was fourteen.46
In the wake of the war, one episode in the lives of white
Cot inghams became the de ning anecdote of the family's su ering
and resurrection. Elisha's son Moses, who had migrated to Bienvil e
Parish, Louisiana, a few years before secession, lost his land and the
life of his wife, and had been forced to send his children on a
harrowing journey through the bat le zones of Mississippi with only
a slave and a geriatric preacher to protect them. The saga resonated
through generations of white Cot inghams and blacks descended
from their slaves.
After Moses enlisted in January 1862, his pregnant wife, Nancy
Katherine, grew il and then died during childbirth. Moses returned
home from the front to bury Nancy and make arrangements for
their six surviving children. Elisha Cot ingham sent a Baptist
minister to Louisiana to bring his grandchildren back to Alabama
for the duration of the war. With the southern railroad system
already in shambles and most trains impressed into military service,
already in shambles and most trains impressed into military service,
the preacher and one of Moses’ two slaves, Joe, set out in an ox-
drawn wagon. "That was the hardest trial I had ever had to go
through, to leave my lit le children to be carried o to Alabama,"
Moses recounted to descendants years later.47
For three weeks, the odd expedition inched across the war-
disrupted South. The preacher and the old African American, a
scramble of children foraging for turnips and cornmeal, the oldest
daughter, Cirrenia, stil a child herself, feeding two-month-old
Johnny, the infant whose birth had kil ed their mother, with a gruel
of baked sweet potatoes. In November 1862, the ragged band
arrived at Elisha Cot ingham's farm on the Cahaba River. The fate of
Moses, stil at war, was unknown. "We never knew whether he was
dead or alive til one day, after the war was over, we saw him
coming," Cirrenia later wrote. Moses started over, reset ling on
nearby land along Copperas Creek, marrying the daughter of
another former slaveholding family and beget ing another seven
children.
The losses su ered by Moses and the slow rescue of his family in
the heat of war could have been a parable for how white
southerners perceived the destruction of the South they had known.
Physical and nancial devastation, death and grief, fol owed by a
transforming struggle to survive and rebuild. But the story also
underscored the terrifying vulnerability whites like the Cot inghams
discovered in being forced to place the fate and future of Moses’
family in the hands of a descendant of Africa. After the war, as the
Cot ingham slaves brazenly asserted their independence, the
journey of Joe and the children across the South came to symbolize
a reliance on blacks that southern whites could never again al ow.
Regardless of their intertwined pasts, the rehabilitation of the South
by whites would not just purposeful y exclude blacks. As time
passed and opportunity permit ed, former slaves would be
compel ed to perform the rebuilding of the South as wel — in a
system of labor hardly distinguishable in its brutality and coercion
from the old slavery that preceded it.
If one looked out from Elisha's porch in December 1868, across the
crop rows and down past the creek, the only green in a nearly
colorless winter landscape was in the short scru y needles of
twisted cedars he had planted long ago, along the wagon drive from
the road to the house. The slave cabins, nearly two dozen of them,
were mostly empty now. Even Scipio, the old man slave who had
worked Elisha's farm nearly as long as the white master himself,
was gone down the road. Already, weather and uselessness were
doing the shacks in.
Crisp brown leaves heaped at the feet of a line of high pines and
bare hickories that framed the boundaries of the main eld
between the river and the house. The wal s of yel ow limestone
rising up abruptly from the eastern bank