In researching your family history sometimes you are lucky enough to find a first person account describing a person or event in your family line.  One of the most memorable stories I have found about a member of my family is that of the Buck Island Massacre, which was told by C.L. Hardcastle in 1892.  The article was written up by John A. Wyeth and published on September 11, 1897 in Harpers Weekly.

The Roden family, headed by Benjamin Roden (my 4x great grandfather), lived in Marshall County, Alabama.  Benjamin, along with his son, Portland Roden (my 3x great grandfather) were murdered by notorious marauder, Ben Harris on December 7, 1863 on Buck Island. C. L. Hardcastle, the sole survivor, gave this account of the massacre

“On the 21st of December, 1868, I was at home on furlough.  My people at that time were living in Marshall County, Alabama, on the northern side of the Tennessee River.  About ten days before the expiration of my leave of absense we were alarmed by the sudden appearance in our neighborhood of the notorious Ben Harris and his gang of marauders.  Knowing that if we were caught, we would in all probability share the fate of many others who had been killed by this murderer, I together with James M. Roden, F. M. Roden, and Porter Roden, sought refuge in Buck Island, where Ben Roden had already driven his cattle, and constructed a rude cabin for the shelter of himself and his family in case of necessity, and in order to prevent his cattle from being stolen by various parties of foragers.

At this place of concealment, we were joined by old Mr. Ben Roden himself, shortly after we arrived there.  We remained here in supposed security until the morning of December 27, when about two o’clock, we were roused from our sleep by a knocking at the door and a demand for our surrender.  To our dismay we found we were in the hands of Ben Harris!

He demanded to know the place where we had concealed our boat, and we were promised our lives if we would aid him and his men in raising the boat, which we had sunk, and ferrying the stock from the island to the north bank of the river.  He was accompanied by a squadron of men in the uniform of the United States cavalry. [Harris and his gang were not enlisted in the Union army].

After we had accomplished this work we were taken a few hundred yards down the river-bank, and were then informed that we had to be shot.  It so happened that old Mr. Roden had long been acquainted with Captain Harris, and he asked him to step aside that he might speak to him privately, but his plea for our lives was in vain.  When he returned he told us that our case was hopeless, and we were condemned to be shot, and we all then saw that the object of Harris in shooting us was to prevent it being known, when the war might be over, that he had taken cattle and property belonging to Mr. Roden.  Harris stated to us that if any of us wanted to pray, we could do so, and that if we had anything that we wished to send to our people, they would take it to them for any of us.  Porter Roden gave them several things to carry back to his wife and little children.  I have since learned that they never gave these things to the widow they had made.

In looking back over this horrible experience, it still seems to me the prayer Porter Roden made for himself and for all of us …was one of the most earnest appeals…th

at ever fell from the lips of mortal.  When he had finished we faced them, and as we stood in line it so happened that I was the last one at the end in the right of the line.  Harris and his men began the shooting from the head of the line, and show them all from two to four times each with their pistols.  I, being at the foot of the line, was the last one, and at the flash of the first pistol shot aimed at me at close range I fell to the ground as if dead.  The ball, which wounded me, passed through my right arm, for I turned sideways to them as they show me, and the bullet cut the artery in my arm.  When they were dragging our bodies to throw them into the river, they stopped to feel my pulse, but fortunately for me, they felt the side that had already been wounded.  As the pulsation at the wrist was absent, they threw me, with the others into the river, like so many hogs.  As I was plunged into the water, unfortunately, I became slightly strangled and coughed.  Some one said, “Stick your sabre into his d–d body”, but I had floated out from the bank, beyond the reach of the weapon, when they shot at me again but missed me.  As they fired, I held my breath and sank under the water, and they turned and left me for dead.”