VOLUME XXXV       MAY 2021       ISSN 1530-4132

VOLUME XXXV       MAY 2021

In This Issue:

Prof. Nicole Etcheson has graciously allowed IMFA to print the introduction to her history, A Generation at War: The Civil War in a Northern Community.

Her book is available for purchase at the Kansas University Press website: https://kansaspress.ku.edu/978-0-7006-1797-5.html

The Murder of Martha Mullinix

In the spring of 1857, Greenbury O. Mullinix brutally murdered his teen-age wife, Martha Ann. A bride of less than a month, Martha was the seventeen-year-old daughter of David Sublett, a local farmer. Wielding an axe, her assailant, who was probably standing in front of her, smashed her skull. After she fell against the brick hearth, the murderer continued to strike the side and back of her head, gouging wounds an inch deep. Bleeding profusely, the poor girl was still alive when her husband’s brother-in-law and cousin reached her. By the time the local physician, Daniel W. Layman, arrived an hour later, she was dead.1

Greenbury’s family had strong local ties, having been among the earliest settlers of Putnam County, Indiana, where Greenbury was born in 1832. His grandfather had moved to the county in the 1820s from North Carolina, a migration pattern from the upland South common in the county’s settlement. Greenbury’s father died when the future murderer was only two years old. Although Greenbury had several aunts and uncles on his father’s side, Jonathan Mullinix became closest to his orphaned nephew. Indeed, Jonathan strove so hard to help Greenbury that a newcomer to Putnam County mistook him for the murderer’s father. The large Mullinix family prospered in the county. Jonathan owned real estate worth $3,640, well above the county average, and several relatives served in local office in the pre-Civil War period. Even Greenbury himself was not doing badly. In 1850, the teen-age Greenbury lived in Greencastle, the county seat, where he worked as a baker. The census listed him as owning $1,300 in real estate, placing him near the middle of the local property owners. The trial record described him as a laborer, but he had been elected constable of Washington Township a year earlier. His term ended the month he killed his wife.2

The Sublett family lived about 4 miles away from the Mullinixes. David Sublett had been born in Kentucky. He, his wife, Mary, and their five oldest children had migrated to Indiana within a couple years of Martha’s birth in 1840. The Subletts were thus a generation later than the Mullinix family in settling in Putnam County. Perhaps this late arrival explains why they were noticeably less prosperous than the Mullinixes. In 1850, David owned only $400 in real estate, putting him in the bottom third of property owners. Martha’s alliance with Greenbury may have seemed a chance to marry into a more prosperous, better-established local family. The Subletts lost their farm a few years after their daughter’s death.3

Twenty-five-year-old Greenbury was not a large man. At 5 feet 9 inches and weighing only 125 pounds, he was described as “slender” with light brown hair and light-colored eyes, either gray or blue. He was sloppy in his personal appearance, wearing pants without suspenders and a cap set back on his head. The new husband initially claimed that an unknown intruder had attacked Martha while he was feeding the hogs. Later, he changed his story, recalling that it was his horse he had been feeding, perhaps because a neighbor contradicted his hog-tending story. Greenbury pleaded not guilty “in emphatic terms” at his October trial, for which at least fifty potential jurors had been summoned. The jury required only an hour and a half to dispense with the defense’s argument of insanity, sentencing Greenbury to death for first-degree murder. Defense lawyers John A. Matson and Delana Williamson moved for a new trial, but Judge James M. Hanna refused to grant it. On October 16, Hanna sentenced Greenbury Mullinix to be “hanged by the neck until dead.”4 Mullinix was stoic. Upon sentencing, he said, “It’s a hard dose, and I might as well take it now.” Sarcastically, he told the judge, “I thank you for the execution.”5

Greenbury’s uncle made a desperate, but unavailing, attempt to save his nephew’s life. Jonathan Mullinix petitioned the governor, urging him to commute the sentence to life on the grounds that Greenbury was insane. Between 200 and 300 men signed the petition, testifying to a general consensus that Greenbury was not normal—or perhaps to the connections of the Mullinix family or even to conscientious objections to the death penalty. On November 19, which should have been Greenbury’s last full day on earth, Governor Ashbel P. Willard granted a month’s stay, allowing the defense time to make an appeal to the state supreme court.6

The stay of execution procured by Jonathan Mullinix provoked “intense excitement” in the county. The last execution for murder had been sixteen years earlier. (Coincidentally, Jonathan had been a juror in that case.) Novelty as well as the brutality of the slaying doubtless prompted the attention it received. Tom Walpole, the Indianapolis lawyer hired by Jonathan, together with the governor’s private secretary and two other men went to Greencastle to get the trial transcript. They left town immediately, as a “feeling of mob violence” prevailed in reaction to the governor’s meddling. After Sheriff William Farrow read the governor’s stay of execution, Rev. E. W. Fisk and Capt. W. H. Thornburgh, a respected local merchant, spoke, “calling on the people to submit quietly and avoid mob violence.” Although the majority agreed, “some few cried ‘hang him,’ and then there was a rush. The jail was soon surrounded by a large multitude.” The sheriff ordered a small party of men, armed with fixed bayonets, to protect the jail. The mob was unorganized, and the show of force stopped them.7 A professor at Indiana Asbury University, Miles Fletcher, knew how close to violence the mob had come. He wrote his father, “Our citizens of all parties are very indignant.” Fletcher believed that the greatest deterrent to a lynching was the expectation that the legal authorities would carry out the execution. He was “certain that if the Sheriff does not hang the man on the day appointed, the people [will].”8

Putnam’s citizens got their wish. Jonathan Mullinix’s efforts gained Greenbury only a respite. The state supreme court never received the evidence, perhaps because the locals had prevented Walpole and his cohort from getting the transcript. Moreover, Mullinix’s attorneys had failed to file a bill of exception with the judge specifying errors made during his trial. In the absence of the evidence—and especially without the bill of exception—the Indiana Supreme Court affirmed the lower court’s judgment. On the morning of December 18, a dark and cloudy day on which a light rain fell, Greenbury Mullinix was hanged.9

The last execution in the county had been in 1841 and had been public. By the late 1850s, however, Northern sensibilities increasingly rejected the deterrence value of public executions and deplored their brutality. But crowds still gathered hoping to satisfy their curiosity. Miles Fletcher even invited his younger sister, Lucy, to “visit me, & see the ‘hanging.’” Although the execution was to be private, Miles thought they could get a view from an overlooking building or that his friendship with Sheriff Farrow would gain them admittance and even allow Lucy to meet the murderer. Either Lucy was less eager than her brother to see a hanging or their father did not consider this outing suitable for a teen-age girl because she does not appear to have made the visit. Despite the fact that the sheriff had erected an enclosure to prevent the public from seeing the execution, people came by train, horseback, and carriage. The streets, especially near the jail, “were thronged with a moving mass of human beings, eager to gratify curiosity.” The sheriff admitted only witnesses to the execution.10

Mullinix proved defiant to the end. On the scaffold, he protested his innocence. When the sheriff tied his hands, placed a hood over his head, and fastened the rope around his neck, he said to the sheriff, “Bill, that is rather tight,” and he laughed a “big laugh.” It was as well he maintained his equanimity because the first attempt to hang him failed when the rope broke. Mullinix landed on his feet and walked a few yards before being led back to the scaffold. The authorities let his body hang for over half an hour before declaring him dead and taking the corpse down.11

The hanging of Greenbury O. Mullinix was the last execution in Putnam County, although the murder of Martha Mullinix was certainly not the last violent death. The next spectacular murder, of a young husband and wife, occurred in Groveland on the night of January 6-7, 1861, and when the case went to trial in April, it had to compete for attention with the beginning of the Civil War. In that case, Tilghman H. and Lydia W. Hanna were murdered in their beds with an axe, with their infant child left alive between them. Suspicion soon focused on Robert G. H. “Harper” Evans. Sentenced to life, Evans escaped from the state prison at Jeffersonville before the end of the Civil War and disappeared. Rumors about sightings of him persisted in the county for many years. A robbery and arson spree that occurred in Groveland in 1865 was blamed on Harper Evans, supposedly returned to exact revenge on those who had testified against him.12

The Hanna murders shared characteristics with Martha Mullinix’s slaying. Harper Evans and his victims were well-established county residents. Like Martha Mullinix, nineteen-year-old Lydia Williamson Hanna appeared to have married into a family of slightly higher status than her own.13 Although the murderer, a youth of twenty, “neither look[ed] vicious, cruel, nor hardened,” he shared the bad character of Greenbury Mullinix. He was described as profane, “a prodigal and reprobate youth, disobedient to parents, of bad habits and evil associations.” Evans was depicted as indifferent to his mother’s feelings just as Greenbury Mullinix had allegedly been four years earlier.14

The murder of Martha Mullinix would have been just another sordid crime that occasionally marred Putnam County’s tranquility except that Miles Fletcher made it into a commentary on the county’s politics and society. Writing for an Indianapolis Republican newspaper, Fletcher exploited Martha’s death to indict the Democratic party and advance the temperance cause. Mental illness, alcohol, and economic strain often contributed to spousal violence.15 All three factors probably played a part in the Mullinix murder, but locals did not use her death to campaign against domestic violence or address mental illness or the strains on marriage that certainly must have existed given the dismal economic times brought about by the Panic of 1857. Miles Fletcher, an up-and-coming young politician, turned the murder into a saga of Democratic iniquity, even as the capital’s Democratic newspaper condemned “the infinitessimal littleness and meanness” of the Republican paper’s treatment of Greenbury Mullinix, “this unfortunate man,” and emphasized that he had “protested his innocence to the last.”16

First, Fletcher attacked Democratic corruption. Although Jonathan Mullinix was initially rebuffed upon approaching Governor Willard, he gained entrée, Fletcher alleged, by engaging the services of lawyer Walpole, reputedly a drinking buddy of the governor’s, for the considerable fee of $500. Fletcher faulted the Democratic governor not only for refusing “the heart broken father”—here, Fletcher misidentified Jonathan Mullinix—but also for granting the stay of execution “to a favorite who has been paid to get it.” For that hefty fee, he said, Walpole persuaded the governor to grant the month’s respite. Democrats, however, insisted that no bribes had been paid and that Governor Willard had acted correctly in allowing the defense lawyers time to make their case to the supreme court.17 Though not without their own ethical lapses, members of the infant Republican party saw themselves as less corrupt than the Democrats. They pointed to President James Buchanan’s administration as a particularly egregious example: the president or those close to him bribed or coerced politicians and overlooked electoral fraud in Kansas Territory. As Miles Fletcher was writing, Republicans were pressing the corruption issue at the national level.18

The Mullinixes were Democrats, and local Republicans believed that the Mullinix family represented all that was wrong with the Democratic Party. Jonathan Mullinix not only voted Democratic but was also “a person without education, opposed to free schools, and destitute of any liberal ideas concerning society, religion or government. His associations, chiefly, during life have been such as a person of his cast of mind would naturally choose—those who would be to him ‘kindred spirits.’”19 The use of the word spirits may have been an intentional pun, for local Whigs and Republicans saw alcohol as a central component of the Democratic ethos, and Fletcher further reported that Jonathan Mullinix and even Greenbury’s grandfather were “drunkards.”20

Republicans emphasized the role of alcohol in the murder. A leading citizen of Putnam and neighbor of the Mullinix family, A. D. Hamrick, maintained that the murder showed the necessity of protecting “the young of our land from the demon of INTEMPERANCE.”21 Fights involving alcohol were a common occurrence and were regularly reported in the local newspaper and private correspondence. But though alcohol no doubt contributed to the mayhem, Greenbury lived in a violent culture. Even temperance men went armed, and “a quarrel about some trivial matter” could result in wounds from canes or bowie knives. Miles Fletcher himself once responded to an alcohol-fueled fight at a concert between town youth and college students by asking his brother to send him a revolver.22 Greenbury Mullinix’s use of an axe against his wife was indeed considered a heinous crime, but he lived in a community where stabbing and shooting “affrays” between men occurred frequently.

It is not known whether Greenbury had been drinking on the morning Martha died, but there is reason to believe that he trafficked in liquor. Elijah Edward Evans, who had been a student at Indiana Asbury almost a decade earlier, penciled a poem in response to the news of Martha Sublett Mullinix’s death:

The Salt Creek spring forever flows
And its waters taste of rye
And the Salt Creek boys who visit it
Are always on a “high.”

And some who wish their fellow men
This beverage to share
Have bottled it up in barrels huge
And sent it every where

And though perchance the license law
It is got them in a fix
Still we may draw potations deep
Ex parte Mullinix*________

(*Greenberry Mulinix (now dead rest his soul) sold corn juice by the jigger—pint—or quart*)23

Greenbury Mullinix, his grandparents, and a cousin were defendants in suits concerning the illegal sale of alcohol from the 1830s through the 1870s.24 And in addition to being intemperate, the murderer smoked tobacco and used “profane language,” even on the day before his execution. Although Jonathan Mullinix was a “hardshell Baptist,” another marker of Democratic affiliation, his nephew seemed unconcerned with religion and uninterested in spiritual consolation from the Presbyterian and Methodist ministers who attended him during his imprisonment and at the gallows. Harper Evans also showed moral indifference, had a jocular attitude, and used profanity—formulaic sins attributed commonly to criminals.25 In the Mullinix case, Fletcher made these peculiarly Democratic faults.

As much as Fletcher saw the Mullinix murder as a condemnation of immorality, especially drinking, he also viewed it as a commentary on gender roles. Greenbury felt more comfortable in the male realm of the doggery, or saloon, than in the female realm of domesticity. William T. Good, who was married to Greenbury’s sister, testified to problems in the Mullinix marriage. On the night before the murder, Good had seen Greenbury and Martha at the home of other relatives. Greenbury told Good that he intended to emigrate because he disliked maintaining a household. When Good asked if he meant to take Martha, Greenbury replied, “‘No, he’d be d—d if he would; he would leave her here.’” It was common to leave a wife behind while establishing oneself in a new country, but Greenbury’s vehemence suggested that the couple’s newlywed bliss had quickly eroded. One witness, Stephen Harvy, testified that he had overheard Greenbury “abusing his wife. He said ‘you d—d bitch, I’ll slap hell out of you.’ She appeared to be crying.” Looking into the house, Harvy saw Greenbury with “a stick in his hand, [he] struck it on the floor, and said ‘you G—d d—d bitch, I’ll knock your head off of you.’”26 Greenbury even admitted to problems in his marriage in order to make a bizarre claim to self-defense. He said “that he acted only in self-defense in committing the deed;—that if he had not killed her when he did that she would have poisoned him, and thus ended his life,—and that God would punish no man for committing murder in self-defense.”27

Martha, however, was described as a “retiring girl, of a modest, gentle disposition.” She was uneducated, and her family “associations were not of the best character,” perhaps indicating the struggling nature of David Sublett’s position in the county. But Mullinix was depicted as “a bad, corrupt man,” who kept company with unchaste women, possibly contracting a venereal disease and infecting Martha. He had maligned the virtue of his mother and sisters and was indifferent to the pain he caused his family.28 Martha may not have been an exemplar of “true womanhood,” but the qualities of modesty, reticence, and gentleness that were attributed to her were characteristics held to belong to women. It was her desire to establish a home that angered her husband, and it was at her own hearth that she died. If she was in fact ready to abandon the woman’s sphere of the home, it was because of abuses no woman should bear. It was Greenbury who failed to accept proper gender roles. He associated with loose women, not true women. He had little regard for the feelings of any women, including his mother. And he rejected the man’s role as provider and intended to go west and leave Martha behind. Although Greenbury obviously crossed the line by murdering his young wife, Stephen Harvy apparently did not think to intervene when he heard him swear at Martha and threaten her. It is likely that others in the Mullinix and Sublett families knew of Martha’s treatment as well, but there is no evidence that anyone tried to help her before it was too late.

In the course of the murder trial, gender and generational roles assumed significance. Greenbury was shown to be indifferent not only to his mother’s feelings but also to male authority. Judge Hanna, it seems, had irritated the defendant by a long speech from the bench in which he highlighted testimony that Greenbury was disobedient, presumably to his uncle Jonathan. Society frequently invoked a failure to obey parents—along with drinking, swearing, and keeping low company—to explain criminality.29 And father-son relationships were important to Miles Fletcher, Greenbury’s principal chronicler. His own father, Calvin Fletcher, was a wealthy, self-made man. Miles never forgot he was a Fletcher. As a relative newcomer, he might have made an honest mistake in identifying Jonathan Mullinix as Greenbury’s father, but the mistake also obscured Greenbury’s status as an orphan, which might have gained the murderer some sympathy. Or perhaps portraying Greenbury as a foul-mouthed, drunken, disobedient son satisfied Mile’s need to prove his own worth to Calvin Fletcher.

Class also played a role in how the murderer was judged. Jonathan Mullinix belonged to the solid yeomanry. His family had long resided in the county, he had considerable property, and he had sufficient political connections to at least temporarily delay his nephew’s execution. Fletcher, however, depicted Greenbury as lower class: drunken, profane, slovenly, and the keeper of low company both male and female. Fletcher was himself the scion of as upperclass a background as Indiana could produce in the 1850s. But certainly, the politically ambitious Miles Fletcher played up Greenbury as the product to be expected from a Democratic household, associating Democrats with the lower-class world of the doggery, the stabbing affray, and unchaste women. Similarly, the murder of Tilghman and Lydia Hanna fit a nineteenth-century model in which the spurned suitor loses control of his passions, resolving that if he cannot have the girl, no one else will. Such a lack of self-control was also deemed a marker of class. Middle-class men more than working-class men were expected to be able to restrain their natural aggression.30

In his zeal to depict Greenbury as exemplifying the flawed values of lower-class Democrats, Miles Fletcher may have missed the obvious. Jonathan based his appeal for his nephew’s life on Greenbury’s insanity. Governor Willard evaded the controversy by asserting that sanity was to be determined by the judge and jury.31 Some of the testimony indicates that the jurors were perhaps too quick to dismiss the insanity defense. Local men who served as guards reported Greenbury’s wild mood swings and odd statements. Miles Fletcher said Greenbury’s eyes tended to wander, “rolling from side to side and resting somewhat confusedly on different objects when addressed by any one.” Greenbury himself said that “he ‘had been out of his mind’ several times in his life but had never been crazy,” an unconvincing assertion of sanity.32 Even stranger was his behavior on the eve of execution. He seemed indifferent to the idea of his death, disbelieving that it would occur, which some attributed to the stay of execution. When told in December he would hang the next day, “he said he had been fooled once, and that he could not be deceived again.”33 When his brother asked for a picture of Greenbury on the morning of his execution, “Greenbury remarked that he would rather have the likenesses of his family than that the family should have his.” When asked why, “he replied that he wished to keep the pictures to remember his family by.”34

Yet despite having recounted Greenbury’s peculiar behavior, observers were disinclined to call him insane. Antebellum juries also preferred to find the accused guilty—particularly if the crime was as ghastly as the one Greenbury committed—rather than insane. In the nineteenth century, a finding of insanity did not guarantee removal to an institution, and it might seem altogether too convenient a means of evading punishment.35

The Mullinix and Hanna murders offer a window on Putnam County in the years before the Civil War. The land that became Putnam County had been purchased from the Miami, Delaware, and Potawatomi in the Fort Wayne Treaty of 1809 and the St. Mary’s Treaty of 1818. White settlement began about the time of the latter. Some of these tribes, as well as the Shawnee, had had hunting camps in the region that became Putnam County, but the Native American presence was gone by the time the white settlers arrived. The county was organized in 1821 and named after a hero of the American Revolution, Israel Putnam. Successive legislatures altered its boundaries, with the final adjustment not being made until the outbreak of the Civil War. Putnam County was heavily timbered, drained by several creeks, and rolling in some parts but not too hilly for farming or pasture. Its blue grass reminded the many settlers from Kentucky of their home state, and occasional caves and sinkholes in the limestone strata provided excursions for young people. Weather could be extreme, with very cold periods in the winter, humid and hot summers, torrential rains that flooded the county’s creeks and swept away property, and “hurricanes” (tornadoes) capable of “carrying trees through the air as though they were feathers on the breeze.”36

The county seat, Greencastle, a town of between 1,500 and 2,000 residents in the 1850s, was also home to a Methodist university, Indiana Asbury. As befitted a town with a Methodist college, Greencastle had a reputation for piety. Schoolteacher Almira Harrah on a Sunday evening heard “singing and praying at the church a few rods from where I am.” She noted, “The people in Greencastle are really the most religious people I ever was acquainted with.” There were religious exercises throughout the Sabbath: class meetings in the morning, church service at eleven, Sabbath school in the afternoon, and then another service. According to Harrah, “there was prayer meeting or preachings every night but one last week.”37 In addition to regular church services, Putnam hosted a number of revivals throughout the Civil War era. All the denominations held them, and newspapers reported on the progress of the “good work.” By the 1870s, however, reporters were at pains to stress the orderliness of the meetings and their lack of the “uproarious clamor” known in the “antique” days of the Second Great Awakening.38 Methodists initially preached in the county in 1821, and the Presbyterians’ first church in Putnam County was established in 1825 by Isaac Reed, a Connecticut missionary. The Baptists had organized by 1823, and in 1855, a Christian church was built in Greencastle after a debate between a Methodist and a Disciple of Christ at Cloverdale led to sixty-nine conversions to the Disciples.39

Greencastle’s courthouse, in which Greenbury Mullinix was tried, was only a decade old at the time of his trial. A “classic structure, with massive columns at either end,” it towered over buildings on Greencastle’s square. It remained at the center of civic life until its replacement at the dawn of the twentieth century. The churches in the town were built of brick, but houses were “mostly old fashioned farm buildings” at the beginning of the 1850s. Like many a college town, Greencastle did not always reflect county sentiments: it remained a solidly Republican outpost in a heavily Democratic county. Although Greencastle became a railroad hub, the National Road ran south of the town, through Putnamville. It initially seemed a setback not to have the National Road, but railroads soon spurred improvements, and during the 1850s, Greencastle built sidewalks to connect the courthouse square with the depots. Locals joked about “wading the sidewalks in muddy weather,” but by the end of the decade, the town was macadamizing roads as well as directing the building of sidewalks in residential neighborhoods. Within two decades, the frame buildings around the courthouse would give way to businesses built of stone, and more prosperous residents would construct elegant residences. Even the sidewalks ceased to be a joke.40

A generation of men and women shaped by the same forces of class, gender and political division that influenced the Mullinixes and Hannas would soon face the increasing conflict between the North and South that culminated in civil war. Certainly, Greenbury Mullinix and Harper Evans were not typical county residents. But the Mullinix murder, as interpreted by Miles Fletcher, highlighted gender roles, the importance of alcohol, and political divisions within the county. Civil war and its aftermath would reshape some of these divisions but leave others intact.

A wealth of home-front studies address how the war affected the South, tackling such issues as Southern nationalism, the erosion of slavery and rise of black rights, the effects of Union occupation and military mobilization, and changes in gender and class relations brought by the war. Edward L. Ayers’s work is unique in looking at two counties, one in Virginia and one in Pennsylvania, to emphasize the commonalities as well as the differences on both sides of the sectional border.41 At a time when most Northerners lived in the country, studies of the Northern home front have concentrated on cities: New York, Boston, Chicago, or Philadelphia. They have explored the soldiers’ experience, wartime economic development, and dissent. When they have examined social history, they have not, with a few exceptions, focused on Northerners’ changing racial attitudes, concentrating more on the effect of the war on women and immigrants. Furthermore, these studies, both of the North and of the South, have been generally confined to the war years, with perhaps some discussion of the immediate pre- or postwar periods.42 This study of Putnam County seeks to understand how the Civil War changed the North and the country by widening the chronological period. By looking at Putnam County from the Compromise of 1850 to the end of Reconstruction, we can gain a better sense of the changes the war brought for the generation of which Miles Fletcher was a part. In addition, the rural and small-town nature of the county offers a contrast to the urban focus of previous Northern home-front studies.43

Although the chronological period is wide, the focus on Putnam County may seem a narrow one. But as Jill Lepore has eloquently explained, microhistories allow us to tell stories that have larger meanings. Through microhistory, the historian can illuminate truths about the culture under study. Richard D. Brown emphasizes that microhistories allow one to test generalizations and to give ordinary people a voice. Excellent general histories of the war in the North, such as those by Matthew Gallman and Philip Paludan, cannot capture in as much depth the individual experiences of men and women whose lives, whether they were in combat or not, “were touched by fire.” Eric Foner has asserted that the Civil War was the central experience for nineteenth-century Americans; to a significant extent, microhistory allows us to feel that experience as they did—their passions, hatreds, anxieties and joys.44 Microhistory allows us to see how ordinary Americans understood the causes and meaning of the war and how they sought to shape the peace.

For microhistory to have validity, the community under study must have some claim to representativeness or significance. No single location, of course, can represent the larger society, but a rural midwestern community such as Putnam County, Indiana, may tell us much about a Northern society that was itself still primarily agrarian. In 1860, Putnam was one of the most populous of Indiana’s counties. Nationally, only five states had more people than Indiana: New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois, and Virginia. In agriculture, Putnam ranked in the top third of Indiana counties in 1870, and Indiana as a whole was fifth in the value of its products, outranked only by Illinois, New York, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. Settled not long after Indiana became a state, Putnam was one of the state’s richest agricultural areas. In 1860, 12 acres of land per person was improved in the county, twice the amount for the rest of the state. In the Civil War era, Putnam was a leading producer of corn, beef cattle, sheep, and hogs in Indiana. According to a state auditor’s report in 1853, only one Indiana county—neighboring Montgomery—had more sheep. In early 1854, some 24,000 hogs were slaughtered and packed, earning $400,000. Putnam produced half as much corn and hogs per capita as other states of both the North and the South but roughly twice as many sheep and beef cattle. Greenbury Mullinix’s murder weapon, an axe, was a basic tool of a rural, agricultural society.45

Indiana was in the top third of states in the annual value of its manufactures, outranked by several New England and mid-Atlantic states and some other midwestern states, including Illinois, Michigan, and Ohio. Putnam lagged behind the rest of Indiana, however, in manufacturing. Marion County, with a population four times that of Putnam, led the state with a per capita value of products in manufacturing of $277 in 1880. Cass County, number ten in the state in the value of its manufacturing products and number of people working in industry, had a per capital value of $93 and 1,342 industrial workers. By comparison, Putnam had only $39 per capita value of production and less than half the number of manufacturing workers as Cass in 1880.46 Putnam was thus a relatively wealthy farming region with more industry than much of the state but hardly at the forefront of nineteenth-century industrialization.

Some of the most important political trends of the 1800s were occurring in Putnam County. Indiana was a key swing state in the nineteenth century. Throughout the period, it was closely divided between parties and generally ended up in the winner’s column. Only twice between 1848 and 1880 did Indiana vote for the loser in the presidential race, in both cases a Democrat: in 1848, when the Whig Zachary Taylor was elected, and in 1876 when the Republican Rutherford B. Hayes won a controversial election. In no presidential election was the winner’s share of the state's popular vote greater than 54 percent, the margin by which Abraham Lincoln was reelected in 1864. More often, the winning party received no more than 51 percent of the vote and often less. Putnam County reflected these trends. Linked to the larger state and national economies by the National Road and, later, the railroads, Putnam was generally Whig. But many of the county’s residents were Democrats. Elections were hotly contested and close, often leading to shady electoral practices, fights at the polls, and fraud.47 It was a community with such deep political divisions that the horrific details of a young bride’s death were exploited to indict an entire political party.

Putnam County also reflected the nation in its demography. Throughout the Civil War era, the population of Putnam continued to increase. In 1850, there were 18,615 people in the county. Over the next decade, the population grew 11 percent. The rate of increase slowed to 4 to 5 percent in the decades after the Civil War. But just as migration continued into the county, some young men were leaving. In the late 1840s, the California goldfields beckoned, and throughout the 1850s, Putnam County men would look westward for opportunity—if not to California, then to Pike’s Peak, which was the mining frontier of the later 1850s, or to Kansas, Missouri, or some other frontier. Whereas Ohio had begun to lose population by 1860, Indiana and the states to the west and southwest continued to have a net in-migration. Indiana’s population growth was slowing in the 1850s, however, and the state would begin to experience significant out-migration in the next decades. Studies of persistence rates, which focus on heads of households, show the western regions to have been more mobile, with only about one-third of the population remaining from census to census, compared to almost two-thirds in New England. One study of Indiana Asbury’s graduates shows that a third migrated west in the 1850s, mostly to Kansas and Iowa.48

Indiana’s population was a mix of Southern and Northern settlers. Some 18 percent of the state’s population had been born in the South according to the 1850 census, mostly in upper South states such as Kentucky, Virginia, and North Carolina. By that period, two-thirds of the state’s residents had been born in the Old Northwest itself, the majority of whom were probably children of migrants from the upper South. About 10 percent of the state’s population came from the mid-Atlantic states and only 1 percent from New England. Putnam County reflected a similar mix of settlers. The Mullinixes were originally from North Carolina, and other Putnam settlers migrated from Kentucky or Virginia. According to the 1850 census, 19 percent of the county’s residents had been born in Kentucky. If one includes those born in other upper South states, the proportion rises to nearly a third. Like the state, almost two-thirds of Putnam’s residents had been born in the Old Northwest, over half in Indiana itself. The Fletchers had New England roots, but only .5 percent of the county’s population had been born in New England in the 1850s.49

The building of railroads in the 1850s brought Irish laborers to Putnam County. During the 1850s, the number of immigrants doubled over that of the previous decade, totaling 228 people. But Indiana lagged behind other midwestern states in attracting immigrants. Many traveled farther west in search of better and more abundant land, and unlike other states, Indiana did not recruit immigrants. Still, their numbers more than doubled in the 1850s, approaching 5 to 6 percent of the state’s population. Over half of the foreign born were Germans, the largest immigrant group in the state. Next were the Irish at about 23 percent of the immigrant population. However, in Putnam County, where immigrants made up only 1 percent of the population, it was the Irish who were dominant, composing 65 percent of the immigrant population, compared with the Germans at only 18 percent. Immigrants had a disproportionate role in the temperance debates. Augustus Werneke, a naturalized citizen from Prussia, was a liquor dealer. Charley Michael, another German immigrant, owned a beer shop on the courthouse square.50

Some native-born Hoosiers felt sympathy for the Irish, who performed backbreaking labor on the railroads. And almost everyone recognized that the foreign born were “the subjects of an ungenerous prejudice here.”51 During a Fourth of July oration, Rev. Thomas S. Webb attacked the Catholic Church, deriding it as a “drunken church” whose priests sought political domination. Local Catholics relied on priests from Terre Haute and Indianapolis to say mass in private homes until Fr. William Doyle arrived in Greencastle and established St. Benedict’s in 1853. Local lore has it that Gustavus H. Lilly, the Protestant owner of the church site, refused initially to sell the lot to the Catholics and so was told it was to be used for a vinegar factory. That story is likely untrue, but Father Doyle certainly did face harassment, especially from the local Whig newspaper, the Putnam Banner, which accused him of trying to control the local Irish.

A walk through the Bainbridge Cemetery, in the northern part of the county, shows that immigrants, no matter how successful, remained segregated from their fellows. Buried in the northwest corner are Currans, Heaneys, Kelleys, Mungavans, and Sullivans. Their gravestones, unlike those of Protestants buried there, often bear engravings of crosses, a practice common among Irish Catholics. Placed along the last rows at the cemetery’s edge, their graves form a separate community in death just as the individuals did in life.52 This was true even though some were prominent in the community: Patrick Heaney, for instance, was a leading Democrat and officeholder.

In its demographic patterns, Indiana reflected the country in the mid-nineteenth century. With its mix of Southerners and Northerners and its influx of immigrants, Putnam was slightly more Southern in its population than other parts of the North. Allegiances to the South would be a prominent feature of the county’s reactions to civil war.

Class shaped the county much as it did the nation. The life of the doggery and its stabbing affrays—one type of male, lower-class culture—conflicted with the increasingly idealized and middle-class life represented by women’s domesticity and by the home life that Greenbury so disliked. These elements often overlapped. Miles Fletcher, an aspiring young Republican with New England roots, stigmatized the Democratic Mullinixes with their Southern birth as lower-class, drunken threats to the social order. Fletcher exaggerated these characteristics to make his political point, but temperance was indeed a political issue that divided the parties as well as the native-born and immigrant populations. More than that, in an era that saw the rise and fall of political issues connected to westward expansion, sectionalism, economic development, and race, conflict over alcohol was a constant. Although many Putnam residents joined national temperance movements, the fight over alcohol was carried out on the local scene, involving city ordinances and church crusades.

Putnam was also a community about to be torn apart by national political events. A generation of young men who, like Miles Fletcher, were just embarking on their adult lives confronted the most violent episode of U.S. history, the Civil War. The violence of war shaped the lives of those who fought and of those who opposed the war. It affected as well women who, trying to fulfill their domestic roles, were left temporarily or permanently without a male breadwinner. The Mullinix and Hanna cases had reflected some aspects of society’s conception of gender roles. The war challenged Putnam’s young men and women to maintain those gender roles under vastly changed circumstances. Yet, one element that would become extremely important to residents in the county over the next two decades was missing in these murder cases: race played no role in the murder of Martha Mullinix or the young Hannas. In the ensuing years, however, the Civil War would make race an inescapable element of the county’s life.

How did the Civil War change the North? That the war ended slavery and established the federal government’s supremacy over the states, all the while expanding that government, has long been acknowledged. “How decisively and thoroughly did it alter American life in general?” asks historian George M. Fredrickson. Similarly, Matthew Gallman has queried, “What was the war’s enduring impact on the North?”53 This microhistory provides some answers to those questions. In Putnam County, a generation of men forged their identities in the Civil War and, as veterans, demanded continued recognition of their sacrifice. Women hoped to preserve traditional roles but found war often made that difficult. They maintained their dependence on male providers, and when circumstances, such as the death of a soldier husband, forced their independence, they only partially embraced it. As this Civil War generation matured, much of their society changed. Immigrants became more readily accepted members of the community, and though controversy over temperance remained constant in the county’s life, women’s antialcohol work challenged traditional roles. Antiwar Democrats remained unyielding white supremacists and maintained their political popularity despite Republican accusations of treason.

The most significant and deepest change, however, occurred in regard to race, which assumed a prominence that it had lacked before the war. In the 1850s, racism was pervasive in Putnam County, where few African Americans lived. But the sectional crisis of the 1850s, the Civil War, and Reconstruction forced residents to directly confront slavery and racism. Many in the county remained unremittingly hostile to African Americans, but others began to accept a greater measure of black rights. At the end of Reconstruction, Putnam County even became a destination for migrating Exodusters, who were fleeing the return of white supremacy in the South. Despite a long history of hostility to black migrants to the state, Putnam Republicans encouraged and welcomed the Exodusters. In Putnam County, the Civil War era forced white Northerners to confront the country’s racial fissures. Neither the county nor the country would be entirely the same again.


1. Putnam Republican Banner, April 15, December 23, 1857; Indiana State Journal, May 4, 1857; Indiana Daily State Sentinel, April 30, 1857; State of Indiana v. Greenberry O. Mullinix, Circuit Court, Complete Record D, 1843-1862, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind., 371-376; Indiana Marriage Collection, 1800-1941, AncestryLibrary.com.

2. Indiana State Journal, December 21, 1857; Mullinix Family, Boatwright Collection, Cyril Johnson Room for Local History and Genealogy, Putnam County Public Library, Greencastle, Ind.; Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, A Journey through Putnam County History (n.p., 1966), 241; Biographical and Historical Record of Putnam County, Indiana (1887; reprint, Chicago: Lewis Publishing, 1975), 492; Probate Record F, 1853-1855, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind., 13-19, 515-518; Circuit Court, Complete Record D, 1843-1862, ibid., 98-103; U.S. Census, 1850, AncestryLibrary.com. The Greenbury Mullinix in this census record was listed as having been born in Maryland, but he is the right age for the future murderer. Record of Official Bonds, 1844-1911, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind., 11, 21, 27, 31, 33, 38, 50, 53, 66; State of Indiana v. Greenbury G. Mullinix.

3. Indiana State Journal, December 21, 1857; U.S. Census, 1850; Henry Secrest v. David Sublett and Mary Ann Sublett, Order Book, Comm Pleas 3 Civil, 1857-1859, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind., 195, 206-207; James M. Sloan and Josephus L. Fordyce v. David Sublett, ibid., 235; William H. Comstock and Jacob S. Asher v. David Sublett, ibid., 241; John P. Usher, William S. Eckels, Dillard C. Donnohue v. David Sublett, ibid., 510; Delana R. Eckels v. David Sublett, ibid., p. 510.

4. Indiana State Journal, May 4, December 21, 1857; Putnam Republican Banner, April 22, October 21, December 23, 1857; Jesse W. Weik, History of Putnam County, Indiana (Indianapolis, Ind.: Bowen, 1910), 228; Circuit Court, Order Book 4 Civil, 1857-1862, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind., 18, 28-29, 37, 39, 45-46; State of Indiana v. Greenbury O. Mullinix.

5. Putnam Republican Banner, April 22, October 21, 1857; Weik, History of Putnam County, Indiana, 228. Throughout the volume, italics in quotations reflect the original emphases, either italics or underlining, in the original document. I have also refrained from changing or indicating with sic misspellings or grammatical mistakes except where they might render the meaning unclear.

6. Putnam Republican Banner, November 18, 25, 1857; Indiana Daily State Sentinel, November 24, 1857; Indiana State Journal, November 23, 1857; State of Indiana v. Greenbury O. Mullinix; Ashbel P. Willard, “Postponement of Execution,” Pardons and Remissions, vol. 1, Indiana State Archives, Commission on Public Records, Indianapolis.

7. Indiana State Journal, November 23, 1857. For the 1841 murder, see Weik, History of Putnam County, 227-228; Greencastle (Ind.) Dollar Press, May 12, 1880; Indiana State Journal, November 23, 1857.

8. Miles J. Fletcher to Father, November 26, 1857, folder 9, box 8, Calvin Fletcher Papers, William Henry Smith Memorial Library, Indiana Historical Society (hereafter cited as IHS), Indianapolis; Miles J. Fletcher to Father, November 24, 1857, ibid.; Miles J. Fletcher to Father, Greencastle, November 26, 1857, ibid.

9. Putnam Republican Banner, December 23, 1857; Indiana State Journal, December 19, 1857; Indiana Daily State Sentinel, December 21, 1857; Weik, History of Putnam County, 228; State of Indiana v. Greenbury O. Mullinix.

10. Louis P. Masur, Rites of Execution: Capital Punishment and the Transformation of American Culture, 1776-1865 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 5-6, 113; Miles to Lucy, October 17, 1857, folder 9, box 8, Fletcher Papers, IHS; Miles J. Fletcher to Father, November 12, 1857, ibid.; Indiana State Journal, December 19, 1857.

11. Putnam Republican Banner, December 23, 1857.

12. Ibid., January 17, April 18, 25, 1861; Indianapolis Daily Journal, January 9, April 12, 1861; Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, Journey through Putnam County History, 114-115; Weik, History of Putnam County, 228, 231-234; Daily State Sentinel, April 27, 1865.

13. Putnam Republican Banner, January 17, April 18, 1861; Indianapolis Daily Journal, January 9, April 12, 1861; Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, Journey through Putnam County History, 114-115; U.S. Census, 1850; Indiana Marriage Collection, 1800-1941.

14. Indianapolis Daily Journal, April 10, 12, 1861.

15. Randolph A. Roth, “Spousal Murder in Northern New England, 1776-1865,” in Over the Threshold: Intimate Violence in Early America, ed. Christine Daniels and Michael V. Kennedy (New York: Routledge, 1999), 65-93; Jenifer Banks, “‘A New Home’ for Whom? Caroline Kirkland Exposes Domestic Abuse on the Michigan Frontier,” ibid., 135-147.

16. Indiana Daily State Sentinel, December 19, 1857.

17. Putnam Republican Banner, November 25, 1857; Indiana State Journal, November 23, 1857. It was reported that Jonathan Mullinix also had to pay $200 to the governor’s private secretary and another “good fee” to a member of the governor’s council. Indiana State Journal, November 23, 1857; Indiana Daily State Sentinel, November 24, December 21, 1857.

18. Mark W. Summers, The Plundering Generation: Corruption and the Crisis of the Union, 1849-1861 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 239-260.

19. Indiana State Journal, December 21, 1857.

20. Putnam County Sentinel, January 15, 1852; Indiana State Journal, December 21, 1857.

21. Putnam Republican Banner, April 15, 1857.

22. Putnam Banner, May 31, 1854; Miles J. Fletcher to Father, May 17, 1858, folder 10, box 8, Fletcher Papers, IHS; Putnam Republican Banner, June 22, 1853, June 27, 1855, August 12, 1857; D. W. Daniels to J. G. Davis, November 22, 1852, folder 4, box 1, John Givan Davis Papers, William Henry Smith Memorial Library, IHS; Miles J. Fletcher to Father, May 17, 1858, folder 10, box 8, Fletcher Papers, IHS.

23, “Pencil by a Prep,” 1850, folder 5, p. 134, Elijah Edward Evans Papers, Manuscripts of the Indiana Division, Indiana State Library (hereafter cited as IAL), Indianapolis.

24. State of Indiana v. Greenbury Mullinix, Civil Order Book D, 1848-1853, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind., 266; Petitions of May 1835, December 23, 1837, Petition for Pardons and Paroles, Indiana State Archives, Commission on Public Records, Indianapolis; James Rankin to David Wallace, February 2, 1839, ibid.; W. Whitcomb, March 20, 1845, ibid., State of Indiana v. Martin L. Mullinix, Circuit Court, Order Book 7, 1867-1871, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind., 23, 113-114, 520, 535, 626; State of Indiana v. Martin L. Mullinix, Circuit Court, Order Book, Civil 9, 1873-1874, ibid., 71; State of Indiana v. Martin L. Mullinix, Opinion of Supreme Court, ibid., 379-380; Greencastle Banner, February 5, 1874.

25. Indiana State Journal, December 19, 21, 1857; Putnam Republican Banner, November 18, December 23, 1857. On the link between Baptists and Democrats, see Bertram Wyatt-Brown, The Shaping of Southern Culture: Honor, Grace, and War, 1760s-1890s (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001), 106-135; Indianapolis Daily Journal, January 9, April 10, 1861; Ed Hatton, “‘He Murdered Her Because He Loved Her’: Passion, Masculinity, and Intimate Homicide in Antebellum America,’ in Over the Threshold: Intimate Violence in Early America, ed. Christine Daniels and Michael V. Kennedy (New York: Routledge, 1999), 111-134.

26. Indiana State Journal, May 4, 1857.

27. Putnam Republican Banner, November 18, 1857.

28. Indiana State Journal, November 23, December 19, 21, 1857.

29. Putnam Republican Banner, October 21, 1857; Masur, Rites of Execution, 34-35. Carole Shammas, A History of Household Government in America (Charlottesville; University of Virginia Press, 2002), 112, says criminality was often blamed on poor parenting.

30. Hatton, “‘He Murdered Her,’” 111-134.

31. Indiana Daily State Sentinel, November 24, 1857.

32. Indiana State Journal, December 19, 1857.

33. Ibid.

34. Ibid., May 4, December 19, 21, 1857.

35. Ibid., May 4, 1857; Hatton, “‘He Murdered Her,’” 122.

36. Gillum Ridpath, “Putnam County, Ind.,” Atlas of Putnam Co., Indiana to Which Are Added Various General Maps, History, Statistics, Illustrations (Chicago: J. H. Beers, 1879), 5; John J. Baughman, Our Past, Their Present: Historical Essays on Putnam County, Indiana (Greencastle, Ind.: Putnam County Museum, 2008), 2, 9-10; George Pence and Nellie C. Armstrong, Indiana Boundaries: Territory, State, and County (Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Bureau, 1967), 37-40, 43, 119; Indiana State Journal, March 18, 1852; Carl A. Zenor, “Putnam County in the Civil War: Local History of a Critical Period” (master’s thesis, DePauw University, 1956); Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, Journey through Putnam County History, 162; “Pencillings of a Prep,” folder 1, pp. 18, 22-41, Evans Papers, ISL; Weik, History of Putnam County, 66-68, 139; Weekly Indiana State Sentinel, June 13, 1860; W. H. Durham to David, February 2, 1859, box 3, folder 13, Davis Papers, IHS.

37. Weik, History of Putnam County, 38-41; A. M. S. Harrah to Husband, June 27, [1847?], folder 3, box 1, Almira Maria Scott Harrah Papers, William Henry Smith Memorial Library, IHS.

38. Emma Lou Thornbrough, Indiana in the Civil War Era, 1850-1880 (Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Bureau, 1965), 615; Lewis H. Rudisill to John G. Davis, April 4, 1858, folder 2, box 3, Davis Papers, IHS; Putnam Republican Banner, August 30, 1860; Indianapolis Journal, March 2, 1870.

39. Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, Journey through Putnam County History, 25-27; Weik, History of Putnam County, 112; Thornbrough, Indiana in the Civil War Era, 617; Ridpath, “Putnam County, Ind.,” 5, 8.

40. Weik, History of Putnam County, 66-68; Biographical and Historical Record of Putnam County, 187-188, 313-322; “Pencillings of a Prep,” folder 1, pp. 18, 22-41, Evans Papers, ISL; Putnam Banner, August 24, 1853; Indiana State Journal, October 7, 1853, September 3, 1873.

41. Edward L. Ayers, In the Presence of Mine Enemies: War in the Heart of America, 1859-1863 (New York: Norton, 2003). Stephanie McCurry, Confederate Reckoning: Power and Politics in the Civil War South (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2010), brilliantly examines how women and slaves became political actors in a Confederacy predicated on these groups’ non-political nature. Brian Steel Wills, The War Hits Homes: The Civil War in Southeastern Virginia (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 2001), emphasizes the military campaigns that affected civilians; Daniel W. Crofts, Old Southampton: Politics and Society in a Virginia County, 1834-1869 (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1992), concentrates on class, political, and racial divisions; LeeAnn Whites, The Civil War as a Crisis in Gender: Augusta, Georgia, 1860-1890 (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1995), focuses on women; and Martin Crawford, Ashe Country’s Civil War: Community and Society in the Appalachian South (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 2001), is interested in how the Civil War altered the county’s relationship with the outside world. Many southern home front studies seek the reasons for the Confederate defeat. Daniel E. Sutherland, Seasons of War: The Ordeal of a Confederate Community, 1861-1865 (New York: Free Press, 1995), blames the war’s destructiveness that made its continuation impossible rather than any failure of Confederate nationalism. William Blair, Virginia’s Private War: Feeding Body and Soul in the Confederacy, 1861-1865 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), acknowledges internal dissent and class division but blames defeat on military losses. David Willilams, Teresa Crisp Williams, and David Carlson, Plain Folk in a Rich Man’s War: Class and Dissent in Georgia ( Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2002), unequivocally argue that the southern yeomanry concluded the war did not serve their class interests and that their opposition contributed to Union victory. Jonathan Dean Sarris, A Separate Civil War: Communities in Conflict in the Mountain South (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2006), 2-5, believes “local power and influence” was more important to the internal civil war in northern Georgia than was ideology. Although many southern home front studies look at Virginia, two works on different regions of Tennessee emphasize its uniqueness. Robert Tracy McKenzie, Lincolnites and Rebels: A Divided Town in the American Civil War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), studies Knoxville, which had many Confederate supporters, although eastern Tennessee was strongly Unionist. Looking at middle Tennessee, Stephen V. Ash, Middle Tennessee Society Transformed, 1860-1870; War and Peace in the Upper South (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988), 251-253, reaches conclusions similar to mine: that changes in race relations were the war’s greatest transformation. In middle Tennessee, whites regressed, retreating to the rural areas and embracing tradition, whereas blacks moved forward, building institutions and claiming identities as citizens and free laborers.

42. J. Matthew Gallman, Mastering Wartime: A Social History of Philadelphia during the Civil War (Cambridge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press, 1990), one of the best studies of the home front North, argues that the war’s changes were rooted in prewar institutions. Edmund J. Raus, Jr., Banners South: A Northern Community at War (Kent, Ohio: Kent State University Press, 2005), follows Cortland, New York, soldiers through the war. In addition to Gallman’s work, studies of urban areas include Ernest A. MaKay, The Civil War and New York City (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1990); Thomas H. O’Connor, Civil War Boston: Home Front and Battlefield (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1997); and Theodore J. Karamanski, Rally ’Round the Flag: Chicago and the Civil War (Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1993). Other works include Michael H. Frisch, Town into City: Springfield, Massachusetts, and the Meaning of Community, 1840-1880 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972), which focuses on urbanization; Grace Palladino, Another Civil War: Labor, Capital, and the State in the Anthracite Regions of Pennsylvania, 1840-1868 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990), on labor unrest; and Kerry A. Trask, Fire Within: A Civil War Narrative from Wisconsin (Kent, Ohio: Kent State University Press, 1995), on ethnic divisions. Like Trask, Don Harrison Doyle, The Social Order of a Frontier Community: Jacksonville, Illinois, 1825-1870 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1978), emphasizes that the war strengthened community. Some Civil War studies have been particularly concerned with the emergence of northern nationalism. See Melinda Lawson, Patriot Fires: Forging a New American Nationalism in the Civil War North (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2002), and Susan-Mary Grant, “‘The Charter of Its Birthright’: The Civil War and American Nationalism,” in Legacy of Disunion: The Enduring Significance of the American Civil War, ed. Susan-Mary Grant and Peter J. Parish (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2003), 188-206.

43. Peter S. Carmichael, The Last Generation: Young Virginians in Peace, War, and Reunion (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2005), similarly uses a generational focus but looks only at men who served in the Army of Northern Virginia to see why the last slaveholding generation came to support secession and war. Carmichael concentrates on the prewar and wartime period, devoting only one chapter to Reconstruction.

44. Jill Lepore, “Historians Who Love Too Much: Reflections on Microhistory and Biography,” Journal of American History 88 (June 2001): 129-144; Richard D. Brown, “Microhistory and the Post-modern Challenge,” Journal of the Early Republic 23 (Spring 2003): 1-20; J. Matthew Gallman, The North Fights the Civil War: The Home Front (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1994); Phillip Shaw Paludan, “A People’s Contest”: The Union and Civil War, 1861-1865 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1996). Adam I. P. Smith, The American Civil War (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), is more interested in how civilians perceived the war, not how they experienced it. Eric Foner, Politics and Ideology in the Age of the Civil War (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), 3.

45. U.S. Census Office, Population Schedules of the Eighth Census of the United States, 1860 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives, 1967); U.S. Census Office, Population Schedules of the Ninth Census of the United States, 1870 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives, 1965); U.S. Census Office, The Statistics of Wealth and Industry in the United States (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1872), 81; Thornbrough, Indiana in the Civil War Era, 365n6, 370-371, 383; Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, Journey through Putnam County History, 168-169; D. R. Eckels to J. G. Davis, February 16, 1854, folder 9, box 1, Davis Papers, IHS; Indianapolis Daily State Sentinel, February 23, 1856; Putnam Banner, March 15, 1854; U.S. Census Office, Agriculture of the United States 1860: Compiled from the Original Returns of the Eighth Census (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1864), xxix, xlvi, vcii, 42-45.

46. Thornbrough, Indiana in the Civil War Era, 417.

47. U.S. Bureau of the Census, Historical Statistics of the United States: Colonial Times to 1957 (Washington, D.C.: Department of Commerce, 1965), 684-685, 688-689; Marc Egnal, Clash of Extremes: The Economic Origins of the Civil War (New York: Hill and Wang, 2009), 52-53.

48. Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, Journey through Putnam County History, 32; Putnam County Sentinel, December 6, 20, 1849, February 7, July 25, 1850; Solomon Akers to John G. Davis, November 30, 1857, folder 8, box 2, Davis Papers, IHS; Putnam Republican Banner, October 5, 1859; Danl A. Farley to John G. Davis, November 1, 1858, folder 10, box 3, Davis Papers, IHS; U.S. Census Office, Population of the United States in 1860: Compiled from the Original Returns of the Eighth Census (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1864), xxxiii; Richard K. Vedder and Lowell E. Gallaway, “Migration and the Old Northwest,” in Essays in Nineteenth Century Economic History: The Old Northwest, ed. David C. Klingaman and Richard K. Vedder (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1975), 159-176. During the 1860s, twice as many Hoosiers left the state as new migrants moved in. The following decade, slightly more migrants went to Indiana than left it. U.S. Census Office, The Statistics of the Population of the United States Census Compiled from the Returns of the Ninth Census (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1872), 328-329; U.S. Census Office, Statistics of the Population of the United States at the Tenth Census (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1883), 480-481. On out-migration, see John Mack Faragher, Sugar Creek: Life on the Illinois Prairie (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986), 50; Doyle, Social Order of a Frontier Community, 95-118; George B. Manhart, DePauw through the Years, 2 vols. (Greencastle, Ind.: DePauw University, 1962), 1:167.

49. U.S. Census Office, Population Schedules of the Seventh Census of the United States, 1850 (Washington, D.C.: National Archives, 1963); Nicole Etcheson, The Emerging Midwest: Upland Southerners and the Political Culture of the Old Northwest, 1787-1861 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996), 2; Gregory S. Rose, “Hoosier Origins: The Nativity of Indiana’s United States-Born Population in 1850,” Indiana Magazine of History 81 (Septemver 1985): 201-232.

50. Ann L. Skene and Denise DeBoy, Putnam County, Indiana Naturalization Records, 1854-1929 (Indianapolis: Indiana State Archives, 1999); James J. Divita, “Without Tenement: The State of Indiana Ethnic History,” in The State of Indiana History 2000: Papers Presented at the Indiana Historical Society’s Grand Opening, ed. Robert M. Taylor, Jr. (Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Society, 2001), 91-124, esp. 100-102; Thornbrough, Indiana in the Civil War Era, 545-551: Gregory S. Rose, “The Distribution of Indiana’s Ethnic and Racial Minorities in 1850,” Indiana Magazine of History 87 (Septermber 1991): 224-260; U.S. Census Office, Population Schedules of the Seventh Census. For an economic analysis of antebellum immigration, see Joseph P. Ferrie, Yankeys Now: Immigrants in the Antebellum United States, 1840 to 1860 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). For the rise of nativism, see Tyler Anbinder, Nativisim and Slavery: The Northern Know Nothings and the Politics of the 1850s (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 3-51. Although Anbinder acknowledges the deep anti-Catholicism of the nativists, he argues political nativism waxed and waned with antislavery. Civil Order Book, D, 1848-1853, Clerk’s Office, Putnam County Courthouse, Greencastle, Ind.; Putnam Banner, May 31, 1854.

51. Putnam Republican Banner, January 17, 1855.

52. Putnam County Sentinel, July 14, 1853; Putnam County Sesquicentennial Committee, Journey through Putnam County History, 192: Jack W. Porter, The Catholic Church in Greencastle, Putnam County, Indiana, 1848-1979 (Greencastle, Ind.: Saint Paul the Apostle Church, 1979), 18-20; Bainbridge Cemetery, Bainbridge, Ind.; Lynn Rainville, “Hanover Deathscapes: Mortuary Variability in New Hampshire, 1770-1920,” Ethnohistory 46 (Summer 1999): 541-597, esp. 559-560.

53. James M. McPherson, Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 859-862; George M. Fredrickson, “Nineteenth-Century American History,” in Imagined Histories: American Historians Interpret the Past, ed. Anthony Molho and Gordon S. Wood (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1998), 164-184; J. Matthew Gallman, “Afterward,” in An Uncommon Time: The Civil War and the Northern Home Front, ed. Paul A. Cimbala and Randall M. Miller (New York: Fordham University Press, 2002), 345-351.