A Gauntlet Thrown – Rescuing General Hood

Posted by Daniel | Battle of Franklin, Civil War, Heroes | Thursday 9 July 2009 7:26 pm

Gauntlet... thrown!

by Daniel Mallock

Sam Hood and the John Bell Hood Historical Society have a mission.  Every honorable historical society should have such a mission. The mission is to learn history – the truth of history (no matter where it may lead)- and share the truth with others.  This is a mission that every historian and truth-teller should readily embrace.

I know the members of this excellent and scholarly group. I took a tour of Franklin and Spring Hill with them last year. I wrote a post about it which you can read here.  The purpose of the tour, as one might expect, was to walk the ground General Hood walked during the Spring Hill/Franklin campaign and understand his command decisions based on all the evidence available, and the contours of the ground. There is no better way to do battlefield history than this. No less than Eric Jacobson was the guide. His book For Cause and Country is currently the standard in Spring Hill/Franklin historiography. My affection for the Hood folks, and for their mission, should not suggest to some analysts that my opinions on the matter at hand should therefore be dismissed. They ought not to assume that I am biased and cannot unravel an historical mystery. I have opinions, but I am not biased. As an historian that is my job – to allow the facts to override my opinions. I take my work very seriously.

I have written on the Battle of Franklin extensively on this blog and elsewhere, as well as on General Patrick Cleburne and his plan to free the slaves of the Confederacy. I have been a student of the War for over 30 years. This work is a passion to me, it’s very important. Two articles have appeared in North and South magazine.

General Hood’s performance at Spring Hill and Franklin and then later at Nashville were the disastrous finales to a fantastic career of bravery, sacrifice, and suffering for the cause of southern independence. Few sacrificed as much as he for the Cause. The controversy surrounding Hood’s actions at Spring Hill and Franklin has been the stuff of legend and argument for several generations. Spring Hill is considered the greatest “lost opportunity” of the entire war.

Examining Hood’s command decisions at Franklin was one of the key purposes of the tour that I took with the Hood Society last year. Even after decades of study of this battle, I learned more that day. My opinion of Hood has changed over time. With more research, and understanding of the ground and of the situation of November 29- 30, 1864 I am now much more forgiving of the general than I previously have been. I think I understand him and his motives better now than I ever did previously. This change of heart caused me to write a piece about Hood decision to attack at Franklin which the Hood Society published in their spring 2008 newsletter. You can read it here.

You may disagree with my conclusions and that is fine. There is room for disagreement on all points of history so long as that position of opposition is based upon fact and not hearsay, rumor, or opinion. Hearsay is the realm of the novelist and fantasist, not the historian.

It has been observed that perhaps no other canon of another war is as large as that of the Civil War; most controversies have been resolved. New information still comes out, new insights are gained, new learning occurs. But much of the real controversies are resolved. Not so with General Hood and Spring Hill/Franklin.

Mr. Wiley Sword is considered an authority on Franklin and Spring Hill mainly because of his book “The Confederacy’s Last Hurrah”.  But Mr. Sword does not like General Hood. This bias is clearly evident in the book and in subsequent studies, most recently “Courage Under Fire”. The Hood bias is alive and well with Mr. Sword. Because Mr. Sword’s book has such excellent market penetration many people who read one book only on Franklin will likely read his. This is unfortunate because his work is problematic.

What is problematic about Mr. Sword’s work is that he is entirely unfair to General Hood. The author’s anger is obvious, his negativity is clear – Sword dislikes Hood with a passion. But Mr. Sword does his readers a disservice. Allegations are made regarding the General’s mental acuity, his physical condition, his mental state, and his emotional and intellectual capacity for command. These allegations specifically about Hood’s drug use and his mental state (Hood was pining for his lost love, Buck Preston, etc.) are not  substantiated. What Mr. Sword neglects to say is that the Confederate Army of Tennessee came very close to success at Franklin, closer than is widely known or acknowledged. I make this case very strongly in the article published in North and South magazine, “For Want of a Primer”.

Mr. Sword has an agenda to destroy the reputation of General Hood regardless of the absence of primary source material to sustain his arguments. This is clear bias and it has no place in historical scholarship. This is the bias and false history that the Hood Society historians are fighting to expose.

The John Bell Hood Society and their historians have a mission. Their mission is based upon truth, specifically finding and sharing the truth about John Bell Hood, one of the most controversial generals of the entire war.

This mission of the Hood Society puts them in direct conflict with Mr. Sword and his baseless accusations against General Hood at Spring Hill and Franklin. My research, that of Mr. Jacobson, and that of every primary source participant, and witness that I have read contradicts Mr. Sword and his calumnies against Hood, and supports the contentions of the Hood Society. Sam Hood, the Society President and descendent of the General, states his case here.

The Hood Society folks are not hagiographers as some bloggers have suggested (here and here). They are historians who have done their research and want the truth told, and the lies vanquished. They are passionate and this passion alienates some who are unused to such things in the world of history.

Every truth-teller, every historian of value should support the Hood Society in this mission to correct the record of General Hood. Some critics have even suggested that the advertisement shown above (published in Civil War News) should be pulled! Some do not like the deep commitment, and the strong defense of the truth that is demonstrated by the Hood historians. Such detractors are irrelevant.

This debate is one of the last unfinished true controversies of the “late  unpleasantness”. Hood gave everything for what he believed was the right path, southern independence. Hood’s commitment for his mission was total. So it is with the Hood Society. These historians are to be applauded and their efforts at overturning shoddy history and correcting the historical record supported. We as historians are supposed to support the truth, no matter how pleasant or unpleasant. Our main purpose is to find the truth, then share it. This is what the Hood Society is doing.

Mr. Sword must engage. As the purveyor of inaccuracies for well over 20 years he must defend his published statements. If he has a case he must make it. I support the Hood Society in calling out Mr. Sword for his bias.

Mr. Sword must engage. This debate is central to understanding the War in the west. If he will not engage, he must forfeit the debate and become irrelevant.

An author’s book is an invitation to engage. It is an entree into the marketplace of ideas. For those of us who dwell in this ocassionally controversial realm we must step up when we are called upon to answer for an error or worse. This is the foundation of learning and this debate advances the canon. Without this engagement on the part of Mr. Sword, his position is intellectually untenable.

The Hood Society has called out of one of the Civil War community’s favorite authors, he must answer the call. I would like to see a debate between Mr. Sword and Mr. Hood on this matter so that once and for all the two positions can be weighed and the invalid one dismissed. I applaud Mr. Hood and his fellow historians at the Hood Society. They are doing what all of us historians yearn to do, they are doing history. They do it with passion, and with facts.

The gauntlet is thrown. Mr. Sword, please pick it up as I would very much like to hear your defense of your assertions about General Hood at Franklin. The gauntlet is thrown and we are waiting.

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Battle of Franklin – November 30, 1864

Posted by Daniel | Battle of Franklin, Civil War, Heroes | Tuesday 14 October 2008 7:01 pm

Please take a look at this month’s issue of North and South Magazine. My article on the Battle of Franklin appears there. I hope you like it. It’s a privilege and an honor to have my work appear in this excellent magazine. Please feel free to post here regarding the article. It is perfectly fitting that Nathan Bedford Forrest should appear on the cover.

Had Forrest’s advice to General Hood at Franklin to cross the Harpeth River and flank the Union army out of their entrenchments been heeded, the nightmare at Franklin might not have happened. It is one of the many controversies surrounding this brutal battle in which 5 hours of vicious fighting brought 7,000 casualties in some of the most brutal and savage fighting of the entire Civil War. Perhaps the most astounding aspect of the battle is just how close the Confederate Army of Tennessee came to success at Franklin. Lacking a common implement not much larger than a key at the critical moment may well have cost the Confederates the battle and the entire Nashville campaign.

Dan

Stephen Vincent Benet Reviews Douglas Southall Freeman’s R. E. Lee

Posted by Daniel | Books, Civil War, Culture, Heroes, Poetry, Reviews | Thursday 5 June 2008 4:43 pm

A Bit of Gold Tumbles from Between the Covers

Introduced by Daniel Mallock

Stephen Vincent Benet’s John Brown’s Body is one of the finest books of prose poetry in American literature. It well-deservedly won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1929. It has always had a special place in the hearts of most Civil War students, and those who appreciate the Blue and Gray. Benet died young, but was prolific and busy publishing often.

Long considered one of the finest biographies in Civil War literature, Douglas Southall Freeman’s R.E. Lee is still considered the finest biography of Lee, one of our greatest Americans. I was unaware that Benet and Freeman and their work ever overlapped but it is right and good that they did.

I had the great fortune recently to purchase a 1st edition set of R.E. Lee by Douglas Southall Freeman. I’ve always wanted to read this biography, but never blocked out the time much to my ongoing frustration. Now, that frustration can end. The set has some water damage on the covers, so it has little value to collectors but its value to me is enormous. Freeman won the Pulitzer prize for biography for this monumental work in 1935. Many years ago, I read Freeman’s Lee’s Lieutenants. R.E. Lee was always beckoning me.

As I examined my newly acquired set I was amazed to see that the seller had included a special gift for me. This gift I will soon pass along to you.

Out from in between the front covers of the first volume fell the original newspaper clipping, neatly folded of Stephen Vincent Benet’s review of the first two volumes of Freeman’s R.E. Lee. This review appeared in the New York Herald Tribune, Book Section, Sunday, October 14, 1934, the year that the first two volumes were published. My delight at reading this previously unknown, to me, review by Benet was obvious from my smiles and “wows” as I read the fragile paper. What a great thing for the fellow who sold me this set to do! My surprise at finding an important review I never knew existed was matched in large part by the appreciation I felt for the kind person who left it there in Volume 1 for me to find. I’ve since done a search on the internet for this review and have not been able to find it anywhere. I suspect that it is not posted on the internet at all. But it is now.

Benet is not shy about heaping praise on Freeman for this biography of Lee. Rarely, a review will surpass the utilitarian and step into the realm of art – as Benet’s does. Clearly, Benet was very happy to read this excellent biography it’s quite obvious. Benet says, that in this biography, “Lee is all there”, and that certainly is high praise for any biographer. Freeman’s Lee set the standard for Lee scholarship and has to my knowledge not yet been surpassed.

Benet writes that Washington and Lee are the two greatest Americans. He respects Lincoln and Grant, and many others but Lee and Washington are clearly, for Benet, in a pantheon all their own. After reading Freeman’s Lee, the first two volumes, at that point, Benet makes a plea that Freeman must now write a biography of Washington to match the Lee study. Bowing to Benet, in a sense, Freeman did just that.

Freeman would win his second Pulitzer for biography (posthumously, in 1958) for his 7-volume biography of George Washington.

I transcribed this myself. If you find any errors, or bad syntax please blame me and not Mr. Benet. I do not believe that this review is currently available online, and I post it as a service to everyone who loves literature, and Lee, and the great heroes of our Civil War on both sides. This is a beautiful review of a fantastic biography. I know you will enjoy this as much as I have.

-Daniel Mallock

New York Herald Tribune, Book Section, Sunday, October 14, 1934

Robert E. Lee: a Great American Biography
The Whole Man–Boyhood, West Point, Mexico, and the Civil War

R.E. Lee

By Douglas Southall Freeman…Illustrated.. Vol. I., 647 pp; vol. II, 621 pp… New York Charles Scribner’s Sons… 2 vols., $7.50Reviewed by Stephen Vincent Benet

It may seem odd, at first, that we should have had to wait so long for a life of Lee like this one, but, when one thinks it over, it is not so odd after all. Certain great men attract biography from the first, others, equally famous, for years attract only biographers. Learned biographers, enthusiastic or caustic biographers, but biographers who do not get to the roots of the man. Nor is it merely a question of luck or celebrity – though luck enters into the matter. Certain names, certain stories are always explosive material. It is easy enough to write a bad life of Napoleon but it is extremely hard to write a thoroughly and conscientiously dull one – though Sir Walter Scott, of all people, worked notably hard at it. Conspicuous rascality in the subject is not enough; there have been tiresome rascals. Virtue is not enough– there can be no question as to which was the more admirable human being in almost every ordinary relation of life, Byron or Southey. Yet there will be biographies of Byron till the world runs out of ink, while biographies of Southey sleep soundly in great public libraries. Literary genious in the biographer is not, by itself, enough – as witness Charles Dickens and the “Life of Our Lord.”

For true biography is a very difficult art. And it is curious that, in our short history as a nation, two of our greatest figures – Washington and Lee – should have been such difficult subjects for true biography. We have almost every possible view of Washington, from Parson Weems to W. E. Woodward. We have views of his that show him as an impossible demigod and views of him that seem to concentrate almost entirely on his false teeth. And yet, in spite of much interesting work, we still have no life of Washington as full, as just, as sound, as comprehending, and yet as readable as many of us would like.

Mere reverence is not enough, for reverence, by itself, quickly turns men into marble statues a little over life—size. Nor is the Stracheyesque method–which produces brilliant results with the proper material–adapted to them. I remember one life of General Grant from which the chief psychological fact I garnered was that the general was deeply in love with his horse. That is interesting, if true, but it hardly explains the capture of Fort Donelson. And it is easy enough to paint George Washington as an ordinary Virginia planter of limited capacities–until you begin to explain why all the other Virginia planters did not turn into Washingtons.

Dr. Freeman, fortunately for us all, is a true biographer. He has a great subject to deal with–which is to his advantage–but the subject, as I have said, is not an easy one. The man’s life, and himself, are, in one sense, like a marble shaft; you may look in vain for the disfiguring–and interesting–cracks and crevices that spot the characters of many great men. A hero, born in obscurity, who fights his way up to greatness–there is an easy story for you! But Lee was born at Stratford, of the blood of “King” Carter and “Light Horse Harry” Lee. We like to read of the awkward, ugly duckling, the butt of his mates at school and college, who became their master in the end. But Lee was one of the handsomest men of his day, and at West Point he graduated second in his class. In childhood he had the weight of a great tradition behind him; in youth and manhood he fulfilled the full promise of that tradition. When Lincoln was a disappointed ex-Congressman, his political future, apparently, at a dead end, Lee was winning notable distinction in his chosen field. When Grant was still the failure of Galena, Lee was being sounded out as to the commander-ship-in-chief of the whole Union Army. No breath of romantic scandal ever touched his private life; he became the idol of a people and the symbol of a cause without ever losing his simplicity; even his religion, simple, natural and profound, has nothing of the Cromwellian tang of Jackson’s. It did not torment his soul, it gave his soul peace. A good man, a great man, one of our finest human beings. You are right. But a difficult man to depict and yet keep human, for the rest of us. Let us see what Dr. Freeman has done with his material.

In the first place, he shows us from the very first lines of his forward the thoroughness, the patience, the honesty and the true gift for research which are the rare marks of the real biographer.

He has winnowed, and winnowed away an enormous mass of legend. He has collected and set down for the first time in print a vast number of new, precise and salient facts. He has woven together a thousand strands of testimony from the words of forgotten reports to the words on the lips of old men remembering their great youth. In Dr. Freeman’s two volumes we get for the first time the complete, slow growth of a man. The unregarded years–the years of youth and early manhood, the years before the Mexican War and after it, are filled in with completeness and patience for the first time. We see not only Lee the star cadet or Lee the Mars’ Robert of the tales, but Lee at thirty-one on an Ohio River steamer enjoying little roast pigs and sausages but looking with a dubious eye on the crowding and squeezing at the table; Lee building a house of twigs for seven military hens at a desolate army outpost near the fork of the Brazos; Lee, the conscientious but somewhat baffled inheritor of a historic but land-poor estate, wondering how to keep it up on an Army colonel’s pay–a dozen Lees, younger and older, whom the well known stories leave out. We see Lee the military organizer; we even see Lee in a temper.

But thoroughness and patience are not enough. A scholar may be very thorough and very patient and yet remain a scholar read only by scholars. There must be proportion, balance, composition; most of all, vitality in the work itself. Dr. Freeman’s style is not a showy one, and he does not go in for the purple passages. But every one of the 1,200 pages is intensely readable from the first page to the last. He is readable when he describes the Battle of Chancellorsville; he is readable when he describes the education of a West Point cadet in the 1820s or the technical details of the building of an obscure fort by an Army engineer. He has a positive genius for quotation–it is always the live quotation, not the dead one, that appears in his pages–and always at the point where it simplifies, explains, elucidates, gives life and color to the whole. He never points out the obvious; he never grows windy or pedantic. When he gives you an opinion on a disputed point he gives you his reasons as well. “There they are,” he seems to say, “to the best of my judgment. My conclusion is this–you may draw another if you disagree with me. But here are the facts, as far as they can be known.”

If I had sufficient space, I should very much like to quote his brief sketch of Anne Carter Lee, Lee’s mother, on pages 87 seq. It consists of a short appraisal and the only two known surviving letters of Mrs. Lee. The appraisal is short enough. It tells what is known of Anne Carter Lee; it does not tell what is not known. And it is a model to biographers. There is no one fact and twenty barrels of conjecture. There is no “As she did this, she must have done that.” There is a human being there, faintly outlined, because the written evidence is slight; but the outlines, though faint, are definite. There is a real and living woman, not a fictional character or a reverential image. I, for one, never knew her before.

As it is with Anne Carter Lee, so it is with the whole of the story. Slowly, on the firmest of foundations, there builds up the full picture of the man. And it is not the story of Fortunatus–of a silver-spoon youth who marched easily from conquest to conquest. It is something, indeed, to have been born at Stratford, of the Lees and Carters–but to have to leave Stratford at three, because the sheriff’s men are in the house, the horses sold, the furniture attached–that is something, too. One’s father is a revolutionary hero–and that is a great tradition–but one’s father has been twice imprisoned for debt and is to die on the way home from a self-imposed exile. One’s half-brother, “Black Horse Harry” Lee’s career is to be wrecked by tragedy and scandal. A background of great traditions? Very true–but there are other colors in the background than gold.

All through the life, the threads in the web are mixed ones. When Lee married Mary Custis he married a delightful woman but a temperamental one–and a woman who was to become an invalid, needing and invalid’s care. And, when he married her, as Dr. Freeman points out, he married Arlington as well–Arlington with its name, its heavy responsibilities and the great shadow of Washington brooding over it. Dr. Freeman’s analysis of the influence of the Washington tradition on the character of Lee is subtle, convincing and profound. Throughout the book, indeed, his study of the gradual development of Lee’s character is masterly. It has the fascination of a detective story and the inevitability of the growth of a tree.

Certain traits were there from the first and they were fine ones. But the gay, brilliant, teasing Lee of the twenties, the Lee who wrote amusing mock love letters to pleasant girl acquaintances in the Southern tradition of beaudom, had become, at fifty-four, a very different man. Throughout those first fifty-four years there is always upon him–and we see it and feel it–a continuous pressure of responsibility, never slackening, slowly increasing; responsibility for his name, for Arlington, for his work, for his wife, and children, for the men under his command. Except for the Mexican War, it was not a dramatic responsibility, in the usual sense. But a weaker man would have broken under it, and a man [of] a nature less naturally sweet become crotchety, like many another army officer who turned to drink or lethargy to while away the tedium of dull courts martial in Godforsaken frontier posts.

I have stressed Dr. Freeman’s dealings with Lee’s early years because they are the essential foundation on which all true knowledge of Lee must be built. When Lee assumed command of the forces of Virginia he was fifty-four and the main lines of his character were formed. He grew after that, be he grew along those lines, not contrary to them. Where many biographers are content to show effects, Dr. Freeman shows us the causes of those effects–and he does it so well and so thoroughly that by the time we come to the Civil War we have a real knowledge of Lee, not a set of phrases about him, and a real ability to know what Lee may do in a given circumstance. Dr. Freeman shows also–and this is invaluable–on the military side, exactly what experience of war and the conduct of war Lee had had, the sort of strategy and tactics that were likely to appeal to him, both his practical knowledge and the bent of his mind. I have never seen this done so clearly and so well.

There were weaknesses as well as strengths in both Lee’s temperament and Lee’s training–Dr. Freeman shows them both unfalteringly. The first untrained Virginia volunteers were a very different from Scott’s Mexican army–and Lee made mistakes in the West Virginia campaign. Dr. Freeman shows us what the mistakes were and what Lee learned from them. A courteous amiability, in dealing with subordinates, was likely to develop, with an obstinate subordinate, into failure of execution at a critical moment–as it did with Longstreet at Gettysburg–Dr. Freeman shows us the cloud at its beginning, no bigger than a man’s hand. Indeed, for all Dr. Freeman’s practical delineation of the campaigns up to and through Chancellorsville (with which these two volumes end) I can only have the most unstinted praise. With their excellent, clear and numerous maps, they should prove invaluable to all students of military history. And to the average reader they are perfectly fascinating.

For Dr. Freeman, in describing them, has taken a novel point of view. The reader is always with Lee, at Confederate headquarters, in possession of such knowledge as Lee has but no more. In other words, the battles develop before us as battles do to a general who is fighting one, with all their momentary chances. Excellent schemes go astray because of unknown factors–the “fog of war” is over the field, not swept away by after–knowledge. And the battles and campaigns are real. Behind the charges and the yells there is always the constant, wearing question of food and shoes and horses, of men who come down with measles and men who cannot march on the hard roads of Maryland because their feet are sore. All this is a constant reminder of warfare, but it does not always get into the histories. It is continually present in Dr. Freeman’s. And we know not only Lee, by the time we have reached Chancellorsville–we know the Army of Northern Virginia as well.

In any account of the events in the Civil War, the historian or biographer must strike upon a number of moot points. Dr. Freeman, as Lee’s biographer, inclines, very naturally, to cast his vote for Lee, on most of these points. But he never does so without giving full reasons for his statements. His explanation of Jackson’s lethargy during the Seven Days is clear, well reasoned and convincing–and his account of the genesis of the turning–movement at Chancellorsville seems to me a little miracle of reconstruction. On the other hand, for the average reader, I think he might have stressed, even more than he does, Jackson’s personal brilliance in the Valley Campaign. It is one thing to tell a general you would like a certain enemy beaten, if possible, and quite another to have the general do it–as Lincoln, to his sorrow, very often found. Nor is it my opinion that the reader who is unversed in the Civil War will form an utterly correct estimate of the military abilities of Joe Johnston, from Dr. Freeman’s account of him in these two volumes. Johnston was an unlucky general, in many ways, but the most competent testimony, including that of great adversaries, pronounced him a master of craft.

These are small criticisms on a monumental work, but, while I am about it, I will make one or two more. Dr. Freeman deals with John Brown and Harper’s Ferry entirely from the viewpoint of Lee and he is perfectly justified in doing so. But John Brown was not exactly an ordinary disturber of the peace nor was the raid on Harper’s Ferry precisely a riot. And the actual confrontation of Robert E. Lee and John Brown happens to be one of the great dramatic coincidences of history. I think Dr. Freeman could have made more of this than he has done without sacrificing truth to false picturesqeuness. If Lee dismissed Brown as a mere madman–as the testimony would indicate–that, too, shows something about Lee and about the South.

Jackson, Stuart, Longstreet, Magruder, Hood are vividly portrayed, but one might wish for a little fuller physical description of the two Hills, Ewell, Alexander and some of the other Southern leaders. They appear in their words and actions–and admirably–but the readers of an Iliad like to know the faces and armor of all the chiefs. The same might be said of the Northern commanders opposed to Lee. It does not fall directly within Dr. Freeman’s province to describe them, except as they showed themselves in action–but a brief, well-placed footnote on each, showing what sort of man he was, would assist the casual reader. Another, and somewhat vaguer criticism, is this. The heart of the Northern resistance was a man named Abraham Lincoln. Dr. Freeman is writing a life of Lee, not a life of Lincoln. Nevertheless, it seems to me that Lincoln’s presence should somewhere, somehow be felt by the reader–not as the amateur strategist recalling troops for the safety of Washington but as the soul of the o’her Cause. However, there is room for all this, and more, in the next two volumes.

Dr. Freeman is kinder to Davis than some Southern historians have been, and, I think, juster. In his dealing with Northern “atrocities” (the term is not his) he seems to me, now and then, a trifle biased. War is a dirty game, no matter how played. I remember an old man, with passion and indignation in his voice, showing me the marks of Confederate shell on the walls of my mother’s town. And he was as right–and as partisan–as Dr. Freeman. There is little of this in the book, very little, but as it struck me, I mention it. On the larger issues, he states his own feelings admirably in his Foreword–and they are without illusion.

The present two volumes begin with Stratford and end just after Chancellorsville. There are two more to come. One can ask no more of them than they should equal the two already in print. For those two already comprise by far the best biography of Lee of which I have any knowledge. And when I speak of a biography, I do not mean merely a work for research students and Civil War enthusiasts. The whole man is here, as he lived–Stratford–West Point–Arlington–Mexico–the heights of Cerro Gordo and the swamps of the Chickahominy. He is here, in war and in peace. He is writing a letter to somewhat stilted, anxious advice to his children on how to be good boys–and, at Chancellorsville, his is hearing “that shrill, sustained cry like a thousand men calling the dogs to a fox hunt” that was the rebel yell. And behind him is a tradition, an army, a time and a people–all as it was and not otherwise. Dr. Freeman has worked nearly twenty years on these volumes. And for those years, we are all of us in his debt. For he has revivified for us, lastingly and surely, one of the largest figures of our national past. It is a superb achievement. I do not know how Pulitzer prizes are awarded but I should be in favor of giving at least ten of them to Dr. Freeman. And then, if I were dictator, I would have him chained to a desk and make him spend his next twenty years writing a life of Washington whether he wants to or not.

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Franklin and Spring Hill Tour – Understanding John Bell Hood, CSA

Posted by Daniel | Battle of Franklin, Books, Civil War, Culture, Heroes | Sunday 11 May 2008 6:28 pm

The Responsibility of Command – John Bell Hood and the Nashville Campaign with the John Bell Hood Society

by Daniel Mallock

There is no question that John Bell Hood is one of the great tragic heroes of the Civil War. His story is full of pain, frustration, victories and defeats, advances and finally retreats. A hero at Gettysburg, Antietam, Chickamauga, Gaines Mill, and other hard fought fields Hood was promoted to command the Army of Tennessee in July, 1864 as Joe Johnston’s strategic withdrawal strategy and refusal to work with Jefferson Davis finally got him removed from command.

A Country Road in Spring Hill - Army of Tennessee marched down this very road in their flank march around Schofield.

Hood’s short but monumental career as commander of the Army of Tennessee is covered in violence and controversy with the culmination of both at Franklin, Tennessee, November 30, 1864. Besmirched in modern Civil War history by the slanted and agenda-laden approach of Wiley Sword’s “Confederacy’s Last Hurrah” General Hood’s reputation has suffered intensely in recent years. It is time for a re-examination of General Hood’s career, and most particularly the nature of the decisions that were made at Spring Hill, Franklin, and Nashville by General Hood.

There is a small but intense group of defenders of the truth, historians and students who search for the truth about Hood. It was my pleasure and privilege to tour Spring Hill and Franklin with them and my entire family with kids in tow this weekend. They are the John Bell Hood Society ably led by Sam Hood, a true defender of Hood and a true historian. Walking the ground is the only way to really understand a battle and to understand the decisions that were made based on terrain, local conditions, etc. Reading the records and memoirs is a start, but real understanding can only come when the ground is seen, the killing ground over which the blue and gray heroes fought at Franklin, Spring Hill and Nashville.

With a ruined arm from Gettysburg and a lost leg at Chickamauga, John Bell Hood is an unlikely army commander. But so it was, and under the command of Hood (unfortunately for him), the fortunes of the Confederacy in the western theatre came to a painful end under his tenure and leadership.

It has been said that the battle of Nashville was the only true decisive victory of the War. This may be so as due to losses of the campaign culminating in the battle of Nashville, the Army of Tennessee was no longer a feared army or formidable fighting force afterwards. Yes, there would be Bentonville later, and Joe Johnston would again be in command to oversee a bitter victory followed by a bitter surrender. But the Army of Tennessee was shattered at Franklin then crushed at Nashville. Bentonville saw an amalgamated Army very different from the army that crossed the Tennessee River in November, 1864 to free Nashville and assail Louisville and even Cincinnati.

General Schofield of the Union army says as much in his memoirs as does George Thomas – that the Army of Tennessee was shattered during the Tennessee Campaign and was no longer feared afterwards. It was still respected, but it could readily be dealt with – the Army of Tennessee would no longer command the ability to shift the balance of the war – anywhere.

But two weeks before Nashville there was Franklin – an astoundingly brutal battle even by Civil War standards. The violence at Franklin is on a par with few if any battles in that War and most all of its survivors have ranked it as likely the very worst experience of their entire lives. Franklin happened because General Hood gave one order: “We will make the fight.”

The Carter House - The epicenter of the epic Battle of Franklin

The origins of this order, the options that he had, the high cost of the order itself and the incredible bravery of the men on both side who fought at Franklin were discussed this weekend on a tour of Franklin and Spring Hill that my family and I (yes, including wife and kids!) were fortunate and honored to have enjoyed. Sponsored by the John Bell Hood Society, this tour was thorough, fascinating, and educational. Hood has not recently received such a fair hearing as he got on this tour.

Damage from Confederate bullets - Carter House outbuilding

Before the bitter fighting at Franklin there was Spring Hill. Some 18 miles south of Franklin this small town could have been the site of one of the greatest victories of Southern arms in the entire War. But due to confusion of orders and difficult terrain a masterful flanking and envelopment movement directed by General Hood came to not with the following day being the battle of Franklin. The frustration that the failure to bag Schofield and his army at Spring Hill created in the Confederate army cannot be overstated. To understand Franklin, one must understand the events of the previous day at Spring Hill. It has been described variously as the greatest error, controversy, and lost opportunity of the War. There is no one more studied on this battle and its maneuvers than Mr. Eric Jacobson. Lucky for me Mr. Jacobson led the tour at Spring Hill and to Winstead Hill- the jumping off point of the great Confederate charge at Franklin.

Bullet holes - Carter House farm office. There are one thousand bullet holes on this and other Carter buildings.

Eric Jacobson is the lead historian at Carnton Plantation in Franklin. His recent book “For Cause and Country” certainly is the most authoritative study of Spring Hill in print. I recommend this book highly. Eric Jacobson is a superb guide- he is engaging, thoroughly knowledgeable of the terrain, the battle and the campaign. Spring Hill is one of the most confusing engagements/battles of the War. Mr. Jacobson’s explanations make it all come into focus. Standing on the hilltop nearby to the Columbia Pike it becomes clear how the entire Union army under Schofield (some 25 thousand men with horses, mules, wagons, artillery, etc.) could walk literally under the very noses of the Confederate army in the darkness of November 29, 1864. As Mr. Jacobson mentioned in passing, one cannot really understand Spring Hill without actually traversing the ground. We did. It has always been difficult for me personally to get a great feel for the ground and the events that happened at Spring Hill on the 29th of November, 1864. Now I “get it”- thanks to Mr. Jacobson.

The cost of Franklin was devestating.

Moving on from Spring Hill we made our way to Carnton and the Carter House. Carnton is lovely and haunting. Four CSA generals were laid out in death on its outside porch. Hundreds of Confederate soldiers were there suffering and dying as the MacGavock family cared for the wounded in their home and on their property. Blood stains from wounded Confederate soldiers still can be seen in the wood floors of the home. The horrific conditions there after the battle have been documented and written about but can truly only be imagined. Seeing the blood stains and hearing of the sufferings of everyone there, one can begin to see it.

There is a clock in the main parlor at Carnton that was there during the battle and after. We all fell silent and listened to the clock ticking just as it did that day as men suffered and died within hearing distance of it. It was a special moment, and can transport one to the past if one allows oneself to imagine it all – all the misery and horror of it. The appalling sites and events that occurred at Carnton around that clock that we heard ticking can only be imagined and all with a shudder.

Carnton - Confederate field hospital after the battle of Franklin

After Carnton we made our way to the Carter House where David Fraley the chief Military Historian there gave an excellent tour starting in the yard where hundreds of Union and Confederate soldiers fought in ugly bloody hand to hand combat on November 30, 1864 there on the Carter property. Mr. Fraley has a wealth of knowledge of the people who fought at Franklin on both sides, the tactics and military issues involved and the very high cost to all involved that the battle exacted. Touring the house which was Union General Jacob Cox’ headquarters during the battle is to be transported back in time a bit.

Still covered in bullet holes and battle damage the Carter House at Franklin is one of the most historically significant homes in the entire United States. Standing in the yard one can almost imagine the brutal combat that took place there. It’s hallowed ground and a very special place that every Civil War student and every American should visit. There may be no place in the country where combat more vicious and brutal occured.

The charge of the Confederate Army of Tennessee that opened this brutal battle was double the distance of Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg; had more participants, and was not preceded by artillery as the brave men at Gettysburg were. The events at Franklin are off the charts of grandness, brutality, violence, bravery, etc. And how lucky to have had a tour of the area by Mr. Fraley.

Bloodstains at Carnton - Franklin, TN

Decisions made at Franklin and Spring Hill by General Hood and then at Franklin and Nashville that would lead to the almost complete destruction of the Army of Tennessee have been analyzed often. Mr. Sword’s book on the subject has skewed the debate against the General unfairly. It is time to approach this battle and the entire Tennessee Campaign not from sadness and anger at the resulting brutality and apparently avoidable losses but more from an objective perspective whose only purpose is to determine the truth. This is certainly the historian’s duty.

Confederate General Carter - mortally wounded at Franklin. One of six Confederate generals killed. John C. Carter, General, CSA; Mortally Wounded at Franklin

There are no greater seekers of the truth about General Hood than the John Bell Hood Historical Society. Mr. Sword’s book “Confederacy’s Last Hurrah” is not the final word on these battles and the Tennessee campaign of 1864. It is important to give General Hood a fair hearing and to understand his motives, his abilities, his mood and thoughts during those difficult times of decision in middle Tennessee.

(Photo of Brigadier General John C. Carter’s grave, Columbia, TN. Mortally wounded at Franklin, Carter would die ten days later [the General is not a relative of the Carter House Carter Family]. Not believing that he was to die, and ignoring the assurances of doctors that he was mortally wounded and could not survive, General Carter would ask for his wife repeatedly. His grave would be unmarked for over 50 years. Photo of General Carter courtesy of Generals and Brevets.)

General Hood is a tragic hero who suffered greatly for his country. “He did the best he could under the circumstances” was heard often during this event. And it is so. I think that he did. While I disagree with some of the decisions that he made and wish that he hadn’t made them, I wasn’t on Winstead Hill as the sunlight was dimming on November 30, 1864; I didn’t marching down country backroads in the dark at Spring Hill the previous day.

However, men’s lives are not to be thrown away in order to do “something” rather than nothing. The commander has a responsibility to take calculated, reasonable risks. The attack at Franklin was contrary to all understood military theory and planning. It is difficult for an objective historian to defend the attack at Franklin as ordered by Hood. Frank Cheatham, Corp commander of the Army of Tennessee said to a Union survivor after the War that had Wagner’s two divisions not been in his advanced exposed position south of the Carter House, Schofield’s army would likely have killed everyone in the Army of Tennessee.

The battle of Franklin was a savage affair that was not pre-ordained nor determined by circumstances as some historians and defenders of General Hood have suggested. It occurred because Hood gave the order to advance – despite reasonable objections based upon sound judgments and reconnaissance by his subordinates particularly Cleburne and Forrest. These men are no longer alive to give explanations as to why they made their decisions. This is one of the reasons why historians exist.

General Hood will always be held accountable for his decision to attack at Franklin then to move forward to Nashville despite the heavy losses for not at Franklin. The devastating costs of both battles demand attention and explanation. Only the students and the historians can begin to understand how these nightmare battles came to be, as the commanders and the soldiers are gone now so long ago. There is no inevitablity about Franklin’s frontal assault or the advance to Nashville in my opinion. General Hood as the commander of the Army of Tennessee had the responsibility and privilege to make the momentous decisions during the campaign. The lives of his men are literally in his hands. Because the campaign failed and because so many lives were lost as a result of it, General Hood must be understood and held accountable by history for the decisions that he made. All men and women who make momentous decisions are thus held to account by history. This is no disservice to the General commanding but a duty accepted by the true student and historian.

The Union lines (three of them) at Franklin were fully manned and fully covered by artillery and were complete, so said Cleburne. The Union main line could be flanked if the requisite manpower were provided, so said Forrest. If Forrest can get across the Harpeth so can infantry – if Forrest asks for two hours to flank the position when the alternative is a potentially suicidal frontal assault without artillery support then Forrest should be given his chance. If Fort Granger is mounted with artillery it must be attacked or flanked and the divisions supporting it. Truly, had Forrest’s attack been fully backed with a complete compliment of cavalry and the additional division of infantry as requested by Forrest, Wilson well could have been driven back and defeated. This issue is worthy of more posts and articles and even a book. Dismissal of Forrest’s flank attack is not reasonable particularly by suggesting that the Harpeth was running too high to get infantry across. Forrest had a ford and got his horseman across, he would have got infantry and guns across too had he been given the opportunity.

But Hood would not wait, it was a race against time for him – and he must be held accountable as the results were so utterly devastating – even for him. After the battle of Franklin he sat on his horse viewing the carnage and loss and cried… anybody with a heart would do the same. Yes, he was concerned that Schofield would escape him again just as he had slipped the trap the previous evening at Spring Hill, but this is not justification for ordering a frontal advance unsupported by artillery and with the cavalry main force across the river. This race against time concept causes men to make rash decisions and ignore good council. There are options, even in war and even 18 miles south of Nashville. An army destroyed in a risky adventure is not likely to fight well or at all the following day.

For Hood, the advance to Nashville was little more than an act of honor and psychology as he knew, and essentially stated so in his memoirs, that little could be done at Nashville after the horrors and losses of Franklin. These decisions must be understood in their context. This is not a matter of excoriating anyone or of criticizing unnecessarily men facing the most extreme stress possible, it is rather about the need and desire to really understand what happened. This is what history is all about.

The Confederates were filled with hope when they tramped this road in Spring Hill. They expected a great victory was waiting at the end of this road.

Great history is not about analyzing events with modern eyes it is best done when we can put ourselves “in the shoes” of the people involved. Understanding best comes when we can learn what the people involved understood – history with 20:20 hindsight isn’t real.

For analysis we should include everything we learned after the events… but for true understanding we need to in some way, as best we can, become the actor himself/herself and use the information that they had available to them (and perhaps much that they did not) to try as best we can to come to understand why decisions were made and how events came to occur. This is an honest approach to history – as honest as perhaps we can be – and removes our biases and prisms and agendas as much as possible.

It is important for Civil War students and those interested in these important events to try their best to understand General Hood. He has been dealt with unfairly by recent historians, most particularly Mr. Sword. The John Bell Hood Society and Mr. Sam Hood are leading the way in correcting the errors of some historians and showing those interested in our nation’s history that John Bell Hood was not perfect but was a hero nonetheless.

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Stories of Humanity and Brave Compassion in Two Wars

Posted by Daniel | Civil War, Heroes, International | Thursday 1 May 2008 7:08 pm

Compassion and Chivalry in War: Civil War and WW2

Introduced by Daniel Mallock

The horror, violence, and cruelty of war is occasionally interrupted by deeds of extreme humanitarian bravery and compassion. When these stories are shared, they raise the hairs on the back of one’s neck, and can bring one to tears.

In particular when men show compassion to their enemies it tends to reawaken the soul and remind one that in the midst of war and bloodshed and cruelty, the human heart – the foundation of civilization – is still alive and still motivates men to do deeds of valor for those they would otherwise destroy.

The Civil War is rife with such stories. Three come to mind: First, the selfless bravery and compassion of Sergeant Kirkland at Fredricksburg who will forever be remembered as the “Angel of Mayre’s Heights”. Risking his life to bring water to his wounded foes in blue, Confederate Sgt. Kirkland showed everyone there and thereafter that compassion did not die in the War.

Confederate Lt. James Graves has a special yet largely unknown place in Civil War history. After the Battle of Glasgow, Missouri, late in October of 1864 Lt. Graves was commanding a detachment of Confederate Cavalry escorting Union prisoners to a place of parole. Graves had some 50 mounted men with him to escort the approximately 25 Union officer prisoners in his charge.

He was soon challenged by Bloody Bill Anderson, the notorious bushwhacker and murderer of Centralia infamy. Anderson demanded that Graves surrender the Union officers to him and his men. It was clear that Anderson was planning to kill the Federals. Graves refused.

What happened next is one of the most astounding and special events of the entire War. Graves approached the Union prisoners and told them that Anderson, who they all knew for the cruel man that he was, had demanded them, and that Graves had refused. He informed the Union men that he would fight Anderson and his men, who Graves considered outlaws, rather than surrender his Union escort.

Graves gave the men in blue weapons and a Union flag. The Confederate cavalry escort and the Union officers formed a line of battle together and faced Anderson’s 300. As they advanced, the bushwhackers withdrew, and the Union men were delivered safely to their destination. Never before or since had Union and Confederate soldiers been in line of battle together.

Documentation regarding this event is available in the Official Records and elsewhere though it is scant and difficult to locate. A medal was struck after the War and presented to Graves by these Union officers. Graves traveled from the South to St. Louis to accept this, from what I understand to be, astonishingly beautiful medal.

Someday soon I hope that this superb and very important story will be told in its entirety so that the entire country can learn of the special qualities of our Civil War soldiers of both sides. Most importantly in this time of political division, war, and the ongoing threat of terror it is important for all Americans to see that our history has superb examples of cooperation, compassion, bravery, and a central unifying idea of what is right and what is so very wrong. Identifying a direct threat to both his own command and his escort of enemy officers, Graves defended them rather than walk away and give them up to be killed. This astonishing act of bravery and thoughtfulness is largely unknown, but it deserves a much wider audience.

Another superb example of Civil War compassion under fire comes from Kennesaw Mountain, June 27, 1864:

“It was during this battle that one of the noblest deeds of humanity was performed. Colonel W. H. Martin of the First Arkansas of Cleburne’s division seeing the woods in front of him on fire and burning the wounded Federals, tied a handkerchief to a ramrod and1 amidst the danger of battle mounted the parapet and shouted to the enemy: “We wont fire a gun till you get them away. Be quick.” And with his own men he leaped over our works and helped to remove them. When this was done, a Federal major was so imprssed’ by such magnanimity that he pulled from his belt a brace of fine pistols and presented them to Colonel Martin with
the remark,

“Accept them with my appreciation of the nobility of this deed.”

(Battles and Sketches of the Army of Tennessee, B.L. Ridley, 1906, p319)

Our Civil War seems to have many such stories of compassion and care that one side showed to the other. In fact, an excellent book was written recently on this subject, and I recommend it: My Brother’s Keeper: Union and Confederate Soldiers’ Acts of Mercy During the Civil War by Daniel Rolph (Stackpole, 2002).

WW2 may have similar numbers of stories of compassion and mercy between enemies, but they seem few and far between.

I was sent an email by a friend the other day that I would like to share with you. It originated from a North Carolina shop’s Web Site (Classic Arms) to which I give credit and appreciation here.

I present this story in it’s entirety, and unedited. It is a special thing, and I hope that you will be as affected by it as I was. It is comforting to know that in the middle of the horrific brutality that was the Civil War and WW2 there were warriors on all sides who retained their sense of humanity and compassion and were able to see, if only for a short moment, a brief yet very important moment, that those on the other side were human just like them, and deserving of something better than death. More importantly still, these heroes were brave enough to risk their own lives to help their fellow men even in the midst of mortal combat.

-Daniel Mallock

Chivalry In The Air
As told by Jim Brodie
For Military Appreciation Day
Florida House of Representatives
April 19, 2007

I would like to tell you a story.

A true story of Chivalry, Gallantry, Courage and Compassion.

I hope you will enjoy it and share it with the special people in your life.

At Dawn on the morning of December 20, 1943, American Army Lieutenant Charlie Brown piloted his B-17 bomber into formation and joined nearly 400 others from the 8th Air Force in England to bomb a German fighter factory in Bremen. It was his first mission as pilot in command of this 30 ton 4 engine heavy.

Charlie was 21 years old. His crew of ten were all in their late teens and early twenties. They had worked together and they had trained together…they were more than a crew… they were a team.

The bomber stream crossed the North Sea with American P-47 fighters as escorts. The fighters would stay with them for as long as they had range. But when the fighters turned back to refuel the bombers were on their own.

As they crossed the German coast they were attacked by defending ME 109 fighters.

The Messerschmitt ME 109 fighter was a world class, single engine aircraft, …fast, maneuverable and deadly … armed with machine guns and cannon. The two forces clashed and fought all the way to the outskirts of Bremen. During the action Charlie’s bomber sustained numerous hits wounding several of the crew and knocking out one engine. They were able to stay with the formation but as they approached the target, German anti-aircraft guns opened up. Charlie’s plane was hit again, destroying the Plexiglas nose and wounding the bombardier.

They could have turned back,
they should have turned back
but that’s not what THIS crew was all about.

They stayed with the mission and dropped their bombs directly on the target.

They were unable to keep up with the formation as it turned back toward England.

Alone as a straggler they were an easy target. Once again the German fighters attacked. Machine gun and cannon fire tore through the airplane.

The American gunners fought back bravely …all 10 machine guns blazing. Charlie flying his bomber directly into the oncoming Germans as if it were a fighter, employing tactics no bomber was built for.

The one sided battle lasted far longer than anyone could have expected, one German fighter destroyed, another probable…but the flying fortress and the crew were being shredded…Charlie was hit in the right arm.

At 25 thousand feet the controls of a second engine were shot away and the bomber’s oxygen supply was destroyed. Without oxygen the crew and pilot lost consciousness and the bomber spiraled toward earth 5 miles below.

The Germans scored it as another kill and raced off after the main bomber formation. Charlie’s B-17 continued its lumbering death spiral.
Miraculously the out of control bomber was spiraling slowly enough that the pilot regained consciousness in time to get control of the airplane and leveled off at 150 feet.

Charlie ordered his co-pilot to prepare the crew to bail out if he could get enough altitude for the parachutes to open. The co-pilot came back and told him of the dead and wounded crew and the horribly damaged airplane. They were in no condition to bail out.

Charlie replied, “that’s okay, I can’t get any altitude anyway”,…throw everything overboard to lighten the load”…parachutes, life rafts, machine guns. A third engine was now acting up.

As they flew, their course took them, unknowingly, over a Luftwaffe fighter base.

On the ground German fighter Ace, Lt. Franz Stigler was having his Messerschmitt fighter re-armed and re-fueled. He had already shot down two of the American bombers that morning adding to his long list of what would be 28 aerial victories.

He could not believe his luck, here was another target and he went off to bag number three for the day which would surely earn him the Knight’s Cross presented by the Furher himself!

As Franz sped toward his target his experience told him to do it just right, even though this American was alone and a straggler, he had been shot down by B17’s before and he had the wounds to show for it.

As he approached from the rear Franz noticed how low and how strangely the bomber was flying. The closer he got the more amazed he was that it was flying at all.

It was terribly shot up. He determined he would get as close as possible…..his 30 mm cannon and machine guns ready…..his finger on the trigger. As soon as the tail gunner would raise his guns Franz would blow them out of the sky and go home a hero….once again.

Closer….still closer….yet, no reaction from the crippled bomber. The much faster fighter flew by in a wide arc without firing. Franz noticed the tail gunner was dead… blood was everywhere.

He saw the courageous American crew struggling to save their comrades and a valiant young pilot trying to keep his airplane flying.

As the German fighter passed, them the entire crew was horrified. They were helpless; they were doomed…and they knew it…they were all about to die.

The defender of the Reich circled back, still in amazement that this bomber could remain airborne. He approached again and did not fire. This time slowing down enough to fly in formation on Charlie’s right wing.

Charlie, bleeding from his wound looked in horror, could not believe what he was seeing. The two 20 something warriors stared at each other, each other, each taking the measure of the other airman…the planes just a few feet apart.

He signaled Charlie to drop his landing gear, land in Germany and surrender. Charlie, either not understanding, or still groggy, just glared back. He refused to give up his ship on his first mission as pilot in command.

Again, Franz, using hand signals, ordered the American pilot to land and be taken prisoner. Charlie refused.

Franz thought to himself, “I can’t murder this brave but helpless crew and their “cowboy ” pilot, but we are still way inside Germany and if I leave them alone they will be dropped by the next fighter or flak gun”.

So, in an act of great compassion and chivalry and risking facing a firing squad, German Lt. Franz Stigler escorted American Lt. Charlie Brown’s bomber to the North Sea coast. He pointed toward England…then he saluted, said “happy birthday cowboy” rolled his fighter into a hard right turn and headed back to base never to breathe a word of what had happened.

He flew an incredible 480 combat missions… was credited with 28 victories and 40 more probables. He survived bring shot down 17 times.

Charlie and the crew were in total disbelief. This gallant German knight had given them life. They continued across the North Sea, crash landing on the coast of England.

Charlie continued to serve his country throughout the war flying 30 more combat missions over Germany and retired from the Air Force as a Lt. Colonel. He and his crew related their story to the Army brass and were told, “Bury it”, your mission is classified Secret “we are at war, son… there are no gallant Germans”. But Charlie and the crew never forgot the chivalrous airman who gave them back their lives.

That should be the end of the story…but it’s not.

Forty five years later in 1988, Charlie attended a reunion of his WWII bomber squadron and told his story. Fifty seven children and grandchildren had been born to the surviving crew of Charlie’s bomber. The press was there and a reprint of the story was eventually published in a German fighter pilot’s magazine.

A year later, in December of 1989, Charlie received a five page type written letter postmarked Surrey, British Columbia. In the letter was a precise description of the air action over Bremen Germany on December, 20 1943…details that only Charlie knew, such as aircraft markings, time of day, precise battle damage and even the wave salute.

Charlie couldn’t believe it; how could this be possible? He was suspicious, but the details were accurate, the same story told from a totally different perspective. He telephoned Canada; for an hour the two spoke; every detailed was described. Charlie and his wife Jackie flew to British Columbia and met Franz and his wife Helga. In the airport in Canada the two old warriors, now in their 70’s, once again came face to face. They stared at each other; fears and memories that had been locked away came rushing back. With tears in their eyes they embraced.

Franz said, “Happy Birthday Cowboy”, for it was December 20th, 1989.

Franz and Charlie have remained friends ever since and have become as close as brothers.

How A Confederate General Saved the Union

Posted by Daniel | Civil War, Heroes | Tuesday 1 April 2008 2:02 pm

James Patton Anderson and U.S. Grant in the NorthWest

by Daniel Mallock

Events over time that overrun each other, that are inextricably tied together and form a mosaic and tapestry reaching to a certain strange and stunning inevitability are often seen in historical study. In the course of recent research I ran across one of these events and was amazed at its importance. Important events such as these are often known to but a few. But their importance is undiminished.

This story of James Patton Anderson, Confederate General, is little known, I have certainly never seen this case discussed elsewhere. But I’d like to share it with you, as I know you will appreciate it.

James Patton Anderson

Major General James Patton Anderson (1822-1872) was a division Commander in the Army of Tennessee. A man of the “Old South” he was a proud slaveholder and staunch secessionist. At one time the Commander of the District of Florida Anderson was posted to the Army of Tennessee in July, 1864. At Jonesboro Anderson took a very painful wound to the face which is wife believed finally took his life some ten years later.

Noted for his friendship with Leonidas Polk and his strong conservative views, after his surrender at Greensborough, NC Anderson refused to sign the Loyalty Pledge and would thus be prevented from resuming his pre-war legal career. He died in poverty in Memphis, TN. He was a strong Confederate and did not sign the Oath for to do so would have “implied a regret for what he had done & he had none. And if his life was to go over he would do just as he had unless if possible he would be more devoted to the cause,” according to his widow, Etta.

Anderson served as United States marshal of Washington Territory, from 1853 to 1856, and it was there that he had his fateful encounter with US Grant. This period was a particularly low one for Grant. Only with the coming of the Civil War would his prospects turn around. Grant’s short but astonishing meeting with Anderson near a river bank would have consequences that would change the course of American and world history.

The following account was written by General Anderson’s widow Etta and was sent in letter form (1889) to a Mr. Earle with the request that he not disclose the letter’s contents.

“Genls. McClelan [ sic ] (a great favorite with us), Grant, Auger, & many other officers were our friends there; & let me tell you a little thing that for Genl. Grant’s children’s sake will be kept between us. While my husband was taking the census, way up near the Dalles, on the Columbia River, Genl. Grant, then a Lieut. paymaster with the rank of Capt., was suffering from mania_____ [delirium tremens]. Got away from his soldiers. They were all camping on the bank of the river. My husband had Indians with him. The soldiers woke him & told him of Grant’s condition & that he had gone. He woke his Indians, made them understand, & put them on the trail. They tracked him by the pieces of his outside woolen shirt on the bushes; found him crouched down under some bushes ready to plunge into the river hundreds of feet below. One false step & both would go down to certain death. The banks were solid rock hundreds of feet high & the water so cold that they could not live in it a moment without cramp. Genl. A. was strong and active. He climbed carefully until he was between Grant and the river-gave one spring against his breast-forced him back to the ground, & caught to the bushes near & held him fast until the soldiers came & helped to secure him & take him into camp. Patton rarely spoke of it. About the time of the fall of Vicksburg, it got out through some officer writing to one of his staff & his staff insisted on knowing the particulars & were much amused.”
(courtesy of Florida Historical Society: The Florida Historical Quarterly volume 65 issue 3)

Note: The term “delirium tremens” is found in the original article posted online.

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Randall Jarrell – America’s Great Poet of WW2

Posted by Daniel | Books, Culture, Heroes, Poetry | Thursday 31 January 2008 7:20 pm

Little Friend, Little Friend – Jarrell’s Powerful, Quiet, Short Homage to America’s War

Introduction by Daniel Mallock

A great poem ought to be huge – grand in scope, but not necessarily excessive in length. Great poetry should tell massive stories with multiple layers concisely and artfully. One doesn’t need obscure references, convoluted language, nor self-congratulatory internal winkings. Poetry is supposed to be honest. A great poem should pack a serious punch of power and style and insight.

It’s a complicated world and life is complex, confusing, and manifestly difficult to fathom. Poetry is at its does best when it illustrates and even explains something of life and humanity in a form that is reachable and readily understood, entertaining and impressive. Overly complex poetry tends to be more a demonstration of the art and poet rather than anything that might tend to educate, enlighten, or entertain the reader.

I’ve heaped praise and criticism on the Nashville Fugitives on these pages already. I believe the finest Civil War poem of the 20th century is by one of them – “Lee in the Mountains”, by Donald Davidson. Conversely, the worst Civil War poem of the last century was perpetrated by Allen Tate another Fugitive. His poem “Ode to the Confederate Dead” is something of a crime; a criminal cruelty dumped upon an entire country by an otherwise credible poet. Tate’s poem has long been considered a classic, a suitable tribute to the Confederate dead – the truth is that both assertions are false.

Robert Lowell’s “For the Union Dead” is a brilliant poem conceived by another writer associated with the Fugitives (Lowell studied under John Crowe Ransom at Kenyon College). These three poems represent the finest and the worst 20th century poetic treatments of the Civil War. So, it is somewhat ironic that one of the finest poets of WW2 should also be a student of Ransom, and a colleague of Robert Lowell at Kenyon – another Fugitive associate and Nashvillian. Let’s now complete the Nashville connection…

Perhaps the greatest American poet of WW2 is Randall Jarrell. This poet who would write of bombing raids and dying ball-turret gunners, who would bring the reality of the war into his poetry so powerfully, so lyrically, and so successfully – was born in Nashville and would later teach at Vanderbilt, the very home of the Fugitives.

Randall Jarrell (1914-1965) could embed the nitty gritty of war into his work – the machinery, the oil, the gunmetal, the equipment of death and destruction. He would populate his poems with people who de-populated cities, the air crews of the Eighth Air Force, for example. Jarrell brought the casualties, the blood, the losses, the mechanics of war together in such a way as to bring the war home to the reader – Jarrell’s poems make World War Two real; every casualty is strongly felt.

As with most survivors of war, Jarrell was deeply affected if not scarred by his war experiences. Jarrell served in the Army Air Corps (precursor to the US Air Force) working in a control tower. He had enlisted to fly aircraft but failed to qualify. Jarrell went on to a very successful academic and writing career after the war becoming a noted critic and poet. He died in 1965 in Chapel Hill, North Carolina in a traffic accident. It is not known if Jarrell’s death was a suicide or an accident, but his bouts with depression and the intense emotional depth of his poetry give one pause. Robert Lowell referred to his old Kenyon colleague as one of the “best lyric poets of the past”.

Jarrell’s war poems are jarring, and very real. He brings the experience home and slams it down on the page so that the reader must deal with it, somehow. As with so many of Jarrell’s WW2 poems reading “Little Friend, Little Friend” is an emotional experience, a jarring slap on the side of the head with the truth and ugly reality of war. The ugliness and horror of war can be shared via the beauty of poetry, with the obvious irony there for all to see.

One of Jarrell’s greatest poems is but a fragment and challenges the definition of poetry itself. It is very short, and very powerful. It seems to embrace the men and machines of the war, and put them back in the air where Jarrell always knew them to be – doing their terrible damage and raining death down upon the cities and one another.

David Perkins wrote, “They are vivid and moving incidents of combat, told with an exceptionally sensitive psychological insight and moral perplexity.” (A History of Modern Poetry: Modernism and After (Cambridge, MA, 1987), 393.) Jarrell tells his stories in beautiful language, with little fanfare, and intense emotional power. His poems are novels on a page, huge stories of massive events and shattered people and cities all scrunched up on the page like a crashed bomber – and rebuilt in poetry by way of explanation.

“Little Friend, Little Friend” is a radio transmission/poem between a bomber pilot and a fighter pilot flying in hostile skies. They are there for each other to a certain extent, always just out of range. They do what they can for each other. And in these few lines is a very powerful, very simplified view of the comradery, ugliness, bravery, and extremes of fighting wars in the air. Jarrell is one of America’s most brilliant poets. It is a privilege to present this brilliant fragment/poem of Jarrell on my blog.

“Little Friend, Little Friend”
by Randall Jarrell, 1945

. . . . Then I heard the bomber call me in:

“Little Friend, Little Friend, I got two
engines on fire. Can you see me, Little
Friend?”

I said “I’m crossing right over you.
Let’s go home.”

B-17 two engines on fire

The Bomber
Photo Courtesy of “100% Geek”

Little Friend

Little Friend
Photo Courtesy of “HistoryLink101″

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Dyin’ Ain’t Much of a Livin’ – Civil War on Film

Posted by Daniel | Civil War, Culture, Film, Heroes | Sunday 27 January 2008 3:39 pm

The Greatest Civil War Western – The Outlaw Josie Wales

by Daniel Mallock

The Outlaw Josie Wales is my favorite western. It’s considered by some folks to be the greatest western. I agree.

Josie Wales

A great western should have a collection of strong key elements, and Josie Wales has them all. The setting is the savage Civil War in Missouri and Kansas where atrocities and outrages were perpetrated by irregulars of both sides. Folks at the time called these criminals and guerrillas “bushwackers”. The fighting in this theater of the Civil War is not commonly known by non-students and historians and was particularly ugly and violent. Most actions were small unit affairs, with people who were well known to one another before the war fighting under opposing flags. Violence and crimes against civilians was common as both legitimate armies used irregulars to terrorize the civilian population. The massacre at Centralia, Missouri , September 27, 1864 was perpetrated by Bloody Bill Anderson and his men. There is no mention of this event in the film, of course, as there could be no sympathy for anyone who had had a part in that abomination.

Josie Wales captures the ugliness and horror of those times and provides a motivator to the title character when his family is murdered by Kansas Union irregulars. Wales is enraged and joins Bloody Bill Anderson’s Confederate guerrilla outfit. When the War ends, they are one of the last organized Confederate units to surrender (at least according to the film). Wales’ comrades surrender themselves at a Union camp, but Josie refuses. But everything is not as it seems and as the men surrender their arms and take the Oath of Allegiance to the Union, they are viciously murdered in cold blood. It turns out that the same unit that has just killed his fellow Confederates is the very same that had killed his family several years before. And so the chase begins… Wales is now the “Outlaw Josie Wales” running from bounty hunters and every male in the territory with a gun not to mention the Union army.

Josie Wales is played by Clint Eastwood in one his best performances. The character is very much like the “Man with no name” from his Spaghetti Western days. Closer to “Blondie” in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly than the silent gunslinger of “Pale Rider” Wales is essentially a good man driven to revenge and violence by circumstances. He is the everyman of the Civil War dragged into the maelstrom of events. As he runs from his pursuers he picks up a ragtag crew of fascinating characters who ride with him, eventually heading for southern Texas. Along the way there are gunfights, suspense, and lots of action.

A great western should have certain components including:

  • beautiful desert scenery
  • a good story line
  • small ramshackle frontier towns
  • a hero or anti-hero with strong and understandable motivations
  • guns, ideally pistols
  • cool hats
  • indians
  • lots of horses
  • rotten villains

Outlaw Josie Wales (1976) was directed by Eastwood as well as starring himself. Sandra Locke, later his common law wife, Chief Dan George, and John Vernon co-star.

Wales is an avenger as he rides across deserts and through broken down frontier towns. He has no options, but to find a place to hide, or just keep on riding forever. Every shooting that involve him is self-defense or in the defense of others who cannot defend themselves. He is a hero, an unsurrendered Confederate partisan, haunted by the senseless murder of his family.

Josie Wales has beautiful scenery, lots of horses and pistols, rotten villains who deserve to get shot (and generally do), suffering innocents who need protection, and one of the coolest hats in American cinema history.

Josie Wales’ hat is stained with sweat, it’s a deep Confederate Gray with a wide and slightly upturned brim. Eastwood hides his eyes under the brim of this hat, and when he slightly lifts his head to look at someone – they know quickly that Wales is not a man to be trifled with. He has a sense of honor and obligation to others, but has no compunction in shooting those who are hunting him or are fixin’ to hurt his friends.

There is a funny moment after Eastwood and his friends have arrived at their Texas destination. Sondra Locke dressed in a fine white dress talks about how beautiful the clouds look. She represents the stability, and happiness of his pre-war life and the look of sadness and dissociation that Eastwood delivers is a fine and sad one. After all of his war-fighting, his losses, and the personal toll that the War has taken, Josie Wales must try very hard to find a place for himself in a peaceful and stable post-war environment. Killing is easy now for him, it’s the living without violence that will be so challenging. One of the more powerful aspects of his character is that he so wants to try.

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“For the Union Dead” – A Timeless Civil War Poem

Posted by Daniel | Cities, Civil War, Culture, Heroes, Poetry | Monday 21 January 2008 11:46 am

“For the Union Dead” by Robert Lowell – A Superb Civil War Poem that Continues to Resonate

Introduction by Daniel Mallock


It is altogether fitting and proper that this poem should be posted and read today, of all days. Martin Luther King day is the right day for this poem, this tribute to the Union dead of the Civil War and a particular remembrance of the black soldiers who wore the uniform of the Union particularly of the Massachusetts 54th Regiment made famous to non-Civil War students by the movie Glory several years ago.

The 54th Massachusetts was the first black regiment to march from the North to fight the Confederacy. These men were quite brave knowing that in battle they would likely get little or no quarter, and if captured they would most assuredly be sent south back to slavery. These men had much to prove what with years of racism from North and South to be broken and defeated by their bravery and sacrifices not to mention the Confederate army that they would later face on the battlefield. They would win ever-lasting fame for their courage during their doomed assault on Fort Wagner at Charleston Harbor, South Carolina, July, 1863. The attack would be a night assault on this heavily guarded fort. The fighting would be intense and the 54th would not be successful. Their white colonel, Robert Gould Shaw would be killed, and almost half the regiment would be lost. The first Medal of Honor for a black man would be earned there.

They marched down Beacon Street, with the Massachusetts State House on one side and Boston Common on the other – off to war, off to death and glory on a twin mission; to fight for the Union and show the world that they were equal in ability to whites. Directly across the street from the Massachusetts State House on Beacon Street there now stands the brilliant monument by Augustus St. Gaudens forever commemorating the 54th, the first black regiment and their white commander Colonel Robert Gould Shaw.

Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, Col. 54th Massachusetts

Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, Colonel, 54th Massachusetts

This monument on Beacon Hill is one of the finest monuments of any kind in the United States. As a tribute to Shaw and the 54th it is unparalled in the physical world; but in the emotional world, the world of poetry, Robert Lowell comes quite close. Lowell brilliantly describes the monument to the 54th and works it into the life of Boston that foremost of abolition cities of the North. Standing before the 54th monument on Beacon Hill, as the crowds walk swiftly by and the traffic speeds along past the State House, one can almost hear the men breath as they are forever frozen in bronze on their march south to battle. There are few monuments in bronze as lifelike as this one: it is an incredible tribute to the 54th and their commander and adorns the city of Boston as fittingly as the obelisk at Bunker Hill or the colonial historical sites of Adams, Revere, Hancock, and several miles to the west, Lexington and Concord.

Lowell’s “For the Union Dead” is a successful poem on so many levels and succeeds completely where Tate’s “Ode to the Confederate Dead” so totally fails. It unifies time and place, and brings context and permanence where everything seems to be shifting and changing. As a tribute to the 54th and the Union dead of the Civil War its elements run as deep as the waters off the coast of Boston seen from the top of Beacon Hill so long ago when the skyscrapers didn’t block the view.

Having started his education at Harvard Lowell transfered to Kenyon College to study under John Crowe Ransom another of Vanderbilt’s Fugitives, like Allen Tate and Donald Davidson. It is an astounding thing that the two greatest Civil War poems of modern times (“Lee in the Mountains” and “For the Union Dead”) and the worst (“Ode to the Confederate Dead”) should be written by poets with Nashville connections. Lowell went on to graduate school to study under Robert Penn Warren, another Vanderbilt “Fugitive”.

St. Gaudens placed a latin inscription on the monument, the motto of the Society of the Cincinnati (a society of Revolutionary War officers started by George Washington and Henry Knox): “Relinquit Omnia Servare Rem Publicam”. The translation is: “He left behind everything to save the Republic”. Lowell opened his poem with this latin phrase but changed the singular “he” to “they” in the latin so that his poem would refer to all the men of the 54th not just its white commander, Robert Gould Shaw, to read: “Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam”.

St. Gaudens Masterpiece Across from Massachusetts State House on Beacon Hill

St. Gaudens’ Masterpiece – The 54th Massachusetts Marching to War – You can almost hear them breath

“For the Union Dead” was published in 1964 during the height of the Civil Rights movement. Active in Civil Rights efforts it is perfectly understandable that Lowell should have written this poem of unity and appreciation with concern, too, that the past should be remembered and its lessons learned. The battlefield of Fort Wagner had been by then reclaimed by the sea at Charleston Harbor and the monument to the 54th had fallen into disrepair. In fact, it was during this time that the St. Gaudens monument had been removed and stored in a crate to prevent damage from “shaking” from the construction of the underground Boston Commons parking garage. So, the battleground is gone, and Shaw’s monunument is gone (but only temporarily), and history fades while “progress” continues speedily obliterating the memory of those that have come before.

“The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier
grow slimmer and younger each year–
wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets
and muse through their sideburns . . .”

Lowell’s brilliant poem is his way of retaining the past and ensuring that important historical memory is not lost forever. The men of the 54th Massachusetts, black and white, were leaders in bringing an end to slavery and establishing equality under the law for blacks in America. The story of their bravery and sacrifice is important to understanding American history and the Civil War. These men demonstrated with their actions and their blood that they were equals and merited equal positions in American society. As Americans North and South we ought to continue to embrace their memory and appreciate the many challenges that they overcame and the lessons that they taught us with their sacrifices at Fort Wagner and elsewhere.

On Martin Luther King day especially we can look back to the 54th Massachusetts as a standard bearer in the struggle for Civil Rights in America. In the 1980s I was privileged to be part of an effort to restore the St. Gaudens monument to its original beauty and power. Lowell’s poem is a tribute to this beautiful work of art, and the men of the 54th Massachusetts who so inspired it. It is our duty as a civilized society to remember our past, appreciate and commemorate our war dead, and learn those lessons that they underscored for later generations with their lives.

“Two months after marching through Boston,
half the regiment was dead;
at the dedication,
William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe.”

This is one of the finest poems of the 20th century and stands with “Lee in the Mountains” as one of the two great modern poems of the Civil War. It is my pleasure to present it here.

-Daniel Mallock

For the Union Dead

by Robert Lowell

“Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam.”

The old South Boston Aquarium stands
in a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded.
The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales.
The airy tanks are dry.

Once my nose crawled like a snail on the glass;
my hand tingled
to burst the bubbles
drifting from the noses of the cowed, compliant fish.

My hand draws back. I often sigh still
for the dark downward and vegetating kingdom
of the fish and reptile. One morning last March,
I pressed against the new barbed and galvanized

fence on the Boston Common. Behind their cage,
yellow dinosaur steamshovels were grunting
as they cropped up tons of mush and grass
to gouge their underworld garage.

Parking spaces luxuriate like civic
sandpiles in the heart of Boston.
A girdle of orange, Puritan-pumpkin colored girders
braces the tingling Statehouse,

shaking over the excavations, as it faces Colonel Shaw
and his bell-cheeked Negro infantry
on St. Gaudens’ shaking Civil War relief,
propped by a plank splint against the garage’s earthquake.

Two months after marching through Boston,
half the regiment was dead;
at the dedication,
William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone
in the city’s throat.
Its Colonel is as lean
as a compass-needle.

He has an angry wrenlike vigilance,
a greyhound’s gently tautness;
he seems to wince at pleasure,
and suffocate for privacy.

He is out of bounds now. He rejoices in man’s lovely,
peculiar power to choose life and die–
when he leads his black soldiers to death,
he cannot bend his back.

On a thousand small town New England greens,
the old white churches hold their air
of sparse, sincere rebellion; frayed flags
quilt the graveyards of the Grand Army of the Republic.

The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier
grow slimmer and younger each year–
wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets
and muse through their sideburns . . .

Shaw’s father wanted no monument
except the ditch,
where his son’s body was thrown
and lost with his “niggers.”

The ditch is nearer.
There are no statues for the last war here;
on Boylston Street, a commercial photograph
shows Hiroshima boiling

over a Mosler Safe, the “Rock of Ages”
that survived the blast. Space is nearer.
When I crouch to my television set,
the drained faces of Negro school-children rise like balloons.

Colonel Shaw
is riding on his bubble,
he waits
for the blessèd break.

The Aquarium is gone. Everywhere,
giant finned cars nose forward like fish;
a savage servility
slides by on grease.

54th:

http://www.nga.gov/feature/shaw/s3100.shtm

http://www.54thmass.org/54about.html

Shaw:

http://militaryhistory.about.com/od/1800sarmybiographies/p/rgshaw.htm

Monument:

http://boston.about.com/od/walkingtours/ss/bcWalkingTour_10.htm

(photo of monument: Robert Gould Shaw Memorial photo courtesy Larry Stritof © 2006.)

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“Lee in the Mountains” Donald Davidson’s Stunning Poem of the Civil War

Posted by Daniel | Civil War, Culture, Heroes, Poetry | Monday 7 January 2008 8:09 pm

There are Very Few Truly Stunning Modern Poems of the Civil War – This is One of Them

Lee in the Mountains

by Donald Davidson

With an Introduction by Daniel Mallock

“Every generation writes its own history.” Carl Becker (1873-1945), noted historian, academic, author, and past president of the American Historical Association is credited with this very famous statement. However, this doesn’t quite ring true for poetry. Why this is the case, is something of a mystery. Becker said that “we build our conceptions of history partly out of our present needs and purposes (“What are historical facts?”).

There are several possible answers, and both lead to unpleasant conclusions (for those who love poetry, certainly):
* Current interest in poetry is minimal.
* There are no poets of note interested in the subject.

I’m sure there must be other reasons for this dearth in Civil War poetry, perhaps poets figure that what has already been written is better than what they can do now. But this is absurd, as each generation gets a shot at understanding, and writing about our past. Isn’t that what art is supposed to be about, helping us understand the past because each generation sees the world in a different way than its predecessors?

Great poetry should be both inclusive and expansive, containing a world on a page that readily could require volumes if written in standard prose. Great poetry ought to be a short cut to take the reader somewhere they can never go, understand people in a way that otherwise they could not. As art, it ought to say something, “speak” clearly and passionately to the reader and capture the subject and place and moment in a way that the reader may have to repair to an art museum or the concert hall for similar experiences.

Civil War poetry rarely captures the grandness, the astounding horror and complexity of the events and people involved. In recent memory, three poems have stood above all the others in the public mind, two of them well deserve their reputations. The other does not. I will be discussing these poems, one good the other not, in later posts.

In my opinion, the poem presented here is one of the two finest modern attempts to capture the Civil War in poetry. It is grand in its sweep capturing the times, and the country, the feelings of place and people involved in that momentous struggle. Its setting is post-war and the survivors are marching home in triumph or limping home in weary defeat and full of trepidation for an unknown future. The imagery is lush, the timing is perfect. It is expansive, and inclusive -the spirit of the previous generations alive and involved leaving a legacy for all to learn by. Robert E. Lee is in the mountains, finally. Interrupted by Appomattox, and the end of the Confederacy, Lee is finally in the mountains. Johnston is gone, the armies are gone. Guns are shelved and swords rusting, and the chill air is blowing in the trees shifting candle flames and stirring memories.

It is sad, and grand, and powerful. It is one of the finest poems of the Civil War ever written. If you’ve not seen this before, you are in for a treat. Pride of mission, of place, of heritage- sadness for the sacrifices, and horrors of the past, and a deep appreciation for the bravery and estimable character of those who have come before. It is a poem of pain and hope and loss. Generations overlap here, and heroes of the revolution are brought back by a yearning son in civilian clothes with no flags, no divisions and corps, only the wind in the mountains. One can almost hear the wind and feel the chill of the hills.

The war is over, and Robert E. Lee is no longer the General, but the son again of Light Horse Harry, disappeared so many years ago. The old pain and bitter sadness and utter desolation of the war and of Lee’s lost father come together in this brilliant poem that covers so much historical, emotional, and American ground in such a short time.

Donald Davidson (d. 4/1968), a Vanderbilt student and later professor would write this stunning piece sometime around 1938. A member of the Vanderbilt “Fugitives”, named after a literary journal by the same name, he would be among an august crowd of superb poets and writers including Randall Jarrell arguably the finest American poet of ww2, John Crowe Ransom, Robert Penn Warren, and Allen Tate. Tate is the author of “Ode to the Confederate Dead” which I will cover in a future post.

Davidson’s is a poem, like Lowell’s “For the Union Dead”, that I respect, and that makes me shiver every time I read it. Like Lowell’s poem which I will cover in a future post, this is a classic forever of American letters filling the heart of the reader with respect, sadness, and a physical sense of reality – what is happening in the poem is utterly real and true. It is better than superb. What a profound legacy to the country that the railroad baron Cornelius Vanderbilt should leave but to found an institution such as that which fostered the “Fugitives”.

Let’s go back to Becker, just for a moment. “The value of history is, indeed, not scientific but moral: by liberalizing the mind, by deepening the sympathies, by fortifying the will, it enables us to control, not society, but ourselves — a much more important thing; it prepares us to live more humanely in the present and to meet rather than to foretell the future.” This is also a function of poetry, especially war poetry. It helps us understand the past, and to prepare for but not to foretell the future.

Poetry and literature help us build our humanity and understanding of our experiences, and one another, it is part of the fiber of our personal and national characters. Like history itself, historical poetry brings us back to memory and fortifies us for the future. The cool light of historiography is off, and now the warm and hot glows of emotion are on. Poetry demands a different kind of attention and fosters a deeper more emotional learning. In historiography we want “the facts” as a foundation; in poetry the people are the foundation and the events are the whirlwinds that take them up, and throw them back down again. Poetry is about the feelings that events produce in those caught up in the storm of events, it helps us deeply understand both them and the events. This may be one of the reasons why there are so few brilliant modern Civil War poems, perhaps we’ve lost some deep understanding along the way.

Few poems of the Civil War are as real and as human as this one.

The combat is over, Lee is in the mountains, in a reverie on his father, and his dreams for a bright future. He is haunted, dark. He was making for the mountains when Appomattox changed his plans forever. He was making for the mountains, and the future – and in this poem, he finally gets there.

Enjoy.
-Daniel Mallock

Lee in the Mountains

by Donald Davidson

Walking into the shadows, walking alone
Where the sun falls through the ruined boughs of locust
Up to the president’s office. . . .

Hearing the voices

Whisper, Hush, it is General Lee! And strangely
Hearing my own voice say, Good morning, boys.
(Don’t get up. You are early. It is long
Before the bell. You will have long to wait
On these cold steps. . . .)

The young have time to wait

But soldiers’ faces under their tossing flags
Lift no more by any road or field,
And I am spent with old wars and new sorrow.
Walking the rocky path, where steps decay
And the paint cracks and grass eats on the stone.
It is not General Lee, young men. . .
It is Robert Lee in a dark civilian suit who walks,
An outlaw fumbling for the latch, a voice
Commanding in a dream where no flag flies.

My father’s house is taken and his hearth
Left to the candle-drippings where the ashes
Whirl at a chimney-breath on the cold stone.
I can hardly remember my father’s look, I cannot
Answer his voice as he calls farewell in the misty
Mounting where riders gather at gates.
He was old then–I was a child–his hand
Held out for mine, some daybreak snatched away,
And he rode out, a broken man. Now let
His lone grave keep, surer than cypress roots,
The vow I made beside him. God too late
Unseals to certain eyes the drift
Of time and the hopes of men and a sacred cause.
The fortune of the Lees goes with the land
Whose sons will keep it still. My mother
Told me much. She sat among the candles,
Fingering the Memoirs, now so long unread.
And as my pen moves on across the page
Her voice comes back, a murmuring distillation
Of old Virginia times now faint and gone,
The hurt of all that was and cannot be.

Why did my father write? I know he saw
History clutched as a wraith out of blowing mist
Where tongues are loud, and a glut of little souls
Laps at the too much blood and the burning house.
He would have his say, but I shall not have mine.
What I do is only a son’s devoir
To a lost father. Let him only speak.
The rest must pass to men who never knew
(But on a written page) the strike of armies,
And never heard the long Confederate cry
Charge through the muzzling smoke or saw the bright
Eyes of the beardless boys go up to death.
It is Robert Lee who writes with his father’s hand–
The rest must go unsaid and the lips be locked.

If all were told, as it cannot be told–
If all the dread opinion of the heart
Now could speak, now in the shame and torment
Lashing the bound and trampled States–

If a word were said, as it cannot be said–
I see clear waters run in Virginia’s Valley
And in the house the weeping of young women
Rises no more. The waves of grain begin.
The Shenandoah is golden with a new grain.
The Blue Ridge, crowned with a haze of light,
Thunders no more. The horse is at plough. The rifle
Returns to the chimney crotch and the hunter’s hand.
And nothing else than this? Was it for this
That on an April day we stacked our arms
Obedient to a soldier’s trust? To lie
Ground by heels of little men,

Forever maimed, defeated, lost, impugned?
And was I then betrayed? Did I betray?
If it were said, as it still might be said–
If it were said, and a word should run like fire,
Like living fire into the roots of grass,
The sunken flag would kindle on wild hills,
The brooding hearts would waken, and the dream
Stir like a crippled phantom under the pines,
And this torn earth would quicken into shouting
Beneath the feet of the ragged bands–

The pen

Turns to the waiting page, the sword
Bows to the rust that cankers and the silence.

Among these boys whose eyes lift up to mine
Within gray walls where droning wasps repeat
A hollow reveille, I still must face,
Day after day, the courier with his summons
Once more to surrender, now to surrender all.
Without arms or men I stand, but with knowledge only
I face what long I saw, before others knew,
When Pickett’s men streamed back, and I heard the tangled
Cry of the Wilderness wounded, bloody with doom.

The mountains, once I said, in the little room
At Richmond, by the huddled fire, but still
The President shook his head. The mountains wait,
I said, in the long beat and rattle of siege
At cratered Petersburg. Too late
We sought the mountains and those people came.
And Lee is in the mountains now, beyond Appomattox,
Listening long for voices that will never speak
Again; hearing the hoofbeats that come and go and fade
Without a stop, without a brown hand lifting
The tent-flap, or a bugle call at dawn,
Or ever on the long white road the flag
Of Jackson’s quick brigades. I am alone,
Trapped, consenting, taken at last in mountains.

It is not the bugle now, or the long roll beating.
The simple stroke of a chapel bell forbids
The hurtling dream, recalls the lonely mind.
Young men, the God of your fathers is a just
And merciful God Who in this blood once shed
On your green altars measures out all days,
And measures out the grace
Whereby alone we live;
And in His might He waits,
Brooding within the certitude of time,
To bring this lost forsaken valor
And the fierce faith undying
And the love quenchless
To flower among the hills to which we cleave,
To fruit upon the mountains whither we flee,
Never forsaking, never denying
His children and His children’s children forever
Unto all generations of the faithful heart.

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