The Joint Archives Quarterly

Give me research. After all, the truth of anything at all doesn't lie in someone's account of it. It lies in all the small facts of the time. An advertisement in a paper. The sale of a house. The price of a ring. The real history is written in forms not meant as history. In Wardrobe accounts, in Privy Purse expenses, in personal letters, in estate books. If someone, say, insists that Lady Whoosit never had a child, and you find in the account book the entry: "For the son born to my lady on Michaelmas eve: five yards of blue ribbon, fourpence halfpenny" it's a reasonably fair deduction that my lady had a son on Michaelmas eve.

So speaks one of the characters in Elizabeth Mackintosh's historical mystery, The Daughter of Time, (written under the pseudonym, Josephine Tey), in impassioned advocacy of seeking truth through research, rather the reading of history. But just as historians need original documents, the documents need human minds to try to read and understand them, and to consider the questions they suggest. If we encountered the situation described in the excerpt above, we should ask the question, "Why, when the Lady did have a son (as the accountbook entry apparently proves) is there insistence that she did not?" And to seek that answer we would look for other documents, especially letters, written both at the time and later; we would also read histories of the time and later, looking for more information about the Lady and her family and their situation. One document, intriguing because there is an oddity about it, becomes the center of a web that spins out in all directions.

Among the richest. and most complex, resources for information about Albertus Van Raalte and his family are letters preserved in archives. They represent only a small fraction of letters from, to, and about Albertus and Christina Van Raalte and their children that would be of great interest if they had been preserved. The originals of letters which were resources for the recently published Albertus C. Van Raalte: Dutch Leader and American Patriot are held in different archival collections in Michigan, and in New Jersey and the Netherlands as well. Many are written in Dutch, and often translations into English made at different times differ substantially.

In examining an original letter or an exact copy, readers have a challenging task, even if the language is familiar to them. They must decode messsages which are handwritten, often in haste, and sometimes with unusual misspellings; and interpret passages which include unfamiliar idioms and references to people and events well known to the letter's writer and recipient, but unfamiliar today. For researchers, the challenge is thrilling, though friends may find it difficult to understand their excitement at finding puzzling or conflicting passages, and their elation when a puzzle has been satisfyingly solved.

The Civil War period produced a treasure trove of letters. During those years, many young and not-so-young men, "we have 459 men from 18 to 45 years," Albertus Van Raalte wrote, left their homes for the first time. Holland soldiers' earliest letters are often accounts of dazzling experiences in cities hitherto unknown, such as Niles, Michigan, where, one soldier recalled, "we were enthusiastically received, the girls showering us with kisses, flowers and food." In his memoirs, U. S. Grant, commander of the Union armies and later President of the United States, commented on the war's effect on Americans' outlook and language.

Prior to the rebellion the great mass of the people were satisfied to remain near the scenes of their birth. In fact an immense majority of the whole people did not feel secure against coming to want should they move among entire strangers. So much was the country divided into small communities that localized idioms had grown up, so that you could almost tell what section a person was from by hearing him speak. This is all changed now. The war begot a spirit of independence and enterprise. The feeling now is, that a youth must cut loose from his old surroundings to enable him to get up in the world. There is now such a commingling of the people that particular idioms and pronunciations are no longer localized to any great extent.

At the time of the Civil War, many northern states had heterogeneous populations which included sizable immigrant groups. In Holland and elsewhere, men "flocked to the colors before some of them could read the call to arms in the language of their adopted country." Two of Albertus and Christina Van Raalte's sons joined the army in 1862 and were discharged after the war ended in 1865. They wrote to their sister Christine in English and to their parents in Dutch but as the war went on, Dutch and English became intermixed. Dirk Van Raalte's comparison of Kentucky victuals with home cooking is a lively example. "De boeren die komen nu dageliks in," he wrote to his mother, "met brood en boter and pies de stretchen like rubber en hard genoeg for een foundation voor een huis."

"The farmers come in daily in with bread and butter, and pies that stretch like rubber and are hard enough for the foundation of a house." Here the translation is easy, and the researcher has no difficult puzzle to solve, but in fact, has only to note that Dirk Blikman Kikkert Van Raalte, before he was twenty, was giving evidence of the successful politician he was to become: colorful, forceful expression of views which would be likely to please. (Mothers often do not object to having their cooking preferred, and others' disparaged.) However, that same single paragraph contains three reminders of real puzzles which did arise during the study of Van Raalte documents for his biography.

The first puzzle relates to a vivid phrase, used in 1947 by Dutch historian Arnold Mulder, about Hollanders who "flocked to the colors." Today, that idiom is probably not universally familiar; the custom of each army unit having its own flag seems unusual, but it was common practice in the Civil War. In 1862 when the "Holland Rangers" arrived in Allegan, the Allegan Journal reported the event enthusiastically. "The company carried with them a beautiful silk flag, presented to them by the patriotic Ladies of the Colony an Ensign we are sure the brave Hollanders will carry in triumph over Dixie." In the smoke and terror of battle, companies became scattered, but the men could, in the words, of a Civil War song, "rally round the flag." The puzzle for a researcher occurs in a transcription of one of Ben Van Raalte's letters, where there is a reference to capturing "stands of collars." Capturing colors seems as strange as capturing collars unless the history of the time is understood. Ben's obituary stating that he died aged 77 on August 22, 1817, exactly fifty-five years after the day he enlisted in the Union army refers to his daring and courage. "At Utoy Creek, Georgia, the regiment lost two color bearers and the regimental colors were left on the field when the Union troops were driven back. Van Raalte, during the night, crept through the confederate lines, secured the colors, which he brought back to the regiment, and carried them until the close of the war."

A second puzzle for the researcher is related to this factual statement: "Two of Albertus and Christina Van Raalte's sons joined the army in 1862 and were discharged after the war ended in 1865." The statement is true. Nevertheless two letters exist which appear to contradict it, and these letters are from no less an authority than Albertus Van Raalte himself.

"I am not at all proud of the fact that none of my sons has yet taken up arms against rebellion and treason."

"Dirk has no desire or courage. Benjamin has enlisted. It did cost Mrs. Van Raalte a severe struggle but now she has rest."

These archived letters written, respectively, to Van Raalte's brother-in-law Antonie rummelkamp in the Netherlands and to Van Raalte's friend and colleague Philip Phelps would lead to erroneous conclusions if the reader lacked subsequent information about the Van Raalte family during the Civil War period. They illustrate several interesting features of Van Raalte's character and style: he was a prolific letter writer, he wrote from the heart, and he was impulsive. Although they didn't join the army quickly enough to please their father (yet too quickly for their mother's tender heart), Ben Van Raalte enlisted early in the war, aged 22, and Dirk enlisted shortly afterwards, aged 18. Both served bravely; Dirk was seriously wounded and lost his right arm. Albertus Van Raalte would have been chagrined to know that his sons' courage might be doubted in future years simply because his own letters were preserved.

The third puzzle is indicated by the mention of Ben's letters to his younger sister Christine. One of these letters, written in English, has a passage which at first appears pointless or baffling. "The Reb casualties have been heavy in front of Atlanta. A few days ago a lieutenant surrendered and he told us that he couldn't stand the slaughter any more and that Gen. Hood could stand only two more killings. Gen. Howard experienced one of the killings so that leaves only one. Our boys had to laugh to hear the lieutenant talk." Where is the joke? "Killings" apparently doesn't refer to casualties among the soldiers, but then what does it mean? The archived letter presents the puzzle; history books yield the answer, which is explained in Chapter Eight of the new Van Raalte biography, the title of which is an excerpt from one of Ben's letters home: "The poor Rebs who fall into my hands are going to pay for Dirk's arm."

In the horrors of war the jokes are gruesome. Ben and his comrades enjoyed the captured officer's wit: "Hood can stand only two more killings." His remark was especially apt, because the Union troops were fighting under a general who, having "experienced one of the killings" would equal Hood if he had one more. In the Civil War, some officers on both sides continued to fight after losing a leg or an arm, and some were strapped into the saddle after two amputations (as long as the losses were balanced one arm and one leg, on opposite sides). Before Ben and Dirk joined the army, Oliver Howard lost his right arm fighting in Virginia in the spring of 1862, at the bloody Battle of Fair Oaks, fought "amid thick woods and flooded clearings where wounded soldiers had to be propped against fences or stumps to prevent them from drowning in the muck" and the Federal advantage consisted of inflicting six thousand casualties while their own losses were only five thousand. John Bell Hood had a useless left arm resulting from wounds suffered at Gettysburg in July 1863. Two months later he was wounded at Chickamauga and his right leg was amputated. He was a relentless fighter "all lion and no fox," Lee said and his strategy of attacking regardless of the situation or the odds against his forces gained him adulation from the southern press and caused his troops appalling losses.

Praise for the original documents that bring bits of history to life, and the archives that preserve them. Praise also for the histories, written with knowledge and care down through the years, and the historians who present us with a panoramic vision of bygone times and places. Researchers need both.