Singleton tells of his ancestor's death at the Battle of Shiloh

General Nathan Bedford Forrest

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “An 1862 Christmas story is retold” was originally published in the Dec. 21, 1995 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

This story didn’t begin with just the celebration of Christmas 1862. It began during the bloody fighting of the Battle of Shiloh during our dreadful Civil War. There on the banks of the mighty Tennessee River, this Christmas story would begin the 6^th of April and end on the 24^th of December 1862 in the lower part of Clarke County, Alabama.

My paternal great-grandfather was a member of Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest’s cavalry during this terrible and bloody conflict there on the high banks of the Tennessee River. General Forrest and his men were not fighting in the manner as were most of the Confederates there at Shiloh. Forrest’s cavalry were involved in hit-and-run tactics, trying to cause confusion and disorganization among the forces of the Union Army. They were trying to use the element of surprise in their favor, as they moved from one location to another there on the huge battlefield.

Wounded

During this deadly conflict, General Forrest would be wounded in the shoulder. Finding himself cut off from the rest of his cavalry troops, General Forrest would ride by a Union soldier who was running for cover. Reaching down from his saddle, Forrest would pull the Union soldier up behind him on his horse and race through enemy lines, trying to reach his cavalry units. The Union soldier would be shot in the back by his fellow soldiers and fall from General Forrest’s horse. He had been killed by the very bullet that passed all the way through his body and also wounded the general.

Somewhere during these bloody hit-and-run tactics, my paternal great-grandfather would be killed. The actual account of how he died in this bloody conflict would be a mystery for his widowed wife and four children for the rest of their lives.

Many stories reached my great-grandmother about the terrible fighting there on the banks of the mighty Tennessee River. But never did she know the actual date that her husband had fallen in battle, or any of the circumstances pertaining to his death. She knew nothing of where he might have been buried or if he had ever been buried after the terrible battle. The only thing that she knew for certain was that she was now alone and had a family of four to raise and care for there on the small family farm in lower Clarke County.

Rumors and stories

As the spring of 1862 gave way to the hot summer months, rumors and stories would continue to reach the small farm and the grieving family. Word would reach the farm that my great-grandfather had not been killed in battle, but had only been seriously wounded.

Not being able to leave her children and not having any way to travel and search for her husband, my great-grandmother could only wait and hope. As the cool winds of the early fall settled across the countryside, word would come again that the first rumors were true; her husband had died in battle, there in the bitter fighting at Shiloh.

By the early part of December 1862, the rumors no longer appeared from out of nowhere. The news of Shiloh had faded; only the news of later battles was to be heard around the evening firesides of the farming community. The cold winds of winter swept across the small farm as Christmas loomed on the horizon. Times were hard there for this widow and her family. There small harvest had been gathered, and wood for the fireplace was slowly and laboriously being stacked in the chimney corner for the cold, lonely months that lay ahead.

The stories passed down through my family stated that the 24^th of December 1862 was a very cold and cloudy day. The breakfast meal had been finished there in the small kitchen that sat behind the house, connected only to the main building by a small walkway, or dog trot as it was referred to at that time by the country folks.

The livestock in the barn had already been fed and the morning milking had been completed. A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace there in the kitchen. A grieving widow and her children sat around the fire, knowing that this Christmas would be one of the saddest without the presence of her husband, the children’s father. Even now, much mystery yet lingered about the exact facts of the death of this head of family.

As the family sat there in silence, each in their own thoughts, from out in the yard the barking of the family dog was heard. Walking out on the small kitchen porch, my great-grandmother was startled to see a dirty, shaggy and bearded man, dressed in a ragged and dirty Confederate uniform, sitting on a thin and travel-weary horse.

The Rebel soldier looked tired and sickly as he raised his head and looked toward the kitchen. My great-grandmother asked if there was anything she could do for him. He asked if she was the wife of William Singleton, a Confederate soldier who had fallen in the battle of Shiloh. She told him that she was.

Turing to the side of his horse, he began to unfasten the cavalry sword from his worn and weather-beaten saddle. Then, he removed from a pack behind the saddle a small object.

“This is your husband’s cavalry sword and his straight razor. I was with him when he died. I promised him that I would see to it that these items reached his wife and family. These were the only personal belongings that he had of any value. His cavalry horse was killed also in the battle. These items are all that remains.”

The story goes that my great-grandmother broke down and wept. Finally, she regained her self-control and asked the tired and sickly Rebel if he would come in and warm by the fireplace in the kitchen. He stated that he was too sick to dismount his horse, but he would drink a cup of coffee if she would fetch it out to him.

Quickly, she brought the strong, hot coffee out to him. Leaning wearily in the saddle, he quickly drank the hot liquid. Again, my great-grandmother begged the feeble Rebel to come in the house and let her doctor and take care of him until he was able to travel again. He refused.

Handing the empty cup back to my great-grandmother, he raised his hand in a feeble salute and turned his tired and travel-weary horse out into the narrow road. Within minutes, he had disappeared from sight. No one in the area ever knew from which direction the ragged Rebel had come; nor did anyone know the direction in which he departed. He was thought to have ridden in a westwardly direction. He was never seen again.

Years later, my great-grandmother would depart this life and never know the name or the circumstances pertaining to this mysterious Confederate soldier. The cavalry sword and the straight razor were given to me as a child. All that knew and remembered my great-grandfather would always comment that I looked a lot like him, even in my youngest years.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)