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5 Kingdom Coming the emancipation of popular literature The white people fancied that we could not fight, But they saw their mistake when they gave us a sight, For in the great charge of the colored brigade, ’Twas the boldest they say that ever was made. For in the great charge of the colored brigade ’Twas the boldest they say that ever was made. —‘‘Pompey’s Contraband Song,’’ Words and music by J. Ward Childs, 1864 In early 1865 a Southern author named Mrs. Howard reflected resentfully on the easy living she imagined to be slaves’ lot in wartime. In an essay titled ‘‘Plantation Scenes and Sounds’’ published in the Southern Field and Fireside, Howard commented on ‘‘how little’’ slaves ‘‘realize what distress and misery are pervading this land.’’ After all, ‘‘rations are served to them the same as ever,’’ so that the slave husband and father ‘‘can eat his bread in peace and quietness.’’ Entirely ignoring the realities of slavery, including the hardships and disruptions that war caused in slaves’ lives, Howard argued that unlike his master, the slave was not ‘‘compelled to separate from those he holds dear—he has not like him to brave all dangers and all weathers for his country’s sake.’’ Nor did slaves ‘‘know or understand’’ the ‘‘trials of the soldier’s wife.’’ Their ‘‘midnight dreams are not made terrific by visions of blood shed and of death. They have neither son nor husband a mark for the pitiless peltings of musket balls. They are not called upon to grieve that their darlings are exposed to hardships, discomforts and dangers such as have never been dreamed of before in our fair land.’’1 In claiming the wartime sufferings of white men and women, Howard participated, as we have seen, in an extensive popular literature exploring and valorizing sentimental soldiers’ and women’s experiences of war. But in deliberately fantasizing the ‘‘easy lives’’ of African Americans in wartime , Howard also participated in a wider discussion of race in wartime popular literature both north and south. In the South, popular stories, poems, and cartoons throughout the war created fantasies of satisfied slaves who wanted nothing more than to remain with—or return to— their masters. In the North, in contrast, from the start of the war a widespread popular literature including popular songs, envelopes, stories, cartoons , and novels embraced changes in African Americans’ status during the war—although usually only if they seemed to benefit the condition of Northern whites. Still, in the wake of emancipation, a few popular works emerged that, however briefly, radically reconsidered the racial politics of Northern culture. . . . If within the writings of Northern literati African Americans ‘‘figured only peripherally,’’ as Daniel Aaron put it in The Unwritten War, the pages of Northern popular literature told a profoundly different story. African Americans occupied a highly visible role in wartime popular literature. In June 1861, as slaves began the dramatic process of freeing themselves by coming into Union lines, two major Northern popular magazines explored this important social change with interest. Both Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper and Harper’s Weekly praised General Benjamin Butler’s action in designating former slaves as ‘‘contraband’’ of war to prevent their being returned to their former owners. Harper’s commented that Butler’s ‘‘refusal to surrender fugitive slaves to their masters’’ was ‘‘equally sound in law and sensible in practice,’’ and Leslie’s praised General Butler’s ‘‘sagacity ,’’ saying that his actions had ‘‘increased the dilemma of the Secessionists to a remarkable degree.’’2 The designation of escaped slaves as ‘‘contraband’’ represented a challenge to slaveholders’ authority that many Northerners clearly relished. Depictions of ‘‘contrabands’’ began to appear in a wide variety of popular cultural forms. A number of printers early in the war, for instance, produced ‘‘contraband envelopes’’ that celebrated slaves’ escape to Fort Monroe. One, printed in several different versions, depicted a master with bull whip calling out ‘‘Come back here, you black rascal’’ to an escaping slave, who in return thumbed his nose at his former master, saying, ‘‘Can’t Kingdom Coming : 151 [3.16.66.206] Project MUSE (2024-04-26 11:02 GMT) come back nohow, massa, Dis chile’s contraban’.’’ At the right of the envelope was Fort Monroe, the former slave’s destination. Another envelope titled ‘‘Contraband of War’’ made the point that ‘‘contrabands’’ could be employed as laborers in the army by portraying a group of black men with...

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