Federal Troops Research Articles

Illinois in the War of 1812 (review)

Illinois in the War of 1812. By Gillum Ferguson. (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 20 12. Pp. xiii, 349. Cloth, $34.95.)Reviewed by Robert M. OwensOccasionally the notice of a forthcoming history is met with an audible sigh of relief, perhaps alloyed with an array of giddy smiles. Historians of the War of 1812, as well as scholars of the Midwest, have spent years bemoaning the lack of a modern, comprehensive treatment of Illinois' role in that conflict. Many others, especially outside of academia, would question whether Illinois played any role in that war at all. Into this void steps Gillum Ferguson, an attorney and historian. One says amateur in this context with some caution, as Ferguson has published a number of articles on the subject, and in general the research and writing compare favorably with any professional treatment imaginable.Part of the reason historians have ignored Illinois' role in the War of 1812 - a war that itself has been comparatively neglected - is the fact that there was little activity by British regular troops in the region. In Illinois, the fighting was primarily between Indians loosely allied to Britain and the citizenry of Illinois and the surrounding territories - Wisconsin, Indiana, and Missouri. Ferguson rightly begins with an assessment of the difficulties faced by Illinoisans when the conflict began. As the few Federal troops available were stationed elsewhere, the Illinois Territory's militia - white man between the ages of eighteen and fortyfive - would bear the brunt of the war. They risked more than life and limb to do so. They were required to provide their own arms, which was surprisingly difficult, as firearms were relatively scarce and therefore strikingly expensive in this frontier region. Ferguson notes that, from a strictly financial standpoint, militia service could be debilitating. Nearly every man called from his farm into active military service was the sole support of himself and his family, and extended service in the field could severely disrupt his ability to meet the unforgiving rhythm of the growing season (10). The fact that their payment from the Federal government might take months, years, or infinity only made things worse.Because the war took the form of a frontier Indian war, there were few large set-piece battles, but rather a seemingly endless string of raids and counterraids. One of Ferguson's great achievements, for which we are truly indebted to him, is the painstaking way he compiles and chronicles - from a broad array of sources - these nearly innumerable incidents. He also introduces the primary characters in this drama, from the Potawatomi chief Gomo, who labored to maintain his people's neutrality even when they were attacked indiscriminately by Illinois settlers, to the Whiteside family's two generations of famed frontier fighters. One of the more intriguing characters is Illinois' appointed territorial governor, Ninian Edwards of Virginia. Edwards comes off quite well in the narrative, painted as a man who put duty above personal gain and strove, with little encouragement or even acknowledgement from Washington, to protect his citizenry. Secretary of War John Armstrong literally would not even answer Edwards's letters, except to demote his role in military defense. Still, Edwards solthered on.The majority of the region's Indians who took sides fought against the United States, inspired by Tenskwatawa, the Shawnee Prophet, and his brother Tecumseh. …

Tasting Freedom: Octavius Catto and the Battle for Equality in Civil War America (review)

Reviewed by: Tasting Freedom: Octavius Catto and the Battle for Equality in Civil War America Anthony Waskie (bio) Tasting Freedom: Octavius Catto and the Battle for Equality in Civil War America. By Daniel R. Biddle and Murray Dubin. (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2010. Pp. 616. Cloth, $35.00.) Award-winning Philadelphia Inquirer reporters Dan Biddle and Murray Dubin populate their dramatic story of the life and premature death of Octavius Catto, United States Colored Troops recruiter and civil rights activist, with heroes and villains, street battles, riots, mayhem and murder. Though an obscure figure today, Catto played a leading role in the struggle for black equality in the era of emancipation; he stood at the center of a lively community of black activists in Philadelphia and beyond. The authors follow the lives and careers of a number of Catto’s friends and associates—the “band of brothers,” as they called themselves, even though there were prominent women activists among them. Included in this group were William T. Catto (Catto’s father), Frederick Douglass, William Still, and many other members of Philadelphia’s elite black community. And then there were the villains, the opponents of black equality in Philadelphia, best epitomized by “Squire” William McMullen, a Democratic ward boss who used threats and intimidation—murder, even— to swing elections. McMullen and his gang of thugs were responsible for Catto’s murder, as the young man returned home from voting, just as he had “tasted freedom.” Born in Charleston, South Carolina, Octavius Catto grew up in Philadelphia, where he attended the Institute for Colored Youth (ICY), the city’s premier black school. In a city known for its racism and southern proclivities, the ICY had become, according to Frederick Douglass, “the ‘heart and hope’ of colored Philadelphia” (289). There Catto and his teachers and classmates began their activist careers, demanding abolition, education, and equal rights. To Catto, education and equal rights were closely interwoven and inseparable; “knowledge is power,” Fanny Jackson, a fellow teacher at the school, liked to say (171). Discouraged by the state’s reluctance to accept black recruits in the summer of 1863, Catto nonetheless became an active recruiter for the United States Colored Troops and continued teaching at the ICY until his death. After the war, Catto served in the Pennsylvania National Guard, Fifth Brigade, attaining the rank of major. In 1864, Catto helped found the [End Page 459] national Equal Rights League; Pennsylvania’s chapter of the league successfully lobbied for an 1867 state law integrating streetcars and for ratification of the Fifteenth Amendment in 1869. Philadelphia’s first two interracial elections highlight the continued need to look more closely at Reconstruction in the North. Although the 1870 election came off with no violence owing to the presence of federal troops, the riot that occurred in 1871 might just have well occurred in postwar Memphis or New Orleans. With the Republican Party squeamish about calling in federal troops and facing mounting threats of violence, city offi cials called the black soldiers of the Fifth Brigade into the contested wards to quiet the disorder. Catto was shot before he could arm himself, by a gunman who was familiar with his activism and who identified him closely with the ascendant Republican Party. In some sense, his death was not in vain, as the Republicans swept to victory in the elections, and Philadelphians briefly closed ranks and mourned the young man as another of the Civil War’s victims. But a few years passed before there was a trial, and though everyone seemed to know who killed Catto, no one was convicted of the crime. Philadelphia’s civil rights community was hit hard by the loss. Dubin and Biddle tell this story with verve and conviction and based on solid research. The bibliography and extensive endnotes are a testament to the ten years of work that went into the book. A quick mention might be made of a few errors in the text which a close edit might have captured and corrected. The authors locate Harrisburg’s Camp Curtin on the wrong side of the Susquehanna River, for instance, and misstate the rank for Sergeant Major Robert Forten. But these...

Education beyond the Mesas: Hopi Students at Sherman Institute , 1902-1929 (review)

Reviewed by: Education beyond the Mesas: Hopi Students at Sherman Institute, 1902-1929 Roger L. Nichols Education beyond the Mesas: Hopi Students at Sherman Institute, 1902-1929. By Matthew Sakiestewa Gilbert. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2011. Pp. 272. Notes, bibliography, index. ISBN 9780803216226, $40.00 cloth.) This modest study of Hopi students' experiences with Anglo-American boarding schools joins the growing list of books that examine the U.S. program of forced Indian detribalization and acculturation through education. It traces tribal experiences with American actions from the 1882 creation of the Hopi Reservation in northern Arizona through the establishment and operation of the Sherman Institute in Riverside, California, a generation later. Although more isolated from most of late nineteenth-century American society than most tribal people, the mesa dwellers could not avoid the government's determination to bring them into the national mainstream. Their early confrontations with federal troops and the imprisonment of some village leaders at Alcatraz prison during the 1880s and 1890s persuaded them to end resistance to U.S. demands. The author's central thesis is that by using the concept of "turning the power," the Hopi sought to use the knowledge and skills acquired at Anglo schools to strengthen and protect their tribal culture. In using this approach he makes clear that most, if not all, Hopi opposed sending their children to BIA schools. Yet the issue led to the Orayvi Split, which divided the villagers into two distinct groups: those willing to accommodate white demands and those adamantly opposed to them. Labeled as "friendlies" and "hostiles" by local officials, the author uses "accommodators" and "resistors" to place his analysis in a Hopi framework. This intra-tribal focus works well early in the narrative, but slips from view as the story develops. After the first chapter that presents tribal resistance to the new school program, the emphasis turns to the experiences of village families and their children with its operations. The analysis of the accommodationists' role in accepting and using the California school places their early actions clearly within Hopi tradition. Their history included stories of repeated migrations during which they gathered knowledge and skills that they brought back to their desert home. Author Gilbert states that they expected similar benefits from education at Sherman Institute. To gain that, Tawaquaptewa, one of the village leaders, and his family accompanied the first large contingent of Hopi students to Sherman. There, acting in a traditional leadership role, he encouraged the students to learn, helped them practice traditional songs and dances, and led them in using their tribal language. While some Indian adults may have attended other boarding schools with children from their villages, his actions appear to have been distinct. The rest of the narrative follows a topical-chronological path as it presents students' experiences with academics, homesickness, physical ailments, personal accomplishments and feelings about their time at Sherman. These echo similar treatment and responses to Indian boarding schools across the country. The author's research is thorough. He relates this analysis to existing studies [End Page 95] of federal acculturative programs, individual tribal experiences and other Indian boarding schools. His thesis suggests that he will show how Hopi students returning from Sherman used their new-found knowledge to strengthen tribal culture, but the narrative gives little evidence to support his claim. Careful readers might look for some more data about how many Hopi students attended at any one time, or about the differences in how children from accommodating or resisting families responded to time at Sherman. They would be more impressed had it offered any examples of what made Sherman unique, or even substantially different from other similar schools. One hopes that the author will examine these issues in his forthcoming work. Roger L. Nichols University of Arizona Copyright © 2012 The Texas State Historical Association

Netherworld of War: The Dominion System and the Contours of Federal Occupation in Kentucky

Netherworld of War:The Dominion System and the Contours of Federal Occupation in Kentucky Christopher Phillips (bio) From his home in Jefferson City in August 1861, Missouri attorney general J. Proctor Knott, grumbled to his mother at home in Lebanon, Kentucky, a more-than-rhetorical question. He wondered whether "Kentucky and Missouri [would] become parts of the great centralized despotism to which our government is so rapidly drifting, or whether they be destined to remain the cherished homes of Constitutional liberty after the present ravaging storm shall have passed by." Knott, well-versed in the law in both states and watching it suffer in each, in fact perceived the rapid wartime erosion of civil liberties that impinged upon residents of these loyal slave states and which resembled, even preceded, similar such intrusions on the populations of the occupied parts of the seceded states. Within months, he found himself removed from his position, disbarred, and imprisoned briefly for refusing to take the newly mandated oath of allegiance to the Missouri convention government. Two years later, he returned to his old Kentucky home, paroled by Federal officials, unemployed, and outraged.1 [End Page 327] What Knott saw in Missouri and Kentucky were measures by the Federal military that sharply categorized a deeply divided populace. Around him, he saw developing a dominion system of sorts, a knot of counterinsurgency measures initiated, although never routinized, by both state and Federal governments and implemented by low-level, often volunteer, post commanders. Together, they sought to establish control of a "chaos of incendiary elements," as Henry W. Halleck referred to the local, often-armed populations in border slave states whose true loyalties were often uncertain and ephemeral. Largely with Lincoln's assent, military leaders there often tolerated the subversion of civil liberties at the local level as part of the broader prosecution of the war. The official neutrality of Kentucky allowed secessionism to exist alongside Unionism, a situation made worse by there being no mechanisms for precise measurement of either. Federal commanders recognized almost immediately that their greatest challenge, as department commander Jeremiah T. Boyle put it, was to "sift" the mass of residents around their commands, determining their allegiances, and pressuring or punishing those who supported the Confederacy. If the price of liberty is eternal vigilance, the price of neutrality was even steeper. The calculus of loyalty and disloyalty would soon drive both armies and state governments beyond simply keeping the peace. It would require in these states "a stronger hand," as Halleck wrote—a hostile occupation of an ostensibly loyal state.2 With its purpose being the need to distinguish loyal from disloyal residents, the dominion system rested on six pillars. First, military districting at once focused and diffused military command, trying to [End Page 328] regularize the myriad of orders and regulations that soon blanketed district commanders' offices while at once affording them latitude to implement policies. Each district would contain a series of garrisoned towns, occupied by squads of Federal troops, generally cavalry, who were themselves supported by the local Home Guards or state militia. Second, unconditional Unionist informants provided these Federal, state, and Home Guard commanders with names and often lists of known or suspected secessionists, compiled evidence against them, and led them to their homes, often miles from the towns through, in, or on woods, hills, and ridges, for investigation, questioning, or arrest. Third, provost marshals, generally civilians with and without military rank but not technically subordinate to the local garrison commander, had a wide range of powers and responsibilities by which to maintain order within the localities in which they served, including policing their town and its environs, issuing travel passes and various permits, fielding complaints and arbitrating disputes, and acting as liaison between the post and the municipal government. Fourth, oaths of allegiance and surety bonds, which provost marshals administered and cataloged, required civilians to attest both in writing and viva voce before witnesses that their loyalty either always had been or hitherto was to the state and Federal governments. If they refused, they were levied for guerrillas' damages to Unionists' property and deaths or banished to the Confederacy, their property often confiscated. Fifth, the Federal authorities assumed...

The Freedmen's Bureau in the Jackson Purchase Region of Kentucky, 1866-1868

The Freedmen's Bureau in the Jackson Purchase Region of Kentucky, 1866-1868 Patricia A. Hoskins (bio) On July 25, 1866, a member of the Fourth United States Colored Heavy Artillery (USCHA) boarded a train on the Mobile & Ohio Railroad in Columbus, Kentucky, a small town on the Mississippi River in the Jackson Purchase region of the Bluegrass State. The soldier caught the eye of two white employees of the railroad as he entered the railcar. Union soldiers were nothing new in the area. The Jackson Purchase, often referred to simply as "the Purchase," had been under Union control since February 1862 when Confederate major general Leonidas Polk abandoned the region to Union troops following the battles of Forts Henry and Donelson. As it had done during the war, the sight of an African American in Federal uniform provoked extreme ire among the white men that hot July day. Columbus almost erupted in riot when the two railway employees attacked the African American soldier. The men ordered the "colored boy" to remove the buttons from his coat. When the soldier refused, they "came to blows and from blows the white men used knives rather freely and cut and bruised the colored boy considerably." Other freedmen who witnessed the attack followed the white men off the train, where they drew the attention of "authorities." In the ensuing melee, two freedmen were severely wounded.1 [End Page 503] The thwarted riot in Columbus that summer was nothing new to various areas of the South following the Civil War. Though a border state, Kentucky would experience continued racial unrest during the late 1860s, leading the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands or, as it was more popularly known, the Freedmen's Bureau, to locate in the state. From 1866 to 1868, the Purchase was designated one of three branches of the bureau in Kentucky.2 The road that led the bureau to the Purchase was a long and bloody one. In 1865, the region, located in the far western corner of Kentucky and separated from the rest of the state by the Tennessee River, comprised seven counties—Ballard, Calloway, Fulton, Graves, Hickman, Marshall, and McCracken.3 Bounded to the north by the Ohio River and to the west by the Mississippi River, the area was a virtual peninsula. Added to Kentucky in 1819, the region developed a separate identity because of immigration patterns, agriculture, and politics. Primarily agricultural, the largest town in the area was Paducah, which served as the commercial hub for western Kentucky, western Tennessee, and southern Illinois. In stark contrast to Whig-leaning Kentucky, the voters of the Purchase were staunch Democrats in the decades leading up to war. Despite its late formation, Purchase farmers relied on slavery and became its staunch defenders. By 1840, dark-fired tobacco had become the staple crop in the area, and though the Purchase could never compete with the Bluegrass and Pennyroyal regions of the state in terms of slavery, by 1860 20 percent of the population was enslaved. With the exception of a few people in Paducah, the vast majority of Purchase citizens supported the South during the secession crisis and called for Kentucky to [End Page 504] withdraw from the Union and join the fledgling Confederacy. When the state declared neutrality, several vociferous secession supporters called for the Purchase to secede from Kentucky and join Tennessee. In the ensuing call to arms, the Purchase would contribute more soldiers to the Confederacy than any other area of Kentucky.4 The war came to the Purchase in September 1861 when Confederate major general Leonidas Polk occupied Columbus. Three days after Polk's invasion, Union brigadier general Ulysses S. Grant occupied Paducah. After the battles of Forts Henry and Donelson in February 1862, the Confederates withdrew from Columbus, leaving the Purchase in the grip of Federal troops for the remainder of the war. From 1862 until the end of the war, the Purchase was overrun with guerrillas, bushwhackers, and home guards, both Union and Confederate. The violence was caused when the guerrillas and bushwhackers attacked loyal families. The Union army, in turn, reacted violently when guerrillas or anyone accused of aiding them were caught...

THE 2010ANTIPODERGS‐IBG LECTURE Wars of Interpretations

Abstract: Since 2006, when Mexico's President declared war against the drug trade, the people of the northern Mexican border city, Ciudad Juárez, have been living through a record‐breaking escalation of violence, the occupation of their city by federal troops and police forces, unprecedented human and civil rights violations, and a pervasive experience of fear in public space. These events have occurred simultaneous to a devastating economic crisis. This paper asks the question, how can a feminist and Marxist geographer contribute to an analysis of what is happening in Ciudad Juárez? To address this question, I create a dialogue among activists in northern Mexico and post‐structuralist feminist and Marxist positions regarding the meaning of public fear in this city for the city's residents, for Mexico's democracy and for the making of public knowledge about the Mexico–US border.

"No Struggle, No Fight, No Court Battle": The 1948 Desegregation of the University of Arkansas School of Medicine

In 1948, over 30 percent of the approved medical schools in the United States excluded black students. However, on September 10, 1948, the University of Arkansas School of Medicine became the first Southern medical school to desegregate when Edith Mae Irby matriculated. Her admission occurred without incident. There were no jeering white mobs, no court action, and no federal troops. Irby's admission had its roots in a successful legal campaign launched by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People to eradicate racial inequalities in professional and graduate education. A confluence of factors led the University of Arkansas to desegregate. These included the state's lack of the financial resources necessary to comply with U.S. Supreme Court decisions, a climate of racial moderation in Arkansas, shrewd political maneuvering by officials at the University of Arkansas, and Irby's academic accomplishments. Irby's historic admission is frequently overlooked as a historical milestone. Its invisibility is due in part to its sharp contrast to the dominant narratives of school desegregation in the South. Yet, the story of Irby's entrance into medical school is critical for a more complete understanding of the history of medical education and the civil rights movement.

Don't Forget Solidarity

A decade before Abram Hewitt defeated Henry George's bid for mayor of New York in 1886, he delivered a more lasting blow to the American Left. A prominent northern congressman and chair of the Democratic National Committee, Hewitt played a central role in negotiating the notorious Compromise of 1877, which conceded victory in a contested presidential election to the Republican Party in exchange for the withdrawal of federal troops that had occupied the former Confederacy since the Civil War. That arrangement freed Southern Democrats to use fraud, intimidation, and outright terrorism to deprive most African Americans and many poor whites of the right to vote; it also gave wealthy landowners and industrialists unchallenged hegemony in the South and tremendous influence in the nation as a whole. When leftists won elections in New York and other northern states, whether as Republicans, Democrats, Socialists, or Progressives, their influence was constrained severely by the disenfranchisement of working-class voters and the weakness of organized labor in the "Solid South." Not until a coalition of civil rights organizations, interracial unions, women's clubs, and left-wing groups set out to "re-align" the Democratic Party during the Second World War did the Left begin to transcend the legacy of 1877.

The History and Legacy of the Asaba, Nigeria, Massacres

Abstract:In early October 1967, four months into the Nigerian Civil War, federal troops massacred hundreds in Asaba, a town in southeast Nigeria on the west bank of the Niger. While ethnically Igbo, Asaba was not part of Igbo-dominated Biafra. Through the reconstruction of this event, the article fills a significant gap in the historical record and contributes to the discussion on the impact of traumatic memory at the local and national levels. It also suggests that the Asaba massacres speak to larger issues of potential reconciliation that extend beyond Asaba and Nigeria.

Two Solitudes in the Global Village

In 1945, Canadian author Hugh MacLennan published, Two Solitudes, a novel about the tense relationship between Québec's French and English cultures. Today, "two solitudes" is the eponym signifying the divide between French and English Canada. Like MacLennan, Marshall McLuhan saw the English Canadians as the environment of the French Canadians. In the electric age, both populations grew acutely aware of each other's presence, and television abetted the quest for national identity by French speakers. That such a quest was accompanied by turmoil proved unsurprising to McLuhan. It is therefore not insignificant that the McLuhan centenary follows the 40th anniversary of Québec's October Crisis, when a group of Québec indépendantistes orchestrated kidnappings and assassination. Television viewers watched as Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau called in federal troops to quell further violence. A decade earlier, the Quiet Revolution had already begun transforming Québec. French speakers leapfrogged into the global village, and suddenly old environmental arrangements were no longer sustainable.

John Brown's Body

John Brown's Body Paul Theerman John Brown, the great nineteenth-century abolitionist, remains a divisive figure in American history. To this day, people argue over the rightness of his path. Even before the outbreak of the Civil War, he used violence to put down slavery, and was met by violence in return. In the matter of John Brown there arose a debate not just about him, but a debate about what to do with him, that is, with his very body. From ancient times, as shown in Sophocles' drama Antigone, to the present day, the most satisfying victory seems to lie not just in vanquishing one's foes, but in dealing with their mortal remains. In the weeks following John Brown's raid, northern abolitionists struggled with both southern politicians and medical practitioners to obtain the bodies of John Brown and his followers. In microcosm, this dispute showed the nation beginning to fray and unravel, as violence entered the dispute, and dissent from one's countrymen gave way to disgust with one's opponents, and then to desire to put them on display as specimens. In 1856 John Brown, the staunch abolitionist farmer from upstate New York, went west to "Bleeding Kansas" to take part in the guerilla wars over the spread of slavery. After a year of outright battle, he returned east to raise funds to carry out his raid at Harper's Ferry, Virginia. On October 16, 1859, Brown attempted to provoke a general slave uprising by capturing the federal arsenal at Harper's Ferry. Brown led some twenty men into battle; two days later he and the surviving raiders were captured by federal troops under the command of Colonel Robert E. Lee. Although Brown had attacked a federal facility and had been captured by federal forces, his first battles had been with Virginia militiamen, and his troops had killed the local mayor. So when he went to trial on October 25, 1859, a week after his capture, the charge was treason against the Commonwealth of Virginia. The trial took place at the Jefferson County courthouse at Charles Town, and the prosecuting attorney was Andrew Hunter, the local attorney for the commonwealth. Few doubted that Brown would be convicted and sentenced to death. But even before the conclusion of the trial, competition had begun for possession [End Page 75] of his body. Arthur E. Peticolas, professor of anatomy at the Medical College of Virginia in Richmond (now part of Virginia Commonwealth University), wrote to prosecutor Hunter on November 1: Richmond, Nov. 1, 1859 Dear Sir, — We desire if Brown and his coadjutors are executed to add their heads to the collection in our museum. If the transference of the bodies will not exceed a cost of five dollars each we should also be glad to have them. This request will of course not interfere with any clemency which it may be found desirable to extend to those convicted. Attention to this request will confer a great favor. A. E. Peticolas M.D. Prof Anat at Med. College of Va. Mr. Andrew Hunter Peticolas had apparently also written to Virginia governor Henry Wise, for on the following day—the day that Brown was found guilty and condemned to death—Wise wrote to Hunter: Richmond, Va Novr 2nd 1859. A. Hunter, Esqr Dr Sir, — … The Medical faculty of Richmond College ask for the bodies of such as may be executed. The Court may order the bodies to be given over to surgeons. See to that in the sentence. It will not interfere with the pardoning power. And any who are hung ought not to have burial in Virginia. Yrs truly Henry A. Wise1 In nineteenth-century America, the dearth of bodies for anatomical dissection is well attested. Here Peticolas took advantage of the prerogative of the courts to provide the bodies of the condemned to surgeons for anatomical dissection—a decision that was greatly aided by Virginians' visceral hatred towards Brown.2 As it turns out, the abolitionist was far too famous [End Page 76] and national sentiments were far too raw for Peticolas...

"Bury My Heart in Recent History": Mark Twain's "Hellfire Hotchkiss," the Massacre at Wounded Knee, and the Dime Novel Western

"Bury My Heart in Recent History"Mark Twain's "Hellfire Hotchkiss," the Massacre at Wounded Knee, and the Dime Novel Western Michelle Ann Abate While many authors recognize the importance of names, Mark Twain had an especially astute awareness. From the pseudonym that he chose for himself to the appellations that he created for his fictional characters, he was keenly attuned to the symbolic significance of a name. Given the centrality of names and naming in Twain's life and work, the topic has been the subject of sustained scholarly attention. Literary biographies such as Justin Kaplan's classic Mr. Clemens and Mark Twain and Everett Emerson's recent Mark Twain: A Literary Life discuss the author's creation of a writerly persona though various pennames. Likewise, critical articles, including John Livingston's "Names in Mark Twain's The Mysterious Stranger" and Laura Smith's "Fictive Names in Mark Twain's Pudd'nhead Wilson," investigate the memorable monikers that appeared in his writing.1 In spite of the longstanding attention that this issue has received, one of Twain's most distinctive and arguably most unusual character names has largely escaped scrutiny: Hellfire Hotchkiss, from his 1897 narrative fragment with the same title. Echoing a query that has been asked of many of Twain's other characters, this alliterative appellation prompts the question: Of all the nicknames that the author could have selected for his central character, why this one? Given the author's awareness of the importance of names, what literary, cultural, or symbolic meaning did "Hellfire Hotchkiss" possess? Did the author's choice of this moniker have anything to do with his unwillingness and/or inability to complete the story? This essay explores answers to these and other questions by bringing together a series of disparate biographical, literary, and historical threads. One of Twain's most memorable and unusual appellations, "Hellfire Hotchkiss" [End Page 114] may also be one of his most coded and significant. Rereading the narrative fragment in light of the author's awareness about the importance of names, his longstanding connection to the West, and his acute interest in current events, the name assumes new symbolic weight and added cultural significance. Far from an accidental or inconsequential choice, "Hellfire Hotchkiss" may be a complex and multivalent moniker that embeds a reference to one of the most tragic and widely-publicized events of his day: the massacre at Wounded Knee seven years before. In what has become an oft-retold account, on 29 December 1890, nearly five hundred troops from the U.S. Seventh Cavalry killed around three hundred Lakota men, women, and children near Wounded Knee Creek, South Dakota.2 Although accounts vary about who started the fighting and why, conditions quickly became chaotic and many exchanges of gunfire occurred at close range. While some Lakota were able to flee the violence, many died from exposure in the harsh conditions of South Dakota. The military enlisted a group of local civilians to bury the Indian dead, but a severe snowstorm hampered their efforts. When the frozen and—because of the frigid temperatures—often grotesquely contorted bodies were finally recovered, they were simply placed in a mass grave. Resituating "Hellfire Hotchkiss" in the context of the massacre at Wounded Knee adds another facet to Twain's oft-discussed interest in historical events while it complicates generic understandings of the narrative. "Hellfire Hotchkiss" subverts not only the common gender coordinates of the dime novel western by presenting a gender-bending female figure, but perhaps more importantly its stereotypical racial ones. Written in the wake of one of the most brutal slaughters of American Indians by federal troops, the narrative eschews the longstanding practice in dime novel westerns of showcasing the extermination of "savage" frontier Indians by "noble" white forces. In doing so, "Hellfire Hotchkiss" embodies a previously overlooked coordinate on the map of Twain's complex attitudes about the nation's indigenous tribal peoples and national mythologies about the West. Although Twain apparently never mentioned the massacre at Wounded Knee in any of his letters, notebook entries, or published writings, he hardly could have been ignorant of the conflict. Throughout January and February 1891, the massacre remained a...

“A Nation Is Born”: Thomas Dixon's Vision of White Nationhood and His Northern Supporters

Thomas Dixon, Jr. was a Southerner who wrote about South in his influential book, The Clansman (1905), and in many other racist articles and novels. Yet I hold that most ardent supporters of, and most significant publicists for, this racist demagogue were in North. Scholars like Alexander Saxton, Theodore Allen, and David R. Roediger have argued that white racism against nonwhites as well as white racial identity were ideologically constructed, especially in nineteenth century as nation began to define who were. Racial identities (and stereotypes) complemented each otherthere could not have been a white identity unless there was a nonwhite identity. Walter Benn Michaels, in particular, asserts that nation was constructed on foundation of white supremacy (366). Drawing upon these critical studies of whiteness, I assume that race was defined in conjunction with construction of American identity. I would also define American identity as emerging from and embedded in Southern identity. During post-Reconstruction period urban centers in North saw a surge in relocated Southerners, many of whom became successful in financial and industrial enterprises. The publishing industry, infiltrated by Southerners who had relocated to North, developed side by side with industrialization and began exerting greater influence on society than ever before. In fact, much of this nation-building was done through written publication. In Imagined Communities: Reflections on Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Benedict Anderson stresses role of printed media in process of creating national identities, [P]rint-capitalism . . . made it possible for rapidly growing numbers of people to think about themselves, and to relate themselves to others, in profoundly new ways (36). By focusing on increasing influence of publishing industry during late nineteenth and early twentieth century, and by analyzing in particular Dixon and his works, his vigorous marketing and resulting wide acceptance, I will argue that through stories, illustrations, and photos, print media bombarded readers with information about alleged criminal tendencies of these groups and so were responsible for propagating negative images of nonwhites. Muckraking publishers and promoters exploited Dixon, controversial character, and his inflammatory messages for profit. Yet it was ultimately public, especially Northerners, who by welcoming and embracing Dixon and his portrayal of African Americans and dangers they posed, allowed and encouraged growth of racism. Dixon's works, culminating in motion picture The Birth of a Nation (1915), reflected deep-rooted racism already in peoples' minds, justified their new policies on segregation and disfranchisement, and enabled them to see their country as race-based. Indeed, Dixon played a crucial role- during decades following Reconstruction and stretching into twentieth century- in establishing America as world's leading white nation. Dixon received immense support from Northerners who had, only fifty years before, condemned slavery and fought to abolish it. The First Decades After War During decade following Civil War, North was not too eager to learn about South nor very sympathetic to region's plight. Historian Paul H. Buck argues that immediately after war most Northerners were skeptical of, and even hostile to, South and Southerner, and blames publishing industry for sustained antipathy (15). Reports of conditions in South assured readers that the South was barbarous (17), and thus that Southerners were unsuitable partners for union with North. The portrayal of infamous Ku Klux Klan in major magazines epitomized negative image Northerners had of South. In August 1870, Harper's Weekly defended North Carolina Republican governor's decision to ask for federal troops to counter Ku Klux Klan insurgency, since major weekly deemed organization dangerous and state in disorder (North Carolina Troubles). …

The Reminiscences of Major General Zenas R. Bliss, 1854–1876 ed. by Thomas T. Smith, et al. (review)

This book spotlights a glaring void still waiting to be filled in South Texas history : a comparable, scholarly biography of Henrietta King is sorely needed. In 1986 Mary Virginia Fox wrote A Queen Named King: Henrietta of the King Ranch, a seventy-six-page work published by Eakin Press, aimed at the juvenile book market . In 2005 Judy Alter authored a second juvenile history, Henrietta King: Rancher and Philanthropist, a seventy-two-page paperback issued by State House Press. One hopes that Petra’s Legacy will now inspire a similar, well-researched, full-length adult study of this important South Texas matriarch. Jane Clements Monday and Frances Brannen Vick’s book exemplifies women’s studies (and Texas history for that matter) at its finest. For those considering research or a career in women’s history, Petra’s Legacy provides an excellent signpost on how to proceed. Texas Christian University Glen Sample Ely The Reminiscences of Major General Zenas R. Bliss, 1854–1876. Edited by Thomas T. Smith, Jerry D. Thompson, Robert Wooster, and Ben E. Pingenot. (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 2007. Pp. 750. Map, black-and-white plates, notes, bibliography, index. ISBN 978-0-87611-226-7. $39.95, cloth.) Before and after the Civil War, Rhode Island native Zenas R. Bliss served in the United States Army in West Texas, a land where everything was “peculiar” (p. 86). His detailed reminiscences include lively descriptions of military posts, Mexican settlements, various Indian groups, soldier life, topography, and wildlife. Bliss participated in the surrender of Federal troops and military installations to Confederates in Texas in 1861. He spent most of the Civil War’s first year as a prisoner of war in San Antonio, including what he deemed a leisurely summer. Confederate Texans proved less tolerant of the Federals in their midst as the fighting elsewhere intensified, and Bliss eventually grew disgusted with the United States government for what he considered a lack of effort to secure the prisoners’ exchange. After a brief imprisonment in Richmond, Virginia, Bliss was exchanged and eventually fought in the Battle of Fredericksburg, for which service he was later awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. In 1863 he took part in the capture of Vicksburg before returning to Virginia to serve in the Overland Campaign of 1864. During that campaign Bliss participated in the infamous Battle of the Crater and was one of several officers censured by an investigative board for their actions during that incident. Bliss’s account of his postwar service includes a brief yet exceptionally interesting description of his stint with the Freedman’s Bureau in South Carolina, before shifting to his eventual return to West Texas. The book’s final five chapters chronicle Bliss’s experiences commanding Fort Duncan, Fort Stockton, Camp Concordia, Fort Bliss, and Fort Davis in West Texas at various times from 1870 to 1876. While at Fort Duncan he initiated the enlistment of SeminoleNegro Indians as army scouts, though his commentary on the subject is limited. Although the reminiscences end in 1876, Bliss served in Texas again during the 1880s and commanded a black unit at Fort Elliott. He retired as a major general in 1897, died in 1900, and was buried in Arlington National Cemetery. 324 Southwestern Historical Quarterly January *jan 09 11/26/08 12:00 PM Page 324 The editors have rendered a significant service to students of Texas history by making more readily available a valuable resource for the study of the antebellum and postwar Texas frontier. A brief introduction provides a biographical sketch of Bliss and offers insights into the editorial process. The original manuscript included more than twelve hundred pages that the editors skillfully trimmed for publication. Their final product boasts ample detail regarding daily life in West Texas without drifting too far from the primary narrative, while the introduction and careful notations impart additional insight into Bliss’s personality . For example, the soldier claimed several times throughout the manuscript that he did not use notes and worked strictly from memory. The editors make clear, however, that Bliss was a careful note-taker during his career and that many stories were simply too detailed to have been reproduced from memory alone...

September Dawn. Dir. by Christopher Cain. Prod. by Christopher Cain and Scott Duthie. September Dawn/Voice Pictures, 2007. 110 mins. (Sony Home Entertainment, http://www.sonypictures.com/)

The western is back. Maybe. After a long dry spell interrupted only by Brokeback Mountain (2005), the fall of 2007 saw the release of three westerns in quick succession, marking a revival of sorts. September Dawn offers a retelling of the 1857 Mountain Meadows massacre, which, together with No Country for Old Men (2007) and a remake of the classic 3:10 to Yuma (2007), have ratcheted up the genre's violence to new levels of computer-enhanced intensity. September Dawn tackles an important chapter in American history that would seem a natural for compelling cinematic treatment. An overland party of emigrants traveling from Arkansas to California under the command of Alexander Fancher encamped near Parowan, Utah, in September 1857. At the same time, federal troops were on their way to Salt Lake City to quell perceived treason; tensions throughout Utah were running high. A local band comprised of Mormon militia and Paiute...

A Matter of Justice: Eisenhower and the Beginning of the Civil Rights Revolution. By David A. Nichols. (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2007. 353 pp. $27.00, ISBN 978-1-4165-4150-9.)

David A. Nichols's book is intended to counter the “myth”—which has become “conventional wisdom” and is treated as “holy writ”—that President Dwight D. Eisenhower was opposed to civil rights for African Americans (pp. 1–2, 3). There is a considerable literature backing that myth, not only from academics, but also from activists and Earl Warren, and Nichols confronts much of it in his effort to right the record. Nichols takes a comprehensive approach to Eisenhower's career, first noting his efforts as a general to mitigate discrimination against blacks. He was the first president to appoint a black man to an executive office (E. Frederic Morrow). Nichols also shows that although Harry S. Truman issued the order to desegregate the armed forces in 1948, when Eisenhower came to office the job was largely incomplete. Eisenhower finished it by late 1954. Over the years, he appointed five justices to the Supreme Court, none of whom supported segregation. His lower court appointments had a similar bias. He sent federal troops into Little Rock, Arkansas, to enforce the court-ordered desegregation at Little Rock Central High School, the first time soldiers occupied any part of the South since the end of Reconstruction. He supported a stronger civil rights bill than the one passed in 1957.

Little Rock and the History of the Civil Rights Movement

28 Historically Speaking September/October 2007 Little Rock at 50: a roundtable THE 50THANNIlTiRSARY OF THE UTTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS, school desegregation crisis is a reminder of the complicated nature of social change in the 20th century. AfterArkansas Governor Orval Faubus blocked nine black studentsfrom entering Little Rock's CentralHigh Schoolin September, President'Dwight Eisenhower ordered in the 101stAirborne toprotect the students. On September 25, 1957, the Little Rock Nine became thefirst black students to enroll at the school. The matterwas hardly settled, though. OneyearlaterFaubus issuedapublicstatement: "Acting under thepowers and responsibilities imposed upon me by these laws, I have ordered closed the senior high schools of Little Rock. " Historically Speaking has askedthree scholars of the civilrights movementto reflect on the legacy of Little Rock. John Kirk assesses historical literature, while Sara Bullard and Richard King shed light on the contemporary relevance of the crisis. Little Rock and the History of the Civil Rights Movement John A. Kirk Histories of the civil rights movement have changed dramatically since the 1970s, when they were virtually synonymous with biographies of Martin Luther King, Jr. A shift in focus from national to local, state, and regional levels has provided an understanding of the extent and range of black grassroots activism in the South and, more recendy, in other regions of the United States as well. This has expanded the chronology of the movement beyond King's leadership as historians have charted the impact of the New Deal, the Second World War, and the Cold War on those local struggles . The emphasis is now beginning to switch from the movement's origins to its legacies, in what historian Jacquelyn Hall describes as the "long civil rights movement." As well as changing our knowledge of the chronology of the movement, this scholarship has vasdy expanded its purview to encompass a much broader range of themes and topics. Since it would be impossible to do full justice to the complexities and nuances of movement literature in such a short space, one key episode—the 1 957 Litde Rock crisis—illuminates how such writings have shaped civil rights history and how they may continue to do so in die future. On September 2, 1957, Governor Orval E. Faubus drew national and international attention to Little Rock, Arkansas, when he called out the state's National Guard to prevent the implementation of a court-ordered desegregation plan at Central High School. In defying die local courts and, ultimately, die U.S. Supreme Court's 1954 Brown v. Board of Education school desegregation decision, Faubus direcdy challenged the authority of the federal government John T. Bledsoe's photograph of Governor Orval Faubus speaking at a rally protesting the admission of the Little Rock Nine to Central High School, August 20, 1959. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division [reproduction number, LC-U9-2919-25]. as no other elected southern politician had since the Civil War. Over the following weeks negotiations took place between the White House and die governor 's mansion that finally led to the wididrawal of state troops. However, when nine black students attempted to attend classes on September 23, an unruly white mob caused so much disruption that school officials withdrew them from Central High for their own safety. The scenes of violence finally prompted President Dwight D. Eisenhower to send federal troops to Litde Rock to secure the students' safe passage into die school. On September 25, the nine finally completed their first day of classes under armed guard. Early accounts presented Governor Faubus as a racist demagogue. Later analyses, notably journalist Roy Reed's biography, gave a more rounded portrait of a man who was the son of a socialist and, in his early career, a political liberal on most issues. As with other southern politicians, Fabus based his decisions on pragmatic concerns about winning elections rather than any deep-seated desire to defend white supremacy. The chief architect of public school policy was the city's superintendent of schools, Vigil T. Blossom. In 1955 Blossom drew up one of the earliest plans for compliance with Brown that provided for some, albeit very closely guarded and controlled integration in city schools. Some have claimed that in...

Tennessee's Radical Army: The State Guard and Its Role in Reconstruction, 1867-1869 (review)

Reviewed by: Tennessee’s Radical Army: The State Guard and Its Role in Reconstruction, 1867–1869 Derek W. Frisby Tennessee’s Radical Army: The State Guard and Its Role in Reconstruction, 1867–1869. By Benjamin Severance. (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2005. Pp. 336. Cloth, $35.00.) Benjamin Severance's Tennessee's Radical Army ambitiously undertakes an update of the state's tumultuous Reconstruction era, ending a decade or more of silence on the subject. This study chronicles particularly the "politics of force" employed by Tennessee's radical Republicans through their "mailed fist," the State Guard (xi, xvi). Previous studies have often denounced Tennessee's radical governor, William G. Brownlow, as a tyrant who employed this partisan force to restore order and to prop up his crumbling administration. Even seemingly benign treatments label the State Guard as "more annoying than overpowering," "worse than useless," or as a militia that "placed political allegiance above impartial law enforcement" (xv). Severance boldly challenges both interpretations. He describes the Guard as the radicals' best chance of "preserving their hold on the state and completing their plans for a New Tennessee" (xvii). Furthermore, he argues that the State Guard's conduct and employment actually demonstrates that the radicals were "too cautious in their use of force" (xvii). Tennessee slid into a morass of politically inspired violence and social unrest following the restoration of civil government. Radicals had initially seized control of the state's election machinery in 1865 away from Conservative Unionists and had since established franchise restrictions, overturned election results, tossed uncooperative judges, detained opponents, and ratified the Fourteenth Amendment using now-infamous means. These tactics made anti-radical elements (Conservative Unionists and ex-Confederates) howl. [End Page 316] Radical leaders, especially Brownlow, witnessing the growing unrest, including the Memphis riots and the assassination of a Tennessee radical legislator, feared a second civil war or a coup to topple his government. With few Federal troops remaining in the state to assist them and their support declining at the polls, radicals used their remaining political capital to extend the franchise to freedmen and create a military force in 1867 "to suppress insurrection or protect the ballot-box" during the 1867 election (11). The stabilizing rather than intimidating presence of the newly formed State Guard, Severance asserts, protected the Union Leagues, freedmen, and radicals in strategic locations around the state and secured almost unprecedented victories at every level for the radicals during a relatively incident-free campaign. Fearing the expense and public backlash over creating a standing army for the state, Brownlow demobilized the State Guard and reduced it largely to a paper force in 1868. Without any method of enforcing his dictums, Brownlow and the radicals watched helplessly as the antiradicals and groups like the Ku Klux Klan intimidated voters and established de facto control over large areas of the state. The violence reached near-epic proportions, and the radicals again deployed a reconstituted State Guard. Although opponents termed the campaign to reestablish peace "Brownlow's War," Severance proves the Guard's presence usually improved conditions within its area of operations. As the author makes clear, it was too little too late, and the radical coalition under Brownlow collapsed, paving the way for the state's rather quick Redemption. Severance's thoroughly researched account examines the radicals who supported or served in the State Guard and chooses not to focus on Brownlow or his administrative style. In exploring the Guard's composition and its mission, his study of these commands concludes that the State Guard was not a Cromwellian-style coercive instrument. They were instead an "appropriate and reasonable," and arguably successful, use of constitutional militia provisions; however, their inconsistent use impaired the radicals' success (118). They were never used to avenge, and their conduct was overwhelmingly honorable given the circumstances, Severance correctly points out, but most observers will note that the Guard often appeared to be chasing ghosts and rumors while walking a thin line between protection and intimidation. Even the Federal authorities, he explains, were hesitant to assist the Guard or interfere in intrastate confrontations. Severance's decidedly pro-radical sympathies soften the radicals' image and makes Brownlow and his supporters seem "levelheaded...

Violence and conflict in the Russian North Caucasus

Since 2006 there has been a significant reduction in the level of fighting in the Russian republic of Chechnya between federal troops and Chechen rebels, indicating a substantial weakening of the insurgency. However, violence in the region has not entirely subsided; indeed, it has been spreading to neighbouring regions in the North Caucasus. Today, a loose network of formally autonomous violent groups, or Islamic jamaats, has developed throughout the North Caucasus, primarily in the Muslim republics of Ingushetia, Dagestan, Karachaevo-Cherkessia and Kabardino-Balkaria. Islamic ideals seem to guide and inspire much of the terrorist violence, although they are intermingled with deep nationalist sentiments, especially among rebel groups in Chechnya. However, the intricacies of the violence in the North Caucasus are much more complex, and are only partially related to the spread of radical Islam and separatist aspirations. Other underlying factors, such as the perpetuation of discredited and corrupt ruling elites, the persistence of severe economic hardship, youth unemployment and social alienation, and the absence of proper and effective channels of political expression are also driving the violence. Although hardly ever reported by the western media, events in the North Caucasus have significant implications for Europe and the wider world. The enlargement of the European Union and the inclusion of Ukraine and the three South Caucasian states into the EU neighbourhood policy have brought these countries and the adjacent areas of the North Caucasus closer to the EU. As a result, events in the North Caucasus are no longer the sole remit of countries in the region. There is a risk that instability and violence in the North Caucasus may spread into areas that are of growing significance not only to Europe, but also to the United States and the Atlantic alliance.

"A Most Singular and Interesting Attempt": The Freedmen's Bureau at Marshall, Texas

"A Most Singular and Interesting Attempt":The Freedmen's Bureau at Marshall, Texas Christopher Bean (bio) Click for larger view View full resolution Figure 1. The "Little Virginia Courthouse" in Marshall, 1852–1889, the first of Harrison County's brick courthouses. It was the courthouse in Marshall when the Freedmen's Bureau operated there. Courtesy the Harrison County Historical Museum. [End Page 464] On March 3, 1865, Congress created, according to historian W. E. B. Du Bois, one of the most "singular and interesting of theattempts made by a great nation to grapple with vast problems of race and social condition." This organization, the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands, which resided under the auspices of the War Department and was responsible for the freedmen's transition from servitude to citizen during Reconstruction, faced a daunting task the likes of which had never been tried before and one that most white southerners vowed to make impossible. According to historian Eric Foner, white southerners "resented the Bureau as a symbol of Confederate defeat and a barrier to the authority reminiscent of slavery that planters hoped to impose upon the freedmen." Most white southerners harbored deep animosity toward the victorious Union army, white Unionists, and black freedmen and were willing to employ intimidation and even murder as a means of maintaining the established racial order. Under these circumstances, the Freedmen's Bureau became a focal point of opposition to Reconstruction.1 All former Confederate states, and some southern states that did not secede, resisted Union efforts at reconstruction. Texas, however, stood out for the level of lawlessness and violence. Texans, especially those in the northeastern part of the state, remained virtually untouched by the war as compared to their [End Page 465] Confederate brethren in the east and remained belligerently opposed to Union control in ways reminiscent of the recently ended conflagration. Few who did not personally experience it could comprehend the state of affairs in northeastern Texas. One assistant inspector general of the bureau toured the region and discovered "a fearful state of things." "The campaign of an army through the eastern part of the State, such as was made by General Sherman, in South Carolina," concluded Bvt. Brig. Gen. William E. Strong, "would improve the temper and generosity of the people."2 "[H]ell has transferred its capital from pandemonium to Jefferson," remarked one correspondent on the area, "and the devil is holding high carnival in Gilmer, Tyler, Canton, Quitman, Boston, [and] Marshall.3 Marshall, which had a population estimated at two thousand in 1860, was a key entry point into northeastern Texas from Shreveport on the Red River in Louisiana. The town served as the seat of government for Harrison County, the center of slaveholding and cotton production in that part of the state. Whereas blacks represented approximately 30 percent of the population of Texas as a whole, they accounted for nearly 60 percent of the people in Harrison County. Indeed, the county had a slave population nearly comparable to Delta counties in Mississippi, Black Belt counties in Alabama, and coastal counties in South Carolina.4 Harrison County, because of its strategic location, was one of the first places in Texas to receive Union occupation forces (Federal troops arrived in Marshall on June 17, 1865, two days before the occupation of Galveston). And the county, because of the size of its black population, became one of the first Freedmen's Bureau subdistricts created in the state. Thus Harrison County provides an excellent setting for a study in microcosm of bureau activities in northeastern Texas.5 No subdistrict in Texas or across the South exactly matched any other, of course, and no claim is made here that Harrison [End Page 466] County was typical in any way. Nevertheless, it is a good place to seek answers to important questions concerning the bureau's role in Reconstruction. What difficulties did bureau officials face in dealing with local whites? What degree of commitment existed on the part of Union military headquarters concerning the duties of bureau agents in the Marshall subdistrict? Did the military and bureau agents cooperate effectively to provide protection for the freedmen and whites loyal to the Union...