After almost two
months of recuperation at the family farm in Dallas County, David Nance packed
his mule and horse for his return to Arkansas. He arrived in Little Rock on
December 5,1862 and then proceeded to Des Arc, where Parson’s Cavalry Brigade
was bivouacked. It was there he learned of his new assignment, making gunpowder
in Waxahachie, Texas. Nance had made an unnecessary 800-mile trip due to the
fault of his commanding officer. He mailed his assignment order to the wrong
address. To protect his son from the fighting that nearly killed him, Nance’s
father, Quill, arranged to have him work for a former neighbor, William Rowen;
who built a Confederate powder mill in Waxahachie. Unknown to Quill, he had
inadvertently placed his son in a very hazardous undertaking.
Confederate gunpowder production during the Civil War, especially in the hands of untrained amateurs, is rife with accidental explosions that killed dozens outright or burned them so horribly, they died a short time later. An explosion at the Brown Island Powder Works near Richmond killed twenty-nine employees, mostly teenage girls. At the Jackson Arsenal in Jackson, Mississippi, forty-seven were blown to pieces. Into this deadly world stepped David Nance - a total novice.
The Waxahachie Powder Mill consisted mainly of three barn-like structures: a furnace shed, a powder house, and a rolling mill, crudely powered by a treadwheel with ten little mules trotting atop it. The furnace shed produced charcoal from willow and maple wood brought in by local woodcutters. Afterwards, the charcoal was mixed with sulfur to form a gray compound called mash. In a cauldron, potassium nitrate or saltpeter was heated before being rinsed and crushed into powder. The nitrate and mash were transported by tramcar to the mill where Nance worked. Both were poured together into ten mortars, where they were blended and crushed with mule-powered cylinders into a mill cake, later shaved into gunpowder. From there the gunpowder was taken to the powder house and poured into wooded kegs.
With no standard safety procedures in place and a hot, filthy powder mill with minimal ventilation, an explosion was bound to occur. To make matters worse, there were only five workers, including Nance, for the whole tedious, backbreaking operation. The Confederacy’s demand for manpower along with the government’s conscription act left few men available to work in munitions plants. After working long hours to meet their quotas, fatigue set in, increasing the likelihood of a devastating accident.
The accident came soon enough on April 29,1863. In one of the mortars, an explosion set off a chain of explosions that blew Nance and two of his co-workers off their feet and away from a quick exit. Before he could get out of the mill, his gunpowder saturated clothes were set on fire. Severely burned, he managed to tear them off before getting outside and diving into a well. His two co-workers, including the mill owner Rowen, became human torches. Totally in flames, they also dived into the well. Both died from their burns. Luckily and once again, Nance survived. With the exception of the powder house, the powder mill was a total loss. Though the cause was never determined, it was likely a spark from one of the mortar’s mixing cylinders that set off the powder. Recuperating at home for the second time, Nance had time to reflect:
“In the battle of Cache River, the first ball fired from the enemy’s guns hit me; and when I tried a second time to shoot at a man, a stray ball from a gun right at me prevented me again. Then the enemy captured me and I got away a half hour later. Then all who had erysipelas in my ward at St. John’s hospital died but me, and now in this awful explosion I alone was left again. These facts impressed me in a way I cannot describe.”
After a summer of searing pain from learning to move his limbs again, Nance worked two weeks in his uncle’s wool-processing plant before traveling to Louisiana. Along the way, he saw evidence of a collapsing Confederate army: Low moral, emaciated soldiers dressed in lice-infested rags, pitifully thin horses, dilapidated wagons, and shortages of everything. Food was no longer supplied solely by army purchase, but pilfered by the soldiers themselves from nearby farms and shops at the expense of outraged citizens.
Nance rejoined his brigade at Vienna, Louisiana. Parson’s Brigade spent the fall and winter months performing a variety of duties, mostly scouting Union positions or hunting feral hogs for the Central Commissary and Rations Depot in Shreveport. The least likable of duties was the round up of draft dodgers and deserters in Louisiana, Arkansas and The Indian Territory. After their arrest, they were herded to Shreveport to fill the army’s depleted ranks. Nance was able to replace his old double barrel shotgun with a more accurate Enfield rifle. He would not have it for long.
The spring of 1864 brought a long anticipated Union offensive up the Red River with the goal of capturing Shreveport, the Confederate headquarters of the Trans-Mississippi Department. From there, Union troops, under Major General Nathaniel Banks, would march into East Texas, confiscating cotton along the way for New England textile mills. Protected by ironclad gunboats, under Admiral David D. Porter, Banks’ 51,000 men appeared unstoppable in the face of Major General Richard Taylor’s threadbare, paltry 15,000. Confederate cavalry under the redoubtable Tom Green harassed Banks’ every move, buying time for Taylor to assemble his troops at Mansfield, just south of Shreveport. Hampered by a massive column of plodding supply wagons along a narrow, muddy road and the unbearable, humid climate, Banks was defeated by Taylor. Banks retreated toward the safety of his gunboats on the Red River. Parsons’ Brigade, held in reserve during the battle, followed Banks toward Alexandria. Along the way, they attempted to stop Porter’s gunboats and transports but failed due largely to the gunboats’ awesome firepower, which decapitated General Green with a well placed shot. The Confederates could only watch and take potshots while the boats made their escape.
Taylor’s pursuit of Banks ended at Yellow Bayou, where Banks’ remaining troops crossed the Atchafalaya River and then boarded steam transports bound for New Orleans. To protect the retreating troops, a defensive line, next to a former Confederate fort, was established. Confederate troops, under General J. A. Wharton, who replaced Tom Green, launched a foolhardy charge to break the Union line. Using double canister shots, Union artillery decimated the Confederate ranks. Again, Nance was wounded when a minie ball struck his Enfield and then ricocheted into his chest, just behind his heart. His Enfield obliterated, he managed to make it to a trench, where he probably passed out. After two fruitless charges, Wharton’s troops fell back, almost leaving Nance to certain capture. He bolted from the trench in time for a Union volley to graze his neck, severing an artery. Luckily, a friend stopped the bleeding from Nance’s neck wound. A field surgeon removed the minie ball from his back.
Mercifully, Yellow Bayou would be Nance’s last battle. He survived the remaining months of the war, before returning home. Now a civilian, Nance farmed land his father had given him, becoming prosperous from raising wheat and oats, both in heavy demand after the war. He married and raised four children at his farm in Bonham, Texas. David Nance died at the age of eighty-two at his family farm in Dallas County. He is buried at the William Rawlings Cemetery near Lancaster.
