Son of Simeon Kendrick Wilson and Eliza Jane Ashley.

Andrew Jackson Wilson's Role in the Civil War
1865 , Cordele Georgia

In his "History of Turner County", Ben Pate recorded a story that refers to Andrew when he was a youth of about 12 years of age. The Civil War was over, and many southern leaders had fled, hoping to avoid capture. This is that story as told by Ben Pate. This was published in 1935, seven years after Andrew passed away. I hope all of his decendents enjoy reading the story of his heroics with pride.

"About 25 miles or more southeast of Cordele, Georgia was the residence of Mr. Ned Mixon, about one mile east of Rochelle and about four miles southeast of Mr. Ned Mixon's home, Mr. Simeon Wilson lived. There may have been one or two residences on the route between Simeon Wilson's home and the Governor's Mansion but hardly more. It was largely unsettled country of swamps, pine thickets, and a wilderness of towering pines, and only traversed by cow hunters and trails with no particular road connecting these two sections. Wolves, in packs, bears, and panthers still lived in this area. There were fugitives from justice hiding in this area and union soldiers were of a special problem.

In May 1865, the Union soldiers were scouring middle south Georgia to capture Jefferson Davis, Brecenridge, Bob Toombs, General Beauregard, and many other confederate leaders. One evening, someone, probably Oliver Farnell of Dooly County piloted General John B. Gordon to the home of Mr. Ned Mixon. General Gordon was anxious to get a communication to Governor Joseph E. Brown.

Mr. Mixon went over to the neighbor, Mr. Simeon Wilson, while there, he made arrangements and got young Andrew, who was only about 12 years old, to deliver the message to Governor Brown for General John B. Gordon.

Andrew was the proud posessor of the fastest pony in the country. It was a perilous journey for one so young, as all pioneer children were taught myths to make them behave or "the boogy man would get them."

Little Andrew mounted his steed, with as brave a heart as any seasoned veteran ever mounted his war charger. Little Andrew knew according to the myth of boogy men, that the woods were infested with them, he conquered his fear. Although uncle Andrew is old and well stricken with years of hardship and toil, as he relates the story, you can see the brave little boy astride his pony, that he loved better than anything on this earth except his own folks, galloping over strange trails leading through unfamiliar forests.

Have you passed through the shades of the dark green trees
Or a clear, cool night, and heard the wild breeze as it
comes like the sound of the distant roar
Of, the billowy tread of the lone sea shore?
Tis a solemn hour for the traveler then
When he feels he is far from the haunts of men,
And the wind still moans in sad minstrelsy
Through the towering pines like the murmuring sea.
Have you heard the owl hoot from it's lofty nest, with
his large fierce eyes and his feathered crest, and the
green frog laugh in his swampy bed,
and the screech owl chant a dirge for the dead?
Tis a lone hour for the traveler then
as he dashes on through bog and fen
And the terrible screech of the dismal owl
Still breaks on his ear like the wild wolfs howl
And the fireflies flit in his feverish face
to show him the terror the gloom of the place
And the whip-poor-will wakes up a mournful strain
And the traveler thinks of the robber's den
And he starts at the fancied tread of men
And reins up his steed for a desperate race
With the fire flies flashing still in his face

From reading this poem you can see what a brave heart it took to make this journey. The screams of wild cats and the howl of wolves hunting their prey were familiar sounds in his ears.

The whip-poor-will's evening lullaby and the hoot and the screech of the owls added to the fear and loneliness of the trip, but was he not on a mission for his country? How important it was he never knew, but no veteran courier ever felt more determined to deliver his dispatch than did this pioneer youth.

How the pony's hooves would resound on the hills and as the echoes came back our hero often thought he was pursued by men, till he was at last at the Governor's gate, and his "Hello!" brought out a soldier to see what he wanted. The letter was proudly delivered and he was told to wait for a reply. It was nearly day when he retraced his journey and delivered his reply to General Gordon. Tired and sleepy for he had traversed on horseback more than sixty miles, and modestly passed out of our story.

The next morning Mr. Mixon escorted the gallant General Gordon, who had been wounded eight timesin the defense of his country, as far as Mr. Willis Dorminy's, father of Captain Jack Dorminy of Fitzgerald, who escorted the battle-scarred hero on south to places of safety."

The above story and poem are quite a tribute to our ancestors, showing their pride, loyalty, and honor to their cause.