According to historian and author Stephen Davis, whose research on this topic was first published in Blue and Gray magazine in October 1998, allegations about Hood’s use of laudanum did not appear in print until 1940 with the publication of Percy Hamlin’s biography Old Bald Head: General R. S. Ewell. According to Hamlin’s Introduction, Atlanta was lost, a Confederate army destroyed, and Lincoln’s reelection assured because “a competent, cautious man was replaced by one who, brave and loyal though he was, had been so crippled by wounds as to make him dependent upon the use of opium.” Although Hood was not mentioned by name, there is no doubt as to who replaced Joe Johnston. As Hamlin saw it, the capable and careful Johnston was replaced by Hood, a brave, loyal, crippled opium addict. Hamlin did not provide a source to support his claim, but that made little difference to his readers and future historians. The allegation remained unchallenged and uncontested. And like a cancer it grew.2
In his 1972 booklet written for the National Park Service entitled The Road Past Kennesaw: The Atlanta Campaign of 1864, Richard McMurry suggested that Hood “may have been taking a derivative of laudanum to ease his pain.” McMurry was not alone in his supposition. Webb Garrison Jr., in his 1995 publication Atlanta and the War, guided his readers toward the vague possibility that Hood’s overall judgment might have been affected, “perhaps from the use of laudanum to dull his constant pain.” Since neither author had any substantiation to back up the claim, both left themselves wiggle room for error, McMurry with the words “may have been,” and Garrison with his use of “perhaps.” If sufficient evidence existed to make such a claim, equivocal statements would be unnecessary.3
Hood’s modern critics (there were no contemporary critics who suggested laudanum, just critics in the 20th century) often suggested laudanum as an explanation for the army’s embarassing tactical failure on the night of November 29, 1864, at Spring Hill, Tennessee, where the Confederates somehow allowed the hastily retreating columns of John Schofield’s Federal army to escape from a well-conceived trap. As described in more detail earlier, Hood and his army rapidly pursued the retreating Federals and were exhausted by the time night fell on the 29th. As we now know, the failure to block the road stemmed from the refusal of some of Hood’s subordinates to execute his clear orders to do so.
Authors James McDonough and Thomas Connelly claimed an entirely different reason for the failure in their 1983 narrative Five Tragic Hours: The Battle of Franklin. According to their theory, Hood was sound asleep while the Yankees slipped away, “especially if he took any liquor or a drug to relax.” Here, for the first time, readers are reminded of Hood’s alleged use of drugs, with the added suggestion that the pursuing army’s commanding general had taken to the bottle as well. Like Hamlin, McMurry, and Garrison, McDonough and Connelly provided no documentation to support what can only be described as a libelous allegation. Notice also that the whole edifice is supported by one word: “if.” Hood was either drinking, or he was not. He was either taking drugs, or he was not. He was either sleeping, or he was not. Despite a complete lack of evidence, McDonough and Connelly planted an entirely new “fact” in Civil War literature by alleging that Hood’s drug use had now morphed anew into that of an army commander out of control under the influence of both opium and alcohol. Students of the Civil War now had a new meme: at the most critical time in the campaign, Hood decided to “relax” with drugs and a bottle of booze.4
Wiley Sword was just as vague in his influential The Confederacy’s Last Hurrah. According to Sword, after finishing dinner at his headquarters on the night of November 29, Hood retired and “perhaps swallowed some laudanum.” Perhaps? Like those preceding him, Sword did not cite any primary source or eyewitness testimony. His only “proof” for this charge was a reference to local legend in William B. Turner’s 1955 book A History of Maury County, Tennessee.5
Regrettably, the dubious character of local legend seems to be the sole origin of a belief that Hood was intoxicated in the vicinity of Spring Hill on the night of November 29, 1864. Historian Stanley Horn also made reference to this local lore, writing in his 1941 work The Army of Tennessee, “Old soldiers and old residents around Spring Hill explain all that night’s fumbling in blunt terms: ‘Hood was drunk.’” This is a grave charge that cannot be verified or dismissed more than a century after the fact. In the same vein, Hood’s first biographer Richard O’Connor made reference in 1949 to the power of local legend surrounding the Spring Hill affair in Hood: Cavalier General. According to O’Connor, the alcohol use “was a legend of the countryside for many years after that Hood was drunk that night.”6
Sword’s speculation that “perhaps Hood swallowed some laudanum” was kicked up a notch by his publisher in a photograph caption in the same book that “Hood often resorted to laudanum.” What was once “legend of the countryside” (alcohol use) or speculated by Hamlin and then others (drug use) evolved into established fact in the mind of Civil War students.7
Ronald H. Bailey, in his book The Battles for Atlanta (1985), not only dealt with the same falsehood, but elevated it to an entirely new level. “By the accounts of some contemporaries, Hood suffered such intense pain that he was taking laudanum, an opiate that could impair mental judgment.” According to Bailey, Hood’s contemporaries substantiated what was once mere speculation. The “accounts” that Hood was suffering from “intense pain” as well as the “contemporaries” who claimed as much and referenced his drug use remained unnamed.8
Even noted scholar Steven Woodworth fell into this trap. In an essay that appeared in the 1994 book The Campaign for Atlanta and Sherman’s March to the Sea, Woodworth reported that Hood “at times resorted to alcohol and opium or a derivative of laudanum.” His only source is the 1972 booklet written by Richard McMurry, who failed to provide a credible source of his own.9
No one ever witnessed Hood taking an opiate or drinking liquor after his return to duty in the spring of 1864. No one is known to have written about it. No historical documentation (letters, journals, diaries, reports, or even receipts or army requisitions) have been discovered to support these claims. So why are modern historians and authors so quick, indeed anxious, to publish such disparaging allegations based upon unsupported speculation?
Stephen Davis suggests the answer to that question rests with the severity of Hood’s wounds. As is well known, Hood suffered two major injuries during the war. The first took place on the second day at Gettysburg during the initial fighting late on the afternoon of July 2, 1863. Hood was leading his division into battle when fragments from an artillery shell that exploded overhead ripped into his left arm. Thankfully amputation was not necessary, but the use of his arm was limited to some extent for the rest of his life. Less than three months later, Hood was leading his division when a minie ball struck him in his upper right thigh during the fighting at Chickamauga on September 20, 1863. Unlike his previous wound, this one required amputation. The dangerous surgery was successful, but Hood’s chances for a full recovery remained slim. As was customary for general officers during the war, Hood was treated by the army’s finest medical officers and recuperated in the most comfortable and sanitary facilities available.
The day after the operation, Hood was carried 15 miles to the home of a staff member’s parents and placed under the care of Dr. John T. Darby. By late October, Hood had improved enough to be transported overland to Tunnel Hill, Georgia, and then by rail to Atlanta.10 By the first week of November, he was on his way to Richmond. “His stump healed promptly, but remained painful,” speculated Jack D. Welsh, M.D., in Medical Histories of Confederate Generals, “because an artificial limb was hard to fit.”11
With an artificial leg and crutches (and only one good arm to manage them, the other partially disabled from his Gettysburg wound), Hood enjoyed limited independent movement, and before long, returned to riding his horse. With his left arm partially paralyzed and in a sling and his entire right leg amputated below the hip, the act of mounting and dismounting required a gr
eat deal of effort and exertion. According to the records of Confederate staff officer Joseph B. Cumming, it took three aides to mount the general into his saddle. This included not only seating Hood securely, but also fitting the prosthetic leg into the stirrup while at the same time strapping Hood and his crutches to the saddle. Hood was an accomplished horseman and soon adjusted to the trying situation. He rode regularly after his return to Georgia in February of 1864, where he led an infantry corps in Joe Johnston’s Army of Tennessee.12
According to Maj. James Ratchford, a member of Gen. Daniel H. Hill’s staff who had served with Hood in the Army of Northern Virginia and who later served on Hood’s staff in the Army of Tennessee, Hood’s injuries did not limit his role in the field. “Though he came to the corps on crutches,” explained Ratchford, “he displayed all the energy and activity in attending to the duties of his larger command that had been so noticeable in his care of his Texas brigade, and this never slackened on the campaign with Johnston from Dalton to Atlanta. I was with him in all the fights made during the campaign and wondered at his great activity in his crippled state.”13
In order to calm apprehensions among the general public concerning his overall comfort, range of mobility, and capabilities in the field, Hood permitted a personal letter he wrote to a friend to be published. “I have been riding all over this country with Gen. Johnston, and have been in the saddle every day enough to have fought two or three battles, without feeling any inconvenience,” explained the general. Hood’s claim was corroborated by cavalryman Joe Wheeler, who reported that Hood could ride comfortably 14 or 15 miles a day. It is important to note that Hood made no mention of any discomfort or pain associated with his wounds, and nothing to indicate the use of painkillers.14
Hood was often in the company of others during the three winter months he spent recuperating in Richmond. Many of those he associated with held important roles in the Confederate government, military, and/or Richmond society. One was Hood’s close friend Mary Chesnut, who coincidentally was familiar with laudanum. Chesnut wrote in her diary in July 1861 that she was ill and offered the drug by a friend. She refused the opiate, writing, “I have no intention of drugging myself now. My head is addled enough as it stands, and my heart beats to jump out of my body at every sound.” Hood was frequently in her presence following the loss of his leg, and often visited her family in Richmond and South Carolina—before and after his Army of Tennessee command tenure. The alert Chesnut, who recorded everything from gossip to hard news in her journal, did not mention even so much as a whisper about any laudanum use by Hood as he prepared to lead a corps in the Army of Tennessee and ascended to lead the army itself, or after his defeats around Atlanta and in Tennessee.15
In a similar tone, Civil War medical historian Dr. Paul Steiner observed that Hood spent a good deal of personal time with Jefferson Davis during the winter of 1863-1864. “Davis,” concluded Steiner, “would almost certainly have known of any narcotic addiction.” One must conclude that if Davis had knowledge (or a credible suspicion) of drug use, he would have immediately withdrawn Hood’s appointment for promotion to lieutenant general. It is also instructive to note that even after Hood’s failures around Atlanta and in Tennessee, Davis never wrote about or spoke of any possible drug or alcohol use by Hood.16
In spite of a complete lack of evidence, many writers of Civil War history could not resist the temptation to speculate on the degree of pain Hood experienced as a result of his wounds. “His old leg wound may have been irritated by the long, damp ride over rough roads,” postulated Thomas Connelly in Autumn of Glory. Diving headlong into conjecture, James Street Jr., in an article published in Civil War Times, Illustrated in May of 1988, wrote freely of Hood’s wounds, the pain he suffered, and the obvious need of painkilling drugs to cope with it all. “The pain from the stump of his right leg must have been horrendous when he rode strapped to his saddle,” Street speculated without offering any substantiation. “The bouncing and jolting, the abrasive rubbing of the stump against the rough cloth of a dressing or pad could not have been endured without some sort of pain-reliever. An opiate was the standard prescription. The drug would have made Hood sleep at Spring Hill while the Federals escaped his trap.” Note that Street claimed firsthand knowledge of the level of pain Hood experienced, when he experienced it, that he needed a painkiller, the type of drug he used, and that it put him to sleep while Schofield escaped at Spring Hill.17
Few credentialed academicians appear to have taken the time and energy to determine how other Civil War amputees handled themselves under similar situations. Federal Gen. Daniel Sickles, whose right leg was completely shattered by a solid shot at Gettysburg on the second day of the battle, subsequently underwent amputation at the thigh. Sickles, as would be expected, initially experienced sharp pain in his stump, but remained in the army (although he never served in the field again). He used crutches until his death in 1914. If we apply to Sickles the same line of reasoning applied to Hood, Sickles surely needed opium to cope with the pain. Laudanum (an opiate) was easily accessible and the drug of choice for dulling severe pain. There is nothing in the record to support the fact that Sickles used the drug. Would it be acceptable for historians to claim that Sickles used drugs for the duration of time he was in the army?18
Confederate Gen. Richard S. Ewell was kneeling on the Manassas battlefield on August 28, 1862, when a minie ball struck him in the patella and split his tibia. He was found on the field that night in considerable pain and his left leg was amputated just above the knee the next afternoon. Ewell’s post-amputation experience was far more traumatic than Hood’s. Ewell was so roughly handled while being carried from the battlefield that the severed bone jutted out from the stump. A layer of dead tissue soon covered the wound, and an inch of bone fell from the femur soon thereafter. After being confined to his bed for several weeks, Ewell learned to support himself with crutches. However, he slipped and fell on the icy streets of Richmond in December of 1862, which ripped apart his stitches, reopened the wound, and lost him another inch of bone.19
In addition to these difficulties, Ewell’s stump was a peculiar shape and his prosthetic wooden leg did not fit well. Jack Welsh, a doctor who wrote extensively about the medical histories of both Union and Confederate generals, observed that Ewell was often “bothered by abrasions of the skin and by small abscesses” due to his poorly fit wooden leg. Despite these challenges, Ewell returned to duty in May of 1863 and remained in active service until his capture at Sayler’s Creek in Virginia on April 6, 1865. Ewell fell from his horse more than once and reopened his wound. On one occasion, Ewell forgot about the loss of his leg while conversing with a fellow officer and tried to walk. He fell to the ground and once again injured his stump. By the autumn of 1863, his injury bothered him enough to require temporary leave from the army.20
Ewell’s case is germane to our study of Hood because none of Ewell’s biographers ever advanced the idea of drug use. As Stephen Davis keenly observed, it is strange logic indeed that Hamlin (Ewell’s original biographer) would take for granted the necessity of pain-relieving medication for one amputee (Hood), and ignore that same possibility when writing of his own subject (Ewell), who underwent more agonizing and frequent physical suffering brought about by a similar wound.21
Davis also pointed out that it was common for Civil War doctors to liberally dispense opiates, and that over the course of the war, large numbers of soldiers on both sides became addicted to the drug or its derivatives. But as David Courtwright suggested in his book Dark Paradise: A History of Opiate Addiction in America, such dispensing and addiction was also attributable to surgeons’ prescription of opium for chronic diarrhea and dysentery—not just postoperative pain.22
Dr. John T. Darby’s detailed medical reports of Hood’s wounding and recovery at Gettysburg and Chickamauga, found within the recently discovered cache of Hood’s personal papers, indicate, among many things, the physician’s concern over the use of opiates. Darby kept a da
ily record of Hood’s wounds and how they healed, as well as his sleep patterns, appetite, energy, moods, and pain levels. He also recorded the precise amount of medication he gave to Hood each day, if any. The fully transcribed Gettysburg report, for example, records that Hood received a 0.50 grain dose of morphine on only one day during the entire five-week period covered by the report. At the time this book went to press, the 16-page, 3,500-word Chickamauga daily log had yet to be completely transcribed, but it does note that on the day after the amputation Hood received a single dose of quinine for nausea brought about by the chloroform used during the operation.
During the entire 67-day recovery period covered in the log (September 20-November 24, 1863)—Darby wrote an entry for each day—the amount of morphine he prescribed for Hood, if any, was carefully recorded. Hood was frequently given 0.25 and 0.50 grain doses, but Dr. Darby was careful to note the opiate was always prescribed to help him sleep. Approximately 10 days after the amputation, and on one day only, Hood was given a 1.00 grain dose when intense pain from a complication kept him from falling asleep. In fact, on November 4, 1863, while Hood was in Wilmington, North Carolina, en route to Richmond, Darby wrote, “Slept without morphine for the first time.” Entries for subsequent days noted that Hood was sleeping at night without requiring morphine.23
In addition to the judicious use of morphine as an anesthetic, Darby carefully recorded the use of other medicinal treatments, including quinine, cold water, and iron, which was prescribed for patients who had lost blood. The only analgesics recorded by Darby were daily “milk punches” (an alcoholic drink similar to eggnog, popular in the South in the 19th century), and on one occasion, Darby recorded that Hood was being given “sherry wine.”24
John Bell Hood: The Rise, Fall, and Resurrection of a Confederate General Page 38
