Stranger in Dixie

by James Fearn

  ‘Now we have the representatives of the Northern States of the Union unfairly imposing their will upon us in a manner which is becoming destructive of our style of life and economy. Who of us is prepared to accept Washington’s high tariff policy on our cotton?’ he cried. ‘The Union is critical of our support of black slavery. But it is clear that the Negro slaves of the South are the happiest and the freest people in the country. Their children and elderly are not required to work for their living, and have all the comforts and necessities of life provided for them. They enjoy liberty because they are oppressed neither by care nor labour. The older women do light work only and are protected from the abuse of their husbands by their masters. The men and boys work no more than nine hours, each day.’

  John listened attentively and mused upon the thought that the free labourers of the North work longer and harder than the slaves of the South for much the same reward. The ordinary workers of the North are free in word more than in deed.

  Jefferson Davis continued, ‘We in the South live in peace, quiet, and contentment. We have no mobs who riot in the streets as in some of the northern cities. We don’t need trade unions. There are no strikes for higher wages and little jealousy of the rich by the poor.’

  John felt that, here President Davis was overstating his case. While it was true that the slaves of Northern Louisiana were treated reasonably well in some cases, such as Godbehere’s estate, while their general state of well-being was far from this across the whole of the South. He wondered too about the relative strengths of the arguments in the debate; the right of the voters to determine the lifestyle they wanted or the stability of the Union as a whole? Questions galore flashed through his fertile mind. Is such a large Union of States a workable political entity anyway? How can one government adequately manage such a diverse population?

  ‘High intellectual and moral attainments, and refinement of head and heart, give nobility to the people of the South, however poor they may be,’ continued the President.

  ‘Money is the only thing valued by the North. Oh, I know we too have poor among us, but none are overworked or underfed. We do not crowd our cities like the North because land is abundant and its owners kind and hospitable. Liberty and equality within the white population has been engineered much more effectively here than in the so-called ‘free’ States. Ladies and gentlemen, it is a distinction to be a southerner just as it was to be a Roman citizen, and we are proud of it.’

  The cheering bust out again. Davis paused and raised his hands for quietness.

  ‘Good, friends. The time may come when we are called upon to stand up for these principles by which we live in peace and harmony.’ His voice rose to a crescendo.

  ‘I ask you all to give of yourselves and your substance to defend what you believe in. May God bless the Confederacy!’

  The audience stood as one and applauded wildly with whistles and hoops of approval and support for all that had been said by the leader.

  Despite his personal queries, John felt quite uplifted by the speech. For the first time so it seemed to him he had heard a good defence of the Southern viewpoint. His heart had been stirred. If the call ever came, he would think seriously about responding. After all, Louisiana was now his home; this was the place where he and Anna were raising their family. But like many of the men of Mansfield, John had not really considered that it would ever be necessary.

  John set out to walk the mile or so to his home. ‘John!’ came a voice from behind. He turned to see his neighbour, Jesse Godbehere striding after him. ‘Great speech, eh!’ he said approvingly. ‘Ah like the man’s style.’

  ‘I never thought that slavery was the only issue in this conflict,’ responded John. ‘But that seems to be Lincoln’s line, and the North’s believing him.’

  ‘Well’, said Jesse, ‘when the Confederacy was formed, Ah was sure secession would help us t’ force concessions from the North. Bloodshed was never the intention. Most of us believed that the States which left the Union would happily return when their terms were met. But Abe Lincoln’s a tough old cuss, if ever Ah saw one,’ he continued. ‘It looks like he’ll go all the way if we don’ conform to his views.’

  John turned to Jesse. ‘Do you really think it will come to that, Jesse?’ he queried. ‘Has already, Son. Ah hear there’s bin battles at Fort Sumter and Bull Run. But we showed ’em Yankees a thing or two. Cleaned ’em up good and proper!’

  The euphoria of the early successes of the Confederate armies at Fort Sumter and Bull Run lulled the southerners into early complacency. Most of them thought that the whole disagreement would be over in a few months. The Yankees would soon learn that the South was not about to be pushed aside. Till now John had reckoned that it was most unlikely that the men of Mansfield would ever be dragged into the conflict. But he was not so sure now, after talking with Jesse Godbehere. He was ready to do his bit if necessary, but in the meantime, the defence of his own farm and crops against other enemies—frost and disease—were occupying his time fully.

  Chapter 8

  The implications of Louisiana’s secession from the Union were slow to be appreciated by the majority of the population. But as the year of 1861 progressed, the reality of the situation began to be felt by the citizens of this and other southern states.

  Under President Lincoln’s orders, the Union took the initial steps to apply economic pressure in the form of a blockade of the Mississippi River. Eventually, every inlet through which cotton and other primary produce were grown in the South could be sent was bottled up. John was dismayed when he found it impossible to sell his excess corn and fruit to the traders downriver at Baton Rouge and New Orleans. Harder hit were the big exporters like Godbehere and Moss. For them, it spelt serious economic hardship for the foreseeable future.

  Neither could the weapons of war be imported. No movement up the great river from the Gulf of Mexico to the North could be made, and by October, a complete blockade of the southern States was in place. The control of the Mississippi River by the Federal Government and the consequent paralysis of trade would surely bring the rebels to their senses.

  To exacerbate the situation, the Confederate Government had commandeered all vehicles capable of transporting weapons of war. Like most of the farmers of Mansfield, John found himself unable even to move his produce by road, leaving severe food shortages in some parts of the State.

  John’s relationship with Jesse had developed into one of trust and confidence. Although he would scarcely admit it, Jesse had come to respect John much more higher than his own son, Charles, whose dislike of hard work was exceeded only by his inability to manage people and affairs.

  ‘Yes, John,’ said Jesse in response to his request for an opportunity to talk with his employer. ‘Come to me study at ’alf seven tonight if Anna’ll let ya off the ’ook,’ Jesse chuckled, knowingly to himself.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point, sir,’ said John, settling into a plush armchair in Jesse’s study. ‘There’s no point in beating about the bush.’ That’s what Jesse liked about the young man—his absolute honesty and lack of pretence.

  ‘I’m having difficulty keeping up my interest payments on those loans that I took out to buy the property in Crosby Street, as you well know the prices on our produce have fallen through the floor. My creditors may well foreclose my mortgage if I can’t increase my income. I can’t bear the thought of selling the property at the present low prices. I’ll have to borrow more to maintain my existing mortgage.’

  Jesse looked thoughtful. He knew that the northern blockade was hitting people hard, especially struggling young farmers like John. ‘Ah jus’ cain’t help yer any more, Son,’ said Jesse, sympathetically. ‘Y’ see Ah got financial troubles meself. Right at this time Ah got no spare cash to bale yer out.’

  John returned home with a heavy heart. Whenever he seemed to be getting off, the ground circumstances set him back again. The i
njustice of his trial and transportation, the hardship and ill-timing of his gold-prospecting exploits had been accepted philosophically, and he had set his mind on a fresh start in this new and promising land. And now the fearful prospects of the brewing civil conflict loomed starkly in his mind. Was there to be no respite? Would he ever be able to provide a secure and comfortable life for Anna and the children? A Lesser man might have resigned himself to failure.

  John was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and so upon returning to his home in Crosby Street, he gave no indication of his feelings to Anna nor of the implications of his conversation with Jesse.

  It was in the spring of 1862, when John first took seriously the mounting threat from the North. For four years, he had striven to establish himself as a respected citizen of Louisiana. His interest in local politics by now was well known as was his reputation as a man of honour and keen sense of justice. The news that the Louisiana Convention had ratified the permanent Constitution of the Confederacy by an overwhelming vote was received by the people of Mansfield with a sense of relief. At last, they had declared their hand and could stand firm with their Southern brothers in defiance of tyranny.

  From time to time, John’s mind flashed back to his involvement with the Chartists in the Midlands of England and to the fight against government manipulation of the diggers at Mount Alexander in Australia. Here again in Louisiana, it seemed he was experiencing another case of a distant government imposing its will on supposedly free people, desiring only to live peacefully on their own way. Once more, he felt aggrieved at the misuse of elected power.

  It was with these thoughts in mind that John accepted an invitation several months later to a Confederate rally at Mansfield. When John arrived at the Public Hall, he was amazed to see the throng of sulkies and carts that were tied up in the yard, and had trouble finding a free space. In due course, he took his seat at the back of the crowded auditorium just in time to hear the Sheriff of Mansfield call the meeting to order and introduce Maj. Thomas Clifford who was on a recruiting drive for the recently formed Louisiana Defence Force.

  ‘This country’, said the Major earnestly, ‘has always prided itself on the notion of the freedom of the individual, the freedom to live without the restraints of colonialism, the freedom to earn a living the way you choose, and the freedom to worship in the way you see fit.’ The male audience sat in stony silence.

  ‘The Confederacy champions these freedoms and supports the rights of this State of Louisiana to make its own laws to suit its people. No one should tell you where to sell your cotton and your sugar. No one should deny you your God-given right to own slaves to work on your farms and your plantations. The economy of this State depends upon that labour force,’ he stressed. Enthusiastic applause now began to punctuate his speech after each point was made.

  ‘My brothers, this war is all about your personal liberties. It’s all about the survival of your family’s way of life. If the Union won’t accept our right to these fundamental liberties, then this State of Louisiana has no option but to join the other dissenting States.’

  The Major was flanked by two flags. On his left was the star-spangled banner of the Union. On his right was the deep blue flag of Louisiana with a magnificent white pelican feeding its young, and bearing the motto ‘Union, Justice and Confidence’. Walking to his left, Major Clifford took up the Union banner and dashed it to the ground with dramatic vigour. Walking to his right, he grabbed the State of Louisiana flag with a flourish and, lifting it high above his head, shouted ‘freedom!’

  The symbolism was powerful. The spirit of independence that the speaker had evoked that afternoon ran though the audience like an incoming tide at the seashore. Immediately, a great cheer went up from the men.

  Capitalising on the pervading feeling, the Major raised his voice again and cried, ‘Men of Louisiana, in defence of all that you have worked for, in defence of all that you believe in, to safeguard your family’s freedom and independence, come, take up arms with us, and fight for the Confederacy!’

  The three hundred or so men of the audience stood to their feet and roared their approval. Many enlisted on the spot.

  In his heart, John knew that the moment of decision was approaching, a moment he had never before allowed to surface in his consciousness. He had thought the issue through intellectually, and now it was a matter of the will. ‘Did he have the stomach for war?’ he pondered. ‘It was not really his conflict. He’d only been in Louisiana for a couple of years. These were grievances that went back over decades in this land. He was, after all, a stranger in Dixie.’

  Certainly, John understood the politics of it all; the rights of the States to determine their own destinies, on the one hand, and the need to think more nationally for security reasons, on the other, were highly debatable. And neither he nor Molly had ever been comfortable with what they saw as the immorality of slavery. Surely no one would think ill of him if he declined to take up arms.

  But war is a nasty business involving more than just the trained and disciplined fighting men. Innocent women and children might easily become involved if things went badly. Unless the opposition was kept as far away as possible, Anna and his family may well be at risk. Indeed what would Anna say if he decided to join? Could she cope with the farm if he was away for a few months?

  On his way home from the recruitment rally, John tossed these issues to and fro in his mind, trying desperately to find a resolution with which he could be at peace.

  All of a sudden, his concentration was broken.

  ‘Howdy, Mr Francis!’ came the voice of little Penelope Smith, the daughter of one of John’s neighbours. ‘My daddy’s going to fight in the war,’ she announced with pride. ‘Are you going too?’

  John was stabbed to the heart by the little girl’s innocent question. As if there could be any doubt about it! Real men would fight to defend their loved ones in danger whatever the arguments. Before he knew what was happening, John heard himself saying, ‘Of course, Pene. Daddy and I will go and fight for you.’

  Anna’s reaction was similar. ‘Of course, you must go, John. Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage the farm. I expect you’ll be back by the end of the year when the Yankees see that we mean business.’

  But Anna spoke with courageous innocence too. Neither of them had any real conception of what they were letting themselves in for. This was going to be war. And war is never nice.

  The following morning, John and Anna rode into town for John to register officially in the Confederate army. After the recording of personal particulars and a cursory medical check, John was drafted into Colonel Gray’s Twenty-eighth Louisiana Infantry Brigade. He was issued with the regulation uniform of a private, an Austrian rifle fitted with a bayonet, an army knapsack, and a small camp oven.

  As the men emerged from the fitting room, their women and children ran to embrace them. John experienced an overwhelming feeling of pride, which suppressed fear and apprehension about the future. He was thankful in his heart that he had a lovely family, and he stealed himself by vowing to defend his loved ones to the death.

  The first order that Pvt. John Francis received was to report at midday on the following day to the City Hall at Mansfield. After a restless night, he made his way to the appointed meeting place. At least thirty horse-drawn wagons stood ready at the end of the road. The City Hall clock struck twelve and one hundred men formed up into ranks to be addressed by their commanding officer, Col. Jeremy Gray.

  ‘Men of Louisiana! I congratulate you upon your loyalty to the Confederacy and your willingness to bear arms to defend what you believe in. This is not going to be an easy campaign. If you think it will be, then put that out of your mind immediately. Nevertheless, with God to guide us, we will prevail,’ he began.

  John rather liked the sound of the Colonel. There was a calm assurance about the man that elicited an immediate confidence in those under his comman
d. Here was a good leader.

  ‘Today we start for New Orleans where we’ll undergo several weeks of training. Your officers will give you your orders,’ said the Colonel. ‘Listen carefully to what they tell you!’

  Within an hour the Brigade had embarked upon its long journey and was rolling down the Mansfield-Natchitoches Road, which was lined on both sides by cheering, waving well-wishers.

  ‘Good luck, John,’ called Jesse Godbehere as John’s wagon rolled by. John waved and noticed Charles Godbehere mounted on his horse at the back of the crowd, looking somewhat sheepish.

  The trip to New Orleans was accomplished in wagons to Natchitoches and steam barge down to the Capital. As the Brigade moved southward, it was augmented by smaller groups of men from the towns along the way. By the time they were aboard the barge, a further twenty men had been enlisted.

  Gray’s Twenty-eighth Louisianians gained an excellent reputation during their training period. Under the Colonel’s discipline, they went from being a group of willing farmers to a fighting unit capable of inflicting defeat upon any company of comparable size and weaponry.

  John had never been one to shrink from a good fist fight in the face of injustice, but the implications of the training he had received in the art of modern warfare troubled him somewhat. He saw that it was going to be a very bloody affair. There was no doubting, however, that he enjoyed the camaraderie and esprit de corps of Colonel Gray’s Brigade. There was nothing he enjoyed more than singing the battle songs of the South. Their sentimental appeal to the deep emotions that had been spawned tears earlier through his involvement with the English Chartists and the Red Ribbon League in Australia. His favourite was the Southern Marseillaise:

  ‘Sons of the South, awake to glory;