I have only read 50 pages, but I can see a song coming from it. I do wonder why no maps were included of the area?

I will also be visiting the books this one relied upon before I write the song.

curtis payne

Part of the democratization of history that the Internet is indeed providing, is that the men and women whose history is being examined have the opportunity to question the history being examined and portrayed. In the 1970s, the entrance to universities of African American men and women, and of women period, had a profound and positive impact upon how history was studied and written. Now, other voices are starting to be heard as well, and these voices provide an even further, and broader, understanding of American history.

On this blog, there is a truly diverse group of readers, all of whom are attempting to understand our past. The virtual stranglehold that Lost Cause mythology has had on our collective memory of the Civil War is astounding. To this day, many arguments are still framed, to a large extent and out of necessity, by the parameters of the legacy of the Lost Cause. Perhaps we can begin to break that stranglehold here. Perhaps that is too much to hope for. I will be audacious and hope however, with the permission and indulgence of our moderator.

One of the readers commenting on this post said that the history of Newt Knight might provide a microcosm of sorts. I think that that is a fair observation. I also think that that microcosm has to be carefully defined, and that it has been by many historians who have studied southern dissent for years. Victoria Bynum is at the top of any list of historians who have studied southern dissent, and particularly southern dissent in Jones County, Mississippi. The authors of the State of Jones, themselves, acknowledge their debt to Bynum. They do not acknowledge that a history and legacy of southern dissent exists, however, to my knowledge, nor do they examine the complexities of this history. Thus, the book is fundamentally at odds with Bynum’s book, on this point alone, in my view, and takes an interpretative approach that negates the essence, and importance, of the history.

In order to understand the legacy of southern dissent as one person experienced it–me–a step outside of the American south, and outside of American history, altogether, is instructive, and I offer an analogy to another culture by way of explanation–an analogy that underlies some of the thinking behind much relatively recent theory: the comparison of the Confederacy to Nazi Germany.

I understand very well the potential danger involved in even a minute deconstruction of part of the history of either the Confederacy or the history of Nazi Germany. The analogy I am offering is not offered to deconstruct either history, however, only to bring to the forefront what has been forgotten by many, or that is completely unknown.

Long before the movie, Valkyrie (which I have not seen and am not anxious to see) the legacy of the German Lutheran pastor, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, was a legacy that had a tremendous influence upon my life. In fact, the Lutheran pastor who conducted my mother’s funeral quoted Bonhoeffer. That was right before a young black woman from our community sang. This was not by accident, but by design. Bonhoeffer’s stand against the Nazis (which resulted in Bonhoeffer’s execution) inspired my mother to take the stand against racism that she took during the civil rights era. But even more importantly, my mother’s lifelong work to fight racism was inspired by the actions of members of her own family, and by the black community, of which my family was, and is, a part, and grew from within the south itself, as I stated above. Thus, my mother’s admiration of Bonhoeffer was a logical consequence of her own experience.

Our family was not the only family in our area that stood with the black community against racism. There were other families who did the same, along with the Lutheran congregation. It would seem to me that to ignore a history such as this history (which parallels the history of the Civil War era in striking ways when it comes to race) along with other histories like it, is to do a disservice to history itself, since to fight not only against overwhelming odds, but against your own race, culture, and family, is a fight, the intricacies of which, are worth learning. To cast the narrative of southern dissent within either a “neo confederate” or “neo-abolitionist” framework, is, therefore, simply not accurate. The men and women in the south who stood up against the Confederacy, and those who later fought racism, as well as the men and women in Germany who defied the Nazis, were small in number, but quite large in courage, and they had neither the luxury of being part of a movement that helped them define what was right and what was wrong, nor the security of having the backing of an institution, army, or government when they acted on their beliefs. They had to decide for themselves, and act by themselves. In addition, as an added moral dimension to the measure of courage that these men and women exhibited; the option existed for white southerners in the south during the Civil War and civil rights eras, and for German men and women in Germany, not to take a stand–an option painfully not available to black men and women in the south, or to Jewish men and women in Nazi Germany. The appalling silence of the good people is, unfortunately, too often the voice that prevails. Those who are not, and were not, silent, deserve, at the very least, recognition.

I do not know of a white southerner in either the Civil War era, or the civil rights era, of Bonhoeffer’s stature. I do know of some very courageous people, both white and black however, who fought racism. Parts of this history have been preserved, and other parts have not. Again, this is a history worth remembering, and it is a history unique to the south, and very much a part of the south. Thanks, Kevin, as always, for the insight you provide, and for providing this forum. Also, thanks to your readers for their observations and insight as well. Ed, come back out of the swamp. There are others like you, searching for answers. Perhaps many more than you know. I enjoyed your comments. Sherree

There is much I would like to say, but what is the point? Dr. Stauffer describes his role as that of an evangelist and I learned the uselessness of attempting to discuss theology with the fervent believer. Whenever Dr. Stauffer grinds his academic axe a little too sharply, both Ms. Jenkins and he rush to say no, no, we misunderstood them. They concede no errors of fact, of conjecture, or of scholarly conduct. They are, as Faulkner would say, immutable.

The events that took place in Jones County 150 years ago seem still too hot for many to handle in a dispassionate way. I feel the scholarly approach taken by Dr. Bynum is the most factual and emotionally neutral of the many accounts I have read. After five years of study I have come to see the Piney Woods renegades as strong-willed independent men, many having kinship connections, who lived in an area with no significant stake in the cotton / slave economy. Like others in similar areas of the South, they came to feel it wasn’t their war. If Newt Knight had given voice to opinions about the abolition of slavery or social equality for African-Americans, I am convinced (not proudly) that he would have quickly found himself leading a band whose membership could have been counted on the fingers of one hand. I believe an objective reading of the surviving records shows Newt to have been a man of action, not a thinker. If anyone supplied Newt with a philosophical justification for his Civil War actions, it was Jasper Collins. And, much as I might like to, I can find no indication that Jasper’s progressive views (he joined the Populist Party and the Universalist Church late in life) carried over into the area of race relations.

So it distresses me to see these events once again stretched to fit someone’s agenda. Historians over the past 50 years have made substantive efforts to scrape away the thick coats of “Lost Cause” bias that encrusted older Civil War narratives–even if this meant strong, clear narratives had to give way to more judicious and ambiguous renderings. In the end, history is either about being scrupulously accurate or it is about attempting to uplift (and achieve big sales) through simplified narratives recast to suit a newer cultural agenda. I favor the factual approach whereas Dr. Stauffer has stated his commitment (at least with regard to the book under consideration) to the mythic. Since we’re never going to come to a consensus, after lodging this modest protest I will follow the Knight Band tactic of retreating into the swamp when confronted by a superior force.

In the post above, Mr. Stauffer wrote: “It’s important to note that by 1863 every soldier who voluntarily fought for the Union was, in his very actions, antislavery. After all, the United States had proclaimed all slaves of Rebel masters forever free. In 1864 the Republican platform called for a Thirteenth Amendment outlawing slavery everywhere, which Congress passed in February 1865. In other words, fighting to preserve the Union meant fighting to abolish slavery.”

Here is his syllogism:

The Union proclaimed all slaves of Rebels to be free.
Therefore, soldiers who fought for the Union were antislavery.
Newt Knight fought for the Union, therefore he was antislavery.

To see why this conclusion doesn’t hold up, take Mr. Stauffer’s reasoning back one year. Here is that syllogism:

The U.S. Constitution sanctioned slavery in 1862.
Therefore, soldiers who fought to preserve the Union were proslavery.
Newt Knight sought to preserve the Union, therefore he was proslavery.

This is obviously absurd. But Mr. Stauffer and Ms. Jenkins draw similarly absurd conclusions throughout their book. Readers are left wondering just how much is fact and how much is fancy.

On Newton and Rachel Knight:
Bynum contests our interpretation that Newton treated Rachel as an equal. But their descendants make it clear that he did. For instance, one of Rachel and Newton’s grandchildren, (Vermell Moffett) described Rachel as his “second wife,” in an interview with the Jackson Clarion Ledger. The details in Moffett’s account – such as the fact that Rachel had “come to Mississippi from a plantation in Macon, Ga., where she had been a slave,” — lines up with what we know from records. Moffett thus appears to be reliable. Also, Moffett noted that two of Newton’s white children married two of Rachel’s children. Specifically, Newton’s white son Mat married Rachel’s daughter Fanny, and Newton’s white daughter Mollie married Rachel’s eldest son Jeffrey. Given that Newton endorsed the marriage of two of his white children to two of Rachel’s children — and even rewarded those unions with deeds of land — it would seem that he regarded Rachel, and her children, as equals.

On Vicksburg:
We don’t argue that Newton was at Vicksburg “a few days.” The most plausible scenario, we argue, is that he experienced Vicksburg until Pemberton’s surrender, just as his closest relatives and friends did. And we don’t “assume” he was at Snyder’s Bluff. A quick glance at Knight’s company record shows he was “present” as well as “in arrest” on February 30, 1863. The circumstances at Snyder’s Bluff were tense, to say the least, as the entrenchments there were the northern defense point for Vicksburg, toward which Grant was continually maneuvering. Sherman bombarded Synder’s Bluff on May 1
(as a feint). By May 16 Grant was encircling Vicksburg and the 7th Battalion was marching into Vicksburg’s trenches. Had Newton deserted from Snyder’s Bluff, or while marching toward Vicksburg, he would have had to swim the Yazoo River and cross through two active armies. And this after escaping arrest. Even if he was able to do so, it’s difficult to see how he could have gotten back to Jones County in May. We include in our book the recollection of Newton’s acquaintances that Bynum cites; but those men didn’t serve with him in the Rebel Army or in the guerilla band, and their recollection was naturally vague, given that they didn’t have firsthand knowledge and were trying to recall events eight years earlier. The weight of plausibility (it seems to us) is therefore in favor of Knight’s presence at Vicksburg rather than his absence.

To Paul Harvey:
Thank you for your comment and for your balanced assessment of the debate on your blog (“Jones vs. Jones”).
You raise an excellent question: to what degree does Primitive Baptism lead someone to become antislavery? None, if it’s the only evidence one has. After all, countless Primitive Baptists, Northern Baptists, and Methodists were not antislavery.
Our aim was to try to understand the interaction between ideas and material forces that make up a worldview. In the case of antislavery, multiple causes led people to that conviction.
As Sally and I have noted, we’re not certain that Newton Knight was a Primitive Baptist. We surmise he was based on these facts: Primitive Baptism was the dominant religion in Jones County; Newton’s grandfather helped found a Primitive Baptist church; family members, including Newton’s father, were Baptists; Newton’s son said Newton was a Primitive Baptist; and the company Newton joined in July 1861 was nicknamed “Hardshells,” signifying Primitive Baptism.
As Randy Sparks notes in his terrific book, On Jordan’s Stormy Banks, many Primitive Baptists in Mississippi espoused antislavery views for theological and class reasons until the 1820s, when the gatekeepers of slavery effectively silenced these views. But as I said, Primitive Baptism alone does not lead to antislavery.
Other sources point to the emergence of Newton’s antislavery views: his parents never owned slaves; according to his granddaughter, he “did not believe in slavery”; he opposed secession and disliked the planter class; and he had great faith in the Union—-in essence, he was an American first, a Southerner second.
Additionally, in the cauldron of the War, it was common for whites and blacks to unite in order to survive and vanquish a common enemy (the Confederacy), a point wonderfully developed by Philip Klinkner in his book, Unsteady March. In any event, when Knight affirmed his loyalty to the Union in 1863, he sought through his actions to end slavery.

To Brooks Simpson and Ingrid Leverett:
I have enormous respect for Michael Ballard and Rudy Leverett. Indeed, I think the greatest respect one can accord writers is to build upon their work and cite them in their notes; and Sally and I relied heavily on Ballard, Leverett, and Bynum.
I have no idea where Ballard was born. I know that he is a distinguished scholar at Mississippi State, the author or editor of a number of excellent works, including his superb book on Vicksburg (which Sally and I cite frequently), and a terrific edition of Chickasaw, a Mississippi Scout for the Union; and that he is the editor of the Grant papers.
Brooks, you seem to imply that I’m biased against white Mississippians. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m on record as saying that there are more integrated communities in Mississippi today than in Massachusetts. We dedicate our book to Jim Kelly, a white Mississippian and brilliant scholar. And in it we sing the praises of many other white Mississippians, including the dazzling genealogist Kenneth Welch, Charles and Bunny Windham, and the extraordinary history teacher Wyatt Moulds.
My main point was to express my perplexity about why no one has addressed the differences between Bynum’s and Ballard’s interpretations of Jones County.
Ingrid, I did not mean to attack Rudy Leverett’s book. It’s beautifully written, I have great respect for it, and we relied heavily on it, even though we disagreed with its conclusions.
Disagreement does not mean disrespect.
Rudy Leverett’s lineage helped me better understand his book and my disagreement with it. Why? Because our own personal history often shapes the history we write. To deny this is to ignore the humanistic aspect of the discipline.
Let me give you an example. I consider C. Vann Woodward one of the greatest historians of the South; and yet I totally disagree with his interpretation of abolitionists. Granted, he wrote comparatively little on them, but what he did write was pejorative. I’ve written extensively on abolitionists, and like most scholars I try to approach my subjects with historical empathy. I thus wondered how such a brilliant scholar could be so dismissive of the abolitionists. I found my answer after reading a glowing review of Woodward by his friend and colleague David Davis, himself the preeminent scholar of slavery and abolition (full disclosure: Davis was my mentor). In his review, Davis drew attention to Woodward’s background as a white Southerner: “Woodward shares his ancestors’ distaste for Northern abolitionists, with their ‘Roundhead earnestness’ and uncritical worship of fanatics like John Brown.”
In other words, we bring to our scholarship some of our own history, biases, and blind spots, even though we do our best not to.
That leads to your query, Ingrid, about the genesis of our book. I was hired as an unpaid consultant to Gary Ross. He wanted his fictional screenplay to ring true—-poetically and ideologically–to the history of the era, and I tried to help him achieve that goal. Why did I agree to advise him without pay? Well, because I like him a lot: he’s extremely smart and curious, is a beautiful writer, has read deeply in the Civil War era, and he wanted to write a screenplay that, given the constraints of the genre, would be faithful to the history. I also felt that his film, if produced, would get a lot more people interested in the Civil War era and the dilemmas of interracial alliances. I should add that neither Sally nor I have received any money from anyone in Hollywood for our work. Of course Gary’s film, if produced, would boost sales of our book—-but also of Bynum’s, Ballard’s, Leverett’s, and many others’.
Ingrid, I disagree with your distinction between “recording history” and “creating drama.” History is a narrative interpretation of the past. Without narrative, there is no history. And as Sally mentioned, there’s inherent drama in the story of Jones County.
Finally, I’ll confess one of my blind spots: As a student of abolitionists, I would have difficulty writing about Jefferson Davis with the rich sensitivity and nuance that Ballard does in A Long Shadow. I find Ballard totally convincing in arguing that Davis, as a statesman, was “noble in adversity.” But it would be hard for me to look beyond the moral baseness of the cause he presided over.

John Stauffer

One additional note concerning Banks, his arrival in New Orleans in relief of Butler coincided with the implementation of the Emancipation Proclamation in January 1863 and his first order of business was putting it into effect. The Proclamation did not take effect in Texas until June 1865, a month after the war had officially ended. My impression is that Jones County represents a microcosm of sorts, reflecting a broader sweep of events that are difficult to grasp without a clear sense of the outline.