Jan 7 2012

Women’s Deadly, Unsung War Work

“Choking cartridges” for the Union Army was legitimate war work for “noble Union girls” during the Civil War. The repetitive work required putting lead balls into a paper tube, filling the tube with gunpowder, and tying up both ends. Spilled gunpowder was swept up often during the day, the women wore special shoes, and movement was restricted. But with and without safety precautions, this essential wartime munitions work claimed the lives of nearly 100 women in explosions as fiery and fierce as any on a battlefield.

By October of 1861, Watertown, Massachusetts federal arsenal commander Col. Thomas Rodman listed 158 women on the roll books as cartridge formers. They were often sisters or wives of men employed at the arsenal; 18-year-old Violet Smith, her brother, and her sister supported themselves and their mother by working at the arsenal while their father was away at war.

Many of the new arsenal workers had been domestics, washerwomen, or dressmakers. Some had sewn clothing for the U.S. Army, jobs most often claimed by widows or sisters of soldiers. But cartridge formers earned the most money, from $14 to $25 a month for long hours, six days a week. Some stitched cartridge bags at home for 2 cents a piece. Camaraderie was reportedly high among the women, because of the importance of their work to the Union Army.

At the U.S. Army’s Allegheny Arsenal near Pittsburgh, the Colonel of Ordinance, John Symington, preferred to hire girls as cartridge formers, after boys had proven too careless with safety precautions.

On the afternoon of Sept. 17, 1862, a series of explosions ripped through the arsenal, loud enough to be heard in Pittsburgh two miles away. Some people thought it was a Confederate attack. Those who rushed to the scene, reported the Pittsburgh Gazette, found “an appalling sight.” The arsenal’s roof had collapsed and the laboratory was in flames. “Girls ran screaming in terror and agony from the building with their clothes on fire and their faces blackened and unrecognizable. As the building burned, women jumped from the windows, and others were trampled underfoot by terrified women trying to escape. Witnesses tried to help fleeing women who pleaded with onlookers to tear burning clothes from their bodies.”

Mary Jane Black worked at the arsenal, but had left her post to collect her pay right before the explosion. When she heard screams and saw, “two girls behind me; they were on fire; their faces were burning and blood running from them. I pulled the clothes off one of them; while I was doing this, the other one ran up and begged me to cover her.” A few bones and the steel bands used to stiffen their hoop skirts were all that was left of some victims. Limbs, bones, clothing, and bodies were found hundreds of feet from the explosion, on the streets and in the Allegheny River. Many could not be identified, and were buried in a mass grave.

The explosion was probably caused by the metal shoe of a horse striking a spark which touched off loose powder in the roadway near the lab, which then traveled to the porch and set off several barrels of gunpowder, which may have been uncovered. The barrels may also have been re-used and leaking powder. On Sept. 17, 1862, the coroner’s jury held that the accident was caused by the “gross negligence” of Col. John Symington and his subordinates in allowing loose powder to accumulate on the roadway and elsewhere.

In September of 1862, the tragedy of twenty thousand dead in the Battle of Antietam, the most casualties in a single day of the entire Civil War, forever overshadows the tragedy of the most civilian deaths in a single day, the 78 workers at the U.S. Alleghany Arsenal in Pennsylvania.

Sources include: Travelchannel.com; Army at Home: Women and the Civil War on the Northern Home Front, by Judith Giesberg (University of North Carolina Press, 2009); Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, June 1, 2008; Harper’s Weekly, July 20, 1861.

~ ~ ~ ~

Facts to Fiction:

Read an excerpt of Jennifer Wilke’s historical novel-in-progress, The Color of Prayer,

inspired by these historical facts & Edwin Lybarger’s Civil War diaries.

Oct 14 2009

Flirting with a fan in 1860

Victorian ladies flirted and sent their lovers messages with their fans, a language with its own codes:

You have won my love – place your fan near your heart

You may kiss me – press half-opened fan to your lips

I love you – hide your eyes behind an open fan, or draw it across your cheek

You are cruel – open and close your fan several times

I am married – fan slowly

I am engaged – fan quickly

You are being watched - twirl the fan in your left hand

I will marry you – close the fan very slowly

Don’t be impudent - threaten with a closed fan

Don’t tell our secrets – cover your left ear with an open fan

Sep 22 2009

Aunt Nancy’s 90th birthday brought the good news

On Sept. 17, 2005, her 90th birthday, Nancy Lybarger Rhoades received the news that Swallow Press at Ohio University would publish the Lybarger Civil War letters, a project she had nurtured for many years.

Nancy Rhoades (1915-2007) was the granddaughter of Edwin Lewis Lybarger (1840-1924), who served in the 43rd Ohio Volunteer Infantry, 1862-1865. In 1991, in a trunk in her attic, she discovered 168 letters written by several dozen women family members, friends, and sweethearts to Edwin throughout the war.

Nancy transcribed these letters, and they were published in 2009 by Ohio University’s Swallow Press, with a social commentary by Lucy E. Bailey, on the significance of women’s war work in the North during the Civil War.

WANTED–CORRESPONDENCE: Women’s Letters to a Union Soldier

Edited by Nancy L. Rhoades and Lucy E. Bailey

Fact to Fiction:

Aunt Nancy let me read the transcripts in 1996, and I read late into the night. By morning, I felt committed to writing about this family history. Since we didn’t have Edwin’s letters, only those he received and saved, I determined to write a novel in order to tell his story too.

My aunt was always the keeper of the family flame, and had been a reference librarian most of her life. It took me several years to gain her permission to write Edwin’s story as fiction. In addition to the letters, she trusted me with Edwin’s other war papers, and I made some great discoveries.

My best discoveries were Edwin’s daily journals, which Nancy thought had been lost, loaned to someone and never returned. But when I saw four small bound notebooks in the bottom of a box, I knew immediately what they were. They were written over four years, 1862 through 1865, a mainly straightforward log of his whereabouts each day. I spent several months transcribing them, my progress impeded by Edwin’s often illegible handwriting. But the ink was durable, I was persistent, and I eventually succeeded in discovering Edwin’s day by day itinerary throughout the war. This became the accurate bones for my novel.

Some years have passed since I first read the Lybarger letters, but after extensive research and several revised drafts, I have completed a novel that is based on Edwin Lybarger’s Civil War diaries and letters. The title has evolved from Civilities to The Arithmetic to The Color of Prayer.

I hope Aunt Nancy would be pleased.

Sep 11 2009

Passementeries, soutache & ruching

An 1860′s century fashion glossary

(from www.merriam-webster.com):

gauffered (variation of goffered) flounces: crimped, plaited, or fluted fabric, esp. with heated iron.

mousquetaire cuffs: referring to 18th century royal musketeers, known for their flamboyant dress.

paremont (variation of parament): ornamental ecclesiastical vestments.

passementaries: ornamental edging or trimming (such as tassles) of braid, beadwork, or metallic threads.

ruching: pleated or gathered strip of fabric for trimming.

soutache: narrow braid with herringbone pattern, for trim.

tarletane (variation of tarlatan): sheer cotton fabrid in open, plain weave, sized for stiffness.

Sultana Opera Cloak

The extremely elegant effect of the Sultana Opera Cloak cannot fail to strike the observer. The graceful, easy flow when on the figure is pleasing to the eye, and exhibits symptoms of most successful taste. It will be seen that the folds fall in a totally different direction to the generality of opera cloaks. Instead of draping from the shoulders downward, thereby creating an unnatural stiffness in the figure, they assume a semicircular form, fall gracefully into the waist, and produce a becoming fullness in the skirt otherwise unattainable. The hood, or rather semblance of a hood, is very recherché, and ornamented with tassels, manufactured expressly for the cloak from a design obtained from one of the internal decorations of the principal court of the Alhambra. It is fastened in front with a loop and buttons to correspond with the tassels, and affords unusual protection to the chest.

A discussion of the latest fashions for ladies

from Jan. 1860 Godey’s Lady’s Book:

Striped silks, the stripes being from four to six inches wide, and alternating in color, style, etc., are among the richest figured materials for street-dress, as a stripe of dark green satin, with the alternate stripe of silk, figured in some pretty floral design. Alternate stripes of black silk and velvet are also very elegant. Moiré antique is worn rather more now than the past season, the favorite colors being royal purple and emerald green. The broché silks are in fact real brocades of our grandmothers, broché meaning only embroidery- a rich black or gray taffeta ground is sprinkled with small sprays or bouquets of flowers. These are much worn for evening-dress. Fawn, green, mode, ashes of roses, etc. are among the shades used as a ground, the flowers being in their natural colors. Black, deep purple, maroon, and deep blue taffetas, figured with black velvet, are, perhaps, the most expensive dresses.

See more Godey’s fashion plates

Aug 8 2009

The charity of Christ impels us

with special thanks to Jim Schmidt for his guidance in matters of Civil War medicine and the role of the Sister-nurses in Army hospitals. See his blog on Civil War medicine: http://www.civilwarmed.blogspot.com.

In the spring of 1861, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Louisville, Martin John Spalding, offered the Sisters of Charity as nurses to the Union Army in Louisville, Kentucky. The offer was accepted by Gen. Robert Anderson (of Fort Sumter fame), in command of the department of Kentucky, in the following agreement:

The Sisters of Charity will nurse the wounded under the direction of the army surgeons, without any intermediate authority or interference whatever. Everything necessary for the lodging and nursing of the wounded and the sick will be supplied to them without putting them to expense; they giving their service gratuitously. So far as circumstances will allow, they shall have every facility for attending to religious and devotional exercises. –Robert Anderson, Brig. Gen., U. S. Army

Union Gen. Smith, in command of 7,000 Union troops in early 1861, appealed to the Sisters of Charity for their nursing aid at Paducah,Kentucky. Sister Martha Drury, the mother superior of St. Mary’s Academy at Nazareth, Kentucky, accepted the challenge of turning Sister-teachers to Sister-nurses. Paducah was filled with dying and wounded soldiers from the battles at Fort Donaldson, Fort Henry, and other battles early in the war.

The First Baptist church at the corner of 5^th and Jefferson Streets in Paducah was converted into a military hospital. In Sept. 1861, Sister Martha Drury closed St. Mary’s Academy and led the teachers to Paducah: Sisters Sophia Carton, Justine Linnehan, Mildred Travers, Beatrice Skees, and Mary Lucy Dosh. They received brief training in first aid, from another Sister nurse. Their habits of black serge consisted of a plaited skirt and cape worn over black waist and sleeves; a neat white collar, and a simple, black cap (covered by nuns’ veiling on the street).

Sister Mary Lucy Dosh, a music teacher and one of the youngest of the religious, became a devoted nurse to the soldiers with typhoid fever. On Dec. 29, 1861, she died of the disease herself. The soldiers gave provided her coffin an escort in a gunboat from Paducah on the Ohio River to Uniontown, then a military escort carried her toSt. Vincent’s Academy for burial. The soldier guards kept vigil all night with blazing torches made of pine knots.

Many of the wounded Union soldiers were not Catholics and had never seen a religious. The Sisters had to overcome the distrust and prejudices against “Catholicity” by many of their patients, who would cover their heads with a blanket when they came near, or refuse treatment. The Sisters did not discriminate based on the patients’ religious beliefs (or lack of beliefs), or expect any to convert. Their charitable actions quickly earned them wide respect.

Army surgeons who worked with the Sisters of Charity praised their dependability and discipline. They eased the doctors’ work, were cooperative, and handled the men better than the surgeons. The medical men appreciated their “sturdy practicality in handling problems, in making the best of conditions, and their steadfastness in the accomplishment of their assigned tasks.”

“The charm the Sisters of Charity carried, as the soldiers soon discovered, were blameless lives, absolute devotion to duty, and entire self-forgetfulness.” (Barton) Their patience and sincerity is said to have brought out the best behavior of their soldier patients, curtailed cursing, and earned them gratitude, gifts, and the highest praise: “You are must like my mother.”

Additional sources: Angels of the Battlefield: A History of the Labors of the Catholic Sisterhoods in the Late Civil War, by George Barton (Philadelphia, 1897); To Bind Up the Wounds: Catholic Sister Nurses in the U.S. Civil War, by Sister Mary Denis Mayer, 1989; The Sisters of Charity of Nazareth, Kentucky, by Anna Blanche McGill (Encyclopedia Press, 1917); Summer Winds: Sisters of Charity of Nazareth, Kentucky 1859-1912, by James Spillane (Abbey Press, 1991).

Facts to fiction:

Read an excerpt of Jennifer Wilke’s historical novel-in-progress, The Color of Prayer, inspired by these historical facts and Edwin Lybarger’s Civil War diaries.

May 31 2009

“There never can be a true peace in this Republic until…”

At the May 1863 meeting of the newly formed Woman’s National Loyal League, Lucy Stone reminded the members that while women did not yet have the vote, they had what the U. S. Constitution guarantees to all citizens, the right to petition the government.

The League’s other speakers likened them all to the women of the Revolution who “were not wanting in heroism and self-sacrifice.” They made emancipation their first priority by approving:

Resolution 5: There never can be a true peace in this Republic until the civil and political rights of all citizens of African descent and all women are practically established.

Nine months later, in Feb. 1864, the League’s first 100,000 signatures were delivered to Sen. Charles Sumner in two trunks. Each contained a scroll of the amendment petitions glued end to end. He accepted the petitions with his speech “The Prayer of 100,000.” The League helped to delivery another 300,000 signatures to the Senate and the House, confirming that emancipation had ever-widening popular support and must be an outcome of the Union victory.

Before war’s end, their signatures, combined with other voices and pressure from Lincoln, persuaded the U.S. Senate (April 8, 1864) and the House of Representatives (Jan. 31, 1865) to pass the proposed Thirteenth Amendment abolishing slavery. It was ratified by enough states to become law in December 1865.

Facts to fiction:

Read an excerpt of Jennifer Wilke’s historical novel-in-progress, The Color of Prayer,

inspired by these historical facts and Edwin Lybarger’s Civil War diaries.

May 21 2009

The Union Army licensed the “public women” of Smokey Row

From The Story the Soldiers Wouldn’t Tell: Sex in the Civil War, by Thomas P. Lowry, MD. (Stackpole Books, 1994):

In Nashville, Tennessee, “public women” practiced prostitution in Smokey Row, an area two blocks wide and four blocks long. For three-quarters of a mile on either side of Spring (now Church) Street, every shack or building along Front, Market, College, and Cherry (now First, Second, Third, and Fourth) Streets was a house of ill fame. In the census of 1860, 207 women listed their occupation as “prostitute.” Eighty-seven were illiterate, 198 were white and 9 mulatto. The youngest was 15, the oldest 59; mean age was 23.

On March 12, 1862, Andrew Johnson arrived as military governor of Tennessee. With the presence of 30,000 Union soldiers in the vicinity, venereal disease soon spread. Several doctors advertised dispensaries for treating “private diseases.”

Union Lt. Col. George Spalding, 18th Michigan, was provost marshal to keep order in Nashville. In 1863, he proposed:

1. That a license be issued to each prostitute, a record of which shall be kept at this office, together with the number and street of her residence.

2. That one skillful surgeon be appointed as a Board of Examination, whose duty it shall be to examine personally, every week, each licensed prostitute, giving certificates of soundness to those who are healthy and ordering into hospital those who are in the slightest degree diseased.

3. That a building suitable for a hospital for the invalids be taken for that purpose, and that a weekly tax of 50 cents be levied on each prostitute for the purposes of defraying the expenses of said hospital.

4. That all public women found plying their vocation without license and certificate be at once arrested and incarcerated in the workhouse for a period of not less than 30 days.

Prostitute Licence for Anna Johnson, dated Nov. 24, 1863, in Nashville, Tennessee, signed by Provost Marshal Lt. Col. George Spalding. (National Archives)

As of April 30, 1864, 352 women were licensed, and 92 infected women had been treated in the new facility created for this problem. By early summer, licensing was extended to “colored prostitutes.”

The examinations were required every 14 days, later shortened to every 10 days. Those who passed were issued a certificate. Those who failed were sent to Hospital No. 11 (“the Female Venereal Hospital,” or ”Pest House”), in the former residence of the Catholic bishop on Market Street, just north of Locust Street. The doctor assigned to the hospital was Surgeon R. Fletcher, US Volunteers. The matron, nurse, and cook are colored women. The provost marshal furnished guards, under orders to admit no one, under any pretext. The guards also enforced the rule prohibiting profane language; offenders were given solitary confinement. When women were cured they were “returned to duty.”

In a letter dated Aug. 15, 1864, Dr. Fletcher wrote:

“After the attempt to reduce disease by the forcible expulsion of the prostitutes had, as it always has, utterly failed, the more philosophic plan of recognizing and controlling an ineradicable evil has met with undoubted success.”

The Union Army also ran Hospital No. 15, with 140 beds for soldiers with venereal diseases, in a 3-story brick building near Summer Street, that had been a school before the war. In the 1860′s, antibiotics weren’t available. The remedy for syphilis in 1865 was salts of mercury, leading to the saying, “A night with Venus, a lifetime with Mercury.”

Nashville remains America’s first experiment with legalized, regulated prostitution.

THEN now

intrigues of Civil War history & fiction

Category Archives: Women’s history