In 1865 and 1867, William Oland Bourne, a chaplain, poet, hospital volunteer, and editor of the Soldier's Friend, organized contests featuring essays by men who had lost their right arms in the war. Prizes as high as $50 were awarded for literary merit and penmanship by celebrity judges—usually former or current generals. Exhibitions were held displaying the most impressive examples.

These well publicized events alerted Americans to the concept of the "empty sleeve" as an evocative symbol of the valor and sacrifices of Civil War veterans. Although only a tiny fraction of the ca. 1 million men on both sides who were wounded or maimed by combat or illness were actually amputees, their missing limbs captured the public's attention like no other disability. Losing an arm or leg was easy to understand, unlike the more common, "invisible" debilities of chronic dysentery or rheumatism; of course, these heroes should receive pensions and occupy a special place in the pantheon of sacrificial patriots. An important thread in the recent historiography of Civil War veterans has explored the unique challenges facing disabled veterans.[1]

With The Left-Armed Corps, English professor Allison Johnson (San José State Univ.) has provided a companion volume to these studies in her own earlier work.[2] She has an intimate knowledge of the contemporary and historiographical literature on disabled veterans. Her long introduction provides just the right amount of information about the competitions. It (a) frames the themes that emerge in the soldiers' writing, (b) provides a clear and succinct biography of Bourne, from whose papers the essays and much biographical information are drawn, and (c) sketches a little too briefly the contexts of veteran status.

A major purpose of the writing contests, an inescapable undercurrent of this collection, was to inspire men to demonstrate self-reliance, intelligence, and usefulness to the larger society. They would not become burdens on families or governments, but would overcome their disabilities and remain productive citizens. Moreover,

Expanding on the contests' goals, Bourne noted,

In choosing which of the hundreds of entries to publish, Johnson aimed to

The first half of the book details the soldiers' experience, from "Mustering and Marching" and "The Soldiering Life" to "Experiencing Battle" and "Wounding, Amputation, and Recovery." The second half draws on more intimate information: "New Americans," "The Poets," "Politics, Philosophy, and Patriotism," and "Life as One-Armed Men." Some of the essays were edited to eliminate redundancies and shorten purely factual passages unrelated to individual soldiers. Extensive but not intrusive footnotes identify individuals, battles, and medical terms. Appendices list pertinent battles and the writing contest participants with basic information about their service and wounding. The contents of the essays will be familiar to historians of the Civil War soldier experience, though the literary quality of many rises above the typical soldier's memoir. Two chapters in particular stand out.

"Wounding, Amputation, and Recovery" details battlefield wounds and hospital experiences. Though the essayists describe torturous, sometimes multiple, surgeries and setbacks like failed ligatures, infections, and indifferent care at field hospitals, only a few complain. In fact, most professed satisfaction with their honorable sacrifices and looked forward to their futures. One man, who kept his right arm but lost its use, wrote,

"Life as One-Armed Men" is more personal than the other chapters, and more ambiguous as the essayists honestly lay out the struggles they faced as they transitioned into their lives as disabled men. They often question their masculinity even as while putting up a good front. In response to the apparently common suggestion that one-armed soldiers could make a living as bartenders, Jonathan Allison insists,

Some might find these efforts to highlight the successful struggle of disabled men—or, rather, men with a very particular disability—a little ham-handed and even condescending. The emphasis on recovering economic and personal independence, while reflecting the Gilded Age distaste for charity and government aid, will put off modern readers conditioned by overwhelming support for programs dedicated to the treatment and care of disabled veterans. The Civil War generation—disabled soldiers and members of their communities alike—were taught to ignore the handicaps war had inflicted and believe they could support themselves and their families. Yet participants in the left-handed writing contests "underscored their reconfigured bodies and presented the products thereof to the public" (291).

The pithy biographies Johnson provides for these men suggest they succeeded in building good and productive lives. They held rewarding jobs, joined the Grand Army of the Republic, and sometimes served in public office. That said, these were not typical disabled soldiers. They took an aggressive approach to recovery—learning to write with their left hand almost before their right arm had healed. More important, they entered the left-handed writing contests, demonstrating they were still more committed to overcoming their disability than others. Perhaps such determined men were more likely to succeed to begin with than others. That does not lessen the value of this collection, but it does reveal one of its limitations.

Another is that the thoughts of these men were captured at a particular moment in time, when their attitudes and emotions about their positions were still new to them. Most lived for many years with their disabilities, often requiring constant, painful treatment and medication. Again, that is not the fault of the sources, nor does it reduce the potency of the essays. But we must remember that these courageous and eloquent left-handed writers were at the beginning rather than the end of their long journeys through life as disabled old soldiers.

The Left-Armed Corps is a well conceived and edited collection of essays. Its unique insights into the lives of Civil War veterans will inspire future studies of the disabled men who for decades after Appomattox were still America's most potent reminders of the true costs of war.