Confederate Salt for Alabama Citizens

from the November 12, 1862 SOUTHERN ADVERTISER (Troy)

The Governor also mentions as having appointed A. G. McGehee, of Lowndes, to take charge the Salt Works, in Clark and Washington, who now has furnaces in operation, and able to turn out daily about 2,000 bushels salt, which the State can afford to dispense to her citizens at the rate of $2 per bushel of 50 pounds. Ho recommends the permanent continuance in office of McGehee. He also urges that other States be invited to assist in the development of the saline resources of Alabama. He also states that contracts have been made to receive for this State 30,000 bushels of salt from Saltville, Virginia, at a price of one dollar and twenty four cents per bushel. 

from the May 17, 2007 ABBEVILLE HERALD

Salt was one of the most acute shortages in Henry County and the Wiregrass during the Civil War. Salt was, and is, a necessary and inexpensive mineral that we take for granted today, and salt was plentiful before the war. After the Civil War began in 1861, no salt was brought into Alabama from the North. Salt shortages occurred throughout the South. Salt was essential for everyday use for people and livestock, and was very important for curing beef, pork and fish to feed the Confederate armies as well as the home front people.

No refrigeration on a mass scale existed. Salt was also used in the dying of Confederate uniforms and to tan leather. Soon after the war began, the St Andrews Bay area in Florida became one of the largest salt producing areas for the South. The little salt available in the South soon was being sold by profiteers at inflated prices of $1 per pound. The General Assembly of Alabama passed Act No.38 creating the Alabama Salt Commission on Dec. 9, 1862, to manufacture and dispense salt to Alabama families and armies. The Union Navy was already blockading the South's coastal areas, where small salt works were being located to produce salt from seawater. Mr. A.G. McGehee became the Alabama Salt Commissioner. The largest Confederate salt works in Alabama was established in Clarke County, with several smaller sites located in Washington and Mobile Counties. An estimated 5,000 men, mostly Negro slaves who had been impressed from their slave owners by the Alabama Confederate Government, were employed at the three primary state salt works. Many deaths occurred at the works due to illnesses caused by the swamp lands.

The Confederate Government had established the Confederacy's largest salt works in Saltville, Virginia. Florida's major role in the war was as a large producer of salt, cured beef, pork and fish for the Confederacy. The Florida General Assembly passed a law in 1862 permitting outside southern states, counties and individuals to establish salt works along the coast of North Florida to extract salt from seawater. Florida organized the salt makers into companies and furnished them with arms and ammunition. The Union Navy was constantly raiding and destroying the many salt works. A Union Navy raid against the St Andrews Salt Works in 1863, which the Florida Home Guards could not defend against, resulted in the destruction of nearly 300 salt works. The Union ship commander valued the loss at $3,000,000.00. The St. Andrews Bay Salt Works employees promptly rebuilt them, and they remained in operation through February of 1865. Alabama's Confederate General Assembly established a state salt works facility on East. Bay near St Andrews Bay, along with other state government's salt works. The Union forces raided the facilities in the winter of 1863. After that, the operations were shifted to West Bay where they remained until the end of the war.

The Union Navy would continue to raid the works, and on one occasion a reported 97 salt works were destroyed at West Bay. The Confederates would bring in new boilers and soon return to business. An estimated 2,500 men from Alabama, Georgia and Florida were exempted from combat duty in order to labor in these salt works. The salt would be transported from these "Government Salt Works" by wagon and river boats to Eufaula, Alabama, then to Montgomery, for distribution to several Confederate states. As the war worsened, Alabama's Salt Commission could not provide enough salt to meet the state's demand and passed a law making it illegal to sell salt outside of the state.

Several Henry County men worked in these Alabama Salt Works in Florida, including John Bland of Abbeville, an excellent blacksmith who came into Henry County in 1855; and Charles E. Kelley, born in Henry County, and worked in the West Bay Salt Works for about a year. After the war he moved to Okaloosa, County, Florida. Confederate salt was manufactured by boiling sea water in many, many large iron vats or kettles, as in the Confederate Florida salt kettle depicted in the attached image. As the water boiled away, salt was left.

This same network was used in the distribution of county salt. The county would receive salt and or money in four installments during the year. With encouragement or assistance from the Henry County Commission, several county citizens formed a private salt works called the Southeast Alabama Salt Company, located at West Bay, Florida. Mr. James: Augustus Clendinen (1825 - 1890), a prominent Abbeville citizen, a highly successful and esteemed attorney, was selected superintendent of the salt works.

He recruited county men to work in the salt works in Florida. Some of the decisions passed by the Henry County Confederate Commission during the war concerning the distribution of salt included: "1862, ordered the Probate Judge to distribute the salt remaining on hand at Columbia and Woodville (now Gordon) as part of the distributive shares of the second salt installment. 1863, ordered the county treasurer to pay the Probate Judge $40 for the purchase of salt to be sold at cost to the families of indigent soldiers. Ordered to give Woodville residents, Thomas Seller's wife & child $6.76 for salt; M. Benton's wife $1.69 for salt and John L: Rayborn's wife & 3 kids $13.52 for salt.

 FISHING IN OLD-TIME DOTHAN WAS A REAL TREAT

by Doug Fuller from the November 10, 1985 Dothan Eagle

Dothan was a maze of spring-fed ponds and steams. Before the days of paved roads and traffic lights, stringers full of beautiful fish were caught…right here within the city limits. The graveled Montgomery Highway separated a dandy string of fish-filled ponds which were good places to hunt snipe and ducks, and gig frogs, and shoot rabbits and robins. Draping willow trees lined pools of sparkling water on the Northeast side of the dirt road headed towards our capital city. A natural channel connected these sipid (sic) lakes with a larger body of water which extended to the edge of West North Street in a section of town known as Baptist Bottom.

Frequent showers of Log Days (sic) and rainy spells during wintertime dropped more water than the low places could hold. Overflow water raced underneath a wooden bridge to form  Folkes Branch. The swift current crossed West Powell and Newton Streets, dog-legged across Montana, half-mooned and passed over West Main Street. Porter's Square Mall now stands directly over the main run of Folkes Branch.

The popular stream with many good fishing holes, meandered into the next wooden bridge on Hartford Road and on around Dothan County Club. Folkes Branch and several similar brooks emptied into the then large and fast-flowing Beaver Creek. Youngsters learned' about nature by lingering along Folkes Branch while going to and from school in ancient Dothan. I entered the first grade at the brand-new Highland School when the lone automobile parked in front was a Model-T coupe. It belonged to Miss Eunice Folkes, the school's first principal. Even the teachers walked to school when fish swam in Folkes Branch.

Instead of walking long routes on dirt roads, inquisitive kids found short-cuts and beat numerous foot paths to Highland School. Our favorite trail crossed Folkes Branch near a pasture fence made of barbed and 'hog wire.' We managed the exciting crossing by walking the fence. The key was to hand-hold a strand of barbed wire strung on top of four-foot high 'hog wire,' place the feet into squares at the bottom and tread, hand-overhand, foot-over-foot, to the opposite side. An alternative was to swing across by means of bullace vines. The fruit-bearing tendrils climbed high in towering sweetgum trees at Folkes Branch. By hacking long vines off near the ground, holding onto the trailing ends and running backwards as fast and far as possible, then lifting the legs, we glided to the other side and dropped on soft sandbeds. Sometimes we made it. Sometimes we didn't. Anyway, during the spring of our first year in school, we discovered 'jillions of beautiful fish swimming around in Folkes Branch.

It took our minds away from books and school. These pretty fish needed to be caught and it was up to us to do just that. The next morning, we went to school with fishing tackle tucked in hip pockets. A few fish hooks, pieces of string, scraps of lead and medicine bottle stoppers proved the essential equipment. We planned on fishing after school let out.

But, waiting for the three o'clock bell got the best of eager fishermen. We cut-out at recess and made way to our chosen spot. A tall patch of fennel weeds across the road provided a quick and easy avenue of escape. We went fishing early. Sam Hinson got there first.

By turning over several rotten logs, we quickly gathered an abundant supply of live worms and puppy-dogs for bait. Fork-ended fishing poles were cut from woodlands hiding the luring stream. Slender shoots reaching for sunshine, grew tall among bay, poplar and magnolia trees at Folkes Branch. Resourceful minds worked overtime.

While we caught more fish than bush limb stringers would hold. We could easily catch more fish, if we had a better and quicker way, take them to nearby homes, sell them and make enough money to buy all sorts of fishing tackle, thus our first business venture. We found a place and way. An abandoned fence had fallen across the stream. The ready-made footbridge was covered with leaves and limbs mixed in with other debris.

We found out that jumping on the snakey conglomeration made fish dart out, get caught in the current and flounder into shallow places. A rusty bucket retrieved from a nearby dump, made a good net. It had a hole in it. An old fashioned wash-tub; in worse shape, served as a fish box. We took turns jumping on the fish-shelter and catching fish with the bucket and filled the battered tin-tub to the brim.

It was hard to carry the heavy container with one handle missing, but we struggled and with determination, made the trip to some nearby homes just before dark. Occupants admired our bountiful catch of perch and catfish. They all wanted a mess of fish but declared, "Us ain't got no money," Bankruptcy was declared. We gave the fish away and went home where genuine 'old-timey' whoopins' waited. Needless to say, another awarding event was waiting at school the next morning. Miss Folkes sure knew how to handle a razor strap. 

Good fishing holes were within easy walking distance of every home in Dothan in by-gone days....and so were prized swimming places. They were called 'wash holes' back then. An excellent wash hole was situated in Tidwell's Woods a short distance from Highland School. Another lay back of the Country Club and still another at Beaver Creek on Route Seven, now Fortner Street Extension, just off the Circle.

The pool at the long wooden bridge was wide and too deep for expert divers to find the bottom. The hill on the other side was steep and too muddy during rainy weather for mules to pull wagons over. The conveyances had to detour out Hartford Road and return to Route Seven by way of Little Vine Church. Lots of youngsters learned to swim at Beaver Creek wash hole. I learned to swim in a wash hole near the Coast Line Railroad tracks.

The huge holed-out place on property belonging to Bill Pittman's grandmother, was known as 'big ditch.' Anyone who learned to swim in big ditch is well over half the age of our century-old city. You can bet your boots on that. Passengers looking out of train windows were often treated to exhibitions of 'new moons' performed by skinny-dippers horsing around in the 'big ditch.' Refreshments for the old-timey fun-filled days were often confiscated from watermelon patches along the way. Friendly farmers freely shared the fruits of their labors with energetic youngsters headed for wash holes. Wash holes were just about everywhere back then, but like in-town fishing holes, they vanished with the times. The advent of bathing suits and influx of mermaids changed the names of popular recreation places to swimming g holes...in our part of a changing world. As we grew...so did Dothan.

Serpentine branches were channelized and ponds drained to make way for progress. Mosquito and alligator populations declined as splendid fishing, hunting and swimming opportunities vanished. But, we're still withing calling distance of the very best that mother nature has to offer. 

Enjoy Living In Dothan.

 Simon in Tuscaloosa in 2018 

 The Little Building

Richard Harris Little (1876-1924) - Find a Grave Memorial

1909

That comparison is an echo of an ancient biblical proverb: "As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly" (Proverbs 26:11). [1]

What This Means for Your Situation

The Cycle of Folly: The proverb describes someone who knows something is toxic, unhealthy, or destructive, yet walks right back into it anyway.
The Illusion vs. Reality: Just as a dog returns to something it already rejected and expelled because it lacks the impulse control or insight to know better, going back to an old, painful dynamic usually means letting a temporary craving override hard-earned lessons.
Breaking the Loop: Recognizing the loop is the first step. True change happens when you stop treating a familiar mistake like a new opportunity.

 2026 UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA HOMECOMING PARADE

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