He had reddish-blond, scraggly chin whiskers and wore a battered, brown slouch hat tilted back on his head. His hair, darker than his immature beard, was long, greasy, and pulled back over his ears. He was kneeling and his greatly worn brogans were sunk deep in the muddy snow. Cocking his eye on the sight, he aimed a huge musket into the haze. There was a serious 'Bang' and a burst of smoke streaked from the business end of the gun. As he began his reload, I noted a long, nickel-colored pistol stuck in his wide belt. The haze and smoke cleared and I saw other ragged men and boys in an uneven line to his right side. A brilliant ray of sun bathed the firing line for a quick few seconds and then the shade reclaimed the field.
"Mister, I'm lost. Where am I?" I heard myself shouting in confusion and fear. The smell was of sodden wet ground, cedar, gunpowder, and a harsh sweet scent I could not recognize. "Gol-darn pilgrim, we're precarious situated along Stone's River, outside Murfreesboro, Ten-a-see, and it's the devil to pay." He looked at me while he automatically continued his reload. "Name's Jay Jay, it's my honor, sir, now get your damn fool head down and your belly in the snow or you ain't long for this world."
I went down and, as I hugged the cold slime of the ground, my mind recognized what was happening. I'd read about it and talked about it with my Cousin Jim. It was the Battle of Stone's River, Dec. 31, 1862 - Jan. 3, 1863, near Murfreesboro, Tennessee, sixty miles from Mother's. We'd wondered about the slight, very young soldier who shouted at me to take cover. He was my Grand's daddy, Jim's and my great-grandfather-Private J.J. Maddox, C Company ("Carmargo Guards"), 8th Tennessee Volunteer Infantry, Confederate States of America. He would have been nineteen years old that New Year.
Of his unit, the 8th Tennessee, 472 men went three times against the Union forces defending Round Forest. Only 166 came out on their own two feet, bloodily repulsed. Among the dead was the commander of the 8th, Colonel William L. Moore. The survivors named it 'Hell's Half-Acre'. Their silent, fallen comrades anointed it with their life's blood.
James Jefferson (J.J.) Maddox was one of those who survived to return home. He married a middling prosperous country heiress, joined the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, voted straight Democrat, rode fine-blooded horses, sired and reared a brood of six boys and a pair of girls. Only four had children. One of the boys who reproduced was my grandfather. That's why I'm here and me!