George
Templeton Strong: Civil War Diaries
Geoff Wisner, editor
Publisher: Library Of America 912 pages. £40.99
ISBN: 978-1-59853-825-0
Reviewed by Tony Roberts
On May 30th 1865, at the end of the war that tore America apart,
George Templeton Strong would write in his diary, ‘As I look back now to Bull
Run — Fort Donelson— the Seven Days —Antietam —Gettysburgh — Chancellorville—&c
&c I wonder my thoughts have not been even more engrossed by the development of
the great Tragedy, that I have been able to pay any attention to my common
routine, to be interested in anything outside the tremendous Chapter that
History has been taking down in short hand.’ The truth is he could barely tear
himself away from war ruminations for more than a paragraph —and no wonder.
Despite George Washington’s warning, ‘To the efficacy and permanency of your
Union, a government for the whole is indispensable’, the diverging economies and
cultures had been breeding mistrust between Northern and Southern states since
that farewell address of 1796. By 1860 compromise had failed and the issue of
slavery initiated civil war. Five years of high rhetoric and low savagery would
end with more than a million casualties.
George Templeton Strong (1820-75) was a Wall Street, New York City lawyer and
moderate Republican. As a civil leader he became treasurer of the Sanitary
Commission, a private institution whose medical organisation and resources did
much to alleviate the suffering of the Union wounded throughout the war. Strong
also stands among the great diarists with his lifelong contribution to
nineteenth century American letters. Like Pepys, he offers vivid immediacy and
insight. An opinionated ironist, he is nevertheless sufficiently characteristic
of the times to give the reader a feeling for its aspirations and prejudices
(particularly in his fulminations against the ‘traitors’ of the South).
Literary and historical allusions are a regular feature of the diaries. In
August 1863, for instance, Strong projects ahead a century, conceiving that the
generals of this war will be better known than Napoleon, Wellington and Lord
Raglan, ‘Not as greater Generals, but as fighting on a larger field & in a
greater cause than any of them.’ His work for the Sanitary Commission and his
social status give him access to many of the key figures, political and
military, of the war.
The diary is a ‘private ‘one and as such provides an emotional release for its
author, though even Strong himself has occasional misgivings about its contents.
In October 1862 he declares, ‘This War is injuring my moral nature. I have done
more hating & detesting during the last 18 months, against the Rebels &
against Englishmen, than in all my life before.’ At other times his candour is
self-satisfying (‘Hon. old Roger B. Taney [Supreme Court chief justice] has
earned the gratitude of his Country by dying at last’; and, of one
colleague, he is ‘the most perfect specimen of an absolute dolt I ever knew’.
Perhaps most interesting to modern readers is the blue-blooded Strong’s
unflattering description of a first meeting with Lincoln, a fellow lawyer, in
October 1861: ‘He is lank and hardfeatured — among the ugliest whitemen I have
seen. Decidedly plebeian. Superficially vulgar & a Snob. But not
essentially. He seems to me clear headed & soundhearted — tho’ his laugh is
the laugh of a Yahoo, with a wrinkling of the nose that suggests affinity with
the Tapir & other pachyderms, and his grammar is weak.’ Like many, he comes to
venerate the president —if not his style exactly. ‘I do wish A. Lincoln told
fewer dirty stories’, he writes late in the war.
While domestic notes are fewer, we learn something of the Strong family. He is
admiring and proud of his wife, Ellen Ruggles Strong, being fearful when she
embarks on war work. He worries about her health on the hospital ships and her
readiness to take on more administrative nursing work. He is a caring but not
overly involved father, with little time to spend on his boys, the oldest
growing into his teenage years: ‘I fear I am not one tenth part as vigilant as I
should be in my dealings with these three splendid little boys of ours —tho’ I
honestly try to do my best for them.’
Music is integral to the life of the Strong family. Their son Temple (George
Templeton Strong) would become —against the wishes of his father— a noted
late-Romantic composer.) Members of the family attend regular concerts
throughout the war. The diarist is often critical of performances. In September
1864 he enthuses: ‘Walked up town … in a state of positive exaltation &
jubilation, humming over to myself reminiscences of the most triumphant &
resolute Mass-music —Glorias & Credos from Haydn & Mozart —a frame of mind
unknown to me for several months.’ Religion is as important to Strong as his
music, not least as a bulwark against anarchy. His faith is tested during the
conflict, as well as his patience.
The slow arrival of war news proves as frustrating as its reliability.
Speculation, rumour and propaganda fill the newspapers. Strong’s other sources
—informed civilians, friends or military acquaintances—offer only a mite more.
We often find him anxiously awaiting the ‘Extras’ carried by shouting newsboys
as they run through the streets in the night. He is always cautious about giving
credence to what he hears and reads, carefully weighing its probability (‘It
looks authentic, & perhaps it is, but philosophic scepticism as to all news
is the proper temper now.’) Strong couples wariness with a shrewd understanding
of the political value of events. Of Sherman’s notorious late 1864 ‘march to the
sea’ he writes, ‘The military value of this victory is great, but it is worth
still more as influencing the Political campaign’ for Lincoln’s re-election.
The diary begins in November 1860. Strong supports Lincoln and is disgusted by
the procrastinating incumbent James Buchanan, though he fears the former’s
election may trigger rebellion in some form, as it is seen as a threat to the
slave economy. On November 7th he reasons, ‘The next ten days will be the
critical time. If no Southern state commit itself to treason within a fortnight
or so the urgent danger will be past.’ Tragically ‘that termagant little’ South
Carolina fires on the government’s Fort Sumter the following April and becomes
the first state to secede from the Union.
The historically minded Strong turns to the French Revolution, the reign of
Charles 1, the Revolutionary War for precedents, sensing the magnitude of
events. He considers the North to be ‘comparatively civilized & law-abiding’,
the South ‘uncivilized & lawless & barbaric’ and doomed to anarchy if it
secedes. Suffering with a ‘seceding’ tooth, he welcomes the return from
Washington of ‘Ellie’ (‘The house is stupid without it’s busy little Mistress’),
who has been shopping and visiting with ‘Senators, Ambassadors Commodores
and such cattle’. Strong has, needless to say, a low opinion of politicians
North and South.
1861 brings the secession of eleven Southern States and the real war. The
diarist buys himself a Maynard Carbine before joining the local militia. He
wonders whether the slave-owning Border States will be kept in the Union. His
thoughts are in line with popular suspicions of the new administration: Seward
(Secretary of State) is seen as insufficiently aggressive, while ‘distrust of
Cameron [Secretary of War] & Wells [Secretary of the Navy] grows stronger
daily’. At this point Strong has little faith in Lincoln, either.
On the issue of Slavery he is circumspect, holding that cruelty is wrong but by
law Slaveholders have their rights. Although he is against slavery as a ‘baneful
system’ in need of reform or eventual extirpation, he follows the law. He
certainly shares the racism of his time: ‘We Northerners object to slavery on
grounds of Political Economy not of Ethics.’
Strong’s work for the Sanitary Commission, which he helps found, is his great
focus during the war. With other members of the Commission he visits hospitals
and tours Northern Virginia, which the South has lost to the Northern army. He
spends long hours in committee meetings, discussing raising funds and planning
resources. The Commission also works to reform the Medical Bureau which is
incompetently led.
The year ends with consternation over the arrest by a Union ship of two
Confederate envoys, Mason & Sidell, on board a British mail packet. Since this
could be construed as an act of war there is fear that the British may enter the
conflict, or at least recognise the Southern Confederacy, for which its leaders
show some preference. Strong is deeply hurt by what he sees as the betrayal by a
country he has greatly admired. For him it becomes ‘Shabby old Shop-keeping
England.’
At times in 1862 Strong describes himself as ‘unChristian—ferocious—vindictive
—& viperous’. His feelings are especially inflamed by stories of atrocities,
like the booby-trapping of Union corpses. On the state of Northern opinion he is
equally concerned: ‘These are dark blue days. Discouragement about the war is
silently spreading, I fear.’ The affairs of the Sanitary Commission, however,
are thriving. He sails on their disinfected floating hospital ship to General
McClellan’s headquarters to view the ‘pestiferous conditions’. In August, after
Second Bull Run, he writes proudly, ‘Our Commission wagons were first on the
ground & did good service, thank God —and the relations of our Inspectors &
Agents with the Medical staff were perfectly harmonius.’ However, he notes that
many of the wounded had died from exposure or starvation.
Of the generals, George McClellan and Ambrose Burnside suffer constant
re-evaluation, whereas the new Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton, is seen only as
a martinet. In July he continues to blame Stanton for McClellan’s tardiness near
Richmond. Ultimately he recognises the general’s weakness: ‘His theory of an
invasion is to entrench himself, advance five miles & then spend three weeks in
getting up another line of fieldworks.’ He concludes, ‘We deified him without
reason.’
On December 11 there is news of General Burnside at Fredericksburg. The battle
is soon to be registered as ‘a
defeat with heavy loss, damaging to the National cause’. Again, Lincoln, Stanton
and Seward are implicated. Of Seward, Strong writes: ‘He is an adroit shifty
clever politician, in whose career I have never detected the least indication of
principle.’ And of ‘Honest Old Abe’ he laments: ‘A year ago we laughed at the H.
O.A.’s grotesque genial Western jocosities— but they nauseate us now. If these
things go on, we shall have pressure on him to resign.’ There are even rumours,
he reports, of Mrs. Lincoln’s colluding with the Confederates. Then again,
Strong cannot quite give up on the President: ‘If he comes out fair & square, he
will do the “biggest thing” an Illinois jury-lawyer has ever had a chance of
doing, and take high place among the men who have controlled the destinies of
Nations. If he postpone or dilute his action, his name will be a bye word & a
hissing till the annals of the 19th Century are forgotten.’
On a personal level, Strong endures minor ills and headaches and especially
fears concerning his Ellie, who is at Yorktown, Virginia. A report informs him:
‘She was drudging among sick & wounded men in a plucky noble womanly way & doing
severe prosaic work. God bless her. This will be a precious memory to her & her
children, if only she escapes fever. Shortly after she is proudly
reported as ‘stepping naturally into command of our volunteer Corps of Nurses &c
on the Elm City.’
As 1863 begins
we learn Lincoln has signed the Emancipation Proclamation (freeing slaves in
Confederate territory). In February Strong reports the Sanitary Commission has
to date received $700,000 at the central office alone. His mood is still sombre:
‘(between me & my journal) things do in fact look darker & more dark every day.
We are in a fearful scrape, & I see no way out of it. Recognition of the
“Confederacy” is impossible. So is vigorous prosecution of the war twelve months
longer…. How can these two contradictions be reconciled?’
He sees War Department silence as ominous. One Northern general after another
seems to fail. It is Joseph Hooker’s turn in May. Strong is continually
perturbed by the peace movement. He condemns repeatedly those ‘scoundrels’ of
the North (the Copperheads) who act or speak in favour of the South or of
compromise with it, which would leave slavery intact. In June, Confederate
commander Robert E. Lee invades Pennsylvania.
When the Gettysburg battle is confirmed as a major Northern victory, Strong
takes renewed encouragement: ‘the charm of Robt. Lee’s invincibility broken’, he
notes.
This is also the time of the murderous New York Draft Riots which frighten and
appal all good citizens (‘I could not walk four blocks Eastward from this house
this minute without peril.’ July16th). They draw from him many negative comments
about the Irish labourers at the heart of the rioting and ‘the unspeakable
infamy’ of their killing black citizens. He feels the riots were intentionally
co-ordinated with Lee’s invasion of the North.
In 1864 Strong becomes involved in a ‘Metropolitan Fair’ in the city,
which eventually raises a million dollars for the Sanitary Commission through
events like concerts and private theatricals (in which Ellie takes part).While
delighted, he yearns for ‘a trace of the savage indomitable resolution’ the
Rebels show. He is subject to acute nervous sick headaches, not helped by a
meeting with ‘snake-y’ eyed Stanton, who is hostile to the independence and
criticism of members of the Commission.
As a founding member of the loyalty-promoting Union League, the diarist is proud
to watch a regiment of black New Yorkers, established through League
subscriptions, receiving its colours in March. General Grant is now Commander in
Chief of the Army. Strong admires his tenacity. The war has reached
Petersburg, Virginia, with its important railroad network. He still worries
about an ‘epidemic of discouragement’ in the North but, ever discreet, remarks:
‘I do not talk this way —All my croaking is strictly confidential —between
myself & my journal.’
Undoubtedly though, the fortunes of war are now favouring the Union. In June he
plans a trip with his young son Johny and the Sanitary Commission leaders to
Grant’s headquarters, ‘into the heart of the enemy’s country’. He wants his son
to experience ‘the voyage & the glimpses of an Army in the field will be such a
precious memory to him’. They arrive at the S. C.’s headquarters at the
beginning of July: ‘sundry barges moored on the mud bank of the shore—a
festering expanse of filthiness’. He has a fifteen minute meeting with Grant
(‘prompt clearheaded & decisive—& utters no bosh’).They will deliver 50,000
pounds of ‘antiscorbutics’ (to prevent scurvy).
Although we might think him too old or too important to be drafted, in August
Strong pays $1,100 to ‘a big Dutch boy’ to serve in the army in his place. In
November his fear of McClellan and the peace Democrats taking the Presidency is
allayed when Lincoln is re-elected in a landslide victory. ‘My contempt for
Democracy & extended suffrage is mitigated’, he writes. The year ends with
Savannah taken and his feeling that ‘Much has been done toward destroying
Rebellion in these twelve months.’
When 1865 begins Strong’s ‘faith in Uncle Abe’s sagacity’ is fully restored. He
wants a reckoning for the abuses of Confederate prisons, where so many Union
soldiers have died, and would have Confederate President Jefferson Davis hanged,
except that it would create a martyr. In April Lee surrenders the South’s
principal army. The greatest shock, however, arrives on the 15th, when Strong
reports the assassination of Lincoln and (erroneously) of Seward. Later he
welcomes the outpouring of Northern grief at Lincoln’s death, for a President
who ‘had won for himself’ a place ‘in the heart of the People!’
In May he observes shrewdly both that ‘This young Country heals up its wounds
very fast’ and also that ‘The South will probably try to bring its Freedmen back
to Slavery’ when State governments are re-established. He admits to himself,
‘This sudden cessation of War —apparent at least, & unhoped for six months
ago — gives me a strange sense of vacuity. War & Rebellion have been the
one great subject of my hopes & fears every hour for four years past. I feel
strangely tonight, & hardly recognize myself, from the absence of anxiety about
McClellan —or Buell—or Burnside — or Hooker— or Grant from a new sense of
indifference to the devices of Beauregard Bragg Lee & Joe Johnston.’
In finishing, I should acknowledge that the American Civil War and the Lincoln
presidency are a particular interest of mine. I was privileged, as a student, to
spend three years living in Virginia. George Templeton Strong’s diaries
are remarkable and it has been one of the pleasures of my reading life to have
spent so much time with them. I leave the last word, like the first, to the
diarist. Here he is in a forgivably optimistic mood: ‘These four years have
reduced me to something like pauperism. But I am profoundly thankful for them
nevertheless. They have given me— & my wife & my boys — a country worth living
in & living for, & to be proud of.’