“Something for the Girls”: Marriage Customs and Girlhood
Abstract and Keywords
This chapter discusses the after-effects of Civil War on marriage customs and girlhood in South Carolina. It cites the reprint of Enquirer's “Something for the Girls,” as it warns girls to put a high price on themselves when choosing a husband. Difficult as always, the war made it harder for parents and educators to monitor the young, who were smitten with romantic patriotism. Younger girls were participating too early in courting and other premarital rituals.
Put a high price on yourself,” a Southern newspaper warned girls wanting good husbands who could provide for them. In 1864 the impact of the war caused the Yorkville Enquirer to reprint this piece of counsel highlighted “Something for the Girls.”
Put off the ways of children. Your girlish days will soon be over. Be helpful to the marriage. Do not be too forward or anxious; exercise prudence and modesty, and avoid noisy or boisterous behavior that men do not like. Do not adorn yourselves with braided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array. Those too anxious to marry might as well hang out a sign. According to St. Paul, women should adorn themselves in modest apparel.
Again in spring 1865, the Enquirer offered tips on “Who Will Make a Good Wife.” A good girl rises early, sets the table, and fixes her father's breakfast “cheerfully.” She must have “a kind heart.” If she drags herself out of bed at 9 a.m. and says how awful she feels, she must be “lazy and mopish.” On the other hand, if she sweeps the floor or cleans the clothes, she is “industrious.” If she has a novel in one hand and a fan in the other, shedding tears, she is “unfit for a wife.”1
In nineteenth-century America, marriage became a milestone marking formally the end of childhood. Therefore, this stage of life was a time to cultivate in the psyches of girls the acceptance of appropriate marriage customs. New brides had to bear children, preferably males. Married women without children were scorned. Even other women held them in contempt. Mary Chesnut was the target of her father-in-law's barbs. One day in her presence, the old man told his wife that, unlike Mary, she was not useless; through her children, she had produced twenty-seven grandchildren, a veritable tribe.2
Even before the Civil War, the premodern and modern intertwined in South Carolina to extend the period of childhood, or at least to forestall early marriages. Traditional farmers wanted to keep their children home to maximize the output of a struggling household. As for elite Carolinians, taking their cues from modern Europe, they too began prolonging the childhood of their daughters, which resulted in an extension of girlhood. Both trends encouraged later (p.66) first marriages. In 1860 the average age of couples starting on their first marriage in Edgefield District was twenty for women and twenty-five for men. As in modern Europe, young elite girls were cloistered in secular convents, called “female academies,” under the assumption that such innocents needed protection from the dangers of the outside world while they were being properly educated to be useful members of society. Although locked up in metaphorical gardens of extended childhood, these girls were not protected from the consumerism of modern culture. As young women, they resisted traditional notions of morality, religion, and marriage. The instability of the war further encouraged their rebellion.3
The war made it more difficult for parents and educators to monitor the young, who were smitten with romantic patriotism. Younger girls were participating too early in courting and other premarital rituals. Some of them were merely thirteen or fourteen years old. Emma Holmes watched aspiring belles, only fifteen years old, engaged in activities that might have brought censure before the war. Sallie Bull enraged her somewhat stodgy older fiancé by performing in the scandalous round dance. Worse yet, with someone else! Sallie broke off the engagement and continued in her precocious ways. Even girls cloistered in private academies caught the war fever and its Byronic romanticism; they, too, wanted to break the bonds of girlhood. Sallie McDowall of Camden, for instance, wrote her first name in her notebook with the surnames of some twenty boys from elite families. She also drew a heart-shaped wreath with the inscription “Rise Sons of Carolina, Rise and Mount,” the title of a poem that captured her romantic sentiments. Young girls who faithfully followed parental restraint wondered years later if they had done the right thing. One girl, declining a kiss from her fifteen-year-old beau, promised him one when he returned, but he died in an early battle.4
A cultural war prevailed between generations involving morality, marriage customs, and fashion. Adults thought the younger generation was going to hell in a handbasket (a refrain that began in America with the Puritans). Given the perspective of the twenty-first century, such fears seem more hysterical than apocalyptical, but youngsters were breaking taboos. The war encouraged love-making and courting. A soldier did more courting in one day during the war than he would have in ten years at home before the war. Such was the gossip among the older women. For their part, the youngsters were trying to come to grips with a society wracked by war. Although they saw their society through the prism of extended childhood, most were amazingly resilient and sometimes very creative in the responses they made. In the end, many made life-affirming choices in dealing with the stress imposed by the war.5
(p.67) Adults were aware of the freedom extended childhood offered to their young people in these times of long-term warfare. Some elders catalogued degrees of forbidden behavior from the mildly scandalous to downright degrading. Older women believed that courtship for girls began with the onset of menarche at around age sixteen, sometimes earlier. In March 1865, Clara Dargan noted how a girl's sixteenth birthday proved a difficult milestone for her advancement to “womanhood,” because eligible girls faced intense courting pressures resulting from the war. The more perceptive recognized that taking the hard line might be counterproductive. In 1862 one wise mother, when her daughter celebrated her fifteenth birthday, took the girl aside and gently counseled her on the responsibilities of womanhood.6
Proper conduct at parties, especially certain dances, became a bone of contention between young people and adults. Dances and recreation were a form of play that could lead to rebellious behavior. Girls who did not participate in round dances were ignored by the young men; younger belles were advised by the more experienced in such rituals. Other dances were equally verboten in the sacred garden. Men were willing partners in waltzes and polkas but forbade their younger sisters from doing the same. This just made the forbidden more alluring and fun to fifteen-year-olds.7
Some adults saw the phenomenon as a cultural virus emanating from the Yankee kingdom of iniquity. Such fears were not totally unwarranted. Mock or pretend weddings, which were popular in the North, worked their way to South Carolina. In 1862 an Episcopal minister officiated over one of them at a Christmas party in Charleston. According to gossips, possible mates shunned the pretend bride for four years afterward because they thought the mock wedding was binding. Journals used the “Y” word in urging boys and girls not to adopt “vulgar Yankee notions of private and personal correspondence and courtship.” Newspapers warned parents to keep a vigilant eye on the courtship of the young. In 1864 Emma Holmes expressed her fears of the degradation women endured in the sinful North. In a flirt with fantasy, she depicted the newest Yankee dance craze in which a man harnessed two women and whipped them around the floor. However, not all examples of questionable conduct could be attributed to Yankee influence. That same year, the Big Creek Baptist Church, in Anderson District, expelled three girls for playing what was commonly called “twistification,” music that upset their elders. A short time earlier, not far from Charleston, a boy soldier attended an entertainment, staged by the Washington Artillery, in which men, dressed as women, danced with other soldiers. Lowcountry ladies and gentlemen were also in the audience.8
Criticisms against the “fancy” during and immediately after the war became strident. It also exposed the fault lines between the mainly Episcopal Lowcountry (p.68) and the evangelical Upcountry. Influential Baptist newspapers feared the disease was infecting the entire state. In 1863 the Confederate Baptist was “shocked” by the unseemly behavior of persons who were still mourning their dead. The paper excoriated women who attended balls “arrayed in dresses, [with] crape festoons [that] notified the gay throng, that they still mourned the loss of relatives, fallen on the field of battle.” Women were slaves to fashion, “an imperious mistress.” The evangelical paper criticized them for renouncing “their gentle nature.”9
Although the war changed fashion in the South, the elite still took their models from Europe and New York. In February 1861 the Yorkville Enquirer listed such fashion sources as Godey's Ladies Book, Harper's, Leslie's Illustrated Weeklies, and the New York Ledger. Affluent young women, still in girlhood, had been avid consumers before the war. Chic was in. Early in the war the military style was the rage. Elite women, unable to serve in the army, vicariously identified with the soldiers by changing their hairstyle and dress. Like their Carthaginian predecessors, young women “shingled' their hair to look as “military as possible.” Some sisters cut their hair short because they could not go to war with their brothers. The Garibaldi look became fashionable because in trying to establish a Republican Italy, the Italian hero was perceived as a kindred spirit to adulate. In 1862 ladies attended company drills with “a crape” on their Garibaldi hats. Emma Holmes and her friends made Garibaldi hats from cornhusk. A mother, asked by her little girl what to wear to church, suggested, “[Your] Pradi and Garibaldi.” One woman appeared at a market with a Garibaldi shirtwaist and was offered a turkey for it by another. Infatuation with the Italian liberator was dampened by the Emancipation Proclamation and Garibaldi's letter to Lincoln, labeled by the Confederate Baptist as “blasphemy.” The Italian patriot included Lincoln, John Brown, and Jesus in his pantheon of heroes. Garibaldi's “blasphemy” was upstaged by news of the capture of a Yankee woman surgeon, riding a horse like a man.10
“We've seen the Doctor! Yes, sir, we've seen her,” observers exclaimed. People were fixated in Dr. Mary E. Walker's personage and the particulars of her hermaphroditic attire. “Twenty-eight or thirty summers old,” the woman was five-foot six-inches tall, rather thin, “a little worn but still passably good looking” with her dark hair “gathered under a silk net.” Her costume was a “Bloomer” of dark blue broadcloth trimmed with brass buttons. Cord tassels adorned her uniform hat, and she wore a surgeon's green silk sash over her right shoulder and across her breast, fastened on her left side. “Over her frock she wore a blue cloth military overcoat and cap.” Observers caught her “plain calf skin boots over her pants, reaching to the bottom of her dress.” Theodore Honour, riding on the same train to Richmond, wrote to his wife that the (p.69) attractive doctor, who flirted with her guards, “dressed in style half man & half woman.”11
Fashion consciousness remained late into the war. The Yorkville Enquirer reprinted an item on fashion trends emanating from Northern cities: “small bonnets, crimson raging color—hoops small, dresses fit tightly & mostly trail, buttons of color of dress used in great profusion.” These fashion trends were also popular in Richmond. Such practices, infuriating plain folk, were a bone of contention. In 1864 the Confederate Baptist declared that women should not look to the decadent Parisian society for their cues. They should adopt the dress of the French peasantry. Reflecting its Jeffersonianism, the paper continued, “No shabby finery is to be found amongst them.”12
“Shabby finery” was one step on a slippery slope to decadence that could culminate in the ultimate sin, miscegenation. Parents also feared for their sons who went off to war. Away from the moral constraints of their communities, Confederate soldiers indulged in sexual activities with black women. For the young, it might have been a rite of passage to manhood. The Emancipation Proclamation brought to the forefront a deep-seated taboo, white women living with black men, even marrying them and bearing their children. For white Carolinians it represented the logical outcome of abolition. In 1864 the Yorkville Enquirer berated the Republicans for “their wild love for the negro” and invoked mantras against intermarriage. Wholesale miscegenation was predicted. Such fears were more imaginary than real, but there were cases in which Carolinians, black and white, intermarried or lived together. Slave Kate Wilson was the common-law wife of rice planter William Harleston, who built a house for her in Charleston. She lived there with their eight children long after the war. According to the Southern Claims Commission, set up after the war, Ellender Horton, a seventy-year-old white woman from Beaufort District, had a “common law mulatto husband.” The couple had four daughters, a large farm, and slaves. Her children worked alongside the slaves in the fields. The commission reimbursed the family for damages caused by Yankee troops. Whites in the community shunned the woman. In another case reported in 1867 a Freedmen's Bureau agent met two females, down on their luck, with mulatto children. One of the women had married the black father of her children. Disturbed by such an encounter, the Federal agent argued that the war deprived these women of their natural protectors, white men.13
At this time, the young were too caught up with their own emancipation and concerns to sympathize with their elders. The war brought on a series of elopements and secret engagements. A sixteen-year-old soldier excitedly recalled how his relatives thwarted the elopement attempt of an irate and desperate suitor to whisk away the boy's cousin. Some elite young women sneered (p.70) at elopements (or premature marriages) and subdued weddings. They still cherished the grand wedding and the elaborate trousseau. Dismissing her friend's event as a premature marriage, a young Charleston lady decided to break off her own engagement to her soldier fiancé. Similarly, since an Allendale girl could not have the wedding gown and large celebration she desired, she chose to keep her engagement a secret until she could obtain her treasured dream. However, by 1862 elaborate weddings were less likely. This sad news was passed through the letter vine. A fifteen-year-old girl thus learned that a schoolmate had a skimpy wedding. Authorities encouraged this new fashion as wholesome. In 1864 a South Carolina newspaper reprinted an article on the wedding of a Virginia girl, entitled “A Bride Worth Having.” Lucy F. Roller, the daughter of a wealthy planter, made her own bridal outfit from materials she spun and wove herself. Hardly poor, her gesture demonstrated how “independent Southern girls” were.14
Because the war gave young people more opportunities to make unilateral decisions regarding marriage, parents and children sometimes faced knock-down battles. Lawrence G. Glover's case is an extreme example of conflict between father and son over his manhood. He enlisted with his father's reluctant approval and chose to marry a woman of whom his father strongly disapproved. “From childhood, [the lad] has exhibited weakness of intellect,” the father, Dr. Joseph E. Glover, claimed in his petition to get his son sent home under his care. He thought the boy suffered from brain disease. The seventeen-year-old youth had joined the Beaufort Artillery just before the Battle of Pocotaligo. It was rumored he married his sweetheart in Charleston. He escaped his father by transferring to the Twenty-seventh South Carolina Volunteer (SCV) Regiment. He was hospitalized in Virginia, taken prisoner at Petersburg on June 24, 1864, and finally sent to the prison at Elmira, New York. He was transferred for exchange four months later.15
Not knowing all the details, Dr. Glover feared that Lawrence might have taken an oath of allegiance to the Union to be released. He could be taken prisoner by the Confederates and executed as a deserter on the way back to South Carolina. The father pleaded: “God help me…this is my son whom I freely gave to my Country who has been twice refused to be given back to me when I found he was incapable of taking care of himself & instead of his being fortunate enough to be killed in defense of his Country, I am told if he comes back he may be hung before I know it.” In February 1865 Lawrence deserted to the enemy and was imprisoned in Columbia, South Carolina. Eventually he was taken to New York, where he took the oath of allegiance to the Union.16
Even thoughtful young men seemed hell-bent on marriage. Emma Holmes's brother Willy had a reputation for not being impulsive. Nevertheless, he proposed (p.71) marriage to a widow with several children. On learning the news, Willy's mother broke down, crying, while his sister pronounced it one of the weirdest matches of the war. Common people were promore pragmatic and probably representative of the norm; most marriages did not involve agonizing turmoil. In August 1862 one South Carolina woman appealed to Jefferson Davis: “Jeems is willin,' I is willin,' his mammy says she is willin,' but Jeem's cpt, he ain't willin' … I think you might let up and let Jeems come.”17
Some soldiers promised their undying love while shamelessly admitting marriage was merely a ticket home. A proposal of marriage in 1864 to Fannie Aiton included a plea that her consent would get the suitor a furlough. Her brother Thomas teased her about matrimonial blackmail. He mentioned that “girls” were beginning “to think they had better accept the first man that comes their way.” Such teasing may tell us more about the young soldier's own fears. However, some girls were not inclined to marry someone they thought would be killed, maimed, or disfigured. This was the reason, according to James Barr, why there were no new engagements in his regiment in 1863.
On the other hand, women were acutely aware of the fickleness of some of their suitors, who professed to love them deeply. When rebuffed, these men quickly got themselves engaged to another. Few soldiers committed suicide. However, when they did, it likely involved a girl. In June 1863 a young officer in the Twenty-first Regiment stationed at Morris Island shot himself in the right temple because of a disappointed “love affair.” He left a letter expressing his melancholy. Some officers decided to deny marriage furloughs. They reasoned getting married was simply an excuse for temporarily getting out of harm's way. Lack of patriotism did not prevent stay-at-homes from kneeling before the altar of marriage. Too many women seemed willing to marry slackers.18
Some historians have argued that because of the war, women could choose a more independent life. Teaching opportunities opened up for women. Some yeoman women who were artisan-weavers, such as Jane Pursley of York District, clearly enjoyed the independence their skilled jobs gave them. But how much choice did many young women really have, given the lack of personal security, changed economic circumstances, and the demographics? Jane Pursley did correspond with a York soldier who was killed early in the war. Emma Holmes had a terrible experience both teaching at the McCandless School and being a governess. Some women felt forced to break gender customs by advertising for husbands. In 1863 a twenty-year-old woman from Pleasant Hill placed in an Abbeville newspaper an advertisement seeking to initiate correspondence with a young gentleman interested in matrimony. Two persons replied, including a wounded veteran.19
(p.72) For the elite, lavish weddings and elaborate dress were still part of the rites of passage. The “entire trousseau” of Sallie Chapin's fictional bride was made of silk. The young bride had “raised the worms, and spun the silk herself.” Some hailed the decision to have an old-fashioned wedding. In January 1862 a brother complimented his sister, Mrs. Alfred Dobby, on her grand wedding. He noted that marriage had become too businesslike. Elaborate weddings never died out and remain in vogue today. As Sherman's troops were marching through the state, Joseph W. Brunson and Jane M. Carson entered connubial bliss in grand style. Joseph got a furlough to get married. The date was set for February 11, 1865. The event was so extravagant that even invitations were sent out. There were the customary bridesmaids and their male escorts, all dressed in their finery. The bride wore a white organdie dress trimmed with satin rib-bon, and a long veil. Reverend Potter, Rector of Christ's Church, presided. The wedding party dined on cakes, chickens, roast pigs, salad, and other delicacies. The couple barely managed to leave the altar before Sherman swept through the state. After such galas, limited resources encouraged women to find pragmatic ways to recycle their wedding dresses, which, along with Confederate flags and other souvenirs, were made into quilts.20
The long-term impact of the war on women may be more difficult to measure. Some were very resilient, but others suffered from severe anxiety over not getting married. The war, shattering their chances for economic and physical security, rendered them poor. One young woman, for instance, was placed in the state insane asylum because she suffered from depression and anxiety of being murdered. She complained of not being able to get married, a situation that physicians attributed to the war and its aftermath. Newspapers probably heightened such fears of abandonment when they ran items dealing with bigamy. A South Carolina newspaper reported that North Carolina soldiers who already had wives were marrying girls in Virginia.21
The response by young women was hardly monolithic; their motives were more complex than meets the eye. Some thought it their patriotic duty to marry soldiers with serious disabilities, to help make these men feel whole. The loss of a limb challenged a man's image of himself as manly. One fifteen-year-old girl made the conscious choice to marry a college professor who had lost his leg at Gettysburg. A male friend, perhaps a former suitor, defended the impromptu marriage, praising the young bride for not marrying for money or a life of ease. The friend could not help but admire her decision, which was patriotic and liberating from customary social customs. It allowed the bride more freedom than she had at her parents' home. The war had broken down some of the traditional barriers young people were already questioning before the conflict. (p.73) As Reconstruction loomed, girl refugees, only sixteen years old, married older men.22
In the last analysis, young people were simply sick of the war. Suffering from war fatigue, they wanted to pursue their lives and dreams without out-of-date constraints. They used language inappropriate before the war; their linguistic rebellion was perceived as sacrilegious by adults and confirmed their worst fears of the hedonistic path the young had taken. In July 1865 Emma Holmes observed that weddings were as popular and widespread as they had been during the war. By October, Charleston stores were again selling Godey's Ladies Book, with “the usual beautiful fashion plates, dress and cloak patterns.” In 1866 a bachelor complained to a friend who had married a much younger woman that a marriage epidemic was depleting the ranks of his fellows. Three years later, seeing older people getting married, the bachelor ridiculed the folly of old fools. Emma Holmes, also deploring the frenetic pursuit to be merry, condemned the large balls that were given shortly after the war. Her fears were overblown. Near the end of the war some youths simply decided to put it behind them as best they could; they left war talk to the older people. Most yeoman girls would have agreed with what a friend confided to Jane Pursley in 1877. How guilty the girls felt to be merry because their friends were dying. How often they thought of the dead and wounded. She thanked God the war and killing were over.23
As one Southerner described marriage today, he was looking for a partner with whom he could share his life. The war caused even the most independent women to reevaluate their stance. Clara Dargan, an accomplished writer from Columbia, was fiercely independent. Still, her subconscious suppressed a deep fear that she might never marry. In a nightmare she had on her birthday during the winter of 1865, she rode alongside two superb horsemen. One, who reminded her of her teenage suitor Jack Weatherly, was thrown off his horse and crushed to death. Weatherly had gone off to war in 1862. The dream morphed into a situation in which people were looking at a woman with a disfigured and bandaged face. Clara then dreamed that she had a baby in her arms and was delighted but felt compelled to throw it away. Overcome with remorse, she picked up the baby but it was dead. The lady concluded that she should marry.24
Young men also experienced nightmares over marriage. In April 1863 a Pendleton soldier dreamed about visiting his intended bride, who was a refugee from the Lowcountry living in the same district. As he approached her in the dream, she was alone. Her father lived in a blacksmith shop, where he was employed making fish baskets. Knocking on the door, they youth was shocked by the appearance of a decrepit and disheveled figure who turned out to be (p.74) the father. Somehow the old man became naked, revealing the scabs and scales covering his dirty body. He invited the boy into his workshop where his daughter appeared on a trash heap, looking like an Indian maiden. The soldier was speechless.25
These dreams involved single persons with deep-seated concerns and conflicted feelings about getting married and abandoning their childhood or independence. The boy soldier's story was extremely contorted for he had never laid eyes on the girl. His romantic obsession with getting married was so extreme that he enlisted the support of his aunt and his fifteen-year-old cousin to help make the match. Just as in Europe, aunts and younger siblings acted as go-betweens. Yet, the suitor hampered their efforts by giving strict instructions not to mention him by name. Writing from Fredericksburg in February 1863, he asked his cousin to make the girl's acquaintance and requested a clipping of her hair. The object of his affection was probably not much older than his cousin. Much to the youth's chagrin, he learned in August that his intended was going to parties; however, the cousin was sure he would still prevail. In September the aunt made the girl's acquaintance and was pleased with her. The youth asked his aunt to put in a good word for him. Sadly, however, the soldier was killed at the Battle of Chickamauga; he was shot through the heart and buried by a young black servant. Friend advised the family not to open the coffin.26
Despite the turmoil and tragedies caused by a losing war, marriage did not go up the spout. It provided solace. However, by June 1863 many privates thought the Confederacy was going to blow up. A young York officer wrote to his sister to find out what the people back home thought about that question, as we will see.27
(1.) Yorkville Enquirer, April 13, 1864; March 23, 1865.
(2.) Chesnut, Mary Chesnut's Civil War, 28, 32–33, 47.
(3.) Orville Vernon Burton, In My Father's House Are Many Mansions: Family and Community in Edgefield, South Carolina (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1985), 118–119; Censer, North Carolina Planters, 91, table 3. Censer's study of the marriages of planter daughters in North Carolina showed that most married between nineteen and twenty-five years of age. Thirty percent married between twenty-one and twenty-two. Maynes, Soland, and Benninghaus, Secret Gardens, offers a valuable and innovative discussion of childhood. This book expands on Mintz's insights. Friedman developed the garden metaphor in Enclosed Garden.
(4.) Holmes, Diary, 54, 217, 240; Sallie D. McDowall Books, SHS; UDC Recollections, 9: 120.
(5.) Chesnut, Mary Chesnut's Civil War, 565.
(6.) Diaries, March 9, 1865, Clara Victoria (Dargan) Maclean Papers, SCWRPL; Smith, Smith, and Childs, Mason Smith Family Letters, 19.
(7.) Smith, Smith, and Childs, Mason Smith Family Letters, 21; Holmes, Diary, 217, 240.
(8.) Charleston Daily Courier, January 1, 1864; Massey, Bonnet Brigades, 258–259; Holmes, Diary, 362; Baptist Church, Anderson, S.C., Big Creek Minutes, 1801–1936, March 5, 1864, SCL; “Journal of Artha Brailsford Wescoat,” 76.
(9.) Confederate Baptist, Columbia, April 8, 1863. For a discussion of fashionable mourning wear for women, see Faust, Republic of Suffering, 147–154.
(10.) Yorkville Enquirer, February 21, 1861; July 27, 1864; Faust, Mothers of Invention, 226; Chesnut, Mary Chesnut's Civil War, 282; Holmes, Diary, 248; UDC South Carolina Women, 1:174–175, 2:173.
(11.) Confederate Baptist, Columbia, September 23, 1863; Yorkville Enquirer, May 11, 1864; Theodore Honour to Becky, April 18, 1864, Letter Book, 305–307, Gerard-Honour Papers, SCHS.
(12.) Yorkville Enquirer, December 23, 1863; Massey, Ersatz in the Confederacy, 96; Confederate Baptist, Columbia, October 5, 1864.
(13.) Jenkins, Climbing Up to Glory, 62–65; Yorkville Enquirer, April 20, 1864; Edward Ball, Slaves in the Family (New York: Ballantine, 1999), 271–294; John Hammond Moore, “Getting Uncle Sam's Dollars: South Carolinians and the Southern Claims Commission, 1871–1880,” South Carolina Historical Magazine 82 (July 1981): 253; John William De Forest, A Union Officer in the Reconstruction, ed. James H. Croushore and Davie Morris Potter (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948), 138. During World War I, Edwin A. Harleston, the grandson of Kate Wilson and William Harleston, became president of the Charleston chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP).
(14.) “Journal of Artha Brailsford Wescoat,” 91; Tute (L. A. Syme) to Richard Jacques, November 18, 1863, Richard E. Jacques Papers, SCWRPL; Sallie Lawton to J. C. Willing-ham, June 13, 1864, Willingham-Lawton Families Papers, SCL; Alice Boozer (Mrs. Simon P.) Letters, SCL; Yorkville Enquirer, September 28, 1864. Trousseau included the wedding dress and other personal attire for the bride.
(15.) CSW, Reel No. 121, B-595–1864, NA; Kirkland, Dark Hours, 177.
(17.) Holmes, Diary, 224, 227; Varina Howell Davis, Jefferson Davis, Ex-President of the Confederate States of America: A Memoir by His Wife (New York: Belford Co., 1890), 2:326, as cited in Crist, Papers of Jefferson Davis, 8:318.
(18.) [?] to Fannie Aiton, March 6, 1864, [Thomas Aiton?] to sister, April 7, 1863, Thomas Aiton Papers, SCL; Barr and Barr, Confederate War Correspondence, 65; J. Nance to Laura, January 22, 1864, Nance Letters; James Conner, Letters of General James Conner, C.S.A. (Columbia, S.C.: R. L. Bryan Co., 1950), 123–134; Kirkland, Broken Fortunes, 411; Charleston Daily Courier as cited in the Yorkville Enquirer, June 10, 1863.
(19.) Krug, “The Folks Back Home,” 388: Belle Cory to JP, October 6, 1877, Pursley Papers; Moore, Southern Homefront, 193.
(20.) Chapin, Fitz-Hugh St. Clair, 86–87; Brother to Sister (Mrs. A. E. Doby), January 9, 1862, Means-English-Doby Families Papers; UDC Recollections, 7: 189–191; South Carolina Confederate Relic Room and Military Museum, Columbia, S.C., Confederate quilt, Item No. 347. The day before his wedding, the groom had to drill for emergency purposes a company of old men and boys, who included the bridesmaids' escorts.
(21.) Drew Gilpin Faust, “Altars of Sacrifice: Confederate Women and the Narratives of War,” in Clinton and Silber, Divided House, 192; Catherine T. Brown, August 6, 1869, Admissions, 1828–1876, and Physician's Records, 1860–1874, South Carolina Lunatic Asylum, South Carolina Department of Mental Health, SCDAH; Yorkville Enquirer, April 1, 1863.
(22.) Alice Boozer Letters; Brian Craig Miller, “Reconstructing Manhood: Women and the Experience of Confederate Amputees,” paper, Southern Historical Association, Memphis, November 4, 2004; UDC Recollections, 10: 89.
(23.) Conner, Letters of General James Conner, 168–169; Holmes, Diary, 460, 463; Charleston Daily Courier, October 21, 1865; Alice Boozer Letters; Moore, Southern Homefront, 236; Belle Cory to JP, October 6, 1877, Pursley Papers.
(24.) Diaries, January 27, 1862; March 23, 1863; October 11, 1865, Maclean Papers.
(25.) Dick Simpson and Tally Simpson, “Far, Far from Home”: The Wartime Letters of Dick and Tally Simpson, Third South Carolina Volunteers, ed. Guy R. Everson and Edward H. Simpson Jr. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 215–218; Friedman, Enclosed Garden, 52. Friedman's descriptions of women's dreams as being “consisted of struggles of the center of their being” also applied to men.
(26.) Simpson and Simpson, “Far, Far from Home,” 107–108, 184–186, 264, 271, 283–289.
(27.) JWP to JP, [June 1863], Pursley Papers.