The Georgia Peach - A Story of the American Civil War.
"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war ..."
From The Gettysburg Address, Abraham Lincoln - November 19, 1863
By May 1864 the War Between the States had been wreaking its devastating havoc for over three interminable years. With an election looming Lincoln was under immense pressure to cease hostilities and the South were ready to accept a peace which allowed them to retain their way of life. But that would not happen. The President had appointed new Generals and given then an open mandate to end the war.
Generals Ulysses S. Grant and William T. Sherman were to lead the Union army to victory by engaging in a strategy of 'all-out war'. The core of this plan was to 'scorch the earth' across the heart of the Southern States, a plan that would eventually deliver a devastating impact throughout the whole of Georgia.
But on the 11th May 1864, Sherman was camped high above the banks of the Oostanuala river, readying his troops for the inevitable, impending confrontation with Joe Johnston's Confederate army. He was already planning to replace his established, but potentially vulnerable, supply lines with a 'foraging' process that would see the Union soldiers living from whatever the Georgia land had to offer.
Foraging Groups, colloquially referred to as 'Bummers', raided plantations, with crops and livestock being subjected to widespread confiscation and/or destruction. Such raids were not without their misdemeanours ...
This story contains an account of one such foraging raid on White Orchard Mansion, a raid that took place on the 11th May 1864. White Orchard Plantation had been the home of Colonel and Mrs John McCown, until their untimely deaths had been brought about by the War and Pneumonia respectively. The small slave stock and the large estate were now managed solely by their young daughter, Catherine ...
Chapter 1 - On the banks of the Oostanuala, May 11th 1864
It was a high rock face, overlooking the dark violence of the swollen Oostanaula river. He sat alone, watching as the early morning arrivals broke ranks and the columns began to disperse in the steady rain preparing to make camp. He felt the coolness run down his neck, the water soaking every part of him, his hat, his clothes, taking the grime and dust with it. A vast sea of mud surrounded them all.
The river was rising again, and was already well beyond their ability to ford, as they might have done before the rains. Now, it was angry and swirling. In the early gloom, the motion accentuated by the small fires that lined the riverbank, a flickering protest to the misery of the weather, the only guiding light the men would have to reach the crossing.
"Good morning Sergeant," said a sleepy General Sherman, "What news have you brought for me today?"
"Mornin' Gen'ral. I only deliver the news Sir, I don't read it," replied the Sergeant, maintaining an unnecessary diligence.
The General looked at the man, a 'Bummer', part of the newly formed foraging troop. He nodded, smiled, acknowledged the departing courier and opened the dispatch.
It was not what he had expected to read, not at all.
It was from Lieutenant Evans Sampson of Logan's XV Corp. Evans was in charge of a foraging party, but why was he bothering Sherman with details such as this. All of his army now deployed foragers, or 'Bummers' as they had been newly termed. He himself had sanctioned the practice. As his army marched into Georgia, although Sherman still had his supply line back to Chattanooga, he needed to reduce his reliance on it and use the natural land to make his army more mobile. So why had Sampson not contacted his commanding officer directly if he had a problem ...
... Sherman read on.
"General, Sir, please let me apologise for bringing this matter to your personal attention. In any other context it would be considered incidental but I felt compelled to write you directly when the chief inhabitant of the residence we are in mentioned your name in her defence ..."
Chapter 2 - White Orchard Plantation, May 11th 1864
"You do not have to lock nor guard the door Lieutenant; it is my house and I will say what does and does not happen inside its walls."
Sampson appraised the girl, his gaze moving slowly from her dainty ankle, clad in white silk and exposed just a little above her slipper, to her slender waist and rising bosom pressed tightly to her person by the fashionable crinoline and boned corset underneath the faded peach dress that she wore. Despite the garment being a little careworn, a clear sign of the times, the girl could still be considered beautiful by any man's standards, especially one who had not enjoyed the company of any woman, never mind a beautiful one, for some time.
As a final and parting imposition he increased the intensity of his stare, assessing her shape, her looks ... every delicate feature perfectly formed from her slightly button nose, to her wide long-lashed eyes and high cheeks bones.
The girl, through the curtain of long dark hair that framed her face, returned his scrutiny with a glare of her own. Her expression of reproach reflected the steely determination that had enabled her to persevere through the deaths of both of her parents, and, despite the ever-increasing gravity of these present times, to maintain at least some semblance of normality at White Orchard.
Catherine McCown was only too aware of the generous helping of time that this junior officer allowed his gaze to dwell on her person and it made her uneasy.
"It is for your own protection Miss that I have your room secured. It keeps my men out as well as keeping you in."
She shivered at his words. Why on earth would he need to concern himself about keeping his own men out of her boudoir? Were they savages?
As he turned to leave, pulling the double doors of Miss McCown's bedchamber closed, she shouted after him in a most unladylike manner.
"And you make sure that the General receives my message."
Uncle Billy would sort this misunderstanding out, she just knew he would. 'Uncle Billy' was the esteemed General William Tecumseh Sherman, her Godfather, best friend and erstwhile colleague of her late father. Colonel John McCown, had been killed in gallant action at Shiloh Church back in April of '62, fighting on the opposing side to Uncle Billy.
They had been West Point Graduates together, class of '40, before she was even born. Since her father's much-lamented death Catherine had lived on the plantation at White Orchard with a handful of slaves and her Mama, until Pneumonia had taken her too just a few months ago.
She knew that living here on her own, a young girl barely out of her teenage years, with only a handful of slaves for company, was dangerous, especially with the war getting ever closer. But where else would she go?
That goddamned seditionist Lincoln had 'freed' the slaves back in '62, any many had run away from White Orchard just as they did from all of the neighbouring plantations. But some didn't, and the few that were eventually re-caught and punished served as a warning to others thinking of doing the same. Back then her daddy had warned the negroes that there was no better life, and they should not consider themselves freemen. But now the only slaves that remained were those who had been here so long they had no idea where else to go, or those that lacked the courage to attempt to run. The situation with the slaves was as big a mess as everything else was right now.
Uncle Billy would help her, she was certain of it.
The exasperated Lieutenant took a moment as he stopped outside the girl's bedroom doors. His hand tightly gripped the door knobs which he had closed behind himself.
Did she really want him to write to the General? He couldn't do that, could he? But what if what she said was true and he ignored her request. What if she really did know the General ... more than that, she said he was her Godfather.
With a resigned sigh he called for Sergeant Oaks. He needed to dictate a message.
Chapter 3 - On the banks of the Oostanuala, May 11th 1864
Sherman had finished his breakfast, bacon and flour biscuits made with the fat. He never ceased to be amazed at what the privations of war caused him to appreciate. In his pre-war time at the at the Academy in Louisiana, such a meal would have been unthinkable, never mind enjoyable, but now ...
"I will be back later Lew," he addressed his Aide-de-camp in personable terms. Lieutenant Colonel Lewis Mulford Dayton had been with Sherman since the beginning of the war and enjoyed the private ear of his commanding officer.
"Sir, Johnston's army is massing and heading for Resaca, we need to cross the river and steal the high ground, or ..."
"Yes, yes Lew, I'm well aware of our needs, and rest assured they will be attended to. But for now, I have troubles of a more personal nature to look into." Sherman looked the other officer in the eye and Dayton knew that was to be the end of the matter.
"It would be quicker by horse, Sir," the head of his quickly assembled three-man entourage said in an attempt to encourage the General to fulfil whatever these private obligations were with full haste.
Sherman fixed the trooper with a stare, "Two days ago several of our own men were found hanged just a mile or so from here. I have the report from that unsavoury event to review Captain, and so we will travel by coach, that way I can make better use of my time."
The previous day had brought a report of four Union Bummers found hanged over by the Pine Road. This place was teeming with Reb guerrilla's, and Sherman needed to do something about it. He would have Kilpatrick deploy a unit or two of his cavalry, to clear them out of this vicinity.
But that would have to wait just a little while.
The cold, hard rain pelted the driver of the horse-drawn covered carriage as an angry wind added to the man's misery. Inside the cabin sat Sherman and his guard.
"Signal a left here," Sherman issued his instructions so that the driver could be kept on track. White Orchard Mansions held many happy memories for the General, but none of them recent. Catherine would have been no more than fifteen when he last visited, and even back then she was already blossoming into a beautiful Southern Belle ... a Georgia Peach, her father used to say ... he was looking forward to seeing her again.
From where the army was camped, it was only a short distance to the White Orchard Plantation and Farm but he was grateful for the small escort. Times were uncertain these dark days, but even more so when two armies faced each other as closely as Joe Johnston's was with his now.
The coach slowed to a halt, which was more than the driving rain was doing, as the General and his team disembarked to be met by a pair of very deferential privates from Sampson's team, and he was immediately covered with a large tarpaulin as they ran inside the dry sanctity of the main house.
The poncho that was part of the General's seasonal uniform, covered his clothes from the neck to the middle of his thighs, where his lighter blue trousers had rapidly become drenched below the knee as he waited patiently for everyone to reside under cover and the door to be closed shut behind them.
Sherman looked around. The oak panelling, the smell of pine and magnolia that always seemed to permeate throughout this part of the house brought a familiar and happy resonance to him.
Chapter 4 - White Orchard Plantation, Late Morning, May 11th 1864
