All Manner of War

By Pamela Dunnam

Sending four sons to war while meeting the challenges of the farm on the hill they cherish, an Alabama family experiences the War Between the States from different viewpoints, facing all manner of war on all fronts and at home. They are changed forever through the long five years of the war, coming face-to-face with so many pivotal events of the times. As much as the political circumstances of the day drive their actions and decisions, they come to realize they are a family connected by a common cause, that their family is the most important gift they have, to be treasured and protected. No matter who the enemy at the door, or the challenges they face, the common theme is the family spirit and driving desire to be whole again on the hill they call home.

As each son joins the Confederate Army to serve with General Lee in Virginia, ride with the cavalry in Tennessee, or suffer the tedium of fort life on the gulf, each experiences the time in similar but different ways. The family at home must handle the burden of a blockaded existence while holding out hope and prayers for the sons to return home, while losses from the hill mount by the score. It is a story filled with desperation, fear, anger, and exhilaration, a journey through every emotion of the human soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662401411

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All Manner of War

Pamela Dunnam

Copyright © 2021 Pamela Dunnam

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-0140-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-1104-5 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-6624-0141-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

New Year 1861

Secession

Leaving the Hill

Becoming Johnny Reb

They Will Not Beat Us Down

Off to War

Ominous Meeting

Virginia Beckons

Decision Time

Lost Love

Cavalryman

New Year 1862

Buttons Returned

Stalking the Elephant

Late

All-Out War

Hold the Faith

All Manner of Destruction

Bloody Hell

The Thing I Miss Most Today

Everyone Has Their Way

Turning Eighteen in Wartime

New Year 1863

Hero

Tennessee Travails

Losses Mount

Storm Clouds at Home

Worst Fear

The Fish Boat

A Mist Hangs

Oh, Despair!

Salvaging Honor at the River of Death

New Year 1864

Slow Guilt

Animosity Deepens

An Old Friend Finds a Malcontent

Blockade-Runners

Chasing Sherman

Long-Awaited Fight

In God’s Hands Now

Shame

Atlanta Sacked

A Sand Prison

Thirty-Seven-Day March to Hell

New Year 1865

Returned to Fight

Joy

Forty Acres and a Mule

Holding Out

Done with War

Disillusionment Hits Hard

War on the Doorstep

Guts after Glory

First Gone, First Home

Carpetbaggers Descend

Becoming Whole

To Mom: I regret I didn’t finish this in time to share it with you. I think you would have liked it.

Prologue

The seasons passed like gnats around the head, most with mundane drudgery, but some indelibly etched in their memory. They had experienced a lifetime of misery, euphoria, and everything in between in the five years since the Southern states seceded. The family sitting in church this first day of 1866 was different from the one gathered in 1861, just days before secession was declared. They had changed in so many ways, been affected by so many experiences, that it had taken time to get reacquainted and adjust to the quiet life again. The terror of the war days was over, but with new challenges in front of them. In truth, the adjustments had been hard. As much as they were overjoyed to be reunited, it was taking time for them to settle in and find peace with one another.

The war exacted a price on this family, on those who fought and those who stayed home. No one escaped the fear, the turmoil, or the loneliness. Each one had seen a unique face of war, all manner of war, experienced it in their own ways, and each was marked by change in different ways. They had one thing in common throughout: they all shared fear. Fear for a loved one’s condition, things they could not control and things they imagined. Fear of never seeing home again—the majestic, rolling hills they so loved. Fear of never seeing the strong and handsome faces of their sons or brothers, or of never feeling the warm embrace of their mother again. It was the single thread between them, and it came through in every letter, in every conversation, in every thought. As the conflict continued, each had struggled to keep their spirits strong.

On the battlefield, the brothers watched as comrades were shot down all around them. Some had been their friends since childhood. They experienced every conceivable horror of battle; there was no way to explain how you could become numb to so much death as it engulfed you. Battle wounds of the most wretched nature were even more common than death. They were afflicted with diseases they never even knew existed. The armies suffered through extreme heat, bitter cold, and even the most idyllic of days that were marred by the noise of battle. Nothing ever prepared them for the noise, the incessant clamor of battle.

And they had killed. In wartime, yes, but killed nonetheless. And the realization was never easy to forget or even to rationalize at times. They performed their duty, had done so honorably in terms of war, but they knew families mourned those losses and it was impossible to ever really forget that. Their experiences strained their faith and their resolve. Memories of home and family pushed them through the worst of times and sustained them through the years, through the boredom of camp life, through the awfulness of battle and the inhumanity of imprisonment. Most of the time was spent in simple boredom, one day leading to another, with only the weather changing day to day. Until the times it became red-hot with the fear, agony, elation, pride, and antipathy of the moment colliding with surreal reality.

Homelife was fraught with uncertainty in equal amounts, even as it was different from the battlefields. As the months of war dragged on, it became harder and harder to survive each day. Meeting the demands of the farm became more arduous as each son left for the front. The impact of the blockade created challenges, as the most basic of goods were often not available, even if they had the money, which most often they did not. So they struggled. They worked their crops but could not sell it for an equitable price; their toil became worthless for anything more than their daily needs.

Even the harshest of conditions at home, however, paled in comparison to the images of war they believed their sons most assuredly were facing. In letters, they would never reveal the demanding realities of home so that their sons would not worry about them. More than anything, they wanted the boys home, to return to a life they had known and had cherished. Conversely, it was worry for those at home that drove the boys every day, to survive and to win.

Now, sitting in church at the start of the New Year 1866, they knew they had lost plenty but faced the future with shared thanksgiving at what remained. The challenges were not insurmountable, and they were grateful for the blessings they were still able to share even in spite of the most grievous five years they could ever have known.

Part One

1861

And So It Begins

Chapter One

New Year 1861

The moon was high and bright, the sky a deep blue, almost black. The crisp air and crystal clear moon through the opening in the trees had a calming effect on the four brothers after spending the day in town debating the back-and-forth of secession. The debate was mostly one-sided, with almost everyone in Camden in favor, but the air had been filled with a genuine rancor nonetheless. The day was one of passion; tense and emphatic emotions filled the air. Tonight was a time for quiet reflection, as they trooped through the woods, tracking deer in the cold. It gave them time to contemplate the changes to come and what they would mean for each of them.

The brothers found signs of a deer, silently tracking it through the quiet woods that surrounded their home. They learned to track deer from their earliest years; by now they were quite accomplished. Even though other areas of the state had seen their deer population dwindle, the Alabama River bottom and the dense woods around them provided natural cover, so they were plentiful in the area.¹

Tonight luck was with them, as they soon came upon a buck standing stoically at the edge of a ravine, in a slight opening of the brush. James Davis saw him first and silently motioned for them to stop for the shot. All four brothers were expert marksmen, using their flintlock rifle; each rarely missed when they had the chance for a kill. This time it was the youngest of the four, Jesse, who had the clearest shot from his vantage point. He was not yet fourteen years old, would not hit that milestone for another few months, but his father and brothers had been taking him hunting for years. His aim was almost as good as that of his older brothers, maybe even better by now.

Jesse slowly raised the rifle, sighted the majestic buck, and smoothly squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out and found its mark cleanly. The buck jerked its head back as the bullet tore into his flesh, fell to his knees, and quickly died as he rolled over onto his side. John, the eldest, let out a whoop when the buck fell. It was an eight-pointer, and he was proud of his youngest brother.² Jesse jumped up, ran to the buck, and with a great joyful shout, yelled, Mama will be so happy for this, and I can tell her I got it all by myself!

As the boys worked on the deer, to get it ready to take home, they joined in a chorus of celebration. Mac, just barely sixteen, led the cheers, as he never missed an opportunity to add laughter and humor to everything he did; he had an optimistic and fanciful outlook on life. Since silence was no longer required, they shared the exuberance of the familiar ritual. They just wanted to celebrate one of the simple things in their life, the thrill of the hunt, while knowing it provided for the family at the same time. That meant more to them than anything else. To watch the youngest in his proudest moment was the best way they knew to welcome the new year. They carried the deer home, laughing and congratulating Jesse the whole way. Mama would be proud of the deer, but she would be equally proud of the way the brothers shared the moment.

Eleven days later, secession would come. This year, 1861, would be the most pivotal time in any of their lives. They knew it was coming and even openly supported it. Like most things of vast consequence, however, they would face the reality of that choice with mixed feelings. Elation tempered with uncertainty. Certainty tinged with dread.

Chapter Two

Secession

James Leon Reaves served in the Second Seminole War as a private in Smith’s Twenty-Ninth Regiment of the Alabama Volunteers. His duty in Florida, serving under General Zachary Taylor and Winfield Scott, showed him the brutality and misery of war. He knew the isolation war brought and the hardship it put on those remaining at home. He keenly knew the horrors of battle—all battles. All manner of war was hard; it was the nature of the beast, and there was no way to escape it. Knowing the honor that came with service, however, he imparted that legacy to his sons as surely as their own name. Honor, family, and service were all joined together, and the family lived it as their guiding principle. Now, less than twenty-five years later, war was facing them again. That sense of honor, as they understood it, would propel them in their actions to come.

Tall for his time, James Leon was also thin, to the point of almost gaunt. He had a strong jawbone but not much of a chin; his eyes were darting, always taking in the circumstances around him. He was quick to react to noises, as his time fighting the Seminole had conditioned him. A life of hard work and dangerous situations gave his life the hue he was to pass on to his children, particularly to his four sons.

He married Sarah Vinson in 1833 in Monroe County with the intent of raising a family and settling the family farm, but his war interrupted that plan for a while. Returning home in 1836 to his wife and infant daughter, Sarah Amanda, he also greeted his new son, John Washington, born four months earlier. His time away had been hard on everyone; he left a pregnant wife with a small baby at home to look after their modest farm. After the loneliness and terror of his war service, he was gratified to return home to peace, quiet, and family.

With his war service, James Leon was entitled to a land warrant from the government, and he took advantage of the opportunity, moving to the Sedan community of Wilcox County, Alabama. James Leon was the first land owner of the property after it was confiscated by the US government and surveyed by the Cahaba Land Office.³ Many blessings had been bequeathed to this small family, and they looked forward to turning the land into a thriving farm.

It was superb land for cotton, albeit backbreaking terrain to till. James Leon had toiled relentlessly to turn it into productive land. Early in the century, most people believed this region would never be suitable for farming, so while other areas of Alabama were growing, most settlers avoided the area. It was hilly and covered with scrubby woods, prairie and canebrake,⁴ but eventually, it was discovered to be perfect, fertile land for cotton. This crescent-shaped area, four thousand acres between the Alabama and Coosa-Tallapoosa Rivers, would become known as the Black Belt, where new settlers fashioned a life for themselves through some of the most prolific cotton farming in the country.⁵ James Leon wanted to be a part of that, part of a community to support his growing family, so he and Sarah happily settled into their new life on the hill.

Their strength was tested early as their first child, Sarah Amanda, born in 1834, died shortly after their move to Wilcox County. The loss of a child was still the most painful thing James Leon and Sarah ever had to bear. She died early on a bright, sunny morning, after suffering a fever for many days and nights. The morning of her death ended the worst two weeks any soul could be expected to endure; the brightness of the coming day did not match the gloominess in the house. The agony never left Sarah; the despair of not being able to protect her child would never heal. Even as other children filled their lives, the loss of little Sarah Amanda stayed in Sarah’s heart always. While Sarah always believed strength and faith could carry you through any adversity, and she made sure her children were endowed with an indomitable spirit, she was always encumbered with the sense of loss. She prayed earnestly she would never have to face it again.

Sarah Vinson Reaves was the granddaughter of a Revolutionary War soldier, Longshore Lamb, who protected Charleston as part of the Continental Army. She was well acquainted with war absences—her father’s absence and then James Leon’s fighting the Seminole just two years after their marriage. Sarah was as strong as an ox, with a spirit and will to match, but you would not know her strength to look at her. She was smallish in stature, almost porcelainlike, with dainty features and soft, emotional eyes that always told you what she was feeling.

Their first son, John Washington, was born while James Leon was away at war. A second son, James Davis, was born in 1838, and he was followed by Amelia Narcissus, William McDaniel, Mary Elizabeth, Jesse Thomas, Sarah Amanda (named for the first Sarah), and Caroline Frances. By now, January 1861, on the eve of secession, their eight children ranged in age from five to twenty-four, and their family farm had grown to over a thousand acres.⁶

The children learned from their parents that you had to earn everything in life, through hard work and sacrifice. The four boys and four girls all shared their father’s love of the land and their mother’s passion for life and love of learning. The life of hard work but with many rewards molded their sense of community and family, and they all contributed in ways large and small.

The Reaves family was instrumental in building their community life in Sedan. They helped establish the church they and so many in the area attended and led the efforts to create a school as part of the church. James Leon was a passionate believer in learning to read and write; his own business dealings taught him the need for both. The family was taught early that education and learning were lifelong goals. The church and school provided the sense of community they would all decide to protect in the coming months.

They were united in their support for the possibility of secession. Regional conflicts with their northern brethren had been a common theme for many years. They were amazed at how differently the two regions perceived many of the issues being discussed at the national level. The family believed the Northerners simply did not understand them, did not know the toil and sweat they put into their farm, and could not possibly fathom the love of the land and simple things they had come to cherish. Of course, they realized they did not much understand life in the North either, believing this was most often the primary source of the conflict.

Since the election of Abraham Lincoln as the country’s sixteenth president in November of the previous year, the Southern region of the country had been buzzing in anticipation of secession. During the election, Lincoln made sure to steer clear of his attacks on slavery, but now his statements were in the papers regularly. The editorial pages of the Southern papers were whipping up the fervor, telling their readers of the president-elect’s declaration that the normal condition of all the territory of the United States is that of freedom, a clear message of things to come.⁷

For the family on the hill, the slavery issue was a conundrum. After all, they did not own slaves themselves, but they knew slavery was a part of the fabric of life in the agricultural South. It was a mystery to James Leon how anyone thought they could just do away with something so integral to the economy overnight—a demand being made by the abolitionists daily, in loud, angry voices. The rancor was rising every day, and Southerners, those with or without slaves, started to fear the structure of their way of life being threatened. The anticipation was turning to inevitability.

Most days you could cut the anxiety with a knife. James Leon told Sarah late one night, Secession sits all around us, as muggy as an August evening. The children of James Leon and Sarah had been raised to follow the honor code set up generations before them. A way of life for them, it provided a sense of community, family, and honor that seemed logical and reasonable; it offered a structured sense of belonging for all of them.⁸ These were not ambiguous concepts for the boys of the family; each of them realized their way of life depended on their willingness to sacrifice, work tirelessly, and serve when called. Their sisters, even at young and tender ages, also understood there was a necessity to give back; they did not question the gravity of the call.

That anticipation was realized on January 11, 1861, with the vote to secede by the Alabama State Legislature. The news was expected, as events in the new year were all pointing to that outcome. On January 5, a group of Southern senators, Alabama’s included, advised their states to secede. On that same day, Alabama seized Fort Morgan and Fort Gaines at the mouth of Mobile Bay, taking control from Union forces for the purpose of defending Mobile if war was to come. Even more worrisome, Union troops had been sent to Fort Sumter in Charleston, where it was beginning to look like the keg would be ignited.

Militia groups had been forming already, but now they would form in every county and town of Alabama. All over the state, the men of the towns were determined to be ready for what they believed was sure to come. They viewed it as their duty to defend the decision to secede; they were sure they had the right to secession. Try as they might, however, they could not fully imagine the horrors to come, the suffering the soldiers or their families would encounter, and they surely did not know the length of service that would be required of them.

As members of Reaves Church filed from their rough-hewn, white-sideboard church, every conversation was excited and nervous. The feel in the air did not match the wet, overcast, dreary morning. Everyone was talking of secession and what it meant, to them individually and to the state and country. Reverend Peavy preached a sermon on strength of conviction, hoping it would bolster the members of his flock, who might be thinking they were making a mistake. He knew the ones who agreed with the action far outweighed those unsure, but he wanted to assure them all that God would be with them in their endeavor. He was sure of that and had been telling his congregation for many months that God’s order was being threatened by actions of their Northern countrymen.

John was twenty-four years old, the eldest son and by now an integral part of the family farm and an influential member of the community. He had a rather-bland, smooth face, a general air of sincerity about him sitting on a tall, husky frame. A determined chin jutted out beneath his mouth, giving people the impression he was always trying to appear much tougher than he really was, while his deep, gravelly voice helped with his tough image. His short sandy hair was never unkempt; his fastidious attention to grooming was legendary. When people described John, they always seemed to mention his dark-blue but weary eyes. Like his mother, there was never a mystery to what John was feeling—his eyes told the story every time.

Today, he knew, they all knew, the consequences they might face with secession. Like most others in the region, John hoped their service, if it was actually required, would be short-lived. Possibly, they would not even have to fight, since he hoped the federal government would not, in the end, contest the secession. But he was prepared for that eventuality, if it came to that, even if he did not relish the idea of leaving the hill. Some of his friends, and even his brother James Davis, were much bigger firebrands; it often worried John they seemed too eager for a fight.

Elias Murphy, John’s best friend since Elias arrived on the hill, was one of those, not one to mince words. Today was no different. His voice was passionate, and his short, muscular frame leaned into every embellished word. My whole life has seen this comin’, and it is time to end it once and for all. The Lincolnites won’t be able to tell us how to run our lives anymore. They don’t farm my land till dark every night, and they sure don’t have the right to tell me how to do it either.

A little bit of exaggeration never seemed to bother Elias. In particular, he was fond of saying the North had been pushing the South into this fight ever since the Revolutionary War ended. Elias thought Northerners were convinced they deserved more power and control because they had, after all, been the first settlers of the country. Anyone talking to Elias was sure to hear his theory more than once, and most people thought it had to do with early childhood experiences he encountered in New York, where his father had come as a young Irish immigrant. They moved south when Elias was six years old, but he never seemed to forget the early years of prejudice for an Irish immigrant in the steamy slums of New York. His passion was uncontrollable.

The crowd resoundingly agreed with him this morning, with a chorus of Amen and Tell ’em, brother, erupting with every point he was making. His points had been uttered so many times before, but now the forcefulness and urgency in his voice helped incite others around him. Most felt the same way; Elias was just saying it for them.

Our new country will be calling us, and every self-respectin’ man I know will answer the call. We have no cowards on this hill—that I am sure of! Elias continued. The crowd roared with agreement, believing they were all one with their community, committed to a common cause. Several members of the congregation were part of the local militia already training, and everyone expected them to be called into service very soon.

We don’t ever want to see those Union boys in our fields, so if they want to fight us and send their boys our way, they will have to get through me first. Elias’s energy and emotion were forceful; he would have marched off to fight that day if he could. John was a bit more pragmatic, understanding there were things to get done first, so he was a bit more controlled. He had an equal conviction, but John did not have the same fervor for war as most others, including Elias. He tried to keep up with Elias’s passion, but his comments often sounded much more thought out than emotional like Elias’s.

Responding much more calmly, but with his own bravado, John said, Lincoln may decide to do something rash, so we’ll need to be ready, take care of it, and then come home to peace and quiet. Won’t take us much time to set ’em straight even if they try to stop us leaving.

Elias made the point more fiercely. They ain’t even a fair fight. Surely, they will know that and will let us go our way. But better not to take anything for granted.

Secession seemed a rational conclusion to the many years of disagreement between the states, and John firmly believed Alabama had the full authority of the Constitution to take their action. He did not look forward to leaving the hill, where his family had made a home and was making a success of their farm. His family was the most important thing in the world to him. There was a belief that protecting that way of life was his responsibility, now even more than ever, and he was determined to make a difference because that was how he had been raised. But he did not necessarily have to relish the thought.

John and Elias talked a bit more before heading home for Sunday dinner. A few days earlier, they had agreed they would join up together, as soon as possible. John had come to terms with that decision New Year’s Eve, on the deer hunt with his brothers. In the solitude of the night, he had prayed to God for the courage and strength to do his duty. The events of the week reinforced that commitment.

John reached out to shake Elias’s hand. I will sleep well tonight knowing our future is in the hands of men like us. I’ll protect my family and farm from any harm, whatever the cost. John added, Tell your mama we missed her at service today, hope she is up, moving around, soon. After all, there were still things of importance outside war talk happening in their lives, and John made sure to keep that in mind.

Murmuring his thanks, Elias headed off down the hill, to his mother, who was unable to be in church because of a fall earlier in the week. Like John, he was also thinking of the changes their lives would undergo. He was shaking with rage, anticipation, and conviction as he walked the mile home. John watched his friend almost run down the hill and mulled how much things would change for everyone he knew. I pray it is quick. Quick.

Knowing his mother and sisters would have Sunday dinner waiting for him by now, John hurried the short distance across the road to the house. Something gnawed at him, but it would be a long time before he knew what it was. He worked the family farm hard, from dawn to dusk, in hot, humid summers and bone-chilling cold in winters. His family did not own slaves; they used the money they could save to buy land rather than slaves.

Secession would not lead to a quick resolution, but on this day, his prayers kept him uplifted and sure of his path. He would need those prayers in the days, months, and years to come. More than he knew that day. For now, he had fields to tend. January was used for fertilizing the fields, and the Reaves family had many acres to work. Using rotten leaves and whatever manure they could find, they spent backbreaking days laying out the fertilizer. John was not sure what service he would need to offer, but in the meantime, the fields had to be worked and he had a family he cared deeply about already at home. He ran to join his family; Sunday dinner would be on the table soon.

Chapter Three

Leaving the Hill

A typical end-of-winter March rain drenched the area overnight. The mist was rising from the valley, blocking the normal view, but John was entranced as he waited for his mother for their morning trek for water, something he had done for as long as he could remember. Every day this view met him as he rose to face another day; he never tired of the beauty and strength it inspired. From his family’s hill, one could see forever, across the fertile valleys and woods of three counties. As hard as the morning chore was, it was his favorite time of the day.

Sarah joined him on the porch, with a broad smile on her dainty face. Today, there was joy in her eyes. Happy birthday, son! Sarah was plainspoken, but when it came to her children, there was always a touch of exuberance. She was proud of her boys, all four of them, and knew that she and her husband had provided them with a good, steady upbringing so that they were honest, reliant, and hardworking. On the family farm, there was no other acceptable way, and all the children lived up to that expectation.

It will be a good day, Mama. I’m sure you have something planned to make it special. John Washington Reaves was turning twenty-five today, and both knew the truth of what Sarah was feeling. Soon, he would enlist in the Army of the Confederacy, and while she knew he was doing the right thing, mothers always feared the unknown.

The Reaves family farm was on a ridge, high over Wilcox County. They were at the very foot of the Appalachian Mountains, in the foothills known as the Grampian Hills. Named for the Scottish Grampian Mountains, where many families in the county counted some ancestry, it was beautiful country, with rolling, high hills and deep valleys covered with tall hardwood trees and dark brush, part of the Alabama Black Belt region. If you worked it hard enough and cleared it enough, it was fertile land for farming and raising families.

But it had challenges. One of the biggest was water. There was a well, but it was often dry. They could not dig a well deep enough to reach water consistently, so most of the time they had to carry water from the spring for their daily use. It was laborious work, but John and his mother viewed this as their special time together. Soon others would be taking over the chore, but today Sarah looked forward to it more than usual. She knew these morning trips for water with her eldest son would end soon, maybe forever. It was an agony Sarah could not easily express.

The walk to the stream only took a few minutes, the filling of the buckets not much longer. They filled three buckets with the cold, clear water as Sarah hummed church hymns during lulls in their conversation. It was comforting in the commonness of the activity. As they pulled the last bucket from the spring, John asked his mother what she had planned for the day. How will you surprise me today, Ma?

Sarah let out a short burst of laughter and said, What kind of surprise would it be if I let you in on it? She loved finding something unique and special for each of the children’s birthday each year. With little money to spare and a large number of children to celebrate, it was never grand, but everyone looked forward to their special gift each birthday. Sarah always kept them guessing, and they were never disappointed. Mother and son kept up the banter for the rest of the walk back to the house, with John pressing for hints and Sarah offering nothing. It was good to keep up the usual pace of life, on this day more than most.

By now, March 15, 1861, seven states had seceded and were part of the Confederacy. With the Confederate government established, they convened a convention of representatives and even elected a provisional president of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis. The new capital was in Montgomery, Alabama, a mere eighty miles away.

In Washington, DC, Lincoln had been inaugurated the sixteenth president of the United States just a little over a week before. His election back in November lit the secession fire, and now there was no tamping it out, especially after his inauguration address only fueled the fire. Newspaper stories recounted how Lincoln made it clear he was not opposed to slavery in states where it already existed but he believed secession was insurrection or revolutionary and, thereby, not legal. His warning to the Southern states, The Union of these States is perpetual, sent the message he felt they were in violation of law. The family read the story with frustrating conviction. There would be no turning back, especially after Lincoln told Southerners, In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war.⁹ To many, Lincoln had all but declared war.

Later, gathering together for the evening meal, they joined in prayer and ate the generous portions of ham, field vegetables, and corn bread. The girls worked extra hard on the meal to make it special for John’s birthday—they even had a sweet cake for him. Amelia was the first to needle John about turning twenty-five. "I say, you do look every day of twenty-five, sir! We have to call you that now, don’t we?"

It seemed only fair that Amelia tease her brother, as he had unmercifully tortured her about turning nineteen just a few weeks earlier. The girls all giggled, and the boys chuckled. The family enjoyed their time together at every meal, and birthday celebrations were usually the most fun of all. Everyone was in good cheer, joking and reminiscing about John’s life. His parents told embarrassing stories about him as a little boy, stories the other children loved to hear.

Then, James Leon turned somber, and everyone followed his lead. His face was beaming but also etched with concern; that only emphasized the dichotomy of his feelings. He said, It is with great pride that your mother and I have watched you grow into a decent and honorable man. We know you will leave us soon, and we grieve at the thought, but we are sure you will honor us always. Prayer will serve you well and keep you close to us at home. It was quiet around the table as James Leon finished, so he tried to lighten the mood by adding with just the slightest hint of sarcasm and foreshadowing, We know you will write us often.

With that, those around the table once again dissolved into laughter, since it was well-known John was more a man of words than letters. His mother silently went to the cupboard and pulled out a large package wrapped in cloth and tied with twine. Sarah handed the gift to John, telling him it was his birthday gift from the family. As John started to untie the package, little Caroline tried to help. Presents were still quite the treasure to her, even if they were not for her. The very thought of them made her giddy inside. She gushed to her big brother before he could open it. Now you will be able to write me! It was too much for a little girl to keep a secret, after all.

Her mother tried to shush her, asking her not to spoil the surprise. John finished opening the gift and found a leather-covered notebook and Traveler’s Writing Chest. It was a beautiful oak box that contained a wood stylus and a bottle of ink. John was completely taken aback at the extravagance of the gift, but he knew in his heart this gift was the best possible thing he could have received. He looked at his mother and saw in her eyes this gift was as much for her as for him; it filled him with warmth.

John looked around the table, into the eyes of each of his loved ones, and vowed to them he would write often and with care. Well, now I will have no reason not to write. I thought I could keep all the excitement my secret, but now I will have no reason not to share the adventures with all of you. His birthday was one of melancholy for him, but he did not want his family to see it. He would not let them see into his soul.

Spring and early summer were filled with significant events that would chart the course for these challenging times. The family tried to stay focused on spring planting chores, but the circumstances were changing so fast it was hard to digest the real meaning of each and how it would affect them.

In early March, they planted cotton and tilled the vegetable gardens. This year there was no late frost, so the family was hopeful it would be a good season. In April they weeded the fields, thinning the plants as soon as they started to take root. The constant grind was necessary to make sure the final crop was as productive as possible. Missing even a day would often mean the difference in a good crop and a mediocre or even poor one. As much as the possibility of leaving for war might be on their minds, the monotonous routine was a constant reminder of what they would be fighting for; it often provided them some relief from the pressure of the unknown.

As most people suspected, it was Fort Sumter, in the harbor of Charleston, South Carolina, that set the most fateful events in motion. Like other installations throughout the South, the Confederate government was demanding to take ownership of the fort, but for months the Union forces held out. In April, however, Confederate general Beauregard demanded the Union evacuate the fort. With Union major Anderson’s refusal, the Confederate batteries opened fire at four thirty in the morning of April 12, 1861. The bombardment lasted into the night, and by the morning of April 13, the Federal garrison surrendered Fort Sumter to the Confederacy.

With that, open hostilities would commence. All efforts at diplomacy for a peaceful solution had been exhausted, and the two regions of the country were now on their ultimate path. Most people on both sides felt the despair of the fracture, but also the exhilaration of the final verdict. War it would be.

After losing Fort Sumter, Lincoln called for seventy-five thousand volunteers, and newspaper accounts recorded his statement that he would repossess places like Fort Sumter taken from Federal control. Since Alabama had already seized several Federal installations from Union control, including the port of Mobile, it only seemed rational to conclude Lincoln would try to force the Southern states to return them if he aimed to keep them part of the Union. To most in the South, and certainly to the folks on Reaves Hill, it was evident an invasion of their new country was looming. Following Lincoln’s call for troops, Jefferson Davis issued the order for thirty-two thousand men to defend the South.

The final straw pushing John and Elias, along with scores of their friends, to enlist was the blockade of Southern ports ordered by Lincoln in April. Newspaper accounts called it Scott’s Anaconda Plan, named for Union commander Winfield Scott, who devised it. James Leon, in particular, was bitter over the plan. After having served under General Scott in the Seminole War, he felt personally betrayed. He knew it was not a direct affront to him, of course, and that the sense of betrayal was illogical on the surface, but the loss of country had started to intrude into James Leon’s psyche.

Pictures of the plan were published, showing it was designed to encircle the Confederate states around the southern and eastern coasts and up the Mississippi River.¹⁰ Scott claimed the plan would bring the Confederacy to terms with less bloodshed than any other plan.¹¹ James Leon and John derided the notion; to them, this was a direct attack on their home and family, as it obviously would have an immediate impact on their daily lives. There was concern their crop would have no way to market, and they were determined it not be allowed to stand. The tumultuous month of April saw John make his decision that it was time to join.

Just after Fort Sumter’s news, John and Elias joined one of the local militia units organizing in the county. Reggie Dawson, the owner of a large plantation closer to Camden, paid to raise the unit, as was becoming a frequent occurrence throughout the South. Dawson owned many slaves, as many as a hundred, depending on the season, so he was determined his family’s livelihood not be affected. He was known in town as a calm and pious man, and it sometimes surprised John that it was him and not his brother, Connor, who was starting the unit.

Connor was his younger brother and was known to drink heavily and count on the family wealth more than his own industriousness. It seemed to John that Connor had much more to lose than Reggie in the event their lifestyle was to change. He also had time to spend on raising a unit, considering his lax attention to the plantation’s business. But maybe it was Reggie’s conscientious diligence that made him the perfect person for the job. The men of the county seemed to respond well to his leadership, even as they learned the art of military tactics together.

The men of Wilcox County making up this unit drilled as often as they could, planting and farming chores permitting. Through the spring, as other companies formally enlisted and left for various locations, as events continued to spiral out of control, as families fretted at what might happen next, the men drilled. Reggie, like most of the men joining his unit, was not an army man, had little experience with drilling. His uncle was a veteran of the Mexican War and had given him a copy of Hardee’s Military Tactics that he studied with every waking minute. With that as his guide, the men were drilled in the art of marching. Reggie thought it would be more practical to practice firing their weapons, but everything seemed focused on drilling and marching, so they stuck to the manual. It seemed to Reggie that the army assumed they could march their way to victory. He was perplexed by it but tried doing it the army’s way.

The ladies of the county were doing their part as well, providing noon meals on the days of drills or sewing uniforms they would soon need in large quantities. They used a nutmeg-gray-colored material that was to turn their sons into Johnny Reb. The sense of community was strong. Believing they were going to fight a war to protect their way of life, few consciously thought that meant protecting their right to own slaves. For most, it was the same principle their ancestors fought for to establish the Union with its strong ideals of liberty and self-government. The perception was that one had to protect family and community first if they were to maintain those fundamentals. Consequently, it was their honor, and sense of family and community, that defined them. The truth for most of the county, as for most of the South, was that the very notion of manhood centered on these guiding principles. That was what propelled so many of them to join in the fight.¹²

The liberation of the slaves was feared as much as the deep-seated conviction the slaves were required for the economic success of the region. Protection of the community included the concern for their families if the slaves were to be suddenly freed and immersed in their communities. Real or not, rational or irrational, in this time and place that fear permeated the whole debate. Even if they could figure out an alternative to the need for the slave on their farms and plantations, as many were starting to consider, they could not reconcile the black man as free in their society, living equally among their families. The centuries-long ingrained views simply made it inconceivable they could live together as free people. It would irrevocably upend the social order they had created. Protecting their communities from this possibility and an invasion of their homeland by Northern forces were on their minds from dawn to dusk every day.

With those momentous events in Charleston, the die was cast, and John was prepared to enter the Confederate infantry. The Reaves family had to make accommodations for life on the farm without him. They had been mentally preparing since the beginning of the year, so it was easier than they expected to figure out the new allotment of chores and responsibilities. James Davis took the majority of the burden, as he was the next eldest son, but everyone took on more responsibility, so they were all to be affected by John’s imminent departure. There was, however, never a hint of dissension or resentment. Each took on the added work without complaint, and even with some pride, as it meant they would be doing their part for the cause too.

Early morning on July 7, 1861, the Reaves family was gathered in prayer. The July heat was sweltering, as usual, even at the early hour. Today, it seemed even more oppressive. The family would attend Sunday service later that morning, but for the first time in their lives, John would not be with them. James Leon quietly prayed for blessings and comfort as they prepared to face the unknown. John was to be part of the Thirteenth Alabama Infantry, and they were mustering out of Montgomery at the end of the week. He was leaving that morning.

The unknown was gut-wrenching. Father and son knew the other was going to face challenges and fears they had never known before. James Leon asked for God’s strength to carry them. Father, we come to you as a proud family, asking you for wisdom, guidance, strength, and courage, knowing your love and grace will follow John on his every step. We begin this journey asking for your blessings in your son’s name. Amen.

Standing apart from the family circle, to get one more look before departing, John’s melancholy increased. Leaving them was the hardest thing he had ever done; he had never been away from his family for more than a couple of days at a time, and the agony was palpable. His mother, with her soft, caring eyes—the eyes that said what was in her heart—was quietly wiping away a tear. She would never let him know how fearful she was, but as always, it was her eyes that said it all.

John’s brothers were all very stalwart; each one wanted to follow in his footsteps, even as they could all feel the pain of the goodbye. Jesse, fourteen now, was sure the war would be over before he could go, and he brashly lamented it daily.

Save some Yanks for me, John. I want some action too. Jesse’s determination might have been touching if the reality were not so dire. They all prayed daily he would never get his wish.

You’ll have plenty of action right here at home, little brother, taking care of the place in my stead. John assured him further with, I hate you have to take more on, but it can be your part for the cause.

He smiled at his brother and wondered how much he would change by the next time he saw him. He could not brush away those kinds of thoughts as he said his goodbyes. His mind’s eye kept trying to imagine them when he returned, hoping he would be gone such a short time that none of them would have changed at all. He recalled his prayer at church the day Alabama seceded: Let it be quick! Quick! No one guessed how fervently he wished for that.

Amelia stepped forward, handed him a package. Like his birthday gift, it was tied with twine and his little sister, Caroline, wanted to help him unwrap this one too. This one did not need to be opened now, as Amelia told him his four sisters had all pitched in and sewed him extra shirts and socks. We have been working on them since February, knowing you would need them. Even little Caroline did her share. Caroline giggled.

John looked at his smallest sibling. He often rode her on his shoulders to the spring for water, and to the field when he was out checking them. She looked up to him; his heart tugged again. I’m sure going to miss giving you your piggyback rides, honey. Will you stay little till I get back, so I can pick you up still? The mirth did not match the mood of the occasion, but he wanted her to know he would be back soon and would look forward to continuing life as they knew it.

Caroline, a vivacious five-year-old, jumped up and down with excitement, answering with a happy, Oh, yes, I will get my ride tomorrow! With that, they all laughed as a family for the last time before John’s departure.

The whole family stood at the end of the lane and watched John’s brisk pace carry him away from home. James Davis was with him, pulling the family plow mule, Ole Bizzy, who was loaded down with John’s belongings. They walked toward the Murphy place, where John would meet Elias for the ride to the river landing at Bridgeport. James Davis would return home with Ole Bizzy while Mr. Murphy drove the men to the landing in his wagon. John would have liked to have the mule with him, but infantrymen did not get to ride in this conflict and, even more, the farm needed her. That mule had been with the family a long time and helped them turn a hard piece of land into a thriving crop. Even Ole Bizzy seemed to sense something was different about this trip off the property and tried to balk more than once. James Davis urged her on, and within twenty minutes, they met up with Elias at the gate leading to the Murphy house. The reality of the last few years of political strife, secession, and family honor was now closing the circle. Inside, John was frozen, his nerves wanting to jump out of his skin. He so badly wanted to stay home, but this destiny was calling for something else. There would be no turning back for any of them.

Chapter Four

Becoming Johnny Reb

Elias’s father, Ross, had the family wagon loaded with supplies the two boys had collected for the journey. The South was an agrarian economy and did not have a manufacturing source of support, so most of the new enlistees took as much of their personal belongings as they could to fill the void. As they would see, it would be a problem throughout the duration of the war, both on the front lines and at home. Even though it would leave one less gun at home, the family had no reservation about sending John’s gun with him.

The wagon overflowing, it was time to depart. Elias’s mother, Rosaline, stood at the doorway of their home, with a kerchief in her hands that she kept dabbing to her eyes. She was not trying to hide her fears, and it was painful to watch, with Elias seemingly oblivious to her pain through his single-mindedness. John marveled at his own mother’s stoicism, knowing all the while that she was fearful for him and his safety even while she was proud of him for his convictions and commitments to duty. She had been supportive and tried every way possible not to show him how worried she was, even though he knew it in his heart just the same.

Ross Murphy called the boys to load up, and Elias went to his mother and hugged her tenderly. At that, John understood Elias’s bravado was concealing his deep feelings; maybe Elias was filled with more fear than ever letting on. John realized he should not try to guess what was in someone’s heart at this emotional time. Everyone had to get through this in their own way.

John turned to James Davis, shook his hand, and said, Brother, keep the family safe while I am away. It will be tough on you taking on a larger share of the chores, I know. He added with a wry smile, At least until you join up! John knew James Davis would not sit home long. He sincerely believed taking on the share of the family workload he was leaving behind was a service to the country, one that would take on more importance in the long run. James Davis’s grip told him he was willingly taking on the household load and the responsibility of eldest son while John was gone. The brothers looked deeply into each other’s eyes, and both knew what the other was feeling. No more words were necessary.

John and Elias sat on top of the heap filling the wagon to the brim. Ross Murphy sat on the seat and, with a Rahhh! drove the mule team down the lane. It was still early morning as they settled in for the two-hour ride to the Alabama River wharf, where this company of men would embark on their adventure. Along the way the conversation was filled with politics and events that led to war. Their pact was being fulfilled. Each believed they were joining to protect their home from an imminent enemy invasion. Their sense of honor and duty was being satisfied; it made their hearts swell with pride.

The trip to the river was eventful as they met up with others headed to Bridgeport, either in wagons, on horseback, or on foot. They picked up three other neighbors as they trudged toward the river. Samuel Spencer, Nathaniel Harris, and Burson Blair joined them in the wagon, eagerly joining into the political conversation. Samuel was one of the leaders of the company and had even come up with their name, Alabama River Rangers. John was certain they would end up electing Samuel an officer, or at least sergeant of the unit. Elias keenly wanted to be elected an officer, but John also knew there was little chance of that—Too few prospects and too hot was the commonly held opinion. John continued to worry about Elias, tried to balance him with some degree of calm, but John also fed off Elias’s energy, so they needed each other.

Entering Camden, they could see the people congregated on the streets, shouting Hurrahs! to them as they rode through town. It had become a steady stream of wagons and horses, and the townspeople were there to show their support. It was comforting to John to know his friends and family counted on him, and they buoyed his spirit. He knew most of them personally and shouted back to them, telling them to remain vigilant. It was quite the carnival atmosphere; the mood was joyful and buoyant. The roads were heavy with wagon traffic as they approached the river.

Bridgeport was one of the many landings on the Alabama River, erected to transport goods, especially cotton, between Mobile and Montgomery on steamboats traversing the waterways. Boat travel along the Alabama River had contributed mightily to the economy of the Black Belt region for most of the century, with rear-wheel steamers full of amenities, like sleeping quarters and restaurants, replacing the generic side-wheelers on the river in recent years. Moving cotton was their primary function, but with the new amenities available, people were now using it for personal transportation over long distances as well.

In addition to Bridgeport, there were several other key river landings in the area, Prairie Bluff near Camden and Claiborne, at one time the capital of Alabama. There were also private landings on some of the plantations within the region. John had heard of people who traveled the waterways but had never been on one of the steamers himself.

In normal times, cotton was loaded at each wharf and mercantile goods for the families of the town and county were unloaded. Bridgeport was a perfect location for a cotton landing, high on a bluff rising out of the water. The Grampian Hills of the area provided many advantages, and this was just another of them. A cotton warehouse was at the top of the bluff, connected to the landing below by a wooden slide. Most days the landing would be a beehive of activity loading cotton, a harsh discordant mixture of sounds and controlled chaos. The rolladores would be working the top of the cotton slide, sending the large white bales from the arriving wagons down to the landing, where one of the steamboats of the river would be docked. The cotton, weighing four to five hundred pounds each, would slither down the slide, with such force that it would have crashed through the sides of the riverboat, if not for the other bales already in place to soften the blow.¹³

Today, however, the steamboat would be stacked with men and materials for war, a different kind of precious cargo. The slaves who normally performed the rolladore functions stood off to one side, waiting for instructions on what to unload from each wagon as it approached the cotton warehouse.¹⁴ Each had an especially pained look on their dark black faces glistening with sweat. It occurred to John that it was a terrible irony of fate to have them work the loading of the boats that would send soldiers off to fight for the right to keep them in bondage. He only had a minute to muse on the topic, however, as the chaotic process of wagons coming in and out required his immediate attention. The stevedores at the bottom of the slide were anxious to keep the process moving so they could get the steamboat loaded as quickly as possible. They yelled directions up to the rollodores pleading for urgency, even though much of it was drowned out by the din of people cheering the arrival of each wagon and group of young men ready to depart.

Elias recognized one of the stevedores standing at the bottom of the bluff and hailed him, Paddy, is this the best way for you to help the cause? Why are you not in gray yet?

The man looked up from his effort to lift one of the large trunks that had come down the slide. He was not a gruff man, although to look at him you would not know it. The work on the landing required only the strongest of men; his chest was broad, his arms immense. Paddy Shaughnnesy was a new Irish immigrant, having arrived in America