ELLA LONN

"Desertion During the Civil War" is a short book -- a monograph, almost. Lonn's analysis of the "disease" takes into account both North and South, with side glances at the Napoleonic armies, Wellington's experience in Spain, the U.S. military before 1861, and the Franco-Prussian War. She takes pains to present the desertion problem as a practical one that plagued both sides in the war. Part of her thesis, now much-shaken by newer information, was that the South had a serious desertion problem for much of the war, and that it spiraled out of control in the last months. She wrote that the North seemed to get its own desertion problem under relative control about the same time -- largely by draconian measures. In her introduction, Lonn points out something that was clear to her: "The reader will perforce be impressed with the parallelism which runs through the account of defection from the armies of the antagonists. But as the Confederacy was unable to frame a constitution which was other than a slight adaption of the old framework, so these two nations of one race and one heritage, developed the same problems during the war and evolved similar solutions." Among the issues she delves into are men who deserted and then returned to duty, either because they were forced back or because whatever business they had had to attend to at home had been taken care of. Her tables in the appendix list 12,071 men as deserters from Virginia's Confederate forces, and list 8,596 from the state as "returned to the armies." William Blair's "Virginia's Private War" [N.Y., Oxford University Press, 1998] concluded that soldiers left the army for all sorts of reasons, particularly during times of idleness, and many of them came back in time for campaigning. Just as every man who took a draft exemption wasn't voting against the Confederacy, every man marked as a deserter wasn't making a valid political decision about the Confederate cause. Among the Southern deserters, Lonn finds the usual classes who would have deserted from the North, too, had fate cast them on that side, to be dredged up by the nets of conscription or lured in by bounties. There were cowards, scoundrels, and ruffians who had enlisted only to escape some scrape at home. She also mentions foreigners "who knew little and cared less for the burning American question of State rights." Just as in the North, Meade would allude to the "worthless foreigners, who are daily deserting to the enemy." In Texas, the South tried to enlist Mexican immigrants, without much success. "Starting with no particular affection for American institutions, Northern or Southern, they early passed back over the Rio Grande to take part in the difficulties which soon beset their own land." They, too, turn up among the nameless thousands listed as CSA deserters. The United States had the same problem with its recruits in New Mexico. Lonn also identifies Northern-born men, who "were in most cases holders of considerable property or large traders for their communities. ... Many had gone into the far South recently, after 1850, so their ties were still mainly with the North and their traditions antislavery." They deserted as well. Hired "substitutes" for drafted men, as in the North, proved especially liable to desert. "One officer reports that four-fifths of his deserters were substitutes, who deserted within twenty-four hours of being received at his headquarters," Lonn writes. Many a Northern officer would have sympathized. Her conclusion is [p. 226] that one out of every seven men deserted from the Union Army, and one out of every nine men deserted from the Confederate army. But that, though the Union lost proportionately more to desertion, the South suffered more because of the initial difference in manpower. She feels the Union desertions helped prolong a war that the South was losing, because the news of them gave the South hope and allowed it to cling to a dream of eventual victory long after that was practically out of reach. In her conclusion, Lonn writes, "Both sides have just cause to be proud of the vast majority of the men engaged in the war between the States. Testimonies of their remarkable daring and coolness under fire, the dependence which could be placed upon them in emergencies, their obedience to orders in an engagement, the stoicism with which they endured the hardships incident to a difficult terrain and climate without murmur are legion and are taken for granted by the writer. Likewise the sustained enthusiasm and dogged determination of the majority of the civilian population to support the war, whether to win independence from an oppressive, centralized government or to sustain the integrity of the Union, need no comment or eulogy." Throughout Lonn's work, she compares and contrasts the Northern and Southern situations and solutions and finds many similarities and identities. Though she credits desertion as contributing to the South's failure to achieve independence, I see nothing in her work that would warrant a belief that the South's desertion problem was somehow a morally damning thing; that it was somehow of a different nature entirely from the North's (or from Napoleon's, or from that of any other army losing a war, which is a hard thing to do). Far more than execrating or justifying the Confederate cause, Lonn seems to be writing with an eye on her own time, in the wake of World War I, which brought up a great many of the ugly things in American democracy that we think only emerged during the Cold War. She alludes to it often, and seems intent on pointing out that the horrors of war -- any war -- are more worthy of note than the characters of men who desert from armies. The key paragraph of her introduction is this one: "The writer ventures the hope that by turning a search-light on a question which could scarcely have found a tolerant reading a few decades ago, a few persons will, perchance, be led to a more tolerant view in discussing and pondering the problems of our recent World War on which passions are still inflamed. The truth is here, it is hoped, impartially presented. The writer, though by accident born in the North, has not felt the slightest impulse to minimize the desertion in the Union armies nor to exaggerate that in the Confederate forces. Her audience would be the first to condemn a partisan bias. The lovers of history should be the first to apply that tolerance to contemporary history." Fuller exerpts from "DESERTION DURING THE CIVIL WAR"

CONSCRIPTION

Both the North and the South began the Civil War with the intention of using volunteer armies, even though European experience had shown for generations that they were unsuited to modern wars. Both sides eventually turned to conscription, but circumstances forced the South to do so a few months sooner than the North. The natural obligation of every able-bodied man to defend his hearth, home and country against foreign aggression has been assumed for as long as agricultural implements could effectively be used as weapons. The Greek and Roman city militias, and the Anglo-Saxon fyrd compelled men into service by natural right and tradition, with no limit of term of service. An army of drafted men was the norm in the 19th century, and the United States and Great Britain were alone among the great powers in not embracing that. Napoleon won all his brilliant victories with conscripted armies -- France drafted 2,613,000 men in 13 years beginning in 1800. That set the tone for the century's military strategy: "God marches with the biggest battalions." What the Confederacy (and the United States) did differently when calling out its volunteers in 1861 was to set a limit on their terms of contract. This was done obviously with an eye to politics, and it came back to haunt both sides: the South a few months sooner and more severely than the North. In the initial upwelling after Sumter, the South, expecting a quick victory or a European intervention, mustered in most of its volunteers for only one year. But the North was even more short-sighted (and also constrained by a militia law that dated from the Whisky Rebellion) and only called its men to three months' duty. Three years was a more common term of enlistment for a conscripted man in Europe (Prussia, for example). It may not have been short-sightedness at all, of course: if you tell a young man you're going to take him away from his family, his farm, his sweetheart, his education, his trade for three years and more, he's likely to feel his ardor for your cause grow a bit chilly. Albert B. Moore, in "Conscription and Conflict in the Confederacy," seems to regard the South's great mistake was not in turning to conscription, but in relying at first on volunteers. "[C]onscription would have been less odious if it had been made the exclusive policy of raising armies at the outset. It might then have been regarded as a scientific way of allocating the man power of the country and distributing fairly the burdens of war. But the volunteer system was tried the first year, and after conscription was adopted volunteering was still allowed. This made conscription appear to be a device for coercing derelicts, hence the taint that attached to the conscript."[1] The North was fortunate in a way it never could have foreseen, because three months gave it just enough time to get the boys in uniform, give them big parades, and send them off into one battle, where they got chased off the field. Most of the three-month men in the regiments I've studied immediately signed up again. They had something to prove, having lost once, and they had had enough of a taste of army life (all of it in the late spring and early summer) to make it seem like a grand hunting trip. Furthermore, the pressure on the Northern homefront to enlist (or reenlist) in July 1861 was enormous: the Union's defenses had melted in the wake of the first Bull Run, and the people were being told that the national capital, and their own homes beyond it, lay wide open to rapacious Rebel hordes. The panic was over in a few weeks, but those happened to be the crucial weeks in which Lincoln called for, and got, 500,000 troops. And he got them for three years. Thus the North was able to postpone its enlistment crisis. The South was not so lucky. It rested on the laurels of Bull Run, confident that the war was won, and awaited European recognition. It wasted the summer and fall, and by the time it prepared for action again the enlistments were running out and the boys in arms, who had done their duty well, were eager to see home again. Perhaps the proper model for the Southern rebels of 1861, in terms of their logistical and political challenge in fielding an army, is not to the North in the same year, but the American colonies of 1776. The historical comparison would point up some valuable lessons in the frustrations of maintaining a large-scale rebellion through several agrarian cycles in a sprawling, diverse country. Even before the Confederate Congress decreed a re-enlistment, there were mass voluntary re-enlistments by company and regiment and even brigade that spring. Yet these units were supposedly, if we read the "lack-of-will" writers, utterly demoralized and disgusted. Some soldiers complained that manipulation was involved; others knew that the CSA's Congress would probably find a way to keep them there anyhow. But historian Gary Gallagher concludes that "most reenlistments in early 1864 seem to have been motivated by patriotism."[2] And the event was widely applauded across the South, in newspapers as well as private correspondence, as a "contrast to the bribes & threats & false pretences of our enemy!" There's a sort of weary determination to stick it out in the letter soldier Benjamin Freeman of the 44th N.C. wrote home on Feb. 19, 1864, during a later re-enlistment drive: "Pa we have all Reinlisted for the 'War.' We had to do it and I thought I would come on as a patriot soldier of the South. We are soldiers and we have to stay as long as there is any 'war.' There is no way to escape it." The manpower crisis facing the Confederate armies in the spring of 1862 was a result of legislative incompetence, specifically, the Confederate Provisional Congress' foolish re-enlistment law of Dec. 11, 1861. The "bounty and furlough act" demonstrated, in the words of historian John C. Ropes, that "the difference between an army and a congeries of volunteer regiments was not appreciated." Every soldier who re-enlisted for three years or for the duration of the war was promised a bounty of $50 and a 60-day furlough. He could choose his arm of the service, and if he did not like his company, he could join a new one. Men could elect their own officers, "rewarding those who curried favor by laxity and demoting those who had enforced discipline," in the words of Douglas S. Freeman. Freeman wrote, in "Robert E. Lee": "A worse law could hardly have been imposed on the South by the enemy. Its interpretation was confusing, its effect was demoralizing, and it involved nothing less than a reconstruction of the entire land forces of the Confederacy in the face of the enemy." He cites Union general and military historian Emory Upton, who wrote later that the bounty and furlough law should have been styled "an act to disorganize and dissolve the provisional army." The CSA Congress only made matters worse when it passed a series of hurried measures, designed to dangle more bait for re-enlistments. When the permanent Congress took its seats shortly after this, it reversed the course and put the army on a firm, professional basis. It did so just in time, for that summer by means of drafts and threats of drafting, and by hefty bounties, the North would mobilize its manpower, which of course was vastly greater than the South's, for a long war. The Civil War was the last war that Americans tried to fight with volunteer minuteman patriotism. By the end of it, both sides had armies built up largely through conscription, threat of conscription, and (in the case of the North) offering a small fortune in bonuses to enlistees. "In the army," Freeman wrote, "those who had intended not to re-enlist on the expiration of their terms grumbled and charged bad faith on the part of the government, but those who were determined to carry on the war to ruin or independence rejoiced that those who had stayed at home were at last to smell gunpowder. In the well-disciplined commands, men who went home at the expiration of their twelve months and returned as conscripts soon settled down to army routine." William D. Rutherford, adjutant of the 3rd South Carolina regiment, wrote home on April 18, 1862, approving the conscription bill. His only regret was that, "[t]o those who are loyal and brave, it is somewhat mortifying that their services cannot be voluntarily offered to their Country." Confederate draft legislation was also far-sighted in attempting to provide exemptions that would allow skilled workers in essential trades to stay home and further the war effort on the job, something most other nations didn't adopt until after World War I. As it turned out, though, this provision was not used by the South as efficiently as it could have been. The exemptions are sometimes blamed because they increased the social tensions in the South. But in fact they were a progressive feature. Historians of warfare also praise the Confederate conscription act of 1862, specifically for its exemptions. They call it the first modern draft in the world, because it recognized that industry and agricultural leadership, and organization behind the lines were as important to a national war effort as armies were. The goal of a draft isn't just to shovel as many men as possible into uniforms; it's to get the best soldiers there, and leave the best workers at their jobs. The combatants in World War I failed to realize this, and they fought each other with universal conscription, huge armies, and losses of millions of men. World War I proved "it was nothing less than a national, let alone military crime to conscript all classes of men as if they were one class and of equal value, and to fill the trenches, which were little more than altars of human sacrifice to a discredited god, with highly skilled mechanics, miners and professional men."[3] Of course, the men who go to war always resent the men who do not. But that resentment does not necessarily make for the wisest policy when trying to guide a nation to freedom out of war. The flaws of the Southern draft were functions of all conscripted armies and prevailed in the North as well as in Europe: overzealous draft officers; the host of exemptions, widely abused, however well regulated in theory; and the ease with which the richer class of men of military age avoided service. Not surprisingly, the Rebel soldiers hated the Conscript Law. It was unfair, and they knew it. It took the glory out of the war, and the war was never the same for them. Sam R. Watkins, my second-favorite rebel, serving in the First Tennessee regiment under Braxton Bragg, had this to say about it: "[S]oldiers had enlisted for twelve months only, and had faithfully complied with their volunteer obligations; the terms for which they had enlisted had expired, and they naturally looked upon it that they had a right to go home. They had done their duty faithfully and well. They wanted to see their families; in fact, wanted to go home anyhow. War had become a reality; they were tired of it. A law had been passed by the Confederate States Congress called the conscript act. ... From this time on till the end of the war, a soldier was simply a machine, a conscript. It was mighty rough on rebels. We cursed the war, we cursed Bragg, we cursed the Southern Confederacy. All our pride and valor had gone, and we were sick of war and the Southern Confederacy. "A law was made by the Confederate States Congress about this time allowing every person who owned twenty negroes to go home. It gave us the blues; we wanted twenty negroes. Negro property suddenly became very valuable, and there was raised the howl of 'rich man's war, poor man's fight.' The glory of the war, the glory of the South, the glory and pride of our volunteers had no charms for the conscript."[4] That was how he felt, and how his companions felt, in the spring of 1862. It was a low point of the war. They would have walked away from it, but they couldn't, so they didn't. They went back to the business of war, of being an army, which is a highly illogical business, after all, as Sophocles knew. The war went on, and their lives went on, and things looked different. Of the invasion of Kentucky that summer, Watkins wrote: "I remember how gladly the citizens of Kentucky received us. I thought they had the prettiest girls that God ever made. They could not do too much for us. They had heaps and stacks of cooked rations along our route, with wine and cider everywhere, and the glad shouts of 'Hurrah for our Southern boys!' greeted and welcomed us at every house. Ah, the boys felt like soldiers again. The bands played merrier and livelier tunes. It was the patient convalescing; the fever had left him. he was getting fat and strong; his step was buoyant and proud; he felt ashamed that he had ever been 'hacked'; he could fight now. It was the same old proud soldier of yore. ... New recruits were continually joining our ranks. ...[O]ur pride was renewed and stood ready for any emergency; we felt that one Southern man could whip twenty Yankees."[5] And after many more hills and valleys, high points and low points, it ended. Sam R. Watkins went home and wrote a beautiful little book about it. He thinks secession was justified. He despised the conscription and the men who ordered it. He didn't own slaves or hate black folks. He seems to have liked them better than most Yankees did. He was proud to have been in that army, and proud of how his regiment fought, and mourned his companions who died. He liked being an American. He thinks secession was legal. He uses "rebel," invariably, as a good word. He uses the phrase "Lost Cause" without a hint of shame. And I'm willing to bet the Rebel army, like the Yankee one, was full of hundreds of thousands of Sam R. Watkinses. I see the same sentiments in personal writings on both sides: contempt for military bureaucracy, for politicians, for the stay-at-home men who made fortunes and danced with the gals that the boys in uniform left behind. The more than one-year lapse between the Confederate conscription act, approved April 16, 1862, and the Conscription Act that passed the U.S. Congress on March 3, 1863, is often cited as evidence of different abilities or enthusiasm on opposite sides in the Civil War. This ignores that fact that in at least five states in the North an extensive draft took place in the fall of 1862. In fact, the drive to draft in the North began less than three months after the Confederate conscription act. More about the Northern draft You can disagree with the notion that governments ought to be able to compel their citizens to fight. But you can't say the CSA is marked somehow as a special case in history, deserving of dishonor. Volunteerism failed during the American Revolution, when much of the countryside was under direct attack by British armies. States like Pennsylvania had to draft all their able-bodied men into the militia not once but twice during the 1777 invasion, and Massachusetts and Virginia resorted to conscription in 1777 to fill their thinning line regiments. In fact, on Feb. 6, 1778, the Continental Congress recommended that all the states adopt this policy. George Washington wrote to the president of the Continental Congress in 1778 that, "I believe our greatest and only aid will be derived from drafting, which I trust may be done by the United States." Only the French aid averted the necessity of following this plan. Likewise during the War of 1812, again with invaders on the national soil, volunteerism failed to fill up the depleted American regiments, and Congress turned to conscription, but the sudden end of the war prevented the plan from going into action. Nor does America offer the only example. Take France in 1791: facing invasion on all sides, the revolutionary government called up line regiments, with a militia as a supplemental force. It also sought a National Guard for home defense. In short order, France found itself with more than 2.5 million "National Guards" and only 60 of the 169 battalions of volunteers it had hoped to raise. As the erudite British military historian Maj. Gen. John Frederick Charles Fuller, C.B., C.B.E., D.S.O., observed in writing about conscription through the ages, "the majority of the people are naturally adverse to risking their skins."[6] America has fought its post-Civil War conflicts with overwhelmingly drafted armies. Roosevelt started beefing up the U.S. military by a draft in late 1940, even before America was at war. Here's what he said about it: "On this day more than sixteen million young Americans are reviving the three-hundred-year-old American custom of the muster. They are obeying that first duty of free citizenship by which, from the earliest colonial times, every able-bodied citizen was subject to the call for service in the national defense. "It is a day of deep and purposeful meaning in the lives of all of us. For on this day we Americans proclaim the vitality of our history, the singleness of our will and the unity of our nation. ... In the days when our forefathers laid the foundation of our democracy, every American family had to have its gun and know how to use it. Today we live under threats, threats of aggression from abroad, which call again for the same readiness, the same vigilance. Ours must once again be the spirit of those who were prepared to defend as they built, to defend as they worked, to defend as they worshipped. The duty of this day has been imposed upon us from without. ... [T]hose who have created the name and deed of total war-have imposed upon us and upon all free peoples the necessity of preparation for total defense." A year later, he even extended the terms of men who were already in service, just like the Confederacy did. Here's what he said about it in his message to Congress describing the step: "I realize that personal sacrifices are involved in extending the period of service for selectees, the National Guard and other reserve components of our army. ... Nevertheless, I am confident that the men now in the ranks of the army realize far better than does the general public, the disastrous effect which would result from permitting the present army, only now approaching an acceptable state of efficiency, to melt away and set us back at least six months while new units are being reconstituted from the bottom up and from the top down with new drafts of officers and men." The historian James W. Geary writes: "Despite the North's fundamental differences in the approach to drafting, especially in determining whether men were liable on a selective or a universal basis, it would later experience many of the same difficulties that plagued the Confederate conscription system. In raising and sustaining an army, both regions had much in common. Many of the same influences that motivated Northern men to enter the ranks in the early days of the war also had encouraged Southern men to do likewise. Not only did they share a common heritage and culture, but men in both areas believed they were fighting for 'freedom,' although they defined it differently."[7] The North's crisis might have come even sooner, but the Lincoln administration dodged a bullet when a friendly court upheld its legally dubious Spring 1861 call-up of troops. Among those to answer that call were the First Minnesota Volunteers, who went into service with mix of enlistments ranging from three months to three years. Poorly led at Bull Run, they suffered more casualties than any other Federal regiment in the field. Amid dislike for commanding officers and dawning realization of what three years away from home would mean to their families, farms, and jobs, some of the 1st Minn. attempted to have their enlistments nullified, on the grounds that proper procedure hadn't been followed. This led to United States v. Colonel Gorman,which upheld the constitutionality of the legislation of Aug. 3, 1861, which retroactively authorized the May 3 call-up. And it upheld the validity of the three-year enlistments. "Fortunately for Union authorities, the legality of their recruiting methods was upheld early in the war and they did not have to consider other alternatives, such as arbitrarily extending the enlistment terms of their soldiers, as the South did in the spring of 1862," Geary wrote.[8] 1. Albert Burton Moore, Conscription and Conflict in the Confederacy, New York: MacMillan, 1924; reprint 1963, University of South Carolina. 2. Gary W. Gallagher, The Confederate War, Boston: Harvard University Press, 1997. 3. J.F.C. Fuller, Conscription entry in Encyclopædia Britannica, vol. 6, p.282-6, London, 1941. Fuller, the great military historian, also wrote The Generalship of Ulysses S. Grant. 4. Sam R. Watkins, Co Aych, N.Y.: Macmillan, 1962. 5. ibid. 6. Fuller, op. cit. 7. James W. Geary, We Need Men: The Union Draft in the Civil War, Northern Illinois University Press, 1991. 8. ibid.

NORTHERN DRAFT of 1862

The Conscription Act that passed Congress on March 3, 1863, is often cited as "the first draft in the North" or words to that effect. Drafting in the North, under this act, began more than a year after the Confederate conscription act, which was approved April 16, 1862. This has been cited as evidence of different abilities or enthusiasm on the two sides in the Civil War. But this ignores the fact that the drive to draft in the North began less than three months after the Confederate conscription act, that in at least five states in the North an extensive draft took place in the fall of 1862, and that all the Northern volunteers in that season signed up under threat of being drafted. The mistake by non-historians is easy to understand when popular reference books on the war contain misleading or mistaken passages like this one, from "The Civil War Dictionary" [N.Y., 1959, reprint 1988]: "DRAFT RIOTS - On Aug. '62 the President called on the states for 300,000 militia to serve nine months and ordered the governors to draft from the militia if the quota could not be filled by volunteers. This precipitated riots in Wis., Ind., and threats of riots in Pa. Stanton then postponed the draft."[1] Or this one, from "Historical Times Illustrated Encyclopedia of the Civil War" [1986]: "DRAFT RIOTS - Draft riots broke out in response to the Union's first national conscription act, passed 3 Mar. 1863. Prior to that law the North had obtained its troops from volunteers and state militia called into Federal service."[2] The Northern 1862 draft was an attempt to let the states handle their own conscriptions, based on the antiquated militia system. It taught the federal government much about drafting American men into the army, and it was in some ways a dress rehearsal for the large-scale draft of the following year, complete with organized resistance, lucrative bounties, and hired "substitutes" who were the bane of enlistment officers. Most importantly at the time, it was a spur to volunteerism in crucial months when enthusiasm in the North was at an ebb. And for tens of thousands of men who were drafted, and for their families, it was a life-changing event. The Northern government entered 1862 with a foolish expectation of impending victory. In December 1861, then-Secretary of War Simon Cameron had instructed the Northern governors not to send any more regiments unless they were called for. His successor, Edwin Stanton, sent out a telegraph on April 3, 1862, ordering the federal recruiting offices closed [General Order 33]. Historians have puzzled over the motive for this, sometimes crediting it to a desire to save money. Others feel it was only intended as a temporary measure, but the communication does not support this reading. It ordered recruiting officers to sell off their furniture and return to their regiments. The troops in the undermanned regiments in the field grumbled and newspapers criticized the confusion. It seems that Stanton, like many in Lincoln's government, thought the war was about to be won, and the North would require only a few more men to finish it. On May 1, Stanton directed the army commanders to requisition troops through the states; and on May 19 he asked the governors to begin raising a few new infantry regiments.[3] On May 27, after some vacillation, he directed that only three-year men would be accepted, but indicated they would probably serve less time than that because the war would be over within a year. In the late spring of 1862, however, the leadership in Washington began to understand the gravity of the army's situation in Virginia. The closing of the recruiting offices was formally rescinded on June 6, and on June 18, Adjutant-Gen. Lorenzo Thomas wired all the state governors in the North: "We are in pressing need of troops. How many can you forward immediately?" The answer can't have been encouraging. New Hampshire's Gov. Nathaniel S. Berry replied June 19 that "our Ninth Regiment is now recruiting. The field, staff, and a portion of the line officers are appointed. Every exertion is made and inducement offered to forward enlistments; still, owing to the season of the year, recruiting progresses much slower than heretofore." Berry thought it would be another 30 or 40 days till this regiment could be sent. Pennsylvania Gov. Andrew Curtin wired back on June 18: "In view of the approaching harvest and the consequent difficulty attending the recruiting service, it has been considered better to confine our efforts to filling up the old than to attempt to recruit new regiments."[4] Vermont said it was recruiting one regiment, but it wasn't yet ready. Iowa said it had one in process, but would require another 40 days at least. Illinois replied it had a regiment on the way and might manage another one, in three months or so. Ohio's governor thought he could have three regiments ready by Aug. 1, and two more by Sept. 1. Connecticut said it could round up 2,000 or 3,000 men for three months. New York, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Missouri said they had no troops available. Gov. O.P. Morton of Indiana wired the War Department an extensive reply on June 25: "The five regiments called for from this State for service during the war are progressing very slowly. I have just issued a special proclamation with reference to them and hope to succeed in getting them up during the summer, but the difficulties from the causes mentioned are greatly increased." Those "causes mentioned" included "newspapers of extremely doubtful loyalty" and "a secret political organization in Indiana, estimated and claimed to be 10,000 strong," which had as a leading objective, "to embarrass all efforts to recruit men for the military service of the United States." Lincoln and his cabinet had realized they would need more volunteers -- many more volunteers. The trick was to call them up and yet avoid the appearance of acknowledging defeat outside Richmond. Secretary of State William Seward provided the answer. He went home to New York, drew up an appeal to the President to call up fresh troops to finish the war, and sent it by telegraph to all the Northern governors, asking their permission to attach their names to it as petitioners. Most of them replied, more or less approving of the sentiments in the appeal, and Seward promptly attached their names to the appeal, back-dated it from June 30 to June 28, and presented it to the President. "The recent victories (real or fancied) were mentioned, and the men were asked for, not to retrieve disaster but to hasten to a speedy conclusion a victory already in immediate prospect."[5] The next day, Lincoln wrote to the governors, "Fully concurring in the wisdom of the views expressed to me in so patriotic a manner by you in the communication of the 28th day of June, I have decided to call into the service an additional force of 300,000 men. I suggest and recommend that the troops should be chiefly of infantry. The quota of your State would be ______." The formal call for fresh troops was made July 2. The quotas were sent out July 7.  They can be seen, broken down by states, here.  But the call to arms in the North was greeted with nothing like the enthusiasm of 1861. The governors, into whose laps this recruiting drive had fallen, knew they faced a steep road in getting men into the ranks for three years now that the public knew the realities of war. They urged Lincoln to call up troops for shorter terms, in keeping with Washington's "victory is imminent" tone. "Recruiting for three years is terribly hard," Gov. Israel Washburn of Maine telegraphed the White House in the wake of this announcement. "Shall be obliged to resort to drafting unless I can be authorized to take volunteers for three or six months." Gov. Samuel Kirkwood of Iowa, like all the loyal governors, thundered mightily in public to whip up enthusiasm and urge recruiting down to the last man: "Our old men and our boys, unfit for war, if need be, our women must help to gather harvests," and so forth. But privately he wrote to Lincoln and suggested three-month enlistments would be better; Gov. Curtin of Pennsylvania argued in favor of six months, while Adj.-Gen. John W. Finnell of Kentucky requested that he be allowed to raise a portion of his men for 12 months. The administration made one important concession to the governors, though it had to be strong-armed into it. On June 30, Seward wired Stanton from New York, "Will you authorize me to promise an advance to recruits of $25 of the $100 bounty? It is thought here and in Massachusetts that without such payment recruiting will be very difficult, and with it probably entirely successful." Massachusetts was the arm-twister in this case. In late May 1862, Gov. John Andrew had begun an effort to force a change in federal policy by allowing advance payment of bounties. Stanton rejected him, so Andrew turned to Henry Wilson, his junior senator, who was chair of the Senate Committee on Military Affairs and the Militia in the 37th and 38th Congresses. On June 21, Wilson secured congressional approval of the practice of advance payment of bounties. Andrew held out from the governors' call for troops until he got Stanton to approve what Congress had authorized: advance payment of $25 of the $100 federal bounty. This was the cause of Seward's frantic telegram. Stanton replied that this was a "judicious" plan, and that he would see to it that the necessary legal changes were made to allow this, which was done, and the advance was ordered on July 1. Andrew was responsible for other changes in government policy; on July 21, Stanton answered a request from Andrew, "you are authorized to say that new recruits for old regiments will be mustered [out] with the regiment." In other words, the "three year" volunteers might only end up serving two years. The offer was soon extended to the other states. Massachusetts, wealthy and well-organized, could affort to play the quota game. Other states could not. Morton, the Indiana governor, in a "confidential" July 9 letter to Lincoln (also signed by Indiana's state officers), strongly suggested the administration consider a draft. "The undersigned would urge upon you the vital importance of procuring the passage of a law by Congress by which men can be drafted into the Army. If Congress shall adjourn without doing this you will doubtless have to call them together for the purpose. We send you this as the result of our conclusions from what we know of the condition of the Northwest." On July 14, Gov. E.D. Morgan of New York also wrote to the administration, expressing the same sentiment. "Congress should not adjourn without providing by law, if it has the power to do it, for filling up the volunteer regiments in the field and those now organizing by a draft." "It was now recognized that the previous year's enlistment of 700,000 represented the full, hard core of patriotic citizenry," one historian has written.[6] This was recognized in the camp tents, as well as in the White House. The volunteers of '61 were jaded to army life and resentful of the incompetence of their generals. By the end of July, they could add to their list of gripes bitter feelings toward those still at home. Maj. Octavius Bull in the 53rd Pa. Infantry Regiment wrote home to his brother on Aug. 1, 1862. The letter is more eloquent and witty than most, but the sentiment is that of hundreds of letters and diaries from the Army of the Potomac in those months: "What has become of the much vaunted bravery and stubborn will of the 'Northern Freemen' which we were wont to hear during every political campaign? How is it that, beside the bounty of $100 given by the U.S., the state must add half as much more? And then how very rapidly recruiting progresses -- truly 'Northern Freemen' do love their country! Yes, so much that no inducement except positive force can get them over state lines! Oh, what patriotism. Ain't you proud of your birthright? "We can never conquer the South in this way, don't you begin to realize it? How now about the war being over in three months? But I'm sick of this subject. We've been here, begging for reinforcements from a population of twenty millions, and have received two brigades, the aggregate of which is probably three thousand men, not more."[7] Those close to the Northern war effort had awakened to reality by the start of summer. On July 8, Seward wrote privately that he feared a draft would be necessary, but he cautioned that "we ... first prove that it is so, by trying the old way." [8] Federal Militia Act of 1862 A draft of men into the military ran counter to the deeply held conviction that conscription was tyrannical and that volunteer armies were the only defense needed by a democracy. Individual colonies had drafted men during the Revolution, and a national draft had been seriously considered in the last year of the War of 1812, but the suggestion had been attacked as "Napoleonic" and despotic, and the plan was dropped. At the beginning of the Civil War, the Unionist governor of Missouri had threatened on Aug. 24, 1861, to draft men to put down insurrection in his state, but this, too had proved unnecessary. This left the Confederate government to enact America's first large-scale draft. President Jefferson Davis approved its conscription law on April 16, 1862, making all healthy white men between 18 and 35 liable for three years of military service. The significance of this new development began to sink in in the North about the same time as the losses on the peninsula hit home. When the second session of the 37th Congress met, it quickly took up the issue of conscription in a bid to match what the Confederacy had done. The legislation was the work of Wilson, the Massachusetts senator. His law served Seward's purpose of "trying the old way." Wilson had been active in the Massachusetts militia, and he probably had a natural inclination to believe in the volunteer system. But he also worked under pressure from his governor. Unlike most other governors (especially those in the Midwest), Andrew of Massachusetts wanted to keep control of the recruiting system on the state level. His was the most industrialized state in the Union, which meant both that it had business interests to protect (in the form of making sure of an available pool of labor) and ample capital for bounties. Andrew had already endorsed schemes to send agents to other states to recruit men to fight for Massachusetts (which paid better), and even to Europe. The Bay State's reputation for patriotism had taken a serious hit, but Massachusetts had exceeded its enlistment quotas so far. On July 8, 1862, Wilson reported Senate Bill 384, which set up a procedure for a national draft. The bill was revised and discussed for three days, and he came back with a new version, S 394, that incorporated many of the changes that had been approved. After two more days of intense debate and further modification, it passed on July 15 and was sent to the House of Representatives, which approved it with little difficulty the next day. This was the Federal Militia Act of 1862 (officially, the Senate bill was titled "An Act to Amend the Act Calling Forth the Militia to Execute the Laws of the Union, Suppress Insurrections, and Repel Invasions, Approved February 28, 1795, and the Acts Amendatory Thereof"). The bill was signed by Lincoln on July 17. It defined militias according to the traditional usage -- all able-bodied men between 18 and 45 -- and it authorized the call-ups to be apportioned among the states, with quotas proportional to population. The principal change was that it authorized the President to call up state militias into national service for no more than nine months, which was three times the previous limit. Presidents had had this power, in certain circumstances, since the original 1792 Militia Act. (Originally, Wilson's act had granted the president power to make indefinite call-ups; he restricted it to nine months when he rewrote the bill, out of deference to some conservative Republicans.) It also gave the federal government authority to directly intervene in the process. A provision of the act reads, "If by reason of defects in existing laws, or in the execution of them in the several States, or any of them, it shall be found necessary to provide for enrolling the militia and otherwise putting this act into execution, the President is authorized in such cases to make all necessary rules and regulations." This clause, with its broad wording, opened the door and perhaps gave the federal government direct authority to order to draft men without regard for the states. These "state militias" existed in theory, but in reality there was no such thing in most places. The mandatory musters to drill were an 18th century relic, and they had been allowed to die out in many states. Delaware began repealing fines for failure to drill in 1816. Massachusetts abolished all compulsory service in 1840, and in the next decade six other Northern states followed suit. Indiana had made no head-count of its militia since 1832. Lincoln would have known this. In a speech in Springfield in 1852, he recalled how the Illinois militia trainings had been "laughed to death." At the head of the annual muster, "on horseback, figured our old friend Gordon Abrams, with a pine wood sword, about nine feet long, and a paste-board cocked hat, from front to rear about the length of an ox yoke, and very much the shape of one turned bottom-upwards; and with spurs having rowels as large as the bottom of a teacup, and shanks a foot and a half long." Among the rules and regulations adopted by Lincoln's militia were: "no man is to wear more than five pounds of cod-fish for epaulets, or more than thirty yards of bologna sausages for a sash; and no two men are to dress alike, and if any two should dress alike the one that dresses most alike is to be fined." Very little of the Senate debate dealt with the militia or the draft. Wilson was a radical, and much of the Militia Act deals with steps toward emancipation that had already been included in the Second Confiscation Act. But Lincoln was threatening to veto that act, so to protect the key provisions the radicals folded them into a conscription bill they knew Lincoln would have to approve. The bill breezed through the House in part because the Senate conservatives had already done their best to water down the emancipation aspects, and their House colleagues evidently felt no further effort was warranted. The first order for a draft seems to have gone out on July 26, when Stanton wired Gov. Kirkwood of Iowa: SIR: By order of the President of the United States you are authorized and directed to make a draft of militia of the state of Iowa to fill up the quota of volunteers called for by the President, or as much thereof as by reason of the deficiency of the volunteers or other cause you may deem proper. On Aug. 2, Kirkwood replied, "In the absence of State law, is there any law of Congress regulating drafting? If so, send instructions. We have no sufficient law for drafting in this State. Am satisfied a draft must be made to fill up the old regiments." This one-state order seems to have been swallowed up into what followed. The government put the militia draft to use in short order. It is possible that the impetus for its use came from Pennsylvania's Gov. Curtin, who of his own accord solved the difficulty of getting men to enlist under the July 2 call by offering to take some regiments for less than three years. The government never said he could do this, but it had never said he couldn't. Illinois then also began raising nine-month troops. Indiana's Morton complained to the War Department [July 25] that this was making recruiting in Indiana still more difficult, "as it is now said enlistments should be alike." Stanton wrote him back [July 26] that, "Governor Curtin's call for nine and twelve months' men was not authorized by the Department, and is sanctioned only from the necessity occasioned by his premature action, and efforts are being made to correct it in Pennsylvania, which, I think, will succeed." It is possible that the solution hit upon was a general call-up of more men, under the new militia law. On Aug. 4, Lincoln called up 300,000 men for nine months service, on top of the 300,000 he had already requested in July for three years. The militia call-up was General Order No. 94: Ordered: I. That a draft of 300,000 militia be immediately called into the service of the United States, to serve for nine months unless sooner discharged. The Secretary of War will assign the quotas to the States and establish regulations for the draft. II. That if any state shall not by the 15th of August furnish its quota of the additional 300,000 volunteers authorized by law, the deficiency of volunteers in that State will also be made up by special draft from the militia. The Secretary of War will establish regulations for this purpose. Some confusion about this draft may spring from the fact that both the entire call-up of 300,000 militia, and the subsequent filling of the deficiency in that call-up by conscription, are called a "draft." This was not something that had been done in the lifetime of any of the men in the government, and their terminology was not always clear. Yet Lincoln unambiguously writes of "drafting," in reference to the filling of the quotas by conscription, in many places [e.g. letter to George P. Fisher, Sept. 16, 1862; telegram to McClellan, Oct. 27, 1862, etc.] Like the earlier call, this one was apportioned among the states relative to their populations. But this time, the government said it would draft men into service from any state that did not meet its quota. Specifying that the call-up would be for nine months, and calling the troops "militia," gave it the power to do so. The War Department order gave each state until Aug. 15 -- a mere two weeks -- to meet its quota or face a draft. Indiana's quota was about 21,000; little Rhode Island's was less than 3,000. New York's quota of almost 60,000 men was the highest. Wisconsin's was just under 12,000. The governor there pleaded for more time, since it was an agricultural state and the fall harvest was approaching, but the War Department only gave him another week, until Aug. 22. On Aug. 9, the Secretary of War issued General Order 99, detailing how the conscription should be handled. It directed the governors to enroll all able-bodied men age 18 to 45, and the wheels of the draft began to turn. The process passed down the line, from federal government to states to counties to the smallest unit of local municipality. The legwork was done by the county assessors, the men who usually collected tax data. They copied the names of each eligible man into record books, noting those already in service, and any obvious physical disabilities. The Pennsylvania enrollment officer in one township evidently hadn't appreciated the random nature of the draft, or else couldn't resist adding editorial comments on some of the men he registered -- "Ran and hid, refused to give age;" "Ought to be taken. Bad influence at home or he would volunteer," "Not healthy ('So they say')," "claims weak eyes," "Saucy & loafing about at home," "Make a first-rate soldier, not worth much for anything else," and so forth. The assessors filed their reports with the county sheriff, and the governor then appointed a commissioner and a surgeon for each county; the first to superintend the draft, the second to rule on claims of exemption for physical or mental disability. Exemptions also were allowed for men already serving in the military, telegraph operators, railroad engineers, judges, government employees, school directors and ferrymen on post roads. A day before, on Aug. 8, the War Department had ordered the arrest of anyone liable for draft who fled his county or state, and suspended habeas corpus in such cases. The act was put into effect that day in Baltimore, where several men were arrested trying to escape the city. This rule remained in effect until Sept. 8, when the War Department wrote, "The quota of volunteers and enrolment of militia having been completed in the several States, the necessity for stringent enforcement of the orders of the War Department in respect to volunteering and drafting no longer exists." Arrests were thereafter to be made only by express warrant, and the travel restriction was lifted. Several cases of self-mutilation -- cutting off fingers or knocking out teeth -- to avoid the draft were reported Aug. 16 by the examining surgeon for the 11th senatorial district, in Danbury, Ct. Meanwhile, on Aug. 9, in spite of the travel restrictions, the Detroit "Free Press" reported an "exodus" through the city, of hundreds of men from the region fleeing to Canada "like cravens to escape the draft." On Aug. 7, Gov. Richard Yates of Ill. wrote to Stanton, "Since the order for drafting[,] large numbers of citizens are leaving this city [Chicago] to escape the draft, and it is strongly urged upon me to ask you for authority to declare martial law again." On Aug. 8, the acting military commandant in Rochester, N.Y., reported to the War Department that "many men are leaving for Canada," and asked if he had authority to arrest them. The enrollments met organized resistance, especially among the foreign-born populations of Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Maryland. The assessors were threatened and in some cases attacked (a woman in the Irish ghetto in Phoenixville, Pa., dumped scalding water on one who came to enroll her sons). The resistance was widespread, and the administration used it as a pretext for a crack-down on civil liberties. On Sept. 24, Lincoln issued his proclamation suspending the writ of habeas corpus nationwide. The resistance to draft enrollments were the direct cause of it, cited in the preamble: "Whereas, it has become necessary to call into service not only volunteers but also portions of the militias of the States by draft in order to suppress the insurrection existing in the United States, and disloyal persons are not adequately restrained by the ordinary processes of law from hindering this measure and from giving aid and comfort in various ways to the insurrection ...." The proclamation also made "resisting militia drafts" a crime subject to court martial. Under this order, some 13,535 citizens would ultimately be arrested and confined in military prisons, not counting those imprisoned under authority of the State and Navy departments, and under state and local authorities. Yet it likely had little practical effect for the North's war effort, and it generated a high level of bitterness that was exploited by the opponents of the administration. The real purpose "It became quickly apparent that the draft was not intended as the primary source of man power," wrote a historian of the Union army. "Rather it was merely a whip to encourage volunteers."[9] That this had been the plan all along is suggested by Lincoln's July 22 letter to Stanton, in which he gave the Secretary of War the green light to set the process in motion: I think it will be better to do nothing now which can be construed into a demand for troops in addition to the three hundred thousand for which we have recently called. We do not need more, nor, indeed, so many, if we could have the smaller number very soon. It is an important consideration, too, that one recruited into an old regiment is nearly or quite equal in value to two in a new one. We can scarcely afford to forego any plan within our power which may facilitate the filling of the old regiments with recruits. If, on consideration, you are of the opinion that this object can be advanced by causing the militia of the several States to be enrolled, and by drafts therefrom, you are at liberty to take the proper steps to do so, provided that any number of recruits so obtained from any state within the next three months shall, if practicable, be an abatement of the quota of volunteers from such State under the recent call.[10] The imminent threat of the draft swelled the recruiting, and the fresh blue-clad ranks began to flow toward the front: the 110th N.Y. infantry departed for the capital on Aug. 13, the 122nd and 129th Pennsylvania arrived in Washington on Aug. 16; the 18th Connecticut rode through New York City on Aug. 23; the 11th N.J. regiment departed the state Aug. 25; the 36th Massachusetts left Worcester on Sept. 3, and so on. "Thousands of our people are now offering themselves under the last call, and are demanding they shall not be drafted," Adjt.-Gen. Allen C. Fuller of Illinois wrote to Stanton on Aug. 7. Finnell, the military governor of Kentucky, was delighted. "Enlistments are greatly facilitated by the draft," he wrote to the War Department on Aug. 7. The next day he wrote, "The draft was what was wanted here. The Legislature will endorse it next week. It will drive the scoundrels to fight, pay their money, or leave the State." Later the same day he wrote another letter to the War Department, boasting of the draft that, "The mere announcement of its coming has had a most happy influence upon our rebel rascals. They no longer stand in the way of recruiting, but are becoming my most anxious, active, and useful aids. At all events, let there be no whisper that Kentucky will be excluded from the draft until I have had a chance to fill the quota of Kentucky." In Chester County, Pennsylvania, in the month between the President's July 2 call and the draft alert in August, about 90 men had enlisted in three-year regiments, barely one-twentieth the number that answered the call in a few days in the spring of 1861. Significantly, about a third of them had crossed state lines to join the 4th Delaware Infantry, which was seen as likely to be a home-guard regiment. After the draft threat came, some 715 men quickly enlisted in nine-month companies. "Come in out of the draft" the banners blared over the recruiting offices. Another 171 joined new or existing regiments. Exact dates are difficult to pin down, but it is likely that most of the men who mustered in under Lincoln's July 2 call for three-year men did so with the draft looming. They also did so under a suddenly lucrative system of state and local government bounties that paid an average of $100 to coax men into new volunteer companies. On Aug. 19, the Board of Supervisors of Rensselaer County, N.Y., appropriated $75,000 for bounties. It was one of hundreds of counties across the North to do so in those months, to fend off the draft in their precincts. As of Aug. 19, Philadelphia city council had voted $500,000 plus another $400,000 had been raised in the city by voluntary subscription. In the hinterland, Lancaster County had voted $50,000 for bonuses; Berks, Northampton, and Chester counties $30,000 each; and Bucks and Montgomery counties $25,000 each. Bounties often were raised by local taxation, or by bonds that would have to be paid in future years from tax revenue. The Pennsylvania Railroad, a labor-intensive operation that stood to lose many workers to a draft, donated $50,000 to the state for bonuses. The draft made full deference to local feelings and gave control to the states. With no coercive force in the draft act, the states having the greatest difficulty meeting their quotas dragged their feet as much as possible. And the Secretary of War generally granted the governors' special requests, such as Edwin D. Morgan of New York's desire that volunteers into the old regiments be counted against the draft of militiamen. Albany, N.Y., shipped off a regiment in August (113rd N.Y., the "Albany Regiment"), but some pockets of the county still hadn't fulfilled their quotas, and the efforts shifted to filling up old regiments such as the 44th N.Y. ("Ellsworth Regiment"). Now it was each ward for itself, trying to boost its number of volunteers above that magic figure and avoid "the ignominy of a draft," as the Albany "Journal" termed it. The Ninth Ward recruited for the 61st N.Y., the Fifth, Sixth and Tenth Wards raised troops for the 43rd N.Y., while the Eighth Ward, a local newspaper reported, was recruiting a company for "some old regiment." Another Albany newspaper reported that, "Capt. E.B. Knox is recruiting for the Gallant Forty-fourth (Ellsworth) Regiment, in which all our citizens feel so deep an interest. He has three stations -- No. 2 Green street, No. 65 State street and at the Steamboat Square. At all of these places the recruit will receive a bounty of TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS, in addition to the General and State Governmental Bounties. More liberal inducements will not be offered." The "Journal," reporting under the headline "RECRUITING IS NOT LIVELY," put this question to young men: "will you volunteer and receive all the bounties, or wait to be drafted and receive nothing?" At the end of August, recruiting offices there took the unusual step of remaining open on Sundays, and the city's clergy left their pulpits to deliver "patriotic addresses" among the recruiters' tents on State Street. Across the North, exemptions were informally extended to powder mill workers and railroad workers, and explicit orders from the government later exempted physicians and even clergymen. Since the states controlled the process, they granted further exemptions. Men who were the only sons of widows, the sons of aged and infirm parents, or widowers with dependent children were exempt in Pennsylvania. New York and Pennsylvania allowed conscientious objector status for certain religious groups (Quakers, Shakers, Mennonites). So did Ohio, but only in exchange for a fee of $200 per man, which brought the state $50,000 in October. New York also exempted "idiots, lunatics, infamous criminals, habitual drunkards, and paupers." [The Confederate draft law had much broader exemptions than the Northern one, including railroad and river workers, civil officials, telegraph operators, miners, druggists and teachers.] The War Department had originally set the draft for Sept. 3, to be held from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., or until the quotas were filled (no quotas were set for California and Oregon). The War Department gave up all chance of a speedy conscription when it allowed the governors to take responsibility for the drafts in their states. They used their authority to postpone the dreaded day two and three times. In Ohio, the governor postponed the draft to Oct. 1. On Sept. 29, the governor of Maryland postponed the draft there until Oct. 15. Massachusetts put off its draft until Dec. 8, and Iowa put it off until January 1863. Minnesota postponed its draft to deal with a serious Sioux uprising. Lincoln wired the governor his approval on Sept. 27: "Attend to the Indians. If the draft cannot proceed, of course it will not proceed." As if the governors didn't have enough to do, the South's first major invasion of the North got underway in the midst of the draft enrollment. After battering the Army of the Potomac in the Second Bull Run battle, Lee's troops crossed into western Maryland and headed north. A second Rebel army launched an offensive into Kentucky, headed toward Ohio. The panic hit Harrisburg, Pennsylvania's capital, on Sept. 7, with rumors that women, children and state archives were about to be sent out of the city for safety. It was fueled by the arrival of the Hagerstown train, which brought news of the Rebel occupation of Frederick, Md. The alarm spread to surrounding counties in the next day or two. The "Valley Spirit" newspaper of Sept. 10, 1862, tried to turn the invasion into an enlistment appeal in an article headlined "To the Rescue--Freemen of Franklin County." "The darkest hour of our Country's history is upon us. Gen. Pope's army in Virginia, after the most terrific fighting, has fallen back to the fortifications around Washington, and the Nation's Capital is again threatened by an insolent foe. The invading hosts of the enemy have pressed the soil of Maryland, and our own beautiful valley may at any hour become the victim of a similar invasion. Citizens of Franklin county, the enemy is at the very threshold of your homes, your altars and your firesides. Will you not instantly respond to the call of your Government in this the day of your country's peril? Let not the wisest, the best, and most glorious Government ever devised by the wisdom of man, be despoiled and overthrown by armed traitors, when you have the power to prevent it. Let it not be said that the Government failed to enforce its authority and punish rebellion by inaction on our part. Come one, come all, who are able to bear arms, and enrol [sic] your names in some one or other of the companies that are now forming in different parts of the county, and thus show that the patriotism of Franklin county is equal to any emergency. The draft has been postponed until the 20th, which affords another opportunity for Franklin county, to fill her quota of men by voluntary enlis[t]ments." However, in spite of this and similar appeals, the invasion probably slowed enlistments in the state. On Sept. 11, Gov. Curtin had called for 50,000 "emergency militia" men to defend Pennsylvania. He got a swift response: 25 regiments and four unattached companies of infantry, 14 companies of cavalry, and four battalions of artillery. The invasion had been turned back at Antietam by the time they gathered, however, and he dismissed these men on Sept. 24. These "emergency militias" were state units, recruited to defend the state, never mustered into federal service and never meant to be. The prompt filling of this many outfits probably suggests the reservoir of "state line" feeling in Pennsylvania, where a great many were willing to defend the commonwealth, or even the North, but not to cross into the South to wage war. In a similar situation during the Gettysburg crisis the next year, when some regiments of Pennsylvania emergency militia were ordered to take up position just across the border in Maryland a number refused to do so. They were discharged and sent home. Curtin then delayed the draft in Pennsylvania yet again, to allow the emergency men time to register for exemptions, since they had been away from their homes -- in military service -- during the week when men were supposed to be pleading why they were unfit for military service. A draft at last The county sheriffs were in charge of the actual drafting. The procedure was the same one used for picking jurors in that county; with names of each eligible man written on a folded slip of paper, and the necessary number picked from a box or a rotating drum called a "jury wheel." This was to be done by a man in a blindfold who had been named in advance by the county's draft commissioner. Several states began drafting in mid-September. The Ohio draft was underway by Oct. 5, when Gov. David Tod wrote to Stanton informing him of its progress. Indiana drafted on Oct. 6, and violence erupted immediately in Blackford County, especially the Trenton area, which was a notorious Copperhead haven. The rioters there destroyed the enrollment lists and the draft ballot box. It required 300 infantry to quell the disturbance. On Oct. 15, in Maryland, 40 men were chosen to fill Baltimore's quota. The draft commenced Oct. 15 in Boston, but two days later the Common Council of Boston voted to raise the volunteer bounty to $200, so drafting there ceased for the time being. Massachusetts delayed until December. On Oct. 16, the draft began in every county in Pennsylvania except Philadelphia. The nation's most serious resistance to conscription broke out Oct. 17, in Berkley, Luzerne County, where the military fired on a mob of rioters and killed 4 or 5 of them. Resistance also flared in Carbondale, Scranton, and other regions in the coal country, mostly among the Irish. Gov. Curtin wrote to Secretary of War Stanton on Oct. 22: "The draft is being resisted in several counties of the State. In Schuylkill County I am just informed that 1,000 armed men are assembled, and will not suffer the train to move with the drafted men to this place. I wish ample authority to use my troops in the State, and particularly the regulars and Anderson Cavalry at Carlisle, to crush this effort instantly. We will thus enforce the law, and effectually, if successful, prevent the like occurring in other parts of the State." Stanton wrote back, authorizing Curtin to use "the regular force, the Anderson Cavalry, and any other military force in your State to enforce the militia draft, and also to call upon Major-General Wool, the commanding general of the Middle Department, for aid, if you desire it." "Notwithstanding the usual exaggerations, I think the organization to resist the draft in Schuylkill, Luzerne, and Carbon Counties is very formidable," Curtin telegraphed Stanton the next day. "There are several thousands in arms, and the people who will not join have been driven from the county. They will not permit the drafted men, who are willing, to leave, and yesterday forced them to get out of the cars. I wish to crush the resistance so effectually that the like will not occur again." He asked for a regiment of regular troops, but Stanton replied that none was available. In the end, feeble enforcement of the draft laws cooled the riots. Lincoln informed the state authorities by confidential messenger, "I am very desirous to have the laws fully executed, but it might be well, in an extreme emergency, to be content with the appearance of executing the laws." On Oct. 25, Curtin telegraphed Stanton that "[t]he riots in Schuylkill County have ceased for the present." He also expressed a note of frustration that the state had been left to deal with the entire set of problems created by the draft, without a force or authority sufficient to do so: I beg to observe that this enrollment and draft have been made under the authority of and directly by the United States. I originally suggested, therefore, that they should be conducted by officers of the United States, but that suggestion not being adopted, I have acted for the United States in superintending the enrollment and the drawing of names for the quota. The next step contemplated by the regulations is the appointment of provost-marshals to enforce the attendance of the drafted men. I have not nominated persons to fill this office, because I do not perceive that officers of that kind are necessary. By the act of 29th of June, 1861, penalties are provided for drafted men who shall not obey the orders of the President, but there is no act authorizing them to be forcibly impressed. I would advise that a regulation be made directing that the courts-martial shall be immediately held on all recusants. These courts must be ordered by the President. In this mode I think you would get the men more easily than by the use of force. Men unwilling to go, and unable to pay the probable fine, will serve in the army on pay [in preference] to being shut up in prison without pay. Those who are able to pay the fine will prefer using the money in procuring substitutes. The same limit of the fine will probably regulate the price of substitutes. I respectfully submit these matters for your consideration. [A more complete text of the correspondence concerning the draft resistance in Pennsylvania can be found here.]  Curtin was correct in pointing out the lack of coercive force to get drafted men into the rendezvous camps. The adjutant general of Pennsylvania wrote to the War Department on Nov. 3, "Of the draft in this state about one-fourth have not been delivered, and the State is powerless to deliver them. An energetic provost-martial will be necessary to seize them." There was another problem, the adjutant general added: "Of those delivered a very large number were not examined by a medical officer for the want, as it is alleged, of time before the date set for the delivery; consequently very many are totally unfit for the service. To prevent such men being sent to join regiments, I request that three medical officers of the Army be directed to report to me to inspect the men at Philadelphia, Harrisburg, and Pittsburgh ...." In Maryland, where resentment of the Union cause still ran deep, the quota had at first been set at 8,532. On Aug. 26, it was reduced to 6,000. On Nov. 24, Maryland Gov. A.W. Bruford informed the War Department that "The number drafted for nine months will be 6,000 in the State, but all the counties have not yet drafted; nor all the drafted men reported from their counties that have." In the end Maryland claims to have furnished 3,586 men, volunteers and draftees, but the process there appears to have been very unruly. Wisconsin was the last state to begin drafting. Only on Oct. 22 did the governor set the county quotas, and he ordered drafting to get underway Nov. 10. The draft would hit hardest in the counties around Milwaukee, which were heavily populated by recent immigrants from central Europe, who had come to America in many cases to save their sons from compulsory military service in their homelands. There were mutterings about irregularities in the enrollment process, with the men in charge said to be skipping over either their fellow Republicans or their Masonic lodge brothers. On Nov. 11, at Port Washington, on the Lake Michigan shore, a mob attacked the draft as it was in process. Rioters -- armed with pitchforks, a small cannon used to celebrate the Fourth of July, and "the town's only cannonball" -- ransacked the house of the draft commissioner, threw him down the stairs, and defied authorities until troops of the 28th Wisc. were sent to quell the disturbance. Some 130 draft resisters were arrested. Most spent a year in prison, without trial, and were released. The same problems complained of by the Pennsylvania adjutant general applied in Wisconsin. Of the 4,500 men ultimately drafted in Wisconsin, only about 958 came in and were fit for duty. How Many Men? Of the total of 600,000 men requested from the North in the two call-ups of July and August 1862, about 508,000 eventually volunteered. Most of these (421,465) were three-year enlistees, some of them originally drafted, and the remaining 86,360   or (by another official count) 87,588 were 9-month militia, drafted or otherwise. There was mass confusion over quotas in 1862, with two separate calls for men partially intertwined. Governors wrote privately to one another, confessing they had no idea how to calculate how many men were due from their states. The federal government eventually decided to count one three-year man as the equivalent of four nine-months men. Some historians have given figures between 60,000 and 70,000 for the number of men drafted into the Northern army in 1862. Others have used the 86,000 or 87,000 figure as if it were a count of drafted men, but this seems to be a total of the nine-month enlistments, volunteer as well as draft. (The low returns reported for New York and other states probably reflect the shift of much of their quotas to re-filling old regiments). Fry's abridged Final Report [OR Ser. iii, 5:636-39, 730-39] has caused much confusion among historians. It lists 46,347 drafted in one place and 52,067 in another. More can be found here on the confusion of numbers in the "Official Records"  Another reason the number of draftees is difficult to count is that drafted men were given the option of then joining three-year regiments (where they were counted as "volunteers") and collecting the bounties and pensions. On a state-by-state accounting, Wisconsin drafted 4,500 men. Ohio drafted 12,200, of which (as of Dec. 13) 2,900 had been discharged "for various causes," 4,800 had subsequently enlisted themselves in existing three-year regiments or found substitutes for them, 1,900 had failed to respond and 2,400 been sent to the field. Indiana drafted 3,003 men; the adjutant general of the state reported that 396 were discharged for disability or other causes and 424 failed to show up at the rendezvous and were marked as deserters. Of the 2,183 who reported for duty, 1,441 volunteered in existing three-year regiments or 12-month ones then in the process of recruiting, and 742 were assigned to existing regiments as follows: One company to the 57th Indiana infantry regiment, 1 company to the 83rd Indiana infantry, 2 companies to the 1st Indiana cavalry, and 39 men to the 99th Indiana infantry.[11] Pennsylvania formed the bulk of its drafted men into entire regiments and sent them into government service. All in all, Pennsylvania drafted 20,500 men, according to a communique from Thomas to Stanton. Of these, 15,100 were sent into U.S. service in 1862. A history of the state written in 1880 claims that, "By liberal offer of bounties the draft was rendered unnecessary in nearly all parts of the state, each county quota being in most part filled up by the nine month's men." In fact, men were drafted from every county. The result were 14 regiments listed in Bates' "History of the Pennsylvania Volunteers" as "Drafted Militia": 165th Pa. mostly Adams County 166th Pa. York County 167th Pa. Berks County 168th Pa. Pittsburgh area (Westmoreland, Fayette, Green, Beaver, Allegheny counties), with a contingent from Erie County 169th Pa. northwestern part of the state, Crawford, Mercer, Erie, Clarion, and Butler counties 170th Pa. failed to organize, men dispersed to other regiments 171st Pa. north-central part of the state, Bradford, Juniata, Lycoming, Somerset, and Tioga counties 172nd Pa. Snyder, Northumberland counties 173rd Pa. central part of the state, Schuylkill, Lebanon, Perry, and Dauphin counties 174th Pa. mostly Bucks County, with a contingent from Northampton County 175th Pa. mostly Chester County, with two companies from Montgomery County 176th Pa. mostly Lehigh County, with a contingent from Monroe County 177th Pa. Lycoming, Susquehanna, Dauphin, Luzerne, Perry, and Indiana counties 178th Pa. mostly Lancaster County, with companies from Columbia, Montour, and Luzerne counties 179th Pa. Berks, Lancaster, Montgomery, Pike, Wayne, and Philadelphia counties. The army shipped most of these regiments to the occupied part of the North Carolina coast, and kept them far from action. Their military contribution was slight, their reputations dubious. Yet they freed up more battle-worthy outfits for duty elsewhere in the war. Local newspapers of the day followed the progress of the draft with intense interest, and printed full lists of the names pulled. In Pennsylvania, the "Gettysburg Compiler" listed 890 Adams County men drafted on Oct. 16, 1862. The Lancaster "Examiner" listed 2,677 names that were pulled in Lancaster County. In Chester County, the two postponements and a bounty drive whittled down the number of draftees from 1,200 to 663, whose names are listed in the four enrollment books in the county archives. Effect of the draft The draft overall had a demoralizing effect on the army. It pointed up the lack of enthusiasm in many communities, and the the commodification of soldiery represented by the bounties and the $300 fee to avoid service, which was built into the draft law (and quickly became the base pay for "substitutes") melted whatever was left of the gold-plating of the volunteer spirit of '61. Yet most soldiers already in service were glad to see unwilling men forced into uniform, even if it did little good. "Report has it that there has been drafting in Wisconsin and great resultant scandal," Cpl. Adam Muenzenberger, of the 26th Wisc., wrote home to his wife on Nov. 19. "We have had a great laugh at the simpletons who laughed at us because we volunteered. Please let me know who was drafted if you can find out so that I can laugh at their lot the way they laughed at mine." On Oct. 29, Nathan Pennypacker, a lieutenant in the 4th Pa. Reserve regiment, wrote to his mother: "What do you think of Uncle Joe Fitzwater being drafted? It pays up for some sentiments expressed last year by you know who." James H. Maclay, in Battery B, 1st Pennsylvania Light Artillery -- also part of the Pa. Reserve Division -- wrote Oct. 29, 1862, to his sister Jennie, "So Hugh Fraser is drafted. Good for him. No man but a coward would permit him self to be driven into the service but such men. I think such men ought to be in the Rebel Army where all the conscripts are." And, on Nov. 10, he wrote, "So Ditzler says he is not hired to Uncle Sam. I think he has done worse for Conscripts are Uncle Sam Slaves. The old Reserves don't like the idea of filling up thare Regt. with drafted men. Thay say thay want men that will fight & not these Baby Conscripts." The 1862 state and congressional elections began within a month of the Sept. 24 habeas corpus suspension announcement, and in many cases the voting was done in the shadow of the draft itself -- Pennsylvania's election was two days before the drafting began there. After the results were tallied in October and November, Republicans had lost governorships of New York and New Jersey; lost legislative majorities in New Jersey, Illinois, and Indiana; and lost a total of thirty-four congressional seats. The Republicans' 1862 losses are usually seen as a repudiations of the Emancipation Proclamation (the preliminary version of which was made public on Sept. 22). Indeed, the Democrats' slogan that year was, "The Constitution as it is; the Union as it was; the Negroes where they are" (Republicans countered by calling the Democrats the party of "Dixie, Davis and the Devil"). But many voters seem to have been stirred, as they usually were, by local issues. And in many cases the draft, and the civil liberties threats surrounding it, would have played a big part, especially in Illinois. Democrats perceived the habeas corpus suspension as partisan intimidation, and the administration ordered a few vocal Democratic editors and reporters arrested, along with Copperhead politicians. In Delaware and other places, polls on election day were policed by U.S. provost marshals. The 1862 draft taught the Lincoln administration that masses of men could be forced into service, and most would go, and do their jobs indifferently well. It proved that threats of conscription could be a serious incentive to volunteering. Every Northern soldier who enlisted after the first week of August 1862 did so with the possibility of being drafted as a factor in his decision. As a provost marshal observed, "... without an impending draft, no local bounties would have been raised, and without local bounties no volunteers could have been obtained." It also gave the federal government and the states a lesson in the form of organized resistance and the class from which it could be expected -- German and Irish. There had been violent resistance to the draft in Maryland, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Wisconsin. None of this was really surprising. That some resistance was expected among the Irish is suggested by the sense of great relief, in the pro-administration newspapers, that accompanied the news that on Aug. 17, Archbishop Hughes of New York preached a sermon in support of the draft in St. Patrick's cathedral. James W. Geary, who has written in depth on the Northern conscriptions, wrote, "Bell Wiley, one of the most astute and respected students of the Confederacy, believes that the South experienced its first serious morale crisis that season, and that 'the turning point in the struggle [for the South] probably came in the spring of 1862 rather than in July 1863.' A turning point had also occurred for Northerners that season because it marked the last time for the duration of the war that they could virtually forget about military needs and quotas. Henceforth, they would be faced with continuous demands for more and more men. Communities still had the option of trying to meet these requirements through the timeworn methods of recruiting frives and volunteering; but, unlike the past, two new elements of drafting and a runaway competitive bounty system would be injected into the process."[12] At the end of it all, someone wrote on the back leaf of one of the four Chester County, Pa., militia enrollment books: "The operations of the draft in this book belong now to history. No body cares a dam for it -- the draft I mean, not the history." Partial bibliography: "Official Records," 1891, Series III, vol. 2 and 3 Bates, Samuel P., History of Pennsylvania Volunteers, 1861-5, Harrisburg: B. Singerly, state printer, 1869-1871. Geary, James W., We Need Men: The Union Draft in the Civil War, Northern Illinois University Press, 1991. Hay, John, and John G. Nicolay, Letters and State Papers of Abraham Lincoln, 1894. Murdock, Eugene C., Patriotism Limited 1862-1865: The Civil War Draft & Bounty System, Kent State U. Press, 1967. ---------------------, ed., One Million Men: The Civil War Draft in the North, Champaign: University of Illinois, 1971. Shannon, Fred Albert, The Organization and Administration of the Union Army, 1861-65, Cleveland: The Arthur H. Clark Co., 1928. Terrell, W.H.H., Indiana in the War of the Rebellion, official report of the state adjutant general, Indianapolis, 1869. 1. p.245. 2. p.225. 3. O.R., Ser. 3, 2:2-3, 29, 44, 109. 4. This was an ongoing struggle throughout the recruiting and drafting in the North in those months: many in the Army and the government wanted to see the old regiments replenished. They argued that veterans could show new recruits the ropes more quickly, and McClellan estimated one recruit into an old regiment was worth two in a new one. The old established regiments also had valiant reputations that would be a spur to volunteers. But new regiments meant new commissions, new officers, and there was much political pressure in that direction. 5. Shannon, p.270. 6. Murdock, "Patriotism Limited." 7. Chester County (Pa.) Historical Society archives. 8. letter to Thurlow Weed, in Frederick W. Seward, "William Henry Seward," N.Y., Derby & Miller, 1891, 3:115. 9. Shannon, p.283. 10. "Letters and State Papers of Abraham Lincoln," vol. II, p.212. 11. Terrell, p.44. 12. Geary, p.11.

ALBERT B. MOORE

Albert Burton Moore (1887-1967), the author of "Conscription and Conflict in the Confederacy," in his 45-year teaching career was the embodiment of a Southern scholar-gentleman. Born and raised in Alabama, he was a descendant of Confederate veterans, and he wrote and taught at a time when many of them were yet alive. His teaching career, except for four years in Iowa, was entirely in the South. He loved the fair play of sports (he served two terms as president of the NCAA), and he loved the South. His respect for his native region was duly reciprocated, and in his old age Moore served as executive director of the Alabama Civil War Centennial Commission and director of the Confederate States Centennial Conference as well as the Jefferson Davis Foundation. "Conscription and Conflict in the Confederacy" did not have to be an interesting book, but it is one because Moore's writing style is assured, easy, understated. And he has a keen eye for the pithiest quotes from his sources. He writes in proper British academic style, yet the voice is completely American. It is something Southern academics do splendidly. And he knows his Latin. His Southerners regarded their battlefield victories with sincere "gratulation," and Moore cannot bring himself to write "conscripted" when he knows Cicero would only have approved "conscribed." Moore's book is still valued by historians for both parts of its title. The 1996 introduction to the University of South Carolina edition rightly praises the book as still the fundamental introduction to Confederate conscription, as well as a groundbreaking exploration of internal divisions in the CSA, a topic which had been given short shrift by the Lost Cause version of the Civil War which prevailed in America at that time. Yet scholarly thinking about the Civil War and related issues has changed much since Moore's day. He saw the state and local identification of the CSA's regiments as a weakness, blocking Southern nationhood. But more recent views are that these local ties were exactly the glue that kept Civil War regiments effective, whether North or South. His assumption that secession was principally about states' rights is no longer shared by most historians. But because Moore felt the South's cause was states' rights, the "conflict" in the book's title is largely that between Davis' central government and state authorities, notably the states'-rights governors Brown and Vance. More recent historians, trained in Marxist methodology, instead have played up "class conflict" in the Confederacy. But that is not the bulk of the conflict in Moore's book. As a historian of the Confederacy, he was of the "Died of States' Rights" school of the '20s and '30s. "Like many Southern authors of his generation," the 1996 introduction explains, Moore "can be accused of searching for an internal key to the Confederate defeat in order to avoid any suggestion that the North actually beat the South in a fair fight." Also, Moore wrote in the same shadow that fell across Ella Lonn's 1928 book on Civil War desertion, the shadow of a more recent war. From our long perspective, America's fight in World War I perhaps seems short, enthusiastic, and unified. But in fact it was a disturbing time of repression and civil unrest in the U.S., and the war as a whole was an appalling waste of life based on tragic conscription policies among all the warring powers. "When reading Moore's criticisms of the Confederate Conscription Bureau," the introduction warns, "one should also remember that the author had witnessed the massive conscription programs of World War I." He makes frequent reference to it in his text. Unlike Lonn's book, Moore's makes no comparison with the Union, and it makes no attempt to place the CSA's experience in the flow of military history (despite the allusions to World War I). This is, to me, a serious oversight. Moore's book avoids statistics as much as possible, and the author always alerts his reader, if he delves into numbers, that all the figures are estimates at best, that they are often in dispute, and that surviving Confederate records are very incomplete. Moore views conscription as a flawed, but ultimately successful system that kept the Confederacy's will to fight for independence focused in an effective military effort for four hard years. He quotes the Richmond Examiner, that the conscription act of 1862 "not only overcame the deficiencies of the voluntary system, but changed the character of the army 'from the desultory character of prompt enthusiasm to that of permanent and organized discipline.' " Moore finds no inherent shame to the Confederate cause in the mere fact of conscription. "President Davis told the Mississippi legislature that there was no more reason to expect voluntary service in the army than voluntary labor upon the public roads or the voluntary payment of taxes." Yet he appreciates the challenge of applying such a system in the American South. "The enforcement of the conscript laws was attended by difficulties that inhered in a system of compulsory service among a proud and free people." He writes that the general public was "gradually reconciled" to the idea, though "strong opposition" remained. His view seems to be that the South's great mistake was not in turning to conscription, but in relying at first on volunteers. "[C]onscription would have been less odious if it had been made the exclusive policy of raising armies at the outset. It might then have been regarded as a scientific way of allocating the man power of the country and distributing fairly the burdens of war. But the volunteer system was tried the first year, and after conscription was adopted volunteering was still allowed. This made conscription appear to be a device for coercing derelicts, hence the taint that attached to the conscript." Here is what he writes of the initial impact of the 1862 act, which was to keep the 12-month men, whose terms were weeks from expiring, in the ranks: This was a severe test of the patriotism and devotion of the twelve-months' troops. After nearly a year's experience with the diseases, privations, and hardships of the soldiers' life they were fondly anticipating a return to their homes where they could, temporarily at least, enjoy their habitual comforts and pleasures. They had, too, for self-justification, the unanswerable plea that they had borne their part of the burdens and dangers and that it was time for those equally interested and capable, who had as yet remained at home, to take their turns at the front. How great the sacrifice involved in the renunciation of their hoped-for release and pleasures may be more easily felt than described. 'Yet was there scarce a murmur of disappointment and disaffection, and not an instance, as far as known, of resistance or revolt.' "[p.16-17] In fact, he writes, the conscription act was more popular in the army than anywhere else in the South, because it would force the unwilling into the ranks alongside the patriots, who ultimately decided they did not mind seeing their time extended if the stay-at-homes were made to fight, too. Its second most important result was as a spur to volunteers. The combination of conscription and volunteerism was a peculiarity of the Civil War. Just as in the North (though Moore does not say this), the risk of being drafted, and the "odium" that would go with it, helped many men decide to volunteer, so they could collect the bounty held out to them and also choose their regiment. "Many of the volunteers might have gone into the service of their own volition later," Moore writes, "but the conscription act gave them to the service just at the moment when they were absolutely necessary to check the onrush of the enemy. The powerful armies built up in the summer and fall of 1862 were the backbone of the Confederate military system that distinguished itself on the bloody battlefields of 1863 and 1864." [p.356] Moore understood how the mere fact of conscription changed the entire nature of the volunteer. On the one hand, conscription was a spur to volunteering, but on the other, "conscription took some of the glory out of volunteering, and it probably blunted the edge of public opinion which otherwise might have driven many men to volunteer." He also calls attention to "the significant fact, pointed out by the Mobile Register and Advertiser, that many men who waited to be conscripted were not moral slackers, but they waited because of their private obligations and the necessities of their dependents. When they were conscribed they took up their arms in good faith." The actual drafting of men was probably the least effective part of the South's conscription policy, to read Moore. In fact, as it turned out, the timetable of it is close to that of the North. Drafting was scarcely begun in most places by the end of summer 1862, and in many others not at all until well into the following year. Moore's concluding paragraph: Over against the friction, confusion, and dereliction depicted in this narrative stands out in bold relief the fact of general sacrifices unsurpassed in the annals of military history. Nor is conscription a contradiction of the cheerfulness with which the sacrifices were made. There is much truth in Lord Charnwood's observation that the general patriotism of the people is not to be judged so much by the failure of the purely voluntary system as by the success of the system which succeeded it. [In a footnote here, Moore writes, "Lord Charnwood said this of the North; it might as truly be said of the South."] The dereliction of many sets in a brighter light the heroic devotion of the masses. The unsurpassed sacrifice and heroism of the Southern armies and civilian population -- the proudest and most sacred tradition of the South -- stands unassailed. Moore's conclusion, in full

MARYLAND, WHOSE MARYLAND?

When I insist that Maryland is a "Southern" state, my Georgia-born girlfriend only smiles and gives me that patronizing "poor, deluded man" look. But, though it may not be considered so in Georgia or Alabama, Maryland is a "southern" state by virtue of being below the Mason-Dixon Line and having a large slave population -- 87,189 according to the 1860 census. We're accustomed to thinking in terms of "states," for obvious reasons, but thinking on that scale doesn't allow an accurate picture on the level of communities, families, individuals. It's possible to speak in broad terms of four regions in Maryland, which renders its behavior more comprehensible. 1. Southern Maryland, the nucleus of the colony, founded as a refuge for English Catholics (the counties are mostly named for saints) was, in 1860, a declining region of slave-labor-reliant tobacco plantations with a stagnant economy and a drooping population. 2. The Eastern Shore (birthplace of Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman) was so isolated from the rest of the state that it sometimes talked of breaking off and uniting with Delaware. The convoluted coastline of that drowned river valley made a natural haven for smuggling and bred a generally defiant sort of local culture. It had been settled upward from the mouth of the bay in the 17th century, and was united by ethnic and economic ties with Tidewater Virginia. The number of slaves there had been declining, as the economy diversified from tobacco into fruit-growing, and the free black population was large and economically important. Legislative attempts to restrict the economic freedom of blacks in Maryland were thwarted by slave-owning Eastern Shore men, who knew the importance of black freemen to their region. I should mention that my ancestors were among the Eastern Shore slaveowners who set their chattels free in the period 1790-1840, though the results were not happy. 3. The western end of the state, the Catoctin Mountain valleys and rolling farmland, had been settled by people who had arrived there through Pennsylvania, largely of German ancestry, and it retains its cultural affinity to the North. There were few slaves here. 4. In the middle of it all was Baltimore, which was the fourth largest city in America in 1860 (behind New York and Brooklyn, which were separate entities then, and Philadelphia) with 212,418 inhabitants. Its industry surpassed that of any other Southern city. Its port shipped coal from the western counties and textiles from the city's mills as well as tobacco and grain. A visitor who had arrived in 1860 later recalled that "Baltimore had Northern characteristics of finance and commerce which greatly resembled Philadelphia, New York or Boston, but culturally and socially Baltimore had Southern ties which were most evident." It reminds me of John F. Kennedy's quip about Washington, D.C.: "A city of Southern efficiency and Northern charm." The city in 1860 had 52,000 foreign-born residents -- 28 percent of the total white population. It had been a hotbed of Know-Nothingism in the 1850s. It had 25,000 free blacks as well as 2,218 slaves. For various reasons, Lincoln was not a serious candidate in Maryland in the 1860 election. He got only 1,211 votes statewide, though I don't know whether there was any one county where, as someone has suggested, he got no votes. It is possible, and if there was such a county, Charles is a good candidate. Instead, the contest was between Bell and Breckenridge, or, as it was commonly expressed in the newspapers of the day, "Bell and Union, Breckenridge and Disunion." The discredited state of the Know-Nothing movement in Baltimore seems to have been the deciding factor, however, and it cost Bell (who was not sufficiently distant from it) the Baltimore vote. Breckenridge carried the state, but his margin was less than 1 percent. In the crisis after Lincoln's election and the S.C. secession, Maryland tried to steer a neutral course. Despite widespread Southern sympathy, the state had a "latent unionism," in the words of one historian. It also faced the prospect of being the principal battlefield, if war was to come. It was an off-year for the legislature, and the governor was a wiley character named Thomas H. Hicks, a slaveowner from the Eastern Shore who had at one time or another belonged to every major party in the state. He pursued a policy of "masterly inactivity" in declining to call a special session of the legislature. Between the election and the Sumter attack, state committees called for a convention of border states, actively supported the Crittenden Compromise (which would have restored the Union with a constitutional guarantee of slavery) and sent delegates to the Washington peace conference in February, 1861. On April 19, the first large contingents of Union soldiers (about 2,000) entered Baltimore by train, on their way to protect Washington, D.C. They had to change stations from the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore line to the B&O, which entailed marching from President Street to Camden Street, and along the way the 6th Mass. regiment was attacked by a secessionist mob that was a mix of "wharf rats" who would fight anyone, for any reason, and some of the leading citizens of the city. In the gunfight that followed the Massachusetts troop lost 42 killed and wounded and 12 citizens lay dead and scores were injured. That's where the song comes in. James Ryder Randall, a Baltimore native then teaching in Louisiana, read about the incident in the New Orleans "Delta" newspaper, and saw in the list of wounded citizens the name of his old college roommate Francis X. Ward (Georgetown '59), a prominent lawyer who had led the citizens' charge on the regiment. In his indignation, Randall hastily penned a poem about the subjugation of his home state, which was published in a Louisiana newspaper a few days later, soon set to music, and, as "Maryland, My Maryland" became a favorite rallying tune for pro-Southerners in the state. It is rather inflammatory, as a state song (the "Northern scum" line, especially), but I don't find anything particularly racist in it. Perhaps someone else can. I The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle queen of yore, Maryland! My Maryland! II Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland! My mother State! to thee I kneel, Maryland! For life or death, for woe or weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird they beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland! My Maryland! III Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland! Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland! Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Remember Howard's warlike thrust,- And all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland! My Maryland! IV Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland! Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland! With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, With Watson's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing May, Maryland! My Maryland! V Come! for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland! Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland! Come to thine own anointed throng, Stalking with Liberty along, And sing thy dauntless slogan song, Maryland! My Maryland! VI Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland! Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland! She meets her sisters on the plain- Sic semper! 'tis the proud refrain That baffles minions back amain, Maryland! Arise in majesty again, Maryland! My Maryland! VII I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland! For thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland! But lo! there surges forth a shriek, From hill to fill, from creek to creek, Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland! My Maryland! VIII Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Maryland! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland! Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the Soul, Maryland! My Maryland! IX I hear the distant thunder-hum, Maryland! The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb- Huzza! She spurns the Northern scum! She breathes! She burns! She'll come! She'll come! Maryland! My Maryland! George W. Brown, Baltimore's mayor, was a non-partisan reform politician who had run against the corrupt Know-Nothing organization and fought mob rule in the city. He denounced disunion and personally stood at the head of the Northern troops as they marched through the furious crowd of Baltimore on April 19, 1861, risking his life to preserve order. Of Maryland, he wrote after the war: "Her sympathies were divided between the North and the South, with a decided preponderance on the Southern side." Lincoln's proclamation calling for militia after Ft. Sumter was received "in Maryland with mingled feelings in which astonishment, dismay and disapprobation were predominant. On all sides it was agreed that the result must be war, or a dissolution of the Union, and I may safely say that a large majority of our people preferred the latter." "After the President's proclamation was issued, no doubt a large majority of her people sympathized with the South; but even had that sentiment been far more preponderating, there was an underlying feeling that by a sort of geographical necessity her lot was cast with the North, that the larger and stronger half of the nation would not allow its capital to be quietly disintegrated away by her secession." The men who tried to lead Maryland into secession were not a solid set of die-hard slavery advocates. Slavery in Maryland was a moribund institution. A meeting in favor of secession, held April 18 in Baltimore's Taylor Hall, was chaired by T. Parkin Scott, who "was a strong sympathizer with the South," Brown wrote, "and had the courage of his convictions, but he had been also an opponent of slavery, and I have it from his own lips that years before the war, on a Fourth of July, he had persuaded his mother to liberate all her slaves, although she depended largely on their services for her support. And yet he lived and died a poor man." The federal government felt sufficiently unsure of Maryland's allegiance that it issued an April 27, 1861, order for the arrest and detention of anyone between Washington and Philadelphia who was suspected of subversive deeds or utterances, with its notorious suspension of habeas corpus. This led to the Merryman case, and the Supreme Court's failure to get the authorities to enforce its rejection of the administration's move. Hicks then called the legislature in the northwest part of the state, where unionism was strongest. Though the legislature did not vote to secede, it approved a resolution calling for "the peaceful and immediate recognition of the independence of the Confederate States," which Maryland "hereby gives her cordial consent thereunto, as a member of the Union." The legislature also denounced "the present military occupation of Maryland" as a "flagrant violation of the Constitution." When Roger Brook Taney, U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice, dared to stand up to Lincoln over the arbitrary imprisonment of Maryland citizens, Lincoln wrote out standing orders for Taney's arrest, although they were never served.[1] But when the Maryland legislature lodged a sharp protest with Congress, Seward ordered a lightning raid across the state that jailed 31 legislators, the marshal of the Baltimore City Police Force and the Board of Police Commissioners, Mayor Brown, a former Maryland governor, members of the House of Delegates from Baltimore City and County, the 4th District congressman, a state senator and newspaper editors (including Francis Scott Key's grandson). Ft. McHenry (of "Star Spangled Banner" fame) had a darker chapter in these days as the "Baltimore Bastille." Many of those arrested by federal officials were never charged with crimes and never received trials. In the fall, Lincoln arrested allegedly disloyal members of the state legislature (Sept. 12-17, 1861), to prevent them from attending a meeting that could have voted on secession. But Maryland was not really safely in the Union until the November state elections. Federal provost marshals stood guard at the polls and arrested known Democrats and any disunionist who attempted to vote. The special three-day furlough granted to Maryland troops in the Union army, so they could go home and vote, further rigged the election. The result, not surprisingly, was a solidly pro-Union legislature. The next year, state judges instructed grand jurors to inquire into the elections, but the judges were arrested and thrown into military prisons. Maryland rewrote its constitution to outlaw slavery in 1864, and put it to popular vote on Oct. 13 of that year. It passed, but just barely, with 30,174 in favor of the change and 29,799 opposed. As for military records, the most reliable figures seem to be 60,000 Maryland men in all branches of the Union military, and 25,000 as an upper limit for Marylanders fighting for the South. Exiles organized a "Maryland Line" for the Confederacy, consisting of one infantry regiment, one infantry battalion, two cavalry battalions and four battalions of artillery. A great many Marylanders, however, were dispersed among other Southern units, especially those of Virginia (Co.H, 7th Va.; Co. B., 9th Va.; Co. G., 13th Va.; Co. B., 21st Va.; Co. E, 30th Va.; Co. E, 44th Va., and so forth). Kevin Conley Ruffner's "Maryland's Blue & Gray" lists 23 Confederate unites, other than the Maryland Line, in which Marylanders fought in significant numbers. There was no official recruiting of Southern regiments in Maryland, of course, and the infrastructure of bounties and relief, so essential in a long war, was unavailable to Maryland men who fought on the side of the South. It may also matter, when considering the enlistment figures, that Union Maryland troops were often raised with the express intention of being kept within the state, as home guards. A sense of unreliability tainted the Northern Maryland regiments. The general in charge of the prison camp at Annapolis wrote to the War Department requesting a regiment for guard duty there, but added that he would "prefer to have [one] from a free state, or at least not a Maryland regiment, which might be likely to sympathize with deserters and affiliate with the people around them." And in 1864 a colonel complained that the Maryland troops guarding the lower Potomac were "too lenient toward blockade runners and secessionists who keep good liquor." Occupied Maryland Maryland documents 1. It is surprising to me how rarely this is mentioned. I've only seen it twice: in Frederick S. Calhoun's official history, "The Lawmen: United States Marshals and Their Deputies" (Penguin, 1991, pp.102-104) and Harold M. Hyman, "A More Perfect Union: The Impact of the Civil War and Reconstruction on the Constitution" (Knopf, 1973, p.84). Their sources are two different manuscript collections, which makes the claim that much more reliable.