Stranger in Dixie

by James Fearn

  The dearth of money became even more serious as the prices of basic commodities began to rise steeply. Plagued, therefore, by hyperinflation, extreme shortages, and overwhelming military odds, many in the Confederacy began to wonder how much longer they could stave off inevitable defeat.

  Throughout the period of John’s absence, Anna had received great support from the Godbeheres as well as from Moses and Molly. Not having children of his own, Moses had taken upon himself the role of surrogate father to Anola and William. They were often to be seen playing games with Uncle Moses, and on hot summer Sundays, Moses was often to be found in the shade of a tree, telling the children stories of wonder and hope. During his convalescence, John would sometimes sit in a large wicker chair on his veranda, watching the children playing happily with Moses.

  ‘You play with Anola and William as if they were your own children, Moses,’ John observed.

  ‘We ol God’s chillen, Massa, whether we black or white. Ah done understan’ what dat big war o’ yours is all about. Wha cain’t de white folks and de darkies live together like we bin doin’ ol dis time?’

  John looked long and hard at Moses and a tear came to his eye. ‘Why indeed?’ he thought to himself. ‘Why do some people want to impose their will on others?’

  Moses’ naive questions had gone straight to the heart of the matter. Governments indulge their prejudices, while ordinary people pay with their lives.

  Not long after John had enlisted in 1862, conscription of all able-bodied white males between eighteen and thirty-five years had been introduced into Louisiana. Regardless of the consequences, hundreds of men had taken to the swamps in order to escape military service. These ‘jayhawkers’ or ‘draft-dodgers’ were scattered far and wide. Their reputation for preying on ordinary citizens caused great fear, especially among the women who lived alone with their children. Not only that, but the jayhawkers were despised because of their traitorous practice of trading with the enemy.

  One morning, as John was in town on business, he saw on the Post Office window a notice requesting serving or paroled men to join a scouting party to clear jayhawkers from the nearby swamps. Thinking that he might be of some value because of his military training, John subsequently volunteered for the posse. The prospect of some excitement and a small allowance were indeed some incentive.

  Two days later, he arrived on horseback at the Post Office and was issued with rations and a brand new musket. About thirty men rode off towards the East. John knew that this was no ordinary hunting party. Jayhawkers were armed and desperate men, and it was common for both hunter and hunted to kill each other. Many of these outlaws had scores to settle with the Confederacy. They had taken oaths of allegiance to the Union in exchange for food and had volunteered to act as scouts and spies.

  ‘We’ll camp here tonight,’ said the Commanding Officer. He had called a halt beside a wide but shallow bayou some forty miles from Mansfield. Two men were set to guard the camp and two others were sent out as scouts.

  About midnight, John was wakened from a light sleep as the Commanding Officer tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Quick! Get up! The scouts have found the jayhawkers camp,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s go get ’em.’

  Within five minutes, the posse was mounted and moving up the shallow bayou towards the unsuspecting outlaws. The soft splash of the horses’ hoofs in the water was barely audible against the noise of the wind in the rushes.

  The strike was quick and decisive. Before they could raise their heads from the ground, the jayhawkers had been disarmed. The Commander directed one of the men to hold a kerosene lamp above their heads so that he might inspect the dazed and blinking captives. John initially didn’t recognise any of them as the lamp bearer passed along the line of stunned reprobates.

  Suddenly, John gasped as the light fell upon the face of a tall, good-looking man with a thick beard. The experience of rough living had changed him somewhat, but there was no mistaking his identity.

  ‘Good God!’ shouted John. All heads turned in his direction to see the cause of his surprise. ‘I know this man, sir. It’s Charles Godbehere, the son of my employer,’ continued John. Charles said nothing but glared at John with hatred. ‘Why Charles? Why?’ called John as the captives’ hands were bound behind their backs.

  It was with sadness a week later that John reported to Jesse Godbehere that Charles was in prison on a charge of treason. Jesse put his head in his hands and wept. How could one of his own kith and kin so easily forsake all that his family had upheld for generations.

  In the spring of 1864, dispatches reaching Mansfield told of General Grant’s army pushing into Virginia. More significantly, for the residents of Mansfield, it was reported that a huge land and water force under the command of General Nathaniel Banks was blasting its way up the twisting Red River with orders to take Shreveport.

  For John, the die was cast.

  Chapter 9

  ‘John, my dear, what’s troubling you? You’ve been so quiet lately,’ said Anna. ‘You’re still not your old self yet, are you?’

  The couple were sitting on the veranda on a lovely spring evening. The crape myrtle was just about finished, and the ground was carpeted with its pink petals.

  It was a warm night, and the full moon shone brightly over the horizon. Anna tried to make conversation, but John seemed miles away. He’d focus to answer her questions and then return to his daydreaming.

  ‘What’s that, Anna?’ he mumbled.

  ‘I want to know why you are so quiet these days. It’s not like you,’ she said. ‘I know the war is not going well for us, but you used to be so positive.’

  ‘Anna,’ he responded with a look of deep concern upon his face. ‘I’ve been thinking about our future. If those murderous Yankees come through these parts, they’ll wipe us out. Lincoln seems determined not just to defeat the Confederacy but to crush it.’

  He looked up at the stars once more and gave a deep sigh of resolution.

  ‘Anna,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m going to enlist again. You and I have worked so hard for our little farm. I can’t sit around here and wait for the Federals to come and destroy us.’

  It was as if Anna had known all along that this would be John’s course of action. She knew him very well. She rose from her chair, went across the veranda to him, and without saying a word, sat down next to him and put a loving arm around his shoulders.

  In what was to become a sacred moment in Anna’s memory, John turned and, drawing her to him, kissed her lovingly. Taking his signet ring from his finger slipped it solemnly on to Anna’s right ring finger. ‘Keep it safe for me, my dear,’ he whispered. ‘Keep it safe.’

  Some weeks later, Second Lieutenant John Francis reported to Monroe Training Camp on the Ouachita River and re-enlisted in his old brigade, the Twenty-eighth Louisianians. Many of the men were exchange prisoners, some of whom had come straight from Union camps. Others like John had spent several months at home with their families. In every case, they had re-enlisted of their own volition with a single common motive, the defence of their loved ones and their homes.

  John was given command of a squad of infantrymen, most of whom had experienced victory in battle as well as defeat. Many were frustrated by their recent internment and were keen to face up to the invading Yankees again.

  ‘Attention!’ snapped the Sergeant. The squad came to attention and shouldered arms. The haggard faces and the dishevelled uniforms told their own story of the hardship of past the years of fighting. John raised his voice to address his platoon.

  ‘Men! We march in seventy-two hours. I want you all to smarten up your appearance. Give your uniforms a good wash and make sure you get rid of every trace of lice. I want a clean outfit before we leave.’

  The three days passed rapidly, and the Brigade was well fed and rested when the command to move out was given.

  Gray’s Louisiana Brigade, by now
some hundred strong had received orders to join Colonel Walker’s Division at Annandale, South of Alexandria. This entailed a hazardous four-day trek through densely wooded forest and swamps, and across several bayous. The men marched, waded and staggered through this fearsome terrain, and plagued continuously by mosquitoes and leeches. Only the thought of their erstwhile lost and regained freedom gave them the heart to endure such deprivation. A couple of days’ rest and a chance to enjoy some good food and to wash had restored to John and his fellow soldiers a belief in themselves and their cause.

  Dawn had hardly broken, one morning, when the bugle sounded unexpectedly early for parade. The Commanding Officer, Captain Gray, addressed his troops in a clearing on the edge of their camp.

  ‘Men, Ah’ve just received a report from our scouts on the Alexandria Road that a contingent of Federals is headed this way. Ma guess is they’re fixin’ to set up a base camp for their next assault on us. Our mission is to stop ’em at all costs. Make yourselves ready!’

  John had a sparkle in his eye again as he thought about the daring plan of operation that Gray had contrived. ‘The cunning old devil,’ he thought to himself. But skirmishes like this were hazardous even with a clever strategy and careful preparation. At such times, John thought of Anna and the children. It was comforting to go over their conversations and to remember playing with them in the garden.

  In less than an hour, Lieutenants Francis and John were leading their men into a particularly narrow stretch of the Alexandria Road, which snaked its way through the dense forest. Thick leafy branches hung over the road, all but blotting out the light. It reminded John of the Black Forest in Victoria through which he had driven his wagon many times. Two mounted scouts had been sent ahead by Gray to reconnoitre the area before the Louisiana Brigade arrived to set the trap. According to earlier reports, the Federals could be expected to pass this way reasonably soon. It was necessary therefore to move with great haste.

  ‘Lieutenant Francis!’ ordered the Major. ‘Take your men back up the road about forty yards and prepare a tree for ambush.’ When his men were in position, John explained the strategy. A tree was cut through from one side until it was almost ready to fall. Two axemen were directed where to cut, and they set to work with razor-sharp axes, producing a veritable shower of woodchips.

  ‘That enough, sir?’ said one. ‘Just as well it’s a still day. A decent wind an’ she’d fall Ah’d say.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said John, assessing that one or two well-placed blows of the axe would bring the tree down across the track where he wanted it. ‘Now take cover in the undergrowth and don’t move until you hear a shot from my pistol. That’s the signal to fell the tree. Do you understand?’

  It was approaching noon when the outriders of the Federal contingent came into view. John’s men were ready. As the enemy trudged along the uneven road, their faces grimy with dust and sweat, and their minds somewhat numbed after several hours of marching, they could have not imagined the fate that awaited them.

  Suddenly, a pistol shot rang out and the leading outrider fell from his horse, mortally wounded. This was the signal for action. A huge tree suddenly crashed across the road in front of the leading platoon. The ensuing barrage of musket fire coming from every which way threw the Federals into panic. As they turned to retreat, a second massive tree crashed behind them. The unsuspecting men had marched into an ambush and had nowhere to go. In confusion, they returned fire, unable to see their hidden foe. With a shriek of defiance, fifty unarmed men dropped from the leafy branches above to the road, and with bare hands fought in desperation to overpower their enemy. The skirmish lasted a good twenty minutes before the gallant Federals, outnumbered two to one finally surrendered. Seven of their number lay dead or wounded on the dusty road.

  Such constant harassment by the Confederates combined to force the Federals back down the river. But the Union army had relied heavily on Porter’s naval support with gunboats and supply vessels. As the summer drew on, the Red River was falling rapidly because of lack of rains in the catchment, and by the time the Union troops had reached Alexandria, the fleet was stranded downstream. The Mississippi was barely four feet deep in places while the gunboats required at least seven feet of water to float. If nothing was done, it was obvious that the vessels would be trapped and become easy targets for the Confederates.

  An ingenious plan to dam the river and raise its level had been proposed by one of the Union’s engineers. The receding river had exposed a ledge of rocks extending across its width. Upwards of three thousand troops were deployed to work in a frantic effort to build a dam on the rock base across most of the Mississippi’s 758 foot width in ten days. Locally felled trees, rocks, and earth were used. Four barges filled with stone anchored the whole structure.

  John and a detachment of his men had been ordered to frustrate the enemy’s plan by whatever means they could devise. With a party of some thirty men and three wagons, each pulling a twenty-pound Parrott cannon, the Confederates daringly set up a camp some three hundred yards from the dam wall on the western side of the river, and laid low in the dense forest. The Federal’s plan to raise the water level was remarkably successful, and within three days, the gunboats were readying themselves to move upstream to less exposed waters. ‘We’ll attack tomorrow,’ ordered John. ‘Be ready two hours before dawn.’

  Sleep came fitfully. The men were edgy as they waited for the order to commence—their mission of destruction. They moved slowly so that the noise of the rolling wagons and big guns was minimised. Arriving at an appropriate place overlooking the dam, John’s men set up the camouflaged Parrott cannons and aligned them for the bombardment.

  The first glimmer of light was just showing in the eastern sky when John gave the order.

  ‘Fire!’

  With a deafening roar, the three cannon discharged together hurling their shells out towards the dam. The second volley followed in quick succession, giving the gunners an idea of their accuracy. After minor adjustments to elevation, a third volley was discharged. The weakened retaining wall buckled under the weight of the water, giving way spectacularly. A huge torrent of water roared through the gap, and within half-hour, the river level had dropped appreciably. Like thieves in the night, John and his men vanished into the forest as quickly as they had appeared. Mission accomplished!

  Such guerilla tactics were common in the Red River theatre. Although most Confederates believed that ultimate victory was now impossible, their resolution and ingenuity in the face of impending defeat caused considerable frustration to General Grant in bringing the war to a close.

  John’s excitement at the successful completion of his task was tempered by the news that his Brigade had been ordered to pull back to defend Mansfield itself. It had been the common view for some time that General Grant would strike at the Confederate headquarters at Shreveport. Of all of the towns along his expected path, Mansfield was the most strategically placed to mount a final stand by the Confederate army.

  The news of the coming invasion had not escaped the civilian population. Many of the residents of Alexandria, Mansfield, and Shreveport were so demoralised and weak from the protracted conflict that they might well have sought a truce there and then had the decision been theirs.

  ‘Ah hope Massa John keeps ‘is ’ead down,’ said Molly as she and Anna picked the ripe peaches. ‘Ah cain’t stop thinkin’ about de war, Mrs Anna. Ah done wan’ to be free if Massa John gets ’imself hurt.’

  ‘God will protect him Molly,’ said Anna more to comfort herself than to reassure companion.

  ‘Dose dam Yankees oughta keep dere interferin’ noses outa our business Ah reckon. Moses and Ah like it de way things are. We like workin’ for Massa Godbehere and you. What would we do if we were free? Where would we go if we lose our ’ome?’ continued Molly, apprehensively.

  The approach of the Federal armies prompted many of the slaves to flee to liberati
on or to bargain for extra privileges. But a surprising number like Moses and Molly were loyal to the masters.

  Later that afternoon, soon after sunset, Anna heard an unusual tapping on the veranda. She didn’t recognise it as a bird or an animal. Leaving the dinner preparation, she opened the door to investigate. There, to her great surprise, lay a slave girl, whimpering and shivering with cold. It was Nancy from one of the smaller plantations closer to town along the Mansfield Road.

  ‘Nancy!’ cried Anna in surprise. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  Nancy snuggled into Anna’s comforting arms and cried all the more. ‘Ah got bad periods, missus. But dey sent me out to work anyway. So Ah left an’ went back ’ome at lunchtime. When Ah went back ’ome, de overseer, ’e flogged me,’ cried Nancy.

  Anna could see the lash marks on the poor girl’s arms and legs. ‘Ah ran away to de swamp to hide. But dat place is crawlin’ with rattlesnakes an’ spiders, an’ ah was scared,’ said Nancy between her sobs.

  ‘You stay here with me tonight and tomorrow I’ll take you home,’ said Anna reassuringly. ‘I’m sure your mistress will forgive you when she knows the reason.’

  Gray’s Twenty-eighth Louisianians had waited impatiently for several weeks at the base camp just North of Mansfield. Many, like John, were local men who had been granted a day’s leave with their families prior to the inevitable conflict. General Moulton was well aware of the effect of a period of home leave, however brief upon the morale of men waiting for battle.

  The officers had been kept informed of the enemy’s movements up the Red River to Grand Ecore. From here it was likely that the Yankees would march up the Old Post Road from Natchitoches to Shreveport. The Confederate Command was anxious to stretch the Union forces as far as possible from their supply base and had decided that they should make a stand just South of Mansfield. If Mansfield was taken, the enemy would have the choice of three reasonable routes to the interim capital, Shreveport. They determined that the most suitable property in the area from which they could achieve maximum resistance was Moss’ Plantation, just three miles South of the town. This was a fine property with a stately Georgian house and many acres of well-tended cotton fields that had been most productive over many years. What a tragedy to choose this place for a battle!