Politician, General and…Murderer? (Article 112)

Politician, General, and ….Murderer?  (Article 112)

Daniel E. Sickles was a New York politician and Civil War Union General, but he left us a life story that was so much more interesting.

Although born in 1819 to a very wealthy New York family, in about 1845, he began reporting his birth year as 1825, perhaps to seem younger to the several teenage women (and their families) he courted at the time. He left college to apprentice under an experienced lawyer and was admitted to the New York bar in 1846 (but as a twenty-one-year- old, not his real age of twenty six.), and entered politics the next year when he won a seat in the New York State Assembly.

On September 27, 1852, Sickles, now stating his age as twenty-seven, not thirty-two, married Teresa Bagioli  who was 16, which was not an unusual age for a young woman to marry at that time. Teresa, by all accounts was beautiful, mature for her age, educated as best possible, socially sophisticated, and fluently spoke several languages. However, both his family and hers objected to the marriage, but that did not in any way stop the two from their plans. They were a popular couple in New York, sharing at least the trappings of wealth from their parents, and Sickle’s legal practice and political career were advancing, if modestly. But Dan sickles was a ladies’ man in the classic sense, unsuited for marriage, and scandal soon followed. He was censured by the New York State Assembly for bringing a “lady of the evening” by the name of Fanny White into his Capitol office; although he was already known to many for escorting Miss White to dinner and the theater. However, the censure did not affect his political career as he was appointed by President Franklin Pierce to an embassy post in London. He left his wife Teresa at home in New York as she was pregnant, but he did not travel alone. He had Miss White by his side and even presented her to Queen Victoria, not as his wife or consort, however, but said that she was the visiting wife of another New York politician.

After about eighteen months in London, he returned to New York (and to his wife and child) and resumed his legal and political careers; including election to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1857, where he served until the Civil War broke out. We are not sure, however, what became of Miss White.

But there was a diversion in 1859, when Dan Sickles was tried for murder!

Dan Sickles, though a serial adulterer himself, had accused his much-younger wife of adultery several times during their marriage, but she had repeatedly denied it to his satisfaction. Then came Phillip Barton Key!

Washington was the home of the debonaire forty year old widower (with four children) who was the son of Francis Scott Key (who wrote the poem that became the National Anthem). Phillip Key was the U.S. Attorney for the District, a position his father had once held.  Mr. Key became acquainted with Teresa Sickle through several social events, and the two began an affair. Like Dan Sickles had been with his special friends, they were fairly open about their attraction to each other and were seen going and coming from his office, his home, and even a local hotel.  Sickles received an anonymous letter describing the affair and confronted his wife; and then forced her to write out her confession. While Dan Sickles himself had been an adulterer many times over, apparently in this case, what was good for the Goose, was not good for the Gander. On February 27, 1859, in Lafayette Square, across the street from the White House and bordering the street of the Sickles house, Mr. Key was seen trying to signal Mrs. Sickles. Dan Sickles grabbed a pistol and ran into Layfette Square yelling, “Key, you scoundrel, you have dishonored my home; you must die” Sickles then shot and killed Philip Barton Key. (Note: The quotation is from Harper’s Weekly magazine)

Sickles confessed to the murder and was taken to jail, but not under the conditions of most inmates; he was given a large private room. He needed the space for he was granted unlimited visitor access and they came in droves. They included many congressmen, senators, and other leading members of Washington society, and even President James Buchanan sent Sickles a personal note.

For his trial, Sickles selected several leading politicians as defense attorneys, but also participated in his own defense, and he pleaded temporary insanity; the first use of this defense in the United States. In Europe a “Crime of Passion” was an acceptable defense, but Sickles added this new wrinkle. He and his attorneys argued that Sickles had become so incensed by his wife's infidelity as to become temporarily insane, and thus was out of his mind when he shot Key. In summation, one of his lawyers said to the jury, “You are here to fix the price of the marriage bed!” His lawyers tried to admit as evidence Teresa’s written confession, but when that failed, they simply leaked her note to newspapers. One editor wrote that Sickles was a hero for “saving all the ladies of Washington from this rogue named Key.”

The unique defense worked as Sickles was acquitted and released! And, he publicly forgave Teresa, announcing that she was obviously a victim of Key’s deviousness; as was he. During his trial, he had not resigned from Congress and simply resumed his political career.

At the outbreak of the Civil War, although he only had limited military experience in a militia, Sickles offered to raise volunteer units in New York for the Union Army. For his successful efforts, he was first appointed as a Colonel and then became a Brigadier General in September 1861. In fact, he proved to be a competent leader, unlike many of the politically appointed Generals in the Union Army. By 1863, he was promoted to Major general, at the time, the only person to hold that rank who had not attended West Point. But his service was not without controversy. He was a friend of General Joseph Hooker and one newspaper wrote that their army headquarters could be compared to a rowdy bar and bordello.

Then came the battles at Gettysburg in July, 1863.

In a misunderstanding (really a dispute) with commanding General George Meade and his staff, General Sickles either failed to obey a direct order (Meade’s version), or by taking independent action boldly halted a Confederate advance (Sickles version). Immediately, a controversy began which continues among historians to this day. One writer put it this way, “Sickles' unwise move may have unwittingly foiled Lee's hopes and advanced the Union cause."

During the Confederate attack, which he either inadvertently or purposely halted, Sickles was struck in the right leg by a cannonball which required amputation. Ever on stage, as he was carried by stretcher off the battlefield, he attempted to raise his soldiers' spirits by grinning and puffing on a cigar as he waved to them. (He also had the severed limb saved for posterity!)

After the battle, Meade’s reports faulted Sickles actions and he angrily retaliated.  He had ready access to newspaper reporters and editors and began a public campaign against General Meade's military decisions (and Meade’s personal character) and in support of his own version of events. Even after the war ended, Sickles kept up his campaign to discredit Meade and to claim himself a true hero of Gettysburg. Over the next years, the public began to tire of Sickles relentless attacks against General Meade, which he continued even after Meade’s death in 1872. Further, it is noteworthy that General (and later President) Ulysses Grant continued to support Meade against Sickles’ assaults.

Thirty years after the war, Sickles was still petitioning Presidents, congressmen, and senior military officials, by that time none of whom served in that devastating war, to recognize his own heroism at Gettysburg. To his great satisfaction, in 1897, he was awarded the Medal of Honor, likely as much to end the process as to recognize actual heroism. It is interesting for historians to note that, of the other senior Generals who led troops at Gettysburg, many have been memorialized with statues on or near the battlefield; but there is none for General Sickles. When asked in 1912, two years before his death, why there was no memorial to him, Sickles supposedly said, “The entire battlefield is a memorial to Dan Sickles.”

Enough said!

The Richmond Bread Riots (Article 111)

The Richmond Bread Riots (Article 111)

On April 2, 1863, a scene unfolded in the Capital City of the Confederacy, Richmond, Virginia, which could not have even been imagined only a few months earlier. Bands of women, desperate to obtain food for their families, roamed through the merchant district, breaking into stores and bakeries, and even government warehouses, to steal any provisions they could carry.

The Richmond Bread Riots had begun.

Although the Confederate military was still holding its own in that Spring of 1863, the supply chains which provided food and other necessities to both the Southern armies, and the civilians in their communities, were breaking down. Richmond, Virginia was especially hard hit as battles raged nearby and those troops had to be fed and the conduits for food delivery into the town such as wagon roads and rail lines had been disrupted. However, Richmond’s primary problem was the vast increase in population, from only about 30,000 in 1861 to 100,000 by early 1863. There simply had been no adequate government planning for such a rapid influx and almost all essential goods were in short supply.

Other factors which also exacerbated the problems included disruptions from the Union embargo of Southern ports, the fact that less food was being grown because so many farmers were fighting in the Confederate army, and some crops were confiscated by Union armies. Whenever any shortage of staples occurs, prices rise; however, southern families were not seeing any off-setting rise in income. In fact, for many families, the primary “bread-winner” was off to war.

Then, as politicians then and now are prone to do, Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy and a temporary Richmond resident, at an inopportune time, declared a “Day of Prayer and Fasting” for March 27. To many of the women of Richmond, already unable to adequately feed their families, a day of fasting was seen as an affront.

A loose federation of women, through word of mouth, gathered at a local church on April 1 with no specific pre-planned agenda, but to express their concerns about the food shortages. One of the leaders of the discussions and the protest plans, was Mary Jackson, the mother of a Confederate soldier and three other children. She believed that the food shortages were caused by government ineffectiveness in controlling speculators, which were easy targets for her frustrations; however, the reasons were much more varied and complicated. As the morning went on, several of the women began to urge group action and it was generally decided to march together the following day to the Governor’s office. 

But the march did not go as planned.

At first, about a hundred women converged at the Governor’s office and, perhaps to their surprise, he came out to meet with them. As the discussions (really charges from the women, and denials and rationalizations from the Governor) continued, the mayor arrived to read a local Riot Act to the crowd. But the unruly group continued to grow, and many of the new-comers carried knives, hammers, axes and a few had pistols. Parts of the crowd began to peel off and head toward stores and warehouses, many shouting “Bread or blood, Bread or blood” as they marched. By now, nearly a thousand rioters, including a few men and boys, were scattering toward targets. The Governor called out a small militia, but they were no match for the marauding crowds. Any facility that might hold food-stuffs was ransacked, but also, some rioters robbed silver and jewelry stores; but likely those were organized criminals who simply took advantage of the situation.

President Jefferson Davis left the executive Mansion and went to the head of one mob, where he urged them to cease, and he threw some money and even his watch to the crowd to get them to disperse. He reportedly said, “You say you are hungry and have no money; here, this is all I have". Some did leave, but others lingered in the area until a larger group of home guards and police, called by the mayor, began making arrests; and Mrs. Jackson was one of the first taken into custody.

Jefferson Davis and the Governor tried to keep the episode quiet, concerned that Confederate troops could be demoralized by the plight of their loved ones, and ordered Southern newspapers to not report the incident. But that large of an event can’t be hidden, and in a few days, Northern newspapers began to print the story, unfortunately with some exaggerations. For example, some reported several deaths, but there were none, and also that over 5,000 were rioting, which was far more than actually participated. Soon Southern newspapers began reporting about the riots; however, with a spin that favored the government’s response to lawlessness.

Mrs. Jackson was held in jail for a few weeks without bond, although friends were willing to provide bail. She was eventually convicted of only a minor offence and released, after Richmond officials decided any further prosecution would make her a symbolic martyr.

As the Southern economy continued to suffer, the effects on families led to other similar riots in Georgia, at Macon, Atlanta, and Augusta.

The Richmond riots; however, did result in some positive reactions by government officials to speed the supply of more food directly to consumers. One change was that farmers and bakers were allowed to sell in open markets, rather than through wholesale warehouses which speculators controlled. However, the problem of scarce supplies was too great to fix, the war began to go badly, and for most poor southern families, the depravations continued; and in some areas got even worse.

So, did Mrs. Jackson achieve her goals? As the leader of the movement, she certainly saw city officials try to better distribute food to working class families; however, on a person basis, her incarceration probably hurt her own family. Although her son survived the war, she never overcame abject poverty and died a few years later at only about 40 years old.

Not all of the suffering occurred on battlefields.

The Angel of Andersonville (Article 110)

The Angel of Andersonville (Article 110)

Even in the most despicable surroundings, humanity can shine through. The Confederate Andersonville Prison, formally Camp Sumter, near Macon Georgia, has an earned reputation as the worst prisoner of war camp of the Civil War. Hastily built in 1863 to house only 10,000 prisoners, by late 1864 there were nearly 35,000 Union soldiers held there, and the death rate was atrocious. Into that mass of starving and diseased men, came a volunteer, Father Peter Whelan; who became known as the Angel of Andersonville by both Confederate guards and Union prisoners.

One contemporary description of him was as follows: “He stands nearly six feet with drab hair, coarse, ill shaped countenance, round shoulders, long arms, short body and long legs, with feet of more than ordinary size. He may comb his hair sometimes, but if so, it shows no indication of it, as it is generally in a standing condition. His coat is not of the latest nor approved fashion: the sleeves exposing some inches of the lower part of his arm (and) his pants exhibit a considerable portion of his stockings and unpolished shoes... He is fully sensible of his personal exterior. One day he met a brother priest, to whom nature was no more liberal than to himself. ‘Well, your mother and mine must have been women of great virtue...because they did not drown us when they first saw us. None but mothers of great...patience would have raised such ugly specimens of humanity."

Maybe so, but there was an inner beauty to Peter Whelan.

Although native to Ireland and already serving there as a local priest, Father Whelan moved to the United States in 1829, when he was about 28, after being recruited by American priests to “bring Catholicism to the colonies.” He served as a missionary in North Carolina and a pastor in a Georgia parish. Over the years, he became a dedicated Southerner and, as war clouds were beginning to gather in late 1860 and early 1861, he favored secession. His adopted home states of Georgia and North Carolina did eventually secede as did nine other states. Certainly, there were people of all faiths in the South who favored secession, but Father Whelan was a bit of a zealot on the matter. One visitor said that, “Father Whelan tried to make me a secessionist, and even jokingly warned of tar and feathers."  But Father Whelan, at sixty years old, wanted to do more than talk and volunteered as Chaplain to a predominately Irish Confederate unit in Savannah. As only one of a few priests in all of Georgia at the time, he maintained other duties in addition to his chaplaincy. However, he soon decided he needed to stay with his soldiers, especially after Union forces began heavy bombardment on their location at Fort Pulaski. When the Confederates finally surrendered the fort and the soldiers became prisoners of the Union Army, Father Whelan volunteered to join them in a prison camp in New York. While the officers had adequate quarters, the enlisted men were crowded into tents and shacks, with little protection from the elements. As a result, many of the men soon began to suffer from pneumonia and typhoid, but that is where Father Whelan chose to stay!

During that time, he appealed to Catholic clergy in Northern states to send provisions, and received some help from New York and Baltimore. There is no question that the men imprisoned with Father Whelan benefited from his efforts, not only to obtain food and other supplies, but also for his service to their spiritual needs. Fortunately, for those prisoners, after a few months, an exchange was arranged and they were given paroles and allowed to return home.

But Father Whelan heard about another place that could use his attention. He volunteered to serve as Chaplain to the Confederate guards at Andersonville prisoner of war camp, a large facility which was already receiving international notoriety (and condemnation) for the squalid conditions under which the Union prisoners were kept.

He wrote, “I was not to foresee what I encountered. Confederate guards were unkempt, underfed, miserable, and undisciplined. But they were so much better off than the prisoners. ….there were men with no shelter, lying in the dirt and their own filth, many unable to stand. There were a few hundred stronger prisoners who stole what little food weaker men were given.” He added that men were “dying by the hundreds each day.”

Another priest who visited Father Whelan wrote, “I found the stockade extremely filthy; the men all huddled together and covered with vermin .… The men were dying there very rapidly from scurvy…diarrhea and dysentery…they had nothing under them at all except the ground”

When he saw the conditions in which the 35,000 prisoners were living (and dying) Father Whelan described himself as distraught. He petitioned the Confederate Commander to allow him to minister to the Union prisoners as well as well as the Confederate soldiers and his request was granted. He then began a remarkable ministry to not only Catholic boys, but any others who he could help. Every day, he entered the stockade at first light and stayed until dark, before returning to his room for evening prayers. Another priest wrote that, “Exhausted, he would fall asleep full of sorrow for what he had seen all day.”

Before Father Whelan’s arrival, an organized group of about fifty prisoners had formed which stole the meager possessions of new arrivals, took more than their share of what little rations were distributed, and assaulted or even murdered those who tried to oppose them. Confederate guards rarely entered the stockade, so these criminals operated unfettered. That is, until Father Whelan arrived. With the Priest’s assistance, the camp Commander finally directed the guards to work with a select group of prisoners to arrest the gang. There was a semblance of a trial with the six ringleaders sentenced to death. Father Whelan visited them the night before their execution and, that morning, even tried to get a stay of their sentence, but it was not granted. For the time being, however, while the lawlessness ended, the deprivations continued.

In late 1864, as General Sherman’s Union Army smashed its way across Georgia near Andersonville, the Confederate guards began to transfer the healthier prisoners elsewhere. Many of the prisoners, however, were too ill to be moved, so the stockade became a large infirmary with over 10,000 patients. Father Whelan went to a Catholic businessman in nearby Macon, Georgia and borrowed, in his own name, enough money (about $400.00 in gold) to obtain provisions for those left behind. He bought flour which was baked into thousands of loaves of bread for the prisoners. The recipients began to call it “Whelan’s Bread” and many of them wrote about that gesture, and Father Whelan’s other caring service, to their families and in memoirs.

One wrote, “Without a doubt he was the means of saving hundreds of lives." Another described Whelan's ministering to the sick: "All creeds, color and nationalities were alike to him…He was indeed the Good Samaritan." Another, in a memoir, wrote, “Of all the ministers in Georgia accessible to Andersonville, only one could hear this sentence, 'I was sick and in prison and you visited me,' and that one is a Catholic."

After the Civil war ended and the atrocities of the Andersonville prison became widely known, the Commander, Captain Henry Wirz, was put on trial. Father Whelan was called to testify, but disappointing the prosecutors, he said that Wirz was just a scapegoat. He testified that there were not enough provisions provided by other Confederate officials for guards or prisoners. But, in a foregone conclusion, Wirz was convicted and executed; becoming the only Confederate to be tried for war crimes and suffer that fate.

But what about the $400.00 Father Whalen had borrowed to feed the ill prisoners? He petitioned Secretary of War Stanton for assistance but was rebuffed. About the same time, friends in Savannah, concerned about the priest’s health, raised enough money to allow Father Whalen to travel to New York where he might recuperate. Although grateful for the gesture, he promptly gave the money to the merchant in Macon, whose business had collapsed at war’s end. To Father Whelan, it was more important to repay his debt, than to attend to his own health. And, he was never able to make the recuperation trip.

For the next few years, he continued normal pastoral duties and worked tirelessly for Confederate and Union veterans; verifying their service to assist in pension applications, and helping to raise funds for veterans’ homes in the Savannah area. But his health steadily declined and he died on February 6, 1871, at sixty-nine.

His funeral was attended by hundreds, including some former Union soldiers. The Savannah Evening News reported that the funeral procession was the longest ever seen in the city with eighty-six carriages and buggies following the casket. Impressive for a poor boy from Ireland.

The Angel of Andersonville, and the provider of Whelan’s Bread, had earned his eternal peace.

Two Presidents Keep the Spirit

Christmas 1864 -Two Presidents Keep the Spirit

During the Civil War, as Christmas 1864 approached, the mood in the Washington DC White House, and of its primary occupant Abraham Lincoln, was on the upswing. However, less than a hundred miles South, in Richmond, Virginia, the mood was much more subdued in that Executive Mansion, as the inhabitants, including Jefferson Davis, President of the embattled and dwindling Confederacy, reflected the solemnity of the times they faced.

One aspect that the two leaders had in common was that each would get to celebrate Christmas with his wife and younger children, certainly a comfort to both men. Mary Lincoln had been visiting in Philadelphia for several days before Christmas (likely shopping) and planned to return on the evening of December 21st, however, her husband telegraphed her; “Do not come on the night train. It is too cold. Come in the morning.” Varina Davis was at home in Richmond, but without the luxury of safe travel as that city was surrounded by Union troops. The Washington White House was well stocked for the holidays, with plenty of food for dinners and receptions, while the Southern Executive Mansion, although not bare, had to carefully manage supplies.

In Washington DC, on December 22, Abraham Lincoln received word from General William T. Sherman that Savannah, Georgia, had surrendered, completing a Union march across that state, dividing the South, and securing the coastal ports in that area. The telegram to President Lincoln read “I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah.” On the other hand, in Richmond, Jefferson Davis was also receiving news from his Generals; but the news he received was not heartening as they spoke of retreats and minimal supplies, not of victories.  

On Christmas Day, Tad Lincoln, the President’s young son, without first asking permission, invited a group of boys he had met on the street to join him and his family at the White House for Christmas dinner. Although the unexpected guests were likely not appreciated by Mrs. Lincoln, the President welcomed them and allowed them to stay. While there was no Christmas tree in the Lincoln White House, there were other festive decorations and several formal receptions were scheduled over the holidays with ample food and drink available for the attendees.

However, in Richmond, Virginia, because most of the Southern ports were controlled by Union forces by December 1864, the flow of goods was limited. Even agricultural supplies from the Shenandoah Valley, the so-called bread-basket of the South, were restricted and the citizens of Richmond were dealing with severe shortages.  But there was a Christmas tree in the Southern Executive Mansion and Varina Davis, wife of Jefferson Davis, tried her best to keep the spirit of Christmas alive, especially for children.

She wrote, “For as Christmas season was ushered in under the darkest clouds, everyone felt the cataclysm….but the rosy, expectant faces of our little children were a constant reminder that self-sacrifice must be the personal offering of each member of the family. How to satisfy the children when nothing better could be done than the little makeshift attainable in the Confederacy was the problem of the older members of each household.”

Mrs. Davis frequently devoted time to a local orphanage which housed children of soldiers killed in the war. These children were often deprived of even the basic necessities and she was determined to give them at least one happy day. She gathered as many presents as the local ladies could muster, certainly some gave up gifts for their own children, and placed the gifts around the Christmas tree.

Mrs. Davis wrote, “The orphans sat mute with astonishment until the opening hymn and prayer and the last amen had been said, and then they at a signal warily and slowly gathered around the tree to receive…. their allotted present. The different gradations from joy to ecstasy which illuminated their faces was worth two years of peaceful life to see. The President (Jefferson Davis) became so enthusiastic that he undertook to help in the distribution, but worked such wild confusion giving everything asked for into their outstretched hands, that we called a halt, so he contented himself with unwinding one or two tots from a network of strung popcorn in which they had become entangled and taking off all apples he could when unobserved, and presenting them to the smaller children.

But Mrs. Davis wanted to lift the spirits of some adults too. She invited many of the local young ladies, and as many young officers as could be excused from duty, to a dance on Christmas evening. Because there would not be an elaborate food array at this dance, she referred to it as a Starvation Party to make light of the circumstances. Most of the officers wore formal uniforms and, as Mrs. Davis wrote, they entered in “full toggery” with bright-eyed young belles who were, “fragile as fairies, but worked like peasants for their home and country… So, in the interchange of the courtesies and charities of life, to which we could not add its comforts and pleasures, passed Christmas in the Confederate mansion.”

As history unfolded, 1864 would be the last Christmas in the White House for the Lincolns and the last in the Richmond Executive Mansion for the Davis family.  Abraham Lincoln, although re-elected a year earlier and expected to serve four more years as President, was killed by an assassin in April 1865; and his wife, Mary, had begun a long slow slide into mental illness. As for the Davis family, Varina Davis had to visit her husband in a federal prison that next Christmas of 1865, where he had been taken the previous May.  He would remain a prisoner for two years, never certain when, or even if, he would ever be free. (Eventually, President Johnson decided against a trial and Davis was freed, but never pardoned.)

But, if we think about the Christmas these two families spent in 1864, in the midst of a devastating Civil War, they both tried to celebrate the holiday and bring a level of enjoyment to others; despite the unimaginable chaotic circumstances and distractions with which they had to deal.

For most of us, with our circumstances not nearly as perilous as what these two men and their families faced, we should also be able to embrace the Christmas spirit.

So, as both Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis might have said one hundred and fifty-seven years ago, “Merry Christmas!”

Lincoln’s Thanksgiving Hope

Lincoln’s Hope for Thanksgiving Day

Most of us today, and possibly even Abraham Lincoln as a child, were taught that Pilgrims in North America declared a Day of Thanksgiving in 1621 to celebrate their first harvest.

Certainly, Lincoln knew that, in 1779, President George Washington proclaimed a Thanksgiving Day for Thursday, November 26, writing, “Both houses of Congress have requested me to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed.” Thereafter, a few Presidents issued Thanksgiving Proclamations; however, none designated a recurring holiday and the reasons were varied, such as a military victory or anniversary of an event.

The idea of a special day for spiritual reflection did not originate with Abraham Lincoln, but he embraced the concept when he received a petition from a determined woman named Sarah Buell Hale!  She was a well-known editor, novelist, and poet, who, for thirty years, had used her public platform to lobby Congress and Presidents to declare a national Thanksgiving Day. By 1860, although thirty-one states had done so; she had no success with Congress or with the four Presidents who preceded Lincoln.  She wanted a designated day “for all Americans to put aside sectional feelings and local incidents” and “to be thankful for the blessings of life, not of war.”  In 1861 Mrs. Hale wrote of her hopes in a letter to President Lincoln, and she finally found a receptive leader who also believed in the universal and conciliatory themes that she had proposed.  In August 1861, when the awful realities of the Civil War were becoming evident, Lincoln felt that the American people might be comforted by a special day on which they would turn to their religious faith, in whatever forms that may take, to ask for guidance in restoring the forefathers’ vision for the United States. Then, in the following years, he issued three more Thanksgiving Proclamations, two in 1863 and one in 1864, but only the last two set aside a date in November.

Some of the phrases in the four proclamations, co-written by Lincoln and Secretary of State William Seward, are still inspirational today. 

“..And, whereas our own beloved country, once by the blessing of God, united, prosperous, and happy, is now afflicted with faction and Civil War……(I urge) all ministers and teachers of religion of all denominations and the heads of all families to observe and keep that day according to their creeds and modes of worship.”

“.We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of heaven. We have been preserved these many years in peace and prosperity….But we have forgotten God.…We have vainly imagined….that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own… And I do request that all the people abstain that day from their ordinary secular pursuits and to unite at their several places of public worship and in their respective homes…..(and pray for) the restoration of our now divided and suffering country…” 

In October 1863,  Lincoln’s third Thanksgiving proclamation read, “… In the midst of Civil War of unequaled magnitude and severity, peace has been preserved with all (other) nations… and harmony has been preserved except in the theater of military conflict; while that theater has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union…(That last portion was decried by Southern politicians and newspaper editors). .... I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens to…observe the last Thursday in November as a Day of Thanksgiving.  And I recommend to them that they commend to His tender care those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged and implore the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and restore…..the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility, and Union.” For the first time, A November date was set and the phrase “A Day of Thanksgiving” was specifically included!

Then, in October 1864, President Lincoln, by then reasonably assured that the long war would end with a Union victory, issued a new Thanksgiving Day proclamation.  He wrote; “…..(God) has been pleased to inspire our minds and hearts with fortitude, courage, and resolution sufficient for the great trial of Civil War into which we have been brought by our adherence as a nation to the cause of freedom and humanity…Therefore I set apart the last Thursday in November as a day …of Thanksgiving and praise, offer up penitence and prayers for a return of the inestimable blessings of peace, union, and harmony throughout the land.”  

However, there would never be another Thanksgiving proclamation from Abraham Lincoln. Six months later, he would die at the hand of an assassin.

On a personal note, I like to think that, if he had lived, he would have continued these proclamations through the next three years of his Presidency. And afterward, as a private citizen at his home in Springfield, he would have continued to honor the special Day of Thanksgiving which he, Secretary Seward and Sarah Hale had joined together to create.

Hopefully, we can all find a few moments to honor Lincoln’s Thanksgiving message as we celebrate this special holiday.

Have a wonderful, and reflective, Thanksgiving Day. Abe would!

Soldier or spy -John Yates (Article 109)

A Soldier or A Spy?    (Article 109)

President Abraham Lincoln granted several hundred pardons during the Civil War, to both Union and captured Confederate soldiers. His Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton, and most of the Generals, objected to Lincoln’s interference in, what they considered, necessary military discipline. But Lincoln interfered anyway! Of one young soldier who was convicted of falling asleep as a sentinel and sentenced to death by his commanding officer (and approved by Secretary Stanton), Lincoln said, “This man must not be shot as I do not think shooting him will do him any good.” And, Lincoln signed his pardon. Once when several orders for executions were presented to Lincoln, he granted a pardon in every case, saying, “I am trying to evade the butchery today.”   

But one particular case baffled the President.

John Yates Beall

John Yates Beall’s small family farm was no plantation, and the men in the family worked alongside the several slaves his father owned. He attended the University of Virginia with the intent to become a lawyer, but left school to return to his family’s farm. He was in a Virginia militia unit in 1859 and was present at the execution of John Brown, a violent abolitionist who had tried to start a slave insurrection. By his own words, John Beall was a committed Southerner, but was ambivalent about secession; however, after the Union Army crossed into Virginia and seized Arlington and Fairfax, he became a committed Confederate. Soon afterward, Beall’s militia unit joined what would become Stonewall Jackson’s army and, as an enlisted soldier, he participated in several battles which occurred on Virginia soil. He was seriously wounded in a heroic volunteer mission to re-enforce a small Confederate unit under attack, and was allowed to recuperate at a Louisianna plantation owned by a family friend.

After he felt sufficiently healed, he left the comforts of Louisianna to re-join his unit in Stonewall Jackson’s army but, through a series of mis-directions, never made contact with his former superior officers. For reasons lost in history, Beall decided to make his way to a ranch his brother owned near Dubuque, Iowa and settled in there; becoming the manager of a cooperative grist mill. He used the name John Yates, and quickly gained the respect of his neighbors through his honesty and hard work. However, his stay was interrupted when an abolitionist group began to suspect Beall might be a Confederate operative (he was not, yet) and made plans to have him arrested by local authorities. Beall learned of the suspicions, and fled north to Canada where he sought out actual Confederate agents in Toronto.

His recent experiences renewed his commitment to the Confederate cause and he was determined to lead a unit to disrupt Union enterprises in the far northern states; but he needed authorization and support from Confederate officials. So, he travelled to the Confederate Capital of Richmond, Virginia and laid his strategy before Confederate military officers and even to President Jefferson Davis. His original plan, which would require a commission in the Confederate Navy, was to take a small band of irregulars onto Lake Erie to free Confederate prisoners-of war held on an island off the Ohio shore. As he met with officials in Richmond, they were skeptical of his Ohio plan; however, he was designated a “Master” by the Navy and his mission was changed to focus on nearby Chesapeake Bay. There, his unit used a small sailing schooner and canoes to sabotage lighthouses and buoys, and even captured several Union merchant ships and confiscated their supplies. After six months of harassment of shipping in the Bay, he and his men were captured by the Union Navy and imprisoned. He was released on a prisoner exchange six months later and travelled to Georgia where he had a brief visit with a young school teacher, who was possibly his fiancée. Although the two had made no formal announcement, Beall wrote of his “betrothed” in his diary.

Beall still intended to serve the Confederacy and again went to Richmond for a new assignment. He believed that he could lead a small squad to Ohio where they would release the Confederate prisoners and form an effective unit to carry the war into the northern-most states. However, Richmond officials still did not support that plan; so, he headed north to Canada on his own. There, Beall convinced a Lt. Colonel, who was in charge of Confederate affairs, that his surprise attack would work and he was authorized to form a squad of about twenty men to carry out the mission. Although Beall’s men referred to him as Captain, that rank had not been officially conferred; a point which became critical later. Beall planned for his unit to capture a Union gunboat which guarded the island prison, but the Union Navy learned of the plot and several of his men were captured. Beall realized that the prison would now be on high alert and any chance to complete that mission was lost.

But Beall was persistent! So, he developed an alternate plan. He decided to use his team to disrupt rail traffic around Niagara Falls; but after only limited success, he was captured on December 16th, 1864. He was now a prisoner of war himself, again.

Union Major General John Dix took control of the prisoner, declared Beall was not a Commissioned Officer of the Confederate forces, that his earlier appointment as a Master had been invalid for two years, and charged Beall as a spy; which carried the death penalty. The General then isolated Beall, prohibited outside correspondence, and would not allow him counsel. But word of Beall’s confinement leaked out and resulted in a wide-spread public demand in the North for modification of the charges, some fearing that the Confederacy would charge Union prisoners as spies in retaliation.  Numerous prominent Northern lawyers, many leading clergymen, and nearly a hundred Congressmen signed a petition for him to be treated as a prisoner of war, not a spy. By early February, Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton and President Abraham Lincoln were both approached personally and through correspondence with pleas to issue a pardon; and the President had conversations with private citizens, other trusted advisors, and several Senators. But Secretary of War Edwin Stanton approved the death sentence and the execution date was set for February 24, 1865.  Only President Lincoln could now save John Yates Beall.

General Dix, possibly to influence some news reporting of the case, allowed Beall’s mother and several friends to visit as the day of execution neared. He further granted permission to two clergymen to spend time in Beall’s cell, however, General Dix clearly did not want Lincoln to interfere by granting a pardon.

And, Lincoln did hesitate.

As Beal was led to the gallows, all he asked was that the process not be prolonged; but General Dix required that a diatribe against insurgency be read by an officer as Beall sat in a chair, under the rope, and was forced to listen. Contrary to Beall’s last request, the proclamation was so long that the executioner finally stepped up and yelled for the reader to stop! By all accounts, Beall was calm, and when asked if he had any final words, said, “I protest against this execution. It is absolute murder – brutal murder. I die in the service and defense of my country.”

Abraham Lincoln was informed of Beall’s last statement and, afterward, he confided in Secretary of State Seward, that, “I even had to turn away his poor sister who begged for his life and I did nothing but let him be executed and I can’t get the distress out of my mind. It was a lack of decision I now regret for the boy was surely a soldier.”

This President, who had issued hundreds of pardons, many of which had halted other executions, sincerely regretted that he had not issued one more.

Post script: The photograph above was taken of John Beall an hour before his scheduled execution. He appears resigned to his fate as he stares directly into the camera lens. Beall had kept a diary for years as well as many loose pages about his life, right until his final day. A publisher combined these writings and created a fascinating book in late 1865, which he titled “A Memoir by John Yates Beall.” It was a best seller in the South.   

Compassion on the Battlefield (Article 108)

An Act of Compassion  (Article 108)

Most Civil War battlefields, at least those that have been preserved, have monuments. Some depict a smaller collision of forces that was part of the larger battle, some commemorate an act of gallantry or heroism, and some honor the Generals that led on that fateful day. But there are a few special monuments which honor a single soldier whose courage can inspire us still.

One such monument is at the battlefield site at Fredericksburg, Virginia. It is a monument, not to extraordinary battle feats, or to men lost, but to a man whose courage was combined with compassion. As a result of his actions, Sergeant Richard Rowland Kirkland, at nineteen years of age, became known by both Union and Confederate soldiers as the Angel of Marye’s Heights.

Kirkland was from a family of farmers and hunters in Kershaw County, South Carolina. Some in his extended family may have owned slaves; but, while we do not know his thoughts on the matter, we do know that neither Richard or his father were slaveholders. He was, however, a loyal South Carolinian and supported the session of his state from the Union. He joined the Confederate Army in 1861, when he was seventeen, soon after the Civil War had begun. He must have adapted well to army life, as well as displayed leadership aptitude, because he quickly was promoted to Sergeant. His unit fought in the first significant battle of the Civil War on July 21, 1861 at the Battle of Bull Run (referred to as Manassas by the Confederates). It was a stunning victory for the Confederacy and an embarrassing loss for the Union Army, which was routed. (Some called it “The Great Skedaddle.”) Then in June 1862, while still in Virginia, he fought in the battle of Savages Station. There were many other engagements and the casualties in his unit began to mount, but Sergeant Kirkland avoided any serious injury.

Then, in December 1862, Kirkland found himself near Fredericksburg, Virginia. His unit was assigned to defend their position behind a large stone wall on a hill the locals called Marye’s Heights. On December 13th, the Union Army Generals ordered an assault on the heavily defended rock wall, and after the first failed and for the next six hours, ordered another thirteen charges. Some of the wounded from earlier charges pleaded with those in the next waves to turn back. But the lines of soldiers pushed forward under withering fire. After the fourteenth charge, no Union soldier had ever reached the stone wall, and the Northern Army had paid a dear price; over 8,000 men killed or wounded just in the fourteen charges at Marye’s Heights. (Another 5,000 died in other Fredericksburg battles.)  Most of those wounded managed to stumble back to Union lines; but many did not and lay on the field among the dead.

Unlike some Civil War battles, the generals on both sides at Fredericksburg had made no agreement to allow bearers to remove the dead and wounded from the battlefield at the end of the day’s fighting. While there were a few Confederate soldiers who fell in front of the stone works, almost all of the wounded, still on the field, were Union soldiers who could not get back to their own lines. Those men spent the night on the battlefield, many calling out for help, screaming in pain, or simply begging for water. 

Neither side mounted an attack the next morning and the soldiers from both sides could still hear the anguished cries from the wounded men. With no negotiated cease-fire, any attempt to cross into the no-man’s-land seemed impossible and suicidal. Sergeant Kirkland could finally no longer bear to hear the sounds. He approached General Joseph Kershaw and asked if he could try to reach and comfort the enemy soldiers. At first, the General refused. He said later that his main reason was that Kirkland proposed carrying a white flag, but the General believed the Union officers would misinterpret the reason and take the flag as a sign his men were surrendering or were asking for terms of surrender. At some point, Sergeant Kirkland asked if he could go out without a white flag. The General said, “Kirkland, don’t you know that you will get a bullet through your head the moment you stepped over the wall?” Kirkland replied, “Yes sir. I know that. But if you will let me, I am willing to try. I’ll take my chances.”

Kirkland picked up all of the canteens he could carry, filled them with water, stood up, and climbed over the stone wall. Miraculously no one fired from the Union lines. If they had, the Southerners would have returned fire and Kirkland would have been exposed to the deadly cross-fire. The Union soldiers had quickly figured out that the Confederate soldier was helping, not harming, their downed Northern comrades. He went about his humanitarian task quietly, but efficiently. He would offer the wounded a drink of water, provide a few comforting words, help them get into a more comfortable position, and many times, prayed with them. Then he went back for more canteens and on the second trip, took some blankets. For over an hour, Richard Kirkland served the needs of those soldiers. 

The Union Generals finally decided that the Marye’s Heights wall could not be breeched; and the two sides agreed to allow their wounded to be removed from the battlefield later that afternoon. When the two forces withdrew, the Battle of Fredericksburg was clearly another embarrassing defeat for the Union Army, despite having superior forces (120,000 to 80,000).

But many, on both sides, had witnessed the Confederate soldier caring for the Union’s fallen and wrote of their recollections. General Kershaw wrote not only to his family about Sergeant Kirkland’s exploits, but included comments in his battle report. The story soon reached newspapers and the accounts of his courage was read in both North and South.

(Kirkland’s Memorial at Fredericksburg)

But the War was not yet over for Sergeant Kirkland.

After the Battle of Fredericksburg, he continued to fight with his unit. In April, 1863, he was at the Battle of Chancellorsville (in Virginia) which was another Confederate victory and then followed his fellow Southern soldiers to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in late June. Although Gettysburg was considered a Union Victory, the Northern Generals failed to chase the retreating Confederates, led by Robert E. Lee, as they moved south. Sergeant Kirkland would live to fight another day and, based on his leadership and courageous actions, was promoted to Lieutenant. Then in early September, Kirkland was still with Lee’s army, but now in Georgia, near the Tennessee line, where they prepared to meet the Union Army at Chickamauga. The battle began on September 18.  On September 20, 1863, Lt. Kirkland and two of his men were in an advanced position ahead of the Confederate lines, when they came under intense Union fire. Kirkland ordered his men back to their lines but, before he could get there, he was hit and mortally wounded. He told his men to leave him and uttered his last words. “I'm done for boys. Save yourselves and please tell my Pa I died right."

As with many stories of the Civil War, some modern writers choose to call Sergeant Kirkland’s exploits exaggerated.  But these words by General Kershaw indicate otherwise. “Unharmed he reached the nearest sufferer. He knelt beside him, tenderly raised the drooping head, rested it gently upon his own noble breast, and poured the precious life-giving fluid down the fever scorched throat. This done, he laid him tenderly down, placed his knapsack under his head, straightened out his broken limb, spread his overcoat over him, replaced his empty canteen with a full one, and turned to another sufferer.”

For over an hour, in no man’s land, in a war between Americans, Richard Rowland Kirkland nobly demonstrated bravery, humanity, and compassion in the midst of utter chaos.

A Confederate Fire-eater (Article 107)

“I here repeat, and would willingly proclaim, my unmitigated hatred to Yankee rule ….. and to the malignant and vile Yankee race.” -  Edmund Ruffin

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He was a Virginian by birth and was a descendant of William Randolph, one of the early colonial founders of the Commonwealth. Randolph and his wife have been referred to as the “Adam and Eve of Virginia because their descendants included many of that state’s aristocrats including Thomas Jefferson, John Marshall (First Chief Justice), General Robert E. Lee, and… Edmund Ruffin.  Ruffin was a slave-holder with several plantations and had advocated secession from the United States for over thirty years before the Civil War.  He resented Northern attempts to interfere with slavery, and in the 1850s, he vociferously campaigned to promote the necessity for secession and, if necessary, a civil war to forever eliminate Yankee “meddling” in Southern affairs. His rhetoric was so intense that he was labeled a “Fire-Eater” in his home state; so, he found a more receptive audience in South Carolina. He began to spend more time there, encouraging that state’s legislature to secede and to seize federal installations in Charleston Harbor. At one point he wrote to one of his sons that he was happier in South Carolina than he had been for some time.

Ruffin was already well known in the South, however, for another, but more progressive reason. He was well educated and became an acclaimed agronomist who had spent years researching methods to increase the production of tobacco crops. Over the years the land had become less fertile as tobacco was over farmed. Ruffin experimented with soil additions and crop rotations which would replenish the land and his discoveries re-invigorated the tobacco industry. While both Virginia and South Carolina planters were dependent on slave labor and large parts of their economies were dependent on tobacco, Ruffin seemed to find South Carolinians more willing to adapt to his agricultural recommendations. Plus, they seemed more accepting of his extreme views on secession (and the need for Civil War) than his Virginia neighbors. So, he fit right in.

He frequently warned that northern interests would encourage slave insurrections and proposed that a war could be quickly won if initiated from Virginia with strikes into Washington DC, Pennsylvania and New York. He believed that the southern born officers and enlisted men in the small Union army would leave their posts and the decimated Federal military force would collapse. These were not just idle thoughts, as Ruffin wrote a novel titled, “Anticipations of the Future, to Serve as lessons for the Present” in which several Southern states formed a loose confederation after the election of a Republican President. In his book he named William Seward, former Governor of New York and an abolitionist, as the new (fictional) Republican President; likely because the real future Republican President, Abraham Lincoln, was not considered a possibility by him at the time. He wrote that a militia force of combined Southern states attacked Washington DC and several eastern ports; after which the United States Government capitulated and recognized each state as independent. The book was widely read in the South and by enough people in the North to generate some concern there. The publication of the novel came soon after John Brown’s failed abolitionist raid at the Harpers Ferry Arsenal in 1859, which Brown intended as the start of a slave insurrection. Ruffin attended the trial and the execution of Brown and purchased some of the weapons Brown had used; which he then sent to the governors of each Southern state as a reminder of Northern intentions to interfere with slavery. Ruffin absolutely expected that Northern politicians would continue to attempt to contain slavery, while he, and many Southern politicians wanted to instead expand slavery to other territories and states. He believed, and publicly advocated, that civil war would be necessary to permanently separate slave states from the Northern free states.

And Ruffin did finally get his War!

While he claimed to have fired the first shot at Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861, he did not. He did, however, fire an early round and was said to be almost uncontrollably jubilant as it struck the fort. He was not just a verbal advocate for war, he wanted to fight; and, at age 67, joined the Virginia militia as a private. He was in uniform at the first battle at Bull Run (Manassas) which was a decisive Confederate victory; however, with his advanced age and several ailments, Ruffin soon found himself convalescing at the plantation of one of his sons. He stayed active in the war effort by sending hundreds of letters encouraging southern support for the Confederate cause and continued to caution against slave revolts.

Ruffin was pleased with the South’s early victories over Union forces and was confident the war would soon be won. But then, in mid-1862, the Union began to make progress, and in September, President Abraham Lincoln announced the Emancipation Proclamation. With that, Ruffin’s world began to change. His plantations were seized, his slaves began to stream into Union lines, and then came the Union victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg in July 1863. He also lost a grandson and a son who died fighting for the Confederacy. Although his entries became more morose, he continued to make daily and deeply personal entries in a journal which has been preserved. When Robert E. Lee surrendered in April 1865, followed by the capture of Jefferson Davis in May, the combination of outrage and despondency Ruffin went through is clear in his precise journal entries. On June 18, 1865, Ruffin was staying with one of his sons and wrote this (in part) in his journal:  “And now with my last writing….. and with what will be near my latest breath, I here repeat, and would willingly proclaim, my unmitigated hatred to Yankee rule – to all political, social, and business connections with Yankees, and to the perfidious, malignant, and vile Yankee race.”

As he wrote the last word, some friends came to visit and Ruffin met with them for over an hour and then returned to his room. He took the long rifle he had placed earlier beside his desk, put a Confederate flag over his lap, used a forked stick to help reach the trigger, and committed suicide.

Edmund Ruffin was no hero. He advocated for slavery as his right to own other human beings and to treat them as he wished, and he pushed for war against his neighboring states, knowing full well that many southern boys would die in the conflict. Then, in the end, he did not have the courage to live with the consequences of his actions.

He was on the wrong side of a historical sea change.

Friends, But Now Enemies (Article 106)

The Civil War left us many stories of families divided between Union and Confederate sentiments. Even some brothers chose separate sides. President Abraham Lincoln’s wife, Mary, was from a Kentucky family who had men fighting for both the Union and the Confederacy. Lincoln was especially close to Confederate General Benjamin Helm, his brother-in-law, who was killed in battle and he publicly acknowledged his grief (despite criticism by certain congressmen).

But there were also friends who, when faced with the decision to support the Union or the Confederacy, took different paths.  For example, Union Commanding General Winfield Scott was a mentor and friend of (then) Union Colonel Robert E. Lee, both Virginians. It is reported that the two men wept at their final meeting as Lee announced his intention to resign his commission in the Union Army; although, as yet, Lee had not yet announced his decision to join a Virginia militia and later the Confederate Army. 

Another friendship suffered from similar opposing interests and became the stuff of legend after their forces collided during a battle at Gettysburg. Union General Winfield Scott Hancock (no relation to General Scott) and Confederate General Lewis Addison Armistead served in the Union Army together before the war, although their backgrounds and experiences would not have foretold that a true friendship would develop. The Southern born Armistead was seven years older than the younger Pennsylvanian, but the U.S. Army officer corps was relatively small before the Civil War and many of the men came to know each other over time due to shared assignments.  

Lewis Armistead was from a North Carolina family with a long military history dating to the start of the Revolutionary War. As part of that tradition, Lewis was appointed to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point as a cadet in 1834, but was dismissed in 1836. His departure was largely the result of poor scholastic ratings, but the fact that during a dispute, for which the purpose is lost, he broke a dinner plate over the head of cadet Jubal Early (a future Confederate General), did not help! However, with his family’s connections in the military, he gained a commission in the U.S. Army in 1839. He fought in the Seminole War in Florida and in the war with Mexico, and later served at forts in the western territories. He was considered an effective leader and was recognized for brave actions on several occasions. During those years, Armistead’s family life had been tragic as he suffered the loss of two wives and two children; his first wife died in 1850 and then a second wife, a widow he met two years later, died in 1855. However, by all accounts, he managed his grief and continued to do his jobs well; but he may have had private bouts of melancholy as evidenced by a few quoted remarks to others.

Winfield S. Hancock was from Pennsylvania and was a graduate of West Point in 1844. The two men had not met at West Point, since Armistead had already left the Academy several years before Hancock arrived. He became a career soldier and also served in the war with Mexico, as did Armistead; however, there is no reason to believe the two men met during that conflict. After returning from Mexico, Hancock held several staff positions and was considered a diligent, if sometimes strict and overly forceful, officer. He and Armistead served together at several posts in the Western territories, sometimes with their families who became acquainted; and, Hancock and his wife, Almira, were available to comfort Armistead during several of his tragic losses. Two years before the first states began to secede and the possibility of Civil War became a serious topic of conversation, both Hancock and Armistead were sent to California under the command of Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston, who would later become a legendary Confederate General. During that period, the two men had the opportunity to spend even more time together and to further bond. Their friendship was certainly further helped by the kindness of Hancock’s wife, Almira, toward the widower Armistead who said, “They took me into their home and family at a time when I wanted for both.”                          

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By late 1860, Armistead and Hancock must have discussed the subject of possible secession by some Southern states, but we have no correspondence by either man to confirm those conversations. One of their fellow officers in California asked Hancock about his thoughts on the matter and wrote the reply with Hancock reportedly saying, “I shall not fight upon the principle of state-rights, but for the Union, whole and undivided” On the other hand, Armistead was hoping only a few states might secede, and especially that Virginia and North Carolina would remain in the United States. If secessions could be minimalized, he believed war might be averted; however, if war did come, he had lamented that he would face a difficult, if not impossible, decision. But the die was cast after South Carolina militia fired on the Union’s Fort Sumter in April 1861, and the two friends must have known there would be a war. Then, when both North Carolina and Virginia seceded in May, Armistead let his loyalties be known as his home was in North Carolina and his ancestral lands were in Virginia; and, both men knew that Armistead would resign his commission in the U.S. Army!  

Almira Hancock wrote of the scene as the group of officers, including her husband and his friend, had chosen their sides and planned to depart. After a farewell party, which she arranged, Mrs. Hancock wrote, “Hearts were filled with sadness over the surrendering of life-long ties.” She also wrote that Colonel Johnston’s wife began to play on the piano and sing an Irish melody called “Kathleen Mavourneen” which told of love lost: “Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling. To think that from Erin and thee I must part! It may be for years, and it may be forever. Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?”

Mrs. Hancock then added that Armistead and Hancock embraced and Armistead said, “Hancock, good-by; you can never know what this has cost me, and I hope God will strike me dead if I am ever induced to leave my native soil, should worse come to worse.” Armistead wanted his friend to know that he hoped war would not come, but if it did, he would fight only in defense of Virginia and/or North Carolina. His sentiments were very much like those of Robert E. Lee who said, about the same time, (paraphrased) that he would only raise his sword in defense of Virginia. (However, both Armistead and Lee would later take the fight into Maryland and Pennsylvania.) Armistead resigned his U.S. Army commission on May 26, 1861, joined a Virginia infantry unit, and was soon promoted to Brigadier General. He saw extensive action from 1861 until his unit found itself outside the small Pennsylvania community of Gettysburg in late June 1863.

Hancock, who had remained loyal to the United States and had fought in several battles, by then was a Brigadier General as well; and was also at Gettysburg, defending Union Lines.

Both men knew the other was in the vicinity! It was common for opposing Generals to be acquainted with their counterparts and to know the units to which they were assigned because that information was readily available. There was correspondence between people of the North and South, pickets regularly exchanged such information (as did prisoners-of-war), and newspapers often carried military details. In fact, one Southern diarist (paraphrased) wrote that, “The Yankees do not need spies, our newspapers tell them all they need to know.”

One of the many battles at Gettysburg over the first few days of July, 1863 was one that became known as Pickett’s Charge, a futile Confederate attempt to overcome a well-entrenched Union position. General Armistead would lead a Confederate charge that day, running with his hat held high on his sword so that his men could follow, and yelling, “Remember what you are fighting for – your homes, your friends, your sweethearts!”  And, “Come on boys, give them the cold steel!”

Armistead, and several of his men were able to reach the Union lines, but then fell to withering fire and Armistead, wounded, was surrounded by Union soldiers. Armistead spoke with a Union Major who, as it turned out was on Hancock’s staff. Armistead asked about his friend and the Major informed him than Hancock had been wounded, but was alive. Reportedly, Armistead said, “My God no, not both of us on the same day.” When the Major asked if he could do anything for him, Armstead reportedly said: "Say to General Hancock for me, that I have done him, and you all a grievous injury, for which I shall always regret." Although initially he was told he would survive his wounds, Armistead’s condition worsened over the next two days. When he realized he would soon die, in a final gesture of friendship, he asked that his watch be given to Hancock along with a Bible and small prayer book for Hancock’s wife.

Historians have debated the meaning of Armistead’s apparent apology, which he confessed to the Major. Some believe Armistead had come to regret his allegiance to the Confederacy and point to the fact that he seemed uncertain at his last conversation with Hancock. Others, however, believe he was lamenting the injury to, and possible death of, his good friend Hancock. But no one knows for sure.

General Hancock’s injuries were severe, but he recovered; and he did receive Armistead’s final gifts. After the War ended, Hancock was an outspoken critic of the harsh reconstruction policies toward the seceded Southern states pushed by the Radical Republicans in Congress. Instead, he advocated that the United States should embrace the former foes, restore their congressional participation, and help rebuild the devasted Southern infrastructure. He was still a popular war hero when, in 1879, he agreed to become the Democrat party’s nominee as President of the United States. It was a time when corruption was rampant in the federal government and Hancock’s reputation for integrity was well recognized. He was not the best campaigner; however, believing any public mention of his own honesty, or his opponents lack thereof, was inappropriate. Even though his opponent, James Garfield, could have been an easy target for his political entanglements, Hancock scrupulously avoided any serious criticism of Garfield. He lost the popular vote by a relatively close margin, while Garfield more easily carried the electoral college. After the election, Hancock graciously accepted his defeat and even privately offered the new President any assistance he might request.

For all of his life, Winfield Scott Hancock was regarded as a man of honor and integrity. One acquaintance wrote, “I never knew him to speak ill of anyone, but many, many speak fondly of him.”  President Rutherford Hayes said of Hancock; “If when we make up our estimate of a public man, conspicuous both as a soldier and in civil life, we are to think first and chiefly of his manhood, his integrity, his purity, his singleness of purpose, and his unselfish devotion to duty, we can truthfully say of Hancock that he was through and through pure gold.” 

It appears that Hancock was the kind of man most of us, like Armistead, would like to have as a friend.

Over time, a few historians, and some writers who pretend to be historians, have questioned details about the story and infer that the deep friendship between the two men has been exaggerated. But, as he lay mortally wounded, Armistead was thinking about Hancock. It would seem that in those final moments, a soldier’s thoughts would be of those they loved, such as a mother, a father, a wife, a child, and in this instance,….. a very close friend.

Q & A September 2021

The following are more questions and/or comments I have received from readers over the past year. Some are questions for which I had no ready answer, usually because I had not researched the specific person or event. Some comments challenged the historic accuracy of one of my posts or suggested my research for an article was incomplete. I answered every correspondence from readers, sometimes glad to learn more myself and, occasionally, to try to correct a mis-conception by a reader. In any case, I am always pleased to hear from the followers of my articles or my books.

(Q) Through Ancestry.com and other sources, I recently learned that my GGgrandfather on my father’s side, fought for the Confederacy. He was born in 1849, in North Carolina, and a record shows he enlisted in 1864. That would mean he was only fifteen.  Is that likely, or is there some mistake in the date? I am a 47 year old woman and am a direct descendant of the man. My great-grandfather, his son, was a prominent clergyman and our family has supported civil rights for over 100 years. Neither my father or grandfather ever mentioned this fact to me or my brother. The 1880 census lists him as a farmer and lists his wife and two sons. He died in 1928. Could he have been a slave-holder? If so, that is distressing to me. What should I tell my children and grandchildren about him?

(A) Tell them the truth as you know it. Many 15-16 year old boys fought for the Confederacy and I doubt slavery (or anti-slavery) was on their minds when they joined the army. Most of the Southern boys fought because an older relative had joined and/or because a recruiter had convinced them that the Northern soldiers had invaded their home state and were killing southerners. Although many of the boys served as musicians and drummers, some fought (and died) in battles. I cannot imagine the courage it required for a boy that young to fight, even if he was mis-guided. It seems your search is close to completing a personal history of the boy and the man he later became. I urge you to finish your research and you might begin by looking for information about his father (your GGGgrandfather); who may have also served in the Confederate Army or a North Carolina militia. According to the census, in 1860, the total population of North Carolina was about 330,000, including about 100,000 slaves; but only about 28% of the white families owned at least one slave. There are web-sites that offer help in finding obituaries and census records, and those may fill in some gaps. In any case, whatever you find, in my opinion, the deeds or mis-deeds of your great-grandfather (or GGGgrandfather) should not cause you concern. Although your GGgrandfather would probably have been too young to own slaves, if you find his family were slave-holders, you can give your children and grandchildren a life lesson by explaining how much the recent generations have changed.  Good luck and please let me know what you learn.

(Q) Did President Lincoln consider replacing General Grant after the Wilderness and Cold Harbor battles where so many men died in futile battles? I know some newspapers began to call him a butcher and ridiculed his name (Ulysses S. Grant) by referring to him as Unlimited Slaughter Grant, rather than the more respectful, Unconditional Surrender Grant.

(A) I do not believe Lincoln ever considered replacing Grant, although there were some congressmen and newspaper publishers who made that suggestion. Even Grant, in his memoirs, expressed regret at the losses in that campaign. However, Lincoln appreciated Grant’s focus on relentlessly pushing the Confederate armies. It became a war of attrition and the North had more men and supplies to throw into the fray. Both men thought that was the only strategy which would bring an end to the rebellion and eliminate the Confederacy. And they were right.

(Q) Do you think the availability of repeating rifles to the Union forces gave such an advantage over Confederate forces who had to use less effective single fire rifles, that it was a deciding factor in the Civil War? Who was the most effective General on both sides? Which battle won by the Union was the turning point in the war from which the Confederacy could not recover?

(A) Great questions, but I am not an expert in those areas. I do not know much about the different armaments used in the Civil War, nor much about battle tactics of various Generals, or even statistical military data. My interest in Civil War battles is not about tactics or ground gained or lost, but about the soldiers who had to fight and the civilians who suffered as collateral damage. One critic wrote that my lack of research, therefore my lack of knowledge, about such matters limits my ability to correctly describe events of the great War. To that, I plead guilty! My interest in the Civil War era lies in the individuals who lived (and died) in that time. I wrote a forward for a new book that read, “Some were politicians, others were soldiers, a few were opportunists, but most were ordinary individuals who made critical decisions when they found themselves in unusual circumstances in the era of slavery, secession, and Civil War. Their humanity, both noble and not so noble, was on display.”  In essence, I write about, and care about, the people. If you are interested in military details of the Civil War, I urge you to join a local Civil War Round Table or society. I can assure you that military experts abound in those important institutions.

(Q) Prior to the Civil War, I know there was a thriving business in the auction of slaves throughout the South. Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest owned such an auction house where the unfortunate humans were bought and sold like farm animals. I assume there was still an active slave trade in the first year or two after the war started, but were slaves still being bought and sold right up to the end of the war and the passage of the 13th Amendment abolishing slavery?

(A) The simple answer is yes. There were ads in Southern newspapers and in posters announcing slave auctions, or direct sales and purchases, throughout the war, until at least April 1865. There may have been later ones in the deep south, but this poster dated April 25, 1865 in Macon Georgia, was the latest dated advertisement I found in old papers.

“WANTED TO BUY ONE HUNDRED NEGROES. I wish to purchase one hundred negroes to fill an order for investment. Single boys, men and girls and a few families for which liberal prices will be paid. Apr 25  A. Wilson.”

However, in the last two years of the war, many slave-holders were forced to sell their “chattel property” to pay debts as the general economy in the Southern states was collapsing. The prices began to fall and some slaves were even lost to foreclosure (only to be sold again). When it became clear the Confederacy would be defeated, at least a few “businessmen” began to accumulate slaves, for which they had no agricultural need, in a bet that the Union would offer compensation to slave-holders who voluntarily freed slaves. There was some truth to a persistent rumor in the last year of the war that Abraham Lincoln had proposed a large fund for such a purpose, believing it would be cheaper in money and lives than continuing to fight the war. This attempted money grab by the speculator slave-holders did not work as Lincoln dropped the idea! I have seen anecdotal evidence that there were some slaves bought and sold in Texas and Louisianna as late as May and June 1865, which may be true as certain parts of those two states were the last to come under full Union control. I found it interesting that the advertisement quoted above was posted in Macon, Georgia, just six months after Union General Sherman led a large army across Georgia to the sea, passing near the town. Mr. Wilson obviously felt safe to post his disgusting ad in Macon, indicating the Union forces were not in control of the area. I do believe that the “business” ended by late 1865 and the passage of the 13th Amendment.

Q & A August 2021

The following are more questions and/or comments I have received from readers over the past year. Some are questions for which I had no ready answer, usually because I had not researched the specific person or event. Some comments challenged the historic accuracy of one of my posts or suggested my research for an article was incomplete. I answered every correspondence from readers, sometimes glad to learn more myself and, occasionally, to try to correct a mis-conception by a reader. The first question is in reference to an article published in May about the CSS Hunley, the Confederate submarine which attacked and sank the USS Housatonic in Charleston Harbor in February 1864. The second question concerns a novel, recently made into a TV movie, about the underground railroad. The next two questions, in a way, ask about the effects of slavery in America and one reader expressed his thoughts about the many soldiers who succumb to the wounds after a war is over. The last writer wanted me to lighten up.

(Q) Contrary to your claims, in fact, the Hunley was never fully submerged when it attacked the USS Housatonic; so, it should not be labeled as the first submarine to sink an enemy vessel in wartime. That real event actually occurred twenty years later by a Russian Submarine. The Henley floated at the surface.

(A) I understand your point, but disagree with your conclusion. However, the Henley was capable of operating below the surface and delivering a charge against an enemy ship while submerged. In its only attack, most of the hull (and the crew inside) were below the water-line, because the officers planning the attack decided delivering a charge in that mode was safer than fully submerged. However, they were wrong and the Henley sank near its target with the loss of the entire 8- man crew. I have not found any historic accounts that did not describe the incident as the first successful use of a submarine to sink an enemy vessel in combat. And I agree.

(Q) You wrote about the Underground Railroad describing it as a patchwork of surface trails, waterways, and other pathways leading to safehouses and ultimately to an area where escaping slaves could be free. My wife just finished reading and is recommending that I read, a famous Pulitzer Prize winning book titled “Underground Railroad” by Colson Whitehead that describes it very differently. The book suggests that there were railroads actually built underground to move escaping slaves northward and that the tracks ran from under South Carolina, North Carolina and into Virginia. What is factual?

(A) The book is a novel, not history, and the idea of a railway system of tunnels under the Southern states is a pure fantasy. I read the book by Mr. Whitehead several years ago knowing it was not a history lesson, but thought it might still contain valuable lessons about slavery.  I believe it was so well reviewed by critics (it did win a Pulitzer Prize) because it brings its fictional characters to life and depicts the evils of slavery and the hardships escaping slaves endured. I found it interesting that the author also developed story lines to illustrate the various levels of morality among different slaveholders. (As if slavery could ever be justified morally). Some taught their slaves to read and write, encouraged marriage, kept families together, and allowed religious services. On the opposite end of the spectrum, some treated their slaves no better than farm animals, branding them, selling them, breaking up families, beating them for minor infractions, and even killing them to instill deeper fear in other slaves. The author describes the atrocities in chilling detail. You can tell your wife with certainty that there were no underground trains; however, as a novel, the book has merit. Read it to see if you agree. The book has been made into a multi-part movie by Amazon Prime and, if reviews can be believed, it closely follows the book. If so, the fantasy about real tunnels and trains may leave the wrong historical perspective with some people; however, if it retains the humanity lessons of the book, it could be a powerful explanation of the horrors of slavery. A line in the book spoken by a former slave is, “You can escape slavery, but you keep the scars.”

(Q) I recently read an essay you wrote comparing George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Generally, I agree with your assessment, but I feel you glossed over Washington’s involvement with slavery. He owned human beings, bought and sold them, and profited from their labor. On the other hand, Lincoln objected to slavery, and as President, pushed for abolition. Washington was willing to lead the Continental Army against British rule primarily to assure the perpetuation of slavery. I think Washington’s legacy is tarnished and he does not deserve the reverence in which you seem to hold him. (This is a condensed version of a very long e-mail.)

(A) Most important in rebuttal, Washington did not lead the colonies in revolution against England to perpetuate slavery-you are very wrong and I will address that point later. Further, in my essay, I believe that I covered Washington’s ownership of slaves as a difference between him and Lincoln. Washington was a product of his times and his heritage, and that included the fact that slavery was legal under British Law and in every American colony. It doesn’t mean that it was morally right, just that it was widely practiced and legal. You are judging Washington’s ownership of slaves from a perspective that is 250 years removed from his period and I believe that is unfair. I certainly wish the nations of the world would have abolished slavery centuries earlier, but they did not. However, as to your statement about Washington’s motivation to pursue separation from British rule, it had nothing to do with slavery; let me repeat, it had nothing to do with perpetuating slavery! In fact, England, and its people, benefited from slavery in the colonies by importing cotton for its mills, and rice and tobacco for consumption; all crops raised using slave labor. The real issues for Washington, and other founding fathers, were the differences in the ways that the British government had treated the people in the colonies compared to other British citizens. The colonists were taxed differently, there was an occupying British force in their communities, they were not given full protection in courts, and their grievances were not addressed. Please read the Declaration of Independence! The reasons for starting the American Revolution had absolutely nothing to do with slavery! However, the same cannot be said for the Civil War over eighty years later.

(Q) It is clear from your many different articles that you believe slavery is a “stain” on our country, as spoken by Abraham Lincoln. Do you also believe that the country had an opportunity in 1865 -1870, after the Civil War ended, to establish a society in which former slaves were fully integrated and we could have avoided most of the racial tensions we face today? If so in your opinion, who caused that failure?

(A) I often receive correspondence with this basic theme, and they all cause me to reflect on a painful part of our past.  First, slavery in any form is abhorrent to me, but I realize the historical truth that the United States of America would not have been formed if the founders had tried to force emancipation on the slave states in the either the Continental Congress or the Constitutional Convention. The states that relied on slavery simply would have formed a separate nation (or nations) that permitted human bondage. Further, I believe that the Civil War was justified to end the Confederacy, which in turn changed the nation’s political power structure, weakening the influence of pro-slavery Southern Congressmen, Senators, and Judges. That sea-change allowed the passage of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth amendments to the Constitution which made slavery illegal and established a legal system of civil rights. The abolition of slavery, in my opinion, required those events. Unfortunately, after only a few years beyond the Civil War, citizens and their politicians in the North tired of the costs of reconstruction, and, combined with a desire to welcome former Confederate states back into full partnership, allowed an erosion of those hard-won civil rights in the South.  It would be easy to blame only Southern Whites for the racial animus that doomed civil rights protections after reconstruction and gave us another 150 years of racial tension. However, it is only fair to note that many White citizens in the North were either opposed to, or ambivalent about, progressive civil rights for the recently freed slaves. Therefore, the failure to enforce the protections intended for the newly designated African-American citizens by the three Constitutional Amendments, cannot be blamed only on Southern bigotry. I wish the historical record was different, but the facts are that there were people who wanted to own another human being, and many others who didn’t care, and when the opportunity arose to end that system, it was only replaced by a different form of oppression. As a result, today we face collateral damage for that failure. I hope no one asks me how to overcome the racial barriers, for I do not know.

(Q) The previous Memorial Day article you wrote touched me. It was about the two Union soldiers who were both at times designated as the last to lose their life in battle at the end of the Civil War. I wonder, however, about soldiers who died of battle wounds weeks or months after the end of the war. I know you cannot cover every tragic aspect of that war, but the families of those soldiers suffered just as much. This came to mind as I watched news coverage of our withdrawal from Afghanistan. It stated 3,417 soldiers had died there, certainly some poor soul was the last as of this date but many others will die later as a result wounds received during their service. Who counts them? Does the military keep such records? I read that they kept adding names to the Viet Nam Memorial for years. I ask not because I am interested in the statistics, but in recognition of the ongoing sadness. War related deaths do not end when the troops come home.

(A) Thank you for the poignant reminder. Of course, you are correct. I do not know how the military might keep track of those service men and women who succumb to their wounds after a war ends, but I am aware that names were added to the Viet Nam Memorial after it was completed and dedicated. My Memorial Day articles often tell of one or two soldiers who died in the service of our country; however, I usually conclude those articles with a general comment that we should honor all who made such a sacrifice. Your letter reminded that my general comments do not convey the lingering cloud of pain over hundreds of thousands of families which lasts long after a conflict is over. You are obviously reflecting on that sad fact and I thank you for your respectful consideration.

(Q) Do you ever write about happy times, pleasant experiences, or humorous topics? Is there ever any joy among the people you chronicle? Are you morose yourself? I usually enjoy your stories and your style of writing, but you should loosen up from time to time. Asking and suggesting for a friend.

(A) Thank you, I think! Ten years ago, when I chose to research the Lincoln era, I knew that many of the individuals would have had their lives disrupted, friends and family lost, homes destroyed, and they faced an uncertain future. That is not exactly fertile ground for humor and joyfulness. I did, however, write about strong marriages, close friendships, devotion to a cause, triumph over an evil system, and the joy of freed slaves. I also wrote about Lincoln’s humor, his deep friendship with Joshua Speed and Secretary Seward, and the love he had for his children. When writing about the experiences of individual soldiers who survived the war, I tried to also include their return to their families and a normal life. I wanted to cover the wide range of human experiences during difficult times even-though, unfortunately in wartime, many of those experiences are tragic. As for me personally, I am not morose, I believe I have a good sense of humor (although I may not be as witty as I think), and I am privileged to enjoy a contented family life. So, please just enjoy the stories of people involved in historical events, but appreciate that most Americans of Lincoln’s generations lived through the unimaginable chaos of Civil War. Also, tell your “friend” that there is no need to worry about me.

Contact the author at gadorris2@gmail.com and find other articles at the website  www.alincolnbygadorris.com  

Q & A July 2021

The following are more questions and/or comments I have received from readers over the past year. Some are questions for which I had no ready answer, usually because I had not researched the specific person or event. Some comments challenged the historic accuracy of one of my posts or suggested my research for an article was incomplete. I answered every correspondence from readers, sometimes glad to learn more myself and, occasionally, to try to correct a mis-conception by a reader. In any case, I am always pleased to hear from the followers of my articles or my books.

 This first comment (it was not a question) came from a relative of George Armstrong Custer. He had read my article last October, and the writer’s insights into Custer, his brothers, and his wife were very much appreciated.  His comments over two emails are printed below in their entirety.

 (Q) I read your article on the Custer boys. I found it interesting and generally positive. I commend you for bringing to attention the General’s brothers, especially Tom, the first American soldier to win two Medals of Honor. And also mentioning Libbie (his wife), an amazing story in her own right. Her survival post 1876 (after the death of her husband) was one of many challenges, the biggest at first being money. Her initial pension ($35) was not enough to survive on. Her story of reinvention and retiring wealthy is a good one. She passed in 1933 on Army Day. I agree with your pretense, that the General has unfortunately been judged by many by his actions during the last day of his life, thus completely over looking his career and family. I did however disagree with your opening remark. “…some partly true, some mostly false…” I wasn’t sure if you intended to imply that Custer himself often told mostly false stories or that historians often told mostly false stories. In either case, with some exceptions, I would respectfully disagree. It’s true the General had a ton of press during the war, but you would be hard pressed to find a negative comment. And in general, Armstrong was not a boastful man. He did of course, have his moments. Primarily though, I thought you undersold the young Brigadier’s performance at Gettysburg. …”the two forces met in more of a collision than a battle…” While it’s true one charge was described this way, the battle at the east Cavalry battlefield was way more than that. It was a series of timely charges against a superior experienced Rebel force under Stuart that was remarkable given the Generals lack of experience and at Brigade command. It was also the first time the renown Stuart had been repulsed, and at a time when Stuart’s goal was to rout the Union rear during Pickett’s charge. This is certainly not …”one of many small turning points…” Your allegation of casualties lost was egregious, suggesting the…”worst casualty rate of any Union force…” Your stats suggesting 257 casualties …”of his 400 men…” is misleading at best. Brigade strength was likely 1200 men or more. KIA 32, wounded 137. Missing (which could mean ill, deserted, or never found) 78. You leave an impression of a 65% casualty rate, which is simply not true, thus suggesting reckless leadership. Custer’s achievement at Gettysburg was remarkable and at a crucial point on the third day of combat.

   Ok, on balance I congratulate you for a wider look at the Custer brothers, especially beyond the last stand, which subject frankly bores me anymore. And thank you for your work on your article. Anytime we put ourselves out there, meaning expressing an opinion or writing an article, we open ourselves to criticism. This of course has happened to me. So I hope you take my criticism lightly, it isn’t intended to be anything other than a correction.

You might find it interesting to note that the rebel battle flags that Tom captured during the Appomattox campaign still exist today. Unfortunately, very few have ever seen them. They have been in the basement of the American Civil War museum (formerly the Museum of the Confederacy) for over 100 years now. They have never conserved them, and to the best of my knowledge never displayed them. (To their credit they have protected them) In the history of MOH artifacts, these are true gems. It is shameful they have never seen the light of day, and may never will.

A minor point. The fourth brother, Nevin, had a 50% share with Armstrong of their 100 acre farm in Monroe, Mi. He cancelled his trip on the Little Big Horn expedition at the last minute due to an asthma attack. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. He was my great great grandfather.

(A)Sometimes there is a gem among the e-mails I receive. This was one. First, I was referring to the hundreds of articles about Custer written over the course of his life, and even today, which often exaggerate his story; I was not implying he was untruthful. In my comments about the casualties of the one charge at Gettysburg, I focused on the viciousness of that singe attack, not Custer’s over-all tactics in other engagements over the three days.  (I wanted to illustrate that he was willing to take risks and placed himself in the center of harm’s way and did not think him reckless so much as committed to mission). However, I verified from one battle report the casualties I quoted, so I will stand by my comments. I am grateful that you took the time to help me expand on the true story of the Custer boys.

(Q) In your article about the 128th Illinois Regiment which was disbanded for “utter lack of discipline” which had allowed 700 of 900 soldiers to desert, you indicated that your great-grandfather was an officer in that regiment. I have several questions. In what company did he serve? Why was your G-grandfather allowed a discharge (favorable) while other officers were dismissed (unfavorable)? Did your G-grandfather have relatives or siblings in the unit? Why didn’t he consider joining another Union army unit? Was he considered a veteran? Where is he buried? Why no photograph?

(A) Lt. Josiah M. Dorris served in company B according to the muster rolls, both in and out. I believe he received a discharge (honorable) because he continued to serve until the unit was disbanded and it appears that most of his company remained on duty as well, according to the muster-in and muster-out rolls which I have. Josiah had two brothers (John and Smith) in the 128th, and had several cousins. I found 10 Dorrises listed on the 128th rolls. I do not know why he chose to return home rather than join another unit; however, he was 31 years old, had 4 children and a farm to run. It is also possible that, as a resident of Williamson County, he was opposed to the Emancipation Proclamation as that area was heavily Democratic. He is considered a veteran and his grave site is in the Masonic cemetery in Shakerag, outside Johnson City, Illinois. Despite extensive research, I have not found a photograph of Josiah. I know my grandfather’s (his son) home burned to the ground in the early 20th century and we only have one copy of a photo of my grandfather and grandmother taken before the fire, which was given to me by another relative a few years ago. It is certainly possible no photograph exists, but I am still looking!

 (Q) I believe Sojourner Truth, which was not her real name by the way, was an illiterate radical who lived in communes, practiced strange religious rites, was manipulated by abolitionists, and made a lot of money selling her little calling cards to sympathetic whites. She abandoned former slaves who were ill-equipped to fend for themselves. She was not the person you depicted in your article. Your lack of research and bias shows.

(A) First, I stand by the facts in my article; however, I admit that it is almost impossible to capture all of the facets about a person’s full life in four pages. I am not sure you captured her persona in your few sentences either, but only some of what you write is correct. She did change her name to Sojourner Truth to match her mission in life, but also to drop the name used when she was a slave. I would probably have done the same.  She was illiterate for much of her life, but through self-help and support by others, she learned to read and write. I am not sure what you mean by “radical” but she did support full emancipation and voting rights for all Blacks, not just former slaves AND voting rights for all women. She did live for a while on a collective farm, but that was not uncommon for groups of Blacks and some Whites to pool their labor and resources to survive in difficult times. She was a devout Christian and at various times was a Methodist, a Baptist, and a Seventh Day Adventist, none of which practiced “strange” religious rites. Certainly, the organized Abolitionists “used” her because her story was compelling and they believed she helped their cause. She did make money raising contributions from dispensing her “Shadows” which she called her calling cards; but I am not sure why she sould be criticized for that. Finally, I cannot quantify how much she helped former slaves although she tried for years. However, the forces by Whites in the South to limit progress by former slaves certainly, and tragically, far out-weighed her efforts. I believe she was a remarkable woman who made a positive impact on the world in which she lived, despite the racial limitations which stood in her way. I am sorry you feel differently.

(Q) NOTE: this question was in reference to an article published in May about the CSS Hunley, the Confederate submarine. Do you suppose other countries (Japan, USSR, Germany) may have developed submarines prior to this?

 (A) There were attempts at building a viable submarine for at least 100 years before the Hunley. The builder, H. L. Hunley borrowed liberally from those designs such as ballast pumps, iron hull instead of wood, and the hand crank propulsion system. He even copied the pole borne bomb for delivery There had been earlier attempts to sink an enemy ship by submarine, but all had failed.  Germany, Russia, England, Japan, and even Columbia built prototypes, but Hunley's was the first to actually sink an enemy ship. Twenty years after the Civil war ended, in the1870s and 80s, four developments, not available to Hunley, made submarines safer for their crews and useful as a weapon. (1) diesel fuel engines were developed which required no spark to ignite, (2) better batteries for underwater propulsion (which were charged when the submarine was on the surface using diesel engines), (3) self-propelled torpedoes, and (4) the process for manufacturing oxygen and filtering air when submerged for longer periods. I believe a Russian submarine in the 1880s, which ran on the surface using a diesel engine to charge the batteries, was the first to sink an enemy ship (Turkish) when completely submerged, running on batteries underwater, and using a self-propelled torpedo. That basic design was used by every Navy in the world until the nuclear submarines were developed in the 1950s.

(Q) In earlier introductions to new articles you mentioned a new book you were working on. Was it published or still pending?

 (A) Unfortunately, neither. I suppose it was not meant to be. After printing a few demo hard copies, the publisher and the printer closed during the early stages of the pandemic and never re-opened. The book, “The Lincoln Era – Glimpses of Humanity in Chaotic Times” was finished in 2019 and is available on Kindle; however, it will probably never be published in print. Further, the Kindle version is not well composed so I do not promote it. I plan to issue a few of the chapters next year as part of these regular posts. Thank you for asking.

The Last, Last Full Measure (Article 105)

To a grieving family and friends, the notification that their loved one serving in the military was killed in action surely is one of the most devastating experiences known to humanity. In any armed conflict, such notices seem to start too soon and continue for too long. And in every war, some family finally realizes that their loved one may have been the last to die in harm’s way. While their grief may not be worse than for other families, there must be some further anguish knowing that, if the conflict had ended only a few days earlier, their soldier would have survived to come home. In the American Civil War, unusual circumstances left us with two Union soldiers who were killed in action in the final days and left uncertainty as to which unfortunate man should be officially designated as the last to fall. Both, however, deserve to be remembered.

 First, unlike many wars, there was no official end to this conflict; no negotiated cease fire and no treaty. Therefore, there was not a specific date past which soldiers, and their families, could assume they would be safe from the violence.  However, by April 1865, Robert E. Lee had surrendered one of the larger Confederate armies, Jefferson Davis had fled the Capital of Richmond, and Abraham Lincoln had been killed. Soon after the assassination, General Joseph Johnson surrendered another large Confederate force. Certainly, the families of soldiers still deployed had reason to expect their loved one would soon be coming home. But fighting continued throughout sections of the deep south, especially in Texas and Alabama; partly because confirmed word had not reached some Confederate troops that they should surrender, and in part because some of them were determined to fight on anyway. In fact, one Confederate Naval vessel, the C.S.S. Shenandoah did not cease serving for another six months, until November 1865, and then never acknowledged defeat to Union representatives, but lowered their flag to English authorities in a British port.

 But what about the two soldiers who were the last to give their life in service to their country in the Civil War?

 John Jefferson Williams was from Indiana and worked on his family’s farm, while also doing odd jobs for additional income. He probably could have avoided service in the Army but, at the age of 21, he joined the 34th Indiana Infantry Regiment in March 1864. By then, everyone knew that the Civil War, which was, at first, expected to be a quick, decisive victory for one side or the other, had settled into a long slow slog, devouring thousands of young men. However, when he enlisted in 1864, there were encouraging signs that the Union might eventually defeat the Confederacy as victories were accumulating against the secessionist states. That said, there was no end yet in sight and John Williams would spend the next year mainly away from enemy lines, guarding storage facilities and other Union installations in and around New Orleans, Louisianna, a city already under Union control.  His was a relatively safe assignment and he must have expected to be going home soon.

 But military situations change and, in early May 1865, John Williams and the 34th Indiana found themselves in Texas as part of a Union force assigned to root out the remaining Confederates still at large in the state. Although fighting in the area had been sparce for weeks, Union commanders decided to engage a group of Confederate troops who had formed around a large ranch near Brownsville, Texas. On the 11th of May, about 300 Union troops marched toward the ranch, and during one skirmish, Confederates managed to consolidate their troops and drive off the Union force. To counter-attack, Union commanders ordered 200 soldiers from the 34th Indiana to join the initial forces to overcome the Confederate resistance. On May 12th, 1865, John Williams engaged in his first combat, as his unit was shelled by Confederate artillery. Then, on May 13th, the Confederate Cavalry attacked his position. Although three others in the 34th Indiana were killed in the earlier attacks, John Williams died in that final skirmish; part of the so-called Battle of Palmito Ranch. Based on battle reports at the time, the U.S. Army determined that he was the last man to lose his life fighting for the Union during the Civil War. Private Williams was only twenty-two years old.

 But there would be another young man to die in action a few days later; however, the Army, in a case of military bureaucracy at its worst, determined he was on leave at the time, and not engaged in actual combat. Therefore, he was not given the tragic designation as the last soldier killed in action during the Civil War. At least not yet!

 Corporal John W. Skinner was part of a 25-man detachment of the 1st Florida Regiment which escorted a mail and payroll wagon through eastern Alabama. The area was a dangerous place as several bands of “unrepentant” Confederate soldiers roamed at will, attacking outposts, farms, and supply wagons. Many were actually heading for home, but used the opportunity for mischief along the way.

 As Skinner’s unit reached the small town of Eufaula on May 11th, the commander, noting the area had been quiet, granted leave for a few days to about half of the detachment; and Skinner, who had relatives in the area, was one of those who would get a few days reprieve. The men awarded leave were directed to report back on May 19th to a point ahead on the planned route, at Hobdy’s Bridge, which crossed the Pea River, several miles farther from Eufaula.

 A few days after the several men left on leave, however, the Commander was informed that a significant band of former Confederate soldiers and cavalry had been seen nearby. The Commander decided to immediately take the remaining soldiers and head out early for the safety of Union controlled Montgomery, Alabama. The contingent crossed Hodby’s Bridge two days before the men on leave were expected to be there. At a time when there was no ready communication, his decision would mean that, when the men returned from leave on May 19th, they would be on their own.  

 As ordered, all of the men showed up at Hodby’s Bridge on time and only then learned that the Commander and the other men had crossed two days earlier on their way to Montgomery. The men returning from leave assumed they were expected to follow the original route and began to cross the bridge.

 Right into an ambush!

 The attack was relentless, although short lived, and just as quickly, the Confederates left the area. Three other Union soldiers were wounded, but Corporal Skinner died on the bridge. The survivors, not knowing if they would have to fight their way to Montgomery, chose to bury Corporal Skinner near the bridge where he fell and began their journey to rejoin their unit. They arrived several days later, informed the Commander of the attack, and assisted him in the completion of written battle reports. Clearly, those reports indicated that Corporal Skinner was killed by enemy troops on May 19, 1865.

 However, Corporal Skinner’s unfortunate distinction as (perhaps) the last man killed in action in the Civil War was not recognized for another thirty years! 

 After the war ended, the three wounded men applied for pensions, but the U.S. Army continuously rejected their petitions on the basis that they were on leave, not in combat, at the time of the skirmish and that the “War was over” at the time. That ruling, without naming him, but by extension, meant that the Army would still not designate Corporal Skinner as the last Union Soldier to die in the Civil War. But, finally, in 1897, after several more appeals, the pensions of the three wounded men were approved when higher authorities ruled that the men had reassembled as ordered on May 19th and were, therefore, back on duty. While that thirty-year late decision again did not directly address the circumstances for Corporal Skinner, most historians now accept the he was truly the last Union soldier to be killed in action during the Civil War.

 While the decision gave some closure to the issue, we must also acknowledge that, although Private Williams and Corporal Skinner fell in battle, another sad fact about any war, including the Civil War, is that many young men succumb after the war ends from wounds received earlier in battle. Certainly, their families grieve no less.

On this Memorial Day, we pay honor to all of those who have died in service to our country, since the first casualties fell fighting for independence in 1775 at Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill.  

 Unfortunately, such last full measure of sacrifice continues to this day.

 The least we can do is take a moment for thoughtful remembrance.

Mr. Hunley’s Submarine (Article 104)

By mid-1861, the Union Navy had numerous warships enforcing a blockade of Southern ports, cutting off necessary supply lines. The Confederate Navy, however, had few ships to try to break the embargo, certainly not enough to engage in ship-to-ship battles with the Union fleet. Seeking alternatives, besides using blockade runners to dodge the blockades, the Confederate government offered a reward of $50,000.00 to anyone who caused the sinking of any Union warship engaged in the blockade of Southern ports. That reward, equivalent to several million dollars today, must have seemed like a business opportunity to certain capitalists. While some began to convert merchant ships which, manned by civilian crews, might successfully attack isolated Union Navy vessels, others thought that a small, silent, submersible craft could be effective.

 Underwater craft had been designed and tried before. Usually, they accomplished the submerging test, but failed the equally important resurfacing test; as a result, not just a few inventors and sailors stayed down permanently with their submarine. The risks inherent in the development of underwater craft seem similar to the early days of manned flight and space travel. It is simply dangerous when men go where human life, on its own, cannot be sustained. Understanding the risks, however, both Union and Confederate Navies were considering a submarine, but ship architects and builders encountered significant problems; mainly how to get air for the crew when submerged and how to propel the ship? Then, if it was to be used in battle, what armament could it carry to harm enemy ships?

Although Horace Lawson Hunley was a successful lawyer in New Orleans, he had hobby-like curiosity interests in engineering and in small water craft. While not a slave-owner himself, he supported the Confederate cause and saw a way to both help his government and to make money while doing so. He proposed a partnership with James McClintock, a professional engineer, and agreed to fund the building of an underwater craft which could attack, and sink, Union warships.

Hunley and McClintock were not the only ones attempting to build such a vessel, but they had the most ambitious program. Several other teams were working on low-silhouette, semi-submerged, craft which might be able to approach a large ship without notice and then attack. But it would take two years of engineering, construction, tests (and failures of tests), and loss of life before any submersible vessel would attack a Union Warship.

Over the next year, Hunley and McClintock designed three submarines; which were similar but each would employ slightly different technologies. The first, the Pioneer, was built in New Orleans, Louisiana, and then later, the American Diver and the Hunley would be built in Mobile, Alabama. The Pioneer, had its first tests in February, 1862 in the Mississippi River, which were successful enough to progress to more extensive tests in nearby Lake Pontchartrain. From all indications, each new test was successful and the expectation was that the Pioneer would soon be able to begin attacks on Union ships. However, before the Pioneer could be moved to the gulf waters, the Union Army and Navy conquered New Orleans and took control the lower Mississippi River. As a result, Confederate officials decided to scuttle the Pioneer rather than have it fall into enemy hands.

 Hunley and McClintock moved to Mobile to build the second planned submarine, American Diver. Although, there were original plans to incorporate either electric or steam propulsion, in the interest of time, Hunley decided to incorporate a much simpler, and readily available, hand crank system. Sailors on board would sit in a row with pivoting handles on a long rod and, in unison, spin the rod which then spun an external propeller.  That solved the propulsion issue.

As to assuring sufficient oxygen for the crew, they calculated that the hull of the American Diver or the Henley would contain enough oxygen for the crew to survive underwater for up to two hours. There were only two ways to replenish the air; (1) through a tube which would extend to the surface if the ship were submerged at less than ten feet or (2) by resurfacing and opening a hatch. It is unclear if the tube method was ever tested, perhaps because Hunley believed the two hours of enclosed air in the hull would be sufficient for any planned mission. Trials began in January 1863, and they were successful enough that the vessel and crew were sent out into Mobile Bay to attack a nearby Union Ship. However, the weather turned violent and the American Diver sank in heavy waves. The crew survived, that time!

The loss of the American Diver was a set-back, but the builders learned from the experience, and incorporated changes that, they believed, would make the new submarine more seaworthy and viable when submerged. Similar to the first two vessels, the Hunley was designed for a crew of eight, with seven to turn the hand-cranked propeller and one to steer. Each end of the forty foot long Hunley was equipped with ballast tanks that could be flooded by valves or pumped dry by hand pumps which would cause the vessel to rise and fall in the water as needed. In an ingenious design, additional weight was added by installing iron plates on the bottom of the hull which would help keep the craft submerged; but which could be released from inside the cabin if the ship needed to rise quickly.

The Hunley was equipped with two watertight hatches and a small porthole that allowed some visibility for the ship’s officer. The interior height of the hull was just slightly over four feet, and it was cramped, with all eight men in a sitting position and hunched over; so, it was very uncomfortable, even for a short cruise. As the ship was being built, the Confederate Navy became involved and oversaw the remaining tests of the new submarine’s functionality. In July 1863, a final test was conducted in which the Hunley was to attempt to sink an old barge in Mobile Bay. The test was a success and the Hunley and its crew were shipped by train to Charleston, South Carolina where she was expected to be used against Union ships blockading Charleston Bay. The vessel and crew arrived on August 12, 1863.

Although Horace Hunley and McClintock would remain in charge of preparing the Hunley for battle, Confederate military officials would determine the missions. Hunley insisted that more tests were necessary before deployment and won some concessions from the military officials; however, their impatience was evident. The local commanders wanted to strike a blow against the Union Navy and its blockade, and sooner, not later.

Confederate Navy Lieutenant John A. Payne volunteered to be Hunley's captain, and seven experienced sailors volunteered to comprise the crew. On August 29, 1863, Hunley's new crew was cruising on the surface when Lt. Payne accidentally caused the ship to begin to dive while one of the hatches was still open; and the Henley quickly sank.  Payne and two others escaped, but the other five crewmen drowned. The Navy pulled the ship back to the surface and made necessary repairs.  Lt. Payne admitted that the incident was caused by his error and not a defect with the Henley, so the vessel was again deemed seaworthy. Payne was subsequently removed from service and a new volunteer crew was assembled.

Then, Hunley learned that another Confederate craft, the semi-submersible David, had attacked a massive Union warship, USS New Ironsides by ramming it with a torpedo (the term used then for a water borne bomb) suspended on a long pole. The explosion barely damaged the formidable vessel, but the successful attachment of the explosive to the New Ironsides proved that the pole type delivery mechanism could work. It seemed to be a better idea than Hunley’s original plan.

As first designed, the Hunley would have towed a floating explosive device at the end of a long rope. As the submarine approached an enemy ship, it would dive under the ship and resurface on the other side pulling the torpedo against the hull of the warship where it would explode. While it worked in earlier tests, the concern with that design was that the tow rope might become caught in the submarine’s propeller. The experience of the David, proved that the torpedo could be attached to a long pole and rammed against the target; which became the method of delivery for the Hunley. In theory the Hunley would jam the torpedo into the hull of the target ship and then back away from the pending explosion.  The operative words were “In theory” and “back away.”

But more testing was still needed and on October 15, 1863, Horace Hunley decided to command the Hunley himself on a mock attack run. The ship submerged but failed to resurface, killing all eight crewmen, including its namesake, Horace Lawson Hunley. Once again, the Confederate Navy salvaged the submarine, but no reason for the sinking could be found. The Hunley was again deemed seaworthy and returned to service for more testing; and again, a new crew of volunteers was assembled. For the men who now formed that new crew, it was indeed an act of unusual courage, since the survival rate of Hunley crewmen was abysmal.

After the death of Hunley, it was decided that it was not necessary for the submarine to be fully submerged, which would remove a dangerous element from the mission. Instead, similar to the David before her, a torpedo was placed at the end of a metal pipe which was attached to the Hunley’s bow with a downward angle; which would allow the torpedo to strike below the waterline of the target ship.  

It was finally determined that the Hunley was battle ready and the date of the first real mission for the submarine was to be the night of February 17, 1864. Her target would be the USS Housatonic, a wooden-hulled heavily armed steam-powered warship, which was stationed about five miles off-shore at the entrance to Charleston Harbor as part of the Union blockade. Lieutenant George E. Dixon, and a crew of seven volunteers successfully attacked Housatonic, ramming Hunley's only torpedo against the enemy ship’s hull. When the torpedo detonated, the Housatonic sank in five minutes, but not before most of her crew jumped into the sea to be rescued by other Union ships. However, five Union sailors did not survive.

But what of the Hunley and her crew?

Naval historians are still unsure, except that they know the Hunley sank after the attack and her entire crew was lost. An extensive search at the time found no trace of the doomed submarine, probably because searchers were led away from the actual site by reports of a distant distress signal. There were many theories about what went wrong, but there were no definitive answers from Naval inquiries at the time. Before the attack, the submarine was referred to simply as the Hunley, as it was a contract vessel, not a commissioned Confederate ship; however, to honor its developer and the courageous crew members who perished, the submarine was posthumously named the CSS Hunley by the Confederate Navy. As to Mr. Hunley’s original impetus to build the submarines, it is unclear if anyone ever claimed the $50,000 reward for the sinking of the Housatonic!

But was the Hunley successful? If measured only in terms of her one mission, and considering the number of crewmen lost in that mission and during testing, the Hunley did not inflict enough damage on the Union blockade to be considered a success. However, if one looks at the historic impact of those innovative first steps on the future development of submarine warfare, the CSS Hunley was a successful pioneering effort.

POSTSCRIPT:  The Hunley was located about one hundred years after it sank and was finally raised in 2000. Restoration is ongoing where it is on display in North Charleston, South Carolina. The location of the Hunley and nearby recovered artifacts suggest that the submarine was as close as 20 feet to her target, Housatonic, when both sank. The best assumption today is that her deployed torpedo prematurely exploded; however, researchers are still trying to discover with certainty what led to the loss of the Henley and her last crew. For more information, there are several official web-sites devoted to the Hunley, its restoration, and the possible causes of its demise.

The Truth Teller Named Sojourner (Article 103)

Her birth name was not Sojourner Truth, it was Isabella Baumfree, but most called her Belle; and she was a slave!

Isabella was born in 1797 in Swartekill, a village in upstate New York, to older parents who were slaves owned by a family which primarily spoke Dutch. Her parents also spoke that language; so, Dutch was Isabella’s only language until she was nine years old.  During her early years, her parents recounted the agonizing stories of the sale of Isabella’s siblings and instilled in her the understanding (and the fear) that she also might be sold at some point. Then, while still a young girl, her world came crashing down. Both of her parents died, and while still mourning their loss, she was sold to another family. To make matters worse, the new owner only spoke English and she only spoke Dutch, which resulted in harsh discipline when she could not understand their orders. Over the next twenty years, Isabella learned the new language, was sold several more times, was married, and had five children. One of her children was the result of rape by her owner, but she cared for that child with the same affection as her other children. However, to her dismay, during that time, her other children were sold to different slaveholders.

In 1826, with the help of a Quaker active in emancipation, Isabella was able to escape from the farm of her owners, taking with her one young daughter. She later said, "I did not run off, for I thought that wicked, but I walked off, believing that to be all right." She was fortunate to become the housekeeper for the Van Wagenen family, who were wealthy, and deeply religious.  Isaac Van Wagenen was not a slave holder, nor was he a fervent an abolitionist, but he and his wife cared for Isabella and agreed to pay her present owner $20.00. Because most slave-holders would not sell a slave if they understood that the slave would be freed, the Van Wagenens kept their plan secret. However, they treated Isabella as an employee, paying her a small salary, and assured her that she and her children would soon be legally free under a New York anti-slavery law which was to become effective within the next year.

As promised by Mr. Wagenen, Isabella and two of her children were permanently freed under the New York law which had abolished slavery effective July 4, 1827. Two of her children, however, could not yet join her. One child was held back from her because the New York law, due to a compromise with slave-holders, contained stipulations to protect slave-owners from immediate loss of their workforce. The law included a condition which required that some designated slaves must remain as “indentured servants” to their previous owner for five additional years.

Further, another child, her only son, could not be located. With the help of Isaac Van Wagenen, she learned that the boy had been illegally sold out of New York, was sold again at an auction by a slave-broker, and was now a slave on a plantation in Alabama. With the help of local Quakers, she was able to sue in New York Court and won the case that required the Alabama owner to release her son. It was the first such case, and one of only a few, in which a Black woman prevailed in a slavery dispute against a White man.

She now had custody of all of her children and chose to move her family to New York City. There, she became the housekeeper for a Methodist minister, who led a large congregation; and, soon Isabella joined that church and became a devout member.  Convinced that she and her family were saved from slavery by Divine means, she became involved in the New York abolitionist organizations. While she had never learned to read and write, others noticed that she had a distinct style of speaking, and, of course, a fascinating story to tell. Soon she was in demand to speak about her experiences at Abolitionist Societies and other churches with an emancipation doctrine. In 1843, after her children were adults and employed, she felt “called” to leave the city where there was already a strong abolitionist movement, and move out to the country-side, where sympathy for universal emancipation was not as common; and where she believed her message could prompt more white citizens to support the abolitionist cause.

As part of her religious emergence, she chose to change her name. She described herself as a simple traveler, telling the truth about the indignities, and horrors, of slavery. So, from then on, she decided that she would be known as Sojourner Truth!

She told her friends and family, "The Spirit calls me, and I must go", and left to make her way traveling and preaching about the abolition of slavery. She put her few possessions in a sack and she traveled north through up-state New York. She was paid for some of her speeches and accepted the hospitality of those in her audiences for meals and accommodations. But most of her income came from a novel source. She understood the power of an image and embraced photography as way to spread her message. She sat for photo portraits and then had the images, which she called her shadows, put on cards, and usually added a short pre-printed message. On one version of the card, under her photograph, she had printed, “I sell this Shadow to support the Substance.”

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There was an elegance about Sojourner that was not always present in those who spoke about their experiences as slaves. First, her accent was more Northeastern than the heavy southern dialect spoken by many former slaves and she worked hard on her elocution. She also made progress with reading and writing and began to leave records of some of her speeches as well as well as songs and poems. She made sure she was well dressed, spoke firmly, but politely, and invoked renewal, more than outrage, and dignity more than fiery rhetoric. She was in stark contrast to some former slaves who, as abolition speakers, ripped their clothing to show scars from beatings or screamed out for retribution. That just was not the way Sojourner wanted to present her message.

Over time, she met abolitionist leaders William Lloyd Garrison, David Ruggles, and former slave Frederick Douglass who all promoted her speaking opportunities. Garrison requested and received permission to publish her memoir and in 1850 he issued the book, The Narrative of Sojourner Truth: A Northern Slave, which provided her a substantial (for the times) income. With her new book, Sojourner was in even greater demand as a speaker and in 1851, delivered her most famous presentation.

It became known as the “Ain’t I a Woman” speech!

It was given at the Ohio Women's Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio, and, in it, she championed women's rights, but also equal human rights for all Blacks. In that period (1850s), it was controversial to advocate for women’s rights, but even more so to advocate for rights for Blacks, whether free or enslaved. But reports from the time indicate that she took to the stage and in a powerful voice, spoke extemporaneously. There were many men in the audience and some began to heckle her, but she was undeterred. To one group of men who were challenging whether she was even a female, she shouted back, “That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, …Nobody helps me…Ain't I a Woman?"

Because she spoke without notes, no exact copy of the speech in her own words has survived; however, reporters created summaries for their newspapers and several versions were widely printed. Fortunately, Sojourner was later able to clarify some of her remarks and her re-edited speech has been preserved and has been included in numerous books. As time went on, she still faced challengers as she spoke to groups and, at another speech, someone actually yelled out that she was a man, not a woman. Sojourner simply opened her blouse, exposed her breasts, then closed her blouse, and went back to her speech without missing a beat. She must have astounded the heckler (and the rest of her audience) as she proved him wrong.

She rarely had a break from speaking engagement and even when she was not a scheduled speaker at an abolitionist event, if she was in attendance, she was usually called upon for a few remarks. On one such occasion, she rose from her seat and said, “Children, I have come here like the rest of you, to hear what I have to say.”

During the Civil War, Sojourner assisted in the recruitment of Black troops, both free-men and former slaves, for the Union Army. At that time, she may have been the most recognized, and popular, Black women in the country; and her appeals were effective.

And, in part because of her recruiting efforts, in 1864, she met with Abraham Lincoln at the White House. During their meeting, she asked if he would sign the small book she carried. He agreed and, she later wrote in a letter that, “I presented him with one of my shadows and a song. I am proud to say that I was never treated with more kindness, and cordiality than I was by the great and good man, Abraham Lincoln….He took my little book, and with the same hand that signed the death warrant of slavery, he wrote, ‘For Auntie Sojourner Truth, October 29, 1864, A. Lincoln.’ I then took my leave… and now I shall feel (even) more in duty bound.”

The death of Abraham Lincoln in 1865 was devastating for Sojourner and she wrote, “The great man is dead. I mourn him as I would my child.” Although she had moved to Michigan before the War, she spent a great deal of time in Washington DC over the next five years to lobby Congress, and even President Grant, to secure land grants for former slaves. She was unsuccessful, perhaps the only failed mission of her life.

She continued traveling on speaking tours until 1880 at the age of 83, when she decided to spend the rest of her days with her family in Battle Creek, Michigan. She remained involved in community affairs, suffragette causes, and religious activities until her death in 1883.

At her funeral, over one-thousand mourners heard her eulogized by prominent clergymen, women from her various causes, and by Frederick Douglass, himself a former slave and by then one of the most eloquent orators and writers of the day. He said, "Venerable for age, distinguished for insight into human nature, remarkable for independence and courageous self-assertion, devoted to the welfare of her race, she has been for the last forty years an object of respect and admiration to social reformers everywhere.”

Sojourner Truth had lived up to her name.

The Folly of the 128th Illinois Article 102)

The boys in Franklin and Williamson counties in deep Southern Illinois were from independent stock. In 1861, this region, 150 miles south of Springfield, the home of President Lincoln, was still the frontier. Most families were farmers with others providing services such as mercantile, livery, medical, and, of course, the occasional saloon. Many who lived in Southern Illinois had migrated from Tennessee, North Carolina, and South Carolina; and most were sympathetic to Southern causes in general. Politically, the region predominately supported Democrats, unlike the central and northern Illinois regions which tended to support the newer Republican Party of Abraham Lincoln. Slavery was prohibited by the Illinois constitution, however, the Illinois legislature, on several occasions, passed resolutions in support of the federal Fugitive Slave Act, which required free states to recognize the ownership rights granted in slave-states. By law, a run-away slave, captured in Illinois, was considered someone’s property and would be returned to the slave-holder. 

Overall, Illinois contributed 250,000 soldiers to the Union Army, including 150 designated regiments, and only New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio provided more servicemen. Not many of that number, however, came from the southern-most part of the state. In late 1860 and early 1861, before the Civil War started, there was some support for secession in Southern Illinois and, in Marion, the Williamson County seat, residents passed a passionate, but not binding, resolution to secede from the United States. President Lincoln was aware of the unrest in the region and was concerned by rumors that John A. Logan, a popular congressional leader from Southern Illinois might join the Confederacy; however, Logan quickly stated he supported preservation of the Union, not secession, and agreed to serve as a General in the Union Army. Logan’s firm stance was instrumental in dampening support in Southern Illinois for secession and the Confederate cause, but, conversely, did little to generate enthusiastic support for Abraham Lincoln and the Union cause.  In fact, most young men in the region would have been content to sit out the war.

In the first year of the Civil War, there were a few individuals who had left their homes in Southern Illinois to join either the Union or Confederate army, depending on their allegiance. Their decision as to which side for which to fight was likely based on whether their family heritage was from Northern or Southern regions, or perhaps their personal beliefs about whether or not the Union should be preserved or Southern states should be allowed to secede. In hardly any case would their decision have been based on the support of, or opposition to, slavery. Because the general population in the state’s southern-most counties was considered sympathetic to the South, and therefore perhaps to the Confederacy, there had been no concerted effort to organize a Union Army regiment in that region. However, by late 1862, the Governor of Illinois, at the request of a small local delegation, cooperated with Army officials to form a new regiment, the 128th Illinois, to be made up of recruits primarily from Williamson and Franklin counties. The expectation was that the boys would be willing to fight to preserve the Union; so, that was the main recruiting pitch; and, deliberately, no mention was made of fighting to end slavery.

 The War Department selected Robert M. Hundley as the new 128th Illinois Regimental commander, with the rank of Colonel. Hundley was a prominent businessman who lived in Marion, a town in Williamson County, in Southern Illinois. He recommended two acquaintances, James D. Pulley, and James D. McCown for appointments as senior officers, and they received commissions as Lt. Colonel and Major respectively. Hundley was not without military experience, having served as a Lieutenant in the War with Mexico in 1847, but had been out of the army since. He had actually sought the appointment as Commander of the new regiment, which was not unusual during the Civil War, as hundreds of citizens were commissioned as Colonels and Generals directly from the private sector. It only required money or a few political connections, or both. At first glance, Hundley appeared to be a consequential man, who was regarded as well educated, decisive, and resourceful. He had served in a number of civic roles, was instrumental in the construction of better roads in Williamson and Franklin counties, and participated in the development of a local bank in Marion. However, a closer look at his past would have revealed that, prior to the Civil War, Hundley expressed sympathy for the claims of Southern states that the federal government interfered in their Constitutional rights to self-govern. Although, it appears that he did not specifically promote the institution of slavery or its expansion to new states and territories. After the Civil War broke out, Hundley had found himself suspected of being a Confederate supporter, not just a person with southern sympathies, and some neighbors and friends began to distance themselves. Hundley was pro-Union, at least to a certain degree, and wanted to take a stand to show his Union (not Confederate) allegiance. His solution was to contact the Army and offer to form an army regiment, led by himself, and comprised of young men from his region. He was able to convince nearly nine-hundred men to join what would become, the 128th Illinois Regiment, and the troops gathered to be mustered-in by early November 1862. The regiment was divided into ten companies, with Captains, Lieutenants, and Second Lieutenants appointed as junior offices over each company; unfortunately, most of these younger officers had little or no military experience, and that deficiency would show later.

 There must have been some excitement as the young men gathered to be mustered in. Many of them knew each other as neighbors, cousins, and even several sets of brothers enlisted together. While they may have had a degree of patriotic pride, most of them were looking forward to new uniforms, weapons, regular meals, and a steady paycheck; and, of course, the “adventure” of military life. They were soon to be sorely disappointed.

 The Southern Illinois press, which was generally Democratic, mentioned the recruitment effort, but gave little additional recognition to the unit’s formation and those who enlisted. On the other hand, some of the Republican leaning newspapers in Central and Northern Illinois warned against forming a Union regiment composed of men who might be Confederate sympathizers.

 The new recruits, and their officers, were shipped to Camp Butler, near Springfield, in Central Illinois. Since July, 1861, Camp Butler had become an important training center for the Union Army and several new regiments were always at some stage in their training before being sent into larger fighting commands. But problems for the 128th Illinois began soon after arrival at Camp Butler. There were not enough uniforms, no extra winter gear, insufficient food, and their paychecks were late. Further, their tents were of little help against a cold winter and men began to fall ill to disease and infections; so serious, in fact, that by February one or two men per week were dying in the camp. While those issues were mainly caused by seemingly inept quartermasters who ran the army’s supply system, and not directly the fault of the regiment’s leaders; the men understandably blamed Colonel Hundley. To make matters worse, Hundley and his senior officers, at first, paid little attention to the growing dis-satisfaction of the men under their command.

 While the supply and health problems (and the rising death toll) would certainly be serious enough to cause morale issues among the enlisted men, two added factors began to drive the recruits over the edge from complaining (almost a serviceman’s right) to dis-obedience, insubordination, and finally desertion.

 First, Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, although announced in September 1862, had become effective on January 1, 1863; and many of the Southern Illinois boys were opposed to the act, although most probably knew little about its actual effect. They began to complain that, instead of fighting for the preservation of the Union, they were now being asked to fight to free slaves. None of them were slave-owners, but neither did most of them object to the institution as it existed in the South. The second factor, and equally devastating to morale, was the animus of the local Republican press, civic leaders, and even ordinary citizens, in Springfield and other small towns near Camp Butler. Newspapers, and individual townspeople began to ostracize the officers and men of the 128th. Some locals may have heard the recruits vocalizing their opposition to Abraham Lincoln and his Proclamation and some may have even researched Colonel Hundley’s past support for southern interests. But in any case, the largely Republican press in Springfield and other Central and Northern Illinois communities began to eviscerate the 128th, its commander and its men.

 To calm the unrest among his troops, Colonel Hundley began to offer furloughs to some of the men. Of course, those not selected for furlough became even more belligerent. By March 1863, whether they were furloughed and didn’t return, or they simply deserted and went home, (or were one of 35 who died in Camp from illness), over 700 of the 861 men, mostly enlisted men, but also a few young officers, were no longer serving on duty in the 128th Illinois.

The Republican press in the area had continued to berate the commanders of the 128th, and charges were made that the unit would either not fight against the South when called upon or, worse, that they might deliberately undermine Union Army campaigns. There were even rumors, though never proven, that a regimental quartermaster, George Aiken, had caused the supply issues and had contacted Confederate military leaders to inquire about joining their Army when the 128th transferred south to Cairo, Illinois in the spring. 

 The regiment was in complete disarray. And word finally reached Union Army headquarters.

 On April 1, 1863, the Adjutant General of the Army dismissed Colonel Hundley and other senior officers, even the Chaplain, for “an utter want of discipline” and declared the unit unfit for service; and then, officially disbanded it. Interestingly, there was no mention of the “Aiken” matter in the Adjutant General’s final published report; although research has found other contemporaneous written references to the quartermaster’s scheme. It may be that the Army knew about Aiken, but there was already enough justification to disband the dis-functional regiment.

 As a result of the termination of the 128th, the Junior officers who had remained on duty, including one Second Lieutenant Josiah M. Dorris, were allowed to muster-out and given discharges; while most of the remaining enlisted men were transferred to another Illinois regiment and eventually became part of other Union fighting forces.  

 It was an ignoble end. Colonel Hundley had lost the 128th Illinois Regiment without ever firing a shot!

 (Postscript: Robert M. Hundley returned to Williamson county and resumed his roles as a civic leader and merchant in Marion. Apparently, most folks there did not hold his termination from Union service against him, as, after all, many were Democrats, mis-trusted Republican leadership, and still held some southern sympathies. His rationalization may have been that lack of support by Republicans in the Union Army, or even the quartermaster’s sabotage, caused the unit’s (and his) failure. And what about Second Lieutenant Josiah M. Dorris? After his discharge, at age thirty-one, he returned to Williamson county, his wife, Sarah Amanda, his four children and his farm, and was a leader in the community, founder of a local church, and an active Mason for the rest of his life. In 1877, at the age of forty-six, he and Sarah had another son, named Orid, but Josiah died only four months later. That child, who never knew his father, was this author’s grandfather; and Josiah was my great-grandfather.)

The Railroad with no Tracks (Article 101)

The Underground Railroad had no engines, no cars, no tracks, no signals, no stations, and no conductors; at least as we usually define those words. But in fact, those terms were used to define one of the most humanitarian enterprises in the history of the United States; the assisted passage of escaped slaves from bondage in the South to safety in the Northern states. Those who participated in the Underground Railroad considered the institution of slavery, although legal in many states, inhumane and immoral; and were committed to aid those who were fleeing bondage. And, it was not a mission without risk!

Historians believe that, between 1830 and 1861, about 30,000 enslaved people escaped from Southern slave-holding states using the Underground Railroad. The resulting economic loss to slave-holders from escaped slaves was minuscule, as compared to loss from death (natural or not), but the potential for loss if the “problem” grew worse was worrisome to them. So, they did all they could to recapture the runaways; however, the Underground Railroad, and those who ran it, were a thorn in the side to a slave-holder. To both prevent financial loss from escapees, and to maintain control over the others still enslaved, slave-holders continually sought to recover fugitive slaves. It did not matter to the “owner” whether the escapees were captured and returned by so called slave-catchers, or through court action brought against both the located slaves and those who harbored them. Most Southern newspapers contained notices about slaves who had escaped with rewards offered for their capture and return.  Under the original Fugitive Slave act of 1793, and amendments added later, officials from free states were legally required to assist slaveholders, or their agents who recaptured fugitives, in the return of their property; however, many northern citizens and local and state authorities simply ignored the law.

Fugitive slaves were not the only people at risk from slave catchers. With demand for slaves high in the deep South, any Black person of working age was seen as a valuable commodity and an opportunity for profit. As a result, free Blacks were sometimes kidnapped and sold into slavery. Although free Blacks carried documents which attested to their free status, the papers could easily be destroyed or stolen and provided little protection from the predator slave catchers. 

If an escaped slave was located, but protected from return by Northern citizens, the slaveholder could bring an action in court under the law. The process, however, was hardly fair and balanced justice. The law limited the rights of people suspected of being slaves to defend themselves in court, making it difficult to prove free status. Under the terms of the federal Fugitive Slave Act, those captured could be brought to a designated court-house to appear before a Commissioner or Judge.  The marshal or private slave-catcher only needed to swear an oath that the prisoner was a fugitive slave and the Commissioner/Judge would issue an order for return of the property to its owner. There was not even a requirement that the actual legal owner (the slave-holder) of the human property be identified at the proceeding; as it was expected that could be done later after the captured slave was back in slave-holding territory.  Some Commissioners even accepted a fee, under the table of course, for ruling that the “prisoner” should be returned to a slave state.  Of course, when a fugitive slave was returned to the control of his owner, the repercussions were usually severe, including public beatings and/or sale of the slave away from family. And, there were even some executions as a horrific deterrent message to other slaves who might have considered escape.

Many Northerners who otherwise ignored slavery in the South, nevertheless opposed enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Laws in cases where the escaped slave made it to a free state. However, Southern states resented any attempt in Northern courts to blunt the effectiveness of the Fugitive Slave Act, and this disregard of the law contributed to the South’s willingness to consider secession. In contrast, Northern jurisdictions resented the law that required a free state to participate in the perpetuation of slavery. Those two opposing views certainly helped divide the country and contributed to the Civil War.

The escape network used rail road terminology such as stations and conductors, simply because that nomenclature was well known since rail travel was a prevalent transportation system at that time. It was called the Underground Railroad because the escaping slaves, who took passage on it, disappeared from public view as if they had gone into the ground. The railroad was a series of travel connections along a trail or waterway which led to pre-arranged hiding places called depots or stations.  People escaping slavery were referred to as passengers or cargo, those who helped the fugitive find their first stop along the railroad were agents, guides were known as conductors, and station masters hid enslaved people, sometimes in their homes. Financial benefactors, who provided money or supplies, were known as stockholders. The Underground Railroad was often described to slaves as the freedom or gospel train.

The Underground Railroad consisted of meeting points, secret routes, transportation, and safe houses, all of them maintained by abolitionist sympathizers and communicated by word of mouth. Participants generally organized in small, independent groups to help maintain secrecy and to reduce the risk of infiltration, with each individual or group knowing only connecting stations within their immediate area. People escaping enslavement would move on indirect routes, weaving east and west to confuse pursuers, but always generally toward north to the next station. They traveled at night, usually about 10–20 miles to each station, there they rested, and then a message was sent to the next station to let that station master know the escapees were on their way. In addition to private homes, the stations were often located in barns, under church floors, or in hiding places in caves and hollowed-out riverbanks. Although the fugitives sometimes traveled by boat, they usually walked or perhaps were able to ride in a wagon. Most escapes were by individuals or small groups of two to five; however, occasionally, there were larger mass escapes. Abolitionist Charles Torrey and his colleagues used horse-pulled wagons and often transported as many as 15 to 20 enslaved people at a time.

The journey was often considered particularly difficult and dangerous for women with children. The younger boys and girls were sometimes hard to keep quiet or were unable to keep up with a group. As a result, while many women did escape with some taking their small children, tragically, and too often, the mothers were forced to choose between two terrible options: (1) a chance at freedom and leave their children behind, or (2) to stay with their children and all of them remain slaves. Could there have been a more heart-wrenching decision for a mother to make?

Conductors on the railroad came from various backgrounds and included White abolitionists, free-born Blacks, former slaves and Native Americans. Church clergy and congregations of the North often played a role, especially the Quakers, Congregationalists, and Reformed Presbyterians, as well as the anti-slavery branches of denominations which split over the slavery issue, such as the Methodists and Baptists. For example, Quaker abolitionist Levi Coffin, and his wife Catherine, helped more than 2,000 former slaves escape to freedom. And, William Still, sometimes called The Father of the Underground Railroad, helped hundreds of enslaved people to escape, sometimes hiding them in his Philadelphia home. Those he assisted eventually escaped either further north in the U.S. or even on to Canada, where slavery had been abolished in the 1830s. He kept careful records, including short biographies of the people and maintained correspondence with many of them. Remarkably, on occasion, Mr. Still was even able to secretly get a communication for escapees back to members of their families who were still slaves in the South. In 1872, he published these accounts in the book, The Underground Railroad: Authentic Narratives and First-Hand Accounts.

Becoming a conductor or station master was risky for the White citizens who chose to help fugitive slaves reach freedom. In most parts of the Northern states, their neighbors were more likely than not to notify authorities of any assistance given to escaping slaves. Because abolition was a minority point of view in the North, once the White citizen’s participation in helping escaping slaves became known, it was not unusual for them to be shunned by friends and even family. While the risks could be serious for the White citizens, for the Black men and women who became conductors in the underground railroad, it could be deadly. Some of them, at great personal risk, even secretly went back into slave states to help others escape and a certain death sentence awaited if they were caught. But they still took the risk and went back! As only one example, former slave, Harriet Tubman, was active in the Underground Railroad and made several trips into the South to guide other slaves to freedom. She was an extraordinary woman; however, except for a few historians, we have only begun to recognize her accomplishments over the past few years.

Although secrecy was important, over time, some abolitionists just could not keep quiet about their accomplishments. By the 1850s, there were public meetings in Northern churches and philosophical societies at which the workings of the Underground Railroad were discussed; and the proceedings were often reported in local newspapers. Some of these meeting could be justified by abolitionists because they raised money for their cause and educated other Northerners about the moral imperative to end slavery. However, among some, there may have also been a desire to enhance their abolitionist reputations. Frederick Douglass, who had escaped slavery, thought some benefactors talked too much about the process: He wrote, “I never approved of the very public manner in which some of our western friends have conducted what they call the Underground Railroad, but which I think, by their open declarations, has been made most emphatically the Upper Ground Railroad.” He believed that some of the benefactors spoke publicly about the process to satisfy their own ego and to increase their reputations as abolitionists or caring Christians. While he respected the movement, he had concerns that the publicity made slave-owners more watchful and, in turn, riskier for other slaves to escape.

So, was the Underground Railroad effective? Judged just by the numbers, it only managed to make a small dent in the institution of slavery. For although about 30,000 former slaves used the underground railroad to reach freedom, the Southern states held nearly four million slaves, so the numbers might not seem significant overall. However, certainly to any of the individuals who successfully escaped slavery and found freedom, the Underground Railroad was highly effective.

 And, isn’t that what really counts!

Laughing With Lincoln (Article 100)

Abraham Lincoln laughed. A lot! Out loud, often with his hands slapping his knees!

His stories were often self-depreciating or, if directed at another person, usually a gentle “ribbing” and not malicious. On the other hand, he seemed to reserve biting sarcasm for those who he thought deserved to be “brought down a notch” as too arrogant, untruthful, uncaring, or disrespectful. Most of his humor was contained in “yarns” but he could tell a stand-alone joke as well. A friend recalled, “When he tells a story in a fireside group, his face loses its melancholy mask, his eyes sparkle, and his whole countenance lights up, he is just joyful. Then he laughs at his story as much as anyone.”  Lincoln would often start laughing before he finished a story because, he said, “I already start thinking about the ending.”

He often used humorous anecdotes to make a point more clear, but sometimes his intended target enjoyed the humor but failed to understand that they were the intended target; as they were sure he was talking about someone else’s foibles. William Seward, his Secretary of State, who was also a great storyteller said: “Sometimes I would just enjoy the story because I had no idea what Lincoln was getting at.” The following Lincoln yarns, jokes, and pointed remarks are only a few of many examples of the humor of Abraham Lincoln.

Abe frequently told variations of this yarn. There was a Governor who was visiting a jail on Christmas Eve, as it was his custom to pardon one or more convicts who he determined had learned their lesson. One by one the men entered to press their case and they were all polite, their appearance fussed over, and every one said they had committed no offense against society and that they were good men, wrongly confined. But, when the last prisoner came before the Governor, the man had apparently made no effort to improve his appearance, stood with a scowl that would make the devil proud, and stared at the Governor. When asked about his crime, the man admitted that he had caused mayhem, deserved the punishment, and would likely do it again if given the opportunity. The governor was shocked. He called in the warden and proclaimed he had never seen such a righteous group of men as those who had first come before him. Then, said the Governor, to see the last man, a man so bad as to make the Governor tremble, his decision on pardons was easy. He could not let that obviously evil man influence the more virtuous men so, the Governor said that the only way to protect the ten ‘innocents’ was to pardon the vile confessed criminal and leave the others in the safe confines of the jail.

Exhibitions of hot air balloons were popular in the late 1850s and Lincoln loved to tell this story. There was a hot air balloon show, in the deep south, where many people came to witness the spectacle. The balloonist was dressed in beautiful silk robes, had flowing long hair and a great beard. He intended to rise into the sky, tethered to the ground by a long rope, for the amusement of the patrons. However, as he rose from the earth, waving to those below, a gust of wind snapped the tether and, to the horror of the crowd (and certainly the occupant as well), the balloon and its basket, with the poor aerialist trapped inside, floated away. Some-time later, the balloon began to float down over a large cotton field being worked by several slaves. Of course, none of the slaves had ever seen a balloon descending, or ascending for that matter, and were in awe of the sight. All of them ran from the field in fright except one elderly slave who just watched with sincere interest as the balloon slowly descended and finally landed. The elaborately costumed balloonist with his long hair and beard, and his robes flowing in the wind, stepped out. Reflecting on what he had just seen, the old slave walked up, took off his hat, bowed slightly and said, “Mornin, Massa Jesus. How’s your Pa?”

 He often joked about his own appearance. He said a woman accosted him on the street saying, “Mr. Lincoln, you are so ugly it spoils my walk”. Lincoln, said “I am sorry madam but there is nothing I can do.”  She said, “Yes, there is, you could stay indoors more.”

 Once Lincoln was making the point to Secretary of War Stanton that Union Generals needed to better use their strengths against a deadly enemy, and said: “Mr. Stanton, that reminds me of a story.” As usual, Stanton said he did not want to hear another story, but Lincoln kept on talking anyway, saying: “A farmer was attacked by his neighbor’s dog and he killed the dog with a pitchfork he was carrying. The neighbor demanded to know why the farmer didn’t just hit the dog with the other end of the pitchfork.  The farmer said, ‘Well, I would have, if I had been attacked by the other end of your dog”. 

 Before the Civil war, a contingent of Senators with close ties to the South, urged President Lincoln to simply abandon federal installations located in the southern states. If he did, they believed the Confederate government might be willing to keep some form of alliance with the United States. Lincoln argued that the Southern leaders would not be satisfied, that the Union would be in a weaker position after the forfeitures, and Lincoln said that he could not permit that outcome. He told them, “I am reminded of a story about a farmer whose daughter was receiving the attention a young man. The younger man was always accompanied by a large mean dog, which frightened everyone they encountered. When the young man approached the father to express his romantic interest in the daughter, the farmer told the young man that he would consider the matter but that the dog would scare his daughter and suggested that most of the dog’s sharp teeth be removed and his claws be pulled to lessen the threats. Now the young man was hopelessly enamored and desperate to begin what he hoped would be a brief courtship and early marriage, so he extracted most of the dog’s teeth and filed down others and pulled the nails from the dog’s paw. The young man went back to the farmer and showed the farmer the impaired dog, with few teeth and only soft paws, and said he now expected the father to accept the young man as his new son-in-law. Instead, the farmer, now with no fear of the man’s dog, rose up and told him get off his land and that he would never be a part of his family.” Lincoln then said; “Would it not be so for the Union, if, like the young man, I give in to all that is asked by the South, and can no longer press our case with vigor.” (Lincoln’s case was, by the way, was to preserve the Union and not allow secession to break up the United States.)

 When another delegation suggested that he should just turn away from the Southern states and let them depart, Lincoln replied that, “If you turn your backside to the fire, when it flares up because you are not watching, you will have to sit on the blister.”

 Lincoln also found that humor could diffuse a tense situation. Once, he and his Secretary of State, William Seward, were riding in a carriage when the horse bolted and the wheels of the carriage were pulled over rough ground, violently throwing about the driver and his passengers. The driver eventually regained control but not before screaming an extensive (maybe historic) string of curse words; and Secretary Seward also contributed a few choice epithets during the ordeal. As the men gathered their breath, Lincoln said: “Driver are you an Episcopalian?” The driver, at first startled, replied, “No sir, more of a Methodist, if anything.” Lincoln then said, “Interesting, you swear just like Secretary Seward and he is an Episcopalian.”

 While Lincoln was very cautious about using humor to embarrass someone, he was willing to use both humiliation and sarcasm whenever he found himself dealing with arrogance, disrespect, or callousness toward others; and often his targets were lawyers, Generals, and politicians.

 Rather than say an opposing lawyer was lying, Lincoln said, “My opponent has such a great regard for the truth that he has spent much of his time embellishing it.”

 He once said of a political opponent, “He can compress the most words into the smallest ideas of any man I have ever heard.”

 The Postmaster of Washington DC suddenly died and a Congressman ran to Lincoln to inform him. Lincoln knew the Postmaster and was shocked and saddened by the news. Before Lincoln could even reply, the Congressman said, “Mr. Lincoln, I would like to take his place.” A disgusted Lincoln said, “Well, that will be fine with me, if it is alright with the undertaker.”

 Lincoln would also use sarcasm to point out the absurd egos of certain Generals. Of one he said, “The General is the only man I know who can strut sitting down.” As he often did, Lincoln may have “borrowed” that phrase from Secretary of State William Seward, himself a great wit. One of Lincoln’s regular foils was General George McClellan, whose arrogance was legendary, who was notorious for military delays, and who was repeatedly disrespectful to his Commander-in-Chief. Lincoln once commented that if McClellan was not going to use his army, perhaps Lincoln could borrow it for a while. McClellan obviously grew tired of Lincoln’s constant press for details of his “progress” and sent this telegram; “Mr. President, today my army captured two cows. What would you have us do with them?” Lincoln, not willing to waste any more time, immediately responded, “General, milk them!” Lincoln removed McClellan shortly thereafter.

 This was a favorite Lincoln stab at lawyers. “A Congressman who was also a lawyer, and not very good at either, came to me and asked to be given a federal judgeship. Fortunately, I knew of no vacancy at the time so I was able to truthfully tell him that I could not help him, for that reason.  Several days later the Congressman happened upon a scene where a body was pulled from the Washington canal, and saw that it was one of the sitting Federal Judges.  He must have ran directly to me because, while panting heavily, he blurted out his request to fill the new vacancy. I told him he was too late because I had already appointed another lawyer,….the one who first saw the poor judge fall in and immediately ran over here.”

 Lincoln was also keenly aware that successful governance in a Republic required a dialogue between those with opposing views, and usually some compromise was necessary to effect positive change and/or to prevent irreversible breeches. He found humor to be an effective way to advance the conversations, or sometimes even more importantly to keep a dialogue from collapsing, and he was often able to sway the opposition closer to his position. He seemed to have always wanted to leave room for a settlement of any disagreement and tried to not let vicious sarcasm, even when directed at him by others, stand in the way; and he knew that insults and ridicule hurled during political debate would be impediments to future cooperation.

 As an example of his more “gentle” satire, he had this exchange with Stephen A. Douglas during a political debate. Douglas, who was very wealthy, was attempting to illustrate his common roots and said that his father had been a fine woodcraftsman and barrel maker (a prized skill in those days). Lincoln countered that, “I concede that my friend Douglas’s father was indeed a fine barrel maker.” And then, looking over at his opponent’s short and rotund figure, continued, “And here stands one of the finest barrels his father ever made!”  Douglas laughed too.

Lincoln was asked once how he made up so many stories and replied that he didn't, saying; “I'm in retail, I just deliver someone else's work.”  Another asked how he could remember so many tales and he said, “It’s my hard head, it takes some do'in to get a thing in there, but once it's in, it stays in.”  Lincoln was not a prude and some of his stories were ribald, but he would tone down the wording if he needed to assure he did not offend the audience. 

  Lincoln told this story often about keeping a grudge.  Two neighbors had quarreled for years over so many things that probably neither could have remembered the original grudge.  One of the spiteful men, the older one, became very ill and friends and neighbors were told to expect him to not survive the night.  His neighbor rushed over and, with tears in his eyes, said that the two must heal their wounds before the old man passes. The old man, choked up by the forgiving sentiment, reached out his hand and, for the first time in many years they shook hands.  As the younger man turned to leave, the old man rallied a bit and said: “But, if I recover, the old grudge stands!”

 A boy was called to the front by the school master after a terribly wrong answer to a question.  The school master told him to hold out a hand to be struck with a switch.  The boy held out the dirtiest, most foul hand the school master had ever seen.  Holding back on the switch, the school master said: “That is so offensive to sight that I will let you off if you can find me another hand more foul than this one!” The boy grinned and stuck out his other hand.

 Lincoln loved the story of the young man whose parents were wealthy but not ready to share that wealth with the young man so he killed them to gain his inheritance sooner.  Of course, he was only greedy, not clever, so he was soon arrested, tried, and convicted.  Before sentencing, the Judge asked him if he had anything to say.  The man said: “I hope that the court will be lenient with me, for sir, you see I am an orphan.”

 Anthony Bleeker was meeting with Lincoln to request a position for which he was well qualified but he kept going on and on about his experience. Finally, Lincoln interrupted and said: “Stop please, you are like the man who killed his vicious and untrainable dog by hitting it with a club, and after the poor animal was clearly dead, continued to strike and strike again. When asked why, the man said he believed in punishment after death.”  Bleeker caught Lincoln's meaning and said they both laughed.  Bleeker said he would stop if he could tell Lincoln a story of his own.  He said that a priest was working to convert an Indian to Christianity but the message about “love your enemies” was hard to grasp. Finally, the priest said that if the Indian's enemy was hungry you should feed him, if he is thirsty you should give him drink and if you do so, then you will gain his trust.  The Indian thought for a minute and replied: “I will praise your God's plan, for when my enemy is full, he will trust that he is safe, and then I will kill him.”  Bleeker said Lincoln laughed and gave him the appointment.

 One Senator complained to Secretary of State Seward that Lincoln, as always, had immediately interrupted with a story when the Senator wanted to lecture him.  So, the Senator left in a huff without delivering his opinion and went straight to Seward.  The Senator said: “Seward you always say Lincoln's stories have a purpose, but what purpose do his silly stories serve with me?”  Seward replied, “He gets rid of you, doesn't he?”

 Lincoln told about a tough sailor who was caught in a terrific storm and thought he might die, so he fell on his knees and said: “Oh Lord, it's seldom that I bother thee, but I would like to not die today and, if I live, you and me both know I won't be bothering you again for some time.”

 Lincoln was travelling the court circuit on a cold winter evening, staying in the same hotel with other lawyers. He entered the drawing room where several lawyers were gathered around a fireplace. “Colder than hell.” said Lincoln. Expecting a good story one of the men said, “Abe, you ever been to hell.?” Abe replied, “Sure have, it’s a lot like here, all the lawyers are closest to the fire.”

 Steven A. Douglas was once travelling with Lincoln and other lawyers on the circuit and a group was having dinner together. Abe took out a watch and said, “Fellows, look at this grand watch I just purchased, it cost $20.00.” Steven Douglas laughed and said, “Nice watch Abe, but look at this fine timepiece which cost me $40.00.” The lawyers all laughed, including Abe at Douglas’s one-upmanship. That evening a thief broke into Abe’s room and stole, among other things, his new $20.00 watch. The next morning Abe placed the following add in the local paper: “To the thief who stole my $20.00 watch last night. If you will return it to me, I will tell you where you can steal one worth twice as much.”

 And finally, and most appropriate: Two ladies, who knew both Jefferson Davis and Lincoln, were discussing religion’s influence on the two men and the outcome of the war.  One said, “Mr. Davis will prevail because he is a praying man.” The other said, “But you know Mr. Lincoln is a praying man too.” Then the first replied, “Yes, dear, but the Lord will think Abe is joking.”

The Unexpected President (Article 99)

He was a long time Democrat and a Southerner, chosen to serve as a replacement Vice-President to the leader of the Republican party and a Northerner. No one expected him to ever become President, after all, his boss was only fifty-five years old and in excellent health.

Abraham Lincoln had once said (paraphrased), Politics do not make a President, only events can make a President.” On April 15, 1865, events made Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, President of the United States.

Most of us were taught one thing about Mr. Johnson: he was the first President to be impeached! And, although he was not convicted in the Senate, by one vote, the impeachment is his historical marker. But he was a complicated individual, willing to take a stand, obstinate to a fault, a good administrator, and enjoyed his whiskey. He had owned slaves but even that part of his life is beset with contradictions. He had twice sought the Democratic nomination as President, but never came close to his goal. And when he finally became President, it was in a manner neither he, nor anyone else, wished. 

He was born in North Carolina in 1808. His father died when Andrew was three and his mother, a washerwoman, became the sole support of her family. She apprenticed both of her sons, including Andrew’s brother, to a tailor and, under the laws of servitude at that time, both boys were legally obligated to serve until their 21st birthday.

His parents were illiterate and he never attended any school; but he did learn basic reading and writing while an apprentice. He exhibited a joy of reading and several of the customers of the tailor began to help him develop his literary skills. Even as an adult, he was a voracious reader and later championed the expansion of libraries.

When he was fifteen, Johnson and his brother ran away from the tailor and were sought by authorities. A reward notice read; “Ten Dollars Reward. Ran away from the subscriber, two apprentice boys, legally bound, named William and Andrew Johnson ... [payment] to any person who will deliver said apprentices to me in Raleigh, or I will give the above reward for Andrew Johnson alone." It would seem by that offer that Andrew was the more valuable (hard working) apprentice. Soon, fearing arrest, they returned hoping the tailor would negotiate a price for their freedom.  When that failed, they again escaped but this time far from home, into Tennessee, eventually settling in Greenville.  There was always work for a good tailor and Andrew Johnson was an expert. His new business flourished, he was able to hire additional workers, and, in 1827, at the age of 18, he married 16-year-old Eliza McCardle, the daughter of a local shoemaker. Eliza was well educated and helped him further improve his reading, writing, and arithmetic. It was a congenial marriage that lasted over fifty years and they had five children. By all accounts, Andrew was a loving husband and father, even during his later absences as a national politician. Over time he began to accumulate real estate in the area including a larger home and a farm, and was one of Tennessee’s most prosperous self-made men. At some point, he was able to sell his tailoring business to concentrate on politics. 

He served as alderman and mayor of Greenville, Tennessee and was elected to the Tennessee House of Representatives in 1835, and four years later to the State Senate. He was a rising young politician, and at the age of thirty-three, was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives for the first of five terms. While a Representative, then President Polk said of Johnson, “Professing to be a Democrat, he has been politically, if not personally hostile to me during my whole term. He is very vindictive and perverse in his temper and conduct. If he had the manliness and independence to declare his opposition openly, he knows he could not be elected by his constituents.”

But Polk was wrong about Johnson’s electability!

Johnson was defeated only once for election, that in 1837, but he would not lose another race for thirty years. He became a strong advocate of the Democratic Party and was in demand as a speaker at a time when a good orator might not only be appealing for votes, but was also an instructor of issues, and possibly more important, an entertainer.

Johnson decided to seek election as Governor of Tennessee, although the position was not as powerful as in most states. The office did, however, give him a pulpit and he used it to promote both his ideas and himself, and he led the fight to establish a state library and a public school system. But he won re-election as Governor for his stance on two other important causes to the people of Tennessee; protection for slavery and opposition to prohibition of alcohol. He said he opposed the loss of excise tax revenue that prohibition would cause, but his opponent said Johnson did not want to lose his favorite drink. After four more years, he chose to not seek re-election as Governor and turned his attention to gaining appointment to one of Tennessee’s two Senate seats. And, in 1857, he made it!

As a Senator, he straddled two worlds; he was a devoted Unionist, but a Southerner. He opposed secession but believed, as did many Southern Democrats, that the Constitution protected private property, including slaves, and thus prohibited the federal and state governments from abolishing slavery. For three years he managed to generally appease both sides. But when, in 1861, Tennessee voted to secede from the United States and joined other Southern slave states, Johnson remained firmly with the Union. He was the only sitting Senator from a Confederate state who did not resign his seat and he made a courageous speech in the Senate saying; "I will not give up this government ... No; I intend to stand by it ... and I invite every man who is a patriot to ... rally around the altar of our common country ... and swear by our God, and all that is sacred and holy, that the Constitution shall be saved, and the Union preserved." Note that he did not address slavery, only his devotion to the Union.

Johnson's tenure in the U.S. Senate ended in March 1862 when President Lincoln appointed him military governor of Tennessee which carried the rank of Brigadier General. Much of the central and western portions of that seceded state had already been recovered by Union forces; however, the Confederates who remained in parts of Eastern Tennessee confiscated his land and turned his home into a military hospital. During this time, Johnson’s position on slavery began to change and he wrote, "If (those who support) the institution of slavery ... seek to overthrow it (the Government), then the Government has a clear right to destroy it." He also promoted efforts to enlist former slaves into the Union Army, but felt that African-Americans should only perform non-combat tasks to free-up White soldiers for actual fighting.  

As military governor of Tennessee, Johnson was determined to eliminate Confederate influence in the state; and, as a result, he required a loyalty oath from any public official and closed down newspapers he deemed sympathetic to the Confederate cause. By early 1864, all of Tennessee was firmly in Union hands and, as one of his final acts, Johnson certified the new Tennessee Constitution, approved by voters, which abolished slavery. Republican political leaders recognized that Johnson, a confirmed Democrat, had held Tennessee together during his tenure as Military Governor. And, they had a new job in mind for him!

In preparing for Lincoln’s re-election bid in 1864, the national Republican leadership wanted to send a message of unity to voters and formed the National Union party to convey that platform. They also wanted a Southerner as Abraham Lincoln’s running mate; and Andrew Johnson was a natural choice. Although Lincoln admired Hannibal Hamlin, the current Vice-President, he knew the political realities and said, "Andy Johnson, I think, is a good man."

The Lincoln-Johnson ticket won in a landslide by both the popular vote and in the electoral College; of course, eleven Southern states did not participate in the election. Although Johnson was a celebrated figure among Northern politicians, he was despised in the South and considered a traitor. Jefferson Davis had said earlier that when the Confederacy won, Johnson would be the first traitor hanged. Johnson replied that if the South won, he would volunteer to be the first hanged. Neither man was being facetious!

On the morning of March 4, 1865, Presidents Lincoln’s second Inaugural day, Johnson admittedly was hung over from a night of celebrations. He asked outgoing Vice President Hamlin for a drink of whiskey before they left for the Capitol Building, saying, "I need all the strength for the occasion I can have." Unfortunately, he did not have one…or two…but at least three or more. Then, Johnson delivered a near incoherent speech and Hamlin actually stepped up, interrupted the new Vice President, and quickly swore him in. Hamlin later said that Johnson was in a state of profound intoxication. Lincoln, seemingly unperturbed, then gave one of the great speeches of his Presidency, the Second Inaugural Address.

Johnson hid from the public for three weeks at the home of a friend and had a story circulated that he had become ill and only through great determination was able to rise from his sick bed to participate in the ceremonies.  Most observers knew better and his explanation was not well received.  In response to criticism of Johnson's behavior, Lincoln stated that "I have known Andy Johnson for many years; he made a bad slip the other day, but you need not be scared; Andy ain't a drunkard." It was not exactly a ringing endorsement, but probably the best Lincoln could do at the time.

Then, at about 7am on Saturday, April 15, 1865, Abraham Lincoln died, and Johnson became President of the United States. He was quickly sworn-in as President and, at noon, conducted his first Cabinet meeting at which he asked all members to remain in their positions.

Upon taking office, Johnson faced two critical questions; (1) what to do with the former Confederate leaders who had attempted to break apart the United States, and (2) how best to commence re-construction and restore the eleven secessionist states into the Union.

Although almost all of the former Confederate leaders were captured and held as prisoners for various periods of time (Jefferson Davis for two years), no trials were ever held and they were eventually simply released.

As to re-construction, President Johnson had three goals and the first two seemed to mirror Lincoln’s positions. First, he sought a speedy restoration of the states, on the grounds that they had never truly left the Union. Second, he wanted political power in the Southern states to pass to the non-slaveholder business and working class of citizens and away from the planter/pro-slavery class. He was opposed to allowing former slaves to vote for many reasons, but primarily he feared that the newly freed slaves, many of whom were still economically bound to their former masters, would vote as told. Finally, Johnson's third priority was to be elected as President in his own right in 1868, (which may have been his highest priority, but certainly not on Lincoln’s agenda).

However, over the next two years, as voting returned to the Southern States (but generally not to the Black community), many of the former Confederate leaders were elected and the states passed  Black Code laws to deprive the recently freed slaves of civil liberties. Laws were passed which bound African-American laborers to farms as share-croppers, and even more devasting, allowed law enforcement to incarcerate them on flimsy cause and then rent out their labor for profit. In retaliation, U.S. Congressional Republicans refused to seat legislators from those states and advanced legislation to overrule the Southern actions.

Johnson had underestimated the determination of Northerners to ensure that the war had not been fought in vain. It was important to many in the North, that the South acknowledge its defeat, that slavery be ended, and that the lives of African-Americans be improved. The right to vote for Blacks was not an issue for most—after all, only a handful of Northern states gave African-American men the right to vote. But many Northerners were outraged at the idea of former Confederate leaders rejoining the federal government so soon after the war and Lincoln’s assassination.

Johnson, however, thought the Congressional actions were too harsh, would cause resentment throughout the South, and would delay return of the former Confederate states to the fold. So, he vetoed their Reconstruction bills, but Congressional Republicans consistently overrode his vetoes. Then the final confrontation began, when Congress passed the Tenure of Office Act over the President's veto, partly because Johnson said that he planned to fire certain Cabinet officers. The bill, required Senate approval to dismiss any Cabinet members who had been approved by the Senate. Some senators doubted that it was constitutional or that its terms applied to Johnson, who had not appointed the Cabinet officers, but had only asked Lincoln appointees to remain. On the other hand, supporters of the new law believed that, by asking Lincoln’s cabinet members to stay on, Johnson had, in effect, appointed them.

While that argument between Congress and the new President was ongoing, Johnson further alienated Congress when he vetoed the Civil Rights Act of 1866. He stated that he objected to the measure because it conferred citizenship on the freedmen at a time when 11 out of 36 states were unrepresented in the Congress. Congress, again, overrode his veto. And, when his home state of Tennessee ratified the Fourteenth Amendment, extending civil rights to former slaves, Congress immediately seated Tennessee’s new Representatives and Senators. Johnson had publicly objected to both the Amendment and to Tennessee’s new delegation, so it was clear that Johnson was losing control of the reconstruction process to Congress.

Johnson then initiated a final battle with Congress which would test the Constitution of the United States. With Congress out of session, Johnson decided to ignore the Tenure of Office Act, when he chose to fire Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, a favorite of the Congressional Republicans. On August 5, the President demanded Stanton's resignation; however, the secretary refused to quit with Congress out of session.  Johnson then suspended him pending the next meeting of Congress; an action permitted under the Tenure of Office Act.

Once Congress met in November, the House Judiciary Committee passed a resolution of impeachment against Johnson but the full House of Representatives was not yet ready for such dire action and the proposal was defeated with only 57 in favor to 108 opposed.

However, if Johnson assumed his victory was final, he was wrong. When he formally notified the Senate that he had suspended Stanton and intended to fire him, the Senate reinstated Stanton, contending the President had violated the Tenure of Office Act.  Johnson then again dismissed Stanton and appointed Lorenzo Thomas to replace him. Stanton refused to leave his office (literally), and on February 24, 1868, the House impeached the President for intentionally violating the Tenure of Office Act, by a vote of 128 to 47.

During the time between the articles of the impeachment and the Senate trial, there was a lot of deal-making going on which gave Johnson some hope he would not be convicted. Further, some Senate Republicans were reluctant to remove the President because there was no Vice-President and Johnson’s successor would have been a lame duck Congressman who had a “strange” social agenda that included voting rights for women, blacks, and Native Americans; ideas not popular with most American voters who were White Men.

On May 16, 1868, the Senate voted; Thirty-five "guilty" and nineteen "not guilty" falling one vote short of the two-thirds required for conviction. Stanton voluntarily "relinquished" his office on May 26, and the Senate subsequently confirmed John Schofield as the new Secretary of War.

The strange episode was finally over.

It was still Johnson’s ambition to win the 1868 election on his own. Knowing he would not get the Republican nomination; he sought the Democratic presidential nomination but lost to Horatio Seymour, the young Governor of New York.  It really didn’t matter because Civil War hero General Ulysses S. Grant was the Republican nominee and won the national election in a landslide. On March 4, 1869, Andrew Johnson was no longer President of the United States. He returned to Tennessee after his presidency and stayed involved in local and state politics. In 1875, the Tennessee legislature appointed him to the U.S. Senate, the first former President to serve in that body.

Johnson’s tenure as President is generally regarded as a failure; however, successfully following the death of a martyred President may have been nearly impossible. Perhaps he should be given more benefit of the doubt as an un-elected Chief Executive who was suddenly thrust into the position.

However, it is fair to examine his legacy with regards to slavery; which also contains contradictions. Andrew Johnson owned slaves and, for a large part of his political life, supported the institution of slavery in the United States. In 1843, as he became more prosperous, Johnson began to acquire slaves.  He purchased his first slave, Dolly, who was 14 years old at the time to serve as a house keeper and then purchased Dolly's half-brother Sam to help with livery chores. Dolly married at sixteen and had three children who also became slaves in the Johnson household. Johnson and his wife, Eliza, encouraged their slaves to read and write, participate in Christian traditions, and even conduct monetary business on his behalf; all of which were enlightened positions at that time. Further, although he bought slaves, he never sold any slaves away from their family. Finally, in 1863, all of his slaves were voluntarily freed by Johnson and he gave the families small tracts of land. Some writers erroneously attribute his decision to free the slaves to the Emancipation Proclamation which went into effect a few months earlier; however, Tennessee was exempt from that proclamation by President Lincoln, partly at the urging of Johnson.  One of his former slaves even accompanied Andrew Johnson to the White House, as an employee, after he became President.  Upon their emancipation, several of the former slaves presented Johnson with a watch which bore the inscription, “For his untiring energy in the cause of Freedom." These seemingly contradictory actions tend to make even generalizations about Johnson’s involvement with slavery more difficult.

As we look back today, this “Unexpected President” is usually either overlooked or only mentioned for his impeachment. Probably not the legacy Andrew “Andy” Johnson had hoped.

A Tragedy in Minnesota (Article 98)

In August, 1862, the Civil War was not going well for President Abraham Lincoln. Instead of the quick victory and re-unification of the country he had hoped for, the eleven Southern states of the Confederacy had won significant battles and had stalled the Northern forces attempts to push into those states. The President was focusing his attention on that wide-spread conflict, as well he should. 

But trouble was brewing on another front; and the President seemed un-informed.

Perhaps the bureaucrats in Washington were too busy with the Civil War to keep track of treaty promises made to Native Americans, or maybe funding was tied up in the war effort; but the fact was that supplies and payments to the Dakota (Eastern Sioux) in the former Minnesota Territory were consistently late or inadequate. Tensions had been rising since Minnesota had been admitted into statehood in 1858, as more White settlers were moving in, encroaching on Dakota lands, clearing forests for farms, and building small communities. There were Federal Indian Agents assigned to the area, but they were sometimes complicit in the problem as they syphoned off, for their own benefit, portions of the treaty obligation goods and funds which did manage to reach Minnesota. As a result, some native families were starving. A few Chiefs and elders cautioned against war and attempted to negotiate with the Indian Agency, and in one case, travelled to Washington in hopes of ending the treaty violations. But other Chiefs and young warriors were running out of patience and were ready to fight for what was rightfully theirs.

And, they were about to present President Lincoln with one of the most difficult decisions of his Presidency!

The United States and Native Dakota leaders had negotiated several treaties in the summer of 1851, under which the Dakota (also known as Eastern Sioux) ceded large tracts of land in Minnesota Territory to the U.S. in exchange for promises of perpetual supplies and funding. Of course, these were not bi-lateral negotiations, nor agreements, which the Dakota had willingly sought, but were accepted by them as necessary to the Tribes’ survival against a more powerful enemy. As a result of the treaties, the Dakota were to live on a 20 mile-wide by 150-mile-long reservation along the Minnesota River. However, groups within the United States Congress deceptively deleted certain boundary data from the treaties before approval, without prior notice or an explanation to the Dakotas.

It was a classic land grab!

When Minnesota became a state on May 11, 1858, representatives of several Dakota bands led by Chief Little Crow went to Washington DC to try to re-negotiate the existing treaties.  He failed at his mission and the Dakota found that nearly half of their land had now been allocated to White settlers. The land was divided into counties and plots for distribution to settlers, and the resulting farming eliminated surrounding forests and prairies. Hunting by the settlers (and traders) also reduced the wildlife available to the Dakotas. Understandably, Little Crow’s standing among the tribes was diminished.

Further, as time passed, the compensation promised under the treaties was often late, less than expected, or never arrived at all. This was due to corruption and/or indifference in the Federal Office of Indian Affairs, by the local designated Indian Agents, and by traders who billed for supplies never delivered or grossly overpriced.  And compounding the problem, White settlers continued to move onto lands originally promised to the Dakota, with no attempt to control the migration by government agents.

By the summer of 1862, the tension was palpable.

There were several Dakota tribes who lived in different sections of the reservation and the Government had established two Indian Agencies, one in the northern part and one farther south, purportedly to assure adequate services. However, if that was the mission, the government badly failed! On August 4th, Chiefs of two of the Dakota tribes were successful in getting some supplies from their Indian Agent in the north; however, Chiefs of two other tribes were turned away by the Indian Agent in the southern region. It was reported that the Southern agent said, "So far as I am concerned, if they are hungry let them eat grass or their own dung.”  He may have been misquoted, or he may have been referring to the fact that Indian mothers were cleaning out stables to find scattered grain, dropped while feeding horses; to which they would add some prairie grass as filler. In any event, the statement was relayed to Little Crow, who was infuriated (rightfully so). He communicated to Colonel Henry Sibley, the local military commander, that the deprivations and the insults could now mean war unless rectified. Sibley was hopeful that a new shipment of supplies, which he expected soon, could avert the disaster; however, the wagons arrived too late.

On August 17, 1862, four years after Minnesota had been admitted as a state and over ten years since the signing of the initial treaties (which the government never honored), one young Dakota warrior, with a hunting party of three others, killed five White settlers who they encountered. That night, a council of Dakota decided to attack settlements throughout the Minnesota River Valley to try to drive Whites out of the area. Chief Little Crow at first opposed a larger war, but agreed to lead the force after several of the younger warriors questioned his courage and reminded others of his failure to renegotiate the treaties. (It seems pride and ego are universal character traits!)

While not all of the various tribes agreed with the commitment to war, and some of the Northern tribes tried to stay neutral, even they would become caught in the turmoil and chaos that always accompanies war. However, on August 18, Little Crow led a force of about 100 warriors in an attack against the southern Indian Agency Office ran by the agent who reportedly said the Dakota could “eat grass or dung”. The agent was killed and later found with grass stuffed in his mouth.

The Dakota War had officially begun.

There were dozens of war parties scattered throughout the Minnesota River Valley and they were effective fighting forces. In one clash, over twenty White militia members were killed, including the unit commander, with much lighter casualties among the warriors. The raids continued throughout the coming weeks as numerous settlements were raided, and the inhabitants killed or ran-off. Unfortunately, some of the younger warriors considered their attacks as vengeance, and not only killed the White men they encountered, but the women, children, and even infants as well. While not common, in a few cases, the women and young girls were raped and the corpses mutilated. Outraged and frightened, White settlers organized into groups and retaliated against Dakota settlements.

It was a horrendous time!

As they honed their tactics, the Dakota attacked stage coach terminals and steam boat ports along the river, which interrupted mail service and supply lines throughout the region. In late August and early September, one large raiding party even attacked Fort Abercrombie, a well-fortified U.S. military installation near Fargo (now in North Dakota). Although the Dakota failed to capture the fort, it was a demonstration of the confidence they had gained; and, it became clear that the settler groups and the state militia were not going to be able to gain control of the situation.

There has never been an official report on the number of settlers killed, although newspaper reports indicated over a thousand and President Abraham Lincoln later clarified that at least 800 White men, women, and children had died. The number of Dakota casualties was never officially reported, but oral legends left by native survivors indicate several hundred died in battle; however, many more would soon die in the aftermath!

Finally, learning of the seriousness of the situation, President Lincoln created a new military command, called the Department of the Northwest, in early September, 1862. General John Pope was selected to lead the new department with orders to end the violence at all costs. Pope literally raised a small army in just a matter of days and had many of the troops in place within a week.  Over the next few days, there were several more raids on settlements by Dakota warriors; but the U.S. Army, with their larger force and better weapons, was usually able to quickly track down the raiders, killing many and capturing others. 

Except for a few small skirmishes, the “War Within the Civil War” was over.

A few of the warriors escaped into Canada; however, by late September, General Pope reported that over 1,000 Dakota were held in stockades, and that trials had already begun by military tribunals. There were literally hundreds of quick trials, at which the Dakota were not provided legal counsel, their individual “crimes” were not detailed with most charges the same for all defendants, and the presiding officers simply established the prisoners’ native names. And then, most of them were quickly sentenced to death. This process continued until November 3, and in his final report of the proceedings, General Pope stated that 392 Sioux had been tried, 89 had been sentenced to prison terms and 303 had been convicted of rape and murder and were to be executed.

But to General Pope’s consternation, President Abraham Lincoln intervened. Lincoln wrote to Pope on November 10th, "Please forward, as soon as possible, the full and complete record of these convictions. And if the record does not indicate the more guilty and influential, of the culprits, please have a careful statement made on these points and forwarded to me." Pope and the Minnesota Congressional delegation urged the President to continue with the executions because the White citizens of Minnesota demanded it. A statement was made that Lincoln could lose votes and therefore not carry the state in the next election if he granted any leniency. Further, they warned, Minnesota settlers would take revenge out on the Dakotas who had not been charged.

However, Lincoln would not budge. For a month, he reviewed the files on all 303 Dakota warriors who had been condemned and, on December 11th, announced his decision to Congress. He wrote: "Anxious to not act with so much clemency as to encourage another outbreak on the one hand, nor with so much severity as to be real cruelty on the other, I caused a careful examination of the records of trials to be made, in view of first ordering the execution of such as had been proved guilty of violating females. Contrary to my expectations, only two of this class were found. I then directed a further examination, and a classification of all who were proven to have participated in massacres, as distinguished from participation in battles. This class numbered forty, and included the two convicted of female violation. One of the number is strongly recommended by the commission which tried them for commutation to ten years' imprisonment. I have ordered the other thirty-nine to be executed on Friday, the 19th instant." One of the men condemned by President Lincoln had his sentence reduced before the scheduled execution; however, on December 26, 1862, the remaining 38 Dakota warriors were executed.

It was, and still is, the largest mass execution in U.S. history.

As to the threat by Minnesota politicians that offering leniency would cost him votes in the 1864 election, Lincoln did lose a substantial number of votes but still carried the state.  Later, Lincoln reportedly said, "I could not afford to hang men for votes."

Those Dakota warriors who had been convicted, but not sentenced to death, were held in make-shift prisons until April 1863 when they were transferred to another prison in Iowa where they languished another four years. The prisoners were then expelled to Nebraska where the rest of the other living Dakota had been earlier resettled from Minnesota. When the final Dakota survivors were out of Minnesota, the U.S. Congress abolished their reservation and voided all treaties with the tribes; then, the rest of their former lands were re-allocated to White settlers.

But General Polk’s troops had not been able to capture Little Crow or several other prominent Chiefs. Earlier, in September 1862, soon after hostilities broke out, Little Crow had retreated from battle against the U.S. Army and moved with his wife and children to an area of Minnesota outside the Dakota reservation. However, if he hoped to live in peace, he was very wrong. The Minnesota legislature passed a law which authorized the non-judicial killing (read murder) of any Dakota male found off the reservation. Further, the law also offered a $25.00 reward for each scalp and then increased that offer to $50.00 for the scalp of Little Crow.

It is unknown how many Dakota men and young boys were killed under that law, nor how many were really off the reservation when they were murdered, or how many were innocent of any hostilities.

What we do know, is that several chiefs who had fled to Canada were later captured and executed; the last in 1865. However, earlier on July 3, 1863, Little Crow was tracked down by White settlers and was shot and killed. His body was taken to the authorities to confirm the identification and, in an unnecessary act, was then mutilated to claim the $50.00 reward. The Minnesota legislature subsequently awarded an additional $500.00 bounty to the settler who fired the fatal shot.

Unfortunately, the government’s sole focus was on ending the uprising and punishing those Dakota who may have been involved. There was no similar investigation into the inappropriate actions of White settlers (and there were atrocities committed), nor was there an attempt to charge anyone for the graft and/or incompetence within the Indian Agencies, which had initially caused the conflict. Seventy-five later, in a gesture intended to put the matter to rest, the federal government and state of Minnesota provided a small reservation for the descendants of the dis-enfranchised Dakota; however, few returned to their ancestral lands.

In essence, the 1860s land grab had worked!