Memories: A Record of Personal Experience

“I was left to endure the horrors of suspense as well as the irritating consciousness that, although sojourning in the home of my childhood, I was an alien, an acknowledged “Rebel,” and as such an object of suspicion and dislike to all save my immediate family.”

“Fannie” Beers was born and lived in the North until she married A.P. Beers, a Southern student at Yale University. The couple moved to the South where they spent the next few years in Louisiana before Mr. Beers was mustered into Confederate service with his company of the Crescent Rifles (Louisiana Fenner's Battery). Fannie returned to her family home in Connecticut. Much of the town knew of her Confederate ties, and had heard of a small keepsake “Rebel” flag which she cherished in her prayer book. Beers states, “This harmless possession was magnified into an immense rebel banner, which would eventually float over my mother’s house.” As Fort Sumter fell and war grew ever more imminent, neighbors were demanding, “Let’s have that flag,” and “Show your colors”; these and other epithets would influence her decision to paste it over her heart, a place where it stayed throughout the remainder of the war.

While seeking refuge in Alabama, Fannie gave the following account which demonstrates the angst and heartbreak of the homefront:

As often as we passed horseman or carriage on the road a stop was ordered, while the ladies made eager inquiries for news from Richmond.

The battle of Shiloh, and afterwards that of Seven Pines, had desolated many homes in the vicinity. The fate of some was yet uncertain. Strong fellow-feeling knit all hearts. Any passer-by, even if a stranger, asked or answered questions.

A drive of eight miles brought us to the church, a simple, lowly building, the "Grove Church" I believe it was called. Here beneath the shade were drawn several carriages, and at the door a few plantation-wagons waited, some laden with straw, others with articles to be sent off. In the vestibule, boxes were being rapidly filled. It was a busy scene, but by no means a gay one. A few unconscious children "played at party" in the pews, setting out on leaves or bits of bark their luncheon, broken into fragments, and serving in acorn cups cold water for tea. Unmolested and unreproved, they ran up and down the steps of the high, old-fashioned pulpit, half-fearfully sitting down upon the minister's chair, or standing on tip-toe to peep over the sacred desk at the busy group below. Young girls moved silently about "helping." Over their pale lips not a ripple of laughter broke. The fire of youth seemed to have died out of their sad eyes, quenched for a time by floods of bitter tears. To kindly question one of these replied, "Mamma is well, but of course utterly prostrated, and does not leave her room. Papa is still in Virginia nursing Buddie Eddie. We have no tidings of brother yet; he is reported 'missing,' but we hope he may have been taken prisoner."

Some familiar faces were absent. And of these it was told that one had lost a husband, another a son, and so the sadness deepened. Presently the trot of a horse was heard. In another moment the good minister stood among his people. Alas! he could only confirm the fearful tales of battle and carnage. But from the storehouse of mind and heart he brought forth precious balm, won direct from heaven by earnest prayer and simple faith. With this he strove to soothe the unhappy, anxious ones who looked to him for comfort. His heart yearned over his little flock, wandering in a pathway beset with sharpest thorns. But upon his troubled face was plainly written, "Of myself I can do nothing." A few faltering words he essayed, but, as if conscious of the utter uselessness of any language save that of prayer, he raised imploring hands to heaven, saying, simply, "Let us pray."

Calmer, if not comforted, all arose from their knees, and, having finished their labor of love, separated, to return to the homes which had known beloved forms and faces, but would know them no more for years, perhaps forever.

After the need became evident, she rejoined her husband in Virginia. It was there that she made her name as a nurse. First, in Richmond at a private hospital maintained by wealthy ladies of that city, and later in hospitals in Georgia and Alabama. Beers was considered heroic for her service to the Southern Cause. Most famously, she is touted for risking her life bringing provisions to her husband and his men during the shelling of Atlanta. Acts like this earned her the title, “The Florence Nightengale of the South.”

The editors at Time-Life chose this book as one of the volumes of the Collector's Library of the Civil War. It is available in a leather-bound edition with gilded gold edges and also in paperback and digital formats. It is included as one of the volumes on the DVD of our Collector's Library set.