Tag Archives: Civil War

The Challenge

Finding all the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle to create the picture of a woman who lived so long ago can be a challenging and yes, frustrating venture.

Lizzie May Ulmer lived over 150 years ago. Based on reviews of her work, she was a very good actress however she was never to make such a mark on the stage as to be recognizable to today’s theatre buff. Perhaps that is why I write about her. Lizzie May lived a life that we can only imagine. She lived through the Civil War, the Industrial Revolution and the advance of the railroad. She lived through a change in this country the likes of which we will most likely never see again. Strong-willed, she chose an  unusual path for a woman of the time. By choosing a career on the stage she took control of her life in the only way that a woman of the late 1800’s could. Actresses traveled, handled their accounts and lived with more freedoms than most women of the Age. That alone speaks volumes about the type of woman that Lizzie May was.

When we last left Lizzie May and her husband  George they had survived one of the worst fires in Canadian history , literally escaping with the clothes on their backs. They headed back to Boston to recover and decide on their future.

Please join me as I continue on my quest to remember a woman who lived a life well lived.

Washington Street

Above: Actor John H Selwyn who would open The Selwyn Theatre in 1867.

In 1868 Charley Ulmer was running a small job printing plant on Washington Street in Boston. Younger brother George was Charley’s apprentice but he became increasingly distracted by a new theatre that had opened just down the street. Washington Street in the mid to late 19th century was the center of commerce and cultural events for Boston’s south end. In other words, it was the place to be!

In late 1867, John H. Selwyn a scenic artist with the famed Boston Theatre Company struck out on his own and opened up The Selwyn Theatre at 364 Washington Street. The Selwyn Theatre was a stock company that existed for only three years from the end of 1867-1870. At the time, it was renowned for bringing the most distinguished actors and productions of the day to Boston. George was hooked.

The history of Boston’s theaters often provides the researcher and theater aficionado with some fascinating drama of its own. In the nineteenth century, when Boston was the center of a thriving community of theaters, an ongoing conflict between artistic freedom and the city’s ubiquitous Puritan strain was clearly in evidence. Even as early as the eighteenth century, theater going in Boston was regarded as a fashionable, but not entirely legal pursuit.

A quaint example of Boston’s secret love-affair with the theater is witnessed in the names of early playhouses such as Exhibition Hall and the beloved Boston Museum, which really were theaters in very thin disguise. Indeed, the term “banned in Boston” was one used either pejoratively by theater lovers.

George had been bitten by the acting bug while convalescing in Balfour Hospital during the Civil War. He was entranced by the theatre. Soon he had cajoled his way into bit parts. The actors, the costumes, the audience clapping…it all appealed to our ham-ish hero.

Next Up: The Stage

Homeward Bound

National Parks service photo of a factory in Lowell,MA.

Unlike the lucky Ulmer brothers, so many other brothers did not return home. The list is extensive however I felt the need to include a few examples of those courageous men who died together on the battlefields:

Confederate soldiers and brothers Moses J. Hoge and A. Whitlock Hoge ages 21 and 29 were killed on the same night at the bloody Battle of Cloyd’s Farm  on May 9,1864.

A private cemetery in Taylor Co, Ga. shows 3 of 4 Carson brothers, all Confederate soldiers who were killed in battle or died of their wounds leaving the 4th brother to return home alone.

Brothers Edwin and Henry Lee from the 11th Connecticut Infantry were both killed in the War, Henry leaving behind a wife and four children.

Also from Connecticut, the three Wadman brothers died in battle in Virginia in the summer of 1864. Brothers Alvin and George Flint and their father Alvin Sr. also perished at this time.

The Civil War ended on April 9, 1865. Civil War experts estimate the loss of lives at between 620,000-700,000. The Eighth Maine Volunteer infantry Regiment lost 381 men, 247 of which died from disease. With a population of 31,443,000 people in 1860, this means that close to 2% of the population was killed in the Civil War. Compare that number with today’s War on Terror where around 5,500 have been killed, with our current population of 294,043,000: this translates to  less than .oo2%. The Civil War was responsible for more deaths per population than ANY OTHER WAR in U.S. history. The sheer number of families who lost their beloved sons, husbands and fathers is mind boggling.

The anguish back home resonated for years as widows struggled to somehow manage life without their men. Poverty became a reality and many women left the farms desperate to provide for their families by working in factories in big cities. It was the rise of the Industrial Revolution. In 1870, only two American cities held populations of more than 500,000 but only 30 years later by 1900, there were six, and  New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia each had over one million inhabitants. Soon, approximately 40% of Americans lived in cities and the number was climbing.

The entire country was shifting and changing. There was excitement and hope. Railroads were expanding travel all the way to California and our unscathed Ulmer boys were ready to take on the world. Please continue to follow this lively family as they traverse the U.S., triumph on the stage, become playwrights and newspaper magnates and live life to it’s fullest.

Next Up: Charley’s Bride

War is Over

There was no decisive battle, no grand gesture that suddenly ended the Civil War. The beginning of the end began in late 1864 when Generals Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman created a strategy of War intended to destroy the spirit of the South. Called the March to the Sea, union battalions swept through the south, destroying Atlanta and Columbia, terrorizing innocent civilians in their wake. Public buildings were looted and burnt. Private homes were not exempt from  the destruction. Think Tara in Gone With the Wind, which the author Margaret Mitchell based on local plantations in Jonesborough,Ga.

After the South’s huge losses during Grant’s Overland Campaign through Virginia, the Confederate Army barely had enough men left to fight. Food and money were in scarce supply and starving and disgusted Confederate soldiers tired of being marched to their deaths soon began deserting in massive numbers.

On April 9, 1865, General Robert E. Lee surrendered his Army  to General Ulysses S. Grant at the McLean House in Appomattox Court House, Virginia. 

On June 30,1865 after more than 660 days as a Union soldier and just 16, a young but world weary George T. Ulmer  was honorably discharged from the Union Army. Happily, his brother Charley now 21, was discharged after being promoted to Full 2nd Lieutenant. Both brothers served their country bravely, with honor and even humor. There are so many heart breaking Civil War stories of brothers dying side by side on the battlefield. It is with a sigh of relief that I can report that George and Charley were able to finally go home to their quiet corner in Maine.

Next Up: Going Home

 

George and the President

From February 16,1861 through May 5, 1865 Jefferson Davis was the elected President of the Confederate States. Even though his appearance was shockingly similar to that of President Abraham Lincoln, he was by most accounts an ineffective war strategist and his lack of popular appeal made sure that any similarities ended there. Historically he has been called meddlesome, difficult to work with and controlling.

Young George Ulmer had a completely different view of the man. After his printing debacle, George was re-assigned to a task he was well suited to. Cheerful, optimistic, friendly George was assigned as a type of guard to Jefferson Davis while the Confederate President was incarcerated at Fortress Monroe. He was instructed to accompany the President on his daily walks and generally keep the man company.

For a full week he walked and talked with the President listening to his woes and of course asking plenty of questions. George had nothing negative to say about his assignment in fact ,the opposite is true. In his memoirs he writes:

 He gave me lots of good advice, and I learned more from conversation with him about national affairs than I ever expected to know; and if I ever become president I will avail myself of the advice and teaching of that great man. He pointed out the right and wrong paths for young men; urged me above all things to adhere strictly to honesty and integrity; to follow these two principles, and I would succeed in business and become great and respected. I thanked him for his kind advice, and pressed his hand good-bye. “Good-bye, my boy,” said he. “You have been a comfort to me in my loneliness and sorrow. God bless you, my boy, God bless you!” A great, big something came up in my throat as I turned and left him, and I have regretted all my life that I was not fortunate enough to have the pleasure of meeting him again before he passed away; for I assure you, indulgent readers and comrades, that no matter what he had done, or what mistakes he had made, his memory will always find a warm spot in the heart of that little Drummer Boy from Maine. 

Next Up: A Good Day Ruined

Time Saver

In our daily lives we are always looking to save time. In Charley’s case time saved him.

George was understandably traumatized by his bloody work at the surgeon’s tent. Afterwards he shirked all official duties focusing instead on scavenging whenever, wherever and whatever he could. Soon the pickings at Petersburg became slim and as his unit was being called to move out, he went to say good-bye to his brother Charley who had been assigned to a new unit. Charley was downtrodden, not at all enthusiastic about yet another march and inevitably another battle. George decided he would go on one last foraging mission in search of a special good-bye treat for his big brother.

Wherever there were soldiers there were laypeople selling their wares from knitted socks to home-made cakes and pies. These brave (or crazy) men would fill up their wagons and drive right up to the front on the days they knew that the men got paid. On this day a ragged old man with a wagon fixed out with a stove was selling fresh hot mince pies. The smell alone was making the men drool. For each man lucky enough to get one there were ten or more standing around wistfully watching him eat it. After analyzing the situation up and down and realizing that theft was not an option with such a crowd, George ran as fast as he could back to his brother to beg for $1. Charley had no money at all and his sorrow was written all over his war worn face. George sat down next to him and thought through all his scavenging tricks. He had to get his brother one of those pies.

He recounts:

Charley, my brother, owned an old-fashioned silver watch, one of those old “English levers.” He thought a great deal of it as a keep-sake and always gave it to me to keep when he was going into action. I had this watch now, and made up my mind I would trade it and get a lot of pies for us all. Oh! such bright anticipations of hot mince pies. I could almost see them floating in the air as big as cart wheels, and fearing they would all be sold before I could reach the wagon, I ran as hard as I could. The crowd had thinned out and so had the pies. “How many have you got left?” I eagerly asked. 

“Oh, plenty,” he replied; “how many, do you want?” “Well,” I said, nearly out of breath, “I haven’t any money, but I want all you have, and I’ll trade you a nice watch for them.” 

“Say, cully! what yer givin’ me? I don’t want no watch. Let’s see it.” 

I quickly passed it up to him, and stood working my fingers and feet impatiently and revolving in my mind how many pies he would give me and how I would manage to carry them back, when he broke out into a loud, contemptuous laugh, and passed the watch back. 

“Say, young fellow, that aint no good. I’d rather have a blacking box than that thing.” 

“It’s silver,” I replied. 

“That don’t make no difference. I’ll give you one pie for the thing if you want it, see!” 

I turned the watch over and over in my hand, my feelings hurt and my stomach disappointed. Then I thought of my brother, forgot that it was his high-priced time-piece, and quickly said: 

“Give me the pie and take the watch.” 

Of course once the pie was greedily devoured down to the last crumb Charley started to ask questions as to how George had managed to get the pie with no money. Eventually he guiltily confessed that he had traded Charley’s prized silver watch. The disappointment in Charley’s eyes broke his heart. Determined to get it back he ran back to the pie man and  convinced him that he could show him how the complicated watch worked in exchange for a ride. George slowly set the time and wound the watch stalling so that he could come up with some way to get it back. He knew he couldn’t just bolt with it with so many soldiers around. Suddenly a shell exploded very close scaring the already skittish horse and overturning the wagon. Lucky George slipped away in the confusion returning the watch to his grateful brother.

Some of George’s luck must have rubbed off on that watch. That evening a fierce battle erupted. Charley was slightly wounded by shells and shrapnel but the one bullet that would have killed him was deflected by his silver watch. His watch was shattered but Charley was fine. Charley kept the fragments of that watch with him for the rest of the war. It really was a time saver.

Next Up:  George is injured, will he survive the War?

Life or limb?

An amputation tent set up at camp.

The Civil War has been romanticized and re-enacted for years. This subject captures the imagination of scholars and history buffs alike. The amount of information available is mind-boggling. The American Civil War had the most photographic coverage of any conflict of the 19th century and set the stage for the development of future wartime photojournalism.

For the first time, people at home could read the papers and follow the triumphs and devastations. The coverage came complete with grisly photos of their men dying on the battlefields. Photographers like Matthew Brady, Alexander Garner and Timothy O’Sullivan to name a few lived among these soldiers. Their beautiful, heart-breaking photographs show documented proof that war is indeed hell.

In the 1860’s medical care was extremely limited. While today  broken bones and cuts are rarely life threatening, during the Civil War this was not the case. In battle, soldiers were very likely to be seriously wounded at such close combat. Back at camp, disease and poor hygienic conditions were just as likely to cause serious illness or death. Basically, a soldier’s life was a double-edged sword and the Grim Reaper was his ever-present guest. The photojournalists were there to document it all.

In my previous post, I wrote about George’s unlucky friend the Drummer Boy from Pennsylvania. After that soul crushing morning,George was given the assignment to assist in the surgeon’s tent.

These makeshift field hospitals were a dismal place with little hope. Surgeons were basically butchers, sawing off arms and legs that had been shot or stabbed in order to save the soldier from gangrene and other infection. To the left is a photo of a box of surgeon’s tools used at these battlefield medical tents. Just looking at it makes me squeamish. I can’t imagine how a 15 year old boy far from home could find the strength to perform the gruesome task he describes in his memoirs:

In the afternoon I was detailed to wait on the amputating tables at the field hospital. It was a horrible task at first. My duty was to hold the sponge or “cone” of ether to the face of the soldier who was to be operated on, and to stand there and see the surgeons cut and saw legs and arms as if they were cutting up swine or sheep, was an ordeal I never wish to go through again. At intervals, when the pile became large, I was obliged to take a load of legs or arms and place them in a trench near by for burial. I could only stand this one day, and after that I shirked all guard duty. 

According to “The Medical and Surgical History of the War of the Rebellion. (1861-65.)“, ether or chloroform or a combination of the two was used in over 80,00 instances. Wounds festered at an alarming rate on the battlefield. Field doctors were forced to use amputation as a means to stop the spread of infection as antibiotics did not exist yet. It was agreed among field surgeons that the introduction of chloroform and ether was indispensable for saving lives. As the use of chloroform or ether was a relatively new concept and was now being used on such a mass scale, it was a matter of trial and error and some deaths were attributed to it’s use.

After this bloody war, thousands of men returned home shell-shocked and permanently disfigured leaving their limbs behind while so many others even less fortunate left their lives.

Next Up:  Time Saver

What would my poor mother say?

above: A candid photo from the Smithsonian archives taken in 1860 shows just how young the Drummer Boys of the Civil War were.

One morning George and his Eighth Maine regiment received orders to march to City Point to pick up recruits. George picked up his drum and marched at the front of the line. Suddenly the order to double quick march was yelled out. They were under attack and as bullets whizzed by their heads and shells exploded around them Charley screamed at George to get to the rear. Instead, in all the smoke and confusion he stayed close to his brothers in arms until fear and self-preservation took over. He found himself running  until he couldn’t run anymore. Taking inventory he was surprised to see himself completely whole but his poor drum riddled with bullet holes. George’s unbelievable run of luck had held.

As George sat there listening to the battle around him, he was joined by another young Drummer Boy from a Pennsylvania regiment. Feeling braver with two,they bragged about their exploits and adventures. George was impressed with his new friend’s amazingly profane mouth. Showing off, his new friend picked up a tent stake and tried to stake it to show what he would do to their enemies if he ever got a hold of them. Unable to get the stake to hold he picked up an unexploded shell saying:

“I’ll make a mawl of it and drive that damned rebel stake into the ground with one of their own damned shells, be damned if I don’t.” Inserting the broom handle into the end of the shell he walked over to a stump, and taking the shell in both hands commenced pounding onto the stick against the stump; “damned tight fit,” he hollored to me.

George story soon took a shocking turn as he writes in his memoirs:

The next instant I was knocked down by a terrific explosion. I came to my senses in a minute and hastened to where he had been standing. There the poor fellow lay unconscious and completely covered with blood, there was hardly a shred of clothes on him, his hair was all burned and both hands taken completely off, as if done by a surgeon’s saw.

I was excited and horror stricken for a moment. The sight was horrible, but I quickly regained my composure, knowing that something must be done, and done quickly. So taking the snares from my drum I wound them tightly around his wrists to stop the flow of blood, then I hailed an ambulance, and we took him to the held hospital about a mile to the rear.

On the way the poor fellow regained consciousness, and looking at his mutilated wrists, and then with a quick and bewildered glance at me, “God damned tough, ain’t it,” then the tears started in his eyes, and he broke down and sobbed the rest of the way, “Oh, my God! What will my poor mother say? Oh, what will she do!”

We reached the field hospital, which is only a temporary place for the wounded where the wounds are hurriedly dressed, and then they are sent to regular hospitals, located in Baltimore, Philadelphia, Norfolk, Portsmouth, etc., where they have all the comforts possible.

We laid the little fellow down in one corner of the tent to wait his turn with the surgeon, and when I left him, he cried and begged for me to stay, but I couldn’t stand his suffering longer, so I bade him good-bye with tears streaming down my own cheeks. I hurried out, and even after I reached the outside I could hear him cry, “Oh, my God! What will my poor mother say? Oh, what will she do!”

Did George write home about this sad day? Did he question his own mortality seeing the death of someone so near his own age? No letters home have been found but as an educated boy from an educated family I am sure that George spend many hours writing about his days at War. Most likely his stories home leaned towards the  humorous so as not to upset his loving family back in Maine.

Next up: Life or Limb?

Picking Up The Pieces

Above: April 1865, the Government hired men to disinter the bodies left behind at Cold Harbor for identification and proper burial elsewhere.

As terrifying as a storm can be, it is in the aftermath that the true devastation is revealed. As terrifying as George found the battles of the Civil War to be, it was the horrors of their aftermath that he would take away with him forever. It is estimated that as many as 5,000-7,000 men lay seriously wounded or dead on the Cold Harbor field. The agonies of the wounded would last for days until Grant and Lee could come to an agreement on the details of a ceasefire.

When the ceasefire was finally declared, George was assigned the sad duty of stretcher corps. Wearing a white cloth on his arm in a symbol of truce, a shocked George searched for the wounded and dead of his regiment. The bloodied field was a jumbled mix of soldiers both Blue and Gray ; most dead, some crying out in their last moments, others desperate and begging for help. The twisted bodies of once beautiful horses lay mingled among the fallen soldiers. The eerie silence was periodically broken by the high pitched whinnies of the dying horses and barely lucid screams of the wounded men.

The solemnity of the day was respected on both sides. George carried water to soothe the wounded until they could be brought to a makeshift hospital that had been set up in a local tavern. He soon learned that half of his regiment had been killed in the battle. It was with tears in his eyes that he would come across friends from his regiment asleep forever on the battlefield.

In his memoirs George writes about the futility of war and his anger at the poor leadership displayed that day. He also writes about the kindnesses of his fellow soldiers, Blue or Gray. One wounded young Union soldier had laid out his rubber mat to catch the dew, he would then carefully pour the drops into the lips of a confederate soldier who was slowly bleeding to death after having had his leg blown off. In another scenario he witnessed a confederate soldier winding his suspenders around the arm of a Union soldier to stop the bleeding.

For thirteen days, the regiment stayed in the advance line. Food and supplies were running short. George decides to risk life and limb on foraging missions across enemy lines.

Next Up, George the scavenger…

To learn more, there is a fantastic article about the battle of Cold harbor written by Civil War historian Robert  N. Thompson. It was published in 2006 in Military History magazine and I highly recommend  it.

George’s luck holds


George was young and very green. Finding his brother Charley was a joyful moment, but also an eye-opener into the realities of War. His big, strong older brother looked nothing like his memories of the smart looking soldier going off to War. This Charley was wretched in a ragged poorly patched uniform. His hat was stained, battered and full of bullet holes. His neat beard now resembled a filthy birds nest. His toes were wrapped in cloth peeking out from the front of his worn out boots. But the worst thing of all were his eyes. He had the haunted eyes that only belong to a man who has lived through war.

George was determined to make his brother’s life a little bit easier. He sang and told jokes and thought of ways to lighten the load of his company. He listened to his fellow soldiers as they talked about the things they missed most from home and soon an idea formulated in his head.

On one extended march, George was getting tired and upon spying  mule in a field he grabbed at his first opportunity. Riding the mule a few miles he spotted a farmhouse where he commenced his first raid returning with a box of eggs and tobacco.  He was the hero of his regiment and from that day forward he became a keen forager bringing a little joy into the lives of these war weary men.

In his words:

That successful raid gave me courage, and I began to think that was what I was destined for, and I liked it first-rate, for it was a pleasure to me to see those poor, hungry boys have any delicacy, or even enough of ordinary food.
After tramping an hour I was rewarded by seeing a calf. I drew my revolver, sneaked up and fired at poor bossy. It dropped—I was a good shot—but when I reached the poor beast I found it was as poor as a rail and covered with sores as big as my hand. I was disappointed, but cut off as much as I could that was not sore, and took it to camp. We put the kettles on the fires in short order, and my brother’s company had fresh meat broth—the first fresh meat in a month—and I tell you it was good even if it had been sore. After that episode Company H claimed me and dubbed me their mascot. I accepted the position, and from that time forth I devoted my time to foraging, stealing anything I could for my company, and I doubt if there was a company in the whole army that fared better than ours, for I was always successful in my expeditions.

George brought a little light into the dark world of war for company H. But how would he fare in one of the bloodiest and most infamous battles of the Civil War?

Next up, the Battle of Cold Harbor,VA.