John L. Brooke's favorite books on the North during the Civil War

How did the war start? Certainly, the South seceded after Lincoln’s election, but was apocalyptic war inevitable? Why did the North rise to defend the Union so passionately? If I may be so bold, Adam Goodheart’s 2011 book reads like the gripping sequel to my book.

In a series of powerful, beautifully written geographically and biographically focused stories, running from the 1860 election to the electric response to Fort Sumter, the rising of the state militias, the horrors of Bull Run, and the first moves toward emancipation at Fort Monroe.

In wonderful narrative form, Goodheart tracks the eruption of Union sentiment and the emergence of Lincoln as president, both so essential to carrying the North through the war. A great read, presenting important perspective on coming of the Civil War. 

Fighting a war required a lot of money, and David Thomson explains how that money was found. His story is surprising. Previous American wars going back to the Revolution had been funded by great merchants and financiers, but fundraising in the Union drew on a new source, by an unexpected figure.

The notorious financier Jay Cooke would later describe his role in organizing huge sales of U.S. war bonds to the American public as his finest hour. Certainly, there were bonds sold in European markets, especially in Germany, but the bulk of the war finance was based on ordinary Americans buying bonds to support the cause for a little old-age security in years to come.

Thompon’s account shows how the surge of Union sentiment that Goodheart describes as a “Civil War Awakening” was translated into a surge of patriotic popular capitalism that anticipated the American experience in the two world wars, fifty-five and eight years later. 

What were the politics of the Union army during the grinding years of the war? How did fighting soldiers, one slice of the complexity of the northern population, feel about the Union and the rising questions of slavery and emancipation? And how was this opinion shaped by a generally conservative officer corps, especially the West Point elite who had trained and served with men who were now leading the Confederate army?

In a prize-winning book, Zachery Fry carefully examines these questions in the Army of the Potomac. He found a consensus on union and a great gradient of opinion on slavery. West Pointers suppressed antislavery views, while antislavery opinion grew in formations led by men coming from the ranks of state militias, either already inclined toward abolitionism or radicalized by their experience of the realities of slavery in the South.

In the end, what unified many Union soldiers in the critical vote for Lincoln in 1864 was the efforts by home-state Democrats in 1862 to deny them the right to vote since they were no longer living at home. Thus, the surprising center of the story of politics in the Union army is a rebellion against the suppression of the votes of serving soldiers, an important lesson for our time.

A number of years ago, when I was reading through a folder of antislavery petitions at the National Archives, I found a misfiled petition asking for federal funding for an agricultural college in Iowa. Ariel Ron demonstrates how this misfiling illustrates a larger story that runs from agriculture in the early republic to the post-Civil War federal bureaucracy, through the priorities of northern farmers: improvement and justice.

Rather than an industrial behemoth, the pre-Civil War North was dominated by farmers who wanted to modernize their production and who moved from a diffuse program of reform to a campaign for federal funding for state agricultural colleges. Already hostile to slavery, they resented the power of southern planters in Congress who consistently blocked their petitions.

Thus, one of the results of the outbreak of war would be the triumph of a long campaign, deeply entwined with antislavery opinion, that resulted in the founding of land-grant universities and the massive Department of Agriculture, the largest and widest-ranging arm of the post-war Federal government.

In September 2017, a new statue was unveiled on the south side of Philadelphia’s City Hall. In contrast to the equestrian statues of Union generals–and former mayor Frank Rizzo (now removed)–to the north of City Hall, this statue commemorated a young Black man who rose to leadership in the South Street neighborhoods of Civil War Philadelphia before he was assassinated during an election riot in 1871.

Biddle and Murray, veteran reporters at the Philadelphia Inquirer, tell a sweeping story of crisis, war, and reconstruction, reaching from the city out across the country, in a powerful narrative focusing on Octavius V. Catto, one of the era’s most tragically lost figures. Catto, the son of a minister who purchased his family’s freedom from slavery in Charleston and settled in Philadelphia, was starting to work as a teacher when the war broke out.

From this position in the Black community, Catto raised a company of Black volunteers and campaigned for both the wider recruitment of Black soldiers and the desegregation of Philadelphia’s streetcars. As a major in the state militia and already a rising force in the Black community, Catto was becoming a power in city politics (and the captain of the city’s premier Black baseball team) as Blacks first voted in Pennsylvania–for the Republican Party–in 1870.

The next year, when riots broke out during the elections, Catto was shot on the street in his neighborhood by an Irish gangster. Biddle and Murray capture in microcosm a central story about the direction race relations would take in northern cities for decades to come, as well as the wider national failings of the Reconstruction era, a bitter closing to the passions of the Civil War.