Tattered Gray

Chapter One

I hated being afraid, and afraid I was as I huddled under my parents' bed with the others. I had always tried to not be prideful, but when it came to fearing other human beings, strangers and invaders of our land no less, I was ashamed of my fright. There was no denying this fear-no fighting it, no escaping it. Even in the weeks before the battle, fear of immediate danger lingered within me, for the news of the Yankee troops led by General Nathaniel P. Banks making raids on estates just across the Red River while on their mission to capture Shreveport had reached Mansfield and the surrounding areas, instilling terror in our hearts. When the Federals came from Natchitoches and marched into Pleasant Hill, our fears were made worse as we heard of them pillaging and destroying the houses of those so near. Not only that, they had as of very recently forced our army to retreat from the village and back toward Mansfield, all too close to our home.

I would never forget the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when Mother and I learned of Federal soldiers trespassing on property not so far away, demanding rations and other supplies. I found a little comfort in the fact that we lived in a humble home tucked away in the woods, and I prayed that the Yankees would think it unwise to waste their time on us should they come across our homestead. We had hidden our hams, bacon, silver and other valuables we could manage to send down in the dry well early that morning before seeing our men off to battle. Before war times, Daddy had worked on that well to no avail to figure out why it never held water. He eventually gave up on the endeavor and had another well dug. At the time it was a great burden, but we couldn't have been more grateful for this secret storage space now.

Fear of the invading Yankees was not all that assailed me. It was not enough that the Yankees could steal our food and belongings, take our horses, kill our cattle and poultry and burn our houses leaving the women, children and Negroes helpless like peasants. No, they also stole away our men: our brothers, beaux, cousins and fathers-my father-in order to try and win this cursed war. Losing my father to this war was my greatest fear of all. The world would still turn if I somehow perished during this thing, but the family needed Daddy-Mother, little Alexander and the Negroes. He was loved and adored . . . and necessary. Daddy simply could not die.

Things had been difficult ever since he traveled to Texas with some of the other men from DeSoto Parish and enlisted in the Twenty-eighth Texas Cavalry of the Trans-Mississippi Department, driving off with our best horse and other livestock. Our four field hands were brought with him and taken to stay with Uncle Mark and Grandpa Lanton, who had already migrated to Texas. Our two house servants, Aunt Betsey and Mammy Charlotte, remained, leaving Mother, Alex and I to tend to our crops, manage the house and see to what few animals we had left. Days of pretending to be poised and charismatic to gain the attention of the most eligible beaux of the parish for the sake of my mother were over. I had thought the whole charade was laughable, for our family was middle class at best, and I knew I would never make a match with a wealthy man. Nevertheless, this didn't mean that I wanted to watch the boys march away into battle knowing that many of them would never return. Deep within myself, I knew that things would never be as untroubled as they had been before the war to defend the cause.

I found at first that I didn't have time to be bothered too much by such things, for I was too busy trying to ease some of the burden off of my distraught mother by assuring my little brother that everything was going to work out the way God wanted it to and that Mother still loved him but just needed to be left alone for a bit, among other things. Mother had been separated from her husband and could hardly stand it, but in a way, poor Alex had been deprived of both of his parents during a time in which he desperately needed his father's guidance and his mother's tenderness.