An equally important naval technology was developed by private Confederate citizens, leant to the Confederate army and succeed where others before it had failed. And yet, many people have never heard the name of the H.L. Hunley.
In fact, the Hunley started out its life with the moniker “the fish boat”--an adequate description of what it was: a cigar shaped boat designed to be completely submerged. It was a submarine. The fish boat was 39.5 feet long, 4 feet tall and only 3.83 feet at its widest. The eight crew members entered through one of two oval hatches that were only 14 inches by 16 inches. While they were inside, the captain stood with his head in the front conning tower navigating and working the lever that moved the rudder, and the rest of the crew sat shoulder to shoulder on a narrow wooden bench that extended along the side of the curved wall and bent over a series of connected hand cranks that ran the length of the fish boat. These seven men were the motive power of the boat.
The ship was built in Mobile, Alabama and its original owners Horace Lawson Hunley, James McClintock and Baxter Watson, originally had visions of their fish boat as a privateering ship--a privately owned vessel with authorization from the Confederate government to capture or sink enemy ships for a bounty. They wanted to make money. General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, the Confederate general in charge of the defenses of Charleston, South Carolina, had other ideas. He requested the fish boat’s presence in Charleston. The harbor was being blockaded by the Union fleet. Blockade running ships were fewer and further between and Charleston--the entire Confederacy, in fact--were being choked off from world commerce. Beauregard loved audacious plans. What could be more audacious than using a secret fish boat to blow up Union vessels to destroy the blockade? The boat was transported to Charleston via rail and once it arrived, the crew of eight began sea trials to learn how the boat worked. Only two weeks after the move, the fish boat sank as water entered its open hatches as it was leaving port. Only three of its crew survived. The boat was raised by divers in hard helmets and diving suits, cleaned and returned to service. This time, the handpicked crew would be led by Horace Hunley himself and he officially christened the submarine the H.L. Hunley. He was sure that the first sinking was caused because of the incompetence of the crew and commander who were unfamiliar with the submarine. In October 1863, during a training dive, the Hunley passed beneath the CSS Indian Chief and didn’t come back up. Somehow the crew left open one of the valves that let water into the ballast tank and the boat flooded. All eight men on board died. One of those men was Horace Hunley. The boat was raised again but Beauregard was ready to call it quits. “It is more dangerous to those who use it than the enemy.” Lieutenant George Dixon knew the Hunley. He had been working on it since his regiment, the 21st Alabama, had been reorganized and sent to Mobile for the defense of the city. He had survived a wound to the leg at Shiloh possibly only because the minie ball struck a $20 gold piece that had been in his pocket. He was supposed to have been on the Hunley’s second crew, but had been called back by his unit only days before the fateful training run that ended the lives of all eight crew members. He was lucky. And he knew the Hunley better than anyone else. Dixon convinced Beauregard to let him have one more shot at making the Hunley successful. He was persuasive, and Beauregard got him released from his unit to captain the Hunley. Dixon lead seven other men, all volunteers who knew the boat’s sad history, in training runs based from a dock on Sullivans Island. Finally, the weather cooperated, the crew was ready and Dixon had his target in sight. At about 7:00 pm on February 17, 1864, Dixon and his crew set off toward the large wooden sloop USS Housatonic. His plan was to ram the torpedo which was at the end of a spar that extended from the bow of the ship into the side of the Housatonic, then back away to a safe distance before detonation. They would then show a blue light and the men on shore would answer by lighting a bonfire to guide them back home. At about 8:45 pm, men standing watch on the deck of the Housatonic spotted something that looked like a submerged log moving slowly toward them. They reacted quickly, but the log continued on its approach.
With the sinking of the Housatonic, the Hunley became the first submarine in world history to sink an enemy ship in combat.
But the Hunley never returned. The wreck was found in 1995 and raised in 2000. The remains of all eight crewmen were removed from the wreck and laid to rest in Magnolia Cemetery with the other Hunley crew members who had perished as members of the submarine's first two crews. The submarine is undergoing conservation efforts at the Warren Lasch Conservation Center in North Charleston, South Carolina and the public can see the historic sub on the weekends. Even now, 16 years after the raising of the H.L. Hunley and extensive conservation efforts, it is unclear what happened to the submarine and its third crew. The crew of the Housatonic used small arms to fire on the Hunley as it approached. Did the hail of lead damage the Hunley? Was it damaged by the same torpedo blast that opened the Housatonic’s hull? Did they get turned around and unintentionally head out to the open ocean? Did they simply run out of strength to travel the 5 miles back to their friendly port and drift away exhausted? Or did they simply run out of air? Despite the lingering questions, the H.L. Hunley's place as the first submarine to sink an enemy ship in combat is secure. But one does wonder...can a mission be successful when the crew simply vanishes? Bibliography Raising the Hunley: The Remarkable History and Recovery of the Lost Confederate Submarine by Brian Hicks and Schuyler Kropf The H.L. Hunley: The Secret Hope of the Confederacy by Tom Chaffin Friends of the Hunley Resources
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Drummer Boy is looking forward to his vacation in Charleston, South Carolina next month. I like reading ahead when I visit a battlefield or historic site. It helps me better appreciate where I am visiting. It also helps ratchet up the anticipation for an upcoming visit. So, I went looking for a book to read to Drummer Boy that introduces Charleston’s Civil War history in a way that is entertaining for a 4 year old. That is when I made the acquaintance of a “most unusual cat.”
Jack, the son of Miss Kitty and Mr. Tom, lives with the Rhett family in Charleston. He witnesses the initial bombardment of Fort Sumter before Colonel Rhett decides to take this self-proclaimed Confederate cat to the fort itself to help the soldiers control the mice eating their food stores and the birds polluting their drinking water. Readers learn about the layout of the fort, its Confederate occupation, bombardment by Union naval forces, and the lives of the Confederates inside the fort’s walls. Jack’s story is based on oral tradition and period illustrations that indicate that a garrison cat existed at Fort Sumter. The book also contains actual documented historic events and figures who were important to the city and fort’s history. It is an effective blending of fantasy and fact to create a memorable story. One of the big challenges with all children’s Civil War books--especially picture books-- is presenting the information in a way that honors the history in an age appropriate way without sugarcoating it. Many books like this struggle integrating slavery and the reality of the antebellum South in a way that doesn’t minimize the former and glorify the latter. Russell Horres strikes the right balance as he spends all of one page describing Jack’s antebellum life, accompanied by Kate Sherrill’s beautiful misty depiction of hoop skirts, oak tree avenues and a columned Great House. But he also introduces Mauma June, a slave who describes her abduction from her family in Africa, her sense of loss and the limits to her freedom. In a particularly telling moment, she admits to Jack that she is envious of him—the family pet—because of his freedom. The book is text heavy, but each page is accompanied by beautiful illustrations that bring Jack to life, help illustrate the charm of Charleston and highlight the insular world of life in such a small, isolated fort. The final pages provide an illustrated Glossary of Terms that helps both the children and any adults reading to them build their vocabulary. This book was written in 2011 for the sesquicentennial (150th anniversary) of the first shorts of the Civil War. It is no longer in print, but new and used copies are available through Amazon's third party sellers and other used book vendors. Click on the book's title in this post to see the new and used offers on Amazon. Intelligence Report--Allegiance: Fort Sumter, Charleston and the Beginning of the Civil War8/6/2016
The first shots of the Civil War were fired on Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor on April 12, 1861. It was the beginning of a war, the scope of which was beyond the general citizenry’s imagination. This wasn’t only a beginning, but the ending of months of political and diplomatic failures that highlighted just how unprepared everyone was for the fight about to commence.
David Detzer’s Allegiance: Fort Sumter, Charleston and the Beginning of the Civil War examines both the beginnings and endings that took place in and around Charleston during the Secession Winter of 1860 and the following spring that resulted in the fateful cannon shot that started the war. Our cast of “characters” include:
It takes a special author to create suspense and a sense of urgency in a story of which we know the ending. Detzer does this. Even though we know that the Confederates fire on Fort Sumter, as we watch the calendar pages turn, the deft maneuvering by Union Major Robert Anderson, and the desperate incompetence of President Buchanan produce moments of frustration and disbelief for the reader. Detzer paints Anderson as a man who is trying his best and being misunderstood at every turn. It doesn’t help that he has little to no political or military support aside from vague orders and non-specific encouragement. Further complicating issues is the fact that South Carolina is determined to see Anderson’s actions as coercion intended to force a military engagement despite the actions being taken deliberately intended to deescalate tensions to the extent his vague orders allowed. There were so many times in the months between South Carolina’s declaration of secession and the bombardment of Sumter that could have initiated war (firing on of the Star of the West and the clumsy and comical efforts of the captain of the ship Shannon) that the ending seemed inevitable. We are only left wondering exactly when the fuse would burn up and the powder keg blow. It is important to note that only the final two chapters deal with the actual bombardment of Fort Sumter. It is a compelling part of the story, but it is the easiest and most straightforward part. The bulk of this book is about politics and diplomacy and the failures and success of each, which makes this more of a political thriller than a military history. This book is a great introduction into the messy politics of revolt, revolution and the start of a civil war. It reads like a novel, with well drawn characters you will care about. A great book for mature readers interested in how this kind of conflict starts, and those who love a good novel of political intrigue.
A few weeks ago, I told you about the ironic tale of young Tod Carter who had experienced quite a lot of army life--battle, capture, prisoner of war camp, and a daring escape from a train--only to be mortally wounded a few hundred feet from his family’s home near the center of the Union line at the Battle of Franklin on November 30, 1864.
Nancy Gentry has written a young adult historical novel about the last few days of Tod’s life--beginning her tale on November 29, 1864--and his family’s anticipation of his homecoming. This book is engaging and well written but its main premise, that the family was preparing for an expected homecoming, doesn’t seem to be born out by the facts. Brad Kinnison is a tour guide with the Battle of Franklin Trust, a not for profit preservation organization that now owns and operates several landmarks that played important roles in the Battle of Franklin including Tod’s family home, Carter House. According to Kinnison, the Carter family had no way to know where Tod was at the beginning of the battle. It wasn’t a secret that it was the Army of Tennessee, including Tod's regiment, approaching Franklin, but during his army experience, there had been times when Tod had been detailed for duties away from his unit. One of those times, Tod had escorted prisoners to Virginia. Though the Carter family may have hoped to see Tod, and worried over the possibility of him being engaged in the battle as they huddled in the basement, nothing was confirmed for them until a Confederate soldier found them as they emerged from the basement. He told them that Tod had been wounded and was nearby. I understand why Gentry took this liberty. The Carter Family’s anticipation of the homecoming was fraught with a sense of impending doom. If there had been a soundtrack for this book, much of the first half would have been underscored by the ominous sounds of low brass and timpani rolls. The final culmination is both sad and inevitable. The story uses a few fictional and composite characters to fill out life on the home front. Sarah Beth, Tod’s love interest (in the most PG way), brings a unique perspective to the narrative. She illustrates the often overlooked story of the women left behind after the men go off to war. She is the voice of lost hope for an entire generation of a society where many young men didn’t come back and those who did were damaged by the ravages of war. Gentry uses Sam as a way to insert the slave’s viewpoint into the story. I don’t mind the character’s inclusion, however, whether intentionally or unintentionally, she chooses to ignore factual history in favor of a popular myth that continues to be perpetuated in today’s media (I’m looking at you, Underground). In Gentry’s narrative, Tod’s father, Fountain Branch Carter, “had quietly given all his slaves a written pass to freedom.” Unfortunately for slaves, manumission (granting a slave his or her freedom) was not as simple as giving them a piece of paper as Gentry describes here. According to the 1826 Statute of Laws of Tennessee, the process was much more involved and wouldn’t have been quiet in any regard. Chapter 22 of the Statute outlines that if a slave owner chooses to grant his slaves freedom, he must petition the court. The petitioner (the slave owner) must explain his motives for freeing his slaves and if two thirds of the justices of the county court deem it in the best interest of the state, the petition will be filed with the court. The petitioner was then required to enter into a bond with sufficient financial security to ensure the county would be able to seek recompense from the former slave owner if the newly freed slave caused damages. Given the prevalence of this myth in popular media, I am inclined to believe that she simply didn’t consider that the accepted method of freeing slaves she describes was not factual. While I would have enjoyed a look at the road Tod traveled to make it back to Spring Hill before the book commenced, the book still has enough action to entertain. The pivotal part of the story was told with grace and the dialog is natural and the situations and motivations are, by and large, believable. This is a good book to introduce not only the Battle of Franklin to a young reader, but also to explore timeless themes of honor, duty, family, hope and disappointment. Families can discuss the different reactions between James Cooper (a real person) and Tod Carter upon finding out battle was eminent. They can also discuss Fountain Branch Carter’s options of staying or leaving and what they themselves may have done. Families can explore reasons that freed slaves would stay with their former masters instead of heading North. This is a very readable historical fiction work for young adults, but will get dinged 1 1/2 stars for the lack of historical accuracy and the continued perpetuation of myth. This time last year, social media was on the hunt for a man who was photographed dancing at a club. The caption of the photo posted on an internet message board indicated the overweight man had been ridiculed by his fellow club-goers and was embarrassed into stopping. It wasn’t long before the post went viral and the man, a Brit named Sean O’Brien, was identified and invited to a Hollywood dance party organized just for him. The incident showed the power of social media, the ability of a vast network of barely related people to search the globe to find people and bring them together. Sometimes it is hard to remember that this technology is still, in the grand scheme of things, very new. 150 years ago, as the Civil War raged across the country, no one could even imagine the capabilities we have today. Today, anonymity can be difficult. In 1863, it was a possibility that was all too real to the men who fought. In the midst of the Civil War, communication was still relatively primitive. No one was going to be able to post a photo of an anonymous soldier and broadcast it around the world seeking his identity. Because dog tags hadn’t been invented yet and most soldiers hadn’t gotten into the habit of pinning their names and units to their uniforms, many men faced the possibility that their final words and last breath would happen in anonymity, and their bodies would be committed to a final resting place without a name on their headstone. It may have been this fear that ran through Amos Humiston’s mind as he lie dying in a remote portion of the Gettysburg battlefield on July 1, 1863. He had been part of the 154th New York, and his regiment had been positioned on the northeast side of town as the battle commenced. As the Confederates bore down on the town, the 154th New York was overwhelmed and as their line gave way, the soldiers put up a fighting retreat through the streets. The firefight was intense and Amos Humiston was mortally wounded. We cannot know how long he suffered, but we do know that his death was not instantaneous. How? Later in the week, his body was found near the corner of York and Stratton Streets, with an ambrotype of his three children clutched in his hand. That ambrotype was the only identification on him. His unit suffered heavy casualties from the fight and those who survived had already moved on by the time his body was found. Without any identification and no one to vouch for him, his fate as a Unknown Soldier should have been sealed.
On October 19, 1863, a description of the photograph (photographs could not be reproduced in newspapers of the time) and the circumstances of the soldier’s death, appeared in the Philadelphia Inquirer under the headline Whose Father Was He?
"After the battle of Gettysburg, a Union soldier was found in a secluded spot on the battlefield, where, wounded, he had laid himself down to die. In his hands, tightly clasped, was an ambrotype containing the portraits of three small children ... and as he silently gazed upon them his soul passed away. How touching! How solemn! ... It is earnestly desired that all papers in the country will draw attention to the discovery of this picture and its attendant circumstances, so that, if possible, the family of the dead hero may come into possession of it. Of what inestimable value will it be to these children, proving, as it does, that the last thought of their dying father was for them, and them only." Without a photo, the article had to be as descriptive as possible and included notations on clothes (the eldest boy was wearing a shirt of the same material as the girl’s dress), estimated ages (the 9, 7 and 5 were only a year off) and circumstance (the boy in the center is wearing a dark suit and sitting on a chair). Newspapers across the country picked up the story, and on October 29, 1863, Amos Humiston’s wife, Philinda, read this description in a church magazine called American Presbyterian while at her home in Portville, NY. She suspected the description was of her children Frank, Alice and Freddy, but wrote to Dr. Bourns to be sure. He sent her a copy of the ambrotype. When she opened the envelope, all doubt was removed. The anonymous soldier whose last vision before death were the children he loved, had been her husband, Amos Humiston. Amos is buried in Gettysburg National Cemetery. His headstone bears his name. The Civil War created death on a larger scale than had ever been seen before in the history of the young country. The generally accepted number of 620,000 dead from battle wounds, complications and disease has been challenged with recent scholarship that suggests the number may be closer to 750,000. Even the conservative number exceeded the total number of dead in prior wars (20,978) by more than an astounding 29 times. The deaths accounted for nearly 2% of the country's total population. To put that into perspective, if the same percentage of the country's total population today were killed, that would amount to 6,473,000 lives lost. One of the ways that the Civil War has shaped who we are today is in the way we, as a nation, deal with death. Fittingly for today, one of the summer's most popular three day weekend holiday's--Memorial Day-- came about as a way for people to remember the northern dead who had lost their lives in the service to their country during the Civil War. Former Union General, John "Blackjack" Logan, as the national commander of the Union veteran fraternal organization, the Grand Army of the Republic, issued an order on May 5, 1868 proclaiming May 30 as a day to decorate Civil War graves with flowers. The celebration, originally called Decoration Day, became a national holiday in 1967. While Decoration Day helped a wounded country emotionally deal with the grand scale of death, the country couldn’t wait three years after the war to address the physical issues associated with the death the war created. In July 1862, Congress authorized President Abraham Lincoln to purchase land for the creation of cemeteries for “soldiers who shall have died in the service of the country.” That year, 14 National Cemeteries were created, including one in the tiny town of Sharpsburg, Maryland, where 4,476 Union soldiers were buried after the battles in Maryland. Antietam, the most famous, became (and remains) the bloodiest day in American history with 3,650 Americans dead (by contrast, 2,499 Americans died in Operation Overlord on D-Day). There are currently 136 National Cemeteries across the country. Most are administered by the Veterans' Administration, but 14 are administered by the National Park Service as part of Civil War battlefields and historic sites and two (including Arlington) are still administered by the Army. Almost every battlefield I have been to has a National Cemetery on the battlefield or nearby. It is a highlight of my visit to stroll among the quiet headstones, reading names and giving thanks. Almost uniformly, these parks are quiet, solemn places of rest for Civil War veterans and others from the area who died in combat. Some, like the cemeteries at Shiloh and Fredericksburg, provide scenic views. Others, like Gettysburg, were the site of other historic action. At every national cemetery I've visited, I've been greeted by low black metal markers lining the sidewalks. The words, painted in white, present a fitting tribute to those who lie nearby in eternal repose. The verse contained on the markers is Bivouac of the Dead, written by Kentuckian Theodore O'Hara in honor of his fellow Kentuckians who died at the Battle of Buena Vista in the Mexican American War. Though most of the National Cemeteries only include a few select verses, the poem in its entirety is a fitting way to remember all of the men who fell during the Civil War, and in all American wars before and since. The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo; No more on Life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents to spread, And glory guards, with solemn round The bivouac of the dead. No rumor of the foe's advance Now swells upon the wind; Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts Of loved ones left behind; No vision of the morrow's strife The warrior's dreams alarms; No braying horn or screaming fife At dawn shall call to arms. Their shriveled swords are red with rust, Their plumed heads are bowed, Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, Is now their martial shroud. And plenteous funeral tears have washed The red stains from each brow, And the proud forms, by battle gashed Are free from anguish now. The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The bugle's stirring blast, The charge, the dreadful cannonade, The din and shout, are past; Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal Shall thrill with fierce delight Those breasts that nevermore may feel The rapture of the fight. Like the fierce Northern hurricane That sweeps the great plateau, Flushed with triumph, yet to gain, Come down the serried foe, Who heard the thunder of the fray Break o'er the field beneath, Knew the watchword of the day Was "Victory or death!" Long had the doubtful conflict raged O'er all that stricken plain, For never fiercer fight had waged The vengeful blood of Spain; And still the storm of battle blew, Still swelled the glory tide; Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew, Such odds his strength could bide. Twas in that hour his stern command Called to a martyr's grave The flower of his beloved land, The nation's flag to save. By rivers of their father's gore His first-born laurels grew, And well he deemed the sons would pour Their lives for glory too. For many a mother's breath has swept O'er Angostura's plain -- And long the pitying sky has wept Above its moldered slain. The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, Or shepherd's pensive lay, Alone awakes each sullen height That frowned o'er that dread fray. Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground Ye must not slumber there, Where stranger steps and tongues resound Along the heedless air. Your own proud land's heroic soil Shall be your fitter grave; She claims from war his richest spoil -- The ashes of her brave. Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, Far from the gory field, Borne to a Spartan mother's breast On many a bloody shield; The sunshine of their native sky Smiles sadly on them here, And kindred eyes and hearts watch by The heroes sepulcher. Rest on embalmed and sainted dead! Dear as the blood ye gave; No impious footstep here shall tread The herbage of your grave; Nor shall your glory be forgot While Fame her record keeps, For honor points the hallowed spot Where valor proudly sleeps. Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone In deathless song shall tell, When many a vanquished ago has flown, The story how ye fell; Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, Nor time's remorseless doom, Can dim one ray of glory's light That gilds your deathless tomb. Bivouac of the Dead Theodore O'Hara He looks like a child, but by the time the war began, Theodrick “Tod” Carter was 20 years old and a lawyer with a promising future. When Tod’s older brother, Moscow, decided to raise a company of men from around Franklin, Tennessee to support the Confederate war effort, Tod joined what would become Company H of the 20th Tennessee Volunteer Infantry. For more than two years, Tod’s service was largely unremarkable...except for his side gig as a war correspondent for the Chattanooga Daily Rebel under the pen name Mint Julep. All of that changed on November 25, 1863 when Tod’s 20th Tennessee was defending Missionary Ridge outside of Chattanooga. Union General George Thomas’s Army of the Cumberland rushed the commanding Confederate positions high on the mountain ridge overlooking Chattanooga. Confederates abandoned their positions and fled east in a route. At least the lucky ones did. The unlucky ones were dead, wounded or captured. Tod was among the latter.
By this time in the war, both sides had largely given up the rather ineffective policy of paroling captured soldiers---sending them home on their own recognizance with their pledge not to take up arms against the enemy until they had been formally exchanged. Instead, large prisoner of war camps had been established, north and south. Tod Carter was heading for one of those camps, Johnson Island outside of Sandusky, Ohio. Prisoner of war camps were bleak places at best, death traps at worst. But Tod survived Johnson Island and was in the process of being transferred to Point Lookout, another prisoner of war camp, located outside of Baltimore, Maryland, when he escaped from the train transporting him. He was in the wilderness of Pennsylvania, alone and hunted, but Tod was determined to find his unit. He made his way on foot over 600 miles to Dalton, Georgia where he found the 20th Tennessee and rejoined his original unit in the Army of Tennessee. Two months after the fall of Atlanta to Union General William Tecumseh Sherman on September 2, 1864, Sherman set off on his March to the Sea and the Confederate commander of the Army of Tennessee, General John Bell Hood decided to strike at Sherman’s supply line rather than follow him to Savannah. So Hood turned his back on Sherman, and started north to Nashville. Among the soldiers marching north into the Middle Tennessee towns of Columbia and Spring Hill was Captain Tod Carter. He was close to home. Perhaps he had despaired of seeing his family ever again. But in his pocket was a furlough allowing him leave from the army to spend precious little time with his family. Carter House tour guide Brad Kinnison explains that in Franklin, in a small, overcrowded brick house next to the main street leading into town from the south, the Carter family gathered, knowing that Tod’s old unit must be close by. They may have known that Tod wasn’t dead as they had first feared when his horse had returned to the regiment riderless after the Battle of Missionary Ridge, but how could they know that their intrepid son had escaped from a train, and traveled across country to join up with his old unit? On November 30, 1864, Tod Carter was still with his unit when General Hood decided to launch an attack against entrenched Federal forces in Franklin. The large frontal assault was launched against the center of the Union line, which happened to stretch across the land owned by Tod’s father, Fountain Branch Carter. Tod was part of what has been called the Pickett’s Charge of the West. Legend has it that as the 20th Tennessee approached the Union lines dug across the Carter family property, Tod shouted to his comrades, “I’m almost home! Come with me boys!” Only 525 feet from the home in which he grew up, Tod Carter was hit by 9 bullets and lay in the family’s garden severely wounded. After the battle, as the Union troops moved northward toward the safety of the Union garrison at Nashville, Confederate soldiers sought out Fountain Branch Carter to inform him that Tod had been engaged in the battle and had fallen on the family’s property. Tod was brought home and laid in a bedroom just across the hall from the room in which he was born. After a journey of hundreds of miles that stretched to Ohio, Georgia and back to little Franklin, Tennessee, Tod Carter died in the comfort of his family’s bullet ridden home on December 2, 1864 at the age of 24. References Capt. Tod Carter’s Tragic Death, A Life Lost Too Soon Captain Tod Carter
There are two subtitles for this book: the one printed on the cover (The Amazing, Terrible and Totally True Story of the Civil War) and the one that should have been (Everything your schoolbooks didn’t tell you about the Civil War). Since author Steven Sheinkin was a text book author in a former life, he has the authority to proclaim his book is “History with the good bits put back!”
The two miserable presidents referred to by the title are Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis. The judgment of their misery does not refer to their job performance but to their extreme unhappiness. These two presidents are mentioned a couple of times throughout the book, and have a chapter dedicated to them, but they are not the focus. Instead, Sheinkin begins with writing a cogent summary of the causes of the Civil War and then proceeds to provide a chronological review of the years of the Civil War. Never getting too bogged down in details about any one battle or campaign, Sheinkin is able to keep the action moving while at the same time providing depth through quotes and stories from participants. The chapter dedicated to the soldiers' lives (Johnny Reb vs. Billy Yank) includes a story of Bob McIntosh and his half haircut, the common discussions soldiers had around the campfires (sweethearts and food) and the phenomenon of trading items across the lines between the rank and file soldiers on either side. There were a few minor errors (Joe Johnston was referred to as Joe Johnson; Chancellorsville was a lodging house, not a town; and John Wilkes Booth was a Marylander, not a Virginian). More importantly, there were a few errors of questionable history. Sheinkin says that after Gettysburg and Vicksburg “the South would never again be strong enough to invade the North.” That was 1863, but then also briefly recounts Jubal Early’s Maryland invasion of 1864 (yet another invasion of the north that occurred after Gettysburg). Recent scholarship has questioned the old story that Gettysburg began over shoes. Unfortunately Sheinkin’s citation is the wonderfully written, but not footnoted Civil War: A Narrative by Shelby Foote. It is a great story that highlights the absurdities of the Civil War. Unfortunately, the evidence that it happened is sketchy at best. Overall, this is a great book for the target age group, but don’t feel bad if the parents enjoy it, too. All age groups can benefit from this fun and quick read that is a great overview of the Civil War. Today is May 3rd, and I can’t let the day pass without mentioning one of my very favorite places to visit-- a listing limestone marker in a family plot on a quiet corner of the Wilderness Battlefield. Here lies Stonewall Jackson. Well a part of him. Probably. On May 2, 1863, General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson led an audacious 12 mile march to surprise the Union troops on the Army of the Potomac’s right flank. The attack crumbled the Union line and blue troops ran in a disorganized retreat several miles before finally stopping and reforming nearer the crossroads lodging house known as Chancellorsville. Stonewall was famous for his aggression, and the night of May 2nd was no exception. To follow up his rout of the Union right flank, he considered a night attack. First, however, he needed to reconnoiter the enemy position. This he did, without bothering to tell his troops of his intentions. While Jackson, General Ambrose Powell Hill and members of Jackson’s staff moved forward, a brigade of North Carolinians moved in behind the party. Suddenly, without his knowledge, Jackson was caught in No Man’s Land. On his way back to his lines, the North Carolinians, waiting in the gloom of the Wilderness, near enough to the enemy to hear them digging, the darkness close around them, mistook the approaching mounted party as Union cavalry. Though Jackson’s party told the Confederate soldiers they were friends, the North Carolinians didn’t believe them and opened fire. Jackson was hit three times--once in his right hand, twice in his left arm. The Union troops responded to the Confederate volley with canister fire from the cannons positioned on the nearby roads. Jackson was dropped several times while his comrades attempted to evacuate him under heavy antipersonnel artillery fire. Jackson was taken to a field hospital near Wilderness Tavern where his arm was amputated. Amputation was quick and common in the Civil War as the soft lead ammunition used by both sides deformed on contact, tumbling through flesh and shattering bones. Usually, amputated limbs were piled high outside the field hospital, but Jackson’s chaplain, Reverend Beverly Tucker Lacy, took the arm to his brother's house at nearby Ellwood and the family buried the arm in the family cemetery. Jackson was taken to a farm about a dozen miles south of the battlefield near a railroad stop called Guinea Station. It was here in a small two room farm office on May 10, 1863 that he succumbed to pneumonia and died. Jackson was taken back to his beloved Lexington, VA. The arm was never reunited with the rest of Stonewall’s body.
I am fond of telling people “Sometimes the green light at the end of the dock just means don’t hit the dock.” (Bonus points if you know what literary classic that references). Some things aren’t meant to be symbolic and the constant need to find meaning in everything can be exhausting. Monuments, on the other hand, are rife with intended and unintended symbolism and they deserve a close examination to really understand the story their commissioners hope to tell. Often times, monuments tell us as much or more about the people who commission and build the monuments than they do about the events and people they commemorate. Being able to read monuments helps place them in the proper historical context. Many Civil War memorials were built after the war, sometimes many decades after. They are primary documents of a post-Civil War age telling us what their commissioners thought important and providing insight into the cultural norms of the commissioners' era. I recently visited Shiloh National Military Park. The park has a variety of memorials and monuments--regimental markers, state monuments and upturned cannon barrels marking the sites of the generals' mortal woundings. One of the most visible monuments is located at tour stop 2--The Confederate Memorial. The monument, created by Frederick C. Hibbard in 1917 was commissioned by the United Daughters of the Confederacy. The UDC used a lot of symbolism in this monument, and the National Park Service even includes an explanation of that symbolism on an interpretive marker at the site. Possibly even more interesting are the choices the UDC and the sculptor made in carrying out the symbolism. Both the intended and unintended symbolism deserve a closer look. But before we do that, let's give you a refresher (or an introduction, exceedingly brief though it is) to the Battle of Shiloh as it is important to reading this monument. The Battle of Shiloh was fought on April 6th and 7th, 1862. The first day of battle, the Confederates surprised the Union troops and pressed them from their advanced camps and back along a line close the Pittsburg Landing. Despite the death of Confederate army commander General Albert Sidney Johnston, as the sun set on the evening of April 6th, the Confederate troops and their new commanding general, Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, were confident of a total success the next morning....if only the Union troops stuck around long enough to be destroyed and didn’t retreat under cover of darkness. Even while Beauregard was telegraphing Confederate President Jefferson Davis of a complete victory, Union reinforcements in the form of General Don Carlos Buell’s Army of the Ohio were being ferried across the Tennessee River and Grant’s lost division under General Lew Wallace was filing into position on the compact defensive line. When the sun rose the next morning, Beauregard discovered Grant and his troops hadn’t run. In fact, they were in a very strong position with fresh troops. The fight on April 7th proved to be the exact opposite of the fighting on April 6th. Union troops pushed the Confederates back and regained the camps they lost the prior day. On the afternoon of April 7th, with his troops exhausted and low on ammunition and food, General Beauregard ordered a general retreat and the Confederates left the field and fell back to Corinth, Mississippi. Knowing how the battle played out, can you identify the symbols of the Confederate story? First, let's take a look at the intentional symbolism the UDC included in this monument. The central bronze figure contains three women. The woman in the front and center is Victory. In her right hand is the laurel wreath of victory. Her head is bowed in defeat and she is relinquishing the laurel wreath to the woman behind and to her right. This woman represents Death. The Death she symbolizes is that of General Albert Sidney Johnston, about whom Jefferson Davis once said, “If Sidney Johnston is no general, then we have no general.” The woman behind Victory to the left is Night. During the battle, the coming of night blunted the momentum of the Confederate advance and brought Union reinforcements. On the left of the monument, the front figure represents the cavalry. His hand is opened in frustration as his horses are not able to penetrate the dense undergrowth on the battlefield. He has no ability to support the Confederate battle plan. Behind him, a representation of the officer corps bows his head at the knowledge that he has been unable to bring a victory. On the right of the monument, a Confederate Infantryman has snatched up the Confederate battle flag in defiance of the Union army and behind him, an artilleryman stands confidently ready for battle. In the limestone, there are several reliefs. The easiest to interpret is the profile at the center of the monument. It belongs to General Johnston and its central location shows the artist's belief in his central role in the battle. After the battle, many of his supporters claimed that had he not been killed, the Confederates would have been able to crush the Union army and may have altered the course of the war. On the right side of the monument, you see the profiles of 11 soldiers, their heads high as they rush like waves into battle. There is one soldier for each Confederate state. They appear confident and courageous. They are marching into battle on April 6th. On the left, those same soldiers’ heads are bowed in disappointment and sorrow. Count them now. There are only 10 left. This is the battle on April 7th. The UDC has used stone and bronze to tell this story: The soldiers of the Confederate States confidently marched into battle under their leader General Albert Sidney Johnston. The Cavalry wasn’t able to support the infantry and artillery because of the dense undergrowth. The artillery and infantry bravely stood up to the Union army, but a sure victory turned into defeat with the death of Johnston and the coming of night that stopped the Confederate momentum and brought Union reinforcements. As the Confederate army retreated, they left many good men behind on the field of battle. That's a lot of symbolism to fit onto a monument its size. But the intended symbolism is only one part of the story. Let's take a second look at the central bronze figure: Victory, Death and Night. As mentioned earlier, the death that is taking the laurel wreath from the hand of Victory is that of General Johnston. Despite the unwavering support Johnston had from Confederate President Jefferson Davis, the Battle of Shiloh was not the apex of his career. Just a few month prior, the defensive line he set up was breached by a joint army-navy expedition that took Forts Henry and Donelson for the Union, leading to the permanent loss of Kentucky and Middle Tennessee including the capital of Nashville. He was being skewered in the press. On the other end of the popularity spectrum was Johnson's nominal second in command, PGT Beauregard, proclaimed the Hero of Fort Sumter and Manassas. He was widely lauded by the press and the populace and many were known to proclaim their excitement that "Bory" had come to town. How did these roles get reversed? Much of it has to do with personal relationships. Davis and Johnston were colleagues and friends with a lot of mutual respect. Davis and Beauregard had a strained relationship partly due to Beauregard's love of crafting grand--and impossibly complicated--strategies. Johnston had the posthumous support of General Braxton Bragg and others (who may have actually been less pro-Johnston than they were anti-Beauregard) who shaped the narrative and Johnston's story was helped along by Johnston's son and aide, Colonel William Preston Johnston, who published his father's biography after the war. Even today, many consider Johnston the presumptive savior of the Confederacy, shot down in his prime. In the same central figure, it is also interesting to note that Night is looking over her shoulder with a furtive glance. Her posture evokes trepidation and nervousness, as if she knows what is coming and is powerless to stop it. Taken with Death, who is taking the laurel wreath from Victory, it evokes a tableau that the victory has been stolen by forces beyond the Confederates' control. Night comes. It is inevitable. Death comes. It is inevitable. And together, two inevitable forces that come each in their own time, take the victory away. It would be unusual for a commissioner to ask for a statue that illustrated ones failures (I have had many failures in my life, and have chosen not to memorialize them), but in the case where they have chosen to erect a Confederate Memorial on a battlefield where the Confederates failed to secure victory, they chose to commemorate the event by symbolically having victory taken from them (rather than being an active participant in their own defeat) by two inevitable, and ultimately neutral, forces--death and night. It is also interesting that the monument is clearly showing the bravery of the individual soldiers. All three of the branches of the army--artillery, infantry and cavalry--are posed with heads high, eager to meet the enemy. Though the cavalry is unable to help, they show frustration, not shame. The one statue with head bowed is representing the officer corps. The officers showed the weakness and bare the shame of the defeat. It is interesting that the central figure alludes to the idea that there was nothing that could be done to stave off the inevitable coming of death and night, but that the officer corps was complicit in the defeat. When added to the intentional symbolism included in the Confederate Monument, it tells the story of not only April 6 and 7, 1862, but of how people of 1917 remembered the battle and the primary players.
There are many ways to appreciate a memorial: as a work of art, as a means to remembering history, and as a way to document the changing interpretations of our history. I realize that sometimes, it is easier and less complicated to simply appreciate a monument for its aesthetic value. Please do so. Monuments can be beautiful creations. My challenge to you is the next time you see a monument, take a moment to read it. See if you can tell what the monument's commissioners intended to say, and what other messages the monument conveys. You will learn about both Civil War history and Civil War memory. |
AuthorToni is a wife, mom and history buff who loves bringing the Civil War to life for family members of all ages. Archives
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