Grief Debate

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“Sorrow Comes to All”: Bloomington, Illinois's Demonstration of Community Participation in Civil War Grief

Author(s): Megan VanGorder

Source: Journal of the Illinois State Historical Society (1998-) , Vol. 112, No. 4 (Winter 2019), pp. 380-406

Published by: University of Illinois Press on behalf of the Illinois State Historical Society

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/jillistathistsoc.112.4.0380

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“Sorrow Comes to All”: Bloomington, Illinois’s Demonstration of

Community Participation in Civil War Grief Megan VanGorder

PROMINENT CENTRAL ILLINOIS LAWYER Leonard Swett was the initial recipient of the December 9, 1862 telegraph to Bloomington that bore the news of Colonel William McCullough’s battlefield death in Mississippi. Upon the deployment of Union soldiers from the burgeon- ing prairie town, Swett stood in as the predominant male caretaker for the Bloomington legal communities, including the McCulloughs. David Davis, another close family friend, had recently departed for the nation’s capital to assume his Supreme Court Justice duties. William McCullough’s son-in-law, William Ward Orme, was occupied with military duties in Prairie Grove, Arkansas. When news of William McCullough’s death came through the wires, it was not a position which Swett relished. He described to Davis that day in a letter that “to be the messenger of this unwelcome news to his already afflicted family was one of the most unpleasant acts of my life.”1 Nonetheless, it was his obligation to the com- munity and Swett understood his responsibility. The McCulloughs were an important fixture in the Bloomington community and the family patriarch, William McCullough, had risen in distinction when elected as the town’s sheriff and then Circuit Clerk for McLean County prior to the war. At the outset of the war, his four children were young adults or entering adulthood. His eldest daughter, Nannie, married Leonard Swett’s law partner, William Ward Orme, and they had four children by 1861. Both of McCullough’s sons were imma- ture and irresponsible, leaving William Orme as the heir apparent in the McCullough family.2 Orme left for the western front with the 94th Illinois Infantry, eventually rising to the rank of brigadier general. McCullough’s

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youngest daughter, Fanny, was about fifteen when he left for the front and it was her responsibility to attend school, help with the women’s aid soci- eties, and assist her older sister with her small children. William Orme enlisted after the elder McCullough was elected lieutenant colonel of the Fourth Illinois Cavalry. During the Civil War there was not a formalized process that noti- fied next of kin upon death in battle. This task was often left to com- rades in battle or volunteer agents of the various commissions. William McCullough’s officer status and the dramatic nature of his death likely afforded the dispatch by telegraph from Mississippi to Bloomington. Even with this luxury, Leonard Swett did not receive the initial telegraph with its short and incomplete message until four days after McCullough’s death.3 Leonard Swett became the responsible party to deliver the news to the family. Swett resolved to first notify McCullough’s oldest child, Nan- nie McCullough Orme, suggesting that the Ormes were perceived as a reliable source of stability and strength. Nannie, shaken but composed, asked Leonard Swett to go with her as she told the rest of her family. Swett agreed to accompany her and became an eyewitness to the raw sorrow that would unfold in the McCullough house. When they came to the residence, they found Mrs. McCullough sit- ting up, a hopeful posture because she was still recovering from sickness that caused William McCullough to furlough to Bloomington in October. Upon Nannie and Swett’s arrival, they sent for Fanny to join them. As he and Nannie shared his somber message with the family, he noticed “the shock to Mrs. M. seemed to be relieved by her fears for Fanny. For a few moments Fanny bore it composedly but she soon partially gave way and for a while we were alarmed for her consequences.”4 Fanny became so agi- tated and inconsolable that Swett felt it was necessary to send for a doctor to examine her and provide treatment. Shortly after the doctor’s arrival, Fanny locked herself in her room.5 The medical practices of the nineteenth century did not always take a balanced or measured approach to trauma and it was likely that even those in her family could not recognize the dif- ference between a manifestation of physical illness and a complicated grief response. Despite professional intervention, the same account reported that Fanny refused to come out of her room for up to four days.6

Even in the initial moments after hearing the news of her father’s death, witnesses were concerned that Fanny was affected more than

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normal given the circumstances. Public mourning was an acceptable cultural practice, but Swett and Davis’s correspondence indicates that Fanny had exceeded the expected or appropriate expression of mourning. The customs of the “cult of mourning” permitted grief, but only within strictly defined conventions.7 For example, Mary Lincoln’s overwrought responses to the death of her son, Willie, garnered heavy criticism in the national press. Preachers in the Civil War instructed their congregations on how loss should be handled by one’s emotional response. One minister posited that sorrow was “criminal” when the person became unfocused on “remaining mercies.”8 Exaggerated responses were evidence of a lack of trust in the sovereignty of God amidst pronounced trial. Civil War civilians were expected to count their blessings, understanding that giv- ing in to sorrow would leave a family vulnerable in a time when neglect of duty or community welfare or personal health had dire consequences. More pointedly, excessive grief was selfish and Civil War American cul- ture depended on the sacrifice of both soldier and civilian, including those aggrieved.9

Periodic updates on Fanny’s emotional condition after the initial report from Leonard Swett varied. As expected in traumatic experiences with complicated bereavement, those around Fanny noticed that she was sometimes overcome with sorrow and at other times she was able to function with perceived appropriateness. On December 11, two days after learning about her father, Fanny remained “sorely afflicted in her sorrow” but simultaneously was doing “much better than . . . supposed.”10 There was concurrently an acknowledgement of Fanny’s serious condition and the community’s desire for her to adhere to more acceptable grief responses. The Bloomington community converged to help the McCulloughs along in their grief. Swett and his wife visited often, a doctor in the town came to the aid of the family, and “a lady friend” made herself available to come alongside Fanny as she dealt with her grief.11 On December 11, Swett wrote to Orme to update him on his family’s condition. He said, “Mrs. M. is feeble but retains her faculties better than I understood she did. She is calm. . . . Fanny is sorely afflicted in her sorrow.”12 The community sur- rounding the McCulloughs was essential to their healing process and in their grief management. Fanny’s unrelenting sorrow was a consistent point of discussion in the correspondence between Orme, Swett, and Davis. Orme wrote to his

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wife and encouraged Nannie to suppress her own grief so that she could adequately attend to Fanny and her mother, an instruction that indicates the cultural expectation of mourning.13 On December 22, Laura Swett wrote that Fanny had “become composed” but five days later informed Orme that she was once again “full of sorrow.”14 Davis learned of Fanny’s intense grief from Orme’s December 13 correspondence. Three days later, Davis wrote to Swett in a state of his own emotional distress; he was mired in despair over the loss of McCullough and longed to be home to help his hurting friends. He explained to Leonard Swett that he had talked privately with Lincoln concerning McCullough’s death and the president had promised to write to Fanny.15 Lincoln’s pledge to write this letter of condolence is extremely significant. Over the course of the Civil War there were far too many battlefield deaths for the president of the war- ring nation to pen condolences to every grieving family. In total, Lincoln wrote only three letters of condolence during the four years of conflict. After reminders from David Davis who had promised his friends a note from the president, Lincoln penned a condolence letter to Fanny on December 23, 1862. The short letter is a profound sentiment, when considering the duress and pressure that Lincoln was under as he wrote these words. In a few sentences, Lincoln showed his great capacity for empathy and put aside his own personal anguish to provide encourage- ment to a friend in need. Though David Davis knew that Lincoln was feeling the weight of his executive position, Lincoln did not dwell on the official issues at hand.16 Instead, Lincoln spoke compassionately towards the acute grief of a girl he knew from his days on the circuit court and advised her how to overcome her great sorrow. William Ward Orme wrote to David Davis on January 2, 1863 to notify him that Fanny had received the president’s letter. He recognized that Fanny was “still in much distress of mind,” but in this same letter, Orme expressed the positive effect of condolence letters for Fanny. He wrote, “Your letter to her was so full of good kind love for her that it did much to relieve her. Last night she received a letter from Mr Lincoln which was beautifully written and had a very good effect in soothing her troubled mind.”17 This short line was the only recorded mention of the effect of Abraham Lincoln’s consolation to Fanny. Less than a month after news of McCullough’s death reached Bloomington, Fanny was still in the depths of her emotional state despite the practical efforts of family, friends, and

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now, even the president of the United States. Though mourning cus- toms permitted a year of public bereavement, Fanny seemed to attract an exceptional amount of attention for her grief. Less than a month after her father’s death, her melodramatic grief response was noteworthy and implies an unwritten expectation of emotional recovery that was much shorter during the pressure of the Civil War. One of the last pointed statements on Fanny’s elongated anguish came from Frank Orme.18 In late February, he wrote back to Laura Swett, with whom he maintained an occasional correspondence in interest of his brother and family. He wrote, “Poor Fannie—she is a good, kind, true- hearted girl, I love her with the same affection that I do my own sister. I often think of her = she is an excellent friend of mine = It seems hard that a girl of her heart should be burdened with so much sorrow. May Heaven bless her and make her happier.”19 Fanny continued to carry the weight of sorrow, despite the efforts of many in her community to help her conform to the norms of grief brought by the war. The McCullough family had various responses to the death of their patriarch in December 1862. William and Nannie Orme assumed the position of resilience to support those around them. Within a month, the family endured the blow of two war deaths.20 They recognized their responsibility to care for the extended family and held on to their ideals of patriotic sacrifice to drive them forward through the difficult tasks. Fanny McCullough was afforded the ability to lengthen her grief process because of her position in life—not yet married and without dependents. Though never explicitly mentioned, her mother’s failing health may have been the root cause of concern amongst family and close friends. Their perception of Fanny’s excessive grief likely included the observation that Fanny was neglecting her obligations at home. The community was able to surround the McCulloughs in their moments of greatest need and utilized letter writing conventions and the forming norms of Civil War expressions of grief in order to provide the means of adequate support. Where, in general, the Good Death allowed for some relief and consola- tion to family, Civil War death produced complex responses on the home front.21 The artifacts left behind allowed those challenges to be displayed and demonstrate the struggles of community during this time of transi- tion in America.

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The Civil War inaugurated complicated consequences that upset nineteenth century expectations in every facet of life. Nothing was left untouched by the violence of the war. Marriage conventions, community living, death, and the mourning rituals of citizens changed dramatically during the outset of the war. The massive conflict shifted gender roles, introduced technology and innovation, and challenged towns to main- tain a semblance of order and organization in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. In order to cope, manage, and process the immediate and serious changes in the society, Americans wrote letters to distant loved ones so that they might be included in the various conversations pertain- ing to the vicissitudes of community or family life.

“Anxious to afford some alleviation”: Written Correspondence and Bereavement The wartime correspondence between the Swetts, Ormes, and Davises of Bloomington, Illinois is an ardent display of Civil War letter writing trends. These three families were enthusiastic Republicans and were inti- mately connected to Abraham Lincoln as a result of their mutual involve- ment on the Eighth Judicial Circuit Court. After each family played tertiary roles in Lincoln’s ascension to the presidency, they happily partic- ipated in their patriotic privileges at the outset of the war. Their respective positions took the men of the three families to geographically different locations that prompted a robust written correspondence. The tight knit municipality of Bloomington was stretched by the Civil War, but letter writing served to unite them so the threads of community did not com- pletely unravel under the pressure of the conflict. The topics most featured in letters included the necessity of increased political involvement for women within towns, the reiterated reassur- ances of purpose and resolve from soldiers to their wives and vice versa, the continued reaffirmation of intimacy between family members in spite of distance and the risk, and the forms of condolence to assist families and friends with their grief in the midst of an era of profound loss. It is significant that Civil War letters from communities throughout the North fit neatly into these categories because it indicates that even on a micro-level, there was a common experience that is exhibited in personal correspondence.

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Friendships, marriages, and familial ties were strengthened or with- held through the vigor and eloquence of letter writing and Americans took to the pen to express their most intimate thoughts, desires, fears, and dreams. Members of the white middle class culture valued the artis- tic and expressive substance of letter writing and incorporated it into school curriculum. In his eulogy for his departed friend Brigadier Gen- eral William Ward Orme in 1866, David Davis remembered fondly that Orme “possessed an accomplishment above most men, and that was in letter-writing. For beauty of thought, elevation of sentiment, and elegance of diction, his letters to his family and friends are models.”22 The ability to be a skillful letter writer allowed William Ward Orme to capture and befriend an impressive network of prominent associates, including Davis. Writing letters efficiently allowed soldiers and civilians to gain famil- iarity with the daily activities of their distant loved ones. When William Orme left his young family for the front, he and his wife maintained a constant correspondence. They discussed their affections and deep-seated fears and desires, but also attended to the mundane details of family man- agement. The letters helped Orme participate in family affairs despite his absence; he relished letters from all his family back at home and men- tioned with careful attention his salutations to each member. In a letter to Nannie he explained that his receipt of letters was “like a bouquet of fragrant flowers to me—they are highly prized, but ought to be frequently renewed.”23 Orme’s poetic prose expressed both the importance of a well- crafted letter as well as the genuine desire to be regularly informed of his family’s welfare. Men’s absence from their homes created stress for the families that were left behind; a robust correspondence helped to assure the soldier and civilian of his or her individual purpose in the effort. Family men clearly and understandably felt a measure of guilt in their absenteeism on the home front. They often used letters to “explain carefully their choices” to leave kin to fight and risk their own life and their family’s livelihood.24 The language of patriotism and the masculine ideal were evoked as men reassured their wives that their absence was purposeful for the country’s honor and for the family’s reputation within the community. Orme wrote to his wife for months from the same position in a camp with his regi- ment involved in no action besides drilling. Presumably, his idle activity produced a crisis of confidence in his decision to leave his young family

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and prompted his words of reassurance to Nannie. William Orme rea- soned with his wife, “I could scarcely have felt myself a man in the future had I not as I have done sacrificed all and shown my desire at least to aid my country in this death struggle for her Existence . . . life is worth but little dearest, where self respect is lost.”25 He did not yet have the valiant battle experience to prove his worth and prose assisted to assuage his guilt through a constant renewal of purpose. Orme obviously cared deeply for his wife, but similarly felt his need to reassure her that his absence and subsequent return would fulfill an essential purpose in their lives together. Besides creating resolve for the soldier, letter writing bolstered a sense of intimacy with his family and refocused domestic motivation for the women left behind.26 Nineteenth century domestic tasks were labor intensive and for Nannie McCullough Orme, her husband’s absence was keenly felt. Nannie was left to care for her four young children, her moth- er’s failing health, and then her father’s estate after his death. With the means to furnish it, William responded to her needs and provided an extra set of helpers: he recruited his sister-in-law, Fanny, to assist with the children and hired “kitchen folks” to help with meal preparation.27 Throughout his letters, he made clear that the help was not in any way a slight at Nannie’s ability but rather a means so that she could “enjoy herself ” and “remain buoyant as ever.”28 Though her duties as wife and mother were increased substantially with William’s absence, he had a clear objective to respond to Nannie’s needs even from a distance. Wil- liam Orme attempted to do whatever in his influence to make his wife comfortable during his deployment and to maintain the status quo of the feminine middle-class ideal. For every effort at stoicism and heroism on the home front, women had to confront both the vacant chair of their husbands, sons, and broth- ers but also the grisly possibility that the absence could become perma- nent. For each different measure of circumstance, from the longing for a husband to the despair over the loss of a loved one, patterns emerge amongst the correspondence. The letters often exhibit a sense of ambiv- alence, a reflection of the struggle to be simultaneously pragmatic and expressive of the hardships of home front living.29 Though Nannie’s letters do not survive, supporting subtext can be read in Laura Swett’s faithful mention of Nannie’s actions during William’s absence. Mrs. Swett wrote

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to Orme in order to endear him to his wife’s obvious affection and longing for him while he was away. She wrote, “I saw Mrs. Orme for a moment Saturday eve. She was over to see if Mr. Swett had anything from you that she could have. She looked as happy as she could, with her bright eyes full of tears, at mention of the loved absent.”30 William constantly encouraged Nannie to remain brave and sturdy during his deployment, but it was obviously acceptable for Nannie to express her wishes for William’s safety and her affection for her husband. Letter writing proved to be a corrobo- ration of well-being between friends within the community so that Wil- liam could feel secure in his family’s emotional and physical health, even from a distance. The correspondence provided a cycle of communication that served to assuage the temptation towards despair in the face of great difficulty. Messages of confidence were not always conveyed in letters, especially at the news of illness, injury, or premonition of death. Civil War Ameri- cans trained themselves on the concepts of sacrifice, duty, and honor but the stark reality of loss could be overwhelming for the family at home. When William Orme contracted a jaundice-like illness at his Spring- field, Missouri camp in November 1862, his stream of letters indicated that Nannie responded to his information in a worried tone. Her reaction was not uncommon; news of ill health often caused women to ask their husbands to prioritize their intentions as a soldier and consider coming home to receive adequate care.31 William’s approach to his wife’s concern was to make light of his ailment, he joked that he was simply taking his “turn—all the others have been sick but me” and poking fun at himself by describing his startling physical appearance: “ I am yellow as an orange all over—my eyes included—I never saw such a yellow legged specimen as I am.”32 Though the jaundice made him weak and infirm for at least two weeks, he continued to update his wife with news of his high spirits and quick prospects of health as a way to reassure her of his inevitable recov- ery. After a couple of weeks, he was discharged from the infirmary. Of course, Civil War soldiers did not always recover. Death quickly became a prominent feature of existence during the Civil War era. Illness and disease contributed to more casualties than did battlefield deaths—a fate that would eventually account for William Orme’s demise. Nine- teenth century Americans were not prepared for such a profound disrup- tion of their highly ritualized performance of death rituals and mourning

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processes. Drew Gilpin Faust detailed the ars moriendi of Victorian America and explored the ways that the Civil War shattered those mores and quickly constructed new configurations of mourning. Prior to the Civil War, death customs revolved around private and domestic scenes and spaces.33 It was the expectation that death would occur at home, sur- rounded by family, where the last words and countenance of the depart- ing could be witnessed. In order to be assured of the soul’s ascension in those final moments, witnesses needed to observe that the deceased had been conscious of his fate, had demonstrated willingness to accept it, had shown signs of belief in God and in his own salvations, and had left mes- sages and instructive exhortations for those at his or her side.34 In this way, there was an assurance of a Good Death that gave survivors faith for reunification. The Civil War challenged the social rituals associated with death, leaving Americans to try to restore and revise these customs. Accord- ing to historian John Neff, these commemorative attempts “almost always failed.”35 Letters became a new mode to revise those methods in an attempt to reconcile and produce meaning out of distant deaths away from the traditional family deathbed witnesses. Individuals, families, and communities had to relearn how to go about their business while constantly facing the specter of tragedy. Correspondence during the war recorded a persistent effort to maintain a level of normalcy amidst chaos. Letters served both as epistolary bridges between the home and an absent member at the front, and, in the event of a soldier’s death provided evi- dence for and commemoration of the virtue of the departed. The wartime communication among the Swetts, Ormes, and Davises covered a variety of topics dependent upon the events and challenges of each family within the larger community. Their experiences demonstrate the shifts in letter writing, especially in the commemoration of men lost to the war.

“This sad world of ours”: The Civil War in Bloomington Lincoln’s intervention in Bloomington’s collective grief occurred because of the phenomenon of community participation in Civil War loss. More- over, Bloomington’s public and shared sorrow illustrates the shift from Victorian norms during the difficult years of the war. In his letter to Fanny McCullough, Lincoln pointed out that “sorrow comes to all”—a universal

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truth that became keenly felt in the midst of a tremendous amount of death and destruction in the North and South from 1861–1865.36 No com- munity was immune to the devastation wrought by the war, but the par- ticipation in the mourning process took different forms than before the conflict as communities coped with the reality of sacrifice on such a large scale. After social historians began to examine civilian lives and the pat- terns of communities during the Civil War, Maris Vinovskis insisted that while it was important to recognize the ways in which individual commu- nities operated during the war, everything that was happening in those communities needed to be placed within the context of the war itself.37 The Civil War could not have been prosecuted without the actions of communities and local governments across the United States. A broader understanding of the community’s place within its war contexts and the specific ways that the war altered community structures illuminates the transformative power of the conflict. At the beginning of the Civil War in 1861, Bloomington had approxi- mately 6,000 residents and was the seat of McLean County. Bloomington had a growing economy and population due to the Chicago & Alton Rail- road that spanned the state and connected it with other burgeoning rail- road cities. The town became nationally significant after Lincoln’s election to the presidency because many residents were Lincoln associates on the Eighth Judicial Circuit. Men such as Jesse Fell, David Davis, and Leonard Swett were ardent supporters and devoted friends of Lincoln and were proud of their participation in Lincoln’s ascendency. Despite this associ- ation to Lincoln, there were citizens of Bloomington who did not reflect a strong Republican inclination and who were virulently opposed to the politics of their new president.38 Both Democrats and Republicans in McLean County were opposed to secession and pledged not to interfere with slavery where it was already established. The two parties diverged on their agreements because McLean County Republicans wanted to vote slavery out of any newly admitted states.39 Debate over the proper solution to slavery in the United States was intense prior to the war, but the dif- ferences dissolved when the Civil War broke out. Secessionist action was viewed by both parties as traitorous and the citizens of McLean County set out to fight as a unified front for the purpose of preserving the Union.

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Disagreements over slavery became a secondary issue for the duration of the fighting. At Lincoln’s initial call for troops after the attacks on Fort Sumter in April 1861, Bloomington immediately filled its muster rolls and sent 133 men to Cairo to await further orders for their three-month enlistment. From the moment of Lincoln’s initial call for troops, volunteers went to Bloomington where “Camp Gridley” was formed on the Old Fair- ground by the board of supervisors in McLean County in order to outfit and house the constant flow of company formations for deployment.40 During the first few months of the war, William McCullough joined the cavalry units from McLean County that were deployed to the Army of the Tennessee in support of General Grant. By summer 1862, Union morale was waning and the North needed more forceful prosecution of the war effort. In response, Abraham Lincoln called for 150,000 additional fight- ing men by executive order.41 Bloomington quickly organized 1,200 men and formed the Ninety-Fourth Regiment with William Orme at its com- mand. This group of men left Bloomington on August 25, 1862 towards Rolla, MO. Enlisted men from McLean County differed in their political opinions and views of the president but their enlistment solidified their commitment to the Union cause. The town of Bloomington was intimately involved in the troop move- ments and other developments in the war. Throughout the war the daily Pantagraph newspaper dedicated two of its four pages to war news—page one with the national news, battle reports, and important local involve- ments and page four with town and county news that detailed the events in the war that were local in nature.42 At the moment of any tragedy, the community was appraised of the details available through the press, allowing the event to be experienced as a collective process and individ- ual families were not left to manage their experiences privately. Bloom- ington shed the traditional Victorian sequestered sorrow in exchange for mutual support during times of need. With the family unit splintered by the circumstances of war, communities were willing to forsake tra- dition. This was particularly helpful for families like the McCulloughs who became fractured as a result of death and were exacerbated by Mrs. McCullough’s poor health and Fanny’s extreme response to grief. Left to their own private mourning, the McCulloughs would have struggled to

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make arrangements for William’s return to Bloomington, the organiza- tion of his public funeral, and future plans. After he fell in battle, McCullough’s body was recovered in Missis- sippi under a flag of truce and transported back to Bloomington. This accommodation was a luxury and expense that hundreds of thousands of families during the Civil War could not afford. In lieu of a deathbed departure, William McCullough returned to Bloomington in state to be mourned by his family. The delivery of his body back to his home pro- vided some measure of peace in an era when identification and retrieval of battlefield corpses was woefully inadequate.43 McCullough’s public funeral once again signaled the shifting nature of Civil War loss. The previously private and family-based affair of heartache became a shared experience of the Bloomington community as his death was regarded in the town as a “public calamity.”44

“Your kind and brave father”: Qualifying William McCullough’s Good Death On December 10, the day after Bloomingtonians received the news of McCullough’s death, the McLean Bar Association met at the courthouse to honor McCullough with eulogies and honorary resolutions. For the service that McCullough had rendered to the country and for his con- nection to the McLean County Court, the bar members commemorated McCullough with public expressions of mourning caused by the loss of a “warm hearted, faithful friend.”45 They also included their intention to print out the resolutions and present them as commemoration to McCullough’s surviving family. The following day, the resolutions were printed in The Pantagraph as a model of the appropriate and effusive praise with which to remember those who sacrificed their lives in war. The local newspaper continued to report on the developments con- cerning McCullough’s funeral arrangements. When McCullough’s body arrived in Bloomington on the evening of December 15, ten days after his death, the Pantagraph announced his homecoming in the next day’s paper. The traditionally private death rituals of the nineteenth century were, in McCullough’s case, made public. For the community at-large, his death represented an opportunity to participate in the tribute of the sacri- fice given and as a result, McCullough’s arrangements were open to “let all attend.” Additionally, the paper noted that it would be up to “the citizens

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to make arrangements for the funeral,” and the Pantagraph did not men- tion the family’s participation.46 The day of the burial and observances, the paper called for “all singers who are willing to assist in the funeral ser- vices for Col. McCullough.”47 The announcements from the local paper in regards to McCullough death demonstrated the sense of community participation and the perpetuation of historian Martha Hodes’ “cult of mourning.” On a frigid December day during a mild winter in the prairie town of Bloomington, Lt. Colonel William McCullough was publicly mourned and interred at Evergreen Cemetery. His funeral procession was well attended, some accounts claimed it was the largest memorial attendance of any Bloomington soldier killed during the war. In its initial assess- ment, the Pantagraph conjectured that “the large turn out evidenced the respect and esteem in which Col. McCullough was held by the citizens.”48 McCullough’s services set a precedent for those men, particularly officers, who sacrificed their lives for the cause of the Union. True to his sensitive nature, David Davis was deeply upset by McCullough’s death and lamented his obligations in Washington that delayed his return home. Leonard Swett continued to write to Davis to update him on the status of the family. On December 16, Davis wrote to Swett and was unashamed in his disorganized, short expressions to his friend. He admitted, “Poor McCullough’s death has saddened me very, very much—I was sad enough before—I shall write Fanny in a day or two—write me the particulars when you get time—McCullough was always my warm and devoted friend—he never wavered.”49 Davis occu- pied his letter with his opinion that William Orme should resign his posi- tion from the army despite the imminent probate bill that would have subsequently secured his promotion. Davis believed Orme’s resignation was the right thing for him to do given his position; he did not seem as concerned for the immediate care of the family duties but seemed to be anxious “if anything should happen to Orme.”50

For Davis, McCullough’s death inaugurated a campaign of fear to preserve the lives of other Bloomington friends. Still committed to the Union’s effort, his resolve was affected and death’s proximity prompted a reevaluation regarding his friends’ sacrifices. After Davis received addi- tional details on McCullough’s death, he wrote to Nannie to console her and assure her of her father’s Good Death. Davis also included his wishes

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and admonishment that Orme should resign his ambition to become pro- moted in the army for the sake of “duty to his family.”51 Civil War death crept into his Bloomington circle and Davis was willing to use his mentor role within the community to attempt to deter another tragedy prompted by Fanny’s excessive grief. Davis expressed his deepest consolations and empathetic grief with Nannie: “I little thought when I last saw yr dear father, that it was the last time—You have the melancholy satisfaction of knowing that he died gloriously & that his name will always be remembered with honor.”52 He emphasized his desire to be at home, “to sympathise with you in person & to do what lay in my power to lessen the burden of your sorrows.”53 He was unable to be present to assist the McCulloughs with the funeral arrangements but for his part in Washington, he took action to do all that he could to console the family, including prompting the help of the president. Davis was forced to mourn McCullough’s death from Washington and he regularly consulted with Abraham Lincoln on the developments of the situation unfolding from Illinois. Lincoln’s presence in Washington with Davis at the time of the tragedy made the president an irreplace- able and present confidant as Davis struggled to be away. On December 16, Davis wrote to Swett about part of the conversation that Davis had with Lincoln on that day. The two men likely shared memories of the deceased and Davis confided the details of the devastating reaction of the McCullough women. He included in the letter that “Mr Lincoln had a warm attachment to McCullough and feels his loss keenly.”54 In the course of their exchange, David Davis and the president discussed Fanny and the possibility of Lincoln writing to console her. In his letters, Davis did not disclose if he asked Lincoln to write a letter to Fanny or if the presi- dent offered it on his own volition. Davis’s letter to Swett on December 16 does reveal that Lincoln cared for the McCulloughs and that his letter was not merely a favor for Davis. Lincoln followed through on his promise to write to Fanny McCullough on December 23 and she received it on New Year’s Day, 1863—the same day the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect. After William McCullough’s death the community of Bloomington shared in the unsettling tragedy of his sacrifice. William McCullough was the first in Bloomington to receive such a public display of mourning

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during the Civil War. The communal nature of grief during the Civil War was a demonstration of the departure from Victorian norms of the ars moriendi. From those who knew the McCulloughs well to those who sim- ply wished to pay their respects to his devoted service to the town and his country, the frontier town of Bloomington was unified in its grief over his death. The Good Death of the Civil War era necessarily took on new itera- tions because of the regularity with which deaths might occur in commu- nities. During major battles, regiments based out of small towns might suffer a high volume of casualties, leaving behind a community that was destroyed by a distant conflict. Even more confounding for Victorian Americans, they needed to adjust their rituals of grief to accommodate so many sudden changes. Letter writing was the vehicle by which to commu- nicate deaths that were occurring away from the traditional spaces. The components of the Civil War Good Death were considered an acceptable substitute for the absence of a bedside rite because for all these soldiers on the field, the circumstances of death were often out of their control.55 As a result, letters included patterns of information that conveyed cer- tain details that could provide comfort for a mourning family. The Good Death’s consolation included a consciousness of death, the acceptance of death, a demonstration of a belief in God or a patriotic propitiation, and a final message that could be communicated to his surviving family.56 Wil- liam McCullough’s death took place under the heat of combat and the severity of his wounds resulted in a sudden death. Under most circum- stances during the Civil War, this would have complicated the revised standards of the Good Death, but the McCulloughs and the Ormes were able to fully recover and identify each component, with varied responses of grief. The first component of the Good Death was the dying person’s con- sciousness of his or her impending end. For Civil War soldiers, prepara- tion for battle included confronting the possibility of death. Many sol- diers wrote letters before going into battle that they tucked away in their belongings or appointed a fellow soldier the responsibility to share news of a valiant death with family through a letter. William McCullough pre- pared a will but had not made any other sort of ritualistic preparation. The initial news given to the McCulloughs bore the contents of a dis- patch from Colonel T. Lyle Dickey who was the commander officer of the

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Fourth Cavalry. It simply read, “To Judge Davis/ or Leonard Swett/ Col McCullough killed in battle, buried by the enemy/ Flag of truce gone for the body.”57 This incomplete report did not accommodate the criteria for Good Death status, causing the family to patiently wait for more informa- tion about McCullough’s final moments and begin to craft its own Good Death narrative. As secretary of the McLean County Historical Society, Ezra Mor- ton Prince later composed a detailed history of the Civil War in McLean County and its participants. He compiled accounts from witnesses that would have been communicated to the McCulloughs with the details of Lt. Col. McCullough’s brave and intentionally sacrificial last acts. In the report, Price corroborated from sources that “the rebels came up on both sides and demanded his surrender. A very emphatic refusal was the reply, to which the enemy responded with a volley of musketry, killing Col- onel McCullough instantly.”58 In that moment, McCullough’s “emphatic refusal” indicated to his family that the was prepared for what could come next—death at the hands of his enemy. The next criteria in the revised Good Death included the soldier’s acceptance of death. Many times, this took the form of bearing up under the tremendous pain of injury without complaint or expression of fear. Once a soldier was injured, he could help to assure his family by not giving into despair or hopelessness leading to unbelief amid extreme agony.59 By late 1862, Union forces secured much of Northern Mississippi after costly victories at Shiloh and Corinth. General Ulysses S. Grant began the Mis- sissippi Central Railroad Campaign with the goal to gain control of towns and railroads leading to Vicksburg. William McCullough and his men were in Coffeesville, Mississippi on the night of December 5, 1862 ahead of General Grant’s column. The Confederate army was on the retreat, but the unrelenting rebels continued to engage the pursuing cavalry in skirmishes along the way.60 Lt. Col. McCullough’s detachment attempted to pressure their fleeing enemy and became “hemmed in by the rebels, both in front and behind, with a superior force.”61 The Confederates called out to the ranking officer, who was William McCullough, and demanded his immediate surrender. McCullough refused to surrender and in defi- ance of the enemy’s command, he ordered the charge of his men which prompted a volley of bullets from the Confederates. McCullough and his horse were struck, both fell to the ground, and instantly perished.62

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McCullough accepted his death when he refused to surrender to the rebel command. He knew that his refusal to accept the order would result in a firefight and his vulnerable position on top of his horse would have increased his chances of danger. Witnesses to his death composed a biographical sketch that highlighted McCullough’s demeanor in his final moments to provide additional solace to his family. Their account was unrestrained: “the manner of his death departed not one whit from the real character of the man. If he was brave in life he was sublime in death.”63 To affirm, Major W. Packard provided a history of his death to the Illinois Bar Association and attested to McCullough’s stoic end: “There was no such word as surrender in his whole constitution. If the whole confederate army had been drawn up before his very eyes, his reply would have been the same.”64 Though William McCullough could not outwardly express his acceptance of his fate due to the sudden and violent nature of his death, his comrades were sure to account for his willingness to meet his end. Perhaps the most difficult stipulation of the Good Death to recon- cile for William McCullough was the demonstration of a belief in God that secured his assignment in Heaven. Surviving family could ascertain confidence and comfort from an assurance of reunification in an ethereal plane. If a loved one was taken unnaturally, the family could find solace in the conviction that they would one day see them again. A local compar- ison to William McCullough’s Good Death compromise was the sudden and senseless death of Joseph Orme, William Ward Orme’s brother, after the battle of Prairie Oak. William McCullough’s death was witnessed as a valiant and heroic act against an identified enemy, but Joseph Orme was slain by the accidental discharge of a comrade’s weapon. Compar- atively, it was simple to create a sense of purpose out of McCullough’s glorious death—refusing to surrender to the enemy after a life of brave and patriotic actions. Joseph Orme, on the other hand, was struck down at twenty-three years old and not granted the dignity of a redemptive battlefield death.65 Several of William Orme’s friends wrote him letters of condolence when news of Joseph Orme began to spread, fulfilling the Good Death criteria with their narrative. Not only had their friend lost a brother, but news of the nature of his death would have prompted the necessity to forge utility out of this empty slaughter. Reports from witnesses on the front explained the tragic details of Joseph’s death and sought to reassure his surviving loved ones of his

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faithfulness up until the moment of death. Letters sought to make absent family virtual observers to the dying moments they had been denied. Joseph Orme did not die in battle; on the contrary, he had just success- fully emerged unscathed from the enemy’s danger in the battle of Prai- rie Oak. To be lost to a friend’s shell could not have been foreseen and did not allow for Joseph Orme to prepare and accept his final moments as part of the Good Death ritual. However, those around him faithfully reported a sense of finality and firmness in Christian faith and soldierly determination. In his final moments he was “marching by the side of his brave com- pany when the awful bullet pierced his breast. Turning suddenly, he threw up his sword, and falling to the ground, exclaimed: ‘God bless you boys!’ These were the last words of one of the best, brightest, bravest young sol- diers of the War of the Rebellion.”66 The inclusion in this report of Joseph’s final words regarded an especially high truth status to the reader, both because it was believed that a dying person could no longer have any earthly motivation to lie and because those about to meet their Maker would not wish to expire bearing false witness.67 The reassurance that Joseph had been aware that he was dying, accepted, and left a message filled with Christian exhortations would have been reassuring to his sur- viving kin that he had measured up to the Good Death standard despite the accidental circumstances of passing. From Washington, Ward Hill Lamon penned his condolences to William Orme, his former colleague on the Eighth Circuit, and offered sympathetically that it was “useless” for him “to say how much and how sincerely I sympathize with you.”68 Lamon recognized that it had not been much time “since the noble, daring, generous and patriotic Col. McCullough fell in this terrible war in the defence of the country and now the talented and gallant little Joe, whom we all loved, has followed him. Brighter marks or more noble could not have been selected.—We all loved them both, may God love them, in Heaven.”69 Lamon’s salvific justification for the deceased was their performance of patriotic duty; his explanation symbolized a transfer of the normative understandings of reclamation. In a sense, Lamon said that these soldiers atoned for their sin by their own sacrifice instead of the recognition of a doctrinal propi- tiation. This trend in a patriotic vindication of death was common in the Civil War because not all who died or who mourned adhered to Christian

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practice. Elements of the Good Death necessarily had to be separated from their theological roots and did not bear the religious affiliation that had accompanied the ars moriendi for centuries.70

In contrast to Joseph Orme, no evidence suggested that William McCullough was a particularly religious man and further, his addictive tendencies did not bode well for family seeking to be assured of his eter- nal status. Lincoln’s civic religion posited in the Gettysburg Address was still months from being threaded into popular discourse, but because the Civil War demanded that death customs be amended, patriotism and heroic death became a form of civic religion. Under that interpretation, William McCullough had indeed secured his eternal position in the full- est sense because there was “none brighter, none more honorable and none exhibiting a finer sense of bravery or devotion to country than that of Col. William McCullough.”71 For all of his faults, no one questioned McCullough’s devoted patriotism and that security was a sufficient con- solation for his loved ones. From the recorded responses of fellow soldiers including at least five of the men present at his death, McCullough accomplished his Good Death with a firm final message that could be communicated to his fam- ily. With McCullough’s knowledge and acceptance of death, a final heroic aphorism might bring comfort to the mourning family—a signal that their father and husband had been true until his last moment. Though the accounts of his exact words differed, the character of his sentiment was fully substantiated by witnesses. Joseph Carter stood near McCullough when he fell and according to newspaper reports gave a most “graphic description of the death.”72 He explained that when called out to surren- der, Lt. Col. McCullough, cried out “with all of the vehemence in his soul, ‘I’m damned if I will! Charge!”73 Most other accounts do not include the colorful expletive, but Carter’s primary account was the only direct quote from a source who was present at the ambush. The event was reprinted in several accounts, but most only included the phrase “Charge!” to sig- nify McCullough’s obvious defiance. Perhaps the crass reality of events was not intended for public consumption and an edit was implemented to maintain decorum and appropriateness for public retelling. Whatever the reason, these last words of McCullough indicated his awareness of his eternal condition if he did not face the moment with utmost brav- ery. Carl Sandburg retold the event in his multi-volume War Years and

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commented that at the cost of McCullough’s own life, his men felt con- fident that their leader had saved theirs.74 No one else was lost in the ambush and McCullough’s final message conveyed bravery and ultimate sacrifice. Securing William McCullough’s Good Death status brought great relief to his family. His final, heroic acts stood as redemptive activity for his vices in life. Still, the reality of loss and patriotic sacrifice was felt differently by the members of the McCullough and Orme families. In a normal cir- cumstance surrounding the Good Death narrative, William Orme would have been present at his father-in-law’s death and would have been able to provide a stable presence for the women in the family as they mourned. William Orme’s initial letter of condolence to his wife was packed with empathy, instruction, and encouragement. He began by recognizing his own “melancholy” at the receipt of Swett’s telegraph as well as his lack of knowledge as to the nature of McCullough’s death in Mississippi.75 The details of his death were not as relevant as the assertion that her “father died a hero—a truly brave man, and a gallant, fearless officer, he has died the death of his own selection.”76 McCullough had sustained a death of his own choosing, one that reflected his ardent patriotism and bravery. Orme’s reiteration of this truth represented an assurance to his wife that her father had died a Good Death and acutely illustrated the value of this reassurance to survivors left to grieve as a measure of comfort.

“A sad sweet feeling in your heart”: Conclusion Amid overwhelming grief and tragic but not uncommon loss in the Civil War, the McCullough family and the Bloomington community used an increasingly public mourning process to deal with the loss of William McCullough. Lincoln’s letter to Fanny succinctly and eloquently por- trayed the realism and hope in long suffering. He understood that “perfect relief is not possible, except with time”; the president had lived through the grief of many losses to know better than to tell Fanny that all would be well. He offered a simple, even formulaic solution: she needed only to accept the truth that her misery could be immediately assuaged if she would believe that she was “sure to be happy again.”77 Not to be regarded as a flippant turn of phrase, Lincoln was being sincere and deterministic in his advice. Ultimately, it was Lincoln’s intimate understanding of death that enabled him to write with such conviction and truth.

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Lincoln ended the letter to Fanny with a comforting and profoundly truthful statement, that “the memory of your dear Father, instead of an agony, will yet be a sad sweet feeling in your heart, of a purer, and holier sort than you have known before.”78 Lincoln attempted to convince Fanny that there was value to endurance through the pain of grief. The “purer, and holier” feeling that Fanny might someday feel was Lincoln’s way of suggesting that pain and suffering had the potential to produce a more complete and refined life than one without it. Lincoln held to the biblical maxim from the Book of Romans that, “tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope.”79

Abraham Lincoln served as the quintessential example of Civil War grief and his position enabled him to aid the nation as citizens desperately sought to cope with loss on new levels. As a culture, Civil War Americans became “taught in the school of affliction” and grieving became a nec- essary component of daily living.80 While it is well known and recorded that Lincoln was a man of melancholic disposition, the sheer number of tragedies in his life combined with the breadth of notable accomplish- ments should be a topic of further discussion among historians. The bal- ance of his personal and public experiences forms a holistic perspective of Abraham Lincoln that serves to provide a realistic model of achieving greatness. After his inauguration, Lincoln’s interaction with Illinois was lim- ited to correspondence, visits from supporters to Washington, and the appointments of friends within the administration. Though not physi- cally present in Illinois, Lincoln proved throughout his tenure as presi- dent that his bonds with those in his home state were essential to him. His brief interactions with men and women from the Bloomington, Illinois community help to inform an understanding of nineteenth century com- munities. An exploration of the context of Lincoln’s condolence letter to Fanny McCullough provides a fascinating example of the ways in which the grief of one family as the result of one Civil War death can inform the national narrative of cultural shifts and presidential history. Historians have underplayed the connection between Lincoln and Fanny and highlighted Lincoln’s prose instead. The two elements com- bined serve to demonstrate a powerful example of perseverance through tragedy—an embodiment of the words that Lincoln penned to Fanny McCullough. Lincoln’s depth of character and measured accomplishment

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in the face of devastating loss proposed a spirit of perseverance. Though Victorian conventions prohibited emotional displays, especially from men, Lincoln demonstrated time and again that in times of national crisis and personal tragedy, emotions were an essential component to a realization of some positive end. Willie’s death was a turning point in Lincoln’s presidency. The most bitter of all tragedies, the loss of a child, caused Lincoln to pursue vindication and honor for the life that his son lived.81 Lincoln’s personal tragedy informed his public persistence and the “deep grief ” that affected his life with the deterministic belief that an acceptance of pain and sorrow in life would allow a person “to be happy again.”82

Notes 1. Leonard Swett to Judge David Davis, December 9, 1862, The David Davis Papers, Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library, Springfield, IL (Hereafter ALPL). 2. In a letter written by William Ward Orme to David Davis, February 25, 1863, The David Davis Family Papers, ALPL. Orme candidly suggested that Willy McCullough was on the verge of insanity. He commented, “His mother thinks, and I fear that he is mentally deranged. . . . Entreaty and good counsel fall upon him like a snow flake in the river.” Orme tried to enroll the young man in school, but he was kicked out on several occasions and perpetually drank and stole from the family. 3. From McCullough’s commanding officer, T. Lyle Dickey, the message read: “Col. McCullough was killed in battle and buried by the enemy. A flag of truce has gone for the body.” See “Col. McCullough Killed: Private Dispatch,” (Bloom- ington) The Pantagraph, December 10, 1862. 4. Ibid. 5. Robert S. Eckley, Lincoln’s Forgotten Friend, Leonard Swett (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 2012), 121. 6. Ibid. 7. For a more complete discussion on Civil War era mourning practices for the middle class, see Karen Haltunnen, Confidence Men and Painted Women: A Study of Middle-Class Culture in America, 1830–1870 (New Haven: Yale Univer- sity Press, 1982). A more recent work on the “cult of mourning” that developed in the Civil War is addressed in Martha Hodes, Mourning Lincoln (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2015). 8. Drew Gilpin Faust, This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2008), 166.

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9. But perhaps because of Fanny’s position in life as an unmarried young woman without dependents and the presence of a stable support system, Fanny was able to pursue her grief without derision. 10. Leonard Swett to Judge David Davis, December 11, 1862, The David Davis Papers, ALPL. 11. Leonard Swett to William Ward Orme, December 11, 1862, The William Ward Orme Papers, Illinois History and Lincoln Collection, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL (Hereafter UIUC). 12. Ibid. 13. William Ward Orme to Nannie McCullough Orme, December 13, 1862, The William Orme Papers, ALPL. 14. Leonard Swett to William Ward Orme, December 28, 1862, The William Ward Orme Papers, UIUC. 15. David Davis to Leonard Swett, December 16, 1862, The David Davis Papers, ALPL. 16. David Davis to Laura Swett, December 21, 1862, The David Davis Papers, ALPL. 17. William Ward Orme to David Davis, January 2, 1863, The David Davis Family Papers, ALPL. 18. Frank Orme was William Ward Orme’s younger brother and lived in Wash- ington D.C. He eventually came to Bloomington to court and espouse Fanny McCullough. The couple moved back to the capital where they lived into old age. The couple never had children. 19. Frank Orme to Laura Swett, February 26, 1863, The David Davis Family Papers, ALPL. 20. In addition to Lt. Col. McCullough, Joseph Orme, William Ward Orme’s other brother, was killed by the accidental discharge of a weapon while marching with his regiment away from battle, treated in a later section of this paper. Fanny would have known Joseph and there are some hints that she was interested in an intimate relationship with him. Certainly, the proximity of these events would have compounded her grief, but the record only refers to her grief in relation to her father’s death. 21. In her pivotal 2008 work, Drew Gilpin Faust explores the changing mean- ing of the Good Death as a result of the Civil War, arguing that pervasive death of soldiers away from the home necessitated a revision of contemporary under- standings of the Good Death, developed through condolence letters and written expressions of grief. To Faust, the ideas surrounding the Civil War Good Death were so well culturally disseminated that letter writers could communicate desired information to hometown mourners. 22. Ezra Morton Prince, Transactions of the McLean County Historical Society, Volume 1 (Bloomington, IL: Pantagraph Printing and Stationery Co., 1899), 424.

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23. William Ward Orme to Nannie McCullough Orme, October 18, 1862, The William Orme Papers, ALPL. 24. James Marten, Children for the Union: The War Spirit on the Northern Home Front (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2004), 67. 25. William Ward Orme to Nannie McCullough Orme, November 29, 1862, The William Orme Papers, ALPL. 26. Nina Silber, Daughters of the Union: Northern Women Fight the Civil War (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 92. 27. William Ward Orme to Nannie McCullough Orme, September 27, 1862, The William Orme Papers, ALPL. 28. Ibid. 29. Wanted—Correspondence: Women’s Letters to a Union Soldier, eds. Nancy L. Rhoades and Lucy E. Bailey (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2009), 41. 30. Laura Swett to William Ward Orme, October 15, 1862, The William Ward Orme Papers, UIUC. 31. Silber, Daughters of the Union, 27. 32. William Ward Orme to Nannie McCullough Orme, November 12, 1862, The William Orme Papers, ALPL. 33. Faust, This Republic of Suffering, 9. 34. Faust, This Republic of Suffering, 17. 35. John R. Neff, Honoring the Civil War Dead: Commemoration and the Prob- lem of Reconciliation (Lawrence: The University of Kansas Press, 2005), 11. 36. Abraham Lincoln to Fanny McCullough, December 23, 1862, quoted in Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Roy P. Basler et al, https://quod.lib .umich.edu/l/lincoln/lincoln6/1:32?rgn=div1;sort=occur;subview=detail;type= simple;view=fulltext;q1=mccullough. 37. Maris A. Vinovskis, “Have Social Historians Lost the Civil War? Some Pre- liminary Demographic Speculations,” The Journal of American History 76 (June 1989), 35. 38. Bill Kemp, “Pages from Our Past: Frederick Douglass Frequently Spoke in Bloomington,” (Bloomington) The Pantagraph, December 29, 2013, http:// www.pantagraph.com/news/local/frederick-douglass-frequently-spoke-in -bloomington/article_2a09168e-6f74-11e3-9a05-001a4bcf887a.html (accessed on August 1, 2017). 39. Jacob Louis Hasbrouck, History of McLean County Illinois (Topeka, IN: Historical Publishing Company, 1924), 152. 40. Hasbrouck, History of McLean County Illinois, 160. 41. Abraham Lincoln, “Executive Order—Call for Troops. June 30, 1862,” The American Presidency Project, eds. Gerhard Peters and John T. Woolley, http:// www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/?pid=69810 (accessed August 20, 2017). 42. The Pantagraph, December 10, 1862.

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43. Hodes, Mourning Lincoln, 197. 44. D.E. Frink, “Biography of Col. William McCullough,” The Sunday Bulletin (February 4, 1906). 45. The Pantagraph, December 12, 1862. 46. Ibid. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid. 49. David Davis to Leonard Swett, December 16, 1862, The David Davis Papers, ALPL. 50. Ibid. 51. David Davis to Nannie McCullough Orme, December 28, 1862, The Wil- liam Ward Orme Papers, UIUC. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid. 54. David Davis to Leonard Swett, December 16, 1862, The David Davis Papers, ALPL. 55. Faust, This Republic of Suffering, 9. 56. Ibid., 17. 57. Leonard Swett to Judge David Davis, December 9, 1862, The David Davis Papers, ALPL. 58. Prince, Transactions, 522. 59. Drew Gilpin Faust, “The Civil War Soldier and the Art of Dying,” The Jour- nal of Southern History 67 (February 2001), 6. 60. Earl Van Dorn, Reports of Battles Embracing the Defence of Vicksburg (Richmond, VA: Bailey & co., 1863), 103. 61. Frink, “Biography of Col. William McCullough,” 3. 62. Prince, Transactions, 156. 63. Frink, “Biography of Col. William McCullough,” 3. 64. Ibid, 4. 65. Prince, Transactions, 524. 66. Ibid. 67. Faust, “The Civil War Soldier and the Art of Dying,” 13. 68. Ward Hill Lamon to William Ward Orme, January 6, 1863, The William Ward Orme Papers, UIUC. 69. Ibid. 70. Faust, “The Civil War Soldier and the Art of Dying,” 8. 71. Ibid., 1. 72. Joseph Carter, “Account of the Death of William McCullough,” paper deliv- ered to the McLean County Historical Society, 1902, McLean County Museum of History, Bloomington, Illinois. 73. Ibid.

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74. Carl Sandburg, Abraham Lincoln: The War Years, Vol. 3 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1936), 617. 75. William Ward Orme to Nannie McCullough Orme, December 13, 1862, The William Orme Papers, ALPL. 76. Ibid. 77. Abraham Lincoln to Fanny McCullough, December 23, 1862, quoted in Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Roy P. Basler et al, https://quod.lib .umich.edu/l/lincoln/lincoln6/1:32?rgn=div1;sort=occur;subview=detail;type= simple;view=fulltext;q1=mccullough. 78. Abraham Lincoln to Fanny McCullough, December 23, 1862, quoted in Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Roy P. Basler et al, https://quod.lib .umich.edu/l/lincoln/lincoln6/1:32?rgn=div1;sort=occur;subview=detail;type= simple;view=fulltext;q1=mccullough. 79. Romans 5:3-4 (King James Version). 80. Leonard Swett to William Ward Orme, December 9, 1862, The William Ward Orme Papers, UIUC. 81. Harold K. Bush, Continuing Bonds with the Dead: Parental Grief and Nine- teenth-Century American Authors (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2016). 82. Abraham Lincoln to Fanny McCullough, December 23, 1862, quoted in Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Roy P. Basler et al, https://quod.lib .umich.edu/l/lincoln/lincoln6/1:32?rgn=div1;sort=occur;subview=detail;type= simple;view=fulltext;q1=mccullough.

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