ALL THAT'S LEFT OF ME

By Jo Anzalone

Chapter 9:

November 1861 began with orders to move the camp one mile south of Leesburg. The soldiers

struck their tents, rain began, the orders were countermanded and a miserable night was

spent with no tents. Jonathon wondered if those making the decisions ever thought about the

cost to their men.  It rained all day the next day and he spent most of that hunched in the

driver's seat of a loaded wagon.

Sunday dawned clear, but with a cold wind blowing out of the north. The 13th was sent on

picket duty at the Potomac.  This was Jonathon's first real chance to spend any time with

Seth since Jimmie's death.  Neither of them talked about it much, though it was constantly

on the minds of both.  Finally, toward dark, they began to trade stories of funny or thoughtful

things Jimmie had done over his 21 years of life.  The way Jonathon wanted to remember

Jimmie was how he looked that day when Jonathon had come back to the tent, soaked to the

skin on his birthday, and Jimmie had been standing there, holding the cornbread and bacon

cake, a big smile on his face.

On Monday, the 4th, Barksdale was ordered before a Board of Inquiry by President Davis.

However the court was composed entirely of Barksdale's friends and he was completely

acquitted and justified.

"Well," John Gideon remarked, "it just goes to show you it ain't what you done, it's who

you know that counts in the end."

Tuesday was clear and cold and Jonathon made several trips with the wagon, appreciating

the lack of rain.  Wednesday, though, it misted rain on him all day.  In the evening, signal

lights could be seen on Sugar Loaf Mountain across the river in Maryland.  What was

important was that they were answered from the Virginia side and Barksdale sent out scouts

to find the ones sending signals from the Confederate side of the Potomac. Whoever it was,

was not found as more signal lights were seen all through Thursday night.  Saturday, Jonathon

drove in a cold rain all day.

Monday the 11th left him and Seth shaking their heads again at the decision makers of the

army. The 13th was ordered to move to Carter's Mills and the 17th to take their place by

the river. After a five-mile march, the general ordered them back, so they retraced about

two miles of the march and camped there. That evening by their campfire, Seth held one of

his shoes in his hands, frowning at how thin its sole was getting.

"I wonder just how damn much of this here shoe leather wore off marchin' back 'n forth over

the same roads dozens of times.  We go 'round 'n round an' we never get ourselves nowhere."

On the 12th, the 21st Mississippi arrived, commanded by Colonel Benjamin Humphries, and

was attached to Evan's brigade.  The 13th Jonathon spent driving quartermaster stores to

Carter's Mills.

"Six months."

"What?" Seth asked.

"Six months today. That's how long since I joined up back in Mississippi," Jonathon replied.

It was Thursday, the 14th of November.  He lifted his head, listening to the cold rain pelting

down on their tent and sighed. "Seems like three years."

"Looks to be a right long winter comin' on," Seth mused. "You 'spec we'll be spendin' it right

here near Leesburg?"

"Probably somewhere around here. They can't seem to decide just where they want us to

camp, but they better soon. We're goin' to need more than a canvas tent."

Every day more men came down sick. On the 19th it was William Ball, only 19, and from a very wealthy farming family near Noxapater. On the 21st, George Hanna was taken to the General Hospital at Leesburg with pneumonia.

November was a pretty much all-round nothing month as far as the soldiers were concerned.

Sunday, December 1st came with clouds and cold and the usual inspection of arms. The men

didn't get coffee any more so they tried brewing something from corn, sometimes making

sassafras tea. Diarrhea, jaundice, mumps, colds were rife in camp, along with all the other

diseases.

On the 2nd of December, the regiment moved to the foot of Hogback Mountain and began, at

last, building winter quarters at what was called Camp Carolina, in honor of their General's

state.  They chopped trees, ripped boards off abandoned shacks, used whatever they could find.  Their tents had to serve until rude cabins could be fashioned. Their 7th brigade was still separated from the main body of Beauregard's army, which was doing the same thing on a plateau near Centerville, but on a much larger scale. Forty thousand Confederate soldiers would spend the winter there, building 1,500 log cabins, housing from eight to twenty men, as well as five miles of earthworks and five forts.  So many trees were felled in the area that the land was denuded, but winter was coming, was here, and men had to have some form of shelter from it.

It was announced to the troops that General Evans had been appointed to a command in his

native South Carolina and Generals D. H. Hill of North Carolina and R. J. Griffith of

Mississippi were appointed in his place.  There would be a big military shindig to mark the

event in a few days.

On the 5th, General Hill arrived in camp, an arrival noted by everyone.  That same day

Private Sydney Alexander was discharged with chronic diarrhea to go home to Webster,

Mississippi. He was 23 and would die at home before the month was out. His departure was

mostly noted by his 35 year old brother, James, and a few of his close friends.

Saturday the 7th was clear, even warm for the time of year, especially after the sleet that had

recently come.  Colonel William Barksdale had a brother, Major Ethelbert Barksdale, a

member of Congress and a newspaper editor, who arrived from Mississippi for a visit.  That

evening the band serenaded him and then he gave a fifteen-minute speech, standing at the

front of his brother's tent.

On Monday the 9th came the grand change-over of the generals.  All the men were spic and

span as they could get, weapons clean and polished, and after a military parade, they formed

up in a square. General Evans and his aides were mounted and planned to ride up to each

of the four regiments that formed the brigade, presenting each with a battle flag, newly-made

by the ladies of Richmond. Evans was surrounded by four aides, each with a large flag, which

whipped in a sudden gust of wind, frightening his horse, which ran away. One aide was thrown,

and two other horses bolted. Finally, order restored, the colonel of each regiment received a

flag, replies were made, then the three generals and their staffs reviewed the brigade before

Evans rode off.  The regiments then marched round and round the field, about the edges of

which had gathered a large group of people to watch, many of them ladies. When the marching

was done at last, Jonathon found himself eyeing some of the young ladies. He had no wife, no

particular sweetheart back home, and their softness, the billowing of their full skirts, the

ribbons dangling from their bonnets, touched off a deep longing in him.

Your day will come, Jonathon, he said to himself. Just make it through this, make it through

whole, and your day will come.  When one of the ladies, one with dark pipe curls showing

under her lavender velvet bonnet, smiled at him, he smiled shyly back.  In his mind his fingers

untied the purple satin bow under her chin and her hat fell to the ground, revealing the full

glory of her nearly black hair. She was all softness, all cleanliness, all fragrance and grace,

all the things he had none of in his daily life.  He took one almost dazed step toward her, but

stopped abruptly when a lieutenant from the 8th Virginia came up and took her arm.

James Woodward, a twenty-year old farmer from near where Jonathon lived, was leaving on

thirty days sick leave after three months of chronic diarrhea.  Jonathon wrote a long letter

to his family and sent it off with James. The mail was erratic at best and he never knew if his

letters would actually make it through.  Handing one personally to someone who was heading

that way seemed like a good idea.

Tuesday, December 10th was clear and cold and he was delighted to get a letter from home,

though less than happy over the news it contained.  Billy, it seemed, had been itchier than

anyone realized to go off to war, had actually joined a local militia unit as early as August,

then the Confederate army on October 18th.  There had been a second wave of young men

leaving from Winston County in the fall, calling themselves the Winston Rifles. So Billy was

now officially part of Company F of the 5th Mississippi Regiment, 4th Brigade of the

Mississippi Volunteers. His father didn't mention how he felt about that.

For a long while Jonathon sat still, his eyes locked on the two words 'Billy enlisted'. He

sighed heavily, wishing that if Billy had to join up, he'd done it with the Winston Guards

so he could watch over him.  Seth had joined the same company that Jimmie had been in,

but then Seth was four years older than his brother.  Maybe Billy hadn't wanted to be

watched over?  Jonathon closed his eyes.  That was probably it. 

That afternoon some men from the regiment were gathering corn in a field down near

Edwards Ferry.  Evidently the Yankees had seen them, opening fire. One man had been

wounded and several horses killed.  Nothing was really safe in war, not even scrounging

after a few dried ears of corn.

There was some excitement on Saturday the 14th when the Yankees sent up a balloon to

spy out the lay of the Confederate position.  Jonathon shook his head, the concept of war

taking to the skies rather mind-boggling somehow.

The following day the regiment was detailed to work on fortifications near the Potomac, only

after dark.  The breastworks were too near the river, too easily seen by the enemy during

daylight, making shooting the men down an easy task for the Yankees on the other side. So

now they worked all night, digging, mounding up, laying on logs.

By Friday the 20th they had orders to be ready to march at any moment because rumor had

it the enemy was at Drainsville and advancing on Leesburg. The over ten days of clear, cool

weather broke at dusk on Sunday the 22nd with sleet beginning to fall.  Word came to camp

that the day before, three regiments posted at Centerville had been taken by surprise by a

large Yankee force at Drainsville with the loss of many men. In the morning, all the trees

were covered with ice, tinkling and clinking in the heavy winds that had come up.

Seth broke off a large twig, sucking at the ice. "Now if only I was standin' at the edge of

your Daddy's fishin' pond on some mid-July day, this here might be a right nice thing to have."

"Not today."  Jonathon managed a cold grin.

"Nope, not today," Seth agreed, tossing the iced twig off to the side.  "Now where did I leave

that there axe?"

They were working along with some other men of their company on shoring up the cabin

they'd been building. Stones had been gathered and stacked into a serviceable fireplace at

one end, so they'd have some heat and a drier place to cook meals. 

"It ain't bad," John Gideon pronounced, looking at the structure proudly. "Could use some

more mud to caulk them holes right there, though."

"Mud's froze," Seth announced.  "Need a bit of a thaw for that."

"Yeah, but I got me a genuine furlough comin' up. Likely the mud'll still be froze by then."

Christmas 1861 was on a Wednesday, a clear and cold day, and very quiet in camp. Barksdale

invited his officers into his quarters for eggnog and there was even enough that the soldiers had a bit around their campfires. The next day orders came from Beauregard that because an

enemy advance was expected, all furloughs were cancelled.

The final days of December were all clear and cold.  The last of the cabins were ready to be

occupied and the shelter they provided was much better than the tents.  Down in Webster,

Mississippi, 23 year old Sydney Alexander died, though his brother James wasn't yet aware

of it. On the very last day of the month, the entire brigade marched into Leesburg for General

Griffith's review and inspection.  All the cavalry and artillery were there as well.  Jonathon

looked around among the gathered ladies for any sight of the dark-haired beauty he'd seen

before, but never saw her. It was just as well, he decided. She was obviously spoken for. But

not even seeing her, that deep yearning rose up in him again.  His world was so male, so coldly,

consistently, wretchedly male.  If the damn war kept going on, he just might have to do something about that. There were always women available to a soldier who went looking for

them. But not like the one with the black pipe curls and the lavender velvet bonnet. Not like

her. That was what he wanted. He wanted a woman he could cherish, a woman who would

mother the children of his heart. He'd find her in Mississippi, though, not way up here at the

top of Virginia.

The year 1862 began with one clear day which quickly changed into a regular pattern of snow.

On the second, Major Watts, the brigade quartermaster, paid the regiment for September

and October. Pay always came quite a bit behind. But the men also got a $40 clothing allowance,

which sent them to the camp sutlers or into Leesburg in search of things they needed. Jonathon

bought two pairs of longjohns, which he wore one atop the other, three pairs of wool socks, two

pair of which he wore at a time, and new shoes.

On the 5th, after three days of snow, they were once again ordered to be ready for battle at a

moment's notice. The next day it snowed four more inches. On the 7th they were to cook three

day's rations and prepare to march on short notice as the enemy had been reported gathering

in large numbers at Fairfax Court House and were advancing on Centerville.

On Wednesday the 8th it was warm enough to rain instead of snow and the men took the

opportunity to daub up the cracks in their huts with the now readily-available mud. Jonathon's

cabin was twenty feet long and sixteen wide, had a decent fireplace, and slept eight men. The

following day General Hill detailed two hundred men from each of the four regiments to man

Fort Evans that night.  Neither Seth nor Jonathon were in the details, however.

The next twelve days nothing much happened except that one day it would snow and the next

it would melt and turn everything into deep mud. Jonathon was pleased that Ben Smyth, a

farmer he knew from Louisville, had been detailed as Regimental Postmaster. 

Everything changed on January 20th, a day when it had rained for hours, making the roads

almost impassable. The entire company of the Winston Guards was detached from the regiment and sent out on picket at Ball's Bluff along the Potomac, two and a half miles east of Leesburg.

They would remain there the rest of January, all of February, and up to the beginning of

March.

The mud was shoe-mouth deep as they left Camp Carolina, left the cabins they'd worked so

hard to build, and marched toward the high bluff where a battle had been fought above

Harrison's Island back on October 21st.

On January 21st, Jonathon was standing picket in the rain, squinting through half-lidded eyes

down at the Potomac far below. By evening the rain changed to sleet, then snow, and still he

stood where he was, stamping his feet, tucking his hands under his armpits.  The wind up on

the bluff seemed to blow harder than it had back at the main camp, and he tried to turn his

face away from its blast, pulling his neck scarf up over his mouth.

The rest of January passed much like that...snow, sleet, rain, mud, snow, sleet, hail, rain, mud.

On the 26th Daniel Hudson, a nineteen-year old farmer from Webster, left the company,

admitted to the General Hospital in Leesburg with dysentery. James Mills went to the hospital

on the 28th. On the 27th as he stood picket, Jonathon could clearly hear the thunderous roll

of a cannonade, but it was merely the Confederate cannoneers practicing shooting at a target,

two miles away.

The month of February was a repeat of the end of January, beginning with a large overnight

snowfall. Daniel Hudson was released from the hospital on the 2nd, rejoining the Guards, much

to the relief of his brother, James, a 4th sergeant, who was 23 and very watchful over his

younger brother. Jonathon knew he'd be like James, watching over Billy if he were there. It

drove him crazy sometimes, though, not knowing just where Billy was, if he were safe, if he

were sick. Billy, though, was at that moment in Pensacola, Florida as part of the command of

General Sam Jones, and it wasn't snowing at all.

Usually the sleet turned to snow, but on the 3rd, after a fast snowfall all day, the snow turned

to sleet at dusk. Jonathon stood picket all that night, icicles forming over nearly every inch of

him. He thought of the cabin back at Camp Carolina he'd helped build and it seemed downright

cozy and snug to him. He couldn't build a fire to stand near to warm himself at all because in its

light, he'd be an easy target for the Yankee pickets just across the river. Sometimes the opposing

pickets just fired into the general area where they knew their enemy counterparts stood guard.

More than once he'd had a bullet thud into some tree not far from his head. Seth had had a

bullet pierce the brim of his hat.

Nothing much was happening. On the 13th Fort Evans came under an enemy bombardment

and on the 15th there was cannonading from the direction of Centerville.  There was mostly

sleet, endless sleet, or snow...or deep, cold mud.  The newspapers, both Yankee and Confederate,

nearly every day carried the line All Quiet Along the Potomac.  The universe seemed held in

some sort of abeyance, waiting, and while it did so, Jonathon stood watch along the Potomac

in the sleet, in the snow, in the icy winds blowing over the icy mud. (*SEE NOTE AT BOTTOM

OF PAGE)

Jonathon thought February of 1862 would never end. He wasn't warm enough, not once, the

entire month. Even on the days it didn't snow or sleet, rare days when the sky was clear, the

wind howled bitterly over the frozen earth, the frozen men.  He wore all three pairs of his wool

socks at once and still he had to stamp his feet, wiggle his toes, to keep any feeling in them at all.

On the 24th the wind blew so unremittingly, so terribly hard, that every tent they had blew down.  On the 25th his head jerked around at a sudden, loud explosion. One of the largest

cannon at Fort Evans had burst, killing or wounding four men.

Back at Camp Carolina, the brigade was getting ready to pull out, and all extra baggage,

all the sick were sent down to Middleburg. On the 26th Barksdale returned from Richmond

and after three days in camp, clear and very windy, on the second of March, after a pretty

sunrise, he drew his regiment out in a column and addressed them on the subject of the need

for them to re-enlist. It was not something they wished to hear, these men who had volunteered

for one year's service, a year that was rapidly drawing to a close.

On the 3rd, during a night of fast and heavy snowfall, the regiment, now including the Guards again, was awakened at 1 AM, told to fix bayonets and start to march. About dark, after an

18 mile march that took them through Middleburg, they camped at a little place called Dover.

They were heading south toward Richmond, then on to Yorktown where McClellan was

massing Union troops.

As they pulled out of Leesburg, thirty thousand Yankees finally crossed the Potomac at

Harper's Ferry, advancing slowly. News arrived of the surrender of 12,000 Southern troops

at Fort Donelson on February 16th, giving Grant control of the Cumberland River. Jonathon and Seth had helped burn all the cabins at Camp Carolina, the forts they'd built blown up,

the corn and wheat mills burned. The Confederates were pulling out of Loudon County,

leaving it to the Yankees. When the Union troops under Colonel Geary crossed the Potomac

and entered Leesburg, many of its prominent citizens were arrested for their activities in

helping the Confederates.

"So," Seth asked, trudging along, "we accomplish anythin' back up there at Leesburg?"

"We survived. That's about it."  Jonathon had nothing more to say about the last several months.

(*NOTE) A song was penned entitled All Quiet Along the Potomac Tonight and there are two totally different accounts of how it came to be written. The one certain thing is that it was based on standing picket duty where Jonathon was. Here are the two versions:

All quiet along the Potomac, they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing, a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost, only one of the men,
Moaning out all alone the death rattle.
"All quiet along the Potomac tonight!"

All quiet along the Potomac tonight,
where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming,
and their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
and the light of the camp fires are gleaming;
there's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
as he tramps for the rock to the fountain,
and thinks of the two on the low trundle bed,
far away in the cot on the mountain.
"All quiet along the Potomac tonight!"

His musket falls slack - his face dark and grim,
grows gentle with memories tender,
as he mutters a pray'r for the children asleep,
and their Mother - "may heaven defend her!"
The moon seems to shine as brightly as then -
that night when a love yet unspoken
leap'd up to his lips and when low murmur'd vows
were pledg'd to be ever unbroken.
"All quiet along the Potomac tonight!"

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eye
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree
The footstep is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
"All quiet along the Potomac tonight!"

Hark! Was it the night wind that rustled the leaves,
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looks like a rifle -- "Ah! Mary, good-bye!"
And the lifeblood is ebbing and splashing.
All quiet along the Potomac tonight,
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead -
The picket's off duty forever.
"All quiet along the Potomac tonight!"

 

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