Monday, January 31, 2022

Possible Partial Fulfillments of D&C 87:4

In D&C 87:4, the so-called "Civil War prophecy," we read that:

 

And it shall come to pass, after many days, slaves shall rise up against their masters, who shall be marshaled and disciplined for war.

 

It is generally believed that this is a prophecy that would be fulfilled after the U.S. Civil War and still in the future from our perspective. Consider the following from standard commentaries on the Doctrine and Covenants:

 

H. Dean Garrett and Stephen E. Robinson, A Commentary on the Doctrine and Covenants, Vol. 3:

 

4. Slaves shall rise up against their masters. The time frame here is the key to understanding this statement. "Many days" after the Civil War and "many days" after the world wars in which Britain and her allies call upon other nations for help, then will slaves rise up against their masters. In chronological context, it will be seen that the reference cannot be to the black slaves of the nineteenth century South, who for the most part did not rise up against their masters, but to all inhabitants of the earth who are in political or economic bondage in a period after the world wars. Brigham Young stated that Joseph Smith and the brethren had been pondering the slavery both of black Africans in the Americas and of all the peoples of the world when this revelation came to him.17 In other terms, a worldwide outbreak of demands for independence and self-determination on the part of every conceivable ethnic, political, racial, economic, linguistic, or religious group will tear the nations of the world apart and engulf the earth in blood and war. We have seen this process at work specifically in such former Communist Bloc countries as Chechnya, Azerbaijan, Bosnia, and so forth. No doubt we will see more in the future.

 

Hyrum M. Smith, Janne M. Sjodahl, Doctrine and Covenants Commentary:

 

In all these important particulars the prophecy has been fulfilled. There are other parts which yet remain unfulfilled, but they, too, will come to pass, in time. "Slaves are to rise up against their masters" (v. 4), and the "Remnant" is to "vex the Gentiles with a sore vexation" (v. 5). There will, finally, be "famine, and plague, and earthquakes, and the thunder of heaven, and the fierce and vivid lightning also," and thus the inhabitants of the Earth will feel the wrath of God (v. 6).

 

Notwithstanding, there were some events in the U.S. Civil War (1861-1865) that would be understood as “partial fulfilments” of D&C 87:4, similar to how Antiochus Epiphanes was a partial fulfillment of Danie's "Abomination of Desolation" prophecy during the Maccabean period. Consider the following excerpts from James Oakes, Freedom Nation: The Destruction of Slavery in the United States, 1861-1865:


Nestled within the larger secession debate over the fate of slavery was a smaller but equally fascinating dispute over what the slaves would do. On January 12, 1861, the same day that William Seward was warning his southern colleagues in the Senate that the salves might take advantage of a civil war by rising in rebellion, a Democratic newspaper in Cleveland dismissed the forecast of salves insurrection as a “popular error” among Republicans. If there is a way, the editors predicted, “no class of beings will be less troublesome than these blacks. Docility is the leading feature of the race.” The slaves “are more happy and contented than any other race of people on the earth.” Left alone, the editor explained, a “pure blooded African . . . has no aspirations for liberty as we understand it.” Republicans started from a very different premise. They generally assumed that African Americans harbored the same instinctive desire for freedom that all human being shared. “Whenever our armies march into the Southern states,” Orville Browning wrote, “the negroes will, of course, flock to our standard—They will rise in rebellion, and strike a blow for emancipation from servitude and to avenge the wrongs of ages. This, “ he declared, “is inevitable.” . . . Traveling through the slaves states in May of 1861, William Howard Russell found that “[n]one of the southern gentlemen have the smallest apprehension of a servile insurrection. They use the universal formula ‘Our Negroes are the happiest, most contented, and most comfortable people on the face of the earth.’” On a plantation in South Carolina, Russell noticed that the “fidelity” of the slaves was “undoubted.” The house, he observed, “breathes an air of security.” The doors and windows were unlocked. There was a single gun on the premises. Here, as elsewhere, the planter had no “dread” of any of his slaves. Near Fort Picks in Florida, Russell struck up a conversation with a slaveholder who had joined the Confederate army, leaving his wife and children “to the care of the niggers.” Aren’t you “afraid of the slaves rising?” Russell asked, ”They’re ignorant poor creatures, to be sure,” the master answered, “but as yet they’re faithful.” Russell heard the same thing in Alabama. “Not the smallest fear is entertained of the swarming black population.” Similar reports came in from farms and plantations across much of the South.

 

But Russell was skeptical of all the talk of loyal slaves. He knew that insurrection panics had erupted across the South during the election campaign and the succession crisis, and he had read recent accounts of slaves murdering their masters—accounts that at the very least suggested more anxiety than the slaveholders were letting on. “There is something suspicious in the content never ending statement that ‘we are not afraid of our slaves,’” Russell observed. He concluded that the slaveholders were relatively unconcerned because southern slave society had made itself into something close to an armed camp. “The curfew and the night patrol in the streets, the prisons and the watch-houses, and the police regulations prove that strict supervision, at all events, is needed and necessary.” As long as the South was able to maintain this police system, Russell believed, it was not surprising that white southerners would feel secure in their own homes.

 

When the war began, the slaveholders’ first instinct was not to lock down their plantations but to beef up the local militias, redouble the slave patrols, organize “home guards,” and enforce the curfews. These were the official and semi-official institutions that maintained order within the plantation by sustaining the master’s authority without. Sheriffs, justices of the peace, and local police were only one part of a much larger network of accomplices who upheld the security of southern slavery. It worked well enough. Slaves resisted in various ways but rarely rose in outright rebellion. They ran away all the time in the Old South, but only a tine fraction of fugitives succeeded in escaping from slavery. It's not surprising that when the war began, so many slaveholders expressed confidence in the security of their system.

 

And yet there were indication that the slaveholders were more anxious than they let on, at least to English reporters. They nervously read reports on disturbances among sales, especially those nearby. Daniel Cobb, a slaveholder in southeastern Virginia, reported no disruption among his own slaves, but he peppered his diary with rumors of insurrection plots and tales of slaves who murdered their masters. He paid close attention to the stories about other peoples’ slaves escaping to Union lines. In January of 1861, Cobb heard that a “bachelor was taken by his servants from his bead at Midnight. Carried out of the house and beat to death with an ax.” Outsiders may have been impressed by open windows and unblocked doors, but Cobb was upset b the news that on the farm where the ax murder took place, “the door was left unfastened by the house Boy.” In March, Cobb reported that “People has several Negroes Runaway &c.” In April he “hurd of several fires round that Could not be accounted for.” By June, as Union forces had begun to establish bases in northern and eastern Virginia, Cobb heard reports of slaves in groups of ten or twenty who “had made there escape.” Daniel Cobb was fifty—too told, he thought, to join the Confederate army. But he made his own contribution to the southern cause by helping to organize a local “Home Guard” to monitor “all misconduct of negroes and low life white people of the County and to keep the state of affair right.” Yet despite all this concern with security—or perhaps because of it—there was no disruption among Cobb’s slaves through the first year, except in November when the Confederate government began impressing some of his slaves to work on local embankments.

 

The slaveholders’ anxiety revealed itself most clearly in their concerns about the ability of government to maintain order. They wrote pleading letters to state and local officials, and even to the new Confederate president. Less than two weeks after the capture of Fort Sumter, Charles Mitchell wrote to Jefferson Davis from Louisiana about the “great fear” of a northern invasion down the Mississippi River and the “sense of insecurity” that was already widespread. There was “a deep seated anxiety in regard to negroes,” a widespread fear that a Yankee invasion would likely provoke a “panic” that could only “be ruinous to our cause.” A week later William H. Lee, of Bell’s Landing, Alabama, wrote to Davis suggesting that the best way to thwart slave insurrection (and alleviate white fears) was for the Confederate government to order all black men “in the army and make them fite.” Barely a month after the war began, George Gayle of Dallas County, Alabama, was already worried that so many of the locals had joined the Confederate army that if any more enlisted, there would not be enough men left “to save ourselves from the horrors of insurrection.” The slaveholders knew that the security of slavery depended on the viability of their government.”

 

This is what made an invading Union army so worrisome—not merely its capacity for physical destruction or even its attractiveness to runaway slaves, but its profound threat to the civil authority in the South. Runaway slaves and insurrection panics were nothing new to southern slave society. This was different, however, because at stake was the South’s ability to police the slave system in the face of an invading army. Union authorities claimed that northern invasion of the Confederacy was necessary to restore “civil authority” to those parts of the Southern where it had ceased to function properly—that is, loyally. Hence, the U.S. Army had to be sent in to fill the presumed void. This means that whatever else the Union army was, it was not an extension of the slaveholders’ authority. If the sectional conflict proved anything, it was that the slaveholders’ power was ultimately political power.

 

The slaves could hardly remain unaware of this, if only because their masters were so often indiscreet. During the 1860 election campaign, observers noticed that the “colored population” of Georgia was “manifesting an unusual interest in politics, and the result of the Presidential election.” In Macon “every political speech” attracted “a number of negroes” who “managed to linger around and hear what the orators say.” Thomas Johnson, a Virginia slave, recalled that in 1860 “there was a great excitement in Richmond over the election of Mr. Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States. The slaves prayed to God for his success, and they prayed very especially the night before the election. We knew he was in sympathy with the abolition of Slavery. The election was the signal for a great conflict for which the Southern States was ready.” Further South, George Womble in Talbot County, Georgia, overheard his owner declare that “he was going to join the army and bring Abe Lincoln’s head back for a soap dish. He also said that he would wade in blood up to his neck and keep the slaves from being freed.” In Montgomery, Alabama, the governor gave an impromptu speech “in which he dwelt on Southern Rights, Sumter, victory, and abolitiondom,” while nearby “[t]here were a number of blacks listening.” The slaves have “been talking a great deal about Lincoln freeing the servants,” A Mississippi mistress worried in her diary in May of 1861. The slaveholders made no attempt to disguise the fact that they had seceded because Abraham Lincoln had been elected president. When he was a young slave in Georgia, Levi Branham recalled, one of his “young masters” told him about the 1860 election and said “that if Mr. Abe Lincoln was elected the negroes would be free. Then he asked me if I wanted to be free and I told him ‘yes.’” How would the slaves not know what was going on? (James Oakes, Freedom Nation: The Destruction of Slavery in the United States, 1861-1865 [New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2013], 84-89)

 

On June 10, 1861, six slaves from Howard County, Maryland, escaped to nearby Washington, where they found a regiment of Union soldiers from Connecticut. Clearly aware of the politics of the sectional crisis, the fugitives declared—or so a Union officer reported—that their masters were “secessionists in sentiment and opinion and members of secret military organizations hostile to the Government.” The runaways thereby created a dilemma for Alfred H. Terry, the colonel in charge of the regiment. Maryland was a loyal state, yet many of the state’s slaveholders sympathized with the South. If what the fugitives were saying was correct, could Colonel Terry send them back to their traitorous owners? Slaves in Kentucky made the same claim under similar circumstances. In November, shortly after Union troops arrived in the state, ten runaways appeared at Camp Nevin claiming that “there masters are rank Secessionists, in some cases in the rebel army—and that Salves of union men are pressed into service” for the Confederate. Like the Maryland counterpart, the Union commander in Kentucky, Brigadier General Alexander McD. McCook, was not sure how to respond. Despite the pro-southern sympathies of many of the state’s slaveholders, Kentucky had not seceded from the Union. McCook had “no faith in Kentucky’s loyalty” but no particular interest in helping slaves escape, especially if it might weaken the unionists in the states. What, he asked his superiors, was he supposed to do? Slaves often had good reason to believe that their master’s disloyalty would justify their emancipation. During the first summer of the war, a black woman who “absconded the premises of her master” was captured and returned to her owner, only to run away a second time. Brought before a provost judge, she “complained of certain bad treatment from her master.” Her owner, having refused to swear his loyalty to the Union, was barred from testifying. The slave “was liberated and her master sentenced to be incarcerated.”

 

Denouncing their masters as “secessionists” was only one of the ways escaping slaves tailored their biographies to suit the criteria for freedom established by different Union commanders in different Border States. Where Union troops were under orders to exclude slaves from their camps, fugitives often presented themselves as free blacks. In late 1861, Major George Waring examined the blacks working in a Union army camp in Rolla, Missouri, and found “they all stoutly asserted that they were free.” Unable to disprove their claim, though he realized it could not possibly have been true, Warring was unwilling to risk expelling free blacks. By claiming they were already free, the refugees evaded the order to keep “fugitive slaves” from Union camps.

 

Slaves often provided northern troops with important military intelligence about the location of rebel troops or their supply depots, and Union officers were extremely reluctant to turn over such slaves to their owners. Two slaves in Fulton, Missouri—to give but one example—proved such useful guides and had provided so much “valuable information” to the Union army that General John M. Schofield “permitted them to remain under the protection of our troops. To drive them from the camp,” he explained, “would subject them to severe punishment, perhaps death.” Beyond the immediate value of slaves who provided military intelligence, there was the increasingly urgent question of the military value of slaves to the rebels. “Every negro returned to these traitors adds strength to their cause,” one Missourian explained to the secretary f war in December of 1861. Why, he wondered, would the U.S. Army waste precious resources “hunting up & guarding the slaves of traitors while the secessionists are robbing & plundering loyal men in the western part of the state?” (Ibid., 167-69)

 

Once authorized by the proclamation, black enlistment began swiftly, accelerated steadily, and became organized. On January 13, 1863, Secretary of War Stanton authorized General Daniel Ullman “to raise a brigade (of four regiments) of Louisiana volunteer infantry.” They would serve three-year enlistments of the duration of the war. Exactly the same order went out, on exactly the same day, to Colonel James Montgomery, instructing him to raise “a regiment of South Carolina volunteer infantry.” Two days later the adjutant general authorized the governor of Rhode Island to raise “an infantry regiment of volunteers of African descent.” On January 26, Stanton himself authorized Governor John Andrew of Massachusetts to do the same. These last instructions to northern governors would eventually produce a regiment of free blacks from several northern states that became famous as the Massachusetts Fifty-Fourth. By the end of January, General Saxton was reporting the successful organization of the First Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers and urging his superiors in Washington to let the men prove themselves in battle, thus “giving them a chance to strike a blow for the country and their own liberty.”

 

Yet despite the alacrity with which blacks were recruited, the Union army never treated them as the equal of white soldiers. Black regiments were strictly segregated and nearly always commanded by whites. At the outset, black soldiers were paid—when they were paid at all—at a lower rate than white soldiers. Not until June of 1864 did Congress abolish the distinction in pay for black and white soldiers. Even after that, most black soldiers found the traditional avenues to promotion blocked. Long after they had proved themselves in combat, black regiments were often relegated to garrison duty or manual labor. Meanwhile Confederate captors refused to treat black soldiers as legitimate prisoners of war. Former slaves captured in uniform were to be re-enslaved, their officers were to be executed, and though the Confederate government did not officially sanction mass executions it did almost nothing to punish the southern troops who massacred black prisoners.

 

Hoping to thwart the mistreatment of black prisoners, Lincoln issued an order of retaliation in July of 1863, and subsequently halted all prisoner exchanges until the Confederates agreed to treat black Union soldiers as legitimate prisoners of war. Helleck urged Grant to use his influence and prestige to combat racial “prejudice” within the Union army, and in speech after speech, Lorenzo Thomas warned white soldiers that they would be punished for racial intolerance. Racial prejudice within the ranks did seem to diminish. White soldiers who were initially hostile to black troops often came to admire them. (Ibid., 379-80)

 

In theory the Union was committed to universal emancipation in the seceded states, but in practice its armies could not possible emancipate three million slaves in the areas covered by the Emancipation Proclamation. If nothing else the Confederate counterrevolution ensured that untold numbers of slaves would never make it to the freedom they were promised once they entered Union lines. Even without fierce resistance from the slaveholders, though, universal emancipation would have been impossible to achieve in practice. Congress would pass a law freeing the slaves of all rebels, and Lincoln could proclaim emancipation everywhere in the rebel states, but not even the Union army at full strength could make that happen. Most slaves never reached Union lines, and Union troops never reached most of the slaves. If Lincoln was right, if the only guarantee of post-war freedom was actual physical emancipation during the war, most slaves would still be enslaved when the war was over.

 

“WHAT SHALL I DO WITH THE NEGROES?”

 

And yet black men enlisted by the tens of thousands. Families and communities uprooted themselves. For the chance of freedom they risked separation from their loved ones, reprisal by their masters, capture by the Confederates, and indifference or worse from their Union liberators. The Union army was never prepared for them. From the earliest months of the war Union officers were daunted by the numbers of contrabands coming into their lines. A steady stream of pleading letters flew up the military chain of command all of the time asking the same question: What am I do to with them? Many arrived half-starved after strenuous escapes or having borne the brunt of wartime shortages to their own farms and plantations. After complaining the most slaves seemed unwilling to escape his lines, even General Sherman was soon overwhelmed by those who did some. A year earlier General Frémont had boldly declared the emancipation of all rebel-owned sales in Missouri, Sherman noted ruefully, but how would he have responded to the vast number of “refugee negros” now streaming into Union camps? “What could he do with them?” They were “free,” he admitted, “but freedom don’ clothe them, feed them & shelter them.” From Louisiana, General Benjamin Butler sent letters to Washington wondering how he could provide food and shelter to the tens of thousands of freed people, even as his own commissary was providing rations for thousands of starving whites. John Eaton, father up the Mississippi Valley, raised the same issue. Aware of the looming humanitarian disaster, Lincoln administration officials, including Lincoln himself, ordered Union generals to provide the freed people with food and shelter from army supplies. By the second year of the war the military was feeding tens of thousands of freed men and women and desperately trying to find shelter for them. It was the largest program to provide direct aid to individuals the federal government had ever undertaken. (Ibid., 416-17)

 

By 1862 the number of slaves flooding into Union lines was so great that the government was transferring them to “contraband camps” in all parts of the South occupied by the army. Freed people arrived in steady numbers, often in boatloads. On a single day in October of 1862, three hundred and sixty emancipated slaves arrived in Washington from Virginia, “having at different times made their ways within our lines. They were immediately sent to the contraband camp.” In November there were reportedly more than five hundred contrabands in the camp. In May of 1863, six hundred and fifty more contrabands arrived in Washington from Aquia Creek in a single afternoon. Quickly overwhelmed, the camps soon became notorious for their filth, disease, and criminal violence. Drinking water polluted by the sewage led to outbreaks of dysentery. In December of 1862, the overcrowded contraband camp in Cincinnati, Ohio, was described as “disgraceful to barbarism.”

 

The Emancipation Proclamation only worsened the problem by increasing the numbers. IN early 1863, visitors to the camp in the District of Columbia were warned “not to enter because smallpox was prevalent there.” By then there were three thousand people living in the camp, with as many as twenty dying each day. As long as the epidemic raged, no one was permitted to leave the camp, and the criminal element began preying on the desperate. Gangs of angry whites sometimes attacked the contraband camps. In June of 1862, the Union cavalry was dispatched to the camp in Washington to put down an assault by “some disorderly whites.” Conservatives complained that blacks were living in “idleness” at the expense of the taxpayer. More reliable accounts described the inhabitants of the camps as “suffering intensely, many without bed covering & having to use any bits of carpeting to cover themselves—Many dying of want.” By late 1863 and 1864, conditions in some of the camps improved as Union officials became familiar with the problems and as private relief agencies pitched in to help. Federal officials set up “model” camps, notably Freedman’s Village in Arlington, Virginia, on the confiscated state of Robert E. Lee’s wife. It is not clear, however, that there was general improvement over time, if only because the numbers of contrabands grew exponentially and the army remained overwhelmed.

 

The alternative to the camps—or at least the alternative that came immediately to the minds of antislavery Republicans—was to put the former slaves back to work as free laborers. Though “able-bodied male contrabands” could enlist in the Union army, Lincoln admitted, “the rest are in confusion and destruction.” Rather than let him suffer in camps, it would be better for the Union army to locate abandoned plantations and “put as many contrabands on such, as they will hold—that is, as can drew subsistence from them.” Loyal owners could employ them “on wages, to be paid to the contrabands themselves.” Responding to Lincoln’s suggestion in March of 1863, General Stephen Hurlbut ordered two large contraband camps on the Mississippi River “to be broken up, and all the negroes not in the actual service of the United States will be sent to Island no. 10 and set to work.” This, at least, was more consistent with general Republican Party principles. If emancipation meant anything, it meant not contraband camps or colonization but free labor.

 

Yet even as General Hurlbut was closing down contraband camps and sending the freed people to work for wages on abandoned plantations, other Union officers were rounding up unemployed freed people on the streets of New Orleans and Memphis and sending them to contraband camps to earn their own “subsistence.” In an attempt to prevent the recapture and re-enslavement of freed people, the Union army, especially in the Mississippi Valley, forcibly removed thousands of contrabands from their farms and plantations to areas at a safe distance from the Confederates—not only onto islands in the Mississippi River but also to Memphis and sometimes as far away as Cincinnati. (Ibid., 419-20)