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chapter 1 Demographics and Identity On the night of July 31, 1862, a crowd of more than three hundred citizens of East Otto, New York—about a quarter of the township’s population— jammed the Baptist church at a crossroads hamlet, filling the pews and blocking the aisles and stairways. They had assembled to attend a “War Meeting,” to listen to the promised speakers, and to demonstrate to the rest of Cattaraugus County and the nation at large that “the great heart of East Otto still beats true to the Union.” The meeting opened with an election of officers, after which one of the principal speakers was introduced. Reuben E. Fenton, the Republican U.S. congressman representing Cattaraugus and its western neighbor, Chautauqua County, spoke for more than an hour to a rapt audience. Frequently interrupted by hearty applause, Fenton outlined the cause and progress of the Southern rebellion, lauded the labors of President Abraham Lincoln’s administration in combating the insurrection under great difficulties, and promised that in the future a more vigorous policy was to be adopted—one which would make the Confederacy realize the horrors and burdens of war. Fenton’s oration, a reporter noted, “raised the enthusiasm of the audience to the highest pitch.” Fenton was followed to the pulpit by Addison G. Rice, a lawyer and state assemblyman from nearby Ellicottville, the Cattaraugus County seat. Applause and occasional uproarious laughter greeted Rice’s remarks as he denied rumors of a lack of patriotism in East Otto and expressed complete confidence that the town, in response to a recent call for volunteers, would furnish her full quota of recruits and provide them with adequate bounty money. It was nearly midnight when Rice finished his speech, but not a person had left the church. Now the assembly got down to its primary business. A flood of financial pledges poured in, and a bounty of forty dollars was promised to any man who enlisted. Then, amid deafening cheers and the blare of patriotic tunes from a brass band, volunteers were called for. Five young 15 brothers one and all men responded immediately and signed the enlistment roll under the supervision of Dan B. Allen, a twenty-three-year-old lawyer recently admitted to the bar. Seven others promised to enroll in the next few days, enabling East Otto to meet its quota. A committee of wealthy citizens was assigned to solicit additional bounty subscriptions, and at about one o’clock in the morning the meeting adjourned with nine cheers for the volunteers, and three more for the speakers.1 A few weeks later, a twenty-year-old student at the Westfield Academy in Chautauqua County found himself unable to concentrate on his study of Latin, German, geometry, and physics. That afternoon Newell Burch returned home, ate his supper, and, without a word to his parents, went to the stable and saddled a horse. As he was riding out of the yard, one of his sisters spotted him and asked where he was going. To the village of Portland, to enlist, Burch replied. “Don’t you do anything of the kind!” his sister yelled after him as he rode out of sight. On his way to the village, Burch was joined by an elderly neighbor, also bound to the war meeting scheduled that night in Portland. The young man hitched his horse to the old man’s buggy and they rode on together. Have you talked with your father about enlisting? the neighbor asked. No, Burch replied, it wasn’t necessary—he was going to enlist, no matter what. On reaching Portland, the two found a wildly enthusiastic crowd. Joseph B. Fay, a forty-five-year-old farmer from the nearby village of Brocton, brandished an enlistment roll, and five dollars was offered to the first volunteer. “If you’re bound to enlist, take that five dollars,” whispered Burch’s neighbor. “I am not enlisting for five dollars, but for the war,” Burch replied, and after two or three men had enrolled, he stepped forward and signed the roll to exuberant cheers. Altogether, Fay recruited twenty-nine men that night in Portland.2 In the midst of their neighbors, family, and friends, the men enlisted— committing this very personal act in the very public forum of the grassroots community war meeting. The volunteers were leaving the bosom of their home towns and villages and counties, but they would never cut their ties to the home...

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