A Place Called Appomattox

by William Marvel

Overview

Although Appomattox Court House is one of the most symbolically charged places in America, it was an ordinary tobacco-growing village both before and after an accident of fate brought the armies of Lee and Grant together there. It is that Appomattox—the typical small Confederate community—that William Marvel portrays in this deeply researched, compelling study. He tells the story of the Civil War from the perspective of those who inhabited one of the conflict's most famous sites.

The village sprang into existence just as Texas became a state and reached its peak not long before Lee and Grant met there. The postwar decline of the village mirrored that of the rural South as a whole, and Appomattox served as the focal point for both Lost Cause myth-making and reconciliation reveries.

Marvel draws on original documents, diaries, and letters composed as the war unfolded to produce a clear and credible portrait of everyday life in this town, as well as examining the galvanizing events of April 1865. He also scrutinizes Appomattox the national symbol, exposing and explaining some of the cherished myths surrounding the surrender there.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781469628394
Publisher:	The University of North Carolina Press
Publication date:	03/21/2016
Series:	Civil War America
Edition description:	Reprint
Pages:	416
Product dimensions:	6.10(w) x 9.20(h) x 1.10(d)

About the Author

William Marvel's many books include Lincoln's Autocrat, Andersonville: The Last Depot, Lincoln's Darkest Year, and Tarnished Victory.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1
The Tavern

John Raine might have been forgiven a touch of melancholy on the eve of his fiftieth birthday, for in the spring of 1845 the half-century mark served as an even greater reminder of man's mortality than it would in a more salubrious time. For Raine, however, the eleventh of April that year signified more than the last day of his fifth decade. According to a notice posted in the Lynchburg papers, that date had been chosen for the liquidation of property that he had once expected to tide him through old age.[1]

In the summer of 1839 Raine and his wife, Eliza, had bought half the interest in a twenty-year-old tavern on Clover Hill, overlooking the headwaters of the Appomattox River from one of the gentle hills of Virginia's Piedmont. The tavern had been built by Alexander Patteson to serve passengers on the stage line that he and his late brother had established between Richmond and Lynchburg in 1814; Alexander Patteson himself died in 1836, leaving the tavern and its 206 acres divided between his estate and his brother's, but in September of 1840 the Raines acquired the remaining half-interest for the same price of $1,525 that they had agreed upon for the first half. By 1839 stages stopped twice every weekday at the two-story brick tavern, and once a day on weekends; Raine lacked the Pattesons' advantage of owning both stage line and tavern, but his was the best-known stop between Buckingham Court House and Lynchburg, and regular travelers remembered Clover Hill as the old headquarters of the stage company.[2]

For all of that, Raine had not prospered. At his death he would be remembered as a man who suffered economic reverses through his own stubborn belief in the virtue of others, and before the Christmas of 1842 his fortunes had sunk so low that he appealed to his brother, back in Campbell County, to pick up the lapsed notes on the tavern parcel. Hugh Raine allowed him $3,500 for the 206-acre parcel, and permitted him to stay on as manager of the tavern. Now, barely two years later, thirty acres around the tavern had been sketched into town lots, and Hugh Raine was advertising them for sale.[3]

Hugh was taking economic advantage of a political circumstance on which John had long hoped to capitalize. Clover Hill lay amid rolling farmland, isolated by twenty-five or thirty miles from any county seat. Patteson's tavern sat on the upper edge of Prince Edward County; a few hundred yards away, hugging the north branch of the Appomattox, the Sweeney family's apple orchard worked its way up a slope in Buckingham County. Interested delegates to the state legislature had been trying for decades to have portions of Prince Edward, Buckingham, Campbell, and Charlotte Counties carved off to form a new county, with Clover Hill as the seat. For obvious reasons Alexander Patteson had made the first attempt himself, in 1824, when he presented a petition to the General Assembly for a new county called "Fayette," but the attempt failed on a technicality.

By 1839 proponents of a new county had grown better organized, and on February 21 of that year Thomas H. Flood presented the House of Delegates with another petition from a committee (which included John Raine) representing citizens in extremities of the four existing counties. These people were burdened with travel of as much as thirty-two miles each way every time they had to vote, attend militia muster, serve as jurors, or do any court business; they asked the delegates to create a new county with Clover Hill, the residence of John Raine, as the seat of justice, with a town of about forty lots laid out there. According to this memorial, the new county might be called Bouldin, Bolling, Appomattox, or anything else the legislature preferred. So certain was John Raine of ultimate success, despite the petition's failure in the 1839 session, that over the next two summers he signed the pair of interest-bearing notes for a total of $3,050 to gain title to the Patteson property, where he had apparently been managing the tavern for some time.[4]

Raine had good cause for his optimism, as the momentum for a new county was clearly growing, but his timing could have been better. Not until the 1841 session did the General Assembly entertain another petition on the subject, and that April voters in the affected precincts expressed their wishes in four nonbinding polls. All save Charlotte County returned majorities for the new county, but that did not convince the delegates; nor did another poll taken in April 1842, in which the Campbell County section tallied forty-five men for and forty-five men against the change. At that juncture the delay proved too much for John Raine, who had been unable to meet his mortgage notes; in December of 1842 he sold his Clover Hill holdings to his brother.[5]

Thomas Bocock resurrected the new-county bill in January of 1844, but a fellow delegate from Buckingham County by the name of Jones objected on the grounds that people had paid dearly for land at Buckingham Court House (where Jones, too, owned some real estate), and it would be unfair to diminish the value of their property by shaving off so much of their county. If the bill were to pass, however, Delegate Jones thought the new county should be called Jones, after an ancestor of his who had fallen at the head of a volunteer company at the battle of Guilford Court House. To the surprise and dismay of both isolated citizens and prospective profiteers, the assembly again voted the bill down on the argument that the sense of the voters had not been taken.[6]

Disgruntled residents called a meeting at Clover Hill for February 2. Gathering at Patteson's tavern, the local gentry formed standing committees to spread the gospel on the new county and to circulate more petitions. That April the various sheriffs opened the polls for yet another referendum, and this time the vote was overwhelming in all four counties. Just to be certain, the committees arranged a free, nonpartisan barbecue at Clover Hill in the fall, inviting speakers from among both the Whigs and the Democrats. In December a new petition was entered in Richmond by Samuel C. Anderson of Prince Edward County, who had proposed the name "Appomattox" the previous session, in place of Jones: the Appomattox River that flowed so majestically into the James, below Petersburg, originated with a trickling stream behind Patteson's tavern; early Virginians believed the name evolved from an Indian tribe, or sovereign, called Apumetec. This bill passed the House of Delegates by a margin of fifteen votes on February 6, 1845, and the state senate ratified it two days later.[7]

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1. The Tavern

Chapter 2. The Railroad

Chapter 3. The Crisis

Chapter 4. The Parting

Chapter 5. The Crusade

Chapter 6. The Siege

Chapter 7. The Flight

Chapter 8. The Meeting

Chapter 9. The Parade

Chapter 10. The Trial

Chapter 11. The Resurrection

Epilogue: The Dedication

Notes

Bibliography

Sources and Acknowledgments

Index

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher

Thanks to Marvel's treatment, we have an even better appreciation of the significance of Appomattox beyond its common perception today.—Civil War News



Marvel's elegantly written book offers scholars valuable evidence about antebellum, wartime, and Reconstruction Virginia by interweaving the actions and perspectives of soldiers and civilians over nearly eighty years in this 'place.'—Civil War History



[This book] reveal[s] the possibilities of local history to enhance our understanding of broader trends. It also is deeply researched and compelling in its narration.—Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography



William Marvel knows how to tell a good story. He is also a master at debunking myths and reinterpreting historical orthodoxy. . . . A Place Called Appomattox demonstrates that Marvel can bring the same pleasing style and fresh perspective to local history. . . . Those who appreciate lively prose laced with irony will enjoy Marvel's style, and A Place Called Appomattox appeals to such a wide-ranging audience that it almost defies a label. Whether shelved as Civil War history, Virginia history, Southern history or local history, Marvel's work is sure to stand for generations to come as the most authoritative account of one tiny village's collision with history.—America's Civil War



Marvel has done it again. . . . Any conscientious evaluation of this fine history would yield a similarly favorable view of its accomplishments.—Indiana Magazine of History



One comes away with a renewed sense of just how difficult life was then, and just how devastating the Civil War was for the South. Marvel's singular gift comes in the presentation of the narrative. While clearly the result of extensive research, the book reads as a sympathetic, interesting, poignant story of the life and people of a small rural town.—Virginia Quarterly Review



By focusing a new lens on one of America's legendary places, Marvel delivers a book that is much more than a simple reinvestigation of a story often told. . . . Marvel offers an excellent, almost understated account of the surrender itself, exploding along the way some persistent myths. . . . Rare is the historian who strikes a happy chord in all three of the disciplines necessary to produce a quality work of history: research, analysis, and writing. Marvel garners high marks on all counts.—Civil War Times



This is local history at its best.—North & South



Perhaps [Marvel's] best book to date.—Publishers Weekly

Editorial Reviews

Marvel's work does nothing less than to bring the place and the people that are oft so two-dimensional on the pages of history sharply into three-dimensions. . . . Marvel's goal is quite clearly to focus on the people of Appomattox as humans with businesses, families, and lives, regardless of the moral implications of their own choices and the choices of their leaders. Appomattox's citizens are presented purely as they were: human.—Georgia Library Quarterly

From the Publisher

William Marvel knows how to tell a good story. He is also a master at debunking myths and reinterpreting historical orthodoxy.

America's Civil War

One comes away with a renewed sense of just how difficult life was then, and just how devastating the Civil War was for the South. Marvel's singular gift comes in the presentation of the narrative.

Virginia Quarterly Review

Rare is the historian who strikes a happy chord in all three of the disciplines necessary to produce a quality work of history: research, analysis, and writing. Marvel garners high marks on all counts.

Civil War Times

A small town in Virginia that was unknown until April 1865, Appomattox grew out of a county founded in 1845, a backwater devoid of any events that made a splash outside the community. Marvel (Andersonville, etc.) examines its history as the village grew and its people generally prospered. When war came in 1861, Marvel follows the local men and boys who enthusiastically flocked to the colors and marched off to war. By April 1865, more than a hundred of them had fallen on eastern battlefields, especially at Gettysburg. Typifying the wartime history of a Confederate village, Appomattox's economy was in shambles at times, diseases were occasionally rampant and emotions ran high as dead bodies were brought home during the war. Then, Appomattox was thrust into national fame when Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant in Wilmer McLean's house; three days later, most rebel forces in the vicinity paraded for the last time before silent Union troops, stacked their arms and flags and went home. Marvel critically assesses the moment and takes apart several myths, especially the writings of the now-famed Joshua Chamberlain, who played up his own role in the surrender ceremony. The village fell into ruin after the war and eventually became largely forgotten except by those veterans who returned to look upon the hallowed ground of 1865. Preservation efforts began in the 1920s, and the field and reconstructed courthouse continue to draw visitors. Marvel faithfully and adeptly chronicles all of this, in perhaps his best book to date. Photos and maps. (Oct.) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.|

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly

Appomattox Court House was nothing more than a rural hamlet before and after historical events brought the Confederate and Union armies together there. Marvel (The Alabama and the Kearsarge) chronicles the villagers' lives and many challenges, including class struggles with overbearing town elders, poor transportation, financial depressions, typhoid fever epidemics, and the loss of husbands, sons, and sweethearts in an increasingly unpopular civil war. Marvel's constant shifts between the war and its impact on the Appomattox homefront are not always seamless, but his account of local fighting in early 1865 is dramatically rendered. The author salutes the contributions of the Freedman's Bureau and the Union provost marshal's constabulary toward education and domestic tranquility, respectively, but concedes in closing chapters that a depressed regional economy, labor problems, and geographic isolation had doomed the long-range prospects of his settlement. Marvel's thoroughly researched and handsomely illustrated work is recommended for Civil War collections and most libraries.--John Carver Edwards, Univ. of Georgia Libs., Athens Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.\

Library Journal

We “know” three things about Appomattox Court House:

o  Robert E. Lee surrendered to U.S. Grant there.

o  Wilmer McLean relearned a bitter lesson he had already absorbed at Manassas:  In real estate, it’s location, location, location.

o  Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and John Brown Gordon commanded a dramatic surrender ceremony in which the victors saluted the vanquished and started the nation on its path to reconciliation.

Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

            In A Place Called Appomattox, William Marvel departs from his social history of the Virginia village to explode a few myths about that ceremony. 

            The one about Grant’s selection of Chamberlain to command the formation is especially egregious.  In Marvel’s view, Grant didn’t even envision such a ceremony.   The generals he’d left in charge – John Gibbon and Charles Griffin – came up with it as a way rub the Southerners’ noses in defeat.

And Chamberlain wasn’t in command at all.  His brigade was part of the Fifth Corps division that took the surrender, meaning Joseph Bartlett, the division commander, was actually in charge. 

Was there a salute?  Not really.  In a move designed more to keep order than to greet the surrendering rebels, Chamberlain ordered his brigade to shoulder arms.  Had he intended a salute, he would have told his men to present arms.

So how did the myth come about?  In Marvel’s words, “while [Chamberlain] was courageous and coolheaded he also tended to wrap life’s little dramas in ribbons of romantic imagery in which he, himself, was somehow entwined.”  Chamberlain embellished his memory of the event some thirty years after the fact, when comrades who could have disputed his version were long dead.  When fellow politician Gordon caught wind of Chamberlain’s story, he chose not to refute it, but added a few frills of his own.

In Marvel’s book, the story of the surrender is the climax to a narrative that begins in 1845, when the Virginia General Assembly decided to carve out a new county.  The county seat grew around a run-down tavern through events considerably less dramatic than the 1865 surrender that made the village famous. 

            In fact, so undramatic is the story of Appomattox and its people that, in less skilled hands, this book would be downright tedious.   Marvel’s flair for language turns a collection of vital statistics – births, deaths, marriages and real estate transactions – into a living story of humanity.

In A Place Called Appomattox, we come to know some ordinary people who lived their lives in an extraordinary time.  The war had a profound effect on those lives, even though there was little or no combat in the vicinity until that fateful Palm Sunday weekend in 1865. 

 Like their contemporaries from every community north and south, many of the village’s young men lost their lives in battle, and even more died of disease.  But Marvel reminds us of a fact that’s frequently overlooked:  The era’s diseases took almost as heavy a toll on those who stayed at home.  (Typhoid fever seemed to be the biggest killer.)

Not every man of the village marched off to the defense of Old Virginia.  A great many, especially those with money and influence, did what they could to stay out of harm’s way – joining the militia, finding an occupation that carried a draft exemption, or just pulling strings.

Newcomer Wilmer McLean, whose parlor was the site of the surrender, wasn’t the village’s most distinguished citizen.  That title would belong to Thomas Bocock, a local politician who became Speaker of the Confederate House of Representatives. 

Another resident was an even more storied figure – Sam Sweeney, the banjo-playing mascot of J.E.B. Stuart’s cavalry.  Sweeney’s brother, Joel, who also lived in the village, is credited with perfecting the five-string banjo, as well as developing the minstrel show as a vehicle for his new instrument.

Not long after the war ended, Appomattox Court House began to decline.  By the turn of the century, it was almost a ghost town.  It wasn’t the war or Reconstruction but mundane economic factors that led to the village’s demise.  In fact, whatever life the locality has today is due to the war. With an assist from the National Park Service, it has become a tourist magnet. 

A Place Called Appomattox is a lively, compelling look at the Civil War’s human story.  And you’ll never think of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain the same way again.    

. 

Lincoln Herald - Jerry Carrier

We “know” three things about Appomattox Court House:

o Robert E. Lee surrendered to U.S. Grant there.

o Wilmer McLean relearned a bitter lesson he had already absorbed at Manassas: In real estate, it’s location, location, location.

o Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and John Brown Gordon commanded a dramatic surrender ceremony in which the victors saluted the vanquished and started the nation on its path to reconciliation.

Well, two out of three ain’t bad.

In A Place Called Appomattox, William Marvel departs from his social history of the Virginia village to explode a few myths about that ceremony.

The one about Grant’s selection of Chamberlain to command the formation is especially egregious. In Marvel’s view, Grant didn’t even envision such a ceremony. The generals he’d left in charge – John Gibbon and Charles Griffin – came up with it as a way rub the Southerners’ noses in defeat.

And Chamberlain wasn’t in command at all. His brigade was part of the Fifth Corps division that took the surrender, meaning Joseph Bartlett, the division commander, was actually in charge.

Was there a salute? Not really. In a move designed more to keep order than to greet the surrendering rebels, Chamberlain ordered his brigade to shoulder arms. Had he intended a salute, he would have told his men to present arms.

So how did the myth come about? In Marvel’s words, “while [Chamberlain] was courageous and coolheaded he also tended to wrap life’s little dramas in ribbons of romantic imagery in which he, himself, was somehow entwined.” Chamberlain embellished his memory of the event some thirty years after the fact, when comrades who could have disputed his version were long dead. When fellow politician Gordon caught wind of Chamberlain’s story, he chose not to refute it, but added a few frills of his own.

In Marvel’s book, the story of the surrender is the climax to a narrative that begins in 1845, when the Virginia General Assembly decided to carve out a new county. The county seat grew around a run-down tavern through events considerably less dramatic than the 1865 surrender that made the village famous.

In fact, so undramatic is the story of Appomattox and its people that, in less skilled hands, this book would be downright tedious. Marvel’s flair for language turns a collection of vital statistics – births, deaths, marriages and real estate transactions – into a living story of humanity.

In A Place Called Appomattox, we come to know some ordinary people who lived their lives in an extraordinary time. The war had a profound effect on those lives, even though there was little or no combat in the vicinity until that fateful Palm Sunday weekend in 1865.

Like their contemporaries from every community north and south, many of the village’s young men lost their lives in battle, and even more died of disease. But Marvel reminds us of a fact that’s frequently overlooked: The era’s diseases took almost as heavy a toll on those who stayed at home. (Typhoid fever seemed to be the biggest killer.)

Not every man of the village marched off to the defense of Old Virginia. A great many, especially those with money and influence, did what they could to stay out of harm’s way – joining the militia, finding an occupation that carried a draft exemption, or just pulling strings.

Newcomer Wilmer McLean, whose parlor was the site of the surrender, wasn’t the village’s most distinguished citizen. That title would belong to Thomas Bocock, a local politician who became Speaker of the Confederate House of Representatives.

Another resident was an even more storied figure – Sam Sweeney, the banjo-playing mascot of J.E.B. Stuart’s cavalry. Sweeney’s brother, Joel, who also lived in the village, is credited with perfecting the five-string banjo, as well as developing the minstrel show as a vehicle for his new instrument.

Not long after the war ended, Appomattox Court House began to decline. By the turn of the century, it was almost a ghost town. It wasn’t the war or Reconstruction but mundane economic factors that led to the village’s demise. In fact, whatever life the locality has today is due to the war. With an assist from the National Park Service, it has become a tourist magnet.

A Place Called Appomattox is a lively, compelling look at the Civil War’s human story. And you’ll never think of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain the same way again.

.

— Jerry Carrier

Lincoln Herald