Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 280: Frederick Douglass, Letter to His Old Master (#280)

Frederick Douglass, "Letter to His Old Master" (1848) from Frederick Douglass: Autobiographies:

In grad school, I took a class in the History Department called "Important Primary Sources in American History"--or something to that effect. So in one week, I devoured something like 1000 pages of slave narratives (the Library of America collection, actually).

But it never gets any easier. This short, humorous, cutting letter from Douglass to his former owner doesn't dwell on the horrors of slavery at any length. It mentions them in general (being robbed of education, etc.) or names particular events (being dragged to market, etc.) only sparingly; most of this letter is taken up by the joys of freedom.

And yet, those joys are so obviously contrasted to the crushing pains of slavery that this letter can get me teary eyed. Douglass's great skill here might be in how quickly he can veer from cutting and acid humor to straightforward pathos.

Edit: If you read this letter, make sure to read the LoA headnote, which tells the story of some strange meetings between Douglass and the family that formerly owned him. It's a great reminder of how strange and intimate the institution of slavery really was.

Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 270: Sallie Brock, The Fall of Richmond (#270)

Sallie Brock, "The Fall of Richmond" (1867) from The Civil War: The Final Year Told by Those Who Lived It:

Another Civil War memorial, this time from a Southern women who witnessed the fall of Richmond. Which is one of those funny "falls" where the main damage was done by the departing Confederate army and panicked Southerners before the Union army attempted to stop the fires.

And yet Sallie Brock still describes the “Stars and Stripes” as "the ensign of our subjugation." I can't say I'm very sympathetic to Brock after that and some disparaging remarks on blacks and the Union army as "representing almost every nation on the continent of Europe."

The best part of this week's story then is LoA headnote with the unfortunately worded sentence about Brock and her husband's later life:

The couple lived and died in Brooklyn for over two decades, but both were buried in Richmond.

They died for over two decades? Like, over and over? Or is that a philosophical statement about how life is really death? Whoa, man, that's like deep.

Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 263: Gideon Welles, The Giant Sufferer (#263)

Gideon Welles, “The Giant Sufferer” (1865/1960) from President Lincoln Assassinated!! The Firsthand Story of the Murder, Manhunt, Trial, and Mourning:

Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles recorded his thoughts and experiences on the assassination of Lincoln; and while this was revised by him and by his son, a 1960 version of his memoirs is (supposed to be) close to the original. And that's what we have here in this new collection from the Library of America, entirely focused on this one event.

(Which, like the volumes on WWI poetry, seems like an interesting departure for them. I'm not sure I'd be interested in this book, but I know there are some Lincoln enthusiasts who would be.)

As for Welles's recollections, they are the sort that many people may recognize from their own brushes with history or any sort of trauma:

• initial confusion and denial (the messenger isn't making any sense, there's no way that Lincoln and Seward could've been both attacked);
• a mix of sharp memories ("I exchanged a few words in a whisper with Dr. V. Secretary Stanton who came almost simultaneously with me spoke in a louder tone.")...
• ...and more vague perceptions ("Several surgeons were present, at least six, I should think more.");
• and the ever-present ordinariness pressing in.

In Welles's account, that last part has to do with the struggle for political power, or at least the appearance of struggle and politicking. Did Stanton purposely not invite him to a meeting? Did he come late for real reasons or as part of a power play? Etc.

Still, if you're looking for an argument about the power of simple language to carry maximal emotional force, you could do worse than Welles's memory of Lincoln on his deathbed:

His features were calm and striking. I had never seen them appear to better advantage than for the first hour, perhaps, that I was there. After that his right eye began to swell and became discolored.

I mean, there's a moment of almost saintly sanctity: Lincoln looks even better now that he's been martyred. And then Welles punctures the moment with that swollen, discolored eye. There's an image for you.

[Note: I missed this last weekend, so I'm putting it up late, but backdating it, so I can find it more easily.]

Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 256: Mary S. Mallard, Union Looters (#256)

Mary S. Mallard, "Union Looters" (1864/1972) from The Civil War: The Final Year Told by Those Who Lived It:

Mary Mallard spent part of the last year of the Civil War at a plantation owned by her mother; and here's her memoir of the mostly awful Yankees who came and stole all their stuff. Which brings up some interesting stuff, like: jeez, but these women come off somewhat privileged. I mean, when a man comes in with a gun, Mary continues to argue with them; and continues to think that they have the right of history on their side.

Which is probably why my favorite parts are when she reports how the plantation servants (she never says "slaves") react to the Yankees coming and stealing all the white people's property. I mean, I easily can imagine that the freedmen really do complain to Mary--but I don't know that they really mean what they say.

Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 236: James R. Gilmore [Edmund Kirke], Our Visit to Richmond (#236)

James R. Gilmore [Edmund Kirke], "Our Visit to Richmond" (1864) from The Civil War: The Final Year Told by Those Who Lived It:

Gilmore was one of two people who sent south to meet with the Confederates about a possible peace plan, a mission which was put in place (or expedited) by the fact that Horace Greeley was meeting in Canada with Confederates who had their own peace plan. In other words, the South looked like it was trying to make peace, which would make Lincoln look bad before the 1864 election; so this other mission went to make it clear that the South's--or at least Jefferson Davis's--idea of peace was nothing the north would want.

Again, it's always interesting, and sometimes a little sad, to read these stories from the past where we know how it all turns out. For instance, when Davis meets the two envoys and talks about how the Confederacy is not suffering and could still win--though is that (1) Davis not knowing the future or (2) Davis putting the best spin on things that he can?

There's also some material here that seems of its time: Gilmore paints Judah Benjamin as a slightly disreputable figure, with "a Jew face," and a noted lack of greatness; while Davis is clearly a great man who can sway his people. Though this is given a little tweak at the end when Gilmore seems to suggest that killing Davis would be one way to end the war.

Gilmore also has a little sense of humor, which is a nice bit of sugar to help this message go down: here's a joke about Georgia banks and mines and mosquitos--all of which bite--to soften you up for the real message of this piece, which is that the Union has to crush the Confederate government. It's a nice rhetorical move; and whether or not this piece had that much material effect on the war, we know how history turns out.

Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 226: Herman Melville, The Armies of the Wilderness (#226)

Herman Melville, "The Armies of the Wilderness" (1866) from The Civil War: The Final Year Told by Those Who Lived It:

In my book, Kafka still has the best writerly response to war, when he noted in his diary on August 2nd, 1914 that, “Germany has declared war on Russia. Went swimming in the afternoon." But Melville has a pretty good response too in a letter to his cousin about how much he enjoyed his visit to the Wilderness/Spotsylvania area, when that would be and was one of the bloodiest encounters of the Civil War.

(Also, he goes on to express his hopes for cousin Gansevoort" "May your sword be a terror to the despicable foe, & your name in after ages be used by Southern matrons to frighten their children by." Maybe that's a bit of war-time humor, but feel free to bring that up anytime someone laments the lack of politeness and human decency these days. How often do we hear people saying "I hope you haunt their nightmares"? Maybe we should bring that back...)

Melville's poem here tells all about the war and the battle, through some scenes (e.g., a prisoner of war being asked to point out the enemy encampments) and some bird's eye commentary on the war (e.g., so terrible that only Biblical analogies of terror suffice). Frankly, the poem doesn't do much for me, largely because of Melville's almost trance-like rhythm.

But it is an interesting historical artifact. Think of it: back in the 19th century, a man could write a poem about a war and about a battle and about blood and death. I know that the Library of American has some other collections about poetry from other wars (WWI, WWII); and that if you Google "Iraq War poetry," you'll get some hits. But really, it feels like the great moment for poetry has passed by for now; these days it is relegated to high school's tragic love affairs or elementary school's cards for Mother's Day. Let's call this the infantilization of poetry.

Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 214: Lois Bryan Adams, Meeting “Father Abraham” (#214)

Lois Bryan Adams, "Meeting 'Father Abraham'" (1864) from The Civil War: The Third Year Told by Those Who Lived It:

Lois Bryan Adams was a Michigander journalist who went to D.C. to work as a clerk during the Civil War and who wrote dispatches (signed "L.") back home to tell about D.C. life. Today's reading is two letters from her, both involving cameos by President Lincoln.

In the first, Adams leads the reader like a tour guide through the crowds--

Look a moment; does it seem possible that we can ever work our way through that thronging, crowding mass, pouring down the broad pavement in one incessant stream?

--till she reaches the president, since he's holding an open reception day. Adams is firmly pro-union, anti-slavery, and pro-Lincoln--so much so that she ends up tongue-tied when she greets him. Which is where the tour guide frame sort of breaks down, though she resumes it later, saying that we'll make better use of the next open reception.

The next piece is about a fair being held at the Patent Office building, and it's radically different from a lot of the other Civil War reportage I've read in this series. There's no mention of the war (or of Adams's service in soldiers' relief organizations). Only a description of the opening speeches, including a cameo of Lincoln being dragooned into making a speech, which he pulls off admirably by talking about how unprepared he is.

Adams also discusses the decorations and displays at the fair, including a diorama of U.S. Grant's camp (the closest we get to the war) and a display of authentic New England pioneer life. My favorite part of this is when Adams notes that the "authentic" New England accent keeps turning into black dialect.