Day 57. April 26, 1862. – We Saw a Grate Smoke Raise Up: Letters, Diaries, Wires from the Valley of the Late Rebellion

cotton floated down the Mississippi one sheet of living flame….

Saturday 26

Quite cool this morning and the sun has come up bright and the day was fine and the vegetation is springing up very rapidly and we are camped near Winchester now for some time. This is a delightful evening and the boys are enjoying* themselves very much. I am well

*As Brand says below, this must have been quite the day:

Army Life According to Arbaw: Civil War Letters of William A. Brand 66^th Ohio Volunteer Infantry Edited by Daniel A. Masters P. 52

“April 26, 1862— There is a threatening mutiny in camp just now, because “a storm before a calm” you know, plenty of money and nowhere to spend it, is really equal to drawing an elephant in a lottery. There is no grocery, no dry good store in Strasburg, and but one sutler’s store. But even the sutler shop is an aggravation for $20 billes are more numerous among the soldiers than dimes, quarters, and half dollars, so as the sutler has but little change usually, it is impossible almost to drive a trade with him.”

Terrible Swift Sword Bruce Catton P. 406

“Planters were supposed to burn their cotton to keep the Yankees from getting it. Since his baled cotton represented his whole year’s income the average planter hated to do this. He hated it even more if he lived where Yankee traders might come along and offer cash money for his crop. (It was unfortunately very hard to bargain with these traders, because if the price they offered was rejected a squad of Yankee soldiers was likely to show up and confiscate everything in sight, paying nothing at all.) The local Southern authorities therefore organized armed patrols and sent them up and down the river to burn all the cotton they could find. Here and there the planters offered resistance, and at a place called Carolina Landing, seventy miles above Vicksburg, a patrol was routed and forced to retreat; regular troops had to be sent up from Vicksburg, and the patrol at last burned the cotton behind a cordon of bayonets. A Chicago newspaper correspondent rejoiced that “this business of destroying the private property of citizens has done more to strengthen the national cause than all the victories our armies have achieved,” and one resident wrote despairingly to the governor of Mississippi that many planters had simply abandoned their homes and moved away. Overseers were running off, the slaves were out of control, and unless something was done soon the Yankees would get 20,000 bales of cotton out of one country.”

A Confederate Girl’s Diary Sarah Morgan Dawson P. 16-18

(Writing from Baton Rouge April 26, 1862)

“There is no word in the English language that can express the state in which we are, and have been, these last three days. Day before yesterday, news came early in the morning of three of the enemy’s boats passing the Forts, and then the excitement began. It increased rapidly on hearing of the sinking of eight of our gunboats in the engagement, the capture of the Forts, and last night, of the burning of the wharves and cotton in the city while the Yankees were taking possession. To-day, the excitement has reached the point of delirium.

We went this morning to see the cotton burning — a sight never before witnessed, and probably never again to be seen. Wagons, drays, — everything that can be driven or rolled, — were loaded with the bales and taken a few squares back to burn on the commons. Negroes were running around, cutting them open, piling them up, and setting them afire. All were as busy as though their salvation depended on disappointing the Yankees. Later, Charlie sent for us to come to the river and see him fire a flatboat loaded with the precious material for which the Yankees are risking their bodies and souls. Up and down the levee, as far as we could see, negroes were rolling it down to the brink of the river where they would set them afire and push the bales in to float burning down the tide. Each sent up its wreath of smoke and looked like a tiny steamer puffing away. Only I doubt that from the source to the mouth of the river there are as many boats afloat on the Mississippi. The flatboat was piled with as many bales as it could hold without sinking. Most of them were cut open, while negroes staved in the heads of barrels of alcohol, whiskey, etc., and dashed bucketsful over the cotton. Others built up little chimneys of pine every few feet, lined with pine knots and loose cotton, to burn more quickly. There, piled the length of the whole levee, or burning in the river, lay the work of thousands of negroes for more than a year past. It had come from every side. Men stood by who owned the cotton that was burning or waiting to burn. They either helped, or looked on cheerfully. Charlie owned but sixteen bales — a matter of some fifteen hundred dollars; but he was the head man of the whole affair, and burned his own, as well as the property of others. A single barrel of whiskey that was thrown on the cotton, cost the man who gave it one hundred and twenty-five dollars. (It shows what a nation in earnest is capable of doing.) Only two men got on the flatboat with Charlie when it was ready. It was towed to the middle of the river, set afire in every place, and then they jumped into a little skiff fastened in front, and rowed to land. The cotton floated down the Mississippi one sheet of living flame, even in the sunlight. It would have been grand at night. But then we will have fun watching it this evening anyway; for they cannot get through to-day, though no time is to be lost. Hundreds of bales remained untouched. An incredible amount of property has been destroyed to-day; but no one begrudges it. Every grog-shop has been emptied, and gutters and pavements are floating with liquors of all kinds. So that if the Yankees are fond of strong drink, they will fare ill.”

Note: The language fails because acts can run faster than words can catch up to them.

Hearts Touched by Fire: The Best of Battles and Leaders of the Civil War Edited by Harold Holzer P. 1045-1046

MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA AND THE CAROLINAS.

Danial Oakey, Captain, 2d Massachusetts Volunteers

“Before the middle of November, 1864, the inhabitants of Atlanta, by Sherman’s orders, had left the place. Serious preparations were making for the march to the sea. Nothing was to be left for the use or advantage of the enemy. The sick were sent back to Chattanooga and Nashville, along with every pound of baggage that could be dispensed with. The army was reduced, one might say, to its fighting weight, no man being retained who was not capable of a long march. Our communications were then abandoned by destroying the railroad and telegraph. There was something intensely exciting in this perfect isolation.

The engineers had peremptory orders to avoid any injury to dwellings, but to apply gunpowder and the torch to public buildings, machine-shops, depots, and arsenals. Sixty thousand of us witnessed the destruction of Atlanta, while our post band and that of the 33d Massachusetts played martial airs and operatic selections. It was a night never to be forgotten. Our regular routine was a mere form, and there could be no “taps” amid the brilliant glare and excitement.

The throwing away of superfluous conveniences began at daybreak. The old campaigner knows what to carry and what to throw away. Each group of messmates decided which hatchet, stew-pan, or coffee-pot should be taken. The single wagon allowed to a battalion carried scarcely more than a grip-sack and blanket, and a bit of shelter tent about the size of a large towel, for each officer, and only such other material as was necessary for regimental business. Transportation was reduced to a minimum, and fast marching was to be the order of the day. Wagons to carry the necessary ammunition in the contingency of a battle, and a few days’ rations in case of absolute need, composed the train of each army corps, and with one wagon and one ambulance for each regiment made very respectable “impediments,” averaging about eight hundred wagons to a corps.

At last came the familiar “Fall in”; the great “flying column” was on the march, and the last regiment in Atlanta turned its back upon the smoking ruins. Our left wing (the Fifteenth and Seventeenth corps under Howard) bent its course as if for Augusta. Skirmishers were in advance, flankers were out, and foraging parties were ahead gathering supplies from the rich plantations. We were all old campaigners, so that a brush with the militia cavalry was soon disposed of. We were expected to make fifteen miles a day; to corduroy the roads where necessary; to destroy such property as was designated by our corps commander, and to consume everything eatable by man or beast.

Milledgeville proved to be Sherman’s first objective, and both wings came within less than supporting distance in and around the capital of the State. Our colored friends, who flocked to us in embarrassing numbers, told many stories about the fear and flight of the inhabitants at the approach of Sherman.

Cock-fighting became one of the pastimes of the “flying column.” Many fine birds were brought in by our foragers. Those found deficient in courage and skill quickly went to the stew-pain in company with the modest barn-yard fowl, but those of redoubtable valor won an honored place and name, and were to be seen riding proudly on the front seat of an artillery caisson, or carried tenderly under the arm of an infantry soldier.”

Note: Ahead to Xmas Eve, 1864:

Marching with Sherman: Passages from the Letters and Campaign Diaries of Henry Hitchcock, Major and Assistant Adjutant General of Volunteers, November 1864–May 1865 (1927) Major Henry Hitchcock P. 202-203

IN THE FIELD, SAVANNAH, Ga.

December 24, 1864

Christmas Eve 9 P.M.

“But the greatest in-door feature of our residence in Savannah has been the general’s new-found colored friends who have come by hundreds, I was going to say, to see “Mr. Sherman.” The morning we entered the city he rode down at once to the river-bank and went up to a signal station on the roof of a warehouse; and by the time we got down to the street again a crowd of them had gathered who pressed around him to welcome him and shake hands and tell him how long they had watched and prayed for his coming. After we came to this house they soon began to find out that we would see them, and for several days there was a constant stream of them, old and young, men, women and children, black, yellow and cream-colored, uncouth and well-bred, bashful and talkative—but always respectful and well-behaved—all day long, anxious to pay their respects and to see the man they had heard so much of, and whom—as more than one of them told him,—God had sent to answer their prayers. Frequently they came in a dozen or twenty at a time, to his room up-stairs where he usually sits, and where, as my writing is done there, I have been in the way of seeing it all. He has always had shown them in at once, stopping a dispatch or letter or conversation to greet them in his off-hand—though not undignified way—“Well, boys,—come to see Mr. Sherman, have you? Well, I’m Mr. Sherman—glad to see you”—and shaking hands with them all in a manner highly disgusting, I dare say, to a “refined Southern gentleman.” Almost all of them who have talked at all have spoken of our sucess and their deliverance with an apparently religious feeling.—“Been prayin’ for you all long time, Sir, prayin’ day and night for you, and now, bless God, you is come”—etc. One old preacher likened himself to Simeon of old, kindly reminding the General of all the particulars as given in the Gospel. Indeed there have been some quite touching scenes, and I have wished Dr. Post could have witnessed them. The General gives them all good advice—briefly and to the point, telling them they are free now, have no master nor mistress to support, and must be industrious and well-behaved, etc.

Meanwhile, the white citizens are “subjugated,” and, what is more, they—or their leading men, lately “loyal” to Jeff. Davis,—say openly that the C.S.A. is “played out.” The meeting held and resolutions adopted today—such as they are—were absolutely voluntary, without suggestion from us; and the signers to the call and others who took part embrace leading and influential citizens, heretofore active rebels, now convinced.”

The South: A Tour of its Battlefields and Ruined Cities, A Journey Through the Desolated States, and Talks with the People, 1867 J.T. Trowbridge, J.H. Segards, Editor P. 481

“The flight from Milledgeville, including the stampede of the Rebel State legislators, who barely escaped being entrapped by our army,—the crushing of passengers and private effects into the overloaded cars, the demand for wheeled vehicles, and the exorbitant prices paid for them, the fright, the confusion, the separation of families,—forward a scene which neither the spectators nor the actors in it will soon forget.

The negroes had all along been told that if they fall into the hands of the Yankees they would be worked to death on fortifications, or put into the front of the battle and shot if they did not fight, or sent to Cuba and sold; and that the old women and young children would be drowned like cats and blind puppies. And now the masters showed their affection for these servants by running off the able-bodied ones, who were competent to take care of themselves, and leaving the aged, the infirm, and the children, to the “cruelties” of the invaders. The manner in which the great mass of the remaining negro population received the Yankees, showed how little they had been imposed upon by such stories, and how true and strong their faith was in the armed deliverance which Providence had ordained for their race.

P. 561

A soldier, passing in the streets, and seeing some children playing with a beautiful little greyhound, amused himself by beating its brains out. Another soldier with a kinder heart, to comfort them, told them not to cry, and proposed to have a funeral over the remains of their little favorite. He put it in a box, and went to bury it in the garden, directly on the spot where the family treasures were concealed. The proprietor, in great distress of mind, watched the proceedings, fearful of exciting suspicion if he opposed it, and trembling lest each thrust of the spade should reveal the secret. A corner of the box was actually laid bare, when, kicking some dirt over it, he said, “There, that will do, children!” and hastened the burial.’”

Note: Puppies, just some puppies. Alive. Reader, play with the puppies now.

Note: Hannah Arendt: “The sad truth of the matter is that most evil is done by people who never made up their minds to be or do either good or evil.”

Note: By 1864, 300k bales remained, out of over 4 million in 1861.

Note: Today, in 1865, Sherman & Johnston finalize surrender terms. For more, see https://www.historynet.com/nothin-surrender-bennett-place.htm. Also, John Wilkes Booth is killed April 26, 1865. The Sultana disaster happens the next day. These were the terms: https://historicsites.nc.gov/all-sites/bennett-place/history/april-26-1865-agreement

April 26, 1865 Agreement

Terms of a Military Convention, entered into this 26th day of April, 1865, at Bennitt’s House, near Durham Station, North Carolina, between General Joseph E. Johnston, commanding the Confederate Army, and Major-General W.T. Sherman, commanding the United States Army in North Carolina:

All acts of war on the part of the troops under General Johnston’s command to cease from this date.
All arms and public property to be deposited at Greensboro, and delivered to an ordinance-officer of the United States Army.
Rolls of all the officers and men to be made in duplicate; one copy to be given to an officer to be designated by General Sherman. Each officer and man to give individual obligation in writing not to take up arms against the Government of the United States, until properly released from this obligation.
The side-arms of officers, and their private horses and baggage, to be retained by them.
This being done, all the officers and men will be permitted to return to their homes, not to be disturbed by the United States authorities, so long as they observe their obligation and the laws in force where they may reside.

W. T. Sherman, Major-General
Commanding United States Forces in North Carolina

J. E. Johnston, General
Commanding Confederate States Forces in North Carolina

Approved: U. S. Grant, Lieutenant-General

Note: NYT surrender reportage is behind a paywall for me. I think it was so recent, that’s why? See https://www.bennettplacehistoricsite.com/history/surrender-negotiations for more general info.

the boys are enjoying themselves very much….

Historians, generally at top universities, get naming rights. They determine what history even encompasses, how it’s passed down. They set the parameters within which historical truth operates. The generally White male historians assure the public that we should take their word for it, their word is the last. Subsequent generations of them sold off the Real War when they decided not to include everyone in who was there. And there were few repercussions; who was there to holler about it? The Black population, remember, the race most affected by the Civil War’s outcome.

Lost Cause rhetoricians began sinking their fangs in the pages, eventually devouring the record. They knew their lines & hit their marks, repeating the “Master Narrative” of each generation’s Chief of Interpretation, his (usually) willfully selective version of events, that flat snap of a surgeon’s glove coming off. It’s not something you can test the blood for, what their interpretive framework is, what their agenda is. They’ll tell you after every war there’s a certain point where the information just gives out. Stops. And there’s nothing left to be said. That itself reflects an agenda. This is not such a war. Nothing is ever completely off the record. Not for long. Not if you find it. It’s no longer a closed discussion. The most Real War has shown up, and original sources are being discovered all the time… The Civil War is very much still alive in the America of the 2020s.

How many historians are there in the U.S.? How does the record get chosen & onto the books? Past who it needs to get past, the shuttered line about who, what, when, where, why, & how written by academics with hands that were not up grabbing at the sky, pleading like men in the Crater just rampagingly thrown in upside down, back to front, pages missing later, pages in other places, limbs never recovered, books buried beyond anyone’s seeing. Beyond writing. Beyond the record.

There was always a there, here. It took until the end of the sixties, the nineteen sixties, for a piece of flesh to rip from the face-saving, for them to come flat-faced to the record’s elisions, for the books to start listing at a sharp angle. Historical understanding moved into another land of measurement when momentum shifted beyond a recitation of the facts, numbers, battlefield outcomes (which had a very low center of gravity to begin with, alongside degrees of frame-up, cover-up) to the lived side. These elisions were not accidents of comprehension, fundamental misunderstandings or confusion about basic principles of phenomenology, ontology, or epistemology that stopped time in the archival sense, as if time was ever any different than it is. This was deliberate erasure: What they claimed not to see was what was there all along. At last the record moved into another land of measurement to where accounts emerged from what the White male historians considered “outtakes”– they start finally including Black folks themselves– and women themselves– the two populations there all along in larger numbers than them this whole time– now allowed to show up as material witnesses. Witnesses who went from waiting in the night like remains in a strange bird nest held in position by its own weight, a nest that had had its own forcefield all along that decided, as if apropos of nothing, to let go its shiny objects. Car keys, a bottle cap, a scrap of paper when it was the New-York Daily Times & not yet the New York Times. Before it started the Sunday editions in ’61, in order to cover the war daily.

“History is what people are trying to hide from you, not what they’re trying to show you. You search for it in the same way you sift through a landfill: for evidence of what people want to bury.” Hilary Mandel

“When the waterholes were dry, people sought to drink at the mirage.” Evelyn Waugh

“Bro ain’t nobody celebrating being American tomorrow niggas just like BBQ and fireworks” July 3, 2018 Don Gotti account

4/26/21: Today’s headline: “Gov. Reeves said he wanted to promote unity. Then he declared Confederate Memorial Day.” Yes, Mississippi.

4/26/22: For anyone interested, today is Gen. Grant’s 200th birthday. The U.S. Capitol Historical Society this morning in D.C. held a commemoration at the Grant Memorial. Senator Roy Blunt spoke of Reconstruction, the Lost Cause, & that Grant was, way back, considered one of the “great three presidents.” See YouTube, Ulysses S. Grant Bicentennial Commemoration, 95 views, streamed an hour ago.

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