From the Archives: Cornelia Hancock–Civil War Nurse, Reformer, Muse
Dear Marginalia: As some of you may remember, ten years ago I wrote a book on Civil War Nurses called Heroines of Mercy Street: Real Nurses of the Civil War. Right now I have Civil War nurses on my mind again as I prepare to give talk on the subject at the historical museum in Marietta, Georgia. (By the time you read this, the program will be over.) It seems like a good time to share the story of one of my many favorites, Cornelia Hancock.
As the official superintendent of the Union Army’s newly minted nursing corps, Dorothea Dix had a clear vision of what her nurses should look like. Only women between the ages of thirty or thirty-five and fifty would be accepted. “Neatness, order, sobriety and industry” were required; “matronly persons of experience, good conduct or superior education” were preferred.
Dix turned away many able applicants because she thought they were too young, attractive, or frivolous. Twenty-three- year-old Cornelia Hancock, for instance, was preparing to board the train to Gettysburg with a number of women many years older than she was when Dix appeared on the scene to inspect the prospective nurses. She pronounced all of the nurses suitable except for Hancock, whom she objected to on the grounds of her “youth and rosy cheeks.” Hancock simply boarded the train while her companions argued with Dix. When she reached Gettysburg, three days after the battle, the need for nurses was so great that no one worried about her age or appearance. Too inexperienced to help with the physical needs of the soldiers, she went from wounded soldier to wounded soldier, paper, pencil and stamps in hand, and spent the first night writing farewell letters from soldiers to their families and friends. When wagons of provisions began to arrive, Hancock helped herself to bread and jelly, then divided loaves into portions that could be swallowed by weak and wounded men.
She quickly became accustomed to the realities of the battlefield, telling a cousin in a letter written on her second day in the field “I do not mind the sight of blood, have seen limbs taken off and was not sick at all.” In fact, she proved to be such a dedicated nurse that the wounded soldiers of Third Division Second Army Corps presented her with a silver medal inscribed Testimonial of regard for ministrations of mercy to the wounded soldiers at Gettysburg, Pa. -—July 1863. (She also had a dance tune named after her, the Hancock Gallop–a tribute that I suspect none of Dix’s middle-aged matrons received from the soldiers under their care.)
Hancock worked as a nurse for the rest of the war, tending the wounded after the battle of the Wilderness, Fredericksburg, Port Royal, White House Landing, City Point and Petersburg. She was one of the first Union nurses to arrive in Richmond after its capture on April 3, 1865.
After the war, Hancock helped found a freedman’s school in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, where she taught for a decade. (At one point those who objected to the concept of education for black children riddled the schoolhouse with fifty bullets.) When she moved back north to Philadelphia, she helped found the Children’s Aid Society of Pennsylvania.
Hancock became a posthumous best-selling author in 1937, when her charming and insightful letters from the battlefield were published under the title South After Gettysburg. They are now available under the title Letters of a Civil War Nurse–well worth the read if you are interested in Civil War nurses or daily life in a Union army camp behind the lines.
History on Display “Spies and Space” at The Museum of Russian Art
Several weeks ago, I was the guest of the Dr. Harold C. Deutsch World War II History Round Table in the Twin Cities. I was there to talk about Sigrid Schultz and The Dragon From Chicago,[1] but the members of the Round Table[2] kept me entertained throughout my visit, introducing me to history-adjacent sites I would never found on my own, including the Museum of Russian Art.
I had no idea what to expect at the museum, mostly because I didn’t take fifteen seconds and look it up online[3]. Even if I had taken a look at the website, nothing would have prepared me for “Spies and Space,” an exhibit featuring artifacts[4] of Cold-War popular culture from both sides of the Iron Curtain. It was a fascinating combination of nostalgia and smack-up-the-side-of-the-head.
The exhibit space is cleverly divided with a mock-Iron Curtain. In some ways it is divided by differing mind sets as well.
The half of the exhibit dealing with Cold War popular culture in the United States is devoted to toys and entertainment. What I’m going to call collectibles rather than artifacts— toys, lunch boxes, posters, etc—evoked childhood memories for my two companions and I, all members of Generation Jones[5]. We laughed, shared memories, and occasionally quoted lines from shows that ranged from early James Bond through Star Wars. (I suspect that no American my age can see a promotional item from Lost in Space without thinking “Danger, Will Robinson”.) We also gasped at a large, over-the-top, toy robot that looked like a mash-up of a giant nutcracker, the witch’s soldiers in The Wizard of Oz, and Snidely Whiplash, with a creepy grin that had too many teeth. None of us had seen anything like it. Which was a good thing from my perspective. I think it would have given seven-year-old Pamela nightmares.
Then we turned the corner at the end of the mock-Iron Curtain and everything changed.
The first thing we saw was The Motherland Meets the Hero a painting on an epic scale depicting cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin being greeted in Moscow after his return from space. The mood is joyous, with the heroic Yuri striding down a red carpet with smiling, red-flag-waving Russians on either side. Krushchev waits at the other end, arms outstretched in welcome. It is socialist realism at its best.
The painting set the theme for the Soviet half of the exhibit. Where much of the American section of the exhibit was focused on spies, often in satirical form, and fictional space adventure, the Soviet section was devoted almost entirely to real life space exploration. Following Gagarin’s flight in space, space exploration became a major theme in Soviet culture, high and low.
Our guide, who was the Russian equivalent of a Baby Boomer in age, clearly felt the same nostalgia for some of the objects on this side of the mock-Iron Curtain as we did for the Get Smart lunch box: holiday[6] tree ornaments in the shape of Sputnik and other space vehicles, a gift tin with images of Belka and Strelka, the first “cosmohounds,”[7] etc. There were many, many postage stamps devoted to triumphs in space exploration, which our guide described a “celebration of firsts.” On the darker side, the exhibit also included Soviet propaganda posters, including images of Uncle Sam as a threatening figure that I found both disturbing[8] and illuminating.
In short, the exhibit was a useful reminder that there is always another side of the wall story.
‘Spies and Space’ is on display through May 10. If you happen to be in the Twin Cities, I strongly recommend that you see it. If you miss “Spies and Space,” I still highly recommend the Museum of Russian Art. Exhibits change every six months. One special exhibit, a selection of Ukrainian political cartoons, changes every week—a statement of the museum’s support of Ukraine in the current war.
[1] And speaking of speaking, if you belong to a group that needs speakers and are interested in hearing about Sigrid Schultz, women warriors, Civil War nurses, or the craft of writing history, send me an email and we’ll see if we can make it work. I’m happy to speak to small book clubs, auditoriums packed with history buffs, and everything in between. And now back to our regularly scheduled program.
[2] I feel some complicated joke about knights and Round Tables circling my brain, but I think I will spare all of us and ignore it.
[3] Life has been crazy enough in the the last few months that I am trying to simply let things happen when I can. Unlikely as that may sound to those of you who know me in real life. Old dog. New tricks.
[4] A term I’m not entirely comfortable with since many of the items on display date from my childhood.
[5] I came across the idea of Generation Jones a while back and it immediately resonated. The term refers to those of us born between 1955 and 1964—although still part of the population explosion that gave the Baby Boom its name, our formative experiences were very different than those of the earlier boomers. Thee term was coined by cultural historian Jonathan Pontell, himself a member of Generation Jones, in 1999 and has gained traction ever sense. But I digress.
[6] New Year’s Eve, in case you’re wondering
[7] Krushchev gave one of Stelka’s puppies, born after the space flight, to Jaqueline Kennedy, after the First Lady asked about the puppies at a state dinner.
[8] Again, So Many Teeth
From the Archives: Road Trip Through History–Fort Sumter
I am reminded a little after the fact that April 12 was the anniversary of the fall of Fort Sumter, which further reminded me of our spectacular visit to the fort in January, 2017. Enjoy!
***
My Own True Love and I are spending a long weekend in Charleston, South Carolina. For me, it’s a vacation/work sandwich. Yesterday we bopped around together doing history-buff stuff.* Today he heads off for twenty-four hours with his grandson’s Cub Scout troop aboard the USS Yorktown while I settle in for a day of reading and writing. Tomorrow, we resume bopping.
The center of our first day was a visit to Fort Sumter, where the Civil War officially began.** As always, the National Park Service did an excellent job.
Because Fort Sumter is on a island in the mouth of Charleston’s harbor, the visit begins with a boat ride, offered through an official park vendor.*** I must admit, I grumbled at the idea of a narrated boat “tour” of the harbor with only hour on the ground at the fort. I should have had more faith. A hour was just about the right amount of time.
If you have the choice, I recommend the first trip of the day because it includes a flag-raising ceremony. The ranger began with a brief, impassioned account of the fall of Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861, including a description of the role that the American flag played in the events on Sumter. (Stay tuned for some of the details.) Then she asked for help raising the flag. Twenty or thirty visitors (including me and My Own True Love) lined up to help unfold and hoist the flag. Before we began, she asked us to introduce ourselves to our neighbors in the line. It was moving and meaningful—a moment of unity in which no one mentioned the election or the inauguration that was going on as we shook hands and remembered a time of national division.
Once the ceremony was over, we were free to explore the ruins of the fort and the excellent small museum. We would have enjoyed the visit even if all we got out of it was a more detailed version of the events of April 12, 1861—the ranger was interesting, the boat ride lovely, the weather was amazing. But, as is so often the case, the NPS did a good job of putting the place in its broader historical context, including a small exhibit on the role of African-American slaves in the fort’s history. Here are some of the things that caught my imagination:
The fort was built as part of a string of coastal fortifications, planned as a result of the inadequacy of coastal defense in the War of 1812. (At some level, armies always plan for the last war. And really, what choice do they have?) They built a man-made island in the mouth of Charleston’s Harbor in 1829, using sand and 70,000 tons of granite from New England. Intended for a garrison of 650 men with 135 guns, the fort was almost completed by 1860 but it was not yet manned When Anderson and his men arrived at the fort, they raised the American flag there for the first time.
The military professionals of the Union and Confederate armies were drawn from the same small pool of big fish: Brigadier General Pierre G.T. Beauregard led the Confederate troops that bombarded Anderson and his men. Anderson was Beauregard’s artillery instructor at West Point. This is the kind of thing that would lead to dramatic tension—or charges of implausibility—if I wrote historical fiction.
Major Anderson was allowed to surrender with full honors, including the right to take his flag with him. At the war’s end, on April 9, 1865, he raised the same flag over Fort Sumter once more.
The story of Fort Sumter didn’t end with Anderson’s surrender. The fort remained a Confederate stronghold for the next four years despite repeated Union efforts to recapture it. The Confederate garrison never surrendered. They withdrew from the island when Sherman’s march threatened the South Carolina capitol.
The ruined fort was brought back into service during the Spanish-American War, when the army constructed a large concrete battery on the former parade ground, and it remained in service as part of the coastal defense until Pearl Harbor, when it became clear that aviation was the name of the coastal defense game.
*And eating. Because everything you hear about food in Charleston is true. The only thing that saved us from dyspepsia and blimpitude has been lots and lots of walking.
**For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story or want a refresher, here’s a recap:
In November, 1860, Abraham Lincoln was elected president. On December 20, South Carolina voted to secede from the Union. By March 2, a total of seven states had seceded and seized Federal forts and naval yards throughout the South. Fort Sumter, an unfinished red brick fortress built on a man-made granite island, was one of the few to remain in Federal hands, thanks to peremptory action by Major Robert Anderson.
Anderson commanded two companies—a total of 85 men, including musicians—at nearby Fort Moultrie. Six days after South Carolina seceded, he decided Moultrie was impossible to defend and moved his troops in the night to Sumter. The Confederate government saw Anderson’s transfer as an act of aggression. (Unlike, say, seizing Federal forts. Partisanship blinds us all.)
The fort became the emotional focal point of the conflict between Union and Confederacy. The small garrison was cut off from resupply or reinforcement, but refused to surrender the fort to Confederate control. Anderson, a Kentucky native and former slaveholder, was praised as a hero in the North and reviled as a traitor in the South. President James Buchanan, at the end of his term of office, was unwilling to trigger civil war by attempting to relieve the besieged unit and equally unwilling to trigger a public outcry by recalling the troops from Sumter. He chose instead to leave the problem for his successor.
When Abraham Lincoln took office on March 4, the garrison at Sumter had less than six weeks of food left. Lincoln’s cabinet told him it was impossible to relieve the fortress and urged him to evacuate Anderson’s troops as a way of reducing tension between North and South. Popular opinion screamed for Lincoln to send reinforcements to the “gallant little band”. With public opinion eager for action, and no sign that delay would improve the chances of reuniting the country, Lincoln chose to resupply the garrison but not send reinforcements unless the Confederates attacked either the fort or the supply ships—a compromise that pleased no one.
Shortly after midnight on April 12, with resupply ships on the way, the Confederate government gave Anderson until 4:00 AM to surrender. Anderson refused. At 4:30 AM, the bombardment began. Although they had neither the men nor supplies to mount a meaningful defense, the Union forces held out for a day and a half before surrendering.
The war had begun.
***Only two round trips a day in January. There are more in the high season, but there are also more people who want to go. Plan ahead so you aren’t disappointed.