Civil War Articles by Julian WilliamsGeneral Mark Willcox Didn't Dodge All Of The Bullets
This article was compiled by Julian Williams.
When Mark Willcox, son of Capt. John, caught a bullet at the Battle of Breakfast Branch, at age eighteen, he then knew the reality of war. What he didn't know at the time was that he would face war in many forms - not always in the form of physical bullets.
Not too long after Breakfast Branch, Mark faced one of those terrible bullets, another early disaster in his life. His young bride, Jane Parramore, died at age 20 in 1824. They had been married but about a year. There were no offspring - just an emptiness in his life and a grave that looked so unreal and out of place in a little cemetery near Fort Adams - also host of old Concord Methodist Church. It is still lonely looking - a sepulchre crying out the missed opportunities and challenges that the life of Jane Parramore never knew. The old fort is gone; the old church is gone. Only the cemetery remains, kept up by the Willcoxes to remind posterity of the once enchanted lives of the few and the brave - and Jane Parramore is there, or at least the physical symbol of her being. Mark is not there.
He later married Sarah Ann Elizabeth Coffee, daughter of General John Coffee. Mark and his second bride are buried at the old "Willcox Burreying Ground" near Hopewell Church on the old river road near Rhine. Jane is at Concord almost alone - even her parents, John and Elizabeth Parramore, later moved to Irwin County and are buried there. But the Willcoxes have marked her grave and have marked it well. Not only that, but Mark and his second wife honored the memory of his first love by naming their first daughter after her - Jane Parramore Willcox. I'll bet not every second wife would consent to that act of remembrance. Jane must have been quite a lady. And Sarah Ann Elizabeth Coffee Willcox must have been quite a lady, too.
As Mark reflected on his early encounter with the Indians which left him wounded and as he thought about the loss of his loved one, almost before they could get started, he also looked toward the boat yard of his father, Capt. John. There it was, all neat and tidy out on the little island in the Ocmulgee River. Not only a place of production but one of a certain peace and solitude, even among the many sounds of the saws, hammers and chisels. He looked at the pole boats and he looked at their architect and builder, his father, Capt. John. Mark knew that there was no finer fashioner of the sturdy water crafts than this great mechanic - whether the mechanicing be on land or on the river. But he also looked at the bullet his daddy could not dodge - the fact that the pole boats would be going out, a thing of the past, to be replaced by the steamboat which, pardon the expression, was picking up steam, and would soon be the vessel of choice and prominence on the great vein of water called the Ocmulgee River. Mark knew he would never pursue the vocation of his father. Another bullet he could not dodge. He would have to do something else with his life.
And he looked at the Ocmulgee. Here was a stream of moving water which had come to symbolize much and would come to symbolize even more. At first it was a destination of adventurers, and of farmers who were looking at this new territory, leaving fallow ground behind. It became a symbol of a new hope, leaving the old behind.
It became the destination of soldiers, pushing forward the boundaries of the state of Georgia and the United States of America. And with this it became the location for forts, places of refuge and protection from the Indians. And out of the fear and monotony of the waiting, and the sudden rearrangement of the priorities of life, the Lord was welcomed hurriedly into the fellowships, and the forts, some of them anyway, became places of expedient worship. And when the forts were no more, churches were sometimes built on the same grounds. God got a toe-hold. And we had better hope he gets another - soon.
The river became a symbol of division because it was the dividing line between the settlers and the Indians. Many the time Mark had heard the patroon's call on his father's pole boats, "Bow to the White," or "Bow to the Injun." These navigational commands simply meant to turn the bow of the boat to the banks of the settlers, to the north or east, or to the lands of the Indians, to the south or west. The division was to become mean and menacing, fearful and unforgiving. The bloodshed was to become increasingly more graphic to the memories and in the reactions of the settlers and the Indians. One side of the river looked a heap different than the other side. Treaties and agreements were tried, but they only fostered retaliation, violence and distrust - not peace, trust and harmony.
The Ocmulgee had become a symbol of the economy. At first there were few slaves on the frontier but with the coming of increased vessels on the water, especially the steamboat, now arriving, slavery increased to handle the ever-increasing production of cotton and other products. The whistle of the steamboat was to create the same excitement, and more, as did the old reliable horn of the early stagecoaches. New life and excitement and the arrival of blessings galore were always "just around the next bend." So it was thought.
And now, as Mark, the man, the military officer in charge of many soldiers, looked at the Ocmulgee River and the land just beyond it, he knew it was the "land of reluctant surrender." True, the Indians had signed treaties, some at the urging of the half-white, half- Creek, Chief William McIntosh. They had given up their precious lands, their precious streams, their precious forests and the beauty and sacredness of it all, and now they were suffering in body and spirit. They knew they were displeased with themselves for giving it up. They knew their Great Spirit was angered with them for giving it up. They wanted their land back. That could only mean one thing - trouble. So, the "boiling, bubbling waters" (Ocmulgee) came to symbolize the boiling, bubbling discontentment of the natives who stewed about their great loss. For several more years, Mark knew he would be fighting the Creeks coming back down into the Ocmulgee area from Alabama and the Seminoles who would slip back in from Florida. It wasn't going to be an easy Sunday afternoon and there certainly would be no picnic.
And Mark also knew the river symbolized bridges which it would beget. He knew that swimming horses and cows over had evolved into ferries and that the ferries would evolve into bridges. He knew the river was a challenge that had thrown down its gauntlet at the feet of the settlers. "Cross me to the greener pastures of your life." And cross it they did.
And as Mark looked at the great river, he realized now another meaning. The river which had long been a divider, reflected another reality. The nation was dividing into two camps - the Unionists and the "nullifiers." And Mark had to decide which he would be. It was a bullet he couldn't dodge. And we will look at his choice and what this was all about - next week.
Credits:
Ann Carswell for letters of and notes on Gen. Mark Willcox;
Willcox Family History by Martha Albertson;
Pioneer Days Along the Ocmulgee by Fussell Chalker;
History of Telfair County (1807-1987);
Telfair Newspaper Clippings (1810-1892) by Tad Evans;
Hawkinsville Dispatch articles furnished by Chris Trowell;
info furnished by Gertrude Wilcox Williams and Diane Williams Rogers and others;
various other sources.
