The Cost of War
Library of Congress
Do we really know the cost of war? Can we begin to fathom it?
Estimates from historians and statisticians list the numbers of those killed in the Civil War, but they are only estimates. The numbers of killed vary from 620,000 to 820,000. The global deaths from World Wars I and II number in the tens of millions.
We will never really know how many were killed in any of the wars, how many were terribly wounded and died early deaths because of it, how many died of illnesses contracted from prisoner of war camps who died during the conflict and shortly afterward.
The numbers of dead are really only part of the equation.
One journalist recorded after the Battle of Gettysburg that every death notice causes “a lightning bolt to the heart” to those who lost a son, a brother, a husband, a father. Millions are affected by the shock and grief of losing someone so dear to them – and that grief never really ebbs.
So many widows were made because of the war. Two examples were young married women whose husbands were slain at Gettysburg. Clara O’Rorke had just married her childhood sweetheart, Patrick, in June 1863. Weeks later, he was killed on Little Round Top while leading a charge down the western slope. Clara became a nun, and lived many decades alone, not only without her husband, but without any family the couple might have had. A similar fate occurred for Elizabeth Vincent, the wife of Union brigade commander Strong Vincent, who was mortally wounded not far from where O’Rorke was shot. He lived until the next day, leaving his expectant wife bereft of her husband. Weeks after Gettysburg, their daughter, Blanche, was born. The child died, and Mrs. Vincent lived for fifty years without them. Fortunately for her, Vincent’s brother, who was an Episcopal minister, took her in. She took care of the youngest Vincent brother who had special needs.
There were many widows and orphans who were even less fortunate.
A Gettysburg civilian file relates the sad story of Ephraim Whisler, who, because of ill health was discharged early from the Union army. He, his wife, and their two sons lived on the Chambersburg Pike just outside of the Borough of Gettysburg. When the battle erupted on the morning of July 1, 1863, the booming sound of cannon and musketry shocked Mr. Whisler to such a degree that he suffered a stroke. Bedridden for several weeks, he died in August. He left a family, bereft of not only his presence, but his ability to provide. The children were considered orphans and were left to.
The same was true for the children of slain soldiers whose wives had no family to help, as most had no profession or property to help them financially survive. One case from Gettysburg was Private George Nixon, from Chillicothe, Ohio, who served in the 73rd Ohio regiment. He was mortally wounded not far from Cemetery Hill, and died on July 14th. His grave is found in the Ohio section of the Soldiers’ National Cemetery. Although his wife was living, his children were nevertheless sent to an orphanage. His great-grandson, Richard Nixon, felt the effects like many other descendants whose fathers and grandfathers were embittered from the losses.
Some widows remarried. They needed to, so that they could keep their children, and have a place to raise them.
Dr. Charles Taft was a young surgeon during the Civil War. He happened to be in attendance at Ford’s Theater the night of Lincoln’s assassination. He was the first to reach the private Presidential box by climbing up the way the assassin, Booth, had jumped down. He helped carry the dying President to the Peterson house across the street, and was one of the two doctors who remained with Lincoln until the President died the following morning. Taft’s sister, Julia, in her book Tad Lincoln’s Father, remembered that, during that awful vigil, a window was left open to alleviate the heat generated from the crowd in the room. Lilac bushes were situated under that open window, and their strong scent wafted through the upper room of the house. For the rest of his life, whenever Dr. Taft encountered the fragrance of lilacs, he felt physically sick – the lilacs triggered that terrible memory of that awful April night in 1865.
What about the cost endured by those who survived the war?
Post-traumatic stress disorder was just as disabling for survivors of the Civil War as it is for survivors of traumatic experiences today. Private Homer Wilson, who served in the 78th New York Infantry, is one example. He was engaged in almost all of the battles in which his regiment participated, including the Battle of Gettysburg. He was one of those whom people would consider lucky, as he survived the war without a wound.
He was never the same after the war. Seeing his comrades shot, disfigured, and dying while he continued through the war without a scratch did something terrible to him. He simply could not function after 1865. He tried to go on. He married, became the father of three children, and eventually deserted them. He wandered around the western United States, never settling anywhere permanently. He died of a rattlesnake bite while panning for gold in California. His wife had managed to make a living for herself and her children by teaching school in Montana territory, until the state learned she had a living husband and fired her. The family struggled for their entire lives because he was not there to help them.
My husband and I took Homer’s great-grandson, an old gentleman whom my husband knew from childhood, around the battlefield several years ago. Mr. Wilson shared the story of his ancestor and the sorrowful circumstances of his family after the war. We brought Mr. Wilson to the 78th/102nd New York Infantry monument on Culp’s Hill. He leaned close to the memorial, placed his hands upon it, put his head down and wept. We stood back and watched his shoulders heave as he sobbed for the man he never knew, whose life was ruined because of the Civil War.
How many thousands were just like him?
Dwight D. Eisenhower was an unusual general officer because he actually cared about the numbers of young men who would die in World War II, and he was determined to keep that number as low as possible. The reason? He and Mamie had lost their firstborn son, age three, to scarlet fever. In his memoir At Ease, pages 181-182, Ike related that losing his son was “a tragedy from which we never recovered.” He explained that it was “the greatest disappointment of my life...when I think of it, even now as I write of it, the keenness of our loss comes back to me as fresh and as terrible as it was in that long dark day soon after Christmas in 1920.”
When Ike became the Supreme Allied commander in Europe during World War II, he did not attack Hitler immediately. From his arrival in Great Britain to the Allied invasion on D-Day, General Eisenhower spent two years training and preparing his troops, using every tactic available to not only ensure success but to keep the casualties to a minimum. He knew the terrible effects of losing a loved one – one who should have had the chance to a full life. The general wanted to spare as many parents, spouses, and children as possible. He was continually hounded and criticized for not immediately attacking the Nazis. Even with his careful preparation, thousands of young men still died. That lightning bolt across the heart still penetrated far too many all over the world.
When General Eisenhower became President of the United States, he worked tirelessly to keep peace in the world. He did so because he wanted young people to live. He worked with the United Nations, visited Europe and Asia to promote peace, and started the People-to-People student ambassador program to allow young people visit other nations and establish friendships. He worked with Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev, inviting him to his Gettysburg farm, hoping to end the Cold War. The Cold War came anyway, but President Eisenhower’s legacy of promoting peace endures.
My cousin regularly sees a therapist. During one session her psychiatrist divulged that much of the American populace are still dealing with the losses and fallout from the Civil War. My cousin is one of them.
That is quite a statement. The war ended over one hundred and sixty years ago. How can it still affect us?
The deaths of so many across the vast nation, and the misery of so many who mourned them, have caused generational anguish.
And yet wars keep erupting. They continue to take away so many in their ghastly claws, those who should have been able to live a full life.
Do we know the cost of war?
The answer is no. The numbers are exponential and seemingly endless.
If only peace could last.
Pass the word.
