The Cruel War
~Sequenced by Barry Taylor~
The cruel war is raging, Johnny has to fight
I long to be with him from morning 'till night
I want to be with him, it grieves my heart so
Won't you let me come with you? No, my love, no.
"Private Tims," An officer of D Company called to a short, stocky man who
slumbered under a ragged slouch hat. "Eyes up! Get ready to aim low. Tonight
we shall sleep upon the streets of Nashville!" Yet, the boast scattered into
the wind like a pack of autumn leaves. A December's angry wind was blowing
from the north, where Yankees readied in Nashville.
The Confederate entrenchment's coiled just South of the city of
Nashville on December 16, 1864. The "Corn-fed" Army of Tennessee was
made up of old men and young boys, all veterans now. They came from all over
the South, gathering once again to give the Yankees hell, and unleash the
Rebel yell. Yet, these Sons of Dixie had little breath left in them to
deliver the sacred yell.
Private James K. Polk Tims awoke to the grim rumble of cannon sounding on
the far right of the Confederate line. The distant volleys thudded against
the Tennessee heavens. Catching hell, he thought and grimaced. He was tired.
Plucking his tuft of beard, Tims examined the lean men in his unit. The
"Enterprise Tigers" which was also the 37th Mississippi was just a mere
skeleton of what it had been at the start of the campaign. Oh, but how they
were tigers on every field of judgment.
The Army of Tennessee, including the
37th Mississippi, advanced north through Tennessee from the defeat at
Atlanta. Marching from the killing lands of Franklin, the proud host of
Southern independence crawled forward ever still. They now stood, hallowed
eyed at the gates of Nashville. So many dreams had bled away during the hush
of each long march.
The veterans all looked to the past. Home Lands like the
Mississippi Delta awaited them there. The scarlet curves of the Red River, or
the mesquite tree pastures waited too in the folds of their memories. It was
the guns and death though, which awaited them in the future. The call of the
bugle and not the song of the whipper-will would sound across the plain. They
had all delivered the cold steel and bled for the Southern cause. They would
bleed some more.
Tims sat on the edge of the breast works sucking on army issued corn, which
ground against his teeth like gravel. He rubbed his long fingers down his
ribs, which were so rigid they could be used as a wash board. He painfully
swallowed the army stuff."It works, it really does," Tims said to himself
and spat. Tims was an Alabamian by birth, raised in Choctaw County. On his
sixteenth year, and the second year of the Great War, Tims went to the nearest
recruiting station, crossing the Mississippi line to Enterprise. There he was
given a gray coat with shining C.S.A. buttons. Those buttons didn't
shine any more, and after only one year, he went from Sixteen to sixty.
He
peered North toward the twisting lines of Union troops. Strangers, he thought
as he spied a distant flag from Minnesota unfurling upon the Tennessee wind.
Most of his compadres sharing the trench with him had been neighbors, and had
gone to school with him. Their weary eyes looked down the line toward the
right, where the distant hum of battle now carried the sound of splintering
wood. The neighbors were joined in this business. The business of killing
and dying.
Deo Vindice was sewn into flag of the 37th Mississippi. The script arched
across the top of the banner along the blue cross and thirteen stars of the
Confederacy. Deo Vindice is Latin for "God will defend." Although it was up
to Tims to defend himself, he thought, he did believe that God was defending
their Cause.
"Deo Vindice," he whispered peering again toward the Union lines. "Almighty",
he gasped, watching the Minnesota, and other Union banners tilt forward above
an endless line of men in blue charging at the double time toward his
position. As if a great curtain had been lifted, upon the plains, thousands
of glistening bayonets and men in strait files burst through the patchy fog.
Their rifles snapped forward and unleashed a wavering curtain of flame and
mini balls. Cannon shells arched across the sky, looking like fiery threads
pulled from the fabrics of hell. All around Tims, his neighbors twisted and
fell into the muddy trench, with expressions of peace. The attack had come
so suddenly, that only moments had passed before the Southern lines dissolved
in a tide of blue.
Tims reached for his Enfield rifle and aimed it into the
blue ranks. Like a machine, he swung his ramrod over his shoulder and rammed
the charges one after the other into the rifle. He fired at the blue blurs
rushing in front of him. Tims, with his eyes caked with powder and tears did
not notice the Union troops sweeping around him.
"Surrender, Reb"! Tims looked up from his scorching barrel as if awoken from
a trance. A grizzly size Yankee stood before him and pressed his fat palms
down upon his shoulders. Tims, twisted away and plowed the stock of his rifle
into the Yankee's flank and watched him howl with pain. Suddenly some light
dazzled with fury out of the gray sky and plowed into Tims' body. He lay
pinned down while a dozen Yankees threw themselves on to him. Tims clenched
his teeth and looked through the swirling blue mass. His neighbors lay
dead, the army lay dead, and he was so far from home. He tried to look away.
Deo Vindice. Alas, there was so little left for the almighty to defend. Tims
finally gave up his fit under the mob of Yankees. He buried his big hands
into his face and sobbed.
As the storm curled around the land, the rebel yell rose into one last and
desperate pitch. In defiance the Confederate army's battle cry choked and
wavered against the surging tide. Then it was swept away forever. It buried
itself into the past, leaving nothing behind but a whimper. It was the death
of a dream. Oh what a glorious cause it was, but a cause to be lost all the
same. Lost with what was left of the Army of Tennessee under the "gallant"
General Hood, as they began to retreat southward, back home.
The Yankees took Tims and other Confederate survivors northward. For them
the Great War was over.
James Tims would stand-alone on a farm someday and
stare at the emptiness around him. No lanes of tents, no city of campfires,
just peace. In that silence and passing of the day sounded a song from a
whipper-will. It was the bugles calling again. The memory of the
Confederacy, the Southern struggle, and the spirit of so many fallen
brave God will surely defend.
I invite you to read below and meet loyal Southern family of mine, Zac Tims, my great nephew. Also, my two grandfathers, James K. Polk Tims, my blood grandfather and Nathaniel Coleman (N.C., "Doc" Tims) who is my step-grandfather. They served the South faithfully, above and beyond the call of duty.
Zac Tims is a member of the
15th Alabama Company G Infantry CSA
Please Visit their website and sign their new guestbook :)
More about Zac if you scroll down......
History, not hate.
"James K. Timms" is listed in the roster of the 37th MS Infantry, Co. D
James K. Polk Tims enlisted in the 37th MS Infantry, Company D, locally called the "Enterprise Tigers". He was at the Battle of Nashville, was captured and marched to Camp Douglas, Chicage, IL. He remained there til the close of the War Between the States.
This photo is of his family about 1895, Liberty Hill, Houston County, Texas
L-R Catherine, Mary,Paralee, Ellen and Bill (family of Ellis), Almeda, Jim's wife Emeline, Little Jim, Jim Senior.Br>
Back row Ellis, Jack Gale, Mattie Mooney Gale, Mary Bobbitt ? and child
Jim Tims Sr passed away May 17, 1899.
"Nathan Coleman Tims" is listed in the roster of the 14th MS Infantry, Co. D
Nathaniel Coleman (N.C., "Doc") served 18 months in the 14th MS Infantry, Company D, the "Quitman Invincibles". He was wounded at the Battle of Greensboro, NC. This is the family of "Doc" and Emaline Tims (second marriage for both after the passing of his wife Sarah "Powell" Tims and Emaline's husband James K. Polk Tims, they married sometime before the 1900 census was taken in November 1900 and remained married til her death in Nov. 1917. He passed away April 20, 1920 and is buried in Anderson County at the Denson Springs Cemetery)
Confederate Pension Papers were filed and granted. They are on record in Austin Texas and can be obtained for the price of a per page copy and they have much historical family history in them.
Photograph was taken at the home that was built by Jim and Emaline Tims.
Dock Tims with his youngest son Paul, behind him and Emeline Tims with her youngest son, Jim behind her.
The Cruel War Midi and Lyric Sites
Site 1
Site 2
Zacharias Beau Tims...Zac...great great grandson of James K Polk Tims has insight into the life of his ancestor and the ones that walked beside him from their Southland home to the cold reaches of Camp Douglas, Chicago, IL for the bitter winters to come..winters that claimed the lives of many, incuding a brother to pneumonia shortly before their release..Zac reaches to the very soul...and as you read...reach into the past..
Then step into the present...2000..and meet Zac Tims.....
Zac says:
"This picture was taken at an encampment and battle down in Oxbridge, Mass.
this last fall. I was pleasantly surprised to find the 54th Mass. black
Union regiment camping near us. I spent a lot of time near their camp fires
in my Confederate uniform, discussing different things. The members are
educated to the point in knowing that there were many blacks who fought for
the South during the Great War. A couple of them even said that if they had
something gray to put on, they would reenact for a Southern unit too, just to
prove the truth. This is a picture of me and Pvt. Barry
Love"
Custom Bonnets of the Civil War Era
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