APRIL 25, 1862
It’s good to hear from home.
WE’RE FINALLY A full regiment ready to protect all we cherish most. We come from all over Louisiana carrying the names of our parishes and nicknames, like Winn Rebels. Other companies call themselves the Terribles, Guards, Invincibles—names that inspire strength, hope and bravado. But fancy names won’t stop a bullet or get me back to Susannah.
Today the Winn Rebels are declared Company F of the 27th Regiment Louisiana Volunteer Infantry. It’s sobering to be a part of something bigger than myself. The officers compliment Sarge for our good work on the parade grounds.
But today, any storybook notions we may have about this war bursts like a gallon jar of Ma’s pickles dropped on a rock.
New Orleans has surrendered.
We’re devastated, and the officers try to rally our spirits with yells about standing strong against the vile horde of blue devils sent to take our land and lives.
Thankfully, sometimes bad news ushers in good. The mail arrives, and I stand in the crowd excited to get a letter but anxious about possible bad news. I want a letter, any letter, but most especially from Susannah. Doggone it if I don’t get two—one from Susannah and the other from Ma. I open Susannah’s so quickly I tear the letter cover.
Winnfield, March 16, 1862
My Dearest Husband, I miss your loving face and your sweet touch. You are always in my thoughts. See how my writing has improved since you left. Mr. Gilmore helps me, and I know that you don’t mind him knowing what I write. All is well here. The ground is ready for planting. Your brother Ben puts his hand to the plow without looking to the right or left like the Good Book says. Miss Dorcas is so pretty and possesses the godliest spirit I have ever known. Old Bart sends greetings and says to keep your head down. He loves you like a son, as does Mr. Gilmore. Know that no matter how bad it gets wherever you go, you are loved by all here, and we wait expectantly your return.
This part I wrote myself. My soul aches for our talks. My mind aches for the things we learn together. My heart aches for the comfort only you can bring. My body aches for the longings only you can fulfill. My soul searches for your soul every night. I love you, Lummy, and pray we shall be returned to each other soon.
With undying love,
Susannah
There’s a red imprint of her lips at the bottom. I slip into the woods down by the Tangipahoa, and when no one is looking, I press my lips to hers and cry. I dry my tears and sit on a stump.
The second letter is from Ma, written by my niece Mary, who’s attended school six years now. Mary and Emaline came to live with us after Uncle Burrell died traveling through Arkansas back in ’55. Ma took them in when their mother passed not long after they returned. I miss those girls, and Ma’s letter couldn’t have come at a better time.
Bankston, Choctaw County,
March 23, 1862
Dearest Son, thank you for writing me before you got on the boat at Vicksburg. I’ve always wanted to take a river boat ride like that, but surely not for the same reasons. Your Pa promised me we would one day, but he didn’t stay with us long enough. Oh, how I miss him.
I got a letter from George. He’s fighting with the 15th Mississippi Infantry, but he couldn’t say where. Amariah will enlist in the 1st Mississippi Light Artillery sometime early May. Henry Turner is raising a company at Kilmichael. He’ll head to the Camp of Instruction near Jackson to be trained to shoot cannons. At least he won’t be on the front line like George. I figure Jasper and James will become artillery men too.
Elihu keeps the farm going. He’ll have it all to himself come harvest time, but the Wood family has always been our friend to help. I’m getting a little too feeble to pick cotton these days, but Mary and I will do our best.
You should not worry about us. The hard times haven’t hit us like they have other places. You just keep your mind on what you’re doing. Elihu says to keep your head down.
Love and kisses from your Mother, Mary, and Emaline.
I sit by the Tangipahoa River, rereading both letters, soaking in the news and the sun’s rays. I lay them carefully on the log beside me. Little minnows dart around like we boys did playing back home. I want to go home, but a man who takes an oath can’t go back on his word.
I try to relax on the white sand, pitching rocks at the leaves floating by. They just keep coming, little boats sailing peacefully without a care in the world. There’s enough disturbance in my own life to bother these little leaves. So I stop. “I’m sorry, little leaves.”
J.A. plops down beside me. “You think too much. What’s a leaf gonna care if you throw a rock at it. Besides, you’re gonna make it through all this, I’m sure of it.”
“What makes you think so?”
“’Cause that fortune teller said you and me both gonna get through this without a scratch.”
“You’re dumb as a keg o’ nails, boy. You paid good money for that piece of nothin’?”
“I’m a little scared, and I’ll take any bit of hope I can git.”
“I don’t mean no harm, but next time save your money. The best thing you got goin’ for you when it comes to stayin’ alive is me.”
I push him over, and we wrestle until we roll into the shallow sandy river. We laugh, slap the water at each other, and finally just rest in the cool stream.
“Lummy, I never had a best friend, but I’d be proud to have you if you’re willin’. What say you?”
“I’m willin’.”
———————————
ISAAC RUNS FROM the train tracks like his head’s on fire and his ass is catching. “You won’t believe it, boys! Our fine new Enfield rifle muskets are here!”
Sarge proudly yells, “These rifles were saved just before the Yankees took Nawlins. It’s the only one you’ll get, so love her like she’s your sweetheart.”
We aim our muskets, checking every part, familiarizing ourselves with every feature.
Sarge announces, “That ain’t all. Your new gray uniforms are here. Sorry, but you’ll have to pay for part of ’em.” The cap costs three dollars if fitted, a dollar eighty-five if you pick one out of the pile. I pick one out of the pile. The frock coat costs twenty dollars, but they’ll take that out of my pay a little at a time.
Sarge throws me a package. “Your pants, drawers, shirt, socks, and a new pair of brogans are free this time. Take care of your equipment. You’ll pay for what you need from now on.”
Isaac holds up his new equipment. “I’m a soldier now for sure!”
Back at our tent, I pull off my brogans to try on my new pants when a sound like a bumblebee buzzes by. “What the hell was that?”
Young Willie Dixon yells, “I don’t know, but I felt the wind go by my head!”
Sarge races to our tent. “Anybody hurt?”
We shrug and shake our heads.
“Good, but now you know what a Minie ball sounds like.”
Captain Norwood marches over with shaving soap still on his face. “The dumbass who put a bullet through my tent gets extra duty.”
Sarge salutes. “I’m sure it was an accident, suh.”
“Accident or not, punish the man and teach these men how to handle a weapon correctly.”
———————————
THINGS MOVE TOO quickly now. We’re ordered to cook four days’ rations and “Be ready to skeedaddle in the blink of an eye.”
J.A. asks, “Where we headin’, Sarge?”
“It’s a secret, but be ready.” We straighten up and salute. “I’m proud of you men. Remember why you’re doin’ this, and you’ll stand tall when the shootin’ starts.”
Our new regimental banner flickering in the breeze fills me with pride. It’s a pretty flag with two red bars split by a white one and thirteen stars, ten in a circle and three at a slant on a dark blue square background. That’s the colors we’ll fight under.
J.A. asks, “Sarge, what are the three stars in the middle of the circle?”
“The border states—Kentucky, Maryland, and Missourah. They’re split on whether darkies should be free or not.” The flag snaps. I’m torn in my soul too, like the three border states, but not about Negroes being free.
I whisper to J.A., “We’re brand new soldiers in brand new uniforms with brand new muskets under a brand new flag runnin’ straight at this fight with everythin’ we got.”
J.A. laughs. “Shut up and get your new uniform on. I want us to go get our tintype made.”
We each sit still as rocks holding our Enfields as our photograph is taken.
Sarge walks up behind us as we wait in line to get our tintypes. “You boys look right smart in your new uniforms. When the Yanks see you, they’ll surely turn tail and skeedaddle.”
We salute, get our two copies each, and walk away admiring the first photographs ever taken of us. Back at the tent, I change out of my uniform back into my old clothes. I pack my uniform carefully and walk down by Beaver Creek to write Susannah.
Camp Moore, April 30, 1862
Dearest Susannah, my heart aches for you. Thank you for the letter. You are always on my mind and in my heart. Do you think of me often? I have enclosed a tin type for your remembrance of me. A second copy I’m sending to Ma. I put on my new uniform jacket and hat so you can see what we look like all dressed up. What do you think?
I miss spring plowin and hope there will be a good crop this year. I thank God Mr. Gilmore is your father on this earth. I sleep much easier knowin you rest under his roof of safety. It salves my heart like the Balm of Gilead to know Old Bart watches over you too.
We had some bad news. New Orleans fell to the Yankees on the 25th. They blame the loss on General Lovell, but who knows why such things happen. Trains pass through at all hours with men and supplies going north. We wave to the somber faced men and try to get any information we can. I’m sure we will be ridin the rail soon, probably up to Jackson, as rumor tells it.
Please write often for your words steady my heart. Your posts may take some time to reach me as we may be movin about in rapid fashion. In fact, I am writin this with very little time but know that God will prevail. Send your letters to the city where my shoulder got hurt back in ’59. You know the place of which I speak.
I do hope this war will be over soon. When God finally has had His fill of our disobedience and we of His wrath, maybe this conflict will end. I must finish now, my dear, for there is much to do, and the quicker I do it, the sooner I may be home. Send my love to Dorcas, Ben, and the children. Express my gratitude to Mr. Gilmore and Old Bart. Kisses from my mouth to yours, dear wife.
Your affectionate husband,
Lummy