West from Appomattox
West from
Appomattox
The Reconstruction of
America after the Civil War
Heather Cox Richardson
[To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]
Yale University Press
New Haven & London
Published with assistance from the Mary Cady Tew Memorial Fund.
Photo on p. iii: Rough Rider on bucking horse, Long Island, New York. Theodore Roosevelt
Collection, Harvard College Library.
Copyright ∫ 2007 by Heather Cox Richardson.
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond
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Library of Congress-Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Richardson, Heather Cox.
West from Appomattox: the reconstruction of America after the Civil War / Heather Cox
Richardson.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
isbn: 978-0-300-11052-4 (cloth : alk. paper)
1. United States—Politics and government—1865–1900. 2. Reconstruction (U.S. history, 1865–1877) 3.
United States—History—1865–1898—Biography. 4. National characteristics, American. 5. Political
culture—United States—History—19th century. 6. Middle class—United States—Political activity—
History—19th century. 7. United States—Social conditions—1865–1918. I. Title.
e661.r53 2007
973.8—dc22
2006024633
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on
Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources.
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6
5
4
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2
1
For David Herbert Donald and William E. Gienapp
Contents
Acknowledgments
ix
Map of America in 1865 follows page xi
Introduction
1
Chapter One. Spring 1865: The View from the Civil War
8
Chapter Two. 1865–1867: The Future of Free Labor
39
Chapter Three. 1868–1871: Conflicting Visions
78
Chapter Four. 1872: A New Middle Ground
121
Chapter Five. 1873–1880: Years of Unrest
148
Chapter Six. 1881–1885: Years of Consolidation
187
Chapter Seven. 1886–1892: The Struggle Renewed
231
Chapter Eight. 1893–1897: The Final Contest
274
Chapter Nine. 1898–1901: Reunion
307
Epilogue
343
Map of America in 1901 follows page 349
Notes
351
Index
389
Acknowledgments
At a time when I was disenchanted with academia and almost ready to quit
the profession, a colleague urged me to give it another try, insisting that no
people were as generous as scholars. I was skeptical, but the last few years have
proved him right. Colleagues and friends have nurtured this book from the
time of my first e-mail to Jim Huston, asking if the project sounded workable,
to the arrival of the final manuscript draft, which Eric Arnesen took time to
edit days before he left for a semester abroad. Much of what is good in this
book is thanks to the wonderful people who helped along the way; all the
faults that remain are my own responsibility.
Special thanks are due to those who reviewed the final manuscript, whose
detailed comments improved the final product immensely. They are Eric
Arnesen, Thomas J. Brown, James West Davidson, Michael Green, Mitchell
Snay, and Mark Summers.
So many other nineteenth-century historians have asked or answered
questions, commented on drafts, or discussed pieces of this book with me that
thanking them by name runs the risk of seeming to try to hide behind other
people’s reputations. Instead, I will thank as generally as possible people
directly in my field, hoping that individuals recognize themselves where reviewers won’t. Various colleagues at Columbia University, Kansas State University, Louisiana State University, Oklahoma State University, Princeton
University, the University of Arkansas, the University of Florida, and the
University of Pennsylvania have been insightful critics of this project. At my
home university, BL has been a frequent source of support and information.
Scholars at the Southern Intellectual History Circle gave an early version of
x
Acknowledgments
this manuscript careful criticism that helped it mature; thanks are especially
due to BWB and DMH. The scholars whom the Institute for Southern
Studies invited to talk about recent trends in reconstruction historiography
o√ered an insightful discussion of the state of reconstruction studies; I thank
them for our stimulating debate.
Scholars outside of reconstruction history have also contributed to this
project. Henry Bolter, Jonathan Hansen, Daniel Kryder, Geo√ Tegnell, Andrea Walsh, Michael Willrich, and Richard Young, with whom I worked for
a number of years on the Teaching American History grant project, ‘‘Defining Justice,’’ will see their influence here. At UMass Amherst, women’s historian Laura Lovett and Latin Americanist Jane Rauch o√ered advice and
translations and generously produced documents I couldn’t find myself. Also
at UMass, classicist Carlin Barton explained the importance of moderation to
Roman society so lucidly she made me approach my American moderates
more sympathetically; and political scientist Michael T. Hannahan ran a
critical eye over material on a moment’s notice.
This book also benefited enormously from students at MIT, Su√olk University, and UMass Amherst. It was sparked in 2001 when an MIT student
challenged me to explain why the image of the cowboy has come to represent
America. As my ideas developed, I tried them out on students at Su√olk
University and UMass Amherst, who were most helpful in identifying weaknesses and applauding strengths. On more than one occasion, I have rewritten sections—and in one case a whole chapter—when student responses indicated I had organized material badly. I thank all of you and hope you learned
as much from me as I did from you.
A number of people outside academia have lent their expertise to this
project. Engineer Klint Rose figured out whether or not an arrow really could
go through a bison. Dr. Charles A. Garabedian explained obscure medical
issues and made some guesses about what really killed Theodore Roosevelt’s
wife. Bill Klein at Sandy Lake Implement Company in Pennsylvania explained spring tooth harrows. Guy Crosby of Vermont showed me an army
worm moth and impressed on me the devastation the worms had wreaked on
his fields.
Others worked to bring this book to fruition. My agent, Lisa Adams,
helped me to whip the idea into a workable project. Lara Heimert, then at
Yale University Press, recognized the potential of my ideas and gave me the
space to develop them. PJ, FW, and PB provided writing tutorials when I
couldn’t make my material fit together. Stalwart editor Chris Rogers cut my
Acknowledgments
xi
prose in a mainstream way, and copy editor Eliza Childs did a brilliant job of
making the manuscript both grammatically correct and readable. Finally,
Margaret Otzel managed the book’s final stages with both professionalism
and humor. I thank them all.
There are also personal debts to be acknowledged when a book is finished.
Mitchell Snay has always been at the other end of a telephone or an e-mail as
we both struggled to write books that threatened sometimes to devour us. Jo
Calnan, Ann Corcoran, Beth LaDow, Jim and Sarah Matel, Gillian Pearson,
Karina Pinella, and Mary Jean and Walther T. Weylman cheered this project
on, read drafts, provided information, lent books, and asked questions. Devon,
Jillian, and Rachel Murphy kept an eye on my children, playing capture the
flag and drawing pictures with endless patience. Robert, Marshall, and Eva
made my work easier by their comforting acceptance of a mother who kept
disappearing with a pen and a manuscript; on a more practical level, their
concrete approach to history has taught me to keep my prose from straying
into theoretical tangents. Michael R. Pontrelli pretended to believe me when I
assured him that this one would be a small project. I thank him for managing to
refrain (mostly) from saying ‘‘I told you so’’ when it grew into an all-consuming
big book, for taking the kids on weekend trips so I could work, and for keeping
the book (and me) balanced.
Finally, I owe profound thanks to the two men to whom this book is
dedicated. David Herbert Donald and William E. Gienapp were unstinting
in their e√orts to train me to be a historian and then supported me no matter
what happened. I owe them more than any book can ever repay.
Figure 1. America in 1865 with featured people.
kl
Introduction
week after the 2004 presidential election, a friend sent me a map of
America with the red and blue states superimposed over the Confederate and Union states of the Civil War years. The Republican
red states fit almost perfectly over the southern states that supported the
Confederacy and the western plains that were territories during the 1860s,
and the Democratic blue states fit closely over the states that had supported
the Union. The caption of the map suggested that today’s voters were still
fighting the same issues over which they went to war in 1861. I was fascinated
by the map, but not convinced by the caption. ‘‘This is exactly what my new
book is about,’’ I wrote back. ‘‘But it’s not the Civil War that made today’s
map match the earlier one. The story is all about reconstruction.’’
This is the book that explains why today’s political map looks like a map of
the 1860s. It argues that in the years between 1865 and 1901, a new definition of
what it meant to be an American developed from a heated debate over the
proper relationship of the government to its citizens. In spring 1865, Americans everywhere had to ask themselves how the di√erent sections of the
country could reconstruct themselves into a nation that o√ered individuals
economic opportunity and political freedom at the same time that it protected
private property. By 1901, a newly formed ‘‘middle class’’ had answered that
question by embracing a worldview that divided the nation into two groups.
On one hand, they believed, were hardworking Americans—those who believed that success came through hard work and that all Americans were
working their way up together. On the other hand were special interests—
those who believed that there were fundamental conflicts in society that must
A
≤
Introduction
be adjusted by the federal government. Regardless of how much money they
made, those who believed they could make it on their own saw themselves as
part of ‘‘the great middle’’ between rich monopolists and the lazy poor who
were trying to harness the government to their own needs. They distrusted
certain su√ragists, African Americans, and veterans, as well as certain kinds of
businessmen and workers, believing that they wanted special government aid,
which, if given, would destroy the American system of evenhanded government. At the same time, because they defined themselves as true Americans,
members of this middle class willingly harnessed a growing national government to their own interest, for it was the government’s job, they believed, to
promote the good of all Americans. Paradoxically, American individualists
came to depend on government support while denying it to others.
This process was not as simple as today’s politicians would have us think,
with small-government Republicans fighting against big-government Democrats who wanted to create a welfare state. In fact, in the mid-1800s, it was
the Republicans, not the Democrats, who stood for big government and
Democrats who insisted on government limitations. Instead, the process was
a complicated story in which sectional animosities, racial tensions, industrialization, women’s activism, and westward expansion cut across party lines to
create both a new definition of what it meant to be an American and a new
vision of the government’s role in the lives of its citizens.
The stark division that contemporaries saw in nineteenth-century America was not as simple as they thought, either. From the very beginning of the
postwar era, the government that Republicans had constructed to benefit
everyone equally actually privileged eastern businessmen over southern and
western farmers and laborers. Laws, the economy, and tradition firmly placed
whites over blacks and most immigrants, and men over women. Then, too,
protesters of these conditions were not all radicals attempting to monopolize
the state, as their opponents claimed. Many, in fact, adopted the mainstream
ideology and wanted relatively mild adjustments to society to make that
dream a reality for them.
Although questions about the relationship between the government and
its citizens were hardly new in 1865, one thing made the post–Civil War years
critical for American identity: during the war, for the first time in American
history, Congress had imposed national taxes. After the war, individuals—
taxpayers—had a new and powerful interest in their government and were
concerned about who should be able to vote about how their money was
Introduction
≥
spent. The correct sphere of government was no longer an academic question,
but of personal financial interest to every American. This new relationship
between government and citizens meant that the question of who should
have a voice in government took on great practical meaning. Who was, or
should be, a citizen of the new nation? Should African Americans vote?
Women? Immigrants? The poor? Would they make reasonable decisions
about the expenditure of tax dollars?
These were not academic questions either, for during the war the Republican Congress had strengthened the national government, expanding its power
dramatically with an army and a navy of more than a million men, and
increasing its role in the economy with new legislation to develop the nation.
Then, in January 1865, the Thirteenth Amendment, ending slavery, indicated
the firm intention of Republican congressmen to strengthen the national
government. With its second section declaring that ‘‘Congress shall have the
power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation,’’ it was the first amendment in the history of the American Constitution that increased, rather than
limited, the power of the national government. Nineteenth-century attempts
to balance freedom, taxation, and government power were the central story of
post–Civil War America. Their ultimate outcome defined a desirable American citizen and an ideal American state.
My interest in this process was sparked by the disparity between the way
people a century and a half ago disparaged the government at the same time
they developed it. I knew that for all their fervent talk about ‘‘self-made men’’
and ‘‘laissez-faire government,’’ late nineteenth-century Americans did not,
in fact, decrease the size and activity of the national government. They increased it. How did they justify this contradiction? This question interested
me deeply, for the Reagan Revolution of the 1980s brought this same paradox
to the fore in modern American political rhetoric. It gives us antigovernment
rhetoric from the South and western plains, regions that receive far more in
federal aid than they pay in taxes. At the same time, the Northeast and West
Coast support government activism although they receive back from the
national government considerably less money than they pay in. In 2003, for
example, taxpayers in Mississippi received a federal outlay of $1.83 for every
dollar of federal tax they paid, while taxpayers from Massachusetts saw only
$.78 come back to the state for every dollar they gave to Uncle Sam. Yet in
2004, Mississippi voters spoke firmly against government activism and Massachusetts voters spoke strongly in favor of it. Clearly there is a stark regional
∂
Introduction
contrast in American thought between the reality of government activism and
Americans’ image of it. How did nineteenth-century Americans negotiate
this contrast?∞
In order to find out, I tried to put myself as closely as I could into the
position of an educated nineteenth-century American, worried about the
future of the nation, my family, and myself. I read newspapers, novels, memoirs, and histories of the late 1800s; looked at paintings; and listened to music.
As I did so, the world I saw around me appeared very di√erent from the one I
had read about in history books. Most histories of ‘‘Reconstruction’’ focus on
the South and its morass of racial problems. But nineteenth-century Americans never focused on racial problems in the postwar South to the exclusion of
the issues of postwar industrialization and urbanization that appeared dramatically as early as 1866. Also, women were prominent in postwar records,
exercising an increasingly visible role in American life and causing plenty of
comment, both positive and negative. It seemed to me that the mindset of the
era must have somehow incorporated the growing public activities of women,
and that histories of the period that pushed women’s actions into their own
sphere, divorced from American society in general, were missing an important part of the story.
Finally, it was evident that the reconstruction years could not be understood without acknowledging the central importance of the American West.
The postwar years were the heyday of westward expansion, miners, the
American cowboy, Plains Indians, and gunfighters. These events and characters were everywhere in the historical record. Indeed, as I worked, the obvious
suddenly dawned on me: the nation’s strongest cultural images of the postwar
years came from the West. Only a few of us could pick out a photograph of
even the most prominent African Americans or industrialists—let alone a
labor organizer or women’s activist—but most Americans have heard of Jesse
James and Geronimo, and few people in the world wouldn’t recognize the
American cowboy. The history of the West was part and parcel of the story of
the reconstruction years and must be put back into it. Postwar ‘‘reconstruction’’ was the literal reconstruction of the North, South, and West into a
nation in the aftermath of the Civil War. That rebuilding stretched from the
end of the Civil War until the start of the twentieth century.
How did nineteenth-century Americans justify the expansion of government activism and still retain their wholehearted belief in individualism?
Upwardly mobile members of American society opposed government activism to promote the interests of workers, big businessmen, minorities, and
Introduction
∑
certain activist women, perceiving their demands as an attempt to advance a
view of America as a land of class conflict rather than of economic harmony.
Those in ‘‘the middle’’ between rich and poor firmly opposed government
action on behalf of such ‘‘special interests,’’ insisting instead that the government should promote the good of all Americans. By skillfully defining those
who believed in economic and social harmony—themselves—as true Americans rather than a special interest, while denigrating activist workers, African
Americans, Populists, robber barons, and so on as un-American, middle-class
Americans could argue for government intervention on their own behalf
without fearing the destruction of the American system of government.
Workers had demanded government activism on behalf of labor since at
least 1866, but when the government first curbed the excesses of business and
established the principle of intervention in the economy at the end of the
century, it did not do so to protect organized labor. Denying that government
must balance the interests of workers and farmers against those of big business, the same congressmen who opposed labor activism for its apparent
suppression of individual liberty undercut certain business practices on the
grounds that businessmen were trampling on the American ideal of a level
playing field in the economy. Intervention in the economy went on to become
even more active, venturing into social welfare legislation, when middle-class
women activists argued that the government must protect the ideal middleclass family.
Yet even as members of the American middle class deliberately harnessed
a newly active national government to their own interests, they retained a
vision of America as a land of individualism. This contradiction was possible
because of the blinding postwar image of the American West. Regardless of
the harsh realities of the late nineteenth-century West, the peculiarities of the
postwar years made it represent economic opportunity, political purity, and
social equality. When a Republican government dominated by northeasterners and far westerners tried to impose freedom on the South, ex-Confederates
immediately developed antigovernment rhetoric. This antigovernment stance
spread to the plains and mountain West despite the region’s complete dependence on the government, as angry settlers opposed a range of federal actions,
from the awarding of army beef contracts to Indian policies. Then, as the
Republican Party became loathed by its opponents as a patronage-spewing
behemoth acting in the interests of African Americans and rich eastern businessmen, antigovernment protesters across the nation idealized the rural West
as the opposite of the urban Northeast. This western antigovernment mindset
∏
Introduction
flexed its muscles in the Spanish-American War when Theodore Roosevelt
pointedly led a ‘‘cowboy’’ regiment up San Juan Hill to fight a conflict popularly justified as an attempt to take the nation away from eastern politicians and money-grubbing businessmen, returning it to independence, selfreliance, and morality. After the Spanish-American War, America was a land
where an activist government supported individualism, and those who endorsed this contradictory ideology exported it to other nations through both
trade and military conflict. In 1901, Theodore Roosevelt—that ‘‘damned cowboy,’’ as a spokesman for the eastern establishment called him—sat in the
White House, directing an activist government that served a peculiarly American middle class.
The pages that follow try to show what the nation looked like to
nineteenth-century Americans. In order to do that, I have attempted to avoid
portraying the era as one of abstract Forces—industry, labor, su√ragists, immigrants, African Americans—conflicting over Big Issues. I have written this
book as a narrative history about the experiences of a number of actual Americans who lived in the era from 1865 to 1901. When choosing my characters, I
required that they lived through almost the entire period and that they left
behind enough of their own words to tell their own stories. Ex-Confederate
Wade Hampton and western scout Bu√alo Bill, poet Julia Ward Howe,
educator Booker T. Washington, and Sioux leader Sitting Bull, among others, fulfilled my requirements; labor pioneer William Sylvis, who died in
1869, and leading black politician W. Beverly Nash, who left few records, did
not. As I researched these individuals, I was astonished at how often the lives
of those who embraced a developing middle-class ideology crossed, suggesting that they recognized an a≈nity for those who thought like themselves and
actively worked to spread their worldview across the country. Less prominent
Americans who left fewer records aren’t introduced as individuals; rather,
they show up on the shores of New York Harbor watching the illumination of
the Statue of Liberty, in a New Orleans freedmen’s meeting, in Missouri
helping Jesse James hide from government agents, in a California mining
camp trying to make a fortune. They are William Graham Sumner’s ‘‘forgotten Americans’’ who hated the idea of welfare legislation, the people
who cheered when Ida B. Wells got dragged out of a white railroad car
or applauded President Grover Cleveland’s use of the army against the Pullman strikers. They are also Theodore Roosevelt’s ideal hardworking citizens,
black cowboy Nat Love’s race-blind westerners, Americans who begged the
government to go to war to save the lives of Cuban women and children.
Introduction
π
They are both the worst and the best of America. This book is designed to tell
the story of the construction of their worldview.
This middle-class ideology was both the greatest triumph and the greatest tragedy of reconstruction. It was an astonishingly inclusive way to run a
country, making certain former slaves and impoverished immigrants welcomed participants in middle-class America, o√ering to them opportunities
they could not have imagined in other countries, and it advanced women’s
position in a dramatically short time. But this ideology also rendered Americans unable to recognize systematic inequalities in American society. Anyone
who embraced the mainstream vision came to believe he or she was on the
road to a middle-class life, no matter what the reality of his or her position
actually was. When things went wrong, individuals had no one but themselves to blame for failure, even if its causes lay outside their control. A man
unemployed during a recession or a woman beaten by her husband could find
little sympathy in the middle-class worldview. More strikingly, though, this
mindset deliberately repressed anyone who called for government action to
level the American economic, social, or political playing field. If a group as a
whole came to be perceived as looking for government handouts its members
were aggressively prohibited from participating equally in American society,
and all of the self-help in the world wasn’t going to change that. This middleclass vision also limited women’s role in society by basing their power on their
positions as wives and mothers, not as independent, equal individuals. The
powerful new American identity permitted many individuals to succeed far
beyond what they might have achieved elsewhere, but that exceptional openness depended on class, gender, and racial bias.
The political contours of this division have changed over the decades, but
the divided vision of the nation is still a potent part of Americans’ current
mindset. It was certainly part of the 2004 electoral puzzle that made the red
states, with their large government subsidies, vote so vehemently against what
they perceived as government aid to ‘‘special interests.’’ And red staters who
trumpet America’s greatness as a land of opportunity are right: the American
ideology is truly great. This mindset is also, though, what made blue staters
vote for a government that would level the economic, social, and political playing fields between di√erent groups. The blue staters, too, are right;
America has serious systematic inequalities embedded in its society. America
is neither excellent nor oppressive; rather, it is both at the same time. In 1865,
Americans had to reconstruct their shattered nation. Their solution ‘‘reconstructed’’ America into what it is today.
kl
CHAP TER
ONE
Spring 1865
The View from the Civil War
fter an uneasy night, Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant awoke on
April 9, 1865, still su√ering from a migraine that had hit the day
before. Tired and aching, he pulled on rough army clothes, mounted
his horse, and rode out toward Appomattox Station, Virginia, where his men
had engaged an advance column of soldiers from General Robert E. Lee’s
Army of Northern Virginia. On the way to the head of the column, Grant
received a message from Lee, who requested an interview for the purpose of
surrendering his army. ‘‘When the o≈cer reached me I was still su√ering with
the sick headache,’’ Grant recalled, ‘‘but the instant I saw the contents of the
note I was cured.’’∞
Grant found the Confederate general, painstakingly clothed in full dress
uniform, waiting for him at the small village of Appomattox Court House in
the substantial home of Wilmer McLean. The elegant, white-haired Lee and
the weathered bulldog from the North commiserated on the terrible cost of
the war and agreed that the bloodshed should end. As terms for surrender,
Grant required only that the o≈cers give their word that neither they nor
their men would fight against the United States again, and that they turn over
their military arms and artillery. The men could keep their own side arms and
horses. Grant wanted them ‘‘to be able to put in a crop to carry themselves
and their families through the next winter.’’≤
Lee could surrender only his own men, but his army was the pride of the
Confederacy and its demise signaled the end of the war. It was simply a
question of time until the estranged sections of the country would have to
begin to build a new postwar nation. The South, devastated and despairing,
A
The View from the Civil War
Ω
the North, bustling and proud, and the West, rich in resources but deeply
embattled in a war between Native Americans and eastern settlers, somehow
would have to create a unified America.≥
Of course, not everyone saw it this way. For his part, Lieutenant General
Wade Hampton III of South Carolina was not willing to abandon the Confederacy. Serving with Joseph E. Johnston’s crumbling army in North Carolina, he gathered his men and angrily told them that the report of Lee’s
surrender was ‘‘a rumor he did not believe.’’ In any case, Lee’s Army of
Northern Virginia was only one of three major Confederate armies, and its
surrender did not end the war. With the Army of the Mississippi and the
Army of the Tennessee still in the field, Wade Hampton begged Je√erson
Davis not to give up. Hampton promised his president that he could find
almost 100,000 men still willing to fight; they could force their way over the
Mississippi River to Texas and launch a guerrilla war from there. The Montgomery Advertiser agreed: ‘‘As the crushing wheel of invasion rolls onward,
behind it life and hope rise anew amidst the smoking ruins, and patriotism,
torn and bleeding but still defiant, girds its loins for new struggles and new
su√erings.’’ When his commanding o≈cer surrendered to General Sherman,
Hampton carefully noted that since he had not been present, he was not
bound by his superior’s actions. ‘‘Those . . . who were absent can either accept
or reject the terms. Nothing can be done at present, either here, or elsewhere,
so I advise quiet for a time. If any opportunity o√ers, later, we can avail
ourselves of it,’’ he wrote. He remained hopeful of continuing the war until
Union soldiers captured Je√erson Davis on May 10. The tall, squarely muscular Hampton had poured his vast wealth, his prestige, his blood, and the lives
of his brother and son into the Confederate cause. He clung to the belief that
his sacrifices had a purpose.∂
For many Americans, Hampton seemed to represent the South. He was
born into a powerful plantation family, graduated from the elite South Carolina College, and married Margaret Preston and then, after her death, Mary
McDu≈e, both from prominent planter families. In 1860, Hampton owned
over 10,000 acres of land, which were carved into five plantations worked by
more than 900 slaves. The rice, cotton, sugar, and corn that grew in Hampton’s fields made him the richest man in South Carolina; a good year before
the war brought a gross income of more than $200,000. Hampton sat in the
antebellum state legislature, but his influence from Millwood, his beautiful
home outside of Columbia, was probably more politically important. There,