Jane, we never met, but I know you well

Raised by my grandmother, Lucile Neidlinger, I was told amazing stories throughout my childhood. And grandma was a storyteller like no other, and I only try to measure up today. One of my favorites was about her grandma Jane (Blackburn) Moore, born in 1856. It goes without saying that I never met Jane, but I heard of her exploits enough when grandma would tell her stories that I knew her well. I enjoy telling about your life as I lead people on Sons of Savannah Walking Tours.

Just northwest of Savannah, on December 8, 1864, Susan Blackburn hid from Sherman's forces in a chicken-coop on her farm, while her father was away fighting.

Jane was born in Halcyondale, Georgia, a little hamlet about fifty miles northwest of Savannah, Georgia, where she and her mother, Mary Ann Moore were taking refuge in early December 1864. The man of the house, John Wesley Moore, was gone, and had been gone for a long time. He had mustered with the Confederates in April 1862, and the family farm, like all the others in the area, was being tended by the women and girls left behind.

To hear my grandmother tell the story, the terror of Sherman's impending arrival from Atlanta was apocalyptic, and transformed her family forever. Stories of pillaging and worse preceded the 60,000 Union soldiers on their way to Savannah, and Jane and Mary Ann were terrified that defilement and perhaps death were coming for them. So when they heard advanced parties of Union soldiers approaching their farm they decided to hide in the chicken coop that no longer served its intended purpose due to hunger. They guessed correctly. The Union soldiers took what they wanted and scrounged from the meager remains of the Moore farm, but no one approached the chicken coop and though they lost livestock and looted possessions, their lives and bodies were intact.

Grandma Lucile raised me, just as Jane raised her, so in a very real sense I was only separated by two generations from the living history of the Civil War in our family's collective memory. For a long time, I wondered if perhaps my grandmother had gotten her facts wrong, but through much research and discovering geneological records her remembrances were corroborated. Jane was indeed eight years old when Sherman marched by and she did live directly in the path of the 15th Corps of Sherman's terrorizing army, as it brushed up against the Ogeechee River.

Jane was to Lucile what so many returning men from World War II were to little boys in the 1940's...a living symbol of perseverance and bravery. Lucile adored Jane because she connected our family to a terrible event that we survived. She could do anything, she was told, because God preserved them. Remotely, Jane's given me the same gift and I intend to pass it on to my granddaughter, who is named for the greatest storyteller in our family, and is the one who made Jane real to me.