The U.S. Civil War and the Inspirational Mary Edwards Walker, Congressional Medal of Honor

In the long and often turbulent history of the Medal of Honor, one name stands entirely alone: Mary Edwards Walker. She remains the only woman ever to have received the United States' highest military decoration, and her life was as unconventional as the distinction itself. A surgeon, reformer, prisoner of war, and tireless advocate for women's rights, Walker's story is inseparable from the upheaval of the American Civil War, a conflict that reshaped the nation and, in her case, opened a narrow but historic path into military service.

Terry Bailey explains.

Mary Edwards Walker.

Mary Edwards Walker was born in 1832 in Oswego County, New York, into a household that quietly defied many of the era's expectations. Her parents were progressive thinkers who believed firmly in education, self-reliance, and physical health. Her father, a farmer with reformist views, insisted that his daughters receive the same rigorous schooling as his sons—an unusual stance in mid-nineteenth-century America. From an early age, Mary absorbed the idea that intellectual capacity was not determined by gender. She also rejected restrictive clothing, later arguing that heavy skirts and corsets were both unhealthy and symbolic of women's social confinement.

Her determination led her to pursue a medical career at a time when female physicians were rare and frequently dismissed. She enrolled at Syracuse Medical College, one of the few institutions willing to admit women, and graduated in 1855 with a Doctor of Medicine degree. Even with credentials in hand, she struggled to establish a practice. Patients were hesitant to trust a woman doctor, and professional networks largely excluded her. Yet she persevered, convinced that her skills would eventually find their proper arena.

That arena emerged with the outbreak of civil war in 1861. As the Union and Confederate states mobilized for what would become a four-year struggle of unprecedented scale, medical services were rapidly overwhelmed. Disease—typhoid, dysentery, pneumonia—claimed more lives than bullets, and battlefield surgery was often conducted in makeshift tents or barns with limited anesthesia and rudimentary sterilization. Determined to serve, Walker travelled to Washington, D.C., and petitioned the War Department for a commission as an army surgeon. She was refused solely because she was a woman.

Undeterred, she offered her services as a volunteer and began working in Union hospitals. Over time, her persistence and demonstrated competence earned her a contract appointment as an acting assistant surgeon with the Army of the Cumberland. This placed her in the Western Theatre of the war, where campaigns through Tennessee and Georgia were marked by relentless maneuvering and ferocious engagements. The struggle for control of strategic rail hubs such as Chattanooga and the drive toward Atlanta produced waves of wounded soldiers, and medical personnel worked under constant strain.

Walker frequently placed herself near the front lines, tending not only to Union troops but, when possible, to civilians caught in the crossfire. Her medical practice was guided by both professional duty and humanitarian conviction. In April 1864, during operations connected to the Atlanta Campaign, she crossed into territory controlled by Confederate forces to treat wounded men and suffering civilians. It was a bold and dangerous act. Confederate soldiers arrested her, suspecting that a woman in modified military attire moving between lines must be a spy. She was transported to Richmond, Virginia, and held as a prisoner of war. Confinement was harsh, food scarce, and uncertainty constant. Yet Walker endured several months of captivity before being exchanged in August 1864 as part of a formal prisoner swap. Her experience gave her a rare distinction: she was one of the few women formally held as a prisoner of war during the conflict.

In 1865, after the war had drawn to a close, President Andrew Johnson signed the order awarding Mary Edwards Walker the Medal of Honor. The citation recognized her meritorious service, devotion to the wounded, and steadfastness during captivity. Although the criteria for the award were broader in the nineteenth century than they would later become, her work near the front lines and her imprisonment under enemy authority were extraordinary by any standard.

Decades later, in 1917, a review board reassessed earlier awards and rescinded hundreds of Medals of Honor deemed inconsistent with newly tightened combat requirements. Walker's medal was among those revoked. She refused to surrender it, asserting that her service had been honorable and that no bureaucratic revision could erase lived reality. She continued to wear the medal daily, a small but potent act of defiance. In 1977, long after her death, the U.S. government restored her award, reaffirming her singular place in American military history.

Walker's postwar years were as combative in their own way as her time in uniform. She became a prominent advocate for women's suffrage, lecturing across the country and arguing that the Constitution already guaranteed women the right to vote. Her reformist zeal extended to dress reform; she adopted tailored jackets and trousers, insisting that practicality and health should outweigh social convention. For this she was ridiculed and occasionally arrested for "impersonating a man," yet she remained resolute. While she sometimes clashed with more cautious leaders within the suffrage movement, her independence and courage commanded respect.

Mary Edwards Walker died in 1919, just one year before the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment secured women's suffrage nationwide. She did not live to cast a ballot in a federal election, but her life had already redefined the boundaries of possibility. In war, she proved that medical skill and personal bravery transcended gender. In peace, she continued to challenge the assumptions that had once barred her from a commission. Her Medal of Honor—awarded, revoked, and restored—serves as more than a military decoration. It stands as a testament to endurance in the face of prejudice, to professional commitment under fire, and to a lifetime spent pressing against the limits imposed by society. In Mary Edwards Walker's story, the upheaval of civil war intersected with the broader struggle for equality, and from that intersection emerged a legacy unlike any other in American history.

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Prisoner of War Exchanges in the U.S. Civil War: The Lieber Code - Part 1

Early in the U.S. Civil War a prison exchange system was developed by agreement between the two sides. It called for equal exchanges of all soldiers captured based on rank. Once exchanged, these soldiers could return to their units. The balance remaining after equal exchanges were to be paroled, and not to take up arms again until they were formally exchanged.

Lloyd W Klein explains.

John A. Dix.

The Dix-Hill Cartel

On July 22, 1862, Union Maj Gen John A Dix and Confederate Major General Daniel Harvey Hill concluded an agreement for the general exchange of prisoners between the Union and Confederate armies. A scale of equivalents was developed wherein an officer might be exchanged for a certain number of enlisted men, or might entail a parole in which no military capacity was allowed until officially exchanged. Officers were exchanged for more soldiers than others. The operation of the system was:

Soldiers of equivalent ranks would be exchanged on a one to one value,

Corporals and sergeants were worth two privates,

Lieutenants were worth four privates,

A captain was worth six privates,

A major was worth eight privates,

A lieutenant colonel was worth 10 privates,

A colonel was worth 15 privates,

A brigadier general was worth 20 privates,

A major general was worth 40 privates, and

A commanding general was worth 60 privates.

The Exchange System worked well in 1862 but there were irregularities on both sides, in which paroled men nevertheless rejoined their units. Edwin Stanton wanted to suspend the exchanges because he felt that southern soldiers weren’t following the rules of the parole. Secretary Stanton saw a potential for Union soldiers to abuse the parole system. The Confederates had begun paroling a number of Western prisoners unilaterally, including some two thousand taken at the April 1862 battle of Shiloh. The violations continued with the parolees from Vicksburg and Port Hudson.

Storming Fort Wagner.

Cessation of the Cartel and Its Implications

In September of 1862, President Lincoln called for the enlistment of black soldiers into the Union Armies as part of the preliminary draft of the Emancipation Proclamation. In December 1862, President Davis responded by issuing a proclamation that neither captured black soldiers nor their white officers would be subject to exchange. That the black soldiers were fugitive slaves and subject to capital punishment.

In January 1863 the Emancipation Proclamation became official and the United States began the active recruitment of black soldiers. Jefferson Davis was incensed by this, and threatened severe actions.

President Davis made an official proclamation that black POWs were fugitive slaves. In May 1863, the Confederate Congress passed a joint resolution that formalized Davis' proclamation that black soldiers taken prisoner would not be exchanged: “That all commissioned officers in the command of said Benjamin F. Butler be declared not entitled to be considered as soldiers engaged in honorable warfare but as robbers and criminals deserving death, and that they and each of them be whenever captured reserved for execution.” Find the proclamation here: http://www.freedmen.umd.edu/pow.htm

The Lieber Code

Lincoln’s response was to assure that The Lieber Code, General Order 100, issued in April 1863, responded to this crisis. The Lieber Code was not written as a direct reaction to the collapse of the Dix–Hill Cartel or Jefferson Davis’s refusal to recognize Black Union soldiers as lawful combatants. But the final form, timing, and political purpose of the code were very heavily shaped by those crises. In effect, the breakdown of prisoner exchange and Confederate policy toward Black soldiers turned the Lieber Code from a general effort to codify the laws of war into a strategic and moral response to the Confederacy’s stance.

Work on the code had begun in 1862, well before the collapse of the prisoner-exchange system.

Henry Halleck had long wanted an American codification of the laws of war. Francis Lieber had been thinking about such a code for years, drawing on European theory. The War Department’s Law of War Committee met in late 1862—months before Davis’s December 1862 proclamation threatening to treat captured Black Union soldiers as slaves and their white officers as criminals.

This was in essence the first major revision of the 1806 Articles of War.

While not the original motivation, the timing and urgency of the Lieber Code reflect the breakdown of the Dix–Hill Cartel (mid–late 1862) and Davis’s policy. The Union needed a principled basis to suspend the Cartel One of its articles stipulated that the United States government expected all prisoners to be treated equally, regardless of color. By late 1862 it was clear that the Confederacy would not exchange or treat Black Union soldiers as POWs. The cartel was therefore unworkable. The Lincoln administration needed a legal and moral justification for halting exchanges without appearing to commit retaliation for its own sake.

The Lieber Code provided it—explicitly authorizing retaliation when the enemy violates the laws of war; the equal treatment of all lawful combatants regardless of race; the duty of the U.S. government to protect all its soldiers. This was crucial. It offered a codified, internationally resonant legal framework for the Union’s stance. The full document can be found here: https://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/lieber.asp#sec3

Most of its ideas were incorporated into the Hague Convention of 1907, and remain among the fundamental rules of war to this day as an antecedent of the Geneva Conventions.

Franz Lieber was a German-American legal scholar. He had fought with the Prussian Army and been wounded at Waterloo. He later moved and taught for 20 years in South Carolina, where he was repulsed by slavery. In 1861 he became professor of law at Columbia University in NYC. Two of his sons fought for the Union, a third fought for the Confederacy and was killed in action. Halleck, a lawyer with an interest in International Law, consulted Lieber regarding ethical dilemmas early on and invited him, along with Stanton, to undertake this project.

The Lieber Code expressly forbade giving "no quarter" to the enemy (i.e. killing prisoners of war), except in such cases when the survival of the unit that held these prisoners was threatened. It forbade the use of poisons, stating that use of such puts any force who uses them entirely outside the pale of the civilized nations and peoples; it forbade the use of torture to extract confessions or information; it described the rights and duties of prisoners of war and of capturing forces. Most of its ideas were incorporated into the Hague Convention of 1907, and are the fundamental rules of war to this day.

The Lieber Code is formulated as a series of x articles, really just statements of principle. Section III is compised of articles 48 – 80 covers the principles involving prisoners of war. The Code Directly Addresses the Black Soldiers Question. All soldiers fighting under a recognized government are lawful combatants (Arts. 57–60). No distinction may be made on “color, descent, or condition” once they are uniformed combatants. Retaliation is justified if the enemy mistreats prisoners on racial grounds (Arts. 27–29). These provisions were absolutely a response to Davis’s proclamation of December 23, 1862 (declaring Black Union soldiers slaves “invading the South”), and the Confederate Congress’s subsequent approval of that policy. Lieber himself acknowledged this. His correspondence with Halleck in early 1863 shows that the issue of Black POW protection was explicitly in mind as the code was being finalized.

What the Lieber Code Said About POWs

Key Principles:

Humane Treatment

Article 56: Prisoners of war are “public enemies” and not criminals. They are to be treated with humanity.

Article 75: Prisoners must not be “subjected to any revenge or other ill treatment.”

No Torture or Cruelty

Article 16: “Military necessity does not admit of cruelty…nor of torture to extort confessions.”

No Retaliation Against POWs

Article 59: Reprisals must not include harming POWs unless it is a direct retaliation for mistreatment of one’s own POWs—and even then, only under strict necessity.

Rights and Respect

Officers were to be treated in accordance with their rank.

Prisoners were protected from violence, pillage, or abuse.

Labor

Prisoners could be made to work (Article 76), but only within humane bounds and consistent with their rank.

The Lieber Code expressly forbade giving "no quarter" to the enemy (i.e. killing prisoners of war), except in such cases when the survival of the unit that held these prisoners was threatened. Article 60 provides: “It is against the usage of modern war to resolve, in hatred and revenge, to give no quarter. No body of troops has the right to declare that it will not give, and therefore will not expect, quarter; but a commander is permitted to direct his troops to give no quarter, in great straits, when his own salvation makes it impossible to cumber himself with prisoners.

 It forbade the use of poisons (Article 70), stating that use of such puts any force who uses them entirely outside the pale of the civilized nations and peoples; it forbade the use of torture to extract confessions or information; it described the rights and duties of prisoners of war and of capturing forces.

Article 58 directly addresses the use of Black soldiers: “The law of nations knows of no distinction of color, and if an enemy of the United States should enslave and sell any captured persons of their army, it would be a case for the severest retaliation, if not redressed upon complaint. The United States cannot retaliate by enslavement; therefore death must be the retaliation for this crime against the law of nations.”

Application to the Prisoner Exchanges

Originally Edwin Stanton wanted to suspend the exchanges because he felt that Southern soldiers weren’t following the rules of the parole. Secretary Stanton saw a potential for Union soldiers to abuse the parole system. The Confederates had begun paroling a number of Western prisoners unilaterally, including some two thousand taken at the April 1862 battle of Shiloh. The violations continued with the parolees from Vicksburg and Port Hudson. It was Lincoln, the astute politician, who realized it would be unpopular to suspend exchanges for that reason, but if applied to the USCT it would be better accepted. The Code was therefore also a strategic countermove. The Union needed a public, intellectually credible, “laws of war” document to show why exchanges were suspended, why retaliation policies were lawful, why Black soldiers had to be protected, and why the Confederacy was violating international norms. The Lieber Code gave the Lincoln administration a fully articulated legal and moral position—something European observers were watching closely.

https://www.nps.gov/ande/learn/historyculture/grant-and-the-prisoner-exchange.htm?fbclid=IwAR0Re2-Imgr8m_qqAYEGK4iAeKRlEA3mafVQpHiqZHtkyRG_ELag97xEE1s&mibextid=kdkkhi

The Lieber Code was issued unilaterally by the United States, and no other nation was bound by its formalities at the time. However, when the Confederates breached its principles, the US government needed to respond.

At Fort Wagner, several black prisoners from the 54th Massachusetts were not exchanged with the rest of the white soldiers who participated in the assault on Fort Wagner in July 1863. This is the infamous attack where Colonel Robert Gould Shaw was killed leading his men in a charge. When a Union officer asked the Confederates at Battery Wagner for the return of Shaw's body, he was informed by the Confederate commander, Brigadier General Johnson Hagood, "We buried him with his _____."

On July 30, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued General Order 252, which effectively suspended the Dix-Hill Cartel until the Confederate forces agreed to treat black prisoners the same as white prisoners. Large scale prisoner exchanges ceased by August 1863, resulting in a dramatic increase in the prison populations on both sides. Neither side was prepared for this sudden responsibility. The inhumane consequences on both sides are well known.

Large scale prisoner exchanges ceased by August 1863, resulting in a dramatic increase in the prison populations on both sides. Neither side was prepared for this sudden responsibility. The inhumane consequences on both sides are well known.

Other Alleged Examples

The fact is that it was official CSA policy to kill all black POWs. Secretary of War James Seddon responded to PGT Beauregard’s request for the official policy as to how to handle his black POWs. Confederate Secretary of War James A. Seddon, in a November 30, 1862, letter to General P. G. T. Beauregard, outlined a policy of executing captured black soldiers as criminals guilty of breaking slave insurrection laws. You can find this brief letter here: http://historymaking.org/textbook/items/show/97

Fort Pillow occurred on April 12, 1864. The Congressional Investigation into the battle concluded that the massacre was consistent with official CSA policy. The next month, the Confederacy in May 1864 passed a law stating that black U.S. soldiers captured while fighting against the Confederacy would be turned over to the state, where the captured would be tried, according to state laws.

The exchange system had collapsed in late 1863 because of the failure of Confederate prisoners (and their government) to observe paroles, most notably those issued to the surrendered garrison of Vicksburg. When Union soldiers captured some of those unexchanged soldiers at Chattanooga, Stanton decided that something had to be done. Making matters worse, the Confederacy refused to exchange black Union soldiers. Stories that Confederate soldiers murdered black captives carried more impact after Nathan Bedford Forrest's men stormed Fort Pillow on April 12, 1864, and killed black soldiers who were attempting to surrender.

Actual Treatment of POWs

The Union treatment of Confederate POWs generally aligned with the Lieber Code, especially early in the war. Large prison camps like Camp Douglas (IL) and Point Lookout (MD) had harsh conditions—exposure, poor sanitation, and disease. Sherman reportedly used POWs to clear land mines outside of Savannah. That wasn’t expressly against the Lieber Code, but it would be forbidden today. As the war progressed and prisoner exchanges collapsed (due in part to Confederate refusal to exchange Black Union soldiers equally), conditions worsened, with overcrowding and high death rates.

The Confederate treatment of Union POWs was notably worse, especially at Andersonville (Camp Sumter) in Georgia. It was an outdoor prison built for 10,000; held over 30,000 at peak.

It had minimal shelter, contaminated water, inadequate food. Nearly 13,000 of 45,000 prisoners died—a mortality rate of ~29%. Commandant Henry Wirz was tried and executed after the war for war crimes—one of the few such examples.

Did Grant End the Exchanges?

It is often erroneously claimed that General Grant ordered the suspension of Dix-Hill he was not the Commander in Chief at this time, and had nothing to do with it. https://www.nps.gov/ande/learn/historyculture/grant-and-the-prisoner-exchange.htm?fbclid=IwAR0Re2-Imgr8m_qqAYEGK4iAeKRlEA3mafVQpHiqZHtkyRG_ELag97xEE1s&mibextid=kdkkhi

It is taught in most history books that the exchange system ended during the Overland Campaign. This quote is usually presented as proof that General Grant ended the system:

"It is hard on our men held in Southern prisons not to exchange them, but it is humanity to those left in the ranks to fight our battles. Every man we hold, when released on parole or otherwise, becomes an active soldier against us at once either directly or indirectly. If we commence a system of exchange which liberates all prisoners taken, we will have to fight on until the whole South is exterminated. If we hold those caught they amount to no more than dead men. At this particular time to release all rebel prisoners North would insure Sherman's defeat and would compromise our safety here." – General Ulysses S. Grant, August 18, 1864.

The myth is that Grant eschewed the exchanges to prevent the Southern armies to regain its captured men, thus favoring the Union side. Supposedly he did it because of the callous arithmetic of the war – calculating that by stopping exchanges the Union armies could simply outlast the Confederates. In fact, President Abraham Lincoln suspended the Dix-Hill Cartel in retaliation for the Confederacy's refusal to exchange black soldiers captured in the summer of 1863.

During the Summer of 1864 Grant pointed out that the refusal to exchange prisoners, however harsh it might seem, drained the Confederacy of much needed manpower; exchanged Confederates would return to the ranks to kill more Yankees, complicating calculations based on the supposed humanity of exchanges. As you can see, Grant wrote this almost 1 year after the exchanges had stopped. It is fascinating that this is the quote that appears on the Wirz monument, trying to shift blame for Andersonville onto Grant.

In the late summer of 1864, a year after the Dix-Hill Cartel was suspended, Confederate officials approached Union General Benjamin Butler about resuming the cartel and exchanges, including black prisoners. Butler, the Union Commissioner of Exchange, contacted Grant for guidance on the issue. Grant responded on August 18, 1864 with this statement. In their conversation, Grant informed Butler that he approved an equal exchange of soldier for soldier, but did not approve a full resumption of the Dix-Hill Cartel. His issue was with the cartel's stipulation that the balance after equal exchanges was to be paroled and sent home to await formal exchange. By August 1864, Confederate prisoners far outnumbered Union prisoners, so a resumption of the cartel would release thousands more Confederates. Grant also felt that once released, Confederate prisoners would likely violate their paroles and rejoin their units. Many of the Union prisoners, on the other hand, had already fulfilled their enlistments and would likely go home.

An agreement for resuming prisoner exchanges would not be reached until the winter of 1864-1865. Had Confederate authorities agreed to exchange black soldiers, however, the exchanges would have been resumed; and in January 1865 Confederate authorities agreed it was best to exchange "all" prisoners, regardless of color. The reality is that Grant did approve a prisoner for prisoner exchange that did in fact occur.

The Purpose of Rules of War

Creating rules or laws to govern war, an inherently unethical human behavior, is one of history’s most painful and persistent tensions. The desire for moral restraint versus the brutal realities of war must be balanced; and clearly, winning the war is the foremost goal. Are the “rules” or “laws” of war phony? No, they’re not phony—but they are imperfect and often inconsistently applied.

The laws of war, such as those codified in the Lieber Code (1863), the Hague Conventions (1899, 1907), and the Geneva Conventions (especially after WWII), are real legal instruments. They’re backed by treaties, military doctrine, and in some cases, courts (like the International Criminal Court).

These laws serve several purposes. They limit unnecessary suffering, especially of civilians and prisoners. They maintain some moral legitimacy—for both domestic and international audiences. The rules prevent escalation into unbounded barbarism (e.g., genocide, torture as routine policy). And, they set standards for holding individuals accountable (think of the Nuremberg Trials or modern war crimes prosecutions).

But while they also protect the combatant, a major purpose is to the military and political leaders who order destruction and death. By following an international code of rules, war trials and criminal prosecution have a built in defense.

In conclusion, The Lieber Code was not conceived as a response to the collapse of the Dix–Hill Cartel or to Davis’s policy on Black soldiers, but those events decisively shaped its final content, its timing of issuance, and its strategic purpose. It not only gave an ethical response to the problem, but a politically savvy public stance.

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Three Key Battles of the U.S. Civil War

The American Civil War was one of the defining conflicts fought in American history. Not only did it threaten to divide the nation, but it also challenged the very foundation of American institutions. It would go on to define the morals by which future generations would judge the United States of America. Between 1861 and 1865, the Union and Confederate states engaged in crucial battles that would determine the outcome of the Civil War. From the First Battle of Bull Run (1861) to the Battle of Antietam (1862) and the Battle of Gettysburg (1863), each would have its place in American history for shaping the Civil War's military, political, and moral course.

Caleb Brown explains.

Battle of Antietam by Thure de Thulstrup.

First Battle of Bull Run

On the morning of July 21, 1861, Union forces led by General McDowell would meet with Confederate troops led by Generals Johnston and Beauregard for what would be the first battle of the Civil War, the First Battle of Bull Run.[1] The Union, having high hopes for a quick victory, would see its hopes fade as Union soldiers, lacking proper military training, became weary and began to retreat.[2] Hoping to see a crushing win, many civilians who had come to spectate the battle were also caught up in the confusion as they, along with the Union soldiers, retreated toward Washington.[3] The Confederate victory at the First Battle of Bull Run would shatter the hopes for a short war and boost the morale of the South. As a result of the Northern defeat, General George B. McClellan would rise to command and would write in a letter to his wife, "I am here in a terrible place, the enemy have from 3 to 4 times my force the President is an idiot, the old General in his dotage they cannot or will not see the true state of affairs. Most of my troops are demoralized by the defeat at Bull Run, and some regiments are even mutinous. I have probably stopped that, but you see my position is not pleasant."[4] As a result of Bull Run, the Union now had to concede that the war would not be quick, and more preparation was needed.

Battle of Antietam

On September 17, 1862, America would lay witness to what would be the single bloodiest battle in American history. By day's end, 22,717 Northern and Southern troops would be dead, wounded, or missing as a result of the Battle of Antietam, which was fought in the Union territory of Maryland.[5] The Battle of Antietam would be a result of General Robert E. Lee's plan to invade the North for the first time in the war. Lee, however, would fall victim to the “Lost Dispatch,” which was a copy of Lee’s military plans that would fall into the hands of Union soldiers. The resulting battle would lead to the bloodiest single day in American history, a tactical draw between the North and the South; however, Lee would retreat, handing the Union a strategic victory. The battle would effectively stop the Confederates’ momentum in the eastern theater of the war and give President Abraham Lincoln the victory he needed to announce his plans for the Emancipation Proclamation. The Confederates would also lose the much-needed foreign recognition from Britain and France.[6] So, although the battle may have been a tactical draw, the South would suffer a significant defeat that it would not be able to overcome.

Battle of Gettysburg

The most famous battle of the American Civil War, at least in popular culture today, is the Battle of Gettysburg, which took place in Adams County, Pennsylvania, in July 1863, with Lee's army facing General George G. Meade.[7] The Battle of Gettysburg would be a turning point in the Civil War, and between July 1 and July 3, 50,000 casualties would lie dead, wounded, or missing as a result.[8] General Lee would continue north into Union territory in hopes of a victory that would force an end to the conflict. The battle would unfold over three fierce days of fighting, taking place on geographical terrain known as Little Round Top, Culp’s Hill, and the Cornfield. General George E. Pickett would lead what would become known to history as “Pickett’s Charge,” resulting in a failed attack and a 60% casualty rate for the Confederates.[9] This would be the final push for Lee at the Battle of Gettysburg. Facing staggering losses, Lee would retreat to Virginia, and the hopes of a Confederate States of America along with him. 

Conclusion

In conclusion, every battle fought throughout the Civil War has its place in history and contributed to shaping the war's outcome in one way or another. The First Battle of Bull Run would serve as a wake-up call for the North, and as a result of the defeat, the Union would make changes to its army going forward. Many more troops would be requested, and training would improve. The Battle of Antietam would provide a political victory rather than a military victory for the Union. As a result of the bloodiest day in American history, President Lincoln would have cause to reveal his plans for the Emancipation Proclamation. Finally, the Battle of Gettysburg, although not the final battle of the Civil War, would see Lee’s army of Northern Virginia suffer a massive defeat on the fields of Gettysburg, effectively dashing the hopes of a successful invasion of Northern territory. Seeing every battle for its military, political, and moral implications helps provide a broader picture of the American Civil War.

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Bibliography

The Battle of Antietam, May 28, 2019. https://www.proquest.com/docview/2230470087?pq-origsite=summon&accountid=12085&sourcetype=Newspapers.

“First Bull Run." American Heritage.” First bull run, 2011. https://go.gale.com/ps/i.do?p=BIC&u=vic_liberty&id=GALE%7CA271594560&v=2.1&it=r&sid=summon&aty=shibboleth.

“Gettysburg.” American Battlefield Trust. Accessed November 13, 2025. https://www.battlefields.org/learn/civil-war/battles/gettysburg.

Woodworth, Steven E. This great struggle: America’s Civil War. Lanham, Md: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2012.

[1] Steven E. Woodworth, This Great Struggle: America’s Civil War (Lanham, Md: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2012), 47.

[2] Ibid. 49.

[3] Ibid.

[4] “First Bull Run, American Heritage,” 2011, https://go.gale.com/ps/i.do?p=BIC&u=vic_liberty&id=GALE%7CA271594560&v=2.1&it=r&sid=summon&aty=shibboleth.

[5] “The Battle of Antietam,” May 28, 2019, https://www.proquest.com/docview/2230470087?pq-origsite=summon&accountid=12085&sourcetype=Newspapers.

[6] Ibid.

[7] “Gettysburg,” American Battlefield Trust, accessed November 13, 2025, https://www.battlefields.org/learn/civil-war/battles/gettysburg.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

Josephine Butler: A Victorian Activist Ahead of Her Time

Josephine Butler was a British 19th century social reformer and feminist activist who was certainly ahead of her time. Here. Nancy Bernhard explains the impact that Josephine had across several social areas.

Josephine Butler, circa 1876.

In researching the 19th century New York sex trade for my historical novel The Double Standard Sporting House, I encountered two varieties of religious reformers who addressed the so-called “Social Evil.” In the aftermath of the Civil War, conservative and evangelical Christians turned their attention to “fallen” women, and tried to persuade them to repent, and to resist sexual temptation. These efforts hardly ever succeeded, because the reformers misunderstood the reasons why women did sex work. In a time when they were excluded from virtually all well-paid employment, it was a last-resort means of survival. It was also the only choice open to victims of rape and sexual assault, shamed and excluded for the behavior of their predators.

But not all reformers were so eager to blame the victims, and directed their redemptive efforts at the customers, procurers, and pimps of sex workers. Rather than shaming girls, this kind of activist offered them job training, housing, and work that paid a living wage as avenues out of the trade. These practical and compassionate reformers changed many women’s lives. In the US, the Female Moral Reform Society, originally constituted in the 1830s and revived in the late 1860s, even tried to criminalize the hiring of a prostitute in New York State. Given that the Tammany Hall political syndicate controlled New York’s politics top to bottom, that proposed legislation did not get very far. But these progressive reformers began to shift moral blame for the Social Evil off powerless girls and onto their exploiters.

Daring to Stoop

Perhaps the most inspiring and clear-eyed anti-prostitution reformer of the Victorian era came from the far north of England. A beautiful Englishwoman of good family and education, wife of a university don, Josephine Butler had always been a charitable Christian. But after the accidental death of one of her four children and her only daughter, she became an extraordinary activist. Resolving to help people whose pain was greater than her own, she sat with prisoners in the workhouse, and brought dozens of prostitutes, often dying from venereal disease, into her own home. She campaigned for women’s suffrage and against child trafficking, tirelessly mobilizing her faith and gentility on behalf of Britain’s most neglected and abused women. Clergyman and reformer Charles Kingsley said in 1853 that the in the cause of fallen women, “What is required is one real lady who would dare to stoop.” Butler soon became that lady. Florence Nightingale thought her “touched with genius.”

Understanding sex work to stem from evil economic conditions and the absurd subjugation of women, Butler wrote, “The prostitute sees herself as the only realist in a world deluded by moral hypocrisy.” She built a series of Industrial Homes where girls could learn trades that would support them. She campaigned for better work and educational opportunities for women, but also for better treatment in the workplace, as girls were often assaulted by their employers and then barred from employment. She also organized against couverture, the policy that saw women’s rights revert to their husbands upon marriage.

The Contagious Diseases Acts

Butler gained national fame when she fought the Contagious Diseases Acts, passed in stages by Parliament during the 1860s, allowing police to detain and physically examine any woman in the vicinity of a military installation. Many poor women were subject to internal examinations by fiat. Butler called this ‘steel rape.’ No men were ever harassed or even questioned for frequenting sex workers, as the law was designed to protect them but not women from disease. For pointing this out, Butler was often threatened, and she was badly beaten more than once. A building where she was speaking was set on fire.

While Butler persuaded many people of the one-sided injustice of the Contagious Diseases Acts during her years-long campaign, the Conservative government failed to repeal them. One observer quipped, “Hell knows no fury like the scorn of a man who has been humiliated in debate by a sexually attractive woman.” In one year, Butler gave 99 speeches. A Member of Parliament remarked: “We know how to manage any other opposition in the House or in the country, but this is very awkward for us—this revolt of the women. It is quite a new thing; what are we to do with such an opposition as this?” The Acts were not repealed until 1886.

Against Child Trafficking

In the 1880s, Butler also began a long and contentious campaign against child trafficking. She joined forces with crusading journalist William T. Stead and members of the Salvation Army to draw attention to the abduction and sale of English children to European brothels specializing in pedophilia, and to pass a law stalled in the House of Commons raising the age of consent from thirteen to sixteen.

Butler and Stead’s “Special and Secret Committee of Inquiry” made a plan to purchase children themselves, to show how easily it could be done. For ten days in London, Butler and her eldest son posed as a brothel keeper and a procurer, and bought time with children in elite brothels, paying a total of one hundred pounds for ten different girls. They passed their information to Scotland Yard, and arrests ensued.

Stead, through Butler protégé Rebecca Jarrett, contracted to buy the virginity of Eliza Armstrong, the thirteen year-old daughter of a destitute sex worker. The girl was instead removed from her precarious life and adopted by a Salvation Army-affiliated family in France. Stead published an eye-popping five-installment account of his purchase in the Pall Mall Gazette under the title “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon,” hearkening to the Minotaur’s sacrifice of virgins. The series became a wild sensation, provoking intense public debate and widespread demonstrations, news sellers storming the paper’s offices for more copies. Parliament rushed to raise the age of consent.

But despite outspoken support from religious leaders, Stead and several of his co-conspirators were indicted for the abduction and procurement of Eliza Armstrong. Her mother now claimed she thought she was sending her daughter into domestic service, and her father had not been consulted. Rival newspapers tried to discredit Stead and steal his thunder. He served three months in jail, and Rebecca Jarrett served six. Butler was questioned but not charged. Though messy and sensationalist, the Maiden Tribute brought child trafficking into wide public notice for the first time, and legislation against it began in earnest.

God and One Woman

After her husband’s death in 1890, Butler slowly withdrew from public life, and died in 1906 at the age of 78. In 2005, Durham University named a residential college for her.

Perhaps Josephine Butler’s greatest achievement was to lay bare the hypocrisies of Victorian society. Her poise and respectability lent credibility, and her faith lent clarity. She said, “I plead for the rights of the most virtuous and the most vicious equally.”

Over decades she attacked the sexual double standard, writing, “A moral lapse in a woman was spoken of as an immensely worse thing than in a man, there was no comparison to be formed between them. A pure woman, it was reiterated, should be absolutely ignorant of a certain class of evils in the world, albeit those evils bore with murderous cruelty on other women.” She began to shift public perception of a sex worker from a guilty, sinful temptress to a person who was victimized by a morally inexcusable society, and inspired a generation of activists in Europe and North America, including in New York, where some of the characters in my novel try to follow her example.

Her favorite phrase was, “God and one woman make a majority.”

Nancy Bernhard’s historical fiction debut, The Double Standard Sporting House, was recently released.

References

Helen Mathers, Patron Saint of Prostitutes: Josephine Butler and a Victorian Scandal, The History Press, 2014.

Glen Petrie, A singular Iniquity: The Campaigns of Josephine Butler, The Viking Press, 1971.

Carroll Smith-Rosenberg, Disorderly Conduct: Visions of Gender in Victorian America, Oxford University Press, 1985.

American Conflicts in the Early 20th Century: Smedley Butler CMoH

Smedley Darlington Butler stands as one of the most formidable and paradoxical figures in United States military history, a Marine whose career traced the arc of American power abroad from the age of imperial interventions to the disillusionment that followed the First World War. Born on the 30th of July, 1881 in West Chester, Pennsylvania, into a prominent Quaker family, Butler's path to martial life seemed at odds with his upbringing. His father was a U.S. congressman, and the family tradition emphasized public service, but not violence. Yet at the age of sixteen, stirred by the outbreak of the Spanish–American War and driven by a precocious sense of duty and adventure, Butler lied about his age to secure a commission as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Marine Corps. That impulsive decision began a career that would see him repeatedly at the sharp edge of American foreign policy.

Terry Bailey explains.

Smedley Butler early in his earlier years - said to be 1898. From the Smedley Butler Collection (COLL/3124), Marine Corps Archives & Special Collections, available here.

Butler's early service immersed him in the era's so-called "small wars," interventions designed to protect American interests overseas. He fought in China during the Boxer Rebellion in 1900, where multinational forces moved to relieve foreign legations besieged in Beijing. There, Butler was wounded in combat and displayed the aggressive leadership that would become his hallmark. He later returned to China during subsequent interventions, gaining firsthand experience of expeditionary warfare in unstable political environments. These deployments, along with service in the Caribbean and Central America, shaped Butler into a hardened officer who believed that personal example—leading from the front under fire—was the essence of command.

The first of Butler's two Medals of Honor was earned during the U.S. occupation of Veracruz, Mexico, in April 1914. The intervention arose from the chaotic conditions of the Mexican Revolution and a diplomatic crisis triggered by the Tampico Affair, in which U.S. sailors were briefly detained by Mexican federal forces. Determined to prevent a shipment of arms from reaching the regime of Victoriano Huerta, President Woodrow Wilson ordered the seizure of Veracruz. Butler, then a major, found himself in intense urban combat as Marines and sailors advanced street by street against determined resistance. Over two days of fighting, Butler repeatedly exposed himself to enemy fire while directing his men, maintaining momentum amid confusion and danger. His conspicuous bravery, calm leadership, and disregard for his own safety were credited with helping to secure key objectives during the assault. For this conduct, he received the Medal of Honor, recognizing his extraordinary heroism in a complex and politically sensitive operation.

Butler's second Medal of Honor came the following year during the U.S. intervention in Haiti, another campaign rooted in American concerns over political instability and foreign influence in the Caribbean. In November 1915, Butler led an attack on Fort Rivière, a stronghold held by Caco insurgents resisting the occupation. The fort, an old French structure perched atop a steep hill, was considered nearly impregnable. Rather than ordering a prolonged bombardment, Butler personally led a small assault force up the hill under fire. Discovering a narrow entrance, he and his men forced their way inside and engaged the defenders at close quarters. The sudden, aggressive attack collapsed the resistance within minutes. Butler's decision to lead the assault himself, coupled with his audacity and tactical judgement, was deemed decisive. Awarded a second Medal of Honor, he joined a very small group of Americans to have received the nation's highest military decoration twice.

During the years that followed, Butler's career continued to reflect the expanding global reach of the United States. He served on the Mexican border during the 1916 crisis sparked by Pancho Villa's raids, helping to secure frontier regions amid fears of wider conflict. When the United States entered the First World War, Butler was promoted to brigadier general and assigned logistical and training responsibilities rather than frontline combat. Most notably, he commanded the Marine base at Brest in France, where he worked to impose order and efficiency on a massive, chaotic port operation essential to sustaining the American Expeditionary Forces. Though frustrated by bureaucracy and the lack of combat command, his energy and organizational drive earned him respect and further advancement.

After retiring from the Marine Corps in 1931 as a major general, Butler underwent a profound transformation. Drawing on his decades of experience in foreign interventions, he became an outspoken critic of American militarism and corporate influence over foreign policy. His 1935 pamphlet War Is a Racket argued that many of the campaigns he had fought in served economic interests rather than national defense, a striking repudiation from one of the most decorated Marines in history. Butler spent his final years lecturing and writing, admired by some for his candor and criticized by others for his blunt attacks on the establishment. He died in 1940, leaving behind a legacy defined by extraordinary personal courage, relentless leadership in battle, and a rare willingness to question the very system he had served so ferociously.

Smedley Butler's life captures the contradictions of his age: a fearless warrior of America's overseas expansion who later became one of its sharpest internal critics. His two Medals of Honor testify to moments of undeniable heroism under fire, while his later words invite reflection on the costs and purposes of the wars that shaped him. Few American military figures embody both the triumph and the unease of U.S. power abroad as fully as Smedley Darlington Butler.

Smedley Darlington Butler's story ultimately resists any simple verdict, and it is precisely this complexity that secures his enduring significance. As a young Marine officer, he personified the aggressive confidence of a rising power, repeatedly placing himself in harm's way and earning the devotion of the men he led through sheer physical courage and uncompromising example. His two Medals of Honor were not products of chance or symbolism, but of a consistent pattern of behavior: decisive action, personal risk, and an unshakeable belief that a commander's duty was to share the dangers of those he commanded. In this sense, Butler stands comfortably among the most formidable combat leaders in American military history.

Yet it is the second act of his life that elevates him beyond the narrow confines of martial achievement. Butler's post-retirement denunciation of the very interventions that had defined his career did not erase his service; rather, it reframed it. Few figures have possessed both the authority and the moral courage to interrogate their own legacy so publicly. When Butler condemned war as a racket, he did so not as an outsider or a theorist, but as a man who had fought, bled, and commanded in the field. His critique drew its power from lived experience, forcing contemporaries—and later generations—to confront uncomfortable questions about the relationship between military force, national interest, and economic power.

In the end, Butler's legacy lies not only in the battles he fought or the decorations he earned, but in the intellectual honesty with which he confronted the meaning of those experiences. He remains a symbol of both the heights of personal bravery and the capacity for reflection and dissent within the military tradition itself. In embodying the courage to fight and the courage to question, Smedley Darlington Butler occupies a rare and uneasy place in American history—one that continues to challenge how heroism, patriotism, and power are understood.

The site has been offering a wide variety of high-quality, free history content since 2012. If you’d like to say ‘thank you’ and help us with site running costs, please consider donating here.

Notes:

Tampico Affair

The Tampico Affair was a brief but consequential diplomatic incident between the United States and Mexico in April 1914, occurring during the height of the Mexican Revolution. At the time, Mexico was deeply unstable following the overthrow and assassination of President Francisco Madero in 1913, an event that brought General Victoriano Huerta to power. The United States, under President Woodrow Wilson, refused to recognize Huerta's government, viewing it as illegitimate and born of treachery. This tense political backdrop meant that even minor incidents carried the potential for serious international repercussions.

The affair itself began on the 9th of April, 1914, when a small group of U.S. Navy sailors from the gunboat USS Dolphin went ashore at the Mexican port of Tampico to purchase fuel. They were arrested by Mexican federal troops, who suspected them of entering a restricted military area. Although the sailors were quickly released once their identity was established, the local Mexican commander failed to offer a formal apology. Rear Admiral Henry T. Mayo, commanding U.S. naval forces in the area, demanded not only an apology but also a 21-gun salute to the American flag as a public gesture of respect.

Huerta's government agreed to issue an apology but refused to authorize the salute, arguing that it would compromise Mexican sovereignty and imply submission to the United States. President Wilson seized upon the refusal as evidence of Huerta's hostility and disrespect, and he used the incident to seek congressional approval to employ armed force. The Tampico Affair thus became less about the arrest itself and more a symbolic confrontation over national honor, legitimacy, and diplomatic recognition.

The immediate consequence of the affair was the U.S. occupation of the port of Veracruz later in April 1914, aimed at preventing a German arms shipment from reaching Huerta's forces. While the occupation was not a direct response to the Tampico incident alone, the affair provided the political justification Wilson needed to escalate U.S. involvement. In the broader context of U.S.–Mexican relations, the Tampico Affair exemplified how revolutionary instability, wounded national pride, and great-power diplomacy could rapidly turn a minor local misunderstanding into an international crisis.

A U.S. Civil War Spy in Europe: Henry Shelton Sanford

Who does not enjoy a good spy story? The Civil War, though fought on American soil, was also waged in drawing rooms, chancelleries, and counting houses across Europe. In that shadow war, few figures were more important—or more obscure—than Henry Shelton Sanford.

Lloyd W Klein explains.

Henry Shelton Sanford.

Sanford was not the kind of man one would cast as a master spy. He did not resemble the polished, worldly intelligence officer of fiction. That was precisely why he was effective. Born in Connecticut to a prosperous family whose wealth came from manufacturing brass tacks, Sanford grew up comfortably connected. One of his ancestors had served as governor of the state. He attended Trinity College and studied in Germany, though he never graduated from either. What he lacked in formal credentials he made up for in money, mobility, and social access.

At just twenty-four, Sanford entered diplomacy, appointed secretary to the American legation in St. Petersburg in 1847. A year later he moved to Frankfurt, and in 1849 to Paris, where he remained for five years, eventually rising to chargé d’affaires. In 1861 Abraham Lincoln named him minister to Belgium. His official portfolio included trade agreements, naturalization treaties, and consular arrangements such as the Scheldt Treaties of 1863, which governed customs duties and navigation rights on one of Europe’s most important commercial waterways. But Sanford’s formal responsibilities were the least important part of his job. His real assignment was counterespionage.

What made Sanford valuable was not diplomacy but deniability. He was wealthy enough not to require a salary, socially connected enough to travel freely without raising suspicion, and unburdened by the technical minutiae that tied other diplomats to their desks. Like many ministers of the era, he was assumed to be a gentleman abroad—sightseeing, attending receptions, and occasionally reporting home. That assumption was his camouflage

In reality, Sanford was one of the principal architects of the Union’s covert war in Europe. Secretary of State William H. Seward entrusted him with authority far exceeding his nominal rank. Sanford was permitted to travel freely across the Continent and into Britain. He was given access to a secret fund of roughly one million dollars—a staggering sum at the time—to finance intelligence gathering, influence, and interference. His mission was straightforward to describe and extraordinarily difficult to execute: prevent the Confederacy from acquiring ships, weapons, credit, and diplomatic recognition.

Jefferson Davis and his government understood that they could not prevail in a prolonged war without foreign assistance. The American Revolution provided the model: French intervention had transformed rebellion into victory. Confederate leaders hoped Britain or France might play a similar role in 1862. Short of recognition, they needed rifles, cannon, powder, ships, and financing—resources Europe could supply in abundance if the Union blockade could be breached.

Seward and Charles Francis Adams, the American minister in London, formed the official diplomatic front. Sanford was tasked with the unacknowledged work behind it. From Brussels, Paris, and London, he assembled a private intelligence service. In Britain, he employed a police detective who ran operatives in major ports and industrial centers. Shipyards, foundries, arms manufacturers, insurers, and brokers were watched closely for signs of Confederate activity.

Identifying Confederate agents was rarely difficult. They were Americans from the seceded states, often with unmistakable accents and known loyalties. Some were serving Confederate officers; others were businessmen acting as intermediaries. The challenge was not knowing who they were, but discovering what they were doing.

In a world without telephones or secure communications, conspiracies traveled on paper and wire. Letters moved through the post. Contracts were telegraphed. Shipping instructions passed between offices and ports. Sanford targeted all of it.

How Sanford Operated

Sanford’s agents bribed postal workers to copy or intercept Confederate correspondence. Telegraph clerks were paid to divert or decode messages. Clerks inside factories and shipyards were induced to hand over specifications, contracts, and delivery schedules. Couriers carried intelligence between Belgium, France, and Britain. At times, Sanford simply “borrowed” Confederate letters long enough to read them before returning them to circulation.

Through business contacts, he tracked cotton shipments, arms purchases, and financial transactions. When necessary, he quietly pressured European firms not to deal with the South. The aim was not dramatic disruption but steady suffocation.

Two Confederate operatives were of particular importance: Caleb Huse and James D. Bulloch. Huse, a West Point–trained officer and former chemistry instructor, served as the Confederacy’s principal arms buyer. Operating across Britain, Austria, Prussia, and beyond, he negotiated most of the weapons contracts that eventually supplied Southern armies. Bulloch oversaw naval procurement, including the construction of commerce raiders in British shipyards. One of them—the Alabama—would devastate U.S. merchant shipping before being sunk off Cherbourg.

Sanford tracked both men closely. He fed intelligence to Adams in London, worked to delay or derail their transactions, and ensured that Washington knew when ships were likely to sail. When formal channels failed, less formal methods were sometimes employed. As Sanford joked to Seward in one letter, “accidents are numerous in the [English] Channel, you know.”

Influence and the Press

Recognition of the Confederate government before 1863 was a central Southern objective. Envoys James Mason and John Slidell were dispatched to Britain and France, though their capture during the Trent Affair nearly triggered war. While Queen Victoria was personally hostile to a slaveholding republic, British politics were complicated. Liverpool merchants depended on Southern cotton. William Gladstone spoke sympathetically of Southern independence. French policy remained opportunistic.

Seward responded with another weapon: influence. His instrument was Thurlow Weed, a veteran political operative, newspaper man, and longtime ally. Weed held no diplomatic title—by design. He could move through London and Paris as a private citizen, cultivating editors, financiers, and politicians while quietly countering Confederate propaganda.

Weed arrived in Europe in late 1861. He subsidized friendly journalists, planted pro-Union stories, hosted salons and dinners, and gathered intelligence—especially regarding Confederate shipbuilding. Like Sanford, he carried funds and used them where persuasion alone was insufficient. If questioned, Seward could plausibly deny everything. Weed was merely a tourist. Sanford was merely a minister in Brussels. Adams remained the sole visible face of American diplomacy.

Sanford’s influence operations extended far beyond Britain. By 1862 his network reached Belgium, France, Spain, Italy, and the German states. Journalists and editors were quietly supported to produce Union-friendly coverage. Articles prepared in Washington circulated abroad as “news.” When Confederate agents planted stories of their own, Sanford’s operatives countered them with rebuttals, leaks, or alternative narratives.

Clergy were targeted as well. American ministers appealed to European priests and pastors, urging them not to grant moral legitimacy to a slaveholding republic. In Britain, Sanford’s agents worked through labor organizations, emphasizing free labor and the degradation of chattel slavery. Antislavery demonstrations were sometimes organized to appear spontaneous. On this terrain, the Confederacy was especially vulnerable.

None of this resembled conventional diplomacy. By any reasonable standard, Sanford violated the norms of neutrality. Had Belgium chosen to protest, it would have been within its rights to demand his recall.

How Secret Was It?

Weed’s presence in Europe was unofficial; he did not hold a diplomatic title. If questioned, Seward could assert that Weed was merely a private citizen traveling abroad. However, in truth, Weed operated with the backing of the State Department, private funds, and political directives, rendering him a covert envoy in all but name. His role was designed to be deniable, which was the intention: Adams could maintain a legitimate front as the 'official' representative of U.S. diplomacy, while Weed undertook the clandestine tasks of influence and propaganda.

Thurlow Weed.

Other Covert Operations

Sanford’s network extended far beyond Britain. By 1862 it reached into Belgium, France, Spain, Italy, and the German states. Intelligence gathering was only one part of the enterprise. The more ambitious—and more dangerous—arm of his campaign was an organized effort to shape European public opinion.

Sanford poured money into the press. Journalists and editors were quietly subsidized to produce stories favorable to the Union. At one point he even attempted to purchase a Belgian newspaper outright. Articles prepared in Washington were circulated abroad as “news.” When Confederate agents planted stories of their own, Sanford’s people countered them with rebuttals, leaks, or alternative narratives.

Clergy were targeted as well. American ministers were sent to Europe to appeal to priests and pastors, urging them not to lend moral legitimacy to a slaveholding republic. In Britain, Sanford’s agents worked through labor organizations, emphasizing the dignity of free labor and the degradation of chattel slavery. Antislavery demonstrations were sometimes organized to appear spontaneous. On this ground the Confederacy was especially vulnerable: however much cotton mattered, slavery repelled too many Europeans for Southern diplomacy to overcome.

None of this resembled conventional diplomacy. When France had attempted similar manipulation of American politics during the 1790s, it had triggered the Genet Affair and nearly wrecked relations between Paris and Washington. By any reasonable standard, Sanford was violating the norms of neutrality and the limits placed on foreign ministers. Had Belgium chosen to protest, it would have been within its rights to demand his recall.

As the Union’s military position deteriorated after the failed Peninsula Campaign, Seward feared that Britain and France might push for mediation—an outcome that would have legitimized Confederate independence. Thurlow Weed was therefore sent back across the Atlantic. His mission was to stiffen Adams’s hand by quietly lobbying elites, feeding sympathetic journalists, and using money and charm to blunt Southern influence. Weed reported that European opinion was deeply divided, and that Confederate agents were tireless in their efforts. That only confirmed the necessity of the counteroffensive Sanford was running.

What did President Lincoln Know About All of This?

Sanford was not a rogue operator. He worked with the knowledge of Adams and under the direction of Seward. The remaining question is how far that knowledge extended.

A letter from Sanford to Seward, dated July 4, 1861, provides an unambiguous answer. It survives in the Lincoln Papers at the Library of Congress.

From Henry S. Sanford to William H. Seward, July 4, 1861, Abraham Lincoln papers, Library of Congress, http://www.loc.gov/resource/mal.1064500.

“I hope you will act on the suggestion contained in the accompanying letter to get Congress to provide you a larger Secret Service Fund.

I am determined, if it is possible, to get at the operations of these [Confederate] “commissioners” through their own papers, and the man specially occupied with that knows his business. How it will be done whether through a pretty mistress or an intelligent servant or a spying landlord is nobody’s business; but I lay great stress on getting you full official accounts of their operations here!

It will be expensive. Your £600 will not last long if this is continued for a considerable period, but I count on your increasing it as wanted.

I intend on putting an agent or two on my own account on their fellow in Paris. The official agents don’t do all I ask them to and the Chef de Police1 has promised me one of their retired agents in the political department who shall be in relations with the office but not accountable to them for what I set him at.

If you do not approve my way of proceeding tell me so frankly. I go on the doctrine that in war as in love, everything is fair that will lead to success!.”

This was not ambiguous. Sanford was telling the Secretary of State that he intended to use bribery, infiltration, mail theft, and sexual entrapment to penetrate Confederate operations—and that it would be expensive.

Sanford was explicitly proposing bribery, infiltration, mail theft, and sexual entrapment—and requesting additional funds to do so. Seward did not object.

Through foreign nationals, Sanford intercepted correspondence, diverted contracts, identified shipbuilders, and occasionally sabotaged vessels. These acts were illegal under local law. Sanford enjoyed diplomatic immunity; his agents did not. Corruption was intrinsic to the system.

“Sexpionage,” as later generations would call it, was hardly novel. The Civil War had its own female operatives—Rose Greenhow, Belle Boyd, Ginnie Moon—who used intimacy to extract secrets. Sanford’s casual reference to “a pretty mistress” shows he understood the same tools were available to him.

Implications

There is substantial evidence indicating that the United States Government engaged in covert counterespionage through a network involving bribery, as well as mail and wire fraud, utilizing foreign operatives during the Civil War. Secretary of State William H. Seward, likely with the knowledge of President Lincoln, oversaw an intelligence and covert operation in Europe. His operations were conducted through individuals such as Thurlow Weed, Charles Francis Adams, and Henry Shelton Sanford, who served as the U.S. minister to Belgium. Sanford, in particular, was responsible for managing secret surveillance, courier networks, and propaganda efforts aimed at undermining Confederate diplomacy and arms procurement in Europe. 21st Century readers are likely not particularly surprised to learn this.

Had Sanford’s network been exposed, the diplomatic consequences could have been severe. Britain and France maintained official neutrality; revelations of U.S. interference with correspondence, commerce, or the press could have triggered expulsions or demands for recall. Belgium, whose neutrality required delicate balance, might have objected strongly to its territory being used for clandestine operations.

Yet the Confederacy was engaged in its own covert diplomacy and arms procurement. Had Sanford’s actions been revealed, Washington would have argued—credibly—that it was countering Southern subversion. The risk was real, but the calculation proved correct.

If European governments were to uncover U.S. interference with private or diplomatic correspondence, it would be regarded as a significant violation of sovereignty. This could have led to the expulsion of U.S. diplomats (or at the very least, Sanford himself).

Both Britain and France maintained official neutrality. Following the Trent Affair, U.S. diplomacy was cast into doubt. Should Sanford’s bribery, espionage against Confederate agents, and the use of press propaganda have been exposed, London and Paris might have charged the U.S. with breaching their neutrality. This could have jeopardized Adams’ meticulous diplomacy in London, potentially increasing the likelihood of recognizing the Confederacy. Sanford’s host nation might have objected to the use of its territory for clandestine operations.

The damage to the Union’s moral standing could have been catastrophic for global opinion. The Lincoln administration framed the war as a moral battle against slavery and insurrection. If it were revealed that the U.S. was conducting covert influence operations—such as planting articles in newspapers, financing agents, or surveilling Confederate sympathizers—it could have undermined that moral assertion, portraying the Union as Machiavellian rather than principled. There would have been a significant risk to U.S. agents and sympathizers operating overseas. If Sanford’s informants and intermediaries were to be exposed, they could have faced arrest or expulsion. This situation would have severely hindered the U.S. capacity to monitor Confederate arms acquisitions and blockade runners.

Consequently, the immediate repercussions would have included diplomatic embarrassment and a potential loss of influence in Europe. Should the Confederates’ situation have improved, it is uncertain whether Britain’s political stance might have shifted. They were undertaking a considerable risk, and it ultimately proved beneficial.

Following the war, Union leaders minimized or overlooked Sanford’s covert involvement. The official narrative highlighted Lincoln’s moral clarity and Adams’ diplomatic resolve, rather than the obscure tactics that underpinned them. Thus, the justification was both practical at the time and discreetly suppressed afterward to maintain the Union’s image as a principled power.

Conclusion

Henry Shelton Sanford never commanded an army and never signed a famous treaty. His war was fought in post offices, telegraph rooms, shipyards, and newspaper offices. Through bribery, surveillance, and influence, he helped deny the Confederacy the foreign support it desperately needed. Had his activities been exposed, they might have damaged the Union’s standing abroad. That they remained secret helped preserve it.

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References

Primary and secondary on Henry Shelton Sanford’s covert operations, Seward’s diplomacy, and Union intelligence in Europe:

Primary Sources

• Sanford, Henry Shelton. Papers of Henry Shelton Sanford, 1841–1891. Library of Congress Manuscript Division.
  – Contains his dispatches from Brussels, including reports on Confederate activities and his covert countermeasures.

• U.S. Department of State. Papers Relating to Foreign Affairs (Annual volumes, esp. 1861–1865).
  – Includes Sanford’s and Adams’ correspondence with Seward; you can see how carefully they worded reports to obscure covert activities.

• Charles Francis Adams. The Memoirs of Charles Francis Adams, 1835–1917.
  – Adams reflects on his role in Britain and occasionally mentions the behind-the-scenes pressures, though cautiously.

Secondary Works

• Jones, Howard. Blue and Gray Diplomacy: A History of Union and Confederate Foreign Relations. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010.
  – Excellent overview of both Union and Confederate diplomacy; details Sanford’s activities in Belgium and the broader intelligence struggle.

• Merrill, Walter M. Seward and the Balance of Power. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967.
  – Classic study of Seward’s statecraft, including his reliance on shadow diplomacy and intelligence gathering.

• Thomas, Benjamin P. & Hyman, Harold M. Stanton: The Life and Times of Lincoln’s Secretary of War. New York: Knopf, 1962.
  – While focused on Stanton, it provides context on the Union’s broader intelligence operations, including coordination with diplomats like Sanford.

• Hubbell, John T. “The Northern Response to Confederate Diplomacy: The Sanford Missions.” Civil War History 13, no. 3 (1967): 201–218.
  – A focused scholarly article on Sanford’s specific covert operations in Belgium.

• Ferris, Norman B. Desperate Diplomacy: William H. Seward’s Foreign Policy, 1861. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1976.
  – Analyzes Seward’s readiness to bend norms and how he used covert measures to protect the Union from recognition crises.

• Elliott, Mark R. Color-Blind Justice: Albion Tourgée and the Quest for Racial Equality from the Civil War to Plessy v. Ferguson. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006.
  – Though focused on Tourgée, it briefly discusses Union propaganda abroad and its tension with the Union’s moral message.

• Klein, Lloyd W. George Alfred Trenholm. https://www.historyisnowmagazine.com/blog/tag/George+Alfred+Trenholm

References for Weed’s Missions

·       Glyndon Van Deusen, Thurlow Weed: Wizard of the Lobby (1947) — detailed account of his European missions.

·       Howard Jones, Blue and Gray Diplomacy (2010) — situates Weed’s role in the broader Union diplomatic and covert strategy.

·       Norman B. Ferris, Desperate Diplomacy: William H. Seward’s Foreign Policy, 1861 (1976) — covers Weed’s involvement during the Trent Affair.

·       U.S. State Department, Papers Relating to Foreign Affairs (1861–62) — includes indirect references to Weed’s activities, though sanitized.

How Parts of the U.S. Almost went to War in the 1830s: The Toledo War of 1835-36

In the winter of 1835, two US states (one a territory, actually) almost went to war over the city of Toledo, Ohio.

The Toledo War of 1835-36 was a bizarre and largely forgotten footnote of American history over control of the ‘Toledo Strip,’ a 468 square mile band of land between the borders of the state of Ohio and the then Michigan Territory.

Randy Griffin explains.

Former Ohio governor and US Surveyor General Edward Tiffin.

Where is Lake Michigan?

What was to become known as the Toledo War had its beginnings before the country itself.

In 1787, the Congress of the Confederation (the legislative body created from the Articles of Confederation that governed from March 1, 1781, to March 3, 1789) enacted the Northwest Ordinance.

The Northwest Ordinance specified that the Northwest Territory, the 260,000 square miles surrounding the Great Lakes, would be divided into ‘not less than three nor more than five’ states, with one of the boundaries being ‘an east and west line drawn through the southerly bend or extreme of Lake Michigan.’

The Enabling Act of 1802 gave Ohio permission to begin the process of statehood, stating that the border of the new state would be ‘an east and west line drawn through the southerly extreme of Lake Michigan, running east...until it shall intersect Lake Erie or the territorial line [with British North America], and thence with the same through Lake Erie to the Pennsylvania line aforesaid.’

Surveyor John Mitchell’s map, called the ‘Mitchell Map,’ considered the best map of the time, showed the southern extreme of Lake Michigan north of the mouth of the Detroit River. By mistakenly placing Lake Michigan’s southern tip several miles north of its true location, the Mitchell Map made it seem like the east-west line would not meet Lake Erie at all, the original border placed at the mouth of the Manumee River and Toledo in northern Ohio rather than in southern Michigan Territory.

When Ohio drew up its constitution of 1802, it was with the assumption that Congress intended that the northern Ohio boundary would be north of the Maumee River, maybe even the Detroit River. Ohio claimed most of the shoreline west of Pennsylvania, leaving future states with access to only Lakes Michigan, Huron, or Superior.

All well and good for Ohio. But when a fur trapper (whose name is lost to history) reported that Lake Michigan actually lay significantly further south than believed, Ohio delegates realized they might not only lose out on prime shore front, but could be denied the entire shoreline west of Pennsylvania.

With this in mind, the constitutional delegates hedged their bet, inserting a provision into the Ohio constitution that if the fur trapper was correct, the state’s boundary line would be adjusted to meet with Lake Erie at the ‘most northerly cape of the Miami [Maumee] Bay,’ guaranteeing that most of the southern shore of Lake Erie west of Pennsylvania would go to Ohio.

The draft constitution was sent to Congress and referred to a committee, where politicians do what politicians best (namely, kick the can down then road) deciding that since the exact whereabouts of Lake Michigan were yet to be determined the members ‘thought it unnecessary to take it [the provision], at the time, into consideration,’ and on March 1, 1803 Ohio became the 17th state, the first formed from the Northwest Ordnance.

In 1805, Congress created the Michigan Territory, again using the Northwest Ordinance’s definition to define the territory’s southern boundary, ambiguity and all. And although the Ohio legislature spent the early part of the 19th century repeatedly asking Congress to resolve the issue, differences with Ohio’s border version went unresolved for 30 years.

In 1812, Congress finally got around to approving a survey, but the War of 1812 delayed it. Only after the admission of Indiana in 1816 was the survey started. The results led Congress to move the border between the Michigan Territory and Indiana ten miles north to give Indiana access to Lake Michigan.

Former Ohio governor and US Surveyor General Edward Tiffin tapped William Harris to perform another survey, one that didn’t use the Northwest Ordinance line but the one specified in the Ohio constitution.

When the results of the Harris survey, which obviously favored Ohio’s claims, was made public, Michigan Territory Governor Cass cried foul, saying the survey favored Ohio and that it ‘is only adding strength to the strong, and making the weak still weaker.’

Of course, the Michigan Territory commissioned its own survey, led by John A. Fulton, one based on the Northwest Ordinance Line. His survey found the boundary ending just southeast of the Maumee River.

This discrepancy between the Harris and Fulton survey lines was eight miles apart at Lake Erie and five miles apart at the Indiana border, resulting in a 468-mile piece of land known as the ‘Toledo Strip.’

Taking the initiative, Michigan quietly occupied the strip, setting up a local government, infrastructure and, most importantly, collecting taxes.

By the early 1820s, Michigan had reached the 60,000 population threshold to become a state. Here politics became involved, as the Ohio Congressional delegation flexed its political muscle in Washington to block Michigan’s admission to statehood, resulting in Congress denying their right to hold a state constitutional convention in 1833 because of the Toledo Strip controversy.

In January 1835, 27-year-old Michigan Territorial Governor Stevens T. Mason (nicknamed the ‘Boy Governor’) took matters into his own hands, calling for a constitutional convention in May, regardless of what Ohio and Washington wanted.

In February 1835, Ohio began setting up a county government in the Strip, naming the county where Toledo would be as Lucas County, after Ohio governor Robert Lucas.

Michigan Territorial Governor Mason responded by signing the Pains and Penalties Act six days later. According to Michigan law, it was now a criminal offense for Ohio to perform government actions in the strip. The Ohioan offenders could be arrested and face up to a $1000 fine ($30,000 in 2024 money) and up to five years of hard labor, or both, without benefit of trial.

Governor Mason appointed Brigadier General Joseph W. Brown of the Third US Brigade to command the state militia, with orders to be ready to act against trespassers.

Escalation

On March 31, 1835, Ohio Governor Lucas, along with General John Bell and approximately 600 militiamen, made their to Perrysburg, Ohio, ten miles southwest of Toledo.

A few days later, Governor Mason, General Brown, and 1,000 men arrived in Toledo to stop Ohio from moving further into the area and marking the border in their favor.

By now, the border dispute had the full attention of Washington. President Jackson consulted his Attorney General Benjamin Butler, who believed that until Congress deemed otherwise, the strip was a part of the Michigan Territory.

But by now it was a political, not legal, issue.

Ohio at the time had 19 representatives and two senators, while Michigan, as a territory, had just one non-voting delegate. Then, as now, Ohio was considered a swing state, and the Democratic Party simply couldn’t afford to lose Ohio’s electoral votes.

Therefore, Jackson decided that the Toledo Strip would be part of Ohio.

Jackson sent two representatives, Richard Rush of Pennsylvania and Benjamin Chew Howard of Maryland, to Toledo to mediate the conflict and offer a compromise: another survey to mark the ‘Harris Line,’ and that the residents of the region could decide for themselves which state or territorial government they wanted to live in.

Governor Lucas reluctantly agreed and began sending his militia home. Governor Mason refused the compromise and kept his militia together and ready for conflict.

During the elections, Ohio officials found themselves harassed by Michigan officials, the residents threatened with arrest if they went along with Ohio authority.

Battle of Philips Corners

Two days after the April Michigan election, Ohio Governor Lucas sent out a team of surveyors led by Uri Seely of Geauga County, Jonathan Taylor of Licking County, and John Patterson of Adams County, to mark the Harris Line.

On Sunday, April 26 April 1835, Michigan General Joseph Brown and 60 militiamen surprised the survey party. In the only armed incident of the war, the militia reportedly fired shots over the surveyor’s heads. The surveyors scattered, with General Brown’s militia arresting nine, charging them with violation of the Pains and Penalties Act. The authorities brought the nine to Tecumseh, Michigan, where six paid bail for release, and two were acquitted. Only one man, who went by the name of Feltcher, who stubbornly refused to pay his bail, remained in custody.

Three of the escaped surveyors made their way back to Governor Lucas at Perrysburg, where they reported that ‘nine of our men, who did not leave the ground in time after being fired upon by the enemy, from thirty to fifty shots, were taken prisoners and carried away into Tecumseh, Michigan.

Lucas called a special session, and on June 8 passed a series of laws, including making Toledo the county seat of Lucas County, the establishment of a Court of Common Pleas, a law to prevent ‘forcible abduction’ of Ohio citizens, and $300,000 ($9.6 million in 2024) to fund it.

Michigan responded with $315,000 in funding for its militia.

We are the weaker party, it is true, but we are on the side of justice...we cannot fail to maintain our rights against the encroachments of a powerful neighboring state.

While the Michigan Territory spent May and June 1835 drafting its state constitution, Congress and President Jackson were still unwilling to make Michigan a state until the border issue was resolved.

In June, Governor Lucas sent US Attorney Noah Haynes Swaye, former Ohio Governor and Congressman William Allen, and David T. Disney to Washington to plead their case to Jackson.

Throughout the middle of 1835 saw lawsuits, skirmishes, arrests, and spying on both sides to keep track of the sheriffs of Wood County, Ohio, and Monroe County, Michigan.

On July 15, 1835, Monroe County Michigan Deputy Sheriff Joseph Wood made his way to Toledo to arrest either Major Benjamin Stickney or his son Two, who were aligned with Ohio’s claim on the Strip, but ended up arresting the whole family when they resisted.

During the arrest, a scuffle broke out where Two Stickney pulled out a small penknife and stabbed Marshall Wood in the arm, the first, and only, recorded incident of bloodshed in the Toledo War. Wood survived the minor injury, and Two fled into Ohio.

Mason demanded Two Stickney be handed over to Michigan, but of course Lucas refused. Mason wrote to Jackson asking for Supreme Court intervention, but Jackson declined.

Lucas again put pressure on the Ohio delegation, and they convinced the President that the hot-headed young Michigan Territorial Governor had to go.

Jackson had appointed Mason territorial secretary at age 19. When he returned to Detroit at the end of August, Mason learned Jackson had fired him.

In one of his last acts as governor, Mason sent 1,000 militia into the Toledo Strip to prevent the first session of the Ohio Court of Common Pleas, which planned to hold court on the first Monday of September 1835. But the Ohioans wisely held a midnight session and promptly left town for Ohio.

Twenty-one-year-old J. Wilkie Moore, a part of the Michigan militia, wrote that “they had a vast amount of fun,” and that farmers along the way “welcomed us enthusiastically because we were fighting for Michigan.”

In Mason’s place, Jackson appointed John S. (‘Little Jack’) Horner, who, upon his arrival in the Territory, was pelted with vegetables, burned in effigy, and generally made to feel unwelcome in his new role.

In October, Michigan held elections, approved its draft constitution, reelected Mason governor, and sent Isaac E. Crary as the first US Representative. Congress refused to accept his credentials, and he became a non-voting delegate. The two US senators chosen by the legislature in November, Lucius Lyon and John Norvell, upon their arrival in Washington, could only sit in the spectators’ seat in the Senate gallery.

The ‘Frostbitten Convention’

Because of slavery, the Union admitted states in pairs: one slave state and one free state. Arkansas joined the Union as a slave state in 1836. Jackson wanted Michigan to offset Arkansas and signed the bill admitting Michigan as a free state if they would give up their claim to the Toledo Strip. In return, they would grant Michigan the rest of the Upper Peninsula.

Michigan held a special convention in 1837 in Ann Arbor and flatly rejected the offer. But in reality, they had little choice.

Michigan was in a terrible financial state, spending itself almost to insolvency by the funding of their militia. The US Treasury at the time gave surplus monies to the states. Washington was ready to disperse some $400,000 ($12 million in 2024 money) to the states; but territories got nothing.

So Michigan relented and held a second convention again at Ann Arbor on December 14, 1836. Known as the ‘Frostbitten Convention,’ Michigan accepted Congress’ terms, and on January 26, 1837, Michigan was admitted as the 26th state.

Afterwards

At the time, the newly minted Michiganders felt themselves sorely used, losing the prime Toledo Strip for the 9,000 square miles of the Upper Peninsula, an area described by the Detroit Free Press at the time as a ‘barren wasteland of perpetual snows.’

But things have a way of working out, and it certainly did for Michigan. In the 1840s, copper was discovered on the Keweenaw Peninsula and iron found in the Central Upper Peninsula, spurring a mining boom that lasted well into the 20th century.

The borders between Michigan and Ohio changed over the years, and another survey in 1915 altered the line slightly, which both sides accepted.

In 1973, the Supreme Court, with Michigan v. Ohio, adjusted the border in Lake Erie slightly to the northeast, making Turtle Island, just outside Maumee Bay and originally solely Michigan’s, split between Michigan and Ohio.

Steven Mason was elected the first governor of Michigan in 1840. At 24, he holds the record as the youngest state governor in American history.

In 1841, he moved to New York City, where his wealthy father-in-law, Thaddeus Phelps, lived. There he tried to establish himself as a lawyer, but found little luck.

He caught pneumonia and died on January 4, 1842, at the age of 31.

Robert Lucas served as the 12th governor of Ohio from 1832 to 1836. From Ohio, he moved on to the Iowa Territory, where he was its first governor from 1838 to 1841. Here he was involved in another bloodless border dispute between the Iowa Territory and Missouri, remembered as the Honey War of 1839.

He died in Iowa, Iowa City, Iowa, on February 7, 1853, and is buried there.

Two Stickney had had a sister named Indiana Stickney, named for where her father, Major Stickney, had served as an Indian Agent.

Two Stickney’s older brother, the aptly named One Stickney, died in 1883, and was buried in Forrest Cemetery that runs along part of Stickney Avenue in North Toledo, once part of the Stickney farm. Major Stickney and Two, who died in 1862 at age 52, are also buried there.

At some point, One Stickney was dug up by grave robbers, his body eventually making it to the Toledo Medical College. One or two doctors were charged with grave robbing, but not much came of it, history not remembering how it turned out.

Replacing the popular Mason put John Horner in a hard position, but he made the best of it by persuading both sides to remain calm until Congress could settle the border dispute.

After the crisis, Horner left Michigan for the Wisconsin Territory, serving as the territory's secretary from 1836 to 1837.

There he stayed, becoming one of the original settlers of present-day Ripon, Wisconsin, and establishing Ripon College in 1851.

He died on February 3, 1883, in Ripon at the age of 80, and is buried in the local Hillside Cemetery.

His home, known as the John Scott Horner House, is on the National Register of Historic Places.

It is alleged that there was one fatality of the Toledo War, that being a horse belonging to Lewis E. Bailey of Michigan. 

Much like the Toledo War, the particulars of how the horse met its end, history has forgotten. 

You can read more from Randy here.

Sectionalism: Understanding the Divisions that Led to the U.S. Civil War

The American Civil War still fascinates the public mind for its timeless reminder of when our politics were truly at their nadir. Despite some contemporary warnings about a national separation, fortunately no such moment has come to pass since the cannons ceased and the muskets were put down in 1865. Intense vitriol and hatred over the state of this country is something no specific to the war period. Whether it be 1860, 1828, or the 1800 election that saw friends become bitter rivals in outgoing President John Adams and incoming President Thomas Jefferson cease communicate for several years, national politics endures as a nasty business.

Yet, in our memory of the Civil War and its causes, we tend to let the latter fall by the wayside, consequently forgetting how unique those divisions were in the 1850s, culminating in southern secession in December 1860 after President Abraham Lincoln’s victory. Slavery was the cause as evidenced by the declarations from the southern states[i], but how many grasp slavery as the sectional issue that it was? Where does sectionalism fit into our memory? Without a more holistic understanding of the war through the sectional crisis that preceded it, we let more simplistic interpretations of why it started take over.

Sam Short explains.

John C. Breckinridge in 1860 by Jules-Émile Saintin

Defining Sectionalism

What is sectionalism and why is the period preceding the war defined as the Sectional Crisis? To answer that question, it is important first to define a section. As Professor Richard Bensel puts it, a section is a, “major geographic region.”[1] In this context, the sections that fought would be the North and South. Sectionalism, then, is the unique culture and economic tendencies emerging in those regions that create a politics of their own. A sectional politics does not have a national vision – one for the country as a whole – in mind, but whatever agenda best serves this cluster of states. The Civil War is a war between North and South, but just as accurately, a war of sections. It was not so simple as to say Republicans  and Democrats fought with the former looking to limit slavery’s spread and the latter seeking to keep it.

The Sectionally Divided Democrats

The Democrats themselves were divided over the issue of slavery. In 1860, Southern Democrats did not feel enough assurance was given by candidate and Illinois Senator Stephen Douglas that their institution would be defended. They opted to nominate their own candidate, Vice President John C. Breckenridge of Kentucky. The electoral map speaks to this division with the southern states going for him.[2] When looking at a breakdown of the popular vote, the University of Richmond does not record a single vote for Douglas in the southern state of Texas.[3]

Looking further back, divisions among Democrats over slavery preceded the Sectional Crisis as is exemplified by the Wilmot Proviso. Democratic Pennsylvania Representative David Wilmot introduced a proviso to President James K Polk’s $2 million appropriations bill allocating funds to negotiations with Mexico. This was August 8, 1846 during the Mexican-American War. In that proviso, Wilmot proposed,

as an express and fundamental condition to the acquisition of any territory from the Republic of Mexico by the United States, by virtue of any treaty which may be negotiated between them, and to the use by the Executive of the moneys herein appropriated, neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall ever exist in any part of said territory, except for crime, whereof the party shall first be duly convicted.[4]

This was effectively Northern Democrats telling their southern colleagues they would not tow a line for slavery only for the sake of party unity.[5] Democrats did not have a pro or anti-slavery platform. They struggled to unify under one position towards the issue.

Geography and Politics

To be sure, from its inception, the Republican Party was northern-based. Multiple southern states did not cast a single vote for their candidate John C Fremont in the party’s first national election, the Election of 1856.[6] The North was not entirely Republican, but the Republicans were – almost – entirely in the North. In the modern era, parties have their strongholds. Democrats do better in New England, other coastal areas, and urban centers while Republicans capture the South and Midwest. Geography does correlate to politics on the electoral map and that observation largely holds true in our elections, but the question during the sectional crisis was not one of partisanship, but of sectional allegiances. For Southern Democrats, never mind where their northern brethren were heading, as they assessed the situation, they needed to make their own way.

An emphasis on the sectional dimension of this conflict dispels later assertions that the Democratic Party was the party of slavery. Southern Democrats supported it, but sectional divisions fly in the face of an argument for party unity. Studying sectionalism leaves us with a complex web of geopolitically motivated behaviors and allegiances that historians strive to make sense of in forming a metanarrative for the war’s causes. Studies are made more complicated when considering examples out of the South that push back against the conclusion of consensus being for slavery and against Lincoln. How are we to regard President Andrew Johnson, who, as a congressman from Tennessee – and Democrat –, was the only senator from a seceding state to remain in the Union? This is a man who historians studying his life have admitted it is hard to arrive at any definitive statements about when looking at his character.[7] More broadly, estimates say 100,000 men living in the Confederate states served the Union during the war.[8] Among them, Virginia-born Union General George Thomas, a slave owner before the war, alienated his family who refused to speak to him for fighting against the South.[9]

In history or contemporary politics, neat and tidy conclusions about politics, allegiances, or where one falls of the political spectrum for their views on divisive issues are few and far between. If we are to understand political history, we must understand in our analyses that single-dimension modes of thought with the left against the right or Democrats against Republicans runs the risk of obfuscating more intricate fissures that account for, in the case of the Civil War, sectionalism. In its only through the study sectional divisions that we see the clearer picture.

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[i] See “Avalon Project - Confederate States of America -   Declaration of the Immediate Causes Which Induce and Justify the Secession of South Carolina From the Federal Union,” n.d. https://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/csa_scarsec.asp.

[1] Richard F. Bensel “Sectional Stress & Ideology in the United States House of Representatives.” Polity 14, no. 4 (1982): 657–75. https://doi.org/10.2307/3234469.

[2] “Electing the President,” n.d. https://dsl.richmond.edu/panorama/electingthepresident/popular/map/1860.

[3] “Electing the President,” n.d. https://dsl.richmond.edu/panorama/electingthepresident/popular/map/1860/TX.

[4] “Wilmot Proviso, 1846,” 1846. https://loveman.sdsu.edu/docs/1846WilmotProviso.pdf.

[5] David Wilmot et al., “Wilmot Proviso,” n.d., https://www.latinamericanstudies.org/mex-war/wilmot-proviso.pdf.

[6] “Electing the President,” n.d. https://dsl.richmond.edu/panorama/electingthepresident/popular/map/1856.

[7] Rable, George C. “Anatomy of a Unionist: Andrew Johnson in Tne [sic] Secession Crisis.” Tennessee Historical Quarterly 32, no. 4 (1973): 332–54.

[8] Carole E. Scott, “Southerner Vs. Southerner: Union Supporters Below the Mason-Dixon Line - Warfare History Network,” July 12, 2022, https://warfarehistorynetwork.com/article/southerner-vs-southerner-union-supporters-below-the-mason-dixon-line/.

[9] Christopher J. Einolf,  “George Thomas,” June 2012, https://www.essentialcivilwarcurriculum.com/assets/files/pdf/ECWCTOPICThomasGeorgeHEssay.pdf.

U.S. Civil War Hero of Gettysburg: Lawrence Chamberlain CMH

Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain stands as one of the most compelling figures of the American Civil War, not because he was a professional soldier forged in a lifetime of military service, but because he was an intellectual and educator who rose to extraordinary leadership when history demanded it. Born on the 8th of September, 1828 in Brewer, Maine, Chamberlain grew up in a deeply religious and disciplined household. His father, a stern militia officer and shipbuilder, instilled in him a sense of duty and moral responsibility, while his mother encouraged learning and faith. Chamberlain excelled academically, displaying a gift for languages and scholarship that would define his early life. He attended Bowdoin College, where he studied theology and the classics, eventually becoming fluent in multiple ancient and modern languages. By the late 1850s, he was a professor of rhetoric at Bowdoin, seemingly destined for a quiet life of scholarship rather than war.

Terry Bailey explains.

Joshua Chamberlain.

The outbreak of the Civil War in 1861 profoundly unsettled Chamberlain. Though opposed to slavery and deeply committed to the Union, he initially remained at Bowdoin, torn between his academic responsibilities and what he saw as a moral obligation to serve. In 1862, he resolved the conflict decisively. Despite lacking formal military training, he requested a leave of absence to join the army, telling Bowdoin's president that the war represented a struggle for the soul of the nation. He was commissioned as a lieutenant colonel in the 20th Maine Volunteer Infantry, a regiment composed largely of lumbermen and farmers, many of whom were older and physically tougher than their scholarly officer. Chamberlain won their respect not through bluster or harsh discipline, but through fairness, shared hardship, and a willingness to listen, qualities that would later prove critical under fire.

By the summer of 1863, Chamberlain had risen to command the 20th Maine, and his regiment found itself marching into history at Gettysburg. On the 2nd of July, 1863, the second day of the battle, the Union Army hastily extended its left flank to anchor on a rocky hill known as Little Round Top. The position was vital; if Confederate forces seized it, they could roll up the Union line and potentially decide the battle in their favor. The 20th Maine was placed at the extreme left of the Union position, with orders that could not have been clearer or more ominous: "Hold this ground at all hazards." There would be no reinforcements. If the regiment broke, the Union flank would collapse.

Throughout the afternoon, Chamberlain's men endured repeated assaults by the 15th Alabama and other Confederate units under Colonel William C. Oates. The fighting was close, chaotic, and brutal, conducted over boulders and through dense woods in sweltering heat. Each Confederate attack pushed closer to breaking the Union line, and Chamberlain was forced to stretch his regiment dangerously thin, bending his line back like a door hinge to prevent being flanked. Ammunition ran dangerously low. Men collapsed from exhaustion and heat. Chamberlain himself was everywhere along the line, steadying his soldiers, issuing calm orders, and absorbing the terror of combat without losing command of the situation.

As the final Confederate assault loomed, Chamberlain faced a grim reality. His regiment was nearly out of ammunition, and another attack would almost certainly overwhelm them. In that moment, he made one of the most audacious tactical decisions of the war. Rather than waiting passively to be overrun, Chamberlain ordered a bayonet charge. With a sweeping wheel to the left, the 20th Maine surged downhill, shouting and driving their bayonets into stunned Confederate troops who expected no such move from an exhausted and depleted enemy. The sudden offensive shattered the momentum of the Confederate attack. Many Southern soldiers were killed, wounded, or captured, and the rest fled. Little Round Top was held, the Union flank was saved, and the outcome of the Battle of Gettysburg and arguably the war itself tilted decisively in favor of the Union.

Chamberlain's actions at Gettysburg would later earn him the Congressional Medal of Honor, awarded in 1893. The citation recognized his "daring heroism and great tenacity" in holding Little Round Top against overwhelming odds. Yet the significance of his conduct lay not only in bravery, but in leadership and judgment under extreme pressure. Chamberlain demonstrated an intuitive understanding of morale, terrain, and timing, proving that decisive leadership could compensate for material disadvantage. His conduct became a textbook example of initiative at the tactical level, studied by soldiers long after the war. Chamberlain's wartime service did not end at Gettysburg, and the war would exact a terrible physical toll on him. He was promoted to brigadier general and continued to serve with distinction in the Overland Campaign of 1864. At the Battle of Petersburg, he was shot through the hip and groin, a wound so severe that he was expected to die. Grant promoted him on the battlefield as a final honor, but Chamberlain survived after months of agony and recovery. He returned to duty despite chronic pain and lasting disability, embodying the same determination that had defined his stand on Little Round Top.

In one of the war's most symbolic moments, Chamberlain played a prominent role at its conclusion. On the 12th of April, 1865, he was selected to command the Union troops receiving the formal surrender of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia at Appomattox. In a gesture of reconciliation rather than triumph, Chamberlain ordered his men to salute the defeated Confederates as they laid down their arms. The act reflected his belief that the war had been fought to preserve the Union, not to humiliate the South, and it earned respect from former enemies, including Confederate General John B. Gordon.

After the war, Chamberlain returned to civilian life but never escaped the shadow of his service. He became president of Bowdoin College, guiding the institution through a period of reform and expansion, and later served four terms as governor of Maine. His postwar years were marked by public service, writing, and continued reflection on the meaning of the war. He authored several books and essays, offering thoughtful and often philosophical interpretations of the conflict and its moral dimensions. Though plagued by pain from his wartime wounds for the rest of his life, he remained active and engaged well into old age. Joshua Chamberlain died in 1914, one of the last prominent Civil War generals, and was the final veteran to die from wounds received in that conflict. His legacy endures not merely because of a single dramatic charge, but because his life embodied the idea of citizen-soldiership at its finest. A scholar who became a warrior, a leader who combined compassion with resolve, Chamberlain's stand at Little Round Top remains a powerful reminder of how individual courage and judgment can shape the course of history at its most critical moments.

Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain's life and legacy ultimately transcend the dramatic moments for which he is most famous. His story is not merely one of battlefield heroism, but of moral conviction carried into action, of intellect fused with courage, and of leadership rooted in principle rather than ambition. At Little Round Top, Chamberlain did more than save a tactical position; he exemplified the capacity of an ordinary citizen to rise to extraordinary responsibility when the fate of a nation hung in the balance. His decisions were shaped not by rigid military doctrine, but by empathy for his men, clarity of purpose, and a profound sense of duty to something larger than himself.

What distinguishes Chamberlain from many of his contemporaries is the continuity between his wartime conduct and his postwar life. The values that guided him in combat—discipline tempered by humanity, firmness balanced with reconciliation—were the same values he carried into education, politics, and public service. His salute to the defeated Confederates at Appomattox symbolized his belief that the war's true victory lay not in vengeance, but in the restoration of a fractured nation. This act, quiet yet powerful, reflected a deeper understanding of what lasting peace required and underscored his lifelong commitment to unity and moral responsibility.

Chamberlain's enduring significance lies in the way his life challenges simple definitions of heroism. He was not born a soldier, nor did he seek glory, yet he became one of the war's most respected leaders through resolve, adaptability, and an unwavering ethical compass. His physical suffering after the war, borne without bitterness, further reinforces the depth of his character. Even as his wounds shaped his final decades, he continued to serve, teach, write, and reflect, determined that the sacrifices of the Civil War should be understood and remembered with honesty and purpose.

In the final measure, Joshua Chamberlain represents the highest ideals of citizen leadership. His stand at Little Round Top remains a defining moment in American history, but it gains its full meaning only when viewed within the broader arc of his life, a life devoted to learning, service, reconciliation, and moral courage. Through his actions in war and peace alike, Chamberlain left a legacy that speaks not only to the past, but to the enduring power of individual conscience and leadership in shaping the course of history.

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Notes:

The wounds Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain received during the Civil War had a profound and lasting impact on his health, shaping the remainder of his life and ultimately contributing to his death. On the 18th of June 1864, during the Battle of Petersburg, Chamberlain was struck by a Minie ball that passed through his right hip and groin, exiting near the bladder and urethra. The injury was considered mortal at the time; blood loss was severe, infection was likely, and the medical practices of the era offered little hope of recovery. He survived only through extraordinary resilience and prolonged medical care, but the damage inflicted by the wound could never be fully healed.

In the years that followed, Chamberlain endured chronic pain, recurring infections, and serious urological complications as a direct result of the injury. The wound left him with long-term damage to his urinary system, including fistulas and strictures that caused frequent obstruction, inflammation, and bleeding. These conditions required repeated medical interventions throughout his life and often left him weak, feverish, and exhausted. Periods of relative health were frequently interrupted by painful relapses, making daily activity unpredictable and physically taxing. Despite this, Chamberlain persisted in public life, masking the severity of his condition behind an outward appearance of energy and resolve.

As he aged, the cumulative effects of the wound worsened. Recurrent infections increasingly taxed his immune system, while chronic inflammation and impaired urinary function led to progressive organ stress. By the early twentieth century, his body was less able to recover from the complications that had plagued him since the war. In 1914, nearly fifty years after being wounded, Chamberlain succumbed to complications directly linked to his Petersburg injury, making him the last Civil War veteran to die from wounds sustained in that conflict. His death served as a stark reminder that the suffering of war often extends far beyond the battlefield, lingering silently for decades after the guns have fallen silent.

Chamberlain's long struggle with his wounds adds a deeper dimension to his legacy. His postwar achievements in education, governance, and public life were accomplished not in spite of discomfort, but in the midst of persistent physical suffering. That he continued to serve with dignity and determination, even as his health steadily declined, underscores the extraordinary endurance that defined him as both a soldier and a citizen. His life stands as a testament to the hidden, lifelong costs of war and the resilience required to bear them.

Just How did Settlers to the West and Midwest Survive?

The promise of a better life pledged by advertisements created after mid-1800s events in the United States such as the Homestead Act of 1862 – which offered 160 acres of government-owned land in the Midwest and West for free with the possibility of eventually owning the land outright – did not always become the reality. 

Those who took advantage of the opportunity afforded by the act to head to the largely rural Midwest and West faced multiple, likely unexpected obstacles, making survival much more difficult than many of them probably imagined. How did those who made the trek survive? Janel Miller offers some answers in this short piece. 

American Progress by John Gast, 1872. In the image settlers are moving west, guided and protected by Columbia.

The saying “Necessity is the mother of invention” is attributed to Plato in 380 B.C. However, it was just as relevant after 1862 when many left their homes in the East to pursue the promise of a better life in the West. 

These settlers faced dry and arid conditions that were previously unknown to them. They responded by using newly developed windmills, irrigation systems and drought-resistant crops. Others found ways to enhance existing techniques, such as manufacturing plows with steel and assembling grain into easy-to-transport bundles.  

Still other settlers aggressively sought to have the railroad, then in its infancy, come through their town. Those who succeeded in this endeavor gained easier access to food, animals and other goods necessary to endure.

In addition, many settlers worked with their peers to establish organizations, such as Granges, that succeeded in adding agriculture into school curricula, establishing rural mail delivery and the parcel post system.

In Context

The time period covered by this essay has long since passed, but there are still people who desire rural living.  The reasons newer generations cite for leaving urban life for a more rural one include a desire for recreational areas and a more affordable cost of living.

Most parts of the United States today offer their residents luxuries such as cell phones, computers and vehicles that the settlers of the American West could likely never have imagined. All the more reason those living today should be in awe of how settlers found ways to survive when they moved to the Midwest and the West.

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References

Griffin, Sean. Chnm.gmu.edu. “What Brought Settlers to the Midwest?” https://chnm.gmu.edu/tah-loudoun/blog/lessons/what-brought-settlers-to-the-midwest/. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Library of Congress Editors. Loc.gov. “Rural Life in the Late 19th Century | Rise of Industrial America. https://www.loc.gov/classroom-materials/united-states-history-primary-source-timeline/rise-of-industrial-america-1876-1900/rural-life-in-late-19th-century/. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Writing Explained Editors. Writingexplained.com. “Necessity is the Mother of Invention.” https://writingexplained.org/idiom-dictionary/necessity-is-the-mother-of-invention. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Friedman, Jordan. History.com. “The Rugged Trades that Drew Settlers to the American West.” https://www.history.com/articles/settler-jobs-american-west-mining-ranching-trapping. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Slatta, Richard W. Chass.ncsu.edu. “Western Frontier Life in America.” https://faculty.chass.ncsu.edu/slatta/cowboys/essays/front_life2.htm#. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Friedman, Jordan. History.com. “The Rugged Trades that Drew Settlers to the American West.” https://www.history.com/articles/settler-jobs-american-west-mining-ranching-trapping. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Library of Congress Editors. Loc.gov. “Rural Life in the Late 19th Century | Rise of Industrial America. https://www.loc.gov/classroom-materials/united-states-history-primary-source-timeline/rise-of-industrial-america-1876-1900/rural-life-in-late-19th-century/. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Gulliver, Katrina. Daily.jstor.org. “The Gift of the Grange.” https://daily.jstor.org/the-gift-of-the-grange/. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Cromartie, John. USDA.gov. “Net Migration Spurs Renewed Growth in Rural Areas of the United States.” https://www.ers.usda.gov/amber-waves/2024/february/net-migration-spurs-renewed-growth-in-rural-areas-of-the-united-states. Accessed January 17, 2026.

Farberov, Snejana. NYpost.com “Why Young Adults Are Moving to Small Towns at the Highest Rate in a Decade.” https://nypost.com/2025/03/14/real-estate/young-adults-are-moving-to-small-towns-at-the-highest-rate-in-a-decade/. Accessed January 17, 2026.  

Hughes, Keagan. WAVY.com. “Young Adults Leaving Hampton Roads for Rural Areas Amid Rising Costs.” https://www.wavy.com/news/local-news/young-adults-leaving-hampton-roads-for-rural-areas-amid-rising-costs/. Accessed January 17, 2026.