In writing about Reconstruction, I do not mean to ignore another group that played a pivotal role in the novel. I refer to the original inhabitants of this country, the Native American Indians. During the period covered here, they were forced out of their lands at last, and effectively robbed of any chance to participate in the political process, by means of what we now call "genocide." The Indians are not the main ethnic concern of Heaven and Hell, but even so, I do not mean it to seem that I have given them what amounts to a historical shrug. Theirs is a tragedy I would like to deal with more fully, in another book, at a later time.
Of course, like the two novels preceding it, this one is meant first as a story, and only second as history (though as always, I never knowingly change or falsify the record for the sake of a plot). Some of the historical aspects of the novel do need brief comment.
I found the Kuklux (that was the customary spelling) a difficult subject to write about, in this sense. Southern victims of the Klan quite rightly considered its hooded members terrifying. Yet it's hard to look at hundred-year-old photographs of bed-sheeted Klansmen, or read their florid and pretentious handbills and newspaper announcements, without smiling. This duality isn't convenient for storytelling, so I am not certain that I accurately captured Klan activities. I do want to assure readers that the bits of ritual and fragments of printed announcements found in the book were not invented by me; they are authentic. General Nathan Bedford Forrest did not start the Klan, but it's generally conceded that he was Imperial Wizard for a couple of years, until violence got out of hand and he made a public statement ordering the Klan to disband.
If, in the sections set in the South, there seems to be a certain shrillness, almost hysteria, in some characters, I hasten to note that this originated in research, not imagination. The racist statements of fictional characters such as LaMotte and Gettys are based on similar pronouncements from the press of platform. On the matter of this overreaction, I agree with the film historian and biographer Richard Schickel, and the revisionist historian Kenneth M. Stampp. Schickel, commenting on Stampp in the former's fine life of D. W. Griffith (who was the son of a Confederate officer, a circumstance that contributed to the racist tone of Griffith's epic The Birth of a Nation), says, "The alleged brutalities suffered by the white southerners are difficult to find in any records; compared to the lot of almost any defeated nation in history, their 'punishment' was unprecedentedly mild." True; but — emotionally — defeat is still defeat. A bitter cup, and, in this case, a cup poisoned by unreasonable and long-standing fears of those the South had enslaved. The word hysteria fits.
To this day, a firestorm of controversy burns around General George A. Custer. A case can be made for Custer as a fine soldier, or at least a successful one. He had an amazing record of wins with the Union Army. He generated tremendous loyalty among some of his men (in others he aroused fanatic hatred, and this was a problem in the Seventh Cavalry from the moment he joined the regiment until he led it to disaster at the Little Big Horn).
My interpretation of Custer is admittedly personal. I find too many negatives. His vanity was overwhelming, and so was that of his wife, which only fed it. He can't be excused for refusing to command black soldiers in the Ninth Calvary. His punishments were harsh, frequently illegal, and many of his adventures in the field were reckless or personally motivated; the dash to his wife Libbie that got him court-martialed is a good example. Most of all, to his discredit, there is the Washita — the battle or the massacre, depending on which source you consult. To me certain aspects of the Washita bear an eerie similarity to Vietnam. A frustrated Army, up against guerrilla fighters whose unconventional tactics it was too cumbersome to match, moved in and destroyed an entire village — men, women, children — the theory being that even small boys might wield weapons against their enemies (some evidently did).
Probably I will be suspected of romanticizing the record and accomplishments of the soldiers of Grierson's Tenth Cavalry. I plead not guilty. The Army offered these black troopers their first formal opportunity to get up and out of their past lives in northeastern cities, and they took splendid advantage of it. Most military scholars agree with author George Walton, who said of the Tenth: "The soldiers ... developed an espirit de corps that has seldom been equaled in the United States Army. ... The desertion rate, always an index of morale, became the lowest in military history." White officers, initially so reluctant, eventually commanded in the Tenth with great pride. John Pershing won his nickname, Black Jack, during such a tour of duty.
I should also note that, although there was a C Company in the Tenth Cavalry, the officers and men of C Company in the novel are fictitious. The incidents of white harassment of the new regiment by General William Hoffman and others are not.
Although trumpets and bugles are distinctly different instruments, the Army circa 1865-70 ignored that. General orders of the period refer to various daily calls as "trumpeter assemblies." But no cavalryman that I've ever heard of fingered the valves of a trumpet while galloping on horseback. In other words, in this period, trumpeters played bugles but were nevertheless called trumpeters.
As a final note, Henry Ossian Flipper demands mention. Flipper, of the West Point class of 1877, was the first black graduate of the Military Academy, the first black officer in the Tenth Cavalry, and also the first in the regular Army. He was born in slavery in Georgia in 1856, and he got through West Point despite virtual ostracism. "There was no society for me to enjoy," he wrote. "No friends, male or female, so absolute was my isolation." Yet Flipper persevered in the face of heartbreaking difficulty, and so have many black soldiers since, to their great credit.
Now for appropriate acknowledgments.
Unless otherwise noted, newspaper headlines, dispatches, and advertisements are from The New York Times.
"The Confederacy's purple dream," a beautiful phrase that I have incorporated in the text, comes from Samuel Eliot Morison.
An anecdote from historian Robert West Howard led to creation of the Fenway Piano Company.
Colonel John W. DeForest, mentioned above, wrote one of the major memoirs of the period at his post in South Carolina. I have made generous use of A Union Officer in the Reconstruction for details contained in Madeline's journal.
In making DeForest and so many other books, periodicals, and newspapers available to me, I must first thank the endlessly helpful staff of the Greenwich Public Library. For years I've been what you might call a heavy user of libraries, and I have never before seen such a splendid one in a town the size of Greenwich.
On Hilton Head Island, the local library was diligent as usual in searching out interlibrary materials; particular thanks here to Ruth Gaul and Sharon Lowery. Librarians in South Carolina are fully as enthusiastic as those in Connecticut, the difference being the poor level of financial support South Carolina libraries receive. A majority of county and state legislators seems to care more about tourism and state-supported football teams than they do about learning, and this attitude shows in the inadequacy of many local collections. The librarians, always of good cheer, make the best of a bad situation.
Robert E. Schnare of the Special Collections Division of the United States Military Academy, West Point, New York, was again helpful in providing special materials. Another important piece of research came from the Tennessee State Library.
Assistance with special research projects was provided by my good friend Ralph Dennler, my son Michael Jakes, my son-in-law Michael Montgomery, and my wife.