The Roads of War

By John Cameron

During the Civil War, Lewis McCormack has to return to his regiment’s training camp, leaving his wife Eliza to tend to their homestead. Rearing children, surviving a declining economy, and paying the family debts leads to intolerable hurdles and even more difficult decisions. Amid the chaos of war, Lewis just wants to stay alive—to make it back to his family.

Meanwhile, Private Davey Morris is detailed as courier and travels through war-torn Pennsylvania to complete his mission, while Private Tandy Strider uses his thirty-day wounded furlough to search for the young prostitute that he has deemed his soulmate.

As the war progresses, Lewis realizes that his soul has hardened—and deep inside, he only feels emptiness. Will Lewis make it through the war? And when he returns, in what state will he find his family? Will they even survive?

In a raw, realistic narrative, The Roads of War exposes the authenticity of battle—the hardships, the struggle, and the yearning for tranquility. John Cameron weaves a true-to-life quilt of human emotion, universal tribulation—and the power of love.

Praise for The Roads of War
". . . down-to-earth prose, enthralling characters, and vivid descriptions . . . An up-close and personal immersion into Southern life and history on par with Gone With The Wind." —Mike Krentz, award-winning author of Dead Already and Angels Falling
"Dr. Cameron transports the reader back in time. His authentic tenacity for showcasing and highlighting the little details, makes The Roads of War an intelligent read. A highly recommended Civil War exploration!" —David Cascio, Author of FrogFlyer
“. . .an engaging novel that blends historical fact and fiction to take us into the lives of North Carolina Confederate recruits and their families. . . . Cameron provides us with important insights into the motivations of these men and women in this remarkable work” —Robert Archer Ph.D., Professor Emeritus, Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences Eastern Virginia Medical School

• Language: English
• Publisher: TouchPoint Press
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 1956851208

Book preview

Chapter 1: The War’s Gonna be Over in Six Months

Lewis McCormack picked up the old horseshoe lying next to the water trough and smashed the thick ice so the animals could drink. With each swing of his arm, he grew angrier.

Where the devil is Henry? Should’ve been out here before dawn. Lazy as hell . . . and Eliza . . . what in the name of God is wrong with that woman?

By 10 o’clock the night before, the children were in bed, their covers piled high against the cold as he and Eliza sat in the kitchen where the fireplace still threw some heat.

Lewis had planned for his last night home to be one of love and sweetness, but Eliza started in on him as soon as the children were out of the room.

You’ve done enough. Let the others take a turn. A thirty-five-year-old man ought to be home. Let young ones with no family go.

Damn it. I signed up for twelve months, not five months. And a man’s age don’t matter. We all gotta do our part. I’m not the only one this old. Flynn Farrington is thirty-six.

That don’t matter to me. You could pay a substitute to finish out them twelve months. That’d do your part. You must like being down there. You’ll never be back. The Yankees’ll kill you, and your children will be orphans, and I don’t think you care.

Goddamn it, Eliza. We been over all this before. Lewis struggled not to yell. You know I gotta go back. Leave it alone. Damn, you; just leave it alone.

Eliza glared at him silently. When they went to bed thirty minutes later, she lay as far to her side as she could manage.

Lewis wanted a sweet love session to remember over the next months. Who knew when he’d be back again? Maybe never. Maybe he’d be killed, but when he put a hand on Eliza’s shoulder, she pulled away.

Well, be damned then, he thought. I’ll find some in Wilmington when I get back down there. Even as he thought it, he knew, he’d never do that. But damn the woman. Why did she have to be this way? He remembered the first time he left for the war. Eliza had wept and shouted at him, but that night, she pulled him inside herself like she would never let him go. And now, this time, she was cold as the wind outside on that first of January.

Standing next to the water trough the next morning, Lewis realized he had smashed the ice into small pieces. Get on with it, he thought. There’s a lot to do here, and I’ve gotta be at Swann’s Station before that train comes from Egypt. Where in hell is Henry? Lazy, worthless man. I oughtta take a whip to him. Lewis shook his head. He had never taken a whip to Henry and never would, any more than he’d find a whore in Wilmington. He had no use for a man who would whip his slave—or one who’d pay for sex. But both sure were tempting and good to think about. He’d have to go bang on the door of Henry’s cabin. As he turned that way, he saw Henry come out of his door.

Henry walked slowly across the yard, slapping his hands together for warmth and scattering the chickens, ducks, and guinea hens hunting for insects and seeds.

Morning, Suh.

Morning, Henry. Get going. We need to be on that wagon rolling in an hour. When you get the critters fed and Mo hitched, come on to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee.

Lewis stepped around the barn to the outhouse. Damn that plank was cold. He hurried back to the house, straight to the kitchen and some warmth.

Eliza didn’t look at him or say a word. I’ll keep my mouth shut too, Lewis thought. But the fireplace was blazing, and Lewis could smell sausage and biscuits cooking. Best of all, he smelled coffee. Real coffee—not that damn burnt wheat that passed for coffee nowadays. He had brought six pounds of beans with him ten days earlier. Paid four times what it should’ve cost, but he bought it, wanted Eliza to have some.

He went to the bedroom, a good thirty degrees colder than the kitchen, gathered up his knapsack and great coat, and came back to the kitchen. He set his coat and bag with his hat next to the door. Then, he poured himself a mug of coffee and sat.

As he sipped the coffee, he considered giving Eliza a hug to break this ice, but before he decided, she put a plate in front of him piled with sausage, biscuits, and grits. She turned away without a word.

So be it, he thought. He reached for the molasses pot and poured a puddle on top of one of the biscuits.

Just as he sopped up the last of the molasses with the last biscuit, Henry came in. Eliza handed him a mug of coffee and two biscuits. Now Lewis couldn’t say anything to Eliza. Wouldn’t do to let Henry see them fight.

Henry, bring Mo on up here to the house. You got my coup and box on the wagon?

Yas, Suh. Both in the back. Henry made no motion to leave. It was cold outside.

Go on. then. We gotta get moving.

Henry set his mug on the table, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and went out.

Before Lewis could speak, Eliza called out, Children, come in here and tell Pap goodbye. She still had not looked at Lewis.

The children must have been awake, under the covers, for both were in the kitchen within seconds. Each gave their father a hug, said bye, and turned toward the fireplace for food and warmth.

Through the window, Lewis could see Henry and the wagon. He put on his great coat, picked up his bag, and turned to Eliza. She stood next to the door, tears streaming down her face. She embraced him and whispered, May God protect you. I can’t live without you.

Lewis walked directly to the wagon, three geese honking at him. He paid no attention to the geese or the two dogs who jumped up. He said nothing to Henry, just sat on the plank and pulled his coat tight. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, he’d cry like Eliza. That would not do.

Henry gave a click with his tongue and a light flick of the reins. Mo started walking out of the barn yard, three hundred yards alongside a field, and onto the sandy road that led southeast, toward the railroad. All of Lewis’s anger and sadness at leaving coalesced like iron shavings to a magnet around those plodding mule steps.

This goddamned mule is too old and too slow. I think I’ll sell him and get a young one.

Henry didn’t bother to respond. He’d heard Lewis say that before.

Mo was twelve years old but had always been slow. He was also one of the ugliest mules alive—short, scrawny, with patchy black hair, and slightly sway-backed with a thin tail. But, unlike most mules, he was gentle and patient. Never known to kick, bite, or buck if a child rode him. He never protested when hitched to the singletree pulling the wagon or plow. Truth was, Lewis would no more sell Mo than he’d sell Henry.

They were on a road more traveled than in years past. It led past Mr. Neil Swann’s plantation, where it crossed the newly constructed Western Railroad that ran from Egypt and the Deep River coal mine in Chatham County to Fayetteville and the Cape Fear River. Mr. Swann had put up a building that served as a general store and railroad depot. A man could now ride in a railway carriage all the way to Fayetteville, conduct his business, and be back home the same day.

Neither Lewis nor Henry had much to say for the first part of the trip; they were caught up in thinking about other times they had traveled this same road past the dead white oak tree that marked the corner of a field belonging to Lewis’ friend, Flynn Farrington. While both had traveled the same road, they had very different memories of it.

Henry had followed the road many times both with Mr. McCormack and alone after dark when white folks wouldn’t notice. There was a woman on the Swann plantation he liked to play around with. Mostly though, his good friend Ajax was there. From Ajax, who could read, Henry learned about the world outside Moore County. He heard about a man named Lincoln who talked about ending slavery. That railroad might just be a road to freedom.

By early 1861, the railroad had been completed from Fayetteville to the edge of Moore County where Swann’s land was, and the first real train was scheduled. Lewis brought his whole family to see the railroad and that first train—Eliza, the two children, and even his three slaves, Henry, Nelly, and Harry. The world was full of hope. Moore County had voted in February—only eleven months ago—ten to one that North Carolina should not secede from the Union. The state-wide vote was closer but firmly against secession.

That wonderful sunny day in early 1861, he stood next to the track with his right arm around Eliza and his left hand on his son, Bragg’s, shoulder. When the engine released a huge burst of steam, they all jumped, then laughed at themselves. Steam bellowed up like giant piles of cotton. He thought at once that he might double his cotton fields. The ease with which he could now reach Fayetteville was staggering. He could sell not only his cotton but excess wheat and perhaps even some animals. That railroad would open up the world.

A half-year after that first train at the end of September, Lewis returned to Swann’s Station, along with seventy-four other men who had volunteered for the new North Carolina Army to repel what the Governor called an invasion by the United States. Try as he might, Lewis still didn’t understand how it happened. How had the same men so opposed to secession become so eager, a half year later, to fight against the United States? He had a feeling that trickery had been involved. Whatever the reason, the men had traveled on the train to Fayetteville and then by riverboat on to Wilmington where Colonels and Captains tried to turn a bunch of farmers into soldiers who hated the United States.

Eliza had wept and pleaded that day in September. She begged him not to volunteer. But a man had to protect his family and his land. The thought of strange men putting hands on Eliza or his daughter put Lewis into a panic. Alice Ann was fifteen and as pretty as her mother had been at that age, so he felt he had to go, and no amount of tears could hold him back. A man who didn’t protect his women and his land was no man. So, he left Moore County that September day for twelve months of service.

Now, here he was a third time on that road, a corporal heading back to camp and to war. He was jarred out of his thoughts when Mo and the wagon forded the creek and walked up onto the sandy ridge that ran all the rest of the way to the Swann depot.

A forest of long-leaf pines that had all been tapped for turpentine covered most of the sandy ridge. You could smell the pitch even in the cold. Lewis shifted a bit on the hard plank and finally spoke. Henry, you ever think about the nature of time?

No Suh, don’t reckon I have. It passes and moves along, but I don’t know I ever thought bout it much.

"The last ten days ain’t been more than one hour long. You get up in the morning, and next thing you know, it’s dark. Seem like to me I just got home yesterday. And yet, here I am going back to soldiering. I know we ain’t been riding much over an hour. Even Old Mo ain’t slower than that. But it feels like we been on this road for two, three days already.

Well, I reckon I know what you mean. Sometime when I be ditchin’ or pickin’ cotton, look like time pass mighty slow. But when I be laughing and in bed with Nelly, it be gone fore it start.

Don’t help none that it’s so cold neither. I would have been warmer walking.

I speck you would have, but then how you gone get your stuff to the train? If Old Mo go a little quicker, we could at least get where it warmer.

Lewis nodded. In the back of the wagon, a box with two dozen eggs was carefully packed among two pairs of wool socks and a comforter, three loaves of bread, one ham, and five pounds of sausage. There was also a coop with six pullets softly clucking inside. He would eat well for a couple of weeks.

When the wagon reached the last curve in the road before their destination, Lewis could see smoke rising above the trees. Another thirty yards and there was the building, four feet off the ground, vertical, unpainted pine planks, the sun reflecting off the tin roof—the only tin roof in Moore County, right there next to the railroad. As the wagon pulled up to the building, he could see piles of coal and a new building going up. Word was out that Swann was building a cotton gin. Everything that man touched seemed to turn to gold. Lewis didn’t envy Swann’s money, but it did rankle that Swann was home making more money while he was in the army defending Moore County. Maybe I’ll present that bill someday, he thought. But not just yet.

By the time Lewis climbed down from the wagon, he was shivering with cold. Damn, Henry. I hope I’m not coming down with an ague.

Don’t never know, but I ain’t heard of catching ague in January less you done had it in the summer.

Mr. Swan’s man, Ajax, moved the box and coop from the wagon to the platform and said to Lewis, I reckon you g’win eat purty good down there, Mr. McCormack.

I sure hope so, Ajax, if I don’t freeze first. Lewis turned to Henry. Henry, come in with me and warm up a bit before you go back.

No Suh, I gotta get back. Miz Eliza might need me. But a little whiskey to warm the trip would be mighty welcome.

While Lewis was in the store, Henry and Ajax caught up on the news. They were friends but seldom saw each other much less had a chance to talk. Some white folks didn’t like to see black men talking together too much.

Ajax, you good? What you hear ‘bout things?

Henry, I’m as good as you could expect. News is the Yankees is about to invade Carolina from the ocean. Seems to me with all the white men gone, we oughtta organize ourselves a bit. Things get hot enough down yonder, might be a chance for us to change things up here.

Uh-huh. I think so too. You let me know what you want to do.

It was a short time before Lewis returned with a dipper half-full of whiskey, which Henry welcomed. He was cold to his bones. But he wished he had had a few more minutes with Ajax. Sometimes Ajax could be a little quick and angry. A man needed to be careful.

Thank you, Suh. He tipped up the dipper and slowly drank, savoring every drop. Now that warm up my innards, at least. Henry handed the dipper back to Lewis, climbed up on the wagon, pulled on the reins, turned Mo back into the small road, and began the slow trip back home.

Lewis’ furlough had been given for a very specific reason—to recruit a few more volunteers for the company. When the regiment had arrived in Wilmington the previous October, the company had ninety-nine men and officers. After two months of training, there were only eighty: two were dead of typhoid, one dead of measles, one dead of blood poisoning from an accident, and sixteen were home or in hospital with a variety of serious afflictions. Even eighty was a charade, for on any given day, another twenty or so men were too sick to leave their tents. More than once, Lewis had thanked God the Yankees hadn’t arrived. He doubted they could have licked a bunch of crippled old women, much less well-equipped Yankee soldiers. Privately, to one