901 Stories from Gettysburg

Lewis Payne

His story started like that of many young men in the South. Lewis Thornton Powell was the youngest son of nine children born to the Baptist minister and plantation owner George Calder Powell. The Powell family was forced to sell their Alabama plantation due to financial difficulties when Lewis was young and moved to Live Oak, Florida, to start anew on a family farm. When news came that the Confederacy was in need of volunteers, Lewis and his two older brothers joined their ranks on May 30, 1861.  Private Powell and the 2^nd Florida Infantry first marched into battle during the siege of Yorktown in April 1862. After this the 2^nd was attached to Jubal Early’s Brigade and participated in numerous battles including Williamsburg, Seven Pines, Gains Mill, Second Manassas, Harpers Ferry, Sharpsburg, Antietam, and Fredericksburg. 

However, it was the Battle of Gettysburg that altered the path of Powell’s life. It is unclear when Powell was injured. Osborn Oldroyd and Leon Prior claim he received a wound to his wrist during Pickett’s Charge, however Edward Steers claims Powell was injured on the second day of the battle. 

In any event, the wound was serious enough for hospitalization.  Powell, now a prisoner of war, was taken to the makeshift hospital at Pennsylvania College.  The conditions at the college were not ideal as there was little food and insufficient beds and bedding for the estimated 600 wounded treated there. Doctors, volunteer medical staff, and people from the town worked tirelessly to provide whatever they could for the wounded for over a month as Pennsylvania Hall was used as a hospital.  One indicator of the scope of the hospital operation on the campus is the fact that Pennsylvania College received $625 from the federal government in a post-war damage claim.

Volunteers came from all over to aid the wounded from the battle. An officer from the North Carolina 47^th regiment wrote in a letter that the sweet Southern ladies who came up from Baltimore were much more sympathetic to the wounded Confederates, while the Northern ladies treated everyone equally. Lewis Powell quickly befriended one of the volunteer nurses from Baltimore named Margaret Branson.  Powell assisted Branson during her rounds, helping his fellow wounded despite his injured wrist. Powell soon acquired the nickname Doc. While it is unclear if Powell and Branson had a romantic relationship, the two became close enough that she aided in Powell’s escape when he was transferred to a prison near Baltimore, and even sheltered him for a time in her family’s boardinghouse.

Whether he still felt a sense of patriotic duty toward the Confederacy or because he did not want to miss any glory to be had in continuing to fight, Powell left Baltimore for Northern Virginia and reenlisted with Colonel John S. Mosby’s cavalry unit during the winter of 1863. Powell served as a Confederate ranger until January 1865.  He then deserted his unit, assumed the alias Lewis Payne, and took the oath of allegiance in Alexandria, Virginia. Powell, now Payne, then made his way back to Baltimore and Margaret Branson.

While a few sources claim that Payne could possibly have met John Wilkes Booth during the beginning of the war at a theatrical performance, it is commonly held that they were reacquainted or introduced for the first time during this second stay with the Bransons. It would seem Booth was taken with Payne form the start and never had any reservations about Payne or his commitment to their cause. Payne was a frequent visitor to Mary Surratt’s boardinghouse, which Andrew Johnson referred to as the “nest that hatched the egg” of assassination.  Booth would later claim that Payne was the only one he ever trusted with the full details of his plans against Lincoln and the Executive Branch. Payne’s part in Booth’s plot was to assassinate  Secretary of State William Seward. Payne came remarkably close to completing his mission. Due to an earlier carriage accident Seward was bedridden and Payne was able to stab the helpless man multiple times before family members could force Payne from the home. Payne was arrested a few days later when he returned to the boardinghouse where Booth had planned the attack.

The question is, why?  Why attack the President and the Executive Branch? This remains nearly as hotly debated in 2012 as it was in 1865.  Many scholars have put forth the idea that Booth was attempting to buy the Confederacy time to regroup, but does this reason apply to Powell as well?

It is more likely that Powell was acting out of pure self interest. Perhaps Powell was in search of a moment of glory. When he first left home to fight he did so because he believed he was protecting his rights and because he did not want to miss out on the events he believed were going to define his generation. The fact that Powell reenlisted twice during the war, once after he had found a safe haven in Baltimore with Branson, would seem to support the idea that Powell felt some sort of compulsion to fight. While he originally wished to rejoin his Florida regiment, Powell settled with Colonel Mosby’s Virginia cavalry unit, suggesting it was the fight Powell was after not a gallant notion of brotherhood. Furthermore, it was after an embarrassing loss against Union forces that Powell decided to desert and take the oath of allegiance under the assumed name of Payne, further distancing himself from the dishonor of the loss. Moreover, the alias Powell used while assisting Booth was likely meant to be his safety net.  Should their plans succeed he could reveal his true self and bask in the glory of being a savior of the South, should they fail he could used the alias to hide his shame from his family. Thus, Powell likely joined with Booth for the very basic human reason of self interest.Bibliography

Fortenbaugh, Robert. "The College During the War." In The history of Gettysburg College, 1832-1932 by Samuel Hefelbower, 178-229. York, Pa.: Gettysburg College, 1932.

Holzer, Harold, and Edward Steers. The Lincoln assassination conspirators their confinement and execution, as recorded in the letterbook of John Frederick Hartranft. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2009.

Oldroyd, Osborn H.. The assassination of Abraham Lincoln; flight, pursuit, capture, and punishment of the conspirators,. Washington, D.C.: O.H. Oldroyd, 1901.

Prior, Leon. "Lewis Payne, Pawn of John Wilkes Booth." The Flordia Historical Quartly 43, no. 1 (1964): 1-20.

Steers, Edward. The trial: the assassination of President Lincoln and the trial of the conspirators. Lexington, Ky.: University Press of Kentucky, 2003.

Steers, Edward. The Lincoln assassination encyclopedia. New York: Harper Perennial, 2010

              Upon cresting Cemetery Hill, painter George Leo Frankenstein captured this panorama of the newly famous borough of Gettysburg.  Frankenstein did not have to dodge gunfire nor breathe the smell of death as he strode up the gradual rise southeast of town, for it was summertime, 1866, and only scant evidence remained of the landmark battle fought three years earlier.  But perhaps this reality weighed on his mind.  He was a painter who had come to capture a town and landscape made famous by war, but as he stood atop Cemetery Hill that experience must have seemed obscure.  Only the pair of cannon emplacements behind which Frankenstein placed his easel suggested that this was anything other than an ordinary community; but even these, visible in the foreground at the bottom of the painting, seem out of place amidst a backdrop of summertime green, neat houses, and rolling fields once again filled with crops.

              As dusk turned to night on July 4, 1863, Gettysburg residents shared with Frankenstein the challenge of trying to comprehend the Battle even though their experience with it was only too vivid.  One day earlier, the last Confederate attack, Pickett’s Charge, had failed and as rifles and cannon began to fall silent, many had hoped that the decrescendo signaled that an end to battle was near.  That hope was being realized that Independence Day, as residents listened to the wagons of a defeated Army of Northern Virginia rumbled southward through the darkness, pursued two days later by the Army of the Potomac.  The withdrawal of troops meant that the Battle of Gettysburg had come to a definitive end.  As residents emerged from the protection of their cellars, the calm finally offered them a chance to process their experiences and consider the battle’s effects on their community.  This task had no certain end, as, in the words of one witness, the borough had become “a strange and blighted land.”

Prior to 1863, only fellow residents of Adams County attributed Gettysburg any significance, as it was typical of Northern communities.  Gettysburg was the prosperous home of 2,400 residents, eight percent of the county population, and claimed the designation of county seat.  Due in part to its location at the convergence of several important roads and as a new stop along the Gettysburg and Hanover Railroad, the borough developed as a center of commerce amidst the largely agrarian Adams County.  Its businesses included hotels, tanneries, shoemakers, a prosperous carriage-manufacturing industry, a Lutheran seminary, and a college, all of which probably help explain the prevalence of skilled laborers; half of the population listed themselves as artisans or craftsmen while another quarter categorized themselves as professionals, merchants, or retailers.  Despite its proximity to the Mason-Dixon line, this population was also exceedingly Northern.  More than four out of every five residents were from Pennsylvania or other Northern states, while just over 200 of its 2,400 residents hailed from Maryland and states of the future Confederacy. 

National politics also played out much as they did throughout the rest of the North.  In the watershed election of 1860, fifty-four percent of the borough’s votes were cast for Republican Abraham Lincoln, even as many other Adams County residents selected opposition tickets.  Local Democrats would continue to engage Republicans and Unionists in bitter debate over federal policies, especially those concerning slavery, but fury over the bombardment of Fort Sumter in April of 1861 ensured Gettysburg’s support of a military response to secession.

As the borough mobilized for and sustained its commitment to the war, its experiences again fit into broader patterns.  When President Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers to help put down the rebellion, recruiters had no difficulty enlisting local men, many of whom flocked to form distinctive units such as the Independent Blues, Adams Rifles, and perhaps with the most flair, the Gettysburg Zouaves.  Later, after the ninety-day enlistment periods had run out, patriotism coupled with new financial incentives were enough to draw many veterans to commit to three more years of service.  Both local papers, the pro-Republican Sentinel and pro-Democratic Compiler, made sure that the accomplishments of these local units did not go unnoticed even as their partisan attacks against one another dragged on.  While local men enlisted, Gettysburg women mobilized for war through local voluntarism, a logical extension of their role in domestic life.  By forming the Ladies’ Union Relief Society, an organization that sewed and collected basic necessities for Union troops, local women orchestrated their efforts so as to meet the needs of local enlistees as well as appeals from military hospitals in Baltimore, York (PA), and later Antietam and Washington D.C.

            This quintessential Northern experience with the Civil War came to an abrupt and violent end on the morning of July 1, 1863.  By July 4, as residents were finally able to shed the safety of their cellars, three days of nearly constant fighting between Union and Confederate soldiers had transformed the theretofore-unknown Pennsylvania town into a scene of absolute devastation.  Ten thousand dead and 21,000 wounded littered the streets, fields, and hills interspersed with thousands of dead horses.  One volunteer nurse from Philadelphia must have voiced the thoughts of many as she confronted the panorama hidden from Frankenstein: “The whole town…is one vast hospital…avenues of white tents…good God! What those quiet-looking tents contained! What spectacles awaited us on the rolling hills around us!  It is absolutely inconceivable…Dead and dying, and wounded…torn to pieces in every way.”  Suffering pervaded the town and residents struggled to react as best they could.  Robert Harper, editor of the Adams Sentinel, took in fifty wounded in his large home.  Pennsylvania College’s Old Dorm was filled as well, housing more Confederate wounded than it ever did students. When Sally Myers tried to enter the borough’s Roman Catholic church, she found dead and dying men on and beneath every pew.  Soon after, she began crying and had to remove herself in an experience far from unique among local volunteers.

           Gradually the situation improved.  Burial parties interred the dead while other work groups set about burning the carcasses of dead horses.  Those wounded who had survived the initial days of their injury were removed to formal hospitals, including a new military hospital, Camp Letterman, set up on the outskirts of town.  But the stench of death still lingered.  Not even spreading disinfecting chloride of lime over the city streets was able to abate its heavy presence.  Even if they did manage to ignore the mixture of odors, residents were still preoccupied with the memories of those first days in July.  “The streets of Gettysburg were filled with the battle,” recalled one nurse, referring not to actual fighting but to locals who “thought and talked of nothing else.”  However slowly, though, life did return to normal and by September another witness reported the borough was “a scene…greatly changed.”  Churches, finally cleared of wounded, were offering regular services again.  Pennsylvania College and the Lutheran Seminary opened for fall classes, as did the local public schools.  Local men continued to fight and local women continued their volunteer benevolent efforts.  The borough economy was soon booming again just like the political broadsides exchanged between Democrats, Unionists, and Republicans.  After the local African-American populace fled before the Confederate advance, those few who decided to return remained second-class citizens.

            As the normal rhythms of life returned to the borough, excitement surrounded the realization that Gettysburg was now an historic national symbol.  Residents were enthused by the idea of preserving parts of the battlefield as well as the proposal of local lawyer David Wills for a Soldier’s National Cemetery.  By mid-October, plans for the latter were concrete and the borough focused its energies on preparing for a grand dedication ceremony for the newly established resting place of Union dead.  A date was set, a speakers’ podium was installed for the selected orators, and bodies were reinterred on the newly purchased ground a top Cemetery Hill.  One month later, when President Lincoln spoke his now famous Address, Gettysburg was confirmed as sacred ground for the embattled nation.

      As devastating as the Battle of Gettysburg was, it was not a crucible that produced social, economic, or political transformations.  Life continued on in these arenas just as it had before.  War instead changed the way Gettysburg collectively viewed itself and its relationship with the ongoing national struggle.  Few residents could have forgotten the carnage they experienced more vividly than any other Northern community, but instead of causing residents to look skeptically at the war the battle caused many to embrace new roles as guardians of a sacred, historic place.  Gettysburg, its new cemetery, and especially President Lincoln’s words served as a reminder of why the war had to continue and why, after its conclusion, the struggle had been worthwhile.  As George Leo Frankenstein gazed out over the scene recorded in his painting, the reality of war eluded his brushstrokes, but his very journey captured the way in which the war had transformed the borough: he had made a pilgrimage.

For further reading:

Gallman, J. Matthew. Northerners at War: Reflections on the Civil War Home Front. Kent, OH: The Kent State University Press, 2010.

Boritt, Gabor. The Gettysburg Gospel: The Lincoln Speech that Nobody Knows. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006.

Following the first two days of fighting at Gettysburg between Union and Confederate troops, Robert E. Lee believed that his gray-clad veterans had nearly achieved victory and was determined not to leave Gettysburg without it.  He also believed that his army had weakened Meade's center.  Thus, Lee’s plan for July 3rd was to open with a massive artillery barrage, and then strike the Union center with three divisions, including that of General George Pickett.  Then, according to Lee's calculations, General Jeb Stuart would circle around the Union rear and General Ewell would assail the right flank to clamp the pincers when Pickett broke through the front.

While Lee saw the assault as the final piece of a Confederate victory, General James Longstreet disagreed with Lee's plan to attack Meade's center and urged him to maneuver around Meade's left.  Lee refused and ordered Longstreet to attack the Union center with Pickett's and two of Hill’s divisions, which consisted of fewer than 15,000 men to advance three-quarters of a mile across open fields.  Ultimately, Longstreet ordered 150 pieces of Confederate artillery to soften the Union line.  Beginning at 1:07 PM, the guns bombarded the enemy for about two hours but Meade's line suffered little; at about 3:00 PM, Longstreet reluctantly ordered the attack.  Pickett's three brigades, joined by six more from Hill's division on their left and two others in reserve, marched across the open field between Seminary and Cemetery Ridges; the assault, begun in valor, ended in disaster.  The Union artillery destroyed the charge, as barely half of the Confederates returned to their lines.  Pickett lost two-thirds of his men, and all three of his brigadiers and all thirteen of his colonels were killed or wounded.   Although General Meade did not pursue a counterattack, the Army of the Potomac achieved victory, as they held their ground against the Confederate’s famous assault, Pickett’s Charge.
 

The third day of the Battle of Gettysburg has been portrayed in various types of media, including films and television shows, novels, and paintings.  In the 19th century cycloramas were a popular way of depicting historical events.  Cycloramas were first devised in Europe at the end of 18th century and became popular in the capital cities of Europe.  In the United States, however, they became popular after the Civil War.  Cycloramas are massive, circular, panoramic oil canvases that are displayed in specially constructed buildings and enhanced with landscaped foregrounds featuring trees, grasses, fences, and even life-sized figures.  A three-dimensional effect was established, so that the viewers could be in the middle of the historic scene by standing on the central platform.  In the 1880s, European artists conceived seven cycloramas that depicted the Civil War battles at Gettysburg, Atlanta, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Second Manassas, Lookout Mountain/ Missionary Ridge, and the Hampton Roads naval combat of March 1862.  Only two of these works survive to dazzle modern audiences; the Battle of Atlanta Cyclorama in Atlanta's Grant Park and one of the four versions of its Battle of Gettysburg counterpart, located at Gettysburg National Military Park.

The painter of the Gettysburg cyclorama was French artist Paul Philippoteaux who had specialized in the huge oil canvases since 1871, when he was 25. He came to the United States in 1879 after being hired by a group of entrepreneurs to paint a recreation of the famous battle for a special display in Chicago.  Over several months in 1882, Philippoteaux made sketches on the battlefield and hired local photographer William Tipton to shoot panoramic vistas from a wooden tower to help him recall the landscape with accuracy.  He also consulted the official maps at Washington and corresponded with a number of veterans of the battle, including Union Generals Winfield Scott Hancock and Abner Doubleday, who helped the painter with suggestions on how to depict the chaos of the battle.  (General Hancock was severely wounded during Pickett's Charge; General Doubleday was not involved in the fighting on July 3 due to a neck injury sustained on July 2.)   Philippoteaux returned to his studio in Paris to commence painting the first version of his great work.  The cyclorama took two years to complete as the painter employed 20 artists to help him produce his monumental canvas, using specialists in figure, equestrian and landscape painting.
     

Measuring about 20,000 square feet, the cyclorama of the Battle of Gettysburg was a masterpiece, as the canvas magnificently recreated the climatic moments of Pickett's Charge with breathtaking grandeur.  It was immediately praised as a "marvel of artistic learning and sentiment."  From the topography (the looming Round Tops bathed in haze and the famous copse of trees near the Confederate High-Water Mark) to the portraiture (Winfield Scott Hancock in his full magnificence, Lewis Armistead falling dead) to the ancillary incidents of war (mangled casualties, broken fieldpieces, and a military hospital trying desperately to function in a shed amidst the horror), the cyclorama brilliantly evoked not only the drama but the sheer confusion of the battle.  Although the cyclorama was splendidly created, it depicted some factual errors: a house is present that did not exist during the battle; Confederate Brigadier General Lewis A. Armistead is shot off his horse, while he was on foot when he was shot; the omission of a line of Federals tasked to shoot shirkers; and a cluster of haystacks straight out of Holland, not Pennsylvania, was displayed.
 

Although Paul Philippoteaux created four versions of the Gettysburg cyclorama, only the second (Boston) version survived.  He would later create replicas for both New York City and Philadelphia.  Pamphlets were created to accompany each version.  The pamphlet for the Philadelphia cyclorama (see above) consisted of the biography of Paul Philippoteaux, a description of the work’s creation, and an explanation of the different scenes of the cyclorama.  It also included a speech delivered at Gettysburg on August 27, 1883 by General Alexander S. Webb of the Philadelphia Brigade for the dedication of the 72nd Pennsylvania Volunteers' Monument.  The pamphlet has a personal account of a Union soldier who fought on the Round Tops.  Rosters of both Pennsylvania and New Jersey regiments during the battle were displayed.  At the end of the pamphlet is a letter written by former soldier Rev. J.C. Sunderlin from Flemington, New Jersey to doctors in Philadelphia who treated his injury.   Although Sunderlin was injured during the Battle of Fredericksburg when a bullet was lodged into his spine, his statement was important because the citizens were honoring their local veterans of the Civil War, and Sunderlin was able to explain how he survived his agonizing ordeal.
     

Philadelphia’s exhibition of the cyclorama opened its doors in 1885 at the northeast corner of the intersection of Broad and Cherry Streets. Charles Hale, a captain of the 5th New Hampshire Volunteers, was on hand to address the audience about the battle, and the realistic battle scenes stunned guests.  The cyclorama stayed in Philadelphia for several years before it was destroyed.
Today, the cyclorama - restored to its former glory - continues to amaze people, as they watch the Battle of Gettysburg come to life.

Works Cited:
Cyclorama of the Battle of Gettysburg [exhibition held on] North East Corners of Broad   and Cherry Streets, Philadelphia.
Gettysburg National Military Park.  "The Gettysburg Cyclorama."  The Battle of Gettysburg in Art.    (Accessed December 22, 2011.)

Holzer, Harold.  "Saving the "IMAX OF ITS DAY."  American Heritage 56, no. 4   (2005): 38-45.   Academic Search Premier, EBSCOhost.  (Accessed December 18, 2011.)

Holzer, Harold and Mark E. Neely, Jr.  "The Gettysburg Cyclorama."  American History   54 (2003).  Academic Search Premier, EBSCOhost. (accessed December 17, 2011).

McPherson, James.  “Long Remember: The Summer of ’63.”  In Battle Cry of Freedom,   626-666.  New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.

"Virtual Civil Wars."  America's Civil War 18, no. 3 (2005).  Academic Search Premier,  EBSCOhost. (accessed December 18, 2011).

        
On September 12, 1956, a crowd of nearly 3,000 people gathered at Zeigler’s Grove on Gettysburg’s Cemetery Hill to witness the dedication of a monument of Albert Woolson, known formally as the Grand Army of the Republic Monument. This event was the highlight of the 75th National Encampment of the Grand Army of the Republic (G.A.R.), held from Sunday, September 9th through Thursday, September 13th. Woolson, a native of Antwerp, New York, who grew up in Minnesota, was born on February 11, 1847. He died on August 2, 1956, at the age of 109, only a month before the dedication of the monument bearing his likeness. Woolson is credited with being the last Union survivor of the war, and soon after his death, the G.A.R. was officially dissolved.

Albert Woolson’s story offers us a portal through which we can examine the spirit of the Grand Army of the Republic and its commemoration activities. Woolson was the son of a Civil War soldier; his father Willard enlisted as a musician in the 1st Minnesota Volunteer Heavy Artillery in 1861 and was wounded at the Battle of Shiloh in April 1862. Young Albert and his mother were able to track him to an army hospital in Minnesota, where he eventually died as a result of his wounds. Though Albert’s mother was overwhelmed with grief, in October 1864 she allowed her son to take his father’s place as a drummer boy in the regiment. Woolson was just seventeen at the time, but he was undoubtedly motivated by duty—to his country, but also to the memory of his father. Having enlisted more than a year after the Battle of Gettysburg, Woolson was not present for the fight. In fact, he saw no major action between the time he enlisted and the war’s end six months later in April 1865.
 
Following the war, Woolson returned to Minnesota, where he spent his life working in a furniture factory, then as a logger and an engineer. He also kept his musical talent alive, forming a band and touring Minnesota. Woolson was not a career soldier or officer; on the contrary, he resumed his civilian life after his soldierly duties were complete. Why, then, is Woolson immortalized forever in a monument on the Gettysburg battlefield, arguably the most historically sacred piece of ground in the nation?

The Grand Army of the Republic’s monument to Woolson represents far more than the celebration of one man. The Woolson memorial embodies a larger commemoration, and a commitment to a specific memory and legacy of the war. As the monument depicts him, Woolson is dignified and refined, but decorated with the medals and insignia of a celebrated warrior. Rather than casting Woolson as the youthful seventeen year old he once was, sculptor Avard Fairbanks memorialized him as an older man, a choice that conveys a sense of wisdom and calm. As G.A.R. Commander-in-Chief Frederic G. Bauer noted of Woolson’s statue at the monument’s September 1956 dedication, “the front of the statue does not bear his name. It bears the wording 'In Memory of the Grand Army of the Republic.’ Comrade Albert Woolson symbolizes all the great virtues of the common, ordinary citizen, the citizen who becomes a soldier and then returns to ordinary life." Bauer’s comments highlight the monument’s true intention: the recognition and honoring of the “common, ordinary citizen,” and the everyday rank-and-file soldier he became when his nation needed him. While the monument had likely been intended from the beginning to stand as a memorial to all Union soldiers, as well as a testament to the spirit of fellowship and the legacy of good-natured commemoration, Woolson’s death just before the dedication certainly emphasized this feeling. There were countless men like Albert Woolson, and no individual’s contributions to the war or its legacy was more important than his comrades’. 

Woolson was an active G.A.R. member, serving as Department Commander of his local Minnesota Post from 1943-1947. On the national stage, Woolson served in several capacities, first as National Patriotic Instructor in 1946, then as Chief of Staff in 1948. He was appointed to the vacant offices of Junior Vice Commander-in-Chief and Senior Vice Commander-in-Chief following the deaths of those officers. The base of the monument at Gettysburg makes special note of Woolson’s position as Senior Vice Commander-in-Chief, honoring his dedication to the organization even though he was not a career soldier.

Careful observers will note the G.A.R. medal  (much like this one, belonging to Robert B. Arms of the 16th Vermont Infantry Regiment) on the bronze-cast Woolson’s chest, and the wreath encircling the G.A.R. insignia on his hat. These details emphasize sculptor Fairbanks’ intention to make the monument speak for all Union veterans. Commander-in-Chief Bauer’s comments, noting that the purpose of the monument was to honor all citizen soldiers, also demonstrate the spirit of fraternity and strong sense of identity in the Grand Army of the Republic’s commemoration activities. Though Woolson did not fight at Gettysburg, many of his comrades did. These men left behind lives of comfortable familiarity and sacrificed their own freedom on behalf of national liberty. Some would never return, but all answered a larger calling. For this reason, there is no better location for the Woolson G.A.R. monument than on the field at Gettysburg. For many, Gettysburg represents the beginning of the end of the American Civil War. However, the battle remains synonymous with the common bravery exhibited by men fighting for different sides and varying, often competing causes. This ground continues to symbolize the reconciliation and reconstruction of the United States. With the 1913 reunion held on the battlefield, and similar events in the years that followed, veterans made clear that while the conflict was put behind them in favor of good sectional feelings and camaraderie, they would never forget its costs and consequences. Soldiers like Woolson, who performed his soldierly duties and quietly returned to his civilian life without seeking celebratory accolades, exemplify the spirit of humility and courage evoked by the fields of Gettysburg. 

For further reading on Woolson:

“Donations to the GAR Museum”

“Gettysburg Sculptures: Albert Woolson Monument”

“Grand Army of the Republic/Albert Woolson Memorial - Gettysburg National Military Park Historic District - Gettysburg, PA”

“Life and the Civil War: Last Union & Confederate Veterans” 

On The G.A.R:

McConnell, Stuart. Glorious Contentment: The Grand Army of the Republic, 1865-1900. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997.

Please refer to the previously posted blog about James F Crocker in the Battle of Gettysburg.

Today Gettysburg College can look back on the Class of 1850 and be proud of James Francis Crocker, adjutant of the 9th Virginia Infantry. In the 21st Century, Gettysburg College teaches its students to be strong willed, independent, and contributing members of society. James Francis Crocker was a Confederate soldier and an earnest advocate for The Cause but it is not his beliefs that made him the admirable man he was; rather it was his character, how he interacted with his peers, and his ability to stand up for what he believed in despite the defeat at Gettysburg.  After leaving the Twelfth Corps Field Hospital, Crocker was taken by train to David’s Island in the Long Island Sound. 

Crocker wrote:

[it was a] first-class hospital in every respect.

Including those who arrived with Crocker and his comrades, there were 3,000 soldiers in the hospital. The New York Daily Tribune (Wednesday, July 29, 1863) observed that: “Shakespeare’s army of beggars must have been better clad than were the Confederate Prisoners.” Despite the fact that Crocker was a prisoner of war, wounded for the second time, and far from home, he kept up his spirits not only about the war but the Confederacy and The Cause as the same issue of the Tribune  stated:

[Crocker] said it was impossible for the North to subdue the South. The enemy might waste their fields, burn their dwellings, level their cities with the dust, but nothing short of utter extermination would give the controlling power to the North. The intelligent people of the South looked upon their efforts to regain their rights as sacred, and they were willing to exhaust their property and sacrifice their lives, and the lives of their wives and children, in defending what they conceived to be their constitutional rights.

Just as Crocker projected the Confederacy’s downfall was marked by the near extermination and annihilation of the South. Still, Crocker remained positive and held a steadfast belief in the South and her fighting spirit. Upon his parole from Johnson’s Island (to which he was transferred from David’s on September 18, 1863) in February 1865, Crocker finally realized the deplorable state of the Confederacy when he saw a young boy selling apples for “one dollar apiece.” Crocker remembered that “all the prisoners at Johnson’s Island stoutly maintained their confidence in the ultimate success of [their] cause. They never lost hope or faith” but seeing the boy selling the apples forced the ex-prisoners to face reality. Their beloved South was in deplorable shape and the war was quickly coming to a close. Crocker remained true to his roots and his beliefs and loved the South in spite of all its shortcomings. 

Confederates and Unionists alike were drawn to James Francis Crocker  James Simmons, the doctor in charge of the hospital at David’s Island, mentioned Crocker positively in a letter to Colonel William Hoffman, Federal commissary general of prisons, when he wrote: “The orderly behavior of the Prisoners while at David’s Island was in a great measure due to the influence of this gentleman [Crocker].” He was a natural leader who took it upon himself to solve problems that arose in the prison camp. One particularly desperate case involved the prohibition of outer clothing at David’s Island. Crocker asked Henrietta Bennett, wife of James Gordon Bennett, editor of the New York Herald, to work for the revocation of the order. Since newspaper editors were heavily involved in the politics of the time and therefore acquired powerful political acquaintances, she used her connection with Mary Todd Lincoln to fulfill the request. The New York Herald ran a piece for a few days appealing to the public for support -- out of sheer humanity --  to help remove the order. Crocker took a deep interest in the well being of not only himself but his comrades and used any connection he had to help obtain what he wanted. It was this steadfast determination that helped him stand out from his peers.

Crocker perceived those with whom he interacted in a pro-Confederate light.  On the train from Gettysburg to David’s Island, for example, there were many stops at which Northern women would tend to the soldiers.  Crocker believed these women treated him and his men better than their own Union wounded. This, essentially, is the way in which Crocker relayed virtually every encounter he had with Northerners -- they all mysteriously ended up feeling deep sympathy for the South. Though his interpretation of these interactions might appear somewhat farfetched, he genuinely connected with people and counted them among friends. In one of his most heartfelt passages, he wrote:

I believe that the surest way to become a friend to another, is to do that other person a kindness.

It appears as though he conducted his entire life by this philosophy.  He certainly did not worship the North as he did the South but he composed himself in a cordial manner while interacting with the people of that region. He was a Southern gentleman and, “once a gentleman -- always a gentleman -- under all circumstances a gentleman.”

Pennsylvania College overwhelmingly sympathized with the Union. In this respect, Crocker was an outlier. However, almost 150 years later, it is plain to see that James Francis Crocker was an admirable man. Though the college did not sympathize with his beliefs, Crocker certainly embodies the most cherished principles that Pennsylvania College offered and Gettysburg College now strives to instill in its students.

For Further Reading:
Crocker, James F. Prison Remembrances. Portsmouth, VA: W.A. Fiske, 1906.