Confederate states who arrived behind Union lines were termed “contrabands,” a grotesque legal convention that treated runaway
slaves like horses, pigs, or other enemy property. 66 Initially unprepared to care for these refugees, some Union forces mistreated them; others tried to ignore them; still others
developed a rough affection for them. When a contraband died at Arlington, a Wisconsin soldier mourned his death, noting,
in the casually racist language of his day, that the decedent had been “treated … more as a companion than a nigger” by
the regiment. 67 In more elegant terms, another member of the Iron Brigade expressed genuine admiration for the refugees: “The contrabands
are the only people we can depend upon,” he wrote. “They tell us where the Secesh are—never lie to us—wish us God speed—and
are of great use to us.” 68
The Union eventually recruited former slaves in their war effort: the blacks dug entrenchments, buried horses, made bricks,
drove wagons, grew food—and generally got paid for it. As both armies crisscrossed Northern Virginia and more slaves streamed
north across the Long Bridge, Union forces often assumed responsibility for their well-being—in part, to keep them from helping
the enemy, in part for humanitarian reasons. More than a few contrabands were surprised, upon finally reaching Washington, to be ushered into the Capitol Prison, not because they were accused of any crime, but because that was one of the few places
Union forces could offer them food, shelter, and protection in a crowded city seething with Confederate sympathizers and racial
tension. 69
Although a few of Arlington’s house servants had been given the rudiments of education, most of the estate’s slaves were illiterate,
unskilled, and poor when they got their first glimpse of the Promised Land. Until they could support themselves as free men
and women, the slaves of Arlington became wards of the Union Army, under orders issued in 1862. In one of his last acts as
secretary of war, Simon Cameron decreed that Union officers had the obligation to care for the slaves, an act of charity that
would profoundly shape the future of Arlington.
“The Secretary of War directs that such of the old and infirm negroes of the Arlington estate, Va., as may be unable to provide
for themselves, be furnished such articles of subsistence as the officer commanding at Arlington, for the time being, may
approve & order,” Adjutant General Lorenzo Thomas wrote on Cameron’s behalf. “The estate, which is now in the possession of
the Government, was, it is understood, charged by its former owner—the late Mr. Custis—with the care of these old people who
have no other means.” 70
With a stroke of his pen, Simon Cameron had solved the problem that had been vexing Lee in faraway South Carolina— What I am to do with the negroes I do not know . More significantly, the document asserted the Union’s first claim on Arlington, a sense of ownership that would deepen
as the war ran its long, sanguinary course.
3
"VAST ARMY OF THE WOUNDED"
THROUGH THE FIRST YEAR of the civil war, mary custis lee lived a precarious existence, nursing her arthritic condition and
fretting over the famous husband she had not seen since April 1861. Two of her sons had also joined the Confederate Army,
with a third soon to follow. They would be on the firing line when Federal troops renewed their campaign for Richmond in the
spring.
Uncertain about where the season’s fighting would erupt, Mrs. Lee finally settled on her son Rooney’s White House plantation
as 1861 drew to a close. The farm, a four thousand–acre spread nestled among the pines on Virginia’s languorous Pamunkey River,
had been an important family holding since Martha Washington’s day. Located some twenty miles northeast of Richmond, the property seemed to offer a reasonable haven from the war. Placed
well away from Manassas, it was situated far
slaves like horses, pigs, or other enemy property. 66 Initially unprepared to care for these refugees, some Union forces mistreated them; others tried to ignore them; still others
developed a rough affection for them. When a contraband died at Arlington, a Wisconsin soldier mourned his death, noting,
in the casually racist language of his day, that the decedent had been “treated … more as a companion than a nigger” by
the regiment. 67 In more elegant terms, another member of the Iron Brigade expressed genuine admiration for the refugees: “The contrabands
are the only people we can depend upon,” he wrote. “They tell us where the Secesh are—never lie to us—wish us God speed—and
are of great use to us.” 68
The Union eventually recruited former slaves in their war effort: the blacks dug entrenchments, buried horses, made bricks,
drove wagons, grew food—and generally got paid for it. As both armies crisscrossed Northern Virginia and more slaves streamed
north across the Long Bridge, Union forces often assumed responsibility for their well-being—in part, to keep them from helping
the enemy, in part for humanitarian reasons. More than a few contrabands were surprised, upon finally reaching Washington, to be ushered into the Capitol Prison, not because they were accused of any crime, but because that was one of the few places
Union forces could offer them food, shelter, and protection in a crowded city seething with Confederate sympathizers and racial
tension. 69
Although a few of Arlington’s house servants had been given the rudiments of education, most of the estate’s slaves were illiterate,
unskilled, and poor when they got their first glimpse of the Promised Land. Until they could support themselves as free men
and women, the slaves of Arlington became wards of the Union Army, under orders issued in 1862. In one of his last acts as
secretary of war, Simon Cameron decreed that Union officers had the obligation to care for the slaves, an act of charity that
would profoundly shape the future of Arlington.
“The Secretary of War directs that such of the old and infirm negroes of the Arlington estate, Va., as may be unable to provide
for themselves, be furnished such articles of subsistence as the officer commanding at Arlington, for the time being, may
approve & order,” Adjutant General Lorenzo Thomas wrote on Cameron’s behalf. “The estate, which is now in the possession of
the Government, was, it is understood, charged by its former owner—the late Mr. Custis—with the care of these old people who
have no other means.” 70
With a stroke of his pen, Simon Cameron had solved the problem that had been vexing Lee in faraway South Carolina— What I am to do with the negroes I do not know . More significantly, the document asserted the Union’s first claim on Arlington, a sense of ownership that would deepen
as the war ran its long, sanguinary course.
3
"VAST ARMY OF THE WOUNDED"
THROUGH THE FIRST YEAR of the civil war, mary custis lee lived a precarious existence, nursing her arthritic condition and
fretting over the famous husband she had not seen since April 1861. Two of her sons had also joined the Confederate Army,
with a third soon to follow. They would be on the firing line when Federal troops renewed their campaign for Richmond in the
spring.
Uncertain about where the season’s fighting would erupt, Mrs. Lee finally settled on her son Rooney’s White House plantation
as 1861 drew to a close. The farm, a four thousand–acre spread nestled among the pines on Virginia’s languorous Pamunkey River,
had been an important family holding since Martha Washington’s day. Located some twenty miles northeast of Richmond, the property seemed to offer a reasonable haven from the war. Placed
well away from Manassas, it was situated far
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