WILLIAM E. CAMERON was born and raised in Petersburg, Virginia. He served in the Twelfth Virginia Infantry and, like the rest of the men in the regiment, who hailed from the city and surrounding region, fought desperately on the morning of July 30, 1864, to protect his family and community from the Federal army and the myriad horrors associated with the presence of United States Colored Troops. By April 1865 Cameron could be found promoting the Confederate government’s new policy of recruiting slaves to serve as soldiers in experimental all-black regiments. Such a drastic shift in policy reflected not only the military situation in Virginia and elsewhere, which was now critical, but also the steps that white Southerners were willing to take to preserve the institution of slavery.1
With the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia at Appomattox Court House on April 9, 1865, Cameron and his comrades began the difficult transition back to civilian life, attempting to heal both the physical and psychological scars of war as well as learn to live with the changes relating to the abolition of slavery and Reconstruction. For the white residents of Petersburg, defeat meant military occupation under the command of Major General George Lucas Hartsuff and, for a time, the presence of Brigadier General Edward Ferrero’s division. While Petersburg remained relatively peaceful in the immediate postwar years, many former Confederates harbored deep resentment associated with defeat and the radical change to the racial hierarchy.2
Residents made little formal attempt to preserve the many miles of earthworks that ringed the city. A few establishments—most notably Jarratt’s Hotel—as well as the owner of the site of the Crater attempted to attract tourists to the remaining battlefields as part of a broader appeal to middle-class genteel culture, but public officials and town boosters apparently did not view the preservation of its Civil War experience as central to the city’s economic future or as something that might be consumed by the general public. This is not surprising given the expansiveness of the earthworks themselves, the need to return land to its prewar agricultural use, and the many challenges associated with an expanding urban landscape. Although the steps taken to transform the Crater into a landscape appropriate for genteel touring paled in comparison with Gettysburg, by the 1870s modern pilgrims enjoyed easy access to select sites, as a growing obsession with battlefield relics quickly assumed a sacred quality.3
Only gradually did the veterans of the war, including William Mahone’s Virginia brigade, take an active interest in commemorating and remembering the battle through reunions and written accounts. As early as the end of the 1870s a consensus concerning the battle of the Crater had been achieved, which included an emphasis on the heroics of the Virginia brigade and William Mahone specifically. More important, the memory of USCTs at the Crater had been minimized or, more often than not, shaped to conform to changing racial boundaries in postwar Virginia.
For the farmers in the Petersburg area whose land had been destroyed by the intricate network of trenches, the task of returning to conditions suitable for cultivation commenced in earnest. For many, the earthworks constituted an obstacle to this process of rebuilding. One exception to this could be found on the farm of William H. Griffith, who owned the ground on which the famous battle was fought.
Visitors to battlefields in the first few years following the war were driven more by curiosity than by an interest in formal remembrance. For many, the site of a battlefield engendered a visceral connection to the scenes that could only be read about in newspapers or witnessed in dramatic illustrations and photographs. The reactions of tourists reflected the wide gap between parlor-room musings concerning battle and the brute facts that greeted visitors upon arrival.
One of the earliest visitors to the Petersburg battlefields arrived just as Lee’s army surrendered at Appomattox. Thomas Kennard and his son had recently arrived in New York City from England on a business trip when they accepted an offer to travel by steam sloop to City Point, Virginia. From there they made their way to Petersburg, where the ten-month siege had been broken only days before. “The city presented the most desolate appearance—public buildings, warehouses, private houses, &c., too clearly bore evidence of the effects of the heavy shelling,” wrote Kennard. It is unknown whether Kennard traversed the Crater site, though it can be assumed that his description of the battlefields would have applied to it: “The dead were buried on the plain, but in the trenches numbers were lying as they fell during the assault, nearly all being shot through the head.” Kennard and his son were treated to a view of the battlefield that few civilians would have experienced.4
This is the earliest known photograph of the Crater (ca. 1865). (RG985-CWP27.27, U.S. Army Military History Institute, Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania)
Within a few short years, many of the more elaborate positions along the Petersburg lines, such as Fort Mahone and Fort Morton, had been leveled. As early as 1867 a visitor to the Petersburg battlefields noted, “At present the lines are little more than imaginary lines, broke here and there by embankments and trenches filled up by the plow of the husbandman.” Another visitor predicted, “In a few years the great bulk of these works will have been plowed and dug down.” The early removal of the earthworks dotting the landscape around the city of Petersburg left the Crater as one of the few intact wartime sites.5
In the years after the war, increased numbers of middle- and upper-class Northerners made their way south to enjoy the health benefits of natural springs as well as to experience what was left of the Old South. Tourism of the Crater and other Petersburg sites was encouraged by Jarratt’s Hotel, considered one of the more luxurious destinations for travelers in the area. Jarratt’s published a handbook authored by a former engineer officer in the Union army for use by visitors as they toured what remained of the battlefields. The handbook included an outline of the ten-month siege, a map indicating the important sites, and a travel narrative written by the editor of the American Agriculturist, who had toured the area in June 1865. Jarratt’s not only hoped to encourage tourism but also planned to leave its guests with an “intelligent idea of the siege, the position of the two armies, [and] the character of the tremendous defensive works which cover the country about the city.” In 1869 a revised pamphlet was published by the hotel under the direction of its new owner, Confederate veteran Phillip F. Brown. This revised version included the original features in addition to Lee’s General Orders No. 9, an account of prisoners of war, and poetry. Local designers Thomas Morgan and Anthony Dibrell of Petersburg rounded out the pamphlet with a lithograph depicting the last national flag of the Confederacy encircled by notable scenes of the war.6
Northern journalist John T. Trowbridge—who included Petersburg on his Southern tour in September 1865—hoped to chronicle the South’s adjustment to a free-labor society. While touring the Crater, Trowbridge was able to locate the mouth of the mine tunnel as well as the Confederate countermine. “In spots the surface earth had caved, leaving chasms opening into the mine along its course,” recalled Trowbridge. The field was still littered with rusted bayonets and canteens, “and all around were graves.” Upon noticing a “Negro man and woman” digging for bullets in the vicinity of the Crater, Trowbridge was told that “they got four cents a pound for them in Petersburg.” Russell Conwell, who had served in the Union army, visited Petersburg in 1869 to tour what was left of the battlefields. For a veteran, the sudden disappearance of the sights and smells of war could not pass without comment. “The logs that our boys tugged to the front, for an abutment in the earthworks, are now being used for kindling wood in the fashionable residences of Petersburg.” As for the various types of shells that had once littered the ground, Conwell was told they “are fast being melted into ploughshares and machinery and the missiles of war become the instruments of peace.” “All is changed there now,” recalled the hero of Little Round Top, Joshua L. Chamberlain, on a visit in 1882. “What was a solid piece of works through which I led my troops is now all cleared field, & the hill side so smooth there is now grown up with little clumps of trees—marking some spots made more rich perhaps by the bloody struggles enacted on them.”7
Griffith Farm. William H. Griffith operated a museum and charged admission to visit the remains of the Crater. His preservation efforts stood in sharp contrast to the economic development that quickly threatened the earthworks that ringed Petersburg. (U.S. Army Military History Institute, Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania)
William H. Griffith, who owned the farm on which the battle took place, responded quickly to the financial opportunities of increased visitation. He fenced off the site of the explosion and laid out flagstone paths leading to the crater. By 1867 an admission fee of 25¢ helped pay for steps leading to the crater, a “Crater Saloon” where visitors could refresh themselves, and a small museum housing relics from the battle. On more than one occasion veterans of the battle refused to pay the entrance fee—it was known that Griffith rarely resisted, especially if the individual in question was a Confederate veteran. There can be little doubt that Griffith’s improvements preserved much of the crater site. One visitor in 1870 commented that “the earthen forts remain with little change.”8
Earthworks north of the crater after the war. (Military Order of the Loyal Legion, U.S. Army Military History Institute, Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania)
Griffith’s improvements proved attractive enough to entice a wide range of visitors to the battlefield. More notable visitors who signed one of two register books included former Confederate general officers James Longstreet, Fitzhugh Lee, Henry Heth, and Edward Porter Alexander. Union generals included George Stoneman, Abner Doubleday, and Rufus Ingalls. Visitors from outside the ranks ranged from George Bancroft to Edward E. Hale to Thomas Nelson Page. Private ownership and accompanying financial reward due to public curiosity ensured that the Crater would not meet the same fate as other military sites around Petersburg. The goal of encouraging tourism by Griffith and Jarratt’s Hotel serves as a reminder that the eventual successful protection of the area around the Crater was the result of commercial interests as well as reunions and cultural preservation.9
Most visitors to Petersburg and the Crater were interested in walking one of the few remaining sites of the ten-month siege. They toured what was left of the actual crater, gazed at the relics in the museum, but probably did not consider any broader meaning or significance associated with the battle. It is not surprising that within a few short years the veterans of Mahone’s Virginia brigade and others would actively engage in remembering and commemorating the battle. William Mahone himself resided in Petersburg, and his involvement in the railroad business and state politics made him a popular, though at times controversial, figure in the community. In addition, the Virginia brigade was made up of regiments formed in the Richmond-Petersburg-Norfolk area, which helped to maintain bonds of esprit de corps throughout the postwar period.
It is also no surprise that the earliest accounts and depictions of the battle struggled to come to terms with the racial dynamic of the engagement at a time when Virginia’s political and racial hierarchy were uncertain. The immediate postwar period presented white Southerners with the emotional and psychological effects of defeat as well as the challenge of adjusting to emancipation. Black units remained throughout the South to assist the Freedmen’s Bureau in elevating the stature of a newly freed slave population, which numbered roughly 500,000 in Virginia, and worked to enforce the laws of the federal government associated with the Military Reconstruction Acts and Reconstruction Amendments. The presence of black soldiers served as a constant reminder to white Southerners that their antebellum world had been turned upside down.
Edward A. Pollard, who edited the Daily Richmond Examiner from 1861 to 1867, wrote one of the earliest postwar accounts of the battle. In The Lost Cause (1866), Pollard provided a brief and narrow account of the battle, placing the Virginia brigade of Mahone’s division at the center of his narrative. Pollard described the Union attack as feeble until “it was encountered by Mahone’s brigade.” The racial dynamic of the attack was given prominence, as Mahone’s men “were ordered not to fire until they could see the whites of the negroes’ eyes.” The first volley left these soldiers “panic stricken and past control.” Pollard went further in Southern History of the War, published in 1866, attributing any appearance of black heroics to the manipulations of “the anti-Slavery party in the North” and arguing that their employment constituted a war crime against the South. Describing black soldiers as pawns of deceitful Northerners enabled Pollard to make the crucial point that without Yankee interference African Americans would have continued to enjoy the peace and comfort of the plantation and would have remained loyal to their white masters. Instead, the former slaves were exposed to the horrors and dangers of the battlefield for reasons unrelated to any concern for their own well-being. Pollard’s analysis continued a well-rehearsed theme that downplayed the “manly powers” of African Americans in the Union army but also worked to construct a narrative that would come to support and justify the overturning of a racial order imposed by the federal government and a return to power by white Southerners.10
The Battle of the Crater by John A. Elder. The painting, commissioned by William Mahone, depicts the men in the Virginia brigade in the countercharge that helped to turn the tide of battle. (Petersburg Museums)
Three years later, John Elder—who was present in Petersburg at the time of the battle working as an aide in the field and as a mapmaker—released his dramatic oil painting of the battle, which highlighted the importance of Mahone’s counterattack. Elder depicted the fighting at close range in all of its gruesome detail, but the observer’s eye is drawn to the advancing tide of Mahone’s men in the Twelfth Virginia Infantry, who are poised to sweep the area and put an end to any planned Union advance. One art critic left a colorful review: “The suspense in this portion of the scene is fearful; and one dreads that the reinforcements will arrive to[o] late. But they are hurrying on. With their wild, impulsive yell, so characteristic of the Southern army, regardless of rank or line, in double column, Mahone’s brigade comes pouring in.” The success of Elder’s painting helped to shape the popular belief that Confederate victory could be understood by focusing on the contributions of Virginians.11
The release of John Elder’s dramatic painting of the Crater in 1869 provided a visual reinforcement of Pollard’s description. Any analysis of the racial references in Elder’s painting must be understood in the context of the noticeable inroads African Americans were making in state governments throughout the South by the end of the 1860s. Black assertiveness was much more pronounced in the former capital of the Confederacy, as the delegates debated provisions for the disfranchisement of high-ranking rebels, the confiscation of rebel property, the structure of taxation, and the improvement and integration of public facilities. In addition to advancement within the political realm, Virginia’s black population openly celebrated Emancipation Day, the Fourth of July, the fall of Richmond (known as Evacuation Day), and the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. Such public displays served only to remind white Southerners of their subjugation to “Yankee” rule.12
The extent to which audiences viewed Elder’s painting through a political lens is difficult to gauge. Many, no doubt, simply saw the painting as an attempt to celebrate the heroism of the common soldier. This was the case for the reviewer of one Richmond newspaper, who concluded that Elder had “admirably illustrated that distinguishing trait of the Southern soldier” who “paused not to count the odds, but rushed in forward to the conflict, where death stared him in the face.” While other painters concentrated on bringing to life scenes from the war that focused on Confederate generals, this reviewer praised Elder for drawing attention to the “heroism of the private soldier.”13
At least one reviewer understood Elder’s depiction of the Crater as more than praise for the fighting prowess of Mahone’s men, describing the artist’s purpose as “to rescue from oblivion one scene of our country’s glory, and to lift the veil which the conqueror has attempted to cast over our nation’s existence, and to show to posterity that, however ultimately defeated, it was only after a struggle worthy of our principles, when our half-starved, emaciated troops, in their tattered uniforms, could in the very jaws of death snatch the victory from the overwhelming numbers opposed to them.” By portraying black soldiers along with their “abolitionist” allies as either confused, killed in action, or about to be seriously harmed, Elder delineated a world in sharp distinction to the current and growing racial division within Virginia as the white population was faced with forced social change brought about through black political action. Elder’s depiction of Mahone’s charge could be interpreted as nothing less than a call to white Virginians to commit themselves to regaining control of the political field, which would be a first step to restructuring the social/racial hierarchy in a way that more closely reflected their antebellum world.14
If Elder’s painting reflects the bitter resentment and fear whites felt about black political advancement in the immediate postwar period, then the accounts of African American participation at the Crater released in the mid-1870s reflect a more muted and paternalistic tone. The success of Virginia’s Conservative Party, which won the governorship and a majority of seats in the general assembly in 1869, and the decision to accept black civil and political equality both guaranteed the franchise for white people and avoided a Republican administration. Conservative victory also opened opportunities for Confederate veterans to commemorate their Lost Cause through public processions that took on a more militaristic form, including uniformed veterans marching with their old colors. All the while Virginians pacified worried Northern onlookers with a language of reconciliation and an olive branch offering to the black population to join the Conservative Party.15
Members of the Conservative Party worked to strike the right balance between honoring their Confederate past, containing the fears of Republicans both in the state and up north that the civil rights of African Americans would not be violated, and continuing to reach out to Virginia’s black population for its political support. This is most obvious in the decision of Conservative governor James L. Kemper to allow black civic organizations to join in the celebrations surrounding the unveiling of the Stonewall Jackson monument in Capitol Square in Richmond on October 26, 1875. Such a decision reflects the way in which potentially divisive public ceremonies about the late war could be used to demonstrate friendliness toward black people and even gain their political support. Embracing African Americans in such a public way allowed white public officials to showcase a biracial public memory of their Lost Cause. Kemper’s position also minimized any political fallout that could be used by Republicans in the next gubernatorial election.16
After a ten-year “hibernation,” the veterans of the Virginia brigade began to take an active interest in the Crater battlefield. Spurred on by the continued bonds of esprit de corps, veterans used the battlefield to rekindle old friendships as well as to recall the role they had played in securing victory on that day. Compared with casual tourists, these veterans infused the Crater battlefield with a broader meaning and cultural significance, as they acknowledged their commitment to a shared cause that mirrored the growing interest in commemorating the Confederate cause throughout the South.17
Interest in the Crater among veterans of the Army of Northern Virginia can be understood on a number of levels. First, the battle was the last decisive victory for Lee’s men during the Petersburg campaign. The use of explosives by the Federal army and the destruction they caused left an indelible impression on those present. Most important, the presence of one division of United States Colored Troops brought into sharp relief the distinction between a morally bankrupt Lincoln administration and North and a virtuous South—a binary that was now being emphasized even more in postwar writings.
Confederate veterans from Mahone’s Virginia brigade took an active interest in their shared memories, remembering lost comrades and sanctifying their failed attempt at independence, which was still believed to be honorable. The Crater site proved to be an ideal setting for the veterans of Mahone’s brigade, who met three times between 1875 and 1877. The first reunion took place in Petersburg on May 10, 1875. Veterans from every regiment traveled to the city to listen to speeches, “see each other face to face, and grasp each other’s hands again.” J. P. Minetree reminded his audience that those assembled were not simply part of a military organization “that ceased with the surrender at Appomattox Courthouse,” but were there to “form an organization to collect the records and preserve the history of our noble brigade, to which we are all so much attached and of which we feel justly proud.” Not surprisingly, speeches made direct reference to the Crater, as in the case of Thomas F. Owens, who urged his audience not to forget that “here are the men who hurled back the foe from within a few yards of where we now sit, who had gained possession of our lines by subterranean passage.” Close proximity to the old battlefield bestowed the advantage of having the connection between Mahone, his brigade, and the Crater reinforced. The following day thirty-five veterans walked the Crater site with William Mahone.18
The men who took part in the first reunion created a “code of organization,” the Memorial Association of Mahone’s Old Brigade, and voted for officers, including William Mahone as its first president. They also agreed that future reunions should take place on the anniversary of the battle. This decision testifies to the importance of the battle to the identity of the association and guaranteed that memories of the war would be directed or focused on the Crater.
The following July witnessed a more elaborate celebration, which took place in the Opera House of Norfolk, Virginia. Just over 200 veterans traveled to Norfolk for the occasion; on entering the city the veterans were “received with the greatest enthusiasm” as they paraded up Main Street to the Opera House, which was “beautifully decorated.” Inside “were scrolls bearing the names of all the principal engagements in which the Brigade had participated.” Foreign flags were draped on the walls, and placed prominently on the stage was a Confederate flag presented to one of the regiments during the war. The ceremony got under way with an address by the mayor of Norfolk, John S. Tucker, who welcomed “the heroes of a lost, but glorious cause” and Mahone, “who led these hundreds through our streets” and “the thousands before whose gallant array you rode out so proudly and so worthily, and our hearts were full and our eyes were dimmed.”19
Focusing on the Crater fight tended to reinforce the overall goals of the reunion, which were, in part, to help veterans deal with the humiliation of defeat and remind them what the common soldier achieved late in the war in the face of the enemy’s overwhelming numbers and resources. Speeches made multiple references to the July 30 battle, including Mayor Tucker’s; he urged the veterans to remember that “on that day you consummated the full measure of your fame.” William Mahone also reminded his men of the “solemn sense of duty which made this day conspicuous in the annals of war, when, by your matchless charge and bayonet, our lines at the Crater were redeemed, and the very safety of our army for the time restored.” Toward the end of the ceremony, James B. Hope offered a lengthy “metrical address” that made reference to the Crater:
Who has forgotten at the deadly Mine
How our great Captain of great Captains bade
Your General to retake the captured line?
How it was done you know, Mahone’s Brigade.
Through ceremony, speech, and verse the Crater was no longer a simple tourist attraction but a place where veterans and citizens could honor a glorious past and renew their commitment to prewar Southern values in the face of growing political and social change.20
“Second Re-union of Mahone’s Brigade” program. Reunions of the veterans of the Virginia brigade served as important rallying points for Mahone’s business and political interests. (Virginia Historical Society, Richmond)
The meeting of the veterans of Mahone’s brigade in Norfolk on July 31, 1876, can be seen as an attempt to honor the Confederate cause without upsetting the local black population or giving Republicans reason to wave the “bloody shirt.” Veterans marched in uniform and as members of individual regiments with colors displayed, banners with the names of individual regiments and battles decorated the walls of the hall, and a Confederate flag graced center stage. Meeting on the anniversary of the battle of the Crater attests to the importance Mahone’s men attached to it and no doubt reminded many of the veterans of their horror at having had to fight black Union soldiers just twelve years earlier. Absent from the ceremony, however, were any references to the presence of African Americans in the battle. Organizers of the reunion remained focused on honoring the heroism of the Confederate soldier and remembering the fallen: “We miss their familiar forms—some of them were our brothers—all of them died for us.”21
Though the organizers of the reunion of Mahone’s brigade chose to steer clear of any direct references to the presence of black soldiers at the Crater, individual accounts of the battle continued to do so, but in a way that reflected changing political boundaries. In November of that same year, at a meeting of the Association of the Army of Northern Virginia, Captain W. Gordon McCabe presented a detailed account of the Crater, which was reprinted in the Southern Historical Society Papers. McCabe had served as an adjutant in Pegram’s Battalion of Artillery and had been present during the Crater fight. His account highlighted the construction of the mine and offered exhaustive coverage of the movements of individual units, starting with the initial Union assault and ending with the final charge of Sanders’s Alabama brigade. In all of this, McCabe made only passing reference to the “drunken battalions of Ferrero.” McCabe was convinced that the black soldiers were “inflamed with drink.” What is striking in McCabe’s account is the absence of old feelings of anger and hatred or the way in which the presence of African American soldiers served to rally Confederates both during the battle and in the following weeks. References to intoxicated black soldiers reinforced the belief that unless the African American community was agitated, it would remain peaceful and subservient to white Virginians.22
More revealing of political currents in Virginia is the account by William Stewart, who commanded the Sixty-first Virginia. Stewart almost entirely ignored how Confederates felt upon learning of their colored adversaries. After twelve years the feelings of outrage, fear, and hatred were absent from the few references Stewart made regarding their performance. Stewart recalled that the black soldiers begged for their lives and “were victims of an uncontrollable terror.” According to Stewart, one cried out, “I nebber pinted a gun at a white man in all my life; dem nasty stinking Yankees” were to blame. The day after the battle, Stewart remembered, he encountered a “negro between the lines, who had both legs blown off. . . . Some of our men managed to shove a cup of water to him, which he drank, and immediately commenced frothing at the mouth, and died in a very short time afterwards.” It is no accident that Stewart selectively conveyed two stories that addressed in a post-emancipation world the desire to maintain antebellum notions of racial hierarchy. Not only were black men not interested in fighting for their freedom, but even after a bloody battle white Southerners’ sense of paternalism could still be exercised. Stewart makes no reference to the massacres of black soldiers mentioned in Confederate wartime accounts. Stewart’s account betrays a firm belief in the inferiority of black soldiers and in the folly of Union officers who believed that black troops could contribute to a successful operation. In addition, Stewart’s decision to close his account with the description of an act of kindness toward a seriously wounded black soldier suggests that he wanted to emphasize the possibility of cooperation between the races at a time when the Conservative Party continued to exercise political control in Virginia.23
No one loomed larger over the burgeoning memory of the battle of the Crater than William Mahone. The son of innkeepers, William Mahone was born in Southampton County, Virginia, on December 1, 1826. Mahone’s interest in railroads and engineering was nurtured while he was a cadet at the Virginia Military Institute between 1844 and 1847. Later he advanced rapidly with the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, Fredericksburg and Valley Plank Road, and finally, by 1853, as chief engineer of the Norfolk and Petersburg Railroad. On the eve of Virginia’s secession, Mahone served also as the railroad’s president and superintendent.24
Mahone responded enthusiastically to Virginia’s ordinance of secession in April 1861. Though he rose steadily through the ranks, from colonel of the Sixth Virginia Infantry to the rank of brigadier general, he failed to distinguish himself in any of the major battles from Manassas to Gettysburg and on more than one occasion he was sharply rebuked by superiors. It was not until the beginning of Ulysses S. Grant’s Overland Campaign in May 1864 that Mahone demonstrated strong leadership qualities. His brigade fought well at the Wilderness, and he was given command of a division (including his old Virginia brigade) after Long-street’s wounding and the necessary reshuffling of commands. He took his division into the maelstroms of Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor before returning to Petersburg, the center of his business interests. It was due to his performance at the Crater that Mahone was finally promoted to the rank of major general. Throughout the final nine months of the war, Mahone and his division fought in many of the battles around Petersburg before surrendering one of the largest intact units at Appomattox.25
After the war “the Hero of the Crater” returned home to Petersburg and to the railroad business, where he continued to flourish. By 1867 Mahone was president of three railroads in Virginia, which he hoped to consolidate into one line. To achieve these goals, Mahone offered financial support to Virginia’s anti-Reconstruction Conservative Party, or “Bourbons,” and moderate Republicans, which led to the end of Reconstruction in 1869. Mahone also supported Gilbert C. Walker in 1869 and James Kemper in 1873 for governor in exchange for their support of consolidation. That support resulted in the creation of the Atlantic, Mississippi, and Ohio Railroad in 1870 and Mahone’s election as president with a salary of $25,000.
Mahone’s consolidation program, however, was not without its critics. Residents of Alexandria, Lynchburg, and Richmond worried about the possible economic pitfalls related to consolidation, such as decreased trade as well as relative freedom of trade. Many simply concluded that Mahone was motivated by self-interest and that the potential for a monopoly was not in the state’s interests. One observer opined that Mahone was “the most overrated railroad man in Virginia” and went on to note disappointedly that the advocates of consolidation “seem to have concluded that he is the only man living who can make the scheme a success.”26
Meanwhile, Mahone understood that to gain and maintain sufficient support in the halls of the state legislature and in the community at large he would have to construct a public image that could reassure his constituency of his sincere motives and of the prospect of prosperity for the state through the economic changes connected to consolidation. One close business associate, Abram Fulkerson, warned Mahone that Virginia was “averse to jumping into new movements, in other words she abhors innovations.” There is no direct evidence that Mahone engaged in a comprehensive campaign to promote—or embellish—his war record with the intention of furthering his business interests. It can be surmised, however, that Mahone acknowledged on some level that a public image based on his service to the Confederacy would have positive effects. Newspapers in support of Mahone’s business plans took the lead in citing the general’s war record. “Had our late war continued several years longer,” asserted one commentator in December 1868, “we do not doubt that General Mahone would have been one of the leaders of our Southern struggle.” Luckily for Mahone, his performance at the Crater in July 1864 could easily be billed as a courageous defense of the residents of Petersburg, Richmond, and the rest of Virginia.27
The release of John Elder’s painting of the Crater and its emphasis on the Virginia brigade constituted an important public relations victory for Mahone in the Richmond-Petersburg area on the eve of the consolidation vote by the state legislature. On July 4 of that year, Mahone was praised at the Virginia Military Institute in a memorial poem for “Stonewall” Jackson read by James Barron Hope. Hope compared Mahone to Jackson and referred to both Elder’s painting of the Crater and a recent bust of Mahone sculpted by Edward Valentine. The ceremony was accompanied by the unveiling of “portraits of the alumni of the Institute who fell in battle” as well as five “portraits of those still living”—Mahone being one of the five. Around the same time, Mahone became active in veterans affairs by serving as Virginia’s representative to the Confederate Burial and Memorial Association, whose purpose was to reinter the remains of those who had died in battles throughout the South “and to make arrangements to erect at some place . . . a monument to their memory.”28
More far-reaching was the publication of an authorized biography of Mahone’s military career written by John Watts De Peyster—himself a general in the New York militia—which was published in the New York Historical Magazine in June 1870. It is unclear how the two met and difficult to piece together why a former Confederate general and Virginia businessman would seek publicity in New York. Mahone may have seen the publication of a biographical sketch in a popular Northern publication as a way to attract additional investments for his newly consolidated railroad. With the final approval of consolidation, Mahone desperately needed to sell bonds for the new railroad, and the pool of potential Northern investors, according to one of Mahone’s correspondents, constituted “an advantage we should not ignore.”29
The De Peyster sketch served Mahone’s business interests in a number of ways, most notably by representing him as an early point of reconciliation between North and South: “Ability, however and wherever displayed in an eminent degree, is the property of our common country; and no man between the oceans, the gulf, and the lakes, is a finer illustration of the innate military capacity and adaptability of the American people than the subject of this sketch.” De Peyster described Mahone as “audacious,” “enterprising,” and “aggressive”—all qualities that might attract potential investors.30
Not surprisingly, Mahone’s conduct at the “Crater fight” provided De Peyster the opportunity to present an account that blended all of these qualities. The author leaves little doubt as to who was responsible for throwing back the Union assault. According to De Peyster, “the whole credit of our [Union] repulse belongs to him,” and he goes on to suggest that “we could have gone straight into Petersburg, but for the timely appearance of the Civil Engineer and natural General Mahone.” “Mahone’s promptness and audacity,” concludes De Peyster, “should immortalize him.”31
Lastly, while Mahone’s participation in the reunions of the Virginia brigade offered him a chance to renew old relationships, it also worked to highlight his war record at a time when his public reputation was coming under increasing pressure. The first meeting, held in Petersburg, attests to the importance of Mahone in the organization of the group’s identity. Initial calls for the reunion were arranged under the name of David Weisiger, who led the brigade after Mahone’s promotion to division command. Numerous newspaper editorials, including the Norfolk Virginian, called for a change in name since Weisiger commanded the brigade only during the last phase of the war. The Virginia Sentinel urged the association: “By all means let them bear the name by which they won so many honors and gained undying fame as ‘Mahone’s Brigade.’” Mahone surely made this transition more likely with his decision to offer “a special rate” for the roughly 200 veterans to make the passage on his railroad lines to Petersburg.32
It was the second reunion of Mahone’s Old Brigade, taking place in the Norfolk Opera House in 1876 on the anniversary of the battle of the Crater, that provided Mahone with a unique opportunity to deliver his speech, which forged a bond of bravery, sacrifice, and service between those killed during the war and its survivors: “It is to commemorate the historic estate which belongs to you and to their memories, to yours and to theirs, and to enter it of record, that constitutes now your duty and the sacred purposes of your organization.” In addition, James Hope—the editor of the Norfolk Landmark—and William Cameron both followed Mahone with addresses that once again placed him at the center of the Confederate pantheon.33
It would be a mistake to interpret these reunions simply as opportunities for Mahone and the veterans of his old brigade to come together to share memories of fallen comrades and commemorate their “Lost Cause.” Though busy with the continuing financial crisis plaguing his railroad, in the weeks leading up to all three reunions, Mahone kept abreast of developments and may have exerted influence on the decision to change the name of the organization. Many of the association’s officers were close business associates and future political allies of Mahone, and in the 1880s the general kept a ledger containing the names of survivors of the organization. Close contact with the veterans that served in the five regiments of the old Virginia brigade—all raised in the Richmond-Petersburg-Norfolk area—along with the reunions constituted an opportunity through public address to present Mahone as an ally of Virginia’s interests by reminding the Commonwealth of his service in the war. The veterans themselves could be counted on as foot soldiers to further his growing political aspirations. Indeed, the third reunion of the brigade took place on the anniversary of the Crater in 1877, only a few days before the Conservative convention that was to decide on a gubernatorial candidate, of which Mahone was one.34
In the fifteen years following the end of the war, the Crater battlefield witnessed a steady stream of attention, from visitors looking for physical traces of war to the veterans of the Virginia brigade who gathered to rekindle old friendships and recall acts of heroism on the site of one of the last dramatic Confederate victories in Virginia. Throughout these fifteen years, written and visual accounts of the battle acknowledged the outrage associated with the presence of black Union soldiers, but they did so in a way that reflected the reality of emancipation and changing racial boundaries. With few exceptions, early postwar accounts treated this racial dimension of the battle in a way that reinforced a return to home rule after 1870 as well as deeply ingrained assumptions about the fighting prowess of African Americans. Finally, William Mahone utilized his war record and fame as the “Hero of the Crater” to advance both his business and political interests at a time when black Virginians remained potential supporters in both realms.
