As a Confederate Soldier, John Fulton Brown opposed all things pointing to a division of the United States. He felt he was helping to establish a cause that he did not want established. His heart was not in it and it didn't reflect his interests. He was half-starved all the time and was plagued by the horrid, hungry insects that sucked out what little beef and rice he didn't get at suppertime. Who wouldn't move, influenced by a variety of facts such as these? In The Bushwhackers, he recounts how, while traveling in the high, craggy mountains of Tennessee, they discovered the area had been overrun by both Yanks and Rebs. Barns and corncribs were empty with no men in sight, except every now and then a very old man would wander out of hiding. Women with long, peaked faces peeped out through cracks in their huts, looking as scared to death as they undoubtedly were. Children with woolly heads and prominent eyeballs, pale from lack of sufficient food-skedaddled in all directions. Real pretty girls, or those who would have been pretty if there were peace and plenty, looked as though they had never had a full meal in their lives.

THE BUSHWHACKERS

The Story of a Reluctant Rebel During the Civil WarBy JOHN FULTON BROWN

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Eugene A. Brown
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-5448-5

Contents

DEDICATION.............................................................ixINTRODUCTION...........................................................xiChapter 1: THE WAR DOGS BEGIN TO BARK.................................1Chapter 2: GETTING OUT................................................10Chapter 3: CAST OF CHARACTERS.........................................18Chapter 4: INTRODUCING OLD CONSCRIPT..................................25Chapter 5: OLD SOW AND THE COTTON PATCH...............................34Chapter 6: PIG IN A PEN...............................................41Chapter 7: THE SHANTY.................................................49Chapter 8: LEN IS JAILED..............................................58Chapter 9: WILLIS UNDERCOVER..........................................66Chapter 10: RANGERS IN PURSUIT.........................................75Chapter 11: MADDER THAN A HORNET.......................................81Chapter 12: THE SOOTY ESCAPE...........................................88Chapter 13: TOL STRIKES EVEN...........................................95Chapter 14: ESCAPE FROM THE SHANTY.....................................103Chapter 15: HUNTING THE CAT............................................112Chapter 16: WILLIS AND LEN ARE HOODWINKED..............................120Chapter 17: OLD SKINFLINT FIRES UP.....................................126Chapter 18: "YANKS BY THE BILLION!"....................................134Chapter 19: SHOAT IS CAPTURED..........................................143Chapter 20: HERE COME THE METHUSELAHS..................................151Chapter 21: THE TEXAS RANGERS AND MR. SNAKE............................158Chapter 22: THE FIRING SQUAD...........................................167Chapter 23: STUCK IN THE SWAMP.........................................176Chapter 24: SWEET WILLIE AND THE BRUTE.................................184Chapter 25: SHOAT MEETS PUMPKIN MAN....................................192Chapter 26: TOL AND JACK ON THE DEFENSE................................200Chapter 27: MULE GONE WILD.............................................207Chapter 28: MOVING BRIDGES.............................................215Chapter 29: OLD RAGTAIL BUYS TWO SLAVES................................224Chapter 30: SHOAT NABS A GRAY JACKET...................................231Chapter 31: JACK BARRELS ALONG.........................................238Chapter 32: SHOAT TAKES A DIP..........................................243Chapter 33: STUMPY MEETS OLD MULE......................................248Chapter 34: THE TABLE TURNS ON OLD CONSCRIPT...........................258Chapter 35: OLD CONSCRIPT INVADES THE PARTY............................266Chapter 36: SHOAT OUTRUNS THE RANGERS..................................272Chapter 37: TRAPPED LIKE MUSKRATS......................................278Chapter 38: THE HORSE THIEVES..........................................285Chapter 39: SHOAT'S CONSCIENCE SPEAKS..................................293Chapter 40: TATER PLAY.................................................298Chapter 41: "CAPTAIN BAREBACK".........................................305Chapter 42: SEEING THE GIRLS HOME......................................315Chapter 43: THE BIGGERS FAMILY.........................................323Chapter 44: SHOAT SHOOTS A BEAR........................................331Chapter 45: SHERIFF IS BUSHWHACKED.....................................338Chapter 46: HOUND DOG AND TOM CAT......................................343Chapter 47: A TORCHLIGHT TO FIND THE WAY...............................348Chapter 48: TWO FRIENDS LOST...........................................355Chapter 49: FERRY BOAT EXCURSION.......................................361Chapter 50: OLD CAPTAIN MEETS UP WITH SHOAT............................370Chapter 51: ON THE MARCH...............................................378Chapter 52: SOLDIER GIVES FAIR WARNING.................................385Chapter 53: A DARING RESCUE............................................391Chapter 54: THE BARKING STOPS AND THE DANCE BEGINS.....................398EPILOGUE...............................................................403

Chapter One

THE WAR DOGS BEGIN TO BARK

My name is Sampson Shoat, and if I have been rightly informed, I was born in the Palmetto State in the year, 1845, known as the Famine Year.

My parents, being poor and hardly able to root out a living at best, immigrated to the mountains of Georgia the winter following two especial calamities: my birth and the famine. Here there were plenty of acorns, chestnuts, pure air, and good water, if nothing else. Whatever may have been their real expectations respecting this move, when they could have found much better lands by pursuing a different route, is more than I can guess, unless it was to hide their poverty. This poverty seems to be contagious, or else it comes in as an inheritance, for as far back as I have been able to trace the family records it has remained one unbroken chain of penury, and the worst is that it holds its own, still today.

Then the name? There's nothing wrong or strange about the name when we consider the source from whence it sprang. It should be much more common than it is, for without doubt, it had its beginning in Hog and the actions of a hog as well. If all wore it to whom it would fit, wouldn't we have a lot more shoats? However, the two puzzling questions to me is ... how it to be separated from the original and how it came to be saddled upon a shiftless people? The swine we know is the true antecedent, and as a general thing, we find the two-legged ones rooting about in very good order like those shoats. A true relative is hardly able to be rooted out. As to my theories respecting these questions, I cannot vouch for their accuracy; still here they are.

First, sometime in the long ago, some dwarf of the Hog family ... like myself, having rooted where he should not, emigrated and used it as an alias. While searching for the alias, the idea occurred to him not to vary too much but to find something, if possible, retaining all the qualities of the first and at the same time represent his little size. He found the outfit in Shoat. We may conjecture a little further and partially prove this from another fact: had the honorable gentleman who hammered out the name, had an eye to respectability, he would not have failed to see that he was making it worse, for after all his work he would still have a hog ... and a little hog at that.

In respect to the second question, I have two theories. First, that with the change of name began a backward evolution of the people. This seems to be in both intellect and size and has now very nearly reached the guinea pig, from whence, no doubt, they started. Another alias springing from the Hog family shaves the name still less and adds an extra "G," making it "Hogg." This, it seems to us, is enough to satisfy anybody that these people never make things better by alteration, for what can this be but double-hog? Just as well to have put it Hogs. My second theory, in regard to the poverty of these people, and one on which I will stand pat is ... the big hogs always root the little shoat to the high end of the trough, where there's no slop.

My parents lived in these parts for two years, after which, they pulled up stakes and left out again. This time they stopped in the hills, yet the land was not much better. One thing they had done was to follow and overhaul their kinfolk. That is the worst thing anybody can do. Here they settled down to herding shoats in earnest.

As may be imagined in the general state of things, in regard to my education, all will agree with me and conclude that it was limited to just about one month. All the schooling I ever had was in a very small, low log cabin, of which I never troubled myself to go to the door to get inside, unless I happened to be on that side. I went through the cracks. Think in this. There was nothing taught except the old Blue Back Speller, some grades of the Readers, and Arithmetic. So as my introduction to English grammar has been very slight, I may be excused and shall make no apology for errors, which will very likely be plentiful. So in relating the following truthful stories, I shall use my own speech and in my own way.

Up to the gathering of the war clouds, nothing happened to me, I suppose, outside the general gitup and git of all farm boys, except a bad and long spell of sickness when I was a little toddler. This sickness, as my mother told me years later, threw me back into the chrysalis state, where I had to learn to sit alone, crawl and walk the second time, which in all likelihood deducted not less than sixteen inches from my stature.

Of course, as a mountain rough, I would be expected to know little of politics or government affairs. Yea, verily for the truth is that up to this time, I cared less than I knew. There was too much beauty and real life in these mountains and hills to be troubled with little things. True, I had from time to time heard my father speak something on the line of politics, but I was little interested and hardly knew, up to '61, whether he was Whig or Tory. When the war dogs began to bark, I began to pay some attention to a great many outlandish names, and if they had come my way before, I would have just given them nod and passed on. Some of those quaint names, which I interpreted at the time as the language of the mound builders, were such as Democrat, Republican, Rebel, Yankee, Unionist, Secessionist, Abolitionist, Carpetbagger, and many others, which I can't remember having seen in the old Blue Back Speller. One fact I soon had by the tail, slow as my perception of things was, that nearly the whole of the population of our parts were dyed in the wool Unionist who opposed secession on any terms pointing to a severance of the States. Some perhaps, will countersay all this, and much more on what I am going to add. Yet I believe the big majority will back me in my statement. I believe, had it been left to an honest vote of the people, North Georgia, East Tennessee, and Western North Carolina, might have formed another good-sized Federal State, and without doubt, would have come to the front with a Constitution sweeping away all things looking to a parting with the stars and stripes.

Strange as it may seem, a number of these people were even slave owners, for as time proved-they had the sense. Still, there is one other thing that is stranger to me than all the rest that I have still do not understood. That is, notwithstanding all this loyalty when the game was fully up, it appeared the greater number of these same Unionist wished for no better amusement than to tackle a Yankee. They thought it would be frolic and fun for our boys to teach those Yanks their ABCs, so said some of these. They said the Yanks were like the Florida fleas ... without beginning or end. I thought teachers, though expert, willing and expeditious, might prove too few. One thing I failed to learn at the time, and have failed to learn through the years since, is from where and whence the name "Yankee" sprang.

My doubts, I kept to myself, for while the great excitement lingered at Meridian, the man who would have ventured to say he could not whip a dozen Yanks-would have been arrested, tried, and shot for treason.

I have touched upon this part of the time's proceedings only to get a base, to make plain the principal on which the characters of my story based their actions. In other words, I will show cause for their actions. It will also do away with many questions concerning them and make other questions easier answered as the story progresses. Therefore, hereafter, this part of the program will be little in our way.

As of the latter part of '61, I had just turned into my sixteenth year and notwithstanding my scruples, like all other boys I wanted to go and see the fun. However, there were two obstructions in my way. First, my father and mother had a say so about it and they objected at the very outset to any such proceedings on my part. Second, it was not allowed at that time to enlist soldiers less than eighteen years of age. They must also be well grown, healthy, fat, and sleek, and as I was always a little runt, I could not fill the bill, even if my father and mother had been willing. So, having no other grounds on which to maneuver, I stacked arms and withdrew my declaration of war. While time was conveying me on toward eighteen, they made a long leap backward and the legal age was shaved off to sixteen. By this time, as things began to warm up and in proportion, my desire to see the elephant began to cool. Since they wouldn't have me when I wanted to go, I determined to weather 'em out till I was eighteen years of age, if not longer. Still, for this, my notion changed-and change it did, without my consent. Strange, how one may be influenced to a thing against his will. A certain Mr. Conscript Officer had looked at me more than once with snapping eyes and had asked me several impertinent questions concerning my age. Thus, being satisfied he was ready to rake me in produced the change.

Three months before this time, about the end of '62, my elder brother, a great long legged six-footer who had gone with the first troops leaving the county, came home sick. He stayed at home as long as he could. The fact was, he was tired of "teaching" Yanks and wished for a long vacation. He had little trouble procuring certification, showing the state of his health, and keeping on the sick list while his money lasted. At last, this gave out and left us both exposed to "Old Conscript." To cut things short, Long-legs decided to return, and knowing "Old Conscript" had me almost by the wool, I decided to go with him.

I shall pass the scene of parting with my mother, as all know what this means. Suffice it to say, she put her arms around my neck and cried, just as if I had been something more than a little shoat.

We boarded the cars at the nearest station, set sail for the coast, and kept moving till we reached James Island. In less than thirty hours after leaving home, I was under fire of the Yankee gunboats. Saints of Mohamed! What a contrast to the peace of home! What a quick change from quietness, safety, and ease, to the roar of the cannon, the whir and whiz of shells, and the louder whir and buzz of mosquitoes! Then the water ... Flugens! With the very first sup, I condemned it as not fit to cleanse a sewer. And this, added to the rest of the woeful prospects, satisfied me at once, that the chances of my ever getting out of here head end up, was at least, 40,000 to 1 against me.

At first, I thought to dodge those Republican missiles but it was like trying to dodge the wind. I could hear the sound thereof, but could tell nothing about their lighting place. Still, I was not the only one that hopped about; the oldest inhabitants, that is the oldest soldiers, would start at the sound of those aerial songsters, stoop over, hop first to one side then the other, and look as though another place would be more acceptable. My real disgust at the state of things may be imagined from the fact that before I was here ten hours, one of the shells the size of a forty-horse power boiler lit within fifteen feet of me. It went about the same distance into the earth, busted, blew me fifteen or twenty feet further and ... lacking just a few spades full, buried me alive.

We stayed here till after Christmas and then went to Savannah. Within this time, I became acquainted with many things that I knew did not grow in the mountains. I was tired of confinement and was glad when we got orders to pull up stakes. This was to me a perfect prison, only we had room for exercise. This exercise consisted mainly in fighting mosquitoes, some of which were about the size of the full grown ostrich, had bills as long as our bayonets, and on which, had they listened to me, we should have used our small cannon on them. To give the thing justice, there was little difference as I could see, between the bombs of the Yanks and the bills of those mammoth skeeters, for as the shells could only go through, so would the snout of the other.

We went over this Charleston and Savannah Railroad in the night, and I rode the whole distance on a flat car in the company of an old, rusty forty rounder. On this trip, I thought of the Irishman's conclusion in the Rockies. With forty miles of snow sheds, he said he believed it to be the longest depot he ever saw. This one was different, with nothing but trestles and bridges from end to end. I suppose at first they built the road on stilts to keep above the tides, but some fellow once said, "Twas done to keep the 'gators from licking off their passengers".

We were all night on the road going little more than a hundred miles, and I suffered much from the cold. Had it been an overland route, I could have footed it and kept pace with the thing and have kept warm. The end came at last and with it, the rising sun from the West, or apparently so, for I was completely about-faced and felt as though I was turned head end down. We soon had a roaring fire, got warm, unloaded our horses, guns and other things, and in a few shakes were on the road to Thunderbolt some miles down the river. I soon became as tired of this place as I was of Jims Island. I was like the wife of Ninus; I longed for my mountain home. Those low, stenchy districts, vibrating with reptiles and insects, were not to my liking and I was well satisfied now, that victory would show up against us. I determined to act my part towards bringing the thing to a close and get out while able. I was going to my home and stay there.

For this move, which I carried to the finish, I set forth the following truthful reasons. First, I was Union to the bottom and opposed all things pointing to a division of the States. Second, I was helping to establish a cause I did not want established. My heart was not in it and neither did I think my interest there. I had no such belief or feeling as that of deserting my country, but on the other hand, my desertion would tend much toward my country's welfare. I was half-starved all the time and really, the prospects of perishing grew more real every day. Last but not least, those torrid, horrid, never-filled insects were sucking out what little beef and rice I did not get. Who wouldn't move, influenced by a variety of facts such as these?

Do not think I was ignorant to the danger of such a step, for I well knew, should I be caught, the result might be six bullets through my body. I had seen one man shot for desertion and had guarded others who dug up stumps and toted sandbags for the same offense. These things had little affect toward intimidating me, for after making up my mind to make the move, I would have risked it on the back of an alligator or a Texas steer. Still, for this I went at the thing careful and in a business-like way. I knew furloughs had been granted some of the boys for the purpose to return home and, without doubt, get themselves into worse trouble and danger than any cannonade conflict: viz., to marry. I determined I would feign running this gauntlet myself, as an excuse for a furlough. If this were refused, the blame for my taking the thing in my own hands would be theirs. So, having my way blazed, I applied for the right to return home to marry. Old Captain seemed surprised, laughed big, and replied, "You are too little for that sort of warfare and it is my duty to protect you against it." Then he asked me, "How long have you been weaned?" He said he was satisfied that I knew not where I was leading.

I thanked him for his kind feelings on my behalf, left him to do his own laughing, knowing very well my time would come, and that the last laugher, laughs the longest, if not the loudest. He might laugh now, but I would laugh later when I had more time! Right then I felt to be as much of a man as that of little King "Pepin" when he beheaded the Lion.

It was now settled. My waybill must be a forgery, if at all. So without consulting any more officers, I brought together two or three of the boys who could write and in a little time, we had papers signed in different hands, granting Sampson Shoat full liberty to return home and take a wife. I had some notion presenting this paper at headquarters and demanding a passport, for as I had paid my way going there, I thought they should foot the bill. My fears told me to run no unnecessary risk, and with this paper as my only protector-except two good pistols-I lit out for home, three hundred and fifty miles away.

(Continues...)

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