In 2005, Dr. Chad Hamel, veterinarian, author, The Coder School co-owner and incidentally a huge history buff, read a book about the Civil War, called “Team of Rivals,” by Doris Kearns Goodwin. He became captivated by the role of so-called border states like Maryland in securing the future of the then-fractured Union. An amateur collector, he set out to buy a period artifact to commemorate his intellectual journey. He thus found and bought in 2006 what he thought was a signal flag that included the signatures of all the members of Abraham Lincoln’s first cabinet.
After 17 years of off-and-on research on the “flag”, he learned it wasn’t a flag at all, but rather a quilt. At first disappointed, he began to pull at the threads of the quilt’s history and wound up weaving a tale of intrigue and political machination so intertwined with the viability of the United States itself that the story could have been ripped, as they say, from the pages of The Washington Post.
At the heart of the story, and possibly the quilt’s own seamstress, was Mary E. Nealy, who it must be said was a woman after my own heart. Mary hailed from Indiana, and is known best by history as a famous poet whose works often paid tribute to women during the war. Then, in the Spring of 1864, she found herself a correspondent for The National Republican, a newspaper founded upon the election of Lincoln in 1860 by abolitionist William J. Murtagh. With only two intervening owners, what had been a blatantly pro-administration read ultimately was merged into The Washington Post in June of 1888.
It was rare for a woman in the 1860’s to take her place alongside men in the tough crucible of Civil War-era politics. But, belying popular perceptions, women were active in the conflict, as detailed in an Indiana school lesson plan Chad found online that attested women on both sides disguised themselves as men and enlisted to fight for their respective sides.
While filling the shoes of enlisted relatives in farming and business, they also sent letters, food, and blankets to the troops and made their pitch for public sentiment through speeches and published articles, songs, and poems. They also held what came to be known as Sanitary Fairs to raise money for the care of wounded soldiers – gatherings that became a precursor to both the Nurse Naval Corps and the Red Cross.
In the lead up to the Baltimore Sanitary Fair, planned from April 18 to April 30th, 1864, Unionists were anxious to see Lincoln attend and give a speech, in part to sway the sentiment of local politicians whose constituents were literally on the fence about the war on the eve of Maryland’s upcoming State Constitutional Convention. Lincoln’s reluctance came because Baltimore was then a nest of spies for both the North and the South, and Maryland’s alliances strayed to both sides of the line in the conflict. Finally, everyone was tired enough of bloodshed to consider appeasement over holding the line for emancipation.
It's at such a time that, under the alias “Polly Peachblossom,” Mary wrote a letter to the president. The letter, as legibly transcribed by the Library of Congress here https://bit.ly/Peachblossom, encloses a poem called “The Maul,” an encomium to Lincoln’s efforts to end slavery, and asks in return for two of Lincoln’s autographs, one of these on silk to be used on an alleged “wedding quilt.”
Mary was herself married and her daughter not of marriageable age, so for Chad’s research to attribute this letter to Mary E. Nealy calls for reading a bit between the lines. In a further act of Internet sleuthing, he also equates the quilt mentioned in Polly Peachblossom’s letter to the one given to the wife of the then Governor of Maryland, Augustus Bradford, at the Baltimore Sanitary Fair.
As backdrop, a vote on delegates for the Maryland Constitutional Convention that was to consider a provision ending slavery in the state also was to occur that Spring, and Gov. Bradford supported the effort to make the voting conditions more favorable for delegates who supported emancipation. “So,” reasons Chad, “the quilt given to the Governor’s wife (Mrs. Elizabeth Bradford) at the Fair, and mentioned in a newspaper article on Lincoln’s speech, could have been a public recognition and thank you to the Bradford's for their political support.”
He adds, “I think the marriage discussed in the letter is actually related to a political marriage, which would make sense. According to Lew Wallace’s papers, Lincoln at the time was putting on a full court press to win the support of Governor Bradford.”
So, why the subterfuge? We can only speculate that it was to mask as innocuous what was in fact a political favor being solicited by a member of the press. As to why Mary would have chosen the name, “Polly Peachblossom,” Baltimore was the U.S. Peach Capital in 1864 and its debutantes were known as Peach Blossoms, so the use of the name would have related her request to Maryland. The mask would have been all too transparent to Lincoln, though, given that the mailing address “Polly” used was that of The National Republican office.
But the guessing turned moot once Chad found another letter online signed by Mary that matches the handwriting of the two missives, and when he found that later books of the period attributed the poem “The Maul” to her hand.
What turns the saga from a historical curiosity into something much more momentous was the timing of the speech Lincoln ended up giving at the Baltimore Sanitary Fair. It followed the execution of several hundred Black Union troops who had surrendered after the Battle of Fort Pillow in Henning Tennessee by Confederate soldiers on April 12, 1864.
What came to be called Lincoln’s “Lecture on Liberty,” https://bit.ly/LincolnSanitaryFair, was interpreted as likening Confederate generals to wolves among the sheep. Lincoln vowed a full investigation of the incident. Subsequent outrage over Congress’ findings breathed new life into the Union war effort and prevailing northern sentiment that nothing less than complete victory was an acceptable outcome.
Chad draws his own lessons from what he calls his “little passion project.” First, he says, “Though many more questions remain, there is no question in my mind that Mary E. Nealy is worth celebrating.” He also wants to shine a light on “all the archivists and historians who painstakingly take the time to preserve history and digitize so many historical documents to provide amazing access to historical research and knowledge.” Without this work, his would have ceased before it began. He considers inspiring others to become proficient at Internet search of historical records a bonus.
Chad also would welcome the assistance of anyone who’d like to continue the journey to learn more about Mary E. Nealy and the impact of other abolitionists who worked to eradicate slavery. (If you’re interested, please email him at chamel@thecoderschool.com.)
And, he offers thanks to the following for their help: Gary Eyler, the Old Colony Shop in Alexandria; Michelle Krowl, Civil War and Reconstruction specialist in the Manuscript Division at the Library of Congress; Micah Connors, Maryland Center for History and Culture; Steven Raab, the Raab Collection; Patricia D. Anderson and Rob Schoeberlien of the Maryland State Archives; and, of course, Jeff R. Bridgman of American Antiques, who broke the news to Chad that his flag was really a quilt, part of the patchwork of American history.