FEBRUARY 18, 1865:
The fall of Charleston:
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| 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 55th
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 55th 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 55th
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.
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| 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 28th
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 . . .
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| St. Michael's Church, February 1865 |
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| St. Michael's Church, February 2015 |
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| Today's Historic District |
