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In
the early 70s in central North Carolina, the scars from the Civil War were
still apparent. Not so much in the landscape, which had escaped the worst of
the fighting, but in the generational poverty that had come over the
South. The war had taken the healthiest,
most ambitious, and spirited young men off to fight in dreadful battles. Their
blood soaked the ground of places like Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Richmond,
and Manassas. By most estimates, North
Carolina sent more men to fight for the Confederacy than any other state, some
figures have it at over 2 million, and many of them never returned. When a
generation of a region's best men are taken over the span of a few exceptionally
deadly, violent years, it leaves damage far deeper than the initial heartache
and loss. Gone were the future husbands, fathers, and grandfathers. Farms fell
into disrepair, criminals and scoundrels often went unchecked.
My Great-Grandfather Alfred's uncle Henry had been a
private and fought with the Confederates in Northern Virginia. At some point in
the campaign, young Henry had an accident and got one of his toes shot off. The exact details of what happened and how are lost to history, but he
was in the ranks at Appomattox on April 9th, 1865, when General
Robert E. Lee recognized the cause was lost and surrendered his forces to US
General Ulysses S. Grant. The once mighty army of Northern Virginia had been
beaten decisively, and the men doubtlessly expected their fate to be years of
starvation and disease in a desolate prison camp for the crime of treason
against the United States. Approximately 28,000 Confederates surrendered, which
would trigger a collapse of Southern military opposition throughout the
breakaway states. In a wise and generous gesture, the terms of surrender were lenient.
In exchange for oaths of loyalty, Grant had graciously granted parole to the
men. Instead of languishing for years in prison camps, they would be allowed to
return to their homes. Officers could keep their sidearms, horses, and personal
baggage. Men could keep their horses and mules to work the fields, so they
could provide food for their families. Lee was given food from Union supplies
for his now starving men. Grant’s sensible decisions were in keeping with the
spirit of the words from Lincoln's second inaugural address only a few weeks
earlier. "With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in
the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work
we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne
the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and
cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations."
Grant’s adjutant, Ely Parker, was the one to
write out the surrender document. Parker was Native American from the Senaca
Tribe. Recognizing his heritage, General Lee quipped that "It is good to
have one real American here." Parker replied, "Sir, we are all
Americans."
After his parole, Henry made the long trek home
to North Carolina carrying a small bundle that held his toe. It rested in a jar
of vinegar at the family farmhouse for many years. My grandmother told me she
had seen it sitting on a shelf in the corner cupboard when she was a young girl,
but by the time I arrived it was long gone.
Unfortunately for the South, President Lincoln’s
vision of a healing reunification died with him six days after Lee’s surrender.
The inarguably just war to cleanse the nation of slavery had been settled on
the field of battle, but atonement for the bloodshed that polluted the land was
yet to come. In a tragedy for the young nation, an assassin had chosen Lincoln
to pay the cost. In this version of the Biblical redemption story, Abraham himself would be placed
on the alter. There would be no redeeming ram caught in the bushes. The South
descended into the chaos and resentment of the Reconstruction era.
“My
Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My
father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The
ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From
fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult
O shores, and ring O bells!
But
I with mournful tread,
Walk
the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen
cold and dead.”
Walt
Whitman
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