A Civil War Tale

Imagine, if you will, a farm in Durham County thick with acres of oak, hickory, and maple, bordering freshly tilled farmland. After years of hard work, life on the farm is just beginning to thrive. The young farmer has such dreams. But little does he know how the Civil War is getting ready to change everything.

Perspiration trickles to the ground as Thomas lifts his axe and brings it down onto a recently felled log. The scent of smoke hangs heavy in the air, rising from great piles of burning timber in an open field. He pauses, studying the scene, and allows himself a small smile.

A newly built log cabin and several tobacco barns stand as the only structures for miles. Children play nearby with whittled toys while Mary tends to her daily chores—washing clothes, feeding animals. Her cotton dress clings as she leans over the washbasin. Straightening, she wipes her brow and brushes loose strands of hair from her eyes.

Weeks pass without the sound of unfamiliar voices. The family lives in near isolation. Though the money jar runs low, steady spring rains and healthy crops keep worry at bay.

Then word arrives, carried by a distant neighbor: North Carolina will secede from the Union. Thomas lowers his head to the table, dreading what it may bring. He questions the need for war. He pays taxes for services he never sees, yet even that feels no cause to fight. He has never owned a slave, holds no strong conviction on the matter. He wants only to be left alone—but such wishes rarely hold.

By mid-June, Thomas boards a train for Raleigh and enters Camp Mangum. For weeks he drills, receives basic equipment, and is assigned to a regiment. He never feels ready. Each night he prays for reconciliation, but none comes.

In the fall of 1861, as leaves turn red and gold, the regiment marches east to defend the North Carolina coast. With each mile, food grows scarcer and Thomas grows thinner.

The men try to hold firm in their beliefs, but Thomas remains uncertain about this Civil War that has only brought suffering. He cannot understand why he is not back in Durham, tending his land and protecting his family. Gradually, he grows numb as the column moves from Raleigh to Goldsboro, then on to New Bern.

By late October, frost settles in. Thomas wakes to the biting cold, shaken from it only by the day’s march. Winter meets them at the shoreline. Christmas passes like any other day, save for a few men singing softly and others recounting the story of Christ’s birth.

Sickness spreads quickly. At night, the men huddle together for warmth. Thomas thinks only of Mary and the children, praying for the day he might return.

Cold rain sets in for days without end. Every inch of him is soaked, his body trembling. He marches past bare trees and ditches filled with black water. Many fall behind, weakened by hunger and illness. At last, they reach the shoreline, where boats ferry men to distant islands.

Thomas lowers himself onto a wooden seat, feeling the sharp pressure beneath his thin frame. He closes his eyes, drifting, then jerks awake and looks out over the water—low shapes of land, sea oaks bending in the wind.

When the boat stops, Thomas rises, seized by a cramp in his thigh. He steadies himself and steps onto the shore. His worn boots sink into wet sand. He stumbles, catches himself, and pushes forward, dragging each step free. He wonders how anyone can endure such a place as Roanoke Island.

After a week of relentless cold and damp, the wind carries the distant crack of gunfire. With each passing minute, the sound grows louder—until it becomes an overwhelming roar. Smoke blankets the ground; sight and sound blur into chaos. He once again questions the purpose of this Civil War.

will be continued…