My Grandmother once told me about the time she was a kid growing up on my Great-Grandfather's farm in Arkansas, about 5 miles outside of Prescott. They had a particularly-hot and dry Summer one year, and the ground cracked open in a clearing along side of a stand of pine trees. When they looked down inside the crack, there were scores of human remains still in the remnants of their Confederate uniforms. There was a pretty fierce skirmish about a mile and a half from where she saw this. It was called the Battle of Prairie D'Ane.
Battle of Prairie D'Ane - Wikipedia
I once went around the outskirts of where it took place with a metal detector, but all I found was some cast-iron shell fragments.
My Great-Great Grandfather was conscripted into the Confederate army but didn't want any part of it. He deserted but was later caught, along with another guy who deserted. They were going to hang them both, but he managed to escape through a high window. He hid out in the Little Missouri river bottoms until the war was over, then ended up becoming the county Treasurer. Supposedly he also got some black girl knocked up and paid to send her up North, to go to school.
I also had a distant cousin who wasn't so lucky. He volunteered to go fight at the age of 15, and nobody ever heard from him again.