Remember the Righteous Cause

By Stan Cosby

REMEMBER THE RIGHTEOUS CAUSE is a prequel to a book entitled HIGH LONESOME which introduces the father of the main character of that book as Lemuel Pryor Cashion. As a young man, Lem falls in love with the younger Lucy Jane Stevens, the only daughter of Dr. Stevens, who strongly disapproves of the interest. His rebuff causes Lem to join the Confederate army "for the war."

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798823020404

Stan Cosby

Stan Cosby is truly a son of the “High Lonesome.” Born in Canyon, Texas raised in Amarillo, Texas, the capital of the High Plains, he is a Pastor by vocation and thus, a writer and a story-teller by calling. Sermons, poems, essays, short stories, theological treatises, family histories – he has written them all. Pastor Cosby (or Pastor Papa as his grandkids call him) lives with his wife Susan on the “Old Home Place,” a Centennial Farm of his wife’s family near Hedley, Texas. HIGH LONESOME is his fourth book to be published.

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© 2024 Stan Cosby. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/19/2024

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2041-1 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2053-4 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2040-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024900386

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Forward

This fictional work, which I have chosen to call REMEMBER THE RIGHTEOUS CAUSE, is a prequel to the book HIGH LONESOME. The main character and narrator of the story is Lemuel Pryor Cashion who in real life was Lemuel Pryor Cosby, my great grandfather.

In this book, L. P. Cashion, the father of Craw Cashion of HIGH LONESOME, is dying of stomach cancer, which, in fact, L. P. Cosby did in 1921. There are moments when he is racked with pain and the italicized words represent the ramblings of his tormented mind, at points, quite lucid, at other times, quite lost. The straight text, then, represents his flashback memory of events related to his service in the Civil War. In that text, all references to officers, troops, and battle movements both North and South, especially as they relate to his two companies, Company D, 10th Mississippi Infantry and Company F, 43rd Mississippi Infantry, are inscrutably accurate, and I can vouch for them 100%.

Even though I have had the advantage of primary material in the form of my Grandfather’s journalistic writings of the war stories told by his dad—which in every instance has been confirmed by the historical data—I still had to create a story complete with descriptions, conversations, and relationships that, writing 160 years later, could be nothing other than fictional. Still, in these fictional expressions, I have tried to stay true to the language, culture and custom of the times. I hope I have succeeded.

And, of course, there had to be a love story! There really was a widower physician in Columbus who had a daughter named Lucy. His name, however, was Sturdivant not Stevens, and he is enumerated in the 1860 Census of Lowndes County with his 16 year-old daughter, Lucy Jane, and 19 year-old farm laborer, Lemuel Causby. Hmmm . . . but there ends the connection as far as I know. The rest—the romance, the relationship, its tragic conclusion—pure fantasy.

I hope you enjoy this book of another time in our country’s history.

Contents

Chapter 1   April, Bloody April

Chapter 2   I Join the Army

Chapter 3   Pensacola Prelude

Chapter 4   A New Regiment

Chapter 5   Retreat

Chapter 6   Bayous and Bluffs

Chapter 7   Kith and Kin

Chapter 8   Into the Vicksburg Line

Chapter 9   Snipers

Chapter 10  General Starvation

Chapter 11  Mine and Countermine

Chapter 12  Capitulation

Chapter 13  Home Again

Chapter 14  Resaca

Chapter 15  To Reverse the Tide of War

Chapter 16  A Warrior Priest No More

Chapter 17  Thunder on the Mountain

Chapter 18  For Bonnie Annie Laurie

Chapter 19  The Battle of Atlanta

Chapter 20  Circle of Death

Chapter 21  Captain Cashion

Chapter 22  Back to Mississippi

Chapter 23  Two Promises Kept

Chapter 24  Crossing the Tombigbee

CHAPTER ONE

April, Bloody April

There it is again. That damn burnin’ in my belly. I ain’t a cussin’ man, but hell if that don’t hurt somethin’ fierce. Bite this old quilt here. Can’t let Mag know. Can’t let . . . .

Is that you, Nellie Margaret? Come get in yore old Pa’s lap. Ohh . . . Ohh . . . well, honey, maybe not today.

What month is it anyway? What is the month? The peach trees are bloomin’ outside . . . April? Is it April? The sky’s acloudin’ to the West. Gonna be a shower. God knows we need it. Not Corinth, that’s for damn sure. It rained buckets that day in April. And then it rained bullets. Bullets and bodies. Ain’t never gonna forget that day. That bloody day. That bloody day in April . . . .

Men of the Tenth! Your hour of destiny has come! It was Colonel Smith, twelve paces to the front. He was a tin-ware manufacturer before the war, and he had a tinny voice, and he was the colonel of the Tinth, and we all thought him a coward with a tin backbone. But for what we thought? The colonel didn’t give a tinker’s damn.

At the top of that hill are the damned Yankee invaders with their vile cannon. They’re on our soil. They’re marchin’ against our homes, our women and our children, and we must stop them—now. That hill is the left flank of the whole Yankee army. We turn that flank—we roll them up like biscuit dough. Men of the Tenth—are you with me?

There was a tremendous roar from the gray and butternut ranks. My stomach was doin’ the flip-flops. I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my wool-jean coat. An angry bee buzzed by. I ducked. Then another. Hey Jim, I said to my messmate next to me, Watch out for them bees.

Hell, Lem, them ain’t bees; they’re minnie balls. I sure nuff ducked then.

What am I doin’ here? My twelve-month enlistment was up last month. Just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? Just had to see the elephant. Sure, I’d been at Fort McRee the night they fired on Sumter. And there’d been that little scrape at Santa Rosa, but that weren’t nothin’ compared to this.

We’d been three days marchin’ out of Corinth and most of it in a drivin’ rain. But the sun was bright this day—this Lord’s Day—April 6, 1862. Seemed strange back there at the Shiloh Meeting House, marchin’ by. Not a gospel song did we hear—only the pitiful groans and the horrible screams of the wounded, both blue and gray. Shiloh—I heard somewhere the name meant peace, but not today, not this day in April of ’62.

Fix bayonets! the Colonel shrilled.

Fix bayonets! repeated Captain Wade on my far right. There was the clatter and clink of sword bayonets being attached to our Mississippi rifles.

Suddenly, Jim on my left raised his voice. Boys, you all know how I’ve cussed the Colonel, but he has showed himself today a true Southron. Still . . . I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let him beat me to those cannons!

Precisely at that moment, the Old Tinner, our Colonel, screeched out, Cha-a-a-r-r-r-ge!         Cha-a-a-r-r-r-ge! echoed the twelve captains of our regiment, and by God and by glory, we were off to the races.

Jim jumped out ahead of me on those long, lanky legs of his. He was gonna beat the Colonel sure. The din of battle grew louder. And the smoke and the dust grew thicker. Yesterday it was mud. Today it was dust. Dust and blood. The cannons began to roar from that hilltop spewing death by grape and canister. Huge gaps were cut into our ranks. Somethin’ burned me on the arm. A man in front of me pitched face down, throwin’ his rifle wildly. It was a living inferno—a perfect storm of shot and shell. I stumbled over a man who had no legs, only bloody stumps.

Come on, Lem, come on! We got ‘em on the run! yelled Jim out front. It was true. The Yankees were in a complete skedaddle. By now, Jim was up on top of one of the cannons, wavin’ the Starry Cross on a broken staff. Rally round the flag, boys! Turn these cannons around. Give them Wisconsy Yankees some of their own damn breakfast!

I wish I could tell you that was the last charge of the day, but it was only one of many. The Yankees finally holed up in a place called the Hornets’ Nest, and we charged those boys again and again. I was covered from head to foot with grime and blood, some of it my own from a bullet graze on my upper arm. Black powder streaked the right side of my mouth from bitin’ cartridges. Did I kill anybody? I’m sure I must have. I fired and loaded, fired and loaded, until I used up ever’ cartridge in my box and my gun barrel was blisterin’ hot. Finally, I collapsed behind a tree too weary to charge any more. All the regiments were mixed up and tangled with each other as well as with the underbrush. We were a regiment completely worn out, though we had run the Yankees no less than six times that day.

I am glad that all my mates survived the battle. That night we groped around in the dark, tryin’ to find one another. We stumbled from fire to fire askin’, Is this Chalmers Brigade? Is this the 10th Mississippi? We’re lookin’ for the Tenth.

By mornin’ we had pretty well regrouped, but we were all mighty tired and sick of war. We had heard during the night that our beloved General Johnston had been killed in the battle. And it was clear by mornin’, the Yankees weren’t done. Grant had been reinforced by Buell, and gunboats had lobbed their shells big as lamp-posts into our camps all night long. It was time for us to make a strategic retreat which we did marching back to Corinth in a single day.

As soon as I was back to Corinth, I said goodbye to my pards and headed home on a furlough. Within the month I had re-enlisted in the 43rd Mississippi, Company F. This time I was wearin’ the stripes of a corporal.

Captain Wade went on to become Colonel Wade of the Eighth Confederate Cavalry. Jim Franks stayed with old Company D, though, after Shiloh,