From all appearances, he had been a Confederate Soldier and probably he had seen so much of death that just to have been witness to it was a horrible sin. But, this was different. The war was over. The Yankee president, Lincoln, had been killed and that new president, Johnson, to whose country he had sworn allegiance, was arguing with Congress over reconstruction of the southern states. But, before anymore consideration of all that, there was the problem immediately at hand.

In the dark of night, in the cold, swift moving waters of a flooded Mississippi River, there were bodies everywhere with the crying, screaming and moaning of seriously injured and dying men haunting the streets of Memphis and the woods and hollows along the river. He had only a johnboat and a small one at that. But, these people needed help badly. They were also the same enemy that he was sworn to try to kill for the last few years, they were Yankees, he was a southern Rebel. After swift consideration he concluded that the war was over for him and those Yankees didn't have to be his enemy ever again. Upon reaching that conclusion, the legend was born!

The passenger steamship, Sultana had blown one of its four boilers just a few miles from Memphis. Its cargo consisted of about 2400 Union soldiers returning home from the war. It is estimated that approximately 1700 died in this, the greatest American maritime disaster ever! It occurred on April 27, 1865, just twelve days after President Lincoln's assasination.

Fighting the strong current, he manuevered around to pick up an injured, badly burned man. He took him to nearby Memphis and dropped him off with awaiting medical personnel, then he rowed back into the current again, apparently with the thought of getting one more man to medical aid. Again, he was successful, but the current was taking a toll on him. But, maybe he could get just one more before it all became too much for him. Again, he did!

At some point, the Jenny Lind arrived and immediately began taking on victims and transporting them to the docks. The Arkansas arrived, then came the US Navy gunboat, Tyler and the Essex, each a huge vessel compared to his little johnboat, but he continued to do what he could.

And then at about dawn, he hauled his last victim to the dock. Medical personnel were as much amazed at this man's determination as they were the appalling conditions of the new patients. He looked out at the river at the large boats on the scene and decided they didn't really need his help anymore.

As he rowed the tiny boat away from the dock, a newspaper reporter ran along the dock yelling "What is your name? It's for the newspaper! You just pulled fifteen of your former enemies out of the river!"

As the crowd looked on, awaiting his answer, he simply flashed a very tired grin from under an old Confederate kepi. He waved and let the current take him southward, toward home, wherever that may have been.

In the months that followed the newspaper sought out this hero, but was unable to locate him. A reward was offered for his identity, only to bring imposters, many of whom looked nothing like the man. He had done his deed and simply departed, without fanfare.

NOTE: I've heard this story many times in many variations during my childhood in the South and I have never been able to get the name of the man. But, one thing is certain, he wasn't seeking the hero-worship we would bestow upon him. I think he was just being himself and in doing so achieved a kind of honor and quiet dignity to which most of us aspire. You know, the kind of stuff from which legends are made. - Wilson Jay