At the start of the American Civil War, three best friends-all teenage boys-yearn to serve in the Confederate Army but are turned away for being too young. But as soon as they are old enough and brave enough, the boys-now on the verge of becoming men-join a Southern army unit headed for battle. They are willing to sacrifice everything for what they believe. Low on supplies and with diminishing morale, the Confederate States of America sees itself pressed in on all sides by the advancing Union forces. They find themselves encamped outside of Mobile, Alabama, the most fortified American city at the time. Their camp soon becomes the stage for the final great battles of the war. Pitted against each other in bloody conflict are Americans from farms, cities, and small towns north and south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Ben, Josh, and Caleb, along with thousands of other Southerners, engage the Northern military might at Fort Blakely in a battle that will set the United States on a new, uncertain course. In a few short months, the boys become men as they experience patriotic zeal, comradeship, and horrors that human beings should never encounter. These young men find themselves locked in a symbiotic struggle for survival. As they mature as individuals, so does the nation. For a young nation on the brink of union, can its citizens leave behind a country struggling for its identity to search for a country united in its quest for greatness?

MOURNING MIST

By Jay Stafford

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2011 Jay Stafford
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4269-7039-9

Chapter One

The morning mist obscured sight of the wagon. The two Union soldiers watched the road from their hiding place in the trees and brush. They could hear the steady clop, clop of a single horse and the squeak of a wagon wheel in need of grease.

The corporal said softly, "Sounds like just one wagon."

"Yeah," his companion, a private, responded. "Headin' west. Prob'ly no threat. Maybe a farmer."

The soldiers were assigned to watch the road, a connection between Decatur, Alabama, and the small towns of Weaver County. They were to report back to their captain any signs of Confederate troop movements or unusual activities along the route.

Gradually the horse and buckboard wagon emerged from the ground fog. One man sat holding the reins, half slumped over as if napping to the rhythm of the swaying wagon on the uneven, dirt road.

"Looks like the wagon's empty," the private whispered as the traveler drew within earshot.

Caleb Weiss, the seventeen year-old son of Otto Weiss, sat on the wagon's seat. His father owned and operated the general merchandise store in the rural town of Martinsburg. With his slouch hat low on his forehead, Caleb's posture suggested he was dozing. He wasn't. He knew the blue-clad soldiers were hidden beside the road, watching him. His right hand was poised to reach into the pocket of his heavy coat. The soldiers were there three days earlier when Caleb rode past heading east to farms and homesteads between Martinsburg and Decatur to deliver supplies from his father's store. Then the buckboard was loaded with hay, grain and bags of seed. Now, heading home, the only signs of the prior load were tiny bits and pieces scattered over the wagon bed. However, the wagon wasn't entirely empty and Caleb knew he would be shot or taken prisoner, later to be shot, if his cargo was discovered. His coat pocket held a "Pepperbox" revolver, a small handgun with six rotating barrels. Caleb felt confident he could shoot both soldiers if they stopped him and gave the wagon a thorough search rather than a quick glance.

He thought those Yankees must be city-bred. They didn't know how to use the roadside's natural camouflage to hide properly and their tethered horses were too close to the road. Any passerby with a sharp ear could hear the horses whinny and huff. City boys, unaccustomed to the forests and wilderness of Northern Alabama and most of the Southern states, were usually edgy and unpredictable. They feared, not only Rebel troops possibly lurking nearby, but the snakes and critters which could be just as deadly. Caleb kept a sharp, half-lidded eye on the roadside where he knew the two soldiers were hiding

The corporal and private had been beside the road for nearly a week without seeing anything worth reporting and were anxious to rejoin their regiment which was moving, ponderously, east toward Georgia. The two wanted neither trouble nor complications which might hinder their departure back to their unit which was steadily distancing itself from them. A few hours more without problems was all they needed.

They watched the lone wagon pass by without stopping, questioning or otherwise confronting the driver.

Once past the watchers, Caleb let out a silent sigh of relief, but felt a tightening of the muscles in his back. A minie ball between the shoulder blades could ruin a man's whole day. After moving on for another fifty yards or so, Caleb relaxed with his wagon slowly disappearing into the dissipating, morning mist.

* * *

The town of Martinsburg, Alabama, with a population of two hundred or so, was typical of many of the small towns throughout the Southern states. Its name came from the town's leading citizen, Lester Martin, who was all but forgotten fifty years later. The townfolk were mainly shopkeepers and their employees and families. Scattered outside the town were small homesteads and farms of only a few acres each. The farmers were the subsistence type – growing enough to feed their families with some left over to sell to the non-farmers and townfolk. The people of Martinsburg led quiet, honest, hardworking lives. None were greatly rich nor terribly poor. Mining for the Earth's natural resources of coal and various ores had become a big industry in Northern Alabama. Miners moving from camp to camp or living in the area were always present.

The town itself, was congregated around a half-mile long main street. It was a stretch of the road leading to Decatur toward the east and towns like Marshall and Ellisburg to the west. The street was conveniently called Main Street by the locals, but more properly named Walker Avenue after a prominent, local politician. It contained small businesses such as two saloons and hotels, a milliner's, tonsorial parlor, blacksmiths, leather goods, doctor's office, post office, courthouse and undertaker's. The courthouse, the only government building in town, also contained the sheriff's office and jail. Otto Weiss' General Merchandise store was on the east edge of Martinsburg at the town's entrance.

Weaver County and much of Northern Alabama went relatively unscathed in the early years of the War Between The States. Most of the action took place in states to the north. Beginning in the Spring of 1863 and into 1864 the Union armies became victorious along the Mississippi River to the west and were taking control along the Atlantic seaboard to the east. The Yankees were winning steadily in states such as Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, the Carolinas and Georgia. The war was being pressed upon Alabama with increasing frequency. By the Autumn of 1864, Northern armies had been cutting a swath across the upper parts of Alabama and Mississippi. They were burning and looting and generally terrorizing the rural populations. The Federal commanders were encouraged by the "cut-and-burn" tactics of the Yankee General Sherman on his famous ride to reach and conquer Atlanta.

The town of Martinsburg, not being of strategic importance to the Northerners, went relatively untouched.... but not completely. The Federals raided several of the small farms in the area, stealing crops, horses, livestock and anything needed to replenish their supplies. Outdistancing themselves from their supply lines and having many railroad routes and bridges destroyed by the Rebel forces, the Yankees were forced to "live off the land." If the farmers, homesteaders or townfolk resisted, they were shot. Their homes, barns, stables and businesses burned to the ground.

There were no large, slave-owning plantations near Martinsburg, but those some distance away were utterly destroyed, if not by Union troops, then by the freed, rampaging slaves.

During their raids, the Northerners took all the weapons – rifles, shotguns and sidearms – from the non-combatant populace. Many of the locals carefully hid or buried their guns, but the quantities weren't sufficient to mount much resistance. The Union soldiers, seemingly at random, terrorized some farms and homes while completely bypassing others. Such was the case with the Martinsburg businesses. Liquor was taken from the saloons and Otto Weiss' merchandise store was left mostly empty and disheveled. The only building in town to suffer the raiders' torches was the courthouse containing offices for Weaver County officials. Six Martinsburg citizens died during the Yankee raids – a farming family of three, the sheriff, his deputy and a local man who was sleeping off his public intoxication.... burned to death in his jail cell.

* * *

Otto Weiss, still repairing the damage to his store, could be heard pounding nails into shelving as Caleb guided the buckboard down the main street, turning it toward the back of the store and its storage building. His father, a short, stocky, completely bald, German immigrant and widower, emerged through the store's back door. Standing with his hands on his hips, he scowled at his son, saying, "How many times haf I told you to grease dat vheel? Even over my hammering, I could hear da squeak of dat vheel before you vere a hundred yards avay!"

Climbing down from the wagon, Caleb said, "I know, Papa. I'll get to it. What with fixin' the store an' makin' deliveries an' such, I ain't had much time for regular chores."

Standing side-by-side, anyone seeing the two would never have guessed they were father and son. Caleb towered over his father by nearly a foot. His long, blond hair and fair skin were inherited from his mother, who died after giving him birth, and contrasted sharply with the shorter man's bald pate and swarthy complexion.

"Not much time?" Otto fumed, "If you spent as much time here at da store as you do mit dose boys, Ben und Josh, plotting to overt'row da Yankees, you vould haf plenty of time! Mein Gott! I haf raised an insurrectionist! Grease dat vheel und get in here und help me mit dose shelves. Ach!" He turned and stormed back into the store, slamming the door behind him.

Caleb grinned as he turned back to unhitch their horse. He loved his father dearly and knew that love was returned. Otto's tirades, he felt sure, were to show the world who's boss in spite of their size difference. Caleb knew of his father's courage, sacrifice and back-breaking work to raise a son single-handedly in a new, strange country – all while learning a new language and running a business.

His mother, Alma, a lovely, robust woman, was pregnant with Caleb during the voyage across the Atlantic with her husband. Otto prayed they would make it to America before she delivered since the ship's medical and sanitary state was poor, at best. As they finally arrived in Charleston harbor, Alma was showing signs of going into labor. Otto rushed her to the nearest doctor who didn't need to speak German to diagnose the woman's obvious and urgent condition.

Sadly, the rigors of a cross-Atlantic voyage in less-than-tranquil seas and the size of the baby took their final toll on the young, blond woman. Taking her first, and last, glance at the squalling, newborn boy placed on her breast, Alma Weiss closed her blue eyes forever.

Over the next seventeen years, whenever Caleb asked about his mother, Otto would stop what he was doing and get an uncharacteristic, faraway look on his face. He told his son of the beautiful Alma, their shared love and their decision to come to America. He never told of his struggles to make a life for them during those first few years in the New World. He never mentioned the frustrations of not being able to speak, read or understand English for several months. Otto would look young Caleb in the eye, saying softly, "Some day, my son, you vill be a strong man und know vhat it is like to do vhat you haf to do."

Other than a few Teutonic expletives, Caleb never learned German from his father. English was the language of the country and Caleb Weiss was raised as an American.

Chapter Two

Joshua Hampton knelt beside his mother, Lucille, pulling weeds from the small vegetable garden behind their home. It had been a mild winter so far in Northern Alabama. Snow had not yet fallen and the gentle rains had only moistened the soil deep enough for the shallow-root weeds to thrive. And thrive they did. The sixteen year-old boy and his mother knew, however, unless the weeds were pulled they would sap the soil of the nutrients needed by the vegetables to be planted in a few months.

Their home was a modest, two-storey house in what would become known as Victorian style. Lucille, a schoolteacher, kept the home and landscaping tidy and, with Josh's help, well maintained. The flowers and shrubs on the property were nice enough to distract visitors and passersby from noticing the house's need for repainting. But a war was going on and many felt their lives on hold.

Considered tidy and well-maintained by many of the men in and around Martinsburg, Lucille Hampton, in her mid-thirties, was a widow. She had been widowed nearly two years before by her husband's death at the Battle of Gettysburg. Captain Lawrence Hampton, a West Point graduate, was leading a cavalry charge alongside others under the command of General George Pickett when he was cut down by Northern riflemen.

Josh's mother was raised by her parents, or more accurately, by a series of nannies and tutors at the family plantation in cotton-rich Mississippi. The social demands on a young, plantation-bred girl required she attend cotillions and balls throughout the year. It was at one such function Lucille Logan met Lawrence Hampton, a lieutenant in the United States Army Cavalry. Deemed socially acceptable by her parents and after a suitable courtship, Lawrence married Lucille a year later.

Shortly after their wedding, Lawrence was reassigned to a unit in Alabama and the couple left Mississippi. The following year, after getting settled in their Martinsburg home, Joshua Jerome Hampton arrived. His father, being away on duty much of the year, Josh, as everyone called him, was raised solely by his mother. When teaching at the one-room schoolhouse in Martinsburg, Lucille would carry Josh with her and settle him into a bassinet beside her desk until he was old enough to entertain himself.

She raised Josh to be a gentleman – nicely dressed, groomed and mannerly. It was a constant frustration for her to see her son come home dirty and disheveled and using cuss words. She blamed it on his association with his two best friends, Ben and Caleb. Less-than-genteel, they roughhoused and romped as any boys raised in the country. Secretly, she was pleased with Josh's choice of friends. Both from honest, hard-working families, Ben Brower and Caleb Weiss influenced Josh in ways she never could. They fished and hunted together and even helped one another in some of the backbreaking chores living in a rural community required. In school, they sat near one another and shared lessons. The three were inseparable and Lucille was glad.

Josh was always overjoyed when his father came home for a few days. Lawrence taught his son to ride and care for horses. He taught Josh how to camp and survive in the wilderness. That, of course, required hunting for game in order to eat. Under his father's directions, Josh became a crack marksman. By the time he was ten tears-old, Josh could bring down the speediest of critters and birds from distances which made his father beam with pride. Lucille would roll her eyes and shake her head when father and son returned from weekend camping trips. As much as she disliked their dirty and smelly condition when the two walked in the door, mud or dust accompanying them, Lucille couldn't help feeling happy about their father-and-son bond. Her men!

After the War of Secession broke out and Lawrence, now a captain, defected from the USA to the CSA as a cavalry officer. His leaves to spend time with his family became fewer and farther between. In August of 1863, a full month after Gettysburg, word reached the Hampton house that Lawrence had been killed.

Raised in a society foreign to most Martinsburg residents, Lucille felt compelled to observe a proper period of mourning. For weeks after learning of Lawrence's death, mother and son could be seen in Martinsburg wearing black from head-to-toe. Josh often thought of his mother's clinging to her "upper-society" heritage. There was little of their community which could be called "upper-society". In fact, Josh had never set foot on a plantation, had never attended a cotillion or a ball. His father's dress uniforms with the gold buttons and braid and Lucille's ball gowns with their lace and bows were packed away in trunks. The only gown his mother wore now was black.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from MOURNING MISTby Jay Stafford Copyright © 2011 by Jay Stafford. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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