Dancing Between The Graves; Balls During War

JPK Huson 1863

Brev. Brig. Gen'l
Joined
Feb 14, 2012
Location
Central Pennsylvania
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Hilton Head, General Gilmore's 1864 ball gives away its rustic genesis by stacked wooden chandeliers, not crystal. You can bet crossed swords used as ornaments were back on a battlefield within weeks

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We have threads here in Ladies Tea on wives in camp. There was nothing easy or glamorous about living rough or, for that matter getting oneself dressed for a ball. Since it was Hilton Head you'd have to guess most would have had houses to stay in but it's not a given.

Holding a ball where silken gowned ladies toe tripped ' round bewhiskered, braided and puffed chested officers lit by a thousand candles high overhead- while wounded lay suffering and troops ate hard tack in musty Sibleys, might seem decedent. What had wars and balls to do with each other and why, in Heavens name, hold one in the midst of death, carnage and loss?

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Clipping from a journal, please excuse the fact I've lost the archived book link, someone who witnessed the ball held after J.E.B. Stuart's Grand Review where a ball was held. It must have been surreal yet stunning and for some the last, soft touch from both lady and musical strains they knew on this earth.

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Love this one, 1862's Thanksgiving Ball, held in a casement. War.

Moral, bringing joy and some normalcy back to a blue/gray/khaki world, reminding themselves and each other that, after all, what they saw on the battlefield and in the hospitals and newspapers and on faces everywhere could be put aside while yesterday was remembered. And for tomorrow, hope.

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One of Frank Leslie's illustration's from Lincoln's ball, with Washington far from any battlefield, this being published in newspapers gave a war weary public different focus. There was grumbling over ' dancing while men died ' but it was as usual directed at Mary Lincoln.


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Clip from Harper's coverage, same ball

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3rd Corp's Ball was also recorded in Harper's, thankfully, with this crazy good image of ' Going to the Ball '. 1864

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Here's a tiny snip, from 3rd Corp, 1864 fighting. They could use a good ball.

fighting 3rd corps 1864.JPG
 
Seems so inappropriate, immoral, to be dancing while cannon rip men apart and cities burn to the ground. Brings to mind Nero, who fiddled while Rome burned.
I read in Diary from Dixie of how the officers in their finery hung out in major cities like Richmond and were entertained with parties, balls and "theatricals", while their soldiers struggled and died on battlefields, barely fed or clothed.
 
Dancing was enjoyed by almost everyone in America during the Civil War – North and South, young and old, rich and poor, urban and rural, black and white, and in the camps, the soldiers danced with each other and no one thought it was strange. In all times of adversity, you have to take a step back from your troubles. During the 1860s, dancing was one way to forget, at least for an evening, the "fiery trial" of the Civil War. Balls were also one of the ways used to raise money for war relief.

One of my favorite stories of dancing during the Civil War comes from Charles W. Bardeen’s A Little Fifer’s War, which describes a very “formal” dance held in camp by soldiers. Charles enlisted in the 1st Massachusetts on July 21, 1862 at the age of 14 as a drummer. He found he was not good at drumming and switched to playing the fife. In his book, Charles intersperses his diary notations with post war comments. In the spring of 1864, while encamped at Brandy Station, he wrote the following item in his diary for March 24 (boldface) and followed that notation with comments concerning the event:

March 24. Pleasant. Grand Ball. Went over and staid ‘till Supper. Did not dance. Got up in good style for privates.

[Bardeen’s post war comments] What I especially remember of this evening is the psychological effect of skirts. When it became known that the officers were to give us the use of their building for this ball some of the men sent home for various articles of women’s finery, including hoop skirts then in vogue. The men who dressed themselves in these garment were by no means the most feminine in the regiment, but the effect upon the rest of us was to produce the impulse of protection. The Excelsior brigade had not been invited, and toward midnight they attempted to force an entrance, using long poles as battering rams against an end door. As they pushed in and the fight began Jim McCrae happened to be walking on my arm, and I put myself in front of him as inevitably as if he had been a girl fifteen years old. But only for an instant. Jim was an Irishman of the Kilkenny type, red-haired, freckled face, blue eyes, always good-natured but always spoiling for a row. He swished his skirts out of the way, pulled up sleeves showing arms as remarkable for their whiteness as for their strength, and sailed into that Excelsior crowd with both fists. Only a few had got in and they were soon thrust our(t) again and the door securely fastened. The dance went on, and I think Jim and I finished the promenade, but the rest of the night I had a sort of sub-consciousness that in spite of his skirts he was quite able to take care of himself.

Harper’s Weekly, February 6, 1864, reported on a “Stag Dance”

Our soldiers believe in the literal interpretation of the dictum of the Wise Man that "there is a time to dance." But to put their faith into works is not the easiest thing in the world, owing to the lack of partners of the feminine persuasion. However, by imagining a bearded and pantalooned fellow to be of "t'other kind," they succeed in getting up what they call a "Stag Dance," which is better than none, as is shown by the intense interest evinced by the spectators.
Stag Dance.jpg


Larry Keener-Farley
For more information on dancing, visit www.CivilWarDance.org
For a free Civil War Dance Manual, email [email protected]
 
Retention of sanity and a sense of normalcy seems to be the purpose of these occasions to me - trying to keep up the men's morale, give them a sense of purpose other than war (negating some of its savagery), and a glimpse of something more hopeful (to look forward to when it was over). I absolutely admire them for being able to create opportunities like this, and believe it would have meant a great deal to the men and women in attendance.
 
I absolutely admire them for being able to create opportunities like this, and believe it would have meant a great deal to the men and women in attendance.

I agree even though I can see how it could be viewed as callous. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I like knowing they still had occasional evenings like this in the midst of it all. One never knew when it might be their last dance.

I think you'll like this poem @Cavalry Charger. You know how I am.

My Last Dance
By Julia Ward Howe

The shell of objects inwardly consumed
Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes;
Such sense hath Fire to waste the heart of things,
Nature, such love to hold the form she makes.

Thus, wasted joys will show their early bloom,
Yet crumble at the breath of a caress;
The golden fruitage hides the scathèd bough,
Snatch it, thou scatterest wide its emptiness.

For pleasure bidden, I went forth last night
To where, thick hung, the festal torches gleamed;
Here were the flowers, the music, as of old,
Almost the very olden time it seemed.

For one with cheek unfaded, (though he brings
My buried brothers to me, in his look,)
Said, Will you dance?' At the accustomed words
I gave my hand, the old position took.

Sound, gladsome measure! at whose bidding once
I felt the flush of pleasure to my brow,
While my soul shook the burthen of the flesh,
And in its young pride said, Lie lightly thou!'

Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high
My breast against the golden waves of sound,
I rode the madd'ning tumult of the dance,
Mocking fatigue, that never could be found.

Chide not,—it was not vanity, nor sense,
(The brutish scorn such vaporous delight,)
But Nature, cadencing her joy of strength
To the harmonious limits of her right.

She gave her impulse to the dancing Hours,
To winds that sweep, to stars that noiseless turn;
She marked the measure rapid hearts must keep
Devised each pace that glancing feet should learn.

And sure, that prodigal o'erflow of life,
Unvow'd as yet to family or state,
Sweet sounds, white garments, flowery coronals
Make holy, in the pageant of our fate.

Sound, measure! but to stir my heart no more—
For, as I moved to join the dizzy race,
My youth fell from me; all its blooms were gone,
And others showed them, smiling, in my face.

Faintly I met the shock of circling forms
Linked each to other, Fashion's galley-slaves,
Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost
That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves.

For graves were 'neath my feet, whose placid masks
Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,
While all the host of the departed said,
Tread lightly—thou art ashes, even as we.'
 
@bensearch, Nietzsche is among my favorite philosophers. It’s no wonder his work has profoundly influenced Western philosophy. Your post nailed it! There are so many great Nietzsche quotes, but here are a couple of my favorites:

“Without music, life would be a mistake.”

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”
 
Seems so inappropriate, immoral, to be dancing while cannon rip men apart and cities burn to the ground. Brings to mind Nero, who fiddled while Rome burned.
I read in Diary from Dixie of how the officers in their finery hung out in major cities like Richmond and were entertained with parties, balls and "theatricals", while their soldiers struggled and died on battlefields, barely fed or clothed.
True. But in this war in particular, there were weeks- even months- between battles. During those times- and whenever else one could get a free moment- soldiers of every rank wanted to engage in something normal compared to what they had been experiencing. Its what kept them from going stark, raving mad.
In more recent combat episodes- say the Vietnam experience- soldiers and sailors were able to enjoy a few days Rest and Relaxation in something approaching the real world before being thrown back into the other world of days without sleep, meals eaten in pouring rain, sweat, taking turns scanning the trees with rifle ready while your buddy defecates, and always looking over your shoulder. Did I mention sweat?
 
I agree even though I can see how it could be viewed as callous. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I like knowing they still had occasional evenings like this in the midst of it all. One never knew when it might be their last dance.

I think you'll like this poem @Cavalry Charger. You know how I am.

My Last Dance
By Julia Ward Howe

The shell of objects inwardly consumed
Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes;
Such sense hath Fire to waste the heart of things,
Nature, such love to hold the form she makes.

Thus, wasted joys will show their early bloom,
Yet crumble at the breath of a caress;
The golden fruitage hides the scathèd bough,
Snatch it, thou scatterest wide its emptiness.

For pleasure bidden, I went forth last night
To where, thick hung, the festal torches gleamed;
Here were the flowers, the music, as of old,
Almost the very olden time it seemed.

For one with cheek unfaded, (though he brings
My buried brothers to me, in his look,)
Said, Will you dance?' At the accustomed words
I gave my hand, the old position took.

Sound, gladsome measure! at whose bidding once
I felt the flush of pleasure to my brow,
While my soul shook the burthen of the flesh,
And in its young pride said, Lie lightly thou!'

Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high
My breast against the golden waves of sound,
I rode the madd'ning tumult of the dance,
Mocking fatigue, that never could be found.

Chide not,—it was not vanity, nor sense,
(The brutish scorn such vaporous delight,)
But Nature, cadencing her joy of strength
To the harmonious limits of her right.

She gave her impulse to the dancing Hours,
To winds that sweep, to stars that noiseless turn;
She marked the measure rapid hearts must keep
Devised each pace that glancing feet should learn.

And sure, that prodigal o'erflow of life,
Unvow'd as yet to family or state,
Sweet sounds, white garments, flowery coronals
Make holy, in the pageant of our fate.

Sound, measure! but to stir my heart no more—
For, as I moved to join the dizzy race,
My youth fell from me; all its blooms were gone,
And others showed them, smiling, in my face.

Faintly I met the shock of circling forms
Linked each to other, Fashion's galley-slaves,
Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost
That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves.

For graves were 'neath my feet, whose placid masks
Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,
While all the host of the departed said,
Tread lightly—thou art ashes, even as we.'
You're right @Eleanor Rose , I love it <3 Thanks for sharing.
 
Yes it could have been looked at as a whole, alien world by those in dire circumstances. But? I have a feeling the single way most got through the war, with its barbarism, savagery, carnage and death peering around each corner was fiercely clinging to civilized behavior. The border states were in chaos; the very worst, base impulses of which humans are capable created a shambles and mockery of civilization. Balls and even some of the formal dinners we see gotten together for the men could have been extremely helpful in reminding them war was the aberration, not the normal events clung to despite this awful thing overtaking all of them. Just a guess from a non-historian, non-sociologist.
 
The ball for the officers of the CSS Shenandoah when she stopped in Melbourne for repairs, supplies and additional crew members.

View attachment 144198


' Stopped in Melbourne '? On the way to where? Little bit of a detour if one is involved in a war off the eastern coast of North America. I'm sorry, it just sounds so funny!
 
' Stopped in Melbourne '? On the way to where? Little bit of a detour if one is involved in a war off the eastern coast of North America. I'm sorry, it just sounds so funny!
Amazing I know! It was roaming around the Pacific capturing or sinking Union merchant vessels. About 38 I think. The ship fired the last shot of the Civil War near the Aleutian Islands, finally surrendering in Liverpool England in November 1865.

I have this book to read as soon as I finish another.

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And some of those balls had a fundraising aspect so they gave the ladies a way to support the men in the field.

However...View attachment 144222

from "The Confederate Belle" by Giselle Roberts
I do wonder, too, if there was a concern attached to such events when 'lovers' were far apart, and temptation could enter into the picture. I'm not saying that this was this particular soldier's sentiment, but I'm sure many were worried about their 'lover' being led astray in circumstances when separations could go on a very long time, and there was no promise of a soldier ever returning home.
 
View attachment 143902
Hilton Head, General Gilmore's 1864 ball gives away its rustic genesis by stacked wooden chandeliers, not crystal. You can bet crossed swords used as ornaments were back on a battlefield within weeks

View attachment 143914 View attachment 143915

We have threads here in Ladies Tea on wives in camp. There was nothing easy or glamorous about living rough or, for that matter getting oneself dressed for a ball. Since it was Hilton Head you'd have to guess most would have had houses to stay in but it's not a given.

Holding a ball where silken gowned ladies toe tripped ' round bewhiskered, braided and puffed chested officers lit by a thousand candles high overhead- while wounded lay suffering and troops ate hard tack in musty Sibleys, might seem decedent. What had wars and balls to do with each other and why, in Heavens name, hold one in the midst of death, carnage and loss?

View attachment 143905
Clipping from a journal, please excuse the fact I've lost the archived book link, someone who witnessed the ball held after J.E.B. Stuart's Grand Review where a ball was held. It must have been surreal yet stunning and for some the last, soft touch from both lady and musical strains they knew on this earth.

View attachment 143929
Love this one, 1862's Thanksgiving Ball, held in a casement. War.

Moral, bringing joy and some normalcy back to a blue/gray/khaki world, reminding themselves and each other that, after all, what they saw on the battlefield and in the hospitals and newspapers and on faces everywhere could be put aside while yesterday was remembered. And for tomorrow, hope.

View attachment 143924 View attachment 143925 View attachment 143926


View attachment 143907 One of Frank Leslie's illustration's from Lincoln's ball, with Washington far from any battlefield, this being published in newspapers gave a war weary public different focus. There was grumbling over ' dancing while men died ' but it was as usual directed at Mary Lincoln.


View attachment 143933
Clip from Harper's coverage, same ball

View attachment 143927
3rd Corp's Ball was also recorded in Harper's, thankfully, with this crazy good image of ' Going to the Ball '. 1864

View attachment 143928

Here's a tiny snip, from 3rd Corp, 1864 fighting. They could use a good ball.

View attachment 143935
Wasn't there a big ball or cotillion thrown by JEB Stuart's boys on the eve of Brandy Station?
 
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