On April 2, 1865, while the Confederate government was evacuating Richmond, a different drama unfolded nearly 750 miles to the southwest. Federal cavalry under Brigadier General James H. Wilson captured Selma, Alabama, that same day, part of a larger campaign sweeping through Georgia and Alabama. Among the Confederate units that surrendered at Selma was the 4th Alabama Cavalry, popularly known as Roddy’s Rangers after their colonel, Philip D.
Roddy. That day, however, the regiment was under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Francis Marion Wines, known to everyone as Frank. Wines was a 22-year-old schoolteacher from Morgan County, Alabama, when the war began. He had graduated from Union University in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and was teaching at Somerville Male Academy when the conflict erupted.
The story of his wartime service was recorded by his brother, Enoch, and later shared by one of Frank’s descendants. According to that account, when war broke out in 1861, young men across the South felt called to defend their homeland. Farmers left their fields, lawyers left their cases, and teachers left their schools. Frank left his classroom.
When he stood before his students to say goodbye that spring morning, both he and the students wept openly. Within a week, a mass meeting was held at the school grounds, and volunteers were called for. Many young men stepped forward. A second meeting was scheduled to formally organize a company and elect officers.
When that day arrived, the volunteers lined up. A clear voice called out a nomination: “I nominate F. M. Wines, our Frank, for captain.
” There were no other nominations, and the vote was unanimous. Frank was embarrassed by the honor. He stood before the company with his eyes cast down and said, “I cannot imagine why you want me for your captain. ”
A quick-witted father watching the proceedings replied, “They want you for captain because they think you are an honest man.
”
It may have been the finest compliment Frank ever received. As the account noted, it is better to be honest than merely brave—and as events would show, Frank was both. The company drilled day after day, but eventually orders came from headquarters to disband it, as no more troops were needed at that time. The men were deeply disappointed.
Frank was among those convinced their country still needed them. They found another company to join and soon arrived at the famous battlefield of Manassas—too late for the great battle itself, but in time for endless drills and marches. As the war promised to last longer than many had believed, a system of substitution was introduced. Frank’s father hired a substitute for him, and Frank returned home.
His stay was short. The Army of Tennessee was gathering at Pittsburg Landing on the Tennessee River, and Frank chose a new branch of service: cavalry. While one of the war’s bloodiest battles raged at Shiloh, not far from Pittsburg Landing, he was on his way to join the army. Days after the fighting, he and his younger brother enlisted for three years of war.
Soon came the siege of Corinth, Mississippi. Frank’s regiment held a gap in the line for 18 days and nights in front of the fortifications. Though sick most of the time, he remained at his post. After the evacuation of Corinth, Frank’s company was detached for special service and never returned to its battalion.
Other companies and regiments were formed around it. Frank began to draw attention and received a commission as an officer. His competence in every duty earned him the respect and confidence of everyone. When a company needed a captain, he filled the role.
When a regiment needed an adjutant, he was the man. When a brigade needed a chief of staff, no one was more capable. When a regiment needed a lieutenant colonel, the man chosen proved to be merely a figurehead—and Frank soon became the effective colonel. He never legally held that rank, but he earned it in the minds of his men.
One of his notable traits was that he led his men in every engagement, and they were devoted to him in return. On one occasion, he was ordered to cross a wide and dangerous river. The crossing appeared genuinely perilous, and even some of his bravest men hesitated and began to grumble. Frank spurred his horse into the water and swam across several times.
Such boldness could not help but inspire even the most timid. His character showed most clearly while covering General Forrest’s retreat from Tennessee. The enemy had pushed a massive force into northern Alabama, sweeping south and destroying everything of value in its path. Frank’s men had never faced an enemy so well equipped, so perfectly drilled, and so arrogantly confident.
Everyone who attacked the enemy was repulsed. Everyone who stood before them was crushed. For two days, Frank marched before the enemy, attempting various futile resistance efforts. He felt the retreat was a burning disgrace.
Then an opportunity presented itself. The rest of his brigade was taking a defensive position at a bridge over a creek in the middle of an almost impassable swamp. The enemy cavalry could only cross the creek and swamp via that bridge. As the enemy prepared to attack the bridge, Frank quietly pulled his regiment from the front and, under cover of the woods, fell on their flank.
The attack was like an avalanche. The enemy stood firm at first, but Frank’s men regrouped and struck again. The repulse was as terrible as the attack. The main part of the regiment retreated in disorder.
Twelve men on horseback beside Colonel Wines were pushed back, and one company became separated but stayed near him. Defeated and shocked, the commander and his men stood for a few moments looking for their comrades, amazed at the steel-like resistance of their enemy. Then they rode away quietly and sullenly. Frank later stated that his main thought during those moments was whether to turn his face toward the enemy again and keep fighting until death.
His disappointment was so great that nearly all desire to live had left him. They had not gone 300 yards when they suddenly found themselves face to face with a vastly superior enemy force—a reconnaissance party. Neither side discovered the other until they were within 100 feet. A collision like thunder followed, and the weaker party was wiped out as if by an avalanche.
Colonel Wines found himself alone and separated. He decided that sacrificing his life would be useless, and that escape and rejoining his command would allow him to serve his country further. He chose the latter. The enemy pursued him relentlessly.
For a time, escape seemed impossible. Amid a heavy and rapid fire from pistols, he urged his exhausted horse forward. Through his riding skill, his pursuers finally realized he had eluded them. Once free, Frank realized a terrible situation: his loyal horse was badly wounded and about to fall beneath him.
He traded with a nearby old farmer who had a small mule, and after much wandering and trouble, he rejoined his men within 36 hours. By that point, the enemy was growing stronger daily through continuous victories, while Southern soldiers were deeply demoralized. A single gunshot was sometimes enough to panic an entire regiment or brigade. At Prattville, Alabama, a shot fired a mile away sent three regiments fleeing in panic down the road.
Officers tried in vain to restrain them. Frank deployed his men in an open space near the front of the panicked column and marched them back with great composure, showing that no danger was imminent. Order was restored. On another day, the city of Selma was besieged.
Soldiers and civilians stood side by side in the fortifications, but the force was too small to cover the trenches. In most places, men stood 15 feet apart, gloomily awaiting their fate. There was only one opinion about the outcome. For hundreds of miles and across 50 battles, the enemy had imposed its will.
No one doubted they would do less at Selma. Colonel Wines occupied a position with his regiment to the right of Burnsville Road. The enemy’s first attack came near the center, more than 200 yards to the left. It was violent and sustained, followed quickly by an advance along the line.
The weak line soon collapsed before the enemy’s overwhelming superiority at six points. A victorious army poured over the fortifications. Frank held his position while the enemy advanced stubbornly but slowly from the front. As the battle raged, the enemy closed in on his rear from both right and left.
The choice was surrender or annihilation. To save his men, he surrendered. After the surrender, Frank escaped again and carefully made his way back to join the remnants of his unit who had managed to flee. But by then, it was too late—the war was effectively over.
Instead, he received a parole and returned to civilian life in his war-torn homeland. Like many others, the harshness of camp and campaign had affected his health. A diagnosis of tuberculosis led him to seek treatment in New York City in 1868. The treatment did not work.
On his way back, by the time he reached Washington, D. C. , he could barely care for himself. Still, he completed his journey by train.
He was taken off that train in Lynchburg, Virginia, where he died. Frank was 29 years old. His remains rest in the old city cemetery in Lynchburg.