ONCE A CIVIL WAR: February 18, 1865---Charleston's Fall

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

February 18, 1865---Charleston's Fall

FEBRUARY 18, 1865:

The fall of Charleston:

The last palmetto in Charleston, February 1865

As the sun rises over South Carolina, a bitter black pall hangs over the State, rising from what had been its proud capital city. After a night of destruction worthy of The Chronicles of The Barbarians, there is near nothing left of Columbia.

David Conyngham, a Columbia resident, memorializes the scene:

The 18th of February dawned upon a city of ruins . . . Nothing remained but the tall, spectre-looking chimneys. The noble-looking trees that shaded the streets, the flower gardens that graced them, were blasted and withered by fire. The streets were full of rubbish, broken furniture and groups of crouching, desponding, weeping, helpless women and children . . . That long street of rich stores, the fine hotels, the court-houses, the extensive convent buldings, and last the old capitol, where the order of secession was passed...were all in one heap of unsightly ruins and rubbish.

Heartbreak today shall be the handmaiden of disaster, as indomitable Charleston strikes its colors just as day breaks.

With the withdrawal of General P.G.T. Beauregard’s city garrison troops toward North Carolina and the cutting of the city’s overland link with Columbia, Charleston, South Carolina, “The Cradle of Secession” surrenders to Union troops under Prussian-born General Alexander Schimmelfennig.

Fearing that General Sherman will head east to burn Charleston, the City Fathers choose to submit to Schimmelfennig, the leader of the Union’s longtime regional ground assault against the city, but implore him not to burn Charleston to the ground. When Schimmelfennig surveys the blasted city he agrees to leave it as it is. Thus, a few of Charleston’s magnificent live oaks and a handful of its shell-pocked antebellum homes survive the war, as does a single palmetto.

The 55^th Massachusetts Regiment (U.S.C.T.) is the first Union force to enter the city. Made up of many former slaves from South Carolina, and from Charleston particularly, the men of the 55^th were told they must keep in their ranks, but they could “shout and sing as they chose.” Many of the men discover relatives in the city and emancipate brothers, sisters, parents, kith and kin.

The task of the 55^th Massachusetts quickly turns to firefighting, putting out myriads of small fires set by Confederates determined to burn what little is left of the city.

The city is a heap of ruins, its downtown having burned in late 1861, and its environs having been daily bombarded by a combined Union land-sea assault every day since the Battle of Gettysburg.

It has been a long time since heavily-blockaded Charleston has contributed significantly to the South’s Civil War effort, but the city is far more important as a symbol: It is the Confederacy’s Lexington and Concord; and its implacable resistance to the Union’s unending attacks have made it into the beating heart of Confederate resistance and willpower.

Now that heart is stilled. The cradle has fallen.

The Charleston Armory

The Union quickly broadcasts news of Charleston’s surrender worldwide. As word of Charleston’s fall spreads throughout the States of America and beyond, the North rejoices; the South grieves. Most Unionists realize that victory is upon them. Most Confederates recognize defeat.

The Mobile Register laments:

The people are not whipped but cowed. Their souls and not their hands are disarmed. Our strength is, not sapped, but our courage is oozing out at the ends of our fingers.

A fresh rash of “French leaves” strikes the remaining Confederate forces, shrinking the already shrunken armies even more. Throughout the South people begin quietly to feed their Stainless Banners and portraits of Jefferson Davis to their fireplaces and stoves, though portraits of Robert E. Lee are lovingly packed away in attic trunks.

In the Border States and in areas Reconstructed or restored to the Union, Southron patriots have not been quiescent. Although armed resistance has been proven futile in most places and in most hearts and minds, the until-recently Confederate citizenry of such regions have refused to give up all hope of a Confederate resurgence. Many have been waiting for the war to take another of its inexplicable turns as it did in the Summer of 1864. Incidents of minor sabotage have not been uncommon. Civil Resistance to Union edicts has not been unknown. Non-cooperation with Union officials has been widespread. Ordinary rudeness has been a method of rebel expression toward Union representatives, even the local postmasters. Excessive courtesy is a sign of hateful disdain. (Confederate women are particularly adept at such behavior, even to this day. Ask any Southern belle what “Bless your heart” really means and you will be answered by a sly chuckle or a wall-shaking guffaw.) With the collapse of South Carolina, the resisters in the North, most of them, silently give up.

In some areas of the Confederacy the shift back to Unionism is sudden, dramatic, and violent. Nowhere is it more so than in Loudoun and Fauquier Counties in Virginia, “Mosby’s Confederacy.” The area, nominally Union-held since just after Fort Sumter, has been a flaming hotbed of Confederate nationalism throughout the war, allowing Mosby’s Rangers to operate unchecked throughout the region.

As the fortunes of war changed in the Fall of 1864, Mosby was forced to impose taxes in-kind --- food, cloth and other necessaries --- on the loyal citizens of his little Confederacy. Few balked at first, but the hard winter of 1864-65, and the scorched earth policy imposed by the Union upon much of Mosby’s Confederacy from November 28^th to December 2nd has made the tax in kind nearly impossible to pay. Mosby’s men have been reduced to scavenging and raiding their own stalwarts, a state of affairs that has turned many of the struggling locals against Mosby. A small-scale civil war amidst the larger Civil War breaks out in Mosby’s Confederacy, a battle between the local Unionists and hungry Confederates on one side, and die-hard Confederate patriots on the other. Mosby’s position is worsened by the fact that those who pledge allegiance to the United States have their barns rebuilt, their livestock replaced, and food freely delivered by the Federal troops in the area, a Hearts & Minds policy that Mosby cannot hope to match. More and more often, his men find themselves bivouacking in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains rather than, as formerly, in the once-common safe houses in his Confederacy.

Harper’s Weekly sounds a clarion call:

That Charleston should fall was inevitable. That Charleston should fall without a blow was inconceivable . . . If there were any possible last ditch it was the streets of Charleston . . . It has been considered, indeed, the special seat of rebellion. It has always been a nursery of treason . . . It was a strange scene on that April day four years ago. The spectators cheered and wept for joy, and the merry bells rang, when the flag of their country fell for the first time, shot down by its own children. Did the spectators of that day remember it when at last that flag returned triumphant? Over how much bitter agony, through what seas of costly blood, across what blighted hopes and ruined lives it returned; but also over the desolation of Carolinian homes which Carolina has wrought; over the wide waste of fortunes which Carolina has destroyed; over the treacherous doctrine of State supremacy which Carolina has hugged snakelike to her breast; over the relics of slavery which Carolina has abolished. The old flag returns. Peace, union, and prosperity are the benedictions it imparts . . .