war.
Collins threw down his rifle. “I’m through,” he said. He told one of his officers, “I don’t intend to shoot another gun here.” The officer said, “Don’t you know they will kill you?”
“They will have to catch me first, before they kill me,” Collins replied.
Soon after, Collins deserted. As of October 31, 1862, he was reported absent without leave.
Throughout the ranks, the Twenty Negro Law was greeted with outrage. A farmer from Smith County (adjacent to Jones) wrote to Mississippi governor John J. Pettus: “We who have but little or nothing at stake but honor are called on to do the fighting and to do the hard drudgery and bear the burthen and brunt of the battle, while the rich and would-be rich are shirking and dodging in every waypossible to shun the danger.” This Twenty Negro Law “did more to injure the Southern case” than Lincoln’s recently announced Emancipation Proclamation, he insisted.
Newton lived not on a plantation, but in the upcountry; he wasn’t a planter, he was a herder and farmer who owned no slaves. Yeomen made up the vast ranks of Confederate soldiers doing the bitterest fighting—and from this point onward, they would also make up the ranks of deserters and resisters. The Twenty Negro Law was written exclusively for the planter class, not for the infantrymen. As one Alabama yeoman farmer said, “All tha want is to git you … to fight for their infurnal negroes and after you do their fightin’ you may kiss their hine parts for o tha care.”
What little loyalty Newton had to the army was utterly gone. “He felt that the law was not fair,” his neighbor Ben Graves said. “That it enabled the rich man to evade service and that it was not right to ask him to risk his life for people who rated themselves so far above him.”
All told, in the months after Corinth about seven thousand men in southeastern Mississippi went absent without leave. Whole companies vanished into the woods. Some of them were merely frustrated and would eventually return to the ranks out of guilt, or loyalty. Others were captured and forced back.
With Jasper Collins already departed, Newton grappled with his own conscience. Desertion was an act of shame, according to traditional understandings of loyalty and honor. But he surely wondered if the dishonor of desertion could be any worse than the dishonor he suffered as a Confederate. He wasn’t the only one who was thinking this way: between the battle of Corinth and the turning of the New Year, men from Company F deserted in droves. A muster roll for February 28, 1863, listed thirty-nine of them as AWOL.
There were also practical reasons for the massive desertions that fall and winter: 1862 was a horrible crop year, especially in the hill country, where a summer drought had destroyed much of the food in the fields. Rich planters could survive a bad year, but not poor farmers.Worries over crops, winter food stores, and the welfare of their families hastened soldiers home.
At the same time, the Confederacy passed yet another egregious law: a tax in kind. This gave officials the authority to enter farmers’ storehouses and walk off with 10 percent of their provisions. Officers, or thieves masquerading as such, “roamed the state seizing slaves, horses, food, and even houses.”
One month after Jasper Collins deserted, Newton received a letter from his wife, Serena. A Confederate cavalryman had come to their farm and seized their best horse, and mistreated her while he was at it. Serena cried and begged to be left the much-needed animal: it was several miles to the nearest mill and there were children to be fed. The cavalryman cursed her, caught the horse, and got on him.
“This was too much for my father,” Tom Knight wrote.
Newton was done with the Confederacy. He did not intend to serve a new nation conceived in slavery and dedicated to the perpetuation of rich men’s interests. Jasper Collins led him to the Rubicon, and perhaps
Collins threw down his rifle. “I’m through,” he said. He told one of his officers, “I don’t intend to shoot another gun here.” The officer said, “Don’t you know they will kill you?”
“They will have to catch me first, before they kill me,” Collins replied.
Soon after, Collins deserted. As of October 31, 1862, he was reported absent without leave.
Throughout the ranks, the Twenty Negro Law was greeted with outrage. A farmer from Smith County (adjacent to Jones) wrote to Mississippi governor John J. Pettus: “We who have but little or nothing at stake but honor are called on to do the fighting and to do the hard drudgery and bear the burthen and brunt of the battle, while the rich and would-be rich are shirking and dodging in every waypossible to shun the danger.” This Twenty Negro Law “did more to injure the Southern case” than Lincoln’s recently announced Emancipation Proclamation, he insisted.
Newton lived not on a plantation, but in the upcountry; he wasn’t a planter, he was a herder and farmer who owned no slaves. Yeomen made up the vast ranks of Confederate soldiers doing the bitterest fighting—and from this point onward, they would also make up the ranks of deserters and resisters. The Twenty Negro Law was written exclusively for the planter class, not for the infantrymen. As one Alabama yeoman farmer said, “All tha want is to git you … to fight for their infurnal negroes and after you do their fightin’ you may kiss their hine parts for o tha care.”
What little loyalty Newton had to the army was utterly gone. “He felt that the law was not fair,” his neighbor Ben Graves said. “That it enabled the rich man to evade service and that it was not right to ask him to risk his life for people who rated themselves so far above him.”
All told, in the months after Corinth about seven thousand men in southeastern Mississippi went absent without leave. Whole companies vanished into the woods. Some of them were merely frustrated and would eventually return to the ranks out of guilt, or loyalty. Others were captured and forced back.
With Jasper Collins already departed, Newton grappled with his own conscience. Desertion was an act of shame, according to traditional understandings of loyalty and honor. But he surely wondered if the dishonor of desertion could be any worse than the dishonor he suffered as a Confederate. He wasn’t the only one who was thinking this way: between the battle of Corinth and the turning of the New Year, men from Company F deserted in droves. A muster roll for February 28, 1863, listed thirty-nine of them as AWOL.
There were also practical reasons for the massive desertions that fall and winter: 1862 was a horrible crop year, especially in the hill country, where a summer drought had destroyed much of the food in the fields. Rich planters could survive a bad year, but not poor farmers.Worries over crops, winter food stores, and the welfare of their families hastened soldiers home.
At the same time, the Confederacy passed yet another egregious law: a tax in kind. This gave officials the authority to enter farmers’ storehouses and walk off with 10 percent of their provisions. Officers, or thieves masquerading as such, “roamed the state seizing slaves, horses, food, and even houses.”
One month after Jasper Collins deserted, Newton received a letter from his wife, Serena. A Confederate cavalryman had come to their farm and seized their best horse, and mistreated her while he was at it. Serena cried and begged to be left the much-needed animal: it was several miles to the nearest mill and there were children to be fed. The cavalryman cursed her, caught the horse, and got on him.
“This was too much for my father,” Tom Knight wrote.
Newton was done with the Confederacy. He did not intend to serve a new nation conceived in slavery and dedicated to the perpetuation of rich men’s interests. Jasper Collins led him to the Rubicon, and perhaps
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