One of the odd things about war in the media since 1965 has been the absence of the bright/happy military feature in newspapers and magazines ... "the lighter side of," as it were.
The Civil War newspapers and magazines were brimming with cheerful "filler" and one of the staples of this type was comic verse. I wanted to do a few weeks of this to give a sense of how frivolous writers and editors could get - at least compared to today's sensibilities.
This is an anonymous offering that appeared in a newspaper somewhere and was anthologized in 1867 in Frank Moore's Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South; 1860 – 1865. You can read it on pages 9 and 10 hyperlinked on pages accessible after you make certain certifications and agreements *here*.
The poem serves no other purpose but fun. McClellan, Buell, and Halleck, separately or in combination, loom large as terrors for this fleeing Rebel.
Skedaddle
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through a Southern village passed
A youth, who bore, not over nice,
A banner with the gay device,
Skedaddle!
His hair was red, his toes beneath
Peeped, like an acorn from its sheath,
While with a frightened, voice he sang
A burden strange to Yankee tongue,
Skedaddle!
He saw no household fire where he
Might warm his tod or hominy;
Beyond the Cordilleras shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Skedaddle!
"Oh! stay," a cullered pusson said,
"An' on dis bossom res' your hed!"
The octoroon she winked her eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Skedaddle!
"Beware McClellan, Buell, and Banks,
Beware of Halleck's deadly ranks!".
This was the planter's last Good Night;
The chap replied, far out of sight,
Skedaddle!
At break of day, as several boys
from Maine, New York and Illinois
Were moving Southward, in the air
They heard these accents of despair,
Skedaddle!
A chap was found and at his side
A bottle, showing how he died,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Skedaddle!
There in the twilight, thick and gray,
Considerably played out he lay;
And through the vapor, gray and thick,
A voice fell like a rocket-stick,
Skedaddle!
7/31/2004
7/30/2004
That Crampton's Gap tour...
Yesterday the news section of this blog linked to this Crampton's Gap Battlefield tour. It should be noted that this tour is given by the state park service and by rangers pressed into history duty for the day; bless their hearts. Also, as previously noted here, Gathland State Park donations go into the park service's coffers not to helping the CG battlefield per se.
Please note that tours are also available from author Timothy Reese, certainly the expert of experts on this subject. See for yourself.
Please note that tours are also available from author Timothy Reese, certainly the expert of experts on this subject. See for yourself.
Turner "committed" to Last Full Measure
According to this story, red ink has not dampened the hearts of Maxwell or Turner:
Ron Maxwell said he "fully intends" to adapt "The Last Full Measure," the final book in the series that includes the films "Gettysburg" and its prequel, "Gods and Generals."
You can get a sense of the economics of this proposition from The Numbers:
GETTYSBURG
Total US Gross $10,731,997
Production Budget $25,000,000
Gods and Generals
Total US Gross $12,882,934
Production Budget $55,000,000
Here are a couple of non-Turner projects:
Glory
Total US Gross $26,593,580
Production Budget: N/A
Ride with the Devil
Total US Gross $630,779 (Source: "The Numbers")
Production Budget: $38 million (Source: Box Office Mojo)
Needless to say, "Glory" had good press and a broader audience base than Turner's movies but did poorly - very poorly. As for Ride with the Devil - cineastes will immediately recognize that it was directed by Ang Lee and starred Tobey Maguire. It was also a much better movie than the other items on this list.
Turner and Maxwell are trying to reach mass audiences and failing. At the same time, I don't think any kind of Civil War reader, well-informed or not, is happy with the history content of their "product."
"The Last Full Measure" can be drunk after pop culture figures out the successful transition of ACW book to movie. So far, only "Cold Mountain" has suggested new clues.
Ron Maxwell said he "fully intends" to adapt "The Last Full Measure," the final book in the series that includes the films "Gettysburg" and its prequel, "Gods and Generals."
You can get a sense of the economics of this proposition from The Numbers:
GETTYSBURG
Total US Gross $10,731,997
Production Budget $25,000,000
Gods and Generals
Total US Gross $12,882,934
Production Budget $55,000,000
Here are a couple of non-Turner projects:
Glory
Total US Gross $26,593,580
Production Budget: N/A
Ride with the Devil
Total US Gross $630,779 (Source: "The Numbers")
Production Budget: $38 million (Source: Box Office Mojo)
Needless to say, "Glory" had good press and a broader audience base than Turner's movies but did poorly - very poorly. As for Ride with the Devil - cineastes will immediately recognize that it was directed by Ang Lee and starred Tobey Maguire. It was also a much better movie than the other items on this list.
Turner and Maxwell are trying to reach mass audiences and failing. At the same time, I don't think any kind of Civil War reader, well-informed or not, is happy with the history content of their "product."
"The Last Full Measure" can be drunk after pop culture figures out the successful transition of ACW book to movie. So far, only "Cold Mountain" has suggested new clues.
7/29/2004
High-Water Mark, part six
In going through Timothy Reese's wonderfully dense and rich new book, High-Water Mark: The 1862 Maryland Campaign in Strategic Perspective, we reached the point in Reese's dissection of the Maryland Campaign where he analyzes McClellan's famous Sept. 13 order to General William Franklin.
I would like to present just a few key passages from his fourth chapter. My ambitious exercise in minimalism ridiculously truncates his material to blog-size with at least one benefit, that you hear Reese's own voice directly on this important matter.
Though well acquainted with McClellan's 6:20 P.M. dispatch to Franklin, historians have habitually cited it out of legitimate context irrespective of a highly mobile strategic situation, its sense lost in the shuffle.
[...]
McClellan's grand design was flawless in that it required Franklin to isolate McLaws, guardian of Harpers Ferry's backdoor, his being the only Confederate force north of the Potomac which could conceivably hinder any move against Longstreet at Boonsboro or potentially impede Franklin's westward progress.
[...]
With or without constraint, McClellan then spelled out the ultimate objective he allotted to Sixth Corps. This single statement has been routinely misunderstood, misconstrued, or oversimplified by historians due to its extreme complexity and because its purpose ultimately failed.
[...]
... Franklin had to crush McLaws and presumably Anderson, before the [HF] garrison could be assimilated. Thereafter the pontoon bridge into Harpers Ferry could be sealed isolating Jackson, then Franklin's combined forces could march up Pleasant Valley to pressure Longstreet's flank, provided McClellan's assault on Turner's Gap was stopped dead in its tracks.
Conversely, should McClellan burst victoriously through Turner's Gap, Franklin would then be at large to push westward through "Rohrersville Pass" to Sharpsburg or even Williamsport, driving a substantial moving wedge between Longstreet and Jackson as the former retired. In doing so he would force Longstreet to either confront him, or further withdraw into western Maryland, seeking another ford by which to rejoin Jackson. By the same token, Jackson, whether Harpers Ferry fell to him or not, would be compelled to cross the Potomac at Shepherdstown for the same purpose, or likewise move upriver to reunite with Longstreet farther west near to Williamsport. Franklin's mobile wedge would simultaneously impose the same nerve-wracking alternatives on both halves of Lee's army without his necessarily committing to a set-piece battle, Lee all the while relentlessly pressed by the cumulative might of McClellan's main body.
In summary, Franklin was tasked with an aggressive three-way mandate, its first element being the seemingly non-negotiable relief of Harpers Ferry, followed by one of two options to be determined by the outcome at Turner's Gap - a corps offensive in Pleasant Valley to the south against McLaws then north to threaten or at least contain Longstreet, or west as a flying column to keep the Confederate army halved.
[...]
Theoretically, Franklin would reasonably construe his partitioning role as alternately directed toward both Jackson and Longstreet, provided he shadowed whichever command first showed an inclination to reunite with the other.
[...]
In any event, neutralization or immobilization of McLaws command would have been a mere theoretical exchange of minor chess pieces should Harpers Ferry be lost, the primary objective still well in view to the north.
[...]
... McClellan chose to accompany the main body of his army to Turner's Gap, clearly intent on confronting Lee personally beyond South Mountain in a textbook Napoleonic showdown. By assuming this formal, geographically polarized posture, he relinquished his master stroke to Franklin, his proxy, via extended written guidance, when arguably such a delicate, pivotal maneuver might have been better executed, or at least overseen, by the master.
More on High-Water Mark on Tuesday.
I would like to present just a few key passages from his fourth chapter. My ambitious exercise in minimalism ridiculously truncates his material to blog-size with at least one benefit, that you hear Reese's own voice directly on this important matter.
Though well acquainted with McClellan's 6:20 P.M. dispatch to Franklin, historians have habitually cited it out of legitimate context irrespective of a highly mobile strategic situation, its sense lost in the shuffle.
[...]
McClellan's grand design was flawless in that it required Franklin to isolate McLaws, guardian of Harpers Ferry's backdoor, his being the only Confederate force north of the Potomac which could conceivably hinder any move against Longstreet at Boonsboro or potentially impede Franklin's westward progress.
[...]
With or without constraint, McClellan then spelled out the ultimate objective he allotted to Sixth Corps. This single statement has been routinely misunderstood, misconstrued, or oversimplified by historians due to its extreme complexity and because its purpose ultimately failed.
[...]
... Franklin had to crush McLaws and presumably Anderson, before the [HF] garrison could be assimilated. Thereafter the pontoon bridge into Harpers Ferry could be sealed isolating Jackson, then Franklin's combined forces could march up Pleasant Valley to pressure Longstreet's flank, provided McClellan's assault on Turner's Gap was stopped dead in its tracks.
Conversely, should McClellan burst victoriously through Turner's Gap, Franklin would then be at large to push westward through "Rohrersville Pass" to Sharpsburg or even Williamsport, driving a substantial moving wedge between Longstreet and Jackson as the former retired. In doing so he would force Longstreet to either confront him, or further withdraw into western Maryland, seeking another ford by which to rejoin Jackson. By the same token, Jackson, whether Harpers Ferry fell to him or not, would be compelled to cross the Potomac at Shepherdstown for the same purpose, or likewise move upriver to reunite with Longstreet farther west near to Williamsport. Franklin's mobile wedge would simultaneously impose the same nerve-wracking alternatives on both halves of Lee's army without his necessarily committing to a set-piece battle, Lee all the while relentlessly pressed by the cumulative might of McClellan's main body.
In summary, Franklin was tasked with an aggressive three-way mandate, its first element being the seemingly non-negotiable relief of Harpers Ferry, followed by one of two options to be determined by the outcome at Turner's Gap - a corps offensive in Pleasant Valley to the south against McLaws then north to threaten or at least contain Longstreet, or west as a flying column to keep the Confederate army halved.
[...]
Theoretically, Franklin would reasonably construe his partitioning role as alternately directed toward both Jackson and Longstreet, provided he shadowed whichever command first showed an inclination to reunite with the other.
[...]
In any event, neutralization or immobilization of McLaws command would have been a mere theoretical exchange of minor chess pieces should Harpers Ferry be lost, the primary objective still well in view to the north.
[...]
... McClellan chose to accompany the main body of his army to Turner's Gap, clearly intent on confronting Lee personally beyond South Mountain in a textbook Napoleonic showdown. By assuming this formal, geographically polarized posture, he relinquished his master stroke to Franklin, his proxy, via extended written guidance, when arguably such a delicate, pivotal maneuver might have been better executed, or at least overseen, by the master.
More on High-Water Mark on Tuesday.
7/28/2004
Dinner in Washington
I'm still new enough to the area to be struck by the novelty of dinner at the Hay-Adams Hotel tonight. Despite its name and its John Hay room, the hotel is relatively new, having been built in the 1920s.
Hay was the Lincoln secretary who wrote to his colleague John Nicolay that they were politically obligated to destroy George B. McClellan's reputation - he was that blunt about it. At the same time, the man was smitten with Fitz John Porter, considering him the epitome of military virtue. Odd.
This dinner venue was chosen by relatives from out of town. More interesting: Willard's. It's still there but has become an Intercontinental. And it's got a block-long bar.
Henry Willard bought the property in 1850 and transformed it from its origins as a modest hostelry in the dawn of the Republic to a grand gathering point where deals were made and art was inspired.
In addition to every U.S. President from Franklin Pierce in 1853 to George W. Bush in the modern era, past guests of the Willard include P. T. Barnum, Daniel Webster, John Quincy Adams, Mark Twain, Chief Justice John Marshall, Henry Clay, Walt Whitman, Tom Thumb, Jenny Lind, Samuel Morse, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Robert E. Peary, John Philip Sousa, the Duke of Windsor, Harry Houdini, Mae West, Flo Ziegfield, Gloria Swanson, and Gypsy Rose Lee.
Walt Whitman and Gypsy Rose Lee. The lines seem to merge, eventually, at Willard's.
Postscript at 1:50 pm: I learn that the Willard's these worthies stayed in was torn down and rebuilt. The current structure is not connected with their stays. Intend to check it out someday soon.
Which reminds me of another marketing scam. About 30 years ago I went to see a band whose day had already passed. They sounded not quite like their old selves. My newspaper editor (I reviewed books at the Columbus Ledger-Enquirer) had attended too and I asked her about the strange sound. She said something like this: "The band's name was bought by a corporation; they hire whomever they want to play the music and send them on tour." Sort of like building any old hotel and claiming a connection with the previous hotel's guests, I suppose.
One more anecdote. At the height of the Wave phenomenon, about 20 years ago, the English cartoonist Ray Lowry ran a panel in London's NME. There were all these band clothes on stage, draped on mannequins, with music piped onto the club floor. He showed one hipster remarking to another: "Nowadays, the band just sends its clothes on tour."
That also reminds me of the new Willard's for some reason.
Hay was the Lincoln secretary who wrote to his colleague John Nicolay that they were politically obligated to destroy George B. McClellan's reputation - he was that blunt about it. At the same time, the man was smitten with Fitz John Porter, considering him the epitome of military virtue. Odd.
This dinner venue was chosen by relatives from out of town. More interesting: Willard's. It's still there but has become an Intercontinental. And it's got a block-long bar.
Henry Willard bought the property in 1850 and transformed it from its origins as a modest hostelry in the dawn of the Republic to a grand gathering point where deals were made and art was inspired.
In addition to every U.S. President from Franklin Pierce in 1853 to George W. Bush in the modern era, past guests of the Willard include P. T. Barnum, Daniel Webster, John Quincy Adams, Mark Twain, Chief Justice John Marshall, Henry Clay, Walt Whitman, Tom Thumb, Jenny Lind, Samuel Morse, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Robert E. Peary, John Philip Sousa, the Duke of Windsor, Harry Houdini, Mae West, Flo Ziegfield, Gloria Swanson, and Gypsy Rose Lee.
Walt Whitman and Gypsy Rose Lee. The lines seem to merge, eventually, at Willard's.
Postscript at 1:50 pm: I learn that the Willard's these worthies stayed in was torn down and rebuilt. The current structure is not connected with their stays. Intend to check it out someday soon.
Which reminds me of another marketing scam. About 30 years ago I went to see a band whose day had already passed. They sounded not quite like their old selves. My newspaper editor (I reviewed books at the Columbus Ledger-Enquirer) had attended too and I asked her about the strange sound. She said something like this: "The band's name was bought by a corporation; they hire whomever they want to play the music and send them on tour." Sort of like building any old hotel and claiming a connection with the previous hotel's guests, I suppose.
One more anecdote. At the height of the Wave phenomenon, about 20 years ago, the English cartoonist Ray Lowry ran a panel in London's NME. There were all these band clothes on stage, draped on mannequins, with music piped onto the club floor. He showed one hipster remarking to another: "Nowadays, the band just sends its clothes on tour."
That also reminds me of the new Willard's for some reason.
7/27/2004
High-Water Mark, part five
We have been going through Timothy J. Reese's new book High-Water Mark: The 1862 Maryland Campaign in Strategic Perspective. Where the author's previous work focused on the importance of Crampton's Gap as a keystone in the Maryland Campaign (Sealed with Their Lives: Battle of Crampton's Gap, Burkittsville, MD, Sept. 14, 1862), this new work places Crampton's Gap within the context of the pivotal campaign of the war.
Our progress has taken us to the fourth chapter, which analyzes McClellan's orders to William Franklin written in the early evening of September 13, 1862. Dense with ideas, I am afraid of oversimplifying the author's points for mere blogging purposes; nor do I have any chance of addressing them all - nevertheless...
Reese begins by noting the persistent misinterpretation (or perhaps underinterpretation) of McClellan's orders to Franklin. He observes nicely that McClellan's response to the Lost Orders (SO 191) is half again as long as SO 191 itself. Needless to say, it has received a tiny fraction of the consideration.
The order is loaded with contingencies that require extensive visualization of alternatives. Reese has helped enormously with terrific graphics.
The bare two contingencies historians generally allow McClellan's order is a breakthrough to Harper's Ferry and destruction of McLaws' command. The dumbing-down of these orders for history readers is a boon to Franklin, who is thereby portrayed as having generally followed (simplistic) instructions, though failing to destroy McLaws.
As Reese shows, ably helping his readers with diagrams, that among its possibilities, McClellan's order contained within in it at least two large and apparently contradictory missions: (1) relief of HF and (2) Franklin separating Longstreet from Jackson by means of what Reese calls a flying wedge interposing between the two wings by marching on routes west of South Mountain.
The contradiction is nominal because McClellan gave Franklin wide latitude to implement his orders - Reese thinks he could have scotched the relief mission entirely - and after the fall of HF, the relief mission became moot. Given the possibility of bottling up McLaws near the Potomac to implement a Napoleonic movement against Longstreet, Franklin used his broad mandate to choose to merely defend against a McLaws reinforced by Jackson. Thus Reese argues that McClellan's masterstroke at Crampton's Gap was lost through delegation.
None of this recapitualtion conveys the depth of Reese's thinking on the order; I feel as though I am impoverishing the poetry of McClellan's vision and Reese's distillation.
For those unfamiliar with these ideas, I hope I've at least given enough food for thought until Thursday, when we'll revisit this subject. One could also buy the book.
Our progress has taken us to the fourth chapter, which analyzes McClellan's orders to William Franklin written in the early evening of September 13, 1862. Dense with ideas, I am afraid of oversimplifying the author's points for mere blogging purposes; nor do I have any chance of addressing them all - nevertheless...
Reese begins by noting the persistent misinterpretation (or perhaps underinterpretation) of McClellan's orders to Franklin. He observes nicely that McClellan's response to the Lost Orders (SO 191) is half again as long as SO 191 itself. Needless to say, it has received a tiny fraction of the consideration.
The order is loaded with contingencies that require extensive visualization of alternatives. Reese has helped enormously with terrific graphics.
The bare two contingencies historians generally allow McClellan's order is a breakthrough to Harper's Ferry and destruction of McLaws' command. The dumbing-down of these orders for history readers is a boon to Franklin, who is thereby portrayed as having generally followed (simplistic) instructions, though failing to destroy McLaws.
As Reese shows, ably helping his readers with diagrams, that among its possibilities, McClellan's order contained within in it at least two large and apparently contradictory missions: (1) relief of HF and (2) Franklin separating Longstreet from Jackson by means of what Reese calls a flying wedge interposing between the two wings by marching on routes west of South Mountain.
The contradiction is nominal because McClellan gave Franklin wide latitude to implement his orders - Reese thinks he could have scotched the relief mission entirely - and after the fall of HF, the relief mission became moot. Given the possibility of bottling up McLaws near the Potomac to implement a Napoleonic movement against Longstreet, Franklin used his broad mandate to choose to merely defend against a McLaws reinforced by Jackson. Thus Reese argues that McClellan's masterstroke at Crampton's Gap was lost through delegation.
None of this recapitualtion conveys the depth of Reese's thinking on the order; I feel as though I am impoverishing the poetry of McClellan's vision and Reese's distillation.
For those unfamiliar with these ideas, I hope I've at least given enough food for thought until Thursday, when we'll revisit this subject. One could also buy the book.
7/26/2004
The strange tale of a boyhood home
When you mix the dynamics of heritage tourism with historical memory, results can be strange. For instance, take the notion of building a replica of Lincoln' Indiana boyhood home inside the Lincoln Library and Museum. Mind you, they have real artifacts to show, but not enough space to show them because of the crowding caused by fake artifacts.
The log cabin - in which Lincoln lived during his formative years after moving from Kentucky and before coming to Illinois in 1830 - is being constructed of logs from a circa-1800s cabin that was erected inside a barn in Virginia, said Patrick Weeks, fabrication manager for BRC Imagination Arts, the California-based exhibit designer for the museum.
Got, that? Here's the good part:
The museum’s cabin actually is larger than the one in which Lincoln lived.
“It’s been scaled up to accommodate the groups (of visitors), but it is the same configuration as the Lincoln cabin...”
We're going to need a museum and expo just to display the absurdities and garish anomalies associated with heritage tourism.
The log cabin - in which Lincoln lived during his formative years after moving from Kentucky and before coming to Illinois in 1830 - is being constructed of logs from a circa-1800s cabin that was erected inside a barn in Virginia, said Patrick Weeks, fabrication manager for BRC Imagination Arts, the California-based exhibit designer for the museum.
Got, that? Here's the good part:
The museum’s cabin actually is larger than the one in which Lincoln lived.
“It’s been scaled up to accommodate the groups (of visitors), but it is the same configuration as the Lincoln cabin...”
We're going to need a museum and expo just to display the absurdities and garish anomalies associated with heritage tourism.
The strange tale of our national slavery museum
When you mix the dynamics of heritage tourism with historical memory, results can be strange. For instance: the former governor of Virginia has been working to locate a national slavery museum in Fredericksburg. It's not clear that the people of Fredericksburg want this.
Now that he's running for mayor of Richmond, this former governor promises to continue working for the siting of such a museum in Fredericksburg, not Richmond.
David Holder, Fredericksburg's tourism and business-development director, said the scenario would be unusual "under normal circumstances." "On paper, I would say, yeah, it's a little weird," he said.
A full article on this is here.
Now that he's running for mayor of Richmond, this former governor promises to continue working for the siting of such a museum in Fredericksburg, not Richmond.
David Holder, Fredericksburg's tourism and business-development director, said the scenario would be unusual "under normal circumstances." "On paper, I would say, yeah, it's a little weird," he said.
A full article on this is here.
Jack the Ripper, ACW surgeon
This suspect is buried in Rochester and
he seems to have roamed the United States, from New York to San Francisco, posing sometimes as a military doctor and claiming friendship with Abraham Lincoln.
he seems to have roamed the United States, from New York to San Francisco, posing sometimes as a military doctor and claiming friendship with Abraham Lincoln.
7/24/2004
McClellan and the suffragettes
SATURDAY | We're taking a little detour on this McClellan Poetry Day to look at some 1864 campaign verse that puts down women's suffrage. It does so in a "non-partisan" way without particularly implicating McClellan, Fremont, Lincoln or the other principal candidates.
By 1864, the women's suffrage movement was well organized and underway but pre-empted by events. In Australia, in 1864, a mistake in the wording of a new voting law allowed ladies with property access to the ballot. In the U.S., leading suffragettes
lectured and petitioned the government for the emancipation of slaves with the belief that, once the war was over, women and slaves alike would be granted the same rights as the white men. At the end of the war, however, the government saw the suffrage of women and that of the Negro as two separate issues and it was decided that the Negro vote could produce the immediate political gain, particularly in the South, that the women's vote could not. Abraham Lincoln declared, "This hour belongs to the negro."
McClellan's thoughts on suffrage were not voiced, as far as I can tell.
It's interesting that the question of woman's voting rights was prominent enough in 1864 to demand a response. The author of this doggerel is unknown and it may have appeared in a humor publication like Frank Leslie's Budget of Fun. (The references to Gouraud are to a cosmetics firm the products of which occasionally surface on eBay.)
Who's to Be President?
By a Lady
Up the famous Hudson River, as I sailed the other day,
About the nominations each person had his say;
Some said I am for Lincoln, for Little Mac some cried,
While others spoke for Fremont, and for Jessie, his fair bride.
As I listened to their speeches, a stranger came to me,
And bowing low said softly, "Dear madam, may I be
So bold as now to ask whom you'd vote for, or wish your husband to?"
He spoke so civilly, I felt an answer was his due,
And so I said, half smiling, "The household's my domain,
To my husband I leave politics, too oft our nation's bane!
I've no time to think of Democrats, or else of Copperheads,
I've to see my Biddies sweep and dust, and cook and make the beds.
But if you really wish to know the man I most admire,
And whom I recommend to husband, son and sire--
It is GOURAUD, whose benefits I never can forget,
And every day but adds to my still increasing debt--
For when my face one summer was freckled, tanned, and bleared,
I used his MEDICATED SOAP, and all soon disappeared;
And when some naughty hairs had grown upon my dimpled chin,
His wondrous POUDRE SUBTILE then made smooth as glass my skin.
I therefore, out of gratitude, most fervently declare
For the President of Fashion--
I SHALL VOTE GOURAUD IN THERE."
By 1864, the women's suffrage movement was well organized and underway but pre-empted by events. In Australia, in 1864, a mistake in the wording of a new voting law allowed ladies with property access to the ballot. In the U.S., leading suffragettes
lectured and petitioned the government for the emancipation of slaves with the belief that, once the war was over, women and slaves alike would be granted the same rights as the white men. At the end of the war, however, the government saw the suffrage of women and that of the Negro as two separate issues and it was decided that the Negro vote could produce the immediate political gain, particularly in the South, that the women's vote could not. Abraham Lincoln declared, "This hour belongs to the negro."
McClellan's thoughts on suffrage were not voiced, as far as I can tell.
It's interesting that the question of woman's voting rights was prominent enough in 1864 to demand a response. The author of this doggerel is unknown and it may have appeared in a humor publication like Frank Leslie's Budget of Fun. (The references to Gouraud are to a cosmetics firm the products of which occasionally surface on eBay.)
Who's to Be President?
By a Lady
Up the famous Hudson River, as I sailed the other day,
About the nominations each person had his say;
Some said I am for Lincoln, for Little Mac some cried,
While others spoke for Fremont, and for Jessie, his fair bride.
As I listened to their speeches, a stranger came to me,
And bowing low said softly, "Dear madam, may I be
So bold as now to ask whom you'd vote for, or wish your husband to?"
He spoke so civilly, I felt an answer was his due,
And so I said, half smiling, "The household's my domain,
To my husband I leave politics, too oft our nation's bane!
I've no time to think of Democrats, or else of Copperheads,
I've to see my Biddies sweep and dust, and cook and make the beds.
But if you really wish to know the man I most admire,
And whom I recommend to husband, son and sire--
It is GOURAUD, whose benefits I never can forget,
And every day but adds to my still increasing debt--
For when my face one summer was freckled, tanned, and bleared,
I used his MEDICATED SOAP, and all soon disappeared;
And when some naughty hairs had grown upon my dimpled chin,
His wondrous POUDRE SUBTILE then made smooth as glass my skin.
I therefore, out of gratitude, most fervently declare
For the President of Fashion--
I SHALL VOTE GOURAUD IN THERE."
7/23/2004
Lost orders and literary devices
In case my MacGuffin analogy in yesterday's post was difficult to grasp, here are a two examples centered on Special Orders 191, the Lost Dispatch.
"No other commander on either side during the Civil War enjoyed a comparable situation." - Gary Gallagher, "The Maryland Campaign in Perspective," Antietam: Essays on the 1862 Maryland Campaign, Gary W. Gallagher, ed.
To declare this statement patently false or even idiotic is to miss the point; it traps you into "doing history" where there is only literature present ... literature in a genre called "Civil War nonfiction." Mr. Gallagher is building interest and tension within his nonfiction narrative and to force him to hew to facts is to unfairly revoke his literary license.
The statement "No other commander on either side during the Civil War enjoyed a comparable situation" is not beautifully written, but it serves a purely literary purpose - it advances the plot via Hitchcok's "MacGuffin" technique.
Here's another beauty from a famous prose stylist:
"Even the great Napoleon himself had never been presented with such an opportunity..." Stephen Sears, Landscape Turned Red
Again, the misguided might assume Sears is recounting history instead of dramatizing an event and converting it into a plot mechanism. Of course, Napoleon was presented with such opportunities; so, for that matter, was "the Napoleon of the West," Santa Anna; not to mention Civil War generals like John Pope, Robert E. Lee, James Longstreet, Stonewall Jackson, and many others. It's in the record. People know that. But he doesn't pay it any mind because it doesn't advance this particular tale at this time. Hence, "Even the great Napoleon himself had never been presented with such an opportunity..."
The knot of problems posed to actual, practicing historians by the finding of lost orders involves tedious analysis: decoding the staleness of the orders and their actionability; interpreting as precisely as possible how the find influenced subsequent operations; overlaying events on plans; and recreating complex fog-of-war perpectives. These chores do not a pop history tome make, not by a long shot.
The literary opportunities presented by any lost dispatches are different. Handled by a storyteller, they trigger a series of binary outcomes that channel crises into well-worn and easily understood drama: will the find be detected by those who lost the orders? Will the finder believe his luck? Will quick action/reaction follow? Will the lucky break yield fruit? How will all this tension resolve?
The optimal lost order outcome for a talespinner is the "race against time," complete with near escapes and close calls.
For a Civil War nonfiction entertainer, SO 191 is the perfect MacGuffin. Alfred Hitchcock himself explains:
The only thing that really matters is that in the picture the plans, documents or secrets must seem to be of vital importance to the characters. To me, the narrator, they're of no importance whatsoever.
Substitute "in the reader's mind" for "in the picture" and understand that where the SO is concerned, you've been MacGuffinned.
p.s. For the history-minded: a few years ago I tallied all the Lost Orders changing hands in the Virginia theatre in the five week period ending on Sept. 13, 1862. If you like that kind of tedium, the summary is here.
"No other commander on either side during the Civil War enjoyed a comparable situation." - Gary Gallagher, "The Maryland Campaign in Perspective," Antietam: Essays on the 1862 Maryland Campaign, Gary W. Gallagher, ed.
To declare this statement patently false or even idiotic is to miss the point; it traps you into "doing history" where there is only literature present ... literature in a genre called "Civil War nonfiction." Mr. Gallagher is building interest and tension within his nonfiction narrative and to force him to hew to facts is to unfairly revoke his literary license.
The statement "No other commander on either side during the Civil War enjoyed a comparable situation" is not beautifully written, but it serves a purely literary purpose - it advances the plot via Hitchcok's "MacGuffin" technique.
Here's another beauty from a famous prose stylist:
"Even the great Napoleon himself had never been presented with such an opportunity..." Stephen Sears, Landscape Turned Red
Again, the misguided might assume Sears is recounting history instead of dramatizing an event and converting it into a plot mechanism. Of course, Napoleon was presented with such opportunities; so, for that matter, was "the Napoleon of the West," Santa Anna; not to mention Civil War generals like John Pope, Robert E. Lee, James Longstreet, Stonewall Jackson, and many others. It's in the record. People know that. But he doesn't pay it any mind because it doesn't advance this particular tale at this time. Hence, "Even the great Napoleon himself had never been presented with such an opportunity..."
The knot of problems posed to actual, practicing historians by the finding of lost orders involves tedious analysis: decoding the staleness of the orders and their actionability; interpreting as precisely as possible how the find influenced subsequent operations; overlaying events on plans; and recreating complex fog-of-war perpectives. These chores do not a pop history tome make, not by a long shot.
The literary opportunities presented by any lost dispatches are different. Handled by a storyteller, they trigger a series of binary outcomes that channel crises into well-worn and easily understood drama: will the find be detected by those who lost the orders? Will the finder believe his luck? Will quick action/reaction follow? Will the lucky break yield fruit? How will all this tension resolve?
The optimal lost order outcome for a talespinner is the "race against time," complete with near escapes and close calls.
For a Civil War nonfiction entertainer, SO 191 is the perfect MacGuffin. Alfred Hitchcock himself explains:
The only thing that really matters is that in the picture the plans, documents or secrets must seem to be of vital importance to the characters. To me, the narrator, they're of no importance whatsoever.
Substitute "in the reader's mind" for "in the picture" and understand that where the SO is concerned, you've been MacGuffinned.
p.s. For the history-minded: a few years ago I tallied all the Lost Orders changing hands in the Virginia theatre in the five week period ending on Sept. 13, 1862. If you like that kind of tedium, the summary is here.
Secret identities and bugle calls
The Hagerstown paper is covering Chambersburg's feting of Ed Bearss, and what do I see: an old acquaintance from the former Trenton State College's music faculty in full military regalia (see accompanying photo). I had no idea he was a re-enactor.
The evening included a demonstration of bugle calls by New Jersey musician George Rabbai. More than "Reveille" and "Taps," Rabbai noted that there were 48 infantry bugle calls, 39 for the artillery and 26 for the cavalry, taking up most of their activities throughout the day and in battle.
An evening of bugle calls? Sorry I missed it.
The evening included a demonstration of bugle calls by New Jersey musician George Rabbai. More than "Reveille" and "Taps," Rabbai noted that there were 48 infantry bugle calls, 39 for the artillery and 26 for the cavalry, taking up most of their activities throughout the day and in battle.
An evening of bugle calls? Sorry I missed it.
7/22/2004
High-Water Mark, part four
Conventional accounts of the Maryland Campaign present a stereotyped cast of characters acting out a tightly scripted drama in which exaggerated personal traits produce highly predictable results amidst the topy-turvy of lost orders, missed timetables, meeting engagements, and incredible chances. In other words, in the popular literature, the drama of the campaign consists of placing certain stock figures (the "Lee" character, the "McClellan" character) within a maelstrom of incredible developments.
I'm not speaking here of much that has to do with history as such, but rather with the strict conventions of a literary genre we call "Civil War nonfiction."
One of the literary gimmicks used to generate dramatic tension in these nonfiction storylines is the Lost Order, Lee's "Special Order 191." In modern Civil War writing, SO 191 provides what director Alfred Hitchcock used to call a "MacGuffin" - an otherwise worthless artifice advancing a plot - a Maltese Falcon, for instance, or a ring binding two characters together.
The historic importance of SO 191 is real, but is generally unknown, as it now serves strictly as a "MacGuffin."
One's treatment of the Lost Order speaks volumes. Talespinners are deeply interested in the "color" elements: who lost it (guilt, shame, mystery); who found it (spunky, earthy enlisted men); whether the "Lee" character knew it was lost (calculation, risk-taking ); whether the "McClellan" character could exploit its tempting secrets (angst, cowardice, knavery); and also what kind of precedent this loss represented (utterly unique and never-to-be-repeated, for maximum dramatic effect).
If you are an historian, your interest in the Lost Order is of a different kind. You focus on how the loss shaped the events that followed; if you are ambitious you start building timelines to understand McClellan's decision cycle and command style.
This is where we rejoin author Timothy J. Reese in his new book High-Water Mark: The 1862 Maryland Campaign in Strategic Perspective. How the loss shaped the campaign is a question we will look at that in a later post. Here, early in his book, ingenuity and scholarship address the McClellan decision-making timeline with another unique piece of the Maryland Campaign puzzle: where the Lost Order turned up.
Fed on a strict diet of standard Maryland Campaign storytelling, you may wonder, so what?
This is what -- the timelines developed to analyze McClellan's decisions have been bridges built between two points. Anchoring one end is, in the popular imagination, McClellan's evening orders to Franklin on Sept. 13, the day of the find. On the other end is that much-debated point at which McClellan vetts the orders as both 'real' and actionable. Many erroneously put this at noon on the 13th (based on sloppy dating of a telegram sent to Lincoln). In my own view, these points would be like grounding one end of the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of the East River and the other end in Queens.
Reese had the exceptional idea of anchoring the timeline at the beginning. What few understand is that the beginning is both a time of find AND a location. "Where" holds no literary magic for talespinners, of course, but if the geographic starting point is fixed, and the Frederick location of McClellan's HQ is determined, we have information about distance, we can validate timelines, and we have connected the first two points in an important analysis. It's not Einstein's theory but it is rocket science to the current crop of pop historians.
Reese's placement of the field holding the three cigars debunks earlier sitings. It is very convincing and another pleasant surprise.
And if you now get the sense that this author is strewing the reader's path with discoveries, that's High-Water Mark in sum.
More on Tuesday.
I'm not speaking here of much that has to do with history as such, but rather with the strict conventions of a literary genre we call "Civil War nonfiction."
One of the literary gimmicks used to generate dramatic tension in these nonfiction storylines is the Lost Order, Lee's "Special Order 191." In modern Civil War writing, SO 191 provides what director Alfred Hitchcock used to call a "MacGuffin" - an otherwise worthless artifice advancing a plot - a Maltese Falcon, for instance, or a ring binding two characters together.
The historic importance of SO 191 is real, but is generally unknown, as it now serves strictly as a "MacGuffin."
One's treatment of the Lost Order speaks volumes. Talespinners are deeply interested in the "color" elements: who lost it (guilt, shame, mystery); who found it (spunky, earthy enlisted men); whether the "Lee" character knew it was lost (calculation, risk-taking ); whether the "McClellan" character could exploit its tempting secrets (angst, cowardice, knavery); and also what kind of precedent this loss represented (utterly unique and never-to-be-repeated, for maximum dramatic effect).
If you are an historian, your interest in the Lost Order is of a different kind. You focus on how the loss shaped the events that followed; if you are ambitious you start building timelines to understand McClellan's decision cycle and command style.
This is where we rejoin author Timothy J. Reese in his new book High-Water Mark: The 1862 Maryland Campaign in Strategic Perspective. How the loss shaped the campaign is a question we will look at that in a later post. Here, early in his book, ingenuity and scholarship address the McClellan decision-making timeline with another unique piece of the Maryland Campaign puzzle: where the Lost Order turned up.
Fed on a strict diet of standard Maryland Campaign storytelling, you may wonder, so what?
This is what -- the timelines developed to analyze McClellan's decisions have been bridges built between two points. Anchoring one end is, in the popular imagination, McClellan's evening orders to Franklin on Sept. 13, the day of the find. On the other end is that much-debated point at which McClellan vetts the orders as both 'real' and actionable. Many erroneously put this at noon on the 13th (based on sloppy dating of a telegram sent to Lincoln). In my own view, these points would be like grounding one end of the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of the East River and the other end in Queens.
Reese had the exceptional idea of anchoring the timeline at the beginning. What few understand is that the beginning is both a time of find AND a location. "Where" holds no literary magic for talespinners, of course, but if the geographic starting point is fixed, and the Frederick location of McClellan's HQ is determined, we have information about distance, we can validate timelines, and we have connected the first two points in an important analysis. It's not Einstein's theory but it is rocket science to the current crop of pop historians.
Reese's placement of the field holding the three cigars debunks earlier sitings. It is very convincing and another pleasant surprise.
And if you now get the sense that this author is strewing the reader's path with discoveries, that's High-Water Mark in sum.
More on Tuesday.
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