Saturday Morning, September 2, 2023

Paint It, Black

She shuffled forward, one-step, never two. Staring down, rarely up, she felt as if the line was going backwards. It was so long. Still, no one complained. No one said anything. A somber mood hung over the City of Brotherly Love like an albatross. Sobs and tears punctuated the silence. Except for church bells tolling, and cannonade rolling, not one word was spoken. She had entered the line, like everyone else, along the banks of the Schuylkill River, traipsing east along Chestnut Street. She felt safe within this throng. No one minded her. Not today. They were all one. One city. One nation. One people. Strange how grief unites, she thought.

Carte-de-visite - President Lincoln's hearse, Philadelphia, April 21, 1865. C.S. Earley, undertaker, was contracted to construct an appropriate catafalque to carry Lincoln's body through the streets. His business was located on the southeast corner of 10th and Green. This is where this image was photographed. Eight black horses pulled the hearse through packed streeets, the emotion in the moment overwhelming. Lincoln's viewing in the State House evoked the crowd to attempt touching and kissing the corpse. Despite this behavior, Lincoln survived for the next leg on his journey home. Total dimensions - 2 7/16" x 4"

The only black anyone saw was the attending eight horses and draped hearse. The animals stomped, their heads tugging forward, pressing onward. They knew their role. They felt the burden. Honor propelled them. Everyone had sacrificed so much for so long. Four years. Loved ones lost on distant battlefields. And now this. How much could one country bear? An epitaph for Lady Victory. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord... After several hours she arrrived at the State House, and, walking up the steps, entered the Assembly Room. A chill coursed her body, the reality of the moment. Still, she continued, trembling. There, lying upon a catafalque, inside a lead-lined coffin, fixed in mortal sleep, lay President Abraham Lincoln.

Victorian 14k gold hair memorial ring, engraved - G.E. d. 21 Nov 1846.
Example of Victorian mourning, a constant in a world without modern medicine.

Westbound Number 9

April 21, 1865. President Lincoln's funeral train arrived at the South Broad Street and Washington Avenue station in the late afternoon. Lining the tracks, from Washington, D.C. through Baltimore to Philadelphia, people stood. Some in prayer, all in disbelief. Such was the outpouring of grief for their slain sixteenth president. Love and gratitude exuded from these mourners. His perseverance had gifted them one nation under God, and they still had both.

Carte-de-visite - black gentleman. Here, few clues solve this conumdrum. These CDV's arrived to us from a Trenton, NJ home. The problem is the chain of evidence was broken by prior interests. What we do know is the photographer, Morris Moses, was in business between 1858 and 1873, location 13 E. State Street. Any small details indicating name or occupation of subject has evaporated, important links now lost to time.

Lincoln was met at the station with a splendid plumed hearse and eleven military regiments. The procession proceeded on a circuitous route toward the State House. Every block, every window, every tree was packed with people. By eight pm, the assemblage reached Independence Square. There, Union League members waited, there faces glowing in the red, white, and blue calcium lighting. Here the president would lie in state for forty-eight hours, enough time for 300,000 Philadelphians to pay their respects. On April 23, the entourage withdrew on its way west to Springfield, Illinois.

Cartes-des-visites. Clothes indicate a successful lifestyle. Again, as with the gentleman above, the trail to identification is lost. Both women were photographed by Stockton Stokes, 1864+, at his studio, 30 E. State Street, Trenton, NJ. In 1860, the total population of Trenton was 17,228. Blacks accounted for 675. It is likely these individuals were buried in the Locust Hill Cemetery, now gone.

A Nation Divided

Today we are blitzed with how politically divided we have become. It is pounded into our cerebellums by a media seemingly destined to destroy our fabric. A nation in crisis. And yet, in 1861, the United States was so polarized the only outcome was a Civil War. Let us believe our tapestry is woven tighter today. Civil blood makes civil hands unclean. Brutal, north/south conflicts expended thousands of souls. Many more suffered off the battlefields. Mary Lincoln, Abraham's wife, fell under scrutiny as she had family members fighting for the Confederate cause. Was she a southern sympathizer? Rivals demanded answers. White House financial ledgers were scoured looking for a hint of misappropriated funds. It was a hot-button issue, perhaps more to attack Lincoln's presidency. Was she guilty? Politics pursue a poisonous plot.

Samuel Schmucker, 1864 & 1865, in three parts.
Books were published through the war as updates.

Duty, Honor, Country

Westpoint Military Academy. Home to our nation's future military leaders. For years these young men studied together, sported together, came-of-age together. Now they were asked the impossible, to fight against one another. The turmoil was great. The stress incalculable. Yet, they did. Each chose a side and rode forward.

Textbook signed by William P. Sanders, Cadet USMA, Dec. 20th, [18]55. Cadet Sanders is a story worth reading. He graduated 41st in his Westpoint Class of 1856. Not a stellar academic performer, he found success as a Union officer participating in a number of battles earning rank of Brigadier General, but never confirmed. On November 18, 1863, a Confederate sharpshooter mortally wounded him. The Confederate shooter was under the command of Brigadier General Edward Porter Alexander, also a Westpoint graduate, Class of 1857. Not only were Sanders and Alexander classmates, they were also roommates

Field Fortification, D.H. Mahan, third edition, 1856. 12 foldout illustrations. Professor Mahan, Westpoint cadet graduating first in his class, taught civil engineering at Westpoint for forty years (1802-1871).

History of Pennsylvania Volunteers,
Samuel Bates, 1869 to 1871.

Robert E. Lee, General of the Confederacy, attended Westpoint in 1825 where he finished second in his class. Between 1852 and 1855 he was Superintendent of the Academy, overseeing cadets he would later face on the battlefield. The Union asked him to lead its army, but his loyalty lay with the south. His home was located in Virginia across the Potomac River from the Capital. So close, yet so far. The Lee family would lose their plantation during the war, usurped through tax liens by the Federal Government. Today we know the spot as Arlington National Cemetery. The first burial was in 1864, a Union soldier. Then followed Confederate and black soldiers, all marching as one. Integration for eternity.

After Midnight, We're Gonna Let it all Hang Down

She arrived early. The pew, though oak, had a differnt feel tonight. Was she sitting on hope, or was the dream to be a reality? As the evening passed, more and more parishioners squeezed into the church overflowing pews, lining walls. Many burst into hymns, lyrics flowing, excitement growing. New Year's Eve. January 1, 1863.

Confederate note, signed by J.D. Edwards.
A sutler, he supplied front line troops with mail and newspapers...and acceptable scrip.

Freedom Eve. At midnight, the church bell rang. Not a mournful pace of passing, nor the scolding sound of tardiness, but a joyful exuberance of liberty. It was the night of Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation consumation. The entire congregation rose to its feet. A roar cascaded from one side of the room to another. Laughter. Hugging. Many kisses. She felt the tears on her cheeks. A political promise paid. As Jefferson wrote, all men are created equal. Not just words, the Constitution was a path, a way to solve indignities, and remains so. A perpetual gift written in the struggles of our forefathers. Carpe diem.