Crossing the Line: The Story of Josephus Sutton, a Teenager from Iowa Who Joined the Confederacy

Genealogy isn’t just about names and dates—it’s about stories. And sometimes those stories are unexpected, even uncomfortable. One of the most surprising turns in my family history came when I discovered that my ancestor, Josephus Sutton, a preacher’s son from Bonaparte, Iowa, crossed state lines at just 17 years old to join the Confederate Army.

It’s a story with more questions than answers. But it’s also a story worth telling.

A Preacher’s Son in a Divided Nation

Josephus was one of four children born to Rev. Milton Ellis Sutton and Mary Wynn, a devout Baptist family. Rev. Sutton was a well-known traveling minister who preached throughout the region, often taking the entire family along with him as he led services in churches and revival meetings.

Their lives revolved around faith, family, and community, and the Suttons were deeply embedded in the Baptist tradition. Conversations around the dinner table were likely filled with conviction—both moral and political. The family didn’t shy away from strong opinions.

One thing is clear: the Suttons didn’t own slaves, and there’s no evidence they ever supported slavery. But they also didn’t take kindly to being told what to do—by neighbors, by outsiders, or by the government. That fierce independence would prove to be a defining trait.

Crossing Into Missouri: A Teenager’s Fateful Choice

In January 1862, Josephus crossed the border into Missouri and enlisted in the 3rd Missouri Infantry, Company D of the Confederate Army. He was 17 years old—underage by military standards—but claimed to be 18 to enlist.

Missouri was a border state, with deep divisions and loyalties on both sides. Though Iowa was firmly in Union hands, southern Iowa and northern Missouri were culturally and politically complex, and Confederate sympathies could still be found in isolated communities.

Why did he do it?

There are no surviving letters or journals to explain. But several possibilities come into focus:

• He was angry at his father or wanted to escape a life under strict religious expectations.

• He may have been drawn by regional loyalties, peer influence, or the promise of adventure.

• He may have been swayed by the fears and propaganda of the time—claims that the Union was invading, and that emancipation would bring economic collapse.

• Or maybe it was just a teenager’s rebellion, magnified by war.

Whatever the reason, his decision was deliberate. There were no Confederate recruiting stations in Iowa. He had to cross state lines to enlist.

Into the War

Once enlisted, Josephus served as a Private with the 3rd Missouri Infantry, a regiment that saw heavy action in some of the Civil War’s bloodiest theaters.

He fought at:

• Iuka (September 1862)

• Corinth (October 1862)

• And in the Vicksburg Campaign, one of the most decisive series of battles in the war

On May 12, 1863, during the Battle of Port Gibson in Mississippi, Josephus and his unit were captured by Union soldiers and imprisoned at Port Gibson.

A month later, on June 12, 1863, he was released as part of a prisoner exchange. Before release, Confederate prisoners were often required to sign an oath promising not to take up arms against the Union again. While no record of his signature has been found, the fact that he never returned to the war suggests he agreed.

After that, Josephus disappears from the record. We know very little about his life after the war. No military pension, no public records, no gravestone bearing a Confederate marker. Just a ghost in the story.

A Story with No Simple Answers

It’s tempting to try to explain Josephus’s decision through modern eyes. But the truth is, the Civil War era was messy, especially along the borders. People joined the Confederate cause for many reasons—some ideological, some economic, some personal. And while slavery was absolutely at the heart of the conflict, not every soldier’s motivation fit neatly into that narrative.

Josephus didn’t fight for slavery. He didn’t fight for land or wealth. He may have fought because he felt cornered, angry, or simply wanted to carve out a different path than the one expected of him.

It’s impossible to know for sure. If I could sit down with him today, I would ask:

• Why did you leave Iowa to fight for the South?

• Were you scared? Were you proud? Were you confused?

• What did you feel when you were captured—relief, regret, or something else?

• What happened after the war ended? Why did you disappear?

Why This Story Matters

Genealogy brings us face-to-face with complicated truths. Josephus’s story is a reminder that the past isn’t always clean or comfortable. It’s full of people making impossible decisions in the middle of a divided and dangerous world.

I don’t celebrate his choice—but I also don’t ignore it. I want to understand it. I want to remember that behind every historical event, there are individuals—flawed, young, scared, idealistic, stubborn, human.

And maybe that’s what family history is all about.

The story of Josephus Sutton isn’t one I expected to find in my family tree. But I’m glad I did. Because it forces me to think deeper—not just about where I come from, but about how the past still echoes in our present.

To know where you are going, know where you came from

My reasons for diving into finding my genealogy has changed over the years. When I first discovered that a great-grandfather had researched one of our family lines, I was intrigued and curious. Later, I loved to share the family stories with my son, and eagerly sought out as much as I could. These days, I crave a connection to people who came before me, and am fascinated by the connections to history.

My mother occasionally told me family stories, but I have since found out that they were all wrong. Not one story was true. The actual stories are way more interesting. My grandmother had stories, but I was too young to remember them.

I yearn for a deeper connection to the past, to ancient traditions and values, and to know where I come from. Unlike those who have known since birth their identity and heritage, I felt like I was plucked out of space and put onto this planet. 

But now I know more.

It's a basic human need to want to know where you come from and who your people are - no matter what you find out. This is the same force that drives foundlings and adoptees to find their birth parents. It's a path to discovery about who you are and what is your heritage.

Another part of this journey is discovering traits of my ancestors that I find in myself. That's when you realize what part you play in the "nature vs nurture" argument. Occupations are revealed, validating interests, job choices, and hobbies. Health issues can often be realized upon discovering how some of your ancestors lived and met their end.

I have been able to pass on a legacy of family stories that are certainly more accurate, entertaining, and informative than those I received. This has become one of my life purposes, and is important for current and future generations.

I have been able to connect with extended family members that I never knew existed, albeit most of them virtually. My view on humankind has been expanded beyond my original nuclear family. I have been able to spiritually connect to my ancestors, imagining what advice they could give me and wondering what they would think of me and the world today.

I have also learned that we are all related, if we go back far enough. I have uncovered the basic values of living a worthwhile life: be honest, be compassionate, have integrity, don't kill, don't steal, don't gaslight, don't stop learning.

Castles in my Family - Hedingham Castle

Hedingham Castle, located in the charming village of Castle Hedingham in Essex, is considered the best-preserved Norman keep in England. The castle’s fortifications and outbuildings date back to around 1100, with the keep being built around 1140. Although most of the medieval structures have not survived, the keep remains mostly intact, missing only two turrets.

The castle stood on the ridge above the valley. The keep rose straight and hard out of the earth. Thick walls. Narrow slits. The stone pale and cold in the morning light.

It was Hedingham. Awarded to the de Veres by William the Conqueror. Aubrey de Vere (our ancestor) held the land by 1086. He planted vineyards and had sons. They cut the ditch through the ridge and set the walls in place. They shaped the hill to make it fit the keep. You can still see it.

Life inside was quiet but never still. The fire burned in the hall. Meat roasted on the spit. Men spoke in low voices. The lord sat at the head of the room and listened. His sword rested beside his chair. No one laughed unless he did first.

At night, the wind came through the cracks in the stone. The women kept their children warm with wool and stories. They prayed. They spun. They watched their sons grow up and ride away.

The boys played at swords until they learned to use them. They learned Latin, but they liked the horses more. They wanted to ride. They wanted to fight. They wanted to be men like their fathers.

Sometimes there was peace. Sometimes there was not. Either way, the castle stayed the same.

The walls were thick. The stones did not move. The keep watched the valley, and the valley watched it back. When the de Veres died, the keep stayed. When the wind blew, the stone did not care.

Now the keep is empty. The voices are gone. But the stone remembers. You can stand inside it and feel them if you are quiet.

They lived here once. They were your blood. They built this thing to last.

And it did.