Robison Family Endured Un-Civil War  - Part 2

MORE CIVIL WAR INCIVILITY IN BLOOMSBURG

After the Civil War broke out in the spring of 1861, the pundits (yes, they had them then too) all predicted the war would be a quick one; there would be one or two decisive battles that would allow one side or the other to deliver a knock-out blow to the other, and the other would then sue for peace and that would be that. Some pundits even still held out hope for a political settlement.

But as the war dragged on into its second year, it became clear that there would be no quick and easy conclusions, either militarily or politically. In Bloomsburg things seemed to be getting progressively worse too. The once sleepy, peaceful town where respectful political discourse had been the norm was changing. The new norm seemed to be bitter rhetoric and political brawling.

The state of affairs on the homefront is evident from the letters that continued to issue forth from the ink pens of the female members of Bloomsburg’s Robison family.

Fig. 1: Betsey Robison (Mother)

Even Independence Day celebrations that year (1862) were marred by partisan bickering. On July 4, Betsey Robison (Mother) wrote:

Yesterday there were great preparations made at Orangeville for a Union Celebration...They sent for Caleb Wright expecting him to make a National Fourth of July speech when he made a party and, to say the very least, disunion speech. You may be sure it created a great sensation...After he delivered his Secession sentiments, Revd Mr. John was called for. He got up and tis said such a scathing rebuke as he did give him...Tis said that if ever a fellow got his desserts in words, he Wright did. They say that he sat & looked like a killer sheep dog. Many wonder that he got off without some violence...I guess it would not be safe to show his secession face in this part of the country again...

Caleb Earl Wright, was a prominent lawyer from Wilkes-Barre, who had studied law under Danville’s John G. Montgomery. Wright had stumped for Montgomery during Montgomery’s successful bid for Congress in 1855. Both men were Democrats. Reverend D. C. John was pastor of the Methodist Episcopal church from 1862 – 1863. Today the church is known as the Wesley United Methodist Church. Its “new” building on the corner of Market and Third Streets was completed in 1897 and replaced the previous brick church on the corner of W.Third and Murray Ave., built in 1857. 

Fig. 2: Caleb Wright

Betsey (Mother) concluded her July 4, 1862 letter with news regarding Danville’s “Iron Guards” (Company A, 35th Infantry Pennsylvania Volunteers), who had been among the Union Army’s first volunteers, having organized on April 22, 1961, just days after the firing on Ft. Sumter:

Tis said that there were bad news came to Danville yesterday quite a number from there that is among the killed wounded & missing. Oh my God, what mourning and lamentations in the land.
--Mother

The bad news that Betsey is referring to was probably news related to the Seven Days Battles near Richmond (June 25 – July 1, 1862). This series of battles was the culmination of General McClellan’s Peninsula Campaign, a disastrous attempt to march up the Virginia peninsula to take the Confederate capital of Richmond. The 35th Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers was involved in several serious skirmishes during that campaign. After Robert E. Lee’s forces counter attacked, McClellan skedaddled back down the peninsula with his 100,000-man army, which included the Iron Guards.

One of the most interesting and dramatic of the Civil War era letters contained in And So It Goes by Gertrude Johnston, is the one written in August of 1862 by Augusta (Gus) Robison, who at the time was age 25 and living at home in Bloomsburg. In the letter Gus describes a unionist/secessionist confrontation that resulted in a riot. The incident occurred shortly after bounties started being offered for enlistments.

One could get a $100 to $300 bounty -- a lot of money at the time -- for enlisting. Since a man got the money up front, even if he got killed on his first day, his family still got the money. This was very tempting to poor men who were out of jobs and had families to support. Bounties were given out by the federal government, the state, and even some counties and cities.

According to historian George Turner, who addressed the local bounty issue in a 1991 article in Carver magazine, Columbia County finally approved a bounty measure, but it was an anemic one. On July 26 a bounty of a $25 dollars was proposed at a public meeting and then upped to $50 at another public meeting two weeks later. But when the proposal was made before the county commissioners, they balked. They knew that a lot of local anti-Lincoln Democrats didn’t want their tax money used to finance the war. They even questioned the legality of using public funds for bounties.

Fig. 3: Augusta (Gus) Robison

Here’s part of the letter that Augusta Robison wrote during the local wrangling over bounty payments:

Bloom, Aug. 20th, 1862
There must have been great excitement here in regard to the bounty affair. They held an indignation meeting and it came very nearly to being a regular war meeting. They say that if it had not been ended when it was, there would have been a general fight. Frank Drinker told Tate that he had assured the volunteers of the bounty & he had not fulfilled the promise...Tate raised his cane to strike Frank when Matison caught it. He then attempted to strike with his fist when Uncle John stepped in between them. Uncle came very nearly getting in trouble himself with his sentiments. [This is the same Uncle John Robison known for his secesh leanings.]

Frank (Francis) Drinker was a 30 year-old bookkeeper for the Bloomsburg Iron Co., who later enlisted in the cavalry and fought at Murfeesboro and Gettysburg. The “Tate” mentioned would be Levi Tate, editor & proprietor of the rabidly anti-Lincoln Columbia Democrat. “Matison” is probably a misspelling. Augusta is probably referring to Andrew Madison, a 32 year-old bookkeeper who was living with the family of William Neal, part owner of Bloom Furnace.

Fig. 4: The old Columbia CountyCourthouse

While violence was averted at both meetings in the courthouse with the county commissioners that day, after the afternoon meeting, there was a sort of riot outside the courthouse that is covered by J. H. Battle in History of Columbia and Montour Counties, Pennsylvania (1887). First, here’s how Augusta described the incident in her letter:

That same day some of the big boys attacked Bill Eyer with rotten eggs for his secession sentiments. The union men interfered and great excitement ensured. On Monday the boys and men, all, were taken up, and as our squires in town were too loyal, they had a ride in the country to appear before [Magistrate] Tom Vanderslice, who is a vile traitor. They have been bound over for assault and battery. Dr. Ramsey and others went out with them,…for the purpose of going bail…
Mr. Beckley and Mr. John (the Methodist minister) were among the number…John Girton swore that they choked Eyer and Eyer said they did not…I hope they will change the state of affairs soon for if they do not, the Secessionists will get the upper hand.

Now here’s how the Battle history book depicts the incident: “After the meeting, an altercation having taken place between a drunken man and a convalescent soldier, and the former having cheered for Jeff. Davis, he was pursued and maltreated by a mob. Some dozen or more republicans were arrested on a charge of riot, under a warrant issued by a justice of the peace of Hemlock township; the accused were taken there for a hearing and sentenced by the court to fine and imprisonment. No attempt was made to enforce the penalty, however, and the governor’s pardon put an end to the matter.”

The two versions of the story don’t quite match. There were three men named William Eyer in Columbia County at this time (including one in Rohrsburg and one in Jerseytown), but the most prominent one was the Lutheran minister for Bloomsburg, Catawissa, and Roaring Creek. He was a Democrat, but he was not a drunk. Augusta may have confused two separate incidents, or she may be referring to one of the other Bill Eyers. One of them may have indeed been a drunk. Or perhaps it is not Augusta, but rather history book editor J. H. Battle who has gotten the story all mixed up.
 
Eventually, under pressure from Republicans, on August 16, the county commissioners agreed that if a “responsible party or parties” put up money for a bond to protect them from liability, they would approve a fund that capped at $5000. So rather than providing a set amount for each volunteer, the $5000 would be apportioned among the county’s citizens who volunteered. Subsequently, due to this restrictive and less-than-generous bounty, many local would-be soldiers chose to travel to other cities and states to enlist where the bounty was higher.

In 1863 – ignoring a petition signed by 182 citizens of Mifflin Township -- the State legislature removed any bounty legality questions by enshrining in law the right of local governments to use public funds for enlistment bounties. End of discussion; end of problem for the unionists.



THE WAR INTENSIFIES

During the first years of the Civil War, Union victories were few and far between, and Northerners quickly got demoralized. Consequently, when a Union victory did finally occur, the exuberance was extreme. In one of her letters Robison family matriarch Betsey Barton Robison described Bloomsburg's celebration, probably following the news of Confederate General Beauregard’s withdrawal from the strategic railroad center of Corinth, Mississippi, a victory that came on the heels of the previous month’s Union victory at Shiloh. 

Fig. 5: Confederate General Beauregard

Bloomsburg June 5th, 1862
Pretty soon the bells all began to ring and every demonstration of joy. All over was hurrying to and fro. After a considerable time we heard that a dispatch had come that Beauregard was routed etc. etc. Amelia [youngest Robison daughter, age 18] came after a while and said well she could not get anybody to stand still long enough to give the particulars but as she heard it ten thousand of Beauregard's men were taken with fifteen thousand stand of arms. She must have the flag out at once. The cord was broke but finally she got it fastened on the brush handle and stuck it out the garret window...Well the drums are beating and all is excitement. The Choir meets tonight and also a trustee meeting of the Presbyterian Church, but we get no mail. But presume all can live on excitement one night. There is also prayer meeting in the Methodist Church. I tell you they sing and pray loud, for as a general thing they are Union all. They boast that they have not a traitor among them.
--Mother

Betsey should have waited for the particulars rather than rely on Amelia’s rumor mill. In actuality, almost no Confederate soldiers or arms were captured during the Siege of Corinth. Outnumbered two to one, Gen. Beauregard pulled off one of military history’s most clever withdrawals, putting his soldiers and artillery on train cars and sneaking them out during the night, right under the Yankees’ noses. Nevertheless, the Union Army took Corinth, and the non-battle was considered a big Union victory because of the town’s strategic importance.

Fig. 6:The Siege of Corinth

The Robison home was the second one down West Third Street from the Methodist Church, and family members were always complaining about how loud the Methodists were. But in this case, since the Methodists were singing and praying for the Union cause, it was apparently okay.

The Robisons were prominent members of the Presbyterian Church, which apparently couldn't brag about being union all and not having a traitor among them. In 1863, the Presbyterians seem to have purged an accused secessionist from their ranks. Betsey described the event obliquely in a gossipy letter:

That affair of Mr. Mans was not brought up before the Presbytry, only in private. Mr. Hudson told us what is was. Doubts of his Loyalty. It is to be called up at the next meeting of P. and I presume he is going to try to ward if off & so has gone as Chaplain in some of the Emergency Regiments. Mr. Mans was always a favorite of mine but if there are any doubts of his loyalty, I am done with him. Like Mr. Lightner said, "I would as soon come in contact with a man who had the itch, as a Copperhead", Or go without his dinner before he would buy meat of a Secesh butcher, or go without a coat before he would employ a Secesh Taylor.
--Mother

Just who this “Mr. Mans” was is a bit of a mystery. There were no men named Mans is this area at the time. But local historian (and Presbyterian) Bill Baillie points out that this man was probably “not a local Bloomsburg man but a Presbyterian minister in the Northumberland Presbytery, which then stretched from Berwick to beyond Williamsport and south to Lewisburg. The Presbytery consisted of a minister and a lay delegate from each of about 25 churches and met about three times a year for a day.” Baillie believes the most likely suspect is Rev. Phineas Man of Lewisburg, who is listed in 1860 Census records as a 61-year-old O. S. P. Clergyman. The O. S. P. stands for Old School Presbyterian, says Baillie, and explains: “the denomination in 1837 split into Old School and New School, and oddly enough, the census-takers often noted the distinction.”
 
Just who Mother meant by “Mr. Lightner” more easily sorted out -- Edwin N. Lightner served as minister at Christ’s Episcopalian Church in Danville from 1855 until 1870.  

[Fig. 7: TABLE – election results, 1864]

As the war dragged on and casualties mounted, anti-Lincoln, pro-peace sentiments got even stronger in Columbia County. Again, election results (this time the 1864 election) clearly show this. In the contest between stay-the-course Lincoln versus peace-now McClellan, the Democrat McClellan got 64.7 percent of the county’s votes, while Lincoln got only 35.3 percent. Lincoln won only four townships: Berwick, Bloom, Catawissa, and Scott. In Bloomsburg the count was 294 for Lincoln, 208 for McClellan.

The Press vs. The Pulpit

Most of the ministers in Bloomsburg took sides during the Civil War and obviously didn’t have much regard for the concept of the “separation of church and state.” As we see from the Robison letters, Presbyterian David Waller, Methodist D. C. John, Lutheran William Eyer, and Episcopalian Edwin Lightner were all in the thick of the public debate. But by far the most political of all was Reuben Wilson, who arrived from Milton in 1864 to take Rev. John’s place in the pulpit at Bloomsburg’s Methodist Episcopal Church. He was 36 years old, having entered the Methodist itinerant ministry in 1854. He arrived in town just in time to get involved in the contentious 1864 election that pitted Lincoln against General McClellan.

Fig. 8: The old Methodist church

Levi Tate, editor and proprietor of the Columbia Democrat accused Wilson of taking advantage of his position to spread partisan propaganda during the election, and he launched a vendetta against Wilson within the pages of his newspaper.

In the October 1, 1864, issue of the newspaper, Tate wrote: “We have a man in Bloomsburg whose calling is minister of the Gospel, [but] his business is electioneering for Abe Lincoln. In his ostensible pastoral visits instead of inquiring after the soul’s health, his solicitude is for the body’s politics…The obscene jester at Washington is his beau ideal of a man and a statesman, the blood of his fellow citizens the wine whereon he grows frantic—He prostitutes his holy calling to the dirty work of the Loyal League—He uses his official position to operate upon the minds of the members of his congregation, and with well feigned modesty and hypocritical piety seeks to accomplish his work.”

In the next week’s issue (Oct. 8, 1864) Tate complained that Wilson was standing on the corner of the Market Street square near Hartman’s store making pro-Lincoln speeches. “We were compelled to submit to an intolerable nuisance Monday night,” Tate wrote. “This loyal preacher has descended from the pulpit to the political arena…No attempt was made at anything that might be called argument; although he contended that the “abolition of slavery” was the great object of this war. The restoration of the Union did not appear to have been thought of. What appeared still more disgusting, if possible, than his sweeping railing accusations, was the pompous pride with which he brawled and blackguarded and calumniated.”

In the last paragraph of the article, Tate accused Wilson of laying off his Clerical robe to go “into the public streets to engage in angry political strife,” and he addressed a question to Wilson directly: “what estimate must the community—not afflicted as you evidently are, with ‘nigger-on-the-brain’ place upon your interest in their salvation?”

One has to wonder how each man felt when Lee surrendered to Grant on April 9, 1865. Tate’s side may have won the local  media campaign, but Wilson’s side won the military one. In 1866 both men moved on, Wilson to other itinerant pastoral assignments throughout Pennsylvania and Tate to a newspaper in Williamsport.