles from his home in Fayette County. Then, on June 6, he was transferred to Company I of the 13th Battalion, bringing about a reunion with his brother, James H. Moore, who as captain was commander of Company I. And shortly thereafter, the 13th Battalion was merged with the 56th Alabama Cavalry Regiment.

In addition to uniting him with his brother Jim in the same company, these moves turned out to be good news for Frank Moore for several other reasons: he missed heavy fighting that engaged his old outfit back in Tennessee during the Summer of 1863; he was not involved in the six-week siege of Vicksburg, Mississippi, which ended with the July 4 surrender of 29,000 Confederate troops, a Southern defeat that opened the whole Mississippi River to control by the Union; and he was an officer in a cavalry regiment whose lifestyle he found much preferable to that of an infantry unit.

The 56th Alabama Cavalry Regiment spent the Summer and Fall of 1863 in the relatively peaceful northeast corner of Mississippi. And while he was not involved in any serious combat during the period, an increasing disillusionment over the Southern cause crept into Frank’s letters home.

On September 5 (from camp near Pontotoc), he wrote, This kind of service is much easier than infantry, and I would rather be a private in cavalry than a captain in infantry. We had some six or eight of the boys tried the other day, some for stealing saddles and some for leaving camp without permission. Those for leaving camp were sentenced to guard tent for six days and to dig a (missing word) up each day. Those for stealing the saddles were sentenced to wear a barrel for six days . . . Tell Rub (his brother-in-law) not to sell his horse for Confederate money and if he does to pay it out as soon as possible. I would not take a thousand dollars for my mare in Confederate money and his horse is worth more than my mare… I think the sooner the South drops this matter the better it will be for us all and the country too. Whatever is best for the country every friend of his ought to favor it. That is my opinion. Let us see how it turns out. I am making more money now that I could any where else and am in no more danger than the rest of us, but then the sooner this thing is stopped the better it will be for our country & it will cease by the 1st day of next May.

Desertion was becoming a major problem in both the Union and Confederate armies and in the South many counties organized local forces to round up those who had gone AWOL and returned home. The thought of anyone joining a home militia for that purpose infuriated Frank.

This country is full of deserters and everywhere else I hear from is the same way, he wrote.

And to think that those men who have never been in the service would join a company to catch those men who have fought hard for them while they were at home in their ease, just to keep from going themselves, is the most shameful act that ever man was guilty of. If they want to fight for their country let them come over this way, there are plenty of enemies here.

September 7 (from camp near Pontotoc)—The people are very much disheartened here, about the war. And once again, The country is full of deserters.

September 23 (from camp near New Albany)—I find this much easyer service than infantry and much more agreeable every way. I have been on three tramps since I have been here a hunting Yankees but have never seen any of them yet… Our Col. is a very shrewd man but looks more like an old hog driver than anybody I ever saw . . . I have not visited any of the ladies very much lately, although a man is not considered a good cavalry soldier if he is not a ladies men.

On November 17, Frank wrote a letter, seconded by his commanding officer brother, to Maj. Gen. G. W. Hoyt requesting a 15-day leave of absence to go to my home in Fayette County, Alabama, for the purpose of getting clothing for myself and some of the men of my company. He added, I have been unable to purchase any clothing and having had my clothing stolen and being unable to buy any from the Government or elsewhere, I am at present destitute of comfortable clothing, and as I have clothing at home, I hope the Maj. Gen. commanding will grant my request so that I may obtain clothing for the coming Winter.

The request was granted and Frank and his mare were soon on the road for the 70-mile, three-day journey from Okolona, Mississippi, to Fayette County.

* * *

Today Closes the Gloomiest Year of Our Struggle, the headline in the Richmond Examiner declared on December 31, summing up the prevalent feeling over much of the South as 1863 ended. Superior manpower and resources were beginning to turn the tide for the North, and the Union Army would soon be in a position for the first time to prepare a unified strategy for the final conquest of the suffering Confederacy.

Frank Moore was back in camp with the 56th Alabama Cavalry Regiment near Okolona in mid-January 1864, but an aggressive move by Union general William Tecumseh Sherman would soon plunge his outfit into action. With Vicksburg in Northern hands, Sherman decided to strengthen the Union position there by destroying the two primary railroad lines in central Mississippi. He would do this by marching from Vicksburg 120 miles directly east to Meridian, Mississippi, there to be joined by another Union force that would cut southeast from Memphis.

Sherman and his 25,000-man force left Vicksburg on February 3. The Confederate commander in the area was General Leonidas Polk, who had about 20,000 widely scattered forces including cavalry under General Nathan Bedford Forrest. The 56th Alabama Cavalry was moved from northeast Mississippi to Madison County in the central part of the state, just north of Sherman’s anticipated route east. Its assignment was to conduct a lightning-quick raid on Sherman’s left flank.

Frank later wrote of his unit’s activities in this campaign:

Suffice it to say that the roads were long & wearrisome, times were perrillous & ‘my winged hours of bliss have been like angel’s visits few & far between.’ Company I during this raid dwindled down to seven men, ten of the company ran away, the others went to the slow train, their horses being broken & otherwise disabled so as to render them unfit for service. I do not think that we delayed Sherman twenty-four hours on his whole march from Vicksburg to Meridian. I never lost an hours duty during the raid, I hadn’t time to get sick, for I had to act as Capt. Sergt. & Corpl. a long time there being none present.

His assessment of the effect of the raid on Sherman’s advance was quite accurate, for the Union general and his troops entered Meridian on schedule February 14 and began dismantling the railroad lines in that hub. In a preview of tactics employed later during his march through Georgia, Sherman also engaged in a general rampage of property destruction that left Meridian virtually demolished.

After witnessing this type of mayhem along the swath that Sherman cut through central Mississippi, Frank wrote,

The Yankees were very destructive in most neighborhoods where they passed. They burned up all the government corn they could find, took all the negroes that would go with them, forced others to go, carried off horses, mules, meat & ransacked the houses. Took all the jewelry & fine ware etc., and left many people poor who were before vastly rich.

On March 21, he also wrote of the mounting despair of Southerners, both civilian and military:

The great majority of the citizens are whipped, others speak very despondingly of the war, most of the soldiers are whipped & many of the officers do not hesitate to tell any body so. The patriotism of a great many is built on their property, consequently when they loose their property their patriotism goes up with it. So it is with Mississippi and so it is with the Confederacy at large I expect… We have some deserters from our regiment but none from our company lately, but I think there will be a great many go this spring. Capt. Johnson of Hewlett’s old Batt. is under arrest & in close confinement charged with persuading his men to desert. Our maj. has resigned & many others would like to if they knew how to commence.

Frank wrote these words as he was preparing to rejoin his unit after a 10-day bout with diarrhea, and while insisting I for one am not whipped, he, nevertheless, for the first time raised the question of whether or not my health will admit of my remaining in service.

The 56th Alabama Cavalry Regiment would encounter Sherman’s forces again in the crucial battle for Atlanta during July and August of 1864. By early May, Sherman was in Chattanooga preparing his troops for the assault on that vital supply, manufacturing, and communications center, some 70 miles to the south and east. Frank Moore spent time in June with his kin in Fayette County, probably on medical furlough due to his deteriorating health. He rejoined his outfit on July 7 on the south side of the Chattahoochee River a few miles northwest of Atlanta after a weary and lonesome journey on his horse by way of Tuscaloosa, Columbiana, Talladega and Oxford, Alabama, and Carrollton and Coweta, Georgia.

Directly across the Chattahoochee River from the 56th Cavalry were Sherman’s troops, which, by employing flanking tactics instead of direct assaults, had moved steadily down the corridor from Chattanooga to the Atlanta area. We are on duty today picketing on the river and the Yankees are on the other side and we are poping away at each other all the time, but not much harm is being done by either side, Frank wrote on July 10. Two days later the 56th, now part of Ferguson’s Brigade and under the overall command of General Joseph Wheeler, was encamped five miles northeast of Atlanta gearing up for a major attack on Union troops at Decatur. That attack came on July 22 and the result was a stand off, but plenty of harm was done this time to both sides.

We charged the Yankees on the 22d of July and run them about 1½ miles, the balls shot and shell fell thick and fast, & I expected to be hit, but through the mercies of Providence I escaped unhurt, Frank wrote home, Our regiment are dismounted & in the ditches, on the battle ground where the infantry fought. It is a very unpleasant place. The scent of the dead is very unpleasant. They were thrown in the ditches and many of them were not entirely covered up. It is a shocking sight for a man to see. It would be well if every one could see a battlefield.

Soon after this engagement, Frank suffered, in his words, another puny spell, and was sent to the infirmary train about a mile from his company. With time on his hands there, he scribbled off some words of advice about child upbringing to one sister and concern about a situation back home to another.

To the first, he wrote, Tell Ab (her son) to sow no wild oats, but call in the wanderings of his mind. Spend the Sabbath in reading his bible & leisure hours in gathering useful knowledge and he will make a useful man, be respected in youth, honored in age & rewarded hereafter.

And to the other, I hear that they are killing people in Fayette County on every hand. They would do better up here killing Yankees than killing up each other that way. I fear there are many who are pretending to be patriots, who are killing more for plunder and robbery than anything else. I know it is so here in our army. They will rob & plunder the dead, and their whole object is gain.

His health showing no sign of improvement, Frank went to a medical board near Atlanta in mid-August and was told he ought to resign from the army, in fact that he should have long since resigned. They said I never would be able to stand the service, he wrote home. Acting on that advice, he submitted his resignation for approval.

It is clear from his letters that Frank Moore suffered from a multitude of physical problems during his time in the Confederate Army. He wrote at various times of having diarrhea, shingles, the flux, and of continuing puny spells. Family records show that in later life, he had severe rheumatism and consumption, and both of these conditions also may have started when he was in the military.

Frank left his regiment for the last time on August 27, when he was sent about 75 miles southeast of Atlanta to Floyd Hospital at Macon, Georgia. Several days later, he wrote three fellow officers back at his old outfit that he was feeling better, hoped to continue to mend, and with further improvement, he looked for a transfer to Forsyth Hospital in Monroe County, some 20 miles back up the road toward Atlanta. That transfer came through and on September 26, he wrote a sister from Forsyth that he was improving slowly, but