Edward D. Baker was a one-time Illinois lawyer and an intimate friend of Abraham Lincoln. He went west during the California gold rush and wound up in Oregon in 1860, where he was elected to the United States Senate.
When the Civil War broke out, no one was more pro-Union than Senator Baker. "I want a sudden, bold, forward, determined war," he proclaimed after the firing on Fort Sumter. So intent was he on punishing the South that he joined the army as a colonel while holding on to his seat in the Senate. Colonel/Senator Edward Baker divided his time between the Army and the Senate. From time to time he would return from the field, appearing in full uniform on the floor of the Senate, where he would unbuckle his sword, lay it across his desktop, and launch into an oratorical attack upon those of his fellow lawmakers who appeared to favor any compromise with secession.
Then on October 21, 1861, he took leave of his Senate desk to lead his regiment up Ball's Bluff, on the Potomac. His task was to cross the river and disperse the Confederate snipers who fired at will from the brush and timber atop the bluff. There was no doubt in Baker's mind that his troops would carry the day. He reckoned, however, without the tenacity of the Mississippi and Virginia soldiers who commanded the bluff.
For the Rebels it was a turkey shoot. panic quickly ran through the Union ranks, and in short order they were frantically sliding back down the bluff and heading toward the Maryland side. as telegraphic accounts of the rout reached the president, both he and Congress awaited the fiery report from Baker that was sure to come, but this was not to be. Baker had taken the Senate floor for his last time. His body lay back up on the bluffs, the victim of the deadly snipers fire that took 200 other lives.
Thus the senator who had so dramatically prodded his fellow legislators while adorned in his military garb, had fallen victim to his own rhetoric. It was one thing to harangue the halls of Congress in favor of military action. it was quite another to put one's own words into action. As a senator and a soldier, Edward Baker did both and paid for it with his life.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
"17-Vietnam" Memorial
He had the guts to fight and die,
he paid the price, what did he buy?
He brought you life by giving his,
who gives a damn what a soldier gives?
You watch your TV from your easy chair,
but you don't know what it's like out there.
You burn the kids for marching at dawn,
to plant their flags on the White House lawn.
You knock our ways but have your fun,
and then you teach us to use a gun.
There's nothing else that you can do,
yet, I'm supposed to die for you.
I'll hate it 'til the day I die,
you made me hear my buddy cry.
I saw his arm, a bloody shred,
I heard them say, "This one's dead."
Copyright 1972
Dedicated to childhood friends: www.mrmulcahy.com
PFC Johnny Mailloux, USMC, K.I.A., casualty of war on 24 Nov 68. Found on panel 38 on the west wall, line #50.
CPL Billy Flint, US Army, K.I.A., casualty of war on 01 Sep 68. Found on panel 45 on the west wall, line #18 of the "Vietnam Veteran's Memorial."
Denny Gray, dying later from problems stemming from the war. We grew up in the projects of East Lynn, MA, the po side of town.
Also, to the men and women K.I.A. and P.O.W./M.I.A. in Southeast Asia.
Some gave all!
PFC Michael "Yank" Mulcahy RA 71-73
"17-Vietnam" was composed when I was a young soldier at Fort Hood, Texas
HHC 1st Bn (M) 50th Inf "PLAY THE GAME" 2d Armd Div, "HELL ON WHEELS"
he paid the price, what did he buy?
He brought you life by giving his,
who gives a damn what a soldier gives?
You watch your TV from your easy chair,
but you don't know what it's like out there.
You burn the kids for marching at dawn,
to plant their flags on the White House lawn.
You knock our ways but have your fun,
and then you teach us to use a gun.
There's nothing else that you can do,
yet, I'm supposed to die for you.
I'll hate it 'til the day I die,
you made me hear my buddy cry.
I saw his arm, a bloody shred,
I heard them say, "This one's dead."
Copyright 1972
Dedicated to childhood friends: www.mrmulcahy.com
PFC Johnny Mailloux, USMC, K.I.A., casualty of war on 24 Nov 68. Found on panel 38 on the west wall, line #50.
CPL Billy Flint, US Army, K.I.A., casualty of war on 01 Sep 68. Found on panel 45 on the west wall, line #18 of the "Vietnam Veteran's Memorial."
Denny Gray, dying later from problems stemming from the war. We grew up in the projects of East Lynn, MA, the po side of town.
Also, to the men and women K.I.A. and P.O.W./M.I.A. in Southeast Asia.
Some gave all!
PFC Michael "Yank" Mulcahy RA 71-73
"17-Vietnam" was composed when I was a young soldier at Fort Hood, Texas
HHC 1st Bn (M) 50th Inf "PLAY THE GAME" 2d Armd Div, "HELL ON WHEELS"
FIFTH US ARMY
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
The Drummer Boy of Shiloh
In 1932, a dottering old man dressed in an old army uniform asked for quiet.
A crowd of well-wishers had gathered to celebrate his eightieth birthday. Everybody present, including the press, referred to him as Major John L. Clem, but wanted to be remembered as "the Drummer Boy of Shiloh."
Johnny Clem was one of the youngest soldiers of the Civil War. He was just ten years old when he served as a drummer boy for the Twenty-second Michigan Infantry.
The soldiers of Johnny's unit saw a little action in 1861, but it wasn't until the battle of Shiloh in early April of 1862 that they received their baptism by fire, and it just so happened that the young drummer boy got caught in the middle.
On April 6, Johnny's unit was caught off guard and was almost pushed into the Tennessee River. During the fighting a Union soldier dropped right at his feet, nailed by a sharpshooter. Ten-year-old Johnny picked up the dead man's rifle and drew a bead on a Rebel colonel who had failed to see the small lad with the big gun. In the next instant, the Confederate officer was on the ground. Johnny Clem had killed him with one shot.
The battle of Shiloh lasted two days and up to that time was the bloodiest conflagration that had ever been fought on the American continent. The North lost 13,000 men, while the South counted 10,700 casualties.
An account of the battle of Shiloh of course made the newspapers, and in every piece, the story of Johnny Clem's bravery was told. Soon the entire nation knew about him.
Johnny ended the war as a teen-age sergeant and sported a medal given to him by the secretary of the treasury. He remained in the army and retired at the age of sixty-five with the rank of major. When Clem died at the age of eighty-two, his military tombstone was inscribed with the usual information: name, regiment, company, and state, but in Johnny's case it also carried an epitaph: "Here lies the Drummer Boy of Shiloh." Now no one would forget.
A crowd of well-wishers had gathered to celebrate his eightieth birthday. Everybody present, including the press, referred to him as Major John L. Clem, but wanted to be remembered as "the Drummer Boy of Shiloh."
Johnny Clem was one of the youngest soldiers of the Civil War. He was just ten years old when he served as a drummer boy for the Twenty-second Michigan Infantry.
The soldiers of Johnny's unit saw a little action in 1861, but it wasn't until the battle of Shiloh in early April of 1862 that they received their baptism by fire, and it just so happened that the young drummer boy got caught in the middle.
On April 6, Johnny's unit was caught off guard and was almost pushed into the Tennessee River. During the fighting a Union soldier dropped right at his feet, nailed by a sharpshooter. Ten-year-old Johnny picked up the dead man's rifle and drew a bead on a Rebel colonel who had failed to see the small lad with the big gun. In the next instant, the Confederate officer was on the ground. Johnny Clem had killed him with one shot.
The battle of Shiloh lasted two days and up to that time was the bloodiest conflagration that had ever been fought on the American continent. The North lost 13,000 men, while the South counted 10,700 casualties.
An account of the battle of Shiloh of course made the newspapers, and in every piece, the story of Johnny Clem's bravery was told. Soon the entire nation knew about him.
Johnny ended the war as a teen-age sergeant and sported a medal given to him by the secretary of the treasury. He remained in the army and retired at the age of sixty-five with the rank of major. When Clem died at the age of eighty-two, his military tombstone was inscribed with the usual information: name, regiment, company, and state, but in Johnny's case it also carried an epitaph: "Here lies the Drummer Boy of Shiloh." Now no one would forget.
A Blow to Southern Womanhood
The Sanctity of Womanhood:
Every southern male was taught to respect it, and when Yankees invaded their homeland during the Civil War, they fought for it almost as fiercely as they did to keep slavery. Then along came Captain John Dowdy. On Christmas Day, 1864, one woman put him to the test, and all of his fine upbringing couldn't save her life.
Captain Dowdy rode with Morgan's Raiders. He and his comrades raised such havoc in Tennessee and Kentucky that a $1,000 bounty was put on their heads. On September 4, 1864, Dowdy was encamped with the rest of the troopers about two miles outside of Greenville, Tennessee. General Morgan was headquartered in Greenville proper, at the Williams home. He thought he was safe there, but he had reckoned without Mrs. Williams, who had dollar signs in her eyes.
Captain Dowdy rode in to the Williams home at four o'clock in the morning to receive orders from the general for troop movements that day. Morgan sent a directive to the troops to be ready to move by 7 a.m. Dowdy saluted smartly and took his leave. He never saw his commander again.
At 6 o'clock over eighty Yankees came out of nowhere and surrounded the Williams home. The general grabbed his pants and boots and ran, still in his night clothes, into the garden to hide, but it was futile. His betrayer, yelled out, "There he goes," pointing to the shrubbery in which Morgan had secreted himself. His pursuers quickly found him and put several bullets in his chest.
Meanwhile, the camp was also attacked, and Captain Dowdy was captured and taken to an Ohio prison. He remained a prisoner of war for almost four months and managed to escape. After crossing the Ohio River, the captain rode through Kentucky and Tennessee. He was headed back to Greenville to settle a score.
On December 25, 1864, Captain Dowdy arrived at the Williams home. He didn't have to go to the house; he spotted Mrs. Williams coming up from the cow pen. With his arms folded, Dowdy blocked the path.
"Oh Captain Dowdy," a stunned Mrs. Williams exclaimed. Dowdy responded with a terse, "Correct Ma'm."
Sensing that she was in trouble, the woman cried out, "Captain, don't kill me. I'll give you a thousand dollars." Dowdy calmly replied, "If you have anything to say, you have five minutes to talk."
The shaken woman dropped to her knees, preferring at that point to address the Almighty. When the five minutes expired, so did Mrs. Williams. Captain Dowdy shot her at point blank range, killing her instantly. He picked her up and carried her to the front porch. After crossing her hands, he rode off without looking back.
Notwithstanding the fact that Captain Dowdy shot an unarmed woman in cold blood, chivalry remained alive for many years after. Women continued to be the objects of manly affections and respect, except for those rare instances when circumstances, such as Captain Dowdy faced, tore the mantle of virtue off the fairer sex, and they came tumbling down from their pedestal to a more level playing field.
Every southern male was taught to respect it, and when Yankees invaded their homeland during the Civil War, they fought for it almost as fiercely as they did to keep slavery. Then along came Captain John Dowdy. On Christmas Day, 1864, one woman put him to the test, and all of his fine upbringing couldn't save her life.
Captain Dowdy rode with Morgan's Raiders. He and his comrades raised such havoc in Tennessee and Kentucky that a $1,000 bounty was put on their heads. On September 4, 1864, Dowdy was encamped with the rest of the troopers about two miles outside of Greenville, Tennessee. General Morgan was headquartered in Greenville proper, at the Williams home. He thought he was safe there, but he had reckoned without Mrs. Williams, who had dollar signs in her eyes.
Captain Dowdy rode in to the Williams home at four o'clock in the morning to receive orders from the general for troop movements that day. Morgan sent a directive to the troops to be ready to move by 7 a.m. Dowdy saluted smartly and took his leave. He never saw his commander again.
At 6 o'clock over eighty Yankees came out of nowhere and surrounded the Williams home. The general grabbed his pants and boots and ran, still in his night clothes, into the garden to hide, but it was futile. His betrayer, yelled out, "There he goes," pointing to the shrubbery in which Morgan had secreted himself. His pursuers quickly found him and put several bullets in his chest.
Meanwhile, the camp was also attacked, and Captain Dowdy was captured and taken to an Ohio prison. He remained a prisoner of war for almost four months and managed to escape. After crossing the Ohio River, the captain rode through Kentucky and Tennessee. He was headed back to Greenville to settle a score.
On December 25, 1864, Captain Dowdy arrived at the Williams home. He didn't have to go to the house; he spotted Mrs. Williams coming up from the cow pen. With his arms folded, Dowdy blocked the path.
"Oh Captain Dowdy," a stunned Mrs. Williams exclaimed. Dowdy responded with a terse, "Correct Ma'm."
Sensing that she was in trouble, the woman cried out, "Captain, don't kill me. I'll give you a thousand dollars." Dowdy calmly replied, "If you have anything to say, you have five minutes to talk."
The shaken woman dropped to her knees, preferring at that point to address the Almighty. When the five minutes expired, so did Mrs. Williams. Captain Dowdy shot her at point blank range, killing her instantly. He picked her up and carried her to the front porch. After crossing her hands, he rode off without looking back.
Notwithstanding the fact that Captain Dowdy shot an unarmed woman in cold blood, chivalry remained alive for many years after. Women continued to be the objects of manly affections and respect, except for those rare instances when circumstances, such as Captain Dowdy faced, tore the mantle of virtue off the fairer sex, and they came tumbling down from their pedestal to a more level playing field.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Southern Charm from the Chamber Pot
Resistance to what Southerners called the War of Northern Aggression took many forms. In addition to armed conflict, the citizens of the South stood ready to show their contempt for the Union army in ways that were almost as vexatious as drawn swords, especially down in New Orleans.
By the summer of 1862, the Union Navy, under Admiral David G. Farragut, had made possible the occupation of New Orleans by General Benjamin F. Butler, who, in addition to holding the city, announced his determination to force its citizens to bend their knees to his occupying forces. Unfortunately for the general, that was easier said than done.
While Union soldiers were apparently safe to walk the streets of New Orleans, their flag could not go unattended. On June 7, 1862, one fellow by the name of Mumford decided to haul down the stars and stripes and cut the flag of the United States up into lapel stickers. This was too much for the general. He ordered Munford executed.
If Butler thought, however, that a hanging would elicit better manners from the Confederates, he was mistaken. Now it was the women's turn. The southern belles developed the habit of congregating on the hotel balconies dressed in all of their fineries. Whenever a Yankee soldier passed by, they would all whirl around and flirt out their skirts, causing one officer to comment that "Those women evidently know which end of them looks the best."
The greatest insult to northern dignity, however, was yet to come. On one occasion Admiral Farragut himself, walking to a dinner engagement, passed beneath the balcony of a hotel. Suddenly he was drenched in a downpour from above. Several women had emptied the contents of the hotel's slop jars directly on the heads of the admiral and his party.
Butler was livid and issued his famous General Order Number 28, which said that any female showing contempt for the United States shall be held liable to be treated as a woman of the night.
Butler always claimed that General Order Number 28 put an end to such loathsome expressions of contempt, but it was also noted that while performing patrol duty, the Union soldiers did so from the middle of the streets. They no longer seemed willing to subject themselves to the possibility of a vengeance from above, which often reeked to high heaven.
By the summer of 1862, the Union Navy, under Admiral David G. Farragut, had made possible the occupation of New Orleans by General Benjamin F. Butler, who, in addition to holding the city, announced his determination to force its citizens to bend their knees to his occupying forces. Unfortunately for the general, that was easier said than done.
While Union soldiers were apparently safe to walk the streets of New Orleans, their flag could not go unattended. On June 7, 1862, one fellow by the name of Mumford decided to haul down the stars and stripes and cut the flag of the United States up into lapel stickers. This was too much for the general. He ordered Munford executed.
If Butler thought, however, that a hanging would elicit better manners from the Confederates, he was mistaken. Now it was the women's turn. The southern belles developed the habit of congregating on the hotel balconies dressed in all of their fineries. Whenever a Yankee soldier passed by, they would all whirl around and flirt out their skirts, causing one officer to comment that "Those women evidently know which end of them looks the best."
The greatest insult to northern dignity, however, was yet to come. On one occasion Admiral Farragut himself, walking to a dinner engagement, passed beneath the balcony of a hotel. Suddenly he was drenched in a downpour from above. Several women had emptied the contents of the hotel's slop jars directly on the heads of the admiral and his party.
Butler was livid and issued his famous General Order Number 28, which said that any female showing contempt for the United States shall be held liable to be treated as a woman of the night.
Butler always claimed that General Order Number 28 put an end to such loathsome expressions of contempt, but it was also noted that while performing patrol duty, the Union soldiers did so from the middle of the streets. They no longer seemed willing to subject themselves to the possibility of a vengeance from above, which often reeked to high heaven.
From Bull Run to Appomattox
The American Civil War was a watershed in our nation's history. It redefined the character of the United States and sent the population of the South reeling, especially people like Wilmer McClean, who always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Wilmer McClean was one of the more prosperous residents of Manassas Junction, Virginia, in July of 1861, when the Northern and Southern armies began to gather around his place. His 1,400-acre plantation straddled Bull Run, so the Confederates occupied his house and used it as its headquarters in this, the first real, full-fledged battle of the Civil War.
After the first battle of Bull Run, McClean sold his farm and moved further west, out of the line of fire between the two contending armies. He assured his family that "the sounds of battle would never again reach them" in their new home.
In the meantime, battle followed battle: Chancellorsville, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, and hundreds of others. For four years Billy Yank and Johnny Reb pounded each other, and as they did, they got closer and closer to Wilmer McClean 's new home.
Finally in April, of 1865, Lee's Army of Northern Virginia and Grant's Army of the Potomac faced each other, and where do you think they were? Somehow the center of this horrific conflict, which began at his Bull Run farm four years earlier, had sought McClean out and found him once more. The Union and Rebel forces were camped once again, almost in his front yard.
On April 9, 1865, General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant, and since they were so close, the combatants took over McClean's home once again---to agree upon and sign the terms of the capitulation. When he left his home on Bull Run to find that safe haven from the ravages of war, McClean settled near Appomattox Courthouse, never dreaming that he was jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
Wilmer McClean was one of the more prosperous residents of Manassas Junction, Virginia, in July of 1861, when the Northern and Southern armies began to gather around his place. His 1,400-acre plantation straddled Bull Run, so the Confederates occupied his house and used it as its headquarters in this, the first real, full-fledged battle of the Civil War.
After the first battle of Bull Run, McClean sold his farm and moved further west, out of the line of fire between the two contending armies. He assured his family that "the sounds of battle would never again reach them" in their new home.
In the meantime, battle followed battle: Chancellorsville, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, and hundreds of others. For four years Billy Yank and Johnny Reb pounded each other, and as they did, they got closer and closer to Wilmer McClean 's new home.
Finally in April, of 1865, Lee's Army of Northern Virginia and Grant's Army of the Potomac faced each other, and where do you think they were? Somehow the center of this horrific conflict, which began at his Bull Run farm four years earlier, had sought McClean out and found him once more. The Union and Rebel forces were camped once again, almost in his front yard.
On April 9, 1865, General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant, and since they were so close, the combatants took over McClean's home once again---to agree upon and sign the terms of the capitulation. When he left his home on Bull Run to find that safe haven from the ravages of war, McClean settled near Appomattox Courthouse, never dreaming that he was jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
Dying for the Stars and Bars
Symbols---they can make one swell with pride, or wretch in disgust. Take that flap about flying the Confederate flag above the state house in South Carolina, for instance. That may have been the most recent fight over that symbol, but it won't be the last, and it certainly wasn't the first.
The guns had barely quieted at Fort Sumter when President Lincoln ordered that Alexandria, Virginia, just across the Potomac, be taken from the Rebel hands. After all, there staring him in the face each morning was the Confederate flag flying atop the Marshall House, and he wanted it taken down.
The soldier who was placed in charge of this detail was Colonel Elmer Ellsworth, one of the four soldiers who formed the president's body guard. Ellsworth's orders were simple. Take the town and remove that flag. the former was easy, but the latter had its price.
Ellsworth's troops landed early in the morning of May 24, 1861. There was no resistance, so the Colonel marched directly to the Marshall House, where the offending bit of bunting waved in the breeze. Flanked by a quartet of soldiers, Ellsworth climbed to the second story of the hotel unmolested.
From one of the top windows he clambered out onto the roof and cut the flag from its staff. With the emblem in hand, Ellsworth then made his way back to the stairs from which he intended to descend and make secure his occupation of Alexandria.
He had no more than reached the top step when from out of the shadows lurched an enraged Rebel who would not stand for such an abominable sacrilege as the desecration of the Confederate flag. He raised a gun to Ellsworth's heart and fired, killing him instantly. Needless to say, the assassin was quickly dispatched as well.
They brought Ellsworth to Washington where Lincoln mourned the fallen soldier, calling him the "greatest little man I ever met." In the meantime, the Confederate flag went back up on the Marshall House, but it flew in thousands of other places, and as recent events show, it still stirs the emotions of partisans, almost 140 years after that first forced removal of the stars and bars.
The guns had barely quieted at Fort Sumter when President Lincoln ordered that Alexandria, Virginia, just across the Potomac, be taken from the Rebel hands. After all, there staring him in the face each morning was the Confederate flag flying atop the Marshall House, and he wanted it taken down.
The soldier who was placed in charge of this detail was Colonel Elmer Ellsworth, one of the four soldiers who formed the president's body guard. Ellsworth's orders were simple. Take the town and remove that flag. the former was easy, but the latter had its price.
Ellsworth's troops landed early in the morning of May 24, 1861. There was no resistance, so the Colonel marched directly to the Marshall House, where the offending bit of bunting waved in the breeze. Flanked by a quartet of soldiers, Ellsworth climbed to the second story of the hotel unmolested.
From one of the top windows he clambered out onto the roof and cut the flag from its staff. With the emblem in hand, Ellsworth then made his way back to the stairs from which he intended to descend and make secure his occupation of Alexandria.
He had no more than reached the top step when from out of the shadows lurched an enraged Rebel who would not stand for such an abominable sacrilege as the desecration of the Confederate flag. He raised a gun to Ellsworth's heart and fired, killing him instantly. Needless to say, the assassin was quickly dispatched as well.
They brought Ellsworth to Washington where Lincoln mourned the fallen soldier, calling him the "greatest little man I ever met." In the meantime, the Confederate flag went back up on the Marshall House, but it flew in thousands of other places, and as recent events show, it still stirs the emotions of partisans, almost 140 years after that first forced removal of the stars and bars.
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