Southern Legacy: Completed Version

by Jerri Hines

  “Gentlemen,” Beauregard explained shortly after the men had been seated. “Raise your glasses. I want to make a toast.”

  Wade eyed the general suspiciously, but complied. Beauregard smiled broadly and held his glass high above his head.

  “I have declared myself a soldier for the cause and my country. Being a dutiful soldier, I am prepared to go where I have been placed…I have been called to the Western theater and have accepted my reassignment…on a couple of conditions. One of which are you men.”

  “Us, General?” Wade questioned, confused. “I’m under Lt. General Hampton’s command.”

  “Hampton’s Legion has been restructured.” Beauregard glanced around the table. “Everyone here tonight has been reassigned under my new command. Drink up, my brave men. To the Western theater we go!”

  On February 2, Major Wade Montgomery departed alongside Beauregard. As the train moved west, crowds met them at every stop with enthusiastic cries of encouragement and belief in the general who would lead them to victory.

  * * * *

  My dearest Josephine,

  I am writing from our encampment in Corinth. Our division is to meet up with General Johnston within days and I do not know when I will be able to write again. Large factions of troops have been congregating, which means another battle will be faced. Beauregard has given us hope that victory against the Union is within our grasp. It is my hope, for I long to see you once more.

  Your wonderful letter was delivered to me last evening. I hold it against my heart as a reminder of why I fight. I fight for you, my love, and my children: Percival, and the one you hold within you. Please do not blush at my frankness. The news of our impending arrival has filled me with great joy.

  I write this as the breeze brings the soothing scent of honeysuckle. This is a lovely land we have gathered around: green rolling hills and warm, welcoming locals, who have renewed our belief in what we do is right. Their faith has become mine.

  It is not easy…this war that is being waged. In my last skirmish, we overtook a Yankee encampment that was filled with an alarming amount of supplies that we have lacked: food such as fresh bread and cured ham. Their uniforms are not ragged, nor their boots’ soles filled with holes from wear, and they seem to have a surplus of ammunition. Things that before the war, we had taken for granted. I have learned never to take anything for granted.

  I hold to the belief that I serve my state and country and will endure the hardships of being separated from my loved ones as all soldiers before me. At night around the campfire, I talk only of the virtues of my wife and escapades of my son, who must be growing by leaps and bounds.

  Do not let him forget his papa, who loves him greatly. And now you have added to my happiness.

  I dreamed last night we had a daughter, the most beautiful of babies. You will laugh but I saw her quite vividly, a gorgeous little girl with curly blonde hair and the bluest of eyes. I saw her playing happily with her older brother and you were looking upon them both, smiling lovingly.

  I will hold to that thought until I receive the news that both of you come through safely. Be strong, Jo, for me.

  Yours forever, Wade

  * * * *

  Wade received his orders. Johnston and Beauregard had made the decision to move forward and become the aggressor. The losses at Fort Henry and Fort Donaldson demanded a quick response.

  In the early hours of the morning, the Confederates prepared for battle. Easing up into Tennessee along the Tennessee River to Pittsburgh Landing, it was said that the Union commander General Ulysses Grant headquartered at Shiloh church.

  Upon his steed, Wade saw the Union forces were before him, unprepared for an attack. Wade waited for the signal. It came in the distance as the sound of the drums called for action. Wade answered. With his sword held high, he repeated the cry that he himself had heard General Hampton use in battle: “Charge them, my brave boys. Charge them!”

  With his unit at the front, Wade drove the charge. Rebel yells sounded. Discharge after discharge, one Union soldier dropped, and then another. Wade pushed forward. The Union line broke and the enemy was in disarray.

  A hail of lead and iron filled the air with dark fire. Load and shoot. Load and shoot. There was no time to think, only react and push forward. Somewhere in the chaos, the Union had regrouped and mounted a defensive in a field along a road.

  Unsure of his location and hazy about the local geography, he lamented the fact that he had no real orders after the initial attack. He would have to rely on his instincts in directing his men. Unwilling to give up their advantage, he urged his unit into the smoke and dust.

  Time had become irrelevant. Around him, he heard the moans of the injured soldiers left on the battlefield, an echo of the overwhelming misery and suffering of the wounded. Confederate cannons roared in the distance. Heavy fire from both sides caused Wade to give pause as to which direction to lead his men. He could not see far in the fog of smoldering battle.

  Finally, a courier arrived. “Major Montgomery?”

  “I am.”

  “General Beauregard sent notice that General Johnston has fallen. He is now in full command. He directs your forces to the rear of the Union. They are in retreat.”

  Immediately, he gestured to the left in hopes his men would follow. It was not a worry. His men placed their trust in his leadership. Exhausted…thirsty, he refused to give ground and called out to hold the position at all hazards.

  It seemed that the woods had become filled with cats on the prowl, popping out of nowhere to wreak havoc… Men fell, both Yankees and his brothers…then he saw a break in the defensive. Gray-clad troops swept through.

  Never had he witnessed such a ghastly scene…such carnage. He watched his men rush toward the line of blue…into the hand of death…but his brave and courageous men fought on…until the blue sounded the retreat.

  Dead and wounded lay where they fell, some on top of each other. He tethered back his mount and allowed his men to continue forward while he covered their rear. Around him, artillery burst…from the Yanks…from the Rebs.

  As the last of his men charged forth across a stream, his eye caught sight of movement. In the water and mud, a body moved ever so slightly. A small form dressed in blue struggled to lift his head from the water, but a fallen soldier had collapsed on top of the boy, trapping him beneath the dead weight.

  A cavalryman had been trained never to dismount in battle. For a brief moment, he thought of his training as a naval officer. It was easier, he supposed, shooting men from the bow of a ship. You didn’t have to see their eyes as their life drained from their bodies.

  Beyond the line of fire, cannonballs began to explode. He had to leave. In these perilous conditions, it was suicidal to stay…and then a muffle cry emerged from the boy.

  Looking over his shoulder at his troops, he turned back to the boy. He hadn’t a choice and leaped from his horse. He heaved the lifeless body to the side; he knelt down and rolled the youth on his back. Coughing and muddy, the boy looked up at Wade with fear wide in his eyes. Lord, he was young, with a baby face that had never seen a razor blade. “I’m not gonna hurt you, boy,” Wade said. “How old are you?”

  “Eleven,” the boy uttered in a low, timid voice. “I’m the drummer boy…I got caught behind my unit…don’t think I can’t shoot…”

  Wade was certain the boy could. Most drummer boys had dreams of becoming soldiers, but like most of the men fighting this day, the boy was scared. He probably didn’t even realize that tears streamed down his face.

  Not wasting any more time, he lifted the boy up and carried him up the bank. Fifty paces to their right, a shell exploded and shook the ground beneath them.

  “It’s all right,” Wade assured the boy. “I’m going to see you through this. I have a boy, myself. Percival. He’s much younger than you. The last I saw of him he was just learning to walk. His momma would have my hide—”

  The sentence hung in the air. Another shell exploded
, much closer. Wade wrapped his arms about the boy and used his body as a shield. Instantly, he felt a hot sensation in his back and then nothing.

  * * * *

  Spring blossomed at Magnolia Bluff. The flowers colored the landscape, from camellias to the hyacinths, but it was the honeysuckle that Josephine caught a whiff of in the breeze. What a lovely day!

  Finally, she began to feel better, having been sick for the last few weeks. Morning sickness. Mother Montgomery said it was a good sign of a healthy baby. She prayed it was true.

  As she sat on the veranda with Mother Montgomery, she watched Percival romp on the lawn, laughing and giggling. It did her heart good.

  Andrew had been called to Charleston. He had left early morning and wasn’t expected back until the end of the week. It surprised her, then, when she saw him walk up the path from the docks.

  Suddenly, an ill wind blew and chilled Jo to the core of her being. Her eyes met Andrew’s reddened ones. His forlorn expression spoke more than words. She knew…Oh, God, she knew. Her chest hurt, as if she couldn’t breathe. No…no…no. She had to leave…if he didn’t say the words, it wouldn’t be true. But she couldn’t move.

  Mother Montgomery grasped hold of Jo’s hand. Tears had already begun to fall.

  Slowly, he walked up the steps and choked out the words. “I’m sorry. So truly sorry.”

  Her head shook in denial; she clutched her hands to her chest. His words blurred together. Brave and courageous… Wade led the charge…he fell at Shiloh…He died a hero…

  Her head spun; her legs crumbled beneath her. She remembered little else until she woke in her bed, crying for her husband who would never return.

  * * * *

  The USS Hartford steamed out of the port of Havana. The Hartford, the command ship of the Gulf Blockading Squadron led by Flag Officer David E. Farragut, was a beauty of a war vessel. The almost three-hundred-foot wooden-hulled sloop of war was made for confrontation, having twenty-nine smoothbore guns on her broadside and twenty-two pound Parrott rifles.

  Cullen had met up with his ship at the end of January. Shortly after the ship sailed from New York, President Lincoln had issued a General War Order Number One, appointing February 22 the day for a general movement of the Land and Naval forces of the United States against the insurgent forces. The intent was a full assault against the Southerner cause, an aggressive stance with the intent of using the full extent of the force the Union had at their disposal.

  Under the new command, Cullen accepted his assignment under Flag Officer Farragut. His commander was a short, stout man with an iron face, notorious for strategizing every conceivable twist. The news that Farragut was to lead the Squadron had been somewhat of a surprise.

  Not only was Farragut a Southerner who held to the flag, his reputation preceded him. Not given to the political overture, his decisions seemed based on what better served his country. From what Cullen knew of the man, Farragut hadn’t the edge of those ambitious sorts…seeking fame to better themselves.

  Rumors abounded on the ship that Farragut’s foster brother, Commander David Porter, had requested the position. Some thought him better suited, but Porter had to settle for second-in-command. Cullen listened, but never offered an opinion. Much like Farragut, his focus was upon the mission and he cared little for idle gossip.

  Beneath a dapple of clouds that covered the full moon, Cullen stood on deck while on duty. His thoughts ran rampant. Earlier in the day, he had received news of Wade’s death two and a half weeks earlier.

  Wade had died in the bloodiest battles of this damn war, Shiloh. A Union victory but he was told his cousin died a hero, trying to save a Union drummer boy. His bravery was respected by both sides—a truly courageous and valiant officer.

  Never had Cullen felt so alone…his brother had died. As much as he wanted to deny it, it cut through his heart like a knife.

  Cullen focused on Josephine—the woman who obsessed his every breath. He looked out over the dark ocean and saw her face. It haunted him…she had pleaded with him to leave her. She who held his happiness in her hands had turned from him and had taken their son…his son!

  Vivid memories of his youth assaulted him…growing up in the realm of Charleston and Magnolia Bluff. He loved the land and the people. He had laughed along when he was kidded and called a Yankee. Now, the distinction stabbed him in the heart worse than if it had been a dagger—it cut him off from the world that once was his beloved home.

  He wore the Union blue uniform proudly and believed deeply in what it stood for. What right had they to self-proclaim their independence? Had he not a right to his opinion, even if it differed from theirs? Was it not his home? No…they…his own family had ripped his claim of being a part of their home…their heritage…uncaring what they took from him.

  Breathing out the cool night’s air, anger and frustration grew inside him. His mind clamped upon the wrongs done to him. No, he would have no more of it.

  His ire toiled as the ship cut through the rough waves. The love he had clung to for Josephine evaporated with the heat in his heart, replaced with an equally powerful emotion—hatred. Firm resolve filled him…he would right the wrongs and protect his son by whatever means necessary.

  The Hartford would arrive at Ship Island early in the morning. Cullen’s eyes lay solely on their destination. May God have mercy on their souls. For the South was about to face the fury of his anger.

  PART FOUR

  THE SUN RISES

  Magnolia Bluff, Charleston

  April, 1862

  Dark days lay ahead; that was Josephine’s only certainty. The shock of the death of the man she thought invincible had worn off and pain seared through her. A sense of relentless despair overwhelmed her with hopelessness.

  The day before last, Major Wade Montgomery was laid to rest. A funeral service had been held for the beloved husband, father, and son. There had been no body to bury. To show respect for the life lost, an empty coffin was lowered into the ground.

  Jo had watched dirt fill the grave. The past seemed only a blurred reminder of a way of life that had been so completely and utterly destroyed. She was left with the realities of the hard, rapacious world around her. The harsh reality of the war.

  She felt she had fallen into a dark tunnel with no light to guide her. The weariness of the war drained her. She hated the talk of Wade’s heroic acts. How brave and courageous he had been!

  Had not anyone known that he promised to return?

  How could he have risked his life so thoughtlessly!

  He promised!

  It was unimaginable that she would never see his handsome, smiling face walk into the room again.

  She wanted nothing more than to see Wade lying lackadaisically in their bed and laugh at her foolishness. At times, she thought she could hear him and expected to turn around to find him there to comfort her. But there would be no comfort: only the haunting words…he’s dead—dead…

  He wouldn’t be coming back.

  Wade had died a hero at the Battle of Shiloh. For the longest time, she had not opened the letter from his commanding officer, General P.G.T. Beauregard. Finally, she forced herself to read the correspondence.

  Mrs. Josephine Montgomery,

  It is with the gravest heart that I’m writing to inform you of your husband’s passing. Major Wade Montgomery will be sorely missed. He was an officer of valor and courage whose legacy will be long remembered. Admired and respected, Major Montgomery in death showed us all how to live life.

  On April 6th, we took the Union by surprise by attacking them not far from the foothills of Mississippi over the border in Tennessee. In what is now been proclaimed as the Battle of Shiloh, your husband led his men into the glorious battle. He bore his position proudly and held it at all hazards.

  In the most dangerous of circumstances, Major Montgomery led his men on an assault against enemy lines. In the midst of battle, despite the imminent danger he faced, the major noticed the Union drummer trapped a
long a creek bank. He saved the lad, but in turn lost his life.

  His loss is felt by all. We lost many a good man that day…a day that had us on the edge of glory. Unfortunately, the next day victory was taken cruelly from us, but Major Montgomery did not lose his life in vain. He has inspired many with his bravery.

  I received notice of Major Montgomery’s last moments from Union Captain Lawrence Bronson. The young drummer boy, Howie Albright, informed Captain Bronson of your husband’s brave deed in detail. Know your husband did not die alone. The young lad did not leave his side and saw to it that his sacrifice was reported. Take heart that Major Montgomery’s last thoughts were of you and your son. He loved you greatly.

  Major Wade Montgomery’s courageous feat will not be forgotten.

  Respectfully, General P.G.T. Beauregard

  Numerous expressions of sympathy arrived. Each commended Wade’s virtues, but none could do what she wanted most—bring Wade back to her. Jo took the letters and added them to the pile of letters that Wade had sent her. A silent tear fell down her cheek as she tied a ribbon around the packet. Kissing the top of the letters, she placed them inside the lap secretary.

  Sitting behind her desk, she stared out the window. The sun shone brightly down upon the earth. It all seemed so strange. The whole of her world had collapsed. Yet, life carried on…the birds sang, flowers bloomed…she had no choice but to carry on and live each day.

  Her children depended upon her. Percival and the new life that grew inside her had a great need of their mother. Jo pushed aside the overwhelming sorrow that welled inside her. She couldn’t allow the ache that gnawed at her heart to consume her. Wade would expect her to be strong.

  Wade’s death had caused a huge void in her soul. Her protector…her lover…her husband was gone and no amount of mourning, crying, longing for his return would bring him back. Gone were any lingering secret doubts about the war, replaced by a simmering hatred toward all things Yankee.