As many readers will know, the practice of setting aside a specific day to honor fallen soldiers sprung up spontaneously across the country, North and South, in the years following the Civil War. One of the earliest — perhaps the earliest — of these events was the ceremony held on May 1, 1865 in newly-occupied Charleston, South Carolina, by that community’s African American population, honoring the Union prisoners buried at the site of the city’s old fairgrounds and racecourse, as described in David Blight’s Race and Reunion: The Civil War in American Memory.
Over the years, “Decoration Day” events gradually coalesced around late May, particularly after 1868, when General John A. Logan, commander-in-chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, called for a day of remembrance on May 30 of that year. It was a date chosen specifically not to coincide with the anniversary of any major action of the war, to be an occasion in its own right. While Memorial Day is now observed nationwide, parallel observances throughout the South honor the Confederate dead, and still hold official or semi-official recognition by the former states of the Confederacy.
Recently while researching the life of a particular Union soldier, I came across a story from a black newspaper, the New Orleans Semi-Weekly Louisianan dated June 15, 1871. It describes an event that occurred at the then-newly-established Arlington National Cemetery. Like the U.S. Colored Troops who’d been denied a place in the grand victory parade in Washington in May 1865, the black veterans discovered that segregation and exclusion within the military continued even after death:
DECORATION DAY AND HYPOCRISY.
The custom of decorating the graves of soldiers who fell in the late war, seems to be doing more harm to the living than it does to honor the dead. In every Southern State there are not only separate localities where the respective defendants of Unionism and Secession lie buried, but there are different days of observance, a rivalry in the ostentatious parade for floral wealth and variety, and a competition in extravagant eulogy, more calculated to inflame the passions than to soften and purify the affections, which ought to be the result of all funeral rights.
Besides this bad effect among the whites there comes a still more evil influence from the dastardly discriminations made by the professedly union [sic.] people themselves.
Read this extract from the Washington Chronicle:
AT THE COLORED CEMETERY
While services were in progress at the tomb of the “Unknown” Comrade Charles Guthridge, John S. Brent, and Beverly Tucker, of Thomas R. Hawkins Post, No. 14 G.A.R., followed by Greene’s Brass Band, Colonel Perry Carson’s Pioneer Corps of the 17th District, Butler Zouaves, under the command of Charles B. Fisher, and a large number of colored persons proceeded to the cemetery on the colored soldiers to the north of the mansion, and on arriving there they found no stand erected, no orator or speaker selected, not a single flag placed on high, not even a paper flag at the head boards of these loyal but ignored dead, not even a drop of water to quench the thirst of the humble patriots after their toilsome march from the beautifully decorated grand stand above to this barren neglected spot below. At 2 ½ o’clock P.M., no flowers or other articles coming for decorative purposes, messengers were dispatched to the officers of the day for them; they in time returned with a half dozen (perhaps more) rosettes, and a basket of flower leaves. Deep was the indignation and disappointment of the people. A volley of musketry was fired over the graves by Col. Fisher’s company. An indignation meeting was improvised, Col. Fisher acting president. A short but eloquent address was made by George Hatton, who was followed by F. G. Barbadoes, who concluded his remarks by offering the followign resolutions, which were unanimously adopted:
Resolved, that the colored citizens of the District of Columbia hereby respectfully request the proper authorities to remove the remains of all loyal soldiers now interred at the north end of the Arlington cemetery, among paupers and rebels, to the main body of the grounds at the earliest possible moment.
Resolved, that the following named gentlemen are hereby created a committee to proffer our request and to take such further action in the matter as may be deemed necessary to a successful accomplishment of our wishes: Frederick Douglass, John M. Langston, Rev. Dr. Anderson, William J. Wilson, Col. Charles B. Fisher, William Wormley, Perry Carson, Dr. A. T. Augusta, F. G. Barbadoes.
If any event in the whole history of our connection with the late war embodied more features of disgraceful neglect, or exhibited more clearly the necessity of protecting ourselves from insult, than this behavior at Arlington heights, we at least acknowledge ignorance of it.
We say again that no good, but only harm can result from keeping up the recollection of the bitter strife and bloodshed between North and South, and worse still, in furnishing occasion to white Unionists of proving their hypocrisy towards the negro in the very presence of our dead.
The black soldiers’ graves were never moved; rather, the boundaries of Arlington were gradually expanded to encompass them, in what is now known as Section 27. Most of the graves, originally marked with simple wooden boards, were subsequently marked with proper headstones, though many are listed as “unknown.” In addition to the black Union soldiers interred there, roughly 3,800 civilians, mostly freedmen, lie there as well, many under stones with the simple, but profoundly important, designation of “citizen.” The remains of Confederate prisoners buried there were removed in the early 1900s to a new plot on the western edge of the cemetery complex, where the Confederate Monument would be dedicated in 1914.
Unfortunately, the more things change, the more. . . well, you know. In part because that segment of the cemetery began as a burial ground for blacks, prisoners and others of lesser status, the records for Section 27 are fragmentary. Further, Section 27 has — whether by design or happenstance — suffered an alarming amount of negligence and lack of attention over the years. The Army has promised, and continues to promise, that these problems will be corrected.
As Americans, North and South, we should all expect nothing less.
Images of Section 27, Arlington National Cemetery, © Scott Holter, all rights reserved. Used with permission. Thanks to Coatesian commenter KewHall (no relation) for the research tip.
This Memorial Day weekend, I’d like to highlight three Civil War veterans interred here in Galveston. I don’t have a familial or personal connection to any of them, but I think of them as neighbors of mine, of a sort.
Charles DeWitt Anderson (1827-1901) served as a Colonel in the Confederate army, and in the summer of 1864 was charged with the defense of Fort Gaines, on the eastern side of the entrance to Mobile Bay. After Admiral Farragut forced the entrance to Mobile Bay on August 4, Anderson found himself entirely cut off, besieged and under artillery fire from the land side of Dauphin Island and unable to have any effect on the Federal fleet, which had moved farther up Mobile Bay, out of range of Fort Gaines’ guns. Faced with demoralized Confederate troops inside the fort, Anderson surrendered on August 8. Given a choice of surrendering to the U.S. Army or Navy, Anderson turned over his sword to Farragut. One of Farragut’s last acts before he died in 1870 was to request that Anderson’s sword be returned to him. It came back to Anderson with the inscription, “Returned to Colonel C. D. Anderson by Admiral Farragut for his Gallant Defence of Fort Gaines, April 8, 1864.”
What fewer people know about Anderson is that he and his younger brother arrived in Texas as orphans, their parents having died on the ship en route to the Republic of Texas in 1839. They were adopted right there on the wharf by an Episcopal minster. In 1846, Anderson was the first cadet admitted to West Point from the newly-established State of Texas; his application letter was endorsed by U.S. Senator Sam Houston. Although Anderson did not graduate from the Point, he eventually received a direct commission into the Fourth U.S. Artillery in 1856, and served until resigning his commission in 1861. Anderson served longer as a U.S. Army officer than as a Confederate one; you can view a detail of an 1859 map drawn by Anderson of the area around Fort Randall, Dakota Territory, here.
In his postwar years he worked as an engineer on a variety of public works projects, and at the time of his death was serving as the keeper of the Fort Point Lighthouse here. William Thiesen, the Atlantic Area Historian for the U.S. Coast Guard, recently wrote about Anderson’s experience at Fort Point during the 1900 Storm, the deadliest natural disaster in U.S. history. Recall that, at the time, Anderson was in his seventies:
True to his mission, Anderson kept the light burning during the storm even though most ships by then were either adrift, out of control or washing ashore at points along the Texas coast. However, late that evening, floodwaters surged and carried off equipment on the lighthouse’s lower deck, including the lifeboat and storage tanks for fresh water and kerosene fuel. With seawater rising into the keeper’s quarters it seemed as if Fort Point Lighthouse was adrift on a stormy sea. With the wind speeds nearing 200 miles per hour, the lighthouse’s heavy slate roof began to peel away. Eventually, some of the flying stone tiles shattered the lantern room windows and the inrushing wind snuffed out the light for good.
Anderson had tried his best to maintain the light, but the flying glass had lacerated his face and driven him below. By late that evening, the quarters’ first floor had flooded, the wind had permanently extinguished the light, Keeper Anderson suffered from facial wounds and the storm surge had trapped the elderly couple on the second floor. With all hope lost, Anderson and wife Lucy made their way to the second floor parlor room, sat down and waited in silence for the floodwaters to take them away.
But the end never came. On Sunday morning, the Andersons emerged arm-in-arm onto the lighthouse gallery to see the human toll of the hurricane. The scene they witnessed beggars description. In a silent watery funeral procession, the ebbing tide carried away countless bodies from Galveston Bay to the Gulf of Mexico. Anderson likely saw as much carnage, if not more, than at any time during his Civil War career. But, unlike the war, the storm did not favor one victim over another; instead, it took the lives of women and children as well as men.
George Frank Robie (1844-91) was a Sergeant in Company D of the Seventh New Hampshire Volunteer Infantry, who won the Medal of Honor “for gallantry on skirmish line” during fighting around Richmond, Virginia in September 1864.
Robie originally enrolled in the Eighth Massachusetts Militia, a three-month unit, the day after the surrender of Fort Sumter in 1861. His service record gives his age at enlistment as 18, but other sources suggest he was a year younger. After being discharged, he enlisted in the Seventh New Hampshire in September 1861 as a Sergeant. He re-enlisted in the regiment in February 1864, and was appointed First Lieutenant in October. Although Robie was recommended for a medal during the war, his Medal of Honor, like many, was not actually awarded until June 1883 by resolution of Congress.
He moved to Galveston after the war, working as a clerk in a railroad office, but suffered from rheumatism that had first afflicted him during his service in Virginia. Robie returned to New England, and in 1884 was awarded a pension for disability. Robie subsequently returned to Galveston, dying here in 1891. To my knowledge, Robie is the only Civil War Medal of Honor winner interred in Galveston County. The Fitts Museum in Candia, New Hampshire, where Robie was born, holds Robie’s sword in its collection.
Josiah Haynes Armstrong (1842-98) was a Sergeant in the Third U.S. Colored Infantry. He was born free in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, enlisted as a Corporal on June 26, 1863 at Philadelphia, and soon thereafter was promoted to Sergeant. The Third U.S.C.I. spent the latter part of the war in the Jacksonville, Florida, area, although Armstrong became ill and was transferred to a military hospital in St. Augustine. Some time later, his company commander, who had heard that Armstrong was convalescent and working at the hospital as a cook, wrote to request that he be sent back to the regiment, as he would “be obliged to make another Sergt in [Armstrong’s] place, which, as he is an excellent non-com officer, I am loathe to do.”
After his discharge, Armstrong remained in Florida, where he became a member of the clergy in the African Methodist Episcopal Church. He also served in the Florida State House of Representatives, representing Columbia County, in 1871, 1872, and 1875. He moved to Galveston in 1880, where he was pastor of Reedy A.M.E. Chapel here. Armstrong also served as Grand Master of the Prince Hall Grand Lodge of Texas, the African American branch of American freemasonry, from 1890 to 1892. He was ordained a Bishop in the A.M.E. Church in 1896, two years before his death at age 56.
Anderson photo courtesy Col. Anderson’s great-grandson, Dale Anderson, and Bruce S. Allardice.
Today, Nathan Bedford Forrest is more popular than ever among the fans of the Confederacy. No doubt that’s because he’s come to represent unyielding defiance, whether in victory or defeat, in the face of the Yankee enemy. More than any other Confederate officer — certainly more than someone like Lee — Forrest is the modern face of the unreconstructed rebel, the pit bull of the Lost Cause.
Unfortunately, that image doesn’t entirely square with reality — at least near the end of the general’s life. From the Galveston Daily News, June 3, 1875:
In Memphis, last week, a number of Federal officers and soldiers participated at the decoration of Confederate graves. As a result, Generals [Gideon Johnston] Pillow and Forrest addressed a letter through the Memphis papers to surviving Confederate soldiers and veterans of 1812, Florida and Mexico, requesting them to participate in the Federal ceremonies on Sunday last [i.e., on Memorial Day]. From this letter the subjoined is extracted:
“However much we differed with them while public enemies, and were at war, we must admit that they fought gallantly for the preservation of the government which we fought to destroy, which is now ours, was that of our fathers, and must be that of our children. Though our love for that government was for a while supplanted by the exasperation springing out of a sense of violated rights and the conflict of battle, yet our love for free government, justly administered, has not perished, and must grow strong in the hearts of brave men who have learned to appreciate the noble qualities of the true soldier.
“Let us all, then, join their comrades who live, in spreading flowers over the graves of these dead Federal soldiers, before the whole American people, as a peace offering to the nation, as a testimonial of our respect for their devotion to duty, and as a tribute from patriots, as we have ever been, to the great Republic, and in honor of the flag against which we fought, and under which they fell, nobly maintaining the honor of that flag. It is our duty to honor the government for which they died, and if called upon, to fight for the flag we could not conquer.”
Forrest offers a lesson that some of his most ardent, present-day fans seem determined to ignore
This post originally appeared at on the Civil War Monitor‘s Front Line blog, May 27, 2012.
As you may have heard, a judge in Louisville on Wednesday lifted an order protecting the Confederate monument there, allowing the city to proceed with plans to relocate it. Everett Corley, a write-in candidate for the Third Congressional District of Kentucky, isn’t taking it well:
These folks are exactly who you thought they were. Exactly.
Update: Looks like Everett Corley deleted this little bit of nastiness from his Facebook page. He did, however, leave up the one referring to Ricky Jones as “the black Rasputin from Atlanta.” Stay classy!
The ten surviving Hood children after their parents’ death in 1879.
I was looking through Sam Hood’s The Lost Papers of Confederate General John Bell Hood, and wondered if there was any correspondence between Hood and William Tecumseh Sherman relating to the latter’s visit to New Orleans in 1879, when Hood and Sherman attended the theater together, and the former Confederate general made a speech in Sherman’s honor. Lost Papers doesn’t include correspondence from that visit, but does include a letter Sherman wrote a few months later, upon learning of the death of Hood’s wife, Anna Marie, from that perennial scourge of the Gulf coast, yellow fever:
Headquarters Army of the United States,
Washington D.C., Aug 26, 1879
General J. B. Hood
My family is all in the Allegheny Mountains and I am here alone at breakfast this morning at a hotel nearby. A friend read aloud the notice of the death of Mrs. General Hood.
Even yet though some hours have passed I cannot help thinking of that wonderful and beautiful group of children you paraded before us last winter at your home in New Orleans, and that you took my daughters Lizzie and Elly up to see Mrs. Hood in her sick bed. I know not why but I cannot banish the sight from my mind, and now write you this simple note to tell you that here in Washington there is one who thinks of you in your bereavement, and of those motherless children.
I shall send the paper to my daughter Lizzie to whom you committed the sacred trust of your war papers, which are I assure you absolutely safe and I believe she will write to offer you some words of consolation at a loss which touches the heart more than the loss of a father.
All we can do is to bow to the inevitable, and go on with the duties of life till we ourselves mark the Common destiny the Grave.
Accept the assurance of my heartfelt sympathy and of great respect.
Truly your friend,
John Bell Hood likely never read this letter; he himself succumbed to the fever four days later, on August 30, leaving ten orphaned children behind.
I hope those of you in the Houston area will be able to attend Thursday’s Houston Civil War Round Table Meeting, to hear Sam Hood speak on his famous collateral ancestor. The HCWRT meets at the Hess Club, with a meet-and-greet beginning at 6 p.m., with dinner at 7 p.m. Spaces are available for the meeting, but reservations are required. Costs are $30 for dinner and speaker, and $10 for the speaker/presentation only. E-mail Don Zuckero at Reservations-at-HoustonCivilWar-dot-com by 6:00 p.m. on Monday. The Hess Club’s address is 5430 Westheimer, a short distance west of the Galleria. The club is situated on the corner of Westheimer Way and Westheimer Court. Free, convenient, and handicap-accessible parking is across the street.
Next Thursday, May 19, is the final meeting of the 2015-16 campaign season for the Houston Civil War Round Table. It will be a special evening, with two special guests.
Stephen M. “Sam” Hood will be the main speaker for the evening, presenting on “The Lost Papers of John Bell Hood.” This collection of 200-plus documents sheds important light on some of the war’s lingering mysteries and controversies. For example, letters from Confederate officers help explain Hood’s failure to entrap Schofield’s Union army at Spring Hill, Tennessee, on November 29, 1864. Another letter by Lt. Gen. Stephen D. Lee helps to explain Maj. Gen. Patrick Cleburne’s gallant but reckless conduct that resulted in his death at Franklin. Lee also lodges serious allegations against Confederate Maj. Gen. William Bate’s troops. Other papers explain, for the first time, the purpose and intent behind Hood’s “controversial” memoir Advance and Retreat, and validate its contents. While these and others offer a military perspective of Hood the general, the revealing letters between he and Anna, his beloved and devoted wife, help us better understand Hood — the man and husband.
In addition, the HCWRT will present its annual Frank E. Vandiver Award of Merit, in recognition of an individual or an organization making a substantial contribution to the preservation of Civil War heritage. The Vandiver Award is named for the late Civil War historian and former President of Texas A&M University, the University of North Texas, and Rice University, who also was one of the earliest members of the HCWRT. This year, the Vandiver award will be presented to Eric A. Jacobson, Chief Executive Officer and Historian for the Battle of Franklin Trust, which manages the Carter House and Carnton Plantation in Franklin, Tennessee.
The HCWRT meets at the Hess Club, with a meet-and-greet beginning at 6 p.m., with dinner at 7 p.m. Spaces are available for the meeting, but reservations are required. Costs are $30 for dinner and speaker, and $10 for the speaker/presentation only. E-mail Don Zuckero at Reservations-at-HoustonCivilWar-dot-com by 6:00 p.m. the Monday preceding the Thursday meeting (i.e., by the 16th). The Hess Club’s address is 5430 Westheimer, a short distance west of the Galleria. The club is situated on the corner of Westheimer Way and Westheimer Court. Free, convenient, and handicap-accessible parking is across the street.
Preliminary speaker schedule for the 2016-17 Campaign Season:
Oct. 18, 2016, A. Wilson Greene: “Civil War Petersburg” (Note: This is a TUESDAY Night!)
Nov. 17, 2016, Susannah J. Ural: “Hood’s Boys”
Dec. 8, 2016, Donald S. Frazier: “Blood on the Bayou: Vicksburg, Port Hudson, and the Trans-Mississippi”
Jan. 19, 2017, Edwin C. Bearss: “The Camden Expedition and Battle of Jenkin’s Ferry, AR”
Feb. 16, 2017, Edward H. Bonekemper III: “The Myth of the Lost Cause”
Mar. 16, 2017, Brian Steel Wills: “George Thomas at Nashville”
Apr. 20, 2017, Elizabeth R. Varon: “Legacies of Appomattox: Lee’s Surrender in History and Memory”
See you there.
Recently I had the great pleasure of attending a presentation at the Houston CWRT by Caroline Janney, based on her book, Remembering the Civil War: Reunion and the Limits of Reconciliation. It was a fantastic presentation. I came across this passage where a former officer of the First Texas Infantry chafed at the idea, becoming popular around the turn-of-the-century, of events combining delegations of both former U.S. and Confederate veterans:
More than a few, however, could do without the brotherly handshaking. “I don’t like these blue and gray reunions,” Col. R. J. Harding, the president of Hood’s Texas Brigade Association, declared on June 28, 1905; “something unpleasant always happens.” But Harding had a simple solution to the problem: “The quickest way to stop sectional feeling is to let each other alone. We are as far apart in what we fought for as we ever were, that is,” he quipped, “as far as Boston is from heaven.” No one wished for more strife and dissensions, he assured his comrades, but neither had they ever given up their view of the war.
I wonder what Cousin Katie — the only female member of the Hood’s Texas Brigade Association — thought about that.
I’m reading Constantine Pleshakov’s The Tsar’s Last Armada, about the Russian Squadron that sailed from the Baltic, around Africa and across the Indian Ocean, ultimately to meet the Japanese at the Battle of Tsushima in 1905. I was reminded of this fairly well-known image (above) of Russian seamen from the steam corvette Variag, taken in New York City in 1863 or 1864, during the American Civil War. At least four of the men are boatswain’s mates, as indicated by the calls (whistles) worn on chains around their necks. These are tough, experienced seamen, with probably fifty years or more of seagoing experience between them.
I thought of this image when I came across this passage in Last Armada, describing life aboard a Russian warship in 1904. Navies being what they are, I doubt that much had changed in the intervening 40 years:
Class tensions were much worse in the navy than in the army. A soldier would meet his officers exclusively during service hours. He had no idea how they ate or drank or spent their free time. Ships were another story. Sailors watched their superiors constantly. There was not much that an officer could conceal from their prying eyes.
In theory, men ate well. Meals were to be cooked with fresh meat, but it was impossible to stock enough cows or pigs to feed eight hundred men for several weeks. When the livestock supply on board was exhausted, meat had to be taken from the refrigerator of the Esperance. After the Esperance’s stock was emptied, crews were fed solonina — meat preserve of a yellowish color, often stinking and generally nauseating. On such days some sailors refused to take meals at all.
Officers had their own supply of everything. Each meal consisted of several dishes. Good cooks prepared them. Probably no officer in the Imperial Navy had ever eaten solonina — except when obliged to check the crew’s menu. Fine wine and elaborate spirits were served in the officers’ wardroom. It was both a restaurant and a club. Sounds of opera arias and Chopin mazurkas mixed with smells of exquisite sauces, coffee, liqueurs, and cigars. These sounds and smells told men of an infinitely better life. If this ignited anything in their hearts it was bitterness, if not outright hatred. No sailor could hope to become a commissioned officer. For that, he had to be born into a privileged class.
Some officers still beat their men. Many captains discouraged or prohibited this, but everybody knew that [Admiral] Rozhestvensky himself rarely felt guilty about giving a man a thrashing. When an officer was impressed with a sailor’s performance, he would buy him an extra shot of vodka or two. It was commonly believed this was the only kind of encouragement the brutes would appreciate.
For men on a warship, the day started at five o’clock in the morning, announced with a shriek of a flute on the upper deck. Immediately after that, non-commissioned officers started rousting the men. They never hesitated to use obscenities or fists; bullies by design, they usually made the point of being deliberately cruel. For this they were rewarded; some of them even shared a cabin for just two. Hundreds of sailors hastily jumped from their berths and hammocks. They had only a few minutes to dress and turn hammocks into neat, numbered cocoons. Then the cocoons had to be taken to the upper deck and put into special niches. The crew was ordered to wash. Elbowing each other, they hastily rinsed their faces with harsh seawater. The next order was “To prayer!” A priest arrived to sing the day’s hymns. Hundreds of voices on deck accompanied him.
Breakfast of bread, butter, and tea took half an hour. At seven o’clock the cleaning-up started. Decks had to be washed, brass polished, walls brushed. Shortly before eight, everybody had to be on deck in a solemn formation. The captain received reports from his senior officer, the doctor, and others. At eight o’clock sharp, simultaneously with Rozhesrvensky’s Suvorov, all ships raised the St. Andrew’s Flag, a blue cross on white that was the trademark of the Russian navy. Officers and crewmen took their caps off. Horns and drums played. The day was launched.
For two and a half hours, training proceeded. Then the cook brought a portion of the crew’s lunch to the captain: a bowl of meat soup, slices of bread, and salt. The captain had to taste the soup, and if he approved, the senior officer and head of watch had to taste it, too. All used the same spoon.
At eleven o’clock, flutes announced lunch. Men rushed to the deck where vessels with vodka already stood. Each was poured half a glass. If the meat was fresh, the soup was good: meat, cabbage, potato, beet, carrot, onion, pepper, and some wheat flour. After lunch, the crew rested for two hours, took tea for thirty minutes, and then returned to work. At half past five, all labors were finished. At six o’clock, dinner arrived, and vessels with vodka were brought to the deck again. After that the crew was free to relax. The only ceremonies remaining were the lowering of the flag and evening prayer.
Normally, crews were well fed and worked only eight hours a day, with a three-hour break in the middle. However, if something went wrong — be it the interruption of food supplies or some other emergency — the crew was the first to suffer.
A hard life, particularly when one knows the gruesome fate that awaited most of them in the Tsushima Strait .
Small stories that don’t warrant full posts:
- Congratulations to Brian Matthew Jordan, who recently joined the faculty at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville, on being named a finalist for the 2016 Pulitzer Prize in History for his book, Marching Home: Union Veterans and Their Unending Civil War.
- My colleague Rob Baker continues his series on dealing with the Confederate flag in the classroom. Wish I’d had a teacher like that.
- Over at Buzzfeed, Adam Serwer has an essay that neatly summarizes the story of Andrew Chandler and Silas Chandler, and shows how the oft-told story of “the Chandler Boys” ignores both the historical record and Silas’ own family tradition in favor of the version passed down in the white Chandler family.
- Suzanne Sherman went with her family to Virginia last year, and took a tour called “Slave Life at Monticello.” Imagine her shock and dismay when she discovered the tour was about slave life at Monticello.
- Jefferson Davis is being moved from the hall of presidents to the Civil War section in the oldest, and possibly saddest, wax museum in the United States.
- H. K. Edgerton wants you to donate to support his upcoming campaign in Florida.
- It has nothing to do with the Civil War, but Vimeo has a really good mini-documentary on the Battle of Jutland, a century ago next month.
- More apropos, the Civil War Trust has a great animated map outlining the Vicksburg Campaign (h/t Al Mackey).
- A display of state flags in an underground hallway in the U.S. Capitol complex will be replaced, over concerns about Confederate imagery used in them. Mississippi is getting most of the heat these days, but in fact the flags five other states — Alabama, Florida, Arkansas, Georgia, and Tennessee — also use elements of the Confederate flag in designs adopted after the war in 1861-65.
- Speaking of Alabama, it turns out that family-values, fiscal-conservative Governor Robert Bentley had a state police helicopter and crew spend the day after Christmas 2014 flying from Montgomery to Tuscaloosa to Gulf Shores (and then presumably back to Montgomery) to deliver his wallet after his soon-to-be-ex-wife kicked his cheatin’ ass out of the house. Sorry, I don’t have a punch line for this one.
Got any more? Put ’em in the comments.
I happened upon this item from just the fourth issue of William Lloyd Garrison’s abolitionist paper, The Liberator, from January 22, 1831:
Garrison is writing here five years before the Alamo and the Texas Revolution, and thirty years before secession and Sumter.
Notice also that for Garrison, using a “compulsory process” of colonization of African Americans, free or (formerly) enslaved, was a deal-breaker. Like Lincoln, whose interest in colonization schemes waffled back and forth over the years, before finally being rejected completely, it was always a matter of voluntary resettlement rather than expulsion.
Garrison portrait via National Portrait Gallery.