Southerners have falsely claimed that "Black Confederates" fought in the Civil War. But the North has a myth of its own.
If Robert Penn Warren is right, white northerners have had an easy time coming to terms with the legacy of the Civil War. In contrast with the white South, which inherited what Warren referred to as "the great alibi" -- a memory of the war built on the psychological scars of defeat and emancipation -- northerners embraced a "treasury of virtue" that celebrated both the defeat of a slaveocracy and the preservation of the Union. Within the collective memories of both regions, African Americans have proved to be essential: as devoted slaves that remained loyal to the Confederacy on the one hand and as allies in the creation of a more perfect union void of racial boundaries on the other.
The first of these two myths can be found on hundreds of websites devoted to so-called "Black Confederate" soldiers. The proliferation of these sites, however, is in direct response to a competing myth that assumes that slaves identified with the United States from the beginning of the Civil War. As the story goes, African Americans eagerly awaited the president's call to serve, and once he did they flooded recruitment offices. In Glenn David Brasher's new book, The Peninsula Campaign & the Necessity of Emancipation, he successfully challenges both myths, and in the process, places Virginia's slave population at the center of one of the most important military campaigns of 1862 -- one he believes pushed the United States closer to a policy of emancipation.
The fighting on the Virginia peninsula in the spring and early summer of 1862 took place in a region that included a large slave population. As George B. McClellan's Army of the Potomac disembarked for what many thought would be the final campaign of the war, Virginia's slaves remained hesitant to see them as liberators -- in part, because the government's confusing contraband policy left them in a precarious position between freedom and slavery. According to Brasher, such a policy reflected the hope of many Northerners, both in the military and on the home front that the war could be won without disrupting the South's "peculiar institution."
This policy gradually proved to be untenable as slaves supplied the Union army with much needed intelligence and assistance behind the lines. More importantly, argues Brasher, it was reports of slaves in Confederate ranks, going back to the battle of First Manassas in July 1861, that proved decisive in shaping government policy. These reports quickly filtered back to Washington, where Radical Republicans and abolitionists such as Frederick Douglass used them to convince the president and the general public that a more aggressive policy against slavery was now a military necessity. The debate was no longer framed by abstract moral concerns, but by practical questions of whether slaves would support the Union or Confederate army.
Brasher is very careful in handling the evidence of armed slaves that filtered through camps and into northern newspapers, where they were clearly used for political purposes. Many of the reports of armed slaves were likely sightings of impressed slaves and body servants. While he concedes that some African Americans may have picked up arms and "even been caught up in the thrill of combat," the author is quick to add that "it is more likely that they were forced into service, deceived by their masters' tales about the designs of evil Yankees, or motivated by a desire to demonstrate their loyalty to owners when it was unclear who would win the war." While such a conclusion is not likely to satisfy Confederate apologists, who see loyal slaves behind every report regardless of the source, Brasher's analysis reflects the Confederate government's policy of slave impressment and continued resistance to any discussion of enlisting slaves as soldiers.