Could Civil War Historians Survive On Made Good Morning Bars? Unpacking 19th Century Weapons, Celebrities, And Unexpected Modern Connections
What did Union and Confederate soldiers eat for breakfast before a day of marching or battle? While we debate the intricacies of a clip point blade or the exact wording of a post-war oath of allegiance, many of us today fuel our historical research and daily routines with convenient, wholesome snacks. This leads to a curious question: if the historians who select the 20 biggest Civil War celebrities relied on modern made good morning bars for their morning fuel, would their selections change? The journey to answer that is a winding path through magazine lists, antique knives, Confederate arsenals, and the surprising ways history permeates our present—from karaoke bars in Maine to latte art in Delaware.
The Civil War Monitor's Celebrity List: Scrutiny and Six Pioneering Women
In a fascinating exercise, The Civil War Monitor magazine assembled a panel of historians to select the 20 biggest Civil War celebrities. This wasn't just about generals; it was a holistic look at figures who captured the public's imagination, shaped the conflict, or left an enduring cultural legacy. The resulting list sparked immediate conversation, particularly regarding gender representation.
The core critique, encapsulated in the question "Is six women enough women?", highlights a perennial debate in historical narrative. Six female figures out of twenty represents 30%, a figure that might seem modest when considering the vast, often under-documented contributions of women on both sides—as nurses, spies, abolitionists, manufacturers, and sustainers of the home front. The historians' placements of these women are specific: they came in 3rd place, 10th place, 14th place, 17th place, 18th place, and 19th place.
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This distribution tells a story. A woman in 3rd place signifies near-paramount importance—likely someone like Harriet Tubman or Clara Barton, whose direct, actionable roles in war and emancipation were undeniable. The clustering in the lower half (14th, 17th, 18th, 19th) suggests other crucial but perhaps less publicly celebrated figures: a Rose O'Neal Greenhow (spy), a Belle Boyd (spy), a Dorothea Dix (nurse superintendent), or a Mary Edwards Walker (surgeon and Medal of Honor recipient). The exact identities are left for the reader to guess—"Can anyone guess what six women made the cut and what place they got?"—but their collective placement invites us to ask: who else should be on that list? A Mollie Bean who fought disguised as a man? A Kate Cumming who documented Confederate nursing? The list is a starting point, not a finish line.
The Top 6 Women: A Hypothetical Breakdown
Based on common scholarly consensus and public impact, a plausible interpretation of the six placements might look like this:
| Place | Likely Figure | Primary Role | Why This Placement? |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3rd | Harriet Tubman | Abolitionist, Scout, Nurse | Direct military intelligence, leading raids, iconic status. |
| 10th | Clara Barton | Nurse, Founder of Red Cross | Institutionalized battlefield nursing, post-war humanitarian legacy. |
| 14th | Rose O'Neal Greenhow | Confederate Spy | High-level intelligence network, significant impact on early war events. |
| 17th | Dorothea Dix | Superintendent of Army Nurses | Organized Union nursing corps, advocacy for the mentally ill. |
| 18th | Mary Edwards Walker | Surgeon, Medal of Honor | Only woman to receive the Medal of Honor for Civil War service. |
| 19th | Belle Boyd | Confederate Spy | "Cleopatra of the Secession," youthful notoriety and espionage. |
This table illustrates a mix of espionage, medicine, and direct action, but also reveals gaps. Where is the African American woman who served as a cook and laundress but also carried messages? Or the Southern Unionist woman who risked everything? The list, curated by historians, reflects both the available historical record and the evolving priorities of modern scholarship.
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From Page to Screen: The Elusive "Last Full Measure"
The discussion of celebrities naturally leads to their cinematic portrayals. One key sentence laments the difficulty of adapting certain Civil War stories: "The only way I can see The Last Full Measure getting made into a movie (or better yet a miniseries) is if somebody can go back and remake Gods and Generals from scratch (and be more faithful to the source material)."
This is a profound critique of the Civil War film genre. Gods and Generals (2003), based on Jeff Shaara's novel, was criticized for its perceived sympathetic portrayal of Confederate General Stonewall Jackson and its length/pace. The suggestion is that a true, faithful adaptation of The Last Full Measure—which focuses on the final, bloody campaigns of 1864-65 and the humanity on all sides—requires a studio to first "fix" the earlier, flawed epic. It speaks to a desire for nuanced, unflinching storytelling that avoids Lost Cause mythology. A miniseries format, as suggested, would allow for the necessary depth to explore the "last full measure" of devotion and sacrifice across the entire conflict, not just from one perspective.
The Allure and Utility of 19th Century Blades
Shifting from broad cultural narratives to tangible artifacts, the conversation turns to knives—a personal fascination for many history enthusiasts. One contributor detailed a precise measured drawing of two knives at a coastal museum for a blacksmith. This hands-on approach is key to understanding material culture.
The findings were revealing: "One of them was a utility knife very similar to the Green River multi-use knife above." The Green River Knife, manufactured in the 19th century, was a ubiquitous, affordable, and robust tool. Its design—a simple, sturdy blade with a comfortable handle—was the Swiss Army knife of its day, used by soldiers, settlers, and laborers.
The second knife was a bowie knife: "The Bowie knife was exactly the same blade with a clip point." This observation is critical. It suggests a manufacturing efficiency. A single blade blank could be finished as either a straight utility knife or a Bowie with a clipped point, depending on grinding and handle attachment. "Makes sense, a manufacturer would have no reason not to simplify the production." This principle of economy of scale and modular design is a hallmark of 19th-century American industry, from gun factories to cutlery shops. It means that a "Bowie knife" found on a battlefield might not be a custom, exotic weapon, but a mass-produced tool adapted for combat.
Deciphering a Rusty Enfield Bayonet
This practical knowledge was put to the test: "Last week I came across a rather rusty Enfield bayonet, which I immediately recognized as Louisiana numbered and Confederate made." The Pattern 1853 Enfield rifle-musket was the most widely used infantry weapon of the war, by both sides. Its bayonet was a crucial, brutal tool. The identification as "Louisiana numbered" refers to the Confederate practice of re-issuing captured or imported Enfields and stamping them with state or arsenal marks. Finding a Confederate-made or -marked Enfield bayonet is a significant find for a collector.
The seller's price was inflated: "The guy was asking way beyond what a normal Enfield bayonet in that condition would cost, so I made him an offer, still more than he probably expected to sell it." This is a classic lesson in collector knowledge versus seller expectation. Condition (rust, pitting) drastically reduces value, but provenance (Confederate association) can increase it. The buyer's offer, while below asking, was likely fair and still above the seller's reserve, demonstrating that informed negotiation is essential in the historical artifacts market.
Hollywood Ballistics: Could a Henry 1860 Make That Shot?
Pop culture provides another lens. The iconic scene in Lonesome Dove where Gus McCrae makes an impossibly long rifle shot raises a technical question: "Could an 1860 Henry make such a shot?"
The Henry 1860 repeating rifle was a technological marvel—a 16-shot, lever-action, .44 caliber rimfire rifle. Its advantages were volume of fire and faster reloading than a single-shot muzzleloader or even a breechloader like the Spencer. However, its ballistic limitations are key. The .44 Henry cartridge was underpowered by modern standards, with a muzzle velocity around 1,100 fps and limited accuracy at extreme ranges. The legendary shot in Lonesome Dove is depicted as a 1,000+ yard hit on a moving target. While a skilled marksman with a modern scoped rifle could do it, an 1860 Henry with its iron sights, open battlefield conditions, and modest power would make such a shot highly improbable, bordering on mythical. The scene is great cinema, but poor ballistics—a common trope that romanticizes the "crack shot" of the Old West.
The Rise and Fall of an Industry: A 30-Year Cycle
A broader economic observation cuts across the century: "A thriving industry in 1890, within 10 years it was doomed, and effectively dead by 1920." This describes the fate of many black powder-era firearms manufacturers after the advent of smokeless powder and modern cartridge designs. Companies that thrived on producing single-shot, large-caliber revolvers (like the Dragoon models) or muzzleloaders could not adapt quickly enough. The market collapsed.
"Seemed a good idea at the time." This wry summation applies to countless technologies. The .44 caliber revolver was perfect for the 1850s-70s, but by the 1890s, smaller, faster, smokeless cartridges like the .38 Special and .45 ACP were dominant. The Domestic manufacturers of pistols of course, smaller than the four outfits named above—referring to giants like Colt, Smith & Wesson, Remington, and Winchester—often were family shops or regional firms that simply couldn't fund the retooling for new calibers and mechanisms. They were absorbed or went bankrupt.
A Texas Twist: The Sisterdale Dragoon
This national trend had local echoes: "Dragoon revolvers like these and in still another part of Texas (Sisterdale) the Sisterdale Dragoon .44." The Sisterdale Dragoon is a fascinating artifact. Sisterdale was a community of German Forty-Eighters—liberal intellectuals who fled Europe after the 1848 revolutions. Some settled in Texas. The story suggests a localized, possibly bespoke, production of a Colt-style Dragoon revolver in that community. Was it a full-fledged armory or a blacksmith's one-off? This speaks to the decentralized, improvisational nature of arms production, especially in frontier regions and during the Confederacy, where official arsenals often contracted with local smiths.
Confederate Arsenal Production: The Quest for Ramrods
This leads to a deep, specific research question: "I am working on compiling information on ramrods that were produced by the various Confederate arsenals (sometimes called blacksmith made as have been observed with C&R weapons and other conversions)."
The ramrod is a deceptively simple yet critical component of a muzzleloading rifle. Its job: to seat the bullet and powder charge firmly against the breech. A broken or poorly made ramrod could render a musket useless. The note about "blacksmith made" and "C&R weapons" (likely "Captured and Reissued" or "Converted and Recalibered") points to a major Confederate logistical challenge.
The Confederacy lacked the industrial base of the North. When they captured Union rifles (like the Enfield or Springfield) or relied on European imports, they often had to modify them—reboring to a different caliber, for instance. A standard-issue ramrod might not fit a rebored barrel. Hence, local arsenals (Richmond, Fayetteville, etc.) and contracted blacksmiths would forge replacement ramrods to spec. These are identifiable by their cruder finish, different materials (iron vs. steel), and sometimes unique markings. The follow-up sentence, "This would also apply to the Richmond muskets," confirms this. Richmond Armory produced copies of the Springfield Model 1861, but with variations. Their ramrods would be part of this study. The lament, "In fact most of the information available is on..." (likely cut off, but implying on Union production) highlights the scholarly gap in Confederate small arms logistics—a frontier for dedicated researchers.
Modern Echoes: From Washington News to Maine Karaoke
Abruptly, the narrative leaps to the present, illustrating how history and daily life coexist:
- "WTOP delivers the latest news, traffic and weather information to the Washington, D.C." A modern media outlet, a world away from 1860s rifles.
- Social media snippets: A cheerful post about dance lessons and a kings coast coffee latte art post. These are the digital campfire stories of our time.
- "25 karaoke spots in Southern and Central Maine where you can belt it out..." A leisure activity with its own traditions and community, much like a 19th-century camp meeting or town social.
These aren't non-sequiturs; they are contrast points. They remind us that while we meticulously research zouave uniforms or Confederate oaths, we are also people who enjoy coffee, dance, and singing. The historian's life is not lived solely in archives.
The Zouave Conundrum: Fashion, Identity, and Dating
Returning to material culture, a specific question arises: "It's raining zouaves. Zouaves were a popular trend before and during the Civil War, but what made them zouaves? Was it simply that they wore zouave?"
Zouaves were originally elite French colonial infantry from North Africa, known for their distinctive, colorful uniforms: short jackets (sedia), baggy trousers (serouel), sashes, and often a fez or turban. The style was copied wildly in the 1850s-60s by volunteer regiments in America, North and South, as a symbol of elite, dashing, martial prowess. So, yes, it was the uniform—the specific cut and accessories—that made them "Zouaves."
But a deeper, practical question follows: "I truly doubt that either is as old as Civil War era, and assumed both were likely made in the first half of the 1900's, but was hoping some of you may be also be bored and willing to chime in." This refers to two specific Zouave-related items (likely a jacket and trousers). The observer suspects they are 20th-century reproductions or theatrical costumes, not authentic Civil War artifacts. Dating such items involves examining fabric weave, stitching techniques, buttons, and dyes. A Civil War-era Zouave jacket would have hand-sewn seams, bone or early metal buttons, and a specific cut. A 1900s-1950s reproduction might have machine stitching, different button materials, and anachronistic tailoring. This is the meticulous, often tedious, work of artifact authentication.
Clues from Construction: The File-Made Knife
Similar detective work applies to a found knife: "The top knife was obviously made from a file, and appears to retain the original handle from its original use." Using a file as a blade blank is a classic improvised weapon or makeshift tool technique, seen from frontier times to World War I trench art. The original handle—perhaps from a tool or a gun—adds to its story. The final query: "Would the style handle help date it?" Absolutely. Handle materials (wood type, bone, stag horn), shape (pistol grip, straight), and attachment (rivets, pins) are huge dating indicators. A "soldier's knife" from the Civil War might have a simple, slab-style wooden handle. A later "hunting knife" might have a more elaborate guard and pommel.
The Post-War Oath: A Legal and Moral Puzzle
The most legally specific question emerges: "After the war, many of the upper ranking Confederates who wanted pardons were forced to take an oath to defend the constitution, obey federal laws, etc. Does anyone have information on the exact wording of that oath?"
This refers to the ** Amnesty Oaths** required under President Andrew Johnson's proclamations (1865-1867) for former Confederates to have their property (and later, their political rights) restored. The exact wording was crucial and varied slightly by proclamation and class (e.g., high-ranking officials needed special presidential pardons).
A standard form for a "Pardon and Amnesty" under Johnson's 1865 proclamation required the applicant to swear:
"I, _____, do solemnly swear or affirm, in presence of Almighty God, that I will henceforth faithfully support and defend the Constitution of the United States, and the Union of the States thereunder, and that I will, to the best of my ability, encourage and aid all others to do the same; and that I will, to the best of my ability, obey all laws and proclamations which have been or may be made in regard to the emancipation of slaves, so far as such laws and proclamations apply to me. So help me God."
This oath of allegiance was a profound ritual of reintegration, forcing a public, sacred renunciation of secession and acceptance of emancipation. It was both a legal document and a performative act of submission and reconciliation. Finding the exact, handwritten oaths in National Archives or Confederate pension records is a goldmine for genealogists and historians studying the post-war South.
Conclusion: Weaving Threads of the Past into Our Present
From the civil war monitor magazine's controversial celebrity list to the precise geometry of a bowie knife's clip point, from the rusty Enfield bayonet to the Henry rifle's Hollywood myth, these fragments reveal a passionate community obsessed with the details of a defining American epoch. The debate over six women on a list is the same debate as over zouave jacket dating or the exact wording of a post-war oath: it's about precision, inclusion, and truth.
And what of the made good morning bars that started this inquiry? They are the perfect metaphor for our modern engagement with this past. Just as a Confederate arsenal blacksmith simplified production to make a functional ramrod, we simplify complex history into digestible, nourishing content—articles, podcasts, documentaries—that fuel our curiosity for the day ahead. We might not be taking an oath of allegiance, but we do pledge to "defend" the truth of the past against simplification and myth, whether that myth is a Lonesome Dove long shot or a sanitized view of the Confederate cause.
So, as you reach for your soft baked organic oat bar tomorrow morning, consider the soldier reaching for his Green River utility knife, the historian poring over amnesty oath records, or the blacksmith forging a Sisterdale Dragoon. The threads of the 1860s are woven into the 2020s, not just in museums, but in our routines, our arguments, and our relentless, respectful quest to understand what truly happened. The last full measure of devotion, it seems, is not just a film title—it's the effort we put in every day to get the story right.
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MadeGood Mornings Oat Bars | Organic, Gluten-free Snacks
MadeGood Mornings Oat Bars | Organic, Gluten-free Snacks
MadeGood Mornings Oat Bars | Organic, Gluten-free Snacks
