Museum of the Confederacy Debuts Online Chapman Collection
The Museum of the Confederacy in Richmond has debuted an online exhibition of 31 paintings by Conrad Wise Chapman, the famous Confederate soldier artist, depicting scenes around Charleston during the war. A handful of Chapman’s paintings are well-known to Civil War historians and buffs alike, such as his famous portrait of the submersible H. L. Hunley,but most in the collection are much less known. Best of all, the exhibit uses Zoomify, an online tool that lets the viewer zoom right into painting to see the finest detail. While nothing beats seeing an original work in person, it’s probably also true that this tool lets the viewer examine works more closely, and at their leisure, than would ever be possible in a museum gallery.
A number of Chapman’s works depict the fortifications and batteries around Charleston, including Sumter, Moultrie and Morris Island. They’re not battle scenes, but depict those places in their day-to-day form, with soldiers drilling, chatting with civilians, or laborers working to build or repair the fortifications. These are especially intriguing to me, given that they suggest the likely appearance of some of the Confederate batteries here, of which I don’t think there are any contemporary depictions.
Congratulations to the Museum of the Confederacy and its sponsors — including the SCV’s Chester Station Camp No. 1503 — for their foresight and effort in bringing these works to a wider audience. Well done.
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Image: Detail of “Fort Moultrie Interior,” by Conrad Wise Chapman. A mounted officer supervises soldiers working at the entrance to a bombproof. Museum of the Confederacy.
Were Cooks Enlisted in the Confederate Army?
In a recent post, I took to task a well-known researcher on the subject of black Confederate soldiers, for her misrepresenting the case of a private in the 21st U.S. Colored Infantry, who upon enlistment was taken out of the ranks and assigned to work as a company cook. Although his subsequent disability discharge paperwork makes clear that the 42-year-old private’s reassignment as a cook was because “he has never been able to drill, or to march with the company, or do any military or fatigue duty,” the researcher stated, incorrectly, that he had enlisted specifically as a cook, and she then went on to argue that, because that man was a soldier in the Union army, all cooks in the Confederate army were soldiers, too.
In making her case, the researcher compared the USCT soldier to William H. Dove, an African American man who appears on the rolls of the 5th North Carolina Cavalry. In the comments that followed, one of my regular readers made a blunt point: “But if they were enlisted they were soldiers. William Dove, Cook, Co. E, 5th NC Cavalry was a soldier.”
That’s an entirely reasonable position to take. It’s simple, it’s logical, and it’s easily applied as a standard. But it also raises the question: were the cooks who accompanied and served the Confederate army actually enlisted?
[Before proceeding, let me clarify that in this post, I’m discussing men who worked full-time as unit cooks, not individual soldiers who took turns acting as “cook” for their messes.]
There are several ways to approach this question. A reasonable place to start would be the actual regulations for the Confederate States Army. Several editions of the regs were published from 1861 through 1864; I haven’t found an 1865 edition. But the wording in different editions of the regulations is so similar that I’ll take the mid-war edition of the Regulations for the Army of the Confederate States (“the only correct edition”), published in 1863, as representative. It also happens to be the edition in effect at the time William Dove joined the 5th North Carolina as a cook in December 1863.
While the Regulations go into considerable detail on the provision of cooks in military hospitals (see here and here and here), when it comes to field formations it’s almost completely silent. Article XLVI on the Confederate recruiting service, makes no mention of enlisting cooks in eighteen pages. Elsewhere the regulations are unclear, if not contradictory. They state, for example, that “as soldiers are expected to preserve, distribute, and cook their own subsistence, the hire of citizens for any of these duties is not allowed, except in extreme cases,” but elsewhere provide that each company would be allowed four cooks (as well as four washer-women) for distribution of rations, and that cooks of units embarked on military transports were exempted from one of the two required inspection formations daily. There were other arrangements, as well; in the closing days of the war, for example, Nathan Bedford Forrest issued general orders reorganizing and consolidating his command, instructing that “there will be allowed a negro cook to every mess of ten” troopers, a proportion more than double that allowed under army regulations for infantry units. There’s little clarity to be found in existing army policy and procedure. While the Regulations acknowledge the presence of, and make explicit allowance for, cooks in the Army, there’s no indication that the Richmond intended those men to be formally enlisted.
But regulations are one thing; practice is often another. Anyone who’s been part of a large organization knows that there’s often a wide divergence between policy — what’s supposed to be done — and what actually is done in the day-to-day operations of the group. Is there a way to get a rough estimate of how common it was for the Confederate Army to formally enlist cooks? Yes, there is.
The Data. The National Park Service developed its Civil War Soldiers & Sailors System (CWSSS), an online database, to include essential facts about servicemen who served on both sides during the war. It contains about 6.3 million names, which are themselves drawn from compiled service records (CSRs) held at the National Archives. CSRs are not regimental muster rolls, but are abstracted from them; long before they were transferred to NARA, file clerks at the War Department meticulously copied each man’s name, on each roll, to a long card along with other information about him drawn from the rolls. These, along with other paperwork — hospitalization records, receipts, requisitions, discharge papers and the like, were combined and filed in small folders, one for each man. (These are the documents, microfilmed and digitized, that are now available via commercial services like Footnote.) Because any given man might have his name listed differently on several documents, and because the clerks doing the work had no practical way to sort them out, there many duplications of names, alternate spellings, and so on. The end result of all this is that, while the CSRs and NPS database derived from them are not “clean” data — due in large part to the duplication of names — the CWSSS is a relatively comprehensive database.
It’s true that many contemporary records were lost, particularly Confederate unit records from the last months of the war, and so are not reflected in either the CSRs at the National Archives or the CWSSS. But while this poses a problem for researchers looking for a specific individual, it’s less a concern for the simple analysis offered here, which focuses on extant records only, to see how often cooks are reflected in the muster rolls of Confederate units. The fields available in the CWSSS include “Soldier’s Rank_In” and “Soldier’s Rank_Out,” which allow the researcher to quickly scroll through the names listed for each regiment, to identify men with the listing of “Cook” in either field.
Methods. I selected twenty Confederate regiments to look for men who appear in the CWSSS as “Cook,” either as their initial or final rank. Several regiments were ones that my own relatives had served in; others were suggested by readers of this blog. I tossed in a couple of other regiments on a whim, including the parent regiment of the famous companies of the (supposedly integrated) Richmond Howitzers, just for fun. I also included William Dove’s 5th North Carolina Cavalry, which was the only unit I knew going into the project that had at least one entry for a cook — the number of cooks in the other nineteen regiments were unknown to me at the time I began going through the lists.
Results. There are five entries for cooks, in 40,825 names total — one one-hundredth of one percent, as opposed to a figure between 3% and 5%, based on the organization outlined by army regs, at four cooks per company, or 40-45 cooks per infantry regiment at full strength. It’s possible I missed a few cooks in skimming through the regiments listed here, but even a dozen more men would barely move the needle. But if this sampling is broadly indicative of the Confederate army as a whole — and I don’t know why it wouldn’t be — then the larger situation is clear, that cooks were almost never carried on the rolls as enlisted men. Certainly there are other examples than the five men in the 5th North Carolina Cavalry, but even if there are scores more, they much represent a very tiny fraction of the thousands of men who served as army cooks at one time or another during the war.
So why, in this sample of 20 regiments, are there only a handful of examples clustered in the 5th North Carolina Cavalry? The answer may lie in those five men’s CSRs — four of the five were carried on the rolls of Company E of that regiment, and were placed there by Captain Thomas W. Harris. (The fifth man, like Hannibal Alexander, has a CSR that reflects only his parole from a Federal prison camp; his presence with the 5th North Carolina is not recorded.) Why did Captain Harris, in particular, formally enter these men on his company’s rolls when the other officers of the regiment did not? It’s apparent that these men were not themselves cavalry troopers; each one’s CSR carries the notation, like William Dove’s, “has no horse.” Did he he misunderstand the regulations, or common practice, or was there a specific reason? Whatever the answer, Harris’ decision to enter these men on the roster of Company E clearly stands in stark contrast to common practice; it’s very much a one-off situation.
There’s no question that Confederate cooks, body servants and others considered non-combatant did sometimes find their way into action. Richard Quarls, for example, is reputed to have picked up his master’s rifle when the man was hit, and defended him until he could be removed from the field. There are many such anecdotes, but it’s useful to keep in mind why such incidents were recorded in the first place — because they were out of the ordinary, and beyond the expected scope of those mens’ stations.
But against this there are at least as many accounts from Confederate soldiers of African American cooks and servants that gently mock them for supposed dumb indifference to enemy fire, or for their alleged comical cowardice. Val Giles, describing how his company of the 4th Texas Infantry was pinned down at the foot of Little Round Top after the previous day’s assault, noted that “Uncle” John Price brought up the company’s rations under fire, and promptly lay down behind a boulder and went to sleep, even as Yankee Minié balls splatted against the rocks, “making lead prints half as big as a saucer.” The Rev. J. N. Crain, told of an incident in an 1898 issue of the Confederate Veteran, about an outdoor religious service held after the Battle of Chickamauga:
In the early part of the service a battery belonging to “out friends the enemy” sent a shell, which exploded some two or three hundred yards below our position. A negro [sic.] cook, who had his belongings just outside of the place occupied by the congregation, put them over his shoulder with the significant remark: “this nigger is gwine to git out o’ here.” That caused a ripple of laughter in the congregation, but all sat still. During the long prayer of our service another shell came much nearer. When the prayer was finished and the chaplain’s eyes were opened he saw that the congregation, with the exception of five or six, had followed the cook.
African American cooks and servants were often remembered in this way, as a sort of comic relief, and even so august a personage as Robert E. Lee joined in humor at the expense of the servants’ dignity. John Brown Gordon, a corps commander in the Army of Northern Virginia and later the first Commander of the United Confederate Veterans, wrote in his memoir that
General Lee used to tell with decided relish of the old negro [sic.] (a cook of one of his officers) who called to see him at his headquarters. He was shown into the general’s presence, and, pulling off his hat, he said, “General Lee, I been wanting to see you a long time. I ‘m a soldier.”
“Ah? To what army do you belong—to the Union army or to the Southern army ?”
“Oh, general, I belong to your army.”
“Well, have you been shot ?”
“No, sir; I ain’t been shot yet.”
“How is that? Nearly all of our men get shot.”
“Why, general, I ain’t been shot ’cause I stays back whar de generals stay.”
This anecdote reinforces Gordon’s (and Lee’s) dismissal of the idea that the service of black men like the cook should be considered soldiers; what made the story amusing to both generals is that the man’s claim to status as a soldier was, to their thinking, preposterous on its face, and (according to Gordon) thought by Lee himself to be worthy of telling and re-telling.
These men were also sometimes the direct target of ribald and occasionally dangerous pranks by bored soldiers, in ways that fellow soldiers likely would not be. Clement Saussy, a private in Wheaton’s Light Battery (Chatham Artillery), told of one such incident in a 1906 issue of the Confederate Veteran:
Of course we had to have some amusement as the time passed, and I decided to have some fun with a negro [sic.] named Joe, who was cook for the “Jeff Davis Mess.” He was ignorant and superstitious. I told him the Yankees were going to shell our camp. He lived in a small hut near the mess house, and every night held a solo prayer meeting. While on picket duty at the ordnance stores I had obtained the powder from an eight-inch shell, and then had removed the fuse. The powder I took to camp and made a bomb out of an old canteen, placed it behind Joe’s house, and lighted the fuse. A number of the boys stood by with bricks, so that when the bomb exploded they were to pelt the house. The fuse burned too slow, and one of the boys said: “Saussy, go look at the fuse.” I crept up. peeped in, and said : “It’s burning all right.” “Blow it,” my companion said, and, without thinking, I blew it and it blew me, for off it went, about two pounds of powder close to my face, blinding my sight for the instant and burning my eyebrows and eyelashes. I fell over, but this was not all. The boys began the brickbat bombardment, and I received my full share of the bricks. Joe was badly scared and ran from the hut. I was temporarily put out of service, but it was fun all the same.
Saussy doesn’t say whether Joe also found being scared and pelted with brickbats “fun all the same.”
These are not respectful accounts; these are not the way one speaks of, or remembers, a peer. Anecdotes like these make clear that, while they might occasionally be praised for noteworthy actions, more commonly army cooks were mocked and derided, the butt of jokes and pranks at their expense. (One should note that their treatment in the Union army was probably little better.)
While it does appear that at least a handful of African American men were carried on the rolls of Confederate regiments, it’s equally clear that the practice was not only not common, but exceedingly rare compared to their actual numbers. Formal regulation, personnel records from the National Archives, and anecdotal evidence all make clear that, while Confederate cooks were an indispensable part of the army, and part of soldiers’ daily lives, they were almost never formally enlisted or carried on military rolls. As a general rule with (it seems) very few exceptions, cooks in the Confederate were not enlisted, and though part of the army, were legally, socially and operationally fundamentally different from the privates, corporals and lieutenants they served.
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Image: “Dick, sketched on the 6th of May, on return to camp,” by Edwin Forbes. A Union Army cook from 1863. Library of Congress.
“The blockade at last.”
On July 2, 1861, the U.S. Steamer South Carolina appeared off the bar at Galveston, the first Federal warship to be positioned on the Texas coast since the state declared its secession several months before. South Carolina‘s commander, Captain James Alden, Jr. (right, 1810-77), later summarized the event in three brief sentences in a dispatch to the Secretary of the Navy, Gideon Welles (ORN 16 576):
I have the honor to report that I arrived here on the 2d instant, and immediately hoisted a signal for a pilot for the purpose of communicating with the shore. In a short time a pilot boat came off, bearing a flag of truce and a document, a copy of which is herewith sent. In reply to it I enclosed a copy of your declaration of blockade, with a single remark that I was sent here to enforce it, which I should do to the best of my ability.
Fortunately we have a fuller picture of the events of that day. The war was a new, untested thing — the shocking casualties of First Manassas were still almost three weeks off — and both sides were still feeling each other out. From the Galveston Civilian and Gazette Weekly, July 9, 1861:
The Blockade at Last.
Yesterday forenoon the lookout on Hendley’s buildings ran up the red flag, signalizing war vessels, with the token for one sail and one steamer beneath, bringing groups of curious observers to the observatories with which Galveston is so well provided. In due time the dark hull of a large steam propeller loomed up above the waters, followed by a “low, black” but by no means “rakish looking schooner,” and approached the anchorage outside the bar.
By order of Capt. Moore, of the Confederate States Army, Capt. Thomas Chubb, with the pilot boar Royal Yacht, with our fellow citizen John S. Sydnor, proceeded to board the steamer, which proved to be the South Carolina, formerly in the New York and Savannah trade, but now converted into a war vessel.
The Royal Yacht, in answer to the pilot signal of the steamer, hoisted a flag; but the steamer evidently intended to force them to board the schooner; but this was not the intention. Capt. Chubb, on seeing the jack was down, put about for the city, being at the same time out of range, when the steamer hoisted a white flag. The Yacht then sent a boar alongside, bearing Col. Sydnor and Capt. Chubb. They were received with due ceremony and marked politeness. Col. Sydnor having delivered Capt. Moore’s letter, Capt., Alden gave him written notice of the blockade. A conversation of about an hour ensured, during which Capt. Alden was assured of the entire unity of our people in reference to resisting the oppression of the North. Capt. Alden expressed great regret that matters had reached such a pass, but said he was here to do his duty to his government, and that the intention was to enforce obedience to it. He gave no assurances as to the means which would be adopted to carry out his intentions as far as we are concerned.
The hatchways being closed and guns all covered, it was impossible to form any exact conclusions as to the strength of the steamer. She has six large guns, evidently 42 pounders, one large swivel near her bow, and at her stern two brass 6-pounders, all ready mounted for use as flying artillery. But a few men appeared on deck, and the only clue furnished as to her complement was in her clothing hanging up today. Capt. Chubb thinks there are about 150 on board.
Capt. Alden expressed the belief that his Government would soon be able to bring the Southern States into subjection, and, on being told that all classes of our people would suffer extermination first, seemed much surprised. He seemed disposed to converse freely in relation to our troubles, and received the plain talk and patriotic response on our two citizens on good humor. He said he was able to enforce the demands of his Government, and, if necessary, shell us out. He was assured that, whenever it came to that, we would give him a warm reception.
There was one feature in this affair worthy of note. Col. Sydnor is a native of the South, while Capt. Chubb was raised in the same town (Charleston, Mass.) with Capt. Alden. He was thus able to hear from his lips the unmistakable evidences that all our citizens of Southern, Northern, as well as foreign origin, are determined to fight to the last sooner than submit to the detestable rule of Lincoln.
The following is the reply of Capt. Alden to Capt. Moore’s note:
U.S. Steamer South Carolina
Off Galveston, July 2, 1861Capt. John O. Moore, C.S.A., & c.:
In answer to your communication of this date, I take the liberty of enclosing a declaration of blockade, which I am sent here to enforce, and amRespectfully your obedient servant,
James Alden, Com’r U.S. Steamer South Carolina____________
Declaration of Blockade
To all whom it may concern:
I, William Mervine, flag officer, commanding the United States naval forces comprising the Gulf squadron, give notice that, by virtue of the authority and power in me vested, and in pursuance of the proclamation of His Excellency the President of the United States, promulgated under date of April 19 and 27, 1861, respectively, that an effective blockade of the port of Galveston, Texas has been established, and will be rigidly enforced and maintained against all vessels (public armed vessels of foreign powers alone excepted) which attempt to enter or depart from said port.
Signed, William Mervine,
Flag Officer U.S. Flag Ship Mississippi, June 9, 1861.
I certify that the above is a true copy, James Alden, Com’r U.S. Navy.Neutral vessels will be allowed fifteen days to depart, from this date, viz., June [sic.] 2, 1861.
James Alden, Com’g.
The Hendley Buildings on Strand Street, Galveston, in the 1870s and in 2011. As one of the tallest commercial buildings in town at the time of the Civil War, the Hendley Buildings (or Hendley’s Row) were a natural lookout point for observers watching both the Gulf of Mexico and Galveston Bay. A red flag flown from this building on July 2, 1861 announced the much-anticipated arrival of the Federal blockade. Upper image: Rosenberg Library.
U.S.S. South Carolina, as drawn in 1948 by Eric Heyl. Via U.S. Naval Historical Center. South Carolina was built as a civilian packet steamer to operate on the Atlantic seaboard between Savannah, Charleston, Norfolk and Boston. She was iron-hulled, 217 feet long, 1,165 tons burthen. She served in the Gulf Blockading Squadron in 1861 and 1862, and spent the balance of the war with the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron. Sold out of the Navy after the end of hostilities, she became the civilian steamer Juanita in 1886. Her hull survived until 1902 when, as a barge, she foundered in a blizzard.
Additional details of the meeting between Alden, Chubb and Sydnor appeared in the New York Herald Tribune of July 31 quoting another Galveston paper:
In the course of the conversation, Capt. Alden expressed a desire to receive friendly visits from our citizens, and stated that he should especially be glad to have a visit from Gen. Houston. Col. Sydnor informed him, in reply, that though Gen. Houston had been a devoted Union man to the last, yet that now he had declared that he could no longer support the Stars and Stripes, but would fight to the last for the flag of the Confederate States. Capt. A. expressed his surprise and regret at this, and that his Government has no friends in Texas. But he said, nevertheless, he desired a friendly intercourse with our city, and hoped he might be hospitably received should he make us a visit.
Col. S. replied that he could not promise what kind of reception our authorities would give him. Capt. Alden inquired if there was not plenty of fish along our shore; he had heard there was, and he desired to catch some. He was informed that they were abundant along the beach, but that it might not be altogether prudent for his men to approach to near. Much of the conversation was in a jocular vein.
For all the strained humor about Alden’s interest in catching “fish,” both sides were in deadly earnest. Alden and South Carolina‘s crew wasted no time, celebrating the Fourth of July by capturing six small schooners, Shark, Venus, Ann Ryan, McCanfield, Louisa, and Dart. After providing his unwilling guests a large dinner in honor of the date, he sent them into Galveston under a flag of truce on Venus, McCanfield and Louisa, after judging those vessels worthless as prizes. The others Alden retained in hopes of fitting them with armament and using them for work in shallow water, close inshore.
One of the freed passengers, curiously enough, was John A. Wharton (right, 1828-65), who would later command the 8th Texas Cavalry, Terry’s Rangers, and eventually rise to the rank of Major General in the Trans-Mississippi Department. According to the Herald Tribune, Wharton was allowed to keep his personal valise, but the military goods he was coming back to Texas with — two boxes of arms purchased for Brazoria County, ten gross of military buttons, cloth for military uniforms “and a six-shooter” — were all seized by Alden’s men as contraband.
But these initial moves were still just a prelude; a few weeks later, Captain Alden and South Carolina would open the war for real along the Texas coast.
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What Does Hannibal Alexander Tell Us About Black Confederate PoWs?
One of the things that’s often offered as evidence of African Americans serving as Confederate soldiers is the fact that some of these men were captured and held in Northern prison camps. Why would these men be held if they were not soldiers? goes the thinking, and there are PoW records that show them as soldiers. It’s a compelling rhetorical argument, but reality is oftentimes more complex than that. From the Confederate Veteran, January 1901:
Hannibal Alexander was a slave belonging to Parker Alexander. He went with his young master, Sidney Alexander, to the war, and did his duty faithfully. “Ham” died recently in Monroe County, Miss. He and his wife Delia by industry made a good living and accumulated a competence, ever having the confidence and friendship of the white people about their lifetime home. Writes W. A. Campbell, of Columbus :
In the army he was cook. He was in the siege of Fort Donelson. He was captured there, and went to Camp Douglass [sic.] as a Confederate prisoner. He answered roll call all the time as a white soldier. Being a bright [i.e., light-skinned] mulatto, he was brought to Vicksburg and exchanged with the others, and again went with his young master into service.
The Federal sergeant that called the roll was somewhat suspicious as to “Ham” (as he was called by the boys) being a slave, but he was told that living in Mississippi he was sunburned and that made him dark.
Hannibal was a very intelligent negro [sic.], and knew if he left his master he could go free, but he elected to stay with him among the white men he had been raised with, and preferred to suffer with them.
I knew Hannibal for more than forty years as slave and freeman, and he was ever polite and friendly to all his former owners. In the old days I went on many a hunting and fishing expedition with Sidney, with “Ham” to wait on us.
His old master with whom he went in the army is yet alive, but in poor health.
There are a number of examples of mixed-race men “passing” to enter Confederate military service, only to be discharged when found out; Alexander’s is a case of “passing” to remain with his master inside the confines of Camp Douglas.
There’s a lot to digest in Hannibal Alexander’s story. The Confederate Veteran story is framed, typically, as that of a slave’s lifelong fidelity to his master, and willingness to suffer the (very real) hardships of a Federal prison camp to do so. (This short piece is part of a section called, “Faithful Negroes Who Were Slaves.”) But it’s important to recognize that this story makes it clear that in remaining in the camp, Alexander consciously chose to represent himself as a white soldier, rather than his actual status as an enslaved cook. The article also argues that his decision to remain was one of personal loyalty to his master, not to the regiment or the Confederacy. As others have often pointed out, it’s not sufficient just to say a man “served” when talking about slaves and the Confederate army; it’s important to make a distinction about who or what he was in service to.
And of course, we have nothing at all from Alexander himself to explain his decision.
Alexander’s story is revealing because a number of “black Confederate solders” have been so identified on the basis of documents just like Alexander’s compiled service record (CSR, right) that record their presence in Union prison camps. Based on his assumed identity, Alexander’s card identifies him as a private in the 20th Mississippi Infantry, a rank he never actually held. Significantly, too, there are only two items in Alexander’s CSR folder, both relating to his parole, and originating from Camp Douglas (“roll dated Headquarters Camp Douglas, Chicago, Ill.”). There’s no Confederate record for him, dating from before or after Camp Douglas, because he wasn’t considered a soldier. By comparison, the CSR for the master he served, Sidney Alexander, contains nine separate cards detailing his career as a private in Co. B of that regiment.
Hannibal Alexander’s case is an intriguing one for a number of reasons. How valuable would it be to have Alexander’s own, unvarnished account of these events, rather than as told through the eyes of his former master’s old friend? It would be useful to know how many African American cooks and servants found themselves, like Hannibal Alexander, swept up by the Union army and made the decision to remain in the camp, passing themselves off as enlisted soldiers to do so. It’s also a good object lesson in how there might be a CSR in the National Archives for a man who was never actually recognized as a soldier by the Confederacy.
Oh, one other thing — the Confederate Veteran piece says that Sidney Alexander returned to military service, but his CSR notes that in March 1863, six months after his parole from Camp Douglas, Sidney received a discharge after hiring a substitute. Rich man’s war, poor man’s fight, y’all.
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Image: Camp Douglas, Chicago, c. 1863. Chicago Historical Society.
Aye Candy
Some work-in-progress shots of my new digital model of Denbigh. The old model was OK a decade ago, but just not passable anymore. I want to at least get to the same complexity as my Will o’ the Wisp digital model. I’m using a few small bits from other models — one of the advantage of digital modeling, for sure — but the hull, sponsons and paddleboxes are entirely new. Retexturing will come near the end.
Anyway, it’s too damn hot to do much outside.
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Soldiers All
Recently I’ve gotten the sense that, among those who are pushing broad, generalized assertions about the involvement of African Americans in the Confederate war effort, there’s been a notable tendency to back off the specific claim that they were recognized as soldiers at the time, opting instead for much more vague terms like “black Southern loyalist” that, having no clear objective standard to begin with, can also neither be directly refuted. Such language is warm and fuzzy, but has the great advantage that it can be applied to almost anyone, based on almost anything. It also tells us as much about the speaker as it does about the subject.
Nonetheless, one of the more prominent advocates on the subject of BCS continues to twist herself in rhetorical knots to demonstrate retroactively that African American cooks, body servants, teamsters and so forth should actually be considered Confederate soldiers, regardless of how they were viewed at the time. She recently proposed definitions of “Black Confederate” and “Black Confederate Soldier:”
A “Black Confederate” is an African-American who is acknowledged as serving with the Confederate States Army during the American Civil War (1861-1865).
A “Black Confederate Soldier” is (1) an enlisted African-American in the Confederate States Army, (2) an African-American acknowledged by Confederate Officer(s) as engaged in military service, and/or (3) an African-American approved by the Confederate Board of Pension Examiners to receive a Confederate Pension for military service during the American Civil War (1861-1865).
There are multiple problems with these definitions. The first is that there’s no practical difference between “acknowledged as serving with the Confederate States Army” (Definition 1) and “acknowledged by Confederate Officer(s) as engaged in military service” (Definition 2). A Venn diagram of these would be an almost perfect circle. In this suggested scheme, “Black Confederate” and “Black Confederate Soldier” are entirely equivalent. Anyone should be able to see that, even without knowing anything more about the subject.
Second, she defines a soldier as anyone acknowledged “as having engaged in military service,” which falls back on the never-defined, all-encompassing word “service.” This is a common technique — see the discussion thread here — which sounds simple enough, but conflates a whole range of activities that, at the time, fell into clearly-defined realms.
Third, she’s still hopelessly muddled on the subject of pensions — who awarded them, and what they were awarded for, and what classes of pensions were awarded. Some states awarded pensions explicitly for former slaves/servants (e.g., Mississippi), while others did not. There was no single, central body called the “Confederate Board of Pension Examiners;” pension programs were set up by individual states, each with their own rules and procedures. Individual applications were usually reviewed and endorsed by local boards, which introduces all sorts of unknown variables in procedure and documentation. In at least some cases, the state verified applicants’ service records with the War Department — these materials were later transferred to the National Archives — and even this verification process appears to have resulted in at least one error of mis-identification. The famous Holt Collier, who probably comes as close as anyone to having actually been a Confederate combatant in practice, received three pension awards from Mississippi in his old age — first as a personal body servant, then as a soldier, then again as a servant. In short, pension records tell us very little about the applicants’ status forty, fifty, sixty years before. (The basic primer to understanding the process for awarding Confederate pensions — and their limitations — remains James G. Hollandsworth, Jr.’s manuscript, “Looking for Bob: Black Confederate Pensioners After the Civil War,” in the Journal of Mississippi History.)
This particular researcher has a long track record of glossing over distinctions between slaves and free African Americans, personal servants, cooks, and enlisted soldiers under arms. In the interest of reconciliation and reunion, she consistently rejects the hard realities of race, law and society in the mid-19th century, and insists that all Confederates, writ broad, saw themselves as standing on an equal footing. In an effort to draw an equivalency between African American men employed as cook in the Confederate army with those in the Union, she latches onto a single, three-word notation in the record of one Private Lott Allen of the 21st USCT :
On the left, Lot Allen enlisted with the Union Army 21st United States Colored Troops (USCT) Company A as an “on order cook.” [sic., “in duty cook”] On the right, William Dove enlisted with the Confederate States Army North Carolina 5th Cavalry Company D as a “cook.” Both men contribute to United States Military history; and their soldier service records are each recorded in the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).
Her statement about Private Allen is factually incorrect; as his compiled service record from NARA (14MB PDF) makes clear, Lott Allen enlisted as a U.S. soldier and, being 42 years old, was immediately assigned to work as a cook because he couldn’t keep up as an infantryman. His disability discharge from June 1865 says so explicitly: “Since his enlistment to the present date he has been Company Cook and is too old a man to perform the duty of a soldier.” The regimental surgeon, John M. Hawks, goes on to explain that Allen is unable to perform the duties of a soldier because of “old age; its consequent disability and infirmities. He has never been able to drill, or to march with the company, or do any military or fatigue duty; and he is too careless and slovenly for a cook.” Private Lott Allen didn’t enlist as a cook; he enlisted as a soldier, couldn’t cut it, and (it seems) wasn’t very good as a cook, either.
Posting elsewhere, the researcher takes her assumption about Private Allen and spins it off into a grand, sweeping claim encompassing thousands or tens of thousands of others:
The question is: Were there cooks, teamsters, laborers in the Union Army United States Colored Troops? The answer is yes. As an example in the image of this post, Private Allen Lot [sic.], a soldier with the Union Army 21st United States Colored Troops, served as an “On [sic.] Duty Cook.” See Private Allen Lot’s Union Soldier Service Record (NARA Catalog ID 300398).
Therefore, with this preponderance of the evidence, African-Americans on Confederate Soldier Service Records (muster rolls) who are listed as cooks, teamsters, laborers, etc. should likewise be called soldiers. The sun rises and it shines on us all.
She takes a single notation that this man was assigned as a cook and then extrapolates that to argue that all “who are listed as cooks, teamsters, laborers, etc. should likewise be called soldiers.” She makes what is formally known as a “converse accident,” but is a simple and obvious logical fallacy: she reasons that this soldier was a cook; therefore all cooks were soldiers. (And teamsters, and laborers. . . .)
It’s hard to know whether this researcher bothered to look at all of Allen’s CSR or just didn’t understand it, but it really doesn’t matter. Either way she misrepresents Allen’s actual situation, and then uses that flawed example to make a sweeping rhetorical argument applied to tens of thousands of men in an entirely different army.
This is, sadly, typical of most of the “research” that goes into BCS advocacy; it’s a mile wide and a half-inch deep. It’s pulling out a word here, a line there, and announcing it as “proof” with little consideration of the full record, even when, as in this case, it’s readily available. It’s about adding names to a list, with little or no real understanding of the larger story, or the historical context of the claim being made. It’s just unbelievably superficial.
There’s no question that tens of thousands of African Americans went into the field with the Confederate army as cooks, personal servants, teamsters, laborers, and so on. Some were free; most were slaves. Some undoubtedly went willingly, but far more went with with some degree of coercion (legal, economic, physical) guiding their steps. Some saw combat, even though very, very few were officially in a combat role. There is a tremendous, untapped resource there for serious research. But they were not formally considered soldiers at the time, by either the Confederate or Union army. Robert E. Lee didn’t recognize these men as soldiers; he thought such pretensions made a fine joke. Howell Cobb didn’t recognize these men as soldiers. Kirby Smith didn’t see these men as soldiers. So why do some people today, like this researcher, devote so much effort to retroactively designate them so? Why is “proving” that point so much more important than telling their actual stories as individuals? Sure, this researcher finds Lott Allen and William Dove useful for making an analogy, but does she offer any additional information about them? (Hint: if you’ve read this far, you already know more about Lott Allen than you’re ever likely to find on the researcher’s site.)
I regret feeling obligated to make this post at all, and have no doubt it will be framed as a personal attack on this particular researcher’s character. It’s not; I’ve repeatedly said before, and still believe, that she is sincere and well-intentioned in her efforts. But it’s also clear that she doesn’t understand the materials she’s working with, and has no sense of her own limitations in that regard. But she is viewed as a among BCS advocates as a leading researcher on the subject, and maintains an extensive website dedicated to it. If she is to be respected and valued as a researcher, she needs to be subject to the same fact-checking on her research and methodology that the rest of us are; she doesn’t get a pass because she’s not professionally trained, or because she’s well-intentioned.
There’s a saying, much quoted by True Southrons™, that “history is written by the winners.” This reflects their sincere belief that their own preferred historical narrative is somehow suppressed by professional historians and censored in academic curricula. That’s wrong; history is history, regardless of who writes it. But the work they do needs to stand up to scrutiny, and most of it just doesn’t.
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Mail-Order Heroes
Several heritage groups are teaming up to sell what they describe as a “Confederate PoW Medal.” It’s not, actually; it’s a descendant of a Confederate PoW medal, and says so right there on the badge: “Descendant of a Confederate POW, 1861-1865.”
One of my relatives spent a year and a half at Rock Island Barracks. Other Confederates imprisoned there described a terrible experience, and even four decades later my relative declined to discuss his confinement there in detail, even though he had lots to say about his other wartime adventures. He should’ve gotten a medal for it, to be sure. But the notion that, 150 years later, some collateral descendant he never imagined, much less actually knew, should be pinning such a medal on his own lapel is both asinine and deeply offensive.
Lookit — if I were to rummage through my late father-in-law’s stuff, and then step out wearing his old Purple Heart, I would be (1) possibly arrested, (2) probably punched in the face, and (3) certainly laughed at. And that’s as it should be.
This should be no different.
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Celebrating Independence Day in Vicksburg, 1877
It’s a common trope that the citizenry of Vicksburg, Mississippi, did not celebrate the Fourth of July until well into the 20th century. While it’s certainly true that the anniversary of the fall of that city to Grant in 1863 continued to resonate with Vicksburg residents down through the years, in fact the date was observed by plenty of local residents, white and black, even if the celebration was unofficial and somewhat more muted there than elsewhere. And they were celebrating it even when the war itself was a recent memory. From the Vicksburg Daily Commercial, July 3, 1877:
To-morrow being the anniversary of our Nations independence, all patriotic citizens of this great Republic are expected to observe it as a holiday. We desire to be reckoned among this class of patriotic citizens, consequently no paper will be issued from this office to-morrow. The glorious Fourth happens to come in hot weather this year, and we are glad to be able to observe it ‘neath the shade of country forests.
And a follow-up, on July 5:
The people of Vicksburg came nearer celebrating the glorious Fourth yesterday than they have done for several years. True, there was no general suspension of business, as indicated by closed doors, but so far as the profits of trade were concerned doors might as well have been closed, for the salesrooms were deserted almost entirely. Everybody was out of town, apparently, enjoying the holiday in some way. Several hundred people attended the Hibernian picnic at Newman’s Grove, and not withstanding the extreme heat, all seemed to enjoy the festivities of the day. The colored population turned out in large force, fully one thousand men of them going down the river on excursion bvoats to picnic-grounds, yet there were enough of them left in the city to form a very respectable procession of colored Masons, and a very large audience to listen to the oration of Judge J. S. Morris, and to assist in laying the corner-stone of King Solomon’s Church. There was no prolific display of fire-works on the streets, but occasional reports from fire-crackers and large torpedoes could be heard, accompanied now and then by a patriotic cry, “rah for the Fourth of July!” We do not wonder at the lack of patriotic enthusiasm displayed on our streets. No amount of patriotism could have induced any sane man to exert himself very considerably on such a day when the thermometer registered very nearly 100° Farenheit [sic.] in the shade. However, the observance of Independence Day yesterday, slight as some may have thought it, was yet sufficient to indicate the prevalence of a broader National sentiment and a determination to at least partially forget the past which renders the Fourth of July especially distasteful to Vicksburgers, and make it in future “The Day We Celebrate” as much as any other National holiday.
To be sure, the Fourth of July remained a bitter date for many Vicksburg citizens, for a long time. Undoubtedly there are some who still reject the date as one for celebration. But in this, as in so much else about the legacy of the war, the reality is more complex than the mythmakers would have one believe.
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Yankees in the Attic
Not my attic, as it happens, but my wife’s. It’s hardly a surprise, but it’s good to be able to confirm specific names and dates, rather than some vague understanding passed down by oral history. It appears that her great-grandfather’s two older brothers, James Bradley Ridge and George B. Ridge, both fought for the Union during the Civil War. Bradley, aged about 17, enlisted in Co. K of the 5th Connecticut Volunteer Infantry on July 21, 1861, and served with the regiment until discharged on July 5, 1865. His older brother George, age about 19, enlisted in the same company in January 1862, and served through the end of the war. He was promoted to Corporal in June 1865, and mustered out of the regiment on July 19, 1865 at Alexandria, Virginia.
The 5th Connecticut Volunteer Infantry was originally composed of companies formed in response to that state’s governor’s call for volunteers in April 1861. These units were disbanded after Lincoln’s call for 75,000 troops in May 1861, and reorganized themselves as the First Regiment, Colt’s Revolving Rifles, with famed gun maker Samuel Colt as their prospective colonel. The new regiment was quartered on the grounds of the Colt Patent Fire Arms Company at Hartford, but when Colt determined that the regiment should enlist as regulars, the new recruits refused. So the First Regiment of Colt’s Revolving Rifles was disbanded (again) and immediately reformed (again) as the 5th Connecticut Volunteer Infantry. And they never did get their Colt Revolving Rifles.
As part of the Army of the Potomac, the 5th Connecticut took part in Pope’s campaign in northern Virginia, and were heavily engaged at the Battle of Cedar Mountain on August 9, 1862. On that day Pope’s army ran smack into that of Stonewall Jackson. After initially pushing back the Confederate line, a swift counterattack by A.P. Hill’s troops turned the course of the action late in the day. The 5th Connecticut, in the thick of the fighting near a local landmark known as “the cabin” (below), lost 48 men killed or mortally wounded, 67 wounded and 64 captured, or 179 of the 380 men present — 47.1% casualties. The regimental history notes ruefully that these losses were “as large as all the rest of its battle service put together,” and among the highest of any Connecticut regiment during the entire war.
“Charge of Union troops of the left flank of the army commanded by Genl. Stonewall Jackson at Cedar Mountain,” by Edwin Forbes. Library of Congress.
The regiment was present at Second Manassas (Bull Run), and the following year in the Chancellorsville and Gettysburg campaigns. After Gettysburg, the regiment was transferred to the Army of the Cumberland, where in 1864 it participated in Sherman’s Atlanta campaign. According to its regimental history, the 5th Connecticut led the column of Sherman’s army that marched into Atlanta on September 2, 1864, after that city’s surrender:
September 2d. We all move forward toward the city of Atlanta, leaving our tents standing. Our regiment has the advance, and the Fifth Regiment Connecticut Veteran Volunteers have the honor of being the first Union regiment to march through the streets of the city of Atlanta. We have certainly earned the honor, for we have made a long and tedious campaign, having been 112 days and nights continually under fire, sleeping many nights in the trenches, fighting at every opportunity, always holding the ground and routing those opposed to us, and finishing the campaign with great honor to ourselves, to the State and to the General Government.
General Sherman says that we will rest in the city for thirty days, and I believe him.
Federal troops occupy former Confederate defensive works at Atlanta. A diarist in the 5th Connecticut recorded on September 10, 1864, “have visited the lines of fortification built by ourselves and the rebels around this city, and also looked around the city. Terrible destruction by shot and shell everywhere.” Library of Congress.
The 5th Connecticut went on to participate in Sherman’s “March to the Sea,” and in fighting up through the Carolinas in 1865. Bradley Ridge was reported missing after the Battle of Averasboro in North Carolina in March 1865, but eventually returned to the regiment. (I have not yet received his CSR, so don’t know the specifics, or if he was captured by Confederate forces.)
That particular line of my wife’s family has a long tradition of military service — her grandfather was gassed with the AEF during World War I, her dad served in the wars in Korea and Vietnam, her brother flew on medical evacuation missions during Desert Storm, and so on. Now that list goes a little farther back, still.
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Dead Confederates, A Civil War Era Blog 
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