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Introduction: Les Enfants de la Guerre ‘‘Like previously unseen ghosts,’’ James Marten saw, ‘‘children peer out from Civil War photographs.’’1 His pathbreaking book brought them back from the unseen world by showing how the war reverberated through all aspects of their lives. What happened to children on the state and local level, however, remains relatively elusive. I have chosen to examine Rebel children and their families in South Carolina, where the war erupted. Composed of a black majority, South Carolina earned the reputation as the most militant Confederate state. Seceding first, it was home to some of the region’s most influential politicians. Charleston , its chief port and most populous city, spent much of the war under siege. It became the symbol of Southern resistance. Fierce fighting took place along the coast. During Sherman’s march, the state capitol in Columbia went up in flames. White South Carolinians did more than their share of fighting and dying.2 When South Carolina leaders urged their people to war in 1860, they encouraged a commitment with consequences unimaginable at the time. They gambled with the future of the children of their state and lost. In January 1864, a woman from Cottage Home captured the people’s angst with the lament: Had they foreseen the present ‘‘list of the precious youths that have fallen, it would have chill[ed] our hearts. Thousands have passed away—many more are passing . The wail of orphan and widow reach our ears from all parts of the Confederacy . Sisters mourning the loss of precious brothers—while parents, are weeping for their children.’’ In a state that prided itself on a military ethos that had God’s blessing, such sacrifices could not have been in vain.3 The late dean of South Carolina history, George Rogers, captured and reflected why Carolinians felt compelled to honor the sacrifices of their ancestors in the Lost Cause. In the 1990s, he explains, ‘‘Families were shattered. Mothers lost one, two, even three sons in a single battle. A grandfather, a father, a brother disappeared at a crucial moment in life. All were models of virtue and honor to those left behind to mourn their passing. They were worthy of remembrance. Their motives came from within, from what they had been. They had believed that life was God’s will. They could not shirk their duties. There were no excuses. They admired their leaders. They were part of a world that is 2 Introduction: Les Enfants de la Guerre no more.’’4 Thus, some white South Carolinians are offended by those who brand their ancestors’ efforts as immoral. South Carolina Rebel children played a critical role in the Civil War drama. Children under the age of fifteen composed more than 40 percent of the state’s white population. Boys and girls engaged in activities once reserved for adults only. They made their patriotic presence felt. They relished their contributions. Lee Cohn Harby, born in 1849, told a Sumter gathering of the Daughters of the Confederacy in 1901 that scenes from her childhood were burned into her mind. Her playmates passed quickly from play to war. Each week was full of emotions and stirring events. It seemed the children were aging a year each month. Fourteen-year-old boys took up arms; little girls assumed the responsibilities and tasks normally assigned to grown women. Perhaps like children in other wars, Harby and her friends integrated war into their make-believe world of play. Scholars would call Harby’s mindset ‘‘a children’s world.’’ At times their activities were destructive. In their play, boys at the Charleston Depot killed more civilians in South Carolina than Sherman’s troops. Children were also victimized. Their households were wracked, if not shattered, by disease, death, and deprivation. Thousands of fathers and brothers died in the conflict or returned home maimed.5 ‘‘Phoenix’’ is a fitting metaphor to describe how white South Carolinians viewed their efforts to preserve their ideal of the good society. The vision entailed states’ rights, low taxes, and a subordinate role for blacks. A pristine republic, born in 1860, would rise out of the fire and ashes of the war and Reconstruction. Fire was seared in the collective memory of white South Carolinians : the Charleston fire of 1861, the hurling of Greek fire on Charleston, the burning of Columbia in February 1865, and the mammoth explosion of the Northeastern Railroad Depot in Charleston that very month. ‘‘Phoenix,’’ implying resurrection...

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