ALL THAT'S LEFT OF ME
A story based on the experiences of my great, great grandfather Jonathon James McDaniel
and his younger brother, William J. McDaniel during the Civil War. This story is written
with heartfelt thanks to Jess McLean, whose 30 years of research about the men of the 13th
Mississippi enabled me more accurately to recount the wheres and the whens of Jonathon
during the time he was in the 13th, up till March 12, 1864 when he was exchanged to the 5th,
which William was in.
NEWLY ADDED IN MAY OF 2011...A SET OF PHOTO ALBUMS FOLLOWING JONATHON'S PATH IN THE TIME
BETWEEN MANASSAS AND GETTYSBURG...CONFEDERATE FOOTSTEPS
By Jo Anzalone
Chapter 1:
He lay on the thick layer of hay, knees bent, fingers laced atop his head, watching the sunset
through half-lidded eyes. In the morning he'd be leaving, and though eager to go, was taking
this time to soak in the sights and the sounds of home. It was all so familiar, the soft low of
the milking cow in its stall beneath him, the small whack her tail made as it hit the slats
when she flicked the flies away. Idly, he unclasped his hands, fished without looking in the
hay to his right, bringing a randomly-selected bit of hay to his mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully. He studied the dust and hay motes in the sharply-outlined ray of amber light
that slanted in through the loft, watching the tiny particles dance in transient golden attire.
Briefly removing the straw, he lightly puffed his breath outwards, smiling as the dance
took on new, rapid swirling motions.
Jonathon James McDaniel was in his twenty-second year of life and had been a farmer ever
since he could remember. His parents had come from up-country South Carolina before he
was born, had settled here in Winston County, Mississippi, not too far out of Louisville. This
land, this place, was the center of his known universe. He belonged to this land just as the land
belonged to the McDaniels.
He listened as his younger brother, William, whom he called Billy, led a plow horse into the
barn, lying silently to better hear the sounds of it. Billy was six years younger than he was,
too young yet for matters of war. But he himself...well, Mississippi was going to war and he
was going with it. He was a Mississippian and wanted to be a part of it, right from the
beginning. It probably wouldn't take all that long to lick the Yankees. Everybody knew
southern boys were better shots, better riders, would be better soldiers than any fellow from Vermont or Rhode Island could ever think of being. That was just the way of it. Maybe it would only be a matter of weeks before he'd be home again. It most likely would, he reckoned.
His thoughts turned to his father, George McDaniel. He admitted a certain level of guilt to
himself at the thought of leaving him to manage the big farm now that he was getting older .
But it came down to a matter of honor that he put on the uniform of the Confederacy. He was
22 and that, too, was the way of it. Besides, Billy was 16 and Lewis 14 now. Between them,
they'd be able to help handle things until he could get back. Sarah was only eight, but already
a great help to her mother. Yes, everything would be all right. It had to be. He was going, and going in the morning, and that was that.
He'd enlisted for a year. That should be way more than enough time. All his friends who had
joined up with the 13th Mississippi felt the same way. The Winston Guards, that's what they
were called. He liked that. That's what he was doing, guarding his state, guarding his home.
He sat up, the heel of one of his boots hitting against the wide plank flooring. "That you,
Johnnie?" his brother called up.
"I'm comin' down," he replied.
"What're you doin' up in the loft?" Billy asked.
"Listenin', just listenin'."
Billy's brow knit. "What you listenin' to, Johnnie?"
"Home," Jonathon smiled. "I was listenin' to home, little brother."
"I'm not so little!" Billy retorted defensively. "Almost as big as you."
It was true. Billy had grown tall in the last year and could about look Jonathan, at 5'11", in
the eye. "Don't," Jonathon cautioned. "You know Daddy's got to have you here to help run
the place."
It was eating Billy alive that Jonathon was getting to go off and fight the Yankees while he had
to stay home and milk the cow. "Maybe it'll last long enough. Maybe I'll...."
"Don't wish that, Billy. In the first place, it's not, an' even if it did, Daddy's not goin' to stop
needin' you. You know that."
"I know it, but I don't have to like it," Billy scowled.
Jonathon put his hand affectionately on his brother's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "I
understand, Billy. I do. But there's nothin' to be done about it, not now." He looked out the barn door. "Best be gettin' back on up to the house. Mama's got her strong face on but I know she's hurtin' inside."
"She loves you, Johnnie, loves you somethin' fierce."
"She's just had me around the longest, but she loves you just as much."
"I sure am gonna miss you, Johnnie. I can't...just you lick those fellows fast, you hear."
"I aim to do my best at that, Billy. Don't you go an' worry about me. I'll be fine. You know
what a good shot I am."
The evening meal passed quietly. Adeline McDaniel kept her eyes on her plate, lifting them
from time to time to gaze intently at her oldest son as though impressing his image somewhere deep inside herself. After the third time she'd done that, Jonathon laid his hand over hers
where it rested beside her plate. "I'll take care, Mama. I promise. I'll do what's needed but I won't go and be foolish about it."
She sucked in her lower lip, biting down on it, nodding as she met his dark green eyes, then
got abruptly up, scraping her mostly uneaten meal into the bucket for the pigs. Rising quietly,
he followed her, sliding his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I'm comin'
home. You can count on it, Mama. I'll be comin' home."
When he felt the long sigh escape her lips, he added, "I've got to do this. You know I do."
She nodded silently, her graying chestnut hair brushing along the side of his cheek. He hugged
her a long while like that, her back spooned into his front, and she was grateful he couldn't
see the soundless tears tracking down her face. Adeline was aware of her husband's silence
during the meal, aware, too, of the quiet looks he'd been giving his son.
Finally George cleared his throat and spoke. "You're the best shot in these parts, Johnnie.
You'll do me proud, son, will be a fine soldier. Just remember your promise to your mama.
She'll be wantin' to see you marchin' home soon just like you'll be marchin' off in the mornin'."
He wanted that desperately, too, but it seemed easier to put it the way he had. There was, though, something in him that wished he were going, too. Right now, however, this was a
young man's army, nearly every man in the Guards between 18 and 26, most of them not
married. He looked then at Billy, knowing his impatient second son wouldn't be holding
back for long, no matter how much of a talking-to Johnnie had given him...and he knew
beyond all doubt that Johnnie would have.
He smiled at Jonathon. "Everything'll be just fine here at home. You worry 'bout keepin'
yourself safe an' let me worry 'bout the rest, you hear?"
"I'll...."
"No more needs sayin' 'bout any of that. You've got to go. You know that an' I know that.
That's just the way it is." George quietly stretched his right leg under the table, easing
his ankle that had been broken last winter and never healed right.
That night, lying on his small bed, Jonathon was filled with too many thoughts, too many feelings to sleep well. As much as he loved his family, he was eager for this, for the adventure of it, the whole thought of it. He'd never been all that far from Louisville, just over near Montgomery, Alabama a few times when his parents had wanted to visit the big Supple place of their friends who'd left South Carolina around the same time they had. When he was ten his father had taken him once all the way to Vicksburg where he'd gotten to see the great river. He'd never forget
the three days they'd spent there and still could close his eyes and see the huge watercourse, all the boats on it, the sheer grandness of it. Ever since then he'd known there was a big world out there and now he was going to get himself the chance to see some of it. He almost hoped they didn't lick the Yankees too damn fast, not before he'd collected himself a few more states he could claim to have seen.
He rose at first light, fingering the material of his gray uniform that rested on the back of the
chair near the window. He was a private and that was fine by him. Most of his friends were
like him, young, unmarried farmers and they were privates, too. His eyes moved to the door, beyond which his still-sleeping brothers lay. There were a number of 17 and 18 year olds in his company. If the war did last, there likely might not be any way to keep Billy here.
Washing his face, he dressed in the uniform, then looked slowly down his own length, one
corner of his mouth twitching in a slight smile. Today. His company was leaving today. Walking
to the window, he looked out over the fields the McDaniels owned. May 13, 1861 was dawning
bright, clear, and beautiful. "Today," he whispered to himself, then woke Billy and Lewis.
His mother already had breakfast on the table, a big, hearty one with a huge bowl of scrambled
eggs, a plate of bacon, giant buttermilk biscuits with a pot of honey ready. There were potato
slices fried crispy like he liked them. A thick slab of ham rested among some of her canned
peaches. Coffee. Milk. She wanted him full when he left.
He smiled as he entered the room, bending to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Mama," he said
quietly.
"Let me see you." Her voice was brusque with her effort to control herself.
Jonathon stepped back and she studied him carefully, her eyes filled with pride, mixed with
an aching yearning that he might not have to go.
"I'll do?" he asked.
"You'll do just fine," she nodded. "Captain Bradley will be proud." She shook her head as
though to clear it. The thought of John Bradley being her son's captain was still new to her.
He'd been born in South Carolina as she had, and was a merchant in Louisville, 34, unmarried,
and lived at the Hughes Hotel with his brothers George and Joseph. But now they were going
off to war, so very many of them, clerks, lawyers, students, farmers, stage drivers, teachers, shoemakers, so very, very many of them. And him. Her son, her Jonathon. He was going, too.
Billy passed by on his way to milk the cow, giving his older brother a silent glance, then Sarah came in, clutching her rag doll as usual. She wanted to sit in his lap while he ate and Jonathon indulged her.
Lifting her head, she looked up at him. "You won't get shot?"
"I'll try my best, little one."
"No. You won't get shot!" Her voice was insistent, demanding.
"I won't get shot."
That seemed to satisfy her. Jonathon always kept his word. Soon she was happily munching
a slice of crisp bacon.
"You'll write." His mother's voice was barely audible.
"Every chance I get."
"I need to...know," she murmured.
"Every chance," he repeated.
Far too soon for her liking, she was sitting beside him as George drove them into Louisville. Already the drums were sounding at the armory, calling the men together. Jonathon asked his father to rein in the team.
"I have to go." He couldn't keep the eagerness out of his voice and the sound of it made
Adeline blink back a quick tear. Quickly George found a place to pull over, and Jonathon watched his father lift his mother down, then he himself lifted Sarah, who had refused Billy's offer, waiting for Jonathon.
He hugged them all, the five pieces of his heart who stood there quietly, their eyes latched onto
him. Shaking his father's hand, he was moved by his firm grip, the intense look in his eyes. His mother he hugged last, then turned to go.
"Wait!" she said breathlessly, handing him a small New Testament. "Take this, Johnnie."
"But that's your...."
"I know an' I want to be able to think of you having it with you." She didn't tell him then that
in the middle of the night, she'd risen and by lamplight had written an inscription in it to him. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched him pocket it.
"Thank you, Mama. I will...."
"Hey, Johnnie!" called a young man hurrying by. "You comin' along now or what?"
"I'm comin', Nute!" he called back to 22 year old Newton Tabor, who ran a farm near his own.
"We'll watch for you by the hotel," Billy said.
Jonathon disappeared inside the armory, his haversack swinging as he stepped with a quick turn through the doorway. When he reappeared, accompanied by a rifle, to form order for marching, his family was out of sight. Looking around, he felt such a part of something grand. He had known most of these men for some time, and the ones who were newer to him, he'd started to get to know during the time they'd been training, especially at the camp at Gage's Spring, six miles
out of town. He'd handled a rifle most of his life, but there he'd learned to handle it like a
soldier, learned how to march with time and on the doublequick, how to perform all the duties
that would be expected of him.
His eyes searched out James Woodward, a 20-year-old farmer, found 18-year-old James Wilcox,
also a farmer. Just down from him was Calvin Warner, another farmer, who was 21. William
Smyth was 24 and married as was Wiley Shaw. Shumaker, though, was a teacher, and Tom Patty a dry goods clerk, short Andy McMakin, a tanner. They were going...together...and the sense of that very togetherness swelled in the awareness of all of them.
At steady step they marched from the armory to the front of the Hughes Hotel on Main Street, where Captain Bradley, who lived there, commanded, "Halt, front right, dress!" Like a brief flicker of heat lightning, it crossed Jonathon's mind to wonder what it was like for his captain
to be doing what he was doing right there in front of his residence. But then his eyes settled on Miss Lou Covington, who'd come to present a banner to the company on behalf of the ladies of the area. She spoke briefly, eloquently, and Lieutenant Edmonds accepted the banner on behalf of Captain Bradley, spoke himself, then passed it on to William Coulter, the company ensign.
It was nearly noon when the order to march finally came and the music began. Jonathon
found he liked it, liked being a part of something bigger than himself, liked marching out of
town with the banner waving, the band playing, everyone in town cheering their passage. He was aware, too, of his family watching him, wanted this last sight of him for the time being to
be a grand one, wanted them to remember him as he was at this moment, here in the sunlight, among his comrades-in-arms, all of them strong and eager under the blue Mississippi sky.
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