JANUARY 1, 1863
New Year’s ain’t always a good day to leave the past behind.
THE FIRST DAY of 1863. Though the recent stormy conflict has passed, the greater battle begins. Many a good soldier’s life, in blue and gray, has ended. While the town sends up rousing victory hurrahs for the valiant men in gray, preachers kneel to pray for the fallen. For some, New Year’s Day brings new life. To others it brings grim realizations.
Both fight for my soul.
We march the Yank prisoners to the rail station to board cars for prison camp. I hate to see them go to those horrible places of death, but we can’t guard or feed them.
The Yank with bandages on his hands nods. “God bless you, my friend. Pray I survive.” A corporal pushes him on with the butt of his musket. I just let it go.
After the prisoners are loaded, we get the rest of the day free. As I check for mail, I wonder if Jasper and James were in the battle. It’s been a month since I caught a glimpse of them. I guess it’s a big brother’s right to worry. I pick up two letters—one from Ma and the other from Mr. Gilmore. I shiver with excitement. That means one from Susannah. It’s been too long. I have mixed feelings. For some reason, I expect hard news.
I sit on a log by the river where all is quiet. I take a deep breath. “Lord, help me take whatever news I get.” I open Ma’s letter first since it’s dated more recent.
Bankston, Choctaw County, Mississippi,
December 5, 1862
Son, I miss your face at breakfast every morning. I leave empty plates waiting for you boys to come home. I pray that the angels who sang the night of our Lord’s birth protect you.
I must tell you Amariah passed from this earth November 30 due to some ailment. Doc operated on him on our supper table but to no avail. I shed many tears for him and his sweet wife Amanda who passed right before he left for the war. Too much death and too much sorrow. You must stay alive and come home when this is all over.
Mary and Emaline say hello. Mary and Elihu keep the farm going. I’m so glad he stayed when Ben and Dorcas went west. I know he thought about going with them. I’m glad Ben and Dorcas found a good life in Louisiana. Maybe they’ll come visit one day.
I hope you find Jasper and James soon. Firing those cannons must be hard work. I know they’ll make us proud.
Lummy, take care of yourself.
I love you,
Ma
My goodness, Amariah died the very night I boarded the train for Grenada, the same night I saw Jasper and James. And Amariah’s sweet and pretty wife Amanda must’ve died of heartbreak just before he left for the war. They were such a lovey-dovey couple, calling each other “angel” and other sweet names all the time. I thought it was silly, but now I understand they just tried to keep the sweetness in their marriage.
I reread the letter, and my heart hurts. I want to be around family. I feel homesick, heartbroken, and alone.
“Lord, bring my brothers to me soon.”
Now Mr. Gilmore’s letter. It took a long time to get here.
I take a deep breath.
Winnfield Louisiana,
September 18, 1862
My Dear Friend Columbus Nathan Tullos,
I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. We hear little, but what we do is always a good report of your noble stand. Be strong in your present trial. The Lord will deliver you from the Philistines. Now, I must ask you to stand even taller in the midst of a greater trial.
There is no good way to tell you this, my dear son, but your sweet Susannah has taken the journey to meet her Creator. It was measles. A man from Camp Moore came home sick. Susannah ministered to him as she did others and caught the deadly disease. She has received the Lord’s reward now for her faithful service.
Her last words were for you, son.
“Tell my blessed Lummy I love him dearly, and I’ll wait for him on Jordan’s other side.” I cannot imagine the pain you must feel in this moment, except when my own darling wife’s passing came without warning. They both died before their times. The few short years you had together brought Susannah an eternity of happiness. As you reminded me often, I now encourage you. The resurrection is true. You will see her again.
Pray for us, Lummy. The home guard, led by a bushwhacker named Dawg Smith, brings terror to these parts. He leads the Home Guard, claiming direct orders from President Davis. He makes old men unable to enlist pay a $100 exemption. Otherwise, they are executed. Men not eligible for war service are shot down or dogged to death by Smith’s brutal hounds. Husbands and fathers hide to escape him. Even a song mocking his exploits is sung around the parish. Smith sends secret agents to persuade slaves to run away promising to help them escape north. Then he returns them to their owners collecting bounties up to $100 each. I don’t mean to trouble you son, but he’s raping, pillaging, robbing, and murdering. We’re gathering up now to go after him. Pray that St. Michael, the Protector of God’s people, leads us with his sword.
Lummy, stay alive. Do what is right in your soul, what brings peace. Follow your path, even if it’s against what others preach. Make your own decisions and follow them. I miss our talks and your prayers, my friend. I’m closer to God because of you.
Come back when this is over. A good life awaits you. Old Bart prays for your soul. Again, I’m so sorry, my son. May blessings cover you from head to heel, my friend of friends.
Forever your servant,
James T. Gilmore
I fall to the ground. Memories of Susannah flood my mind. They leave me shaking. My heart feels like it will explode and collapse at the same time. I can hardly lift my head. My soul sends out deep guttural wails. I cry endless tears. I stretch out before the Lord on the sand. Ma’s right. There’s just too much death in this world. I’m ready for mine if the Lord brings it now. I lay on the soft white sand, sobbing like a young child. I want to jump in the river or start running as fast as I can. And I hope I get shot in the process. This is too hard.
I push my head into the sand. “Lord, this is just about more than I can bear.” My head pounds and body wretches. I’m hopeless. Helpless. I don’t know what to do with myself.
I sit up to watch fish jump in the river. I’m so very tired. And the worst of it is yet to come. I calm myself, watching the gentle stream pass by. I sing my favorite song like I’m in church. “Oh, Susannah, Oh, don’t you cry for me, For I come from Mississippi with my banjo on my knee….”
I sing until I no longer feel the brisk wind, hear the birds, or see the willows swaying. I become a part of all that surrounds me.
Susannah appears, pretty as ever, walking to me like fog drifting on the river. She keeps looking around, like she’s lost. Then she sees me sitting on the sand. She’s barefoot, and her legs show from under her glowing dress. She walks to me with arms outstretched, smiling and saying something I can’t hear. The sound of the river rushes loud. I try to get up but can’t. Susannah keeps walking but can’t reach me. Her smile glows in the fog. “My darlin’ Lummy, you will come to me one day, one day, one day….”
A splash ends my vision. And another, like a fish jumping. I shake my head to clear my glassy eyes. I blink, hoping Susannah is still there on the sand. I wipe tears from my eyes. She’s gone. Another rock hits the water, then another. I’m still dazed, but a third skips across the smooth water twelve times before it sinks into the muddy stream. Then a high-pitched laugh bursts out a few feet away.
“I know that laugh!” I jump up like a cat after a bird. “Jasper? James? That you? Tell me you ain’t no haint like Granny used to say.”
Jasper yells like a hound howling at the moon. “Well, if Granny Thankful was here, she’d make us bow so she could kiss us on the back of our necks. No haints here, big brother.”
I plow into them, and we tumble on the ground like schoolboys. We hug and rub each others’ heads with our knuckles. We check each others’ arm muscles and slug each other in the shoulder. It’s what brothers do. For a moment, I’m home. Finding my two brothers brings life back into my soul. Susannah’s death cast a deep shadow. It’s the best and worst New Year’s Day ever.
We trade news. I ask, “Amariah?”
Jasper wipes his eyes. “It was terrible, Lummy. He took sick and was sent to Edwards Depot Hospital ’tween here and Jackson. Then, they sent him home. Ma wrote sayin’ they didn’t know why he died.” We talk about missing Pa, and though he was hard as a rail spike, we each pointed to something he taught us that keeps us alive. I tell them about Ben and Dorcas, their sack full of children, and working in Winn Parish.
I’m not ready to tell them about Susannah yet.
Jasper throws a rock into the water. “Ma says the farm is doing well. Elihu keeps meat on the table and the fields in good shape with the Wood brothers’ help. They’re rough but loyal men.
James acts like he’s turning up a jug. “That Aaron Wood’s spring has the sweetest water around and makes the best damn moonshine.” We laugh, wishing we had a jug. I could use a drink or two.
Jasper punches my knee. “Our battery done good in the battle a few days ago. We wasn’t close to the fightin’, but me and Jimmy did our part. You’d been proud of us.”
I rustle Jasper’s hair. “I’m just proud you’re alive. And what’s this Jimmy stuff? I heard him called that by a man in your company.”
“They started calling me that right off, but I’d rather be called James.”
I throw a rock. “Well, I ain’t callin’ you Jimmy. Ain’t your name.”
“Good.” James tells about their travels, being stationed at Grenada and seeing action at Coffeeville. James squirms like a freshly dug night crawler. “And guess what? They got us stationed at First Water Battery just below town. We can visit most anytime.”
“Good.”
Finally, I tell them about Susannah’s passing.
Jasper puts his arm around my shoulder. “Ain’t only bullets takin’ away our loved ones. At least she’s safe in the arms of the Lord.” I take the consoling, but I want to scream.
The sun starts to set. “I best git. I’m sure Sarge is lookin’ for me.” We walk back up the bank. I point at the Prentiss House Hotel. “There she is, my home in Vicksburg.”
Both hit me, one on each shoulder. “No way, you rotten son of a.…”
Sarge yells behind me. “Lummy, I’ve been all over Hell’s creation lookin’ for you, dammit. We-e-e-ll, ain’t this a pretty picture out of a sweet romance storybook. Three little princes lookin’ for princesses, or maybe one of you boys is the princess. So sweet.”
“I’m sorry, Sarge.”
“Private, your free time ended an hour ago. Get your slow ass up that hill, get your musket, and get to your post, dammit.”
“Yassuh, Sarge.”
“Who’n the hell are these varmints? Crawled out some hole called Choctaw County I’d imagine?” Jasper and James freeze. Sarge plants his feet and stares them up and down.
“Artillery, huh? Never knew them boys to be worth a shit.”
James steps up. “Now hold on. I’ll get my sergeant over here, and we’ll see about that.”
“Down, son, just razzin’ your young ass and glad to see that mean streak runs in the family. Put ’em here, boys, Lummy told me all about you.”
James cools down, embarrassed he got so riled up.
Sarge turns. “Sorry, boys, we gotta go. Work it out, and I’ll make sure you get a proper reunion. Which regiment are you in?”
James puffs out his chest proudly, “1st Missip Light Artillery, Company C, suh.”
“Wouldn’t be ole Henry Turner, would it?”
“You know him?”
“We worked together in Bankston at the tannery by McCurtain Creek. We even made a couple visits to Bucksnort years ago. Y’all don’t know about Bucksnort, do you?”
Jasper grins. “Buck who?”
He belly laughs. “Uh-huh, right, just fine good church goin’ lyin’ bastards, ain’t you?”
“Wesson’s factories still goin’? Cheap son of a bitch never paid us what we was worth.”
James proudly says, “Them factories is the best kept secret in Missip.”
“Hope it stays that way. I wish I could get my hands on a pair of them fine boots right about now. Anyway, you boys get on up back to your company and let Lummy get to his post. Look forward to seein’ more of you boys real soon.”
We shake hands and go our way. A little bit of home. It helps, but it ain’t nearly enough.
As soon as Sarge and I get back to the Prentiss House Hotel, he orders twenty of us, “Get your gear. You got guard duty at Four Mile Bridge. Can’t let them Yanks capture that crossin’.”
We march the entire way on the slick roads, slipping and sliding, some falling down and rolling around in the mud. I’m ashamed when Sarge commandeers the Negroes’ cabins. They have no place to go. Some of our men curse at them. One kicks a young boy in his backside as he walks away. I restrain myself from kicking the soldier.
We build fires, but our clothes and blankets don’t dry. We don’t have time to cook rations before duty, so they bring us some half-cooked beef and cornbread.
No complaints here. It’s become the common meal.
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EARLY MORNING JANUARY 4th, the rain stops, making for a beautiful Lord’s day. I wander into the woods to find a stump near a trickling creek. Though I meditate, I keep one ear open for any unusual movement in the brush, especially anything blue. The quiet reminds me of Bowie Creek back home where I sat with God many times. I can’t get Susannah out of my mind. Her death overwhelms me. I ask God for peace. I find none.
I get back to camp around noon. Sarge holds open a sack. “Found these potatoes this morning. Each man gets four. They’re little but taste good.”
I roast mine over the fire and eat slowly, enjoying every bite. I’m strengthened after that. I sleep out by the fire until J.A. nudges me before daylight.
“Get up, boy, your hair’s done turned white.”
I shake the frost from my head. My nose is stopped up. My body aches.
Sarge warns, “You don’t sound so good. Get on over to the cook fire and drink some coffee. There’s food, too. Thanks for lettin’ the other boys have their turn under a roof.”
By nightfall I have chills and a fever.
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ON THE 6TH, we’re ordered back to town. Sarge immediately sends me to my hotel room and tells me not to come out. I collapse on the pallet. “Sarge, I’m weak as a popcorn poot.”
J.A. piles blankets on me. “I’ll bring you somethin’ to eat.”
The next few days, I hardly sleep. My body aches all over, and I can’t get comfortable. The doctor says it’s no use giving me medicine. “Just sweat it out and let your body do its work.”
J.A. watches over me like kin. He feeds me eggs and a little milk as my stomach can take it.
Jasper and James bring me a few ounces of butter and a small flask of whiskey which I’m thankful to get. Just having my little brothers close cheers my heart. Though I’m advised to talk little, those two have plenty to gab about, often taking advantage of my disadvantage to gig me with jokes and old stories.
After a week, my fever finally breaks. I volunteer for guard duty down by river’s edge. I need the time alone.