“Death is Creeping Behind Me”: Premonitions of Death and the Civil War Era

One of the most fundamental experiences of the American Civil War was death. Quite understandably, it pervaded the writings of the era and became a cultural touchstone for them.^[1] This manifested in a multitude of ways, but one of the most interesting and recurrent examples was the premonition of death. From the commander-in-chief down to the common soldier, stories of ghastly visions of imminent death fill the conflict’s writings. Taken together, they provide a unique glimpse into the era’s culture of dying.

A pair of premonitions are likely the most famous of the American Civil War. The first is attributed to Abraham Lincoln as recounted by his close friend and self-appointed bodyguard, Ward Hill Lamon, in his post-war reminiscences. Lamon described Lincoln as haunted by a dream. Lincoln eventually grew so disturbed that his wife, Mary, noticed his visage had grown pale. When she pressed him for the cause, Lincoln recounted the story to her and Lamon.^[2]

He described a dream in which he was woken up from his sleep by “pitiful sobbing” and “mournful sounds of distress” emanating from the lower floor of the White House. Going downstairs to investigate, he went from room to room until he found mourners in the East Room. Upon entering, he found “a catafalque, on which rested a corpse wrapped in funeral vestments” which was surrounded by guards. Perplexed, he asked one of the guards, “Who is dead in the White House?” The soldier replied, “The president, he was killed by an assassin!” Suddenly, the attendees began to wail, which roused Lincoln from his sleep. According to Lamon, Lincoln claimed not to believe the dream, but was still gloomy about it. A few days later, Lincoln was assassinated.^[3]

Sullivan Ballou’s final letter became the other most famous instance of premonition. Elevated to immortality decades later by Ken Burns’ The Civil War, Ballou wrote to his wife, Sarah, eight days before the First Battle of Bull Run. From the outset, his foreboding is evident. Even his introduction makes clear what he believed was imminent, “lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write a few lines, that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.” As he continues, he makes his fears even more explicit, writing that he was “suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart.”^[4]

He laments, “how hard it is for me to give [the memories of his family] up, and burn to ashes the hopes of future years.” In a moment of hope, he notes, “I know I have but few claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me … that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed.” Ultimately, however, he resigns himself to death, noting that, “I must watch you [Sarah] from the spirit land and hover near.” Tragically, his intuition proved correct. Ballou died from wounds received in the battle.^[5]

Beyond just these famous examples, however, the American Civil War records provide many more cases of deathly premonitions. One frequent type featured a general about to enter a disastrous battle. Union Brig. Gen. Nathaniel Lyon was overcome with the sense that he was “the intended victim of a deliberate sacrifice” before his death at Wilson’s Creek.^[6] Before Union Brig. Gen. Charles G. Harker was killed charging Confederate defenses at the battle of Kennesaw Mountain, a soldier recalled Harker arranging his private papers and giving them to a staff officer with the comment, “I shall not come out of the charge today alive.”^[7]

Confederate Maj. Gen. Patrick R. Cleburne had two premonitions of death attributed to him. As he addressed his division in preparation for the Franklin-Nashville Campaign, a soldier recollected him declaring, “If this cause that is so dear to my heart is doomed to fail, I pray heaven may let me fall with it, while my face is toward the enemy and my arm battling for that which I know to be right.”^[8]

A sense of fatalism came over him once more before the battle of Franklin. One of his brigade commanders, Brig. Gen. Daniel C. Govan, solemnly noted to Cleburne, “Well, General, there will not be many of us that will get back to Arkansas.” In response, Cleburne declared, “Well, Govan, if we are to die, let us die like men.” A few hours later, he was killed in the assaults on Union lines.^[9]

Premonitions of death were not just the domain of generals. Lieutenant Colonel Edward Hallowell remembered finding Col. Robert Gould Shaw of the famous 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry on the deck of the steamer carrying them to the assault on Fort Wagner. Noticing Shaw’s sadness, Hallowell inquired what was wrong. Shaw replied, “O Ned! If I could only live a few weeks longer with my wife, and be at home a little while, I think I might die happy; but it cannot be; I do not believe I shall live through our next fight.” Later that day, Shaw found both death and glory outside the works of Fort Wagner.^[10]

Union Colonel Edward E. Cross made an even more explicit display of foreboding on July 2, 1863, at the battle of Gettysburg. Traditionally, he wore a red silk bandanna into battle. As he led his brigade into the Wheatfield, however, he donned a black bandanna. His corps commander, Maj. Gen. Winfield S. Hancock, proclaimed to him, “Colonel Cross, this day will bring you a star.” Cross dourly responded, “No, general, this is my last battle.” It was to be so, as a mortal wound to the stomach ended his life.^[11]

The soldiers on the line had their own tales of premonitions. Another icon from Ken Burns’ The Civil War, Sam Watkins described one in his famous memoirs. In camp for the night, he noticed one of his comrades, Bob Stout, looked sullen. When asked why, Stout answered, “Boys, my days are numbered, my time has come. In three days from today, I will be lying right yonder on that hillside a corpse.” As the soldiers around him laughed, he detailed what he wanted done with his belongings. The next day, September 18, the battle of Chickamauga began, and the day after that Watkins, Stout, and their comrades entered the fray. On September 20, Watkins noted to Stout that he had seemingly avoided his foretold fate. Before Stout could respond, a Union solid shot practically tore him in half.^[12]

While in camp with comrades, Sewall Randall of the 71st Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment insisted that he had “a singular dream” of “an unfavorable omen”. Later that day, he was mortally wounded in the battle of Ball’s Bluff.^[13] George Miles of the 6th Wisconsin Infantry Regiment had a premonition before the battle of South Mountain. Although Miles was normally jovial, his comrades noticed him looking somber. He explained, “You fellows would be quiet too, if you knew you would be killed tonight.” Shaken, his comrades tried to get him assigned to detached duty on the day of battle, but he refused the assignment and joined the line. While advancing up the mountain, he was fatally struck by a Minié round.^[14]

With all these stories of premonitions, the question becomes how to understand them in the light of the era. First, it is important to note the time at which they were written. Of the examples provided above, all but one, the Ballou letter, were written after the premonition had already been fulfilled.^[15] The vast majority of premonitions do not directly come from the mouth of the doomed soldier himself, but from a comrade recalling his death years or even decades after it occurred.

To some extent, there seems to be a simple explanation. It is understandable why a soldier might be reluctant to commit fear of his imminent mortality to the written word in the prelude to battle, assuming he even has the time. For a comrade who had seen a prophecy fulfilled, meanwhile, the memory would likely be lasting. This can explain the disparity in premonitions recorded before and after the foretold death occurred.

Nevertheless, the post-death stories must also be viewed in the light of the era’s culture of death. “Sudden death,” writes Drew Gilpin Faust in This Republic of Suffering, “represented a profound threat to fundamental assumptions about the correct way to die.”^[16] In a society that cherished preparing and performing the proper rituals for death, the seeming randomness of death on the battlefield stirred the deepest depths of fear. Premonitions gave survivors a way to counterbalance this fear. A death could not be truly sudden if a soldier had felt its presence ahead of time and readied himself to face it.

Indeed, it even added a shade of tragic heroism that a soldier persisted in his martial duties despite the looming threat of death, such as in Miles’s case. Whether this intense yearning for a “better death” might have driven writers to exaggerate or even fabricate these premonitions, especially in the case of beloved figures, should be judged on a case-by-case basis. What can be certainly said, however, is that these harrowing specters should be viewed in consideration of their times.

Endnotes:

^[1] Drew Gilpin Faust, This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War (New York: Random House, 2008), xi-xviii

^[2] Ward Hill Lamon, Recollections of Abraham Lincoln, 1847-1865 (Chicago: A. C. McClurg, 1895), 113-115

^[3] Lamon, Recollections of Abraham Lincoln, 114-116

^[4] National Park Service, “”My Very Dear Wife” – The Last Letter of Major Sullivan Ballou”, National Park Service, February 3, 2015, https://www.nps.gov/articles/-my-very-dear-wife-the-last-letter-of-major-sullivan-ballou.htm.

^[5] National Park Service, “”My Very Dear Wife””

^[6] John M. Schofield, Forty-Six Years in the Army (New York: The Century Company, 1897), 43

^[7] Wilbur F. Hinman, The Story of the Sherman Brigade: The Camp, the March, the Bivouac, the Battle; and How “The Boys” Lived and Died During Four Years of Active Field Service (Self-Published, 1897), 550

^[8] John L. McKinnon, History of Walton County (Atlanta: The Byrd Printing Company, 1911), 300

^[9] Irving A. Buck, Cleburne and his Command (New York: Neale Publishing Company, 1908), 339

^[10] Memorial R.G.S. (Boston: Cambridge University Press, 1864), 166

^[11] Larry Tagg, The Generals of Gettysburg: The Leaders of America’s Greatest Battle (Cambridge: De Capo Press, 2003), 38

^[12] Sam R. Watkins, “Co. Aytch”: Maury Grays, First Tennessee Regiment, or, a Side Show of the Big Show, (Chattanooga, Times Printing Company, 1900), 87-89

^[13] Frank Moore, The Civil War in Song and Story, 1860-1865, (P.F. Collier, Publisher, 1889), 138

^[14] Philip Cheek and Mair Pointon, History of the Sauk County Riflemen, Known as Company “A,” Sixth Wisconsin Veteran Volunteer Infantry, 1861-1865, (Madison: Democrat Printing Company, 1909), 47

^[15] There is considerable discussion whether the Ballou letter should be classified in this category as well, but the true authorship of that letter is beyond the scope of this article; Robert Grandchamp, “‘O Sarah!’ Did Sullivan Ballou’s Famed Letter Come From Another’s Pen?”, HistoryNet, August 15, 2017, https://www.historynet.com/o-sarah-sullivan-ballou-letter/?r

^[16] Faust, This Republic of Suffering, 18