History That Doesn't Suck - 58: Conscription & Riots (“A Rich Man’s War, But a Poor Man’s Fight”)

Episode Date: February 17, 2020

“Here’s a damned abolitionist! … He’s a Tribune man! Hang the son of a b****!” This is the story of Civil War conscription and riots. Conscription is completely foreign to Americans. They’ve never relied on force to fill the military’s ranks. But the Civil War is changing that. Left with the choice to either give up or draft men in the army, the Confederacy, then the United States, both turn to conscription. When it appears that the burden of fighting will fall disproportionately on the shoulders of New York’s mostly Irish-Catholic working class, it unleashes racial, economic, and religious angst, and causes one of the worst (if not the worst) riots in American history. Meanwhile, Southern women are starving. Their husbands and sons are fighting, but the Confederacy and its states are doing nothing to check a rampant rise in the cost of food. Stuck with choosing between letting their children starve or rioting, it’s a no-brainer. They’re choosing the latter. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. From the creators of the popular science show with millions of YouTube subscribers comes the MinuteEarth podcast. Every episode of the show dives deep into a science question you might not even know you had, but once you hear the answer, you'll want to share it with everyone

you know. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this

work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. A brief advisory, this episode contains mob violence against women and children. While not explicit, listener discretion is advised. Provost Marshall Charles E. Jenkins and his men are a bit on edge. It's 10 a.m. this Monday morning, July 13, 1863, and a crowd has formed outside their office at the corner of 46th Street and 3rd Avenue here in New York City.

Numbering maybe 200 people, the throng peers inside, making scowls and swearing at Charles and his men. There's been talk of a riot today. Charles only has 60 policemen to back him up, but he can't wait forever. It's already well past the time for him and his officers to get started with their very unpopular task, drafting local young men into the U.S. Army. Okay, some quick background. In March, U.S. Congress passed the Enrollment Act. This says that if a given volunteer quota for new federal troops isn't met within a given congressional district, then all able-bodied men ages 20 to 45 in that district

will be subject to a military draft. Well, almost all men. Those who can pay a $300 fee are exempt from that round of drafting. That's all well and good if you can afford it, but for the working class and the poorest of the poor, $300 is a pipe dream. So in a neighborhood like this one, which is home to a great number of poor, working class, naturalized Irish immigrants, this law stokes quite a bit of ire. They have no interest in dying while the wealthy stay home. All right, now you know what's what. Let's get back to Charles Jenkins' office. The crowd's murmurs and swears continue outside

while Charles and his men place a large, wooden, frame-mounted, cylinder-shaped drum on the table. This is the dreaded draft wheel. One officer now turns a hand crank. As the wheel spins, so do the papers inside it bearing the names and addresses of the local men. This done, another officer wearing a blindfold reaches in the wheel and grabs a random paper,

sealing some random man's fate. The draftee's name and address are then read out. William Jones, 49th Street, near 10th Avenue. That particular name was drawn two days ago, but you get the point. The names continue to be read as the crowd glowers and the police stand between them and the enlistment office. And just like that, today's draft has begun. Now, the exact order and perfect accuracy of what happens after the 56th

name is read around 1030 gets murky. Violence isn't always recorded perfectly, but the gist is clear enough. At this point, hundreds of men, mostly Irish laborers armed with sticks, clubs, and brick bats arrive at the enlistment office. They merge with those already there. The numbers of angry protesters swell to at least 500, thousands if David M. Barnes is to be believed. Meanwhile, horse-drawn cars on 3rd Avenue are stopped and hijacked. When the police try to intervene, clubs and stones rain down on them. And while this plays out, someone yells, They're coming!

It's Fire Engine Company 33. Nicknamed the Black Joke, these volunteer firefighters, or fire laddies as the heavily Irish volunteers are called, have packed their horse-drawn engines with large stones. They come to a stop right in front of the enrollment office. A single gunshot cracks through the air. A signal, it seems. And not a moment later, the fire laddies and innumerable people launch a volley of stones at the enrollment office.

How are you, old Abe? Bully for the draft! The fire laddies holler as the policemen fall back before this grossly superior force, hoping to escape out the building's back. The crowd-turned mob quickly pours into the enrollment office and destroys any and everything being used to draft them and their friends into the war. Papers and books are shredded. That damned draft wheel, the table, and even the furniture are all smashed.

But when they find the iron safe containing the names of their friends already drafted is impregnable, they hit a new level of fury. This safe and everything must be destroyed, so the desperate mob stack some of the furniture's smashed remains and light it on fire. The flames soon jump to the building, threatening the whole structure. All the better. Hoping that some of the officers might be upstairs, the mob, now outside the blazing building, throw stones and anything else they can lay their hands on through the upstairs windows. But as mob mentality overtakes the protesters, they've lost sense of the neighborhood.

Families live up there. Women and small children are up there at this very moment. The beaten back police scurry upstairs and through the back entrances of the other adjoining houses in the row, yelling to the occupants to leave their things behind and flee for their lives. Deputy Provost Marshal Edward S. Vanderpoel, who's managed to mingle with the crowd, has seen enough destruction. He steps out in front of the mob and hollers that there's nothing more to do here about the draft. They should let the innocents living upstairs leave in peace and the black joke fire laddies ought to do their duty and save the private property of the neighbors. These noble pleas are lost on the mob. Suspecting Edward's true identity, one of them punches the deputy hard in the face.

Others then assail him. He barely manages to escape and run to the almost powerless policemen, where they can all do nothing but watch the mob's wanton destruction rage into the streets as the blazing inferno consumes the building. Today, we're going behind the front lines. It's time to get a glimpse at civilian life, which, as you can tell from that opening, isn't always pretty. This is particularly

true as military conscription, that is the draft, is enacted for the first time in American history, first in the South, then in the North. Once I've described the nuts and bolts of how these drafts work, we'll head up to New York to see how this working class draft right in 1863 turns out. And heads up, it's nasty. But poor men being drafted to fight aren't the only ones struggling against their governments. We'll then head down south where women, some of whom are literally left at home to starve once their husbands and sons are conscripted, demand help from the government. And they'll use any means necessary to get it.

So let's get to these behind the lines struggles. And to do so, we'll start by heading back to late 1861 to talk Confederate conscription. Here we go. Rewind. The United States never used conscription to fill the ranks of its military before the Civil War. Not once. Writing in the 1830s, Alexis de Tocqueville made a point of this in his massive two-volume take on America's success with representative government, Translated into English under the title Democracy in America. To quote from chapter 13 of his first volume, the respected French thinker says, In America, the use of conscription is unknown. The men are induced to enlist by bounties.

The notion and habits of the people of the United States are so opposed to compulsory enlistment that I do not imagine it can ever be sanctioned by the laws. It's a nice thought, Alexis, but malheureusement, the Civil War proves the breaking point as both sides resort to conscription. Let me start with the Confederate States of America. As the first year of warfare comes to a close in late 1861, early 1862, the romance is gone. Soldiers have come to see that war means death, hunger, and at least for the CSA, not even enough guns to arm everyone. This realization is highly problematic for the Confederate military. Half of these increasingly jaded troops only enlisted for one year, meaning that as they enter 1862, the Confederacy might see 50% of their army simply walk away.

So the Confederate Congress tries to shore this up by offering a $50 bounty and 60 days off to men who re-enlist. Some take the offer, sure, but far too few. Something more has to be done. Newly appointed Confederate War Secretary George Wythe Randolph is one of the leaders in charge of figuring out what to do. This bearded grandson of founding father Thomas Jefferson tells CSA President Jefferson Davis they have to forcibly extend the one-year volunteer enlistments to three years. Jeff hates this idea. It feels dishonest, like breaking a contract. Seeing that it's this or lose the war,

though, the goatee-wearing executive concedes. Extending current volunteers alone won't fix the problem, though. Confederate leaders recognize that if they are going to continue to prosecute this war, they'll have to draft altogether new troops to serve three-year stints as well. This doesn't sit well with the more philosophically inclined. They question the constitutionality of a draft. Where does the CSA come off conscripting soldiers? Is this not the kind of oppressive central government action they accuse the U.S. government of committing? Senator Louis Wigfall of Texas, who I'm pretty sure is competing with cavalryman Jeb Stuart

for best beard in the Confederacy, has an answer for these idealists. The enemy are in some portion of almost every state in the Confederacy. We need a large army. No man has any individual rights which come into conflict with the welfare of the country. Moved by existential threat, the Confederate Congress relents. On April 16, 1862, the Confederacy makes the first conscription law in American history a

reality. It extends the one-year servicemen to three-year enlistments, just as War Secretary George Randolph suggested. It also creates a draft for white men between ages 18 and 35. This works, but in September, the age range will increase to 18 to 45 years old. And in February 1864, the increasingly desperate Confederacy will widen it to 17 to 55 years old. Now, I don't want to give you the impression that everyone is a conscript from 1862 on. The Confederacy is trying to incentivize volunteerism, partly with the threat of conscription. For instance, if you get called up, you have a small window of time to still quote-unquote volunteer and get the benefits that come with that.

This works. Despite casualties, the Confederate Army sees a bump of about 200,000 men in 1862, and thanks to this setup, more than half of them are still considered volunteers. On the flip side, substitutions and exceptions prove something of a nightmare. Initially, Confederate draftees are permitted to hire substitutes to take their place. Some poor Southerners soon learned to work this system by accepting a substitution gig, deserting, and repeating the process. Meanwhile, supply and demand drives the cost of substitution into the thousands of dollars. Confederate leaders don't take kindly to this game. The CSA's Congress outlaws substitution in 1863. Exemptions stir the pot quite a bit as well. Many of these are

occupational, and you know, it's amazing how many Southern men found their true calling in education after teachers became exempt from the draft. But one exemption infuriates the South's less affluent. This is the Twenty Negro Law. Part of the October 11, 1862 Exemption Act, this gives a pass on conscription to one white male on any plantation with 20 slaves or more. The Confederate Congress's logic is that they need slave owners or overseers to serve in policing capacities and to direct slaves on plantations. Wow, talk about not reading the room. Substitutions for conscription had already stirred plenty of resentment against the wealthy, but this exemption, which caters to a measly 5% of the wealthiest whites, convinces many

southerners this war is, as the saying now goes, a rich man's war but a poor man's fight. As one Mississippi farmer put it, he, quote, did not propose to fight for the rich men while they were at home having a good time, close quote. The anger of poor whites doesn't upend the law, but its application becomes stricter over time. As of May 1863, any man wishing to take advantage of the 20 Negro law will need to cough up a $500 fee. In February 1864, the number of slaves required will drop to 15, but with the added requirement that the plantation owner or overseers sell meat to the CSA at a set price. That's the gist of how the Confederacy put something between 600,000 and 900,000 of its men on the battlefield over the course of the war.

That's a significant number considering its white population is approximately 5.5 million. And just to be clear, in case you've heard myths saying otherwise, we have no historical evidence that any of the 3.5 million enslaved within the CSA ever served as Confederate soldiers. Their masters put them to work in supportive roles, just as we saw in the Emancipation Proclamation episode, but the enslaved do not fight. Now, if conscription sounds painful or unfair in the Confederacy, conscription in the Union isn't pretty either. I know we got a little taste of the 1863 New York Rides at the Open, but it's time to dive deeper and see how conscription in the wake of the Emancipation Proclamation is fueling a race

and class-based fire among the poorest of the working class. So let's catch a train and head back north to hear how this all plays out for Mr. Lincoln. All aboard! Was the Sphinx 10,000 years old? Were there serial killers in ancient Greece and Rome? What were the lives of transgender, intersex, and non-binary people like in the ancient world? We're Jen. And Jenny. From Ancient History Fangirl.

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nerds to answer your real-world money questions and get insights that can help you make the smartest financial decisions for your life. Listen to NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast wherever you get your podcasts. We're going to live in 1863 for most of the tale of union conscription, but permit me to dip into 1862 for just a minute. Only two months after the Confederacy enacted its first conscription law, U.S. President Abraham Lincoln realized he needed more troops pronto. That was a tough spot to be in though because, as you might recall from episode 51, our favorite over-planner, George B. Little Mac McClellan, had just managed to blow it down in Virginia while fighting Robert E. Bobby Lee in the Seven Days Battles. This meant that, if Lincoln issued a call, he'd look more

desperate than a guy sending his fifth unanswered text in a row to his crush. You've been ghosted, man. I'm sorry, but it's time to move on. So Secretary of State William Henry Seward became the ultimate wingman. He met up with several state governors at the luxurious Astor House Hotel in New York City, and together they issued a call backdated to June 28th before Little Mac's loss. In it, the governors asked the president to please request more men from their states. Well, if they insist. The Illinois rail splitter readily issued his super not desperate call for 300,000 men. The troops didn't come flocking to the call like they did in 1861, but the Lincoln administration managed to pull its needed recruitment together all the same. Lincoln relied on the recently passed Military Act of July 17, 1862, which stated that if,

quote, in the several states, or any of them, it shall be found necessary to provide for enrolling the militia and otherwise putting this act into execution, the president is authorized in such cases to make all necessary rules and regulations. In other words, the states were to raise their own militias, but if they didn't hit the number asked of them, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton could step in and show them why his nickname was Mars. Between flexing this muscle, paying the enlistment bonuses called bounties, and some befuddling formulas that counted three-year recruits as four of the mere nine-month variety, thus incentivizing states to raise more of the former than the latter, Lincoln got all the volunteers he needed and then some without using a federal draft.

But that was last year. Now, in 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation has dramatically changed the discussion of what this war is about. Issued by Lincoln last September, this slavery-threatening ultimatum to the CSA has given the Peace Democrats, aka Copperhead Democrats, that is, Dems who want to end the war ASAP, what they consider proof, or at least what they claim is proof, that old Abe isn't fighting to preserve the Union at all, but only to free the enslaved. And to be clear, for them, ending slavery is not worth war. In the words of one Democratic leader, quote, we told you so. The war is solely an abolition war.

We are for putting down rebellion, but not for making it an anti-slavery crusade. The Copperhead Dems do some significant damage with this narrative. Soldiers who were willing to fight to preserve the Union, but not to end slavery, desert. These desertions leave two South Illinois regiments with so few soldiers, General Ulysses S. Grant has to dissolve them. Now, add to this a huge number of soldiers' enlistments expiring, a strong economy diluting economic incentives to enlist, and the fact that most diehard patriots, adventurers, or men otherwise

wanting to go to war are already on the field, and yeah, Abraham Lincoln's where Jefferson Davis was last year. If he wants to keep men in the field, the rail splitter is going to have to reach past the states and increase federal power by imposing a national draft. Enter the Enrollment Act. This March 3, 1863 law conscripts union men between the ages of 20 and 45 with quotas set on the basis of individual congressional districts in the states and other subdivisions in the territories. The quota will take into consideration men already in the field as volunteers, which is intended to share the war's burdens across the nation. That way, the government won't pull men from a district already sacrificing its fair share. That makes good sense on paper, but like the Confederacy's draft, the union's is riddled with problems.

Let's start with politics. To some, it seems like Democratic congressional districts are getting hit with the draft more than Republican districts. It's true and it isn't. Remember how I said men in the field are taken into account for the quota? Well, no surprise that some Republican districts, where men are more likely to support the war even after the Emancipation Proclamation, might have greater representation on the battlefield than Democratic districts. Still, perception is perception. And besides that, some Dems, like New York Governor Horatio Seymour, gladly cry foul over this. Now most men whose names get drawn aren't going to war. Like the Confederacy, there are exemptions. These are far fewer than in the CSA, but include men who are the only son and breadwinner for their family, some government officials, as well as those

mentally or physically incapable of fighting. Some men self-mutilate to avoid the draft. Perhaps they cut off their trigger finger. That's a solid get out of the army card. Others prefer to remove their teeth. After all, you can't bite a cartridge to load your rifle if you're all gums. This is what one Ohio State legislator does. He receives notice of being drafted and promptly has all of his teeth ripped right out. It's only after this painful, bloody 32-tooth extraction, he finds out the notice was fake. His neighbor was just playing a practical joke. Now, this story is cited circularly in history books, so maybe it's just an urban legend. But even so, the fact remains that many men have their teeth removed to avoid the draft. Some prefer the old-fashioned way, draft dodging. Let's just say

American immigration to Canada rises a bit in 1863. Draftees can also provide a substitute, but since the union doesn't want substitute payoffs to go sky high like they did in the Confederacy until they got banned, Congress also lets men just buy their way out. That's right, if a man doesn't qualify for an exemption, isn't interested in hurting himself or fleeing to Canada, or can't find a sub, he can just hand Uncle Sam cool $300. Now this fee, or commutation as they're called, will only spare the guy paying it from that specific round of drafting. So even though 52,000 men cough up the $300 fee during the July 1863 draft, it means they'll have to do so again if their names are drawn in any of the three subsequent rounds in 1864. Now between the exemptions, substitutions, and bounties that encourage volunteer enlistment, only 7% of all who are drafted actually end up going to war.

But no one can see that in 1863. All the poor sees that the rich and middle class can afford this every time, while they can't afford it even once. And as we saw in the opening, this grates on New York's heavily working class, especially the Irish. The Democrats have convinced a large number of these often English-speaking immigrants to naturalize in order to vote for the party, but now, as citizens, that means they're subject to the draft. These impoverished Catholic men can't even dream of paying the $300 requirement to stay out of the war. Yet it seems there to die so wealthy native-born Protestants don't. But if this is righteous indignation, its ugly flip side is racism. The only group Catholic working class immigrants edge out on New York City's social ladder are free blacks. They've competed for the same back-breaking jobs for

years. For instance, when white workers at New York City docks tried to strike in June 1863, police-protected black workers replaced them and are happy to have the work. So when the federal government comes to draft New York's white working class a month later, they're livid. Filled with post-emancipation proclamation democratic propaganda that the war's sole purpose is to end slavery, they have no interest in becoming Catholic cannon fodder so that rich native-born Protestants can hire emancipated slaves for cheaper wages. Yeah, that's the economic, religious, and racial cocktail this draft has unintentionally served up in the Big Apple. And with that understanding, we return to the morning of July 13, 1863,

and pick up where we left off at the start of today's episode with New York City's draft riots. The hundred-strong crowd of workers and fire laddies watch as the enrollment office at 46th and 3rd turns to ash. New York City Police Superintendent John Kennedy, who like many here, is Irish-American, but was born and raised in the U.S. and is middle class, now arrives on the scene. He doesn't know what's going on. He simply sees the smoke billowing into the sky and is coming to investigate. Things appear calmer than reality as he leaves his wagon at the corner of 46th Street and Lexington Avenue and starts to walk the last block. There's Kennedy! Someone yells. Here comes the son of a b****, Kennedy!

Let's finish him! Hollers another. Though not in uniform, someone's recognized the superintendent. John Kennedy hardly has time to realize what's going on before he's shoved, punched in the face, and descended upon by the mob. He manages to get back on his feet, then flees for his life, cutting through the vacant lot above him toward 47th Street. But as he runs up the lot's embankment to the street, another mob greets John and shoves him back down it.

Up again, he absorbs blows to his body while protecting his head from swinging clubs and runs across the lot once more, this time going west toward Lexington. Someone lands a blow just under his ear, sending John flying into a mud hole. Drown him! Drown him! Some cry. Correctly surmising that his would-be murderers wouldn't follow him into the depths of the mud hole, he wades right through the sludge, then dashes on again, finally making it to Lexington Avenue. The mob is still hot on his tail, but in this moment of desperation, he sees a friend and calls out, John Egan, come here and save my life. This well-known and respected local intercedes,

and the mob lets the cut-up, bruised, half-dead, and barely recognizable superintendent be. He's loaded on a wagon and wheeled away to safety, but will never be the same. Now this isn't a simple riot with one scene playing out at a time. About the same moment John Kennedy is running the gauntlet in a vacant lot, the roughly 50-strong invalid corps, composed of soldiers too disabled to return to the front lines but still largely able-bodied, approaches the burning enrollment office. They find the mob at 43rd Street and fire warning shots. Truly innumerable now, the mob responds by showering the invalid corps with paving stones,

then coming at them with swords, sticks, and clubs. The soldiers run for their lives as the mob chases and beats them. Most live, but not all. By late morning, Sergeant Robert A. McCready, aka Fightin' Mac, leads his men into the fray. They are initially successful at pushing the mob back, but numbering less than 50, they're also as grossly outnumbered as the invalid corps had been. The mob assails them with clubs and iron bars, fires guns taken from wounded or dead soldiers, and throws brick bats from the top of buildings. They too are beaten desperately and suffer severe injuries. Some officers have died, and this pattern continues as more but

always too few officers come to offer reinforcement. The riot turns into full-on looting by that afternoon. The mob pillages the homes of the wealthy on Lexington Avenue, as well as stores and other homes in the vicinity. Around 4, some manage to break into the armory at the corner of 21st Street and 2nd Avenue. When the police seem on the verge of pushing them back out of it, the mob lights the building full of highly flammable munitions on fire, and it's quickly consumed by flames. Around this same time late on Monday afternoon, the mob falls on a particularly horrific target,

an orphanage for black children. The mob destroys bedding, clothes, food, you name it, then lights the building on fire. They don't physically assault the 233 children who live here, thank God, but that's as close to retaining their humanity as they come. One Irishman witnessing this violence and vandalism calls for mercy. If there is a man among you with a heart within him, come help these poor children. The mob responds by roughing him up. The destruction of this orphanage isn't random.

As we established a few minutes ago, the racism here is sandwiched between the working class feeling threatened by free black competition for jobs from beneath and outrage that the wealthy are drafting them to war from above. Some in the well-armed mob expressed these frustrations while attacking the New York Tribune's employees and its building. When they recognized a former city editor of the paper earlier that afternoon, someone yelled out, Fortunately, he was fast enough to run away. When the mob attacks and sets fire to the New York Tribune's barricaded,

Gatling gun-protected building that night, some are heard yelling in reference to its famed editor, Horace Greeley. Down with the old white coat what thinks a n***a as good as an Irishman! The riot lasts from July 13th to 16th. I won't give you a complete play-by-play for every day, but violence along racial and economic lines continues. While some white New Yorkers protect or hide their black neighbors, it doesn't stop countless black New Yorkers from being attacked. Some are lynched. The mob often mutilates or desecrates their bodies as well. Take Abraham Franklin. This black American is ripped from his bed and hung from a lamppost by men who cheer for

Confederate President Jefferson Davis as he struggles for his life. Once their innocent victim is dead, historian Leslie Harris tells us that 16-year-old Patrick Butler, quote, drags the body through the streets by its genitals, close quote. Meanwhile, the mob also attacks any well-dressed man they assume has money. There goes a $300 man! Someone in the working class mob would cry out. Then they would pummel the dapper gentleman under the assumption that he could afford to pay his way out of the draft. By the time it's over, the days-long 1863 New York draft riots take the lives of at

least 105 people, mostly rioters, followed by 11 black victims, eight soldiers, and two police officers. Lest other cities draw inspiration, the draft resumes in August under the protection of 20,000 troops. While there are other contenders, some historians consider this riot the worst in American history. By the way, I'm afraid that William Poole, aka Bill the Butcher, did not die during the riots. I love Martin Scorsese's Gangs of New York too, but to be clear on the ending scenes of the film, which are built around this very riot, Bill the Butcher had been dead for about 8 years. The Irish gang known as the Dead Rabbits weren't fighting an epic battle against nativists down in the Five Points neighborhood, and no

elephants were likely on the loose as P.T. Barnum's circus didn't catch fire at this point. The film does, however, capture the essence of the riot quite well. As I close the door on Civil War conscription, let me circle back to our 19th century French friend, Alexis de Tocqueville. His statement that Americans could never sanction compulsory enlistment almost bears out in these riots. The key there is almost. I find his follow-up question in the same paragraph interesting. Of conscription, he asks, yet how could a great continental war be carried on without it? I think the answer is, it can't. The American Revolution was so much smaller. This war is America's first continent-wide war. And both sides, the USA and the CSA, find that when their very existence is threatened, they have to turn

to the draft. Now, conscription might be a problem found on both sides, but there's another issue that haunts the Confederacy far more than the Union. Food shortages. As Southern men report to the front, Southern women are left with hungry children in empty pantries. Even before the war, some southern states struggled to feed their people. They grew too much cotton and not enough food. Georgia had the biggest imbalance. It had to import wheat from places like Arkansas and Kansas Territory. This brutal war has only compounded the problem. In 1862, train cars that would have been full of food before the war now ship men and guns. That is, if the tracks haven't been torn up by Yankees. Despite government pleas for planters to grow corn, oats, and wheat, many maintain their high cotton production levels.

State governments try to intervene and force farmers to grow corn, but you can guess how well that goes. Few plantation owners are going to comply with the law if there's money to be made on cotton. When government agents show up to see if farmers are actually growing foodstuffs, many wealthy cotton growers simply pay the inspectors to look the other way. And even if a farmer grows corn, he sells it to the highest bidder, a whiskey distillery. Georgia Governor Joe Hunt isn't stupid. He knows what's going on, but he's powerless to stop it. The growing food shortages wears away at hungry people's loyalty to the Confederacy. One Georgia state rep laments, quote, if they were acting as Lincoln's agents, they could not fall on a better plan to favor him.

Close quote. To make matters worse, a major drought grips most of the South in 1862. Well, that'll stop those planters from growing cotton or anything else. The drought takes the food shortage and ratchets it up to a terrifying level. Even large port cities like New Orleans can't keep grocery store shelves stocked.

In these conditions, poor soldiers' wives resort to begging for food from their wealthier neighbors. And if that doesn't work, they just steal it. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. After all, their husbands, who are often their only means of support, are off fighting the war. Many Southern women, like the poor men we heard about earlier resisting army conscription, call the conflict a, quote, rich man's war, but a poor man's fight, close quote. It doesn't take long for these women trying to feed their hungry babies to band together. They petition the government for help. One letter to the CSA Secretary of War bears the signatures.

Mary Tissinger, with six children, soldier's wife. And Mary Stilwell, soldier's widow, six children. Sometimes the women just sign their name followed by SW for soldier's wife. The war secretary knows what they mean. The women beg for help, but James doesn't offer any. By 1863, these soldiers' wives are done asking. Their pleas for help turn into threats of violence. In early 1863, women in North Carolina write to Governor Zebulon Vance.

They call themselves a company of regulators and demand to buy corn at two dollars a bushel or else their letter reads quote the time has come that we the common people has to have bread or blood and we are bound both men and women to have it or die in the attempt close quote damn but that's not all the women list their grievances, like the low soldiers pay that makes it impossible for them to buy food, and the lack of government price regulation that allows speculators to charge exorbitant prices. For these poor soldiers' wives, this is a class war. While the grammar isn't perfect, they end their letter boldly stating, This crisis brings women together in a new way. They are no longer disparate wives and mothers.

They are now connected as soldiers' wives. And they are a social and political force to be reckoned with. In the spring of 1863, with their letters, petitions, and threats unanswered, women all over the South take action. On March 16th, about a dozen women walk into a store in Atlanta. A tall, care-worn woman asks the shopkeeper, What is the price of bacon? He responds,

A dollar a pound. The woman frowns and calmly explains that she and the women with her are soldiers' wives. They can't afford the price. But the shopkeeper refuses to lower it. Big mistake. The shopkeeper tells us what happens next. Quote, This tall lady proceeded to draw from her bosom a long navy repeater

and at the same time ordered the others in the crowd to help themselves to what they liked. Close quote. So while the leader points her gun at the shopkeeper, the other women take over $200 worth of bacon and leave the shop. Two days later, on March 18th, in Salisbury, North Carolina, things get a little more violent. About 50 women march down Main Street armed with hatchets, axes, and a few guns. They stop at Mr. Michael Brown's shop first. Now, I can't tell you

exactly what they say, but if you'll permit me to treat the reporting newspapers as present tense quotes, it goes something like this. Mr. Brown, we demand that you sell us your barrels of flour at $19.50 each. The women shout from the street. Michael opens his shop door and replies, I can't do that, ladies. I paid more than twice that for my stock. Fine, then we will take it from you if you refuse to sell it to us at this reasonable price. The angry women threaten. At this, Michael locks his door. But the women aren't bluffing.

The desperate soldier's wives and mothers take their hatchets to the shop door. Mike panics and shouts through the door, ladies, I relent. I will give you free of charge 10 barrels if you will let my shop alone. That does it. The women walk into the shop, roll out the 10 barrels of flour, and move on down the street. The group stops at three or four more shops, demanding reasonable prices on wares and threatening violence that the street. The group stops at three or four more shops, demanding reasonable prices on wares and threatening violence that the shop owners refuse. Now these guys watched what just happened at Mike's place. They aren't going to have their doors busted down. The store owners

quickly give the women barrels of flour, molasses, and salt. Remember that letter North Carolina soldiers' wives wrote to their governor last year? The one where they said the time has come that we, the common people, has to have bread or blood? Yeah, this incident is just making good on that promise. The shopkeepers probably wish the governor had taken that letter a little more seriously, huh? These two incidents, soon called bread riots in the press, lead to more. Women in Petersburg, Virginia, Macon, Georgia, and other towns come together and demand food. One newspaper reports, quote, Bread riots have commenced, and where they will end, God only knows. Close quote.

Though the women rarely resort to violence and no one is seriously harmed, southern governmental officials are getting nervous. And then women start a riot in Richmond. Now Richmond is a bit of a special case. The city's population has tripled since 1861. Yeah, tripled. Plus there's a ton of military action near Richmond. Remember the Peninsula Campaign and the Seven Days Battles?

The battle-destroyed farmlands and the drought put a strain on the city's already strapped food supply, since farmers just aren't producing as much as they did before the war. On top of that, General Robert E. Lee's army eats up whatever those farmers can grow. All these factors combine into a perfect food shortage storm. But don't get me wrong. there is some food in Richmond. The government has supply depots for the army and most stores have food on the shelves. It's just that the choked off supply line has driven up the prices. Most food is simply too expensive for soldiers' wives and working class women. On March 22nd, one soldier quips, quote, the price of looking at food in Richmond is $5.

So on April 2nd, several hundred women meet at Belvedere Hill Baptist Church and decide to take action. They will march to the governor's mansion and demand food at a reasonable price so they can feed their families. Hundreds of Richmond residents line the streets and watch the peaceful march. One bystander, Sarah Pryor, sees a young, emaciated-looking marcher and asks her what she is doing. While they talk, the marcher's sleeve slips and reveals an arm of skin and bone. The girl hastily pulls at her sleeve and harshly laughs. This is all that's left of me. It seems really funny, don't it? When Sarah Pryor asks what the girl plans to do, she replies, we're starving. As soon as enough of us get together, we are going to the bakeries and each of us will take a loaf of bread. That is little enough for

the government to give us after it has taken all our men. The girls start to walk away and Sarah shouts after her. I devoutly hope that you'll get it and plenty of it. The women continue to the governor's mansion chanting, bread, bread, our children are starving while the rich roll in wealth. But he refuses to meet with them or hear their grievances. Nice pal pal. Way to be a servant of the people. The few hundred demonstrating women soon swell into a mob of thousands of angry men and women. They march into the city's business districts and start breaking into stores.

One observer reports the hungry people take, quote, hams, middlings, butter, and in fact everything eatable they could find. Almost every one of them were armed. As fast as they got what they wanted, they walked off with it. Close quote. Bystanders don't stop this pillaging, but, quote, cheered them on and assisted them with all power.

Close quote. The destruction gets the governor's attention. He calls out the militia to control the mob, but it has little effect. Most of the militiamen are sympathetic to their starving friends and neighbors. So CSA President Jefferson Davis steps in. He hustles to the town square and climbs onto a cart. He begs the off to disperse, even offering them Confederate dollars. They laugh in Jeff's face, calling out, no more starvation. All right, this has gone on long enough. It's time for drastic measures. Okay, time out. You need to know that Jeff Davis, Virginia Governor John Letcher,

and Richmond Mayor Joseph Mayo will all take credit later for what happens right now. Though most sources agree it's probably Jeff who makes this next move. So I'm going to tell the story that way, but just know a few other guys claim the credit for what goes down. All right, back to the story. Jeff takes out his watch. He tells the crowd they have just five minutes to disperse before he orders the militia to fire. The angry, hungry people stare defiantly at their president as the minutes tick away.

With only one minute left, Jeff says, My friends, you have one minute more. This works. The people slowly walk away, and when only a few stragglers remain, Jeff orders the militia to arrest the ringleaders. Across the next few weeks, storekeepers lower prices and bring out their reserve stocks. The government also distributes rice to needy families. So I guess you could call the March Turned Riot a success. Almost. Jeff asks the press to hush up the story to prevent more riots.

Furthermore, he says he doesn't want to embarrass our cause or encourage our enemies. But that ain't gonna happen. Stories of the Richmond riots circulate all over the South. And there are several more bread riots. I know these riots look like they are planned by coordinating groups of highly organized soldiers' wives, but they aren't. Some Southern men also speculate that there's no way women could have pulled off these riots. There must be Yankees behind this mess, hoping to weaken the Confederacy. That's not true either. These outbursts just show how desperate many Southern women are for affordable food. And their efforts may solve the problem in the short run, but no amount of axing doors down like your Jack Nicholson in The Shining is going to end the drought or get

cotton growers to plant corn. Prices in Richmond slowly returned to their pre-riot high. In October 1863, six months after the bread riot, a woman tries to buy flour in Richmond. When she sees that the store owner wants $70 for a barrel of flour, she exclaims, my God, how can I pay such prices? I have seven children. What shall I do? The merchant has no pity for her. He coldly replies, I don't know, ma'am, unless you eat your children. Wow, that's harsh. This bloody, brutal war comes down hard on soldiers and civilians. The fiery spirit that spurred on draft and bread rights slowly burns out, but civilians, especially the poor, continue to suffer throughout the war. Confederate General Robert E. Lee hopes that a military victory can rally the Southern people to crush

the Union's spirits. In 1863, he writes, if we can baffle them in their various designs this year, next fall there will be a great change in public opinion at the North. We have only therefore to resist manfully, and our success will be certain. Damn, it's on. Next time, we'll return to the battlefield and see if the Confederates can live up to Bobby's boasts. Musical score composed and performed by Greg Jackson and Diana Averill. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit historythatdoesntsuck.com. Join me in two weeks where I'd like to tell you a story. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans.

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