Speaking of Hay and Nicolay, I finished an excellent book about the secretaries a few months ago: Lincoln’s Men: The President and His Private Secretaries
Lincoln’s Men: The President and His Private Secretaries: Daniel Mark Epstein: Amazon.com: Books.
The Smithsonian has just released this fabulous coffee table book, Smithsonian Civil War: Inside the National Collection
Smithsonian Civil War is a lavishly illustrated coffee-table book featuring 150 entries in honor of the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. From among tens of thousands of Civil War objects in the Smithsonian’s collections, curators handpicked 550 items and wrote a unique narrative that begins before the war through the Reconstruction period. The perfect gift book for fathers and history lovers, Smithsonian Civil War combines one-of-a-kind, famous, and previously unseen relics from the war in a truly unique narrative.
Smithsonian Civil War takes the reader inside the great collection of Americana housed at twelve national museums and archives and brings historical gems to light. From the National Portrait Gallery come rare early photographs of Stonewall Jackson and Ulysses S. Grant; from the National Museum of American History, secret messages that remained hidden inside Lincoln’s gold watch for nearly 150 years; from the National Air and Space Museum, futuristic Civil War-era aircraft designs. Thousands of items were evaluated before those of greatest value and significance were selected for inclusion here. Artfully arranged in 150 entries, they offer a unique, panoramic view of the Civil War.
The Civil War Round Table of Toronto was graced last night by Hibberd V. B. Kline
Col. Kline published his first book to great acclaim within our Round Table, and apparently to Amazon readers as well – his book currently has a five star rating. Anyone in the mood for some thoughtful historical fiction would do well to start here.
I found this absolutely delightful anecdote in John F. Marszalek’s Sherman: A Soldier’s Passion for Order
“Some time after Grant was elected President I went to call on him at the White House. I had been struck with the number and speed of his horses, and with the delight it seemed to give him to be in their company. So I said to him, ‘General, fine horses seem to have become a fad with you.’
“‘Well, Sherman,’ said he, “we all must have our fads these days. It seems to have become the fashionable thing. I have all my life been intensely fond of good horseflesh. In my youth I hadn’t the means to indulge this fancy. Later in life I had not the time. Now, when for the first time I have both the money and the leisure, I am indulging it and enjoying it to the full.’
“‘Well, general,’ said I, ‘I suppose I’ll have to be getting a fad myself I never have had one, and if I have one now I don’t know it. Let me see — let me see: what shall it be? I have it! You may drive your fast horses, and I will kiss all the pretty girls. Ha! ha! that shall be my fad.'”
Sherman is always thought of as The Destroyer, so it was hilarious to read about this later-years campaign, which by all accounts, he undertook with as much gusto as the destruction of the South.
The anecdote and many stolen-kiss followups can be found in this free online book (added to the Library), which sure seems to be a must-read for Sherman buffs like me, born 150 years too late to snare a kiss from the old rascal in person.
I went looking for this book after another rewatching of the Ken Burns series. Cox’s writing is used throughout, and for good reason; he was a thoughtful, observant, and effective reporter of the events surrounding him. Sadly, the four versions available for free have plenty of OCR mistakes (“Richmond” seems to be unreadable to every scanner in North America), but is worth checking out for descriptions like this.
[Sherman’s] nervous and restless temperament, with a tendency to irritability, might have raised a doubt whether he would be successful in guiding and directing men of the capacity of his principal subordinates ; but experience showed that he had the rare faculty of beconiing more equable imder great responsibilities and in scenes of great excitement. At such times his eccentricities disappeared, his grasp of the situation was firm and clear, his judgment was cool and based upon sound military theory as well as upon quick practical judgment, and no momentary complication or unexpected event could move him from the purposes he had based on full previous study of contingencies. His mind seemed never so clear, his confidence never so strong, his spirit never so inspiring, and his temper never so amiable as in the crisis of some fierce struggle like that of the day when McPherson fell in front of Atlanta.
If you want to read this without the digital errors, there is a version for sale that features actual scans of the original pages.
Atlanta : Jacob Dolson Cox : Free Download & Streaming : Internet Archive.
Some of the quotes from the Lincoln article I posted originate in this book. I haven’t posted any free e-books in a while, so the timing is right to link to this one.
I particularly loved the sensitivity of this anecdote. Lincoln’s hands have been an historical fascination since his election. I imagine his gentle touch resonated:
When he had finished you may be sure there was no more joking or bantering. I know that for myself, I was so impressed with the poem that I felt more like crying than talking ; but as he turned to go upstairs, I said, ‘Mr. Lincoln, who wrote that? ‘ He turned and came back to where I was sitting and said: ‘ Miss Newhall, I am ashamed to say I don’t know, but if you like it I will write it off for you before I go to bed tonight and leave it for you on the table where you can get it when you have breakfast.’
It was the intention of the lawyers to leave earlier than we had planned. I was sitting at breakfast, eating by candle light, and I recall very distinctly I was eating pancakes and was in the act of cutting one, holding it with my fork while I used the knife, when I was conscious of some motion behind me, and a great big hand took hold of my left hand, or rather covering it on the table, and with his right hand around over my other shoulder, he laid down a piece of paper just in front of my plate. Before I could realize who or what it was, Mr. Lincoln moved toward the door, saying ‘ Goodbye, my dear.’ That was the last time I ever saw him.
In recent years, I’ve fallen out of the habit of reading books; I now spend most of my time on Wikipedia. Now that I’m working (or not working, as is currently the case) from home, I thought it time to rectify this error. In honor of the sesquicentennial (and as research for the podcast by which I’m planning to observe it) I’ve been trying to tackle my personal library of Civil War books.
One that has been in my library – and woefully neglected – for decades is Sam Watkins’ famous Co. Aytch, whose original subtitle “A sideshow of the big show” seems to have been dropped. This is a shame, as it’s a terrific précis of Watkins’ memoirs. He repeatedly warns us that he was but a lowly “high private”, and was but one of the millions of faceless men and boys who fought the war. Like all old soldiers, he revels in his anecdotes and tall tales, and sombrely recounts some of the horrors he witnessed.
To do this is but a pastime and pleasure, as there is nothing that so much delights the old soldier as to revisit the scenes and battlefields with which he was once so familiar, and to recall the incidents, though trifling they may have been at the time.
His unmilitary descriptions of battle and tactics are humorously rendered in sound effects and grumbles, as befits a soldier of the line.
After marching four or five miles, we “about faced” and marched back again to within two hundred yards of the place from whence we started. It was a “flank movement,” you see, and had to be counted that way anyhow. Well, now as we had made the flank movement, we had to storm and take the Federal lines, because we had made a flank movement, you see. When one army makes a flank movement it is courtesy on the part of the other army to recognize the flank movement, and to change his base. Why, sir, if you don’t recognize a flank movement, you ain’t a graduate of West Point.
Watkins is good at relaying colorful asides about life in the Rebel ranks. This passage illustrates both the private soldiers’ contempt for staff officers (something you’d never hear about in the books by the “big bugs” under whom he served) and how Sam wasn’t above usurping their privileges when it suited him:
[The average staff officer and courier were always called “yaller dogs,” and were regarded as non-combatants and a nuisance, and the average private never let one pass without whistling and calling dogs. In fact, the general had to issue an army order threatening punishment for the ridicule hurled at staff officers and couriers. They were looked upon as simply “hangers on,” or in other words, as yellow sheep-killing dogs, that if you would say “booh” at, would yelp and get under their master’s heels… In fact, later in the war I was detailed as special courier and staff officer for General Hood, which office I held three days. But while I held the office in passing a guard I always told them I was on Hood’s staff, and ever afterwards I made those three days’ staff business last me the balance of the war. I could pass any guard in the army by using the magic words, “staff officer.” It beat all the countersigns ever invented. It was the “open sesame” of war and discipline.]
One of the best reasons to read the memoir is for the feel of living alongside Watkins and his comrades. Between the horrors of battle, the soldiers had some memorably enjoyable times, and Watkins – a cad and a cutup – would’ve made for a fun companion across four years of hard marching. He certainly was across 200 pages.
As long as I was in action, fighting for my country, there was no chance for promotion, but as soon as I fell out of ranks and picked up a forsaken and deserted flag, I was promoted for it… And had I only known that picking up flags entitled me to promotion and that every flag picked up would raise me one notch higher, I would have quit fighting and gone to picking up flags, and by that means I would have soon been President of the Confederate States of America.
There’s a reason Watkins’ story is so heavily quoted in narratives and documentaries about the war. This is a tale told far less often, and far more endearingly, than the dry, dusty military memoirs. Every Civil War bookshelf needs some Sam Watkins.
In yesterday’s post on Bunny Breckinridge, I mentioned his great-grandpa’s fury at Sherman’s whiskey-based neglect. It’s a great story, and I’ve copy-pasted a version here. It’s taken from the memoirs of John S. Wise, son of the Virginia governor Henry A. Wise. Through him Wise Jr. had apparently told him by Joe Johnston – the other General in the room during the negotiations.
” You know how fond of his liquor Breckinridge was?” added General Johnston, as he went on with his story.
“Well, nearly everything to drink had been absorbed. For several days, Breckinridge had found it difficult, if not impossible, to procure liquor. He showed the effect of his enforced abstinence. He was rather dull and heavy that morning. Somebody in Danville had given him a plug of very fine chewing tobacco, and he chewed vigorously while we were awaiting Sherman’s coming. After a while, the latter arrived. He bustled in with a pair of saddlebags over his arm, and apologized for being late. He placed the saddlebags carefully upon a chair. Introductions followed, and for a while General Sherman made himself exceedingly agreeable. Finally, some one suggested that we had better take up the matter in hand.
“Yes,” said Sherman, “but, gentlemen, it occurred to me that perhaps you were not overstocked with liquor, and I procured some medical stores on my way over. Will you join me before we begin work ?
General Johnston said he watched the expression of Breckinridge at this announcement, and it was beatific. Tossing his quid into the fire, he rinsed his mouth, and when the bottle and the glass were passed to him, he poured out a tremendous drink, which he swallowed with great satisfaction. With an air of content, he stroked his mustache and took a fresh chew of tobacco.
Then they settled down to business, and Breckinridge never shone more brilliantly than he did in the discussions which followed. He seemed to have at his tongue’s
end every rule and maxim of international and constitutional law, and of the laws of war, international wars, civil wars, and wars of rebellion. In fact, he was so resourceful, cogent, persuasive, learned, that, at one stage of the proceedings, General Sherman, when confronted by the authority, but not convinced by the eloquence or learning of Breckinridge, pushed back his chair and exclaimed: “See here, gentlemen, who is doing this surrendering anyhow? If this thing goes on, you ll have me sending a letter of apology to Jeff Davis.”
Afterward, when they were Hearing the close of the conference, Sherman sat for some time absorbed in deep thought. Then he arose, went to the saddlebags, and fumbled for the bottle. Breckinridge saw the movement. Again he took his quid from his mouth and tossed it into the fireplace. His eye brightened, and he gave every evidence of intense interest in what Sherman seemed about to do.
The latter, preoccupied, perhaps unconscious of his action, poured out some liquor, shoved the bottle back into the saddle-pocket, walked to the window, and stood there, looking out abstractedly, while he sipped his grog.
From pleasant hope and expectation the expression on Breckinridge s face changed successively to uncertainty, disgust, and deep depression. At last his hand sought the plug of tobacco, and, with an injured, sorrowful look, he cut off another chew. Upon this he ruminated during the remainder of the interview, taking little part in what was said.
After silent reflections at the window, General Sherman bustled back, gathered up his papers, and said: “These terms are too generous, but I must hurry away before you make me sign a capitulation. I will submit them to the authorities at Washington, and let you hear how they are received.” With that he bade the assembled officers adieu, took his saddlebags upon his arm, and went off as he had come.
General Johnston took occasion, as they left the house and were drawing on their gloves, to ask General Breckinridge how he had been impressed by Sherman.
“Sherman is a bright man, and a man of great force,” replied Breckinridge, speaking with deliberation, “but,” raising his voice and with a look of great intensity, ” General Johnston, General Sherman is a hog. Yes, sir, a hog. Did you see him take that drink by himself?”
General Johnston tried to assure General Breckinridge that General Sherman was a royal good fellow, but the most absent-minded man in the world. He told him that the failure to offer him a drink was the highest compliment that could have been paid to the masterly arguments with which he had pressed the Union commander to that state of abstraction.
“Ah!” protested the big Kentuckian, half sighing, half grieving, ” no Kentucky gentleman would ever have taken away that bottle. He knew we needed it, and needed it badly.”
The story was well told, and I did not make it public until after General Johnston s death. On one occasion, being intimate with General Sherman, I repeated it to him. Laughing heartily, he said: “I don t remember it. But if Joe Johnston told it, it s so. Those fellows hustled me so that day, I was sorry for the drink I did give them,” and with that sally he broke out into fresh laughter.
In researching one of my Podcast topics, I was directed to The Class of 1846
Sadly, I got caught up with Sam Watkins instead, and my hold is about to expire. I’ve added it to my wish list, though – my library doesn’t feel complete without it.
My sizeable collection of Civil War books expands regularly without me making much of a contribution to the “read” shelf, so I’m making an effort to read more this year.
First up was Burke Davis’ Sherman’s March. It may seem contradictory to start a reading campaign with a title I’ve already read, but in my defense, I was on a Sherman kick and this was the book that introduced me to my favourite manic-depressive, redheaded demolition expert. (Also, in a nice little coincidence, my inscription on the inside cover indicates that it’s exactly 20 years since I bought and read it.)
Davis’ style is easy, and his presentation is heavily reliant on first-person accounts – letters and diaries of soldiers and Southerners. As such, he had a wealth of terrific anecdotes to draw from, and these are presented in short blocks of text that make for a breezy read. He imparts a great image of exactly how big a “pleasure excursion” this was for the troops, how devastating it was for the natives, and how Sherman truly earned his outsized reputation from both camps. The army exhibits its own personality, too:
It was an absurb caricature of an army, with hardly a complete uniform in its ranks. Half the men were barefoot or wore wrappings of old blankets or quilts. Socks had disappeared months before. There was a sprinkling of rebel uniforms, and thousands were in civilian clothes – battered silk top hats, cutaway coats and tight-legged breeches of the Revolutionary era. Some wore women’s bonnets. Trousers were tattered; many wore ony breechclouts. Sleeves had been torn from coats to make patches for trousers, crudely stitched with white cotton twine. Faces were still smudged from pine smoke and gunpowder. Lank hair protruded from ruined hats; many of the hatless wore handkerchiefs around their heads. Hundreds were without shirts, bare to the waist. The 81st Ohio came by with all its shoeless and hatless men merged into one company, men who seemed to march more proudly than all the rest.
I was worried, from the opening few chapters, that Davis – a Southerner himself – harboured a pro-Confederate/anti-Sherman leaning, but he quickly settled into a very pragmatic and even-handed narrative. Sherman’s and his army’s good deeds are chronicled alongside the misdeeds, and he points out that the Confederate forces have never gotten their fair share of blame in the depredations.
As often happened in such moments, Confederates committed outrages as readily as the most undisciplined of Sherman’s troops. This disposition to looting, though rarely recorded in early American history, was to become a familiar phenomenon in many large cities in 20th century America. The young men of the 1860’s, who had grown up in an era when strict morality was the rule, had been guided by standards of social acceptance and decorum – but now, freed of restraint and invited to do their worst, many soldiers defied all authority
My fond memories of the book were justified; this is easily one of my favourites in my collection. Well worth picking up for your own library, too.
