Disunion book now available!

May 11th, 2013

Disunion-New-York-TimesI have two articles in the book – “Boxers, Briefs and Battles” on CW men’s undies, and “Killing Time,” on CW playing cards. I’m proud to be in the company of such distinguished writers as Ken Burns, Drew Gilpin Faust, William Freehling, Gary Gallagher, Adam Goodheart, and Elizabeth Brown Pryor.

indiebound | amazon | b&n |

A major new collection of modern commentary— from scholars, historians, and Civil War buffs—on the significant events of the Civil War, culled from The New York Times’ popular Disunion on-line journal

Since its debut on November 6, 2010, Disunion, The New York Times’ acclaimed journal about the Civil War, has published hundreds of original articles and won multiple awards, including “Best History Website” from the New Media Institute and the History News Network. Following the chronology of the secession crisis and the Civil War, the contributors to Disunion, who include modern scholars, journalists, historians, and Civil War buffs, offer ongoing daily commentary and assessment of the Civil War as it unfolded.

Now, for the first time, this fascinating and historically significant commentary has been gathered together and organized in one volume. In The New York Times: Disunion, historian Ted Widmer has selected more than 100 articles that cover events beginning with Lincoln’s presidential victory through the Emancipation Proclamation. Topics include everything from Walt Whitman’s wartime diary to the bloody guerrilla campaigns in Missouri and Kansas.

The book also compiles new essays that have not been published on the Disunion site. Topics include the perspective of African-American slaves and freed men on the war, the secession crisis in the Upper South, the war in the West (that is, past the Appalachians), the war in Texas, the international context, and Civil War–era cartography. Portraits, contemporary etchings, and detailed maps round out the book.

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150th Anniversary Re-enactment of the Bond Schoolhouse affair, March 2-3, 2013

February 20th, 2013

My article on the Bond Schoolhouse battle between Unionists and Confederate militia in Yadkin County, NC,  is published at The New York Times / Disunion The historic village of Rockford, North Carolina, is hosting a re-enactment of the incident March 2 through 3, 2013. Click link below for the flyer and full information. Maybe I’ll see you there!

Bond Schoolhouse re-enactment


 

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Fredericksburg miscellany

January 16th, 2013

My article on the terrain of Fredericksburg, The Fall Line’s Fault is up at New York Times Disunion. Here’s a little gallery of photos I’ve taken at Fredericksburg on several visits. Other Fredericksburg posts on Leaves of Grass are Whitman and the Witness Tree and Two Fredericksburg Churches.

2012 Re-enactment of the pontoon crossing, with assistance from the Bowling Green-based 189th Engineer Company, 276th Engineer Battalion. The Rappahannock is quite a bit wider than it looks here. (photo by Jean Huets)

A Civil War pontoon at Chatham House. I think four men could walk it side by side. (Photo by Jean Huets)

Library of Congress Fredericksburg photo

Fredericksburg pontoons, 1862 (Collection of Library of Congress)

Original section of the stone wall below Maryse Heights. (photo by Jean Huets)

View of Fredericksburg from the National Cemetery - Maryse Heights. In December 1863, the view would have been of a cold, muddy field, not buildings and probably not trees. The Heights are not very high. In moments when the smoke cleared, the Confederates up here would have seen clearly the fearsome toll that they and their comrades behind the stone wall were exacting from the Union soldiers below. (photo by Jean Huets)

Battle of Fredericksburg

This "Virginia ditch fence" at "Slaughter Pen" farm was "much steeper, deeper and wider" in the Civil War era, according to the NPS sign on site. (photo by Jean Huets)

An outbuilding at "Slaughter Pen" farm. Way past Civil War, yet it has a wrecked kind of beauty. The anguished fields grow food once more; a farm family builds anew for a new time; their structures in turn slump back to earth. I hope the NPS doesn't demolish these layers of history. (photo by Jean Huets)

More (and better) pics of the re-enactment of the pontoon crossing at the National Guard Facebook page.

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End of Year haiku for the fields of Malvern Hill

December 31st, 2012

Fields of gold and brown,
No berries blood red–tarnished
lace of grass and weed.

Malvern Hill

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Americans in Paris

December 11th, 2012

Paris, between 1851 and 1870; Edouard Baldus, photographer. Collection of the Library of Congress

David McCullough’s book The Greater Journey lists some of the most well-known artistic, scientific, and literary figures of the Civil War era among those who “made pilgrimages to Paris,” including Oliver Wendell Holmes, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, and Harriet Beecher Stowe. Samuel Morse was honored there as a “benefactor of mankind” for his world-changing invention, the telegraph, the inspiration for which came when he was living in Paris in the thirties.

An expatriot just as well-known at the time, but less expected, is Charles Sumner. The abolitionist senator from Massachusetts found Paris a refuge, especially after the infamous, savage beating he suffered from Preston Brooks in the Senate chamber.

Citing records that indicated no concussion or fracture from the attack, McCullough notes that Sumner’s suffering “was entirely real, but the indications are it derived far more from the psychological trauma of the attack than from a neurological cause.” Sumner’s well-being improved markedly when he left Washington and deteriorated each time he returned. Though he was subjected to some brutal, though well-intended quackery in Paris, the city and the company he kept there, along with further tours in Europe, proved healing. A friend said, “I never found him more cheerful or more hopeful. It is a continual feast to see him.”

The outbreak of the American Civil War interrupted the Parisian idyll, sending worried Americans back over the ocean and making enemies of Northern and Southern expats. After the War, though not even the City of Light could erase from memory the frightful suffering Americans had endured in battle and on the home front, the artists soon trickled back and the Parisian joie de vivre beckoned pleasure-loving Gilded Age visitors.

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New England Union (suits)

November 29th, 2012

A friend sent me the following, from Glastonbury Historical Society where he was docent, after reading my NYT article on Civil War underwear. (When I was researching the article, it took an effort to think of knitting as manufacturing, rather than my grandma making sweaters for us and our dolls.) Back then, manufacturers didn’t have to settle for sports stadiums–they had entire towns named after them.

In 1822, Fraray Hale and Samuel Welles organized a clothing and fulling mill known as Eagle Manufacturing Company. They built a mill on Salmon Brook near Hebron Avenue at the location of Mill Street and Addison Road for the production of woolen goods. In 1855, the plant was bought by the Glastenbury [sic] Knitting Company. Eagleville become known as Addison, named for Addison L. Clark, president of the new company. The village had its own post office. The factory made men’s shirts and good, warm underwear that didn’t shrink. After the knitting company closed, velvet was finished at Addison Mills.

Addison Mill, undated photo from AddisonMill.com. Addison Pond, made by damming Salmon Creek is in the background. Typical of the time, the mill was water-powered.

The following is from the Addison Mills website:

The historic old Addison Mill dates back to the 19th century. It was built for a young entrepreneur named Addison Clark. The 23-year old Clark established the Glastenbury (yes, it was spelled that way) Knitting Company, which had 150 workers at its peak and did a booming business knitting “health underwear—shirts and drawers” for men. The employees during this time were of Polish, Hungarian and German descent. Many of these workers settled in the immediate neighborhood and helped build a remarkably diverse community in a rural area of Central Connecticut. The rich history of Addison Mill was eloquently captured by author W. Nystrom in his book “The Twine and the Thistle” written in 1970. Mr. Nystrom wrote in part:

The five o’clock mill whistle sounds
The work day is done and quiet abounds
A bird on a limb
Sings an evening hymn
And suppertime fullness is felt all around

The underwear produced by the company in the Civil War era gave rise to the term “union suit” for the one-piece undergarment that later became known as “long-johns.”

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Nineteenth-century underwear (men’s)

November 26th, 2012

My New York Times Disunion article on Civil War (men’s) underwear runs today. Here are some extras.

At the Gaines Mill Living History weekend in July, I had the good fortune to stumble into a whole set of men’s underwear, top and bottom–and even socks. These are all made of cotton. (Deep gratitude goes to the NPS rangers and the living historians who braved the heat in authentic flesh-frying wool clothes. The interface between the two groups was, for me, a new way of seeing and hearing history.)

19th century undershirt

This volunteer kindly overcame his gentlemanly modesty to give us a peek at his undershirt.

Front view of drawers. The front has a two-button closure. Long drawers would have been a must, given the heavy, rough, wool pantaloons issued to the soldiers. The stains are, alas, gun grease.

To tighten up the drawers, this pair has a buckle at the back.

Civil War stockings

This young soldier obviously hasn't made use of his "housewife," the sewing kit that his mother would have supplied him with when he left home. I do hope he didn't lose it in a game of cards. The socks (both "socks" and "stockings" were in general use) pulled up over his drawers' drawstring keep ticks out.

19th century laundry

Bluing, an additive mixed with wash water, is a nonfast coloring that offsets dinginess, especially in white cloth. Most people today brighten clothes with bleach, which subtracts color. Various compounds (for example, bile) were touted as stain removers, but generally messy stuff was boiled and pounded out.

A photo of a surgeon demonstrating a leg amputation rolls away the veil, or at least a pant-leg. Long under-drawers peek out from under the edge of the rolled up pants. The dangling string is a drawstring at the hem of the drawers. (Children--at least African-American children--obviously weren't considered too delicate to witness a man's leg being sawn off. The little boy stands at the ready with what looks like a length of cloth: a tourniquet? a gag? a restraint?)

And finally, a splendid underwear story from Wisconsin Historical Society.

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An instrument of moderation (fail!): The Straw

October 17th, 2012
cocktails

picture via Boulder Libation blog

“The very act of imbibition through a straw prevents the gluttonous absorption of large and baneful quantities of drink….”

Supposedly, the nineteenth century’s popular mixed drink, the gin sling, was named on the German “schlingen”–as in schlingin’ back a drink. The 1868 Cook’s Guide Gin-Sling recipe might back that theory, or refute it, depending on how you look at it. On advising the imbiber to “suck through a straw,” the author follows with a humorous apology:

I am afraid that very genteel persons will be exceeding shocked at the words ‘suck through a straw;” but when I tell them that the very act of imbibition through a straw prevents the gluttonous absorption of large and baneful quantities of drink, they will, I make no doubt, accept the vulgar precept for the sake of its protection against sudden inebriety.

Nineteenth-century straws were literally straw, or rye grass, sometimes glass or metal. Ohio Civil War veteran and julep-drinker Marvin Stone may or may not have actually invented the paper straw, but he was the one who, in 1888, patented the paper-spiralling process used for mass-manufacture.

An 1873 New York Times article, “American Drinks at the Vienna Exhibition,” gives the lie to straws slowing drinkers down (though it gives them the character of “refined”):

The straws are immensely popular here. I have seen persons of both sexes sucking up beer, coffee and ‘plain soda’ through them with an evident sense of exquisite and refined enjoyment. The bar-keepers tell me that the American and German ladies generally carry them away in their hair, through the frizzy masses of which they stick them in the manner of pins. The bar in the Rotunda started with a stock of 300,000, but has been obliged to renew its supplies twice since commencing business.

“American Drinks” were what we generally call cocktails today. A tentative guess at why they were labeled “American” is that they were iced, and until the past couple of decades, ice in drinks was virtually nonexistent in Europe. Straws and “American drinks” go well together, since straws ease the passage of drink through ice to mouth.

Sources: The Cook’s Guide, by Charles Elme Francatelli, London 1868 | New York Times September 2, 1873, via Boulder Libation |

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Playing Cards in the Civil War

September 8th, 2012

“Killing Time,” my article on playing cards in the Civil War, was run in New York Times Disunion blog – read it here. (The article was re-issued in The Civil War Monitor, Winter 2012, vol. 2, no. 4, print edition.)

Re the picture of Civil War Generals Playing Cards, featured with the article, a little more info:

The Confederate and Union Generals playing cards, made in 1863 by M. Nelson of New York, blend old and new with indices of unindexed miniature playing cards. Military rank did not tally with card rank; Brigadier-General George L. Andrews is king to Major-General Grant in the suit of diamonds. General Lee’s dated portrait, with its inaccurate tunic, is based on a post-Mexican War engraving that was in turn based on a circa 1850 photograph of Lee in civilian clothes. (Reproduction of Civil War Generals decks courtesy of U.S. Games Systems, Inc.)

Here are a couple more pics of CW men playing cards…

Officers of the 114th Pennsylvania Infantry playing cards in front of tents, Petersburg, Virginia, August 1964 (Collection of Library of Congress)

Quarters of Dr. David McKay (Army of the James). The old-fashioned, unindexed deck forces the player on the right to spread his cards to see that he’s holding a ten, rather than a nine, of spades. (Photo collection of the U.S. Library of Congress)

 

Union Playing Cards. Photo via The Rail Splitter: A Journal for the Lincoln Collector (railsplitter.com

It is probably early 62. The unit is the 7th NYSM. Great period joke photo. Sloth, whiskey, cards, smoking. The provost marshal has his cup, too! Al Hagovsky, the guards are holding muskets The original this print came from is fuzzy. However, they are doing a variation of support arms and are clearly holding it lower than shown in Casey's. They also are wearing a cool militia jacket, probably grey in color." Description by Eugene Jesse Nash III (http://www.facebook.com/eugene.nash.3) | photo via CHarm City Vintage Prints (http://www.facebook.com/CharmCityVintagePrints)

Three unidentified soldiers playing cards, smoking, and drinking in front of American flag. I almost wonder if this isn't some CSA propaganda put about during the Great Revival! (Collection of Library of Congress)

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Whitman and the witness tree

August 16th, 2012

If  the roots of Whitman’s witness tree were bathed in the anguish the poet beheld, no wonder its form holds such tortured beauty.

Walt Whitman witness tree

Catalpa tree, "within ten yards" of the Chatham house that was a hospital when Walt Whitman visited in December 1862. This same tree was alive at the time and witnessed with Whitman "the marrow of the tragedy concentrated in those Hospitals."

Walt Whitman’s opened his “Memoranda during the War” at the Chatham house, in Fredericksburg. The house had been occupied by the Union army and, like many houses and churches, converted into a hospital. Whitman’s mission to comfort the wounded and dying began here when his brother was wounded, December of 1862. His memoir opens with a sight all too familiar to soldiers and surgeons.

Began my visits in the Camp Hospitals  in the Army of the Potomac. Spent a good part of the day in a large brick mansion, on the banks of the Rappahannock, used as a Hospital since the battle–Seems to have receiv’d only the worst cases. Out doors, at the foot of a tree, within ten yards of the front of the house, I notice a heap of amputated feet, legs, arms, hands, &c., a full load for a one-horse cart. Several dead bodies lie near, each cover’d with its brown woolen blanket….

I wonder if Whitman could have guessed that the tree would recall the loving compassion of his visits to the wounded, and his compassion recall the tree, 150 years later, and both recall the “marrow of the tragedy” of the Civil War.

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